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radioactivepeasant · 2 years ago

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Snippets Thursday

An entire chapter of the Faulty Info au where Sig rescues Jak from Errol, sees that he still uses a kind of Spargan sign language, and mistakes him for a recently kidnapped Spargan...which began as mental storyboards and two drawings and now is six somewhat disjointed chapters and I'm not sure what happened. Inspiration strikes at the most random times.

Warning for Angst

When the landing ramp came down, Damas was prepared -- or so he told himself.

He knew in his heart that if this lost Spargan really did look like Mar, look like his baby, he was going to have a hard time controlling his emotions. But he had to see for himself. A morbid curiosity he just couldn't stifle insisted that it had to know.

"What the-?!"

Ah yes. He had also neglected to inform Sig that he would be the one waiting at the oasis.

Damas shrugged and decided not to explain himself in the slightest. He was king, after all. He could keep his secrets.

On the ramp, Sig tipped his head back and sighed. "Alright," he muttered, "Let's get this over with."

Then he turned to face the cargo hold.

"Come on, rookie. Watch your step."

Damas wasn't prepared after all.

The boy who crept warily out of the air train was small. Scrawny, even. He looked ill-used and underfed. And he looked astonishingly like Mar.

It was true that he was the wrong age -- by a good ten years at least -- but his eyes-!

Pain and fear had darkened them, and bruises shadowed them, but they were the exact same blue as Mar's eyes. And though the ends of his hair were light enough to look blonde, much of it was an unbearably familiar shade of green.

Pain swept through his heart like a blade, prodding and poking at the fresh wounds within. It felt cruel, seeing such a stark reminder that his son was gone, that he'd failed to protect him. Just as someone had clearly failed to protect this one.

Damas told himself it meant nothing. He told himself that they, like thousands of others in the world, may have had a common ancestor some hundred years back or such. That the resemblance was mere coincidence. He told himself that he would keep his distance until Mar was found, to keep some semblance of sanity. He told himself all of these things and more, until the father in him rose up from his heart to strangle those thoughts into silence.

Look at him! he snarled to himself, He is a child, wounded and thrown away by the very city that discarded you! Had their places been exchanged, you know that you would hope someone would treat Mar with compassion. You will not ignore this boy for the sake of self-pity.

Damas tightened his grip on his staff and his emotions and stepped forward.

"You are Jak, yes?" He spoke slowly, so as not to startle him. "Sig has told me that you use a kind of sign language only found among our people."

The boy blinked in surprise and made a questioning expression. "He said there were others like me?" He pointed back at Sig. "He said I must have come from your city where people can read hands -- before I lived with the Explorer."

Damas set aside the question of an explorer taking a Spargan child to ponder later.

"That is the most likely explanation," he confirmed. "It is fortunate that Sig found you; very few people taken by raiders make their way home again."

Jak looked around quickly, as if he worried that he wouldn't have time to take everything in.

"But I don't remember this place," he stated plainly. Damas thought he looked a little disappointed.

"I don't remember raiders, either."

"Hm. If you were taken very young, your early memories might well be hazy." Damas leaned on his staff and gestured with one hand. "Start with the place you were taken to before the Baron captured you. Retrace your steps. What is the first thing you recall?"

The boy shook his head, then paused with a confused expression. He tugged at one of his ears, thinking, then timidly answered.

"A big light. I remember a big light, and then a beach. Then the Explorer said my name was Jak and I could live with him in Sandover and be his nephew now."

Damas glanced at Sig, mouthing Sandover?

Sig shrugged helplessly.

"Do you know how old you were when this explorer took you there?" Damas pressed.

If he could establish a timeline, they would have a better chance of working out whether Sig’s tagalong had any living family still in Spargus.

"Maybe five...?" Jak's hands dropped, and a troubled look replaced his confusion, as if he'd never truly contemplated it before. "But the Explorer didn't take me there. He just brought me home from the beach. I don't know where I was before that."

"Definitely not from the Black Raid then," Sig remarked. "Where is Sandover, anyway? I've never heard of it."

Jak shrugged, but seemed distracted. "It's the beach. Over the mountain from Rock Village. But..." Another recollection passed over him and he bit his lip. "...but when the Precursor door opened...the gem monsters came out."

Gem monsters? That sounded familiar.

"Metalheads." Damas said knowingly, "The big ones with heavy armor? Or the small flying ones?"

The boy shivered in the cool evening breeze and wrapped his arms around himself. He nodded and shut his eyes. "Both."

Well. Wherever this "Sandover" had been, doubtless it was long since destroyed now.

Sig blew out a breath and knelt in the sand in front of Jak.

"Jak," he said, as gently as he could, "I don't think this Sandover place is there anymore. When...when metalheads swarm a place, they don't leave anything behind. I hate to say it, but you and whoever else went through that transport ring are probably the only ones who made it."

Jak didn't seem to understand at first. But slowly, a dawning horror filled his eyes.

"They’re...all dead?" he asked. His hands began to shake.

"Most likely."

There was no good in sugarcoating the truth for the poor kid, but the sight of the despair crushing his expression would haunt Sig.

"No no no-" Jak shook his head rapidly.

He knew that the Sages would have been able to defend their own villages. But Sandover's sage had been teleported with Jak as the monsters arrived. And Jak wasn't so optimistic as to pretend Samos wouldn't have sent him to do the brunt of the fighting to save the villagers -- none of whom were proficient in combat.

He'd lost his friends, he'd been tortured, he couldn't lose the only home he had, he couldn't!

His Uncle? The fisherman? Bird Lady? All dead? Dead like Gol and Maia? Dead like all those Lurkers Samos sent him to fight? Dead like the "Subject 001" Errol had made Jak fight? But where would he go? Was he truly alone?

Please please please no, I can't go back to that place-! I can't, I can't- Uncle, come back! Please come back!

"I'm sorry, kid. Really, I am. But we're gonna look after you now, I promise," Sig tried to reassure him.

Jak barely heard him, by the looks of things. His face crumpled, and he fell into a crouch beside the water. He stared at nothing, eyes glassy and uncomprehending. His hands came up to grip fistfuls of his hair, but other than that he remained frozen.

He looked so very young, huddled like that on the ground.

"Kid-" Sig croaked, "Aw heck, kid. I know; I...I've been there too. I'm sorry."

He reached a tentative hand towards the boy, but faltered. He'd just made it worse.

Damas clicked his tongue. In spite of his own grief, the fear and sorrow that ripped through him with every breath he took, he found he could still move. When he could focus on his people, focus on their troubles, it took him out of his head enough to function. Right now, this lost-and-found son of the desert bore a grief as potent as his own. He could put aside his own emotions for the sake of duty. He could drown out the agony in his soul by seeing to the needs of Spargus, beginning with the boy in front of him.

Damas touched the boy's shoulder and cleared his throat. "Come. Night is cold in the desert, and you are not dressed for the weather. We will return to my city, and decide what to do with you there."

Jak made no move to obey. His fingers tightened in his curls and his breathing quickened. Gone. Everything was gone. For one brief moment he'd let himself hope that Sig would be able to take him home. That he would be able to pretend none of this had ever happened.

Should've known better than to hope. He had nothing now. He had no one. Not even Daxter.

Sig reached out to gently grip his elbows. "Come on, Jak," he said, and lifted him to his feet. Jak locked his knees to keep from falling, but he was mostly still limp.

"Hey now, cherry," Sig murmured to him, "Remember what I said on the way here: Damas is king. Don't give him any trouble, and he won't give you any trouble. He's trying to help you, okay? So you have to listen to him."

"There are more metalheads in these dunes," Damas added bluntly, "And you are unarmed."

At the mention of more metalheads, Jak finally tore himself out of his stupor and started to shuffle after Damas. He paused, and looked plaintively back at Sig.

Sig shook his head. "Sorry, kid. I need to go back to Haven. I'll keep an eye out for your orange friend, and radio if I see him."

"You promise?"

"Yeah." Sig's cheek twitched in a half smile, but it didn't quite reach his eye. "I promise."

With that, Jak nodded, took a quivering breath, and followed the king to the buggy. He fumbled with the safety restraints for a few seconds before clicking them into place over his chest. It was nothing like The Chair, but he still found that he disliked any kind of restraining belt or cuff. Was it even that necessary if there weren't other vehicles to run into?

The answer, he quickly discovered, was a resounding yes.

Sig's friend, or king, or both, drove way faster than Sig did. Granted, there weren’t other drivers to be cautious of so far. And there was a lot of open space. The speed was a comfort to Jak in a strange way. He wasn't confined to one place, forced to be still, when he was on a fast-moving vehicle. He didn't have to be a hero or a test subject or anything to anyone when he raced. All your focus had to be on the vehicle and the terrain, or else you could end up crashing. It was...meditative, in a sense.

Damas accelerated over a particularly large dune and for three seconds they were airborne. Jak's stomach flip-flopped, and his pulse roared in his ears. It was dulled, compared to the excitement he used to feel, before he had learned how cruel the world really was. But some of the crushing weight on his heart lessened, just a little, as the buggy landed, rolled, and tipped back onto its wheels.

"Alright there?" Damas asked, glancing to one side.

The boy stared back at him with huge eyes. Solemnly, he nodded once, then signed,

"Do it again."

In spite of himself, Damas snorted. "In general, I try not to roll the Dune Hopper. It's not good to get that much sand in the mechanisms. But there are a lot of bumps on the way to the river. Don't worry, we'll be airborne plenty more times."

Satisfied with this answer, Jak nodded again. He settled back into his seat and gripped the restraints almost eagerly. The rapidly cooling temperature hardly fazed him as they sped over the sands. The bite of the wind against his face, the hulking silhouettes of rocky pillars, the sounds of desert birds calling to each other rose up in Jak’s chest, filling in some of the empty places the prison had left.

There was still beauty in the world. He could hardly believe it after what he had survived, but there were still places as open and as free as-

As home.

Jak felt himself shatter just a little more. He tipped his head back and looked up at the sky. Strange. The stars looked...different, somehow. The Lombax Major constellation was as bright and clear as Jak remembered it, but it was further to the south. Not by much, but enough to be noticeable to a boy who'd always watched the stars each night before sleeping.

Even the stars weren't the same anymore.

"You'll be going directly to the medics when we arrive." Damas broke the silence in a no-nonsense tone. "It is unlikely that you've been given all your immunizations. And Sig believes we'll need to give you something to counteract dark eco poisoning."

Immunizations. Jak didn’t recognize that word. What was he supposed to be immune to? And how would they make him immune? He squirmed in his seat as a particularly jarring landing made the harness dig into the dark eco scars across his torso. A small, pained sound escaped him despite his efforts to suppress it.

Even with the roar of the engine, Damas heard the sound. One ear twitched, and he spared a sharp glance to the side.

"There are two more large hills like that," he said apologetically, "Next time, I will warn you before the jump."

Jak saw the tower first.

It loomed above the rocky spires and dunes like a monolith, scattering light a surprising distance with a fiery beacon. For reasons Jak couldn't readily explain, the word "lighthouse" came to mind. Without thinking, his hands formed the shape of the word as he peered at the towering structure. Damas had glanced over to check on him as they had approached, and smiled faintly at the observation.

"Yes, good," he said, trying to sound encouraging, "that is our lighthouse. It's also our water filtration system -- and where I live -- but when you are outside of the city, its most important function is to guide Spargans home."

"You live there?" Jak pointed to the tower.

Well, he supposed keeping the beacon lit was an important job. Being king was like being mayor, but of hundreds more people, right? Of course maintaining the water and beacon would be Damas’s job. That just made sense.

Seemed strange to live up so high, though. Too far from the water. But at the same time, the idea of looking out of a window and being able to see everything did have a certain appeal.

"That is where all rulers of Spargus reside. At present it is my home. Someday it will be someone else's."

Damas spoke casually, and matter-of-factly. As if the idea of someone else eventually taking his place was such an established fact of life that it hardly bore remarking upon.

The Mayor of Sandover would have been appalled by the attitude.

But considering that the Mayor never really did anything besides collecting taxes, Jak thought that maybe he wasn't a reliable example.

The remainder of the drive went smoothly, and the buggy pulled through a massive set of iron gates. A second set of gates opened just beyond them -- a security measure against foes and weather both -- and Damas drove the vehicle into a circular hub of garages. There were more buggies in the little hangars: some small and lean like predators, others bulky and covered in spikes. Jak's gaze flitted from car to car as if trying to memorize each one. His fingers itched to try the controls, and test their top speeds.

But...without Daxter, where was the fun in racing? And after six months without seeing the sun, or being able to move freely at all, could he even still race?

"Come."

Damas shut down the engine and stepped out of the vehicle.

Jak swallowed hard, and with clumsy fingers he unhooked the seatbelts. He still wasn't used to walking long distances -- Sig had said it would take some time to rebuild his stamina after so much forced inactivity -- and he could only hope they wouldn't be going far. At every unfamiliar noise he stopped, looking around wildly. If he couldn't see it, couldn't identify it, then it was a threat.

The sand still retained some of the heat of the day, pleasantly warm under his bare toes. He could guess that it wouldn't feel nearly as nice once the sun rose. Maybe he could find something to trade for shoes...

"Oi, lordship. Thought you were pickin' up one of ours from the big smoke."

Jak turned to see a massive man exiting one of the hangars. Moonlight glared off of a very bald head, hooding the man's eyes in shadow. He was as broad as he was tall, and Jak suspected he was probably a formidable fighter. The man stopped in front of Damas and tugged one end of his long mustache.

"Who's the runt?" he asked.

Damas drew his staff from the back of the buggy and stepped past the man.

"We'll find out shortly. He may be one of ours."

A small, desperate part of Jak hoped that these fearsome men would decide that he was "one of theirs". Even if it was only so that he didn't have to go back to that horrible, horrible city. Even if it was just so that he could pretend for a moment that he had somewhere to belong.

He flinched when a hand fell on his shoulder.

"Easy," Damas said softly, but he withdrew his hand.

"Follow me. The medics need to assess your condition."

Jak followed, but he folded his arms over his torso and gripped his arms tightly enough to leave finger marks in the skin. Medics were doctors. And doctors had needles. And scalpels. And examination tables. Jak tightened his grip to keep his hands from shaking.

This wasn't going to go well.

#jak and daxter #jak and daxter au #jak and daxter sig #jnd damas #jnd au #snippet thursday #free day thursday #angst #tw angst #references to past trauma a la Dark Warrior Program #king damas #dadmas #within eight weeks he'll have adopted Jak without knowing his true identity #faulty info au #haven't thrown straight up angst at y'all in a while so welcome back to the Angst Train #fic prompts #writing prompts

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djarrex · 4 years ago

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Just For Kicks

Kix needs more love tbh so here’s a Kix oneshot ;)

| masterlist |

Pairing: Kix x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit. 18+ 100%

Word Count: about 4.1k (GAH I didn’t mean for it to be this long oops)

Warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption, vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving), piv, cumshot, aftercare, lil but of fluff

Summary: You frequent 79′s, and you usually turn away advances from the clones. Kix tries his luck, and you indulge him. He excuses himself to the ‘fresher, and when he comes back, things take a happy turn.

***

A night at 79′s was always the same. There were soldiers dancing with twi’leks to the steady thumping of the blaring music; the vibrations of the bass hummed deep in your chest. There were always rounds of Sabacc being played in the corner, and arm wrestling matches to showcase who was stronger (even though they’re all clones of the same man?). You always sat at the bar when you came alone, enjoying shots of your favorite whiskey. You weren't one for those neon fruity drinks that your friends always ordered.

You tilted your head back to down your first shot, then not-so-gently set the glass on the counter. The droid manning the bar swiftly exchanged your empty glass for another full one. You were a regular, and these bar droids might as well have had your usual drink of choice ingrained in their programming.

“Her next shot is on me.” A familiar voice, one that you’ve heard hundreds of times, came from your right. Downing yet another shot of your favorite golden liquid, you set the empty glass on the counter and signaled the bar droid for another. You’ve deflected advances from the clones quite a few times tonight already, but hey, what was one more? It never really annoyed you - getting hit on by these attractive soldiers - because you were the one who frequented their go-to hangout spot. It was expected, quite honestly. You pretty much ignored them - especially if they started off with a cliché pick-up line.

Realizing he was still in proximity even though you hadn’t looked over at him yet, you sighed, and decided to indulge him a little - you weren't one to turn down a free shot. What you didn't expect to find was him. Sure, his face was literally exactly like the hundred or so others that were crammed in 79′s, but there was something about him that caught you off guard. He had a genuine, sweet smile on his face that went straight to his eyes.

You let your eyes scan his face. His head was shaved, but into zig zags that went off in different directions, resembling lighting bolts. The neon lights hit the left side of his head just right to where you could make out a phrase tattooed on his temple, extending a little further horizontally into the side of his head.

“A good droid is a dead one, huh? Clever.” He was leaned on the bar on one elbow, his sincere smile grew and his eyebrows raised, almost like your response was one he was not expecting.

“You like that? Yeah... got it when I was just a shiny. Felt appropriate at the time.” He broke his leaning stance to pull out the barstool and sat down facing you. You downed the shot and let out an amused snort from your nostrils, keeping your eyes on his as you tried to get a reading on him. The soldier lifted his hand up to signal the droid while his eyes remained focused on yours. Out of your peripherals you saw the bar droid set two more shots down on the counter in front of your person. You glanced over and the two glasses of golden liquid, grabbed one, and handed it to him. He hesitated for a moment with a raised brow, but you nodded to him to take it. He obliged, and you grabbed the second shot for yourself. You looked down at the liquid.

“Y’know, I’ve already turned down a few of your brothers tonight,” you said with a teasing tone, still looking down at the whiskey, swirling the shot around in the glass.

“Oh yeah? What makes me so lucky then?” It had to be the sparkle he had in his eyes. It was unlike any of his twins. You finally looked back up at him, and lifted your glass.

“I’m not sure.” You lied, but you definitely weren’t going to tell him. He copied your movement, raising up his glass. “Cheers.” Your glasses clinked, followed by the simultaneous downing of the warm liquid.

You crinkled your nose as it trickled down your throat. “Thanks for the shot - uh, what’s your name, soldier?” You felt a tad bit guilty - he bought you a drink and you hadn’t even asked for him name before guzzling it down.

“They call me Kix.” Short, simple, and to the point - better than some of these other troopers’ names. One time, you were hit on by a soldier whose name you swore had like five syllables in it. Couldn’t remember it if your life depended on it.

“Just for kicks, huh?” You poked at him. Kix’s hand flew behind his head, a sheepish smile crept on his lips.

“Ha... somethin’ like that.” You grinned, and countered with your own name.

Kix got the attention of the bar droid and ordered a drink you’d never heard of. When it was set down on the counter, you were glad to see it wasn't those neon fruity drinks you despised. You had never heard of that liquor before, but the color of it looked enticing. Kix seemed to have gotten a whiff of your curiosity, and ordered another one for yourself. Before you could tell him not to worry about it, a glass filled to the rim with identical dark liquid was set in front of you. You smiled and thanked him. Bringing the very full glass up to your lips, you took a nervous sip but was presently surprised by the taste. It didn’t burn as much as the whiskey, which could prove to be very dangerous if too much was consumed.

You both sat in silence for a couple minutes, sipping your identical beverages, enjoying each others company. You eventually let your eyes wander to scan his whole figure; his armor was painted with that shade of blue you’ve seen on other troopers who’ve hit on you in the past - the same ones that sat in a booth behind him in the corner. You noticed a couple times that they were all looking in your direction, so you assumed Kix was with them and they were only checking to see how their brother was doing. You continued to scan his armor, trying not to be too obvious. You weren’t sure how you didn’t notice it before, but he sported a familiar red insignia that was painted on his left pauldron.

"So you're a medic, huh? Must be a rough job.” He looked up from his drink with a half smile, nodding with confirmation, followed by a sigh.

“Actually, it must not be too rough of a gig if you have time to maintain all that,” you chuckled, your hands waving over your head, gesturing to the patterns shaved on his own.

“It’s not too much maintenance.” He laughed, “I have my brothers’ help.” You nodded with understanding with the grin still plastered on your face.

“You talkin’ about them over there?” You tilted your head in the direction behind Kix; he turned around and caught the eyes of his brothers in the booth behind him. You jokingly waved at them, one of them with a dark goatee waved right back with a big smile on his face. Before Kix could ask, “I noticed they kept looking over here, and you all have the same shade of blue painted on your armor. Took an educated guess.”

Kix began to tell you a few short stories of things that happened while in the field. You sat back and listened, the alcohol warming your ears. Some of the events he reminisced on were happy, successful missions - he also told you of a few close calls and how he had to hold his brothers as the light left their eyes, because there was nothing more he could do for them. He eventually apologized for talking only about him, but you waved it off; you were genuinely interested in his war stories. You were too busy shutting down other soldiers’ advances towards you that you never really heard of what they go through. Tomorrow isn’t promised for these soldiers.

He downed the last of his drink, and excused himself to the ‘fresher, promising to be right back. “Don’t go anywhere.” He teased. You watched him walk away; he purposefully took the route that was further away from booth were his lads sat and drank. At this point, you were totally drawn to him - there was definitely no threat of you going anywhere. The way he carried himself, that sparkle in his eyes, his sense of humor, the way he was so much more genuine than any of the other clones that came your way...

***

You absolutely were not expecting your night at 79′s to go in the direction that it did.

You invited Kix back to your apartment - you never thought you’d be bringing a clone back to your place, but crazier things have happened.

At 79′s, while he was in the ‘fresher, you decided what you wanted. When he sat back down, you told him just that. His reaction was sweet, “I’d like that very much.”

So, here you both are, making out by your front door, having just closed it behind you. You acted first, throwing yourself at him as soon as you locked the door. He in no way minded, but he eventually took control and slammed you against the front door and let his hands trail all over you. You wished you could do the same, but he was still covered in all that damn plastoid.

“Kix? Do you think you can take all this off?” Knocking on his armored chest like it was a door, you broke from his mouth, batting your eyelashes at him, hot breaths mingling with one another. He quickly obliged, and shed the plastoid pieces in no time, tossing them haphazardly to the left.

Your mouths met again. Kix started licking along your bottom lip, requesting access inside your hot mouth. You gladly let him in, your breaths turned into quiet moans quicker than you could stop them. He tasted like your favorite whiskey; the taste somehow adding to your arousal and made you wetter than you were before. You had first felt the arousal flood to your lower half in the cab ride on the way to your place, when Kix’s gloved hand gently grazed along your thigh. The dress you were wearing had ridden up when you slid into the seat, but you didn’t bother fixing it. He wasn’t even looking at you; he was looking out the cab’s dusty window at all the nightlife Coruscant had to offer as the cab whisked along. His fingers tickled along your exposed skin, dancing over the goosebumps that had formed. Him not looking at you while he teased you sent warmth all throughout your body - a different warmth than what you were already feeling from the whiskey and whatever drink he was drinking.

Eventually you both had moved from leaning against the front door and clumsily meandered over to the sofa. You pushed him down to sit on the sofa and stood over him; noting how dark his eyes had gotten, taking over the sparkle that had drawn you to him in the first place. His dark cheeks were flushed, lips slightly swollen. He was quite the sight. He was so... pretty.

“What are you lookin’ at?” He raised a quizzical brow and flashed a cheesy grin; you realized you were just standing there staring at him silently. Just as you felt a blush come on your face, his hands shot up to grab at your hips, pulling you down on top of him. You were never really were a graceful person, so you sort of tripped on nothing as he pulled you towards him. That earned a laugh from him, but it was a sincere one - he wasn't making fun of you, that much you knew.

You were straddled on his lap at this point, knees pressed into the sofa on either side of him. The kisses you shared were tender... not at all how your other hookups kissed you. His palms - now bare - rested on your lower back as he applied a small amount of pressure, effectively pushing you closer into him. Your hands rested on his pauldron-less shoulders.

You were comfortable with him, and you had only just met him a couple hours ago.

And though you were enjoying his tender kisses and warm hands resting still on your back, you were hungry for more. Taking matters in your own hands to speed things up, you broke away from his mouth and lifted off him slightly to slide your dress up and over your head, tossing it off to the side out of sight. You nestled back down on top of him when you finally realized how hard he was underneath his skin-tight under-armor pants. You gave your hips an experimental wiggle across his clothed member, his head tilted back with shut eyes, and the deep moan he conjured up his chest set off fireworks in your gut.

You reached for the hem of his shirt, motioning for him to shed his clothing as well. His undershirt flew off in one swift motion and joined your dress somewhere across your tiny apartment. With a smirk, you leaned back a little to get access to the waistband of his pants. Kix lifted his hips and helped to slide his pants down, underwear coming off with them. His fully-erect cock sprang free, smacking gently against the happy trail below his naval.

“Fuck, Kix.” You gawked at him. “Are all you clones like this? I can’t believe I spent all that time shooing away your brothers when I could’ve had th-” You yelped as you were cut off when Kix jolted up, taking you with him. Your legs wrapped around his hips tightly, arms snug around his neck in fear of falling.

Kix laughed, walking you over to your bedroom. He sat you down at the foot of your bed. “Lay back.”

Butterflies flew around in your stomach because you could only imagine what was going to happen next. You lay back with your legs hanging off the foot of the bed, waiting anxiously for his next move.

“You know...” he started, his fingertips ghosting around the band of your underwear, “I have quite the extensive knowledge when it comes to the human body - being medically trained, and all.” He took his time sliding your underwear down; you propped yourself up on your elbows to watch his movements. He was crouched down in between your dangling legs with a huge smirk on his face.

The butterflies flew away, and the fireworks returned. Your entire lower half was on fire.

You watched Kix closely as his lips ghosted along your inner thigh, starting at your knee and slowly making his way up to where you absolutely needed him most. His eyes flickered up to meet your gaze, letting out a quiet chuckle as he nipped the thin skin of your inner thigh. His hands trailed up your thighs and then to your waist, blatantly going around your exposed heat.

His mouth went to your other thigh, kissing his way up, starting at your knee. “I know all the pressure points in the human body...” *kiss* “I know where all the sensitive spots are on a woman...” *kiss* He was finally getting to where you needed him. It was too much to keep yourself propped on your elbows, so you laid back down as he chuckled against your sensitive and flushed skin. His kisses were slow and agonizing, but he was making progress. He was going up and up, closer and closer -

“I know that I can get you to scream.” That was it. His hot breath was right there. You needed him now.

“Kix -” He cut you off for the second time tonight with his tongue, slowly licking a long stripe up your glistening lips to your clit. You yelped at the warm and wet muscle making contact at last, earning a low chuckle from the man who’s mouth was buried in your pussy, the vibrations sending shockwaves up your body.

“Holy f- fuck.” Your hand was gripping tightly at the sheets by your side, while you brought your other hand up to your mouth, shoving a knuckle inside in an attempt to muffle your moans. Kix kept up his brutal attack with his tongue, making out with your pussy the same way he made out with you on the couch - slow and passionate.

You were unable to control the way your back arched up off the sheets. Kix’s hands moved from your thighs to your hips, long and dark fingers splayed over your stomach, pinning you down to keep you flat against the bed. His grip was bruising and you were for sure going to have marks there in the morning - that thought alone created a deep moan in your chest the escaped out your mouth before you could muffle it.

It was coming - you felt it, and you were sure he could sense it, too. You were completely unable to suppress your moans now; both your hands were occupied with clinging to the sheets for dear life. Your entire body was on fire when it hit you like a speeder. Thighs shaking on either side of him, your orgasm hit hard. You clamped your eyes shut and let it come over you, the white light bright behind your eyelids. Kix didn’t stop. He lapped you up through the entire thing, now adding in a single digit as he pumped it in and out of your clenching pussy, his tongue flicking at the sensitive bud.

“Stars,” you managed to breathe out. It was impossible to come off from your high at this point as he added in a second digit, curing them up and hitting that sweet spot inside you.

“What did I tell you?” He sounded all too cocky, but he was right. This soldier - this medic - knew what the fuck he was doing, and it was wrecking you.

‘You taste so kriffin’ good and make the prettiest noises when you cum.” His tongue left your sensitive clit; his head left its place buried in your pussy so he could get a better look at your reactions. “I wanna see you...” He pumped his fingers faster, “Give me another.” The way his voice sounded sent you over the edge once again, your second orgasm hitting before you even came down all the way from your first. Your whimpers and groans were echoing in your small apartment, but you didn’t care.

He removed his fingers and lifted them up to his mouth, sucking your juices off of them. Fuck. You were trembling beneath him, watching him lick his fingers clean - that image alone made you moan.

He was standing now, his cock in hand, locking eyes with yours. Your body was tired - oversensitive and shaky - but you knew the night wasn’t over, and you did not mind in the slightest.

You watched him through hooded eyes, biting your lower lip as he stood at the edge of the bed slowly stroking himself. It almost looked like he was pondering what to do next - thinking about what exactly he wanted to do to you.

Seconds later, he grabbed your ankles and brought them back to meet the back on your thighs. You were nearly folded like a lawn chair when he met the edge of the bed as far as his legs could go, and teased your oversensitive cunt with the bulbous head of his cock. You let your head fall back and eyes close, waiting for him to push in, but he pauses. You yank your head back up and see him with his head tilted slightly to the side and a smile on his face.

“What is it?” You breathed out, wiggling your hips a little to the best of your ability, promoting him to proceed.

“Nothing. You’re just beautiful, that’s all.” You blushed and leaned your head back down to the bed. Not even a second later you were filled to the brim with one swift motion. Kix stilled again; this time when you shot your head back to look at him, his own was tilted back with his eyes clamped shut. Your heavy breaths were the only sound in the quiet room for the moment; he was letting you get adjusted to him while he relished in the way you felt around his cock.

Your ankles were still sat against the backs of your thighs; his hands came up to press into your shins as he slowly began to thrust.

Slow, gentle thrusts quickly turned to hard and deep ones, his grip on your shins transferred to bruising grips on your hips as he pounded you into the bed. The position he had you in gave his cock the ability to hit further inside you than you ever thought possible. You were a whimpering mess - completely at his mercy. Between grunts coming from Kix you were able to make out words like “tight” and “warm”. You couldn't focus on anything other than how he was pretty much splitting you open.

You didn’t think you could cum as many times as you already had, but your third orgasm came out of nowhere, white hot and burning in your gut. To add liquid tibanna to the fire, Kix worked your clit with expert fingers as he coaxed you to give him “just one more.”

Well, one more is what you gave him, because your fourth orgasm hit you just seconds after your third. You didn’t even know that was possible, yet here you were, completely wrecked by this soldier hammering in and out of you while working your oversensitive bundle of nerves with his fingers.

The squelching sounds coming from his cock moving in and out of your very well-lubricated cunt made your face burn. Kix was close; his thrusts were becoming sloppy and losing their rhythm while his grunts were getting louder as your walls clenched unforgivingly around him.

He quickly pulled out, working himself with a shaky hand as he shot out his release. His sticky cum spurted in warm ropes, splattering on your lower stomach and the apex of your thighs. You couldn't help but smile up at him as his finished - not minding the mess he made all over you - noticing that the signature sparkle in his eyes returned as worked the last of his release from his spent, softening cock. Kix flopped down on the bed next to you; you both panted in unison, trying to catch your breaths. He turned his head to you and you turned your head to him, watching him as his chest movements became slower, returning to the steady rise and fall of normal breathing. He let out a long sigh followed by a smirk, his arms folded above his head.

“Stars. That was... was - ”

“Amazing,” you finished for him. He nodded in agreement, raising his hand to wipe a bead of sweat of your brow. “Some medical training you had there, Kix.”

It felt like an hour went by as you both came down from your highs, laying in silence. You sat up, nearly forgetting you were coated in his sticky release. You looked over your shoulder at him with a sheepish smile. Kix instantly shot up and stepped into the ‘fresher, coming back with a damp towel, “Allow me.” What a gentleman. You blushed at the sweet gesture - which, to be totally honest, seemed silly since he had just spit you open and completely wrecked you.

After he had cleaned you up, you flopped back down on the bed, not putting the energy in to get dressed. Kix had his bottoms back on when he sat down on the bed next to you, his hand coming up to tuck loose hair behind your ears. You were completely lost in his kind eyes; you felt a ridiculous smile plastered on your face as you started into them.

“I’m a regular at 79′s y’know,” you informed him, your smile turning into a mischievous grin.

His one brow raised, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Looks like I know where to find you, beautiful.”

***

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#djarrex writes #clone medic kix #clone trooper kix #kix x reader #kix x you #clone medic kix smut #clone trooper kix smut #the clone wars smut #clone medic kix x reader #clone medic kix x you #kix smut #kix oneshot #clone medic kix oneshot

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staticscreenwriting · 3 years ago

Text

Secret Santa || JJ Maybank

My entry for day 10 of our Christmas Calendar. Find all the information here.

All fandoms are welcome to join!

Summary: Reader feels like it’s time for the Pogues to finally have a nice Christmas and sets up a secret santa party ... only things don’t go as planned.

Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.

It’s a well-known fact, that the downside of Pogue life is being ignored and neglected. That sentiment also extends to Christmas and all that comes with it.

While figure 8 is decked out in lights and tinsel and garland, the most you’ll find at the cut is a wreath or two hung up on a door and maybe a poinsettia perched on a windowsill.

“ This year it’s gonna be different! “ (Y/N) exclaims as she steps out of the Chateau and plops down on the couch next to JJ, who’s taking a long drag from his freshly rolled blunt.

“ What are you talking about? “ Kie asks, holding her hand out and waiting for JJ to pass the joint to her. “ I mean, whatever it is I’m in, just wondering. “

“ Christmas. “

“ Christmas? “ Pope asks, eyebrow raised in question.

It's no secret that both Pope and Kie have lucked out in the parents department. The Haywards are as loving as they come. And while Kie loves to paint her parents as the evil villains in her origin story, they're really just looking out for her. Sure, their worry might be a bit misplaced sometimes, but It comes from a place of deep unconditional love.

That's something not all of the Pogues can say about their parents.

"Yes, Pope. You heard me right. Aren't you guys tired of feeling - sad? I am. Look I know we like to pretend that it doesn't bother us and that Christmas is just a day of the year like any other. But let me be honest, because that's what we do right? Pogues are honest with each other. "

The group nods in unison.

"I want a nice Christmas for once. I want a tree and I want lights and good food and music and fucking hell, I think we deserve a present too!"

“ You have a plan. “ It’s not a question that leaves John B’s lips, it’s an observation. Living through shared misery makes you really get to know someone. Not just their pretty sides, all the grime and the sadness and the secrets hidden in the furthest corner of their heart. The Pogues can read each other with just a glance.

“ What about a little Pogue Christmas party? “

“ I’m — “

“ I know Pope, “ she interrupts him as he’s about to shoot down the idea. “ I know you have a full plate on Christmas day, so does Kie. I was thinking about Christmas Eve. We already have the lights out in the backyard thanks to JJ and the Hot tub incident. “

“ You’re welcome, “ the blond boy chimes up next to her, a satisfied grin on his lips and blue eyes sparkling with the power of a hundred frosted Christmas lights.

“ I was thinking maybe Kie could bring some leftover from the Wreck so all that’s left is a tree and presents. “

JJ raises his hand as you would in school, signaling a question coming (Y/N)’s way.

“ Yes, JJ ? “

“ How are we gonna pay for the presents? May I remind you, both John B and I lost our jobs recently and I have about 3 dollars to my name so … “

“ That’s why I suggest a secret Santa. That way everyone gets something but everyone only has to buy one gift, and it doesn’t have to be anything expensive or fancy either. It’s the thought that counts. “

She looks around the group of friends, eyes meeting different shades of blue and brown and hazel. None of them seem too convinced. And really it was a long shot. But there’s a nagging in her heart, clawing at the walls of her chest, knocking against her ribcage. A distant longing that long lay dormant and asleep inside her but something has awoken it and no matter how much she tries to ignore it, she can’t.

Maybe everything changing so quickly lately has her confused. Maybe seeing John B going after what he wants, Sarah and the gold and his father’s legacy, has opened her eyes a little. That things don’t have to be bad. That you can escape a life no matter how restricting and gloomy it is.

And maybe the blond boy next to her has played a part in all of this too. Everything considered he should be bitter and angry and hold more hate inside himself than any other person on this earth. Life has shown him nothing but cruelty. JJ though, despite it all, is one of the softest people she knows. He’s got a heart filled with warmth and joy and so much love for his friends. Where life should've made him spiteful and mean it only made him loving and loyal. And while sometimes his actions end in a bit of a disaster, they always come from a place of care and unfiltered, all-consuming love for his friends, his family.

So does he not deserve a nice Christmas? Does he not deserve one night of feeling like he is enough, like they all are?

“ What do you guys say? “

For a moment they are quiet, contemplating her words over and over and her heart sinks knowing they don’t really want to. Maybe this is all a joke to them, maybe it doesn’t mean shit. But it does to her. So where’s the harm in trying. Right?

And then she feels the soft touch of JJ’s hand against her shoulder. It’s barely there. If a whisper was a touch this would be it. But it doesn’t have to be more. It’s all it needs to be. It’s a reassurance, a promise, a hug, all in a soft little touch.

“ Sounds fun to me, “ he says and shrugs his shoulder before taking another drag of his joint. “ I mean, I don’t have anything else to do on Christmas Eve. You guys? “

He regards his friends with determined eyes.

“ Sure, why not. “ John B shrugs and lifts his beer as if to toast on it. “ You’re right. We deserve a night of decadence. “

“ Guys, not to burst your bubble but I doubt whatever will be left is gonna be a decadent meal, “ Kie chimes up, lips screwed up in disappointment.

John B takes a sip of his drink and lets out an amused chuckle. “ JJ’s been chewing on moldy toast the other day, everything’s a feast to him.“

“ I would fight you because that was rude but you aren’t wrong so I’ll let it slide. “

“ Very generous of you, good sir. “

“ You’re welcome, Darling. “

“ So, you guys are in? “

They all agree with various degrees of enthusiasm. It doesn’t matter though, not right now. They might not understand her reasoning, hell they might not even be excited. They’re in though. They agreed. They see how important it is to her, how much she longs for this one night of normalcy. And they show up. They’re there when it matters.

“ Let me just write down our names real quick and then we draw. See who gets to buy who a present. And no cheating, guys. This stays anonymous until the party. And no switching either. John B, do you think Sarah wants to join in? “

“ Yeah, “ he responds, his brown curls bouncing chaotically as he nods his head in approval “ I’m sure she’d like that. To be included. “

(Y/N) has to admit that it was a little weird at first, to add another person to their tight-knit group. Especially someone like Sarah, who never had to deal with any of the issues the Pogues are raised with. Someone who never had to choose between putting food on the table or paying the electricity bill. Someone who never had to look in the mirror and tell themselves that sometimes a parent's love is a handprint on a cheek.

Someone who’s never had a Christmas without presents or a tree or lights or a family to spend it with.

But as much as she tried, she couldn’t help but fall in deep platonic love with the blonde. Sure, maybe she’s never had to deal with the same problems but she had her own issues, her own trauma. And maybe it’s not so much what you’ve been through that matters but how you grow from it, how you overcome it, how you find closure, and what you let it shape you into. That they all have in common. They overcome it together, with the help of each other and depending on the love and care their friends provide. So it only feels right to include her in this.

A few minutes later one after the other all the Pogues pull little scraps of paper from JJ’s hat, unfold them and without fail, each of them has a little smirk on their lips as they read the name of whoever it is they’re getting a present for. There’s something so comforting and familiar about their friendship. Something that is hard to explain to anyone that doesn’t live it. That isn’t included. All of them are so distinctly themselves and yet their bond is unwavering and can’t be broken so easily.

“ I’m glad you guys decided to trust me in this. I can’t wait for Christmas Eve, “ (Y/N) exclaims before her gaze wanders to the clock on the wall. “ And on that note, I have to leave. My shift starts in 30 minutes. John B, I trust you give Sarah her piece of paper without peeking. “

“ Cross my heart, “ he answers and follows his words with his fingers painting an invisible cross on his chest. “ No peeking.”

"Hey," JJ speaks up, "think you can give me a ride to my place? "

"Sure. Always"

As they sit in the car, driving through the sparsely decorated neighborhood, (Y/N) feels JJ's eyes watching her intently.

"What's up?"

"Hmm?"

"Why are you watching me?"

"Just wondering."

" 'bout what?"

"Why is this so important to you? You never usually cared about Christmas"

(Y/N) takes a breath, tries to put her thoughts and feelings into words. It doesn't really make sense to her how can it make sense to him? But truly If anyone will understand it's JJ.

" I'm not sure, I just remembered the Christmases when I was little and mom was around. We didn't really celebrate then either but she'd put me in the car and turn the radio all the way up as they played Christmas songs and we'd drive through figure 8 and look at the lights. And every year she said one day she'd give me a Christmas like that. I think seeing John B. finally going for what he wants and deserves and seeing him trying to make his dad proud. It made me think about what I wanted and what my mom would want. So yeah … it's silly, I know."

"Nah, it's not," JJ replies and reaches over to gently ruffle her hair. "It makes sense. I don't really remember much of my life when mom was around but I remember this one Christmas when dad was working on some ship so he wasn't around and she was - happy. And she'd make us pancakes and draw a Christmas tree with whipped cream on it. We were so happy that morning, I'd give everything to feel like that again. I get it."

JJ doesn't talk about his mom, ever. It's an unspoken rule in their friendship. Partially because he doesn't have much to talk about and partially because it breaks his heart, to know that despite how much his dad hates him, he's the parent that stuck around. Not his mother. Not the woman who's supposed to love him most.

At least John B. was left with one loving parent.

So to hear him be vulnerable with her, sends an indescribable warmth through her whole body.

"Hey J, thanks for agreeing to this and having my back. Not sure the others would've said yes if it wasn't for you."

"No biggie. I think it's a nice idea. And you're right, we do fucking deserve something nice for once."

His fingers keep softly stroking the back of her head, combing through her hair and making a calm settle in her bones.

"Can I tell you a secret?" She says, heart beating just a little too fast.

"Always."

"Out of all of them, you're my favorite."

"That's good. Cause you're my favorite too."

Sometimes there are moments when she thinks that there could be more. More than friendship. More than longing looks and fleeting touches and loving words sitting in the car driving down the cut. And then she remembers that they are friends and if something were to happen, the consequences could end all of it. What if it ends badly? Is she ready to give up their friendship for a maybe?

Not yet. Maybe not ever. So she'll stay in this limbo with him, coming close but never arriving. Watching and waiting for something that never comes. Letting herself indulge in the what-ifs only in her dreams.

There's a single window decked out in Christmas lights as they make their way to JJ's place and it makes her smile. Maybe she isn't the only one feeling the holiday spirit.

The backyard sparkles with lights, as the friends sit by the fire, bundled up in blankets, holding onto their steaming mugs of spiked hot chocolate. John B. licks the last drop of gravy off of his plate. When they agreed on Kie bringing leftovers, they hadn't expected her to bring by a full-on feast. Ham and potatoes and gravy and pie. Maybe, (Y/N) thinks, maybe Kie's dad doesn't hate them all that much after all. None of this food seems like leftovers to her. Maybe it's him feeling generous on Christmas eve or maybe it's him having pity on the kids who never had a proper Christmas. Whatever it is, she's entirely grateful.

"Time for presents?" (Y/N) asks, slightly bouncing in her seat which earns her a soft smile from JJ. If only she was brave enough to ask for more. To reach out her hand and take it. To tell him and see where it goes.

"Sounds good to me," Sarah replies before pointing to a bag full of presents wrapped in all kinds of bright patterned wrapping paper. "As you know we had Wheezie wrap them so the wrapping skills or lack thereof wouldn't give away the surprise."

"Okay so you open your gift and then guess who you got it from and whoever gifted you will reveal themself. Got it?" (Y/N) explains, looking around her group of friends who all nod in understanding.

"Good, let's see, this one is for John B.," she says and hands the gift over to John B. who rips off the paper in one swift motion.

"Oooh Condoms and a - piece of paper?"

"Turn it over," JJ explains, masking his words with a comically fake cough.

"It's a - self-made coupon for a one-time board waxing. Now I wonder who that's from." John B. rubs his chin in mock consideration. "I'll go with JJ?"

"Yeaaah Bree, you got it. You're welcome by the way."

"Uh - thanks I guess." John B. Says and pulls the next gift from the bag. "This one is for Sarah".

With a smile on her face, the blonde unwraps the package being met with a beautiful silver frame that holds a picture of her and John B. cuddled up to each other in the hammock taken sometime in summer, the light of the setting sun veiling them in a gorgeous golden glow.

"Awww I love this. Well since you're the only one who always carries around the camera I'm gonna say this was from (Y/N)?"

The girl nods "yup. I've been meaning to give you that picture for a while and then I found this vintage frame at the thrift store and it just all fell into place."

"Thank you, that's so sweet. I love it. Okay, the net one is foooor, JJ!"

"Ooh give it here," JJ exclaims and wiggles his fingers in excitement. "Let's seee. A sixpack and some board wax ayyy. Nice."

"Hey look at that, you can use it to wax my board when I cash in my coupon" John B. pipes up earning him a raised middle finger from JJ.

"How about no? You can have one of my beers though."

"So nice. A true Christmas miracle."

"Mmmh. Okay, so I'm not sure who got me this, maybe John B.?"

"Nope", the brunette boy replies. "Wasn't me. "

"That was me." Pope chimes in. "Thought about getting you a book but I thought this was more fitting."

"Thanks, dude. Love it. Okay who next, " JJ fumbles the next package from the bag. "This one's for Kie."

The girl gingerly opens the package to reveal a dainty silver chain with a cute little turtle pendant.

"That's adorable! "

"And it's handmade from a local business!" Sarah exclaims, which makes the group fall into a fit of laughter.

"What? Oh."

"Yeaah. So I guess this one's from Sarah," Kie says between giggles. "Next one is for - Pope!"

He opens his gift, an engraved leather-bound notebook, rightly guessing that it's from Kie.

"Next one is for - me again?"

The group looks around, each of them more confused than the next.

"Yeah man, that's from me. I got you." John B. announces.

"No, I got Pope," Kie disagrees.

"I guess we both got Pope?"

"Then who did - oh fuck"

An uncomfortable, almost sad silence falls over the friends as they realize who must've been left out.

"I guess I forgot to write down my own name. It's no big deal really." (Y/N) says and though she tries really hard to sound unbothered.

"Hey I have two you can have this one," Pope proposes holding the present out to her.

"No that's okay. John bought it for you."

Pope nods, his lips pulled into a sad smile "you sure?"

"Positive."

While they fall back into a careless conversation fueled by the spiked chocolate and the Christmas spirit running through their hearts, (Y/N) can't help but feel her own heart breaking a little.

Before she can dwell on it for too long, she feels JJ's hand gently rest on the small of her back, rubbing soft, comforting circles into her skin. It sucks, it really does but it feels just a little bit better when she's this close to him.

Pope unwraps a box holding an ugly patterned tie. So he can look "professional," John B. says.

They finish their chocolates and as the fire dies, so does the party. One by one they leave or retire to their rooms, getting ready to spend Christmas with their families or in Sarah and John B's case, with each other.

And in the end, it's only (Y/N) and JJ left. looking at the dimming embers glowing faintly.

“ I’m sorry, (Y/N). I know you wanted this so badly and then we fucked it up and you didn’t even get a present. “

(Y/N) shrugs, trying not to let it show how much it really hurts. How angry she is at herself for messing this up.

“ I mean, it’s my own fault. I forgot to write down my name. And anyway — I got to spend tonight with the people I love most and you all had a good time and that’s really all that matters. “

JJ pulls her closer and places a kiss on her head which makes her forget about everything for a second. About her fuck up. About all the heartbreak she’s ever felt. About how unfair life really is. It all melts away and she wishes, oh she wishes he could do it again. And again. And again. Over and over until no wounds are left and the cracks in her heart are healed and life doesn't feel so shit anymore.

“ Hey, Luke’s gone and I don’t really wanna be alone on Christmas eve. Wanna stay at mine? “

She wonders how anyone could say no to that. Not to JJ and his gorgeous blue eyes and that sparkle of — something that keeps looking back at her.

So she says yes. Of course, she says yes. It will always be a yes with JJ. Always.

JJ’s bed is soft. It’s so soft she wonders if he misses it while he’s staying at the Chateau. It’s like sleeping on a cloud. The pillows smell like ocean air and JJ’s shampoo. It all smells of JJ. Warm and familiar and comforting. It smells like home to her. He’s home to her. So it’s no wonder (Y/N) falls asleep approximately 10 seconds after her head hits the pillow.

It isn’t until the notes of Queen’s “Thank god it’s Christmas” echo through the small house, that (Y/N) is shaken from her slumber.

“ What the fuck? “

Gripped by curiosity, (Y/N) makes her way down the hall and turns the corner to the living room when her jaw drops.

The whole living area is decked out in hundreds of thousands of sparkling Christmas lights. Like an ocean of colors, a sea of stars. There's tinsel hanging from the doorways and garlands strung along the ceiling.

"What in the -"

"You're up!" JJ steps into the room, two plates in his hand piled with what looks and smells like delicious sweet pancakes and a smile on his face that puts all the lights to shame.

"What time is it?"

" um like 11:30 or something."

"And you're making pancakes?"

"Yes. For us. For our Christmas Party," he says like it's the most obvious thing. Like its not strange at all.

"Our party is over JJ."

"No, it's not! It's our party and it starts now. See we got the lights," he gestures around the room then shakes the plates in his hand slightly. "The food"

Placing the food down on the table he makes his way to the corner of the room where a sickly looking yucca plant sits covered in tinsel and sparkly plastic ornaments.

"Here's our very own tree," JJ announces, a wide smile gracing his face. He is so proud of this, his enthusiasm and excitement radiating from him and pulling (Y/N) into the deep with him. There's just something about a happy JJ that makes you feel the joy too.

"When did you make this", she asks and gestures around the room.

"While you were sleeping."

"Jay …"

"And I even got you a present."

"JJ, You - "

"No, listen! You were so excited about this and then you didn't even get a present. I know you said it's not a big deal but I could tell how much you were beating yourself up over making that mistake. And look if anyone, we know best that Christmas isn't about the materialistic things. But you deserve a little something for setting this up for us and for making us happy and giving us the only Christmas some of us will have this year. I want you to be happy too. I thought since your mom never gave you the figure 8 Christmas extravaganza, I'll try to. Pogue style of course."

"You made this, for me?"

JJ nods and though she can't be entirely sure due to the lights casting colors all across the room, she's fairly certain there's a light shade of pink dusting his cheeks.

"I also got you a present. I - I didn't wanna give it to you with the others around since we said no gifts only the secret Santa ones. But um … I made this a while ago. After that one time I fixed your car I had some scraps and some time left and yeah. "

The present he hands her is messily wrapped in brown paper. There's no glitter or fancy patterns or anything. But it doesn't need any of that. It doesn't really even matter what it is. JJ made this for her. He put time and effort into something just for her. It sends her heart pounding in all the crazy beautiful ways.

As the paper falls away, she can finally make out what it is he gifted her. While it's got a few rough edges, it's a surprisingly delicate flower. There are log nuts and scrap metal welded together to create something so beautiful, so intricate.

"You made this for me?" She asks, voice but a whisper. When all your life you learn that people are selfish and cruel, the little things can shake your entire world. Leave you breathless.

"Mmhm. Remember I took that welding class once."

"But you made this, for me," she repeats her words, trying to emphasize what this really is about. What it is that makes her heart do twirls and pirouettes.

"I told you, you're my favorite. You deserve this."

And then the world comes crashing down like a meteor, full force headed for impact.

"I have nothing for you."

JJ shrugs and she can tell he means it. That he isn't looking for anything. While he always liked to joke and fantasize about riches and fortune, JJ was never someone that cared all too much about any of that. Even his wildest dreams usually only extended to a little surf hut and enough free time to see the world. No big cars or houses or anything fancy.

"You're here. Honestly, this is the best Christmas I have had in a long time. I’m not alone for once so — “

“ Still. There must be something I can give you to say thank you. Something you want. “

JJ lets out a mix between a chuckle and a scoff. As if whatever thoughts have conjured up is but the silliest thing he has ever heard in his life. The most delusional of all thoughts. Maybe it is, but she wants to hear about it anyway. Because even the chaos feels weirdly calm coming from JJ. Sometimes, (Y/N) thinks, it’s not about avoiding the storms, not about outrunning them, it’s about who’s by your side while you brave it. It’s about holding on to the people that go through the storm with you. About those that hold your hand while the dust settles and that pick you up as you assess the damage.

“ What’s that reaction for? “

“ I uh — what I want I don’t want like this? “

“ Huh? “

“ Out of pity. Because you feel bad. I gave you something because I want to make you smile and not because I expect anything in return. Especially not what I want. “

He casts his eyes downward, almost as if he’s embarrassed. But JJ is never embarrassed, right? He’s not bashful or shy.

Or maybe he is.

“ JJ, “ she approaches him again and softly lifts his chin to level his face with hers. His blue eyes could rival the ocean waves crashing outside in both how bright they are and how much emotion and power seems to be caught in them. “ Tell me what you want. “

“ You. “

It’s a whisper in the dark. A secret shared. A heart ripped from a ribcage and presented to the only person that keeps it beating. It’s a silent dream come true.

It’s two teenagers who have never known love, finding a safe place in each other surrounded by an ocean of lights.

“ And I know it’s ridiculous and silly and dumb as shit because we’re friends right and it can’t happen. No Pogue on Pogue macking. I know the rule, fuck I MADE that rule. But I just — you are all I can think about and it’s not just because you look smokin’ in a bikini. It’s everything about you, even the things that drive me crazy. So if I could wish for anything for Christmas, anything at all, I’d ask for you. For us to be more than friends. But I understand that isn’t possible, like — I get it. I — “

His words get swallowed by the taste of her lips on his. Time stops for a second, or speeds up, or — really nothing about the passing of time fundamentally changes but as he realizes what's happening and lets himself fall headfirst into this feeling of joy and belonging, it makes it seems like the world has stopped spinning for a second. His hands find their way to her face, pushing a few strands of hair out of the way, and he deepens the kiss.

Britney Spears sings a cheesy pop song telling Santa she’s been good this year, as JJ pulls away but keeps (Y/N) close. Holds onto her as if he’s worried life is playing a trick on him and will pull her away any second now.

“ Was that a pity kiss? “

“ Did it feel like a pity kiss? “

“ No. That felt really good. “

“ JJ, “ (Y/N) explains, “I’ve been into you for way longer than I like to admit. I just never thought you felt that way about me. “

“ I think I did. For a while. I just — I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like. You know I don’t have the best examples. Big feelings scare the shit out of me. “

“ Me too. I think they might be worth it though. “

“ Yeah, I think you might be right. Hey would you look at that,“ he exclaims and points above their heads where a fake holly branch dangles from a sparkly red garland. “ A mistletoe.”

“ Uh, that’s — that’s not a mistletoe.”

“ It’s called suspension of disbelief, okay? It’s impossible to find mistletoe on the OBX on short notice.”

The two of them fall into a fit of laughter and for once life doesn’t send a storm their way, no gray clouds or harsh winds or downpour. Just a clear night sky and a thousand of twinkling lights shining alongside the stars.

And when he kisses her again and again and again, she thinks maybe there are Christmas miracles and maybe they aren’t made from magic but from love.

“ Hey,” JJ whispers against her lips as he pulls away for a second.

“ What is it? “

“ It’s midnight. Do you know what that means? “

“ Hmm? “

“ It’s Christmas. “

“ Merry Christmas, JJ. I hope you like your presents. “

“ Yeah, “ he says and pulls her for another kiss. “ I love my presents. “

And when they manage to pull themselves away from each other and sit down by the kitchen table sharing pancakes and whipped cream, (Y/N) figures that this is love.

It’s not handprints on a cheek, it’s not tears on a pillow, it’s not fancy gifts or decorated gardens.

It’s holding each other through storms and pain and heartbreak, through breaking waves and undercurrents.

It’s sharing traditions and making your own.

It’s promising to be better, to do better, to love more and harder and more openly.

Love is a kiss under the mistletoe. Pancakes at midnight. Whipped cream sprayed in the shape of a crooked star. A room full of lights. Bad Christmas music. It’s laughter. And friendship. And hope.

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x fem!reader #jj maybank fanfiction #jj mayback imagine #jj maybank oneshot #jj maybank x female reader #jj maybank x f!reader #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks fanfic #outer banks imagine #outer banks imagines #ChristmasCreationCalendar2021

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soobadnoonecanstopher · 4 years ago

Text

Touch it for Real, Part 9

Genre: Humor / Fluff / Angst / (Eventual) Smut 18+

Warnings: OMG they were roommates / slice of life / slow burn / mutual pining / crude humor / cursing / virgin!baek / idiots to lovers / unresolved sexual tension

Characters: Baekhyun X You/Female Reader

Description: You teach Baekhyun how to date. (Basically the Get You Alone M/V)

A/N: DO NOT YELL AT ME! It is going to be okay.

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5 , Part 6 , Part 7 , Part 8 , Part 9 , Part 10

You had a secret.

For such an abstract and shapeless thing you could sure feel it sitting in there.

It was pulsing.

Your secret felt like a splinter lodged just under a single taste bud that sat in the center of your tongue. You could feel your white blood cells attacking it, trying their best to push it up and push it out, but still it clung tight with its sharp barbs lodged within your cell walls. You brushed your tongue against your teeth.

The secret did not budge.

What you knew about them though, was that secrets did not like to stay hidden forever.

Your fork slipped and clanked noisily against the ceramic plate and the bright orange carrot ball rolled across the smooth white surface nearly sliding over the edge onto the white linen. Whoever decided that your steamed vegetables needed to be shaped into spheres simply for aesthetics should be forced to come out here and explain how you were supposed to spear one of these things while also avoiding the risk of it shooting across the table and hitting your date in the face.

Ben turned out to be very nice. If you were into tall, handsome, clean-looking, and responsible guys who drove their own cars and also had things like health insurance and retirement plans. When you first saw him, you were struck by the firmness you felt when he shook your hand and smiled brightly at you. He had all of his teeth and a head full of hair. He was definitely walking around on his real legs too. He looked like the kind of guy who didn’t let the clean laundry sit in the dryer for longer than a day and changed out his toothbrush every three months. You couldn't see a single fault.

You were trying your best to make a good first impression.

Really, you were.

Well, while also keeping an eye on Baekhyun who sat beside you with his focus down on his plate as he sliced his food into bite sized bits. His control of the fork and knife felt so careful and so exacting, it neared obsession. He had not ordered the steamed vegetables. None of his food rolled.

Across from him, looking just as cute in person as her online dating profile pictures conveyed, was Mia.

Mia was fine.

She was fine.

You didn't want to get into it.

Her clothes were fine. They were exactly the kinds of clothes you had expected she would wear.

Her hair was fine.

She actually had a hairstyle that reminded you of one of the characters in an anime you watched with Baekhyun once and you wondered about the upkeep costs of that particular shade of blue that streaked through her hair. You wondered if she had to switch to blue towels and blue pillow cases or if everything in her house was just stained forever.

Baekhyun’s cheeks blushed when he shook her hand and his smile was bashful, if not a bit tight when she complimented his glasses. Your mind briefly considered the plush, expensive white towels you both owned at home and a flash of horror overcame you for a split second when you imagined those towels streaked with a blue stain from the shower.

He bought those glasses at a store. Anyone can go to the store and buy glasses. Did such a superficial compliment really warrant such a deep shade of pink on his cheeks?

You took a sip of your glass of wine and the sweet, cool liquid had a tart aftertaste that lingered on your taste buds long after you swallowed and you stabbed roughly at the runaway carrot again, impaling it with the prongs of your fork.

Finally.

“I got it,” you said out loud to yourself with a wide smile and you held your prize up in front of your face for a second. Long enough for your eyes to drift across your table to meet Ben’s and you caught the soft amused chuckle that puffed from his nose.

You’d already gotten through the backstory. Starting with the curious question from Mia about how you and Baekhyun got to know each other and you took a quick glance toward Ben as Baekhyun explained that you and he had been roommates for a couple of years. You caught the slight smile on Ben’s lips as he looked down into his water glass and you wondered if he was pleased that he already knew the answer to this question as you had been quick to tell him this important detail about your life as you chatted with him during the last week or so.

Mia on the other hand simply let her eyes drift over from Baekhyun’s face to land on yours for a moment and you offered a disarming smile by way of explanation. Not that either of you had any explaining to do. You could live with whoever you wanted to live with. It took her ten seconds to return your smile, although you didn't quite believe it, or believe that she was done with her curiosities about this topic.

You couldn't really blame her although you’d given her nothing to be suspicious about. Not in the last 20 minutes since you’d all arrived and nibbled on shared appetizers, at least.

Hell, you hadn’t even touched him all day. From before you both arrived at this fancy restaurant and just relinquished your coats to some stranger simply because she held a hand out and sported a severe enough hairdo and manic look in her eyes that was too frightening to question. From the morning when you woke up and wandered into your kitchen to make toast for one and you ignored the sound of his feet shuffling in, half-asleep to grab a yogurt from the fridge. You hadn’t even helped him style his hair; which looked stunning, by the way, with the waves and the faded brown color that absolutely looked like something the perfect boyfriend would let you play with as he laid on your lap. He hadn’t even asked for your help picking out his outfit. He’d simply done it all on his own and waited for you by the front door wearing those jeans and smelling like that familiar scent that he bought for your date with him weeks back.

When had this all become so awkward? You’d never been afraid to touch Baekhyun before but now, well, the touches hadn’t ever concealed quite so much meaning before.

By the time the entrees arrived the conversations had moved on to hobbies and interests.

Ben was a movie buff, and his favorites were mostly mainstream blockbusters of the Marvel Superhero variety. He enjoyed many of the genres of films you’d mostly seen just the previews of. His top ten contained a bit more horror than you were comfortable with. One in particular, a prolific film based on a Steven King novel, had been the kind of psychologically terrifying film that made your chest rattle and you had spent most of the second half of that movie with your face buried in Baekhyun’s arm begging him to just describe to you what was happening and to tell you when the scary parts were over.

When he asked you what your favorite movie was you hesitated for a moment before pulling the movie Forrest Gump out of basically thin air. Yes you had enjoyed the movie. Yes it was something you’d seen more than once and if it was on television right now you would sit down and watch it from start to finish and you would enjoy it. It was a respectable favorite to have. It was the kind of favorite movie you would not be embarrassed to show to your grandmother.

But it wasn’t actually your favorite and you could feel the burden of Baekhyun’s eyes as he turned his head to look at your face when you said it.

Something about naming, out loud with your own lips — the light and fun, mindless guilty pleasure of the film that was actually your favorite movie that you’d watched hundreds of times and returned to watch again and again every time you felt even a little bit upset; something about saying it out loud to this table of people with countless of hours of media consumption under their belts and opinions about things like prolific directors, production companies, hefty CGI budgets, and overused, tired tropes that absolutely should be dropped in 2021, well it just felt too vulnerable for you to say out loud.

You swallowed a sip of your wine and refused to turn your head to look at Baekhyun until you heard the sound of his throat swallowing the ice water he sipped.

When Mia changed the topic to Anime you felt Baekhyun come alive beside you and Ben slinked back in his seat a little as the two of them got to talking about something that was highly anticipated and was slated to be released next year. Rumors about artists and directors with names you could not know flew easily from their lips and Mia mentioned the name of one previous work that you recognized.

In fact you had watched the entire thing last year with Baekhyun and you remembered talking excitedly about it with Mia during one of your early text conversations.

Your face lit up and you happily joined in, excited to finally know what in the world they were talking about when you accidentally let something slip when you reminded her of what she had said about the anime before. Luckily you stopped yourself before you could admit that you had actually been the one she had been chatting with at the time.

Still, she caught it. She was very quick and sharp and you watched her face as she registered that you’d referenced something that only Baekhyun should know about. Had you just fucked up?

“Ahh, we,” you raised your index finger and waved it lightly toward where Baekhyun had stiffened up in his seat beside you, “he told me about what you said.”

There was a moment when her eyes widened and she looked at Baekhyun briefly before returning her focus to you.

“He...told you about me?” She lifted a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, straightened her back and leaned forward with her forearms rested in front of her plate on the table. Her off-the-shoulders number dipped when she leaned in and you caught a bit of black lace and the bunch up of her impressive bosom.

She smiled a coy smile aimed across the table.

You followed the smile and your eyes reached Baekhyun. He’d been hit with the smile and had been too stunned to return it. Instead, he lifted a hand and rubbed it over the back of his neck twice before reaching the same hand forward to grab the ice water he’d been sipping all night as he pulled in a mouthful and puffed his cheeks before covering his lips with his flattened palm and swallowing noisily.

“I also mentioned you to my friend,” Mia said not quietly enough for it to be just for him and you dropped your eyes down to the half finished chicken on your plate.

She was fine. Mia was fine. She’d done absolutely nothing wrong. She was nice and she was probably a good person, but you kind of wanted her to die.

“So,” Ben interjected suddenly and you looked across the table at him as you tried to conceal the surprise on your face to find him sitting there.

You noticed he was done with his food and his plate had already been cleared away by the super attentive waitstaff.

The negligence of your own date weighed heavily on you and you angled your chest forward to face him directly for whatever questions he had for you.

He was pointing toward Baekhyun and Mia with his extended finger and raised eyebrows.

“You two work in computers?” It was a work question. He’d gathered this much from the brief introductions everyone had given and while you had failed to offer any insight as to what you did for a living, Baekhyun and Mia had both mentioned computers.

“He’s a software engineer, and I’m a programmer. Similar but not the same,” Mia explained. You weren't sure of any of the details or of how they were different. You hadn’t really put much thought into it. You knew Baekhyun worked the magic with the keyboard and could fix anything that you happened to break.

“I’m in advertising. Just got scouted by Comma Entertainment and I’ve accepted.” Ben had a hand raised to his chest and his eyebrows were up. This seemed important to him and you let your lips form into an impressed O shape as you raised your eyebrows. His tone and the way he said the name of his new employer seemed to warrant the excited reaction.

You weren't familiar at all with his industry but you knew how to react like you knew what he was talking about. He certainly seemed impressed by himself. Who were you to discourage his enthusiasm.

“You’ve heard of it?” You sold it too well. Baekhyun had leaned close to you and whispered an aside question and you shot him a tense look with your eyes as a warning, but you quickly pushed your smile wide for Ben who was, deservedly, very excited about his new position.

“Of course, who doesn’t know Comma for advertising. That’s a very big deal. Is that why you were so busy last week? We hardly got to talk.”

Your subject change was so slick. If you hadn’t been the one to do it, you’d have been impressed by it. The disappointed pout on your face sold it well.

“Actually I was at the bank a lot last week. It was so weird. I had a few accounts that seemed to be hacked but then it turned out to be nothing. Had to change all my passwords though, so that was annoying.”

“That sucks. They didn't take anything did they?” Mia spoke up from beside Ben; concern written all over her face.

“No. Whoever did it just seemed to access purchase histories mostly. Some loser of a hacker. Didn't even get any money.” Ben’s lips pulled wide and he was laughing with his head thrown back at his perceived victory over the hacker that had been messing around in his bank records.

“You can learn a remarkable amount of information about a person’s bad habits from their bank history, Ben. Sure utilities and rent; that’s boring. You can find out how often someone gets hammered at bars. How many of those bars are also strip clubs. How many maxed out credit cards they make minimum payments on each month just to keep their head above water. Their gambling losses and the motel rooms they book in the bad part of town…”

Baekhyun was speaking up beside you. You turned and you looked at his profile as he spoke so candidly and with what you could only describe as a certain smugness on his voice.

The only reason he’d stopped talking was to catch his breath. It was the most he had spoken all night and you honestly felt taken aback by the suddenness of his words and more, the topic he spoke on. It felt weirdly pointed. It just felt so detailed; almost accusatory.

“What?” You hissed the question; focused it hard and as under your breath as possible to the man seated beside you.

His lips closed up before his eyes turned to look at you and you caught a quick blink of his eyes that preceded a softening of his features that had no business looking that confrontational in the first place.

“I’m not saying any of that stuff applies to Ben.” Baekhyun lifted a slim dismissive hand to wave toward your date. “It’s just an example. For all we know Ben’s only weakness is eating fried chicken every day.”

Ben’s lips were pulled into a thin line on his face and his jaw unclenched when you looked back at him. Then he was smiling at you and it was bright and convincing. You smiled back at him and shook your head at your wacky roommate’s antics.

“Actually it’s pizza. You caught me buddy, I’m a hardcore pizza addict. Every night.”

“Well, not tonight.” Baekhyun shrugged with an odd smile landing on his lips.

Ben’s tight smile flattened and the two men seemed to be staring at each other for longer than you thought was polite for a shared first double-date.

“So what is it that you do?” It was Mia who ultimately broke the tension and you looked across the table into her eyes. She had a pleasant smile on her face and was still chewing on a piece of bread, clearly unbothered by the strange standoff that had just been going on between the two men at this table.

Surely you weren't the only one to notice how odd it had been. Had you just imagined the tightness in Baekhyun’s fist that laid over his thigh and the hard glare in Ben’s eyes?

With Mia’s question though, you felt your own lips pull closed and your eyes danced around the table to the other curious parties who also were now looking at you to answer the question.

You’d prepared well for this date. You’d made sure Baekhyun had the detailed first date topics, questions and answers for perfect small talk, even the section on table etiquette. You’d made sure he knew you’d be here to steer the conversations toward topics he was comfortable discussing and you’d even set up a safety signal he would use if he wanted to bail and just go home.

You’d planned it all out, down to the detailed progression of the evening and how at the end someone might even suggest going together for drinks. And should one of the dates wish to split off, it would be completely okay as long as the corresponding person felt comfortable. You’d even promised that under no circumstances would you abandon Baekhyun to do this on his own if he didn't want to. Not even at the behest of Ben, your date.

They were looking at you and you'd gone quiet. You’d been so busy preparing for this date that it never occurred to you that you were also actively involved and that someone might possibly ask a question about you and your work.

Your work. Well…

“Uhh...I don't really do anything worth mentioning.”

You felt it. It was a warmth that had pooled in the skin around your nose. Your cheeks felt warm and you felt just insignificant enough for it to take your undeserved confidence and throw it out the window.

Ben and Mia were watching you. You pulled your bottom lip in between your teeth and bit down on the dry chapped skin on the surface.

“Nothing?” Ben said and his eyes were wide with a look of confusion on his face.

“Well, not nothing.” You were not completely unemployed. You had been quite impressive before. You’d been working with the best publicists of an entertainment company and had been in charge of crafting and perfecting the asset sheets of many of your company's highest profile artists. You’d been the best at it and at one time had been highly sought out for your expertise. You had a way with it. You could work some real magic. You could make a dud of a raw potato sound like a five star course in a Michelin star restaurant. Losing your position in the spring of 2020 had really been a huge blow to your confidence. You looked back at how far you had fallen. Boring data entry jobs to make ends meet. Taking on weird side gigs so you could afford tiny luxuries like your favorite scented lotion or the name brand tampons instead of the store brand.

“I do have a job.” You added lamely. “It’s just not at all interesting.”

Ben dropped his eyes from yours and Mia shrugged her shoulders and stabbed a carrot ball expertly on the first try.

“Yeah but what is it?” Mia said as she chewed daintily. The heat in your cheeks spread and you let your eyes wander away from hers over the various dinner items that covered this table.

Beside you, Baekhyun’s movement caught your eye and you turned to see him place an elbow on the table in front of him and he leaned forward.

“She’s a dating coach. She’s really good at it, but much too modest when she talks about herself.”

Oh no. He wasn't about to spill the beans was he? This was definitely not something in the approved list of first date dinner topics. Wasn't this topic too incriminating? Wouldn't Mia put two and two together and figure out that you had been coaching Baekhyun all along? Also, wasn't this new profession of yours too brand new to start talking about so freely like this? What the hell was he doing?

“A dating coach? What’s that?”

Strangely, Mia didn't seem to be looking at Baekhyun with wheels turning and sirens blaring. She was looking at you with her mouth empty and hung open with a look of genuine interest in her eyes.

“Do you like, feed them what to say in an earpiece?” Ben was speaking up from the other side of Mia and you laughed at the absurdity of such a silly rom-com movie cliche.

“Well no. I’m not a pickup artist. I am a dating coach. Think about it like a sports coach. I am teaching my clients the skills to play the game. Skills to overcome dating anxiety, or I’m teaching them to identity and move away from self-sabotaging behaviors, limiting beliefs, or preconceptions that are detrimental to a healthy relationship.

I have clients that don't even know where to begin. My goal is to strategize with them and place them effectively within the dating scene so they stand the best chance. It’s incredibly hard to be objective about your own love life, but I provide an outside viewpoint. I step in and intervene when I see something that isn't in line with their relationship goals or the vision they have for dating.

I’m not teaching manipulation or just telling them what to say. There are no love spells to make someone fall in love with you. I’m changing the way they believe in themselves so they can present themselves to someone else in the absolute best way to begin a real relationship with someone.”

You’d been leaning in as you spoke animatedly with your hands. You felt the genuine excitement building with your words. You were surprised at how much of your previous profession’s language applied to this new exciting endeavor you were embarking on, but there really were tons of overlapping similarities between the two fields. The explanations just poured out of you.

You hadn’t said any of this out loud before to anyone but the more you talked about it, the more elated you felt about what you were doing with your life. With how much you had been helping Baekhyun and how much progress you had seen in just one day of helping your clients — Baekhyun’s friends Minseok and Sehun. Sehun had finally, finally sent you his first selfie that wasn’t taken from his lap after you’d sent him many examples of good selfies taken from different angles. Minseok was already halfway through the materials you’d sent him to study and had been working hard on identifying and changing the self-defeating language he’d used in his rough draft dating profile.

“She has an app.” Baekhyun piped up from beside you. He’d leaned back in his chair as you spoke.

Both Ben and Mia’s faces mirrored each other’s. Their eyes were wide and their mouths hung in amazement and you quickly closed up your own mouth and grabbed anxiously at your wine glass, feeling a little bit embarrassed about having talked so much. You couldn't resist the chance to smash their misconceptions about what your goals actually were with helping your clients. None of these people were unlovable. They were all worthy of finding someone and you were going to give it your all to help them see their own value.

“Not at all interesting?” Mia spoke up, “that’s super interesting. That’s really, really cool. Can—Can I have your contact info? I have a friend that would be interested in your services.”

“You have an app too? This is something we could advertise online. It would do extremely well on certain kinds of reddit forums and definitely in most online gaming communities.” Even Ben sounded excited, if not a bit overly judgmental, and you heard a quiet, but hostile scoff next to you.

You ticked your head toward the sound but did not turn to look at him. You knew that scoff well enough to hear the annoyance in his voice at whatever he thought Ben might be insinuating about online gamers and the connection to the incels that haunted the forums of reddit.

“I think it’s a bit premature to think about online advertising. I’m still only one person.”

Ben smiled and shrugged off your quick dismissal of his idea to partner up and advertise your business to the desperately lonely and pathetic gamers of the world. Hell, the more you thought about it, the less inappropriate Baekhyun’s annoyance was. Ben could use some coaching on choosing less insulting words.

Thankfully the dinner was over and the check had been taken care of. You looked away from the palpable awkwardness that slapped you across the face when Baekhyun waved away Ben’s card and paid for the entire bill with his own.

“You can get me next time, buddy.” He definitely said this word sarcastically. It was out of line and you simply could not find the right moment to pinch his leg under the table to get him to behave himself in a discrete enough way that would not get you caught by the other two people at this table.

You let it slide simply because you had no way to stop it. He was ignoring the way you waved your finger frantically at him down by your calf. You knew he could see you in his peripherals.

No, Baekhyun. Stop that. Be nice. Your hand was saying. He wouldn't even look at it.

The dinner was over and the movie was starting soon. You’d picked a restaurant that was close enough to the theatre that you could walk.

You paired off. It was far from natural. You actually caught Baekhyun’s eyes as you stepped quickly and walked ahead of him, falling into step beside Ben and you left behind Baekhyun and Mia to bring up the rear. It took every ounce of self control not to turn around and look behind you to see how closely they walked to each other. To see if Baekhyun kept his hands shoved securely in his pockets or if he swung his arms at his side as he walked, inching a hand closer and closer to Mia’s swinging hand in the hopes of a back of the hand brush of his warm skin against hers.

Your steps must have stalled. You’d reached the theatre and you looked up to locate Ben, only to find him at the box office purchasing four tickets for the movie you’d all agreed to watch days ago. For the life of you, you couldn't remember what you were seeing. You merely followed where you were led and found yourself seated in a center row of a movie house sandwiched between Ben and Baekhyun. You noticed the center armrests had been lifted when you arrived and simply did not bother to lower them since everyone was too full from dinner for any movie snacks or drinks.

The house was mostly empty and then lights dimmed as the movie began. You searched your brain and nearly pulled out your phone to check your chat logs for the name of the film but decided against shining a tiny bright light in a dark room.

The movie began and you were quickly drawn into the narrative. It was a dark film and as the soundtrack began to take on more sinister sounding tones you recognized that your heart was racing and you were feeling the tension all over your body. It was not a gorey horror film, but it was leaning more toward the psychological suspense thriller genre. Not really something you watched much of.

To your left, Ben sat completely still; focused only on the movie screen. He looked so calm and nearly unaffected by the terrifying things happening on the screen. He occasionally shifted in his seat but did not react to the jump scare that flashed before your eyes and made you flinch hard in your seat. You’d reached the point in the film when the main characters were in genuine danger and you began to wonder if anyone would make it out of this movie alive. Was this one of those films where everyone was doomed?

It happened again, another jump, another loud shocking sound and another noise startled you and you dove to your right, hiding your face in the warm shoulder of the man sitting beside you.

The realization was instantaneous. The second you felt the warmth of his arm, and the smell of him hit your nose, you pulled your head up and you straightened out your spine, mumbling a quiet apology to Baekhyun for using his arm to hide behind as you removed any and all contact points you had with his body. You angled your hips and your knees away from him and even went so far as to stick your hands well under your own thighs and keep them there so you didn't grab for him again. You had been doing so well by not touching him at all today. Why did it have to be a scary movie?

Things grew more frantic on the screen. You held your breath and tried your best to keep from reacting as much as you could. How long was this movie? How much longer did you have to endure this? You should have paid more attention to the details of this part of the date. This was your own fault. You were acting like a big baby because you couldn't handle a little frightening scenes in a movie.

It was coming again. You could feel it building. You closed your eyes and terrible sounds were erupting all over. You would just not look. You could make it through if you just didn't look. With your eyes closed the sounds felt louder than ever and when you thought you couldn't take it anymore you considered committing the enormous sin of getting up during the climax of the movie to use the bathroom just so you didn't have to sit through this anymore.

There was a shift beside you then. You felt warm fingers inching down your forearm, traveling the path your hand took that led below your thigh and someone was reaching for your hand and pulling it out from where you’d been sitting on it. Someone to your right was gripping your hand with his own warm hand and you opened your eyes to look down between the hidden space between your hip and Baekhyun’s hip. There, you saw the grip of his hand that wrapped securely around yours.

He squeezed down once and you followed the length of him up to catch a glimpse of the side of his face. He was looking up at the screen. His eyes were open and he did not flinch at all. He was so still aside from the occasional movement of his lips when he moistened them with his tongue.

You could handle this if he lent you a little bit of his strength like this. Your eyes returned to the screen but your mind wandered back down to the secure comfort you felt in his hand.

You felt your own secret throb.

It made you flinch just a little bit and Baekhyun’s hand shifted then. He moved, lifting the tight grip for a moment and you wondered if he was done, would he take his hand back and leave you cold and afraid again? The lift was for the shift of his fingers and you felt the push of each digit between yours. He pushed his fingers between yours; interlocking your hands together with his and his thumb moved lightly over your own thumb, brushing comforting strokes again and again through the loud and scary and shocking scenes that played over that screen.

This time the racing you felt in your chest had nothing to do with the scary movie. He was touching you. He was holding your hand in secret. It felt forbidden with his date sitting right beside him like she was and with your date seated right beside you like he was. All of your attention was down on the slow pressure you felt from his thumb as it traced the shape of your own thumb down from the very bottom up to the tip, around again. The simple up and down had a slow and sensual rhythm to it. When he lifted his hand his thumb moved and you held your breath to feel that same very slow touching trace the outline of the palm of your hand again and again. He drew absentminded shapes into your skin with the pointed tip of his thumb and your eyes drifted closed as the longing grew within you. He followed the paths of the creases in your skin like a palm reader. He did not even need light to see them, he simply felt them and traced along the paths.

You let him.

You felt bewitched.

You loved him.

The credits rolled on the screen and the lights switched on. The change was abrupt. You were taken by surprise and shocked by it like you were from the jump scares in the film.

His warmth left you. His wandering light touch, his deliberate and careful exploration of the lines that made up the palm of your hand vanished.

Everyone was standing and everyone was walking out of the theatre house and your mind felt clouded and dazed but you followed where their steps led and you found yourself standing outside of the exit doors with the three other people who you entered with.

Baekhyun stood beside Mia and Ben occupied the space of the sidewalk square that you also stood inside.

It was the end of a night. You felt an overwhelming urge for this evening to be done so you could go home and shower and maybe eat something sweet and distracting and maybe made out of chocolate.

“Well this was fun,” it was your own voice that ultimately called it.

Mia had been looking at Baekhyun who had been looking down at his own feet as he lightly tapped his foot on the concrete below. Three taps.

Tap, tap, tap.

You felt a jolt of realization. Baekhyun had just tapped his foot thrice on the floor below him well within your sight and you recognized what that meant. He was feeling done. He was done with all of this exhausting socializing and being out in public with so many people around and he wanted to go home now. This was him asking you for help now as he wasn't sure how to end the date but wanted it to be over.

“What about...grabbing some drinks, maybe...” Mia was talking only to Baekhyun as she looked at him, “if you aren't too tired.”

“Hey Baek, isn’t your grandmother coming over early tomorrow? Do you still have to get ready for that?” You interjected suddenly and Baekhyun looked up into your face with his mouth open and you watched his eyes move slowly over your face as he recognized what you were doing. You were giving him an out. Mia had asked him to go for drinks and you were giving him an excuse, should he need it.

You both knew his grandma came every other Sunday. You both vividly remembered the wonderful visit you had at the beginning of the week with her and she wasn’t due to arrive again until next Sunday.

He could simply correct you if he really did want to go with her. He could call you a dummy and tell you that you had the wrong week again and playfully tap you on the head to jog your brain back into functioning the right way as he often did when you got something mixed up.

“Oh, yeah she is,” Baekhyun grabbed your convenient reminder from the air and smiled a rueful smile directed at Mia. His smile widened with the wince on his face, “that’s too bad.” He added and Mia took it well.

She smiled and nodded her head and there were well wishes for a safe trip home all around as you all parted ways.

Ben said he would text you later. Baekhyun told Mia the same and you waited until they both walked away to follow Baekhyun back to his car for the quiet ride home.

The silence was heavy, but it was comfortable.

Baekhyun didn't speak at all and you could tell by the way he carried himself that he was tired. He wasn’t normally an extroverted person and found it very draining to carry on a full conversation with friends he knew well. Strangers like he had been with tonight, well, you could see the fatigue in his movements and you knew he needed something warm to drink and maybe some comfort with a familiar favorite tv show to zone out in front of.

You handled it better. You were used to having to go out of your home occasionally and you even enjoyed socializing with your coworkers on the few days you went in to the office for work. You felt a bit drained but mostly you were preoccupied with watching how he was handling it and you were also burning with curiosity to know how Baekhyun felt about the whole thing.

He’d wandered into the living room and he found the sofa. You followed him close behind and grabbed the remote, flipping to a familiar and funny cartoon that you often saw him playing in the background as he worked on things. He didn't usually watch it that closely but it was comforting enough to stay on and keep his mind occupied for a while.

You didn't speak. Everything you had to ask him could wait. Even the scolding you had for him about how he acted toward Ben could also wait. You’d let the man breathe a little first.

You busied yourself in the kitchen making two cups of hot tea and when you returned you found his head leaning against the back of the couch with his eyes still glued to the screen. He had a passive smile on his face and he reacted positively to the wacky scenarios the characters found themselves in. He would occasionally speak out loud, speaking along with a funny line he knew by heart and you found it impossible to resist saying the follow up joke. You knew this show as well as he did.

He accepted the tea with a smile and had a few sips and you set your mug on the coffee table in favorable of the comfortable side of the sofa, the side with the pillows that allowed you to rest your head comfortably as you watched the big tv.

You were feeling pretty good. Baekhyun had now officially gone on his first date with a real girl who wasn’t you and he’d had a nice time. You could see from where you laid your head down how relaxed his face was as he giggled at the show.

You stretched and you felt his warm thigh with your foot. This sofa was long enough for you to stretch out completely and you only barely reached where he sat at the other side. You wiggled your toes, unable to resist the light messing with him that you often gave in to and his hand reached down to grab ahold of your foot, which he held in place as he paid attention to the tv.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you sat up a little bit to pull it out.

You saw a text message from Ben.

From the preview you got the idea of what kind of text message the man would be sending you an hour after your first, and apparently your last date with him.

-Hey you seem like a super cool girl, but...

The preview showed you enough to know that he was dumping you before you’d even gotten anything started with him.

You opened the text. Your curiosity outweighed your sense of self preservation.

-...but whatever’s going on between you and your roommate, well it doesn’t really seem like there’s much room for me. I just don't think I can start something knowing I’ve already lost. Thanks for inviting me tonight. The movie was fun. Good luck with everything. - Ben

You felt the sting.

You couldn't help it. You’d spent all evening watching Baekhyun interact with Mia with every ounce of your self control devoted to not letting your jealousy show at all. At one point you’d been so damn engrossed in them that you forgot Ben was even there. What an unfair and shitty situation to have put him in. You quickly keyed out an apology for your crappy date etiquette and thanked him for going out with you tonight.

You couldn't even blame him for anything. He had been sweet and he had tried his best to be the perfect gentleman. What had you expected?

You sent the last message you would ever send to Ben and tossed your phone roughly toward the coffee table. It bounced but landed in the middle.

The racket called Baekhyun’s attention and he turned to look at you with his eyebrows raised in question.

“Ben just rejected me.”

Somehow saying this out loud to Baekhyun felt better than hiding it from him. It felt less miserable than keeping it inside of yourself and letting yourself suffer the sting of the rejection alone.

Baekhyun’s lips pulled into a small frown and he took out his cell phone from his pocket and tossed it roughly on the coffee table beside yours. It took a similar bounce and your eyes widened in surprise at the sudden gesture.

“No way, not Mia too,” you said in genuine fear and Baekhyun shook his head with his shrug still well in place.

“Nah, I just can't lay down with my phone in my pocket,” he said as he wiggled on the sofa trying to get comfortable, “though in hindsight I can see how you would think that, sorry. Mia hasn’t texted yet.”

He was wiggling, finding no comfort in all the positions he tried and you caught his wandering eyes for a second as you lightly tapped a hand over your belly.

This…

This would be fine. This was something you both did sometimes. Baekhyun said your belly was warm and comfy and made the best noises and he liked to use you as a pillow when he was just too tired to go to his own bed.

He moved right away at your invitation and you let your legs part around his chest as he laid his head down right on top of you. He turned his head to face the tv and didn't even squirm too much before he sighed out loud. His arms laid on either side of your waist and you felt the constriction as he lightly squeezed around you.

You really hadn’t gotten to touch him all day. Your fingers found their way into his hair and you felt a low moan from the back of his throat travel though your body as you raked your nails down the back of his head to his nape.

“Peanut,” you said softly, feeling every little bit of the annoying little tickle of that stupid secret sitting inside of you.

You could feel the heaviness of his body as he gave in and relaxed his muscles on you. You felt every breath he took and they seemed to be changing as you played with his hair and he gave in to the relaxing comfort you offered him.

“Hmm?” He replied after a long while. You angled your face and could see that his eyes were closed.

“How was the date? Was it nice?”

You had so many hopes for him. You were trying your best to ignore the pangs of your own selfish jealousy and get past it all to get to something good for him. Something that would make him understand how incredible he was. How beautiful he was inside and out and how precious of a human being he was.

“Mhmm, I liked it.” He said softly and he shifted and you felt him tighten his hold around your waist briefly before he relaxed again.

“Did you really? Do you think you liked Mia?” You kept your voice strong. You did not allow your fears to overcome your voice. You were okay with this if he was okay.

He did not answer right away. You’d stopped playing with his hair and you kept your hand rested over his head. He was so warm. He was so lovely.

“Do you want me to like Mia?”

No.

Mia would be so good to him.

You did not answer. Your answer would have been no. It would have been selfish. You’d just been dumped by your date, how dare his date have gone so well. You’d both been on the same date. You could still see the way she looked at him. She found him just as lovely as you did.

You felt a thickness at the back of your throat and you swallowed it down.

“I’m trying, Bug. She’s very nice to talk to. Do you think I should like her?”

Was this because of his mistrust of people? Was this his shyness about letting someone he didn't know very well in close?

You couldn't respond. You did not trust yourself to do the right thing.

“You should go rest if you’re sleepy,” you said, you know, like a coward.

It took him a few minutes of laying on top of you before he realized that you were right and he would be much more comfortable in his own bed. He nodded and pushed up with his arms, and his eyes stayed closed and his head stayed hung down as his feet shuffled and he made his way into his bedroom, leaving his door open you merely heard the loud sound of him plopping down on his bed.

You were stuck where he left you.

Stuck in about as crappy a mood as you’d ever found yourself.

You hated everything about this. You hated how much you loved him and you hated how receptive he was to the idea of dating Mia. You hated how she looked at him and giggled at his small jokes and you hated HATED the way his cheeks blushed and the shy smiles he gave her when she talked to him.

You laid there and you stewed in your mood for longer than was good for you and the only thing that made your it up was the simultaneous buzzing that brought both of your cell phones to life on the coffee table.

You reached for yours. It’s as your dating coach app. Baekhyun had received a new message from Mia. The feelings that surged through you were taking over your sense of what was good and what was right and what was proper behavior for someone like you to participate in.

You swiped to read the message.

-Hi Baekhyun. Sorry I couldn't wait until tomorrow to text you. I had an amazing time tonight and I was wondering if you would like to meet up tomorrow after your Grandmother’s visit for coffee? I have something I’d like to ask you.

You felt as if your body was on fire.

You could feel it deep inside your chest, deeper still inside your belly where his head had been resting moments before. You felt it in the palm of your hand where his thumb had traced the patterns of lines there. You felt it in your lips that he had kissed and in your tongue ached inside of your mouth from your stupid secret.

You reached for your phone. You opened the app for the power he’d given only to you and you responded to her message as if you were Baekhyun.

-Hi, Yeah, that sounds fine. I’ll meet you at 1pm.

Your hands moved on their own. You moved to the internal commands of your app and you deleted both of the messages from the chat history. When you picked up his phone you saw the notification for Mia’s message vanish before your eyes and when you unlocked it and accessed his chat log, there was no sign of the unimaginable and unforgivable sin you had just committed against him.

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5 , Part 6 , Part 7 , Part 8 , Part 9 , Part 10

Tag list: @j-pping @blahblahblah-boo @his-mochi-cheeks @amyeonzing@littleflowercrown13 @baekinmylife @insta1010 @nana-banana @f4ncyvelvet@bbhbeth @totallynerdstuff @byunbabybaek @maijinki @bbyunz@theclawofaraven @kingkushdealer @uhobob @baekswifey @punchmebaekhyun @xlxbaekhyuneex

#baekhyun #baekhyun fanfic #exo #exo fanfic #exo fic #baekhyun fic #baekhyun ff #exo ff #baekhyun scenario #baekhyun chaptered #baekhyun fluff #baekhyun angst #baekhyun smut

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some-kindofgnome · 4 years ago

Text

for auld lang syne

“And then I woke up in the hospital alone, and I saw the doctor alone and took a taxi home alone. I went to physical therapy alone and saw my counsellor alone. Whatever you thought, Katsuki, whatever you believed made me spend six months staring at my phone and thinking I’d ruined everything.”

It’s time for your agency’s extravagant New Years’ Eve party. But after a little sabbatical, there are some things you’re not ready to come back to.

characters: katsuki bakugou x f!reader

wc: 7.2k

warnings: smut (18+ please!) aged-up characters, pro hero!bakugou and pro hero!reader, mentions of injury, near-death experiences and gunshots, smoking, drinking, angst with a (filthy) happy ending, me being a whore for glamorous new years’ parties

notes: This fic has been dragging me across the coals since Christmas- I could not get it out of my head, despite how much work I knew it would be to get it out on time. Still, it feels supremely worth it. I have a metric ton of love to give to @hoe-doroki for beta-ing this mammoth on such short notice (I dumped it in her lap at 4am) because she really helped me whip it into shape. As always. 💖

Happy New Year, everyone.

(MASTERLIST)

“Won’t be long now.”

Anxiety bleeds into the already-nervous voice of your driver, muffled by the plexiglass divider that separates you. You’ve been sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic for the past four red lights, barely inching toward the intersection with every green.

You’re well past fashionably late at this point. You’re sure that the commissioned driver’s fearing for his job at this point, knowing exactly how long ago you were supposed to have arrived at your own party.

But you couldn’t care less. The longer it takes you to get there, the better. The vodka you’d downed neat, standing over the bar cart in your polished apartment, sours in the pit of your stomach. And the fact that your outfit barely allows a spare breath isn’t exactly cooling your nerves, either.

You’re draped over the door, resting one elbow on its edge to cushion your jaw as you lay your forehead against the chilly glass. Outside, the crowded traffic casts a golden warmth over the bluish urban night, betraying the slow swirl of fluffy snowflakes that drift lazily into the street.

Tonight has all the makings for an ideal, albeit bitterly cold, New Year’s Eve. But if it were up to you, you’d be watching all the wonder unfold from the comfort of your own bed.

You’ve been away long enough, though, says your agent. It’s time, says your manager. You stay away from the spotlight for too long and we’re going to forget about you, says the Internet.

The glittering gold fabric your stylist presented you with would’ve swelled your heart on any other occasion. He knows your taste to the button. And after breaking into exhausted sobs at your first fitting together, you’d been able to tell him that the outfit was perfect.

At long last, the glossy windows of your agency loom outside. You push the backseat door open before your driver can even kill the engine, stepping out as gracefully as you can muster and pulling the folds of your designer coat demurely closed around your glamorous party clothes. You’re greeted by swaths of flashbulbs and determined shouts of your hero name, and suddenly the practiced gracious smile that you’ve always saved for the cameras is stretching your lips one more time.

You used to love something about this. But you’ve almost never had to face it alone.

Inside, the party’s taken off without you. Your coat’s taken before you can even see who’s hands are slipping it deftly off your shoulders, but by the time you’re ushered into the elevator and sent all the way to the top floor, you’re already sweating with the anticipation of all that’s waiting for you.

The doors open to a rush of guests, each noticing you simultaneously and pushing in to greet you.

Arriving late does absolutely nothing to dissolve the grandness of your entrance. Your attention is immediately pulled in a handful of different directions as celebrities and dignitaries and politicians shake your hands and congratulate you. People you’ve never met are telling you how good it is to see you on your feet again and, despite the overwhelming distractions, you can’t stop searching the crowd.

You don’t want to let yourself search for somebody in particular, but you spot him long before your shame catches up with you.

It’s not a glimpse of his mussed hair you catch, bobbing through the crowd. Nor is it a slip of the edge of his suit, the most devastating shade of midnight blue you could have possibly imagined.

Your eyes, like magnets, are drawn right to his crimson gaze. Lightning shoots through your chest, and you look away so fast you nearly pull a muscle in your neck. You cast your gaze immediately to the red-faced MP in front of you and let yourself stare. Still, from the corner of your eye, you can see the way he lingers, still facing you.

You haven’t seen Katsuki in months. Luckily, your ability to multitask has not faded, and you make easy small talk with the mayor and his wife while you sense him, in all his midnight splendor, disappearing into the crowd again.

A close call. Too close, in fact, not to warrant a drink. You excuse yourself kindly from the mayor’s attention, cutting through the glamorous partygoers until you reach the bar at the center of the room. It’s crowded, but you grab the bartender’s attention quick enough and order the first of many glasses of Dom Perignon.

The agency knows how to spend, for a special occasion.

It’s while you’re trapped at the bar, waiting for that imperative first drink, that he corners you. You spot him an instant too late, sidling between two dancing couples and crossing the short distance between you. There’s no way to skirt subtly away from him now. Instead, you lean more fervently across the bar and immerse yourself in an intense examination of the liquor, shelved decoratively behind the working bartenders.

He hesitates—possibly for the first time ever—but you’re determined not to watch as he searches for the right way to bridge the silence. You spot the way he stuffs his hands into his pockets, and when he finally speaks it’s low and sharp and bitter.

“That’s a nice dress.”

He has to lean too close to make his voice heard, speaking low and gruff to you in a way he never used to. You’re too anxious to care whether he sees the way you close your eyes to dull the fervent ache that flares in your chest.

He’s not allowed to say things like that to you. Not now.

“Listen.” He doesn’t wait for you to answer, pushing ahead.

In the throes of closeness, it’s easy to pick up the tremor in his voice. That kind of shake used to scare you. It’s the way he’s always spoken to you when he’s keeping his temper at bay in public.

He’s opening his mouth to say something else, something deeper and far more expository perhaps, but your champagne arrives with no moment to spare. You pluck it eagerly from the bartender’s fingers with an exceedingly gracious smile and turn quickly in the direction you swear Katsuki’s not blocking.

“Watch it.” He grabs your wrist to keep you from sloshing half your fresh champagne down your front. His touch sears hotter than you’d dreaded, and you can’t stop yourself from flinching at the rough brush of his calloused fingers over your tender inner wrist.

Fuck.

“Don’t run off,” he insists, squeezing your wrist just a little tighter. Your entire body is drawn tight like a bow, but you’re not actively searching for an escape route at this point. Sensing this, he slowly unwraps his fingers, dropping your hand and letting you down half your drink in a couple of parched gulps.

“You look…” you start to say, letting your eyes wander his immaculate form one more time. Whoever cut that suit for him knew his shape well. It fits perfectly. Contrasts his golden hair like the night behind a harvest moon.

Absence has not culled your feelings for him. Especially not when he comes back to you like this.

You take another long, slow sip, ignoring the way Katsuki’s brows shoot toward his hairline when you nearly empty the glass. His gaze darts to the narrow flute in your hand, the prints of peachy lipstick that mar it.

With your heart beating a touch slower, you try again.

“You look good.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes.

“I can’t—” he starts, shaking his head as his eyes swim the crowd. “I’m not doing this.”

“What?” Your stomach drops. When he looks at you again it’s dead straight, burgundy and blazing in that way that used to make you molten.

Now it makes you want to cut and run.

“I’m not gonna fuckin’ play nice, like this,” he pushes. He takes a step toward you, letting your name—your real name—fall from his lips as tender and soft as a prayer. “Explain to me why my agent had to tell me you were gonna be here tonight.”

“Katsuki,” you plead quietly, backing away from him a touch. “I don’t want to—I can’t. Here. Please.”

For a million other people he might press on. He might get angry and demand an answer, threaten anything it takes to solve the puzzles in his brain. For you, his strong jaw ticks and he shoves clenched fists back into his ironed pockets.

“Let’s just,” you begin, “make it through to midnight, okay?”

“Fine,” he bites, but he doesn’t like folding to you. He gets you back by clearing his throat and extending you a palm, drawing the attention of the people around you. They turn, charmed by the agency’s finest reappearing as the duo they’ve always adored.

There’s a glint of something in his eyes as he gives his chin a little jut toward the dance floor.

“Dance with me, then.”

You’ve been to hundreds of opulent agency spectacles together. Charity benefits, galas, holiday parties and the like have always been studded by your presence. But no matter how many times you’ve entered the party together, you never managed to get him onto the dance floor. Despite your whining and pleading and fussing, he’s never ever let you drag him out there.

So this feels like a particularly low blow. But the orchestra’s struck up a dreamy rendition of The Way You Look Tonight and there are too many people watching for you to turn him down.

Instead, you down the rest of your champagne, set it on the bar behind you, and slip your hand defiantly into his.

“Fine.”

His fingers close gently around your palm and he gives it a lingering squeeze that turns your blood to venom.

You’re already racing through a complex plan to survive this attention as he walks you onto the dance floor. Some of the other couples pause in their swaying to send a smattering of applause over the crowd. You can feel the winning smile tugging at your mouth, forcing you to swallow the panicked ache in your chest.

Katsuki pauses at the center of the dance floor and pulls you slowly closer. The low dip of your gown places his warm hand on bare skin when he settles it in the small of your back, and you’re sure he doesn’t miss the sharp little suck of breath that you’re not prepared to hide.

He does not try to speak, so you’re silent as you settle a shaky hand on the shoulder of his perfect suit. He’s as perfect a dancer as you’ve always known he’d be, and he leads you into a smooth little sway that’s easy enough to navigate in your precarious gold heels but sweeps you into the music like a scene from years gone by.

“Hey,” he grunts a few bars in, ducking a little closer as his fingers press into the bare skin of your spine. He pulls you against him, forcing your tense body against his. The gentle dip of his hairstyle brushes your temple as he leans forward to murmur in your ear. “You’re holding your breath.”

You deflate against him, letting your eyes fall shut. When you take your next careful inhale, your head is filled by the heady, smoky scent of him. Your heart pounds so forcefully it’s practically blinding you. But above all else you hate yourself for still feeling all of this, after so many months of promising to force it away.

Katsuki knows you well enough not to try and trap you in conversation in public. But he doesn’t pull back any further, continuing to hold you flush against him, letting your soft cheek brush his with every couple of steps.

Despite your best efforts, you’re drowning in him: the strength of his touch, the fluidity in his movements. His thumb strokes the base of your spine with an easy rhythm that you’re trying hard not to notice. It’s becoming too much. He’s holding you closer than a colleague should, tucking his nose too attentively against the side of your head for a courtesy dance. You’re overthinking too many of the signs. You’re letting yourself believe what should have been thoroughly dashed to pieces so many months ago.

It’s when tears well behind your glittery eyelids that you put a stop to it.

“Katsuki, I—” You can’t finish, pushing yourself sharply away from his chest. Whatever expression of dreamlike peace that had touched his eyes fades quickly as he sees the telltale wet sparkle in yours, and he reaches for you an instant too late.

He calls your name softly, fingertips brushing the edge of your upper arm. But your tears are spilling over and you’re backing away and you cannot be here anymore, not when people are starting to see.

“I can’t do this,” you plead. “I can’t pre—I’m sorry.”

With a final shake of your head, you turn and hurry clumsily from the dance floor, pulling up the beaded skirt of your heavy gown and sweeping, as quickly as possible, to the glass doors shut tightly against the imposing snow on the terrace.

It’s bitterly cold, nearly fifty storeys up, and the wind whips mercilessly past your bare arms with biting chill. You can’t stay out here long, but it still feels better than the alternative.

With shaking fingers, you dip into the tiny bag you’ve been wearing over one shoulder. You’ve stashed exactly one emergency cigarette in its silky depths. You haven’t smoked in weeks, but something told you that tonight would beg one.

You have to back away from the railing to even light it in the wind, but you’re barely two puffs in before the door behind you opens carefully.

It’s the last person in the world you hoped for. And the only one you can imagine finding you out here. He’s got a glass of something neat in each hand—amber in one, clear in the other. He spies the cigarette in your fingers and his soft, concerned expression melts into a scowl.

“You’re still smoking?”

You take a defiant drag, blowing the smoke in his direction. The wind catches it, carrying it in a sharp curve back over your head. Katsuki licks his lower lip, but you can tell by the way his nose twitches that he’s trying not to chuckle.

You nod toward the whiskey in his right hand. “How many of those have you had tonight?”

“Not enough,” he quips. He nods toward the cigarette. “Put it out.”

“You don’t get to order me around anymore.”

“I said put it out.”

Your livid soul wants to defy him. You’re craving the conflict that inevitably comes when you both dig in your heels. But you’ve got no energy left to fight, so you flick the smoke dejectedly onto the wet pavement and crush it under one delicate pump.

“Better?” The attitude cuts cruelly through your voice. Katsuki just pushes the other glass into your hand and you know that it’s gin before you even have to smell it. You roll your eyes.

“The healthier alternative,” you snarl, but he’s finished with your games.

“Come inside,” he prompts. “You’re gonna lose your nose out here.”

“I’m not sure that’s your problem any longer.”

“What the hell’s wrong with you? Why are you talking like that?”

“Like what? Katsuki, I wanna hear you say it.”

He’s throwing back an irritated slug of his drink, but he bristles, gesturing wildly with the cup.

“Like we’re not gonna be partners anymore.”

His voice is punctuated by a horrible, involuntary sob that breaks from your lips. He’s always been able to read you so well, picking up on things that you’re not even ready to acknowledge. But he’s right. That is how you’ve been speaking, because you can’t even imagine standing next to him in a photo right now, let alone letting him take your life into his hands.

Katsuki moves forward, shocked by your tears, but you hold your empty palm out straight and, like he would only for you, he relents.

“Because I don’t think we can be anymore.”

“Shut up. Look at you. You’re fine. You look…” his eyes cast briefly over your form, “fine.”

You clap a hand protectively to your abdomen, remembering the painful tug and knowing that he’s missing the point.

“That’s not why,” you snap through your tears. “That’s not even…close to why. Katsuki, don’t be dense.” Your voice is breaking because you’re about to say it, the thing you couldn’t even bring yourself to feel as you were zipped into your gown earlier tonight. And if you’re going to say it, there’s no point in doing it with gusto.

Might as well go out like the whimpering fool you are.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whine, “because somehow, despite my best efforts, Katsuki, I fell fucking in love with you, so hard, and you knew I did, and so you…you don’t. You don’t, and I’ve ruined everything, and that’s fine, but I—”

He pulls your name from the very depths of his chest. If you were expecting fire and brimstone, you’re met with an even more harrowing sight—soft, somber, remorseful Katsuki, looking at you like he’d stop the world on its axis if it would make things better.

The memories are too easy to reconjure, and the sunshine of that sticky summer afternoon that changed everything lights up behind his gaze.

There was a crime syndicate you’d been uprooting for months. An underground hideout tucked well away from the prying eyes of hero society. A stray spray of bullets—bullets, of all things, finding the gaps in your shattered armour and nearly taking you from him.

You’d been sure. Both of you. There were too many shots. There was too much blood. The hideout was too well-hidden for anybody to find you in time. Your vision was bleeding out around the edges, and you saw Katsuki cry real tears for the first time.

In a slurred heap of breathless prose, you’d unloaded everything. The most important secret you’d ever kept from him came spilling from your blood-tinged lips.

You were glad to go, if it meant you never had to lose him. Glad to be the one to selfishly leave him behind. You were going to be okay if you never had to face a world without him in it. Because—and you’d choked this on a fresh wave of blood and ungraceful spittle—you’d loved him as long as you’d ever known him.

Six days later, you woke up alone in the ICU. And that was the last you’d seen or heard or known of the man who’d once promised to have your back, always.

Katsuki silently finishes his drink. His cheeks and nose have flushed deeply from the ruthless chill, and he turns to give the city one last glance before moving toward the door.

“Come inside,” he gruffs. Deep shivers have broken out along the column of your spine, but you wrap your frigid arms around yourself in protest.

“I’m not going back in there.” Not like this.

“Idiot,” he snaps softly. “Look at you. You’re gonna die for real if you stay out here.” He tightens his jaw and slams the empty glass down on the windowsill. Then he looks at you with all the lights of the night blazing in his crimson stare.

“Let me take you somewhere quiet. No one’s gonna see.” His chest rises and falls with a deep breath and he reaches carefully for your arm. “I promise.”

Even with a breaking heart, you’re a fucking sucker for him. Your voice is teary and pathetic but pinched by cold.

“Fine.”

He slips an arm around your shoulders—making your chest lurch—and you duck back inside. Immediately he takes you to the wall, putting himself between you and the rest of the party. With the breadth of his chest he shields you from prying eyes that grow drunker by the minute.

You skirt the edge of the party, making it to the stairwell door on the opposite wall. Somebody by the bar looks up just in time to see Bakugou tugging fiercely down on the handle, but you slip onto the fluorescent-lit landing and the silver door falls shut behind you without consequence.

You’re turning around to grab for the door that isn’t closing fast enough as he slips through it, colliding gently with his chest. Bakugou grabs your wrists to stop you, and for an instant you’re nose-to-nose, smelling him and the whiskey on his breath and the faint odour of paint that never quite faded from the concrete walls.

If not for the tears leaving streaks in your makeup, you might let yourself believe he’s lingering in front of you on purpose.

You pull from his grip and turn back toward the stairs before either of you have the chance to imagine more.

Your office is at the end of the hall on the next floor down. It’s a corner office studded with windows, far too lovely for someone who spends as much time in the field as you do. But you’d worked hard to make it a personable space, with plants and artwork and a couple of very comfortable guest chairs in emerald velvet.

Katsuki rolls his eyes every time he has to wave off the odour of your favourite scented candle, but you’ve caught him admiring what you’ve done with his office, too.

Now, the space is too tidy for either of your tastes, a little dusty from so many months of neglect. You’ve been out of commission for six months, and nursing a heartbreak far too immense to allow any casual visits to the agency.

He closes the door behind the both of you. Locks it, just in case. You’re already pacing across the rug and perching on the edge of the desk, gratefully taking some of the weight off your aching feet.

He keeps his back to you for a long moment, fingers lingering on the brass doorknob. His shoulders bob with a deep, harrowing sigh.

“You were dying.”

He turns around, and in the quiet dark of your office his eyes are lit up with a deeper fear than you’ve ever seen in him. He comes toward you and sits in one of your squishy little chairs, steepling his fingers and settling his elbows on his knees.

“You don’t–” he shakes his head and lowers it, pressing the heels of his hands to his forehead. “You don’t understand. You weren’t making any sense.”

“I was,” you bite back, gripping at the edge of your desk. “I meant everything I said to you, Katsuki; I remember every word.”

He flinches. He looks so sorry it’s starting to genuinely scare you.

“That’s not it,” he demands, straightening. “You didn’t. I did.” He slapped a hand against his chest, the dull thud reverberating through your own heart.

“You said those things and I didn’t believe you. They couldn’t have been true. Not when I’d spent so much fucking time wishing they could be. I couldn’t tell myself you felt that way about me. I couldn’t hope. Not when I’d come so fucking close to losing you so easily, I—”

His voice breaks and he looks away, and you might be crazy but his chin gives a telltale little shake like he’s holding back tears.

“So you thought it would be easier to what? Fucking ghost me like a bad Tinder date?”

That hurts more than it should. You’ve seen Bakugou at his very worst, bleeding and soot-streaked and showing you feelings he never means to. For a very brief period in your lives, you believed yourself to be special.

“Don’t play the innocent,” he snarls. “You never talked to me, either. I had to find out from my fucking manager that you were outta the hospital.”

“So you never thought to drop by? Bring some fucking… flowers?” You can feel the venom filling your mouth and you’re not altogether certain you’re strong enough to swallow it this time.

“And tell you what? That I was in love with you and, maybe I heard you wrong, but you said something while you were dying in my fuckin’ arms and I was hoping for some goddamned clarification?”

“Yes!” You sob, the word ripping itself from your chest and landing wet and heavy on the floor between you. “That! Anything would have been better than radio fucking silence. Katsuki, I was sure you hated me.”

“Well I fucking love you, okay?” He rises from his chair, taking one step forward. It lands him almost right between your thighs and you hate how close he is, but you have no power to pull away. He cups your jaw in strong, gentle fingers, forcing your eyes to his.

“I fucked up,” he presses. He leans down and presses his forehead to yours and this time his proximity is on purpose. You drink it down in eager gulps.

“I missed you,” he murmurs. Despite your tears and the ache in your heart, you give a wet little laugh and nuzzle your nose against his.

“I missed you, too.”

He takes your hands and pulls them both to his chest. And for a long moment you just sit there, curled over one another in the dark and growing accustomed to the idea of being okay again.

“Did you just…” you start after a long moment of silence. His eyelashes flutter against your cheek as he tucks his cheek against yours, but the grin that pulls your mouth is enough for him to stand back and look at you.

“Did you just admit to making a mistake?”

You’re laughing at your own joke before Katsuki can even roll his eyes. But he’s scowling good-naturedly and tugging himself against you by the hips.

“C’mere, you brat.”

He’s leaning in to close the distance between you when muffled chanting from upstairs makes you pause. You tilt an ear toward the window and light up, easily recognizing the five, four, three, two, one as the magnitude builds.

Bright flashes of gold and red light up the sky outside your window in a brilliant display. And all at once the lingering ache drains from your chest and you shoot Katsuki a fond little smile.

“I guess it’s midnight.”

“We missed the fireworks,” he notes, nodding toward the window as he edges back toward you.

“Not really,” you confess, and the first real big smile breaks through the pain when he steps up between your knees again, nice and tight and deliberate.

He cups your jaw in one hand again, settling the other palm on your knee, where it peeks through the golden slip of your dress.

“Happy New Year,” you whisper, eyes falling shut. You hear the way he smiles, that bare little chuckle that used to make your heart light up like stars.

He leans in and kisses you without another word. It’s soft but firm and so loving, so much better than any brush of the hand or lingering glance. Better, even, than the way he danced you into a stupor upstairs. This is yours and nobody else’s.

And you’re not letting him go anytime soon.

You let the kiss deepen as naturally as you can, dropping your jaw and letting the bare press of his tongue roll against your teeth. You reach up and grab his jacket by its lapels, hitching him even closer as the fireworks die out behind you.

He’s not backing down, either. Katsuki draws his hands from your body to unbutton his jacket, shrugging it away easily without breaking the kiss. He’s pressing his mouth to yours in long, lingering spells, tasting you eagerly while his hands have to stay busy. But as soon as he can he’s touching you again, teasing his fingers under the slit of your dress and brushing them over your bare thighs.

“Katsuki…” you whine into his mouth, turning your head to gasp and fill your empty lungs. He finds the next bare patch of skin, kissing down the side of your jaw. He finds your earring where it lays against your tender neck, sucking the crystal into his mouth and giving it a gentle tug.

“Fuck,” you gasp, and he grins into your skin.

“Don’t tell me you’ve had enough already.”

“Not a chance,” you growl. There are millions of questions flooding your subconscious. But years of tension and desire spiral more fiercely between you. It’s energy that demands release. And you don’t want to wait another second.

“God,” he groans hard, collapsing gently into you. As he presses forward against you, the twitching swell of his erection pushes into your bare thigh. You slide your palms down the meat of his chest and find his mouth again, kissing him with searing intent.

“Look at you,” he rasps into your mouth, gripping hard at the weighty skirt of your beaded gown. “You’re a goddamned vision in this, you know that?”

You pull back to look at him, raw sexual energy briefly dispersed by his tender confession. For a long moment you sit there, panting at each other, remembering how much this is about to mean.

Fuck it. If he’s in, so are you.

“Help me get it off.”

You slide to your feet, pushing him back a couple of steps to accommodate you. As soon as you turn around he’s sliding a palm up your side, thumbing at the fabric to find its zipper.

“God damn,” he growls, leaning in to kiss a path down the column of your spine. He drops to one knee as he works the zipper down the back of the dress—sitting low, thanks to its open back—letting his mouth trail all the way to the waistband of your underwear. All the while, you brace a palm on the edge of your desk, trying your best not to implode.

This is more attention than you ever could have prayed for.

He peels the thin straps down your arms and shoves the whole mess to your feet. You’re bending down to unbuckle the straps on your heels, but he stops you with a hand on the back of your thigh.

“Leave ‘em on.”

His voice sends a sharp pang of arousal through your entire body. When he stands, trailing his fingers all the way up the back of your naked thigh and over the swell of your ass, the arousal disperses into a dull ache that settles in the pit of your stomach and throbs incessantly.

He digs his fingers into the flesh of your hip and turns you to face him. Your nipples are already peaking in the chill of your office, and he sucks a deep breath through his teeth as he slides his palms up your tummy.

There’s puckered scar tissue and new ridges on your abdomen, but there’s no pain when he traces brushes over them.

He pauses, looking down with dull shock tugging his brow. You’re holding your breath again, watching him circle the roughest part of your new scars with one tender thumb.

“It’s okay,” you plead, cupping his cheeks and forcing his eyes back to yours. There’s pain littering his gaze that you’re determined to dissolve, and you lean in to kiss him until he’s groaning into your mouth and drawing his hands toward your chest.

“God,” you breathe, goosebumps betraying you as they race beneath his fingers. Katsuki watches your face as he dips his head, pushing your breasts together and laying kisses between them.

“Please,” you whimper, reaching forward and settling a hand over the front of his pants. You palm the shape of his cock through the pressed wool and he flinches, biting gently into your tender flesh.

“Katsuki,” you pant, squeezing and rubbing the hard swell in a gentle, heady rhythm as you set your ass on the edge of your desk again. “I need you.”

“Jesus,” he curses, dropping his hands and reaching desperately for his tie. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me before I even get my cock out, sweetness.”

It’s the dirtiest thing he’s ever said to you. And it shows. You’re a shivering, lustblown mess already, but the petname that falls from his lips is enough to make you whimper.

He shrugs out of his shirt and pushes you further onto the desk, dropping to his knees in front of you and pushing your thighs apart with strong fingers.

“Always kinda wanted to do this in here,” he confesses with that cocky smirk that’s always made a hummingbird out of your heart.

But Katsuki doesn’t give you too much time to swoon over his pretty words, kissing a path up the inside of one plush thigh and nipping at your sensitive flesh. He helps you brace your heels against the rug and lift your hips, peeling your underwear off and rucking it down your knees. There’s something very naughty about the way it feels to settle your bare ass on your polished desk.

But there’s something even naughtier about the way it feels to have Katsuki on his knees in front of you.

He pushes your thighs apart again, harsher this time, and settles your knees over his shoulders. You’d like to ride the wave of self-consciousness that threatens to crest when his breath ghosts over the folds of your heated sex.

He pushes higher for a moment, taking your sides in his hands and drawing lovely little kisses down the rough length of your scar. You push self-consciously at his head, making him pull pack and settle a hand over the flesh instead. He tilts his chin up, shooting you a look so filled with guilt and sorrow it nearly shatters the moment.

He wasn’t there for the pain. And as he kisses back down to your hips and thighs, you let yourself hope that this will be enough to make up for it on both sides.

But then he leans in and licks a long stripe up your cunt and the groan that echoes from his chest makes it hard to do anything but cum on the spot.

“Fuck,” you sigh wantonly, letting your head fall back as you brace your palms on the wood behind you. Your fingertips dig into the surface and he settles into an easy rhythm, slipping his arms under your thighs and tugging you tight to his face.

He’s not shy with his voice, either, grunting and sighing into your pussy with every stroke of his tongue. The noises double your pleasure almost immediately, coupled with the obscene slurps that vibrate all the way up your spine.

It doesn’t take long at all for him to find that tender little spot, the perfect direction from which to swirl his tongue against your clit. It’s obvious in the way your legs go tight around the sides of his head, the way you shiver and cry and clap a hand to the back of his head.

He grunts hard into your body when your fingers rake through his hair, harder still when your tense thighs press the narrow points of your heels into the flesh of his back.

“Katsu,” you whimper, already fucked out and tender like you’ve never been for him, “I’m gonna cum. Fucking shit, I-I’m gonna…”

He takes your warning like a hit, leaning more fiercely into you, keeping his rhythm with intense precision. Later, you’ll try not to think about why he’s so good at this. But right now, all you can think about is the way your pleasure rears up and crashes over you, sending loud gasps and breathy mewls of ecstasy from your chest as you squeeze his head and pull his hair and roll your hips shakily into his persistent mouth.

“Jesus Christ,” he snarls, sitting back on his haunches and swiping a palm over his flushed lips. He looks up at you, rubbing your thigh with one free hand as you come down panting from your ecstatic high. Between his legs, his cock juts obscenely down one thigh of his suit pants, and he palms himself shamelessly as he gets to his feet, taking in every inch of your pleasure-soaked self.

“You’re gonna make me cream my fuckin’ pants someday,” he chides, fumbling with his belt and impatiently shucking his pants. His undershorts follow closely, and you’re barely on your feet again before he takes you by the shoulders and turns your back to him.

“C’mere.” He slides a hand under one of your thighs, hitching it gently onto the edge of your desk and coming up tightly behind you. The brush of his knuckle against your ass proves that he’s stroking himself, and the tip of his stiff cock leaves a little print of wet precum on the back of your leg.

“Please,” you moan, still hazy and shaken from your first orgasm. Still endlessly needy, though, when Katsuki’s involved. “God, baby, just fuck me already.”

“Fuckin’ hell, you can’t say shit like that,” he groans, twitching behind you. “It’s like you don’t know how fuckin’ sexy you are.”

He braces a hand on your bare hip and then you feel it, the tip of his drooling cock pressing up between your slippery folds. It’s enough to make you whine and arch your back, wiggling your hips impatiently against his.

It’s enough to make Katsuki lose it.

“Shit,” he growls, gripping the fat of your hip and pushing forward, sliding home with one smooth thrust. He bottoms out inside you right away, buried perfectly in your belly and making you feel every inch.

“Baby—” you start to breathe, but he doesn’t waste time. Katsuki reaches around and lays his palm flat on your sternum, pulling you back against him. He keeps his other hand braced on your hip for leverage, dropping his mouth to the crook of your shoulder while he starts to thrust.

All you can do is keep your knee planted on the edge of your desk and try not to scream as he fucks you in steady, long thrusts, lapping and sucking all along the side of your neck while his hand roams over your chest and thumbs your nipple. Whatever hairstyle you’d left the house with has come long undone by now and you’re sure that if your makeup wasn’t smudged before, it’s certainly not going to survive the drool and sweat and heat that he’s forcing through you with every push of his hips.

The slap of his body against yours fills the space, punctuated only by your harsh pants and quiet whines of pleasure. Katsuki’s fingers dig harshly into your hip, gripping you tighter each time he anchors himself back into your fluttering cunt. Your walls are clamping ruthlessly around him, but he doesn’t miss a beat, slipping that free palm away from your nipples and down your belly to strum rhythmically at the swell of your stiff clit.

“I love you,” he grunts breathlessly behind you, and the raw truth behind it brings a rush of warmth to your chest you can’t ignore. You turn your head sharply towards him, pushing your forehead to his and feeling every beat as his breathing becomes laboured.

His body’s growing tight behind yours, his thrusts losing some of their impeccable rhythm as his brow knits against yours. He’s concentrating hard—holding back, you realize—and you reach down to cover his hand that braces your hip, giving it a relenting squeeze.

“Baby,” you plead. “Let go for me, baby, I can feel it.”

“God,” he mutters. “No—fuck, gonna make you—with me, sweetness.” Your body is clenching in preparation for your own climax already, and the fact that he can even pick up on it shouldn’t surprise you.

“I’m there,” you promise. “I’m there, Katsuki, fuck, just cum for me. Please.”

His arms tighten around you, seizing you hard against his heaving chest. You lean forward and seal your mouth against his, kissing him as he loses control and cums with a shout that echoes at the back of your throat.

He grabs your ass in one hand and fucks madly into you, spurting warm handfuls of cum into your belly and biting down hard on your lower lip. The erratic twitch of his fingers on your still-aching clit and the warm release inside you is enough to bring you to another tight, simpering little peak—not as powerful as the first one, but just as significant.

He stays behind you for a long moment, pinning you to the desk while he goes soft inside you. Finally he peppers kisses down the back of one shoulder and steps away from you, already smoothing his hair and taking in the image of you, in nothing but your heels, dripping with his cum.

The first of many, you let yourself hope, as you turn to carefully face him.

“I guess we missed the countdown,” you quip, reaching for your discarded panties. Navigating the strappy thing seems a great deal more complicated now that it’s not Katsuki tearing them off you.

He smirks at you in a way that does not make it easier to concentrate on the task at hand. Especially since he’s watching you struggle, easily buttoning himself into his now-creased shirt.

“I didn’t miss a thing.”

He’s already half-clothed by the time you get your underwear on again, stooping to collect your delicate dress from the floor and thumbing the sequins that pepper its surface. His smirk has dissolved into another pensive look as he examines the cloth.

“If I’d known,” he tells you, pressing the scratchy fabric into your hands, “I never would’ve—”

You lean up and push your mouth to his, soft and loving and just enough to silence him.

“I know.”

Once Katsuki’s got the rest of his clothes on, he helps you carefully into your dress and gets behind you one more time to help you zip it. He can’t stop kissing you even for a minute, peppering his lips over your back, neck, arms. He turns you around and takes your hands, kissing the backs of each palm with devotion that, if you stop and think about it, you’ve seen in his eyes a thousand times before.

“You’ll make it up to me,” you promise good naturedly, letting him slide his arms around your waist. He looks at you again, diligent and honest.

“I will.”

“Good.”

You slide your hands up his sleeves of heart-stealing midnight blue, smiling so big it ought to hurt. You tilt your head toward the door, giving your chin a little jerk as you squeeze his biceps through the pressed wool.

“For a start,” you say, daring to lean a little closer while he’s still feeling tender, “how about another dance?”

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha x reader #bakugo katsuki #bakugo #my hero academia #bakugou #bnha #bnha bakugou #bnha bakugo #it's new years eeeeeeve and i am not #spending it with him #sigh #;.;

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cloudy-leonhart · 4 years ago

Text

You Took My World Away.

Author Note: Am I starting off with an angst fic about Erwin? Yes.

Summary: Erwin didn’t really focus on love, not until he met Reader. Although, nothing good really lasts for him, so losing his lover wasn’t that suprising, but his potential baby? it hurts. Really, really, bad.

Pairings: Erwin x Reader

Type: Feminine Reader

Theme: Angst

TW: Death, Swearing, Injuries, Miscarriage.

[gif belongs to the rightful owner]

He knew it’d happen eventually.

Your presence wasn’t there at HQ anymore, he knew that he’d never get to hold your hand one day, he wouldn’t hear and see you greet him a good morning by the kitchen when he walks by, he would never be able to catch you in his arms ever again when your ODM gear breaks down while you swing around during your off days.

He just never knew how soon it was, he realized how much he took you for granted, when they brought what was left of your body to him, he realized how stupid he was to not have been there by your side. How stupid could he have been, you must’ve been so lonely while you passed.

Nobody spoke when Erwin softly cried as he held your body, nobody tried to talk to him to let go of your corpse, not even Hanji or Levi. His friends surrounded him and you, he held you close to his chest as his friends tried to make him feel better, “Erwin? You should let go, alright?” Hanji gently clutched your limp arm as Erwin had quieted down. “No, I-” Erwin strained voice tried to speak.

“Erwin. Let her go.” Levi’s voice cut through, Erwin looked at him with pain and disbelief in his eyes, “You- Why aren’t any of you grieving?-” Mike’s hand placed itself on his shoulder. “We are, Erwin, but you have to let her go.” Erwin’s grip around your body had tightened. Levi held his wrist, as Hanji slowly pulled you out of his grip. Erwin tried to pull you back in his arms, Levi and Mike pulled him back, restricting him from taking your corpse away from the soldiers who were responsible of handling the corpses of other soldiers.

“You don’t understand, I need to-” Erwin tried to explain himself, as he looked at Mike and Levi frantically, as if to tell them to let him go. The two squad leaders struggled to hold him back. “Erwin, snap out of it! You knew this would happen!” Levi’s harsh voice tried to get through to Erwin, but his cerulean eyes were focused on his lover’s dead body as it slowly faded out of his view.

“You can’t take her away from me!” Erwin’s pained cries tried to convince Hanji to turn back, they could feel their tears run down their cheek, they could feel their grip on your body tighten slightly, as if they too, didn’t want to hand you over, with a heavy sigh, you were placed on the rickety wood of the carriage that carried also what remains of soldiers who fought bravely to their deaths.

———

“Oi, Erwin.” Levi leaned by the door frame, watching as the blonde sat in his chair, holding what seems to be a piece of jewelry, by the way the sun rays shone through the window, blanketing his restless figure and the item with different shades of the sun’s gold, the piece of jewelry produced a glare that seemed bright white to those who chose to stare at it head on.

“Levi?” Erwin looked up from his seemingly long gaze at your necklace, looking up to meet Levi’s industrial blue eyes, who seemed to glare at him from the door frame. “What- what are you doing here?” Erwin’s voice sounded rough and dry, as if he was dehydrated or had a sick throat.

“You haven’t left your quarters, not even for meals, besides, Hanji needs a break from being in charge in your place.” Levi looked away from Erwin’s full blue eyes, it has been fairly obvious that Erwin still hasn’t gotten over your demise.

“Oh yeah, uhm, I’ll be there.” Erwin looked over at Levi who seemed to be fishing something from his pockets. “You don’t have to start working soon, I’m just, here to deliver something honestly.” Erwin’s figure perked up as Levi’s footsteps came closer, placing two letters, one was a blood-stained letter, the second, a letter with the doctor’s wax seal was on it.

Of course, the doctor’s letter came first, probably news about you, his beloved, late wife. He grabbed his letter opener, prying gently at the black wax seal that kept it closed until it was delivered to him.

He slowly removed the parchment out of the envelope, placing it on the side as his eyes scanned the words on the parchment. His eyes scanned it over and over again before a heavy and broken sigh came out of his lips. Levi looked over to Erwin who seemed to be on the verge of crying once again.

Levi knew better than to poke through Erwin’s business so he left quietly, closing the door to give his commander some privacy.

Erwin’s hold on the letter tightened as it wrinkled the parchment. It read,

———

Trost District, Jan. 16th 851

Commander Erwin Smith.

Survey Corps.

Commander Smith, I am writing to you about your late wife, Mrs. Smith. I am saddened to share with you that your wife had carried while in battle, she was 4 weeks in her pregnancy, I am terribly sorry to be the one who had to inform you of your late child, I bring my condolences and hope that soon enough, you’ll be able to come from Trost to Wall Sina to collect your late wife’s corpse and give her a final resting place.

My Condolences

Dr. Edward Harley

———

Erwin felt himself freeze, he tried to take in deep breaths, doing anything to prevent him from spilling his tears, he knew if even one spilled from out his eyes, he’d never stop crying again.

The overwhelming guilt of not being able to be there by your side in the battlefield, to not be present during your passing, you must’ve cried for him, he shook his head, trying to rid himself of his thoughts of you and looked up to the dirty ceiling of his quarters as he tried to blink his tears away.

He continued on, he felt his hands weaken as he reached for the blood stained letter, he knew it was from you, the rich royal blue wax seal, a sign of extreme passion for the one who was to receive the letter. His letter opener pried at the wax seal, opening with a bit more force from the knife.

He pulled out the parchment the envelope dropping as soon as he let it go. He read this slowly and carefully, different from the doctor’s letter. His eyes ran over your written words carefully, making sure not to miss not even one letter on the parchment. He didn’t even notice his tears staining the parchment, the ink slowly spreading into the parchment, not being water-proof.

The letter was carelessly thrown onto his desk as he cried his heart out, the letter read,

———

Dearest, Erwin,

My beloved husband, I am currently writing this letter on the day of our wedding, I will carry this letter everyday with me, for in fear of my demise being uncertain whether it’d be today or years later.

It pains me, the thought of leaving such a remarkably amazing husband behind, I knew from the day we both met each other that our lives will be short, which is why we both married as soon as we were sure that we truly wanted to spend every second of our lives being in each other’s arms. I wanted to start a family with you, Erwin. I knew it will be hard to be able to start a family but I want to someday, I hope that both of us live long enough to atleast have a child together, I wish to wake up in your arms everyday, I wish to watch you and our child play around as they laughed cheerfully from enjoying their childhood.

I am sorry that it came to the time you’re reading this now, rather than a time where we lived happily, I was selfish enough to wish that you never had to read this and I was able to throw this letter away. I want you to know that my death will not keep us apart, this world was cruel enough to take me away from you.

I am strong enough to tell you that even if in this time I’m taken away, I will still find you in another life, I will wait a hundred years to be with you again, my beloved husband and hopefully, the future father of my children.

I promise that I will perish with you as my last thought and our wedding as my last memory, may we meet again.

Yours Truly, Y/N Smith.

———

He finally let his cries out, it wasn’t silent nor was it pretty, it was loud and painful, his eyes stung from the salty tears that left it, the painful and broken cries from his mouth went ignored by Erwin, the letter now laid on his desk as he had his head in his arms, his shoulders shook with every cry, his lungs begged to breath big breaths rather than staggered and short ones.

His hands clenched around his hair, it felt easy to pull out his hair, he could feel the cold ring on his finger, which used radiate so much warmth, even if it was the coldest night or the winter days. It was like the ring was powered by your presence. It felt warm rather than cold metal whenever you were with him. Now it feels cold forever, colder than any blizzard or colder than ice on his skin.

He cried out his guilt and his anger, he cried out the guilt of not being able to grant you the one wish you wanted, a family.

He felt horrible knowing that he could never hold you or his child ever again. He should’ve kept you here, he should’ve never let you went on that expedition. He should’ve been there. He wanted to turn back time, even just a few seconds from your death he could’ve at least done something, just something.

Erwin cried for what seemed like endlessly, hours it felt, on the other side of his closed door, was Levi and Hanji, who was stationed around his door, Hanji sat down on the ground, the tray of food originally brought warm enough so Erwin could atleast enjoy something while mourning, now laid beside them cold and tough.

They listened as Erwin let out staggered breaths and pained cries, they listened as their friend was miserable. Levi glared at the closed door of their friend’s quarters, as if it was to blame for the pain Erwin felt.

They sat and listened to Erwin’s cries over and over again, waiting for the right time to come in and comfort their blonde-headed friend.

“Levi..I can’t stand to listen to him anymore, I’m going in.” Hanji pulled themselves up, dusting their uniform before grabbing the door knob, a pale hand covered Hanji’s, they looked over to Levi’s face, emotionless eyes bore straight in Hanji’s pitiful ones.

“Let him cry and mourn, he won’t say anything if we go in there, you know he keeps to himself.” Levi suggested, Pulls back as Hanji let out a small sigh, stepping back from the door.

“I wish I could help him.” Hanji mumbled, sitting back down beside the closed door, trying their best to drown out Erwin’s muffled cries.

“Everyone loses something everyday, it just so happens to be the most important thing, Erwin lost these past few days.” Levi looked over to Hanji before glancing at Erwin’s door and walking away, leaving with slight sympathy in his heart.

Hanji soon walked away with the cold tray in hand, unable to take the overwhelming aura of sadness and guilt radiating off Erwin’s quarters, Hanji walked away with sadness built up inside themselves and a determination to lead while Erwin grieves.

Hanji looked back one more time, seeing Levi retreating back to his office before mumbling something as they walked back to the mess hall, deep in thought.

“Captain Hanji?” Moblit’s voice broke through her train of thought, “Is something wrong?” The blonde spoke worriedly, Hanji looked up at Moblit before speaking softly.

“As much as I think what Levi said is right, I don’t think Erwin just lost something, I think he lost his whole world.”

#snk erwin #erwin snk #erwin smith #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan #aot x reader #aot #shingeki no kyojin x reader #shingeki no kyojin #aot veterans #snk x reader #aot x y/n #aot angst #erwin x reader #aot erwin #erwin x y/n #attack on titan erwin #sweet.erwin #sweet.aot

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gojo-x-reader · 4 years ago

Text

Red String of Fate

Relationship(s): Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

Warnings: slight swearing, slight manga spoilers

Tags: Soulmate AU

AO3 Link: here

Words: ~2.3k

Request: “Hello I'm actually not sure if I'm supposed to put put my request here? well, if its not supposed to be here, then please ignore it. Anyways, can I ask of you to share your thoughts on Soulmate AU w/ Gojo around 12 to 16 yrs old where he can see signs of who's soulmate is whos meeting his possible fiance who turns out to be his soulmate (I asked that age bc first meeting! he's from a noble clan and its really weird he doesn't have fiance or something) Sorry if its confusing and Thank you!”

Gojo Satoru was twelve years old when his Six Eyes began showing him the red strings of fate. Every person’s string was different. Some of them stretched on for what seemed like an eternity, almost seemingly never reaching the other end. Others were shorter, connected to the person they stood next to (whether they knew of their existence or not). And unfortunately, on some, Satoru could see the end of the string, but it dragged behind someone, unconnected to another human.

Satoru had told his mother about the strings as they appeared. Those are strings that lead one to their soulmate, she had explained to him. Everyone has a soulmate, but not everyone is in love with theirs. There are different kinds of love in this world.

Satoru’s parents were soulmates, but they did not love each other; that much was clear from how his father treated his mother. He never hit her or anything, but he didn’t treat her like an equal; more of a vessel that gave birth to an heir. He only interacted with his wife when necessary, the two not even sleeping in the same room at night.

For that reason, Satoru was scared to meet his own soulmate. He had one, that much was clear by the bright red string tied around his left pinky that stretched on for kilometers. He didn’t want to end up like his parents.

Gojo Satoru was fourteen years old when his father announced that he would be marrying you, a girl from the Kamo clan. You were the youngest daughter in the secondary branch of the family, just a year younger than him. Tomorrow, the two of you would meet for the first time.

You were nervous about tomorrow, for several reasons. Number one, you had heard the rumors about Gojo Satoru--the first member of the Gojo clan to be born with the Six Eyes and Limitless, the two inherited techniques of his clan, in a hundred years or so. That meant, in a nutshell, he was much stronger than you could ever hope to be, as someone who hadn’t even inherited the Kamo clan technique (which is why you were being shipped off to another clan). Number two, you had heard rumors of his personality, somehow both cold and carefree at the same time, but one hundred percent a horrible personality to be combined with your timid and quiet nature. And number three, you almost resented him because now you were stuck in an arranged marriage and you saw how well that worked out for your parents.

Tomorrow arrived, and the maids dressed you up in the finest of kimonos, hair ornaments, and even makeup. You weren’t particularly into girly interests, more interested in training for when you enter Kyoto High in a few years; the feeling of foundation and lipstick felt foreign on your face.

You arrived at the main hall, escorted by your uncle (the head of the Kamo family), your parents, and a few maids. You normally didn’t wear a kimono often, except for very special occasions, and you have never been in one for this long. Graceful, you were not, and tripped a few times because of the geta chosen for you to wear with the kimono. Each time, the maids were swift to grab ahold of your arms and stabilize you. They even helped you sit down as you awaited your future fiance and his parents.

Gojo Satoru’s parents arrived before he did. They apologized on behalf of their son, citing that he was on he was back from a mission. You were jealous, he wasn’t even in high school yet and was already being assigned missions. While you weren’t powerful in comparison to Gojo Satoru himself, you could still hold your own against your older cousins and had a decent amount of cursed energy.

Gojo Satoru’s parents seemed nice enough, but the chemistry between them resembled that of your own parents; they tolerated each other, but that was it--no love, no spark, nothing. You wondered if his parents were also put into an arranged marriage. You could sympathize, but you also secretly hoped that the two of you wouldn’t end up like your parents.

You poured tea for your future in-laws, hands shaking slightly, a few drops of tea spilling. As you sat the teapot down, in came Gojo Satoru himself, dressed in a simple black kimono, but the sash was not tied tightly. His hair was touseled, and stained with either dirt or blood (you hoped it was dirt). Despite his unkempt look, he was gorgeous, with bright white hair and eyes blue like the sky matching neither of his parents. Despite the color differences, he took mostly after his mother with her soft features.

When he made eye contact with you, he froze, looking down at his left hand, and then back to you. Before you could even greet him, he immediately fled the room, both his parents calling after him, leaving after him.

That was a bit painful; your first time meeting him and he leaves immediately seeing your face. You weren’t sure how your self-esteem would recover after that blow.

About twenty minutes later, Gojo Satoru’s parents came back, empty-handed without their son. He refused to meet you, but they promised he would come around eventually. So, your family said your goodbyes and left the Gojo estate.

Once your family arrived back at the Kamo estate, your uncle slapped you across the face, blaming you for what transpired with the Gojo family. It was your looks, your lack of femininity that obviously scared your fiance away. Not even makeup or the finest materials could fix it.

So what, if you weren’t “feminine”? Being “feminine” doesn’t exorcise curses, now does it?

You grumbled an apology, leaving to your room and locking the door behind you. You started crying, ruining the makeup that took the maids hours to do, but not even bothering to care. It took a while to get out of the kimono, but you changed into sweatpants and a large T-shirt and left the offensive material on the floor. Neither of your parents bothered to check in on you, but the head maid did. She cleaned up your makeup and brought you some of your comfort foods. She was more of a mother to you than your own, and you were always grateful for her in your life.

The next time you would meet Gojo Satoru, there would be hell to pay for embarrassing you like this.

Gojo Satoru was sixteen years old when he next met his fiancee, this time on the battlefield rather than mitigated by their families. Kyoto was short by one for the Kyoto Goodwill Event, so you were allowed to join as the sole first year. You were glad for the opportunity because that meant you could finally pay back Gojo Satoru for the embarrassment you felt two years ago.

You were told you had great potential as a jujutsu sorcerer, already being promoted to Semi-Grade 2 as you entered Kyoto High. Of course, you weren’t even close to your fiance who was promoted immediately to Special Grade upon entering Tokyo High. While the power difference between a Semi-Grade 2 and a Special Grade was immense, you weren’t going to let that stop you. You held a lot of pain in your heart for how Gojo Satoru rejected you from one glance, refusing to ever see you again that day.

This was Gojo Satoru’s first Goodwill Event, as last year he was only a first-year and the spots were full from the second and third years last year. Since last year, Kyoto had won, the event was held at your school. Not a single second or third year at Kyoto believed they even had a chance to win this year, as Tokyo has not one but two Special Grade students this year participating in the event. There was only one Grade 1 sorcerer on the Kyoto side, a third-year, while the others were a Grade 2 or Semi-Grade 2. The goal was to stick together; power in numbers. While the two monsters Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru could take out the entire Kyoto team singlehanded most likely, the others on the Tokyo team were rather weak, at only Grade 3.

So, the Kyoto side would stick together, avoid conflict. The goal was to exorcise curses, not necessarily fight each other.

The six of you stuck together, exorcising curse after curse. It was strange, as several minutes passed and you hadn’t even encountered one of the Grade 3 Tokyo sorcerers. You felt the hairs on the back of your neck stick up, then a voice behind you announcing, “Hello~”

You turned around quickly, barely able to avoid an attack. There he was, Gojo Satoru in the flesh. He was much, much taller than last time you saw him, now towering over you like a tree. On his (admittedly) handsome face was a smug grin, his bright baby blues peeking out behind round black shades. He held his hands in his pockets in a carefree manner. Almost not like he just attacked you and your senpai.

You glanced back briefly. While you were somehow lucky to avoid the attack from your fiance, your senpai behind you was not. The attack left them unconscious, back against a tree and blood running down their head.

While reading headfirst toward your fiance probably was not a good idea, only rage flowed through your head. You may not have inherited your clan’s cursed technique, you inherited a similar technique but more closely to your mother’s Zenin clan’s technique. You could manipulate shadows, not to summon shikigami, but rather to form weapons.

You summoned the shadows to form a sword, raising it to strike Gojo Satoru. But it reached just centimeters away from his body before stopping, almost like an invisible forced kept it in place, unable to move it further. You stared at your hand in surprise.

“Now, now, is that any way to greet your fiance?” Gojo Satoru asked, grin widening.

“Are you really though?” You asked, jumping back cautiously before he could ready another attack. “You didn’t even want to meet me two years ago.”

He placed his hand onto his chin in thought. “Hmm, I suppose that’s true. Tell you what, land a hit on me and I’ll tell you everything.”

“Bastard,” you called to him, switching your shadow weapon to a bow and arrow, pulling back the shadow string, and releasing it toward him.

Gojo Satoru held up two fingers as the arrow stopped in mid-air, much like your sword earlier. “I don’t think that’s my name, sweetie. Bad luck for you today. Seems like we’re just a bad match.”

You were frustrated. How the hell was he doing that?

A siren sounded out through the forest. The match was over; Tokyo won, only because Gojo Satoru had distracted the Kyoto group while Geto Suguru handled the stranglers and the remaining Grade 3 sorcerers were able to exorcise more curses than your side.

Gojo Satoru disappeared before your eyes, but you heard a whisper in your ear from him, “I’m feeling generous. An hour before the individual matches tomorrow, meet me in the garden. I’ll explain everything.”

So, that’s how you found yourself out in the garden at 8 am, shivering from the morning chill. The garden was huge, but somehow you figured your fiance would be able to find you.

“Yo,” he called out, startling you from your thoughts. “I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“I don’t think highly of you,” you admitted. “You embarrassed me two years ago and my uncle thinks I’m a disgrace to the family now.”

“Yikes, that seems a little harsh. Not like I annulled the engagement or anything. I just was going through some good ole teenage angst then, nothing more.”

“Still going through some ‘teenage angst’?” you questioned.

“Oh, you know, just the normal amount. I died a few months ago and it reset me back to typical teenage angst levels.”

“You what? ”

“But that’s a whole different story. We’re talking about why I left two years ago after seeing you.” He brought a finger up to his lips. “This is top secret. Can’t tell anyone.”

You nodded.

“So, my Six Eyes. I’m sure you’ve heard all about them, being in the Kamo clan and all. It turns out I can also see the red string of fate that brings soulmates together. My parents are soulmates, but they have a shitty relationship.”

“Okay.” You could relate, your parents also have a shitty relationship.

“And they’re the only pair of soulmates I’ve ever known. So,” he grasped his left pinky in yours, “when I saw that red string of mine connect to yours, I panicked. Didn’t want to be forced into a relationship with my own soulmate and end up like my parents. Call me a sappy romantic, but I wanted to meet you and get to know each other on our own, not because we’re in an arranged marriage.”

You couldn’t help but blush. Here was Gojo Satoru, your fiance, one of the strongest jujutsu sorcerers in the world, proclaiming that you were his soulmate. It seemed ridiculous, but you didn’t think he was lying. Suddenly, all the resentment for that time a few years ago left.

You took your pinky out of his, looking away from him in embarrassment, then stated, “There’s nothing that says we can’t do all that while still being engaged. Lets.” You took a deep breath, looking straight at those brilliant blue eyes past his sunglasses, then continued. “Let start over. Get to know each other the right way and see where this takes us.”

He grinned. It was the first time you saw him smile with pure happiness behind it. “I like that idea, soulmate.”

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #soulmate au

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years ago

Note

My dearest bouncey! I have a prompt for you if you like: Witchers as a 90s/2000s boyband 😂🤷‍♀️💖💖💖

Ellie, darling, this started as 500 words and turned into like 3.2k words and also a piece of art so... thank you so much. also shout out to my amazing art pal @mawbwehownets for the little comic!!

this contains lots of 90′s/early 2000′s nostalgia so there is also that

tw: hornyish, smooching, perilous music video situations (corny)

---

“Do I have to?” Geralt groans, letting his forehead thud down against the linoleum surface of their tour bus’s shitty dining table.

“Yes,” Vesemir says. His tone leaves no room for argument or whining. “But what if I let you pick the winner personally?”

“There have to be like fifteen thousand letters to go through! How will I manage that in less than two days?”

“There were a few more than fifteen thousand applications, Geralt. There were probably closer to five hundred thousand.”

Lambert wolf whistles and Aiden claps.

Geralt grimaces and keeps his face hidden against the table, releasing a slightly muffled: “Fuck.”

“Language,” Vesemir frowns. He tugs gently at Geralt’s loose ponytail and the singer lifts his head up from the table again, looking at his manager with beseeching eyes. “Anyway, we’ve narrowed it down to about fifty. You can go through those and choose whichever person you’d like to play your love interest. But you have to give me an answer by Friday. The shoot is in three weeks and whoever wins this stupid competition will need time to make arrangements.”

“I thought we were footing the bill for their food and their hotel room,” Geralt raised an eyebrow. “What would they need to arrange?”

“Not everyone can board their pets at the flick of a wrist, dude,” Lambert scoffs from his seat on the couch. Aiden lies draped across his lap, as usual, and the two of them are halfheartedly watching The Lion King. They can only watch movies when the bus is stationary, otherwise the VHS player might move too much while running and damage the film inside the cassette. Even taking advantage of such a rare opportunity, Lambert and Aiden still seem more interested in each other than Jonathan Taylor Thomas’s voice acting.

“Lambert has a point,” Vesemir sighs. He scrubs his hand over his lightly whiskered face like a tired grandparent and sighs again, more heavily. “It’ll be good for you boys to have a normal person around for a few days. Maybe they’ll be able to put some things into perspective.”

Geralt can only roll his eyes a little bit and thank his manager regardless of his own feelings; he and the rest of TW5 owe the seasoned musical expert their entire careers. Without Vesemir’s help and mentorship they would never have made it past their first disastrous record deal. They certainly wouldn’t have reached the heights they’re at now, enjoying international fame and recognition.

The begrudging frontman accepts a heavy plastic bin of file folders from Vesemir and sets them down next to his bunk. “Are these organized in any particular way?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.”

Geralt digs his hand into the pile and pulls out a piece of pale-pink stationary, eager to get started and, by extension, get finished. He can already tell that it’s going to be a long couple of days.

---

“I want this one, please, Ves.”

“Huh?” Vesemir looks up from his palm-pilot. Geralt is standing in front of him and trying to hand him something.

“I want this guy to be in the music video with me.” Geralt holds out the letter again, fingers trapping the accompanying polaroid headshot with great care. A pair of bright blue eyes stares up from the photo, highlighting the subject’s bright smile and unruly mop of messy brown hair. Vesemir tries to hide his amusement; totally Geralt’s type, if the big oaf could admit to having one.

“Alright. I’ll get everything in order. We start shooting in two and a half weeks so get your asses to the gym, please.”

“Yes, Ves,” all five young men chorus.

“Tomorrow,” Coen mutters a moment later than everyone else, not glancing up from his composition notebook. Vesemir nods in understanding. Coen is the best lyricist of the lot and it’s easier to let him work when inspiration strikes than beg him to focus when he can’t get a solitary idea to stick.

“So why’d you pick that one, Ger-bear?” Lambert drawls. Aiden nods and leans against Lambert’s side. Geralt can’t help the mild jealousy that overtakes him every time he sees his bandmates touch each other with such casual affection. He wants that intimacy, that softness behind the veneer of famous indifference. He wants someone to hold.

“Yeah. What drew your attention to that poor unfortunate soul. Was it the floppy hair, the big blue eyes, or the dopey grin?” Aiden smirks.

“Hmm.”

“Fuck you,” Eskel sighs, looking between the two troublemakers with the tired gaze of an eldest sibling, “Fuck you for even asking in the first place and expecting a straight answer.”

“Straight is the furthest thing from his answer,” Lambert chuckles. He is promptly smacked in the head with one of the couch’s hideous throw pillows. The youngest member of the band rubs the side of his face and chuckles, “Alright, I deserved that one.”

---

“Holy shit!” Jaskier practically screams. “Holy motherfucking shit!”

“What!?” Yennefer comes flying around the corner. “What’s wrong!?”

“Nothing is wrong, Yenna! Everything is awesome! Everything absolutely fucking rocks!”

“Did you get hit on the head by a falling branch between here and the mailbox or what? You were whining about your finals work not five min-”

“Look at this!” Jaskier shoves an open envelope into her hands and cuts her off. Yennefer reads the watermarked documents once. Twice. Her eyes almost pop out of her head when the words and their meanings finally sink in.

“Are you fucking with me right now?”

“No, I am absolutely not!” her giddy roommate cheers, bouncing up and down in place. “I did it! I won!”

“Holy shit.”

“I know! I get to kiss Geralt deRiv!” he practically cackles. Then freezes. “Holy fuck I get to kiss Geralt deRiv.”

“You said that already,” Yen teases. She shoves the paperwork back into his hands and grabs a takeout menu from the junk drawer near her hip. “Since you won the makeout lottery, you get to buy lunch. Lucky bastard.”

---

“So this will be your dressing room,” someone’s underpaid PA says, ushering Jaskier into a small, bright room. “Priscilla will be here shortly to get you into hair and makeup.”

“Oh, uh- thanks!”

“Yup.”

And with that, the young man disappears back down the hallway toward the sound stage. Jaskier jogs his leg anxiously as he waits for Priscilla to arrive, nervous and otherwise totally alone in the huge grey building. As the minutes tick by and his heart rate rises, Jaskier’s intrusive thoughts make an unwanted appearance: What if they forget about me being here? What if there’s been a mistake and they accidentally hired two love interests and I just sit in here for hours all alone while-

“Hi!” a bright, peppy blonde woman flies through the door and startles him back to reality. “Nice to meet you, I’m Priscilla! You can call me Priss; I’ll be doing your hair and makeup for the video this week!”

“Oh… hi. I’m Julian, but I prefer Jaskier.”

“Lovely! Well, Jaskier, is your hair naturally this color?”

“Y-Yes?”

“Perfect! I don’t want to mess with such a lovely shade of natural brown, but do you mind if I give it a bit of a trim? I have a few ideas for styles right here in my book- How do you feel about some feathering back here? I think-” she fluffs a few of the hairs around the nape of Jaskier’s neck “-I could really bring out the curls if I adjusted the length a bit and used some product.”

“Just, uhm, go for it, then! Feel free to make me as pretty as possible!” Jaskier declares. He’s committing to this experience wholeheartedly, determined to allow himself every opportunity for positive change. He wants to really let himself enjoy it, and he needs a haircut anyway. Priscilla spends an hour washing, cutting, drying, and styling his hair into a lovely fringed sweep across his forehead. It ends just above his brows, giving his face a slightly softer shape than usual. He grins over his shoulder, “I love it! I’m going to miss you when I’m back at Oxenfurt. Good stylists are so hard to find.”

Priss blushes and nudges against his shoulder, “Oh, you little charmer.”

“I mean it,” he says, examining himself in the mirror. “I look like I could really be worthy of a heroic rescue! This is going to be such a fantastic memory, and I appreciate it. Thank you so much.”

Priss bites back a genuine tear and smiles, “Now that your natural prettiness has been mildly enhanced, let’s get you over to wardrobe, shall we?”

“Wardrobe? Do I have, like, a costume? What’s the music video even about?”

“They didn’t tell you any of this when you got here?”

“Not… not really.”

“Well, my darling, I think you’re really going to like it; they’ve got you in Versace for the first scene.”

“Versace!?”

Then Jaskier is being ushered into a bright, colorful room full to bursting with grim-faced, middle-aged women and he loses track of his only braincell for the rest of the morning.

---

“You must be Julian!” Lambert declares, bounding up to him and grinning. It’s a feral, animalistic grin and Jaskier resists the sudden urge to take a step back.

“I prefer Jaskier, if you don’t mind too much,” Jaskier corrects him quietly. Lambert rolls his eyes in a long-suffering kind of way and throws a meaty arm around the shorter man’s shoulders, completely ignoring the wardrobe technician’s wincing as he wrinkles the expensive silk jacket.

“No need to be quiet and polite around here, my dude. We’re just a bunch of rowdy idiots, aren’t we, guys?”

“Hell yeah!” Aiden calls back. Eskel sighs like the put-upon nanny in a Victorian Redanian comedy.

“Speak for yourself,” Coen barely lifts his frosted tips up from his book long enough to speak. Geralt is-

Holy motherfucking Britney Spears on toast.

Geralt is the hottest thing Jaskier has ever seen in his short, unfulfilled-until-right-now life. Forget Ralph Macchio. Forget Leonardo Dicaprio and Kate Winslet and Winona Ryder. This man is… Geralt deRiv is… he’s the picture of perfection. And he’s right there, standing in front of an elaborate party set with his thick, beautiful arms crossed over his chest and his eyes trained on the floor, as if willing it to swallow him whole. Jaskier realizes that he probably didn’t have any choice in the matter; maybe this was just as awkward and uncomfortable for Geralt as it was for Jaskier.

“Ger-bear!” Lambert whoops, yanking Jaskier closer to the brooding frontman. If only he were brave enough to struggle for escape; alas. “This is your boy-toy for the week. Goes by Jaskier, apparently.”

“Nice to meet you,” Geralt manages to grunt. “How did you like the script?”

“I haven’t uh- I haven’t actually seen it?”

“Shit. Fuck. One second,” Geralt huffs, disappearing into the crowd of technicians and machinery operators and PAs. Jaskier loves him already, for real. Sure, he was pretty in the music videos and promo material, but the way he said fuck like it was the noblest word he could think of… Geralt interrupts his train of thought by coming back with a sheaf of papers clutched in his hand. He shuffle-shoves them into Jaskier’s arms immediately. “There you go.”

“Thank you!” Jaskier smiles. It’s genuine and shy, more tenuous than his usual goofy grin. He flips through the pages, glancing between the script to his expensive suit, “So I’m guessing we’re at a party for this scene? Or something?”

“This is… where we meet. This is where… you and I uh…”

Jaskier’s eyes scan the page as Geralt’s ability to speak slowly leaves him.

Lover ENTERS LEFT, dressed to the nines. Lover adjusts their tie/boa and takes a look around the room. S/He looks sad and a little hopeful. PULL BACK to Geralt, who approaches slowly. Their eyes meet. HOLD SHOT. PULL BACK as they move towards each other. Geralt pulls Lover into his arms and they begin to dance.

“Oh, wow.”

“I hope it’s okay! If you’re not comfortable with that kind of thing we can-”

“I’ll be alright, thank you. I came here to put my acting chops to the test. Well, that and meet my favorite band, of course. Thank you again, by the way. It’s been wonderful so far and I really appreciate you allowing me to be here.”

“Allowing? Psh. Geralt ha-” Lambert is cut off by Aiden, who elbows him sharply in the side. “Ow! What the fuck, babe?”

“I knew it!” Jaskier crows, distracted. “I knew you two were an item!”

“They’re not exactly subtle.”

“They never confirm anything either,” Jaskier retorts. Geralt shrugs his acknowledgement and moves back towards the set. Jaskier follows after the taller man like a lost puppy, eyes flicking from one thing to the next, hungry for detail even in his anxiety ridden state. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience and he doesn’t want to waste a solitary second of it. “This is incredible, really just...wow. You guys do this all the time? You get to make tiny little movies for already great songs that you get to perform for millions of adoring fans? And you get paid!?”

Geralt hadn’t ever really thought about it like that. He’d been raised in the industry. He’d signed to Kaer Morhen Records as an early teen because his mother was a member of the Board of Directors and he’d been making music ever since; an outsider’s perspective to things was… new. A little strange. “Yeah, I guess that is pretty much what we do.”

“Wow.”

“It’s not that exciting, I promise.”

“Have you ever written a fifteen page paper about the history of lute-string design and manufacturing?”

“No.”

“Then kindly shut the fuck up about what I should consider exciting,” Jaskier grins. Geralt is immediately and irrevocably smitten. Fuck. It hasn’t even been fifteen minutes! “So, which door am I entering from?”

“Left,” Geralt points. Jaskier skips over and begins to introduce himself to the sound and lights crew. His smile seems to be as infectious as his cheer and soon the entire set crew is smiling at one another. There’s been a literal shift in the atmosphere; if he didn’t know any better, the TW5 frontman thinks Jaskier might be some kind of magical creature, because he can’t just be human. Geralt is well and truly fucked, and everyone in the band already knows.

---

“What do you think?” Jaskier asks, slipping anxiously from behind the changing screen. The Versace is gone and in its place are a pair of tight, high-waisted blue pleather pants and a billowing white shirt, which has been strategically ripped in several places to reveal slivers of the lightly tanned skin that lies beneath. He looks like he’s in desperate need of rescuing. He looks like every fantasy Geralt has ever had about the perfect guy. He looks like a fucking dream.

“Nice,” he says.

Lambert and Aiden wolf-whistle and cheer as they approach. Aiden claps twice, loudly, and shoots Jaskier a set of finger guns, “Hot damn, baby. You single? You lookin’ to mingle? Because I am bi and spoon like a Pringle.”

“First of all, babe, I love you but that was the most horrific combination of words yet known to man. Second of all, yeah, I’d dump Aiden for you for sure,” Lambert adds. Jaskier is at a total loss for words. His mouth hangs open and his breath comes in uneven little gasps for a moment.

“Uh… I- Thank you?”

“Oh god, Eskel! Eskel, he’s short circuiting, do something.”

“You absolute-” Eskel groans and makes his way over to the gathered group. He tugs Jaskier away and over to the other end of the set, where a comically huge rocket/bomb (Jaskier can’t tell) is standing at the center of a vaguely science-themed room. A laboratory, maybe? Or like, a really weird spacecraft? A hospital run by rocket scientists? It doesn’t matter, it’s the Evil Lair of the Villain and that’s where Jaskier is being held captive. “Here, Cameron and Elise will help you get set up for the next scene. I’m sorry about the boys they’re... gay?”

“I understand,” Jaskier nods sagely and Eskel relaxes. Then for comedy’s sake he adds an equally dramatic, “I too am... gay.”

The set dresser, an electrician, and a few specialists (likely a rope rigger among them) come over and tie Jaskier to the bomb/rocket/villainous mechanism, ending his conversation with Eskel, who is now in a much better mood than he was before.

Jaskier is told to make sure his hands are crossed behind the small of his back and the director instructs him to wiggle back and forth “as convincingly as possible without actually getting loose or moving the ropes too much”. Which is manageable, he supposes.

“Then, when the chorus comes up, we’ll get a few shots of the boys dancing in front of you,” the director continues to explain. That’s… kind weird, but okay. I’ve seen weirder. “Then we’ll do the action shots, with Geralt rescuing you. Are you okay to do the kiss, or would you rather not? We have dynamic shots with or without, so it’s totally up to you.”

“I’m fine with that,” Jaskier smiles shyly. “I consent to be smooched.”

“Adorable,” Lambert calls. Jaskier blushes and the director shoots Lambert a glare.

“He’s already pink enough, don’t make me change my gels you little shithead!”

“Sorry, Pierre!”

“Fucking sorry my ass,” Pierre grumbles beneath his breath. Then he smiles at Jaskier. “Do something nasty to him for me, will you? Not too nasty but… just a little?”

“I’ve got your back,” Jaskier winks.

“No plotting! Not fair!” Aiden whines.

“You have a team,” Pierre retorts. “Now I have a team.”

“Rules are rules,” Eskel sighs. “Now can we please shoot this damn video?”

“Right,” Pierre claps, getting everyone’s attention. “Places!”

---

Geralt races up the stairs, trying to keep the long sleeves of his black mesh shirt from catching on any of the set pieces. The solid black t-shirt he’s wearing underneath makes his arms and back look bulkier than normal; it’s a visual technique to make him look larger than Jaskier, whose billowing white shirt will hide how wide his shoulders actually are. Fuck, those are some nice shoulders. And the smattering of dark chest hair that peeks from the front of the college student’s shirt? Geralt wants to bury his face in it.

Okay, focus.

He reaches the top of the set and rushes towards Jaskier, ripping the ropes from around his torso and pulling him close. He cups the back of Jaskier’s head with his upstage hand, framing the slightly smaller man for the camera and making him seem even shorter, another trick of angles and body posturing. Geralt plays Jaskier like an instrument, bending him back by placing his downstage arm around Jaskier’s waist, pressing their mouths together and holding them still for as long as it takes the director to yell, “Cut!” with a satisfied tone of voice.

Geralt’s suspicions are confirmed when Pierre laughs and claps some more and cries, “Print it, lads! That was a one-take wonder!”

He tries to ignore the way Jaskier’s shoulders slump as if disappointed. “Good job,” he manages to say.

“You, too.” Geralt wishes he could keep a picture of Jaskier smiling in his back pocket forever. No other sight could light up the world so effortlessly. “Thanks for being gentle.”

“I’m trying to sweep you off your feet,” the singer shrugs. Jaskier wiggles his eyebrows and follows Geralt down the narrow set stairs.

“Are you, really?”

“Is it working?” Geralt asks, turning to look up at Jaskier. The student pauses to look at him and his foot catches on an uneven board. He topples forward with a short cry of surprise and seems surprised when Geralt reaches out to catch him. “Jaskier!”

“Oh my god!” Lambert races over, Aiden hot on his heels. “Are you okay, dude?”

“I’m fine,” Jaskier laughs, a little breathless. “Just a little shocked.”

“You should take him to get a snack or something,” Eskel says, nudging his shoulder against Geralt’s. “He’s been busy all day and hasn’t even been to craft services.”

“You haven’t eaten?” Geralt asks, honestly baffled. Jaskier shakes his head, face heating once again. He wishes he could stop blushing, but Geralt’s presence seems to make it impossible. He wraps one arm around the younger man’s temptingly slender waist and leads him towards the food carts. He shoves a couple of sandwiches and a bottle of punch into Jaskier’s hands, not giving him a chance to argue. “Here, I’ll have something, too.”

“Thanks,” Jaskier smiles, understanding that he is, in turn, being understood. They sit comfortable folding chairs off to the side, food spread across their laps. Jaskier laughs and chats around his mouthfuls, pulling things from Geralt like his favorite color and his least favorite nicknames. Songs he liked and dances he disliked.

“You made it fun again, today,” the singer smiles. “Thank you for that. I wish you could be here for every video shoot.”

“Looking for another member of the band?” Jaskier jokes, doing some half-hearted jazz hands. Geralt shakes his head and laughs.

“I wish we were,” he sighs. “But I guess five is the magic number.”

“Makes the dances look cooler,” Jaskier nods. “I agree with whoever made that decision. I wouldn’t dare ruin the aesthetic.”

Geralt laughs again and Vesemir turns to look, honestly shocked at the volume of the sound.

“Plus, you can’t be the frontman if there’s no front.”

“Shut up,” Geralt chuckles, still grinning broadly.

Vesemir makes a phone call.

---

2 Weeks Later, Backstage in Kaedwen

---

“He’s been sulking like this ever since Jaskier went back to Oxenfurt,” Lambert whines. “C’mon Vesemir, do something.”

“What do you want me to do, make Geralt’s boyfriend appear out of thin air?”

“Not my boyfriend,” Geralt growls, stomping past his bandmates and manager. He can’t help but feel grumpy. Jaskier had been like the sun, bringing light and wonder to everything he touched, and without that joy around it doesn’t seem worth the extra effort to smile. So he’s been moping.

“Fucking hell,” Vesemir sighs. “Thank goodness I thought ahead.”

“What do you mean?” Eskel asks, joining the little group in the hallway outside the dressing room. “What did you think of?”

“Three,” Vesemir smiles, glancing at his watch. “Two… One…”

“Boooooys,” echoes a high tenor. “Where’s my welcome wagon, Vesemir?”

“Jaskier!” Aiden practically screams, leaping out of the dressing room and flying down the hall. Lambert follows at a sprint and Vesemir hears the resounding oof oh fuck of both giddy musicians hitting their mark.

Geralt comes back down the hall at a jog, eyes searching frantically. “I thought I heard-”

“Geralt!”

Vesemir’s heart clenches in his chest at the way Geralt’s face lights up. At the end of the hallway, surrounded by spilled luggage and apologetic boyband members, is Jaskier. Geralt floats to him, it seems, like he’s dreaming the whole thing. Jaskier takes his hands and then releases them and wraps his arms low around Geralt’s hips instead.

“I missed you the most,” he whispers, just for Geralt to hear. “Couldn’t sleep without listening to your CD. I know it’s silly but I really like you.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt whispers reverently into his shaggy brown hair. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going to do my thesis on pop culture’s relation to music history,” he says. “And then the manager of TW5 called Oxenfurt and offered me the opportunity to do some… first hand research while I worked on finishing the paper.”

“R-Really? You’re going to be here… every day?”

“Do you… do you not want me he-”

Geralt kisses him before he can even finish the question. It’s a stupid question anyway, of course Geralt wants him here. Wants him right here, kissing him silly. The singer presses his lips desperately, crushingly against Jaskier’s; he never wants to part from this man again. He never wants to be without that glorious laughter and contagious liveliness. Who knew that life could be so full of delight and happiness if he only let it?

He kisses Jaskier for all he’s worth and more, pouring his heart and soul into it. When they pull apart, both gasping for air, Geralt asks, “Stay with me, Jaskier? You don’t have to do anything I just-”

“I’d love to be the big spoon,” Jaskier winks, whispering again. “Thank you, Geralt, for the rescue.”

#geraskier #bouncey's buddies #prompt fill #geraskier fic #geraskier ficlet #geraskier fluff #getting together #boyband au #geraskier boyband au #the witcher five and their hit song 'please lambert stop farting on the bus'#ellie has the braincell #thirsty jaskier #thirsty geralt #soft geralt #protective geralt #clumsy jaskier #soft boys content #bouncey's endless au collection #bouncey's endless getting together fics

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equestrianwritingsstuff · 3 years ago

Note

Ooh! I just discovered you from the Bad Things Happen Bingo and I love your writing already! Could I potentially request the Bleeding Out prompt as a prequel for the Soup for the Sick story you wrote?

Thank you for the ask! I had to look up prequel to make sure that you meant before the events of Personalized Caretaker Part 1, and not after 😂. Here you go! In reference to this post.

So, with that note, this piece happened before Part 1 of Personalized Caretaker.

Personalized Caretaker Part 2

Part 1

Warnings: blood, vomit, losing consciousness, faking an injury, drugged whumpee, fear, implied touch starvation

*not edited*

Civilian hopped onto her couch, legs resting on the armrest and flicked on the television, going straight for Netflix.

It was a normal day, serene and tranquil with the perfect amount of work that made Civilian feel good inside.

She lazily gnawed on a piece of beef jerky and selected The Kissing Booth for personal enjoyment. Something cheesy and romantic to vibe to as she decompressed- even the best days required a period of relaxation.

But, her period of relaxation was very rudely interrupted by a thud. Right outside her door.

Civilian froze, heart racing, as her mind involuntarily replayed every known horror movie. She was the victim, the bad guy was going to break in and slash her throat as she unceremoniously says, "Who's there?"

Civilian shuddered, turning off the television, and slowly standing up. She grabbed her remote control as a weapon and very, very slowly, like a ninja, stalked stealthily up to the door.

"Who's there?" Civilian asked. Crap, her fatal flaw. Now the bad guy was going to rush out and murder her, then the police would come and there would be ten more killings and then there would be a ghost that was a moaning lady with pale skin and black hair that was hung in the woods seventy-some years ago and then it is reincarnated to be a doll that haunts children and-

Civilian drew in a deep breath. Don't freak out, don't freak out. It was probably a bird that weighed the size of a man- a bad man- that crashed into the window and died. And died. And died. And died. It was gone. Instead of using a remote, she should be using a plastic bag.

"Stop it Civilian, you paranoid freak," she yelled at herself, very loudly, her voive taut with utter fear as she peered through the shades.

The first thing she saw was blood.

Smeared blood in the direction of downwards, leading directly to...

A body.

Civilian felt nausea rise in her throat as literally the blood drained from her face. She wasn't the first victim, the poor human in opening credits, she was the next victim and her house was the killer's stash.

Probably to blame her for the death. To redirect the suspicion.

She had to hide the body and burn it before the cops came. Oh boy, the killer probably already called them. Crap crap crap.

Civilian whisked the door open, tossing her grand weapon of plastic and onto a nearby table, and prepared to wrap the body in a black bag.

The body moved.

Civilian screamed.

The body was not a body, it was a living man.

"Oh my gosh sir? Sir! Are you okay? Sir! Sir!" Civilian grabbed her hair and started to paced. "This can't be happening. This can't be happening. There is a bleeding man on my fricking doorstep." She started to ramble, muttering nonsensical curses and words that weren't going to help the dying man.

She was panicking, completely hyperventilating, by the time the man moved more than a shaky, uneven breath.

His eyes opened, revealing a drop-dead gorgeous icy blue. Eyelashes fluttered in the most enearding way as the man struggled to keep his consciousness to himself. Lips quivered as he whole face bunched together in an expression of pain.

Civilian didn't know if she could handle it.

"Are you doing to die?" She asked, rushed and abruptly. The man looked his clouded gaze on her. It took a moment, but he spoke,

"Heroes. Heroes, they are coming. Run, get outta here. Get outta here!"

Civilian shrieked, glancing hurriedly around. An insane plot twist, the good guys were the bad guys and...

Wait, this wasn't a movie.

And why was this man so scared of the heroes? Unless, of course, he was...

A villain.

Civilian covered her mouth and dropped to her knees. A v-v-villain? Was at her door? Civilian pinched herself to see if she was sleeping, but the nightmare didn't vanish. She was stuck in reality. Someone go get her a soda...

Villain's eyelids drooped as he weakly extended his arm. "Please," he begged. "I need help." Then his arm went slack.

Civilian was close to hysterics.

But nonetheless, out of fear, she grabbed the man's arm and attempted to pull him inside. She silently cursed. Her twigs for limbs could barely carry a box of mason jars; what made her think she could drag a two hundred pound full-grown adult male?

It was a taxing project that left Civilian in tangled limps, just begging for sleep. The man didn't stir at all, not even when Civilian's fist went into the gaping wound in his stomach.

Aw man, that was disgusting. Civilian vomited into a nearby trashcan before returning to figure out WHAT THE HECK TO DO!!!

"Can you wake up?" Civilian asked. "Please? I-i... how do I... how do I do this?"

Civilian was on the verge of tears, but then she reminded herself. This isn't a movie, he won't be miraculously healed after a good night's sleep.

With a quick reference to Google, Civilian finally felt prepared. She ran to get a pillow and slipped it under Villain's head. His eyelids fluttered as his eyes cracked open, but then they slipped close again.

Next she removed his shirt and was quite awestruck at the sight. Other than the painted crimson, his abdomen really was the definition of ab-domen. Hard muscles were lined perfectly.

Okay Civilian, someone is dying, don't admire it.

She placed one hand above and the other in the wound to staunch the bleeding. After the blood flow slowed, she lifted his legs to rest on the armrests in a similar position that she was in earlier.

Next, she jumped some hydrogen peroxide in and bandaged the wound. The villain never awoke.

Once the looming danger was gone, Civilian just stood there awkwardly. Dried blood crusted on his skin, but at least it wasn't wet.

So she stood there, arms crossed as meaningless thoughts rushed through her head.

What do call a male ladybug?

Is grass the earth's hair?

Do pineapples come from pine trees?

Why is a villain on my couch?

Civilian sat down, keeping a good three feet distance from the assumed murderer, and turned on the TV to resume her movie.

She leaned her head back, exhaustion tugging at her eyelids, but she refused sleep. Especially when a villain was slumbering next to her with one arm over his face.

He looked like a monkey.

One of those pale faced, brown haired primates from Curious George.

Not that his ears were splayed out or anything, the monkey had very tiny, collected ears that hid under his fluffy brown hair. His nose also held that itty-bitty appearance, perfectly formed to his face with the faintest trace of freckles.

He was cute.

Like a monkey.

Or not, as Civilian found monkeys utterly disgusting.

So cute, like a kitten.

Civilian smiled, looking down at her lap. Another thing Wikihow said that Civilian scowled at and ignored before. Put the victim's head in your lap to calm and keep them comfortable.

It wouldn't hurt, right? The villain wasn't even conscious, and he lost so much blood that he probably wouldn't remember anything if he did wake up.

She just met him.

Stress can increase heart rate which may be detrimental. Civilian scrunched her forehead. Was that even true?

Who cares. Civilian scotted her skinny self over and laid the villain's head in her lap. Then, temptation started its charismatic monologue.

Stroke his head. Be nice, clean his chin. Wipe the dirt off his eye.

Civilian hesitantly put her hand on his grimey hair- ew, he needed a shower ASAP- and gingerly patted it. Patted it, like petting a dog.

It was embarrassingly awkward.

For the next few hours, Villain slept. Civilian also dozed off between getting yummy smelling candles to fend off the revolting scent od blood and crackers to aimlessly gnaw on.

She watched through the first Kissing Booth and the second one when a thought struck her.

Pain.

The villain would be in pain when he woke up.

And the only thing Civilian had was Ibuprofen.

Like those barely took the edge off a headache, much less a gash the size of a baseball.

She reached for her phone to call her friend at the local drug store. Putting on a squeaky voice, Civilian said,

"Can you, uh, get me something for pain?"

"Slow down, Civilian. What?"

"I don't know benadryl or a very strong pain reliever," Civilian bit her lip, squeezing her eyes shut. Stupid stupid stupid...

"What did you do?"

"I, uh, sprained my ankle."

"You sprained your ankle?"

"Mhm hurts like-"

"Okay! I don't need your swear word dictionary. I'll bring you something after work."

"Thanks, oh owowowowowowo."

"Goodbye Civilian."

The line clicked.

Civilian smiled to herself and popped another cracker in her mouth. Problem solved.

The blood on the door.

Crap.

Civilian set Villain's head back on a pillow and ran to the frontdoor.

Great, just great.

Civilian flipped the middle finger at Villain's sleeping figure and walked out the door. She would meet her friend before she saw the splatters of blood.

Civilian sat herself on the curb, throwing her newly "spraind" leg out, letting out an insanely loud groan, and leaned back on her elbows.

"Oh my goodness! Civilian," her friend leaped from her black car and ran over. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Civilian waved it off. "Just wanted some air and the house is a mess, so."

Civilian, you are dumb.

"You sure? You asked to be hospitalized once because you stubbed your toe and the fact that a sprained ankle isn't bugging you... I am wholeheartedly worried."

"Don't be," Civilian chuckled. "How was work?"

Friend gave her a skeptical look. "Fine," she drawled.

"Good," Civilian nodded slowly, tapping the ground with her fingers. "So thank you for the painkillers."

"Mhm," Friend handed Civilian the plastic bag slowly. "How did you sprain it?"

"Uhhh fell out of the shower."

Friend looked genuinely concerned.

"Tripped and fell," Civilian repeated herself awkwardly. "On the ground?" Why did she have to say it as a question?

She was awkward and sounded hilariously awkward as well.

"Klutz," Friend joked, but her face was still taut with worry. "Need help getting inside?"

"No no!" Civilian exclaimed. Friend stepped back, so Civilian laughed to alleviate the tension. "I should walk it out."

"Ooookay," Friend said, nodding. "Good for you. I'm gonna go. I have a dinner date with this dude from Tinder."

"Oooo good luck," Civilian said, faking a wince as she stood up. Friend rushed in to help.

"Don't," Civilian cautioned, raising her "hurt" leg up. Friend looked at it and scowled.

"Dang leg huh? Well bye-bye. Don't fall out of the shower anymore. Got it?"

"Yup," Civilian said and fake limped back to her house as Friend sped away.

Missiom accomplished.

Villain was stirring when Civilian sat back down.

Perfect timing also.

She rummaged through the bag and grabbed a bottle of valium. She popped the recommended dosage out and approached Villain.

He was still too dazed and disoriented to stop Civilian from helping him swallow, but the second the water touched his tongue, he woke up fully.

"What are you doing? Don't touch me!" He yelled, pulling away. Civilian also backed away, a frown forming on her face.

"Me? I saved your life."

Villain was silent. "How much did you touch me?"

"Enough to save your life."

Villain jerked, looking around as if somone was in the shadows. Paranoid, Civilian copied him.

"What's wrong with you?" Civilian asked.

"You touched me?"

Civilian didn't say anything. She crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one leg, examining the villain.

Villain jerked to his feet, swaying madly. Civilian's heart jumped. He was so unsteady...

He fell, but Civilian swooped in to catch him.

For a moment, the villain melted into her half-embrace, head resting gently on her shoulder, before pulling away. He bit his cheeks, seemingly trying to keep tears back.

"What... are you? Are, are you scared of getting a hug? Sheesh."

"Mmm no," Villain shook his head quickly, then sat down as if the feat made him dizzy.

"Mmm yes," Civilian sat down next to him. The villain looked confused, but that may be the drugs kicking in.

Soon Villain's eyes starting to droop and he swayed in his sitting position.

"Whatdya give me?" He slurred, a faraway look in his eyes. "Mm tired." He collapsed forward.

Civilian steadied him and helped him lay back down. He groaned pathetically and grappled at Civilian's hand, desperate to hold it.

He held her hand until he fell asleep.

#bad things happen bingo #villain whumpee #villain x civilian #civilian caretaker #blood tw #drugged villain #writing #whump #i'm sorry this took so long #i have to embrace civilians personality first

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script-nef · 4 years ago

Text

Presents (and other things)

Category: fluff

2k words; Shopping date [3/6]

← Previous chapter | Masterlist

Out of everyone in the whole world, the person you love most in the world is Nanami Kento, your brother. He was the one who saved you from the cursed spirit that haunted you and took your parents’ lives. He was the one who took you in so that you wouldn’t be put in the system since you were still a minor. He made sure every day that you were safe and healthy even if he was injured or exhausted after a fight.

That's why in the weeks nearing his birthday, you made sure that he would have a relaxing time. He said you didn’t have to and he’d rather have you not fret over him, but that is unacceptable. He needs to have a good birthday. If you could, you would make the whole month just about him. But the last time you tried that he sat you down for a long, scolding lecture about how it’s unnecessary. So that’s out of the option.

Right now, just a few days shy of his actual birthday, you have a problem. Because you were buried in work and have a terrible memory.

His present.

You forgot to buy a present.

“I forgot to buy a present! Why am I so dumb… Why am I like this, Gojou? It’s literally one of the most important things with birthdays and I forgot it. Because I’m an idiot. I wish the ground would swallow me up… I deserve it…” Thuds reverberate through the room as your head makes contact with the table. Repeatedly. Hard.

Wallowing in self-hate is great but your brain starts spitting out all viable present options.

Shopping for Ken-chan is hard because he’s not materialistic in the least. He also doesn’t have a lot of hobbies. “I don’t need presents.” is a regular phrase every time his birthday or holidays come up, but then he gives presents to you and you end up feeling worse. This is all while your brain is getting thrown around.

A hand comes between your forehead and the desk, gently bringing it up. Gojou has a small pout as his cold fingers try to soothe the burning sensation.

“You still have a couple of days left! Don’t bang your head against the table, your brain doesn’t work enough as it is.” He easily moves out away from your slap. But returns in time to stop your head from falling again.

“I should have remembered this weeks ago. There’s no use trying to make me feel better, Gojou. I’m a terrible sister. I deserve this pain.” His fingers poke against your cheeks and he smooshes and stretches them. It’s uncomfortable but you let him.

“I haven’t bought a present either.”

“You’ve never given him a present.”

“This is the year to start! I have to get on his good side!” That’s weird since he never cared about what Ken-chan thought of him.

“Why?”

“We can shop together!” Classic ignoring. His face comes to level with yours. “Let’s go to Shinjuku, I’m sure there are things even Nanami will like. Also, I found a new sweets shop.” You stare at him. “But I will focus on the present for today! C’mon, I can fly us there. You’ve never flown before, right? I think it’ll help.”

For some inexplicable reason, floating in mid-air with nothing to save you other than Gojou is amazing. Adrenaline pumps through your veins at the thought of crashing down to Earth if Gojou lets go. You know he won’t though.

The air is chilly up here and there’s constant wind makes your hair whip everywhere, getting in your mouth and eyes. It doesn’t dampen your mood.

Your arms tighten around Gojou’s neck, watching the city blink with life way underneath your feet. Well, his feet, since you’re bunched up in his embrace.

“This is so cool! Do you do this every day?”

“Yup.” He pops the p and slowly walks closer to your destination. The world looks like a child’s playhouse.

“No wonder you’re constantly in an amazing mood! I would do this every time I’m feeling down!” Gojou’s chuckle reverberates through his chest and into your body.

“I can take you out again when you’re sad.” A buzz takes over your body at the thought sparkles come to life in your wide eyes.

“You would do that for me?” Gojou is an incredibly important asset and therefore also very busy, needing to take care of special-grade curses that others can’t while also teaching and looking after his three students. He couldn’t be at your beck and call, you can’t ask that from him. But the gentle smile he gives is so warm and sure, assuring you that his words are true.

“Of course I would. Any day.” His grip around your body tightens.

Something weird fuzzes in your chest. It’s not uncomfortable or bad but… unique. And foreign. You got a good report back from your physical evaluation last month so it’s not something physical. Questions about what the cause could be takes over your mind but the sudden sensation of zero gravity makes all of them fly out the window. Burying your face into Gojou’s neck, you prepare for the worst.

“And we have arrived! M’lady.” Chipper as ever, Gojou’s feet touch the ground with a light plop and he lets you down gently. You look at him in confusion until realisation kicks in. And you kick him.

“Don’t do that! I think my heart stopped!” He cackles at that, finishing with a “Won’t do it next time.” If there is a next time. The probability is reduced significantly because of what he just did.

Taking your hand in his, he escorts you down the stairs from the rooftop and into a department store. The people who couldn’t see mere moments ago high up in the sky.

As expected, it’s loud and crowded. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of people shuffling about and sweeping everyone to move even if they wanted to. It’s fortunate that Gojou has a firm grip on your hand because otherwise you’d be completely lost. Still, it’s nice to be buried in the commotion of everyday lives. It helps you forget about the whole war that’s looming over everyone.

“Any ideas on what to get?” The question you’ve been asking yourself for the past hour or so is echoed by Gojou. “We have all the time in the world, so don’t worry. I’ll keep you company for as long as you want.”

Blisters form on the back of your feet thanks to the amount of times you walked around the huge place. Gojou bought you bandaids even though you said Shouko can fix you up. It hurts a lot less thanks to that. Finding a present is still a challenge. Every time you think you have one, your brain comes up with a rebuttal for why Ken-chan won’t like it. Two hours and nothing to show for it, you’re on the verge of collapse. Even a quick snack break didn’t help.

Gojou sets you down on a bench, letting your head roll on the backrest. The sight of thousands of coats and jackets running around upside down makes you giggle. Maybe the stress is finally getting to your head. The mantra of “I’m a terrible sister” tries to sneak in and wreak havoc. You’re just about to let it when the upside-down brand of a designer clothing shop catches your attention.

“Gojou.”

“Yup?” His head comes into view as he copies your posture. It must look really weird to passersby but you don’t care at all. “Got an idea?” You point to the brand. Or at least you think you do. The lack of blood in your brain is making everything dizzy. “Clothes?”

“I wanna buy him a good suit.” Standing up, swaying a little from the sudden oxygen influx, you try to drag him towards the shop. He tries to make your attempt harder by using his weight and height, but a firm glare makes him concede.

“I thought he said he doesn’t want suits.” Oh yeah, you told him that when it was rejected. Ken-chan did say that, years ago, when you bought him one for your first present. While incredibly appreciated, he reasoned that there is a high chance of it being ruined since he has to fight in them. And this was around the time when you started getting paid. It was his way of saying that you should invest it in something more durable and preferably for yourself. How does Gojou remember this when it was just a fleeting complaint that you barely remember?

“He said it’s because there’s no point in spending so much money on something that might be damaged so quickly. But I’m going to buy it for a different reason.”

Collections of suits, varied by colour and pattern, line the huge shop. Skimming over a lot of them, especially ones with questionable designs, you turn to the monochromatic area. Simple is best when it comes to Ken-chan’s taste. Shuffling through the shades, you contemplate between either beige or blue.

“What’s the reason?” Gojou’s voice calls from the change room. You wonder when he got there.

“For him to wear it if he goes back to work in an office after the war has ended. Or just when he goes out, without the worry of getting attacked and ruined. It’ll be like a promise! That he’ll do his best to survive the war to wear it.”

Gojou is silent in response. It drags out and now you’re sort of embarrassed about what you said. Your partner loves taking advantage of others’ sappy moments, teasing them mercilessly over it. That little speech is basically perfect ammunition against you. You expect his high voice to make fun of you.

What you don’t expect is for him to pat your head, slowly and softly, like he won’t ever get to do it again.

“Nanami must have used all his luck when he became your guardian.” Voice low, bringing shivers down your body, he cards his fingers through your hair. Like he’s combing them. Seconds tick by and it feels sort of nice, telling you to relax, but your body’s on high alert for some reason.

“I think he’d like the blue one. Since he already has a brown suit, beige is too close.” A black suit adorns his body when he comes into view. Even the shirt is black. It fits him perfectly and he looks really good in it, courtesy of a good body proportion. He could possibly pull off the hideous suits you elected to shy away from at the front of the display. You clear your throat.

“Wow, you look really good in that.” His hands smooth down the creases on the jacket, preening at your compliment. “You should buy that. Wear it to dates or whatever. Ladies will fall to your feet if you show up with that.” Holding up two blue suits, your eyes scrutinize them and you try to imagine which shade will look better on your brother.

“Ladies will fall to my feet? Really?” Amusement tinges his words. The left one looks better.

“Yeah, probably. Girls love guys in suits. Well at least, I do. If they wear the right one for them, it’s really hot. Left one is better, right?” He gives a nod, a wide grin playing on his face. “Alright, this one then. Are you buying the suit?”

“Yeah. I think it’ll be put to good use.”

The checkout is quick, and it’s night when you step out.

“You wanna go back by flying? We can try doing the Howl thing.” That’s really tempting, being able to reenact one of the most iconic scenes in the movie. But not today.

“No, I prefer being in your arms.” Gojou stares at you with such intensity that you can feel it even with the blindfold. Then he immediately barks out a laugh, one so loud that people nearby flinch at the sudden noise. You flinch at the sudden noise.

“Ah… You really keep me on my toes, you know.” Before you can ask what that means, he takes your hand again and starts walking to the stairs. His steps are faster than usual.

Next chapter →

#gojou x reader #gojou imagine #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru imagine #gojo x reader #gojo imagine #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru imagine #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagine #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojou #gojou satoru #fluff #series #female reader

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wondernimbus · 5 years ago

Text

crush — harry potter

pairing: harry potter x female!reader

prompt: harry works up the courage to talk to his crush.

please refrain from plagiarizing my work!

Unbeknownst to the girl sitting in the farthermost corner of the library, the sun has long since set in the horizon to give way to the moon that now hangs in the midnight blue sky. Numerous stars twinkle from up above, shining upon the Hogwarts castle; it paints a breathtaking, almost otherworldly view. One could glance up at the night sky for a brief moment and find themselves unable to tear their eyes away from it.

But the night sky is not what [Y/N] finds herself immersed in. What has her full attention—what has had her full attention for the past five hours now, is the book she holds in her hands: Mind-Boggling Mysteries in Magical History by Atasha Iqinn. It has nine hundred pages worth of exactly what its title states—strange mysteries in the wizarding world that have gone down in history for their oddity—and [Y/N] is already on page 783.

Just like every other weekend trip to the Hogwarts library, [Y/N] has spent a much longer time than intended in the vicinity of the countless bookshelves. She'd told herself that she'd only stay to read for a little while—two hours at most—but five have passed and [Y/N] still hasn't quite snapped herself out of her state of reverie. It's just so easy to lose herself in the abundance of books that Hogwarts has to offer; she'd pluck one out from a bookshelf, skim over its contents briefly, and if she found it to be interesting enough, she would sit down at her favorite table—the one right by the window in the farthest corner—and read.

And she would read for hours and hours until someone—most likely Madame Pince—tapped her on the shoulder and ushered her out.

Today, though, it's not Madame Pince.

—

"Stop it, Ron—"

"Come on, mate—don't be a wuss—"

"Shut up—I'm not being a wuss—it'd be weird if I just went up to her and—bloody hell, stop it!"

Ron stops dragging Harry by the arm and drops his hands to his sides. The pair of them are standing, very poorly hidden behind a bookshelf, near the Ravenclaw girl reading a book in the corner—the same one Harry has been helplessly crushing on for, what, two months now?

It had all started when Harry stumbled upon her in the Hogwarts Express in search for Ron and Hermione. He'd opened a random compartment door and, despite the fact that there were two other Ravenclaws in the compartment, she'd captured his attention first. Up to now, Harry can still vaguely recall the feeling of being dumbstruck by how—well—downright pretty she was.

Harry can't quite call it love at first sight, but he certainly does like her. Is "like at first sight" a thing?

Ever since that very brief encounter on the Hogwarts Express, Harry has only seen her around the castle once or twice. They don't have any classes together since apparently she's older than him by a year, but what Harry has noticed is that she is almost always in the library.��

So naturally, Harry has now become a bit of a bookworm as well. Not because of a love for reading, but because of a particularly pretty fourth-year Ravenclaw.

He'd pass by the library under the pretense of checking out a book just to catch a glimpse of her. He'd spend his free periods there reading the same book over and over just so he has an excuse to be in her presence, albeit he always sits at a table at least ten feet away from her. Ron and Hermione have, of course, noticed, but Hermione isn't nearly as insistent as Ron is being about it.

E.g. right now: Harry has quickly realized that bringing Ron along to the library had been a very, very big mistake. He'd been planning on doing his regular [Y/N]-admiring routine (Merlin, that sounds weird) today, but Ron keeps pestering him to go say hi to her.

Which, of course, is absolutely ridiculous. Harry has never even considered actually trying to befriend her, much less talk to her. He's content with staring at her from afar, thank you very much, no wonder how weird that makes him seem. He's not the type to make a move. Never has—never will be.

But Ron isn't quite helping with that. Harry swats his hand away when Ron makes a move to grab his arm again, presumably to physically drag him over to [Y/N].

"Bugger off, Ron," he hisses, taking a quick peek behind the bookshelf to look at [Y/N], who is still as engrossed with her book as ever.

Ron snorts loudly. "Don't tell me you can face bloody You-Know-Who but not talk to a crush."

Harry scowls. "This is different." Ron has a point—but he's not about to admit that. "What if I asked you to go confess your undying love for Hermione?"

Ron's mouth falls open; it isn't long before his cheeks turn into a shade of red almost as vibrant as his hair. “Undying love?" he repeats incredulously, opening and closing his mouth like a fish blown out of water. "Undying love—that's ridiculous. I don't love Hermione—I don't like her either—that's just weird.. that's like liking—I don't know—McGonagall or something," he shudders dramatically, but the blush on his cheeks says otherwise.

Harry stares at his best friend, amused, and then reaches out to pat his shoulder. "Whatever you say, mate."

Ron frowns. "I don't—what—" huffing, he realizes that it would be better to just stay silent at this point. With his eyes skittering away, he mumbles something about "crushes.. Hermione.. bloody mental".

Harry finally chooses a random book and removes it from the shelf—The Wizard's Cookbook by Ellis Ephodal. "Come on, let's sit—and for the love of Merlin, don't do anything dodgy.."

"Dodgy in what way?" Ron asks, carelessly plucking a book from a shelf that he and Harry pass by on their way to Harry's regular table.

"Don't start waving to her or something," Harry narrows his eyes at him, taking a seat on the chair facing [Y/N], who remains completely oblivious to the two Gryffindors whispering about her a mere few feet away.

"Ha, as if you're not being dodgy," Ron mutters, sitting opposite him and flipping to a random page in his book. "Sitting here spying on her on a daily basis.."

It's Harry's turn to blush. "I'm not spying on her," he protests, his eyes momentarily darting to [Y/N] over Ron's shoulder. "I'm just.."

"Stalking her?" Ron snickers.

Harry shoots him a look. "No. Quit yapping, she might hear you."

Ron looks over his shoulder—or perhaps that's an understatement, because he quite literally twists his entire body around in his seat to look at [Y/N]. Harry gapes at him, reaching over the table to smack his head—and successfully doing so.

"Ow!"

From somewhere in the library, Madame Pince says, "Shhh!"

Clutching his head, Ron turns back to face Harry and glowers at him. "That hurt."

"Sorry," whispers Harry, but the deadpan look on his face makes it very clear that he doesn't mean it. "Did you really have to turn around like that?"

Ron rolls his eyes, still massaging the spot where Harry hit him. "Don't get your knickers in a twist. I could start stripping right now and she wouldn't even notice."

Once again, Ron has a point. But once again, Harry isn't going to admit that to him. The utterly focused look on [Y/N]'s face gives the impression that even if the castle were to start crumbling right then and there, she wouldn't even bat an eye.

Harry and Ron finally fall silent for a few minutes, but isn't long before Ron starts up again and goes, "You know what—"

Harry's eyes dart away from [Y/N] to look at Ron. "Be quiet."

Ron ignores him. "I'm tired of this. As your best mate, I'm telling her you fancy her." Without waiting for an answer, Ron slams his book shut with a loud thud ("Shhhh!" says Madame Pince's voice) and rises to his feet.

"What are you doing—"

"Being a good friend," says Ron matter-of-factly, rolling his shoulders back like he's about to get into a fistfight. "No need to thank me."

With gritted teeth, Harry's eyes dart around the library before he practically dives over the table and grabs Ron's arm, tugging him back down to his seat. "Sit—down—"

"Let go—"

Ron persists, but Harry keeps hanging onto his robes until the redhead finally groans and plops back down onto his chair. "Are you bloody mental?" asks Harry incredulously.

"Maybe, but at least I'm not a wimp!" Ron retorts, exasperated. "Grow some balls, Harry! You don't seriously think you'll ever get the girl if you just sit here staring at her every single day, do you?"

"I'm not trying to get her—"

"What, are you just planning to watch her like some creepy stalker the whole year? What'll you do if some random bloke comes up to her and asks her out? You're flipping Harry Potter—if anyone's got a chance with any girl, it's you!"

"Shhhhh!" chides Madame Pince more insistently this time, poking her head out of an aisle of bookshelves.

Ron gives Harry a serious look. In a quieter tone, he says, pointing his index finger at him, "You've gotta take your chances, mate. If you don't get up right now and talk to her, I swear to Merlin I'm telling her you like her—and you can't stop me this time."

Harry scoffs. "Oh, yeah? Try me."

Ron makes a move to stand up, but at a speed much quicker than lightning, Harry grabs his arm again and pulls him back down into his seat. "I was joking," insists Harry hastily.

"Didn't sound like you were," Ron remarks.

"I was," Harry assures him not-very-convincingly. And then, fidgeting in his seat, he looks at [Y/N] for a half-moment before leaning forward towards Ron and saying quietly, "You're being serious?"

"Hundred percent," Ron assures him, nodding fervently. "I could climb over this table right now and start yelling 'Harry fancies [Y/N]' at the top of my lungs, if you like."

Harry let outs a long breath, rubbing his forehead. "Jesus Christ.."

Ron crosses his arms and props his elbows on the desk, leaning towards Harry with his butt almost hanging off of his chair as he urges in an insistent tone, "Just do it, Harry. You fought off You-Know-Who twice—you can do anything. Come on."

As much as Harry hates to admit it, his best friend once again has a point—if Harry can fight off one of the most powerful wizards to have ever existed, then he can talk to a girl.. right?

Right?

"Alright, fine. To hell with it," Harry gets up from his seat, struck by a sudden burst of courage. "You're right. I can't just sit around here watching her all year—I'm gonna go talk to her."

"Brilliant!" exclaims Ron, clapping his hands together. "You've got this, Harry. Come on."

Clenching his fists, Harry takes a deep breath and starts walking towards [Y/N], whose eyes remain on her book. Throughout the five-second journey it takes for Harry to approach her, Ron keeps whispering hushed encouragements from behind him—"You're gonna ace this, mate, you're a champion". Harry almost turns around to tell him to shut up, but in all honesty Ron's little comments are egging him on, so he just lets him.

Finally, Harry comes to a stop in front of [Y/N]'s table. He licks his lips nervously, and with his hands curled into fists at his side, he clears his throat.

She doesn't look up.

Oh Merlin this is going horribly wrong.

Harry tries again, this time reaching out to tap her on the shoulder. Finally—finally, she blinks several times, tears her gaze away from the book for what must have been the first time in hours, and looks up at him.

"Um, hi," Harry grins awkwardly, sliding into the seat opposite her. "I’m—I'm Harry."

She raises her eyebrows at him, obviously a little taken aback. Harry flushes and scratches the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Um," he presses his lips together, grasping at words that won't come to him. "I've—I've been watching you."

It takes Harry a moment to realize how horribly wrong that must have sounded like. [Y/N] looks more taken aback than ever—a crease forms between her brows as she asks, "I'm sorry?"

"That came out wrong," he says hurriedly. "I meant to say I've been watching what you read. Unintentionally. You have.. really good taste in books."

With her eyes still narrowed suspiciously, she nods slowly. It's clear that she's still thinking about him telling her he'd been watching her. "Thanks..?"

Harry swallows, trying to ignore the panicky feeling inside his chest that screams at him to run out of there and never look back. Ron's words echo in his head: "You're a champion, Harry.. you can do anything.."

Shifting in his seat, he gestures to the book she holds in her hands and discreetly squints at the cover. "Mind-Boggling Mysteries in Magical History—yeah, great book," he comments much too enthusiastically, "Love that book."

She glances down at the book in her hands and lets out a light laugh—and yes, it's a very awkward laugh, but it's a laugh nonetheless. "It is," she agrees, eyebrows raised. "What'd you think about the Magical Menagerie chapter? I found that one really intriguing."

What the bloody hell is that, Harry's brain thinks, but his mouth says, "Oh, yeah. Loved that one. Really.. really mysterious."

Her eyebrows arch up even higher and she lets out another laugh. A real one this time. Marking the page where she left off, she closes the book shut, sets it down on the table, and folds her arms on top of it. "What if I tell you there is no Magical Menagerie chapter?" she asks, eyes twinkling.

Harry gawks at her.

Oh, I’m done for, Harry thinks to himself, already preparing to get up and run away. But then he hears Ron's voice inside his head again, "Come on.. you're the Chosen One.. shoot your shot, Harry Potter, slayer of You-Know-Who.."

He clears his throat and scratches his temple as if in thought, feigning a look of wonder. "That's funny," he furrows his brows, watching her reaction. "Last time I checked there was—maybe that one was a different edition.."

[Y/N] snorts slightly with laughter, the mischievous glint in her eyes turning into an amused one. "Sure. A different edition—let's call it that. Points for trying, though," she smiles a little. Harry thinks he's doing fairly well—the skeptical, suspicious gaze she'd been staring at him with earlier had turned into one of curiosity.

"Now, is there a specific reason why The Boy Who Lived is trying to talk to me about books he doesn't seem to know anything about?" [Y/N] asks, tilting her head to the side, still smiling yet with her eyebrows raised expectantly.

Harry gulps. Oh, yeah—he can think of a few specific reasons.

1. I think you're really pretty.

2. Scratch that: you're absolutely bloody gorgeous.

3. I might have a crush on you.

4. I really, really like you.

"Pick one, oh Chosen One," he imagines Ron's voice saying inside his head. As though he's been possessed by Ron Weasley, Harry blurts out, "I think you're really pretty."

[Y/N]'s eyes widen a little, eyebrows rising even higher. And then she laughs, and then says in a voice tinged with amusement, "Really."

Harry gulps again—he swears the sound is ten times louder than it usually is. "Um—yeah. Sorry," he adds, just because he feels like he's weirding her out. His entire body is burning up; he's probably turned bright red at this point. Yeah, now would be the time to leave.

He moves to get up from his seat, mumbling something about having somewhere to go, but [Y/N] says, "Wait."

Harry pauses with his butt halfway off his chair, knees bent, and then he sits back down.

[Y/N] is smiling softly at him, lips slightly tugged up at the edges and her cheek twitching like she's suppressing a grin. And—Harry gasps mentally—is she blushing, or has he gone mad?

"Thanks," she tells him, pursing her lips before adding somewhat bashfully, "For calling me—um—pretty, I guess."

Harry wipes his clammy hands on his robes underneath the table, letting his eyes skitter away because something about holding her gaze for too long is making him jittery. Pursing his lips, he mutters, "You're welcome. It's—well. It's true."

[Y/N] lets out a quiet laugh, shaking her head as though in disbelief. "You're one awkward bloke, aren't you, Harry Potter?" she teases, her eyes sparkling as she leans forward in her seat. "That's surprising, though. I've always pegged you as the arrogant type—you're 'The Boy Who Lived', after all," she grins at him, eyes flicking up momentarily to the scar on his forehead before maintaining his gaze again. "I suppose I was completely wrong. It's a pleasure to meet you—I'm [Y/F/N]."

She sticks her hand out over the table. Harry stares at it for a moment before he realizes he's supposed to shake it. Hurriedly wiping his sweaty palms on his robes again, he takes her hand; "Harry Potter," he grins rather awkwardly, shaking her hand for a brief moment before pulling away. He doesn't know if he's imagining it, but his hand feels tingly. (So does his heart.)

—

Two hours later, Harry stares up at the dark canopy of his bed, listening to the sound of rain falling outside combined with Neville's loud snoring.

For the first time in what seems like forever, normal teenage-boy thoughts are what render him unable to fall asleep. Not thoughts of Lord Voldemort coming back to life, not of Sirius Black hunting him down or of those hooded dementors—no, all that he can think about tonight is a certain Ravenclaw who had captured his heart ever since he saw her on the Hogwarts Express.

a/n: i had loads of fun writing this aaa as always feedback is very much appreciated!

#harry potter #harry potter oneshot #harry potter oneshots #harry potter x reader #hp x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #hp oneshot #hp oneshots #hp imagine #hp imagines #ron weasley #prisoner of azkaban #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fic #harry potter fanfiction

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lady-une · 3 years ago

Text

They Always Leave

This is something I wrote just to process my feelings about a guy. Nothing fanfic related at all. Honestly probably just a pile of emotions horribly written. But if you read it enjoy. It made me cry.

Trigger warning that this does mention drug use but honestly this stuff isn’t a drug.

Loud laughter and music could easily have been heard by anyone who happened to drive by or park near the crazy looking Toyota. For inside the Toyota held three friends, who were just doing their normal Scooby gang shit of smoking and listening to music. Their bellies were full having just engorged themselves on wings, cheese curds, and waffle fries.

The night was setting up to be a normal night for the trio, nothing to crazy. The only thing out of the ordinary was that a special appearance was to be made by a man who once partook in these normal nights. A man who’s laughter lifted one of the girls spirit. A man who did stupid shit all the time just to make people laugh. A man who’s darkness matched Alice’s. He was everything she wanted all rolled up in one stupid motherfucker.

When Alice had first met Caleb he was just some random guy who had tagged along with another guy her best friend had been seeing. Everyone knew of him as alibi, he was just some stupid redneck man. Not at all what Alice was attracted to. Yet the more time she spent with him the more that stupid redneck grew on her. She told herself it was nothing, chalked her emotions up to him just being a challenge. She knew he didn’t like big girls, he preferred his woman small and red headed. It was fine, everyone had their preference in a mate. Hell Alice had her own and this man didn’t hit any requirement.

But something changed. The playful teasing and remarks changed. She started to see him differently. An attraction started to slowly build deep in her gut. Small little hugs became more. Being so close to him that she could feel his breath on her cheek as they spoke silly things to one another about what they were doing. The urge to kiss him started to grow. The day dreams of him professing his attraction started to become recurring. The way he looked at her, it made her second guess everything. Was that smile different? Did he always follow me with his eyes? She started to ask around to see if anyone else had noticed anything or if it was all in her girly imagination. Some said he was just being friendly and a few said he probably had feelings too.

Alice had a way of showing her affection. Some call it a love language but in all honesty it was just childhood trauma and her way of trying to buy affection. To keep someone from leaving, because Alice knew they all left in the end. She had slowly started to gift him things. It started out small, a sex toy since he had been in a two year dry spell. She had taped it up with two containers of gorilla tape. She had joked saying it was to mimic being at a bar and having to work for that piece of ass. Then she had found out his favorite beer. Of course it would be a seasonal one, just like her who had a love of a hard to find seasonal liquor. She checked daily for the beer to come in stock and finally when it did she bought 3 cases knowing it wouldn’t last long but it would put a smile on his face.

For his birthday she had requested the day off work. The idea had formed to drive the hour long drive to his job and tape his truck up with clear wrap and then attach birthday balloons. Then meet him and his friend Greg at the bar for a birthday lunch. There she would give him his gift, a shirt. Nothing extravagant, just one from his favorite online brands that supported the troops. Yet that whole plan had been lost. Gone in an instant. Lies and deceit had caused her to part ways with her once close friend Greg. Caleb was a causality as her best friend had called it. Alice hated it, she didn’t want to part from Caleb.

The birthday shirt had sat days in her room at the end of her bed. Still in the delivery packaging. Alice would have just dropped it off in the bed of his truck had she known his address. Instead after a night of smoking and drinking she had finally texted him. Letting him know she had his gift, letting him know how much she missed him. With the dawn of the next day came sobriety and realization of how stupid she was. Quickly opening the chat she saw he had not seen the messages, this was her chance to right the wrong. With a click of her finger she unsent the messages to Caleb. It wasn’t until later in the day that Caleb had finally opened the chat up and saw that she had unsent the messages and called her out on it.

Alice confessed that she had texted him some stupid ramblings about the boxing match she had seen. A bold face lie but there was no way in hell she would confess her feelings to him sober. Instead she lied and then asked to meet so she could give him his birthday gift early. He had agreed to meet her while she was out with her friends. A quick drive by and it would be fine. Or that’s what Alice had told herself.

The margarita she had in the restaurant had calmed her nerves. The devils lettuce she was smoking had made her even more calm. This would be fine, she repeated her mantra “it’s fine” over and over in her head. A quick in and out.

It wasn’t long before she received the text that he was pulling up and asked where to park. She told him to look for the Yoda mobile and loud music. He replied back with a simple “LOL” and then she heard his loud truck before she saw it. Looking at her friends she smiled before getting out of the car with the gift. Caleb had parked two spots to the left of car and was climbing out of it by the time she reached him. The man wore his standard wranglers and brown boots with his KORN t-shirt and hat.

Alice laughed before nervously saying, “I should have bet on KORN instead of the fuck your feelings shirt.”

“That shirt was dirty, this was the nearest shirt.” Caleb replied with a half smile on his face.

Alice looked up at him trying to decipher what his eyes were possibly saying behind his dark sunglasses. A memory of a time earlier that summer where she yelled at him to take those damn shades off so she can see that he was looking at her while she talked to him popped in her head. To an outsider it would look like she was being mean to him but that was how they were. They would loudly bicker and cuss one another out with a smile on their faces.

“Well now you have a new shirt. Sorry I didn’t get you those jeans you wanted, you know shit just got weird and I felt weird texting you to ask about the jeans.”

“You didn’t have to.” Caleb replied as he took the colorfully bright pink Disney princess bag from Alice’s outstretched hand. He looked at the bag and back to her with a smile.

“Don’t give me that look, I saw it at target and the damn thing screamed ‘Caleb’ so I had to buy it. Now go on and open it!”

Caleb shook his head as he opened the bag up, sifting through the pink and blue tissue paper Alice had stuffed into it. When Caleb finally had the shirt in hand he tossed the princess bag into the bed of his truck and unfolded the shirt to hold it up and inspect it.

“I fucking love it Alice!” He shouted as he looked at the shirt that had bullets in the shape of a hand flicking you off.

“I wasn’t sure if I should get that one or the one with all the fish on it that said size matters. But Greg said to get this one.”

“Well I love it, thank you!”

Caleb opened his arms and Alice fell right into them wrapping her arms around his back and taking comfort in his hold. It had been too long since she got to hold her favorite person. She often dreamt of him holding her and it felt just as good as her dreams.

“Come on Alice, say your goodbyes. He is a casualty.” Yelled out Alice’s best friend from the back of the Toyota affectively killing Alice’s moment with Caleb.

“Casualty?” Caleb asked.

Alice pulled away but held on with just one hand to his KORN shirt, “Just ignore her.”

“Mmmhmm. How are things going with that?” Caleb inquired.

Before Alice could give him an answer her other friend yelled from the driver seat in his Yoda voice “Say your goodbyes and lets go.”

Alice looked from Caleb to her friends in the car and stomped her foot as she yelled “I wanna keep this one!”

The car of friends broke out in a laughter knowing that she was referencing a TikTok they had all seen hundreds of times. They thought she was being funny, they knew she had a crush on Caleb but she had meant it. She didn’t want him to be a casualty. She wanted him to stay in her life.

“You should probably get going, I don’t wanna hold you up.” Caleb said with a slight chuckle.

“I don’t want to. Can’t you stay awhile?” Alice asked looking up at him through her sunglasses. She could feel the tears wanting to come but held them back.

“You know I cant.”

“Please.” She begged.

“I have to get home.”

“Live a little.”

“I do live a lot but just not with you.”

“Same excuse every time.”

“Get going now before they leave your ass.”

Alice grabbed on to his shirt with the other hand. “I don’t want to.”

The tears were welling up inside her eyes, she didn’t know how much longer she could hold off. She hated crying in front of people. She saw it as a weakness. The many years as a child being told to stop crying or she would be given a reason to cry. Then as an adult being told by the man she was seeing that crying was a weakness and that she need to toughen up and that she wasn’t allowed to cry and be weak. She knew it was perfectly fine to cry and it was not a weakness. It was something that she told her kids all the time when they felt sad. That it was normal to cry and that you should cry and work through your emotions. Yet it was something she preached but never practiced herself. She had four kids at home to watch over, she didn’t have time to be weak.

“Thank you for the gift Alice, I really do like it.” Caleb said as he held onto one of her arms.

“I’m glad you do.” The first traitorous tear slip passed her eyes and she knew the instant Caleb saw it because his face lost all playfulness.

“Alice…” he gently called her name.

“I know its stupid. You don’t gotta tell me that. But I know the minute I let go and you get in your truck I wont see you again. All those plans we had will be gone. Who will take me to the gun shop to buy my first gun? Who will make sure that the sales man doesn’t take advantage of me? Who will help me learn to shoot it correctly? Why couldn’t you like me? God I sound like a stupid female right now. But we would have been great together you know. You matched my level of darkness, we matched each other in so many ways.”

“Alice..”

“You know it. They know it. Everyone knows it. Everyone always said that we should just get together but we both would just laugh but deep down I wanted it. God did I want it but you just couldn’t get past that I was a bigger girl. Boy do I feel fucking stupid on an epic proportion right now.”

“Alice everyone has their preference, you always said we were friends because you knew I didn’t like you like that.”

“Of course I did because I didn’t wanna lose you. Better to be friends then not have you in my life. Funny how now I wont even have that.”

The tears were freely falling at this point. Alice could no longer hold her head high, instead she looked down at the ground. She couldn’t look at that stupid face of his, that face that she knew would haunt her dreams for many days to come.

“Alice you will find someone so much better then me. My stupid ass wouldn’t make the best partner for you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. Look at me Alice.”

Alice shook her head, how could she look at him she was feeling pathetic at the moment. Crying because a man doesn’t want her. Caleb didn’t give her a chance to wallow in her own misery, he put his new shirt on the side of his truck bed and grabbed her face lifting it up to his. He lifted her sunglasses and looked at her tear stained face.

“Don’t cry Alice.”

“Shut up you don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Caleb took his thumbs and brushed the tears away from her eyes. “I’m not someone to cry about.”

“To me you are.”

“You gotta let me go Alice. Move on. It was fun while it lasted and we will always have our memories.”

“Do they teach you these bullshit excuses when you guys are in school? I swear it’s the same fucking thing just said by a different guy.” Alice yelled angrily through her tears.

“Don’t be mad.”

“Don’t tell me what to feel.”

“Then don’t act like a spoiled brat.”

“Then don’t act like an ass who is un-attracted to fat women.”

“We aren’t going to get anywhere on this. Please don’t be mad and please don’t cry over me.”

Alice knew she was being mad because she was hurt and that she shouldn’t be. She knew she should be enjoying these last few moments with Caleb. With shaky hands Alice reached for Caleb’s sunglasses and lifted them up to see his face. Caleb was an expert at hiding his feelings, years in the military had made him hard.

“Why did you do it Alice?” Caleb quietly asked.

“You act like I did it on purpose. I didn’t plan on falling for you. If you weren’t so fucking perfect and if your darkness didn’t call to mine we would be safe.”

“I’m sorry Alice.”

“Me too Caleb.” Alice whispered as more tears fell down her face and she stood on her tippy toes to give him a chaste kiss at the edge of his lips.

Alice tried to smile through her tears and pulled away allowing him room to get back into his truck. With him seated in his truck Caleb rolled down the window and said goodbye before pulling away. Alice watched as the man she wanted nothing more did what all men do…..leave.

#Emotions #heart ache #broken heart #dating

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babbushka · 4 years ago

Text

Beyond Reasonable Doubt (ch.1)

– A Lawyer AU –

You and Kylo Ren have hated one another for as long as you can remember. He, a criminal prosecutor, and you, a defense attorney should be natural-born enemies, and you are. But when Kylo comes to you seeking representation after being charged for a murder he didn’t commit, you both learn a thing or two about life, the law, and love…

[5k, no warnings for this first chapter!]

Available on AO3

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In a world of ever-changing circumstances, where people do things that cause ripples and shocks through the very fabric of society that shake them to their core, where the sun shines and rain falls and snow blows cold through the streets of Manhattan, where there is life and death and a mess of bullshit in between, there was but one thing that you could ever comfortably rely on in life.

Only one thing remained constant in the grand scheme of it all: your alarm.

With a grunt and sigh, your arm extends out from underneath the covers to smack at the loud blaring jingle that sounds from your phone, hand desperately trying to hit the dismiss button without looking so that you don’t have to face the day just yet. It’s too early, you reason, to pull your whole self out from under the covers.

Eventually you give that thought up though, because dammit now you’re awake and it’s Monday morning and you have an office that’s waiting for you uptown. So, ever grudgingly, you throw the plush comforter off of your body and stretch to greet the day, saying good morning to the city that never sleeps.

You don’t usually dread waking up, but well, the last time you’d been in the office was Friday afternoon, after you lost your case.

After you lost your case, to him.

Glancing at the clock on your phone, you chew your lip for a moment or two, before finally turning off the do not disturb function, immediately going into the bathroom to shower and ready yourself for the day while damn near a hundred backlogged notifications make your phone buzz nearly onto the floor.

There’s a small mirror in the shower, a little compact to make sure there’s nothing left on your face after you scrub your skin clean, and you catch your own reflection in it. You’ve looked better, that was for damn sure – but by that same token, you’ve also looked worse. Mondays were shit, but today was gearing up to be an even worse one than normal.

No, you think as you shake your head adamantly, you have no desire to let him soak up any more of your good mood than he had already. So what if you had forgone your entire weekend, canceling plans and ignoring friends to nurse the sting to your pride that was losing? So what if instead of checking your email or your phone, you sat yourself on the couch and wasted two entire days doing nothing but watching shitty shows on Netflix?

What you did on your downtime was nobodies’ business, and since you live alone in your beautiful one-bedroom in SoHo, no one was there to spill your secrets. If anyone asked – not that anyone would, if they knew what was good for them – you would tell them that you absolutely did not spend the weekend wanting to throw darts onto a photo of his face. That wouldn’t be very professional, now would it?

Shutting off the water, you wrap yourself up in a big plush towel, and pad across the floor to your closet. Briefly, ever so briefly, you glance at your phone on your way, holding your breath, wondering, hoping that there might be something from him.

If there is, it’s buried under a pile of emails and text-threads from your firm, so he’ll have to wait.

Manhattan in January was chilly, so you bundle yourself up in your chicest coat overtop your most well-fitting skirt suit and a pair of heeled boots. Even if you felt like shit, you could look like million fuckin’ bucks, and no one would be the wiser.

And what a wonder the power of confidence was! Through the streets and down to the subway, you smiled at everyone, and they all smiled back. You offered your seat on the train to an elderly man who clearly needed it more than you, and he complimented your gloves. Everyone from the NYPD officer drinking his coffee to the mom scolding her three children brightened as you wished them a good morning, and somehow, along the way to work, your Monday blues disappears into something a little brighter.

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

Your good mood only continues to grow as you exit the elevator of the huge high-rise that you call your home away from home, your office on the twenty-third floor right in the heart of the Upper West Side. Sandwiched between the Hudson and Central Park, you have to admit that getting your ass out of bed was worth it, even if just for this view.

“Morning (Y/N).” The front desk security guard greets you, and you say hello back to him with a performative show of your badge.

HKS Law, so named after the founders and current partners Amilyn Holdo, Ben Kenobi, and Luke Skywalker, is a shining pinnacle of what defense attorneys and opposing counsel at trials should be. Not only had the firm made history time and time again with incredible wins and even more incredible ultimate losses, but it prided itself on being representation for the people no one else could represent.

Most of all, it had you.

If your alarm was a constant, than this was a universal truth: you are a damn good defense attorney. As you walk through the crisp and clean polished floors, you hold your head high, knowing that this loss against him still put you at the lowest loss rate of anyone in the history of HKS, lower than even the founders themselves.

That little reminder has you grinning to yourself. You’d been working with HKS for nearly six years now, and very quickly you saw your office climbing higher and higher up the skyscraper, saw it getting bigger and bigger. And now, you were nearly positive, that your meeting at eleven o’clock would be to discuss partnership with the firm as a reward for your continued hard work.

“Hey (Y/N)!” One of the associates, Rose Tico smiles at you from where she’s chatting with her sister Paige by their desks.

“Someone looks like they had a nice weekend.” Paige remarks, and you only wink at them, playing the game.

A game, which becomes instantly easier as your assistant, a bright-eyed intern fresh out of law school appears seemingly out of nowhere.

“(Y/N), good morning!” She is already offering you a cup of something nice and hot, her arm cradling a stack of manilla folders that have all sorts of sticky-note flags on them, that she shifts onto her hip ever so slightly to brush a few loose braids out of her face, speaking at what feels like a million miles a second, “I have your coffee ready and there’s a fresh breakfast buffet in the break room if you’d like, I can get you something – ”

“Good morning Neisha.” You accept the coffee gratefully, but interrupting her only to give her a chance to catch her breath. You check your watch, it’s only half-past seven, she’ll wear herself out if she exerts that much energy first thing. “A bagel with the usual would be perfect, thank you.”

“No problem – oh, Rick wanted you to look over those case files before your eleven-o’clock.” She breathes a sigh of relief, and gives you a smile.

Groaning, you accept the manilla folders too, balancing the coffee cup on top of them as Iman follows you into your own private office. Your assistant stands in front of your desk at the ready, looking sharp and put together, as ever.

One thing that you loved about Neisha – aside from the dozens of things that you admired and appreciated about her – was that you have never ever seen her in something other than a pantsuit. She did not wear dresses or skirts, she was almost never in heels, and she did not carry a purse. Instead, Neisha could almost always be found in a very smart trouser and blazer set, often complete with vests, and fun-colored socks in her loafers to coordinate with her ever-expanding collection of ties.

“Rick can go fuck himself.” You mutter under your breath, and she laughs.

“Should I tell him you said that?” With a playful glimmer in her eye, she crosses her arms over her broad chest.

“Yes.” You wink, before checking your watch once again and reminding her about that, “Bagel?”

“Bagel – right, on it.” Neisha snaps her fingers and leaves, closing the office door behind her.

You like your office, even if you’ve outgrown it. Much like the rest of the firm, it has stayed up to date with the contemporary interior design of the day. However where the open floor of the firm is mostly whites and silvers and glass, your office feels warmer with shades of coffee browns and creamy neutrals.

Remembering how you had been so excited for the promotion to your own office, you can’t help but chuckle to yourself now – it really was a small office. It consisted of a long dark brown desk situated in front of a wall-unit bookshelf/display area, and a seating arrangement of matching brown chairs situated around a free-edge wooden coffee-table. A soft rug covers the marble flooring, and cream gauzy curtains cover the windows, but that was about it.

You had been to the offices of the higher ups, you knew just what you could achieve if you made partner – even if you made junior partner.

And if all went well during this meeting at eleven, you knew you’d be moving into one of those offices soon.

For the first time all weekend, you sit down in the big leather chair behind your desk and finally check your phone. The case files remain on your desk, and you know you’ll get to them eventually, but until you’ve had some breakfast and that coffee can work its magic, no one could blame you for scrolling through the shit that you had put off since Friday.

It’s mostly work friends taking your side, which you appreciate. They knew losing a case was hard for you – you didn’t do it very often. And even though you never lost to anyone besides him, it still never got easier.

The case had been a simple one, or at least, you had thought so. Murders are so often simple, either the person did it, or they didn’t. If they did, there’s evidence, and if they didn’t, well, there’s evidence too. And when two parties come forward with their own evidence, compelling, strong fucking evidence – evidence of alibis and proof that your client couldn’t have been there, couldn’t have done it – it’s up to the jury to decide who to believe.

In this case, this jury decided to believe him, and there was nothing you could do about it. It was losses like this, losses like the knowledge than an innocent man was going to prison, that make you seriously question the legal system as a whole, frankly.

It’s then that you see it, and your hand freezes.

You have a missed message from him.

He’s saved in your contacts as the dick from VTH, and even though that could refer to any number of people, you know that it’s him. You have five missed messages from him, as a matter of fact, which sends both a rush of adrenaline through you, as well as a spike of anxiety.

The two of you…you’d never been friends, not really. In fact, the closest thing to a relationship that you might have is that of a rivalry, if not flat out enemies. You hated him, and he hated you, and he had hated you ever since the first day he set eyes on you, from the very first moment you walked into the courtroom as a last-minute addition to the defense counsel, and won the case in fifteen minutes.

Which was a shame, because you often find yourself thinking that if he weren’t such a…well, a dick, there could have been something there. Instead of a friendship, or even a civil acquaintanceship, you have over the years developed something of a hate-fucking-enemies-with-benefits arrangement. He was probably pissed that you ignored him all weekend, but that was okay – let him be pissed, you were pissed too.

You don’t open his messages, not yet. You’d need coffee in you and food in your stomach before you’re able to handle whatever mood he has to be in, now that you’ve got the energy to deal with him.

You’re so deep in thought that you nearly miss when Neisha returns with a plate for you, a big spread arranged on your desk for you to enjoy. You’re about to thank her and let her get on with whatever work she has to do, but she holds out a newsletter with a devious smile and curiosity gets the better of you.

“Have you seen?” She asks, and you raise a brow, a smile of your own creeping across your face.

The newsletter was something that circulated through the different firms in the area, keeping everyone up to date – or at least as up to date as legally possible – on the goings on in the sphere of influence that you all found yourselves in. Everything from congratulatory memos to case results, and even high profile celebrity gossip was fair game, but one of the more scandalous parts of the newsletter, was the publication of trouble that various lawyers found themselves in.

The Monday morning newsletter had quite a bit of this from over the weekend, and right there on page sixteen, is none other than his face looking as irritated as he possibly can, as he’s being given a hard time for a DUI on Friday night.

“Oh fuck.” Your eyes widen, wanting nothing more than to call him and yell at him for being a fucking idiot, “What the hell does he think he’s doing?”

“Whatever he wants, evidently.” Neisha shrugs, no doubt thinking the news would cheer you up in some sort of vengeful way that you appreciate. She reaches for a pumpernickel crisp from the spread on your desk and muses, “I bet the cops are thrilled, they hate that sonofabitch.”

“Yeah them and me both.” You mutter, already rubbing away a headache that’s starting to form across the expanse of your forehead. “He’s not going to be pleased about that photo, he looks rumpled.”

Sighing, you look down at the photo. He’s very clearly intoxicated, you’ve seen that look in his eyes more than once, the blurry out of focused glassy look that he gives you over smiles at dinner sometimes. You blink away the image of him in a nice suit on the other end of a table, reminding yourself that you’re angry with him.

“Doesn’t he have a driver? I wonder why he got behind the wheel himself.” Neisha continues, and bless her you think, for continually giving you a means to not be left alone with your thoughts.

“If there’s one thing I know about that man, it’s that when he sets him mind to something, no one is going to stop him from doing it.” You reply, not able to ignore a bit of gut-wrenching regret.

Maybe if you hadn’t been so mad at him, you could’ve gone with him to wherever he was coming back from, and maybe you could’ve --

“Should I have this framed?” Neisha asks, and you blink again.

You check your watch, it’s only a quarter ‘til eight. Have you really only been at work for fifteen minutes? That stack of folders sits on the edge of your desk, taunting you. You’re gearing up for an extra long day.

“No, that’s okay.” You shake your head, opening the bottom drawer of your desk and dropping the newsletter into it. “I will keep a hold onto it though. Just for fun.”

With a laugh, Neisha leaves and once again closes your office door.

“God dammit.” You grumble, pulling your phone out yet again.

The unread messages from him sit buried beneath thirty other messages that don’t warrant responses, and you hover your thumb over his name.

After all these years, something about getting a text from him made your heart jump. It felt stupid, you weren’t some teenager with a crush in high school, you were an adult, and this was just another adult, who you happened to have developed some sort of attachment to. Not a friendship, or a relationship even, but some kind of attachment.

Right now, you wanted to bitch at him for getting himself into trouble, for driving while he was so very clearly drunk, a whole argument prepared about how he could have seriously hurt or even killed someone, how even though he’s a rich asshole he can’t afford to be so reckless.

But first, in order to bitch at him, you have to read what he’s sent you over the weekend, and that’s where you keep tripping up. You don’t know why, but when you do finally open up his texts, you find that you’re holding your breath until you read them.

You try to ignore the way the thread starts out, try to ignore how if anyone were to squint, they might think something was going on between you two.

Incoming: [1/8 6:03am] just picking up croissants from that place u like. jam?

[1/8 6:10am] Yeah, raspberry if they have

Incoming: [1/8 6:11am] on it, go back 2 bed.

That had been just over a week ago, and you remember the day well, how you exchanged smiles over bites of fresh and flaky pastry, how you had dipped the croissants into hot chocolate in his bed, not giving a fuck about the crumbs that weren’t your problem because they weren’t your sheets.

How that was the last time you had seen him, before the conclusion of the case.

Now, now that you’d lost, the tone of the thread has very clearly shifted to something much colder. One thing you’re surprised to see though, is that they’re all from around Friday night, which was unusual.

Incoming: [1/15 7:43pm] going out 2 celebrate tonight, join me

Incoming: [1/15 8:57pm] u can’t ignore me forever u know

Incoming: [1/16 12:02am] i’m glad u didn’t come, ud fucking hate it here. theyre playing music 2 loud

Incoming: [1/16 12:15am] r u seriously still mad?

Incoming: [1/16 1:09am] Fuck you.

Rolling your eyes, you rub away more of that headache that starts to form. It was weird that he didn’t text you at all for the whole day of Saturday, or Sunday for that matter. If you didn’t spend the weekend together, he was very content to simply blow your phone up with links to random bullshit or long text conversations in broken grammar because his thumbs were too big for the buttons.

So for there to be radio silence after one o’clock in the morning was strange.

“For fucks sake.” You find yourself texting him back without even thinking about it, your fingers moving over the keyboard easily and quickly, sending off a slightly antagonizing reply after two days of nothing;

[1/18 7:55am] Looks like you had quite the night on Friday.

There, you think. That should get a response out of him. No doubt he would be quick to complain about how he had been pulled over and the whole nine yards. You wait for it to come through, the text. Or more accurately, the string of impassioned paragraphs that he tends to send you.

But a minute go by, and there’s nothing.

Five minutes, and nothing still.

You know you have to work, you have shit to do, you have that big meeting in a couple hours that you have to mentally prepare for, there’s no time to be worrying about him not texting you back. Still, you don’t like the silence. Sure that makes you a hypocrite, but he deserved your cold shoulder for beating you in court. At least, that’s how you justify it for yourself.

Getting up from your desk, you hover in the doorframe, where your assistant’s desk sits just outside to act as a buffer for anyone wanting to bother you.

“Hey Neisha?” You ask quietly, getting her attention, “I haven’t missed any calls, have I?”

A crease of confusion dips between her brows as she frowns, and immediately she checks the call logs on the conference phone that sits on her desk next to the big computer that takes up most of her space.

“No not that I can think of, are you expecting someone – ?”

Just as she’s asking, the phone rings. You lean over and see the number is one you don’t recognize, and you frown too.

“Better get that.” Neisha says awkwardly, so you just nod and retreat back into your own office from where you came.

It’s been seven minutes now, and there’s still nothing from him.

“Fine, fuck you too.” You mutter at the phone, locking it and putting it in the shallow drawer of your desk so you can focus on the folders in front of you finally.

The stack is pretty normal, all the weekend material finally coming in now that it’s the start of a new week. There’s new case files to look through to decide if you’re doing to accept the client, supplementary material from old case files that you’ve asked for to review, notes and evidence belonging to associates’ cases that you said you’d give your opinion on – all mixed into one big pile.

You liked it though, liked staying busy. It was a good distraction from a loss, the ability to win, the ability to prove to yourself and to the world that you’re good at what you do. There are all sorts of awards and pieces of paper displayed on the walls of your office that show that you’re good, but still, there’s nothing like a strong win after a frustrating loss.

But you’re not even halfway through reading the first folder, when Neisha knocks on your door and opens it slowly, a look of preemptive apology on her face.

“I’m afraid you’re going to need to cancel your eleven o’clock.” She says, and you can tell by the tone of her voice that there’s no use in trying to argue with her.

You let the folder fall down onto the desk, and brace yourself for whatever bombshell she’s about to drop on you, what could possibly be so important for you to have to reschedule one of the biggest meetings of your career. They would understand, you’re sure.

You hope, anyway.

“Who is it?” Your tone is already filled with dread, but a resigned kind of dread, knowing that whatever it must be, it has to be big, and you’re the only one in this entire fucking firm who can handle big things like this – it was the reason they wanted you for partner in the first place.

But Neisha hesitates with this response, scratches the back of her neck in a way that makes you instantly curious.

“I…I was instructed not to say, just that you’ve been requested to meet with them regarding representation.” She tells you, and now your headache pounds even harder.

Clients didn’t withhold their identity from you; some used an alias of course, but you can’t say that so far in your career you’ve had a completely anonymous client. Whoever this person was, had to either be royalty, or something very very close.

And though that meant there was going to be a nightmare of a trial – because these high profile people almost never got to simple settle, not when the prosecutor wants to make a show of prosecuting them – you can’t help but think that would be a pretty good notch in your beltloop, as it were.

“Alright, where are they?” You’re already up and away from your desk, shuffling the case files into a locked cabinet.

“Rikers.” She says straight away, and you let out a groan.

“Of course they are.”

You had almost hoped that whoever this mystery client was, they had posted bail and could meet at a nice neutral location. You didn’t have anything against Rikers personally, but rather the entire prison industrial complex as a whole, and as far as New York prisons went, there were few more infamous for being unnecessarily brutal than Rikers Island.

“I can call them back and tell them you’re busy…but they sounded adamant about wanting you in particular.” Neisha nudges gently, and really there’s no need to butter you up, you’ve already made up your mind.

“I’m guessing they didn’t tell you why?” You ask, even though you know the answer.

“Correct.” She replies with a sheepish shrug.

You look at her, at your watch, at your phone screen which shows no new notifications from the last time that you checked it, and you square your shoulders.

“Alright, reschedule the eleven o’clock, and let’s get out of here before Holdo freaks the fuck out on me for that.” You say, grabbing your coffee and a few more of the pastries to take in the car with you for the drive.

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

Most times, you have no problem taking the subway wherever you need to get, but visiting Rikers wasn’t as easy as hopping off the train and walking a couple blocks. For times like these, you and Neisha take one of the company cars, a sleek and shiny black thing with dark tinted windows. Cars really aren’t practical in the city, which is why you don’t have one of your own, but it was nice to be driven around from time to time in the peace and quiet of a car like this.

Normally, visitors are not allowed on Mondays or Tuesdays, but you’re not a normal person, and you’re not here for a normal visit, so once you pass through the security gate, the K-9 unit and the metal detector security tests with ease, you find it a pretty quiet lobby.

“Good afternoon Ms. (L/N), here on official duty?” One of the correctional officers that sits up by the front visitation desk beams at you.

“No, I just missed you Jake.” You reply, fishing out your identification for him even though he really doesn’t need it. Jake has worked there only a year or so, and every time you see him you can’t help but think he’s young, too young for this job, you think, too young to become desensitized to the humanity of incarcerated individuals. But that’s not a conversation that you’re here to have today, so instead you keep up the chitchat with, “How’s Lottie and the kids?”

“They’re good, who are you here for?” Jake asks as a matter of protocol, and you give Neisha a look, before looking back at him.

“That’s just the thing, I don’t know. I wasn’t informed for confidentiality reasons.” You try to explain, before leaning forward and mock-whispering to him, “Please tell me someone has me on the list and I didn’t drive all this way for nothing.”

Jake laughs, a sound that feels out of place in a place like this, and pulls something up on his computer. You can’t really see it, the list, and that’s okay. Whoever this mysterious person is, you’ll find out within just a few minutes.

“You know the drill, they’re waiting for you in the back.” Jake waves you off, and you’re glad to go.

“Wait out here.” You tell Neisha, who clearly looks uncomfortable even being in the lobby, and with good reason. She doesn’t argue you on that, instead takes a seat on a bench near Jake’s table, and the two of them get to chatting while your boots click on the floors as you walk away.

There’s a couple different visitation areas in the jail, and the deeper into the building you go, the more that you’re glad that visitation isn’t allowed on Mondays. You don’t want the chance of running into someone that you had failed. Granted there had only been a handful of those instances, but the thought of any one of them being here is not outside the realm of possibility.

Through the sea of empty tables and chairs that are reserved for long term inmates who happen to have visitation privileges for good behavior, you find yourself moving deeper and deeper, until you’re at the door of another room, a closed off one more typical to that seen in movies and television shows.

Opening the door, you hang in the hallway to confirm that there’s no one else there, as there shouldn’t be. There’s eight stations, four on each side of the small room, with a phone and a pane of bulletproof glass. Right away, you have a feeling this is going to be a murder trial, if they’re not even letting you meet with the client out in the open, if they’re monitoring the phone conversation that you’re about to have.

You see a shuffle of movement out of the corner of your eye, and assume that that’s who you’re here to meet, so with your chin held high, you step into the room, and make your way to the visitation booth where a man in a bright orange jumpsuit is waiting on the other side of the glass.

Stopping as quickly as you’ve started, you stand frozen in the middle of the room, blinking away and desperately shoving aside a wave of feelings that have crashed over you at the familiar face behind the glass.

The dark hair, the deep eyes, that proud nose, those full lips, you take it all in with some strange sense of disbelief – surely this must be a dream? It has to be, even as you sit on the little stool and yank the phone off the wall, shoving it against your ear, not even knowing where to start as you try to wrap your mind around the fact that the man, this mystery client…

“Hey sweetheart.” He says, and you could smack him upside the head if only there weren’t this glass between you and Kylo Ren.

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Tagging some pals, please let me know if you’d like to be added to or taken off the taglist! @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @mousemakingjam @the-unmanaged-mischief @drake-bells-waxed-penis @littleevilme13 @rennaissance-mama @materialisthicc

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren/you #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren imagine #reader insert #slowburn #modern au #lawyer au #my writing #beyond reasonable doubt #adam driver fanfiction #adcu

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