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wreckmetoji · 4 years ago

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idfc

An ongoing fic in which you don't realize you have both Fushiguros at your feet.

↳ Toji Fushiguro/Reader Part 3/?

Part 1, Part 2 , Part 4

content warning. age gap, shameless smut, afab reader, mild degradation, spit kink, size kink, choking, unprotected sex, overstimulation, profanity This is part three of a several part story revolving around smut. **Minors DNI**

1.6k words

You came to a quick conclusion that had he not prepared you how he did, there was no fucking way his dick would fit. "Doll, we're just getting started." The circles Toji traced on your hip with his fingertips did little to calm your nerves. That wasn't his intention anyways. "Like what you see?" Toji smirked, free hand going to the base of his length and giving it a slow shake. You had to will yourself to look back up to his eyes instead of following the sway of his cock. You didn't trust yourself to speak so you nodded instead. “You're... um..." The words died in your throat as he leaned down, towering above you. He moved his hips between your legs, trapping you between his strong arm and the back of your couch. "Big?" "Fucking huge," You breathed, his sardonic grin only growing at the shake behind your voice. "Careful sweetheart, you're stroking my ego. That's a dangerous game." Toji stroked the head of his cock against your slick, rubbing against your clit before stroking the rest of him down the crevice of your pussy, then coming back up to tease your clit again. Soft mewls left your lips, rocking your hips up into him and urging him to hurry the fuck up. Movements halted, and you immediately noticed the missing presence of his girth. You lifted your head to look down between the two of you, ready to ask him what was taking him so long, until you felt the head of his cock part you. He shifted his hips, pushing forwards. You arched your back, the wind knocked out of your body completely. He was gonna split you in two, holy shit. "Fuck, relax princess," Toji sucked a breath through his teeth, pushing two more inches into your heat. "You're so tight." Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his slim waist, knees squeezing him slightly more with every agonizing push. In no way were you a virgin, but you had absolutely nothing to compare to his size. His other arm came up beside your head, effectively caging you between them, using one hand to grip your hair and tugging it to make you look at him. The sting had your eyes watering, your cunt squeezing him ever so slightly. His eyes pierced through you, holding your gaze until he was completely bottomed out inside of you. You looked completely fucked out and he'd barely even done anything yet. Your hips rocked, pushing up into Toji as much as you could. The corner of his lips tugged into a smirk, your eyes carefully watched his tongue slide over his scar. "Look at you, like a bitch in heat." He pulled out to the tip, fucking back into you with brute force. If you couldn't breathe before, it was impossible now. He repeated, setting a steady hard pace, watching your face contort in overwhelming pleasure. "You're such a slut, you think I don't notice the way you look at me every time you come over?" Toji gave an especially bruising thrust, making your jaw fall slack. You were barely able to make noise with how hard he was pounding into you, only little moans and squeaks every time his hips made contact with yours. "You've been wanting me to fuck you stupid for years, huh?" You sputtered an unintelligible answer, eyes rolling into the back of your head when he gave your hair a hard tug before letting go. His hand moved down to your lips, thumb forcing into your mouth with ease, pressing your tongue down with the pad of his finger. "Be a good girl," Toji muttered darkly, leaning down and sticking his tongue out above you. Your eyes came back into focus just as the string of spit fell from his tongue onto your own, an airy moan leaving you as the warm liquid dripped down your throat. He was quick to kiss you, tongue intruding your mouth to give you more and swallow your desperate sounds. When he parted, the string connecting connecting two of you snapped and dribbled down your chin, onto your chest. Toji groaned at the sight, sitting back on his thighs and gripping your hips with force. He pulled you into him, using your much smaller stature to his advantage, fucking himself with you brutally. Your screams and moans had drowned out his voice, but hearing him laugh made you gaze at him stupidly. He wasn't looking at your face, but down where the two of you were connected. When you shifted your gaze to see what he was laughing at, your eyes widened at the bulge pushing against your lower abdomen with every thrust. "Look at that... I could fucking break you, couldn't I?" Toji moved his hips up, pressing against you further. The words left your mouth in a garbled mess, but he understood them nonetheless. "Please break me, Toji... please." You were too absorbed in your own pleasure to see his expression shift, so the shock that came to you when he suddenly pulled out and flipped you with force made you shout. He entered you again without warning, mercilessly pounding into your aching cunt. One hand grabbed your forearm, pulling you to arch your back at an impossible angle. "Careful what you wish for, princess." Toji growled. His free hand came to wrap around the front of your throat, thumb and forefinger pressing on your pulse points just under your jaw, making your vision blur. It was too much, you could feel another orgasm quickly rising, trying desperately to voice the fact. His grip tightened on your throat, your head was floating. "Gonna cum for me again? You dirty slut." He grunted, leaning over you and pressing his chest to your back. You nodded as best you could with his hand holding your head still. The lack of oxygen was getting to your head, your eyes went glassy and your body began to slack against him. Your climax hit you like a truck, your entire body quaking and collapsing in his strong grip. You had completely blacked out, eyes rolling so far back in your head the strain gave you a headache. The last thing you remember is his arm wrapping around your waist to hold you up, and feeling warm ropes of cum filling up your overstimulated cunt. When you came to, Toji was wiping between your thighs with a dampened hand towel as you straddled his lap. He'd already pulled his pants back up, only remaining shirtless. You felt exposed in front of him, groaning at both the ache of your entire body and displeasure of your exposed state. "There she is," He announced, voice softer than you think you'd ever heard him speak before. You blinked, trying to lean back, body still too weak to do anything on your own. "Careful, princess. I got you." The room spun as he stood, carrying you with ease into your bathroom. You flinched at the cold granite counter making contact with your bare ass, making Toji chuckle. Once you relaxed, your back leaned against the mirror. “Scared the shit outta me, little girl." He turned the shower on, back facing you as he adjusted the nozzles and worked on removing his pants. "Don't think I've ever had someone pass out while I'm dickin' them down before." Oh how badly you wish you just died, right there and then. You could feel the heat radiating off your face, your ears going red. It was worse that he found it amusing. "Guess it was just that good," You muttered back, voice scratchy from overuse. "I guess one could say you fucked the life out of me." When Toji turned around, he had a lopsided smile that matched your own. "Yeah, guess you could." Toji was never a sweet or gentle man, that much was obvious. The scars that littered his body were from some dangerous job he always refused to specify, every time you had asked about the visible ones on his arms and face he would just say 'doesn't matter, I'm retired now'. So it came as a surprise when he got you on your feet and came into the shower with you, your back against his chest. This felt much different than the sex, it seemed much more intimate. There was a looming sense of closeness. It was short lived, however, once you started using your body wash his sneaky appendages traced up your sides and began cupping and kneading your chest. A soft sigh came from your lips, leaning your head back against his chest as he fondled you. You could already feel his half-hard cock pressing against your back, your own sex throbbing in time with his. A particular tweak of your nipple elicited a meek moan, your eyes fluttering closed. One of your small hands held his thick forearm, the other reached back and pressed against his upper thigh, just below his pelvic line. That was enough for him to hum, low baritone bouncing off the bathroom walls and shooting directly to the heat once again pooling between your legs. "Round two already?" You smirked through your words, having to tilt your head back all the way to look up at his roguishly handsome features. One of his hands moved down, brushing your swollen abused clit. Toji dipped his head, nudging your hair from your neck with his nose so he could kiss, lick, and nip the spot he'd been pressing with his thumb earlier. He peered up at you through the jet black strands of his bangs, raising a brow and grinning wickedly. "What can I say, I live to please. Besides..." "You ain't seen nothin' yet."

#toji fushiguro #toji smut #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x y/n #toji fushiguro smut #reader insert #jjk toji #toji jjk #jjk smut #toji thirst #daddy toji #minors do not interact #anime x reader #anime smut

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snelbz · 4 years ago

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Life As We Know It {Chapter 21}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Instead of doing a tag list for this story, we have decided to have a set posting schedule. Chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays. Occasional surprise chapters could be posted at miscellaneous times. Chapters will be posted on both my and Tara’s blogs! >> @tacmc.

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

Before Nesta even opened her eyes, she knew that she’d gotten some of the best sleep she’d had in months. She knew it was early, since Nyx hadn’t even woken them up for his morning bottle yet. Sighing comfortably, she settled deeper into her pillows, the weight of a heavy arm slung over her waist, pulling her in close.

With sudden clarity, she remembered the events of the night before. She remembered the damn kiss that had started it all. She remembered the orgasms Cassian had given her over and over. She remembered seeing something shining in his eyes that had nothing to do with lust or sex.

She was sure it was reflected in her own, but couldn’t work up the nerve to let herself think about what they’d done last night, what it may have implied. What lines they may have crossed.

And the fact that she really didn’t give a damn.

Nesta couldn’t remember the last time she was this happy, and as much as she tried to pretend it wasn’t thanks to the man sleeping soundly behind her, in her bed, she couldn’t lie to herself.

So she gently rolled over, careful not to wake him, and took in his sleeping face.

It was kind of funny.

Nesta had known Cassian for a while, for five years, and before that in passing, considering Feyre and Rhysand’s relationship. She had watched him age, had watched him grow from a young man into the man that had taken her the night before, but looking at him now…

There was an innocence about him when he slept.

He snored, quietly, completely unaware that she was awake, that she was watching him.

He was cute.

So, so cute.

If he awoke at that very moment and saw her watching him sleep, she would have surely been mortified, but she couldn’t bring herself to care, she couldn’t look away.

Memories from the night before flashed through her mind, and it only made her that much happier. She couldn’t remember the last time she had fallen asleep in a man’s arms, but with Cassian, she had fallen asleep peacefully, nearly instantly, and slept amazingly.

There was something about Cassian that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but she knew that she liked it.

She dared to gently brush a kiss over his cheek, before carefully climbing out of bed, his heavy arm making that a much harder endeavor than she was expecting. But he slept on soundly, not even stirring as she slipped from beneath the sheets and hurried into her closet. She wasn’t embarrassed by her nakedness, not after everything that had happened last night, but she knew that if he caught her naked, they were likely to take far longer getting downstairs to start their morning.

Not that she would have minded, but she was pretty sure neglecting Nyx was not a good enough reason for sex.

No, she’d enjoy him again later, as thoroughly as he’d enjoyed her last night, if he was willing. And she had no doubt that he would be.

Tying her robe around her waist, Nesta slipped from the closet into her room, glancing to make sure Cassian was still fast asleep. His snore confirmed he was.

Her chuckle was quiet as she entered the hall, sneaking down a few doors and opening Nyx’s. He was still asleep, as well, and with a smile, Nesta cracked his door and quietly padded down the stairs.

The kitchen was still a mess, his half-smashed cake on the counter and their clothes strewn around the room. Blushing, she picked them up one by one and tossed them into the laundry room, before making Nyx a bottle and starting on some scrambled eggs for his breakfast.

She could hardly focus. She was constantly thinking about the man upstairs, still sleeping soundly in her bed. Mixing a little cheese into the eggs, she stirred the eggs up in the pan before dumping them directly onto Nyx’s high chair tray.

Last time they’d slept together, Cassian had made her breakfast and then they’d both agreed it would never happen again. Regardless of the fact that it very much had happened again, Nesta didn’t like the sinking feeling she felt in her heart when she thought about having to agree to that once more.

Staring at the ingredients she’d pulled out of the fridge, Nesta sighed and braced her hands on the counter in front of her.

She wasn’t sure when it had happened, but she couldn’t ignore the fact that she had feelings for Cassian anymore. At some point, he’d gone from being a pain in her ass to the favorite part of her day. And that terrified her.

Letting him continue to sleep, she crept upstairs and gently woke Nyx up before he could start screaming, and carried him down to the kitchen, his sleepy head resting on her shoulder. He rubbed his eyes as she put him in his high chair, handing him the bottle, and she started working on their breakfast.

The entire time he ate, Nyx watched Nesta curiously, as if he knew something was up.

Maybe it was just her paranoia. Then again, he was Feyre and Rhysand’s kid and they were always snooping into Cassian and Nesta’s business.

Feyre and Rhysand.

Nesta bet they were pretty damn proud of themselves at the moment.

She heard him moving around upstairs and her heart began to beat a little bit faster. This was it, the moment of truth.

She cursed, all the while Nyx kept watching her as he stuffed his mouth with scrambled eggs.

Making herself busy at the stove, she quickly dropped some bacon into the hot skillet, sizzling filling the kitchen. Within seconds, a few pieces of bread were in the toaster, and she was rummaging through the refrigerator for the blackberry jam she knew he preferred.

Nyx’s babbling announced his arrival, and she turned to find Cassian standing behind his high chair, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants slung low on his hips. He picked up a small clump of eggs and popped it into his mouth, and Nyx angrily began talking at him, though the made up words were unintelligible.

“He doesn’t like to share,” she said, closing the fridge door with a hip.

Cassian grinned. “Desperate times call for desperate measures. I worked up an appetite last night.”

Nesta’s cheeks turned a soft shade of pink. “Is that so?”

Cassian nodded and walked toward her, slowly. Nesta remained still until he was standing just in front of her. “I have to confess that I was hoping you’d be there when I woke up this morning.”

Nesta stepped closer to him. “Breakfast and the baby called.”

Cassian scoffed and muttered, “Priorities.”

Nesta laughed quietly, but the sound was muffled by Cassian’s lips against hers.

It was almost instinct to lean into him, to smile against his lips. When she pulled back just a hair, his hazel eyes were bright. She whispered, “Good morning.”

“Morning,” he breathed, his mouth still so close to hers.

She blushed, even though she couldn’t figure out why and turned to the stove. “I…wasn’t sure what to expect this morning.”

Cassian hesitated. “What did you think I’d do?”

Nesta sighed, scratching her head. “I don’t know. I thought you might act like it never happened. Or, you’d say it was only a one time thing like last time.”

Cassian cocked his head to the side. “Last time I didn’t sleep in your bed.”

“And that changes things?” Nesta asked, quietly.

“Last night changed things,” Cassian replied, brushing her hair back out of her face. “At least, for me it did.”

“Me too,” Nesta replied, without any hesitation.

Cassian’s eyes softened. “Nesta, I-.”

“NANANANANANANANA!”

They both spun around, where Nyx was watching them with the most precious of pissed off expressions. His tray was empty, practically licked clean, and Nyx was not having it.

Cassian chuckled as he took a banana out of the fruit basket and peeled it before cutting it up into slices. “He’s awfully full of it this morning, isn’t he?”

“I think he knows,” she said, rolling her eyes as she flipped the bacon. “Not specifically what happened, but he knows something is…different between us.”

He paused his cutting and turned back to her, pausing with a hip resting on the counter. “Good different or bad different?”

“Good different,” she said, smiling. She cracked a few eggs into a bowl and mixed them up with some milk. “Definitely good different.”

For a moment, Cassian didn’t say anything, but when she turned he was grinning. “Really good different?”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Shut up.” She turned back around. “But yes.”

“Good,” he breathed, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. “What’ve you got going on today?”

“Work,” she said. “Seeing how the bar renovation is going. Looks like you’ll have to hire your replacement soon with how quickly everything is moving.”

Cassian groaned. “That’s the part I’m looking towards the least. I hate interviews. I hate being in them, I hate giving them, they’re awful.”

“But the sooner you give them, the sooner you leave that bar and come work at mine,” she crooned.

“Yours?” he repeated, offended.

Nesta snorted. “Ours.”

He and Kallias had both given their notice to the owner of the dive bar they worked in. He wasn’t thrilled, but he had always been a gruff bastard. He’d informed Cassian he wasn’t going anywhere until he’d hired not only his replacement, but Kal’s, as well.

“Speaking of,” he sighed, glancing at the clock. “I’ve got one scheduled for eleven-thirty. What time are you going to the restaurant?”

She poured the egg mixture into the skillet she’d cooked the crispy bacon in moments before and began laying the bacon on the toast she’d made. “Whenever,” she shrugged. “Helion is opening today. What time can Viviane be here?”

“Ten. I’m not working a shift today, so after the interview I can either come back here and give her the rest of the day off, or I can come to the restaurant.”

Nesta chewed slowly as she thought about it. “I wouldn’t mind if you came to the restaurant.”

“Then that’s what I’ll do,” Cassian said, placing the cut-up banana in front of a cranky Nyx. “And you, little man, better be good for Viv today. Because you’re grumpy.”

In response, Nyx spit out the piece of banana he had put in his mouth and smushed up the rest on his tray.

After scarfing down the breakfast that Nesta had made, and making a show of thanking her for it, Cassian was cleaning up the kitchen then hurrying upstairs to shower. Nesta was left cleaning up a fussy, banana-covered Nyx.

“I don’t even think you wanted to eat the banana, kiddo,” she muttered, cleaning off his tray, before wiping him down with an ungodly amount of baby wipes. “I think it was just to play in.”

He had plenty to say about that, just nothing Nesta could understand.

A few minutes later, freshly showered and dressed Cassian came downstairs, where Nyx was playing on the living room floor. She was up the stairs a minute later, hurrying to take her own shower. After an hour, she returned, purse and keys in hand. “I’m going to go ahead and head to the restaurant. I’ll see you in a little while?”

He nodded and as she made for the door, Cassian stood, catching her by the elbow and tugging her back to him. She stumbled a step, but he crushed her to his chest and pressed a kiss to her lips. When he pulled back, they were both grinning like fools. “I’ll see you in a little while,” he repeated.

“Okay.” She was backing towards the door, that smile looking like it was a permanent fixture on her face, before slipping out and leaving he and Nyx alone.

Who was watching him again, looking so much like Rhysand with that little eyebrow raised.

Cassian couldn’t help but snort and say, “This is your fault you know.”

A few hours later, right after Nyx had gone down for his mid- morning nap, Cassian heard a knock on the front door. Opening the door, Viviane rushed in. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” she said, shaking her head.

Cass glanced at the clock on the mantle. “It’s barely ten-fifteen,” he chuckled. “No big deal, you’re fine.”

She nodded. “Sorry, just— It’s been a crazy morning.”

“Everything okay?” Cassian asked. Viv was usually steady, so sure of everything she did or said.

“Yeah,” she replied, waving off his question. “I’m fine. Ran into my ex at the coffee shop and— Ugh, ignore me. Don’t worry about it. Is Nyx down for his nap?”

“Yeah, he’s been out for about fifteen minutes. He had a pretty big breakfast, so I doubt he’ll be too hungry when he wakes up.” Cassian gnawed on his lip for a second debating on whether he should ask what was on his mind. After considering how well throwing caution to this wind has worked for him last night, he decided why the hell not. “Does that mean you’re single? Since you bumped into your ex?”

Viviane froze and blinked. “Yes, but I don’t date my employers—”

“No, no,” he quickly said, holding his hands out in placation. “It’s not me. It’s a friend of mine and I think you two might hit it off.”

Viviane raised a brow. “A friend, huh?”

“Guy I’ve worked with for years,” Cassian went on. “Great guy, in fact. You’ll enjoy yourself, guaranteed.”

“Guaranteed?” Viviane chuckled. “Well, I can’t say no to that, can I?”

Cassian grinned. “No, you can’t, and neither can he. Tomorrow night, you free?”

“I suppose I am, if my boss is giving me the night off,” she laughed.

“He is, and it’ll be great, we’ll all go out,” Cassian said. “You and Kal, and me and Nesta.”

“Kal,” she said, the shortened name rolling off her tongue. “Yeah, alright. That sounds fun.”

“Perfect,” Cassian said, patting her on the shoulder as he swept past her. “I’ve got to get going, but we should be home around five or so. Call if you need anything.”

Viviane chuckled. “You say that every time, and have I ever called?”

“It’s a habit!” he called, as he hurried out the door.

When he got to the bar, Kallias had everything under control, which meant Cassian was taking a table in the far corner, waiting for his interviewee to arrive.

Sadly, this wasn’t the interview to replace his own job. That was proving to be far more tedious than he was expecting. But an hour later, after shaking the young man’s hand, Cassian let out a sigh of relief as he left.

“And how’d that go?” Kallias asked, wiping down a few glasses that were drying atop the bar.

“Well, your position is officially filled,” he replied, sitting across from him at the bar. “So congratulations.”

“Cheers,” he chuckled, raising the empty glass towards Cassian. “When are we celebrating?”

“Tomorrow night, actually,” Cassian said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Kal snorted. “Seriously? I was kidding.”

“I’m not,” Cassian replied, shrugging. “We’re going out tomorrow night. You, me, Nesta, and Viviane.”

Kallias blinked. “The hot nanny?”

Cassian grinned. “Yeah.”

Kallias looked at Cassian suspiciously. “I thought you were kidding when you said you were setting us up.”

“Oh, I never kid about love,” Cassian said, winking.

Kallias raised a brow. “Love? Who the hell are you?”

Cassian filled his glass and took a gulp of beer. “Just meet us at Rita’s at eight tomorrow.”

Kallilas continued to stare at him for a long while. “You slept with her again, didn’t you?”

Cassian’s grin widened. “Tomorrow. Rita’s. Eight.”

And with that, he chugged his beer and left.

The next night, Cassian and Nesta dropped Nyx off at Elain’s before making their way to Rita’s.

“Our first date,” Cassian crooned, reaching his hand across the car to Nesta’s.

She took it fondly. “Our first date? After all we’ve been through, do we even qualify for a first date?”

“Why?” Cassian scoffed. “Just because we’ve been sleeping together and living with each other and raising a kid together?” He snorted. “Of course, we deserve a first date.”

Nesta rolled her eyes but did not protest.

Cassian had slept in her bed last night after another night of lovemaking. Even though it didn’t seem possible, it got better with each time. The more they got to know each other’s bodies, the more familiar with one another they became, the more they became one in intimacy, the more amazing it was.

“You look amazing tonight,” Cassian said, quietly. “In case I haven’t told you that yet tonight.”

He had.

Multiple times.

But, Nesta couldn’t blame him. She did look amazing in her navy blue dress and her blush heels. She looked over at Cassian, in his jeans and button down shirt.

Coincidentally, it wasn’t much different than what he had worn on their actual first date five years before. She chuckled, and he looked over at her, brow raised.

“This is actually our second date,” she said.

Cassian shook his head, amused, before looking back out the window as he turned into the parking lot. “Well, hopefully this date goes better than that one did.”

Nesta agreed.

As soon as Cassian opened Nesta’s door, they spotted Viviane pulling into the parking lot. They knew she was a pretty girl, but she usually showed up to work with a ponytail, jeans, and a t-shirt. Now, she had really dressed to impress.

Cassian whistled as she got out of her car and Vivane blushed as Nesta’ jabbed him in the ribs.

“You look beautiful,” Nesta told Vivane.

“Thanks,” she said, and Nesta could tell the nanny was a little nervous, a little uncomfortable.

“I see Kal’s truck,” Cassian said, gesturing for the women to follow. “I guess he’s already inside.”

Indeed he was and he’d already gotten a table for the four of them and was working on a pitcher of a beer.

“Hey, man,” Cassian greeted him as Kallias stood and shook his hand. “This is Nesta,” he said, placing a hand on her back.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” she said, reaching for his hand as well. They shook hands and Kallias smiled.

“You, too,” he replied. “I guess I should call you boss now, huh?”

“No, no, no,” she laughed, shaking her head. “Please don’t.”

“And this,” Cassian interrupted, rolling his eyes at the two of them, “is Viviane.”

As if he somehow hadn’t noticed the blond beauty behind Cassian until this moment, Kallias looked up at her and blinked. He was about to make some sort of hot nanny joke when Kallias breathed, “Viv?”

She was looking at him with the same dumbfounded look Kallias had on his face. “Kallias… Hey.”

Cassian and Nesta looked between the two, then at each other, and after a moment, Nesta asked, “You two know each other?”

Kallias still looked like he was trying to figure out what planet he was on, so Viviane answered, “We were…childhood friends. But my family moved to Velaris when I started middle school.” She shook her head, but she had been looking at Kallias the whole time. “I had no idea you were in Velaris.”

He finally remembered to speak, though Cassian was beginning to wonder if he’d need to answer for him. “I came out here for college. Loved the city and decided to stay.”

“College?” Viviane repeated. “You’re telling me that you’ve been here since your freshman year, and you’ve never called?”

Kallias chuckled. “I didn’t even know you still lived here!”

“Hmm,” Viviane said, taking a seat across from him. “Well, what a small world, hmm?”

“Yeah,” Kallias repeated, “small world.”

Cassian took a seat by Kallias and Nesta sat across from them as they went a little bit more in depth into their long lost friendship. Apparently they had grown up in the same neighborhood and had always gone to the same elementary school. Kallias was a year older than Viviane, but when he went into the seventh grade and Viviane was going into sixth, her family moved to Velaris for her father’s work.

They had never talked again after that. Their friendship was nothing more than a simple, joyful memory.

Seeing them now, Nesta thought, she just knew the two of them had gotten into trouble when they were little. Between their jokes and sly looks at one another, and the obvious chemistry, they had surely been up to no good and gave both sets of parents a run for their money.

“I’m going to the bar,” Cassian announced, looking at Nesta. “Care to join?”

Nesta had a feeling that it was less about going to the bar and more about giving the newfound couple beside them a few minutes alone. She nodded, and took his hand as they walked toward the bar on the other side of the room.

“They’re cute together,” Nesta said, sitting on a barstool.

Cassian sat on the one next to her. “Oh, I know. You know, I’ve gotta say, I feel pretty damn accomplished right now. I definitely made this happen.”

Nesta couldn’t help but roll her eyes at him, even as she leaned into his embrace. She wanted nothing more than to poke fun at him, to mess with him about his unexpected matchmaking skills, but as she looked at the two happy people laughing at the table across the bar, she couldn’t help but wonder if that’s the gift that Rhysand and Feyre had tried to give them all those years ago.

Even now, Nesta’s chest tightened as she smiled, so thankful for her meddling, baby sister.

#snacmc lawki #life as we know it #lawki #snacmc collabs #snelbz tacmc collab #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf

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white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen · 4 years ago

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Pulse Point

A/N: Requested by anonymous. Warning for canon-typical violence; minor character death, nightmares, and post-traumatic stress. Also: borrowed Dr. Sweets from the show Bones.

Summary: A near-death experience leaves you with recurrent nightmares. Neal offers some comfort.

Word Count: 5,154

The steady beeping of hospital equipment was driving you insane. It had been hours now of nothing except the monotonous noise of your own heartbeat. If it didn’t shut up soon, you would claw your ears off. With a stiff body and an ache that penetrated down to your bones, you forced your body upright and pinched open the pulse monitor on your right hand.

You let out a relieved sigh as the equipment went silent and dropped yourself back onto the well-padded pillows behind you. The pulse monitor clattered to the floor on its long white cord and you settled down for a nap. The ache in your bones made you feel heavy, like lead. There was nothing quite like a well-deserved nap.

In mere seconds after you had closed your eyes, the equipment started acting up again, this time blaring one long, constant shriek. The surprise made your heart skip a beat, but your eyelids were too heavy to look and see what had happened. Then your heart kept skipping, and your throat tightened. You couldn’t breathe. Your chest burned. It wasn’t a heartbeat; it was a flatline.

You were dying.

The leaden feeling in your body doubled. Your muscles didn’t respond to trying to move and you couldn’t force your lungs to take in a breath. Footsteps pounded around you, incoherent shouts going in one ear and out the other. You were desperate for your paralyzed eyes to open. Was this what you’d have for the rest of your life? Nothing but darkness and unintelligible, mind-numbing noise, punctuated by electrical humming and the pain of a vice clamping itself again to your finger?

The flatline paused for a second. Your ears rang and you thought, for a moment, that you were safe, your heart was beating again. Instead, your stomach twisted and you realized you were losing feeling in your toes. No blood. No life. When the screech of your flatline came back again, it was louder, more piercing. The shrillness reminded you of screaming.

As soon as you remembered it, it was there – the same screaming as before, somewhere in your room, echoing from every corner. In the next pause of the flatline, it turned into a hoarse shriek and a plea. “No! Please!”

You couldn’t hear anything underneath it, no more overlapping voices, and your panic increased. Where were the doctors? Did they think you were gone? Help me!

Your eyes opened with a sudden snap, the droning of your alarm clock replacing the flatlining of the monitor.

As you stared at your ceiling, you panted for breath. Rationally, you knew, you had probably never stopped breathing, but in the panic of your nightmare, it felt like you’d been smothered. Terror powered your desperate gasps and convinced you that your feet and hands were numb, even as you could feel that one foot was poking out from the end of your blanket. After a long moment, you dared to move your arm, ready to scream if you weren’t dreaming after all and still couldn’t move. You turned your alarm off easily.

Soft rain pattered against the glass windows, creating shiny-looking streaks as droplets collected and streamed down the side of the building. It was much more soothing than the silence that usually reigned in Dr. Sweets’ office when he was waiting for you to talk. Maybe he should invest in one of those noise machines with rain as an option. You thought about making the suggestion, but knowing him, he would probably call you out on the procrastination, or deflection, or whatever else he wanted to call it.

You broke the silence. “I’m certain I can wait you out for the next…” You checked the clock. “Twenty-seven minutes.”

Dr. Sweets raised his eyebrows, still leaning his head on a closed fist, propped on the arm of his chair. “I’m equally certain I can recommend you remain on desk duty for the next…” He pretended to check his watch. “Twenty-seven weeks.”

You scowled.

Psychological clearance was a bureau mandate after something traumatic occurred during the course of the job. You’d been lucky enough not to need it up to this point, but after… that, you hadn’t been given a choice. Dr. Sweets was a highly qualified psychotherapist, and you were sure that he did amazing things to help a lot of people, but so far you felt neither amazed nor helped.

“Agent L/N, you went through something incredibly harrowing that you were very close to not walking away from.” The psychologist finally took his head off his fist and put his arm down in his lap. At least he’d taken the bait and you weren’t the one starting the discussion. “You were a half-inch or couple minutes from bleeding out.” He pinched his fingers to demonstrate as if you didn’t have a scar on your body that distance from your femoral artery. You’d never be able to forget what half an inch looked like.

“But I did walk away, and the person who did that to me is in prison for the rest of his life.” You crossed your legs, trying to look more comfortable than you felt. You weren’t sure how effective you were going to be at convincing a therapist that you didn’t need therapy, but it was worth the try.

He looked utterly unconvinced. Actually, the jerk looked like he knew exactly what you were trying for and thought it was cute that you thought you could trick him. “Justice, or even retribution, which it feels like you’re leaning towards, doesn’t erase a wrongdoing or its associated harm.”

“I didn’t erase it, I healed from it. I took medical leave, now I’m back.”

“Physically, you healed. It takes a lot longer to heal mentally from those kinds of wounds.”

“Does it?” You challenged.

“I think your nightmares speak for themselves,” Dr. Sweets said pointedly.

You glared at him, at a loss for a quick comeback. You knew you didn’t look like a million bucks, but you hadn’t thought it was that obvious you were losing sleep. If he knew, then the coworkers who spent a lot of time with you must know, too. Especially Neal – nothing got past him. Oh, that was embarrassing.

The nightmares had been recurring for weeks now. They had started once you had a return date to the office, but after actually resuming your work, they had increased in frequency and intensity. They weren’t identical, but they did all share some similarities: some fatal injury had you dying, alone, in the dark, like you almost had in real life. You never got to the point of actually dying in your dreams, you didn’t think, but you were just fine with that. They were bad enough as they were. Yes, they were a sign of trauma and anxiety. But if your mind didn’t heal itself from weeks safe at home, then you knew returning to normal as fast as possible was probably your best bet at getting over what had happened.

“I’m not your enemy here,” the therapist said to you more gently. You couldn’t say he was heartless, even if you didn’t enjoy the half-hour sessions where he tried to talk about your feelings whether you wanted to or not. “My goal is the same as yours. I want you back at work, safely, able to sleep through a night so you don’t jeopardize yourself or the people around you.”

You let out a deep sigh. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me about the affect this has had on you.” Dr. Sweets encouraged, not for the first time. “You’ve accepted what happened. I can see that. But the next step is processing what it means for you, as an agent, as a person… maybe both.”

You felt helpless. What was that supposed to mean? You couldn’t very well tell him you were terrified your job was going to actually get you killed or cost more lives on your watch. When your employer paid your therapist’s bills, you couldn’t fully trust doctor-patient confidentiality. Maybe it was just paranoia, but you couldn’t bring yourself to risk it.

“I can’t sleep,” you admitted. Your tone sounded mournful. In a way, you were mourning for a time when you could sleep through the night and enjoy your days at work. It wasn’t like white-collar crime was your passion, but you did like puzzles, and you did like being around the people you worked with, especially a certain blue-eyed felon. “I keep having nightmares that I’m… injured, and I’m alone.”

“Your wire was jammed and your team didn’t hear you signal for backup.” Dr. Sweets talked slowly, patient and pragmatic as he validated your nightly anxieties. “You expected help, but they didn’t know to come.”

“They did come,” you said with a shrug. “It just… almost wasn’t in time. I know it wasn’t their fault.”

Your words about time felt glued into your ears. Yours had come really close to running out. And for what? Insurance fraud? No amount of money justified murder, and you likewise couldn’t put a price tag on a life. So why were you so eager to leap back into the same job that almost cost you yours?

It was something you had been mulling over since it happened. Your job was dangerous. You had always known that. You’d been shot at, been near explosives… your partner had been abducted by a murderer not that long ago, and your best friend had had guns in his face so often that, honestly, you’d lost count a while ago. Somehow it just hadn’t clicked, you supposed, that you could legitimately die. You were protected by the bureau and your body armor, until that wasn’t enough. Other agents had learned that lesson in a much harder way; being confronted with that was hard to simply get over.

Apparently, your use of the word “fault” led Dr. Sweets to talk to you about guilt and anger around the incident. You didn’t blame your partner or feel angry, except at the man who shot you, but you let him continue around your noncommittal, half-assed answers. You knew he at least suspected you were putting him on again, but you also knew you hadn’t given him much to work with. Then again, he didn’t call you on your bullshit replies, either, so you weren’t quite sure what he thought.

While Dr. Sweets had yet to approve you for field duty, there was still plenty to do at your desk. You pretended not to notice the itch in your legs to go somewhere while you kept yourself busy, preparing documents, performing research, helping delegate and manage case files, and topping off your team’s coffee whenever they got low. You had become even more of a desk jockey than Neal; at least he got to go out with Peter when given the green light. You missed outings with your partner, or really with any other agent.

Comparing yourself to a caged tiger was likely on the dramatic side, so you put it out of your mind and refused to feel sorry for yourself. You understood the protocols and the routines and they were for your benefit as much as the bureau’s. Besides, your team wasn’t treating you like you were fragile or demoted. They leaned on you to help just as much as they ever did, the assignment of duties just went a little differently.

You doodled a cat on your notepad during a meeting. Everyone had great ideas and you tossed in some ways you could contribute when you’d been quiet for a while. Peter’s proposed field op was going to go smoothly. Odds were high that any hiccups could be taken care of by Diana’s swift running of interference. Neal was raring to go and Jones was a little too excited to play the part of an intimidating brute, in your opinion, and Peter was appropriately apprehensive (someone ought to be, after what had happened to you).

“Let’s sleep on it,” Peter decided after looking out the window and seeing how low the sun had sunk. “If we’re all still in agreement in the morning, we’ll set the ball in motion.”

Jones graciously commented, “Good idea. We can all think on it.” He was probably the most cautious of all of you.

“Y/N?” Neal asked. You immediately looked up from your (admittedly lopsided) cat drawing. The forger was still in his chair, even while the others were pulling on their coats and blazers. “You’ve been quiet. Do you have any concerns?”

You shook your head, but not too quickly that it raised suspicion. You could get away with doodling – Peter often turned a blind eye to it; after several years, he’d developed a soft spot for you – but only if you were still paying attention and participating, so you didn’t want to give him a reason to suspect you weren’t.

Peter, Diana, and Jones all said their goodbyes. The two younger agents left the room, but Peter lingered at the doorway.

“Neal, do you want a ride?” He offered.

Neal looked from you to Peter, and then shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ll find my way. You don’t want to be late for roast,” he added when Peter looked unconvinced. After glancing at you, your partner decided that he really didn’t want to be late for roast and left without another look over his shoulder.

Now that you were alone, Neal softened his expression. “Seriously, Y/N, what’s going on?”

“I told you, I’m not worried. We’ve thought of just about everything we can predict.” You said with a straight face, pretending not to know that Neal wasn’t just talking about this specific case anymore.

He wasn’t having it. “Don’t lie to a conman, Y/N,” he chided you with a small, fond smile. “Come on. It’s not just today, you’ve been quiet ever since you came back. It’s not like you.” You raised an eyebrow and pursed your lips, uninterested in talking. Neal reached partway across the table for you but stopped there. It was an invitation but not a command. “I’m worried about you.”

The thing about your history with Neal was that it was a close one. You went from strangers when Peter got him out of Sing Sing to best friends within the span of two years. You trusted him more than you trusted just about anyone, and there hadn’t been a time when one of you needed the other and was turned away. He didn’t come to you when he was upset – seeking out reassurance and comfort was not Neal’s strength, because it involved professing vulnerability – but he never turned you away when you came to offer it, either. Now it seemed to be his turn to do the offering, as he had realized over the last few weeks that you weren’t going to ask.

You reached for his hand and silently sighed in relief at how solid and warm it was to the touch, so unlike the few dreams where you screamed and cried for someone to help and found yourself grasping at tricks that weren’t there. Neal turned his hand to hold yours and gave it a squeeze.

“It’s been so hard, Neal,” you told him reluctantly. “I have no idea how you do it. How you just walk away from all the close calls.”

Neal frowned a little. “I don’t just walk away,” he objected. “I have bad nights. I have bad days. Sometimes I have a whole bad week, or a few bad months.” You knew the latter was a reference to losing Kate, and you sympathetically gripped his hand tighter. “But, you know… there’s always something I can find to focus on instead, and after a while, the things go in the past. I let go.”

That advice was entirely unhelpful. “I’ve been trying to let go,” you said sourly. It wasn’t directed at him, exactly, but moreso at your brain, which was failing in its task of moving past what happened. “It’s not working. I can’t sleep. Sometimes I don’t think I can breathe.”

“It’s not easy,” Neal agreed, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. It was an intimately affectionate gesture that comforted and eased the nerves beginning to bubble in your stomach. “Company helps. The reminder that I have backup, even when it doesn’t come right away. I’ve got Peter, Moz. You.” He met your eyes with a small smile and raised your hand to his lips, gently kissing your knuckles.

“Company?” You echoed uncertainly. If you were unconscious, how was company going to make a difference to what you dreamed about? Then you remembered what you had said to Dr. Sweets about your nightmares always ending with being alone. If you knew, on some level, that you weren’t alone, maybe you would feel safer. “Like, overnight?”

His expression didn’t change to give away whether you were right or wrong. Instead, he just asked, evenly, “Is that what you need?” The way he looked at you then, without judgment in his eyes, but with determination in the set of his jaw, you just knew that whatever you said you needed, Neal would move a mountain to give it to you.

“I’m not sure, but… maybe?” You hesitantly guessed. If it worked, it would be worth the awkwardness. Even just one night of solid sleep would do wonders for how you felt, and it wasn’t like it would be the first time you had stayed with Neal overnight. Long marathons on slow weekends, and the less pleasant nights after Kate’s death, meant he kept an extra toothbrush and a set of your pajamas in his penthouse.

“Okay,” he said right away with nothing but quiet matter-of-factness. It was so comforting to be proven right that you could rely on him to help you with what you needed. His tone just said, you need this, so we’re doing it, full-stop. You just hoped you were right, both so you could finally go eight hours without fearing for your life and so you weren’t inconveniencing him for no reason. “Let’s get dinner on the way. We don’t have to talk about it,” he quickly said, seeing your face. “Whatever you need.”

Everyone should have a friend like Neal, but everyone should find their own, because this one was all yours. If it weren’t for the table in the way, you would’ve launched yourself at him in a tight hug. As it was, you settled for a squeeze of his hand and a grin as wide as you could muster. “Dinner sounds great.”

The stickiness of your pants along your thigh made your hands shake, unable to bring yourself to look at your palms. You knew what you would see all over them. The fire lancing up your thigh told you what you already knew. So did the weakness in your body and the fog in your mind. It was done. The hourglass on the desk was trickling through the last of its sand. Moretti was nowhere to be seen. You couldn’t even die in the presence of a murderer.

There was screaming coming from another room. It was the desperate wail of another agent begging for their life. “No! Please!”

“No,” you mumbled, using all of your energy to turn your head to the doorway. He couldn’t… not now that you were down… you couldn’t even raise your voice to cry for help. You were completely helpless. You couldn’t save him.

Your chest burned with the effort of your heart, ironically helping you to bleed out faster. Your breaths came labored, and then they couldn’t come at all as your vision faded. The dark carpet blurred from a mass of pilled fibers into a solid navy sea. The pain in your leg was excruciating, it was all you could feel; the idea of feeling peace ever again slipping away.

Screaming. Banging. Footsteps. More screaming. Pounding. Shouting. It was all indistinguishable, a mess of men’s voices and loud gunshots. Then, you heard it. Just your name, barely audible above the rest, in a voice that made you strain to see past the blackness.

“Y/N!”

You’d give the rest of your precious seconds away just to see him one last time, just to know he was beside you and you weren’t alone.

“Y/N!”

Footsteps came closer and the pressure on your chest intensified. The blood loss made you dizzy and your body shook.

“Y/N!”

You jolted awake, eyes snapping open in time to see Neal leaning out of the way just in time to avoid your hand flying at his face. You processed slowly that his hands were on your shoulders – had he shaken you? – and it was still dark. You could barely see his face, but his figure was lit from behind by the lamp next to his bed. You could tell from his messy hair that he had been sleeping not long ago, and you felt awful for waking him up.

After cursing, you sat up and gripped the warm blanket on your lap tightly. “I’m sorry,” you said remorsefully, feeling like a fool. Not only hadn’t you been able to sleep through the night, but now you’d ruined his rest, too. You cussed again. “I really hoped being close… just not being at my apartment, alone…”

It had felt like a safe bet off to a good start. You had gotten dinner together near Gramercy Park, then watched a lighthearted movie before turning in for bed. Neal offered to let you take his mattress, but you didn’t want to put him out and you had slept over enough that he didn’t feel like a bad host for letting you insist on the sofa. You’d been out by ten, but now you could guess it had been less than four hours. Your heart was still racing, your leg still tense with an imagined pain.

“It’s okay,” Neal said, sounding unsettled. He kept his hands on your shoulders like he was keeping you grounded on the earth. “Don’t worry about it. It’s okay.”

Neal’s eyes must have already adjusted to the low light, because his aim was spot-on when he lifted a hand from your shoulder to cup your neck instead. His profile ducked and you felt his lips land on your forehead, checking your temperature, signalling forgiveness, and administering reassurance all at once. He rubbed his thumb across your jaw as he stood up straight, releasing you, and walked away around the couch.

You put your legs down in front of you and rubbed your face, exhausted mentally and physically. Helplessness made you want to cry. Time wasn’t healing. Sleeping pills just made it harder to wake up, letting the nightmares ravage your psyche for longer. Not even the proximity of someone you trusted and adored was enough to let go of the past.

The light in the kitchen came on, bright enough to illuminate the studio but far enough away not to be blinding. Neal came back to the couch holding a bottle of water and offered it to you before sitting down. He looked so adorable, still sleepy and with a bit of pink in the side of his face from sleeping with his arm under his pillow. You scolded yourself for even thinking about how cute he was when you were the one who had woken him up.

You sipped at the water. It was so nice and smooth on your throat. You felt fine, now that you were awake, but the vividness of your nightmares always left you feeling parched and you always expected swallowing to hurt as if you had strep. Neal leaned into the back of the couch and put his arm up along the cushions. You capped the water, bent your knees to pull your feet back up onto the furniture, and let yourself lean into his side. Neal dropped his arm softly on your shoulders, holding you in a tender sideways hug.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized again after a couple of minutes. You felt much better, much faster than you usually did, thanks to him, and if you were being fully honest, you were not ready for him to get up and go back to bed, but it wasn’t fair to ask him to stay up cuddling you at god-knows-what-time just because you were a wreck.

“I told you, it’s okay,” Neal said, his voice firm. If you apologized again, you figured he would start scolding you for it, so you let it go.

“I just – I should’ve expected this,” you said with frustration, feeling like you were confessing to knowingly bothering him. “I haven’t been able to sleep well in ages. I keep having these nightmares, I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

Neal was quiet for a few seconds, making sure you had said all you were inclined to. Then, knowingly, he asked, “This is about the Moretti case, isn’t it?”

“I can’t let it go,” you said with a whimper. “It won’t leave me alone. Every night, it’s a little bit different, but at its core it’s always the same.”

Neal’s voice cutting through the fog of your nightmare had been a saving grace, giving you peace even in your unconscious, but now that you were awake, you realized with clarity that his voice saying your name wasn’t the only voice you could make out. In fact, you always heard the same thing, every night, no matter what else changed.

“What’s the same, Y/N?” Neal asked you, trying to help. He stroked your upper arm with his open hand. You were already shaking your head. Neal could comfort you all he liked, but he couldn’t bring back the dead. In grief and shame, you turned your head and bent your neck to bury your face in his shoulder. Neal tilted his head so his cheek was resting gently on your hair. “Tell me, darling,” he coaxed in a whisper.

You felt like someone’s hands were wrapped around your throat, strangling your reply. “Agent Flynn,” you answered dryly, barely more than mouthing his name. “In every nightmare, I hear… I hear his last words. Begging Moretti not to take the shot.”

Neal was quiet for a long time, but never pushed you away. He held you closer when you started to shake, crying against him as quietly as you could manage. The artist rubbed your arm and periodically kissed your head, but he knew that there was nothing he could say to erase the horror of what you had heard or take away the guilt that you had survived because Moretti was distracted by taking out the other agent.

Moretti was part of a family gang, often in conflict with the Barellis, who, interestingly, paid a little deference to the white-collar division ever since you and Peter had recovered a stolen Book of Hours. The Morettis had no such connection or gratitude, so their response to the FBI sticking their nose into an embezzling scam was violent and bloody. Moretti shot you in the leg and intended to finish you off, but one of his own men had reported you came with someone. He left you to bleed out, and only a few rooms over, you had heard Flynn’s pleas – and the subsequent gunshot. Your team, wising up to the dead signal, arrived for a takedown before Moretti could make his way back to you, but it was too late for your teammate.

Neal shifted after what felt like forever, only to pull you closer to his chest and wrap both arms around you. You trembled in his embrace, but that just made him hold you closer, like you were delicate and breakable. When he next talked, his low voice was quivering, just like your body.

“I thought we lost you,” he said, cupping the back of your head in a gentle hand. He massaged his fingers into your scalp, even as he kept you cuddled in his lap. “I thought I lost you, Y/N. Two gunshots. I thought…” He struggled to find his words and you hiccuped, trying to stop crying. “I was the one who found you, and I was so scared I was too late.”

You sniffled and uncrossed your arms to melt against his chest and hug him tightly around his waist instead. “I didn’t know you…”

“We found him first, but you weren’t there and I needed to find you.” Neal now sounded equal parts frightened and furious. “If he had taken you away, I would’ve…” He shook his head and pressed his forehead to yours, as desperate to be close to you as you felt to be close to him. “I would’ve shattered. I can’t lose you, Y/N. I just can’t lose you, too.”

“I’m so glad I didn’t die,” you blurted, almost in a sob. You felt so safe with him, but now you knew for a fact that your own safety wasn’t what had been tormenting you. It was a nearly debilitating case of survivor’s guilt. “I just wish I hadn’t been the only one who survived.”

“No one wants that,” Neal promised you, untangling his hand from your hair and stroking it down instead. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could fix this and take it away, but all I can do is be here and hold you and tell you it’s going to be alright. It wasn’t your fault.”

You sniffed. Neal’s words were more of a comfort than you had thought they would be. They changed nothing about the situation, but… you weren’t alone. You hadn’t been alone since you met him. You just agonized that Flynn had been. “Neal, I can’t lose you, either. I love you, you’re… you’re who I’m going to heal for.” You had to find a way.

Neal seized your lips with his in a searing kiss. It wasn’t as sexy or patient as you may have imagined, but you gripped his shirt and gave as good as you got, and wow, the man gave verygood. It was a desperate kiss, needing to bring you together and reaffirm your life. To you, it was the seal of a promise that you wouldn’t let the past crush your spirit. When you could sleep through the night and had a handle on your post-traumatic stress… if he would just be patient, you would be his the way you wanted him to be yours.

He released you to breathe, eyes opening wide as if he only just realized what he had done. Before he could pull away, you pressed your forehead to his again, urging him to stay close. Your breaths mingled between you and you were sure you could feel his heart beating through his chest.

“I love you, too,” he said once he had caught his breath.

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nanaminokanojo · 4 years ago

Text

Play the Game | Nanami Kento X You | Part 2/8

collection masterlist

one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight

"Play the Game" Masterlist

The sun hasn’t even risen when Nanami came to consciousness as usual. It did not matter whether he was on vacation or working, he just automatically wakes up at the same time each and every morning without miss. It’s regardless of whether he slept enough or not. He saw no point in tarrying in bed – it was unproductive – and immediately got up without skipping a beat in his routine.

“You’re too vanilla,” he remembered you commenting when you stayed one weekend at his place in the city for an art symposium, having met him on the hallway on your way to bed after staying up all night playing video games. He just brushed your remark off with a grunt back then, but at present, he couldn’t help but muse over the fact that everything he did reminded him of you.

It was a bit light outside when he emerged from the adjoining bath of the guest room. He threw on a pair of grey sweats and a white shirt and grabbed a water bottle and a small towel on his way out of the room, mind set on going for a run. If there was something great about staying at Gojo Manor, it was the fact that it was surrounded with acres of grassland and forest with trails great for walks and jogs.

Nanami particularly grew fond of the path that led to the lake at the bottom of the hill where the mansion stood. There was a direct view of it from the balcony at the back of the structure, appearing like a jewel in the middle of the woods, and it had always been his favorite spot. The late former clan head told him it was man-made and has been there for more than a century that it became a natural feature of the estate. It was a spot in the property with a great history and great value to the clan, thus his gravitation towards it.

It’s her favorite place in the whole estate, too, he thought indulgently.

Inhaling deeply, he set out to the back doors that led to the patio and the walled gardens, starting in a slow jog before building his momentum as he reached open grounds.

And thus, his day began as such.

He came back from his run when it was already too hot, heaving deep breaths and desperate for a shower as his white shirt and grey sweats stuck to his body, drenched in sweat. His leg muscles ached, but it had been a good run.

Greetings from the staff met him as he reentered the manor which he returned with polite nods. He was headed to the stairs when he passed by the breakfast room and happened to hear Gojo talking to you. It went against his principles to eavesdrop in an evidently private conversation but he stayed rooted on his spot upon hearing you speak.

Despite your seeming foul temper upon leaving him the previous night, you seemed to have bounced back to your usual self, your tone sounding more jovial than usual. Your words were at odds to your tone as you told Gojo not to piss you off so early in the morning.

"Are you sure there's nothing going on between you and Kento?" Gojo asked just as the person in question was about to pass the doorway.

"It's really none of your business," you responded, voice devoid of any emotions. He did it, Gojo. He finally fouled up your mood.

"But I'm your brother!" Gojo protested, acting all dumb around you again. He just had that complex where you were concerned. He has always been very soft on you yet he was also fiercely protective. You hated his attention though. Yours was a strange dynamic.

"Worry about your wedding, will you? Geez. Don’t you have a luncheon to host?"

"Why did you kiss him then? On the mouth no less!"

Nanami’s heart skipped a beat, anticipation rising like cold water from his toes going up his chest. He wanted to hear what you had to say. Fuck principles. He needed his answers, too. It did not matter in what way he was getting them at that rate. He was secretly hoping you will say something a little bit more revealing about what goes inside your head given that he cannot just pry inside it even if he wanted to.

"Because I wanted to." You stated it so matter-of-factly that Gojo was at a loss for words for a moment. “Didn’t you hear me? I was dying to do that since he arrived.”

“You’re not serious, are you?”

“You tell me.” That’s becoming your signature line. “You won’t understand unless you kiss, Nanamin, too,” the tenor of your words turning fanciful. “He has such an alluring taste to him.”

What is this woman on about?

“Oh, god, stop it!”

"You should have seen the looks on your faces though. I was half expecting your eyeballs to roll on the floor. Wouldn’t that have been grand? It’s definitely shocking but a good subject for art if not a medium." At that, you laughed, the sound hitting Nanami like tinkling bells. It was such a happy sound that reminded him of better days although the thought that prompted it was utterly macabre. “Maybe that should inspire my next work. It would be like Munch’s The Scream, the next of its kind.”

"Hmm. Good point…” Gojo mumbled, sidetracked, obviously sharing your sentiments on the idea of such grotesqueness, but regained his composure just as quickly. “It's not funny!"

"But it is." Your laughter subsided as quickly as it erupted from your throat as if it wasn't even there to begin with. Your capricious nature was surfacing once more, and if there was something that was more frightening than your strong, habitual liking for trifling with people, it was that. "So what if I have other intentions behind it? Are you gonna get mad at me or something?”

"Well, do you?!" Gojo sounded like a manatee on the throes of death.

“But what are you going to do, brother? Stop me perhaps?"

He of all people should know just how unstoppable you were when you have set yourself into doing something. “N-no –”

“And what if Nanamin has the same intentions? What will you do then?”

“Hey, that’s enough of you. I know you’re trying to trap me into saying something again.” He clucked his tongue. “I seem to be the only one who isn’t in on your games, and if it is one, I have to know. You’re just way too outrageous these days that I cannot tell what’s serious and what’s not anymore.”

Gojo took a deep breath, sounding distressed as he exhaled. “Is there something else going on?”

"Maybe,” you answered noncommittally.

"That's not an answer at all!" he snapped.

You clucked your tongue, sounding irritated. "Stop screaming, Satoru."

"Do you like him?"

“Is your emphasis on that word supposed to change its meaning?”

If Nanami’s heart was skipping earlier, it has now stopped completely, robbing him of air as it seemed to have affected his lungs, too. You were maddening, not only to Gojo but to him as well. It was evident that you were in your gaming mood again, and although you were only intentionally riling your brother, he was also directly in your line of assault.

Gojo sighed in defeat, mirroring Nanami’s feelings. “Y/N, please, just answer the question,” he whined.

“I guess.” There was a pause then you said, "I mean, what's not to like?"

"What?!"

“Like it or not, Nanamin is a very excellent specimen of the male populace. He’s fucking irresistible and that’s an understatement.” You scoffed. "Even you like him."

Your voice was followed by your footsteps as you neared the door. In a daze at your vocal expression of how you find him physically attractive, instead of backtracking, Nanami stepped forward and collided with your form, nearly knocking you off your feet. He was after all twice your size and a good foot taller than you.

"Careful," he said between deep breaths, one arm securing you by the waist while his other arm gripped onto the door jamb, the position making the veins and sinews of his arm rather pronounced.

“Speak of the devil…” You straightened up, not making any effort to hide the fact that you were checking him out. Your head turned towards the direction of the breakfast room, making him mimic the action only to see Gojo standing slack-jawed, watching what was unfolding before him with eyes wide with shock. Nanami could've sworn his best friend just went into a state of catatonia.

"Didn't see you there," you said, addressing Nanami, your blue eyes assessing him as if in suspicion.

"I'm sorry," he muttered under his breath, feeling the tips of his ears heating up. Before you could notice, he stepped aside, heading towards the direction of the stairs.

"Hey, Nanamin," you suddenly called, making him halt and turn his head to your direction. You were smirking at the direction of your brother as you said, "Nice ass."

He shook his head. It was really just a ploy to get to Gojo’s nerves, and he was your pawn.

The sound of graphite scratching on paper like a harsh slash of sword punctuated the impending absence of thought in your mind. Nothing mattered but the sight of your hand gripping a pencil as it created unintelligible strokes on the plain page of the sketchbook on your lap. It progressed to furious scribbling, your movements becoming faster, the sound dominating your corner of the room. Everything has been drowned out – the endless chattering, the sound of porcelain and silverware hitting each other in chaotic cacophony – heightening in a painful crescendo of auditory abomination and dying in the air, overwhelmed by the picture you were creating on the blank expanse of space.

“You must be so proud of your daughter.”

Scratch.

“Who wouldn’t be? It must be great to have geniuses for children”

Scratch.

“She’s just as famous as Satoru.”

Scratch.

Just like that, they didn't exist. The room was empty save for you and the view outside the window coming to life on paper. Your eyes darted from your sketch to the familiar yet equally exhilarating view just outside the parlor. Gojo was animatedly talking about something, easily excitable as always. His fiancée laughed on the side while Nanami was witheringly eyeing him, stoic as always. Shoko, who arrived the previous evening, also joined the group. All that was missing was Geto. You wondered if you should draw him somewhere in the sketch.

The image before you reminded you of those days when reality seemed far away, back when Gojo was still a student, exceptional as always but still young, not the renowned genius tycoon he was at present. His friends would always be around him, lounging around the manor like they hadn't a care in the world.

His crowd grew in number with Geto and Nanami being the two closest pals he had. Shoko joined in shortly in middle school. On the other hand, Utahime came during his university days, also starting off as Gojo’s friend and eventually becoming his girlfriend. Now they were about to get married and it seemed to punctuate all the changes that came with being the grown-ups that they are.

It scared you.

Fact is, growing up and growing old and the changes that come with it was terrifying. Even if you yourself were already twenty four, seemingly had your life together and appearing to have matured without a hitch, that wasn’t the case at all. Genius or not, your brother also had his issues even while he was rising to his current position in society.

The problem was within you, you knew it. That and the fact that you did not really know what growing means. Your work grew, matured like crazy. You didn’t think you yourself grew, stuck in those days when everything was relatively easier. At least then, you only had to worry about your classmates hating on you. Now a part of the public did.

Looking at Gojo and his gang, they’ve all handled that well, making you wonder how they did it. He is one of the youngest CEOs in the country, having built his business empire at just seventeen. Your future sister-in-law is a professor, Geto is a sought-after model and Shoko is a forensic pathologist. They were all great at what they did, struggled as well, but came out with perfect grace.

However, you think the best one out of them was none other than the object of your pining – Nanami Kento. The man made transitioning to adulthood look rather easy. Maybe it was because he had always been mature and held himself in perfect equilibrium. Sure, he was no Gojo Satoru, but he was innately intelligent and became one of the youngest barristers who held the position of a famous attorney’s partner. He handled controversial cases and is one of the best prosecutors in the country with a high winning percentage. His work aside, he seemed to have the least struggle out of everyone.

Your lips curled up at the corners at the thought of the man. Your gaze flicked to him from the sketchbook, sitting there with a beverage in his hand, the noon sun glimmering on his hair and the planes of his face, looking more laid back without a blazer on. He was dressed rather casually in a pair of khaki trousers and dusty blue button-ups, but he still looked smart. He always dressed that way which you found very attractive although seeing him in more casual clothes like that morning was another level of hot altogether. He’s quite a bit formal, making him seem monotonous, but it’s that consistency that you liked about him. It was only a bonus that he was devastatingly handsome with those sharp features and the suits made him look so sexy in that it left everything about his real physique to imagination.

One just could not get enough of him, at least you couldn’t, but you did see how his partner’s paralegal eyeballed him all the time. (You secretly wanted to gouge her eyes out.) That’s the kind of man Nanami was. He doesn’t speak much, but when he does, it leaves profound dents to one’s psyche. And man, was he hot in court! He’s fucking sarcastic when he wants to be, to the point of being vile, but one just can’t get offended with the kind of logic he has. Once he speaks his mind, one wishes he wouldn’t stop, but he does and leaves that person craving more, his hypnotic, deep voice a rare treat. He wasn’t big on actions, wasn’t expressive, but when he does something, it’s always with purpose and precision, never over the top and always with disciplined stoicism.

You chuckled quietly, your pencil drawing perfect strokes of his hair when you were pulled out of your trance.

“Yuuji!” you heard Gojo say, pulling your attention to the direction of the window.

You broke into a grin at the mention of the name, hurriedly getting on your feet and running out of the room, deaf to your mother’s protests against your unladylike behavior – the commotion foreign to the ladies in the room who moved with the minutest rustles. You made your way out to the patio, that familiar tuft of pink hair coming into your line of vision. You sprinted through the glass doors towards the person whose name your brother called, smile wide and genuine.

“You kept me waiting long enough,” you called out, voice louder than usual. You’re hardly ever giddy nor were you easily excitable like your brother, but Itadori Yuuji was a different story altogether. You loved the boy with a fierceness akin to a mother and were always ecstatic to be around him but suppressed it by acting gruff. You were crazy like that.

“That’s because you won’t help me with my final requirements,” he retorted good-naturedly, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and nuzzling the back of your head as if you were a fuzzy plush toy, making you drop your drawing implements. Well, you were considerably smaller than him, and he was probably the only one who could do that to you and get away unscathed.

You rolled your eyes, noticing how Gojo had picked up your stuff, looking at the page where it was opened. “You should exert yourself more. You’re no genius after all.”

“That’s mean!”

You smirked at him, your eyes straying to your brother who was smiling at your drawing. He had such a proud, fond look on his face that you couldn’t do anything but stare. He has always been ever since you first held crayons and drew him as a cat. “You even included Suguru,” he cooed, pointing at the missing person you included then proceeding to show it off to his friends. “Guys, look. My baby sister drew us.”

“Surprise, surprise,” you sallied, but you were happy that he’s always showing you off.

Utahime and Shoko stood beside him, also looking at the sketch. The latter raised a thumb at your direction. “Damn, kid. You’re really great at what you do. How do you make things come alive with just a pencil?”

You smiled awkwardly. “I –”

“Give it here,” Nanami suddenly butted in, hand reaching for the sketchpad which Gojo promptly handed him.

You felt Yuuji elbowing you while you stood there, observing the man who was in possession of your drawing.

Nanami blinked then, handing it back to you. “How come I don’t have a face?” he asked, expression expectant of your response.

Annoyed, you snatched it back from him.

“It’s obviously not finished yet,” Shoko commented, but she couldn’t have been more wrong.

It was not that you cannot, but you would never draw his face. Ever. You tried tons of times if the tens of pages of sketchpads at your apartment filled with different angles and parts of him would be a basis for that. You could draw everything else about him, just not his face. No amount of contemplation and practice helped you to know why, but you attributed it to the fact that you could not do his face justice, at least in the sense that you would not be able to bring it to life as Shoko said.

Finally, you said, “I didn’t feel like drawing your face.” You turned away, dragging Yuuji with you. The boy was still giggling like a hyena until you got to the second-floor balcony where you propped yourself up on the balustrade, looking sulky.

"You might fall there, you know," he commented, jumping up the marble balustrade to join you.

"I can say the same for you," came your quiet reply. "Where's Megumi?"

“He’ll be here before lunch.” Yuuji leaned close to you with a mischievous grin on his face. “What, or rather who, is that look on your face for?”

"I think you know the answer to that."

"Did you tell Nanamin?" He addressed the man just as you did and got away with it, too, for some reason.

"Tell him what?"

He scoffed playfully. "Are you seriously playing this game with me? I'm your best buddy. I know everything."

"As irritating as that is, it's true."

Yuuji pouted at you. "I heard what you did yesterday. Why do you have to make games out of everything?"

"That's how I communicate. I thought you knew everything."

Harsh as always, he thought. "Be a normal person for once and just tell him." His brows knit together. "Well, you're anything but normal," he mused aloud. “I meant that nicely.”

You blew a raspberry. "You're just as normal as I am if you claim to be my best friend. Which you are. No take backs."

Yuuji couldn't help but smile at that. You have always been a loner and you did not mind being alone. He was grateful you wanted him around despite that.

"But you should stop doing this. He wants you. It's obvious."

"It's not that simple."

"What isn't simple? If it's Satoru, he'll understand for sure if you just try to be honest. I'm sure he just isn't for it more because he doesn't know how you feel. I mean, if I were him, I'll also protect my baby sister from my male friends. That's just how it is."

You blinked, pivoting your whole body so you were facing him.

"Well, of course, Nanamin needs to fight for it, too," he was quick to throw in, rambling to himself when he suddenly felt you reach out towards him, gently running your fingers through his pink hair. He leaned towards your touch, smiling contentedly.

"Don't worry about me. I'm fine."

"I'm not –"

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Are you seriously playing this game with me?" you asked, mimicking his words earlier. "I'm your best buddy. I know everything, one of them being the fact that you worry worse than my mother."

Yuuji jumped off the balustrade, reaching out to grab you in a bear hug despite your protestations. Just like how you were with everyone else, you shunned his affection, but he knew better than to let go when you were saying exactly that. He found that trait of yours adorable.

"You're so irritating," you hissed, flipping your platinum white hair over your shoulder when you finally managed to get off his grip but he wrapped an arm over your shoulder nonetheless, undeterred by your words.

"You know you love me."

"Shut up."

Yuuji pouted. "You sound like Megumi."

"I heard that," the person in question suddenly spoke from the direction of the entry, his deep voice making you and Yuuji turn towards him. "They're calling everyone for lunch."

Yuuji followed behind as you approached Megumi, also one of your closest friends and practically your brother, keeping you in check more than Gojo ever can.

"Guess what," Megumi said to you as you walked beside him. In one of the rare moments you would see it, he grinned and you knew it wasn't because of anything good.

"What?" you and Yuuji, who thought the same by the look on his face, chorused.

"Nobara switched your name card with Miwa's. You're now seated next to your man candy. You're welcome."

“Isn’t that more of a perk for Miwa? She’s scared shitless of Nanamin, you know.”

The three of you laughed while Yuuji could just shake his head at the inescapable trouble that will follow. His only consolation was that it’s fun when it involves you.

What were the odds, Nanami thought to himself. He didn't have to look twice to see whose name it was on the card on the spot next to him. He exhaled loudly, unfolding the napkin and placing it on his lap. This could only lead to hullabaloo he was not exactly in the mood to deal with especially after you just told him you did not feel like drawing his face. You sure were mean when you wanted to be.

He surveyed his vicinity. Your father, the current head of the clan from whence your blue eyes came from, was seated at the head of the table, your mother to his right, while Utahime’s parents sat to his left. It seemed to have been the only formalities observed in the arrangement. From across Nanami sat Utahime and Gojo while on his right were a couple he only knew as cousins to the Gojo main family.

He was internally pinching the bridge of his nose. You really had to be the one seated next to him and right across your annoying brother, too.

The luncheon started without you. It wasn't a formal gathering after all except they were serving a full-course meal. It was more of a way to get everyone to know one another over the week for some reason he cannot fathom, and he was glad that only your father was the one who had engaged him in a conversation, mostly about work. It was easy enough to deal with.

"Where are Y/N and her friends?" your mother asked Gojo out of the blue.

Utahime, answering for the clueless person beside her, pointed towards the direction of the door to the banquet hall where you were leisurely walking towards your designated seat with Yuuji and Megumi. The former rounded the table to sit next to Gojo.

"Still managing to be late even when you're already at the venue, baby sis?" Nanami heard Gojo say as you assumed your seat. It was evident in the way his eyes shifted from Nanami to you that your tardiness wasn't exactly the problem.

You blatantly ignored his comment and turned your attention to Nanami. "Had a good run this morning, Nanamin?"

"Just so," he answered, side-glancing at you.

"Yeah. You looked super hot this morning," you said just as Gojo was taking a sip from his wine glass.

Megumi snorted when the older male started choking on his drink while Yuuji was trying hard not to laugh.

Nanami knew he would have reacted the same way except that he had been bracing himself for whatever you will say the moment Gojo opened his mouth. Of course you will use him in your counter attack. It's yet another game, not that he was less affected by your words.

"You should have seen him, Iori," you continued, addressing your brother's fiancée. "He looks so much less uptight in casual clothes."

It didn't escape Nanami’s notice how Gojo was looking at him. He looked about ready to drop onto the floor, but paid him no mind as he leveled his mouth to your ear. "Y/N, let's not make your dear brother snap, shall we?"

"Oh, sweetheart, maybe that's what he needs right now," you deadpanned, meeting his gaze squarely, your disposition unreadable as you let your eyes linger on him longer than was deemed appropriate.

Yuuji finally laughed, earning him a kick to the shins under the table courtesy of Megumi.

What it was about you that made everything else irrelevant and nonexistent when you’re that close to him was something beyond him. You always made him lose control, tempted him to break the rules. He only knew he couldn't act on it. Most of the time anyway. He also felt like laughing, oddly enough.

Utahime just chuckled good-naturedly breaking the tension. "Since the two of you are here, I should tell you that the final fitting for your clothes for the wedding is this afternoon. So, you better go together at the shop."

"Traitor." Gojo pouted at Utahime but nobody was really paying attention to him anymore. For someone so important to society with a flawless image, the closest people around him sure were good at disregarding him when they deemed it fit.

"Okay," Nanami said, looking at you for confirmation.

It was you who looked away this time. "I'm free."

"That's set then." Utahime clapped her hands and to Nanami she cheekily said, "Maybe wear something less formal."

At that, you grinned wickedly at him. So much for avoiding trouble with you.

-end of part 2-

*I used “you” here, but since my character is Gojo’s little sister who is established to be his female clone for reasons essential to the plot, she possesses the same blue eyes and white hair. I did not exactly want to create an OC (although technically, I did by describing Y/N), but I opted for the best of both worlds in this fic, leaning more towards the literary aspect of it as opposed to it just being reader/you-oriented. I hope this isn’t iffy to anyone, and yeah, i’m not being exclusive or whatever.

If you want to be included in the tag list, please DM me :)

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it.

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xxsmokeyy · 4 years ago

Note

ok so how about a story where (preferably bi) reader and levi both fall for petra and there's this competition between them as to who can win petras heart first but after petras death (or some other issue; your choice) they both mourn and bond with each other and realize that all those times they tried to outshine each other, they fell for each other instead

Levi x Petra x Bi! Reader (F) One Or The Other

genre: mild angst, fluff (healing)

summary: it’s a bit surprising that despite being rivals, both you and Levi have gotten through a lot together. before you know it, you’re already seeking refuge from one another.

tw: mentions of death

wc: 6,575

You know it’s a heck of a risk trying to aim for someone’s hand like Petra’s. She’s the entire definition of a dainty, lovely girl everybody admires, of course including you. Besides, you don’t even know if you stand a chance, not when there’s a tough guy your way.

Namely, Captain Levi.

Well, there’s another one named Oluo, but you don’t even think of him as a competition. Definitely not a threat as well.

“Hey,” you call the girl with strawberry blonde hair. She looks back at you with a smile and stands upright, wiping the sweat trickling down her neck. You watch as she tucks her hair behind both her ears to get rid of the stray fringes. Isn’t she just hot?

“Need help?” you ask, ready to give her a hand upon seeing her singlehandedly clean the stables.

“I don’t think Captain would allow that,” Petra says before petting the said man’s horse. “Am I right, big boy?” she talks to it, combing its black mane with her slender fingers. Adorable.

“One dick of a Captain we have, don’t you think?” you say, rolling your eyes heavenwards as the image of your superior passes by your mind. “Hmm, not really. I believe his austerity is right just the way it is,” she says in full decision. Of course. The one thing you don’t like about her is the way she worships the shitty Captain like some kind of noble man.

You let out a disappointed sigh, crossing your arms. “You have got to stop being a clean freak apologist, Petra. Unless you’re inlove with him or something,” you point out and take a step towards her, taking away the broomstick from her other hand.

She’s visibly spent to the bones, tending to the horses all by herself to meet the Captain’s regulations. He only always assigns one person per duty, saying soldiers should learn how to clean alone just as much as learning how to fight, which is an utterly dumb stance in your opinion.

When she blushes by your words, a small pang hits your heart. It’s just as you guessed.

Not that it’s not so achingly obvious enough these past few years, but it’s only gotten worse ever since the new 104th recruits joined the Scout Regiment. She keeps praising the dickhead in front of them whenever they ask about him, telling them a variety of stories stretching from way back, it’s ridiculous.

“I don’t!” She really doesn’t. She just idolizes him so much that it comes across as romance. People keep rubbing to her face that she’s inlove, though it’s definitely not what she feels.

Her denial nature and easily flustered reactions keep your spirits low, almost surmising with a conclusion that you had no chance at all if not for the fact that she never made romantic advances to him her whole stay in the army.

“You do,” you avert your gaze, not wanting her to notice the brewing jealousy in your eyes, else she might avoid you or act awkward if she finds out.

“I don’t!” she presses, accidentally pulling on the horse’s crest, forcing a neigh out of it. Petra apologizes to it like it can understand her. “If that isn’t definitely guilty, I don’t know what is,” you mumble under your breath, releasing another sigh as you start sweeping the scattered hay.

Once the Captain’s horse calms down, she faces you, hands on her waist, ready to explain her feelings in fine details. “Look—“

“Who said you can slack off?” Speak of the devil. Your conversation is given a good interruption when the dark haired man arrives.

Petra immediately fixes herself, fist slamming to her chest as acknowledgment of the Captain’s presence. “We weren’t, Captain! She just wanted to help me out,” Petra clarifies right away, voice firm and booming.

You feel the infamous pair of fierce eyes dart on you, and you briefly thank anything that first comes in mind for your current position, back facing the Captain so he can’t see your disgusted scowl.

You prep yourself and turn around, giving him a half-assed salute. “I just finished with the laundry. Thought I could give her a hand,” you say, tone almost holding no formality at all, “—sir,” you lazily add.

His brows twitch as he hears you out. Brat.

“I don’t recall telling everyone to work in pairs, neither of you understood that?” he pinpoints, staring you dead in the face. You’re not intimidated, though, not one bit. If you think I’m scared, you can kiss your own ass. “I insisted. In case you didn’t notice, she’s tired,” you inform, steadiness unwavering. What is even wrong with assisting someone? This merciless prick.

“Oh?” He walks toward you in strides, easily coming face-to-face with you in a span of seconds.

“Come to my office, Petra,” he orders without looking at her, and the woman gives you one last glance, then making off after giving him a polite yes. There it is. He’s about to show his true colors, you just know it.

“Cheap way to win her over,” Levi lowly spits at you, and you can feel his hot breath ghosting harshly over your face. “If you’re so kind, do it all over again,” he orders lastly, internally entertained by how your eyes shut close in fury, grip on the broomstick tightening.

As he finally steers to leave, you swear in your life you never wanted to hit someone so damn much it’d knock them out cold.

Levi heads back, footsteps fading into the background, and an exasperated groan leaves your mouth. You frustratedly throw the broom to the floor, startling his horse, which does nothing but make your blood boil stronger in your veins. Fuck him!

—

You lie down on the hard ground, even more deadbeat than the girl you opted to help. For shit’s sake, who knew this is what you get for volunteering to be of use? You can only imagine how the new cadets would have it hard once the Captain notices their mediocre cleaning skills.

It’s probably nearing curfew, you guess from the excessive appearance of stars in the skies, but your muscles are strained stiff you can’t come inside any time now. You were left with no choice but start from scratch. If you act up and not clean up to his standards, you’ll only get it way worse, so you decided not to push him further.

You sense someone approach you, and you strongly wish it isn’t Levi. He’s the last creature you’d like to see today.

Soft and familiar amber eyes greet yours from upside down, a petite body looming over you, and you couldn’t be anymore thankful. Petra gives you a sympathetic look before sitting down beside your laid form, keeping her hands behind her back.

“I told you,” she starts, “it’d be no good if Captain sees, but you insisted and he arrived! Now look at you, you’re absolutely exhausted, aren’t you?” she continues to scold, though it doesn’t strike you as a scolding. More of a concern, yes. A smile creeps up your lips.

“Just give me the bread,” you confidently say, and she sighs in defeat before revealing the pastry she had in hand. Your heart feels giddy as you sit up straight, taking the food she went out of her way to prepare. It’s like the tiredness just disappeared into thin air. What an angel.

Petra scrunches her nose as she watches you eat in speed. You cock a brow as you see her look at you like you’re— “Do I stink?” you frantically question and smell yourself all over. No way, you’ll definitely get points off now!

She giggles bubbly and shakes her head to dismiss your assumptions. “No, but you’re biting like you haven’t eaten in ages. That famished?” she asks once she’s calmed down.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks, unsure of what to think. She’s definitely an angel, especially when she smiles. You sigh for the nth time, “Obviously. Did you see how much of a bastard our Captain is? In all honesty, I’d prefer Hange as our squad leader,” you complain and resume to munching.

“I don’t know about that,” she says, gaze boring into yours. You tear your eyes off of her and stare at the horse stalls. “What did the old geezer make you do?”

“Nothing, just a bunch of paperwork,” she says truthfully. Oh, for all you know, he just wanted her all to himself. What an unfair move, using his authority to have her alone.

You angrily bite down on the bread, later realizing you’ve finished it. As she observes you, her eyes widen, suddenly remembering something. “I forgot your water!” she exclaims and rises to her feet, but you stop her before she can leave, grabbing her soft hand.

Your chest stutters involuntarily from the contact and you compose yourself right away. “It’s alright, I’ll get it myself. Go back to your room before Captain catches you,” you urgently say, not wanting her to get in trouble again. “Just help me up,” you ask to which she generously follows. You briefly wish the moment could last longer.

“You sure?” she quizzes when you finally stand up. Both of you heading inside, you nod and hum in agreement, “Thanks for the food.”

She gives you a smile as you both reach the halls, waving you goodbye before you part ways. Ahh, you feel all energetic now.

You walk to the mess hall, footsteps light and shallow. Judging from the dimly lit corridors, it must be a few minutes away from curfew. You just hope you don’t bump into some higher-ups. Hange’s fine, though.

As you push the door open, you regret it right away. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter unintelligibly. Aside from the raven haired man, the room is dead empty, a lone candle in a chamberstick providing dull light. Technically, he is the last creature you see tonight.

You have lost count of how many sighs you’ve released the whole day, all energy in your body draining once again. Steel eyes lock on you as you enter. There’s no turning back now. Well, at least Petra isn’t the one who found him here.

Levi cocks a brow as he watches you proceed inside, seemingly heading to the water jug. You stay quiet and take a glass, then filling it with water. As much as possible, you don’t want to converse with him.

He seems like he won’t let you succeed with that. “Done with the stables?” he asks, sipping on his tea.

“Yeah,” you curtly answer, not up for some bantering.

“Some goody two shoes you are,” he scoffs, ticking you off, but you refuse to let it show. You face him and lean your back against the counter. “Like you’re any better with your assholish attitude,” you sass him out, drinking on your water all the while remaining eye contact. You’ll show him.

“And you complain like the little brat that you are,” he rebuts.

“You’re just threatened that she might go for me behind your back when I just wanted to help,” you answer with a shrug, taking a few steps closer to the table he’s seated.

“Women like you like to play dirty.”

“You don’t know a thing about women,” you snide with a condescending smile, belittling the man before you. He can’t be one to talk about women when he treats you like shit. If there’s someone Petra might end up with, you sure as heck wouldn’t want it to be this guy.

He throws you a glare, piqued by your words before standing on his feet and and walking his way to you. You stay steady, unfazed by the intimidation he’s giving off.

“After all these years, do you seriously think you stand a chance?” he deadpans, which strikes straight to your feelings. He doesn’t have to emphasize that, you already know it, memorized it even.

“I don’t know, but it’d be just as much as a loss if she chooses you,” you say, slamming the glass you’re holding onto the table. After giving him one last glare, you turn your back on him, having enough of the senseless arguments.

He hates how you only ever treat him as a Captain in the battlefield, but not when you’re at ease. You always looked at him like an arch nemesis of the sort, not afraid to answer back at him like he doesn’t deserve your respect. He stressfully closes his eyes and massages his temples as you leave.

—

You sit on the bench, just in front of the Captain, who is currently beside your beloved Petra. Look at him making his moves. You roll your eyes discreetly, sipping on your fresh tea.

“What are you, on a diet or some crap?” Levi asks, finding Petra’s plate empty, bowl of soup halfway finished.

“No, I gave it to the girl you made run laps,” she informs, “she almost passed out, you know.” Right? you wanted to agree but decide to sit still and listen.

Levi doesn’t answer, and instead puts his own loaf of bread on her vacant dish. “Eat. We have an upcoming expedition,” he only says and sips on the liquid left in his cup. Petra’s cheeks turn into a feminine shade of pink, and you so wanted to pull her away from him. She exclaims a yes and starts munching. Great, I should’ve done that first.

You’re not about to put up without a fight, though.

“Dear Captain has to eat as well, don’t you think?” you sarcastically chime in, transferring your unmoved bread onto his plate. “Can’t have him thinned to bones when the walls get breached again,” you add, innocent smile downright infuriating to Levi’s eyes.

You desperately try to keep in your barging laugh to yourself as you watch him look at his plate disgustedly.

What do you say, Petra? I’m just as kind as he is, right? That show off.

Petra hums in agreement and nudges the Captain to eat, a string of hearty giggles leaving her velvet lips, alluring about a total of three people from the same table. You heart skips a round of beats as you watch her flash her toothy grins. Talk about an appetizing view.

Her giggles boil down as realization hits her. She gives you a mixed look of confusion and thoughtfulness, opening her mouth to speak and stop you on your tracks.

“But—”

You wave her off before she can shove her worries to you and prop yourself up, momentarily stretching your limbs in relaxation to then pick up your dirtied china.

“Don’t worry, Petra, I’m already full,” confidence brimming in your tone, you tell her and take your leave. But not without giving the Captain one last glimpse. It was even more appetizing to see him pissed.

Your other comrades only watch in awe as they see the unnamed rivalry uncover ahead of their eyes, your victorious smile determining the whose triumph it is for today.

How about that?

—

When you finish with dish duty, you head to the dining area once more to check if the sconce candles are extinguished, only to find them still lit and burning, with a side of holy bastard, as you like to call him. Of all people.

“Here again? What is this, your lounge room or something?” you mockingly ask and take a seat in front of him, wiping your wet hands on your pants. He ignores you.

You purse your lips out of observation. He must be a tea addict, having another one after dinner. “Are you always here every night?” you ask again, initiating a genuine conversation.

He finally looks at you and sets his tea on the table, a bit surprised by your question. “I am,” he answers. You nod, about to ask another question but he beats you to it.

“I’m removing you from the flank,” he suddenly blurts, taking you aback. What? Your rested face visibly loses composure as your brows furrow together.

“What do you mean? Is it because I shitted on you earlier? Oh please, do you think I’ll hit on Petra while on a mission?” you continuously spurt in one go, hackles slowly raising.

“It’s not about her. Erwin specifically asked for you to join his group since you apparently answered him right,” he remarks, completely calm. You are smart, that’s already a given that he knows, it’s just that feelings can get over the best of you that he doesn’t find rational.

Your ragged breathing upon taking him the wrong way steadies as you listen. “The Commander?” you confirm and he grunts his response. “Alright then, you better watch over her in my stead.”

Levi takes a glance at you, steel grey eyes holding an unreadable expression, which you find amusing and triggers a laugh out of you. It’s like his answer should have been already staring you in the face. Naturally, he’ll do that without you ordering him.

He can be cute at times, can’t he? In a funny way of course, you inwardly clear out.

Meanwhile, he thinks you’re out of your mind as you humor yourself. He’d honestly like it if you just leave him alone right now, which you eventually did, waving him goodbye.

The night before the expedition, you pay Petra’s room a short visit.

She answers the door within three quiet knocks. “Hey,” you greet with a smile and she offers to let you in forthrightly. “No! It’s fine, I just need a few seconds,” you dismiss.

“What is it?” she curiously asks, now face to face with you as you stand in her doorway.

“I won’t be with you tomorrow, so you better take care. Stick with Gunther, or Oluo. If possible, not with the Captain,” you whisper the last bit jokingly, but she ignores it and only questions why you’re separated. You explain the situation to her, leaving out the confidential details.

Petra nods, stroking her chin. You notice she’s already in her nightwear and is probably prepared to sleep, so you decide to return to your own quarters.

“Take care, alright?” you remind, eyes boring into her borderline gold ones. They were pretty and gentle, a pair you always adored through the years.

Petra wishes you the same and then a good night, strongly wanting to unite with you safely after the mission you could feel it deep inside you.

As you look at her, you‘re certain that you haven’t met a more loving person your whole life. Will there ever come a time that you’d confess to her? Probably not. If you’re being frank, you don’t think what you feel for her is that deep a love that you’d go out of your way to initiate a romantic bond. If nothing else, it might only be admiration, an attachment at most. You like her, that goes without saying, but there isn’t any room for in depth involvement, especially not in this line of work, you think.

The door to her room finally closed, you spin to get your own shuteye, only to see a familiar figure from a little distance.

The candlelights on the halls define the highest points of the man’s face beautifully, and you identify him without a hitch, dull grey orbs meeting yours.

“Let her sleep, and get your rest,” he briefly says before making off. Your eyes slightly largen from the lack of interaction, as opposed to the reprimanding you expected. Was he supposed to say his regards to her as well?

In all fairness, he didn’t go for your neck this time. Well, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Morning comes quickly, along with the falling into formation as sketched, the deployment of operation, and the arrays of discoveries you found in the progress. Everything happened quickly, and before you know it, the expedition is given an official beat to retreat.

You stand on the same branch as the Commander, waiting for his signal to flee after fighting off the wave of titans to defend the target. Three pair of your blades are blunted down to nubs from the excessive charges, and you think for a moment if you should replace them with new ones.

Catching your breath, you wipe dry your dampened skin and clothes. You watch as he idly chat with the Captain, instructing him to refill his gases. For what? I thought it’s over?

Levi listens to what he’s told, perceivably on his guard. Why is he even here? Where are the others? When you’re just about to call Levi’s attention, Erwin catches sight of you and the confusion resounding from your aura. He then permits you to break away from his flank and reunite with your own squad, and you gladly follow.

You first help clean up with the immobilizing equipment used on the spy, telling Hange to prepare for withdrawal. She passes the message onto the other soldiers, commanding them to bestride their horses to then get going.

You still don’t know where to find your teammates, so you stick with the higher-ups a little longer.

Since you’ll travel by horse from here on, you decide not to meddle with your gears anymore. You hop on the saddle and lightly yank the reigns to start moving, and with everyone else, you ride through the woods, thousands of questions ready inside your head.

A few moments later, you hear Erwin converse with Hange regarding the spy, about how they must still be alive and how they must’ve blended in by now. You feel the tension rising as you listen to his assumptions, trying to register everything he’s trying to come across with, and it all makes sense when you hear two consecutive thundering of little intervals.

You quickly turn around and swerve, shifting your weight to guide your horse back to where the booming sound came from. It’s the alleged sound intelligent titans make when they transform, and you know push has come to shove if you hear two of them.

As far as you remember, the key weapon was situated together with your squad, you being the only one left out, so you’ll find them where Eren is. You let your horse gallop in great speed, heart thumping loudly in your chest it’s almost deafening. Please, be safe.

It feels like decades have already gone by when you arrive at the terrorizing scene of carnage.

You put your horse to an abrupt halt and jump off, cold sweat breaking without control as you stumble upon corpses and corpses you achingly recognize, the life in their eyes strenuously extracted. Gunther, Eld, Oluo… Petra.

An immense vertigo hits your head, your field of vision blurring upon seeing them drained of consciousness. You refuse to accept the view, shaking your head like a child in utmost declination. It seems you’ve only followed behind the Captain, finding him looking at the same plight.

“Levi…” you helplessly call as if seeking for refuge and saving. But it horrifies you the most when you meet his dead gaze deprived of rest, almost exactly looking like theirs, striking violently at your heart. No, not you, too…

Streams of tears shed endlessly from the corners of your eyes, and Levi doesn’t know what to do. He’s beyond pained, watching the only comrade he has left on his team slowly break down due to the shambles. He can’t afford to be frozen by the fathomless torment he’s currently trying to overcome, nor does he have the luxury to stay by your side and console you.

He has no choice but to keep moving.

“Call the others for assistance and put their bodies on a carriage,” are the last words he gives you before taking his leave, wires zipping and clutching into the surfaces of the tree barks as he skillfully maneuvers with his gear.

You think for a second, is he that used to losing people? but you completely miss out on how he slashes the giant enemy in great anger, expertly cutting flesh like he’s never done before as if it’s his only chance to momentarily pour out his emotions, all the while trying to stay objective.

Your whole body weakens and you fall to your knees, getting a closer look at the dead woman before your sight. Your hand acts on its own, stretching out to painstakingly tuck Petra’s locks behind her ear like how she always styled it. Your lips tremble as you attempt to fight your threatening sobs back.

She has slipped out from both your reaches.

Since then, you limited your interactions to those that were only really necessary, because for the first time in a while, you feel utterly alone. Years of having the sweet girl by your side all gone into the dust, along with the overwhelming loss of your whole squad, everything is weighing you down.

Flashes of memories come at the most misplaced time every now and then, and you can’t handle it when it triggers in public, causing you to lock yourself up in your room, weeping in secret.

You can’t be any more thankful to your Captain for letting you wallow in your own way of coping. Most importantly, though a small part of you still doesn’t want to admit, you’re more than grateful he stayed alive all throughout the last of the mission, coming back home with you.

You still remember the hurt in his eyes that no matter how hard he attempted to conceal, still peers out. It was visible when you had no choice but to throw the bodies out of the carriages, bringing not a single fallen soldier back. It was visible when Petra’s father asked the Captain for his daughter, even going as far as spilling his plans of arranging a marriage between the two young pair.

It’s haunting you so much, you haven’t had an hour of sleep after arriving back even if there’s an upcoming operation. Despite it being against your will, you frequently wonder how he’s doing.

One night, you find yourself walking through the halls, unable to force your mind to just shut down and rest without stressing out for the uncountable time.

You don’t know why you’re fully decisive of where to go and who to find. You don��t know why you feel calmer every step further. You don’t know why you’re so eager as you push on the wooden doors of the mess hall. You don’t know why you already expected to see him there.

“Oh, look at the old geezer drinking his tea in the dark. Do you know what time it is? It’s past curfew,” you inform sarcastically, voice also forging a front to sound normal. It’s not yet past curfew, you just want to tick him off.

“You’re only four years younger, and it’s not,” Levi answers as he lets his eyes land on yours. It’s obvious you’re only trying to clown around, the exhaustion in your face giving away your crestfallen state.

“What? How do you know that?” you ask, scandalized.

“I recognize the time.”

“I meant my age?”

“Because I am your Captain, woman. Don’t push me,” he hisses and brings his teacup into his mouth, the hot beverage staining on his tongue just the way he likes it. Even more so that it’s the only thing he can rely on at the moment. That’s what he thinks.

You scowl and sigh. Fair enough.

You take a seat in front of him and he gives you an unreadable look, as usual. Does he feel intruded? All of a sudden, you feel shy, hoping you’re not bothering him.

“What? I won’t mess with you, I’m tired,” you argue upon seeing him stare you down like something’s off with you.

Levi studies your expression, finding your face a bit similar to his in a not so positive way. With a shallow sigh, he decides to let you be and do what you want.

You prop your cheek on your elbow and maintain eye contact. “How’s your leg?” you quiz, genuinely curious of his current condition. The bastard brought home an injury as souvenir, rendering him downright useless for the plans the Scouts had right ahead.

“Not good,” he says, earning him a hum in response. The longer he lets his glance stay on yours, the more he notices the little details in the way you presented yourself.

Tonight, you spared no effort in fixing your hair, still a bit messy from the tossing and turning earlier in desperate hopes to fall asleep. Your lips were dry and chapped, he notes to call you out for it later. For all he knows, you might be dehydrated already. Your eyes? Unquestionably racked with pain.

You rest your face on top of your overlapped arms and settle to find a comfortable position.

“Go to your room if you want to sleep,” he orders, which you only ignore. Does he seriously think you’ve been able to sleep these days? Because you’re sure as heck he can’t with those dark under eyes of him. “Your neck will only get stiff in that position,” he adds.

Something about the company he generously, though not obviously, offers makes your eyelids fall shut in ease, his baritone voice helping your nerves compose themselves.

“I said I’m tired, give me a break…” you gradually lose volume as you speak, slowly drifting off without knowing.

Levi clicks his tongue when you finally succumb to drowsiness.

It’s not like he doesn’t have any options left, but he couldn’t do anything as he stays all night to watch over you. Surprisingly enough, the company felt comforting that he can’t bring himself to leave.

Couple hours later, he’s still up and reading a book when he hears a soft whimper escape your lips. Levi takes a glimpse at you and is a bit baffled to catch sight of a lone driblet trickling from your lids.

Sighing, he feels inclined to wipe it away with his thumb in sympathy and does as his subconscious says. The moment his calloused finger touches your skin, he realizes that you were undeniably warm. So much for a brat like you.

When you wake up, you feel a heavy cloth wrapped around your soldiers. You check the surroundings and remember falling asleep in the dining, later seeing that the fabric is a tan jacket, a uniform. The familiar scent enters your nostrils, and you name its owner right away.

An involuntary wave of heat rises to your cheeks and you’re uncertain why. It’s Captain Levi’s.

It makes you contemplate out of nowhere, was it wrong to treat him like a competition?

Thinking about it, you kind of regret not being casual with him. Without question, you’re not really in best terms with him, having an eye for the same person for a long time, that should be understood. He’s an outstanding soldier, that you can admit, but you can’t exactly put up with his strict ways at times, some of it coming off as irrational.

Maybe you should really just accept the fact that he’s a great Captain nevertheless. Because even though you viewed him like that all this time, he’s still being considerate in some ways.

A small smile forms on your lips. You definitely should start warming up to him. He’s the only team you’ve got left.

—

Tray in hand, you enter the Captain’s room, not bothering with a knock. To hell with that, I’ve got a handful, if he complains about his privacy or some crap, I’ll shove this damn food to his face.

Yes, you decided to bring him his lunch after the successful-fail raid in Stohess District. Honestly, you’re damn tired to the bones, but you take it upon yourself to give Levi a short visit.

He gives you an annoyed stare, obviously not expecting your company, and you only roll your eyes. “What’s that?” he asks.

“Food. What, is your old age getting to you? Need some glasses?” you talk back, not up for his dumb question.

Things aren’t going so well for the Survey Corps, political stances going against your brigade, comrades dying one by one you’re not entirely sure if their death was in vain or not. It’s only a miracle the Commander found a way to nullify the consequences about to come your way. That’s why Levi better not raise your hackles bad or your brain will completely explode in front of him.

He ignores your sardonic jest and eyes the tray, primarily looking for the tea, if you brought one. You did. But he keeps his hands to himself for a while.

“It’s too early for dinner, and I could’ve gone to get my own food.” An exasperated sigh escapes your throat, hearing his argument.

“This is your late lunch, sir,” you inform candidly, taking him by surprise. True enough, you didn’t mean to be so observant, but you saw him skip lunch earlier before the raid. Heck, this isn’t even the first time he deliberately missed it. You know he’s still unwell and at a loss just as much as you are—maybe even worse, and that’s preventing him from taking care of himself.

Of course, he’s still your Captain whom you’re willing to serve, wholeheartedly, at that. Hence, you’re going to take care of him if he’s not doing it himself, whether he likes it or not. If even this guy leaves you, then you’ll probably arrive at the end of your wits.

With an exasperated sigh, you set his meal on top of the nightstand right beside his bed. “Are you enjoying being a useless Captain?” you cross your arms and quiz, having enough of his prideful attempts for rejection.

“Tch, you know full well I’m not,” he answers and averts his glance, looking outside the window and the dimming skies.

“Then eat your food and stop complaining,” you lastly command, real bossy and assertive that he’s on the brink of cocking a brow in question.

He falls silent. You were right, he won’t get any better if he continues to mistreat himself. Besides, it’s already you who went out of your way to prepare him food, he shouldn’t just let that go to waste. Finally giving in, Levi first grabs the teacup by its mouth and takes a sip, nose immediately scrunching in repulsion upon tasting the beverage. You might be trying to poison him, after all.

“This tea is shit.”

“I said stop complaining.”

—

A whole different wave of hurdles and complications just got overcome after the wall breach alarm got deemed false, and three new intelligent titans were revealed. Seeming as though those weren’t even enough, humanity’s key weapon got kidnapped as well. Naturally, a rescue operation was deployed to action, losing a ton more soldiers in the process.

Everything is starting to become overwhelming, you’re both physically and mentally exhausted, and emotionally. Everything is beginning to feel like a pain in the neck, as if the Scout Regiment didn’t have that way from the start.

It’s actually just as you guessed. When you went outside without a full functioning team and a Captain to follow orders from, you felt lost and misplaced. The novel experience was depressing, to say the least, moving forward without the ones you’ve fought side by side with through the years.

You can’t help but find yourself looking for a familiarity, a middle ground of the sort. Feeling like a storm is building up inside you for trying to suppress your problems all by yourself.

On the low spirited trip back, you eventually realize you needed someone. And who else is there aside from him?

You ride your horse back to the walls, aching for his presence. Anything that has to do with him, you want to see and feel.

It’s almost like vexing decades have passed when you arrive and return to the headquarters. You hop off your horse, movements slow and back hunched, aura visibly despondent.

Your half lidded eyes desperately scan the fields to search for that one person, comforting satisfaction taking over your entire body as you find him standing a few meters away from your form.

Funnily enough, he was waiting for you just the same.

Levi couldn’t decipher what shitty smile you tried to give him, it was only plain pitiful in his eyes that his guts are telling him to walk over to you and give you a welcome. He didn’t have to do it, though.

Because maybe you did the first step. Maybe you took big strides or maybe you eagerly ran to his figure to feel his warmth against your body. But nothing else matters when you reach out both your trembling arms to him, now wrapped around his sturdy body, locking him in an embrace you never thought you’d feel your whole life.

You slowly descend to a sobbing mess, completely abandoning the idea of you looking like a mere crybaby in his eyes. He’ll surely bring this up some other time, but damn that. All you know is that you needed this, badly.

It’s shameful, being fully aware that you’re slowly eating your words. Whenever you think of how you put the tiny distance between you and him, you just want to slap your palm across your face. In reality, he isn’t so bad.

You want to thank him for letting you free yourself and let it all out, but your awfully shaky sobs are hindering you from doing so.

Levi senses your exhaustion, and a whole other variety of intense emotions. You’ve been keeping some burden to yourself, too. It’s amusing to him in a way that you’re both similar in a lot of things. Especially in the bad habit of bottling oneself up, assuming it’d do any better.

Deep down, he’s glad you let loose and opened your walls to him. He cares for you, after all.

As you weep against his chest, lungs stuttering and eyes turning bloodshot, Levi allows his hand to pat your back, lightly stroking it to make you calm down.

It is, indeed, wordlessly reassuring, telling you that he was there. You never imagined that of all people, he had the ability to offer the exact solace you’re looking for, just with the simple gesture.

For once, he lets it slide that you’re all bloody, sweaty, dirty, filthy—name it—when making contact with him. He just doesn’t know that needed this as well. In fact, the entire time you were away, his foot mindlessly tapped in full expectancy of your arrival, waiting with bated breath. Not like he’ll admit that.

“Don’t you dare speak,” you threaten amidst your shaky hiccups, and he almost finds it amusing how you can still manage to act so tough in front of him when you’re already breaking down against him.

He secretly heaves out a sigh, the expression of relief escaping your ears, “Brat.”

Both of you stand there underneath the twilight to dusk horizon, ignoring how some of your subordinates watch you in shock, or how you’re not halfway the trouble yet, still utterly clueless of what lies ahead. Because right now, you were still together. You had each other, someone to lean on in this wretched mess.

Without the two of you knowing precisely why, both your hearts feel a tad bit alive.

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lifeisbooksandcats · 4 years ago

Text

Since posting on tumblr feels like just screaming into the void; where maybe someone might throw a glance your way to see if maybe you’re both screaming about the same thing, but at the end of the day, no one is really paying attention to you..and I feel like that’s what makes me feel like I can post this. Because it’s not something I can say out loud, not really, not yet. Except to my fiancée because it’s something we’ve talking about for a while. This is going to be long, I’m certain of it, and it’s going to be rambley because I’ve been trying to put my thoughts into words and those words into coherent...anythings...and it just isn’t going to be in any sort of order. I’m not expecting anyone to read it and I’m hoping the read more button actually works on mobile. If not, then I’m sorry, you’ll be scrolling for a while.

I don’t know how valid people feel self-diagnosis is, but I honestly feel like I fall somewhere on the autism spectrum. And that’s something I’ve thought about myself since my first year of college. Someone in a communications class I was taking did a presentation on autism, and throughout the entire thing all I could think was how much everything resonated with me. So that’s, since the fall semester of 2009, this has been something I’ve quietly thought about myself and wondered and honestly just been pretty sure of. That’s 12 years this fall, and I still can’t bring myself to say it?? And I think it’s a good bit because I’ve been asked so many times throughout my life if I’m autistic - by family members, by friends, by a college roommate, by people living on the same floor as me at college - and it’s ALWAYS been (or at least felt like to me) in some sort of negative way. And I don’t want to apologize for being myself, but fuck it’s just hard sometimes???

When I walk into a room, especially one I’m not familiar with, my first instinct is to look for the exits and figure out how I can get out of there if it gets too loud/too hectic/too EVERYTHING and I start to panic. And if I’m in a situation where I can’t leave, I have this little clear stone that I play with in my hand, just something to focus on to help keep me just a little bit calmer. When that doesn’t work, it’s like my mind just...goes. I don’t know how to explain it; physically I’m still there, but mentally...even if I wanted to pay attention to something, I literally could not. It happens the most when there’s too many sounds/voices/conversations happening at once, they all blend together, I can’t understand anything and after a second it feel like it’s all just muffled and I’m not there anymore, I feel so disconnected from my body, like there’s someone else controlling my brain and I’m just there watching. It happened at the zoo just recently, when we went into one of the restaurants for lunch. I was already panicked because of the number of people inside without masks on. From the second we walked in, everything from the number of people inside, to the volume, to the lights being too bright (but looking back, I feel like they were probably an appropriate brightness? It just felt too bright with everything else going on), to the lack of masks, everything was too much. My fiancée and I stood in line with one of our friends, waiting to order our food, and I stood there rocking slightly on my ankles and fidgeting with that little stone, just trying so desperately to calm my internal panic and to not “check out” mentally and to just appear “normal”. I stood there waiting for our food, rocking on my ankles, running my thumb along my fingertips, listening to the conversations all around me merging into one unintelligible mess and on the inside, full on panicking while hoping that from the outside, no one could tell. I got our food, set it on the table, and stepped into the bathroom to wash my hands, the quiet welcoming me like nothing else. I closed my eyes and just stood there, breathing, letting the warm water run over my hands like some kind of magic balm bringing me back down. I opened my eyes again, a woman with a toddler smiled at me like she knew - which made me worry again because it’s not something I want people to know because I don’t want to be different, I don’t want anyone to look at me differently. But at the same time, I do. I want to be able to stand up for myself and say “I literally physically cannot go into this loud, crowded restaurant because I’m autistic and it is so auditorily overwhelming in there.” And maybe that wasn’t even what her smile meant. Because I literally never know how people are feeling and I try to figure it out but honestly 90% of the time it’s just guesswork.

But it’s not just that. It’s not just the panic that sets in when it’s too crowded and the sounds are too much. It’s the fact that as a kid, I was never “just” a fan of something I liked. I either didn’t care, or it was an all-consuming obsession that basically became a personality trait. I was a fan of Aaron Carter, but god forbid anyone ask me a question about his music or anything — because whether or not you were interested (and unless you flat out told me you were uninterested, I literally could not tell), I was going to info-dump everything onto you. I could tell you what time he was born, how many minutes were between him and his twin sister, which concerts his sister Leslie sang at (because she also had a small music career), at what point in his career he actually started singing live instead of lip syncing most of the time...

And speaking of info-dumping. If I couldn’t info dump to someone, I would write it. As a child - second, third, fourth grade...- I wrote essays upon essays on things I was interested in just because I could. Just everything I knew on the topic, thrown out into words either handwritten as a younger kid or typed as I got older. When I was in about fifth or sixth grade, when Harry Potter was HUGE and all my friends were also into Harry Potter, I couldn’t tell everything I knew to my friends because they already knew a lot of it...and so as a kid, maybe a fifth grader, I wrote a six (maybe seven?) page essay - single spaced - with everything I knew about the series/the author/everything. Before the last book came out, I filled an entire spiral bound notebook with my theories for how the series would end and WHY I thought what I thought.

My first NOW That’s What I Call Music CD was Now 14. I was in 7th grade and I could tell you exactly what order the songs were in. That was something I did to calm myself down back then; listing the songs on that album over and over and over again, always in the right order.

From about 7th grade until high school graduation, I brought and ate the exact same thing for lunch every single day. I said it was because I liked it, but I really didn’t. I didn’t like the Oscar Mayer precooked bacon that I would put on my BLT. I didn’t like the texture, half the time I couldn’t bring myself to eat it and picked it off my sandwich. But the thought of changing it??? That wasn’t even something I would have considered because somehow in my mind, changing it was worse than eating it. Make that one make sense.

I love routines and schedules and things staying the same, and get annoyingly stressed out when things/my schedule changes. One little change or one little thing out of the ordinary and it’s like I forget how to function for the day. Everything seems off. And I hate it. Because I KNOW that it shouldn’t matter, but it does. Half days and two hour delays at school growing up?? Those stressed the FUCK out of me because the order of the day would be different. I loved school and loved learning, but those days I felt physically ill over the thought of going to school. Field trip days were okay though because I knew they were coming and I had plenty of time to mentally prepare myself. I remember as a child asking my teachers (on multiple occasions) for the itinerary for a field trip so I could memorize it and know exactly what to expect and when for the day.

There are times that my fiancée will turn on the tv for “background noise” while she watches videos on her phone, and I wish I could describe what I mean when I tell her that there’s “too many sounds”. Because between the tv, her phone, the hum of the refrigerator in the other room, the neighbors, cars driving by, the cats playing, the ceiling fan...I don’t know how else to describe it other than exactly that — too many sounds. And it gets to be too much. So I have to put headphones in and listen to music to drown it all out and refocus.

I’ve only just recently been able to put a word to what I now know is poor executive function. As much as I loved school, I could NOT do assignments until the day they were due. I could start on something days before it was due, but I couldn’t work on it. I couldn’t focus on it. I couldn’t get myself to work on it. But the morning it was due??? I could whip up a paper that I knew would earn an A just hours before needing to turn it in. I prided myself on that ability, but looking back it was most definitely poor executive function. If I couldn’t finish something that morning, which was a rare occurrence, I would lie - I’d look “everywhere” for my assignment and “panic” because I “couldn’t find it” and because I was a good student, I got away with it. Every. Single. Time. Even with the hard-ass teachers who no one could get away with things on. And magically by the end of the day, I would swing back by that teacher’s classroom to give them my assignment that I had finally “found”.

I remember sitting on the kitchen floor of our apartment as a kid and tracing my fingers along the lines on the floor where the tiles met. I remember the pattern was brown/white/brown/white, but there was one spot on the floor that made me so irrationally frustrated because two tiles were swapped; instead of the same pattern as the rest of the floor, this one spot was brown/white/white/brown/brown/white. I remember pointing it out and my mom asking me why I had even paid any attention to that. I didn’t know why, I just did. I remember her telling me that it was stupid to let it bother me and to just let it go, but I couldn’t. I stopped mentioning it, but right up until we moved out of that apartment, I couldn’t even look at that spot on the floor without getting frustrated by it. There’s more than that. But that was one of the first things I thought of.

I’ve been watching a lot of Yo Samdy Sam’s videos on YouTube, and especially her videos “Autism symptoms in GIRLS” and “Could YOU be autistic? (and not know)” and I just... I feel that. Everything she says, I feel that. I watch them just thinking “that’s me. That’s me.” the entire time. She mentions sucking on her hair as a kid, and I did that CONSTANTLY. My hair was forever in my mouth. And now that I’m an adult, I don’t suck on my hair, but my sweatshirt strings are always in my mouth. Obviously there’s more than that, but that was one that hit me hard because I didn’t realize that wasn’t just something everyone did as a kid. I didn’t realize not everyone couldn’t stand still and always had to be fidgeting or moving slightly, whether it was rocking on my ankles, running my thumb over my other fingers, crossing and uncrossing my toes inside my shoes. I didn’t realize not everyone had the same shitty executive functioning skills as me.

And it’s like... I’m so sure that’s me. I’m so sure that I am autistic. I know it. But it’s like...is getting a diagnosis at this point in my life going to change anything? I mean no, probably not, other than giving me that validation that I crave. I would feel valid when the world is too much/too big/too loud. I would have a reason for feeling the way I do and doing the things I do. So much of my life would make sense. But. I don’t know. I’m afraid I’ll try to get a diagnosis and have someone, some doctor or therapist or psychologist or someone tell me that I’m not. And then what? Then what is everything I’ve felt throughout my life? That’s what I’m afraid of, really. Because if I’m so sure of this and then some professional says “no that’s not it”, then what?

#personal #just venting I guess #not venting that’s not the right word #just throwing my thoughts on here and trying to make sense of them because it’s my blog and I can #autism #autism in adults #actually autistic

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yamisnuffles · 5 years ago

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Get Closer To Me

Finally finished- the bus ride from Tadfield, followed by some angst, fluff, and prophecy back at Crowley’s flat.

Read on AO3

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Crowley had spent Earth’s final day holding off his exhaustion because he’d had to. There wasn’t time to be tired when the forces of hell were after him. No time when he had to mourn and even less when he found Aziraphale was back and so the world still needed saving. Such a deficit of time when it all came crashing down that he literally had to bring it all to a stop to buy them a final moment to prepare.

After all that, it had been a relief to fall onto a bench alongside Aziraphale. He didn’t have to keep running like it was the end of the world because, finally, it wasn’t. It was over. Despite all odds, they’d survived. Together. He could have sat there forever, just passing that bottle of wine back and forth between them. It had been more difficult than he cared to admit to get off of that bench and onto his feet once more so that he could get on the bus to Oxford that would take them to London. He all but collapsed into a seat near the front.

Before he could so much as think of sprawling out to sleep, Aziraphale made to sit beside him. Not only that, but Aziraphale put a hand on top of the one Crowley had used to lower himself into his seat. The angel kept hold of that hand as he sat down. Aziraphale didn’t even look over, just held Crowley’s hand like it was nothing at all and that he hadn’t been the one protesting sides moments ago. He held on like it was natural, like they’d been doing it for ages. Crowley tried to at least appear to feel the same way about it even as it made something in his gut do an odd flip. He was thankful to have glasses that obscured the way he stared disbelieving from the corner of his eye as he pretended to look forward.

Their own side. He’d said it himself and yet he could hardly believe the angel was going to ride the whole way back next to him instead of ahead or behind. Crowley blinked to be sure it was all real, only for his eyelids to suddenly feel heavy and impossible to open again. He wasn’t aware of falling asleep. Seeing as he didn’t strictly need to sleep, it generally took some work. He’d gotten very good at it over the millenia, the very best if you asked him, but he usually had to make some conscious effort. He must have been more exhausted than he’d guessed because the last thing he remembered, they’d been rolling out of Tadfield and now the bright lights of the city crowded in him. Too bright. He stared at the lights blearily, trying to make sense of them.

“Sorry to wake you, my dear, but we’re nearly there.”

“Mmhmm, wuh?”

Crowley felt like he’d swallowed cotton that had left his tongue thick and dry, and had somehow moved up to muzzy his brain. If he was too tired to remember falling asleep in the first place, he really wasn’t ready for the fact that there was a light pressure on his thigh, that it was what had awoken him, and certainly not that it came from Aziraphale’s hand. He’d thought he’d dreamed up the hand holding, to be quite honest. It wouldn’t be the first time. He blinked over at it once. Twice. By the third that information had finally made its way through his brain and it was all he could do not to bolt upright in surprise.

It wasn’t just that Aziraphale had a hand on his leg- although that alone was far too large a concept for a word like just- it was that Aziraphale had slid his hand under Crowley’s own and that the thigh on which it rested was pressed carelessly against the angel’s leg. Crowley felt as though the skin at those points of contact might catch fire at any moment. It blossomed like a newborn star, spread to his blood, his skin, his bones. He could feel the heat of it crawling up his neck and threatening to creep beyond his collar where it might be spotted.

Crowley might have officially cut ties with hell but that didn’t mean he was no longer a demon with appearances to keep up. He had some dignity, no matter how easy that was to forget whenever Aziraphale was near. He broke contact under the ruse of a long, languorous stretch. When it was done, his traitorous limbs had been pulled back out of enemy territory and solidly within the confines of his own seat.

“Where are my-?” He gestured vaguely at his face, having finally woken up enough to realize why the lights seemed so bright.

Aziraphale perked up. Pink dusted his round cheeks. “Oh.” He patted himself down, then pulled Crowley’s sunglasses from an inner coat pocket and handed them over. “I thought they might be uncomfortable, what with your face pressed to the window and all.”

Crowley’s traitorous mind instantly supplied him with the image of Aziraphale bending over his sleeping form to delicately remove the sunglasses. It was all the easier to imagine with the ghost of Aziraphale’s scent clinging to errant spectacles. He swallowed hard and took the glasses back, happy to have them hide his features again. “Sorry I fell asleep on you, angel.”

“Think nothing of it. I had a lot to consider,” Aziraphale replied, holding the scrap of prophecy aloft.

“Still, don’t usually just drop off like that.”

“You were very tired. And I might have, ah-”

Crowley’s eyes widened with sudden understanding. His wide lips quirked up in disbelief. “You knocked me out.”

“Nothing so crude. Not even a miracle, really.” Aziraphale wriggled guiltily in his seat. “Just a nudge to help you along. A small push in the direction you were already headed.”

Crowley flicked down to the bit of paper in the angel’s hand. “You just wanted to read in peace.”

“Well…”

Crowley laughed and gave the angel an affectionate smile. “Bastard.”

Aziraphale tried to feign offence but the soft curl of his lips gave him away. He was saved from having to defend himself more vigorously by the sudden lurching stop of the bus. He pocketed the prophecy and stood to gesture Crowley on.

“I suppose this is our stop.”

Well, that would do it. Crowley would have to hope the dark of night was enough to hide the blush because he absolutely couldn’t stop it jumping up his neck when Aziraphale called Crowley’s building their stop. Sure, he’d invited the angel over but if he was any good at planning ahead he wouldn’t have been left pulling a plan out of his ass when the end times finally rolled around. So there he was with Aziraphale waiting for him to lead them both up to his flat and all he could do was nod his head and mumble something unintelligible as they got off the bus.

Crowley immediately chose to go up the stairs. As tired as he still was, it offered him the most time to collect himself before they made it to his flat. It wasn’t enough. Before he knew it, they were both at the front door. Aziraphale loitered, waiting to be let in, a courtesy Crowley rarely granted when they went to the bookshop. From the rosy hues that dusted the angel’s cheeks and the way he fidgeted with the buttons on his waistcoat, it was clear he was apprehensive to cross this final barrier. Crowley was as well. He wished he’d locked up to buy himself a another moment or two. Unfortunately for him, there had been more pressing matters to consider when he’d left, like Armageddon and the fact that Aziraphale wasn’t answering his phone. To make matters worse, locking up wasn’t the only thing he’d forgotten in his rush out.

“Oh.”

That single soft sound from Aziraphale was all it took to make guilt churn in Crowley’s stomach. One, solitary syllable brought forth an argument from over a century and a half ago, it brought reconciliation and a bombed church, and summoned ‘You go too fast.’ Crowley did his best not to sway under the weight of it all. He wished he’d remembered the puddle of demon soup he’d left in the entryway. Not that there was much he could have done about it either way, but he’d have figured something out to spare himself the way Aziraphale was staring at it now.

“It’s nothing,” he assured, all swagger and shrugs.

He moved to step around the sodden rags that had once been Ligur to show just how much of nothing it was but was stopped by a vice like grip on his arm. There was a cold fire in Aziraphale’s eyes as he strode decisively in front of Crowley. It was times like this that Crowley remembered Aziraphale had been one of the guardians of Eden. He stayed back now, not moving an inch from where the angel had firmly placed him, but he’d dared approach then. Had he hoped to be smited that day when he'd first crawled up the wall and all but bragged about what he'd just done? Might as well have for as hard and fast as he fell after the angel's mumbled admission of guilt about the flaming sword.

Aziraphale banished the holy water from the doorway with a sharp, decisive gesture. When he walked into the office, Crowley drifted in after him, drawn as helpless as ever into the angel’s wake. Aziraphale wandered ponderously about the room. He paused briefly to consider the exploded remnants of the plant mister and then cleared it away with another wave of his hand. Crowley couldn’t help but wince when Aziraphale stopped at the desk. He ran considering fingers over the rubber gloves, the metal tongs, and, finally, the opened thermos.

“You told me the forces of hell had figured you out. I didn’t even stop to think what that meant for you.” Aziraphale’s voice came out soft, wavering, and raw. He was so quiet that Crowley only heard because absolutely every bit of him was bent on it. Aziraphale picked up the thermos lid and turned it thoughtfully in his hands. He tried to screw the cap back on but his hands were shaking too much. He abandoned the attempt and turned to Crowley instead, eyes watery and wide with sorrow. “Oh, Crowley. You begged me to come with you and I didn’t even consider why you were so desperate.”

Begged. Desperate. Both perfectly true but the words still stung at Crowley’s pride. He tried to speak only to find his throat was too tight from seeing Aziraphale so overcome on his behalf. He grunted out a dismissive noise instead. He tried to take the thermos to put it out of sight so that it would stop tormenting the both of them but Aziraphale snatched it up.

“Angel, come on now. You’re being ridiculous. It’s empty and it’s not like I haven’t handled it even when it wasn’t.”

Aziraphale held the thermos to himself. He looked down at it with a slight tremble in his lip. “I told you not to unscrew the cap,” he said, his voice light as he tried to force a bit of levity only to fall short.

“Insurance finally came due.”

No reason for the angel to know that wasn’t the only time the thermos had been opened. Nor was there cause for him to know just how often it had been handled, stared at, pondered, yelled at, and agonized over through the years. No, for all Aziraphale need be concerned, Crowley had taken it straight home that night, locked it up, and never thought of it again until he needed it.

“You could have been destroyed. If anything had gone wrong-”

Crowley took a slow step forward with his hands up, placating. Gentle, gentle, gentle. He could be gentle for Aziraphale. He could be anything. “But nothing did. I was careful. Told you, it wasn’t for me. Never was. And now it’s gone. It’s over, so you don’t have to worry any longer.”

He took another step toward Aziraphale that only caused the angel to pull the thermos closer. Crowley was nonetheless able to pull it gently from his grasp. He carefully screwed the cap back on and crossed the room to place it back in the safe, even though there really was no reason to keep it now that it had fulfilled its purpose. Still, there was no way he was just going to toss it after all this time. It had saved his life. More importantly, it had been a gift from Aziraphale, the most cherished and tortuous one he’d ever received.

When he finished locking it away, he found that Aziraphale had left the office. A flash of soft tan and cream showed that he was now milling around the plants. Leaves trembled, unsure what to make of the stranger in their midst. They’d gone so many decades without visitors and suddenly there were multiple in a day. Tension of a different sort from earlier was thick in the air. Some of the plants cowered under it and some strained to be nearer Aziraphale. Crowley threw his sunglasses aside so that he could give the vegetation a warning glare to behave.

“I had no idea you gardened,” Aziraphale commented in distant tones that said his mind was elsewhere. “It would appear you have quite the green thumb. How lovely they all are.”

Crowley was quick to wave off the compliment. “Don’t let them hear you say that. They’ll get ideas.”

Too late. One particularly cheeky palm dared extend a frond toward Aziraphale, who stroked it fondly. Crowley wasn’t sure whether he was envious of how bold the plant was or jealous of the affection it got as a result. Both, he decided. He curled his lips in a threatening, silent hiss that caused the offending palm to shrink back into place.

Crowley expected a reprimand of some sort for terrorizing his plants. It wasn’t like Aziraphale to pass up a good opportunity to chide Crowley when he thought the demon was being particularly mean spirited or petty. Instead, the angel didn’t seem to have even noticed. When he turned around, he looked a million miles away. Aziraphale’s watery eyes danced over things that weren’t really there, examined an alternate world of what-ifs, full of pain and the irreparable loss of a friend. Crowley knew the look because he’d worn it himself, had seen it reflected back at him in the Bentley’s mirrors before he’d hidden away under a fresh pair of sunglasses.

“I should have come with you,” Aziraphale said, snapping back to this world. His blue eyes lifted to meet gold.

“Nah,” Crowley replied, surprised he could even manage so small a reply with as tight as his throat currently was. “Alpha Centauri would have been- I mean, probably you’d have been miserable. No food. No books. And where would the humans have been without us in the end?”

“Things might, oh I don’t know, they might have been better somehow.” Aziraphale looked at the toe of his shoes and then back up again. “I lied to you. I knew where to go. I’d known and I told you I didn’t because I was certain someone on my side would see reason.”

It hurt Crowley to have confirmation that Aziraphale had lied. He’d suspected- there were too many notes stuffed into Agnes Nutter’s book for that to have all come last minute- but it was one thing to suspect and another to hear straight from the source. He wondered just how long Aziraphale had known and kept it from him. But no, he couldn’t let himself go down that road. That way lay madness and questioning and far too many years of feeling low and unworthy. Usually it was his own self doubt that told him Aziraphale would always choose heaven over him. It was a wound that had long since become a scar. Somehow he’d forgotten how much more it hurt to have Aziraphale holding the knife that opened it back up.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said and that was the truth. It absolutely did not matter in the face of everything else.

“Of course it matters. I treated you abominably. I was stupid. You were right, I was so stupid,” Aziraphale argued, determined to be in the wrong. To find absolution or condemnation, anything that would make up for what he’d done. His face crumpled. A few of the tears he’d been holding back escaped to round the flushed curve of his cheeks. “I could have lost you forever and for what?”

And that, right there, was why something as little as lies didn’t matter to Crowley. Not after the bookstore. Not after he’d reached out and felt nothing, when the only thing he’d been certain of was that the world was over for him. Without Aziraphale in it, it was all ash.

“You are stupid,” he said flatly and Aziraphale flinched. One of Crowley’s hands raised to touch him, to comfort him, but the motion was aborted nearly as soon as it had begun. Aziraphale was so close. If Crowley closed that gap further still, he’d never manage to say what he needed to. “You’re stupid because you think anything would keep me from you. That was what the holy water was all about. No one was gonna take me from you, not even if hell came knocking. Which it did and…” Crowley was losing his train of thought. All he could think of was too much fire in a too empty bookshop. Even with Aziraphale right in front of him, he could feel the loss like a tangible thing. “You’re stuck with me. I’m not going anywhere. Not ever. Not after-”

Crowley choked on a sob, refusing to let it escape his throat. He’d lost heaven long ago. Hell had followed after a lifetime of straining at their bonds. And then, in that moment in the bookshop, he’d lost Aziraphale as well. He’d been all out of sides, lost and alone. He'd pulled himself together to save the world- to go to Aziraphale- but it had been a rush job, not properly done, and now it gave way under all the pressure. Something had broken in him in the bookshop and it snapped apart once more. Suddenly. Painfully.

“Aziraphale,” he croaked despite himself in the same broken tones of hours prior. “You were gone.”

But he wasn’t. Aziraphale hadn’t been destroyed. The angel was there in Crowley’s flat, so close already and moving closer. He was near enough that Crowley could see his throat bob nervously.

“Crowley…”

Aziraphale had the look of someone on a precipice, ready to jump but unsure if he wanted to. It was a look Crowley had seen on the angel’s face often enough, more in the last eleven years when he’d been given world changing decision after world changing decision. A fair number of times, if not every time, Crowley had been the one to nudge him into place- suggesting the Arrangement, teaming up to avert the apocalypse, and offering to run away together. Crowley had the distinct feeling he’d also caused this latest crisis of faith, but he didn’t have any idea what he’d done nor what Aziraphale was preparing to leap for.

The little line of consternation that had formed between the angel’s brows vanished the moment a decision was reached. “I think, well, there is something I would very much like to do. Something I’ve wanted to do for a rather long time now.” He reached up and caught Crowley by his collar, gently smoothing the lapels. “I’ll be damned if I waste another moment fretting about what I ought to do.”

Crowley felt that wasn’t the sort of thing he should leave without a clever retort. However, being clever required the use of your brain, something he didn’t entirely have at the moment. He was captivated by the set of immaculate hands on his chest. There wasn’t a single wrinkle to smooth. In a day of overextending himself, he’d wasted a miracle to clean himself up as they left the airfield, eager to be free of all the grime and the memories attached to it. He was spotless and Aziraphale had to see that, had to know there was no real excuse for being so close other than because he wanted to be.

Aziraphale remained, regardless, his fingers fussing with fabric and his body close enough that Crowley swore he could feel the heat of him. Something deep in his bones ached to move closer to it. He swallowed hard. His heart fluttered wildly. Fluttering really wasn’t a properly demonic thing for any part of him to do. He could just stop it, do away with all these unnecessary human reactions- like the sudden sweat on his palms or weakness in his legs- but there was something heady and intoxicating about it.

Aziraphale used his grip on the demon’s jacket to pull himself slowly closer. Crowley’s eyes flew wide as Aziraphale’s were hooded by heavy lids. Aziraphale’s lips parted slightly. The same part of Crowley’s mind that told him what was coming also screamed at him to do something about it- move forward, relax, do anything other than stare wide eyed and open mouthed like a dying fish. He only just managed to recollect himself when Aziraphale drew upward to close the last few inches that kept them apart.

It was the barest brush of lips. Thousands upon thousands of years had been spent building a wall, only for it to be shattered by that simple, featherlight connection. Crowley was too busy marvelling at it to reciprocate so it was over before it had really begun. Aziraphale rocked back onto his heels, his hands still on Crowley’s collar, and offered a fluttering, unsure smile.

There was ash on Crowley’s tongue. Whether there truly was or not, it was suddenly all he could taste. He surged forward and banished the gap between them once more.

Crowley prided himself in his imagination. It wasn’t the sort of thing a demon was supposed to have but you didn’t create stars and then forget that bright, bold spark inside. He’d made good use of it over the ages with no subject a more frequent visitor to his dreams than a certain angel. But no matter how good his imagination was, it didn’t compare to the reality of kissing Aziraphale.

When Aziraphale didn’t immediately pull away, Crowley put his hands on the soft edges of the angel’s jawline and pressed in further. Aziraphale’s lips were plush and pliant. When Crowley had gotten his fill of them, he let his tongue flick out, testing. He was too happy to be embarrassed by the breathy whine that escaped his mouth when he dared taste celestial lips. How could there be time for something like embarrassment when, in the next moment, Aziraphale let out a whimper of his own and opened his mouth to allow Crowley entry.

The part of Crowley that remained forever cold and coiled and ready to strike unspooled. This was… divine. Literally. It should have burnt him and reduced him to nothing. Instead, it was everything, made him everything. Pressed as close as they were, he could feel hearts crash against mortal frames not big enough to hold immortal love. It filled the void that had been deep inside him since his Fall, a void that came rushing back when Aziraphale released him.

Aziraphale placed a hand over his heart. “Oh, that...”

“Yeah, that,” Crowley replied inelegantly.

He felt weak in the knees and he couldn’t decide if it was Aziraphale, his exhaustion, or some combination of the above. It hardly mattered when he felt like he could float.

Aziraphale shook his head. “No, not that. Well, yes. That was-” He gave the bare, bright smile he reserved just for Crowley when the demon had done something for him. He dipped his chin as though he could do anything to hide the brilliance of it. “But what I mean is, that gave me an idea. I think I’ve figured out the prophecy.”

Crowley’s brows raised. He couldn’t help the teasing twist of his mouth despite the continued fluttering of his heart. “One hell of a kiss,” he said dryly.

“Quite.” Aziraphale glanced in either direction. His eyes narrowed and then widened when they settled on a familiar avian lectern. “Is that-?”

“What’re you looking for, angel?” Crowley asked, cutting off that line of questioning before it could begin.

“I don’t suppose you have a kitchen or anything of the sort in this cavern of yours?”

“Sure.” Crowley cast a curious glance over at Aziraphale as he lead the way. “What kind of solution have you come up with that requires a kitchen?”

“It won’t. I was just hoping for a nibble. It’s been a long day,” the angel answered and Crowley couldn’t help but snort in fond amusement. “And, no offense dear boy, but you look dead on your feet. I thought some tea might help you perk up.”

Crowley quickly miracled everything and anything into his cupboards that he thought Aziraphale might desire. A kettle was already warming when they entered the kitchen. Crowley leaned against the counter and shoved his hands into his pockets as best he could.

“So, what’s this plan of yours?”

“I’ll explain in a moment,” Aziraphale replied, drawing near. He wrapped one hand around the back of Crowley’s neck. “First, I think some more inspiration is in order.”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #anthony j crowley #crowley #aziraphale #fic #my writing

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hickeysgodcomplex · 6 years ago

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Sir, That’s My Emotional Support Sibling

(this fic is dedicated to @diego2hargreeves for inspiration and for just being great! i hope you like it!!! <3)

They’d been in the past for…a few weeks now. Five had found them a safe place to stay. No one asked where or how he’d found it. They were working on their trust. Or maybe no one really wanted to know how he’d found it, or gotten it. Either way they had a place to lay low while they figured out what exactly they were going to do now.

All Vanya knew was the she wasn’t locked up anymore. She wasn’t sure if it was because the house they were staying in didn’t have a sound proof room, or if was because of the yelling she’d heard after they’d first gotten here. She’d gone up stairs to take a shower, they always calmed her. She’d turned the water off and heard their voices echoing off the walls and carrying up to her.

She didn’t try to be quiet on her way down. She was tired of tip toing around everyone, had been doing that her whole life. She was done with that. She was one of them and she decided she was going to act like it. No more sneaking around. She was going to walk around like she owned the place, like she belonged there. Because, in both respects, she sort of did.

The last voice she heard before she walked in was Klaus’.

“I swear to god Luther!” his face was red when she came around the corner and walked through the doorway. There was a vain in his neck that she’d only seen once before, maybe twice. He looked like he was about to punch Luther in the face. Diego looked about the same, standing beside him, but he covered it better when Vanya walked in. Klaus saw her, took a deep breath and turned away from her. She watched him take another breath, wipe his hand down over his face, and walk off. Vanya smiled to herself. He was always so careful about trying not to genuinely upset people. He could be an ass, sure, but he didn’t like hurting people.

“Are we talking about locking me up again?” She made sure her voice was calm. She didn’t want them to think she was going to explode on them. Even if her insides were roiling with emotions, but she could feel them now, and she could tell when it was her power and when it was her. She smiled and shoved the feelings down a bit. Further away from the surface.

“No.” Klaus answered, a split second later.

“Absolutely not.” His voice was cold, but he wasn’t looking at Vanya, he was looking at Luther. His eyes the coldest Vanya ever remembered seeing them. He turned to her and his whole being softened. He swallowed hard and began walking toward her.

“That’s never happening again.” His eyes were tearing up now, his lip quivering. Vanya opened her arms a bit and he dashed into them.

“I’m so sorry. Are you okay? How are you feeling?” he breathed into her shoulder, the words mumbled against her shirt. His arms wrapped around her in a vice grip. She held onto him tightly and looked up to see Diego smiling at her. She smiled back.

“I’m okay. I think I’m feeling better.” She rubbed his back between his shoulders and smiled at him when he pulled back and smiled at her, sniffling but looking happy.

“Ben says hi.” She blinked in confusion and then the memory slammed into her.

“You channeled Ben.”

“Yeah.”

“He was like, here here!” she felt the excitement in her and saw the chandelier above them begin to sway. The excitement turned to fear and she pulled away from Klaus, or at least, she tried to. He wouldn’t let go of her. His fingers wrapped around her arms where he’d rested them after their hug. He held her tight and pulled her a bit closer. She struggled, not wanting to hurt him. The lights grew brighter as the fear grew inside her.

“Let it happen. Don’t fight it. It’s a part of who you are.” Klaus’ voice was soft.

“Are you kidding me Klaus?” Luther’s voice was not soft, it was a whisper, but it wasn’t soft. The lightbulb behind him burst. Klaus’ hands moved from Vanya’s arms to her face.

“Hey. Shhh…it’s okay. I’m not afraid of you. You shouldn’t have to be afraid either. Just let the feeling happen. Feel the emotion. And then let it go. Don’t focus on it. Just feel it.” Klaus’ thumb moved against her cheek, soothing. She focused on how that made her feel. She didn’t want to feel the fear. She thought maybe focusing on how Klaus was making her feel was safer. She took a deep breath, let herself feel the comfort he was giving her, and then felt the surging emotions calm. The lights dimmed back down, the chandelier stopped swaying, she opened her eyes, and saw Klaus smiling at her.

“How spectacular are you?” he laughed, pulling her into another hug. She laugh/cried into his shoulder. It hadn’t felt the same as when Leonard, or Harold, or whoever he was, had given her complements. It was different. It felt more there, more real. And she realized then that she’d believed Allison all along.

She’d known, at least deep down, that he wasn’t who he said he was. Her eyes found her sister and she felt more tears. She pulled gently away from Klaus and went to Allison. Allison pulled her close. The lights grew bright and then ebbed away again as Allison held her through her sobbed apologies. When she calmed a bit, they went into the kitchen and found some food. The five of them eating and laughing together, like they had when they were kids and dad wasn’t home. Luther was nowhere to be seen.

~***~

They were getting along better than Vanya ever remembered from when they were kids. Her and Klaus had both been practicing their powers. It turned out that summoning Ben fully had, so far, been a one-time thing. They were out in the back yard, in the woods really, the house Five had found them was out in the middle of nowhere, but still somehow so unlike the place she’d gone with Leonard. Both of them trying their best to work on their powers. Klaus made a weird strangled noise, yelled something unintelligible, and threw a stick.

“This is ridiculous! This is never gonna work! Are you even trying to be corporeal or is this completely one sided? Cuz I know how it’s feeling and I’ll tell you what it doesn’t feel like you’re trying at all!” Klaus was flailing his arms and yelling at the empty space next him. Vanya laughed and he looked at her.

“Ben?”

“Yes.” He said, venom in his voice. He looked back to the empty space.

“She can’t even see you and she knows it’s you cuz you’re being an ass- don’t make that face at me!” he gasped and turned to look at Vanya, exasperation written all over his face. She smiled again and shook her head. She pushed herself up off the log she’d been sitting on and walked over to him.

“Maybe your power is connected to your emotions too. What were you feeling at the theater when you summoned him last time?” she put her hand on his shoulder, trying to respond to him with the kind of affection that he gave to everyone else. She read somewhere that people reach out in the ways they wished people would reach out to them. She thought maybe there was something to that when he relaxed under her touch and shook himself, like he was trying to relax and clear his head.

“I uh… I was scared. I though we were all gonna die. I didn’t wanna get shot. And ya know I don’t really have a good way to replicate that emotion without delving into some heavy emotional shit and I’m not really in the mood for that right now so maybe we could work on your power for a little while?” he drooped and looked at her, looking more like a puppy the bigger his eyes got. She stared at him, trying to break his sad composure. His eyes just kept getting wider and wider until she sighed and gave up.

“Fine.” He did a weird little dance and ran over to the log where she’d been sitting.

“Okay perfect, let’s see, where did we leave off last time? Oh right you almost crushed me with a tree! That was a fun time! So I’m thinking maybe this time, a little less anger maybe a bit more excitement?” he crossed his legs and looked at her, his fingers drumming on his chin. She watched him for a moment and then burst out laughing.

“What is this? Why the laughing?” he waved his hand at her.

“You’re ridiculous.” She shook her head at him.

“Ah, true. But it made you smile so I think it’s working.” He held up his finger.

“Touché.” She said, giving him a little mock bow.

“Fancy. I like it. Now back to your training number 7.” His best mocking dad voice making her smile again.

“I’m seriously thinking that your power is gonna be a lot like baking.” He was rubbing at his chin seriously now.

“Baking?” she drummed her fingers on her thigh and looked at him.

“Yeah. We’re gonna have to find like, the exact right emotions to mix together to get it to work or the whole thing goes caput. So, think of it like a baking show, were you have to do everything exactly right, or the whole world explodes.” He said flatly.

“No pressure then.”

He smiled at her.

~*~*~

They’d been practicing for about half and hour when Luther came out to see them.

“I see Klaus is already “resting” from his training.” He walked down the steps on the porch and crossed his arms. Vanya felt something boiling up inside her. She let it pass through like Klaus had coached her to do, the leaves above her rattling and then settling gently.

“He worked really hard on it for almost an hour and half. He deserves a break when he wants one.” She hadn’t really been getting very good at speaking up for herself yet. It was hard breaking the habit of being invisible. But she was finding that sticking up for others was easier.

“I’m just saying, without practice it’s not gonna get easier.” He shrugged, dismissing his disdain and treating it like it was nothing.

“Yeah well maybe, if he’d had support before, it’d be easier now. So instead of coming out here and telling him what he’s doing wrong, maybe you should ask if there’s anything you can do to help him figure out how to do it right?” her hands were clenched at her sides but the leaves above her remained still.

“I was just saying-“

“I know what you were saying. And frankly, I’m tired of hearing what you have to say. When all you have to say to him are things that make him feel like he’s not good enough. Just because he coped with his powers in a way you don’t approve of, until you want to be numb yourself, doesn’t mean that you can treat him like he’s useless.” She stared at him, waiting for him to respond, he dropped his hands to his sides but stayed silent.

“So if you don’t have anything constructive or helpful to say, maybe you should just go back inside.” She crossed her arms over her chest and watched him open and close his mouth before turning and going back inside. He left the door open as he stomped through it. Vanya lifted her hand, flicked it, and watched as a small wave of energy floated toward it and closed it. It didn’t slam. It didn’t shatter. It just…closed.

She took a deep breath. He legs were shaking. She looked at Klaus, he was sitting on the log, his eyes moving from Vanya, to the door, and back again. Seconds later he was on his feet, yelling in excitement and running to her. He picked her up and spun her in circles.

“That was amazing!” he set her down and looked at her, his hands on her shoulders.

“You did it! And you told Luther off! You are so. Cool.” He laughed. And Vanya laughed because Klaus’ laugh is contagious and then she gasped when she saw him.

“Klaus.”

“Yeah?” he was still laughing, but it was fading now, the look in Vanya’s eyes clearly making him nervous.

“Look.” She pointed behind him. Klaus spun around and stumbled back a step.

“Holy shit.” He whispered as he stared at Ben.

“So can I get in on this excited hugging thing we’re doing or what?” he asked, pointing at them and smiling his crooked smile.

“Fuck yes you can buddy. Bring it in!” the glowing blue form of ben ran at them. They both caught him, he was cold. But it didn’t matter. He was there. And Vanya was touching him. And Klaus had done that. Klaus had brought Ben through.

“You did it.” Vanya squeezed Klaus’ shoulder.

“Told ya.” Ben said.

“Oh shut up.” Klaus snapped, but he was ginning in the sunlight shinning through the trees.

~***~

He’d finally fallen asleep when someone starts shaking him awake again.

“Nooo.” He whines and smooshes himself deeper under his covers. The shaking gets harder and he’s confused because no one is speaking. Not even the dead that have seemingly taken up residence in his bedroom. He peeks out of his blankets and sees Allison, she looks scared.

“What? What is it? Oh for- you can’t talk, alright alright I’m coming lead the way.” He throws himself out of bed and follows her down the hall. It’s takes him a minute to realize the house is shaking.

He grabs Allison’s hand, she looks at him.

“Vanya?”

Allison nods frantically and he runs past her. He almost falls down the stairs, flashbacks to his jaw being wired shut flash before his eyes and he steadies himself. He throws himself into the kitchen and finds Vanya, sitting on the table, he head in her hands, rocking back and forth, that eerie white glow filling the kitchen.

“Vanya!” he has to shout over the noise. Everything is moving. The whole house is shaking, and out the window Klaus can see the trees swaying wildly.

“Hey! What happened? Look at me Van. Tell me what happened.” He moves closer, one of the chairs at the table slides toward him and then darts to the left and slams against the wall. He keeps going. Knowing that he can help her if he can just get to her.

“Vanya?” he takes two more steps and puts his hand flat on the table. She looks at him. Her eyes are white. He smiles at her.

“Hey there. It’s kinda breezy in here, you wanna talk about it?” he moves his hand to her foot. Her hands fist in her hair and her eyes squeeze shut.

“He was in my dream! He was screaming at me!” she yells when she gets like this. Klaus is pretty sure its because of all the noise in her head. Like when you go to a concert and you can’t hear anything after, so you just yell for hours until you can hear again. He nods at her.

“Okay. Well he was a dick. So that seems right. But he’s not here. Okay? He’s gone. It’s just you and me. In the kitchen. You’re on the table, which is my spot by the way but I won’t hold it against you, and I’m on the floor, in my underwear and a shirt, because Allison was in a panic and I didn’t grab any pants.” He saw her lips twitch and the trees outside calmed a bit.

“Oh yeah, real funny, you’re having a breakdown and I’m freezing my balls off. Everybody’s having a good time.” She full on smiled at that and the trees outside stilled completely.

“There we go. You got it. Just keep breathing Van you’re doing great.” He moved his hands to her shoulders and kept looking at her. She opened her eyes again, they were still white, but she wasn’t glowing anymore.

“Hey, do you remember that time I came home blind drunk and high off my ass? And dad was there waiting and he made all you guys wait with him. And he just scowled at me. And said some shit about how disappointing I was, and that he hoped all you guys would be better. And do better and blah blah blah. And he tried to make me feel all guilty? And I just laughed at him. You remember that?” Klaus knew she did, she was smiling again.

“You- you puked on his shoes.” Her voice was strained, but she was trying so hard, Klaus could see it, she was trying to focus on him and his voice instead of the ocean of hell inside her.

“I did. But that’s not even the best part. Wanna know the best part?” he squeezed her shoulders gently, trying to ground her and drown out the noise. She nodded and looked at him, her eyes faded back to normal.

“I did it on purpose. I didn’t need to puke. We were what? 15? I’d been drinking for ages. I could hold my liquor. He was just…such an asshole. And I really wanted to ruin his day. So I puked on him.” Klaus smiled at her, his tongue poking out between his teeth. She looked at him for three seconds and then burst out laughing. The house stopped shaking. The lights faded, and Vanya drooped on the table.

Klaus crawled up next to her, holding onto her so she didn’t collapse and roll off. She was still laughing, her head shaking against Klaus’ shoulder. When she stopped laughing, she just laid there. Letting him hold her up, her energy gone. He got that.

“You’re good with her.” Klaus opened his eyes when Ben spoke, he hadn’t known he’d closed them, his brother was smiling at him.

“Thanks.” He held her tighter, his arms around her shoulders.

“Hi Ben.” Vanya’s small voice said before she fell asleep on Klaus’ shoulder. Ben waved at her, even though she was sleeping, and then he was gone. Klaus sighed, smiling to himself, he let his eyes fall closed again, resting his head on Vanya’s. The kitchen door creaked open and the others poked their heads in.

“Is she okay?” Five was rubbing his eyes like he’d just woken up, looking every ounce a thirteen year old.

“She’s alright.”

Allison lifted her notepad, “What happened?”.

“Bad dream.” Klaus moved his hand slowly over her hair.

“Is this gonna happen every time she has a bad dream?” Luther sounded worried, but he also sounded annoyed, and that was annoying and Klaus was too tired to deal with his shit.

“I don’t know Luther. I guess we’ll live and learn. Now carry her back to bed so she can get some rest.” He waved Luther forward. He took Vanya carefully, Allison held the door for him and then followed him out. Five waved sleepily and followed close behind them.

“How do you do that?” Diego was standing in the door way, looking at him. Klaus rubbed his eyes and sighed.

“Do what?”

“You calm her down. It doesn’t work when we try. Not ever.” He had his arms crossed but didn’t look angry about being woken up, he looked curious.

“Do you want the family friendly happy answer, or do you want the real answer?” Klaus rubbed at his face and watched Diego walk closer.

“I’d like the truth. But if you’re gonna be an ass about it I’ll take whatever answer I can get.” Klaus laughed and patted the table. Diego rolled his eyes and climbed up next to his brother.

“It’s because you’re all afraid of her.” He looked at Diego. Diego frowned.

“We’re not-“

“You are. And it’s okay. We’ve talked about it. She understands.” He patted Diego’s knee.

“And you’re not? Ya know, afraid of her?”

“Not so much no. I’m usually more scared for her. But I think, it’s mainly because I’m not afraid to die. Ya know? That’s what it comes down to, I think. She can see the fear in your guys’ eyes when you look at her. And she can feel it inside herself. And when I think about dying all I feel is peace. So maybe it comes through.” He looked at Diego, not smiling though he wanted to, but he knew it made Diego uncomfortable when he smiled and talked about death so he resisted the urge.

“So… she can feel that peace inside you or whatever? And it calms her down? Because you aren’t afraid of death so you aren’t afraid she’ll kill you?”

This was something Klaus loved about his brother. He could ask you six different questions about something you’d said, and not one of them made you feel like he was making fun of you. Every time Diego asked a question, a genuine question, you could always tell that he was really trying to understand you.

“Pretty much yeah. And I make her laugh. Or at least I try to. It’s not always easy when she gets lost like that.” He lulled his head to the side and smiled tiredly at his brother. Diego watched him for a moment and then nodded.

“I’m glad you’re here for her. I’m glad she has you. You may be a mess, and I mean that. But you’re good with her.” He patted Klaus’ shoulder and pushed himself off the table.

“Thanks. And hey Diego?”

Diego stopped and looked back at him.

“You wouldn’t wanna carry me back upstairs would you?” He held his arms out to his brother, making grabby hands at him, giving him his best sad puppy look. Diego stared at him.

“Please?”

Diego sighed and walked back over to the table, leaning in close to Klaus.

“I will do this once. And you will tell no one. Or I will smother you in your sleep.” He turned around and Klaus wrapped his arms around his neck and his legs around his waist.

“Best. Day. Ever.”

“It’s the middle of the night. And I can still change my mind.”

“Shutting up.”

They were halfway up the stairs when Ben popped up, he was sitting on the stair railing, smiling at them.

“That looks comfy.”

“Hush.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing. Sorry. I wasn’t…talking…to you.” Klaus said, grimacing through his answer. Diego stopped walking.

“Then who were you talking to?”

“I- uh…nobody.”

“Ben’s here, isn’t he?” Diego sounded annoyed.

“No! No he isn’t I swear. Just me and you.” Klaus felt Diego letting go of him, he scrambled at his shoulders but ended up on his ass on the stairs. Diego stomped the rest of the way up.

“Noo! Diego come back! I didn’t tell him! I didn’t want him here he just showed up!!! Come back! It’s so cold out here!” Klaus called after him, sitting forlornly on the stairs.

“You were warned.” Was all he got back before he heard Diego’s door shut. Klaus took a deep breath and looked at Ben.

“You enjoy this don’t you? Ruining good things for me?”

“Yep.” Was all Ben said before disappearing again.

“Asshole!” Klaus yelled to thin air and then crawled the rest of the way up the stairs and dove into bed. The voices of the dead pleasantly quiet, the house pleasantly still.

#i'm back at it!!!!#thanks again for the inspiration lovely!!#diego2hargreeves #tua #the umbrella academy #klaus and vanya #vanya hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #diego hargreeves #ben hargreeves #allison hargreeves #luther hargreeves #five hargreeves #my writing #tua fic #tua ficlet #ficlet

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redeyedryu · 5 years ago

Text

Cross Dimensional Problems

Chapter 8 - Warmth | [Ao3] | 1 | « | x | » |

And now we’re caught up! Tried to sprinkle a wee bitta fluff in this chapter after the events of the previous one. I apologize if the French is weird, I only have Google to rely on. *sweats*

Summary: There’s something not quite right about that guy.

The next few days pass in a haze.

Not long after your “discussion” with Rus, Sans had knocked on your door to return your phone and pass along a charger he had put together for you. You had given him a simple thank you, then closed the door in his face, unable to muster up the energy to put your manners to proper use.

Maybe you should have told Sans about that night, you find yourself thinking some time after he had already left. ...But would he have even cared? Your mind flashed to Rus’s words, to his dismissive attitude, and a stabbing ache radiated through your chest. No, no, it’s better not to bother anyone with this. It's not like they would care.

It was easy to hole yourself away after that. Among your phone and the charger, Sans had included a bit of paper with their network information, allowing you to connect to their alien internet. When you weren't sleeping, you distracted yourself with this world’s equivalent of YouTube and Google. You searched through various news articles: local, national, global; political, entertainment, technology, arts. It was… strange and disconcerting. There were a surprising number of parallels between this place and yours, and yet the differences were stark. Major brands you would be able to recognize in a heartbeat seemingly didn't exist here; certain well-known game series, while they did exist, hadn't garnered the same attention here and had petered out after a single instillation—two, if they were lucky. You thought it some kind of interesting that the Mother/EarthBound series didn't seem to exist. Neither did Smash, apparently.

That made you smile a bittersweet grin. No wonder Sans seemingly hadn't understood your reference before.

Nightmare hasn't shown himself since, but sometimes, when you're just on the border between sleep and wakefulness, you think you catch movement in the darkest corners of the room. Your gaze never lingers, and you never focus, scared of what you might see.

You only ever sneak from your borrowed room to go to the bathroom or rummage something from the kitchen when everyone else is asleep. You're aware you're avoiding everyone, that this isn't healthy, but at the same time you just can't bring yourself to care. Why should you, when no one else does?

It's once again ass o’ clock and you're currently standing in the darkened kitchen, lit only by the open fridge you're staring into as if it holds the answer to life itself. There are various stacked tupperware, a package of thawing ground beef, and quite a few other food bits scattered about. Needless to say, it doesn't appear that anyone is hard up on food stuffs in this house. You don't feel any less guilty about taking from them, though.

You eventually settle on nabbing the carton of eggs, a bottle of mustard, and some shredded cheddar. Setting them on the counter by the stove, you swipe a packet of English muffins from the bread box. As you pivot on your heel, bread in hand, intent on digging up a pan, you’re startled to find someone standing right behind you.

“JESUS!” you shout, arms pulling to your chest, which leads to you accidentally whacking your would-be assailant with the packet of muffins straight across the face.

They don't move, don't so much as flinch, just stare at you with mis-matched eye lights. He blinks, whether in disbelief or offense you can't say. One thing’s for sure though: the floor is now littered with bread.

A smidge of guilt and no small amount of annoyance rolls from you as Ink grins. Then he starts chuckling.

“What the hell?!” you hiss, “You scared the shit outta me!” You scowl as you squat down to gather up the floor bread. Man, what a waste. Maybe the boys will still eat it? Do germs affect them?

“My apologies,” Ink manages out between chuckles, drawing you from your spiraling thoughts. “Though… you did just hit me.”

“Yeah, will serves you right for sneaking up on me! Seriously, what the hell, man?! You're lucky it wasn't the eggs or something, shit.” You dig your phone from your pocket and turn the flashlight on, pointedly ignoring the skeleton and scouring the floor for any bread you might have missed.

“Ah, but can you really blame me?” Ink follows along as you place the floor spiced bread on the counter beside your other ingredients. He props himself against the counter, an elbow resting on the surface and his chin resting in his palm. You ignore his gaze—it doesn't feel as innocent and disarming as you're sure he’d like you to believe. “It’s so hard to pin you down, with how you’re holed away in your room as you’ve been lately,” he practically whines,

Just ignore him. Surely he’ll get bored and leave you alone. You busy yourself with inspecting the muffins. Knowing how cleanly roughly half of your cohabitants are, you doubt it’d kill you to still eat these. You pick two and begin dusting them off—just in case.

“Why is that, mon bonheur?”

You pull a sour face at his words and squeeze a piece of bread a little harder than it probably deserves. Was that… is he… is he speaking French? And the way he’s playing ignorant… you know he had heard your conversation with Rus that day. He damn well knows why you’ve made yourself scarce. You clench your jaw and don't acknowledge him, instead shifting to turn on the light from the over-the-stove microwave. You tell yourself the way the darkness twists and coils as it retreats from the light is a mere trick of your mind.

You need a pan.

“Ah, ma douce,” Ink goes on to say as you dig a small skillet from a cabinet, “must you give me the cold shoulder?”

Still very clearly ignoring the vexing skeleton, you settle the pan on the stove-top and ignite the burner. He says something, but what that something is you couldn't say, having opted to completely tune him out. You're still hungry and you still have an egg sandwich begging to be made, dammit.

As you reach for the egg carton the hairs on the back of your neck raise and a bolt of electricity shoots down your spine, radiating through your entire body. Not a second later, you feel the presence of someone settling behind you and arms moving to wrap around your waist.

"Ma poupée," Ink whispers into your ear, pulling you flush against him. You freeze. There’s a ringing in your ears and it’s suddenly hard to breathe. “Je veux juste un peu de goût…”

Ink’s talking, you know he is, but all you can hear is Nightmare’s echoing warble, those tentacles holding you down, feeling trapped and unable to escape.

You don’t even register grabbing the pan from the stove, nor do you recall swinging it towards the shocked skeleton now standing several feet away, hands raised in a placating manner. Your chest is tight and there are tears streaming down your cheeks, your breath coming out in short, ragged pants.

You don’t know what just happened.

You look from your hand, grasping the pan’s handle in a white-knuckled grip, to the skeleton, and back to the pan. Had… had you really tried to hit Ink? A strange numbness washes over you at that realization.

You… you can’t deal with this right now, you can’t. You need… you need to get out of here—be anywhere but here; anywhere but that bedroom. Maybe… maybe some fresh air will do you some good?

You set the pan back on the stove and flick the burner off, moving as if in a fog. You don’t hear Ink call to you, don’t remember to put away the floor bread or the rest of the food stuffs you had pulled out, focused solely on getting as far away from him and everything wrong with this place as possible.

—–—–—–

Despite what a lot of people seem to think, Blue isn't an early riser by nature. No, that would actually be his brother—which Blue believes isn't very fair, considering how much the lazybones sleeps in and lazes about. It's not until he’s had a good cup of coffee (or three) that Blue feels like he’s adequately prepared to take on the day.

And thus, he starts his early morning by shuffling into the kitchen and brewing a pot of coffee. It’s early, roughly 5:30am, and the majority of the household is still asleep. Papyrus—the “classic” version of his brother, that is—is due up any minute; Edge will likely be short to follow. Hickory, despite the apparent Papyrus gene of being able to readily face the day the second one wakes up, often does not leave the room he shares with his brother until the late morning.

Blue is pulling down a mug (his top favorite one—something his brother had gotten for him a couple years back for Gyftmas, that appears to be nothing more than a plain black piece but once something hot is placed in it, a stunning scene of the aurora borealis is revealed) when the coffee maker gurgles out the last of its brew. And just in time, it seems, as Black shuffles into the kitchen, looking no less exhausted and rumpled than Blue feels. He grabs a tumbler (the one that reads, “I don't give a sip” in a loose script font) and hands it to his sharper self.

Black grunts out some unintelligible response (probably a thank you… probably), and wastes no time in pouring himself a heaping helping of coffee. Like his namesake, he prefers to drink the bitter bean juice black, and so wastes no time in screwing the lid shut and taking a generous sip. Blue, on the other hand, proceeds to stir in creamer and no less than three spoonfuls of sugar before helping himself to a taste.

He and his darker counterpart stand in silence for a few moments, leaning against the countertop, simply enjoying their chosen poison. It’s nice, Blue thinks, moments like these where he can just bask in the company of others.

Sufficiently caffeinated, Black is able to muster up the energy to string together a coherent sentence.

“So, Tell Me, What Is On The Agenda For Today?”

Huh. Black must be more worn out than Blue thought, for him to be speaking so softly. Work must be running him ragged.

Blue hums as he thinks on it. He’s got the day off—actually isn't needed in until next Tuesday, if he’s remembering correctly—so…

“I’M NOT SURE YET,” he admits. “PERHAPS AN EARLY MORNING JOG AND THEN I’LL SEE FROM THERE. WOULD YOU CARE TO JOIN?”

Black seems to ponder it as he takes a long pull from his tumbler, before finally, he grimaces and says, “No. Unfortunately Not Today. Perhaps Another Day.”

Blue frowns and sets his mug on the counter, turning to give Black a sympathetic look. “EARLY DAY?”

Black grumbles, his posture dipping into a slouch as he drags his claws over his face. “If Only That Were The End Of It…”

Blue winces. “OUCH… SORRY.”

With what can only be described as a whine, Black straightens his posture and pulls away from the counter. “It Is What It Is. But… Unfortunately I Best Be Off, Lest Those IMBECILES Screw Something Else Up.”

“GOOD LUCK!” Blue calls as Black heads off. The skeleton merely lifts a hand in acknowledgment before disappearing into the house. It's unfortunate Blue is down a running partner but he’s sure if he waits a bit longer, that problem will quickly resolve itself.

So he meanders over to the lounge, though not before refilling his mug with another helping of coffee.

Just as the skeleton is about to make himself comfortable on one of the couches, he catches something that registers as not quite right, out of the corner of his eye socket. He pauses and looks to the floor to ceiling glass windows that overlook the courtyard, gaze scanning for that irregularity and oh! There it is! Leaned up against the wall just outside the door leading out. Blue squints, focuses, and… is that-? It is! It’s you, their new human friend, sitting outside, propped against the wall. You're hidden in the shadows cast by the house this early in the morning but he can see you well enough.

Blue’s brows furrow. What are you doing out there? Temperatures don't really affect him or any of the other skeletons but he knows humans are more sensitive to that sort of thing. And it isn't the warmest time of year, either—just the opposite, in fact! To make matters worse, it doesn't look like you have a jacket or even a blanket to help warm you up. Are you an idiot? Did you want to get yourself sick?

He sets his mug on the coffee table and hurries to the nearby linen closet, grabbing a heavy blanket and making his way to the door. He huffs as he maneuvers the door open, fumbling to not to drop the blanket, and rolls over a few choice words he's going to have to share with you. But when he finally gets a good look at you… it's not exactly… “good”.

It can't have been more than a week since your arrival and yet you look nothing like you had during that dinner. There are heavy shadows ringing your eyes and he’s not sure but… he thinks you look a little pale? Though that might be due to the fact you've been sleeping outside in the nippy morning air. Your clothes—the very same ones you had arrived in—are rumpled and probably well overdue for a wash. He can only describe your hair as a bird's nest—tangled and mussed as it is.

Really, he thinks, you should take better care of yourself! At least change into some… thing… else…

Oh. O-oh goodness.

Any building annoyance at your unkempt state drains away as it finally dawns on him. You had only arrived days ago, and like he and his brother and all the others before, you had appeared with nothing more than the clothes on your back. You didn't have anything else to change into, and stars, Blue realizes with a growing sense of guilt, not once have you asked for anything other than a phone charger. By the Angel, you probably felt uncomfortable asking them for anything.

Blue’s not an idiot, he’s more observant than a lot of people give him credit for, and he’s noticed a distinct lack of your presence lately. But he had chalked it up to you needing some time to settle in, to digest your situation. The more he thinks on it, however, the more ashamed he starts to feel. Maybe… maybe you had been purposefully isolating yourself from them? Red and Edge had made it painfully obvious they didn't like you—Edge in particular had been quite vocal in not wanting you around, and Blue had heard Red grumbling about you nearly bowling him over in the hallway, seemingly in a rush to get out of Classic’s room. When Blue had questioned Classic about it, he had merely brushed him off with an all too casual, “don't worry ‘bout it, s’nothin’ soul-shatterin’” and Blue had decided to take his counterpart at his word. But maybe… perhaps that had been a mistake?

He gently unfolds the blanket and carefully sets it around your shoulders, taking a seat on the chilled concrete beside you. You let out the softest of content sighs at the warmth now engulfing you and nuzzle into the fabric. The unbidden thought of how cute that is (how cute you are) flits across Blue’s mind. He lets that thought sit for a moment before pushing it away, feeling now isn't really an appropriate time for such things.

So he sits and he watches you, takes in how different you are when your defenses are down and you don't have to put on such a brave front—don't have to try and act like you're unaffected by the craziness happening to you. And he thinks… he hasn't been a very good friend to you, has he? To let you suffer alone as you clearly have been.

The more his thoughts spiral, the more he realizes they haven't been treating you very fairly at all, have they? Even the worst of them to appear hadn't been as ostracized, as persecuted as you have.

You shift in your sleep and he’s caught off guard when you suddenly tilt sideways, curling the blanket and clutching it tight to your chest. Your head finds its place in his lap and his sockets widen at that, magic rushing to his zygomatic bones in a heated blush. He just watches for a moment, frozen and afraid to move for fear of waking you. You really do look like you could use the sleep, which is odd because isn’t that all you’ve been doing lately?

…

He undoes the scarf from around his neck and, gingerly lifting your head, carefully places it between his femur and your head. He decides he can just do a double run tomorrow.

#Red Drabbles #Undertale Fanfiction #Reader Insert #Cross Dimensional Problems #Reverse Harem #Blue is best boy

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justheretobreakthings · 6 years ago

Text

Remember Me - Chapter 20

(First Chapter) (Previous Chapter)

Word Count: 4,204 (Total Word Count: 79,660) Read on AO3

Story Summary:

It was strange enough for the paladins of Voltron to have found another human this far from home, locked in a Galra prison. But it was stranger still when this human insisted that he knew them, and even that he was the former red paladin of Voltron.

That couldn’t possibly be true, could it? After all, if this Keith was actually a part of the Voltron team, then why does nobody remember him?

Chapter Preview:

“You are mad at me, aren’t you?” said Lance. “What gives?”

Keith crossed his arms and said nothing.

“Oh boy. Look, is it because I called you a drunken idiot this morning? Because, dude, that wasn’t an insult, I was just stating a fact. And I would have called any of the other paladins the same if they had guzzled down as much as you had. Or maybe it would have taken more for the others, your alcohol tolerance is frankly just sad.”

“It has nothing to do with this morning,” Keith growled.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s - it’s last night.”

"...Ah. Right.”

“Well, Keith,” Allura said, setting her breakfast plate down onto the table in front of her as she primly took a seat. “I hope that you’ve learned a valuable lesson about overindulging yourself at parties.”

Keith growled softly as he shot her a glare from under the cold pack he held to his head.

Lance had been the last to show up at breakfast this morning, arriving just in time to hear this scolding and witness a tableau that he was experienced with from his Garrison days: that of a group of people the morning after a party. The Alteans, Allura at the table and Coran busy with something in the sink, were the only ones at their usual wakefulness this morning. Hunk was blinking sluggishly, still half-asleep; Pidge had an annoyed scowl on her face, one of those Pidge-specialty don’t-talk-to-me-or-I’ll-bite-you scowls that indicated she was in need of a nap; Shiro had two empty coffee mugs - rabaga-bean juice mugs, Lance mentally corrected himself - in front of him and was starting on a third.

Out of all of them, though, Keith looked the worst for wear. Last night Lance had finally managed to leave him to sleep, half-draped under his blanket, after he had cleaned up the sick on the carpet and kept up his own end of the conversation for Keith’s sleep-talk babbling. He had hoped that by the time he’d left, Keith had gotten through the worst of his drunkenness. He had all but forgotten about the hangover that was sure to come the morning after.

Keith was looking haggard and exhausted, a tint of green in his cheeks, all of his weight leaning into the deep-blue icepack flopped across half of his head. He was still in his undersuit, not having bothered to get dressed this morning, nor, it seemed, had he so much as run a brush through his hair.

The chair legs squeaked harshly against the ground as Lance took his own seat, and Keith grimaced against the sound and turned his glare onto him. “Must you?” he snarled.

“Must I sit? Yeah, I must,” Lance answered. “How is our favorite drunken idiot on this fine, bright morning?”

Keith grunted and closed his eyes. In the seat to Lance’s right, Pidge let her scowl soften as she let out an amused snort. “Shiro stumbled across him this morning,” she said. “Apparently he had crawled into the communal bathroom and puked up his own weight in nunvil.” She picked her spork lightly into the eggs on her plate. “Nearly wrecked my appetite just hearing about it.”

“What wrecked your appetite,” Shiro said, “Was the fact that you ate enough snacks last night to feed a small country for a month.” He reached his human arm out to Keith in the seat beside him to start rubbing circles on his back.

“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t gross,” Pidge said with a shrug. “In any case, guess we all got to learn a new fun fact about Keith: he is the lightest of all lightweights.”

“Yeah…” Shiro said slowly. “We may need to institute a new rule about Keith not being allowed near alcohol without supervision…”

“You guys were all a lot more sympathetic last time I had a headache,” Keith pouted.

“Last time was our fault,” Pidge pointed out. “This one’s all on you.”

“Here you are, lad,” Coran said as he turned around from the counter, a pitcher in his hand. “Drink up all of this, and your hangover will have all but vanished within the hour!”

“All of it?” Keith groaned. He lifted his head to look at the contents, then recoiled, nose wrinkling. Curious, Lance leaned over to take a look for himself. The pitcher was filled nearly to the brim with a sludgy, green-brown substance that even now was slowly bubbling. One large bubble sluggishly popped and emitted a pungent, fish-like smell.

“What the fuck is that?” Lance asked.

“Home remedy,” Coran replied. “My grandpappy swore by it, and it always made me feel better after a long night of painting the town with Alfor as well. Thought Keith here could benefit from it.” He gave Keith a hearty thump on the shoulder. “It looks worse than it tastes. Try to chug it down in one gulp, it works better that way.”

Keith frowned suspiciously at the concoction before raising the pitcher to his lips and taking a small sip. Instantly his eyes blew wide open, and the tinge of green that colored his cheeks deepened as he slapped his hand over his mouth. He slammed the pitcher back down and jumped up from the table, knocking his chair backward onto the floor, and raced to the sink, where he promptly began retching into the basin.

“Well, there goes the remains of my appetite,” Pidge muttered at the sound of Keith’s dry heaves, shoving her plate away and crossing her arms.

“You can’t, uh, go back to the bathroom to do that?” Hunk asked. He was beginning to look rather nauseated himself.

Keith shook his head and managed to gasp out, “Too… far…” before starting to retch again.

“All right, so you don’t like it,” Coran said, picking up the pitcher. “There’s no need to be so dramatic about it.”

“If you don’t like Coran’s remedy,” Allura said, “You’ll have to find some other way to deal with your… state. I still expect you to be present and actively participating in training this afternoon and at the teleconference we have scheduled for this evening.”

Keith grumbled something unintelligible in response, and Allura let out a huff. “You wanted the privilege of being involved in the team. We gave it to you. You need to hold up your end in return.”

“... Yeah,” Keith said after a pause. “I know. Sorry.” With that, he stuck his head back under the sink and turned on the faucet, soaking his head in the water before shaking off and returning to the table. He was still pale and off-balance, but at least the retching had tapered off. For now.

He remained silent through the rest of breakfast, although the rest of the team was less chatty than their usual too. Lance wasn’t sure when exactly the others had returned to the castle, but it had still just been him and Keith around when he had gone to bed, and they had risen before he had - his body knew how much he needed his beauty rest and always did its best to oblige - so at the very least the others were all running on less sleep than him.

Training today was going to be a blast.

The paladins filtered out of the kitchen as they finished their breakfasts, and Lance, the last to start his meal, also ended up the last still eating. Besides himself, the last remaining was Keith, who eventually took his still mostly-full plate to the sink after finally giving up on nibbling his way through it and trying to keep it down.

“In, uh, in all seriousness,” Lance said, breaking the silence in the kitchen as Keith started emptying his plate into the garbage disposal. “You doing all right, man? I know last night was, ah, kinda rough for you.”

Keith paused in the process of scraping off his food before grunting, “I’m fine.”

“Okay. Okay, good, because, I mean, you were seriously drunk off your ass, and after the way you were talking - ”

“Lance,” Keith cut him off. “Could you not right now? My head hurts.”

“Oh, right, yeah.” Lance took a bite out of his breakfast before continuing, “You know, I think orange juice is supposed to be really helpful for hangovers. I know we don’t have that here, but we do have some fruits around that are kinda citrus-y, so maybe you should eat one of those?”

Keith side as he dropped his plate into the sink. “No offense, Lance,” he said, “But I am really not in the mood to hear any advice from you this morning, okay?”

Lance froze with the fork halfway to his mouth for another bite and stared as Keith turned to leave. “Huh? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

But Keith was already stomping out of the kitchen without giving him an answer.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

It wasn’t until after training that Lance was able to try to pick up his conversation with Keith. After breakfast Keith had holed himself up in his room, and Lance wasn’t quite concerned enough with Keith’s current attitude toward him to pursue him there. Keith showed up in the middle of lunch, when all the paladins were already assembled, and didn’t participate in the meal proper, instead just grabbed a couple of energy bars and retreated again, not speaking to anyone.

At first Lance wondered if this meant he was being a grump toward the whole team, not just him, but training that afternoon suggested otherwise. None of the paladins were at peak performance today, Keith especially, but they were all still engaged in the exercises. So there was no reason that Keith should have been avoiding eye contact with Lance at all costs, and he seemed to be in an unusual hurry to pair up with anyone besides him to run partner drills.

It was lucky that Lance had even managed to corner Keith after training, and he bet that he probably had the lingering hangover to thank for the fact that Keith had taken so long to rehydrate himself with water pouches, making him to leave the deck. And Lance was waiting for him.

“What is your deal?” he asked, cutting right to the chase the moment Keith set foot in the hall.

Keith blinked tiredly at him. “My deal?” he repeated. “I don’t have a deal.”

“Yeah, you do,” Lance said. “You’ve been being weird toward me all day. You mad at me or something?”

Keith’s face hardened into a glare. “Lance, I need to go take my shower.”

“Unh-uh,” Lance said, sticking his arm out to block Keith’s path as he made to go around him. “You are mad at me, aren’t you? What gives?”

Keith crossed his arms and said nothing.

“It has nothing to do with this morning,” Keith growled.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s - it’s last night.”

Lance took a breath. “Ah. Right.” He tilted his head at Keith, who was suddenly making it a point to keep his gaze toward his feet. “Listen, you, uh, you don’t need to worry about me blabbing about all your - all that, um - ” He waved his hand uncertainly. “All the stuff you were saying last night. I know you’re, uh, not really the sharing type, and - and people tend to let their guards down when they’re drunk. So, if you were worried I was going to tease you for crying on me or something, well, don’t worry. I’m a bigger person than that, you know? And, um, and I guess it’s understandable for you to be stressing about those things…”

He cleared his throat. “But, I mean, that’s no reason to be getting mad at me, right? Like, I hadn’t even done anything, so if you just assumed that I was gonna give you a hard time for it, that’s really more on you. And besides, you were the one who started pouring his heart out in the first place, it’s not like I coerced you or anything. It’s not worth getting mad at, you know?”

“That’s not what I’m mad about,” Keith said.

“Okay, well, then what else could you possibly - ?”

Keith finally looked back up, staring Lance dead in the eye with a sudden cold intensity. “Why did you lie to me?”

Lance frowned. “What do you - ?”

“You told me my team was coming back,” Keith growled. “Why the fuck would you say that?”

“... Shit,” Lance said, reaching up a hand to scratch at the back of his neck under the gorget of his armor. “You, uh, you remember that too?”

“Yeah,” Keith grunted.

“I hadn’t, uh, hadn’t thought that - that you would - I mean, you were totally wasted, man, and you were kinda off in your own little world there. I really didn’t think anything I said was gonna stick.”

“Well, apparently I’m better at remembering things than the rest of you,” Keith said. “Think that should be a given, after everything.”

Lance was about to fire back with his usual retort, a reminder that, no, it had nothing to do with the rest of the team not ‘remembering’ things that hadn’t happened, but for once he held his tongue. Now wasn’t the time, and Keith was already pissed at him. No need to fan the flames. “Okay, look, I hadn’t meant to upset you or anything, but in my defense - ”

“No, no, no ‘in my defense’. I’m really not in the mood for excuses right now, Lance.”

Lance scowled. “It’s not an excuse, it’s a reason! You were having a whole breakdown over missing ‘your’ team.” He held up his fingers in air quote marks. “And you were all upset and weepy and, well, I didn’t know how to console you! You’re not exactly the easiest person to figure out, feelings-wise. So, yeah, I lied, but only because it was the only way I could think of to make you feel better. And it worked, by the way. It got you to calm down and go to sleep.”

“It doesn’t matter what sort of state I was in. You had no right to mess with me like that.”

“I wasn’t messing with you, I was helping you!”

“I don’t want that sort of ‘help’,” Keith snarled. “And it didn’t help. All you did was make waking up again in this hell that much worse by letting me think even for a single, stupid moment that I was out of it.”

“Um, excuse me?” Lance said after a brief, stunned pause. “Since when is living with us and being a part of Voltron ‘hell’?”

Keith winced. “That’s not the part that - ”

“Because if I recall correctly, you wanted to stay here with us, and you wanted to be part of the team, and you wanted to spend time with us, and you wanted us to help you. And we’re doing our best for you, okay? We’re going out of the way to accommodate you and your whole fucked-up situation, and we’re trying to help. I’m trying to help, too! That’s why I actually, you know, stuck around and tried to comfort you and calm you down while you were drunk off your ass - which, by the way, was your own doing. So, okay, fine, maybe I didn’t make the right call, but I was still trying. What the hell else do you want from me?”

Keith said nothing for a moment, just stood with his jaw set stiffly and his eyes sharp and embittered. Finally he growled, “I want you to get out of my way so I can shower.”

With a huff, Lance relented and stepped aside. Keith marched past him, and Lance turned to call after him, “Just so you know, it wouldn’t kill you to be nice. I cleaned up your vomit!” Keith didn’t even turn his head, just stuck his middle finger up before he rounded the corner and vanished from Lance’s sight.

----------------------------------------------------------------

As was to be expected, the meeting that the paladins had to sit through that evening was dull, dry, and seemingly endless. About two dozen planet and organization leaders had videoed in to the conference room to report on their status and current coalition projects, each followed by a discussion on how other allies could benefit from their efforts and assist in future ones.

It was all numbers and logistics, and Lance had initially tried to pass the time by counting dots on the ceiling until Allura elbowed him enough times to finally bring his gaze back to the screens. He didn’t like looking in that direction; he could always see Keith in the periphery of his vision, scowling stiffly and turning away any time Lance tried to make eye contact.

Even after the conference finally wrapped up and people began signing off, they weren’t dismissed to leave. Kolivan had been present at this particular conference, putting in one of the Blade’s rare appearances to the Coalition’s administrative side, and Allura had insisted he stay on the line after the meeting. So even after the conference was over, the paladins had to stick around too for this mini follow-up meeting with the Blade leader.

“All right, Kolivan,” Allura said, nodding toward his screen when it was the only one remaining. “Have you any updates on the quintessence sample we asked you to look into? Olkarian was able to give us information over a movement ago.”

Kolivan let out a little grunt. “We examined the sample. It is different in structure and composition from the quintessence we’ve managed to intercept from Lotor.”

Allura’s shoulders slumped minutely. “Oh… are you certain? It seems likely that - ”

“I would not pass along information to an ally if I was not certain of it,” Kolivan cut her off. “Do you doubt the scientists in my organization?”

“Wha - no, I do not, nor did I mean to suggest anything of the sort,” Allura said, stiffening as she straightened to full height and lifted her chin toward Kolivan. “I was merely confirming. After all, it shouldn’t have taken the Blade of Marmora this long to simply confirm whether or not two quintessence samples were a match.”

It might have been Lance’s imagination the Kolivan’s omnipresent glower deepened - after all, Kolivan had a tendency to look more or less the same regardless of emotion - but he otherwise took Allura’s tone in stride. “Recall, Princess that we have our own tasks and ongoing projects to deal with, in addition to being spread thinner than ever. You cannot expect Voltron and yourself to be our top priority at all times.”

Allura refused to be cowed. “You could have at least communicated to us that you anticipated a delay,” she said. “I did tell our carriers to request you get in touch with any information you obtained from the sample as soon as possible, and Coran has attempted to contact your base multiple times since last we spoke. It is vital for the Voltron Coalition that lines of communication are kept open for us amongst all our allies if we hope to continue working effectively and efficiently.”

“Again, Princess, our priority is not - ”

“One should not limit their organizations’ efforts only to those matters officially deemed ‘top priority’. Not only do you leave no room for nuance, but you also disregard the fact that you and the Blade are not the ones in charge of deciding what is best for the Voltron Coalition. If you cannot be relied upon to take the coalition’s needs into consideration - ”

“I will be more than willing to do so when the coalition’s needs do not put the security of the Blade in jeopardy,” Kolivan said. “As it stands, I will not risk our security in order to make contact with Voltron or any other members of the coalition unless it is absolutely essential.”

That gave Allura pause. She hesitated before saying, “I beg your pardon? Our communications with you have never created any security problems before.”

“This is true,” Kolivan said. “But the Galra army has been cracking down in measures against the Blade of Marmora as of late.” He took a slow breath. “It is… concerning. We have always, of course, been considered enemies of the Galra, but practically since our organization’s inception, any action they took against us, or attempted to take, has been retaliatory in nature. They fight back against us and try to stop our efforts in progress, but they never spent the resources to preemptively seek us out this way. Part of that, I believe, is no doubt due to the defensive measures we’ve put in place to ensure the secrecy of the Blade and its members. Make it difficult and tedious enough for the Galra to try to dismantle us on our own ground, and they won’t deem us worth the trouble, not while we remain small. The Empire, though ostentatious, is capable of being economical.

“But within the last few phoebs, it seems that the Blade has become a more important target to them. The Empire is coming at us in greater numbers, and despite our own efforts to evade detection, there have been instances of them successfully catching us off guard even when Blade operatives were taking no direct action against them. And this includes them making more active efforts to interrupt our communications and transportation lines. I don’t know whether you are aware, but the courier that you sent our way to deliver your quintessence sample was very nearly gunned down just outside the orbit of Sochorix - a location we had previously thought perfectly secret to Empire forces.”

“That… that is troubling,” Allura said. “I hadn’t been aware that the Blade was running into this difficulty. If you had let us know before now - ”

“You would have attempted to bring in other Coalition members to intervene and offer aid,” Kolivan said. “Provided you were even able to convince them to grant aid to an organization run by Galra, this also would have increased our visibility. We did not need that.”

Allura kept her expression steady. “No,” she said. “We would have offered the services of Voltron to take over missions for which you would have wanted to keep the Blade’s presence unknown. We are capable of more than grandiose displays, Kolivan, as my paladins have demonstrated before, and I know better than to try to overrule your methods on the occasions when we work directly alongside the Blade. We have made great efforts on our end to place trust in your organization and its capabilities; Voltron deserves the same from you.”

There was a lengthy, tense pause, and for a moment Lance was sure he was about to hear Kolivan completely chew Allura out. It was a surprise, then, when Kolivan took a deep breath and said, “You are right. My apologies. With our recent efforts to increase security for the Blade, we are on high alert toward all who are not members of the organization, and even among those who are. But it is true that this is no fault of yours.”

“I - I see,” Allura said, and although she hid it well, Lance could see that her eyes were wider than usual, no doubt in surprise that Kolivan had let himself be lectured by her.

“Speaking of your security uptick,” Shiro spoke up. “Has that coincided with this recent crackdown against the Blade by the Empire’s army? Is that why you started putting this measures in place?”

“Not exactly, no,” Kolivan said. “The attacks on the bases that led to me revamping our security measures were surprising, but confined to stationary locations and not indicative of new patterns of offense against us. The increase in raids and the off-site ambushes were more recent.”

“How much more?”

“As best we can pinpoint, the matter began to escalate shortly before my last video contact with Voltron. At the time I hadn’t brought it to your attention, as we of course could not have known yet that the spike of incidents were not anomalous. Now, though…”

“So,” Allura said slowly, “The Galra army started cracking down on the Blade at around the same time as those prison raids we had helped with?” Around the room, eyes flicked toward Keith.

“Yes,” Kolivan said. “And although we’ve no sign as of yet that the correlation is anything but coincidental…”

“I can’t imagine how it could be anything else,” Shiro said.

“Mm.” Kolivan angled his gaze toward Keith. “I notice your guest has joined us for our conference. I take it you no longer feel the need to exercise discretion about your and your allies’ activity around him?”

Allura hesitated as she glanced toward Keith. “We… have been given reason to trust him.”

“Regardless of whether our prison raids are related to any attacks on the Blade,” Shiro said, “I can assure you that Keith is uninvolved.”

“I see.” Kolivan paused, eyes narrowing slightly, before continuing, “I suppose I did promise to trust Voltron’s decisions. If that must extend to your guest, so be it.” He turned back to Allura. “I will keep your offer of assistance in mind. I or one of my officers will be in contact should we be in need of Voltron’s services.”

“Of course,” Allura said with a nod. “We’re happy to help however you need.”

Kolivan nodded back. “Princess. Paladins,” he said by way of a sign-off.

His screen went dark, and finally, they were able to call it a day.

#vldgen #keith #lance #vld fic #voltron fic #my writing #fic: remember me

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revaroniwrites · 6 years ago

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Meat Toboggan, Chapter Two (DantexReader ficlettes)

“Fuck off, Dante.”

He grinned up at you. Cocooned in blankets, the only part of you visible was the top of your head, wild hair sticking out at all angles. It would be adorable, had you not latched yourself to the roof, vines piercing through the ceiling in order to hold yourself up and get further away from Dante’s prying hands.

“Aww. C’mon, Shortstack. You’ve been stuck in the shop for months. Ya gotta’ get out at some point.”

You grumbled something unintelligible before your head poked out from the mound of blankets, glaring daggers down at you house mate.

“Eat shit and die. I’m not leaving, it’s still too dangerous.”

Dante crossed his arms, staring right back up at you. “You’ve gotten better, kid. Haven’t had an episode in what? Six weeks? That’s a hell of a lot better than the shit you pulled when I first found your dumb ass.”

You grunted, remembering how violent and unstable you’d been when Dante first took you under his care. You’d lashed out at every little thing, wrecking his shop and skewering Dante more times than you could count. Almost ate the pizza guy on one occasion as well, and while Dante brushed it off with his usual aloof humour, you’d refused to answer the door ever since. You didn’t even come down from your room anymore, too afraid you’d slip up and hurt someone.

You didn’t like hurting Dante, or anyone for that matter, even if Dante was Sparda’s offspring and healed as quick as you did, the thought of hurting someone who had spent so much time and effort caring for you, bringing you back down to earth after that shit at the mansion, left a sick feeling in your stomach. He’d been trying to get you out of the house for a few days now, insisting the fastest road to recovery would be getting you out and about. Make some friends, see the sights. Be normal for once.

But you were still scared. Being in the shop was safe, Dante was here to stop you if you lost the plot. But the thought of losing your shit in a public space, with no one around to keep you under control was fucking terrifying.

You shook your head, tugging the blankets tighter around you and using the vines to stretch out into something resembling a hammock. “I’m not leaving, old man. You’ll have to drag me out kicking and screaming.”

“Alright.”

Your eyes shot down to him, narrowing in suspicion. “What?”

He shrugged, lips tugging up into a sly grin. “Alright.”

You only had time to let out a small shriek before Dante launched himself from the ground, tearing your vines to the side and wrapping his arms around you. You tried to struggle out of his grip, but the duvet you’d so helpfully wrapped yourself in kept your arms and legs pinned. He landed on the ground and swung you over his shoulder, locking your legs against his chest and holding on for dear life. Your body tried to morph, expanding and contracting, sharp, jutting bones piercing through the fabric of you blanket as you tried to wrestle out of his grasp.

“Let me go you piece of shit!”

Dante grunted as one of those bones sliced along his forearm, blood seeping through and staining the duvet. The smell of blood hit your nose and in an instant your struggling stopped. Fuck. Fucking fuck. You’d gone so long without hurting him and now you went and sliced open his arm in a stupid, childish attempt at getting away from him. Self-loathing washed over you, regret and guilt making you stiffen over his shoulder. You should be mad at him for man-handling you. But you knew, logically, he was just trying to help. And that made you feel so much worse about hurting him yet again.

Dante seemed to notice your shift in mood, and patted the back of your thigh, stopping just as he reached the bottom of the staircase. “Givin’ up already, huh? Thought this’d be more of a challenge.”

“Let me down.” You muttered, voice resigned.

He did, setting you carefully back on the ground and watching as you unwrapped the blanket from your body, concern passing over his expression.

You let the blanket drop to the floor and then grabbed his unhurt arm, tugging him along to the bathroom without saying a word. You sat him down on the lid of the toilet and started rummaging through his stuff. Eventually pulling out a bottle of disinfectant and a bandage.

Dante pursed his lips at the sight of the items. “You don’t gotta do that, y’know. It’ll heal up in a minute.”

You hummed, eyes focused on your task as you carefully wiped away the blood and examined his wound. It was deep, but luckily it didn’t hit an artery. If it were anyone else you figured they’d need stitches. But some medical tape and a bandage were all the half-demon really needed. Or, well, not needed. Technically it’d heal just fine on it’s own, but you couldn’t help that flicker of concern you had about the wound going untreated.

Dante sat still and said nothing more, like a good little patient. He knew when you were in one of your moods and if he picked up anything from living with you the last few months, it was that the amount of guilt and self-loathing eating you up inside almost rivaled his own. You were petrified of your own strength, punishing yourself for fuck ups as simple as cracking a glass ‘cause you put it down too hard, or tearing one of his shirts when trying to get Dante’s attention. Eventually you’d just straight up stopped touching him after you accidentally snapped his wrist trying to tug him into the kitchen to help cook dinner.

This was the first time in at least two months that you’d voluntarily touched him. You fingers were feather light over his forearm, small apologies falling from your lips whenever you thought you put just a little too much pressure on his wound while wiping it down. Dante wished you’d stop worrying about this so much, but he’d spent years of his life seeing himself as a freak, something to be feared and reviled. He knew how you felt, but it didn’t make it any easier trying to break through that solid wall you’d built up around yourself.

Progress was being made, sure. You just touching him was a step in the right direction. Even if it was to treat a wound you yourself accidentally caused. He hated that you were still so afraid of yourself. He’d hoped a day out would show you that you had nothing to fear from yourself, but that’d gone tits up right quick before you even left the house.

He exhaled through his nose as you finished patching him up, fingers lightly dancing over the edge of the bandage to make sure it was secure. You sat in silence a moment, fingers still idly playing with the bandage and eyes intent on what your hands were doing. Dante opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off, voice soft.

“Sorry.” you muttered, “that was a pretty shit move on my half.”

Dante shrugged, lips twisted up in a grin. “Ain’t no thing. Probably shouldn’t have man-handled ya’. But hey,” he winked down at you, eyes soft but full of mischief. “Guess I just can’t keep my hands off you.”

You resisted the urge to skewer him and instead simply scoffed at his playful banter. “Jackass.” You muttered, pulling your hand from him and standing. Dante stopped you before you could move away, hands gently grabbing one of your own. You looked down at him, startled at the sudden contact.

“Look,” he started, sounding uncharacteristically remorseful. He raised his free hand to rub at the back of his neck, eyes flicking away from you. “I’m sorry. If you don’t wanna’ go out, I’m not gonna’ make you. I just thought…” He huffed out a breath and stood. Though he let go of your hand, you were still standing awfully close together. The tight confines of the bathroom forcing you two into each others personal bubbles.

“I thought it’d be good, y’know? Get you outta’ the house, do something normal for once.” He looked back to you, raising his shoulders in a lopsided shrug. “But if you really think you ain’t ready, it’s no pressure.”

Ahh, and now you were feeling even more guilty. The dude was just trying to cheer you up, to make you feel better. Speed up your recovery and re-integration into society. And you’d thanked him by slicing his arm open and calling him a piece of shit. A fucking fantastic house mate you were.

You grumbled under your breath, eyes flicking away from him and backing up until you felt the cool porcelain of the sink seep through your shirt. You crossed your arms over your chest, eyes staring intently at the little patch of grime stuck in one the tiles.

“Get out.” You sighed.

Dante startled, blinking down at you. “Wha-”

“Get out, jackass.” You grabbed one of the towels from the rack and ushered him out the door to the bathroom. “I’m gonna have a shower, and then we’re gonna’ get the fuck out of this dumpster shop.”

You slammed the door on his shocked face, mouth agape and eyes wide. It only took a second, but as you turned around to start tugging off your clothes, you heard Dante’s distinctive ‘whoop!’ from the other side of the door. You could just imagine him pumping his fist in the air in a sign of victory.

You smiled at the thought.

#rev writes #dmc #dmc dante #dante x reader #mt chap 2

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splendidlyimperfect · 5 years ago

Link

Written for Gratsu Bingo/Week; prompt: time [zones]

—–

When Gray’s girlfriend dumps him right before Christmas, he’s stuck with a non-refundable, three-week holiday to Paris. Without another choice, he agrees to go with a stranger - a man who is remarkably charismatic, and a lot cuter than Gray is willing to admit. It’s supposed to be platonic (Gray’s straight, right?), but Paris isn’t called the City of Love for nothing.

Chapter Summary: Gray and Natsu arrive in Paris, but it's more overwhelming than Natsu was expecting.

Chapters (2/?): 1 | 2 Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster Characters: Natsu Dragneel, Gray Fullbuster, Cana Alberona Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Holidays, Vacation, Christmas, Paris (City), Romantic Fluff, Mutual Pining, Holding Hands, First Kiss, Trans Character, Falling In Love, Strangers to Lovers, Romance, Gray thinks he’s straight but he’s not, Natsu falls in love hard, Gray speaks French because reasons, Tumblr: FTLGBTales

-----

Eventually, Natsu falls asleep with his forehead pressed to the seat in front of him. Gray hesitates – he can’t imagine it’s comfortable, so he tugs on Natsu’s shoulder to get him to lean back in his seat. Instead, Natsu mumbles something incoherent and tips sideways, head dropping to Gray’s shoulder.

Heat creeps into Gray’s cheeks as he realizes that his arm is now wrapped around Natsu, and he’s stuck like this unless he wants to push Natsu away and risk waking him up. Which he won’t do, because he’s not an asshole.

Gray ends up half-watching ‘Road to El Dorado,’ and half trying very hard not to focus on the way Natsu’s breathing against him. At some point, Natsu shifts so his face is pressed against Gray’s shoulder and grumbles in his sleep when the armrest digs into his stomach. Gray moves it up and Natsu curls up against him, tossing an arm across his stomach and making a happy, sleepy sound.

Gray’s just making sure Natsu’s comfortable, so he doesn’t throw up. That’s all.

Gray manages to doze off for a couple hours, and eventually wakes up when the captain announces their landing. Natsu, who is almost in Gray’s lap at this point, sleeps through the entire descent with a small smile on his lips. Gray feels bad waking him up from whatever dream he’s having.

“We’re here,” he says softly, nudging Natsu out of his sleep as they taxi down the runway. Natsu grumbles, then sits up slowly and yawns. He looks confused for a second, then his eyes widen, and he quickly looks away from Gray, rubbing at the lines on his cheek from Gray’s sweater.

“Sorry,” he says.

“It’s okay,” Gray says. “You feeling better?”

Natsu nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Can’t believe I was out for the whole flight. You’re pretty comf—” He stops, looking down at his hands. “Uh, pretty nice. For—to let me sleep. On you.”

Continue reading on AO3

“Oh,” Gray says, mind stuck on the fact that Natsu was about to say ‘comfortable.’ “That’s… it’s fine.”

Natsu stretches as best he can in the tiny seat, and when his shirt rides up, it exposes a tattoo on his stomach. Gray can’t quite make it out, but it follows the curve of Natsu’s hipbone down to his—

“It’s a rabbit,” Natsu says, and Gray blinks when he realizes he’s staring. Natsu shuffles in his seat to give Gray a better view of the tattoo – it’s heavily stylized and drawn in bright red and black. “This one’s an otter,” Natsu adds, gesturing to his other hip.

“Um,” Gray says, because he suddenly can’t figure out how his tongue works. “Why, uh… why those? Animals?”

Natsu grins at him, tugging his shirt back down. “They’re trickster spirits from Mi’kmaq folklore,” he explains. “My grampa used to tell me stories about them all the time – I got them when he passed away.”

“Oh,” Gray says. Part of him wants to run his fingers over the dark ink, and he’s not sure why. “That’s, um… good. Not—I don’t mean good that he passed, shit. No, I’m, uh, I’m sorry about that. I just meant the—that’s that cool reason to get them?”

Gray can feel heat creeping into his cheeks and is incredibly glad that he’s good at hiding when he’s blushing.

“Thanks,” Natsu says, and Gray can hear the amusement in his voice. “I’ll have to show you the rest of them later.”

An image of Natsu pulling his shirt off to show Gray the tattoo that curls up his neck and down to his fingers makes Gray’s cheeks burn hotter. “Um,” he says. “Good. Yes. That’s…”

Thankfully he’s cut off by the captain announcing their arrival at the gate, and his embarrassment is quickly replaced by awe.

They’re in Paris.

-----

Paris is enormous.

The airport is loud and bright, and Natsu stares around them at the chaos with a feeling of wonder. Elation overrides the fog of confusion from his nap – as well as the time change – and Gray has to grab his arm several times to keep him from walking into things while he’s looking around.

Everything is perfect until they walk into the Métro station, and they immediately get separated.

Shit. A flash of panic runs through Natsu when he looks behind him and Gray isn’t there – just a crowd of busy people he doesn’t recognize. He calls Gray’s name, but he can barely hear himself over the roar of the crowd and the announcements of departures and arrivals.

Heat creeps up the back of Natsu’s neck as he looks around frantically, trying to find Gray’s dark dreadlocks in the crowd. Gray had put a jacket on when they’d picked up their luggage, but Natsu can’t remember what color it is. Someone shouts behind Natsu and he jumps, fingers tightening around his backpack straps as he’s pushed forward by another scowling figure.

It’s too much. The lights seem brighter than before, and suddenly there’s more people, surging off the train as it pulls to a screeching stop. Everything smells like cigarette smoke and Natsu starts to feel dizzy, trying to suck in a breath as his heart slams against his chest.

“There you are.”

A hand closes around Natsu’s wrist and he’s about to pull away when he realizes it’s Gray. Relief washes over him as he takes a shaky breath, trying to ignore all the people crowding around them.

“Hey, are you okay?” Gray slips his fingers between Natsu’s and pulls him close, reaching out uncertainly with his other hand and squeezing Natsu’s arm. Natsu wants to say yes, but his heart is still pounding, so he just shakes his head and keeps himself as close to Gray as possible.

“C’mon,” Gray says gently, tugging on Natsu’s hand. “This one’s us.”

Gray doesn’t let go of Natsu’s hand, even once they’re standing on the train. Natsu doesn’t miss how he shifts so he’s between Natsu and everyone else, and Natsu presses himself up against the window so he can see where they’re going. Gray squeezes his hand, and Natsu focuses on the feel of Gray’s fingers instead of the sound of a thousand people around them.

They get lost three times before finally making it to their hotel, and when they finally find it and walk inside, Natsu lets out a huge sigh of relief. He lets go of Gray’s hand and sets his backpack on the floor, then leans against the check-in counter to keep his balance.

“We’ll be in the room soon,” Gray says, and the gentle cadence of his voice keeps Natsu grounded. Embarrassment creeps into his cheeks. He should have known better and taken an Ativan before getting off the plane, but he’d been too excited and still up on the high of his inconvenient crush on Gray.

“Sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’s okay,” Gray says. He touches Natsu’s arm, leaving his hand there awkwardly for a second before nodding and turning to the woman at the counter.

Natsu closes his eyes and takes several deep breaths. The relief of being away from the crowds and in a near-empty building expands in his chest, and with each exhale, he lets go of a bit more of the anxiety. He’s okay. He’s safe.

Gray and the woman at the check-in desk talk in the background as Natsu pulls out his phone to check the time. 8:37 p.m. Natsu’s pretty sure that’s around four in the morning back home. Even after the nap on the plane, he’s exhausted, and his neck is still sore from the awkward way he’d leaned on Gray. Not that he’s complaining, because waking up with Gray’s arm wrapped around him and his face pressed into the crook of Gray’s neck had been both embarrassing and incredibly comfortable.

“Tu n’as pas d’autre chambres?”

Gray’s question pulls Natsu out of his daydream and he frowns, looking over at the computer screen. The woman has the reservation pulled up and is pointing to the words Aucun Changement printed in large letters at the top of the screen.

“No change,” she says, shaking her head.

Gray sighs, looking over at Natsu. “I, uh… they can’t change the room,” he explains, cheeks flushing pink. “It’s, um… well, I booked it with my ex, so—”

“Seulement un lit, hein?” Natsu guesses. Gray’s eyes widen in surprise and Natsu grins at him. “Pas de problème,” Natsu adds. “T’es chanceux, je ne ronfle pas.”

Gray stares at Natsu for a few seconds before slowly nodding and turning back to the woman. “D’accord,” he says, reaching out for the keys. The woman looks between the two of them and for a second, Natsu thinks she might say something. But she shrugs, then reaches under the desk and pulls out two keycards, handing one to each of them.

“Cinquième étage,” she says, pointing down the hallway at the elevator. “Bienvenue à Paris!”

-----

As soon as they walk into the hotel room, Natsu drops his suitcase on the floor and flops face-first onto the bed. He mumbles something unintelligible into the duvet, then hums happily as he kicks off his shoes and shimmies up toward the pillows. Gray stares at Natsu’s ass for a few seconds before realizing what he’s doing and looking away.

He’s never thought about dating a guy before, but Natsu’s starting to make it look pretty damn appealing. Or maybe it’s just Natsu. Either way, something’s going on, and Gray’s not sure how to feel about it.

“Are you okay?” he asks as he sets his suitcase on the side table. He can see the lights of the Eiffel Tower out the window, but he ignores them and sits down on the edge of the bed instead. Seeing Natsu’s panic on the Métro had been unsettling.

“Mm.” Natsu rolls over, rubbing his face and peeking up at Gray. His cheeks are still a bit red, but that could just be from the cold. “Sorry.”

“No, I didn’t mean for you to apologize,” Gray reassures him. “You just seemed pretty freaked out.”

Natsu makes a face. “I just get kinda overwhelmed sometimes? By crowds and stuff. I usually take something for the anxiety, but I wasn’t expecting that many people. Which is stupid, ‘cause it’s, y’know, Paris.”

“I’m not a huge fan of crowds either,” Gray admits, pulling his legs up onto the bed and tucking them under him. “We’ll just have to make sure we go to places when they’re not busy.” It takes a second for him to realize what he’s said, and he immediately feel his cheeks getting hot. “That’s—if you wanna go to things. With me, I mean. You don’t have to, we can just – I mean, I don’t know what you wanna do, but you don’t have to feel obligated to—”

“Gray.” Natsu reaches over and pokes his thigh. “You’re babbling.” He gives Gray a grin that shows off the tips of his pointy incisors. “Of course I wanna do stuff with you. That’s why we came here.”

“…oh.”

A silence falls between them, but it isn’t awkward like Gray was expecting.

“Sorry about earlier,” he says eventually. “I, uh, didn’t realize you spoke French.” The shock of hearing Natsu speak perfect French with a slight, unfamiliar accent had done funny things to Gray’s stomach, but he’s fairly certain he’s over it now.

Natsu pushes himself up and tugs off his sweater. His shirt rides up again, showing off the tattoos on his hips and one up his ribs, and the funny feeling in Gray’s stomach immediately resurfaces.

“Yeah, I’m Métis,” Natsu says after he’s untangled his arms. “I speak a bit of Mi’kmaq too, with my grandma, but she’s getting pretty old, so she doesn’t remember much.”

“What about your parents?” Gray asks. He shifts to the side as Natsu tosses his hoodie over the edge of the bed, and when Natsu resettles, their knees touch.

“My n’mi – grandma – raised me,” Natsu replies, neatly dodging the question. Gray’s tempted to ask but doesn’t want to pry. “What about you? Is your family French?”

“One of my moms is Québecois,” Gray replies. “My other mom immigrated from Lebanon a couple years before I was born.”

“Sweet! Do you speak Arabic, too?”

Gray nods.

He’s surprised by how easy it is to fall into casual small talk about their lives. Gray learns that Natsu has an estranged older brother, and a little sister that he helped to raise. He’s taking the Indigenous Social Work program at McGill University in Montréal, he loves RuPaul’s Drag Race, he has a cat named Happy, and he has seventeen tattoos.

Gray doesn’t contribute much to the conversation, just listens and watches as Natsu tells his stories. Natsu never stops moving – his gestures are as wide as his smile, and he gives small touches as he talks. Sometimes he nudges Gray’s knee, other times he taps the back of Gray’s arm or rests his hand on Gray’s thigh to emphasize a point. Each time the touch feels electric, and Gray finds himself shifting closer so that Natsu will do it more often.

As the sun sets and the room fills with a golden glow, Natsu flops back onto the pillows, and eventually Gray joins him, trying to keep his cheeks from burning when Natsu’s ankle ends up resting over his. When they both finally fall asleep – still fully dressed – the warmth of Natsu’s fingers on his arm makes Gray feel more comfortable than he has in a long, long time.

#fairy tail #ftlgbtales #gratsubingo2019 #gratsu #ftlgbtfics #gray fullbuster #natsu dragneel #prmopt: time #fanfic #prompt #fluff #my fic

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rezares · 5 years ago

Text

Father || War & Peace

@spindlesandrosethorns

Reading order of posted threads:

Spill The Tea (August 22, 2019)

Bullshit Cover Story (November 10, 2019)

Bullshit Detective (November 10, 2019)

Wildcard (November 10, 2019)

Word Count: 6281

Date: November 10th, 2019

tl;dr: Rory and Reza arrive in Tunisia, Rory meets Reza’s best friend Hamdi and Reza’s dad! His dad is adorable. 10/10 would die for Abdelmajid.

REZA

And so Aurora had gotten her way and come with him to Tunisia. He was pissed, but didn’t want to express it. Didn’t matter whether he wanted her to be there or not because she was there now. Not like he could afford to buy her a one way ticket back to England.

Not like Aurora’d even get on the plane even if he could and did buy her one.

The plane touched town in Tunis, the capital city, about five hours after it took off from London. They finally made it to his home city of Hammamet an hour later when the train from Tunis pulled into the station. As pissed as he was at Rory, he couldn’t act mad even if he wanted to. The closer they got to Hammamet, the more Reza bounced his legs, full of nervous excitement.

Even if he was here for one reason (that being murder) he was home! Home home, not fake, Swynlake home, or his mother’s house in Austria. Tunisia! He hadn’t seen his country in five years, and, more importantly, his father.

“Hamdi should be waiting out front to give us a lift to my father’s house.” Reza said, bolting up as soon as passengers were given the clear to exit the train.

AURORA

Aurora was fully aware Reza was pissed at her. It was hard to miss; she wouldn’t even need to be a sorceress to feel the tension and frustration in the air. Thankfully their seats weren’t directly next to each other, so they couldn’t fight on the flight over. Instead, Aurora had gotten some work done on her laptop for the store and spent the rest of the trip either knitting or napping. By the time they landed in Tunis, she was feeling refreshed and ready to face the rest of the trip.

And her master’s temper.

Fun times.

Or at least, that had been what she had expected. The reality was Reza was so excited to be home that he practically ignored her. She didn’t mind, she was plenty distracted herself by the scenery passing by. Tunisia was beautiful, and Aurora found herself smiling widely as she looked eagerly out the train window.

It was only Reza’s voice that brought her back to the present, and she had to hold back a snort of amusement as he shot to his feet. He was like a big, excitable puppy. “I’m sure he’s waiting for our luggage too,” she said with no small amount of amusement. “Better be sure to grab that before you launch yourself through the door, hm?” She gathered up her own travel bag, slinging it across her chest.

REZA

“I- I- psh- I don’t bolt-” Reza sputtered, before grabbing his bag. Rory’s teasing was immediately forgotten though, because the train doors were opening and Reza was McFucking home for the first time in half a decade and he was so excited to stick his feet in desert and ocean sand and to eat Tunisian food that wasn’t made in his kitchen with subpar European bought ingredients.

Only briefly did he remember that plenty of people in his country wanted him dead. It wasn’t enough to dampen his excitement about coming home.

“Smell that? That’s the smell of the most beautiful, most vibrant, the best country on earth. America who? I don’t know her. The ocean breeze, the spices from restaurants, welcome to Hammamet.” The older sorcerer said, grinning and gesturing around them as they made their way through the train platform. “Or at least, the train station.”

Rory probably couldn’t smell the city yet anyway. It was just a strong memory of his coming back full force.

“I haven’t seen my country in five whole years. Five, can you imagine? I wonder how much my old neighborhood has changed or if my father has finally redecorated.” Reza turned to Aurora for the first time since the airport and smiled. “I haven’t seen him in five years either.”

AURORA

‘I don’t bolt’ said He Who Bolts as he raced out of the train, and Aurora could only laugh as she gathered her own luggage and followed him at a more reasonable speed. Her own laughter sounded almost foreign to her, and she grew a little more somber when she remembered how little she had heard it in the past several months. If she did laugh, it was usually followed by hysterical sobbing, but not this time. No pressure breaking, no floodgate opening. Just… genuine laughter.

On one level, it was more than a little annoying that the only person who could make her laugh was the same man who had stolen that laughter from her. On another, it just… it felt good. Even knowing what they had come to Tunisia to do.

Aurora caught up with Reza easily, following and ducking so his gesturing arms didn’t smack her in the face. She couldn’t quite smell exactly what Reza was describing yet, but that didn’t stop her excitement. Afterall, she was her mother’s daughter, and the humidity and heat in the air only made her feel at home.

Reza turned to smile at her and her cheeks blushed in reply, the young woman cursing the fact that she couldn’t hide behind her curls when they were (mostly) all up in one of her mom’s old silk wraps. She decided to ignore it, instead giving him a small grin back as she followed a few steps behind. “Well then I’m glad we’re back so you can see each other again!” she said earnestly. Again, not why they came, but a bonus.

It had been a while since she’d seen Reza smile that wide. He deserved this moment of happiness.

REZA

“You know, it was my father who made me-” go to Austria for medical care, he was going to say, but that was when he was cut off by a shout in his native language.

“Hey, ugly! Who let you back in the country?”

Thunk. Something hit him in the head but it wasn’t heavy at all. Reza fumbled to catch it as it fell after connecting with him - pap, pap, pap went his hands against what he figured was cardboard - until he had it turned right to read it.

Written in Hamdi’s god-awful handwriting was ‘welcome home Reza the dumbass’, featuring less awful doodles clearly done by Hamdi’s wife. Reza grinned wide at the message before looking up just in time for Hamdi to charge him and leap into his arms like the dramatic reunion scene in a romcom.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, you know my back isn’t what it used to be- ah! I hate you so much.”

“I missed you toooooo, my idiot best friend.” Hamdi, a man only five inches shorter than Reza, said, wrapping his legs around his waist and kissing his cheek. “Europe’s turning you white, you’re pale now. How gross.”

“Take that back.”

Hamdi snorted and signaled for Reza to let him down, which the older man did. Quickly. Like he was trying to drop the other on his ass (because he was.)

“Okay, speak English now. My intern-” because he can’t just say apprentice “-isn’t from here.”

“Is she Ethiopian? I can still BS Amharic.”

“Scottish.”

“No way. Hey, hey uhhh, woman - ma’am. Say something. This clown here’s saying you’re Scottish.” Hamdi laughed, gesturing to Reza with his thumb while grabbing the bag Reza’s dropped when he charged at him with his other hand.

Reza gave Rory an apologetic smile. He should’ve prepared her for the experience that was Hamdi Ben Ahmed. In his defense, could any amount of words prepare someone for Hamdi, though? Trick question.

The oldest of the three sorcerers swiped Rory’s bag and carried it in the direction of Hamdi’s car.

AURORA

Aurora had been listening intently to Reza when he got hit in the back of the head by a flying piece of cardboard. She gasped, immediately spinning on her heel with a glare to find whoever had thrown it at him. What the hell!? Back in the country for less than an hour and they were getting things thrown at them!?

Her eyes landed on the man with the outstretched arm, and only the radiant joy that was pooling off him kept her from snatching the sign from Reza and throwing it back with all her might.

When he sprinted at them, she nearly threw a punch instead. But Reza was grinning, so Aurora decided this was probably a reunion she was witnessing instead of an attack. The man threw himself at Reza and Aurora yelped in surprise, quickly moving to brace Reza's back before his knee dropped them both to the ground.

When they were both safely on their feet again, Aurora peeked out from behind Reza and watched them converse in rapid Tunisian curiously. She stepped out to his side once again just in time to have both their attentions turned to her.

She blinked at him owlishly before her eyes narrowed, lips pursed in annoyance for a flicker of a moment before she gave him her sunniest, most innocent smile. "Aye, lad, that I am!" Aurora said in her thickest, most unintelligible Scottish brogue. "I'm the only black lass who’s ever lived in Scotland! Ever! Name's Aurora, pleasure to meet ya!"

Still smiling, she raised her middle finger to them both before she looked at Reza with a deadpan expression. "You know," she said, accent back to normal levels of Incredibly Scottish, "I used to like my accent."

REZA

Reza snorted a laugh as Rory went Scottish Extreme, and nearly doubled over at Hamdi’s stunned expression. The silk wrap had him pin her as obviously from the African continent. Scotland? Scotland?

Yeah, Reza would’ve been shocked too, if he was hearing her accent for the first time while she was dressed like a Nigerian tourist visiting Tunisia’s beaches.

“Oh hush, I like your accent.” Reza assured her. “Hamdi, how’s Dorsaf?”

“Ask her yourself, she’s in the car. Swollen ankles. Told her to just stay home but she was excited to see you.”

“Her sacrifice is noted. When is she due?”

“Uhhh, mid-February. She’s started nesting early this time.” Hamdi lamented as they neared the car, shaking his head and clicking his tongue. “Did Rafika—”

Hamdi suddenly remembered Aurora and...wasn’t entirely sure she was just his friend’s student. Probably not best to ask about his baby mama’s pregnancy in front of her. Luckily, Reza saved him.

“Y’allah, you always ask me about pregnancy even though you have more children than me. Calm down, habibi.�� Reza clapped him on the back and affectionately played with his curly hair.

“Oh, I’ve weighed the merits of spiking his tea with Xanax.”

Reza whirled around on his heel toward the voice — a very pregnant Dorsaf Ben Ahmed, and almost dropped Rory’s bag in surprise. Dorsaf was just as radiant as ever, and gave off the same warm, calming energy she always had even after five years.

He pulled her into a side hug and kissed her cheek in greeting. “I’m glad you told Hamdi to shove his concern to come along.”

“Think I’d miss the return of a legend? Nah. We will have you for dinner before you leave for sure.” Dorsaf joked, flipping her braid over her shoulder. “Who’s this, your girlfriend? Hi. I’m Dorsaf, Hamdi’s my husband. We grew up with Reza.”

Dorsaf, a medium, tried very hard to ignore how fucked up Aurora’s aura looked.

“Oh no, no. This is Aurora, my apprentice. She’s brilliant and terrifying when she’s angry, and Sabiha’s favorite aunt.”

AURORA

He did not like her accent; he covered his ears when she talked for too long! Aurora scrunched her nose and stuck her tongue out at him before following after the two to the car. She almost missed most of the conversation, instead busy looking around at Hammamet curiously. It really was a gorgeous town, the skies bright and clear for their arrival.

The second reunion went much smoother than the first, if only because Dorsaf didn’t throw anything at them. Aurora greeted her with a smile, giving her a small wave as Reza introduced her. Her cheeks went a little red at the assumption they were dating, but honestly, it wasn’t the first time it had happened.

She rolled her eyes at Reza’s description of her, stepping forward so she could shake Dorsaf’s hand. “At least this time he led with ‘brilliant’,” she grumbled jokingly. “It’s wonderful to meet you both.”

REZA

Dorsaf shot Reza a glare. “What do you usually lead with, you bastard?” She said after she shook Aurora’s hand. “Poor Aurora, you must be a saint for tolerating him. He’s a genius sorcerer but needs a Baby’s First guide to human interaction.”

She motioned for them to get in the car.

“Should only be about a ten minute drive to Reza’s dad’s.” Hamdi said, popping the trunk to stuff their bags in. “But six since I’m driving.”

“Hamdi, if you kill me I will haunt you.” Reza quipped.

Dorsaf snorted and settled into the front passenger seat as Rory and Reza climbed in the back. She turned around in her seat to face them and raised an eyebrow, addressing Reza in their native language.

“What’s brought you back to Tunisia anyway? I thought you were gone for good.”

“Me too.”

“Do you think it’s safe for you?”

“Doubt it.”

“Then why?”

“...tying up a loose end.”

A tense silence fell between the two as the color drained from Dorsaf’s face and her eyes bore into the older man’s goddamned soul. She closed her eyes and sighed, hand coming to rest over her baby bump as she simply shook her head.

“You’re going to die trying to right a wrong that wasn’t yours in the first place.”

“Isn’t it, though?”

Dorsaf bit her lip, then as if suddenly remembering Aurora was there, slapped back on her warm, tour guide smile. “Reza mentioned you were Sabiha’s favorite aunt now, yes? How is our baby doing? We all miss her terribly.”

“Reza was the first of our friend group to have a child.” Hamdi explained.

“Mm, but the only one never married.” Dorsaf added.

“Marriage is just another piece of paper I’d lose track of.” Reza said. “And who would I marry anyway?”

“You turned down marriage propositions left and right from heads of sorcerer families, what do mean ‘who?’” Hamdi shot back.

“Are we done talking about my marital status?” Reza asked. “You asked Rory about Sabiha, Dorsaf?”

AURORA

“Oh, don’t worry. I annoy him plenty, it evens out,” Aurora said with a small chuckle. She already liked Hamdi and Dorsaf, she had decided. But then, Aurora liked most people.

She climbed into the backseat with Reza, rolling her eyes at the two men’s banter as she got settled. As they began speaking in Tunisian again, Aurora watched the scenery fly by with wide eyes, knowing that even trying to keep up with the conversation now was a lost cause. She only looked back when Dorsaf addressed her in English again.

At the mention of Sabiha, Aurora almost automatically sat up straighter, smiling widely. But as the trio began their back and forth, Aurora wilted a bit again; her conversation with Reza the night of prom still fresh in her mind. She shouldn’t be lighting up at the mention of her sorcery master’s daughter, she shouldn’t feel so proud of her accomplishments.

(The bright, warm lights that had popped up around her head like fairy lights immediately fizzled and died out like little candles blown out by a careless wind, and the fracturing across her chest deepened and spread.)

“She’s doing good,” Aurora said, trying to sound casual. “Um, she’s back at school again, so that’s going well! And she was in our town’s play this last summer. She played Young Cosette.”

REZA

Hamdi saw the reagent appear then fade away just as quickly in the rear view. He knew Reza did too. The younger sorcerer shot the older a brief glare meaning - what did you do to make that happen? Which Reza saw but ignored.

“And how has she settled into England? Reza nearly broke his back to pay for private English tutoring but she struggled. She never had an English speaker at home to help her study.” Dorsaf said, frowning. “I miss her.”

“We all love his little girl so much,” Hamdi explained. “The lot of us got to watch her grow up. Sabiha was the first child born to any of the squad and we all just adored and spoiled her.”

AURORA

“She’s picking English up really well! Doing the play helped, and she’ll talk with my regulars in English so she gets some extra practice,” Aurora explained. “As for how she’s settled? Um, there’s good and bad days. More good than anything else now, at least.”

Aurora missed her too, like a fucking limb. She had texted Sabiha as soon as they had landed, letting her know they had made it safe and sound, although she was purposefully vague about where exactly they were. But Sabiha wasn’t hers to miss. So she buried that too.

“Didn’t spoil her too badly, she’s the sweetest wee thing I’ve ever met,” she said softly. Her hands tangled together in her lap. “What about you?” she asked. “Reza mentioned earlier you two have kids now as well?”

REZA

“Yes! We have six, or will, once this one is born.” Dorsaf said, rubbing her baby bump and grinning. “Reza actually was the first person to ever hold our first four besides us. He helped out a lot with our first daughter.”

“You say that, but all I did was give you Sabiha’s hand me downs for Awatef and tell you both to stop panicking.” Reza supplied.

“Hamdi grew up an only child, and I come from a big family, so we both wanted to just make babies until we finally had enough.” Dorsaf continued. “We have three sons and two daughters, and this will be our third daughter.”

Reza’s jaw dropped, his face absolutely lighting up. “A girl!? Hamdi didn’t tell me it was a girl! I’m sure Awatef and Maysoon are excited to not be outnumbered anymore.”

“Oh, thrilled. Dorsaf and I can hardly keep them from asking every day ‘Baba can you tell Mama to have the baby now?’”

Dorsaf pulled out her phone and quickly got to a photo of their five children in traditional Tunisian clothing at some kind of festival. “Our oldest is Awatef, she is five years old. We wanted to have another right away to get a good start on our big family, so our first son, Noureddine is also five, he’s ten months younger than Awatef. Maysoon and Haudar are twins, they are four and are actually almost exactly a year younger than Noureddine. Reza actually named Haydar because Hamdi and I couldn’t stop arguing so we made him decide. Najm is our fifth, he just turned one. Now we are just waiting for Yosra to come.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure you already have the conception date for number seven on the calendar.” Reza joked.

“How’d you know?” Dorsaf joked and the same time Hamdi snorted “Fuck you, pal.”

“Not like you're much better,” said the sorcerer making eye contact with Reza in the rearview. “Mr. I Hate Kids one minute then the next you’re like ‘I want eight more immediately’ after you have one.”

AURORA

Aurora listened closely to the two as they talked about their family, the small, polite smile on her face hiding the hole that had opened up in her chest. Asking about kids was always a hit or miss for her, and lately? Mostly misses. As she looked at the photo, she ached with longing. She wanted that so much; wanted a family of her own.

Every day that dream felt further and further away.

At least this pain she was well practiced in hiding, and she turned her smile onto Dorsaf. “They’re all so beautiful,” she said softly. “Hopefully they take after their mother,” she joked, giving Hamdi her most innocent smile.

REZA

“See? I told you I’m the hot one in this marriage.” Dorsaf said, sticking her tongue out at Hamdi.

Hamdi opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by Reza going ‘almost home, almost home!’ in Arabic. The younger sorcerer locked eyes with Reza in the rearview and smiled.

The car wasn’t even in park before Reza tore off his seatbelt and scrambled out of the car, damn near getting his foot run over by the back tire. Did he give a damn? Nope, not one single damn. He tore down the little alleyway that led to the staircase to his father’s second floor apartment.

His father had clearly been watching out the window because Reza was halfway up the stairs when his father threw open his door and shouted ‘The prodigal son returns! Come here, come, come!’

Reza hugged his father so tight his heels came up off the ground. “Baba, I’ve missed you so much- have you shrunk?”

“Hold your tongue or your apprentice gets the bigger bedroom and you’re sleeping on the stairwell.”

Reza laughed wetly, as he’d started to tear up. “Y’allah, this is embarrassing.”

“I know, son. I am a sight to behold.”

“Sh-shut up.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” His father asked, switching to French, as he was warned Rory spoke French but not Arabic.

“Oh. Oh, right, yes. Baba, Rory. Rory, Baba. Er, Abdelmajid Kasraoui.”

AURORA

Aurora let out a sound somewhere between a yell of shock and a squeak when Reza jumped out of a moving car. She at least waited until it stopped before popping out, sighing when she was sure he was okay. Dorsaf and Hamdi were both laughing, and Aurora shook her head fondly as she stepped the rest of the way out. “Give me like two minutes and I’ll be back for our luggage,” she told them before closing the door and following Reza, albeit at more of a trot instead of a flat-out run.

By the time she made it to the stairwell, Reza and an older gentleman were already hugging on the stairs, and her battered heart went soft at the sound of Reza’s wet laughter and brilliant smile. She stood, hands clasped, on the sidewalk until she heard his father begin to speak in French. She perked up curiously, before trotting up the stairs to greet the other half of the Kasraoui-Muller duo.

“It’s so wonderful to meet you,” she returned in French with a bright smile. “I’m Aurora.”

REZA

Abdelmajid didn’t know where his son got his height from. At 5’7 he stood nine inches shorter than Reza, and he swore he was shrinking with age. He stood on his toes to playfully smack his giraffe of a son upside the head.

“How dare you not tell me you were bringing a friend until the last minute, son! Do you know how much more cleaning I would have done yesterday if you told me you were bringing a pretty young lady into my home? Tsk, baba, so inconsiderate.” But the older man’s words were softened by the love in his eyes.

He waved his hand at Reza. “Go grab your bags so Hamdi and Dorsaf can enjoy the rest of their kid-free day. I’ll finish up dinner. Early dinner. The cooking I did to keep still.”

Reza gestured to the car with his head. “I’ll grab everything. You go ahead inside, Rory. Put your feet up.” He gently pat her shoulder. “You must be tired.”

He scurried downstairs and grabbed the four bags - one carry-on per person plus one personal item. After a back-and-forth of Reza offering Hamdi money and Hamdi refusing, Reza insisting and Hamdi refusing still, Reza really truly insisting and Hamdi simply not being able to take Reza’s money, and Dorsaf swiping it from Reza’s hand because she would gladly take Reza’s money, thanks, he hurried back upstairs.

“Baba, it smells like you’ve been cooking enough food for Eid. How early did you start?”

“5:30.”

“Y’allah! Do you never sleep?”

“How can I, when my children and precious granddaughter are so far away?”

“Whose decision was that? You practically deported us from our own country.”

“And it wasn’t easy for me either, baba. But you survived, you can walk, and you are even part of your town’s government. You could not have had that life here.”

Reza was silent for a long moment. He set down their bags and sat down on a couch adjacent to Aurora. “We’re being rude to Aurora, speak French, baba.”

AURORA

Aurora smothered a snort of amusement as Abdelmajid reached up to smack Reza upside the head. She was content to stand back and let the two have the uninterrupted reunion she knew Reza had been wanting and expecting before she had invited herself along.

She blinked owlishly at her master as he patted her shoulder before almost pouting at him. She wasn’t a child, she could manage a five hour flight and a train ride. She trotted down the stairs a little after him so she could wave good bye to Dorsef and Hamdi enthusiastically before she followed Reza’s father into his house. “I really am sorry to intrude,” she said in French, giving him a shy smile before Reza came back in. Then, it was back to Tunasian and Aurora was left to look around the room on her own. She took it all in with wide eyes, fascinated by the tidy little home. Something in the air smelled wonderful, and she took a slow breath through her nose as her eyes drifted closed.

Her head whipped around when she heard her name mentioned, some of the curls that had escaped her wrap bouncing against her skin. “Oh, no, don’t worry about me!” she said quickly, waving her hands. “I was the one who invited myself. You two take your time catching up.”

REZA

“It’s fine,” Reza assured her in English. “We’ll catch up when you eventually knock out.”

He winked at her before turning his head to his father, and in the language only they understood, “Baba, mention needing a new scarf in front of Aurora while she’s here and she’ll jump to knit you one. She’s made all of Sabiha’s scarves and hats for the winter.”

“I can’t ask a favor of a guest!”

“She will insist on repaying you for the hospitality, knitting is her go-to. But she’s not familiar with the climate here and probably doesn’t know it can get chilly enough on winter nights for a scarf. I’m telling you this for her sake, not yours.”

Reza knew Rory by now. She’d fret over how to thank Abdelmajid for hosting her without a strategically placed scarf comment.

“Anyway,” he switched to their one mutual language. “My dad’s a better cook than even I am— and much better than my sisters. You’ll refuse to eat my cooking again after his.”

“Speaking of your sisters,” Abdelmajid said, the sadness in his voice evident. “How are they? Are they really well?”

“Yes, baba. Lamia and Rory are actually best friends so she probably knows more than me. Fadela is as bitchy as usual, and stays alive by absorbing the tears of every man she meets.”

“Good girl, I raised her right.”

AURORA

Although she couldn’t be certain, Aurora was pretty sure that Reza had just been talking about her to his dad in Tunasian, the brat, and she narrowed her eyes at him with a pout. She was long used to Reza and his sisters talking about her to her face in a language she could never hope to understand, but that didn’t make it any less annoying. At least wait until she was out of the room!

Her pout faded at the mention of food, the young apprentice perking up with a smile. She had developed quite a taste for Tunisian food after spending nearly a year having dinner with Reza’s family at least once a week. She hadn’t come for the food, but she was certainly going to enjoy it. “Please, where else am I going to get my fix?” she joked. “You’ve seen my attempts at cooking Tunisian food; I will take what I can get.”

She snorted at the mention of Fadela, but nodded. “I’ve got pictures!” she said happily. “You have very photogenic children, sir,” she joked.

REZA

“Where el— yallah. Where else?” Reza said, mock offended, pressing a hand to his chest. “As if you eat anything but Tunisian food some weeks with all the leftovers Sabiha dutifully packs up for you.”

He playfully threw an ice cube from his glass of boukha at her.

At his children being called photogenic, Abdelmajid’s ears perked up. “Would you like one? My oldest two will be forty soon and haven’t gotten married, it’s embarrassing.”

“Baba!” Reza gasped, choking on the liquor he was sipping.

“I’m getting old! Even Hamdi got married before you! I want to see you and Fadela at least married before I die.”

“Aish. Always with the guilt trip. I gave you a grandchild, that should be enough. Who wants a daughter-in-law anyway, you already raised two daughters, do you need a third?” Reza mumbled, switching accidentally to Tunisian midway through before mouthing an apology to Rory. “Please. Show him the pictures before he makes his full sales pitch.”

Once his father was good and distracted, Reza put their bags away in their respective rooms, his, in his old bedroom, and Rory’s in the room his sisters shared. He cracked the windows for airflow as the house didn’t have air conditioning, like most homes in Africa, fluffed the pillows in Rory’s room to make sure they were comfortable, and set out several blankets of varying materials and thickness so she could choose her favorite. Should he bring one to the living room in case she needs a sudden nap?

No, he decided, and walked out of the room.

He scurried back into the bedroom to grab a blanket and brought it to the couch, placing it next to where Rory had been sitting without a word.

“So is this less scary than the time you met my mother, Ammah ‘Rora?” Reza joked, coming up behind the two of them.

“You met Ingrid?” Abdelmajid gasped. “You poor thing. Did she interrogate you or go straight to fight?”

“She almost pulled her wand on her, baba.”

“Oh my.”

AURORA

Aurora ducked away from the ice cube with a light giggle, sticking her tongue out at Reza. For a moment, everything felt normal, like the last several months had never happened.

And then Abdelmajid asked if she would like to marry into the family and under her blushing cheeks, her smile froze and strained. Thank god she had worn a shirt that covered her chest. She played it off with a small laugh, reaching for her necklace. "I don't think that'll happen," she said lightly, trying to sound joking and falling ever so slightly flat. Thankfully, Reza offered her the perfect opportunity for a distraction and Aurora quickly pulled out her phone.

She spent the next several minutes next to Reza's father on the couch, showing him all the pictures she had taken over the past two years. Her and Lamia's various outings, Sabiha during rehearsal for Les Mis and hanging out in the shop, she and Fadela pranking Reza during lessons. The whole nine yards. It was enough to help her put her heartache on the back burner.

She glanced up briefly when Reza came back in, doing a double take when she noticed the blanket in his arms before he set it down next to her without a word. A part of her melted, the other part wanted to cry. Why couldn't he just continue to be pissed at her? At least then her heart wouldn't have whiplash.

Aurora's cheeks flushed again as they brought up her first meeting with Ingrid Muller. "In her defense, I didn't make a stellar first impression. I may have kicked in the door while cursing Reza out pretty loudly," she admitted, shrinking a little into the couch.

REZA

Reza hummed thoughtfully and chewed on his lower lip. Aurora was right, sure, but he also could’ve been more clear in his text message that he wasn’t mad at her.

“Meh, it was my fault you were mad enough to storm in the door.” Reza said, shrugging a shoulder.

“And my mother is notoriously trigger happy. Baba’s just a teddy bear, and a much better cook than her. I won’t be able to eat my cooking again after being back home.”

Reza jumped up to sit on the counter. “So what do you want to do while we’re here? We probably have a few days before— ” before Mekki’s location is locked in on and I do some murder “— business. Hammamet is touristy there’s plenty to do. You can ask Baba to go along with you if I ever sleep in.”

AURORA

Aurora still hid her face in her hands at the memory of her meeting Reza's mom, even as he tried to reassure her. It had certainly not been her finest moment.

Once she could look back up, she shrugged bashfully. "I uh, didn't really have time to put together an itinerary, so I honestly don't know," she admitted. She was here for Reza first and foremost, touring the city second. But she did want to explore!

She looked at Abdelmajid with a smile. "What do you think would be good to see?" she asked curiously.

REZA

“You mean you didn’t put together a detailed itinerary while chasing me down at the airport? Get your shit together, ‘Rora.” Reza teased, easily, like being around his father again had erased all of the awkwardness between him and Aurora for the better part of this year.

Reza had said that in English, so Abdelmajid only smiled, as he didn’t quite understand all of that. Instead, he turned to Aurora and responded in French. “Every girl in Hammamet has an Instagram picture of them at the Kasbah with the caption ‘Rock The Casbah.’ It’s historic and overlooks the Mediterranean. I can take you one morning. I took great Instagram pictures for my daughters, my son was always too busy working for Sabiha or fighting for social justice to have very much fun. He’s an all-or-nothing kind of person, unfortunately.”

What was with his family and constantly roasting him in front of Aurora? Fuckin’ hell.

“Have him take you to the Medina of Hammamet, the old town. Its colorful, gorgeous to look at, and the restaurants are nice there. The Musee des Religions is good if you want to learn about the history of Islam, Judaism, and Christianity in Tunisia. Historic mosques...oh! The beaches are beautiful.” Abdelmajid waved a hand dismissively. “Just tell Reza to do whatever you think sounds interesting. Tell him I said to do whatever you say.”

AURORA

In cheerful English that she hoped Abdelmajid really couldn’t understand, Aurora brightly told Reza to “Bite me~.” But she was grinning as she did, more than a little grateful that Reza was happy enough to be home that he forgot he was mad with her / annoyed with her / avoiding her.

Aurora turned her attention back to Abdelmajid, listening curiously and giggling as he casually read his son for filth during his impromptu tourist ad. As the older man went on, his voice took on almost a rhythm, and suddenly Aurora felt lightheaded and tired. Fuck, had she taken her meds? She must have forgotten in the scramble to reach the airport in time to catch Reza.

Without her permission, her head listed to the side, leaning against the back of the couch. Her giggle came out soft and slurred as her eyelids started to drop. “I will,” she murmured, fighting to stay awake. “My mom’s from a beach town. I love the ocean.”

REZA

“Ah, this happens all the time.” Reza explained.

He honestly wasn’t sure how to say the exact word ‘narcolepsy’ in Djerba - the word for Tunisian Arabic - so he did his best to describe it to his father in their native tongue as he moved to scoop up Aurora and the blanket. Abdelmajid seemed to understand and helped Reza adjust the blanket around her.

“I’ll take her to the girls’ old room for a nap. Thank you for cleaning it on such short notice. She all but physically fought her way onto the plane.”

Abdelmajid tried very, very hard not to smack his son upside the head, but alas, his son was just that much of an idiot.

“Ow! Baba?”

Abdelmajid didn’t need to say it, Reza knew. She’s in love with you, you emotionally illiterate jackwagon.

AURORA

She was still awake enough to struggle against being scooped up, but too tired to do more than wiggle a little and whine “Nooooo” in a voice thick and slow with sleep. She was pouting as Reza pulled her into his arms, but that didn’t stop her from letting her head flop against his collarbone as she curled tighter close to him. She wasn’t often awake enough to remember when Reza picked her up, and somewhere in her sleepy mind something soft and warm settled over her.

She felt small and safe and warm, and with one last attempt to thank Abdelmajid for the blanket - which came out more like a Very Scottish Mumble of Sounds - she let herself sink into dark, dreamless sleep.

#rory

1 note · View note

minstrivia · 6 years ago

Note

Heyy i loooveee your writing❤️ was wondering if you could do a smut with Taehyung or Jungkook in where the reader has a date and they get jealous? You can add as much as you want and take away whatever you want haha

thank you so much, i really hope you like this. xx

in which he hates that she’s clueless…

Taehyung’s trying— and failing— to distract himself from the fact that Y/N’s sitting at the table on the other side of the restaurant on a date. A fucking date. It’s such a bold move for her to make, that it has him fuming, not that she knows any better. She’s always been so fucking oblivious to everything and anything, someone could confess their undying love for her and she’ll just laugh it off thinking they were joking.

And Taehyung lays it on pretty thick with her on a daily basis. He’s been shooting down all the other girls that make a pass at him. He hasn’t even fucked anyone in the last month apart from Y/N. That’s why it’s even worse, she let him fuck her and played it off like it was a one-time thing. It wasn’t. Not to him.

Taehyung knew Y/N was going to be here on this date, fuck she’d told him herself. She’d gone on about how her best friend had set up this date with this really nice boy and it only solidified the known fact that Taehyung hates Y/N’s friends. But he never thought she’d actually go through with it, especially since he’d basically told her not to.

So here he is not paying a slither of attention to the girl he’d brought here so he didn’t look like a fucking loner as he kept tabs on Y/N.

“I’m so happy you invited me here,” The girl says. Rosie? Roxie? Rhianna maybe? For the life of him, he can’t remember her name and he doesn’t want to. She’s not Y/N. The girl bites at her lip and flutters her eyelashes at him. “I thought you never knew who I was.”

He hums uninterestedly. Taehyung knows the prick Y/N’s sitting with, fucking Park Jimin, the too nice for his own good class pet, that he and his friends take digs at when they can. Taehyung scoffs. Jimin’s nothing like him, so much so that they’re polar opposites. Jimin’s a fluffy goody two shoes that probably hasn’t had sex yet and Taehyung’s just— not that. Is that the type Y/N goes for? Nice boys?

Y/N looks really good as well— scrap it, she looks amazing. She’s wearing a skintight black strapless dress that flatters her every curve and her hairs so nicely curled and arranged to the side exposing her neck. The neck that he really wants to mark up now. In fact, he wants to march up to them and fuck Y/N right on the table in front of Jimin so that he knows who she belongs to.

She’s his and he’s not going to let some soft boy take that away from him.

Y/N smiles at Jimin again. He’s nice, really nice and there’s literally nothing bad she can say about him. But for some reason that bores her. She keeps on comparing him to someone who definitely isn’t good and who she definitely shouldn’t be thinking about. Kim Taehyung. Jimin’s voice isn’t as deep as Taehyung’s, he’s not nearly as tall as Taehyung and he smiles, Taehyung smirks. Everything is Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung and not Jimin. She sighs.

“Y/N?”

Ever since she had sex with Taehyung, it’s been all she can think about. Every smell, touch, taste is all him and it pisses her off because Y/N knows him. She’s known him for longer than she’d like to remember and she knows that night— fun as it was— was nothing but a one-time thing. She’s okay with that though, that bit doesn’t bother her too much. The night has just never left her mind— that bit she’s not okay with.

Even now as she’s on a date with a very nice guy, she’d definitely normally go for, that wouldn’t break her heart. All she can think about is Taehyung.

“Y/N?”

“Sorry yes?” She finally answers another fake smile plastered on her face. “I just blanked for a second sorry.”

Jimin chuckles. “Yeah, I could tell. Are you alright though?”

Y/N feels really bad now. She’s been sat her thinking about another man and his dick and Jimin’s looking at her every bit concerned, brows furrowed and eyes wide in question. Fuck, why can’t Y/N just like him? He’d take care of her so well if she did.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just—” She stands to her feet abruptly. She needs a minute or two, maybe five. “I need to use the bathroom.”

Taehyung watches closely as Y/N walks away from her date and goes in the direction of the bathroom. He also sees how Jimin’s eyes follow her like a lost puppy. God, he’s desperate.

But, Taehyung sympathises with him— a bit, Y/N’s beautiful, drop-dead gorgeous type of beautiful and she doesn’t even know it. She’s always been the pretty one with the biggest of hearts and the tendency to push other people into the limelight while she stayed in the background. He never understands why she does it, to him she could easily outshine everyone if she wanted to.

He flits his eyes between Jimin and the hallway Y/N had just disappeared into. Taehyung can’t take watching the boy pine after a girl that’s his anymore and he knows if there’s any better time to talk to her. It’s now. Even though he doesn’t think he’s going to do much talking.

The girl he’s sitting with though is doing a hell of a lot of talking and it’s beginning to piss him off. “So how come you invited—”

“Excuse me for a second,” He interrupts not waiting around for an answer before he’s already in a half jog towards where he’d seen Y/N go. He’s going to show her exactly how she’s his and only his.

Y/N sighs gripping onto the counter as she looks herself in the mirror. God, what’s wrong with her? There’s a good-looking boy out there who actually seems to like her and she’s getting this stressed over a boy who’s probably doing things she doesn’t even want to think about, with some random girl, not even giving Y/N a second thought. But here she is giving him too many.

“So…you enjoying your date?”

Y/N stills. She knows that voice. But it can’t be him. What would he be doing here? Her ears perk up and she tries to steady her heartbeat as she hears the steady slow steps his feet make on the marble floor. And as soon as she can see him directly behind her in the mirror she quickly shuts her eyes closed. He’s not here. He’s not here. He can’t be here.

Taehyung smirks, his hands have been itching to touch Y/N’s body from the first time he saw her in this dress, so when he lays his large hands on her trailing them across her figure, he wants to leave no place untouched.

“It looks like you are,” He says ghosting his lips over her neck where he’ll soon place his marks for everyone to see.

Y/N worries at her lips. He’s so close to her and she’s wanted him like this for too long but Jimin’s waiting for her outside. “What— What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you.”

“You know what I’m doing.” God, she should really push him away. But, she really doesn’t want to. “I’m on a date.”

“Yes, but why?” Taehyung forcibly tugs down the top of her dress in one swift motion, causing her breasts to spill over for him. God, she’s so fucking hot. “It’s a bit cruel to let someone else think they can have what’s mine. Don’t you think?”

Y/N grips at the counter tighter, fluttering her eyes open to meet his in the mirror. His eyes are clouded stormy and dark as he stares at her and it has wetness pooling in her panties. He grasps both her breasts in his hands, kneading them in his palms and tweaking at her erect nipples. Y/N can’t at all understand what he’s saying but she does know they shouldn’t be doing this here.

“Tae— I have a date. I can't—”

Taehyung shoves her down against the counter so that her face is pressed up against it and her ass is up in the air for him. “What’s that baby?”

Y/N huffs. “I’m being serious. I have a date, a nice date to get to.”

Taehyung chuckles darkly at her words. She really thinks he’s going to let her just go and have a date with that ’boy’ when he’s right here ready to fuck her. There’s no fucking chance.

“No, you see I’m being serious and this is what’s going to happen—” He hikes up her dress so that it’s all bunched up at her waist and she’s all exposed to him. “I’m going to fuck you in this bathroom, and after, you’re going to walk out of here all fucked out and ruined with my cum dripping out of you to tell Jimin over there who you belong to. You think you can do that?”

By the end of Taehyung’s mini-speech, Y/N’s already breathless and way too gone to deny him what he wants. But she’s so awestruck that she can’t even begin to formulate an answer. Instead, she’s left with unintelligent hums.

Taehyung rolls her hair around his hand, jerking it so hard her head faces the ceilings and he leans towards her, lips brushing over her ears as he speaks. “You’re gonna have to say something baby. Or else I won’t fuck you.”

He’s point-blank lying, he will. He just wants to hear it from her first, he wants to hear her beg for his cock.

“Please Tae—” Y/N’s beyond the point of caring about anyone else outside of the doors. All she cares about is Taehyung— and Taehyung inside her. “Just fuck me… please.”

“Why me?” He mocks unbuckling and dragging his pants down with one hand. “Why not Jimin?”

“Because—” Y/N whines. The position he has her in is far from comfortable and she needs him to hurry up in fear that someone might walk in and catch them in such a compromising scene.

But Taehyung’s not at all finished with his teasing. “Because of what?”

In all honesty the answers pretty simple when she thinks about it. “—because no-one can fuck me like you.”

“Oh…really?”

She nods. “Uh huh, I keep thinking about the last time your thick cock fucked me at that party.”

“Mmh I keep on thinking about that night too—” Taehyung groans as he pulls her panties to the side to line himself up with her entrance. Fuck, she’s so wet for him, her arousals already dripping all over his tip. “I keep thinking about how I fucked you so hard that night, then you went on to pretend like I didn’t and still don’t own your pussy. That wasn’t really nice of you was it?”

She shakes her head. “No— it wasn’t.”

“And you won’t do that again, will you? You’ll be a good girl for me now?”

“Yea— Fuck—” Y/N can’t help the loud whiny moan that leaves her lips as he sinks his cock inside her unexpectedly, burying himself to the hilt and not giving her any time to adjust to his girth. “I’m go— I’m gonna be your good girl now.”

“Well done baby,” He says. He hovers over her bent body as he sucks the skin of her neck into his mouth. Jimin’s not even going to try and look her way when Taehyung’s done with her. “I should treat you now, shouldn’t I? Fuck you real good?”

“Yes please.”

“Since you’re begging so nicely, I will.” Taehyung tightens his grasp on her hair to expose her neck more for him as he thrusts into her. Rough deep strokes, pounding into her slick hot pussy that have her unable to control her whimpers and moans.

“God Tae—”

Fuck, Y/N’s being so fucking loud and as much as he loves it, he knows she’d prefer it if the whole restaurant didn’t know what they were doing. He clamps a hand over her mouth, her hot breath blowing against his palms as he mutes her sounds out.

“Fuck baby, you like the way I fuck you, don’t you?”

Y/N nods frantically. Her senses are overwhelmed with the feeling of Taehyung. The roots of her hairs burn at the way he’s tugging it, she can feel the sharp barely there pinch of his teeth against her skin and most importantly the way he’s pounding her from the back, stuffing her so full of his cock.

“Baby, your cunt is so fucking beautiful.” There’s sweat running down his face and blood roaring in his ears as he fucks her. She’s so gorgeous like this, screaming his name into his palm. “God, look at yourself Y/N, look at the way you’re taking my cock like a whore.”

Taehyung angles her head so she can see herself clearly in the mirror and she thinks she might just combust. The sight is far too erotic for her and the intensity of it all, fucking him when she’s meant to be on a date, is too much to handle. Tears spring out from her eyes as he slams into her g-spot, prodding at the sensitive spot in quick succession.

“Fuck baby, you promise to keep quiet so I can hear you?” He asks and she’s already agreeing with him without missing a single beat. He releases his hand from her mouth and moves it to splay across her lower back holding her in place.

“Tae— Tae I—” Y/N stops herself. She’s so sucked and intoxicated on his cock that she’s almost forgotten herself. She can’t go around telling him she loves him. Even though she definitely does.

“What baby?”

“I just—” She sucks in a harsh breath as a particularly hard thrust has her lurching forward. “I really really love your cock.”

If his ego wasn’t big enough before, it’s enormous now. “You gonna tell that to Jimin for me? How much you love my cock.”

“Yeah, I will.” She meets his smouldering gaze in the mirror. “I’ll tell him that we have to finish the date early because I want to be a good slut for you and put my mouth around your cock.”

Taehyung groans, head nuzzled in her neck. “Christ baby you’re so fucking nasty. Just for me yeah?”

“Uh huh— Fuck Tae, just for you.”

Taehyung kisses her sweetly on the jaw one more time before straightening up so he’s properly upright. He releases his grasp on her hair so both of his hands can be clasped around her waist as he pulls her down to meet his thrusts. Her ass is sweltering with the grating smacks against his hips and it looks absolutely amazing to him.

Y/N’s struggling to get a proper grip on anything as she slides uselessly against the marble counter. “Tae— I need to— I’m gonna—”

“Go on baby, I’m right behind you.”

Y/N’s sputtering incoherent words as her knees buckle under her and everything cuts to white noise, she can’t hear anything but the thrum of her heart beating against her chest as she comes down. She can feel him pulsing inside of her, his rhythm lost and muscles jerking to a still as he reaches his own climax.

Taehyung’s mind is hazy whilst she clenches around him, slithery walls choking around his cock and his hot seed sprays her insides white as he pumps her full of his cum.

“God Y/N you’re so good to me.” His hands massage up her sides and he sets feathery kisses all over her back, pulling out of her slowly.

“Come on baby—” Taehyung’s way too smug about how limp she is in his arms as he dresses her properly again. “You think you’ll be okay if I let you stand on your own.”

Y/N lets out a shaky breath. “No…I think I need a minute.”

Taehyung smirks. “How about you stay here leant up against this counter and I go tell Jimin the date is over—” He rakes his hand through her hair, her face is flushed and glossy and she exudes the smell of sex. “—then I’ll carry you to my car and we’ll go to my place.”

Y/N knows Taehyung’s not going to be the nicest of people as he talks to Jimin. But she also knows she looks every bit fucked out right now and she’d rather not see him like this.

She smiles. “That’s perfect.”

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dovechim · 7 years ago

Text

four seasons (m)

➾ 2k

➾ warnings: sex toys, fingering, double penetration (??), creampie

➾ prompt from anon: jimin. bullet vibrator. orgasm denial. overstimulation. jimin entering with it still inside.

“J-jimin, we can’t-“

“Just shut up for a second, you’re gonna get us caught,” Jimin pushes your underwear into your mouth as you give make an undignified sound. But the blonde ignores you as he makes sure that the toilet stall is locked before turning back to you, rummaging in his pockets for something.

He seems to find what he’s looking for, grasping it with one hand before using the other to push you back onto the closed toilet seat. In any other situation, you would have firmly refused, kicked Park Jimin out on his ass before storming out, but this is a very nice hotel.

Too nice for two backpacking students to be having sex in.

But Jimin doesn’t seem to care as he gets on his knees, making his jeans stretch deliciously over his thickened thighs as he demands you spread your legs. You’re trying not to drool over the lace material in your mouth so that you can somehow put your underwear back on later, but all thoughts of decency flee your mind as Jimin finally opens his palm to reveal his secret stash.

A metallic fuschia bullet vibrator.

An unintelligible sound comes from you, and Jimin only frowns in confusion until he remembers the real reason why you can’t speak. So he graciously pulls your underwear from your lips, tucking it into his back pocket instead.

“Where the fuck did you get that? You spit out immediately.

“Back at the city square, when you weren’t paying attention,” Jimin says carelessly, running his palms up your bare legs and towards the hem of your dress. “Hole in the wall sex shop, lady sold it to me at half off because I was a ‘looker’, apparently.”

Jimin is beaming, and you know nothing makes him happier than hearing affirmations. But you also roll your eyes at him because she probably only said so to make a sale.

“Jimin, this is the fucking Four Seasons, we can’t do this here-“ The luxurious bathroom stall even has a couch inside it, and part of your vehemence comes from him making you rough it out on this toilet seat instead.

“Someone’s being all prissy,” he comments as he shoves your dress up, but at your glare, he relents and scoops you into his arms, dumping you onto the velvet couch instead. “Happy?”

“A little,” you sniff, turning your head away from him in mock anger. But you can’t bring yourself to look away, especially when he kneels down again to start suckling open mouthed kisses up your inner thigh.

He uses the other hand to bring the vibrator into contact with your skin, letting your warmth heat up the metal before he brushes it playfully against your bare lips. You only tremble in response, and Jimin shoots you a smug look before his breath is against your core, tongue darting out to tease you with little kitten licks. He’s an expert when it comes to making out with your pussy lips, as crude as he calls it, but you don’t complain when he sucks it between his plush lips, endearing eyes wide as he maintains his stare.

You’re dripping before you know it, and Jimin gathers your arousal on the blunt tip of the vibrator before running it against your slit. By now your clit is engorged and begging for attention, and he actually chuckles at the low, needy whine in your throat when he pushes the vibrator against you, but doesn’t turn it on.

“What if I told you I didn’t have batteries for this yet?”

“You would be a very sorry man, Park Jimin.” You slide a hand into his hair and grip it a little tighter than needed.

“Lucky I do, then,” he says, and flicks the switch.

The immediate buzzing sensation against your sensitive nerves has your back arching, especially when Jimin takes it upon himself to lavish wet kisses against your slit. The wet, filthy noises that come from him as he uses his tongue to thrust into your slit would make you blush, if not for the low hum of the vibrator. His fingers are careful to hold it in place directly against your clit, and it feels so heavenly that you can only spread your legs wider, watching as Jimin buries his face in your pussy

“Fuck, that was a- good fucking buy alright,” you gasp for breath, feeling him smirk against your core. It’s a sight to see, especially with your juices all over his chin, and how he eats your pussy like a man starved.

“You like it when I eat your pussy like this? Wanted to be treated like a princess, so here I am eating you out on this velvet fucking couch.”

“N-not by choice,” you barely manage to get the words out. “We only sneaked in here for a toilet break, not like we have a room-“

Jimin shuts you up by upping the speed on the vibrator, and you sob in response. His name is torn from your chest in noisy heaves, and you swear tears are actually gathering at the corner of your eyes. Just when you feel the edge approaching in a blissful torrent of sensitized nerves, he pulls away and has the audacity to pop the bullet vibrator into his mouth.

“Sweet as usual,” he comments casually, as if he were buying fruit out on the street.

You can actually feel your orgasm ebbing away, and pulling him closer by his collar, you actually whine his name low in your chest.

Jimin switches the vibrator back on, pushing it against your clit again and watching your face contort in pleasure as you buck against his hold. He’d reach down to palm himself, but you currently have his hands full.

“Fingers, please,” you gasp, legs spread as you push your core into his face, desperate to feel something inside you.

Jimin relents, shoving two gloriously thick fingers into your cunt, and you delight in thinking about how you’re drenching his rings as well. The thought is filthy, but not worse than the words escaping from his sweet tongue as he coaxes you back towards the edge.

“Should’ve bought you a squirting dildo instead, hmm? There were plenty in that shop, bet you’d have loved to come in with me, my dirty girl.”

“Wh-why didn’t you?” Your heart triples when he calls you his, and you clench extra hard around him to show him your appreciation.

“Who says I won’t?” Just the possibility of it has you moaning his name, especially when he increases the setting again.

You’re so close, and Jimin can feel every single clench of your walls, knows your body so intimately that he manages to pull away, coax himself from the delicious clenching of your walls and the wet squelch of your lips. Ignoring your disappointed sob, he unzips his fly instead, telling you to hold the vibrator to your clit while he pulls his painfully tight jeans down.

“That’s it babygirl, hold that little vibrator to your clit, look, you’re staining the fucking couch,” Jimin whispers in your ear as he positions himself beside you, then lifts you onto his lap so you can feel his length against your ass. He reaches to pull your dress down so he can see your tits, and fuck, he should have done this sooner because this view is fucking fantastic.

Jimin hooks his hands under your knees to spread you further apart. “Slide that pretty bullet into your pussy for me baby.”

You follow his directions, slipping the vibrator downwards as it slides into you. It’s not very long, but the vibrations that travel through your core are sufficient to have you near the edge once more. Without any instructions from him, you begin to thrust it, searching for relief even as your arousal drips from your inner thighs directly onto his jeans.

“Jimin, I-I’m so close, I can’t,” you lean back further into his touch, and he soothes you with his lips on your ear.

“You’re close? Then stop,” he says, and you whine.

“Keep it inside you,” he warns, then lets go of one of your thighs.

Abruptly, the blunt head of his cock is nudging at your entrance, and your fingers still in shock. But he is unpeturbed, and the weeping precum smears against your fingers as he pushes himself into you. You have to keep a strong grip on the vibrator to ensure that you don’t lose it, but the stretch has you keening against his strong chest.

“Shh baby, you can take it, it’s just my cock, and that vibe is what, two of my fingers? You already take cock so well,” he praises you when you actually manage to take him balls deep, though his voice is a little strained himself.

He can feel the cold metal of the vibrator at its lowest setting against his cock, your fingers shaking as you try to accommodate the stretch. He nudges your hand away to replace your fingers with his own, dragging the little metal bullet in and out slowly to tease the both of you. The smooth metal contrasts with the ridged walls of your pussy, and Jimin is halfway to losing his load already.

But the pace is too slow for you, and you can feel your orgasm just within reach. Jimin wedges the bullet more firmly inside you, keeping his fingers still as he moves his hips instead, thrusting his cock till he bottoms out. He plants his feet flat on the ground as he starts increasing his pace, and coupled with the vibrations, his hand on your waist slides to fondle your clit.

“ Fuck, am gonna come, Jimin please,” you beg, clenching so hard around him and the vibrator that Jimin nearly sees stars.

“Don’t you dare baby, hold it, you’re only allowed to cum after me,” Jimin warns, increasing his pace as his cock pounds you deep.

“I-can’t, fuck, it’s too much,” you sob as you clench your fists tightly around his wrists.

“You can do it, just a little more babygirl,” he rocks his hips faster, feeling the telltale squeezes of your pussy against his cock as he hits a spot deep within you that makes you throw your head back onto his shoulder. “Pussy feels so fucking tight, gonna milk me dry hmm?”

You glance down to take in the sight of Jimin’s cock impaling you, together with the bright pink bullet, biting your lip hard to hold your orgasm. But it turns out that you don’t have to hold back much longer, because with a deft flick of his fingers, Jimin has upped the speed on the vibrator, and his thrusts are turning sloppy as he mouths your neck in desperation.

He grips your waist tight with one arm, forcing you down onto his cock in a final thrust as his warm cum paints your walls in long spurts, and he grunts into your neck. The feeling of him throbbing and spurting inside you sends you over the edge too, finally, as you clench hard and milk him dry, even as cum begins to leak out over his balls. Sagging against him, Jimin peppers your neck with kisses as he slips the toy out of you, bringing it to your lips.

You lave your tongue all over it, tasting the mixture of your cum and his until it’s fully clean.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Jimin says, partly in awe as he reaches for your kiss, tangling your tongues together until you push him away. He immediately reaches for some paper towels for the mess between your legs, pulls your dress down sweetly before taking care of himself.

“You better pray we don’t get blacklisted from this place,” you warn him as you glance towards the stained couch. “I want my honeymoon in a Four Seasons.”

#bts #bts smut #btsmaknaenet #bangtan bookclub #bangtanwriters-net #bts park jimin #bts jimin smut

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