#i hope hes a lingering thought and not a permanent resident oh that would fuck us up so so bad

[princessmyriad]

.

[clairdelunelove]

Closer Than We Seem

kyoutani kentarou x f!reader

genre: slight angst, fluff, comfort, romance, mutual pining 

warnings: cursing, implied past physical abuse, mentions of physical/verbal harassment 

synopsis: college!kyoutani demanded to know the source of the obnoxious arguing that kept him awake throughout the night. The thin walls barely filtered out the yelling and he had a 7:00 a.m. class in the morning. Venturing out to immediately put an end to it, kyou stumbles upon a person with a past that changes both their lives- and romance ensues. 

a.n: 5.0k words of some kyoutani content! enjoy!

He was sick of it.

Amber eyes, bloodshot around the edges, shifted to glance at the digital clock seated on the nightstand. The dark plastic is well worn as the illuminated screen is covered in cracks. Undoubtedly, the piece of technology was victim to his annoyed clobbering whenever the alarm went off.

Smothering a plush pillow over his ears, the blonde fervently attempts to block the commotion. His fingers press tightly against the only source of comfort that keeps his sanity at bay. A raised vein etched across his jawline as his teeth grind together and he forces out a grunt. 

2:25

“It’s been two damn hours.” 

Kyoutani’s gravelly voice is barely heard over the yelling in the next room. Disgruntled, he removes the pillow from his face and tosses it beside him with a roll of his eyes. The part-time college student is openly miffed by the lack of peaceful sleep he could be getting. He, quite honestly, didn’t appreciate showing up to morning classes with eye-bags as dark as the eyeliner that he meticulously lined his eyes with. Over the past four months, adequate rest is a miracle for him to discover each day. 

“And they’re still arguing,” Kyoutani rambles on while using the bottom of his hand to hammer the pillow onto the mattress, “who the fuck argues that long?” 

Scrunching his thin eyebrows, he tries to comprehend the mere logic behind quarrelling in the middle of the night, especially on a school night. By all means, Kyoutani isn’t a saint amongst sinners but in a couple hours the blond has a chemistry quiz, a subject he’s gloriously failing, and sleep was needed. 

Another frustrated shout rips through the popcorn textured walls which doesn’t muffle the noise due to the poor insulation covering. The voice is distinctly a male’s and it takes all of Kyoutani’s willpower not to roar back to assert his dominance. Instead, his fingertips rake through his cropped hair while letting out a grumble. 

His eyelids feel like weights are strapped to them, progressively drooping shut, as his vision becomes blurry. A rare silence drifts through his cramped dorm room. The place resembles a battle zone with clothes tossed to the bed, papers scattered over the desk, and empty protein bar wrappers cascaded on the floor. Yet, Kyoutani adored the small freedom he finally had at the university dorms. 

The silence lulls him to close his bloodshot eyes, a deep exhale flares out his pointed nose, and a relief floods through him. He might actually get some rest for once. 

“Get out!” 

At the obnoxious yell from the neighboring room, the blond is far too annoyed to logically comprehend his actions before his bruised knuckles are knocking at the wall. The numbness of rapping at the wall is barely registered over how livid Kyoutani is at the intrusion to his sleep. 

“Shut up!” 

He throws in the bellow for good measure and stops his onslaught of assault on the wall. It seems awkward scolding the wall and his hand slowly drops to his lap. His sharp eyes track the movement of his fingers, dimly noting that he needs to trim the cracked edges. Perhaps his unpolished fingertips are the reason for his missed spikes on the volleyball court lately. 

A solid thump resonates back to him, to which Kyoutani dumbly blinks at. Hairs at the back of his neck stand and he can literally feel the heat leave his ears as his blood boils. The college student’s temper has simmered down since high school but hearing the other person’s unperturbed knock ticked him off. It was almost like they were taunting him. 

“Oh that’s it,” he mumbles and kicks away the blanket that interlaced his figure. 

Stretching across the small room, his legs move on its own accord and he reaches to twist the knob of the door. Using the expanse of his muscular shoulder, he pushes the wooden structure open in hopes of confronting the rowdy student that resided next to his dorm room. 

Permanent frown plastered on his pale lips, the blond urges to dramatize the expression. He crosses his arms after knocking on the neighboring door and the action displays his athletic build as a result of years of sports. The irate appearance was perfected as a scare tactic that he used to his advantage in varying situations. Petrifying the student next door wasn’t excluded out of the list.

“Could you shut your mouth? You’re being too damn loud, man--”

Kyoutani allowed himself to commit a double take before hastily shutting his own mouth, only for it to part as a sharp inhale almost made him sputter. His onslaught of vulgarity, a script he’d previously rehearsed plenty of times, fell lost on his tongue as he eyes the female in front of him. 

You’re unfairly pretty. 

It pains him that the first thought that races within his mind is a compliment when your mascara is smudged at the edges. Your frizzy hair is at a disarray, strands sticking up even when it’s pulled into a ponytail. The hoodie that you’re wearing is far too large as the end hits above your midthigh and his thoughts short circuit when he drags his gaze upward to see that you’re already giving him a sheepish smile. 

“Sorry,” your voice pitches higher at the sudden appearance of the male, “were we being too loud?” 

“N-no? I mean yes,” Kyoutani sputters the first words and finishes his reasoning with a pathetic remark, “chemistry.” 

Your face lights up, visibly amused with his lack of speech at the moment while understandingly nodding, “you have a chemistry test?” 

“Yeah.”

“And you need to get some sleep before it?”

“Yeah.”

His responses are pitiful- even he knew- but there was only so much he could verbally say when focusing on the way your lips curved up when smiling. Plus, perhaps he was delusional with the lack of sleep, but your curiosity seemed to dip to his lean physique.

“I’m so sorry,” your eyes follow the blond’s movement of leaning against the doorframe, “we’ll try to keep it down so you can get some rest.” 

His brain disconnects with the small ounce of logic he carries when your sleeve sweeps across your nose to sniffle and he recognizes the dried tears that stain your face. Kyoutani isn't the best at handling emotions or being touchy-feely but he’s not ignorant.

“You good?” He asks while cautiously taking a step forward.

His defensive instincts, honed by years of avoiding other people, raise at the wary glint in your eyes. The blond’s inquisition is answered with a meek nod of your head and your nose scrunches to halt your sobs. Upon closer inspection, the sleeves on your hoodie is drenched in what he infers are tears.

Your feet remain rooted to the ground, neither welcoming him or pushing his intrusiveness away. He’s aware of the slight shake of your body and his golden eyes widen at how unnerved you were behaving. 

“My bad,” Kyoutani falters as his own doubts consume him, “I didn’t mean to make you cry-” 

“Who’s at the door, (Y/n)?”

The new voice, startling you with the sudden shout, comes from within the room. Distinctly, it’s the same tone that was hollering while Kyoutani was trying to sleep. The blond’s keen on how you were shifting your weight to each foot and the fidgeting only increased when footsteps resounded on the creaking floorboards. 

“Oh,” you squeak as your evasive gaze connects with his, “my dorm room neighbor.” 

Pulling your hands away from your face, a naive expression is plastered on when a male comes up behind you. The stranger is shorter and less lean than Kyoutani is. Yet, when the male captures your stare, you’re reeling back by fiddling with your fingers behind your back. 

The unpleasant male, brunet but his darker roots were peeking out, regards Kyoutani with a sniff, “can we help you?” 

Something about the male irked the blond and a frown tugs at his lips. He predicted that the guy was your boyfriend or had some type of connection with you. Being in university led to freedoms such as relationships. Although Kyoutani was a stranger to such involvement, he knew the attachment or void others were attempting to fill during these years.

“Yeah, you can,” the blond responds with a miffed scowl, “noise complaint.” 

There’s an uncomfortable silence when the brunet eyes Kyoutani with an agitated glower. It’s painstakingly silent. He’s surely showcasing his superiority within the uneasy situation. Though, the volleyball player is grateful for his decision of wearing a tattered, sleeveless shirt because the other male loosened into an apprehensive gaze. 

“She wasn’t listening to me, so,” the other male jut a thumb towards you and shrugs his shoulders, “sorry, dude.”

Raising a sharp brow, Kyoutani’s expression is dubious when noting how the blame is placed on you when the other male was clearly the only one hollering beforehand. It clicks that the uneasy flickering within your eyes is due to the other male and disgust engulfs him. 

His fist clenches, displeasure rolling off of him in waves before speaking up, “I’m pretty sure I just heard your loudass screeching. Just keep it down.” 

The brunet clams up at the jest, forehead wrinkling just enough to cause worry that lines would permanently stay there. Kyoutani watches the way the other male’s jaw tightens before he’s storming off. The blond regards the other’s lack of positivity with a roll of his eyes and mutters an insult under his breath. 

A whisper, faint but lingering in the silent air, leaves your lips, “thanks.” 

“Nah,” his amber eyes flicker to yours, “don’t need to thank me. ‘Ts about time someone put him in his place.” 

“Tell me about it.” 

“I could,” Kyoutani pauses to toe at the floorboards and the cheap tile chips at the touch, “if you’d let me.” 

The words tumble out of his mouth before it can be filtered and the result has him reeling back. His cheeks are warm, probably matching with his reddened ears. The invitation is annoyingly corny and the staleness makes him want to hurl. 

“Sounds like a deal.” 

Your response has his attention locked onto you again and he’s internally thankful that he’s not the only one embarrassed by his impromptu. Thumbing at the sleeves of your sweater, a lopsided grin etches across your face and the blond freezes up. His mind is functioning as quickly as a bullet train but his expression only stares back at you with a stupidly blank look. 

Your giggle snaps him out of his stupor before putting him into a daze over how charming the noise sounds. An entertained peek casts over him as you tuck your hair away from your face.

“I guess I’ll see you around-”

“Kentarou,” he discloses with a respectful yet hurried bow of his head, “Kyoutani Kentarou.” 

“(Y/n)(L/n). Call me (Y/n),” you mention before begrudgingly edging the door closed, “and good luck on your chemistry test, Kentarou.”

The next day, it irritates him that he can only conjure up an image of your smile when he should be solving for Planck’s constant.

-

“Whatcha doing there?” 

Keys dangling in his grasp, he halts at the front of his dorm room door. It’s unwelcomely cold today and the brisk wind has his fingers alike to popsicles. The blond’s tried to fight off the chill with his customary varsity jacket and black beanie. Ideally he didn’t toss on the hat because he couldn’t bother with styling his hair- of course not. 

You’re situated on the floor with your knees pulled up to your chest while balancing a notebook atop of your makeshift desk. The lined paper has quick notes jotted down, highlighted words, and doodled diagrams that Kyoutani is able to discreetly peer at. A twinge of satisfaction tugs at him when your study habits are exactly what he’d picture they would be. 

“Studying,” your eyes never leave your paper as you respond to him. 

Uncapping a pastel highlighter, you exaggerate the action by underlining a phrase written in your notebook and raising a brow at him. The incredulous look on your face only comes off as sarcastic as Kyoutani rolls his dark eyes at your mockery. A grin curls on your lips while raising your shoe to nudge the side of his boot. He’s recognized each one of quirks, including your friendly banter.

“No shit Sherlock,” the blond pulls his hand away from the door and tucks the keys into his pocket, “coulda sworn you were sleeping.”

Crouching on par with you, he extends a finger to poke at your cheek and indicates the dark bags underneath your eyes. It’s lighthearted payback for the attitude he received just a second ago yet there’s a concerned glint in his stare. The darkness that surrounds your eyes is apparent even with the dab of concealer you managed to slap on in the morning and an embarrassed hand covers half of your face. 

“Kyou!” 

The threat isn’t laced with malice but the jab at his shoulder sure proves that humiliation is a strong consequence of emotion. He lets out a groan while gingerly rubbing the ache that emits from the bundle of muscle you punched. 

Childishly sticking out your tongue at his dramatics, you declare, “that’s what you get.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

He pauses and then recognizes that the position you’re in is one that seemed too familiar. Your gaze flutters back to the flimsy notebook, aware of how perceptive Kyoutani was when it involved the wellbeing of yours. 

Inviting the blond to warm up to you was certainly a gradual process but you did not regret it. Shy smiles transformed into late night talks over the phone. The two of you had a special yet uncharted compassion for each other that had bloomed over the last two months. 

“What,” the words taste like venom in his mouth and he desperately wants to spit it out, “he locked you out again?” 

You feign interest in your notes, physiology facts are sprawled onto the margins, while avoiding Kyoutani’s heated gaze. His hand balls into a fist, dull fingernails digging into the soft flesh of his palm. He knows that you won’t answer the seemingly obvious question even when you’re slumped on the floor in a feeble heap and it tugs at his heart.

Unfortunately, when Kyoutani faces displeasure he’s only adept to outwardly show his emotions. Ever since he was born, it was a rule to allow oneself to be impassioned about hobbies, beliefs, and avocations. The blond applied the rule to showcasing his appreciation to the people he deemed as special, as per usual. Except, he didn’t have the best grasp on handling his intense emotions. 

“He’s always treating you like shit,” the next part comes out like a scoff that rages within him, “and you’re always falling for it.” 

The weight of the words felt like a blow to your face, leaving a stinging sensation that resonated within you. The confrontation shook you to the core. Not once has the male ever blamed you for your boyfriend’s inconsideration. 

Kyoutani’s chapped lips form around the syllables of the offense and he automatically knows that he just messed up. Curses sling together within his mind as he pitifully watches your reaction. A silent wince morphs upon your delicate face. You’re recoiling away from him, shrinking yourself into the crevice of the wall. His fingertips reach for you, the action is subconscious, and the next words spill out of his mouth like an off brand remedy. 

“Listen, (Y/n), I didn’t mean it like that-” 

“No,” you speak up with newfound acrimony, “that’s exactly what you meant.” 

Lifting your head up, your narrowed eyes connect with Kyoutani’s wide ones. A part of you desperately wishes to become agitated with the blond. Envy grips a hold of you at the thought that he’s able to live his life freely without the burden of an overbearing significant other. By all means, he had all the attributes to attest your relationship- or lack thereof. 

Your furrowed expression mellows.

Yet, his comment awakens a self reflection that you’ve casted away to maintain some dignity. Your boyfriend’s attitude toward you equated to virtually nothing. Countless nights of arguing, getting locked out, and being pushed aside were bouts of normalcy to you. It was your responsibility to get the respect that you deserved. Cutting out toxicity, even if the future frightened you, was an initial step. 

The golden hue outlining Kyoutani’s eyes, intense in many cases, recast into a softened stare. He’s mindful of the gears shifting in your head and the tremble of your bottom lip settles it. Unknowingly, you just received a life changing message with his chiding. The doors of independence and freedom swing open. An exhale passes through your lips. 

Crouching closer to you, the blond compels your attention with a tilt of his head, “sorry.” 

The apology is gruff, likely the result of his avoidance toward wrongdoings, but the intent is clearly there. Chewing on his bottom lip, he gestures toward your fragile stance with a shifty gaze. Your cowering behavior scared him immensely. It wasn’t often someone else was willing to interact with his loner self. He can’t mess this up even when his pride is screaming at him to bicker.

“It’s not your fault,” you shake your head in reassurance, “I know that it’s mine.” 

Unintentionally, your demeanor frees open with his genuine apology and you can’t help but be soothed at the gentle prod in his scrutiny. He appreciates that you’re able to acknowledge his opposition because the male wasn’t planning on taking his comment back. The truth may hurt but it’ll ultimately improve your mentality in the long run. 

Perching on the heels of his feet, he repositions himself to improve comfort. His arms are draped over his knees and the jacket bunches at the ends due to his movement. The blond is close, alarmingly near your face, and an aromatic whiff of dry cedar invades your senses. 

“You’re just,” his confession smoothly slips out, “too good for him.”

The side of his face rests against his forearm while he awaits your response. He’s content when your eyes light up, gleaming in reverence, at his blunt compliment. Lips tugging upward, your lopsided grin is all he has to witness as he hops to his feet. His palm pats at the faded denim of his jeans before offering his free hand to you. 

“C’mon,” he easily pulls you to your feet in a quick motion, “you can hangout in my dorm room, I guess.” 

“What do you mean, ‘you guess’?” 

Kyoutani catches your teasing eye roll while organizing your school materials that are cluttered on the floor. He’s nimble, stacking your books into a pile and swinging your backpack over his wiry shoulder. 

“I mean, let’s go.” 

With the grace of a dancer, the blond balances the items while fetching his keys and unlocking the door. He nudges it open and steps aside to let you enter first. Certainly the male must’ve picked up the chivalrous acts in a sappy movie or television show because your heart thumps against your chest. It’s absurd in reality. A person helping another is ordinariness yet you feel like you’re flying when he looks at you expectantly.

“Thank you,” the gratitude is a whisper as you tug your sweater tighter to your body and eagerly slide past him.

“Don’t mention it.” 

The room is comfortably warm, easing away the shivers that racked throughout you while seated in the middle of the dorm hallway. Its surprisingly tidy, which also comes across as a shock to Kyoutani because the scrunch of his nose indicates that he’s accustomed to a messy room. However, upon closer inspection, you note that the blond is the one readily cleaning because he scoots aside a stray snack bag with his elbow. An embarrassed pout conforms to his face when he hears your amused giggle.

Gently placing your stuff on the desk, he notices your awkward stance in the middle of the room and gestures to either his bed or desk chair. You respectfully, minus the internal debate you had, settle on the chair and only then does Kyoutani move over to lounge on his bed. It’s eerily silent despite how comfortable you both are with each other. 

Indefinitely, he flops onto the mattress, much like a child would, and folds his hands behind his head to stare up at the popcorn ceiling. A couple months beforehand he would’ve despised being locked up in his dorm room without having anything to do. Now, however, his nerves were bouncing off the walls.

Peering over to your rigid position, he takes your fiddling fingers and shy demeanor with scrutiny. Not once in his life did he think he’d actually invite a person into his sacred place. Yet, when his gaze locks with yours and you return a coy smile- he’s praying that this won’t be the last time.

“So, I only let you in because I don’t get this chemistry problem-”

“Kyou!”

-

Treading backward, a sense of urgency rushes through you as you narrowly avoid the aggressive hands. It’s bewildering that he’s willing to physically confront you in public. The dorm hallway was bound to have university students frequent the place and prying eyes were not on your current wishlist. 

“What are you doing? I told you that we’re over!” 

The incredulous question goes over his head as he refuses to outrightly answer or perhaps he just didn’t wish to. Before this incident, you attempted to just force in a power nap before your next class that was situated across campus. Your ex boyfriend, however, had other plans as he lingered by your dorm room while you were unaware of the unwanted surprise. 

The unruly male is clearly tipsy and his wandering hands are not in your favor as he lunges for you once more. Thankfully, you sidestep away while your shoulder bumps against the wooden frame of a door. Your blood turns to ice.

“Come here and give me a kiss, babe,” your ex boyfriend garbles. 

The stench of alcohol overwhelms your sobriety and a part of you yearns for the familiar scent of dry cedar musk. You longed for the latter of the aromas to engulf you in a reassuring embrace but grabby hands motioned for you again. A slight tug at your cardigan fuels the hatred that ignites within you. Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, inwardly loathing how you managed to date such a pathetic excuse of a person. 

Your hands defensively jab at your ex boyfriend’s chest, “get away from me!” 

“Bitch!”

The sudden force propels him backward, giving you an inch of breathing room, before he’s barreling towards you again. His furrowed brows and snarl illustrate that you’ve unlocked danger. Sweat trickled down your temples, gathering at your hairline and your tongue sweeps across your chapped lips. The thrashing of your heart is the only sensation you’re aware of at the moment. Eyes fixated on his response, you don’t dare to blink. Your ex boyfriend raises a hand, a sign you’ve been introduced to before, and you instinctively flinch at the action.

A lean figure abruptly steps in front of you to provide protection from the physical onslaught. Dry cedar breaches your uneven inhales but you’re holding onto that scent like it was a lifeline. He was your salvation. 

Landing a hit on Kyoutani’s sturdy chest, your ex boyfriend promptly pulls away with a confused glance, “get outta the way, man-” 

“Didn’t you hear her,” the blond barks out and shoves him, “get the fuck away.” 

Waves of animosity radiate off of Kyoutani, a scene that you’ve never witnessed in your encounters with him. He’s absolutely livid. His teeth gnash together while his hands are clenched at his sides. The veins on his brow protrude as a result of his creased forehead. Kyoutani’s damp in perspiration from his hurried movement, a deduction you’ve assumed. 

The male is clad in exercise attire, probably coming back from a run, and his dri fit shirt conforms to his physique. His pullover and snug joggers were clear indicators that Kyoutani was in excellent physical shape, causing a wary stare from your ex boyfriend. 

If the muscles rippling off of Kyoutani’s body isn’t a fright factor then his black, rimmed eyes are intimidatingly adequate. Yet, your ex boyfriend has intelligence compared to a newborn so he still lurches forward to attack Kyoutani. The blond dodges, grasps your ex boyfriend’s wrist, and twists it behind the other’s back. His defensive response is swift- almost alarmingly so that you wonder if Kyoutani ever brawled before. 

“Seriously, cut the shit,” the blond warns, “leave (Y/n) alone.”

When your ex boyfriend utters a curse embedded within your name, the blond pulls the seized wrist tighter and a sickening crack echoes. Your hand flies up to your lips. Yowling in pain, your ex boyfriend’s mouth instinctively shuts to avoid further punishment. 

“‘Ts alright,” Kyoutani rolls his eyes at the other’s dramatic behavior, “I didn’t break it. Yet.” 

Your ex boyfriend’s eyes widen, irises dilated at the gruesome image conjured up in his mind, and pitifully begs, “I-I’ll leave you alone! Please. I’ll do anything! Jesus Christ, (Y/n), who is this guy?” 

Turning his cheek, your ex-boyfriend gets a glimpse of Kyoutani’s face and the recognition dawns on him. He’s seen the aggressive blond before. Months ago, when your ex boyfriend was hollering at your lack of intimacy and the other’s lined eyes glared at him to surrender. One side of the blond’s lips raise, a snarky smirk directed towards the other male. Triumphant reigns within Kyoutani. 

“Her new boyfriend.” 

Raising a freshly cut eyebrow, Kyoutani incites a victorious expression as your ex boyfriend’s eyes are downcast at the message. The blond sneers. A sense of satisfaction, you suppose that’s the rare emotion, floods within you at your offender’s misfortune. You toss Kyoutani a grateful smile and he’s left faltering. He blinks- once, twice, three times- before regaining his intimidating demeanor.

“Get the fuck outta here,” Kyoutani shoves the other male forward when acknowledging the lack of resistance, “or I swear I’ll invert your ribcage.” 

Your ex boyfriend doesn’t need to be reminded, sprinting off with his tail tucked between his legs and stumbling on his uncoordinated strides. You and Kyoutani regard the pathetic male with a deplorable frown. Then, the blond is tugging you close while burying his face into the crook of your neck. You don’t mind the sweat that gathers onto him and instead delve into comfort. A giggle resounds to reach him and he lets in a shaky inhale. He was indebted to the pure luck of running back to you. The thought of you getting injured or reliving the trauma you’ve initially faced was heartbreaking. 

“Kyou,” your nickname to him was like a secret prayer you voiced, “I love you.”

He’s steadfast, a physique of strength and warmth, giving you a perfect invitation to cling onto. Respect, loyalty, and adoration were qualities that you didn’t have to force out of him. Violence, in any form, were taboos that he never crossed. The blond is undoubtedly the beginning of your journey towards self-love. 

“I love you too.” 

The genuine moment lingers on when your teasing nature resumes upon hearing Kyoutani’s forthright confession. Your hand comes up to trace his jawline, collecting perspiration that hasn’t dried up quite yet. He’s still cradling you, fingers protectively pressed against your waist. The sentiment is seldom, yet welcomed, and Kyoutani’s drawing you closer. He’s earnest. Scrunching up your nose, you jokingly flick at his forehead and he’s grumbling at your childishness. 

“You didn’t tell me you’d gone out running,” you motion toward his frazzled state. 

“Phone died.” 

He fishes out his phone from his back pocket. Sure enough, your reflection is illuminated on the dark screen and you nod in acknowledgement. Your head dips to lay on the junction of Kyoutani’s chest. Allowing yourself to get swept up in his embrace is habitual, the addiction smothering an unmistakable itch inside you. 

He’s silent before remarking, “I got us takeout though.” 

Golden eyes don’t miss your gleaming ones and you’re beaming at the mention of food. Raising your head, the narrow stare he’s given causes him to motion to the forgotten bag that’s placed on the floor. Boxed cuisine was cast aside when Kyoutani saw the trouble you were caught up in. 

“What’d you get?” 

“Pizza,” he pauses, “and mozzarella sticks since you liked that stuff.” 

“You’re the best.”

Lifting on your tiptoes, you press a gentle kiss on his cheek and you emit a carefree giggle. His ears burn crimson yet the presumptuous grin on his face brings butterflies in your stomach. Fingers pressing into the sides of your cheeks, he responds with a chaste, insistent kiss on your lips and hums in covert satisfaction. 

It’s dizzying. Your mind is flooded with images of Kyoutani- his appeal in usual clothing, each line of muscle on his physique, and the carnal desire that swirls in his gaze when he pulls away. Your knees are putty as you’re rooted to your spot. The observant fixation is all you need to recognize when he’s aware of his effect on you and he raises a smug brow. 

“Your room or mine?” 

His question is in the form of a drawl, mostly uttered to raise impatience, but it only adds to the adoration you have for him. Your rooms are, quite literally, twenty feet apart. 

Taking a step forward, the blond grasps the large takeout bag while slipping your hand into his free one. His thumb drags across your skin and you’re shivering at his tenderness. Kyoutani proudly rakes his gaze over you, openly compliant and completely in love, before slowly chuckling. 

“Not that it matters, I guess.”

[hoodoo12]

Festival (30/30)

@beejiesbitch @turtlepated @clairjohnson @memedemonhours @monsterlovinghours @yankyo @edosunshine @go-commander-kim @saucymangos @beetlebitchywitch

Everyone departs, in various ways. Some go away further than others (and may have further adventures . . . wink) Thank you to everyone who took a chance reading this very self-indulgent rp scenario. Thanks especially to @pinkbeej for being such a fun amazing partner, and more importantly, a fun amazing human being.

Beej and his clone locked eyes as Eve explained the circumstance. Initially there was hesitation on his part for losing a piece of himself permanently, a sort of damage he had never sustained before; on her part, for losing her home, her lover . . . the two of them felt so certain that the curse would bring her back into him the moment he was put away. If that wasn't the case, though . . .

"It'll be fine. I think she's shown she's got enough drive to be . . . the me I could never quite be," he said softly, giving a nervous grin to the manifestation of his self-hatred and femininity. She was made from powerful feelings, and had much more potential than he'd previously thought.

Pink swallowed thickly and nodded, biting at her lips as tears lined her lower lid. Beej floated closer to her so that she'd have no cause to release Carmen's hand or leave Kadus' grasp. Two additional arms sprouted from her, reaching for him as he leaned in to embrace her. The hair of both forms gleamed brightly, and when he pulled back he looked surprised for a moment, until understanding and a wider smile set in.

"Go. If you end up staying . . . you'll be all right."

He backed up a step as Pink scooped Carmen up into arms that stretched to comfortably hold her even with her distended stomach.

"I'll see you at home, sugar." she murmured, kissing her cheek and neck. "Or I'll find a way to come see you again."

She turned timidly to Kadus and blushed. "You . . . you sure you don't mind me coming along?"

⁂

Jessie perked her brow a little, but noted that it didn't seem like Eve would help them find out more about Andy . . . now that she was familiar with his face, she supposed that didn't matter much. Perhaps she'd talk some sense into him, but . . . well, there was always her way of dealing with things to fall back on. She shook off the initial irritation at having no further leads into finding the asshole and turned her focus back to the brownie and Ollie.

"What do you think honey? He's been helpful and sweet. If he would like to, would you mind us offering to bring him home?" she asked. It relieved her to think that there would be another being to keep Ollie company if she wanted some alone time with BJ. She had to admit, the furry little thing was so ugly it was cute.

"Does that interest you?" Her last question was asked directly to the brownie.

She mindfully continued to touch BJ through the questioning, allowing a steady stream of her thoughts to pass to him in flashes. The man being gutted if he appeared again-- Ollie and the brownie being occupied together while she took his hand and pulled him to Harold's porch--a little burst of excitement and pleasure at the recollection of the taste and effect of the jelly cakes.

With a pink tint to her cheeks, she allowed her mind to wander down other avenues as well. His thumb in her mouth--hands held above her head--the sharp, repetitive slap of hard thrusts--her pinned and bent beneath him, thighs nearly at her sides with his tongue in her mouth . . .

She looked a little dazed as the fantasy ran away with her and she stopped herself before she could go so far as to tease him with the orgasm he wasn't yet allowed to have. Gods, she hoped it'd make him ravenous. She felt delightfully attractive and sensual, reveling in the pleasure she'd been able to share that night. She ached in her womb with the desire to be claimed by him, to give back every piece of her she'd shared for his pleasure.

The flow of thought and emotion shut down as she found herself spurred even further into her needy daydreams by the realization that he had access to her little mental spiral. She tried hard to focus instead on the responses to her questions.

⁂

Watching her lover and his clone quietly make the decision for her to go, Carmen chewed on the inside of her lip. She wanted him whole but wanted him happy, and she was only just beginning to understand which fractured parts of his souls each clone manifested. It seemed like this decision was edging more towards the happy side of his equation. She enjoyed getting to know this clone, but if it was best for Beej, she supported it.

What worried her most is not calling his name. He’d been out all night, and despite not using much of his energy he did use some, and she had no idea how much he actually had, or if he was leaving a trail that was going to lead his monster of a mother back to them. She hated that keeping him safe meant keeping him cocooned away from the world.

Still, she accepted the the final decision and burst into a surprised little laugh as his female clone pulled her against her, even as tears wet her face. “Have fun,” she whispered into her ear, “be careful.” She took a deep breath, locking the light floral scent from the delicate flowers into her memory. She pulled back a little and brushed her pink hair back just to keep the contact for a moment more, then kissed her gently on the mouth. “I can’t wait to hear about everything,” Carmen told her, then let her go. Once Pink was released, Kadus gathered her up. “Yes, ροζ θεά μου. I wouldn’t have invited you otherwise. What the witch says is true, however. I don’t know the way back that isn’t ordained by set laws between the worlds.”

“The door, centaur,” a low voice near the dying bonfire called. Carmen and Beej looked over Kadus’s haunches to the minotaur who’d spoken. At some point he’d put on his thin loincloth again, and in the brightening dawn, Carmen saw the true color of his horns under the gilding: verigated white and black. In respect to the somberness of the moment she had to bite her tongue and not giggle; she must be automatically drawn to black and white now. She could feel Beej’s fingers tightening on her and his quizzical glance at her as she shook slightly in the effort not to laugh, and knew she’d have to tell him why sooner or later.

“I’ll take care of her,” Kadus assured Beej and Carmen. It was easy to see they were torn between letting her go, worry, and fear. It pleased him, however, that his offer was accepted; he hadn’t lied when telling Pink he wanted to show her his homeland.

With a final nod to the two of them, he led Pink away towards the faint shimmer passed the bonfire. A satyr slipped through, and a few fauns lingered as if to see if Eve was going to follow. She didn’t. They skipped into the doorway, visible one second and not the next, and then the minotaur lowered his head to step through as well. When it was Kadus’s turn, Carmen lifted her hand to wave and then wiped away more tears that fell.

⁂

Jessie had asked him a question, but before he could answer dirty fantasies flooded his mind’s eye. As much sex as she’d had over the past night she was still horny and it showed; it should be embarrassing to get a hard-on with a breather who was a essentially a stranger standing right in front of him, but after this orgy he supposed it didn’t matter.

BJ reached up to cup Jessie in what he hoped looked to be a protective way, although it was mostly to keep his hand off his cock for the moment. He did manage to muzzle a moan at the images she fed him too, and briefly he wondered if she was going to be sore, when they could find some time for themselves, and--oh shit, when did she need to feed again?

They really did need to go.

It was in the back of his mind that he had no real reason to refuse to let another fey take up residence in his place, and Jessie was already asking the little creature its opinion. It was answering positively without his blessing anyway. The witch’s pointed directive at least gave him a chance to turn and move to pick up his suit. “Leaving the clearing is exiting,” she called after him, making him pause. Should he say something to anyone else? The specter who seemed so similar to him but different in fundamental ways hadn’t yet turned back to them. He had no idea if he’d ever see him and his scarred lover again, so it would probably be polite--

“We’re going,” BJ called in their general direction. When the two of them turned, he lifted a hand. “Thanks for . . .”

Stupid, but he didn’t know how to end that sentence. A one time blow job and fuck fueled by fairy magic didn’t mean anything, but being approached and accepted did. In the end, paralyzed by indecision, he simply nodded to them, made sure everyone he carried had a handhold on him to not be dislodged, and stepped into the treeline. His suit reclothed him with a thought, like a second skin, and despite Ollie’s earlier declaration he’d have to find his own way home, the leprechaun twittered in his ear a route. Arriving with two housemate but leaving with three, BJ shook his head and glanced back for a final look at the clearing.

As Pink returned Carmen's kiss with a sweet smile in her eyes, Beej watched the exchange with mixed feelings. There was still the large amount of certainty that his clone would be pulled back into him by the curse, but the tears on his lover's face made him almost regret the decision to let a piece of himself travel to another world. The potential for what they could learn from it, though . . .

As Pink floated alongside Kadus, having waved to Carmen, Beej and even smiling in farewell toward Eve and the specter who had indulged with them all earlier . . . it dawned on her that perhaps it was his interaction that gave her the courage to try to branch out and caused her to make Kadus' acquaintance.

She hugged close to him, eyeing the door between their worlds with excitement, wonder and curiosity. Her arms tightened around his arm as she watched the other beings vanish in passing through. As Kadus prepared to pass through, she turned and saw Carmen waving to her. With a brilliant smile, she raised her arm and waved back, though her wave was bouncy, happy and enthusiastic.

Before she could change her mind, she turned and met Kadus' eyes with a warm smile and nodded, floating alongside him as he stepped through.

Beej turned to Carmen and gathered her to him, wiping the tears from her cheeks and bending to kiss her lips softly. Multiple hands fussed over her, drying her tears and brushing back her hair from her forehead, stroking her back and cupping her ass to pull her in.

"'S alright babes, I'm right here." he murmured softly, hoping to comfort her.

He nudged her forehead with her own, kissing her cheeks and the tip of her nose sweetly. The call of BJ's voice snagged his attention, and even as he held her close he turned to listen to the other ghost.

The half-finished sentence made him smile, the guy did seem like the type to not know what to say after a positive experience with strangers . . . and truth be told, he could remember the time when he wouldn't have had words either.

"Thank you!" he called back with a grin, "'N remember, it's all right ta be happy."

One of his many hands held up BJ's card, displaying that he'd held onto it purposefully, not wanting to lose the memento of this strange other.

Jessie listened to the exchange with a grin, cocking her head a little as Beej held up a somewhat familiar looking card. It'd been ages since she'd seen any of those, back before they'd replaced the bed! She didn't have much to say, but she raised her tiny arm and waved at Beej and Carmen and Eve as BJ stepped away, clothing himself and taking his leave with her and both tiny fey clinging to him securely. As they vanished from view, Beej looked back down to Carmen with a smile.

"How're ya feelin' babes?" he asked, brushing her hair behind her ear again. "'m surprised yer still standing."

His lighthearted tease was followed up by a soft kiss to her lips.

Carmen watched as Beej’s clone floated to the doorway on the arm of the centaur, excitement plastering a wide smile on her face. It occurred to her, in a rush of panic, that she was nude, but just before she could call out after her to put on some clothes, Beej was holding her and kissing her, and the other specter’s voice was telling them he was leaving.

She turned just her head in response to the call, and by the time she looked back to the doorway between planes, Beej’s clone was gone.

She held onto Beej a little tighter then, even as she managed a good bye to the ghost almost at the tree line. His striped suit reappeared on him and although she should have been able to see him for a longer period in the trees, after only a step or two he was gone from sight as well.

Her throat hurt, and she took in a shaky breath. Beej still cuddled her, soothing her; it occurred to Carmen she should be doing that for him, not the other way round. Still, his query made her laugh a little. Luckily Eve had given them a little privacy, returning to the side of a few other witches tamping out the remaining coals of the fire, so she didn’t feel embarrassed to answer him.

“I’m not sure either,” she admitted, slipping a hand between her legs to cup herself lightly. “I don’t know how well I’ll be able to walk once all the adrenaline wears off.

“Thanks for last night. I’m glad we attended.” Carmen kissed him and was interrupted with her cousin telling them to get their clothes; it was past time to go. Hand in hand, they crossed the clearing to where they’d entered. Carmen slipped her cotton shift over her head and let Eve and Beej lead her through the forest again.

fin

[alexandrablake]

ombrophobia

word count: 1,668 warnings: this one’s a heavy one. allusion to suicide, major character deaths, language, went on a rant about how i feel when my anxiety is really bad, typical cm violence. all around angst. a/n: yeah, idk, kind of a vent writing. partially inspired by curtains close by @kermitsaysgayrights

ombrophobia (noun): an abnormal and persistent fear of the rain, often caused by negative past experiences.

Maybe it started all those years ago. The water rushing, spilling, overflowing onto her bathroom floor, her sister's body encased in it. It wasn’t the dripping that made her freeze, it wasn’t the dripping that terrified her, but it may have been the dripping  that was the beginning of the end.

She was a young girl the first time it happened and the novelty of the billowing clouds that loomed over Roslyn's fresh grave was lost on her. It was straight out of cinema, the way the sky opened up, rain pouring over the grieving party’s shoulders. 

And, back then, she considered it Roslyn’s final goodbye. She too was shedding tears over her grave, reaching out in the only way she could to take some of the weight off her family and friends. 

Years flew by, rainstorms drowning the world out every so often. She grew up with the rain, the cold, humid Pennsylvania air beckoning it. She got used to having an umbrella tucked away in her bag, she got used to games being cancelled because of poor weather, she got used to the feeling of wet hair plastered on her neck as she walked down the sidewalk.

She never got used to the gloom.

Her father died junior year, heart failure taking him from her grasp. She’d sat by his pristine hospital bed, surrounded in the flowers of well-wishers, and stared out the window. Tear-shaped droplets of water slid down the glass, racing each other to the bottom. They left tracks, bars between her and the world without grief. 

The funeral four days later was all of the same. The world around her was drowned out by the sound of water hitting earth. They’d rushed the burial, none of them wanting to stay out too long in the November rain. Far quicker than she’d wanted, her father was whisked away from her.

She was starting to get sick of the rain.

College was a breeze. Away from her mother, her house, her memories, she could forget what she’d left behind. Afterwards, she moved even further, finally finding something she wanted to do, hoping, praying, that the distance between her and her old life would finally cease the downpour. 

It did for a while. When it rained - and it did rain - there was no burden for her to carry. She’d open her umbrella, step outside, and act like nothing was wrong, because for a while, nothing was. It was easy to pretend she was okay when all she had to do was turn away from the ever growing storm cloud hanging over her. 

Her phone didn’t have disuse in the months after Elle’s resignation. Storms happened for days on end in her absence. Every time a bright flash flew across her view, she had to restrain herself from calling. 

Reid’s kidnapping was her first clue that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as okay with rain as she thought she was. They’d sat in that hellhole for days, eyes glued to the screen, wishing for just a tiny hint of how to help him. She’d locked herself in the bathroom, eyes averting from the tub, and stared into her own eyes in the mirror. The storm clouds had rolled into the horizon of her life. 

They’d rescued him, but the damage was done to them both. He’d hid his trauma in the depths of his mind, locked the door, and threw away the key. It was a disaster for another day for Spencer. She wished she had that luxury. 

Gideon left, leaving behind rolling claps of thunder. It was dark when Spencer had called her that dreary morning, informing her that their team member was gone, and he wouldn’t be returning. She’d hung up the phone, no tears in her eyes, but the sound of water on her window filled her ears. 

Sometimes, when it was just her, she allowed herself to cry at the sight of rain. After she was reassigned, it rained for two weeks straight, a ceaseless downpour filled her life. Will had sat by her side, arms wrapped around her shoulders, whispering words of reassurance into her hair the first time she broke down in his presence. He didn’t ask questions, as he himself had demons when it came to storms, and for that she was forever grateful.

It rained when she got off the plane after the call. For the first time she had seen rain in months, she’d wished it had been under better circumstances. Prentiss was missing, and so was a piece of herself. She didn’t carry an umbrella so the water would mingle with her salty tears. 

The conversation that she and Hotch had about Emily’s fate had taken place on a bus stop bench, the smell of fresh precipitation floating into their noses. Her hands shook when he reached to help her up, and she didn’t know if it was because of the day’s events or because she knew that her wall against the rain had a large crack in it.

Ironically, it didn’t rain at the funeral. But, god, did it storm in the aftermath. Through his tears, Reid didn’t notice hers. He didn’t notice how her gaze lingered in the collection of water on her windowsill. He didn’t notice how the shoulders his head lay on shuddered. He didn’t notice the incessant whispering that she was doing in an attempt to reassure herself. 

It was the universe laughing at her. “Oh, Jennifer Jareau is sad? Make it rain.” She knew what rain meant symbolically, she remembers that much of high school English. Yet, this was real life. Why the hell did a dark cloud just seem to be following her?

Then Will died. The explosion. Emily’s wordless apology that she couldn’t get out because of her wounds. The lack of a band on her finger. And the fucking rain. 

She had to sit with her child’s arms around her and explain over the torrent that his father was dead. His tiny fingers clutched around her ringless ones told her that he understood what she was telling him. Her eyes fell upon a picture of Rosalyn, and it was all she could do not to scream. 

Henry had insisted on wearing one of Will’s ties to the funeral, a dark blue one with the outlines of clouds on it. Fitting. Her team and what was left of their families gathered around the casket, droplets ricocheting off it as it was lowered into the ground. This time she didn’t leave early.

She sat by his headstone for what seemed like eternity before a gentle hand was laid on her shoulder. Her mother attempted a smile and murmured something about how she was going to get sick from staying out in the rain and cold. She didn’t care. 

Emily left and it rained. 

After Alex Blake retired for good, the shaking really started. Rain rolled in, and the fidgeting followed. She couldn’t sit still, not without panic rising in her chest. She was trapped in a rainy day, never escaping, no more shoulders left to cry on, no funds left to draw out of. 

Penelope tried and failed to help her. When it rained, she delivered bright flowers and had her favorite music echo throughout the hallways, a desperate attempt to drown out the sounds of the cascades on the roof. It was almost comical, but she knew Garcia was just trying to help, and for that she was grateful.

She’d sat on the couch that resided in the former office of Derek Morgan, leg bouncing, nails digging into her palm. Reid joined her every now and then, but the memories of what was no longer oozed from the walls and it was just too much for him sometimes. It was the nail for the coffin she’d lied in since she was eleven.

Little over a year later came the hammer. It was after a bad case, and the image of the girl screaming for her help danced across her vision. There was no one there to comfort her, and so she sat on the bottom of her steps, muffling her cries so she wouldn’t wake up Henry.

Her phone rang. Several times. She ignored it the first few times because there was no way she’d be able to have a functioning conversation, not with the way tears were streaming down her cheeks and air caught in her throat. But she answered when the calling kept coming.

Aaron Hotchner was dead, a collision on the freeway. The other driver hydroplaned, losing control of his car, and ran straight into Aaron. They pronounced Hotch dead on the scene, but Jack, who was riding in the passenger seat, had escaped without much harm. 

And the rain kept pouring.

There was no one to call, no one to inform, except for his brother, who didn’t seem to care too much that his own flesh and blood had just left this earth. The now orphaned Jack was placed permanently in his aunt’s care, and it seemed all too soon that Aaron Hotchner’s legacy had been washed down the storm drain. 

Because it was someone she loved, it rained at the funeral. Hotch was buried in the same cemetery as Will, close enough that if she squinted through her wet lashes, she could make out the outline of his headstone. It was a peaceful location, the spot next to Haley’s under a tree. 

But it was just drowned out by the rain.

There was nothing she could do to stop it, it was the weather, and honestly it was her fault for choosing a state with such dreary weather. But it chased her and it chased her and it chased her until she was cornered. She was cornered in a maze of grief, of loss, of heartbreak. And there was no way for her to escape.

The rain always found her.

[captcas]

Screwed (A Destiel AU)

Screwed by capthamm (Part 1 of 2)

Dean inherits the old family inn and has to move home to fix it up for selling. When the work proves to be too much, he enlists in the town's only contractor's help– his neighbor, Castiel. Dean is short on time, stuck in a hometown riddled with old flames, and falling for the man who lives next door. He's screwed.

notes: I'm halfway through season 7 and missing Mr. Castiel on my screen so this poured out. I'm almost finished but here is part one. My first ever attempt in the Supernatural fan fiction world... please be kind. Thank to my lovely beta, Luke <3 (@bawley_bug) read on ao3

At this point, Dean’s left thumb had been hit by the hammer more than any of the nails and he was regretting every single choice he ever made that led him to this exact moment.

Why the fuck did he think he was cut out for restoring an inn? Not just any inn– the inn. The one John ran before he got too old and retired, eventually– well let’s just say Dean isn’t here out of any sort of living guilt.

Dean’s not sure why he’s here.

If he breaks it down, it’s because he received a letter in the mail exactly two months after the passing of his father detailing how Lawrence would have no choice but to tear down the old inn unless someone from his family claimed it.

Sam’s not going to leave his law practice and the life he built for Jess and the twins, out in California.

Dean’s the only one left.

So, taking things extremely literally, he’s here because a bunch of lawyers told him he needed to be.

Another slam into his thumb jolts his train of thought off its tracks and convinces him to pack it up for the night. He snaps the tools back into his massive toolkit and stands back to look at the old built-in shelves he decided would probably be the easiest to tackle on his own. Nodding at the good-enough outcome, he turns to scan the rest of the main floor.

Maybe the built-ins are the only thing he’s going to be able to do alone.

Dean doesn’t like the thought of teamwork– especially not with the grumpy prick who lives next door. His neighbor stopped by the day Dean arrived because apparently it was John’s dying wish that their neighbor offer his services when his estranged son eventually showed up to fix the inn. (Leave it to his father to leave Dean feeling inadequate from the great beyond.)

“No, thank you.” “Excuse me?” “You offered, I’m declining. Debt, paid.”   "As you wish, Winchester.”   Even wrapped in the neighbor’s deep lumbering voice, Dean winces at his last name– it feels just as constricting as it did when he thought he’d be stuck in this town forever, “Dean.” “Whatever.”

Dean thought that’d be the last he’d see of the guy until he marched away and slammed the door just across the small garden. That house used to be for whatever innkeeper his parents had hired, but when the inn closed they rented it out to whichever soul felt like a one bedroom one bathroom home was enough to live in.

Apparently that was this asshole.

They’ve seen each other three more times since then, but never long enough to even exchange names. Dean isn’t sure why he’s keeping track– each time just as unpleasant as the first. Sure, Dean could’ve been friendlier, but warning bells rattled through him every time the neighbor’s stormy eyes met his. Dean may have sworn off unnecessary human interaction for the foreseeable future, but he’s not blind and his neighbor isn’t hard to look at.

But his life has no room for attractive neighbors with an attitude problem.

Convincing himself there must be someone else in this town who knows their way around a fixer upper, Dean heads to the Roadhouse for dinner and hopefully the name of someone else to help him get the inn fixed up enough to sell.

Walking through the front door of the restaurant-meets-dive-bar, the familiar smell hits him like a breath of fresh air. He can’t believe he held out for almost a week before eating here. The Roadhouse is one of the few places left in the town left untouched by rotten memories and painful nostalgia. Nothing but good ever happens once he crosses this threshold and it’s that fact that allows him to relax for the first time since moving back to Lawrence.

He starts to order his usual and Jo winks signaling she remembers even after all these years– Dean can’t believe she runs this on her own now. Jo always swore she’d get out of this town, break the chains of her mother’s legacy, but nevertheless here she is– here they both are.

Jo looks happy, maybe even at home– Dean? Not so much.

The plate drops in front of him and Dean catches his old friend lingering a bit. He looks up and says thank you and that was all it took to spark some small town gossip from Jo. While he didn’t come back to rekindle any old relationships– friendly or otherwise– Dean doesn’t mind her company and before he knows it he’s laughing and taking his last bite of burger. The conversation starts to die and Dean remembers why he came to town in the first place, “Oh! Jo, I meant to ask. I’m fixing up the old inn and I need help. Do you have the number of someone who–”

“Of course, Dean! Chuck retired, but Castiel took over, after Gabriel ran off to Thailand.” Dean raises his eyebrow and Jo laughs, “ That’s a story for another meal. Here,” she hands over a napkin with a number scrawled across it, “Castiel is the best in town and will fix up that inn in no time.”

Castiel.  

Dean racks his brain for any recollection of someone named Castiel from their childhood but the name doesn’t ring a bell— and a name like that definitely would ring a bell. He supposes people must move to Lawrence, just like any town, and resigns it to someone new since he left.

He can’t expect everything to stay the same while he spent the last 15 years trying to change in every way imaginable.

Thanking his friend for the help, Dean pays and heads home for the night. Finally having the name of someone to help has lifted a huge weight off his chest. He sighs as he crawls onto the old mattress in the first floor suite, thankful it’s dark enough that he can’t nitpick all that needs to be done. The sooner he can get the inn fixed up, the sooner he can sell it and go back to Sioux Falls and the life he chose rather than the one his parents forced on him.

Maybe it was the comfort of the Roadhouse or the knowledge that this process will move twice as fast with a little help, but Dean sleeps better that night than he has in years. When he wakes with the sun, he feels energized and ready to continue his work on his family’s property.

He decides to start with disassembling the kitchen cabinets and it doesn’t take long for him to find a rhythm in his work— four screws and a trip to the pile, four screws, trip to the pile. Lost in the easy monotony, Dean forgets his decision to call for help until late into the morning. Hoping to catch the contractor before lunch, he brushes the dust from his hands and digs in his pocket for the napkin Jo had written on last night.

He’s not sure why he feels so anxious as he waits for the man on the other end of the line to pick up, but he supposes it rests on the fact that this man only knows Dean by the reputation he left town with— John’s other son.

Sam was always the golden child— pretty blonde cheerleaders and a full-ride to Stanford are not even an exaggeration when it comes to his younger brother.

Dean, on the other hand, was always rough around the edges, emotional, and different — let’s just say he’d go for the cheerleader or the quarterback.

As soon as Dean was shoved out of the closet— his dad walking in on him and Benny not leaving very much up for debate— John shut him out completely. Dean brushed it off as his dad’s way of fighting every piece of homophobia he was raised with, but the fact is: it was more likely he was disgusted by his own son.

But that was ages ago and, from what Sam’s told him, John died swearing his love for both his boys.

Not that Sam would tell Dean otherwise.

“Hello?” A gruff voice breaks him out of his daze and he’s startled back to the present day.

“Uh, hi. Yeah, uh, is this Castiel?” It’s the first time Dean’s said the name aloud and he can’t help but notice how easily it rolls off his tongue.  

“This is. How can I help you?” The man is all business, clearly not as affected by Dean’s use of his name as Dean was.

“Oh yeah, uh, I got your name from Jo at the Roadhouse? My name is Dean Winchester and I’m fixing up the old Winchester Inn and I’m realizing the job may be too massive to handle on my own.” Dean winces at his blatant request for help, never one to ask outright for assistance, but as he looks at the pile of kitchen cabinets which need to be sanded, painted, and rehung, he knows he can’t do this alone. He realizes the man on the other end of the line hasn’t said anything when he continues, “Uh, that is if you have the bandwidth for that…”

Another pause before the man, Castiel, speaks again, “I can be right over.”

Dean didn’t really know how to respond, he was expecting to bargain for payment or at least for a delay in starting the project. He’s not used to this immediate willingness to help a complete stranger. He’s about to stumble through a response when he realizes Castiel is no longer on the other end of the phone. He shrugs, and sets it on the counter as there’s a knock on the door.

Shit. The only way Castiel could’ve gotten here that fast is if he’s...  

Dean opens the door to the man he’s now seen a mere four times despite his permanent residence on Dean’s property. His neighbor— Castiel— looks different today. The usual softness that accompanies the man overtaken by strong arms, an AC/DC t-shirt, and a tool belt placed perfectly on his hips.

Whoa, Dean.  

“Uh, hi?” Dean isn’t sure how one goes about re-introducing themselves to apparently the only help in town after being an ass before. But he’s here and Dean introduced himself on the phone and he still came.

“Hello.” The man– Castiel– greets Dean so matter of factly as he glances around Dean quizzically, presumably taking in the whole of the inn. Dean is a little taken aback by this whole interaction and the way it’s entirely different than any they’ve shared previously. Castiel’s eyes meet Dean’s and Dean can’t help but notice a hint of playfulness before Castiel speaks again, “So you do need help?”

Dean rolls his eyes and Castiel laughs sending a shockwave through Dean he hasn’t felt in ages. He promptly ignores it before motioning towards the foyer and inviting his new contractor inside. They don’t exchange any pleasantries, but rather head right to work. Castiel asks questions about everything from the crown molding and stair railing to Dean’s plan for the half shattered French doors.

The man is thorough and he knows his stuff.

Maybe teamwork with him won’t be so bad.

They finish their walk through and Dean is relieved to hear that Castiel agrees the upstairs mostly needs some fresh paint. John left some money to fix up the inn, but not enough for a total overhaul. After working through the budget, they decide it’ll be more cost effective if it retains its original charm.

“Well, Dean, I like what we’ve got here and I think we can make something out of this.” Castiel slouches into one of the bar stools near the kitchen island as he surveys the room one more time. Dean does his best not to notice the sweat slowly making its way down Castiel’s collar bone and beneath the collar of his t-shirt, and the way he says Dean, and his implication that this is theirs . Dean hasn’t shared anything for most of his adult life– mostly because he hasn’t had anyone worth sharing something with.

But this inn feels like it’s meant to be shared, and Dean can’t seem to find any reason not to do so with Castiel.

“I’m glad you think so. I suppose we should discuss payment…” Dean trails off as Castiel’s gaze becomes confused.

“I don’t intend on charging you a dime, Dean.” Castiel’s matter of fact smile returns and Dean can’t ignore the way his gut flutters.

He’s not a nun, Dean’s been attracted to people for as long as he can remember being alive. From Lucy Jones in kindergarten to a myriad of characters in his adult life, he’s always been a people person loaded with an innate attraction for the kind of itches you scratch and forget ever existed.

Castiel is beginning to feel like an itch he’d like to scratch.

But that’d ruin everything, especially Dean’s plan to sell the inn for as much as humanly possible and then get the hell outta dodge.

“I appreciate that, but I have to give you something…” Castiel waves Dean off and he realizes arguing would be useless. “Thanks.”

Castiel nods before taking time to study Dean until it almost feels awkward. Dean is typically the one doing the studying, and he feels naked under this man’s gaze. They remain in a silence delicately balanced between comfortable and awkward until Castiel speaks again, “Well, best I get back to my place. I will see you tomorrow morning, Dean.”

As Castiel stands, he adjusts the toolbelt around his waist and Dean forces himself to look away, not willing to tempt himself with the flash of skin exposed during the adjustment. The contractor must notice because he smirks slightly before nodding his head in goodbye. If he didn’t know better, Dean would swear Castiel walks a bit closer to him than is necessary. He shakes it off before heading to the bathroom to shower off the grime of the day before checking in with Sam, Jess, and the kids.

. . .

They work surprisingly well together.

His new partner is a quiet but sturdy presence throughout the day– rarely chatting about more than the weather or whatever task needs to be done– but on occasion Dean will learn a bit more about him. He’s started to compile a list of Cas’s likes and dislikes– for example, Cas likes that Dean gave him a nickname.

“Hey, Cas, can you hand me the socket wrench?”   "Cas?” “Uh, yeah, short for Castiel. You got too many syllables, man.”

Cas nodded and moved on with the task, but Dean can’t help but notice the small smirk everytime he has to call Cas by name. Cas also smiles whenever a screw goes in without a fight and when the first raindrop of an impending storm hits his forehead.

Dean likes it when Cas smiles. (Apparently Dean’s compiled a list for that, too.)

He’s tried to largely ignore the growing attraction for the man he’s working with for more than eight hours a day, but it gets more difficult with each glance to make sure the other is still in one piece and every accidental touch of hands when they pass off a tool.

At least Dean tells himself it’s accidental.

He hadn’t gotten enough out of Cas to even know if he “plays for that team,” as Sam likes to say. Dean is almost positive John wouldn’t have encouraged the two work together if Cas is gay, but there are moments that give him more hope that he deserves.

“Dean!” Cas’s steady voice startles him from the monotony of painting kitchen cabinets and his overflowing thoughts.

He puts down the paintbrush and walks over to the fireplace where Cas is supposed to be sanding down the mantle, “Yeah, Cas, what is it?” There’s that smile– sometimes Dean wonders if he uses his nickname for Cas just to get a glimpse of it.

“I’m hungry and I’m out of sand paper.” Cas looks up from the stool he’s been sitting on for hours with a hint of puppy dog eyes. Dean isn’t exactly paying Cas so he could definitely come and go as he pleases, but they tend to stick to a similar schedule everyday. Checking his watch, Dean sees it is lunchtime and agrees to head into town for a sandwich.

“I should probably get cleaned up a bit…” Cas trails off as he surveys his dusty jeans and sweat drenched t-shirt. Without trying to, Dean gets lost in the unfairly attractive mess of it all for a moment too long. He looks up to speak again and Cas is smirking almost knowingly.

Shit.

“Yeah, sure. You can use the shower here if you want but no promise there’s any hot water.” Dean scratches behind his ear nervously. This wasn’t any sort of purposeful invitation, but he can’t help but feel a wad of want fall into his stomach. Cas simply nods his thanks before heading into the main floor bathroom with a change of clothes he brought “just in case”. Dean laughed when Cas told him that he’s always that prepared and cited the fact that Cas only lives thirty steps away from the inn. He simply shrugged and said “You never know” and that was the end of that. Dean supposes Cas was right and the change of clothes had come in handy.

Though, not exactly how Dean thought they would.

As he hears the shower turn on, Dean goes back to painting kitchen cabinets in hopes of distracting himself from the very attractive, very naked man that is showering in the next room. It works for a while but eventually the knowledge feels stifling and Dean decides to clean up quickly and wait for Cas on the porch.

“What’re you waiting out here for?” Cas walks outside, resting his arm on the doorframe to only accentuate his bicep muscles. Dean knows if he looks at what is probably disheveled and wet hair from the shower it’ll take every piece of willpower he has not to jump the guy right then and there.

“Let’s go.” He leads Cas to his car without looking in his direction or answering his question. As Dean walks around the back of the impala he sees Cas smirk again.

Bastard.

They take the short drive into town before stopping at the hardware store. Dean needs to pick up some new screws so he can finish the cabinets and Cas needs some more sand paper so they decide to split up and grab what they need. Cas cuts right, beelining for the aisle like he lives here– now that Dean thinks about it, Cas probably does come here a lot– and Dean wanders to the left looking for the screw aisle.

He ends up finding them along with a confused pre-teen boy comparing screw sizes to an outlet cover. Dean laughs to himself before offering his help, “Anything I can help with?”

The boy turns to Dean, startled at first, but then relaxing when he doesn’t sense any immediate threat, “Yeah, that’d be great. My mom sent me in here twenty minutes ago, but I don’t know anything about this stuff.”

Dean laughs, “Well, your Dad should’ve taught you screw shopping at the very least.”

“How could he do that when he doesn’t know I exist?” The kid says it so matter of factly, Dean isn’t even sure he heard him correctly. He scans him for signs of distress, but whatever therapy he’s getting must’ve worked because the kid goes back to comparing screws without missing a beat.

“Fair enough. Here, you’ll want these ones,” Dean grabs a four pack of the screws the kid is looking for and hands it to him. “Then you’ll have extras in case you need to replace another one.”  

“Awesome, thanks! My names–”

“Ben? What’s taking you–” Dean winces, he’d know that voice anywhere and the fact she paused means… “Dean?! What are you doing talking to… what’s going on here?”

“Mom!”

“Lisa…”

Ben (apparently) and Dean speak at the same time, both turning towards the woman Dean hasn’t thought about in years. They were something– more than something– for about a year, but John’s pressure pushed Dean out of town and Lisa refused to leave Lawrence... so now they're here, awkwardly looking at each other in a hardware store.

“Lisa, look, I can explain–”

“Dean, I found the sandpaper and I also grabbed some extra paint for that wall in the living–” Dean’s cut off as Cas rounds the corner looking down at the sandpaper packaging and clearly missing all the fun in aisle nine, “Oh. Hi!”

Then Cas waves , an adorable wave that if Dean wasn’t so goddamn turned around probably would’ve sent him spiraling. Dean facepalms to hide his smile and proceeds to rub his calloused hands through his hair trying to decide what to say next. But Ben must be oblivious to the absolute shit storm happening a foot above his current height because he chooses this moment to chime in, “I was confused about which screws to get and Dean offered to help, Mom. That’s all. And look,” Ben holds up the package Dean handed him what feels like an eternity ago, “Got ‘em!”

That kid just saved Dean’s ass.

Lisa still looks a little stunned to see Dean– his return had seemingly not reached the far ends of the town gossip chain quite yet– but then she glances back towards Cas… and then back to Dean.

He’s about to correct her when she surprises him with a hug.

They didn’t exactly end on bad terms, but he probably could’ve been nicer when he told her he was leaving.

Hence why the hug catches him off guard, as does what she quietly whispers in his ear, “I’m glad you found someone that makes you smile like that again.”

Dean can't even formulate a correction before Lisa’s telling Ben to thank Dean for his help and the pair is heading down the other end of the aisle. He turns towards Cas who is staring intensely at a speck on the floor by his feet, but seems to be smiling all the same.

Maybe Dean isn’t wrong about him.

They check out and head back to the Impala in silence. It isn’t until they get home after swinging through the drive thru that Dean even realizes he forgot to grab the screws.

[hotforharrington]

Goody Two Shoes (Pt. 4/6)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x reader

Warnings: swearing

Notes: In this fic, you are in the same grade as Steve (a senior) which means Billy is a year younger than you (a junior) ; here is part 4 of Goody Two Shoes :)) I am very happy with this part, so I hope you guys like reading it! I think there’s only going to be 2 more parts but I’m not 100% sure yet. Anyways, enjoy!

—

You walked into your home and your mother was cleaning the kitchen. Billy’s jacket was now lingering in your arms, hoping your mother didn’t notice it among your textbooks. Luckily, she was too consumed with her cleaning to study you.

“(Y/N)! I was about to call the school, I was getting so worried about you!” Your mother said to you.

“Sorry mom! I got held up helping someone with an assignment in the library at the end of the day.” You lied to your mother.

“You are such a good one!” She beamed.

You set your backpack down and were about to head up the stairs when the phone rang. You knew exactly who it was going to be.

You turned around to dart to grab the phone but your mother just barely beat you to it.

“(Y/L/N) residence.” She stated politely.

“Hello, Mrs. (Y/L/N)! This is Billy Hargrove, I go to school with (Y/N). I was calling to speak with her about our upcoming history project.”

“Oh, wonderful. One second and I’ll get her on the line.”

“I’ll pick it up in my room.” You said to your mom before you darted up to your room to pick up your landline. You delicately laid Billy’s jacket on your bed as you pressed the phone to your ear.

“Hey, B, so you’re gonna come over to work on that project?” You asked nonchalantly.

“Yeah, beautiful, I’ll be over soon, if that works for you.”

“Sounds perfect to me.” You said with a smile on your face and your fingers twirling through the phone cord. You prayed your mother wasn’t listening in on your conversation, because the two of you weren’t being very subtle.

“See you soon, princess.” He said before hanging up the phone.

You went straight to your bathroom and freshened up your hair and make up. After that, you made your way back down the stairs to tell your mom that Billy would be over soon.

“Hey mom!” You shouted at her over her vacuum.

“Yes, Sweet Pea?” She responded.

“Billy, the guy who just called, he’s coming over so we can work on that history project. He’ll be here soon!”

“Sounds good, sweetie.”

About 20 minutes passed, and your dad was now home from work. The three of you sat in your living room. A few moments later, the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it!” You called to your parents.

You opened the door to be greeted by a form of Billy you’d never seen before. He was well groomed and put together. He wore a lightly colored button up shirt (which was surprisingly buttoned all the way up) and khaki pants. The blonde curls of his mullet were smooth and appeared soft, and not slightly tangled as normal.

Your heart felt so full that he took this so seriously for you. This was a huge sign that he actually cared, and wasn’t just playing games with you.

“H-hi, Billy.” You stuttered.

“Hi, (Y/N). How are you doing?”

“Um, I’m good, thanks... Please come inside.” You said to him.

He walked into your home and your parents stood to greet the handsome young man that now entered their living room.

“Mom, Dad, this is Billy Hargrove, my uh... classmate.” You said, slightly nervous.

“Mr. and Mrs. (Y/L/N), it’s so nice to meet you. “ Billy shook your parents hands with a polite smile on his face.

It was so odd to see him like this. It was like a completely different person was standing here meeting your parents, not the bad boy you had come to know.

“It’s good to meet you too. Are you new to town? I don’t think I’ve seen you around and, well, Hawkins isn’t too big.” Your father said to him.

“Yes actually! My family just moved here from California.”

“Oh wow! Must be a big change for you.” Your mother said in response.

“Yes ma’am it is.”

You were starting to get stressed about your parents questioning him so you interrupted and said, “Um, we’re gonna go upstairs if that’s alright. That history project isn’t going to start itself!”

You headed for the stairs, when your mother said, “Billy?”

You both turned back to see what she was about to say.

“Yes ma’am?” He responded.

“Are you planning on joining us for dinner?” She asked.

Panicking internally, you said, “Oh I don’t think Billy would want to join us-“

“I’d love to.” Billy said, surprising you.

Your mother smiled at him and you faked a smile, grabbed Billy by the arm, pulled him upstairs to your room, and closed the door.

As soon as the door was closed, Billy unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt and said, “Fuck (Y/N), I don’t know how you do this every damn day.”

You chuckled at him and he sat on your bed.

“It’s not so bad,” You said, “But, hey, what was that about staying for dinner? You know they’re going to ask you all kinds of questions that you’ll have to lie about...”

In this moment, you felt kind of guilty about making Billy do all of this. You hated that he had to pretend to be someone he’s not in order to impress your parents.

You sauntered closer to the curly haired boy. He grabbed your hands in his and said, “Hey... don’t worry about it, okay? It’ll be fine. Besides, I told you I wanted to meet your parents.”

You nodded and plopped yourself down next to him on your bed. “I really appreciate you doing this for me, B.”

“Of course, princess.” He responded, playing with your fingers that were now intertwined in his.

“But... maybe in the future if you want to hangout with me, we should just sneak out... or you could sneak in...” You suggested.

“Whatever makes you happy, beautiful girl.” He caressed your cheek and pulled your lips to meet his. Billy intentionally made this kiss a sweet one, to show you comfort since you were obviously stressed about this situation.

You pulled away from the kiss and smiled at him. Then, a realization came into your mind.

“Oh, shit! The project!” You said.

“I thought that was made up? We don’t even have a history class together.” He said, confused.

“Yeah it is, but we have to have something in case my parents want to see what we’ve been working on... or if one of them happens to come in, we’ll have to pretend like we’re working on something.”

You walked over to your desk where you had placed your textbooks that you had brought home. Thank god! you thought to yourself. You managed to bring home your U.S. history book, which would be a perfect prop.

“I’ll be right back!” You said to Billy before darting out of your room and down the stairs.

“Whatcha lookin’ for, Sweet Pea?” Your mother asked.

“Do we have any poster board?”

“Yes sweetie, in your father’s study there should be some in the cabinet.”

“Thanks!” You said, bolting into the study and opening up the cabinet. You grabbed a medium sized, white poster board and went back upstairs to join Billy.

Billy looked at you with a confused expression and you just said, “Trust me. This will only take a second.”

You grabbed a permanent marker from your desk drawer and placed the poster board on the floor.

You began drawing a bubble map and wrote ‘The Civil War’ in the center bubble. In your nice, neat handwriting, you began filling in the surrounding bubbles with detailed information about different battles of the Civil War.

Billy was amazed at your intellect. The history book remained closed and you were able to beautifully describe this information with out any help whatsoever.

You made sure to leave at least one bubble empty, to show that you were still ‘working on it.’ After you finished writing, you flipped the textbook open to the table of contents and found exactly the chapter you were looking for. You turned the flimsy pages right open to a display of pictures and bold letters that said ‘Chapter 7: The Civil War’.

“Perfect.” You whispered to yourself. You then turned to Billy and said, “There. Now we can plop down here and pretend like we’re working in case we hear anyone come up the stairs.”

A soft smile overcame his face from admiration of your determination to this whole thing.

“Your ambition is so sexy, you know that?” He said to you.

“Oh yeah?” You cocked an eyebrow at him and moved to straddle him on the bed.

You looked deep into his piercing blue eyes before going in for a passionate kiss. You both toppled over, him on his back and you on top of him.

He lightly bit your bottom lip and in response, your tongue invaded his mouth. Your fingertips lingered at the base of his neck, gently playing with his curls. His strong hands inched down from your waist, slowly moving lower and lower...

The two of you made out in your room for only a few moments before you heard your mother begin to yell out for you and then slowly ascend up the stairs.

The both of you jumped up. You wiped your mouth and Billy buttoned up his shirt. The pair of you plopped onto the floor with the project just in time before your mother opened the door.

She smiled and said, “Hey you hard workers! Dinner’s ready! I hope you like spaghetti, Billy!”

“Sounds amazing, Mrs. (Y/L/N)!” He replied politely.

Your mother walked back towards the stairs and you turned to Billy with a nervous smile.

“This is kinda fun.” He said to you with a genuine smile on his face.

You pressed up on your tip toes and gave him a small peck on the cheek before leading him out the bedroom door and down the stairs.

The delicious aroma of Italian food filled the kitchen. The table was set for four. Two chairs on each side. You and Billy took a seat on one side and your parents sat on the other.

After saying grace, everyone fixed their plates and began to dig in. It was awkwardly silent for awhile until your father spoke up, “So Billy, got any plans after high school?”

“Billy’s actually a year younger than me, dad.” You explained.

“Doesn’t mean he hasn’t already thought about where he’s going to school or what he wants to do with his life.” Your father stated, “He seems like a fine young man. Definitely the kind of man I hope you’d end up with, (Y/N).”

You turned slightly and softly smiled at him. You two intertwined your fingers underneath the table, in secret.

Your father continued his statement, “And with that logic, I would think he would be smart enough to think ahead.”

“Well, in terms of colleges, I am keeping my options open at the moment, sir.” Billy answered.

“Nothing wrong with that, son!” Your father said politely, “But as for, (Y/N), she doesn’t have much choice where she’s going!” He chuckled.

A confused look spread across Billy’s face.

“We’ve been saving for her to go to Harvard since we found out my wife was pregnant!” Your dad explained, “She’s gotta continue the family tradition. We’re just waiting for that acceptance letter to come in. Should be here any day now!”

“Our sweet girl, she’s never let us down before and I highly doubt she’s going to start now!” Your mother said with a joyful chuckle.

Billy slowly released his hand from your grasp. “That’s wonderful, (Y/N).”

You could tell Billy’s words were forced. You hadn’t thought about the fact that you’d potentially be leaving for Harvard at the end of the school year.

You could feel the change of energy from Billy. He had tensed up, when he had been cool, calm, and collected since he walked through the front door.

The rest of the meal went by with casual small talk and everyone managed to get through it. Your parents were too blind to see the shift in Billy.

After you cleared you and Billy’s dishes from the table, you announced, “Billy and I are almost done with our project, so we’re going to go finish it now, okay?”

Your parents nodded their heads and you retreated to your bedroom.

Billy walked in first and you closed the door behind you.

“So... Harvard huh?” Billy asked with a bit of pain in his voice.

“Maybe...” You replied.

Billy just looked down at the floor for a moment. It was silent and awkward in your bedroom.

“Is that what you want?” He asked.

“I don’t know.” You replied.

“(Y/N)... I know we haven’t been seeing each other long but I know you’re something special. And even without the idea of us being in a relationship, I don’t want to see you go at the end of this school year unless going to Harvard is what really is going to make you happy. And when I say you, I mean you. Not your parents. You know, eventually you’re going to have to be up front with them and speak your truth!”

You knew Billy was right, even if you didn’t want to admit it. “I know.” was all you could manage to say to the boy.

You sat down next to him and rested your head in the crook of his neck. He slipped his hand into yours and kissed the top of your head. Billy turned to look at the clock on your bedside table.

“Shit.” He said. It was 6:30 and he told Neil he would be home at 6:00. “I gotta go, (Y/N), I told my dad I would be home thirty minutes ago.”

“Okay, Billy, calm down. Just tell him we were working on this project. It’ll be okay, won’t it?”

“You don’t understand, princess. I have to go. Now.” He said with a serious tone.

You bolted up and escorted him out. He quickly, yet politely, thanked your parents for having him over and your mother for the delicious meal.

He scurried to his Camaro and sped off to get home.

You watched the boy drive away and couldn’t help but worry. What did he mean by ‘You don’t understand, princess’?

You decided to shake it off and move on with the rest of your evening.

When 9:00 rolled around, you decided you better catch up on your sleep.

You headed up the stairs, brushed your teeth, put on your pajamas, and drifted off to sleep.

Good thing you decided to get some extra sleep, because only a few hours later, you were awoken by a fairly loud knock on your window.

—

Read Part 5 Here

Taglist:

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[larryssunflower]

The Non-Royal Romance, Part Six - Secrets

read past parts to catch up!

part one   part two    part three    part four    part five

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The sounds of cutlery on plates and small conversations fill the hall, in which I reside, edging the lobster in my bisque with my spoon absentmindedly. Because we are with the Nevrakis family, of course, Oliver insisted I sit at the front table with him. My eyes dart from my bland soup to where Drake is standing across the room, his hands clasped in front of him in his lovely navy suit. His dark eyes scan the room, stopping when meeting me with direct eye contact. I smile slightly, and he nods back.

I notice Liam sitting in the very back of the ballroom, talking and laughing with Maxwell and Allie, who seems to have taken a break from waiting tables. They only have one bowl of lobster bisque. Huh, I wonder why they got stuffed back there. I glance to my right to see Oliver, who is chatting to someone to his right. Of course. Oliver is purposefully keeping them back there. I get a bitter taste looking at him, having to make myself look away. I still don't think I can forgive him for going after Drake like that. And what he did to Drake’s poor sister. I feel a warm hand on mine and turn to my left to smile at my mother. “Are you feeling alright darling?” She asks me. No, being trapped in a stuffy ballroom with snobby rich people is not how I would like to be spending my time. “Yes, of course, mother, I’m just a bit tired after yesterday,” I say with another polite fake smile. “Good, because I think it's about time for dancing,” She says with a wink, making me laugh.

Almost just on cue, music starts playing from a live orchestra, and people start making their way to the dancefloor. I look to my right, and Oliver is standing, with his hand held out to me. “Care to dance Princess?” He asks, and after hearing Drake call me princess all the time, it makes me cringe hearing it from Oliver's mouth. 

We make our way to the dancefloor, and the crowd parts, to allow us to be in the middle. Of course, we begin with the Cordonian Waltz. Oliver seems more than happy to finally place his hand on my hip and his other in my hand. I reluctantly put my hand in his and the other on his shoulder. It feels so uncomfortable being in his hands, it makes me feel sick. As he leads me through the dance effortlessly, I get lost in the movements like I usually do when I'm forced to dance with someone I dislike. I suddenly wonder what it would be like to dance with Drake. I almost laugh at the thought.

Like that could ever happen. But, to just imagine it, to be in such close quarters, to feel his hands on my waist, to be able to freely gaze into those coffee eyes, and be alone with him. We would be in our own little world. I would be spinning in his arms in an empty ballroom and he would twirl me out, then bring me close. We would share our breath, staring into each other's eyes, then he would dip me down gently, and bring me back up, even closer this time. We would inch closer, our proximity intoxicating. Our lips would brush and before long, it would get heated- I suddenly stumble, screwing up the footing of the dance with Oliver, thrusting me back into reality. I flush darkly, as Oliver looks at me with questioning eyes. I awkwardly laugh but get saved by the song coming to an end.

As the ballroom applauds I look over at Drake, who was clearly watching us closely. because it's his job. My mind tries to reason, and I sigh, hoping my face looks a bit less red. Before I know it, the next song starts, then the next, and then the next. And at every song comes another suitor, asking for a dance. That happens for a bit until Oliver want to dance with me again, and forces the men away. “I would love some alone time with you Alana,�� He says, his voice silky. I smile through the hopefully not visible cringe and nod. “Of course Duke Nevrakis,” I smile. He looks at me for a moment, and out of nowhere, leans in, pressing his lips to mine. I pull back quickly in surprise, looking at Oliver incredulously. I notice Drake stalking over, his face filled with fury. I widen my eyes and raise my hand to stop him. He falters, looking at me with heated intensity.

I glance at the shocked faces in the crowd, and motion for Oliver to follow me out into the hallway, away from earshot. Once we are far enough away, I turn to him, fuming. “That will never happen again, understand me?” I ask angrily, my arms crossed. He cringes and looks away cowardly. “Y-yeah I’m sorry I just-“ He starts, his face rivaling his hair color, but I shake my head. “I don’t want to hear it. That kind of behavior is unacceptable and I will not tolerate being embarrassed like that,” I continue, internally groaning at what my mother will have to say about this. “Princess, I deeply apologize, I just got caught up in the moment and It will never happen again,” Oliver says desperately, and I nod. “Yes, you are correct. I will never kiss you again. Oh and don’t call me Princess,” I say bitterly, pushing past him. As I’m storming back towards the ball, an arm pulls me into a different hallway. I yelp in surprise only to see it’s Drake. He holds me there in place, his hand wrapped around my arm. My stomach flutters at the touch, and I try not to react too visibly.  “Do you need me to do anything about him?” He asks, and I blink in surprise, my heart jumping at his protective tendencies. 

“No it’s okay Drake, I think he has learned his lesson,” I say, and glance over my shoulder to see Oliver walking towards his room, his head hung. I look back and my eyes fall on Drake’s face. His hand is still clasped on my arm, and he is watching Oliver with a cold look in his eyes. I admire his face for a minute, the way the light casts shadows across his face, enhancing the shadow under his jawline. God he is so hot. His eyes move back over to me. I don’t look away, staring back into his eyes. I wish I could kiss you right now. I think, wishing that he could read my mind, and we could get past all this bullshit and finally be together. His brown eyes bore into mine, and I swear he feels the same. My eyes wander around his beautifully sculpted face, lingering on his mouth. I suddenly feel really hot, my face probably flushed. He looks at me for another moment before he glances down at his hand on my arm. He lets go, his hand dropping to his side, causing disappointment to wash over me. He clears his throat. “You should get back to the ball Princess,” he says, and I sigh. “Do I have to?” I groan childishly, making him smile in amusement. “I think so,” he says softly, causing me to sigh. “Shame, I was finally starting to have a good time,” I say, with a little wink, before heading back into hell.

—-

That night, around 2:00 am

I wake up, my mouth dry. Annoyed by the disturbance, I reach over to fill my glass with my water pitcher, only to realize that I don’t have one here. I’ll have to go down to the kitchens. Maybe I can sneak a pop tart or something. That lobster wasn’t very filling. I grab my glass, slip into my robe, and step into my slippers. Quietly, I open my door and see the overnight guard, Greg. “Hey miss, what are you doing up?” He asks kindly, and I smile. “Oh I’m just going to grab some water and a snack, can I get you anything?” I ask, but he shakes his head. “Be careful, and scream loudly if you get into trouble,” he says teasingly. I chuckle. “Will do Greg,” I say, starting off to the kitchens.

My footsteps echo the empty halls, the blue moonlight filtering in through the tall windows. On my way down to the kitchens, I walk through the somewhat familiar duchy, enjoying the peaceful emptiness. After tonight, it’s nice to be alone. As I walk through a small hallway, I jump out of my skin at the sudden blood-curling scream coming from the room to my left. I freeze in place, my heart pounding in my chest. What. The. Fuck. I near the door quietly, hearing the rustling is sheets and a groaning sound. Then a sudden shout again. Then, with my instincts screaming at me, I open the door and close it behind me, turning on the light.

There, on the small bed in front of me, is Drake, twisted up in his sheets, wearing only black joggers. I gulp at the sight of his ripped body, but before I can get a good look, he screams again, his face contorted in fear. My heart breaks and in a second I’m by his side, cradling his face. “Hey, shhh. Drake,” I say softly, stroking his face. The distress in his face slowly dissipates, and he seems to be back to normal, resting again. I notice how young he looks, without that permanent frown/scowl, his lips parted slightly. I smile, my heart fluttering. He leans into my touch and I practically swoon.

I’m totally falling for this man.

The moment is over when, suddenly, his eyes snap open, looking nearly black as they focus onto me. My heart drops and in a millisecond, I’m on the ground, Drake on top of me, pinning my down my wrists. Usually, I wouldn't be so upset being in this position with Drake, but his scary expression makes me yelp, looking up at him in surprise. He blinks down at me. “P-princess?” He asks, clearly only just recognizing me. He leaps off me, backing up. “What are you doing in here?” He asks in a startled tone. “I- I was walking past and heard screaming and came to see if you were alright,” I say quietly, avoiding eye contact.

“You’re telling me you heard screaming and decided to investigate? You are truly dumber than you look,” he says bitterly. Ouch. “Wow okay. Sorry, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Want to talk about what you were having a nightmare about?” I ask, looking at him apprehensively. I don’t want him to hate me but I’m curious. He sighs, shaking his head. “Look, Princess, what happened in my past doesn’t concern you,” he says, and I scoff to his surprise. “You know that’s bullshit,” I say, crossing my arms. He opens his door, motioning me to leave. I tilt my head in defiance, pressing my lips together, not moving.

He clenches his jaw in annoyance. “Fine.” He says, shutting the door and turning back to me. “When I was eighteen, I registered to be in the US Navy. I spent seven years serving, working my way up the chain. Two years ago, I was a sergeant on a submarine going through the Arctic Ocean on a routine deployment. A Russian recruit thought that we were an ‘attack submarine’ and he fired a couple missiles at us. I was one of four that survived out of a total of 134. That’s how I got these,” he says, pointing to his abdomen. In the low light, I only now notice the multiple deep scars etched into his skin. There are other scars, smaller ones, near his chest. I gasp, tears springing to my eyes. “After that, I was discharged, and then I joined the royal guard.” He finishes, his voice and unfamiliar tone. “I-I’m so beyond sorry Drake, that must have been awful,” I say softly.

“Yes, Princess it was. Now if you don’t mind, I would like to try to sleep,” he says coldly, opening his door, and motioning me to leave once again. This time I concede and walk past him, shame overcoming me. “Goodnight Princess,” he says with finality, shutting the door behind me. I flinch and look down, tears dripping from my eyes. I had absolutely no idea. I make my way to the kitchens again, thinking. I should have just left the first time. “Idiot,” I mutter to myself, running my hands through my hair. And just as we were starting to get along again. I stand in place as I wait for my pitcher to fill up. I hope he was okay being on Maxwell’s yacht. He seemed a bit off when we were at sea that’s for sure. Which makes sense obviously.

I walk back into my room, smiling at Greg, and setting my pitcher and glass down on my bedside table. I slide under my covers, curling up. I really hope Drake forgives me. It’s not exactly the best thing for your personal bodyguard to hate you. And after risking my life skiing and pestering him about his rough past, I wouldn’t blame him for hating me. In a way, I’m glad I know now, I feel closer to him and I think that’s important for our... relationship. Whatever the hell our relationship is.

I suddenly get a thought that makes me feel sick. What if I really never get to be with Drake? What if he truly doesn’t feel the same? The deadline to my coronation ball is nearing, and not only will I be choosing my husband, but becoming the Queen of a country. I’m just not sure if this is what I want. I sit up in bed, fiddling with my sheets anxiously. How am I supposed to choose who I will spend the rest of my life with? What if I don’t want to choose a suitor at all? This situation isn’t exactly one my mother discussed with me. I’m not sure why, but I always had this feeling that me and Drake would end up happening and I don’t have anything to worry about, but that’s sadly not the case.

We only have the applewood manor, the Beaumont bash, then the ball. In the next couple of days, we will arrive at the Applewood manor and go on the fox hunt and have the feast, then the next day, the little apple festival. That should be interesting to see a bunch of royal men try to bake pies as they have probably had all their pies fed to them on a silver spoon. Of course, it’s tradition for the suitors to do the festival, but they have been all women in the past. Nether the less, it should be entertaining. Hopefully I will have time to hang out with Maxwell, it feels like it’s been forever since I’ve talked to my best friend. Maybe I can get closer to Drake aswell...

I eventually drift off to sleep, thinking up a fantasy ending in which Drake and I run away together, no worries in the world.

----

Oh poor Alana, she truly is falling for that man! I hope you guys enjoyed this short-ish chapter, and if y’all have been paying attention, there are some spots in past chapters where Drake’s past is hinted (I wonder if you guys noticed) I’m so excited for these next chapters, they are gonna be so good! Love you all, my readers, the old and the new, thank you guys for reading, it means the world to me 💕 see you next chapter!

[shitty-marvel-fan732]

Comfort Me, Part 1

Author’s Note: 

This is going to be a two-shot, and I hope to post the second part this weekend! Let me know with a like or a reblog if yall are excited/want me to post it sooner. 

Big shoutout to @twentytwohearts for going through this whole long-ass fic with me and helping with editing. You are a rockstar!

There is a line later on in the story that is written in Spanish. Full disclosure, I 100% used Google Translate to write it! The English translation is at the end of the fic!

Liv POV:

BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBE—

I groaned and slapped a hand over my face as my alarm blared from the floor next to my mattress. Rolling over, I fumbled with the source of my abrupt awakening until I finally managed to stop the ear-piercing sound. 

Fingers roughly rubbing my sleep crusted eyes, I tried to adjust to the stream of light coming in from my window. Eventually I heaved myself out of bed and softly padded into the bathroom. Grumbling, a dissatisfied grimace threatened to take over my features as my bare skin came into contact with the frigid air. Rubbing my arms vigorously in a vain attempt to warm them, I silently prayed that the heat was somehow just switched off this morning and not cut off for good. 

Right. Even half asleep I didn’t quite believe the former. 

One squeaky turn of the showerhead later and my suspicions were confirmed. Fuck. I turned off the icy spray before angrily stomping back to my room. Thank God it was only October or else I’d really be fucked. As I made my way down the bare hallway I made a mental note to go and meet with our skeevy landlord later to see what could be done about turning the heat back on. George was pretty pervy, but times like this made that particular trait quite useful. A small bit of makeup and a lower-cut top would be all I hopefully needed to get the heat turned back on, at least for a little while. 

I stood near my closet running a hand through my wavy locks and contemplating my options for a moment. I threw on a pair of skinny jeans, some thick socks, my favorite red flannel, and a grey zip up hoodie. Pulling my ratty hi-tops on, I surveyed my appearance in the mirror briefly before heading out of my room and into the kitchen. Stepping towards my jacket, I heard a loud belch from the direction of my living room. I leaned over the couch to see a half naked, 40-something bum passed out. Chortling to myself, I dismissed him as one of my mother’s conquests and reached for my jacket once more, pulling it over my still slightly shivering form. Throwing my hair up into a messy bun, I started to head out the door. Stopping cold and smirking, I turned on my heel to fish through the reeking man’s pockets. Finally finding his wallet, I pocketed it quickly before patting his head gently.   

“Sorry man, should’ve stumbled home,” I whispered, smirking and heading towards the door once more.

I exited the shit hole apartment I was unfortunate enough to call home, and walked briskly down the stairs and around the corner. As I walked I began to riffle through the dudes stuff. Finding only $40 in cash, I pitched the rest of his shit into a nearby bush and continued my walk. 

Walking briskly to avoid a chill, it was only a few short blocks until I hopped up the stairs of the only place that’d ever felt like home: Peter and May’s place. Shouting a good morning down the hall, I filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove to boil. Busying myself with grabbing two mugs and their respective tea bags, I almost didn’t hear the soft padding of hands and feet near the entrance of the kitchen. 

Almost. 

“GOTCHA”. 

Peter’s cry was immediately followed by an ‘oomf’ as he fell face first into the kitchen’s floor. I grinned to myself from my place at the counter, having moved just inches to the right just before my best friend had made the attempt to tackle me. As far back as I could remember I’d been coming to Peter’s apartment every morning before school – and every morning Peter attempted to scare me. It had only worked once.

The first time. 

When we were 6. 

Nevertheless, he was determined to make it happen again and his face-plants were near daily at this point. 

“Morning Pete, did you eat yet?” I chuckled, not even bothering to turn around. 

“No, not yet. Why are you here so early anyways?” he grumbled as he hopped up to his feet. 

“Good morning sunshine!” May sang as she entered the kitchen. I smiled widely at the elder Parker, gratefully accepting a peck on the cheek as I handed her morning tea in her favorite mug. 

“You’re here awfully early aren’t you?” she mused, blowing on the steaming drink to cool it. 

“I was literally just saying that,” Peter stated flatly, rolling his eyes and grabbing some cereal for the two of us. He was always a bit grumpy after he lost our little morning game, but experience told me that he’d be back to his cheerful, dorky self soon enough. 

“Heat’s off at home, didn’t feel like freezing to death,” I answered plainly. Eagerly taking the bowl Peter offered, I filled it with my favorite cereal as we all settled into our places at the small table. Peter and May glanced at each other briefly before the former turned his attention back to his food and May shot me a look of concern. 

“Why is your heat off? Is it broken?” May asked concernedly. Now it was my turn to roll my eyes as I shrugged non-committedly.

“Probably not. It’s the 10th, so more likely than not Kimberly 'forgot’ to pay the bill,” I answered, exaggerating the air quotes around 'forgot’. Peter’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked up from his breakfast, creating small wrinkles over his normally smooth skin. 

“Forgot?” he ground out, mouth still full of cereal and expression one of thinly-veiled contempt. I bit back a giggle when I noticed a dribble of milk making its way out the side of his mouth and down his chin. Leaning forward slightly, I wiped the offending drops away with the pad of my thumb. My small action caused the sweet boy to flush bright red, and I immediately felt myself internally swooning at the sight.  Flurries of small flutters began twirling around my stomach at the brief contact, causing me to drop my hand abruptly. Clearing my throat, I sat back into my chair and took another bite of my own cereal. 

“Mmmhm. Last night was the first night she’s even been home since last month so she probably spent it on much more important things,” I replied, tone practically dripping with contempt as I attempted to brush off the interaction with Peter with some of my trademarked sarcasm.

I hated to admit it, but lately I’d been harboring some romantic-type feelings for the brunette boy seated next to me. Feelings which I was doing my damndest to push back down to wherever the hell they’d come from. There was no reason for me to feel anything other than platonically for Peter, just like I had for my entire life. The thought of changing our dynamic terrified me to no end.  Lately I’d been spending more time than I cared to admit squashing the butterflies that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in my lower belly.

“You’ve been alone since last month? Oh honey, why didn’t you say anything sooner?”, May cooed softly, eyes oozing with sympathy and concern. Gratitude flooded my chest at the welcome distraction from the now-awkward feeling encounter with Peter. I turned towards her and —– ignoring the lingering emotions deep in my chest – shrugged. 

 "S'not a big deal, May. I stayed with MJ a few nights here and there,“ I soothed the older woman with another, more comforting smile. "Besides, you know me, I like my space.”

May huffed, sitting back aggressively in her chair, arms shoved petulantly across her chest. Peter looked much calmer than his aunt with a mostly blank expression on his still reddened face. His obviously fake passiveness may have fooled his aunt, but I was certain he was just as upset at my current situation as she was, if not more so. He didn’t always look it but Peter was insanely protective over me —especially when it came to matters involving Kimberly. 

It wasn’t exactly shocking news that my mother was terrible; she’d been like this as far back as I could remember. She wasn’t abusive per se – but only because in order to abuse me she’d have to actually be around. And being around was not Kimberly’s forte. No, she much preferred her flighty lifestyle of drinking, drugs, and dancing too much to stick around for more than a day or two at a time. I was usually left more or less alone at home — unless you counted the various men and women that were passed out around the apartment on any given day, that is. In all reality, Peter, May, and Ben (before he passed) were the only real family I’d ever had.

“Well until your heat is back on you have to find somewhere else to stay,” she grumbled.

 I giggled unintentionally at the sight of May Parker attempting to be strict; arms crossed,  brows furrowed, and mouth set into a thin line. Bless her soul. She was one of the kindest people I knew, but the poor woman couldn’t scare a mouse. 

“I’m serious Olivia!”.

“I know, I know! That reminds me, I need to borrow a top from you. I, uhm, found $40 this morning, and that plus one of your 'going out’ shirts should be enough to convince George to turn it back on. Got anything that says, 'my mother is an idiot, please don’t let me freeze?’,” I joked, semi-seriously. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Peter exclaimed abruptly. “There is absolutely no way you’re going to grovel to that — that pervert!”

My eyes turned to meet his, and though he appeared somewhat calm, I could tell he was positively fuming. Being that Peter and I had been inseparable nearly our entire lives, I could read his face like a book. And even if I couldn’t, it wasn’t exactly a secret that both Parkers held a massive amount of hatred for my mother. Conversations pertaining to her or my home life had to be delivered carefully to them, because both Parkers were too sweet for their own good. I’d learned over the years that divulging too much information about my home life at once would only cause them undue stress. 

Cursing myself internally, I realized I’d been too forthcoming, distracted by my attempts to squash my feelings for Peter. No matter how difficult things got on my end, I vowed early on never to be the cause for them to be anything less than their cheerful, goofy selves. An endeavor I was clearly failing at today. Peter rarely got this worked up over situations like this, and I could instantly tell that any compromise was going to be from my end this time. 

“I agree sunshine, you can stay here for a few days,” May nodded, smooth hand coming to rest over mine. “I could actually vomit at the idea of you even approaching that vile man, and you know you’re always welcome here." 

I felt my face flush with warmth at her words. It was true – I always knew that the door was perpetually open for me at the Parker household, but I still felt emotional whenever the subject of me staying for more than a night or two came up. Even with the countless number of days and weeks spent at their place I still harbored doubts that I was truly wanted. 

I glanced over at Peter with un-characteristic shyness, hoping to confirm that the sentiment was shared. To the delight of the seemingly perpetually active butterflies in my stomach, I found my green eyes locked in with the all-too familiar brown irises that I’d come to love. Peter was studying my pink-tinged cheeks intently, the expression on his face one I’d never quite seen before. Perplexed, my mind briefly wondered if he was feeling the same way I had only minutes ago as I’d watched his own sweet features flushed with embarrassment. I immediately dismissed the ridiculous thought; he was probably just worrying over me the way he always did, and there was no reason for me to think anything deeper was going on in his head. 

Seemingly realizing I’d caught him staring, he cleared his throat awkwardly and nodded with his most adorable, crinkly eyed smile etched on his face. Mentally shaking my head, I turned back to May once more, this time with a genuine smile, flipping my palm over to lightly squeeze her hand that still covered my own. 

"Thanks May,” I nearly whispered. The older woman practically grinned, the smooth skin around her eyes crinkling slightly with the size of it.

“Uh yeah, but I’m gonna be staying at the Tower this weekend,” Peter stuttered. “Mr. Stark has some, uhm, internship stuff for me to do." 

"S'okay Pete, I’m sure May and I will be fine by ourselves for a few days,” I grinned as I ate another spoonful of my now soggy cereal, knowing full well Peter hated when I was left alone with his aunt. May smiled knowingly, taking a sip of her tea and watching our interaction with a sparkle of mischief in her eyes. 

You’d think growing up with Peter would mean May wouldn’t have any more embarrassing stories or pictures left to share with me, but you’d be wrong. Left to her own devices May had a rather spectacular talent for finding some long lost photos of a naked baby Peter, or suddenly recalling a story that caused the poor boy to physically cringe when he realized I’d heard.  Additionally, I had a habit of messing with Peter when left alone in ways that almost always made him regret ever leaving me unattended. It started out pretty tame: plastic wrap in the doorway, fake bugs or snakes hidden in his pillows, etc., but my jokes had evolved as we’d grown to the point where Peter flat out refused to leave me alone in the apartment. 

“OLIVIA MARIE WILLIAMS!”. 

I chuckled lightly from my spot on the couch, craning my head down the hall to the source of the noise. 

“Yes?”, I called out in a sing-song voice. Grinning to myself, I bit down on my lower lip to keep from bursting into laughter. 

“Can you please come in here for a moment?”, Peter called from the direction of his room. To anyone else he probably sounded calm, but this was Peter and I knew his voice better than my own. He was clearly annoyed, and I couldn’t be happier about it. 

Giggling, I walked slowly down the hall and stopped in the doorway. 

“What’s up Petey?” I questioned innocently, leaving on the doorframe and crossing my arms. Peter scoffed. 

“Are you joking?” he asked incredulously. I laughed openly at the sight of my poor, disheveled friend. He was perched on the ceiling on all fours with his Spiderman costume still on, sans the mask, and his expression was one of pure frustration and annoyance. 

“No, I truly don’t know what’s gotten your panties in a twist,” I replied, still feigning nonchalance even though we both clearly knew what was going on. Peter huffed, and I couldn’t help but find him adorable with all the red splotches decorating his pale face and his brown curls mussed from being encased in his mask only minutes before. 

“My panties are NOT in a twist,” he grumbled. “Not that I have— you can’t seriously– Liv! Look at my room!”

I pretended to scan his room before meeting his gaze once more and shrugging. 

“The cups Liv. I’m talking about the cups,” he deadpanned, crawling over from his spot on the ceiling near the window. 

“Ohhhhh. That,” I chuckled. Peter narrowed his eyes at me, hands leaving the ceiling and coming to rest petulantly across his chest as he flipped upside-down. 

“Yes, that!” he practically shouted, eyes blown wide and brows furrowed in disbelief.

A massive amount of small plastic cups, each brimming with water, completely covered the area of his bedroom. There wasn’t a single inch of floor space that wasn’t taken up by cups, 447 to be exact. The laughter that had been building inside me since Peter had first called me over to his room finally came bursting out. 

“You know May is always getting on you to drink more water,” I finally gasped out between peals of laughter. “I just thought I’d help remind you!”. 

“Seriously Liv?” he whined, puppy dog eyes on full force and lips forming into a small pout. “You’re the worst. Are you at least gonna help me clean this up?”

I shook my head playfully. 

“Sorry Petey, you know the rules. You left me here alone, and that means you have to deal with the consequences on your own.” I chuckled, pushing myself off the doorframe and heading back towards the living room. I’d only made it a few steps before I heard the sweet sounds of multiple plastic cups knocking into one another, followed closely by a distinct splashing noise and Peter’s irritated groan. 

“Uh-uh. There is no way I’m leaving the two of you alone,” Peter said, shuddering slightly at the implication. 

“Awww come on Petey it won’t be that bad,” I giggled. He shot me a look that screamed 'are you serious?’ across the table before standing up and reaching for his backpack. 

“Yes. It will. You’re staying at the tower too Olivia, even if I have to drag you there myself." 

"Awww I think someone been missing me,” I cooed, standing as well and playfully pinching Peter’s cheek. Another wave of red and pink color began creeping up his neck at my teasing, and he swatted my hand away quickly. Rolling his eyes, he shimmied his backpack straps over his broad arms. I snickered and winked at May who was sitting with a hand covering her mouth in a feeble attempt to mask the massive grin she too sported. 

“In your dreams Williams. But I do know that Mr. Stark has been asking about you lately. I’m sure he and Ms. Potts would love to see you anyways,” he replied after awkwardly clearing his throat. My face broke out into an even wider smile at the mention of the power couple.

 Ever since Peter had met Tony Stark, the billionaire had become un-characteristically attached to me. Not that he’d ever admit to it out loud. He’d immediately wanted me around more since discovering that I was not only arguably as smart as Peter, but that I was blessed with an uncanny ability to make the poor brunette boy flush or stammer at any given moment. Didn’t hurt that I had an arsenal of embarrassing Peter stories that went back over a decade either. I’d started working with the Iron Man himself in his labs every now and again when Peter stayed at the Tower, and after a few months Tony had become increasingly aware of the state of my home life. I’d never tell him to his face, but I truly believed that my lack of parental guidance or acceptance resonated with the normally sarcastic Avenger. 

In fact, he and Pepper had offered multiple times to help me legally emancipate myself from her. I always shrugged off the help, knowing full well that the extent of time she was gone was never actually illegal. The fridge usually had food, and the rent was usually paid, so there weren’t exactly grounds to call it neglect at this point. Maybe when I was a kid, but even then it wasn’t that easy. May and Ben had tried to get me away from her multiple times, and each time it’d only ended with me winding up in an even shittier foster home for a while. Foster homes that I only stayed in for a few weeks, or even days, before my mother had gone crying to the judges to get me back 'home’. 

No, I was stuck with Kimberly until my 18th birthday in a couple years, a downright depressing thought that I still wrestled with on a near daily basis. Even with the reassurance and support I received from the Parkers, my other best friend MJ, Peter’s friend Ned, and now the Starks I often felt incredibly low about myself. I mean, my own mother couldn’t be arsed to actually care about me, so how was I supposed to believe that anyone else would?

I was abruptly brought out of my thoughts by a hand lightly squeezing my bicep, the disruption causing me to jump slightly. 

“Livvie?” Peter questioned softly, using the nickname I only allowed him and May to call me. 

“Hmmm?”

“I said we gotta get to school now, where’s your backpack?” he repeated, hand detaching from my arm and leaving tingles in it’s wake.

I shook off all my depressing thoughts, shifting quickly back to the familiar banter that came so naturally to Peter and I. 

“What backpack?” I questioned, voice laced with mock innocence. Peter rolled his eyes, face playfully annoyed. May however, stood from the table and looked about as pure and wholesome as a baby deer, her expression one of utter confusion. 

“Liv, sweetie, have you lost your school bag? ‘Cause I can pick you up a new one after work if that’s the case,” she questioned sweetly, making me fall even more in love with my best friend’s kooky aunt. I smiled and waved away her concerns with my hand. 

“Nah, don’t worry about it May, I just forgot it this morning in my rush to get out of the house,” I explained lightly, bringing her into my arms as I hugged her goodbye. She embraced me tighter than usual, likely slightly still on edge from this morning’s chat. I reciprocate in kind, taking a moment to breath in her comforting scent and revel in the small circles she rubbed into my back as she held me. 

For all intents and purposes, May Parker was my mom. Kimberly may have birthed me, but that’s where her interest in me seemingly ended. May was there for me through everything; she’s the one who took me bra shopping for the first time, the one who got me through my first period, the one to comfort me when I experienced my first real heartbreak. She was at every academic decathlon competition, every sports game when I was a kid, and the one who hung all my artwork from childhood proudly on her fridge. Kimberly may be my biological mother, but May chose me to be the daughter she never had. And I would never be able to repay her for it, even if I tried. 

“Hey!” Peter protested from behind me. I turned, arms still wrapped around May. “How come Liv gets a new backpack with no questions asked, and I can’t get a new one without begging?!" 

Peter’s expression was one of pure annoyance, and I couldn’t help but chuckle at his frustration. His arms were crossed and his brows were adorably furrowed as he questioned his aunt. 

"Because she doesn’t 'lose’ them faster than I can buy them,” May responded plainly, hands leaving my sides to rest on her hips stubbornly. I snorted at the slight indignation taking over Peter’s features before walking through the door. 

“Yeah, no it’s because she loves me more. Sorry Petey,” I chuckled, ruffling his hair as I breezed past him. As I jogged down the first few steps I faintly heard the sweet sounds of May’s giggle along with Peter’s scoff from the apartment behind me. 

“Wanna stop back at your house for your backpack before we go?” he asked adorably, jogging slightly to catch up to me. 

“Mmmm… Pass. Too much work,” I returned, smirking at the incredulous look that overtook Peter’s face. 

“Seriously? Don’t you have homework in there?” he asked in disbelief as we hopped down the cement stairs leading down to the train, avoiding several rushing commuters along the way. Once we met at the bottom and passed through the tolls I shrugged as we waited, subway trains rushing by us. Sparing a glance at Peter, I was momentarily stunned by how cute he looked with his brown curls blowing haphazardly around him, highlighting his strong jaw. A jaw that was currently moving as he shook his head and grinned at me. 

“Exactly how are you passing again?” he laughed, bumping my shoulder playfully. I giggled, linking his arm through mine as we huddled in front of the tracks. 

“Dunno, probably because the smartest guy in school is a good friend of mine,” I reasoned innocently, leaning my head on his shoulder and grinning.

“Mmmm, wow you are lucky,” he chuckled. He ducked slightly, leaning his head down atop mine and messing around with his phone idly. He finally found whatever he was looking for, silently handing me an earbud. We each popped one in our ears, bumping along to the beat and swaying softly as we waited for our train. 

I imagine others looking on would make the assumption that Peter and I were together based on our comfortable contact. In fact, people mistook us for a couple pretty almost daily. Historically, I’d chew those people out and remind them that just because Pete was a boy and I was a girl didn’t automatically mean we were dating. Lately though, I found myself wishing it were true, and the reminder that things weren’t like that causing my chest to feel heavy with disappointment. Peter and I had always been incredibly comfortable with one another, and it wasn’t uncommon for us to stand like this or wind up cuddled close as we watched a movie or something. It never meant anything, it was simply the way things had always been. However, as my feelings grew I found myself longing for these moments to last forever so I could pretend things were different for just a bit longer. 

But, things weren’t like that, and time didn’t work that way. Soon our train came screeching our way, and we separated, the illusion broken. 

“You okay?” Peter questioned softly as we waited for the departing passengers to move out of our way. 

“Yeah, I’m great,” came my soft reply, the reflex response tumbling out of my mouth before my brain could even catch up. I’m sure Peter caught my white lie based on the way his eyes sparkled with a hint of concern, but thankfully he let the subject drop. He smiled lightly at me, and we finally boarded the subway car. I forced another smile, taking my place on the busy train beside my best friend. 

“So, Kimberly finally showed up huh,” MJ commented flatly as we strode down the bustling, graffiti littered sidewalks that led to my apartment building after school. I hummed non-committedly in response. 

“S’possible, almost likely even, given the timing,” I quipped back, tone just as flat.

 MJ hated everyone and everything, so naturally we got along extremely well. She was smart, sarcastic, angry, observant, and underneath it all an extremely loyal friend. As much as she usually lived up to her ‘I don’t fuck with you’ image, I was proud to be one of the few things she would actually admit that she cared about.

“In that case, this is where I leave you,” she deadpanned, lingering near the door of my building. I nodded in understanding, squinting my eyes against the sun rays blaring down on me as I looked at the tall girl. MJ hated Kimberly with the kind of dark rage only she could muster. Hell, sometimes I think she hates her more than I do. So seeing her in person was a huge no-no.

“So you staying over tonight? There’s a BLM protest down on 47th and Broadway I was gonna hit up if you want to come,” she offered. She stood facing slightly away from me, arms crossed and eyes trained down on her shoes. To an outsider it would seem the dark-haired girl wasn’t interested in our conversation, but I’d been around MJ enough to know that wasn’t the case. She wouldn’t offer her time or energy if she didn’t really want me around. I absolutely thrived off the fact that I was one of the only people in her life that she actually wanted to be around, and I felt my heart lift slightly with her offer. Nevertheless, I shook my head, opening the door with my key. 

“Nahhh, May freaked out over breakfast this morning and now Peter is basically kidnapping me until the heat’s turned back on,” came my response from the threshold. MJ’s right brow raised dramatically. 

“Right. Kidnapping you,” she drawled, smirking. Frowning at her, I rolled my eyes and attempted to seem nonchalant. MJ knew all about my blossoming feelings for a certain brunette dork due to her observant nature and her close relationship with the both of us. A fact which she used against me at every given opportunity. 

“Mhm, so if you’ll excuse me I’m going to go try and pack my shit and avoid my lush of a mother,” I replied quickly. MJ threw me a mock salute before turning around fully and walking away. 

“Make sure you call me tonight so I know you’re safe!” she shouted over her shoulder. I chuckled to myself at her antics and entered the shitty residence I legally had to call home.

Peter’s POV

“Ned, I swear to god,” I groaned, walking down the street, rubbing my eyes in exasperation.

“Oh, come on,” he shot back, clearly just as irritated as me with the topic of our conversation. “It’s so obvious it’s literally painful at this point." 

"You’re insane,” I grumbled, pushing past the other New Yorkers bustling past us as we headed up the steps to Delmar’s. “Liv and I are best friends man." 

Nodding at Mr. Delmar in place of a hello, I wandered idly down the isles in search of some sour candies.  

"Okay first of all, as your best friend I’m offended,” Ned deadpanned. “Secondly, friends don’t act like the two of you; like how you’re always staring at her when you think no one is looking? Yeah, which everyone has noticed by the way." 

Despite my best efforts, I could feel the heat rising in my neck and creeping all the way up my face straight to the tips of my ears. As Ned chuckled at my obvious discomfort I scoffed, snatching a bag of gummy worms from the shelf and pushing my way past him. 

"So? You’ve seen her, she’s interesting to look at,” I retaliated, hoping against all odds that my voice sounded nonchalant. 

It was true. After all, Liv captivated the attention of anyone lucky enough to be in her presence without even really trying. For one thing, she dressed completely differently than any other student at Midtown. Her signature look always involved her favorite pair of ripped jeans, a black band t-shirt from her extensive collection (most of which had come from concerts that she’d dragged me along to), her faded red-flannel, and a pair of either hi-tops or combat boots. Her dark blonde hair was always a mess of flyaway waves and curls, and she had more piercings than I could realistically number. 

Additionally, Liv was, and had always been, incredibly outspoken. Even before my hearing became advanced, I could instantly tell when she entered a room, no matter how crowded or noisy it was. If her naturally captivating presence wasn’t enough to announce her arrival, her loud voice and infectious laugh did the trick. It was definitely safe to say, Liv wasn’t like any of the other girls at Midtown, or like any other girls anywhere to be honest. 

“Oh, please, looking is the understatement of the millennium and you know it. You freaking gaze at her man. Hand on your cheek, eyes glazed over, mouth open; It’s honestly kind of impressive you’ve not physically drooled at the sight of her yet,” Ned chuckled to himself. 

“Shut up, I do not!” I protested as I tossed my stash of candy on the deli counter. 

Mr. Delmar turned round to face us, leaning down and resting his forearms on the counter. An amused look overtook his features as he began rifling through the pile of sweets I’d collected. 

“Mr. Parker, big weekend with the girlfriend?” he casually asked, smirking knowingly. I groaned and clapped my hands over my face, rubbing my eyes in disbelief. 

“Come on man, not you too,” I muttered through my palms. Ned looked at me with an absolutely shit-eating grin, both he and Delmar chuckling at my obvious discomfort. 

“What? I know when you get Swedish Fish you’re going to be seeing her,” Mr. Delmar continued, holding up the aforementioned candy and grinning. “And if this un-godly pile of junk is any indication, you’ll be together for a few days. At least I hope so, because this is a disgusting amount of sweets for just one day.”

“Okay, yes, I am going to hang out with Liv this weekend. Because we are friends,” I ground out, arms crossing firmly across my chest. Ned rolled his eyes once more, and Mr. Delmar chuckled and shook his head. 

“Él está negando este. Su novia lo mira como si hubiera colgado la luna, ¡y todavía finge que no lo sabe!” Mr. Delmar told his employee loudly, laughing and patting the man’s back. My eyes narrowed, arms crossing even tighter at his comment. My Spanish may not be good enough to know exactly what he said, but I’d have to be an idiot not to know it was about Liv and I. 

It wasn’t like I didn’t know what they meant. I’d been in love with Liv since we were practically toddlers, and I’d spent my entire life trying to forget that. When we were kids, I fantasized about us growing up and getting married all the time, but as the years went on, I slowly realized that my feelings were not reciprocated. It was abundantly clear that Liv does not and had never thought of me in that light. 

People mistook us for a couple all the time, and she was always quick to correct them. In fact, she usually ended up lecturing them about how old-fashioned it was to assume that just because we were not the same gender that it must mean we were together. Each time someone referred to me as Liv’s boyfriend, I wanted nothing more than to grab her soft hand in mine and grin, proud to be the one she’d chosen. 

But our relationship wasn’t like that, no matter how much I wanted it to be, so I just go along with whatever she says. I wish I could say that it’s gotten easier as we’ve grown, but the fact was my feelings for her had only increased as time went on. A fact which I was both painfully aware and completely terrified of. 

Ned could pretend he was offended all he wanted, but everyone knew that Liv was my best friend, without a single doubt. She was there for me through everything: Ben’s death, becoming Spiderman, and every single thing in between. She was the person I wanted to speak to most when I first woke up in the morning and the last one I wanted to see before I fell asleep. She knew everything about me and I her, and the thought of losing her to any degree was out of the question. Our friendship was one straight out of a movie or something, a natural dynamic unlike one I’d seen between anyone else. How could I risk that just because of a silly crush I’d harbored since before I even stopped thinking girls had cooties? 

I couldn’t. 

I’d come to the conclusion long ago that if I wanted to keep Liv in my life I had to do everything in my power to squash my romantic feelings aside. And for a while, that plan worked out just fine. But lately Ned, MJ, and even Aunt May had been pressing me for details about Liv and I, insisting that we belonged together. Though I knew they all meant well, I couldn’t help my growing frustration with their meddling; they just didn’t understand how our relationship worked. 

I was getting more and more worried by the day that one of them would end up saying the wrong thing to Liv, and cause her to distance herself from me. The thought alone broke my heart, and I couldn’t even fathom what I’d be like if that day ever came. 

“What do you think Murph?” Ned interrupted my thoughts with a coo. He scratched the shop cat’s ears fondly as the lazy feline laid idly on top the deli counter. “Blink once if you think Peter should just man up and tell Olivia how he feels." 

Murph eyed me intensely, almost as if he’d understood what Ned had been asking. After a few moments his almond shaped eyes closed deliberately before he continued staring at me. I rolled my eyes in disbelief, already dreading the reaction from the now giddy men next to me. Ned immediately burst into laughter, hands flying to his stomach and head thrown back. Mr. Delmar smiled, sending a knowing glance in my direction as he too laughed. 

"For the love of—,” I exclaimed in irritation, practically slamming money on the counter and preparing to walk out the door. 

“You can’t argue with that Pete,” Ned  chuckled, seemingly somewhat calmer. I pursed my lips in frustration. 

“You two are insane,” I complained, hand pushing the door open. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to meet my best friend." 

Translation: He is denying this. His girlfriend looks at him as if he had hung the moon, and still pretends he doesn’t know!

[elisajdb]

GoChi Week 2019 Day 7: Yakuza

AN: This was gonna be solo story separate from Just the Two of Us because it was originally rated M for language, violence and sexy times but it was getting TOO long and complicated. There were things I liked and things I didn’t. So to make the story work and get it done before midnight, I scrapped the sexy times and rewrote some scenes so it’s a strong T. I know which usual suspects will threaten me for those sexy times scene and my original idea. I’ll DM you.

GoChi Week 2019 - @gochi-week

GoChi Day (3/31)

Characters: Goku and Chichi 

Prompt:  Yakuza 

Title: Yakuza

Paouz Island was a wonderful place to live. The island itself was a large country in the southeastern part of the world. The weather was great for most of the year except for the rainy season. The people were friendly and hardworking. They treated new residents and tourists like family. One can come here, forget the ways of their past and reinvent themselves.

 Kakarrot stood on the balcony of his home watching the sunrise. For ten years, he had peace. For ten years, he was truly happy and didn’t have to think of his violent past. Now his past was coming back to haunt him and threaten to take all he built away.

 Four year old Kakarrot hid behind several crates. He didn’t know what to do. Earlier that day, his Mommy and Daddy told him they were moving. They didn’t say where. They only told him they were moving to a place that will make them all happy. Kakarrot was already happy. Anywhere Mommy and Daddy were was a happy place to him.

 That night Kakarrot went with Mommy and Daddy to a stuffy old building. There, they met with a tall burly man Kakarrot knew as Gyumao and a short older man named Son Gohan. Kakarrot never met the men until tonight but they promised to help them move to a happy place.

 They didn’t.

 Loud bangs suddenly erupted in the dark, stuffy building, all the men collapse; Mommy screamed, then ran away with him. There were more loud bangs that caused his Mommy to fall and drop him. Before Mommy closed her eyes to sleep, she told him to run. Kakarrot ran and hid behind crates.

 From his point of view, Kakarrot could see and hear everything. Daddy was still awake but sounded in pain. A short man Kakarrot heard called Freeza stood over his Daddy. With him were two other strange people. One had green hair and the other had pink hair. They dispersed through the building as Freeza stood over his Daddy.  

 “Bardock, you dumb fuck. You got greedy. If you only tried to save Gine and Kakarrot I would’ve looked the other way. I would’ve thought Gine planned her escape behind your back and ditched you because I took Raditz.” Freeza’s laugh was sadistic. “I would’ve taunted you at every opportunity but I would’ve had sympathy for you to not order them killed but you got greedy. You wanted out yourself.” Freeza pressed his booted foot on Bardock’s neck. “You would leave me after all I’ve done for you? I’m hurt, Bardock. Deeply hurt.”

 Freeza removed his foot and stepped away leaving Bardock to cough up more blood. “Done for me? My son is dead because of you! You made me and all the members of the Oozaru organization your flunkies. We did your bidding after our boss Vegeta submitted control of our group to you. Your organization became the strongest and the most feared group in this country because of OUR muscle. Without us, you’re nothing!”

 The Oozaru clan did bring a lot of muscle to his organization but if Bardock’s actions were a sign of a rebellion, it was time he took swift action. Freeza knew he could be just as strong without the entire Oozaru clan. He only needed a select few of the strongest to keep in line. Bardock wasn’t among the strongest.

 Freeza put two bullets in Bardock’s head.

 Kakarrot gasped. Daddy stopped moving. He was sleeping like Mommy. What was he going to do now?

 Kakarrot yelp as he was pulled in the air. He saw a man with long green hair, grinning at him. “Gotcha, kid. Mr. Freeza, I found the brat!”

 Kakarrot left the balcony and entered his bedroom where his wife worriedly paced. “Will you calm down? It’ll be all right.”

 They knew about this for two days. They had two days to prepare. Chichi put on a brave face in front of everyone that all was well but in the privacy of their bedroom, she broke down.

 “I can’t calm down. Ten years we’ve been safe. Ten years we had no visitors. We made the huge sacrifice and started our life together here. And now, it can all be over.” She burst into tears. “It’s not just us anymore. Think of our children.”

 Kakarrot pulled Chichi in his arms. Chichi buried her face in his chest and heavily sobbed. This was the crack in his tough exterior. This was his weakness. He thought Chichi was a beautiful woman the moment he laid eyes on her. He wasn’t looking for anything permanent. A fling would’ve been nice but ever since their first date, everything fell apart and Kakarrot didn’t know if he was the seducer or the one being seduced. 

Ten Years Ago

 “Here he comes. Right on schedule,” Lazuli remarked as she noticed the familiar tall man with wild spiky hair approaching. Lazuli continued her work as finished placing the signs of today’s menu outside the food truck.

 Inside the truck, Chichi looked herself over in the small mirror hanging in a corner. Face wasn’t wet with kitchen sweat yet, her makeup looked perfect. She checked her shirt. No food stains yet except her shorts. Good. Lazuli stepped in the truck. She looked Chichi over. “Aren’t you thirsty for your favorite customer?”

 Chichi rolled her eyes. “I am not thirsty. I’m happy to see my favorite customer. It’s because of him Mt. Frypan Food Truck has really got off the ground. He recommended this and other locations around the city. I’m so much closer to opening a restaurant. I owe him a lot.”

 Business started off slowly. Chichi and Lazuli made some money but Mt Frypan was always in the red. Chichi started to wonder if this was a good idea until Kakarrot appeared one day. He purchased a sandwich, complimented Chichi, paid and left. Lazuli and Chichi thought that was the end of it but Kakarrot returned the next day ordering another item on the menu. Kakarrot eventually ate every item on the menu. Noticing the slow business, Kakarrot recommended locations to Chichi. Desperate for a boost in business, Chichi listened to Kakarrot’s recommendations. Business boomed.

 Every day, Kakarrot arrived at Mr. Frypan Food Truck at 11am right when Lazuli and Chichi began setting up for the day. Chichi always had Kakarrot’s lunch ready for him. She even cooked extra for him. It was very obvious Chichi was smitten with Kakarrot but Chichi never took the chance to make a move.

 Until she did, Lazuli vowed to keep pushing Chichi to do it. “When are you gonna ask him out?”

 “Why would I ask him out?” Chichi looked out the food truck. She noticed Kakarrot had stop approaching to talk on his phone. She chewed her lower lip. Oh, he looked so handsome. “He’s a nice man who’s helped my business.”

 “You’re always checking yourself when he comes by. You always give him extra food for lunch.”

 “He helped me with my business. It’s only fair I give him extra.” Lazuli raised her eyebrow at him. Chichi sighed. “I’m not his type. You see him in those expensive suits. I’m just an ordinary woman trying to make it in this world. I know I’m attractive but I know my limits.”

Lazuli scoffed. “You’re being stupid. It’s very obvious Kakarrot is into you. I don’t know what problems you both have in not making a move.”

 Chichi shushed her as Kakarrot pocket his phone and made his way to the food truck. Kakarrot smiled at the two women. Kakarrot read the menu outside the truck. “Barbecue today. You should do well.”

 “We hope so. We got a lot of meat cooked and ready to go.” Chichi handed Kakarrot his lunch through the window. “Here.” Chichi prepared it last night as she did all of Kakarrot’s meals. She wanted everything to be fresh for him. Her heart raced as his hand touched hers when he passed her cash.

 “Thanks for this. I appreciate that.” Instead of walking away as he always did, Kakarrot lingered. “I know you have to finish setting up before you open but do you have a minute?” He looked over at Lazuli for a moment before he put his eyes on Chichi again. “I’d like to talk to you alone.”

 “Uh….” Why did her mouth suddenly go dry and her brain freeze?

 “She has time,” Lazuli spoke for her. “I got this.”

 Chichi looked at Lazuli flushed. She couldn’t do this now! Lazuli brushed past Chichi and opened the door. Now Chichi had no choice but to step out. She wouldn’t mind talking to Kakarrot alone but she was embarrassed. She looked good from the waist up, with her nice shirt, hair and makeup but her shorts and legs were covered in grease and food stains.

 Kakarrot came to stand at the door waiting for her. Pushing down the butterflies in her stomach, Chichi stepped out of the truck. She noticed Kakarrot’s eyes sweeping over her. “What is it?”

 “This is the first time I’ve seen you from the waist down. I always see you from the waist up. It’s nice,” his eyes fell on her legs again. “But so is this.” Being a runner and a black belt in martial arts, Chichi kept herself in excellent shape and it showed. “It’s unfortunate I’m only seeing it now. Maybe I would’ve made my move sooner.”

 “Move?” Chichi inquired innocently.

 “Are you seeing anyone?”

 “No,” she answered breathless. “Are you?”

 Kakarrot grinned. “I wouldn’t ask if I were.” He stepped closer to Chichi. Chichi stepped back until she was pressed against the truck. “We’ve been doing this little dance for way too long. I’ve found you attractive since I laid eyes on you.”

 “All of me from the waist up?” Chichi quipped.

 Kakarrot chuckled. “Yeah.” His eyes swept over hers again. “I wasn’t sure you felt the same way but I thought, ‘Fuck it. I’m gonna do this.’ So, I am. I would love to take you out.”

 Chichi’s heart raced. He admit he wanted her. She definitely wanted him. Don’t be shy, Chichi told herself. Go for it. “I want you to take me out.”

 Kakarrot grinned. “You’re very certain of yourself. Not shy like I thought you’d be. I thought I will have to assure you I want you.”

 “Why act shy when we both want the same thing?”

 Kakarrot caressed her face with the back of his hand. “Do we both want the same thing?”

 “I…..” his eyes were intense. “What do you want?”

 “You. In my car. In my bed. In my shower. The breakfast bar in my kitchen.” He leaned over her. He was so close he was almost touching her. Chichi was certain Kakarrot could hear her pounding heart. “You’ve been on my mind a lot lately. I had an intense dream of us last night. So much I had to beat myself off three times before I could leave my place.” Chichi’s eyes grew to saucer size.

 Kakarrot pulled back allowing Chichi a moment to breath. “Oh,” his eyes dropped. “I guess we do want the same thing.”

 Chichi’s eyes followed Goku’s. She looked down at her chest. Damn thin bra. Damn her light colored shirt.

 “How about Friday night?” Kakarrot suggested.

 Friday night would give her today, tomorrow and Friday afternoon to shop for a dress. Maybe she’ll go to the salon if there’s time. She was attracted to Kakarrot for a long time. She never told Lazuli but many lonely nights Kakarrot filled her mind. If he was impressed with her in short and shirts, he’ll really be impressed when she’s dressed up.

 “Where are we going?” Chichi asked.

“Bansho’s for dinner and Kame House afterwards.”

 Bansho’s was expensive and Kame House was an exclusive club where many celebrities, the rich and athletes appeared in. Food truck owners like her didn’t qualify. She will definitely be in a new crowd. “Sounds nice.”

 Chichi arranged to meet Kakarrot in the lobby of her apartment building. She trusted him enough to invite him to her apartment but having an overprotective father, drilled in Chichi to always be cautious. Chichi wore a black, lace back sheath dress that fell to her mid thighs and gave Kakarrot a nice view of her legs since he couldn’t keep his eyes off the other day.

 Kakarrot stood in the lobby wearing a navy suit and a black shirt. He was handsome. Chichi felt the envious eyes of many women when she walked out on Kakarrot’s arm holding the single rose he brought her. Chichi thought Kakarrot as a gentlemen as he walked her to his jet black escalade with tinted windows. He opened the door for her when she climbed in the passage seat. Not that there was anything wrong with Kakarrot’s vehicle. She imagined with his expensive clothes Kakarrot drove a mustang or a Ferrari.

 When they pulled up to Bansho’s, Chichi noticed Kakarrot avoided the valet and parked his ride himself. “No valet?” Chichi remarked. “It would’ve been easier.” She spoke in reference to the crowded parking lot.

 “No one touch my ride but me.”

 Chichi thought that was strange but figured Kakarrot was protective of his vehicle.

 When they entered Bansho’s she and Kakarrot were quickly ushered to their seats. It was strange. There were others waiting ahead of them but as soon as Kakarrot was spotted, they were ushered to a table. Chichi’s been in a few restaurants but none as nice as this. The lists of food on the menu were scrumptious but expensive.

 “Don’t worry about price,” Kakarrot told her as he read her mind. “You deserve it. Treat yourself.”

 Chichi raised the menu higher. She had to hide her blush. Oh, this man! When the waiter returned, orders were placed. While they waited for their food, they chatted.

 “So, where did idea of a Mount Frypan Food Truck come from?”

 “I always love to cook. Even as a little girl, I had dreams of opening my own restaurant with my original recipes.”

 “You have the talent,” Kakarrot remarked. “I can’t get enough eating your food.”

 The way Kakarrot looked at her, Chichi wondered if Kakarrot really meant the food she cook or…… She sipped some water. She didn’t want to drink too much wine. She wanted to keep a level head. “After high school, I wanted to enroll in culinary school but my Dad thought I should have a realistic plan. He didn’t think me owning my restaurant was possible. So I majored in accounting and forgot my dreams until I was laid off.” Chichi sipped more of wine. “I had six months of savings and thought, ‘I’m gonna do things my way.’ I started my food truck business and never look back.”

 Her confidence, her take charge attitude was impressive. “What did you Dad think?”

 “Not happy especially when I put my savings and got a loan for my business. He wants me to play it safe but we only get one life. We have to take chances. We should do what we want and not be oppressed by society or crazy bosses, you know.” She noticed Kakarrot staring at her. There was a mesmerizing look on his face. “What is it?”

 Kakarrot shook his head. “Nothing. You make a lot of sense. Some people are oppressed their entire lives. Everything is decided for them. I…” This woman was more than he thought. “What you’re doing is great.”

 “Tell that to my Dad,” Chichi snorted. “My Dad hasn’t been entirely supportive. He wants me to be a success but he’s also practical and he worries about my safety in a food truck.”

 “Safety?”

 Chichi shrugged. “Robberies and such, especially when I’m running the food truck at night events.”

 “The places I recommend are safe.” He was offended. As if he would risk her harm. “But I guess Dads are protective of their daughters.”

 “I suppose,” Chichi ran a finger over wineglass. “It doesn’t help my Dad’s a cop.”

 Kakarrot almost spat up his wine. Her Dad’s a cop?! Ah, fuck!

 Chichi didn’t notice Kakarrot’s reaction. “He’s not in the field anymore. After a shooting involving the Freeza clan, he was assigned a desk job.”

 Kakarrot’s interest peaked. “Freeza clan? Like Yakuza?”

 Chichi nodded. “Yeah. It’s been over twenty years but a few years ago he told me what happened. My Dad and his partner, Son Gohan, were gonna help a Yakuza and his family escape the Freeza Clan. Somehow Freeza found them out and ambushed them. Dad was shot and left for dead. He was the only to make it out but he always wondered what happened to that kid since his body wasn’t found.” Chichi shrugged. “Guess he’s a Yakuza now.”

 Kakarrot was floored. He was that kid. Chichi’s father was one of the cops trying to help his Dad? He couldn’t believe it. He thought everyone died but that big burly man survived. If he knew he’s dating his daughter…..? What would Chichi think if she knew he’s a Yakuza?

 “Kakarrot,” Chichi called him. “Are you okay?”

 “I’m fine,” Kakarrot recovered. “So, did your Dad know the kid’s name?”

 Chichi shook her head. “Not. Just the Yakuza. Bardock.”

 The waiter returned with their dinner. Once the waiter left, Chichi decided to change the subject.

“Enough about me.” She felt she just rattled on and on about herself and not asked about Kakarrot. “What about you? I always see you in those expensive suit but you never said what you did.”

 “I’m a personal trainer.” Chichi nearly choked on her food as she snorted. It was a lie but it was a cover he used to hide his Yakuza life. “Surprising?”

 Chichi felt her face flame. How embarrassing. She snorted in front of her date. She laughed when he told her his profession. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I wasn’t expecting that. I wasn’t being rude. When I see you, I don’t think personal trainer.”

 Kakarrot raised a teasing eyebrow at her. “You don’t think I have the body for it?”

 Oh, he had the body for it. Once, she had her food truck at the end of a 5K. Kakarrot came to her truck glistening in sweat and wearing only running shorts. She broke her vibrator that night. “You do,” she was quick to say. “You wear expensive clothes. I didn’t know personal trainer paid so well.”

 “My clients are celebrities: actors, musicians and even a few rich businessmen and politicians.” That wasn’t a complete lie. In his line of work, Kakarrot did occasionally interact with the rich and famous.

 For Chichi, it explained the expensive suits and Kakarrot’s expensive tastes in food and entertainment but it also explain Kakarrot’s connections in knowing which spots were best for her to host her food truck; how she got access to events where normally she had to reserve her spot weeks in advance but Kakarrot got her a spot in days.

 “Why are you doing this?”

 Kakarrot pushed aside his first plate. He reached for the second. “Eating? Because it’s good food.”

 “No. Me,” she emphasized. “Why are you interested in me? You’re around celebrities, rich and famous people. That’s not me. I’m attractive but I’m an ordinary woman trying to make my business a success. I have bills. I have debts. I wouldn’t be able to keep up with your lifestyle.”

 That’s what attracted him to her. She was the complete opposite of his lifestyle. Now that he knew her father tried to help his family escape Freeza, he was filled with conflicting emotions. Part of him told him to end the date now and never see her again but another part of him wanted her even more. “You’re the opposite of everything in my life and I want that more than anything.”

 The sounds of Chika and Chuya’s squeals were always music to Kakarrot’s ears. Of all the things he did with his daughters, bath time was his favorite thing with them. The eight month olds were full of energy. They love playing with their rubber ducks, babble in secret baby talk and splashing Daddy with bathwater.

 With twins, Kakarrot had to work fast and diligently. While Chika entertained herself with a bath toy, Kakarrot quickly bathe Chuya. When it was Chika’s turn, Chuya was distracted with a bath toy. The twins took after Chichi in looks but they inherited his spikey hairstyle. In personality, it seems split. It was very early but Kakarrot felt Chuya took after Chichi while Chika took after him. They had his heart the moment they were born and he would kill to keep them safe. Chichi had his heart, too. It wasn’t at first sight like his daughters but it started to happen sooner than he wanted to admit.

 Ten Years Ago

 Kakarrot awakened to find himself alone in bed. Alone? After their night of intense sex in his car, shower and bed Kakarrot expected to find Chichi still in bed with him. Kakarrot nearly ripped the sheets off him. Where did she go? Did she get up early to snoop around his place? Does she really know who he is and is looking for evidence to send him to jail?

 “Fuck,” he cursed as he jumped out of bed. What if she wasn’t as innocent as he thought? Dammit! He grabbed his robe and stormed out of the room. If she knows what’s good for her, her sexy ass better not be snooping. He was halfway down the hall when he heard noises coming from his kitchen. Why would she be in his kitchen? There’s nothing there.

 When he entered the kitchen’s doorway, Kakarrot paused completely befuddled at what his eyes saw. Chichi’s back was to him but she stood in front of the stove cooking. There were empty bowls and pans on the counter and food on the kitchen table. Cooking. She was cooking for him. No one’s ever done that before. As a Yakuza, it was every man for themselves. No one cooked for them and if they did, you couldn’t trust their cooking. It was poison. With Chichi, he knew that wasn’t the case. He never worried if she was poisoning him but he didn’t know what to think of her cooking for him in his kitchen. He never slept with a woman who did that. His eyes swept over her again. She wore his shirt from last night. His eyes followed up her legs, up her back to her long, slightly disheveled hair. She was beautiful and it made him hard.

 Suddenly, Chichi turned. Her face lit up at the sight of him. “Kakarrot. You’re just in time. Breakfast is ready.”

 Kakarrot stepped in the room confused. “You cooked breakfast?”

 “Yes.” Chichi went to the table where it was already set and laden with food. She dumped the deliciously smelling food from the skillet on two different plates. “Come sit. Everything is ready.”

 Kakarrot stared at all the food stunned. He thought Chichi was sneaking around his place. He thought she would find out who he is and call her Dad. She got up to make them breakfast. “I can’t believe you did this.” No one’s ever cooked breakfast for him. No one showed genuine kindness to him. “This is a lot.” He knew he ate a lot which aggravated people, especially Freeza, but Chichi made this without complaint, without him asking. He didn’t know how to respond to this kindness.

 “Well, I’ve made lunches and dinners for you. I always wanted to make breakfast.” Chichi placed the empty skillet in the hot dishwater. “I hope it’s enough. I had to make do with what you had and—“ she yelped as Kakarrot suddenly picked her up and laid her on the breakfast bar.

 “Kakarrot,” she felt the wind knocked out of her as Kakarrot straddled her and unbuttoned her shirt. “Breakfast.”

 “I want you for breakfast first.”

 After that weekend, Kakarrot told himself to not see Chichi again. If she learns he’s Yakuza, it will get complicated for both of them. However, after a couple of days, he couldn’t stay away from her. A month later he told her the truth. Chichi was shocked but mostly upset Kakarrot didn’t tell her sooner. Knowing it was over, Kakarrot avoided Chichi’s food truck. He didn’t expect to see her again but she showed up at his penthouse two weeks later.

 They spent the entire night talking. Chichi told him she wanted a relationship with him but he had to leave the Yakuza if he wanted a relationship with her. Death was the only way out of Freeza’s Yakuza. Kakarrot tried to convince Chichi to have a secret relationship. That’s when Chichi dropped her secret on him. She’s pregnant and she’s leaving West City. He can come with her but for the safety of their unborn child, she was leaving and wouldn’t come back.

 Many nights Kakarrot was haunted by what happened to his parents. He feared history was repeating itself. He understood why his father tried to escape with him and his mother. He understood and knew he had to do it, too.

 Working with Gyumao, Kakarrot and Chichi calculated a plan for their escape. Chichi sold her food truck business to Lazuli who picked up a partner and cook in split personality woman named Lunch. Two weeks later Chichi Mao left West City for an unknown destination.

 Kakarrot kept his routine for the next six months. Every day, he picked up lunch at Mt. Frypan Food Truck. He would eat at the same restaurants. He would make his usual appearance at Kame House. He would have his weekly spar with Vegeta. He carried on business as usual with the Yakuza. One day Kakarrot didn’t show up at the food truck. One day Kakarrot didn’t show up at the same restaurants, or made an appearance at Kame House. He didn’t show up for his weekly spar with Vegeta. Business for the Yakuza weren’t conducted.

 When Freeza investigated Kakarrot’s disappearance, he assigned Vegeta and Zarbon to the task. Both showed up at Kakarrot’s penthouse to find it furnished but empty of any clues of Kakarrot’s whereabouts. They visited his usual spots. The owner of Mount Frypan Food Truck date of Kakarrot’s last sighting matches everyone else who last saw him. It was as if Kakarrot disappeared off the planet.

 Vegeta entered Paouz Island most popular restaurant. The place was loud, lively and packed of locals and tourists. After one stop and twenty-three hours on a plane, Vegeta was dirty, tired and pissed. This wasn’t the first time Kakarrot’s been sighted somewhere around the world and it wasn’t the first time he or Zarbon had to investigate.

 This was definitely one of the longest flights. All day Vegeta was on his feet traveling to different places on this island asking if anyone has heard of the name Kakarrot. He even showed a picture. No one heard of the name Kakarrot. His picture looked familiar but no one could be identified to match.

 Vegeta was seated, given a menu and left alone. It was a long shot to begin with. Freeza was sent a tip Kakarrot was here because of a child. The child was five years old and was a spitting image of Kakarrot. Vegeta flashed a picture of the child and was told he could be found at his mother’s restaurant.

 For an hour, Vegeta sat in the restaurant, observed the people in and outside the restaurant from his window and ate a good meal. He didn’t see Kakarrot or any child that looks like him. When Vegeta signaled the waitress he was ready to pay, he was told the meal was paid for. Vegeta left the restaurant as quietly as he came. Instead of taking an Uber back to his hotel, Vegeta decided to walk on the beach.

 He pulled his cell phone out his pocket and dialed Freeza’s direct line. He took a seat on a park bench next to blonde hair, blue eyed father with his twin girls. One twin girl sat in her stroller while the other was on a blanket on the park bench getting her diaper changed.

 Vegeta observed the father with his daughter as he waited for Freeza to pick up the phone. Freeza answered on the second ring. “No, he’s not here. It’s a dead end like the others. The child?” Vegeta snorted. “I saw his father. Unless Kakarrot shrunk five inches and gained fifty pounds, it’s not him.” Vegeta listened to Freeza on the other end. “I’ll be on the first flight out.” Vegeta ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket.

 The father successfully changed the diaper and placed the baby girl back in her stroller. The blonde father zipped up his baby bag and leaned back on the bench. “Nice day, isn’t it?”

 Vegeta rolled his eyes at the comment, “Goten needs a haircut.”

 Kakarrot snorted. “Tell that to a five year old.”

 “It almost blew you cover! It was dumb luck I was chosen to come here. Imagine if it was Zarbon.”

 Then Kakarrot and his family would’ve been on the move. Kakarrot sighed. “At least the trail to find me has grown cold for a while. Chichi will be happy.”

 Vegeta rose from his seat. It was time for him to head back. “Where is she now?”

 “Home. With the boys and three loaded guns.”

 Vegeta laughed. He never met her but from what he knew she sounded like a firecracker. “By the way, the Turf War is coming.”

 “Turf War.” Kakarrot knew what that meant. “The other clans are gonna join you against Freeza?”

 “With Beerus Clan finally on board, we have a shot to overthrow Freeza.” Vegeta shoved his hands in his pocket. “If it gets dicey, I’m gonna need you to come back. You owe me for covering your ass all these years.”

 Kakarrot knew to disappear he would need Vegeta’s help and there will be a price for that help. With the threat of the Turf War on the horizon, it seem it was coming sooner than later.

[nopantssaturday]

One Little Spark- Chapter 2

Chapter 1

A/N; Another day, another chapter!

Thanks again to @4ddictwithapencil for being my amazing editor!

Today, Fexa figures out a little bit of news! And she confides in the one man that can help her.

Pairing: Xigbar x Reader, Xigbar x OC

Word count: 3108 words

Warning: Pregnancy, swearing

Since that day, things have been a little different between Fexa and Xigbar. Not bad, per se, but different.

Fexa found that after their little bedwarmings, the sharpshooter liked to linger longer in her room. He would stay, often staring up the ceiling or other times the two of them would talk about some kind of deep thought. He would sometimes even play with her hair as she laid next to him, or even put an arm around her  and hold her close. These nights grew in frequency in the next few weeks.

The gentle caresses and the late night talks started to become Fexa’s favorite part of the evenings they shared. They would talk about their lives before the organization, and sometimes even share stories of their youth. The two would laugh into the night, joking about anything and everything.

The sex was different too. What used to be rough and almost assuredly to make Fexa sore every morning after, now became somewhat like a game. There was laughter and banter where silence usually stood. Sex was fun. How that particularly was, she was unsure.

It was as something changed them after that day. Something brought them closer together and neither were able to say. Sometimes the cool-guy even decided to sleep in her bed. Though he was never there by the time she awoke, there always was a note with some kind of reason; ‘You were snoring too loud, I had to use the bathroom, Late night training’. Fexa started to believe that these were just excuses, she was just confused as to why he even decided to leave notes at all.

But this kind of behavior made Fexa feel a strange uncertainty. Before, the two were just friends with benefits, and it was clear to see that. He was there for the sex and that was it. Easy. Simple. Clean. But now, there was something more between them than just the sex. But that something was a mystery. What do you even call that?

Whatever. This predicament was way too stressful. Every time Fexa thought too hard about what this ‘something’ was, she could feel her stomach doing backflips. It had gotten so bad that she actually vomited. This was too much. She needed to find out what this was, but couldn’t gain the gumption to do it because she were afraid of what it was.

The next few weeks were not much better. It was obvious that she was coming down with some kind of sickness on top of everything else. Feeling feverish, exhausted on missions and now, she felt like she couldn’t even keep food down. The scent of burnt coffee that permanently hung in the Cafeteria that Never Was was now enough to make Fexa want to lose her lunch. She would also suffer from dizzy spells often, once getting so woozy that she fell against a wall. Luckily everyone’s favorite Silent Hero, Lexeaus, was nearby to help her back to her room.

At least it was her day off. That was the one piece of solace she had on this crappy, crap day.

Fexa donned her usual coat and swiftly headed off to one of her favorite worlds; Radiant Garden, her old home. It was nice to visit the place she once cherished, even though the people she loved weren’t there any longer. There was an inkling sense of nostalgia and belonging as she looked  at the old shops and restaurants she once knew in another life. Of course it would feel like that, if she had a heart.

As Fexa walked down the street, she started to watch the people living their daily lives with such a peaceful joy. She sometimes wished that her life could be that simple again. Being a part of a dark scheme was just a major pain a lot of the time.

Suddenly as she was walking, Fexa started to feel another dizzy spell take her again. She moved over to a nearby bench near the fountain and sat down, unwrapping a sea salt ice cream that she bought at a nearby moogle shop from it’s wrapper. She always loved these, but it became apparent after one bite in when her stomach lurched that her body wasn’t going to allow her to enjoy the ice cream. Fexa let out an exasperated sigh as she threw the ice cream into the garbage can next to her bench.

Stupid stomach bug. Won’t let me enjoy anything Fexa thought angrily to herself. Leaning back on the bench, Fexa started to relax and look at her surroundings, hoping that the fresh air would settle her stomach. She took note of the people passing by; a man with his dog, some young children, one of those shopkeeper moogles.

Nothing really caught her interest, until a gaggle of young women gathered at the center of town by the fountain. Two of them carried pastel wrapped gifts and another carried balloons. They must have been celebrating something. They all laughed and smiled as they decorated the area around the fountain.

Not a second later, Another young woman walked towards the fountain looking around for something or someone. This woman however, was much… bigger. No No, not like she was fat or anything. No, she was just really, really pregnant. Like it was  a little surprising that she could walk. Oh. That’s what they’re celebrating, Fexa thought to herself.

As the woman approached the fountain, the others jumped up and all yelled out “Surprise!”. This must be the baby shower. Sometimes it was hard to remember that these kinds of things still happened. Parties. Celebrations. Being a nobody, it’s rare than anyone even celebrates their birthday anymore, let alone much else. Okay, the only nobody that Fexa knew that still celebrated their birthday was Demyx, and he was just a big child.He didn’t even know how old he was turning anymore, but that didn’t stop him. It also didn’t stop Xigbar from slamming the young musicians face into a cake at his last birthday. The goofy kid just laughed and smiled with his face covered in white frosting. It may have been the only time Fexa had ever heard everyone laughing in one place.

Fexa grinned to herself in memory and watched on as the young women laughed, smiled and opened gifts. She soon found herself sneaking closer to them, sitting on a nearby bench close enough to be in earshot. It was nice to enjoy their happiness and joy even though she couldn’t do it herself. Did it make her a creep? Kinda. But screw it, she was going to treat herself.  Her treat was originally going to be that ice cream, but now that went to shit, this was how she was gonna do it.

“So how did you know, Karen? Like, when did you really know?” One of the women asked.

“Well, actually..” The pregnant woman apparently named Karen laughed. “I had no idea at first! I thought I was just sick! Isn’t that funny?! I was like, feverish and exhausted for, like, a week. And then when I started throwing up all the time, Ryan was just like, ‘Are you sure you’re not pregnant?’ and I was, like, ‘whaaaaat’. And Then, like, I was! Isn’t that crazy??” All of the girls giggled at the story. Their laughter was actually kind of grating.

But Fexa . Fexa was totally not laughing. Not at all.

Have you ever just not put together the facts before until it was much much too late?

_______

Fexa ended her day trip in Radiant Garden early, returning back to the castle, but not before stopping by the hut of that moogle that she saw earlier. Fexa picked up a few things; another ice cream,some gum, but most importantly, a Lucky Emblem Brand Pregnancy Test.

This was so stupid. Nobodies can’t get pregnant… right? That’s what she assumed anyway. Honestly that’s probably what everyone assumed. There wasn’t any “Sex Ed For Nobodies” VHS tape that existed. Though, if it did, it should totally be called ‘Nobody Fucks’.  That would be an amazing title. Fexa snickered to herself at the thought of such a tape, but her laughter subsides as she remembered the seriousness at hand.

You’re probably just being paranoid. She thought. There was no way that this was true. Watching those girls at the park just made you think this was a possibilitiy. Nobodies can’t  get pregnant. This all seemed like some crazy nightmare. It can’t be true. At all.

But Fexa had a little stick covered in pee to tell her what was true and what was not.

And, wow, would you look at that. Three minutes later, the three circles forming a “lucky emblem”  in a classic pastel blue hue on the indicator of the stick. Pregnant. Fucking Great.

Welp. That was it then. Fexa, Number XV in Organization XIII, was pregnant and as soon as she wasn’t able to go on missions, she would be turned into a dusk. She has officially outlived her usefulness. Thanks to her, foolishness, she was now destined to a fate of doing stupid mundane chores around the castle for the rest of eternity. Can’t wait.

Leaning against the wall, she slowly slid her body down until her bottom it hit the floor. The gross, stupid, little pee stick sat in her hands, it’s dark truth blaring right in her face. She could always run away to escape the organization, but she knew that she would most certainly be found eventually. The boss didn’t like loose ends. That much Fexa knew.

It must have been a fluke. A fake. A false positive. There was no other way. But there wasn’t any other means to figure out the truth before the obvious signs. Well, actually there was one other way to find out sooner, but that was something Fexa really didn’t want to do.

---

After a couple hours of deliberation, Fexa decided that this ‘other way’ was a better idea than finding out the truth when it was too late.

It was a little late in the day, but the lights in the castle’s laboratory were still on, meaning that the organization’s resident genius was still hard at work. He normally didn’t like being disturbed, but maybe Fexa could catch him in a good mood. She slowly opened the door, peeking in. Inside stood Vexen looking down at what appeared like a microbe culture under a microscope.

“He-Hey Vexen. What’re you up to today?” Fexa asked as she entered the lab. Vexen looked up from his microscope and actually didn’t look as pissed off as he normally did .

“Oh, Hello Number XV. I was actually looking over some of the samples you procured for me last week. These fungal samples have been very helpful to me in the pursuit of knowledge on the regrowth of cells in an organism.”

Fexa often worked in the lab as Vexen’s assistant when there wasn’t as much work to do in the way of missions. It had luckily worked to her advantage here that because of the work that she did in the lab had a fairly low margin of error, Vexen went as far as to view her as a semi-competent person. That was an honor that few ever could dream to achieve, especially in this organization.

“Oh, well I’m glad I could help.” She tried  to be as courteous as possible, knowing how much she was about to ask of this man. Her hands slide down the front of  her coat, feeling the shape of the stupid pee stick through the fabric of the pocket. “I…uh ..  I actually came to ask you a question that I was hoping you’d know the answer to.”

For the first time, the scientist looked up to meet Fexa’s gaze and gave her a curious , yet deadpan expression, urging her to continue. You know, the classic Vexen look of ‘get on with it so I can do my work in peace’.

“So.. Uh… Do… uhh…. Do nobodies reproduce?” She asked nervously. Normally she was never this timid but this was a bit of a crucial moment. Vexen held his gaze another moment before giving an exasperated sigh and putting a hand to his temple.

“Oh, Number XV, Don’t bother me with such ridiculous questions. You and I both obviously know that when a person loses their heart to a heartless, the shell of the body that’s left becomes a nobody.. That’s how you got here, and that’s how I got here.” Vexen states, with a kind of annoyed tone as he starts to turn to his microscope.

“No-- No. I know That.” she replied, mildly embarrassed at the misconception.  He turned back to face the small woman, again. “Then why did you come all the way down to my lab to ask me a question that you already knew.”“Well, I meant.. Can a Nobody.. You know.. Get…. pregnant?”As the last word left her lips, Vexen looked up at woman and scrunched his face as if she said the most absurd thing in the world.

”Pregnant? Well…” he paused briefly to turn his attention to one of the books in the glass cabinet behind him. That cabinet was one of the few places that Fexa wasn’t allowed access to. Probably data sheets or something. “There are no recorded confirmed cases of nobodies ever reproducing by the way of.. Ahem… traditional methods...” He coughs, mildly uncomfortable at the thought of his lab assistant fucking anyone. He suddenly looked very tired “But why… do you ask?”

Fexa reached into her pocket, taking a deep breath before pulling the pregnancy test out and holding it up to him, the blue lucky emblem facing up. “Because it seems like I might be your first case.”

Vexen looked down at the strange thing in the woman’s hand. It looked like some crappy piece of plastic. Not at all like a proper instrument of science. Without moving his head, the scientist’s eyes glanced up to his assistant’s face.

“What is this thing and why are you showing it to me?”

Fexa looked back at him, deadpan. “Really?  It’s a pregnancy test, Vexen. I bought it in Radiant Garden. It’s blue which usually means pregnant. I have no one else that could possibly have any idea what to do with this kind of information. Can you help me or can’t you?”

Stroking his ego seemed to have helped his mood a little bit. It always did. Praise him for his brilliant mind, he was putty in your hands. He looks down at the piece of plastic again, and then back at her . The plastic, and then her again, the gears in his head clearly turning. After another moment of torturous silence, Vexen spoke.

“Alright, come with me.” He motions to the back of the lab, before walking back to a corner of the lab and motioning Fexa to sit on a metal medical observation table.

“I’ve always wondered this, but why do you have a medical table in the lab? You’re not a doctor.”

“Don’t ask me questions about my life XV,” he held  up the plastic stick in his hand, matter of factly. “and I won’t question yours, within reason.”

_______

“Well, I have tested your blood, your saliva, your urine and any other bodily fluid I could think of. I scanned the proteins and hormones in your body and compared them to any other human being with full heart. And from my deductions, it’s fairly obvious to say that, yes, you are the first recorded nobody to ever conceive. Congratulations, This is a great day for science.”

He’s a little too happy about this. Honestly, He sounded  like he was congratulating himself more than he was Fexa. But that didn’t matter now.. He looked up to her with a smile on his face that she rarely ever saw and a glint in his eye that meant that he was onto something.

“XV, with your permission, I would like to continue studying you, and this,” He gestured to her midsection. “to see where this gestation process ends up. I’d also like to monitor the fetus and see what we can learn from it. With your help, we can make amazing strides in discovery for Nobodies and for the Organization!”

Yeah. Way too excited. But he had an offer on the table. With it, Fexa gained a free doctor and someone to help her. Seemed like a good shot.

“Alright, Vexen, I am willing to accept your offer. But I have some conditions. The first being that NO ONE else finds out about this. No. One. This must remain a secret between us until I deem it right to reveal. This is my secret.”, Her mind then flashed to the thought of Lord Xemnas turning her into a dusk. “My second condition is that you tell the superiors that you need me in the lab every day. Do whatever you can that will keep me in this lab as much as possible. I can’t have anyone finding out the truth or finding out that my ability on missions will be affected.”The scientist pondered her counter offer for a moment. Not too long afterwards, he responded

“Hmmm.. Very well, XV, you have yourself a deal. You are officially my full time lab assistant. I will use whatever leverage I still have in this wretched place to aid you in this grand caper.” He looked at Fexa and gave her a soft smile. A genuine one. That was... new. She was a little perturbed, but the icy smile was mildly comforting. At least she  now had a confidante. She just never expected for that confidante to be Vexen, the Ice Queen.

So... What Now?

A/n: Thank you so much for reading chapter 2! I know Xigbar wasn’t in this chapter at all, but don’t worry, he’ll be plenty back in Chapter 3! 

[bnha-nova]

Oh god I would absolutely die if you did another version of POS Boyfriends with All Might, Present Mic and Eraserhead! Thank you so much if you do, love your work 💖💖

It took me a few days to think about this one considering the other ones were all very similar to one another, I wanted these ones to be different soooo. Instead of hero assistance or anything like they are co-workers or teachers in training themselves.

P.S Aizawas got out of hand and is now a prospective multi-chapter fic in the making so he isn't here sorry :(

TW ABUSE MENTIONS 

All Might - Toshinori Yagi

He didn't really remember when he started noticing things that were off about your behavior but today just kind of made it super apparent.

There was no way Toshinori could imagine the bad things away anymore.

Not with the clear handprint bruised on your arm.

He knew for a fact that you weren't a hero, you were training under him for your strategizing ability so you could learn how to test prospective heroes with him.

So you shouldn't be fighting villains, you shouldn't have bruises, marks or scrapes on you like you do right now.

The scuff mark on your cheek that’s been healing for days was explained away by you saying you’d fallen into a door.

The broken blood vessel that was broken on your jaw was blamed on you slipping on a set of stairs.

But stairs and a door didn't cause the new angry bruises that wrapped around your forearm.

And if it had been from someone being too rough helping you up then you wouldn't have tried to hide it from him the second you realized he’d walked into the lounge.

There would have been no reason for your eyes to widen in fear when you saw him put two and two together.

“A-All might its not-.” “Going to happen again.” He cut you off sitting opposite the small coffee table from you. Leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees eyeing you expectantly.

You couldn't make yourself look at him.

Normally his gaze was something you were happy to find yourself in. You’d always enjoyed spending time with him. Even if it took months to get him comfortable with you seeing him in his true form.

It was always something you found endearing whenever he would flex into muscle form for the longest time whenever you were around.

When he all but lost his powers he didn't really have a choice but you were there for that too. Even against the overwhelming protests of your current boyfriend. That was around the time when things started to get physical.

You tried to keep it hidden as much as possible for his sake and your sanity. It became progressively harder to keep that stark separation from home and work. You knew that it was affecting you mentally and physically.

You hated to lie to Yagi. Almost as much as you hated the look he was giving you right now.

Yes, he was like a mentor to you but he was more than that, he’d been more than that for a long time, to you anyway.

At this point, you couldn't tell if he was just being a concerned friend or if his obviously angry expression was something deeper than the platonic feelings that you’d been assuming. You hoped it was. You NEEDED someone else to care about you right now.

Because the one person who promised you he didn't clearly doesn't. The marks he left on you all the time were proof enough of that.

“It doesn't really hurt.” You muttered trying and failing to set him at ease even if it wasn't the truth.

“He- It's only because he feels like I work too much. I don't- spend enough time with him.”

“And Too much time with me.”

The fact that he somehow knew that made you meet his gaze for the first time since he’d walked in the door. You hated it. It wasn't a blaming look, but it wasn't one of understanding either.

How could he? How could you ever expect THE All might to understand something that sounded so stupid?

“Not this time.” You sighed shaking your head side to side as he still looked expecting more from you. “I tried leaving again, with his quirk though it feels like no matter where I go he always finds me. I’m afraid to go back to my parent's house because I don't want to drag them into this… bullshit.” You said doing your best steady yourself.

You couldn't help but freeze when you felt his large hand on your shoulder. But as you looked at him you felt the walls that you’d spent months building starting to fracture and fall to pieces.

“UA is probably one of the safest places right now for you, there are several rooms still open in teachers and staff building. I’m sure Nezu would have no problem with you taking permanent residency here with the rest of us.” He said. “And you’ll be with me.” He added quietly.

You looked at him with wide eyes that he couldn't quite read a mixture of emotions and tears that made perfect sense for the situation. But not even a few seconds later he saw doubt, he couldn't have that.

His thumb on your chin made you look at him again he wanted to be 100% clear with you.

“Just because I’m not a hero anymore, doesn't mean that I’m going to stop protecting you.”

Present Mic | Yamada Hizashi

You knew this was trouble.

He was always trouble no matter how much he thought otherwise he was the embodiment of trouble.

It felt like no matter what you did he was ALWAYS the cause of your pain and you just couldn't get away from him.

The messed up part about it is that you didn't really want to.

He didn't want you to either.

He never did. Even when he told you that being in a relationship with him was doing nothing but putting you in danger that didn't mean he didn't want to be in one with you at all. Not that you seemed to understand that.

It hurt back then just as much as it does now emotionally of course. Hizashi would never put his hands on you.

Matter of fact, when he saw the marks on your face and arms he was half tempted to make a scene. It was what he was good at but he knew that would get him nowhere with you, it never had.

Instead, he waited for class to be over, today was your day to teach. It was clear to even some of the students he’d noticed and he was sure you’d noticed too, the way you kept pulling your collar higher onto your neck or trying to keep your hair in front of the bruise on your jaw.

You’d planned on getting your bag packed and heading home as soon as the class was over.

There would be less trouble that way. You wouldn't make him mad if you were on time, even 5 minutes late and he could say you’d done something and that would give him a reason to punish you.

But when you were about to follow the last student out of the classroom HE called your name.

Even if it had been years since the two of you had broken off the relationship you were in the way your name sounded on his voice always gave you goosebumps.

It took you a year to even be able to listen to the song he’d wrote for you when it came on the radio.

You straightened you back and turned to look at him, not that he really had to say anything. You could tell by the look on his face what he was going to ask you about.

“It’s not really your business.” You said crossing your arms over your chest and looking away from him.

“Come on, y/n. Talk to me, let me help you out.” He said getting closer to you the only thing you could do was roll your eyes at him even if the closeness made every hair on your body feel like it was standing on end.

He’d always had that effect on you.

“Help?” You scoffed shaking your head and crossing your arms even tighter.

“Yeah help, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's going on, doll.” He said using an old nickname that made your face burn and made you angry at the same time.  

“Don't call me that.” You hissed at him. He looked almost taken aback at your tone.

“Sorry, sorry. Y/n. What's going on with you? First, it was your lip now this?” He asked the back of his knuckles brushing against the skin on your jaw, making you swat his hand away.

“I told you Hizashi, none of your business, you have absolutely zero right to be concerned for me now.” You hissed slightly relishing in the hurt expression on his face.

Were you being petty? Yes.

Did you give a fuck? No.

“I think I do have a right to worry about you if it hasn't been painfully obvious I still DO have very real feelings for you, Y/n.” He said exasperatedly grabbing onto your arms and uncrossing them. He didn't really have to force you but you still didn't look at him.

You refused.

You refused to acknowledge that yes you did feel the same way. A part of you worried that it would validate the bettings that you were getting, another part didn't want to give the hero standing in front of you the satisfaction of knowing that you did too.

But then he was kissing you.

And then you were kissing him back.

You may or may not have let it linger on longer than you should have. Perhaps you could have stopped it a couple of seconds before you did but it was hard to push yourself to do that.

You missed how tender he was with you, you missed how safe he always used to make you feel.

Fuck, you missed him.

And he couldn't stand seeing you with anyone else or hurt. Even if being with him meant being in danger he didn't give a shit. He still wanted to be with you.

“Take me back.” He breathed pressing his forehead to yours. “Please.”

[built-from-nothing]

Young and Menace

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Words: 1,840

Warnings: None that I can think of...

A/N: Hopefully the first part of many. Thinking this will span over 5-6 chapters. Had a peculiar time writing this one and would love to know what you think! Love you guys!

Your muscles relax as the hot water pours down your back, washing away the day's activities. No matter how stressful a day may have been, a warm shower always cleansed and renewed your body.

Being raised a hunter guaranteed every day to be bloody and awful, instilling the need for a good shower early on.

Three years have passed since you left your mother to hunt on your own. She had tried to convince you to stop hunting and have a normal life, but you knew better. No one gets out of this life alive.

So one night, you packed your bags and left to travel the midwest working cases. Hunting was all you knew how to do, and god be damned you were good at it. You weren't going to let anyone tell you what was best for your life.

You relish the last few moments of the warm water on your skin, before stepping out and changing into pajamas. The case had proven to be easier than expected: a textbook salt and burn.

Tired from a full day of research, you flop down onto the cheap motel mattress hoping to get a few hours of sleep before heading out to burn the bones.

You nuzzle your head into the pillow, the smell of must and semen filling your nose as you drift off to sleep. God, you hated motels.

You startle awake as the alarm clock blares through the small motel room. You lumber to get dressed, your body stiff from the terrible mattress. You throw on a pair of jeans and an AC/DC t-shirt, pack what little belongings you have, and make your way to the graveyard.

The moon illuminates the sky as you stare at the grave, shovel in hand. Your shoulder muscles tighten at the task ahead. Spirits may be easier cases to undertake, but man did the digging suck ass.

Hours later, your upper arms ablaze, you slam the shovel through the earth, a loud clunk echoing from the ground. Bingo! You quickly shovel the remaining dirt away and pry open the coffin lid.

"Sayonara asshat," you spit, dumping salt and gasoline into the coffin. You light the bones and turn to leave when you see two men walking towards you.

Fuck.

How do you explain salting and burning a man who's been dead for 80 years? You rack your brain for escape plans coming up empty-handed.

"Well Sammy, looks like our job here is done," says a man with sandy blonde hair. "What's a fine lady like yourself doing in a ditch like this?" His gaze cruises your figure, eyes lingering on your chest.

"Dean now is not the time," the taller one, Sammy, starts. You scoff and roll your eyes at their bickering.

"Apparently, doing your job, and might I add in a much more timely manner. Now excuse me, I have a dead man to bury."

You turn back around and begin to shovel the dirt back into the ditch. Dean leaves in a huff, mumbling something about feisty female hunters.

"Here, let me do this," Sammy says, taking the shovel from your hands. "Sorry about my brother Dean. He can be," he shakes his head in disapproval thinking of how to finish the statement, "quite the handful."

"Yeah, I got that," you say. Grateful for the break, you cross your arms and sit down. "So Sammy, I take it you two are hunters?"

"It's Sam, but yeah. And you are?"

"Y/N, born and raised hunter."

He finishes filling the hole and turns to you. "And you're here by yourself?" he asks, the concern flashing in his eyes showing he’s expectant of the answer.

"I've been hunting alone for several years now, it's not a big deal." You avert your gaze, memories of hunting with your mother surfacing.

Sensing your unease, Sam quickly chirps, "Why don't you stay with us? You look like you could use the rest, and it's not safe to hunt alone." Startled by his hospitable nature, you stare with your mouth agape.

"I-I don't want to be a burden. I'm fine on my own, really." He reaches a hand down to help you up.

"It's not a big deal, really," he says his tone mimicking yours. You stare at his outstretched hand for a moment weighing your options.

"A few days then I'm gone," you state, and accept the help up, the grappling of hands like a binding contract. You grab your bag from the car you hotwired and walk over to their ride.

Dean leans against the side of a 1967 black Chevy Impala, his arms crossed. Never have you seen a more beautiful piece of American craftsmanship. Dean's not that bad looking either. You run your hand along the tail of the automobile, awestruck.

"Y/N is going to stay with us a few days," Sam says before sitting in the passenger seat. Dean begins to protest but is quickly shut down by Sam upon entering the vehicle.

A few moments pass as you continue to admire the Impala, the black metal cool on your fingertips.

"Hey princess, I know she's a beauty, but let's go," Dean hollers.

Startled from your trance, you hop in the back seat and lie down, the aches from today's hunt beginning to creep in. You close your eyes and listen to the radio as Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap rumbles through the cab.

You look up to the rearview mirror and meet Dean's gaze. A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth at his choice of music, eliciting a subtle wink from him.

You relax back into the seat and begin to doze off. Guess he wasn't only staring at your breasts after all.

- - - ❊ - - - ❊ - - - ❊ - - - ❊ - - - ❊ - - - ❊ - - -

You pull up outside an abandoned building clad with ivy, the entrance a circular tunnel cut into the hillside. You exit the Impala and walk behind the boys through the door.

"So this is the bunker," Sam says gesturing around. You blink owlishly taking in the vastness of their home.

Most hunters work motel to motel with the occasional one having a permanent place of residence, but this? A warehouse dedicated solely to killing monsters, a hunting palace.

"Wow," you whisper.

"Don't get too attached sweetheart. It's only for a few days." Dean retorts as he descends the stairs. Sam shoots him a bitch-face, sighing.

"C'mon, I'll show you to your room." Sam gives you a tour of the bunker ending at your room. You throw your bags down and sit at the edge of the bed.

"I'm going to go grab some food is there anything in particular you want?" Your stomach grumbles at the thought of food. So caught up in working the case, eating must have slipped your mind.

"Something salty and slathered in grease, please" you reply. He nods and turns to leave, a smirk inching at his mouth. As he turns the corner, the most brilliant idea pops into your mind.

"Oh, and Sam?" He leans back into view awaiting your question.

"Pie. Lots and lots of pie." He shakes his head and smiles, mumbling about dealing with two Deans as he walks down the hallway.

You lay back and sprawl out on the bed. Your bed. Bouncing around from motel to motel since you were born didn't make for the best childhood.

You never had a room to yourself with an inviting bed to curl up in after a long day; a family to take care of you even when you didn't know you needed it. A home.

Knowing the one thing that could make this day a thousand times better, you get up to take a shower.

Once clean and relaxed, you wrap yourself in a towel and step out onto the ceramic floor. You gaze into the mirror and examine your hair. Sammy's shampoo really worked wonders on your split ends.

You reach to grab your clothes, and your hand presses against the porcelain top of the toilet, no sign of your pajamas.

Overwhelmed by all that had transpired within the last six hours, you forgot to take clean clothes with you to the bathroom.

Sighing, you tighten the towel around your body and peer into the hallway. When the coast is clear, you speed to your room and in your haste forget to close the door completely.

Having turned the corner shortly after you sprinted to your room, Dean follows the commotion curious. He approaches your room to check that everything is alright, and steps into the doorway to find you dressing.

Your back turned, you slip on an oversized shirt over a pair of black panties. Every fiber of his being yells at him to turn away, that he is not meant to see this, but he continues to stare studying every inch of your body.

You bend over exposing a glimpse of your panty clad cheeks and pick the towel off the floor.

Dean swallows hard, his heart quickening at the sight of you scantily dressed, and softly knocks on the door not wanting to be caught peeping.

"I uh, y-you were," he clears his throat before finishing, "food's here."

"I'll be right out," you giggle at his momentary speechlessness.

He briskly turns to leave and whaps his head against the door jam, grasping the bridge of his nose in pain.

"Oh my god, are you alright?" You rush to his side to inspect the damage, a small bruise forming between his eyes.

"Nothing I haven't felt before sweet cheeks," he says placing a hand on your bare thigh. "I'll be fine."

Your body temperatures rises, a blush sneaking its way up your neck. You can not be developing a crush on Dean Winchester: playboy extraordinaire. You scrunch your eyes in an attempt to drive your excitement down. Nope, not going to happen.

"We should go eat now before it gets cold," you say, the words stumbling out of your mouth. He grumbles affirmatively retracting his hand, and you head to the map room.

Sam stands near the table pulling burgers, fries, and beer out of a bag. "Dean, what happened to your-?" Sam asks pointing to his nose.

"What?" Dean quickly retorts cutting Sam off. "Never fought with a door before, Sammy?"

Sam drops it and continues passing out the food. You grin widely and dig into a burger, savoring the juicy flavor.

"So good," you moan, your words muddled from your full mouth. "Please tell me you remembered the pie," you tell Sam, skepticism lacing your words.

"Yes Y/n, I remembered the pie,” Sam snaps and slides the desert across the table glaring. Dean snickers half deep in his burger.

"I also think I found a case" Sam adds. Dean stiffens and sets his burger down, one heavy brow slanted in disapproval. "There've been numerous missing persons reports not too far from here and-"

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go," you interject, eyes wide.

Read Part 2 here

Like it? Let me know!

[setoangel01-fanfiction]

Alteration

Rocker and the Mechanic - Chapter 11 (Previous Chapters)

Fandom: Sing 2016 AU

Pairing: Johnny x Ash

Rated: T

Chapter Summary: A sudden (and unexpected text) puts yet another wrench in Ash's plans.

Fanfiction.net

A03

Ash's tongue still refused to budge where it decided to take permanent residence on the bottom of her mouth. Loosely-crossed arms tense, gnawing the inside of her cheek as her eyes drifted toward the cracked concrete underneath her feet. The finite hairline cracks cascading over its oil and grease stained surface in an erratic pattern.

As she stood there and stared at them, she wasn't sure what she was thinking.

Wondering if something she was visualizing in the floor would have her think of the perfect words to say - but unsurprisingly, nothing came.

Ash simply was not an animal who encouraged or comforted in any sense and the one question that irked her more than anything was where did the cold-stone rocker go? For why the hell was she even worrying about what to say to this guy she just met mere hours ago? Who cared if he has an incredible singing voice and should be some hot-shot international superstar singer with talent and looks to spare? So what if he wasn't happy working in this dingy garage making lackluster payment when he had the potential of selling out stadiums?

If Johnny didn't care to follow his dream then why should she make it her problem especially when she had her own career to worry about.

Resolute sigh leaving her lips, Ash glanced back up to the gorilla in sheer frustration and confusion boiling deep in her chest.

Johnny, for the most part, was silent as well.

Steadily cleaning up the area around her bike: sweeping, wiping at some newly spilled oil, putting away tools, extra parts, and many dirty cloths that were littering the floor all while she looked on in barely concealed annoyance.

For even though it shouldn't bother her, it did!

Hoping to put her own frantic anticipations to rest, Ash opened her mouth, hoping for some biting but inspiring words to filter out but none did. All that came out was a groan of frustration tinging her lips. Knowing full well that Johnny was not at all up for debate, and if she was being honest - neither was she.

Adrenaline wearing off a long time ago and even with her small siesta, she was simply exhausted. The past few weeks dealing with Lance's emotional strife and her own faltering career and questioning her future for the umpteenth time was a lot for anyone to take. Mix in this handsome stranger with a hidden talent that would remain so was just the cloyingly sweet icing on this hellishly salty cake.

So, she took a page from Johnny's book and remained silent.

Tearing her lingering gaze away from Johnny, who was still cleaning, Ash strolled over to her guitar case to dig out hopefully enough funds to pay him. Before reaching it, she glanced to her left to see her long forgotten phone still plugged in next to his toaster. Not wanting to forget it in her haste to leave after paying him, she climbed atop the nearby stool and pulled the plug out of the wall.

Mind made up, she knew she should just leave - pay the bill and drive off without looking back.

It worked before so why not now?

After all, this was not her problem or her battle (she had enough battles yet to win) so why even bother trying with this stranger? Ash let out a short breath, one hand stuffing the cord into her leather jacket pocket while she powered up her phone with the other.

Tempted to just stuff it in her pocket and forget it, Ash didn't mind the distraction right now, so she reluctant watched as he phone slowly powered up.

A long loading screen later, she noticed there was over ten missed calls and texts. A quick scroll through let her know they were mostly from friends, the few that did still care (or pretended they did), but it was three missed calls and latest two texts that had her heart thump painfully in her chest with sudden panic.

Moon.

Buster Moon, the koala; the huge, hairy-eared boss she acquired merely a month ago after her performance at a restaurant where he happened to be dining at with a friend. She sang more subdued than normal for the venue but she still noticed him watching her unabashedly and sitting next to a sheep who played on his phone most of the time.

Ash didn't think much of it until the small koala approached her as she was leaving, handing her his card asking her if she was interested in joining his Moon Theater Group.

A question she answered with a glare and a "Sorry, but uh, fuck no". She refused to be part of a group or duet again.

Yet Moon didn't relent, just chuckled lightly at her choice of words and gave her his card anyway. Lack of jobs had her calling him the following week; telling him she wasn't interested in groups, freelance gigs - and surprisingly, that's what he gave her.

Setting her up in numerous gigs (the guy apparently had lots of ties around the city) and even gave her the largest venue she ever played…and now she just missed what apparently was another great opportunity if his frantic texts were anything to go by.

"Fuck!" she grumbled, looking at the time and already knowing she was almost an hour late yet it didn't seem to be over. Buster had just called her five minutes ago and she knew the place was close - at least, she thought it was.

"Um...is uh, everything alright, Ash?" Johnny's concerned voice rang out out nearby.

"Yeah." she answered tersely, "Just my boss."

Ash's eyes flitted over and over again to his message.

'Where are you!? You were supposed to be here an hour ago! Remember?' it read.

In that moment of anguish a few hours ago, she indeed was heading there to prepare even if she didn't care to hardly remember it now.

Mind so overwhelmed with her own grief and anguish over the entire situation to even care about a job waiting for her. Perhaps it was Lance's spiteful text she'd received or seeing him in a cafe that afternoon with one of the girls he was caught cheating with. Maybe it was simply feeling like her own life was in a downward spiral and she was merely waiting for herself to hit the ground. A lifeless husk scooped out of all her organs and now fluttering away on the slightest breeze. Nothing but mere ashes (her name fit more than ever) from the hellish flames she found herself facing ever since he cheated on her and didn't seem to give a single shit.

If anything, he was probably proud of it.

Ash grumbled lowly while sending a Buster Moon a quick, 'Be there soon' before placing it in her pocket. She just hoped he would wait for her…

"...is everything okay?" Johnny's gentle voice finally had her reeling; eyes lifting from the illuminated screen and up to his face that was now clean and free of the grease that stained it. Dammit, he was so handsome.

"Y-Yea. I'm good." she lied, heart palpitating painfully in her chest in fear she was going to lose yet another manager (a fucking good one too), "Lemme get your money so I can get out of your hair."

"Oh, it's okay, there's no rush."

"Yeah there is. My boss called and I'm already late so I need to go."

"O-Oh. Okay."

"How much is it?"

"$2-oh, uh, $110 should do it." Johnny chuckled and scratched his nape when she flashed him an incredulous look. She knew it was too little with as many parts as he replaced and electrical problems tended to be damn expensive but she sure as hell wasn't arguing even if the guilt would rest painfully in her gut later.

Ash opened the locks and began digging frantically through the sheets of music to find her small black clutch buried underneath. The skull and crossbones pattern greeting her a few seconds later, Ash pulled it out, opening it to only find a $20 bill staring back at her.

"Are you fucking serious?!" she cursed under her breath, digging through other pockets in hopes there was any more cash stored. Panicky and grumbling beside herself, not even noticing Johnny cautiously approaching.

Ash suddenly asked over her shoulder, "Do you take credit cards?"

"Uh. Sorry, no." he replied, hands wringing a small red rag (out of nervousness or habit, she wasn't sure).

Ash groaned, "Oh God…" burying her face in her hands and letting out a guttural sigh. Out of all the fucking things that had already gone wrong - the one time someone shows her kindness, she can't even pay him back. What the fuck else could go wrong?

"Hey." he said, laying a hand on her shoulder and Ash jolted at the sudden warm touch. Blue eyes peeling open in utter panic to meet his gentle brown eyes.

"I'm sorry!" she gasped, "I-I swear I got more at the ATM yesterday, it's just been hell. I have a gig to go to but I swear afterward, I'll bring you the money or even Paypal it to you tonight if you do that sorta thing! I swear…"

Johnny didn't say a word, just removed one hand from where it was in his pocket; holding it out to her where her keys dangled loosely from his fingers.

[victoria-rose13]

Hotel Sex with Park Jimin

It’s finally happening. You finally get to go to KCON for the first time. Your heart starts racing as you think about seeing your bias, Jimin, up there on stage tomorrow, but soon your concentration is broken by the sound of some rowdy KPOP fans down the hall from you. You arrive at your room and unlock your door. A couple of hours go by and the obnoxious sounds you heard earlier are gone. But while you’re getting undressed you notice another sound. Something as beautiful as it is familiar. You put your ear up to the wall in an attempt to hear it better. Is this a recording? It wasn’t a song you’d heard this voice sing before… “Oh, God, could it be?” you wonder aloud. It couldn’t be him. Wouldn’t he be in a suite in some lavish hotel or something? The voice you knew to belong to Jimin continued. Pure honey. But of course, you’re too scared to see if you’re right so you just lay there and listen to him sing. You wake to hear knocking at your door. “Who the heck could that be,” you mutter to yourself. You finally decide to roll out of bed and put your robe. You walk over to answer the door and freeze when you see who’s on the other side. It was Jimin. Practically naked, to be more specific. Disbelief begins to scramble your brain from seeing him in just a robe. ‘Don’t bite your lip…’ “Annyeonghaseyo!” He says with a smile. His lips look so much more soft and bitable in person and stars seem to have taken up permanent residency in his eyes. “Sorry to disturb you, but I don’t seem to have any towels and I was wondering if you had any I could borrow. I’d ask the front desk for some, but I didn’t want to bother them over something so small.” While waiting for your response, he looks you over and finally seems to notice you’re in just a robe. A blush quickly washes over his face. ‘How cute, he’s bashful,’ you think to yourself with a smile. “It’s no problem. Come in.” You and your dirty mind have been racing since you first saw him and now he’s half naked in your hotel room! You search for towels facing away from him as to try and desperately hide your bright red face. You could swear you heard him giggle at you. “I know I have some left. How about you just shower here and I’ll go ahead and find a towel for you?” Your attempts to come across as cool and genuinely helpful are failing miserably and he’s caught on. Your voice only betrays you in your embarrassment. “O-or, you know, I could just drop some off at your room…” Never, in a million years, could you have been prepared for this. “I’m sorry, I don’t think got your name. I’m Jimin,” he says as a coy smile spreads across his face. “I’m (Your name),” “Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” So smooth. “It’s nice to meet you,” he walks closer to you, so close that if you reach out you’d be able to touch him. “I’ll just shower here then.” Some part you just died, you are certain of that much. “O-okay,” you stammer. Boy, if he couldn’t see your beet-red face before there was definitely no hiding it now. In your mind, the joke is on him though, because you have no intention of finding him a towel. 'I wanna see the water drip from his hair n trickle down his skin…’ More dirty thoughts, more blushing. Jimin disrobes in the doorway of the bathroom. 'Holy shnikies! Don’t look, don’t look!’ But let’s face it you can’t not look. “Perfect ass, too?” Of course. Because the situation isn’t painful enough already. You let out a small whimper. While he’s showering you call in to him, “Sorry, but the bathroom door doesn’t latch, I hope that doesn’t bother you.” Reality is, it works just fine, but before he went in you managed to slip an old folded up receipt in the latch so the door wouldn’t be able to close. Setting this up this far, you start feeling pretty confident about the situation and creep up to the bathroom to steal his robe. After a while the shower turns off and you hear the shower rings scrape against the rod. You start getting nervous and your heart is about to leap out of your chest. He doesn’t even bother looking for his robe or the towel you said you’d find. 'Oh, God. That body…,’ you find yourself thinking. Completely naked and drenched he makes his way over to you as steam rolls off his perfect skin. Broad shoulders, fit chest, strong arms, honey thighs and chocolate abs. Nothing escapes your notice. You find it impossible to contain yourself and end up biting your lip and throbbing from being so uncontrollably turned on… Surely you’ve died and gone to heaven. Yeah, that must be it. Or, at least, you’re lost in an extremely vivid dream. His body is glistening in the dim light cast from your lamp. Embarrassed at yourself for staring this long you look up and, to your extreme mortification, find him staring back at you, grinning smugly. Jimin stops in front of you. “'Perfect ass’, huh?” 'Oh shit! I said that out loud?!’ He just laughs and says, “You know, you make it very hard to be good.” You can’t. You just can’t. Heck, you can’t even say anything. All you can do is look up at him, flustered and confused. Taking advantage of your flustered state he grabs your hand and slides it up his thigh, around his hip and holds it on his ass. His skin is so soft over his hard muscles. The feeling of your hand trailing over his skin causes him to lick his lip and bite it. “How can I be good when you keep misbehaving?” “Wh-what do you mean,” you stammer. The fact you got that much out was nothing short of a miracle. His grin widens. “Where’s my robe, or towel, (y/n)-ah? By the way, you left this in the door.” 'Ah, fuck it. That smug.., gorgeous.., naked..,’ your thoughts trail off. 'Just own it, (y/n). That’s all I can do now.’ Despite your sort of self-“pep talk”, the reality of the situation overwhelms you, making you dizzy. He helps you over to the bed and lays you down. “Careful now. We can’t have you–” The only things that had been keeping your robe closed were your hands. In the midst of bracing yourself against him and laying down on the bed, you had let go and your robe no longer covered your body. He sits next to you slowly, staring the whole time. His eyes, hungry, take in every inch of your exposed skin. Your body betrays you as you recover; your breathing quickens your heart pounds, and your blood begins to boil beneath your skin. Jimin traces up your neck to your earlobe with his soft, warm lips and whispers, “Are you feeling better?” His hot breath dances across your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You open your mouth to answer, but no words would come out. “Yes,” is all you can mouth in response. He’s clearly got you where he wants you, because he flashes you a devilish grin. His hand weightlessly glides across your stomach, feeling every tremble, and grips your waist before he bites up your neck. “Good. Now I have to punish you for being bad and making me worry.” 'Oh God… What’s going on? Am I even awake right now?’ Your mind races again, but he’s got you so turned on you can barely think. His lips linger near yours. 'Come on…,’ your thoughts beg. As if reading your mind, he kisses you softly and bites your lip. Jimin’s hair is still wet and cold water keeps dripping down onto your chest. This only adds to the pleasure and the agony. You run your hand up his back to his hair, and tug gently causing him to bite his lip and straddle you. “There you go making it hard to behave myself again. Close your eyes.” You obediently do so only to feel him kiss and lick up your stomach, between your breasts and bite your neck. Sighs escape your lips. He kisses back down your chest slowly. Slipping his hand up to one breast, he runs his thumb over your nipple, and swirls his tongue around the other. You bite your lip and let out a moan. Breath quickens. Eyes stay closed. Yet somehow with him teasing you and your mind being scrambled, you swear you can feel him staring at you, feeding off your pleasure. And then you feel him get off of you. You know Jimin told you to close your eyes… But you wanna look at him so badly. What to do? Nothing. You decide to be good and lay there, vulnerable to his body and desires. It was then that you felt his hands, gentle at first, grip onto your knees and lips on your leg, kissing and biting hungrily up your thighs. You gasp and shiver each time as he gets closer… 'What’s he going to do when gets there? Can I handle it?’ But your mind is so destroyed from this agonizing euphoria that you can’t even begin to think about it. You can’t take it anymore. His lips are so incredibly soft and gentle you just have to look, so you peek down at him leaving a hickey on your thigh. All of a sudden he catches you and runs his tongue over your clit and sucks on it. His tongue is so wet and warm you lose it, quivering each time he flicks you with it. Jimin climbs up between your legs, hikes them up around his waist, and starts grinding hard into you and saying you were “being a bad girl” again. You slide your hands up his back, lean up, and bite his neck making him moan in your ear. There’s no mistaking it now. Jimin is hard. As his hips ground into yours, he’d been getting harder and harder and was now using his dick to rub against and further stimulate you. 'Enough of this teasing. I can’t take it anymore!’ you scream in your head. “Just fuck me already!” “Aww is my (y/n) feeling impatient,” again flashing you that satisfied, devilish grin. You find your hand sliding down his body slowly feeling each and every defined muscle, …oh the abs…, and eventually grabbing his dick. “Mm it’s so big and hard…” You can’t keep these thoughts to yourself anymore. With him in your hand you start teasing him by rubbing him against your soaked pussy, slipping in a little then pulling back out n rubbing him against yourself again. As you do this you kiss him intensely and bite his lip. “Come on, (y/n), let me in… I’ve gotta have you. You’re so warm and wet…” He’s so cute when he begs. You can’t help it. You know you want it, too. You slide him in and a pleased sigh escape your lips. “Mm,” he moans, “you feel so good, Y/n.” You begin to moan from the pleasure; from the way he fits perfectly, tightly, inside you. You’ve been craving this for what seemed like years now, but never imagined it would happen. Park Jimin. In your hotel room. On top of you. In you. Thrusting, over and over, slowly building in speed and roughness. Biting you, kissing you, and now pinning you down by your wrists. He tells you to open your eyes and look at him. Obviously, he didn’t have to tell you twice. If you’re going to die, you may as well die to the fullest extent, right? He seems to get off even more now knowing you’re watching him. Jimin starts powerfully body rolling into his thrusts, making them even more powerful and enjoyable for you. You’re both moaning, but he decides he wants to make you louder and starts rubbing your clit with his fingers while thrusting faster. You get so loud you almost scream. He feels your legs and pussy tighten around him as you’re getting so close. He smiles and bites his lip. He stops rubbing before you go over the edge. “Not yet, (y/n),” he smiles again, knowing he’s tormenting you. “Just relax.” 'Relax,’ he says. Yeah, okay. Not bloody likely. He starts moaning into your neck, exciting you even more. You take the fingers he used to rub you and start sucking on then. 'How much time has passed?’ you wonder. Both his moans and yours again have gotten louder and are now peppered with each other’s names and whispered curses. 'An hour? Two?’ You didn’t care. You never wanted this to end. He bites and sucks on your neck leaving hickey after hickey and soothing them with his tongue. You can feel his urgency and ever growing need. He kisses you then goes as fast and rough as he can, nearing his climax. He moans your name loudly and you resume rubbing your clit to intensify your orgasms, which, with loud moans, a scream of his name, and sighs of pure ecstasy, you manage to reach near the same time. Jimin stays on top of you, in you. Riding out the orgasm with you. Nuzzling your breasts and nibbling on them. The sweat glistens on his body. You catch him staring at you, smiling. “What?” “Nothing… I just love how good you look when I’m pleasuring you.” He bites your lip n kisses you. Too exhausted to go back to his room he curls up the sheets with you and holds your head to his chest. “Hear that?” His heart still pounding. “This is what you’ve done to me.”

[paradoxicalphoeonix-blog]

In case you need a refresher, concerning certain things in the rp thread

(All of the following is taken from “The Downhill Slope”, which is part 2 of a collection of various rps for the AU, and written by @tommarvoloriddle-thediary and @riddlemostpowerful )

The Spell: Part 1 Tom ran a hand though his hair and sighed, it had been a long day. He loosened his tie and flopped down hard on the small creaky bed, tossing aside his normal air of calm confidence. The heels of his palms pressed hard to his closed eyes.

The day hadn’t gone as he planned.

He had lost Riddle.

He blindly reached for a pillow and tossed it across the room, screaming in a rage that had finally bubbled up.

FUCKING LOST HIM! - They had gone to see the Dark Lord, bring to his attention the deviousness of the Diadem Horcrux that had taken to calling himself Chidarim. The bastard had been syphoning energy from Tom and Riddle for months now, and had kept them from taking on their permanent physical forms. Had kept them weak. No wonder he could levitate as if it were nothing, he must have been brimming with power.

Tom had been furious. As soon as he had explained to Riddle the full implications of the magic Chidarim was using against them, his anger matched Tom’s. Tom had initially wanted to take out the Diadem, but Riddle had convinced him that it was best to inform the Dark Lord.

“I found this.” Tom placed the notebook on the desk of Lord Voldemort, open to the page of the spell Chidarim had cast. “He’s been doing this to harm us, I know it.”

“We wanted to make sure you knew,” Riddle added, trying to sound neutral, though it was hard for him to contain himself.

Long fingers ghosted over a passaged and then He pushed the journal back. “Of course I knew, my loves. I was the one who told him to do this to you.”

Tom paled, then his cheeks flushed with indignation.

Riddle, who had always been more passionate with his feelings, exploded at this betrayal. Tom didn’t hear his words, he felt like he was in a vacuum. He only stood there dumbly as Riddle threw his hands in the air and paced with fury. All the while noticing the frown deepen on His mouth. Riddle was to caught up, he wasn’t noticing.

Tom tried to snap himself out of his stupor, but by the time he reached out to stop Riddle it was too late.

Voldemort had his wand out, pointing it under Riddle’s chin. He shot a quick glance at Tom and, with an iciness he had never heard, told him to take his leave.

It took everything in him not to sprint from the chambers. When outside he disapparated with a pop.

Dread filled him as he walked up to their flat. - With a flutter Tom finally opened his eyes, and glared at the ceiling. He needed a plan, because he was going to get Riddle back and they were going to destroy this fucked up dynamic their older self had created. Lord Voldemort’s time was coming to an end, there was going to be a new order.

Tom’s hatred towards Riddle: Part 13 Tom had been gone over a month, but it felt like a lifetime. He had traveled all over Europe, scouring the extensive private libraries of prominent Witches and Wizards. It had all come to nothing.

The spell used had either been very rare or had been created by Lord Voldemort. He needed to read the journal again, review more of the pages. See the spells instructions in front of him. That was how he found himself outside the magically expanded flat he and the others occupied with Ava.

He eases the front door open, it was an ungodly hour, and no one should be about. He had stored the small leather bound volume on his own personal book case, the one next to his bed. He wondered if it were still there.

Creeping past the other rooms, he tries not to even breath. He wanted to come and go, no one would be the wiser when they woke in the morning.

He paused at Riddle’s door. It was directly across from his own, and the door was ajar. The scene inside made him pinch his lips. Riddle had obviously become even more depraved since they had met last.

He turned away, and opened his door silently, closing it behind him. The journal was just where he left it. Everything was in its place, actually…it made him miss the comforts of having a permanent residents. He would come back for good one day, but it wouldn’t be tonight. He stowed the book in a pack, along with a few others, and gave the room a once over for anything else he could use.

Satisfied, he readied himself to leave. When Tom opened he door he was so surprised his bag fell to the floor, the books inside clattered out loudly.

Riddle’s eyes were more red than he had ever seen them before.

—

Tom had returned.

The idea of switching out his books in place of enchanted duplicates which would warn Riddle of his counterpart’s return had been both a stroke of brilliance and a last ditch effort. He had figured that his younger self would not be foolish enough to venture back to reclaim anything from their stronghold, but if, by any chance he did…Riddle couldn’t even bring himself to hope.

When the moment did finally come though, Riddle found himself preoccupied. He was attending to his pet in a way only he would deem necessary when he felt the shift in his magical field. Tom had returned and there was not a moment to be lost.

Riddle retreated, leaving his toy locked safely away for a time (she would wait for his return, patiently, for as long as he needed), before he strode down to Tom’s room to meet his target.

Tom stumbled back, startled, from the door he had just shoved open. Riddle smiled down at him, caught between relief and bitterness as he stepped through the threshold and closed it shut behind him. The wards that enclosed them and trapped them in Tom’s room were wordless, triggered by the duplicate books that Tom carried.

“Well, well, well…” Riddle purred, peering at his counterpart, taking in his ragged appearance and fighting back the urge to comb his hair and straighten his jacket. “Look who came all the way home. Tom, darling, it’s been far too long. I do hope you’re not looking for these…” he gestured to the books in Tom’s hand, causing them to disappear in an instant. “You’ll have no use for them now that we’re back together.” — Tom backed up, he had tried to disapperate but there were wards placed on the room. He hit the edge of the bed and fell clumsily. The glare Riddle received was full of embarrassment and anger at having been caught.

Desperation had caused him to be clumsy. It had been too easy, in hind sight. Obviously a trap. His time away has made him sloppy. He cheeks burned with indignation.

“Oh yes, back together, a happy family. You forget we never had to be apart Riddle. You could have come with me.” It wasn’t true, Riddle was dependent on the Dark Lord in a way that Tom was not, and he knew it. It was a low blow, but maybe if he felt some guilt Tom would be able to escape.

“Instead you’re here, and you can’t even control your urges. I thought you took better care of your pets than that.” He picked himself off the ground and jerked his chin in the direction of Riddles room. “ That would have never happened if you had come with me, I would have been able to help you.” — Seeing him stumble and glare had been almost endearing. There was something so strikingly human, so relatable about his counterpart and Riddle wouldn’t have changed him for the world. He couldn’t help but remember the many nights that they had spent reading and talking to one another, exchanging theories and opinions and jokes until the early hours of the morning, falling asleep while leaning on one another for support. They had a kinship, a brotherly bond which Riddle could not admit that he shared with any other he had met since. If Tom’s absence had wounded the Dark Lord’s pride, it had devastated Riddle in a way he could not properly voice.

He should have felt nothing. He was a horcrux, a piece of a broken soul. Yet Tom’s loss had brought about a keen emptiness within him, one which needed constant fulfillment.

Riddle gulped hard, the muscles on his neck tightening as his brow furrowed in a momentary lapse of certainty. Tom had immediately set in on on the exact memory that Riddle had been fearing he would, and hoping to avoid. The moment of Tom’s departure lingered in the forefront of Riddle’s mind like a foul smell. Riddle assumed that his decision to let Tom go, to hide the truth from his beloved master would have haunted his dreams. In truth, Riddle tended not to dream at all. These days, he hardly slept.

“Control my urges?” Riddle breathed, stepping forward. His beautiful smile had transformed into something challenging and sinister as his eyes seemed to glow in the darkness of Tom’s room. “Can’t you see that I’m taking very good care of our little bird? Her mind bends closer to my will with every passing moment.” He justified smoothly, nearing his young counterpart. “Help me, Tom? It looks like you can hardly help yourself, how could you possibly hope to save someone else?” — Riddle was like a jungle cat preparing to pounce on Tom, he had never been afraid of him before that moment. As Riddle stalked closer the more unnerved Tom became.

Then the verbal blows had come, Tom was not prepared for them to be so punishing. Riddle had never been so unforgiving. It shook him more than he would have thought.

Shame consumed him, and he wanted to look away, but Riddles eyes were impossible to disengage. Those predator eyes…

“You’re right.” The voice coming from him didn’t sound like his own, but he felt the truth of it. He wasn’t able to help himself, how could he have ever been so stupid as to think he could help Riddle too.

“I should have stayed…” he diverted his eyes finally, and his stomach turned as he saw Riddles perfectly manicured hand stark against the arm of his tattered coat. Rage boiled inside of him, and he shirked the hand away.

“How dare you use your power on me, I’m not a Ava and I’m not your toy! You disgust me. I’m sorry I ever had hope for you.” He spat. “You and Voldemort deserve each other Riddle.” — Riddle hadn’t realized that he had taken a step forward. He had only been able to take in Tom’s sudden pensive silence, as though the facts laid before him had been too much. Riddle had thrown the correct barb, it seemed, but the feeling of satisfaction that usually followed a successful attack didn’t surface. Bitterness bubbled within him like bile, tasting just as acidic.

Power surged through him. Riddle should have stopped to consider why that may have been happening, but the look of betrayal on Tom’s face told him all he needed to know. When his hand was knocked away, Riddle realized what he had instinctively done. He had reached out and touched Tom, seeking a source of energy without even knowing it. The warmth of Tom’s contact, the familiar feeling of being near to his counterpart had been welcoming, comforting and snatched away far too soon.

Riddle withdrew his hand, his eyes narrowed in frustration and anger, not only with at the audacity of his younger self, but somewhere within him, he felt his own grip on reality slipping away. Riddle and His Lordship did deserve one another, after all. Riddle was his mistress, his personal attendant, his second in command…or perhaps he had been at one point. The bitterness arose within him once again as Riddle lunged forward, gripping the front of Tom’s robes and yanking him near, his face twisted into a snarl.

“We do!” Riddle snapped, breathing hard. “We belong together for always! All of us! A-and the more power he bestows, the more complete we become. He only punishes us to make us stronger, to teach us further.” His grip tightened on Tom’s robes. “And once I return you to him, he’ll approve of me once again. He’ll stop choosing Thanatos instead of-”

Riddle stopped suddenly, the mad, crimson glint in his eyes seemed to fade in the soft, cool moonlight of the room. Riddle withdrew his hands, peering down at them as though seeing them for the first time, watching as his perfectly manicured fingertips quivered as he took a deep breath.

Had it really come to this? Begging for his lordship’s attention? Clawing his way to the top? Turning in the only one he trusted? Lying like a bitch in heat for the mere chance of being noticed? Riddle shuddered. He felt just as repulsive as he knew himself to be

“Leave.” Riddle’s voice was flat, hollow. His eyes stared, unfocused, at a point on the ground as he backed away. “Go now. Take your books. Don’t come back.”

Part 14 “Are you happy now?” —— Tom glares at Riddle and says nothing before whipping his head in the other direction.

Happy? The audacity! —– Riddle smiled sadly at Tom as his counterpart turned away. “I am.” He admitted softly, more to himself than anyone else. “Happy, I mean.” —- Tom rounded on Riddle in a fury. “Of course you are Riddle! Why wouldn’t you be! You get to go lay on your back with him at night and you have deluded yourself into thinking nothing has changed between us brother!”

The night Tom returned, a desperate act to retrieve journals from his old room, had gone from bad to worse. The altercation with Riddle had left Tom emotionally raw, but he had been prepared to run into him.

Eventually Riddle, in a moment of weakness or sympathy, had stepped aside to let Tom retreat. He has scrambled to pick up the books and hurried past his older self, whispering his heartfelt gratitude.

The words turned rotten on his mouth though, because as soon as he stepped into the hall a luminescent figure was waiting for him at the end of it.

Lord Voldemort.

“Tom,” he older man swept his arms open, waiting. “You’ve come back to me.”

He was to weak to run.

“You were never going to let me leave,” the words, no more than a whisper, were acidic. “You have damned me.”

Tom slunk to the open arms, a beaten dog returning to his owner.

Defeated. —– Tom looked absolutely stunning. From his perfectly tailored new robes, embroidered in silver and green to the neatness of his hair, to his focused, enchanting dark eyes. He looked the absolute picture of health and youthful loveliness. Yet…Riddle couldn’t help but sense something about him like an aura, a scent.

Hopelessness.

The fateful night that their Lordship and Savior had discovered Tom returning for his books, he had welcomed both Riddle and himself into the fortress, along with their little bird companion. Riddle had been shocked to learn that the ‘capture’ had been attributed to his own cunning, that His Majesty had thought he had planned to keep Tom there for as long as possible to give Voldemort a chance to confront him.

That was, of course, entirely incorrect. In that heartbeat of indecision, Riddle had been entirely willing to let his counterpart run. It had been wrong to think of such a thing, but it was too late to take back now.

Tom’s coldness, his anger hurt beyond anything Riddle thought Horcruxes capable of feeling. He wanted to shout at him, to correct him, to convince him, but he was no longer even the Dark Lord’s favorite companion anymore. That beloved position belonged to another favorite trinket, and the fact felt too bitter to admit aloud. Thus, Riddle let Tom think what he would about Riddle’s nightly activities, even if he was not the one in the Lord’s favor anymore.

He tried to ignore the hunger. It didn’t always work.

“Brother-dear.” Riddle attempted his usual, casual and smooth tone, reaching out to his younger self, taking his hand and giving it a fond squeeze. “Nothing has changed. We can be just like we used to again! Just you and I, up until all hours of the morning, discussing politics, battle tactics and ice cream.” He laughed. —– Tom reached out his hand to Riddle languidly. “Here brother, you have all manner of abilities when it comes to physical contact. Make me stay here and chat with you as long as you want. I don’t have the will to fight it off, if you tried.”

The Dark Lord had dressed Tom up too look the part of a young noble wizard. The finery and lavish almost made him gag with repulsion, they might as well have been chains.

In this instance he was glad for tailored robes, they made him beautiful, he could admit, and people like Riddle were attracted to such beauty.

Riddle himself was dressed, as always, in the most luxurious of materials, all cut to him perfectly. He always wore more color than the rest of them, but it only complimented his lean figure and took away nothing from his dark features.

They must have made quite the picture, one beautiful boy reaching out for the other. Anyone, unable to see the blank expression on Toms face would have thought it a tender moment.

“Make me love you again.” —— “I fear you may never do that.”

Riddle didn’t even realize he was reaching out longingly, greedily to his counterpart before their hands were interlocked. He stepped forward, pulling the proffered hand to his lips, kissing the hand softly in the sincerest show of fondness he could muster and savoring the sensation of closeness that it brought between them. Or perhaps it had been false closeness, a foolish illusion. Yet Riddle couldn’t bring himself to pull away from it.

“Tom, you can’t imagine how things have been since you left. I’ve been so-” Lonely? Worried? Afraid? Riddle shook his head, gripping Tom’s hand a touch tighter in his refusal to admit to his own growing weakness. He wished that the other man’s presence would erase away all of his uncertainty, but as it were, his coldness only seemed to add to it. Ever since he had returned, Riddle had felt more inadequate, more upset than ever. His entire world seemed to hinge on whether or not he could keep his unconventional family together, and they were tearing one another apart at the seams.

“Does our lordship know why you were gone?” Riddle whispered, stepping closer to speak in urgent undertones. “Does he suspect…?”