#its kinda dark for my taste though but i like the idea of 'found family safe space for cryptids' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fullfiresiren · 3 years

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beauty of the dawn

jujutsu kaisen

fushiguro toji x reader

The notion of a loving family was something foreign to Fushiguro Toji. Family, to him, was a bitter word -- full of hate and abhorrence. Abandonment and fear were a commonality in his own childhood. But in you, he finds a warmth he didn’t think he deserved – a home he craved, a love that makes him feel safe; full of gentle touches and soft kisses. But he’s scared. He's broken, and angry, and he knows the threat of his family is always lurking close, snapping at his heels, ready to devour. You bring the notion of family to his doorstep, and he spooks. He panics. He can’t let them find you, he can’t and he has to give up the only feeling of warmth he has ever known to do so.

It haunts him forever – leaving behind the only woman he ever loved, and a child he will never know.

word count: 3.8k.

notes: *inhales* ANGST— lmao but really, I live for it. Toji may be a bad person, but I suck dick, not morals, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ bro I fr don’t even know what came over me. This has been like the smallest headcannon for me and somehow it turned into this horribly sad piece, and although Toji is a dick, I also think he is an incredibly complex character that, at the end of it all, was just a desperate father trying to look out for his child. I think he deserves much more than he got, and he kinda gets shat on in this fic lmao I'm so fuCKING SORRY FOR THAT--

warnings: nsfw/18+, angst, hurt no comfort, abandonment, unplanned pregnancy, pregnant reader

“Take me,” he prays, panting secrets that fall from his lips onto your soft skin; promises of pleasure as he breeds you deep. “Take all of me.”

And you do – over, and over, and over again.

Hilting him to the deepest part of yourself, and holding him close, so close, his breath a hot ghost across your face as he leans his forehead against yours. You keep him there until he is finished, taking his seed like it was sacrament. He gives you everything he has to offer, and only when you have slipped into a light slumber does he pull away.

He never strays far, though, and he cannot stay away for long. You are like sweet honey and warm sunsets; the breathing embodiment of a life he was never before privy to – the promise of something better; a miracle. Far from the cold depravity and sharp pain of his own family, in you, he found only warm touches, and words of tender affection. Toji feels so overwhelmed by the amount of love he has for you, that sometimes it’s unbearable. He feels so happy he could die.

He is not an honest man, by any means. He kills for a vocation -- and enjoys it, too. It’s something he’s good at. It’s an easy way to make money, and it helps him pay for his half of the rent on the meagre apartment you share. It also lets him keep the fridge full, make sure you’re always warm, and that you’re never without. He doesn’t really care about himself or what he has to do – so long as you’re happy.

The weight of his body is always heavy between your thighs, his chest solid, thrusts slow and deep, stretching you, making a perfect fit for himself inside you. He likes drawing it out – each time he takes you. He enjoys seeing you beg for release, relishes the way your tears slide down your flushed cheeks, because he likes being the one to kiss them away, knowing he is the only one who ever makes you feel this good. His name sounds so perfect when it falls from your lips at your height of ecstasy, and the way you take him in has him swearing he can see heaven.

You see a side of him that no one else does, but he’s dark, he’s toxic. The amount of sadness in his soul is challenged only by the sheer force of his anger. He's sure that he wasn’t always like this, but... he can’t really remember a time when he wasn’t. Everyone and everything was his enemy. He’s never really told you much about his family, or his past. His childhood had been dark, you assumed, based on the way he flinched around children, and steered clear of any conversational topics that included them or parental figures.

Toji Fushiguro was untouchable to everyone, and only just tangible to you.

He wants to be able to give you everything. He wants to lay his head on your chest in the depths of the night when he’s feeling lost, listening to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat to guide him home. He wants to come home every night, no matter what happens to him throughout the day, and be able to feel the brush of your soft lips; to taste your tongue with his – god – he wants to. But he’s afraid. He’s scared. If he gives you everything... if he shows you who he really is... what happens if you see something you don’t like? Will you pull away from him? Will you cast him out and abandon him – just like his family did? Toji isn’t feeble by any sense of the word, but he thinks that would be the one thing that would break him.

That’s why he’s only let you see glimpses... and only every now and then.

He’s just so miserable when he’s alone. He’s angry at the world, and you’re the only thing that soothes him. The only thing he has ever loved.

You’re staring at yourself in the mirror when he comes home, locked away in the too-small bathroom. You hear the keys turning in the lock; a signal of his arrival, and the door to your apartment opens, bringing with it sounds of paper bags crinkling, keys being tossed into their bowl, and huffing exhales as he struggles to kick his heavy boots off.

“Toji?”

“I’m home!” he calls, his voice a deep timbre in his chest, smooth like rich oak.

You follow it, leaving the safe space of your bathroom to find him, and when you pass the threshold into your small kitchen, he’s lifting bags of fresh groceries onto what little counter space you have. The movement carries with it droplets from an October rain that had caught him by surprise on his walk home, ones that hang from the edges of his black hair and drip down onto his damp black shirt.

“Toji,” you repeat, beaming as you bound into your small kitchen. “I have wonderful news!”

He spares you a glance between unpacking vegetables, dark eyes tracing the curve of your face, hands grasping at packets of food that need to be tossed in the fridge, and cans to be stacked in the shelves.

“Hmm?”

He offers you his face, leaning in close, pausing in his task to receive a small blessing of affection from you — a soft kiss against the scar on his lip that has his eyelashes fluttering closed, and then one more fully against yours – always greedy for any love you bestow, always chasing just one more, just once more, just another, my love, just one more...

He continues with his chore, but only when you giggle at the fluttering of kisses he peppers across your face, your jaw, suckling at your neck, your hands against his chest pushing him gently, urging him to finish his task – but not before you give him another deep kiss, all giddiness and mirth swimming in your gaze. He can’t help the deep chuckle that spills from his lips at seeing you so happy.

“Toji,” you begin, and he’s rummaging in the paper bags, brows furrowed because he could have sworn that he bought three carrots, and not two -- “I’m pregnant!”

He stills.

He can sense your beaming smile, almost feels the warmth of it on his cold skin, and it only makes him shiver.

The seconds tick by without any form of reaction, and the atmosphere grows horribly tense. Toji doesn’t look at you, but he can see from his peripheral vision that your smile slips at the same time that your shoulders round and you make yourself smaller, unconsciously closing off. You’re twisting something in your hands, suddenly nervous, and he has a nauseating feeling that settles in his gut, because he knows exactly what it is that you’re holding.

It’s proof.

“Are you... happy?” you ask, and you hate that you have to. It’s like a punch in the gut, and you’re afraid. This was not the reaction you were expecting at all.

“Are you sure?” he doesn’t know why he asks that.

He isn’t looking at you, and he isn’t moving – he’s not even blinking. You feel your hands becoming sweaty as you clutch the positive pregnancy test, mouth dry. A quickly increasing panic creeps over your skin, gripping you by the throat, and you honestly have no idea how to traverse this kind of response to your news. In the bathroom you only practiced scenarios in relation to a beaming, positive reaction.

Which room should we make into the baby’s room? Our baby can always sleep with us, though, and I know they’re definitely going to prefer you – I'm hopeless with kids... but I hope they look like you, Toji – a perfect combination of everything I love about you!

Do you want to pick names out? I hope it’s a girl... but a boy would be wonderful, too! I know the baby will adore you, no matter what! Do you have any names you like? We can name them after someone you love? If it’s a boy, I want to make his middle name yours...

Why didn’t you think he was going to show apprehension or reluctance? Why were you so idiotic to assume this is something he desired when he’s never given you any signs of wanting to start a family? He’s probably feeling entirely overwhelmed – and no wonder – you have no tact about this. Fuck, you’re stupid. You fucking idiot. Pathetic, dumb, worthless--

“Y-yes,” you reply, and your voice is a shadow of its former self. “I took three tests. I have one here--”

“How.”

You flinch a little under the curtness of his words.

“W-what—?”

“How did this happen?”

“Uhm...” your voice sounds so frail when you speak, and you can't help it. He’s making you feel like you’ve committed a horrendous sin. You’ve managed to combine the epitome of affection between the two of you into the creation of what will become a child – a perfect mix of the two of you, and yet, you’re beginning to hate yourself for doing so. You didn’t mean to... it was an accident... “We don’t... you know... use protection... and we... have sex... a lot...”

“I thought you were taking the pill.”

You feel like you want to throw up.

His entire body is unnaturally still, and he’s not looked at you once since you’ve told him. You are pretty sure that the can in his right hand is warping under the violent pressure of his grasp, and you wring your hands around the test nervously, the weight of it somehow heavy against your palms.

“I... don’t take the pill...” you remind, and then as an afterthought, you add, “I’m sorry.”

Words you never thought you would say in relation to this. You never though you would have to apologize in this kind of situation. You exhale a shaky breath, and it seems to bring him back to reality. He sets the can down on the countertop with more force than needed, and you try your best to blink back tears as you ask, “You’re... not happy... are you...?”

It’s more of a statement than a question, and it hurts to say – god, it hurts. The words sting when they leave your mouth, like a hard slap against your face, but the ache is not nearly as bad as the way his silence is wounding you. You feel like you’re about to collapse from the amount of pain you have in your heart.

“I need to go somewhere,” is the most he offers you, before he’s turning on his heels and striding past you, leaving the apartment you share.

The noise of the front door slamming shut echoes in your mind long after the sound itself has gone.

He never did come back.

— — — 5 years later — — —

In the end, you were blessed with a baby girl, all chubby with round, rosy cheeks. Dark hair and eyes like her father, but soft and gentle like her mother. She was an almost perfect child. She never cried, and she never fussed, content in just being close to her mother. She listened when you spoke, and learned fast, growing just as quick, and you would die for her. She was your blessing; Akemi – the beauty of a new dawn.

You’re sure that he would have loved her more than life itself, but you try not to spare any thoughts his way anymore.

Toji gambles his life away, blowing through anything he earns as quickly as he makes it, drowning himself night after night in heavy alcohol to dampen his senses until they are nothing more than a faint hum in the back of his brain.

With any luck, those things will kill him long before the guilt does.

He fucks faceless women, drunk beyond sense, and when he finishes, he leaves before they sleep.

“Hate me, (y/n),” he sneers, turning sharply to vomit up onto the wet asphalt, breath a shaky exhale as he stumbles into the cold night, thoughts only on you – only ever on you – unaware that he’s crying. “Hate me. I fucking deserve it.”

His face is smeared with bile and tears, and he is so fucking angry -- so desperately sad, and he cries, and cries. He wants to go home. He just wants to go home. He wants to meet her – his darling daughter – he wants to hold her, and kiss her forehead, and tuck her into bed. Fuck everything that he thought – he would have been a great father, he knows it – and you knew it, too. He’s so lost without you, and he wants to lay his head on your chest in the safety of your bedroom, listening to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat to guide him home. He wants to feel the brush of your soft lips again; to taste your tongue with his, moan your name into your parted sigh, make you feel him again.

He screams, but it catches in his throat before he can, and he splits his knuckles open when he sends a furious punch against a brick wall.

He can protect you from a lot of things – but not the power of his family. Not that. He’s just one man, and they’re so many. He has a heavenly restriction, and they are all blessed with both innate and inherited techniques, passed down through eons. He knows what they’ll do if they ever found out about you – about the child, and Toji swears on everything he has, that he won’t let them touch you – or her. Even if he won’t be able to. Even if he’ll never be able to hold his daughter, to thank her for being born, to cradle her against his chest and feel her wrap her small fingers against his – he won’t let the Zen’in have her. He won’t.

But that doesn’t mean that he deprives himself from watching over her – or you. Eyes follow the two of you home from her pre-school, singing nursery rhymes to your hearts content, watching as she orders “up, up, mommy!”, squealing happily when you lift her onto your shoulders. He imagines himself in your place; lifting her to higher heights, hearing her giggle a chorus of happy songs as your hand finds his, lips on his scar as you tell him how much you love him.

But he always keeps his distance, dark baseball cap shielding his features, and leaves before you feel someone following you.

It becomes increasingly hard to keep it at that. He starts pushing the boundaries, testing how close he can get. He knows he shouldn’t -- he has no right to – but when she dropped her stuffed toy one time in the supermarket, and you were oblivious to it, he finds himself bending down to grasp the too-soft toy in his calloused hands, dropping it in your basket when your back is turned, and your brows are furrowed as you regard the price difference between her favorite flavor of juice compared to the off-brand ones.

The thrill of being so close, of doing something, anything fatherly, was like a fix – a short relief from the aching despair and loneliness constantly plaguing him, and he finds himself doing it more and more – always pushing, always testing the waters. He even smiled at her once when she caught him staring, and she sent her own toothy grin back at him. His heart soared.

His daughter’s name was Akemi, and he first heard it when it fell from your lips one warm afternoon. He wants to write her name on his heart – right beside yours.

He wants to give her something – a pretty gift, but he doesn’t know what. He was never good at buying presents, and would only ever bring you flowers, since it seemed like something that could never go wrong, and would always bring a bright smile to your face. Flowers would be strange for a child, though. He twists the dainty silver bracelet between his large fingers, thinking bitterly that this was the same way you held the pregnancy test all those years ago. He didn’t really care how much it cost him. He’s sure that the salesman added unnecessary tax and extras to the price just to give himself more commission, but Toji doesn’t care – he just wanted something pretty to give to his daughter.

When he finally sees her enter the park, small hand tugging yours happily, his mind goes empty, and he can’t stop staring. You are as beautiful as ever, and it’s no wonder his daughter is so ethereal when she has you for a mother.

She is perfect, he thinks -- too good for this life -- and even though it’s the worst thing he has ever done, he is reminded that pulling away from you was the only way to save her from his family. It looks like she escaped the curse of inheriting any of his bloodline's techniques, and what’s more so – it seems like she, too, is oblivious to curses; skipping past them as she chases leaves that skit about the dirt path of the park, her teddy in her arms. Toji dips his head down when she draws near the bench he’s sitting on, the brim of his baseball cap keeps his face hidden, and his sadness known only to himself.

“Excuse me?”

He bristles when her voice floats past his ears, so gentle and sweet.

“Hey, mister,” she pokes his knee with her slim finger, so tiny compared to the size of his body, and he jerks at the contact. “Is this yours?”

She’s holding the bracelet in her small hand, the silver glinting in the morning sun, offering it up to him with large eyes, so close to him. At this distance, he can see the true color of her eyes – exactly like his own – and the small freckles that dot her skin. The longer he stares, the more his chest constricts painfully, tightly – he’s finding it hard to breathe, and he exhales suddenly, sharply snatching it away from her.

The force of the movement causes her to stumble a little, tripping over her feet, and before she knows it, the man who was once sitting before her has entirely caught her in his large arms, scooping her up before the ground has a chance to harm her.

She blinks once... twice... swaddled in his arms, sitting against his broad chest, and Toji frantically looks for you, finding you caught up in talking to another mother, too busy to notice. He knows he would scold you for it if he was still in your life, but when his daughter laughs, he snaps his head back to look at her, forgetting what thoughts he had in his mind at the glinting sound of her happiness.

“Whoa!” she exclaims, “You’re fast! Thanks for catching me!”

He doesn’t know what to say – if he should say anything at all. His plan was to give her the bracelet, telling her that it was a late birthday gift from someone that loves her very much, and walking off before she (or you) has the chance to catch on or respond. But now that he’s inches away from her, holding her close as she peers up at him, he’s lost again. He’s lost, and he can’t breathe. He needs you to steady him, but you aren’t here, and he doesn’t know what to do, what should he do, what should he--?

“Where did you get that scar from?” she asks innocently, her large eyes suddenly trained on the mark beside his lips.

“F-from an accident,” he mumbles, “a long time ago.”

“Oh,” she hums, hands splayed against his broad chest, looking around her, swaying her legs absentmindedly. “Wow, you’re really tall! I can see everything from up here!” she exclaims happily, “My mommy’s not as tall as this, so when I sit on her shoulders, I can’t see nearly as much as I can now!”

“Oh,” he mutters, not really knowing what to say, “is that so?”

“Mhm,” she nods, “Mommy’s not as big as you are either.”

At this, he gives a genuine laugh – a sound he hasn’t heard fall from his lips in a long, long time, looking at her with quiet adoration.

“She’s not as fast as you either,” she continues, “you were super-fast!”

“She’s strong in her own ways, though,” he mutters, offering her a soft smile.

“Do you know my mommy?”

He bristles, actively avoiding her gaze. His heart is racing from this much interaction with his daughter, and he’s sure she can feel it under her small palm. It beats for her – if only she knew, and Toji contemplates, for the briefest of seconds, just telling her. The thought leaves his mind as soon as it enters. He doesn’t have that choice, and he doesn’t deserve it.

“Not really,” he mutters, dipping down slowly to set her footing on solid ground once more.

“She’s really pretty,” the little girl continues, playing with the soft fabric of his t-shirt in a small moment of fondness and familiarity, “and nice – and she makes great food!”

Toji realises only after the fact that his hand had settled on top of her head, and he’s stroking her hair softly, thumb caressing her cheek when he moves to cup her face. She doesn’t seem to mind at all, and Toji is overwhelmed with a plethora of emotions. Pride in you for doing all this by yourself and raising such a wonderful child, shame for abandoning you and his daughter, mirth, anger, warmth, sadness, love--

“Akemi!” you call, seeing her lift her head at the sound of your voice. “This way, honey!”

“Oh, I have to go now! My mommy is calling me!” she perks up, gripping her teddy a little tighter and offering the man a smile. “Bye-bye!”

“W-wait!” he calls, thrusting the gift into her small hands. “This is for you, uh... f-from me...”

She looks down at it, before her whole face lights up, and Toji is suddenly breathless – she looks so much like you when she’s surprised, happiness blossoming over her face the same way it would on yours.

Toji feels a deep-rooted emptiness inside his body when he watches his daughter retreat away from him; a living embodiment of all his failures to you, and yet, as he sees her long, black hair whip out behind her, he realizes something else — she was your promise delivered; a combination of everything good between the two of you, in itself a miracle. He might not be in her life, but he was also partly responsible for creating something so beautiful, so ethereal.

He knows he doesn’t deserve it, but if he was ever fortunate enough to be granted a second, it would be a miracle; a holy gift.

A blessing that would accompany the beauty of dawn.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #toji x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x you #fushiguro toji x you #angst #pregnant!reader #abandonment #dilf toji

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for-fucks-sake-h · 4 years

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At My Weakest - two

rated: m, mature | word count: 4.2k | story page

“I wanna taste you again. Like a secret or a sin.”

- Matthew Perryman Jones

When Gianna stirred awake, she wasn’t surprised to find Harry laying beside her. What she was surprised about though was the absolute softness of his face.

The lines of his cheekbone and jaw were still sharp, but his skin was completely smooth. The usual indent between his brows was nonexistent, and his hair was a beautiful curly mess. She found herself reaching out to smooth some stray curls back behind his ear, her fingertips just barely brushing his soft skin.

He didn’t disappoint once he got her in his bed. Turns out his smug, cocky demeanor could be backed up, and backed up well. He wasn’t short on foreplay, he didn’t rush into it. If anything, he drew out the string of anticipation so ridiculously thin it snapped; until they were all hands and mouths and moans and pleasure.

It was good. It was fun. It was a much needed distraction.

But it looked different in the daylight.

What was passionate gasps and needy hands in the dimmed moonlight, was just a sloppy rebound fuck with a friend in the early morning daylight.

Gianna was careful to slip out of bed, nakedly grabbing her borrowed sweater from the floor before tiptoeing to his bathroom. And when she returned, she was met with green eyes and tousled hair.

“Thought you left.” His voice was even deeper than usual, the early morning rasp doing nothing to quell Gianna’s increasingly warming skin. “Didn’t think you were a hit and run kinda person.”

Gianna breathed a soft laugh as she made her way over to him in just her sweater.

“No, but I should probably get my ass on the couch before your sister wakes up.”

“Y’know she sleeps like the dead.” He watched her as he fiddled with the corner of his duvet, eyes tracing the curve of her hip where the sweater ended against her caramel skin. “Could give you one more before you go.”

The lightness of his eyes looked iridescent in the morning light, especially in comparison to the blown out brown of Gianna’s staring back at him.

He sat up just then, the dark emerald sheet slipping down his chest to rest casually across his bare hips. He was a sight with his unruly hair falling over his collar bones and his toned chest and stomach on full display.

“In fact,” he started as he scooted down the bed until he was right in front of her, his feet meeting the ground as he pulled her closer between his thighs, “was thinking we could do this whenever you want.”

Gianna’s hands found his bare shoulders, his skin still incredibly warm from sleep and as soft as it looked.

“Is this my sweater?” Harry asked suddenly as he looked down to where he played with the knitted fabric at her hips, his hands slowly splaying out on Gianna’s bare thighs.

“Gemma gave it to me last night,” she responded softly.

“Hm. Anyway… could be a perfect fit for both of us,” Harry murmured, his head tilted up towards Gianna’s, his lips inches from hers. The innuendo was embedded in his tone and the look on his face, and even more blatantly obvious when the most subtle indent of a dimple teased its way onto his cheek.

It would be too easy for Gianna to take him up on the offer, crawl back into bed with him and let him bring her over the edge as many times as he wanted; as many times as she wanted. But for as sexy and generous as he’d been, she knew it wasn’t the best idea and something she shouldn’t get used to.

Gianna sighed with a gentle squeeze to his shoulder blade. “H…”

“G,” Harry rebutted in a playful tone.

“Probably not a good idea.”

“I beg to differ. Think it’s a great idea. My best idea yet.”

“Last night was fun,” Gianna offered gently. “I just don’t think we should make a habit out of it. I have a lot going on and I don’t want to drag you—”

“—Hey, say no more.”

If Harry’s ego was bruised from the rejection, he didn’t show it.

Instead, he pushed himself up from the bed as she took a step back, the sheet knowingly falling away from his body as he stood before her at his full height. They were nearly chest to chest, and it took everything inside Gianna to ignore the way her nipples pebbled beneath the soft fabric of her sweater.

“The offer’s available if you ever want it.” His lips curled around every word, only making his offer even more overwhelmingly enticing.

He didn’t wait for a response. Instead, his chest brushed against her arm as he carelessly moved around her to head to the bathroom, completely naked, every inch of his body on display.

If he felt Gianna’s eyes on him, he didn’t show it.

A fresh steam of her reworn silk skirt and sheer button down blouse later, and the party was in full swing, guests arriving one after another to her parents home.

Gianna was lucky to have arrived when she did, the distraction of guests doing her every favor to hold off the inevitable questions from her family. A quick comment that Steve was held up at work was as far into it as she could get before her mother was whisked away by one thing or another. Gianna wasn’t so worried about the lie as she was her delivery of said lie.

The end of her relationship was the last thing she felt like discussing at her fathers 50th birthday celebration.

The one thing she didn’t anticipate was the possibility of Steve showing up.

She saw him as soon as he walked through the front door, his polo shirt and perfectly styled hair immediately catching her eye. His eyes scanned the room in search of her, and it felt like her heart could literally drop out of her ass.

Gianna excused herself from her fathers colleagues before making her way toward him, her blood boiling as her heart pounded in her chest.

“What are you doing here?” She whispered harshly as she pulled him aside, eyes ablaze as she looked at him.

“You haven’t been answering your phone.” His response was so casual for someone who blew up their life together without a second thought.

“Yeah you lost that privilege yesterday, Steve.”

“Gianna, please. Let’s just talk about this.”

“You need to leave.”

“Gianna—”

“Y’alright?” Gianna turned to look up at the sound of the intruder's voice, her eyes meeting Harry’s expressionless face immediately.

Gianna was quick to reel in her emotions as well, instead smiling and greeting Harry and Gemma and their parents.

“Hi guys! Yeah, yeah, all good. Steve was just leaving,” Gianna continued to smile despite the confused look on Harry and Gemma’s parents faces. “He’s gotta work.”

Steve huffed. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Let’s go find Lisa!” Gemma suggested to her parents with a gentle guide on both of their backs.

“Oh, she’s in the kitchen.” Gianna pointed in the direction of her mother and released a sigh when they headed that way.

Gianna turned back to Steve the moment they were out of earshot. “You’re a real asshole, you know that?”

Steve opened his mouth to reply, but Harry was quick to interject. “Think she told you to go.”

Gianna watched the anger wash over Steve’s face as he turned to Harry.

“Shouldn’t take me telling you for you to listen,” Harry added with a disapproving shake of his head.

That confidence Harry exuded? Yeah, it came in handy in a wide array of situations.

“Don’t make me kick you out of here,” Gianna told Steve. “I don’t want to cause a scene and embarrass my mum but I will if I have to.”

Harry took the most subtle step closer. He really only sort of shifted his weight towards Gianna more, barely enough to even notice, but judging by Steve’s disgruntled face, he noticed.

Gianna noticed too.

“We’re going to talk about this later.” Just the sound of Steve’s voice made Gianna’s heart plummet. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, but it was.

She watched him turn around with an exasperated huff, a withheld breath escaping her when he disappeared through the front door.

“Y’okay?”

Gianna momentarily forgot Harry was still standing beside her. “Yeah,” she nodded. “Gonna go hide for a bit and collect myself.”

She didn’t wait for his response before she disappeared upstairs with tears welling in her eyes.

Who did Steve think he was? Just showing up at her parents home as if nothing happened? Something did happen. A lot of shit happened. Many words were exchanged and the way Gianna left their home and didn’t look back said even more then her frustrated, broken words.

Gianna didn’t know how long she hid in her childhood bathroom, but apparently it was long enough for someone to come looking for her when she heard the softest tap on the door.

She wasn’t crying, that was a plus. So she braced herself for her mother to be undoubtedly on the other side of the door, but opened it slowly to find none other than Harry leaned up against the doorframe, his face closer than she would have expected.

His chin was pointed down towards his chest, leaving him to look up at her through his lashes with his eyebrows raised high and the lines across his forehead even more prominent.

“Just checking on you. Y’don’t have to come out yet if you don’t wanna.”

Gianna leaned against the wall so that she was standing parallel to him, her body lining up perfectly with his, both of their arms crossed over their chests, the door to the bathroom propped open just enough for them to see each other.

“Is my mum looking for me?”

He pursed his lips with regret. “I did hear her say your name a little bit ago.”

Gianna released a deep sigh as she let her eyes fall closed. “I can’t believe he just showed up here.”

“Do you know what he wanted?”

Gianna scoffed. “No clue, probably to torture me some more. As if yesterday wasn’t enough.”

“He’s got some nerve,” Harry shook his head in disbelief.

Gianna exhaled again. “I don’t even wanna be here and now I gotta go put a show on for everyone and pretend like everything’s fine.”

Harry gave her a small, understanding smile. “Want me to go fall down the stairs as a distraction?”

The tiniest shiver rolled down his spine when she smiled with a shake of her head.

“I’ll just dive head first. They’ll be so distracted with my broken collar bone that you can sneak out the back,” he added with a completely straight face, intently fighting the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Gianna laughed softly as she pushed her elbow against his. “What if you mess up your face? I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Oh yeah, you’re right. Never mind scratch that idea,” Harry replied quickly, the smile forming across his face regardless of his efforts.

Gianna’s face softened after a moment, and Harry couldn’t be positive, but he was pretty sure her body moved a half an inch closer to his.

“Thanks for stepping in with him,” she said sincerely, her big brown eyes steady on his.

Harry swallowed discreetly, licking his lips in a force of habit. “Anytime,” he murmured, his eyes flicking across her face.

“You didn’t have to,” Gianna replied mindlessly, her eyes falling across his face.

“Know I didn’t.” Harry’s voice was soft, because as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he felt like his skin was on fire.

She was so close. Her perfume invaded his senses the same way it did on the roof, it had seeped into his sheets and lingered on his skin that morning. It was all he could focus on, subconsciously pulling him closer to her.

Although, maybe not totally subconscious at all. He knew he wanted her. He knew that after one night with her, that he wanted her again, as many times as she’d give herself to him.

He could tell she wanted to kiss him. Fuck, he was willing her to just do it. It was like every fiber of his being was screaming for her to just connect their mouths, get lost in each other again. But he could tell she was having some sort of internal battle that held her back.

“What are you thinking?” he asked softly, eyes peering into hers.

She blinked back at him, the soft furrow of her brows somehow making her more attractive. He watched her mouth open and close, trying to find the words.

“Tell me,” he murmured.

He could feel her breath just barely brushing his lips as his eyes pulled down to the curve of her Cupid’s bow first, then the curve of her chest, before traveling the same path back again, ready to dive back into the deep brown of her eyes.

They were cast down, the curl of her lashes on display instead, and at first Harry assumed in shame or disinterest. But they burned against his own mouth, as she took account of every curve of his lips.

“G...” he tried once more, hoping that the movement of his lips spurred her on.

She was about to say something, Harry could see it on every inch of her face, but then there were footsteps entering the room and the sound of her name being called that Gianna snapped back, pulling away from him so quickly that it felt like the wind had been knocked out of him.

“Oh there you are,” Gemma said, relieved. “Your mum's going to go searching for you any minute, wanted to find you first.”

“Yeah, same,” Harry nodded as he tried to casually run a hand through the top of his hair and gently tuck a stray piece behind his ear. Only it didn’t feel casual at all, the only thing he felt was fidgety. “I’ll go distract her,” he added as he pushed his hands into the pockets of his black jeans and turned to leave.

The truth was, he felt like he couldn’t breath and he wasn’t even quite sure why. Gianna was hard to read, she was really good at bottling things up which left him completely unsure where he stood. She told him she wasn’t interested, and he understood why. Things could get complicated and that was the last thing she needed in her life at the moment. But then she looked at him like that, and her eyes - reluctant but burning into his skin - said something completely different.

He wasn’t going to push her, though. She needed a friend and that was what he was going to be to her. So he went to Lisa’s side and talked her ear off about a recent show he had watched on Discovery, and watched with a small smirk as Gianna’s mum pretended to be interested.

Luckily, the rest of the party went on as normal. And even more so, Gianna and Harry didn’t have a moment alone together until the goodbyes. There was the slightest bit of hesitancy when they went to leave a kiss on each other's cheeks, something they and their families always did when parting ways.

It was a blip of a moment really, but it was enough to have chills running across Gianna’s skin just from the barely there scruff of Harry’s cheek brushing hers. He gave a small, but reassuring smile when he pulled away, a soft squeeze of her arm just before he followed Gemma out the door.

It was insane, but she couldn’t stop thinking about him the rest of the night. While she helped her parents clean up, while they talked her ear off about their upcoming travel plans, while she finally peeled herself away from them at nearly midnight, while she drove back to Gemma and Harry’s place, while she tiptoed inside and locked up behind her.

“Hey,” Gemma called from where she was curled up on the couch in front of the tv. “Rest of the night go okay?”

“Oh, yeah. The usual really.” Gianna sighed as she slipped her studded heels off, her limbs feeling heavy from the long day.

“I’ll be out of your bedroom in a mo, this is almost over,” Gemma said half heartedly, eyes still trained on the tv.

Gianna didn’t bother with a response, but instead wandered down the hallway to Gemma’s room to steal some clothes. She couldn’t help but glance at Harry’s bedroom door, the light peeking through the bottom like a temptation.

She wondered what he was doing in there as she changed, if he heard her come in, if he could sense her in the proximity somehow. Her fingertips prickled with curiosity and her mind tiptoed along the ledge of “what if” and “maybe” and “why not”.

He offered. All she had to do was accept.

When she stepped out of Gemma’s room with an oversized white tee shirt and minty fresh teeth, she immediately noticed that Harry’s light was no longer illuminating the edges of his door, the room seemingly pitch black.

Maybe that was a sign from the universe or something. Maybe, she thought, she should just quit while she’s ahead.

Her makeshift bed was all ready for her in the living room, Gemma having neatly arranged blankets and pillows on the couch where she was previously sitting. That was one thing about both of the Style’s siblings, they never made you feel unwelcome.

“Alright love, let me know if you need anything,” Gemma spoke as she placed her empty tea cup in the sink.

“Thanks, Gems. Seriously. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Gemma smiled warmly as she walked over, wrapping Gianna in a quick hug before heading for the hallway.

“Oh,” she turned around quickly, “Harry spoke to Steve after we left.”

Gianna’s heart stopped, bracing herself for whatever transpired between them. “How bad was it?”

“Eh,” Gemma shrugged, chuckling lightly as she continued. “Harry yelled a lot, but he’ll be gone for a few hours tomorrow morning so you can go get your stuff. We’ll go with you to help.”

Gianna released a heavy sigh, overwhelmed with her friend's generosity. “You guys don’t have to do that.”

“Too bad because we are,” Gemma quickly replied. “Harry told Steve he was coming with you anyway, just in case he decides to try anything like what went on today. Plus, the more hands means the faster you can get out of there.”

Gianna gave her a pouty smile.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Gemma laughed. “You would do the same for me.”

“I would,” she agreed.

“Besides, Harry’s the one that made it happen. He just told me the plan before he went to bed.” Gemma smoothed down the baby hairs sticking up at the front of Gianna’s hairline, a small, sympathetic smile on her face. “I love you, get some sleep.”

Gianna didn’t know what she did to deserve a friend like Gemma, but she was grateful every single day for whatever cosmic blip happened in the universe to force them together.

“Love you,” Gianna murmured as she watched Gemma head for her room, finding herself standing completely still as she watched her bedroom door close softly at the end of the hall.

And then she was left in silence with nothing but her thoughts. Which if anyone could hear inside her brain, they’d know they were anything but silent.

She went to plop down on the couch, letting out a long, deep sigh as she sunk into the cushions.

Harry didn’t need to put his neck out like that, but he did. His exact reasoning, Gianna wasn’t sure. But he appeared beside her at that party like it was second nature. He took it upon himself to find a way for her to safely get her things from her former home, and she was grateful. He was a good friend. She knew that already, but it was even more prominent now.

She thought starting something with Harry would be harder on her than not. She thought she didn’t need the added stress. But he never showed any indication that he would make anything stressful for her. If anything, the only thing he showed was the opposite.

A distraction, an escape, a good time.

That was all she needed right now. And in a way, that was exactly what Harry was offering.

So she pulled herself up from the couch with purpose, and padded down the hall to the door on the right with her heart beating wildly in her chest. Her fingers brushed along the grain of wood, a last chance effort to back away with none the wiser.

But she didn’t want to. As ridiculous as it seemed, Harry made her feel something that she desperately needed at the moment.

So she jumped.

It was the softest tap, her knuckle meeting the wood so lightly she was positive he wouldn’t even hear it. Her breath was shaky as she did it again, this time the tiniest bit harder, more sure.

There was no sign of movement behind the door. She waited with baited breath, tapping her knuckles a third time, squeezing her eyes closed, begging for Gemma not to hear.

But nothing. No sound, no movement, no Harry.

Maybe he had snuck out at some point, while she was changing perhaps. Or maybe he had decided she was right after all, that this - she - was too complicated for him right now.

She drew one last small pattern on the door, her temple pressed against the framing before she dropped her hand and pulled away.

And then in a moment of pure heart stopping relief, the door swung open and a large hand wrapped around her forearm, tugging her inside the dark room so quickly she felt lightheaded.

Her back was pressed up against the wall beside the door as Harry eased it closed quietly. Gianna caught her breath, her chest rising and falling sharply as she took him in. He was in nothing but boxer briefs sitting low on his hips, his hair pulled up in a bun, his skin reflecting against the light of the muted tv in the corner of his room. His bed was unmade, the spot he was previously occupying obvious, what with blankets thrown to the one corner and pillows propped up against the center of the headboard.

Harry was looking at her expectantly when she turned her face back to him, but he didn’t say anything, eyes simply scanning the features of Gianna’s face.

“How’d you know it was me?” Gianna murmured softly.

“I didn’t.” His tone was neutral, but his eyes were blazing, even in the darkness.

She couldn’t pull her eyes from him, and all she could think about was taking the half a step needed to be pressed against his soft skin.

“Hoped it was,” Harry added after a beat of silence, his eyes falling to her mouth. “Didn’t know, but hoped.”

The words barely made their way from his lips before Gianna was taking the small step to connect their mouths. And it was as if Harry was waiting for it, because his hand immediately cupped her jaw as he took his own step, her back pressing against the wall once more.

His lips were warm, and they tasted familiar this time. That thought surprised Gianna somehow - this wasn’t the first time, and although it was new, it was comforting in a way she wouldn’t be able to explain if she tried.

He kissed her with his entire body, every inch of him pressed tightly against her, pinning her to the wall. His tongue teased her bottom lip, and without second thought, she met him with her own, sparks shooting across her skin in the form of goosebumps and anticipation.

The soft groan that escaped his throat as he pulled her even closer lit her on fire, his fingers digging harder into the soft curves of her hips.

“Fuck, I want you,” Harry sighed breathlessly, his lips trailing across Gianna’s jaw and down her neck.

She scratched her nails down his back, his body only pressing against hers more in response. “Want you too,” she whispered, like it was a confession, as if her actions hadn’t already exposed her.

His lips burned against her throat, sucking deliberate kisses to her sensitive skin as his hands smoothed up and down her sides, gripping here, pulling there. She could feel him, hard and needy against her pelvis, and it made her stomach twist with desire.

“This has to stay between us,” Gianna spoke gently up to the ceiling. “No one can know.”

“Good,” Harry stamped a kiss to her jaw, pulling her face to his by the back of her neck, his lips brushing hers with his words. “Can be our secret.”

And it was, he made sure of it. No one would know what went on between them under the darkness of the night, hidden behind the walls of his room, disguised behind their eyes in the daylight.

It would just be theirs, whatever it was, for as long as Harry could help it.

But that’s the thing about secrets… they always find a way out.

a/n: *nervous laughter* Heyyy guysss lol so! There we have it! It’s happening, it’s fine, everything’s fine. The biggest thanks to the best babes @andwhenshesays @oh-honey-styles @harrytheehottie @real-work-of-art @haute-romance-quotidienne @all-things-fic for the comments and laughs and support and encouragement - you guys are the real ones. I hope everyone enjoyed this one! Much more to come *more nervous laughter* lol thank you for reading! I hope you’ve had a great friday! xxx

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#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harry styles x oc #amw

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winchestershiresauce · 4 years

Text

Be a Good Girl

Summary: After Dean finds out that you drank the last of his good whiskey, your boyfriend Sam decides he knows just how you can make it up to his brother.

Dean x Reader, slight/implied Sam x Reader (no wincest)

2215 words

Tags: NSFW, smut, kinda looks like dub-con, oral sex (male receiving), bondage, language, mild degradation, mild praise kink

A/N: I have so many more ideas for this, so please let me know if you’d like more/a sequel. <3

My Masterlist

You knew you shouldn't drink Dean's nice whiskey, even after the way it called to you. However, with the brutally long day you'd had and the boys asleep, it just looked so inviting. Admittedly, it probably had something to do with the way Dean had warned that anyone other than him who'd touched it would "seriously friggin' regret it." You knew being his brother's girlfriend allowed you some freedom from consequence but certainly not all, and part of you wondered if you could get away with it. Maybe you'd even wondered what would happen if you did get caught.

As Sam crawled under the table in the library to check the knots holding you in place, you thought to yourself that while you’d expected some sort of punishment or having to make it up to Dean, you were a bit surprised at the situation you’d found yourself in. This wasn’t the first time Sam had tied you up (and it definitely wouldn’t be the last), but the way his rope work had you spread eagle on the library table was very new. Sam emerged from under the table, satisfied that his knots would hold you in place, and stood to admire his work. Despite the chilly air, heat blossomed within you with the way he raked his eyes over your wholly exposed body.

“You’ll be a good girl, won’t you?” Sam asked as he lightly ran his finger down the center of your chest and to your navel, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Yes, sir,” you answered. Before stripping you bare and positioning you as a work of art in the library, Sam had hinted at what would be happening. He’d mentioned that Dean was upset about the whiskey and that you’d be making it up to him somehow. You’d thought maybe you’d buy him a new bottle, or wash Baby, or something like that, but Sam had something much more exciting in mind. You felt yourself getting aroused at the thought, just anticipating what would happen when Dean got back.

To put the final touches on his masterpiece, Sam stuck a bow and a gift tag to your lower belly, just above your ever-so-inviting pussy. ‘Dean, take what you want. - Sam’ the tag read. Sam nudged your thighs further apart and placed the brand new bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label on the table between them. He smirked and pressed it firmly against you, rubbing it slowly between your lips and over your clit before he pulled it away and positioned it for display. You lifted your hips, seeking more pressure against your now-aching clit, and let out a small whine.

Sam tsked disapprovingly, reminding you that you were to be seen and not heard. “Be a good girl, Y/N,” Sam warned. “Remember that Dean’s in charge. He knows your safe words and that you’re just desperate to make it up to him for finishing his whiskey. Be good.” He placed a chaste kiss on your lips before slipping the black satin blindfold over your eyes. You groaned internally -- you wouldn’t dare do it out loud -- knowing that not being able to see would only increase your anticipation and drive you crazy.

You heard the large metal door of the bunker slam closed and your body tensed. While the likelihood that it was Dean was incredibly high, you hated not being able to see what was around you. Footsteps echoed through the library as they approached.

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” Dean’s voice asked directly behind you. Some of the nervous tension in your body relaxed, leaving only the tension of excitement and anticipation. You felt a tiny gust of air on your face and you guessed that Dean was waving his hand over you to test if you could see through the blindfold. When you didn’t react at all, there was a quiet chuckle just inches away from your right ear.

“Looks like Sammy left me quite the gift, didn’t he?” Dean continued. You knew you weren’t supposed to talk -- you were just a fuck toy today -- so you didn’t answer. You heard him approach the opposite end of the table, feeling his eyes on you as he moved. When he picked up the gift tag, you felt his warm and calloused, but somehow soft, fingertip ghost across the exposed flesh below your belly button.

“‘Take what you want’? Oh, sweetheart, you shouldn’t have.” His laugh was a bit dark and, though you couldn’t see him, you could sense his arousal. Your own excitement began to really bloom and you felt yourself getting wetter by the moment. When he picked up the bottle of whiskey between your thighs, you wondered if he could see how soaked you were, just imagining what he might do to you. You heard him open the bottle and take a couple swigs. “That’s the good stuff,” he sighed. “I wonder how well it pairs with this sweet pussy of yours, princess.” He ran his finger along the inside of your thigh before gliding it through your slick folds. You writhed in your bonds, wishing desperately that you could get more, or even just touch him, but you knew it was no use. Sam knew how to tie a knot and you weren’t going anywhere until he or Dean decided to free you.

You heard the wet ‘pop’ as he pulled his finger out of his mouth and groaned. “Shit, Y/N, that’s divine. You’re sweeter than a 15-year single malt.” You could hear the smile in his voice and fuck, you wanted him. Talent for the art of teasing must run in the family. He moved to the head of the table and you couldn’t help the pleading look you gave him when he removed the blindfold. He slid his hand gently down the side of your face and pushed your hair away so he could get a better look at you. Though you bit your lip to keep yourself from making a sound, a small devious smile made its way across your face. Dean mirrored the expression before pressing his lips against yours. It started gentle, maybe a little tentative, but didn’t take even a moment for the kiss to escalate to rough and full of want. You kissed him back hard, lifting your head off the table as much as your position would allow, and Dean slid his hand under the back of your head. Using his grip, he pressed his mouth against yours like it was the only thing he’d ever wanted. He licked into your mouth and sucked and bit your lips with such fervor that you were sure you were dripping on the table.

He pulled away with that devilish grin back on his lips. For just a moment, he paused to drag his eyes over the sight before him. Your pleading eyes staring up at him, your ruddy kiss-swollen lips, your gorgeous hard nipples… He groaned, knowing that everything before him was his for the taking. You let your eyes wander from his face down his body where you could see his erection absolutely straining against the denim containing it. You thought it looked so desperate to be freed, to be touched, that maybe it was almost as desperate as you were. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath to try to calm the lustful need bubbling up through every fiber of your being, but it didn’t do much good.

Dean dropped his red plaid flannel to the floor and tore his t-shirt over his head. When he pulled his belt through the belt loops of his jeans, you couldn’t stop the low, desperate groan from escaping your throat.

“What? You want this cock, sweetheart?” Dean chuckled. He dropped the belt and undid the button on his jeans, and every move he made to lower the zipper and push his pants and boxer briefs over his hips was so slow and deliberate that you tried with everything in you to press your thighs together.

“Yes, sir. Please,” you whined, knowing any punishment for talking would be worth it at this point. You needed him and you needed him to know that. Luckily, Dean seemed to enjoy when his fuck toy replied, because he bit his lip and smirked. He dropped his jeans and underwear to the floor and stepped out of them. He wrapped one large, perfect hand over the hard, thick object of your desire and took deliberate, purposeful steps to approach you again.

“Open up, princess.” You obeyed immediately, opening your mouth and letting your jaw muscles slacken. He grinned and teased the tip of his cock around your lips, and your tongue reached out to taste him. Your tongue caressed the needy red head of his cock and lapped up the bead of precum leaking from his slit. Dean let out a low groan that came more from his chest than his throat and reached up to stroke your cheek. “Be a good girl for me,” he whispered before he thrust his hips forward to shove all of himself between your lips. Once the briefest moment of surprise passed, you greedily took him in, engulfing his throbbing cock with your wet, hot mouth.

You hollowed your cheeks, sucking him down and running your tongue along the underside of him as he found a rhythm. It didn’t take long for him to begin truly fucking your face and you wished so much that your hands were free so you could touch yourself while he did so. With every thrust, you felt him hit the back of your throat and you couldn’t help but think how good it’d feel to have him pounding your pussy like that. Your clit throbbed and your pussy clenched around nothing, both so eager and needing to be touched.

His grunts were sinful and you swore you could feel them in your core. He held the side of your face in place as he used you, used your mouth like he deserved to. Your mouth had been what disobeyed him, giving in to the temptation of taking something that didn’t belong to you. In return, he got to take something that didn’t belong to him. You were the prize that Sam Winchester had to offer, and you loved it. Tears escaped your eyes as Dean slammed into your throat, sliding hard and fast between your soft lips. You gagged a bit when he went deeper and you felt his rhythm falter. You hummed around him, and only you knew that it was a sound of disappointment, as you’d been wishing, despite how well he was fucking your face, that he’d slide his beautiful, throbbing, delicious cock into your pussy and thrust into you with every bit of force he could muster.

“Just like that, baby,” Dean grunted when you hummed, “Such a good girl.” You hummed again, only this time the praise swept over you and you wanted to make him cum by any means necessary. You could be a good girl and you’d show him. You let your jaw hang slack as he slammed into your mouth, as the subtle vibrations of your humming threw him over the ledge into his climax. With one hard thrust sending him impossibly deeper into your throat, he came. His gentle hold on your face was no longer gentle as he pushed you toward him, keeping your head in place as thick ropes of his sweet release spurted down your eager throat. When he finished, he loosened his grip on you and pulled his softening cock out of your mouth slowly, like despite the post-orgasm sensitivity, he never wanted to leave the perfect warm cavern beyond your lips.

He sighed, taking a deep breath to bring himself back to Earth, and you licked your lips to get the stray cum that had smeared there when he pulled out of your mouth. He grinned and you grinned back at him.

“Sam was right,” he started, “You really are an even better fuck toy than you are a hunter. I didn’t know that was possible.” You blushed, but couldn’t take your eyes off of him. He may have gotten his release but you were still aching and needy for yours. However, you knew that this was about making your transgressions up to Dean, so you wouldn’t say anything. This would make incredible fodder for the next time you played with yourself, or you’d think back to it when Sam took you to bed and reclaimed you later like he did after every time he’d shared you.

“Mmm,” you hummed, “Glad I could be of service. Did it make up for stealing and finishing your good whiskey?”

“Oh we’re nowhere near finished, princess. I haven’t even gotten to feel that tight, pretty pussy squeezing around me.” He smirked and your cunt clenched, pulsing with arousal, excitement, and anticipation.

“Are you gonna fuck me good and hard, Dean?” you asked, your expression a combination of puppy dog eyes and a sly grin. Dean ran his fingers through his hair and groaned.

“You have no idea, sweetheart. I’m gonna fuck you til you’re not sure you can cum anymore and you can’t remember your name. We’re just getting started.”

tags: @hobby27 @akshi8278 (Wanna be tagged?)

#dean x reader #spn fanfic #spn smut #lemon #dean winchester x reader #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural smut #dean winchester smut #smut

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egyptsblackrose · 3 years

Text

Dancing with Strangers

Ok so, theres a Playlist I’m loving right now on YouTube called “Dancing between Gojo and Kakashi but you can feel the sexual tension growing by the minute”, posted by itsharley. I made a short story post on the video and people liked it, so here’s the story that’s been living in my head rent free for the past week! This is a regular world AU btw

Warnings: a little suggestive behaviour later, spicy stuff wont be added till later... other than that enjoy!

Part 1-

Y/N L/N had a pretty normal life for the first few years of her life. Her parents were wonderful, kind people who were well respected and successful in their fields of work, both determined to give their precious daughter the best upbringing they could. Things only changed because both were offered a dream promotion. The catch? They had to move to Japan for the foreseeable future.

At first Y/N was devastated. She didn’t want to move away from her beloved grandparents and friends, she was just about to start primary school, and she didn’t know ANY Japanese! What if people were mean to her because she was different? However those worries soon melted away.

Their home was a stunning penthouse apartment in Hiroshima, close to Y/N’s new school, with beautiful views and amazing restaurants all around. There was even a private tutor to help Y/N learn Japanese faster so she wouldn’t be at a disadvantage from the other kids, but even though they were living in Japan, only their native language was spoken in their home. Her parents were adamant that she was smart enough to learn two languages at once, and they weren’t wrong.

In the beginning, Y/N was too shy to really try make friends, worried that she would say something wrong and people would laugh at her, or she’d pronounce something weird and people would mock her. Those fears soon disappeared also, however, when Y/N met Miku and Sakura. Both girls were very sweet, they thought her accent was cute and soon encouraged Y/N to speak more.

The 3 were inseparable, going to concerts together, cafes after school, watching movies and having sleepovers every weekend. It was more like having sisters! So when Y/N had to move back home when she was 15, the 3 were heartbroken. They shed many tears together, and at the airport the 3 and clutched at each other in a group hug, reluctant to separate.

But Y/N was a loyal soul, and the 3 talked over chat every day, and face timed each other every weekend night, watching movies and anime’s together, complaining about school, family and boys. It was painful for Y/N, she felt like she was away from home most of the time. But her friends were good people and never lost their bond.

Now finishing their final years at Uni, the 3 were face timing while finishing their papers, encouraging each other to finish and stay positive as they talked about their plans and ideas for their final year. That was when Y/N discovered the Japanese exchange program her Uni had in place.

Gojo and Kakasi had been friends for as long as they both could remember, meeting back in school, insisting on going to the same uni, and now working together in the police force as partners. The two were often mistaken as lovers, but they repeated many times that they were just very similar in personality, got along like brothers rather than friends, and were both very straight.

While the 2 were undeniably attractive it was Gojo who had the natural charisma out of them that many young women were charmed by, finding it easy to ignore his weird traits. He could never seem to keep a relationship going past a one night stand however, he was just too free willed and whimsical to be tied down. On the other hand- Kakashi- though dashing in his own right and was incredibly sweet to anyone who bothered to get to know him, seemed to fumble with his words a lot of the time, becoming embarrassed and flustered easily, backing out of any interaction that became too bold. The two were opposites, and they soon realised this as young men, observing how the other was strong where they had weaknesses.

It was Gojos idea (of course it was) to “team up” when it came to women. He was the hook, drawing beauties in and charming their pants off, and Kakashi was the sweetheart who convinced them to stay when they both approved of the woman. Sometimes for months, sometimes just for a few days of fun. Either way it was a win win for the men, Gojo received a proper taste of a real relationship (be it poly, as a 3) and Kakashi earned some much needed experience and confidence to help at least lesson his shyness.

But now they were not young men, they were MEN. Successful, powerful, admired men that had bright futures ahead of them and a brotherly bond stronger than ever. There was of course, something rather vital missing from their lives.

The two had been working stupid long shifts, with barely a day off to rest for far too long, and both males were pent up, and needed to drink and let off some steam.

Entering the club, Gojo immediately grinned at the low lights; pounding base of “Hotel Room” hitting his ears, the smell of perfume, sweat and booze. “The Ninja Shrine” was a regular hunting ground for the 2. Kakashi led the way to the bar by instinct at this point, determined to order something strong to continue their buzz from pre-drinks in their shared apartment. The two downed three shots of something dark and expensive with barely a pause for breath. After they were finished, two bottles of beer were purchased as they turned to scout through the crowd closely, leaning against the bar like they were at home.

Already some regulars recognised them- the women batting their eyes at the two, other men trying to seem like they were close and friendly with them so as to steal some of the female attention. Gojo and Kakashi already knew of, or had already slept with, a few of the women who were trying so hard to capture their attention as “Desire” played through the speakers.

They were put on the end of the list of possibilities. Gojo and Kakashi had agreed early on that they wouldn’t be ‘playing favourites’ with women, on and off relationships weren’t their thing. Kakashi would say its because he wouldn’t want to lead anyone on and build a girls hopes up, Gojo would say that once he’s had his fill, he’d get bored of the same thing again and again. Neither men were sure what they were looking for really when they went out scouting for some fun, and neither had found anyone who held their interest for the long term. But Kakashi was honestly more hopeful than Gojo and his whimsical personality.

As the remix finished its hypnotising beat and “Such a Whore” began, there was a refreshing breeze from the door opening. A group of young women, probably uni students or maybe a little older, came in loudly. They unintentionally drew attention to themselves through their happy laughter and rosy cheeks, clearly already been drinking for a while. And in the middle of the group, they saw HER.

Link to Part 2 here- https://egyptsblackrose.tumblr.com/post/648451271546781696/dancing-with-strangers-ok-heres-part-2-i-guess

#Gojo #Gojo Saturo #Reader #Kakashi #kakashi hatake #Gojo x reader #Gojo x y/n #kakashi x reader #kakashi x y/n #Saturo #jjk gojo #naruto #Y/N #Idontknowhowtodotags #kindawingingthisplot #helphowdoulinknewpoststogether

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real-fanta-sea · 3 years

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Prompt for the kiss no. 71

Prompt: "Not to be cringe or anything, but I really like the idea of the kiss 71 (height difference kisses where one person has to bend down, and the other is on their tippy-toes)...where Trevor is his true height. i.e. Ogg's height and Michael has to stand on his tiptoes to snog him."

I'm sorry, anon, but I saved the post as a draft and it just vanished into thin connection. So, I have to answer this way.

This work is more of a spur of the moment thing, but I kinda like the way it turned out, being it just my emotions spilt onto paper. If you'd like, you can read it on AO3 here, or under read more. I hope you'll like it as much as I enjoyed writing it! :)

tw: kissing, child abuse memories

It's been three weeks already.

An unhealthy greenish glow of flickering light tubes and the icy breath of an industrial refrigerator made him shiver as Michael, gliding on the orbit touching stars in his mind, put yet another box of ready-made microwave hamburgers into his shopping cart. If he were not a regular in this particular shop, he would have got lost. It resembled an anthill with seemingly infinite shelves and aisles, bursting with the merchandise, even though the depressed lights covered everything in the same shade of decay green. The same life outlook was shared with most of the shadows roaming around whose name tags qualified them as proud employees of Flormart.

It's been three weeks, and he still stuck around, hanging on his every word.

Michael pushed his cart further from frozen goods, and the pictures swirling and smearing all around transitioned from photoshopped vegetables to flashy fireworks of chips and other guilty pleasures he planned on indulging in later on. Some people would find the height of the shelves menacing, but to Michael, it was just a memory that pulled him from the orbit back to earth and placed him in the middle of a football pitch. The smell of sweat building up underneath his helmet. The crunch of the crisp lawn under his feet. The spotlight following him whenever he scored. Cheering faceless crowds in time with busty faceless girls' pompoms. But most of all, he felt happy again - needed, cherished, innocent, and with a bright future awaiting his embrace. But then, just as he crossed from the snacks aisle to the alcohol quarter, the football stadium lights flickered and turned bright red. All the faceless girls turned around, their mouths gaping as if someone dislocated their jaws, and the cheering turned into a hellish cry of pain. Where their eyes were supposed to be, he saw a flair, screwing itself deeper into their skull, and a stream of scarlet goo drip down on their immaculate white dresses.

It's been three weeks, and somehow, his puppy-like behaviour didn't irk him yet. Quite the opposite if he were honest with himself - he felt strangely peaceful in his company.

Michael gulped in a desperate attempt to wash down the horror that invited itself under cover of a happy memory. Shaking his head only did so much and dispersed the spectators and cheerleaders alike, in the same way shaking a snowy paperweight would. Michael's chest constricted as he felt unable to breathe in properly, people splatting and exploding upon impact all around him in his mind. Suddenly, he felt a pull under both of his shoulders and found himself flying towards the pitch-black sky, where instead of one moon, two shone down on him. As he flew closer, they shrunk into two amber irises - and Michael immediately knew who pulled him out of the memory. As he crashed into a mass of pink candy cotton clouds, his vision blurred just to clear up when he felt a solid surface under his feet and someones hot hands in his. Somehow, he found himself looking at the tips of abused old pair of sneakers he was wearing, the same pair Michael knew he wore that faithful day at the airstrip. A moment later, a couple of dark blue, equally run-down ones stepped into his field of vision. He slowly let his sight slide up on crumpled jeans, the hem of a military jacket, a pair of dog tags hanging around a slender neck, a sharp jaw, a pair of full dark lips and finally, to the pair of amber eyes, eyes that radiated worry, care and, at the same time, something he could only read as love and utmost devotion.

It's been three weeks since the incident, and anytime he woke up from a nightmare that played in his mind over and over again, he was there to soothe him; he was there waiting for Michael's tears to dampen his naked shoulder. He didn't bitch about it and didn't tell a soul in the morning.

Michael let out a shaky breath. Stopping his feet from casually continuing in their stroll proved harder than he thought, and he leaned on the shopping cart handle, running fingers through his hair. He couldn't decide what mortified him more - the creativity his brain proved to possess when playing out the horrible things he has witnessed in just a few years of his fresh adulthood, or the way it put his acquaintance on some fucking pedestal and presented him as the alpha and omega of his thoughts and desires.

"Hey Michael, are you ok?"

Speaking of the devil... "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I just.." Michael breathed in again and turned towards the source of the voice, trying to display a small smile by twitching his tired lips "I need a smoke, that's all."

It's been three weeks, and he got that tingling feeling in his guts already. He could barely tolerate touch or prolonged eye contact without getting goosebumps and that ticklish feeling solidifying and slicing right into his groin. Michael wanted to believe it was just his weird head showing gratitude for saving his ass, but anytime he found himself in the company of that amber-eyed twink, the longing grew worse.

"Hey, how about a bottle of something to wash the cig down?" said the guy and his oversized jeans jacket hanging from his shoulders cringed into weird shapes as he took one of his hands out of his pocket and pointed his thumb towards the shelves. He looked so adorably dishevelled in all jeans, and with his silky hair framing his hopeful face, Michael couldn't have said no to anything he would suggest. Instead of mustering the strength to say no, Michael threw another smile towards his companion and turned his back to him to choose the dream crusher he wanted to numb them with before they went to bed.

To someone who grew up in a functional family, all the labels and bottle shapes would seem the same. To Michael, however, to choose the right brand and size meant the same as selecting the bananas or avocados of the proper ripeness would for them. It was a work of art; he learned so much in the ten years of living with his stepfather. While scrutinizing the shelves, index finger and thumb scrubbing on the sides of his chin absent-mindedly, he remembered how they would come to the similar shop together, he and his mother's second husband, and how he slipped behind the shelves. At the same time, Frank chatted with the clerk, and he stuffed his lunch box with a large flat bottle of Chief's Heritage Fire Water whiskey. He had to carefully close it to avoid disturbing the aluminium foil that served as a guard from the primitive electronic protection device they had to pass through on their way out. Michael would then tuck his stepfather's sleeve, babble some cute nonsense to get candy from the unsuspicious clerk, and after they paid for the two packs of cigarettes and a beer, they would leave. Frank would let him chug on whiskey then, and if he were in an exceptionally good mood, he would let him sleep through the night without beating the shit out of him.

Finally, spotting the whiskey he knew so well on one of the top shelves, Michael attempted to grasp it but only managed to graze his fingertips against the bottom of one of the bottles that rocked gently upon touch but otherwise didn't move an inch. "Fuck", he uttered under his breath, cracked his neck and stretched onto the tips of his toes, steadying himself by holding onto one of the lower shelves. But, again, he could only touch the bottle but not get a good hold of it. He even contemplated climbing the shelves to get it, as if the shame of his disappointing height haven't already painted his cheeks bright red and didn't make him want to leave the shop right away. Just as he braced himself for the climb, eyes fixed on that damn bottle, a gentle touch of someone's hand squeezing his shoulder made him turn around. It was Trevor's hand, and even though Michael still had to look up to meet his eyes, the small sympathetic smile put him in ease in a blink of an eye.

"Chief's, huh? Good choice, Mike!" the praise in his voice made Michael shiver, and he desperately tried to ignore the warmth he was receiving through the palm still steady on his shoulder and which upset his heart into beating twice as fast as ever before. "My old man used to drink this. It tastes like cat piss but knocks you out good for the buck." Trevor's grin felt like a warm touch sunrise after countless years of freezing darkness. Michael couldn't help but soak in the warmth, allowing himself to lose himself in the feeling completely. "Let me get it for you, eh?" he heard Trevor say from somewhere near, and before he could object, most of the light was obstructed by a jeans-clad chest.

It was then when Michael closed his eyes and tried to get hold of the situation. Trevor, the guy he only knew for three weeks, pushing Michael's back onto the shelves as he leaned for the bottle but also pushing his chest almost to Michael's. If it weren't for a couple of inches of hot air and fabric between them, their bodies would brush against each other. Michael could only gulp when he opened his eyes again, and his mind provided him with the maddening picture of Trevor's naked lean chest, peppered with dark brown hair as if puberty marked its way down towards his groin with it. Michael's head was spinning when he looked up to see Trevor still busy fetching the bottle. Michael's racing imagination saw him grabbing the guy's head, crashing lips with his and dissolving into what he thought would be the best kiss he would ever receive. Michael gulped again. He had to have him.

He was anxious about the way it was too easy to raise both his hands and grab fists full of other man's jacket as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Michael didn't fight it when he felt his muscles pull on the fabric and only turned his gaze up to where he expected Trevor's eyes to look once he would feel the movement of his clothes. Michael didn't have to wait for it at all, actually; the puzzled expression was already waiting for him to drink it up. However, he couldn't maintain the contact for too long as his eyes focused on something completely different; the dark lips, deliciously parted in the unspoken question. The distance between his own and them unnerved him, and in the sparking silence, Michael again propped himself onto the tips of his toes, pressed harder on the fabric to steady himself and, closing eyes, pressed his lips to Trevor's.

For a delicious moment, the world fell apart as if some invisible force made the dimensions crash down. The trembling soft firmness against his lips sent shivers down his spine with each cautious move. Whenever Michael recalled the moment years later, he could always sense the faint smell of cigarettes, petrol and sun mixing between their bodies and the way the ground shook and cried under his feet when he felt Trevor's palms slide down his sides and pull him closer, effectively sweeping him off his feet.

Trevor seemed to be relishing at the moment as much as Michael was, but when he felt solid ground under his feet again, and the pair of arms letting go of him, Michael reluctantly broke the kiss with a coquettish wet pop and tried to catch his lost breath. Then, leaning against the shelves again, he only dared to peek up when his cheeks stopped burning from what felt like a mixture of acid and a marathon run. Trevor's face might as well have been a mirror, for he looked down on Michael with eyes wide, face red and lips wet and trembling as if he didn't get a grasp of reality yet. Michael couldn't help but let the anxiety scream right to his face in the voice of his stepfather - and there were thousands of things he might have ruined then and there, just because he didn't fight his stupid queer side, because he let himself kiss another man, because by the twisted chain of mistakes he fell from what could have been a good life to longing after a rabid smuggler in the middle of a liquor aisle.

Just as he was about to duck under Trevor's arm and run away from the voice and feelings of shame it brought about, he was stopped by a gentle, almost shy touch of a hot palm on his cheek. The slender fingers brushed against his face in such a delicate way Michael's heart skipped a beat, and closing his eyes, he leaned into the touch, seeking the soothing silence it brought with the warmth. The hand fit his cheek like a glove, Michael mused as he relaxed into slow movements of fingertips on his temples. Right there, at that moment, everything felt so right, so natural. Why has he deprived himself of the delicious heat for three weeks when somewhere deep inside, where the beating of his heart always gave away the truth, he knew he needed it from the start - well, Michael didn't know. Instead, he slid his arms around Trevor's waist and buried his face into his chest.

"Michael?"

The vibrating echo of his name, spoken in such a husky yet caring way, made Michael squeeze his arms around Trevor even tighter. He sought the last bits and pieces of it before he dared to speak up himself, afraid of spoiling the delicious contentment of the moment.

"Let's get out of here."

A gentle kiss on top of his head and long arms lacing his shoulders later, Michael found himself too far from Trevor for comfort. But even with the newly gained distance between them, a quick glance sideways has provided him with a sight of a beaming smile and a fire deep inside Trevor's eyes that made his own lips twitch into a happy upwards bow. As they rolled into the checkout, Michael has noticed the world has changed as well. The depressing shade of green has somehow transitioned into a welcoming warm white; the shadows that they passed by on their way in suddenly bloomed into happy faces. The various packings of goods exploded in all the colours of the rainbow. As Michael and Trevor emerged into the darkness of the parking lot, ready to relive their revelation in thousands of ways, Michael has felt at peace with himself for the first time in forever. The days of the inner night were over.

#michael de santa #trevor philips #trikey #kissing prompts #gta v fic #real_fanta_sea.txt

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barbers-glimmerin-darlin · 4 years

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Bartender

Clyde Logan x Reader (Oneshot)

My first Clyde fic!

Summary: Heavily inspired by the song Bartender by Lana Del Rey, it’s the one year anniversary since you first set eyes on Clyde Logan.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, mentions of food/eating, mentions of family tensions

Word count: 3.2k

You felt the warm sun stroking your skin as it filtered through the window, it was rising over the mountains to greet your bleary eyes as you gently blinked them open. You were encompassed by a soft warmth all around your body from the blankets on your bed, the heat of the day not yet stifling enough to become uncomfortable. There was, of course, another source of heat in the bed with you, the thought made a sleepy smile curl across your lips. Clyde.

You could feel his monumental body stretched out under yours, his long frame making use of the entire length of the bed. You could see his feet, coming dangerously close to dangling off the edge of the mattress, as you looked down from the position your head occupied on his sturdy chest. His steady heartbeat thrummed gently under your ear, almost lulling you back to sleep, it was the most beautiful sound in the world to you, the strong beat of that big old heart.

You allowed yourself a moment to memorise the texture of his worn t-shirt underneath your fingertips, and the rhythmic puffs of his breaths across the crown of your head. He smelled like sleep, pine, and sandalwood, the familiar scent made your head fuzzy in the most comforting way. Your big bear.

As much as you wanted to stay in this cocoon with your sleepy bear all day, you roused yourself to delicately slip out of his secure embrace, smiling as you heard his grumble. You made sure he was back in the depths of sleep, jet black waves sticking out every which way across the pillows, arm without its prosthesis slung across his belly, his other splayed out where your body had just been. Your eyes lingered on him for just a moment, committing the way the morning sun chased the shadows from his face to memory, before making your way quietly to the kitchen.

The sight of your little kitchen bathed in gentle creamy sunlight warmed your entire body, which had already started to cool from the absence of Clyde’s arms. You’d gotten up early today to make Clyde his favourite breakfast, burnt bacon and eggs, because it was a special day today. It was a year ago today that you had first walked into Duck Tape, it was a year ago today that your life changed forever.

***

Your eyes blinked wearily as you scanned each passing road sign, desperate for a place to pull in for the night. You’d been driving for hours, so many hours you’d lost count, and now you were in the middle of Boone County, wherever the hell that was, with no idea of what to do.

Up ahead you noticed a wooden structure set off to the side of the road, with red and green lights illuminated outside. A motel? You could only hope. You decided you really had no choice but to pull in and check it out, whatever it was there was probably someone there to ask for direction to the nearest hotel.

You pulled your truck into the modest parking lot and surveyed the building in front of you, the lights lit up a sign that proudly declared this place to be ‘Duck Tape’, and it was evidently a bar. Your stomach tightened slightly, not exactly what you had in mind, and you weren’t sure that going into some backwater bar in the middle of some random county in West Virginia at 11pm on a Friday night was a good idea. But you sort of didn’t have a choice really, did you?

You took a deep breath and gathered your nerves as you exited the truck, stumbling a little as you stepped out, tired and completely unused to the vehicle you were driving. You walked up to the wooden door of the bar and pushed it open, praying that this wasn’t a bar full of inebriated creeps.

The bar was warmly lit inside, and rock music filtered through the air from the jukebox you spotted against one of the walls. The bar wasn’t packed out, but there were a few patrons scattered around the bar and in the booths, talking and laughing and just making merry with one another. It didn’t escape your notice that many eyes shot towards you as you entered, perhaps this was a bar that usually welcomed locals, and here you were, a completely new face.

You pushed your fluttering nerves down as you edged over to the bar, locating a seat to slide yourself onto. Behind the bar you could see the bartender, but only his back as he was serving a man on the other side of the bar. He was a big guy, tall, his shoulders were wide under his dark blue shirt. His hair was long too, and sort of shaggy, brushing across those broad shoulders as he poured his customer a sizeable glass of what looked to be whiskey.

“On the house Earl, for helpin’ me fix the sign last week.” You heard the bartender say, his voice was deep and slow, the twang of his accent warmed his words in a cadence that shivered up and down your spine in a pleasant way.

“Yer a good man Clyde.” The customer, Earl, said as he took a pull from his glass. Earl’s eyes caught sight of you as he placed his glass back down on the polished wood of the bar, and he said something to the bartender, Clyde, that you didn’t quite catch.

It must have been about you though, as the huge bartender turned to you as Earl had finished speaking. You were greeted with the sight of the warmest brown puppy dog eyes you’d ever seen in your life. He was beautiful, that was your first thought upon seeing his soft face.

His big brown eyes sat alight in his handsome face, his nose was strong and prominent. But his lips captured attention most notably, plump lips, set into a neutral pout. You’d never seen someone look so pretty and so masuline at the same time, he looked like a big grizzly bear with the profile of a soft little pup. Quite stunning.

“Evenin’ miss.” He said, his voice was just loud to carry over the noise of the bar to your ears. He stepped across to stand in front of you, and you sat up a little straighter, giving him your warmest smile despite your tension.

“Evening to you too! I don’t want to bother you for too long, I can see you’ve got a lot on your hands, I was just wondering if there was a motel around here somewhere?” You asked, somewhat in a rush to get the words out. One of his eyebrows quirked up minutely as he placed his hands on the bar, and it was only then that you noticed that he had a prosthetic hand strapped to his left arm, naturally you began to wonder the circumstances behind the missing limb.

“It ain’t no bother at all ma’am, there’s a motel a few miles down the road from here.” He told you, your tension began to ease at his kind reassurance, and you were instantly relieved to hear that you wouldn’t have to sleep in the truck tonight.

“That’s great, thank you so much for your help!” You smiled at him, moving to get up off your seat so you could go in search of this motel.

“Why don’t you let me call ahead fer ya, make sure they have a room spare?” Clyde asks, making you still your movements. You hadn’t even considered that the motel might not be able to accommodate you, how thoughtful of him.

“Oh, actually yeah that’d be really helpful. My phone’s kinda dead.” You said with an awkward laugh at the end, you saw his soft eyes crease up slightly as he gave you a small smile.

“Can I get a drink for ya, while ya wait?” He asked, and you were glad he did because you’d barely had anything to drink since you set off driving in the early hours of the morning, and you were now suddenly aware of how parched you were.

“Yes please, just a soft drink if you have any, I’m driving.” You explained and he nodded, crouching down to see into the fridge below the bar.

“I’m all outta regular cola but I got a few cans of cherry flavour?” He asked, still obscured by the bar.

“That’s perfect, thanks.” You responded, watching as he stood again. He placed the bright red can on the bar, the metal frosty due to the chilled temperature of the drink. “Would ya like a glass miss?” He asked, gosh he was just so polite, you thought idly, he spoke like a gentleman.

“Oh no, don’t worry about it.” You said, cracking the can open and taking a long sip, relishing the cool liquid sliding down your dry throat. Clyde seemed to be deep in thought, looking at you as you did so with those curious eyes, he then seemed to snap back to reality.

“I’ll just go give ‘em a call, Earl will ya watch the bar a sec?” He calls over his shoulder to Earl who grunts his consent, Clyde flashes you another pretty smile before disappearing through a door to what you assume was some kind of office.

You preoccupied yourself with your drink, the sweet taste waking you up a little, but also making you aware of the hunger in your stomach.

Clyde wasn’t gone long, he appeared back behind the bar and immediately came over to where you were seated with your almost empty drink.

“They’re getting a room ready for ya miss, the lady that runs the place is real sweet, you’ll get a good night's sleep there.” He told you, his cheeks dusted with a faint pink, almost like he was blushing.

“I really can’t thank you enough, also you don’t have to call me miss” You laughed, proceeding to give him your name. The beginnings of the blush flared to an unmistakable rosy pink on the apples of his cheeks, you found your heart fluttering at the sight of this big, shy man.

“That’s a real pretty name.” He said quietly, still giving you eye contact. It was your turn to blush when the sound of your stomach rumbling interrupted the little moment between you and the bear in front of you.

“Pardon me I didn’t even think to ask if ya wanted somethin’ to eat. I can get ya some fries if you’d like?” He asked, his eyes widening as if he’d just committed an atrocious offence against you. You couldn’t deny that your mouth watered at the offering of food.

“Please, if it’s not too much trouble.” You said, still embarrassed at your stomach's loud rumbling.

“Ain’t no trouble at all.” He reassured yet again, disappearing through another door this time. He was gone for a little while, and when he came back he had a basket full of thin cut french fries in one hand, and bottles of a few different sauces tucked under his other arm, all of which he placed down in front of you.

You thanked him again before tucking into the food, thoroughly enjoying every mouthful, your stomach happy to be filled. The bar was quietening down now, just a few people dotted around, the noise levels dropping significantly.

Clyde edged back over to you as you finished your meal, another cherry Coke ready in his hand which he set down in front of you, you smiled at the action.

“So, yer not from round here?” He asked, wiping down the stretch of bar next to you that had recently been vacated.

“No I’m not local, just found myself here.” You told him, unsure of how to explain why you’d found yourself in such an unfamiliar neck of the woods.

“Come to see family?” He enquired politely, clearly not wishing to probe too deeply, but just trying to make conversation with you. It was nice, someone just wanting to have a simple conversation with you.

“Quite the opposite actually I’d say.” You mumbled, looking down at the bar as you toyed with the ring-pull on your drink. You felt his eyes searching your face, he must have noticed your suddenly morose expression.

“I don’t wanna make ya uncomfortable or nothin’ but, if ya wanna get anythin’ off yer chest, there’s no better person to talk to than a bartender.” He said quietly, his voice taking on a soft light tone at the end as he joked. Suddenly, there was no person on this earth you wanted to talk to more than this kind stranger, and there was no place you wanted to be more than this wood panelled bar.

“Oh you know how it is with family…” You started, and then you just talked to him. You told him about how up until this morning, you’d found yourself completely trapped. You were trapped in a family that expected so much of you, impossible expectations that seemed to crush you under their weight. You were trapped in a job that demanded so much more than it gave back, you were miserable, and no one was listening to you, they just kept telling you to try harder, to do more.

So you left, you bought a shitty truck from a second hand car lot last night with some of your savings, loaded your essentials into the trunk and had set off driving this morning. You’d delivered a letter to your parents house, explaining that you’d call them when you’d found somewhere to stay, you’d called work and told them you quit, and just drove. That’s how you’d found yourself at Duck Tape, talking to Clyde, feeling more relaxed than you had in months.

He was an active participant in the conversation, asking you questions where the opportunity arose, telling you about himself in return. You learned that he owned the bar, and that he had a brother and sister who also lived in Boone County. The pair of you talked for hours, until the bar emptied out completely, you learned how he’d lost his hand while serving in Iraq, and your heart seized to think of him in danger and in pain.

It was 1am before you realised how long you’d been talking for, Clyde had abandoned his post behind the bar after his last patron left and the pair of you had relocated to a booth where the seats were cushioned and comfortable.

“Oh my God Clyde, why didn’t you say how late it was! I’m sorry for talking your ear off for so long!” You exclaimed, finally noticing the time. Clyde hadn’t appeared to notice how late it was either as he checked his watch, eyebrows raising when he saw the time.

“Listen here it was my pleasure, you must be dead beat.” He said as he stood up in sync with you and began collecting the empty Coke cans from the table.

“Let me settle my bill and then I’ll get out of your hair.” You told him, moving back over to the bar where the cash register was, pulling your purse out of your bag.

“On the house.” He said simply, placing the cans on the bar at the side of you, you turned to look at him and found him smiling gently down at you.

“Clyde I’ve had so many drinks, not to mention the fries, I can’t just not pay-” You began to protest but he cut you off.

“Hey, just don’t go telling my boss.” He said, a handsome smirk on his full lips, he winked at you after his little joke and you couldn’t help but smile back at him, heart swelling.

“You’re just too kind Clyde Logan.” You told him, watching that rosy colour paint his cheeks again, you took in every little mole and freckle that decorated his face, desperate to memorise everything about this night.

“Let me walk ya to your car, it’s dark out.” He said, very gently placing his hand on the small of your back and exiting the bar, crossing the lot to your truck. His hand was warm against you, even through the fabric of your shirt. It was a welcome sensation, it made you feel safe and secure, you’d quite forgotten what that felt like until you met Clyde.

As you unlocked the truck he opened the door for you, and before you got in you turned to look up at him, his height eclipsing yours.

“Thank you so much for Clyde, for everything tonight. I’ve had a really good time.” You tell him, making sure he knew you meant every word. You could see the delight touch his face as he overcame his bashfulness to reply.

“Well, like I said, it was my pleasure. Swing by anytime ya like. If yer around that is- not that I expect a bright girl like you to hang around here- what I mean is that- if ever yer passin’ through-” You could see Clyde stumbling around, trying to find the words he wanted to stay but clearly getting flustered. You placed your hand on his bicep, noting how big it was, and his eyes snapped back to yours.

“I’ll definitely be back Clyde.” You told him, and you meant it.

You parted ways and he watched your truck leave the lot, he watched it all the way down the road, until he couldn’t see it anymore. He even called the motel half an hour later to make sure you’d gotten there safe, not that you knew he’d done that, but he needed to know you were safe for the night.

***

You heard heavy footsteps treading towards the kitchen as you finished up frying the bacon, placing the burned slices onto a plate with the fluffy scrambled eggs and the pancakes you’d decided on. It wasn’t long before you felt two gigantic arms wind around your waist from behind, a warm face pressing soft kisses into your neck, and shaggy black hair tickling your cheek, your big bear.

“Mornin’ cherry pie.” He said in a husky voice, right next to your ear. It warmed you from deep inside your belly, radiating out to all your extremities. You leaned back into him and turned your head to kiss his cheek.

“Mornin’ handsome.” He smiled before swooping down to kiss you squarely on the lips, it was chaste and understated, but it made your tummy do backflips.

“Somethin’ smells good, angel.” He noted, his eyes travelling to the plates of food, you could tell his was ready to absolutely devour his breakfast, and then probably devour you shortly after, randy big thing that he was.

“Nothing but the best for today.” You told him sweetly, moving out of the circle of his arms and taking the plates to the little kitchen table. Clyde hung back for a second and observed you, just enjoying watching you exist. He was the luckiest man alive, he was absolutely sure of it.

“One year since the best day of my life.” He said softly, coming to sit down with you, taking your hand in his and stroking his large thumb across your knuckles.

You never did leave Boone County after that night. Your parents didn’t approve of your choice, and you didn’t have a big fancy-pants job here. But you worked in a flower shop, something you’d always dreamed of, and you had the man of your dreams by your side. You were happy, you were finally happy, you and your bartender.

#Clyde Logan #Logan Lucky #Clyde Logan x Reader #Adam Driver #ADCU

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dashedwithromance · 4 years

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Slithered Here From Eden - Princewitch

KINGDOM OF THE WICKED SPOILERS!!! I CANNOT STRESS ENOUGH HOW SPOILERY THIS FIC IS. THE HEIGHT OF SPOILERS!! THE PEAK OF SPOILERS!! THIS IS A VERY LOUD WARNING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! KINGDOM OF THE WICKED SPOILERS BEYOND THIS POINT DO NOT KEEP READING IF YOU DONT WISH TO BE SPOILED THANK YOUUUUUU

anyways here is my first princewitch fic!! i hope you guys like it, and let me know if you have any ideas for fics for those two. im a little nervous to put this out here - ive written only cressworth and original stuff for a while, so im kinda nervous this wont be in character or will be weird in my style. anyway, please let me know if you like this, and if its something you want more of. im already working on a few others, courtesy of @duchess-of-nothing-and-nowhere ‘s brilliant ideas, but send in any requests you have!!! i hope you guys enjoy, thank you!!!!!

---

Hell was, well, hell.

Her husband was busy doing whatever kings of Hell did in their spare time, which she was thankful for. She didn’t wish to run into any of the Wicked, but Pride was close to the top of the list. Not the worst offender, however. The Prince she’d once tentatively called an ally had claimed that spot with his spectacularly humiliating betrayal.

The worst part was that she still didn’t understand. His motives, his feelings, his aims - all were shrouded in mystery, one that seemed to taunt her at every twist and turn. Bastard.

Contrary to her preconceptions, her rooms were actually rather beautiful. Similar to the style of the house Wrath had rented in Palermo, but it felt different. Darker. Her quarters were styled in black and gold, with serpent scones lining the walls. The fire flickered in a menacing fashion, though she’d long since learned it had more bark than bite.

Shadows crept along the floor until they curled at her feet like a cat, announcing the presence of the one demon prince she wished to see the least.

“What do you want.” Emilia barely gave him a glance before he walked him, arrogance pouring off him. As if he owned the damn place.

Infuriatingly beautiful as usual, he wore a dark suit, flecked with golden patterns, not unlike the tattoo she knew adorned his shoulder. Her attention flicked to the wicker basket he held gingerly in his hands. Covered with a soft blue tea towel, it looked like something plucked off the streets of her home, not something that belonged within the obsidian walls of the kingdom where wickedness ruled with abandon.

Silence was his only reply as he looked her up and down. The gaze threatened to set her alight; with rage or desire, she wasn’t entirely sure. Once, the bed that loomed behind her would’ve offered a taunting distraction and a fragile but desperate wish. Now, it only annoyed her, reminding her of the moments she’d failed so magnificently at seeing through his façade.

Still no response. They hadn’t spoken since her wedding, and their last words had been less of a conversation and more of throwing of well-deserved insults on her behalf. He’d told her that she knew nothing of his motivations, and to assume he wished her harm was foolish. She’d told him a few carefully chosen expletives, complete with a hand gesture that would’ve had her mother wringing her hands. Wrath had spent the days prior skulking outside her quarters, never saying a word, only letting his shadows pollute her already foul mood. She might’ve had the slightest amount of sympathy for him, had he not betrayed her, lied to her, married her to his brother and thoroughly pissed her off in the process.

He placed the basket down on the table at the other side of the room. Looking up, Wrath raised a carefully groomed brow. Apparently, princes of Hell had beauty routines.

His mood was undetectable through his face, but the shadows that followed him gave it away, if only slightly. They were the same dark as a summer night; dark enough for comfort, but not the soulless black pitch she’d seen him wear so often. An interesting combination for a prince who seemed to care not a whit whether she lived or died after he’d gotten what he wanted.

Wrath pulled back the cloth covering the basket to reveal – food. A carefully curated selection of her favourites, smelling like they’d been plucked off the serving plates of the Sea & Vine.

She nearly salivated at the sight – the food she’d eaten in Hell had been a sore spot for her. Though nothing was wrong with it, it lacked the love of homemade food. The flavour that came with knowing that someone lovingly made every single bite. There were no laughing families who cooked here, no fathers to taste-test, or sisters to tease while they made sangria side by side.

“How on earth did you find this?” The words slipped out before she could correct herself. ‘Earth’ was perhaps not the right term, though she couldn’t truly tell where she was. Under, felt more accurate. Below.

He looked at her as if she was missing the obvious – and she was.

The food smelt like she was used to because it was what she was used to. The same recipes, made with the same care as every meal that came from the Sea & Vine kitchens.

Panic enveloped her faster than joy.

“Did you hurt them?” She hissed, desperately searching his appearance for any sign of violence. He was wearing black, that much was true, but either he cleaned up exceptionally well, or there was no blood to be found.

“Hurt them?” Wrath’s tone was even, but she could hear how he scoffed. The nerve, “No. I even paid for it.”

Her heart still beat fast enough to burst from her chest, so he continued, “Relax, witch. No harm has come to them, nor will it, if you comply with my brother’s terms.” There was no audible threat in his tone, but she knew it went without saying. Comply, be Pride’s blooded wife, or her family would receive the same fate as Vittoria. It hurt to even think about, however brief the thought was.

She was going to throw something right at his beautiful, awful face. Maybe the basket, once she was finished devouring her favourites. Wrath would certainly look ridiculous enough with a basket slammed over his head, if he didn’t kill her first.

“It’s not poisoned, if that’s what you fear.” Emilia blinked, unsure how to respond. He seemed to be lingering, if demon princes could ever linger. Why wouldn’t he leave?

She nodded, restraining a biting retort about how she was sure that fact was a deep disappointment for him. Remembering the odd rules of demonhood, she thanked him.

Still, he wouldn’t leave. Just stood there, watching her with those golden eyes that peered into her very soul, reaching inside and setting her alight. His gaze was unnerving.

Her patience, which had thinned dramatically since becoming a co-ruler of Hell, waned, “Are you waiting for payment?”

He laughed. Actually laughed. A short, biting sound, but a laugh nonetheless.

“I could smell your foul mood from my own House. Perhaps this will appease you.”

Appease her. As if it were that simple. As if he hadn’t tricked her, lied to her by omission, made her into an even greater fool than the one she was.

“Perhaps if you deigned to be truthful, I would be more polite.” Lies, but worth a try. If only he would tell her something, anything by way of explanation. Even if it was brutally cruel and benefitting a member of the Wicked. Anything but the agony of anticipation.

Apparently this evening was full of more surprises, because Wrath then pulled out a chair, and gestured for her to sit down, like they weren’t sworn enemies. The thought of a biting retort was attractive, but the smell of food was too much. The scent of all her favourites, food she’d spent hours labouring over in the past, wafted towards her like an irresistible gift.

The basket held everything she dreamt of. Wrath laid the table with his harvest as she tried not to gape at the sight. Twin glasses of sangria, somehow still delightfully cold. The comforting smell of garlic and fresh herbs permeated the air. Plates piled high with a mix of all her favourite things: a selection of antipasto, a side plate of bruschetta, a bowl of pasta, and a small dish of cannoli. If she closed her eyes, and forgot the presence of the prince in front of her, she could picture being back home, surrounded by her family and loved ones. If she thought hard enough, she could faintly smell Vittoria’s favourite perfume, the one she made for herself.

When she opened her eyes, the dream faded away, and there was only Wrath sitting across from her. Despite all the effort she presumed he must’ve taken to fetch the food, he sat watching like he thought it was attack him. Or she would. A laugh escaped her lips, almost hysterical, at the situation. Her, Queen of Hell, sat with her husband’s brother, another demon prince, as they ate food from her family’s restaurant. Comical, if disturbing.

“It won’t bite,” She said, eagerly helping herself to a plate. His eyes flickered with the promise of his bite, and she fought to keep any sign of her reaction off her face. Now was not the time to think of his kiss, or goddess forbid, his tongue. Watching carefully, he followed suit, piling his plate high with a mirror of her own. If she didn’t know the strength that lurked beneath that bronze skin and manicured hands, she would’ve called it sweet.

The food was – the food was heavenly. The taste of home, the love of her family, the promise of safety offered in those few bites brought her more joy than she thought possible. She wanted to stretch out the meal forever, as long as time would permit. If this was the last time she would taste such heaven, she wanted to remember it.

Despite her anger at the demon sitting across from her, curiosity embedded itself in her mind. How could he have known? How could he have known this was exactly what she needed, what her soul craved? Just as he’d done with the orange blossoms after Lust, he’d somehow known her mind and soul needing nourishment, and brought it as a gift to her door. Perhaps there would be a price to be paid, someday, but for now, her happiness was enough.

It was ridiculous and Nonna would’ve scolded her dearly, but it was the first semblance of normal she’d had since signing her name over to Pride. The meal sent flashbacks of the time she’d spent after Lust had invaded her mind; the days she’d spent lying in bed, a stranger in her own body, while Wrath sat like a comforting guardian demon. They hadn’t spoken, but he’d delivered her meals thrice daily, and never left her side unless to fetch her clothes from his mysterious source, or to give her privacy if she’d asked. He’d even brought her reading materials, though they were filled with battle strategies, not the steamy romances she craved. At the time, she’d thought it was a sign that maybe, just maybe, Wrath was different. Now, she only felt the white-hot flush of shame. Her appetite faded, and she pushed the plate away.

He catalogued her change in mood with a barely perceptible nod of his head. Truly, she had no idea what he was thinking. Sometimes she thought he was terrified for her, her witch-blood and mortal heart acting as a beacon for all those whom Pride had made an enemy. Sometimes she thought he wanted to kiss her until her lips were swollen and she begged him for release. Sometimes she thought her presence disgusted him to a never-ending degree. A mystery.

“You need to be careful,” He broke the silence with a warning, as if she treated Hell like a stroll along Sicilian streets.

“It would help if you told me anything.” She hated the petulant near-whine of her voice, but it couldn’t be helped. She had nothing and no-one in the world, but she needed an ally. Or, if she couldn’t have that, information would have to do.

“I’ve already told you too much.” Lies. Complete lies.

Her questioning had bored him, she assumed, as he stood up to go, leaving the remnants of their meal scattered around them. Wrath cast one last look at her before stalking out, taking the shadows with him.

Just as she was about to curse his name, she spotted a bouquet of orange blossoms on the dresser.

Bastard.

---

Let me know if you want to be added to my KOTW tag list!!

Tags: @shadowturtlesstuff @otome-azarada @chococannolii @beccalovesbooksstuff

#princewitch #kingdom of the wicked #prince wrath #emilia di carlo #emilia x wrath #my fics #kotw fic #the thought of wrath slithering up to her door like a fucking cat is SO funny to me you know hes going through it book 2

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egcdeath · 4 years

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a date with destiny

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

word count: 1.9k

summary: fate brings you to a... questionable man more than a few times.

warnings: lots of fluff, enemies/strangers to lovers, kind of cringe

a/n: i swear my new thing is poorly writing every played out fanfic trope on the planet, i'm so sorry guys. maybe hallmark can hire me to write a few movies for them

You definitely could’ve avoided this situation if you didn’t wait for the weekend before Christmas to go shopping for your family’s presents.

You had no idea why your time management had to be so bad, but in the midst of working way too many hours in an effort to get promoted, you had completely forgotten about the fact that Christmas was literally right around the corner. And to make it worse, you had a flight tomorrow that you’d also forgotten about.

You sulked to yourself while walking around Nordstrom, waiting for inspiration to strike you for a semi-decent gift for your mother. The whole world seemed to be out that day, and you watched a plethora of shoppers pass you by, with their sour faces and unruly children. After eventually deciding on a black winter sweater for your mom, you went on your way to the candle section, knowing exactly the brand and scent that your sister would love.

This candle was the definition of a non-negotiable for you, and had been the reason you came to a Nordstrom in the first place, and when you found it sitting on a shelf by itself in all of its glory, you had simply become transfixed.

As you walked toward the candle, you didn’t notice that another customer was going for it as well, leading both of your hands to land on the candle, the absurdity of the situation making you blush. This was just your luck.

“Oh, this is awkward,” you played off the encounter, then attempted to subtly pull the candle your way, and away from the man.

“Yeah, it kinda is.” The man whose hand was also placed on the candle said shortly, before attempting to pull the candle his way.

“Hey man, I’m kinda on a tight schedule, and I really need to get this like… right now. I have a flight in like.. An hour,” you exaggerated.

“That’s too bad, ‘cause I really need this candle too.”

You took a deep breath, only you would find yourself in this kind of situation. “To be fair, I definitely saw this candle first. I’m its rightful buyer,” You attempted.

“Mmm, I definitely had my eyes on it first, so with your logic, I deserve this candle.” The man narrowed his baby blue eyes, and put a hand on his hip.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, hoping that maybe if you acted dramatic enough, he’d leave you and your candle alone.

“Sweetheart, can you even afford this kind of thing? I’m sure your friends or family, or whoever the fuck you’re getting this for, would rather you not go into debt over a candle. Just let me have it,” he responded cooly, as if he hadn’t just called you poor to your face.

You looked at him with an open-mouthed expression, completely shocked at the nerve this man had. “Fuck you, you asshole!” You attempted to yank the candle out from his grip, and you could begin to tell that the man’s resolve was beginning to fall.

“Fine. Take the damn candle. But maybe you could give me a little gift in exchange, and go out with me sometime,” he offered, slipping his now free hand into the pocket of his tan peacoat.

You were honestly shocked by this whole exchange. How did he go from insulting you and calling you poor, to asking you on a date? Men are so weird, you thought to yourself. He really isn’t that bad looking, you also considered. “Eat shit, guy,” you told him before flipping him off, and walking away.

-----

Imagine your surprise when you saw the same man from the store sitting in a local Massachusetts restaurant, with whom you assumed were his family. With your sister sitting across from you, you couldn’t help but be gossipy and point him out.

You scoffed and leaned over to your sister once you saw him, “See that guy over there?” You whispered to her, gesturing your head in his general direction.

“Which one?” she asked. “There are like five guys. Are you talking about the dude with the goatee? That old dude with the grey hair? Y/N! I didn’t know you were a grave robber!” she giggled and poked your side while you rolled your eyes, “Or, are you talking about that sexy beast in the white sweater?”

“The se- the dude in the sweater-”

“Oh yeah, he’s pretty hot. You should go talk to him,” she began to scoot out of her seat.

“No, you idiot!” You whisper shouted to her. “That guy basically attacked me in the store the other day. And then, he had the nerve to ask me out on a date!”

He must’ve felt the two of you’s stare, as he turned around and gave you a brief surprised look, then a twisted smirk.

“Oh my god, Bea, act natural,” You whispered before turning your head so fast that you nearly gave yourself whiplash.

You brought a hand up to your face and rubbed your browline in a fit of embarrassment. You looked down, then began to shovel pasta into your mouth at an ungodly fast rate.

“Oh come on, Y/N, he’s cute. What did he say to you that was so bad that you turned down his hot ass?” She asked, glancing back over at the man who was still occasionally looking over at your table.

“It’s kinda a long story. I’ll tell you later,” you mumbled, trying to ignore the heat steadily growing on your cheeks.

Beatrice shrugged, and a waiter approached your table.

“Ma’am, the man over there wanted me to give this to you,” he said before awkwardly placing a glass of white wine in front of you, along with a ripped napkin with a note and number.

We started off on the wrong foot, give me a call sometime?

Ransom

XXX-XXX-XXXX

-----

You looked at the note for so long, that it would’ve been better off being tattooed on the back of your eyelids.

“Just text him, Y/N,” your sister told you, her sentence a bit muffled by the toothbrush dangling from her mouth.

“He really seems like a dick,” you groaned, before rolling onto your back and throwing an arm over your eyes. Your sister rinsed out her mouth in the ensuite before returning with some advice.

“Well, he’s hot. Maybe you can bring him as a date to the Holiday party or something,” she stated before sitting down on the foot of your bed. “What’s the worst that could happen, Y/N? If he hurts your feelings, you can throw a hot drink at him and walk away. At best, you get a hot piece of ass to be your boyfriend.” she squeezed your calf reassuringly.

“Ugh, fine,” you huffed. “I’ll text him tomorrow.”

“That’s my girl!” Beatrice cheered, then placed a kiss on your forehead. “‘Night, Y/N,”

“Goodnight,” you mumbled before attempting to fall asleep.

-----

The funny thing about you, is that you were a master procrastinator. So after a day and a half, you’d put Ransom’s number into your phone, but had contemplated so many different opening texts, that you’d just completely given up. Besides, you had your parents’ holiday party to be attending and to be caring about.

You did some final touch ups of your makeup, before heading downstairs, and watching guests arrive from a safe spot in the kitchen.

Sometime after talking to about seven of your childhood friends, you felt a large hand press against the satin material of your short, red, tie-waisted dress.

“No way, girl I see everywhere?” The man who you know knew was Ransom, asked.

“It’s Y/N. Hi, Ransom,” you bit the inside of your cheek to hold back your laugh at the absurdity of it all, the fact that he was standing in your parents’ home, the fact that he was literally everywhere you went, and because you’d never in your life been called ‘The girl I see everywhere.’

“Why didn’t you ever call me? I mean, not even a text? Also, why are you following me everywhere?” He inquired, moving to stand in front of you.

“Well, I uh.. I forgot. Sorry, I’m a super busy woman. And I also live here... sometimes.. so if anyone is following anyone else, it’s you following me,” you tried to say this confidently, but something about Ransom really threw you off your game.

“You live here? No way. Is this like your family home?” He asked, and you nodded. “So our parents have been friends this whole time, and we had no idea.” He gestured to a doorway, where your mother and his were talking with flutes of champagne in hand.

“This just keeps getting weirder and weirder,” you said quietly, mostly to yourself.

“Maybe, this is just fate. We’re meant to be together, and that’s why we keep seeing each other everywhere,” you raised an eyebrow and tilted your head when he said that to you, genuinely confused at why those words would come out of his mouth. “Oh, lighten up. I’m just kidding,” he said with a bemused smile.

“You have a weird sense of humor, Ransom.” You told him plainly, trying to act disinterested, though you were rather endeared. He definitely saw right through you, as he gave you a little grin before he began to speak again.

“So tell me about yourself.”

-----

After a few too many drinks, you were walking down the sidewalk, hand and hand with Ransom as you searched for any sort of restaurant that could be open at that hour.

Finally, you found a quaint and rather empty 24-hour diner with its lights on. The two of you sat down in a booth, and struggled to contain giggles as you sipped from mugs of stale, lukewarm coffee. Why you were giggling, you weren’t completely sure.

“You know what, Ransom, once you get over the asshole-ness, you’re not that bad,” you reached out a hand, and set it on top of Ransom’s, that was idly sitting on the table.

“Wow, thanks,” he chuckled, a dark pink dusting his cheeks.

“Why did we even come here?” You groaned, “No offense, but this coffee tastes like ass,” you whined,

“And how do you know what ass tastes like?” Ransom burst out giggling at this.

“Shut up. Are you twelve?” You pretended to be annoyed with him, before giving in and laughing along with him. “Can you take me home?” You asked with puppy dog eyes.

Apparently, one for the dramatics, Ransom tossed a $50 bill onto the table, then stood up from his seat at the booth to swoop you up in a bridal style.

“Ohhh my god,” you slurred as he carried you out the door, then eventually set you back down on the pavement once he became tired.

-----

While you walked up to your doorstep, Ransom stood on the sidewalk, watching you contentedly. As you got to your door and turned around, he gave you a big, goofy smile and a wave.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Come in with me,” you invited. It was safe to say, Ransom happily obliged.

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom thrombey x you #ransom thrombey x reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans fic #knives out fanfic #fluff #hey i wrote that lol

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spooderboyandtincan · 4 years

Text

Happy Halloween!

A/N: Here are the actual episodes of Buzzfeed Unsolved mentioned in this fic! The Terrifying Axeman of New Orleans and The Horrors of Pennhurst Asylum. As a warning, both of these videos describe both very grisly and gory things, so please watch them with caution!

(Also, the author in no way claims to own or use these videos for commercial property. Just wanted to include them!)

~~~~~

Peter was having a great day, even when an apple tried to give him a concussion.

Normally, he would have caught the traitorous fruit, but there were several families around who might have noticed his outstanding reflexes, so with some split second thinking he let the apple bounce off his head.

“Ow!” Peter massaged the top of his head. Tony and May turned to him, both slightly concerned. “I think this tree is trying to kill me.”

“Oh, spare us!” Tony said to the tree, reaching out to ruffle Peter’s curls. “Not my darling son! Take me instead!”

Peter rolled his eyes at the dorky genius, actually finding himself feeling a little bad for the poor apple tree. “Don’t worry,” he muttered, patting the rough bark. “It wasn’t your fault.”

There was something very adorable about watching Peter trying to comfort a tree, both Tony and May observed. Their kid’s heart was so pure and kind it was blinding.

Peter snatched an apple off a low-hanging branch and, before Tony or May could stop him, bit into it. “Wow,” he mumbled through a mouthful of fruit, “this’s really good! Can we pick some?”

“That’s what we’re here for!” May sang. “Did you check for worms before you bit into that, Petey?”

“Worms?!”

Tony shook his head in fond exasperation. Peter spat his mouthful of apple on the ground in disgust, chucking the half eaten red orb to the side. “Ew ew ew ew ew!”

“Buddy, I’m pretty sure there weren’t worms in there,” Tony suggested.

Peter shrugged. “But are you sure? Now we have to pick more apples just in case they’re all wormy.” He stuck out his tongue in a mature display of unhappiness.

“Thought you liked picking apples,” he questioned, suddenly worried that Peter had only been pretending to enjoy himself.

“No, no I do! It’s really fun! But now I can’t eat any,” he pouted. “I’m so huuuungry.”

He frowned in concern. “Why don’t we get some food and come back, kiddo? We can grab an extra coat from the car while we do.”

“Mr. Stark, I’m already wearing, like three of yours,” Peter laughed. He gestured to the layers of puffy jackets he was bundled up in, along with his favorite Spider-Man hat and thin black gloves.

“Actually, I think you need a scarf,” Tony observed. “We can’t have any spider-baby popsicles on our hands, now can we?”

Peter rolled his eyes. Tony began fussing over him like a mother hen, wrapping his own scarf around his neck and zipping up his third coat. He took the boy’s small hands in his and winced, rubbing them to bring some warmth.

“You’re gonna lose fingers if we don’t get you some better gloves, bud.”

“I’m fiiiine.”

Peter heaved the bag of crisp, red apples into his arms with ease. Tony and May grabbed their own separate ones and heaved them over their shoulders with a lot less ease. They headed toward the muddy dirt road, lugging their apples and stopping for a moment to admire some chickens.

“Ooooh!” Peter exclaimed suddenly, spotting a glimpse of orange behind the tall pine trees. “Mr. Stark, May! There’re pumpkins!” He jogged off.

“Don’t you wanna get food before this, Pete?” Tony called, following the boy.

“I’ll eat the pumpkins!”

“Look out for worms!” May teased. Tony found himself thinking of the classic nursery rhyme, Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater.

May found the perfect pumpkin almost at once. It was on the opposite side of the small field under a beautiful towering oak tree with red and golden leaves still on its branches. The pumpkin was a beautiful shade of dark orange and wonderfully round. She held it against the chest like it was a baby.

Tony didn’t have any particular pumpkin in mind that he wanted so he decided to let Peter choose for him.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna get the wrong one,” Peter worried.

“It won’t be the wrong one, kiddo,” Tony promised.

“Get that lumpy one, it looks like his head!” May advised from across the pumpkin patch. Peter sniggered.

“I’m offended. My head is perfectly oval-shaped,” Tony objected.

“Smooth as a shark,” Peter muttered to himself, completely missing the perplexed look from his father-figure.

He picked up the lumpy pumpkin and then began to scavenge for a second one, humming. “This is Halloween, this is Halloween, pumpkins scream in the dead of night… ooh.” Peter knelt down and began to inspect this potential nominee.

It was huge. Wide and tall with a round face and a flat back. The stem was long and twisting. The color was beautiful.

It. Was. Perfect.

“I found it!” he yelled. May and Tony turned to long at him and Peter displayed his pumpkin proudly.

“Congrats,” said May, her grin wide. Tony applauded.

“Can we get it?”

“Of course, Roo.” He smiled, kneeling down to take the lumpy pumpkin while Peter stood up with his own. “Do you wanna get another?”

“Are you sure? I mean, I kinda do…”

“Yes, Petey, I’m sure.” Tony bent to press a quick kiss to his forehead. “Actually, I’d be delighted if you got another one. Really.” He loved seeing Peter so happy over a simple fruit. (Vegetable? Gourd?) Tony would gladly buy thousands of pumpkins if Peter could always be this happy.

Soon Peter had selected two more pumpkins, a wide, squat one, and round, light orange one. They made their way back to the parking lot and the barn, where lots of fresh produce stands were set up.

There was a beautiful, towering willow tree that Peter admired, watching its long limbs sway in the wind peacefully. He breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of rain and hay and something just distinctly fall. He trotted back to where his family stood in a line to buy their pumpkins and leaned into Tony, letting him wrap strong arms around him and hug him close.

They bought their pumpkins and sat down at a picnic bench under the willow tree and basked in the sunlight. Tony left to the car and came back with a picnic basket akin to the ones in cartoons.

Peter’s eyes lit up when he noticed the mac and cheese in a plastic container and immediately he dug in. After inhaling his pasta, he dug through the basket. His eyes sparkled like stars.

“Rhodey made us brownies!” Colonel Rhodes’s brownies were the best. They were gooey and somehow always warm, with extra chocolate-chips and an oreo in the middle. Rhodey had drowned them in jack-o’-lantern shaped sprinkles. He had even included a bottle of whipped cream, though most of it had probably been used on the current brownie Peter had just bit into.

“Oh, yummy,” May said, helping herself to a large one. Tony took his own and sprayed almost as much whipped cream on it as Peter had.

Before he took a bite, he laughed. “Pete, how did you get whipped-cream on your forehead?” He balled up his sleeve and wiped it off. Peter squirmed away.

He played a quick rhythm on his pumpkin before glancing toward the various stands by the barn. “We should get apple cider,” he said, having a sudden realization. “I guess they probably wouldn’t go very good with brownies but maybe with pumpkin pie or something…?”

“Good idea, bud. How about some candy apples while we’re at it?”

“Yesss.”

Peter was bouncing in his seat while he waited for May and Tony to finish their sandwiches. He helped himself to a few more delicious brownies, trying to savor every bite. (And failing because they were so good.”

When they finished their food, they took a quick moment to put their pumpkins in the trunk of the car, then Peter led the way to the barn. At the back of the big room there was a large assortment of fresh produce, which May made a beeline to. On the right wall were four tall refrigerators, chock full of apple cider.

“Why are they in milk cartons?” Peter wondered, opening the door and pulling the juice out. “Here!”

“Just one? You need to hydrate, young man,” he teased, pulling out three more jugs.

“I won’t just drink apple cider, Mr. Stark.”

“Actually, I think your blood is gonna be 75% apples, kiddo.”

“Carrots or asparagus, Pete?” May called.

“Carrots?”

“Good choice, honey.”

Tony noticed wonderfully red candy apples displayed on one of those cupcake stands he always saw at fancy parties. He pointed them out to Peter, who grinned and asked if they could have some.

“That’s what we're here for, Petey-Pie.”

The young man at the stand wrapped the tree apples individually with cellophane and placed them in a bag.

“That’s smart,” Peter said as they joined May at the checkout line. “Apples probably wouldn’t taste good with a paper bag.”

The cashier recognized Tony when they bought their food. Her hand flew to her open mouth and she shook her head in amazement. “You’re… you’re….”

He offered a smile. Peter inched behind him and grabbed his hand. Tony squeezed his hand comfortingly and moved in front of him so no one could see his face.

The cashier began to check out their items robotically, staring at Tony for an uncomfortably long time before she blinked and asked, “Do you want a bag, sir?”

Once they stuffed the groceries into the trunk of Tony’s car, Peter admired the farm one last time. The big willow tree swayed gracefully in the brisk wind as if it were saying farewell.

Peter crawled into the back seat and slammed the door, curling up and shivering. Tony glanced in the back mirror and quickly moved to turn up the heat.

He rested his chin on the edge of the window. The position was far from comfortable but at least he could watch the trees fly past as they drove.

“You okay back there, Petey?” Tony asked, sounding concerned.

“‘M good. Just thinking,” he mumbled. It was hard to talk with his jaw pressed against a hard surface.

“You sure, bud?” Tony still sounded worried. Peter sighed.

“Stop worrying,” he groaned. “I’m fine.”

“Okay, Petey, I trust you.” If he hadn’t been driving the car he would have held up his hands in mock surrender. “But you know that you can come to me for anything, right? Even if it’s just a stubbed toe, okay?”

“I know, Mr. Stark, really.”

A snore filled the car, and they both laughed when they looked to May and realized she was already asleep.

“So kiddie, whatcha thinkin’ about?” he asked.

“How I’m gonna carve my pumpkin!”

~~~~~

Peter dramatically threw the three pumpkins he was carrying down onto the kitchen island, pretending to wipe sweat off his forehead. He snickered when May rolled her eyes.

Peter took off his layers of coats and threw them on the couch, hanging his scarf up and then ripping off his hat. His hair frizzed everywhere and Tony laughed, his eyes soft and adoring. He flattened it down with his hand and pulled Peter into a crushing hug, bending to kiss his still slightly puffy curls.

They sat down at the kitchen island and chose their respective pumpkins. Peter looked around. “Where’re the knives?” he asked.

“Oh, I know.” May stood up and rummaged through the upper cabinets, bringing out an orange carton. “Here!”

Tony watched nervously as Peter grabbed a carving knife from the box and stabbed the top of his pumpkin without any regard for his personal safety.

“Careful, bubba,” he warned. He was about to take the knife from Peter’s small hands and bend it into pieces for being so dangerous and trying to hurt his kid. “No lost limbs today, okay?”

Peter laughed and continued to cut the top of his pumpkin. He yanked the stem out and sliced off the stringy guts. He took an orange plastic scooper and started scraping the seeds and guts out of the inside. Tony took his own pumpkin and did the same, keeping a watchful eye on his reckless kid all the same.

“What are you carving Pete?” May asked.

“Secret,” Peter grinned, turning the pumpkin so they couldn’t see it. “You can see later!”

“Well, fine. What about you, Tony?”

Tony hadn’t given much thought about it yet. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he had an idea that might work. “Secret,” he said.

May sighed in amused exasperation. “Suit yourself, lumpy. I’m going with the classic.” She took a purple sharpie and started drawing.

“Why aren’t there Halloween Carols?” Peter wondered aloud. “I don’t know like, any spooky songs and it’s sad.”

“There’s that one, um…” Tony trailed off. He did know the actual name of the song, but the look on Peter’s face would be priceless. “Spooky Scary Pumpkins? Ghosts? Is that it?”

Peter slowly raised his head, his eyes wide. “What?”

“You know, that one you’re always singing,” May said, joining in. “‘Spooky scary pumpkins’ sounds right.”

Peter groaned and buried his head in his arms. “No. This isn't happeniiiiiing.”

“I believe the correct title is ‘Spooky Scary Skeletons, Boss,” said FRIDAY’s disembodied voice.

“Thank you!” Peter threw up his hands in relief. “Spooky scary pumpkins. Ugh. Thanks for the nightmares.”

Tony ruffled his hair. “FRI, play it for us uncultured zombies, will ya?”

The first few notes of the song played and Peter started headbanging exaggeratedly, doing a dance in his seat. “Such a bop,” he said to himself, then went back to carving his pumpkin.

A bop? Tony decided not to ask. He sketched out his idea on the pumpkin with a light pencil and rummaged through their carving tools.

“Mr. Stark, you didn’t get the guts out!” Peter protested.

“Don’t worry, bud, you’ll see. Trust me.”

Tony finally found what he was looking for. “A-ha!”

“Is that..?” Peter leaned over. “Is that a dremel drill? Isn’t that for like, trimming dog nails?”

“One of its many uses!” Tony switched it on. “Carving time.”

“Ooh. That’s cool, I wanna try!”

He handed the drill over to him. Peter turned his pumpkin around to the back and started carving. “Oh, so it only gets like the fleshy parts! The flesh? So then it kinda glows through.”

“That’s right,” he said. “It looks pretty cool when you put a candle in it.” Tony took the drill and got back to work. Their song was still playing in the background, and at some parts Peter would do a dance and sing along.

After about fifteen minutes of ridiculous chatter and multiple songs played, May jumped up. “Finished!”

“Already?!” Peter exclaimed. “Lemme see!”

“Just a sec.” May ran off and grabbed a candle from one of the drawers in the living room, then hurried back. She put it in the pumpkin and lit it carefully. “Ta-da!”

“Oooh!”

May had carved a traditional pumpkin with a big, spiky jaw, a triangle nose, and big triangle eyes. She had taken seeds and put them in the corners of the eyes to act as pupils.

“Oh, he’s cross eyed!” Peter laughed. “That’s really cool.”

Tony grinned. “Clever. I like it.”

“Thanks, Tony. I think I’ll borrow that drill from you when you’re done. I want to make a flower on the back.”

“Sure.” Tony continued working on theinrticate design, squinting and trying to make it as precise as possible. He caught Peter trying to sneak a peak and shooed him off cheerfully.

When Tony looked up to check on Peter, he nearly cooed. His kid had the most adorable look of concentration on his face. His tongue poked out between his lips and his brow was furrowed. Peter worked carefully, selecting the tools he knew would work best and using them delicately.

When Peter looked up again, the sky was considerably darker. He looked at the clock. “How is it already five?!” No way had he been working for one and a half hours straight.

Tony blinked and snapped out of his stupor. “Huh. Time flies, I guess. I’m about done, how about you, kiddo?”

“Almost… I kinda messed up a few details but I think it looks okay!” He scraped the pumpkin more and looked up. “There! Where are the candles?”

“Here you go.” May smiled and handed him a red candle that smelled like cinnamon. He took the lighter and dipped his hand in the pumpkin while Tony watched anxiously.

“Don’t burn yourself, baby.” He bit his lip in worry. “Be careful.”

“I am!”

May dimmed the lights and pulled the curtains shut. The candle glowed brightly in the dark room and Peter turned the pumpkin to face them.

May gasped. “Oh. Oh my goodness! Peter, that’s gorgeous!”

The boy blushed in the candlelight. “Thanks.” He looked to Tony, who had been strangely silent this whole time.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Petey….” Tony felt his arc reactor and in his mind, compared it to Peter’s intricate, detailed carving that he had spent so much time on. “Petey… you made my reactor?”

“Uh-huh! I kinda messed up some parts, but I think it looks pretty good. What do you think?”

“I… I… oh my god, baby, I love it. I love it so much.” He pulled his kid into a hug, squeezing him tight. Tony kissed his head and blinked away the tears in his eyes. Peter, surprised at first, hugged him back. “Thank you, Petey.”

“No problem,” he said, voice muffled in Tony’s sweatshirt. “Does it look good?”

“It looks beautiful, baby.”

“I had no idea you could make something like this,” May murmured, tracing the arc reactor with her fingers. “Wow, honey. This is spectacular!”

“Thanks.” Peter’s face heated from the praise and he pushed his head further into Tony’s chest. “What did you make?”

“I was wondering when you’d ask.” Reluctantly, he let go of Peter (but not without another forehead kiss) and grabbed the lighter, He lit the candle, turned it around, and-

It was Peter’s turn to gasp. “Is that me?!” He admired the glowing spider emblem with wide eyes. It matched the one on his suit exactly. “Oh my god!”

Tony beamed. “Do you see the resemblance?”

“I’m pretty sure you just stole my suit and like, made it into a pumpkin. It’s so cool! I love it, thank you!”

“It was my pleasure,” he said graciously, giving a little bow. “Where do you think we should put them?”

“Um, I dunno. Where’s a good spot?”

Tony looked around. Eventually they decided to put them on the mantle above the fireplace. Peter worried they might rot, but the man assured him they wouldn’t and turned off the fireplace just to ease his kid’s fear.

Peter took a look at the room. A few days ago he and Tony had draped bright orange and purple lights around the room and Peter had added some webs that would definitely leave stains. There was a black spiderweb table runner on the coffee table, and in the kitchen there stood a plastic cauldron filled with dry ice. Ghosts made of tissue and paper mache balls hung from strings by the fireplace and above the couch and tv. Peter took a black and orange oreo from a pumpkin shaped plate cheerfully.

“When’s dinner?” he asked, realizing how hungry he was getting.

“Are you hungry, bud? We can order a pizza, how does that sound?” Tony replied, smoothing down his curls and then ruffling them so they puffed back up again.

“Great!” Peter patted his curls back down and flopped on the couch, taking out his phone.

Only fifteen minutes later the pizza arrived. Peter jumped up happily and opened the box.

“It’s pumpkin shaped!” he exclaimed. “That’s so cool!” The pepperoni slices had been arranged in jack o’ lantern face and Peter laughed. He took four big slices for himself and sat down at the table while May joined him. Tony poured three glasses of apple cider and gave the biggest one to his kid, then sat down next to him.

Peter wolfed down his pizza in the blink of an eye and downed the cider just as quickly. May and Tony started on their second slices while he started on his fifth.

He was about to ask May if she knew that some spiders had blue blood when her phone rang. She smiled apologetically at them and stood up to take the call.

“Sandra? Oh, hi.” She wandered into the living room. “Uh-huh? Oh, that’s too bad, I’m so sorry.” A pause. “I could. Yeah, no problem. It’s okay. I hope everyone feels better.” May put her phone down.

“I’m sorry, guys. I have to fill in for a friend for a few hours.” She sighed. “Her twins are sick and she really needs this. I have to go but I’ll be back soon, okay?” May grabbed her coat and gloves. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay, Aunt May,” Peter said, offering a smile. “What time will you be back?”

“Around two.” She titled his head back to kiss his forehead. “Get some sleep, both of you. No scary movies. Larb you!” She headed toward the elevator.

“Larb you too!” he called back as the doors closed behind her. Peter sighed.

The room was oddly silent without May’s laughter, but soon Peter started chatting and laughing and they relaxed into their normal banter.

When they finished their pumpkin pizza, they sat down on the couch. Peter snuggled into Tony’s side and yawned, grabbing his Starkpad. He scrolled to a video and poked Tony’s shoulder.

“What’s this, kiddo?” he asked, wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulders and pulling him closer.

“Buzzfeed Unsolved,” he mumbled. “That’s Ryan and that’s Shane.”

“Huh. That’s cool. They solve mysteries?”

“Sometimes. They don’t really solve them, I mean, it’s called Buzzfeed Unsolved, but they do talk about suspects or theories or whatever. Sometimes they do supernatural ones and they’re really funny. And spooky,” Peter rambled. Tony chuckled and turned his attention to the video.

The Haunted Halls of Waverly Hills, read the title. As the creepy introduction played, Tony frowned. The two men he assumed were Ryan and Shane were walking around a long, spooky hallway with cameras that made everything look like it was tinged green.

“You sure this isn’t too scary, Pete?” he asked, not wanting his kid to have nightmares.

“It’s not,” Peter grumbled. “I’m fine. This one is cool!”

“If you’re sure, Roo.” Tony still sounded skeptical. He was prepared to turn off that tablet the second Peter showed any sign of fright, but he never did.

“This week on Buzzfeed Unsolved we explore Waverly Hills Sanatorium as part of our ongoing investigation, ‘are ghosts real?’” said Ryan.

The camera panned to Shane as he shook his head. They went on to explain the history of the sanatorium. Peter giggled at their many jokes, especially when Shane made snarky remarks. Tony deduced that Shane was the sceptic while Ryan strongly believed in paranormal happenings. He was inclined to side with Shane, but Peter looked just as nervous as Ryan was when he walked down an empty hallway all alone.

“Pete, are you sure this isn’t too scary?” he repeated after a particularly gruesome description of the horrors that took place in that old building.

“Yes, Mr. Stark.” Despite his annoyed tone, Peter was smiling.

“Okay, okay.” Tony turned to press a tender kiss to his temple. “I just don’t want you to have nightmares.”

“I won’t. It’s okay.” Peter flopped against him and pressed the next video. “Promise.” He yawned.

The videos, Tony admitted, were pretty cool. He liked how they listed theories and possibilities instead of just leaving the mysteries unended. The two men were funny and entertaining, and he found himself enjoying the videos.

By now they had watched at least nine or ten episodes. It was easy to get lost in all the videos, which were only twenty minutes long each, but when you watched a few more, time had passed faster than you expected. When Tony checked the time he was surprised to find it was already nine-thirty.

“You tired, bubba?” he asked gently as Peter yawned. “You’ve had a pretty big day.”

Peter shrugged. “A little.”

“Do you wanna go to bed now, sweetheart?”

“Sure.” He stretched and yawned again. “Tomorrow’s Halloween, right?”

“That’s right,” he hummed. He helped Peter stand up and they made their way down the hallway. “Good night, baby,” he murmured, pulling him into a hug.

Peter felt a warm kiss pressed to his curls. “G’night.” He hugged Mr. Stark and stumbled into his bedroom, rubbing his eyes.

Tony watched with love shining bright in his eyes. He headed to his own bed and climbed under the covers, curling up and turning on the bedside lamp. He grabbed his glasses and perched them on the edge of his nose, planning to get a little reading done before he went to bed.

He couldn’t help but worry about his kid, who had just binge-watched ten episodes about terrible deaths and tortures. “FRI, tell me if he can’t fall asleep, or if he does and wakes up. Just tell me if he’s scared.”

“Certainly, boss,” the AI said smoothly. Tony nodded and began reading, though he barely took in a word, much more focused on the boy in the room next to him.

~~~~~

Peter thought he had been tired. He had nearly unhinged his jaw from yawning so much. But now, he lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, unable to sleep.

He shifted around, trying to get comfortable. Heavy blankets tangled around his legs as he thrashed. Peter sighed and mashed his pillow over his face.

After what felt like an hour (but in reality was only fifteen minutes) Peter rolled over and sat up, yawning and scratching the back of his neck.

He grabbed his Starkpad and earbuds. Peter only used one, because two was too overwhelming. He went to youtube and clicked on the first unsolved episode he found, just wanting to sleep.

The intro played loudly in his ear and Peter relaxed.

“This week on Buzzfeed Unsolved we’ll cover the Axeman Killer of New Orleans,” said Ryan Bergara. “One of the strangest serial killer cases I’ve ever read.”

“And you’ve read a lot,” Shane replied.

Ryan explained the timeline, which began in 1918 in, of course, New Orleans and ended around eighteen months later. He detailed the mysterious and morbid attempted killings, saying, “In chilling fashion, he only seemed to strike people while they slept in their beds.”

Just to make sure, Peter peeked out the curtain. He shivered and hid further under his blankets. He snickered quietly when Shane made a joke right off the bat.

When the video ended, he turned it off and lay back down. He scrubbed his eyes, feeling refreshed but sleepy at the same time.

Except now, he was having a lot harder of a time falling asleep.

Peter stared at his bedroom door nervously, expecting someone to burst in brandishing an axe.

It never came.

He watched apprehensively, knowing this was stupid, and rolled over so he faced the wall.

Now his back felt even more exposed. Peter shivered and faced the door in a panic, swearing he heard something.

Nothing.

He sighed shakily and curled up under the blankets, his heart racing and his eyes wide. The shadows seemed to dance and his eyes flitted from corner to corner as he expected some creature with razor sharp teeth to come leaping out of them.

A chair, which he had thrown some dirty clothes on the other day, now looked like some skeletal creature with a huge head that could swallow him in one bite.

Peter, in a sudden burst of adrenaline, threw off his covers and sprinted the few feet down the hall to Tony’s room, the door slamming open. Peter leapt onto Tony’s bed, shaking, and wrapped his arms around the man.

Tony went rigid with surprise. “Peter?” He straightened up, squeezing his kid tight protectively and looking murderously around the room for the source of Peter’s fear. “What is it, baby? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Peter shook his head and crawled shakily into his lap, pressing his face into his chest. “Petey? What happened?” His voice was soft and gentle but somehow worried and protective at the same time. “Did you have a nightmare?”

Peter sniffed and blinked a few tears out of his eyes. His cheeks heated in embarrassment. He wilted in Tony’s arms both out of shame and overwhelming relief that he was safe now.

“Oh, baby,” he cooed. “You’re okay, I got you, you’re okay. I’m here, shh.” He kissed his delicate brown curls. “I’m here, I’m here.”

Peter sighed in relief and squashed his nose against Tony’s reactor. “‘M sorry,” he mumbled.

“Why are you sorry, bubba? You didn’t do anything wrong, okay?” Tony murmured.

Peter nodded. “I- I just got scared.” His voice cracked and he tried not to cry.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s okay, you’re okay. I got you. Nothing’s gonna happen to you, ‘kay?” He brushed his fingers through his curls. “Pete?”

A soft snore filled the peaceful quiet of the room. Peter’s breathing was slow and even, his face lax. Tony’s face softened. He carefully maneuvered Peter’s limp body under the war covers and wrapped his arms around him, pressing his nose into his curls. “I won’t ever let anything hurt you, kay?” He sighed in contentment, holding his kid tightly. “I love you so much baby.”

Tony’s eyes fluttered shut. “G’night, sweetheart.”

~~~~~

Taglist: @imissyoutoo @aj-that-person @tonystark-deserves-better @nathaly-ab @skeeter-110 @peter-and-tony-vlogs @teammightypen @joyful-soul-collector @loveliestdisappointment @depuella @scwene-qween @honeythepooh @pixiethefirecat7 @spider-man-lover @jami161 @bringitonvoldie @queen-of-sarcasm-25 @roxy3457 @memilon @iron-loyalty @gralaca @bitchingpretty @pillowspace @thatminecraftgal @clockworkteacup @hatakehikari @wtfischeese @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @skydiving-without-a-parachute @yansi1923

If you want to be added/removed let me know!

~~~~~

/ST*RKERS DNI/

#FINALLY finished this #Happy Halloween!!!#peter parker #tony stark #may parker #aunt may is the best #pumpkin picking #pumpkin patch #pumpkin carving #tw knives #knives tw #irondad and spiderson #aunt may and tony are best friends #protective tony stark #worried tony stark #scared peter parker #buzzfeed unsolved #halloween tw #st*rkers dni

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lunarliza · 4 years

Text

Dirty Little Secret | Chapter Two: Palm Trees

fuckbuddy!JJ x Kook!Reader

series masterlist | chapter one

You and JJ are fuck buddies- strictly physical. But what happens when you find yourself falling more and more for everyone’s favorite golden boy even though all he can see you as is a spoiled rich girl?

note: just wanna thank ya’ll for all the support! so glad you guys like this. there is smut and drug use under the cut btw

Three Months Ago-

“Shit,” you heard someone curse.

You met eyes with an unfamiliar curly blonde boy who mimicked a deer in headlights as he perched down under the tall wooden fence.

It was a fine, breezy morning. You had set up a blanket on a small patch of sand, under a shady palm tree, just behind someone’s large fenced backyard on the edge of the Eight. You figured no one could catch you casually smoking your pot in the secluded area.

That was, until a pair of skinny legs darted into your hideout. You quickly hid your joint behind your back while his sea blue eyes pierced yours, but not in an intimidating way, more like a raccoon getting caught with food. He wore a dirty white tee, sleeves chopped off, and torn board shorts. He had bracelets trailing up his arm with ‘JJ’ written across multiple beads. You could tell right away he was from The Cut.

“What the fuck! Who are you-”

“Shh no no no,” he held a finger up to your lips. “You did not see me here.”

He attempted to scurry away, but you caught onto his ankle before he could. “Wait!”

He plummeted over onto the sand and groaned in response. “What the fu-”

You craned your neck at the fallen twinkie. “Are you stealing?”

Having just moved to the Outer Banks six months ago, you didn’t know much about the culture besides what made up Figure Eight. From what you were told, the island was basically split between two crowds.

Ted detested The Cut and anyone associated with it. He called them low lives, thieves, rats. One time, Macy went on a play date with a friend from school there. Once Ted found out where she was, he stormed over, pulled her away from her friend, and threatened the family before flooring the car back home. Since then, he forbade your family to go anywhere near the area. Ted wasn’t a man of many words, but the anger in his eyes that day made it clear he was not kidding around.

“What?” the boy scoffed, “I’m not stealing, just-”

“Disrupting the neighborhood?”

His face knotted in confusion. “Something like that... look what will it take for you to keep quiet about this?”

You shrugged, kind of enjoying his desperation. You weren’t planning on ratting him out at all, but this was the most entertainment you had gotten all week, so you decided to play along. You tapped your chin, “Hmm, perhaps-”

“Before you continue, princess,” he mocked, gesturing towards the arm you had behind your back, “you might wanna rethink snitching when you have all that dank on you. How would your parents feel if they found out their precious Kook daughter was smoking weed?”

You rolled your eyes and flipped him off. “Carry on, asshole.”

------------------------------

Later that night, you were dragged to a party at the famous Boneyard by your friend Jade- a petite social butterfly with a heart of gold and the most toxic dating history you had ever seen.

She was one of the few friends you made since moving to the OBX. Jade knew of how much you hated life at the Eight, but still tried to include you in as many events as she could. Despite growing up with insanely rich doctors as parents, she herself didn’t quite fit the spoiled Kook mold either. She had her kinks, and you liked it.

“Jade, I’m not sure about this. If Ted finds out-”

“Girl, you are fine! Just say you’re with me and my parents will cover. Trust me, they think I’m at some study session right now,” she assured.

“But finals aren’t til next month.”

“Exactly! See how much they care?”

Hand in yours, she led you to a spot on the beach where a crowd of people pranced around a bonfire. You could tell it was a mix of Pogues, Kooks, and some tourists in town for Spring Break.

“Care for a beer ladies?” a tall, tan boy asked as he held out two red cups to you and Jade. You happily accepted, and the guy dared you both to chug your drinks. You shook your head with an ear-stretched grin, attempting to gulp as much of your beer as you could take.

The confidence juice soared into your throat. It tasted absolutely atrocious, but you were determined to finish it.

For the first time since moving to the island, you felt alive. The two of you tossed the empty remains into a trashcan and Jade cupped your cheeks with her French-manicured hands. “Isn’t this awesome!” she exclaimed and began shaking her hips to the electronic music- her excitement as contagious as ever. You immediately joined her, the alcohol coursing through your body.

After a few songs, the same boy who offered you the beers crept up behind Jade’s 5’2 frame. He ran his hands along her hips as she grinded back onto him.

‘Is he cute?’ she mouthed. You threw your head back laughing, giving her an encouraging nod. She went back to being smitten with her newfound man while you continued to dance by yourself, the outer skirts of your dress gliding up as you moved.

“Well, it’s funny how the tables turn don’t it?” you heard a haughty voice trail behind you.

You turned to see a shirtless boy double fisting bottles of cheap beer. His back was towards the fire so you couldn’t make out his face completely. Though, something did click in your half-drunken mind at the sight of the beaded bracelets on his wrists.

“You’re the Pogue from this morning,” you stated, staring intently at his sharp features. He was kinda cute in the dark, murky beach air.

“Fancy seeing you here on our turf,” he rudely replied taking a swig of beer, “not sure who invited you, but here, we have a strict no spoiled bitches policy.”

The audacity was so potent, and you were taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“Fuck off JJ! Y/n’s my friend, and I invited her,” Jade interjected from a few feet away, “go mack on one of the tourons and leave her alone.”

“Whatever, Kooks.” The blonde scoffed and jogged away from the crowd, back towards a group of kids sitting on a log.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his brash comments. Even with Ted’s aversion towards them, you didn’t quite understand the Pogue-Kook rivalry. You once asked Jade about it to which she just shrugged and said, “It’s just how it is.”

She personally didn’t have anything against Pogues- as one was currently shoving his tongue down her throat in that moment. Though you didn’t interact much with their group, they seemed fine to you. Minus grumpy Goldey Locks on the log.

Lost in your thoughts, you hardly noticed the tourist boy in front of you offer a shot of his Tito’s handle. The last time you had vodka, the awful taste nearly climbed back out your throat. But you were too fed up with your family and the Pogue boy’s irritating remarks to care. You closed your eyes, dipped back, and let the boy, dressed head-to-toe in Outer Banks merch, pour whatever he had in your mouth. It didn’t take long before everyone around you started looking fuzzy. A thumping noise in the back of your brain told you that you were way past your limit of about a sip and half. The music began sounding like loud thuds and you had no idea where Jade was. With all the strength you could muster up, you trudged up the beach back towards some palm trees to catch a breath, away from the clammy crowd.

With one hand on the rugged trunk you bent over, knowing your stomach was rejecting all the alcohol you consumed that night. With one glance back towards the party, you felt the bitterness shoot its way back up your body and out hurled everything you drank onto the ground, a few coughs following.

Out of nowhere, you felt a hand slide up your back as you lifted your head to see a hazy mess of blonde hair. “Here,” the snarky boy offered, holding up a water bottle, “you’ll feel better.”

Begrudgingly, you took a few sips and handed it back to him. “Thanks.”

You could see the party was starting to fizzle out, the water sobering you up. He downed the rest and tossed the empty bottle.

“Fucking hell,” the guy, JJ, uttered, “You Kooks are way in over your heads.”

“What’s your problem with me anyways?” you snapped, straightening up so you could meet his eyes. “I didn’t rat on you today! But now I’m thinking maybe I should have!”

“See that’s the problem right there! You didn’t even catch me doing anything wrong. You just assumed I’m doing something bad because I don’t shit money out my ass.”

“Well were you doing something bad?”

“That is besides the point.”

Your eyes were aching to roll out of your head. You hated the way he was talking to you and decided to play into this little hate-game of his since he seemed to get such a kick out of it.

“Well, maybe if you kept your filthy head out of our side and up your own ass instead, we wouldn’t have an issue now would we?”

He huffed and inched closer, causing you to back up against another tree, away from the vomit on the floor. “You entitled bitches think you know it all, probably from all that rip-off dank blowing up your head.”

He was so close you could smell the faint alcohol on his breath. You were completely sober at that point, focusing on the eyes that probed into yours as JJ’s hands reached up to the sides of the tree, fencing you in. The music from the party was hardly a whisper compared to the tension between you two in that moment. The night was humid, but you weren’t sure if you were sweating from the heat or your jolting nerves.

Then, a rush of boldness swept through you.

“You talk a lot of shit for someone’s who’s dying to get into a Kook’s pants,” you tempted, glancing briefly at his lips. You then chose to taunt him even more- biting your own and sticking out your slightly exposed chest in the bodice of the dress you had on.

He dauntingly moved closer, your faces only inches apart. “In your fucking dreams sweetheart,” he muttered before capturing your lips.

It was a hungry, needy kiss. You hardly knew anything about him, yet you didn’t protest when his hands reached up your stomach to roughly cup your boobs. They then glided down under the thinness of your dress to eagerly squeeze your butt.

“Fuck,” he groaned, feeling the bareness of your ass underneath. His palm slapped your asscheek so hard, you were sure the entire beach could hear.

Your hands crept down his bare chest, tracing over to his abs. Still on your ass, his hands kneaded at the swollen cheeks. You felt him pull away slightly after a bit.

“Ever wonder what it’s like to fuck a Pogue?”

“Just shut up and take me,” you answered hastily. His coarse hand trailed against your lower folds. He stroked over the material of your soaked thong before pushing the string to the side, his middle finger rubbing you gently.

You reached in the band of his shorts to feel his hardened cock. You ran your hand up and down the shaft before exposing it out completely. He quickly lifted your leg to drape across his waist as he situated his length to your hole with his sweaty forehead resting on yours.

Slowly, he pressed himself into you as a loud moan emerged from you both. The boy swiftly held his palm to your mouth while you felt him stretch you out slowly. Your eyes rolled back in bliss.

“Fuck this pussy is tight,” he slopping mumbled in your ear as he continued, feeling your wetness grip him.

He held a steady pace for a while before he suddenly halted and pulled out. Before you could protest, he grabbed the sides of your arms and whipped you around so you were facing the tree. When he snatched each side of your hips to pull you towards him, you quickly caught on, spreading your legs apart while arching your back so your ass was perked up and ready. He held his pulsing length in his hands, lining himself with you, before shoving it in full for you to take.

He bent over onto you and seized your chin with one hand to spin your head back for another kiss, tongue and all. “You look so pretty taking this dick,” he rasped as your careless whimpers echoed.

JJ pounded deeper and deeper in you, yanking down the front of your dress so your breasts plopped free. He massaged them in his hands from behind. In response, your arched your back more, wanting to feel him- all of him inside you. As his thrusts slowed, he pulled out and pumped himself a few times before coming on your right asscheek. He slapped the left when he was done.

You were breathing heavily, collecting yourself as you straightened up. “Not bad,” you panted as a cocky smirk rose on his face.

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note: WHEW CHILE!

chapter 3

tags: @starkeybaby @obxlife @poguesforlife @everydayimfangirling @iamaunicorn4704 @tangledinsparkles

#outerbanks #outer banks #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfiction #rafe outer banks #jj #jj obx #jj maybank #jj maybank imagine #jj x reader #jj x y/n #jj imagine #jj fanfiction #rafe imagine #john b #john b obx #john b imagine #john b fanfiction

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bunnys-beetlejuice-blog · 3 years

Text

gently rings a little bell in your ear My fic updated with two new chapters when you weren't paying attention! but now i am tilting your chin up with the point of my sword, forcing you to look. its very villainous and cool. this is part three of an increasingly convoluted story, part one can be found all the way over here but if you just want the high school romance stuff and don't care about found family, that's fine, i guess, but like, what's your deal

The weekend is a welcome relief from everything at school. He’s tired of feeling like shit, so Saturday, annoyingly bright and early, he startles Lydia awake by flopping on her bed. It causes her to bounce, and she groans, pulling the dark purple blanket further over her head. “Beetlejuice…” “I was thinkin’, today we should spend th’ whole day outdoors, in th’ park or somethin’,” he grins, and she lifts the blanket just barely, to glare at him. “You only want to play outside because all your stuff was taken away,” comes her accusation, and she’s not exactly wrong, but he just wiggles a hand under her blanket and gives her nose a poke. “Let’s go get lost, somewhere. Come on, Lyds, please?” She tries to hit him with a pillow but her grip is tired from sleep, and all she manages to do is shove the thing at him.

Twenty minutes later, she’s dressed and ready, bouncing on the balls of her feet, as he mulls over which button up to wear, the highlighter yellow with purple bugs, or the dark green with orange bones. They’re two equally ugly shirts that kind of give him a headache to look at, and both are favorites. “I can’t believe you woke me up at eight so I could stand around watching you go through your wardrobe.” “This is important.” He settles on the bugs, finally, and pulls it on before turning to Lydia, but she’s gone. He blinks, and sticks his head out his door, in time to headbutt her as she comes back in. Both siblings reel back and hold their heads. “Beetlejuice…” she groans. “Lyd-eee-uhhh,” he mimics her. She huffs and throws what she’d gone to her room to retrieve at him. He catches it, then stares. It’s his hoodie, his ruined one from that disastrous Halloween. He can still see that faded dark copper stain in some places, but it's better than it was. Also, the holes slashed in the arms have been very sloppily stitched with a thick, black embroidery thread. He looks back at his sister. “You seemed like you were having a hard week,” Lydia says, shuffling her feet. “I never sewed anything before, I’m sorry it looks kind of messy, and I tried really hard to get the bloodstains out...” He slips his familiar stripes back on and feels much more at ease. “It’s cool,” he tells her. “I like messy.” He holds open his arms and she falls into them, pressing her face against his stomach. It's a nice moment, and for once, he doesn’t feel inclined to ruin it, just pats his little sister’s head. “Love you.” “Love you too.”

``````````````````````````````````````````````````````` Charles, ever an early riser, is surprised to see his children in the kitchen this bright eyed and bushy tailed on a Saturday. He’s pouring two coffees, one for himself and one for Emily, who is sitting at the table, head propped up on her hand, and still functionally asleep, when Betelgeuse and Lydia come bounding in to raid the fridge. “And what are you two getting up to today?” he asks, and the siblings pause to look at him. “Goin’ to th’ park.” “You think so?” Betelgeuse’s shoulder slump. “Seriously? You take all my stuff away an’ now I can’t even go out?” “You’re still in trouble. Why should you be allowed to go out and have fun?” “Cause that wasn’t specified!” Betelgeuse tries, and then turns to Emily. “Ma, tell him!” Emily mutters in her sleep, and Charles wordlessly sets the coffee down in front of her. The smell hits her nose, and robotically, she lifts the drink to her lips, eyes never opening. “Let BJ go do stuff,” she manages, maybe not as eloquent as she normally speaks, her voice gruff from sleep. Betelgeuse grins up at Charles. His father sips his own coffee, and then pats his son’s head. “Home before dark. No fire, no demon nonsense, no taking drugs from strangers.” “Home at midnight, commit arson, summon Satan, enjoy stranger candy. I gotcha.” Both his children receive a kiss on the head before stuffing Lydia’s little black coffin bag with snacks, and heading out.

``````````````````````````````````````````````````````

It’s a big city, and there’s not a loss of things to do, especially with his powers, and there’s no adult supervision today. They find a café and enjoy a big breakfast, then he turns them invisible and they sneak away before the check comes, only reappearing a block later, Lydia grinning wildly. “Food tastes better stolen!” she says, and he pats her head. “There’s my little criminal.” They sneak into a movie, next, some horror thing Lydia had wanted to see that even Emily, the fun parent, had said she was too little for. It’s absolutely a gore fest, but not especially good, and they throw popcorn at the screen and cheer whenever the killer scores another victim.

“I think you’d die early in a slasher,” she says after, scattering their uneaten popcorn on the pavement in front of the theatre. She gets the attention of a whole flock of pigeons, which land and begin pecking at the kernels. “What’s your logic, there?” “You die on screen early and then the twist is you faked your death and were the killer.” “Ohh, classic. I love it.” “I’m a total final girl,” Lydia turns the half empty bucket upside down, much to the joy of the starving sky rats. “And then at the end, it’s like, I knew you were the killer the whole time, and I was just acting. Cause we’re in it together. You know, partners in crime.” He picks her up, slings her over his shoulder. “Always.”

He takes them to Central Park, next, holding her hand behind the theatre and apparating, accidentally, up a tree. She gasps and clings to him, and he digs his claws into the bark of the tree to steady them. “No worries, no worries. I just gotta..” They appear on the ground below, and Lydia looks dizzy. “Feels weird when you do that,” she tells him. “Like riding a rollercoaster, except your limbs are all asleep. But.. Kinda not that, at the same time.” It feels normal to him, but he regularly eats tin cans, so what does he know about normal to begin with?

Lydia takes her camera from her coffin bag, and readies it. It’s a little instamatic she got for her birthday, a few months ago, and she’s going through film like crazy, taking some pretty shitty pictures. He’s not that blunt to her face, though. It’s not like he was a rockstar on the ukulele when he first started, and she’s got a lot of enthusiasm for taking photos. He’s not going to be the one to squash that for her.

Also, he’ll bite off the hand of whoever tries.

“You think this can take pictures underwater?” she asks, aiming her camera at a random woman jogging by. The jogger makes a face, which seems to be what Lydia expects, because she snaps the picture as the woman continues on her way, and the little photo pops out the bottom. Lydia gives it an aggressive shake.

“I’m gonna guess no. Besides, it’s too cold for you to take a swim.” “So let’s go somewhere warmer. I’m thinking Hawaii.” “Good idea, genius, an’ how do you think we’re getting there?” “You can teleport us.”

He actually has to stop and think about that. “I don’t think I could do it in one straight shot,” he says at last. Lydia has moved to a different kind of voyeurism, because she’s on her stomach on the grass, following the movement of a trail of ants with her lens. “I’d probably have to do little distances, an’ get tired and need a nap in th’ middle.”

“Maybe through a mirror? Like Sam?” She adjusts the optic, an entirely useless motion, because this camera doesn’t have any kind of zoom feature. But she’s seen people do it in nature documentaries. “Never done mirror travel before.” He mulls that over. “I’ll practice when I get home, an’ see if I can even pull you through.” “You’re not allowed to go to Hawaii without me,” she gets what she considers her perfect shot, and then stands, brushing off her dark red dress. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

They go bone hunting next, Lydia’s camera still at the ready, his keen nose leading the way. It’s easy to find owl pellets, and she breaks one open with her bare hands, as he teases her.

“Ew ew ew, Lydia gross, you’re touching it!” he pitches up his gruff voice to sound like a tweenage girl, and she rolls her eyes. “No skull in this one,” she frowns, wiping her hands on his hoodie.

“Maybe there’s a bodiless mouse head around here, livin’ it’s best life.” She looks doubtful.

Another, different smell hits his sensitive nose, just then. It’s death, new and fresh. His pupils dilate, and he follows it, her trailing after him, assuming he’s on the scent of more animal bones. What they find instead is an old man propped against a tree. He’s still warm, but the color is draining from his face, and rapidly. He doesn’t look hurt, he’s not bleeding. It’s like he sat down for a rest and died.

Lydia doesn’t get it, not right away. Death is a funny punchline in an overly gorey movie. She’s never seen the real thing, before. “Should we wake him up? It’s cold to be sleeping here.” He lifts the man’s arm, and it flops bonelessly back down. Her eyes go wide. “I doubt he’s gettin’ back up, kiddo.” She lifts her camera and takes a picture.

“Hello?” He hears a voice, and turns. The old man is standing next to himself. He looks back at Lydia, but she’s staring in fascination at the corpse, so he leaves her to it. “Hey,” he nods to the man, who looks relieved. “Can you call my grandson? My phone battery died,” he says, not seeming to understand the position he’s in. Betelgeuse tilts his head to the side. “You’re dead,” he says, a bit unkindly, and Lydia, who has been kneeling by the body, poking it, looks up at him. “I am?” “Wh- No, not you, Lyds, th’ stiff.” He gestures to the ghost, who has seemed to notice “himself” laying there. Lydia looks at her brother, confused. “There’s no one there.” “Sure there is. You just can’t see ghosts.”

“That’s me,” the old man says, not that anyone’s listening to him. “Should we tell someone about this?” Lydia asks him, and Betelgeuse shrugs. “Why? Someone will find th’ body eventually. You know. When it starts smellin’ like shit.” “I don’t want to leave him out here.” “Please, don’t leave me out here!” “I wouldn’t want to be left out here.” “Lucky for you, you’re never gonna die. You even try it an’ I’ll shove your soul back down your throat, if I have to.”

He smells the netherworld, and grabs Lydia, pulling her back, in time for another ghost to appear. A guide. The guide doesn’t even take a moment to look around, just instantly busies herself with getting the newly dead situated, and Betelgeuse picks Lydia up and carries her away. “That’s so sad,” she says, taking one last picture of the body from atop his shoulder. “I guess.”

They find the next official looking person they see, someone cleaning up trash, who doesn’t believe them, clearly, until he sees one of the photos Lydia took. The deathly pallor of the old man convinces him to go looking. Thirty minutes later, that part of the park is crawling with breathers, and the two of them are stuck on a bench, being talked to by cops. It’s a whole, boring process, and it’s drawing a big crowd. “Told ya, we shoulda minded our business,” Betelgeuse nudges his sister. Lydia is looking overwhelmed. Neither sibling ever gets this much attention. There’s even a news crew, though he can’t imagine what for. It’s just one old dead guy, and it’s not even a murder. Someone with a microphone tries to approach them, and he turns their mic into a black and white striped snake, forcing them to fling it away from themselves in a panic, and then he grabs Lydia.

They blink from existence and appear a ways away, and Lydia’s clutching his hand harder than she needs to. “Hey, come on.” His grating voice is soft, for her, as he kneels to her level, and she throws her arms around his neck. “How are you so calm? Doesn’t it make you sad?” she asks, softly, and he gives her an extra squeeze. “Happens to all breathers, Lyds. But it’s not somethin’ I gotta worry about, ever. So… no, not really.”

“Will you be sad when I die?”

He scoops her up, holding his little sister in his arms, and stands, her still clinging around his neck. “When you die at a hundred and twenty,” he tells her, carrying her along the path. “Wherever in the netherworld you end up, I’ll go too. Won’t even have time to be sad, me an’ you’ll be too busy causin’ trouble, even then.” She seems satisfied with that answer, and he doesn’t mind carrying her, so they enjoy the autumn leaves like that, her in his arms, as he follows the winding pathways of the park.

They don’t tell Charles and Emily, when they finally do get home, the sun just barely still peaking over the horizon. It doesn’t seem like a good idea, and Lydia doesn’t especially want to talk about it anymore. She pins her new photos up on the twine strung between the tall bedposts in her room. There’s a couple nice ones, and she lets him eat the ones she decides she hates. “Does it count as part of being grounded if you watch my tv?” she asks, and he grins. “Let’s find out.” She pops in Coraline, which he has to assume she’s got fucking memorized at this point, but they also talk through most of it. By the time the tasty looking bug furniture is on screen, her eyelids are drooping. “I dunno why they make her eatin’ bugs so evil. I wanna try beetles from Zanzibar,” he complains, and she just snorts in response “I’ll get you some fancy beetles, for your birthday.” “Kay. Sounds good.” She falls asleep on him a minute later, and he waives a hand, snuffing the lights, but lets the movie finish playing as he settles next to her, and sleeps.

``````````````````````````````````````````````````````` That next week is boring, but normal. Adam’s in the library every day, despite his earlier insistence that he had better things to do. Betelgeuse honestly just wheels the cart along and lets Adam shelf the books, now, which the nerd seems to unironically enjoy. He’s all smiles as he gets to put things away neatly. It’s embarrassing how endearing and cute Betelgeuse finds that. It’s Tuesday, Barbara isn’t there that day, at least, not right at that moment, so Adam is babbling about her. “Barbara and I aren’t really performers,” he’s telling Betelgeuse, returning a stack of history books to their proper places on the shelves. “But we thought it would be fun to try theatre together, and then we really enjoyed it, so we’ve been in the last two productions. She can really sing, she does this high note, and it’s-” “Angelic, I bet.” Both boys give a stupid, love sick sigh. Adam pauses, and nods, and then studies the other teen. “So.. You.. You like her?” “Yeah,” he says easily. “But that doesn’t mean anythin’.” “What do you mean?” “I mean,” he clarifies, flopping across the cart, stomach first, and laying on it, staring down at Adam, who is crouching to reshelf some more books. “That despite me being a hot piece of ass, I’m probably not her type. I imagine she goes more for…” he studies Adam, trying to think of a nice word for boring, plain and vanilla. “More stable guys,” he lands on. “Like you. I bet she even likes how cute your butt looks in your khakis. I know I do.” Adam flushes. “You think so?” “It’s a good butt.” He nods, and Adam goes redder. “I meant, you think Barbara.. Might like me?” “Well, don’t push your luck, or nothin’, but you probably got a better chance with her.”

“You’re not entirely unlikable,” Adam offers. Betelgeuse lets out a guffaw that’s too loud, because someone in the next aisle over shushes him. “You already forget what I told you Friday?” he rests his head on his hand, tone condescending. “I know no one wants me around.”

“You’re setting yourself up for failure, with that attitude.”

“You think so, huh? Think I just need to hold hands round th’ campfire and sing kumbaya with all you breathers? I don’t think anyone would even take my hand. Probably couldn't get away from me fast enough.” There’s a pause. He doesn’t realize what he’s said until Adam is repeating it. “Breathers?”

He doesn’t get a chance to reply, because he feels a push on the cart, and turns to see Barbara, hands on the handle. “You’ve completely given up even trying, haven’t you?” she says, and he thinks she means about the books, and smiles. “No point. Adam’ll just do it for me.” “I mean with talking to people. With making friends.” His smile falls quickly into a scowl, and he runs a hand through his wild mess of green hair. “Lay off me, Babs. I’m bein’ friendly right now, aren’t I?”

“Sure, it’s plenty friendly, letting Adam do your work. But you don’t try, and then you get your feelings hurt when no one does it for you.” That’s not laying off, and it’s irritating him. “You can’t imagine anyone being nice to you, so you’re rude and push everyone away the first chance you get, in case what? In case you make a friend? Kevin probably needs you, right now,” she presses, physically too, making the cart he’s still lying across lurch forward. “I told you what happened to his dad, and you just said he wasn’t even your friend, when everyone knows you spent the last few months holding hands and making googoo eyes at him, and only talking to each other.”

“S’none of your business,” he tugs at his hair, pulling a tuft down to watch the color. Still green. He’s okay, but he keeps it there, in front of his eyes, focusing on it and not having to look at Barbara. “I’m making it my business. What are you so afraid of? What’s with the barrier? I saw you with your sister, you’re normal and nice, to her. So it’s other people you’re afraid of?” “M’not,” he growls out, standing up off the cart. “Afraid of anythin’.”

“You are,” she says, letting go of the cart and stomping to stand in front of him. She’s got him cornered, his back pressed to the bookshelf behind him. He keeps his eyes on that green tuft, biting his bottom lip. “You’re afraid of rejection, so you don’t talk, or you’re a jerk to people. You’re so afraid of other people, you make yourself sit alone every day, even when there’s an empty seat next to someone else.”

“No one wants me around!”

God, that hurts. He can see purple forming in the tip of his hair.

“You think I haven’t tried?” he rasps at her, letting his hair go, and finally looking directly at her. “You think I like sittin’ alone, bein’ the weird kid in every class, not havin’ anyone to talk to? It sucks!” he hears himself being shushed again, and he expends a burst of power in that direction, knocking books off the shelves to hit the person who can’t mind their own business. The sudden noise makes both Adam and Barbara jump. “You ever noticed that anytime I’ve tried, people can’t get th’ hell away from me fast enough? I’m tired of bein’ alone, but every time I try, somethin’ goes to shit, or I'm ignored! So maybe it is easier to just be a jerk an’ not worry about gettin’ hurt, than to keep tryin’ and ache all th’ time.”

It’s the most honest he’s ever been, out loud. Barbara clenches her fists, but doesn’t say anything. He sees Adam push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

Lunch isn’t even close to over, and he’s just made more work for himself by knocking those books off the shelf, but he doesn’t care. He grabs his backpack from the cart and pushes past the two of them, and he storms out, forcing the library door to slam, even though it’s a soft close door. It feels more final, that way.

He spends the rest of lunch invisible, to avoid any more trouble with adults, and slumps into his customary seat in the back of every class, for the rest of the day. No one talks to him. He doesn’t try to talk to anyone. It’s a system, it works. Stupid Barbara. What does she even know? Like she can somehow understand anything he’s going through. She’s pretty, and cool, and has a ton of friends, he thinks, absolutely bitter. She doesn’t get it.

He trudges to the drama room after school, and pushes open the door with his shoulder. The seats are in a circle, again, and he chooses a random one, pointedly, away from Adam and Barbara, between two other people. He sits there, silent, and after a moment, the two kids both move seats. How miserably predictable. Come on, he wills himself. No purple, no red. Just stay green. You can go home and freak the fuck out, but just stay green, he begs his hair.

He wipes his nose hard with his hoodie sleeve, and focuses on that, on the texture of the fabric and the way he rubs hard enough for it to hurt. Pain is as close to relief as he can get. Then the chairs next to him are scooted closer, and he blinks, and realizes that Adam and Barbara have settled on either side of him. He doesn’t.. Get it. He can’t understand, but then both of them reach a hand out, and take one of his, and give it a squeeze. It’s grounding. He takes a breath he doesn’t need, and then a couple more, shaky and painful, and he gives their hands a squeeze back, like he’s making sure they’re real. They are.

When the club starts, he tries, very sincerely, to focus on what’s being said, and not the bright hot feeling blooming like a flower in his chest. Read the rest here!!

#beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice au #beetlejuice fanfiction #adam maitland #barbara maitland #emily deetz #lydia deetz #beetlejuice broadway

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hockeylvr59 · 4 years

Text

A Christmas Bride || Cale Makar

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: I mentioned a Christmas wedding..so here’s a Christmas wedding. Shoutout to everyone who helped with details like nicknames, the dress, and everything else and to those ladies who let me use their names for bridesmaids. See ‘tagged/037′ for inspiration post and first dance song.

Warnings: I honestly don’t think there’s anything here I need to warn you about.

Word Count: 6,914 (~250 of which is a reading attributed to its author as mentioned)

~~~~~~

Sitting in the passenger seat of the SUV your fiance was driving, you took in the city lights of Calgary as they slowly disappeared into the rearview mirror. It was three days before Christmas and the Avs had just defeated the Flames on the road. Cale’s parents had left you behind to wait for their son, declaring that they would see you at home soon. When Cale appeared from behind the locker room doors, he was all smiles. With his arms wrapped around you, he’d kissed you softly and then asked if you wanted to go for a drive with him.

“Well, you’re kinda my ride so I guess so…” You’d teased, leaning against Cale’s side as he took your hand and guided you to where the second car his parents had driven was parked. You had no idea where you were going, but you trusted that Cale did and just relaxed, his hand in yours over the center console as he drove, Christmas carols playing on the radio.

You’d been on the road for about an hour when you saw Cale glancing over at you.

“Hey sweetheart, do you trust me?” He asked. You made a face because of course you did, but you were confused as to why he was asking.

“You know I do…” You simply replied. It was only then that Cale released your hand for a moment, opening one of the many small compartments in the vehicle to pull out something which he dropped onto your lap.

“Put this on for me?” He requested and when you picked up the item you realized it was a blindfold.

“Cale?” You murmured, even more confused now as to what was going on.

“Just trust me and put it on okay?” He insisted. “I promise it’ll all make sense soon and that nothing is going to happen to you.” And because you trusted Cale with everything, you complied, pulling the blindfold over your eyes before leaning against the door again. Moments later Cale reached for your hand and you sat in darkness with him rubbing patterns over your palm just softly singing to the carols playing. About eight songs later you felt the vehicle stop and Cale squeezed your hand in his.

“Go ahead and unbuckle and sit up.” He instructed. “But don’t touch the blindfold. I promise we’re almost there.” He added. You followed his directions as the sound of his car door slammed shut and then a blast of cold air hit you as your door opened. “Alright, sweetheart...come here.” Cale breathed, offering a hand out to help you from the car and onto your feet. Two more car doors slammed before his hand was taking yours again.

“Alright. Just come with me. I promise I won’t let you trip. Just a short walk and then I swear you can take the blindfold off.” You were beyond confused and anxious, but the feeling of his hand was soothing as he indeed started guiding your steps. It was a little more than a short walk, but that was only a minor point and after three doors, an elevator ride, and just a few minutes, you were finally stopping, Cale’s hand falling to your hip.

“Can I take this off now?” You pleaded softly and Cale’s chuckle filled your ears before his fingers drifted up to pull it off of your face.

“Yes, but just look at me.” He teased, his features appearing across your vision in the dim space.

“Where are we...what the hell is going on Cale?” You inquired next and Cale ran his fingers across the back of his neck before handing you a wrapped box.

“Open this...it will explain everything,” Cale promised, his hands cupping your cheeks to pull you in for a kiss that you melted into, your brain swimming. “But I gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Stealing one more kiss, Cale moved back through the door that was behind him, as you called his name trying to understand.

Left alone, you panicked and immediately reached for a light switch. When the lights turned on and you turned around you couldn’t help but gasp. In front of you, off to the left was a jacuzzi tub and a few more steps into the room revealed a king-size bed tucked behind a dividing wall to the right.

Running your fingers through your hair you made your way over to the bed and plopped down. Remembering the box in your other hand that Cale said would explain everything, you looked at it, quickly pulling off the envelope attached to the top. Inside was a letter and you felt yourself holding your breath as you started to read Cale’s familiar handwriting.

Y/N,

I’m pretty sure it was on our first date that I learned just how much you love Christmastime. And it wasn’t long after that before your friends and family were telling me about how you’ve always dreamed of a Christmas wedding. Watching you light up this time of year is one of my favorite things about you.

I know being with me isn’t always easy, I know what my career has caused you to give up, will cause you to give up in the future. Yet through it all, you’ve stayed right by my side. I can’t express to you how much that means to me.

When I proposed, I promised to make all of your dreams come true if you’d just let me make you my wife.

But since that day I’ve watched you struggle. I’ve seen the pressure of supporting me and taking care of our home weigh on you. I’ve seen the tears you cry when the media is critical of my play or when people who have no business in our personal life butt in on social media. And I’ve seen you struggle to pick a date, decide on a venue for our wedding. In order to make things easier on me, you’ve been trying to wrap your head around a summer wedding, even though we both know that’s not what you want.

So...without me rambling too much...I know you have questions. Likely, where am I and what the hell is going on?

Where are you? The Fairmont Banff Springs Hotel in Banff, Alberta.

What the hell is going on? Open the box now.

Tossing the wrapping paper to the floor, you opened the box, pulling out a cotton robe from the tissue paper. Turning it over, you held it up, the words ‘Mrs. Makar’ staring back at you in a forest green script. Under that, in a similar deep red script, was ‘12.23.20’, and suddenly swallowing was a lot harder. Picking the letter up again you continued reading, tears forming quickly and streaming down your cheeks.

I took note of tonight’s game against Calgary on the road from the moment the schedule was released. And it stayed in the back of my mind until that night at Gabe’s where Mel and Courtney grilled you about wedding planning and you came home and cried yourself to sleep.

Y/N...it absolutely killed me to know that planning our wedding, one of the happiest days of our lives, was making you so upset. If you’ll recall, the next morning I told you to take a break and that it would all work out.

That morning, I called my mom and your mom on the way to the rink and told them that I wanted to make this particular dream of yours come true. With both our families on board and a very limited date window I started making some calls and with a name drop or five, some luck, and a LOT of hard work, here we are.

I suppose I should briefly apologize for my slight manipulation of you with insisting you go dress shopping, come up with your half of the guest list, and taste cakes with me but I hope all of that will be quickly forgiven when you see the results of my efforts.

I love you Y/N and all I’ve ever wanted was to see you happy because from that first day on UMASS’s campus that’s all you’ve ever made me.

So relax. Everything is taken care of. You just sit back and enjoy.

Anxious and extremely excited,

Your soon-to-be husband

P.S. Text your mom when you pull yourself together so she can bring you your bag.

P.P.S. Shower tonight. Breakfast will be brought at 7:30 with your hair and makeup artists arriving around 8:15.

Cale was truly the absolute best guy on the planet and it all still felt completely surreal. Just yesterday you were stressing over how you were going to get through Christmas with everyone asking about wedding plans and now..now tomorrow you were actually getting married.

A quick text to your mom and she was there, wrapping her arms around you after setting your bag on the bed. You hadn’t expected to see her until Cale’s first road trip after the holidays when you had plans to fly home and have a belated Christmas with your family.

“This is really happening?” You found yourself questioning, still unable to shake the shock you were feeling.

“Yeah, baby girl.” Your mom assured you. “You found yourself a pretty incredible man who would literally give you the moon if you asked for it.” Once again you were blown away by the weight of Cale’s love and though your eyes still watered, your smile was quickly growing.

After your mom caught you up to date with a few more details, ones Cale’s letter hadn’t provided, she bid you goodnight and told you that she would be back for breakfast in the morning, urging you to try and get some sleep.

Keeping in mind Cale’s advice to shower tonight, you quickly but carefully ran through an extensive beauty routine in the shower. Since you were still too anxious to sleep, you only quickly dried your body before moving to the jacuzzi tub. Tucked into the warm water with jets soothing your muscles you texted Cale, unable to help yourself.

You’re insane and incredible and I love you so much. Also...I can’t wait for you to see the dress. xoxo Your Bride.

You weren’t expecting a response, so you set your phone aside and just tried to relax knowing that morning was already creeping up on you. Feeling your skin start to prune, you finally climbed out, dried off, and crawled into bed. Though your mind wouldn’t stop racing, you did eventually drift off.

___

The sound of your alarm going off pulled you from sleep and it took you a moment to remember where you were. Suddenly it hit you that you were getting married today and wave after wave of nerves crashed over you. It was an excited nervous but one that almost left you feeling dizzy all the same.

Pulling yourself out of bed, you threw on some sweats, just in time for a knock to sound at your door. Moving over to it, you saw that it was your mom and you let her in, hugging her again.

“Did you get any sleep?” She inquired a warm but nervous smile on her face as well.

“A little.” You replied. “My mind won’t stop racing though.” You admitted.

“You’re worried about all of the details…” Your mom mused. “I’m sure Cale’s note already told you this but relax and just enjoy your wedding day baby, Cale has everything under control and he didn’t forget anything. I have never seen a man so detail-oriented regarding his wedding before.” She laughed and it made you giggle as you fell even more in love with him.

Any further discussion of your nerves was interrupted by the door again and this time it was in fact breakfast. Within minutes of its arrival, your best friends and bridesmaids arrived and wrapped you up in so many hugs, their joy infectious. Catching up with them over breakfast made your heart flutter because it had been too long since you’d seen them.

“We need to find us men like Cale.” Your college roommate, Rachel, mused a wistful look in her eyes.

“Good luck with that. He’s kind of one of a kind.” You smiled. “But I mean I can introduce you to his teammates, I think you’d get along well with Andre.” You teased, sending her a wink.

Breakfast had included mimosas, which was working wonders to take the edge off of your anxiety, causing you to be your usual open and bubbly self. As you finished breakfast your bridesmaids disappeared to grab their own robes to change into as well as to grab their dresses. While they were gone you slipped into your robe as well, your mom already starting to tear up at that sight alone.

As your bridesmaids returned, dress bags in hand, the hairstylist and makeup artist arrived. They both got to work on your mom, and you turned to your bridesmaids a curious look on your face.

“So...I know I didn’t pick these dresses. Do I at least get to see them?” You asked. Each of your bridesmaids zipped open the dress bags revealing different style dresses in the same dark forest green color.

“Cale suggested the color to us and then told us to use our best judgment.” Your childhood best friend, Anne, explained. “We think he was right on point but what do you think?”

“I think I’m going to have some pretty hot bridesmaids to set up with my hubby’s teammates.” You joked. “I don’t know anything really about this wedding but I’m sure they’ll be perfect.” You added, taking a deep breath to calm the next wave of nerves.

For the next few hours, you bs’ed with your girls while each, in turn, got their hair and makeup done. At some point, a photographer and a videographer arrived popping in and out of the suite. Before long it was your turn to sit in the chair, and when a mirror was handed to you when they were done, you almost burst into tears at the woman staring back at you, hardly believing that it was yourself.

“Wow…” You whispered, letting out a shaky breath.

“Cale isn’t going to know what hit him.” Your best friend from your major, Moni, declared.

“Yeah...you look smoking hot Y/N.” Rachel agreed. It felt like everything was a blur as you finished eating a quick snack before watching your bridesmaids slip into their dresses. When your mother returned, Cale’s mom was with her, both dressed and ready to go.

“Oh, sweetheart....you look stunning.” Cale’s mom declared, pulling you into a hug. “He’s gonna lose it. He’s fully admitted he’s sure he’s going to cry.” She laughed.

“Should we get you dressed?” Your mom inquired and with the photographer and videographer on standby, they helped you into your dress, settling the straps onto your shoulders before zipping you in. It fit like a glove and your friends all gasped, having not seen it before.

“Y/N…” They murmured, each having tears form in their eyes.

“You aren’t allowed to cry or I’ll cry.” You chastised, feeling yourself get emotional. This was the day you’d been waiting your entire life for and so many different emotions were swirling through you. Taking a sip of water, you tried to calm your racing heart as you carefully sat on the edge of one of the chairs in the room. Fanning yourself, you saw Laura grab two small boxes, handing them to you with a smile before she took the seat across from you.

“Cale sent the top one, says it’s your something new and blue. The other is from me and it’s your something borrowed.” Laura explained. Your mom quickly came over with the necklace Cale had given you last Christmas, an eight-sided snowflake so that you would always have a piece of him, or at least his jersey number, with you.

“Cale suggested this as your something old.” She declared, fastening it around your neck. Opening the box Cale had sent, you couldn’t help but laugh. Inside was a blue and maroon colorado avalanche garter.

“Oh boy.” You breathed. “Yeah, I guess that works.” Your expression caused everyone else in the room to laugh as you shook your head, working the garter onto your leg. “If this is the only inclusion of the avs besides as guests, I suppose I should be happy.” You teased, dropping your dress back down to hide the garter. Finally, you took the box that Laura had brought and opened it to reveal a diamond tennis bracelet, worn with age.

“That was my mother’s, she gave it to me when Cale was born, and I plan to give it to you someday.” She expressed. “But I think you should borrow it for today because it just feels right.” Leaning over, you wrapped her in a hug as you thanked her.

“I hope you know how grateful I am for the man you birthed and raised.” You murmured, trying not to cry. “He is...he is everything I ever could have asked for and I know so much of that is because of you.”

“Oh honey, you’ve taken the man I raised and made him an even better man. I am so grateful to be able to call you my daughter.” This moment with your mother-in-law was so special and you had to take another sip of water to pull yourself back together. “Now I’m gonna go check on my son because I think it’s time for your dad to come see you. We’ll see you downstairs.” Her words were full of excitement as you hugged her and she squeezed your hands before leaving the room, taking a load full of things belonging to your bridesmaids with her.

Your grandmother made her way up to the room just before your dad and when she arrived she immediately started crying at how beautiful you look. By the time your dad knocked on the door, you were just trying to keep distracted so you wouldn’t start crying, telling stories about dates with Cale and how you knew he was the one almost right away. You hadn’t expected your dad to cry, but he did get a little emotional as he wrapped you in his arms. With all of these moments captured in photos and videos you knew you would certainly fully cry over them in the future.

As the clock ticked closer to the ceremony time, you felt more nerves roll over you in waves, slowly becoming overwhelming. Looking at your mom and dad you let out a shaky sob.

“I...I know Cale doesn’t want to see me before...but I...I need to at least hold his hand for a moment...please?” You requested, now noticing that your hands were shaking. You weren’t getting cold feet, that certainly wasn’t what you were feeling, it was all just so much emotion in such a short amount of time.

Nodding, your mom reached for her phone and stepped into the hall. After a minute she returned and motioned for you to follow her, your bare feet padding down the hall until you reached an alcove.

“Cale is on his way up.” She assured you, kissing your head before stepping away to give you some privacy. Nodding, you just focused your breathing until footsteps approached from the hall to your right.

“Hey, sunshine, what’s up...you’re not getting cold feet on me are you?” The sound of Cale’s voice was music to your ears and you reached a hand out around the corner.

“No...no cold feet.” You promised. “I just…” You started but paused feeling Cale’s hand lace in yours. “I...I needed this.”

“Mom says I’m going to lose it when I see you.” Cale breathed. “I’m so excited to finally marry you.” His words in combination with the feeling of his hand around yours, soon had you feeling like yourself again, some of the overwhelming emotions lessening.

“So I told Rachel I’d set her up with Burky.” You chatted, loving the sound of Cale’s laugh in reaction to your words.

“I’m sure he’ll have no complaints about that,” Cale replied. “You okay now?” He whispered. “Or do you need a hug because I can just close my eyes.” He offered.

“I will never turn down a hug from you.” You said smiling. “But I am better now…” You added.

“Come here then. Quick hug and then scurry along because we’ve got a wedding to get to.” His voice was happy and light as he pulled you around the corner and into his arms, his eyes closed. The hug was quick but settled all of your remaining nerves and when you pulled away you stretched to press a kiss to his rosy cheeks. As you scurried down the hall you noticed the red splotch on his face and called back.

“Take a rag to your cheek. I love you!”

Letting yourself back into your room, you noticed that it was basically cleaned out of everything from getting ready.

“Better?” Your mom asked though it was clearly visible on your face that you were.

Nodding you moved to slip your heels on, ready to get the show on the road. Now that you had pushed back all of the excess emotions, you were bouncing in excitement and you couldn’t be told fast enough that it was time to head downstairs. When you got there, you were handed a bouquet of red roses and greenery. From the hallway outside the venue, you could hear music playing and you hugged your mom one more time, wiping at her tears before handing her off to Gabe who was escorting her to her seat.

“He’s gonna lose his mind when he sees you Y/N.” Gabe winked. “You look incredibly beautiful.”

Cale’s mom was being escorted by Matt Calvert and once both mothers had been taken to their seats, it was time for your bridesmaids to make their way down the aisle. Left alone with just your dad you let out a deep breath.

“Are you ready for this?” He questioned and you immediately nodded your head.

“I’ve been ready since the moment I met him.” Wrapping your arm around your dad’s, you took one more steadying breath as the music changed. Then the doors opened again and for a split second your mind took in how beautiful the venue was before you turned and were facing a crowd of smiling faces, Cale all the way at the end. Pacing yourself, you walked toward him, his face the only thing you could really focus on. He was crying, just like he’d said he would, and you blinked back tears of your own. When your dad handed you off, you squeezed Cale’s hand, giggling softly when he murmured to the officiant that he needed a moment.

Once Cale had pulled himself together, you proceeded, his hand now holding yours more firmly as he stared at you with nothing but affection and love.

“Today we are gathered here to witness and bless the marriage of Y/N and Cale.” You were half-listening and couldn’t help but focus on Cale as he mouthed a ‘wow’ in your direction.

“Who has the honor to present Y/N to be married?” Your father answered that he and your mother do and hearing his voice you glanced over at him with a reassuring smile. Moni reached over to take your bouquet from you and with two hands free, you held both of Cale’s, smiling up at him.

“Now close friends and family tell me that this day was only a matter of time from the moment Y/N and Cale bumped into each other on the campus of the University of Massachusetts Amherst. I’m told that right away both secretly expressed that it was the best first date they’d ever been on and that they could see this relationship being one that lasts.” You could remember your first date like it was yesterday and you remembered even then having never felt like you just clicked with someone the way you did with Cale.

“Speaking with Cale I can see the amount of love and affection he holds for Y/N. I’m sure most of you are in the loop but Cale is the one that planned this entire thing in order to give Y/N the wedding she always dreamed of but was willing to give up to marry him. His teammates tell me the effort included a lot of time on the phone while on the road and even some missed team dinners.” Some chuckles went up in the crowd from the direction of Cale’s teammates and you smiled because you loved that rowdy bunch so much.

“And though I haven’t gotten the privilege to speak with Y/N...I can see now in the way she looks at him that all of that love and affection is returned. And while I’m sure that there’s more that could be said about the two people standing in front of me I’m pretty sure they’d both like me to just get on with things.” The whole space filled with laughter and you nodded your head like ‘yeah kinda’ as you continued to smile over at Cale.

“After speaking with Cale, I searched for a reading that seemed fitting of the relationship with Y/N that he described. In the end, I decided on “Blessing for a Marriage” by James Dillet Freeman.” Your officiant paused before launching into the reading.

“May your marriage bring you all the exquisite excitements a marriage should bring, and may life grant you also patience, tolerance, and understanding.

May you always need one another — not so much to fill your emptiness as to help you to know your fullness. A mountain needs a valley to be complete. The valley does not make the mountain less, but more.

And the valley is more a valley because it has a mountain towering over it. So let it be with you and you. May you need one another, but not out of weakness. May you want one another, but not out of lack.

May you entice one another, but not compel one another. May you embrace one another, but not out encircle one another. May you succeed in all-important ways with one another, and not fail in the little graces.

May you look for things to praise, often say, “I love you!” and take no notice of small faults. If you have quarrels that push you apart, may both of you hope to have good sense enough to take the first step back.

May you enter into the mystery that is the awareness of one another’s presence — no more physical than spiritual, warm and near when you are side by side, and warm and near when you are in separate rooms or even distant cities.

May you have happiness, and may you find it making one another happy. May you have love, and may you find it loving one another.”

By the end, the feeling of Cale’s fingers brushing patterns on your palm was all you could focus on. Lost in thought, you just watched him until he started speaking.

“I love you, Y/N(Full). You are my best friend.” Hearing the sound of his voice, you realized that he was repeating after your officiant one sentence at a time. “Today I give myself to you in marriage. I promise to encourage and inspire you, to laugh with you, and to comfort you in times of sorrow and struggle. I promise to love you in good times and in bad, when life seems easy and when it seems hard, when our love is simple, and when it is an effort. I promise to cherish you and to always hold you in the highest regard. These things I give to you today, and all the days of our life.” As he finished, he squeezed your hand and you let out a deep breath.

Repeating the same vows to Cale you laughed at using his full name ‘Cale Douglas Makar’ and then swallowed down the lump in your throat as you attempted not to cry as you continued. Once you’d shared your vows, your officiant asked for the rings and you watched as Cale’s brother handed them over.

This time, they started with you and you took Cale’s left hand into yours sliding on his wedding band.

“With this ring, I thee wed.” You stated confidently. Cale struggled just a bit to slide your ring on and you giggled as he spoke those six life-changing words as well.

“Well...we’ve made it through the vows, you’ve exchanged rings, so I suppose there’s just one thing left to do.” You officiant declared, causing Cale’s teammates and friends to start hooting and hollering. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Go ahead and kiss your bride.” Your officiant spoke over the cheers and as soon as he finished, Cale’s arms slipped around your waist and he leaned down to kiss you breathless.

“It is my honor to present to you, Mr. & Mrs. Cale Makar.” Taking your flowers back you walked back down the aisle with Cale, leaning against his chest as he kissed you once you were back in the hall.

“So this is what I could have seen earlier if I agreed to a first look huh?” He inquired, spinning you around so that he could take in all angles of the dress.

“Mmhmm.” You agreed, your arm wrapped around his as you smiled up at him contentedly. “But I’m kind of glad you didn’t.” You admitted.

“Me too.” He clarified. “But you’re so gorgeous.” He murmured, stealing one more kiss.

While your guests hit the cocktail hour, you, Cale, your immediate families and the wedding party headed to have photos taken. Your jaw ached from smiling, but every time Cale looked at you, you couldn’t help but feel your smile grow. You were his wife. You were going to get to spend the rest of your life with him.

Thankfully, as your stomach started to growl, the photographer announced that you were done with photos. You had to make a quick detour with Cale to sign the marriage certificate but after that, you returned to the same ballroom following your bridesmaids and groomsmen inside as once again all of your friends and family went nuts. You settled into your personal table with Cale and immediately reached for the glass of water, taking a long sip. As you waited for food to be brought out, you leaned into your husband’s side, your hand resting on his knee.

“So how did I do?” He whispered in your ear and for the first time you took a true look around the venue. There was a Christmas tree on either end of the room in front of the large windows and every balcony was strung with lit greenery. The tables were draped with white, red, or green cloth and the centerpieces were either red roses or poinsettias. It was absolutely beautiful and screamed Christmas.

“I’d say this is probably the equivalent of scoring a hattrick.” You replied, pressing a kiss to his jaw. Cale kissed your head in return and the two of you sat watching as your friends and family mingled as food started to come out of the kitchens. Sipping at your wine, you devoured the delicious food quickly, more hungry than you had realized. When your plate was empty you watched as Cale picked his up and used his fork to transfer his mashed potatoes to your plate.

“I had a heavy breakfast and lunch.” He insisted between bites. “Go ahead I know you’re still hungry.” Nodding, you quickly finished off the additional food your husband had provided you before snuggling back into his side to digest. Now that they had noticed you were finished eating, Cale’s teammates, particularly Gabe and EJ, got obnoxious with the glass taps trying to get you to kiss. You complied the first half dozen times but then just rolled your eyes and glared, enjoying just being tucked into your husband’s side.

After Cale’s brother gave a speech, your three bridesmaids tag-teamed one, and soon it was time for the first dance. Cale took your hand and led you onto the dance floor as Sam Smith’s version of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas began to play.

“Now you’re just outdoing yourself.” You whispered pecking Cale’s lips as he swayed you back and forth. This...this was everything you had ever dreamed of right here. “And I don’t think I’ve mentioned it but you look very very sexy today.” Almost immediately, Cale’s cheeks took on a deep flush and you giggled running your hands down his chest. “I love how easily I affect you.” You grinned, squealing softly as he dipped you as the song came to a close.

“You’re a brat.” He mumbled, kissing you again gently before handing you off to your father for the father-daughter dance. Wrapped in your daddy’s arms he asked about you being happy and you couldn’t help it when your smile grew even wider.

“I’m so so happy.” You assured him. “You know Cale has always been good to me, good for me.” He nodded, agreeing that he knew that but wanting to make sure you knew that you were always his little girl. As you turned slightly, you saw Gabe dancing with Linnea by their table and immediately your brain dashed to the idea of Cale dancing with your daughter someday. You were both young and not ready for kids just yet but sometime in the semi-distant future, you were certain he’d be an amazing dad. Kissing your dad’s cheek as the song ended, you watched Cale drag his mom onto the floor for their dance. While he danced, you stopped to hug your mom before making your way over to Gabe, Mel, and Linnea.

Immediately Linnea reached for you and though Mel tried to discourage her, you eagerly reached for the toddler.

“She’s fine Mel.” You insisted. “Thanks for sticking around in town to be here today.” You were sure this was only the first of many times that that phrase would leave your mouth in the next few hours.

“Like we would have missed it. Cale has been talking about it non-stop for months. We all wanted to see what he was able to pull off.” Gabe smirked.

“Eh, just his bride’s dream wedding..no big deal.” You declared grinning.

“Plus now we can all chirp him for months for crying when he saw you,” Gabe added and immediately Mel smacked his head as the two of you in unison responded.

“No, you will not, Gabriel Landeskog.” Gabe threw his hands up in defense and chuckled softly. The DJ announced that this next dance would start with just the wedding party, then family could join in and by the end everyone else and you bounced Linnea on your hip, looking to where Cale was already working to get Z’s daughter to dance with him.

“I’m stealing your daughter, you can have her back at the end of this song.” You announced, cooing at Linnea who was enamored with you. Making your way onto the dance floor, you rocked Linnea around, making her laugh. Cale was doing the same with Sophie and when the two of you met up in the middle of the floor you smiled at each other, your shared look communicating the same thing. Someday.

The next few hours were a blur of mingling and dancing, though you certainly did more of the latter while Cale did the former. There were moments that stood out in your head though. First, you remembered how hard you laughed when you introduced Rachel to Andre and saw the expression on his face. You’d threatened him not to break her heart and while you weren’t certain it would be a long term thing, it certainly seemed like they would both at least have a good night tonight.

Second, you remembered cutting the cake and the rush of heat that ran through you as you licked the icing off of Cale’s fingers as he fed you. You’d both been nice, neither smashing it into the other’s face like Cale’s teammates had been egging you to do all night. Then he’d held you as you shared a full piece making your way from table to table to talk to people that you hadn’t yet. You weren’t so worried about your immediate families, your grandma mentioning that Cale’s family had invited everyone to stay through Christmas to do one big family thing. But teammates, friends, you wanted to make sure you stopped and told each of them how much you appreciated them being here given that it was so close to the holiday.

Finally, you remembered being pulled onto the dance floor by Matt Calvert. Not only had he and Courtney opened up their home to Cale, but they had also opened it to you, allowing you to spend time with him during a period where everything was changing so quickly that your relationship very easily could have cracked. In addition to that, Courtney had been a lifeline in helping you navigate your way through the life of a better half.

“You know...when Cale first mentioned you, I had my reservations,” Matt admitted. “But then I met you and I immediately knew it wouldn’t be long before we were standing here. The two of you complement each other so well. I truly don’t think he could have found a better match.” Hugging him, you expressed silently how much those words meant to you. As you continued to dance, you watched Cale with Courtney, his cheeks flushed from alcohol and the day as a whole. To their right, Moni was dancing with Matt Nieto and you giggled to yourself as your eyes went wide. Over by the tables, Josty, who had caught the garter, was chatting up Anne, who had caught your bouquet, making her laugh probably by saying something completely ridiculous because he’d had quite a few drinks today. And though deep down you already knew it, today had proven one thing. You belonged in Cale’s world just as much as he belonged in yours. The two of you just blended seamlessly and it was probably one of the most important reasons as to why it just worked.

Like your feet had tired hours ago, eventually, the rest of you started to tire as well and you tucked yourself into Cale’s side, leaning against him.

“Should we make our rounds and say goodnight?” Cale whispered softly in your ear and when you nodded, he started to guide you around the room. Soon, you had said goodnight to pretty much everyone who was left and then Cale grabbed your shoes, walking you up to your suite.

Popping the door open, Cale lifted you bridal style and carried you over the doorstep, setting you down gently on the bed.

“Today was perfect, but I’m exhausted.” You breathed, already feeling like you just wanted to melt into the mattress. As much as you wanted to consummate your marriage you just weren’t sure you had the energy. Cale paced around the room for a few minutes and when you finally pulled yourself to sit up, you saw that he had changed into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and was walking toward you with a makeup wipe in his hand.

“Let’s just get you ready for bed.” He proclaimed, gently wiping as much of the makeup off of you as he could so that washing your face would be easier. “We have all the time in the world.” He continued. “So let’s just get some sleep and then maybe we can take advantage of that jacuzzi in the morning since checkout isn’t until noon.”

“I like the sound of that.” You murmured, sitting still as Cale worked to take down your hair so that you could actually sleep on it. When all of that was done he pulled you to your feet, helped you out of your dress, and then into one of his t-shirts. Pulling him close you kissed him, your lips melding together lazily. “I love you. Thanks for everything today.” Your words were muffled against his lips but Cale groaned softly at them all the same.

“You deserve all of it. I can’t believe you’re my wife.” There was a glint in his eyes that you loved so much and you wrapped your arms around his waist.

“Believe it buddy...because I fully expect you to make love to me after we get some sleep.”

“Tomorrow...for the rest of our lives...whatever you want is all yours.” He agreed.

“How about we start with some cuddles and go from there?” Tucked into Cale’s arms, you felt your body settle and start drifting off to sleep.

Though you’d received a lot of Christmas presents in life, you were 100% sure that being married to Cale was forever going to be the best Christmas gift you could have ever received.

#cale makar #cale makar imagine #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche imagine #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #cavalanche #037

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nanoland · 3 years

Text

Title: Besyd the scarcety of bread amowngst us

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Crowley/Dean Winchester

Summary: In which Dean asks a question.

Warnings: Crowley being Extremely traumatized and kind of oblivious to that fact + SPN demons being SPN demons (i.e. remorseless bodysnatchers) + Dean being his casually misogynistic self + graphic descriptions of starvation + exhibitionism (sorta?) + sexually explicit content because this was MEANT to be straightforward smut and then Crowley happened, the prick.

Also on AO3!

“So how come you aren’t a hot chick?”

The glass stills an inch from Crowley’s pale lips. “I humbly beg your pardon?”

It’s late. The bar’s quiet. He doesn’t need Dean to repeat himself. Just a moment to decide on a response.

Well on the way to utterly shit-faced, Dean gestures vaguely, meaninglessly. “You offer people stuff. Then, ten years later, you drag ‘em to Hell. And – and they know that’s what’s gonna happen if they make a deal with you. Which means that you gotta be real fuckin’ persuasive. Which you are. Grade A Bullshit Artist and don’t I know it. But... uh, what was I gonna… yeah, wouldn’t it be easier, right, just way easier if you were a hot chick?”

Crowley can tell he’s not done, so he keeps his silver tongue behind his faintly yellowed teeth for the moment.

While Dean is usually delightful company, in his surly, macho way, this evening there’s an uncommonly obnoxious edge to everything he says. That almost certainly means his insecurities over what he’s been letting Crowley do to his arse lately are acting up.

Understandable. Still annoying.

So Crowley’s more than willing to let his favourite human dig himself a wee bit deeper before pouring boiling tar into the pit.

After quickly throwing back the last of his drink, Dean goes on: “Now, I didn’t go to some dickslurp business school. I ain’t that brand of asshole. But I’ve seen enough beer ads in my time to have an idea of how marketing works. You got something you want people to buy? Fastest way is to get a hot chick in a bikini to hold it up. Because guys have most of the money in this shitty world of ours and guys think with their dicks. I know I do. So why did you decide to possess someone who looks like a balding, middle-aged banker going through a stressful divorce? That ain’t enticing. That ain’t capturing anyone’s interest. Y’know?”

“Mm,” says Crowley, and stands up.

“Fuck’re you doing?” Dean slurs, watching him take off his tie.

“Ever heard of the Seven Ill Years, Squirrel?”

“Nope. Seriously, what’re you doing?”

Draping his overcoat over the back of his chair along with his tie, Crowley sets about taking off his jacket. “‘The Seven Ill Years’ refers to a particularly shitty time in early modern Scotland; the 1690s.”

He tugs off his costly leather shoes and places them side-by-side under his chair. “I was in my… early thirties at the time, I think. Thirty-two? Maybe thirty-one. Whatever.”

Dean is gaping now. He’s never seen Crowley without his outer layers, much less the growing slice of exposed chest as Crowley unbuttons his shirt.

“For a lot of complicated reasons relating to oceanic thermohaline circulation, solar activity, and a few ill-timed volcanos, the weather turned rotten. These days, it’s called the Little Ice Age. Us pigshit stupid peasants who lived through it didn’t know anything about all that. All we knew was that it was freezing bloody cold and the crops kept dying.”

“Dude,” Dean hisses, red-faced as Crowley sets his shirt alongside his jacket and overcoat. “Stop it! We’re going to be thrown out!”

“No. Look around. Is anyone paying attention to us? Precisely. We’re invisible to them at the moment, Squirrel. One of my little tricks.”

“Oh. Okay, that’s good. But that’s still not an excuse to take your fucking pants off in public oh my God oh my God!”

They’re expensive pants and Crowley takes care to fold them before putting them down. “To cut a long story short; famine struck. And famine, it’s…”

Crowley pauses, thinking, ignoring Dean’s pathetic attempts not to gawk at his dick.

“It’s hard to describe famine to someone who hasn’t lived through one,” he says eventually. “Language – English, at least – isn’t equipped to convey what it feels like to be so hungry you’ll try to boil and eat someone else’s shoes. Then someone else’s children. Then your own children. There are no words for it. Or, if in some distant corner of our monstrous universe there are, then they’re words that would drive a human raving mad to speak them.”

Naked now but for his black socks, Crowley scratches his stubble. “Sometimes I think that’s why I got on so well in Hell.”

He sits back in his chair. Folds his legs. Taps his fingers on the side of his empty glass. “Don’t get me wrong; having someone cut open your lungs, fill them with scorpions, and sew them up again isn’t fun. But – how can I put this? – you can process it. You can grapple with it. You know why you’re suffering; because you’re in Hell, and that’s what Hell is for. It makes sense. What doesn’t make sense is going about your everyday life and watching all the people around you – the baker, the priest, the prettiest girl in the village – go about theirs while they turn into walking skeletons. And knowing they didn’t do anything to deserve it. Couldn’t have done anything to deserve it, because no crime, no matter how vile, warrants that kind of punishment.”

Dean says nothing.

After a moment, Crowley pulls himself from the dark, sucking well of memory to add, “Anyway, to answer your question; I don’t want to be a hot chick because a. I’m a man and b. hot chicks are skinny, and I will cheerfully burn this world to the ground before I endure living in a hungry body ever again.”

He glances down at his unclothed meat suit and smiles proudly, running a hand up one of its thick thighs. “Also – y’know – I personally think this long-deceased lad of mine is sexy as Hell.”

Gazing at his shoulder, Dean says roughly, “Didn’t know you had tattoos.”

“Oh. Those. Yeah. Can’t stand them. Worst decision the stupid bastard ever made.”

“I think they’re kinda cool.”

“Do you? Well, you do have incredibly bad taste so perhaps that’s not surprising. Now, are you going to get over here and put that erection to good use?”

Oh, bless him; he’s adorable when he squirms.

“Here?” Dean asks, eyes wide.

“Here.”

He says it like a challenge, for Dean can never resist one of those. Immediately, those wide eyes become narrow and determined.

The boy stands. Looms over Crowley, who casually flicks both their glasses to the floor and moves to sit on the cool wooden table. It’s clean, more or less, thanks to Dean (for once) agreeing to follow Crowley to a semi-respectable establishment.

“These hands,” Crowley murmurs, running them across Dean’s broad chest, “don’t have a single callous or scar. See? Soft as butter. Not a single day’s honest work, either of them.”

Dean swallows. Leans in to kiss him, hesitant and gentle.

Contrary to popular belief, Crowley likes gentle. Or, more accurately, Crowley likes being pampered.

He goes on: “And these legs…”

A groan escapes Dean’s lips as one presses up against his crotch.

“…these legs haven’t walked more than ten miles, collectively, since I moved in. No muscles. No blisters on the undersides of their feet. Not so much as a splinter.”

“Jesus,” Dean mumbles, drawing him in and latching onto his neck.

“And this stomach is never empty. Never even close. Never once forced to digest anything that isn’t purely, perfectly delicious. I treat my meat suits better than most people treat their family heirlooms.”

“Crowley. Fuck.”

He squeezes Dean’s arse and growls, “Because this is my reward, Dean. I won this. This softness, this safety. This nurtured, nourished flesh. I endured the seventeenth century and all humanity’s horrors. Endured my mother. Endured Hell. Built myself a reputation and a kingdom. All for this. And isn’t it wonderful? Say that it is, Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean moans, even though he can’t understand a word; Crowley slipped into Gaelic a while ago.

(The things Crowley wants to tell Dean and the things Crowley wants Dean to know are categories that rarely overlap.)

Crowley takes Dean’s leaking cock in hand.

“Say I’m beautiful.”

Dean’s knees buckle as he whimpers, so Crowley wraps an arm around his narrow, underfed waist.

“Say you love me.”

Dean comes in his palm, gasping and cursing.

“Say you love me more than anyone else.”

“I’m guessing that was all Scottish dirty talk?” says Dean when he has his breath back. “You were – what? Calling me your bitch?”

Crowley smirks, licks the sweat off Dean’s jaw, and gives his backside a pat before reaching for his clothes. “None of your business. Go get me another drink, would you? Ta.”

the end

NOTES: The title is taken from a quote found in Karen Cullen’s ‘Famine in Scotland: the ‘Ill Years’ of the 1690s’ (you can find extracts via googlebooks). Yes, canonically Crowley WOULD have been about thirty when this happened. Just in case his origin story wasn’t horrific enough wheee :D

#drowley #dean winchester #crowley #supernatural #spn crowley #my fic

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hisan-miren · 3 years

Text

Redacted File

The First Date Pt 3

The two ate their meal in relative silence- although Mina did see fit to steal one of his sweet potatoes and quickly snatched it up before he could do anything. He stared at her for a few seconds, completely flabbergasted (which was a hilarious look on him) before he snatched up her umeboshi (since she’d eaten all of her tempura.) It quickly devolved into the two trying to steal even more of each other’s food and general tomfoolery and laughter after that. They made sure to pick up anything they dropped or spilled in the chaos, knowing full well that Raios’ mother would thoroughly chew them out if they didn’t. When the food (and cleanup) was finished, Raios loaded their tableware back on the tray to be taken away later, and the two moved to sit out on the walkway facing the garden.

“So, what comes after this?” Raios asked, half-grumbling.

“Well, I think it generally goes that you propose, I accept, and then we get married and live happily ever after,” Mina replied.

“I didn’t mean our relationship, you idiot!” Raios snapped, his face turning bright red. “I meant this date! I’m not exactly a fountain of knowledge when it comes to this!”

“Well-…” Mina flopped over on her side, laying across Raios’ lap and causing him to panic very briefly, “we could always go to your roo-”

“Rejected,” Raios spat, a cold and angry demeanor taking back over. “What is with you and my room anyways? If you try to recommend it one more time, I’m seriously going to smack you.”

“Got it. Won’t do it again,” she replied, a bit shocked by how genuinely angry he seemed to be at the mere idea of it. Shocked, but not perturbed. She’d try again next time.

“Pick something else.” He still seemed pretty pissed, but his tone had lost a bit of its edge.

“… Isn’t this fine?”

“Huh?”

“Being like this,” she replied, motioning to their position. “Or did you want to the one using my lap?” she teased.

“Hu- wh- No! That’s not what I meant at all!” Raios spluttered, cheeks turning dark again. “And this isn’t what I meant! Aren’t people supposed to do things?!”

“This is doing something though,” Mina replied calmly. “And I am plenty satisfied to just stay like this and chat for a few hours.”

“My legs will fall asleep,” Raios complained.

“Then we can switch! In an hour you can use my lap.”

“Somehow I get the sense that this isn’t exactly what usually happens on a first date.”

“Well yeah,” Mina replied. “Usually, the boyfriend isn’t grounded. We made the most of what we could, and it was fine. I mean, we’re not breaking any records, but I don’t want to set our relationship to the pace of others’.” Mina made herself comfortable again on his lap and stared up at him, starting yet another staring contest. She was content to keep going too until Raios eventually sighed and leaned over. She was so confused about what was going on that she didn’t realize what had happened until the sensation left her lips. She just stared up at him wide-eyed and quietly covered her mouth. There was a silence and then she raised a finger. “One more time.”

“Huh?”

“Do it again. I wasn’t ready.”

“No,” he replied, seeming pretty adamant this time.

“Oh come on!” She covered her face as she felt her cheeks start to actually physically burn. She kicked her feet against the wood floor and started to roll around in Raios’ lap, trying to remember not to let herself fall. “Just one more! Come on, please?!”

“I know you, it definitely won’t be ‘just one more’,” Raios replied flatly.

“You’re so mean!” Mina whined.

“Yup, I’m mean, horrible, awful- feel free to call me all the names you want, you’re not getting another one.” Mina gave one last futile, dying groan of disappointment and laid flat on Raios’ lap again.

“I didn’t think you’d do it.”

“You underestimated me.”

“Clearly.” Raios watched, slightly amused, as her face began to turn red again and she quickly tried to re-cover her face. “Ughhhhh… Let’s just end it here for today. I don’t think I can function after that.”

“You sure?”

“Not at all, but I think I’m going to be completely useless the rest of the day. Also my self-control just went in the garbage.”

“Huh?! Your self-control?!” Raios asked.

“I’m gonna die. I’m legitimately going to die.”

“You’re not gonna die from a kiss,” Raios ground out.

“I am so gonna die.”

“I didn’t realize you were such a drama queen.”

“And I didn’t realize you were such a tease!”

“Well there’s a lot more where that came from,” he replied, grinning smugly. She looked up at him only to cover her face again.

“Okay, now I’m gonna die.”

“I’m not playing this game.”

“GREAT! Because I’m already losing!” Raios just sighed and leaned back while his girlfriend silently freaked out in his lap. “Ugh… It should be illegal to be that hot…” Mina grumbled to herself.

“I’d be a lot more legal if you took off your rose-tinted glasses.”

“No thanks, I’m happy where they are.”

“You are just-…” Raios gave a sigh that was somewhere between ‘annoyed’ and ‘exasperated’.

“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘incorrigible’,” Mina replied cheekily.

“That’s definitely the word I was looking for.”

“Ready to switch yet?”

“We’re not switching,” Raios replied flatly. “You’ll just use it to kiss me.”

“You saw through it…” Mina grumbled, clicking her tongue and crossing her arms in irritation. “Then at least give me your hand. That’s the least you can do.” She huffed and pouted until Raios eventually felt he had no other recourse but to give into her demands. He sighed and picked one of his hands off the wooden floor and offered it to her. Mina’s demeanor immediately turned from sullen and dour to gleeful and bright. Her two smaller hands immediately latched on, and her cheek quickly found its way into her palm.

“What in reverse world is so fun about this?” Raios grumbled. Mina’s thought process was completely beyond him most of the time, but he found this sort of behavior especially weird. It wasn’t like this was the first time. She’d done stuff like this to flirt with him even before they started going out, but he didn’t really understand this need for closeness she seemed to have. He understood wanting to hold hands and be close, but hers seemed to border on outright cuddling. He didn’t mind, but he didn’t quite get it either. They sat in silence like that for a while; she spent time feeling out the callouses on his fingers and tracing the wrinkled creases of his palm like she was trying to memorize every inch of it. A while passed like that without speaking, and eventually Mina sat up and chose to latch herself to Raios’ arm instead. “I’ve been meaning to ask for a bit, but you’re the type that likes cuddling, aren’t you?”

“If I say ‘yes’, can we cuddle?” she asked hopefully.

“Absolutely not,” Raios replied flatly. “What if one of my family walked by? We’re in the garden. At least pretend to have a bit of shame.”

“But if we weren’t somewhere with other people around?” she asked, eyes glinting with mischief.

“…I’d think about it…” he replied quietly.

“Alright!” Mina cheered, pumping her fist.

“I didn’t say ‘yes’!” Raios snapped, a bit flustered.

“It’s just as good,” Mina replied.

They sat there and chatted for a while longer, continuing their game of pushing and pulling every now and then until the sun was halfway to the horizon. Raios looked up and judged that it was probably around 5:00pm. Mina probably had to get home soon.

“Come on, get up,” Raios said, shrugging the arm that she was still very much latched onto.

“Don’t wanna,” Mina pouted.

“Get up,” Raios ground out. “I gotta take you home.”

“I thought you were grounded,” Mina replied skeptically.

“You honestly think the old hag would allow me to not walk you home?”

“… Fair point.” Mina reluctantly released him and stood up to stretch. “We can work out the details of our next date on the way. I wonder where we should go~”

“Ever the opportunist,” Raios sighed, slowly getting up and working the pins and needles out. The couple made their way over to the entryway, making sure to stop by the kitchen where Raios’ mother would be. He popped his head in and got his mother’s attention. She put down the dish she was using to taste the soup, a little surprised that her son had come to find her.

“What seems to be the problem?”

“I’m taking Mina home,” Raios said.

“You know you can’t leave the house, correct?”

“You would really have me not accompany her to ensure she gets home safely?” Raios growled. Mina was a force of nature. No one messed with her if they were trying to have a good and decent day. But it was the principle of the matter. Mrs. Minori’s placid face slowly morphed into a sly smile, and she turned back to the soup in front of her.

“If you’re not back in 30 minutes, I’m sending your sister after you.”

“I’ll come right back,” he replied quickly. That was the last thing he wanted. His sister would interrogate him the entire way back and drive him insane. Dinner was already going to be bad enough, he didn’t need it to happen without the distraction of food (and he was sure their parents would conveniently ignore her jabs in an attempt to satiate their own curiosity.)

“D’you get permission?” Mina asked.

“Yup, but I gotta be kinda quick otherwise aneki will be sent for me. Being alone with her would be the most obnoxious thing in the world.”

“I’m not envious.”

“Must be nice being an only child.” Mina just shrugged and started slipping her geta on. Raios quickly followed, suit and the two left to go to her place.

“So, where should we go next time?” Mina asked.

“A date on the mainland is a bit hard since it’d take most of the day to get there,” Raios mused, “but we might be able to get on a ferry to one of the nearby islands that has more to do.” He looked over to find Mina pouting which completely bewildered him. “What? Why are you making that face?”

“Those’re fine ‘n all, but I want something quieter,” she grumbled.

“So what, you just wanna hang out on the beach on the quiet side of the island or something?” Her eyes lit up, and Raios once again came to the conclusion that there was no understanding his girlfriend. He sighed in resignation. “I guess that’s what we’ll be doing then.” Mina clapped her hands and giggled in glee before once again latching onto his arm. Raios didn’t even bother trying to get her off this time. If someone saw them, then they saw them.

It didn’t take long to arrive at Mina’s house, even with the awkward way she was hanging off him, and Raios stopped at the door.

“Alright, let go. It’s time for you to go home.” Mina grumbled under her breath and stubbornly clung to his sleeve. “Come on, I’ll see you on Monday.”

“It’s too long…”

“It’s the day after tomorrow!” Raios snapped.

“I wish we could just skip to being married already,” Mina pouted, moving to grip the collar of his yukata.

“That’s gonna be a bit,” Raios replied, feeling a bit sheepish. “We’re not even old enough.” Mina pouted, feeling disheartened when faced with the truth. “Quit that. You’re being ridiculous. At least consider for a moment the idea that you may be happier with someone else.”

“Not happening,” Mina growled at him. “It’s definitely gotta be you.” Then, Mina violently tugged on him pulling him downwards and caught him completely off guard. The one Raios had given her had been soft and fleeting. One of his many ways of gently telling her he loved her and appreciated her. The kiss Mina gave Raios was longer and firmer, and she didn’t even give him a chance to try and lead it. When she finally let go of him, he covered his mouth with his arm and stumbled back, a violent blush covering his entire face and creeping down his neck. Mina was almost sure she saw steam coming out of his ears too.

“YOU-!!” Mina just flashed him a smug smile and stuck her tongue out at him.

“See you Monday~” Mina said, waving to him as she went inside, feeling like she’d set off a whole warehouse’s worth of fireworks.

#Redacted File

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