#it is the delicate way his flannel bunches up at the small of his back | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

astranite · 1 year ago

Text

Squid Hug!

Not ThunderPride and probably late for Gordon day, but have some FishTank fluffy hurt/comfort instead! I am tired and the gender fluid/genderqueer Gordon thing I am writing is currently not cooperating. I just had a really clear image in my head of Gordon running up to people he loves and full body tackle hugging them!

Small warning for a mention of Gordon's hydrofoil accident but that's all I think.

Enjoy :)

------

“Squid hug!” Gordon exclaimed before taking a running leap at Virgil.

Virgil barely had time to brace before kilograms of flying squid collided with him, all limbs wrapping around Virgil. The momentum made him stagger, and Gordon was lucky they both didn’t go down to the ground. His arms instinctively went around Gordon to support him even as Gords clung to him like a particularly insistent barnacle, or possibly cephalopod.

“Can’t breathe, Fish,” he reminded, because those tentacle-like appendages were vice tight around his neck.

Gordon loosened his grip with a sheepish, “Sorry Virge.”

Equilibrium and oxygen re-gained, Virgil was free to ask, “What’s up, Squid?”

“Nothing,” Gordon muttered and buried his face at Virgil’s shoulder.

The obstinate avoidance rang alarm bells. It was characteristic for Gordon deflect using humour to play a bad situation off as a joke, but nearly unheard of for Gordon to outright refuse to answer his questions. Virgil’s brows drew together, knowing Gordon was unable to see his concern, with how he was hiding against his shirt.

“When it’s nothing, usually give me a little more warning.” Not much more, but there was something else going on here setting off Virgil’s big brother senses.

He jostled Gordon gently, “You okay?”

The only effect it had was to make Gordon’s arms and legs tighten once more. His fingers bunched in Virgil’s flannel and his ankles hooked together behind his back. It was pretty clear he didn’t want to go anywhere.

Virgil felt as if Gordon was attempting to press them close enough to turn them into a single, eight limbed entity. Which was a very Gordon thing to do.

But it was also so Virgil couldn’t let him go.

Oh Gords.

Virgil rubbed a hand over Gordon’s tense back and shoulders and just held him.

“I’ve got you, it’s alright,” he murmured.

Gordon was physically affectionate as a rule, always bumping elbows with siblings and sitting near enough to lean on someone. He’d had been that way ever since he was small. The the nickname ‘Squid’ was given from the way he clung on, more than from his swimming abilities. Unlike Alan, who quickly got to the stage of whining to be let down to run around like the big kids, Gordy never grew out of wanting to be carried around. Unless he sensed you were trying to keep him out of some sort of mischief and then it was like attempting to prevent a slippery wriggling fish from escape.

Gordon was always most comfortable sharing a personal space bubble. On bad days he was downright clingy, refusing to be out of touching range of anyone.

Virgil never minded. Not before and not after, when a teary Gordon in the thick of recovering from the accident had confessed to how much it scared him to be left drifting and unmoored when he was in pain and alone. How contact was one of the only things that could make the unbearable even the slightest bit better. Virgil spent many long nights in the hospital and after gripping Gordon’s hand when he was hurting too much for even a hug. This was better, so much better than that.

Sure, having someone in his space could get annoying, especially when he was doing maintenance on his ‘bird or working on his art. A inadvertent knock sending delicate mechanical components skittering across the floor. Chattering commentary interrupting his thoughts. A shadow leaning over his shoulder to see what he was doing, blocking the light from reaching his page.

They figured it out. Gordon would sit on Virgil’s workshop bench, swinging his legs, but careful of where he poked curious fingers. Virgil had a set of noise-cancelling headphones to play his own music through, for when everything got to be too much. He picked up a marine-themed sticker book, because a bored fish was a troublesome one, which occupied Gordon for several hours, tucked into Virgil’s side and engrossed in placing sea creatures just so, while Virgil finished colouring a drawing he’d been meaning to get to for some time. Gordon learnt not to get between an artist and their light source because Virgil’s old fashioned paper sketchbook does not glow like a tablet.

Accidents were forgiven. After a bump to Virgil’s arm sent his pencil scribbling across his page, he was hugging an apologetic Gordon to his side and working out how to incorporate the extra line into the rest of his drawing. When Virgil just needed his own space for a bit, he helped to find Scott or John or Alan instead. Gordon dealt with splatters of paint and mechanical oil finding their way onto his already colourful shirts too.

Sometimes, after rescues or his own nightmares, Virgil needed the contact just as much. Plus, he loved hugs.

Right now, he held onto Gordon, even if they were standing in the middle of the lounge, even if he had other places he could be. That didn’t matter. Virgil could take Gordon’s weight as long as he needed to.

Virgil felt Gordon’s chest expand against his own as Gordon took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“It’s okay, Vee. I’m okay,” Gordon said.

Vee, another one of Gordon’s nicknames for him. Virge, Virgy. Vee.

Virgil buried his face in Gordon’s blonde hair to hide his sappy smile, brought out by the fond affection in his brother’s tone. Gordon would tease him if he saw, as usual ignoring that he could be just as bad.

“You wanna talk about it?” Virgil offered.

Gordon shrugged, as much as he could when still latched onto Virgil.

“Sure,” Gordon said, “It isn’t anything really. Missed you on rescues lately, is all.”

His casual words were belied by how he held on a touch too tight.

Virgil gave an encouraging ‘go on’ hum, in hope Gordon might open up a bit more.

It was true they hadn’t seen each other much this week, rescues overlapping and running late. No one had time for more than a pat on the back and a scoffed protein bar before the callout alarms went off again. Virgil hadn’t spoken to any of his siblings aside from terse updates from John and Scott’s clipped commands. A rough week all round.

Most of those missions he’d flown out without Gordon in his usual co-pilot’s seat. International Rescue was so over-stretched, sending them out solo was the only way to cover all the incidents without breaking flight hour limits into pieces. Then Module Four’s mechanism something broke, and Virgil hadn’t had a chance to even figure out the problem yet, so Gordon got send out all over the world in his Thunderbird alone.

It was Virgil’s turn to cling to Gordon, because he’d dropped Four and Gordon into the Atlantic and hadn’t seen more than a glimpse of yellow submarine bobbing amidst inky waves since. They’d been ships passing in the night, caught up in their own oceans of sea and sky.

Yesterday, Grandma had called it, everyone was too exhausted and she pulled medical rank. She alternatively sweet talked and threatened the GDF into stepping up to allow the Tracys to take their mandated leave. This was their first off time together in a while.

Virgil rested his chin on top of Gordon’s head, inhaling the scent of chlorine and saltwater that no shampoo invented could remove. Comforting in its familiarity, because it meant Gordon was here and safe in his arms.

“‘M fine. Just need more hugs.” The words were mumbled into Virgil’s shoulder, barely audible where Gordon’s voice usually rang out loudest. But Virgil heard them. He always heard his little brothers. He heard the silent, ‘Don’t let go,’ too.

Virgil pressed a kiss to Gordon’s forehead, then carried on with his day plus one clingy squid passenger.

Virgil manoeuvred into the kitchen easily, then jiggled Gordon up to free a hand for the coffee maker. His third cup, not his first because his flying fish catching skills weren’t up to scratch before his second, unless the situation was particularly dire.

He was well practised at the art of operating one handedly, while toting around kid brothers. Or not so kid brothers, in Gordon’s case.

Virgil put his muscle to good use picking up more than a fair share of stubborn older brothers too. At this point it was really just a ready-made excuse to skip the gym weights on a given day. He could throw an exhausted Scott over his shoulder without breaking a sweat despite any protests, when he found him sleeping face down on Tracy Industries paperwork at dad’s desk. He’d caught John far too many times too, in a losing battle with gravity midway to the floor. Virgil would scoop up the jumble of flailing, lanky limbs to take the complaining redhead back to bed. There was a reason he was the heavy lifter in the family.

Gordon wouldn’t be considered light by most people’s standards, his compact swimmer’s build packing a surprising amount of muscle per centimetre of height. Gordon was the only one of Virgil’s brothers who was shorter than him, except for Alan. Though that wasn’t likely to be for long, Alan’s slight build set to follow Scott and John’s tall, slim frames the moment he hit his growth spurt.

Point was, Virgil had lifted plenty of heavier and less cooperative rescuees for far longer distances. Carrying the cuddlefish around the house? No challenge. And Gordon would always be little to him, that was just the way the world went.

Virgil poked around the cupboards, reveaing John’s chocolate stash. The one his space brother absolutely knew everyone knew about, but hadn’t moved because it was mostly used for family emotional support chocolate. Gordon helpfully took the chocolate packet, with no ulterior motives whatsoever. Then the coffee was done, and Virgil inhaled the steam from his mug of warm, heavenly brew.

Gordon wriggled out of his arms when they reached the sunken lounges, darting away to retrieve blankets. Virgil settled with his back against the couch side, legs stretched out, his coffee sat in easy reach on the floor level. He turned on the holoprojector, flicking through moderately mindless television programs.

A pile of blankets thrown down heralded Gordon’s return. He flopped on top of Virgil as if there was no other room on the couch, knocking the breath out of Virgil’s lungs for the second time today. Virgil just wrestled Gordon into a more comfortable position where his lumpy elbows weren’t jabbing his ribs.

Virgil sipped his coffee with a sigh. This was more like it, especially after a week where he was lucky to get two gulps of instant into him before it went cold. Now, where had the chocolate gotten to?

The distinct crinkle of foil alerted him to brotherly treachery. “Gordon,” He warned.

“Viiirgil,” Gordon sung out, propping himself up with a hand on Virgil’s shoulder to wave the bar of chocolate in his face.

Rolling his eyes, Virgil snatched the packet back. He huffed in mock affront, because he wasn’t giving in easily, secretly glad of the return of Gordon’s cheeky grin and cheery teasing.

He stuffed a few squares into his mouth. Whittakers, because John had good taste and Virgil had dragged him along on the last supply run to Aotearoa.

With the sweetness of the chocolate and rich coffee, the holoprojecter murmuring in the background, the warm weight of Gordon resting on his chest, Virgil was content. They both were.

Gordon laughed softly at the show, then shuffled around to cuddle up closer to Virgil, whispering, “Squid hug!”

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #gordon tracy #virgil tracy #fishtank #astrawrite

32 notes · View notes

fawnandshadows · 3 years ago

Text

25 Days of Elriel — Day 6

I'll Be Home For The Solstice

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1k

Azriel loved the Solstice. He enjoyed it quietly, watching as his loved ones warmed themselves with wine, song, and food.

Elain was joyfully playing the piano, her fingers shaky and uncertain as they moved over the ivory keys that she had just reacquainted herself with earlier that week. She played and it sounded like two old friends coming together after years of being apart — not perfect, but unexpected and charming and happy and free. When Cassian had found out that Elain played as a child he urged her to play for them all, gushing and encouraging until Elain finally accepted with a blush ripening her cheeks. She had just enough eggnog to make herself bold and brush off the lingering self-consciousness she felt when she held everyone’s attention.

She played an old folk song from the human lands that prompted Feyre to sing along. She sidled up behind her sister, a glass of wine in one hand and placed the other on Elain’s shoulder. His High Lady was swimming in Rhysand’s old cream sweater, most likely made of the finest cashmere, which was starting to fray at the edges but offered more comfort than any other article of clothing she owned, and she wore leggings that tucked into her flannel lined slippers.

Feyre’s singing voice was an extension of her speaking voice: husky, warm, and powerful enough to capture everyone’s attention. It sounded like butterscotch — rich, luxurious, and comforting. There was just something about her voice that melted everyone’s worries and quieted everyone’s minds. It provided a perfect contrast to the delicate, high-pitched, tinkling keys Elain was playing.

Elain's own voice flowed out of her mouth, gently and soft, and easily ignored if one didn't listen for it.

And Elain looked lovely. Content to be enjoying this time with her family, as if all of them together brought her more happiness and joy than anything in the world. Her smile was small and quiet, it bunched the apples of her cheeks and hid her teeth, but it was unburdened and light. She smiled as she sang. Her golden brown hair curled around her face, a little scraggly compared to her normally well-kept curls, but she had been in the kitchen all day and the steam and humidity of cooking played with her hair in the most endearing way.

Azriel even heard Nesta humming carefully from where she sat, tucked into Cassian’s side on the couch, and with her mate's arm slung over the back of the velvet couch with her legs across his lap and her feet nestled into his other side. Cassian had gotten himself and Nesta matching pajama sets; They were bright red with little crossed swords on them that looked like sprigs of holly from a distance, and somehow he had convinced Nesta to wear them all night.

Mor planted herself on top of the piano, rifling through the sheet music that had spent the last century collecting dust. She looked at every piece she came across and searched with such direction that Azriel could tell there was a specific song she wanted Elain to play.

Rhysand slowly moved into the room from the direction of the kitchen, and Azriel saw him carrying two more bottles of unopened wine in one hand and a half eaten cookie in the other — little crumbs from the cookie lined his navy sweater. It was as if he had wandered off to the kitchen for snacks and then was lured out by the sound of Feyre’s song, her voice beckoning him to enjoy the time with his family. He had set the bottles of wine down before walking up to Feyre, and wrapping his arms around her from behind. His head rested on her shoulder, and Azriel saw Feyre’s tattoo hand cover her mates that had settled onto her stomach.

Amren and Varian were on the floor entertaining Nyx in front of the fireplace. Varian’s dark arm was absentmindedly placed over Amren’s tiny frame, and it was a pretty humorous sight to see how Varian looked like a mountain towering over a mole hill. Nyx was absolutely enamored with Auntie Amren, and he quickly became his Aunts favorite member of the Night Court.

All of the people he loved most, his family, gathered to celebrate the Solstice.

Azriel could picture it so clearly as he gazed into the dying fire.

It was dinner time right about now in the Night Court, and everybody would be gathering around to enjoy the dinner that Elain, Nuala, and Cerridwen had spent all day preparing. Elain — with her golden hair gathered on top of her head, but somehow the points of her ears always poked through, no matter how hard she tried to hide them — would be running around with a dirty apron and flour on her cheek trying to make sure everything was prepared at the same time. Nuala and Cerridwen, their yellow-gold jewelry would shimmer against their shadowy frames, would be preparing everything for dessert, setting tables, and finalizing any decorations. The three of them were a well-oiled machine in the kitchen, and after many trial-and-error’s they finally fine tuned their cooking into a science.

Cassian would be tipsy, if not drunk.

He would have already picked out all of the wine he wanted to try from Rhysand’s collections. Even the expensive bottles that Rhys always hid from him Cassian always managed to sniff it out, and he would make sure that everyone always had a full glass of wine. Well, him and Feyre. Azriel would know that Elain would take tiny, delicate sips of wine and make one glass last for three hours because it had been ingrained into her brain since childhood that “Ladies don’t get drunk” and “Ladies never over indulge”. Azriel knew that her mind was constantly telling her “Ladies do this” and “Ladies don't do that” and every once in a while she would be able to push off those thoughts and just live in the moment, but it only ever happened when they were alone.

The flames of his fire were flickering out, but it didn’t bother him. Ever since he was a child he had learned it was better to embrace the cold then try to fight it; Why tease himself with a flickering, dying flame when he could never have a roaring fire?

So, Azriel closed his eyes.

He stretched his wings on the cold, hard ground of the cave hidden away in the Winter Court, and dreamed.

tagging: @thefangirlofhp @tswaney17 @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @jujugirlfrombookstore @courtofjurdan @offtorivendell @swankii-art-teacher

#25 days of elriel #elriel #elain x azriel #elain archeron #azriel #pro elriel #elriel fanfiction #elriel fanfic #azriel x elain #this one is short and sweet after yesterdays monster #yes i teared up when writing this #its fine

82 notes · View notes

hanmasushi · 3 years ago

Text

MONTERO (Short Bonten! Scenario)

What happens when you're the new recruit and the only woman in Bonten.

warning ✁ suggestive content, slight cursing, mentions of alcohol and drugs. third person pov. fem!reader. Bonten Men !! Short scenario.

a/n ✁ uhh im just gonna leave it here bye.

wc ✁ 1.6k

ost ✁ Montero by Lil Nas X (pink fonts are lyric references to the song)

She only briefly remembers receiving a text from Akashi indicating a time and place. It was a famous club in downtown Tokyo and it was set at a later time of the night. She knew she was going to get dressed. She’d only been part of Bonten for a week, as per Akashi’s recommendation, and she could already tell they were an expensive bunch.

She had her long hair tucked in a neat bun, a black coat covering her body while sporting a fresh makeup look. She was decent enough, but she brought extra paraphernalias just in case she’d need them.

Hours passed by and they were now on the upper deck of the club overlooking the crowd, hectic laser lights and constant color shift filling in the venue along with the loud booming of trap music. She still didn’t know what their course of action was but she knew this was an urgent mission. With Akashi, Sanzu, Kokonoi, Ran, and Rindou, basically the majority of the important Bonten figures present, this mission was definitely something that shouldn’t be taken lightly.

This was her first mission, she wasn’t an executive but Akashi made the point to make her tag along. She was being tested, she suspected. She was about to ask when Akashi beat her to it, he was leaning into the railings with a fresh lit cigarette at hand.

“I had an informant of mine saying that crucial information about Bonten was being sold to our biggest rival gangs in Tokyo. And no, there was no mole this time. Information was stolen from us by a notorious hacker. It was said that he was selling it for a considerably expensive price. We couldn’t do anything stupid like attacking him in his own base because a few clicks could mean Bonten’s demise. So I heard that he was going to do the exchange an hour from now. What we’re looking for is a small flash drive, it was said that it’s the only copy to exist that he made. The outcome of this mission could mean the rise or fall of Bonten.” Akashi said in a casual manner, he was now halfway done with his cigarette.

“That’s him.” Sanzu pointed to a guy in the middle of a crowd. It was a lanky guy in a worn out band tee, dark flannel jacket and black skinny jeans.

“Him?” she couldn’t help blurt out but she was positive she could take him out in hand-to-hand combat. The guy looked clearly out of place considering he was like a boy undergoing puberty eyeing every woman he could lay his gaze on, awkwardly nodding as he took a sip of his drink. She was getting secondhand embarrassment just by looking at him.

“Don’t be fooled, he may seem harmless but he’s smart enough to hire guards around him. Getting close to him will not be easy.” Ran pointed around a bunch of beefed up men not too far from the hacker, blending right into the crowd.

“Besides, creating casualties in a crowd like this is not ideal.” Rindou added.

“Best route of action is to wait till he gets out of the club, and beat the other gang to it. Then we’ll have dollface over here, take the drive and make a run for it.” Koko said as he looked at her with his usual smug expression.

“So your plan is to wait for how many ungodly hours and make me an errand girl? Well that’s fucking sexist.” She said trying not to lose her composure, talk about workplace discrimination.

“You got a better plan?” Sanzu loomed over her, his pills having been taking effect considering he was starting to get maniacal and chaotic by the minute.

“Actually, I do.” She said as she started taking her bun and letting her long hair loose. She then took off her coat revealing a black corset mesh mini dress, hugging her figure tightly. “And I'll bet you I can do it in less than three minutes.” She was now applying a crimson shade of lipstick that she pulled out from her purse, she was right about needing her paraphernalia, instantly transforming her fresh glam into a sultry one.

“Yeah right.” Sanzu scoffed. She then shoved her coat and purse into Rindou’s empty arms. Rindou was about to protest because he thought she was going to jeopardize the mission but Ran held him back, he wanted to see how this one plays out.

She was already downstairs blending in the crowd, she was gonna need liquid luck if she wanted to be believable. She downed three shots of vodka before she took one look at her new superiors as if to say “watch me”. That was when Montero by Lil Nas X played and the entire mood of the dancefloor shifted as the smoke machines and lights made the atmosphere more alluring. With smoke filling the air as the lights faded out into purple red blue hues, oh she was in the zone.

I caught it bad yesterday

You hit me with a call to your place

Ain't been out in a while anyway

Was hopin' I could catch you throwin' smiles in my face

It hadn’t been a minute since she downed the vodka but she could feel her body heating up. She was swaying her hips delicately, instantly catching the attention of beautiful strangers around her. She had to gather up momentum if she didn’t want to be suspected.

Romantic talkin'? You don't even have to try

You're cute enough to fuck with me tonight

She let herself be the center of intoxicated strangers, her plan was to make him notice her. It wasn’t long till she caught the hacker’s attention, all she had to do was make him long for her.

Call me when you want, call me when you need

Call me in the morning, I'll be on the way

Call me when you want, call me when you need

Call me out by your name, I'll be on the way like

She never broke eye contact as she continued exchanging body heat with strangers. Swaying off synching into the beat of the song. She had her way of making the man focus on her. Teasing as if she was challenging him to be brave and get closer.

With a different man’s hands around her, she wanted him to feel envious of what was in front of him. That’s when he took the bait, he took one last sip of his drink as if to say fuck it. She knew she was winning the moment he let his guard down. He made his way to her, she was trying to suppress her laughter as she thought of how the alcohol he consumed made him feel that he was desired by a woman like her.

Mmm, mmm, mmm

For a moment she’d forgotten how she got roped in the situation she was in now. Slightly intoxicated yet she felt more in control than she’d ever been. She smiled as she felt warm hands on her ass, allowing herself to be pulled. She played along, taking his lead, she definitely wasn’t raising any alarms. He was a terrible dancer, she thought. All he had going on was groping her intimate parts of the body. Just a bit more, she continued grinding on the man behind her, feeling him. In the corner of her eyes she could see the executives. Ran, Kokonoi and Sanzu were amused. Akashi still bearing the same neutral look as he smoked another cigarette. Rindou, on the other hand, was shocked at the display. It was near the end of the song when she knew she had to start wrapping things up.

For the finale, she thought she’d surprise them even more by turning around and pulling the guy into a deep kiss.

Oh, call me by your name (mmm, mmm, mmm)

Tell me you love me in private

His hands still on her ass, she decided to take advantage of the situation as she delicately slipped her hands in one of his pockets till she thought BINGO, she’d found the motherload.

Call me by your name (mmm, mmm, mmm)

I do not care if you lyin'

As she broke off the kiss, the man felt like he was still in trance. It took him a moment to realize she was slowly pulling away. He opened his eyes, she gave him one last flirtatious look before she disappeared into the crowd.

Well I'm just feelin', mm-uh

I wanna get, mm-uh

I'm in my, into my, uh

I'm mm, mm

I'm still, mm, mm-mm

The entire time the executives were definitely taken aback from the sudden explicit display.

Seconds later, she was back in the upper decks with the rest of the executives with the guy's scent still lingering. She handed the flash drive to Akashi, who this time had a satisfied look.

“With 30 seconds to spare,” She said to Sanzu. She then took her coat and purse from Rindou, who was just as confused as he was intrigued. She then wrapped her coat back to her body.

"And that is how you handle men, gentlemen" Kokonoi and Ran let out an amused chuckle.

“My my, I don’t know where you found her but I think she’s going to be useful.” Ran said to Akashi.

“As expected.” Akashi simply replied.

The men all made a mental note not to let their guard down around her, despite being an asset, the way she lures men is alarming for them.

164 notes · View notes

incorrect-missionimpossible · 3 years ago

Note

Uh I don't know if you're still taking prompts but I'm dying to read something where Ethan finds out Benji has tattoos (just likes Simon's) and Ethan is all ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡(ӦｖӦ｡) I even have some fanart in my blog or at Instagram @ biablioteca xoxo

hi!! thank you for the prompt :D this took me a while to answer, my apologies for that hhhhhhhh. the fanart is here if anyone wants to check it out, it's really good!!

without further ado, the fic, 1448 words long. enjoy!!

read on ao3!!

[---]

tattoos [that i didn't know you had]

“Hey,” Benji whispers. Ethan tilts his head towards Benji, acknowledging him. They’re curled up in the back of a van with Jane; Will’s driving and Ilsa’s sitting next to him. Jane is asleep on Ethan’s shoulder, the white bandages around her leg bright in the dim light of the van. They’re returning from a mission, a long, exhausting one and it required all of Ethan’s team, excluding Luther, who was on his honeymoon.

“I think I’ve been shot,” Benji tells Ethan quietly, and Ethan jerks up, all thoughts of sleep forgotten. Jane groans as he dislodges her.

“What?” Ethan hisses. “Benji-”

Benji understands. “Bullet went through me. I’m bleeding quite a lot. Um, it was numb, but not anymore. I’ve got a cloth bunched up against it.”

Ethan knocks on the sliding door between the storage and driver’s seat. “Will,” he says loudly. Ilsa slides the door open and pokes her head through.

“What?”

“Benji’s been shot. Drive faster.”

Ilsa’s eyes widen; she’s clearly too tired to police her emotions. She nods and a moment later, the van moves faster with a screech.

---

Benji’s almost passed out by the time they reach the safe house. Ilsa helps her girlfriend limp inside the house, while Will rushes inside to get the first aid kit ready. Ethan half carries Benji, stumbling through the cold night air into the house as lights flicker on inside.

Jane’s collapsed on a chair, her face pale and sweaty. Her bandages need changing, and Ilsa notes Ethan’s glance at them before grabbing a pile of bandages and handing Jane a flask of whiskey she downs in a gulp.

Ethan winces as Benji moves away the bloody cloth he’d been clutching to his side, revealing his bloody flannel. It’s soaked through.

“How did it take you so long to tell me about this,” Ethan asks, concealing his anger.

Benji shrugs. “Jane was shot. Her wound was more lethal. Forgot about mine.”

“You forgot- how did you-” Ethan runs a hand through his hair, frustrated beyond measure. How did Benji just, forget about his fucking gunshot wound. Ethan wants to punch something.

Will enters the living room, carrying a tray with needles, thread, scissors and alcohol. “Remove your flannel,” he says testily. He looks harried, in a way Will rarely does.

Benji looks up at Ethan, and Ethan, helpless in the face of his eyes, removes the flannel gently. He blinks in surprise at what it reveals, Benji has tattoos.

Ethan stares at them as Will stitches Benji up, Benji’s hand crushing his. They twine around Benji’s left shoulder and the top of his arm, not going beyond where a shirt would. They’re designs Ethan can’t quite make out, but they’re gorgeous. There’s another on Benji’s collarbone, surrounding the delicate bone. It’s partially covered by Benji’s tank top, and Ethan shocks himself with how much he wants to see the rest of it, and any other tattoos Benji might be hiding.

“Done,” Will interrupts Ethan’s train of thought, and Benji lets go of Ethan’s hand, his head falling back, exposing the long line of his neck.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, and Ethan lets out a chuckle. “I’m never getting shot again.”

“I think that would be a bit difficult, with our line of work,” Will says, amused. He lets out a yawn, and so does Benji.

“Bed?” Ethan asks softly. Benji nods. Will takes his leave, heading up to the room he’s claimed as his own. Ilsa waves at them before picking up Jane, who’s too tired to protest, and climbing up the stairs.

Ethan presumes they’re heading to the second bedroom. He smiles at Ilsa and moves to the sofa, pulling it out and working on turning it to a bed. “I didn’t know you had tattoos,” he starts, keeping his voice as casual as he can.

Benji starts. “These little things?”

Ethan wouldn’t call them little, exactly, they cover Benji’s shoulder and collarbone, and there’s another one on Benji’s right arm. “Yeah.”

“I got them at Oxford,” Benji says, a light smile dancing on his face. “Stupid dare. Asked the artist to do them so they’d be covered by my t-shirts. Looks like he did his job pretty well, huh? The best spy in the IMF didn’t know I had tattoos.”

Ethan grins at Benji, enjoying the twinkle in his eyes. “Not my fault I’ve never seen you in anything but geeky shirts and flannels.”

“You just had to ask,” Benji says, careless as anything, before turning bright red. “I- not that I would just undress for anyone, I mean, like, it’s-”

Ethan pats Benji’s shoulder. “Benj,” he says warmly, and Benji stutters to a stop.

“Thanks,” Benji says, relaxing.

Ethan helps Benji up and into the bed, before sliding in next to him. “I think they’re cool,” he whispers.

A flush overtakes Benji’s face. “Thanks,” he replies, sounding pleased.

Ethan offers him a small smile, before leaning over to flick off the lights.

---

The second time Ethan sees Benji’s tattoos, they’re on a mission slash vacation in Costa Rica. Ethan’s team had been sent to track the movements of an American on the CIA’s Most Wanted list, but he’d left before they could catch him. The hotel they’d booked was for a week, and Ethan managed to coerce the IMF into allowing them to stay and make use of the money that went into the mission.

Jane and Ilsa had their own room, of course, and Will claimed a single for himself. Ethan and Benji had a double to themselves, with two queen sized beds.

“Heaven,” Benji groans, from his bed. He’s sprawled out on it, his shirt riding up a little, revealing a sliver of skin. Ethan swallows and looks away.

“I’m going to hit the beach,” he tells Benji, who makes some grunting noises, not moving from where he looks like he’s trying to bury himself in his bed.

Ethan chuckles and shakes his head, fond, before heading to the bathroom to change and gather his things. He leaves Benji, who’s curled up in a little ball on the bed, to his own devices, and thinks he deserves some sun and a good hour or two with his paperback.

---

Ethan’s about 40 pages into his book when he sees Benji. His eyes widen, and his mouth drops a little, because, well, wow.

Benji’s shirtless, and he’s built [which isn’t a shock, really; Ethan’s always been able to see the lines of his lean body under his tighter t-shirts], but it’s the tattoos that take his breath away.

They cover his entire torso and chest, curving around the muscles carefully. Ethan is pretty sure the tattoos are vines, and they look stunning in the sunlight, enhancing Benji’s build. Ethan is up and moving towards Benji without a second thought, and Benji grins at him.

“Hey,” he says, once Ethan is in earshot. Ethan doesn’t say anything, and Benji’s smile turns a little bemused. Ethan stops once he’s close enough to Benji that if he took one more step and leant forward a little-

Anyways.

His hands flutter around Benji’s skin, not touching, just, hovering. “Little?” Ethan breathes in disbelief.

Benji realizes Ethan’s looking at his tattoos. “Oh. Yeah. Those ones happened later. Took me about five sessions to get it done. Extraordinarily painful.”

Ethan exhales slowly. “Can I-” he moves his hands jerkily. He’s just understood how close to Benji he’s standing.

“Yeah,” Benji nods, studying Ethan with a small frown on his face.

Ethan touches the beginning of the first vine with a finger, and when Benji doesn’t say anything, he continues, tracing the path of the twining plant around Benji’s body. He’s careful, avoiding the scars and bruises. Ethan ends up on the design on his collarbone, and he looks up, into Benji’s eyes.

He can’t read them; he doesn’t know what Benji is going to do or say. Ethan moves to step back, but Benji whispers “Ethan,” and he stops.

Benji slides a hand under his chin [their height difference makes it easier for him to do that,] and tilts Ethan’s head up a little.

Ethan gives in to his impulses. He leans in, and presses his lips to Benji’s.

Benji kisses back immediately, sliding his hands around Ethan’s waist and closing the tiny distance between their bodies. Ethan gets a hand on Benji’s cheek and another pressed on his chest

Later, Ethan will trace the tattoos again, Benji will tell him the stories of how he got them, and Ethan will place a light kiss to all of them. They’ll share a queen-sized bed.

But for now, they stay there, kissing deeply, the sun burning the back of Ethan’s neck.

[---]

yes i KNOW the ending isnt very great hjfhkjshdsjk but here u go anyways :)

thanks for reading!!

#benthan #mission: impossible #mission impossible #mi #benji x ethan #ethan x benji #my writing #prompt answers

54 notes · View notes

givemethatgold · 4 years ago

Text

Fix’er Upper - Part Eleven

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader Warnings: SMUT, fingering, oral (F receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, swearing Length: 2.1k Notes: Okay, I officially hate writing smut? Like, this took forever to write and I’ve never hated writing a chapter more. Don’t think I’ll do anything this detailed again it reads so awkwardly!? I’m not even going to read it through to make sure there aren’t any wonky mistakes so feel free to dm me if you see any glaring issues I’d love you forever (be kind)

Series Masterlist

You wanted him in you.

In your mouth, in your needy cunt, at this point, you'd just be happy with him in your hand, but Frankie had other plans. Once the shower water had run cold he had helped you out of the shower, back to being the complete gentleman he always was, acting like he hadn't just been holding you up against the tile wall finger fucking you to completion.

He'd barely let you touch him and the lack of contact was driving you crazy. Once you'd dried off you had planned on sinking to your knees and finally getting a proper taste of him. His cock was impossibly hard, slicked already with the pre-come that was leaking from his red, swollen tip. The sight of it making your mouth water and cunt clench.

Just as you dropped your towel into a convenient, cushiony pile right at his feet, however, Frankie grabbed you for a bruising kiss. Pressing his body flush up against you, he guided you back until you felt the press of the counter on your ass, not stopping until you were leaning against the mirror and your feet had come up off the floor.

Frankie pulled away from your mouth slowly, the hungry look in his eyes making you feel like his prey. He dragged his lips down your neck, stopping to sink his teeth into the tender flesh where your shoulders met your neck causing you to cry out his name in a broken voice you barely recognized as your own.

As his mouth moved to worship your chest, his hands found purchase in the supple flesh of your thighs. Running his fingers from your hips to your knees and back, thumbs digging in to massage the muscles tired from your day at the fair. Groans, whimpers, and panting breaths all fell from between your kiss-swollen lips despite your attempts to quiet yourself.

As if reading your mind, Frankie gently bit down on the nipple he had pulled into his mouth to get your attention then moved back just enough to murmur, "Let me hear you, honey. I want to hear how good I can make you feel."

You weren't used to the encouragement, the attentiveness, so you had a hard time allowing your cries their full volume feeling too self-conscious. When Frankie sank to his knees, threw your legs over his shoulders, and licked you from ass to clit? You all but screamed for him.

With one arm slung across your hips, holding you in place, Frankie used the other to continue teasing and pinching your nipples while his mouth devoured you.

If this had been happening with any other man, you would have probably stopped it by now. The counter was cold, your ass felt like it was constantly on the verge of slipping off the edge, your neck was going to have a crick in it tomorrow from where it was bent against the mirror.

None of it even registered in your mind, though, with the way Frankie was playing you like a flute. Both of your hands were tangled in his hair, gripping tight to both hold him in place and to keep you grounded. Feeling a familiar burn building in your body, drawing towards your core where it would compact and pulse before the explosive release, you tried to grind your hips up against his face.

"Please," you beg, "please, Frankie! I need you, oh! Yes! I need, I need..."

"D'you need to cum, baby girl?" Frankie asks, panting against your core.

"Uh-huh, uh-huh, yes, Frankie please!"

"Then cum for me," he commanded before sucking your clit into his mouth and thrusting two fingers deep into you to strum against that sacred spot inside of you that made you see stars.

You came with a shout, legs clamping together and trapping his head where it continued to work you through your convulsions. Pulling away once your legs had become rubbery enough to weaken the cage they'd created, Frankie gives you a quick, dirty kiss before helping you walk to his bed area to dress. Watching him pull on a pair of faded, well-worn jeans caused your brain to short circuit.

Why was him going commando so fucking hot?!

"I don't know about you," his voice snapped you out of your lust-laden haze, calling from the kitchenette "but I'm famished!"

"Are you serious?!" You huffed out, half in exasperation and have in amusement.

"Frankie, you're-, you haven't-, I mean." There was no delicate way you could phrase this, "Don't you want to fuck me?"

You could feel the heat from his gaze even from the distance, see the way his eyes darkened again with lust. "Of course I do, you know I do," he practically growled, your thighs clenching and rubbing together in response. "But when I do, I don't want interruptions. I don't want to be able to get up again before tomorrow. So I'm trying very hard to ignore how fucking incredibly sexy you look, perched on my bed like that, and make us some food."

You'd never been good at accepting compliments, and Brad's habit of dishing them out only to expect something in return had made you uneasy from them. This time, though, you could see the truth in Frankie's eyes, the simplicity in the way he says them like a fact.

"If you don't put on some clothes though," he continues, voice more gravelly and strained than ever, "I'm either going to ruin dinner or scrap that plan entirely."

Taking pity on him, and what you could only assume was a terribly painful erection straining in his jeans, you picked through his closet and found a pair of boxers and a threadbare flannel shirt to wear.

"Hmm, look at you," he practically purred, gazing at you with heavy-lidded eyes, "you're stunning." Pulling you into his side and kissing your hairline he continues "I remember thinking how beautiful you were the first time I saw you."

You laughed, remembering your first interaction, "That was the least flattering introduction, oh my god! I had forgotten our little spat at the market!"

"I'd seen you earlier," he admits with the ghost of a smile like he was reliving the scene in his mind. "You had the happiest grin on your face, chatting so easily with everyone, and you were holding a big bunch of sunflowers." His eyes focus again and he sheepishly glances to the floor, rubbing the back of his neck, "Aw man, I wanted you to come and talk to me so badly. I wanted to see that smile directed at me."

"And then you insulted me instead," you finished for him, the mirth evident in your tone. "You know," you suddenly recalled a drunken conversation you'd had with a friend months ago "I just remembered I owe you a kiss and Jacquie's regards."

Turning from the cutting board, and the ingredients for what looked like a delicious stir-fry, Frankie gazed at you with a lazy smirk curling his lips. "Is that so?"

"Mmmm," you nodded, looking at him through your lashes. He didn't immediately turn back to prepping food and you took that as an invitation. Wrapping your arms around his neck you softly pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"That's for making great cider," then kissing his nose "and that's for being a great boss," his chin, "the greatest handyman," his lips, "and for trapping you on the Ferris wheel for nearly an hour."

Frankie huffed out a laugh then silenced you from further embarrassing him, he didn't do well with compliments, by kissing you back with fervor. Fuck dinner, he thought, having you couldn't wait any longer.

Sweeping you off your feet, swallowing your surprised shriek with a kiss, Frankie carried you back to his bed. He had restrained himself so well already, taking his time with you and pacing himself, but the way you looked in his clothes, on his bed, and under him was just too much.

"I need you," he gasped as he kneeled over you, gripping the lapels of his old work shirt you’d decided to wear, "I don't know if I can be gentle."

"I don't want you to be."

Something in him snapped, he was no longer controlled and methodological, his body was running on pure, animalistic instinct now. Ripping his shirt apart, sending buttons flying, Frankie crashed his mouth to yours again. A small sane voice in the back of his mind took note of the hunger in your kiss back, assuring him that you were more than okay with his pace.

Bracing himself on one arm, he used the other to help you rip the boxers off your legs then cupping your core, wet again for him already, while you made quick work of his jeans.

The minute they were down far enough for his cock to spring out he was shoving your hands away, gathering your wrists in one hand and pinning them above your head, and he entered you with one swift pump of his hips.

He stalled out inside of you, needing a minute to steady himself as your wet heat engulfed him. The scrape of your nails on your shoulders and ragged gasps were driving him wild but it was your impossibly tight cunt that nearly made him finish before he'd even started.

Breathe, breathe, think about unsexy things. Apples, nothing sexy about those- a memory of you singing endearingly while picking apples invades his thoughts. Okay, uh trucks? Driving my truck- suddenly he's remembering how concerned you'd been for his farm and not your truck during that freak storm. Fuck! This isn't helping. Mom? Ew- he's picturing you, round and glowing, arms cradling his future child with a soft smile on your face.

Realizing that his efforts to distract himself weren't going to help, he began to plow into you in earnest. Giving your wrists a final squeeze he commands you to keep them there with a "Stay" and a dark glint in his eyes. Your pliant body and complete trust in him is making his head swim, it may have been close to two years since his last hook-up but he knows that abstinence isn't the only reason this is feeling so good.

He crushes his mouth to yours again in a needy kiss before kneeling back so he can watch himself disappear into your greedy cunt then reappear, covered in your slick.

He was getting close and, by the sound of your ragged cries, you were too. Hoisting your legs up until they're flush against his chest, ankles resting on his shoulder, he tilts your hips and thrusts up into you. Looking, for, the perfect, angle- you scream his name and he knows he's found it.

Holding that position and pistoning into you, Frankie is sure you're going to have bruises on your thighs from where his arm is keeping them trapped against him. He can't help it though and is pretty sure you'd swear at him if he decided to suddenly stop to switch positions.

He wants you to cum again, one more time, when he does.

"Frankie!"

Your voice sounded wrecked, words rasping through a throat unused to the moans and cries from the past hour. He noticed how your knuckles were white from where they grasped the pillow in a death grip, trying your absolute hardest to please him by keeping them where he commanded.

"You've been so good, honey" he crooned as his thumb found your little bundle of nerves and rubbed circles around it. "Come on baby, you can do it, cum for me."

Shaking your head back and forth, you cried out to him "I can't! I can't! I need to touch you, I need more!"

"Yes, you can," Frankie practically growled out and felt your cunt clench around him as a result. "Let go-" pinching your clit hard "-and cum."

Frankie slammed into you one last time before the pressure that had been building up at the back of his cock finally explodes. A white-hot explosion erupts down his shaft as his hot cum shoots out in a blinding wave of ecstasy. Simultaneously, your back had arched and Frankie could just make out, through the haze of his own release, the way you screamed his name as your orgasm hit.

His entire body was like rubber, it never ceased to amaze him how fast the come-down hit him, and he flopped down onto you for a minute to rest. Your hands finally moved from their imaginary bindings and smoothed the hair from his sweaty brow, huffing a laugh as the euphoria that only a good fucking can provide hit.

"Told you we'd be great," you whispered.

He could hear the smugness in your voice and it made him smile and wonder what else the two of you could be great at together.

Part Twelve

#Frankie Morales x F!reader #Frankie catfish Morales x F!reader #Francisco morales x F!reader #Frankie morales x Fem!reader #Frankie catfish morales x Fem!reader #catfish x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader

161 notes · View notes

watermelonlipstick · 4 years ago

Text

Distraction (Request)

This was a request for @sergeantsea, who asked:

Hi angel!! I was wondering if you could write something with the reader slow dancing w Sam? Maybe they have to pretend to be together to do a mission?

It was a total blast to write--SUCH a cute idea. I hope this is something like you were thinking.

Title: Distraction

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1673

Summary: A misstep during a case requires a distraction and some quick thinking.

Warnings: canon-appropriate threat of violence, mention of alcohol, fluffy fluff fluff, a little teaspoon of smut-adjacent action 😜

You tried to make the quick strides across the room look purposeful rather than frantic and resisted the urge to check over your shoulder for whether the pair had followed you across the bar. It had been stupid to try to eavesdrop without the pretense of another conversation to cover, and when the vampires had both looked up at the same time, you were sure you were done for.

“Look alive,” you hissed, grabbing Sam’s hand and yanking him up from the cracked leather stool he was leaning on. He had to stretch against your grip to rest his pool cue on the wall, giving an apologetic smile to the denim-clad guys he and Dean had been playing. Didn’t matter much, Dean could hustle the two of them by himself anyway.

“What’s going on?” Sam muttered, low and serious as he caught up, trailing just barely behind you so that the words played against the back of your neck, the delicate heat of them along your skin already easing some of the panic you had been feeling.

“I might’ve just gotten us made—don’t look,” you said with a smile you hoped would look flirtatious to a bystander, turning to curl a hand around the back of his neck as a safeguard to prevent his inevitable impulse to check it out.

“Uh, okay. What’s the plan?”

“Just two regular people in a regular bar doing some regular dancing.”

You could feel Sam’s neck tense under your palm.

“You know, I’m really not so good at—”

“Sorry, you’re going to have to pretend unless you’ve got a better option. Smile, please,” you said through the gritted teeth behind your put-on smile, and Sam gave a tight-lipped facsimile as the song shifted, Lionel Richie singing “know it sounds funny but I just can’t stand the pain,” smooth as silk even over the dive’s old speakers . You took Sam’s hand and set it on your hip before floating your free fingers behind his neck. He followed suit somewhat tentatively, holding you with big paws as carefully as if you were some antique Christmas ornament.

“Can I look yet?” he smiled down at you, grin only partly exasperated. You moved a misplaced lock of hair back to the right side of his loose part and tried not to flush at the way he deliberately closed his eyes while you did.

One of your hands traced down the collar of his flannel, resting on his lapel and closing a few more inches between your waists. “Sure. Stocky guy in blue and a blond guy with a goatee.”

Sam checked back from where you’d come under the pretense of tucking you under his chin. When he spoke it was like stepping into a hot shower, soothing warmth flowing over the crown of your head. “They’re definitely watching. You sure it’s only those two? They’re sitting with a bigger table and no one’s talking.”

“Fuck. How many?”

“Uh, how fast do you think you can get to the car?”

“That bad? Spin me, I wanna see.”

He obliged, slipping his hand into your lax grip on his neck and guiding your hips around a small spin that was just enough for you to see the overflowing booth the two had slid into, at least 7 or 8 angry-looking probably-vamps with eyes trained on you and Sam.

When you turned back toward him, an easy, cheeky grin spread over his face as Sam slid an arm to your lower back and interlaced the fingers of his other hand with yours. “I didn’t realize you were this much trouble. What’d you do, spit in their beer?”

“Very funny. Are they buying this?” You rested your palm on his shoulder, feeling the ripple of the muscles as his fingers spread out over your back.

Sam chuckled and you felt the vibration of his chest into your forearms, starting to feel like a competition cheerleader with the plastered-on smile. “Gimme a sec, I don’t want to look suspicious.” He started incrementally rotating the two of you and you knew it was tactical, so he could see both Dean and the booth. Didn’t really help you either way, field of vision pretty much entirely blocked by the broad span of Sam’s chest. Knowing that he was trying to better his position signaled to you to get ready, and you held a deep breath in an effort to calm your racing heartbeat. He leaned back a touch. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. Just such a fucking rookie move, I feel like an idiot.”

“Don’t sweat it. If it’s a rookie move, I must be a rookie too. And usually the warning Dean gives me for shit like this is yelling for me 6 punches in.”

You snickered a little into the flannel of his shirt despite yourself. “Thanks.”

The two of you swayed together through a chorus. “Come on Dean, you idiot, look up,” Sam murmured to himself. Dean was lining up a shot he could hit backwards with his eyes closed like he needed laser precision, blissful ignorance allowing him to concentrate only on hustling the guys he was playing for a couple hundred bucks and not the imminent danger. A few people got up from the booth and began making their way across the bar. You could see them in your peripheral vision and knew even if Dean miraculously glanced up now and got with the program lightning-fast you’d be in trouble based on sheer numbers alone.

“You trust me?” he asked fervently.

“Yeah, of course I—” you stammered, immediately cut off by the plush crash of Sam’s lips into yours, the deepened pressure of his hand sealing your torsos together. After the briefest stunned moment you got the picture, kissing Sam back cautiously. You let him pull you closer, relaxed into his arms and dragged the hand you had on his shoulder down to gently hold onto his lapel, feeling a little dizzy even through the relative chasteness of the kiss. He disentangled his fingers from yours and slid them to your neck, the tiny chill of each of his wintry fingertips sending goosebumps down your spine as he cradled your head. Hands on his collar, you didn’t even think to stop yourself when you wrapped the flannel up, pure instinct driving your motion. Sam wound through the hair at the back of your neck and those instincts betrayed you again, nipping at his bottom lip on reflex and slipping your tongue into his mouth, somehow sweet over the cheap beer you’d all been drinking throughout the night—perfect—and Sam was much less nervous than you would’ve thought when he took a sharp inhale in surprise but didn’t back down, met your escalation as readily as he supported your weight against him.

And then you were well and truly in it, Sam’s hand hitching up the back of your tee as he reached for a better grip on you, your grabbing at his shirt popping open a button so you could feel the impossible heat off his chest and get towed under by it like a current, like a magnetic field, and you couldn’t stop, needed more and more, mind a fuchsia cloud of want totally void of intelligent thought or awareness of your surroundings even as you had been so panicked minutes before.

The spell was broken by a wolf whistle from one of Dean’s opponents, and you broke apart with a lascivious pop of suction. Inches from you, Sam’s eyes were half lidded and kissed stupid, the pink of his lips feathered out to match the flush in his cheeks. You glanced toward the pool table to find the almost-hustled men leering at you and Sam from where they stood next to Dean, whose face had landed exactly halfway between stunned and disbelieving.

Addressing his brother, Sam cleared his throat and breathed, “We were just—” looking back toward where the crew had been closing in and finding nothing, the group now playing some rowdy game and crawling all over each other to stay in the booth, not paying any attention to you or Sam. “We were, uh, just—” he tried again, still at a loss for words.

“Get a room,” Dean teased, play-nauseated, eyebrows twisted so far up on his forehead you were surprised they weren’t pushing his hair back.

“No, it wasn’t—”

“In front of God and everybody,” he continued, roguish twinkle overcoming the surprise in his eyes. You could feel the heat rising in your face and hastily stepped back from Sam, yanking your shirt down the few inches it had risen. Sam seemed not to notice his open buttons as he froze, still facing Dean. “By all means, don’t let us stop you.” He supported his weight on his pool cue, face as clear a challenge as anything.

Sam ruffled the back of his hair sheepishly and took the ribbing with tightened lips. “Yeah, okay. Ha-ha.”

“I’m going to, uh, grab another beer. Do you want one?” you asked Sam quietly, hoping Dean and the pool players might lose interest.

“Sure, yeah. I—ah, I’m gonna—” he stuttered, face screwing up in a silent, bashful “help me?” smile while his shoulders bunched around his neck. You started to giggle, nerves finally catching up to you, and bit your lip to hold your smile together.

“Go finish your game?”

Sam chuckled and nodded, looking at his feet.

You took a deep breath. “Um, thanks for saving me back there. I won’t make the same mistake again, I promise.”

He flicked his gaze up, grin split open at the side to show a few teeth as he ran his tongue over his molars, framed by an impossibly sliced dimple. “I—ah, I wouldn’t mind if you made that mistake again.”

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

Tags: @sams-sass @vxnderlindes @deanwinchesterswitch @akshi8278 @itsjensenanddean @flannellover67 @weepingwillowphoenix @tj-drinks-tea @whatareyousearchingfordean @winchestergirl2 @winchest09 @samwisethegr8 @fawnxng @nurse-sarahrn @lovers-in-japan-reign-of-love @thewinchesterandreidwhore @deanwanddamons @stressedoutkitten @winchestershiresauce @tatted-trina6 @percico-heronstairs @downanddirtydean @queenoftheunderdark @lyarr24 @wonder-cole @sergeantsea

And as always, if you want to be on my taglist, were on the taglist and changed your handle, or I lost track of it, please let me know!

248 notes · View notes

there-must-be-a-lock · 4 years ago

Text

Leave Your Boots By The Bed (SPN x BtVS)

Sam Winchester x Faith Lehane

Word Count: 7350

Warnings: It’s smutty! Samhandling, the jockey is MJ’s favorite sex position, lots of discussions of trust and consent, unprotected sex, rimming, spanking, hair pulling, and dom/sub themes. Wee bit o’ feelings but in a nice way with a happy ending. Mostly just a whole bunch of marathon, athletic, probably-not-OSHA-compliant banging.

A/N: This is the Sam/Faith side-quest (idk what else to call it) to Big Damn Heroes, but you don’t really need to read that to understand this. You can also read just the scene where these two meet over here.

This is my entry for @idabbleincrazy and her “What Do You Mean This Is Classic Rock?” Challenge! My prompt was “Girl All The Bad Guys Want,” by Bowling For Soup, which 100% gave me Faith vibes. It’s quoted/referenced a couple times in the story.

It’s also my (second) entry for @stusbunker’s Jam Basket fic exchange. This one’s for @thoughtslikeaminefield, who deserves the world on a silver platter. I cannot give her that, so instead I offer Faith smut. Thanks to @mskathywriteswords for prodding and lotion-related reality checks, and to @fangirlxwritesx67 for the read-throughs and for reassuring me that if I ever write Sam smut without a little psychoanalysis thrown in, she will worry about me.

Title from the Jason Isbell song “Cover Me Up,” which I listened to on repeat while writing certain chunks of this.

“What’s so funny?” Faith asks, looking at him sideways as they walk.

“I just told you I come from another universe and your response is ‘cool.’”

“Am I supposed to be impressed? I like it this way. No chance of you gettin’ all clingy.”

Sam laughs. “Fair enough.”

“Monsters, huh? You ever staked a vamp before?”

“Stakes don’t kill ‘em in my world. But… beheaded a few,” Sam says mildly.

“Yeah?” Her eyes sparkle. “So if we take the shortcut through the graveyard, you’re not gonna slow me down or get yourself killed?”

He gives her an unimpressed look. “What do you think?”

“Let’s go, then,” she challenges, pointing to the cemetery gate up ahead. “Bet I can dust more before we get to the other side.”

“You’re on.”

* * * * * * * * * *

“Heads up,” Faith shouts, and tosses him a stake. Sam whirls and punches it through the thing’s ribcage, sending dust swirling just in time to turn and watch Faith launch herself at another vamp.

“Is this where you take all your dates?” Sam wonders out loud, a little bit enthralled by the cocky grin on her face as she sends the vamp stumbling with one of those showy spin-kicks.

“This is not a date,” she snaps, between solid punches. The last hit decks the vamp, and she stakes him before he can hit the ground. She struts toward Sam, brushing dust from her skintight jeans with a Cheshire cat smile. “I like my job. Fuckin’ sue me.”

“Not complaining,” Sam says, sincerely. “Hottest thing I’ve seen in ages.”

She looks up at him suspiciously, like she thinks he’s making fun of her, and Sam lets her see the heat in his eyes. The grin is back, and she’s grabbing him by the lapels and rocking onto her tiptoes, swaying into him with a little sigh and a lot of confidence. Sam slides both hands into her hair and ducks down to kiss her, sucking on her lower lip and tasting waxy red.

Breathtakingly competent and moderately bitchy has always sorta been his type.

“We had a bet,” he points out, before crushing his mouth to hers again. She makes a sound like a purr and wrenches herself away, grabbing him by the wrist and making a beeline for the path.

“I’m gonna say we both won here,” she says decisively. “Let’s go.”

* * * * * * * * * *

She grabs him the second the lock slides into place, backing him against the door, already tugging at his belt. He yanks her jacket off her shoulders and she lets it fall, and then he grabs her by the belt loops, reeling her in until she’s pressed against him, hips flush to his as he slouches against the door. He bends to mouth at the long smooth line of her throat.

“Talk to me,” he says, nipping at her earlobe. She shivers.

“Fuck that,” she says hoarsely. “Didn’t bring you here to talk.”

“Don’t worry, I can multitask.” Sam nibbles at the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, working delicate skin between his teeth, and pops the button of her jeans. He slides a hand down, teasing her clit with his fingertips, and repeats: “Tell me what you like.”

“I like a lot less conversation and a whole lot more nudity,” Faith tosses back, but her voice is ragged, and she tilts her head to the side, baring her neck for his teeth. “I don’t fuckin’ know, dude, are we doing this or not?”

He bends just enough to scoop her up, and she goes with it, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck as he cups her ass with both hands. When he turns them around, slamming her back against the door and rolling his hips, Faith lets out a breathy sound of surprise.

He drags his open mouth up the side of her throat and repeats, “Talk to me.”

She pulls him up by the hair, forcing his head back, rough and perfect, and Sam moans against her lips as she kisses him. It’s more like a bite, all teeth and heat.

“Bedroom’s that way,” she says huskily.

She’s so strong, rock-solid where she’s wrapped around him, that it’s barely an effort to carry her through the small, spare living space. She’s got her hands in his hair and her teeth scraping his collarbone, and Sam grits his teeth against the sting as he kicks the door shut behind them.

“Get your fuckin’ clothes off already,” she rasps, tugging at his flannel, and he strips both his shirts off obligingly, leaning back against the wall to balance as he discards them without putting Faith down.

She lets go of his neck to help him, holding herself up with no support other than her abs and her thighs. Sam’s just as turned on by that casual display of strength as by the sight of bare skin — no bra — when she peels her tank top off. He hoists her a little higher, until he can flick his tongue over one hard pink nipple. He blows a stream of cool air over the sensitive skin and she shivers, thighs squeezing his sides as she arches her back.

“What do you want?” Sam whispers, and laves his tongue over the other nipple.

“Fuck, anything, you’re killin’ me here.”

“Anything?” He scrapes pebbled skin with his teeth, savoring the way she squirms.

“Want you naked. Now.” She twists out of his grasp like a cat, sliding down his front and landing gracefully on her feet. Gracefully but loudly, that is; she crouches to deal with her big chunky boots, and Sam toes off his own.

He grins down at her as she tugs on his belt, admiring the way her mouth looks: bright red from his teeth, now, with the last smudges of lipstick smeared down her chin.

Sam bats her hands away from his zipper. He picks her up before she can argue and tosses her bodily onto the bed, and she bounces on the mattress, her hair spilling across the sheet like a dark glossy halo. She lifts her hips to get her jeans off, her torso bowing up in a long elegant curve.

Neither of them hide the way they check each other out when the clothes are finally out of the way. Sam kneels on the bed, looking down at her, and she bites her lip, tracking the movement of his hand as he strokes himself lazily.

“Is this what you want?” he asks. “Ask for it.”

Her eyes sparkle, mischievous and defiant, and she moves so fast that Sam’s taken by surprise when she grabs him — he can’t remember the last time that happened to him, let alone in bed. She pulls him down on top of her and rolls them over, switching their positions, and Sam laughs breathlessly as she pins his wrists to the pillow on either side of his head.

“I don’t like takin’ orders,” she says smugly.

“Is that true?” Sam counters. “Or have you just never met anybody who knows how to give orders?”

She looks startled by that, but instead of responding, she straddles him — sinks down on him wet and tight and perfect — and Sam has to grit his teeth and close his eyes for a moment, adjusting to all that sudden slippery heat around him.

There’s a gratifyingly breathless note in her voice when she says, “Does it matter? Point is, I can take care of myself.”

She’s not fucking kidding about that part.

She arches into a spectacular back-bend, supporting herself with one hand and zero visible effort. Her other hand is between her legs, rubbing her clit hard and fast as she bucks her hips up in little jerky rocking movements — and there’s an image that will (hopefully) be seared into Sam’s memory until the day he dies. For a moment all he can do is watch and try to memorize it. Then he presses the heel of his hand into her lower belly, grinding into her as best he can, and she clenches around him, soaking and squeezing in pulses so intense it almost hurts as she comes with a rough, husky moan.

“This is gonna be fun,” Sam breathes, and he tugs her upright for one searing kiss before flipping her onto her stomach.

* * * * * * * * * *

When Sam offers to wash her hair, she reacts like he just proposed marriage, except instead of an engagement ring, he’d offered her a grenade pin — shock, disbelief, and more than a little fear.

“Please tell me this is a kinky thing,” she says warily, and Sam laughs, tilting his head back in the spray and sluicing water from his face with both hands. When he looks down at her again, she’s still got her lip curled and her defenses up.

“It’s not a kinky thing,” he says, rolling his eyes.

She can’t get far in the shower stall, but she turns her back to him, and Sam’s forcibly reminded of a cat, licking her paws dry after accidentally stepping in a puddle.

“I can wash my own damn hair. Shit, don’t get all touchy-feely on me.”

Sam’s had a lifetime of practice at remaining earnest in the face of someone who’s determined to pretend they don’t want his kindness. He knows better than to give up that easily.

“Come here,” he says, smoothing his hands up her sides. She doesn’t relax, exactly, but she doesn’t shy away. “Faith. Different universe, remember? Not a romantic thing. I just want to touch you.”

She takes a reluctant half-step back, settling against him without a word.

Sam squirts a dollop of shampoo into his palm, tilting her chin up so that her head falls back, and he massages her scalp with his fingertips, rubbing in firm circles.

“Keep your eyes closed for me,” he tells her quietly, maneuvering her into the spray, but he shields her face carefully with one hand as he starts to rinse the lather out, making sure the bubbles don’t go anywhere near the fan of her spiky-wet lashes. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” she croaks, barely audible under the sound of the water. “S’ not so bad.”

“Speaking of kinky things,” he says casually. “We should talk about that.”

“Yeah?”

“What do you like? What’s your safeword?”

“Safeword?” She snorts, dismissive. “What, you really think you could dish out somethin’ I couldn’t take?”

Sam clenches his jaw. He’s glad her back is to him so she can’t see the expression on his face right now.

There are no more bubbles in her hair, but he keeps running his hands through it, just to have something to do as he figures out how to say this.

“I don’t think there’s much you couldn’t take,” he tells her softly. “I think you might be the strongest woman I’ve ever met.”

“Damn straight,” she mutters, mollified.

Sam squeezes out some conditioner, finger-combing it through her hair.

“You don’t trust me,” he says. It’s not a question.

“Fuck no,” she replies promptly. “Why would I? Trust is something you gotta earn.”

Sam’s mouth twists into a smile. “Fair enough. But… it’s not about seeing how much you can take. It’s about you trusting me to stop, no questions asked, if you say that word. You want me to take control, I’ll do it. Believe me, I’m down. But not until you trust me. If you think you can do that, all you gotta do is ask. Okay?”

She takes a breath like she wants to say something, but she seems to think better of it. She lets out a sigh, looking at him — through him — and all he gets is a subdued, “Yeah, okay.”

Sam tilts her head back gently again, working his fingers through her hair until the little crease of a frown fades from her forehead. He turns her in his arms, cradling her against his chest, and she lets him, resting her cheek over his heart.

“Poughkeepsie.”

“Gesundheit.”

“Cute. It’s a city where I — I was in over my head, one time, and I needed help. That’s my safeword.”

She pulls back, looking up at him, confusion written all over her face. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I trust you.”

“Really?”

Sam shrugs. “If somebody offered you a lot of money to kill me, I’d sure as fuck be watching my back. But… as far as respecting boundaries? Here and now, just you and me? Yeah, I trust you completely.”

Faith stares, scanning his expression for a hint of a lie, but when she doesn’t find one, her eyes soften. Her lips curl briefly into a pleased little smile.

“Didn’t really take you for the submissive type.”

“I’m not.”

She cocks her head thoughtfully, gaze calculating, and prods, “Go on, then. You’re the one who wants to talk about everything.”

“No bodily fluids.”

“With you on that one. There’s good freaky fun and then there’s just freaky. What else? Bet you’d look real pretty tied to my bed.”

“No chains. Ropes, cuffs, that’s fine — no chains. Um.. pain isn’t a big deal. I’d rather you didn’t draw blood, but… as far as pain goes, don’t worry about pushing too far.”

“Tryna be a tough guy?”

“No. Just telling you the facts. Temperature play is a hard limit. Ice, especially.”

“Okay. So… if I wanted to blindfold you, tie you up, and ride your face for a while…”

“Works for me.” She gets out of the shower without another word, grabbing a towel, all business, and he laughs. “Somebody’s in a hurry.”

“You’ve got like sixty seconds before the hot water runs out and it gets all end-of-Titanic in there.” She flashes him a grin. “Also, yeah. Let’s go.”

* * * * * * * * * *

She pretends she’s asleep, for a while, but then she slips out of bed, and her bare feet don’t make a sound as she navigates the apartment in the dark. He hears the toilet flush, water run, then the creak of… something.

He gives her a minute to herself before he gets up, just as silent as she was, and follows the smell of smoke to the open window. She’s leaning on the sill, silhouetted by the filtered yellow light of street lamps, and when she takes a drag the orange ember flares in the dark.

“Jesus, fuckin’ scared the shit outta me,” she snaps. The Boston in her voice comes out strong when she’s startled. When she offers him the last bit of the cigarette he takes it, grabbing her wrist with the other hand, and throws it out the window as he pulls her close.

“Hey, I was smokin’ that,” she protests, voice crackly like there’s a popping fire down in her chest.

Sam traces the curve of her cheek. He brushes one curled knuckle back and forth over her lower lip and then drags the pad of his thumb over the pillow of it, watching the soft give as he presses down. Her tongue darts out to flicker over his thumb, but otherwise, she’s motionless.

Faith takes his wrist, holding his hand to her mouth, and swirls her tongue over the pad of his thumb. Then she slides his index and middle fingers into her mouth, sucking on them shamelessly. They slide from her lips with a wet pop. A bolt of heat thuds through Sam’s gut — he’s only human.

“I like your hands,” she purrs, with one last suggestive lick.

“Something in particular you want me to do with them?” he asks.

She hesitates and presses a kiss to the center of his palm before answering: “I bet you have some ideas.”

“Tell me what you want, Faith.”

For a second there’s a deer-in-headlights vulnerability in her huge dark eyes, and she can’t hide the slight frown that flickers across her face.

“Why do you keep asking me that?” she whispers. She’s still holding his wrist. Sam twists to lace his fingers through hers instead, letting their joined hands drop palm-to-palm.

“Because sex isn’t fun for me unless everybody’s getting what they want. Call me crazy, but…”

“I brought you here, didn’t I? You know I want it. That’d be good enough, for most guys. Believe me, if you do somethin’ I don’t like, I’ll tell you about it.”

Sam closes his eyes, thinking of a half-dozen possible answers to that question. He considers telling her about Meg and Gadreel and all the other things that have slithered in over the years and used his body without his permission. He feels a phantom pain in his palm and remembers Lucifer’s taunt — you let me in — and he considers telling her about why he can’t stand the feel of ice or the rattle of chains.

He settles for the most fundamental answer: “Because you deserve to get what you want. You deserve better than ‘good enough.’”

She digests that silently for a moment, and then she guides his hand firmly to her hip, before grabbing the other and placing it flat on her breastbone.

“Just… touch me?” she asks, and Sam smiles, shifting closer, running his hands over her skin: fingertips in the dip of her throat, thumb stroking her collarbone, palm sweeping up and down her side, gentle and deliberately innocent.

“Why does it bother you so much when I ask?” he says softly.

She grimaces, and for a second it looks like she’ll brush it off, make a joke of it.

“Not used to it, I guess. Most guys don’t ask. I think guys look at me, they make some assumptions, you know?”

“Such as?”

She shrugs. “Guess they figure I’m down for anything.”

“Faith.”

“Don’t. Anyway, it’s more than that. Most people, they only offer to give you something if they want something in return.”

“What do you think I want from you?”

“That’s what’s got me spun out. Figured you just wanted a great lay, but… you’re still here.” She drops her gaze. “Bein’ all sweet and shit.”

Sam tries to hide his smile. “Should I not be?”

“Can’t figure you out,” Faith mumbles. “You’re different.”

Sam thinks about that for a moment as he folds to his knees in front of her. He drags his mouth down the center of her chest, tasting salt, and nips at the soft skin under her belly-button.

“How do you mean?” He looks up at her again, holding eye contact as he traces her hipbone with his tongue.

“I’m not the kinda chick that sweet guys usually go for, you know?” She slides her fingers through his hair, tugging lightly, and Sam hums his approval. “The nice ones know better. I’m the girl all the bad guys want.”

“That seems a bit reductive, don’t you think?”

“See, shit like that. Your mouth’s an inch away from my pussy and you’re using words like reductive.”

“I just want you. All of you, not just the ‘nice’ parts or the shit you show most guys.”

“Might not be saying that if — oh. Do that again.”

“Faith, trust me when I say that whatever you’ve done, I’ve done worse.”

“Jesus, can we talk about this later?”

“What do you want?”

“Want you to get your ass back in bed and quit teasing, for starters.”

“I can do that.”

* * * * * * * * * *

“The fuck did you find in the fridge?” Faith asks hoarsely.

“Beer and pickles,” he says, glancing over his shoulder with a grin.

She’s leaning against the frame of the bedroom door, wearing his flannel and nothing else. It’s open, baring a long slice of pale skin, from the dip between her breasts and down her stomach to a neat trail of dark hair. She looks like a centerfold, but rumpled and sleepy-eyed and real, human, in a way that makes it so much hotter.

“You went out.” She frowns at the front door.

“Are you surprised I came back?”

“Honestly? Not really.” Sam hides his smile at that answer. “Except that door’s supposed to lock automatically.”

“It does. I picked the lock.”

“Anything you can’t do?” Faith comes over and hoists herself up onto the counter next to him, eyeing the pan of bacon eagerly.

“Never been good at walking in heels.” Sam passes her the extra large to-go cup of dark roast he’d gotten her from the local coffee place, and she grins.

“Shit, you really know how to spoil a girl.”

Sam puts a hand on her bare thigh, thumb running back and forth idly as he takes her in, tracing the shape of her body with his eyes. She gives him a raised eyebrow and sips her coffee quietly. There’s none of the wariness or put-on swagger from last night. She just seems comfortable.

“No bruises,” he says, hand sliding up higher, finding nothing but unblemished skin where he knows he left marks. Every imprint of Sam’s teeth and hands and hipbones has melted away.

“Slayer healing.” She leans back on her palms, inviting him to touch more. Sam pulls his hand away — pancakes to flip — but he smirks.

“That’s a shame. They looked good on you.”

Faith’s eyes go dark. “Yeah?”

“I’ll just have to leave some more… later. Breakfast is ready.”

Faith eats with an indecent enthusiasm that reminds him of Dean, but somehow that doesn’t surprise him. Which… speaking of Dean — Sam borrows her cell as they’re finishing breakfast, because apparently other universes aren’t included in his roaming service, and a sleepy female voice picks up.

“Faith?”

“Sam, actually. Is my brother around?”

“Sam? Did you… you and Faith?” Buffy’s voice goes a little squeaky at the end. Then there’s indistinct scuffling.

Faith swipes her index finger through the maple syrup that’s left on her plate, sucking it clean, hollowing her cheeks in a way that’s pretty fucking distracting.

“Sammy?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Hey. You didn’t even notice I was gone, did you?”

“Where are you? Who’s Faith?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam says. “Did Charlie fix the thing?”

“Uh, hang on.” There’s a muffled conversation on the other line.

Faith gets up, walking around the table to pick up Sam’s plate, her movements slinky and deliberate, her hips swaying, showing off tantalizing glimpses of skin as his flannel skims the curves of her body. He twists around to watch her go. Faith sets both plates in the sink and stretches, and the flannel rides up her thighs.

“Pretty sure Charlie’s not awake yet either,” Dean says. “Late nights all around. Go team. Should we save you some breakfast?”

“No, I’m busy.”

Dean is saying something, but Sam’s not really paying attention. Faith is leaning on the table, bent at the waist, the flannel riding up to expose the lower curve of her ass. Sam turns in his chair to raise an eyebrow at her, pointedly adjusting himself in his jeans. She smirks like the cat who got the cream.

“Just call this number when you need me, Dean,” Sam says abruptly, cutting him off. “See you later.” He hangs up before Dean can get a protest in.

She bats her eyelashes, sugary-sweet. “Sorry, did I distract you?”

“Don’t lie. You’re not sorry at all.” Sam shakes his head, mock-scolding, and gives her a light tap, mostly to watch the way her flesh jiggles just right under his hand.

She grins, wiggling her hips and spreading her legs a little wider. “If you’re gonna do it, do it like you mean it.”

There’s a long, weighted pause.

“Are you asking me for —”

“Fuck yes I am.”

“Faith…”

She’s quiet but sincere when she says, “I trust you.”

Sam exhales sharply, and because she looks nervous, now, he quips, “Should’ve known bacon would do the trick.” She laughs at that and relaxes, so he stands up slowly and asks, “Safeword?”

“Dorchester.”

Sam smiles — equal parts amused by the word choice and touched by the trust. He runs a hand down her back and then up again, taking the soft fabric with him, rucking it up. He takes his time, drawing it out to watch the way she pouts, positioning himself behind her and flattening a palm between her shoulderblades to push her down. She braces herself on her forearms.

“Good girl.”

“Well?”

“Be patient.”

“Fucking hit me already,” she says sulkily.

“You can have anything you want,” he promises her, and he grabs a handful of hair, yanking her head back. “You just have to ask for it. Politely.”

He hears the way she sucks in a breath, ragged and desperate, and he smiles.

“Please spank me. Hard.”

“Good girl,” he repeats. He steps back and squeezes before smacking her, nowhere near hard enough to hurt.

“C’mon, is that the best you’ve got?” she teases, laughing.

“You know it’s not.” He brings his hand down with a satisfying sound, and Faith groans.

“Harder,” she grits out.

The next one makes her cry out, ragged and ecstatic. He hits her again, hard enough that his palm smarts, wrist snapping precisely so that the blows are spaced just right across her ass and her upper thighs.

By the time he pauses again she’s panting harshly. He takes a second to admire her, the pretty shade of red blossoming on her pale skin and the way she’s arching her back, putting herself on display for him.

“Fuck, you look good like this.” He kicks her feet farther apart and traces up her center with two callused fingertips. “So wet already, aren’t you?”

She tries to push back into it, to fuck herself on his fingers as she whimpers, “More?”

He lets loose, brings his palm down with a vicious crack, and he can see the way her legs start to shake.

“Shit, do you have any idea what you do to me?” He leans forward, grinding against her, letting her feel how hard he is through his jeans, and when he pulls back again she moans. Her skin is hot to the touch. He runs his fingers over it teasingly before sliding two fingers into her cunt, curling them, pumping and twisting as Faith curses and clenches around him.

“Need you,” she pants. “More.”

“Let me hear you,” he says. He pulls his fingers out and spanks her again, and she shudders, head bowed, pussy glistening wet.

“Please fuck me,” she breathes. He’s reaching for his belt before she gets the word out.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

He rubs the head of his cock through her slickness, teasing, and when she tries to push back, his shaft slides between her lips, dragging along her clit. He bites back a groan and plants his left hand solidly at the base of her neck, forcing her to drop down with her cheek to the table, holding her in place.

“Shit,” she snaps. “Fuckin’ give it to me.”

“What did I say?”

“Want to feel that big thick cock, please,” she says. He can hear the wicked edge in her voice. “Want to feel you fillin’ me up when I come. Just fucking wreck me, Sam. Hold me down and make me scream… please.” She pauses and then asks smugly, “Fuckin’ polite enough for you?”

She could recite a grocery list in that ragged, raspy voice and it’d probably turn him on, at this point; as it is, he feels dizzy from sudden lack of bloodflow to his brain.

“We gotta work on those manners,” he says softly, and pushes into her, just a couple inches, before sliding out again. She whines.

He does it over and over again — one torturously shallow thrust after another — working her open with little rocking motions that are nowhere near enough. She whimpers, and he watches, clocking every shudder that runs up her spine, every involuntary quiver as he fucks into her a little deeper, slick spreading up the flushed-dark length of his cock with each stroke.

It takes every last shred of his self-control, but he forces himself to move slowly, deliberately, until she’s dripping wet and slamming her fists into the table.

Finally, she caves, sobbing two syllables like they’re the only words she remembers: “Please — Sam — please — Sam — please —”

“That’s better,” he sighs, and grabs her by the hips, shifting until he finds the spot that makes her twitch and squirm. She quakes when he hits it dead-on, and he sets an unrelenting pace, fucking her so hard the table hammers against the wall, a rapid-fire counterpoint to her broken, drawn-out cries.

Faith bucks helplessly as she comes, and Sam lets go a split-second later, half collapsing forward as he grinds into her one last time. He braces himself with both palms flat on the wood, and his knees threaten to give out.

His first coherent thought is amazement that the table is still standing, and while he’s trying to remember how to speak, Faith mumbles, “Shit, can’t believe we haven’t broken any furniture yet.” Sam laughs so unexpectedly he almost chokes, and maybe it’s contagious, because Faith starts giggling too.

Sam maneuvers them onto one of the chairs in a messy pretzel of sweat and skin and half-discarded clothes. A surge of pure giddy affection swells in his ribcage, and he wraps his arms around her, squeezing tight, tickling her with his stubble against her neck until she shrieks and twists.

Faith turns her head at an awkward angle to kiss him. Then she mumbles, “Is there more bacon? I could go for more bacon.”

“Anything you want.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Faith stretches extravagantly as she gets up from the opposite end of the couch, and his flannel slips off her shoulders. She lets it fall as she pads over to the fridge.

“Have I mentioned today how good you look naked?” Sam asks.

She pulls two bottles of beer from the fridge and strikes a goofy, mock-sexy pose. “No, but go right ahead.”

“You look really fucking good naked.”

“Not so bad yourself.” She passes him a bottle and sprawls out with her legs draped across his lap. “Why’d you put your clothes back on, anyway?”

“Hot bacon grease and nudity isn’t a good combo. Trust me.”

“Sounds like the voice of experience talking there.”

“Not personal experience,” Sam says with a smirk. “Dean, though…”

She laughs. He tosses the last bite of bacon at her, and she catches it in her mouth.

“Not cooking any more though, are you?” she asks archly.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He obliges, though, stripping unceremoniously, and Faith catcalls. She crawls into his lap when he sits back down, leaning in for a kiss that tastes like beer.

“Much better,” she says quietly, pressing her forehead to his.

“Really thought I might’ve tired you out there.”

“Honestly? Yeah, I need a minute,” she confesses, with a laugh. “Just wanted some eye candy.”

“At your service.”

She settles a little more comfortably in his lap, straddling him, and they exchange slow, lazy kisses. Sam can’t bring himself to stop kissing her. Her lips are soft and plush, and every brush of her tongue and nip of her teeth feels like a luxury, like something he should treasure, because he knows this intimacy has an expiration date.

They stare at each other for a long moment, sweet and almost shy.

Sam offers, “Want to watch a soap opera on mute and make up our own dialogue?”

Her dimples really show when she’s surprised to find herself smiling. She grabs their beers and the remote from the milk crate that serves as her coffee table, raising her bottle in a toast, and then she curls up at Sam’s side, naked and soft and bruised. She fits under his arm like she was meant to be there.

It’s the happiest Sam can remember being in a long time.

Normal, he thinks. This is what normal people do — breakfast and kisses on the couch — tenderness and softness and quiet everyday vulnerability.

Then again, neither of them are normal, not really. Maybe that’s why Sam feels so comfortable with her.

* * * * * * * * * *

This time, she passes him the shampoo without a word, sighing as he cradles the back of her skull with one hand and smooths the hair back from her forehead with the other. When he’s finished, hazy honey-colored eyes blink up at him slowly, like she’s coming out of a trance. It’s a dizzying change from the last time they did this.

They haven’t said goodbye yet and he already misses her — misses this — but he knows he’s lucky to have it for a moment, however brief.

The scalding water feels like heaven on his sore muscles. Sam tilts his head to the side, trying to stretch, and his neck makes a series of popping noises. Faith winces in sympathy.

“Shit, man,” she chuckles. “You sound like Rice Krispies.” She maneuvers around him in the narrow space, reaching up to dig her knuckles into one of his many knots. Sam groans, exaggeratedly pornographic.

Her hands are small, but strong, and Sam’s melting under her palms, increasingly loose-limbed and pliant as she works her thumbs in circles down the muscles on either side of his spine.

“We should get out of here before I forget how to stand up,” he mutters, and Faith laughs. “I think it’s your turn.”

“I like the sound of that.”

She lays herself out on the bed, stomach down, and Sam takes a moment to stare. The way she’s put together — sleek muscle and lush curves under creamy skin — is like art. If she was anyone else, Sam might call her delicate, but he knows better; he knows exactly what she can do. She’s a hurricane disguised as a porcelain doll.

He looks down at his own rough fingers, thickly callused from pencils and triggers and punches, and grabs a bottle of lotion from the dresser before he settles on the bed, straddling her hips. His hands seem massive on her shoulders, and when he drags his palms down, wrapping his fingers around the slim curve of her waist, he marvels at the way she almost fits in the circle of his grasp.

He loses himself in the pleasure of just touching her — in the glide of silky skin under his fingers — in the soft grunts and hums she lets out when he works his fingers into a particularly tight knot. He sweeps his thumbs down the pretty little dimples at the small of her back and then lower, caressing and kneading. He’s careful to avoid pressing on the dappled purple-red bruises from earlier, but he skims them appreciatively, feather-light.

“Do those hurt?” he whispers.

“Little bit. I like it.”

He was already half-hard, aroused in a distant, lazy sort of way, but his dick twitches at that.

He brushes his fingertips down the outsides of her thighs, then up the insides, watching the way she spreads her legs wider for him, but he stops just short of the apex, tracing out along the creases where her ass meets her legs instead.

This feels like a form of worship.

Sam bends to press his mouth to the small of her back, kissing one dimple then the other. He trails sweet open-mouthed kisses down the curve of her ass, lips dragging reverently over velvety skin, licking and sucking along the tops of her thighs, drinking in the way she whimpers and shivers.

“More?” she murmurs.

Sam hooks an arm around her, sliding his forearm under her hips to cant them up so he can lick a thick stripe right up her center, swiping his tongue down and up again with a slick slurping noise. The angle isn’t comfortable but it’s fucking hot; it feels like he’s completely surrounded by her, like this, and when he licks deeper, fucks her shallowly with his tongue, the taste of her arousal floods his senses, until the soapy-clean smell of freshly-showered skin is lost under salty-sweet musk and Sam’s mouth and chin are a mess of slick and spit.

She’s trembling as she repeats, “More.”

He drags his tongue in one broad swipe from her clit up between her ass cheeks, and she curses, pressing back against his mouth. He twists two fingers into her cunt, feeling her clamp down around his scarred knuckles and shudder under his mouth, a frisson of pleasure that travels all the way up her spine. He curls his tongue against tight muscle and crooks his fingers, circles her swollen clit with his thumb, and she muffles a sharp cry into the pillow as she comes.

“More — please — Sam?” she gasps, still clenching around him, so wet he can hear the sound of his fingers pumping into her one last time.

He slides on top of her, blanketing her body with his, kissing the nape of her neck as he presses into her. She reaches back and fists a hand in his hair, making a rough wordless noise that sounds like a question, and her fingers twist until his scalp stings and Sam groans. He sits up, straddling her legs, and his entire body throbs with the pulse of blood in his cock as he fucks her. With her legs together like this, pinned under him, she feels so impossibly tight — velvety-soft and steely all at once — he can barely see straight.

She’s crying out with every gasping breath: “More — please.”

Sam wonders what he could do if he could learn her body, learn what she likes, learn how to take her apart in seconds or draw it out until she’s a writhing mess… if he had just a little more time with her.

* * * * * * * * * *

Faith is wrecked and gorgeous on top of him, not riding him so much as undulating: deep scooping twists of her hips, rising and falling syrupy-slow like she’s moving underwater. There’s dark sweat-soaked hair clinging to her temples and a hazy-eyed, rosy-cheeked expression of bliss on her face. Sam watches a droplet of sweat trickle down between her breasts.

He’s losing his grip on time and the boundaries that used to sit so decisively between them. They’re both exhausted to the point that everything seems a little surreal, dreamy, right in that sweet spot where they might be too tired to come again but languid, sensual sex still feels amazing.

“So fucking perfect,” he whispers. “Just like that.”

Faith tilts forward to kiss him, melting against his chest as she rolls her hips. He wraps her up in his arms and flips them, still inside her, still twined around her. He rocks into her, testing one angle and then another, hitching her leg up higher around his waist, grinding and swiveling until he finds the angle that makes her choke out a curse and clutch at his biceps.

“There,” she whimpers.

Heat starts to pool low in his gut, building slowly but inevitably. He leans down to kiss her, tasting salt, mouths brushing clumsily between deep ragged breaths.

“Gorgeous like this.”

“Sam,” she says helplessly, in the shredded whisper that’s left of her voice. “This — you —“

“I’ve got you, it’s okay. I know.”

Neither of them are particularly coherent, but he knows.

Gold rays of sun slant through the blinds in stripes, illuminating the amber in her irises and the suspicious shine gathering in the corner of her eyes. She smiles up at him in a way that leaves him breathless. It takes him by surprise, the trust in her expression and the heaviness in the moment, and he knows she can feel it too.

Sam wants to shy away from it, but he can’t take his eyes off her.

“Where’s that Al Green soundtrack when you need it, huh?” she manages, and it shocks a breathless laugh out of Sam. Faith giggles too, choked-up and overtired and hoarse. Sam can feel her laugh, feels the rippling clench of wet-hot muscle around him; his body reacts with this gut-punch of arousal, and he snaps his hips, driving in deep. She lets out a rough moan and writhes under him, raking her nails down his back.

From there it builds fast, wild and uncontrollable and blinding, both of them clawing at each other, moving on pure animalistic instinct, lost in each other — lost in the moment. It’s the sort of orgasm that hits like a blackout, like Sam’s out of his body for a few seconds that might as well be an eternity.

When he comes to, he’s whispering nonsense into the sweat-slick crook of her neck — babbling endearments, calling her baby — saying sweet stupid things she would never accept if she was in her right mind, but she doesn’t argue; he’s grateful. In return, Sam pretends not to notice the tears sparkling in her eyelashes.

They’re not sad tears, he knows that much. She’s beaming up at him, all this messy pure human happiness shining in her eyes. She’s beautiful.

Eventually they stop shaking, and Sam whispers, “Nap?”

“Yeah.”

She tucks herself under his chin, and he strokes her hair, counting the breaths before she drops off. She’s asleep in ten, and Sam loses count at eleven.

* * * * * * * * * *

They’re woken in disorienting darkness by a jangling ringtone, and Sam’s immediate instinct is to grab the gun he keeps under his pillow. There’s no gun, though — just a warm naked girl draped over him, cursing like a sailor as the phone continues to ring — because there’s no need for a gun here.

Faith answers the phone by growling a suggestion that sounds anatomically improbable, and Sam hears Dean’s gruff baritone on the other end. He snatches the phone out of her hand.

“S’the middle of the fucking night, Dean,” he grumbles.

“Dude, it’s nine. When was the last time you were asleep by nine?”

“Fuck.” He knuckles at his eyes and fights the urge to hang up, turn the phone off, and burrow under the sweat-soaked sheets to sleep until he actually feels rested for once. “Yeah, okay, be there soon.”

Sam is about to apologize for waking Faith, but she sits up too, switching on the lamp, looking around bleary-eyed.

“Gonna walk with you as far as the graveyard,” she says, through a yawn. “Vamps don’t take a night off.”

Sam feels like he got hit by a goddamn truck, sore and achy all over, but the exhaustion goes much deeper than that. In spite of it, he’s smiling as they dress.

They’re quiet, nothing but a soft, “You see my other sock?” interrupting the heavy silence. They don’t touch as they leave the dark apartment and head down the dingy stairwell into the warm California night, and they don’t talk. They’re pulling themselves together — rebuilding the walls that separate them from normal people — putting on the emotional armor that allows them to fight the battles they have to fight.

They don’t wander away from the path through the cemetery, this time, and the monsters don’t find them. When they reach the gate on the other side, Faith stops.

“You know how to get back from here?”

“Yeah.” He pulls her in by her jacket to kiss her, deep and bruising.

She pulls away enough to mutter, “Fuckin’ figures you’re from another goddamn universe.”

“If things were different —”

“They’re not, though,” Faith says, smiling ruefully. “And that’s for the best.”

“Probably wouldn’t end well, would it? ”

“We’d never get outta bed, the monsters would take over. Every universe needs its heroes, right?”

“Right.” Sam cradles her face in his hands to give her another soft kiss and says, “Take care of yourself.”

Faith steps back. “Always do.”

She turns, pulling a stake out of her jacket as she stalks away, off the path toward the darker corners of the graveyard. Sam watches her go.

She doesn’t look back, but before she’s out of earshot, she shouts, “Quit starin’ at my ass and go save the world already. You’ve got work to do.”

Sam laughs, and then he rolls his eyes and starts walking, smiling to himself. She’s not wrong.

#1kclassicrockchallenge #sam winchester fic #sam winchester #faith lehane #btvs #spn #supernatural #spn x btvs #supernatural x buffy the vampire slayer #crossover fic #sam winchester x faith lehane

117 notes · View notes

ha-hatdog · 4 years ago

Text

double the trouble, triple actually / miya atsumu / smau / chapter one

masterlist / miya atsumu's squad / chapter two

Upon the exiting the compact spaces the cab provided, the first thing that greeted your figures was the cool wind from the north, and not long after, as your feet padded across solid ground, the soft sunrays from the sun hung above the skies caressed your delicate skin. The sun and wind in Japan did not differ from Australia, both countries shared the same sources, but somehow, in some strange and indecipherable way, you felt more at home than the country who served as your paradise from your heartbreak.

Behind you, the chatter between your best friends reached your eardrums as they busied themselves of gathering your luggage from, but their words seemed muffled and beyond the boundary of discernment as you took a proper gander at the luxurious, two story construction erected before you. Slathered in monochrome paint, enveloped in a pristine and doted garden, with the smell of lavender and roses which has blossomed from the rich greenery of the shrubs springing in the air – “Wow,” You breathed out, the disbelief ever present in your inaudible murmur. “Sousuke,” Without executing any kind of motion to execute a decorous confrontation to your raven-haired companions, you carried on with your statement, stammering in the process. “I-Is this really where you live?”

Yamazaki Sousuke heaved one of your baggage from out of the trunk of the vehicle with complete ease as years of his athleticism aided him in his action and fixated his bemused gaze unto you. “I took you here, didn’t I?” His answer came in blank sardonicism but from your years of friendship, you can depict the banter and smile on his baritone voice. “I wouldn’t have offered you my place to stay in if I didn’t live in a nice place.”

Your eyeballs bulged from their sockets, your jaw slackened to reveal a clear display of astonishment on your visage, as your mind attempted, and failed miserably so, to wrap itself around the verity that soon you’ll be taking residency in this abode under the care and generosity of one of your best friends.

“What? Is the apartment not up to your standards, [ Your Name ]?” This particular jest came from another close associate of yours. Donned with a blue cap with his maroon locks peeking from smaller unoccupied spaces, a white shirt, a flannel, loose trousers, and a merry simper saliently illustrating his tapered set of teeth, Rin Matsuoka slung his own bag over his shoulder as he positioned his vacant hand over his hip, his scarlet hues assessing you with the same playful manner Sousuke supplied you with in his interaction. “Did my apartment in Australia broaden your taste?”

Your lips parted to retaliate to his comment, your words just by the tip of your tongue when you felt a tug on your clothing just by your bust. “Mama,” A pair of sweet voices called for your attention in perfect unison, the sleepiness and enthusiasm segregating which voice belonged to who. Lowering your line of sight to your arms, you were met by your bundles of joy whose brownish eyes grew wide, one pair glossy with permanent timidity and the other just brimming with curiosity. Their hands bunched the fabric of your clothing in their small and chubby hands, as though begging you to keep your focus solely on them – and how can you not when they looked so adorable?

"Mama," Whimpered the more reserved twin, lips quivering as he registered the unfamoliar enviroment circling his tiny frame. Regardless of already being as close to you as possible, he nestled himself even further to your chest, cheek pressing on your bust. "Where are we?"

A more enthusiastic voice interrupted you, a squeal of excitement laced on it. “Mama, Mama, Mama," Chanted the other in demand of your attention, to which you offered to him. "Are we back in Japan, Mama? Is this Japan, Mama?” [ Last Name ] Hiro, the older twin and son with a knack for making you exhausted as you tried your best to satisfy his needs ranging from running around in wherever location you found you and your sns were at, to jumping on the bed he shared with his younger brother demanding for more play time or a bed time story, questioned as he tugged at you twice. Two honey pairs of eyes regarded you with their own set of curiosity, and you nodded kindly at them, beaming.

"That's right, Hiro. You and Mama are finally back in Japan." Your voice rose to match their excitement. "Aren't my babies happy?"

( Last Name ) Taichi casted his eyes down, cheeks puffing. "But I wanted to see airplane one last time . . . " Taichi was the younger twin and son, and practically the opposite of Hiro. Reserved, easily scared, has trouble communicating with strangers, and in all honesty, the easier twin to handle but that doesn't mean he didn't give you a hard time (you cannot count the times he interrupted your personal business and your time for yourself because he thought there was a scary monster following him. It was Hiro with a blanket over his heas thinking they were playing). Though he may be an opposite of his brother, that didn't stop them from being tightly knit with one another. Somehow, they balance each other out.

Kind of like . . . You caught your thoughts before you could finish it.

Hiro, upon sensing the turmoil coming from his little brother, smiled widely at him and extended his small arm to pat Taichi on the head. Taichi stopped his sniffling and looked up at his brother. "That's okay, Taichi. We'll go back to Aus-tri-lay again and then you'll get to see the airplane again. Right, Mama?"

You stopped yourself from frowning. You have never told them the real reason why you left Japan in the first place. In their mind, it was a vacation, a vacation that lasted for eight months. I can't tell them we went to Australia because I wanted to move on from their father.

"You two want to go back to Australia?" You pretended to whine. "Sou-kun will be really sad to hear that. He was looking forward to seeing his favorite boys."

Immediately, the lethargy from your flight dissipated from their eyes, the name of the mentioned latter bubbled uncontainable excitement in them. “Sou-kun is here? Sou-kun is in Japan!” Hiro asked once more, voice pitched with the same sentiment controlling him. “I want to see Sou-kun, Mama! I want to see Sou-kun! Where is Uncle Sou?”

Taichi chimed in. “I-I want to see Sou-kun too.” He uttered, face scrunching and his small hands turned to smaller balls of fist. “I missed Sou-kun . . . ”

You stopped yourself from laughing at their obliviousness. You lifted your arms further up and nuzzled theit cheeks, both if them cooing at your affection. “He’s over there, silly. He picked us up from the airport but you two were being sleepyheads so you didn't know.” You rotated your body to face the opposite direction, giving your twins a clear sight of Sousuke and Rin bidding their polite farewell with the cab driver as he pulled away from the apartment complex. They let out a thrilled “ahh” as they spotted Sousuke, and disregarding your precarious hold on them, Hiro and Taichi began squirming in your arms, persistent to get closer to Sousuke. “H-Hey, Hiro, Taichi, please, don’t move too much!” You scolded them as you single handedly adjusted your position to keep them from slipping out of your arms. "Stop - moving - please - "

But as they always did, they did not heed your command and it only seemed to encourage them to continue their actions. “Sou-kun! Sou-kun!” They did their best effort to reach out for Sousuke, stumpy arms reaching to his direction, as they cried out his name.

Finally, at long last, at least in the opinions of your sons, Sousuke turned to face you and sent your sons a gentle smile. “Ah, almost didn't see you adorable rascals over there! How are my favorite nephews doing?” He walked over to you and just as easily as he brought your belongings out of the cab, he swooped the twins from your arms and into his. They did not waste time latching on to him, mimicking koalas, albeit a tad more affectionate and clingier. The burst into fits of laughter as Sousuke pretended to chomp on their cheeks, making sure not to hurt them in his process of returning their fondness. He pulled away, grinning as Hiro and Taichi looked up at him with admiration, honey colored eyee glittering. “I missed you two so much! So, so much! Did you miss Uncle Sou too?”

Hiro was the first to answer. “Yes, very much!" He threw one of his arm up in the air. "Me, Taichi, and Mama missed you very much!”

Taichi nodded in agreement to his brother. You feigned an action of vomit, however.

Sousuke rolled his eyes at you and then chuckled at Hiro's answer. “That’s good. That’s good. Were you two good boys to your Mama?”

“Hiro and I are always good boys!” Protested Taichi, cheeks puffing. "Always!"

Hiro bellowed, “We always help Mama with chores! We make lunch for Rin-kun and take it to him in his swimming training!”

You cannot help permitting your smile to broaden as you watched Sousuke interact with your sons. Your heart swelled at the sight, but it was soon dampened as a dark thought, which had always been lurking in the back of your mind, manifested and was quick to envelop your thought –

You cannot help but feel your heart swell at the sight of Sousuke interacting with your sons. Your smile was broadening, and the happiness surging as the laughter and idle chatters exchange from the three of them reached your ears.

Sousuke have always been their favorite uncle - and may Iwaizumi and Oikawa never learn that or your head is for them to throw out im the empty sea - and even though you told them early on that he was not their father, you knew that didn't stop them from seeing him as one. You couldn't blame them either. Sousuke has proven himself as a great father figure. He was the first person you told about your pregnancy with Hiro and Taichi. You called him in the middle of his own swimming practice, crying, and before you knew it, he ditched his training and travelled many hours to become you comfort and support. He was with you throughout your whole pregnancy - through the morning sickness, through the late night cravings, through the obnoxious and abrupt change of mood, through the days you cried from hardships, through the disagreements and fights with your family, through the times you missed your ex lover, through the times when money was strapped - and even after you gave birth to Hiro and Taichi, Yamazaki Sousuke was an ever present friend, and now an ever present father figure to your sons. He fulfilled the duties that your previous partner should be doing - welcoming them to the world with tears of joy, keeping them safe from harm, teaching them to grow up as good boys, scolding them when they do something wrong, treating them, being there for them, helping them play a prank on you, treating them sweets, holding them when they cried, holding them just because he loved them - Sousuke did everything that Miya Atsumu should be doing -

Miya Atsumu, oh, even his name alone vexed you.

Tension knotted your shoulders and your eyebrows met in the middle, creasing your forehead in the process. Your mood has soured completely at the thought of the man who left you - left you not because he did not love you anymore, but because of his dream. That was more selfish than falling out of love for you.

You felt a palm softly hit your back, completely withdrawing you from the unwanted immersion of your hushed past and mistakes. You looked sideways and found Rin frowning at you; head cocked to one side. “I know that look all to well. We spent more than enough time to know what’s going inside that head of yours.” He chastised, and you lowered your head in shame. He stared at you for a while before sighing and then knocking his knuckles against your forehead. You looked up at him, bemused. “Look here, ( Your Name ), we didn’t spend eight months in Australia just for you to fall back to square one. You need to be careful with what and who you think. You don't know what could trigger you back to the person you used to be when you were still very hung up on that guy.”

You did not answer him, not trusting your voice to speak for you. You knew Rin was right, and that you did not leave your home country in hopes of moving on from Miya Atsumu. And you thought you had, that you have successfully severed any connections and memories from him (deleted your social medias, dropped any people you two were mutual with, did not disclose your location and current living conditions to your parents and relatives, and making new social medias with care that he wouldn’t find them in case he decided to search for you), his existence merely a dot in an unfrequented portion of your mind. But after returning to Japan, with your chest puffed out and an adventurous grin decorating your brims asking the world to give you its best shot, you realized something – it wasn’t easy forgetting someone just because you left the very place that lingered with his name, because no matter how much you try to run from him, he gave you two precious gifts to remember him by.

"Hiro . . . Taichi . . . " You murmured to yourself as you gazee at your twins. God, even they look so much alike him. Their eyes, their smiles, their laughter, the way they pleaded with you when they wanted a kiss or hug, the way they always look for you whenever they did something they were proud of. How in the world could you move on from Miya Atsumu when it felt like falling in love with him all over again whenever you see your sons?

“Can you maybe stop thinking about him? I just told you to stop thinking about that volleyball - ” Rin gagged as the profession of your ex boyfriend left his lips, tongue poking out, and you rolled your eyes at his playful display. “ – player. Stop being so stubborn.”

“I wasn’t thinking about him.” You defended but your protest was nothing to be given trust on, and Rin knew this. Although he wasn't as constant as Sousuke on your pregnancy due to his busy schedule as an Olympian (and not to mention he was in Australia most of the time), he was still your best friend and never missed a day to face time you and check up on you. When you were pregnant and he was in Australia, he insisted being there for your check ups via facetime. But you didn't allow it because it felt weird. Whenever he was back in Japan, he would go straight to you and tend to you like Sousuke did. He cried the hardest when Hiro and Taichi were born and also gave you ideas for their names. He was just as great as a friend as Sousuke, but was probably their last favorite uncle. Sousuke being first, Iwaizumi being second, Sugawara third and him fourth but perhaps the titles has changed after Hiro and Taichi hung out with him in Australia. He was basically their father figure in Australia and he sure acted like one.

Rin raised his eyebrow at you, not convinced. “Sure, you weren’t.”

You lifted your nose, scoffing. “Fine, fine, you got me, I was thinking about him." Rin opened his mouth to scold you but you cut him off. "But only because he looks so much like my sons.”

“He’s their father, [ Your Name ]. That’s how it works.” Rin playfully pointed out, smirking. “Just stop thinking about him. It's because you're entertaining the thought of him that he keeps coming back to you mind.”

You let out an astounded gasp, hands coming to cover your agape mouth. “Stop thinking avout him -oh wow, Rin, I didn’t think of that! God, it was that easy? It was that easy?” Your sarcasm dribbled from your statement, and this time it was Rin who rolled his eyes. “If only you told me that earlier, if only I thought of that earlier, I wouldn’t have wasted so much money going to Australia with you! So, thank you again, Matsuoka Rin, for your wisdom. May you grace me with it once again in the future.”

“Oh, haha, that's very funny. But nice try, ( Your Name ). You're not distracting me from this talk.” Inputs Rin, successfully diverting the subject back to its original track. You scowled. “After everything I've done for you. After all the efforts I put to make you forget about the dude – ” He ignored you as you tried to defend yourself. “ – He's nothing but a selfish prick, ( Your Name ). He abandoned you for his dreams. How can you still be hung up on him? I told you volleyball players were good for nothing but you never listen to me.”

You look at him, incredelous. You only hate volleyball players after what happened to me because of Atsumu. You held back a chuckle. Rin, you little goofball.

You crossed your arms just as Rin did, and you continued sneering teasingly at him. “Rin, if my memory serves me right . . .” You began, voice high with vague intention.

Seemingly picking up the mischief in your tone, Rin glared at you, as if daring you to continue your remark. “[ Your Name ], don’t you dare – ”

“Weren’t you rooting for him to be my boyfriend before?” You continued, smirk growing even wider as Rin spluttered at your words.

Rin mirrored the color of his hair at the recollection and he stomped his feet at you, causing you to burst out laughing. "O-Only because I didn't know about his true colors before. Sure, he was charming and cool when I met him b-but - " Rin cleared his throat, eyes closing. " - he abandoned you, so I don't like him anymore, and I'll never root for him again. Not even for his team! He can break an ankle in his game or something. I still haven't forgiven him for what he did to you." You can feel the spite for Atsumu coming off from Rin as he carried on. "He has to get through me and Sousuke first before he can even lay eyes on you!"

"How sweet. My very own censorship from Miya." You shook your head in appreciation and patted his back. “I don’t doubt that, Rin. And I’m sorry if it’s taking more time to forget about that volleyball player bastard as you often call him. But do you really think I can easily forget the father of my children?”

Rin looked down on the pavement beneath his feet, eyes opening. “No,” He pouted, and you nodded to affirm his reply. Then, he turned to you, pouting. “But promise me he’s no longer part of your life.”

“He never will be again.” You promised. “Now stop being a dramatic baby. I’m an adult you know, and a mother. I think I can handle another month or two of being slightly heartbroken.”

“Yes, yes, strong and independent woman who cries when Hiro and Taichi don’t sleep in their bedtime.” He jabbed at you.

“Of course, you have the right to say that. Strong and independent Olympian who cries at sappy love stories.” Came your scoffing rebuttal, and instead of growing embarrassed, Rin laughed. You softened as you watched Rin laugh. He’s trying really hard to help me move on. You gulped, finger twitching. I won't let them down. I'll forget about Miya soon.

“Mama, Mama! Lookie, lookie!” You turned to look back at Sousuke and your sons as soon as you heard Hiro calling for you. Amusement graced you mien as you watched Sousuke spin around with his hands holding on tightly to Hiro and Taichi who were draped over his shoulders. Your sons bore a sunny smile and were laughing joyously at Sousuke's antics. “We’re in a Ferris Wheel, Mama! Wee!”

“Wee!” Echoed Taichi, and regardless of his reserved demeanor, he looked just as happy as his brother.

You fluttered your fingers at them. “I can see that!” You bellowed with a titter. “I'm glad you two are having fun but Sou-kun is not a Ferris Wheel, you know? He'll get very dizzy soon, and so will you.”

Despite of the spinning figure Sousuke was, you can still catch Hiro shaking his head in disagreement to your declaration. “No, no! I’m a strong boy, I don’t get dizzy, Mama!”

“Not dizzy, Mama!” Taichi echoed once more. “I’m strong too! Me and Hiro strong!”

“I know you two are strong. You’re my strong little boys, after all." You cooed. "But if he doesn't stop then you won't be able to see Sou-kun's new place! He even prepared a really big bedroom for us with a really big and bouncy bed. You can play there all you want.”

Sousuke slowly stopped his twirling, panting and sweating but still smiling. Hiro and Taichi, realizing that Sousuke has stopped, whined in protest, demanding for him to continue spinning them. He shook his head, chortling. “Sorry boys, but we need to listen to your mother.” He slipped them off his shoulders and back to his arms. “Besides, don't you want to see Mochi already? I reckon you miss him, and he misses you too.”

Just like that, the disappointment in their eyes vanished and they stared at Sousuke, starstruck. They looked like they just heard the greatest news that was ever said in the world, and as kids who were ommensely obsessed with their furry friend, it might possibly be considered one. "Mochi!" Yelled Taichi, the familiar name resonating with him. "I miss Uncle Sou and Mochi!" He took hold of Sousuke's shirt, tugging at it. "Where is Mochi, Sou-kun? Is he with you?"

"He's at my apartment, where you'll be staying for a while." Answered Sousuke. "Ready to go there now? I bet Mochi is waiting for you by the door right now."

Sousuke did not receive a verbal answer, but he did take how Hiro and Taichi tore themselves away from him, miraculously landing on the ground safely, and taking off to the direction of the apartment complex with short and quick footsteps, hands interlinked, as an appropriate answer to what they want. Rin jogged over to them and opened his arms, beaming with his eyes closed. “Do you want Uncle Rin to carry you to Sou-kun's place? I know where it is!” Offered Rin merrily, awaiting their acceptance to his proposal. However, he was left hanging abd disappointed as Hiro and Taichi passed him in a hurry to get to the entrance of the complex, shaking their heads.

"No!" Hiro rejected, shaking his head. "Uncle Rin always smell like chlorine! I don't like!"

“Stinky Rin-kun.” Taichi added as he stuck his tongue out. “Rin-kun always smell like swimming poo!”

You and Sousuke shared a laugh as you watched Rin freeze, his smile and arms still in their position. His luggage fell from his grasp and on to the ground as he carried on with his frozen stance. Sousuke took your luggage and gave you one to carry. You took it from him the two of you walked and passed Rin without batting an eye to his still frame.

“At least we know who’s the favorite uncle.” Chuckled out Sousuke as he looked over his shoulder to appraise Rin, grinning.

“We all know the favorite uncle is Iwaizumi.” You pointed out. “I bet he can spin faster than you do, Sou.”

Sousuke nudged your side, a light sting of pain running down the portion of your body which has collided with his elbow. You let out a yelp and rubbed your sore rib, glowering at the tall and lean swimmer beside you. “You’d really choose a volleyball player over a swimmer to be Hiro and Taichi’s favorite uncle?”

“I’m not choosing anything or anyone. I’m only telling the truth.” You shrugged. “Could be Suga too.”

Sousuke curled his lips in a playful manner, feigning discontentment. “Then it seems I have some tough competitions.”

You, Rin, and Sousuke easily caught up with your sons as their smaller frames were no match for your larger strides. Sousuke and Rin walked beside one another and walked with confidence as they have the knowledge of the layout of the apartment complex and knew the exact room which Sousuke occupier, and you walked behind Hiro and Taichi who were still holding hands and happily skipping behind the swimmer.

You watched as the two pairs interact with their counterpart, energetically sharing stories and laughter with one another. Rin and Sousuke were talking about the nearing olympics in a few months time, how the training was going in Australia, and when can Sousuke safely venture back to competitive swimming with the same harsh regime as Rin without fracturing his fragile shoulder. Hiro and Taichi, on the other hand, were singing foreign childrens' songs they heard in Australia, and although most of their sung lyrics were incorrect and far from fluent, they made up for it by adding their own twists and words into the song and creating a perfectly new song for themselves. Their hands never once relented as they walked on.

You cannot help but smile as you gazed at their interlocked hands. It was nice seeing your favorite boys getting along well. But that thought drew in a darker thought, one that you have constantly dismissed, but this time, you couldn't anymore.

You glanced beside you, and alas, you had no one. No one to hold hands with like your sons, and no one to freely chat with like your best friends. You looked down, saddened. The loneliness crept back to you, the loneliness you always fought hard not to fall into whenever you found yourself alone and with no person to accompany you. It reminded you that everyone had someone -Hiro had Taichi, Taichi had Hiro, Rin had Sousuke, and Sousuke had Rin. Who do you have?

I thought I had Atsumu.

"Mama?" Your stupor has come to a stop, and the loneliness has disappeared as familiar voices rang in your ears. Your sight cleared and you spotted Hiro and Taichi by your feet and were staring up at you, worry written all over their cute faces.

Composing yourself, you cocked your head to one side, perplexed. "Yes? What is it?"You asked and bent down to their level. They continued staring at you, their lips pursed as they leaned forward to your frame. "Does my babies need anything, hm?"

Hiro and Taichi, then, exchanged looks before nodding with one another. You stared at them, confusiom increasing. Despite being their mother, you never understood how Hiro and Taichi can communicate with one another without speaking. It was quite impressive.

Hiro and Taichi released their hands from one another and hurried over to your side. They reached down to take your hands in their soft snd gentle grip, Hiro holding one hand and Taichi holding the other. You stood up rose from your previous position, switching your curious gazes from Hiro to Taichi. In front of you, Sousuke and Rin has stopped and shifted their bodies to oversee the scene unfolding behind them.

"Mama, don't be sad. We don't like it when you're sad." Whimpered Taichi, and Hiro nodded in agreement. "We'll hold your hand too, so you can be happy like us!"

"Smile too, Mama! We love Mama's happy smile!" Yelled Hiro, leaping once. "See? Smile like this Mama. It's so easy!" Hiro showed you his biggest smile.

You stared at your twins, heart melting as their innocent smiles displayed on their chubby faces. You closed your eyes, shooting your bundles of joy a comforting smile.

Right. You thought. I'm not quite alone, if I think about it. Not with Hiro and Taichi.

You smiled back at them. "Yeah, sorry about that. Mama was just thinking about something." And then you all carried on with your journey to Sousuke’s place, slowing down your pace to keep up with the skips of your sons as they held on to your hands tightly.

It didn’t take long until you arrived in Sousuke’s front door, his place located at the second floor. You were barely settling your stance by the door when you heard tiny footsteps padding from inside, followed by incessant pawing on the other side of the door and series of whines. You felt excitement bubble inside your chest as you heard the familiar noises of your dog. The last time you have seen your cute little Shiba Inu was when you left him in Sousuke’s care, and in hindsight, it was a pretty terrible decision to make as you knew Sosusuke and Mochi were not in good terms, and for absolutely no reason. When you handed Mochi to Sousuke hours before you left to get to the airport, you can see the disdain on both their faces and Mochi was growling at him as you left his house.

Mochi disliked Sousuke the moment they first met each other and Mochi had been keen on making Sousuke’s life a living hell ; whether it be destroying his bed, peeing on his pants, pooping on his shoes, stealing his food from the table, putting his medals in trashcans, just about everything a bad dog could do and perhaps worse and you wondered how Sousuke survived a whole eight months with the devil dog as he often called Mochi.

It was strange how Mochi hated Sousuke when he got along well with Rin.

Hiro gasped and pointed at the door, turning his head to face Taichi. “Taichi, it’s Mochi!” Shouted Hiro. Immediately, Hiro tore away from you and Taichi went after him. Sousuke and Rin got out of their way, allowing them to be the first to enter the apartment. Sousuke twisted the doorknob after unlocking it and pushed open the door, and before a larger space could be provided to accommodate the small body of your pet, a faint color of brown and white dashed out from the apartment and tackled your sons to the ground.

“Taichi, Hiro!” You shouted, rushing over to them to console them at their ungraceful plummet but you stopped dead on your tracks when you heard Hiro and Taichi laughing as Mochi stood over them with his little paws pressing on their tummies, tongue hanging out and a visible happy smile stretching his panting mouth. “Mochi!” They both called and Mochi let out a small bark of recognition before proceeding to run his tongue over their chubby cheeks, showing his excitement over their return and love for them.

Rin grinned as he watched Mochi lick Hiro and Taichi, and he bent his knees and smacked his hands against his thighs a couple of times. "Come here, Mochi. Come here." Mochi turned his head to look at Rin, and slowly and carefully trotting away from Taichi and Hiro to approach Rin. Mochi's tongue was poking out on one side and he was panting as he looked up at Rin. “Hey there, good boy.” Cooed Rin as he stroked Mochi’s head, and the dog let out a whine bark at his actions. “Have you been a good boy to Sousuke? Hmm? I bet you were, I bet you were such a good boy.”

Sousuke scoffed and turned his nose in disgust as Mochi wagged his tiny ball of tail at Rin. “This dog could get lost and I won't bat an eye.”

Hiro and Taichi sat up, tilting their head at what Sousuke has said. They turned to you, “Mama,” Called Hiro. “What does Sou-kun mean?”

You shook your head and approached them. “Nothing, baby. He’s just being mean to Mochi again.” You answered as you heloed them up to their feet. "There we go."

Sousuke rolled his eyes – “Yeah, as if the dog didn't force me to buy new furniture every week because he won't stop chewing on them!”

Mochi didn't look at Sousuke even when his voice rose. He just let Rin pet and stroke his head.

Hiro stomped his foot on the ground and Taichi clutched your shirt. “Sou-kun, don’t be mean to Mochi!” Scolded Hiro as he pointed a finger at him. "You can't be mean to dogs, okay?"

"But Mochi has been very mean to Uncle Sou." Sousuke put on a mask of face sadness. "He even but me here on my ankle. See?" Sousuke showed Hiro the tiny marks of teeth Mochi left when he tried to bite him.

Mochi barked at Sousuke, surprising all three adults. Why did it sound like Mochi understood what Sousuke said?

Hiro narrowed his eyes at Mochi and crossed his arms. "Mochi," He chirped and Mochi turned to him, ears flopping at his tone. "Bad Mochi. Mochi shouldn't be mean to Uncle Sou too!"

Mochi whimpered with mild shame, and Sousuke smirked. “Yeah, that's right, Mochi,” Began Sousuke, pride encapturing him. “You should be nice to Uncle So - ” His arm extended to pet Mochi but before his palm can touch his fur, the Shiba Inu turned around, head snapping opposite of the direction of Sousuke as though he was a snobbish and spoiled dog repulsed by hid filthy hand and then ran up to you, standing up and putting his paws on your legs.

You giggled and scooped up Mochi. He leaned forward to press his nose on your own, and began licking your face. "You missed me, Mochi? I missed you too." You cooed, snuggling Mochi. "I wish we could have brought you to Australia but it'll be a hassle."

“Mama,” You heard Taichi whimper and you look down to see him staring up at you with teary eyes. He tugged at your shirt. “Mama, I want to play with Mochi.”

You put Mochi back down on the ground and the dog ran back to your sons, circling them before rushing back to the apartment. Hiro and Taichi chased after Mochi, laughing.

Sousuke let out a sigh, and Rin smirked as he entered the apartment. “At least we know who the favorite dog uncle is.” Bantered Rin.

Sousuke tried to give Rin a soft kick on his lower back, but the supposed victim of his managed to flee from his assault, causing Sousuke to click his tongue. You and Sousuke went inside the apartment and stowed your belongings away in the room he reserved for you. It was spacious and can accomodate you and your two sons. One king sized bed with two windows overlooking the beautiful outdoors. After stowing your baggage away, you exited the room to find Hiro and Taichi playing with Mochi by the couch, and Rin seated on one of the chairs in the dining room, cap off and body easing.

“Thanks again for letting me stay here, Sousuke.” You stated as you and the said male joined Rin in the dining room. You pulled out a chair and sat in front of Rin, and Sousukr occupied the chair beside you. "Really, thanks. I just . . . " You paused to gather your thoughts. " . . . I don't think I'm ready to face my parents just yet."

“You can stay here as long as you want, just don’t leave that devil dog with me ever again.” Sousuke glanced at Mochi and your sons. "I don't think I would survive another day alone with that thing."

"I'm surprised you survived." Commented Rin. "When we landed on Australia, I was expecting a call from you maybe complaining about Mochi or reporting that he ran away from you or something. Surprisingly, none."

"Trust me. I was this close to calling. But I knew how important the trip to Australia was for ( Your Name ) so I didn't." Sousuke answered. "I can tell you everything that happened to me and Mochi, but that would take too long so I won't bother. It'll bore you anyway."

“Thanks for that too, Sou.” You giggled nervously. “I guess Mochi is a little handful for you. I’m sorry.”

Sousuke heaved a sigh. "Don't say sorry. It's over now." He spoke. "Anyway, enough about me and Mochi. How was Australia? And how is, uh . . . " He cleared his throat. " . . . moving on going?"

“It was fun in Australia, yeah.” You answered joyously, ignoring Sousuke's last comment. “Sure, it was scary to be out of the country for the first time, but Rin helped me adjust and brought me, Hiro and Taichi to tourist destinations. He even bought me a bunch of souvenirs!”

Sousuke nodded, a soft smile plastering to his brims. "I'm glad you liked it there." Remarked he. "I heard from Rin you and the twins always visit him in his practice."

“Yeah, yeah. [ Your Name ] would always drop by to give me lunch. And sometimes she'll even help with training.” Rin inserted. “To be honest, I prefer her training regime than Mikhail’s. Just-Just don't tell that to Mikhail.”

“I kinda understand why you'd think that. Although Mikhail was a great swimmer back then, [ Your Name ] has practically been our coach when we were still in Sano. It's only natural she knows what training is more effective on you.” Sousuke leaned against his chair. "And what's Mikhail take on her helping you?"

Rin let out a nervous chuckle and you produced a genuine laugh. “Actually,” You started, still laughing. “Mikhail wasn’t very fond of the idea, but . . . ”

Rin shook his head, red hair moving with his actions. “They bonded over my muscles and that gained her approval from Mikhail.”

"Now, don't sound so disappointed, Rin." You badgered. "I think it's great someone else appreciates how well proportioned you are. Plus, it got me Mikhail's permission to continue helping with your training."

Sousuke threw his head back, laughing. “Of course, it would be something as stupid as that. I still don't understand what's up with Rin's body that got you so worked up buy at least it all worked out for you.” He voiced. “How about Hiro and Taichi? Did they have fun too?”

"Oh, they had fun. More than they should have. They were all over the place - my God - even in the airplane." You informed. "They keep trying to run from me because everything was so interesting to them. I love my sons, really, I do. But when I was in Australia, I contemplated buying both of them leashes just so I won't lose sight of them."

“All over the place? That’s an understatement.” Huffed Rin. "Those two nearly gave me a heart attack when they jumped in the pool."

Sousuke blinked, as though trying to register what Rin had just said. "Wait - What?" His back straightened and his brows furrowed. "Jumped in the pool - Hiro and Taichi - what?"

"Exactly as you heard." Confirmed Rin. "They always catch me out of the pool when they stop by to give me my lunch. But there was one time when Mikhail made me try a new drill so it was taking me a little longer to finish my practice. Hiro thought he'd be a good little boy and try to call for me, so he went ahead and jumped in the pool. My only guess is that he thought the pool was shallow."

Sousuke looked over at you, and you ducked your head in shame. Rin noticed the accusatory glare sent your way by Sousuke and he shook his head.

“Don't blame ( Your Name ). Hiro actually tore himself away from her when she was tying Taichi's shoes and came looking for me.” Said Rin. “Taichi followed afterwards because everything Hiro does - ”

Sousuke sighed. " - Taichi does."

"Thank God one of my teammates saw them and saved them." Rin breathed. "And you can't get mad at Hiro and Taichi because even though they nearly got themselves killed, they had pure intentions."

Sousuke looked over at you. “Perhaps it is time to buy them a leash.”

Rin snorted. “Especially Hiro.”

“Huh?” Hiro and Taichi poked their heads out from behind the sofa, Mochi joining in after a few seconds. “Did you call me, Rin-kun?”

“I heard leash!” Yelled Taichi. “Are we going to buy a new leash for Mochi?” Mochi let out a woof as he heard his name being mentioned.

You shook your head, smiling. “No, no, we're talking about something else. Just go back to playing with Mochi.”

Hiro and Taichi both nodded and was about to return to playing with your favorite Shiba Inu when Hiro noticed the click. He let out an excited gasp and poked his head behind the couch again, grinning. "Mama, Mama! Sou-kun, Rin-kun!" Hiro yelled as he flailed his arms to get your attention. "TV, I want TV!"

“TV?” Asked Sousuke, head craning to look pass you and to your older son. "Oh, do you want to watch something?"

Hiro nodded enthusiastically and pointed at the large flat screen television in front of the couch. "It's three PM! There will be replay of Tsumu's team!" Shouted Hiro, and you closed your eyes tightly, trying hard to control yourself. "Can you open the TV for me and Taichi, Uncle Sou? Pleaseeee?"

Rin casted a worried glance your way as Sousuke stood up to turn on the television. Hiro and Taichi practically buzzer with excitement as they patiently waited for the television to come to life and they cheered once it did.

After changing the channel to the correct channel, you saw from where you sat in the apartment a longshot of the volleyball court displaying in the screen. It was filled to the brim with volleyball enthusiasts and fans of either teams. You can hear the cheers coming from opposite sides and the commentators were discussing their speculations on the upcoming game. Hiro and Taichi hopped off the sofa, wobbled over to the front of the television, sat down and gazed up at it, eyes shining and excited. Mochi left the couch as well and settled himself beside Taichi.

“[ Your Name ],” Said Rin after Sousuke has returned. You can hear the hesitance amd softness in his voice. “Are you okay?”

"At least I don't have to bring up the whole moving on trip all over again." Murmured Sousuke.

The truth to be told, even you didn't know. Anyone bringing up Miya Atsumu was fine with you, but hearing your sons mention him in the kind of way that was filled with adoration - you can't help wonder about the what ifs.

You let out a deep sigh and nodded. "I'm fine, I'm fine." Your answer came out dismissive, causing Rin and Sousuke to exchange looks. "I can't really stop my sons from admiring him, that would be childish and stupid. I mean . . . " Your forefinger dragged along the surface of the desk, and you watched the skid mark you left behind slowly vanish. " . . . Atsumu is a great athlete, and so are his teammates. I can't deny that."

You can hear the cheers grow louder in the television as the players of both teams are being introduced to the spectators.

"Playing against them is the Black Jackals Volleyball team! Introducing, their setter - Miya Atsumu - "

Hiro and Taichi threw their hands up in the air, reaching out for the screen. "Tsumu!" They both shouted, and despite yourself, you turned to look at the screen. You froze as you watched a familiar face emerge in the camera, a carefree smile plastered on his face as he waved at everyone present in the court before proceeding to give high fives to his team.

"High five!" Yelled Hiro as he stood up from the ground to press his tiny hand on the screen. On cue, the camera followed Atsumu as he ran pass the camera, waving at it before making his way to the court, giving his other teammates the opportunity to be introduced.

Hiro looked at his hand which he had pressed against the screen and turned to you. "Mama, Tsumu gave me a high five, Mama!"

You smiled at Hiro as a reply while Taichi sniffled, tears brimming his eyes. "I want a high five from Tsumu too."

Hiro looker at his hand again, thenat Taichi, then at his hand before pressing his palm against Taichi's. Hiro grinned. "There, now you have a high five from Tsumu too!"

You looked at Sousuke and Rin, pausing for a brief moment to gather your thoughts. “See that? I’m not going to keep my sons from admiring him just because I have history . . . bad history with him. Besides . . . ” You swallowed as you looked at Hiro and Taichi eagerly waiting for the introduction of the teams to finish. “This is the closest they can get to Atsumu.”

Sousuke and Rin did not speak and looked at Hiro and Taichi as well. After a moment or so, Sousuke broke the silene. “If it makes you feel better, it’s Rin’s fault for introducing the twins to volleyball.” Said Sousuke, pointing at Rin with his thumb.

Rin leaned back, appalled by the bold accusation. “How is that my fault?”

“You left the TV in the sports channel after you watched your interview and they saw Miya Atsumu –”

Rin shot Sousuke a glare. "Oh, so we're talking about past mistakes now." The maroon haired man adjuster his sitting position. "How about you, Sousuke. Let's talk about the time you bought Hiro and Taichi hair dyes - "

Sousuke turned away, flushing red. "I said I was sorry."

"Now, ( Your Name ) has to think about that stupid blond volleyball player every time she looks at her now blond sons." Fought Rin.

“Not every time, just sometimes.” You protested.

"I get it, I get it, I messed up." Relented Sousuke. "But you'd do the same thing if Hiro and Taichi begged you. Still, I'm sorry."

You smothered your laughter to your throat. You can just imagine how difficult it was for Sousuke to try and deny Hiro and Taichi from getting hair dye. They know how much power they have over Sou. You thought, amused. Probably used their puppy eyes or something.

“You should be sorry.” Affirmed you, wiggling your finger at Sousuke. “Rin had to talk me out of punching you.”

Rin curved a smug smile to his mien. “I was tempted to let [ Your Name ] do so just for fun.”

“Uwaa,” You heard Hiro and Taichi coo in sync as you heard the cheers from the television diminish. You shot a glimpse at the television to see the entire stadium has gone quiet as Atsumu prepared to serve. His eyes shone with determinstion, and the twins eyes glimmered as they awaited his serve. A service ace, they hoped.

“You don’t have to worry about me guys.” You told Rin and Sousuke, features soft as you turned back to them just as Atsumu began moving. The cheer erupted again, and your twins joined their noisen “Australia has been a nice change of pace, and Rin has helped me a lot. I haven't moved on, to be honest. Not completely, but I'm there, somewhere. I just need . . . " You inhaled. " . . . to learn how to live before Atsumu entered my life.”

Sousuke folded his arms, nodding. Rin reached from across the table to ruffle your hair, his pointy teeth flaahing at you. "We know you'll get there. Just take your time, ( Your Name )." Encouraged Rin.

You smiled back at him, thankful for his words and action. “I’m fine, really.” You pressed on. “Plus, I’m going to be even better tomorrow."

"Why? What's with tomorrow?" Questioned Sousuke.

"After a good night's rest, I'll be meetint up with Suga and Iwa." You responded cheerfully.

“I didn’t know about this.” Sousuke narrowed his eyes. “You just returned to Japan and you’re already making plans.”

"I don't know how you can move on from Miya when you're literally friends with two ex volleyball players." Complained Rin.

"Oikawa will be there too." You added.

Rin raised an eyebrow at you. "Is that better?"

"They're my friends, Rin. I won't dump them just because they used to play volleyball." You defended, exasperated. "And speaking of," You twisted your body to face Sousuke and before he can speak, you reached out and took his calloused hand in yours. "Sou, I have a favor to ask you."

Sousuke didn’t let you continue and tugged his hand away from your grip. “No,”

You pouted, hand withdrawing from him. “You didn’t even let me finish.”

“Were you going to ask me to look over Hiro and Taichi while you’re out?” Affirmed Sousuke.

You tittered nervously. You pressed the tips of your forefingere against each other, whispering, “Maybe?”

“Then no.” Finalizer Sousuke.

You slouched against your chair, whining. “Oh come on,” You prolonged the verbalization of the last word with a voice of complain.

“Why don’t you just bring them with you?” Offered Rin.

“I want to but I feel like I just want to talk to Suga and Iwa without having to worry about them eavesdropping. They don’t have to hear my problems.” You explained. "Please, Sou,"

“I can always babysit them.” Rin perked up at his own suggestion.

You shook your head. “No way, Rin. I know you planned on meeting with Haru-kun and Makoto-kun tomorrow. You’ll either cancel on them or cancel on me.”

“I can always invite them here, that way I won’t cancel on anyone.” Rin suggested.

“In my apartment? No way. It's crowded as it right now,” Sousuke rejected and faced you. “Fine, I’ll look after them, but come back quick, okay? You know how Hiro and Taichi get when you're gone for too long.”

"Thank you so much, Sou. You're the best." You smiled. You rose from your chair, fishing your phone out of your pocket. "I'll go tell them it's still on tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Mumbled Sousuke, scoffing.

Rin narrowed his eyes at you as you left the room. "Oi, ( Your Name ), what about me? Am I not the best too - oi, oi!"

You pretended not to hear Rin and retreated back to your room, giggling.

***

Hiro and Taichi, through wide and awed lenses, watched intently as the Black Jackals replay displayed the highlights of the game. Not once hace their golden eyes left the screen, too immersed with the game showcased in the television. Hiro had a big and wide smile on his face, and Taichi had a small 'o' formed on his lips. Mochi yawned as he looked over the twins.

"Taichi, Taichi, look," Hiro pointed as the television showed Hinata Shoyo jumping nearly over the net, hand raising to spike the volleyball. "It's Tangerine-kun!"

"Frog-kun!" Yelled Taichi. "Ah, Hiro, it's Kou-kun!"

"And Omi-san!" Hiro and Taichi let out excited cheering as they watched Sakusa slammed the ball on ground on the other side of the court, Bokuto coming up behind him to pat his back for a job well done.

"Uwaaa, that was so - " Hiro cut himself off as a familiar face popped up in the screen. The television showed Atsumu serving once more, and even the twins themselves, fell silent once again as they watched Atsumu do a service ace.

Hiro couldn't understand the feeling in his chest as he watched Atsumu serve. His hand buzzed with excitement, and all he wanted was to do what Atsumu was doing. Taichi turned to his twin and noticee the oddity in his visagen. He tilted his head. "Hiro?" Taichi called.

Hiro turned to Taichi, eyes glimmering. “Taichi, I want to be like Tsumu.” He pointed at the screen. "Do you think I can be like Tsumu?"

Before Taichi can answer, a commercial was played in the middle of the replay, and it displayed the whole Black Jackals team, and another volleyball team Hiro and Taichi were not familiar with.

Overlapping on their images were the words - Black Jackals Versus Red Bulldogs, catch them live tomorrow in Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium.

Hiro gasped in excitement at the news. "Black Jackals are going to be here in Tokyo tomorrow! Taichi, Taichi, they're here in Tokyo!"

Taichi puffed his cheeks. "We can meet Tsumu?"

Hiro nodded enthusiastically. “We can meet Tsumu, Tangerine-kun, Omi-san, and Kou-kum!” Confirmed Hiro. "Should we ask Mama to take us there?"

"There's my favorite twins, Rin, all of a sudden, plopped down behind Hiro and Taichi, startling both of them and Mochi. Rin wrapped his arms around their torsos and pulled them to his lap. “What are you guys talking about?” He asked.

"Uncle Rin, we're going to meet Tsumu tomorrow!" Said Hiro.

Rin laughed awkardly. "Oh, are you now?"

Taichi nodded. "Tsumu and friends - " Rin snorted at how Taichi has referred them. " - will be here tomorrow, in Tokyo."

"We'll ask Mama to bring us there. I know she'll be happy to meet Tsumu too!" Added Hiro.

"Ooh," Rin sucked in. "I don't think so."

"Huh?" Hummed Taichi, puzzlee by Rin's actions and words.

Hiro, however, did not notice this. "Maybe Mama will marry Tsumu when she meets him! Then we'll have a daddy!"

"Hopefully not," Murmured Rin. "That won't happen, you know."

Hiro fell silent at that, and tears immediately began forming in his eyes. Taichi looked worriedly at him, whispering his name. Rin, on the other hand, was panicking. For the first time, Hiro was the crybaby.

"I-I meant that won't happen because your Mama can't take you to the game tomorrow!" Rin frantically added. "She has to meet your Uncle Iwaizumi and Uncle Sugawara!"

Hiro stopped sniveling at what Rin had shared with him. He wiped his tears. "Mama has to meet Iwa-kun and Suga-kun?" He whimpered. "Can't you take us there, Uncle Rin? Please?"

Rin looked away from Hiro and Taichi, knowing all too well he would fall in the same mistake as Sousuke if he looked at them. "Sorry, but your Mama won't allow that."

Taichi tugged at his shirt and he bit his lower lip, still trying to resist them. "Please, Rin-kun,"

"I want to bring you there but your Mama wouldn't let me." Explained Rin, sighing. "I'm sorry guys."

Hiro pouted and crossed his arms. "Then-Then," He breathed in, and cried out. "Me and Taichi will go there alone! A-And we'll bring Mochi!"

At that time, Rin thought Hiro was joking, so he did not take this declaration seriously. He merely nodded as he ruffled both their hairs. "Yeah, sure you will."

Rin did not make the same mistake as Sousuke, but he certainly made a worse one.

sousuke is the favorite uncle of the four men. rin used to be last but after the twins have spent time with him in australia, he is now on par with sousuke

mochi hates sousuke because he smells something odd coming from him whenever you were present

hiro and taichi call sousuke, sugawara, rin, and iwaizumi either with a -kun or with an uncle

(taglist closed - @itzgabz22 @tnu-ree @adrasteiaxandromedaa @aquzairus @ephemeralsunny @jirachii-chan @lifeisnotdiajoubu @fandomtrashpandasposts @diyosku @agaashesmilktea @honey-pop-pop @toripersonalacc @kozukth @minty-mangos-world @kellesvt @obsessedwhxre @helloshoutohere @queenofallslay @sakusa-simp @tsukkx @kyomihann @yoitsseulgi @dinablossom @youpieceofwasabi @riniii @jeonsthighs97 @shoutobabyboy @sillyroyalty @ushi-please xstormiii @cowward @peachiikichu @vantaekiim @nerdynstoned @hxked @melodiamore @renyfran @humanitysbiggestsimp @froyopet @stantalentstanunderratedgroups @mkazuyuh @booklover240 @miyayassy @marvelous-maxi @ptv-hades @koukatsuki@anihoesimp @hobobob38-blog @tintina365 @hai-q-haikyuu @cruelstring @les-i-m-miserable @somehowstillalive123 @bunny-on-crack

current favorite uncle status - sousuke, rin, iwaizumi, sugawara

sousuke bought blond hair dye for hiro and taichi because they begged him to with their cute puppy eyes. don't worry he made sure it was safe for kids and he helped them even but never told yoi that part

the time you saw your kids blond nearly made you punch sousuke (as said in the story) but rin had to hold you back literally by your arms because he doesn't want sousuke to end up in the hospital

sousuke moved from his house to an apartment

vip - @1plus1kiyoomi )

#atsumu x reader #atsumu x you #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu smau #haikyuu x reader #miya atsumu #atsumu miya #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu scenario #haikyuu imagines #atsumu

174 notes · View notes

the-final-sif · 5 years ago

Text

Actually, now that I’ve talked about my headcanon that Katsuki was kidnapped several times as a child, let me talk about a complete random scene/story arc inspired by that and the fact that Katsuki + Izuku + Shouto are all interning with Endeavor now.

Overhaul breaks out of jail and gets his arms back somehow. He’s gone quite a bit nuts. A lot nuts. He’s surpassed ‘focused villain trying to do one thing that he sees as right’ to more of a ‘just want to watch the world burn’. To that end, he sets about getting a team together to catch a certain group of meddling heroes, and to rekidnap a certain child.

A second hideout raid of sorts is planned and goes down, only this time, it was a trap. Izuku/Shouto/Endeavor/Hawks/Kirishima/Tamaki/Fatgum/Tsuyu/Ryuko/Ochako were on the raid team and were caught. Aizawa who was watching over Eri while she had a playdate with Tsuyu’s younger sister, Satsuki, are all also captured. Overhaul had a very specific team set up, knew about them in advance and planned out counters for each person. Alongside that, he used his quirk to create a giant beast like robot that’s made of metal able to withstand even Deku’s punches and Shouto/Endeavor’s flames. Said robot is roughly modeled/made to take on the LOV’s nomu, but non-organic. Notably, Katsuki wasn’t on the hideout raid team (or aware of the raid), because he had a Obligatory Family Trip planned on the same day and so wasn’t at the internship then.

Izuku had managed to put in a distress call before he was taken down, but all the heroes + victims were moved to a different location afterwards in an old long abandoned hideout in the middle of the woods, and there’s about no chance of anyone tracking them down any time soon.

So that leads us into the main scene. The heroes are all captured/restrained up near Overhaul whose ranting on about using Eri to destroy the world/destroy quirks once and for all and then rule over it with a robotic army which is the only thing he considers “clean” anymore. Meanwhile, Eri and Satsuki are down in a different location in a cell of their own (to prevent the heroes from comforting the children), and there’s a camera system in place so the heroes can see the helpless children.

Overhaul demands Eri be brought to whatever Evil Machine he’s devised, and one of his goons goes to get her, but Satsuki fights back against the goon and actually does a pretty damn good job of it. Which leads to Overhaul demanding that the goon kill her.

There’s nothing any of the heroes can do. Satsuki fights back as best she can, as does Eri, but they’re both only 6 years old and Eri’s quirk isn’t working. They struggle, but it’s looking hopeless, and Aizawa tries to tell Tsuyu to close her eyes because he knows what’s about to happen next.

And then the entire dungeon the two girls are in shatters.

Everything is chaos for the next minute as Overhaul tries to figure out what the hell just happened, getting his cameras back in order until finally he gets a visual and contact with one of his goons just before they get taken down and it’s Katsuki.

He’s in a flannel, regular pants and his combat gloves, very clearly confused/pissed off/not prepared for whatever the hell is going on here, and it takes them awhile to figure out what’s going on.

As it turns out, Katsuki has been hiking a trail near this hideout since he was 4 years old. His family drags him up to a nearby location to visit some extended family, he has 0 interest in doing that, so he goes and hikes/camps along a trial instead. Every year he hikes this fairly long trail, and every year he sees this weird abandoned building that he’s gone to explore a few times, and every year the first thought in his mind is ‘Man, that place looks exactly like a villain hideout’.

Then this year, he comes up on it, minding his own business with his headphones in, and he sees the building active again with people with weird masks running around in it, and he’s got a super bad feeling in his gut that just slams into him and he goes ‘Alright, fuck it.’

So now Katsuki is here, he grabs the kids and gets them to a semi-safe location, getting info from them and trying to understand what’s going on. Once he gets it, this turns into a game of him keeping the kids safe from Overhaul, taking down his goons as he goes and working his way towards where the other heroes are. Only, we’re going with the aforementioned headcanon that Katsuki has been kidnapped a bunch of times as a child and never realized that wasn’t normal. This leads to the heroes watching him on the cameras with an increasingly pissed off Overhaul as he walks the two children through how deal with being kidnapped as if these are normal everyday life skills.

Overhaul really, really wants him dead, but unfortunately his team was handpicked to counter the heroes who he’s already captured, and he wasn’t counting on Katsuki showing up. Katsuki’s quirk is flexible and very destructive + Katsuki’s combat skills means he’s pretty much a worst case scenario for Overhaul. Even worse, Katsuki successfully took down the com lines so there’s no communication through the scattered goons, and Katsuki played in this abandoned hideout as a child so he knows his way around it.

Ideal things happening during all of this:

Aizawa torn between being overjoyed that Katsuki saved Eri and then horrified/so done with this child as he walks Eri and Satsuki through how to use knives and grenades.

Katsuki being confused that neither Eri nor Satsuki know how to use a knife.

“Okay, did I have a weird childhood or did you two have a weird childhood. I can’t tell.”

Katsuki gives both children knives, and gives Eri a second knife when she loses her first one (and by loses I mean it ends up embedded in a bad guy’s shoulder)

Izuku keeps pulling notebooks and pencils out of seemingly thin air since Katsuki is openly discussing his quirk/aspects of it with the kids as they make their way through the base and by god he needs to write it down. Overhaul keeps taking his notebooks/pencils but the moment he looks away Izuku somehow has another set.

Katsuki keeps mentioning offhandly things from his childhood and the more things he mentions the more all the other heroes are like “????????”

Finally, Overhaul realizes there’s no chance of his guys taking down Katsuki as Katsuki finishes off the last or second to last one, and so he unleashes The Robot.

By this point, Katsuki already called for backup, but it’s at least half and hour out. He sees the robot and he’s like “Ah fuck.”. Eri and Satsuki already told him a little bit about it and particularly that it’s built to withstand anything short of a nuclear weapon. Not to mention it’s decently fast/agile.

And then when Eri is hurriedly relaying all this to Katsuki, she mentions that Overhaul built it himself.

Katsuki: “Wait like, he actually designed and built it. Overhaul’s the guy with the weird purity/evolution obsession right? He made this? Not somebody smarter?”

She confirms and Katsuki is suddenly No Longer Worried: “Okay, you two chill here, I got this.”

So then he goes to fight the weird beast robot, and nobody’s really sure what he’s planning. As he starts fighting it, he seems to be blasting it’s head into stuff a lot/slamming it around, but that’s not doing any actual damage, right?

Wrong.

See, Overhaul’s somewhat of a moron who put all of the robot’s processing/”brain” into the head area, because that’s how things are supposed to be in his mind. Katsuki figured the guy would probably pull something like this, and so he gives the robot a bunch of repeated strikes to the head area/knocking it around. Because even if the outside is super tough, that kinetic energy still travels through and can do damage to delicate circuit boards.

In layman’s terms, he gives the robot a series of minor concussions until it adds up.

The robot starts to malfunction, going somewhat rouge/pausing/getting stuck places/etc. But it’s still not destroyed and the heroes aren’t sure what Katsuki’s planning next. Katsuki is quite sure of what he’s planning next though. He lures the robot outside and then traps it in place with some large rocks or some rope or something. It’s not going to hold it for very long, but it’s enough to keep the weakened robot in place.

Then he takes aim with one arm as if he was doing an AP shot.

Everyone (heroes and Overhaul included) are kinda like ‘okay what the heck’ because even Katsuki’s strong blasts aren’t enough to really damage the robot’s exterior. Why would trapping it change that?

Then blue starts to spread up Katsuki’s arm along his veins, his hand starts to crackle and there’s 1-2 seconds of “wait WHAT” before Katsuki unleashes a blast on par with that of a small nuclear weapon. The explosion is bright blue, narrowed down to a fine point like Katsuki’s regular AP spot, but once it hits it’s target, it explodes outwards disintegrating the robot and taking out a good chunk of the surrounding land. The whole hideout is shaken to it’s foundation. Windows shatter, some cameras crack, and when the dust clears, Katsuki’s standing tall.

His left arm is still covered by that spiderweb blue though, and it’s hanging limply at his side.

Okay, so this is 90% me making up science but shhhh

So as the heroes quickly learn as an exhausted/barely on his feet Katsuki stumbles back to the kids who of course have questions, this is apparently something Katsuki has been able to do since he was 6.

He calls it “Blue Core”, and it makes his explosions super powerful by pulling nitrogen from the rest of his arm/blood stream/flesh and stocking it all up.

However, he basically never uses it because it comes at a really high cost, namely it takes several seconds of charging, does a ton of collateral damage, and by using it it takes whichever arm he used out of commission for at least the next 24 hours. He can still use his quirk a little with the other one, but it’s heavily weakened.

Obviously he can’t use this in training either, so he never thought to mention it to his teachers.

The heroes + Overhaul just watch stunned for like a solid minute as he starts making his way towards where the heroes are being held hostage with the kids because what the fuck.

Finally though, Overhaul snaps out of it and goes to fight the weakened Katsuki. The kids hide when Overhaul comes out and he throws Katsuki against a wall or something b/c he’s heavily weakened and can’t really fight with his quirk anymore, and then he struts over to him monolouging and ready to claim victory as Katsuki is laying there, slumped over and barely breathing.

And then the moment Overhaul gets close to him, Katsuki is up in a flash and the heroes can hardly even see what happened, but the next thing they know Overhaul is on the ground screaming bloody murder clutching his eyes and Katsuki is holding a blood stained knife. Then he gives Overhaul a curb stomp and he is OUT.

It should be noted, this is not any of the knives that he gave to Eri/Satsuki.

Someone, maybe Aizawa: “How many knives does he have???? I thought he was hiking????”

Shouto: “Oh yeah, at one point during the remedial courses we were babysitting kids together and he mentioned to me that he had 7 knives that day, and I honestly couldn’t tell if he brought more or less knives than he normally carried because of the children. Still not sure actually.”

Izuku: “I know he usually carried around 4 knives when we were kids but part of that was he had limited areas to hide them back then.”

Fatgum and Tamaki are both completely baffled and trying to fit this guy they’ve just been watching with the person that Kirishima described Katsuki to them as.

Anyways, so then Eri & Satsuki get the keys and go to free the heroes which are fairly close by while Katsuki guards Overhaul to prevent him from pulling a ‘gotcha’ on them. And also because the heroes are up a flight of stairs and Katsuki physically cannot walk up them right now.

It’s very emotional as Eri rushes to Aizawa and Satsuki rushes to her big sister who is now crying. And then the group heres a noise and all eyes go back up to the camera screens which are still somewhat up and running, currently focused on where Katsuki and Overhaul’s battle went down.

Turns out, before this whole mess started, the LOV sent Dabi to go take care of Overhaul because He Cannot Be Allowed To Have Arms, Goddamnit We Were Making A Point With That.

But then Katsuki went ahead and did Dabi's job for him, so Dabi radioed back to Tomura and Tomura changed his objective to "You know, while you're there anyways and he's weak, might as well grab the kid."

There’s two endings to this:

The door to the room Katsuki is in swings open and fucking Dabi waltzes in probably saying something like

"So, is this a bad time?"

Katsuki turns to look at him and in the most done, tired, angry, voice: "You asshole."

After drugging Katsuki somehow (because unlike Overhaul, Dabi is not stupid and isn't getting with 10 feet of Katsuki without being damn sure he's down for the count), Dabi kidnaps Katsuki for the second time and the two of them are teleported out of the area about 10 seconds before Aizawa/the other heroes are freed just barely too late to do anything about it.

This ending would mostly be because I'd want Dabi and Katsuki to have back and forth banter of Katsuki being so 110% done with everything and Dabi being like:

"Yeah, I'll admit, this is kinda a dick move and the universe definitely has it out for you today."

"You don't get to say 'the universe has it out for me' when you're the one kidnapping me asshole"

And also because it sets up some serious hurt/comfort.

or, ending 2)

Katsuki stumbles his way over to a doorway on the other side of the room to go grab some rope so he can tie Overhaul up. He opens the door, and Dabi's just standing there, having been about to open the door so he could capture Katsuki.

They just stare at each other wide eyed for several long seconds before

"Is now a bad time-"

And Katsuki slam's the door shut.

"N o !"

He takes five seconds to just stare at the door being pissed and then is like "No, fuck this, I have dealt with enough today." Then he proceeds to barricade the door as he goes through various forms of the words 'No, nope, fuck that, not happening', still exhausted and beaten up and done but 100% N O T H A V I N G T H I S.

The heroes get down there to help and and they search for Dabi only to discover on the camera footage that after Katsuki slammed the door on him, he apparently thought it was so funny that he just kinda shrugged, turned around and actually fucking left. Because, you know, his main objective was already completed, and he didn’t really feel like going the extra mile today.

All of this is on camera too, so it quickly spreads as a meme, along with other choice moments from the whole hideout fight including several ‘vibe checks’, one of Satsuki throwing a grenade into the face of on of the goons that was harassing her before, and also ‘knife check’ becoming a thing.

997 notes · View notes

unholyhelbig · 4 years ago

Text

Title: The Victorian

Ship: Jemma Simmons/ Daisy Johnson

Summary: Jemma Simmons is offered a position as a local biologist in Georgetown South Carolina, effectively moving her family across the country to a southern-style victorian house. Strange things start to happen and they’re suddenly pulled into a supernatural nightmare. With the help of a coworker, the next-door neighbors, and a renowned Ghost Hunting team, the Simmons/ Johnson household fight against forces unseen.

The house loomed over the inlet. Its white exterior had been mossed over in some areas, sharp and green compared to the off-white paneling. Soft orange hummingbird vines hid any blemishes, their green tendons twisting through the delicate lattice that moved over the left side of the home.

There was a worn stone birdbath and a deep green hedge that lined the back of the property. Past that was a deck that moved into the watery swamps that smelled thickly of fish and saltwater. Even through the car, Daisy could smell it, and her chest swelled with the familiarity of the ocean.

Jemma had a smile across her face. It was warm and welcoming and a little prideful. This was their house, even if they hadn’t seen it until now. There were pictures but it didn’t’ give the southern style home any justice, with its wrap-around porch and large bay windows.

The driveway was gravel and she winced as she pulled the front wheels of their SUV over the dip, welcoming the back wheels with another bump. She stared up at the canopy of trees, willows with seeping Spanish moss, and struggled to keep her focus on her movements. Jemma didn’t’ say a thing, if she noticed, too entranced herself.

“I didn’t’ think it would be this,” Daisy trailed off, bringing the car to a stop.

“Magnificent? Archaic? Stepford wife?”

“Yes,”

She settled for all of the descriptions. She had always wanted a big home and this was a far cry from their two-bedroom in Los Angeles. It was half the price too. There was enough room for her own office and a library because even Ayla enjoyed curling up and flipping through her mothers' books.

Daisy could imagine a tire swing and a nice coat of paint, and the sweet southern breeze seeping through the back screened-in sunroom. She glanced back at the girl, her head leaning against the window and soft rhythmic breaths filling the silence. The jostling of the car hadn’t deterred her from sleep, and neither did the sudden attention trained on her.

“Beautiful too. Kind of… haunted-looking?”

“Oh, don’t start with that. Ghosts aren’t real, and if they are, it’s just”

“Science we don’t’ understand yet, yes sweetheart, I know” Daisy finished her wife’s sentence with a loving smile.

Jemma smiled back and the gesture was warmer than the South Carolina air. She could smell the floral trumpets that lined the wall and gravel crunched under her feet as she emerged from the driver’s side of the car. There was a thick sheen of sweat already forming against her brow.

She rounded to the backseat and opened it with enough gentleness that Ayla didn’t’ stir. She had also become victim to the heat; small whisps of blonde hair clung to her forehead and she breathed in with a little bit more force than before, but still, she didn’t wake from her sleep as Daisy pulled the five-year-old from her car seat and hugged her close.

One shoe had been toed off during the drive here and Ayla’s feet dangled at Daisy’s side as she shifted her to her hip and Jemma shouldered the overnight bag that they had packed for all three of them. They knew it would be a long trip, and it had been, but the moving truck hadn’t beat them here and they figured they would make do with a duffel bag of clothes most worn.

“Darn, I must have the keys here somewhere” Jemma mumbled after they braved the aching steps and stood under the slightly shaded porch. It would be nice for rocking chairs, or string lights.

Daisy’s mind was racing with possibility, even when the door did creak open to reveal a dark and cooling interior from the late ’50s. It had vast cherrywood flooring and a stained-glass side window that caught the sun and drowned the grained wood in color.

There was a long oak staircase and a dining room that had an old table in its center, but no chairs. At least Daisy considered it to be a table. It was covered in a white sheet that was equally covered in dust. Jemma closed the door behind them and looked up at the vaulted ceiling that seemed to stretch until the second-floor landing.

Ayla shifted in her arms and gripped her little hand around the excess fabric of the blue cotton button-down that Daisy wore. She whimpered; nose pressed close to the inside of her mother's neck. The cold had gotten to her and Daisy didn’t want to admit that it instantly dried any damp part of her skin.

“It’s charming,” Jemma sounded out “Needs some love, but certainly not something we didn’t’ account for.”

“Needs some light too,” Daisy said as she stepped further into the house.

The living area was a lot better; it swam with that very light that she was hoping for. She figured that they would set up the air mattress in the trunk right in this room. There were already floral print curtains that could be drawn to keep the nightly creatures from peering in, and the warmth flowing through the two bay windows had begun to thaw her skin.

There was another white sheet, covering a blocky object like a tacky ghost. “A bookcase?”

“A piano,” Jemma corrected “You can see the pedal under the right edge. It’s an old one too. I can’t imagine why anyone would leave it behind.”

Daisy didn't want to entertain the idea of anything causing abandonment other than pure laziness. She wouldn't want to lug a piano onto a moving truck in this kind of Southern heat either. Her arms were starting to ache- Ayla wasn’t as small as she used to be, and she got the nagging urge to wake the girl.

Jemma seemed to read her mind as she always did. She carefully pulled the girl into her arms resulting in a tiny nose scrunch and a little groan, but still not fully awake. Traveling must have taken it completely out of the kid, and truthfully, it took everything out of the mothers too.

They had eaten at the hotel this morning, Daisy demolishing three pancakes while Jemma limited herself to a banana and a few bites of Ayla’s slowly softening cereal. She didn’t’ do well with the winding mountains of Tennessee and had clenched her eyes the entire time, gripping what she called the panic handle.

Other than that, they had shared a bag of trail mix and Daisy squeezed the untouched applesauce pouch into her mouth to quell the rumbling in her stomach, but that had been at the border of North and South and she was getting agitated with hunger now. She considered Jemma and her daughter were more than halfway there themselves.

“I think I saw a Chinese restaurant on the way into town,” She offered, rolling her sore shoulder around “What do you say to an old tradition?”

Jemma smiled again, and it brightened the room even more. The first place they rented together didn’t have power yet and it was above a take-out place that had the best Chicken Lo Mein. They lit a bunch of candles and ate on the floor, a fell asleep in each other’s arms despite the less-than-ideal circumstances.

Daisy took this as confirmation and placed a chaste kiss on her wife’s cheek before fishing her car keys from her back pocket again and stepping into the stifling heat. The door fell shut behind her and her stare instantly fell on a woven basket filled with fresh apples and baked muffins. The scent made her stomach plunge even further.

And there was a man, quite a large one, stalking away from the gift. His shoulders had a wide span and his dark skin glistened in whatever sun the trees allowed through. Daisy stifled a smile of her own.

“Thank you!” She called out

The man turned quickly around. His face was kind despite his large stature and he let out a groan. “See, you weren’t supposed to catch me leaving this. It was going to be an anonymous welcome from the community.”

Daisy walked down the front porch and the man met her halfway, that warm expression still on his face. He wore a flannel over a sweat-dampened tank top despite the heat. He was even taller in person, his hands stained in what Daisy could guess is grease.

“It was my wife’s idea, she saw you guys pull in and threw something together last minute. She’s not used to having neighbors.” He let out a soft chuckle “I told her that ya’ll have L.A plates and that’s not how it works there, but she refused to listen.”

“No, it’s really nice, actually. I’m Daisy… like the flower.” She stuck out her hand.

The man’s own engulfed hers entirely, it was calloused but firm “Mack like the- oh hell, the food?”

“Nice to meet you, Mack. We really do appreciate it, I guess Southern Hospitality is a real thing?”

“Oh absolutely. Look- I’ve gotta get back home, we live right across the way, but on that little note wedged between whatever fruit she could scrounge up, is an invitation to dinner tomorrow night. It’s up to you if you want to accept it or not”

“We’ll be there,” Daisy said. And they would.

#daisy johnson #jemma simmons #Skimmons #Skimmons fanfiction #agents of shield #aos #aos fanfiction #yo yo rodriguez #alphonso mackenzie #leopold fitz #phil coulson #melinda may

12 notes · View notes

maxbegone · 4 years ago

Note

also 43: A kiss pressed to the top of the head. (platonic soulmates)

YES YES YES!

Also on Ao3

"This is the second time a member of the Rose family has come to my apartment today.”

David bites back a grin, his knees bent. “Hello to you, too.”

Stevie steps aside to let David in. He drops his bag in the foyer and looks around.

Her apartment is a little dreary - it’s always a little dreary, David notes, but it’s very much Stevie and he loves it and that Sarah Maclachlan poster regardless.

It smells like vanilla, too, and David thinks he’ll have to convince her to get something a little more atmospheric, something that will bring a little dimension into her home.

He makes a mental note to set aside a few of the soy candles at the store for her.

There’s a suitcase propped-up by her closet, slightly caved-in from its lack of contents and there’s an empty cereal bowl sitting on her countertop, the spoon still in it.

Smudges of dark makeup sit caked under Stevie’s already dark eyes and the cuffs of her flannel are balled-up in her fists. She swipes at her nose.

“I brought wine,” David announces, setting the bottle next to the empty bowl. He eyes the half-empty blend she already had uncorked. He gestures to it. “But I see that might not have been necessary.”

“It’s from your mom.” Stevie gives him a weak smile as she flops into a chair, her dark hair falling in front of her face.

David sighs. “You okay?”

“Did your dad put you up to this?” She murmurs, voice thick. She doesn’t meet his gaze.

“No.” David leans his elbows into the counter, adding much softer, “But...he did tell me about Emir. Coming here was my decision.”

Stevie’s posture visibly slumps in response. She remains quiet.

David doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. Instead, he pulls up his sleeves and begins cleaning up her dirty bowl. He sets out a towel under her drying rack, wiping the excess soap from the base of the sink.

Once that’s accounted for, he tops of Stevie’s wineglass with the stuff he brought - making a very prominent point to pour out the faint remnants of the cheaper bottle down the drain and sets it off to the side for recycling. It was less than a proper glass, really.

He hears a light huff of a laugh from behind him, causing him to smile.

With his own glass in-hand, he sets Stevie’s down, taking the empty chair across from her. Even still, nothing is said as she stares at the dark liquid in her glass. It’s just the two of them sitting in somewhat comfortable silence, taking sips of their drinks until David decides to get up and pour them each another.

“Where’s Patrick tonight?”

David nearly snorts. “He’s sulking at his apartment over Romanian marble and the fact that Ronnie officially hates him.”

Stevie gives him an odd look. “What does that even mean?”

He shakes his head, swilling his wine. “Nothing. I’ll explain tomorrow.”

Stevie just mutters a dejected, “Sure,” and picks at a loose string hanging from her sleeve.

The apartment goes silent again - it’s a trend tonight, and David thinks he’s okay with that - the only real sound coming from the buzzing of Stevie’s old refrigerator every so often.

“Fuck him,” David states. It’s sharp, it’s a little biting, and Stevie pushes her brows together when he says it.

“I mean, you already did,” he adds, earning another half-hearted laugh from his best friend. “But fuck him.”

She sniffs, eyes trained on her hands in her lap. “Thanks,” she whispers.

“I’m not going to say a bunch of fluff to try and make you feel better because, let’s face it, that won’t help.” She nods and David continues. “So, if you’re fine with it...I’ll stay over tonight, try and distract you or something.”

She scrubs at her cheeks, disrupting tear-stains and still nodding. “Thanks, David.”

His smile grows just a bit wider, the dull knot of an ache in his chest starting to unravel itself.

He grabs his bag then, tossing it onto the unmade bed. David begins taking out various creams and cleansers, a jar containing the under-eye serum he loves so much, and a bottle of lavender toner.

“Go wash up,” he nods toward the bathroom.

Stevie stands wordlessly, gathering everything up in her arms. When the door shuts behind her and he hears the water running, David begins tidying up again.

He starts with the bed; straightening out the fitted sheet and fixing the comforter. He fluffs the pillows and drapes a chunky knitted blanket that’s been thrown haphazardly over the back of the couch onto the bed.

It’s right about then that David spots the script for Cabaret. It’s written in big, bold letters across the front. His mother had mentioned in passing something about it and a “courageous and sturdy woman like our dear Stevie.”

His heart squeezes in his chest at image of his mother handing the script to over to Stevie. It makes sense why she came here now.

He’ll ask her about it tomorrow. For now, he places it on the kitchen table.

Save for the very dregs, their glasses from earlier are empty, so David takes to delicately washing them out and setting them upside-down on a dishtowel. He makes two cups of tea, steaming and ready by the time the bathroom door swings open again.

Stevie comes out fresh-faced and dewy, her flannel now bunched-up in one hand.

She hitches a thumb over her shoulder. “I left everything on the counter if you want to use it.”

David hands her a mug. “In a second. But, uh...” He picks up a tattered novel from where it sits on her nightstand, smirking. “What’s this?”

Stevie rips it from his hold, swiftly shoving it into a drawer and hip-checking it closed. “It’s a book.”

“A Scandalous Kiss,” David recites coyly, “Sounds hot. Where the hell did you pick that up? A pharmacy?”

“I’m borrowing it from Gwen. She wouldn’t stop raving about it when I was in the café last week, so I’m borrowing it from her.”

David blinks. “Yeah, I don’t know who that is.”

“Gwen,” Stevie repeats. “Bob’s wife.” When David shrugs at her, she tosses her flannel onto a chair.

“I’ll be out in a few,” he says gently, offering a much softer smile to which she returns.

“You’ll be out in more than ‘a few,” she calls through the door, and despite the congestion in her voice, her wit is still there.

The seals from the unopened products he’d handed her are still scattered around the sink, so he dumps those into the trash before moving on.

David hastens his way through his nighttime routine, knocking off about half the time it normally takes so he can get back to Stevie.

Abbreviated version done, David lines the products up in Stevie’s mirror-slash-medicine cabinet. He thinks about organizing them by step for her, maybe going through it all with her tomorrow morning if she’s up for it, but brushes off the notion.

Stevie’s curled-up on her side atop the covers, her back to him, when David emerges. He takes this opportunity to slip into a pair of sleep pants and a tee, tucking his things away by the foot of her bed.

As David comes around to her side of the bed, Stevie’s shoulders are shaking ever so slightly.

He lets out a quiet sigh, sitting carefully by the bend of her legs. Stevie has her arms wrapped tight around her pillow, her eyes distant and puffy from what David can make out from his angle.

“Hey.” He gives her thigh a firm rub. She only sniffs in response.

He lets out a breathy “Oh” sound and stands again, repositioning Stevie so she’s under the covers and tucked-in tightly. He lays the knitted blanket over her shoulders and, with a tentative hand, brushes the hair from her face.

Stevie turns just enough to look at him, her eyes red-rimmed.

David offers a half-frown, one that says, “I’m here for you, I care about you, I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s the truth.

“Sorry,” he hears her say once the lights are off in the main part of the apartment and the only source is coming from the lamp on her nightstand.

He’s laying with her now, matching her position. She looks so small in her huddled form, and David wants nothing more than to hold his best friend close.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.”

There’s a long pause before Stevie says anything again. “I feel really, really stupid.”

He lets a beat pass. “You’re not, though.”

She hums. “It just sucks.” Stevie heaves a deep breath, a gurgling sound coming from somewhere deep in her throat. “I thought that it was actually going somewhere...and it wasn’t.”

“Not that it’ll really make you feel any better,” David starts carefully, repositioning himself on the pillow, “but I’ve been in that boat countless times. You get over it. But it does really suck. And it really fucking hurts sometimes, too.”

Stevie’s lips quirk downward on one side. She pulls a hand out from where it’s still wrapped around the pillow to rub at her eyes.

“You really didn’t have to come tonight.” She says it so softly, as if she’s trying to convince herself that David coming here was nothing big.

But he sees right through it. “I wanted to.”

He reaches over to shut the light, a metallic click echoing out. When he turns back to face Stevie, she’s staring at him sadly, eyes still glazed-over.

David lifts up an arm as incentive for Stevie to wriggle over to him. She sets her head on his chest, nuzzling as a hiccuping sob releases itself. David links his arms at her back.

She settles sometime after that, going deathly still, and there’s something about the way she lays there that lets David know she’s knocked-out cold for the rest of the evening.

She’ll be emotionally hungover in the morning, he knows that for a fact - he’s been there himself, Stevie’s even seen it.

But for now, she’ll sleep like a rock. A small, dark-haired rock shaped like his best friend whom he loves. He really, really loves. He hopes that’s enough for her.

David presses a kiss into the crown of her head, one hand coming up to brush through her hair. He breathes in the familiar scent of Stevie’s shampoo, it comforts him.

David kisses her head again, tucks her impossibly close and drifts off as her breath tickles his neck.

#david rose #stevie budd #platonic soulmates!!!#that's his stevie!!!#that's her david!!!#david x stevie #schitt's creek #schitts creek #sc fic #sc ficlet #schitt's creek fic #schitt's creek ficlet #patrickbrewsky #EM YOU WONDERFUL HUMAN YOU #prompt fill #my fic #my writing #my sc fic

31 notes · View notes

spoookymuulders · 4 years ago

Text

you make my heart beat like the rain

read it on ao3 here total word count: 43,551 chapter word count: 3,132 WARNINGS: DISCUSSIONS OF ABUSE

chapter 12. right down santa claus lane. in which not a creature stirs.. not even a mouse.

Christmas Eve

Callie is glad to see that opening a present on Christmas Eve seems to be a universal thing, and not just something exclusive to her family. She’d come to the B&B early in the afternoon to make cookies and cocoa and watch a ton of Christmas movies, and now she’s perched on the couch beside Hotch, grinning at him and Jack in their matching pajamas - it’s kind of the cutest thing she’s ever seen.

“Hey, buddy.” Hotch says suddenly, gesturing for Jack to come over. He does so, leaning against his father as Hotch whispers in his ear for a moment, then runs out of the room. Callie can hear him thundering up the stairs, and she glances at Hotch, raising a brow. “You didn’t think he was gonna be the only one who gets to open a present tonight, did you?”

Before she can answer, Jack is running back into the room with a messily-wrapped package in his arms. He dumps it into Callie’s lap, beaming up at her.

“I helped wrap it!” He says proudly. Callie laughs softly, leaning down to kiss his cheek before opening the gift. The sight of a soft black top and plaid flannel pajama pants gives her pause, and she looks up to see both Hotchner boys grinning at her. “It’s matching ‘jamas, like me and dad!”

“Jack was right, Cal. You’re part of the family.” Hotch says gently as Callie pulls the pajamas out of their box. “Only makes sense for you to match, too.” Callie can feel tears burning behind her eyes, and she wipes at them quickly, laughing softly when Jack throws his arms around her. She hugs him tightly, pressing a kiss to his hair before Hotch pushes her off the couch gently with the instruction to go change.

When she returns a few minutes later, changed into the pajamas and grinning broadly, the Hotchners cheer and gesture for her to join them on the couch. She settles beside Hotch, tucking herself into his side as Jack rips open his Christmas Eve present. He gasps when he pulls out the boxed Percy Jackson set Callie picked out and she grins at him, gathering him into her lap.

“Remember I told you about these ones?” She says, pulling the first book out of the box gently. “It’s about a kid who goes to a camp for the children of Greek gods and goddesses.”

“Yeah!” Jack crows, grinning up at her. They flip through the book for a few minutes before Jack turns and hugs her tightly. “Thanks, Callie.”

“Merry Christmas, bug.” She hums, squeezing him gently. He grins up at her again, and three pairs of eyes fall on the clock when it chimes nine o’clock. Jack busies himself with putting his books on the coffee table while Hotch grabs their copy of The Night Before Christmas from the mantle. Settling back in Callie’s lap, Jack tucks his head under her chin as she scoots closer to Hotch. Hotch settles an arm around Callie’s shoulders and kisses her hair lightly as he flips the book open, clearing his throat quietly.

“‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring..”

“ Not even a mouse! ” Jack says brightly.

****

School was a half day today - since it’s Christmas Eve, of course - and Zoe had opted to wear one of her favorite Christmas dresses. Spencer admires the way it brushes against her knees as she stands on her toes to hang a strand of garland around the fireplace. They’ve spent all afternoon prepping for the Christmas party tomorrow, making sure all the decorations are up and a bunch of the food is ready. Dave is, of course, doing all the actual cooking, but Zoe and Spencer have had a blast getting groceries as well as making cookies and snacks and other desserts.

Basil tumbles around Zoe’s feet as she spins on her toes, and she laughs softly, leaning down to scoop him up. She cuddles him against her chest, stroking between his ears gently with one finger as she dances with him and hums along to the music floating from the speaker on the mantle. Looking up, she catches Spencer’s eye as he hovers in the doorway and grins at him, wiggling her fingers. He laughs softly and pads into the room, leaning down to kiss her cheek gently.

“Everything looks great.” He says, and Zoe nods, smiling up at him.

“I haven’t been to a Christmas party in years.” She muses, leaning against his chest. Spencer hums, toying with the ends of Zoe’s hair gently.

“Well, you know how the song goes.” He says as she steps away to set Basil free on the floor. The kitten trots over to his (much too large for a kitten of his size) bed and flops onto it, purring happily as Zoe turns back around and Spencer pulls her against his chest. “Parties for hosting, marshmallows for toasting, caroling out in the snow.”

“Oh, of course.” Zoe says seriously, draping her arms around Spencer’s neck. “Don’t forget about the scary ghost stories and tales of the glories from Christmases long, long ago.”

“How could I possibly?” Spencer asks, and when Zoe giggles, his heart jumps into his throat. Leaning down, he catches her lips and kisses her softly, slowly. She hums, smiling against his mouth and allowing him to pull her that much closer. When they break the kiss, she hums happily, swaying slowly as Bing Crosby begins to croon from the speaker.

They lapse into a comfortable, familiar silence as they dance around the living room slowly, holding each other as close as they can. Spencer’s fingers brush along Zoe’s spine gently and she closes her eyes, resting her cheek to his shoulder.

“Why does he want presents on the tree?” Spencer asks quietly as the song comes to a close, and Zoe presses her face to his chest, bursting into giggles. “It’s a serious question! Most Christmas presents are too big to go on a tree! Presents under the tree would make more sense, or by the tree!”

Zoe keeps giggling, shaking her head as she looks up. Spencer smiles tenderly at the look in her eyes and dips his head enough for her to lean up and kiss his nose.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” She giggles. He hums and shrugs.

“It’s been said.”

****

Jack has been tucked into bed and promised that Christmas morning will be here before he knows it. With a kiss on the head from each of his grownups, he’d burrowed into his blanket and fallen asleep almost instantly.

“I’ve never seen a kid fall asleep that fast on Christmas Eve.” Callie says with a soft laugh as she pads into the bedroom. Hotch is already perched on his side of the bed and he nods, chuckling.

“He’s nothing if not efficient.” He muses. Callie laughs again and crawls into bed beside Hotch, tucking herself into his side. He settles an arm around her and presses a kiss to her hair, humming softly. “Thanks for being here.” Callie looks up at him, smiling softly, and winds an arm around his waist, leaning up to kiss him tenderly.

“Thanks for inviting me.” She hums, settling against his chest. Hotch hums, brushing his fingers along her shoulder slowly for a moment.

“I have a Christmas Eve present for you.” He says suddenly. Callie blinks, looking up at him.

“I didn’t get you one.” She says, pouting. “I mean - I got you a present, but I didn’t know if you guys did Christmas Eve presents, so I didn’t-”

“Callie, it’s okay.” He tells her, laughing softly. He shifts away and digs into the drawer on his nightstand for a moment before turning back to her and holding out a small square box. Chewing at her lip, Callie shifts to face him and takes the box slowly. She brushes her fingers over the ribbon on the box for a moment before untying it gently and pulling the top off.

Inside, sitting on a bed of deep green tissue paper sits a gleaming silver key. She inhales softly and takes it out delicately, setting the box aside and looking up at Hotch with shining eyes.

“Aaron..” She breathes.

“It’s a key for the B&B.” He tells her softly. She swallows thickly, brushing her fingers over the bumps and grooves for a moment. “I figured.. You’re over here often enough, you might as well have a key.” Callie laughs unsteadily and throws her arms around Hotch’s neck, kissing him soundly. He laughs softly against her mouth and brushes her cheek with his knuckles when they break apart.

“Thank you.” She whispers. He smiles softly, leaning down to kiss her again.

“And - y’know, you haven’t really slept at your place since Thanksgiving.” He says softly after a moment, brushing his fingers through her hair gently. “And you already have a couple drawers of things here, so.. You could just bring the rest of your things over. If you wanted.” Callie sits back at that, surveying the dark-haired man before her.

“Mr. Hotchner. Are you asking me to move in with you?” She asks, her tone half playful.

“As a matter of fact, Miss Williams, I am.” He says. Callie bites her lip and shifts into Hotch’s lap carefully, cupping his cheeks as he speaks. “Jack and I talked about it already. Callie, we’d love to have you move in.” Unable to help the smile that overtakes her cheeks, Callie leans down and kisses Hotch gently, a whispered okay slipping past her lips as she does.

****

Luke and Ellie have been doing a Christmas movie binge every year since Luke first moved to Callahan and they first met, and this year is no different. They’re continuing their binge tonight - or at least, they were until Luke started kissing at Ellie’s neck and she shifted into his lap twenty minutes ago.

Ellie is vaguely aware of the movie continuing to play behind her, but as Luke drags kisses down the side of her neck, she can’t bring herself to care. She gasps softly as his teeth graze against her skin, and when her fingers curl in his hair and she tugs gently, she can feel a groan rumble through his chest. She pulls back suddenly, breathless, and Luke flops back against the couch, pupils blown wide as he watches her. Reaching up, she cups his cheeks and brushes her fingers over them slowly before drawing her hands away.

I want you to come with me when I get my implants. She signs. Luke blinks at her twice, surprised, then smiles tenderly and lifts his own hands from her waist.

You do?

There’s no one else I’d rather have with me. He can see that there’s more she wants to say, so he waits, brushing his fingers along the hem of her shirt gently before she continues. And I want your voice to be the first one I hear.

He comes so close, then. So close to telling her he loves her - but they haven’t even been together a month, and even if he’s loved her since the minute he saw her, he doesn’t know if she’s ready to hear it. So he pulls her close again, takes her face in his hands and kisses her. He pours all the warmth and tenderness and love that he possibly can into the kiss, humming softly when she winds her arms around his neck and presses against him. He breaks the kiss after a moment to drop his hands to her waist and wrap his arms around her back, hugging her tightly.

And when he presses his face to her shoulder and whispers that he loves her and she feels his breath tickle against her neck, she thinks nothing of it. But then again, neither does he when she does the same thing.

****

Zoe is, Spencer has learned, a fairly restful sleeper for the most part. Of course, she shifts and tosses and turns now and then, but up until now he’s never heard her talk in her sleep. But as he’s padding back into the bedroom after putting a few last-minute presents under the tree, Zoe is shifting onto her side, her brow furrowed as her fingers curl in the blanket and she mumbles incoherently.

He hovers at the door for a moment, watching with a small smile - he likes the way her brow furrows when she’s deep in thought, and seeing it while she’s asleep feels almost intimate. His smile drops when he realizes that whatever it is she’s dreaming about is beginning to distress her. She’s mumbling in her sleep and he has to strain a little to hear her, padding further into the room.

He realizes after a moment that whatever it is she’s dreaming about isn’t just distressing her - it’s frightening her. Badly, judging by the way her movements and voice are becoming more and more frantic. He climbs onto the bed carefully, noting the way she tenses, and when he reaches out to touch her arm, she jerks awake with a shriek and scrambles away from him so quickly she falls off the bed.

Eyes wide, Spencer stares for a moment as Zoe presses herself against the wall, her blue eyes frantic and searching. Sliding off the bed, he hurries around to crouch beside her, making sure he’s in her line of sight before he reaches out.

“Hey, hey.” He breathes, swallowing when her eyes land on him. His fingers settle against her arm delicately and whatever dam she’s been building and hiding behind breaks. Zoe bursts into tears and Spencer, surprised, just stares for a moment before gathering her into his arms. “Hey you’re okay, you’re safe. I’ve got you, Zo, you’re okay.”

She curls into him, seeming smaller than ever before, and Spencer shifts carefully to lean against the wall, cuddling her against his chest and pressing the softest, gentlest kisses to the crown of her head. He whispers gentle reassurances to her, rubbing her back in big, slow circles the way JJ had taught him to do with Henry a year or so ago. Eventually, he can feel Zoe calming down, her sobs turning to stuttered breaths and the occasional hiccup. She relaxes little by little, and when he feels her fingers twisting in the neckline of his shirt absentmindedly, he knows she’s come back to him. Tipping his head down, he brushes a hand down her back slowly.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly. Zoe sniffles in response, hunching her shoulders for a moment before mumbling out an apology. Spencer shakes his head quickly. “Hey, no. There’s nothing to be sorry for, okay? Do you wanna talk about it?”

She’s quiet for so long that if it weren’t for her shuddering inhales now and then, he would think she’d fallen back asleep. Eventually, though, she speaks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I left my boyfriend when I moved here.”

Spencer waits patiently, reaching up delicately to tuck a lock of hair behind Zoe’s ear. He wipes a tear away, moving slowly so as not to frighten her again.

“His name is Josh. We were together for three years.” She continues quietly, “A month and a half after we got together, he - I was making dinner, and I spilled something, and he just.. Lost it. That was the first time he hit me.”

“Zoe..” Spencer breathes, her name catching in his throat. His heart breaks at the way she talks about this - so casually, like it’s something everybody’s dealt with. She barrels on before he can say anything else.

“Back in July, he pushed me down the stairs. ‘S why I had the cast on when I moved here. And then the day before I moved here, I found an engagement ring. He was gonna propose and I knew - I knew I’d be too scared to say no when he did, and then I’d be.. I’d be stuck with him forever. Or until he killed me.” She pauses, sucking in an unsteady breath and sniffling. “I’d already had my video interview with Strauss, but I accepted the job offer that night, and then the next day while he was at work, I packed up all my stuff and I left.”

Spencer, for once in his life, is rendered speechless. He’d had a general idea of why Zoe had moved to Callahan - her quiet, drunken confession the night he’d driven her home from girls night had given him some information, but she hasn’t said anything else about it since then. And hearing her openly admit it is entirely different from guessing at it. His heart breaks for her as she sniffles and curls her fingers in his shirt carefully. He’s not sure what to say - what can he say? - so he holds her closer instead, hugs her as tight as he can without hurting her. They sit together in silence for a few minutes, Zoe slowly calming down and catching her breath before Spencer speaks again.

“Why don’t we go back to bed?” He murmurs, nodding when she does. He shifts to set Zoe on her feet, standing and following her back to the bed. She crawls in and burrows down on her side, pulling the blanket to her chin and tucking herself against his chest when he settles beside her. He brushes his hand along her back slowly and she closes her eyes, focusing on her breathing for a few minutes.

“I trust you.” She says suddenly, her voice soft and hoarse. Spencer blinks, glancing down to find Zoe’s blue eyes watery and focused on his. She reaches up, her fingers brushing against his jaw lightly, and he tips his head down just so to press a kiss to them gently. “I meant what I said on Thanksgiving. You make me feel safe.” Spencer smiles softly, lifting a hand to curl his fingers around Zoe’s wrist gently.

“I meant what I said, too.” He murmurs, looking down at her. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.” She shifts her hand to settle against his cheek, her thumb brushing along it gently, and he turns his head to kiss her palm. She settles closer and they lapse into silence once more. He thinks she’s fallen asleep when she speaks again.

“I hocked the ring. I used some of it for gas money to get here. It felt right.” She tells him, and he’s so surprised that he laughs quietly. The sound of his laughter makes Zoe laugh as well, and Spencer feels his heart lift at the sound. They both have their baggage, he muses, but who says they have to carry it alone?

#mine*#tiny town au #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x oc #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x oc #luke alvez fanfic #luke alvez fanfiction #luke alvez x oc #abuse tw #abuse mentions tw

2 notes · View notes

ghostyprince · 5 years ago

Text

wrap me up, with your heart

word count: 3.537 rating: T fandom: BuzzF. Uns. relationship: Ryan B./Shane M. summary: Ryan's a little shit with a weakness to the cold weather (and Shane's jacket) and Shane isn't as tough against it anymore as he'd like to think. author’s note: 3.5k of nothing but pure self-indulgent fluff that took too long to write and now i’m just happy i don’t have to look at it anymore tbh, but enjoy!

[READ ON AO3]

Or read more here

"I'm fucking cold," Ryan says, arms wrapped around himself, grasping at the sleeves of his thin sweater with icy fingers as they're walking back to their hotel after a long, long filming session in a supposedly haunted prison. It wasn't much warmer in there either, but Ryan was too on edge at the moment to care. But boy, did he care now, late at night, probably like one in the fucking morning in the middle of Pennsylvania in November as his ears and fingertips are about to fall off.

Shane immediately lifts his gaze off his phone to look at Ryan. He looks cozy, sporting a soft-looking beanie and his farmer jacket that he always seems to have around, and yeah, Ryan is a little bit jealous. But he knows it won't take long if he plays his cards just right. Shane's eyes narrow and he pockets his phone and yep, there it comes. "I told you, man. Told you to put on something warmer. But no," he drags out the last word while he pulls the hat off his head and straight onto Ryan's with a swift motion, maybe a bit more rough than the situations calls for. It does make Ryan yelp and wheeze out a laugh immediately after, though.

"You have to be the cool manly man who's never cold. When we all know that's a bunch of bullshit, little guy." He huffs, genuinely annoyed and Ryan has seen it many many times but it never fails to amuse him and also make his heart flutter.

Shane takes off his jacket too, pushing it into Ryan's hands who only hesitates for a moment before putting it on. Purely for show, like it wasn't what he was fucking playing at ever since they stepped out of their hotel rooms that evening.

"To be fair, it wasn't that cold when we started filming."

Ryan does up all the buttons, feeling warmer already. Shane's jacket fits him just right to be one of the most comfortable things in the world, just a tad too big, considering how much shorter he is than the big guy. Though, Ryan's opinion might be biased.

And then Ryan catches a whiff of Shane's cologne and something that's just so Shane. It clings to the jacket and it will cling to Ryan too for the rest of the night. Which was the goal all along. It was Ryan's idea to check out this fast food place, tell Shane he wants to walk, to see the city, and complain about being cold eventually so Shane would baby him like he always does. All part of his stupid plan that seems to work flawlessly every single time somehow.

"No, it wasn't. However, I don't know if you know this Ryan," Shane leans to whisper like he's sharing a secret as they're walking and Ryan is already losing it, giggling helplessly into the back of his hand, "But you can use your big detective brain to figure out that it will be cold later at night."

"Shut up, Shane. I thought I would be fine, okay?" Ryan grins, tugging the sleeves of Shane's jacket over his hands even more.

"You always do. I'm starting to think you're doing this on purpose." Shane teases him, hands stuffed into his pockets. Ryan's heart jumps into his throat immediately. Maybe after about a year of intentionally leaving his jackets and warm clothes at the bottom of his suitcase or not packing any in the first place, Shane had finally caught on.

Despite the dread settling in Ryan's stomach he almost hopes he got caught. Just so he could get that push he desperately needed in the last year to finally confront his feelings, getting rejected or not. This awkward and albeit creepy flirting needed to stop, Ryan knew that much, but couldn't bring himself to actually end it yet. TJ and Devon knew too. They witnessed a handful of these scenarios and all it took was one glance at Ryan's shit-eating grin over Shane's scarf wrapped around his neck to figure out what's going. Shane's the only one who's so goddamn oblivious to it all.

"Are you telling me that you're not freezing to death in that flannel?" Ryan asks eventually, elegantly pushing the subject to another direction.

"Nope!" Shane answers cheerily. "It's pretty nice actually. You're just a wimp who got spoiled on the constant warmth of L.A."

"We all can't be weird cryptids who are immune to the cold, big guy." Shane laughs softly at that and bumps his shoulder to Ryan's. They're walking impossibly close now, and Ryan is tempted, he's so tempted to reach for Shane's hand. Blame it on the cold, wrap Shane's hand around his, let it warm him up from the inside out. Instead, he stuffs his hands deeper into the jacket. He's already seeing the entrance of their hotel, it doesn't matter now. It's not because he's a coward. It's not, it's just wasn't the right time. It's all not a big deal until Shane gets sick a day or two after they arrive back home in L.A. He doesn't show up to work in the usual time, so naturally, Ryan gets worried and shoots him a text when Shane is approximately an hour late, asking if everything is alright.

He gets a reply shortly, three lines sent in separate messages and he rolls his eyes at the dramatic nature of them, but then again, it's very Shane.

im so fuckin sick rxan i thing im dying take care of obi for me please

Shane has been complaining about his throat being sore and being a bit out of it. It's probably just a nasty cold, nothing to be worried about. At the same time, Ryan can't help but think he's at least partially to blame.

He rarely felt guilty for stealing Shane's warm clothes, because Shane kept bragging about how the cold doesn't affect him at all, that he's just peachy wearing only a thick jumper in the middle of a heavy snowfall. And well, Ryan believed him, took the offered jacket and scarf or gloves in spite of Shane making fun of his 'delicate skin'. He even thought Shane deserved to be cold, that asshole.

But now Shane has to miss work and feel like shit because he acted like a fucking child, instead of fessing up to his attraction and asking Shane on a date like a proper 28-year-old grown-ass man would.

Sure, it was Shane who offered his clothes all the time and without hesitation, however, Ryan was the one taking advantage of it. So he's going make up for his stupidity right now, it's decided. He doesn't have to worry about work, he can do the editing at home that day, it wouldn't be the first time.

Ryan's determination and confidence instantly disappeared into the void as he was standing in front of Shane's apartment, hesitant to knock or move or breathe. He has no idea what happened, he was doing so well up until this point. Sure, he spent like ten minutes in his car, frantically googling chicken soup recipes and being on the hunt for the best and easiest one to prepare.

He ended up going with an instant pack from the grocery store he stopped at on the way to Shane's apartment because he figured it's not the most convenient time to experiment in a kitchen that's not even his. He bought some popcorn too while he was there, the kind he knew Shane loved. It might not be the best choice of food when he's sick, but he can have it later.

He may or may not have gotten this ridiculous looking hot dog-shaped keychain for him also, sporting big googly eyes. That's how fucking guilty Ryan feels. He also thought it was absolutely disgusting, so naturally, he knew Shane would love it.

To be honest, Ryan never once stopped to think that maybe showing up to Shane's apartment out of the blue, when he's most likely feeling miserable and just wants to be left alone is overstepping a line. That maybe it's a little too much, even if they're as close as they are. Just a tad bit. He just went on his own little quest to do anything that would make Shane feel better and to ease the guilt that keeps twisting his stomach into knots without any regards at all to what Shane wants.

So he backs into the wall across Shane's door and fishes out his phone to send him a text, praying to every god he knows that he's not sleeping. To Ryan's absolute relief the little 'seen' pops up under his message shortly after it's been sent.

is it okay if i come over? bring you some soup and shit?

you don't have to

Ryan's heart sank into his fucking stomach and jumped back up to his throat with the same intensity as another message was sent.

but i could use some food. too sick to make anything.

well im kinda already here dude

gimme a minute

Shane scrambled to his feet, and apparently, it was the worst thing he could've done because everything went black for a few moments as he caught himself on the back on the couch with one hand. He has no time to worry about almost blacking out though because Ryan is waiting outside his car probably and Shane's apartment is as disgusting as he himself feels. He picks up most of the tissue paper that's scattered all across the couch and floor.

A small trail of them leads to the bedroom where Shane dragged himself out of earlier, a soft blanket wrapped around his shoulders like the world's most pathetic superhero just to watch some cooking show on Netflix because it requires the least amount of brain cells for him to use at the moment.

He attempts to make the couch look acceptable and runs a hand through his hair a few times, but it simply can't be helped. He does make his place look just a tiny bit more decent than it was five minutes ago at least. And that's when the knocks came from his door.

Ryan stands there, as Shane opened the door, hands stuffed into his jeans and paper bag hanging from one of his wrists. Shane would've taken note of his awkwardness if he wasn't so hyper-aware of the way his hair is standing in every direction and how he's wearing one of the less nice pajama pants he owns and an old worn t-shirt.

But then Ryan smiles at him, just like he always does like he's just happy to see Shane even when he's at his lowest and suddenly everything seems a little brighter.

"Hey, I thought you could use a little cheering up and something to make you feel better," says Ryan, almost sheepishly. He lifts the paper bag and giving it a shake. "Got you popcorn too, but you're not allowed to have any until you're better."

Shane frowns at him and honest to God pouts. It's the most hilarious, adorable thing Ryan has ever seen.

"Thought you came here to make me feel better, not kick a man when he's down, but come in, I suppose." He sighs, stepping aside and letting Ryan in who just barely catches the crinkle to his eyes and the mischievous smile Shane couldn't hold back anymore.

Ryan makes a beeline for the kitchen, immediately finding a pot so he can make Shane some soup and hoping it doesn't seem like he's doing this out of guilt. He's just helping his best friend out, not feeling horrible at all about how Ryan's shitty flirting technique got him sick in the first place. Nope.

Shane takes a seat at the dining table, chin propped up in his hand and watching Ryan bustle around in his kitchen. Reaching for a spoon without even having to look and standing on his tippy toes to grab a bowl from the top shelf, knowing exactly where they are. Like he's at home.

The sudden rush of fondness hits Shane like a sack of potatoes at the sight of it. The sheer domesticity of it nearly makes his heart melt.

Shane almost stands to help, but it's not needed, so he just huffs out a tiny laugh and wheezes a bit harder when he starts grumbling about "fucking Sasquatch putting everything on the top shelf on purpose". This is exactly one of the many reasons why Shane adores him so much.

And when Ryan still turns to grin at him, like he always does, even if he's being fake pissy, Shane physically has to stop himself from getting up and just kissing him silly right there. He distracts himself with getting the popcorn out of the bag and that's when he spots the little keychain. A big grin finds itself onto his face as he traces a thumb across the little charm. It's cheap-looking and fucking ridiculous but Shane couldn't give a single fuck, he is so in love.

"Really?" He asks voice strained from trying not to laugh. He holds up the keychain, hooking it on his middle finger and dangling it when Ryan turns to look. He immediately rolls his eyes and oh man, he's definitely blushing, it doesn't matter he's turning away, doing his best hide it, Shane still catches a glimpse of it spreading out on his cheeks and ears beautifully.

"Look, your stupid animated food series ruined my life and I know you have zero taste, so it's a perfect gift." Ryan wouldn't meet his eyes, but Shane can see part of his smile, hears the waver of his voice, despite Ryan being so defensive about the stupid keychain.

"Thank you, Ryan. I like it a lot."

The sincerity which he said that with even surprised Shane, not to mention Ryan, who almost spilled the hot noodles all over himself while attempting to pour them into a bowl.

"Why are you here? Not that I don't appreciate the food and treating me like a princess, I sure do, I'm just curious." Shane says, much later, when he's all wrapped up in his soft blanket, belly full of soup.

Which was mediocre at best, but Shane was starving, too sick and lazy to make himself anything earlier, so that damn soup tasted like the most delicious thing he ever had. Of course, it has nothing to do with the fact that Ryan made it for him.

Ryan turns his head towards him now, and Shane's a little taken aback by how close they are. Not even ten minutes earlier Ryan was sitting on the other end of the couch, and now they're practically pressed up against each other, from legs to shoulders, the only barrier between them being Shane's blanket. He must've migrated there while they were having a heated discussion about the contestants of the British Bake Off. (Ryan always picks the worst fucking people, goddammit.)

Shane can't believe he hadn't noticed the warmth of Ryan next to him earlier, or the whiff of that cologne Ryan always used lately Shane learned to love. Now that he's very much aware of it, the heat radiating off of Ryan is almost too much, combined with the blanket, so he shrugs it off. If anything, it's worse because Ryan's bare arm is now completely pressed against his and Shane's heart takes that as an excuse to pick up the pace.

"Because you're my friend? I just- I wanted to make sure you're okay. Wouldn't want you to die because of a little cold, what would happen to Unsolved?" Ryan jokes, playing it cool and casual. If Shane wouldn't know him extremely well, maybe he'd even buy what he's selling.

"Sure, that makes sense. Except, all those other times I've been sick you just gave me a 'gross, keep your germs away from me, please' or a half-hearted 'get better, dude'. You never showed up in my apartment and cooked for me. I didn't even know you knew how to work a stove!" Shane grins at him brightly. Seems like they can't have a normal conversation without insulting each other. "How do you explain that, Ry-guy?"

Shane doesn't expect Ryan to go quiet and stare at his hands, the TV, the ceiling. Anywhere but right at Shane. And he doesn't expect the guilt written all over Ryan's face when he does finally meet Shane's eyes.

"First of all, I don't sound like that. And second- I'm not proud of this, okay? Just don't be too mad." Shane's about to open his mouth and ask what the living hell Ryan is talking about, but he gets cut off.

"You're sick because of me. You kept giving me your jacket, remember?"

Shane does remember, but he has no idea what that has to do with him getting sick?

"Ryan, how is that your fault? I was the one giving you my jacket cause you're so goddamn cold all the time. You didn't force me. And here I thought I was the one who tends to overthink." Shane says jokingly, and he immediately realizes they're having one of those rare Serious Conversations because Ryan doesn't laugh. If anything, he looks even more on edge, his hand fisting into the blanket pooled around Shane's hips.

"I didn't force you," Ryan repeats, still not quite meeting Shane's eyes. "but I did leave my warm clothes at the hotel on purpose."

Ryan shuts his eyes as soon as the words leave his lips. If he can't see Shane, Shane can't see him, right? He almost looks relieved, finally putting it out there, lifting the weight of it off of his shoulders. And he can't stop there now, he has to push through while he's on a roll.

With a sudden surge of bravery Ryan doesn't know where he mustered up from he looks right into Shane's eyes, takes in his utterly confused expression and flat out ignores it for now, even when dread grips at his heart. It's worse than any haunted place they've been, but he's gonna say what he has to say right now, fear of rejection be damned.

"I wanted your clothes because I love- liked how it made me smell just like you." He says, voice cracking despite all the determination and courage he could muster up to say it. Ryan closes his eyes then, waiting for Shane's judgment. He braces himself for the outcome, for Shane to call him creepy, or even ask him to leave.

His heart would break, oh yeah, it sure fucking would but he could do it, he could walk out of his life if Shane would ask him to. There was very little Ryan wouldn't do for him.

It's dead silent around them for about a minute, thanks to one of them pausing the baking show while they were talking. Just as Ryan's about to open his eyes and face the situation, Shane's lips pressed against his in a split second.

It's a soft kiss in general, but it could be so much better, so much more if Ryan wouldn't be so damn difficult. As soon as Shane's mouth brushed against his, Ryan flinched back, even letting out a yelp, because he was just caught off guard, alright?

And Shane was looking at him now, embarrassed, like he did something wrong and oh God, Ryan can't have that, absolutely not. So he reaches out, not paying any mind to the uptick of his heart as he practically crashes their lips together.

Shane makes a surprised, muffled sound and shortly turning his head out of the kiss, fucking wheezing at him while Ryan's about to jump out of his skin. However, it soon turns into a coughing session and another pang of guilt hits Ryan's chest. At least Shane's smiling when he can finally speak again, eyes all crinkly. Ryan has the urge to kiss him again.

"Yeah, let's not do that unless you want me to choke." Shane's unfairly big hand comes up to cup his cheek and the way Ryan leans into the touch immediately says a lot about how gone he is for Shane. "Besides, wouldn't want you to get sick. I'm absolutely not dealing with your whiny ass."

"You're such a dick, Shane." Ryan barks out a laugh that maybe sounds a bit hysterical, but just as relieved. It's also not so much of an insult when it's said with all the fondness in the world.

We're okay, Ryan thinks, one leg draped over Shane's lap. They're basically pressed against each other as much as they can. Shane's arm fits perfectly around him as if it belongs there. Shane won't kick him out, they're more than okay.

And sure, Ryan moves to get up and move to the other end of the couch, or fucking leave every five minutes, refusing to put up with Shane's bullshit and terrible choices in bakers. But Shane grabs his wrist every single time, pulling him close and not letting go, even when his side hurts from laughing and Ryan wheezes into his neck.

#shyan #skeptic believer #shyan fic #shyan fanfiction #fanfiction #my fic #fluff #gay stuff #bfu

68 notes · View notes

staygoldsunshine · 5 years ago

Text

Alexander the Great

A Lumen Story: Part 2

A week later, Mrs. McHale shows up to the PTA meeting with a bruise on her jaw. The other moms shake their heads and murmur their bless-her-heart’s over their lemon sweet tea while silently distancing themselves from the Japanese woman. Nicholas Smoak tells his son all about it at the dinner table.

“Should’ve seen that poor woman tonight,” his thick Southern accent coating all his words in honey. He scratches his full, red beard and sighs. “You’d think he’d have the better sense not to let her out of the house looking like that.”

Xander sets his jaw. “Dad.”

Nicholas looks up from his paper, licks his thumb, and turns the page as easily as he can switch topics of conversation. “How is the McHale boy doing in training, by the way? Coach says he’s been struggling to fit in.”

Xander shrugs his shoulders and stabs his leftovers with his fork. “No kidding.” But when his father clears his throat, Xander’s spine straightens. “He’s cocky, always going on about how good he is, but when he has to fight against someone, he always chokes. Everyone knows he’s just biding time until they kick him out because he’s already been kicked from the AV club. So that means there’s only the choir left for an extracurricular, and everyone knows Miss Agnice would sooner die than let a guy get kicked out of the choir.”

“What do you think?” Nick lets the question simmer between them as Xander sits in nervous silence twisting the blue checkered tablecloth between his fingers. “You know, if you’re going to become the Knight’s Captain, you’re going to have to learn to spot talent among your team.”

And there it is, the inevitable sword hanging above Xander’s head. His dad was Captain, and his grandad was Captain. He’s pretty sure every man in his family, in the whole Smoak line has been the greatest at whatever he’s set out to do, and so Alexander Smoak has to do the same. He has to be great.

“He knows the woods better than anyone,” Xander mutters, thinking of the way Tristan can disappear into those leaves and branches just like a ghost. “When we practice tracking, he finds the trails faster and follows them longer than anyone else, but he’s never made a single kill, even with help.”

“So he is useful.” That’s the thing about his dad. He sees people in terms of usefulness, their abilities lined up against their faults. Those calculating blue eyes are always weighing and judging even through their practiced smile lines, and Xander wonders every day if he stacks up in his dad’s mind. “Interesting, be sure you tell Coach.” Then Nicholas folds his newspaper, gathers his plate, and walks to the kitchen. “I’ll be working late tonight. Be sure you get to bed on time.”

Xander goes back to stabbing his food. “Yes, sir.”

Once his dad has shut himself in his office for the night, Xander gets up, dumps his plate, and rushes up the stairs to finish the Lego set he’s been working on. He opens the door to his room and feels hot, humid air hit his face. The window is open. A gentle breeze send the curtains billowing like the wings of a creature about to take flight.

Xander grabs the sword, the real one, from beside his bed. Lumen don’t come into town, he reminds himself, his heart beating out of control. His head spins, thinking of those claws, the teeth, the bright white eyes. He flicks on the light. And he sees someone leaned against the wall beneath his window.

“McHale?”

Tristan waves. “Hi.” His hair is a mess, littered with leaves and burs. He’s still wearing that stupid jean jacket, and his sneakers are caked in mud. Tristan carries the smell of the woods with him, and Xander realizes that the scent alone makes him uneasy.

Parry the initial attack… “Wh-what in the world are you doing in my house?” Xander shuts the door behind him, but he doesn’t set his sword down.

Tristan shrugs, pulling one of his legs against his chest. He’s all joints and jagged lines. “You know, Dad was in a mood again, so I ducked out and came here.”

Knock his weapon aside… Xander furrows his brow and glares at the flippant intruder. “But why come to my house?”

“Well, it was the biggest one on the block, so I figured it was yours. And since you’re the closest thing I have to a friend, I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind if I hung out for a bit.” Tristan gives a bright smile, the same smile he always has when he enters the ring, knowing he’s going to lose.

This time, however, Xander feels his back hit the dirt, and Tristan wins this round. Xander blinks once, looks away, and blinks again. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” He thinks of his dad, downstairs in his office and considers shouting down to him. His dad will know how to handle this.

Tristan tilts his head to the side and seems to read Xander’s thoughts. “Hey, I’m not too happy with the situation either. Normally I go to Garra Price’s house and crash on her couch, but she’s out of town for a stupid wedding or something.” Then he glances over at the Lego set at the foot of Xander’s bed. “Camouflaged Outpost I see, nice.”

Xander shakes his head and raises the tip of his blade without realizing it. “No, we are not friends. Now get out of my house!”

“We had a conversation last week! You knocked me down a bunch of times, and then you let me win the match. We bonded!” Tristan’s smile is becoming strained, and when Xander takes a step back towards the door, the other boy actually flinches. “Look, please don’t tell your dad I’m here. I can’t go home right now, okay?” The breath of wind that has followed Tristan through the window carries the smell of honeysuckle and fresh rain. Xander grips his sword tighter as he considers the boy sitting on his floor, the boy who doesn’t fit into Xander’s calculated theory of monsters and knights and becoming great.

All Xander sees is a tired boy with a look in his eyes like a dog that’s been kicked too many times, and Xander finally puts his sword down. A good leader helps even the weakest link in his team, right? “Fine, I won’t tell him, but don’t make this a regular thing.”

Tristan nods, a grateful sigh releasing the tension from his shoulders. “Yeah, yeah, it won’t happen again.”

It happens again, several times, actually. Tristan shows up in Xander’s room, always through the second-floor window, always with a smile no matter how tired he looks. Xander gets used to keeping snacks in his dresser, extra blankets and a pillow in the top of his closet, and an old comic or two since most of the time Tristan never does manage to get to sleep anyway. Yet he’s always gone again the next morning when Xander wakes up to get ready for school.

When they do see each other during the day, Tristan normally avoids Xander except for in the ring where he has no choice. They only ever really talk when Tristan “comes to visit,” as he calls it. Xander begins to mind the intrusions less and less, and eventually, he even looks forward to finding his window open. As summer gives way to the first cool days of fall, when the other Knights try to make nasty comments about the fight Tristan’s parents had in the supermarket or the fact that he’s “half-Jap,” Xander finds himself telling them to shut up and mind their own business before he even realizes the words are coming out of his mouth. No one questions why, at least not out loud.

“Coach says that the McHale boy is more cooperative in training now.” Nicholas raises an eyebrow at his son. “Would that have anything to do with you?”

“I think he’s an asset, so I had a talk with Tristan, that’s all.” His father wouldn’t approve of the new friendship. It’s one thing to be a good leader, but becoming friends with Tristan, the son of the town drunk and his mail-order bride, that’s another thing entirely. Xander rinses off the plate he’s been washing and sets it in the drying rack. “I thought you wanted me to take initiative about things like that.”

Nicholas tucks his hands into his pockets, a tactic he uses often in his speeches. It gives him the appearance of a Good Ole Boy, with his flannel shirts and well-groomed beard. “I do, son, but be careful with that boy. His father…”

“Why doesn’t someone arrest him anyway? We all know what he does.” Xander looks up from washing dishes and catches the look of outrage on his father’s face before it’s masked behind polite indifference again.

“I had a talk with James last week. You know he’s an old friend of mine, Alexander. This is a small community, and issues like these have to be handled delicately.” Nicholas’ voice is all honey again, honey and sweet tea and a summer night.

Xander drops the cup he was washing back into the sink and turns off the water. “Well, maybe I don’t think you’re handling it correctly.” A collectively held breath hangs overhead, just like when the forest knows there’s a monster lurking, just like when Xander grips his sword in his hand and prepares himself for a fight.

Nicholas Smoak sets his jaw. “What did you just say to me?” The monster swipes its claws through the air, and Xander has to dodge or risk losing his head.

Normally Xander would never do this. His father’s word was always law, ever since he was a little kid, but now, now Xander knows Tristan. They’ve never talked about it, not really, but he knows why Tristan never takes off that blue jean jacket or why he disappears into the woods after practice instead of heading home. He knows why Tristan doesn’t like hurting people, even in practice. A great leader knows how to spot danger.

“You should arrest Mr. McHale, Dad. You’re letting him hurt his wife and son, and that’s wrong.” In his mind, Xander’s sword flashes in the kitchen light. The monster rears back, ready for another strike.

Nicholas strides across the kitchen floor, grabs his son by the arm, and leans in close, so close that Xander has to look away. “You listen to me, boy. Just because you think you know everything doesn’t mean that you can use that tone with me. I am not one of your buddies at school. I am your father, and I deserve your respect.” He releases Xander’s arm, but Xander can still feel the monster’s breath on his face. “Go to your room, and I don’t want to see you again until you get home from school tomorrow. Am I understood?”

Still looking at the floor, Xander replies, “Yes, sir,” and runs up to his room, a retreat he would normally never allow. The window is open, and Xander feels a rush of relief. Only, instead of honeysuckle and fresh rain and decaying leaves, the breeze blowing through the window carries the smell of blood.

#alexander smoak #tristan mchale #alexander the great #lumen

29 notes · View notes