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mercy-burning · 3 years

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Losing You Twice / 1: If I Hated You

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: It’s Valentine’s Day weekend, and it turns out Y/N isn’t the only one struggling with the breakup. Category: Smut (18+), Angst Content Warnings: Language, drinking/getting drunk, penetrative/unprotected sex (If I missed anything, please let me know!) Word Count: 5,538

SERIES MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

“My bedtime is the darkest, that’s when I’m brokenhearted. The nighttime is the hardest. It’d be easy, if I hated you.” —FLETCHER, If I Hated You

FEBRUARY 13th

It was Valentine's Day weekend, which sucked this time around. Every year for the past three years Y/N looked forward to Valentine's Day, but that was when she actually had someone to spend it with.

Well, someone she actually cared about, anyway... Whether or not Spencer actually knew it, she did really care about him. She was just stupid and didn't say it when he needed to hear it the most.

And now Valentine's Day was on Saturday and Y/N was still without him. Not alone, but still without the man who'd spent the significant holiday with her for the past three years. Memories of their dates and 'afterparties' flooded through her mind as she got ready for work like a montage, a cheesy love-song playlist she'd found on Spotify acting as the soundtrack.

Eventually she sighed and turned it off, opting for something more loud and obnoxious, and therefore not tainted by Spencer's memory. She applied what was left of her makeup and added a pair of earrings before turning the music off altogether and shoving her phone in her bag alongside her keys and other necessities.

Even though she wasn't emotionally prepared for all the cheesy Valentine's things she'd see and hear and experience throughout the weekend, it was still kind of nice to see that things in the bank never changed during the holidays— Everything in her life was so severely different at the moment, that if Marjorie had somehow decided to throw out all her elaborate decorations for each holiday, no matter how small, Y/N would have thought the world was truly ending.

Speaking of, she was met with Marjorie's brighter-than-the-sun smile almost immediately once she set her things in the breakroom.

"How's my little macaron this morning?" she chirped, Y/N chuckling slightly at the nickname— She brought macarons from the bakery down the street on her first birthday she spent at the bank, and ever since then, the older woman had adorned her with the namesake.

"She's alright, Marj... Better now that she's seen you..."

"That boy still on your mind, hon?"

Obviously Marjorie's intentions were good, but Y/N couldn't stand to think about the situation at all, least of all at work... So, setting her jacket on the rack, turned away so that her coworker wouldn't see the visible discomfort on her face, Y/N squeezed her eyes shut and cleared her throat. "So, what are your plans with Geno tomorrow night? Anything special?"

There was a brief pause before Marjorie cleared her throat as well. "Nothing short of our usual dinner plans, my dear. He's been so caught up with work at the Mill lately, I think we're just going to spend the night relaxing."

"Hm," Y/N said shortly, finally turning around and giving her the best smile she could. "Maybe I should take a page from your book and stay in..."

"You weren't going to?"

"No... Britt's been nagging me about getting out there so we're going out tomorrow night. We both haven't been single in a long time, so... Should be fun."

Marjorie didn't look convinced. Either way, she nodded with a smile and walked over to Y/N with something glittery and bright red in her hand— A cheap beaded necklace to clip her nametag onto. She draped it over Y/N's neck and patted her shoulders. "Well, I want you to have fun. And remember that you still have to come to work on Monday. Whatever shenanigans you get into should be reserved for Saturday night only so you can rest properly on Sunday, got it?"

Y/N laughed, thankful for the playful tone in Marjorie's voice. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Oh, I joke, I joke," the older woman said with a bright laugh, turning to walk out of the break room. "A little..."

The smile on Y/N's face only really lasted until after Marjorie was out of sight, then she went into her bag and clipped her nametag onto the red beaded necklace with a sigh.

Was she excited to have a good night out with Britt? Of course. Hell, had it been literally any other day of the year, she would have been practically bouncing off the walls with excitement at the idea of going out to a bar, letting men hit on her until she finally let one of them take her back to his place for the night.

But it just felt like it was too soon.

Either way, she was glad that she'd get to see Britt again, after she'd been on vacation for Christmas and New Year's to see her family and only got back a few weeks ago. She'd seen her on Facetime of course, and they met up once for coffee right after Britt got back from her trip, but a well-needed night out and quality time getting ready together was something that had been missing from their friendship for almost a year.

Y/N knew Britt would most likely spend her time trying to hook them up with end-of-the-night dates, but maybe it wouldn't be so bad...

Even still, sleeping alone the night before was probably one of the worst spells of loneliness she'd ever had. It was normal to be sad spending the first Valentine's Day in years away from a significant other, but knowing how things ended between them—bitter and stained with words left unsaid—this time was just... cold.

And that was putting it lightly.

Y/N laid in bed that night, her eyes wide open and staring at the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars that adorned the ceiling. They used to give her comfort, but now they just reminded her of all the nights she'd spend with Spencer, listening to him tell stories about the constellations. They were some of the most peaceful memories she had.

And now those, too—those stars that had grounded her pretty much all her life and reminded her of the better days—were tainted by her inability to properly communicate.

She almost thought about taking them down.

But if she was really going to get over him this time, for good, then she'd have to learn to make new memories with the stars. Even if it was painful. Even if replacing those memories and writing new ones over them absolutely tore her soul to pieces.

And, as if that pain wasn't enough, that night Y/N dreamt of him, making love to her amongst the stars in every galaxy, only to wake up the next morning cold and alone.

FEBRUARY 14th

She promptly decided that she hated his guts.

It was Valentine's Day, Y/N was respectfully buzzed, and courtesy of two beers and four shots of tequila, she'd just deleted Spencer's number from her phone.

"I'm done," she said, waving a hand at Britt and shoving her phone in her purse. "He doesn't deserve my wallowing."

"Yeah!"

Britt was significantly the more drunk of the two, resulting in a fit of giggles after gaining some stares from the people around them at her sudden outburst.

Y/N smiled, finishing off another shot and shaking her head. "We need more!"

"More shots!" Britt hurried off to grab them, leaving her friend behind with a half-drunken smile that also only felt half-genuine.

Sure, she decided she hated Spencer's guts, but her heart didn't exactly agree well with that sentiment. Even after deleting his number from her phone, after downing all that alcohol, her heart still ached.

Y/N knew deep down that getting over him was going to take some time. A lot of time... But maybe one night of distraction would help.

So the shots kept coming, and by the end of the night, Y/N was just about at her limit.

Which was near black-out drunk. And when you're that drunk you tend to make decisions you wouldn't soberly condone.

Britt got into a cab, and she begged Y/N to come with her, but she assured her friend that she had someone to come pick her up. Eventually the cab driver got tired of their inability to decide, and when Y/N told him to go, he did, leaving her alone on the side of the street at 1am.

Unfortunately, it was incredibly cold, and she didn't really have anyone to come pick her up. And that's where the bad decisions started.

Y/N pulled her phone out, a long sigh escaping her as she dialed the number by heart.

Would he even pick up? He hadn't answered any of her calls or texts before, so why would it have been any different now? Not to mention it was Valentine's Day Weekend. With her luck, he was probably in bed with someone else. Someone who wasn't her. As she listened to the dial tone repeating in her ear, images of him wrapped up with somebody else—sleeping in the bed she'd slept in many times before—clouded her drunken brain and made her more angry than anything.

Her gut twisted, and she almost hung up.

But then the low buzz of the dial tone abruptly stopped and in its place came his voice.

"Y/N?"

Her name on his lips, even through the phone, was grounding, the anger in her system melting away and revealing a coat of drunken relief.

"Spencer! You answered!"

"Yeah... Are you— Is everything okay?"

"Pff, yeah, 'm-fine. Just really fucking cold."

"You're not outside, are you?"

"Duh, I'm outside... I wouldn't be cold in-side... Besides, I didn't call t'alk bout the weather, I need you t'come pick me up."

There was a brief pause, and for a moment Y/N didn't think he was going to say anything she wanted to hear. She swayed on the sidewalk, shivering and praying that he would throw her a bone, even if she'd regret it all in the morning.

"Where are you?" he said finally, and despite herself, she smiled.

FEBRUARY 15th

Spencer couldn't believe he was picking her up at near two in the morning.

Honestly, he'd initially thought about ignoring her call again, but remembering the day it was and taking note of the time, he figured she was most likely in some type of inebriated trouble.

His instincts were right, of course, but he wished that he could have been wrong. He wished she'd only been calling to drunkenly ramble on about how she missed him or maybe how he was stupid and she never wanted to see his face ever again, because that was normal. At least then he could have hung up after she was done and never thought about it again— it was a normal step in any relationship that helped move things along. They could have gotten on with their lives and it would have all been over.

But of course it was never that simple.

Y/N was never that simple.

He pictured her on the street near some bar, alone and cold and drunk, and of course he would have been the only one she could call to rescue her. After all, he'd been pretty much the only thing she'd ever known to make her feel safe.

Still, he wished he was capable of only giving her a ride home and then leaving.

But again, it was never that simple.

It was easy getting her into the car— that wasn't what he was worried about. Rather, it was the fated moment where she'd ask him to stay after he finally got her tucked safely into bed that worried him. Because it was bad enough that it was Y/N... It was her in all her alluring glory, and he'd never been able to deny her anything no matter how badly he tried or wanted to.

Now add on the fact that she was drunk, and most likely sad on their first Valentine's Day apart, and it was a recipe for disaster.

Even if she'd broken his heart, Spencer still cared about her.

Which is why he inevitably agreed to stay, at least until she fell asleep.

He knew her well enough to know all the ways she'd try to get him under the covers with her, so it was a familiar amusement that settled in his being when he was finally able to get on top of the covers with her underneath. But as he entertained her silly little questions with the right answers until she fell asleep, Spencer noticed something else accompanying that amusement.

Guilt.

And then anger for feeling guilty about her sadness— sadness that could have been avoided had she just gotten over whatever was holding her back and either returned his "I love you" or told him she wasn't feeling the same way just yet.

All she had to do was talk.

He had a right to feel upset about Y/N holding back when he'd been nothing but patient, spending almost every year of their relationship trying to make her see that she had nothing to be afraid of. He'd given her every chance to talk about what she was feeling, whether it was happy or not, and every time she pushed it all away in favor of sex.

That wasn't what he wanted in a relationship, so he ended it. And there was absolutely nothing wrong with that.

So why was he feeling so fucking guilty?

He blamed his good nature and innate need to please people, to make them feel good and happy. But he also blamed Y/N and her adorable drunken sleeping face.

He watched as she slept, willing himself not to forget the way she hurt him. She'd completely stolen his heart and shattered it at the same time, and if he was being honest, she still held some of the pieces. But he couldn't get them back, not if he didn't want to risk shattering her own heart in the process.

It felt like they were tied together by some strong, invisible force that wouldn't break unless both of them broke right along with it.

So... maybe he could afford to leave those pieces of his heart with her. He'd have to if they were going to get out of this alive. Not unscathed, sure, but alive nonetheless.

Once he was sure she was deep in sleep, Spencer quietly and carefully got off the bed and navigated through her apartment, getting her a glass of water and leaving it on the table next to her bed. And because he couldn't help it, he cleaned up some of the clothes that were scattered around her floor, depositing them into the hamper and straightening out a few more things that were out of place.

He looked over at her sleeping figure one more time, sighed, and then left, keeping her bedroom door open just a crack.

***

Spencer knew he shouldn't have stayed longer.

Despite his better judgement, he'd plopped himself down on her couch after making sure she was sound asleep, hoping to catch his breath and sort through what he was feeling before he got behind the wheel. But of course, it was 2am and he was exhausted, and he couldn't stop himself from closing his eyes and drifting off.

And now he was sitting up, looking around the apartment through the lens of morning.

Though the curtains were sheer, they didn't provide much light, but enough of it showed him just how familiar the space was. Y/N hadn't moved anything around. The same art was on the same walls, the potted ivy plant on her mantle sat un-watered and withering, and every book and record and DVD on her shelves was in the exact same spot as they'd all been the last time he was there in December.

Meanwhile, after the breakup he'd re-arranged everything. He was so sure that they were through for good this time around that he wanted a clean slate. Not that he wanted to rid himself of her memory completely, but if he was going to move on from the hold she'd had on him, he had to do something...

And yet, he ended up at her apartment the morning after Valentine's Day all the same.

He heard the shower running faintly a couple rooms away. You didn't have to pass the couch to get there, so maybe she hadn't seen him sleeping and he could get away cleanly.

Spencer scrambled off the couch, thankful that he hadn't removed his jacket or his shoes and that he could just sprint towards the door without having to find any of his belongings.

But as luck would have it, the second he took a step, the shower turned off. He had to get out of there quickly, but if he did then she'd definitely know he'd stayed overnight. But if he went quietly, he wouldn't have enough time before she caught him.

Maybe I could hide...

He shook the thought with a roll of his eyes, settling on the clearest course of action, which was to make as quick of a getaway as he could. He'd try to be quiet as well, though the creaky door was going to be nearly impossible to get through without a sound.

His hand was on the doorknob when he heard her voice.

"You didn't think you could spend the night and then leave without saying goodbye, did 'ja?"

The pure amusement in her tone made his stomach churn, and it wasn't unpleasant in the slightest.

Spencer turned and smiled softly, avoiding looking at her completely. "Sorry. Didn't want to bother you."

"You're never a bother."

That sentiment held less amusement and more sincerity, which was what guided his eyes to meet the woman who said the words.

His stomach twisted again when he saw her, exactly like he knew she'd be— wrapped in nothing but a thin towel with near-dripping hair cascading down her back. Her legs were bare and exposed, the towel not only thin but short, which meant that her chest was also practically spilling out of it. Despite the obvious and inevitable hungover look in her eye, there was also a good splash of that mischief that'd always been there— the kind that spelled out trouble.

He needed to get out of there.

"Well, um... I'm glad I got you home safe," he said, clearing his throat. "I should... I should go."

"You sure you don't wanna stay for breakfast?"

Spencer could have sworn she was teasing him, dangling her body in front of him like a meal they both knew he wouldn't be able to resist. But then she added, "I've got everything I need for your favorite omelet," and he exhaled with a small smile, exhausted with his own mind for convincing him that she was out to pull him back in.

Still, he declined. "No, I... I shouldn't. But, uh, thank you..."

"You sure?"

This time when he looked up at her, she was closer. She was gently striding forward to meet him, and he half thought about backing up towards the door until he realized he was already there.

"I—I'm sure. Really."

"But you drove around all night just to take me home when I was drunk, the least I can do is feed you..."

"Eh, it's alright. It's... Nothing I haven't done before."

She stopped then, her eyes briefly dropping to the floor. It was like her whole demeanor changed—just for a second—from the prowess she'd always been, to what seemed to be a woman filled with sadness and regret. It didn't last long though, just enough for Spencer to notice it before she looked back up at him with that wicked gleam in her eye and a remark right at the tip of her tongue.

"Still. I feel bad, making you do all that for me... Especially now."

He wasn't sure what to make of this... It seemed like she was sincere, but she was also alluring, calling to him like a siren leading him to his ultimate demise. And while he'd come to know that as merely a part of her nature, he couldn't help but shake the feeling that she was doing it on purpose.

She was in a skimpy towel, after all, and she definitely knew how to use that to her advantage.

It didn't help that he didn't have the courage to leave. Everything inside of him right then longed to drop that towel and indulge himself once more. Putting aside all the heartache and the differences they shared, all he felt in that moment was the need to touch her— to get lost in her and never be found again.

She was his fatal flaw, and it was painfully obvious.

Spencer knew he shouldn't have stayed longer...

He was over to her in just three strides, throwing off his jacket and tossing it aside before cradling her face with his hands and bringing their lips together for the first time since Christmas Eve.

The small whine in her throat signaled that she hadn't expected it, but welcomed it all the same. The moment she lifted her arms to wrap around his neck, the towel fell to the floor, and there was no going back.

"What about breakfast?" Y/N breathed out once they pulled away for air.

Spencer contemplated, studying her face, seeing the way her eyes sparkled, and decided on the two words that sealed his fate.

"Screw breakfast."

Their lips were melded together almost as soon as the words left his mouth. And it wasn't long before every other part of their bodies were melded together as well.

Y/N helped him take the rest of his clothes off as they danced around the entryway and the living room. Everything was open, no walls separating the living room from the kitchen, so to compensate for the lack of breakfast they'd be eating, they migrated to the kitchen counter once Spencer had off everything but his boxers.

He trapped her against the cool marble of the countertop, her back hitting it solid and sending a shiver up her spine. Meanwhile his hands roamed her body, unsure of where to be other than on her at all times, whether it be her waist, her stomach, her arms, her breasts, or her ass. He wanted to feel all of her, and quite frankly she wanted the same.

She even told him so, in her own way, by bringing one of her legs up and wrapping it around his waist, pulling him closer to her as she wove her fingers through his hair and tasted his tongue with her own.

The action elicited a groan from his mouth, low and desperate. Spencer settled his hands on her waist and gripped it tight, silently telling her what to do.

So she jumped up and he helped guide her swiftly onto the counter. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist again, and he found himself grinding into her hips, urgent to feel every part of her. And thankfully she was feeling rather desperate herself, because she rolled her hips up into him in return, breaking their mouths apart just briefly to speak.

"Fuck me..."

There was so much he wanted to say to her in that moment— how badly he was feeling about keeping her entertained while he was slowly deteriorating inside from her emotional detachment and rejection, how much she frustrated him, and more prominently, how she was so goddamn impatient and that he was getting there...

But all that he could manage was a broken, desperate whisper of her name.

It was all he'd ever known.

All that frustration... All that anger, heartache, passion, and time apart combined beautifully into those few syllables that made up her name and tore him apart from the inside out.

And his hands were just as destructive.

Spencer deftly dropped his boxers to the ground and pushed forward, almost losing all sense of self the moment the head of his dick finally made contact with her cunt. He made his way inside of her and then used both of his hands to grip her waist and bring her closer, their mouths connecting harshly as they found one another once again.

His grip was bruising— not possessive in any way, but desperate, like he had to cling to her for dear life or he wouldn't live to see another day. He held himself inside her, sighing and whimpering into her mouth as she clenched around him. It was so familiar, so comfortable and exhilarating that he almost didn't even want to move. He thought about staying there, still inside her forever.

But as always, Y/N was insatiable.

She wrapped all her limbs around him and held on, rolling her hips and seeking friction in any way possible when she briefly tore her lips away from his.

"I need you, baby, please..."

Even as his heart started to rumble in his chest, well aware of the fact that she still probably didn't love him the way he loved her, Spencer gave her everything. He pulled out and snapped his hips forward again, setting a strong, steady pace that had Y/N's eyes rolling back, and the payoff of hearing her sigh out his name was more than enough to keep him going.

Her nails dug deliciously into his shoulders, the faint sting adding something reminiscent of gasoline to a fire. The flames grew taller and brighter the more he fucked her, and with each gradual increase of volume and intensity, it was a wonder the whole kitchen around them hadn't literally burst into flames.

That's how they always were.

Together like this, so lost in the high of each others' bodies, it was easy to forget the things that made their relationship so hard. It was easy to let all the negativity slip away into the throes of pent-up, well-needed sex. The high they gave each other was merely that— A high...

A distraction.

And while that's exactly what Y/N needed, what she preferred in most cases, it's what Spencer recognized as completely unhealthy, despite his coming back to it every time.

It's also why he dreaded the moment ending. Because once they came down from the high, all that's left would be sadness, regret... Guilt... Their fire burned hot, brightly and wildly, but in the aftermath would lay only a thick layer of deadly smoke between them— hard to navigate, and nearly impossible to breathe in without suffocating.

So they simply burned and burned and burned...

Spencer gripped her so tight he was sure to leave her with bruising. And in turn Y/N dragged her nails down his back and dug them into his ass, her palm laying firmly over the muscles that aided in fucking her into the marbled surface. She whined out curses and moans, and he cried out broken whispers of her name, pet names, and curses alike.

Even once she'd come, he kept going, willing himself to hold on as long as he could. She whined into his ear at the overstimulation. And rather than keeping her legs wrapped around his body, she decided to spread them wide, perching her heels up on the counter as far as she could go and anchoring her fingers through his hair.

And though she might not have had enough orgasms in her to keep up with him, she welcomed it all the same—She welcomed the burn just as much as he did.

Even still, no fire can burn forever.

All concept of time was lost by the time Spencer finally collapsed forward, completely spent and barely standing on weak legs after coming twice. Y/N held onto him tightly to keep him upwards, lightly massaging his scalp with gentle fingers and closing her eyes as she focused on his breathing— the way it fanned over the skin of her bare shoulder and how it sounded, perfectly in time with hers...

It was the most peaceful she'd been in a long time.

She felt him pull out of her, the both of them groaning at the feeling, and a little at the mess it would make.

Spencer gently peeled his body off of hers, sniffing once and avoiding her eyes. "Sorry... You just got out of the shower..."

"It's fine," Y/N breathed. She begged him silently to look her in the eye, but he remained still... Most likely thinking. She could practically see the cogs turning in his brain.

So, in an effort to lighten the mood a bit, she added with a breathy laugh, "Besides... It's nothing I haven't done before."

The callback to his words—and memories of all the times they'd found themselves in this position before—got Spencer to laugh a little, but he still wouldn't meet her eyes.

Finally, he cleared his throat. "I'll... I'll grab the wipes?"

"Oh. Sure," Y/N returned with a thankful smile. It was hopeful, too, though the moment he was out of eyesight, it turned rather sad.

She'd known that behavior before, seen that hesitation in his movements and that sound in his voice.

It was guilt.

Regret.

Probably a bit of self-hatred, too.

When he returned, a pile of her clothes in hand and the bag of wipes on top, she took them from him with a kind smile and cleaned herself up while he put his clothes back on.

The silence was more uncomfortable than anything either of them had ever experienced.

So much so, that Y/N couldn't even muster up the courage to ask him to stay for breakfast— and she always did after one of their post-break hookups.

Maybe this time really was different.

Spencer was just at the door again when she stopped him.

"Thank you," she said. Her voice was so small, he almost didn't hear it. "For bringing me home..."

But he paused, turned, and finally looked her in the eye.

He almost sunk to his knees right there...

Seeing her, arms crossed like she was trying to keep warm, as her head hung low and she looked up at him through sad, hooded eyelids...

It reminded him of the woman he fell in love with.

But in his peripheral, he saw the towel on the floor and was reminded of the woman who'd shattered his heart.

Spencer cleared his throat. Once upon a time he might have returned her thanks with, Anytime, but... Honestly he wasn't sure there could ever be another time. For his sanity, he'd have to avoid 'anytime' at all costs.

So, he settled on, "You're welcome."

He was glad to see her return his kind smile with one of her own, even if it was tainted with sadness, and a small wave goodbye.

Maybe this time it would stick.

Even still, as he closed the door behind him and made his way to the parking lot, for some reason it didn't quite feel like goodbye.

And some of that deadly smoke that settled in his lungs as he drove further and further away from her apartment was inclined to agree.

***

Neither of them could sleep that night.

While Spencer stared out the window of the jet, a little annoyed to be called out on a case so late but at least thankful for the distraction, Y/N laid in bed, staring at the stars on her ceiling.

The same constellation caught their eye.

Columba.

The Dove.

She hadn't even meant to arrange the stars like that, but one night after a date, they were laying in her bed and Spencer pointed out that the cluster of plastic stars right in the corner of the ceiling looked like Columba.

Y/N fondly remembered Spencer telling her about how it was originally named to represent Noah's dove, which searched for dry land during the great biblical flood and returned carrying an olive branch to make news of its recession— of peace at last.

The memory made her smile. It tugged at her heart and made her dreams of him even more vivid.

All the same, Spencer noticed the constellation outside the jet window and remembered that same night. The smile on her face as he told her the story, the feel of her fingers gliding softly over the bare skin of his forearm...

It was the first night since he'd met her that he thought it.

I love her...

He almost told her then, too, but he was afraid it was too soon. So he refrained.

Looking back, Spencer was starting to regret that— Maybe without that extra time together, breaking up would have been easier. But instead, he gave her more time. He gave himself more time to fall deeper in love with her, and in the end it still wasn't enough.

Now they were both looking at the same constellation, one made of plastic and the other of gas, wondering if their flood would ever recede.

And in the event that it did... Who would be the dove, and what would be their olive branch?

“You know I dream about getting back together in the future, I could focus on you. But if I leave right now, I hope that you don’t find someone that touches you the way that I do...”

***

SERIES TAGLIST: @reidyoulikeabook @yourmisosoup @fortheloveofcriminalminds @bellzo17 @altsvu @flipperpenguins @mcumorningstar

TAGS NOT WORKING: @reid-to-me @totallyclearwitch

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds angst #losing you twice

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demonicheadcanons · 4 years

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The Obey Me Brothers When the MC is Sick

AN: MC is gender neutral. TW for obvious mentions of illness (warning for anyone with emetophobia) and death (no actual death included). The MC has a general ‘bug/fever’ style illness to keep things simple. Like last time, I’ve included scenarios that take into account whether or not you’re close, because I want to consider what they’d be like when the MC first gets there vs when they’ve been there for a while.

Note: All of the brothers aren’t worried about getting sick, because I headcanon that whilst the demons can pass on harmful illnesses to humans that can be deadly, the opposite generally is not true.

Total words: Around 5k. This was written in 3 different sessions so there may be some inconsistencies. Sorry for mistakes, its 1am and I’m too tired to double check everything. Enjoy!!

Lucifer

· If you’re not close: He’ll check up on you, take your temperature, and ask about the symptoms. He’s not necessarily cold, but just seems rather emotionless, or he might come off as frustrated - because he is. It wouldn’t be good for Diavolo’s goals if something were to happen to you, so the entire thing is an inconvenience.

· He’ll take care of you to a degree, but he’s not going to be a very comforting presence. He’ll give you any medicine or potions he can find that might help, or he’ll ask Solomon or a doctor to look after you. The warmest gesture you can expect from him is a cup of herbal tea in the morning when you wake up.

· Have fun catching up on all the schoolwork you missed after. Lucifer claims he has too much work to do to help you, and he’s telling the truth... kind of.

· If you are close, he’s going to ask you to move to his room until you get better - this is so that he can keep an eye on your whilst working at his desk, so that his brothers won’t constantly disturb you, and also because he wants to be as close as possible; he can comfort you easier if you’re right there, and he can spend the night with you in his arms if it makes you less miserable.

· He’s going to be gentle and attentive. He’ll take his gloves off and check your temperature with one hand, and then ask a lot of questions. “How do you feel?” “Where does it hurt?” “Do you think you can eat?” “Can you drink some water?” “How do you think you got sick?” He wants whatever details you’re willing to give so he can paint an accurate picture of things and start resolving it as soon as possible.

· When he’s with you, he’ll rub soothing circles against your palm or the back of your hand with his thumb, or against your cheeks and jaw, or along your arms and sides - whatever seems to comfort you most.

· He’ll ask if there’s anything you want him to do, or anything that you think might help - he’s not your servant, and he does have to bite back his pride a little to ask, but if he can make you happy then he has plenty to be proud for. He knows humans are more fragile than demons, but going by everything you’ve said it seems like this isn’t a serious illness, just a little sick spell. Lucifer is one of the more realistic brothers - he knows not to panic too much. However, he’d still rather not see you upset or hurt if he can help it.

· If you’re physically being sick, he’s going to initially step back because its rare for demons to get to that stage, and he isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do. After a bit he’ll take to rubbing your back and mumbling whatever reassurances he can think of. He won’t admit it, but it definitely threw him off a bit, and it makes him even more anxious and doting for the next while.

· He feels guilty if he has to leave to go to class, but he’ll tuck you in and leave you with some tea and light snacks. He can’t afford to miss out on work, he has far too much to do already without falling behind and he doesn’t want to disappoint Diavolo. A lot of people are counting on him. That said, between classes and during breaks he’s going to be checking his phone to see if you’ve messaged or left any missed calls. If you haven’t, he probably won’t text each time to check up on you, but he’ll send at least 1 text a day whilst out to see how you’re doing.

· When he gets home, he’ll make sure his brothers aren’t doing anything stupid where he can see them and then head to his room to see how you’re faring. When you start to get better, you can see him smile faintly with relief and he flops down on the bed beside you, graceful as ever but more relaxed than he’d been the last few days.

· When you’re well enough to eat and your fever is down, he stops worrying. He’s a bit irritable around this time, though - its not your fault. His brothers are all really excited that they can see you up and about again, and when you turn up for dinner after not being there for a few days, they’re all so loud he starts to think he might need a day off to deal with the headache it gives them.

· If his brothers start teasing him for being so worried for the last few days, he’s going to snap fairly quickly. Please don’t be offended - he was worried, he made it clear he was when he was around you.

[Other brothers after the Read More]:

Mammon

· Close or not, he’s panicking. If you’re not close, it comes across as him teasing you about how weak you humans are, and he might come across as rude or inconsiderate. In reality, he really doesn’t know how he’s supposed to act, and he feels bad for it because Mammon is more emotionally in tune, and feels bad when others around him feel bad. He’s also just, trying to get more information - is it serious? Do you need a doctor? Should he go get Lucifer or even Lord Diavolo?

· Mammon isn’t the kind of person to wish harm on anyone, even if he doesn’t like them. When he finds out you’re sick, he’s going to quietly hope you get better soon, and then try and convince himself that he doesn’t care because you’re just some random human anyway. Still, he’ll be relieved once he hears that you start doing better, but the entire time you’re sick he’s worrying that you might die because humans are like that.

· If you are close... be prepared. Mammon is not leaving your side. He comes to wake you up in the morning and you seem more out-of-it than normal. Your face is flushed, so he checks your temperature with his forehead (its what he’s used to, he doesn’t even think to do it with his hand or arm). When he realises you’re much warmer than usual, he starts panicking.

· He’ll ask you about it first, but if you don’t give him clear answers or you seem a bit unsure, he’s going to go get Satan or Lucifer and bring them back to check up on you - he would go to Solomon, but he’s not close enough to him to predict how he’d react, and so leaves it as a last resort. If they give the all clear and say you just need a few days to recover, it relaxes him a little, but he’s still going to be on edge until you’re back to your usual self.

· Mammon is focused on comfort. When he’s sick he doesn’t want to be alone and he wants to be held. He’s either holding your hand, or laying right beside you with his arms around you, rubbing your back until you fall asleep. You’ll have to ask if you need anything like water or painkillers because he’s only going to leave if he really needs to eat, and if you’re physically being sick he’ll feel guilty but he’s not going to bring back any food because its impossible to predict how the Devildom food will interact with your illness.

· The first time you truly hear him snap at Lucifer probably happens whilst you’re sick - Lucifer comes to tell him he needs to go to class, because he’s missed too many lessons, and initially Mammon will plead with him and promise to attend every class for the next month no matter what, all pride thrown out the window because you’re important to him. If Lucifer still refuses to let him stay home, he’s going to get pissed. You shouldn’t be alone right now, and he’s adamant about that. It takes you quietly opening the door of your room, wrapped up in a blanket and flushed from the fever, to make the two stop arguing. When Lucifer sees you, he lets out a low growl and then leaves Mammon to do whatever he wants, filing an excused absence for the two of you.

· When you start getting better, Mammon lights up. You could swear he’s got stars locked away in his eyes that first morning you wake up and you seem almost back to normal. He keeps an eye on you, still, but his nerves finally die down a bit and he feels like he can breathe again. He’s grinning every time he looks at you, because he really is so happy you’re doing better, but if you bring it up or tease him he’s going to pout and refuse to speak.

· When you’re completely recovered, he might seem distant for a day or two - he needs to fall back into his normal schedule, and he needs a good rest. He’ll be there for you if you come to him, but he’s not glued to your side like he usually is.

Leviathan

· If you’re not close, he’s not going to know you’re sick unless someone posts about it in the group chat. Even then, he doesn’t pay any notice to it. You’ll get better. Whatever brother you’re close to will take care of you much better than he will anyway - that’s why you chose them, they’re better and more capable than him. Levi barely pays attention to anything at all for those few days, and spends most of his time holed up in his room with one distraction or another. He doesn’t understand why he feels lighter when you’re back at breakfast again, but he does. He keeps an eye on you from then on, but nothing really changes.

· If you are close, he can’t define how he feels no matter how hard he tries. He’s worried, he knows that much, but you’ll get better, right? Was he qualified to take care of you, if you were seeking him out? Shouldn’t you just rest for a few days? Wouldn’t that be enough to help you? He honestly doesn’t have a clue what would actually help you feel better, and so won’t even think to get medicine or painkillers unless you ask him to.

· He has to view it as an opportunity to get the ball rolling - if you come to him for comfort, or he feels he can offer any, then he can spend the time you’re sick getting closer to you. He can show you that he might just be able to offer something, anything at all, to your relationship. But... in his room, please? He’ll carry you there if he needs to, he has to be able to feed Henry and relax where he’s surrounded by his comfort items and his fish-tank walls.

· His bathtub bed (and his room as a whole) is quite cool and helps keep his temperature down, so he’ll set you down in that. If he’s also not focusing on keeping himself warm, he can drop his temperature enough that even just having him rest a hand on your forehead lowers your temperature. It takes a lot of courage, but if you’re up for it, you can sit in his lap and marathon TSL and he’ll keep his cold arms around you so you’re not overheating. He almost cries if you fall asleep like that - do you really feel so safe and comfortable around him?

· If you’re being physically ill he won’t have a clue what to do. Its not something he has experience with, so he’ll probably just wait outside the bathroom and call Lucifer to see what he says. When you come out he’s in pieces, tears in his eyes as he wraps his arms around you and holds you there. He’ll ask if there’s anything you want him to do if it happens again, and whilst it might make him feel a little ill himself, he’s willing to rub your back or hold back your hair if you need him to.

· If he’s asked to go to class or to a student council meeting, he’s reluctant to leave you alone. He makes sure you’re all set with TSL on and a handheld game system within reach, and a glass of water, and enough blankets and pillows... he’s nervously darting about the room making sure things are perfect. Right before leaving, he hesitantly kisses the top of your head and leans down to talk to Henry. “You have to take care of them, okay?”

· When he’s not around you, he’s nervous and unfocused. Where he’d usually spend his time glued to his phone so that he didn’t have to focus on the world around him, he now just stares off into the distance. He walks faster to make it feel like time is moving a little quicker, and the second he’s free, he rushes back to his room to check on you.

· When you start getting better, Levi in part wonders if anything he did helped. It was probably the doctor, or maybe one of his brothers came in whilst he was gone and helped, but all it takes is a ‘thank you’ from you and he’s tearing up. He wraps his arms around you until he’s too flustered to keep holding on. He still doesn’t want to let you out of his sight.

· It does end up being a bonding experience - Levi trusts himself a little more around you. He thinks that even if he’s not the best, you’re still open to his presence, and he’s not bothering you all the time. He finds himself closer to you, asking if you want to hang out more, and he’s more open after the whole experience. Really, an experience like this is the perfect way to break down some of the walls he’s built, so being sick isn’t all bad in the end up.

Satan

· If you’re not close, Satan will offer advice he’s found in books to you or whoever is taking care of you. He’s the most willing to help even if you’re not that close, because he has knowledge on the subject that the others lack. If a doctor isn’t available, he’ll be the one to check your temperature and ask about your symptoms and give a general diagnosis on the problem. If other brothers aren’t sure what to do, he is one of the first they call for advice after asking Lucifer (they think Satan might be better at dealing with it, but Lucifer is responsible for your safety and well-being, so the brothers view it as being necessary to keep him updated and get his opinion. Otherwise, they would usually go to Satan first and only to Lucifer if it was serious and/or you needed time off school.)

· The most he’ll offer in such a case is advice, though. You won’t get any real comfort from him, unless you call him and are clearly distressed, in which case he may offer some generic words of comfort over the phone before he calls someone you’re closer to and tells them to go take care of you.

· If you are close, he’s still going to be checking your symptoms, but he’ll be closer - instead of hovering over you from a distance, he’ll sit beside you on your bed and press a hand to your forehead and cheek instead of rushing to get a thermometer, and if you lean against him, he’ll put an arm around you whilst he asks about how you’re feeling.

· He’s one of the few brothers who prefers for you to stay in your own room - he’s aware that being physically ill is common for humans, and he can’t have you being sick on his books. Also, his room is too messy to fathom trying to take care of you properly. He ends up setting up a corner of your room for him to relax in whilst you’re recovering, with a selection of blankets and some pillows that Belphie was willing to lend him, so long as he washes them before returning them. Satan brings a couple of books and settles there until you’re better. He’s aware that he won’t get ill, and so doesn’t worry about proximity to you. He just thinks you might want your own space.

· If you ask him to, he’ll cuddle up beside you or sit beside the bed and read to you. His voice is low and steady and relaxing, and if it helps you sleep, he feels quite proud. He often ends up falling asleep right beside you, and it takes a moment for him to come around again when he wakes up. A lot of time is passed that way, with the two of you napping or him curled up in the corner in his impromptu fort, reading, as you rest.

· He’s not proud of it, but he finds it almost enchanting if you’re moody whilst sick. Its entertaining to him, and he wants you to get better, but he’ll still analyse your mood and actions the entire time you’re ill to see what makes you react in certain ways. He’s not intentionally provoking you, he promises, he’s just curious by nature.

· He asks a lot of questions in general - about how you feel, about what you think of a certain topic, about the human world. He’s trying his best to provide some sort of distraction for you, and the second you furrow your brows or start to look distressed, he produces another question or topic for the two of you to discuss or mull over instead. If it gets to a point where you stop answering, he’ll sit beside you and run a hand through your hair with an uncertainty similar to someone petting a cat that isn’t quite friendly yet. He wishes he could offer more comfort somehow, but Satan isn’t sure how he’s supposed to do that, so he just ends up acting like he normally does with short bursts of extra contact if they appear to help.

· If you’re physically sick, he’ll hold your hair back and then sit you down and get you a glass of water. Sips only, he reminds you - if you gulp it down, you’ll just be sick again. He’s practical, and he reminds you of anything he feels necessary when you’re ill - “don’t do this, it’ll make it worse” and “how about you try this, it might make it better?” become common phrases. He’ll listen to what you have to say, but will still gently coax you towards whatever advice he’s following out of a book if he can, because surely something has to help?

· When asked to leave for class, Satan complies without an argument, but he does notably struggle to maintain his composure when he remembers that you’re alone and suffering. Still, he reminds himself, if he goes to class he can tutor you on whatever you’ve missed when you’re better. So long as no one pisses him off, it’ll be alright. He checks up on you when he gets home, and realises that as long as you have everything you need before he leaves, that he can leave for short periods of time so as not to disrupt his schedule too heavily. He only really does so to go to school or cook, but knowing he can do that leaves him much less stressed than most of the other brothers, and he ends up a lot more organised too when you’ve recovered.

· When you start to get better, he tries to help get your school work out of the way as quickly as possible so that you’re not falling too far behind. He’ll still encourage you to relax and take it easy, but you’ll be caught up in no time with his help. He also prepares foods that are lighter when its his turn to cook so that you don’t distress your recovering system too much. Satan seems calm, and the next time you feel under the weather, he now knows exactly how to react to bring the least stress to both of you. He’s definitely the fastest to adapt.

· Bonus: You absolutely steal his heart if you ramble whilst somewhat out of it. Especially if none of your thoughts really connect but you’re trying to tell him something, anything that pops into your mind. He sits by your bed and rests his arms on it, with his chin propped up on them as he looks at you and listens intently, smiling the entire time.

Asmodeus

· If you’re not close, Asmo won’t really do anything. You might get a simple ‘get well soon, honey x’ text, and that’s about it, or maybe some moisturiser with a note about how you should still take care of your skin even if you’re under the weather. Asmo keeps his distance and goes about his days as normal, without any real concerns or worries. You’ll get better, he doesn’t have to stress himself out over some human.

· If you are close, he’s all over the place for the first few hours. He makes sure your bed is comfortable, being the only brother other than Satan who wants you to stay in your own room so that there aren’t human germs all over his, and so that if he needs to, he can have his own time in his room. He’ll give you the comfiest pyjamas he can find that still look ridiculously stylish, and will ask if you want any help changing with a suggestive smirk, but any offers he makes are fully genuine - if you want his help changing, no funny business, he’ll absolutely do it.

· He’s not worried about getting sick, so Asmo stays physically close, but he’s also just not interested in being intimate with someone who is ill. Because of this, you get a break from his more suggestive nature. He’ll press soft kisses to your forehead when he’s trying to get you to relax or sleep, but that’s the only kisses you’re getting until you’re better and there isn’t a trace of your fever left.

· You may not feel great but your hair is going to look great, because he focuses on it. There’s an intimate comfort in having someone wash, dry, play with, and style your hair, and he hopes its enough to help you feel a little better. If you seem distressed his hands go to your hair, and he runs his fingers through it gently. If it’s messy or hasn’t been washed, he’s going to offer to help you bathe, but if you’re too unwell he’s going to prop you up in a chair, swaddled up in a blanket, and he’ll handle your hair. While he’s at it, he’ll wash your face and apply moisturiser to your face, hands, and arms. He quietly tells you something about how feeling cleaner can make you feel healthier.

· He’s not forceful about anything. It’s the first time he’s cared about anyone almost as much as he cares about himself, his first time putting someone before him, so he treats you like he’d treat himself. He knows that when he’s sick he sometimes really just wants to rest and be cared for, so he’ll do that for you. He rubs your back and tells you to let it all out, to complain if you have the energy to, and he’ll listen to everything you say. He tries his best to focus on you anyway, but when you’re sick and you ramble and whine, he couldn’t focus on anything else if he tried; he’s startled to realise just how important it is to him that he understands how you’re feeling in that moment so that he can make it better.

· He’s actually pretty good at attending classes, and because his attendance is high, Lucifer is more willing to let him have the few days off whilst you’re ill so he can look after you. Asmo leaves every now and then to wash, eat, exercise, or just to stretch his legs and have a bit of a break, but he does try to spend as much time as possible with you. Sometimes he’ll sit by the bed and scroll through Devilgram and read out posts to you or show you anything he thinks you’ll like.

· When you get better, he books a full spa day for the two of you - it helps to wash away any remaining traces of the illness, without being too overwhelming. It also helps him - its going to take a long time for him to get used to taking care of others, but he thinks its all worth it at the end of the day.

Beelzebub

· Close or not, Beel is at least a little concerned. Being sick is one of the worst things that could happen in his opinion, and the second you stop showing up for meals, he notices and asks about you. He finds out what’s happened from another brother, and worries the entire time he doesn’t see you. He doesn’t know what to do, but he’ll tell whatever brother you’re close with to stay by your side as much as they can so you don’t feel too lonely. He’s relieved when you show up again, and will try to get closer to you so he can be closer to you next time you’re ill.

· If you are close, he’s at your door the second he realises you’re ill, and carries you back to his room if you’re comfortable. You’re wrapped up in blankets with as many pillows as Beel could coax Belphie into giving him, and he’s ready to take care of you as best he can. To him, this just involves staying glued by your side. He’s roped Belphie into helping, so that when he does have to leave, Belphie is by your side holding your hand in his place. Outside of that, Beel tries his best to only leave if you’re resting.

· He initially planned to have Belphie bring him food when he needed it, but then he felt too guilty because he couldn’t give you any and it might make you feel nauseous. Whilst you’re ill, no food is allowed in the twins’ room because of this.

· Beel is large and warm, making him perfect for cuddles. As mentioned in a previous post, the one issue is that if one of you is already feverish, you’re liable to overheating, and so Belphie has to set up a fan to keep you at a more reasonable temperature. With this in place, Beel lays down and wraps you up in his arms and stays there for as long as he can. He’s not one for words, but he’s happy to listen if you want to complain, or with some prompting, he’ll talk about his past and about what he and Lilith and Belphie got up to when they were angels in the Celestial Realm. If you still overheat, he kneels down by the bed and holds one of your hands in both of his, gently playing with your fingers and tracing shapes over the back of your hand idly as he speaks or listens.

· He checks your temperature regularly with his forehead, desperate for any sign of recovery, and sheepishly kisses it afterwards as an apology for disturbing you. Every time he leaves he comes back with a fresh glass of water, and will hold it up for you to sip at - if you can’t eat, you at least need to drink a little. If you end up being physically ill, Beel holds your hair back and rubs your stomach carefully. He makes a steady, quiet whining noise in his throat the entire time without realising it because he’s so sad and concerned that you’re this ill. At this point, even if Lucifer or Satan has promised you’re going to be okay and you’ve been checked by a doctor, Beel is calling them to his room and making them check again.

· No one can convince him to leave for class. He’s reluctant to go to classes anyway, although he got a little better when the exchange programme started because he wanted to be wherever you were. However, now that you’re stuck at home, he’s determined to stay by your side no matter what - it should have started a fight between Beel and Lucifer, but Beel looks at him once with those sad, puppy-dog eyes, and Lucifer lets him be. He wouldn’t be able to focus in classes anyway.

· When you start getting better he prepares a lot of food for a feast, although he asks Satan first about what foods would be light enough for you to eat. Whatever you can’t eat, he will, he reminds you, so you shouldn’t feel too pressured to finish everything. He lets you return to your own room, and the two of you have a movie night together. Beel pulls you into his lap and hugs you close to him the entire time because he’s so happy he doesn’t really know how to express it. If you’re still tired or unwell he’ll alternate between feeding you and feeding himself, and when the movie ends he presses a kiss to the top of your head, letting you rest if you’ve fallen asleep - if not, he reluctantly gets up to put on whatever you’d chosen to watch next, and then cuddles up with you and runs a hand through your hair until you fall asleep.

Belphegor

· Belphie doesn’t really pay any attention to you if you two aren’t close. He barely even knows you’re sick, and only picks up on whatever his brothers say around him. He doesn’t think about it too hard and goes about his days as normal, and his thoughts only drift towards the topic when he’s alone in the attic and can’t sleep. He briefly wishes for you to get better soon in his head, and then immediately denies that he ever thought about you and forces himself to move on from the topic.

· If you are close, good luck. Belphie’s motto for being sick is that the more you sleep, the sooner you’ll get better. There’s some truth to it, but he’s quite extreme. You’re carried to the attic the second you’re ill and dumped unceremoniously on a large nest of pillows and throws. Belphie flops down beside you and wraps his arms around you and tells you to close your eyes.

· His sin’s influence may not work well on you, but it doesn’t stop him from trying to make use of it anyway - he focuses hard and puts whatever spare energy he has into trying to make you sleep and have peaceful dreams, warding away nightmares for the entire time you’re ill. It works enough that sleep finds you easily, but for the brief periods where you are awake, you’re going to feel pretty dreadful because you’ve overslept so much and your body is crying out for some care. It takes time and effort to extract yourself from Belphie’s arms to be able to go get some water or go to the bathroom.

· If this becomes distressing, Belphie will listen when you shake him awake and tell him that you want to stay awake now for a while. He curls up beside you, the two of you facing each other, and smiles tiredly. There’s a comfortable silence in the room, only broken when one of you voices something or when Belphie yawns. If heavily prompted, Belphie might tell old, old stories of his past, and what humans were like long ago when he first visited the human realm. He presses his forehead against yours and closes his eyes to talk, holding your hands together between the two of you, trying to create a calming aura so that you don’t feel too bad.

· If you’re going to be physically ill, Belphie brings a bin or bucket of some kind to the attic and encourages you to aim for that. There’s no formality to it and he sounds almost uncaring, but the second you have to make use of it he’s standing by you, worry filling his features as he tries to figure out how to make you feel better. He hesitantly pats your back but leans away as far as possible because the smell is a little too much for him. He’ll help you rinse out your mouth and then lay you down again, begging you not to be sick on his pillows whilst he goes and cleans out the container.

· You get better quickly with Belphie, the sleep working its magic. Because of how quickly you are recovering, Belphie is allowed to stay with you to help you get better so that you don’t end up missing too much school. He’s already missed so much that another day or two doesn’t really matter in the long run, and it won’t be noticeable when added to the pile of schoolwork he has sitting in the corner of his room that he’s slowly working his way through with you.

· Belphie has this gentle smile on his face every time he looks at you, his hair an absolute mess. You’re welcome to stay in the attic for as long as you need to, but Belphie becomes unresponsive as he tries hard to build back up the energy he used helping you rest. Its your turn to ‘take care of’ Belphie now, which mostly just involves letting him rest his head on your shoulder, chest, or lap and running a hand through his hair as he naps.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #my writings #my headcanons #lots of fluff in this one bc #its fun to write about just. little acts of affection. how people like to hold others

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bokutobaes · 4 years

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I loved the bad day hc it was so gooood🥺 can I get a hc (w the same boys👀) of ur first night over their house?? Bet Atsumu snores like a freight train lmao😭😭😭

first night at the inarizaki boys house :p

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭ .・.

☆- with: suna, atsumu, kita

☆- no warnings!

☆- a/n: this request was soo cute i had so much fun writing this🥺thank u for requesting i really hope you like it <33 and im so happy u enjoyed the bad day headcanons

authors: lu and sen <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭ .・.

☆- suna:

-you were in fact enjoying a nice saturday in your room, pixie lights strung, your favourite show playing and you in a warm fuzzy blanket. it was bliss

-until.. the vibration of your phone shook you from the scene you were watching, and who else would call you on a saturday at 1am

-“hello?”

-“hey”

-“uh whats up”

-“wanna come over.. to sleep”

-“suna- it’s one o clock in the morning”

-“so?”

-“so why would i-”

-“i miss you..”

-your heart just exploded from the fact he just said that

-“say no more okay i’ll be there in 10”

-“okay :)” you could hear suna’s smirk from his voice

-you’d snuck out before in your first year of high school just to hangout with some friends so you knew the basics

-you left a note to your parent(s) saying that you went to a friends house early in the morning because she had a boyfriend emergency

-the things u do for suna🙄

-the way to sunas wasn’t long, he only lived a few streets away so you packed a bag, threw on your comfiest cutest sweats and headed on down

-when you got there suna was already at the door leaning against the frame with his hands stuffed in his black hoodie

-“hi”

-“hi.” he hugged you, “come on it’s cold out” then he grabbed your wrist and with a finger on his lips telling u to tip toe and whisper you headed to his bedroom

-now, you’d definitely been to sunas bedroom before to hangout after school and study and whatnot

-but it now dawned on you that you’ve never stayed the night

-heat rushed to your cheeks

-“so where am I gonna sleep”

-“here?” he said

-“where?”

-“in my bed. you’re sleeping in my bed.”

-“suit yourself, but I kick people in my sleep”

-he scoffed, “and I’ll kick you back tf”

-you guys hopped in the bed and just immediately went on your phones

-but you were in one of those close ass positions where you could see what was on eachothers screens

-so you exchanged tik toks and tweets

-the night was filled with you both trying so hard not to laugh out loud

-you guys rambled on for a long time after seeing a post about astrology

-“i don’t get it.. your saying i’ll be in a bad mood on the 5th of next month because mercury is in gatorade.?”

-did he really just disrespect retrograde like that

-once it was getting really late your eyes started feeling heavy

-you switched your phone off and snuggled deeper into suna’s chest

-you were basically hugging eachother

-suna yawned

-“goodnight y/n”

-“goodnight rin”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭ .・.

☆- atsumu:

-you were already at atsumu’s house, you’d walked there together after school to spend the friday together

-currently you were in osamu’s room with the twins playing “winning eleven”

-why they were so obsessed with this game? you do not know

-but right now you were being betrayed by atsumu

-he told you he’d “go easy on you” since you’ve never played before

-then just abandoned that idea

-“atsumu wtf your not even going a smidge easy on me”

-“hey it’s not my fault yer skills are lacking baby”

-ur about to punch him

-“ok then here” you hand your remote to osamu and cross ur arms scooching away from atsumu

-“wait heyyy hey don’t be like that I was joking” he paused the game

-osamu was literally on his phone at this point

-he smushed your cheeks and you rolled your eyes

-“what time even is it?”

-“10:43” osamu drawled

-“omg it’s late i have to go soon”

-atsumu got up and told you to come his room so you waved to osamu and headed out

-“stay the night”

-“really?”

-“yes really please i don’t want you to leave yet”

-🥺🥺🥺

-“awww tsumu”

-“SHUTUP! are you gonna stay”

-“yes I’ll stay” <3

-he took your face in his hands and kissed you all over

-you shot your parent a text saying you were sleeping at your friends house and then sat on the bed where atsumu was already sprawled out watching something on his phone

-“i don’t have a toothbrush”

-“there’s an extra in the bathroom babe”

-“i don’t have clothes”

-he looked at you

-“i have clothes”

-“aww are you gonna give me your hoo-“

-“nvm go home now”

-LOL

-it was already almost midnight after you had watched some movies on his bed

-you guys got up and brushed ur teeth together

-“next time you’re gonna sleep at my house instead and we’re gonna do face masks”

-you though about tsumu in a panda sheet mask and laughed to yourself

-when you were done washing your face he asked if he could put the moisturizer on for you

-so you sat up on the counter and he was being so gentle🥺 just looking at you

-your cheeks starting feeling hot and atsumu noticed

-“oh embarrassed now are we?” his stupid smirk plastered on his face

-“shutup tsumu” you looked down smiling

-it was half past 12 when you guys finally got in bed and you were honestly tired since it was the end of the week

-atsumu squeezed you tightly from behind and was playing with your hair

-it knocked you out

-“g’night baby”

-“goodnignt tsum”

-(you were not prepared for the snoring that came out of him at 2am but you loved him anyways)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭ .・.

☆- kita:

-this sleepover with kita was actually planned by the two of you

-you wanted to spend time together outside of school and you thought this was a nice idea

-you came over a little before dinner and he was cooking when you got there

-“hi!” you said walking in through the kitchen door

-“hi love” he stopped stirring a pot on the stove and came over to hug you

-he kissed your forehead and asked how you are

-(like he didn’t ask you 1 hour again when you were texting)

-you ate dinner with kita and his grandma, she told stories about kita when he was younger embarrassing him but making you awww out loud

-after dinner you headed to his room, you’d put on something to watch but it ended up just being background noise in a conversation you were having

-“y/n.. did you wanna sleep in the spare bedroom? i want to make sure you’re comfortable”

-“its okay babe i don’t mind sleeping with you”

-so you both were on his bed just looking out the window together, now that it was later you’d switched from watching tv to sharing earphones and looking out the window at the stars

-a song came on, something soft and gentle playing through your ears

-“wanna dance?” kita said looking at you with a smile

-heart combusted

-“of course”

-you got up and he grabbed your hip, hand in hand you two just swayed slowly looking at eachother

-both your cheeks burned but you were so happy that you were here with him right now

-now you’d been dancing for a few minutes and your face was in the crook of his neck

-you were both starting to get a bit tired but then you remembered the face masks you’d brought in your bag

-“kita..! we should do face masks”

-“face masks?”

-“yep! i brought some. let’s go”

-leading him to the bathroom you started to put the sheet mask on him

-the fox imprint on the mask made you laugh being on kitas face

-you two looked so silly, a fox and a panda in pyjamas on a saturday night

-after taking a few photos the masks were done and you washed up for bed together

-it felt like taking a look into the future

-soo domestic

-sleep came really easy that night, you lay on kitas chest and rambled for a bit before you noticed he had fallen asleep

-poor bb probably tired from volleyball practice

-you fell asleep soon after right after kissing him on the cheek

#suna x reader #suna x y/n #suna x you #atsumu x you #atsumu x y/n #atsumu x reader #kita x reader #kita x you #kita x y/n #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu hcs #hq hcs #haikyuu #bokubae!hcs #lu!writes #sen!writes

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petri808 · 4 years

Text

N1+Inukag Crap! I confessed! @ruddcatha request

Every time Kagome got frustrated at work she reminded herself... it was just a job. Nothing glamorous, it covered her expenses, and allowed her the time she needed to go to school. It wasn’t even that being a waitress was difficult, but instead boring, since she worked the late shift. Between the hours of 10pm and 1am when they finally closed, it was rare to have many customers. Mostly young people on the way to or having left a nightclub, maybe a single grabbing breakfast before an early morning shift.

But there were two definite upsides to working the shift. For starters, all the slow periods gave her time to work on homework or projects. Second, it was peaceful with only one other coworker to deal with. Just her and the sous chef Inuyasha. When she’d first started, they didn’t quite get along. Kagome wasn’t a push over, and Inuyasha... well, he had a chip on his shoulder. The young man was great at his job, so good that the head cook trusted him to do this closing shift all by himself. She was certain Inuyasha preferred it that way, considering he wasn’t a social butterfly.

Over time their odd relationship found its groove and they’d chat if neither had anything left to do. He’d often make them dinner, another minor perk of the job. Best of all, if any of the customers caused problems, Inuyasha was quick to react. Kagome felt safe working in the diner despite the late hours. Because who’d be crazy enough to take on a hanyou? Only a human with a death wish. But she could understand his personality a bit. Hanyou’s were often mistreated. Not full human, not full yokai, and there were still portions of society who saw such unions as an abomination.

Well screw those people! Inuyasha may be rough around the edges, but he’d never made her feel scared or uncomfortable, which was a lot better then some of the losers she knew growing up. On the contrary, she felt safer with him around. So, what if he wasn’t very good at expressing emotions, because it was clear to her he had a good heart. Like cooking them dinner. Kagome never asked him, he always just did it, and at the most opportune times. Sometimes he’d show up at the table where she was hunched over a laptop and would hand her a sugary drink because— she looked like she needed it. Kagome would thank him and he’d reply in his gruff, yeah, don’t mention it, before disappearing back into the kitchen.

The turn around in their working relationship related back to one single incident three months after she’d started working at the diner. It was around midnight when a couple of drunk frat boys stumbled in. First, their shenanigans targeted her with the come-on’s and sexual advances, but as soon as Inuyasha stepped out to confront them, and they started to taunt him about his heritage, Kagome snapped. It was the first time she’d seen such bigotry with her own eyes, the hatred some felt towards his kind. So, she let the men have it! Screaming and cursing, going so far as to grab a broom to kick them out. After the incident, Inuyasha both thanked and berated her for putting herself in harms way like she had, but at least he’d warmed up after it.

That was almost two years ago, and here they were on another slow Tuesday at the diner. Kagome had finished all of her cleaning duties as well as homework, so with nothing left to do, she sat at the counter beside Inuyasha. He’d made them burgers, and she whipped up some milk shakes with one more hour to go before they could close up.

“It’s nights like this that make me question why I’m here,” Inuyasha broke the companionable silence with a sigh. “I mean I like it, but don’t like it.”

Kagome giggled. “I know what you mean. But at least there’s some positives to it.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

“Well...” she sat back on her stool with her eyes facing the ceiling in contemplation. “The obvious ones are I can manage going to school and my studies without being overwhelmed. The free food is a bonus, course your food is always divine!”

“But sorry the company’s not better, right?” Inuyasha throws in. “I know I’m not someone people like being around.”

“Excuse you!” Kagome turned to him with shock and irritation. “You take that back! Because I happen to love being around you.”

“You do?”

“Why wouldn’t I?!” The annoyed woman countered with defiance flashing in her eyes and logic tossed out the window. “You’re caring, amazing, you make me feel safe, and not to mention you’re easy on the eyes...” Oh shit! That part wasn’t supposed to slip out! The moment those passionate words left her lips, all the blood drained from Kagome’s face. “I-I mean, y-you know, I mean you must realize...”

A cocky smirk lit up Inuyasha’s face. “Easy on the eyes, huh? Tell me, is that what you really think of me?”

What blood had drained from Kagome’s face, rushed back to her cheeks in a rosy glow. “Pfft!” She glared back despite the smile she couldn’t control. “Well what do you expect?! I’m not blind! Yes! Okay, so you’re hot. Happy now?!” She harrumphed and folded her arms over her chest in a huff.

Inuyasha’s eyes lower along with the tone of his voice. “Very, actually. Being complimented by a pretty girl made my day.”

Kagome’s jaw dropped, arm weakened and falling to her sides. She wasn’t sure what stunned her more, his flirty response or the fact he’d called her pretty. A silence fell between them. They’d both admitted to finding the other attractive. So, now what? Kagome knew she’d been fantasizing about him for a while, but his compliment didn’t necessarily mean he was interested in that way too. For all she knew Inuyasha already had a girlfriend and just never mentioned it at work. Crap! She wasn’t supposed to confess like this! Now working together might be awkward considering things had been going so well!

Several minutes dragged on before it was Inuyasha who once again broke the stalemate. He cleared his throat. “So, um. Do you have a boyfriend?”

Kagome’s eyebrow raised but breathing slowed. “No...”

“Do you want one?”

#Inuyasha #kagome higurashi #inukag #inukag au #inuyasha x kagome #inukag ficlet #inukag fan fic #inukag fan fiction #crap! I confessed!#request

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cotncandyboifics · 3 years

Text

Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High?

AO3 Link

My Main Masterpost

Pairing(s): Romantic Dukexiety

Word count: 6.9k (Remus would be proud)

Story summary: A pseudo-songfic; 5 times Remus called Virgil high, and one time Virgil called Remus high.

Content Warning: Marijuana, Characters high on Marijuana, Description of the experience of being high on marijuana, Food, descriptions of eating, descriptions of preparing food, vague anxiety descriptions, insomnia, cursing, Remus Being Remus,(let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: this is just. dorky fluff stuff. Idek lol. Enjoy

...

Virgil grimaced vaguely at his phone, which had begun to buzz periodically. More specifically; Virgil was glaring at the displayed name at the top of the screen, communicating who was currently calling him.

TrashMan 42069 is calling...

Remus never called Virgil. As in... never never. And even if he did, it was 7 am; Virgil sincerely doubted that Remus I-wake-up-at-2-pm-every-day Prince had ever been awake at this time of morning in his life.

The call didn't stop after 5 buzzes, and so Virgil picked his phone up, hurriedly accepting the call and pressing the phone to his face.

"uuum, hiiii...." Remus drawled from the other end of the line. Virgil scoffed under his breath. "I'll have a.... extra large cheese pizza, and another extra large with... extra anchovies...." Remus continued. Virgil genuinely couldn't tell whether Remus thought he was actually talking to a Pizza parlor employee or not, but more pertinently, he was very much disconcerted by the way Remus was acting. He had half a mind to ask if he'd hit his head on something, but... Virgil was gradually growing used to Remus' antics, and every time he'd asked out of his own anxieties in the past, Remus had been More Than Fine. He pushed his nerviness aside with a heavy sigh.

"Re, what are you doing?" his voice came out a bit husky, and Virgil realized this was the first time he'd spoken that day.

Remus didn't reply for a few long moments. Of course, this had exactly nothing to do with the fact that he was having a gay panic over the sound of Virgil's morning voice, which - again - was decidedly not happening.

"Haay Virge," Remus scarcely strung his words together, and they fell on top of each other as they rolled off his tongue in a quite klutzy fashion. It was almost soothing, in its way. "I thought if I pretended that you... that I was... that I thought you were a pizza man, then I'd forget to do... why I called you." Remus scrunched his nose to himself, taking his time to find his words, but eventually he got there. Virgil had been struck with realization part way through Remus' rambling, and was now scowling as if Remus could hear his facial expression through the phone.

"Remus, are you seriously high right now?" Virgil hissed.

"I mean... I think so... I definitely remember..." he pointedly enunciated each syllable of 'definitely remember,' before seemingly getting distracted by his thoughts. Virgil cleared his throat to prompt him. "...uhhhh... I don't wanna call you. Why did I... think that was...good." Virgil couldn't tell if Remus was talking to himself or not.

"Dude, go take a shower and... like, drink some water or something. I'll see you at work later. Please come in a better mental state than you're in now." Virgil hung up, setting his phone back down on his desk face-down, resuming his script read-through of the next production being put on at the theater he worked for.

Several hours later, Virgil was adjusting a few bolts on a light fixture, one of many all lined up on the long bar that he'd lowered from the fly deck earlier. He and Remus were stage technicians, and had both worked at this theater together for nearly two years now.

Remus burst through the set of doors off stage left, arms wide and his custom green tool belt slung over one shoulder like a sash. He bowed a bit dramatically to the stage and everyone on it (which, at the moment, was only Virgil; they were the only two in the theater, since Virgil regularly showed up early and Remus was here early too for once for... some reason) before stepping in long strides toward a burnt out light fixture, a few feet away from Virgil.

"You good?" Virgil murmured, feigning intense focus on a particular few wires. Remus had learned by now that Virgil was a man of few words and many thoughts; there was always a lot more to what he was saying than the small string of words he poured out.

"Heh. Sorry about that. I woke up in a funk, and though a wake and bake might... help. Didn't anticipate calling... you, though." he rubbed the back of his neck a bit sheepishly, focusing his line of sight on the company logo branded into the lighting fixture. "Can't say it won't happen again though! If I call you when I'm that stoned it means I really, really like you," Remus waggled his eyebrows, winking (specifically to highlight his sarcasm - a wink was a telltale sign that Remus' words were entirely a joke) at an utterly deadpan Virgil.

"Sure." Virgil paused for a moment. "Why're you here so early though?"

"Huh?" Remus replied, finishing twisting the bulb out of the fixture before looking up at Virgil, who was now presenting his phone screen to Remus, showing him the time. "Damn! High me can get punctuality! I thought it was three, not two... I was wondering why you were the only one here!" Remus had resumed his adjusting of the light fixture, hunkered over and partially upside down in a way that made Virgil's stomach churn. He only grunted in reply.

...

A recent sound design project had Virgil and Remus talking a lot more than usual - nearly every day. Virgil thought Remus would be a massive pain in the ass to work with, but he was a surprisingly diligent project partner. His ideas were often... eccentric, and at times too far-fetched, but they served as an excellent foundation. They clashed well with Virgil's taste and general groundedness (by extension, a minuscule helping of insecurity) that he brought to the table. They'd worked together over discord for the last few days, voice chatting and messaging through brainstorming sessions and developing their project.

It was 5pm, and Virgil was just beginning chopping some potatoes for a mash dinner when a message notification popped up on his phone.

TrashMan 42069 im tiiiired. gotta get up early to head into the theater, can we work tmrw mornin instead of tn ? wanna have an early night

Virgil smirked to himself, typing out a response.

since when do you sleep before 1am

but like, go off ig

see ya in the ams

Remus never responded, and Virgil resumed his chopping, and soon was plopping the potato portions into a pre-simmering pot.

Night arrived and fell entirely, leaving Virgil alone with his thoughts in bed, staring at the ceiling desperately as if it would put him to sleep. His bouts of insomnia made for horrible company, and yet another reminder of just how awfully lonely he truly was. He rolled onto his side, facing his bedside table just as his phone lit up and started buzzing.

Remus. Again. Odd. And it was... 11pm, according to the bleary text in the top corner of Virgil's phone screen. Not too bad, I might get to sleep by 2, Virgil noted to himself. He accepted the call before his drowsy brain could think through the decision.

"Shit, hi," Remus breathed. The usual sharp edge of his brash voice was gone, leaving soft, rolling words in its wake. Virgil sighed to himself.

"Hi."

"Did I awaken you from the sleep? I didn't think you'd answer..." Virgil recognized the drawl in Remus' voice then, but he didn't mind it so much. He was too tired to be grumpy about this.

"No, I couldn't sleep. I thought you were having an early night?" Virgil ran his fingers through his hair, rolling back onto his back.

"Ah... right... I told you that..." Remus spoke slowly, as if carrying each word, each syllable the way a mother carries her child. Virgil smiled softly into the darkness. "I was feeling like shit, so... I was just gonna, toke up. Knew I... wouldn't be able to... do any of the project... like this."

"Gotcha," Virgil mumbled. He had closed his eyes, letting himself ease into the sound of Remus' uncharacteristically gentle voice.

Remus started humming on the other end of the line, and that only proved to relax Virgil more. He felt himself grow heavy in the bed, limbs going slack and muscles and tendons untensing.

"Are you still alive?" Remus spoke suddenly. Virgil hummed.

"Yeah, I think so," Virgil said. "Your humming is putting me to sleep," he laughed lightly. Remus grew silent. "Uh, that's not a bad thing," Virgil resolved, "I have a hard time... sleeping, sometimes. Nothing usually helps. That's... uh, helping. If you wanna keep... humming, or talking..." As he spoke, Virgil realized just how weird what he was saying - what he was asking for - truly was. He cleared his throat. "Nevermind."

"I have nothing better to do right now, I can hum you to sleep, Virge," Remus' careful voice replied, ever so slowly. "If that's... what... you meant."

"Um," Virgil chewed on his hoodie sleeve absent-mindedly. "Yeah," he finally huffed, "I'd... like that."

Virgil anticipated a lot more awkwardness at this entire situation from Remus. But Remus was a generally oblivious person to awkwardness, seemingly especially so when he was stoned. He almost immediately resumed his humming, and Virgil was out like a light less than ten minutes later.

"Virgie? Did you go... fall into the sleep?" Remus asked after a while. When he was met with silence other than subtle, even breaths, he smiled to himself. He'd helped someone, even while he was like this. He truly didn't want to be doing anything else right now, so he just kept humming into the phone for a while. Maybe it'll help Virgil sleep even better.

The thoughts that an intoxicated mind produces truly are an enigma.

...

Remus and Virgil's sound design project was one of three being proposed to the directors and head technicians for the next production. The three were created as presentations, just the general idea of the design put together so that the one chosen of the three could be put into proper production by the entire sound team.

Virgil's and Remus' won.

They celebrated by indulging in a pizza lunch together before they were to head into work. A large, half pepperoni and half anchovies.

"Are those things actually good, or do you just eat them because everyone else thinks they're gross?" Virgil asked, chasing the floppy end of his next slice with his mouth. Remus grinned with a glint in his eye that Virgil knew all too well; it meant one thing, and one thing only. Mischief.

"Whah if ih's bof?" Remus spoke through his mouthful of anchovy pizza. Virgil scrunched his nose, punching Remus in the shoulder.

"Chew your food and don't talk with your mouth full, that's hecka nasty dude," Virgil laughed. Remus rolled his eyes in a very unconvincing manner, considering he was still smiling.

"Yef, mom," Remus spoke again through his unfinished mouthful. Virgil shoulder bumped him, and finally took the first bite of his next slice.

Not a week later, Virgil woke up rather late. Well, late for him; around 7am. He slapped a hand to his forehead, sitting up a little too fast. He set his hands on the bed beside himself to try and fight the onset of dizziness. After a few deep breaths and shaking his head and hair out, he reached for his phone.

No notifications, other than 2 missed calls from Remus, at 3:12am. Virgil sighed, laughing to himself slightly. He opened his messaging app.

why do u only call me when ur high lmao

...

Virgil was at the grocery store, milling through the dairy aisle, when his phone started buzzing in his pocket. He was surprised to see Remus' contact as the displayed caller ID, although not that surprised. Remus had called Virgil a few times while he wasn't high since Virgil had sent that message, usually to discuss theater-related things. Though, it wasn't like him to call at 8 in the morning. Virgil pressed the answer button, bringing the phone to his ear.

"Hey Re, what's up?" Virgil said as he started checking the expiration dates on a few cartons of heavy whipping cream.

"Virgieee... Are you walking around with no shoes on?" Remus' voice was calm and subdued.

"Uh-" Virgil was so caught off guard by the question -and the petname- that he literally looked down at his feet to check. Nope, he'd definitely put on his black high tops that morning. "No? I'm at the grocery store. Wh... what?"

"I saw someone," Remus blurted, speaking slowly. Oh, right. Virgil's lips tightened into a annoyed-and-disappointed expression. Of course he's just baked again. "They looked like you, kinda... no purple hair... but jacket- or, i mean, sweater... uhhhm, no... what's it called?"

"My hoodie?" Virgil offered, glancing down at his purple patchwork hoodie.

"Yeah, yeah, that," Remus drew in a long heavy breath. "they had a hoodie." Remus stopped then, as if awaiting Virgil's explanation expectantly. Virgil scoffed.

"So. You saw someone walking around with no shoes on, who looked kind of like me only based on the fact that they were wearing a hoodie?" Virgil recited.

"Well, yeah!" Remus said as if offended that Virgil needed to ask. "They were black shoes, and... and the hoodie was... just like your black plaid one."

"The one that I like... never wear? How do you even... have you even seen me wear that?" Virgil didn't know why he was asking; he must have if he knew of it.

"You did," Remus started slowly, "one time. The pizza time. Said your other one was dirty." Remus spoke like a small child who was being scolded and felt really bad for what they'd done. "And I thought... maybe you'd... dyed your hair back. I don't know why." Virgil sighed.

"Okay? Well, I promise I have my shoes on, and my hair is still purple, and I'm not wearing that hoodie today. I'm at the grocery store right now." Virgil's voice was harsh and quick, and he immediately felt guilt drop into his stomach like a brick. He had no real reason to be this cross with Remus... he was just a bit cranky that morning. "Can I... pick you up anything while I'm here?" Virgil immediately cringed at his attempt at amendment. What a weird thing to say-

"Ooh! Are you at Trader Joe's?" Remus' voice had a newfound excitement. Virgil smiled to himself, glad that his fumbled recovery wasn't really very fumbled, thanks to Remus'... Remus-y-ness. "They have these chocolate truffles that are soooo good..."

Remus gave moderately incoherent directions to where the truffles were shelved, though Virgil knew his way around the store enough that it didn't matter. After a few minutes, he came upon a small red carboard box with cursive gold lettering and a picture of a chocolate truffle on the front.

"Found them. I... text me your address? I can be over in... well, soon. I guess I don't know where you live." Virgil invited himself over extremely awkwardly.

"You got it, sunshine! See you soon," Remus' tone was a lot lighter and he spoke more quickly and sharply, as he did when he wasn't stoned out of his mind. Perhaps the prospect of having his favorite chocolate truffles had granted him some mental clarity.

The call ended, and moments later, two texts came through from Remus. The first was an address, as promised. The second left Virgil with a familiar sense of blind confusion.

ill start heating the milk

Virgil slid his phone back into his pocket, humming to himself. He'd gotten all the items on his grocery list already, so he headed to checkout. Soon after, he was loading a couple bags into the back seat of his car, setting the two boxes of truffles for Remus on the passenger seat as he strapped in.

The drive was surprisingly short to Remus'; less than ten minutes. He triple checked the address when he pulled up to a three story Victorian house, three doors lined up at the top of a set of marble steps.

He took a breath or two, staring down at the boxes of truffles in his hands and reassessing his situation. You're standing in front of Remus' house like a massive dork because you felt bad for getting annoyed at him on the phone. You decided completely on a whim to bring him some chocolate - of all things, but at least he's the one who specifically asked for it - and show up to his house???? his house. Yeah, this totally isn't weird at all.

Virgil took the steps two at a time, ringing the doorbell at the door farthest to the right. He heard the chime from inside, followed shortly by a shrill screech. A few moments later, there was stomping sounds, and Remus came into view through the window on the door, trampling down the stairs like an eight year old rushing to an ice cream truck. He made it to the door, unlocking it and flinging it open.

"VIRGIE!" Remus yelped, looking ready to bear hug Virgil, but was quickly distracted into marveling over the boxes of truffles Virgil was clinging to his chest. "You bought two!? Gods, this is better than Christmas! Get in here," Remus stepped behind the door, allowing Virgil to step inside.

"Did you... screech, a minute ago?" Virgil asked, looking around. He and Remus were standing in what served as a tiny, tiny foyer, a small rectangle of flooring that gave direct way to a rather large flight of wooden stairs. Virgil could see a shoe cubby and coat rack at the top of the steps, and started stepping up them cautiously as Remus closed the door behind him.

"Yeah. People usually can't hear if I say words, like 'COMING!', so I just kinda... scream. It works!" Remus was tromping up the steps a few stairs below him, and Virgil quickened his pace.

"Got it..."

Virgil slipped his shoes off at the top, stuffing them in the cubby. "See? Shoes," he gestured to the shoes now fit snug in one of the cubbies. Remus smiled a bit too wide, nodding his head harshly. "I also don't have that hoodie on today," Virgil spread his arms, displaying his usual patchwork hoodie.

"I'm mainly glad your hair is still purple. It looks h- I mean, I like it." Remus coughed slightly to himself before stepping around Virgil, starting to sock-slide down the hardwood floor hall. "Kitchen's through here! The milk should be ready!"

Virgil laughed to himself, stepping into the hall to follow Remus' trail. He came upon a slightly ajar door, and seeing a glimpse of a stovetop, he slid into the room.

"I also made some whipped cream!" Remus gestured behind himself at a bowl of whipped cream on the counter as he stirred at a simmering pot of milk.

"What's... what's it for?" Virgil asked slowly, feeling like he missed something entirely.

"Oh! Right," Remus seemed to realize he hadn't filled Virgil in. "The truffles are so frickin good by themselves, but I discovered - sort of by accident, don't worry about it - that they make the best hot chocolate. And I... well, I figured we could have some!" Remus spun around at the last part, saucer of milk in hand and smiling a bit maniacally at Virgil. He stepped over to the counter where there were two mugs beside the bowl of whipped cream. "Bring them things on over here. This show can't go on without the starring role."

Virgil shuffled over to Remus, setting the truffles down beside the whipped cream bowls. He felt the need to speak, but couldn't think of any suitable words.

"one or two? I usually do two, I like mine real rich," Remus said, tearing open one of the boxes of truffles.

"Two," Virgil coughed. Remus smiled brightly at him again.

Virgil observed Remus' process. He plopped two truffles into the bottom of each mug - in the process, popping one into his mouth and offering another to Virgil, who accepted - before pouring the steaming milk over them, nearly to the brim of both mugs. Virgil hadn't expected the truffles to float, but there were two bobbing brown balls rolling around on the surface of the steaming milk in each mug. Remus retrieved a small spoon, stirring gingerly as the truffles rapidly shrunk and dissipated into the darkening milk.

"Will you grab the chocolate syrup? It's in the door of the fridge," Remus commented, beginning to spoon whipped cream onto the surface of the hot chocolate. "Oh, and- nevermind, I got it." Remus reached into a drawer beside him, pulling out a small cheese grater.

Virgil returned with the chocolate syrup, setting it beside Remus' arm.

"Check this out," Remus said, pulling another truffle from the box. He started grating it over the whipped cream dollops, and it gently snowed chocolate shavings. "Isn't it pretty?" Remus glanced at Virgil as he switched mugs.

"Yeah," Virgil breathed, watching the little flakes fall and settle on the surface of the whipped cream.

Virgil felt himself becoming infinitely more relaxed and less anxious the longer he basked in Remus' presence. It had always been this way with him, although maybe it was slightly amplified now that they were alone. He leaned himself on Remus, chin on his shoulder. Remus didn't react, other than softening his movements significantly, as though he were afraid he'd scare Virgil away.

"Yes, yes, yes! Man, this is the good stuff!" Remus exclaimed as he squirted a trail of chocolate syrup over the flakey rain on the whipped cream mountains. Virgil chuckled, reaching for the mug nearest him. "Hey! Not yet!" Remus batted his hand away lightly.

"What else could you possibly want on hot chocolate? Come on, it's getting cold," Virgil whined. Remus only smirked.

"Pantry, top shelf, you'll know it when you see it," He spoke, glancing at the cupboard door a few paces away. Virgil stepped toward the pantry cautiously, opening the door slowly. There, presented proudly on the top shelf, was a bag of mini marshmallows.

"Oh fuck yeah," Virgil reached up, realizing he was far too short to reach the bag. "Uh, one sec," he said, stepping entirely into the pantry, reaching up with all his might. Even stretching as far as he could, he barely reached the base of the top shelf. Remus chuckled from over by the mugs.

"Here, let me help." Remus came up behind him, making to reach over Virgil's head just as Virgil tried to step out of the pantry and out of Remus' way. Virgil essentially walked right into Remus' chest, face to face with his stubbled Adam's apple as he reached for the mallows easily.

Virgil was frozen in place, feeling his face grow hot. Remus looked down at him, suddenly realizing their physical predicament.

"Shit! Sorry!" Remus stepped back, mallows in hand, giving Virgil more than enough room to step out.

"s'fine, don't worry," Virgil mumbled, cheeks red and staring wide-eyed at the floor. Remus laughed a bit nervously, stepping back over to the mugs and beckoning for Virgil to follow.

Once their mugs were properly marshmallow'd (although not s'more'd; neither wanted to go full Ned Flanders on this rainy Saturday afternoon) Remus led Virgil out of the kitchen and further down the hall, to the door at the end which opened up into Remus' bedroom.

Virgil didn't know what he was expecting Remus' personal living space to look like, but whatever it was it wasn't this. There was a very cozy-looking bed that took up most of the floorspace, and a very soft patterned rug at the foot. Against the far wall, beside a wide windowsill, sat an equally cozy-looking loveseat. There were blankets and pillows absolutely everywhere, crowding the loveseat, covering the bed and turning the windowsill into a cozy sitting nook. There was no other furniture, aside from a rustic-looking wooden bedside table that matched a small, overstuffed bookshelf. The walls were entirely covered from floor to ceiling with posters, art pieces, the like; but more than anything, sketches. Scores upon scores of sketches covered every wall, pinned up with colorful tacks and a certain few of them connected to others with small segments of colored string. As well, strung up on some of the hardier tacks were a few strings of fairy lights. Those, plus the salt lamp set on the bedside table made for some extremely lovely mood lighting.

"Woah," was all Virgil could say as he looked around in wonder.

"This is where the magic happens," Remus shoulder shimmied, sidling around Virgil to sit cross-legged on his bed, beginning to nurse his cocoa as he set down the boxes of truffles. Apparently they were far too precious to keep in the kitchen, where Remus' brother could very well steal them.

"Yeah..." Virgil stepped up to a particularly large sketch, one whose tack was connected with string to several others. Something occurred to him. "Are these..." He gestured vaguely at the walls, "are these all yours?"

"All the sketches, yeah," Remus breathed, hiding behind his mug as he took a large sip. He watched Virgil over the brim as the man stared in complete awe.

"That's..." Virgil couldn't think of the right words, and so drew a large sip of his own cocoa. Remus was right, the truffles made for an incredible hot chocolate. He sighed slightly, smiling to himself.

Remus finished his cocoa, tilting his head back to slurp at the residue and remaining whipped cream as he leaned back on his bed slightly. Virgil smirked behind his own mug, licking at his whipped cream.

Remus set his mug beside the salt lamp on his bedside table, beckoning for Virgil to sit with him on the bed. Virgil did, cross-legged an leaning against a pillow that was propped against the wall. He glanced to the windowsill nook.

"You got something of a view," He murmured, craning his neck slightly to see out the window. Remus giggled.

"Yeah! That's where I saw mx. no-shoes earlier." He smiled at Virgil giddily.

"Oh, I see." Virgil smiled back. "Well, I'm here now, purple hair and truffles in the complete package," he spread his arms slightly, and Remus' smile turned into a full grin. He retrieved a truffle from the open box and popped it into his mouth, then throwing a second one at Virgil. It hit him in the chest, and he picked it up, starting to gnaw at it. "You were right, these are super fricking good," Virgil mentioned, taking another large gulp of his cocoa.

"I know right!? Where have you been all my life, beloved truffles," he picked up the unopened box and held it high in one hand, beginning to serenade it. Virgil laughed at him, slapping him on the arm.

"You're a massive dork."

Remus' eyes glinted. "Well I-" He stopped short, the glint disappearing as soon as it returned. Virgil watched his face. No, no dick jokes right now. He gulped and cleared his throat, retracting his arm and pulling out another two truffles from the other box. He held one of them out to Virgil on the palm of his hand. Virgil took it carefully, holding it between his fingers as he took the final sip of his own cocoa.

"Here," Remus reached his empty hand out to take Virgil's mug, setting it beside his own behind them on the bedside table. Remus resumed chewing his truffle, watching the comforter shift with his weight as he leaned back and forth slightly.

"Can I?" Virgil pointed to a few more sketches over the head of the bed. Remus nodded. Virgil got up onto his knees, nearly pressing his chest into the wall as he looked at the many sketches.

Remus got up onto his knees too, sort of knee-waddling over to Virgil's side. Virgil's eyes continued scanning the sketches before they fell onto a particularly familiar looking one. His breath caught in his chest. He reached up to it, tracing the familiar purple plaid of his very own patchwork hoodie. Remus cleared his throat from beside him.

They both spoke at the same time.

"Um, you should probably know that-"

"Remus, I wanted to tell you-"

Virgil turned to look at Remus then, and belatedly realized just how close together they were. Remus' lips were pursed, and Virgil could see that he was chewing at the inside corner of his mouth.

Virgil drew in a breath to speak as Remus moved slightly closer. Pursing his lips shut, he changed his mind, deciding to take a risk.

He surged forward suddenly, shutting his eyes. Remus met him in the middle, and just like that, they were kissing.

It was soft and still at first, lips pressed firmly into each other's. Remus reached one hand up, gently cupping Virgil's cheek.

Virgil pulled back suddenly, but Remus' hand didn't leave his cheek. "I-I'm sorry, I really should've- asked- I meant to say things, i mean, before-" He stopped as Remus set his other hand on Virgil's waist. His face looked incredibly soft and gentle, lips parted slightly as he looked at Virgil like he'd hung the moon.

Virgil intertwined his fingers on the back of Remus' neck, and Remus pulled Virgil back into the kiss.

...

two days later, Virgil was up late again, unable to push himself into unconsciousness. His body was restless even if his mind was exhausted - or perhaps it was the other way around, his mind restless and his body exhausted? He really couldn't tell.

It was nearing 3am, and he was sitting curled in on himself, hugging his knees as he watched the stars out his window. His phone, face-down on the bed beside him, began buzzing.

He tilted his head, sighing as he fought an oncoming wave of exhaustion. He picked up the phone, flipping it to see the caller ID, although part of him hoped knew who it would be.

He pressed the answer button, bringing the phone to his ear.

"Hey, Remus."

He heard Remus gasp on the other end of the line, before murmuring a small "hi."

"I... are you not sleeping good tonight?" Remus' curious and confounded expression was almost palpable through the phone. Virgil smiled lazily, recognizing Remus' demeanor immediately.

"No, I'm not, but that's okay. The stars are pretty tonight." Virgil paused, scratching at his chin a bit. "Are you stoned again?"

A long pause. "Yeah," Remus blurted. "Sorry I... I nodded, but then, I realized... you can't see me."

Virgil smiled to himself again. "It's okay."

A long, comfortable silence followed. Virgil was too tired to feel the obligatory need to make conversation, especially with Remus. He'd be a fool to expect any awkwardness after a make out session with the spontaneous blob that is Remus, but he'd still been nervous to see or speak with him again. That all melted away now though, exhaustion and vague contentment taking its place.

"Virgie - uh, Virgil?" Remus piped up after a while, rousing Virgil from his trance.

"Yeah?"

"Do you, remember..." Remus trailed off, and didn't speak for long enough that Virgil almost responded to prompt him. "Did you come to my house, and also, kiss me, or was that a dream?" Even through his stoned lilt, Remus spoke a bit quickly, like he was trying to shove the words out of his mouth before he could change his mind.

Virgil chuckled. "That wasn't a dream, Remus. Yes, I remember." I don't think I could forget it if i wanted to tried.

"Oh." Virgil could hear the smile in Remus' voice. "Can we- I mean, do you want to, uh, do it again? Some time?" he didn't sound hesitant, no; just hopeful, and perhaps as though he felt like he needed to be excessively gentle. It was the sweetest tone Virgil had ever heard.

"I'd like that," Virgil smiled.

Remus sigh-laughed on the other end of the line, and Virgil's smile grew. "Cool," Remus said almost under his breath.

Virgil didn't do it consciously, but a big, loud yawn decided to worm its way out of him at that moment.

"Are you sleepy Virgie?" Remus asked in a strange partial baby voice. Virgil snorted at him.

"I'm literally always tired, so if the answer was no, that would be more concerning," Virgil quipped, but his voice sounded spent. Remus giggled a little.

"Can I hum to you?" Remus asked, smile still discernable in his tone. Virgil felt something warm spark in his chest, like a lighter being flicked and lit.

"I'd like that a lot, too," Virgil murmured, curling up beneath his covers as Remus started to hum.

He was out like a light in less than 5 minutes.

And if Remus stayed on the line for another half hour or so, humming to him and listening to his even breaths, who was to know?

...

Virgil felt like an idiot.

That wasn't an entirely rare feeling to him, but this particular time was different.

Despite his general edginess and rebel-against-society vibe, Virgil had never touched a drop of alcohol or gone near any intoxicating substance in his life. Until today.

He'd been Remus' boyfriend for almost three months now, and it was everything he could have hoped; haphazard night trips to convenience stores that ended in oddly romantic motorcycle rides, the odd gestures Remus's... eccentric mind came up with, and Virgil was in dire need of more hoodies he could let Remus steal. All this, but Virgil was still Virgil. He still had his anxiety disorder, he still dealt with insomnia. Though, sleeping in Remus' arms was proving an impressively effective remedy to the latter.

So, when Remus suggested Virgil look into the medical benefits of marijuana in regards to both anxiety and insomnia, Virgil was... intrigued, to say the least.

He did find a lot of supporting evidence through his research, and... well, he thought, what the hell, right? If Remus smokes it pretty much every day, and if this many articles are claiming its reliability... what harm would it do to try?

So here he was, sitting on his couch, having taken a couple of edibles, waiting for the high to hit him. His hand ghosted over his jean pocket, assuring himself that his phone was there in case he needed to call 911 or something. He was trying to do breathing exercises to maintain some sort of calm, but sitting still wasn't his strong suit.

He'd chosen edibles since he didn't want to have to deal with the whole... smoke and coughing side of things. And he really didn't like the sound of vaping. He figured this would be fine as an introductory experience, but he realized that he had no clue when the edibles would kick in.

He pulled out his phone, typing into google.

Marijuana edibles generally take 30 minutes to an hour to induce any psychological effects on the consumer.

Oh.

Well, he figured, there was no way he could sit still for that long.

He stood, deciding he'd make himself some dinner. Something to busy his hands with, and the leftovers he'd planned on heating up would last another day or two anyways.

He settled on some fettuccine alfredo, fairly simple but one of his childhood favorites. He had a feeling he'd appreciate the comfort food while he was... in an altered state of mind.

Virgil, however, hadn't accounted for the fact that he had an almost unnaturally high metabolism, and before he'd even gotten the pasta in the boiling water, things started to get a little funky.

The first thing Virgil noticed, before he'd even registered that the edibles were kicking in, was how he could hear his thoughts. Not literally, but it felt as though his stream-of-consciousness thoughts were more slow and clear to him, as though he was speaking directly to himself.

As he thought this, his vision suddenly came into alarming focus, and felt oddly like an unstable skyscraper. He stared down at his feet, and they seemed so far away, the floor looked far too far away... He gripped the counter nearest to him, trying to steady himself even if he wasn't actually falling. He didn't feel like he had any control over his center of balance, and even if he was mostly stock-still as a pencil, he thought he might fall down at any moment, down the many stories of building beneath him. But there was no stories beneath him... it was only his legs, which he didn't remember being so long. He stared a little harder at his feet. They weren't abnormally far away, were they?

Virgil vaguely registered the sound of over-boiling water as the realization hit him.

Oh. So this is what it's like.

He turned so that his lower back was stable against the counter, sliding slowly down onto his butt. Standing didn't feel safe right now, even if that made no sense.

He didn't really like this. He felt so isolated, so alone in this moment. He was too out of it to focus hard enough on those thoughts for them to really take root, but he was generally aware of them. So, he did the first thing he could think to do.

He pulled his phone very slowly and carefully out of his pocket, as if he thought it was a brittle sugar cookie. He stared at the dark screen for a solid minute, wondering why it wasn't turning on. Then he realized he had to actually touch the screen for that to happen, and so he did.

From there, it was relatively easy; he unlocked his phone, found the calling app, scrolled around a little haphazardly up and down the contact list before finding Remus' contact.

If anyone could help him feel less alone, if anyone knew what he was experiencing... it would be him.

He took a deep breath and held it as he pressed the call button, bringing the phone to his face as it rang.

It only rang twice before Remus answered. "Hello, Jack Skellington! What can I do for you this evening?" Remus' voice sounded a little extra mischievous, and Virgil couldn't even begin to place why.

He was quiet for a little too long, vaguely trying to decide what to say. "Hi." Not the most eloquent, but it worked for a start.

"Hi," Remus replied, the troublemaking lilt of his voice dissipating slightly. "Is everything okay, Surly Temple?"

Virgil giggled a bit. Your brother is funny. You keep stealing his nicknames for me. "I'm, yeah. Sorry, talking. it's hard. Right now." Virgil spoke haltingly, each word firm but isolated from the last.

"Hmmm..." Remus stroked his mustache from the other end of the line. Virgil giggled again, realizing he couldn't actually see Remus stroking his mustache, but could imagine it vividly all the same. There was no doubt in his mind that he was doing exactly that.

"Oh, 'm high," Virgil added quite belatedly.

"Oh! Well that makes a lot more sense!" Remus laughed, but quickly composed himself again. "What are you doing? Are you feeling okay? Is this your first time? What's happening?"

"Skyscraper," Virgil replied matter-of-factly, as if that cleared the air entirely.

"...right..." Remus replied slowly. "Stormcloud, is it okay if I come over? I don't... I want you to be- uh, to feel safe right now."

"Yes, please," Virgil clung to the phone like it was Remus' arm. "I miss you I'm kinda scared," his words slurred together, but at least he managed to say something slightly coherent. Remus grunted in acknowledgement.

"Okay. I'll be there in ten. Want me to stay on the line?" Virgil could hear shuffling around in the background.

"What're you doin?" He asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at the refrigerator door, since he couldn't actually look at Remus.

"Putting on my shoes, silly! What room are you in right now?" Remus replied, a sense of protectiveness twinged in his voice.

"Kitchen. floor." Virgil swirled his fingers on the wooden floor.

"Okay. Do you want me to stay- oh, fuck it. I'm staying on the line till I get there, okay Virgie?" Virgil heard the sound of a door slamming, followed by vague trafficky noises.

"You're coming," Virgil spoke, registering it in his mind finally.

"Yeah, I'm coming," Remus repeated, and the sound of Remus' car starting sounded shortly after.

Virgil smiled at nothing. "I love you."

The words were a bit slurred together, but he heard them out of his own mouth loud and clear. He almost clapped a hand over his mouth, a little horrified that he'd just said that.

Sure, he'd known he loved Remus for a while now, but they hadn't said it before. He'd almost said it, once, earlier that week while he was laying in Remus' arms on a drowsy Sunday morning, watching the lines of his face shift and harden as he slowly woke up. But he didn't. And now he'd just gone and said it, while he was stoned out of his mind for the first time, sitting on his kitchen floor about to break into tears-

Remus' voice, a little bit strained, interrupted Virgil's thoughts.

"I love you too."

A pause. "I'm almost there, okay? Everything's gonna be fine."

Virgil snuggled down further into his hoodie.

"I know, cus you'll be here."

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #remus sanders #dukexiety #sanders sides fanfiction #ts virgil #ts remus #human au #5 + 1 fic #5 + 1 things #songfic

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queen-of-fanfics · 4 years

Text

Dance With Me

Prompt: You’re an intern to the BAU where you stay late to help Hotch on some paperwork and feelings start to develop.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

A/N: Hey y’all! I’ve been binge watching Criminal Minds like my life depends on it! My favorite is Hotch right now because .... daddy. Lol, if you want to see other pairings or any requests, just let me know, but in the meantime, I hope you like this! I wrote it was 1am in one sitting ..... good luck. I know I didn’t write a lot of dialogue but if y’all wanna see more of that, let me knooooow

It was already hours past midnight, most of everyone had already gone home for the day. You were Penelope’s intern for the time being. You’ve been on the team for a few months now, working alongside Penelope in hopes of one day joining the team permanently. After working with the team for a few weeks, you started to notice that Aaron Hotchner tends to spend some late nights in his office working on cases or paperwork. And those were the days he got out early, there were times when you came into the office early and saw he had spent the night in his office.

After you realized that he spent nights cooped up in his office while the rest of the team was able to go home and rest, you started staying late with him as well. First, you would occasionally poke your head through his door and ask if he needed any help. Grabbing him some fresh coffee or maybe some snacks if he started to get hungry and then go back to your desk out in the pen. Then he started asking you to help him on some paperwork and even look over some cases with a pair of fresh eyes. It somehow morphed into nights where you stayed in his office with him just to keep him company so he wasn’t working alone.

Those nights, he made sure there was a babysitter at home with Jack. Though your late nights together weren’t as frequent, they were often enough for you to keep your schedule open. At first, it was just to win some brownie points but then you started to really enjoy his company. More times that you were willing to admit, Hotch would catch you glancing at him. At times …. even staring at him, though you would never say you were. You thought you were being subtle! But there was no hiding it once your cheeks started to get warm. He was nice enough to never call you out on it but you always caught him smiling down at his paperwork after.

Lately, you two have been spending more time talking and laughing with each other than getting any work done. There was always some sort of take out for a late dinner and seeing him smile gave you butterflies in your stomach. During the day, it was rare to even see him smirk. Seeing this new side of him was like a complete switch and now you live to see him smile at you.

Maybe it was the exhaustion and deliriousness talking, but you could have sworn that there was some tension happening between you two. You were too shy to ask or do anything about it. Maybe you were going insane because he’s your boss! He’s professional. He’s just being nice, that’s what it has to be! You’ll just have to keep telling yourself that before you do something stupid and get fired.

Penelope had left for the night and you were just tidying your things from her cave of technology before you went to check on Hotch. You were hoping for another late night with him because you were starting to look forward to spending time with him but you didn’t let yourself get your hopes up on it. There was music playing softly through the speakers in the room as you out papers away into your briefcase. It was a mellow romantic song that made you want to dance. You started to sway around the room, twirling and gliding across the room while you grabbed more of your things. You were wearing a soft light blue dress that fell right above your knees. It flared out at your hips so when you twirled, it spun around your body making you want to dance more. You were so lost in your movements and packing up that you didn’t notice Hotch walk into the room.

You turned around to grab the remote that was on a table by the door and let out a little scream when you saw Hotch standing there with a smirk on his face. His smirk turned into a smile as he was leaning against the wall watching you. You quickly straightened and you could feel your face get hot, “What are you doing here?! You can’t just sneak up on me, you nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Well, I believe I work here?” His smile only grew wider when he saw irritation on your face.

“I bring a peace offering, how about that. Do forgive me, I’ll make sure to stomp in the future so you can hear me coming.” He lifts up a white bag with take out boxes inside.

“That depends …. What’s in the bag?”

“Chinese. From that place you like down the street. That is if you don’t already have plans.”

“You know my ass will be sitting right there in your office shooting spitballs at you. I’m getting better at my aim I think.”

“Unfortunately so.” He chuckled at you as he pushed up from the wall. “Aren’t you on the clock? You know dancing does not make us look very professional to the murders we hunt.” He teased you.

Your cheeks grew a little warm at the reminder of what he saw. Though you were always a tough nut to crack and never backed down from a challenge, which worked against your shy nature but you couldn’t help it. Straightening your back, you lifted your chin and narrowed your eyes at Hotch.

“Oh really mister poopy pants. You don’t know how to have a little fun. You’re just jealous anyways cause you know you would lose to a dance battle with me. Just you watch, any unsub would fall to their knees when they see me dance!” You gave him a look and started to sway again with a smirk on your face. If you died, it would be from embarrassment but there was no stopping now. You closed your eyes and started to get into it more.

Letting out a little chuckle, you turned around to grab your bag and head out with Hotch but you barely took a few steps towards your things before you felt an arm go around your waist and spin you around. You let out a small gasp as he fell into his chest. Your eyes widened like saucers and they shot up to look at him. He was looking down at you with a look you haven’t really seen from him before. His eyes were hooded, any trace of humor left his face but he was staring at you so intently. You couldn’t look at him for long because you felt like your heart was going to beat out of its chest and your brain went completely blank. You looked down at his chest and you felt him lean down until his lips rested right at the top of your head.

You both stood still like that for a while. Your hands were resting on his chest while his arms were wrapped around you in a tight embrace. One of his hands slowly slid up to grab onto one of yours that was resting on him. Your eyes were glued onto the sight before you, how perfect your hand looked in his. You couldn’t count the amount of times you dreamed of something like this. Lately, all that occupied your dreams was him.

“Dance with me.” He whispered into your ear. Slowly leaning your head to rest on his chest, you two held each other in a soft embrace as he slowly started to sway you side to side. Your eyes slid closed and you just breathed him in. Soft music continued to play around you, it felt like something of a movie. It had to be another dream, it had to, so you were just going to enjoy every second of this before your alarm clock woke you up.

He felt warm. It felt like home being in his arms. Everything just felt …. right. You could have been out in the middle of a jungle but you knew, if you were in his arms, you had nothing to worry about. You didn’t want to leave this dream. You were almost too afraid to open your eyes. You didn’t want this moment to end, not yet.

His hand lifted from yours and you blinked over your eyes hazily. You felt his fingers right under your chin, urging you to look up at him. You did as he wanted and looked up at his hard expression.

“What’s wrong?” You whispered. Your eyes grew wide as reality set in and you gasped. You quickly tried to take a step back and out of his arms, “Oh! I’m so sorry, please don’t think I’m just trying to sleep my way-”

Your words were cut off as he quickly pulled you back into him, “Tell me to stop. Tell me you don’t want this. You don’t want me. I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything because I’m your leader-”

Thinking to yourself that it was do or die, you leaned up on your toes and pressed your lips into his and cutting him off before he could back out and away from you. Your hands reached up to cup his face as you pulled him down deeper into you. His arms tightened around you and pulled you flush against his body. You felt the world tip over, your head was spinning but you couldn’t find it in yourself to let him go.

Finally you both pulled away to get some air. He rested his forehead on yours as you both shared a look. He smiled down at you in a boyish smile that made your insides melt. Feeling your face go hot again, you shoved your face into his neck and wrapped your arms around him. He let out a deep, genuine laugh as he hugged you tight and kissed you head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Unknowingly to you, Penelope had security cameras installed in her room, ever since she got hacked not too long ago, she wasn’t taking any chances. When Hotch had first entered the room earlier, an alert had gone off on her phone. Penelope was having dinner with the rest of the team, they had already suspected something going on between you two and knew that it was probably best to let you two have your night alone.

When Penelope opened up the cameras to see on her phone, her eyes widened. “GUYS! It’s happening! Come look!” She yelled out to the rest of the team. Everyone quickly ran over to her to see what was going on. Everyone huddled close with some shocked and some knowing smiles on their faces as they saw you two kiss.

Penelope’s mouth was hanging open as she turned off her phone once you two left the room to go back to Hotch’s office.

“Well I would say it was about time.” Morgan said with a cheeky smile.

“I knew it was going to happen just … I can’t believe that.” Penelope said, still surprised.

“Atta boy.” Rossi said smiling back at Morgan.

“I would say, they keep staring at each other like kids at school. How long has it been huh?” Emily said.

“Approximately 6 days after Y/N started so I would say 3 months, 19 days-”

“Too long. I was sure I would grow old before either one of them did anything.” JJ cut Reid off but still gave him a smile.

“Never a dull moment with the BAU.” Rossi said as the team gathered together and went home for the evening.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #arron hotchner #hotch x reader #hotch #agent hotchner #hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #criminals minds x reader #bau

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sadaboutniall · 4 years

Photo

Without Fear

masterlist | tag | wattpad

hiya! since tomorrow is thanksgiving I thought it would be better for everyone if I posted this week’s chapter today! hope you like!

Chapter Two. February

give me moonlight, and a smile from you that I can // that I can barely believe — dancing under red skies, dermot kennedy

It comes on slow, the way waves lap up against the shore late at night, when there aren’t many boats out to disrupt them. Over and over, bit by bit, it settles in. The first wave of it bites at Lu’s ankles when her toilet overflows at 6am, leaving her standing in her socks in the bathroom, soaking wet, worrying about the water leaking into the shop below, while Ruairí meows in concern from his spot atop the sink. Frantic, Lu calls her dad, and it goes to voicemail twice before she remembers it’s 1am in New York.

Accompanied only by a YouTube tutorial and the rising sun, Lu manages to fix the mess, shower, and start the day all on her own. Her dad calls back five hours later, and Lu feels like she’s lived a whole lifetime between then and now.

The second wave of it has more venom. She sleeps in on a Sunday—the only day the shop is closed—stirring around 10 because Ruairí is relentless, screeching in her ear, kneading at her belly, desperate for something to eat. Mindless, she feeds him, freshens up his water, makes herself a cup of coffee, pulls out a pastry leftover from Siobhan’s bake the day before, and settles into a spot by the window of her flat, overlooking the sea, all before thinking to take a look at her phone.

Even if she goes 12 hours without looking at her phone, Lu finds she doesn’t miss much these days—she left home on a whim, without a ton of fanfare, and knows full well that she isn’t putting in the effort she should to keep in touch with friends from home. She also knows that’s why she left.

So, most mornings, she wakes up to a few messages in the family group chat, a message or two from her best friend Georgia, and not much else. This morning, it’s different.

208 texts. 12 missed calls.

Lu’s stomach sinks like a stone. Her whole body heats up at once. Her hands start shaking and her heart starts hammering, all before she even manages to swipe open a single notification.

She doesn’t even have the wherewithal to cycle through possibilities. Her brain, hitting overdrive from the start, has no question that it’s bad.

In WhatsApp, Lu finds that her family group chat has 206 messages. She has one separate text from her dad, and a final separate text from her brother. Nothing from her mom.

Shaking, she swipes open her dad’s first. On the counter, Ruairí is sniffing at a banana.

Hi, love, his message says. Figured the number of messages in the group chat is overwhelming. We’re at the hospital with Sam now. All is well, the appendix is out and he’s resting. Mary’s with us, she got back from Honduras yesterday. Good timing. Give us a call when you get a chance.

From her brother, Lu finds a selfie. He’s in a hospital bed, gown around his shoulders. He looks pale, dark circles around his eyes, but he’s okay—he’s smiling, giving the camera a thumbs up. Underneath, the message says I lived, bitch.

Relief coursing through her, Lu lets out a shaky laugh. It’s scarily on-brand for Sam to pull out a meme at a moment like this.

Slowly but surely, Lu’s heartbeat slows to its normal rate. As it does, she scrolls back through the messages from the night before: her brother raising the alarm that he had a pesky pain in his side, their mother, a doctor herself, urging him to get it checked out. There’s a moment where Sam says the doctor is sending him home, and another where their mom urges him to demand an ultrasound, just in case. He does, and they find the appendicitis. Lu shudders to think what would’ve happened had her mother been the one sleeping soundlessly an ocean away.

It’s five am in New York. Lu figures they’re all shattered. Rather than call and risk waking everyone up after what was surely a late, long night, Lu shoots off a text to her dad, asking him to call her when they wake up and sending lots of love. She turns her ringer up all the way so she won’t miss anything else. She feels a million miles away.

####

On February first, Lu wakes up in a cold sweat. It’s still dark outside, but that doesn’t mean much in a place where the sun doesn’t rise until nearly 9am. Still, Lu doesn’t even need to look at a clock to know it must be early: perched on the pillow next to her head, Ruairí is snoring gently, dead to the world, not yet ready to demand breakfast.

Heart hammering, Lu gropes around the bed until her hand closes around her phone, cold. She squints, then sighs, as she checks the time.

4:45am.

Lu is no stranger to waking up mid-panic attack. Sometimes, it feels like choking—like she can’t get a breath down deep enough, to pool in the bottom of her lungs. Other times, it feels like an unavoidable urge to get up, move, get as far away from the space she woke up in as physically possible. Right now, it feels like a stomach ache, period pains, itchy skin, her body trying to tell her that something, somewhere, is going terribly wrong.

Logically, she knows it’s not. She holds her breath, five, four, three, two, one, and checks her phone as her heart jackrabbits away. Nothing out of the ordinary: her mom texted a picture of her glass of wine with dinner to the family group chat, her dad reported the score of a soccer game, her brother sent that he’d managed to run a full two miles today, his furthest since the appendectomy. Everything is fine.

Except for Lu.

There’s no use trying to go back to sleep; Lu knows herself better than that. Heart still working overtime despite reassurance, she slips out of bed as gently as she can, praying that she won’t wake Ruairí. She’s silent as she gets dressed and silent as she tiptoes out of her bedroom, out of the apartment, and down the stairs. The morning is still and dark, but you can hear for miles and miles on Inis Mór, and as she begins her walk the soft, familiar sounds of tractors roaring to life, cows mooing for their breakfast, sheep and goats bleating, remind Lu that she’s not the only one—that others are here too, alive, beginning their day, pushing on. Home. And underneath it all, there is, always, the sound of the waves, constant, crashing against the shore.

####

Lu doesn’t get a chance to nap. She walks, balancing on the edge of the cliffs that overlook the Atlantic, breathing in the sea air and thinking about how the water here, crashing, violent against the cliffs below her is the same water that once lapped up on the shores of Long Island, of Coney Island, of the Rockaways, of home. Seagulls swoop, low and graceful, over her head, over the ocean, and Lu thinks that if she asked her dad to drop a floatie into the Atlantic for her it just might make it—just might wash up here, on the edge of the Earth, the way she has.

She walks and walks—you can walk all the way around Inis Mór and back in under five hours, but she doesn’t have that kind of time. She walks along the cliffs, the white, blinding, otherworldly geology of the Burren, through the grass and the mud and the cow shit, until she’s back at the cafe, windows glowing golden against the rising sun, condensation clinging to them from the inside. Siobhan is pulling pastries out of the oven when she opens the door around 6:30, and Ruairí, curled up on the counter, looks at her, bitter.

Siobhan smiles, “There you are. No worries, pet, I’ve fed him his breakfast.”

She wobbles through the day, exhausted from the panic, the walk, the lack of sleep. She messes up at least two orders—gives Mrs. Duffy whole milk instead of skim, drops Mr. Kennedy’s sandwich on the floor while she’s bringing it over to him—but, as always, no one bats an eye. They touch her arm gently, lull “oh, it’s no bother, darling, we’ll make it right, now,” and the cadence of their laughter carries as she does exactly that. There’s no venom, no rush, nothing to give Lu the adrenaline she so badly needs to make it through the day.

Somehow, she almost forgets that it’s Niall’s first day. But all of a sudden it’s twelve hours later and he’s bustling inside, bringing a rush of cold air with him. The door swings shut behind him and Lu, who had been curled up at the cushioned window seat with Ruairí on top of her in a moment of quiet, jumps. The cat’s only just forgiven her for this morning, and her movement causes him to stalk off in anger. She sighs after him.

“Oh, no,” Niall laughs a little, “sorry, did I interrupt something?” He looks soft and sweet in his dark jeans, his hat pulled low over his forehead. He’s shedding his puffer jacket to reveal a navy blue cable knit sweater and his cheeks are flushed from the cold. His eyes, bright and blue as Lu remembers them, find hers. He smiles.

“Yeah,” Lu just about manages. “He just forgave me, you totally ruined it.”

Niall barks out a laugh, head thrown back, shoulders hunching up. “What did you do?”

“Forgot to feed him breakfast this morning,” Lu sighs. “Siobhan did it, but he held it against me anyway.”

“Ah, well,” Niall shrugs. “I’d be mad too, if I were a cat.”

“S’a good thing you’re not, then,” Lu smiles. “I’m not here to feed you.”

Niall’s still giggling. Lu wonders if he ever stops.

“I’m thinking I might make him pupcakes or something as an apology…” Lu is rambling a bit now, but she’s so tired, and Niall’s so cute, and nothing is real here, anyway. “I know they’re for dogs but I can’t imagine they’re bad for cats? I bet he’ll like those—honestly, I bet he’ll just like knowing I slaved over a hot stove for him. It’s like he can tell, you know?”

It wasn’t meant to be that funny, but Niall is fully cackling, crinkles by his eyes on full display, one hand clutching his tummy. “You’re funny,” he says between laughs. “A bit looney, me da would say—hey, Lu, looney, Looney Tunes. It all makes sense.”

“Isn’t ‘looney’ offensive?” The banter with him comes so easily, Lu doesn’t let herself overthink it. “Think we’re supposed to stop using it.”

“Ah, well,” Niall’s pulling his guitar out to tune, now, “You’re in Ireland now, love. All good nicknames are a little offensive.”

####

The night is mostly quiet, a dozen customers at the most, which Lu thinks is probably good for Niall’s nerves. He’s just as stunning as he was the night Lu first met him, pulling out an arsenal of covers ranging from Bruce Springsteen to Post Malone, somehow making them all work for his voice, for the vibe, for everyone, but he’s shaking—she can see it when he pushes his hair off his forehead, or when he drops his pick on the floor between songs, laughing awkwardly as he bends to grab it. Even with the mistakes, the dropped pick, the few stumbles over lyrics, he’s endearing, engaging, all-consuming. Lu’s meant to be working, but she can’t find it in her to look away.

From her spot at the counter, Lu watches how Niall keeps his eyes trained on the window across from him. He doesn’t seem to be looking for anyone or anything, but Lu suspects it’s easier than looking his audience in the eye—despite the fact that she can see for herself just how captivated they are. It shouldn’t take an hour and a half to drink one coffee and eat one slice of chocolate cake, but that’s how long old Mr. Kane spends in the shop anyway, eyes closed, listening to Niall play.

For two full hours, Niall keeps the shop warm and alive. Everyone is so captivated that Lu barely has to work after all; she leans up against the counter instead, cradling the mug of hot chocolate that Siobhan made her before she left for the night, and taking him in. She barely knows him, and yet.

Lu has seen plenty of nervous first-timers performing in front of apathetic crowds—it was practically her job, after all. She’s also seen more than her fair share of world class performers stunning crowds that want to eat them up, keep them on stage forever, bottle their energy and carry it through the rest of their lives. Working in the music industry, even just as an assistant, for five years turned her hard and jaded, made her feel like she’s seen the seedy, rough, rude underbelly of it all—but she’s never seen anyone perform like Niall before. His unadulterated, all consuming love for music is tangible, even from across the room. This is now Niall communicates. This is how he understands the world. This is how he sees life. Half of Lu feels lucky to hear it—the other half feels sick knowing that his talent is wasted here.

It almost makes her sad to have to close up at 9. Niall’s good about it—he’s designed his set to last exactly two hours, finds a climax in the middle with “Dancing in the Dark” and tapers his song choices toward a slow but steady ending, letting everyone know, without having to say it, that it’s time to head home. Lu doesn’t even have to ask him if he knows how to play “Closing Time.”

Mr. Kane is the last to leave, sticking around a little after nine to shake Niall’s hand and tell him he had no idea how talented Maura’s son is. He talks about Maura—Lu assumes she must be Niall’s mom—while Lu slowly, quietly begins putting dishes away. She likes the routine of this already, Niall’s quiet voice, his booming laugh, his warm presence keeping her company while she settles down for the night. It’s something she could get used to. It’s something, the first thing, she thinks she could miss, if she left.

Niall masterfully leads his conversation with Mr. Kane toward goodbyes, shaking his hand again as he shuts the door behind him. Lu looks up from where she was rinsing a cup to watch as Niall watches through the window to make sure Mr. Kane gets in his car. He waits for the car to start before turning around, leaning his back up against the door, dragging a hand through his hair, and letting out a long sigh.

“Alright?” Lu asks, gentle. Niall’s got his eyes closed, his head back, neck exposed to her. It’s thick and littered with freckles, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. In her chest, Lu’s heart does something funny. She presses her thighs together, tight.

Niall opens his eyes halfway, exhaling a little laugh as he meets Lu’s gaze. She hopes he can’t tell—how could he?

“Yeah,” he says then, standing all the way up and shaking his head. “That was mad.”

“It was amazing,” Lu counters. She gently places the mug back into the sink, bracing her hands against the edge. Part of her is afraid of what she’ll do without something between him and her. “They were so into it. No one could look away from you.”

Her cheeks flush, and Niall catches it. The corner of his mouth pulls up in half a smile as he shoves his hands into his pockets. “Ya think so?”

“I know so,” Lu presses her lips together, but it doesn’t do much to prevent her smile. “‘Dancing In The Dark’ was my favorite one; it’s perfect for your voice.”

“Thanks, Looney Tunes,” Niall hums, making his way back over toward her. “Can I help ya clean up? I wash, you dry?”

“Oh,” Lu stills. She’d half forgotten about the dishes still left to clean, the floor to sweep, the leftovers to toss, the counters to wipe down. Her mind stumbles over the best way to go about this: it would be rude to keep him, but, God, she wants his company. She realizes, with a slight swoop in her belly, that she hasn’t felt homesick in two hours. She needs him to stay. “I actually—I have a dishwasher. I just like to rinse everything before I put it in.”

Niall smiles. He comes around the counter to stand next to Lu at the sink, knocking his hip against hers. “Sensible,” he says. It’s quiet. Just for her. “I’ll rinse and put ‘em in. You’ve been stood here all night. What else do you have to do?”

“Uh,” Lu feels like her whole body is vibrating. Her mind turns over itself like an engine that won’t start. “Sweep the floors, wipe down the counters, lock up.”

“Alright,” Niall is so close that Lu can smell his aftershave. Warm, soft, mixed with sweat from his nerves and the smell of his skin. “Let’s do it.”

####

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the-darklings · 5 years

Note

a soulmate au woth santi and v wouldnt end goof though, right? ugh its 1am and j dont

—SHE LIVES IN DAYDREAMS WITH ME;

warning: swearing, slight nsft but mostly suggestive

pairing: that one most of you seem to really like ft baba yaga

wc: 8.8k+ (started out as a warm-up exercise to flex my writing muscles and…well…it’s soulmate!AU…and mayhaps I SNAPPED)

YOU REALLY HAD TO TEMPT ME, HUH??

gif credit (x)

You always figured it would be John.

Even without the soulmate mark. Even if his words were not the ones marking your skin or vice versa.

It should—is—him.

Not—

Not this man with green eyes and a smug smirk that stretches wider and wider as he takes you in.

“Ah, the woman I have heard so much about.”

It’s a gentle, seductive purr and Tarasov—irritated and already scowling because Giovanni sent his son to bargain instead of coming himself—makes a noise at the back of his throat. A rough, annoyed sound that indicates that he’s not in the mood to play. Not today.

But those words. Those soft, elegantly spoken words.

You always imagined that your soulmate would speak them with subtle awe, respect, even adoration.

You’re not wrong.

The elegant imprint curling just beneath your left breast burns and scorches and you can’t breathe.

Your tongue has turned to lead inside your mouth and you are grateful for it.

Tarasov barks an order and the two parties step inside, ready for a long discussion.

You, as is expected of you, stay by Tarasov’s side the entire meeting.

Santino D’Antonio doesn’t look away from you once.

…

You spend the next few days learning everything there is about your—

Soulmate.

The word tastes bitter in your mouth.

No—no, that arrogant Italian is not your—he couldn’t be.

You haven’t spoken a word to him.

Even when after the meeting he made a point of coming over and kissing your hand goodbye with a sliver of that blood boiling smirk. So arrogant, so used to the world around him bending and breaking for him.

The words on your skin had ached at the touch, at the proximity, but your expression had given nothing away. Still, he lingered, for far longer than necessary, and you couldn’t help but fear that maybe he felt it, too. Some sort of allure driven by a deeper instinct that whispers to him that you are—

You are nothing to him. You love John.

That’s all there is to it.

…

Santino D’Antonio proves to be exactly who you expected him to be.

You can’t do as much digging as you would like though.

Camorra is power near unmatched by others.

They are cruel and they are ruthless and they protect their own viciously.

A small part of you can’t help but wonder what that’s like…belonging. Belonging so thoroughly to a faction—a family—that they would do anything for you. Belonging somewhere where you are trusted and can trust in return.

You can’t help but wonder.

D’Antonio—because he is not your soulmate, will never learn who you are to him—is the heir. One of the two. And he lives up to his title.

Arrogant, spoiled, vicious. Self-absorbed and with a loose to no moral code to abide by.

Exactly the type you will never want or care to spend more time around.

(You ignore the part of you that whispers that he is clever, and ambitious, and ruthless, too. All things you do admire. But no—you smother that part of you daily and tell it to disappear entirely).

…

Your second meeting is—for all intents and purposes—a complete accident.

It’s one of the few, rare days when you don’t have to work for Tarasov and there is no job to attend to.

John is out of town, working, and you are left alone. For once.

You tried to work on your newest project but nothing was coming together so instead you had ventured out into the busy New York streets.

You window-shopped more than anything and even though you now have the money to buy all the expensive, pretty things you want, you rarely indulge yourself in the luxury of it. It feels wasteful. When you grew up having nothing—barely anything to even eat—spending 4k on a designer bag seems…silly. Wrong, somehow. You understand why people enjoy it, but can’t help but feel like you’ve been rob of that simple joy.

Life has robbed you of many things though.

Perhaps that’s why you found yourself at the Metropolitan Museum of Art only an hour later.

Even while busy, it’s still an escape from the bustling New York streets.

And it’s full of pretty things you don’t have to feel bad about not wanting to buy.

You study the large, sprawling painting of an ancient battlefield when you feel a presence behind you.

A blade slips into your hand and you turn, pausing sharply when you feel a blade press against your side, over the spot where your kidneys are. A foolish oversight on your part. But your own blade comes to rest against the exact same spot on the person in front of you, and you stare at the woman with a hard expression on your face.

A stalemate.

To people around you, it would look like you’re simply standing close and gazing into each other’s eyes, but your mouth twists.

The woman—with her sharp features and bright blue eyes looks no less surprised or intrigued at the development—and you both regard each other for another tense second before a voice interrupts your standoff.

“Ares, please,” a smooth, accented voice interrupts. “We do not attack guests.”

Ares leans back slightly, and drags the blade slowly, suggestively, over your ribs before dropping her arm. She shoots you a wink, her mouth curling in a sensuous line and you blink.

You like her immediately.

For guts alone, if nothing else.

“Such a pleasure to see you again, cara mia.”

Your attention drops away from the woman in front of you, and comes to rest on your soul—

D’Antonio.

He looks pleased to see you. His hands buried deep in his suit pockets—a rich, dark brown three-piece that fits him to perfection—he stands in the gallery like a king in his throne room.

Your soulmate words tingle.

They dig and drag you closer to him but you remain stubbornly rooted in your spot.

He strolls closer towards you, eyes devouring as he blatantly takes you in, and you work your jaw.

You count five guards, excluding Ares.

Punching him and running for dear life is out then. Pity.

No—instead, you move towards him too. He halts, as if he didn’t expect that, and you meet him halfway.

Did he expect you to cower then? Fear him? You know there is a reason to fear. He is powerful and influential, and he could have you shot right here and now but you know deep in your gut that he won’t.

Stupid, idiotic soulmate bond, that’s not how real life works—

You stop in front of him. Scrutinise him for a long minute. His lips twitch upwards, all arrogance. Like he already knows how this will end. Judging by the look on his face it involves you, him, and his bed.

You almost scoff right in his face.

But you can’t give yourself away. Your jaw remains clamped shut.

You look him up and then down, and then back up again.

Your—nothing, he is nothing to you.

(but a part of you wants to scream at him, whisper to him, and shout at him anything and everything that’s on your mind just to see what words you might have branded him with—)

You can’t.

John. There is only John.

With that chaos roaring through your mind, you dismiss him with a single hum and sidestep him, intent on leaving this damn gallery.

His hand latches onto your forearm, stilling you and you tense.

“Wait.”

His is stare is wild, bewildered, and for a moment you can’t help but wonder if he’s truly that arrogant that the idea of someone not wanting him is shocking to him.

Or if it’s something else, something deeper, something like the feeling inside your gut that coils your insides at the simmering heat of his grip on your arm.

“Join me for dinner.”

He is nothing to you.

You jerk your arm out of his grip and walk away.

He surprises you by not stopping you again.

…

“I met him,” you choke out, your voice a croak. “I met him.”

Winston hums, not even glancing up as you collapse in the seat before him. It feels good to finally vocalise it. Like you’re no longer insane because you’ve acknowledged your reality.

“Am I suppose to read your mind?” he wonders idly. “Or do you expect me to just know what you’re blabbering about?”

“My—soulmate.”

It comes out as half a curse and half a plea.

The older man looks up at you, thoughtful, but you don’t miss the faint glimmer of surprise in his eyes.

You’ve never asked Winston if he has a soulmate too. Whenever the subject comes up, he withdraws, growing more severe and serious. A part of you wonders if he, perhaps, had someone once and lost them. Losing a soulmate is said to be a loss you never recover from. A wound that never quite closes because it’s like losing half of yourself.

Such a rare gift, finding your soulmate. Such a tragedy, losing them.

“Congratulations.”

You ignore the sarcasm in his voice.

“I don’t want him. He’s wrong for me.”

Winston arches an eyebrow, and takes a slow sip of his drink. “Is that so?”

“What’s that suppose to mean?”

The man sighs. “Is that you speaking or your supposed love for Johnathan?”

Your sharp reply dies on the tip of your tongue at that.

Winston only peers at you over his glasses with a knowing little smile. “That’s what I thought.”

…

He doesn’t want you.

John.

He doesn’t want you.

“Maybe if things were different.”

Maybe.

Maybe it’s just better to accept that no one wants you—

(but someone does.)

You cradle the glass in your hand and swat the irritating thought away. Briefly, your hand settles against your words, running just beneath the curve of your breast. Such a possessive place for soulmate words to manifest. Such a statement, such a promise, curling gently around your heart.

Ah, the woman I have heard so much about.

You shouldn’t linger at the bar for much longer.

Your flight to Tokyo is leaving in less than three hours.

But soaking in self-made misery seems preferable right now.

“What is a beautiful woman like yourself doing in such a miserable place, hm?”

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Your head turns and the Italian before you grins, his teeth flashing as he approaches. He pauses before your table and nods his head towards the empty seat.

“May I?”

A part of you considers telling him no, just to see if he would sit down anyway.

Reluctantly, you dip your head, but your cool expression doesn’t ease. He seats himself with refined elegance, his cocky demeanour on full display as he takes you in.

You count six guards dotted around the lounge, but don’t let it show.

He’s favouring light colours today and you watch dully as he fixes his sleeve, his gaze not dropping from you. He looks impeccable despite the hour.

You’ve forgotten. Winston mentioned earlier about having business to attend to with the Italians. Italy has plenty of powerful players though. So you didn’t immediately assume it would be Camorra itself.

I apologise if I offended you the last time we met.

For a moment, you’re so taken aback that you freeze completely.

He signed his words at you.

Does he think you’re mute? Does he believe that’s the reason why you won’t speak with him?

You stare at him blankly.

His expression twitches and he chuckles under his breath, folding his fingers on the pristine tablecloth.

“I confess, cara mia,” he begins pleasantly, observing you like you are something peculiar and truly beautiful to him. “You are rather difficult for me to read. A rarity,” he adds in a murmur, thoughtful.

My dear.

Your throat bobs once, twice.

You’re not in the mood for this. For him.

John—he—

“We…can’t.”

Santino waits for a moment to see if you will speak and his eyes narrow when you don’t, still thoughtful. “Such a mystery,” he notes, but sounds delighted by it. “Perhaps, despite the hour, you would join me for food, cara mia? Drinks?”

And maybe it’s the ache in your chest, or the lingering alcohol in your system, or the soulmate words that burn and tug at you to say yes, yes, I’m here, you found me—

Or maybe it’s the way he watches you. With shameless, naked want and you are so much more than a slab of meat for some arrogant bastard to drool over. More than a subject of desire for some egotistical man who believes that the sun shines out of his ass.

“Call me that again and I’ll slit your throat.”

The words slip out before you can control them. Tumble and trash from deep within you and terror locks your muscles.

Shit, shit—

Santino’s face goes slack with shock, with raw disbelief. His lips part and you stare at him wide-eyed, horrified by your own slip-up.

“You.”

He exhales it from somewhere deep inside his chest and your heart seizes for a second. Your own words are warm—a bond completed, both sets of words spoken and shared at last, and the feeling is so warm, right.

You feel like you’re going to be sick.

Jerking back, you rise from your seat hurriedly, your chair scrapping back and a few people glance over at the commotion.

“You,” he says again; soft, frenzied, his eyes drilling into you. “It’s you.”

It might as well be a prayer.

He might as well be damning you.

You don’t run from him, but it’s a close thing.

…

The knock comes only twenty minutes later.

Longer than you expected.

Staring at the door, you breathe deeply, laboured.

Don’t let him in.

(let him in. let him in. let him in.)

You swallow weakly.

The knock comes again—harder this time, more insistent.

Something tells you that he will not let this go. Will camp outside your damn door all night if that’s what it takes. You saw that look in his eyes when he realised what you were—are—to him.

The amazement, the wonder, the longing, the need—

You’ve never been needed before.

Soulmate bond is not some fairytale love-at-first-sight bullshit. It’s hard work just like any other relationship. But it’s the tug, the rightness and the knowledge that this person—this one person is yours as you are theirs. That they’re supposed to be that final puzzle piece that will help you find your best self.

Your fingers tremble around the handle.

Straightening your spine, you force your expression into neutrality before opening the door.

Santino stills from his restless fidgeting once the door swings open and stares.

And stares.

Like he’s appreciating and cataloguing every inch of you through new eyes. You, reluctantly, find yourself doing the same.

His suit is more crumpled but still fits him far too well. The dip in his round chin, the length of his eyelashes framing those bright green eyes, the curve of his mouth—

His hair is messier. You wonder if he ran his fingers through it as he tried to figure out what to do.

(what would it be like? to run your fingers through those curls, feel him close, to taste him—)

“We…can’t.”

That memory chills you, forces you back into the present.

Santino takes a step forward and your arm flies up, stopping him in his tracks.

“You’re my soulmate,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, as he peers at you. He speaks those words as if they’re supposed to explain everything. For him, maybe, they do. But not for you. “May I come in, cara—”

He falters as if realising his mistake and waits for you to say something.

Your gaze lowers but you step aside, allowing him the space to enter.

No guards.

You wonder if the reason it took him so long to come up is because he had to convince them he was to go alone.

He looks around the room curiously.

“My name—”

“I know who you are,” you cut him off, and cringe at the defensive note in your voice. “I know.”

His eyes sweep over you again. “And you?”

Folding your arms over your chest, you wonder coolly, “What about me?”

He clicks his tongue and wanders a step closer, wisely cautious. “May I know the name of my soulmate?”

“I don’t want it,” you force out instead, and see his expression—the almost boyish lightness in his eyes—crack and crumble. “The bond between us. I love someone else.”

The haughty, proud gleam you’re so used to seeing gutters out. Like a candle being blown out.

“That’s why—that’s why I didn’t want you to know,” you continue you, even if those words taste like crushed glass in your mouth. “It’s pointless.”

His features are drawn, rigid, as he listens and you see the coldness taking over his demeanour. The hope you haven’t noticed till that moment fading bit by bit.

“But you’re my soulmate.”

He speaks those words with such obvious longing.

“You don’t even know me,” he insists firmly, taking another step closer. “Let me at least try.”

Shaking your head, you scoff. “I know enough.”

His lips purse and perhaps it’s a cruel thing to say and with such a dismissive, almost repulsed tone.

“Then let me prove you right,” he says instead, his chin tilting upwards with that cool arrogance. He’s stubborn, you realise. Stubborn and hotheaded. And… “At least get to know my awful self, yes? Then you can walk away, cara.”

“And you will let me? No strings attached?”

Because you don’t trust him—not even a little bit. But he seems to understand that if he lets you go now, he will never get another opportunity like this again.

He hesitates and that’s how you know that he’s at least serious about this.

“Yes.”

Reluctant, almost petulant.

You have a flight to catch—

(hello, you found me, hello, you, you, you—)

“You have till dawn.”

…

There isn’t much to do in the early hours of the morning.

But Santino is money and power.

You expect something lavish, extravagant. He surprises you again.

He takes you to Central Park and you don’t question how you are able to get inside even though the park closes at 1am.

He walks with you.

He asks you questions.

Some you answer, some you don’t. He doesn’t linger on the latter, seemingly aware of his time constraint.

You ask him questions back, bold and unflinching. Some catch him off guard.

“Ever had shower sex?”

A sharp inhale. Did he really think that he’s the only one capable of playing this game? Besides, this is all about monitoring his reactions, his honesty.

“…Yes. You?”

A slow, mischievous smile blooms across your face. “Won’t you like to know?”

He chuckles and relaxes just slightly, growing bolder with his own line of inquiry.

It’s chilly outside, and noting your shivering, he offers you his overcoat but you refuse him.

Instead, you take him to a diner not too far from the park.

Another test.

It’s a dingy place and the Italian before you looks comically out of place when you both sit down.

Santino’s guards stay outside, though you can feel them tracking your every move. It’s a pity the woman seems to be absent.

You ask him about her.

His grin stretches wide. “She likes you, bella,” he hums, sly and knowing. “It’s rare for us to agree on such things. She has, ah, peculiar taste.”

“Have you slept with her?”

He shifts in the cheap plastic chair. “No,” he tells you, and you examine him closely, looking for any sign of deception. “Ares is my friend. One of the very few. Our relationship is strictly platonic.”

You believe him. For some reason.

“And what about this…individual…I will be stealing you from?”

Taking another spoonful of your ice cream, you let his question hang between you.

“Confident, are we?”

His mouth twists and he leans closer. There is determination—practically a burning flame—dancing in his eyes and if he wasn’t attractive before, he certainly is now. That lethal focus and grim determination.

“You will find that once I put my mind to something, bella,” he purrs, low and gentle; a lover’s caress, and your words tickle again. Suddenly, the only thing you do want to know is where your words are on him. “I never fail.”

Meeting your soulmate is not a love-at-first-sight type of affair, but it is an attraction. Pure and simple and intense.

You lean closer too, lowering your spoon and his breaths slow at the proximity. “Did you suspect? Before I spoke?”

He’s silent for a length of time and that surprises you. The city skyline is already bleeding delicate pink. Sunrise is only minutes away.

Santino blinks a few times, glancing away briefly before turning back at you. There is hesitation, and you wonder why. “I think I dreamt of you,” he utters quietly, guarded, cautious. “Just glimpses. Nothing that could help me find you quicker. Brief flashes. A laugh. A smile. Sunlight. I think I could have recognised you blind. Not your face, or name, or even where you lived, cara mia. Just you.”

You’ve heard about it. How some bonds are so powerful that there are…transferences. Usually in dreams just like he said. Ability to simply feel your other half.

“So to answer your question, yes,” he admits and swallows, his eyes roaming over your features. “You attract me in a way no one else ever has. You did from the moment I first laid eyes on you, bella. Now,” he chuckles, but it sounds harsh. “Now, it certainly makes sense as to why.”

You haven’t expected him to bare such a fact before you so easily.

His lips part, as if to say something else, but you cut him off before he can. “Time’s up.”

Above New York, a new day dawns.

You sit in silence for a few minutes. He watches you watch him, but the silence is not awkward. Surprisingly.

“Did I—”

“No.”

You can’t lie now. He’s been honest with you.

His head dips, his gaze serious, no doubt already calculating what course of action to take next.

“My name is (Name).”

His features crease with confusion.

You stand and stare at him for a moment, considering. “I’ll see you around, Santi.”

A grin blooms across your face at the way his serious expression crumbles to pieces.

You turn to leave but his voice gives you a pause.

“Have dinner with me,” he calls out hurriedly, but you only wave at him over your shoulder without turning around, a brief laugh slipping free.

“Maybe next time.”

…

You miss your flight to Tokyo but can’t find it in yourself to care much.

That day is also the first time a present arrives at the Continental reception addressed to you.

A beautiful golden bracelet with green gems gleaming in the light.

Fitting scales for a mighty viper, won’t you agree? I look forward to seeing you soon—Santi

Your eyes roll, but a reluctant grin appears despite your attempt to smother it.

You close the box and give it back to clearly curious Charon. “Send it back.”

It’s the first present.

Over the next week, at least a dozen more follow.

You send every single one of them back.

…

Her name is Helen.

Her name is Helen and she’s beautiful.

Her name is Helen, she’s beautiful, and she’s John’s soulmate.

It’s like a punch.

Right in the heart.

Quick and brutal.

They met at a library, he tells you, and like in a fairytale they bumped into each other and she caught a glimpse of the book in his hands. Opened her pretty little mouth and spoke the words stretching over the wide, powerful expanse of John’s shoulders.

Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat.

A part of you wants to scream while another part of you remains cold, calm.

“I’m sorry.”

You know he is.

It still stings.

You always thought that it will be him—soulmate mark or not.

You wanted it to be him so badly.

Pressing your fingers under your left breast, you inhale and wait.

Wait for the pain, the rage, to hit you but…

(you, it’s you, you, you, you.)

Something does glimmer but it doesn’t feel like rage and more like disappointment. Sadness.

How can you be angry at him for finding his soulmate? Finding happiness?

He’s half in love with her already and he doesn’t even realise it. But you do because you know him.

Her name is Helen.

But you are not Helen.

And maybe, one day, you will learn to live with that fact.

Maybe, one day, it will not hurt at all.

Perhaps sooner than you think.

…

Your phone keeps ringing, ringing, ringing.

Balancing the measuring cup in your hand, you finally pick up.

“What?”

“Good morning to you too,” a wry but highly amused voice greets; a voice you haven’t heard since the diner, since those shadowy hours where you exchanged a part of your soul for his. “I like the sound of your voice, bella. Have I told you that yet?”

“Where did you get this number?”

“Is there something wrong with my presents?”

“Yes,” you mutter, irritated. “It’s your belief that you can buy my favour with money.”

You hang up.

A text follows only a minute later. Grinding your teeth, you glare at the phone before picking it up and opening the text.

I’m not trying to buy your favour with money. I simply believe that you deserve beautiful things—Santi

Your finger finds the Block option and you hesitate over it.

You’ll regret it, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Winston drones in your ear.

Groaning, you drop the phone on your bed instead.

You don’t block the number, but you don’t answer him either.

The following week makes you regret that decision.

…

I have not seen you today, but I bet you look beautiful—Santi

…

Have you eaten yet? There is a wonderful Italian place I would like to take you to in Lower Manhattan—Santi

…

What’s your favourite colour? Mine is either blue or green—Santi

…

‘The woman I have heard so much about’. I think as far as first words go, I did pretty well, no?—Santi

…

Why Vipress? Not many vipers are venomous—Santi

Stop bothering me.

We are conversing—Santi

No. You’re being annoying.

Are you flirting with me? How shameless of you—Santi

(middle finger emoji)

;)—Santi

…

“Help him.”

“Hello, cara mia, you look beautiful today,” Santino greets as he swivels the glass of wine in his hand. The red colour is as dark as blood and you stare at it. “So wonderful to see you again.”

He means that.

The words etched into your skin warm under the weight of his steady stare.

He looks unfairly handsome today.

Green looks best on him, you want to tell him. Brings out his eyes even more.

Almost two months of this back and forth between you. Of flirty texts and phone calls and brief meetings. Meetings that leave you smiling and breathless and aching. He knows how to get under your skin. But it’s a sentiment shared.

You destroy him with nothing but a smile.

But things are different now.

Now, John’s life hangs in the balance.

“Help him,” you repeat, harsher this time. “Please.”

His eyes snap to yours, hard, and he studies you for a prolonged moment. His eyes gleam and the light in them is dangerous, dark. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

What would be the point of lying?

He rises to his feet and stalks closer. You stand your ground and he stops a breath away, gazing at you raptly, intently.

“And what would you give me in return?”

That part of you that whispers his name in your dreams withers at his words.

Perhaps—

No—it was foolish to think that maybe he would be different. Everyone always wants something from you. That’s the way it’s always been.

You try to swallow over the lump in your throat, over your bitter disappointment, “Anything.”

He smiles but it’s not quite a smile. It’s something bleaker, more frayed and torn around the edges. You feel a pinch against the skin where your words lay and you shift slightly in discomfort.

“Then consider it done.”

He lingers briefly before turning away and heading back towards the table as you stare at his retreating back in confusion.

“What do you want in return?” you wonder, uncomprehending.

He glances at you over his shoulder. “Nothing, cara mia,” he states calmly, flatly. “I want nothing you can give me because the one thing I do want is the one thing I cannot demand.”

But he could.

He could.

And the fact that he doesn’t—

It warms something deep down.

It would be so easy to claim power over you now. So easy to bind you, chain you, demand everything.

“Thank you.”

He doesn’t acknowledge your words, instead, he goes back to his wine.

That image of him—shoulders curved, eyes empty, a glass of wine in hand like a shield—stays with you long after you leave.

It haunts your sleep for weeks.

…

The wedding is beautiful.

You sit through the entire thing and marvel at how well they just fit.

There is still an ache in your heart when you look at them—a part of you will likely always love John to some degree, it’s hard not to.

But they fit, Helen and him.

A harmony of cold and warm, of light and dark.

Soulmates.

You clap loudly when they kiss and find your smile surprisingly genuine. It’s easier than you thought it would be.

Easier, perhaps, because you—

Someone else has been occupying your thoughts.

His texts stopped after your meeting and haven’t returned for a month now.

Last you heard, he went back to Italy.

Santino D’Antonio. Your soulmate.

John is not yours—was never meant to be yours.

But maybe someone else could be. If only you dared.

You slip away quietly, unnoticed.

But it really shouldn’t surprise you that John—Baba Yaga, the best assassin in the world—catches up with you easily.

Even when Helen finds you both talking, you don’t feel any bitterness towards either.

“Let’s stay in touch,” John suggests, his voice subdued but hopeful. “There are secure channels we can use.”

Looking towards the sky, you grin, almost cheekily. “Sure,” you say. “But don’t complain if I turn up at your doorstep at 2am covered in the blood of my enemies one day.”

Much to your surprise, it’s Helen that laughs at your morbid joke. Loud and genuine.

Yeah, you might just like her after all.

…

Have dinner with me?

…

A week passes. Nothing.

…

Have dinner with me?

…

A reply comes another week later.

I’ll be in the city tomorrow. My driver will pick you up at 7pm—Santi

Demanding.

He doesn’t reply, and that night you sleep with your palm pressed against your—his—words.

…

His eyes devour you.

Good. You certainly made an effort.

A simple, well-cut black dress can do wonders.

He looks good as well, it would be a lie to say he doesn’t.

He’s wearing black as well and your mouth curves.

“A matching set.”

He grins, despite the fact that you can see him trying to fight it back. It looks good on him because it’s less arrogant and more him.

It surprises you yet again. The pang you feel at seeing him. You’ve missed him, you realise suddenly, and it startles you more than you would care to admit.

You’ve missed him and his irritating texts at all hours of day and night. You’ve missed the teasing and the tension and the flirting. The way you gravitate towards each other like magnets but never quite touch despite few lingering grazes.

“Thank you,” you say while you wait for food to arrive. “For helping him.”

Santino’s lips thin into a stiff line but he manages to keep his composure. “I didn’t do it for him.”

You know he didn’t.

But you could still kiss him for saying that with such quiet steel in his voice.

“He’s gotten married,” you divulge, watching the way he goes rigid in his seat. “She’s his soulmate. That’s why he wanted to get out.”

Candlelight dances over his features as he digests this information. You figured that would explain everything but Santino still looks furious, restless.

“He left you—just like that,” he states and bitter sort of iciness lingers in his soft words. “To have his fairytale life. Forgive me, cara mia, if I am not jumping at the opportunity to send him a celebratory bouquet of flowers.”

You peer at him over your glass for a long time, risking an equally soft, “Won’t you do the same?”

For me.

His eyes flash, his jaw clenching as his long fingers curl into loose fists. His Camorra ring gleams. A mark of who he is. Of what he might be one day.

“I would do anything. Anything at all.”

You believe him. Curse your silly, foolish, too-hopeful human heart but you do.

(it’s you, it’s you, it’s you—)

“Do you still—” his voice cracks.

But you know what he wants. Understand without him having to voice it what he cares to know.

“There will always be love between us,” you tell him, frank and direct, so he understands that John will always be a part of you. “But…no. Not that kind of love. Not anymore. He’s happy and I’m happy for him.”

It’s true.

You’ve spent months convincing yourself of that truth. A truth that has been a part of you for a long time now without you even realising it.

But it feels good. Good to say it and mean it.

A lightness shines bright and fierce in your chest and you feel a sense of freedom in that confession—in the acceptance of it.

Santino knows you mean it too.

Because you don’t think you have ever seen him look quite so happy.

…

The penthouse apartment is as magnificent, as him, as you expected it to be.

This is your first time inside his space. He’s invited you before—many times—but you have always refused him.

You’ve been missing out. The view is breathtaking.

He’s been staring at you for at least ten minutes now, not saying a word.

Loosening your crossed arms, you turn away from the view and move your eyes in his direction. He sits sprawled on the sofa, legs crossed loosely, a glass of wine in hand as he scrutinises you.

“What is it?” you wonder, curious and open.

He licks his lips and swallows heavily—both actions seem to give him trouble. “Just admiring the sight of you in my home.”

“And do you imagine me inside your home often?” you can’t help but tease with a slight grin.

He lowers his glass, stands, turns in your direction, and you distantly wonder if you made a mistake prompting him like this.

He cuts across the room smoothly, easily, and comes to stand right in front of you.

This is another reason why you have never accepted his offers in the past.

This is intimate, this is dangerous, and the air between you is suffocating already. Neither of you has said a word or even touched the other but your soulmate words tingle and ache. That tug that always wants him closer, demands his touch, his mouth—

Your head turns but he grips your chin between his fingers, tilting your face back towards him.

“Every day,” he admits shamelessly while his hungry eyes journey over the planes of your face. “I see you everywhere. And if I don’t see you, then I feel you,” he whispers and leans closer, the sweet tang of wine still on his breath. “Tell me, (Name), do you ever touch your words and imagine it’s me as I do?”

Your heartbeat spikes at the use of your real name. It’s always ‘cara mia’ this and ‘bella’ that.

“If you want to know where they are,” you breathe and lean into his touch for a moment before gripping his hand and guiding it away from your face. “Then you only need to ask nicely.”

Something wild burns between you at your open challenge.

Suppressing a smirk, you guide those long, slender fingers lower and lower.

His breaths grow shallow when his fingertips ghost over the curve of your breast.

“Just a bit lower,” you promise; a teasing, hushed thing that only strains his self-control further.

You still your hand just beneath your left breast, and use your fingers to move his index finger across the curve of the words beneath your dress.

He lets out a sharp hiss of air and flattens his fingers across the space. You wonder if even with the material of the dress separating him from your skin, he can feel them. You certainly can.

It’s a whirlwind of longing and desire and need—

“It is…not a bad place…for my words,” he admits with great difficulty, his words a wrecked mess that only makes you grin wider. “Would you like to know where your words are, hm?”

(yes. yes. yes.)

You only dip your head in a nod.

He takes your hand and moves it down.

And down.

For a moment you think he’s going to place your hand right against his groin but he doesn’t.

His hand stops on the lowest dip of his inner thigh and he traces your fingers up and over his hip bone. His hand stills, your fingers still interlocked and you hum.

“It is not a bad place for my words.”

Prompt and simple.

Your eyes lift to his.

And you can pinpoint the exact moment the last of his self-control shreds itself into nothing.

You meet him halfway when he leans down and devours your mouth with his.

…

He takes his time with your soulmate words.

Or his words.

Santino traces them with his fingertips, over and over again; featherlight and delicate. Then worships them with his lips and teeth and tongue. Less gentle and more hungry, pleased, content.

There is such light in his eyes as he learns and explores. Traces and kisses and claims.

“That tickles,” you mumble sleepily, pressing your cheek deeper into the silk pillow. “I might kick you.”

He chuckles breathlessly, and when his head lifts from the expanse of your bare stomach, he looks half-drunk on you but his grin is unguarded, genuine. It makes you hungry for him again. Makes you ache for him again.

He moves up slowly, hot mouth ghosting over your skin. Over the dips and curves and patches of skin that he takes time to linger on.

He lingers the longest on the elegant curve of his handwriting curling under your breast, then your collarbone and finally your mouth.

Santino leans into you when you touch his face. Your other hand sweeping over the mess that is his curls and he tuts.

“Who could have thought you would be so impatient, amore,” he teases, sounding smugger than you’ve ever heard him. “I am shocked that I still have hair at all.”

You spin a lazy curl between your fingers. “Then stop making those noises whenever I pull on your hair.”

His eyebrows arch and his thumb brushes over your parted lips. “Hm, what’s this? Are we comparing notes on who moaned louder? Oh, amore, I do believe I have you beat.”

You sit up at his tone and find that his self-satisfied smirk is far, far too attractive. Your hand trails away from his hair and down his face, neck, chest. Your nails track down gently, playfully, and the lean muscle ripples under your touch.

“Careful.”

You ignore his strained warning.

Your fingers scratch against the familiar words on his smooth, tanned skin and it’s hard to control that part of you that’s full of feminine satisfaction.

A compliment and a threat. You wonder if it says something about you both as people that your soulmate words are what they are.

Your fingers press against his burning skin—the touch gentle and needy and greedy all at once.

(mine, you found me, mine, you found me, mine—)

It’s not about possession but it is about belonging. About happiness and this wild, untameable man that has blown into your life.

He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Found you.”

You freeze as if struck by lightning.

“What did you say?”

His eyes find yours and he takes your face in his hands.

“When I dreamt of you,” he murmurs carefully in the centimetres separating you. “You always asked me to find you. Find me, you always pleaded. I tried. Oh, how I tried, cara mia. For years. But here you are. Finally, eh? Found you.”

Your eyes burn.

“Oh.”

He lowers your back onto the pillow and kisses you.

Over and over again until you forget the world outside.

Until you forget every hurt and every sadness.

Until you forget the taste of your own name.

Until—under his strong, burning touch—you are remade anew.

…

When you wake up, it’s to the sensation of him tracing the naked skin of your back.

“Ah, good morning, soulmate.”

A slow kiss against your spine. Then a lighter peck, higher. And another.

Your eyes crack open and your toes curl.

His mouth is stretched into that grin you now think is your favourite. A crooked, slightly devious thing that makes his eyes gleam in the morning light.

“Don’t look so smug,” you grouse tiredly. “Or I might have to kick you.”

“So violent.”

His grin widens as his eyes drag slowly over your still naked body, just barely covered by his silken sheets.

“Shower sex?”

You throw a pillow at his face.

And learn that he has a very nice laugh.

…

He doesn’t get his shower sex.

He pouts about it for two days straight.

…

“Perfezione.”

“Smooth.”

Deflection is easier than admitting how nice it feels to have him look at you like that.

Like you are something special and beautiful. Like he can’t bear to look away from you.

Your lips press against the vicious slash of Call me that again and I’ll slit your throat.

“Did it ever bother you?” you question mildly, a distant worry gnawing on your nerves. “That it was a threat?”

Your voice sounds meeker that you’ve heard in a while but you need to know.

Santino sits up, and wraps his arm around your waist so he could pull you closer to him.

He’s like a furnace of heat and safety, and your body instinctively curls further in his hold.

“Never,” he admits easily. “I loved my words. From the first moment they appeared on my skin. Hm, I knew they belonged to someone strong, and smart, and beautiful. Someone who would no doubt drive me crazy,” he mumbles, now in Italian, against the curve of your jaw. “And you do.”

“And did I meet them? Your expectations?”

He kisses your neck leisurely, nibbles on your earlobe and your nails sink into his back, steadying yourself with a shallow sigh.

“Better,” he breathes hotly into your ear. “So much better.”

You try, and fail, to hide your smile from him.

…

“Is he…you know?” the woman in front of you wiggles her eyebrows. “Well?”

Your own eyebrows rise slowly. “Is he what?”

Helen grins knowingly. “C’mon. You know what they say about Italian lovers. Is he any good?”

Smothering a cough, you give her a flat look. “Is John any good?”

The brunette sitting in front of you goes pink and you don’t bother hiding your biting grin. There’s no viciousness in it though. You’re happy to visit your old partner and friend. Even happier to get to know Helen who—much to your surprise—is both brilliant and delightfully witty. You can understand why John loves her. You can understand why she’s his soulmate. They compliment each other beautifully.

There is that energy between them.

Energy so similar but also vastly different to one you and Santino share.

The smug bastard finally got his shower sex this morning, and had spent the entire day strutting around the apartment like Cheshire Cat.

Brilliant, insufferable bastard.

“John is…fine.”

You almost choke on your drink. “Fine? Ouch.”

Helen splutters, flustered. “I just mean he’s amazing but I don’t want to brag—”

Practically cackling, you bend over your drink, wiping at the tears gathering in your eyes. “Oh man,” you wheeze out. “Poor John. I mean…Santino is…adequate, then.”

Helen’s eyes gleam with mirth even if she cringes. “Uh-oh. Don’t let him hear that. I don’t think his male pride can take such a beating.”

Your fingernails scrape against the rim of your cup and you give her a secretive smile. “Oh, putting a dent in his ego is one of my favourite hobbies now, I assure you.”

Staring at each other for a second, you both lose it at the exact same time.

That’s when John decides to make himself known, his eyes going from you to Helen and then back again.

“Should I be worried?” he wonders quietly.

Helen looks at you and you towards her.

You both grin at the same time and devilish is the only way you can describe it.

“Most certainly,” Helen says sweetly to her husband.

The world’s best assassin has the good sense to look spooked.

…

“Retirements suits you.”

“Certainly helps with the wrinkles,” comes John’s wry reply and you crack a smile.

He lowers himself on the seat beside you. Helen is back in the apartment, chatting happily on the phone with her friend who rang only minutes earlier.

“She likes you, you know,” he says, though sounds cautious about it. “She looks forward to your visits every time.”

Your smile softens and you can just see a glimpse of the beautiful woman inside as she moves around the kitchen with her phone pressed to her ear.

“I like her too. She’s wonderful, John, really,” you tell him, and mean it. “And I’m very glad that you found each other. Name your firstborn after me, will you?”

John chuckles under his breath, but you see the way his eyes soften at the thought. “Duly noted.”

For a few minutes, you both sit in silence, soaking in each other’s quiet presence and the setting sun. Helen’s voice filters through the closed patio doors and you breathe deeply.

“I found him,” you confess to him quietly. “My soulmate.”

John’s head snaps in your direction. “You did?”

“Yeah. A while back. Even before Helen.”

That surprises him, you can tell. “Why didn’t you—”

Shooting a bland stare his way, you shrug, “You know why. And it was complicated. He’s not exactly someone I considered a fitting match at first.”

Curiosity burns in his dark eyes, but when you remain tight-lipped, he speaks, “Do I know him?”

Your laugh is sharp, almost shrill but you nod your head, venturing a look in his direction. “It’s Santino.”

John goes so still you fear he’s turned into a statue beside you. “Santino?” he echoes, at last. “Santino D’Antonio?”

You almost roll your eyes.

“Do you know many Santinos, John?”

A flutter of emotions flickers across his face but his lips remain a flat line, his eyes scrutinising you. And you know what he’s thinking, what’s going through his head. Santino’s reputation, all that he knows about him personally, the wild possibilities in regards to your future and Santino’s.

How dangerous and malicious he can be.

How ruthless and charismatic and manipulative.

But because John is John, he asks you only one question, “Does he make you happy?”

And you adore him so much at that moment. Even if it’s not love like it once was, you adore the fact that he understands and knows you better than anyone. Adore the fact that he doesn’t judge you or condemn you or think less of you. Doesn’t try to preach to you how it’s unwise to tie yourself to a man like Santino.

He’s just John with his patient dark eyes and silent strength. He is comfort and sanctuary and that’s never going to change. Not ever.

But his question remains.

Does Santino make you happy?

You think about it. Think about him and consider his flaws. Consider the fact that he hasn’t magically changed in the last few months. He’s still the Camorra heir. He’s still a sharpened blade. He’s still a cruel man. A ruthless businessman. He’s not good.

But neither are you.

The physical closeness is nice and fulfilling, but being with him is so much more. It’s the ease; the knowing that around him you can breathe and grow, that he will never smother you. That he trusts you and adores you and respects you. That when he touches you, he does so like he’s marvelling at every touch—like he’s lucky to do so, like he’s counting every instance your skin meets his, no matter how innocently. How he makes you laugh and fills your chest with a reluctant sort of fondness and affection. How he challenges and supports you. How stepping into his embrace feels like warmth and comfort and safety—more so than even John’s embrace ever did.

“Yes,” you breathe faintly, your voice wobbly. “Yes. The happiest I’ve ever been.”

John smiles slightly and his fingers wrap around yours, squeezing once.

“Good.”

And that’s that.

The sun is almost set when Helen joins you on the balcony. She sits beside you, and you reach for her hand, too. She looks pleasantly surprised by the gesture but holds your hand like she can understand the need without a word.

“Thank you.”

Neither reply.

But they don’t need to.

…

“Join my family.”

Your heart skips a beat, or two.

“What?”

He’s only just stepped through the door. He cut through the apartment the moment he caught sight of you and made a beeline straight for you.

The arms around your waist tighten, his hot breath tickling the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Join my family,” he repeats, breathless, his eyes raging when they find yours. “You are a part of me, as I am of you, cara mia. My father could never deny you joining. You belong with my family—you are my family.”

The quiet intensity of the last sentences shreds your heart. Makes blood in your ears roar.

“Santi—”

His gaze is imploring as he presses your foreheads together, his fingers gentle but firm against the side of your face.

“Be with me, (Name),” he whispers tightly. “I don’t care about rules or waiting. I just need you.”

Need, not want.

“But Tarasov…”

Tarasov who has been too busy building and reaping the benefits of the slaughter John has unleashed to get out. Tarasov who will never let you go now that John is gone. The High Table values soulmate bonds—it’s a part of their sacred rule set—but not enough to wipe your debt away.

Even if you want to—and you do, so very much—it’s not that simple. You’ve thought about it, haven’t you? What it would be like to belong to such a family? To be a part of something ancient and powerful. Feared.

Santino’s arms tighten around you—like he can keep you here and away from everything that exists outside the safety of this home—and you see the ruthlessness in him, then. More so than ever before.

“How many died during the Impossible Task, hm?” he poses sharply, shrewdly, and you know he’s already thought about this. Planned for this. “How many got buried by Tarasov’s order? Who is to stop anyone from retaliating?”

You suck in a breath, your gaze wide, searching. You know exactly what he’s saying.

Blood for blood.

His family’s words.

Tarasov took your family, took your freedom and now—

Now.

“You reckless, unbelievable—”

He kisses you.

“I can’t believe you—”

And again, except this time it’s hungrier, more intense.

He could kiss you a million more times and you would never grow bored of it.

(found you, found you, found you—)

Your heart beats with those words, and as if he can feel them too, his fingers settle over them.

“Yes,” you choke out, your eyes burning and chest tight from…happiness. “Yes, yes, yes.”

He kisses the tears that fall down your cheeks; careful and slow.

And maybe this can be love.

If it isn’t already.

…

Viggo and Iosef Tarasov die a week later.

You mourn by letting the world know exactly who you are.

The Vipress. The soulmate of Santino D’Antonio.

Part of Camorra by oath and soul bond.

Willingly given.

You are your own master.

Finally free of your chain.

…

an: actually anon, soulmate!au is one of the few instances where everyone gets a happy ending. ahhh. sometimes we can have nice things :) writing V that’s not haunted by Tokyo was a damn joy, let me tell you. thank you so much for reading this. i did bare minimum editing so if this is riddled with mistakes rip me, i guess.

#santino d'antonio x reader #santino d'antonio #john wick #john wick fic #john wick imagine #riccardo scamarcio #keanu reeves #fic: children of ares #this entire thing was written while listening to HS #so for added feels listen to 'she' (title song). 'meet me in the hallway' & 'falling'#s: i can wait

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hollyhomburg · 4 years

Note

These new gifs of jungkook being adorabke is really making me miss little!koo with reader being cuddly

i knoooooow me too honestly, I just had like- this vivid image of maybe Koo is out- being actually big and social for once without the others. drinks and dinner with some of the other 97′s. and he doesn't get back until late in the evening, near 1am. his social batter is really drained but he's so tired he’d actually rather just go to bed then stress about being little. especially because the others are probably also already asleep. he doesn't think anyone will be awake to read him a story only when he comes home, there are actually still a few of them up- just namjoon and yoongi and you.

Koo recognizes the puffy eyes, the red cheeks, the matching pj’s, and the bunny you hold the second before you fling yourself into his arms, whimpering and practically non-verbal. you’re so grumpy and so in trouble because it is definitely passed your bedtime. And koo can’t do much more than look at yoongi and namjoon wildly, who are also in pajamas and look a little worse for wear.

“she woke up from a nightmare a little bit ago and kept asking for you, she thought you where hurt- we think she dreamt something happening to you and she wouldn’t go to bed until you got home” jungkook tries to apologize for going out but the others shake their heads, “its okay koo- I think this little one is just glad you're home” you whine at yoongi’s tone, pressing your face further into jungkooks chest when yoongi combs over your hair. you rarely ever get so fussy, usually, Yoongi is one of your favorite caregivers. but yoongi understands, you just want the comfort of your fellow little right now- you just want koo.

and jungkook might be too tired to properly regress, but its certainly nice to have yoongi get him ready for bed while namjoon reads you another story. his gentle voice echoing into the bathroom makeing jungkook’s eyes droop. and he might not fully regress- but he does start to slip a little, his voice getting a little slurry, yoongi holding to his wrist and guiding him into the bed when he almost bumps into the wall. curling up with you, jungkook promising namjoon and yoongi. “I've got her hyungs.”

“are you sure you don’t want to regress kookie?” they can tell by the tenseness in his shoulders. the way koo yawns and pulls you closer, “maybe tomorrow” and sure enough, when the caregivers wake up the next morning, its to boundless giggles, you and koo already putting together a pillow fort in the living room. giggling with reckless abandon at the cartoons, seokjin is already up and supervising while he makes pancakes for breakfast.

Tae even pulls himself into your fort and flops down, ready to go back to snooring in the company of the two of you. deals with you and koo babbling to each other while you climb all over him. tae being all sleepy and floppy like a teddy bear until he moves with an explosive quickness to swoop jungkook’s shirt up so he can blow raspberries on his tummy. chasing after you to do the same, giggles and kicking feet, eventual pancakes, and sweet milk in bottles that tolerate sudden falls, cute cutlery, and perfect obedience. it’s the perfect sort of morning.

little koo and little reader are so 💕

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queenmylovely · 5 years

Note

Its 1am and im about to pass the fuck out but imagine staying over at rog's place and borrowing one of his shirts to sleep in but its like a tour shirt and he thinks its so hot seeing you in just his band merch and he just cannot keep his hands to himself okay goodnight xx

Way to take me the fuck out, Brigid. I wrote all of this w/o the smut and was going to be done but then I couldn’t help myself whoops

Masterlist

☆☆☆

“Do you have anything I can wear? Like an old t-shirt or something? My clothes aren’t very comfortable to sleep in,” you called out to your boyfriend, Roger, as you washed your face in his en suite.

You hadn’t been planning on staying over so you didn’t have a change of clothes, but dinner had happened later than it was supposed to because of… distractions. And then the two of you got distracted again after dessert, and accidentally fell asleep on the couch during the movie that you were watching. Now it was past 11:00pm and although you’d normally be up at this time, Roger hadn’t wanted you to drive so late at night, especially when you were tired.

“Yeah the third drawer in my dresser has a bunch of t-shirts. Go ahead and grab one,” Roger responded from the living room where he was tidying up for the night.

Once you were done in the bathroom, you headed into the bedroom and over to the dresser. As you did, Roger headed into the bathroom himself, shooting you a smile on the way.

You heard him brushing his teeth and humming to himself and chuckled. Opening the drawer, you saw that it was packed full of t-shirts. Some were sports car logos, some were other artists like Jimi Hendrix or the Beatles, but what drew your eye were the Queen tour shirts.

Roger had them all, of course, from ones that just said “Queen ‘74,” to the most recent one that even you yourself had at home, “Queen The Jazz Tour” with hot pink and bicycles all over it. The one that you wanted to wear though was the “News of the World Tour” shirt that had a picture of the album cover on the front. It was probably your favorite album cover of theirs, and you knew that Roger favored it as well since he was the one that found the inspiration for it.

Peeling off your blouse, pants, and bra, you put on the shirt, feeling like a rom-com when it came down to below your butt. It must’ve been big on Roger too, because it was like a dress on you. As you were admiring how soft the shirt was, you heard Roger walk into the bedroom behind you. You turned around to face him and smiled.

Roger’s smile dropped when he saw what you were wearing and you would’ve been worried that he didn’t want you to wear that particular shirt but then he whispered “fuck” under his breath and bit his lip. You giggled and reached out your hand to him, laughing at how obviously he showed that he was turned on.

He walked over to you, and you put your arms on his shoulders, knowing that it would make the shirt ride up your body and that it would drive him a little crazy. Roger’s hands immediately came to your waist, pulling you flush with him and his mouth went straight to your neck.

“You look so fucking good in my shirt,” he said in your ear and you smiled.

“Thanks,” you said, rubbing your hands along his upper back. “You know, this is the first tour that I saw you guys on?”

“Really?” he asked, pausing the soft kisses he was pressing to your neck.

“Mhmm. Didn’t have enough money to see you when I was still in uni. Bit of a one year-graduated present to myself to see you at Wembley. Certainly didn’t know that I’d meet you within two months after that,” you told him.

“Funny how that happened. That was a good show. If I’d seen you there I would’ve taken you backstage and fucked you in the dressing room. In this shirt. Can show you how,” he said suggestively.

“Rog, we’ve already had sex twice tonight,” you protested, but it was weak.

“Can’t fucking get enough of you, baby,” Roger breathed in your ear and you shivered despite yourself at that combined with his use of “baby,” which he only ever did during sex.

His hands were roaming all over your body to your ass, hips, and breasts, and you felt the last of your resolve slip away.

“Yes,” you breathed before connecting your lips with his, giving the answer to his silent question and immediately losing yourself in the kiss.

Before you knew it, Roger had you laying on the bed, kissing you thoroughly as he shoved down your underwear. He was down your body in a flash, kissing your inner thighs just twice before his mouth found your pussy. With how worked up you were just from what he said to you and his mouth on your neck, he had you moaning and clutching onto his hair right away.

One of Roger’s hands joined his mouth, thrusting into your heat easily with how wet you were and the other slipped under your shirt to palm your breast. Roger looked up to watch his hand under his shirt and moaned, the vibrations against your clit making you swear under your breath.

You tugged on his hair to get his attention and told him, “C’mere.”

He pressed one last kiss to your clit and you squirmed and then he came back up to you, kissing you fiercely. You moaned at the taste of yourself and reached down between you to push his boxer briefs down. He helped you and you wrapped your hand around his hard dick, pumping it a couple times before Roger pushed your hand away.

Then he grabbed you by your waist and pulled you with him to the edge of the bed, making you gasp and then laugh in surprise. Roger stood up and positioned you at the edge of the bed, spreading your legs wide and then running the head of his cock through your folds to cover it in your arousal.

You grabbed his hips and pulled on him in impatience and Roger smirked down at you before pushing into you and bottoming out in one move.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned as Roger started an almost punishing pace, already hitting all the best places inside of you.

“Like that, baby? This what you wanted when you saw me playing?” he asked.

You immediately dropped into the fantasy too, imagining that Roger was fucking you on the edge of some green room couch instead of the edge of his bed. “Y-yeah. You’re such a fucking good drummer. Look so hot playing your– your drums. Knew you’d fuck me so good and– oh– hard.”

Roger groaned in response and reached his hand to your clit, rubbing tight circles on it that had you clenching around him.

It only took a few more snaps of Roger’s hips into your and his fingers on your clit for just a bit longer before you were warning him, “I’m close, so fucking close, Roger.”

“Yeah? Want you to come, baby. Come so hard the whole fucking arena knows who’s fucking you so good,” Roger practically growled, bending down and kissing and nipping at your neck, his free hand going to your waist to pull your hips to meet his with every thrust.

That was all it took before you were coming around him, moaning his name loud enough that if you were actually in an arena’s green room, everyone backstage would’ve been able to hear you. Roger followed right behind you, coming into you as your pussy clenched around his cock and letting out some moans loud enough to make his voice break as well.

After coming down for a minute, the two of you found your underwear and pulled them back on, settling in the middle of the bed. Roger still held you close and couldn’t stop himself from pressing kisses to wherever he could reach, not that you minded.

He was fiddling with the shirt and you grabbed his hand in yours, bringing it up to your lips and kissing the back of it.

Roger smiled at you and said, “You know there’ll probably be a repeat performance in the morning if you’re still wearing that shirt.”

You smiled back and rolled your eyes fondly, “I’ll be okay with that as long as you let me sleep through the night.”

Roger got a mischievous glint in his eye and his only reply was, “No promises.”

★★★

Permanent taglist (it’s 1.3k): @riseetothesun @caborhapch @drowseoftaylor @queenlover05 @johndeaconshands @supersonicfreddie

#ahaha i need rog to fuck me this good #queen #roger meddows taylor #roger taylor #blurb #fluff #smut #roger taylor x reader #queen x reader #queenmylovely #brigid #terryboot

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starkerforlife6969 · 5 years

Text

Howard Buys Tony an Omega Part 7

Can be read as standalone. Read the rest here: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

TW: mpreg, a/o and an insane amount of fluff, over-protective Tony

In a penthouse apartment on Fifth Avenue, dinner is ready.

Tony steps through the front door, only for the smell of well-seasoned lobster and deep saffron to make his eyes drift shut and his mouth salivate.

Well, it seems Peter’s started on dinner.

He shakes his head fondly as he shrugs out of his summer jacket and hangs it up on the hook. As usual, the house is spotless. Decorated in hues of silver and crystal and glass, it’s the definition of Upper East Side elegance. Even though it’s a sticky summer outside, the fireplace is roaring and the floor to ceiling windows overlooking Central Park are spilling in the late evening sunshine.

“Peter?” Tony calls, heading towards the kitchen. As hungry as he is, there’s one thing he wants more.

Sure enough, sprinkling two heaped dishes with parsley, is his omega.

He’s only two months in, so he’s not showing just yet, and the satin white summer dress is cinched loosely at the weight with a big chiffon bow, and Tony can’t help but rush over and scoop the his princess into the air for a twirl.

Peter screeches with delight, leaves of herbs still on his fingers as he clings to Tony’s shoulders. The alpha sets him down and Peter stretches up onto his tiptoes, greedy for a kiss.

Tony pecks his nose instead; teasing. “Whatcha cookin’, good lookin’?”

Peter giggles, still reaching up for a kiss. “Some lobster.” He frowns, eyebrows scrunching together. “I know we had seafood yesterday, but I…” he looks up suddenly, and Tony knows he’s saddened at the thought that maybe Tony doesn’t want seafood again, and Tony nips that in the bud.

“It smells divine. Besides, you’re just getting cravings. Is my little baby going to love seafood?” He settles his hand over Peter’s stomach and the omega takes advantage of his bowed head to steal a kiss.

Tony deepens it around a smile.

***

Two months later, Tony pauses in the grand foyer.

There’s a new bouquet almost bursting out of a vase.

It’s not one that Tony bought. He would know. He buys Peter blue roses and big, purple jasmines with gold buds.

This bouquet is full of dandelions and sunflowers and shoots of lavender.

He brushes some of the flowers apart, but there’s no card.

No one sent it. But that means-

Fear, horrible and panicky, rushes through him, as he heads straight for the kitchen.

Peter isn’t there. There’s no dinner either.

He’s not in the library or out in the balcony or fast asleep snuggled up in bed. With each guest room Tony throws open, the more bile he can taste in the back of his throat.

Then he sees the door to the solarium slightly ajar.

Relief sparks, and sure enough, he sees Peter curled up on a lounger, head buried in a storybook.

It’s The Little Mermaid 2- Return to the Sea. Tony can’t help the fondness that squeezes his heart. Peter loves fairytales, and now he loves anything that has to do with kids, or children, or parenting in stories.

He can hardly stand to read Rapunzel anymore. To read of the Alpha King and Omega Queen losing their baby.

Tony’s taken to hiding it in the library, because he can’t bear to see his omega upset.

Now though, he looks completely content. Drenched in sunshine, reading languidly amidist the vinery and crawling plants, the lush green of their little indoor garden, dressed in a loose-fitting satin robe, one hand curled around his belly and the other turning the pages of his book.

“Baby,” Tony mutters, coming inside. It’s a little too warm, but that’s probably why Peter’s here. He feels the cold too keenly with his pregnancy. “I was looking for you.”

Peter looks up in surprise, before turning to see the clock and gasping. “Alpha! I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“It’s alright, it’s okay,” Tony soothes, sitting beside him, pulling his boy onto his lap and laying a hand on his stomach. “You’re doing good, yeah? I was so worried.” He puts his nose to Peter’s neck- just inhales, for a moment. The omega’s soft skin is warm to the touch, his cheeks red with sunlight. “Baby, you got somethin’ to tell me?”

He can feel the flutter of Peter’s eyelashes as the boy blinks up at him owlishly. “Um…”

He clearly doesn’t know. Tony sighs. “You left the apartment, sweetheart. You went and picked flowers in the park, I- I told you, you can’t be going out on your own, what if- what if you got hurt?”

“Silly,” Peter beams, kissing Tony’s jaw with unbearable tenderness. “I’m okay! There were lots of flowers, I put them in a basket. I also bought some blueberries, I thought I could make us a pie!”

Tony laughs, but his voice is still distraught. “Peter, you have to promise. C’mon, you want more flowers? I’ll have a fucking florists delivered here. You have everything you need, you shouldn’t be going outside without me.”

Peter looks sad. “Walking helps,” he confides quietly, touching Tony’s hand on his belly, “when it hurts…”

Tony kisses his forehead, hard. “We have a gym in the building, gorgeous,” he pleads, “nice and safe, with surveillance and security. All good and exclusive, no need to leave, huh? I can come back from the lab earlier. And- if you need fresh air, we have the private patio, is it not big enough? I’ll have them make it bigger. We can buy the penthouse on the floor below and if you need company, you know my mom’s just been dying to see yo-”

His voice cracks in its desperation, and his omega looks up in alarm, big eyes worried. “Alpha!”

“Peter,” he breathes, when those arms are flung around him. He holds him tight. “We’re just starting out, don’t you see? I’m- fuck, I’m 25 years old, and your my everything, and we’re gonna have a baby, and if something happened to you- I don’t- I don’t know what I’d do.”

Small thumbs stroke his cheeks, and he blinks away tears as Peter gazes him- eyes brimming with love. “I promise to stay here.” He says, like taking a vow, “and you promise to always, always wear your safety goggles.”

Tony snorts, nodding, and Peter nuzzles into his caress like he’s been starved of it.

After a while though, the omega pouts. “I need to make you dinner,” he sniffles, even as he pushes closer. “And pie. But I don’t wanna leave you.”

“Uh uh uh, honey-bee,” Tony murmurs, stroking his fingers through Peter’s curls, “you just told me that you feel pain. I told you to tell me the second you started feeling sore, but you’ve been keeping that from me. I’m getting us a chef and a maid. You’ll sit with your feet up all day.”

Peter protests with a huff and a whine. “But I wanna make your food! A chef won’t- they won’t make sure you get all the- the right stuff, I- I was top of my class in Nutrition, I- I’ll keep you big and strong and-”

Tony laughs, bright and warm, and tickles Peter’s side until the boy is almost crying with glee. “No room for argument, sweetheart. For tonight, let’s get some take out. I’m thinking Pancake House?”

Peter almost leaps with enthusiasm, before looking more shy. “That’s- if you like.”

Tony rolls his eyes fondly. “We’ll buy out the whole store.”

***

When Peter is eight months pregnant, he cries into the toilet bowl in the middle of the night- trying to keep quiet so as not to disturb his Alpha.

It makes Tony so damn angry. “Please, baby,” he croons, wiping Peter’s face with a cold cloth, “could you just be a little selfish? For me? Just wake me up, okay? I’ll be here for you, I’m here.”

Peter wipes his tears into Tony’s chest, rubbing at his back like it hurts.

Tony immediately starts doing it for him, until the omega sags in relief.

“You need your rest,” Peter protests, and Tony nips at his ear.

“Be selfish.” He orders.

There’s a long moment, before Peter says, whisper-quiet, “maybe some bagels? With...salmon, if-if we have any.”

Tony takes his orders as seriously as a soldier in war. He leaves his boy with a kiss and then checks the kitchen.

No bagels.

No matter, he’s Tony Stark. He calls down to the doorman to expect a delivery, and then calls some other people. Drops his name. His father’s name. Promises them quite a lot of money for prompt delivery at 1am in the morning.

It takes ten minutes for ten bagels, covered in cream cheese and salmon, to come to the front door.

“Thanks, Paco,” Tony says to the doorman, as they quietly exchange goods.

“Not a problem, Mr Stark,” Paco promises, “I hope your bellisima omega feels better. The baby is due soon?”

“About a month,” Tony grins, chest puffing with pride. He carries his haul back to the bedroom, where Peter is now curled up on the bed, nuzzling into Tony’s pillow. “Look what I found in the kitchen,” he beams, presenting Peter with a bagel.

The pretty thing eats it right out of his hand, moaning happily. Tony sits down, tucking Peter into his side, feeding him bagels.

He feels so content there. He has his family in his arms.

He wants for nothing.

Read the rest here: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Those who wanted to be tagged- I love you! x @catastropheismyfirstname @peterparkers-sparkles @djspooky-jim@godlovesstarker @harmonystarker @atypicalmeposts @betty-bloom@that-tiny-dumb-artist @laughing-oreo @thatmarvelstan @book-lover-k@haylove5 @scarletsoldierrr @buckettbarnes @hoe4parker@buckettbarnes @8bitbowie @w1nters-stark @softly-starker @prettyboy-parker

#starker #a/o dynamics #alpha tony #omega peter #established relationship #m preg #howard buys tony an omega #part 7 #fluff #rich tony #tooth rotting fluff #over protective tony #protective tony

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tazzytypes · 4 years

Text

Apocalypse: Sanctuary - Chapter 1

EDIT (6/10/2020): I know this is unprofessional as hell, but I added more because the ending didn’t sit right with me. Was too excited too hurry up and post and forgot there was a reason I plotted things out in a certain way. Hope you all can forgive me.

Finally! Chapter 1! I hope you guys enjoy it. I loved reading your comments and every kudos made me more excited to keep writing. Also, I apologize for the weird spacing throughout the post. I had to copy it from scrivener to AO3 to here and it just made things messy, but it’s 1AM rn and I’m tired.

Read on AO3 or Fanfiction.net!

click here for: Prologue |

Emily shifted in her seat, head rebelling after spending a week in the dim light of candles which cast everything in an orange hue and made the shadows dance on the walls. Even her large circular glasses did nothing to ease her sight… it was a wonder she wasn’t already legally blind. Either way, she had the mother of all headaches.

The constant fires always left E uncomfortably hot and the layers upon layers they were forced to dress didn’t help. First thing the wardens did when they arrived was strip her down and burn every shred of fabric… her favorite shirt nothing but ash. Clothing standards were non-negotiable. Evening wear on the left side of the armoire. Don’t mistake it for your daily clothes or you won’t receive dinner. Cocktails before-hand at 6:30 sharp. Lucky for Emily, she was always early for everything and had yet to find out what the punishment was for that particular faux-pas. She wished nothing but to grab the t-shirt and shorts she had arrived in just to find some relief.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Her mother had always told her.

At first, she had been relieved when the others arrived. Now she had to wonder if she would have been better off on her own… the supplies she had counted in storage would certainly have lasted longer. Small little cubes with all the nutrients they needed. They probably would have been better with non-perishables, but she doubted the wardens would risk a venture outside to hunt for some… not like they would be able to eat it, anyway.

Another stabbing pain pulsed at her temples, hands going to smooth it out as she listened to the chattering around her that sounded more like white noise than coherent sentences. Waiting out the apocalypse in solidarity would have driven her insane, humans being the social creatures they were. However, she doubted any of them would survive the end of the world with their sanity intact.

Not that one could guess it was the end of the world by the conversations of her fellow residents, most of them rich and most of the snobby. Gallant and Coco were thick as thieves… their personalities almost comically matching that of Regina George from Mean Girls. Evie, Gallant’s washed-up film star of a grandmother was almost repulsively republican — so homophobic and racist that most of the residents hoped she’d have a heart attack and die. The Stevens, a mother and son pair along with the son’s boyfriend, were tolerable. Andre liked to throw shade, but he was balanced by his witty counterpart, Stu.

She couldn’t help but smile to herself as she thought of their earlier conversation.

“It’s like Satan’s Spotify playlist,” Stu had joked in response to Gallants endless complaining, making Andre nearly choke on the water he had been drinking.

“For the amount of times I’ve been told I’m in league with the devil, I’d have expected him to have better taste.” Emily had joked in return.

Stu laughed and Andre only sighed, “don’t even get me started on the clothes.”

“Well at least you don’t have to wear a corset,” Coco had snipped, hand going up to pat at her hair in an attempt to keep it in place.

Emily tugged at her own, something poking her in her stomach, “These are not historically accurate.”

“Let me guess,” Stu said, gesturing to her glasses, “history major?”

“Insomniac.”

The pounding returned to her head and she leaned on the table, pressing at her temples with the hope of some relief. Maybe she could ask a Grey to get her some ice… she doubted Venable had a stash of ibuprofen in the reserves.

It had been 14 days since they had gotten here. 3 of which she had spent on her own, wandering the halls with a candelabra like a damsel from a Victorian novel. She tugged at the high collar of her shirt. Whoever designed this hole in the ground was determined to have them living in a corset-laced wet dream.

“Are you okay?” The girl beside her asked, a gentle hand placed on Emily’s arm. She had just arrived at the outpost, 2 weeks after the bombs dropped, with a boy around the same age. They had barely been able to introduce themselves before Venable cut in, ringing a bell obnoxiously to usher them to dinner.

The few words the pair had said still haunted her.

“It’s all gone,” The brown-haired boy had told them at Gallant’s insistence, lips pressed into a thin line as he tried not the let the emotions that came with those words to overwhelm him.

“Everything,” The girl echoed, voice hollow.

Gallant fell back as if he had been shot, panic threatening to overtake his lungs after it was done squeezing the life out of his heart.

“What…” Emily had stuttered out, trying to calm herself, “What did it look like?”

Andre’s voice had cracked and spat out like venom, “who cares about what it looks like?”

Stu had placed a hand on his lover's shoulder. His brows were furrowed and there was a slight shake that came over his body. Andre curled into him, Stu wrapping his arms around him as if he could somehow shield the man from the world.

Her anxiety spread through her like a wildfire, the attempted facade of strength cracking, “It matters because it could tell us how fucked we are!”

“We’re well past fucked!” Coco had snapped.

The girl with ebony hair focused on Emily, eyes welling with emotion she all too well understood.

“No sun…” She said, forcing the words from her mouth, “just green… smog.”

“Does that mean anything to you?” Stu had asked her, eyes betraying his own fears.

“Hiroshima happened in the… 50s? Chernobyl happened in the 80s,” Emily began to say, too in her thoughts to notice the side-eyed stares of her companions, “and that was still radioactive before it was radioactive… again.”

The comment seemed to stir something in the new girl’s head, “I heard about that… people were able to take trips last year… once in a lifetime opportunity.”

Coco scoffed, “so is dying.”

“Wait, so like… this can go away?” Gallant asked.

The girl looked to Emily, “People were living on Hiroshima before all this.”

“Possibly,” Emily mused, “Then again, we’d have to multiply that incident by… well, a lot.”

“We’d have to find out where and how many bombs were dropped.” The girl added, “as well as the area affected by it.”

Coco frowned, still more focused on her hair than the literal end of the world, “could you stop talking like that? You’re seriously freaking me out.”

“We’re all freaking out,” Dinah snipped.

“Just tired,” Emily reassured the girl, leaning back in her chair. She realized she had yet to ask the girl her name, but the Grey’s entered with their meal before she could — one Grey for each purple at the table. The large black plates were almost amusingly large in comparison to the singular small cube that sat at its center.

A full table-set was spread out before them, silver soup spoons, teaspoons, knives, and a salad fork mocking them every day. They stood out against the dark wood and reminded them that they were doomed to a life of tasteless jello for the rest of their lives. Emily finally understood how her pets felt, fed the same food day in and day out… at least she had bothered to change up the flavor. Her body rebelled against her after the third day, gagging whenever she brought the cube anywhere near her mouth. A few days of starvation quickly rectified the situation and greatly amused her jailer who was all too happy to put the food back from whence it came.

Venable chose the seating arrangements, naturally. Emily was sat beside the two new arrivals, positioned as far from the woman as possible. It was an arrangement neither of them minded. Emily didn’t hold her tongue in moments such as these and she didn’t like placing her wellbeing in the hands of another. Venable expected complete and total control over her residents, enforcing strict standards of order that were almost as tight as her hair, tightly pulled together in a double french twist at the back of her head. Emily was the stray hair that wouldn’t lay flat no matter what she did.

The new arrivals stared at their plates as the Greys placed the cubes before them, sending each other confused glances and waiting to see what the rest of them did. It hardly looked appetizing, brown and having a texture reminiscent of a health-nut’s chia-seed protein bar.

Emily poked at her own food for good measure, feeling her throat clench at the mere thought of eating again. It didn’t listen no matter how many times she tried to reason with it. You’d think the body would behave and finally realize that this was as good as things would get.

Gallant turned towards the girl to his left, “Don’t be too disappointed.”

“Darling,” Evie sighed from the other side of the table, spreading a napkin across her lap, “You don’t know what disappointment is until you’ve slept with Yul Brynner.”

The mere thought of the old woman having sex was enough to make Emily’s lips curl in disgust… maybe she didn’t need to eat after all. For once Dinah was amused by the old crone, chuckling as she cut apart her cube like it was a five-course meal instead of the science project of Elon Musk.

“I want to die,” She could hear Gallant mutter a few seats over, head in his hands as he contemplated his decision to bring his nana along on whatever this adventure was.

Dinah was quick to explain the cubes to the new pair, “The cube on your plate contains every vitamin our body needs…”

Across from Emily, Coco ungracefully shoved the entire cube into her mouth with one fell swoop, cheeks puffing out. Dinah continued to speak, pretending to have not seen Coco, words coming out rushed, “…or so they tell us.”

“Whether or not it aids in our caloric intake is up in the air,” Emily added, following the woman’s lead and gently cutting into the cube.

“The fewer calories the better!” Evie proclaimed from down the table, waving her fork in the air to accentuate her statement.

“Until you become a skeleton.”

Emily had learned from Dinah’s example to take small bites, savor it. She hoped it would fool her body into thinking it was eating more. Either way, her stomach still growled and she was grateful to her handler for taking her to Chick-Fil-A on their way to the Outpost. The mere thought of that last meal made her mouth water.

Coco’s silverware clattered onto her plate as she closed her eyes and whined, “I’m still hungry… I am so tired of the hunger.”

A fist to the table made Emily jump, dropping her own silverware in turn. The girl next to her looked to the other residents as Coco stood up abruptly, letting her chair screech against the floor as it was thrown back. She looked to Emily and all she could do was offer a half-hearted shrug that said, “same shit as usual.”

… God, she missed John Mulaney.

“Fuck! This! Bullshit!” Coco continued, “With all the thought that went into this they don’t have a single bag of Pirate’s Booty in the pantry?”

Evie sat back as if watching a soap opera while the rest of the residents braced themselves for another tantrum. Coco raved on, unaware of the sudden looming figures coming up behind her, “For a hundred million dollars a ticket, I expect goddamn Gordon Ramsay in the kitchen cooking us real food!”

Then she stopped, a tap of a cane on the floor signaling the arrival of Venable, Miss Mead on her heels like an obedient dog. They braced themselves for another, self riotous lecture on appreciating what they had as if none of them mourned for what was. Slowly, head bowed and aware of her impending doom, Coco turned.

The slap rang in everyone’s ears, causing a collective gasp to fill the room. The brown-haired boy beside Coco caught her as she fell back, her hand going instantly to her cheek. As she stood once more she took it away and examined it. Emily could see the barest hint of blood on the blonde’s fingers. A growl threatened to rise in her throat and her lips curled in a disgusted snarl.

It was hard to keep calm as she addressed the woman donned in black, “we’re all adults here. We can use our words… I hope. At least some of us have mastered that much.”

Venable turned to her. The black-haired girl beside her shifted uncomfortably. One could cut the tension between the two women with a knife.

Finally, Venable pulled her eyes away and turned her focus to the spoiled girl before her, her hand resting back on the cane she always carried, “Let me be very clear so there will be no misunderstanding. We have enough nutrition to last for the next 18 months and if our situation doesn’t improve, you can count on less and less.”

Slowly, Coco sat. Shaking hands pulled away from her cheek as she reached for the chair. She was so scared that her movements were stiff. Yes, she had been yelled at before. God knows she was a stubborn woman with a temper, but no one had ever slapped her before.

Venable retreated into the only exit of the room, slithering back into the shadows. Venable’s tone bordered on the overly-theatric, playing the part of a woman burdened by knowledge she dare not speak lest it disrupts the peace.

“You could have told us that from the very beginning.” Emily blurted out.

The woman didn’t even bother to look at her as her lips curled into a mocking smile. When she finally turned to Emily, her tone was thick with condescension, “and cause unnecessary panic?”

“You know what they say about communication and relationships.”

“ Situation ?” Gallant asked, waving a hand to get their attention, “What is our situation ?”

Miss Mead looked to her boss whose face glimmered with uncertainty and surprise, but only for a moment. Venable was debating whether or not to tell the truth or keep them in the constant state of unknowing, easy to control. If she were still in college, Emily could have written an essay on the ways Venable reminded her of the worst sort of people in their history books.

“We had a perimeter alert this morning,” She finally told them, less than pleased with the fact the words were leaving her mouth at all, “Something penetrated the grounds. It was a carrier pigeon delivering a message from our benefactors.”

Coco gasped, “Wait! A pigeon! Can we eat it?”

Emily sighed and leaned on the table, resisting the urge to hand her head in her hands. This place was going to be migraine city the moment she tapered off her medication.

Miss Mead’s tone echoed her feelings, brows scrunching at the pure idiocy of the question.

“It was contaminated by the fallout .”

Her response didn’t phase Evie, who made it abundantly clear she had never made a meal for herself in her entire life, “Can we boil it?”

Venable reached into her pockets and pulled out a small sliver of paper and began to read, “There are no more governments. Only rotting mounds of corpses, too many to bury.”

Emily’s hands fell to her lap and curled into fists until she could feel her fingernails embed themselves into the flesh of her palms. All she could hear were the voice-mails, each and every last plead for life. She could still hear her brother’s voice, cracking in a way she hadn’t heard since their grandmother’s funeral. It was etched into her brain to the last breath. To his last breath, he took his role as an older sibling seriously, trying to soothe her fears instead of his own.

“I don’t want to die. God, I don’t want to—”

Venable continued reading, “Starving people kill for a piece of bread.”

“I love you… I… You were… are a good sister.”

“Three outposts have been overrun.” Venable’s voice droned on, voice cracking ever slightly as she reached the end of the letter, “We are the last vestiges of civilized life on the planet.”

“I… I know you would have made a difference… I wish I could have seen the life you would have created.”

Venable looked to them all as she read the last line, “be vigilant.”

Emily was pulled from her thoughts by a squeeze to her hand, instinctively pulling it back until she realized a hand covering her own. When Emily met the ebony-haired girl’s gaze she offered a reassuring smile, Emily nodded in a small message of thanks before brushing away the single tear which had begun to roll down her cheeks.

“Everything we know is gone,” Mead summarized, eyes blank. It was nice to see that even the Warden and Venable felt fear. Made them feel… human.

“In two weeks ?”, Andre shook his head, staring blankly at his hands, “That’s all it took?”

In a rare show of empathy, Gallant reached out and squeezed the man’s hands. Emily noted the way Stu watched the interaction, eyes watching the hands as if it were a snake slithering in his direction.

“They made you think the system was a rock,” Mead explained, standing at attention with her hands locked together in front of her, “It was a water balloon. One prick of the needle and —”

She made a popping noise, “that’s all it took.”

It wasn’t as if Emily was surprised. One of the first things she learned in a college psychology class was that the only reason the world didn’t fall into chaos was due to people putting faith in a system that would protect them… conventional. The bombs had scattered them, left them weak to the chaos that ensued. It reminded her of the way roaches scattered when sprayed with Raid. Lawlessness was the antithesis of reason, mob mentality was evidence enough of that. It was textbook horror.

“We will only survive if we follow the rules,” Venable emphasized.

Emily scoffed. Some of Venable’s rules she understood while others were a blatant overreaching of power. She could understand the “no sex” rule to a degree. Copulation could result in the creation of new life which they had no means to sustain, but even the Victorians had condoms and you couldn’t walk into a 7-Eleven without finding a rack of Plan B. Not to mention half the residents were gay which made her rules pointless.

“Rules are the basis of order,” Venable said, clearly addressing her despite staring at the wall above them, “unless you find yourself to be above the rules? Too special for them to apply?”

She hadn’t a moment to voice her thoughts, quickly distracted by the army of wardens that quickly began to fill the room. They all watched with bated breath as The Fist bent down to whisper in Mead’s ear, her lip twitching and eyes flitting to the ground as she gave the other woman her full attention.

“There’s a problem.”

Those 3 words were enough to break Venable’s gloating, head snapping to the side like Coco’s had a moment ago. They all watched the pair, unsure of who to keep a better watch on — Venable or Mead.

“We’ve detected a spike in the background radiation, centered in this room,” Mead informed her boss.

Gallant was quick to point fingers to the new pair, whatever empathy he had shown with Andre gone like the wind as he moved from them as if they had the plague, “It’s them! They just came from the outside!”

“No!” The girl exclaimed, shaking her head vigorously and sitting forward in her chair, knuckles white around the wooden arms, “No! We were checked when we got here! We’re clean!”

She looked to Emily for aid, brown eyes wide and pupils dilated. Her eyes glimmered with confusion and panic, searching for an unspoken question. Emily’s brows knitted and she bit her lip, eyes flickering between the girl before her and the wardens preparing a device that looked like a microphone attached to a larger box.

“No,” the boy echoed, “we went through decontamination.”

His eyes also went to Emily as he continued to speak, begging for her to understand, “we were cleared.”

Emily opened her mouth but could find nothing to reassure them. Mead addressed the room before Emily could utter a word. “Place your hands on the table… and don’t. Move .”

Shaking her head at the girl, Emily did as she was told. This hadn’t happened before. She didn’t know what to expect. As the device clicked from her left, she edged her pinky towards her knife. It wasn’t sharp. It didn’t have to be sharp to cut through jello. With enough pressure, it could cut through skin. The rest of the room faded away as she kept her eyes on The Fists' hands, a second device in her hands as well. Emily’s heart hammered with each step closer.

“Radioactive contamination,” Mead spoke, devices crinkling like static as they hovered over each person, “is a grave risk to our entire community.”

The Fist, a giant of a woman with blonde hair pulled back from her face, towered above Emily when she was standing. Sitting down made her feel like a child in the presence of a giant. She held her breath as she felt the device get closer, clicking sounds falling silent as soon as it came above her hand. The Fist repeated the motion a few times more, making Emily’s heart go haywire in her chest, before moving on to the new arrival next to her, the clicking resuming once more.

“The clean rule is there to protect all of us,” Mead continued, now going over the boy who sat stiff as a board, eyes following the woman’s every move, “A single stray gamma particle can cause skin lesions. Your DNA breaks apart, your body disintegrates. You’ll wish you died in the blast.”

The residents weren’t sure what to make of her speech. It wasn’t as if any of them graduated with a degree in radiology. They had learned it in high-school, sure, but that was ages ago… before there was colored TV for some of them.

“But someone here decided,” Mead went on, circling the table for a second round of testing, “that their individual needs were more important.”

Emily tensed once more as the stick was waved around her, Mead pausing momentarily to look down at the box she held in her hand to see if it had somehow turned off. Finding nothing, she continued. “Someone went outside. Touched something dirty .”

The room was holding their breaths. They all knew they were innocent, but didn’t trust their companions as far as they could throw them. Their gaze followed the device, then to the person next to them, then to the person in front of them. They searched for a sign of guilt. It was easier to point fingers when someone looked shifty.

“Makes me sick to think that this person,” Mead spit as she made it to gallant, “to risk contaminating all—”

A wild crackling filled the room. They all jumped in their seats, eyes focusing on the hairdresser. Emily’s heart leapt into her throat, paralyzed as the vultures began circling, donned in leather and stronger than any of them could hope to be.

“No,” The man said after a moment, shaking his finger as he looked to the Wardens, “nononono. That’s a mistake because the only thing I’ve touched is Coco’s hair.”

The Fist stood over Coco and shook her head. Mead gave the final order, voice lacking any pity, “she’s clean. You’re dirty.

The wardens grabbed at Gallant, claws latching onto him as he began to struggle.

“No!” He cried, “this is impossible! That machine is wrong!”

Fingers dug into his shoulder and Gallant cried out in pain, dragged to his feet and across the floor. The warden closest to him placed him in a choke-hold, Gallant letting out a fearful sob as he clawed at the man’s arm. Evie stood, chair screeching across the floor as she reached out towards her grandson with trembling hands.

“This is outrageous! Stop! Please, stop! Bring him back!”

Coco gasped and let out a cry, hands moving to cover her face as her eyes welled with tears. The girl beside Emily looked between herself and the boy in front of her, chest rising and falling rapidly as she began to hyperventilate.

Gallant scream pierced the air, “Evie!”

The crackling filled the room once more. In their panic, they had failed to realize Mead making her way towards Andre and Stu. The couple could only stare at each other, the seconds dragging on like hours.

“No way!” Stu chanted, refusing to look away from Andre, “No! No way!”

“No,” Andre sobbed, reaching out towards the man and trying to pry him from the grasp of the warden pulling him away. He was thrown away with a shove.

“Get your hands off me!” Stu screamed, another warden now going to carry him by his feet.

Mead’s voice rang out from the chaos, followed swiftly by the marching of footsteps.

“Take them to the decontamination room!”

They could hear the groans of their fellow residents echoing down the hall. The sounds resonated long after the steel doors had closed.

Emily reached out for the hand of the girl next to her. Her face was frozen in a gasp, eyes wide with terror. Her hand rested on hers which still sat on the table. She squeezed back and held on for dear life.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

For once the saloon was quiet. Evie had gone to bed. Emily currently sat next to a crying Andre, Dinah opposite her. He hadn’t been able to stop crying since dinner, now unable to do more than hiccup.

“How could he have been contaminated,” He sobbed, a horrible epiphany crossing his mind as he turned to Emily, “do you think they—?

Emily gave him a look, “Did you forget Gallant’s little hand-squeeze during dinner? He was coming on to you, not Stu.”

Andre had a fleeting smile before anxiety overtook him once more.

“What we need to do now,” Dinah said, running a hand up and down her son’s back, “is make sure Stu comes back safe.”

Her words were less than comforting, Andre shoving away her arm and staring at her with an emotion Emily couldn’t quite place… somewhere between distress and anger.

“Why wouldn’t he be safe?” he demanded, looking to the brunette when his mother offered no response. Emily opened her mouth, hoping something would pop into her head, but she was at a loss for words. She couldn’t reassure him of anything. It would be a lie.

The man scoffed, stepping back and shaking his head, “I can’t believe you.”

He turned on his heels, breath hitching once more as another fit of sobs threatened to take over him. Why Stu? Why not them? Of all the residents Stu was the least deserving of—

Emily rose, hand held out to stop him, “Andre—”

A gentle hand was placed on her shoulder. Dinah took a step around her, hand trailing down her purple-clothed arm until she held her hand, the other coming to rest on top of it.

“Let me talk to him,” the woman tried to reassure, the events clearly have shaken her as much as Stu.

Emily pressed her lips together and nodded, pulling back and watching the woman hurry towards her son, heels clicking down the hall. The door clanged shut behind her and silence filled the room.

… but only for a moment.

“What’s going to happen to me if they find out Gallant is —” Coco started to ramble, “I mean I was the only reason he was here in the first place.”

“You were clean,” The brown-haired boy pointed out, face twisting in confusion.

“Well, I know that!” Coco exclaimed, turning on the couch to face him, “but who’s to say there won’t be a second investigation. I mean there had to be a reason they were tainted.”

She went quiet for a moment, hands held out in front of her as if she was having a revelation, “oh my gosh! If they kill Gallant who’s going to do my hair?”

Emily sighed and sat next to the new girl who was wringing her hands and staring into the fire.

“I never did ask your names,” Emily noted, looking to the girl and the boy.

“Timothy,” He said with a nod of his head.

The girl was pulled from her thoughts, turning from the fire and to the people behind her, “Emily.”

Emily chuckled, “You’re joking.”

“What?”

“It’s the end of the world and I can’ escape the fate of having a basic girl name.”

A smile curled at the other Emily’s lips, then a laugh, “really?”

Emily extended a hand, “Hi, Emily. I’m Emily.”

“There’s two of you now?” Coco groaned.

“I was named after my grandmother,” The other Emily said, taking her hand and giving it a shake, “you?”

“My parents looked in a baby book and picked a ‘less common’ girl name. 21 years later and there’s at least three Emily’s in each one of my classes.”

“God, this is going to be confusing,” Coco sighed, pressing her fingers to her nose in a praying motion, “Oh! I know! Emily 1 and Emily 2… no... That’s too wordy.”

“Middle names?” Timothy asked.

“No way in hell,” The two replied.

“I can always go by ‘Em’,” she said, “god knows I’m used to it by now.”

“M?” Coco asked, “that’s original.”

“Well, we can’t all be named after a brand of cereal.”

“I was named after Coco Chanel!” she snapped, turning to Timothy with crocodile tears, “You get it, right?”

“…yeah?” he answered, an eyebrow quirking up in confusion, “The clothing brand.”

He looked to the two Emily’s as he spoke like he was part of some hidden camera show. The two could only laugh and shake their heads as he was quickly rounded into another one of Coco’s monologues.

“My parents named me Coco because they knew I was destined to make it big. So it was only natural that I…”

Timothy looked ready to face nuclear winter. His guilt over the previous dinner altercations made him feel guilty for wanting to run away, but the boy always had a hard time saying, “no.” The Emily’s watched on, sparing him pity-filled glances when he looked to them for help.

“So did you pay your way in here or are you here for your superior genetics?” Emily asked.

“Genetics,” Emily… Em replied, “I was supposed to be on the east coast but someone paid for me to be transported all the way out here.”

“Who?”

She shrugged, “no idea. Some rich snob wanted their dog to go with them… at least that’s what Venable tells me.”

“I’d hardly call her a trustful resource.”

Em laughed, “That we can agree on.”

“How long do you think we’ll be here?”

“More than we have rations for,” Em sighed, reaching for a glass of water, “Fallout could last up to five years and we’ve talked about Chernobyl… but nothing on this scale has ever been recorded.”

Emily stared blankly ahead and nodded, trying to recall all she had learned about the matter in school, “we could be here for 30 years… maybe more.”

“Sorry,” Em offered, “anyone here can tell you — I’m not one to speak to for optimism or reassurance.”

“No,” The other girl shook her head, “I’d rather blatant honestly than pretty lies.”

“If we had anything more than water I’d toast to that.”

Emily laughed and shook her head. She reached for a glass of her own and held it up.

“Let’s toast anyway.”

Em smiled and leaned her glass forward, a dull clinking sound filling the air.

“What were you doing?” Em asked, leaning back and taking a sip of water, “before the bombs hit?”

“Protesting. It sounds minuscule now… climate change, minimum wage.”

“Everything is minuscule in the presence of death.”

“Poetic.”

“I sure hope so,” Em jested, “or all the money I wasted on an English Major was worthless.”

Emily laughed, “Is that what you were doing before the bomb’s dropped?”

“Nah… I was at home… enjoying summer. I was working on our campus’ literary magazine and selling art prints online as a side-hustle.”

Em shook her head, silence sitting for a moment before Emily spoke.

“I don’t know what to do with myself now.”

“I don’t think any of us do, but at least we’re not alone.”

“I wouldn’t call this particularly good company,” Emily admitted.

“It’s not,” Em blatantly admitted, earning a short laugh from her companion, “but you and timothy seem alright.”

“And you?”

“Well…” Em said, side eying Coco who was still avidly speaking without a sign of ever stopping, “I’m no influencer.”

Emily snorted and shook her head, “that may be for the best.”

------------------------------------------------

“All I’m saying is Stu was boring and using up our food, and that lesions won’t work with my complexion.”

Em rolled her eyes and looked to Emily who once again sat beside her as Coco’s tirade went on. The blond-haired woman once again was patting at her hair like she was on the red carpet. They looked to Timothy across from them who just sat looking blankly ahead of him. Em smiled at shook her head, not able to blame the man for pretending he was anywhere else but here. If not for the mandatory cocktail hour and communal meals, Em would have stayed as far away from the others as possible.

Days had passed since Gallant and Stu had been forced into decontamination. Gallant refused to speak of the incident and… well… they knew where it got Stu. One would have liked to have said that Coco had shown some respect for the deceased, but the farthest she got was initial shock followed by contempt towards their fallen comrade.

“Fuck you,” Andre spat, murder in his eyes, “I hope they come for you next.”

“If they don’t,” Em noted, Coco’s eyes glaring into her own, “I will.”

She gaped at her, nose curling as her expression turned into one of disgust, “Is that a threat?”

“A promise.”

Emily gave her a look like a mother trying to get their child to behave among strangers.

It’s not worth it!” She hissed under her breath. Em was far too annoyed to pay her any mind. She could forgive selfishness and vanity, but her complete lack of sympathy for those in pain? It didn’t matter if it was genuine. All she had to do was shut up, give Andre space to grieve.

Lucky for Coco, their jail-keepers arrived at the table before Em could follow out her threat. Venable’s cane sounded like the tik of a clock with each step she took, reminding the brunette of a horror story her friends and herself would tell around Halloween.

“Nobody is coming for anyone,” Mead told them as they both rounded the table to their respective seats at the head of the table, “unless you break the rules.”

She looked to Em, “which includes murder.”

Em paused as she took a sip of water, raising a brow at Coco, “I never said anything about murder.”

The older woman looked into her lap and shook her head, trying to hide the amused smile threatening to show on her face. Coco scoffed.

“This is harassment!”

“This is a difficult time for everyone,” Venable spoke, failing to address Coco’s claims, “as a small consolation, we have a special treat.”

Em could smell the food before she could see it, the salt and the meat, she could taste it in her mouth without even touching it. She felt like a dog, smelling things with such detail she had never been able to notice before. It was incredible what desperation could do to the body. The whole table buzzed with excitement, grins brightening faces and hands going to silverware before the food could be set on the table.

Emily was unable to hide her shock, “no cubes tonight?”

Venable’s lips curled into a smile, the expression doing nothing to ease the woman’s continuously angry expression, “enjoy the bonne bouche.”

Bowls clinked together, the Greys hurrying to place food on the table.

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Yes,” Emily sighed beside her, looking over to Em with an expression of relieved joy.

The brunette didn’t care. If she was being honest, she hadn’t exactly paid much attention to the woman’s words after she saw the soup on the food trolley. It was much like a cat seeing a bird at the window, green eyes widening and pupils dilating as if Em had found her true love. While her companions were much more graceful, at least attempting some decorum, Em quickly dug into the meal.

Her mother used to chide her for this as a child, sitting next to her brother at the dinner table and seeing who could finish first. She couldn't explain to the woman that she had to eat fast or else her brother would steal her dessert. Such things didn’t make sense to an adult, but a child’s reasoning was elaborate and honest. For a life so short, every little detail mattered.

Usually, she wasn’t a fan of stew. Something about the floating meat and murky broth didn’t sit right with her. Now she wondered why she didn’t enjoy the delicacy more often. The meat fell apart like well-buttered bread in her mouth, the broth warmed her from the inside out. She could feel it burning down her throat like a shot of Bourbon, somewhat painful but none the less satisfying.

“You think bribing us with a hot meal’s just gonna’ to make everything okay?” Andre asked, voice sore with grief. A white handkerchief flourished with the wave of his hand. It had been somewhere on his person since Stu was pronounced dead. Em was too caught up in her hunger to realize the weight of his words or the sudden stillness of the girl beside her, an unspoken conversation between herself and Timothy. She would take the bribe happily if it meant being spared from the tasteless cube she had become accustomed to. It wouldn’t win her over, but only a fool refused something readily given with no strings attached.

By the time Emily swatted at Em’s arm the brunette had already finished most of the stew, the bottom of her bowl visible through the broth. She sent Emily an irritated glare, gesturing with her hands as she swallowed her last bite.

“What?” she hissed.

Emily only rose her brows and sent a pointed glance towards Timothy. Turning towards him she was meant with an equally suspicious gaze and a shake of the head. With a sigh, she sat back in her chair, looking between the two and waiting for an explanation.

“I think my mouth just had an orgasm,” Coco moaned with a full mouth, quickly shoving more food into her mouth in fear it would turn out to be a cruel mirage. Em looked at her and embarrassment made her flush a pale pink. Is that what she had looked like?

“Andre,” Venable sighed, settling in her seat and arranging her silverware before she took a single bite, “We’re not trying to bribe anyone, but there is something we all need to understand.”

With a thud of her cane on the floor, the residents turned to her like raccoons being caught in a garbage can. Em prepared herself for a show of saintly-hood the uptight woman so adored.

“There is no ‘us’ and ‘them,’ We are in this together,” Venable proclaimed, “No individual is greater than the group. We did what we had to do. This is, quite simply, a tragedy.”

Em held her tongue for once. While Stu and herself hadn’t been close, she respected him more than she respected most of her fellow purples. The old world may have died, but the power games still presided — a strongman was still a strongman even when draped in fine clothes and laced in a corset.

It wasn’t as if any of them were paying her any mind, too enthralled in the smell of salt and meat like Hansel and Gretal in the witch’s house. Dinah sighed as she took another bite.

“Where have you been hiding the meat?”

Venable’s pause waved over Em like a bucket of cold water, the slight twitch of her lip as she looked down at her plate louder and more illuminating than any sermon she had given them. “We have resources… for special occasions.”

Em could only stare at her as she ate, trying to work at the puzzle which was Miss Venable. There were moments where she swore the woman showed regret or perhaps anxiety, but they were small and fleeting. Everyone had a tell, even the most stoic of society. Em just couldn’t figure it out and it drove her up a wall. It felt like she was staring at a brick wall, waiting for it to crumble.

Gallant pulled something out from his mouth, cringing as his teeth dig into something hard. It was white and square, but he couldn’t tell what it was? Gristle? Bone?

“I’ve never tasted anything like it.” He murmured, examining the object further as he twisted it in the light.

“It’s chicken,” Mead told him a bit too insistently.

“That’s not a chicken bone,” Timothy spoke, looking from his untouched bowl to the object the hairdresser was holding. His lips pressed into a thin line. Venable took a spoonful to her lips, then another, and then another.

Andre spoke from the other end of the table, voice wavering as he stared at yet another hard piece which had made his teeth hurt, “tell me this doesn’t look like a finger.”

Em looked to her plate, stomach twisting as she poked at the remains of her meal. A piece of white glimmered to the surface. Damning polite behavior, she reached in with her hand and pulled it out. Her mind went blank as she stared at it, rectangular with two prongs reaching outward from the body. It was a tooth. There was no doubt. Chicken didn’t have teeth. A frog gathered at the back of her throat, threatening to leap from her mouth.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Andre sputtered out, breath coming out in wheezing gasps as he flew back from the table shrieking, “The stew is Stu!”

The table erupted in panic. Gallant spit out whatever was in his mouth, leaving a dripping dark stain on the tablecloth. Andre wailed and Coco shrieked to a Grey named Mallory to make her throw up. Em could only stare at the near-empty bowl in front of her, the reality not quite sitting with her. Morbid questions filled her mind. It had tasted like… she didn’t know what it tasted like other than meat. Salty, maybe? Sweet?

A firm hand squeezed her own, Emily once again there to pull her from a spiral.

“You didn’t know.”

Amongst the screaming, the gagging, and the retching Venable sat, unmoved by the fires of fear rising around her. She didn’t smile, didn’t frown, didn’t show any reaction at all.

“For heaven’s sake,” she spoke with the same amount of annoyance she always addressed them with, a touch of boredom in her tone “Don’t be ridiculous. There are lines which can never be crossed.”

Something was glinting in Venable’s eyes, something that Em had seen many times before but could never properly place. The woman looked to Mead, “not eating people is off the first rank.”

Em’s voice sounded hollow as it left her, “Yet it is always the first taboo to be broken among the desperate.”

The thought of cannibalism wasn’t what alarmed Em. Cannibalism was deeply ingrained in human history — from burial rituals to a final stand against starvation. No. What frightened her was realizing she would do it again in an instant if it meant her survival. A fire burned in her as she looked to Venable, sitting there with a smug glow of victory. She had hated Venable before, but this made her blood boil at the sight of her. A revelation she did not want had been forced upon her and Venable’s eyes glinted as they met her own.

Her message was clear: Don’t rebel or you’ll be next.

#ahs fanfic #michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x oc

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werejusttouchingeachother · 5 years

Text

Dirty Sinner

Words: 6048

Genre: smut (m)

Pairing: Kai x reader

Warning: dom!Kai, sliiiight angst if you look hard enough lol

A/N: Happy Birthday, cousin (pt 3--its the final one, I swear) also this entire thing was inspired by the gifs of the W Korea photoshoot and those gifs oNLY

One would think that the fact that he's your brother's best friend would be enough of a reason to not fuck him behind your brother's back.

But no, you had to pick him even though he was the one guy who was famous too.

Hundreds of friends and yet, you picked the best friend, the idol:

EXO's Kai.

Of course, like most bad decisions, it wasn't intentional. You'd grown up around a lot of guys, thanks to your brother being the most outgoing, friendly guy that there is. And most of these guys only ever considered you as a younger sister--Jongin included.

Until about two months ago when there was a party at your place.

You'd been the perfect balance between tipsy and drunk, just one vodka shot away from losing your memories of the rest of the night. The crowd had gotten suffocating and you'd escaped upstairs to your bedroom, long after midnight when a majority of the people were shitfaced-drunk, including your brother. It was when you were stumbling to your bathroom that you'd ran into Jongin. You'd tripped on your heels and he'd caught your arms, steadying you.

You still remember what you wore. It was one of your favourite dresses--a dark navy lace that moulded your body with a deep plunging neckline that made your brother frown at all the cleavage you'd displayed oh-so-generously.

A decision that was difficult to regret especially when Jongin's eyes had lingered there for a moment before meeting your eyes. He'd surprisingly been sober and you still cannot recall whether it had been intentional on your part or not but you lost your balance in his arms, causing him to fall back on the wall with you up against him.

It had taken only a second of eye-contact before Jongin was kissing his best friend's little sister. One moan from you and he was shoving you into your bathroom, locking the door behind him as he lifted you onto the sink, lips finding yours again hungrily.

However, it didn't last for long. Right when you'd started tugging at his shirt impatiently, he'd grabbed your hand and stopped you, stepping away.

"You're drunk," he'd said. "We shouldn't be doing this. Your brother will kill me."

Before you could even stop him, he'd left you there in that bathroom, feeling cold and incredibly frustrated.

You didn't leave your room after that, feeling angry at yourself for how disappointed you were because he'd left. It shouldn't have mattered but it did and you couldn't get that kiss out of your head.

And apparently he couldn't either cause when it was close to 3AM and the music had died down and when you were certain everyone had passed out on all possible surfaces of your house except your room, you heard your door open.

Jongin had stood there, eyes dark and intense as they gazed at you and you had glared at him.

"What?" You had snapped at him. "Isn't my brother supposed to be killing you for something that he never even knew?"

At that, he'd raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? We're going to play the 'what he doesn't know won't kill him' game?"

"As opposed to the game of eye-fucking each other across the room and pretending to ignore the sexual tension everytime we're together?" Narrowing your eyes at him, you'd seethed, "Yeah, don't think I didn't notice all the glances you gave me all night."

"You're his kid sister. I literally watched you grow up."

"Bullshit. The last both my brother and I saw of you was when you two were in middle school and then it was only after you debuted. Both you and I have changed plenty during that time and you know it."

Jongin had stepped into the room then, his back pressed against the door as he digested your words.

"I'm not a kid anymore, Jongin," you had said, leaning back on your headboard as you pulled your knees to your chest absentmindedly. His eyes had immediately dropped lower, following the movement and even before the wicked idea could form in your head, you were already spreading your thighs and displaying your thong that peeked through the dress that had hiked up considerably now.

You heard the familiar click-sound as his fingers locked the door shut behind him and like a man in a trance, he had strode to the bed and pounced on you in an almost animalistic frenzy, hands and mouth everywhere.

The way that you had unintentionally moaned 'Kai' after the first orgasm he gave you that night--or morning--dawned the realisation upon both of you that it wouldn't be the last time you'd be doing this.

A realisation that the two of you had abided by as Kai now marked up your neck in the downstairs bathroom of your house, grinding into your thigh while the guys were immersed in their game of PubG in the living room--a perfect excuse to disappear without anyone noticing especially since Baekhyun kept yelling, "DIE DIE YAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Except that now--almost two months after the first time in your room--you felt things differently than earlier.

It had started last week. Your brother had left town for a couple days, your parents weren't home so of course you called him over. After the party, it was mostly quickies here and there so this was a golden opportunity for both of you. Kai had driven over immediately, you had fucked in all possible places of the house in all sorts of positions and you remember thinking that if you died from having too much sex, it'd probably be a great way to go. Especially if it was with Kai.

But then he had stayed the night. You'd laid on his chest and he'd ordered pizza around 1AM and you'd worn his shirt that was too big for you while answering the Dominoes delivery man at the door and he'd waited for you on the carpet of your living room with a stupidly cute grin on his face.

You knew you were fucked when you woke up feeling warm in his arms that were wrapped snugly around you, his face buried in your neck. You knew you were truly fucked when he'd smiled right as he woke up and saw you with the tray of toast and coffee, putting it aside and pulling you back into bed with him for some lazy morning sex. You knew you were truly royally fucked when the two of you stood pressed up against your front door when he had to leave, neither of you making the move to leave--until he had to run upstairs and escape from your window when you two heard the sound of your brother's car in the driveway.

And when you'd fallen back into your bed, smiling and wrapped yourself in the sheets that smelled like him?

Yeah. Fucked. Both literally and metaphorically.

Of course, it hadn't been like this the whole time. At first, it was the risk of what you were doing, or rather who you were doing--sneaking around your brother's back, the thrill of getting caught, the way you'd drive him up the walls by calling him Jongin in public and screaming Kai when you both were alone, the way he'd have you struggling to keep it together when you were around your brother by giving you a certain look or by straying his hand farther down your back or sending you a dirty message on your phone at the dinner table while you sat with everyone and of course, the fact that you were having the best sex of your life with one of the sexiest KPop idols on a regular basis. But now, as you watched your reflection in the bathroom mirror, held up against the door while he thrusted into your clothed core, you couldn't ignore the feeling of fluttering butterflies over the usual impending-orgasm-tightening of your stomach.

"Fuck," you gasped, closing your eyes as you felt Kai come over your panty and bare thighs, your own orgasm soaking through your underwear.

You breathed hard as you looked at him, your eyes moving from the back of his head that you could see in the mirror to his face as he pulled away from your neck. He smiled at you then, setting off your heart in an erratic pace that had your insides turn to mush as you stared at him.

Post-sex Kai was the most beautiful Kai that you'd ever seen: his honey skin flushed with an ethereal glow, all the blood rushed to his cheeks, sweat glistening on his forehead and his lips swollen.

You swallowed thickly as you blinked at him and he ducked his head towards yours, mouth going to meet yours and you quickly say it before you can second-think it or stop yourself,

"We need to stop this."

Kai's mouth moves to your throat instead as he licks a long stripe from your collarbone to your ear. "Hmm?"

"We should stop this," you repeat, your heart pounding in your ears. You then have to force the next words out, "Kai, stop, I'm not fucking around."

You place your hands on his chest to push him off you and see him blink at you, as if in a daze.

"Well," he said, still grinning coyly. "We aren't fucking around right now. But we could--"

"I'm serious."

The smile falls off his face, his playful expression turning somber in an instant.

"What's going on?" He asked.

"You're my brother's best friend," you state, moving your hands to your back where it was out of his sight since they were slightly trembling. "I'm his sister. He trusts both of us and we--we're doing this. I feel like the worst sister."

"Y/N, what--"

"He trusts me, Jongin." The use of his real name makes him scowl slightly as he realises you're serious.

Oh, if only he knew.

"He said this thing the other day," you continued, forcing yourself to maintain eye-contact so that the lies you were spouting wouldn't be as obvious. "He said that he's glad he can trust me and that I'm honest with him. It made me feel like shit."

No, he didn't, but what did make you feel like shit was when your phone would light up with a notification from 'Jongin' that had you grinning like an idiot.

You cleared your throat, tugging down your skirt that he had bunched up around your waist.

"Y/N," Kai, no, Jongin said your name in a tone you'd never heard him use before, making you look at him.

"What's going on?" He asked seriously. "Did he see the last text that I sent you or something? Did he find out?"

"No," you rolled your eyes as you straightened from the door. "No, he didn't. I just feel guilty. I feel like a... sinner."

"Isn't that what you like though?"

His tone makes you glance up, right as he takes a step towards you. With dark eyes focused on you, he places one hand on the door right near your waist, the other reaching for below your skirt and you feel his finger trace up your thigh before raising it to your mouth.

Your lips part open reflexively and he smirks in satisfaction, letting your mouth wrap around his long digit, allowing you to slightly taste the cum that he had collected from his earlier orgasm that was still on you.

"See?" He whispers, hot breath fanning your face as you stare up at him with your eyes wide open.

"You love this," Kai mutters. "You're a dirty sinner, Y/N, and you love it."

You closed your eyes, feeling your resolve break down momentarily before snapping your eyes open, grabbing his hand and pulling it out of your mouth.

"I'm serious, Jongin," you mutter, voice cracking. You shove him back, straightening your clothes. "This--we can't--we're stopping. That's it. Go play with the guys, they're waiting."

And with that, you left a stunned Kai Jongin in the bathroom and headed to your bedroom where you locked yourself in for the rest of the night before leaving to stay at a friend's place in the morning--a place where your cowardly self could hide out for days and sort out your messy emotions without having to worry about running into Kai.

"I literally do not understand why you need me there," you said exasperatedly, your fingers pressed to the bridge of your nose as you listened to your brother on the phone.

"Y/N, its been a week," he stated as if you didn't already know. "You've been crashing at Soojin's place for a week. I'm starting to think you hate me or something."

"You know it's not that," you reply, sighing. "I'll just spend a few more days with her before coming back."

He stays quiet for a moment before finally giving up on arguing with you. "Fine. But you have to come tonight."

"Again, I repeat, I don't understand why you--"

"Mom and Dad went for a trip, Y/N. Do you know when was the last time we had the house to ourselves?"

Yes, you wanted to say. Yes, I know exactly when--approximately two months ago which was around the time that Jongin's vacation had started and you'd thrown a 'welcome back home' party for him that had transcended into a private party in my room where he had shifted from your middle-school best friend Jongin to my secret fuckbuddy Kai.

But of course, you couldn't say that so you went, "No, I don't know."

"It's been months," he stated in his typical exaggerated fashion. "I would be insane if I didn't throw a party tonight. Its written in the stars, Y/N, karma will literally be out for you if you miss your favourite brother's legendary party tonight."

"You're my only brother," you state wryly.

"Bitch, I will drive up there and hit you."

You laugh slightly and shake your head, biting your lip as you considered the possibility. You were tempted to ask if he would be there but you knew he would, it'd be stupid to assume he wouldn't come.

It's been a whole week since you saw him, heard him and touched him.

You sigh and finally give up as you glance at Soojin who raised an eyebrow at you.

"I'll be there," you mutter, smiling as you hear your brother cheer in victory. "Don't open the vodka bottles that I bought last month before I get there or I'll murder you."

"Get here fast then," he retorted and you two abruptly hung up.

"You're going for the party," Soojin said wryly even before you could say a word.

You nodded in defeat, looking up at her hopefully. "Will you come with me?"

She snorted, crossing her arms. "Why, so I can watch you run around the house, trying to avoid Kai? No, thanks."

Soojin was the only one who you'd confided in with your dirty secret and she had given you advice that had terrified you to no ends:

"Just tell him you like him."

"Oh come on, Y/N!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in frustration as she watches you fidget on her couch. "I don't understand what you're so worried about. Given the fact that you two have been sleeping around like bunnies for two months now, I don't think it's likely that he'd reject you."

"He's an idol, Soojin," you say defiantly, raising an eyebrow. "Fucking around and dating are two very different things."

"Are idols incapable of dating?" She rolled her eyes. "If he can fuck around with you for this long without your brother finding out in his own household, I think he can manage a secret relationship without his agency finding out."

"Secret relationship?" You screeched, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks. "What the fuck are you saying, we're literally talking about his career here!"

"Why are you blushing then?" Soojin called you out, narrowing her eyes at you. You threw the cushion at her and she sighed, standing up from the couch.

"I'm not going to argue with you, Y/N," she said, holding up her hands in defense. "But for what it's worth, I think you should tell him the truth cause he's a grown adult who can decide for himself whether he should date or not. So you should confess for your own peace of mind. Cause trust me, unrequited crushes are the worst." She paused, thinking. "Well. You're pretty lucky for someone who has an unrequited crush cause you've fucked him in all possible--"

"Stooooop," you whined, falling back on the couch dramatically. "Don't trigger me, I'm trying not to think about it."

Soojin smirked, crossing her arms. "Missing the endless sex, Y/N?"

"Missing is an insufficient word," you grumble, frowning. "I miss my room but sex with Kai is not something I'm missing right now, it's something I'm..."

You trailed off, trying to think of a word that would match all the emotions you felt when you thought of Kai in your arms, in all his naked glory.

There was a short silence before Soojin suddenly suggested, "... Craving?"

"Mm," an involuntary sound that sounded like a half-moan and no where near as appropriate as it did in your head escaped your mouth and your eyes flew to Soojin who was gawking at you, definitely having heard you.

She burst out laughing as you sat up from the couch, your entire body feeling warm with part-embarrassment and part-other-emotions-that-you-didn't-want-to-name.

"You're so full of bullshit, Y/N," she giggled, shaking her head and taking your hand as she pulled you up. "Regardless of what you do with him tonight, I'm going to play my job as best friend and dress you up so good that Kai will be crawling to your room on his knees."

You looked at her, horrified. "That's the exact opposite of what I want."

"Fine, then," she shrugged, leading you to her room. "He'll see you and push you onto your knees, happy?"

"Soojin, oh my god--"

"Shut up, bitch. This is my house and in my house, I dress you up how I want to, whether you like it or not so shut the fuck up and take off your clothes, we got a slutty Cinderella to create."

Soojin wasn't joking.

You'd hoped against hope that she would be but she wasn't and you realised how dutifully she'd stuck to her statement as you entered the living room of your house, immediately feeling all eyes on you.

Your hair tied up in a complicated updo with a few strands hanging down and framing your face, Soojin had lent you a dress that had surprised you--an ivory-coloured satin dress that hugged your hips and thighs before flaring out slightly at the knees, accentuating your curves in all the right places, with a satin ribbon that crisscrossed at the back like a sort of corset. The only aspect of the dress that you'd hesitated about was the cowl neckline that would be dangerously revealing if you leaned any way too much.

When Soojin had said 'slutty Cinderella', you'd expected some daring skimpy outfit that showed way too much skin but as your brother waddled to you in a drunken-walk that you were familiar with, you realised that she had sneakily misdirected your thoughts by putting you in an outfit that didn't display anything directly but was teasing and body-shaping enough to leave plenty for the imagination.

Soojin, you evil bitch.

You hugged your brother, crinkling your nose as you smelled the alcohol on him and tried to understand the words that he was slurring drunkenly in your ear.

Your eyes suddenly caught a movement to the right and you froze in his arms as you saw Kai from over your brother's shoulder, striding out of the kitchen with a drink in his hand.

He stopped as soon as he saw you, eyes growing wide and your brother stepped away from you right at that moment, leaving you without a shield as Kai's eyes raked over you.

Your own couldn't help but drink him in--clad in a white shirt that was unbuttoned all the way to his mid-torso with frills at the front that only he could pull off perfectly in that typical-Kai fashion, tucked into black pants that elongated his legs, you felt your throat turn dry as you saw him.

God, it must be illegal to look that good.

And then Kai's eyes flew back up to meet yours which is when the realisation hit you:

His clothes were the exact same outfit that you'd admitted to lusting over when you'd seen it at a magazine photoshoot--you'd said that he looked like a groomsman whose jacket you, the bridesmaid, had tossed away and left him in just the white and black underneath.

And simultaneously, you recalled one night where Kai had especially drawn out the foreplay--you'd worn white lingerie and he'd admitted that he loved seeing you in white cause it gave off the appearance that you were innocent but only he knew how dirty you truly were, especially when he took the white garments off.

You'd mentioned this to Soojin. Not today or yesterday but almost two months back when it had happened, a conversation that even you hadn't remembered until you saw how Kai's eyes darkened from across the room--but apparently that Soojin hadn't forgotten.

I'm going to fucking kill her.

Kai took a step forwards, eyes still on you and you immediately heard sirens in your head. Hurriedly, you turned and exited through the front door, your legs taking you to the back of the house.

You don't know how many hours you'd spent running away every time that you even caught a glimpse of him. Yes, it was cowardly and yes, it was childish but you couldn't help it. It must have been about two hours later when a majority of the guests were sufficiently drunk that you found your way to the kitchen and had your first drink of the night--the vodka that you'd hidden away.

You were well into your third shot when you saw Kai in the living room, near the couch. There was a girl dancing around him and you saw the look of disinterest on his face as his eyes flitted around the room before finally finding yours.

The glass that you were holding froze mid-way to your lips and you watched as his eyes narrowed before he grabbed the waist of the girl in front of him.

You only saw him roll his hips sensually against her before you whipped your head around, feeling a burn in your chest that you were certain wasn't caused by the vodka.

God, I am so fucked.

Your eyes closed at the realisation and you suddenly felt rage boil through you.

There's no reason for you to run. You asked for this. You wanted a fuckbuddy and not a relationship. Kai was too boyfriend-material and by the time you'd realised that, it had already been too late. Which was why you left.

And now you could move on.

"Fuck it," you muttered to no one in particular as you downed the last of the vodka in your glass, slamming it down on the table and striding purposefully to the living room.

You grabbed the shoulder of the first tall guy that you saw and spun him around.

You couldn't remember his name but you knew his face well--it was a face that both Soojin and a lot of girls weren't fond of due to his fuckboy status and that was all the memory you needed to throw your arms around him as you danced wildly to the music.

You hadn't danced for long when suddenly, you felt a hand grab your arm, spinning you around to see the face of a seething Kai.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" He yelled to be heard over the music. "I'm the one who makes you feel guilty but fucking Jason is completely okay?"

"You're my brother's best friend!" You defend yourself loudly. "My brother doesn't even like Jason. And who I sleep with is none of your business, Jongin, fuck off."

You turn at that to a tipsy Jason and you quickly mutter into his ear the magical words that no guy at a party can resist, 'Hey, do you wanna get out of here?'

Quickly heading for the door, you take Jason's hand and lead him outside your house, dragging him through the people that were dancing out front. When you were sure Kai couldn't see you anymore, you told Jason that you'd be right back and headed down the block to the grocery store.

Sitting at the small foldable table outside the store all alone at 4:17AM in the morning, you considered calling Soojin to ask her to pick you up before realising that you'd left your phone at your house. You lay on the table, wake up and loiter around the store for a while until you hear a whole row of cars drive past the store.

You glance at the clock above the cashier's head:

5:28

You take off your heels and leave the grocery, walking your way back to your house.

The front porch is empty and so is the living room when you enter. You close the front door as quietly as possible, hearing the click echo through the hall as the whole house is filled with silence, as opposed to an hour ago.

Sighing, you drop your heels on the floor and carefully make your way through the bottles and cups, too tired to clean up now. Making a silent vow in your head to help your brother tomorrow morning, you head for the dark kitchen and reach for the jar of water.

The moonlight filters through the curtains enough to illuminate the island counter and you pour yourself a cup, raising it to your mouth and cocking your head back as you gulp it down.

The water is down your throat when you feel a sudden warmth at your back. You glance down and see two familiar veiny hands at your sides, holding on the counter.

Jumping in surprise, the plastic cup falls from your hand as you whip around to come face-to-face with Jongin.

His eyes are darker than the night as they bore into you, the moonlight hitting only one side of his face while the other half is hidden in shadows. His hands have caged you between his body and the counter at your back but without touching you.

You blink up at him, heart racing erratically--both from being startled and from the proximity after a week of not seeing him.

You hated to admit it but your senses were already drowning in his familiar scent that you'd missed, your thighs clenching around nothing.

"Where did you go?" His voice was piercing and sharp, cutting through the silence.

You swallowed, the sound echoing. "I went with Jason."

"You're lying," he cut you off even before you could finish saying it. "You left him on the front porch. Where did you go?"

You stay silent, hearing your own bated breath.

Kai's eyes narrowed. "Y/N."

"G-grocery store," you weakly muttered, giving in.

"Why?"

You don't respond, suddenly hyper-aware of everything around you. Your heart was pounding in your ears, you could hear your heavy breaths and you could hear every breath that Kai took, feel all the heat that his body was radiating even without touching you and the way both your bodies were the loudest echoes in this dark kitchen on this moonlit night.

Taking a breath, you finally admit, "I needed to get away from you."

At this, Kai's entire demeanour changes as he straightens suddenly, eyebrow cocking up. "Oh really? How's that working for you so far?"

You don't say a word and then he's slamming you into the counter, the marble surface biting into your back as he grips your forearms tightly.

"You really think that you can cut me off so easily after making me fucking addicted to you, Y/N?" He gritted out. "You started this. The same hesitation you had last week, I had it that night at the bathroom. And the same confidence that you had on your bed, I'm showing you now."

You're breathing really hard now, certain he can hear how loud your heart is as you gasp, "Kai--"

He cuts you off with a heated kiss, one that was unlike the million that you'd had so far--filled with aggravation, teeth clashing and tongues battling for dominance. You lost readily, letting him explore your mouth with his talented tongue, swallowing your moans as you melted in his arms.

Kai pulls away when he's certain you're breathless, forehead pressed against yours.

"If you want me to stop," he breathes out heavily. "Tell me now and I'll leave you alone. I swear I will. No more fucking around. But if you don't, I'm going to show you exactly what it means to sin."

You're already gripping the front of his shirt, fingers roaming his warm chest hungrily. His hands came up and grabbed yours, holding them in front of you, making you glance up at him.

You blink hazily, already feeling every bit of fight and resilience that you had in you leave, wanting to be drunk in his arms, wanting to be drunk in Kai.

"Don't stop," you mutter, feeling your legs tremble as you threw your head back. "God, please don't stop."

Kai's lips were immediately attacking your throat, one hand holding both of yours in between you two while his other hand went to your back. You felt the knot on your back that Soojin had tied into a bow so carefully and neatly come undone and Kai's fingers moved quickly as they pulled the satin ribbon free from the loops on the back, the dress loosening around you.

He yanked the ribbon completely free from behind you and you watched as he placed it between his lips to allow his hands to tug your dress down. You heard him moan at the sight of your bare breasts and you started to reach for his shirt but he stopped you right as the dress pooled around your ankles. His foot steps on the hem and you lift each of your own feet, allowing him to pull it from around your ankles and kick it aside.

Taking the satin ribbon from his mouth, Kai wrapped it over and over around your joined wrists, binding them together and tying it tightly.

Your breaths were coming out in short gasps as you watched him, core already pulsating with desire and when he finished tying your hands, his lust-crazed eyes met yours.

"I've been wanting to do this ever since I saw you tonight," he mutters, hands going to his pants as he pulled his zipper down. "I'm going to show you exactly how much of a dirty sinner you are, Y/N."

You don't get the chance to respond as he spins you around by your shoulders, hand pressing into your back until you're arched over the counter, bound hands atop it and breasts pressing against the cold marble.

"A dirty sinner just for me," he whispers right in your ear before licking it.

"Fuck, Kai," you whine at the sensations spreading through your body as you feel his knees pressing into the back of your leg, urging you to spread your thighs.

You do so readily, and he raises his left hand to your mouth, two fingers slipping inside your lips, making you immediately suck on the long digits.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard and so good on this kitchen counter," Kai promises, thrusting his fingers into your mouth. "And you're going to stay quiet for me, baby."

You moan around his fingers, arching your back into him.

He continues, "Your brother is upstairs, isn't he? We don't want him to find out about how his innocent sister is really a dirty sinner, do we?"

You close your eyes, feeling his other hand wander lower.

"Look how wet you are for me," he mutters, kissing the back of your neck, his chest reverberating against your back. You choke on his fingers slightly as you feel his other fingers slip inside your wet folds, walls immediately clenching around him.

"Fuck, I've missed how wet you get for me," Kai groans as he flicks your clit incessantly, making you buck and squirm against the counter in a matter of minutes.

He removes his fingers from your mouth, trailing it downwards and replaces his right hand with his left, dripping with your saliva. You trash around at the sensation and Kai holds you tightly against the counter to steady you, his fingers thrusting into you deeply and easily because of your fluids.

You press your bound wrists to your mouth to muffle your moaning as you feel him bring you closer and closer to your high. Writhing on the table, your thighs began clenching around him and right then, he pulled his fingers out of your dripping pussy.

Collapsing on the table and focusing on being quiet, Kai doesn't give you much time to breathe from your almost-orgasm as you feel him coat the head of his erection with your arousal, wetting it completely before slipping it inside you.

You moaned, slapping your hand over your mouth as Kai began thrusting at an animalistic pace. It was rougher and faster than he'd ever been on you before, his fingers digging into your hips and certain to leave bruises tomorrow morning while the angle of his hips helped him reach inside you in all the sweet spots that had you seeing stars.

The air was hot and heavy around the two of you, filled with the sounds of skin slapping, your muffled moans, Kai's breathless pants and the water bottle trembling at the corner of the counter as he slammed you against it repeatedly.

Your breasts roughly brushed against the surface as Kai pounded into you. He suddenly grabbed your thigh and raised your leg.

The new position had you screaming into your hand as you felt his dick reach upwards, rubbing your clit just as he thrusted in and out of you.

Kai pressed his chest to your back, pinning you down to the counter table and right as his hand groped your breast, your orgasm crashed over you.

You shook over the table, legs trembling as you came around Kai's dick, his own orgasm following a few more rough thrusts later. You're dripping with cum and you can feel it trickling down your thigh as you lay exhausted on the counter, Kai's body collapsed over your own back.

"Still feeling guilty, baby?" You heard him pant and you couldn't help the smile that came over your face at the question.

"No," you admit honestly. "A little sore, a lot satisfied, and there's definitely no guilt or regret."

You felt Kai press a gentle kiss to the nape of your neck and the two of you lapse into silence, you focusing on the sounds of both of you trying to catch your breaths. Kai straightened suddenly, pulling out of you and you felt his hands on your shoulder, gently spinning you around.

His eyes scanned your face, fingers lightly tracing your chin. "You're okay?"

The soft question filled with concern had your heart swelling and you couldn't help it as you pressed up against him with your arms still bound, kissing him deeply. His arms grabbed the back your thighs, pulling you up on the counter and sitting you down on it as he kissed your neck. You arched back and fell on the counter.

Right then, a bright light flashed across your eyes.

You snapped your eyes shut tightly and were vaguely aware of red spots dancing behind your eyelids.

When you opened your eyes and squinted at the harsh light, you realised that Kai had stopped moving.

A chilly air suddenly blew past and you felt your blood run cold.

Slowly turning your head to the right, you see your brother standing at the doorway to the kitchen, eyes wide and hand frozen on the light-switch.

"What the fuck?"

#exo smut #exo smutfic #exo kai #kim jongin smut #hbd cousin #this was my personal favourite #cause dUH #happy bday hoe #i love you

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