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carolmunson · 2 years ago

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starting from zero, got nothing to lose (V)

part i part ii part iii part iv part v

two new bombshells have entered the villa. (jk, but we do get a brief appearance of dusty and steve and it’s cute.)

tony and eddie have a chat about the fight, dose makes eddie embarrassed, steve isn’t having luck with the ladies, and eddie and ron hash it out in a diner.

(i wanted to make eddie awkward but also he sort of ended up really hot in this?)

i don’t think there’s any CW’s here, it’s a pretty fluffy chapter all around. they do smoke cigarettes at one point, and there are some bodily threats that don’t go anywhere.

A few nights had gone by since Eddie's fight with Rhonda and he honestly could not stop thinking about it. He replayed it in his head over and over, heat and anger bubbling in his chest every time he recalled her saying ‘Betty ‘Apple Pie’ Cunningham’ with her stupid smug face. It helped whenever he’d practice with the punching bags at Gleason’s before or after his shifts, numbing that ache in his chest with every hit. Deep down, he knew leaving her there alone was bothering him the most – She deserved it , he would justify, she was being a bitch .

She doesn’t know about Chrissy, she doesn’t know about Vecna, you have to cut her some slack – she just doesn’t know , the rational part of his brain would argue. The internal struggle of hating her but trying to see it from her point of view was frustrating. Eddie hated maturing, it made him less right all the time.

He gathered up his stuff in the men’s locker room to leave after another tiring mid-day shift. His balled up his coverall fell haphazardly out of his leather satchel while closing it up.

“Munson,” he heard a familiar gruff voice call to him, “Haven’t seen you in a few days, you been hidin’ out on me?”

Eddie blew his bangs out of his eyes, “Hey Tone, long time no see.”

“Where’ve you been, dude? Haven’t seen you here or at Skid since Saturday,” he said, “Ron scare you off?”

“No, man,” Eddie said, fatigue tugging at his eyes, “Just two ships passing in the night, I guess.”

“Look, Ron told me what happened, she’s been feelin’ real bad about it,” Tony said in a low, apologetic tone, “Don’t tell her I told you that, I’ll never hear the end of it. You told her, her music sucks, huh?”

“Let me guess,” Eddie said, rubbing the back of his neck, “That’s the worst thing I could’ve done?”

“Oh no, the worst thing you could’ve done was leave her in the bar by herself at night,” his face was smiling, but his eyes were dark.

“Tony, things were getting heated, I would never do that–”

“I don’t need to hear it man, I promise,” he said, “I’m not mad at you, I totally get it. Rhonda makes guys wanna rip their hair out all the time. But I’ll promise you this…” Tony got quiet and close to Eddie’s face, he could see a smattering of gray in his stubble and smell the Listerine on his breath. Tony’s dark blue eyes flashed a bit, keeping steady contact with Eddie so intently, he almost wanted to look away.

“If I ever find out that you left Ron alone, or in a position where she could get hurt, I will kill you,” his voice was grisly, “Capiche?”

Eddie nodded, a shiver ran up his chest into his throat, his brown eyes like saucers, “Yeah, c-capiche man. Won’t happen again.”

Tony’s smile broke across his face again, showing off his straight white teeth, “Don’t mean to freak you out dude, but I told you – that’s my Ronnie.”

“She told me you dated,” Eddie said, putting his bag on one of the benches and adjusting the buckles at the bottom.

“So then you’ll believe me when I tell you that it’s like pullin’ teeth to get her to apologize for something,” Tone explained, “And she wants to.”

Eddie looked up at him, surprised, “Wants to?”

“I don’t know what magic you have trapped in that fuckin’ mullet of yours kid, but suddenly she’s feelin’ all bad. Waiting for you to come in the door like a kicked puppy so she can say sorry – I wish it were me! She’s still on my last nerve,” he was exasperated, almost annoyed.

“So I’ll level with ya, make this easier for both of you. You work tomorrow? Got any plans?” he asked. Eddie shook his head no.

“That’s what I like to hear. She’s up at Roosevelt hospital on Thursdays, all morning into the afternoon. She gets out around three through the front lobby, you should go meet her when she gets out tomorrow,” Tony took a seat on the bench, unlacing his Doc Martins to switch into his sneakers.

“What’s in it for you?” Eddie asked, slinging his bag over his shoulder again.

“I don’t have to deal with that little sad sack moping around my bar,” he said, “You know she’s already got a bad attitude, imagine her when she’s a little bummed out? The worst. Again, please do not tell her I said this, I will not hear the end of it. She’s everywhere, she haunts me.”

“Cross my heart,” Eddie smiled, “Yeah, I can make it to Roosevelt tomorrow.”

“Ugh, brother, you are saving my life,” Tony said, grabbing his ringed hand.

Eddie laughed, shaking his hand free and clapping him on the shoulder the way Tony always did to him. As he got to the door of the locker room he heard Tony's soft singing to himself echo off the tiled walls.

“ Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match. Find me a find, catch me a catch…”

— “I promise you Dose, it’s not a date.”

“Even if it’s not Edward, you can not wear that you look so…you look like you don’t care about impressing her,�� Dosia complained from the couch.

Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose, but couldn’t help but smile through his sigh at her, “I am never asking you if I look okay again, if this is how you’re gonna react.”

“It’s just…can’t you wear a little less black? Something more cheery? It’s a date right? To impress her? You told me you hurt her feelings,” she asked.

“Yes, I’m going to apologize to her, no it’s not a date,” he said, “I’m meeting her at a hospital.”

“Well, the shoe fits then,” she said, gesturing towards his outfit, “You look like you’re going to a funeral, anyway.”

Eddie laughed, “You’re still so sharp, you know that?”

Dosia crossed her legs and huffed, smoothing the muted pink velvet blanket over her. Her frosty white nails skated over the green and white striped couch, “Do not ask for my advice if you’re not going to take it, kochanie . Oh by the way, your friend, the little one, he called.”

“Dustin?” Eddie asked, his chest bubbling with excitement.

“You should call him back, he said it was important,” Dosia held her hand to her forehead dramatically, “Go, go, I cannot bear to look at you anymore, it’s making me depressed.”

Eddie shook his head at her, walking into his room to pick up the landline on his bedside table. He looked at the clock while he dialed the number and thought it was weird that he’d call while he was at school.

“Eddie?” he heard on the other end of the line.

“Hey Henderson,” Eddie said, a smile plastered onto his face at the sound of his friend’s voice, “How’s it going, shouldn’t you be in like, fourth period right now?”

“I skipped,” Dustin said, matter of factly.

“Ooooh, not cool man, c’mon, don’t be like me,” Eddie said, untangling the coiled cord on the phone so he could give himself a once over in the mirror.

“It’s just one day, I’m trying to get my character sheet ready for tomorrow,” he said, “I wanted your help.”

“Erica’s on your ass, huh?” Eddie chuckled, “That’s my girl. Knew I left Hellfire in the right hands. I wish I could help you more dude, but I kind of have to get going. Dose said it was important, is everything okay?”

“I always say it’s important so you’ll call me back,” he said.

“It doesn’t have to be important for me to call back, Henderson, just call,” Eddie told him. He held up the orange sweater Dosia got him for Christmas to his chest, balancing the receiver between his cheek and his shoulder.

“Where do you have to be? Hot date or something?” Dustin teased, a chuckle reverberating through the earphone.

“Uhhh, sorta,” Eddie responded, a little distracted, tossing the sweater on his bed.

“Wait, really?” he asked, his interest perking up, “You have a date tonight? Steve hasn’t even talked to a girl since last year. ”

“Last year was a week ago, man.” Eddie could hear Dustin laughing on the other end of the phone, talking to someone else in the room, “Eddie’s already getting more action than you .”

“Henderson, are you kidding me right now? Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson has a date tonight and I’m here with you twerps?” Eddie could clock that bored, annoyed voice anywhere.

“Is that Harrington?” Eddie asked, he heard the clatter of another line picking up.

“Yeah, it’s me, don’t lose your shit,” Steve’s voice was much clearer now. Eddie could still hear Dustin laughing behind him.

“Having some trouble finding love in the ‘90s, Steve-o?” Eddie asked, checking himself out at every angle in the mirror, still, “Need some advice?”

“Yeah, ha, ha, I get it, it’s very funny – look, I don’t need dating advice from someone who still plays Dungeons and Dragons, but I do have a favor to ask,” Steve said shortly.

“Ask away, big boy.”

“Are you gonna be around, we uh,” Steve’s voice hushed a little, “We gotta get Robin the hell outta dodge.”

“Oh shit,” he said, grabbing the phone with his hand and switching ears, “Is everything good?” “As good as it can be, but I think her folks are starting to catch on man,” Steve said, “I was gonna drive with her over to you. We were gonna see if we could find her a place. You gonna be free at all, soon?”

“I mean yeah, but – my roommate–”

“The old Polish lady? Yeah, Dustin told me about that, that’s weird man–”

“Sh-shut up, Harrington. Dosia’s going to visit her son in Jersey for a week really soon, you can come around then. Do you have that much time?”

There was a brief silence, “Uh yeah, yeah. Just keep me posted so we can ask for some time off work.”

“Make him go to class, dude,” Eddie pleaded, “I gotta go.” He hung up and took a deep breath. He missed his friends, even if they were stupid kids.

He checked his watch and cursed a little, heart thumping in his chest. He had to go before he’d miss her leaving the hospital. He shrugged on his leather jacket, expertly sliding his vest over it, and double checked his pockets for his wallet and keys. Both were secure on the chain dangling down his thigh.

“Good luck, przystojny!” Dosia called out while the door shut behind him, "Go fetch me another daughter-in-law!"

— Right on time.

From the base of the steps, he saw her struggle to push open the door, he tried not to laugh at her.

“Hey!” he called out, waving her over to him. She stopped in her tracks, peering down at him from the door.

“Munson?!” she called back.

“Yeah! It’s me! I came to say sorry!” Oh my God, Munson, why did you just yell that? She pattered down the steps, making quick work of getting over to him.

“Hi,” she said, hoisting her back pack high on her shoulder.

“Oh,” he said, looking her over, “You look different.” Her hair was up in a claw clip, just her permed bangs and some fallen hair framing her cheeks fell out of it. Eyeshadow replaced by a swipe of mascara, the bite of the cold as her blush. The only thing that he recognized was the scent of chapstick on her lips. He could see a smattering of freckles across her face. She looked younger, but more lived in.

“I mean I don’t wear makeup to the hospital, it’s not that kind of gig,” she confessed, looking down at her winter boots. She rubbed her knees together nervously, the light wash denim swishing together.

“I don’t mean that you look bad!” Eddie backtracked, “You just look different. You still look, you know, you still look like you. You still look pretty.” He felt his stomach turn, hoping desperately that the next thing out of his mouth sounded cool.

“Thanks,” Rhonda said, not meeting his eyes, focused on a loose string on her jacket.

“Um, uh, have you eaten? Can I get you some lunch or coffee or something?” he asked, “There’s a diner like, a block away.”

“Kind of late for lunch, don’t you think?” she asked, finally looking up at him. She put her hands in her pockets, rocking on her heels.

He shrugged, “Late lunch, then?”

“I guess,” she smiled at him. Eddie's heart jumped to his throat as he walked with her away from Roosevelt.

‘Every SINGLE time she comes in from that clinic she spends the first hour of her shift going “I’m hungry, I’m hungry.” And I tell her every time, eat some fuckin’ LUNCH, Rhonda. You never even eat breakfast, no wonder she’s always in a bad mood. She lives off spite and Marlboros, I swear t'God.’ A rant of Tony’s from a week ago played back in Eddie’s mind. Tony owed him, now she’d be fed and feel better about their fight. It’ll be the best shift of his life.

They slid into a booth, Eddie nervously drumming his fingers on the table and smiling up at the waitress who poured them each a cup of coffee, “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” she drawled. He watched Rhonda reach for the little creamers and three packs of sugar. She slapped the packs on her hand, ripping off the top of two, pouring them into the cup, and then only adding a quarter of the other in.

“Two and a quarter?” he asked.

She smiled while pouring one of the mini creamers in, “I’m sure it doesn’t make a difference but I’ve always done it like that. My dad was the same. Medium, hot, cream, two-ish sugars, whatever ‘ish’ means. He’d have me go in the morning and get it for him–”

“Y’know, until I started stealing the change,” she tapped the spoon off the edge of the mug after stirring and put it on the napkin next to her. Rhonda held her coffee with both hands, resting her elbows on the table and looking at Eddie through the steam.

“Tony told you to come here, didn’t he?” she asked. He choked on his own coffee.

“Uh, no, no,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Don’t lie, Munson, how else would you know when I got off?” she asked.

“So he might’ve told me to come meet you, is that a crime?” he asked.

“Not in the same way that Motörhead shirt is,” she said, smirking into a sip from her mug.

“You know,” he said, leaning on his forearm and elbow, gesturing to her, “In fifth grade, my teacher used to tell me that if girls were mean to me it meant they had a crush on me.”

“Oh honey,” she cooed, putting her hand down on the table, “He was lying. They were mean to you because you’re weird.”

Honey. Honey. Honey. He wanted to reach down and grab her hand, feel how warm it was, see what it would be like to lace her fingers with his — ‘Betty ‘Apple Pie’ Cunningham’. His nostrils flared.

“So, I came here to apologize to you for leaving you at Skid,” Eddie started, a small jolt of anger flashing in his chest, “But I feel like you need to apologize to me first. You said some really awful shit.”

She was quiet for a minute and put her coffee down on the table, skating her hand back to rest on her forearms.

“I did,” she said, “And I felt really bad about it after, but I also was mad that you left me at the bar, that wasn’t cool. I thought you’d at least come by and fix the gate Saturday so we could talk about it.”

“I’m sorry I left you at Skid,” he said sincerely, “I’m really sorry. I was just feeling like — I wouldn’t have left if you hadn’t made up that name.”

“What name?” she asked, cocking her head.

“Oh!” she remembered, surprised at that being the reason, “The Betty Cunningham thing?”

He sighed, quickly trying to come up with a watered down version of the truth, “So, like you so poignantly pointed out, I did have a crush on the head cheerleader in high school. I liked her for like…ever, since I was in middle school.”

“And one day during my uh, my third , senior year, she asked if she could buy some weed off me which like, wow, y’know. Hawkins’s little princess asking me, Eddie The Freak Munson who she hasn’t spoken to since like, 8th grade, for drugs was pretty wild. So we met up in the woods and like, she was just so nice? We had such a good time talking to each other and I gave her a ride to my place to sell her some shit. And I thought for a little you know, ‘Hey, maybe this could be something,’” his voice fell to something a sullen, “‘Cause I was feeling some kind of connection…I don’t know, maybe I made it up. But it didn’t really matter cause um…”

Eddie bit his lip, his chest still getting tight at the memory. He laced his fingers at the center of the table.

“She passed away,” he said looking down at the table. He heard Rhonda let out a soft gasp, “Her name was Chrissy. Chrissy Cunningham. So, yeah…now you know.”

“Ed I’m — I’m so sorry,” she said, placing her hand over his fingers, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

“I know you didn’t, and it’s okay, I just wanted you to know why I left. It doesn’t excuse anything or whatever, it just really hurt my feelings,” he confessed, his cheeks burning at the feeling of her hand on his. Her dark red manicured nails were shining in the harsh light of the diner, her thumb slid back and forth on the back of his hand. Eddie's heart thrummed in his chest again.

“What can I get you folks?” The waitress asked while walking up to the table, order pad in hand.

“Can I just get the house burger and fries, please? Medium rare.” Ed asked, “And a coke.”

“And you, sweetheart?” she asked.

“Uh, I think I’m good—“

“Order some fuckin’ lunch, Rhonda,” Eddie muttered, his cadence sounding a lot like—

“Oh, I didn’t know Tony was here,” she murmured sarcastically, turning her attention to the waitress, “I’ll have the same.”

“How do you think I know you never eat lunch after a stint at the hospital, and then complain for your whole entire shift about how hungry you are?” Ed asked while the waitress walked away scribbling down their orders.

She held her mouth open in fake shock, a smile pulling at the corners of her lips, “Stop, he didn’t say that.”

“All he does at Gleason’s is complain about you, can’t imagine why. You’re not stubborn, or mean, or impatient, or scathing at all,” he said, unlacing his fingers to lace her hand into his own, “Don’t know where he gets those ideas.”

She blushed, “Shut up, Munson.” She gently pulled her hand away, her fingertips lingered on his for a moment before grabbing her coffee again. His hands felt clumsy and empty when he wasn't holding hers anymore.

“Oh, I talked to Spike,” she said, quickly swallowing a sip, “About your weird game. Dragons and Draping, or whatever.”

“Dungeons and Dragons, Ron,” he said, “It’s Dungeons. And. Dragons. D, and, D.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Anyway, one of their guys just got put in Rikers so, they are looking for someone to do the um..the…story! To tell the story? I don’t know what the fuck it is,” she said.

“He needs a new DM for their campaign?” he asked.

“YES! That,” she pointed at him, “That, whatever that means. He’ll be at Skid tonight cause Deb’s working and he has a big fat crush on her, you should come by.”

“I was gonna offer to take you to work anyway, I took my car up here,” he said, drumming his fingers again, “If you want.”

“Oh, I’m not supposed to get in the car with strangers, sorry,” she said, “Better luck next time.”

“If I leave you up here to take the train when Tone knows I could’ve driven you, he’s gonna kick my ass.”

“Yeah, that’s—that’s funny to me. That’s the point.”

“Ron, I’m not asking. I’m telling you I’m driving you to Skid,” he said, “I’ll forgive you quicker if you let me ride you—um—I mean, drive you–Jesus. Christ.” He hid his face in his hands, his face red with embarrassment.

“I mean you got something right, Munson. A lot of people have forgiven me quicker after I let them ride me,” she laughed.

“Oh god,” he said, rubbing his eyes, laughing too, “Pretend you didn’t hear that.”

They had to eat quickly, her shift at Skid was at 5 and she had to put her face on in the diner. With traffic, Eddie didn’t know how long it would be to get back downtown. When the check came, they stared at each other, daring the other to try and reach for it.

“I’m paying, Munson, it’s my apology lunch,” she argued while pulling her wallet out of her backpack.

“Rhonda Jean Riccio, if you don’t put that wallet away–” he warned, tossing a twenty on the table from a wad of bills in his hand. He slid the roll of twenties back in his pocket as discreetly as possible.

“My full name?” she ‘tsk’d, “Are you and Tony giggling about me at sleepovers or somethin’?”

“Oh no, just complaining about you,” he said, sliding out of the booth. He straightened out his jacket while Rhonda put her coat back on. Red lipped and pretty, like the day he first met her. They walked outside in the cold air, the wind sending their hair spiraling. Eddie hunched into his leather jacket.

“Wait inside, I have to go grab the van from a little down the street. I’ll swing around and get you,” he said, jamming his hands in his pockets.

“You need a winter coat, Ed,” she said, adjusting her scarf.

“M’alright,” he said, “Just wait inside while I get the car.”

“You’re gonna freeze to death,” she laughed, stepping closer to him, “On second thought, don’t get a winter coat. You should freeze to death.”

He nudged her with his shoulder and she nudged him back. Back and forth until they were both giggling.

"I have to get the car, Ron, c'mon," Eddie pleaded.

“Thanks for um, getting me lunch,” she said a little breathily. The tips of their feet were touching. He looked down at her, her eyes glinted in the light of the setting sun. Her lips were pouty and parted – he went numb. Eddie's bangs brushed her forehead while their eyes locked, noses brushing. Rhonda blushed while she looked up at him, his eyes serious but caring. Eddie swallowed hard, his heart hammered in his chest. He ran his tongue over his lips to wet them, cursing himself for not putting on chapstick. For eating something with onions on it. Rhonda could feel his breath on her cheek while he leaned in, sme–

“Oh! Shit, I forgot my lipstick in the booth. Let me go get it and I’ll meet you in the car,” she squeaked, “I’ll be right out.” He watched her spin and hop back into the diner, scurrying over to the booth. Eddie took a deep breath, watching the exhale smoke around him.

“Get it together, Munson,” he muttered to himself, “It’s not a fuckin’ date.”

He hustled to the van, feeling lucky he got it detailed just last week so she wouldn’t be sitting on cigarette ash and the back wouldn’t be filled with empty beer cans. He turned the ignition and cranked the heat so she wouldn’t be too shivery when she got in – uh – wait, no, it was so the van would be warm for him, it’s not about Rhonda. It wasn't a date.

He drove around the block to pull back up to the diner, seeing her in the doorway. Eddie beeped twice, tapping two cigarettes out and putting one in his mouth, lighting it with his zippo that made it out of the Upside Down with him. Rhonda hopped in, bouncing a bit on the seat.

“Here,” he offered, passing her the cigarette between his fingers.

“Oh thanks, um,” she put it in her mouth, “I don’t have a light on me, I left it at Skid.”

He beckoned her forward, “I got it.”

She leaned in while he put the tip of his cigarette to hers, blowing while she inhaled enough to light her own. She took a long drag, rolled the window down a crack, and let the smoke drift out of her mouth.

“Whew!” she said, “Something about that lunch really made me crave a cigarette. Probably those fries, they were like, better than sex, right?”

He changed gears, pulling out from in front of the diner and turning onto the road. He smirked, the cigarette still dangling out of his mouth as he did. Confidence swelled in his chest while putting one arm out behind her headrest and letting the other one lazily man the wheel. Metallica blared through the speakers, covering up the thrumming of his heart against his ribcage.

“Yeah,” he smiled, “Better than sex, Ron.”

‘I promise you, Dose, it’s not a date.‘

#eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x ofc #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie stranger things #stranger things au #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fix it #eddie munson fix it fic #eddie munson fix it #eddie munson takes NYC #eddie munson fluff

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sbrown82 · 2 years ago

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I love your old school tea posts as I'm a big Stones fan. Can you say anything more about the P.P. Arnold and Brian Jones relationship?

So, here's more ☕️☕️☕️ from P.P. Arnold herself:

"One Saturday morning in 1966 while I was still in Epsom, I’d received a phone call from Brian Jones inviting me to London. He sent his Rolls-Royce for me and I was driven to his beautiful flat in Courtfield Road, South Kensington.

When I rang the bell, Brian came to the door. He was soft-spoken and polite as always, greeting me warmly. I’d heard gossip from Mick [Jagger] about his drug habits but we’d never talked directly. Besides, all the Stones had shown us respect and love throughout the tour.

If Mick was an extrovert, Brian seemed just the opposite, but that was fine, as I too felt sensitive, vulnerable and wary. He rolled a hash joint and made me feel welcome as we talked about Epsom.

…Brian’s flat was really just one huge room, a small kitchen and a bathroom. It too was decorated with rich fabrics, rugs and embroideries from Morocco, but was fairly disorderly next to Mick’s flat. A wooden staircase led up to a minstrel gallery and I loved its high-beamed ceilings, big windows and skylight. Magazines, papers and clothing were strewn everywhere. The antique chairs needed reupholstering and the bed was just a big mattress on the floor. There was a real hippy vibe, an intoxicating mix of past centuries with psychedelic ‘60s, including Indian and Moroccan influences. The hash joint was also pretty powerful, but it helped me to relax.

Brian was annoyed about Mick’s behavior towards me, which was very sweet. I explained that Mick and I had not made personal commitments. Yes, I was hurt, but I was in no position to judge. I hadn’t stayed in England to be Mick’s girlfriend. I knew Mick and Marianne had a thing going. Afterwards, I wondered if Brian’s compassion for me reflected his own estrangement within the Stones camp.

He was very cute and sexy and looked aristocratic, eccentric and yet elegant in his flamboyant attire, his dandy scarves and beautiful smoking jacket. I thought he had a mystical charisma about him. I was never physically attracted to Brian and didn’t want to send out the wrong signals, but he was a perfect gentleman and host. He played some blues and R&B and I felt at home right away. While we smoked, he introduced me to some mystical Indian sounds. I’d smoked marijuana with Gabriel and hashish with Mick, but this was my first time in an environment that let me experience its effects fully. There was a piano and a beautiful collection of guitars, mandolins and other exotic string instruments. I was in awe of his musicality. He was deep and very talented, but there also seemed to be a sadness about him.

We talked about my roots and family and he talked about music and art. I felt comfortable and safe, not intimidated at all. With so little experience dating, I still believed that if you were drinking and smoking alone with a guy, they wanted sex with you, but he made no advances and I appreciated this respect.

He had to go out for a while and after showing me how the rolling machine worked he left me on my own…After a while he returned with his close friend Tara Browne, the heir to the Guinness fortune.

…Brian’s vibe had drastically changed and the hash wasn’t helping me join them. I suggested it was time for me to go. He urged me to stay over and said someone could drive me back to Epsom the following morning. I was apprehensive, but he assured me I had nothing to worry about. I decided to trust him and not get paranoid…

It was a lovely evening in very interesting company, especially after the delicious Indian food they had brought back with them. Tara left in the early hours and I joined Brian in his one bed, feeling secure enough to enjoy a cuddle and warm, gentle kisses with him.

…Brian was kind and had displayed genuine friendship. I felt true sensitivity towards him. It had been a magical day at a delicate time of transition and had helped me put my decision to stay in England in perspective. He said I was welcome to visit whenever I got bored and I did so a couple more times, though I wish that I had been more open with him. I’ll never forget his kindness.”

So, sis messed around with BOTH of them! 💅🏿

#p.p. arnold #brian jones #mick jagger #the rolling stones #interracial #black women #rock & roll #rockstars #old school tea #anon

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twirlyeyebrows · 3 years ago

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How Could I Have Known?

(A Zosan Fic)

Link to Chapter 6!

Link to Entire Work on ao3!

Ch. 7 - Because It’s You

Zoro’s first response to the man was not an answer to the question he asked, but instead a question of his own. “The fuck are you doing here?” He spat with slurred words. Sanji sighed. “Well, I was going to take the night watch but Robin offered instead, so now I'm here. Nothing interesting.” He paused and looked Zoro up and down, his eyes naturally landing on the bottle of wine he was currently putting back in the cabinet. “But I'm sure you have a good reason to be here at this hour.” He said rhetorically. Anyone who walked by the kitchen would be able to smell the harsh stench of booze from outside. Zoro shot him a look and closed the cabinet door. Sanji watched as the swordsman hobbled over to the table and sat down in the same place he always did. He looked terrible. Not only was he very obviously drunk but he looked like he'd been in the middle of a huge crisis. He guessed that wouldn't have been too out of the ordinary for how Zoro had been acting lately.

“So are you just not gonna answer my question then, moss head?” Sanji said as he tilted his head towards the drunk. He still hasn't moved from the doorway, he didn't know where to go. “It's not important.” Zoro huffed.

Sanji expected that. At this point, it would've been a miracle if Zoro were to talk about anything that was going on. The silence that followed was painful. Zoro was too intoxicated to realize that his reply barely even counted as a response, and Sanji was trying to hold back from pressing for details. “Alright, well. I guess I'll leave you to it then.” The cook said, beginning to turn around.

He wasn't happy to be cutting the conversation so short. He wanted to talk about what had happened earlier today, he wanted to try to do what he could to help Zoro. He'd be lying if he said he didn't also want confirmation that the swordsman’s outburst wasn't directly his fault. Or if it was, that he'd be able to make up for it. All in all, it was getting harder to watch one of his teammates suffer so much alone. Zoro wasn't going to be any help in that process though, so what else could he have done but just leave? There would be a time when they'd eventually hash stuff out and be back to their annoying bickering selves so he might as well just let Zoro have his night alone with the alcohol. As soon as he started to back out of the door he had essentially just entered, he heard the other man speak.

“Wait-” Zoro started, not thinking about the words about to come out of his mouth. “You should stay.” Sanji couldn't believe his ears. Did that bastard really just invite him to stay through his drunk episode? Did he even have any recollection of what happened earlier? Was he simply just not mad anymore? Sanji didn't know how to respond. This was all so confusing. Zoro was so confusing. He quickly weighed his options in his head. If he stayed he might be able to actually get something out of Zoro, which would be good for the both of them he thought. On the other hand, this was a very slippery slope. Zoro was well past tipsy and Sanji knew that anything could come out of his mouth at any moment. He might end up hearing something he shouldn't, or something he didn't want to know. He decided to take his chances. Zoro may have been angry at him earlier but the air seemed to be clear enough at this point, at least for now. And Sanji wasn't a person who could just deny someone when they needed help. He inhaled through his cigarette, promptly exhaling and releasing a small cloud of smoke into the air. “You want me to stay here with you? Did I hear that right?” There was no harm in reiterating, or giving Zoro a chance to change his mind. He made sure to enunciate his words almost too much.

The swordsman’s mind was so fogged with emotion and intoxication that he only realized what he had blurted out when Sanji repeated it back to him. He cussed himself out in his mind; how could he be so careless? He hoped the red on his checks from being drunk was enough to hide the light pink of embarrassment he could feel spreading across his face. He wanted to try to plead his case. He wanted to start making fun of Sanji right then and there and tell him he'd be happy if he left. Obviously, that would be a lie. Even with his senses going wild, he could still admire the man in front of him. If anything, the booze made his feelings way harder to deal with. Zoro hadn't ever experienced this before; being drunk and feeling the need to be romantic. He was always a lone wolf, especially when it came to drinking. But now things had changed and he had to try to accept that. If he attempted to argue right now he had a 100% chance of losing, and about a 200% chance of accidentally saying something stupid. His brain snapped out of thought as he put together the fact that he had just been blankly staring at the chef since he last spoke. He took a mental note to work on his drunk reaction time so he didn't look like an idiot again.

The emotions he felt earlier drinking alone had subsided and were replaced by new feelings. Instead of being hyper, upset, and jittery, Zoro now felt hazy, a little sleepy, and mostly calm. “Mostly” calm because this situation had “BAD IDEA” written all over it, but it's too late to take back his words now. At least he was woozy enough to be able to play off anything he said as a side effect of the drinking.

“I mean, only if like...if like you wanted to.” He paused to burp, Sanji looked disgusted.“What if I pass out or get sick or die from alcohol poisoning...wh-who would help me?” He thought he would at least try to make himself sound less desperate. He didn't think it worked the way he intended.

Sanji rolled his eyes and chuckled softly. “Of course, you're only worried about yourself,” He inhaled through his nose and made a noise of contentment as he let out his breath. “Typical swordsman.” He said. He swiveled his whole body around and sauntered over to the table, sitting down across from the garden head. “Sure. I'll stay. I don't have anything better to do.” He mumbled. Sanji looked blankly at the man and waited for him to say or do anything. He couldn't think of a time Zoro had ever been like this while he was drunk. He was so...spacey.. it was extremely unlike him. He wondered what was going on in that brain of his.

“Fuck, shit, Goddammit, Fuck, Fuck!” Were the only words that were present in Zoro's mind as the cook sat down with him. He couldn't do anything but watch as Sanji looked at him with questioning eyes. Zoro mentally slapped himself and told him not to think about Sanji’s eyes, or his perfect sunny hair, ...or his peachy cheeks…. or his long thick eyelashes…. Zoro had to shake his head to get himself out of this unending loop. Who would've known that love was this hard to contain? He was sure he looked insane from the man across the table’s perspective. He didn't know if the wine he drank was a blessing or a curse. Okay, it was almost definitely a curse, but at least it made his idiocy easier to excuse.

He wanted to have a normal conversation but he knew that wasn't going to happen. He was scared to open his mouth. The last thing he needed was to say something on a whim and regret it. He was doing everything in his power not to act like a moron, which included keeping his mouth shut at all times.

Sanji continued to sit there confused as to why Zoro had barely said anything to him this whole time but he knew it must've been something related to everything that was going on. On the inside, Sanji was being eaten alive by the feeling of stress. He wanted things to go back to normal, he wanted to clear the slate with the man before him. He didn't know if he'd be able to keep being idle and act like everything would work itself out. Maybe it was a stupidly bold decision but he decided to say something about the events of earlier today. He knew that he had the highest chance of Zoro explaining the most while he was intoxicated, so he might as well get this over with now.

“So, uhh, about earlier..” Sanji started, not wanting to finish his thoughts out loud. He started fidgeting with his hands, fearful to continue, when Zoro stopped him. He looked eager to stay off the topic. “I know, I know. I’m stupid and awful and…” Zoro felt the alcohol continue to fight back. “and I’m sorry.” Sanji was almost stunned by what he just heard. He couldn't remember the last time Zoro had apologized that genuinely. It was nice.

“Look, I'm not upset with you,” Sanji lied. Of course, he was upset. What right did Zoro have to lash out on Nami (and him) like that for no reason? If he hadn't been working through some deep shit, he'd have been thrown in the ocean by now. Sanji didn't want to admit it but it had hurt his feelings as well. Of course, his priority was Nami and her feelings, but when Zoro made a jab about his cooking, he felt a part of him waver. It sucked but he'd gone through way more in his life so adding one more thing to suck up wasn't some impossible challenge. Plus, he wanted nothing more than to just be over this whole “Zoro acting weird” thing, and if avoiding escalating the situation was what it took then by all means he was going to do just that. “I just wanted to know what I did so I could apologize. I'm not gonna beat you or anything.”

After hearing that, Zoro immediately stood up from the table and went back over to the cooking area. He opened two cabinets before settling on the one he was looking for. He grabbed a bottle of expensive vodka they had picked up a few weeks ago from a prestigious island. “Hey what are you doing with that? That's for special occasions.” Sanji protested. Zoro didn't turn around to look at him, nor did he respond. He brought the bottle back to the table, sat down, and took a heavy swig right out of the bottle. Sanji looked like he was using all his strength not to tell off the swordsman right then and there. Zoro didn't know why he hadn't. After swallowing the liquid in one sip he exhaled deeply. He could feel the burn once again, but he needed this to even possibly get through this conversation Sanji had started.

“It was-wasn’t you, cook.” Zoro could feel the alcohol coursing through his system, despite this, he took yet another sip. “It wasn't you. It wasn't Nami. It wasn't anything. I was- being dumb and...I don't know..” He couldn't even try to pass as mildly sober anymore. “I just don't know. But I do know that it wasn't- wasn’t you.” Zoro inhaled, trying to ignore the heat in his chest. “And I.. I really a-am sorry. I know I fucked up bad. Your cooking is great...by the way…” His head started to spin.

Sanji relaxed a little bit. He was grateful to know that it hadn't been him, or Nami by all means. He felt like he could forgive Zoro, although it might take a little time. He apologized, yes, but what he said was still hurtful and couldn't just be swept away that easily. For now though, he had no choice but to keep it to himself. At least he said he made great food, that definitely helped his case.

Zoro confirming that it was just himself being weird was still bittersweet to Sanji. He was relieved that it hadn't been anything he'd done, but he was worried for Zoro’s sake. Whatever it was that was making him act this way was starting to take a dangerous toll on him. Zoro was always grouchy and sometimes rude, but he'd never lash out at someone for no reason like that. This whole situation was changing him and Sanji felt responsible for not being able to help. He knew it wasn't directly his problem but he felt like he had to do something for the crew’s future. Who knows what would happen if Zoro continued to be in this state forever? Sanji didn't want to find out. He couldn't let that become a reality. He knew he had to keep the ball rolling, and the best way to do that was to get off this topic.

Sanji tapped his fingers on the table, not knowing what to say and desperately trying to think of something. He kept eye contact with his hands because... honestly? He was scared to look up at Zoro. Every beat of silence made his heart beat with anticipation, and not the good kind. He felt like he was walking on pins and needles. He heard the swish of liquid in glass and quickly deduced that Zoro is once again taking another drink of the (highly expensive) alcohol. He looked up at him, about to tell him to save some for a better time when the words were taken straight from his mouth. His eyes were met with Zoro staring right back at him with a look of contentment. Could it be contentment? Was Zoro ever content around him? Every single one of their fights would say otherwise.

“That buzz finally giving you a good feeling, moss brain?” Sanji chuckled, trying not to sound so caught off guard. “Yeah. It's a good one. You have good taste.” Zoro replied, every word being drawn out. “I know. That's kind of my job.” Sanji said while taking a breath through his cigarette. He blew the smoke cloud up towards the ceiling. “Yeah, well. You're good at- at your job, cook.” Zoro sounded like a broken record. Sanji debated telling him to put the alcohol down but he hadn't seen Zoro look this pleasant in days. Maybe this is what he needed, even if it was possibly harming his health in the end. The chef didn't know how to reply so he just laughed and nodded. “You know what, what else you're stupidly good at?” Zoro laughed, Sanji raised an eyebrow, not having any clue where this was going. “What?” Sanji asked. “Pissing me off like nobody else.” Zoro said cockily, pressing his hand against the table and leaning forward. Sanji smiled slyly. “Yeah, right back at you.”

As Zoro leaned forward closer to the cook he could smell the tobacco on his breath. He had to use every ounce of common sense he had not to lean fully in and kiss him. Even just this playful back and forth felt like he was overstepping a boundary. He took another drink, he needed it.

Sanji’s eyes widened. “Well we all know what you're stupidly good at.” He said, tipping his head down to gesture at Zoro taking yet another sip. Zoro belly laughed. Sanji felt embarrassed for letting out a mental sigh of relief. He shouldn't care so much about Zoro, but he was so relieved to see him acting like himself again. Well, not really like himself, but an even cheerier version of himself.

“That's- that is so hypocritical, cook. You smoke like… a pack a day.” Zoro retorted, still laughing. Sanji could tell that the man was out of it by now. He was off in his own loopy world, but he was happy. “Y’know.. with both our- our awful habits we'd kind of be perfect for each other.” Zoro said, swinging the bottle around next to him.

Sanji felt his heart stop. There's no way he heard that right. There is no way on earth that those words just came out of that man’s mouth.

Sanji nervously chuckled. He didn't want to act off guard in case Zoro hadn't meant what Sanji thought he did. He responded as normally as he could. “Nah it would be terrible. We'd only perpetuate each other’s habits.” God, what was he saying? More importantly, what was Zoro saying?

Zoro took yet another swig of the vodka, it was getting to be too much in Sanji’s eyes. “Isn't that the point?” The intoxicated man said, shifting his eyes toward the cook. “Is it?” Sanji asked back quickly in a panic. Zoro chuckled and set down the bottle. He had a craving look in his eye. Sanji was starting to look how he felt; nervous. Zoro was apparently able to pick up on this despite his situation. “Relax, cook. I'm not gonna, gonna like make a move on you or anything. ‘Nless you want me to.” Zoro winked.

Sanji sat across from the man in absolute awe. Was this actually happening? There was no way he meant anything he was saying right now. It must be because he's drunk and possibly also sexually ambiguous, which would be news to Sanji. Still, even if he was, why of all people would he be hitting on him? Didn't Zoro hate him? He guessed it was because he was the only person in the vicinity and he was drowning in alcohol.

“You look like you just. Uh.. like saw a ghost. Did I say something wrong?” Zoro asked, seeming very genuine but still foxy. Sanji realized that his thoughts were now translating onto his face. He must've really looked terrified if Zoro could decipher it in his current state. He tried to catch his composure but this all felt so abnormal, so wrong. Why would Zoro be saying these things? Was he going to stop? He seemed like he was enjoying it like he's wanted to flirt like this for so long. Could you even count this as flirting? Sanji wanted nothing more than to know if these were Zoro’s genuine feelings or just an idiotic side effect of the drinks. Either way, there was an intense conversation to be had later.

“I mean, not really? I don't know, you're just acting weird.” Sanji hesitantly replied. Zoro’s face turned slightly more somber. “Oh.” That was all he could say. Sanji couldn't help but feel bad for killing Zoro’s good mood. “Okay well, it's fine I guess, it's just...confusing.” Sanji tried to plead his case. He hoped it didn't translate negatively. “Confusing?” Zoro asked with a dramatically questioning look plastered on his face. Just by looking at his eyes, he could tell that they were glazed over with about 10 layers of a drunken haze. He couldn't believe this was a real event that was happening. “Yeah. Well. Y’know, I- you-” He stopped to take a deep breath, it's as if his throat wouldn't let him voice the words he tried to. “You've never acted like this before, at least around me. It almost feels like.. you're… flirting?” Sanji was finally able to spit out. He wanted to close his eyes and brace himself for the worst but instead, he kept looking at the swordsman, desperate to pinpoint his initial reaction before he had time to cover it up. There ended up being no secondary reaction. Zoro’s initial reaction was staring at the cook, wide-eyed. He looked so out of it yet so focused. Like he had paragraphs he wanted to say but his mind was blank. Everything about his body language was stiff. His entire character changed.

“Hey cook, can I tell you something?” Zoro said after a painful few seconds of silence. Sanji’s palms started to sweat. He had no idea what was coming next. He didn't know if he wanted to know. Half of him wanted to say no and live in ignorant bliss for the rest of his life. The other half of him was dying with curiosity, even if this was just the build-up to some dumb joke or insult. He'd never know if he didn't agree. Plus, what if it was something important? What if it was something about why Zoro’s been acting the way he has? What if there was some way he'd be able to actually help him for the first time? He'd feel awful if that were the case and he ended up declining the swordsman's request. He took another puff from his cigarette, pretending to be calm when that's the last thing he was. “Go for it.” Sanji replied. Zoro looked like he was going to be sick, Sanji felt like he was too. “D-Don’t freak out or. or anything okay? ‘Cuz you have the… the tendency to do that.” Every word out of Zoro’s mouth was getting less and less comprehensible. Sanji scoffed and looked to the side. Eye contact with Zoro right now felt like he was looking into a pit of never-ending fire. He was definitely going to get burned. Sanji couldn't bring himself to say anything, even though he wanted to. He made a gesture to the man to continue with his thoughts. He had made it clear that he wouldn't freak out, just not through words.

It was impossible to ignore Zoro’s mannerisms right now. His hands were shaking and his face was beet red. He looked like he was about to take a final for a class he'd never attended. There was some inner battle he was fighting with himself, and Sanji assumed he was about to get insight on what that was.

“Okay. Uh.. Jesus Christ.” Zoro couldn't even put one thought together. He really was struggling. It was painful to watch. “Would you wanna write it out or something?” Sanji suggested, trying to ease Zoro’s debilitating stress. “No! No, it's. It's something I have to say.” He said with urgency.

Sanji’s eyes got wide as Zoro’s had minutes prior. This was a completely new side of Zoro and it felt like he wasn't supposed to see it. He was nothing like his normal laid back and dismissive self. Watching Zoro get so hung up on trying to say one thing was intense. Sanji didn't think he'd ever see Zoro fidget out of stress but apparently, there was a first for everything. What could he possibly be trying to say that would put him through this much turmoil?

“I'm going to- to regret this so much.” Zoro mumbled. He put one of his hands in his grassy hair. He sighed. He looked at the wall, knowing if he looked at Sanji it would end so much worse. Every time he tried to get the words out they'd catch on his tongue. His throat was burning as it did nowadays whenever he talked to Sanji. He wanted to tell him so badly. He wanted to get it off his chest and deal with the consequences as fast as possible. The question was, could he? The desire to continue his normal arguments and stupid nicknames with the cook was stronger than the will he had to admit his feelings. He didn't want anything to change. He guessed they already had. His intoxication didn't help while trying to make this decision. He had already outright flirted with the cook which would've easily put his sober self over the edge. He couldn't control his emotions at all, but the tiny ounce of sobriety he had hidden somewhere in his body was yelling at him to keep his mouth shut.

“Actually, y’know… it's- it's stupid anyways and I don't think you actually care.” Zoro stumbled, sounding downright terrible. Sanji intently took in Zoro's expression for a second. He looked terrified. This was a look Sanji only ever saw on his face when the man or one of their other crewmates was near death. What the fuck was he going to say? He looked heartbroken.

Sanji drew a long breath from his cigarette. “Look, I don't know what's going on and I'm not going to pretend like I do, but you really seem distressed right now.” Sanji said in a calm tone. “No shit, curly.” Zoro retorted with a scoff. Sanji rolled his eyes. “I'm just saying that whatever you want to say probably isn't as bad as you think it is.” Sanji shrugged. He was trying his absolute best to give off a “too cool” demeanor, hoping it'll rub off on Zoro. “You don't. You don't know that.” Zoro replied. What could Sanji possibly say right now to get through to the moss brain? He seemed hopeless. “Exactly. I don't know, but if you tell me maybe I can help, if you'd let me.” Sanji nearly whispered.

Zoro felt his heart skip more than a beat. Sanji’s words rang in his ears. “If you’d let me.” Zoro would do anything for Sanji, he didn't think his body would give him a choice. Maybe he should just get it over with. Maybe he should tell him.

Would he be able to?

“I th-think...uh…” Zoro's sobriety was completely thrown out the window. “Should I find Chopper? I don't.. feel well.” He said, sounding weirdly ashamed. “Of course you don't feel well you bastard. You're piss drunk.” Sanji replied with an obvious tone. “But if I recall, you mentioned wanting me here specifically in case you got sick so..why get Chopper?”

Zoro’s mind was clouded by so many thoughts and emotions he couldn't form a response. He never thought he'd ever get this close to talking about his real feelings, especially not with the man they all revolve around.

Sanji was beginning to lose it but he couldn't let that show. He needed to know what Zoro was going to say. He wouldn't leave until he found out. It was something that needed to be said, even if the other man didn't want to talk about it. The fact that it was proving to be this complicated to put into words while Zoro’s this drunk was very telling. The walls Zoro had put up to guard whatever information this was were incredibly strong. Sanji knew he had to remain calm and coarse Zoro through this as best as he could.

“Hey, moss head, look at me.” Sanji said in a hushed tone. He felt like he was speaking to a child. The fact that he was saying these tranquil words to Zoro of all people was absolutely beyond him. Zoro took one glance at the cook and immediately looked away. Sanji sighed softly and dropped his head a tiny bit. What could he do to make this easier? Suddenly he felt another hand against his own.

Sanji’s initial reaction was to pull away and punch the man in the face. He didn't do this, of course. Instead, he flinched, pulled his hand back a tiny bit out of shock, but resumed its position after a split second of consideration. Sanji remembers the times he'd been worked up like this, and he always remembers that having someone there next to you is the best way to attempt to get through it. Sanji was the only other person in this room so of course if Zoro physically needed someone, he was going to show that through him. Still, it felt very weird to feel Zoro’s skin against his own. He tried not to think about it.

Then Sanji felt Zoro weakly try to put his hand in his. In another wave of shock, Sanji almost pulled back once more and activated a fight response. He just needed to keep telling himself that the swordsman was drunk and didn't mean any of this whatsoever. He needed someone at this moment. There was no one else in the room with them. 1+1=2. It meant nothing more than that and Sanji was going to try his best to help, even if it meant… holding hands with Zoro… even just the thought of that left a confusing taste on Sanji’s tongue.

Zoro was internally freaking out while also being completely numb at the same time. The immense amounts of alcohol he'd consumed had fully taken over by now. The low tingle he felt every time he moved and the burning heat in his chest and throat made that very evident. At the same time, somewhere in his mind, something was telling him to stop what he was doing. Unfortunately for him, as much as that voice tried to scream, the drunken want of physical affection was louder.

Zoro had no desire to make Sanji uncomfortable. Zoro didn't even have the desire to do this thing he was doing in the first place. Well, he did, but only in the deepest corners of his mind. If he were sober right now, he'd have told Sanji to leave him alone and they both would've gone about their days. But the current predicament was a lot different than that.

He had heard the cook tell him to look into his eyes. And he did... for half a second. He couldn't dare to look at him. He had decided that days ago. Sanji didn't understand what was going on but Zoro knew all too well. If he were to make eye contact in a vulnerable moment such as this, he didn't know what he might do. Whatever it would end up being, it wouldn't be good.

He heard the cook’s voice again. That lovely and calm voice. Zoro had never heard Sanji speak with such a delicate tone. He never wanted it to stop. He wanted to live in this bliss forever. He wanted to hear Sanji sing him songs in this tone, he wanted him to wake him up every morning sounding like this, he wanted to get one of the leftover dials from the sky island and keep those syllables forever. Zoro at this moment didn't care how cheesy he was being or how deep he had gotten himself into this hole. He just wanted to keep Sanji talking.

But the dreamlike fog wore off as Zoro realized the actual words Sanji had said.

“Is this..helping? I mean, uh, should I like… I don't know, sorry.” Sanji fumbled. He was never a huge hand holder or super physical guy. Despite his unwavering comments towards women, physical affection had always been sort of a gray area for him. His main goal, however, was helping Zoro through what he was going through right now, so he was able to set aside the discomfort he was trying to hide. Hearing his voice say what he just had though, he figured he wasn't doing a very good job at concealing it. He continued to let Zoro’s hand rest loosely in his, trying to tell himself not to let his own hand get clammy in the process.

Zoro realized how he was making Sanji feel and instantly felt a wave of guilt wash over him. His chest tightened and he knew he should let go of the cook’s hand, but God he didn't want to. He knew it was the right thing to do though. It would be beyond rude of him to not pick up on Sanji’s alarmed mannerisms. Zoro slowly untangled his fingers from the other man’s. He immediately missed the feeling of having a hand entangled with his own, as strained as it had been.

“Fuck. I'm.. I'm sorry, I didn't-” The swordsman's words were taken out of his mouth as he felt Sanji grab his hand back. His eyes shot up in shock and his face was saturated red in a heartbeat. Sanji ever so softly laced his fingers in between Zoro’s and held down with gentleness.

“I know this is… unconventional. Especially for.. us and with all things considered. But I've been where you are. I know how you feel. You need someone and I'm here so.. don't apologize.” Sanji tried to say every word with care. It was terrifying and weird and still made no sense in his mind but if this was the only way he'd be able to get through to Zoro, so be it. He'd rather awkwardly hold hands with him and then wipe his mind of it later than have Zoro continue to be in this slump for the rest of his life.

Zoro’s shocked expression dissipated as he processed Sanji’s words. He couldn't form any correct thoughts it seemed. He was touched by the affection Sanji had shown and was caught off guard by the fact that they were once again interlocking fingers. Something about what he had said rubbed Zoro the wrong way though. The way he inserted himself into his shoes like he knew what this was like. Like Sanji knew what it was like to accidentally fall in love with someone off-limits for an infinite number of reasons. Zoro didn't know everything about Sanji’s past by any stretch of the imagination, but he was pretty confident that the cook hadn't gone through this specific situation. He could feel the heat prick at his ears as he looked away from Sanji finally.

“Y-you don't know what this is like.” Zoro said with disdain. His words were slurred and his tone was a low growl. Sanji had to force himself not to immediately start up a fight with the swordsman. “I know I don't know, but I can get a good idea, moss head. I'm just trying to be here for you.” Sanji said, his words hinting at aggression. “I know. Thanks.” Zoro said, ridding his voice of all emotion. Sanji’s face twisted sourly. “Thanks? That's all you're going to say?” His voice raised a little bit. “Do you see what I'm trying to do? What I've been trying to do?” Sanji was beginning to show that he was getting fed up. “All I want is for you to be back to your normal asshole self. I don't know what you want from me.” Sanji protested.

Zoro felt disgusting. Physically and mentally. The alcohol was not helping his case, if anything it only made him sicker. Balance that with the realization he'd been a burden to Sanji this whole time and behold the worst feeling of Zoro’s life. He wanted nothing more than to run away and never let the cook see his face ever again. Maybe this was the line their relationship (whatever that was) wouldn't cross. Zoro looked up at Sanji. He was horrified.

“I don't know either.” Zoro replied. “I ha-have no clue what you could possibly do to help.” Sanji scoffed at this statement. “Jesus… Okay, so what have I been doing this entire time then?” Sanji spat. Zoro could see that familiar fire start to sizzle in his infinitely blue eyes. He really was upset. Zoro hated where this was going.

“I don't know.” Zoro didn't know how he was supposed to respond to the cook’s inquiries. He didn't know what he could say that would prevent escalating his anger while also not blatantly lying. He'd done enough lying. Enough pretending everything was alright or at least trying to. He wanted to let Sanji help but how would that be possible if Sanji didn't know what was going on?

“You know, I'm trying really hard not to fucking lose it right now. Why are you being like this? I just want to help.” Sanji asked, taking a deep and tired breath. Zoro remained silent. It was the best option for him at that moment. He had no answer to give Sanji.

He could feel Sanji’s piercing gaze beating down on him. He didn't want to look at the man. He didn't want to see the disappointment he had caused. Zoro felt a squeeze in his hand.

“I'm trying not to get upset, I really am, but you're not making it easy for me.” Sanji let out a desperate laugh. Zoro kept a deadpan face and continued to avoid eye contact. “I just…” Sanji collected himself. “I just want to know what it is you were going to tell me.” He confessed. “Then maybe I can start to do some good.”

Maybe, just maybe if Zoro was honest with Sanji he'd get a break. This had all been far too much. Today, the last few days, this moment he was currently living. It had all been too much. Everything was constantly buzzing in his head, what was right vs wrong, what was romantic vs platonic, what consequences all of this would produce, everything. All of it was non-stop crashing in his mind and he was over it. He could feel vibrations in his feet. The walls looked like they were spinning. His heart rate was through the roof and he had just caught a glimpse of Sanji. He looked like he'd gone through hell. Zoro realized he probably had. He'd been doing everything he could to help for days and Zoro’s barely gave him a thank you. Zoro felt beyond sick. He'd hurt Sanji multiple times during this endeavor and had tried to walk away. He couldn't get away from it anymore. He couldn't keep hiding from the things he'd tried to bury. Clearly, they weren't going anywhere. Maybe if he was honest there would be some silver lining. Maybe if he was honest he could stop the banging in his head. Maybe if he was honest he could take away the pain he had caused Sanji. Maybe he'd end up making it worse.

There was only one way to find out.

“You-You're sure you wanna know, cook?” Zoro said, barely comprehensible. He sounded fragile and small. It was unlike any way he'd ever sounded before. He was genuinely scared.

Sanji felt his fingers accidentally loosen on Zoro’s grip as he couldn't help but jump back a bit in awe. Was he finally getting somewhere? Was Zoro finally going to try to open up? Sanji felt like he could run a marathon with all the adrenaline that hit him at that moment. “Yes, Jesus, of course I do.” The words fell out of his mouth, praying to any god in existence that Zoro wouldn't go back in his shell.

Zoro was shaking ever so slightly. This was the most out of his comfort zone thing he'd ever done. He usually enjoyed pushing himself to build up stamina in all aspects of his life but this was a very different scenario. He tried to sound out what he was going to say in his mind. Everything became a mixture of random words and he couldn't stick to one train of thought. He opened his mouth only to promptly shut it again. He'd never been so timid about anything, he didn't like it. He didn't like feeling like prey. If an enemy were to attack right now, he'd be useless in the battle, and that drove him insane. He needed to just get it over with. He needed all of this bullshit to be over. If Sanji ended up hating him he could at least put that energy into training. He tried to convince himself he was sober. He wanted to be as composed as possible if he was going to ruin his own life.

“Okay...uh. Fuck. Sorry.” Zoro was off to a terrible start. Why were confessions so hard? He let go of Sanji’s hand. He thought that if he told Sanji he loved him while they were holding hands it might be too much for both of them. He leaned back. He finally got the courage to look at the other man. For once, he let himself get lost in his eyes. The mix of blues and lavenders seemed to swirl together as the cook looked back in anticipation. His eyes looked just like the sea, maybe prettier. Zoro felt a pang in his heart. Some of the nervousness washed away as a deep blush dusted his cheeks. Maybe he'd actually be able to get this off his chest. Taking in Sanji’s features as focused as he did made him lose all sense of reality. Nothing mattered to him but the man in front of him. He needed Sanji to know that.

Zoro tried not to think about the consequences this may have as he took a deep breath in. When he looked at Sanji he could tell he was on the edge of his seat. Zoro was surprised that he hadn't been shaken to the brink of death by Sanji and his intrusiveness. He supposed he had been mentally, though. He watched as Sanji tried to conceal his eagerness with a calm facade. Zoro saw through it of course, but he appreciated the sentiment. He couldn't blame him anyway. If Zoro were in Sanji’s shoes, he would've lost all patience a long time ago.

Zoro snapped out of his thoughts as he realized what he had committed to do. He tried to coach himself in his mind but that damn fancy vodka had made it nearly impossible. He was going to have to wing it and hope for the best. He couldn't believe he was actually about to do this.

It wasn't called liquid courage for nothing.

“L-Like I said, don't freak out… okay?” Zoro practically pleaded. “I won't, moss head. I'm telling you, I just want to help.” Sanji replied, looking more hopeful than he had all day. Zoro begged the universe not to let his confession be the cause of that hope being crushed. “Okay…” Zoro continued, extremely tentatively. He thought he'd start with a secret that would hopefully be easy to swallow, and then get into the real reason he was in so much agony. That's about as far ahead as Zoro had planned.

“So.. y’know how you're obsessed w-with women?” Zoro stammered. He hated saying that. It sucked having to remind himself that there was no way in hell the cook would ever like him back. Not like it had ever been a possibility, but Zoro was bitter about it nonetheless. Sanji raised an eyebrow. “Yes…?” He questioned as he resisted rolling his eyes. Zoro exhaled. “Well, I guess.. uh.. I guess you could say that I’m not.” Zoro spat out as fast as he could. Sanji looked taken aback but not necessarily in a bad way. When Zoro read his face he didn't see any sort of disgust or judgment, which was a good sign. He did look slightly more nervous than before though. Zoro prayed even harder that he hadn't caught on yet.

“Are you coming out to me, idiot?” Sanji replied, sounding as chill as ever. Zoro was in awe. Did he really not care at all? More pressingly, was it that obvious? “Well when you put it like that..” Zoro didn't know what he wanted to say or how to. Luckily, Sanji was there to answer a question he hadn't even asked. “I don't see why that's something you should be worried about. You think anyone on the crew is going to care?” Sanji said, almost looking like he was trying to hold back laughter. “Is it th-that easy to tell?” Zoro said, looking at the floor and crossing his arms. To Sanji, he looked like an angry little kid, and he couldn't lie to himself and say it wasn't a little amusing. He shrugged in response. “Not necessarily. I mean, we all kind of knew something was up. You've never once shown interest in… well, anyone. It's not that hard to put the pieces together.” He paused, examining Zoro’s stressed facial expression. “But if you're asking if we've all conspired behind your back and decided you're gay, no, we haven't.” He said, taking a draw from his cigarette.

Zoro hearing those words leave the cook’s mouth was like a dream. Maybe a nightmare. Whatever it was, it didn't feel real. There was so much information to take in now and his drunken mind couldn't process it. Apparently, everyone on the crew knew that he wasn't straight- wonderful. That's exactly what he needed. He huffed as he continued to go over what Sanji had said in his mind. He unfolded his arms when he realized Sanji had said he never showed interest in anyone. That was a good sign. He hadn't yet deduced the real secret Zoro needed to say. That was the next thing that hit him. The actual secret. He'd gotten so caught up in Sanji’s tranquil response that he'd forgotten about what he really needed to tell the man. This was going to be a lot harder. He tried to think of how to even begin to word this as Sanji burst his thought bubble.

“Is that all? All of this just because you don't like women? I mean I'm not trying to invalidate your feelings, I'm just saying-” Sanji was about to reassure the swordsman more when he began to speak over him. “No, it's not-” Zoro sighed. This was it. This was him committing. “It's not just that.” Sanji’s face turned from calm to concerned in a split second. Something about his expression showed that he might've seen this coming. He put his elbows on the table and put his cheeks in the palms of his hands. “Do go on.” Sanji said nonchalantly. Zoro heard this response and wished that what he was about to say was as carefree as Sanji was anticipating.

Zoro knew he had to rip it off like a bandaid. All he had to do was pretend it was one of Chopper’s bandages. He never fought as well when he was all wrapped up like a mummy. This was basically the same thing, right?

“I think there's somebody that I like. A lot.” Zoro spoke as fast as he could while still being able to annunciate. He kept his gaze strictly on the table. He didn't want to see Sanji’s face. He watched as Sanji’s hands fell away from his face and smacked down on the tabletop. He winced at the loud bang that came from it. “Well that's great!” Sanji’s hands moved into the air. “I guess chia pets can find love after all. So who is he?” He said with that same gleam of anticipation from earlier. Zoro didn't respond. Sanji noticed. “Come on you bastard, if anyone knows about love, it's me. I won't make fun of you I swear.” He tried to reason with Zoro.

Zoro looked down at the bottle of vodka still in front of him. He hadn't taken a sip in a while. This might be a good time. It could also be possibly the worst time. He glanced up at Sanji who had taken notice of his unending stare at the bottle. Sanji still had the same “For the love of god just spit it out” face but with a hint of “If you take one more sip of that I'm going to kick you all the way across the Grand Line”. Zoro looked back down and pushed the glass bottle to the end of the table.

“Fucking Christ, okay well,” Zoro began. He rubbed his eyes with two fingers and kept them there. “It's uh.. someone on the ship.” He ripped off like a bandage, just like he said he would. Sanji’s face practically lit up. Obviously, he was all for some Straw Hat drama. Little did he know. He put his hands on the edge of the table and leaned back. “Well shit! That's news!” He said in a cheery tone. “Now you have to tell me.” He shot Zoro with a smug look. Zoro didn't see it, but he felt it.

“Haven't I said enough?” Zoro said with a tone drenched in anguish. He folded his arms again and looked towards the kitchen sink.

“You've said a lot, I'll give you that. I know that took a lot out of you, shitty swordsman.” Sanji said with a lighthearted twang. Zoro picked up on the genuine proudness weaved in the sarcastic words and he blushed ever so slightly. He snapped out of it as Sanji pointed a finger at him and continued. “But you’re downright cruel if you'd really leave me hanging after dropping that on me.”

Zoro groaned and tilted his head back. His head hurt, he was still nauseous, his heart was racing and he was starting to sweat. Everything about this entire day had been a whirlwind. He just wanted to sleep. He smiled as he thought about getting in bed next to the cook. He'd put his arm around him and the smaller man would lay his head on his chest. Zoro had daydreamed about this scenario so many times it almost felt real. He continued to imagine being under a huge blanket as he was ripped from his ideal world. And by the same man he was thinking about, no less. Sanji was snapping his fingers in Zoro’s face, trying to get his attention. It definitely worked.

“Hey, asshole! Wake up! I know you're still drunk but you owe me a name!” Sanji said as he pulled his arm back in. Zoro tried not to get flustered. It was clear that Sanji was no longer upset. It felt like the tension had been sucked out of the air. He wasn't mad, he wasn't grossed out, he didn't even seem shocked. He was messing around with Zoro just as he used to and things finally felt normal again for once. Zoro felt good. Sanji’s reactions had been so tame compared to what he had imagined. He'd barely reacted at all, and the reactions that he did give all seemed… nice. Zoro felt the familiar butterfly sensation he always got around Sanji. He felt like he could breathe for the first time in so long. He took a deep inhale in and exhaled just as hard. He had jitters, but the good kind of jitters. He felt like he could tell Sanji anything. He felt like he could do anything.

“Guess.” Zoro said, a tiny smile creeping on his face. Sanji tilted his head forward. “Guess?” He asked back. “If you wanna know so bad-” Zoro paused to swallow his spit, the alcohol had dried out his mouth so much. “-guess.” He stated. “Don't make me do that.” Sanji said, almost embarrassed.

What if he guessed wrong and made a fool out of himself? He was the expert of love after all. He had no clues as to who it could be, Zoro acted the same around nearly everyone. Everyone except…. well it didn't matter because there's no way that could ever happen. Sanji thought back to just a little while ago when Zoro had acted “friendly” towards him. “I'm not gonna make a move on you or anything. ‘Nless you want me to.” Zoro’s voice echoed softly in the back of his mind. He drove the thoughts away. There was no possible way that was the case, it was stupid of him to even consider.

Now that he settled that within his mind, he had to take a shot in the dark and try to figure out who this idiot admired. He started with the obvious answer.

“Okay fine, I'll play your game.” Sanji said smugly. Zoro felt his stomach flip as Sanji said those words while making direct eye contact. “Is it Luffy?” Sanji guessed eagerly. Zoro chuckled. “No, it's not Luffy. I don't think I could handle that much chaos.” He said honestly. Sanji nodded in agreement, he had a great point. Sanji pondered again. “Umm… Usopp?” Sanji asked, skeptically. “Nah, I definitely- definitely don't see him like that.” Zoro countered. Sanji expected that but it still left him confused.

Sanji’s mouth got dry. No one else on the ship was a viable fit for Zoro. Sanji’s palms started to sweat. There was no way, right? No way that what he was thinking could actually be right?

Sanji laughed nervously. “I'm outta guesses, honestly. Just tell me.” He said quickly. “You can't think of anyone else?” Zoro asked, raising an eyebrow. The way Zoro phrased the question stressed Sanji out, he didn't like how drawn out and suggestive it was. “Nope, no one.” He replied. “You only guessed twice, there's-- not many other people on the ship, maybe give it one more shot.” As confident as Zoro felt after Sanji had only replied with good responses to everything he said, he still didn't want to admit to the man that he was fond of him like that. The chef’s change in expression hadn't helped either, after he had guessed Usopp he seemed to have turned a little paler. Zoro could feel the nervousness creeping back but he tried to shove it down.

Sanji wasn't stupid. Of all people, he'd be the one to recognize hints when they're dropped. Still, he had an incredibly difficult time believing what Zoro was implying. He didn't know if he'd be flattered or terrified if his suspicion turned out to be true.

He supposed he didn't have a choice. If he wanted an answer, he was going to have to get it out of Zoro. He'd been backed into a wall and left with no choice, clearly, Zoro wasn't going to crack. He resumed his calm outlook, telling himself he was getting worked up over nothing.

Sanji let out a laugh before he said anything. He inhaled through the cigarette still between his teeth and exhaled that all too familiar smoke. “Well at this point I'm completely in the dark. I'd bet my life on the fact that it's not anyone I didn't guess.” He said, not knowing how to blatantly ask the type of question he was dying to. Zoro turned his head to the side, staring at the kitchen floor. “Well I guess you'd have to take your own life then.” Zoro retorted, quieter than his normal voice. Sanji opened his mouth to say something but closed it when he realized Zoro had opened his mouth again too.

“I wouldn't let you do that though, cook. You know why?”

Sanji felt his heart drop into his stomach. He wiped his hands on his pants and tried to pinch himself back to reality. There was no possible way that this was happening. He attempted to steady his breath, but it didn't work. He had to focus on not letting the cigarette drop out of his mouth.

“Why?” Sanji was able to choke out. He knew what was about to come out of Zoro’s mouth but he couldn't admit it. He couldn't say it was real until he heard it.

“Like a bandage.” Zoro said in his head. He reminded himself to thank that special vodka later for giving him the courage to do something as insane as this. He looked the man in front of him dead in the eyes.

“Because it's you, Sanji.”

#zosan #one piece #one piece fic #one piece zosan #zoro x sanji #vinsmoke sanji #fanfic #black leg sanji #roronoa zoro #sanji #sanji x zoro #sanzo #slow burn #confession #twirlyeyebrows

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stevie-wicks · 3 years ago

Text

the hitchhiker

holy fuck so i forgot to post this,,, oops

wrote this for the lovely @drinkingbeerfroma and posted it on ao3, and i usually post my shorter oneshots here but i... forgot

trigger warnings: murder

ao3 link

The Beamer’s a beauty. 1983, mint condition, mahogany paint job gleaming in the midmorning sun.

Billy’s jaw hits the ground when it comes to a stop in front of him.

“Well?” says the guy at the wheel. He’s got a pair of hilariously large wayfarers balanced on that pointy nose of his, hair all puffed up like a movie star’s. “You comin’ or not?”

Ain’t no use looking a gift horse in the mouth, that’s what his momma used to say. Way before Neil bashed her head into the wall.

The apple don’t fall far from the tree. She used to say that, too.

“I have-” Billy scratches the back of his neck. Looks down at the trash bag at his feet. “I have a lotta baggage.”

The guy clicks his tongue. A little annoyed, a whole lot pretty. Billy can see him doing the same to some pretty blonde cheerleader when she’s playing hard to get. Can hear the, “Well, I guess I’ll just have to ask someone else.”

Instead, he says, “Put it in the back.”

There’s a pair of suitcases in the back, both of them big enough to fit Billy and all his meagre possessions, and then some. Billy heaves the bag into the trunk, checking and double-checking that the mouth is tied shut.

Pretty boy’s got a cigarette dangling from his lips when Billy finally slides into the passenger seat. He spends a beat too long staring at the curve of his pretty pink mouth when he blows out the smoke.

“You want?”

Billy startles, then looks down at the pack of Camels he’s being extended. “Yeah, sure. Fuck, why not?”

His hands still shake a bit when he flicks the lighter on. The dancing flame illuminates the red he hadn’t managed to get out of his nails. Or maybe it’s just his eyes playing tricks on him.

The first hit of nicotine is always the sweetest. Billy takes a long, slow drag, tipping his head back. “Shit,” he breathes. “Thanks, man.”

“Don’t mention it.” One hand on the steering wheel, the other hanging out the window. Something out of a picture.

Some Top 40 song filters through the speakers. Billy’d kill for some Metallica, but he’s already getting a ride and a smoke. He doesn’t want to push it too far.

He settles for, “So, what’s your name, pretty boy?”

“Steve.”

“Just Steve?”

Billy blinks at his own reflection on the sunglasses. “Were you expecting something more?”

The reflection grins back at him. “I dunno, man. Somethin’ like-” He breathes in a lungful of smoke. “Shit. Antonio, or- or fuckin’ Leonardo.”

Steve turns to the road again. “What’s yours, then? Rob Lowe?”

It’s not the jab he thinks it is. Rob Lowe’s prime jerk-off material. “Folks call me Billy.”

“That so?”

“Uh huh.” Another lungful, almost as sweet as the first. “You, though? You can call me anything you like.”

For a long moment, all he gets is silence in return. Maybe he’s gone too far. He can still feel the phantom ache of fists on his face, on his chest, on his ribs.

And then, softly, over the hum of Foreigner, he hears, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

…

Billy’s first meal as a free man is a plate of soggy bacon and congealed eggs. It’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

Steve, though. He picks at his hash browns like they’re rat poison.

“’S the matter?” Billy asks around a mouthful. “Rich boy like you ain’t used to us poor folks’ food?”

Steve’s big eyes grow bigger. “W-what? I’m not…” He swallows. “I’m not hungry.”

“You want some of mine?” Please say no.

Steve’s knuckles go white against the edge of the table. “I don’t eat meat.”

Hallelujah. “Vegetarian?”

“Something like that.” He stands, abrupt. “I gotta go to the bathroom.”

“You gonna finish this?” Billy asks hopefully.

Steve’s already halfway across the diner. “Knock yourself out.”

Billy scarfs down the food, on account of the off chance Steve changes his mind. It isn’t as bad as he’d made them look. Susan’s cooking is- was- worse.

Billy wonders if she’d made Max her famous burnt pancakes for breakfast. Wonders if he’s still allowed to think of them. Wonders if they think of him.

Wonders if they got the blood out of the tile.

“Breaking news,” blares the TV mounted on the wall, and Billy’s blood runs cold.

A young reporter stands next to a photo of a teenage couple- the girl in a red, checkered dress, hair in a messy updo; the boy in a suit about two sizes too big and two decades too old.

Billy’s heartbeat is a war drum, so loud he only catches a few words of the report. Hawkins is one; Nancy and Jonathan another. His heartbeat reaches a fever pitch at homicide.

The next segment is about an upcoming local election. Billy lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

“You done?”

Billy starts so bad he drops his fork. It clatters against porcelain with a sharp clang that makes the hairs on the back of Billy’s neck stand up. “Fuck, man. Warn a guy, will you?”

“Sorry.” Steve doesn’t even try to make it sound sincere. “If you’re done, we can leave.”

Billy offers to pay, but Steve waves it off. He leaves enough money to cover both their tabs twice over.

As he slides the dollar bills across the table, Billy’s eyes catch on the red crusting Steve’s otherwise well-kept nails.

Huh.

. . .

Billy wakes up with a scream dying in his throat. He’d dreamed of blood and fists and Neil’s voice, over and over again, faggot faggot faggot-

He’s alone. It’s dark, and he’s alone, in the passenger seat of Steve’s swanky car.

Something thumps outside.

The key’s still in the ignition. Stupid, trusting, gorgeous Steve. Billy could be in California tomorrow.

He gets out of the car.

There’s nothing for miles- a stretch of forest on one side of the road, a lake on the other.

The trunk is popped open, and Billy can’t get there fast enough.

His bag’s still there, mouth sealed shut, just like he’d left it. He sucks in a deep breath, pressing a hand to his chest as he tries to regulate his breathing.

One of Steve’s suitcases is missing.

“Billy.”

Steve’s something else in the moonlight. Eldritch, his mom would say. All long, gangly limbs and wild hair. Eyes black holes in the dark.

His jeans are drenched to his knees.

“Help me with the other one,” he says.

Steve is stronger than he looks. He hoists one half of the suitcase, and Billy the other. When he wades out into the lake, Billy follows. To his ankles, to his calves, to his knees. He’d go further if that’s what Steve wants.

“Here,” says Steve, and Billy lets go.

It barely makes a splash.

Knees, calves, ankles. Steve shakes out the water from his shoes. Billy doesn’t bother.

“Give me a minute.” He crosses the distance to the car. Grabs the trash bag. “I need to get rid of this.”

Steve watches him go. Ankles, calves, knees. Thighs, waist.

Billy lets go.

“Where are we headed?” he asks Steve, once he’s back to shore.

Steve shrugs. “Away.”

Billy nods. Smiles. Slides into the passenger seat.

He doesn’t think of Steve’s suitcase, or the partly closed zipper, or the pale finger he’d seen poking through.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #fic #murder boyfriends

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oiikawabii · 4 years ago

Text

best of friends

oikawa x fem reader x matsukawa, implied iwaizumi x reader

short thing based on this episode of grand army on netflix that was written while i was on a caffeine high after work, so good luck my reading my guy. i really just wanted to get this out before halloween since it’s been a while since i posted and i wanted to get my writing motivation up

Friends fuck each other all the time. The circumstances only suck when one of them is pining and jealous, and the other two don’t actually care about your well being.

tw and cw: ns//fw, noncon, rape, cannabis, public sex

“So you’re just gonna ignore me all night?” You ask, coming up to Iwaizumi’s side.

He glances at you, but quickly averts his gaze. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about-”

“I thought we had a thing going and now you’re all over my friends all of a sudden?” He interrupts. All night he had to watch you be all cuddly with Oikawa, sitting on his lap and giving him puppy dog eyes, but you made it seem like he was the problem. “I mean, like the least you can do is turn me down.”

A scoff mixed with laughter leaves your mouth. “First of all, you mean our friends. I mean, I’ve been part of this group long enough to be considered their friends right? Second, I just want things to stay normal between us; if they change we all fall out with each other.”

“That’s dumb.”

Your arms swing over his neck and you giggle, “You’re dumb.”

He kisses you. Just a peck, a quick one at that, but he was tempted to do more. Though he wasn’t the one who had to initiate when you start sucking faces with him. Iwaizumi wants to go on, he really does, but he’s so done with your shit.

“I’m not doing this with you tonight.” He says, backing away.

“Iwa,” You whine, reaching out for him but he dodges your hand.

“I’m actually serious this time.”

“Fine, whatever.” You back off and then announce to the others, “I’m gonna go to the restroom. You douches better not leave me here.”

Watching you walk off, Oikawa comes up and pats Iwaizumi on the back. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Fuck off,”

“You gotta chill-”

“Don’t even fucking touch me! It’s not even like that.” He leans away from the touch on his back.

Oikawa snorts. “Yeah, but you were hoping it was gonna be something. You’re so obvious, it’s barely even funny.”

He rolls his eyes. “You love it when she gives you attention. You know, her and I, we’ve actually been-”

“What? Sucking faces?” Oikawa teases. “I mean, I can’t believe you’re hung up on her and still haven’t gotten it in yet. You know how easy she is?”

Iwaizumi knew it was true, though he didn’t like the way it was implied. “Don’t say that about her.”

“She gives it up so easily,” Oikawa laughs. “I got with her! Hell, even Mattsun was able to get with her. If you haven’t been with her yet then maybe, just maybe, it’s because you’re a pussy.”

Iwaizumi's eyes glare at Oikawa and his comment. “No, I’m just not an asshole like you guys.”

“Acting so high and mighty all of a sudden that you’re hung up on one bitch,” Matsukawa comes over and jokes. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

You come back out, walking towards them with a pep in your step. “Alright idiots, let’s get going!” You beam, throwing an arm over Oikawa. “Got your hash pen?”

Oikawa pulls it out of his pocket and hands it to you. “Don’t steal it.” He scolds, watching you take a hit.

“Too late, this is mine for the night.” You take another hit, blowing it into his face and suppressing a giggle, skipping away from him.

“Fucking idiot.” He laughs, chasing you down the sidewalk. When he catches up to you his arms wrap around your body, lifting you up as your feet kick helplessly.

You squeal, holding on tight to him. “Don’t drop me! Don't drop me!” He hoists you up and down, pretending to lose his grip and almost giving you a death scare.

“Hurry up before we miss the taxi!” Matsukawa calls, running towards the nearest stop with a car about to leave in just a few minutes.

The group runs toward it, pushing past the busy people on the sidewalk without even a 'sorry' or an 'excuse me'.

“One of you guys should sit in the front.” You comment.

“No, let’s all squish in here.” Oikawa whines, already taking a seat next to Iwaizumi, who was the first inside. He pulls you in after him, tickling your sides and saying some stupid joke about you being all his. He looks over to Iwaizumi, hand resting on your outer thigh, only earning an annoyed sigh in response. The space between everyone grows smaller as Matsukawa gets in last and slams the door shut.

Matsukawa gives the driver instructions before closing the little window that separates the front and the back.

You lean your body over Oikawa to get a clear look at Iwaizumi. “Hey, can we talk or something?” Your response is him shaking his head. “Come on, don’t be that way.” You try to get comfortable and sit next to him, but Matsukawa pulls you back.

“Get over here, princess. If he doesn’t want you then you got us!”

“You fuckers!” You laugh. “I can’t do shit around you guys.”

Another hit. You cheer, throwing your head back as the smoke leaves your mouth.

“Oh my god, are you about to give Matsukawa a show?” Oikawa jokes.

Just to egg you on further, Matsukawa’s hands rest on your hips to help you from swaying with the car. “No,” You drag. “I would never.”

“Come on, show us some moves.”

“How about you show me yours first?” You jab back, poking at his sides. His body jolts, loudly laughing. “Iwa, where are your moves?” You giggle, tracing a finger down his arm.

“Makki’s already starting to let everyone in for the party, said they were just chilling outside.” Iwaizumi comments.

Matsukawa shrugs. “We’re gonna be late. Fucking traffic!”

You poke at his face, grabbing onto his arm to steady yourself. “Think we should bail? Most of the good stuff might be gone by the time we get there.” He says.

“Dude, no, I’m not bailing on this party tonight.” Oikawa retorts. “Tell him he better save some for us.”

“So you’re just not gonna talk to me now?” You pout.

He stops your hand from swinging in his face. “I’m not not talking to you.”

At this point, you’re slurring. Sometimes you forget how easy it is to get high off of hash, especially as a lightweight. “But you’re not having fun with me anymore, and-”

“Okay, sorry! What, you wanna get on top of me too? Give me a lap dance or something, yeah?” He snaps. “You need any more attention? It’s no problem, let’s go.”

It takes a second for you to register what he said. And when you do, your brows furrow, slapping his chest. “Don’t fucking say shit like that.”

“Chill.” Mattsun snorts, grabbing your hands before you could do more damage.

Oikawa leans over and whispers into his ear. “I promise you, keep acting this way and she definitely won’t be fucking you anytime soon.”

Matsukawa tries to calm you down, running his hand against your cheek, though you can’t easily ignore what Iwaizumi said to you. “You’re so hypocritical, you know? You know how many girls I’ve seen you fuck around with? I mean, let’s just take it back to the girl you fingered in the dirty ramen shop bathroom! And I didn’t say shit, did I? I don’t need you fucking judging me, okay?”

“I’m not judging you babygirl!” Oikawa snickers.

“I get to do whatever I want with you and whoever the fuck I want to do it with! Fuck you, Iwa-chan!” You slur. You take another hit. “I’m just saying, you guys get to do whatever you want; well, so can I.”

His head shakes. “I’m not saying you can’t.”

“But… you are.”

“I’m just saying I don’t need a fucking blunt.”

You lean back surprised by his comment. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he meant by that. “Scoot over a little.” You tell Oikawa, swinging your legs over Mattsun’s lap and pressing his face between both your hands. You laugh a little, hips grinding into his before pressing your lips onto his.

There’s a loud chuckle from Oikawa as he drums on your back. “Oh shit! Holy fuck!” He takes out his phone and instantly starts recording. The flash shines on and off of you as he tries to capture the moment.

Iwaizumi sits off on his side, staring down at his phone to ignore the three of you.

“I get to do that! I need to be able to do that!” You proclaim to him. “And you can’t make me feel fucking guilty about it!”

Matsukawa’s hand gently grabs your cheek to pull you back into him and a disgustingly wet kiss. His hands roam up and down your body, squeezing your thighs and making sure to guide your body to what he liked.

“Yo, you’re like hogging her.” Oikawa nags, putting his phone away and pulling at your wrist. “Come on, can’t just leave me out of this babe.”

“Back off ‘Kawa.” Matsukawa mumbles.

You pull away from him, hands resting on his chest. “Hey, don’t be mean. It’s not that hard to share is it?” You slide between the two of them, lips immediately latching onto Oikawa.

He pulls at your coat, pulling it down your arms to expose more of your body. “Jesus, I forgot to tell you how much I love this dress on you.” He breaths.

At this point, there are two pairs of hands on you; Oikawa’s and Mastukawa’s. Mattsun’s are on your hips, teasing you with soft caresses, keeping your body planted against his chest, feeling every exposed area he could get to as he sucks up and down your neck. Oikawa’s hands are squishing your cheeks, making sure to keep you in the kiss for as long as he wants. His fingers tangle in your hair, hardly giving you any escape. You’re on his terms and you don’t get to stop until he does. It’s not long until you feel the need for an actual breath, though he’s still at it--jesus how was his breath control so good?

You hum against his lips to give him a hint. It seems he doesn’t notice, instead thinking you’re just enjoying the pleasure. It’s not until you pinch his waist that he jerks up, panting with red lips. You wipe yours, looking at Iwaizumi to see what he’s up to.

Back to looking at that damn phone.

You lean over Oikawa, a hand resting on Iwaizumi’s leg to see if he would pay attention to you. “Iwa-chan… I think you’re missing out.’ You pout. He rolls his eyes, brushing your hand off.

“Screw him, just means more for me.” Oikawa chimes, pulling you back onto him.

“Look who’s hogging now,” Matsukawa’s hand grips your inner thigh, pulling it towards him. You hiss at the feeling, at how rough he was being all of a sudden. Oikawa’s hand grips your other thigh just as harsh, successfully spreading your legs wide open for the two of them.

Your head swings back onto the seat. “Fuck, that hurt.” Your body wriggles against theirs, trying to close your legs. “G-guys… just wait, just wait,” You huff, soft hands pushing at them.

Your pleas go ignored as both of them are on either side of your neck, trailing down feverish kisses. Matsukawa’s hand is the first to trail up your leg, resting between your thighs. His fingers slide up your slit and press down onto your clit, making a choked groan seep through your mouth.

“I know just how you like it.” He whispers in your ear.

“Mattsun- you guys-”

They giggle and chuckle like schoolboys as you try to fight them off, only using more force and putting more pressure down onto your body. Oikawa’s hand is the next to skitter up your thigh.

There’s no prep, no warning, no comfort as two--maybe even three, you were too hazy to tell--of his finger thrust into your cunt all the way down to the knuckle. Even the kicks of your legs couldn’t keep them off.

“Iwa- Iwaizumi!” You stagger. You could barely get a good look at him through your blurred eyes, but you know he isn’t paying any mind to the three of you at all, off in his own little world.

“You’re so wet.” Oikawa coos, pumping his fingers in and out of you. He’s fast, skilled with his fingers and in any normal situation it would’ve felt good, but it hurt, and it hurt badly. Every time his fingers curl, your body jolts up and he laughs thinking that you’re getting off when really you’re trying to hold back the pain.

Matsukawa isn’t doing anything better for you. His fingers are tracing sloppy circles over your clit, missing and slipping every so often. It doesn’t even feel like he knows what he’s doing when he’s using more than a light pressure in an attempt to get you off.

Your eyes try to open again to look for help, to look for Iwaizumi. Through hooded eyes, you make contact with him. Your mouth is agape and, god, you’re probably drooling as you look at him. You can’t even get out normal words, just a garbled mess of moans. His eyes fall from your face to your legs that are twisting in pleasure, no, pain? He gives you a disappointed look, turning away from the sight.

“Do you hear the noises her pussy is making, Mattsun?” Oikawa squeals. “She’s so tight, so fucking tight.”

Their fingers trade places and you don’t know if it’s better or worse. Oikawa is more gentle when rubbing your clit, more considerate. Mattsun pumps into you at a steady pace, testing to see what could make you squirm under him. When you do react, hips jutting forward into nothing, he chuckles and says, “Fuck, I wish I could put my cock in you right now.” At this point, it doesn’t matter what happens to you. Everything is starting to hurt, but it also feels good. You’re conflicted and you just know that you want it over with.

“Gonna- gon-” You choke.

“Aw, she’s gonna cum.” Oikawa mocks. Matsukawa snickers after him.

That’s all you heard all night; Oikawa, Matsukawa, and their stupid laughing fit. You just needed them to shut up, to keep quiet.

Your chest rises and falls rapidly, biting down on your lip hard enough to bleed just to hold onto some dignity and not sound like a prostitute in the back of a moving taxi. One last thrust of Mattsun’s fingers help you come undone for the two of them.

And what lucky timing it was. The taxi comes to a stop as it pulls up to the house with loud music blaring through the walls.

“I’m sick of your guy’s shit.” Iwaizumi mumbles as he opens the door.

The other two follow suit in getting out of the car, greeting other peers, and mingling around. Though you’re still processing everything. Your head falls between your knees, wiping the streaks of tears away and putting on a happy face before hopping out to join everyone.

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #oikawa x reader #matsukawa x reader #iwaizumi x reader #tw noncon #tw drugs #tw cannabis #tw public sex #hq

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ticklishfiend · 4 years ago

Text

Spoiled Afternoon

The Disastrous Life of Saiki K - Saiki, Kaidou, Kuboyasu

a/n: alrighty here’s my saiki k fic i promised LMAO it’s not great as i wrote it kinda quickly but maybe it’ll hold me off until i get bored and maybe make another hehe. anyways!! hope you enjoy! :)

. . .

School days like today felt like absolute bliss to Saiki. It was possibly the most boring day imaginable when it comes to PK High, and he was on top of the world. At this point, the only thing that made him feel even more excited was the prospect of being able to go home alone and have an even more boring afternoon. It was a heavenly thought, really.

“Nendo, you’re not even gonna ask to go get ramen?” Kaidou asked the taller boy next to him as they all strolled home together. “I mean, you ask that like every day, is something wrong?”

“Did I not tell you two? I finally got another job!” Nendo exclaimed, smiling brightly at the boys, Kaidou being beside him and Saiki right behind. “I’m actually headed there right now, guess it just slipped my mind to let my best buds know hehe.”

Yeah, that’s not gonna last very long, Saiki thought. I won’t be surprised if he gets fired before he even arrives.

“That’s great man! Where are you working?” Kaidou asked, before Nendo stopped walking and pointed down a road they don’t usually walk.

“Just some rinky-dink stop-n-go shop down that way. I could show you guys the place if you want!” Nendo smiled widely, his hand gesturing towards a shop down the road that looked...less than friendly. Thugs were gathered outside the door, a fog gathering around the entrance that upon further inspection seems to actually be cigarette smoke.

Kaidou’s face turned sour, his brows furrowing awkwardly as his eyes never left the scary store’s front. “Uhm...I’d love to Nendo, really, but I...I have to study! Yeah, so much homework tonight it’s kinda overwhelming!” Kaidou laughed nervously, a hand scratching the back of his head.

Kaidou, we all have the same classes, surely you don’t think Nendo won’t realize-

“Oh, I understand buddy! Well, you’re free to stop by anytime! My hours are from 3 to 8!” Nendo waved as he started making his way down the road opposite to the other boys. “Bye buddies!”

Oh right. How could I forget Nendo’s raging idiocy?

“Jeez, that was a close one,” Kaidou spoke as the two boys began making their way as far from that road as possible. “I hope Nendo will be okay over there, it seems really rough.”

Nendo’s a pretty big guy, he can fight his own battles if he needs to. Honestly, his surprising athleticism might be the only thing that could help him keep that job, Saiki thought. Thanks to Nendo, I don’t even have to worry about getting food with these morons, I can just go straight home with no distractions or obstacles in my w-

“Oh hey, Kuboyasu!” Kaidou shouted happily, waving his hands toward the purple-haired teen in front of them. What a pain, just another thing to slow me down from my goal. “What are you doing in this alley, I thought your house was down the other way?”

“I was actually looking for you guys. Speaking of which, where’s Nendo?” Kuboyasu asked, looking around the other two boys as if Nendo’s huge frame could be hiding behind them somewhere.

“He got himself a job down that creepy road over there, some scary-looking shop surrounded by a bunch of thugs,” Kaidou shivered just thinking about it. Kuboyasu’s eyes widened like he knew the exact place he was talking about. Saiki read his thoughts only to find out he witnessed some crazy shit there once during his bad-boy phase. Yikes. “Anyways, why were you looking for us?”

Kuboyasu was suddenly transported out of his thoughts and back into the real world. “O-Oh, right!” He reached into his backpack and pulled out a game cartridge. “I bought this game a while back and I heard it’s much more fun if you play multiplayer. It only goes up to three people, but now that Nendo’s at work all three of us could totally play together!”

Great. Why today of all days did Nendo have to start a new job?

Kuboyasu handed the game over to Kaidou for him to look at, the blue-haired boy’s eyes going wide with excitement. “Wait, I’ve heard of this game! Oh my god, we have to play this, it was one of the top rated games last year!”

I’ve heard of this one too. It’s some fighting style game much akin to Mortal Kombat. Why would Kuboyasu even buy this kind of game if he didn’t have anyone to play with? Everyone knows fighting computers is never as fun. Still, I’m not going. I’d much rather sleep the afternoon away.

“My mom doesn’t really let me play many games so I didn’t get to buy it when it came out, so this would be the perfect opportunity for me to play!” Kaidou continued.

Oh, so now you’re gonna pull the mean-mom card to try and get me to play with you guys? Well it’s not gonna work, I’ve been looking forward to this afternoon all day and I’m not gonna let some-

“I’ve got snacks at my house too so you guys won’t go hungry while playing. Oh, Saiki, isn’t your favorite coffee jelly? I’ve got plenty of that in my fridge, you’re free to as much of it as you like!” Kuboyasu smiled in Saiki’s direction.

…

Wow, this coffee jelly is really amazing, who knew Kuboyasu’s mom knew how to make it homemade?!

Saiki smiled contently to himself as he happily ate his first coffee jelly of the day. He was sat on the floor in front of Kuboyasu’s bedroom TV, Kaidou on his right with Kuboyasu on Kaidou’s right.

“That’s such a bummer that your mom doesn’t let you play video games,” Kuboyasu remarked, his hands behind him on the floor to prop himself up.

“Well she does let me play some games, she just likes to make sure it won’t interfere with my grades. Basically I’m only allowed to play anything if my grades are good which...they’re rarely anything great,” Kaidou’s face blushed softly, an embarrassed hand coming up to scratch at his shoulder.

“She won’t get mad at you for being at my house, right?”

“Nah, doubt it, as long as I study when I get home I’ll be good,” Kaidou responded sheepishly.

Kuboyasu smiled, reaching his body forward and grabbing the game from off the ground in front of him. “In that case, you guys ready?”

Kaidou nodded excitedly. Jesus, Kaidou, you look like a little kid on Christmas, calm down.

Kuboyasu pushed his glasses upward before placing the game into the console, grabbing the three controllers on his TV stand and handing two of them to the other boys.

What a pain. I’m only here for the coffee jelly, do I really have to play this game with these two? Saiki thought while sitting down his empty bowl beside him on the floor, reaching out to grab the gaming controller offered to him. I guess I might as well. I don't want to be rude and ask for another bowl.

The game loaded up, each of the boys picking their characters (Kaidou picking his with extreme excitement and enthusiasm as if he’d never played a video game in his life).

Saiki decided to go easy on the boys, especially Kaidou. I could win this game with extreme ease if I wanted to, I basically know all the insides and outs of it at this point. But, Kaidou seems really excited about it. I should let him have this.

Saiki died within the first few minutes of the first match at the hands of Kaidou, Kuboyasu dying mere moments later, leaving Kaidou the winner of that round. The blue-haired teen’s hands shot straight in the air at this, an excited “HA!” leaving his lips. Maybe that stroked his ego a bit too much. Kaidou’s arms remained in the air with pride as the next round began to load up. Kuboyasu just rolled his eyes and jabbed two fingers into the boy’s ribs, making him jolt back in surprise with a yelp. Kuboyasu grinned.

Once their new round finally loaded up completely, one of Kuboyasu’s thoughts caught Saiki’s attention. “I know exactly how I’m gonna win this one. Sure, it’s a dirty way to play, but at least I’m not hurting him.”

Again, Saiki decided to die close to the beginning of the match (again at the hands of Kaidou), but this time with different intent. I’m honestly a little intrigued to see how this plays out, but I don’t want to be caught in the middle of it. As long as I die first, they can hash it out between the two of them, leaving me out of it.

Kaidou’s face was contorted in concentration, his eyes never leaving the screen in front of him as determination to win took over. Saiki noticed Kuboyasu’s eyes slowly beginning to glance at Kuboyasu, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Finally, Kuboyasu shot out his left hand to Kaidou’s right side, squeezing with intent as his right hand continued to use the controller, now beating Kaidou. Kaidou nearly jumped out of his skin before letting out a loud laugh.

“Wahahait! Stohohop! That’s not fahahair! This is cheheheating!” Kaidou cackled, his right arm shooting down to protect his side while he continued trying to play the game. It was really no use, though, as his eyes were squeezed shut so he couldn’t even see the screen.

“You got a little too cocky last match, it was annoying. Plus, I’ve played this game dozens of times, so this is wayyy more fun for me,” Kuboyasu grinned, his character on screen finally beating Kaidou’s. He didn’t let up, though, now sitting down his controller to tickle both of Kaidou’s sides.

“Nohoho mohohore! I gihihive! I’m sohohorry!” Kaidou howled, flopping his body completely down on the floor and rolling over on his side. Kuboyasu began moving one hand upwards towards Kaidou’s armpit, and the laughing boy underneath him began kicking his legs out. “Nohoho! Not thehere! Plehehease!”

Can it really be this bad? I mean, I know I’ve never been tickled before but Jesus, Kaidou sounds like he’s being murdered, Saiki thought to himself, his eyes not being able to leave the heaping pile of giggles on the floor before him. It’s true, Saiki had never been tickled before. Sure, his parents definitely tried to when he was little, but he would always just teleport away before they got the chance. Plus, he had never really had friends growing up to tickle him, so he was just completely in confusion at how it could really be that bad that it had his classmate on the floor begging for it to stop like that.

Finally, Kuboyasu let up, backing away from the giggling boy to give him some air. The purple-haired teen had a smirk on his face that wouldn’t disappear, a look of almost endearment plastered on.

“That was so unfair, you totally could’ve killed me!” Kaidou whined, finally sitting up but not moving his arms from his abdomen like he was scared it would all happen again if he moved them.

“Relax, I just tickled you, you big baby,” Kuboyasu rolled his eyes with a grin. “Not my fault you’re so ticklish.”

Kaidou was blushing furiously, his arms crossed and face contorted in a childlike pout. Suddenly, Kuboyasu looked up at Saiki curiously, his head cocked to the side.

“Yknow, Saiki, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh before,” he said with a smirk, his gaze wandering down to meet with Kaidou’s.

Saiki’s eyes went wide, a feeling of dread he’d never felt before pooling in his stomach.

No. No no no, no way this is happening. I have to get out of here. I have to do SOMETHING-

Before Saiki had time to come up with an escape plan, Kaidou pounced on top of him, knocking him down to the floor on his back. Kuboyasu scrambled over to where Saiki’s head was lying, looking in his eyes upside-down.

“Kaidou, don’t,” Saiki telepathically warned the grinning boy propped up on his waist. Kaidou’s fingers were already scribbling in the air above Saiki’s torso, and for once the psychic really didn’t know what to do. Kuboyasu very suddenly grabbed onto Saiki’s wrists, pulling them above his head. I don’t want to use my super strength against them, there’s no way this is the way they find out about my abilities. I’ll just let them have their fun. Who knows? Maybe I’m not even ticklish-

Without warning, ten fingers uickly came down onto Saiki’s sides, pinching up and down the torso like it was nothing. Saiki could felt in instantly, and it was one of the most confusing sensations he had ever felt.

His body started to squirm without him even realizing, twisting from side to side like he was trying to get away. He clamped his mouth shut, not wanting to let real laughs out.

“Cmon, Saiki, you know you wanna laugh~” Kaidou teased, his right hand continuing to pinch his side while his left began lightly scritching at his lower stomach through his unfortunately thin school uniform in the most unbearable way.

Giggles were bouncing around in Saiki’s ribcage, but he still tried so hard not laugh. But, once he felt two new hands begin scratching at his underarms, it was all over. Apparently, while Saiki was too focused on Kaidou, Kuboyasu had pinned Saiki’s hands under his knees, now having full access to Saiki’s recently discovered ticklish body.

“NAHAHAHA! STOHOHOHOP!” Saiki pleaded, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, an unfamiliar large smile contorting his face. His head swung from side to side as his legs kicked out from underneath Kaidou, the blue-haired teen absolutely relishing in his friend’s torment.

“Who knew all this time all we had to do to get you to smile was tickle you?” Kuboyasu teased, his fingers trailing down to Saiki’s ribs. Saiki thrashed at the new spot, his pleas getting more desperate.

“Right? I didn’t expect him to be this ticklish either, it’s honestly a real shock,” Kaidou smiled, pinching Saiki’s hips and making the psychic buck underneath him.

After another moment, the two boys relented, climbing off of Saiki’s heaving body and allowing him a breather.

That was insane. I feel bad for judging Kaidou earlier, that was seriously intense. How is that not used as common torture?!

“You good, Saiki? We didn’t go to far, right?” Kuboyasu asked, looking at Saiki who was now sat slightly up, his head down between his knees so his classmates wouldn’t see his unfortunate blush.

Saiki just gave a thumbs up, making the other two boys chuckle.

“Just so you know, I’m totally gonna use this against you when you’re being grumpy,” Kaidou smiled, his hands coming up to form wiggly claws as a threat. Then the boy let out a sudden yelp, twisting away from Kuboyasu who was sat right behind him. “Hey! You already got to tickle me, no more!”

“What?! Kaidou, I didn’t tickle you,” Kuboyasu said seriously.

“Dude, I literally felt it! You can’t say I didn’t feel something I felt!” Kaidou yelled, yet again pouting like a child.

That’s what you get, Kaidou Saiki thought to himself. Tickle me again and it’ll be much worse.

. . .

a/n: ahh! ok that was definitely not my best but i hope you enjoyed anyways! pls like/rb if you enjoyed it lmao, i know im not gonna get many notes from this cause this isn’t a fandom in demand but any feedback would be lovely :))

#tickling #my fic #tickle fic #tickle community #saiki k #ticklish!saiki #ticklish!kaidou #fanfic #the disastrous life of saiki k.

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bestintheparsec · 5 years ago

Text

The Same Coin - Part 1

Prologue | Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

A/N: Thank y’all so much for the nice comments on this new series! This picks up shortly after the prologue. I had to hold back a lot for this chapter because pining is not allowed yet - patience😌 I hope you enjoy, and as always feedback is welcome!❤️

Words: 3.4k

Warnings: some mentions of violence, angst (but not the Yearning kind yet)

You’ve just finished getting ready to start the day when you hear three loud knocks at your door. Hurriedly buttoning up your blouse, you go answer it and find Steve standing outside with his hands on his hips.

“Peña’s out of the hospital and back home now,” he informs you.

You briefly remember the scene from a couple days ago. He’d been fine, of course, just bleeding out and unable to stand. A local helped you call an ambulance while you got Peña upright and put pressure to the wound. Much like he always did, he spent a bit of time swearing under his breath when he claimed you were making too much of a fuss over it. You had to drive the Jeep back, so he went off to the hospital on his own once the paramedics arrived. You made sure he was going to be okay before you left him, and Steve went to visit him so you assumed he was recovering.

“Okay,” you comment. This couldn’t wait? “Is he alright?”

“He’ll be off work and on crutches for a few weeks,” he answers. He looks down at the floor before looking back up at you.

“What is it?” you ask suspiciously.

“They...put us in charge of watching over him until he’s back at work. Mostly you.” He mutters the last part, and you raise your brows.

“What? Why me?” you ask, confused.

“You’re the one who lives next door to him,” Steve answers, matter-of-factly. He and Connie live a couple floors above you, so logistically he’s right. But that doesn’t mean you want to be his personal nurse.

“Yeah, but—” you start to say, a little louder.

“It’ll be fine,” he insists, patting you on the shoulder. “You just need to check in every now and then and make sure he’s getting some food and water in him.”

Steve grabs your hand and slips a key into it. “I’ll come by too, but you’ll be able to hear if he falls or something at night, right?”

At that, you can’t help but chuckle dryly. Yeah, you can hear plenty, alright.

After work, you drive back home and feel the tension leave your muscles once you step into the apartment complex. Work was uneventful, without any new leads or intel. Mostly it was just you and Steve poring over mindless paperwork. As expected, you’d gotten quite the scolding from the colonel and Messina today. This was nothing new; not with Peña for a partner. But it was the first time he’d gotten himself hurt in one of his schemes, which didn’t look good on either of your parts. You didn’t feel like hashing it out with them, so you took your warning and left, opting to chide Peña on it on your own time.

Steve had gone out with Connie after leaving today, so it’s on you to check on Peña first. The heels on your shoes clack as you make your way down the dim hallway to his door. He should still be fresh off the IV painkillers from the hospital, so he probably won’t be awake to answer. You pull out the key Steve gave you and unlock it, the cool air greeting you as you enter his flat.

It’s not your first time in his apartment. You and Steve have often had late nights here, working on some new lead after hours. Only a lamp's faded light is on, but you hear rustling inside.

“Peña,” you call out. You find him in the kitchen, trying to heat something up in the microwave while leaning on his crutches. His hair is tousled and messy, and he's in a t-shirt and loose pants—a surprising sight and a stark contrast from his usual attire. He greets you with only a glance. You almost ask how he’s feeling but the cold gesture makes you decide against doing so.

You hold up the paper bag in your hand. “Steve picked up your painkillers,” you tell him, putting it on the counter.

“No need to knock before you enter,” he remarks sarcastically, pulling his food out of the microwave.

You roll your eyes, figuring he’d be in a bad mood. “You’re supposed to be in bed. Doctor’s orders. And you’re welcome,” you counter. How does he manage to be insufferable even when fully medicated?

“You really always go by-the-book, don’t you?” he clips, the sound of his crutches clanking on the tile as he walks over to you. Jesus, Javier thinks to himself. He already has to deal with you at work, and now he has to deal with this in his own home, too?

“The hole in your leg says otherwise, although I wouldn’t say that’s my fault,” you answer tersely.

“Well, if it makes you feel better, Messina seems to have made you and Murphy my punishment,” he grumbles.

You purse your lips. “Believe me, this thrills me, too, Peña. But I can’t have you collapsing on me anymore,” you say, which catches his eye. “I’ll get in trouble again,” you add, and he smirks at that.

“Ever the caring partner,” he huffs, though he’s mildly amused. He looks you up and down for the first time since you came in. He notices how you’re playing with the fabric of your shirt; another habit you have, typically when frustrated. Javier hates that he knows this, attributing it to how much all three of you are around each other. You see each other around the clock, so it’s impossible not to pick up on the little things. For a moment he ponders what you might have picked up about him—not that what you think of him matters.

You ignore the sarcasm in his voice, eyeing the box of bandages and bottles of antiseptic on the counter. In all honesty, you’re not sure how well he’s dressing his own wounds; he probably gives them a quick swipe and calls it a day. “Do you...need help changing your bandages? I know how to clean them—”

“No,” he cuts you off.

“Okay, well if you need me to get anything—”

“I’m fine,” he interrupts again. “So unless you want to help me shower…” he says, sneering at the face you make.

“Yeah, I’m not sure even Steve will help you with that,” you wave a hand dismissively.

“Anyways, these meds should knock you out for a while,” you continue, changing the topic. “Which means I can get some quiet on the other side of your wall, for once.” You're only partially joking, but Javier doesn’t miss the mild embarrassment in your eyes. He chuckles without humor, but doesn’t respond.

A moment passes before you speak again and readjust the bag on your shoulder. “Get some rest, Peña,” you instruct. With that, you head back out the door as he watches you leave.

He sighs deeply, running a free hand through his hair. Why can't Murphy be the one who lives next door?

You continue to alternate check-ins with Steve daily, always trying to come during evenings, when Peña’s more likely to be awake. The visits are brief and somewhat civil, although they usually involve you nagging him about one thing or another and getting snippy comments in response. Really, you know he’s a grown man and all, but even when injured he’s not terribly careful.

It’s not his fault his place is getting messier—he’s not fully mobile—but his flat is usually decently tidy, most likely for his “guests”. Now the place is covered in half-empty glasses and bottles of liquor, along with random things strewn haphazardly on the floor. You’ve told him often that the papers spilling across the floor are a safety hazard for him, but he brushes you off every time.

“You’re not on the job right now, you don’t need to be an asshole,” you tell him.

“You’re not at the office now either, lighten up a little,” he rebuffs.

Javier swears that if he hears you remind him to drink more water or be more careful one more time, he’s going to lose it. He tells you as much, but you’re never able to get through to each other. It’s always been like this as partners; of course it’s no different when you’re off the clock.

You seem to be under the impression that he’s impulsive; maybe he is, and maybe he’s not proud of everything he’s ever done. But Escobar plays the game according to his own rules—playing it safe only puts more people in harm’s way. Sooner or later you might understand, but until then he’s not going to wait around worrying until you do.

One night, you’re met with the sight of him, shirtless, sitting on the couch. He’s smoking a cigarette and barely looks up as you enter and walk towards him.

“Steve and Connie went grocery shopping and wanted me to bring you some stuff,” you tell him as you unload the plastic bags you’re carrying. “Looks like you’ve got some snacks and instant dinners to hold you over.”

“Thanks,” Peña answers, and you're almost taken aback by the tiny bit of politeness.

He picks up the prescription bottle on the coffee table and uncaps it, shaking a pill out onto his hand before picking up his glass.

You look across the room at him and frown. “Are you taking your meds with alcohol?” you ask, probably louder than necessary.

You walk over and forcibly remove the glass in his hand, replacing it with the water bottle from your bag. He looks up at you, annoyed at your snatching of his drink. “Jesus, Peña, don’t you know anything? Are you trying to get yourself back into the hospital?”

He responds by muttering something under his breath before throwing the pill back and downing it with the water.

“You know, me and Steve would have to come over a lot less if you took better care of yourself.”

“I don’t need you mother-henning me in the first place,” he retorts. “It’s a fucking leg wound, not something that’s gonna kill me.”

“That’s exactly what I thought, too,” you snap back. “Unfortunately for both of us, our bosses think otherwise.”

“Hey, I didn’t ask for this,” he tells you, shaking his head. God, you’re infuriating.

“No? Neither did I,” you quip. “Fuck, Peña, do you not—I'm just trying to help.”

He exhales and puts the cigarette to his lips again, leaning back against the couch. You dig around in your bag for a granola bar and shove it in his direction.

“Do yourself a favor and eat something, or those meds aren’t going to sit right.” He groans but takes it, and you turn on your heels to leave.

Except, Javier never misses anything; especially not the way the thin fabric of your sleeve slides up on your skin as you hand it to him, revealing a sliver of something white on your arm.

He abruptly grabs your wrist, gently but it still takes you by surprise. “Wait,” he mutters in a low voice, stopping you mid-step. He turns your arm over, not making eye contact as he pushes the loose fabric of your sweater upwards, revealing the large white bandages that are covering the back of your arm, near your elbow. He can’t see the damage underneath, but his mouth presses into a hard line.

You bite the inside of your cheek as he examines it for a few seconds before you pull your arm away from his hand.

“I thought you and Murphy haven’t been in the field recently,” he whispers, his tone suddenly much softer than it was moments earlier.

“We haven’t,” you reply quietly. You know he’s not going to drop it by the way he’s looking at you. “It’s...from the broken glass. When the sicarios shot at us in the car,” you shrug.

“Just because I was in a hospital, you didn’t think to mention you were injured?” he sounds offended, but there’s a different feeling cutting through the air, one that you can’t place your finger on.

It really isn’t a big deal, just a few superficial gashes that will heal easily—you’ve had much worse, working in the field. You hadn’t even meant to hide it, but the bandages aren’t a pretty sight and your work attire often consists of three-quarter sleeve blouses, or your favorite cardigan.

“Peña, it’s literally a few scratches. Hardly newsworthy,” you answer, though your own voice is calm now, too.

He has an unreadable expression in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he finally says.

“It’s not your fault,” you tell him simply, and you mean it. “And I’m not the one who got a bullet put into my leg,” you continue, offering the smallest of smiles.

Javier glances at the ground before looking back up at you, but you’ve already turned to leave.

Hunting Escobar meant you were all in life-or-death situations regularly, one way or another. But for an unknown reason he suddenly feels a bit heavier, and he doesn’t like it.

The radio’s playing as Javier sits on the floor, tossing away some bottles of liquor that are crowding his coffee table. Christ, your nagging was starting to get to him. He wishes the stations would play something besides the latest news on Escobar. If there’s anything he hates about not being able to work, it’s that he has too much free time when he’s home alone. That, and the fact that Escobar and his sicarios are still out there, and there’s currently not a damn thing he can do about it.

He’s been on crutches for a few weeks, and is now used to your coming and going. He watches as you drop some more groceries off in the kitchen, but notices you’re quieter than usual tonight. It’s not a proper check-in from you unless you’ve reprimanded him about not taking his meds, or skipping meals, or something else. Not that he’s complaining about a break from the incessant nagging, but his attention is drawn to the more pronounced lines that have appeared under your eyes lately. It doesn’t take long for him to drop his gaze, but he knows there must’ve been things happening at work that you haven’t mentioned. Or it might have just been one of those nights; he knows those too well. He definitely knows better than to ask about it.

“Wait,” he calls as you leave, and you take your hand off the doorknob before turning to him.

“Any new leads?” he asks. You almost have this look of pity for him in your eyes, which he hates.

You shake your head. “Messina’s running some intel by the ambassador tomorrow. If all goes well, we’ll be back to business soon.”

He nods. “Thanks,” he says curtly.

Your lips press together into a tense smile before opening the door and shutting it quietly behind you.

Javier rubs the back of his neck, his eyes lingering on the door for a moment. He exhales quietly; there’s nothing except the sounds of the radio show and the ticking clock on the wall. What annoys him most of all is how dangerous it is when he has this much time to think.

It’s the weekend, so you make plans to get breakfast at your favorite spot around the corner. The few people you know prefer to sleep in on Saturdays, so you’re on your own. It’s early, but your stomach still grumbles with hunger. This makes you think of what Steve said about making sure Peña kept himself fed—you know very well that on many nights, whiskey is the only thing anyone is able to keep down. For a second you hope he hasn’t been drowning his boredom with alcohol anymore—not that it’s your problem.

At any rate, it’s probably too early to check on him, so you head out and plan to do it later.

Javier wakes up after an unrestful sleep, still groggy, and shuffles into the kitchen to find something to eat. He walks over to the cupboard to find a bowl, propping himself up on one leg. How much longer with these damn crutches? he grumbles to himself.

He takes the crutches out from under his arms, resting them against the wall and limping over to the sink. Pain sears up his leg and he hisses, but he hates needing the physical support—or any other support, for that matter. He’s about to fill a pot with water when he sees a package on the counter, wrapped in tin foil.

He grabs it, realizing it’s a large, warm plate of food with a note on top. Dinner. Eat, cabrón, it says in your scribbled handwriting.

For the first time since the incident, his lips curl into a small, genuine smile. You really are infuriating, he thinks. But somehow, it’s almost endearing.

It’s raining outside tonight, a light shower but it seems relentless. You hop over a puddle of water as you step into your complex and close your umbrella. It’s Steve’s turn to check on Peña, so you can go straight to your flat, much to your relief.

Your clothes are wet, so the cold air conditioning gives you goosebumps as you open the door. Turning on a single light in the foyer, you pry your wet shoes off, followed by the damp cardigan you have on. You’re not dry yet, but you almost feel a little better. Tonight calls for a hot shower, but you don’t have the energy for it, so you make your way to the bedroom.

You don’t bother turning on the lights as you strip yourself of the day’s burdens and change into something cleaner and lighter. If only your mind worked that way, too. As you crawl into bed, you feel as though you could just sink right in and disappear. The soft covers don’t do much to comfort you, and you’re not quite ready to lie down yet so you sit with your back against the headrest, rubbing your eyes from exhaustion. The rain continues to fall outside your window.

Images from today fill your mind. It was another day in the field, one you were supposed to spend tracking down a low-tier sicario. Instead, you found a bloody crime scene Escobar decided to leave behind to prove a point. You had no doubt Steve was at a bar now, doing what he could to drown out the sight.

It’s not something you’ll ever get used to. Despite yourself, you think of more mundane things—your many meals eaten alone, the quiet drives home with only your mind keeping you company. Somehow, it makes things easier for you this way. You don’t want to imagine the possibilities otherwise. It’s for the best, you tell yourself on nights like this—but repeating it doesn’t make it any easier to believe.

When your head finally hits the pillow and you pull the blanket up to your chin, you can’t help but allow yourself to wonder what it would be like if you didn’t have to face all of this on your own. It’s a common thing for you; empty thoughts in a dark and empty room, before fatigue finally overpowers your conscience.

On the other side of your thin bedroom walls, Javier lights another cigarette, deciding whether he wants to turn up the volume on the TV or turn it off entirely.

He’d already heard what happened from Steve. No, he wasn’t at the scene. But he should’ve been, instead of being stuck at home and helpless. When he’s out in the field, he likes to think he’s able to stomach it all better, running on pure adrenaline. He runs his hand along his jaw, willing the anger and tension to leave him. He wasn’t even part of this mission, nor did he make any of the calls, but somehow he knows it’s going to be another long night. He’s had worse days where he can’t take it anymore, finding comfort only in the arms of some woman he doesn’t know. Even then, it’s more of a distraction than anything else.

The guilt never leaves him—it’s a weight he deserves to carry. Every decision he makes affects something, or someone else. Whether he’s ever made a good choice, he’s not sure. But when he looks at the bandages covering the wound in his leg, tracing the edges with his finger, he knows he’s tired of dragging other people down with him.

Translations:

Cabrón = asshole

Series tags: @mytinybaguette @mrpascals @dindjarindiaries @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @pascalesque @lady-sigyn @bel-13 @positivelife3000 @larakasser @buckstaposition @watsonwise @irishleesh93 @gigilame @lostingoogletranslate @yabby-girl

Perm tags: @immundusspiritu @aeryntheofficial @i-like-those-odds @heyy-honeyy @hail-doodles @hiscyarika @taman-a @electricprincess888 @spacegayofficial @myrin1234 @aloneontheoutside @pascalisthepunkest @ah-callie @fleurdemiel145 @katialvi @murdermewithbooks @pisss-offf-ghostt @kayebede @lamnothome @fan-g0rl @lokiaddicted @mrsdaamneron @poedaneron @wolfshifter4life @rociomz @opheliaelysia @dyn-djarin @randomness501 @hayley-the-comet @mrsparknuts @kyo101 @blue-tidal-wave @palalover @forever-rogue @adikaofmandalore

#javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena #my ff #non sw

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moral-turpitudes · 4 years ago

Text

Golden Ring: Part 2

Trigger Warnings: Angst, Fighting, Swearing, Fluff, Gore, Smoking, Drinking, etc.

Word Count: 1,833

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Requested by: @captivatedbycillianmurphy (thank you!)

Summary: When the Shelby’s are on business, there’s no such thing as rest, not even for Y/N.

A/N: Totally had “Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked” by Cage The Elephant stuck in my head while writing this. (Also fun fact: they’re from the city I went to college in and they did a free show on campus once which was lit).

Part 1 | Part 2

Tommy drove through the late-night fog and along the dark roads that led to their warehouse, the wheels creeping by ever so slightly on the dirt covered streets. The gears shifted as he put the car in park and got out, and walked towards the old building.

He pulled out a cigarette and rubbed it against his lips as he walked further into the darkness, the only light coming from what he assumed were his brothers cigarettes in the distance.

“Aye, who the fuck are you?” One of the men asked, who was most definitely not his brother.

“I could ask you the same question. Why are you on my property?” Tommy asked, the light from a cracked window seeping in, illuminating the two men’s faces.

“Well if it isn’t Mr. Thomas Shelby. We’re here to take your stock. The weapons. The drugs...What are you going to do? Call your brothers? Make your whore of a mother appear out of thin air or something?” He asked.

Tommy sighed, straightened his coat, and took his hat off nonchalantly, flipping it around in his hand as he looked down at it, before landing a hard punch to the mans jaw.

His other friend quickly took off towards the door with two bags full of cocaine.

“I wouldn’t run if I were you mate. You won’t get far.” Arthur said blocking the door with John next to him holding a shotgun.

Tommy then grabbed his cap tightly and pulled his hand back, sending the razor blade straight towards the mans eye. He slashed open one of them to where he’d be barely be able to see out of it, and the other he cut out completely, leaving the man screaming bloody murder as he walked towards his brothers.

“Where are the other men aye?” He asked grabbing the man by his collar.

“By the cut, I heard them fighting so I stayed here with him.” He said pointing to his partner bleeding out on the ground.

“They aren’t there anymore, you little London boy. You don’t mess with the peaky fookin’ blinders and live to tell about it.” Arthur said inching closer to the young man.

He was shaking as he realized he was the only one of his gang left, his boss surely plotting his death the longer he stayed in Small Heath.

“I’ll give you one minute to run out of here, because I don’t think you’re worth killing just yet. You tell your boss that if he wants to do business he’ll come to me directly, or I’ll have to come to him, and he won’t want that.” Tommy said menacingly as he held the young man by his collar.

“Al-alright. I will, can you let me go?” He asked.

Tommy held him there for a couple moments just to watch him struggle before letting him go. The young man dropped to the ground and ran straight out, leaving his friend and other deceased gang members behind.

“Now, what did you lot do with the others? I’m not digging any graves tonight.” He asked, his eyes landing on John.

“Well Arthur beat two of them to a pulp. I told ya he would go feral.” John said giving a sideways glance at Arthur.

Arthur smacked him in the back of the head before he continued.

“Well John-boy shot one in the head, the other is drifting down the cut with 3 bullet holes in his chest. Do we have to fookin’ retrieve them now Tommy?” Arthur asked.

“If you don’t want the coppers to get on us again, then yes. I’d imagine it would frighten the women and children walking past the cut as well, we don’t want that.” Tommy said before heading towards the door.

He looked down at his golden ring before looking back at his brothers who angrily spoke up.

“You’re just gonna leave us here to do the dirty work then aye Tommy?” John yelled.

“I have some things to do. You’ve both buried worse, just make their graves deeper this time.” He said before looking at his pocket watch.

“It’s Y/N again isn’t it Tommy? Bastard can’t even handle a murder job without wanting to run home to his spouse!” Arthur said, chuckling as John smirked.

“You’ll understand someday Arthur. Just get to work or I’ll make sure you’re both buried with that gang of fools instead of buried in company work tomorrow.” Tommy said before stepping outside and lighting another cigarette before heading home.

Back at home, the sun was shining brightly through the bedroom window with you laying in it’s rays, the sun warm on your skin as you draped yourself across the sheets as sleep eluded you still.

Your eyes were tired, with dark circles starting to form as the thoughts danced around in your head at where your husband could be. It had been 3 hours since he’d left, not that time meant much when he was away, it always seemed to blur until he came home.

As you stared at the old stone fireplace, you could hear the door cracking open downstairs as familiar footsteps heavily echoed through the hall and up to the bedroom.

He cracked the door open as light as he could, not wanting to disturb you if you were asleep, but you moved so you were facing him as he entered the room, meeting his tired eyes and blood stained hands and face. His clothes weren’t much better off, knowing that would be a pain to wash out.

“You haven’t slept...” He said taking his cap off and looking at you. He undid his dress shirt and took of the suspenders that clanked as he set them down on the table.

“I told you I probably wouldn’t be able to, you know that my love.” You said as you curled up on the sofa, the robe around you shifting with your movements.

“What can I do to help ya then aye? I can’t have you passing out at work.” He said coming over to sit on the floor next to you.

You lazily ran your hand through his hair as he leaned into your touch. The blood from earlier still glinting off his face in the sunlight.

“Well you could go take a shower, you’ve become so used to being covered in blood you forget it’s all over your face.” You said giggling slightly, he smiled and you felt him laugh a bit as you dropped your hand to his shoulder, massaging it lightly.

“You’re right about that, do you want to join?” He asked, looking over to you as he smirked.

“Only after you’ve washed the blood off, and on one condition.” You said.

“And what is that?” He asked.

“You lay with me for a while since you’ve been gone more often than not this week...that might help me sleep, at least until we have to get to work.” You said.

He smiled and nodded in agreement before getting up to rid himself of last nights business. You reluctantly getting up from the comfort of the sofa to join him in the steaming shower not soon after.

Showers always made everything better in a sense, so after it, you had no trouble falling asleep in Tommy’s arms.

You awoke later to the sun shining even brighter than before, signaling the afternoon, and you felt his warm arms still holding you as you lifted your head up slightly to look at him. He looked peaceful when he slept, or at least when he slept near you. Other times he’d be wide awake as the sounds of shovels and the muddy tunnels plagued his mind.

You carefully got up to not wake him and looked at the clock on the wall, lightly ticking in the distance and your eyes growing wide at the realization.

“My god...oh no...not again!” You said hurriedly.

“Thomas wake up! Thomas!” You said shaking his shoulder lightly.

His eyes shot open and he sat up immediately, looking around the room for any danger.

“What is it Y/N?” He said groggily and calming down as he saw you frantically getting ready.

“We overslept! Polly’s gonna kill us! We can’t be late to another meeting...you know this.” You said scurrying into the bathroom as you heard Tommy swearing under his breath.

He walked in as you were doing your hair quickly and putting in minimal effort to look presentable. Tommy was shirtless and standing behind you brushing his teeth, with his pants and belt undone as he’d hurriedly thrown a new pair on.

“You can finish getting ready and I’ll wait in the car.” You said moving out of his way and slipping your shoes on and grabbing your coat.

That was always the one little thing he loved about you, as you would always get ready quickly which often came in handy when he’d steal you away before other meetings or parties, and you still looked remarkable even if you put in minimal effort.

Not long after you started the car, he was bounding out the door and climbing into the drivers side, giving you a quick peck on the lips before speeding off towards the shop.

You looked at the watch Tommy had gifted you a while back, it reading 12:30pm as you both headed towards the familiar streets. People looked on as Tommy sped slightly through the streets earning some concerned glances.

With a lurching stop, Tommy parked the car and help you out, letting you inside the shop first as he followed.

“Y/N...Thomas...nice of you to join us.” Polly said smirking at you both as you walked in to the packed meeting room.

Tommy shook his head as he gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before sitting down and lifting a cigarette to his lips, wincing as Polly loudly re-hashed some of the news and plans involving the business.

“Tom, the London boys boss is wanting to meet you. Your message was delivered.” Michael said, eyeing him as he lit his own cigarette.

“When will he be here? 3 in the morning?” He asked, yawning on cue as you smirked, remembering the annoying events of last night.

“Actually yeah...What? That’s what he said...” Michael said confused.

You and Tommy shared a knowing look, as he rolled his eyes back to his brother.

“Alright...tell him it’s doing me a disservice but I’ll meet him...with backup of course.” He said looking to John and Arthur, they seemed just as tired, and still wearing their clothes from last night.

“For fucks sake. As long as you bury him this time Tom.” John said.

Tommy smirked in response, turning his gaze to you as you lazily rested your head on your arm, Polly glaring at you until you straightened up.

As much as you loved your husband, it was a known fact in the Shelby family that the wicked never rested. So you sighed as you accepted your fate, knowing sleep would elude you once again until business was done.

Tag List:

(If you’d like to be added/removed just shoot me an ask/message!) :)

@msbzowy, @nofckingfighting, @aranoburns, @sighonahurricane, @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes, @gaytommyshelby, @wowjeena, @fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby, @inglourious-imagines, @thebloodyshelbys, @tsolomons, @blinder-secrets, @reveparade, @shelby-fanatic, @ta-ka-shi-ma, @psychkunox, @peakyxtommy, @captivatedbycillianmurphy, @dreamwastakenx, @lovemissyhoneybee

#katiesfics #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders oneshots #peaky blinders fanfic #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x y/n #katiesWIPlist

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nubianamy · 4 years ago

Text

35k, PG, Finn/Sam, pre-slash, pre-canon, camp, series, drama

from chapter 3

Every time Finn and Sam were around the campfire after that, Finn encouraged him to sing. Sometimes it was with Aggie’s borrowed guitar, and sometimes it was just him, without any accompaniment. Sam had a strong, melodic voice, and it didn’t really need the guitar, but Finn noticed he was louder and more confident when he was strumming along, and that was great to witness.

One evening, after most of the guys had gone back to their cabins and Finn and Sam were there tending the dying fire, Sam turned to him curiously. “How come you never sing by yourself? I mean, I would play anything you wanted to sing.”

“I don’t sing,” Finn shook his head perhaps a little too quickly, “that’s kind of the rule me and Puck have. Like, he’s the front man for the band, and I get to do the harmonies and stuff when we mess around.”

Sam seemed to accept that at face value, which suited Finn just fine, even if it involved throwing Puck under the bus with the implication that Puck had decided on the rule. When really, it was because whenever Finn had taken lead vocals, he’d managed to almost put the beater through the kick drum, he got so tense.

“The thing is, I can barely hear you when I’m singing,” Sam said, poking the fire with a long stick. “I’m kind of loud in my own ears, if you know what I mean. But what I can hear sounds really good.”

He smiled over his shoulder at Finn, not teasing, not waiting for Finn to say something, just because that was how Sam was. Being next to him, watching him smile like that, gave Finn courage. He took a deep breath. “I, uh… I used to sing all the time, when I was a kid. My mom had all these cassette tapes, and we’d play and sing in the kitchen and in the car. And she dated this guy, Darren. He always said I should be a singer when I grew up.”

“Sounds like he was really supportive.” Sam turned so he was facing Finn, digging the stick into the ground so he could lean against it, “What about your mom? Did she... not like it?” He quickly added, “I just... you don’t sing anymore, so I assume someone convinced you not to, or something.”

“Nobody,” Finn said, shrugging. “I mean, nobody in particular. You know how guys are. It just stopped being cool to do stuff like that. Like playing video games or reading comics. Me and Puck, we still do those things together, but… we don’t tell anybody? That would kind of be the death of our popularity, and Quinn, she thinks that’s really important.”

Sam nodded slowly, and in the darkness and the firelight it was hard to read much of his expression, “I guess people don’t do a lot of things they want to do. But, everyone here likes the singing. And I definitely do, and I like comic books and video games, so you already know I’m super lame.” He reached forward to nudge Finn’s knee with his fingers as Finn chuckled. “If you ever wanted to try with me, that’d be cool.”

“Try singing? I mean, we’ve done that lots.” Finn gave him a nervous smile. “Maybe if nobody else was around, I would. If it was just us.”

Sam looked down at the log they were sitting on for a long moment before he looked back and smiled, “I mean, Sean’s always sneaking over to the cheerleading camp, right? You come and get me when you’re ready, and I’m happy to listen.”

It didn’t happen that night, or the night after that, but Finn thought about Sam’s suggestion a lot, maybe more than he should have. It was running through his mind pretty much all the time when he wasn’t focusing on something else. Which, unfortunately, seemed to be during a lot of the practices.

“Hudson! Are you planning on running at any point this morning!” Coach Tyler yelled, and Finn picked up the pace as he quickly as he could until he was next to Sean again.

“Look, dude,” Sean looked around and gave Finn a pointed look, “You need to focus.”

“I’m trying—”

“No, your mind’s somewhere else,” Sean reached over and tapped the side of his head with the back of his hand. “Listen, I get it. You’re not finding this challenging. But the QB boat has sailed, and you need to be giving this your all, okay? Now... What can I do to get your mind off whatever it’s on, and back on these plays? Because we’ve got our second game coming up, and if Lucas loses to Sam’s team? He’s gonna be fucking insufferable.”

“Seriously, it’s nothing. It’s just something between me and Sam.” Finn shook his head, “We haven’t had time to really work it out—”

“Great. Me and Aggie are gonna go smoke weed in another cabin tonight. So, you and Sam can pick a room and hash this all out, before I lose my patience with you, dweeb.”

Finn watched as Sean moved away and was about to move himself when there was a hand on his shoulder, stopping him dead. He winced, expecting to see Coach Tyler, but instead Lucas was looking at him with a very neutral expression. “You’re interested in being QB?”

“Kind of?” Finn tried to settle under Lucas’s gaze. He’d been friendly enough to him, but then he’d turn around and be terrible to Aggie. Finn didn’t trust him. “I mean, yeah, I’m interested, but… that’s your position, right? Yours and Sam’s?”

“It’s like saying the circus belongs to the ringmaster and the accordion-playing monkey,” Lucas rolled his eyes, and looked Finn up and down, “I’m not going to be playing next year, and I kind of like the idea of passing this on to someone. I mean, you’ve got shitty taste in friends, but...” He shrugged. “I’ll find you when I’m ready, Hudson.”

Finn watched him walk away, feeling much the same as he had when Darren told him he should be a singer. Seriously, if I had your voice, my group would still exist. Keep it up. He felt a shiver. It didn’t matter in that moment if Sam wanted to be QB or not. He pictured himself on the field, in the center of the team, calling the plays, catching the hike, passing the ball for the touchdown. It actually felt possible.

Maybe that was why, when Sam asked him at dinner, “So are we singing tonight by the fire?” Finn shook his head.

“Aggie and Sean are busy,” he said. “We can be alone in the cabin.”

“Oh.” Sam seemed to hesitate, causing the line of people waiting for food behind him to stop for a moment, before he quickly took a step forward again. “Yeah. Okay. Uh, your room or mine?”

“Whatever. Except our room has that chair with no arms. It might be easier for you to play guitar sitting there, instead of on the bed?”

“Isn’t that chair really uncomfortable?” Sam said, walking straight past the salad bar without stopping. “I mean, I’m fine with either. The chair sounds great. Just, if you want the bed instead, I can make that work.”

It turned out the evening was drizzly, anyway, so Finn didn’t feel so bad keeping Sam all to himself. Back in their cabin, however, Sam seemed restless, moving from one thing to another. Finn tried to give him space.

“You know, I think I’m going to go for a run,” Sam told him finally.

Finn raised an eyebrow as Sam stripped off his t-shirt. “In the rain?”

“Just a short one. It’ll make it easier for me to focus.” He backed toward the door in his undershirt. “I won’t be long.”

“You’re gonna get wet.” Finn said, but before he could try his argument for why Sam should sit down before he lost his nerve, Sam had vanished out of the door, his glasses abandoned on the side table. Finn stood by the door, watching Sam’s legs carry him around the lake trail until he was out of sight. Then he went through the bathroom into his and Sean’s room, dug his phone out of his jacket pocket, and dialed Puck’s number.

It went to voicemail once, but the second time Finn called, it clicked to life. “You have the worst timing, Hudson. I’m in the middle of something.” Puck sounded annoyed, but there was the sound of music playing softly in the background so he couldn’t be too busy, “Or, I mean, I’m about to be getting into something.”

“Dude, you could have let it go to—uh.” He laughed sheepishly. “Sorry. I’ll be quick. What’s a song you and I sing together that’s really good? I mean, really, really good. One that shows off a little.”

“How about...” Puck trailed off, and there was a noise in the background that sounded almost like a groan.

Let's talk about sex, baby Let's talk about you and me Let's talk about all the good things And the bad things that may be

“Not that,” Finn protested. “Dude, I’m not trying to get in anybody’s pants. What the hell. I’m talking good singing.”

“Why’re you singing to someone if you don’t want to get in their pants?” Puck scoffed. “Can I offer...”

Come out Virginia, don't let 'em wait You Catholic girls start much too late Aw but sooner or later it comes down to faith Oh I might as well be the one

Finn flung himself onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. “No, no, Billy Joel is your range, not mine. Something higher.”

“So much for being quick about it. Sounds like the rumors about you aren’t exactly accurate.” He could hear a scuffling noise, and shushing and snorts of muffled laughter.

“Dude, who’s there with you?” Finn said suspiciously.

“Oh, this big, handsome, burly right guard. Yeah, we’re going at it pretty hot and heavy right now.” Puck sounded almost bored. “And, oh, yeah, there’s Mr. Ryerson coming through the door.”

“You really know how to make everything gross,” Finn said, grinning. “Okay, well, if you can’t think of anything, I’m going to have to default to Journey.”

“Do that Steve Perry single, the one from Straight Talk.” Puck hummed the chorus, and Finn sat up. “Can I hang up on you now, or do you have more stupid questions?”

“No, I think I’m good. Have fun… whatever you’re doing.”

“Looks like I might be doing some singing, actually.” Puck sounded amused. He added, to whoever was there, “You’re serious? Right now?”

Finn laughed. “I’m out of here. Whoever she is, good luck.”

He had to look up the lyrics to the song on his phone, not because he hadn’t sung it eight thousand times, but because he was sure he had been singing some of them wrong for years. Somehow it seemed important to get the lyrics right when he was singing for somebody else. Not that he was singing to Sam, or anything like that.

Actually, now that he was reading the lyrics, Finn decided he might want to have second thoughts about singing this particular song. It wasn’t because it was a love song, but it was kind of sad, and not exactly upbeat. But it was too late to call Puck back, and he wasn’t going to pick something else now.

There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs outside, and Finn sat up on the bed quickly, his phone almost bouncing on the mattress as it slipped from his hand. He had begun to swing his legs off, but the door opened with a very loud noise, and Sam stepped in, shaking out his hair.

“Paul wanted us to know that the hose for the sprinkler system is working again,” he said dryly, barely looking as he pulled at his undershirt that was soaked to his skin. “It came off and sprayed me, but he, very heroically...” he trailed off, his eyes finally falling on Finn who was resting back on his hands, his legs splayed wide. “Uh... are you... waiting for someone?”

“Me? No.” Finn straightened up, trying to figure out what to do with his hands. He rose to his feet, tripping over his shoes a little. “Who would I be… um. Can I get you, like, a towel or something?”

“I should get to the bathroom,” Sam gestured but his shoes squelched as he took a step, and Finn quickly shook his head.

“No way, you need to lose the shirt at least, man, before you get sick. You can borrow one of mine until you go next door.” He grabbed one of his big, comfy McKinley High athletics shirts from his drawer and held it out. “Just—sit there and take off your shoes. I’ll get you that towel.”

He ducked into the bathroom. The towels on the rack both smelled like feet, so he rummaged in the shelf above the sink until he found a clean one. It was a worn towel from Six Flags, the one with the picture of the roller coaster on it.

Finn brought it back into his room where Sam was sitting on the floor in a puddle, his soaking-wet undershirt in a pile next to one of his shoes. He was struggling to get the other one off. When Finn snickered, he shot him an exasperated look.

“It’s really hard to untie wet shoelaces,” he protested.

“Hey, I’m not saying anything,” Finn held up his hands with a grin.

He exchanged Sam’s wet undershirt for the dry towel, then took the shirt into the bathroom to drip dry. He couldn’t help but pause in the doorway, though, and glance back at Sam, who was contorting himself trying to get a better angle on the lace, until his foot was nearly over his head, as he got more and more frustrated.

“Here.” Finn knelt on the floor next to him, gesturing for Sam to put his foot back on the floor. “You’re just making it hard for yourself. Let me.”

Sam looked very unsure about this, but he let Finn tug at the heel of his shoe until it finally slid off his foot with a sloppy sound. It made them both snicker. When Finn presented him with the shoe, like it was a priceless gift, Sam laughed harder.

“Thanks.” Sam rolled his eyes. “For the towel, too. It’s been a pretty crappy evening so far. Maybe... I should just turn in.”

“You think it’s going to get any better if Aggie gets home and sees you’re asleep?” Finn joked lightly, “I bet he’d put your hand in warm water just on principle. Come on, why don’t we just... hang out. I’ve got this dumb book I’m supposed to read for my classes next year, I’m sure you could do some sketching or something, right?”

That made Sam brighten a little. “Yeah, that sounds pretty good.”

It didn’t take long for the two of them to get comfortable, but the separate beds felt like way too far away to Finn’s mind. He pulled the blanket off the bed, and made himself a little half-nest on the ground, his back to the drawers. Sam spread out on the mattress, not physically, but between the sketchpad, a small pile of comic books, and the guitar resting against the headboard, there wasn’t a lot of space there.

The book was very boring, but listening to the sound of Sam’s pencil skritching away on the paper was strangely relaxing.

It wasn’t until the third time that he lifted his hand to his nose, and Sam hummed in a mildly negative way, that he turned to look. Sam finished with a line, and then looked back towards Finn and froze. Finn offered a small smile, “You doing all right?”

“Yeah, I was just...” Sam glanced at the sketchbook on his lap and then back to Finn. “Art, you know?”

“Are you drawing me?” Finn couldn’t help but ask, his chest feeling strangely warm. Sam looked mildly horrified, but after a beat he slowly nodded. “Can I see?” Finn continued, and that got a sharp negative. Finn tilted his head. “Why not?”

“Because... it’s embarrassing.” Sam shrugged, “And private. And you were supposed to sing, and you didn’t, so I’m holding my art ransom.”

“Oh, yeah?” Finn felt his smile broaden. “Does that mean you would show me if I sang something?”

Sam glanced back at the sketchbook and then back to him, ��It’s honestly not that good. I mean, I really want to hear you sing, but I don’t want you to be disappointed if you’re expecting the Mona Lisa or something.”

“Dude,” Finn said softly. “There is literally no way I would be disappointed by you, Sam. Ever.”

Read the rest of chapter 3 | Read the whole story on AO3

#@karofsky #finn/sam #sinn #@beshrew-my-very-heart #glee fanfiction

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kiara-carrera · 4 years ago

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I don’t know if you already did this but I’d like to know all the love questions for jj and leah (or as many of the love questions you want to answer) for the ship questions thing. Please!

we're not going to talk about how i scrolled past the list about seven times looking for it on my page smh @ myself. under the cut because i ramble whoops.

1. who said “i love you” first?

okay so i don't have a solid plan in canon because it's all dependent on future seasons, but the way i've always had it in my head is that leah is the first to say it and it doesn't go great because jj kinda clams up (he gets in his head/isn't really great at verbalizing shit sometimes), leah kinda gets embarassed and bolts and they don't talk for like a good two days before they sorta just go "okay that happened moving on" because leah's just like ok ok he's not ready i'm not pushing him and jj kinda feels like he fucked it all up (however when he finally does tell her, it's a very soft moment and leah's heart nearly fucking explodes).

2. what are their primary love languages?

leah's is words of affirmation and jj's is physical touch!

3. who uses cheesy pick-up lines?

jj, like, even before they were dating he'd like jokingly hit on her (it was never serious because it was before feelings, but he's just a lil shit and liked to get her annoyed), but once they're together, he stills whips out super cheesy lines and she's this close to shoving him off the dock at some points.

4. how often do they cuddle/engage in PDA?

in public, it's not a whole ton, mostly because the rest of the pogues are like pls stop (jj honestly doesn't give af and sometimes neither does leah, but she's not super super big on pda aside from like having his arm around her/a few kisses). but when they're alone? if jj had his way he'd be all over her constantly, like he's very much an affectionate attention whore and he is v much a cuddler.

5. who initiates kisses?

jj jj jj jj. literally even their first kiss, it's him making the move and most of the kisses afterwards as well until they sorta hash out exactly what's happening between them.

6. who’s the big and little spoon?

jj will front and act like he's big spoon, but more often than not, he's the little spoon.

7. what are their favorite things to do together?

surfing, swimming, napping, smoking, and skateboarding (part of me wants her to like already know how in my fic, part of me wants to write a lil one shot of him teaching her). jj is also very much down to make out with her basically whenever but leah doesn't count that as like an activity.

8. who’s better at comforting the other?

leah. whether it's patching him up after a fight, talking him down from something ridiculous (most of the time, at least), or just consoling him, she's kinda always had the upper hand. however, he tries his best and honestly does a pretty good job all things considered (he usually is bigger on physical comfort because verbally sometimes he puts his foot in his mouth but it's fine she loves him anyways).

9. who’s more protective?

i think the answer is probably obvious, but it's jj. like we've already seen how protective he is over his friends, so when leah and him get together ... yeah, he'd do just about anything to make sure she's good.

10. do they prefer verbal or physical affection?

jj prefers giving and receiving verbal affection (look, do i think this kid is a lil touch starved? maybe fucking so), but leah's more on the verbal side. however, she does not complain about him being physical at all lmao.

11. what are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?

i have a whole ass playlist just for this exact question but the short list

gold rush, taylor swift

look after you, the fray

cloud 9, beach bunny

someone to you, banners

12. what kind of nicknames do they call each other?

honestly they don't really have like specific nicknames that like no one else calls them. jj usually refers to her as lee because he is incapable of just calling her leah and he'll also call her lee lee if he's being a dick because he knows she hates it, but their friends do this as well. his name is already short enough, but sometimes leah calls him j. when they're alone and further in their relationship, he'll probably call her like baby and babe as well, but that's about it.

13. who remembers the little things?

surprisingly, jj. like everyone around them assumes he'd be kinda space-y on shit and that leah would really be the only like remembering all the little details (which she does), but he's surprisingly perceptive and good at remembering things about her. there's a scene i have planned regarding a nervous tick she has and he mentions it casually and it kinda catches her off guard because she didn't think anyone ever noticed but he did. and it's honestly just a situation where it's like...of course he remembered, it's you.

#asks #ship ask game #thank you for asking!#mayson #i love them sm your honor #lovehermioneforever

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adamarks · 5 years ago

Text

simon snow has fucking dragon powers or some shit and this is my goddamn proof

Whilst you people were having a meltdown over Baz and Simon not hashing it out (Simon’s not in a place of understanding his self worth enough for that yet.), I was having a meltdown about Simon Snow The Literal Fucking Dragon.

Now, this is obviously going to have major spoilers for Wayward Son. I’m going to assume you’ve read it if you’re reading this. I’ve put a lot of thought into this theory and this is a long ass post so I’m putting it under the cut. Now. Let’s go, lesbians!

First and foremost, let’s start with the wings and tail.

Simon’s wings are established at the very beginning of Wayward Son to represent something. We don’t really get to quite know what that something is until they start referring to Simon’s wings the same way they used to refer to his magic.

The most direct reference to Simon’s wings symbolizing his magic is in Simon’s section of the prologue at the very end of the book:

“It’s time for me to stop pretending I’m some sort of superhero. I was that-- I really was-- but I’m not anymore. I don’t belong in the same world as sorcerers and vampires. That’s not my story.

Dr. Wellbelove said he could remove the wings. And the tail. Whenever I’m ready. I could go back to school then, or get a job...”

This section directly confirms that yes, these wings are a metaphor for Simon’s magic. They’re all he has left connect him to the world of magic. They’re the only thing still making him feel even remotely on the same level as Baz and Penelope. (This book really was all about the concept of self-worth and how completely lacking it affects not only us but those we love. Phew, talk about a doozy. No wonder we’re all crying.)

Now that we’ve established that Simon’s wings, at the very least, are his one tether to magic, let’s drive the nail into the coffin of the wings and tail being absolutely, 100% symbolic of his magic.

As I mentioned earlier, the book starts treating the wings exactly the same as it treated his magic. This even starts before Wayward Son. The first mention of Simon’s emotions relating to his wings and tail is in the first book. In the epilogue, in Baz’s section, during the dance scene.

“His tail whips out of my hand. It tends to slash around when he’s upset.”

This really starts to come out in the last fourth of Wayward when he’s “itching for a fight.”

His wings constantly poke, prod, and generally annoy Baz and Penny because he refuses to put them away. Almost.... like... how his magic..... felt suffocating.... and too much... and he couldn’t push it back... or tamp it down. *cough*

Okay, so that was all pretty basic, boring, base-building stuff, yeah? Pretty “whatever we get it.”

Well, here’s where it starts to get fun.

Let’s talk about Simon’s Mirrors.

Lemme just explain what the hell a mirror is, first. In case we all flunked our high school Lit classes.

A mirror character is, in simple terms, a character that acts, looks like, or reminds you of one of the main characters. Through these “mirror characters” some important information about the main character is revealed to us subtextually.

Let’s name our Simon mirrors:

Ebb

Agatha (she’s being developed as her own character but that’s not stopping her from mirroring our good lad.)

Aunt Fiona (to some extent anyway. she doesn’t really factor here.)

There might be some minor ones I’m forgetting (I’m not including foils) but these are our main guys.

I put Ebb on the list first, but let’s start with Agatha, the cranky heroine of our dreams.

Throughout the whole first book, Agatha is shown to be Simon’s mirror. Them both mooning over Baz in almost the exact same way. (Jesus Christ they’re embarrassing to watch.) The waiting on rooftops, the handkerchief. (Don’t get me started on Simon carrying around Baz’s scarf in Wayward. I’m soft and everything hurts. Our poor, stupid, stupid boys.) It’s not exactly subtle.

In Carry On, Agatha reveals just how much Simon also resents his fate. He never really expresses it, but Agatha is reflecting to us how he’s feeling. They both get progressively less resigned to the bullshit “Chosen One” fate as the book goes on. They both make it out alive. Maybe everything will be okay.

But then Rainbow rolls up with a Sex On The Beach and Gucci sunglasses to tell us that “fuck no everything’s not okay.” (She’s right. God, I could go on a rant about how no one ever talks about how you feel when you’ve defeated the villain. When you’ve escaped the dungeon. Hhhhh)

Wayward Son immediately sets Agatha up as even more of a mirror than she was in the first book. We’re shown right away that the two of them are both in a depressed funk. They’re both at “15%” and miserable. These two are echoing each other like NEVER before and I am LIVING for it.

Like, we even get this amazing bit in Chapter Four:

“That would feel like an answer to... the question of me. Then I could say, ‘Oh, that’s who I am. That’s why I’ve been so confused.’”

They! Are! Struggling!

Now, how does this relate to Simon having literal fucking dragon powers? Good question, thank you for asking.

In Chapter Fifty-Six, when Pen and Agatha are stuck in the back of Fuckwad Vampire #3′s car, Agatha says this:

“I honestly thought I could walk away from it all-- like magic was a place. Like magic was a person. Or a habit I could break.

When Simon first came to Watford, he couldn’t make his wand work. He could barely cast a spell. He thought they were going to kick him out, that he wasn’t magic enough.

“You don’t do magic,” Penelope told him. “You are magic.”

I... am magic.

Whether I like it or not, whether or not I claim it. Whether or not I carry my wand.

It’s in me, somehow. Blood, water, bone.”

They!! Are!! Both!! Magic!!

Magic is in them! Magic is with them! They’re made of the stuff! They can’t cut off this part of them, no matter how much they want to. (lmao. talk about good old internalized homophobia. I don’t really have an opinion on what Agatha’s sexuality is, btw. I’m using homophobia as a blanket term because I have no clue what’s up on that front.)

Simon is made of magic. He doesn’t want to remove his wings. Even though he has to hide them. Even though he thinks he’s a Normal now. Like Penny said, “an aeroplane is still an aeroplane even if it’s on the ground.” (I’m not sure that’s verbatim, apologies.)

Simon still has magic. We just can’t see it. He’s made of magic. He is magic. He was literally conceived during a spell. Bitch is as magical as you can get.

But where is the magic???? Where’d it go???? Hello????

I’m getting there. I promise. First, we need to talk about Ebb.

Ebb wasn’t only Simon’s weird Aunt figure; she was his mirror. Ebb was what would’ve happened to Simon if he hadn’t rejected the mage at the end of Carry On. Ebb just gave in. She didn’t want to fight anymore, and she figured Shithead The Great knew more than she did.

God I just fucking hate Mage so much like holy shit. Anyway, anyway.

Ebb was the strongest magician next to Simon. She didn’t want to fight. She didn’t want to use her magic for any great purpose. She just wanted to be. Agatha even reiterates this in the epilogue of Carry On.

“Like, they couldn’t just let her be.”

(No, Simon doesn’t miss killing things in Wayward. He misses excitement and having a purpose. He mainly misses having a purpose. Not having one of those fucking sucks.)

What the fuck does Ebb have to do with this? Why can’t I just get to the point?

My point is!

My Point IS!

That goddamn dragon with the sheep was supposed to remind you of Ebb.

So, let’s do the math. If 1=1x1= 1 then...

Ebb = Margaret = Simon

Sure, sure we had Simon screeching that he wasn’t a dragon. But Margaret was immediately like,

“Not yet.” She pets his wing. “Are kitten. Someday dragon. Someday ferocious.”

Simon smells like a dragon, but also apparently “smells like iron.” Whatever the fuck that means. I mean I guess it means that Baz could still sippy sippy. (Which is gonna happen or I’ll eat my own toe.)

One more thing:

“I wanted wings,” he says. “I wanted to fly.”

“Why tail?”

“I wanted to be free!”

Gee, that sure sounds like what Agatha was saying earlier, huh?

YEAH OKAY HE’S HALF DRAGON!! WE’VE ESTABLISHED THAT!!! WHAT THE FUCK AM I ON ABOUT!!!!

Omg thank you for asking. I’m going to blow your mind with my final point.

The Final Point: The Baz Problem.

Wayward Son is, by all accounts, Baz’s book. It develops everyone beautifully and everyone has an arc, but this book is where Baz gets to shine.

We found out in this book that vampires are immortal.

This introduced a whole new issue, an issue that surfaces every time immortality is introduced as a possibility for one character but not the rest.

Someday, Baz will be left alone.

He’ll inevitably outlive everyone he cares about. We all know our poor, beautiful, delicate bastard boy couldn’t take it. How deeply he cares is his most beautiful and wonderful trait, and this could break him.

I wonder, how long does a dragon live?

Penny talks about the improbability of Simon and Baz in Chapter Three.

“Star-cross’d lovers. ‘From forth the fatal loins of these two foes.’ The whole shebang.”

Simon’s magic was always described as smoke and fire. The first creature we learn about Simon fighting was a dragon. (Chapter 1, first page of Carry On)

“You’ve slain a dragon, Simon. Surely you can manage a long walk and a few buses.”

God, I just really hate Bitchface the Mage. Anywho.

Simon. The One Who Came to End Us. Simon. The One To Save Us All. Simon is the dragon and the knight. He’s his own worst enemy. His arc will be completed once he accepts the “dragon” part of himself. It’s poetic as fuck, I must admit.

Simon has to find love and care for himself, and then this baby dragon will be grown. He’ll be “on top” as Margaret had said. (God, could you imagine all the dragons waking up? How fucking epic would THAT be? Fingers crossed.)

The monster that drains living things and the monster that burns all in its wake. These losers are starcrossed, but they complete each other. Dumbasses. I just love them so much why can’t they get their shit together.

Simon and Baz’s storylines are utterly intertwined. They’re perfectly matched. Simon might not know it, but their hearts are already tied together; they beat in sync. They’re two stars orbiting each other. And, if we’re all very lucky, maybe they won’t crash. Maybe this story won’t end in flames.

So, in conclusion, I really really really want Simon to breathe fire. The only other way I could see this twisting is the wings somehow going away and Simon getting a regular-magician amount of magic. That’s kinda lame tho and doesn’t complete his arc correctly. This dumb boy is a dragon now and there’s nothing we can do about it. (EDIT: actually yeah simon’s not gonna lose his wings no way in fuck. check out my meta.) Also? I would sell my soul to see Simon getting really possessive over really weird objects for his hoard.

Thank you for sticking with me this far, dear reader. I’ll leave you with this thought: Baz is Donkey and Simon is the dragon from Shrek.

Check out my other meta on the future of simon and baz’s relationship and how penny and agatha relate

scarf meta as well check it

Gonna be tagging peeps so this can circulate better.

@carrybits @neck-mole @watfordwallflower

#Wayward Son #wayward son spoilers #Carry On #Simon and Baz #Simon Snow #Baz Pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #penelope bunce #agatha wellbelove #ebb the goatherd #meta #carry on meta #wayward son meta #snowbaz #this will end in flames #long post #i did put a read more

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kirishwima · 5 years ago

Note

drunk RFA+ Jihyun and ge Saeran with not drunk female MC😆

ohhh durnk RFA! i like this hehe

However, since we know Seven doesn’t drink alcohol or smoke, I’ll switch his section into eating edibles with him; so be warned there’s mentions of both alcohol and weed in this!!

YOOSUNG:

* Baby boy is a lightweight like...don’t even give him a single beer can, not even a sip of wine...MC why did you let him drink, this one’s on you

* Knowing how Yoosung gets when drunk, MC decided not to drink at all that night-they were out for dinner with the rest of the RFA, and one glass of wine turned into ordering beer after beer per Zen’s insistence lol

* By his second glass, Yoosung was a M E S S

* MC actually had to excuse him and herself to take him home, the boy so tipsy he was leaning onto Zen, twirling his white locks of hair flirting with him, thinking it’s MC!!!

* It took a lot of strength to drag him to the car, and Seven actually had to come out and carry Yoosung as he drunkedly giggled while being princess-carried; something Seven will never ever let him live down lmao

* At home she managed to get him into bed, albeit in his day clothes, unable to get him to put on his pyjamas, simply curling up besides him as MC waited for Yoosung to fall asleep.

* He turned to her in his drunken haze, clasping her cheeks in his hands as he looked to her with a grin.

* “Youu...you are so cute! How can you be so cute and be mine? There’s-*hic*, you met pretty boy Zen and-and rich dude Jumin-but you want me! Me!”

* MC rolled her eyes, leaning close to kiss Yoosung’s cheek. “I did choose you. I love you” she whispered, making Yoosung fall into another feat of giggles.

* “Yess-me! And I-I choose you! Like Pikachu! Chu, chu” he laughed at himself, the sound endearing and adorable all at once.

* He settled himself down after a moment, sighing as he let his eyes flutter shut.

* MC thought he was asleep, when she heard him mumble;

* “Marry her-I’m gonna marry MC...mm, then everyone will know she mine...ha”

* She smiled, curling up on his chest. She’d never admit she heard him say that, but she’d never forget it, and well, if she’s a little extra sweet and cuddly with him the next day, she’ll blame it on his cuteness.

JAEHEE:

* She doesn’t like to admit it, but she too, is a lightweight.

* She’s usually careful about how much she drinks, knowing how..well, how she tends to get when drunk, but this one night-

* MC had brought home a bottle of her favorite wine, saying they should make it a stay-at-home date night, and Jaehee couldn’t resist-between the two of them, they ended up emptying the bottle, Jaehee having just a tad more alcohol in her than she could handle.

* What MC was soon to find out, is that Jaehee is not only a very bubbly, talkative drunk, she’s also very, very handsy, a little cuddle fiend;

* Before MC knew it she was laying on the couch, Jaehee laying over her with her limbs locked on MC’s sides like a koala, talking about anything and everything, context gone in her hazy mind; from her love of Zen’s musical, to her distaste for cats, to Jumin, and how much she’d like to take that silver spoon of his and shove it-um. Anyway.

* MC giggled, letting Jaehee ramble on and on until she tired herself out, her head leaning down to fall onto MC’s chest, her hands clasped on MC’s shirt.

* “Are you sleepy?” MC teased, running her hands on Jaehee’s back.

* “Mmm” Jaehee mumbled, nuzzling her head on MC’s chest, “you-comfy. So comfy. Love you so much” she kept mumbling, the words muffled on the fabric of MC’s shirt.

* Jaehee was never this bold, and in the morning, when she woke up on the couch with MC beneath her, both of them sore from the awkward sleeping position-Jaehee would be a flustered mess, her cheeks a fiery red as she tried to recollect the scattered memories she had of the night before.

* She’d apologise profusely to MC, who’d insist there was nothing to be sorry for.

* Just a cute sweet funny drunk really lol

ZEN:

* It takes a LOT to get this guy drunk-he’s so used to going out to bars back in his motorcycle-riding days and getting shit-faced that nowdays there’s only few kinds of alcohol that can really give him that tipsy kick.

* Well, one night he and MC were out at a bar with colleagues celebrating the end of a theatre production, when their producer brought a few bottles of some fancy smoked whiskey-Zen’s vice.

* He loved whiskey, but rarely indulged in it, not only because there’s few situations in which whiskey would be suited, but also because honestly, it was the only type of alcohol left strong enough to get him drunk.

* He was careful at first, wanting to stay sober so he could be a proper escort to MC, but people kept pouring in his cup again once it was empty and he was too polite to say no and he kept drinking and well...this is a long-winded way to say Zen did get drunk lol

* As it turns out, drunk Zen is not too different from sober Zen-were it not for his slurred speech MC might’ve not even noticed he’s drunk.

* She only realized it when he started leaning his head on her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her waist as he looked to her with a big exaggerated pout, his bottom lip jutting out as he blinked up at her.

* She laughed, flicking his nose. “What? What’s with this grumpy face, hm?” she asked him.

* “You are...so beautiful. I love you so much!” he started, and MC rolled her eyes at him.

* “And is that a reason for you to pout like that?” she asked him. Zen shook his head, looking around the bar as if to make sure he can lean up and whisper in her ear without anyone else noticing.

* “I don’t want all these other people to be looking at you-and I want you to only look at me” he whispered, before leaning back to look her in the eye. “You love me the most right? Right??” he grumbled.

* MC realized just how drunk Zen must’ve gotten by that point-and not wanting him to feel embarassed the next day, she slowly managed to get him home, collapsing with him on the couch in a giggling heap.

* By the next morning he was as good as new, minus the horrible horrible hangover he’d been experiencing-but thankfully his own personal Advil was right there to make him all better ;)

JUMIN:

* Honestly, it’s quite impossible to get this man drunk.

* Or rather, it’s that he’s so subtly drunk that it’s almost impossible to realise when he is. He simply...becomes chattier. Bolder. That’s the only difference between drunk Jumin and sober Jumin lol

* MC only realized when one night at a dinner party, after having copious amounts of wine, Jumin leaned onto her, quietly nodding towards other guests and sharing his honest, undiluted opinion of them in MC’s ear.

* “Mrs Portokalou, the lady with the red hair; she’s a stuck up butt” he started, making poor MC nearly choke on her drink as she took in the bold words Jumin whispered. “Mr Khan, he’s a know-it-all, don’t ever get into a debate with him. So annoying. That guy over there, with the blue suit-I don’t...I actually don’t know who he is but I don’t like him. His tie doesn’t suit his suit. Disgusting” Jumin scoffed.

* It was so entretaining that MC didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop, biting her cheek to stop from laughing her heart out at Jumin’s commentary.

* “That man there; Mr Mel. What a douche-douchebag? Is that what Zen usually calls me? Well, that’s what this man is too. Douchebag...I should go tell him that.”

* Woah woah woah! Before Jumin could make his way up to Mr. Douchebag, MC gripped his wrist, tugging him back.

* With some effort and promises of kisses in the car, she managed to get him to go home without voicing his opinion of everyone there publically lol

* By the next morning not only was he completely fine, no hangover to complain about, he also had a full recollection of the night before-and he didn’t seem apologetic, not one bit.

* ‘Mr. Douchebag’ became an inside joke for the two of them, must to Zen’s dismay lmao

SEVEN/LUCIEL/SAEYOUNG:

* He doesn’t drink alcohol nor smoke, but he does really like edibles; he makes his own butter out of weed, and then with the help of MC, will make hash brownies and cookies, and his favorite, honey-buddha chip buttery dipping sauce to dunk his chips into.

* One day the couple made a batch a little stronger than usual, which left Seven into a laughing high mess on the living room couch, an unopened bag of Honey Butter chips laying on his stomach.

* MC had only had a little chunk of a brownie, so the effect hadn’t hit her nearly as much as Seven-he was giggling at nothing, turning his head this way and that before leaning back on the couch to look at MC who was sitting in the corner typing away on her phone.

* Seven smiled incredulously, poking at her thigh until she put her phone down and looked to him with a raised brow.

* “Hey-heyy, hey-hey did you knoww-” he wiggled his brows, making MC roll her eyes with a smile, “that I really really really love you?”

* MC ruffled his hair, relishing in his giggles. “And I love you Sae” she grinned.

* “No-I love you more! To inifnity and beyond and uh-to space....all the way into the galaxy...a galaxy far far away...” he zoned out, stretching his hands in front of his face as if to examine if they’re really there, wiggling each of his fingers like he’s testing them.

* It took a while for him to get down form his high, but he never seemed particularly embarassed about it-when MC reminded him of how he told her he loves her to infinity and beyond he simply laughed and kissed her.

* “Heck yeah I do” he admitted, and welll, that was that lol

JIHYUN/V:

* Like Jumin, he rarely ever gets drunk-but that’s only because he always, always drinks in moderation.

* He’s went through his rebel years as a teen, drinking himself into oblivion simply to spite his father, and he got that urge out of his system. Nowdays he drinks simply to enjoy the taste, winding down after a long day with a nice glass of wine.

* One night though...hoo boy. MC’s friends had invited her and Jihyun out to a bar, insisting they wanted to get to know her boyfriend better. Not one to disappoint, Jihyun agreed to come along, sticking out a little like a sore thumb in the group of giggling girls surrounding him.

* He’d tried ordering a glass of wine, but MC’s friends insisted he should try this bar’s specialty cocktail, a fruity drink that actually tasted really really good. Jihyun ended up drinking a couple of those cocktails, dissolving into a happy giggly mess, which only made him even more endearing.

* MC’s friends had already taken a liking to him, but seeing him joke around and even get up to try and be a wingman for one of the girls, they all decided he’d now be an official member of their friend group, lol

* MC ended up going home with Jihyun leaning on her shoulder, laughing beside her ear all the time. She couldn’t help but laugh along with him, his sweetness doubling now that the boldness of liquor coursed in his body.

* When she helped him lay down in bed, she moved away to get changed into a pair of pyjamas, she heard Jihyun whine behind her, shuffling on the bed.

* She turned to find Jihyun kneeling up, a frown on his face. “Where-where are you going?” he asked.

* MC laughed. “Baby I’m just going to get changed, I’ll be right back-!” She didn’t get to continue her sentence as Jihyun got up from the bed, fumbling about until he reached MC, sneaking his hands across her waist, hiding his face atop her head.

* “No-you can’t leave, please-”

* MC couldn’t do anything-he was so worried, his brain probably bringing up painful memories, that even having her gone from his side for a moment worried him. She simply hugged him back, reassuring him she was right there.

* They ended up falling asleep in their clothes, MC still with makeup on her face as she awoke to Jihyun shuffling in bed, pushing his palm onto his eyes.

* “never again...I’m never drinking with you girls ever again” he grumbled, pouting when MC laughed.

* He’d absolotuely be drinking with them again lmao

SAERAN:

* Like his brother, he doesn’t drink, doesn’t want to, but once-just once he got drunk.

* There was a bottle of a strong clear liquor in the cupboard, so strong that MC had stored it there to use as an antiseptic.

* Yet...Saeran didn’t think much of the label on it, didn’t even try and catch a whiff of its strong smell. He simply poured the clear liquid in a glass and drank it all in one gulp, assuming it’s just water and someone stored it there by accident.

* Well..he soon found out it’s not. Gagging he smacked the glass back down on the counter, running to the faucet to drink some actual, honest water to wash down the taste.

* MC heard him gagging and gasping and run to the kitchen-one look at the bottle and the empty glass alerted her to what’s going on and she couldn’t help but laugh, even as Saeran turned to throw a glare her way.

* She explained why she’d kept that bottle there in the first place, and helped Saeran sit back down on a chair as she poured a glass of water for him.

* She couldn’t have expected him to start getting tipsy from just a glass-sure it was strong as heck but-it was merely a few sips!

* And yet soon enough she got her hands full of a giggling, cuddly Saeran, so unlike his usual shy demeanor that she couldn’t help but stare at him, wondering how someone could change this much with just a single glass of alcohol.

* Saeran had crawled his way onto her lap on the couch, his arms around her neck as he rested his face on her shoulder.

* “So sweet-You’re so sweet. Wonderful, and great and-and-”

* He wouldn’t stop complimenting her until MC was a blushing mess, hiding herself on his shirt with a squeal.

* That very same night after a nap and a raging hangover, MC couldn’t help but tease him about his previous boldness.

* He was blushing redder than his brother’s hair at the memories, and vehemently refused to acknowledge them-but MC knew. She k n e w .

-send me a mysme headcanon for character reactions-

#im not too happy w this but im sorta multi tasking orz #im studying skyping my sister to help w some issues and writing this at the same time ;;#mystic messenger #mysme #mysme prompts #mysme headcanons #marshmallow-love-ray

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gallavictorious · 4 years ago

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Fic: Claim

Mickey wants back into Ian's life. Ian wonders if, and how, to let him. Or, the one where our boys conduct their meaningful conversations not by talking but by having sex. Not nearly as smutty as it sounds, though; it really is all about their emotions.

Basically, this is a 3,341-word exploration of their season 4 reunion and reconciliation. Includes the infamous blowjob scene and its aftermath, so warnings for complicated consent and Ian not being in a great place in general. The angst has a happy ending, however.

Read it below or on AO3.

Claim

Afterwards, you’re almost sure they were really there. You’re almost sure you didn’t just dream them.

Debbie, grown two inches and with a face no longer quite that of a kid. Lip, looking much the same as when you left, but worried in a way he can't quite hide and you don’t think you care for. It's harshing your groove, that pinched look. They're not here to party and their voices – no, I'm good, can we talk, arrest you, stealing government property, let's go outside – cut through your happy buzz, sharp pebbles in your shoe on a sunny day, and maybe that's why you haven't told them you were back, 'cause you'd know it'd be like this. They're family and they're good people, sure you're glad to see them, but Lip's questions just clashes with the beat of the music and this is supposed to be a good time, man, so why they've got to bring up all that stupid, boring shit that doesn't even matter anyway.

You have to go mix another drink, because that's your job right, and when you look up they're gone but there are other drinks to mix, and then it's your turn on the floor and Stephen's here tonight again and has brought his usual treats, you lose him later but there's a couple of other dudes throwing a party at their place and you go and then you go to the gym for good measure – or maybe you didn't, you're not sure, but it was a good, real good, only now that strange dull ache in your head is back and you're almost sure your brother and sister came by to see you last night.

You’re almost sure.

Mrs. Bergdoll calls a greeting as you stumble past her on the way to the bathroom and you reflexibely pull your lips into half a smile, call something back. She's nice; doesn't mind you staying here even after Monica went off with some guy she met when getting thrown out of Rover's.

You shower. The water is cold but at least there's water, fuck knows how it's still running. It clears your head a little, the cold, and you start to feel better again. Sharper. What does it matter what happened – or didn't happen – last night? Today's a brand new day, and you have a feeling it's going to be fantastic.

Work doesn't start for another couple of hours, so you do a bit of writing – gotta keep up with those ideas, these thoughts you keep having; gotta write them down before you forget because what if you lose something important? – and you go for a run and grab some Subway, and then you're on the L headed for the Fairy Tail, music in your ears.

That's when it catches up with you, the thought behind the thought, the one you've been trying to outwrite, outrun, outlisten. You turn the music up up up, loud enough for the lady next to you to glare, but still the thought comes, you can't stop it, your mind keeps drifting back to last night and –

If Debbie and Lip came to see you yesterday, if they were there, if they know where to find you...

Will they tell him?

And if they do... will he come?

No. No. You don't want to think about that. He made his choice, he put on a goddamn tux and made it loud and clear for all the people to hear, in front of his fucking dad, I do, his hand in that whore's. He loves you – you are sure of it, still – but he did that, so what's love really worth, huh.

It's over, done with. He made his choice; you made yours. Maybe it didn't go exactly as planned with the army, but so what, it's better this way, you're rolling with it. Made lots of new friends, even if they don't know your real name, who cares about names when every night's a fucking party, and you wish you'd known this years ago, that life could be like this, fun, easy, no fucking heartbreak and no fucking hiding, no cares.

It doesn't matter anyway. He won't come.

It doesn't matter.

---

Two nights later you're giving one of your regulars a lapdance when there's a slap to your arm and a curt “time's up, lovebirds” and you look up and there he is.

There he is.

“Get up,” he says and you move without making a conscious decision to.

“It's my turn,” he says and sends George running and you don't know what to do or where to look and you don't even know if you're actually surprised that he's here.

“Curtis?” he says and there's a familiar sneer in his voice and you realize that you don’t want him to see you like this and it pisses you off, because you’ve got nothing to be sorry for, nothing to be ashamed of.

You could just walk away. Could call security and tell them he interrupted a lapdance or whatever, and if that doesn't get him thrown out the bunch of insults he will invariably throw at whoever comes to set him straight certainly will.

“Twenty-five bucks get you a dance,” you tell him instead, because fuck him; because you don't want him thrown out; because that’s all he is to you now, a customer. That’s all he chose to be, when he walked down that aisle.

He spits and he grumbles but he pays. He'd never have let you give him a lapdance when you were together but he pays for it now.

You push him down the black leather couch and straddle him, lean in, how's your day going?

He smells wrong. Something scented, spicy-sweet. You don't like it.

He wants to talk. You're giving him a fucking lapdance but he wants to talk and he's angry and looking at you like you're so annoying, like you're out of your fucking mind. You can still feel his semi pressing against your ass when you switch positions to lean against him, though, and as you turn your face towards his, getting close, you can smell him through whatever perfumed shit he's wearing,

Mickey.

He got married. You can't do this. He's still talking.

“Twenty-five bucks only gets you one dance,” you tell him. You stand up, away from him.

He won't let you go. Hey. You don't wanna hang out, fine. Your dad's dying. Ian. Your family. Liam.

Liam.

Something is about to burst and break open but then Roger is there and you don't know if you're relieved or not but when he asks you if everything's okay here, Curtis, you quickly reassure him, shifting to stand next to Mickey.

As you walk away, you think about how immediately, how reflexively, you moved to shield him.

---

You wake up a the crack of dawn, and maybe you should be surprised to find yourself in the Milkovich house but you're not.

Mickey's asleep in a chair in the corner, still fully dressed.

The bed smells of him, but smells of someone else too. You don't recognize the scent, but you know whose it must be, and fuck no, you're not sleeping in the bed he shares with her.

You should get out of here, maybe; get out and far away before he wakes up, but you're too tired, your legs are too unsteady for that and your thoughts too dull and slippery, so you just grab a pillow that smells like Mickey, and a couple of blankets, and you fall back asleep on the floor.

---

You wake up with a headache and to the sight of Mickey's pregnant wife towering over you. It startles you – where is Mickey – but you try to for cordiality, grasping for a couple of (probably) Russian phrases a guy you met at some party taught you.

Your attempt at charm wins you nothing. You leave.

---

“I forgot to say,” Mrs. Bergdoll tells you when you stop by the old house for a change of clothes, “but there was a couple of kids came looking for your the other day. Said you were their brother. I told them you were at work. They find you?”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

She nods and blinks at you through the cloud of smoke from her hash pipe. You consider asking her for a hit to take the edge off the comedown from last night, but you don't.

They know where you work, and they know where you live.

Nothing for it then. Time to go home.

---

Liam's alive. Frank too, so far, but you don't care so much about that. Fiona looks overjoyed to see you, but looks haggard and worn thin too, and you hate that, but... you can't help but feel the tiniest bit relieved when you realize that everyone will be too busy dealing with the ramifications of her brutal fall from grace to worry very much about yours.

---

He comes for you, and this time you thought he might. He blows you, which you thought he wouldn't.

It feels good, his mouth on you, but feels like something else too, something that for a moment is better than good: vindication.

His arms are heavy on your tighs, his fingers dig into your sides as he holds on to you to keep his balance, and you close your eyes and lean your head back and mingling with the rush of pure carnal pleasure is the rush of knowing that, sure, he married her, but he'll get on his knees for you. He'll come looking for you and find you and bring you home to his – their – bed and once you run off he'll come looking again.

He'll suck your dick, just because you asked him to.

I'll do it.

You hadn't expected that. You'd laugh in surprised glee, but – because you can't quite believe it, because you won't let him off that easy – you push instead. “Do what?”

His lips twist. He glances at you, immediately glances away. “Don't make me say it, asswipe.”

You don't. You could make him; he admits as much. That can be enough, you think.

Still, you're no longer some lovesick puppy who'll come crawling back all grateful with your tail a-wagging the second he realizes what a fucking idiot he's been, you're done chasing him, so you don't bother to hide the smug teasing in your voice as you spell it out for him. You don't tell him it's cool, you don't have to when he moves to crouch between your legs.

The face he makes suggests that you're a fucking nuisance, says yeah okay whatever, but the eager quickness of his hands and the way he looks up at you with pupils blow wide suggests that maybe he, too, has longed for this; dreamed of it, maybe, and ached.

His hand is warm around the base of your dick; his tongue wet with spit as runs it along your length, once, twice, before taking you into his mouth.

You bite back a moan. You're already fully hard. It's hurried and a little sloppy but it's him and he's good at this, though fuck knows how that happened, because you're pretty sure he's only ever done this with you, and not very often at that. He likes this, you know that he does, but know too that it still costs him something; is intricately tied to all the things he's still struggling to admit and express.

You love me and you're gay. Then gentle bob of his head tells you that he won't deny it again.

Fuck, but you've missed him. You have tried not to; have tried not to think of him at all – he made his choice, he married that whore, and you've spent the last few months running from the memory of him, trying to drown the taste of his lips in the taste of strangers, there's a whole world out there, guys, so many of them, they like you, and they're not all afraid to be who are they are and want what they want.

Some of them sucked your dick. It never felt like this.

You come in his mouth. You expect him to pull away when you make a small grunt to let him know you're close, but he doesn't. Stays right on you, around you, through it. Swallows.

He's never done that before.

He wipes at his mouth and looks up at you, eyebrows raised in half a challenge, like are you fucking happy now? but there's something else there too, a hint of vulnerability still, uncertainty lingering: are you happy now?

A curious tug at your heart; a softening, and a brief flash of something that feels real, in a way not a lot of things have lately.

You allow it. You allow your walls to lower, just enough to allow him right back in, into your life and all the way into your stupid heart.

Fuck, but you've missed him.

You scoot forward and reach out to cradle the back of his head, pulling him up for a kiss. Again, you half-expect him to pull away, and again he doesn't. Instead he lifts his chin to meet you, arms wrapping around your back in a loose embrace, and the two of you never kissed much, you didn't have the time needed for it to become a habit before everything went south, but like so much else with him it just works; you just fit.

You can taste yourself on his lips and on his tongue and that's strange but you don't care. You breathe him in, his shampoo, stale tobacco, no fucking perfume that smells like someone else, Mickey,

He straightens, getting to his feet only to push you back onto your back and climb on top to straddle you, and you don't resist and the familiar weight of him pressing down on you is heat is thrilling is comfort. Your hand is in his hair, his hand is around your wrist, but after a moment he shifts to lace your fingers together. He is kissing you like you're the first gasp of air after almost drowning.

You can feel his erection against your stomach, trapped between your bodies, but he doesn't seem bothered. He kisses you, like that's all he's ever wanted to do, like that's all he'll ever want to do.

For a little while you allow it, losing yourself to press of his lips; to his nose brushing and bumping against yours; the feel of his hair in your clenched fist. For a little while you let yourself know nothing but him, and the joy of being claimed. For a little while – but then you shift, twist and push to roll over, so that you're both lying on your sides, face to face. You keep kissing him – but slower now, deliberate – as you reach down to undo his belt buckle and unzip his jeans. You don't immediately push your hand down his boxers, though: you let your fingers brush over his soft skin just above the waistband instead, let them skim just past the straining bulge of his underwear, unhurried.

His breath hitches; he curses against your mouth, but it's a soft thing, half-swallowed. He pushes forward, just slightly, looking for friction, anything, and you promptly pull your hand back, and your head back too, just far enough to break the kiss.

His eyes snap open, searching yours, and you see his face still, caught, when he finds you already watching him.

There's a question in his eyes; uncertainty; confusion. Annoyance too, in the way his brow furrows. You just raise your eyebrows pointedly and hold his gaze.

He stares at your for a moment. You wait for him to consider telling you to get the fuck on with it, Gallager, nobody likes a fucking tease. You watch him bite his lip and you wait for him to decide against demands. When he stays silent and slumps ever so slightly, relaxing into aquiencense, the thrill coursing through your body are equal parts triumph and excitement.

You take a momen to watch him and he lets you. He doesn't look away or ask what the fuck you're staring at. His face is open, beautiful, his eyes that startling blue. You used to dream about it, a long time ago; about him looking at you like this, soft.

Your eyes never leave his face as you slowly run your hand down his chest and slip it under his t-shirt to rest on his belly, and you smile a little when he lets out a long, unsteady sigh. Leaning in once more, you claim his lips for another kiss, and he responds eagerly, taking whatever you will give.

You can feel the tension in his body as your fingers roam the sharp curve of his hip; as they brush over his pubic hair; as you scratch at his inner thighs, caress and tease. You can feel the gust of air as he hisses into your mouth whenever your wrist brush against his dick.

But he keeps still. Waits.

There's a new sort of pleasure in this – in being allowed this – and for a moment you think that maybe you could keep it up for hours, but in the next you know that you could not, and his quiet moans are growing more frantic and you're starting to grow hard again, so you slide your hand inside his boxers. He whimpers as you wrap your fingers around his cock and it's not much of a handjob, really, it's rushed, too dry, but he doesn't seem to mind and you just want to feel him; want to hear his breathing quicken as his kisses grow sloppier.

He comes quickly, with a long, stuttering gasp, spilling over your hand, over his quarter zip, the sheets.

You don't say anything, just press your forehead against his, dry against damp. You hold him tight, sharing breath, while his hearbeat slows and steadies.

A minute, two. Your dick softens; you don't mind.

Eventually he pulls back a little, opening his eyes. He's flushed, still, but his gaze is sharp and clear.

You wipe your stitcky hand at his quarter-zip just to be a dick and he makes a disgusted face. “What the fuck, man?”

“It was already dirty.”

“Uh-huh. So's the fucking sheets, asshole, use those.”

You can feel your lips curl into a wide smile and see his doing the same, and then you're both laughing, like idiots, like giddy kids. He reaches for you and this kiss is languid, comfortable, and when you break apart you're still grinning.

Rolling over on your back, you reach for a cigarette, taking one drag before handing it to him. He accepts it with a pleased little hum in the back of his throat, a sound you've heard a hundred times after you've fucked him good and hard, and it goes straight to your cock, but goes straight to your heart too, so maybe you really are too fucking soft.

But he's here, isn't he, so maybe you are right to be.

You think you'd be happy to stay like this for a while, on the bed with him, just smoking, talking maybe, but: “Probably should head down and grab some dinner before they come looking for me again.” You glance at him. “Wanna join?”

“Nah, man, I'm good.” Doesn't feel like dealing with your family, most likely, but that's fine. You get it.

“Okay.” You stand, adjusting your pants and making sure there's no telltale stains. He remains on his back, looking dishevelled and loose and content, with his jeans still open and the smoke between his swollen lips.

Fuck, but you've missed him.

“I could bring you up a plate later?” you offer casually. “If you're staying.”

His eyes dart up to you and for a moment there's so much on his face, hope, worry, longing, caution, joy, but all he says is, “Yeah?”

You smile. “Yeah.”

---

A/N: Yes, Ian is being rather unfair in not considering the fact that Mickey's been through hell, and no, it's not very charming, but he's a teenager dealing with quite a few issues of his own. It is what it is.

I'm operating under the idea that Mickey went by the old house to look for Ian when he learned Svetlana had kicked him out, and found out that Ian had grabbed his things and left, and that this is what he refers to when he says “took all your shit”.

I'm actually very bothered by the fact that they don't use a condom for this, since Ian's been out and about and Mickey's had unprotected sex with a prositute, but then again, I don't really expect anything else from these stupidly reckless boys. Don't go have unproteccted sex unless you're monogamous though, kids. STD:s are real.

I guess this is kind of like the fic version of this meta I wrote a while back, I highly recommend reading the additions by other people, because they are very interesting and thought-provoking.

#gallavich #4x07 #4x08 #fic #my stuff

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who-is-olivia · 5 years ago

Text

Side A, Track 2. Watermelon Sugar

Harry Styles x OC

Harry and Olivia enjoy vacation in a remote beach house and decide to experiment. [3.4k]

Genre: smut

Warnings: sexual language, substance abuse

January 2016

Olivia drives back to their beach hideout, about an hour away from a city in the outskirts of Rio de Janeiro. She went shopping for groceries, mainly fruits she was dying to eat while they were living in paradise. One Direction just announced the hiatus and Harry needed a break from the spotlight. For the first time in years he has a blank schedule, so she booked them an intimate trip near a city she used to visit when she was younger. They spend the days in a private beach, go to the town center for shopping and eating then return to their hideout. It’s a perfect little paradise.

She walks into the cabin in the sand, the sun is a couple hours from setting and the shore is starting to retreat. Inside, the AC is at the coldest trying to compensate for the summer heat. Down the hall through an open door she finds Harry sleeping soundly at their bed, his naked chest breathing slowly, relaxed.

She drops the grocery bags in the kitchen isle and tip toes to the bed, eager to bury herself on his tanned chest. His side of the bed sinks as she sits on the cushions and runs a hand over his navel and up to the swallows on his collarbones, he sighs and fusses but doesn’t wake up.

She goes for it again, taking particular interest in his butterfly tattoo, recalling the day it was done: she and Harry went to get small tattoos somewhere during the American tour, but he decided to get a massive butterfly in his stomach. He was fixated on that and she went along for the ride, getting a smaller version of the butterfly behind her elbow. Back then he said it would help cover his belly, little did he know few years ahead he’d grow into an Adonis. Not that he wasn’t handsome by then, but looking back they were almost children when they started to date, now they’ve grown into beautiful, successful individuals in their own rights and that passion never left.

She continues to tease him without much success. She leans and kisses his sternum, licking it up to his neck aching to taste his warm skin but he’s in too deep slumber to react other than a small groan.

“Hey” she whispers, kissing his cheekbone tenderly.

“You’re back already?”

“I brought you some things”

He rubs his eyes tiredly, that delicious summer feeling still running through him. The tanned skin slightly aching from hours beneath the sun, the freedom of having no appointments, no tasks, no worries... only miles of sand to his left and right and the ocean ahead disappearing in the horizon. Nobody to boss him around, only the company of his best friend and lover to please and be pleased by. “Hm?”

“You’ll see” she grins, giving up on this approach as he’s clearly not up to respond the way she desires, “I’ll be in the kitchen, whenever you’re up”

“Just five more minutes” he stretches lazily as she walks past the door.

The living area combining the kitchen and sitting room faces a glass pane where they can see the beach, and there Olivia watches the sky turn to beautiful shades of green, orange, lilac and pink. In summer, the sunset drags for hours, making every moment a different celestial watercolor.

She takes a couple of fruits from the grocery bags and a bottle of cachaça, a local kind of liquor that tastes a bit sweeter than vodka. While Harry gets up, she prepares a drink with ice and pieces of seedless watermelon. She throws some other stuff in for flavor, obtaining a pink drink that’s sweet and refreshing. At last, years working at Uncle Jim’s bar amounted to something.

Harry takes his dutiful time getting up and dragging his feet to the kitchen where he find Olivia with all sorts of fruits and drinks. He raises his brow and grins, “You’ve been busy”

“I got a bit carried away” she admits, taking a seat on the high stools of the kitchen isle. He sits beside her and grabs one of the glasses. “Cheers”

“Cheers, love” he clinks their glasses and sips. She waits for his reaction and is gladly surprised with an approving nod, “That’s so good”

She shrugs, “I knew you’d like it”

“Did you just made that up?” he sips again, welcoming the sweet taste of the cocktail.

“Yes, I did” she smiles proudly.

“What should we call it?”

“The Styles-Cooper Pink... Cocktail?” he shakes his head disappointed.

“You can do better than that”

“I don’t know, all the drinks I know were baptized like 50 years ago” she takes some more of it, “By the way, do you know how Cuba Libre got its name?”

“No, why?”

“‘Cause it’s an interesting story” he raises a brow indulgently and pulls her legs over his lap, “Cuba used to be a Spanish colony, and when it was time for it to gain its independence the United States fought alongside them. They had this saying: America for the Americans, which sounds like colonialist bullshit today-“

“Naturally”

“But back then the europeans were the big villains of the story, so it sounded like they were fighting for the American continent to be its own thing. Anyway, to celebrate the alliance that got Cuba free from Spain, they mixed an American drink with a Cuban one: coke and rum, Cuba Libre” she tells.

“Is this the kind of know-how you need to be a bartender?” he asks mockingly.

“Oh, yes of course”

“You passed all your exams for that-“

“With flying colors, asshole” she kicks his stomach away playfully.

“Still, can’t think of a name-”

“Wait! I got it!” she holds her hand up in suspense, “You’ve got watermelons, you’ve got cachaça – which is like, a byproduct of sugar –, how about... Watermelon Sugar?”

He nods in approval and she punches the air, “Brilliant”

Later, they lay together in a hammock watching the tides turn with dizzy heads. The sweet taste of their beverage masked how strong it actually was, so now they barely process up from down as the hammock swings.

“Haz” she slurs, “what’s that word for like, something you really like... sexually?”

“A kink?”

“That’s it!” she snaps and settles down satisfied with the answer, but still leaving him intrigued.

“... why do you ask?”

“I just had a grammatical curiosity”

“Bullshit”

She frowns, “No, I really just lost the word”

“Bull-shit” she giggles, turning her gaze away from him in annoyance. “You’ve got a kink you’re not telling me about” he encircles her waist, nuzzling her temple as the hammock presses their bodies together.

“It’s not that-” she tries to explain, but the words tangle in her mouth.

“Do you have a kink and you think it’s too weird for me? ‘Cause I’ve known you for a while, anything you might say will hardly shock me” he chuckles and she turns to face him.

“I wasn’t thinking about that, you creepy pervert... I was thinking about this” she touches the butterfly on his stomach, “when I first met you you barely had one tattoo and you also had a bit of a belly, now here we are... when did you get so fit?”

He chuckles, “Thanks, love”

“Don’t get me wrong, I was all about that baby fat life”

“You also changed”

“Not as much”

“But I noticed” he smiles to himself, only through appreciation he was able to observe the way her body changed and love every bit of it.

“Well, that’s what I was thinking about. You’ve always been sexy to me, even when you were eighteen and had not a trace of facial hair-“

“I still don’t”

“That’s not the point” she pinches his chin, “What I’m trying to say is that I always liked you, inside and out”

He smiles tenderly down at her, “It goes both ways, love”

She presses a sensuous kiss to his lips, but before she can make any other move he breaks it with a smirk.

“Do you have any kinks you’re not telling me?”

She huffs and rolls her eyes, “Fuck’s sake, you can get so annoying sometimes...”

“I’m just saying we’re alone in here miles away from civilization, it’s the perfect place to do something... unusual”

Olivia raises an eyebrow in suspicion, “I see... what is your secret kink, Mr. Styles?”

He fakes modesty, “If you insist, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to fuck out in the open. It could be on a beach, or a forest, anywhere cameras can’t reach...” he raises a brow. She bites her lip in curiosity, it sounds really inviting. “What ‘bout you? I think I know a few but I wanna make sure we’re on the same page”

“I got the usuals, but I think the one that turns me on the most is probably doing it while I’m high, like, mind-numbingly high”

“I’ve always wanted to know how that feels” he confesses.

“You know, we’re really, really far away from anyone... and I’ve got some hash...” he raises his brow in restrained excitement, “Why don’t we just... you know... get really crazy high and fuck on the beach?”

He snorts and laughs out loud at her crass phrasing, but immediately agrees.

She takes the hash from her purse and starts to roll a couple of blunts. While she’s at it, Harry tries to recreate her Watermelon Sugar, making himself an imperfect copy but good enough to drink. He holds his long hair up in a bun and sighs at the numbness already taking over his arms. He loves this sensation of being slightly out of touch with reality, every sensation feels a little stronger when stimulated. When he opens the fridge, the cold that hits him almost burns, then he takes a strawberry from the pot and bites it, feeling its acid nature clash with the sweetness and the crisp seeds cracking in his ears.

Outside, the sky assumes a stronger shade of pink, the few clouds that float away assume a salmon coloration while the sun refuses to set. The low tide stretches a few meters between the sand and the shallow, creating a long water mirror that reflects the changing colors of the sky. Olivia walks over it, daring to find where her heels will sink into the warm sea, boiled by the relentless summer sun. She lights the blunt and drags, her eyes following the horizon as the smoke escapes her lungs. Harry steps out of the cabin and takes in the sight, the strange comfort of being alone with her. The skyline warps before his disoriented eyes and he tumbles a few times in the unstable ground, but he keeps balance enough to reach the water mirror.

He holds Olivia by the waist and nuzzles her curly hair, taking in the sweet scent of coconut that remains after a bath. She turns in his embrace and rests her forehead against his, breathing him in and exhaling small traces of hash. Harry takes hold of both her thighs and pull her up to his lap, kissing her passionately. She cups his cheeks careful not to burn him and returns the kiss feeling her whole body numb except for where his touch connects them. They break the contact slowly so she takes a moment to pull once more, this time she breathes out in his lips so he can pull. When he’s done he captures her lips again, putting her down before taking the cigar from her hands.

He rests the blunt in his bottom lip while he unzips the back of her flowing dress, letting the piece of fabric slide down her shoulders, the curve of her breasts and the bump of her hips until it falls on the water and is washed away back to the sand. He pulls more of the hash and blows away from her face as she pulls him by the short ties. In his haze, he holds her chin and presses a smug kiss on her lips, his shorts falling down to his heels and joining her dress somewhere behind him.

Harry stumbles over her for a moment and she holds him steady, “Hey, are you ok?”

“I’m alright, promise” he hugs her upper body close, crushing her chest against his. She nods reassuringly and kisses him, supporting herself by his shoulders. His hands run up her sides, thumbs brushing gently against the side of her breasts smashes against his strong chest, sliding down to grasp a handful of her butt cheeks playfully. Harry’s kiss slip as he imagines what to do next, his dizzy mind undecided between sucking her nipples, kissing her stomach, licking her ear... “I wanna taste you” he nuzzles her temple, “everywhere”

“What are you waiting for?”

Harry smirks and drags his lips down her jaw and neck, peppering her collarbone and descending through her sternum and the valley of her breasts. He kneels before her belly, biting and tugging on the skin before pressing soothing kisses around her navel. Olivia feels like a tree swaying in the hot breeze, all her senses transcending as she feels the warmth between her legs spread and take over her spine. He pulls down her underwear and throws it away along with the rest of the blunt that burned near the filter.

He tugs the back of her knees, pressing her to kneel before him too so he can lay her down by the water mirror. The sky reflected around her spins in his sight, every trace of light invading his dilated pupils. He leans over her thighs and drags his mouth over inner side of that handful of flesh. Savoring her skin, he goes for the that purple aching nub in her center, capturing it between his lips and running his tongue over it teasingly. A goosebump runs over her and stays as his agile kisses cause her head to spin in pleasure. She’s taken over by that sensation every time he finds that small spot in her he loves so much, in any other context it would make her hips swing madly for friction but this high she can already feel that burn building up. When he suck on her clit it gets too much, she grasps his hair keeping him there, then he flicks on it running his tongue deliciously up and down inciting new and ecstatic sensations.

He pushes her thighs to part them wider and licks long stripes of her before sucking her harder than before, her back arches in delight, “Mhmm Haz... holy shit”, she cries. The tip of his tongue continues to hit that perfect spot that fires her whole body up and the first chills of her orgasm take over her. “Right there... right...” The last thing she sees is the fading line between the lilac and the green of the sky, then her eyes shut and it builds too much, her thighs clench and her whole body is taken by that incredible wave as if she instantaneously combusts. Afterwards, she descends like a feather on the wind, taking her time before returning to reality.

Harry feels her relaxing after clutching him between her legs and drags his kiss up to her chest, climbing over her as her heat irradiates to him. At the sudden change, he takes some time to get used to the overwhelming amount of stuff to take in. Olivia cradles him against her heaving chest and chuckles.

She strokes the hair out of his face, he’s definitely not used to it, “You’re tripping”

“Pff, no I’m not!” he dismisses.

“Alright! Suit yourself!”

She sighs, pressing his proud self closer to her chest. Despite the heat, it feels so good to have him this close, she loves him so much not even combustion could make her push him away.

Harry watches the sunset lulled by her hectic heartbeat slowly calming down. Even this low the sun still rages, there’s nothing like summer in Rio. “Come ‘ere”

He sits and helps her up, “Where’re we going?”

“The water”

They thread carefully over the small waves, sloping down to a point where the warm water reaches their waists. Harry never understood how enjoyable it is to spend the day in the sea until he met her, the way she chooses to enjoy her surroundings is a completely unique feeling. He pulls her legs around him once more and she hugs his neck as they both watch the beautiful horizon stretch for miles on end, resting their temples against each other. The sea is peaceful, small waves make him feel lightweight but to be fair he had been feeling like this since the first drink.

“Is this part of your kink or a completely different one?” she asks, turning to find his eyes. When the sun hits them, they turn to a beautiful light shade of green.

“Call it ‘outside kink part. 2’”

“This really turns you on?”

He looks around at the beautiful landscape and the loads of space meant just for them, no cameras, no agents, no coworkers, total privacy to do what he wants without having to hide, and total freedom to express his desire, “A lot”

She feels him poking her thighs and smirks, taking hold oh his length and stroking it teasingly. “I see...”

He has to clench himself not to cum in her hand, it feels like her every touch is more accentuated, like he’s more loosen to get this hard without a single restriction. She leans to kiss his soft spot as she holds his shaft against her clit and grinds against him, making his head spin madly. The wet sounds of her kiss near the shell of his ear, the friction between his legs, the hash breaking down his walls... it’s too much, he feels so good it should be criminal. “Oli...” he licks his lips dryly, desperate for any relief.

She ends his misery grinding a bit higher so he sinks inside her. They move together with the waves, rising and falling into each other in a delicious motion, their bodies so hot they could torch the sun. She turns so vulnerable in his arms, so willing as she whimpers softly, tugging strands of his hair until it falls from the bun and frames his face freely. Slowly, he feels his mind escaping almost as if he can see himself from the sun’s perspective, a small dot in the sea transcending in pleasure.

He returns only when he unleashes inside her, his heart calming down after such a wild experience. Oli leans back and floats with a relaxed giggle, her legs still clasped around his hips. The sun sets lower now, causing the water to assume a deeper blue tone and the sky a deeper shade of purple. As it gets darker, they swim back to the shore stopping by the water mirror. Harry sits on the sand, his chest still heaving and his sight fuzzy, disoriented. Olivia walks over to him, kneeling beside him and brushing aside the wet strands of hair that stick to his forehead.

“Haz... baby, look at me” his eyes dart to her, eyelids lazy and barely open. “Are you okay? Really?”

“I’m alright, love” he holds her waist, “just didn’t do this in a while, I’m a bit overwhelmed”

“Hope that’s a good thing”

He nods, pulling her down until they both lay on the sand with her body over his. She cups his jaw and kisses him hard once more, enjoying the last moments of their drug-induced haziness. The sun is barely visible, so are they when the lights are all out. All that’s left in the summer evening is their wet bodies, the heat and a sweet-fruity taste plaguing their tongues. He cannot see her in the dark, but he can feel her, he can hear her small gasps that sound just like a song to him, Olivia is like the waves that wash him away and he happily drowns in the feeling of her.

Suddenly, they hear a stomach growl. “Was that you?” she asks.

“Maybe?” they giggle, hard to tell when they’re this high.

“You must be starving”

“How could you tell?” he mocks, bopping his nose against hers.

“It’s weed, Haz, if you weren’t hungry it would be a real achievement” she helps him up and out of the sand, holding him by the waist as they bump their way back to their cabin to get the berries she brought earlier.

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