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intheticklecloset · 16 days ago

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A Brush of Inspiration (Big Windup!)

Summary: Abe struggles with an assignment in an art class he shares with Tajima and Oki, but they know just how to help inspire him.

A/N: The first full Big Windup fic I've written in ages. Honestly, I stayed away from writing full stories for this fandom because I figured no one else cared to read them like I do, but I really miss my anime baseball boys - especially my beloved Abe Takaya - so I just HAD to write for them again. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do! 💖

Word Count: 1377

~~~

Abe didn’t care much for art.

He wasn’t good at it, and he didn’t enjoy it. It wasn’t necessarily stressful, it was just…not his thing. Not something he sought to do on his own. The only time he’d ever pick up a paintbrush was if he had to for a project or a class.

Like right now.

The blank canvas wasn’t mocking him, necessarily. It just sat there, empty, waiting, and Abe had no clue where to even begin trying to create a nature scene, like they’d been instructed to do. Did he paint a forest? A lake? A volcano? What was easiest?

A light breeze pulled him from his thoughts, and he glanced around. On his left was Tajima, tongue sticking out as he easily dragged the brush across the canvas, surprisingly focused. On his right was Oki, tapping the handle against his chin as he contemplated his own ideas.

Their teacher had chosen to take the class outside; it was fall, and the temperature was just about perfect – not so hot they’d swelter, not so cold they’d shiver holding the brushes. The leaves were changing colors, too, and Abe suspected the teacher thought they’d gain better inspiration for their nature pieces from all of the nature right there around them.

He glanced back at his white canvas. He tried to concentrate.

He drew a blank.

“Agh,” he grumbled at last, startling Oki out of his reverie. “One of you, tell me what to paint.”

“Uhh…” Oki started, just as Tajima said, “Whatever you want!”

“Whatever I want isn’t happening,” Abe grumbled, glancing down at the paint bottles around them. “I’m no good at this stuff. Just give me something, and I’ll do what I can.”

Tajima paused his brushstroke to look at him. “Let me ask you this, then: when you think of being outside, what’s the first thing that comes to mind?”

Abe gave him a withering look. “Are you trying to psychoanalyze me?”

“Ooo, look who’s being a grumpy jerk, as usual.” The third baseman rolled his eyes, setting his supplies down and getting to his feet. “Let me see what you’ve got…oh. You haven’t even started?”

“Like I said, I’m no good at this. I can’t just choose a nature scene; that’s why I asked for one.”

Tajima reached past him, picking up a brush with a tiny tip and twirling it around as he considered. “Well, when you think of the outdoors, do you think of camping? The beach? Mountains?”

Abe glanced at Oki, silently asking for help, but the other boy looked just as interested in his answer. He huffed. “I don’t know. I just…think of outside. It’s not like a particular spot comes to mind.”

Tajima sighed. “You’re impossibly stubborn sometimes, you know that?”

“I’m not trying to be stubborn! I’m serious!”

It was at this point that Oki finally spoke up. “Whoa, Abe. Easy. He’s not trying to make you feel bad or anything.”

Abe clenched his fists, closed his eyes, gritted his teeth. He took a deep breath. He just had to be patient, like he was learning to be with Mihashi.

In the next instant the catcher had leapt out of his chair, nearly toppling the table along with all three of their canvases. His hand flew up to his left ear as he whirled on a surprised looking Tajima. “What the hell?! You can’t just do that!”

“Do what?” Oki asked, confused, but Tajima only smirked at him.

“Oh? Didn’t know you were so sensitive, Abe~”

Abe clenched his jaw, willing the blush he could feel coming on away before it manifested. He reached for the paintbrush the other boy was holding. “Give me that.”

“Ah-ah!” Tajima teased, easily evading him and flipping the tool so the handle jabbed into his ribs, making him stumble back a step. “Not so fast. I think this is just what you need.”

The catcher hesitated, glancing around. The nearest set of three classmates were set up several yards away, and they weren’t paying much attention to what the three of them were doing. Still…

“You wouldn’t. Not in class.”

Tajima winked. “You must not know me very well, then.”

What happened next took only a few seconds, though it felt like an eternity to Abe. Tajima aimed the bristle end of the brush at his neck, which made him scrunch up instinctively and try to grab onto the tool himself, only for a new set of arms to hook under his from behind and trap him. He barely had a chance to whirl around and snap at Oki – “What the hell are you doing?!” – before Tajima had lifted the hem of his white t-shirt and started dragging the dry brush across his bare waistline.

Abe nearly crumpled to the ground right then; as it was, helpless snickers slipped out that he was mortified came from such minimal stimulation. “W-Wahahait, don’t—!”

Tajima pulled back, looking frustrated. “What am I doing? This tiny thing won’t work.” He discarded the small-head brush for the largest one and returned to his earlier ministrations, this time pulling full-on giggles out of the catcher.

“Nohohohohoho! Tajima, dohohohohon’t! We’re in clahahahahahass!” Abe half-demanded, half-pleaded, eyes darting first to their nearest classmates who were finally beginning to glance their way, then back at Oki as well as he could manage. “Lehehehehet me gohohohohoho!”

“I didn’t know you were so sensitive,” Tajima said again, grinning with genuine enthusiasm this time as he “painted” all over Abe’s waist and hips, gradually fluttering up to his ribs. “I figured someone had to really work at it to make you laugh, but this thing is super gentle and you’re already a mess!”

Abe felt the blush cover his cheeks at last, but he couldn’t even focus on that for how tickly the paintbrush was against his skin. He now found himself fighting back a squeal of laughter every time it got near his hips, shooting sharp, ticklish sensations through his entire body.

“You jeheheheheheherk! Stahahahahahahap!” Abe pleaded, squirming in Oki’s hold while Oki did his best to keep him from lashing out at the art table. He didn’t want to ruin the progress he and Tajima had made, at least.

“What about here?” Tajima asked innocently, now trailing the weapon of destruction against Abe’s neck and collar.

At this point, Abe couldn’t help the squeak he let out, nor the hysterical giggles that followed. “S-Stohohohohohohop! Plehehehehehease! Tajima, it t-tihihehehehehehehe! Tihihihihihihickles!”

“Aww, does it?” the cleanup hitter teased, dusting it under his chin and finally beneath his earlobe – the spot that had gotten Abe to jump out of his chair in the first place. “Does it really, really tickle? Hmm?”

“Gahahahahahahahaha, fuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuck! Plehehehehehease, no mohohohohohohohore!” Abe begged, nearly hurting himself trying to scrunch up protectively, his head almost parallel with his shoulder. “I give, I gihihihihihihihive!”

Oki suddenly let him go, and Abe did the only thing he could think to get away, and that was to drop to the ground in a giggly heap. To his relief, Tajima didn’t follow, but only because he could hear that their teacher had come over to gently admonish them for getting off-track.

Once she’d walked away and Abe had gotten to his feet, blushing furiously and trying to ignore the murmurs he was overhearing from the girls in his class about how cute he’d been, Tajima handed the offending paintbrush back to him with an unbothered grin.

“Maybe that’ll help you come up with something, now that you’re done being a grump,” he said good-naturedly.

Abe snatched the paintbrush and then pointedly ignored him, practically glaring at the canvas…until suddenly he could see it. A scene unfolding in his mind’s eye. He stifled a smirk, unwilling to give Tajima the satisfaction of seeing him happy after that fiasco, but he did reach for the beige-colored paint and squeezed some onto his palette.

Being tickled like that must really have brought everything into focus for him in more ways than one, because as he finally dragged the brush across his canvas for the first time this afternoon, he wondered why he hadn’t thought about this before. Really, when it came to the outdoors, there was only one place that mattered.

The baseball field.

#fanfiction #tickle fic #big windup #oofuri #abe takaya #tajima yuuichiro #oki kazutoshi #friends #playful #tickling #ticklish #tickle

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daughter-of-melpomene · 2 years ago

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: ̗̀➛ OC SCENE DUMP: Dot Watanabe (The A-Team 2010)

(A/N: Please note that these aren’t in any particular order or meant to be part of any fic, I just thought they’d be fun. Hope you guys enjoy!!)

“So,” the creep practically purred, and Dot’s battle with the urge to aim a kick where the sun didn’t shine tilted towards the losing side. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing out on the range so early? Trying to figure out how to work that gun?”

Oh, clearly this guy had no idea who he was talking to. A perfect opportunity for Dot to have some fun with him.

Instead of answering right away, Dot fixed the creepy captain with her sweetest smile, the one that Face always joked could give someone diabetes if they so much as looked at it. Then, only breaking eye contact to give the quickest glance over her shoulder, she looked back at the guy and twisted her arm back so that her gun was pointing behind her, towards the target.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

Dot didn’t have to look to know whether her shots had landed or not; she knew her own abilities well, and the captain’s utterly shocked expression was all the proof she needed. Still, she couldn’t resist sneaking a look over her shoulder, and a smug grin overtook her face when she saw the result.

Five perfect bullseyes, directly in the center of the target.

Reverting back to her sickly sweet smile, she turned back to the creepy man and spoke, affecting a mockingly high, damsel-in-distress-like tone. “Oh, yes, it’s so hard to learn how to shoot properly. I sure hope a pretty little thing like me never actually needs to use a gun, because I’ll be completely helpless. It’s not as if I’m one of the best snipers in the US military or anything.”

And then she gently pushed the gun into the hand of the captain, who was still standing frozen and shocked, wished him luck with his shooting practice, and headed back towards her quarters, knowing how much of a laugh this would get out of Hannibal.

***************

“Of course he’s sending in Dot,” Face grumbled, gesturing harshly towards her. “She’ll win this guy over in two seconds flat, she’s too cute not to.”

“Watch it, Faceman,” Murdock warned from the couch, clearly teasing. “That’s my cutiepie you’re talking about there.”

“Not like that!” Face insisted hotly. “I just mean, like, she’s got that sweet face and that smile that makes you feel like you can tell her anything. He’ll trust her, because she gives off this vibe of kindness and understanding that most people can’t resist.”

“Aw, Facey,” Dot teased, giving the man a shit-eating grin. “Do you feel like you can trust me?”

Face rolled his eyes and gestured hard at her. “See, look at her. She knows what those doe eyes can do to people.”

Dot giggled, flipping some hair over her shoulder and fluttering her eyelashes in an exaggerated manner. “It’s a talent, what can I say?”

***************

“I’m asexual.”

“I’m ace.”

It took a few seconds for Dot to register exactly what Murdock had said, but once she did, her eyes flew back open and she regarded her boyfriend the exact same way he was regarding her - eyes blown wide, mouth hung open in shock at the confession they’d both just made.

For almost two solid minutes afterwards, Dot and Murdock just sat there, gaping at each other in surprise and borderline wonder. Then a massive grin suddenly overtook Murdock’s face, and he burst into peals of cackling laughter.

Dot’s first instinct was to smack his arm and scold him, because her coming out was not funny even if he’d come out at the exact same time, but his laughter was just too damn contagious, and really this whole thing was kind of amusing. Eventually she started giggling too, leaning into Murdock as her whole body began to tremble with the force of it.

“It isn’t funny,” she mumbled into the pilot’s shoulder once both sets of laughter had died down. “I mean, at least neither of us have to worry about hurting the other person’s feelings if we don’t want to have sex, but it’s not amusing.”

“Like hell it ain’t,” Murdock responded cheerfully, moving the arm Dot had been leaning on so that it was wrapped around her shoulders. “God, who coulda guessed that we’d both turn out to be garlic bread-lovers?”

Dot blinked, needing a second to process what her boyfriend had just said, before pulling away from Murdock to give him a look that was equal parts fond and confused. “Did you just… refer to asexuals by using a meme?”

***************

“He lit my arm on fire!” Face exclaimed, gesturing harshly to the scorch marks on his sleeve and staring at Hannibal with an intensely indignant expression.

Dot couldn’t help it; her face broke out in a shit-eating grin. “I like him already.”

***************

“Ten seconds,” Hannibal intoned through the earpiece, and now Dot could hear them, the heavy footsteps about to round the corner and catch her and Murdock doing something they were definitely not supposed to be doing. Practically growling with frustration, she gave the door lock one last angry yank, but it didn’t budge any more than it had any of the other times.

Letting out a string of swear words under her breath, she straightened up and whipped back around to face Murdock just as Hannibal informed them that they only had five seconds left.

“You’re gonna have to make it look like you’re making out with me in a few seconds,” she informed him, and before Murdock could utter so much as a confused “huh?” Dot twisted her arm behind her back, yanked the zipper all the way down, grabbed Murdock by the lapels of his suit, and yanked him towards her, slamming their lips together and guiding his hands to the small of her back as she pressed her back up against the wall.

For the first instant, Murdock simply stood there with cartoonishly wide eyes as Dot moved her lips against his, his entire body stiff, and Dot felt a sharp stab of fear slice through her gut as the guards finally turned the corner, terrified that they would notice how forced this kiss was and realize what they were really here for. But Murdock must have seen the guards out of the corner of his eye and realized what Dot was trying to do, because it only took a moment for him to relax into the kiss, his eyes fluttering shut and his own lips (which were much softer than Dot had anticipated) beginning to move against hers.

Against her better judgement, Dot forced her own eyes to close, trying her best to seem like she was too caught up in this makeout session to notice or care that a couple of armed guards were now in the hallway with them.

But as Murdock’s gentle hands began to roam over the bare skin on her back and he pressed further into the kiss, his forehead coming to touch hers, that turned out to be a lot easier than Dot had anticipated. Murdock’s lips felt so nice against hers, those calloused fingers of his so light as they danced over her skin, that before long the world began to buzz and fade around her, a bright warmth blossoming in her chest and drowning out everything that wasn’t the cool wood of the wall against her back and Murdock’s soft, beautiful lips on hers.

For all the bragging Face did about being the world’s best kisser, Dot found herself thinking, she was pretty positive he had nothing on the A-Team’s pilot. She would be perfectly fine if she never had to stop kissing Murdock, never had to come up for air, never had to leave this aura of lovely warmth that was making her and Murdock the only two people in the universe.

Eventually, though, the sound of retreating footsteps snapped her back to reality, the feeling like a splash of icy water cancelling out the effects of Murdock’s kisses. Her eyes jerked open to see the guards turning back around the corner, apparently determining that the pair of lust-stricken partygoers they thought that had seen were no threat to any of the dirty little secrets this mansion held.

Realizing her lungs had begun to ache from depriving herself of air for so long, Dot pulled away from Murdock the second the guards were fully out of view, fighting back a wince at the distinct wet smacking sound their lips made as they were pulled apart. For a second, Murdock’s lips still followed her, the pilot leaning forward slightly as if hoping to recapture her mouth, but then he seemed to remember himself and straightened back up, looking faintly embarrassed.

There was a solid minute of silence where the two of them just stared at each other, faces heavily flushed and chests heaving, both looking like deer in headlights and both unsure how to react to what had just happened. The air between them suddenly felt very tense fragile, like one wrong word could shatter this whole situation and ruin everything.

Thankfully (or was Dot really thankful for it? She couldn’t tell), Hannibal’s voice came back over their earpieces, saving them from having to break the silence on their own.

“Murdock? Dot? What’s happening? Everything okay?”

Finally dragging her eyes away from Murdock’s face, Dot turned back to the locked door and reached up to press her earpiece with a shaking hand, flapping her other hand by her side a few times to calm herself down.

“Yeah, we’re okay,” she told Hannibal in a voice that fought not to shake, as Dot tried to will herself back into the Deadeye mode she’d been knocked out of my the kiss. “Guards didn’t even notice us. Everything’s fine.”

But she didn’t think it was, not now. And she wasn’t sure how it could ever be again, now that she knew what kissing Murdock felt like. Now that she desperately wanted to do it again.

***************

“I’m not going back.”

All three men turned to look at her almost in unison, matching expressions of surprise and confusion on their faces.

“What?” Hannibal asked, looking at Dot like she’d grown a second head. “What do you mean?”

Taking a deep breath to brace herself, Dot moved her gaze to her hands, folded on the crappy diner tabletop. She knew what she needed to say and she wasn’t planning on backing down, but she didn’t think she’d be able to make eye contact with any of them, any of these men whom she loved like family and who had always trusted her, while she said it. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle it.

“I’m not going back to the Rangers,” she repeated, fighting with herself to speak clearly and not to mumble. She could feel three sets of eyes looking at her curiously, and the weight of their gazes forced her to bunch up her shoulders, curling slightly into herself in an attempt to make herself feel smaller. “I’ll help take down Pike and get the plates back, obviously, and I want my name cleared, but I don’t want to be reinstated.”

“Wh-why?” Face demanded, looking at Dot like he absolutely couldn’t believe what she was saying. “Dot, you’ve been a Ranger since forever, why would you-”

“Exactly,” Dot cut him off emphatically, feeling a burst of fiery courage shoot through her at Face’s inability to understand. She knew logically that it wasn’t his fault, that he couldn’t understand her experiences and what it had been like for her, but she couldn’t help it, it pissed her off. “I’ve been a Ranger pretty much since the moment I turned eighteen, and the only reason anyone acknowledged me at all was because I could outshoot everyone. Do you really think anyone would’ve cared about an autistic Asian woman in the military if I wasn’t more talented than everyone else?”

“Dot,” Hannibal said gently, and she hated how clear it was that was trying to tread lightly, like she was overreacting and he didn’t want to upset her. “You know none of that has ever mattered to us-”

“Not to you, no,” Dot interrupted, finally jerking her head up to meet the older man’s eyes. He had a cautious look on his face, like for once he wasn’t sure what his next move should be, and there was a fiery part of her that took a grim satisfaction in it, in the story of her struggles being the thing that finally tripped her team leader up. “But to everyone else. And it mattered so goddamn much that I had to fight tooth and nail for every single nod of approval. I had to be ten times better than everyone else just to be respected, and I still wouldn’t have gotten any of my promotions or accolades if you hadn’t been behind me. And I’m grateful for that, Hannibal, I swear to God I am, but you… you don’t get it. Bosco’s the only one who could possibly understand-” She jerked her head towards B.A. beside her. “-and even he doesn’t fully get it, because he’s still an allistic man. None of you can understand how much it sucked to be a person like me in the military, and I don’t want you to understand. I’m glad you don’t understand, that none of you had to go through that. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t the worst.”

Her hands were shaking on the tabletop now, faintly rattling the spoon resting near them. Face started to reach across the table to lay his hand over hers, trying to comfort her, but Dot yanked her hands away and set them on her lap, balling them into fists. She appreciated him trying to be sweet and make her feel better, but she didn’t think she could handle touch right now.

“So I fought. I followed orders and I practiced my shooting even when I didn’t need to and I trained for hours after everyone else had gone to bed, and I never regretted it, because that’s what let Hannibal know about me in the first place. That’s what got me to being a lieutenant in an elite Ranger team, so I never regretted a second of it. But even after all that work, all the blood, sweat, and tears I put into my military career and making sure no one would ever overlook me again, the higher-ups were willing to discharge us with no proper trial, just because something happened that made them look bad. They didn’t care about everything I gave, about everything all of us gave, just as long as they could cover their asses.”

Heaving in a trembling breath, Dot finally forced herself to look around at the three men sitting around her. All of them were looking at her with the same expression, wide-eyed and soft and sheepish, but she refused to stop talking to reassure them the way she wanted to. She’d been putting the rest of the team before herself for so long; she couldn’t do it anymore.

“So yeah. I’ll help you get the plates back and go after Pike, because I want him dead as much as you do, and I want my name cleared as much as you do. But I refuse to go back to a military that was so willing to abandon me when all I ever gave it was everything.

I’m worth more than that. I know I’m worth more than that. And even if you guys don’t think so… it took me too long to realize that. I won’t go back to an organization that’s just going to take that away again.”

***************

Dot wasn’t exactly sure what possessed her at that moment - maybe it was the fact that Face’s plan had worked and Lynch had been taken down, maybe it was the fact that Murdock had just survived being shot in the head, maybe it was the unfiltered joy rushing through her at the thought that It’s over, we’re free, no more running, we’re okay.

Whatever the reason, though, she cupped Murdock’s face in her hands and kissed him, and this one was much more light and brief and chaste than the sort-of-pretend makeout session they’d had in Morocco but God it was so much better. They were, both of them, filled with adrenaline and sheer happiness, and from the moment their lips touched, Dot swore she saw fireworks. She’d never believed that stupid rom-com cliché, but she supposed she’d been wrong; kissing Murdock now, when it was real and sweet and when she’d been wanting to for so long, she could’ve sworn she saw bright colors exploding behind her closed eyelids, making this whole thing that much more amazing.

After a moment, Dot leaned back on her heels, ignoring Face’s wolf whistle and focusing only on the huge goofy grin spreading across Murdock’s face. She felt an answering grin of her own come across her face, and reached to lace her hand with one of Murdock’s without fully thinking about it.

Her hand in his felt perfectly right.

“Well, Dottie,” Murdock said cheerfully, giving her a shit-eating grin but looking at her like she was the most perfect thing he’d ever seen. “You sure you’re okay gettin’ with a villain like the Joker?”

Letting out a small huff of laughter, Dot leaned in close to Murdock again, lowering her voice to a soft, affectionate whisper. “Hey. Every Joker needs a Harley Quinn, right?”

A-Team OC Squad: @auxiliarydetective, @datasgirlfriend.

General Taglist: @hiddenqveendom, @auxiliarydetective, @foxesandmagic, @artemisocs, @reyofluke-ocs, @endless-oc-creations, @stanshollaand, @ginevrastilinski, @luucypevensie, @arrthurpendragon, @fakedatings, @impales, @ocappreciation.

#my ocs #oc scene dumps #ch: dot watanabe #oc: dot watanabe #ocapp #ocappreciation #ochub #allaboutocs #queerocs #fyeahocsofcolor #fyeahtheateamocs #the a-team oc #the a-team 2010 oc #fic: angel with a shotgun

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happyandticklish · 2 years ago

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Tickletober Day Eight - Death Spot

Notes: For the anon request! Inspired/based on this comic by @vqler because I have an unhealthy obsession with it lol; credit to them for some of the lines in this! I went a little off prompt as it’s only really lee!Bakugo at the end, but I’ve already written two fics where he’s gotten wrecked, so I’m gonna say I’m allowed~

Summary: Deku’s rest is interrupted after Bakugo decides to make him the entertainment for the afternoon.

Deku was on the couch when Bakugo found him. Sprawled out, one arm thrown lazily over his face, one of his legs dangling off the edge of the cushion. He looked exhausted. It was rare to find him in such a state, as usually the nerd managed to keep a fairly upbeat commentary going no matter what the situation. However, on that particular day it was hot out, the sun beating down mercilessly upon the poor students of UA. Training had been hell that day, and even Bakugo had to admit that he hadn’t performed his best under the circumstances.

Still, the sight of him in such a vulnerable position, all his defenses down as he nodded off, irritated the other for reasons he couldn’t explain.

Bakugo made his way over to the couch, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at the other’s sorry state. “Lounging around, are we?”

Deku didn’t even have the decency to react to his sudden presence, merely shifting a little. “Leave me alone, Kacchan. I’m tired and not in the mood to deal with you right now.”

Bakugo bristled. He had received many things from Deku—admiration, respect, fear, terror—but never dismissal. He narrowed his eyes. That was not going to stand.

Without a word to the other, he clambered on top of his lap, quickly straddling him.

Deku yelped weakly, his arms coming up defensively. “K-Kacchan! What are you doing?”

“I’ve decided if you’re gonna be boring and sit around all day, it’ll just make it easier for me to have fun,” Bakugo decided, his lips curling into a smirk, “By tickling you.”

Familiar dread overtook Deku’s expression, and he crossed his arms quickly over his torso in a sad attempt to protect himself. “W-Wait, can’t we talk about this?”

“Nah,” Bakugo decided, grabbing at Deku’s arms and attempting to pull them above his head. “Don’t feel like it.”

“A-Ah, wait, Kacchan!” Deku tugged his arms down, weakly wrestling for control. “C’mon, this isn’t fair! I’m too tired to fight you off right now, just let me get some rest okay? I’ll do whatever you want later.”

The words, frantic and helpless, cut through to Bakugo like an arrow. It was rare that Deku ever conceded defeat so early. For him to give up so easily, he must have been truly exhausted.

It was the perfect opportunity.

Bakugo smirked, releasing his wrists and sliding off of him. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave you alone, since I’m feeling generous today.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, swaggering towards the doorway. Deku watched him for a moment, confused by the easy win, but eventually he decided he was too tired to try to figure it out. He curled one arm under his head, sighing contentedly as he snuggled back into the couch.

“Ha! Naïve sucker!”

Deku yelped as Bakugo switched gears suddenly, whirling back around and charging after him. He scrambled back on the couch, throwing one leg over the edge in a wild attempt to get away. He just barely made it over before Bakugo was leaping over the obstacle with one hand, securing him around the waist and pulling him to the ground. Deku squawked, flailing around as he attempted to push him off. It was too late, however, and Bakugo had his wrists once more, pulled and pinned above his head before he could catch his breath.

“Kacchan, w-wait, c’mohohon!” He was already giggling, squirming nervously underneath him. “I—”

“What? You can’t take it?” Bakugo poked up his sides, grinning in victory as he ascended the moving path. “I think we both know you can take a lot more than this.”

Deku was in stitches already, kicking his legs out in protest as that bright laughter spilled out of him once more. “Kahahahacchan!”

“You are so dead, nerd.” Poke. “The rest of us have been training too, you know.” Poke. “What’s so special about you that you get to take a break, huh?”

Poke, poke, poke, poke, poke. To the outside perspective, the pokes were aimless, directed randomly along his torso, but Deku knew better. The crevice in-between his middle ribs, the dip of his hipbone, the center of his armpit—each one perfectly calculated to make him shriek. Which he did, throwing his head back and babbling out useless pleas.

“NAHAHA, NAHAHAHAT THEHEHEHERE!” The tickling almost seemed worse with his exhaustion. His muscles were strained from earlier, and for all his struggling, Bakugo’s hands might as well have been concrete. “IHIHIT TIHIHIHIHICKLES!”

“Stop being ticklish then.”

“IHIHIHI CAHAHAHAN’T!”

“Well then, I guess you’ll just have to take it. That’s not my problem.”

Bakugo had to admit, there was something addicting about seeing Deku like this, giggling and squirming with his face all scrunched up and pink. He didn’t really have an excuse this time, not like any of the other times he had tickled him. There was no getting around the fact that he was doing this because he wanted to.

“EHEHEHEHEHE NAHAHAT THEHEHERE!”

In his distracted state, Bakugo hadn’t been paying attention to his hands or how they had been vibrating in the same spot on Deku’s ribs for a while now. Deku writhed underneath him, legs kicking out frantically at the ground as he lost himself in laughter.

Bakugo raised a brow, trying the method out experimentally on his right side. He was rewarded with a squeak and a round of wild cackling.

Interesting.

“Oh? Have you been hiding this spot from me? That’s not very smart you know.”

Deku shook his head quickly, and found that it was almost the truth. He really hadn’t been hiding the spot, and it was a wonder it had taken Bakugo so long to find it. In fact, if he was being honest, he was always kind of disappointed before whenever Bakugo would skip over it so quickly to go under his arms or down to squeeze his hips. Sometimes he would get perilously close and Deku’s nerves soared with hope and panic all at once, but then he would simply move past it like he did every time.

Half of Deku was tempted to stay there and let him wreck him, but he decided his victorious classmate needed to be taught a lesson first.

Bakugo’s eyes widened when Deku arched up suddenly, wrapping his legs around Bakugo’s waist and tugging him down so that he lost his balance. In his distraction, Deku managed to tug his arms free, jerking right and rolling them over so that their positions were flipped. Channeling some of One For All into his hand, he quickly secured the Bakugo’s wrists, pulling them above his head.

Deku grinned, still panting a little as he recovered from the sudden laughing fit. “I think you need to learn something about good sportsmanship. It’s not nice to attack your opponent when they’re vulnerable, you know.”

Bakugo blinked up at him, disorientated as he took in the unfortunate position change. A moment later, however, he recovered with a snarl, twisting and jerking at the surprisingly strong grip; since when was Deku so damn strong? “You little shit, get off of me!”

“Not until you apologize,” Deku said, unbothered by the ferocious glare the other was aiming at him. In all honesty he wasn’t really that mad about the earlier tickling, but this served as a nice opportunity to get Bakugo back for all the times he’d wrecked him. Besides, he had a feeling something like this would tire Bakugo out enough that maybe he could return to his nap. “Shouldn’t be too hard, right?”

“Fuck you!”

Deku clucked his tongue with a sigh. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t have time to wait for you to stop with the stubborn act. So we might as well finish this up fast.”

Bakugo furrowed his brows in confusion but before he could inquire him on what the hell that meant, Deku’s remaining hand shot down to his hip, fingers sliding into just the correct position through some kind of annoying muscle memory. Bakugo yelped, bucking instinctively against his hold—not that it did him much good with how tightly Deku was holding onto him.

And then Deku started digging his fingers in, squeezing and massaging that one spot, that one horrendously ticklish spot. That was all it took for Bakugo to crumble, pitchy yelps and cackles slipping out as he frantically kicked his legs out, trying to upend the other. All his thoughts were diverted to how much that tickled, and how much he needed it to stop right now if he were to retain any of his sanity.

He almost felt sympathy for the treatment he had given Deku earlier.

Almost.

“I thought that would get to you,” Deku said, a hint of pride slipping into his voice. “I wasn’t sure if you would still be as ticklish here as you were when we were younger.”

Bakugo wanted to tell him to fuck off, that it didn’t tickle and that he was going to be sending him to a quick and early death, but it was impossible to form coherent speech under such conditions. He was giggling, shrieking, babbling sounds that he hated and wished he could snatch out of the air and shove back down in his throat. All of his nerve endings seemed to be concentrated in that one spot on his hips. Deku was relentless, pinching the same area over and over until Bakugo wanted to crawl out of his own skin.

It was unbearable.

It was exhilarating.

Bakugo was going to kill him.

“Feel like apologizing yet?” Another squeeze, another bubble of laughter slipping out of his throat. “All it takes is two words and this can all be over.”

There was a brief moment where Bakugo considered it, if only to give himself a reprieve from the torture, before quickly dismissing the idea. He tried to tell himself it was due to pride, that he wouldn’t allow Deku of all people to get the upper hand on him. He refused to listened to the voice in the back of his head, the one that insisted that wasn’t the only reason, that insisted there might have been a seperate motive as to why he had been so quick to jump on Deku this morning.

Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut, flipping Deku off as he writhed on the ground. “F-FuhuhUHUHUCK YOHOHOU!”

“Mmm,” Deku hummed, switching to a lighter approach and gently scratching his nails against his shirt. Bakugo would later deny the whine that slipped out of his throat at that. “Clearly it’s not that bad then. Maybe I should kick it up a notch.”

Bakugo screeched as Deku held true to his word, practically arching off the carpet.

They both had a feeling they were gonna be here for a while.

#tickle fic #bnha #tickletober #bakudeu #deku #izuku midoriya #katsuki bakugo #tickletober2022 #augtickletober2022 #my hero academia #tickling #fanfiction

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redpandaramblings · 4 years ago

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Like Caramel For Chocolate- An Omega Bakugou x Alpha f!Reader fic. Part 3.

Part 1- Here

Previous part Here

Next Part Here

Content Warning: Negative headspace, omegaverse, self deprecation, depressive thoughts, pushy parental figures, ambiguous omegaverse reproduction, unhealthy relationships, relationship that could be easily fixed if idiots would use their words and communicate, Shinso/Denki side relationship

Where we left off-

You glanced up at the sound of the door. In came your parents, then the Yokomadas. You did a double take as the final person, the omega you were here to meet, entered the room. They looked equally as startled as your eyes locked.

“Y/N?”

“Denki?!”

You slowly walked through the teahouse garden, your electric blond friend oddly silent as he kept pace with you. Your parents and the Yokomadas had allowed the two of you a bit of privacy to talk. So far, neither of you had mustered the courage to break the awkward atmosphere. Neither your parents or the Yokomadas had seemed to pick up on Denki or your mood. If anything, they were thrilled you two already knew each other. With a sigh, you sat on a bench by the koi pond, not looking at the blond as to settled down next to you. After several minutes, he spoke.

“So. What are you doing here?”

You snorted, and gently dumped your shoulder against his.

“Right back at you, Pikachu.”

“I’ll tell you. After you tell me.”

You chuckled humorously, and tilted your head back to look at the sky.

“Would you believe me if I said I was just here to appease my mother?”

Denki considered for a moment before shaking his head.

“No. You’ve been saying no to her for years. So tell me, why are you here.”

You take a deep breath and let it out again slowly through your nose.

“I… I think I wanted to be here. Needed to.” You wrung your hands, throwing a sideways glance at Denki. “I… I want to be mated. Have a family. Have someone who needs me and lets me need them. I used to think Kat… I used to think Bakugou was my person. But I’m not sure anymore, Denks. You know what he’s like and so do I, but I’ve waited for years, and nothing, and I’m so tired, and I’m not even sure he even likes me anymore, and…” You’re stopped by Kaminari gently rubbing your back.

“Breath, Y/n. Come on. Deep breaths.”

You inhaled shakily. You hadn’t even noticed you’d been hyperventilating. Quiet settled again, aside from the sounds of nature and your slowly slowing breathing. After a few moments, you spoke again.

“I’m just so lonely, Denks. I see him every day, and I’m still so goddamn lonely. So I think… I think it’s time to let go.” Your lips twitched slightly upward as you tilt your head to look at him. “Am I terrible?”

Denki huffed out a breath and shook his head. “You? Never.” He sighed, removing his hand from you back as he began picking at the hem of his sleeve. “I wish I could say I didn’t understand. But I do. I’m kinda here for the same reason after all.”

You gave an encouraging hum and reached out, taking his hand in yours and running your thumb over his knuckles. He interlaced your fingers, giving a squeeze before continuing to speak.

“You know how I feel about Shinso, right?”

“I think everyone but Shinso knows how you feel about him.”

Denki snorted. “Yeah. Not surprised. But that’s the problem. I’ve liked him for years. Little bit of a crush but at UA, thought I could play it cool and it would go away; but then the agency paired us together and, well.” Denki gestured with the hand not holding yours. “It was so easy! I’d go boom! And then he’d go pow! Then shoom! It was amazing! He was amazing… And so I tried to get his attention. I tried so damn hard. And you know me.”

You snorted, giving his hand a squeeze. “You’re about as subtle as a brick through a living room window.”

“Exactly!” He shouted, pulling away to stand up and pace. “I flirted. I used all my best pick up lines. I asked him out to the club, and he said yes. But do you know what he said afterward? He said though it wasn’t his usual scene, it was really good being able to hang out with a friend. I… I asked him to spend my heat with me.”

You inhaled sharply. Kaminari looked at you with an expression you hardly recognized. He collapsed onto the bench, leaning heavily against you.

“He said ‘I’m glad you’re that comfortable with me, but it probably would be better for you to ask someone else.’” Denki whispered, sniffling.

“Oh.. Denki.” You wrapped your arms around the blond, squeezing him tightly. Half out of instinct, you tried to pump out soothing pheromones while you gently scented his hair. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing, sweetheart. You’re a wonderful omega!”

That was all it took for Denki to start sobbing heavily in your arms. You squeezed him tightly as tears filled your own eyes. The tears fell when Denki wrapped his arms around you, hugging you just as tightly as you held him. There in the tranquil garden you both huddled together as you finally allowed yourself to cry. Years of hurt and longing fell from your eyes one drop at a time.

You weren’t sure how long it had been when the two of you slowly pulled away from each other. You used your thumbs to wipe Denki’s cheeks. He gave you a halfhearted smile.

“So,” you asked tentatively, “what should we do? They’re going to expect an answer from us about this whole…” You waved a vague hand “Marriage date thing.”

Denki hummed, puffing up his cheeks as he blew out a breath. “God, I don’t know. Certainly wasn’t expecting it be you, you know? No offense.”

You drew back, gasping in mock anger. “Full offense!” You could only hold your expression a few seconds before you started snickering.

Denki grinned his first really grin of the day. “Well excuuuuse me for insulting your alpha sensibilities.”

“You’re excused. For now.”

You both chuckled. Looking out at the pond, you spoke again. “I just wish I had the right answers. And I really wish we had more time.”

Denki furrowed his brow. “Well… Technically, we could.”

“What do you mean?”

Denki bounced on his seat. “Okay. So. Hear me out. We both need time to process, clearly. Also clearly, our families are just not gonna give us that. So… Why don’t we do this?”

“Wait. Wait. We do this?” you asked, both curious and incredulous.

“Yeah! Think about it. One! They mainly want us in relationships they approved of. They set us up, so clearly, they approve. Two! If we say we’d like to try out this match, they obviously aren’t going to set up any more dates; therefore buying us time. And bonus of no annoying randos. Three! We can say we’re going to take the relationship slow because we’ve both been burned before and want to make sure. Four! Four…” Denki trailed off, looking at his feet.

“Four is maybe if we can’t find a love match at least we’re friends who work well together?” You murmured.

Denki nodded, glancing at you with a rueful smirk. “Yeah. Exactly. Vibe on the same wavelength. Hell, we even want similar shit in life.”

“Actual house, few pets, stability…”

Denki nodded again. “Sucks, but would make sense for us to consider it. As much as I fucking hate the ‘You’re not getting any younger’ speech, they are kind right. We can’t waste all our time waiting for things that aren’t gonna happen.”

You shook your head with a chuckle. “God, don’t you hate it when they’re right about shit like that?”

“You have no idea.”

You stood, stretching. “Well, I guess we go tell them, then.”

Denki groaned. “There isn’t enough saki in the world for that conversation.”

“And just so we’re clear, this stays between us for now, right? No one knows but us, our folks, and I guess your cousins.”

“Agreed. I don’t want to think about what anyone would say. Bakugou would kill me!”

You winced. “Unlikely. I doubt he’d care. But if Mina finds out, everyone will know.”

“You’re not kidding. No worries from me, I don't want this getting out any more than you do.”

“So… Engaged, I guess?”

Denki dusted himself off and stood. “Deal. Engaged.” Denki stuck his hand out, and you shook it.

You both turned and started making your way back to the teahouse, taking your time and going the long way to be sure to avoid and of the other patrons. This was fine. A good plan. Nothing could go wrong as long as no one found out.

And there you have part 3! Sorry the wait and thank you all for being patient! If anyone has any questions regarding the fic or how this particular omegaverse operates, please feel free to shoot me an ask. Also, please note that @snuggleyourredpandas is my main account, so it you see a message reply from them, that's me!

TAGLIST- @yzviea, @not-a-pushover, @thelilypieforever, @kumihayu, @aomi04, @ladybakugouu, @one-simp-more, @hakunamatatayqueen, @my-thoughts-are-weird, @left-alone-yuki, @officialtrashbusiness Just a reminder, if you want tagged make sure you have the ability to be tagged turned on; and I'd have to be informed if your blog name changes! Cheers, Darlings!

#reader insert #bnha reader insert #bakugou x fem!reader #bakugou angst #bakugou x reader #reader insert angst #bakugou katsuki #katsuki x reader #omegaverse #omega bakugou #alpha reader #multi part fic #denki #fake dating #fake engagement

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keilemlucent · 4 years ago

Text

long days for bad people

(r18+)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

word count: ~6k

Being a prized, adored possession was far better than you thought it would be.

warnings: light daddy kink (no age play, just the name in mostly jest), spit kink, crying kink, degradation, brief descriptions of blood + violence, kidnapping (consensual?? read a/n), brat taming, light sadomasochism, mind break, praise kink

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here it is, mafia au, villain hawks, dom, brat tamer, soft(?!) hawks. what more could you want?

there’s briefly described kidnapping at the beginning of the fic but it is reiterated throughout that this is consensual! no yandere/stockholm stuff in this fic.

i’ve been working on this one for a while and i’m happy to finally share it. hope y’all enjoy!!

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You shouldn’t have fucked around with the League.

God, it was common knowledge in the parts of town and circles you inhabited. Of all criminal syndicates, mobs, to fuck with, the League wasn’t one of them. They were known for their complete cruelty and violent delights. The League had such a reputation due to the fact that they openly left bodies carved up and burnt as they pleased.

But, you were a fucking idiot and got involved anyways.

It was a small loan, Giran almost seemed to scoff when he gave you the cash. You and your almost-stranger of a roommate were just very late on some bills and were going to lose a lot of material items if you didn’t scrounge up at least two paychecks in about three days.

You swallowed your pride and took the first and easiest loan you could get. That just happened to be with gap-toothed, wide-grinning Giran of the League. He, you knew from what you’d heard, was somewhat fair in matters like yours.

You had two weeks to pay him back.

...

You didn’t make it in time.

You were close to the amount, notably. You scrounged and clawed your way into getting the cash back. You weren’t much of a pickpocket, but you snagged some odd jobs around the apartment building that you and your roommate were still fortunate enough to keep a room in.

After one particular job, a nasty carpentry gig that you weren’t qualified for, you returned home tired and worn.

Sure, you were a day late on payment. But with this last gig, you were so close. The League would have to pity two, stupid, stupid young girls?

They didn’t, you realized, as you stepped into your apartment.

Your roommate's slain corpse was laying over the arm of your cheap couch, eyes vacant and mouth dripping blood onto the old beige carpet.

You dropped to your knees, horrified and completely stunned.

“You should’ve known better,” it was a hum from across the room, from a figure you didn’t even know was in the room until then. “Really, you’d expect folks to be smarter.”

Your mouth dried as the figure moved from the nighttime shadows, flashing a dazzling smile and ruffling crimson wings.

Hawks.

You’d heard of him, everyone had. Terrifying, fast, precise, and cutthroat. He took orders and didn’t ask questions other than snark. He talked too much, fucked too much.

“W-wait,” You didn't know why you were pleading, but you had to try, right? “I’m so close, wait—”

Hawks sauntered up to you wielding one of his feather blades, the red of blood mixing with the filaments of his feathers.

He crouched down in front of you, tsking, “I don’t like begging, angel. I’ll make this quick for you. Your friend there?”

Hawks jerked his finger behind to your dead roommate.

“She fought, pleaded, begged, all that normal shit I don’t like hearing when shitheads like you two don’t make payday,” his voice was slow, talking about death like some casual thing. “I’ll make this nice and fast if you don’t run your mouth anymore, how about that?”

You swallowed, nodding.

The small percentage of your brain that was fully functioning figured dying quickly was a much better way to go than whatever the hell had happened to your roommate. There was far too much blood for that to be quick.

Hawks hummed, the tip of his feather blade tipping up your chin so you were forced to meet his gaze. You vaguely heard the pitter-patter of your tears hitting the carpet below. Blood rushed in your ears as you stared death in the face.

Hawks appraised you.

You watched the metaphorical cogs and wheels turning in Hawks’ skull as he looked you up and down before flashing forward, gathering you in his arms and flying from the apartment.

Your first thought was obvious as you clung to him in the open air:

He’s going to drop you and kill you.

When you screamed, tears growing thicker, he slapped a gloved hand over your mouth, “I’m giving you an out, kid. Trust me. You’ll prefer this over death.”

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Your new existence was certainly better than death.

If you were ever caught and convicted of any of the illegal things you participated in, you’d be fucked, thrown into prison until you rotted, until you were just dust and bone.

But, until then, you worked for the League.

You had groveled at the feet of their leader, Shigaraki, hands clasped on your lap, claiming your worth, or maybe lack thereof. Not many attachments, not many people who’d miss you, a semi-useful quirk.

With a boot shoved into your skull, he sneered that you’d be the League’s new errand dog.

The real reason they accepted you was due to the threatening air Hawks was exuding and the fact that their old ‘errand bitch’ had died the week prior. They needed a new body to act as a civilian and do things that only an unsuspecting-looking ‘civilian’ could. You fit the bill, and Hawks had taken a liking to you.

Oddly, working for the League was actually pretty okay.

You got your own room. It was small, but you only had to share a bathroom with the somewhat unhinged Himiko, but she was fairly nice once she warmed up to you. Everyone lived in the League’s HQ and went about their business, getting drunk at their bar front each night.

Most of the mess happened at night, but it was important to put on a nice veneer and keep spirits high. Not to mention that no one would dared to fuck with the League, anyways. The cops and federal government had long been paid off due to the resources that the League had acquired for them.

You felt somewhat untouchable.

A lot of this confidence was due to the fact that you had become Hawks’s... Keigo’s...

‘Songbird’

As he liked to call you, anyway.

Keigo was the general, loveable annoyance of the League, but his connections were invaluable and his skills were unmatched. Despite how he could grate on people (read: Dabi and Shigaraki), he was respected and feared just as much as everyone else was, if not more so. And being his metaphorical and literal pet had its perks.

Sure, the first time he had you come to his ‘office’ and he fucked you against the window until it was smeared with cum and blood was a bit surprising, but god, if you didn’t fucking love it. Being Keigo’s personal fucktoy came with protection, pleasure, and a surprising amount of genuine attention. The dude was lonely, and so were you. The two of you made a good ‘couple’, if you could even call yourselves that. The sadism he doled out was always counterpointed by affections that did seem genuine.

Keigo was fond of you, and you of him. Maybe your brush with death had twisted something in your head, to even allow yourself to get close to a man like Keigo, but you couldn’t make yourself care.

You were comfortable and content.

...

[bird boss]: hey babe ;^) get to my office in the next thirty minutes

[you]: what if i don’t

[bird boss]: do u really want to find out

[you]: ...

[you]: im just curious

[bird boss]: don’t get cheeky songbird

[you]: u make me wanna u know

[you]: i know it gets you riled up

[bird boss]: tread lightly kid

[you]: oooo i gave you some guff over text

[you]: what’re you gonna do about it?

[bird boss]: use your imagination

[bird boss]: 25 minutes now, songbird

[bird boss]: don’t make this worse for yourself <3

You set your phone on your cheap duvet, quickly primped yourself to see Keigo. He wasn’t too strict about your appearance but wearing dark clothes and some of the more expensive gifts he’d gotten you over the months he’d been screwing you never hurt. Something about ownership with him always got him hot and bothered.

You tried to remind yourself frequently that Keigo saw you as some sort of possession, but a possession with feelings.

Meandering through HQ was always a bit daunting, despite your protections. Your skimpy outfit choice and hardly-hidden lingerie made you feel a bit more like an object than you liked too.

There were hardly hungry mouths around the League, they kept you all fed, but god, were there starving eyes.

Dabi wolf-whistled as you walked past him through a common room, shouting something about how Keigo was collecting his pound of flesh for the day. Maybe a line or two about being a whore, but that was all flavor at that point. Keigo called you far meaner, more sinful things. And hell, it wasn’t like Keigo hadn’t... shared you on more than one occasion.

Maybe you were a little fucked up for enjoying your lifestyle to the degree you did, but why not indulge where you could? Life was far shittier scraping paint off old fences and picking up cans to just scrape by.

Opulence was a breath of fresh air. And if you were Keigo’s fuck toy? Then, god, you were Keigo’s fuck toy.

When you arrived at Keigo’s office, you knocked gently on the door, quickly adjusting your skirt and blouse.

The door opened, though no one was behind it. Only a single one of Keigo’s feathers allowed you entrance.

His office seemed daunting and extravagant for a man who did most of his ‘work’ in far-shadier, far-bloodier places. The walls were covered in mirrors and old paintings, something out of vanity and pride, knowing how Keigo saw himself. There were several black leather couches scattered around against walls, some stained by your various... activities. There was a broad desk parallel to a back wall made entirely of windows.

Night had fallen, leaving the room lit by a few lamps and warm fixtures.

“Hey, boss,” You hummed as you stepped in, shutting the door behind you just before the lingering scarlet feather flicked the lock on the door.

And the other one.

And the deadbolt.

You swallowed thickly.

As much as you enjoyed a lot of the perks of your... position, it was also daunting.

Keigo was daunting, all bloody colors, vanity, and hunger.

He sat behind his desk, wings puffed up, and partially extended over the back of his chair. The desk chair was massive, specifically acquired so that you would have enough room to properly straddle his lap for hours on end if he so wished.

Keigo idly clicked around on his desktop computer. He leaned slack and back into the chair, legs spread wide and exuding casual confidence that reeked of his own ego.

Keigo normally wore a mix of black and red, as edgy as it was. He liked to seem clean, hide the stains of sanguine that undoubtedly lingered on him no matter how he tried to cleanse himself. His black slacks were pressed, the seams pristine. The black shirt he wore was rolled up to his elbows, the buttons of his red vest undone as well. His black tie hung half-undone and limp around his neck. His tousled gold hair was mussed as normal, ruffled by his flights. His feathers might’ve needed preening, but you doubted that that was the reason he called you to his office.

And based on the deep set of his brow and the sickly smile on his lips, he was already on edge and in a mood.

“Songbird, come over here, will you?” Keigo sat back from his typing, watching you from across the room. He took you in the same way a parched man sucks down red wine, greedily and soon to be fucked. “On my lap.”

You complied, despite your earlier attitude. You padded across the room, going around his desk.

As you moved to straddle his lap, worn hands gripped your waist. His amber eyes gave you a warning, crinkling at the edges, “Not like that, sweetheart. Do daddy right.”

Oh, so it was one of those moods.

Maybe you were Keigo’s sexual punching bag so he could exert control on something he could later kiss better and patch up.

Sure, he was going to fucking ruin you, but part of the fun with him was that the more it hurt, the nicer he was after. And, all things considered, with some of the... other folks the League brought in to satiate its member’s desires, you fared far better. Keigo cared about you, in his own particular way.

You tried to lean over his lap yourself, but his hands and feathers positioned you perfectly as he wanted. With the tight grip he had on your waist and shoulders, dragging you just as he liked, it was easy to see his need for control.

Your head hung off of one of his thighs as you squirmed in his lap. His bulge already pressed into your ribs, a wonderful reminder of the reward you’d reap later on. Keigo’s hands gathered your hand to the small of your back, a feather replacing their grip a moment later.

“Sit with me while I finish this shit,” Keigo grumbled, going back to clicking the desktop. His leg bobbed absentmindedly, his free hand rubbing over the curve of your barely-covered ass. “Be a good girl, (Y/N). If you can stand that.”

He laughed under his breath.

You let your head dangle limply downwards, blood rushing to your cheeks.

You’d thought you’d be in for more of an ass-kicking, but it appeared Keigo was taking things unusually slow. You knew better than to complain, but kicking up a bit of metaphorical sand couldn’t be that bad, right?

“I dunno,” You hummed, kicking your legs lightly. “I don’t think you like it when I’m a ‘good girl’, daddy.”

“Watch it.” A single, sharp smack to your butt was hardly enough to shut you up, but Keigo did so all the same, rubbing over the covered flesh a moment later, “I’m not in the mood.”

“Are you sure about that?” You wriggled, intentionally pushing up against his growing erection.

His breath stuttered, a smirk pulling at the corners of your lips. The hand on your ass didn’t rear again, rather Keigo kept thumbing smooth circles as he continued to click around on the computer. He might have been actually doing work. Or, he was ignoring you, egging your sass on.

“If you didn’t want anything, why’d you call me in here?” You asked, way too cheeky for the way Keigo’s body was practically vibrating underneath you. Pissing him off had consequences, of course, but you weren’t in the mood to play ‘good girl’ that day.

“I told you, I want you to sit with me,” Keigo pinched your ass. “But, you’re too mouthy to do just that one thing. You’re usually better than this.”

“Am I?” You played innocent, craning to give him a wide smile. “Hadn’t noticed. What I am noticing, is your already-hard cock, dear.”

“Oh, ‘dear’?!” Keigo paused on the computer. “Cheeky. Cute.”

Keigo would just dig in more, lean in, before ‘snapping’, if you could call it that.

You gulped as his hand swatted at upper thighs, his nails almost knicking your skin.

“Up and don’t get smart about it.”

Oh, you were going to be remarkably smart about it.

You rose but hardly stayed upright for long. Sliding down to your knees, you pushed at Keigo’s legs, “Wouldn’t you prefer me down here? Just for a treat while you finish your work?”

Keigo clicked his tongue, gaze flickering down to you, “Fine. Behave yourself.”

Yeah, right. You both knew that that wasn’t going to happen.

You were already tucked underneath his desk, undoing the fly of his pants.

You pulled his cock from his trousers, pumping his cock to full hardness. Smearing around preek for a bit of extra flare before inching forward.

Wrapping your mouth around Keigo’s dick was somewhat of a feat— he had a decent girth to him, so you usually took the opportunity to warm him (and yourself) up with a bit of tip-kissing and kitten licks.

But, you were feeling bold.

You spit on his dick, a move that normally would have earned you plenty of verbal snark, but anything Keigo could’ve said to you was swallowed as you took his cock down to the back of your throat.

You sucked around it, massaging the vein on the bottom with the flat of your tongue. Drool began to pool at the side of your lips as you let the head bump your throat, gag reflex be damned.

All the while, Keigo had stopped moving above you. The fabric of his trouser balled up in his ringed-fingers as he gazed half-lidded down at you.

You smiled around his dick, looking up at him innocently as you began to slowly bob your head. His wings fluttered, twitches and air stirring around you.

Keigo stifled a laugh, a hand tangling in your hair, “All that talk earlier and now you’re treating me to a blowjob without even me having to tell you to? Dove, you’re too much.”

You pulled off of him to reply, “I can only try.”

Before he could reply, you spit on his dick again, and went back to slurping around him.

You held the base of his cock in your hands, twisting and spreading spittle. It almost felt like your actions were for show, but Keigo’s eyes were rolling back in his head all the same.

You smirked.

A drool pool from your mouth, puddling in your lap and soaking your skirt. Not like you weren’t already dripping from the sinful sounds Keigo stopped trying to hold.

“A-ah, that’s it, angel,” Keigo fucked into your mouth with his hold on your hair. “Just like that.”

Your hand rose to play with Keigo’s balls, teasing at the sack as he cried out a high moan above you.

Considering the performance you were giving, it was unsurprising to feel him tensing above you. You’d been on your knees for him hundreds of times; you’d learned to see the little twitches and puffs of breath he’d give when he’d get close to coming.

You pulled off his cock with a pop, detangling the hand from your hair in the motion. It was all fast enough that Keigo couldn’t have stopped you in his hazy, pleasure-filled state.

Based on the look of rapid disbelief he was giving you, your trick had worked well. Knowing Keigo’s... tendencies made you hesitant to push him too much in the past, but for whatever reason, you were feeling stupidly bold.

Consequences.

“Sorry, daddy,” You wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand. “Didn’t feel like swallowing today.”

Keigo’s disheveled appearance was more than gratifying. Knowing how easily you made him come undone by that point was one of the perks of your position.

His hair was more than ruffled, strands and tufts chaotically curled around his cheeks and ears. There was a bright blush on his face, spreading from his nose to the apples of his cheeks, down his deck. At some point, he’d popped the buttons at the top of his shirt. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, half-panting and based on the darkness in his brow and the far-too peachy smile on his face, Keigo was fucking pissed.

His wings stood on end.

You gulped from below him.

Maybe you pushed your luck too far.

Maybe.

“You’re playing real cute today, aren’t you songbird?” Keigo didn’t move, but his feathers twitched above him, wings flaring out even farther. “Real fucking cute.”

You were fucked.

Good.

A few feathers flew from Keigo, one snagging at your wrist, wrapping around it, and pulling you up from the desk.

You wobbled as you stood, dragged across the room as Keigo leisurely followed behind you. When you tried to set your own pace, Keigo swatted your ass with a huff, “You never learn, huh? I thought I’d trained you better than this.”

You opened your mouth to spit some dickish retort, but you were cut off as Keigo’s shoved you onto one of the leather couches.

“Don’t.” Keigo’s tone was acidic as he stood over your, wings still flared out. “I told you I wasn’t in the mood for your cute bullshit, dove, and you still decided to test your luck, huh?”

You kneeled on the cushions, sucking down air, shaking with anticipation.

“You don’t feel like swallowing today? That’s fine, I can work with that,” Keigo shrugged easily from above you.

Keigo had an... active sexual imagination, and you could tell by the crook in his lips that he had something devilish planned as retribution.

A sharp slap came down on your cheek, Keigo catching the opposite jaw and keeping you from recoiling too far. You blinked as the pain spread around your skull like licking flames against a frostbitten body.

You wanted more.

A little grin stretched against your mouth as Keigo rubbed at your cheeks with his thumbs, “Aw, you always get so sweet like this, dove. You can be a good girl if you try, can’t you?”

His actions carried candor and his words absolute torment.

Despite how Keigo was trying to goad you into submission, you had a bit of spark left in you.

Plainly, you spit on him.

The glob of saliva landed on Keigo’s cheek, under his eye.

He blinked at you.

You continued to smile.

His own expression grew strained.

“Oh, songbird,” Keigo damn near lamented, wiping away the kind gift you’d given him. His voice was smooth without any bit of waver, all of the sexually-charged anger rolling just beneath the veneer. “You’re just being pain slut today, aren’t you?”

You were, absolutely. You could feel your arousal wetting your panties, the heat of the strike from your cheek beginning to boil something in your gut.

“You just need a bit of special attention today, right? That’s all.” Keigo tsked, fully removing the tie from around his neck. “You just need a little reminder.”

“Reminder of what?” You asked, tilting your head quizzically.

Keigo flipped you, feathers pushing and bracing you as needed while nimble hands tore off your clothes without reverie.

“Plenty of things, especially with this attitude you’ve got today,” Keigo’s tie looped around your wrists, binding them together at the center of your back.

“You definitely need a reminder of who’s the boss around here,” Keigo shoved you forward, stomach flush with the back of the couch.

You reeled from the pace of it all, shifting your knees for any bit of stimulation you could get. Keigo’s feathers were slicing and pulling your clothes from your body faster than you could keep track of. It was overwhelming, making your mind swim in the best possible way. You throbbed.

“Maybe a reminder about who fucking provides for you,” Keigo’s own clothes were shaken off, dropped to the floor and forgotten.

It was true. Keigo always made sure than you were taken care of, in more ways than one. Despite how fast-paced and laid back he could seem, he was always on top of making sure you had more than enough material and immaterial pleasure whether than be in the form of food, fucking, or otherwise.

You yelped as a smack fell across your ass. A feather caught the elastic of your panties, snapping a moment later, leaving you fully bare before him.

Keigo’s worn hand came to press at your throat and jaw, tilting your head back as he climbed behind you, “Maybe, you need a reminder about who keeps you safe.”

This phrase was softer than the others, a sweet kiss pressing to your cheek and his voice a bit more gentle. It was jarring at the skin still stung from his earlier strike, but you cherished the heat besides.

Once again, true. The folks in and outside of the League were greedy. There were plenty of unwanted souls that stole glances at Hawks’s prized songbird. There were starved eyes that tore into you whether you were dolled up for Keigo or not. There had been some... close calls, one could say, but Keigo always was there, in the end, unafraid to get his hands dirty.

“You know what the most important reminder is, dove?” Keigo rolled his hips against you, cock wedging between your thighs.

“N-no,” You stuttered, brain turning gooey as Keigo’s arms snaked around your waist, sharpened nails leaving indents in your hips.

He nosed at your neck, leaving a few love bites in his wake.“‘N-no’, what?”

“I don’t know,” You leaned back into Keigo’s chest, rubbing your thighs around his cock.

“Oh, songbird, you sweet thing,” He chuckled, all teasing and self-indulgent. “I’m the one who makes you feel good.”

He was so right, wasn’t he?

With the way he’d learned your body over the last few months, he’d had some undeniable pursuit to make you feel the best.

Keigo was inquisitive by nature. He had kept you on your back for hours while he finger-fucked you, watching every twitch and roll of your hips to figure out just the right ways to break you. He’d kissed and sucked and slapped every inch of you, sussing out the perfect ways to make you writhe and cry for him.

Sure, you were an absolute terror to him sometimes. Not to mention that Keigo jumping you covered in the blood of that day's targets was as macabre and horrifying as it sounded.

But, fuck, if he didn’t know how to bring you to ecstasy that fucking ruined you in the best way.

Keigo got off on watching you shatter for him. It was the reason he’d torn you from that cheap, bloodied apartment in the first place. A kind, naive little morsel that he could play with as he wanted. You didn’t complain. Fuck, you reveled in his attention. You gave it back to him, like the fucked up, semi-divine being could be any more debauched than he already was.

Corruption spreads, but you’d never complain. If being plucked from struggling for pennies to being fucked stupid by a man who could kill you at a moments notice, a man who would kill for you, somehow poisoned you?

You’d die with a bitter taste on your tongue and a smile on your face.

Keigo rubbed at your clit, nipping at your neck, and rolled his hips greedily. His cock was covered in a mix of your slick and his own preek, easily sliding between plushness of your thighs.

“You love pushing me, acting all tough,” Keigo chastised, clicking his tongue. “I mean it when I say it's cute.”

You don’t have any more quick retorts in you, not when his fingers are down your throat, gagging you as spittle dribbles down your chin onto the leather below. It was sure to leave a mark.

“Behind all that bark and snark, you’re just a good girl, aren’t you?” Keigo punctuated his words with a bite and nip to your neck. “Just needed a reminder, right, dove?”

You whimpered against his fingers at the praise, grinding against Keigo’s touch needily.

His fingers pushed pinched your tongue, breath curling over the shell of your ear, “What are you?”

You mumbled against his fingers, “A g-good g-girl.”

It was humiliating in the best way. Keigo’s light laugh at your attempt. The way he nuzzled his nose into the sweat at the crook of your shoulder was just aloe on the burn.

“I misspoke, if you can believe that,” Keigo’s cock pulled out from your thighs. “Songbird, you know what I meant to call you?”

You squirmed at the loss, but he was quick to hush you. His fingers left your mouth with a thick trail of spit.

“You’re my good girl.”

You melted in his arms.

Falling back against Keigo’s chest, you craned your neck to lock your lips to his.

Maybe that was it, why all the filth didn’t bother you. Because you had worth. Maybe it was insecurity, or maybe it was self-aware in the face of your lived experience. Before being taken, the life you’d lived made you just a rusty cog in a dying machine. You wouldn’t have amounted to anything, probably.

But with the League?

You were the prized, beloved consort of an angry god.

Keigo owned you, body, mind and soul, and you let him. That’s not even to mention how you had him wrapped around your finger. He adored you, under all of it.

Fighting with him was for sport, not blood.

Keigo licked past your lips, pressing his cock to your cunt teasingly. You whined against him, wriggling in his arms.

“What does my good girl want?” Keigo loved making you beg for him, claw for any bit of stimulation. He liked it even better when you were already soft for him.

Stray tears pricked at your eyes, “Y-your cock.”

He pinched the meat of your thigh, shaking his head, “Not good enough. Speak properly, dove. Clear and correctly.”

You swallowed, searching for the words in your own haze.

Your words were willed to be solid.

“I want your cock, daddy.”

It was just enough.

Keigo pushed forward, the head of his cock already stretching your cunt. Consider the girth of it, the lack of preparation stung and burned more than you would’ve liked, as good as it felt to finally be filled.

Keigo cooed at your soft tears, keeping your face to his with a firm hand on your jaw. He shushed you, far too sweetly while licking the salt from your cheeks, “Relax, angel. Big breaths.”

You nodded, sputtering as he speared into you. Keigo’s free hand went back to toying with your clit, encouraging the tension to drain from your body.

As he bottomed out, you shuddered, falling back into his chest. Keigo’s wings fluttered, twitching in wait. Hot breath fanned over your face, Keigo groaning and locking his jaw.

The stimulation was overwhelming. You had expected Keigo to be meaner, considering how mouthy you’d been.

Yet, it made sense. Keigo had figured out one of the better ways to make you break was softness.

(Truthfully, it made him crack in the same way, but he’d never tell.)

“Feel that?” He asked, just barely rolling his hips.

Keigo released your jaw in favor of wrapping a hand around the front of your throat, tugging you as close he could manage.

“Uh-huh,” You panted.

You could, the kiss of his cock head against your cervix was almost uncomfortable. The delicious pressure and sensitivity already had you reeling in his arms, unsteady and wanting.

“I fill you up so good, don’t I?” Keigo praised his own ego, his cock, but he wasn’t wrong. The curve of his cock rubbed against all the right spots. He stretched you just right, the burn ebbing away into a need for more, more—

“Please, Keigo—” You gasped. Your legs shook as Keigo slammed into you, shoving you forward and into the wall.

His pace was brutal. Hands and feathers kept your back in a harsh arch as he rearranged your insides to his liking. He was kind enough to keep stroking at your clit, bruising your hips and babbling filthy nothings.

“I’m the one who makes you feel this good, only me, right, dove?” Keigo growled into your ear with a particularly hard thrust.

You nodded against the wall, aware of the drool slipping down your chin as your mouth lolled open. Your insides were hot like white flames, searing any ability to use coherent speech.

Keigo snickered at your state. Slowing, he gripped your ass cheeks. You yelped, inside jumping as he pried them apart. You flinched, hole twitching as he spat down, the liquid cool against the flushed skin.

It was little moves like that, Keigo just subtly making your shudder and feel dirty that got you the most fucked up and fucked out.

You pressed back on his cock, panting against the wall and keening. You would’ve spoke, if you could, but anything that you had the ability to say would’ve been torn apart by Keigo’s sharpened, silver tongue.

“My filthy little dove, huh?” Keigo sneered, watching you try to bounce on his cock the best you could. “Such a glutton when you get broken down like this, needy whore.”

The pleasure of Keigo’s cock tearing up your insides was all you could focus on through the fog of your mind, desperate and wanting and greedy.

“Y-your,” You corrected, the words bubbling from your lips, disjointed and messy. “Yours.”

Keigo may have been avian, but he purred like a damn cat at your admission. He held you like a possession, cock throbbing as he fucked you just right.

“God, you’re sweet, angel,” He nipped at your jaw before wrapping his hand around your throat. “Even all fucked up, you know who you belong to so well, don’t you?”

You nodded, rolling your hips back.

Keigo must’ve taken pity on you, squeezing at the sides of your neck. Cruel as he could be, he must’ve noticed the way your thighs and knees trembled against the leather. Keigo knew the cloud in your eyes well— how to get you hazy and how to fuck you perfectly through the fog.

He fucked back into your dripping cunt, pace harder and faster than before. You were helpless to do anything other than fall forward into the wall, cheek squished against the scarlet.

“Who’s brat are you?” Keigo squeezed a bit harder at your neck as you swallowed against his palm.

“Y-yours—!” You squeaked out, mind going numb from the stimulation and pressure.

A wicked sneer curled against your ear as Keigo’s movements grew sloppier. His tongue lolled over your shoulder, messy kisses and slobbery bites and marks left in his wake. He was close, but you weren’t far off easier.

“Little bird,” It was sweeter, closer and hotter. “Can you come for me? Come all over my cock?”

You nodded.

“Not good enough.” Keigo bit down, nearly breaking the fragile skin of your neck. “You know I like words, angel.”

You gave him words, plenty of them.

Nearly incoherent pleads and cries poured from your bruised lips as Keigo pounded into you. Each blabbering wail was met with Keigo groans and grunts, condescending little phrases spitting over you without release.

Your lack of leverage and use of your arms made you thumping against the couch and wall, vision darkening on the edges as the pressure in your gut and the hold on your throat remained.

You were breaking in his arms, tears rolling down your cheeks as you held yourself from cresting. The exertion of it all was taking its toll, legs jellied and chest beading with sweat.

Keigo sensed it, shifting his hips to hit the spongy spot in your cunt, “Come, dove.”

You let go.

A sob shattered in your throat as your climax crashed through you. Keigo released your throat, holding you by your bound arms as he bottomed out. His own harsh cry panged against yours as he stuffed you full.

Surprisingly gently, he rocked his hips against your own, letting the ambient throb of your cunt milk him dry.

You came down, rolling and spinning as you sucked down air a bit too fast. Keigo panted behind you, though the sound seemed dull.

The pressure from your wrists released, soft thumbs rubbing at where the fabric had bitten into your forearms, “Hey, angel, you with me?”

You could only nod weakly, exhaustion and aches creeping in.

Keigo repositioned the two of you, setting himself against the arm of the couch, wings up free to drape and splay over the floor. He dragged you with him, pulling you to lay on his chest. The stickiness of his spunk, your slick, and general sweatiness might’ve been uncomfortable, but you weren’t quite lucid enough to care.

“How are you feeling? Still feeling a little mouthy?” Keigo teased, already knowing your answer.

You muffled a groan against his chest, shaking your head against the sweat of his chest.

“Awww,” Keigo chuckled, fingers brushing over your cheeks, “Is my dove a little fucked out?”

“Keeeigo, b-be nice.”

Your voice broke, parched.

Keigo snorted, pressing a kiss to the side of your forehead, “I guess I can manage that. Just for you, though. Can’t let the others see me get all soft.”

You wouldn’t; seeing Keigo warm and gooey, both of you mutually fucked-out, was a pleasure only you got to indulge in. And you loved every moment of it.

++++++++++++

taglist: @sinclairsamess (msg me if you’d like to be on it!)

ko-fi

#salem writes #hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo #hawks x y/n #hawks x you #takami keigo x y/n #takami keigo x you #mha smut #mha x reader #bnha x reader #hawks #hawks smut #hawks fanfiction #takami keigo smut

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theshelbyclan · 4 years ago

Text

Brotherly Discomfort

Summary: After ‘the talk’, your brothers are adamant to protect you, but you throw yet another curveball their way. Part 2 to Growing Pains

(Gif by @nofckingfighting) A/N: This is part 2 to my most popular fic Growing Pains and I used anon’s request: Could you do a Shelby sis story where she’s a lesbian and in love with a woman and her family doesn’t know. The family is trying to get her into an arranged marriage with a man and she can’t figure out how to tell them she’s a lesbian cause she feels they won’t except her? Sorry if that’s too much. Love your writing so much btw!! Thanks for this request babes, hope I did it justice :) Words: 2387

*** “Right, Y/N, sit down,” Tommy sighed deeply and pointed at a single chair by the kitchen table, “We need to talk.” As you sat down, three brothers loomed over you. Tommy lit a cigarette like his life depended on it, Arthur couldn’t stand still if his life depended on it and John seemed to have forgotten what his life actually depended on, so he just stood there, unsure of everything. “We’re having another talk,” you stated. The last one, only a few days ago, was still fresh in your mind.

“We are,” you brother confirmed. Arthur took off his cap like he was attending a funeral and stumbled, “We, uhm… We’ve had an idea.” “Christ,” Polly mumbled from behind her newspaper and you couldn’t agree more. “The thing is,” John finally spoke, “We’ve been worried after we… talked.” “Right,” you nodded, “Because of he subject of our conversation?” “It’s not just that!” your brother continued, with a slight frantic edge to his voice, “You’re growing up, but you’re still running around with the dogs at all hours. You won’t listen to anyone, do whatever you please…” Tommy continued where John faltered, “The truth is, Y/N, you’re getting to be too wild.” “Oh, fuck off, Tom,” and you got up with every intention to leave the room. “Sit down,” he said sternly, “We can’t have another Ada situation.” “Situation?” your eyebrows shot up, “What do you fucking mean by a fucking situation?” “The baby, Y/N,” Arthur explained. “I’m sorry,” you were boiling inside now, “but please explain: was the baby the problem or the man she had the baby with the problem? Or possibly, maybe, the fact that you three had no say in the matter?!” “That’s not the point,” John could feel this conversation wasn’t going as planned, “The thing is we couldn’t stop it!” Polly scoffed behind you, so at least you felt like someone was on your side. After a few moments of silence, your anger got the better of you and you slammed a hand down on the table in a very Tommy manner, “So what did you three fucking geniuses come up with?” Tommy pointed at you menacingly, “You fucking watch your mouth. You may be sixteen but I will still wash your mouth out with soap if you don’t mind that tongue…” “Minding my tongue…” you repeated, rolling your eyes, “Fine. So, what’s the plan? Arthur? John? Are we going back to the old ways and am I being married off to some good gypsy boy?” You turned around at Polly and laughed at your own joke, but when the room fell silent once again, you realised you’d hit the jackpot. Arthur had known you since the day you were born. He’d been twelve at the time and he could recognise every little expression on your face. Like when you were little, you used to scrunch up your nose just before you were about to cry for hunger. Or when you were sad, a small wobble in your chin just before the tears. Or when you were angry, a wrinkle in your forehead gave away the tantrum that was about to follow. This was happening right now. So he held up both hands and said, “Y/N, he’s from a good family…” “Nope,” you said, adamantly. “He is,” John confirmed gently, “and he has horses.” “Fucking no,” you shook your head. Tommy sighed, “We already made the deal.” “You promised your sister, just like that. That’s low, even coming from you, Thomas,” Polly’s cold voice sounded. If there was one person who could break his tough exterior, it was his aunt, “Well, what the fuck should we have done, Pol? Let her run wild, like you, eh?” But you stood up and walked over to Tommy. This was the man who had raised you, cared for you and disciplined you most of all, but right now, none of it mattered. So you slapped him hard, once. “Undo it Tommy,” you hissed, “Undo it or I’ll fucking cut you.” In the background you could hear Arthur mumble at once, “Okay, we’ll undo it…” “Give me one good reason,” your brother’s face, now only inches away, remained emotionless. You sighed and decided to throw all caution to the wind. “Anna,” you said, calmly. “What?” John asked immediately. So you repeated, voice raised, “Anna!” Three frowning brother stared at you, not understanding at all. “Remember when you asked me what hisname was, last week?” you called out exasperated. “’John’, wasn’t it?” Arthur looked at you. “No, it wasn’t fucking ‘John’, Arthur, she just said so,” John explained to his oldest brother. Tommy lit another cigarette, “What’s your point, Y/N?” You pointed at your neck where the nearly faded hickey could still be seen if you knew, “The name of the girl who gave me this is Anna.” “That would be bloody fantastic actually, because we wouldn’t have to worry anymore about a baby situation…” John squinted, “I think she’s serious…” “Oooooh fuck…” Arthur sighed, suddenly connecting the dots; “We’ve been keeping an eye on the wrong fucking people, John.” But John burst out laughing, “Didn’t see that one coming, did you, Tommy?” Slowly, your brother sat down and started smoking his second cigarette, “Pol, contact Madame Ross, tell her the wedding is off.” But Aunt Polly was having none of it, “You got us into this mess, you can fix it.” And then fear settled suddenly into the pit of your stomach. You looked at Tommy and asked softly, “Are you mad?” “Nope,” he said, head dropped down into his hands. “Disappointed?” “No, I’m not disappointed. But you should’ve told us, eh?” You shrugged, “Didn’t think you’d… approve.” “Why?” John asked, “We don’t care that you like women.” And all the love you had in you went out to your brother in that very moment. “Y/N,” Arthur started and he looked so angry that uncertainty took over again, “Why the fuck did you not tell us before we… explained?” “Because it was hilarious,” Polly commented unhelpfully. John started giggling again, “Fucking unnecessary is what it was.” “Arthur?” you asked, fear seeping into your voice. He sighed deeply, fidgeting with his hat, “It’s not the women, Y/N, I don’t care about that. It’s you and… anyone really. I don’t like the idea of you with anyone. Remember when she used to play with the coals, remember John?” “Yeah, I remember,” John smiled. “Black like the night she’d be!” Arthur remembered out loud, “Sweet and innocent.” “Well, she’s not anymore,” Polly sipped her tea. “I fucking see that and I don’t like it,” you eldest brother’s smile faded quickly. “Right,” Tommy raised his head again, “Guess we need to change our approach.” “There really no need…” you started. But he continued, ignoring you, “So you like girls, eh?” “Yep,” you confirmed meekly. “Only girls?” You nodded, “Well, one in particular.” Arthur looked at Tommy like he would have all the answers, “Now what, Tom?” You could now start to see the humour in all of it. Your brothers’ faces were an absolute picture! John could hardly contain his laughter, Tommy looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders and Arthur was filled with the absolute dread at another conversation like the one you had last week. “Oh, come on!” John called out, “I’m sure we could offer some advice!” He winked at you and a smile spread across your face. “Yeah!” you said, “I mean you all like women, right? This should be even easier!” “It’s not,” Arthur muttered. “I like women,” John said to no one in particular. “What about you, Tommy?” you asked your brother sweetly. But he just rolled his eyes and continued smoking. A part of you wanted to joke about him and Alfie, but you decided against it at the last second. “Horses?” you ventured, “Tommy, any advice on this with the famous analogy of horses? “Horses don’t really…” he waved a hand, coughed and stopped talking all together. “Well, at least you don’t have to be afraid of her getting pregnant,” John said to Arthur, who was as white as a sheet now. “That’s right,” he replied in a low voice, “but that’s my entire speech out the window, because there’s no waiting ‘till bloody marriage either…” “Well,” you tried to comfort your older brother, “You did offer me some good advice the last time, Arthur. You said there was no hurry and to not do it unless I wanted to?” “Right! I did say that. That, yes, it still stands!” Arthur looked around the kitchen triumphantly. “And John,” you continued, “you said to not put anything in my mouth unless I wanted to. Sound advice that was, now more than ever!” “Fucking hell,” Arthur crumbled again, “I can’t do this again. Tom, say something.” “Women….” Tommy started off vaguely waving his cigarette around, “they want love.” “We do.” “And they always want to take things slow.” “Can you imagine?” John interrupted, “Two women together? Must take ages…” “You’d be surprised…” you started, but when you saw your other brothers’ faces, you shut your mouth quickly. Tommy glared daggers at his brother and then turned to you, “How did you become an expert all of a sudden, eh?” “Talked to Ada,” you shrugged. “You talked to Ada…” he repeated lowly and threw his head back. “Wait,” John said suddenly, “Is this why you hate wearing dresses?” “Or why you drink whiskey like a man?” Arthur added, carefully. “That’s just because she’s a Shelby,” Polly explained matter-of-factly. “Or why you never sit on chairs?” John continued, “Or hang out at the factory all the time! Or why you always talk about votes for women…” You held up a hand to stop your brother, “None of that has anything to do with me liking women, John. That’s just… me.” “So what does have to do with you liking women?” your other brother asked in his typical low voice. “Me liking women…?” “So how does it work exactly?” John furrowed his brows, “Like, without… a man there?” “John,” Arthur warned him with a grumble. “Well, both people are enjoying themselves, for starters…” you replied in earnest. “Fucking hell,” the eldest interrupted, “She’s turning into Ada, she bloody is.” “Have you never seen two women together, Arthur?” you asked innocently, “Not even in London?” “They’re all mad bastards down in London, Y/N, the things I’ve seen there…” “Well, imagine me now.” Tommy had just taken a sip of his whiskey and practically choked on the spot, “That’s fucking it. You’re not to go near the BSA again!” “Why?” you called out, “It’s not like all the women in the world are gathered at the BSA!” “I will not have you behaving,” he struggled to find the words but finally spit, “like those fucking women in London!” “Don’t worry, Tommy,” you tried to comfort him, “I’m still… we haven’t actually…” “Oh, thank God,” Arthur sank down in his chair. “Well, when you do, just be gentle, alright?” John offered some advice, “And light a candle! Women love candles.” “Candles, check,” you noted. Tommy downed his whiskey, recomposed himself and added, “And make sure they’re in the mood first…” “To get ‘happy’,” you said, “like Arthur said last time,” “Yes,” he sighed deeply.

“Cut your nails,” John said out of the blue, “Esme told me.”

Arthur turned to his brother, “What the bloody hell do nails have to do with anything?”

“Well, it’s for when you…”

But Tommy silenced you with a gesture, “Please, Y/N, don’t.”

“Right,” and the quiet returned in the small kitchen. Well, at least now they knew, so that terrifying bit was out of the way. Apart from that, you weren’t quite sure if this was going great, because your brothers seemed absolutely petrified and slightly annoyed at your sudden revelation. Maybe it would’ve been better if you hadn’t told them. Then again, marrying a ‘good gypsy boy’ was the last thing you wanted in life. So maybe you could lighten the mood just a little.

“I have a better idea,” a sudden glint came into your eyes, “How about I offer all of you some advice!” The tables had turned already and this couldn’t possibly get any more awkward.

“Nope,” Arthur stood up and promptly marched out of the kitchen, talking to himself, “I can’t. That’s my baby sister and I just fucking can’t...”

“Arthur, where are you going?” Polly called after him, mirth clearly audible in her voice. And he replied, “I’m going to find this Anna, make sure she’s from a good family…” And then he was gone.

Tommy looked from you to Polly for a few seconds before he cleared his throat and mumbled something about business. Polly smirked at you and his face was full of annoyance at it all, “I need to get back to Dangerous. The horse. Tell me some other time, eh?”

“Tommy,” you asked carefully, “Are you sure you’re not mad about me liking women?”

“Princess, I honestly don’t give a fuck who you like,” he said, while putting on his coat and hat, “I just want to meet this Anna and if she hurts you, I’ll still kill her. None of that has changed, eh?”

This was strangely comforting to you.

And just as you were about to offer some unwanted advice, he left the kitchen in a hurry and called over his shoulder, “If you have any questions, Ada apparently has all the fucking answers!”

So you turned to your aunt, “That went well, didn’t it?”

“At least the wedding’s off.”

“Thank fuck,” you smirked and Polly smiled at you encouragingly, “You don’t mind, Aunt Pol, do you?”

“I’m with Tommy,” she said returning to her stern voice, “The fact that it’s a woman won’t make me hesitate.”

“Right,” you nodded, “She makes me happy, though.”

“Good,” Aunt Polly continued to read the newspaper, “Bring her over for tea. Let’s make the boys really uncomfortable, shall we?”

Still laughing, you stood up with the intention of getting on with your homework, when you suddenly noticed John was still sitting on the chair in the back of the kitchen.

“What do you want?” you asked him bluntly.

“I’m waiting,” he said, hands upturned, “You promised me some advice, remember?”

***

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juniorgman187 · 3 years ago

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Spoiled Rotten (Reid Fic)

Summary: After Spencer went radio silent on Reader while he was in prison, their pride and stubbornness threatens to tear them apart forever. Reader’s forced to mourn the death of who they were and experience the inner turmoil of navigating who they are.

A/N: Y’all are gonna kill me for the ending, but it’s one hell of a way to go. Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Category: Angst Content Warning: Imprisonment, humiliation, abandonment, anger, frustration, angst, yelling, fighting Word Count: 5.3k Playlist: Traitor by Olivia Rodrigo

Time jumps are indicated by “. . .” or “_ _ _”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

A rather unfortunate predicament we’ve found ourselves in tonight. I can’t say I’ve ever been quite this uncomfortable in my life, yet I’m careful not to speak too soon. Because I know the second Spencer opens his mouth to break the silence we’re currently sitting in, I’ll stand corrected.

“You’re breathing really hard,” He tells me out of nowhere.

See, I stand corrected.

Now that I’ve become hyper aware of my own inhale and exhale, my respiration is just that much more restricted. I’m practically holding my breath at this moment - both from the anticipation of catching this unsub in the act and giving Spencer one less thing to scrutinize about me.

“I didn’t say you had to stop breathing,” He tacks on as if it would put me any more at ease. Not that if he had explicitly said such a thing, I would’ve.

Unlike other people, I wasn’t exactly jumping at the chance to throw myself at his feet so he’d like me. But to use that as grounds for his disdain would be foolish. Our rancor went deeper than the basic lack of synergy between us.

And in the spirit of getting to the bottom of that abyssal pit, I finally asked the question with words that always seemed to hang above but never would form.

“Why was I the only one denied visitation while you were in prison?”

It may surprise you to know that it wasn’t always like this between us; we were actually close once, although it is hard to imagine that version of us ever really existing. However, if I think about it hard enough, I can remember with perfect clarity who we used to be.

. . .

“Jeez, you really don’t like these things do you?” I nudged him playfully before feeling instantly guilty once I witnessed the result of my shove that must’ve been a little too much for all 120 (at most) pounds of him. I’d neglected to remember the strength I held over the lanky Doctor as well as neglected to notice where the trajectory of my push would land him - in the direct line of a circus clown walking the opposite direction as us. This, of course, brought him face to face with the character. Unfortunately, I managed to catch a glimpse of the lens of Spencer’s glasses grazing the white face paint of the caricature.

After a shudder of mortification and a very brave shriek, Spencer ran to my other side to be as far away from the clown as possible and apparently, as close to me as possible. From a distance, you’d think we were conjoined simply by the way he was glued to me - shoulder to shoulder, elbow to elbow, hip to hip, thigh to thigh.

While removing his glasses to clean them off with the hem of his blazer, he answered, “Carnivals? I mean, what’s not to like? What with the loud noises, the heart-attack-inducing food that’s more grease than actual food, or the sheer amount of bacteria harboring on each and every handle, hoop, ball, or button of these ridiculous game booths.”

“Wow, you really don’t like carnivals.” I should’ve figured.

“Nope. Never have and probably never will.”

As someone who looked forward to the fair every summer of her childhood, any aversion to carnivals broke my heart. I had a fondness for them borne in adolescence that I couldn’t quite justify now in my adulthood.

“But they’re fun!” was the best argument I could muster. The whine in my voice being provoked by the possibility that the higher the shrill of my pitch, the easier he’d be to sway. Turns out, Dr. Reid was not nearly as susceptible to my auditory persuasion as I might’ve thought he was. Just a stone cold, inconvincible slab of steel.

“I’m sorry. I know you brought me here because you love these things, but I just can’t get past the ...” He surveyed the fair, ostensibly against his will, in search of the perfect word to describe our surroundings. “Filth.”

I would’ve argued in the defense of the carnival, mentioning how it’s endearing that the only bathrooms for miles were porta potties, and that the screaming, crying, sticky children galore just added to the attraction, and that there was a hidden charm to the way the roller coasters creaked beyond their means with every ride.

But to an extent, I agreed. It was rather filthy, and I wasn’t much of a germaphobe myself so to someone like him, this would be hell on earth.

“Well, you get what you put into it. If you’re willing to overlook some minor imperfections, I really think you’d enjoy this place.”

Spencer by now had his hands in his pockets and his walking pace had slowed to a complete halt. There was a moment of skepticism, followed by a partially open smile to make way for the laughter that escaped from the disbelief that he felt for letting me break his resolve so easily.

“Alright then. What do you want to do first, Brat?”

The nickname I’d earned could be seen as meanspirited, but truly, it was affectionately diminutive. Like all good nicknames are. And like the proclaimed Brat I was, I’d taken him to all my favorite parts of the fair.

First came the bumper cars to ease him into the experience - as ironic as that sounds. He was reluctant to submerge his gangly body into a mini vehicle, much less one that’d been inhabited by God knows how many people before us, but he pushed his reservations aside when he realized he’d get to slam into my car (safely, of course).

Secondly, we went on the Carousel, but this was only in preparation for the real ride that I wanted to take him on next - the Swinging Chairs. He’d gotten a little nauseous, from both the repetitive circling and the galvanized chains he had to hold that were definitely held by several others.

He had no interest in going on the Gravitron - super lame, I know - so we opted for the Ferris Wheel instead. I didn’t mind making this compromise so much after recognizing all that he’d done for my benefit that night. And for his generosity and selflessness, I thought it only fitting to end the night going somewhere so tame he couldn’t possibly have any opposition to it.

The photo booth.

The booth in particular we’d gone to was smaller than an airplane bathroom, if you can imagine that. The bench seat was barely wide enough to fit Spencer, let alone seat the both of us. While he didn’t explicitly make the offer to let me sit on his lap, it was kind of a give in that I’d have some part of my body intertwined around him like stubborn ivy.

. . .

I still laugh thinking about the tangled mess of limbs we were below what the camera couldn’t capture. It was arguably the furthest extent of contortionist work I wanted to do in my lifetime, and henceforth exceedingly uncomfortable, and yet, I’d never felt more at home than when I was in his arms.

That night he would tear off the top three photos to keep for himself while I kept the bottom three photos.

To this day, I have never seen the pictures that he kept, and I’m left to wonder if he had them at all.

Because I still have mine. And they were virtually the only thing keeping me sane throughout his trial and subsequent imprisonment.

Six Months Ago ...

My eyes were locked on the loose thread of my cardigan that I was rolling between my fingers anxiously.

“Would you stop that?” Penelope swatted my hand away from my sweater. “You’re making me nervous just looking at you.” She grumbled.

“Sorry,” I apologized bleakly.

A few seconds later she groaned again, making me think I was still doing something bothersome, but it turned out to be just the opposite. “Ugh, I know that sounded mean, and I hate when I sound mean, but I can feel my forehead creasing from the stress, and watching you fidget is going to give me an ulcer.”

“I wish I could help it. I’m just really worried about him.”

“Well I am, too, but that’s not gonna do us any good right now. All we can do is hope for the best.”

Sometimes Penelope’s overly optimistic view on life was futile and unwelcome, and truthfully, this was one of those times.

“Penny?”

As she turned her head, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the lenses of her dark green glasses. I could see my own mournful expression as I asked, “What if he’s found guilty?”

She started to say something but stopped herself. “Right now, all we need to focus on is his bail. We can worry about a verdict later.” She put her hand on top of mine and shook it briefly to remind me that we were in this together.

Moments later recess was over and the team came trudging back into the courtroom.

The sound of the judge clearing her throat and our footsteps on the floor made this feel all too normal.

How could Spencer’s life be hanging in the balance in such a place as non-intimate as this?

It frustrated me how casual things felt today and how everyone was acting normally. Prentiss had yet to bat an eye, Rossi’s stoic expression never changed, and Penelope was telling me not to worry. Everyone was acting so aloof.

My eyes darted to Spencer, who was looking back at us woefully. I couldn’t bear to see him like that any longer, so I kept my head down and stared at my feet after I took my seat.

Even when I closed my eyes, I was haunted by the vision of him in a suit, just like one he’d wear to work. But instead, he was wearing it for this - this vastly different situation.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at him the same in one anymore. I’ll probably just remember this particular look on his face, in this god awful courtroom, during this horribly nauseating circumstance.

If one thing was for certain, it was that this would all come back to me if I ever laid eyes on him in a suit, and that thought fucking terrified me.

Because that one thought spiraled into the next: Everything was bound to change after this. Every little thing would change in every little way.

Spencer’s lawyer, the judge, and the prosecutor were going back and forth for a while, but I tuned it all out because I knew if I had tuned in, I wouldn’t have been able to hold back my arguments. Eventually, though, I heard something I could no longer ignore.

“If past behavior is the best indicator of future conduct, and I do believe it is, then your client presents a flight risk.”

I stood up immediately, getting a head rush from the speed. I knew what was to follow, so I needed to be on my feet the second I heard it. Maybe so I could run and escape before I had to.

“Bail is denied. The defendant will remain in federal custody pending trial.”

“Spencer!” I shouted, losing all the composure I’d been trying to maintain. I reached for him as if he was at any capacity to reach back and hold me. God, I needed him to hold me. Hold me like how he did at the carnival.

Hold me.

Luke held me back as I fought to be near him.

“Let me go!” I screamed, trying to break free of his tight grip. Spencer could only stand and stare, mirroring my own wistful glance. He mouthed something to me that I couldn’t quite make out, but if I knew him at all, he probably said something about not wanting me to worry about him.

“(Y/n), (y/n) it’s gonna be alright.” JJ reasoned, pulling me into a hug.

“How long before this case goes to trial?” I heard Prentiss whisper to Spencer’s lawyer.

“It’s a complicated case. I’d say three months maybe?”

Immediately, I worked myself out of JJ’s arms and pushed my way through the team, running up to the barrier between us.

“Spence!” I cried out in anguish.

To the sound of my voice, he glanced over his shoulder sadly. He wasn’t even shocked I’d been able to get so close to him - he seemed to expect it, and for that, he was sad. Because he knew if I was going to be as stubborn as to fight to get to him at this hearing, then I was going to be stubborn enough to reach him in prison, too. And should he find himself behind bars, he knew that I’d get to him one way or another.

That is if he’d let me.

“Be strong,” He weakly smiled. ‘For me’ his sad eyes begged in addition. He held my gaze for as long as he possibly could before disappearing into another room.

As I watched him walk away, I could feel my heart shattering and crumbling into the pit of my stomach. Perhaps that was a premonition, a true gut feeling, telling me something I at the time couldn’t have known and wouldn’t have accepted.

That was the last time I would see Spencer.

People always say when something unbelievable happens, it doesn’t feel real, but this? Nothing felt more real and more intense than this.

There was no other way for me to see this situation but as the first defeat in an endless line of them.

If Spencer was denied bail, what else could happen to him? Could he be found guilty too? Because prior to this, the denial of his bail seemed impossible. He posed no flight risk, but according to the judge, he did. So if what I once thought to be impossible happened, then it could and would happen again.

I knew Spencer was going to be found guilty.

What I didn’t know, though, was how I was going to live with myself from then on.

I didn’t go that day.

I knew myself too well. So did the others, which is why they didn’t object to my decision not to come to Spencer’s trial. They knew I was better off staying home. Especially, if there was the chance that I might react hysterically again.

I didn’t stay home, though. That part the team never found out about.

I went to visit Diana instead. A much wiser choice, in my opinion.

“You know, we’ve been talking so much about Spencer today, but we haven’t talked about you yet,” said Diana.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” I feigned a polite smile.

“You thought I wouldn’t notice?” She tilted her chin downward and gave me that sly grin of hers.

“No, no, of course not. I know better than to underestimate the Diana Reid.” I quipped, making her smile widen. “I just figured you’d wanna spend your time talking about someone much more interesting.”

“Oh please, Spencer and I talk about you all the time.”

I perked up from the checker piece I was fiddling with. “You do?”

“Mhm,” She nodded over and over again. “I always knew there was something between you two because you could always talk about each other to me, but for some reason, you could never actually talk to each other.”

For the first time in months, I genuinely laughed and I couldn’t help it. “He makes me nervous! I always feel like he might correct something I say, or tell me that there’s food in my teeth.”

“You know, now that you mention it, I do remember him saying something about seeing a really big piece of lettuce in your teeth one time.”

“Diana!” I squealed, pushing the checkerboard at her, pretending to take offense.

“I really don’t know what you’re so nervous about! I think it would be good if you just talked to him.”

“It’s, um, it’s not that simple. Not right now, at least.”

My energy quickly nose-dived and I tried to do my best to hide it from Diana, but it permeated through the rest of the visit. I couldn’t fully enjoy myself after it.

The team and I all agreed not to let Diana know, especially not with the uncertainty of the case. There was no point riling her up if there was nothing to be worried about. And I could only imagine how I reacted - Diana would be reacting 10 times more hysterically.

But as much as I hated to say it, I almost would’ve rather been in her position.

I would give anything to un-know Spencer’s circumstance.

Present Time ...

In this car, there was nowhere for him to run or hide, not like before.

Anytime I so much as entered his gravity by being in the same room, he’d flee the space in the next breath. Granted, he couldn’t really avoid me entirely. We did have to be on the same flight for an extended period of time, but he made that work by letting me choose my spot first, then choosing a spot directly on the opposite side of the jet.

What a gentleman, huh?

“Kudos to you, by the way. For managing to avoid me for this long. I imagine it’s been as not-easy as it has been incredibly-cowardly.” My words stung as they flowed from my lips as badly as I imagine they seared his already cracked skin. I couldn’t believe that now that I finally had the opportunity to talk to him, I was using it to be petty and passively aggressive. But then again, I could.

Because after what he put me through, he deserved to feel the full severity of my indignation.

My only wish was that he knew exactly how I had felt when I found out.

. . .

Icarus.

He died tragically while using artificial wings, invented by his father, to escape from the Labyrinth. When Icarus flew too close to the sun, it melted the wax that held the wings together, and he fell into the sea.

‘Don’t fly too close to the sun.’ That’s the moral of the story. That’s what Reid was trying to tell me. But I didn’t listen.

I flew too close.

I had approached the window with more zeal than this predicament warranted.

“I’m (y/n) (y/l/n). I’m here to see Spencer Reid, R-E-I-D,” I eagerly spelt his last name with ease as though it were my own last name.

She’d flipped back and forth between pages, running her index finger up and down the sheet for far too long that it made me worry. Turns out, I had every right to be worried.

“I don’t see you on the list, ma’am.”

I was so mindnumbingly dumb that I couldn’t even see how dumb I was being. “Oh no no no, I’m with the FBI. I called earlier and left a message, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember you,” She smiled politely, giving me the tiniest fragment of hope. “But you’re not on his list.” Only for it to be shattered in an instant.

I had yet to process or accept this information. “So what does that mean?”

“It means he doesn't wanna see you right now. And frankly, neither do I. Next!”

“Wait, could you just please check with him? My name is (y/n) -”

“Ma’am, you are holding up a whole line of people that wanna see their loved ones too, so I suggest you see yourself out before I call security to help see you out.”

I knew by her tone of the word ‘help’ that meant a prison guard would most likely forcibly remove me from the premises, and the last thing I needed was to feel even more humiliated.

I got plenty of that when I had to come back to the BAU.

“You’re not on the list?” Luke seemed genuinely shocked. More so than I was. Above all, I just felt really stupid.

“I’m sure it was just a mistake.” Stephen reasoned. He was so good at being level-headed. Which normally, I would’ve loved. But right now, it only fueled the fire burning in my chest.

“That’s what I thought at first, too. But later on, she asked him herself, and he said - and I quote, ‘I don’t want to see her. Not now. Not ever.’”

. . .

Those were the words that seared my skin, and he hadn’t even spoken them directly to me to do it.

The words that did just enough to heal me back to health were, of course, Penelope’s.

“Since you haven’t seen him yet, the rest of us will just wait until you have. It’s only fair that you have your first turn before the rest of us go back for a second time.”

Back then, it was easy to hold out hope, but the more and more time passed, the more he kept denying my visits. Therefore, the more my hope began to fade.

It had been weeks since anyone else had seen him before I finally surrendered. Although I had newly-brewing sourness towards Reid, it didn’t feel fair to deny him everyone else’s presence until mine was permitted.

Luke was the one who volunteered to visit first. And to my dismay, Spencer didn’t fight against it.

The proof was finally there. Now I could say with absolute certainty: Spencer just didn’t want to see me.

It was both ironic and utterly frustrating to think about how I’d never gone more than two weeks without seeing him. Even when the BAU got time off after big cases, we’d always spend that time together. The longest we’d spent apart was 12 days. And right when he came back to D.C, we were attached at the hip for the next week, trying to compensate for all that time we were apart.

Now, look at us. I haven’t said one word to him in half a year.

If tragedy and comedy could coexist, this would be it.

“How is he?” I asked Luke as soon as he got back.

“He’s holding on,” Luke affirmed with confidence. What he said next lacked any of that. “He told me to tell you not to worry about him.”

Something in me knew it was a lie. “Did he actually say that?”

His lack of an answer was one itself.

“Did he say anything at all about me?”

“I tried telling him how much you wanted to see him, but he just brushed it off. I’m sorry, (y/n).”

This became my routine for the months to follow. Every time someone would come back from the prison, I’d ask them if they talked about me, but the answer was always no. After a while, it had gotten to the point where I purposefully started leaving myself out of the loop. At least in that case, it was by my own volition that I was being excluded, not by a predicament being forced on me.

Not by Spencer.

“We’re not doing this right now,” Spencer declaration brought me back to the present, where I found him removing himself from both the conversation and the vehicle. When I heard the latch click to open, my hand reflexively flew to my auto-lock to prevent him from leaving. Naturally, he still managed to escape using his door’s button.

If I couldn’t stop him, then I could follow him.

“Then when will we do this? Huh, Spencer? When? Because anytime I try to talk to you, you run away.” The mere fact that I was speed-walking after him was proof. While he casually strolled down the sidewalk paying me no mind, I tried to be clever and walk down the street so we’d be somewhat side to side. I was tired of staring at his back every time he walked away. I needed to see his face.

For his every stride, I had to take at least three steps. He was gliding through the world so effortlessly as I was trekking my uphill battle. It was quite fitting, though. Further exemplification that, between us, I was fighting harder to preserve the people we used to be, the relationship we used to have. Meanwhile, he couldn’t care less. A stone cold, inconvincible slab of steel. Just like he always was.

As I began to speak, I had to also be conscious of the parked cars along the curb, being careful to weave in and out.

“For months, you have blatantly ignored me. The entire time you were in prison, you denied my visits. And it’s not like it was a one time thing. I tried to visit you over 100 times while you were in jail! 100 times I got rejected. 100 times I got turned away. 100 times my heart shattered.”

By now, I was speaking so loudly that I could see household lights within neighboring homes turning on. I hadn’t even realized how far we’d walked down the street and away from our car, but it was the last thing on my mind.

“Then after you were released, it’s like I never even existed. I had to find out that you were out of there a week later than everyone else because they all assumed you came to me yourself to tell me the good news,” I laughed wryly at my own stupidity. “Do you know how hard it was for me?”

“Do you know how hard it was for me?”

It took me a second to register that he was actually engaging with me in this conversation now. But when I looked at his expression, I could see that something within him had snapped. A little piece of me was glad, though. Now I knew for sure that there was some effect I had on him.

“Hard for you?”

“I know you came to visit me 100 times! Want to know how I know? Because I was there, too! I was there every time a guard came to ask if I wanted to see you. I was there every time I turned you away. And while you got to walk out of those doors every time I did, I was stuck in there, rotting in that cell, thinking about how badly I wanted to see you. How badly I wanted to touch ...” His voice faltered. “To touch you. But I had to protect you!”

“You do realize in protecting me, you were hurting me in the process.”

“Because you just don’t know when to leave well enough alone!” His hands tugged at the root of his unruly hair like evidence of the frustration that my stubbornness caused. “You’re such a pain in the ass because you can never cooperate! It’s gotta be your way or no one else’s! ‘Spencer, it has to be this way because I said so. Spencer, you have to let me see you because I said so. Spencer, you have to talk to me because I said so. Spencer, you have to ride this stupid roller coaster because I said so,’” His imitation of my nagging voice would’ve made me laugh before. Now, it was bringing me onto the verge of tears. “Since clearly no one’s told you this before - not everything is about you! You just want it to be because you’re a whiny, little brat! You’re so spoiled rotten that you can’t even see how far down it goes. If you did, you’d know that you’re rotten to the core and that nothing will ever satisfy you. Especially me.”

His words had done more than sear me. They pierced me. They ripped me. They destroyed me. When he called me Brat, I thought it was endearing. Now, looking back, I realize - no, that’s just how little he thought of me.

As I came to the conclusion, I stopped dead in my tracks on the pavement.

I was done chasing Spencer.

His face had fallen from its anger, indicating he was apologetic, but I was beyond accepting his sorry excuses anymore. I couldn’t stand to look at him so I looked behind me to find our car at least a football field away. I guess in many ways, I’d gone the whole nine yards.

“This is what you wanted right?” I turned back to him momentarily. My voice scared me how calm it was because, inside, I was boiling with rage. “Well, here you go, Spence. Have all the fucking space you want.”

It was usually me watching his back while he walked away, and now, he was watching mine.

“(Y/n), wait!”

And for the briefest second, it actually felt good to be the first one to leave.

I was free.

_ _ _

To my dismay and relief, when I walked into work the next morning, he wasn’t there. I would’ve looked for him with more than a cursory glance except I was stuck on looking at something strange in the bullpen that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. But as I walked further in, a blaring siren went off in my head.

Spencer’s desk is completely empty.

I instantly sorted through my purse for my phone to reach Prentiss when I noticed something more.

I had been desperate to cling onto any notion that he still loved me, and there it was, just sitting on his desk. Proof that the man I loved was still in there somewhere.

The top three pictures from the carnival photo booth.

I laughed, as I always did, thinking about how much we had to exert ourselves to be positioned in a semi-adequate way. In the next wave, I felt profoundly empty. He had kept the pictures all these years, and now that I finally get to see them, he’s left me.

As I brought my hand to my face to clear the tears pooling at my lower lashes, I saw that my finger had an ink smear on the pad of it. There was nowhere else I could’ve obtained it except for if there was writing on the back of the photos.

What I read when I turned it over was as follows.

I want to be this guy for you again, (y/n). I just don’t know how.

I just don’t know if I can.

No matter how much I’ve changed, one thing’s still the same.

I love you.

I should’ve focused on the message, but all that I could focus on was that if I managed to smear the ink, that meant it was fresh, written just now.

He was still here.

I pocketed the photos and abandoned my purse, only carrying with me the phone that I forgot to use to dial Prentiss. After a moment’s indecision, I figured that taking the stairs would be faster than the elevator, and I bounded down the steps without hesitation.

“Spencer!” I yelled into the parking structure when I reached the ground floor. The sound of me bursting through the door caught the attention of Anderson, who was getting out of his car.

“I just saw him leave.” Anderson threw his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the exit. I knew, even in my state of mind, there was no feasible reality where I could reach him on foot. I had to call him.

I pleaded to myself for him to pick up with every ring of my phone.

“(Y/n),” He said like a statement instead of a question. Again, he’d anticipated I’d do this. He probably picked it up not even having to look at the caller ID but knowing it was me and no one else.

“I don’t need you to be the guy you were before, Spencer. I just need you to bend a little bit. I know we’re both stubborn people, but if we can just find a halfway point-”

“(Y/n), (y/n),” He was settling me and the sentences that were coming out of my mouth at 100 mph.

“I’ll bend if you bend.” I promised.

The static of the call filled my ears until his voice finally did.

“For everyone else, I bend ... for you, I break.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

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your-daily-biaswrecking · 3 years ago

Note

could you do hybrid vmin please 🥺 i have a guilty pleasure of the idea of them being overprotective of oc and when she sneaks away from their watch once they have to save her from another hybrid and punish her when they get home, bonus points for marking/collaring her to show that they actually own her instead of the other way around (while still being fluffy, sorry this is so specific 😭)

damn this should be a whole fic tbh... i wrote just enough for a drabble, let me know if you want a pt2

PS: here's the part 2

You loved your hybrids to death; you really did. Jimin, the calico cat hybrid you had gotten from a shelter when he was still a baby kitten, and Taehyung, the tiger hybrid you had found soon after, abandoned in an ally, and had mistaken him for a cat but kept him anyway. You wouldn’t put anyone in your life above them, there was no doubt of your feelings towards both of them. You did everything together, shared your happiness and your sorrows, lived and grew in every way.

However, ever since they became adults, they were treating you so differently. Suddenly, they were glued to you in a demanding way. Needing your attention more than you were already giving them. You weren’t allowed to go out alone -too dangerous-, you couldn’t have any male friends -a threat to their position-, you couldn’t even accidentally cut yourself without them freaking out. You knew what was going on… Two male, adult hybrids and the only female being you. You had heard many times about similar situations. And you had told yourself that you would prevent your hybrids from developing such a relationship with you, but found yourself unable to stop it. They were two, outnumbered you. You couldn’t handle two hybrids trying to mate with you.

Jimin had his fingers intertwined with yours, kissing your hand again and again as you waited for Taehyung to bring the car from where it was parked. His cute face was pink and glowing, fluffy tail swinging beautifully as he stared into your eyes. He was making you more flustered than you wanted to admit, avoiding his eyes as best as you could. You couldn’t get a second to yourself to think straight, and if you were to continue like that you would succumb to them. You needed some time away.

“Jimin!” you faked a gasped. “I forgot my purse…”

“Wait here, I’ll bring it to you!”

The cat immediately disappeared inside the coffee shop a few steps away, and while checking over your shoulder to see if Taehyung had arrived, you managed to run down the road and take a wrong turn. No, you weren’t running away, just needed some time to think. The night grew colder and darker the more you walked, choosing unpopular streets to stay hidden. And even though you were alone, like you thought you needed to be, you still couldn’t think clearly. Or, at least, you couldn’t shake the thought of your hybrids wanting to have you off your head. The night was colder and darker, your thoughts unorganized, yet you still hadn’t found your way home.

“Are you lost, kitten?” a deep, harsh voice called from behind you. When you turned around, all you could see was a silhouette in the shadows. “Ah, you’re not a kitten,” the man growled. “But why do you smell like one?” The figure stepped into the light and you could see a huge hybrid, probably a bear, with blood smeared across his ragged clothes. Towering over you, walking quickly towards you.

You turned around to run, hearing how the bear-man picked up his pace as well. Hearing your heart throbbing in your head as you dashed into the street, running nowhere in particular. The only thing you could think about being your hybrids. And how stupid you were for not being with them right now.

A car hit the breaks noisily and barely stopped in front of you. But not just any car.

“Tae!” you called when you saw the tiger hybrid jump out. He ignored you, turned towards the bear. And he roared, stance ready for an attack. You had never seen your precious Taehyung so angry, so dangerous.

The bear hybrid slowed his charge, coming to a stop a few steps away. “Ah, the kitties.”

“Get in the car,” Jimin called to you and you immediately obeyed, getting in the back seat. Taehyung was still standing between the car and the man, glaring at him. You watched him out of the window, your heart feeling like it was about to jump out of your chest. But just a few more growls and snarls between the two predators, and your boy was getting back into the car and driving quickly away.

Now, you were in big trouble.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Jimin whined at you. You were back home, on your couch, head hung low while the cat paced around the room and the tiger glared at you disapprovingly. “We were worried sick! What if we hadn’t found you? What would happen then?”

The way Taehyung was silent the entire time made you feel so uneasy. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled, biting your bottom lip. When you heard nothing in response, you looked up at them, saw them glancing at each other before looking at you again. Jimin shook his head a bit.

“Sorry is not enough, love,” he said, and your body squirmed a bit. You turned to Taehyung, hoping for a better reaction, or any reaction at all. And he finally moved, sighing and walking to you. Kneeling down to meet your level, a hand grabbing your chin to bring your face closer to his.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you had been marked as ours, love.”

Your eyes widened so much at his words, cheeks instantly burning. But when you looked at Jimin, he seemed to agree. “Why don’t you let us take care of you?” he whined, wrapping his arms around your neck and buring his face into it. Leaving kisses all around. “We love you so much.” His soft lips landed on yours, pecking you along with the rest of your face. Normally, you would push him away at such an act, but your body was frozen.

“I think she needs a reminder of who she really belongs to,” Taehyung growled. You gulped. Jimin was kissing you properly now, seeing how you weren’t stopping him, sucking your neck and leaving marks all over its side. And Taehyung disappeared out of the room.

“Jimin, I-” you tried to speak, but he pressed a finger against your lips.

“I’m sorry, love,” Jimin whispered. “You are ours. It’s time you accepted it.” And he kissed you again, this time slipping his bumpy tongue into your mouth. You moaned into it momentarily before it was over. And Taehyung was back into the room.

“There you go,” he announced dropping one of his old collars on your lap. “This can be your bond to us until we mark you properly. Put it on her.” Jimin obeyed, his soft fingers grazing your neck as he distracted you by putting on the leather strap around it. Distracted enough that you didn’t notice how close Taehyung had gotten until he grabbed a handful of your hair, turning you to face him and crushing his lips on yours aggressively, kissing you like he was fighting you.

You gasped for air. “Tae-” The cat next to you captured your lips right after, jealous of the way his brother was kissing you. “Jiminie…” you moaned, feeling shivers travel down your entire body.

“Don’t think this means we’ll go easy on you, love,” the tiger hybrid said with a smirk. “You are in big, big trouble tonight.”

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sunrisefairy · 4 years ago

Text

Sketches

Pairing: George Weasley x reader

Word count: 2.1k

Summary: Y/N likes drawing people. More specifically, she likes drawing George Weasley. Which is fine, until she loses her notebook and George is the one who finds it.

A/N: Okay so because of lockdown and me having legit nothing to do i spent the last 2 days writing this fic for @teawiththeweasleys writing challenge and i couldnt wait to share it with you. im lowkey very proud of it so i hope you all like it

Taglist: @hufflepuff5972 @inglourious-imagines message me if you would like to be added!

Ever since Y/N was a little girl she was always drawing whether it was scribbles of her family, animals, magical creatures or plants, you could always find the girl with a pencil and paper somewhere nearby. For as long as she could remember her home was covered in her drawings, Y/N’s mum and dad would frame and hang up all of their daughters’ drawings all over the walls. They were so proud of Y/N’s creativity and encouraged her to keep creating her art. It had become a tradition that every year for her birthday Y/N would receive a new notebook and pencils form her parents and it was always her most cherished gift.

Over the last few years Y/N has become very intrigued with drawing faces, she loved how she could capture a person’s emotion with just some charcoal and parchment. More recently when Y/N was sketching she’d try to focus on the subtle and small features that make humans unique and beautiful, may it be the way their eyebrows arched in curiosity or the dimples and freckles etched into their skin or small wrinkles that danced near their eyes when they smiled. Y/N loved it all.

Because Y/N was so captivated with how facial features made everyone unique she found herself draw a particular ginger a lot more than anyone else. George Weasley. Everybody at Hogwarts knew George Weasley was the twin to the confident and loud Fred Weasley. And being that they are identical twins they look very similar. Y/N found it fascinating trying to pinpoint their minor physical differences and she had become quite good at it.

Her brown leather notebook, which if it wasn’t in her hand was usually found stuffed in her book bag, was full of sketches of George. It started of gradual, her drawings of the sweet boy. Y/N was usually found sitting on a bench in the courtyard if the weather was nice, drawing anyone she saw nearby and normally it was someone new each time. But when her eyes landed on the loud group of Gryffindor boys, she felt a pull to the tall boy with fiery hair who was standing next to his twin, both taking turns to tell a story which had the rest of the group engrossed. Y/N wanted to challenge herself, it was simple, she wanted to capture the features that made an identical twin unique.

Y/N spent the last few weeks ‘studying’ George in a very non-threatening and not at all creepy way. The pair had a few classes together being in the same year at school but the two hadn’t really spoken much to each other. So, Y/N admired from afar, normally from across the great hall or in class. She quickly learnt that George’s face was longer than his brothers, his eyes were more slanted, and his lips had a curve in them that was more prominent when he smiled, something he does a lot, Y/N observed.

~~~

The weather was particularly nice on this Saturday afternoon, so naturally Y/N found herself on a bench in the courtyard with her pencil tin open and a range of charcoals scattered around her as she doodled in her notebook (the one which wasn’t unofficially dedicated to George).

“Hello there little Gryffindors-” Y/N heard a voice call from nearby, the voice belonging to Fred Weasley. George was standing next to his twin and the duo were chatting to some unsuspecting first years.

“-anyone fancy a nougat? They are delicious” George finished; the twins shared a mischievous glance at each other.

Y/N quickly grabbed her other notebook and some charcoal and began sketching the boy’s face focusing on the way his eyes sparkled when he laughed at the poor Gryffindor who accepted the free candy which turned out to be a nosebleed nougat. Y/N was absorbed in her sketching she didn’t notice her best friend sit next to her, peering over her shoulder.

“Ah, drawing your lover boy again I see” Alicia chuckled as Y/N slammed the book shut.

“He’s not my lover boy, I’ve already told you; I draw him to-”

“-capture the features that make an identical twin unique. Sure, so if I flick through your other notebooks, I’ll find one dedicated to Fred too then?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, “shut up.”

“Come on creeper, we told the others we’d hang out today.” Alicia pulled on Y/N’s hand as she quickly threw her notebooks and pencil tin in her book bag.

“Merlin, hang on! You’re gonna rip my arm out of its socket!” Y/N giggles hoisting her bag strap higher up her shoulder.

The two girls walked off, arms linked and laughing, neither one noticed the lone notebook that was left on the bench.

~~~

George, Fred and Lee were heading towards the great hall after their amusing interaction with a group of first years when the younger twin noticed a brown book perched on a bench. He detoured that way to pick it up, flicking through the pages in hopes he will find who it belongs to so he can return it.

George furrowed his brows as he dove deeper into the book. He expected it to be filled with notes and writing but he was not expecting to see drawings of people; of him and Fred. But as he looked closer, he quickly realised that they weren’t sketches of him and Fred, just himself.

“Oi! What are you doing? We’re gonna be late for dinner” Fred’s voice pulled him back. George shoved the notebook in his pants pocket and hurried after his twin very confused as to why the notebook was filled with drawings of him.

Later that night George found himself sitting on his bed in his dorm room flipping through the notebook. These drawings were incredible, whoever it belonged to had some serious talent but he couldn’t get over why someone had drawn him, let alone multiple drawings. Each sketch was different to the last though, some were of his whole face others just of his eyes or mouth. George was in awe of the skill this person had; they had managed to capture his face perfectly.

Some might view finding a notebook filled of drawings of themselves a little creepy, however George Weasley found it flattering. You see, for his whole life, George has seen himself as the other half of Fred. Most people in their lives couldn’t tell the pair apart and opted to talk to them and refer to them almost as if they were one person as FredandGeorge and not Fred and George. This notebook was proof that someone out there noticed George as a singular person, an individual, which made George’s heart flutter.

~~~

“Oh godric” Y/N mumbles pouring out the contents of her book bag on the table.

“Hey, Y/N relax. I’m sure it will turn up eventually.” Alicia says in attempt to calm her friend down.

Y/N ran her hands through her hair, very stressed. She had been searching for her notebook all morning with no luck worried that the wrong person had found it and would deem her a creepy stalker.

“How can I relax when my notebook-the notebook which is filled with drawings of George Weasley-has gone missing. Oh merlin, whoever has it will most likely recognise the drawings of George and give it to him and he’ll eventually find out that it belongs to me and think I’m a freak” Y/N’s arms are frantically waving around to empathise her point as she paces up and down the room.

Alicia stops in front of her friend, placing her hands on her shoulders, squeezing reassuringly “Y/N breath. You’ve told me a million times that those drawings are just about capturing someone’s facial features, right? It’s not like you have a crush on the guy so it doesn’t matter if anyone thinks that, because it’s not true.”

Y/N’s sketches of George Weasley had started just as Alicia said but it quickly turned into Y/N possessing a small, okay maybe huge crush on the red head and her trying to find any excuse to stare at him and draw. Y/N’s heart hammered in her chest at the thought of George being the one to find her notebook. There was no way George wouldn’t be freaked out and think Y/N had some weird obsession with him.

“Okay so when was the last time you remember having your book?” Alicia questions.

Y/N racks her brain trying to remember, “yesterday afternoon. In the courtyard on that bench, I was drawing him when you came over. I’m sure I put it in my bag but I haven’t seen it since.”

Alicia nodded, the two deciding that was the best place to start.

Y/N practically sprints to the courtyard, luckily there wasn’t many students here, giving it was a Sunday morning and everyone was probably still sleeping. The two girls look around trying to spot the leather book. Y/N sighs in defeat, collapsing onto the bench and groaing into her hands.

“Bloody hell, I can’t believe I lost it. I’m so stupid”

“Err, Y/N” Alicia nudged her friend’s shoulder.

“Geez, thanks Alicia, you’re meant to say ‘No Y/N you’re not stupid’”

Alicia widened her eyes at Y/N before glancing behind her, “look”.

Y/N follows her gaze and freezes. George Weasley was walking towards them, that in itself was strange but it wasn’t until Y/N looked down at George’s hand and noticed the missing notebook.

“Oh no.”

George had figured whoever misplaced the notebook would probably come back to the last place they had it to search for it. He was hoping for that at least. Not only did he want to return the book to its rightful owner, he also wanted to thank them for seeing him, for noticing him.

As George rounded the corner his eyes scanned the courtyard and were met with Alicia Spinnit and Y/N L/N sitting on the same bench he’d found the notebook on, bingo. Judging by Y/N’s wide eyes that were glued to the notebook in his hand and how Alicia gave her a pat on the shoulder before disappearing, George figured the drawings were the work of Y/N. George’s heart sped up with this information. The two of them weren’t close but were friendly having shared some classes together. George had caught himself on more than one occasion glancing at Y/N during lessons and mealtimes, wondering what it would be like to get to know her. Guess now he has a chance.

His feet stopped a few paces in front of the bench as Y/N gawked up at him.

George cleared his throat, “uh I believe this belongs to you?”

Y/N basically snatches the notebook from his fingers, feeling insanely embarrassed and when Y/N is embarrassed, she rambles. “Oh merlin, I’m so sorry! I’m guessing you looked through it, of course you did. I would have too if I stumbled across a stranger’s book. I’m also guessing you realised all the drawings were of you. Look I’m not some stalker, I swear. Like I’m not some girl that has a massive crush on you and decided to fill a notebook with drawings of you… Well I do have a crush on you. But I promise I didn’t mean to be creepy. I just, I like drawing people and you have a nice face.” Y/N chews on her bottom lip, forcing herself to shut up.

George opens his mouth and closes it a few times as he processes the girl’s words. “Wow, um- I want you to know that I don’t think you’re creepy at all. I was actually really flattered looking through your pictures. It’s nice to know someone sees me as me and not as an extension of Fred.”

The two stare at each other for a few moments, neither one knowing what to say.

George moves to sit beside Y/N, close enough that their thighs are touching, “they are really good by the way. The drawings I mean. You’re very talented.”

Y/N blushes at his words, “thank you. I don’t normally share my art, with the exception of my parents and Alicia.”

George places a hand over his heart, “well in that case I feel very honoured.” He runs his fingers through his hair as Y/N giggles before continuing, “I know we aren’t super close and I kind of hate that it’s taken me this long to ask but would you maybe wanna hang out sometime? Like a date.”

Y/N fiddles with the notebook in her lap trying to hide her excitement “for sure, I’d love that.”

George lets out a sigh of relief, “great, well what are you up to right now? Maybe we can hang out and you can draw more pictures of my handsome face.”

Y/N rolls her eyes and playfully shoves at his side “careful, your head might explode with all that ego. But yes I’d love to hang out with you right now.”

“Cool.”

#George Weasley #George weasley one shot #George weasley x reader #george weasley x you #george weasley fluff #George weasley fanfic #George Weasley fanfiction #george weasley imagine #fred and george #fred weasley #fred weasley oneshot #fred weasley one shot #harry potter #harry potter one shot #harry potter oneshot #harry potter imagine #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you

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curlynerd · 3 years ago

Text

What He Wants

Happy gift posting day for @starrynightdeancas gift exchange! My gift recipient is @bipridedean! She requested a Destiel, canon-adjacent fic, so here it is! I hope you like it! <3

Word Count: 2.6K Rating: G Summary: 5 times Dean said "I do" and 1 time he didn’t. Notes: Post canon, fix-it fic, oneshot, love confessions, Destiel wedding

Also read it on AO3!

The first time it happens Sam is the only one to hear it. They’re alone in the bunker, surrounded by months and months of tireless research. But finally, finally, Dean thinks they’ve discovered how to get into the Empty.

Dean wants to push through the night and get a portal up and running as soon as possible. Sam insists they both go to bed, pleading with Dean that he won’t be able to concentrate on the spellwork to maintain it without at least a few hours of sleep.

Dean spends most of the night staring at the ceiling, thoughts racing through his head at a hundred miles an hour. This time tomorrow, he could have Cas back. This time tomorrow he can--Dean is almost afraid to think it, afraid that giving form to what he wants will somehow curse it and stop it from ever coming true. After all, the thing he wanted most before this was for Cas to love him back, and that didn’t exactly end rosy.

Still, as Dean finally closes his eyes, he allows himself a small, private wish. He hopes this will be the last time he falls asleep alone.

The next morning, they’re both expecting some sort of bump in the road, some rare ingredient or some missing incantation that will set them back even longer, keep Dean from seeing Cas again for God knows how long. But fortune is on their side, and Sam executes the spell flawlessly.

Dean is armed to the teeth with every weapon and protection spell they could collect on short notice. His plan for finding Cas and dragging him back home sits clearly at the front of his mind. His heart pounds in his ears, fast but steady and strong.

“You know, if this doesn’t work, you could get stuck there. I might not be able to open a new portal.” Sam looks at the pulsating mass of black that serves as the portal to the Empty. Worry is etched deeply into his forehead. “Do you really want to do this?”

Dean thinks of Cas’ face, the way he had smiled as he said he loved him. He thinks of how he was so close to having the one thing he really wanted. How Cas had wanted the same.

There’s no peace in loneliness.

Dean tightens his grip on his angel blade, his jaw set, his eyes determined. He’s ready to get his angel back. “Yeah. I do.”

The second time it happens, it takes Cas by surprise. It’s been a week since Dean heroically pulled the love of his life from the Empty...and also since Dean lost all remaining courage. He choked. His unspoken response to Cas’ confession is a taut tension wire between them, keeping them inches apart, words suffocating in their tightly sealed mouths, both terrified to say anything and risk breaking something that can’t be mended.

Dean hates himself for it. It’s cowardice is what it is. It’s a lifetime of desperately fighting against the things that make him vulnerable. Against wanting things. Against believing anyone could love him. Even with Cas’ confession still crystal clear in his memories, Dean doubts.

He is deep into those self-deprecating thoughts when he finds Cas in the garage, struggling to figure out how to change a flat tire on his truck from a Youtube video.

“Cas? What’re you doing?”

Cas startles and immediately hunches his shoulders in guilt. He wasn’t expecting to be caught. “Dean.” He looks down at the lug wrench in his hand, and Dean can see the wheels spinning in his head, trying to concoct a cover story before he shrugs and gives up the truth. “I was trying to fix the truck.”

“You need to go somewhere? Cuz I can just drive you.” Dean’s heart pounds, his mouth going dry. Cas wouldn’t need to sneak around for a little errand.

Cas shakes his head and confirms Dean’s fears. “I wanted to have it ready. In case I needed to leave.”

“Leave?” Dean repeats, and his blood goes cold.

Cas deflates a little, resigned and sad. “I assume I’ll need to soon.”

“You can’t leave!” ‘Tell him!’ screams in Dean’s mind, but he can’t. He can’t. What if he’s wrong? What if Cas doesn’t love him like that? What if Cas doesn’t love him at all anymore? What if Dean screwed it up by staying silent and Cas realized he deserves to be with someone who can provide a simple answer to “I love you?” What if--

“I don’t want to,” Cas says softly. The pain is evident in his eyes as they flicker to his truck, like he expects to need to book it out of here at any moment. “But I wasn’t sure if you wanted me here after--” He cuts himself off and shakes his head. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome,” he amends.

“Cas, this is your home, same as me and Sam.” Cas doesn’t look so convinced. “C’mon man, you really think we don’t want you around?” Dean leans against the side of Cas’ truck to ground himself. “Cas, I want you here.” ‘I want more than that,’ he thinks, and it would be so easy to say what he really needs to say, but he can’t. He fights viciously with his own self-esteem, ripping at it, begging it to let him say more. “Please don’t leave,” he says, small and helpless, and it’s like moving a mountain to say that much.

Cas’ expression softens into longing. His hand clenches at his side, like he’s fighting the urge to reach out to Dean, but he smiles a soft, incredulous smile. “I can stay? You really mean it?”

Dean swallows thickly. A hundred words crowd his throat, fighting to get out, but his own fears win this round and keep them down. Instead all he can manage is a choked, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

The third time it happens, it takes them both by surprise. They’d gone on a hunt, just the two of them while Sam was visiting Eileen, and everything had gone sideways. What they thought was just a troublemaking demon turned out to be an extremely powerful witch, one with more than enough experience in Enochian magic to put Cas in serious danger. And of course Cas was reckless in his desire to protect Dean, and only managed to avoid getting killed by quick thinking and, to be honest, a helluva lot of luck.

The fight left Cas injured, and Dean pissed. “What the hell were you thinking!” he scolds at the end of a cold, silent drive back to the bunker.

“I did what I needed,” Cas shoots back with a steely glare.

“No, you didn’t need to go rushing in like that!” Dean’s worry leeches out as anger, the fear of losing Cas yet again clouding his reasoning that Dean himself would have died without Cas’ quick action. “You could have gotten a lot more hurt!”

“Why does it even matter to you?” Cas yells back, and it’s the note of hysterical bitterness darkening his words that makes Dean snap and say what he’s been hiding for far too long.

“Because I love you, you stubborn ass!”

The words freeze in the air between them, sharp and strong, wedging themself right where Dean’s anger was just a moment ago.

“You...love me?” Cas asks, his voice small, his eyes big.

And like that, Dean’s fears seem so foolish. Cas loves him. Cas died because just admitting he loves him was the happiest moment of his life. Cas has already done the hardest, scariest part for him. Dean doesn’t even have to fear Cas not feeling the same.

Silently, Dean takes a single step forward. Cas is frozen on the spot, staring at him like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He takes another step, and another, until he’s close enough to reach out and tug Cas into an embrace.

“Of course,” Dean breathes. He holds Cas close, tucking his chin over his shoulder and squeezing tight, like he never wants to let go. He doesn’t ever want to let go. Cas is slower to react, but when his arms finally wind around Dean, he breathes out a soft, sobbing gasp and clings to Dean. Dean turns his head to bury his nose in Cas’ hair. “Of course I do.”

The fourth time it happens, Cas doesn’t even hear it. Cas found out about a nearby crafts fair, and all it took was one particularly soulful look from those big blue eyes of his, and Dean was driving them a full hour and a half away to look at homemade pottery and local honey and overpriced tacky mesh wreaths and pretending that the entire atmosphere of the place wasn’t giving him hives.

Cas is having a blast. Dean is carrying bags and lurking in the shadiest spots he can find away from the summer heat while Cas browses. Cas is having an animated conversation about beekeeping with a honey merchant when Dean ducks into a large tent filled with the kind of flowy, bedazzled, polyester shirts he thinks of as “PTA Chic” because they also happen to have a large fan blowing.

“Lookin’ for something in particular, sugar?” The tent owner saunters over to Dean, her Southern accent thick and her top scandalously low. She’s stunningly pretty, and Dean’s eyes and smile light up out of a lifetime of habit. She responds in kind, dragging her eyes down, then back up Dean’s body. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were lookin’ for more than clothes.”

Dean chuckles and flashes her his best charming, but chagrined smile. He feels a little guilty for leading her on, and he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings. “Oh sweetheart, if I were single, I’d gladly take you up on that offer, but I’ve already got my special someone.” Dean nods to the honey booth next door.

Her eyes trail over to where Dean gestured, and for a split second her brow furrows in confusion before she laughs just a little, more incredulous than cruel. “You really want someone like that over me?”

Dean looks over at Cas. And, yeah, Dean gets the question. He’s a grown-ass man wearing cargo shorts, carrying a canvas bag with the most obnoxious sunglasses-wearing beach ball Dean has ever seen, and his hair looks like it's been electrocuted. Dean grins, feeling a rush of fondness for his dorky, criminally unfashionable angel.

“Yeah,” he says softly, without an ounce of hesitation. There’s no one else in the world for him but Cas. “Yeah, I do.”

The fifth time Dean says it, Cas is the only other person around for miles. He drags Cas out of bed bright and early one Saturday, forcing him into the car before he’s even fully finished his coffee. Cas allows it, only because he can tell Dean is positively vibrating with nervous energy. Dean brushes off all of his prying questions during the long drive until they finally arrive at a small, peaceful meadow in the middle of nowhere.

He’s packed a lunch, because ostensibly this outing is meant to be a picnic, even though Cas is suspicious on that fact alone. Dean never picnics. It doesn’t really matter though, because Dean is too nervous to even consider eating.

“So why are we really here?” Cas asks after a few minutes of nibbling at his chips. Dean’s sandwich lays untouched on the blanket.

Dean steels his nerve and takes a deep breath. “Do you know where this is?” he asks, fighting the jittery bouncing of his heartbeat to keep his voice steady.

Cas nods. “This is where I returned when Jack resurrected me.” He looks around, smiling down at the flowers surrounding the two of them. The windmill behind him creaks softly in the wind.

“And where I spread your ashes.” Dean’s fidgeting fingers find a frayed edge on the blanket, and he starts picking at it.

Cas nods again and remains silent, patiently waiting for Dean to find the rest of his words.

“And it’s…” Dean pulls a thread out of the blanket and lets it fly away in the wind. “This is where I realized I love you. I’m an idiot who didn’t even realize how much I loved you until after you were gone.”

Cas leans forward and rests his hand on Dean’s knee, warm and reassuring. Dean continues, “At the time I’d thought, ‘I can’t do this. I don’t want to live without him.’ Which was stupid because you were already dead. It didn’t matter what I wanted.”

Cas squeezes his knee. His eyes are gentle. “We’re both okay now.”

Dean’s heart warms. “Yeah. We are. But you know I...That feeling’s never gone away. You and me? I want us to be forever.” Dean reaches into his pocket. There’s no small velvet box, no shimmering diamonds, just a thick band of practical silver he found at a pawn shop. He looks down at the ring with a tender smile. “Man, never in a million years did I think I’d ever be doing this,” he marvels, and when he looks up, Cas’ eyes are wide with surprise.

“Dean?” His normally steady voice wavers.

Dean reaches for Cas’ face, his thumb gently stroking across his cheek. He holds up the ring. “What do you say, Cas? Wanna go legit about this?”

Cas’ expression is impossibly soft, eyes overflowing with love and devotion. He swallows thickly around a lump in his throat and takes the ring from Dean. He slides it onto his finger and stares at it like it’s his own personal miracle.

“You’re serious, Dean? You really want to get married?”

Dean smiles as he leans in close. Just before he kisses his new fiance, he whispers, “Of course I do.”

The sun is setting, casting long shadows down the sand. The shifting winds coming from the sea carry a chill, making the little crowd gathered around them draw their jackets close and huddle together, but the smiles on their faces are nothing but warm. There’s no altar. No stage. No decorations. Just Cas and Dean, standing in front of the ocean, wearing their favorite flannels and jeans, two bright yellow black-eyed susans pinned to their shirts--stolen right out of someone’s garden on their way to the beach.

They didn’t even bother trying to put out chairs for the ceremony, not knowing how many of their friends and family would be able to make the long drive to see Dean get hitched to his angel, but in the end it’s a good thing, because damn near everyone came, and they need to crowd in close to hear them over the wind.

It’s completely and utterly perfect.

Dean grins, unable to take his eyes off Cas while Donna, the only member of his overly-emotional family he trusts not to bawl her eyes out through the ceremony, finishes the last of their vows.

“Do you, Castiel, take Dean Winchester to be your, well, not so lawfully wedded husband?”

There’s a twitter of laughter from the crowd. Cas smiles a sweet, crooked smile and squeezes Dean’s hand. “I do.” His voice is soft, meant for Dean’s ears only, because Dean is the only one his promise matters to.

“And do you, Dean Winchester, FBI’s Most Wanted, thrice dead criminal, and the terribly generous gentleman who will surely be covering our drinks on this celebratory evening, take Castiel to be your husband?”

Dean looks at Cas. Even in the dim light of the setting sun, his eyes are impossibly blue. His smile is so warm Dean knows he’ll never feel cold again, so long as he can see it every day. Dean beams back and proclaims loud enough for everyone on the beach to hear, “Oh hell yes!”

#userstarry #starrynightdeancas gift exchange #bipridedean #tuserari #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #destiel fanfiction #deancas fanfiction #destiel wedding #deancas wedding #dean winchester #castiel #spn #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #katie writes things

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tobiosmilktea · 4 years ago

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nom de plume — bokuto koutarou

1.6k words | genre/s: barista!au, fluff | warning/s: — | pairing: bokuto x gn!reader

↪︎ in which bokuto gives you a fake name every time he comes to the cafe you work at. you’ve been dying to know the handsome stranger’s real name, but here you are scribbling “captain america” onto his stupid caramel macchiato

a/n: here’s something short and sweet to quench my need to write a fic after writing boring essays all week for school. not the most original content either but i needed something simple :p

there were four types of regulars you would see walk through those doors of the cafe you worked at. either to spend as little as five minutes to the entire day inside the shop just to breathe in the serenity of light jazz music humming in the background. you’ve been working at this establishment long enough to relish how different every single person’s life was as they stood in front of you and ordered their special pick-me-up for the day.

you could easily tell what a person was like based on what they order—like that middle-aged office worker with a receding hairline that always entered the cafe in the midst of an angry phone call with a client, disrupting in the calm mornings with bickering. he usually orders an iced americano, bitter and dark enough to match the dark circles under his eyes and wrinkles adorning his forehead. not entirely your favorite, but he tipped well.

then there was the occasional university student, overworked trying to finish three different essays while cramming for an exam. they usually come in small study groups that end up messing around half of the time or they trickle in as individuals, eyes all red and glued to their laptop screens as they try to chug the remaining contents of their cappuccinos with three shots of espresso.

then there were the soccer moms with their obnoxiously specific drinks, ranging from the different flavors of frappuccinos with extra, extra caramel drizzle.

and then there were guys like him—the one with alabaster hair and darkened roots who just walked inside the cafe—your favorite. the door swinging opening and causing the bell right above the threshold to ding. the tall, hot, and beefy regular with a smile so intoxicating that he catches you off guard each time he walks in exactly at two-thirty in the afternoon.

you didn’t know his name, but you recognized his face, all chiseled and annoyingly handsome. this time he was accompanied by his friend again, akaashi with dark frames resting on the bridge of his nose.

unlike his companion, you actually knew his name as he would actually give it to you, unlike the latter who preferred giving out a new nickname each time he comes around to visit. hell, you knew a lot more about akaashi despite seeing him far less often.

to say you were a bit peeved of this fact was beyond question.

the only thing you truly knew about the man you were inexplicably interested in was that he always ordered an iced caramel macchiato with almond milk. he was very particular about the non-dairy part of that order.

“what can i get you two?” you ask the two towering figures before you. though, it wasn’t much of a question when you already knew what they would order.

“a flat white for me,” says akaashi.

the usual, you think. he says he likes the foam art designs you make.

“and an iced caramel macchiato for me,” says the other, giving you that infamous toothy grin.

god, he was so cute. if only i knew your name, stranger.

you input their orders into your screen quickly, the total popping up on the smaller screen in front of akaashi and his friend as he takes out his card. he inserts the chip in for a few seconds, waiting for the beep to emit from the machine before taking it out in a swift flick.

once the payment goes through, your fingers pull the black sharpie clipped onto your apron off as you grab a cup.

akaashi didn’t bother mentioning his name as you were already scribbling it down in cursive—swift, yet satisfyingly neat. on the other hand, you waited for the white-haired boy to mention what new moniker that piqued his interest today. your eyes met his with patient intent.

“captain america,” he mutters with the corners of his lips tugging up into an amused smile. as if he was proud of himself for saying such, you couldn’t help melt into his contagious grin. like a ray of sunshine that would immediately melt away your troubles, you swore your heart skipped a beat.

the brunet flicks his eyes back and forth from you and his friend, temporary intrigue setting in as he holds back a smirk. “sorry about him,” akaashi pats his friend’s shoulder, “we’ve been rewatching the entirety of the mcu and just finished captain america before coming here.”

“oh, no worries, i’m used to it.” you wave it off, “it isn’t the first time he used marvel superheroes as nicknames. just two days ago he used vision after i reminded him that he had already used thor twice in the past week.”

“i’m surprised you remembered them in the first place,” akaashi’s friend confesses.

“how could i forget? i always look forward to whatever name you give me next.”

you thought you saw a hint of red blush dusting his cheeks when you flick a look over to him, but you weren’t too sure.

perhaps it was just your imagination.

noticing that you were only holding them up by making useless conversation, you clear your throat, muttering almost incoherently, “i’ll have your drinks ready in a few minutes.”

you dipped back towards the coffee machine before they could even thank you. their cups were gripped tightly in your hands as you placed them down next to the machine. the ground up coffee beans cascaded down the dispenser and into the portafilter. carefully, you compressed it tightly into the container before brewing the espresso into a small shot glass.

“is that the guy you were talking about?” your coworker, mitsuko, pops up from behind you and asks. you jolt a bit, almost spilling the piping hot, steamed milk in your hands when you give her a look, “you weren’t wrong when you said he was a complete hunk!”

playfully rolling your eyes, you continue making their coffees, careful not to spill anything that could possibly garner more attention towards you as you could see his towering figure over the barrier.

mitsuko’s eyes cast down towards one of the cups, grabbing at one of them to read the name. “captain america, huh?” she reads before glancing at him, “he fits the name well, at least. you think he’s an athlete?”

you shrug, “not sure, but i heard he’s a big marvel fan. he used quicksilver, vision, and thor in the past week.”

“aren’t you ever curious about his real name?” mitsuko asks as you smile contently at the foam art before snapping the cover atop akaashi’s flat white.

“of course i am,” you say, setting the ready-made drink to the side to start the other. “i suppose the guy likes his privacy. who knows, maybe he’s famous or something.”

you say that partly as a joke, but something inside of you thinks that perhaps that this was that one in a million chance. how would something of such a high caliber as him not be inherently well-known, even if it was just a little bit?

mitsuko snorts at your vehemence, slapping the meat of her thigh as if that was the funniest thing she has heard all day. “as if any famous person would ever come into a random cafe in a small city, (y/n).”

you didn’t answer for a few beats as you completed the white-haired boy’s drink, capping it properly. you weren’t ignoring your coworker’s statement, yet rather simmering in the thought of how ridiculous it actually sounded.

maybe this guy just wanted to have some cheap amusement. nothing more nothing less. it was just a name after all.

you let out a sigh, “as much as i would love to know his real name, it’s none of my business. speaking of which, has he ever given anyone else random nicknames when he comes by?”

mitsuko shrugs, “he only ever comes by when you work.”

“seriously?” you’re quite surprised.

“yup, this is the first time i’ve ever seen the infamous regular who only gives out fake names.” she mused, “maybe he does it to get your attention.”

you roll your eyes, scoffing at the thought. how ridiculous. you never wanted to wipe that smirk off of your coworker’s face as you wave her off, approaching the open end of the counter as you readied yourself to hand them their drinks.

they had been patiently waiting at the other end of the counter for a few minutes now, grateful they didn’t complain at your discrete chatter with mitsuko as some patrons would. instead, they smiled at your approaching figure with their coffees in your hands.

“here’s your flat white,” you hand the cup over to akaashi.

he flicks you a charming look of appreciation before making his way towards the cafe’s entrance. you couldn’t exactly pinpoint if he was in a hurry or not as he left you and his friend alone.

you didn’t entirely mind, though, as you shook it off.

you handed the man his drink, “and to the dude whose name that i shall never know.”

he mutters a brief thank you as he takes it from your hand, fingers brushing against each other and causing your heart to rush.

“aren’t you curious?” he asks suddenly.

your brows furrow, “about what?” you replied as you feign innocence.

“my name,” he clarifies.

“well, unless your name is actually captain america, why wouldn't i be curious?” a smirk was slowly appearing on your lips, “besides, with the dozens of people i see almost everyday, i have to say that you’ve caught my attention, stranger.”

he grins, hand fishing through his pocket, “well, since you’re dying to know,” he hands you a tiny slip of paper, making sure the tips of his fingers linger feather-like touches on the palm of your hand. “come and find out for yourself.”

he sends you a wink before walking out of the cafe, leaving you absolutely dumbfounded. your shaky fingers unfold the creases of the paper, eyes scanning the contents of his messy handwriting.

000-000-0000

the name’s bokuto — call me! :)

general taglist: @yongboxerrr @crybabbicus @rosepetalhaven @tvwhoresblog @tanakaslastbraincell @kellesvt @kitsunetea @milktyama

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #bokuto koutarou #bokuto x reader #bokuto fluff #bokuto scenarios #bokuto imagines #haikyuu bokuto

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imaginedisish · 4 years ago

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Feels Like We Only Go Backwards (Tenet) Neil x Reader

A/N: Hey there guys!!! I’m back...again ahhhhh. I’ve been gone for a while (I always am) but hopefully I’ll be back for a while now :) I hope you’re all staying safe and doing well. I know the world is ass, but hopefully things will be better soon. Anyway, I’m obsessed with Tenet right now and I decided that I had to write a Neil x Reader one shot (I love Robert Pattinson, it’s a problem) Also, I think this is my longest fic yet...if someone wants to let me know how to do the “keep reading” thing, please tell me omg. I’m so sorry to those who have to scroll through this. Hopefully I can change that. Anyway folks, ENJOY!!!

p.s pls request tenet stuff. gimme some smut to write.

Summary: You allow your feelings for Neil to get in the way, causing you to compromise the mission and put everyone in danger. (AU, obviously because of the reader insert, and also because this particular scene does not actually happen in the movie). ~loosely based off “Feels Like We Only Go Backwards” by Tame Impala~

Warnings: Violence, mentions of death, guns, blood, wounds, cursing, angst, possibly implications of being “lovers (or friends with benefits)” and luckily fluff :)

Word Count: 4,163 (Please fucking teach me how to add the “read more” thing holy shit)

You storm down the cold, grey, skinny hallway lit with dimmed fluorescents. There was something inexplicably chilling about this place, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on exactly what that thing was. Maybe it was the way the lights reflected against the walls, glowing subtly against the tiles. It wasn’t a pretty glow. It was the glow one could expect to see along the walls of a morgue.

Maybe it was the peculiar, dull ringing that followed you down the corridor, haunting your every step. Maybe it was the simple sound of your heels clicking against the concrete floors, and the idea that those clacks could call someone to your very location and leave you absolutely defenseless. Maybe it was the fact that you only had two bullets left in your glock.

Or, it was because he wasn’t with you anymore.

You quickly shake off the thought that he, of all people, could make you feel better. You didn’t need him. Hell, you didn’t need anyone, you thought to yourself. But still, your mind kept circling back to the image of him popping up in front of you, taking your hand and leading you away to-

You cut yourself off. You couldn’t let your mind wonder for that long, especially about Neil. Still, you can’t help but flash back to just minutes ago, when Neil was by your side, when you made the massive mistake of letting your feelings get away of the mission.

Neil pulled you down the hall, his hand firmly clasped around the upper part of your right arm. He was practically dragging you with him since you couldn’t keep up with his speed.

Finally, Neil yanks you into an alcove, hoping you two can hide for at least a few minutes before running again.

“Neil you need to give me an answer, what the fuck is-,” Suddenly, Neil pushes you against the wall, his right hand presses hard on your hip while his left hand covers your mouth. His face is in yours. Any personal space between you two is non-existent. He’s so close that you can feel his breath on your nose. He’s so close that you can feel wisps of his dirty blonde hair dance across your forehead.

He smirks, “No time for answers.” You felt a twinge in your stomach, like butterflies, or maybe something much more gross, because now was not the time for Neil to make you feel this sort of way.

The worst part is that he knows exactly what he’s doing. He carefully selects each and every movement he makes. He removes his hand from your mouth and places it at the nape of your neck instead, his thumb brushing lightly just below your hairline.

You stifle a quiet moan at his touch. “N-Neil, what are you doing?” Your voice is quiet, but shaky.

“Keeping you calm, I can tell you’re about to lose it,” He says matter-of-factly. Of course that’s the only reason, there’s nothing romantic here, and there never will be.

‘Neil will never feel the way I feel about him’ you think to yourself. You can’t help but get a bit angry at his ability to put you under his spell. Despite your heart racing, despite your brain being bent out of shape by the close proximity of Neil, you can’t help but feel calmer. And you hated that. You were too stubborn for your own good.

He breaks the silence, “Are you alright? I figured you’d have something to say. You said you wanted to talk to me before, didn’t you?”

Before…when you had planned on telling him how you felt. You were going to tell him before. Before the mission escalated past the point of return. Before you had ruined everything. Before Neil risked his life to bring you to safety. You had fucked up this time, insurmountably. It wasn’t entirely your fault, but you didn’t make it much better.

Neil blew the entire team’s cover all to save you. You forgot the script, all because you were far too concerned with how you were going to handle your feelings for Neil. It wasn’t just any mission, either. It had to do with Sator’s henchmen. This was Tenet’s way in. This was how you could get more information. This was how you could save the world.

And yet, you brought it all down. Somehow, Sator’s men believed that you were the only spy, and that everyone else was legitimate. They were going to kill you and spare the others, but Neil practically threw you out of the room and down the hall before anything could happen. The second he grabbed you, gun shots erupted. Now you had to pay for it, hiding in a barely-lit, cold hallway, with Sator creeping somewhere close behind, ready to attack.

Suddenly, the guilt began to overwhelm you. What if this was it, what if you would be the reason Neil would die? What if your actions destroy the mission all together? Tears free themselves from your eyes, sliding slowly down your cheeks.

“Hey,” Neil whispers as he moves the hand that rested on your neck up to your left cheek. He wipes away a few tears with his thumb. “It’s alright. We’re going to be fine, don’t worry-,”

Before he can get another word out, you grab his hand. “Stop, please, just stop,” You plead, unable to take anymore. He has to know what he’s doing to you, he just has to, you think, as your sadness slowly turns to anger. It irritated you that he was able to swoop in and save your day. It irritated you that he was able to touch you and comfort you, despite the lack of relationship that you desperately wanted fulfilled more than anything. None of this was fair. It wasn’t fair that he could be this non-nonchalant while you were practically doubled over with butterflies and other real anxieties from the situation you were currently in.

Neil looks a bit more annoyed now. “I’m just trying to help,” He says, his eyes staring deeply into yours. Those eyes, you could drown in them if you weren’t careful, so you snap back into reality, allowing yourself to feed into your anger.

“Maybe I don’t need your help,” You say, instantly regretting the words as they leave your lips.

The corners of Neil’s mouth turn up slightly, his cocky attitude showing yet again. “So back there, earlier,” He gestures backwards, to the past, “You didn’t need my help?”

You shake your head, “I’m just sick of this.”

Neil’s smile fades away as a confused look finds itself on his face. “Of what?” There’s a sadness in his voice. “Us?”

His use of“Us” immediately takes you back. ‘What the fuck does he mean by “Us”?’ You ask yourself. You were undeniably close, but he never confirmed or denied his feelings for you.

Your stomach does a back flip before you allow yourself to grow angry again.

“There is no ‘Us’, and that’s the problem Neil,” You say, pushing him off of you. He stumbles out of the alcove and rushes back in, closing the space between you and him once again.

Neil gives you a puzzled look.“Bloody hell,” you hear him mumble under his breath. “What the fuck are you talking?” There’s a seriousness in his voice now. His cocky facade disappears into nothingness. He’s frustrated, and it’s all because of you.

You just couldn’t take it anymore. You needed to say it.

“Don’t act like you don’t know how I feel.” Your voice is louder now, and it seems as though you’re practically begging to give away your hiding spot. “Neil I-,”

He covers your mouth with his left hand once again. “Alright that’s it,” His voice is still quiet, “You’re the one that needs to stop now. You don’t know how much I-,”

You push him into the wall before he can get a word out, just as he had interrupted you seconds ago.

You step out into the hallway. “I don’t know what? How much you don’t care about me?” You notice the sudden pain in Neil’s face. You didn’t expect that, but you also refuse to believe it’s real. “I don’t need you, Neil. I never have and I never will.”

You begin walking down the hallway as Neil whisper shouts your name, trying to get you to come back without blowing your cover.

“(Y/N)! Please!” He calls out.

A hand on your shoulder brings you back to reality and stops you dead in your tracks, “(Y/L/N), I’ve been waiting to meet you.” It’s a familiar voice, a voice you’ve heard before. It’s bitter, callous and malignant. A chill runs up your spine as the name of the voice dawns on you. You flinch, quickly stepping backwards and spinning around to look at the devil-man in front of you. Although, you know he would prefer if you referred to him as a god.

“Sator,” You curse, spitting on the ground disrespectfully. You brandish your gun, trying to put on your best fake-confident face. Sator doesn’t know you only have two bullets left, and quite frankly he doesn’t need to, you think to yourself.

Before you can even aim, Sator launches towards you.

You jump back, and turn around to run. There’s no way you could get away from him in what you were wearing. Your black kitten heals slowed you down a great deal. Your tight, black dress made it hard for you to move in any way at all.

Sator is right behind you. You kick off your heels, allowing you to speed up a bit. While running barefoot is much better, you know you can’t last forever. You run for a few more seconds before realizing that Sator is only getting closer.

You turn around, back peddling now. You hold your glock up and aim.

BANG!

The bullet misses Sator and ricochets off the tiled wall. What the fuck? You think to yourself as the bullet falls to the ground. The walls must be bullet proof or something.

Sator is almost within an arm’s reach of you. You lift your gun again and take aim.

BANG!

But it’s no use. you miss again. This time, the bullet hits such an angle that it comes back straight towards you. It grazes against your left side.

“FUCK!” You cry out in pain, stumbling a bit. You try your best to continue running, but the pain is far too great to keep going. You feel your legs starting to give out. You crumble to the ground, letting a small whimper of pain escape your lips. You grab your side, blood draining into your hands and onto the floor.

Sator chuckles maliciously. “You seriously thought you could get away? This is my place. You’re playing in my world,” He shakes his head and reaches for his gun. He points the weapon directly at your head,

“And just so you know, I’m God here.”

Tears form in your eyes as you hear the gun cock. You brace yourself for impact as your thoughts find their way back to Neil. You hate how you left things, especially considering that would be the last conversation he ever had with you. Guilt began to grow heavy in your stomach.

What a way to die, totally and completely guilty, a failure, and alone, You think to yourself, as tears fall down your cheeks.

Sator chuckles again. “Crying are we know? Too late for tears, (Y/N). I think you’re all out of time.” You shudder at his words and you prepare for this moment to be your last, shutting your eyes tightly.

“No! (Y/N)!” A familiar voice cries out from behind you.

BANG!

You open your eyes to see Sator standing in his place, the gun now pointing above your head. You look down and see a single bullet right next to you. It must have ricochetted off the wall, just like yours did. But where did it come from? You think.

Turning around slowly, you spot who Sator is pointing his gun towards.

“N-Neil,” You stutter, wincing in pain simply from talking. His gun points back at Sator. His eyes nervously look you up and down. This was far different from when the evening started. You remembered the way Neil looked at you when you had finished getting ready. You remember how he knocked on the door to your hotel room and let himself in. He didn’t wait for you to give him the okay.

“Wow,” Neil said, taken back by your tight, little black dress. He looked you up and down, seemingly removing each article of clothing in his head. “You look incredible.”

You missed that moment now. You wish you could just go back. But now you were faced with reality, with a gun in your face.

Sator looks down at you, and back up to Neil. “I think I’ll let you watch her die, and only after you watch her take her last breath, I’ll kill you too. How’s that?”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Neil states confidently. You look up at him, confused.

Just as Sator pulls the trigger, Neil grabs your arm and slides you out of the way.

In the near distance, just a short ways behind Sator, you see a fiery cloud of orange erupt, followed by a massive boom. Neil somehow was able to orchestrate some sort of explosion.

Sator stops in his tracks and turns to look behind him, giving Neil just enough time to pick you up and run down the hallway, turning down a series of other corridors in an attempt to outrun Sator.

It isn’t long before Neil realizes that you’re bleeding onto him. “H-holy shit,” He looks down to your left side. “I need to get you out of here.”

You ignore what he’s saying. “Why did you come back for me?” You whisper to Neil.

He steals a quick look at you as he continues to run down the hallway, but he doesn’t answer your question.

You clear your throat and try again. “Why did you come back?”

He ignores you again as you approach an intersection of 3 hallways, each one looking the exact same as the one you’re currently in. Neil pauses for a second, contemplating his options. His heart is beating out of his chest. You’ve never seen him this nervous. While you had only been at Tenet for about half a year now, you had grown to know Neil far too well. The stolen moments you shared, the kisses you swore to tell no one about. You didn’t know what you were with Neil. You didn’t know if this was superficial or real to him. But, you knew his emotions like you knew the back of your hand. You could tell he was panicking. You had never seen him quite like this. Something was different. Suddenly, Neil grunts and choses to go down the hallway to your right.

You wanted to say something to him, to talk to him, but you felt yourself falling in and out of consciousness. You knew you needed to stay awake. Neil looked down to check on you and immediately noticed your condition.

“Stay with me, okay?” He begged. You had never heard Neil talk like this before. “Please stay with me. I’m right here, it’s going to be okay.” He started to pick up his pace, practically sprinting down the hallway now.

“N-Neil?” You managed to call out to him.

“Yes, darling?” He responded between gasps for air. You could tell that he was getting tired.

“Are you okay?” You ask, looking around his body for any signs of blood or even for a possible gun shot wound.

Neil starts to slow down a bit. He looks down at you again, “I’m alright. It’s you I’m worried about.”

“You’re not actually worried, are you?” You ask.

Neil stops for a second, completely out of breath. He takes this as an opportunity to look at your injuries again. He puts his hand over your wound and feels all the blood that’s there. He shakes his head, clearly nervous about how much blood you’ve lost. He readjusts his hold on you, making sure you’re secured in his arms.

He brings his face closer to yours. “Fuck, of course I’m worried about you,” He says in a stern tone. He seems annoyed at the thought that you didn’t know he cared about you. “What the fuck would make you think otherwise?” He isn’t just annoyed now, he’s angry, yet he doesn’t take his face away from yours. You can feel his breath on your nose, just like you did before. The wisps of his hair greet your forehead again too.

“I-I guess I just don’t know how to read you,” You say, taking a deep breath once you finish your sentence. Neil quickly picked up on your labored breathing and began to jog again.

There’s silence for just a few seconds before Neil finds the right words to say. “I came back for you because I care about you. The second you left I chased after you. You were just far too quick for me.”

Your heart flutters in your chest. You didn’t know how much he cared for you. You figured he only saw you as a member of the team, a coworker, a girl to flirt with, someone he had to care for out of convenience and association. The way he was speaking now lead you to believe that he cared for you far beyond that. You stare up into his blue eyes, gathering the courage to finally confess how you feel to him. You felt yourself slipping more quickly out of consciousness, and you desperately wanted him to know how you felt.

“Neil, I just want you to know that-,”

Your words are interrupted by the loud swinging of a door. Suddenly, you’re outside the now flaming building and in the bitter, dark night. The wind whips and nips at your bare skin. You take a quick look around and remember that you’re in Amsterdam. At least it’s a pretty place to die, You think to yourself. You shiver as the wind attacks you again.

Neil notices how cold you are. He sets you down on a nearby bench and takes his brown suit jacket off, draping it over you. He picks you up and starts jogging again.

Just a short ways up the street is the BMW he had been driving for the mission. He opens the car door with one hand, making sure to keep you nestled into his chest with the other. He puts you down on the passenger’s seat, buckles you in, and carefully shuts the door.

When he gets in on the other side, he sees you drifting off again. “Come on, (Y/N), stay with me, please,” He pleads. He leans over to you and gently kisses your forehead. Your eyelids throw themselves open as Neil’s lips leave your skin. He starts the car engine and begins to drive away. He doesn’t say a thing, but you can’t stop thinking about what just happened.

“What was that?” You ask, wondering if he simply did that to distract you, to wake you up. He had to know what effect he had on you.

Neil doesn’t say a thing. He only speeds up, blasting through red lights and ignoring stop signs. You look over at him. He looks like an absolute mad man. His dirty blonde hair is a mess. Dark, purple bags rest under his blue eyes.

At one point, Neil turns the on the radio and glances at you. “Try to listen to some music, maybe it can keep you awake.” Or maybe his concern for your well being could be enough motivation for you.

It feels like I only go backwards baby,

Every part of me says, “Go ahead”

I got my hopes up again, oh no, not again,

Feels like we only go backwards, darling.

Neil somehow gets even faster. You notice that he’s pushing the gas pedal all the way into the floor of the car. You manage to get out one final sentence before losing consciousness, “If I don’t die from this wound, I might die from your driving.”

Then, your eyes shut and the whole world goes black.

——

Your eyes feel like they’re glued shut, but you force them to open. There’s an arm pulling you in tightly to a firm, warm chest. You inhale deeply, instantly recognizing the scent.

It was Neil. His face was right in front of yours. He looked so calm, so relaxed. Either this was Heaven, or he somehow managed to save your life from his hotel room. You were hoping it was the latter. You wanted this to be real life.

Neil began to stir about a bit, but his arm never left your back. In fact, the more he stirs, the closer you seem to get to him. You decide to take it all in, because you know reality is going to come crashing down eventually. You know Neil is going to back off of you, apologize, and quickly say that he was merely watching over you to make sure you weren’t dying and didn’t mean to fall asleep. There was no way that he meant to hold you like that.

“Good morning,” Neil said casually, not taking his arm off of you. He manages to pull you even closer still. Now your noses are touching. A playful smile stretches across Neil’s lips.

You couldn’t believe this was happening. You’re shocked, too shocked to say a thing.

Your silence makes Neil concerned, “What’s wrong? Did I do something? Are you in pain?”

You smile at him, “No, everything is okay. Of course I’m in pain, but this feels good.” Neil’s smile reappears. But, you’re still confused. “I just need to know something Neil,” You say, as the smile disappears from Neil’s face yet again.

“What’s the matter?” He asks as he draws letters on your back, or at least that’s what it feels as though he’s doing.

You shake your head slightly. “Nothing is the matter,” You pause, recalling the events of the previous night. “It’s just, am I okay? How much blood did I loose? And Neil I need to know how you feel about-,”

Neil abruptly cuts your rambling off, “You’re alright. I took care of you after you passed out. I cleaned out the wound and sowed you up. It was easier to do with you asleep, to be honest. I don’t think you would’ve like it very much,” Neil grins before continuing, “Luckily your heart rate stayed completely stable the whole time.”

You nod your head, waiting for him to address the half asked question towards the end of your rambling that he seemed to get the understanding of. But, there’s no response.

You decide it’s time to say something. It can’t wait any longer. “Neil, I need to know what all this means. I need to know how you feel about me.”

“Likewise,” He returns, but there’s no grin upon his face. He’s serious, if not somber.

Regardless, you’re annoyed. “Likewise?” You repeat back to him. “I’ve liked you since the second I saw you, and I feel as though I’ve made that abundantly clear. I’ve given you all the signs, all the hints, and you just continue to play these stupid ga-,”

Neil cuts you off, “I had to sit there and watch you almost die. I worked on your wound all night. I’ve been fucking terrified for the past 12 hours wondering whether or not you would make it. I ditched the team to make sure you were safe, and I don’t regret that choice one bit. These aren’t games (Y/N). Being in love with someone isn’t a fucking game.”

Silence fills the room. Being in love with someone…those words repeated over and over again in your head. You couldn’t let them go.

Neil catches gaze and holds it. He’s waiting for something from you, but you don’t know how to communicate how you feel anymore. It was like he broke you.

You know Neil can’t take the tension anymore, and before you can say a word, Neil’s lips hungrily crash into yours. He grabs your waist carefully, keeping you pulled in tight without hurting your wound.

Neil’s lips leave yours. “Are you happy now?” He asks, brushing where he just was with his thumb.

“Y-yes,” You say, wanting more.

“Then it’s settled,” Neil states confidently. He smiles slyly, as he always does.

You’re confused beyond belief. “What is?”

“That you’re mine,” Neil says, taking your chin in between his index finger and thumb. He brings your face closer to his, and kisses you again.

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yoificfinder · 3 years ago

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Hi! I was wondering if you would be able to find some time travel/time loop AUs where Victor and Yuuri (and other members of the YoI cast) are thrown around in time please? Thank you so much!

Hi! These are some time travel fics (mix of both canonverse and AUs) I read and enjoyed:

Previous rec of time travel fics where they meet their other self in the other timeline

a great desire to love by lily_winterwood / @omgkatsudonplease [T, 22K]

For some strange, inexplicable, fantastic reason, Yuuri Katsuki and Viktor Nikiforov are trading places. Kimi no Na wa AU.

All Our Yesterdays by @kitsunebi-uk [E, 102K]

York, England, 2120: Yuuri Katsuki is a dime-a-dozen techie, spending his days doing routine repairs at the university. He hangs out with his friend Phichit, goes for a drink, watches holograms. It’s an existence – but is it a life?

Crowood Castle, Yorkshire, 1392: As the son of a baron, Sir Victor Nikiforov makes judgements where lives hang in the balance. As a knight, he must sometimes end them. It’s what he was born to do – but what of the heavy burden on his soul? Death is all too commonplace, while life and love remain elusive.

When a brilliant scientist goes rogue, journeying to the Middle Ages with the world’s first time machine, Yuuri is stunned to be called on as the last hope of preventing her from changing history. After an abrupt departure, he lands at Crowood Castle disguised as an enemy of the Nikiforovs, Sir Justin le Savage – and will need to act the part if he is to survive. It’s a tall order for someone who can barely tell the back end of a horse from the front. But if Ailis, in her own disguise, discovers who he is, his mission will end in a blaze of laser-gun fire. He must not give his real identity away, even to the beguiling knight he’s falling in love with…

Elevators Out of Order by mtothedestiel [E, 31K] *WIP

A Kate and Leopold AU. In 1876, Victor Nikiforov is a handsome duke with an inventive imagination and a dwindling fortune. The search for a wealthy bride brings him to America, and the capital of progress, New York City. Can an encounter with a mysterious stranger offer Victor a future he never dreamed of?

Meanwhile in 2017, physicist turned paper-pusher Yuuri Katsuki is just trying to get through the day, which is tough enough without surprise phone calls from his roommate announcing he has a 19th-century aristocrat out cold on their sofa.

To top things off, it would seem every elevator in Manhattan is suddenly out of order. What a coincidence.

Here Once and Back Again by Cbear2470 [E, 77K] *WIP *Major Character Death

“What?” was all Yuuri could say as a numbness froze over his body.

Something—something wasn’t right. It was then he realized he couldn’t remember getting to the rink. He couldn’t remember even stepping on the ice to start his program.

He couldn’t remember.

He tried to remember.

As Yuuri is skating his free skate, he knows something is off. But, he brushes it aside, too focused on executing the program flawlessly.

It isn't until after it's all over that Yuuri comes to discover that he just skated his gold-medal winning, record-breaking program at the 2014-15 Grand Prix Final in Sochi. The very same final Yuuri had once upon a time placed last in over two years ago.

here's to the glory still to be by @foxfireflamequeen [Not Rated, 12K]

“Hi,” says Viktor, smile bright and camera-ready. His hand, when he extends it, is small and delicate. “I think you know who I am, but we haven’t met.”

His accent is very thick, very Russian in a way Yuri has never heard before. He looks from the offered hand to Viktor’s face, barely an inch higher, and tracks his hair, long and pale and spilling over his shoulders. He can’t be older than, well, Yuri.

“No,” says Yuri. “We haven’t.”

in another dimension series by @alykapediaaa [T, 8K]

Summary of first fic in the series

Entertainment >> Celebrity News

Viktor Nikiforov: Finally Found!

SOMERSET – Russian model Viktor Nikiforov, 27, who has been declared missing last May of this year was finally found earlier today. Nikiforov, known as the face of luxury brand Stammi Vicino, was vacationing at Bath, Somerset after a successful season when he suddenly disappeared, leaving all of his belongings, as well as his poodle, behind. Yakov Feltsman, Nikiforov’s manager, has yet to release a statement. Read More.

Life Unwoven by ayn2390 [M, 23K] *Indefinite Hiatus

Five-Time Consecutive Grand Prix Final Winner Katsuki Yuuri meets Five-Time Consecutive Grand Prix Final Winner Victor Nikiforov.

or,

In which things are tangled, and untangled, and tangled again. And Victor will always be there to save Yuuri.

Maelstrom by @feels-like-fire [E, 44K]

Victor Nikiforov is poised to win gold in his fifth consecutive Grand Prix Final. He has the world at his feet, is unparalleled in the sport--right up until a snowstorm blows into Sochi, and he finds himself repeating the same day over and over and over. He stumbles over Yuuri Katsuki, and everything changes.

(Or, the time loop au. Loosely based on Groundhog Day.)

On My Love by RikoJasmine [T, 73K] *WIP

For the second time, the Sochi Grand Prix Finals arrive, and with it a reborn Yuuri Katsuki. “Viktor,” Yuuri thinks over the pounding of his heart, the crowd going silent as the music begins. “I’ll show the world what you meant to me.”

Yuuri often thinks of his life as Before and After Viktor Nikiforov, the marking point being the day Viktor swept into his life and turned his world upside-down. After many years together, an accident leads to Yuuri suddenly waking up in the Before—back in Detroit, before the GPF, before he ever knew Viktor as anything other than his childhood idol.

As if it had all been just a dream.

paso doble by @cafecliche [G, 4K]

"Long before skating, or even ballet, Yuuri would hear about it at festivals, in the boiling humidity of Hasetsu summers dancing the Bon Odori in the streets. He remembered years where Mari would take him home alone, while their parents comforted lingering, distraught dancers. Sometimes, Mari had explained, they were crying because they’d seen lost loved ones. Some cried because they didn’t see who they’d hoped, but a stranger. And some cried because they hadn’t seen anyone at all.

Because it’s not just the steps. The dancers need, even for a second, to feel the exact same thing."

(Or: days before Hot Springs on Ice, Yuuri receives a visitor from another time.)

The League of the Green Carnation by @abarero [M, 62K]

There was one golden rule to being a Time Scientist: do not bring home anything that was a fixed point in history. This meant most artifacts, extinct animals and the like were permissible. Historical figures? Not so much.

But what about an author? Namely, Yuuri’s favorite author, who was murdered in 1887. Could he be saved?

Well. Yuuri was sure as hell about to find out.

Turn Back the Clock by IronScript [T, 59K] *WIP

When Yuuri and Viktor wake up over thirty years in the past, they don't know what to do. Does the other remember?

Luckily that particular question is quickly answered and they can relax slightly, but what about afterwards? Viktor was brought back to right before his first Olympics, and Yuuri isn’t even old enough to compete in Seniors’!

Then there's the fact that they're still very much in love, but a physical relationship would be illegal (and would gross them both out considering Yuuri's age), and they can't count on anyone to just trust them not to do anything age inappropriate. So maybe being long-distance (with as many in-person meetings as possible) would be better until Yuuri becomes a legal adult physically, never mind his actual age.

But it's hard to behave and act naturally when you're forced to be apart from your husband of twenty years, especially during one of the most stressful parts of anyone's life, so Yuuri and Viktor have to distract themselves somehow, right?

Right.

And if everyone around them ends up completely confused and blindsided at their sudden changes (though admittedly they seem to have changed for the better), then so be it!

#yoi #yuri on ice #yoi fanfic #yoi fic rec #time travel

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cloud9in · 3 years ago

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You’re the only one who’s writing poppy x mc fics sooo, i have a request “ bea is a bad girl (like in a gang) in high school and also went jail couple of times for getting in trouble in high school senior year poppy was new transfer student and after 2 months bea join back school and met poppy bea and they just click yk like a connection slowly they started dating and in school everyone was shocked to see bea in a relationship ( bad girl and new girl) poppy is always worried about bea and few days before graduation bea got hurt really bad and poppy gives bea 2 options that she has to choose between her or her this (gang).. bea didn’t say anything to her so poppy left, after 2/3 years they met in college bea was a different person but so does poppy they become enemies (no one knows why they hate each other) one day they were arguing and poppy shout at her and says why you're back and bea put her hand on her cheek and smile and say i am here to win you back because i love you 😬

Promises (Poppy x MC)

Part 1/?

Can i just say I'm absolutely invested in this plot? You've got me hooked on my own story, as hectic as my life is, this is enjoyable to write. I hope you like it as well @iamsimpforpoppy

Word count: 1.8k (i got carried away)

“You know what to do Jackson, same old shit.”

“Yeah but it feels like a movie every damn time”, Bea responds confidently as she unbuckles her seatbelt. She sports a black mask with a yellow bandana, a vivacious color worn by only the Southside Spades, a notorious street gang who were known for robbery, and occasional blood.

Bea found herself wrapped up in the world of gangs when she turned sixteen. But before that the brunette would assist in transporting goods, also known as hardcore drugs. There was plenty enough to go around so Bea could indulge in any she wanted. Drugs didn’t give her the high she craved though, instead it was the thrilling game of cat and mouse with the cops.

Every now and then she’d get thrown in the slammer overnight. But this particular evening earns her one year in the NY State Penitentiary. See, the cops never gathered significant evidence to build a case against her, even though she was well aware of Detective Steinhelm who had some sick obsession with her. Following her everywhere, until Bea confronted her directly after noticing the same black sedan parked a street down from her house.

But she played the game right, and nothing ever led back to her. Until now.

“Where’s the money Bradley? I feel like I’ve been kissing your ass all week, the boss needs it now.”

A skinny blonde boy who looks like he had better days grunts in annoyance, “You’ll get your money...I’m just a little short right now.”

“Time’s up Ken doll, you know Carter will have your head for this.”

“Maybe he doesn’t have to know. Maybe this can be between us…”, Bradley strides carefully towards the blonde, a disturbing grin on his face which screams junkie. “Back the hell up now.”

Bea pulled her knife out with ease and pointed it towards him. She didn’t plan on actually using it. Murder was way out her budget for a simple money pickup but she knew that it would scare the boy easily. Except he kicked the blade out of her hold which prompted it to screech across the concrete before coming to a stop. Before Bea could think her fists reacted as she intercepted a punch that aimed straight for her jaw. She twists Bradley’s arm and he falls on his knees in pain. With his back to her, she kicks him down until he’s flat on his stomach.

“What is it exactly that you plan on doing now Bradley?” The blonde boy struggles under Bea’s foot but manages to reach around and slash at her ankle with a surprise shiv. Bea yelps in pain before kicking his head, rendering him unconscious.

“Stupid idiot. Had to make this harder than it should’ve been.”

Bea eventually finds the stash of money hidden under his mattress, an amateur hiding place at best. She congratulated herself for another job accomplished (kinda) and headed home. What the seventeen year old didn’t expect was the repulsive sound of a siren filling her ears as she stepped out onto her driveway. Her blood rushed to her head when she spotted Detective Steinhelm among the police officers surrounding her and retorts, “oh come on. I thought I told them about you harassing me. What do you want? Back here to strip search me again?”

The older woman only watches the blonde in eerie silence before smiling and gesturing to a police officer. “Beatriz Jackson you have the right to remain silent, anything you say or do can be used against you in a court of law-”

“What the actual fuck!” Bea yanks her arms out of the officers reach which initiates a struggle for dominance. This was nothing new to her, but it still felt sickening. Like she was some pet.

“You have the right to have a lawyer present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you if you so desire.” Detective Steinhelm finishes speaking and approaches the still scuffling blonde, “if you keep resisting I will tase you myself.”

Bea bites back the urge to headbutt the old hag right in her stupid face but she didn’t need any extra charges, for whatever the hell it was she was being charged for.

“Tell me why the fuck I am being arrested and I’ll calm down.”

That’s when Bea notices a familiar (bruised up) face from earlier. His smirk was enough to eat at her skin and she felt burning hot rage.

“Your blood was found at the scene of Mr. Denbroughs assault. You are being arrested in the case of second degree assault with intent to hurt someone with a deadly weapon.”

***

Bea only got one year in prison due to her kickass lawyer Ina Kingsley who played the minor card at every opportunity given. She also pointed out the fact that the knife wasn’t bloodstained, and Bradley never had any stab wounds so there is no proof the weapon was ever used against him. And it technically wasn’t. Good thing she didn’t bring a gun instead.

She did miss her 18th birthday though. And a few months of her senior year. But that’s what summer classes were for right?

All eyes were on the blonde when she returned, and whispers spread throughout the school about a certain new girl. Bea paid no mind to the fingers that pointed in her direction but the newcomer did manage to catch her attention, and pretty quick at that.

“Hey Jackson, how was solitary confinement?”

“I heard they make you use the bathroom right through the tiny food slot.”

Bea rolls her eyes and pelts a piece of not-so-fresh bread right at Ford’s head. The other people at the table join in on the laughter and Bea shakes her head and smiles, “it was Juvie you dumbass, and they made us sit in a circle together every Thursday like we were in an AA meeting.

“That’s jail for babies, goldilocks here wouldn’t last a minute in a real prison”, Carter joins them at the table with a cocky smirk, yet his eyes soften when landing on Bea. She shares a similar look with him knowing they’ll have a real conversation later. Because they definitely didn’t get to have that when Bea was getting dragged away to the police station in cuffs, and every event after that.

“It’s our girl’s first day out, we have to celebrate. And it’s not like she’s on probation...right Bea?”

“I do have a curfew, and I’m on juvenile probation so…when we partying?” The crew laughs as Bea shrugs. Her mother will deal with it. Zoey scoots in next to the blonde and wraps her arm around her shoulder in a side hug. “So glad to have you back Bea, and we are not risking you breaking parole so let’s just go to a sport’s bar tonight.”

Bea nods her head in agreement as the first warning bell goes off and everyone starts to clean up. Zoey taps on her arm and points towards one of the farther tables where a lone figure sits, wiping her hands with a napkin. All Bea saw were blonde tresses until she turned and they made brief eye contact.

“She’s the new girl, Poppy Min Sinclair. Rumor is she’s got a rich white daddy. You should totally invite her to the party.”

“And why would I do that?”

Zoey squints her eyes and leans in closer, her hands under chin in thought, “she seems like the broody type, you two would click.” She laughs at Bea’s comical expression but the blonde can’t bother to look in her direction, she’s way too wrapped up in what little the stranger a few tables away had to offer. She would sit on that thought, Bea was not one to shy away from anything.

***

The two became friends quicker than anyone could think.

One day after school, Poppy’s car wouldn’t start. It just didn’t comply. You would think she’d be poised and call her mechanic to come fix it, but instead the blonde slumped against the driver’s side window and let out a visibly frustrated, high-pitched yelp. Bea watched her pace around the car and even...kick?...the front bumper with her heels in efforts to wake it up.

“You know I may be wrong but I think that only makes it worse..” She approaches the helpless blonde with a small grin. Poppy’s persistence amazed her though, she’s never seen anyone determined to beat a car up. An expensive one at that.

“I hope you have some idea how to fix it, unless you’re here to waste my time and ask me on a date.”

Woah.

Okay that definitely threw Bea on a whim. She lets out a sharp laugh and bites her lips in amusement. She strolls towards the front of her car, holding Poppy’s gaze the whole way. She liked that the blonde didn’t avert her eyes. “And if I did? We couldn’t take your car of course, it’s obviously impaired.”

Poppy smiles and turns to look at Bea properly. She checks out every inch of her with no visible shame. An assessment so to say, and she likes what she sees.

“It’s your lucky day Poppy, I happen to know a thing or three about cars, and I desperately want to get this thing working so we can go on that date.” She winks playfully but god does she mean it. Bea silently prayed that the blonde wouldn’t take it the wrong way, but she knew she won when Poppy didn't protest, instead getting comfortable under some shade and holding her hand out, “the stage is all yours Jackson.”

***

“So what you’re trying to tell me is that I can’t jump over this obvious not-so-protected fence?”

“Judging by the sign right next to it that says...oh wow who would’ve thought, “DO NOT ENTER”, I don’t think so”, Poppy deadpans. It didn’t phase Bea of course because she was already halfway up the fence when the blonde turned away from the sign. The girl had a point to prove, maybe not a valid one, but still a point.

Poppy pinches her eyebrows in exasperation before looking back up to a nonchalant Bea swinging her legs from the top of the fence. She winks down at the blonde, “join me?”

Poppy didn’t expect to be climbing fences with a charismatic girl who had the same color hair as her when she moved schools, but she found herself embracing every moment of it. Although the trip up there was a struggle and some.

“I swear to god there’s a wire in my ass.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“And we’re both going to end up in the hospital. Get. me. Down.”

Bea tries to hold in her laughter the whole way down but lets it loose when she sees Poppy still up there, partly hovering in the air. “Pops...I’ll catch you, don't worry. Climb down slowly.” She doesn’t. But Bea had her feet planted and ready because any moment with the sassy blonde was unpredictable. And she loved it. Especially because she had Poppy engulfed in her arms and they were so close their noses touched.

Bea promised herself she’d kiss the girl next time.

***

“You’re...in a gang?”

Bea felt a clasp of cold air enter her lungs as she stared ahead. It wasn’t like she could hide it from Poppy. She has a reputation, and word has gotten around about the two getting close. This was just like that one time at the end of sophomore year where Bea met Kelly Hall, a beautiful girl with golden rimmed glasses. Unfortunately she only could imagine what could’ve been after whispers ended up right on the doorstep of Kelly’s parents, and she suddenly changed her number, and switched out of every class she had with Bea.

The blonde didn’t want to entertain the thought of Poppy doing the same, but this was a lifestyle she chose.

“I mean...how?”

Bea sighs and turns to look at her, “I fell into the wrong crowd. Or maybe it’s the right one because I never found a true home until I met them. They’re family, I wouldn’t expect you to get it though and I understand if you want to distance-”

“I of all people know what it’s like to not fit in Jackson. You’ve found people who make you feel safe. Maybe I don’t agree with the troubles that come with being in a gang but I don’t know the whole story.”

“Do you want to?”

Poppy wraps her arms around Bea’s and lays her head on her shoulder, “I want to know that you won’t get yourself hurt but I know that’s nearly impossible.”

Bea exhales slowly, not knowing what to say. She knew that this would upset Poppy but her acceptance meant more. She didn’t know what this would mean for the two of them, if there was a “them”, but she felt more encouraged to share more of her other life with the blonde.

“Just promise me one thing Jackson.”

“Yeah?”

Poppy’s voice comes out softer than expected, and Bea ingests every emotion that comes with it, “Promise me you won’t ever put yourself in a position where you have to choose between me or the gang.”

Bea finds her hand in the space where their thighs touched and latches onto it like a lifebuoy,

“I promise.”

***

“I just remembered something Poppy.”

“What, that you have half a brain cell? I thought that was established Jackson.”

Bea launches a pillow that (purposely) misses Poppy’s head by an inch. If she actually hit her and frizzed up her locks then she’d never hear, or see..or walk again.

“I’m being serious. I just remembered this too, we never went on that car date we talked about.”

Poppy squints her eyes in confusion, but was fully aware of what Bea was referring to. “You mean the first time we met?”

The blonde smiles to herself as she replayed that day in her head over and over again. She couldn’t decide if Bea’s openly flirty behavior is what drew her in or if it was her ability to fix any of her possessions with ease. And for free.

Bea pulls Poppy up by her hands until her back is against the lockers. Another perfect opportunity for the blonde to make do of that promise she made to herself, but something told her to wait just a bit longer. “So what do you say? Poppy Min Sinclair, will you go on a date with me?”

Poppy rolls her eyes playfully, pulling Bea in closer by the collar of her letterman, “now who’s being dramatic?”

“I didn’t hear a no”

“I think you know what the answer is.”

That night Zoey helped Bea prep for her first date with the girl that she could say she was almost in love with. The taller girl brushed some dust off of Bea’s jacket and planted her hands on her shoulders, “remember Jackson, give her the ride of her life. And I mean that in every way possible.”

Thanks Zoe.

Bea watched Poppy drive up in front of her house and something inside her mind couldn’t deny the pang her heart let out when she saw Poppy smile the way she did.

Bea took control of the driving and told Poppy to recline her seat and enjoy the ride, with her seatbelt on of course. Safe sacrifices. They cruised through an empty highway blasting Poppy’s spotify playlist named “Rich Bitch Songs” because that was their ideal perfect date. It’s amazing that the two could even come to an agreement, but here we are.

She watched the beautiful blonde sing her lungs out and couldn’t help but mirror her joy, taking her hands off the steering wheel. The pump of adrenaline prompts a new excitement in the air and Poppy wraps Bea into a secure hug, her hair flying wildly with the wind. Bea slows the car down but the rapid beating of her heart made it seem they were going 100 miles per second.

“I feel so alive Jackson.”

Bea stared at the girl in the passenger seat with a look that could only be described as love.

“You make me feel alive.”

Poppy kept talking and Bea found a way to focus on both the road and the blonde next to her. Because when you truly enjoy something, you’ll find a way to keep experiencing it. And Bea enjoyed hearing Poppy’s voice, she loved everything about her.

“I feel like kissing you.”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

“...Nothing. I should’ve done this a long time ago.”

They kiss when Bea pulls over. A hot feeling consumes them like fire when their tongues collide and Bea plants her hands around Poppy’s hips, pushing her back into her seat until she’s on top. The windows easily start to fog up in reaction to the heat, and not once did they take their hands off each other.

Promise 1/2 kept

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

End Note: This chapter was to build their relationship, more angst incoming. BIG THANKS to @somewillwin for letting me use Jackson <3333

Taglist: @samanthadalton @somewillwin @clowneryme @baexpoppy @poppysmc @doey-eyes8 @veenast @straightlikewetspaghetti @phoennixxsblog @a-ghost-girl

#poppy min sinclair #queen b #playchoices #mc x poppy #a huge bug flew onto my screen during the writing process #gave me motivation to HURRY MY AAAAAAASSS UP

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