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janeyseymour · 5 months

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I Wouldn't Tell Anyone

based off of that tiktok trend: "i wouldn't tell anyone i won the lottery, but there'd be signs".

WC: ~2.75k

Melissa Schemmenti has worked at Willard R. Abbott Elementary School for years. And in those years, the one constant in her life has been Barbara Howard. The two had started the same year, and while many things have changed, their friendship would never. No, Melissa had watched as Barbara married Gerald, witnessed the woman’s growing belly as she carried both of her daughters, had seen the ups and downs in the Howard family. And likewise, Barbara had been there to see the marriage to Joe, the divorce of Joe, the lean years… and everything in between. They’ve seen the way that teachers come and go, children grow up before their very eyes, and at this point they’ve taught children of students that they had in the starting years. Teaching practices have grown and changed- it’s really an ever-evolving world that they live in.

The second grade teacher had a solid wardrobe that she kept in rotation over the years- really just a few blazers, her signature leather jacket, the same shirt in various colors, a few pairs of slacks and jeans, and of course her heeled boots that she wore everyday without fail.

“Melissa,” Barbara had asked one day. “Perhaps you and I should hit the mall? I know some great places that have wonderful clearance sections.”

“Are you tellin’ me I need to change out my wardrobe?” the redhead teased as she threw her bag over her shoulder.

“You know that is not what I am saying, woman,” Barb rolled her eyes. “But I see the way that your shirts are starting to wear thin. I also need an outfit for the end of the year banquet that this damned superintendent is forcing me to go to.”

“When you’re part of a committee, you have to go to that kind of stuff,” the second grade teacher had smirked. “Why you think I ain’t a part of all that?”

Even after the two of them hit it off, going to the mall whenever they found themselves with enough money to spare to treat themselves to a shopping spree, Melissa’s outfits still mostly circulate without fail.

Years pass, and then she meets you one night while she’s out at the bar. She walks in, and you’re captivated. You don’t know what draws you to her, but whatever it is is magical. Your eyes hardly leave her stunning figure as she dances. You know that by the end of the night, you have to at least attempt to make a move on her.

And you do when she decides to take a break from dancing to come over to the bar. Conveniently, the only opening is by where you’re sitting and nursing a margarita.

By some grace of God, she’s been watching you too- trying to figure out how to start a conversation with you over the loud music and people dancing all around you.

She saunters up to the spot that you’re at and smiles at you. Wow… her smile is radiant.

“How come a pretty girl like you ain’t out there dancing with someone?”

“Just came here after a hard day at work,” you shrug. “Wanted a marg, thought maybe the music and drinks would brighten my spirit.”

“Well, you got the marg,” she gestures to your half empty glass. “Why don’t I buy you another, and then we can listen to the music together?”

“I’m sure you have friends here that wouldn’t want me crashing.”

“I’m here alone,” the redhead reveals. “The name’s Melissa. And you are?”

“Y/N,” you tell her.

“Well, Y/N, why don’t you let me buy you a drink, and we can be alone… together.”

You end up getting her number as you part ways for the night, and simply text her when you get home that night, time and place.

She’s just walked into her own house when your text comes through. How does Renata’s Kitchen at 5:30 on Tuesday sound?

I have to wait tomorrow and Monday to see you?

I mean, I could grab a coffee tomorrow after church if you’d rather that, the redheaded beauty sends.

You send her the address of your favorite coffee place, which just so happens to be hers as well. You wonder if the two of you have ever run into each other and just not known it at the time.

The outing for coffee ends up being an entire day’s worth of just walking around the city together as you chat about life. You find out that she’s a second grade teacher at one of the local schools and that she has Sunday dinners with her family every week (that is actually the only reason she has to regretfully leave you that day) among many other things. She finds out that you work for one of the local law firms down the street from Abbott, ironically enough. How have the two of you never bumped into each other, or at least seen each other? You get to your place of work at the same time as she does, you’ve both gone down to the same Wawa at the same time for lunch because your lunch hours coincide, and she quite literally walks past your firm to get to happy hour specials with her coworkers.

Once she leaves you to head to her family dinner, she texts you to let you know that she would still love to do dinner with you on Tuesday. You excitedly reply that you would be absolutely delighted.

The two of you have been going out for quite some time now, and it’s quite funny that you’ve both kept it on the down low. You’re a bit concerned that while courtrooms have progressed with society that if your relationship were to become public, it could get in the way of cases. And she, similarly is nervous that she could face backlash at the school she works for for being in a homosexual relationship. So, neither of you have said anything to your coworkers. And it’s all going swimmingly. While you had both just stumbled upon each other one night at the bar, not expecting to find each other, here you are two years later as a happy couple.

You land the case of a lifetime, one where you could make a decent profit off of your already relatively high paying salary. On top of that, you know that you’re about to be promoted after working with this firm for the last five years.

You end up winning the case, bringing in some good money, and then you’re moving up the ladder and finding yourself with more cash outflow than you know what to do with at the moment. It’s too much for you, living in a small apartment in the city by yourself with nothing else to worry about. So, when your girlfriend comes over to your apartment for dinner, you propose something.

“Mel?” you ask as she stands at your stovetop. She hums to let you know that she’s listening, but her eyes stay trained on the vegetables that she’s chopping right now. “How would you feel if we moved in together?”

The sound of the knife hitting the cutting board halts, and she turns to face you. “What?”

“We’ve been together for almost two years,” you tell her. “I just got that nice promotion, plus a huge payout from the settlement with DuBoise, so… I was thinking maybe we could move in together? Find a nice townhouse somewhere in the city and settle into our lives together?”

About a million emotions flicker through the redhead’s face before it settles on a smile. “I think that might be a good idea.”

So, after months of looking, you both say goodbye to your small apartments and are able to move into a beautiful townhouse in Queen Village. When Melissa files the paperwork to change her address for paychecks, Ava comes flying into the staff lounge with her eyes nearly bulging out of her head.

“Uh, ahem,” the principal coughs out and raises her brows, waving the paperwork in front of the second grade teacher during lunch.

“What?” your girlfriend grumbles as she grades a few papers and shoves a forkful of her salad into her mouth.

“Since when did you move?”

“A couple of weeks ago,” Melissa shrugs.

Barbara’s brows furrow. She wasn’t aware her friend was moving house. “Oh, Melissa. Could you not afford the place anymore?”

“Girl, she upgraded big time! Went from living in the slums to a three bedroom townhouse in Queen Village!”

“Queen Village?” the kindergarten teacher repeats.

Again, the redhead just shrugs.

“Melissa, how did you manage that? I know what you make, and there is no way you could afford to live somewhere like that!” Janine cuts in.

“Can it, pipsqueak,” Melissa rolls her eyes. “Let’s just say… I have my ways.”

Nobody is brave enough to ask the mob-like woman what the hell that could even mean.

“Well, when do we get to see the place?” Jacob tries to invite himself over.

Green eyes glare over at the man. “If I can help it, never.”

“Oh c’mon, Mel Mel,” Jacobs whines out. “I lived with you at one point! Why can’t we come see your new place?”

“At the time, I did not know it was you,” the redhead huffs. “And then you moved out on me.”

“Because I found

The second grade teacher blows out a breath. “Maybe once I have it all furnished and put together.”

So, once the two of you have the place put together for the most part, the Abbott clan makes their way over while you’re out of town for a convention that you were forced to go to.

To say that the crew is beyond impressed is an understatement.

“Melissa, this is beautiful,” Barbara compliments.

“How? How?” is all Jacob and Janine can stutter out.

The redhead just smirks. “I know a guy.”

They leave not knowing that the guy that she knows is you- her girlfriend of almost two and a half years at this point. And because it’s you, and you have an unwavering love for Melissa, the house is impeccable and everything she could ever want it to. You take good care of her.

Since moving in together, Melissa’s meals have only become more extravagant. With both of your finances almost entirely combined at this point, you spoil her with the best foods and ingredients that you can get her at any moment. So when she comes into the staff room with way fancier dishes for her lunch, it raises a few eyebrows. The teachers have seen Melissa stretch a dollar like a big headed baby stretches a… the redhead smirks.

“I know a guy,” is all she offers up.

The eyebrows of her coworkers only creep further up her head when she comes in with leftovers from one of the nicest restaurants in the city- a place known nationally for the delicate dishes and absolutely delectable desserts.

She’s eating the extra slice of cheesecake the two of you had brought home when Janine leans over. “How’d you get that?”

“I know a guy.”

“You sure seem to know a lot of guys.”

They have no idea that there are not multiple people- you are almost singlehandedly responsible for the lavish lifestyle that your girlfriend suddenly leads.

Somehow, Melissa is forced to go to one of the banquet dinners that the district is holding because she’s hit a milestone in her teaching, and they’re highlighting her. So, of course Barb offers to go with her to try to find something nice to wear to the dinner that she too will be attending.

“Oh, I think I actually have an outfit,” the redhead refutes the offer. “But thank you.”

“Girl, you never turn down an opportunity to go out shopping,” the kindergarten teacher raises a brow.

“I just… know a guy that already bought me an outfit.”

Melissa shows up to the event looking like a million bucks, and Barbara almost can’t believe it. The redhead’s hair is curled to perfection, the dress that she’s in has clearly been tailored to accentuate all of her curves and to be the proper length. The shoes that she’s wearing are not the black heeled boots Barbara is so used to seeing her work wife wear- no, instead she’s got on a pair of heels that have to be at least two hundred dollars if the kindergarten teacher had to guess.

Of course, their picture gets snapped and is posted to the school website a few days later.

At lunch, while Janine is eating and on her laptop, her eyes go wide. “Melissa!”

“What?”

“You looked beautiful the other night!”

“Thanks, kid.”

“How did you get all of that?”

“I know a guy.”

Jacob moves his chair so he too can get a look.

“Melissa, that is…” he thinks to himself quietly. “At least a six hundred dollar look! For a school event? Girl, where are you getting all of this stuff?!”

“I told youse, I know a guy.”

It’s a weekend when the Abbott crew decides to get together, and they all have plans to go to Barbara’s house for game night, but Gerald gets sick and they can no longer use the Howard residence.

“Well, I guess we should cancel,” Melissa sighs as they’re all leaving the school that day.

“What if we just came to your place?” the kindergarten teacher asks. “It’s the only other space big enough to accommodate us all.”

Begrudgingly, the second grade teacher agrees. As everyone is on their way over, she calls you.

“Hello?”

“Hey hun,” she says softly. “So… change in plans for tonight.”

“Oh? Do I get you all to myself tonight?”

“Not exactly…” the redhead trails off. “We’re moving game night to our house.”

“Oh,” you say softly, your face dropping as you thumb through papers in your office.

“Yeah,” she hums.

“I mean, I guess I can go out to dinner with my mom or something to pass the-”

“What if we just… came out? At least just to the crew,” your girlfriend suggests quietly.

You mull that option over for a few seconds. “Y-yeah. If you’re ready for that.”

“I am if you are.”

“I can pick up dinner,” you tell her. “I should be out of here by 5:30, and then I can head over to grab some food before coming home.”

“There’s…” she counts in her head. “eight of us.”

“Eight?”

“Somehow Mr. J wormed himself into this get together,” Melissa laughs softly. “Something about getting the band back together- whatever the hell that means.

Once you’re free from work, you head over to one of the nicer restaurants in the city, and because you and Melissa have become frequent flyers there, they’re able to oblige your request for a few trays of food. You leave a generous tip before packing the food into your car and making your way back to your townhouse.

Upon pulling in, you take a few deep breaths before gathering your briefcase and the food and making your way to the door.

When you push it open, all eyes are on you.

“Hey,” you sigh as you kick off your shoes and head for the kitchen table to put down all the food.

“Melissa, you didn’t tell us you have a roommate, never mind a hot one!” Ava grins.

The redhead just rolls her eyes before glaring. That glare is gone though once you make your way back into the living room and sit down next to your girlfriend.

“Hey babe,” you smile at her before kissing her cheek softly.

“Babe?” Barbara’s eyes go wide. “Melissa Ann, do you have a girlfriend?”

The redhead just smirks. “Oh, did I not mention that I am happily in a relationship and have been for two and a half years?”

“Wait a minute,” Mr. Johnson furrows his brows and looks you over. “Ain’t you one of those fancy lawyers that works at the firm down the street from Abbott?”

You nod. “Hi. I’m Y/N.” You cordially shake everybody’s hand with a kind smile.

“Wait,” Janine pieces it all together. “Is this why you moved and could afford this place? Why your meals have gotten a lot fancier, and how you could afford the clothes you wore to the dinner the other night?”

Melissa just nods. “I guess you could say… I won the lottery with this one.”

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#melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary fanfic #abbott elementary #abbott elementary fanfiction

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kingkatsuki · 2 months

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— say “yes”

Choji wants to go out with you, and he won’t take “no” for an answer.

Listen, Choji has the yanderest yandere vibes I can’t explain it.

Pairing: Tomiyama Choji x f!reader.

Warnings: borderline yandere behaviour, stalking, intimidation, obsessive!Choji.

Word Count: 1k.

Choji has certainly been spoiled over the years as the leader of Shishitoren. With his best friend Togame placed second in command to ensure his leader gets whatever his heart desires.

And it just so happens that the only thing his heart desires right now is you.

But Choji would never get anyone else to ask you out though, oh no. He’d do something like this all by himself— that’s why you find yourself flustered and surprised by his blatant proposal as he approaches you inside a dingy dive bar on a Saturday night, offering to buy you a drink before following it with a “will you go out with me?”

It’s certainly fair more blunt than you’re used to, and unexpected. Living around Makochi for so long you’re fully aware of Shishitoren, and the stories you’ve heard about their fearless leader. And you’ll admit, Choji is attractive— but the cons seemingly outweigh the pros as you try to give him a kind smile and let him down gently.

Giving him the politest “no” that you can manage, before grabbing the drink — you bought yourself — and making your way back to your girl friends.

Because even without all the infamy surrounding Shishitoren— You’re not really interested and he’s not really your type. He definitely is cute enough, especially up close. But it would be almost impossible to keep up with the sheer exuberance he exudes every hour of the day, and being affiliated with Shishitoren like that could unknowingly put a target on your back.

But Choji won’t accept “no” as an answer, unsure the word is even part of his vocabulary as he gives you a smug grin. Like a petulant child throwing a tantrum inside a candy store, Choji always gets what he wants. Even if it means he just has to try a little harder, to work a little smarter.

Luckily for him he has the man power of Shishitoren behind him, a hoard of men ready and willing to do whatever their fearless leader decides for them. Some may call it underhanded tactics when they scare off any potential suitor that comes within a foot of you— from a guy at the bar offering to buy you a drink, to the date that you’d swiped right on from one of those dating apps that stands you up completely. It has you starting to wonder whether the only men you’ll be able to date in this town are Choji or Bofurin, wondering if that would start some sort of gang warfare like West Side Story.

You were shocked to finish work one evening to an influx of notifications on your social media account. Every single photograph of you had a like paired with a slew of praises— talking about how pretty your hair looked, or how cute your smile was. One particular photograph of you on the beach managed to get six comments in a row describing how perfect you looked, and warding off the few guy friends that had left comments or stood beside you in photographs — all from the same account.

Chojitoren.

And if that wasn’t enough; it surprised you the next morning when you received a text from an unknown number. A flirty good morning message, telling you to have a good day with a promise to see you later. A text that terrified you at first— until you’d asked who it was and you discovered it was Choji. Suddenly wondering how in the world he’d managed to get your contact number, and what other information he had for you.

Choji wouldn’t exactly call it stalking, not really— and besides, it isn’t even him doing it. Getting his friends to track your location and send him updates just to make sure the love of his life is safe isn’t stalking, he’s protecting you.

A few weeks later you’d managed to reach a third date with a guy you met in your local coffee shop before Togame cut it short. Telling the guy to go home with a tap on the shoulder with the bottom of a ramune bottle that he definitely didn’t buy from here. Sliding into the now vacant seat across from you as he leans across the table with a lazy smile. Drawling on about how you should give his best friend a chance, that he’s a good guy really, and that he’s completely obsessed with you (if that wasn’t obvious).

“Just one date,” He gives you a lopsided grin, “How bad can it be?”

But that’s always how it starts, isn’t it? That’s just a way for Choji to get close to you until he’s made you completely dependent on him, because why would you want anyone else when you can have the most perfect guy there is?

And perhaps he is a little crazy — but can you blame him when he’s certain he’s in love with you?

You didn’t agree. You’d made it clear to Togame that it was another firm “no”, and yet here you were sitting in one of the tiny back rooms inside the delapidated Ori across from a beaming Choji.

“I knew you’d say yes!” He laughs, as though Togame hadn’t showed up at your door and practically forced you into Shishitoren territory, barely letting you toe into your shoes before delivering you directly to his best friend.

“God, you’re so frigging pretty.” He coos, resting his cheek in his palm as he stares across the table at you like a lovesick fool. It has a weird sensation churning in your stomach as he practically kicks his feet at the sight of you, “I’m glad you agreed to this.”

You didn’t.

“I’m gonna make you happy— the happiest, you’ll see,” Choji grinned as his vibrant eyes darkened, “I’d do anything for you.”

And yet he’s practically leaning over the table to get closer to you now, splaying a palm out on the surface to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear before stroking his thumb against your cheek.

“I’ll be the best boyfriend there is— the bestest.” He gives you a toothy grin that takes up half his face, “Isn’t that right, Kame-Chan?”

“Yeah, Choji,” Togame smiles back, “The bestest.”

#tw:yandere #trigger:yandere #tw:stalking #trigger:stalking #choji x reader #Choji tomiyama x reader #tomiyama choji x reader #wind breaker x reader

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ddejavvu · 1 year

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I had this idea for a cm blurb,, where hotch and fem!reader are at a bar on a date, and a lady comes and asks if she can buy hotch a drink (all flirty with him) and he says yes! but he orders what reader is drinking and while making eye contact with the other lady,, slides the drink to r. (or where r is on a date with spencer, and a guy does that to r, and she gives the drink to spence) <33

okay i will do both!! this one is hotch, though <3

Aaron has an infuriating inability to understand how attractive he is. He'd been confused initially, when you'd stutter and stammer around him, when you'd take time out of your day to hang around him, when you'd compliment his tie every morning. Maybe he's insecure about his age, or maybe he'd thought after Haley, he was out of the dating game, but he just can't seem to fathom that he's smoking hot, and he's surprised when someone slides into the seat beside him as if you're not across the table.

"Hi," She grins, nearly shouting to be heard over the music, "I was wondering if I could buy you a drink, handsome?"

Aaron's brows raise almost imperceptibly higher on his face, and he blinks a few times, confused by her brazen flirting. You're right there, looking rather unimpressed, but watching the interaction play out with rapt attention.

"Yes, you can," He collects himself enough to nod, and a rush of red hot emotions run through your chest before he recites your own drink order to the woman.

She nods and rushes off, which gives Aaron the opportunity to turn back to you with a bewildered look in his eyes.

"She was trying to flirt with me," He notes, like he's asking for your confirmation.

You nod, sipping the last few drops of your drink from your straws, "Yes she was. I told you, Aaron, you're gorgeous."

His face flushes, and not from the booze. He ducks his head down, clearing his throat, "You're sitting right across from me."

"Some people just don't care about things like that," You shrug, watching as the woman comes back, "Here she is, Aaron."

She's giddy when she returns from the table, and if she hadn't been so audacious, you'd have felt bad for the rejection yet to come. Her cheeks are rosy, her chest heaving slightly as she sets the drink down in front of him, "Here. Would you wanna come back to my table and enjoy it with me?"

"Thank you. I think we're fine here," Aaron shakes his head, taking the already-dewy drink from the table in front of him and leaning forwards to place it in front of you, "Here you go, sweetheart."

"Thank you," You mumble, grateful that Aaron stood up for your relationship, but bashful that the woman in front of you is now crestfallen and disappointed.

She's off without another word, and your usual order has never tasted sweeter.

"I'm going to start sitting next to you," Aaron decides, using the reflection in the glass of the window to watch the woman rush back to her friends, head hung low, "With my arm around you. And our feet touching."

"That won't stop anyone," You scoff, delighted to be presented with the wonderful opportunity to tease Aaron yet again, "You're just too stunning, babe. You're irresistible."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction

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hauntedwitch04 · 10 months

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Just a Mirror

Sam Winchester x plus size!Reader

Words: about 6.3k words

Warning: saddy sadness, and some allusion to sexy time, eating disorder, hating on your own person, please be careful if you sensible about this themes

REQUEST: Hi :) I saw that your requests are open, and I was wondering if you could do a Sam Winchester x plus sized reader; an angsty fluffy friends to lovers that has some smut and reader hating herself in the mirror and possibly problems with eating

Author’s note: Hi love! Thank you @desicroft02 so much for your request. I felt really inspired by your idea love and I hope you like how it came out, if you don't find yourself with what i wrote, feel free to say it to me and I'll write to you a new one !

p.s.I got very caught up in the topic, since it is something I feel very close to. I was never the skinny girl, but with the years I've grown used to feel different to others girls, and even if sometimes I really hate what I see in the mirror, I kinda arrived to the point that I see both the flaws and the strenghts of my body and I love both, but some of my closest friend and this kinda of disorder and I tried to help them the way aI could so this one is for them too.

In case you need someone to talk to, I am always here, don't be afraid to seek help because often having someone close by to remind you that the volume of that evil voice we hear inside can be lowered or eliminated is important.

Requests are open I Ask

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Why?

This is the only question that floats in your mind, while, with thick tears in your eyes, you try to read the enormous book about whatever monster you are hunting with your friends in this little city, forgotten by God.

You and your childhood best friends are hunting some monster that you still haven't been able to figure out what it is, despite the fact that you are reading yet another list of monstrous animals in the story, while Dean and Sam are still out at the bar where you had decided to spend the evening, and from which you had decided to escape as quickly as possible, without giving any kind of explanation to the two hunters, holding back tears and trying not to meet their confused gaze

You and the boys have been friends since you were six and they were seven and eleven. You met on a rainy October day when you were still living at Bobby's house, after your father had died in a hunting accident after leaving you with him, and being his friend and seeing him almost as a brother he couldn't help but welcome you and raise you as if you were his own daughter.

Dean and Sam had just been left in the rain on the narrow dirt road by their father when you looked out and saw these two cold, sad, and at the same time angry children. You could see the resentment they felt for the man who looked less and less like a father and more and more like an army general, ready to train soldiers and not raise children. Immediately you went to Bobby and told him of the presence of those two unknown children who were in your driveway. He had immediately run to get them and brought them inside the house, worried that they would get sick from standing in the rain, and wondering why their father had left them there, without saying anything.

"He said he didn't have time to explain and that he had to get there as fast as he could, but that he would call you this evening." Said the older of the two once they were seated on the couch in what must once have been a beautiful dining room, and was now more like an ever-growing mountain of books. It is to your adoptive father that you owe all the culture and ability to read texts on the supernatural that most hunters would not even know how to open.

As he spoke you could see the blond child trying to hold back the sadness within himself and show himself as a big boy, almost pretending to understand why his father abandoned them like that without saying a word; in contrast, the one who was supposed to be the smaller of the two, with unruly brown hair, looked more like a beaten puppy, as he wetly moved his feet lazily on the floor, listening to what his brother had to say, but not hiding his sadness and anger at his daddy's decision.

"Baby, couldn't you get Sammy a glass of water for him while Dean and I go make a call for a minute?" Bobby then asked you suddenly, and you realized that you were lost in thought as you watched and studied those boys. You nodded quickly, trying not to let it show that you had spent all that time staring at them, as you heard Bobby's voice and that of the blond boy, apparently named Dean, drift away, only to hear the front door open and close.

After a few minutes you returned to the living room with a glass in your hand, and walked over to the brown-eyed boy, who was now looking at you and smiling shyly. You handed him the glass with a beaming smile, and he could do nothing but blush a little and retract his body a little, letting shyness take possession of him as he took the glass.

"Thank you." He told you in a faint voice.

"You're welcome." You replied as you sat next to him on the sofa.

"My name is Sam." He said, only to freeze and blush again as he held out a hand for you to shake, just as grown-ups do. You told him your name, and he commented that it was a very nice name, and that he liked it a lot, before going back to being silent and staring into the sad void.

You not being able to see what you considered a new friend feel so bad, you shamelessly asked him why his father had left him there and if that was why he was sad. He turned to look at you, and unknown how, he burst into tears, while with his hands he covered his face, not wanting to be seen as weak with someone he had just met, but you didn't give a damn.

Immediately you hugged him and listened to him talk about how his father was behaving with them, how his brother was struggling more and more to hide that he was tired of his parent's behavior, and how he was lonely and sad, constantly changing towns and seeing nothing but his family. That poor seven-year-old seemed to be thirty years old because of the problems he was telling you about, and as much as you were even younger because you were only six, you felt like you could understand him, because for a while that had also been your life before your father passed away.

You remained thus cuddled on the couch and fell asleep, lulled by the warmth of the fire slightly away from you and the new friendly presence that had entered your lives that afternoon, so much so that when Bobby and Dean returned after trying for a varied amount of time to contact John, and finally once succeeding in being insulted and put down by him, they both smiled at the sight of those two small and defenseless children embracing each other, as if to protect each other from the world. But no one knew that night before you fell asleep you had promised to protect each other forever, no matter how, when or why you would always be there for each other.

That was how you got to know the Winchester brothers, and the hatred for their father also began.

You awaken from your thoughts when you hear the motel door open and close, realizing that another time had gone into the whirlwind of memories and you were lost in remembering again when life was easy. You hear someone coming toward you with heavy footsteps, so you wipe away the tears you didn't know were there on your cheeks, which like small streams had almost made a furrow along your skin by now.

You sense right away who it is, but you don't have the strength to turn around so you continue to cry silently as you feel two arms wrapped around you, and Dean's warm body resting on your back as he leans down so that he can put his head in the crook of your neck and hold you better. Ever since the two of you met it was immediately like big brother and little sister between the two of you, and even now despite the fact that it has been a long time since you were children and in your spare time you enjoyed stealing cherries from the neighbor's tree, there is still that complicity and understanding between the two of you that once existed.

He knows exactly why you escaped so suddenly from the dive bar you were both in a few hours ago. Sam had seen a beautiful girl, the classic cover model of some magazine, slim and with all her shape in the right place, taking a drink at the bar, looking seductively at him as she put the drink straw between her lips. Sam's hormones had not let him repeat twice that clear call to fuck directly in the bar's bathroom, a bathroom from which you were coming out as he was sticking his tongue down the throat of that fake and at the same time perfect babe, who in his arms looked so small and yet in the right place, toned against his strong muscles, as opposed to how you would have looked with your shapely body. You couldn't stand there and watch the boy you love for so long now make out with someone else, so without explanation you left and went back to the motel where you took two bedrooms for the case. Usually you take two rooms only when Dean wanted to find someone to take to bed, unlike Sam who kept his sex life much more private than his brother, but since he and Cas had come out a few months ago you had not taken the second room, having practically grown up together and thus having no problem sharing space. That night, however, when you had arrived in the small town Sam had insisted on taking a second room, and stubbornly had not told his older brother why when he had asked him, and somehow your heart was preparing for what would happen, but in fact nothing would totally prepare you for what you would see in that bar and how your heart would break.

Dean squeezes you tightly, as if he is afraid you will disappear at any moment, and that heartfelt squeeze only makes you break the weak dam you had built when you saw him come in, and you burst into endless weeping.

"I know baby, I know." That's all the blond man can manage to say to you, as he gets you up and carries you toward the bed, so you can lie down and take off your shoes, before coming close to you and holding you in his arms, until exhausted, you fall asleep safe in Dean's strong hold, while he whispers soothing words to you.

The next morning you wake up with the sun gently caressing your face from over Dean's shoulder. You smile for a second, imagining what it would be like to wake up in the other Winchester's arms, and soon after your heart, as if pierced by an arrow, bleeds at the memory of what happened last night. You get up, shifting your friend's arms, and go to the bathroom to wash and freshen up, when you hear the door to your room open, and a male voice, known even too well, shout to your still sleeping friend.

"Dean, wake up!" Sam yells, and you behind the door hold a hand over your heart, just imagining her beauty after her usual morning run to stay in shape. Her long dark hair tied back in a light bun, her forehead sweaty and muscles still tense from exertion.

"I'm awake, you asshole." Dean replies, as you hear him get up and go get some coffee. "You could have deigned to make less noise last damn night, you know there were people here who wanted to sleep."

You hear Sam snort at his brother's words, then respond to him in an aggressive, cold tone.

"Well then there are people who wouldn't want to see you run off to fuck wherever we go, hold hands all the time or make love wherever you are. And you know something else too Dean, I thought you were a better person. Why her? Come on you've had a lot of girls, and it wouldn't cost you anything to find a thousand more, why did you have to choose her!?" Says the younger brother, before leaving the room, slamming the door behind him.

You close your eyes and try to control your breathing as you feel yourself lacking oxygen. You feel tears coming to your eyes, but you try with all your strength to push them back down. You take a few minutes to control your emotions as all you want to do is fall to the floor on your knees and scream until you can't hear yourself anymore, but you stay strong and open the door to see Dean immediately in front of you, looking pained and guilty, seeing your state.

"You didn't tell him." You say in a calm, quiet voice, not asking, but stating that your best friend had not told about his new relationship with our angel friend.

"I never found the right time." Dean tries to say, then looks down. "I never had the courage, every time I seemed to miss the words."

"Sam would never judge you, and you know that." You say as you feel a pang inside your heart, remembering the words the man you love had used a few minutes earlier. You feel your clothes sticking to your body like glue, too tight, so tight that you feel as if they have pre torn. You feel how the floor gives way under your feet, you feel how a billion eyes are on you ready to judge you, you feel something inside you break, but you can't let anyone but yourself see how mere words have hurt you, so you grit your teeth and continue to look at Dean stoically, as you feel a single and only tear escape down your face.

"I know, but I'm afraid in the same way, I don't want it to end like last time." Dean confesses, still looking at the floor, but crying clearly, as his words take you back to when you were nothing more than kids and he had come crying to you one night, confessing that he had fallen in love with a boy he had met during his last case, and that his father after finding out had beaten him so badly that his scars remained, and had forced him to watch pornographic movies, reminding him how "a real man acts." No one had ever seen you as angry as Dean, and Bobby when he heard you scream and came to watch that night as you swore to heaven that you would kill John Winchester. Dean had never told Sam about that episode, not wanting to worry him since he had just run away to study at Stanford, and asked you to do the same. It has been so long since that night, yet the memory of that pain and that man still frightens the wonderful person in front of you.

"But I swear I will. He has no right to think such things about you! I-I will tell him-" He begins to say, as he tries to wipe away the tears running copiously down his face. You, moved in turn and knowing that like you he too was remembering that fateful evening, take his face in your hands and bring his eyes to gaze fixedly into yours.

"No, you won't do it now, you will do it when you feel like it." You comment chuckling as you caress his face. He looks at you unconvinced and you see his inner battle inside whether to accept your proposal or to be as always too good and allow the world to kick him in the balls.

"Please be selfish for once. And if I serve as your cover, so be it, not that I would have had any chance with him anyway." You continue, smiling at him as you feel your heart slowly shatter. You see Dean ready to retort, but you have already disappeared back into the bathroom, crying silently. Once the bathroom door is closed, you stop to look at yourself in the mirror and realize how disgusted you feel about your body.

There is not a single thing about you that you like: your thighs, your arms, your stomach, your chest.

The more you look at yourself, the more you want to break that all-too-truthful mirror, which tells an unfiltered reality, a sad truth that for so long you had tried to ignore, but which now that Sam had spit it in your face you could no longer pretend not to see. So you decide at this very moment that everything was going to change, you don't know how, but it was going to happen.

So weeks go by, Sam still won't talk to you, and slowly you continue to sink into the stupid realization that he doesn't because only he, like you, can really see your body, and that he hates you for it, so now convinced that you have to change your body to be loved, you begin to eat less and less and more rarely, and what little you put in your mouth to make Dean happy, who sees you getting sadder and more tired, is rejected from your stomach just moments later when no one is looking at you. This situation hurts your body and your heart, but you do it so that you can look at yourself in the mirror without wanting to punch him, but things seem to get worse and worse. You look at yourself and you never fit, before you saw a body you didn't like, now beyond that you see a person you don't like.

Dean is getting more and more worried about you, seeing you getting paler and paler and thinner, but every time he tries to talk to you, you put on a smile and pretend that everything is going well and that the only reason your shirts now look huge on you is that you are working out more, but he knows that you never liked sports and that is why he knows you are lying to him. He tried to talk to Sam about what was going on, but all his brother managed to say by pouting was that if he needed relationship advice to go somewhere else and that he didn't want anything to do with the two of you.

Dean was on the verge of smashing the plate he was holding in his face and yelling at him to open his eyes and see that you love him more than Dean does right now and that he is fucking in love with their favorite angel, but then he had seen Castiel's face and knew he couldn't let him down after he asked him to keep a low profile and let as few people as possible know about their relationship.

Dean had never felt so lousy as deciding between the love of his life and a friend in need, but he knew that if you found out what he had done you would insult him, so he played it cool and moved on, as if nothing had happened, while he continued to try to take care of you, with little success.

It's been almost a month since Sam had said those horrible things, and you're not getting worse and worse, but in order not to show it in front of your friends, you keep doing the same things as before, trying to have the same cheerfulness.

You are now hunting a werewolf in a remote town in a state you don't even remember. Your body is weak, you haven't eaten anything Dean has brought you in the last three days taken at the various fast food restaurants and bars he had found along the way, and what little you had put in your mouth had gone down the drain shortly thereafter, hating yourself just for having the idea that you could eat something. You feel your eyelids as heavy as shutters, the muscles in your body are nonexistent, and what few are left ache from the mere effort of standing and walking, while your head throbs incessantly.

In this you are scouting around where the last victims had been killed, to see if you can find any more information, but so far you have not had much success, so you decided to split up.

You are barely holding the flashlight in your hand, too heavy for you, when you feel a sudden dizziness that forces you to lean against the wall. You stay a few minutes trying to catch your breath, eyes closed, breathing in the cool night air around you, when you hear a noise coming from a short distance away from you, like a dog growling. With difficulty you open your eyes and see before you a sight that is frightening to say the least: the werewolf you were looking for is looking at you ravenously, while a dark laughter rumbles from his belly to his mouth. Quickly you try to pick up the phone to call Dean or Sam, but unfortunately your mind is so clouded that you can't even do simple things like this and the phone slips out of your hands to the monster's feet.

"The Winchesters' little friend!" He says, seeing who you were trying to contact. "I've heard a lot about you, among the monsters you are known as their true weakness: so small and helpless, you wouldn't even survive my bite, I'll do you a favor and eat your miserable heart." He continues as he gets closer, and you do whatever comes to your chin at this moment, as you feel death coming slowly but comfortingly too, like an old friend you haven't seen in a long time. You scream Sam and Dean's name as loud as you can, hoping that at least one of them can hear you, your lungs aching from how much breath you had to use and your throat burning from the effort as you feel your strength failing.

You lean back against the wall again, this time with your back, and let yourself slide down to the floor, as your vision goes completely black and your ears become plugged as when you go too deep underwater, and the world seems more and more distant. You have one last flicker of life before you pass out completely in that dark alley, at the mercy of that monster, and you hear Sam's voice call out your name for a moment.

Your heart loses a beat, and then completely dark.

You awaken with a jump and a gasp as you sit up on the bed on which someone has carried you. Your head immediately begins to spin like a spinning top, and your vision fails again as you feel a warm hand settle on your shoulder and bring you back to lie down.

"Relax, you're safe now. It's okay." Says in a low, soft tone a rough voice, leading back to Sam. You, shocked to know he is there next to you, open your eyes with difficulty and find yourself lying on the bed in your room, in the bunker, as you see him kneeling beside your bed. His face shows the weariness he feels, but in his eyes shines a strange hope as he looks at you mixed with sadness. You place your gaze on the rest of the room and see your favorite chair, where you usually sit to read your books or do your research when you are tired of sitting in the library, covered with blankets and pillows, making you realize that your favorite giant has been sleeping there for what seems to be even more than a couple of days, otherwise everything looks the same, unchanged, and strangely everything now seems to make more sense with the presence of Sam and some of his things in the room. Immediately you slap yourself in the face at that thought, reminding yourself that he hates you, and that the reason he is here is because Dean will have had better things to do than watch you sleep.

You're about to tell him that he can leave, and leave you alone, knowing that he doesn't even want to be in the same room with you, as he has shown recently, and that in case his brother asks you, you won't tell him, but he beats you to the punch and starts talking.

"First of all I want to say I'm sorry, you don't even know how much, and I certainly understand if you never forgave me in your life, because I wouldn't forgive myself." Sam says, as you see tears forming in his eyes. You try to stop him, confused as to why he was making that speech, but he stops you in turn and begs you to let him finish.

"We found you just in time, by "luck," if you can call it that, that asshole had decided to torture you a bit before eating your heart, and we got there before he could do it, but when Cas touched you to treat you he said he didn't know if you would survive anyway because your body was too weak since you hadn't eaten for too many days. Dean insulted me and even beat me up a bit before explaining the matter from his point of view." You can't help but widen your eyes, and Sam chuckles seeing your expression, as two tears run down his face, and he darkens a little again before continuing, without looking you in the eye.

"Yes, he also told me about Cas, and also about that affair with our father to make me understand why you decided to cover for him."

You close your eyes for a moment, expecting a series of insults, but you only feel his lips rest on your hand, so you open them again and see him leaning over the bed, as you feel his tears coming hot to contact your cold hand.

"Thank you." The boy confesses in a whisper. "Thank you for everything you did for Dean, thank you for always taking care of him when I couldn't or was too blind and stupid to, I don't deserve to have you in my life."

You can't find the words, and so you do the only thing you can think of this moment, and you take his hand and squeeze it, while barely smiling at him.

"We will always have helped each other, you remember. Then Dean will be your brother, but it's like he's my brother too." You say as you pull his face up and force him to look into your eyes. You see him cry even harder, a few sobs escaping his lips, as he squeezes your hand even tighter.

"I'm sorry, I promised I would always protect you, and instead I was so stupid and jealous that I didn't realize what I was doing." He tells you again, only to stop for a moment and look at you this time with a resolve he lacked until a few seconds ago. "Why did you stop eating? How come you covered your mirror in the bathroom? Dean found the remains of the one from before in the garage, thought you didn't like it and got a new one, so he changed it for you."

Immediately you remember, one night in a rage after looking at yourself in the mirror for the umpteenth time, you had started punching it until it had become nothing but stardust under your bleeding fingers, and the next day when you had returned from your walk with the dog, you had found a new one, with a note from Dean who had said that seeing that you had taken it off, thinking that you didn't like it anymore, he had bought a new one, so realizing that you couldn't escape that vicious cycle and knowing that if it happened one more time it would arouse even more suspicion, you had simply covered it up, and hoped that no one would ever learn of that dirty secret, and instead, here it all was for all to see.

You look at Sam in those damned puppy-dog eyes of his, and burst into desperate weeping. He, seeing you in this state, instinctively picks you up and holds you in his arms.

"I disgust myself Sam." You finally manage to utter those damn words, and immediately you feel as if your soul lightens as you feel his arms grip your body even tighter as if you could disappear at any moment, and at the same time he does it with an innate delicacy, as if it were a precious crystal figurine that can be broken under his gaze. "I'm disgusted by my body, I'm disgusted by every single thing about me, and you're disgusted by it too, don't lie to me. I thought if I lost weight things would get better, but they don't, I feel worse and worse." You continue, while somehow trying to get away from him.

"In what sense would you disgust me? When would I have ever said such a thing?" He asks confusedly as he looks at you, tears have dried on his face. His eyes range and seem to want to imprint your every little detail in his memory. His gaze makes you blush as you try to find the words to tell him how his words have done nothing but unleash a storm that had long been locked up somewhere inside you and was just waiting to be released. So you take a deep breath and tell him everything, while he looks at you attentively and astonished, his arms still around his body, as if he needs reminding that you are there beside him, and that you are not just a product of his mind.

You tell him everything, every little thing you had felt hearing his words while you were locked in that damn bathroom, your feelings and emotions in the month to follow, along with all the thoughts and all the actions you had put in place in the hope that he would no longer hate you, and that maybe you would hate yourself less, too. He starts crying again, and hides his face in the crook of your neck.

You stay a few minutes clasped to each other, in silence, after you have poured your heart out in front of him, ready to suffer the consequences, when he takes your face in his hands and stares at you steadily with those chocolate-colored eyes of his, and for a moment you feel your breath short.

"Don't ever think of such a thing again. Never. You are perfect exactly as you are, there is nothing I would change about you, there is nothing I don't love about you." At his words you stand still, as if petrified, afraid that a single movement of yours could mean the breaking of this beautiful illusion. "Yes, I am tired of holding all this in, I love you, I love you so much that I am sick just thinking about not having you near me for a second, I love you so much that I would have been ready to kill my brother for stealing the girl I love all my life, I love you so much that I would be ready to climb the highest mountain in the world and scream it to everyone!" He continues as he stands up on the bed, and begins to move his arms quickly, just enough to make you laugh. At the sound of your laughter he turns to look at you, and smiles even more, to return next to you on his knees and cup your face in his hands. "I love every little, tiny thing about you madly. I'm crazy, crazy in love, and I was a fool because I was so convinced that getting away from you would be better for you, that I didn't realize that you were suffering because of me, and I'm sorry. On the one hand I would like to let you go and make you happy, but on the other hand I am an extremely selfish being and I only want you for myself." He continues as he rests his forehead on yours, whispering the last words. "I love you, and I'm sorry."

You look at him, and not even realizing what you are doing, you take his face in your hands and bring his lips to yours. The kiss you exchange arises as sweet and gentle, like two flames dancing in an elegant dance side by side, testing each other's reaction, in the same way your lips move over each other, slowly tasting that new sensation. You feel her soft lips caressing yours, until neither of you has a single breath left.

"I love you too if you hadn't realized it idiot." You comment making him laugh. "I love you, and for so long I would have preferred not to because it made me sick, yet I could do nothing but love you. The only reason that kept me alive was my love for you, even though it was also my poison." You continue by looking into his eyes, and you see the pain in his.

"If you forgive me, I will do everything to correct what I have done." He looks at you, with a penitent and pleading gaze, as he takes your hands in his, before you release one and place it on his right cheek, and he instinctively leans into your hands, seeking that simple contact.

"I've already forgiven you moron." She laughingly comments, before throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him again, but this time the air in the room is different. The atmosphere becomes more erotic and intriguing. You feel his hands carefully explore your body, running his hands down your sides from your breasts to your butt, where he rests his large, warm hands, before slipping them under your T-shirt and caressing the skin of your back, making you shiver. You feel his hand rise higher and higher to the level of your bra and undo the hook that held it, but then he stops. Parting your lips he looks into your eyes for a second.

"If you don't feel up to it it's perfectly fine honey, we can stop here-"Sam says unsure, but you stop him.

"Afraid it's too much for you Winchester?" You ask as you raise your eyebrows, and see him smile, before resting his lips on yours, then creating a trail of kisses from your mouth to the chest exposed by the shirt you are wearing, down your neck.

"God, how I've missed you." He comments between kisses, but then stops again and looks at you seriously. "Anyway, I wasn't kidding myself, if you don't feel comfortable we can stop here."

You look at him, in his eyes only the pure affection and love you feel for him, and then put an end to all his doubts.

"I want to do it Sam." You say in a whisper as you take the bottom of his shirt with your hands and slowly slip it off, thus also dropping the bra he had unfastened a few minutes ago. "I want to do it with you Sam."

He looks at you and doesn't let you tell him twice, and he resumes his attack on your neck, leaving obvious signs of his passage, and then moves on to your breasts.

"God, you're perfect." He whispers before teasing one of your nipples. You moan softly at that sensation, feeling his teeth clench, his lips kiss and his tongue lick every single inch of your body, worshipping you like a goddess, a queen, tasting every inch of your skin.

This wonderful moment is interrupted, however, by the unannounced entrance of Dean, who, seeing the scene of his brother splayed across your body as he kisses your breasts, and with one hand explores the rest of your body, while you clutch his long hair in your hands, moaning his name shamelessly, lets out a small scream, before closing the door again.

"Damn you guys could warn." Comments the older brother, as Sam with speed grabs a blanket to cover you.

"Should we announce? You're the one who entered the room unannounced!" Sam replies in turn, making an expression that makes you laugh. "You can still come in now jerk."

"Bitch." Dean retorts, to open the bedroom door again and have a stupid grin plastered on his face. "So, I see Sam hasn't exactly figured out how to talk and resolve a situation, usually the mouth should be free to talk, not busy sucking-"

"You try to say one more Winchester word and I'll tell everyone about Christmas with Cindy McWood." You threaten him, and see him whiten, before his smile returns to its former self.

"Well what can I say in that case guys, good conversation and be sure to use protection, I'm not ready to be an uncle." He says closing the door behind him, then opening it again. "Not that I wouldn't make a great uncle, but I would say I'm too young and then-"

"Out!" You and Sam scream in unison, and the only thing Dean does is give you the finger before walking away. The two of you stand still for a moment weighing what just happened and burst out laughing, before Sam's lips find yours again.

"Where were we?" He asks you next, and you can't help but smile and moan at feeling his lips on you again.

It's shaping up to be a very interesting night, long but interesting, and you know that in the end maybe by tomorrow morning you can slowly look at yourself in the mirror, seeing the reflection of the man you love behind you supporting you.

TAGLIST

@supernatural-lvr @itzdarling @newtdumbledoorstarksoot @evansstan-akya

#hauntedwitch04's writing #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader smut #sam winchester smut #sam winchester x plus size reader #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x plus size reader #dean x castiel #supernatural x reader #supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #sam winchester #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester imagine #becky's favorite #castiel x dean #castiel novak

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chronically-ghosted · 1 year

Text

in another life . . .

rating: explicit, 18+

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

word count: 7K

summary: Partner. That word had been jammed up inside his brain for as long as he could remember. Gym-class partner, lab partner, work-out partner, partner-in-training, partner in this fucking life or death situation where we’re only going to get out alive if we trust each other more than I trust myself. And then he met you and the definition changed again.

warnings: domestic!frankie, marriage kink (if that’s a thing), oral (f receiving) but i think that’s an expectation from every frankie fic, improper use of a kitchen table, unprotected piv, no use of y/n, brief mentions of PTSD, improper use of Spanish, eating in bed

a/n: requested for my 100 followers event! Anon: hiiii firstly! congrats on the big one hundo you totally deserve it 🥂‼️ secondly wondering if I could rq a Pedro boy drabble with prompt number 12... I wanna do laundry for Frankie Morales :D “did you just wash these sheets?” “I did.” “they smell nice. and they’re still warm.”

🤍Masterlist

. . . I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.

Frankie fills the silence of the house without you in it with music. This house, it had been your choice, even though he never expressly made you choose, or even presented the dichotomy. This house, with its leaky faucet and janky AC unit and finicky pilot light, was what you wanted instead of a diamond ring, and so he gave it to you. First down payment, along with every other red cent you and he had both saved up, went into buying your first home together. This wasn’t forever, you both agreed (with only two bedrooms it wasn’t enough room for a baby, he often thought) but even as the real estate agent glanced around with disdain for the house and your budget, one look from you and it was settled.

“It has good bones,” you said, standing out on the concrete deck overlooking a postage-stamp-sized backyard. There were weeds in the corners and holes from some unknown animal but he could see the wheels in your head turning, imagining how you, like everything else you did, planned to tackle and wrestle control over it with your bare hands. “It needs work, but I think there’s something special here.”

“Yeah?” he asked, threading his fingers through yours, the real estate agent no doubt off somewhere inspecting the drains. “Is there something here?”

You grinned and shoved your nose then a soft press of your lips into his denim-shoulder.

“I’m sure of it.”

All his life, Frankie worked best in a unit. As children, his older brother, his younger brother, and him were practically inseparable, their physical similarities almost presenting as the same person but at different ages, and when that group disbanded because Oscar left for college, he went on to find another one. First, his army unit, then the boys. His boys. Left to his own devices, Frankie was terrible at remembering to eat, sleep regularly – focus on anything other than fixing cars and planes, really – but he’d do it for them. He hated to see that worried crease show up on Will’s brow when Frankie admitted he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He hated that Benny had to show up at his apartment to drag his ass outta bed to get him into the sunlight. And he hated when Pope felt obligated to take him out to bars to try and meet women.

“I’m not dating someone just so they can be my mother,” Frankie muttered into the lip of his beer bottle. “I don’t need anyone thinking I need to rely on them like that.”

“Yeah, but you do better when you have people relying on you.” Pope’s dark eyes flitted from a woman at the bar top to him, with intention and full of force. “And I’m not saying I’m trying to get you to fuck your mother, but you need a partner.”

Partner.

That word had been jammed up inside his brain for as long as he could remember. Gym-class partner, lab partner, work-out partner, partner-in-training, partner in this fucking life or death situation where we’re only going to get out alive if we trust each other more than I trust myself.

And then he met you and the definition changed again.

You are his best friend. You are the woman he wants to fuck every day for the rest of his life. You are the first person he wants to tell good news to and the first person he wants to talk to when he’s had a shitty day. Your voice quiets something inside him that has been far too loud for far too long. You are a relief and a refuge. For all his faults, you love him and sometimes he can’t fathom why.

You are his partner – in life, in marriage (one day), and forever (he hopes).

“I might not always like you, Catfish,” you said to him in Will’s backyard for Benny’s birthday party. You had been drinking and every sip seems to bring you closer and closer to him. With your face tucked up into his neck, arms up under his flannel and hugging his waist, the only way he could be physically closer to you was if he was inside you – which he was about two seconds away from suggestion when you leaned in close. “‘M not always going to like you, but ‘m always going love you.”

And love him you did. You loved him when he decided to go back to school to get some additional certifications so he could maybe teach flight school. The army would pay for most of it, was a fucking relief to your shared thread-bare, cartoon-spider-web empty savings account. But what the army would not pay for was for you to go to nursing school. You worked in hotels for the events services branch, coordinating everything from weddings to conferences, walking (mostly running) from one end of the hotel to the next. Your sister got you a Fitbit for Christmas one year and after the holiday rush, you walked twenty miles in two days.

“After that, this nursing stuff should be a breeze,” you said flippantly as you signed your paperwork for admissions.

Of course you got accepted at one of the better hospitals in the city – he never doubted for a second you would – and as the fresh-faced trainee, you got stuck with most of the night shifts.

Which meant his days looked a lot like this: wake up at 6AM, drive an hour to the helicopter tour building on the coast, fly rich idiots around all day, eat the lunch you had prepped for the both of you on Sunday night, continue flying rich idiots around, drive home in two-hour traffic, change into his work overalls, go work on some cars Benny’s buddy had at the local garage for some extra cash, then go home, heat up dinner you also made Sunday night, and then attend to the most pressing thing you or the house needed.

Which could be:

Fixing the AC unit, resealing the back door so it would close properly, re-caulking the shower, building more attic space, repainting the back fence, or replacing the hand towel holder.

Frankie didn’t mind the hard work. It kept his mind and his hands busy. What he did mind was the house silent and eerily empty without you here.

He didn’t mind the hard work because even for a few hours, he got to hold you while you slept. He got to eat with you at 10:30 at night and it was the highlight of his day.

Pay your surgeon very well to break the spell of aging

Sicker than the rest, there is no test, but this is what you're craving?

Frankie bobs his head, his earphones carefully tucked up under his shirt to prevent the laundry from tangling up in them. He hauls out the latest load and moves onto the washer, fishing out one more sock when suddenly the lights go off. All of them. Total darkness.

And then light and he’s staring down the bottom of the drum.

Then dark. And light.

You. Your code. One you designed when you read that PTSD victims are often triggered into a fight-or-flight response when startled. You, who knew before he did, how to manage the symptoms, create workarounds, and find a pathway through, instead of not at all.

He takes out one of the earbuds and smiles.

“Hey, you’re home.”

You lean against the doorway, smiling that smile that is reserved for him and him alone. Sometimes he’s selfish and wants everything of yours to be only for him – all your smiles, your laughter, your sighs – but that’s like trying to capture sunlight in a butterfly net: too focused on the impossible and you end up missing the daytime.

“How goes this fucking Sysphian task?” You nod at the baskets of laundry at his feet, referring to how you’d often rant and rave about how laundry, the dishes, and grocery shopping were never tasks that could simply be done. He knows how much you hate being unable to cross things off your to-do lists, so he holds your hand during all of these rantings and kisses your knuckles when you take a breath.

“Good,” he shrugs. “‘Bout to fold your scrubs for tomorrow.”

“Ah, have I told you lately that I love you?” You swing into the room and kiss him on his cheek, on the division where his patchy beard meets his skin – the place that you most often claimed on him. Your fingers squeeze around his bicep as you pull away and your eyes fall to the basket behind him. You gasp with glee.

“Did you just wash these sheets?” You ask like you’d just uncovered buried gold.

He smirks, propping his hip up against the dryer. “I did.”

Without another word, you scoop them up in your arms and inhale sharply.

“Mhmm, they smell nice.” You bury your head in deep. “And they’re still warm.”

In the rare moments when you’re both home and going through laundry together, he never fails to scoop up a load of hot towels and dump them over your head, relishing in the girlish giggle from beneath the clean laundry. “It’s so toasty,” you whimper with glee.

“They’re not gonna be if you get your hospital gunk all over them,” Frankie tuts, going back to add a new load into the washer as you glare at him over the lump of sheets.

“Ha, ha. Move over, Mr. Morales, and watch a master at work.”

“Yes, Mrs. Morales.” It’s stupid but his heart always fumbles when he calls you that. It started as a joke, one that you initiated, but now it’s like berry jam on his tongue, sweet and sugary. He’s thought about calling you that while he’s inside you but figures he should save something for the wedding night.

He sidles back, giving you space near the dryer as you pick up a basket of t-shirts.

“You know there’s dinner waiting for you in the kitchen.” He shakes his head as you begin to fold the shirts with lightning speed and precision – a side effect of being the oldest daughter in a family of five kids.

“Yeah, but you’re in here,” you say and bump his hip. He bumps you back and helps with the load. “Besides, it’ll get done faster with two people.”

He can’t exactly argue with that, so he lets the silence grow. But it’s not silence, not really. In the distance, dogs bark. Outside the room, the temperamental AC grumbles, a sound he never thought he’d come to appreciate. Inside the room, fingers tug at fabric, the soft thump as the shirts grow into a continuous pile. Then there’s you, breathing in the lilac-scented air, the scent of his deodorant and sweat and something entirely unique to him– his Frankie-ness as you’ve called it many times without elaborating. I’d bottle it if I could, you told him, bathe in it. You’re kinda weird, he told you, and you know he likes it.

Every once in a while, his elbow brushes up against yours, yours skirting around his, but never colliding, an awareness of the other always present and attended to, a flow of familiarity and recognition he’s never felt before or known since.

Bit by bit, you’ve taken pieces of him into you, picked them up, held them to the light and found them beautiful, until a second bit of his soul lives outside of his body. He knows every inch of you, how every atom calls out to him, begs to be close to him, and held tight. It’s not sunlight he’s trying to keep safe, it’s your heart. Your precious, wonderful heart that is somehow so full, it was enough to fill him up too. Gold filling in the cracks.

Kintsugi, Benny called it, when he got obsessed with anime for three months that one time two years ago. Frankie never could remember the actual name, and maybe that wasn’t the point and maybe it was a little ridiculous, especially when it was explained by a deliriously drunk and bleary-eyed Ben Miller at one in the morning on his brother’s lawn chair.

Maybe a better way of thinking about it was how separate, disparate, jagged and raw edges came to fit together. How someone like him got a do-over, another chance to be remade in the kiln, and how someone like you was allowed to love unselfishly, to ask for things and never be threatened with reparations of some kind – as if loving you deserved some sort of compensation.

Pieces, broken and scattered – he looked up and saw you carrying yours, and you witnessed the scars and blood dripping from the shards of his own past, his life, his love, and despite how slippery his pieces were, how dried and empty and wanting yours were, something pulled them together and made them stay.

Something stronger than light.

Stronger than gold.

You shook his hand and looked at what you built together, the pieces that came together, and in the end, that was your partnership. A creation of something greater – home, family, love.

So much fucking love.

In the end, Frankie Morales used love to build his life, not death, and you’re the one who gave it to him.

He drops the last shirt on the stack and he turns, his fingers seeking the drawstring of your pants.

You know what he wants. You want it too. A singular desire in two separate bodies.

The inherent closeness of domesticity draws you into him, closing the already limited space as hands find waists and lips find skin. He drags his nose against your jaw, somehow already shaking, his teeth grazing your throat, unwilling and unable to press his lips to you, wanting to drag this out as much as possible. He squeezes your hips, thumbs flipping under your shirt to touch, touch, touch, until his fingers wrap around your ribs and you make your first sound of the night. It snags at his restraint, pulling it threadbare.

“Frankie,” you sigh and he cannot fight the cataclysmic pull towards you – he stumbles, pinning you to the laundry room wall, his tongue cupping your earlobe into his mouth and he sucks. The next noise you make is high and keening and it turns his touch frantic.

Caught between the wall and his broad shoulders, he does with you what he wants. He nips at your cheek, your neck, the dip of your clavicle, as his thumb presses up each knot of your spine, drawing out the tension from your body like draining poisoned blood, and by the time he pinches off your bra, you’re all but hanging onto him.

“Baby–,”

He can hear you say, it’s late, we have work in the morning, you don’t have to do this,

I’m not worth this

With a low growl that is all possession, all anger that someone ever made you feel like your love was too much, he tugs your shirt off, knocking his hat off as he goes. In the drift, he sees your eyes flutter, mouth twisted in pleasure and guilt – you don’t want to be asking for things like this – and so he silences every doubt, every worry that he’s tired or it’s too late or his knees are aching too much to make you feel the way you deserve – he kisses you with enough force to knock out every unpleasant thought you’ve ever had about yourself and flattens you against the wall.

You let him pry you open, his touch fervent and insistent, tasting of iced coffee and gum. He licks into you, telling you things with his tongue, the way he tugs your bottom lip between his teeth, in the soft puff of breath that escapes him when you cup the back of his neck. Closer, he begs, closer.

His wide palm arching your lower back into him, he squeezes your ribs, up under your breast, before finally taking your nipple between his thumb and the meat of his hand and twists, just enough to make you break apart from his demanding mouth, gasping as if tapped by a live wire. But it’s him who is electrocuted, who catches fire, who wants to be chewed down and swallowed up. He shuffles and pulls you into him, the throbbing in his pants bordering on painful. He rubs himself against you once and you sigh like you know he hurts. You nod.

Your fingers peel your shirt up and over your head as he cups one thigh then the other until your hips hug his waist, smearing the hem of his shirt up over his skin. He feels the heat coming from between your legs, the slight dampness, against his lower belly and he groans, low, right near that source of warmth he wants to die in.

You curl above him, tipping his head back, as you dive into his mouth again, fingers twisting into his hair, thumbs brushing his temple right where you know he tends to get headaches. Your tongue brushes against his upper lip, tasting his mustache, and his knees threaten to buckle.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he laments, he praises, into the supple wetness of your tongue. You nod, pleased, and press your chest into him. He cannot fucking wait to get his mouth around your tits.

Mouth sealed to yours, hands cupping the meat of your ass, Frankie works entirely on sense memory to carry you into the kitchen, to a long wooden table beneath a wide window, white curtains closed and blinds shut.

This table had been one of the first purchases for the new house. Tan cedar boards with white knobby legs, it instantly reminded him of the one in his own childhood home, where he and his brothers fought over meals and did homework together. Where he held his mom after his father died and where he dropped his bag after coming home from a life too long spent fighting other people’s wars.

This table mattered to him and he’d be damned if it wouldn’t mean something to his own child one day.

That was something you too wanted to give your child, never having a table like this in your own life. You loved the stories he told about the table in his kitchen. How much it meant to him.

And now he was going to fuck you on it, this symbol of stability.

He just wonders how stable it really is.

His fingers clutching the back of your neck, arm running in tandem with your spine, he lowers you down, shifting your weight onto his arm so you don’t bump your head against the wood. He releases you but you protest, a muffled uh-uh, as he tries retreating. You loop your arms around his neck, tugging him flat against you and he feels your breasts mold against his chest, nipples already tight.

“Baby,” he breathes, sucking up and out of your mouth, “let me make you feel good.”

Behind him, he hears your sneakers clatter to the floor, your heels digging into his back as you toe off your shoes, and you shake your head.

“I am.” Kiss. A thumb under his bottom lip. “You do.” Breathless, reverent, grateful.

Grateful.

Grateful that he is kissing you.

Not good enough. God, he’s going to eat that self-loathing right out of you.

You whine, frustrated and hot, as he pulls back. He wants to go right for your pussy, but stutters at the sight of your unmarked tits. Smooth, flushed, heaving. There is no part of you he does not love, does not feel the need to worship on his knees.

But suddenly sour shame strikes him as he realizes enough time has passed since the last time you’d had sex for the hickeys to heal. He intends to amend that right now.

His thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your hips, to calm himself, he folds himself over you, dribbling kisses along your throat, over the wings of your clavicle, at the barest incline at the top of your breast, and then to the meat of your tit, the heaviness, the sway, and he bites down. Predictably, you yelp, nails scratching roughly into his scalp and that only makes him suck harder. You have very strict rules around where he can mark you, but on the places he can – oh, you beg him for it.

He palms your other tit, just to feel the goosebumps break out across your skin, to roll your nipple with the calluses on his palm. His teeth release, his tongue laving over that already pink and swollen skin, and he glances up, his other thumb coming to massage that fragile patch.

Being a pilot, a soldier, a brother, a son, those are the things he is. But Frankie lives – aches, pines, desires – to watch you come apart.

The purple bruise on your tit shining like a luxurious necklace, your eyes flutter open when you feel him pull up. Your fingers around his ears, your chest wet with his spit, you let him take you in. You give him this, because you know you’re about to get so much more. With your legs still wrapped around his waist, he can feel the soft cant of your hips, the quiet, patient begging, as you thought he needed reminding that you needed this. You rub up him, knees pinned to his ribs, and he lets you pull him into your mouth, grounding him. This kiss is brief, soft, a far cry from the tearing and biting that got you onto the table. Knowing exactly the state you need to be in to ask for what you want, he holds your jaw, thumb against the apple of your cheek and he slips his tongue out of your mouth. Again a protest, an instinctual reaction to the repeated pattern of abandonment, but like all cries for help, he quiets your squirming by sliding his thumb between your lips.

“Suck,” he murmurs gently. Your eyes flutter shut, your nails carving half moons into his forearm, lips creating a vacuum seal around his knuckle and you obey – you suck – and he rewards you with a trail of kisses across your sternum, over your breasts, to the soft swell of your stomach. He nuzzles your belly button and you groan, eyes still shut and his thumb still in your mouth. He bites, softer than before, just above the thatch of hair and you whine around his finger, body going supple for him. He slides his thumb out, dragging a shiny string of spit over your plush lips, down your chin, joining his other hand at the waist band of both your panties and your scrubs.

Any fast movement will awaken that anxious, overthinking, beautiful brain of yours, now that he has it fuzzy and unfocused, so he keeps kissing, keeps sucking and biting, that spot just above your curls. He tongues your hip, and then the other side, your bottom half wonderfully bare before you can open your eyes.

His shoulder bumps the back of your thigh as he stands up right, inhaling the sweat behind your knee, the pungent tang of your glistening curls, your almond butter body lotion. It’s hunger, he feels, but not a tangible hunger, one that can be so easily satiated. It’s not painful, or weakening – no, he is made stronger by it. He feels your blood pulse beneath his hand on your inner thigh as he opens you up and he’s made better by it.

He kneels, a holy servant before the divine meal of their goddess, on shitty linoleum beneath harsh lights in a kitchen he can barely afford.

Frankie takes your hand, kisses your knuckles, and slides your grip into his hair.

“Recuérdame cómo te gusta, nena.”

He eats. He consumes. He licks. He sucks. He slurps.

He tastes your dripping wetness on the seam of your cunt, before his tongue ever gets the chance to explore, to open, to divulge. He licks until he feels your breath hitch – a curse in the shape of his name, as if he needs scolding for making you feel so good – and then he opens his jaw and tongues your hole.

In a lust-drunk haze you once told him he has something better than DSL – he has a pussy-eating nose. He prods you with that nose you can’t seem to get enough of, licking in as far as he can, coating himself in everything as it leaks out of you, and he moans as he can feel it on his chin. You vibrate with the sound and above him, your fingers clench down into his hair.

“Oh, fuck, holy – fuck, Frankie–,” your trembling shakes the bowl of your hips, spilling his meal, so he sucks your clit in a way that makes your body freeze and then melt. You go limp, pliable, and gushing. He gets a few more moments of twisting and sucking and swallowing, until by the third time he puts his lips around your clit, you open-mouth whine and it’s like his body violently remembers he has a cock. He is seized with such a need to fuck you in this warm, wet place he’s dug out with his tongue, he doubles over and rests his teeth against your thigh.

“Frankie, I’m so close,” you writhe, chest flushed and brow sweaty.

Before you, he never knew sex could feel like this, could do this. Sure, he used sex to keep away those circling, vulture-like thoughts from time to time. But this, this drawing out and unthreading, unspooling, of himself and someone else, tearing at ego-drenched threads until all that was left was a being of pure want and desire – he didn’t know this was possible.

He didn’t know he could feel like this.

One more broad lick, coating everything in what he hope fucking smells like him, and you arch, thighs shaking, his hair in danger of being ripped from his scalp. You gasp as you flatten, the first orgasm of the night rolling through you, sweat making your skin salty, as though you had been breached by the ocean.

He laps you through it, of course, a nascent smirk on his face.

You open your eyes to this self-satisfied Frankie, eyes only visible over the top of your cunt, and you whine.

You reach for him and he goes, smearing your slick over your face, offering it to you in supplication on his tongue. He tastes your rising desperation, the way you sharpen your teeth against his lips, batter his tongue into the corner of his mouth, try to claim what your cunt already has. His hunger is an infection and your fever has reached a boiling point.

Your trembling fingers curl his shirt up his back, passing over the ruddy scar on his shoulder where he got hit with a stray bullet, the jagged white line over his ribs where a knife nearly split him open. He used to only fuck with his shirt on. He doesn’t now.

His shirt crumples to the floor as he sits up, you following, eyes dark, and you bite his pec muscle, your love for him twisting you into an anthropophagist. You want to consume him, like your pussy swallows his cock. Having him impale you is not enough; you want intercourse with him on a subatomic level.

You inch back to give yourself enough space to unbutton his jeans and he sees the wet slick left behind on the table. The heat behind his groin shoots up his spine and he grunts, burying his face into your neck where he tugs on your earlobe with his teeth, hands planted on either side of you.

“Hurry, baby, I gotta fuck this pussy,” he whispers against the curve of your jaw. He wants to leave a giant purple bruise there, this instinct to claim, to mark, stoking the roiling heat at the base of his spine and drawing up his balls.

But his attention snaps back to your hands when he hears a click, the release of his zipper is almost euphoric. He moans in relief, unable to see through his half-lidded eyes the explosion of goosebumps over your skin as his breath tumbles over your back and down your chest.

His urgent hands overwhelm yours, one pushing his jeans down his hips, the other palming your stomach, pushing you back and you go willingly, but seemingly mesmerized by the sight of his aching, flushed cock springing up against his stomach. You lie down, but only barely, still on your elbows, as he tugs you by your ankles to the edge of the table.

Your uneven breathing could mean a lot of things. He thought you were being complementary the first time you told him he was too big, but your eyes always widened at the sight of his cock.

“Do you need to be opened up some more, cariño?”

At his rawest, Spanish came out of him like a spilled bottle of molasses, sweet, slow, rich.

“Hmm? Tell me what you need. Hable mas alto por favor.” He rubs your knees, your thighs, hoping you’ll ask for what he wants.

“F-fingers, Frankie,” you swallow, eyes still latched on to his now weeping cock. You glance up at him, face open and full of trust, and he feels his dick pulse. “Please, Frankie, put your fingers in me.”

“Fucking anything.” He plants one hand and cups your mound, lost for a moment in the soaked curls, before pushing two fingers inside and thrusting. “I’ll fucking give you anything you want.”

His hips jerking slightly in tandem with the pulse of his fingers, his slacked mouth an indication of how unconscious his humping has become, as he watches you dissolve with every stroke of his hand. God, he didn’t know they made things this pretty. His hand pushes your knee up and back, finding room for three fingers and your eyes roll back in your head. You scrabble for anything to hold onto, fingers searching for the ghosts of your bedsheets, but finding none, your arms curl over your head and latch onto the other edge of the table. You present your fucking tits to him like you’re letting him admire artwork.

It almost brings him to his knees.

“Oh, I’m coming, oh, Frankie, I’m gonna –,”

He pulls out his fingers just enough to let you gush down his palm, his wrist, and he licks it up like a glutton. It drips a bit onto the linoleum and he smears it with his bare feet.

Frankie slides two fingers back in, his brain going fuzzy at being away from the clutch of your cunt for too long, when you grab his wrist.

You can barely breathe, your skin a pale pink, your cunt no doubt must be sore, but your eyes are as hard as diamonds in your skull. He swallows the flush of spit in his mouth.

“Now, Frankie,” you plead, fingers tight around his wet wrist, the hairs on his arm standing up at the sound of your commanding voice. “Fuck me, now, I need you inside of me.”

It always makes him a bit dumbstruck, the way you beg, the way you let him and only him see this side of you – this side of you that is sick with wanting.

His hand squeezes the base of his cock once, eyes fluttering, to remind himself he cannot blow his fucking load the instant the tip of him is inside you. He taps your clit, once, twice, lubing himself up as if he hadn’t moved around internal organs to make way for himself. He notches, then slides, white-knuckling his impending orgasm in favor of making this good for you. He steps farther between your legs, hands sliding from your thighs, up to your waist. He thumbs your nipple and your pussy twitches around him. He swears his heart flat out stops for a concerning length of time.

“How is a pussy this good all mine? All fucking mine?” He rolls his hips, pushing deeper, movements marionetted by the high-pitched whimpers and moans of your mouth. He could catalog every single one of them, has done so in the deep recesses of his brain, and it takes just a second to know when it switches from pleasure to pain.

He bends over you, you choking on his dick, and kisses you hard, shattering the tense look on your face.

“I love you,” he tells you, a secret that despite being well-known to anyone who sees him look at you, still feels precious and fragile. His hand plasters your hair to your sweaty neck as he kisses you desperately, speaking a language only you understand. “I love you so fucking much.”

You sigh into his open mouth. “I wanna marry you, Fransisco Morales.”

He is covered in gold. Dripping with it.

His nails at your hip dig into your skin and you know exactly what you’ve done.

“Say it. Say it louder, nena,” he snarls, face pressed into your cheek, and he thrusts forward with enough force to rock the table. The table legs squeak as you pin him to you one more time and nip at his ear. The last drop in the well, the rope slipping over the edge, the coil locked into place.

“I wanna fucking marry you.”

With a breathy grunt, he yanks you down onto his cock by your waist and slaps your ass with his balls. It’s been a while since your cunt has taken a beating like this. You clutch at the edge of the table again, mouth torn open.

He knows you like it when he plays with your clit, and he will, but he needs to get this out of him.

“Yeah? You’re gonna marry the guy who’s fucking your pussy so good right now?” It’s amazing that words escape at all through his gritted teeth, jaw taut. He watches as he disappears and reappears in you, your lips puffy and pink already but he needs more. He doesn’t want you to be able to walk out of bed tomorrow.

“Yes, Frankie – oh, god, there, right there – yes, I’m gonna marry you.” He tips your hips up as he pounds down and you arch, crying out at the angle, the depth, how full you feel. He fucks like he’s trying to bruise your ribcage through your pussy.

The thoughts in his head collide with the others, knotting together, blurring, until the only noise he can make, the only thing he can verbalize is the tight grunts, the hm, hm, hm, as he focuses on chasing this fire.

He feels it approach so fast, he’s nearly taken under by the intensity of his orgasm so he slows, grinds instead, and with his eyes on your face, he cups himself around where he’s split you open, feeling your lips suck in and out with every thrust.

He closes his eyes briefly, helpless against the waves of arousal that coat his fingers. He smears your clit with his thumb and his name is a split, jagged thing that burns your tongue. He wants that taste on his tongue again.

You throb once, a sharp climax warming your pussy, and he backs out, drops to his knees, and licks you up again. He can taste his sweat there this time and he groans. His hands slip over your skin from the sweat in the crease of your thigh.

The cries from your mouth are wet now, on the curve of a salty tongue. You tremble like your orgasm is a physical thing, thrumming under your skin, warming your blood and you claw at his forearm.

“B-baby, please–,”

Wiping his mouth on your inner thigh, then licking up the mess he made, Frankie stands. He swats your bottom lightly, tutting. He’s a mad man, he knows it, he can’t tell if it's delirium from the rough ache of his balls or masochistic joy in hearing you beg, but again he rubs himself through your folds. It’s not the same, not nearly enough, but it helps last just a bit longer.

“No crying until after I’ve made you come.”

“I’ve already come twice,” you whine as you buck your hips, trying to take him in deeper. “You said I can have anything I want.”

“And what does princesa want?” Yeah, there’s definitely something wrong with him.

Your eyes flash as your nails dig into his shoulders, that fire he so loves to stoke flaring out.

“I want to come on your cock, Mr. Morales.”

And he unravels, divinity calling his name.

His pace is slow, then rough, then deep.

The table is just the right height. He balances on knee on the lip, bending your knees over his shoulders, and fucking down into you. He’s going to snap you in fucking half and maybe he does but he’ll be there to seal you back up again.

Pour himself into you. Fill you. Make you whole once more.

Baby, please.

The first drip of tears starts out the corner of your eyes as you come, open-mouthed, throat exposed, a cry loud and in the shape of his name tearing from your lips, your body locking up, cunt squeezing him until he feels himself burst.

With a shudder and a groan, he spills, hot and flush into you. He comes, and comes, and comes, until his gooey spend is forced out of you and down the crack of your ass. He can’t see anything past the white spark in his eyes, feel anything but you and the tingle of his limbs.

The excess of you and him is everywhere, leaking out onto the kitchen table, soaking the wood. There’s a ringing in his ears he can’t quiet.

Your breath is hot on his neck, sweaty skin stuck tightly against his, he knows he’s crushing you, his arms given out at some point, but he really doesn’t think he can stand up right. He kisses your cheek by way of apology and thanks but you don’t seem to mind, your own gaze unfocused on the ceiling.

“Fuck, Frankie . . .”

He laughs, realizes his legs aren’t working, so trembling and uneasy, he slides out of you and manages to make it to the floor. He blames the sudden dizziness on a lack of food and then blames the dizziness for lying down on the floor.

His eyes flutter and somehow you’re suddenly curled up next to him, your palm resting over his pounding heart. His fingers find their way up into your sweat-damp hair, thumb gently rubbing against the knot at the base of your skull.

“Your back is gonna be killing you in about fifteen minutes, sweetheart,” you grumble sleepily into his chest, a grin on your face.

“I can’t feel anything below my waist right now.” He yawns. “So, we’ve got some time.”

You nod, absentmindedly stroking the dark hair on his chest.

“We need to talk about Pope’s birthday party this weekend. Will put us on drink duty . . . but I can’t really focus on anything right now.”

“Good,” he smirks with his eyes shut. “That was some of my best work.” And then he frowns. “You need to eat.” He pokes your side and you huff.

“Okay, if you’re awake enough to berate me, we can at least go to bed.”

Groaning, you pull him up and he threatens to stumble you both into the wall, but he kisses your cheek and swats your ass, before snagging a tub of ice cream and a spoon. He meets you in the bedroom with the cap off and a smear of chocolate around his lips.

You’ve got one of his shirts, grinning up at him from the center of the bed, and he’s torn about whether he likes you in his boxers, or nothing at all.

You take the ice cream from him before he has a chance to flop down on the bed.

“Not exactly a nutritious meal,” you mutter around the spoon and he turns his face from the pillow to glare at you.

“That’s the other dinner I made for you, so eat.”

Your giggle is all you can give to show your thanks.

He rolls onto his back, groaning theatrically, before tucking his hand behind his head, and his fingers coming to rest on his stomach.

Behind the lids of his eyes, he can feel you watching him.

“What?” He grumbles, feeling around for your foot to pinch your ankle. He hears you move so he knows he’s close. “Not the right flavor, princesa?”

“No,” you laugh and prod his hip with your toe. “It’s just . . .”

His eyes open, finding yours in the half-lit gloom. You’re grinning the spoon in your mouth, eyes bright with something unnameable. You shrug, eying his hand between you both.

“I just never knew Fransisco Morales could be domesticated.”

He wipes the chocolate off your chin with his thumb.

Yeah, who knew?

#frankie morales #fransisco morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales smut #triple frontier #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #frankie morales x f!reader

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izartn · 7 months

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A peak example of KnH using the messiness of the power diferencial for its plot and chara development are the eps 12-13. Anime-only here!

In order:

- Jinshi discovers there are 80 kidnapped girls like Maomao working in the rear palace; he could just sweep it all to retain Maomao and nobody could/would say anything. Who cares about servant girls?

- He decides to bring it to light and fire off the kidnapees (doesn't realize they're now without jobs and on the wind) and ask Maomao what she prefers, to stay or leave.

-Doesn't seem to realise he has such power over her her only answer will be, "whatever you want" (but I want to stay!) in loud subtext. Or rather he realises it, and thinks she would prefer to be free and go home, instead of like. Trying to ask via proxy one of the other serving girls or something. Then again I think he realised if he implied he wants her to stay she would, regardless of her wants soo. Even if she wants to stay int his case, he takes the safe route and lets her go home.

(aww he doesn't want her against her will!! low bar but like. he started off blazenly trying to seduce her so he could use her more efficiently so.)

-Maomao, unable to let herself voice her wants bc of her low class awareness, finds herself outside the palace, and a job she liked, with a debt to pay and a father that doesn't know?care? to manage money and so becomes a serving girl at the brothel. She doesn't have to sell her body, but yeah.

-Gaoshun is exasperated at Jinshi downmood, who's missing Maomao sincerity and presence (and who is if not already in love with her, pretty infatuated at this point) so he orchestrates Jinshi attendance to the private ball at which Maomao attends as hostess. All of this basically manipulating Jinshi for his own good lol.

-When Maomao and Jinshi find each other there, and they come clear (Maomao about her liking her job at the rear palace, Jinshi about wanting her there in his vicinity) now temporarily free of the direct servant-master link even if their social position is still wildly unequal; Jinshi directly voices he could buy her contract and Maomao thinks that's a wonderful way of getting what she wants: her debt erased, a job at the palace doing what she wants again.

Okay here comes the funny part. We all now that by this point Jinshi does want her full attention romantically (and sexually) even if he's never direct about it or even fully seems to realise it himself. He's concious enough of his position and likes her enough he doenst want to force himself upon her. And this deal would get him ownership over Maomao, which means he'd get her near him, and it'd be with her consent even!

(I think this is when I got it. He's so so lonely. Like. He's infatuated but he also wants someone he can trust and a friend, only Maomao is so below him socially it's all a minefield. If he buys her contract she'll be under his protection!)

And Maomao likes the idea because Maomao knows enough about him at this point she seems to trust Jinshi to behave as long as she also knows her place as apothecary and maid (lol Maomao you have more freedom than that and I think you subconsciously know it which is why you're considering at all going with him), and this is the best offer she can see for her near future. She gets to have the protection of a powerful patron and also get some freedom to experiment with her herbs and poisons.

-Her sisters at the brothel know enough to divine this guy likes her, so even if Maomao is like. "No he's buying my contract so I'll work on the rear palace again!" (which lol poor Maomao, and even only that would be favoritism) They doll her out as if she were a courtesan whose contract was bought by her lover.

-I cannot be more serious, that scene where he goes get her and they get on the carriage and everybody is "oh! lucky guy where was hidden that beauty" is super wedding themed. Jinshi who isn't above pettiness and using his power for some things, just straight up orders her to keep doing her fake freckles so people won't stare.

This is one of those things Maomao was already doing and doesn't seem to be trying to stop doing? So she's just like. OK weirdo. But it's also a clear show of power; he can make her change the way she does her face. It's just that in this case, as with the buying of the contract, she's on board so the order is funny instead of creepy. Jinshi also knows she prefers the freckles so this is a case of him noticing other people noticing Maomao is pretty and being silly.

-Surprise Maomao you won't be working at the rear palace! Look this is Jinshi blatantly using his power to keep her close. You can't tell me he couldn't have used his influence to get her there again, even "only" as an assistant apothecary and not a maid of honor, but Jinshi has her contract and he has plans. Not nefarious ones! But making her study for court lady so she can be his sort of secretary?

He trusts her intelligence and character, knows they've worked well on the various issues of past episodes, likes her, probably wants her to know more about court in general so she can defend herself when she comes to the limelight via their association, has probably nebulous plans of marriage, etc. So he's not passing this opportunity.

-Maomao wasn't expecting this and doesn't take very seriously the exam bc she doesn't have any interest on that. She's here to live comfy and have some freedom to explore her medicine and intellectually engage her mind with the misteries that Jinshi brings to her. Court lady? Any further implications of what that could mean for her future flee her mind, although I find interesting that in ep 19 there's a part where she goes: mmm, if I had studied harder I would already know this ministery function (could investigate the misteries better).

-Jinshi is kinda exasperated but doesn't punish her for her failure at the exam. He recognizes Maomao interest in medicine is her driving force so he doesn't take it against her, although he wants her to be his assistant in truth very much.

All of this together is a very interesting picture of their push and pull dynamic, and the until now kinda unequal romantic interest. Jinshi uses his status to get some advantages and get Maomao with him, but doesn't push further. Maomao uses Jinshi to get a work she likes where she can exercise her knowledge, and even when he surprises her with the court lady exam she only goes "oh well, I'll try" even if half heartedly. They both know Jinshi has the upper hand socially, and he does kinda trick her to get her as a personal servant (repit with me: everybody else is now thinking she's his lover from the brothel) but Maomao is also getting things she wants and he wants her to pursue her interests (except when it involves choking on poison or venom lol) so they're both pretty content in that ambiguous limbo.

Basically: they realistically set up Jinshi as a well intentioned, but high handed and a bit ignorant, powerful guy who does want to be with and near Maomao, for personal and also practical reasons (Maomao is very useful for uncovering plots within the palace!) this low class girl. Maomao has her own agency and decides that actually, what Jinshi is offering is a step up from what awaits her, and although conflicted about the similarities she perceives between the brothel and the women on the palace, working for him offers her opportunities she wouldn't be able to access on her own. It's risky as hell for her, but life as a low class woman (even as educated as Maomao) is pretty risky anyways so may as well go fr what she wants.

Pretty realist! I love that whatever Maomao feels for Jinshi, (and I'd argue she feels some kinda way about him even if she doesn't want to think about that) there's always this barrier on her mind about their status, so she's very cautious. (until she forgets herself on her love for medicine hehe)

Now. That's a momentary status quo that's totally gonna change, with the revelations of Maomao parentage and her saving Jinshi's life in the middle of a ritual where he was acting as the imperial brother publicly. But that's not what this post was about. This post was about showing an example of the power dynamics in KnH and why I love them on my romance.

Just in two episodes you have all that byplay! Like. Crazy. Super interesting. Arguably not very romantic, but that cautious balancing of each other and their situationship is what shows me the future romance has legs sooo.

#kusuriya no hitorigoto #the apothecary diaries #knh meta #meta #my thoughts #maomao #jinshi #jinmao

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ohsunnyboy · 1 year

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steal your night (part 1) | sung hanbin ˚₊‧⁺˖

you never knew you had a boyfriend until sung hanbin eats your tiramisu and steals your heart under the stars of monaco

SERIES: a night in monaco — one, two

TAGS: fake dating, strangers to lovers, business man!hanbin, gn!reader, flirty hanbin and you ehe, meet cute <3, summer vibes

A/N: sorry for the disappearance lmao take my hanbin pining as an apology, and as always, purely self indulgent

WORDS: ~1300

Trouble comes when dessert is served.

Everything considered, it’s horrible timing. Sun setting just so over the Mediterranean, hearty chatter firing all around in all sorts of languages and your wine being warm company on a supposedly lonely night. It makes a perfect set-up as your spoon hovers mid-air as you prepare to dig into some well-deserved tiramisu.

Until someone slides into the very empty seat across from you, slips a crisp black business card across the table to you – it reads 'Sung Hanbin' – and uttering the most insane thing yet: "Love, I'm so sorry for being late!"

What.

You barely get to say anything before he's swooping in for la bise. As you lean in, his expensive cologne lingers like smoke in the air. It's a narrow dodge of your lips, but he swerves and lands a quick kiss to your right cheek and then dares to go for a second on your left. Consider yourself stunned because all you do is watch him pull away and a grin at you with a gorgeous smile.

You want to sit and gape for a second, let yourself breathe, and now with a longer look, let him breathe.

This, Hanbin, has flushed cheeks and is twitchy with how he holds your hand – when did that happen?! – across the table. There's a light sheen of sweat on his skin and not due to the heat, more like he's either embarrassed or nervous about this. He breathes in short, sharp gasps as if he's been running and mouths something to you.

Please play along. His hand still holds yours, and he squeezes just so.

Hanbin turned his head to the right slightly. Stood at a table near the entrance was a woman with a flowy silver dress on and hair pulled into quite a severe bun. Her pointed heels tapping on the spot and her jittery eyes glance over at you two, but quickly look somewhere else when she catches your curious gaze.

“She’s been trying to get me to buy her a meal all day,” he sighs. “Thing is, I even saw her scoping me out yesterday at a bar last night. I was naïve enough to buy her a drink to start some conversation, but she’s taken it as personal permission to stalk me. She clearly hasn’t gotten the memo.” And he squeezes your hand again, this time to comfort himself.

“What about me? What if I turn out to be some crazy that’s out to steal your Amex and claim my fifth husband?”

“You? No way, you have a top shelf wine and a second plate of tiramisu in front of you already. You're doing perfectly fine without my money," Hanbin lists before his gaze turns considering. "Unless... you weren't lying about the husbands.”

You laugh into your wine and eye Hanbin over the rim. "You wouldn’t look too bad in a wedding tux, pretty boy, who knows?”

The long column of Hanbin’s neck is exposed thanks to the open collar of his shirt. Revealing the delicate sun, moon and star on his collar that only keeps you stuck in wonder for longer.

You can only imagine how smooth the skin feels – under your hands and lips – but maybe that’s the wine talking when he sits there fine and handsome against the candlelight. The sunset paints saturated hues against his skin, you can barely see the blush that peeks above his collar thanks to it.

If you friends were here, you know what they’d say about him: trouble, hot and wealthy trouble.

“Eyes up here, love.” Your eyes leap back up to Hanbin’s to only see amusement in them. Getting caught flushes your face with heat but his eyes are dark enough to forget yourself in.

You try to push on, clearing your throat and pulling yourself together. “So, the deal is we act like lovers the rest of the night?” The weight of the word lovers is a syrupy one, overtly sweet and something far from familiar for you but Hanbin only smiles at it.

“Of course, love. Shouldn’t be too hard with someone as sweet as you,” he grins however his eyes still linger on that woman in silver, clearly on edge.

You drum your fingers on the table, the rush of meeting each other melting quickly in the air. Awkward tension is bound to seep in soon and you'll be damned if it does! you're not losing this chance no matter how much trouble this man could be.

A stroke of brilliance brings you to push forward your untouched plate of tiramisu over to him, careful with the spoon balancing precariously on the plate. “What?” you smile at his confused face. “I wasn’t eating it anyway and you need a distraction.” But he just raises his brows like he doesn't believe it.

At his reluctance, you sigh and begin to flag down a waitress.

“Hey! Hey, don’t kick me out please—I’ll eat it!… even pay for it!—” Hanbin flusters even further as you push a finger against his soft lips to shut him up as the waitress arrives.

It’s a beat of silence.

“Two more tiramisus, please.” Hanbin’s laugh of disbelief trails the waitress as she leaves.

What you do find out is that it’s stupidly easy to talk to Hanbin. You tell him why you’re even here in Monaco: about your crazy best friends marrying after years of adventures, about being the responsible one in a group of misfits, about growing up and never quite finding the one unlike how they did. Loneliness is a familiar tale on your tongue, the wine tinging everything you say with bitter honesty you’ve never been able to let out with anyone else.

With Hanbin, you learn about his job as a business consultant: his annoying – but endearing! – juniors Yujin and Gyuvin, how him and Zhang Hao – his other colleague – are out here for strictly business. Until of course, he met you.

“What are your doing out here so alone, anyway?” he probed. He’s so much closer now, having moved his chair to be next to you instead of opposite you. “You’re too pretty to be single but I really hope you are.”

You shrug off the flirting for once and let yourself disappear back into the chair. “Everyone else I know are in relationships so they’re all away on dates across the city. I figured stealing myself away on a self-date would be better than sitting lonely in a hotel room all night.”

He hums, a low and melodic thing. You can feel the heat of him next to you, the weight of his presence and the cut of his cologne all over again. Though nothing prepares you when Hanbin takes your hand in his.

He raises it, gentle and kind, slow and despairing, and presses his lips to your ring finger.

"Well then, may I steal your night?" he asks like a dare. A whisper barely heard but shared between you two.

Eyes far too low and gaze far too heavy for a look between strangers. The implications are clearer than the night sky above. Hanbin's lips linger with a smirk, and you can feel everything in you screaming to look away before you melt into the floor but all you can do is stare.

Trouble. Is what your mind is screaming. It's what you really want after all this pining in silence. Someone to crash into your life and take you with them.

"You don't even know my name."

It comes out like an accusation. Trouble, trouble, trouble. It brings you here and leaves you dizzy, craving for more.

"Why would I need it, love. You'll be saying mine all night.”

The woman is long gone into the night so there's no need for this play-pretend. But trouble looks you in the eyes and you kiss him with a heart that yearns for more.

ahjbsdkh thanks so much for reading <33 i had a lot of fun writing this so a like and reblog would be nice if you enjoyed :] ⭒ masterlist

#or hanbin is irresistible #zerobase1 #sung hanbin #sung hanbin x reader #zb1 #zb1 x reader #kpop #kpop fanfic #fake dating #zb1 imagines #sung hanbin fluff #zb1 drabbles #fanfiction #kpop x reader #sung hanbin fic #zerobase1 fics #zerobaseone #sunny forecast: writing nights

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queenofspades6 · 1 year

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Greatest Investment | Kaz Brekker x reader

Summary: You eavesdrop on Kaz and Inej, you watched as they get closer, and well, it doesn’t go as planned…

Based on this request I received:

”Hiii! I haven't watched the second season yet, but I saw a Gif of a kiss (or almost kiss) between Kaz and Inej, and I was wondering if you would write about the reader having feelings for Kaz since they met, but she doesn't have the courage to talk, so at some point in the day she goes to check if Kaz needs anything and ends up witnessing the kiss (or almost kiss) between Kaz and Inej, and the reader feels like the silliest person in the world after that.”

Warnings: Angst. (Sorry…)

A/N: Hi! I hope you’ll enjoy what I wrote, I took some liberties since I was so inspired by the request!! I love some good angst! Did I use again in a Kaz Brekker fic title the word ‘investment’? Oops…I think meeting Freddy and Amita made me that way! They are so incredible!

———

Being Ketterdam’s most famous assassin wasn’t an easy life. You were one of Kaz Brekker’s Crows, always here if needed. Since you were part of the Crows, there was something unspoken between Kaz and you. There was some sort of tension from the beginning, even Nina and Jesper had noticed.

”How is the most beautiful woman in Ketterdam doing?“ Jesper asked, taking place to the bar counter next to you.

You rolled your eyes and repressed a grin.

“What do you want, Jesper?“

“Can’t I just compliment you without needing a reason?”

You stared at him meticulously, but Jesper couldn’t look back. Interesting. He needed to ask you something then...

“Fine! Fine! I need your help.“

You sighed but smiled.

”What? It’s not my fault, Y/N, if you give good advice! Don’t blame me!”

”Jesper, what do you need me for?“ You questioned, taking a sip at your drink.

“You see...“

Jesper was trying to avoid your gaze.

”Jesper. My patience has its limits.”

“Alright! Fine! I want to prepare a date for Wylan and I need your help.” He spitted, playing with his gun on his hand.

You nodded.

”I’ll help you. What do you need me for?“

”I don’t know what to plan. Maybe something he’ll like.”

You laughed, thinking about your previous conversation with Wylan about a sweet and wonderful place you both wanted to go to escape for once the cold streets of Ketterdam.

“Jes. You know what? Bring him to Butterfly’s Heaven, you declared, a smile already drawing on your lips at the thought, it’s a greenhouse where all the species of butterfly can fly freely. There’s also an endearing cafe there to drink something while watching the butterflies.” You replied, stars already dancing in your eyes thinking about all the marvelous butterflies.

“Do you think Wylan will love it?”

”Definitely! We talked about it all week, and he was desperate to go. You should bring him. He’ll love it. And buy him a stuffed toy, he’ll marry you right after.”

Jesper was smiling at the thought of Wylan asking his hand in marriage.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“You and Wylan deserve to be happy.“

“What if it’s not enough, Y/N? What if I am not enough?” He opened up, not caring if he was vulnerable in front of you.

“You are enough, Jesper, you always have.”

You looked at him and smiled, hoping one day you’ll find someone that will care for you as much as Jesper wants Wylan.

“Wylan thinks you are enough, he loves you, Jes. And even Kaz knows it, even if he won’t ever admit it.”

You took another sip of the whisky in front of you and heard someone giggling.

”Hi Y/N!”

Wylan was embracing Jesper with his hands around his shoulders.

“Hi you.” Wylan said to Jesper.

Jesper didn’t even reply and kissed him tenderly as if he were the most precious thing in the world. And at that moment, you swore he were. They broke the kiss, and Wylan blinked several times as if to recover from the intensity of the kiss. It warmed your heart, even if you said nothing.

“What were you talking about?” Wylan asked, coming back to his senses.

Jesper almost jumped off his seat.

”We were talking about Y/N’s feelings for Kaz!“ Jesper answered spontaneously, too scared to reveal what he had planned.

”What? We were?” You almost spitted your drink on the counter of the bar. Now you were facing Jesper and Wylan. How dare he expose you like that?

”Oh seems interesting.” Wylan said, waiting for you to say more.

“There’s nothing between me and Kaz.”

Wylan looked at you wide-eyed, and Jesper sighed, before saying:

”Lie, Y/N. Haven’t you noticed how Kaz always checks on you after a heist, how you always have dresses, jewels, food, everything you want given to you for nothing in shops, you think it’s because of your fine looks? No. Even if you’re beautiful, Y/N, no offense! It’s Kaz’s doing. He made me went with him to each shop, each café, each place in Ketterdam you would want to go to pay, or should I say ‘bribe’ them for you to always have what’s best, no matter the cost.”

”That’s not true, that’s-”

”And what about this time you almost died, and he stayed at your bed an entire week, ordering every Dreg not to disturb him, and how you always have your tea and waffles ready for you every morning? Even Nina is jealous!” He confessed.

”I thought it was you or Wylan who was making me breakfast every morning!”

”It’s not.“ He muttered.

”He’s right, Y/N.” Wylan nodded. ”Even Nina told me last time about how his heartbeat jumped when you are in the same place, and how irritating it was for her to feel both of your heartbeats jumping when you’re together.”

“You should tell him how you feel, Y/N. You are the one who encouraged me to be with Wylan, because life is short, and in Ketterdam, death is always near. He cares about you, more than he’ll ever admit.”

”I don’t have feelings for Kaz fucking Brekker!” You almost screamed and avoided Wylan and Jesper’s gazes.

You took your glass of whisky and finished it all. The feeling of alcohol burning your throat almost soothed you.

”You do.” Jesper smiled and teased you.

”No, I don’t!”

Wylan rolled his eyes at his boyfriend’stuborness.

”Y/N! There you are, I thought you were with Kaz!”

You jumped off your seat. Fortunately for you, it was only Nina and not Dirtyhands himself.

”Nina, you scared the hell out of me.”

She grinned as if she had planned it all along.

”What are the three of you up to?“ She questioned, eyebrows raised.

"We are talking about Y/N’s feelings for Kaz.” Wylan answered before you could even speak.

”Not you too, Wylan!”

He smirked, almost shyly, and even if you wanted to blame him, you couldn’t blame his cute silly face.

”Hmmm, you and Waffles are not so discreet with your feelings.”

You sighed and tried to ignore Nina’s voice. You knew that if you listened to them, you would probably end up in Kaz’s office confessing your feelings for him, because on some missions, it became unbearable. The need to protect him, to check on him, how he could make you feel powerful and useless at the same time.

“Y/N. Heartbeats don’t lie.” Nina whispered to you, and you were sure Wylan and Jesper would not hear.

”Stop Nina. I- I- He’s not in love with me. Kaz Brekker can’t be in love. Love is a weakness, and I am only his latest investment.” You repeated, only to convince yourself of it.

“So how do you explain how his heartbeat go faster when you’re here, how I can feel his heart trying to get out of his chest when you’re injured. He cares. He tries to hide it, but the heart doesn’t lie. Never.”

You looked at her blue ocean eyes, and she caressed your shoulder in encouragement.

”Try to tell him, try to tell him you care, if only that. Love is a fragile thing, cherish it while it lasts.”

You swore you saw an ounce of sadness and regret flashing in her eyes as she remembered Matthias.

“I think you can help him with his past.” Nina muttered.

You looked at your empty glass, and noticed how your hands were trembling. Maybe they were right. Maybe it was time for you to tell him, that at least you cared for him. More than him being just your Boss.

You stood up, levelled up your chin, and took several steps towards Kaz’s office.

You were Ketterdam’s most notorious assassin, and you would not be afraid.*

You advanced towards the door slowly, you wanted to knock but the door was already ajar.

You could do it, you had done so much worse. You took a deep breath before-

You heard voices in his office. You heard him first, talking with a female voice, a voice you didn’t not recogn-

it was Inej’s.

Kaz and Inej were in his office talking. Your instinct was screaming at you to leave and come back later, but curiosity got the better of you.

You stayed, you tried to understand what they were saying, but you couldn’t. Slowly the most slowly possible you pushed the door and waited. Kaz and Inej were still talking, you took it as a sign they didn’t hear your presence. You weren’t Ketterdam’s best assassin for nothing. You took a silent step and looked at Kaz’s office.

You didn’t expect what you saw.

Kaz and Inej were close, too close for your liking, dangerously close. Too close that any of them could bear. So how was it they were here, almost touching each other. You swore Kaz could feel Inej’s breathing on his chin.

Watching them so close together made your heart beating faster. You wanted to scream but no sound came. No explanation came to your mind. Why was Inej here? You tried to focus on the words you heard, but none of them made sense. You were near but you couldn’t hear them clearly, it was as if your brain didn’t want you to eavesdrop. You heard some words like ‘crows’ and ‘family’.

You pushed the door again, without a sound. You leaned on the door and focused on the voices.

“Inej.”

You heard Kaz’s voice as it broke, and you needed to take a glimpse at what was going on right now. You took a deep breath and looked at them. Kaz’s gloved hand was on Inej’s shoulder. They were staring at each other like nothing else mattered in the entire world. Even if you were not close, you could decipher Inej’s surprise at Kaz’s sudden touch.

”Let me go, Kaz.”

Kaz removed his hand, and an ounce of sadness and rejection passed on his face.

“We need you, here.“

You watched as Inej shooked her head.

“Stay, Inej. Stay. Please.”

Her name sounded as a prayer in Kaz’s lips.

”I can’t, Kaz, and you know why.“ She whispered.

“We need you, Inej, please. We- I... I need you.“

Without noticing, Kaz caught Inej’s arm with his gloved hand, preventing her from leaving.

You couldn’t see them clearly; the door was blocking your path. You tried to lean on a bit further but failed miserably. Why did you push your luck? Your whole body had been trembling the whole time, even with the multiple tries to steady your heartbeat and calm yourself. The door opened slightly, and your face was greeted by the floor.

All you felt was numbness, shock and realization. Kaz and Inej were staring at you in wonder. You could already feel Kaz’s grave gaze at you.

“What? Did you never see someone fall before?“ You questioned, trying to hide your discomfort.

Feeling ashamed, you stood up awkwardly and crossed Kaz’s eyes.

“Y/N.“ Kaz declared.

You nodded.

“It’s not what you think.” Inej replied immediately, trying to maintain her composure.

Kaz was leaning on his cane, and his eyes never left your form.

”Don’t worry, I didn’t see anything. I won’t tell a soul. Keep going. I am leaving right now.” You gestured to the door and fled.

”Y/N, wait.“ Kaz said.

You ran through the Crow Club, not caring what the Dregs thought.

”Y/N!” Jesper screamed, hoping to catch your attention.

Why were you running?

Kaz followed after you, even if his leg hurt. He tried to, but you were too fast for him. After all, you were an assassin. A clumsy one at that...

You didn’t care. You ran until your lungs couldn’t bear the feeling, until your knees broke under the weight of your exhausted body. But where could you go in Ketterdam? A place where no Dreg could ever find you.

You knew the perfect place.

Months ago the Crows had gone on an heist with your help. The goal was simple, Kaz had said: ‘we enter, we take the painting, and we leave unnoticed’. He had insisted on the word ‘unnoticed’ looking specifically at Jesper. You had agreed to help them steal the damn painting if it pleases them. Truth be told you couldn’t say no to more Kruge. When you entered the grim manor Kaz had depicted, you noticed how silent and peaceful it was. No soul lived here. Was it the place where the painting was hidden? Maybe Kaz had made a mistake. But he had confirmed it was here. The manor was abandoned long ago by a duke trying to escape his demons. That’s all Kaz had told you, and you hadn’t asked for more at the time. Now you wished you had, because you were headed towards the old manor. A place where just the ghosts could disturb you. Ghosts were better than men, right? Better than some Bastard of the Barrel.

It could be the only place where you could scream and cry without someone noticing Ketterdam’s best assassin being vulnerable. Sometimes being the greatest assassin was a weakness, a weakness you couldn’t afford. It meant never showing too much emotion, never crying in front of your enemies... Wait. Was Kaz your enemy?

You didn’t know anymore. Falling in love was a weakness. Something not allowed in the dangerous streets of Ketterdam, a feeling that would destroy everything if not careful. In fact, love was a weapon, and if not used with parsimony and care, it could kill you.

You broke in the manor, remembering the precise path you used last time and found the closest room, the one you had discovered and found surprisingly pleasing. And strangely peaceful.

You closed the door, and sat on the floor, your body curled up, hands around your knees. You tried to forget the memories with the Crows and Kaz, but it was too much. You remembered your times with Jesper talking about guns, the hours eating waffles and ice cream with Nina, the walks with Wylan, the looks of approval coming from Matthias, and this cane... The cane you would never forget, even if you wanted to. You remembered the day when you had ended up wounded after eliminating a slaver. You were injured, sitting on the cold pavement. You were trying to catch your breath before escaping, but you had felt a soft but firm tap on your thigh. And without looking, you knew who it belonged to.

It was the Bastard of the Barrel.

He wanted you to think he was invisible, and unpredictable, but what he didn’t know was that long before killing the man, you knew Dirtyhands had followed you.

“Enjoyed the show, didn’t you?” You had questioned, showing your white teeth that must have been covered in blood.

That was the day when he had asked you to join the Crows, and since you had nothing more to do, you had accepted, already thinking about the free drinks you would benefit at the Crow Club.

You also remembered the day when you had wanted to leave the Crows because of some decision Kaz had made. You were angry and had prepared everything to leave in the morning. However, Kaz had watched you wrapping your clothes with a spectacular meticulousness, and had whispered:

“Stay. Stay in Ketterdam. Stay with me, Y/N.”

And you had stayed. Of course. When Dirtyhands asked you to stay, you stay. The morning he had woken up at dawn in case you wanted to leave without saying goodbye. He had found you in your usual attire, your knives and guns on your waist.

“You did not leave?”

He had asked, almost as a prayer.

”No. Something keeps me in Ketterdam.”

Kaz had said nothing, but you swore you had seen a grin on his lips this day.

You also remembered the day when you had been badly injured to save Nina from a fatal injury. You had been severely hurt; you weren’t even able to stand up. You remember watching the pitiful looks of the Crows at your broken body sprawled on the ground. Deep down you knew you were now a liability for the Crows, and especially for Kaz, so you had told them to leave you here, and escape before the men you had stolen from were back. You knew the risks and costs of each heist, and already accepted your fate.

Kaz had none of it. He had ordered Matthias to carry you, while Nina would tend to your wound as much as she could and control your heartbeat. Jesper would protect your backs, while Inej was sent to scan the path, and look for any danger. You would never forget the look Kaz had given you when he told you to rest for months if needed and had given you a room close to his own in the Crow Club.

Later, you had asked him why he had saved you instead of leaving you to perish. He had said with conviction:

”We are Crows, Y/N, we never leave our own behind.”

That was all of his qualities and flaws that made you love Kaz Brekker. He was broken, but you had always been a sucker for broken things to tend to. You had offered him everything an assassin could possess: your loyalty, your weapons, your ability to kill, and your heart, ready for the taking...

But now you remembered the sentence Dirtyhands had told you a week ago, telling you all you had to know about what you were to him, and what you could be.

”You’re my greatest investment, Y/N. Don’t fail me. “

He had told you once what you were to him, but you hadn’t listened, you had fallen in love, and now you knew. You knew you had always been an expensive investment, but only that, nothing more.

You had been his greatest investment, and that was all...

———-

Tell me what you thought about this one! I am seriously considering writing a part 2! Likes, shares and comments are appreciated, it makes my day, I really need it!

———

If you liked this fanfiction, you’ll love this one, it also has the word ‘investment’ in the title like this one:

⬇️ ⬇️

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caraetdeul · 22 days

Text

Regrets and Reunions (Sequel to Tolerate It)

Ex!Choi Seungcheol x fem!reader

Hong Jisoo a.k.a. Joshua x fem!reader

Mistakes were made and consequences were learned but everything was easier said than done.

TW: angst, drinking, alcohol, hangovers, toxic!Scoups, cursing

A/n: here's a much needed sequel to Tolerate It that I definitely had fun writing. I just knew even before I finished the series that I would have to write a sequel focusing on Scoups' side after the break up cuz we need the FULL PLEDGED ANGST!!! I don't think you would need to read the series before this one but for the full context, I do recommend reading the series first. Anyways, enjoy reading caratdeul!

~Main Masterlist~ | ~Tolerate It Masterlist~

Months have passed since the last time he saw you walk away from him on that very night. Since then, any sense of time or place has completely evaporated from Seungcheol’s life. It was all a blur of bars, hangovers, and regrets. There was no point in even getting frustrated with his current situation because he knew that there was no one to blame but him and his stupid decisions that cost him the most wonderful thing to have—and probably will be the only one—ever happen in his life.

Seungcheol’s eyes lazily glazed over the remains of his drunken stupor last night all over his apartment.

Correction: Jeonghan’s apartment.

His hangover may be giving him one of the worst headaches in the world right now. Still, it will never be enough to distract him from the fact that he couldn’t even get an apartment for himself. To be fair though, he’s successful enough financially to actually afford a big ass apartment. It wasn’t really a matter of “can” but is actually leaning more towards whether he has enough will to live in one himself and actually maintain it. Based on the number of bottles and leftover chips lying all around the couch and coffee table, there was no doubt that buying an apartment would just be the cherry on top of his sundae of mistakes.

Seungcheol sighed as he lay on his back on the floor, putting an arm around his eyes in an attempt to block off the light shining through the windows. The quiet of the apartment tells him that Jeonghan’s probably already gone to work. He honestly doesn’t know if it's the best thing to wake up to right now. On one side, he doesn’t have to listen to Jeonghan’s rants over how he’s wasting his life by drinking his troubles away and not even trying to fight for you in any way possible—Seungcheol doesn’t need to look at Jeonghan to know that those words were always accompanied by the concern and disappointment written all over his face. On the other hand, the quietness surrounding him only gives way for him to be left alone with his depressing thoughts.

It’s either God heard his silent prayers or Jeonghan has a “depressed best friend” radar on him but before his thoughts could swallow him whole once again, he heard the front door open and Jeonghan’s footsteps gradually replaced the sullen atmosphere.

“Choi Seungcheol!” Jeonghan called out, placing his keys and bag on the kitchen island near the entrance, “Where are you?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work right now?” Seungcheol grumbled as he sat up from his place on the floor.

Jeonghan scoffed, “It’s already 5 pm, dumbass. Of course, I’m done with work.” Jeonghan beelined for the couch in front of Seungcheol, carefully removing a bottle off the cushion and placing it on the coffee table. “And based on how you just responded to me, I’m assuming you haven’t eaten anything since last night?”

Seungcheol only smiled sheepishly and that was all Jeonghan needed to pick up his phone and begin ordering pizza for the both of them. But it was not without any complaints from Jeonghan about his neglect of himself that Seungcheol tried his best to ignore. Within 30 minutes, the living area was free of beer and chips and they were both lounging on the couch while munching on pizza slices.

“So,” Jeonghan swallowed the last of his pizza before continuing, “I got an invitation for the high school reunion on Saturday which means that you also got one as well.” Jeonghan looked at Seungcheol expectantly but he only took another bite out of his slice without saying anything back.

Jeonghan sighed, taking a gulp out of his glass of water, “You could at least try to pretend that you’re interested in anything other than getting wasted.”

Seungcheol rolled his eyes, leaning back with his arms crossed, “Well, I’m sorry if my misery is such a burden to you. It's not like I forced you to take me in and take care of me as if I’m a child that you were forced to babysit.”

Jeonghan suddenly slammed the glass on the table making Seungcheol flinch, looking at him with wide eyes, “Wha—”

“You know what,” Jeonghan hissed, “That attitude is the reason why you’re now here in this situation, all alone with no goal in your life whatsoever. You are a depressed little shit that’s also a jerk to someone that is actually here for you ever since you were left to deal with the consequences of your actions.”

Seungcheol opened his mouth to defend himself but Jeonghan beat him to it.

“No, scratch that. You haven’t dealt with any of those consequences even just a little bit. You’re a coward who’s drowning himself in alcohol instead of actually facing your problems like an actual human being. No wonder they left you. I mean, if you were my partner, I would’ve left you too even without the cheating. You are a selfish bastard who’s actually acting like a little brat that didn’t get his way.”

It was silent after that.

The tension in the air made Seungcheol fidget in his seat. There was nothing to say. Seungcheol knew deep down that everything he said was true and it was one hell of a wake up call for him when he realized that it all came from Jeonghan, himself. It wasn’t an out of character thing for Jeonghan to get pissed off and say all of those things when needed but it definitely wasn’t a common thing for him to do. So when he actually experienced it first hand, Seungcheol knew that he was right and it was time to be a better person.

Jeonghan breathed deeply, rubbing his face in an attempt to ground himself, “I’m sorry. That was really mean of me to say that.”

“No, you were right. I’m being a jerk.”

Jeonghan only smiled in response before taking another slice of pizza. Seungcheol bit his bottom lip in thought, debating whether or not he should do it. But looking around his best friend’s apartment, he knew that he should at least repay his kindness by showing up at that goddamn reunion as a peace offering.

“So, what time is this reunion?”

~~~

He’s already regretting his decision and he hasn’t even gotten out of his car yet.

But to be fair though, all he’s ever done up until now is regret everything so it’s not really much of a surprise. What does break the cycle is the fact that he’s now also determined to go through with this decision, not just for the sake of keeping his promise to Jeonghan but also for the sake of taking a step towards moving on.

Seungcheol huffed, “Definitely easier said than done.”

He hesitantly got out of his car and made his way towards the entrance of the hotel where the event was being conducted. He won’t admit to anything but the hotel clerk definitely saw the way his hand shook with nerves as he pressed the button to the elevator.

Reaching the floor leading to the function hall, he was suddenly bombarded with the realization that he was about to meet with people he hadn’t seen for quite a long time which meant he’d also be bombarded with questions about his current status in life. That almost made him turn around and go back inside the elevator but before he could, he heard his name shouted from the other side of the room. Turning towards the sound, he saw Joshua, one of his closest high school friends, walking towards him with a wide smile on his face.

Going in for a hug, Joshua exclaimed, “Oh my god! It’s been so long since I last saw you! How have you been?”

Returning the hug, Seungcheol chuckled, “I’ve been good. How about you?”

“All the same.” Joshua smiled before looking around, “Have you seen Jeonghan? I thought he was coming with you .”

“He’ll be late. He had a work thing to do before this.”

“Oh, got it. Well, come on then. Let’s wait for him inside. Oh but first, you should get yourself registered.” Joshua then led him to the registration table at the front of the hall.

“For what?”

“All registered attendees have a chance to win the raffle by the end of the night and I’m sure as hell won’t be going home without that massage chair.”

Once they were done, Joshua slung an arm around Seungcheol’s shoulder, leading him toward a table near the exit. A couple of their former classmates who were also sitting at the table waved at them as they sat down before returning to their own conversations. Seungcheol can’t really blame them for their nonchalance when he isn’t really one of the popular kids in high school before. It was both a comforting and slightly disappointing experience.

Long story short, the whole event was a bore. The only thing that made it all worthwhile was Joshua’s company and the hilarious timing of Jeonghan’s late arrival when he arrived just in time to be called onto the stage as they reminisced about his reputation as the school’s heartthrob. The look on his face was certainly one for the books and Seungcheol will make sure he will never live this down.

Throughout it all, he can’t help but be distracted whenever he catches glimpses of Joshua typing on his phone with this lovestruck smile. It was the kind of smile that would make you say that he’s definitely down bad. The champagne couldn’t remove the bitter taste it gave him no matter how hard he tried. And he would’ve kept on drinking if Jeonghan hadn’t tipped off the waiter to stop giving him anymore.

He remembered the times he felt that way when it came to you. He probably even had the exact same smile that Joshua had right now every time he thought of you. But all of that was gone now and what was left was the murder scene of your relationship, the bloody knife in his hand. All because he doesn’t have any amount of decency within himself to actually keep the most sacred—and frankly, the easiest—principle when it comes to relationships. Loyalty.

His silent pity party was interrupted by Joshua’s sudden call of his name. Looking up at him, he noted the bag slung over his shoulder and the fact that he looked like he was about to spring up from his chair with excitement.

“What’s up?” Seungcheol asked.

“I need to go.”

“What? Why?”

Maybe it was the way the stage lights changed as the host announced something but the darkness of the hall can never mask the way Joshua’s entire being lit up at the chance to talk about his partner.

“My girl just told me something great that happened at her work and we’re going out to celebrate.”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows raised, “You won’t finish the event first? I’m sure she could wait for a bit. We haven’t even reached the raffle part yet.”

Joshua laughed. Seungcheol could’ve sworn it was mixed with bewilderment but he was probably a little bit drunk enough to hallucinate things.

“Dude, we’re talking about my girl here. Nothing comes before her.”

“Even the massage chair?”

“Especially the massage chair.”

“She must have been one hell of a girl.”

Joshua chuckled to himself, “Oh, you have no idea.”

“Well if you’re leaving, then so am I.” Seungcheol wiped his mouth with the table napkin before standing up.

“Are you sure? What about Jeonghan?”

“I’m sure. Besides, I’ve had enough reunion drama that could last me a lifetime. As for Jeonghan,” Seungcheol roamed his eyes around, finally pinpointing Jeonghan at the other side of the room chatting with a former student council member. “I’m sure he doesn’t mind me leaving early. I’ll just meet up with him back at home.”

They both left the hall as quietly as they could, silently thanking the heavens that they chose to sit right next to the exit. As they reached the elevators, Joshua turned to him with a puzzled look on his face, “What do you mean home?”

The elevator doors dinged open. Seungcheol entered first and was followed by Joshua. With a hesitant pause as Joshua pressed the ground floor button, Seungcheol replied, “I’ve kinda been temporarily living in Jeonghan’s apartment for a few months now.”

“Huh? Don’t you, like, have a penthouse uptown?”

“I do.”

“Then, why?”

”It’s kind of a long story.”

“My girlfriend wouldn’t be here until later anyway. I’ve got time.”

The elevator finally reached the ground floor, giving Seungcheol a bit of reprieve from the conversation as they exited. But based on the pointed look that Joshua gave him as they stood outside the hotel waiting for his girlfriend, that little bit of relief wouldn’t last as long as he would’ve wanted to.

Seungcheol crossed his arms, biting his bottom lip as he inhaled deeply. Embarrassment and shame made his stomach churn. There’s no chance at all that he can change the subject when it comes to Joshua. Somehow, that boy just has the uncanny ability to get the truth out of everyone he talks to no matter what, and honestly, Seungcheol doesn’t have the energy to deal with his stubborn tendencies.

“I made a big mistake and now I’m left to deal with the consequences of it all.”

It was a vague answer. Seungcheol knows it. Joshua definitely knows it. He was about to say something before he was interrupted by a woman calling his name. Turning to the source of the voice, Seungcheol’s breath hitched.

It was you.

The girl Joshua was lovingly talking about was you.

Memories of you flooded his brain as he watched you walk towards them. By the way that you still had a bounce on your steps, he was sure you still hadn’t recognized him. But once you got closer, there was an unmistakable pause in your next step and your face drained of all of its colors. At the corner of his eye, he can see Joshua’s face immediately contort in concern. Meeting you halfway, that’s when Joshua finally clocked on to the fact that you weren’t looking at him but at Seungcheol who was behind him. He glanced back at him before facing you once again. Seungcheol watched as he asked you if everything was alright, wrapping an arm around your waist in a protective manner as if sensing the tension between the two of you. His jaw clenched at the sight knowing that he should’ve been the one protecting you and not the one that you’re being protected from.

It felt like it was one of the hardest things to do but you finally turned away from Seungcheol to look at Joshua in the eye. You nodded, whispering a reassuring yes and feeling Joshua’s grip on you tighten a bit before letting go in favor of holding your hand. You squeezed his hand three times and by the way Joshua smiled, you knew he got the message. You couldn’t help but smile back when Joshua squeezed your hand in the same manner.

Seungcheol wanted to vomit right then and there.

Joshua looked back up at him, “Well, we have to go if we ever want to actually reach that little hilltop before the park closes but I’m not done talking to you.” Joshua pointed his forefinger and middle finger at him, going back and forth in Seungcheol’s direction and his own eyes.

Seungcheol forced a laugh, trying his best not to react at the realization that the hilltop he was talking about was something you’d been wishing for the both of you to do for so long before everything went to shit. If possible, a big neon light would’ve already sprung up from behind him with the words “jerk” smacked dab in the middle of it, one end of the sign forming an arrow that was pointed at him.

Seungcheol could only nod in return before Joshua bid him goodbye, walking down the direction of his car that was parked in front of the hotel with you by his side. He watched as you paused for a bit when Joshua opened the car door for you. You glanced back at him one last time, a small smile on your face, before entering the passenger side.

That just made things harder for him because he knew that smile was genuine. Even the thought of you hating him and giving all this energy to despise him would only make him feel worse because he knows that all he deserves is nothing but indifference from you.

Now that he was left standing alone on the side of the street, the tail light of Joshua’s car gradually getting smaller as the distance between you got wider, all he could think about was the thought that you were at least in the hands of someone better. That was enough for him to finally have the will to discard the alcohol bottles around the apartment once he got home and actually move on with a lighter heart.

Taglist: @moonwonuu @belladaises @porridgesblog @sasaapportela @allys-reads @clownprincehoeshi @yoonzzziino @gyuguys @vixensss

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liveontelevision · 7 months

Text

The Truth | Slow-burn Lucifer x Reader

Ok, i'm high, and it's late, so im posting this here without an ending just to let some people see this. Im wondering if anyone would be interested in a multi part series with this premise? It'll have its romance and fluff and smut, but i feel like theres alot to disect from this.

Unedited.

Heaven has been, and will continue to be, difficult with this redemption project. It took years for them to set up any sort of communication system with Charlie to even tell her when Sinners were redeemed. And even then, the best they could offer was a large counter hanging across the marquee outside the hotel. It simply said Redeemed Souls scribbled across the top and essientally would *ding!* every time a soul would ascend. There was no warning. Residents would simply disappear; all their belongings were left behind, and it happened while asleep or when demons died. Instead of resurrecting like all wayward sinners do, they would simply.. not. It would get gruesome at times, seeing a demon die and simply not get back up.

Still, the numbers grew. After the hotel was proven to work, sinners were essientally packing the rooms. And when more demons were redeemed, Charlie would take notes on their progess and apply it to future excersises. It was finally a thriving business! Charlie did it.

You had heard of the hotel's success a few months after the counter was installed and would occasionally walk by to see the number go up. It felt like you were trying to convince yourself to just go in, but something, maybe doubt, would always stop you. Your life was similar to an average sinner (drugs, sex, alcohol), but even those who have done worse were going to Heaven.

What was stopping you?

For once, the streets actually looked barren. Of course, it still had enough flow for regular business. Not everyone was buying into the redemption thing, but it definitely couldn't compare to the bustling streets you were used to. This made you uneasy. Friends and local business owners, you became aquintances with disappeared suddenly. It was deathly quiet. Discomfort aside, how could you possibly be upset about sinners becoming sparce?

You gave in. Almost all your hellbound friends were gone. If they could do it, so could you. Maybe that was another reason sinners attended the hotel; sheer loneliness.

You packed up the little belongings you had and approached the hotel after avoiding it for the past few months. The number was in the thousands at this point. Why did that make you so uneasy? Pushing those feelings aside, you entered the hotel and were met with dozens of friendly faces. The lobby had become a giant bustling hub with a bar, and there were some classroom type areas down a hall, you assumed for activities. Lively jazz music was playing softly throughout the area, echoeing against the ivory walls adorning red banners. It seemed like some kind of conference was being held here, but this was just how the hotel looked at its peak.

You were quickly ushered to a front desk, an imp checking you in and handing you a folder filled with paperwork and pamphlets.

After being shown to your room on one of the higher floors, assuming the rooms below were all filled, you were met with the sweet aroma of freshly baked apples. It seemed to come directly from your room, but peeking inside, you noticed there was no sign of even a personal kitchen. Before you could even ask, the imp who led you to your room ran through their scripted introduction.

"Your room number is 5 and is located on the 67th floor if you missed it. If you get lost, just make sure you head as far as you can go down the corridor to the left. It's closer to Lucifer's office than Alastor's studio, so keep that in mind as well. The room was personalized to your liking the moment you checked in, so all you need to do is unpack your belongings."

The imp droaned on, clearly exhuasted from saying these directions to every sinner that comes through.

"Any questions -"

"Well, I-"

"Can be answered in the lobby."

Your quizzative appearance drooped to an irrated one. You barely processed anything they said as you stepped into the room, feeling such a nostalgic warmth. The apple scent from before had dulled to a more comfortable level, and the room was filled to the brim with an aesethic that you would dream of having when you were alive. Suns and moons decorated the walls through hanging pieces, tapestries, and beaded artwork. The lights were always dimmed, and your bed was plush with an absurd amount of decorative pillows. Your desk doubled as a vanity with adjustable lights just in case, and your bathroom was large. Already stocked with your favorite soaps, oils, and washes, you suddenly had the urge to take a bath. You decided against it, just taking in the heavenly room. Maybe that was a part of the whole process, pure comfort.

You had so many questions about the redemption process. After plopping down at your smooth wood desk, you began to look through the thick pile of paperwork that you'd been holding this whole time. Inside, it held your room key, 67th Floor, Room #5. You pocketed that in the meantime, flipping through a pamphlet provided. "Wayward sinners, welcome! Explore the history of Hell and the redemption process! Keep in touch with demonic friends as you ascend! Be Better!" The bright text made your eyes squint, quickly scanning it before setting that aside. It's something you've seen on the streets before, nothing new. You finally look at some of the paperwork. There were rules, like no weapons or drugs, avoiding flings, etc. Then there were policies.. your room was searched on occasion with consent. If you were found to be a frequent drug user, you had a daily limit for drinks at the bar. Those made you cringe. It's a bit controlling, but for a greater cause, I guess.

Then, you reached the bolded text Redemption.

It had almost no details about what Heaven was actually like, but there were rules. Lots of rules. These papers were almost glowing, and it looked like they were written in golden ink. These must have been provided by Heaven. They warned that "the divine light will choose you when it finds you worthy" and "you won't need any belongings in Heaven" and a specific section that made you shiver.

"Heaven is a place for winners. Once you've joined the angels, all memories from Hell will become void. Memories from Hell could bring distraught and discomfort to previously residing angels."

Who would want this? What have you gotten yourself into?

•••••

There were mandatory meetings you would begrudgingly go to. There were other demons in a similar state and others who were running to attend every activity possible. They must not have read the paperwork, too frantic to be saved. Or were they okay with it? You shake your head, honestly trying to forget those readings any chance you get. A lot of the New Resident meetings were basically warnings that this is a place of rehabilitation. You'll be put through scenarios similar to A.A. or interventions. You'll have control over your privacy, but "we at the hotel are determined to get you to heaven!" So, they'll occasionally do random check ins and such.

After one of your beginner trust exercises, you roamed the halls, peaking in occasionally to see what others were doing. There were activities like yoga, crafts, therapy sessions, it was.. great..

You'd see the founders around. They were speakers at larger conferences, Charlie, Vaggie, and Alastor were far too busy to attend every exercise with this number of residents. There were optional lecture areas, one of them being The History of Hazbin Hotel. After attending from pure curiousity and boredom, you got a good understanding of who all the founders were and their role in the system. There was a nice section on the first 2 souls accepted to heaven. Sir Pentious, previously a murderous death machine inventor and operator, and Angel Dust, previously a drug addicted, porn star.

They wrote it to make them seem worse than they were when they first arrived, probably to make redemption seem more achievable. It made you cringe. You listened on, hearing about Charlie's uprising and her childhood. And her father.

You read the same storybook that Charlie would use to ease her nerves in the past. Lucifer, who was banished to hell, forced to see the wicked and evil outcome of free will. Lucifer, who lost the will the dream. Why would this man want to send his people to such a horrid place? Thinking back on it, you did notice that he wasn't really involved in any activities or was even seen around the hotel. Even Charlie, you'd cross on rare occasions in the halls. She had truly become a beautiful and powerful demon, you'd think, reminiscing on the choatic news broadcast she was on that you watched years ago.

You developed a sort of dissonance for Lucifer. Sure, he was the most powerful being in Hell and physically rebuilt this hotel and its success, but he didn't make sense. It seemed like he hated heaven. How could he not? He was banished from his home by his own brothers, just for loving and dreaming. And he wants to send people right to their door? It just baffled you. Very slowly, it became an obsession. What was his deal? You learned about his life through meetings and lectures, pamphlets, and even material from the infinite library they provided. Your desk was quick to become a mess of books and notepads you'd use. You rarely left your room, making sure to avoid any activities that involved "making friends." That sounded so stupid to you. You'll make friends with demons, then assend just to forget them? You couldn't have been the only demon questioning this whole situation, so why were sinners even here? You spiraled. This whole operation was beginning to make your head spin.

•••

Time went on, and while your mental state was improving, it still didn't break your hyperfixation on where this hotel could've gone wrong. It used to be small and friendly, some sinners would stay, some would give up, and some ascended without them even knowing. But now, it was a bonified operation. Something had to happen in the meantime to change its course so drastically. And you wanted to find out.

On average, sinners were in the hotel anywhere from 6 months to 2 years. A year has passed since you arrived, and while you kicked any addictioms you had, you weren't one to participate in many activities. This obsession drove you mad, clouding any thoughts of redemption you might've had. You had even been appointed a therapist for one on one sessions, which you would go to begrudgingly. You'd spin tails about your life and make it seem like a nostalgic bliss that you wanted to return to, buttering it up for this stranger in front of you. That gave them enough of a distraction to keep them from questioning your research. After this painfully long year, seeing hundreds come and go, you realized you had to go to the top. It seemed like the King of Hell may be the only one who might understand you. In a desperate attempt to get any comfort in your overthinking, you'd talk to other sinners about your thoughts, but they rarely gave you the time of day, like you were a babbling maniac. Because you were a babbling maniac.

But Lucifer? He has to understand. There has to be a reason he's not openly participating in the hotel. But he's here, right down your hall even. It was never as easy as walking up to his office and just questioning him, no matter how often you tried. It was either locked, or you could hear voices from inside. When the door was open, the office was spotless, and no one was inside. This was around meal times, breakfast most often and late into the night. Sometimes, you go inside to snoop and hope that maybe he'd walk in on you and you'd be forced into a conversation before he'd eventually kicked you out. That never happened.

It was a late night for you. There was a gala going on in the lobby, celebrating the 10th reunion of the hotel's renovation or something like that. Of course you didn't go, you were too busy hunched over the paperwork sprawled across your bed. It was a compilation of policies from the papers you got on your first day, random notebook pages and scribbles, and some photos collected from a variety of magazines. You'd essentially given up trying to look presentable. Your hair always tied sloppily out of your face and mainly wearing oversized sweatshirts and shorts that would disappear under the flow of your sweaters. You paced across your room. Every time you stopped to look at your work, you'd become riled up and continued to walk in circles.

"None of it makes sense! What the actual Fuck is wrong with Hell??" You spoke out loud, stopping in your tracks to look at your weakened state in the mirror on your vanity. Suddenly, tears began to run down your cheeks before you could even feel yourself choke up.

"What's wrong with me..?"

You looked back down to your bed and let out a growl, swiping all the papers off your bed in a frenzy. Random papers floated around you, frustration collecting in your body as a headache. You rubbed your temples with a sigh before taking a walk outside the room. You went to a vending machine that was provided on each floor, that had essientally anything you could want as a midnight snack. Along with some other necessities, you used some cash to get painkillers and a bag of gummy candy. Sauntering back to your room, you noticed a trail of your research peaking out your open door. You must've left it open in a hurry. You followed those papers that definitely weren't there before, to see a figure standing in front of your bed, some of the papers in hand. Your stomach dropped, just the sight of someone seeing your vulnerability made you flush.

"H-Hey! I left my door open, but that doesn't mean you can.. just -" your voice trailed off, catching red glowing eyes in your dimly lit room. It was fucking Lucifer. He blinked, his demon red eyes returning to a soft yellow. You had no idea how to react to this sudden encounter, scanning anything in the room to change the subject.

"Your Highness! Right, uh.. Good evening.. sir..? Erm.. How can I help you..?" You attempted to talk to him like you hadnt been secretly wanting this for months. After you managed to finally make eye contact with him, you noticed it; he was crying. Both of you squint at the sudden brightness hitting you, as you turn on your overhead light.

Thick, wet tears fell from his incredibly tired eyes. He looked like a mess. He wore what would've been an incredibly formal and modern tuxedo get up, but was soiled by his stature. His blazer had fallen off his shoulders, revealing a half tucked, wrinkled, black dress shirt that clashed with his porcelain skin. His shirt was unbottoned a good deal, and the tie loosely dangled undone. His face was worse. His eyes were incredibly heavy, those tears still trailing from his eyes to the bottom of his chin. The golden locks that looked so quaffed on magazine covers were a mess as well, strands falling loosely across his eye line. You noticed a soft pink across his entire face and a slight sway to his stance. Once you approached him a little closer, the smell of alcohol immediately hit you. This angel was plastered.

You look at the papers in his hand. One held a very aggressively scribbled picture of his face from a magazine, and the other held an antonized page from the handbook you received on day one. Just from those papers alone, you could understand your motivations. The redemption policy was scrutinized and scribbled over with phrases, "What does this have to do with redemption?" "What happens to your memories?" "Who's really running things?"

On the picture of Lucifer, a large red phrase across the front;

"How could he let this happen?"

You wince, immediately recognizing what information he's taken in.

"You're right.. Fuck, you're right. How did i let things get this far? What would Charlie think if she- Damn it!" He was muttering under his breath, not understanding his intentions.

"I'm sorry, it's such a mess in here, i wasnt expecting guests." You stop yourself, using defensive sarcasm probably wasnt the best move here. "Uh.. you can- um.. here.. " you fumble around your things and finally clear off your desk chair, beckoning the king to sit. He stumbles, his bottom hitting the seat with a thud as it begins to roll back from the force. You let out a nervous chuckle, beginning to neatly pile up the papers on your bed until you had a place to sit, facing him from the edge of your bed." I'm.. sorry, that you saw all this.. it's just crazy.. shit.. I'll get rid of it." You apologized like a kid who got caught stealing. Lucifer slowly blinked his eyes before wiping his tears with the cuff of his shirt, sniffling quietly.

You quickly reached past him to take a nearby tissue box and plop it in his lap. You sat silently, his ragging breath and sniffles filling the quietness of the room. He collected himself enough to process what you had said. "Oh! No, nono need to. Not any of my business what you do in.. your own.. room.." he looked around and cleared his throat before realizing the irony in his words. "I apologize, i shouldnt be in a random sinners room at this hour. I'll be on my way." He spoke as clearly as he could, being drunk and sobbing only moments ago. He stumbled to stand as he attempts to dust off his already askewed suit. He turns his back to you, beginning to leave.

"No! Shit- I - excuse me.. Mr.. Lucifer.. Sir..." You quickly stand and reach your arm out in his direction. He turns on his heels, acting as regal as he could, considering the situation. "This.. mess... this is.. all I've been thinking about since i came here... this hotel..? Is a fucking prison! How can heaven be so stubborn that they have to bring their rules and policies down to Hell? I dont understand how you could -" Your voice became increasingly aggressive as you realize you were about to scold him for your theories. You begin to shrink into yourself, believing this powerful being would kill you on the spot for such disobedience.

Lucifer was looking at you, dumbfound, at the intense passion you were imitting from your words. He realized how much you were cowering in his presence, and the feeling was extra reminiscent of his time in heaven. People above him, glaring upon his dreams with disgust and him not having anything to say. He shook his head and placed a hand on your shoulder. He did his best to send a smile your way, but he wasn't sure how that worked out in his state. "You're right. This hotel has become a god damn nightmare. I wish i could say more, but it's been a looong night." He drawls out his words before using the hand on your shoulder to keep his balance. You took his arm and hesitantly wrapped it around your shoulder, attempting to brace him up as you walk towards his office. It wasnt that far, just right down the hall, it shouldnt be an issue as long as no one sees you." Mmy name is Lucifer- oh, oh! This here, this is my room." He eargly pokes his finger at his obviously labeled door. "Okay Lucifer, think you'll be okay from here?" You try to talk with confidence, while you process that the king of hell is using you to stay on his feet. He nods and opens the door, stepping in with a sigh of relief. He spins around on his feet to face you from the doorframe.

"Be here tomorrow. At lunch. I'll tell you everything." His voice was stern and clear, and you couldn't tell if that was from the alcohol or not. He sways away and grins his toothy grin, saying, "Good night!" He shuts the door before you have a chance to respond. Could that have been drunken babbling? If it wasn't.. what does he know?

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #lucifer hazbin #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer magne #lucifer x reader #lucifer x you #lucifer morningstar x you #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel smut #eventual smut

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bratbby333 · 6 months

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the jjk men + their drink of choice

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

blurb/brain dump

sfw; mentions of alcohol, obvi

feat: suguru, yuuji, megumi, satoru, nanami, sukuna, toji, ++ choso

author notes: i've been bartending for three years now and i can safely say ive gotten pretty good at reading people and guessing their go-to drinks,,so here's the jjk men!

-suguru: a whiskey coke. probably jack or maker's mark. simple, straightforward, and gets the job done. suguru is too laid back to be picky and is definitely the most patient person sitting at the bar. his intuitive and observant nature has him scanning the other patrons at the bar; he's a people watcher for entertainment, paying no mind to the tv's. he speaks to the bartender with a smile on his face, joking around with them, making small talk and sarcastic remarks. he's just so sassy and violently intelligent; his soft, healing energy rubbing off on everyone around him. he's a breath of fresh air in a busy bar environment. he tips well, too.

-yuuji: a piña colada (rum, coconut cream, pineapple juice; blended and served in a hurricane glass, garnished with a slice of pineapple and a maraschino cherry). freshly 21 years old, this would be his first legal drink. "look, you even get snacks with it!!" he'd say, referring to the garnishes, his age definitely showing with this drink. he attempts to chug it, getting a brain freeze in the process.

-megumi: an espresso martini. classy, bold, and strong; this drink is definitely for someone who wants to appear more mature and sophisticated than they actually are. megumi is mature, but he's overcompensating for the fact that his best friend just ordered the fruitiest drink possible. the caffeine mixing with the liquor makes meg more talkative than usual, and his reserved nature and unreadable face is left at the door and replaced with soft smiles and the occasional chuckle at his goofy friends. he'd also definitely makes fun of yuuji for ordering that piña colada.

-satoru: a tequila sunrise (tequila, orange juice, grenadine, layered to make a gradient). extra af, sweet, and fruity. orders it with a triple shot cause he's grown. "it's just so pretty, isn't it?" he'd giggle, kicking his feet under the bar like he isn't a fully grown man or the strongest sorcerer in the jujutsu world. oh, satoru. filled with such child-like wonder. with enough drinks in his system (although, he'd definitely do this without the liquor), he would work his way around the bar trying to make conversation with anyone and everyone, not caring if they didn't participate- no biggie, he'd just talk at them.

-nanami: a manhattan or an old fashioned, but only with top-shelf bourbon. it'd be a waste to have the bartender craft this perfect cocktail and use shitty liquor. he sips it slow, savoring the caramel notes of the bourbon. the perfect drink for a stoic and reserved man. nanami definitely has a sophisticated palate and never settles for low quality liquor. he goes to more upscale bars, enjoying the smooth jazz that pours through the speakers, occasionally snacking on small h'ordeurves, but more often than not working his way through a pile of paperwork.

-sukuna: liquid cocaine shots (equal parts goldschlager, jager, and rumple minze). absolutely unhinged and vile, but if you like them, you love them. and sukuna loooves them. he takes the shots like they're water and still manages to out drink everyone else; he'll even offer to buy shots for everyone at the bar, the other patrons cheering and thanking him, expecting it to be shots of vodka or tequila. with a maniacal smile plastered across his face, he watches as everyone's faces contort in disgust when they realize it's a liquid cocaine shot. sukuna just grins as they struggle to get them down. such a sadist. an absolute menace.

-toji: an adios motherfucker (equal parts tequila, vodka, gin, rum, and blue curaçao, with sour mix and sprite). "but that's such a lame drink!" his friends say, but toji would roll his eyes and state that it's a funny drink name and that it gets him drunker quicker; promptly chugging it and ordering another. the glass looks so small in his giant hands, other bar patrons casting judgmental gazes in his direction at the scene in front of them; giant, scary-looking man and his fruity little drink, but he couldn't care less. it's not like they have the balls to say anything to his face, any way.

-choso: a little overwhelmed by bar culture but happy to be invited anyway, he'd sneak a straw into his brother's piña colada, even though yuuji would be more than happy to share. choso would eventually branch out on his own after feeling a bit more confident (and after googling the most popular drinks around the world) settling on a mojito, not realizing it was one of the more laborious drinks a bartender could make. he'd feel bad when he realized it and wouldn't order one again, apologizing profusely to the bartender.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

author notes: this took me way longer to write than it should have solely because i couldn't stop laughing over some of the scenarios. also,,i just want to thank each and every one of y'all for liking, commenting, and reblogging my stories...it means so so so much to me and i wish i could give all y'all a big ole smooch on the forehead (consensually). my inbox is open n ready for ur suggestions...please feel free to drop a request♡

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen writing #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto suguru #gojo satoru #itadori yuuji #fushiguro megumi #nanami kento #ryomen sukuna #fushiguro toji #choso kamo #bratbby333

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razorblade180 · 4 months

Text

Martial Practice 2

March:*planking*…….

Yanqing:Two more minutes.

March:You’re insane.

Yanqing:You said you were going to take this seriously, and I’m going to take this-

March:*plops to the ground*

Yanqing:Seriously!?

March:I’m trying! Although I don’t get how this helps swordplay!

Yanqing:Your arms will get tired swinging a sword a lot, but it’ll never feel worse than planking for five minutes. Honestly I thought you had it. You can help fight Phantylia but not endure a five minute plank.

March:Not even remotely close to begin the same thing! Ugh, this is frustrating.

Yanqing:Imagine my position. I see you make similar pacing errors I’ve done and can’t help but patiently wait for you to stop!

March:It’s not like I’m not listening. I just-

Yanqing:Think you can make use of an opening, so you take it. Believe me, I get it deeply! Now I get what the General means when he says “Don’t think you can make a strike. Know you can make a strike.”

March:Ahhh, so know different than archery. Don’t let the bowstring go unless you know have the shot.

Yangqing:I…actually never thought of it like that.

March:Yanqing, I really am taking this seriously and I don’t mean to sound ungrateful but Yunli’s approach in our practice is a little less…intense. *sits up*

Yanqing:Of course it is. After all, you’re representing the Loufu, not the Zhuming. Not to say she isn’t being earnest, but certain pressure isn’t going to fall on her if you make errors.

March:Oh…it’s that serious?

Yanqing:Yes and no. Sorta?

March:What happened to needing certainty!? You can be direct with a sword and not an explanation?

Yanqing:Hey! I’m trying to find the right phrasing! March, you are an outsider but you’re also an accomplished fighter. In all honesty, you’re picking up the sword really well. People all over will be interested to see your skills, but I wouldn’t say their expectations are unreasonable. Like I said, you’re not from here.

March:So the bar is great instead of excellence. Mistakes won’t be held too harshly against me but that doesn’t mean I can afford to cause a blunder.

Yanqing:It wouldn’t surprise me if most citizens would simply be happy seeing someone as charismatic as you take part in learning our customs. Mistakes are bound to happen; however, they’ll be directed at my inabilities as a teacher. Then by extension…they’ll say things like “what has the General been teaching his disciple?” That’s where I draw the line. I refuse to cause him any unnecessary trouble.

March:So that’s why you’re so stiff. I can see why, but Jing Yuan doesn’t seem like the type of person to put too much stock in opinions like that. He definitely wouldn’t blame you.

Yanqing:Doesn’t change the fact I would be causing unnecessary problems for him. I’d blame myself…

March:…(He’s quite the little adult. Between him, Bailu, and Dan Heng, I’m starting to wonder if any kid on the Loufu actually gets a childhood.) Looks like I gotta put in double the effort. But first…mind if we eat?

Yanqing:Alright. Despite what it might look like, I’m not trying to run you into the ground. I’ll buy of course. I’m sure there’s something on the ship you’re still dying to try.

The sudden and loud sound of his stomach growling makes his face turn a little red as March tried not to snicker. Yanqing simply starts walking, prompting her to get up.

Even after that little moment, March notices how the boy carries himself maturely and as a teacher. If she was being honest with herself, March remembered how eager she was to do right by Himeko and Welt when she was brought into the Express family. Sure she entered the Wardance out of curiosity, but the choice to train so admittedly was born from the desire to continue helping her newfound family. She could definitely relate to Yanqing’s ambitions and fears.

Without hesitation, March pulled out her camera and ran to catch up with him. The girl put her arm around his shoulders and smiled brightly before hitting the flash.

Yanqing:Agh! What the heck!?

March:Hehe, hmmm not a bad photo of me at least. You might need some work though.

She shows him an image of her smiling cutely while he’s completely caught unaware and a little startled. His stern face quickly shattered into pouting as all prior thoughts vanished.

Yanqing:I wasn’t ready! That’s not fair!

March:Oh so you want another one? Okay, better bring your best smile!

“Best smile.” Funny, the moment he thought about it, Yanqing immediately found it difficult. Teeth or no teeth? Was he looking too directly into the lens? Why was this so hard!? His gaze shifted left at March to see what smile she was making; only to notice the girl was sticking her tongue at him childishly. Yanqing didn’t think twice about returning the gesture as they began the dumbest stare down in history.

It wasn’t long before both of them broke out into laughter over their antics, giving March the perfect opportunity. Click! The perfect shot of just two fast friends being silly and full of life.

March:Aye, I knew you had it in you. I’ll be sure to send you a copy. That way you’ll never forget!

Yanqing:Yeah well…thanks. *smiles* Now then, let’s get some food already. I’m starving!

March:Don’t have to tell me twice!

#honkai star rail #hsr march 7th #march 7th #yanqing #hsr yanqing

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lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks · 5 months

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continuation of this story that is still as yet untitled but has been labeled as #FreeRei in my notes app

The fact that Rei had nothing in the way of backpacks, bags, or even a purse due to her seemingly permanent residency at the hospital was both a blessing and a curse.

Navigating the ledge and tree back down to the ground with his mother in tow was a harrowing enough task without luggage complicating matters, though not quite as difficult as Dabi had assumed because apparently his mother was nimble as all hell.

"The hospital offers pilates classes." she told him as he helped her cross from the ledge to a large sturdy branch of the tree. "I go every day, I thought it would be smart to stay in good shape in case I got the chance to escape." she giggled airily. "I guess my instincts were right."

However she now had nothing to her name but the clothes on her back, meaning Dabi was going to have to steal her a bunch of new clothes and shit while trying to lay low and not draw attention to himself because he just kidnapped the number 1 hero's wife.

This is the stupidest thing you've ever done you soft piece of shit, she says a few nice words and you melt into a fucking puddle, pathetic.

Rei left the lump of pillows she had stashed under her bedcovers in place so Dabi knew they had at least until morning before she would be reported missing, enough time to drop into a 24hr corner store and grab a few essentials.

He zipped his collar up over his chin and pulled on his black cloth facemask and hood before going into the thankfully empty store, he wasn't sure if having a gently smiling older woman on his arm made him seem more or less suspicious with his face as hidden as it was. Though in the end it mattered little as long as he wasn't recognised as Dabi, Rei having last been seen with a mysterious masked figure wouldn't be very useful information to anyone trying to find her, but Rei being seen with a member of the League of Villains could cause trouble.

Especially since they had The World's Most Obvious Spy in their midst.

Keeping the bird around had seemed like a good idea at the time, they always knew where the Commission's eyes were, and could feed him information as tainted as what he gave to them, and seeing as he hadn't ratted out their location (after a few trial runs at various decrepit fake bases) his goal seemed to amount to more than simply capturing the League.

But Dabi couldn't guarantee the Commission wouldn't cut their losses on the whole infiltration thing if they found out the League was harbouring someone of such a high profile, there was every chance raising the stakes this way could jeopardise their tentative safety with their hero mole. He was going to have to keep Hawks at arm's length for a while.

"What colour?" he asked Rei as she browsed the shelves for a toothbrush, almost giddy in excitement over something as simple as shopping for toiletries.

"Colour?" Rei asked, peering at the boxes in Dabi's hand.

"White hair's too eye catching and recognisable, if you want to go out in public you'll have to hide it." He held up the two boxes. "Red or black? Forget about blonde or brown, the cheap stuff doesn't set well in our hair."

Rei tapped on the box of black dye. "This one, so we match!" she smiled.

Dabi felt a sudden flood of something warm in his chest before mentally slapping himself and putting the red dye back.

Keep it together for fuck's sake you're a god damn villain, you have literally murdered people.

He smoothly slipped a couple of chocolate bars into his pockets and some wrapped sandwiches into his coat before heading to the counter with the hair dye, a toothbrush, and a packet of cheap medical face masks.

Rei grabbed at the items. "Oh can I buy them? Please?"

Her childlike wonder and excitement pulled at something in Dabi's chest, once upon a time it was him tugging at her sleeve and asking to pay for their groceries like a grown up. He could feel heat gathering beneath his skin.

Fuck he stole so much from us.

Dabi may have risen from the grave to a life of chronic pain in a fragile immunocompromised body that was kept alive by virtue of artificial quirk induced fevers and spite, but it was a price paid for the freedom his death had granted him. Rei was not awarded that luxury, fit and healthy she may be but her life had been reduced to barely more than a small box for over a decade, Dabi didn't know how it hadn't driven her even more batshit insane than Endeavor had.

Well, she did run off with a wanted criminal, maybe them docs didn't fix her up as well as they thought they did.

"I... yeah, yeah sure." he passed her the items and the last of the money in his pocket. "I need to make a call, meet me outside alright? Don't take too long."

Shiggy was gonna fucking dust him if he showed up with a stranger out of the blue, he was going to have to call ahead with some warning.

Shit, he really hadn't thought this through, at all, the League's base was the only safe place he could possibly take Rei and it was filled with unhinged lunatics that would probably scare the poor woman to death.

Although she had been married to a complete monster for half her life, and had enough guts to escape with a villain at the first opportunity. Maybe she wasn't any more frail than she was sane.

Maybe he broke you but he broke me too, yet here I am, parading around in this shattered husk, pretending I belong anywhere but six feet under.

Dabi had worked hard to maintain his mysterious image, the man with no name or past, a ghost in the system. It was necessary, a requirement for his master plan to have any kind of satisfying impact. He'd maintained the act for this long by keeping people at arm's length, trust no one and no one can betray you.

All of that would come crashing down if his mother spent any more than five fucking minutes with Himiko Toga.

The last thing he wanted was to drag his entire lifetime's worth of baggage into the League's hideout in one condensed human sized package, but he'd already started digging this hole, there wasn't anywhere left to go but down.

He opened his phone and scrolled down to 'Crusty Bitch' in his contacts before pressing call.

"Do you have any fucking idea what time it is?" Shigaraki's groggy voice poured through the phone like sand through an hourglass, grainy and impatient.

"I need a favour." Dabi said, his voice a careful mask of apathy.

"...Holy fuck you must be in real deep shit if you're asking me for a favour." Shigaraki said, the venom in his voice leeching away in his surprise. "The fuck have you gotten yourself into?"

"Aw you almost sound worried about me, that's adorable." Dabi smirked.

"Fuck you. I'm hanging up, sort out your own mess." Shigaraki snapped, all venom returning in an instant.

"Wait shit hold on, I'm-" Dabi ran a nervous hand through his hair as he watched his mother chat idly with the cashier through the store window. "I'm bringing a... friend... to the base, they need a safe place to crash and I need everyone to not ask questions."

"...You're fucking joking right? We're not a hotel Dabi, you can't just-"

"Please."

The phone fell dead silent for an agonising moment, Dabi's head fell back as he squeezed his eyes closed in silent prayer to whatever god might listen.

"Okay, you can bring them to the base, but you're going to tell me exactly what the fuck is going on. If I don't like their story I'm dusting this friend of yours where they stand, got it?"

Dabi let out a relieved breath he hadn't realised he was holding. The threat was an empty one, or at least it would be when Shigaraki discovered that Dabi's 'friend' was just an innocent civilian woman escaping a domestic abuser. The man was deranged but even he had some sympathy for those let down and left behind by hero society, it was why he tolerated the absolute lunacy of the dysfunctional codependent family he'd managed to form around himself.

"Got it, see you in an hour, and..." Dabi paused and rubbed at his eyes, suddenly feeling very tired. "And thank you, I owe you one."

"Ugh, don't thank me, you'll give me hives."

part 3 ~

#lula's mha brainrot #lula's fanfics #mha #dabi #touya todoroki #rei todoroki #mha fanfiction #my hero academia

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