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floofyroro · 23 days ago

Text

A Soft Spot

Pairing: Crosshair/f!Reader

Words: 8127 (oneshot)

Tags/warnings: post-s3 on Pabu, gardener!reader, carpenter!Crosshair, these two idiots have been beating around the bush for ages and reader said finally, "hold my beer," first date, anxious!Crosshair, therapist OC mentioned, carpenter OC mentioned, fluff, making out, grinding, sensuality, no smut but they were close! maybe in part 2

Summary: Crosshair likes you, yes. But due to his rough past and his penchant for self-deprecation, it all lands on you to make the first move.

A/N: This has been a long time coming. The lore I have for these two is substantial enough that you might become sick of me in the near future lol. Also, it’s just so fun to build the lore for Pabu as well, which is why there’s two OCs mentioned that are intertwined with Crosshair’s life. Sor’ren and Lorik are goofs.

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

Read on ao3.

Had there been a way to quell the simmering nerves in his stomach, Crosshair would have done so by now.

It’s not that he’s unaccustomed to the flutter of anxiety. No, he has long accepted that it’ll remain a permanent companion until he sorts out his… issues, according to Omega.

His first appointment with Sor’ren Valu, the island therapist, is in two rotations. The stranger was cordial over the comm call. Enthusiastic, even. Crosshair felt so uncomfortable that he was certain his curt words would deter the man from taking him as a client altogether. As it is, Sor’ren was seemingly unperturbed because the appointment still exists. Omega was the one who sought the older man out in the first place after a particularly nasty argument between Crosshair and Hunter.

She didn’t have to expend herself like that. She shouldn’t have had to do that in the first place. The fact that she did leaves a guilty, sour taste in his mouth. Until he starts this journey of self-discovery or self-awareness or whatever it is he so desperately needs, Crosshair figures he can withstand the discomfort of anxiety in the meantime when it makes its presence known.

But whenever he’s around you, the sensation amplifies tenfold.

It starts with a stirring in his belly, building gradually. That’s when he’s either thinking of you or catches sight of you for the first time each day. Your paths always seem to cross, one way or another. But it’s when you notice him, and your features transform into what he deems as unadulterated radiance, the uncomfortable stirring is accompanied by a ribbon of affection drawing up his spine.

When you approach him, and kind words spill from your lips, the nerves fight for dominance. He grapples with unwanted thoughts such as; am I enough? Am I worth your attention? If you knew of my dazzling track record, would you still gravitate towards me like you do now?

And yet, your smile doesn’t falter despite his hesitance; you still reach for him. Your touch is what brings a flooding of warmth into his being, banishing the dark shadows that are so desperate to sink their claws into him, drawing him away from the light. It’s harder to explain this feeling, he realizes, when your fingers intertwine perfectly with his.

“Have you eaten yet?”

Your question, even, elicits such uncertainty from Crosshair because you care.

“I haven’t,” he manages to say.

You lift up his palm and wrap your other hand around it, cradling his hand for a moment before pressing the pads of your fingers into the muscle of his wrist, as if rhythmically following a pattern. He watches, enamored.

Seemingly unaware of how much emotional turmoil you cause him, your gaze settles across the street as you hum thoughtfully. How can you stay so calm and so collected? Surely you can feel how warm his palm is, how his hand threatens to tremble underneath your touch. Everyone sweats during the hot season, but even so, he hopes with frantic desperation, that you don’t mind just how clammy his skin is.

“We could grab a bite to eat at Rosie’s?”

You do this often. He’s cornered into these situations, these gentle, kind instances where he has no choice but to follow your orbit. He simply can’t say no.

Not that he wants to.

The café, Rosie’s, is a local favorite on Pabu. Omega has dragged him here numerous times over the course of their time on Pabu already, usually after a long day of work or for breakfast on the weekends. He doesn’t mind the atmosphere. The open patio is lined with bistro chairs that overlook the bay, with a spectacular view of every sunset. But most importantly, it doesn’t feel stifling compared to other cramped communal areas on Pabu.

“I’ll take the usual,” you tell the waitress, someone who you’d greeted with familiarity only moments ago.

The stranger eyes Crosshair, which prompts him to mutter his order, something you deem fitting for his tastes because you say as much. She pauses, looking between you both before asking, “Will this be on one tab or separate?”

“One tab,” Crosshair says without a second thought, staring off over the balcony. You start to protest but he shoots you a furtive glare. You pause, shooting him an amused glare back. When he fails to relent, you roll your eyes, mumbling about being able to pay for your own food. For once, he believes he’s won.

Not that it matters. But you tend to take the lead on most things and, well…

The waitress spares you a knowing look before grabbing the menus and disappearing back into the café. With no menu to act as a barrier between you both, he elaborates.

“You…look out for me in other ways.”

When your expression turns serious, he takes that as his sign to explain further. “You’ve only known me for a couple months and yet… You’ve given me produce from the gardens and… You won’t let me pay for it. So let me do this for you. Please.”

The last word he adds as an afterthought, trying to ignore how entirely foreign on it feels on his tongue.

Anxieties regarding his past fail to abate when he focuses on you, growing louder and more prominent. It’s as if his world narrows and suddenly he’s only seeing tunnel vision. His traitorous mind wonders about drawing nearer to you, not just physically, but emotionally as well. He wishes he could just focus on the physical responses. That would be easy enough. But everything related to the mind and human emotion leaves him feeling stunted. He asks himself often; could you learn to accept him, his flaws, despite the thick layers of regret that weigh him down?

An ideal world starts to unfold in front of him, one where your presence is constant, and it’s almost… terrifying.

You interrupt his musings by regaling him about the latest mishap at the garden center. At some point, he feels relaxed enough to lean back against his seat, with his arms crossed. When you explain how poorly the sprinkler system was fixed, to no fault of your own but to the abilities of your lacking mechanic, he lifts a hand to cover his mouth as you speak, masking the way his lips twitch up higher and higher with every word.

“I was soaked,” you end, your eyebrows pinched as you recall that afternoon.

“I’m sure that was a sight,” he responds, no longer hiding his mirth.

He laughs, surprising himself and you, when you reach across the table to give him a good-natured swat on the arm.

“Tell me about the workshop,” you say. “Working for Lorik must be interesting.”

It’s comical then, the way you read him so well. That, or his face must betray his thoughts because you huff, the sound not a laugh, but a near distant cousin.

“Lorik is… something else,” Crosshair says, and then the food arrives. He doesn’t notice the hunger nipping at his stomach until a waft of the soup hits his nose.

“Tell me more,” you prompt before taking a big slurp of your broth.

He does because it’s easy to tell you the truth. He explains that while his mentor is patient, Lorik tends to become distracted and starts a different project before finishing his current one. It grates on Crosshair endlessly and proves to be his biggest obstacle with working so closely alongside a natborn; the difference in work ethic is irksome, to say the least.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Crosshair grumbles, “and it’s not efficient. We have a client who signed a flimsi contract earlier this month and I’ve had to remind Lorik about it twice already.” You nod encouragingly and he wills himself to continue, “We still haven’t started that house yet. Just yesterday, he began organizing supplies for a hypothetical project for the mayor instead.”

Your gaze is thoughtful when you say, “Maybe Lorik’s brain works differently than yours.”

This earns a huff from Crosshair. He shakes his head and wonders why you’re probably right. He continues to explain how carpentry requires more precision than anticipated. It’s good practice for his prosthetic, and he holds his right hand gingerly as he explains the process of using a team of droids and his own hands when preparing the necessary materials for a new construction.

“Pabuan cocowood is a hot commodity among the islanders, which makes it expensive. We’re careful to only harvest a small amount each month, all while coordinating with the island council about replanting new trees in the process.”

“I’m familiar,” you say, winking. He sits silently, noting the way sunset reflects off of the mischievous glint in your eyes. Heat blooms across his cheeks.

You’re probably well aware of island conservation efforts because you’re the lead gardener and oversee the greenhouse yourself. Sometimes he forgets that you’ve been living on the island longer than him.

Before he knows it, an hour has passed and the food is gone. He’s laid enough credits down on the table to pay for the meals and then some for a tip. Omega scolded him the first time he forgot to tip. It was an honest mistake, he had explained. I’ve been a soldier all my life, not a civvie.

You both rise from your chairs to leave the patio, and in one swift moment, you round the table to lean up and press a kiss onto his cheek before he even registers the movement. The softness of your lips is fleeting, like a kiss from the ocean breeze and it takes him far too long to react. He looks down at you with surprise, his spine rigid at the outward affection and you merely spare him a crooked smile before you stride away towards the cobblestone path.

Crosshair doesn’t like to be outmatched, he decides. It takes only a few strides to catch up before he fishes for your touch, making sure to stand on your left so that his good hand clasps with yours. You’re wordless when he looks down to gauge your reaction but a coy smile tugs at your mouth as you stare down at your feet as you both walk.

If you notice how he draws nearer to you during the trek to the upper levels of Pabu, you fail to give him any indication. The silence is oddly comfortable, making Crosshair begin to understand the importance of good company. It allows him to feel relaxed enough to notice his surroundings, like admiring how the sunset casts the island in a glorious golden hue. The temperature has dropped significantly compared to the usual afternoon heat and the streets are clearing, as not many residents are mulling about during this hour. It’s Crosshair’s favorite period of time on the island.

“Cross?”

His stomach flips at the nickname.

“Yeah?”

You squeeze his hand once and he returns the gesture.

“Do you… Would you want to come over tonight? We could watch a holomovie. Or I’ve some tea I could brew for us.”

“A holomovie,” he echoes, feeling light-headed.

“And tea,” you add, as if it’s an incentive of sorts.

The prospect of spending more time with you, and privately at that, is more appealing that Crosshair would care to admit. He has yet to do so, often wondering how well the two of you would fit in an intimate setting. Would his predisposition as a clone, on top of his history with the Empire, be too jagged of a shape for you to accommodate? While he’s rough and sewn together by the hardship of war, you meet him with a kindness that soothes his woes, and with a softness that shakes him to his core.

And on top of it all, he isn’t sure what to call this… thing.

To call it a ‘relationship’ seems lacking, but also simultaneously daunting. It’s a word that he never thought he’d use in a romantic sense anyway. But the juxtaposition of you both somehow works, despite all the odds. He’s the oil and you’re the water, and when combined together, it shouldn’t work. You shouldn’t mix. And yet, here is he, handfasted and walking you home.

A former sniper and the island gardener. Together.

No, he still can’t find the right word for who you are to him. He’ll have to think about that later.

He takes a deep breath to steady himself before answering.

“I…Yeah, sure. I’d… like that,” he says because eloquence has always been his strength.

“Great,” you beam, your expression instantly knocking the wind out of him.

He decides then that he’ll never tire of your smile.

It feels like lightyears later when Crosshair finally crosses over the threshold of your home for the first time.

A dry, abrupt chuckle releases from him because of course the entryway smells like you, like fresh herbs and baked bread, and of course there’s not a shoe or jacket out of place and he’s met instead with a living room that’s clean, but not sterile because pillows upon pillows are on every seated surface, and there’s blankets, old books, and the windows are already open, linen curtains billowing as the breeze trickles in.

He’s not sure he’s ever stepped into a room that’s the visual representation of comfort before. Sure, his own home with his brothers comes close, but it’s normally a mess, and it’s never quiet, and Omega tries her hardest to keep them all busy instead of the alternative she deems as most unfavorable; isolation. Maker forbid that they stay in their personal quarters for too long.

But in Crosshair’s defense, he’d rather find solace by himself than attend another neighborhood barbecue. His one gripe about Pabu is how nosy every resident is. Omega claims they mean well, but he has yet to be convinced otherwise. If meaning well translates to digging their noses into other people’s business, he wants no part in it.

While he had openly surveyed the space, you’d made your way to the kitchen, turning on the valve to the gas stovetop and placing a kettle on the flickering flame. Not sure what to do with himself, Crosshair shoves his hands into his pockets and meanders around the living room.

The floors creak with each step and his eyes do a clean sweep of the structure of the house, the material composition of the walls, the trimming, and realizes this is the oldest model of homes on the island. Lorik’s handiwork is absent in the way the rooms are laid out. A staircase right in front of the entryway should’ve been a dead giveaway. This must’ve been an original house on the island before the Clone Wars had begun.

You would own one of the most charming houses on Pabu. How fitting.

But as his eyes trail along the bannister, a flicker of movement at the top of the stairs makes him pause. A tail, thick and dark, twitches before a small head peers through a set of columns.

It’s… a tooka cat.

The realization strikes him as sensical. You have yet to meet Batcher but he would bet all of his credits that you’d adore her at first glance, seeing as you now obviously have a penchant for domestic animals.

The creature stares at him with narrowed eyes and Crosshair stares back, slightly amused. The pads of your feet against the wooden floors alert him of your approach and he turns just in time to catch you grinning up at the tooka.

“I wondered if she’d come out to greet you. She’s not overly fond of people. Except me, of course but this is probably as far as she’ll go until you leave.”

Crosshair quirks an eyebrow at that. “We’re not so dissimilar then,” he says, suppressing a grin.

You’re biting your lower lip when you shake your head. “I suppose you are quite feline in quality,” you respond in turn.

That muscles a huff of laughter from him, the reaction involuntary. You laugh along with him, and he’s suddenly glad for the crack in his cool composure because it means witnessing the pink hue blooming across your cheeks.

You’re adorable and the thought alone makes his palms sweat again.

“Yeah, I suppose,” he says, words evading him.

“Rowena is slow to trust. Maybe if you… come over often enough, she’ll warm up to your presence.”

The insinuation of visiting more frequently isn’t lost on him and it makes his pulse quicken. Before he can conjure up a response, there’s a low whistling from the kitchen and you’re padding back to the stovetop to whisk the kettle off of the heat.

Crosshair spares Rowena one more glance, committing her name to memory as her ears draw back at his unwanted attention. Feline in quality, he muses. Slow to trust, not fond of strangers, among many other things. Is Rowena just as prickly as him too?

“Come sit with me,” you say. He breaks the staring contest with Rowena first by turning his gaze to see you walking slowly with a mug in both hands. Crosshair doesn’t waste a moment to meet you halfway, intent on lessening your load.

“I made two different kinds of herbal tea,” you say, when he outreaches his hand. “So which do you prefer; sweet or mild?”

He doesn’t think he has a preference. He’s never had a choice in the past, but that’s changed over the last year. He supposes that if he had to choose…

“Sweet.”

You hand him a mug, murmuring be careful, and he nestles the cup close to him, wisps of steam curling upwards, hitting his nose with a pleasant aroma as the two of you make for the sofa.

You settle into the cushion, a hopeful look in your eye that causes him to hesitate, looking at the vast space next to you. One of his traitorous thoughts from earlier resurfaces again; how close is too close?

You must sense his trepidation because you save him the worry by patting the spot right next to you. Your expression brooks no sign of doubt, a lazy, close-lipped smile gracing your features when he finally slinks down next to you.

He tries to ignore the rigidity in his neck when he realizes how little distance there is between you both. Suddenly the other side of the couch seems expansive.

You surprise him then, by leaning close, cradling your mug in your lap. It takes some willpower but he forces himself to tilt his head and meet your gaze.

“Do you even like tea?”

He gently swirls the contents of the drink with a practiced tilt as he considers your question.

“Not sure,” he says with a shrug, hoping you don’t notice how unreliable his voice feels at the moment.

“Here,” you say, reaching forward to set your mug on the low table in front of you.

“It’s too hot to sip for now. Let’s let them cool while we find a holomovie.”

He nods, robotically leaning forward to do the same, placing his cup next to yours. When he leans back, you’re already grabbing a remote control and pointing it at the large screen against the wall.

He clears his throat before asking, “What are we watching?”

“Well… What do you like to watch?”

He’s noticed you often answer his questions with a question of your own. It feels like a test sometimes. It’s as if you’re more curious about his preferences than sharing your own.

“I don’t,” he begins to say, feeling dull, “watch anything, I mean. I think Wrecker forced us all to watch a comedy once. That’s about it.”

You hum at that. “I think something low stakes would be good. Something easy to watch.”

He’s agreeable right now, given how you’ve inched closer. His neck grows hot and he silently berates his body for betraying him. It’s not necessarily discomfort he’s fighting against, but a type of restlessness that’s beckoning him to close the gap between you both.

What was that phrase Omega’s been using lately?

It’s now or never.

With as much grace as he’s able to muster, Crosshair pulls his arm back and rests it along the back of the sofa, mere centimeters from your shoulders. He remains still until you bring your legs up and slide them next to you as you shimmy into his side.

His mortification achieves new depths because the contact sends an involuntary shiver up his spine. He hides it by placing the arm behind you directly on your shoulders. Fate must be on his side when you let out a contented sigh.

“You smell good,” you whisper. It takes him a moment to register your words. He tries to fight off another smile.

“What do I smell like?”

In retrospect, he should’ve seen it coming.

You turn your head, your cheek and temple coming into contact with his chest and he swears he’s never seen a cuter sight. You inhale deeply against him, your eyes fluttering closed as you think.

“Fresh laundry. Pine, I think? It's some sort of wood. There’s… Leather. And something else,” you’re saying but he’s not really paying attention, not when he can feel the way your mouth brushes against his shirt.

“Hmm,” he hums, his mouth dry.

You turn your attention back to the screen. You’re setting the remote down and then handing him his mug of tea. He can feel the anticipation growing from you as he brings the mug to his lips. It’s definitely fresh, the aroma overpowering and herbaceous. With a bit of reluctance, he tilts the mug against his mouth and takes a generous sip.

It’s… not bad.

But it’s missing something.

He stares back down at it skeptically, swirling the mug once.

“This isn’t sweet,” he says.

You snort.

“Sorry,” you say, the word muffled against the palm of your hand as you try to stifle your laughter. “Sorry, it’s just that… Well, what were you expecting?”

He pins you down with an amused glare. “Not this. This tastes like hot grass water.”

You lose it then, openly giggling. “I’ve never heard that one before.”

His smile is lob-sided. “I’ve never had hot grass water before either.” He waits a beat. And then says, “What’s the point anyway? Especially when caf exists.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad,” you say, leaning back to playfully pushing his arm.

The contact is welcomed despite the advance, your touch never failing to surprise him. Kriff, it’s not like he’s unused to physical contact; Wrecker tries to wrestle with him on the daily and he’s not immune to Omega’s hugs, but Maker. You’re downright dizzying.

“It’s not horrible but…” He eyes the contents of his mug again and takes one more slurp.

The taste truly isn’t bad. It’s just not as sweet as he was hoping. He wishes he had a name for the spices he’s tasting but he comes up short because again, he’s never had the chance before.

“This is a tea used for relaxation and digestion. We just ate dinner, and now the evening is winding down so there’s chamomile, cinnamon, cloves, and orange peel in this blend, and it’s finished off with a dash of honey from the island pollinators.”

You’re proud as you list off the herbs, that much is clear in the eager expression he openly stares at.

Cute.

You are so cute.

“I’ll keep drinking it,” he says, which makes you clasp your hands together in approval.

He shakes his head, hiding his smile behind the mug as he takes another swig.

Crosshair helps you decide on a movie that doesn’t sound too boring but also not too exciting. He finds you have an affinity towards the romantic ones so he humors you and agrees after the fourth suggestion. One click later and a scene unfolds, the telltale start of whatever holomovie you’d selected.

It’s gradual but you both resume your position from earlier, your form curling in towards his chest and his arm wrapped around your shoulders. He works up enough courage to trail his fingers lightly against the exposed skin of your shoulder. When no protestation rises from you, you both fall into a comfortable silence.

Eventually, he can’t help it. Some of the storybeats merit his criticisms.

“That was a bad move. He shouldn’t have lied.”

“Sheesh. Just tell her how you feel, buddy.”

“Okay, now that’s a bit over the top.”

You don’t mind his comments. In fact, you giggle at most of them and make several similar ones of your own.

You’re in the midst of discussing whether or not the movie could’ve been cut in half if only the protagonist would’ve confessed his feelings sooner when a high-pitched beep cuts through the conversation.

Crosshair stomach drops, the arm he has wrapped around you tightening.

Something beeps again.

When he finally recognizes the culprit behind the noise, his lips part as he exhales.

“It’s not my commlink,” you whisper, confirming his suspicions.

He sighs again, this time with resignation settling in. It’s definitely one of his brothers. They’re probably worried about him and in retrospect, he should’ve given them a warning about his whereabouts before it got too late. He begrudgingly peels his arm away from you and stands, blood rushing to his head by how quickly he moves. The absence of your warmth is keenly felt as he trudges to the entryway and bends down to fish for the communication device in his satchel.

In hand, the tiny screen flickers to life to show an incoming voice call from Hunter.

He’s gruff when he answers, “What?”

“Crosshair,” comes his brother’s voice through the static, “you, uh, okay? We haven’t heard from you and it’s nearly 2400.”

He can vaguely hear you mulling about in the living room, mugs clinking in your hands as you enter the kitchen. He scratches his chin before replying, “I’m… fine. Just… visiting someone right now.”

The other end goes silent. Crosshair waits with bated breath.

“Visiting someone?” The suggestion is clear in his voice. “Not just anyone. It’s the gardener, isn’t it.”

“...Yeah,” Crosshair says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“...Good for you. I’ll, uh, leave you to it then. Sorry for interrupting.”

A pause.

“Kriff. I owe Wrecker fifty credits.”

The line cuts off with a click and Crosshair stares at the device with annoyance.

A giggle resounds from behind and when he turns around, you’ve propped the side of your hip against the kitchen counter. “I’m guilty of eavesdropping, sorry. That must’ve been Hunter, right?”

“What gave it away?” He drawls. “The bet with Wrecker?”

“Yeah,” you say, amusement shining in your eyes. “That’s sweet. It’s clear that they care about you.”

He sighs, tucking his commlink away and slotting his hands into his pockets. “Something like that.”

You approach with a slow, confident gait. “C’mon,” you say, looping a hand around his forearm. “Let’s go cuddle.”

‘Cuddle’ isn’t a word he’s overly familiar with but if it involves you, he’s game. You pull at him until he sidles up next to you, plopping carelessly onto the cushions. This time, you bring your knees to the side of his thigh and snake an arm around his torso. The last time he was clinged to so fiercely was surely during his cadet days when the Batch would take turns sleeping in each other’s bunks to fend off nightmares about decommissioning and the war. His brothers would rotate, ending up in a different bunk every night, so there were few mornings when he’d wake up alone and cold.

Still, holding you close is vastly different. He’s thinking about those peaceful, nostalgic mornings when his fingers brush gently into the strands of your hair. You release a low hum. He can’t help but pull you closer.

A moment of denial surfaces. How did this happen? How did he manage to end up here, with you? With someone so kind and beautiful, laying in his arms like the starbound heroine on the screen from earlier.

It’s this train of thought that prompts him to place a kiss onto the crown of your head. You sink into him further.

He murmurs your name. Curious eyes peer up at him, a tired smile pulling across your lips. He tucks a stray lock behind your ear, trying to parse together the feelings that are taking flight in his chest.

“Thank you for… tonight. For suggesting dinner and then inviting me over,” he says, the words unfamiliar to his ears. Crosshair isn’t one to share gratitude often but he thinks that might change, because your expression softens and he swears your eyes start to shine, a swirl of galaxies twinkling in your irises.

“Of course, Crosshair. I really like spending time with you,” you murmur. “I’ve been wanting to see you more. But you’re a busy man from what I hear, so… I took matters into my own hands since I’ve recently realized that patience isn’t exactly one of my virtues.”

Despite the humor coating your words, sheepishness seeps through him at the mention of initiation, or the lack thereof on his part.

“Yeah,” he says, his brows knitting together as he averts his gaze. The words he wishes to share are unnerving, to say the least. They require a kind of bravery from him that’s yet to see the light of day, preferring to remain tucked away in the depths of his core. So when you remain quiet with an open expression, he’s emboldened to swallow his pride and get over himself.

He thinks you’re worth the risk of burning anyway.

“I struggle sometimes. Mentally, I mean,” he says, running a hand over his head. Oof. Okay, starting off strong, Crosshair. The warning bells in his ears are taunting but he plows on, “The boys and Omega remind me of that often and… Omega found someone recently. A therapist to help me through… all of that.”

He’s still not meeting your eyes, but he can hear the sincerity that laces your words when you say, “That’s great, Crosshair.”

Now that it’s out in the open, he feels his shoulders slink down. “Yeah.” He exhales, “Yeah, it should be helpful so… I just wanted to apologize for not initiating things sooner. I’m… sorry.”

A hand reaches up to cup his cheek, the touch tentative. You gently guide his head down to gaze at you.

“Hey. It’s okay. I’m aware of this. Your past probably isn’t perfect. Well, based on what Omega told me, I know it isn’t perfect because of the Empire and all that,” the words make his cheek twitch in discomfort because that’s an understatement if he ever heard one, “and that’s okay. I’ll be real honest; I debated this whole thing. A lot. After we met at the market square, I made sure to think carefully about what this could turn into because I knew from the get-go that I liked you.”

You pause, looking down but unseeing. It’s difficult for him to process what you're saying but then he feels your palm tremble once against his cheek before stilling. “I have my own issues too. I worry about things like abandonment because of…”

For a split second, your expression crumbles, making his heart twist. He tells himself that he never wants to be the culprit behind your sorrow, that he’ll be damned if he ever makes you unhappy. A flare of protectiveness washes over him at the prospect of you struggling.

“What happened to my family during the war is still hard for me to talk about. But I think I owe it to myself to pursue happiness. That’s why I’ve made a point to seek you out most days, even if it’s just for a moment. And that’s also why I invited you over. I didn’t really want to watch a holomovie; I just wanted an excuse to be in your company.”

He feels his chest tightening at this admission. The nerves he experienced at the beginning of the day are threatening to reemerge, but this time with vengeance. Previous versions of Crosshair didn’t talk at length about emotions. He’s a soldier, for Kriff’s sake, and while clones were trained to deal with the turmoils of war, it’s suddenly blatantly apparent just how little he understands about the full scope of a healthy, emotional well-being. He had tried often to avoid hard conversations after missions because his snark would reign supreme even when deep down, he knew he was being unreasonable.

And now, for the first time in his life, Crosshair doesn’t want to fuck this up.

It’s a lot to process. That’s probably why his body acts on its own accord and brings you flush against him, arms wrapping around your frame. You adjust seamlessly and without complaint.

Because of the proximity, he has an excuse to lose himself in the intimate details of your face. There’s a brightness in your eyes, the color of your irises so unique and so stunning that it makes his heart stutter. The shape of your nose is delicate, rounding perfectly with an array of freckles, the discolorations mesmerizing. Perhaps it’s the nature of his defective self, but Crosshair has always been drawn to variation, to subtle movement and change. Even still, it takes little effort to follow the curve of your flushed cheek, his eyes trailing downwards until they land on your lips.

He stares, entranced by their hue, wondering how they would feel against his own if he were to lean in. When you break into a smile, he realizes that you’re studying him, too. With a tenderness that he’ll grow to miss when you’re gone, your fingertips reach to trail lightly across the skin of his forehead, down his temple, his cheekbone, until they halt at his jaw.

It’s challenging, willing his body to withhold from any reaction. He feels your touch wander to his chin, your movements pausing as you stare at his lips. Perhaps it’s presumptuous of him, but he brings his flesh hand to the back of your neck, providing hesitant support as the gap narrows between you both.

He’s unsure who leans in first. But his lips meet a softness he thinks he could drown in, his breath slipping, and your proximity, your warmth spreads like wildfire down his spine, prompting his eyelids to fall shut as the sensation engulfs him.

Following your movement with raptness, he relishes in how eager you are in this exchange, in this contact, locking his lips with your own in short, soft movements. Like a flower opening up to access the nectar, your mouth easily grants him entrance after his tongue darts once against your lips. The throaty moan you release serves to embolden him, the slight tilt of your head allowing him a better angle to plumage your mouth further.

With heated realization, Crosshair finds that you taste sweeter than honey, a unique blend of something distinctly you and highly addictive. It makes him downright dizzy, coupled with the hungry nip of teeth tugging against his lips. He groans as you follow the subtle pain with a hot-mouthed kiss, lathing against him diligently, provoking his other hand to settle on the curve of your waist. Grasping at the fabric of your shirt, he melts into every collision of touch all which fans the flames building in his navel.

Time becomes a distant concept until you break away with a heaving chest. He leans forward to chase your lips, but finds your jaw instead. You let out a pleased hum as he follows the shape of your jawbone with a trail of open-mouthed kisses.

“Crosshair,” you murmur, breaking his trace.

He jerks his head back, eyes snapping open to find your brows furrowed.

“Yeah? You okay?” His words feel slurred and awkward, his mouth slow to work with how swollen his lips feel.

You quiet him with a ghost of a kiss against the shell of his ear before breathing, “Tell me if this makes you uncomfortable.”

With no other warning, you’re rising onto your knees and swinging a leg over the other side of his thigh, lowering yourself onto his lap.

Kriff.

It should be studied, the way his mind suddenly draws a blank. Crosshair reminds himself to breathe when you bring your palms up to his cheeks.

“Okay?”

He’s certain you can feel how flushed he’s becoming, his tongue feeling glued to the roof of his mouth. Swallowing feels like a chore, but he hones in on how pink and puffy your lips are before nodding.

It’s dizzying, how quickly the two of you fall into a searing rhythm. Crosshair thinks your taste could be his new addiction, a satisfying taste that can only be coaxed by him and him alone. He kisses you fervently, relishing in the way your body gives against his, like remnants of clay molding together to create a unique display of beauty. When you start to press your center down into him, he thinks he’s met his match.

You moan into his mouth, sending a ribbon of desire down his stomach. The sweet noises he’s eliciting from you provoke his manhood to throb, which you are undoubtedly aware of as he pulls you flush against his erection. The whimper you release is downright lewd and he’s unthinking when you start to grind down on him.

“Fuck,” he groans.

His hands make their acquaintance with newly exposed skin as he trails underneath the fabric of your blouse, feeling gooseflesh pebbling in his wake. It’s tantalizing, knowing how he affects you so, and not for the first time does wonder strike him at the selfish prospect of getting to know you more intimately.

When you rock against him again and curse, Crosshair forgoes the exploration of your midsection, his hands sliding down your back to grab reverent handfuls of your ass, eliciting another breathless moan, something he’ll never tire of hearing. Your palms leave his shoulders to trail down his chest, slowing at the concave of his stomach and halting at the waistband of his pants.

“Crosshair,” you murmur against his lips, your shoulders heaving. He hums in response, eyes fluttering open as he loosens his hold on you, his palms sliding back to your hips.

“I really, really like you,” you say in between pants.

He lets out a short, breathy laugh, the sincerity of your tone breaking through the haze of his lust. A smirk pulls at the corners of his mouth with little effort.

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” he teases, bringing a thumb up to brush against your cheekbone.

The sound of your giggle, paired with a generous eye roll is what causes Crosshair’s heart to pang with desire. He thinks he’d like to make your eyes roll in other ways—

“Seriously,” you chide him, tugging on the hem of his shirt. “I don’t normally… This isn’t something I normally do.”

When you gesture between yourself and him, he quirks an eyebrow.

“You don’t do… Clones?” he offers, half-teasing, half-serious.

He shouldn’t enjoy how quickly horror overtakes you, your mouth going slack at the insinuation. “No! Nooo, no, no, I have no problem with you being a clone,” you say, the words spilling out, “The respect I have for clones and what they’ve done for the galaxy is astronomical—”

“Relax,” he interrupts, both hands coming to rest on your hips before squeezing in reassurance. Although he could get used to the way you speak in defense of him and his brothers, he wasn’t anticipating your quick shift in demeanor. Your words, while sincere and probably borne out of embarrassment, light that simmering fire inside him, something that, before tonight, he hasn’t felt in a long time. “I know. It’s okay. I’m just being an ass.”

Shoulders slumping, you exhale audibly, but not before shooting him an amused glare. “Okay. Yeah, good one.”

“Couldn’t help myself,” he says before leaning in to plant a kiss on your forehead.

You go limp against him, your front pressing against his as he breaks the kiss and cradles you in his arms, your cheek pressing into the side of his neck. You feel as though you fit perfectly in his embrace, as if the universe had planned for this very moment, making the stars align. But Crosshair doesn’t believe in higher beings. He’s doubtful that some sort of divine intervention is involved and secretly, selfishly hopes that you just… chose him. On your own accord.

“What I’m getting at,” you try again, your breath tickling against him, “is that I haven’t been with anyone in years.”

Oh. The insinuation lands clearly this time.

Crosshair can’t remember the last intimate encounter he had with a woman. It was most likely a one-night stand at 79s, but he never felt truly at peace after those instances. This newfound information is reassuring, putting to rest any fear that his own inadequacies might not be so terrible for you after all.

“Me neither,” he mutters.

You’re motionless in his arms. “Really?”

He swallows once before nodding. “Really. With the war and then… my time with Empire,” he grimaces, “I haven’t exactly been the most eligible bachelor.”

Silence permeates the living room. The wind must’ve settled down because despite the open windows, the curtains are still, allowing moonlight to trickle in, its rays the only means of illumination. It’s suddenly far too quiet for his liking. He’s hyper-aware of each breath he takes, your weight against his chest a stark reminder of how precious this moment is.

“So… This will be new for the both of us then,” you say. “I mean, ‘new’ in the sense that… it’s been awhile.”

It should feel embarrassing, admitting how little experience he has in this department, but now knowing that you’re in the same boat, he finds that he doesn’t care.

“Yeah,” he concurs. “Yeah, it’s definitely been awhile.” He almost holds back the following words but recalls how free he felt earlier opening up to you: “To be honest, I have no idea what I’m doing.”

You laugh lightly, the sound songlike to his ears. “For what it’s worth… Same here. I almost didn’t stop earlier,” you admit. “I wanted to keep going. To keep feeling you.”

His curiosity burns but he forces himself to wait a beat before asking,“So why… didn’t you?”

Still on his lap, you adjust yourself so that you can meet his gaze. He has to hold back a hiss from the lack of contact on his cock, which is mildly embarrassing, given how sensitive he feels. Pride fills him at the visible swelling of your lips but something shines in your expression, something he isn’t able to discern. This sense of not knowing, being unable to interpret your every action or name every emotion that flits across your face is something, he’s coming to realize, that is as simultaneously alluring as it is frightening.

Perhaps that’s why he feels like he’s moments away from plunging headfirst into the waters with you.

“I want to go slow. And savor this newness,” you offer, almost apolegetically. “Until we find our rhythm, or until we know each other better, at least.”

Despite how desperately he wishes to continue exploring this newfound physicality with you, Crosshair not only understands but agrees. He meant it when he said he’s not sure what he’s doing; he’s not a stranger to dire, life-or-death situations, his keen disposition and sharp wits bolstering spur of the moment decision making. But this feels entirely different, the gravity of what’s to befall you both feeling far more surreal than anything else he’s ever experienced.

This isn’t a hookup at 79’s. You’re not just some civilian he met at a bar offworld. You’re an authentic, tangible being who’s already demonstrated a budding trust despite his obvious shortcomings.

“Me too,” he finally says, and when you grace him with a gentle smile, it’s easy to reciprocate it. “We should go slow. I’ll follow your pace.”

You lean forward to kiss the tip of his nose. “Good. Buuut, I have some stipulations.”

He doesn’t expect anything less. Considering how fiercely independent you are and with the entirety of the garden center under your jurisdiction, Crosshair is well-aware that he’ll need to pick up the slack on his part in order to make this work.

Nevertheless, he tilts his head. “Oh?”

“I want you to come visit the gardens soon.”

An image flashes in his mind, one where he’s standing in front of a plot of island peppers, the smell of tilled earth fragrant in the air. Omega wouldn't be far, of course, since she enjoys helping often, unafraid of dirtying her hands. He can already imagine the sly grin that would manifest on his younger sister’s face once she realizes what’s transpiring between you both. The only consequence is that the island gardens and Lorik’s workshop are, ironically, on two different sides of the island.

While Pabu isn’t terribly large, it’s still a bit of a trek crossing from Western Upper Pabu to Eastern Lower Pabu. He will very well dread the opportunities that will force him to socialize while in public, but he supposes the outcome will surely outweigh that temporary discomfort.

Despite himself, Crosshair nods, tucking the daydream away for later. “I can do that.”

“And then, I would like to have lunch with you again.”

If Crosshair asked on any given day, Lorik would probably slap him on the back and tell him to take the rest of the afternoon off.

“Easy enough,” he says.

“I also want to officially meet your brothers.”

Well…

It’s not like he can fend them off for much longer. They’re bound to cross paths with you eventually and while he’s fond of them, Crosshair doesn’t know how his brothers would act around you quite yet.

He can see it now: Wrecker welcoming you with a bone-crushing embrace; Hunter’s eyes analyzing you, never leaving you; Tech introducing himself by asking if he can look at the greenhouse hydroponics system in the near future; Mox, Deke, and Stak convincing you to play a couple rounds of dejarik after dinner.

He hangs his head in resignation. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. A smaller, distant part of him thinks it might actually be healing, being able to finally introduce them to the woman behind his distracted thoughts as of late. It’s… oddly vulnerable, he thinks. But in the end, he thinks he’s probably just being selfish for wanting you all to himself.

“Fine,” he concedes before peering down at you quizzically, waiting for the last blow. “Anything else?”

“That’s it,” you say cheekily, your eyes twinkling. “And I’ll introduce you to my family as well. My grandparents live a couple houses down the road.”

Your hand finds his prosthetic one and when you’re palm-to-palm, your fingers slowly slot together with his own metal ones. The realization settles in belatedly; you have a family. Grandparents, it seems, who live nearby and no doubt have fond aspirations for your future. Settling down on Pabu, away from the clutches of the Empire, is proof enough of that sentiment. He berates himself for forgetting that detail. You had mentioned them before briefly in passing, but that was before he’d grown closer to you, before realizing that you returned his attraction.

“What about you?” You lean forward and fiddle with the neckline of his shirt. “Any… special requests?”

With how fuzzy his brain still feels, Crosshair doesn’t think he can come up with anything in particular. Especially not when you angle your body just so, granting him a direct line of vision down the collar of your blouse.

He’s swift in carrying out his request, wordlessly leaning forward to capture your lips in a slow, languid kiss. There’s a peace that settles over him as his mind shuts off, all rationale dissipating against the breathless sighs you release into him. Warm hands cradle the back of his neck as Crosshair explores you, tastes you, the urge to both savor and devour alighting his blood once more. One of his hands reaches to cup your ass, grasping reverently before testing the waters by pinching gently. You let out an abrupt squeak, breaking the kiss before bursting into a fit of giggles.

“Crosshair,” you scold, trying to shoot him a playful glare but failing miserably. Crosshair thinks he’ll dream of your flushed cheeks for many nights to come.

“So, no request from me?”

His grin is wide when he answers, “More kisses.”

You lean in, happily obliging him with a smile.

Masterlist

Heavily inspired by soft spot - keshi (please listen to this, it's so crosshair-coded)

#jillianwrites #tbb crosshair #tbb crosshair/reader #crosshair/reader #the bad batch #the bad batch crosshair #star wars #tbb #crosshair #crosshair/you #tbb crosshair/you #crosshair x reader #crosshair x you #tbb crosshair x you #tbb crosshair x reader

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owliellder · 1 year ago

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Two's A Crowd

College Bully! Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader

MDNI 18+

(Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5)

Description: College is proving to be a lot harder than you imagined. You cannot fail this math class. So when you've tried everything else, a well-known student is recommended to you by your professor for tutoring lessons, not really leaving you with much of a choice but to work with him.

Warnings: Not proofread, No Use of Y/N, Dub-Con, Unprotected Sex, Bullying, Yelling, Cursing

Tags: College AU, Bully! Leon, Shy! Reader, both are in their early 20's, Leon is Rude AF in the beginning, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Fingering, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mention of a Fight, Additional Tags to be Added

Author's Note: Ahh thank you for 1,000 followers!! I don't even know how that happened!! Anyways, I think it's a little anticlimactic? I just feel like since I am definitely not the kind to raise my voice, a shy reader wouldn't either. Besides, disappointment hurts more than anger, right?

Cross-posted onto AO3

Chapter 4:

Leon really did like you, honest. You were such a sweet girl, so innocent and clueless. Maybe it’s because he never gave his one night stands the time of day, or maybe it was just the sheer amount of time he had to spend with you to get this close, but now he knew he was a pretty terrible person for taking that bet

In the beginning he didn’t feel the slightest twinge of guilt due to the words the frat spewed at him. He knew all the right questions to ask, all the right things to say, the sweetness of it all had you under a spell. It was also such a menial thing to get, a single pair of panties… You probably wouldn’t even know it was missing!

But as time went on, it got harder and harder for Leon to stomach just what he was doing. You’d opened up so much to him about your home life, how stressed you were, how much pressure you were under. Doing this would absolutely ruin you so he did his best to convince himself that he was being the nice one by waiting to complete the bet until you had finished all your finals. All that time spent together had him second guessing, triple guessing, even quadruple guessing his decision to go through with this. The good grades were important to you, he didn’t want to draw your focus away from that.

It was a shame his friends couldn’t keep the damn thing to themselves even if their life depended on it. He’d explicitly told them that it’s done and there was nothing more to it, yet of course they just had to snicker and make snide little comments to each other the next day when they saw you in passing.

Leon wouldn’t admit out loud that you’d really grown on him over the months, so he could only brush his friends off whenever they’d tease him about getting angry whenever the topic arose. Chris was the worst out of all of them, being his best friend, it seemed like his mission was to dance on Leon’s nerves any chance he got.

“Delete that.” A scowl graced Leon’s features as he glared at Chris, who’d stepped back from the agitated man. Almost the entire frat had posed with the panties Leon stole from you, all of them making some form of exaggerated pose and face. What was only meant to be goofy on their part was making the man responsible furious.

“Relax, it’s just a picture. I thought you’d find it funny.” Chris chuckled, bringing his phone back in to look at it again himself. “You’re acting real sour for nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. You’re all acting like a bunch of fucking idiots and I’m sick of it. Now delete that damn picture before I smash your phone with a hammer.” The nonchalant attitude from Chris was driving Leon up the wall. He already knew he’d fucked up big time, and with the way everyone was acting would only get him into bigger trouble.

“Shut up, man.” Chris laughed, like this was all some big joke. Everything was a joke to him. “Acting like you’re gonna explode or something.” This man was an actual dumbass, never taking a moment to actually think about what consequences having photo evidence with the entirety of the frat’s members posing with something stolen would have.

Leon scoffed, holding his hands up before letting them fall dramatically to slap against the tops of his thighs. “No fucking way..” One hand came back up to cover his mouth, breathing out sharply through his nose. It was a sad attempt to keep himself from pouncing on the other man, seeing as not barely five seconds later he tackled Chris, hands scrambling to rip the phone from his hand.

Chris was a few inches taller than Leon, a bit stronger too, so the scuffle didn’t last long. Some punches thrown here, a few kicks there, and Leon had the wind knocked out of him at some point, thrown to the side and left to struggle to get up off the floor while Chris decided to make his way to a different part of the house, muttering under his breath all the while.

“God dammit-” Leon wheezed, on his hands and knees, one hand against his chest as he tried to catch his breath. Sure he reacted purely on instinct, but Chris could stand to be knocked down a few pegs in his opinion. The guy is an ass.

After finally collecting himself, Leon slowly spun around to rest his back against the foot of the couch, elbows resting on his knees. He coughed a couple times and let his eyes fall closed, eyebrows furrowed as he silently seethed. Chris was most definitely going to send that picture around since he obviously thinks it’s the funniest thing to ever grace this planet. You were going to see the picture. That thought alone had his head falling forward in defeat, breathing out a weak sigh and a few more coughs.

If he had just followed his own shitty advice, he would’ve taken a second to think about it. Why didn’t he just tell you in the first place? Why didn’t he just go to the store and buy a random pair of panties? Why did he follow through on such a meaningless bet?

Now that Leon thinks about it, he was the dumbass in this scenario. A royal one.

He probably sat there for an hour with his eyes closed, mind racing a million miles a minute. Trying not to make another stupid decision, he decided the best course of action would be to tell you before you saw that picture. You should hear it from him and not a total stranger. It was the right thing to do. Right?

He let out a few more strangled coughs and wheezes as he stood up off the floor and threw his coat on, beginning the walk of shame to your building. It wouldn’t have taken that long, but the snow and sludge on the ground made it a bit more dangerous, he needed to tread carefully. In more ways than one.

The extended walk left him alone with his thoughts, seeing as he didn’t grab his own phone to bring with him. With every step his mind grew heavier, an involuntary grimace scrunching his face up as he mulled over what exactly he’d done. He was mentally beating himself up over how easy it would’ve been to avoid this situation if he’d just thought outside of himself for one singular minute.

What had he done?

Leon stomped the excess snow off his boots once inside of the dorm building, hands hidden in the pockets of his jackets as he meandered over to the stairs to get up to the second floor where your dorm was. He took his sweet time, practicing what he wanted to say under his breath as he stared down at his feet while walking up the steps.

Your dorm was down the hall around the corner, allowing him the few extra seconds it would take to get there to get his heart under control. You would be mad, rightfully so, but would you forgive him? Is it selfish to hope that you would?

He stood in front of your door for a minute longer, hand hovering just in front of it, trying to bring himself to knock. Licking his dry lips, he quickly hit the knuckle on his index finger against the door three times, his eyes downturned. As much as he wanted to be the bigger person, it scared him to no end. He’s never cared this much before, so why was he so worried about it now?

Leon’s eyes shot up at the sound of the door opening, immediately showing his confusion when it was Sky on the other side. They didn’t say a word, but they looked mad, or at least very irritated. “Hey, I really need to talk to-,” they cut him off by simply holding up the palm of their hand to him, taking in a deep breath. “We saw it.”

Those three words made his heart drop to his stomach, his eyes quickly darting to look through the opening in the door to see if he could see you. “Please, if you would just let me explain I can-”

“Don’t embarrass yourself. Just go.” Sky was just about to close the door before they quickly looked over their shoulder, shutting the door almost all the way. Leon could hear them whispering to you, and though he desperately wanted to listen in, he decided to take a step back from the door and wait patiently. It was the least he could do.

He looked side to side to make sure no one was walking through the hallways, not wanting anyone to eavesdrop on such a sensitive situation. The door reopened, only this time it was you standing in the doorway. You looked so sad, so disappointed.

Leon hesitated before opening his mouth, yet you cut him off before he could even get a word in. “I trusted you,” you rasped quietly, a shaky sigh passing your lips, “I-.. I trusted you… and this is how you treat me..?” His shoulders slumped as he listened to you. He didn’t think he could feel any worse about this, but here you were, reminding him just how much of an ass he’s been.

“All that time we spent together.. all those kind, encouraging words you told me.. were all a lie?” You sniffled, arms slinking around yourself tightly. Sky was standing out of his view rubbing your back, knowing you wanted, no, needed to confront him yourself.

“No- I-..” Leon stuttered, trying to find the best way to explain everything. And no matter how many times he formulated it in his head, the explanation would never justify his actions. Instead he settled on something that would probably mean and do nothing for you. It was worth saying, though. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m so sorry,” his voice fell to a whisper as he repeated himself, eyes remaining on yours. What else could he say?

Silence fell between you as you only stared back at him with glassy eyes, your every breath shaky as you held back sobs. Crying in front of him would only give him more fuel, was your thought process. In your mind, he couldn’t even be trusted with your trash.

By now, Sky had walked over and grabbed your suitcase, rolling it over next to you. You were leaving a day earlier than you said you would, Sky having offered to drive you back home since your hometown was only a couple hours away from where theirs was.

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response, instead taking the handle of your suitcase from your friend before silently walking out of the room, past Leon, and down around the corner. He only stood and watched you walk off with a deep frown, head turning back to look at Sky when he heard them lock the door behind themself.

“You’re only sorry that you got caught.” They grumbled as they walked past him, giving him a quick yet harsh glare. They soon disappeared around the same corner you had, leaving him all alone in the now quiet hallway.

You were the nicest, most considerate person he’s ever had the pleasure to know and he blew it. The worst part about it all was you didn’t even seem mad, just heartbroken. Disappointed in him.

You had put so much of your trust into him, even after he’d been so nasty towards you in the beginning, and what did he do with it? He basically spit on it, lit it on fire, and then flushed the remnants. He was only annoyed with you the first few times he had to help you study, the bickering the two of you shared easily becoming one of the things he liked about you.

Leon honestly liked you from the start, so determined to pass a class that you’d put up with what was basically harassment from him. When he told his frat buddies about you, they were quick to draw up that bet. Unfortunately, he’d known most of these guys since middle school, and you were just a girl he met on chance. His friends’ words blanketed his own morals, and because they saw you as a target, so did he, that subconscious need for peer approval leading him to make one of the worst decisions he’s ever made thus far.

If he was in your shoes, he’d raise hell, so your decision to leave was completely understandable. For some reason you’d let him off easy and he knew he didn’t deserve such light treatment.

All he could do now was hope you’d come back next semester. He’d be fine just getting to see you in passing since you most likely wouldn’t want to be anywhere near him anymore, your friends would certainly keep him at a distance away from you.

Would writing a message be okay? You need time before he approaches the topic with you. Should he leave you be? No, you deserve an apology, even if you don’t want it, nor accept it.

Someone brushed by Leon, breaking his train of thought. He was still standing in the hallway in front of your dorm room. He needed to go and try to make this right, or at the very least rip everyone at the frat a new one. He wasn’t sure, maybe it was because he was angry at them and himself, but leaving the frat sounded like a pretty good way to start righting his wrongs. Not before he made sure that the picture was wiped from everyone’s phone and the panties he stole were kept far away from everyone there.

Chris sent the picture to you, which means it was sent to a bunch of other people too. He’ll spend all winter break tracking down every last person it was sent to, tell professors what he’d done just so it didn’t spread any further. And if it meant he’d lose his scholarship, then so be it.

tags:

@kayotee4 @k-fallingstar @bobastayhigh @mi-zer-y @chasingkennedy @l30nva @espressonerd @jjouki @5tarx @bunnybreadloaves @whoisgami @cyanscribe @c4b3r1a @darichvep @mmmangel @kingtacocat @klee-iii @baby--vera @dakiniii @kenma-izhu @aliidarling @leonsmamacita @deadghxsty @nekoheist @dumbassmortal @cassiecasluciluce @iovewilliams @maeplayscello @deddiemunsonsblog @paranoid-but-android @mariesmain @tteokhwaa @bonnibuckets @eilonwykennedy @1dk-anym0r3 @papatyacikcik @animesnowstorm @lexi-zsy09 @mylifedoesntexist @ifeellikedying @yourmommylol04 @ravioli19 @dakiniii @papichulo120627

(few of your blogs won't work, i tried though 😭)

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measuredingold · 20 days ago

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stargazing

authors note: ….hi🥲 this is coming a lot later than i expected, but my last update i did mention life was lifeing and well… it continued to life 😭 i got really sick and was down for about a week, and that added onto everything else just really dwindled whatever energy i had left to finish writing this. however, we powered through ! this is the finale part to you right and i just want to say thank you to everyone who stayed along for the ride. i hope this ending is somewhat of what you wanted :) title from stargazing by the neighbourhood. as always, enjoy and feedback is greatly appreciated !

pairing: noah sebastian x reader

divider: @saradika-graphics

word count: 7.7k

cross posted on ao3 / part one, two, and three

cw/tw: Noah Sebastian Is Getting Better At Feelings, first date nerves, ~tension~, reader is just smitten by noah lol, p in v ( don’t be like them, wrap it up ), big unsaid feelings, openish ending ?, 18+ minors do not interact

You pace the length of your kitchen, wringing your hands together as you try to calm yourself down. You feel silly for being nervous because Noah hasn't given you a reason to be all week. You could see that he was trying, and actually wanting to mend whatever relationship you had with each other, and maybe that's what made you nervous.

He was trying. He wanted this. He wanted you.

After literal years of telling yourself it'll never happen, that a hookup is all you will ever be, you find yourself a bit panicked at the possibility of it being something more.

It didn't help that you knew Noah was nervous too, possibly more scared than anything else, and for some reason that didn't ease your mind one bit. This was new ground for the both of you, and neither knew how to navigate it.

Your phone chimes from the counter, grabbing you from your nervous thoughts, and your heart practically drops.

I’m here :)

You feel sweaty, rubbing your clammy hands down the sweater that had adorn your body. Fuck. Why were you so nervous? You tell yourself it’s just Noah, but that only made the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that much worse.

You quickly punch out a reply, telling him you'll be out in a second, and rush around your kitchen to gather your things.

Bag? Check. Wallet? Check. Phone? Check.

You stop in front of a mirror you have hanging in the hallway by your front door, checking yourself out one last time. You over thought your outfit for hours and at this point you just hoped you looked decent enough. You think you did, and with one last look, you were out the door.

You weren't expecting Noah to be standing outside his car, leaning against it waiting for you. He stands up straight when he notices you, and you see the exact moment his eyes widen.

"Hi." He says breathlessly.

He looks you up and down, shamelessly checking you out and you can't help but feel hot under his gaze.

It's not like he's never checked you out before, has plenty of times in the past, but it was so different this time around. You can't help but tug at the hem of your sweater, cheeks flushing with color as you say just as breathlessly, "Hi.”

Your own eyes drag up and down his body, taking him in. He looked good. All black, like he typically wore when he tried to dress up, but still looked so casually Noah. His style was incredibly attractive to you, and you also couldn’t help but feel warm inside that he tried to look nice for you.

Noah blinks, as if he was snapping out of whatever trance he was in, giving you a tight lipped smile. "Ready?"

"Oh, yeah! Ready." You say a bit too enthusiastically, face heating up from embarrassment.

Noah's tight lipped smile falls into something much more relaxed, and your chest feels funny at the breathy chuckle he lets out. He moves before you, opening the passenger door for you. You give him a look, the corners of your lips quirking up.

"Since when did you become such a gentleman?" You tease lightheartedly, your smile growing at the bashful look on Noah's face.

"Always been one," He mutters as you start to get into the car, and he ducks his head into the car once you're finally seated, "but I wanna do this right, so I'm trying really hard right now."

The confession itself sparks a fire inside of you and you don't know what to say, head tipping forward to hide the flush on your cheeks from him. You miss the soft smile he gives you before shutting your door and coming over to his side.

Your heart pounds against your chest, and you're so busy trying to calm yourself down that you barely even look up at him when he gets in the car. You manage to spare a glance at him when he finally pulls out of your apartment complex, eyeing him from your seat.

Sometimes you get overwhelmed when you remember just how attractive he was, especially when you were able to see him up close. He took your breath away in the best way possible. You were always infatuated with him, even when hooking up with him meant just that. Before feelings became involved, before... everything. You were always just enamored by him and his casual beauty.

Your stomach turns when he catches your gaze, looking away from the road briefly, and he flashes you a gentle smile. You look away, hands wringing in your lap as you focus on the cars passing by, trying to ignore the way your face burned with the embarrassment of being caught. You wait a few moments to cast another glance his way and thankfully he wasn't looking at you anymore, so you could go back to admiring him without any interruptions.

Your eyes fall from his face down to his hands, one clutched around the steering wheel while the other is resting lazily on the console. The sudden urge to reach out and lace your fingers with his fills you so suddenly, you have to look away again before it becomes too overwhelming. Just the thought of your hand in his made your stomach flip, face burn, because you knew how it felt. You knew how soft his hands were, and how gently they always held yours.

You didn't think much of it then, but right now it’s the only thing you can think about. He clears his throat and your eyes snap back up to his face, watching him looking between you and the road.

"I'm uh," He clears his throat, "I'm sorry for not saying this before but you look beautiful."

"Oh." You're not sure what to say. You hadn't even noticed he didn't even compliment you, too caught up in trying to act at least somewhat normal around him. You can't keep your eyes off of him, a small, bashful smile forming on your lips. "Thank you. I uh, also didn't get to say it either, but you look very handsome."

"You think I’m handsome?" He takes his eyes off the road for a split second to look at you, the corners of his lips curling into a smirk.

"Yes, of course I do." The nerves that were flowing through you were slowly evaporating, your arms crossing over your chest. "What else am I supposed to think?"

"I don't know? I usually get pretty before I ever get handsome.”

"Pretty?" You question, giggling. "Oooh, I see. You just want me to call you pretty boy, huh?"

This felt normal. The back and forth teasing between you two wasn't forced, and felt almost normal again. It felt right. Your shoulders weren't as tense, dropping as you heard the first sounds of laughter from Noah. Your smile grows then, watching as he looks back towards you, cheeks a light shade of pink.

"Maybe."

"Well. You are a very pretty boy, but you're also very handsome. I think you can be both simultaneously."

"Yeah?" You nod and he purses his lips, trying to supress the smile that you knew was begging to break through, and fixes his eyes back on the road. "Well, uh. Thanks."

"You're welcome," You say softly, still eyeing him from the passenger seat.

Your conversation dies down then, but the air doesn't feel as nerve filled as it once did. A sort of comfortableness surrounds you both now, the hum of whatever playlist Noah decided to put on for your drive playing through your ears.

This was… really nice. Comfortable. It made something beneath your chest tighten, warmth spreading over you again.

You come to a stop at a red light and Noah shifts in his seat and clears his throat, the hand on the console tapping along to whatever was playing.

You eye it, and the urge from earlier comes back, and this time you don't fight it. Instead, you reach for it. You don't dare look at him, face burning as your cheeks flush pink yet again, and you turn your head towards the window. Your heart pounds beneath your chest when you feel his fingers lace through yours, and your stomach flips when he gives your hand a gentle squeeze.

The light turns green, and for the rest of the drive your hand doesn't leave his once.

When you pulled up to your apartment, you couldn't help but feel sad that tonight was over. For lack of better words - tonight had went fucking amazing.

The nerves between the two of you vanished almost completely by time you made it to dinner, and the rest of the night felt like this is how things have always been. You forgot how well you and Noah got on, personalities blending into each other with ease. The reason why you were so attracted to him to begin with was because things were just so easy. It almost made you forget everything that had happened leading up to this.

Even the ride home was amazing, conversation flowed so well between the two of you that the ride itself felt only 5 minutes long, rather than the thirty minutes it truly was. You don't think you've ever heard Noah speak so much.

You look down at your hands laced together over the console, smiling to yourself. The second you got into the car Noah was the one to reach for you this time, pulling your hand into his. It made you feel warm all over knowing he had let down a few more walls for you during the night, just being himself. It felt good knowing that somewhere deep inside Noah wanted to trust you and was trying his best to overcome the worry and doubt in his mind. He squeezes your hand and your eyes lift to meet his.

"I had a really good time tonight." Noah says softly.

You smile. "Me too. We should do this again."

You barely register the words that slip from your lips and flush, but you don't take it back. You meant it. You wanted to do this again, and you just hoped that Noah felt the same. From the way his eyes widened ever so slightly, and a bright smile formed on his features, you gathered that he did.

"Yeah," He murmurs and his eyes flick over your face. "Yeah, we should. I'd really like that."

Noah looks like he wants to say more but seemingly doesn't, and you watch the very moment his eyes drop from yours down to your lips. Your heart practically slams against your chest, eyes widening as you watch him stare for a moment before dragging his eyes back up. The air around the two of you was electrified, and it was the longest three seconds of your life watching Noah's tongue dart out to wet his bottom lip before speaking.

“You can tell me if I’m moving too fast.”

“Okay.” You whisper out, heart racing beneath your chest.

“Seriously, tell me if I am. I won’t take it to heart - no hard feelings whatsoever. We can even act like this never happened, if you want, and-“

“Noah.” You cut him off and you see the blush on his cheeks the second his words come to a stop. “Just say it.”

He pauses again and you’re mentally screaming at him to just do it, to fucking ask you because for the last minute and a half you’ve been dreaming about his lips against yours, the need to kiss him growing as each moment passes.

"Can I kiss you?"

He says it so softly, you almost don't hear him. But you do, and your face heats up, stomach feeling like a bunch of butterflies were set free inside of you because he finally said it. You stare at him for a moment, words suddenly becoming too much, so you settle for a simple nod instead. The nerves from earlier return, but this time mixed with excitement.

You remember the last time you kissed Noah and you can't hide the shiver that runs through your body. Memories of that night flood through your mind and typically the thought is always met with disappointment, but this time it's something much different. You don't dwell on the after, and the feeling he left you behind with, instead you're reminded of the way his lips felt against yours, and the way his hands felt trailing over your body.

You shift in your seat to turn towards him, slight disappointment filling you when his hand left yours, but the disappointment was then replaced by even more excitement when that very hand came up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

His eyes drop to your lips again, palm resting against the side of your face and you can't help but nuzzle into the touch. His thumb brushes across your cheek and your breath hitches when you see him lean in. Your eyes flutter shut as you suck in a deep breath, anticipating the moment his lips finally meet yours.

You know it’s not your first time kissing him. Far from it actually, but it feels like the first time all over again. It’s not like fireworks set off the second your lips pressed together, it wasn’t anything cliche. Instead, something much softer happens, something you haven’t felt in a very long time.

It starts from the tip of your head, right down to your toes. Warmth spreads through you, almost like a dull, comfortable ache, just letting you know that it’s there. That it’s real. Your chest does that thing where it feels weighted, but not in the anxiety inducing way. No, in a nice way.

You briefly wonder if he feels the same, like things are finally clicking into place.

Your lips move together slowly and you hear him sigh softly against your mouth. The hand against your cheek moves to the back of your neck to keep you there as he deepens the kiss, and you feel yourself physically melt in his embrace. You don’t remember the last time he kissed you like this, or if he ever has, but you quickly realize you never want him to kiss you any other way.

You part after a moment, the two of you needing to catch your breath. His forehead rests against yours and he chuckles softly, eyes remaining shut.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all night.” He confesses, eyes fluttering open to find you already staring at him, a gentle smile on your lips.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Since the moment you came out.”

You stare at each other, soft smiles and shared breath. He’s the first to pull away and you don’t know what takes over you, and think maybe you’re the one moving too fast, but the overwhelming urge to keep him with you fills your every sense, the tips of your fingers buzzing with the need to pull him back. You realize you’re not ready for tonight to be over, and you really want to kiss him again.

“Noah?”

“Hm?”

"Do you want to come in?"

Noah blinks, your words slowly registering. His eyes widen slightly and you almost laugh at the look he gives you, like you're crazy for even asking him that.

"You want me to... come in?"

"Yeah," You nod and this time you let your eyes drop to his mouth, keeping your gaze there as you say, "I really want you to."

"Are you sure?" He sounds concerned, and your eyes drag up his face to see his brows furrowed. "I... I don't want you to think that I kissed you because I was like, I don't know, expecting something. Because I wasn't. I just..." His cheeks flush. "I just really wanted to kiss you."

Your chest does that weird thing again, the warmth telling you I’m here, this is real, and you reach out for his hand again. His blush deepens but doesn't pull away, eyes dragging back up towards you.

“If you don’t want to, that’s completely fine. I don’t want you to feel forced.” Your eyes scan his face before locking your gaze with his, and your heart says fuck it. “But I really don’t want you to leave yet, so yes. I’m sure. I want you to come in.”

Noah stares at you for a long moment, curious eyes scanning over your face. You see the exact second that they soften and you think he's going to say yes. But instead he shakes his head, giving you a small, yet sad smile.

"Not tonight." Your heart drops and Noah's smile slips, noticing your shift in demeanor, lips now dipping down into a frown. "I want to. Trust me, I do. But..." His words trail off as he gives your hand another squeeze. "I wasn't kidding when I said I want to do this right."

Your shoulders sag a bit when his words settle in, because deep down you knew he was right. Even though you want nothing more than to drag him upstairs with you, you knew this was moving too fast. This was you being irrational, running on current feelings, rather than thinking logically.

"...Okay." You say slowly, a pout forming on your lips. "You're right. I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm sorry."

“Don’t apologize.” Noah gives you another smile and the pout on your face vanishes. “It’s taking everything in me to not say fuck it and go up there with you… but I know I shouldn’t. Not tonight, at least.”

Your stomach turns at the implication of his words. Not tonight, at least. Meaning there will most likely be another night where he drops you off, and instead of saying no… maybe he’d stay. You try to hold back the smile that’s threatening to form, but you can’t stop it, instead turning your head towards the window.

"Okay. Not tonight."

You count to ten to try and collect yourself before turning your head to look at him again, the smile you were trying to hide growing wider when you catch him already staring. You hold each other's gaze for a long moment, sharing the same knowing smile.

His hand unlaces from yours again and reaches for your face, humming out your name softly. If you had cared, maybe you would've been embarrassed how quickly you were already leaning back in, but you didn't care at all. All that mattered to you was getting one more kiss from him.

It's much softer than the last kiss you shared, just a slight brush of your lips, but enough to have your chest aching and mind racing. It ends as soon as it starts, Noah being the first to pull away again. His lips brush over your cheek before pulling away fully, giving you a dazed smile.

"Would kiss you all night if I could," He hums out.

"I mean, you could." Your teasing words are mumbled, the corners of your lips tugging into a smile at the sound of his chuckle.

"You're not helping."

"Sorry."

You're not and Noah knows that, giving you a playful glare as you unclip your seatbelt. You give him a bright smile, confidence flooding your veins as you initiate the first move, leaning over the console to plant your lips gently against his cheek. When you pull back, his face is flushed and he's staring at you so softly, it physically pains you that you have to leave him.

"Text me when you get home?" Your hand is already on the door handle and Noah nods.

"Of course."

With one last shared look, you whisper your goodbyes before finally exiting his car. You wave at him through the window and he waves back, looking as shy as ever, and your heart thuds against your chest. You have to turn on your heels and keep your back to him, training your focus on your apartment because you're about two seconds away from running back to the car and kissing the fuck out of him.

It isn't until you're halfway through your skincare routine when your heart finally slows down, and your smile isn't so wide that it's actually hurting your cheeks. You can't stop thinking about Noah, about tonight, and how hopeful you are for what's to come next. You hear your phone go off in your bedroom right as you finish applying your moisturizer, stomach flipping at who it could possibly be.

You already knew it was Noah, and your smile widens again as you finally check the message, settling under the covers of your bed.

Sorry for taking so long to text, got interrogated the second I got home lol

You laugh at the thought of his friends throwing questions at him the second he stepped inside. You could almost see the way his brows probably furrowed, giving them all a very unamused expression while Nicholas stood across from him, arms crossed with a look that screamed you’re welcome.

LOL 😂

What did Nicholas have to say?

Shocked that I even came home lol thought I would've stayed the night.

Did you tell him it was offered? 🙄

...Yes 😐 then he called me a loser for saying I wanted to take this slow and do it right this time lol

Your face heats up at this text, heart skipping a beat at his confession. Noah's adamant attitude on doing this right made you feel warm all over, and any worries you had left on his intentions flew out the window. You weren't worried about him using you or hurting you again. You knew he was being honest. He was trying. The reminder made your stomach swirl.

Well, I don’t think you’re a loser.

But I do think it's cute how determined you are.

Yeah?

Yeah. Very.

His next message comes about five minutes later and you think that maybe he's fallen asleep, but your phone goes off again.

I'm glad you think it's cute. I was worried you'd think I was making up an excuse because I didn't want to stay. Trust me, I did. Hardest thing I've ever had to do lol

You smile, thumbs flying across your screen.

I think getting out of your car tonight was the hardest thing I've ever had to do 😭 but I get it. Too fast for the first date. We've got time.

Yeah, we do. 🙂

The rest of the night both you and Noah exchanged messages until you fell asleep, a soft smile on your lips and the thought of your next date on your mind.

The next few weeks flew by like a blur. You saw Noah again that next weekend for your second official date, and he left you again with just a kiss and a promise of next time. A second date then turned into a third, and a third turned into a fourth, and then a fifth, and that just turned into seeing each other during the week, until eventually you just stopped calling them dates all together.

It was a weird feeling to have this routine with Noah. During the week, you'd hang out with each other casually. Maybe meet up on your lunch break, or after you get off work going over to his place while he's finishing up whatever studio time he scheduled for that day. You'd lounge on the couch in his studio until he was finished before you ended up on the couch downstairs, curled up against each other as you join him and his roommate for whatever anime they've decided to binge that week. Sometimes he'd come over to yours on a random Wednesday evening, take-out in tow. Like tonight.

You had been texting throughout your work day, complaining about the amount of work your boss had left for you with such short notice. You weren't expecting him to show up after you had gotten home, smiling at you sheepishly when you opened the door. Now here you were, take-out eaten, and the two of you curled up on your couch together.

You're not sure what to even call this relationship between the two of you. You haven't discussed it, and truthfully you haven't even thought much about it. You've just been enjoying your time with him. It was nice, and the urges from your first date were completely forgotten.

Well. Almost forgotten.

In all honesty, you were fine with not having sex. In the beginning when this all began - or rather, restarted - you were scared that your relationship with Noah would only ever be physical. Yeah, there had been casual moments between the two of you before you started hooking up, but for almost two years it was all you would ever do.

You knew why he wanted to do this right this time around and take it slow, because he was thinking the same exact thing as you. Were these emotions based solely on the physical intimacy you both shared or were they actually real?

After weeks of fleeting touches, and lots of kisses that left you breathless, you soon realized there was more to it than just getting in bed together. You realized just how easy it was for you two, how natural it all felt. You liked Noah, and jumping back into bed with him was the last thing on your mind.

Except, well, right now.

You can't seem to stop staring at his hands, watching as they drag lazily up and down your legs. At first it was fine, you're used to his touch at this point, but his hands kept dragging up higher and higher to the point that it made you squirm. The way his fingers would dip into the flesh of your thighs and grip, before rubbing the spot smoothly.

Your mind raced at the familiarity of it, reminding you of the way his hands would roam your thighs before hiking them up on his hips. It felt almost deliberate, but you knew it wasn't. Noah was way too focused on this damn show to even realize what the fuck he wasn't doing to you right now.

You suddenly felt hot. You knew your face was flushed and it's gotten to the point where you have to keep shifting, legs moving against his lap to get into a more comfortable position. Except nothing worked and you were left chronically uncomfortable. There was no solution if Noah kept gripping your thighs like that.

After the fourth time of squirming in your seat, you finally hear Noah calling out your name, a laugh soon following.

"Hello? Anyone there?"

You blink, eyes dragging up from the hands on your thighs to Noah's burning gaze, lips tugged in a small smirk.

"Huh?"

"Said your name like five times, I think." Noah laughs again, his smirk growing. "Where'd you go?"

"Uh. Nowhere." Nice save.

"Nowhere, huh?" You nod. "Then I'm sure you can tell me what's happening now in the show, right?"

"Um." His teasing tone only makes your face hotter and you turn your focus towards the television, eyes squinting. "Well, you see-"

"You have no idea what's going on, do you?"

Your shoulders slump forward defeatedly, turning your head back towards Noah.

"I was thinking, okay?"

"Yeah?" His hands move up and down your legs again and your eyes immediately snap towards them, swallowing down the lump in your throat as his fingers dig into your flesh again. "About what?"

"Jesus, you're asking way too many questions."

"And you're ignoring every single one." His features soften, the smirk now being replaced by a pout. "If you're bored we can watch something else."

"I'm not bored."

"Then what's up? It's like you're barely here."

"I told you, I was thinking. Just in my head, s'all." He gives you an unconvinced look. "I swear! Nothing's wrong."

"Alright, then what were you thinking so hard about?" Your eyes drop to his hands again almost by instinct and you watch closely how they caress your skin. You can't stop the shiver that runs through your body. "...Oh."

You blink back up at him, the softness in his gaze replaced by something else, and a knowing smirk settling onto his lips. Shit. You'd been caught. Your face burns under his eyes and you look anywhere but him, huffing out your response.

"Can you fucking blame me? You're gripping onto me for dear life, dude. Hard to focus on anything else."

Noah laughs. "Sorry?"

"You should be." You grumble, arms crossing over your chest.

"I can’t help myself," His response comes moments later and you finally bravely gaze at him, seeing that his focus was now on his own hands. They run up and down your thighs much slower this time, much more deliberately, and you shivered under his touch again. "Just like touching you, I guess. Didn't even realize I was doing it."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm." His eyes flick up to yours and you watch the second they drag slowly down to your lips. "You're always very soft. Feels nice."

You stare at him for a second, much longer than you should, and before you know it you're suddenly settling in his lap. It happens so quickly you don't even realize you're doing it before your lips are sliding across his, your fingers tangling in his hair. You're kissing him like your life depended on it, your whines muffled by his mouth as his fingers grip your hips, dragging you against him as he kisses you back just as desperately.

You tug his hair in response, and his pretty gasp against your lips has you feeling like you're fucking crazy. You need him. You fucking crave him. It's been far too long without this, without feeling him, you suddenly wonder how you've gone this long without it. Your kissing settles down to something less messy, but still deep and so full of emotion, Noah has to pull away to catch his breath.

He stares at you now with wide, glossy brown eyes, and you have to physically restrain yourself from kissing the fuck out of him again.

"Fuck." He whispers under his breath, a chuckle following. You feel his fingers dig into your hips again and you roll yourself against him, his breath hitching. "Oh fuck."

You don't hold back this time, rocking yourself against his lap. Your head dips down to ghost your lips against his cheek and then down his jaw, until you're nestled against his neck. You suck gently against the skin there before pulling back to blow cool air against him, Noah shivering underneath you.

"Shit. Baby, wait." The pet name alone has you seeing stars and you can’t help but ignore him, rocking your hips against him with more speed, lips attaching to his neck again. "Fuck, wait. Wait, wait, wait."

He has to pull you off of him and you barely pay any mind to the noise that leaves you, probably the most pathetic whine you've ever let out in your life. You meet his gaze again to see his eyes are much more blown out than before, and that same glossy look.

“Are you…” He takes a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut before speaking again. “Fuck. Are you sure?”

Your heart tugs at the sincere tone in his voice, concern sketched into his features. Even after weeks you can tell he’s still worried of moving too fast, of doing something you’re uncomfortable with.

“Noah,” You sigh out, fingers carding through his hair absentmindedly. You swear you hear him purr. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure in my entire life.”

“…Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m sure.” You hum out gently, your hands moving from his hair to cup the sides of his face. “Are you sure? If you’re not ready-“

“Fuck, I’m ready. I’m so ready.” He lets out a breathy laugh, and you can’t help but follow suit, thumbs brushing over his cheeks. “I just. I didn’t want to move too fast, you know? I wanted to do it right this time, but…”

His voice trails off and you feel the hands on your hips squeeze gently, fingers digging into you. You make a noise and shift against his lap, gasping soon after when you feel his cock hardening beneath you. God, he wants this just as bad as you.

“I think we’ve done it right.” You all but whisper, head dipping back down. “Don’t you think?”

It takes him a moment to respond, blinking up at you before a smile spreads across his features. His head tilts up just enough to where your lips barely touch, mumbling out, “…I think so, too.”

You don’t respond, just crash your lips to his in another bruising kiss. He groans against your mouth and you feel his hips press up, causing you to grind down against him. He swears, fingers digging into your hips before he pulls back seconds later, eyeing you.

You know that look and sit back in his lap, trying to maintain eye contact while you pull your shirt up and over your head. Noah’s eyes widen, the hands on your hips sliding up to your waist, squeezing.

“Fucking beautiful.” You hear him murmur before he leans back in, this time his lips attaching to your collarbone.

Your head drops back, letting him scatter kisses along your skin. Eyes shutting, your fingers card through his hair and tug hard. The noise he lets out has your entire body shivering, tugging again just so you could hear it one more time.

Your hand drops from his hair to reach behind you, unclasping your bra and letting it fall. Noah swears again, followed by another delicious noise that’s suspiciously similar to a whine, before dropping his head. You gasp at the feeling of both of his lips wrapping around a swollen bud, while you feel his fingers toying with the other.

You feel insane already and he hasn’t even done a damn thing. Maybe it’s because it’s been so long since you’ve been intimate with someone, let alone Noah, but whatever it is you hope this feeling never goes away.

He takes his time, switching back and forth between tongue and fingers while you pathetically grind yourself in his lap. You think you could very well come just from this, which is absolutely insane, but you don’t think you’ve ever felt this good in a long fucking time.

Your breath catches in your throat when he suddenly pulls away, gently pushing you off his lap and then onto your back on the couch. The dark look in his eyes as he stares down at you has your lips parting and breath hitching, hands reaching for him.

“Off.” You breathe out, fingers wrapping around the fabric of his shirt and immediately tugging up.

He doesn’t say anything in response, just nods his head before pulling his shirt off. It’s your turn to stare at him with wide eyes, scanning over the tattoos that’s etched across his skin. You almost utter the same words he’d just spoken moments ago, fucking beautiful, but can’t seem to make out any words. Instead you just whine out something incoherent, grabbing for him.

He’s quick to drape himself over you, leaning down to catch your lips in another kiss as his hands roam your body. You instinctively raise your hips up off the couch when you feel his fingers dip into the waistband of your pants. They’re thrown somewhere in your living room, probably with your shirts, but you can’t even think of where the fuck they went when you feel his finger swipe through your already soaked folds.

“Holy shit.” He grits out. “You’re so fucking…”

He doesn’t even get to finish his words, a whine escaping from the back of his throat as he makes his way down your body, slowly working you with his finger. You throw your head back against the arm rest, groaning softly at the feeling of him slowly pushing his finger in.

You whimper out his name, hips shifting down to meet his touch, and you feel his breath against your hip.

“I know, baby.” His voice is rough and he presses a kiss against your hip. You feel his finger curls perfectly, hit that spot that has you shouting out and hands flying down, fingers tangling in his hair. “Fuck.”

It doesn’t take too much longer until he’s able to slip a second finger in with ease, thumb circling around your swollen clit. It’s as if he knows what you need without you asking, already knowing how to work your body. You’re not even sure if you’re saying words at this point, too focused on the way his fingers feel and moving your hips in time with him. It’s overwhelming at how good it all feels.

You whine loudly at the feeling of his fingers parting from you, and Noah shushes you as he works his way back up your body.

“I know, I’m sorry.” He coos out, lips pressing to your neck and then up your cheek, before moving to your lips. “Need to be inside you. Please?”

You arch into him, nodding desperately at his request. “Yes, yes, yes. Fuck. Please.”

With one last kiss to your lips, he pulls away long enough to push his sweats and boxers down. You watch him with hooded eyes, dragging your eyes up and down his body. You absentmindedly bite down on your bottom lip, too dazed off the need for him to even realize he was speaking to you.

“…Hm?” The second call of your name pulls you from your thoughts, staring back up at him.

“Do you have a condom?”

“Fuck.” You hadn’t even thought about it, too caught up in the moment. Your hands come up to cover your face, laughter muffled behind them. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”

“Yeah, neither did I.” Noah laughs along with you and you feel him lean back down, kissing around your hands that covered part of your face. “Bedroom?”

"Mhm." You hum out, hands dropping from your face before turning your head, catching Noah's lips with your own. "...but I'm fine without one, if you are. I don't think I can wait a second longer."

Noah groans against your lips, pulling away only to drop his head down to where your neck and shoulder meet, lips grazing across your skin.

"Fuck. Are you sure?" His hips shift, causing his hardened cock to slip between your slick folds and you both gasp.

"Yes." You whimper, arms wrapping around his neck to keep him there. "I haven’t been with anyone since, and I trust you, just... please.”

“I haven’t been with anyone either.”

He stays there for a beat longer, and you already know the wheels in his head are turning. It’s a risky move, you’re sure he knows that, but God… You don’t think you can go a second longer without him inside you, and the thought of feeling all of him is enough to send your mind racing.

His hips shift again, the head of his cock rocking into your swollen clit and you have to hold back a moan, another desperate “Please,” slipping from your lips.

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

He sits up, hands running down the lengths of your thighs before hiking them up along his hips. You watch with hooded eyes as he wrapped his hand around his cock, giving it a few tugs. The noise that falls from his lips is enough to make you feel desperate, arching off the couch again as you whisper his name.

You needed him now.

You both make a noise similar to a choked whine when he swipes the tip through your folds before finally pushing in, the stretch causing the air to leave your lungs completely. You’ve had him so many times like this before but it still feels all brand new. The groan Noah lets out above you has you pressing up into him, a moan of his name falling off your lips.

"Shit." He groans, head dropping to your shoulder. "Missed this. Missed you. Fuck."

His words echo through your mind and weigh heavy on your chest because you knew that he meant it, wasn’t just saying to save face. He was letting those walls down for you, baring himself and letting you see the real him for a split second. No hiding. Just Noah.

The moment itself is so overwhelming that you catch yourself blinking away the burning in your eyes as you cling to him. You never thought you’d get back to this moment with Noah, and to a place where feelings were mutual. No more running away with the what ifs and second guessing. You both are here now, and that tight feeling in your chest is telling you that it’s fucking real and he’s not going anywhere.

A quiet plea of his name falling from your lips. He lifts his head up to stare down at you, eyes softening when he notices your glossy gaze. His forehead rests against yours and you let out another moan, pressing your chest into his again.

“Say it back. Please.”

“I missed you. I always miss you, Noah.” Is all you can say in one jagged breath, words slurring together.

You think you notice his eyes begin to get glossy, but they’re quickly blinked away and you’re wondering if you had made it up. Instead of responding, Noah tilts his head down to kiss you.

His hips start to move, rocking into you so slowly as your lips slide together. You pull away at a rather hard thrust of his hips, a surprised moan slipping from you as you throw your head back against the arm rest. His head drops to your chest, speeding up his movements.

You stay like that for a moment - your head thrown back in complete bliss as Noah’s mouth moves ever your chest, kissing and licking whatever he could reach. That overwhelming feeling comes back and you’re pulling his head up to you again, whining quietly.

“Noah,” You whimper, lips brushing against his.

“I’m right here, baby.” He hums out, a moan soon following at the feeling of you clenching around him. His hips rock into yours as you try to cling to him, urge to be closer overtaking you. “Not going anywhere.”

You want to say something back, that you know he isn’t, but you can’t get anything out except a low, quiet mewl of his name. The sound of skin against skin fills your ears as Noah snaps his hips against yours, sending you closer and closer to complete bliss. You’re barely even kissing, lips barely touching as you whimper into each other's mouths.

You gasp when you feel his hand slide down between your bodies, fingers brushing over where the two of you met. He finally kisses you the second his fingers press against your swollen clit, your body jolting at the touch.

“Oh fuck.” You cry out the second he pulls away, eyes rolling back.

His forehead presses against your collarbone, eyes dropping to where the two of you met as he gave another hard, shallow thrust. You chant his name like a fucking prayer as his fingers speed up, and you can tell the end is almost near.

“Wanna feel you.” He whimpers out, nuzzling his face back against your neck. “Fuck. I… I need to feel you. Baby, please.”

It doesn’t take much longer, combined with the feel of his cock and rough fingers against your clit you find yourself shouting his name moments later. Your orgasm hits you like a ton of bricks and you barely even register the animalistic noise you make, body arching further into his. You hear Noah hiss against your skin, your cunt sparking around his cock and fingers digging deep into his shoulders as you ride out your high.

You don’t know where you start or where you end, don’t even know if you actually did, aftershocks hitting your body even well after Noah pulled out and fisted his cock. You watch with hooded eyes as he spills his release over your stomach, a quiet cry of your name leaving him.

Exhaustion and pure bliss fill your every sense, and you don’t even notice Noah leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your forehead. You also don’t notice him leaving, eyes fluttering open when you feel the weight of the couch shift and something warm drags across your stomach, and then between your thighs.

You think he’s going to get up again but he doesn’t, instead laying the towel on the floor beside the couch and mumbling something about getting it later. He drapes himself over top of you again and instinctively you cling, arms wrapping around him to pull him closer to you.

His face nuzzles back against the crook of your neck and your hand finds a home in his hair, carding through it slowly.

“Thank you.” Noah hums out after a moment, the feeling of his lips brushing against your skin making you shiver.

“For what?”

“For giving me another chance.” His voice is so small, so quiet, you barely hear it muffled against your neck, but you do.

That burning feeling is back in your eyes and you try to blink it away, thanking whatever higher power that Noah can’t see your face right now. You scratch at his scalp gently and turn your head, lips brushing against his hair.

“Well… Thank you for trusting me.”

You think your words catch him by surprise when you feel him still in your arms, but then melts back against your chest. You don’t think it’s possible but he somehow presses himself closer to you, and the weight of him on top of you brings a sort of comfort that you’re never going to get used to.

You think you should get up, maybe drag him to the shower with you and then get right back in bed, but the silence right now is nice. You let yourself bask in it with Noah for just a moment longer, scratching at his scalp again. He makes a noise, something soft and happy, and in that moment you’re happy that you gave him another chance, too.

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfic #mine

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brickmvster · 11 months ago

Text

potato, potato, my little baby potato...

Pairing: Ellie x Dina

Tags/warnings: fluff, pregnancy, childbirth, domesticity, motherhood, slice of life, pregnant dina

Word Count: 1766

Synopsis: A peek into Ellie and Dina's life before JJ was born.

Author's Note: wrote this back in june of 2022 and posted it on ao3, decided to post it here too bc why not <;3 here is the ao3 link!! also idk how well this will do bc I know this site mostly has x reader fics but I love elliedina with my whole soul OKAY. please enjoyyy comments are appreciated!!

When Dina first noticed her small baby bump, it filled her with pure joy. She remembered standing in front of the bathroom mirror, gently rubbing her stomach, eyes full of admiration. Ellie was behind her, hands wrapped around her waist, experiencing a fluttery feeling in her stomach at the thought of her being a mother – which is something she never would've imagined in her wildest dreams. In a dangerous world like the one they navigated, she never believed parenthood would be an option for her, nor was she really interested in it. Ellie thought children were cute, sure, with their contagious giggles and chubby faces, but she knew taking care of one would be more responsibility than she felt she could handle. But with Dina being with her, she felt this unbridled sense of confidence. Dina was caring and loving by nature, and Ellie had a hunch motherhood would come to her easily – with Dina by her side she had someone's footsteps to follow in.

Despite being pregnant, Dina was still very active around the house, much to Ellie's disapproval. Anytime Ellie saw Dina on her feet, whether she was doing the dishes, taking out the laundry, or even getting up to put her plate in the sink, she always made a face similar to that of a displeased mother who couldn't get her sick child to lie down. But Dina always retorted with "It's not like I'm completely immobile yet, so don't worry."

Dina also spent a lot of time preparing for their baby's arrival, with the help of Ellie and some fellow Jackson residents.

Maria had connections with a lot of people in Jackson. Random strangers were kind enough to give Ellie and Dina a ton of baby-related things, like a crib, toys, and even books. They spent a whole day setting things up and figuring out where to put certain items, and when they had finished, Dina began to cry, feeling overwhelmingly grateful. Ellie was right there with her, rubbing her back in a soothing manner and holding her close, almost being brought to tears herself as she gazed upon the empty crib.

A few more weeks went by, and Dina's baby bump was getting pretty large. Dina started complaining more about her back hurting, and she couldn't be on her feet for very long. Nevertheless, she still helped Ellie around the house when she could, with small breaks in between. She began using the bathroom more frequently, which quickly began getting on her nerves, as it disrupted her sleep, or interrupted a good reading session. Ellie would always chuckle whenever they were in bed together, her nose buried in a Savage Starlight comic and Dina practicing her embroidery, when all of sudden Dina would groan loudly and reluctantly get out of bed, angrily making her way to the bathroom for the seventh time in just thirty minutes.

Then, of course, it got to the point where walking was something Dina did only when she needed to. It had been eight months and her stomach looked like it was ready to burst. Ellie found herself helping Dina walk up and down the stairs, getting out of bed in the morning, and even getting up and off of the toilet. Jackson residents also gave away some maternity clothing, which Dina often lounged about in. Even though pregnancy was miserable for Dina, Ellie couldn't help but notice how beautiful she had gotten. Dina had always been attractive in Ellie's eyes, even since they were kids, but Dina really seemed to glow now.

Before, Dina's hair was always in some sort of up-do, because she was always doing various tasks around the house and needed it out of her face. But since she's been lazing about more often, she usually wore her hair down, and Ellie was in love with how thick and long it had gotten, her unruly curls framing her face in the most breathtaking way. Her skin was brighter, and it almost seemed to shine in a way that totally captivated Ellie. Sometimes, Ellie would find herself ogling at Dina whenever she was doing some random, mundane task, to which Dina would always notice and turn into the prettiest shade of red.

Right on the cusp of her delivery date, Ellie and Dina had a small baby shower. They had a wonderful time, Dina spending hours unwrapping cute onesies, even more toys and a couple parenthood books. It all felt so normal, so domestic, that it almost made Dina cry again, but she kept it together for the sake of her guests.

It was late at night when their child decided to arrive. Ellie was wide awake, reading her comic book, while Dina was trying to figure out a crossword puzzle. It was quiet and the room was basked in the cozy, soft lighting of the bedside lamp. Dina couldn't seem to figure out the last word of her crossword and decided to give up and try again tomorrow morning with a fresh mind. She turned to her side, groaning at the heaviness at her stomach, and shut her eyes. Ellie glanced at her briefly, smiling softly and whispering "Goodnight, babe."

The room was quiet once again, Ellie getting immersed into the fictional world of Savage Starlight, but after about five minutes, Dina was startled awake, feeling wetness trail down her legs. She sat up rather quickly, as quickly as she could, anyway, and Ellie turned to her with a confused and slightly concerned expression.

"Do you need to use the bathroom again?" Ellie asked, ready to get up and assist her girlfriend. Dina shook her head, her eyes having widened ever so slightly, cheeks flushed, and heart rate steadily increasing.

"Ellie… I think… I think it's time." Dina said. It took a little bit for the words to register in Ellie's mind, but when they did, she was immediately kicked into action, setting her comic book down and getting out of bed.

"Okay. Let's get you comfortable, yeah?" She said, peeling away the damp comforter that was on top of Dina. She had Dina lie down a little bit while still staying somewhat upright. Dina instinctively opened her legs, trying to get started on removing her underwear. Ellie helped her, pulling them completely off and discarding them haphazardly. Afterward, Ellie quickly ran to the bathroom and grabbed a towel, aiding Dina in rolling over so she could place it under her. She had also grabbed scissors and placed them on the nightstand.

Ellie's palms were sweaty. She remembered asking a mother at the baby shower how to prepare for birth, and Ellie tried her best to recall the woman's advice. It was stressful, trying to think while Dina was screaming at the top of her lungs, holding Ellie's hand so hard that her knuckles had turned white as bone. Ellie just tried to be as encouraging as possible, keeping her tone of voice even and steady throughout the whole process.

Eventually, the room was no longer being filled with Dina's cries of pain but instead her labored breaths and the shrill sound of a baby crying. Their child had finally entered the world.

Dina, with tear streaked cheeks, immediately reached out for her child. Ellie held him briefly, smiling so hard her cheeks were growing sore. He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen in this ugly, ugly world. Ellie made quick work of cutting the umbilical cord before carefully handing him to Dina.

"Hello handsome." Dina spoke softly, grinning tiredly. Ellie was overjoyed at the sight in front of her. They were mothers now. For Ellie, this was the most nervous she had ever been. Not even fighting hordes of infected had her this scared. But she was also excited to step into this new era of her life. She knew that motherhood was going to be a bumpy ride, but so long as Dina was with her, she knew that she'd get through all of the trials and tribulations just fine.

"I think I've got a name." Dina said, bringing Ellie out of her thoughts.

Ellie raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah? Whatcha got?" She replied, a small smirk resting on her lips.

"How does JJ sound?" Dina asked. Ellie's smirk grew into a wide smile of approval.

"I like that. Suits him perfectly." She said.

After JJ was born, life for the two new mothers definitely became more hectic.

JJ would start crying late at night, and Ellie, wanting her beloved girlfriend to get all of the sleep she could get, was always the one who got up to calm him down. She would gently bounce him, humming some random tune to get him to relax, before lying him back in his crib. Ellie missed out on a few hours of sleep because of this, but she didn't mind it one bit if it meant Dina would wake up well rested (sometimes, though, Dina would pretend to sleep just to hear Ellie sing).

Feeding JJ could be nightmarish too. He was a picky eater sometimes, and would throw food on the floor or spit it out onto his bib, causing Ellie to roll her eyes and Dina to giggle at the sight. Dina was definitely more patient when it came to JJ but she knew Ellie would get there – slowly, but surely.

Changing diapers was mostly a Dina thing until Ellie got the hang of it. Before, she would always put them on backwards, much to Dina's confusion.

Aside from all of the difficulties, there were plenty of joyous moments that the two mothers shared with their son. Often, Ellie would play guitar for him. Whenever Ellie was out hunting, or doing some general sweeps around the outer perimeter of the house, Dina would spend that time coloring with him, or playing with wooden shapes. She tried to get him to participate in activities that would not only be fun for him but educational as well. If Dina was busy, Ellie loved to (carefully) run around the house with JJ on her shoulders, his contagious laughter bouncing off of the walls.

At night, Ellie and Dina loved to read him bedtime stories, both playing multiple characters and doing the silliest voices they could come up with until JJ slowly drifted away into a peaceful slumber.

The both of them would then climb into bed together, exchanging "I love yous," after which Dina would continue to read her parenthood guidebooks and Ellie would begin yet another chapter of Savage Starlight, the both of them sitting in a comfortable silence.

#ellie williams #tlou #the last of us #tlou fic #ellie tlou fic #the last of us fic #ellie x dina #dellie #elliedina #ellie tlou fanfiction #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fic #the last of us part 2 #tlou2 fic #tlou2 fanfic #ellie williams x reader #tlou2

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swearingcactus · 10 months ago

Text

pain receptors and frayed nerves

“I hate you.”

V doesn’t really mean it. His head’s too fucked right now, the pain from the relic just pushing and pushing, clawing its way on a spot behind his eye. He’s just sick. He’s just trying to say things to alleviate the pain. He doesn��t really mean it.

Johnny knows this, could practically taste the fog in V’s brain firsthand. “Come on, kid. Get up.” He coaxes, he wants to put his hands out, push and pull V up from his curled up position on the dirty concrete. He holds out on it. Might make the episode worse. “At least try to stand, get some fresh air.”

“No.”

“Gonk next to you’s gonna piss on you if you stay here a second longer,” Johnny tries making light. It doesn’t work. V just sniffles, curls into himself even worse.

“V, come on.” Johnny prompts again, his tone’s not as snappy as he wants, worry starting to lace the words. When V doesn’t move, he goes to put a hand on V, who jerks away sharply. Blue pixels scramble and Johnny glitches away, sighs as he comes back into focus.

“V–”

“Stop it. Just stop.”

“We need to move.”

“Just leave me alone.”

All this bitching isn’t cute. Johnny has half a mind to start his own bitching, knock it off. Get your ass up. We don’t have time for this. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we figure out a plan to get to Mikoshi, the sooner you feel better.

“Come on, V. Let’s go.”

V’s all pain-receptors and frayed nerves. No coherent answer comes out and Johnny starts to think about the pseudo in his pocket.

“I hate you so much.” V says, unprompted, and Johnny stops all thought of the pseudo, like a knee-jerk reaction.

“Haven’t you ruined my life enough already?” V asks miserably, and Johnny looks up to see he’s opened his eyes to make contact.

He doesn’t really mean it. Right? Johnny thinks he doesn’t really mean it.

“V.” Johnny says again, and it feels less of a name and more of a plea. V scrunches his face hard. Then coughs, spits out some more blood. Goes to push himself up, staggering and balancing himself next to the wall.

Johnny’s heart flutters with some sort of relief, maybe pride, a sense of fuckin’ finally combined with thank fuck.

“I wish you were dead.”

This one’s easier to stomach. But Johnny grimaces and tenses at what he knows will come next.

“I wish I was dead.”

Johnny needs to believe V doesn’t really mean it. That it’s just the pain talking. That he’s not all there.

“Come on, V.” Johnny coaxes again, nods his head to the open space. “Come on.”

V sniffles and rubs his eyes blearily with both hands. Then sighs and starts walking gingerly away. A few steps and breaths later, with fresh air, V opens his mouth, “When I said I–”

“I know, V.”

He doesn’t, actually. But it’s easier for both of them if Johnny does the thinking and convincing the both of them that he doesn’t mean it. A broken mind’s enough trouble for V, no need to add heart into the mix.

also posted on ao3

#wrote this in like an hour during one sitting #idk what came over me #its a bit short than i usually write too but hey i miss writing these 2 so off to ao3 it goes!#writingcactus #cyberpunk 2077 #johnny silverhand #lil guy v

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rainbow-flavoured-skittles · 9 months ago

Text

Hey Mom, Dead Mom

Chapter 2: No more playing daddy’s game, I’ll go insane if things don’t change

I suffered for this chapter. it was fighting me every single step of the way but it’s finally finished. I can rest now. this isn’t as dark as the last chapter but Cole is running away in this, so it’s still not very happy. also I did indeed make a couple of random ocs because how else was I supposed to advance the plot? they’re not returning any time soon. as always, this is cross posted to ao3

Cole got on the plane to MOSPA at exactly eleven in the morning on a Sunday. He traveled alone — Dad was unable to come with him. Other people at the airport gave strange looks to the unaccompanied twelve-year-old, reminding him of the looks he got after Mom died. “Oh, why is that little boy all alone? So strange,” and then they’d go about their day, not giving him a second thought.

The flight attendant in front of him right now was doing just that. “No parents?” She asked, face mildly concerned.

Cole shook his head. “I’m going to visit my grandma, but Dad couldn’t come,” he lied. Cole was good at lying. He’d done it a lot these past few years; you couldn’t take care of yourself the way Cole had without at least some lying.

The attendant gave him a small smile. Maddy, her name tag read. “Well, if you need anything, just call.”

“Okay, thanks, Ms.”

Maddy nodded and continued walking, greeting the other passengers. Cole fidgeted in his seat. The fabric covering it was itchy and the seatbelt was too tight. The man sitting next to him scrolled through his phone, music blaring loudly, and the old lady behind him was snoring. Not even off the ground yet and this flight was already torture. Cole resisted the urge to groan.

It was only a two hour flight, Cole could do this. But he hated planes so much — always had. Not being on the ground made him feel ill, and every bit of turbulence was terrifying. At least he had the window seat, though that didn’t do much to soothe his nerves. Being able to see how high up he was might make Cole feel worse.

The crackling of a speaker interrupted his panicking. The sounds it made were loud and screechy. “Please fasten your seatbelts and put all devices on airplane mode. We will be taking off shortly,” the announcements said.

Finally. Cole dug through his backpack and found his book. Fish in a Tree, the title read. He’d found it at the school book sale but had never gotten around to reading it. Now was his chance.

He’d barely gotten past the first chapter before they took off. Cole actually felt it when they did — it was like getting severed from a part of him. He felt sick, though throwing up wouldn’t achieve anything. It would probably make him feel worse. Cole settled for putting the book down and staring blankly at the seat in front of him instead. He wouldn’t be able to focus on the book, or anything at all, not when his stomach was lurching so badly.

Just two hours, he told himself. Then I can collapse on a bed and sleep. He repeated those words over and over like a mantra.

As it turned out, Cole was not able to immediately sleep once he arrived at MOSPA, because he had to check in. Check in, as if the school was a hotel. Or maybe a prison, which would be much more accurate.

“It’s great that you’re here, Nicholas,” the secretary smiled cheerily as she typed on her computer. “I’m sure you’ll love this school. We’re all one big family.”

Yeah, right. Every time a school said that they didn’t mean anything by it. In fact, it meant there was probably all sorts of bullying that went ignored. “It’s just Cole, not Nicholas. Nobody calls me that,” Cole said. He hated his full name — who agreed to let his grandfather pick it out? ‘Nicholas’ was an old-person name from at least a hundred years ago.

“Okay, then, Cole. I’ve got your dorm number and schedule here,” the secretary printed out a sheet of paper. “Do you need a map of the school?”

Cole shook his head. He had spent some of the flight looking at the floor plans and they were seared into his brain at this point. “I’ll be fine, thank you,” he hurried out before she could offer to have someone show him around. He didn’t want that kind of forced social interaction.

The dormitories were not hard to find, not with the giant sign that pointed to where they were. Cole opened the door, cursing when it was stuck, and shoved everything to the side before closing it again. He didn’t see a roommate anywhere, but it was a weekend, so everyone was probably out. That was good, it meant he had a couple hours alone; he could use the time to unpack and explore the school.

Cole shoved all his clothes into the closet and shoes under the bed. MOSPA had a strict uniform policy, so he wouldn’t be able to wear any casual clothing, nor his combat boots. That was a shame — he really liked those boots. They had served well when he got into fights. And they added another sorely needed three inches to his height, another advantage.

Any books that he’d brought were put onto the desk. Items such as stationery and notebooks were placed in drawers. Miscellaneous trinkets were placed in a box under the bed and his toiletries in another box. Cole pushed the suitcases into the corner. There wasn’t anywhere else to put them, but he’d figure it out later. Right now he wanted to take a nap and not wake up for a month. Screw exploring the school, he could do that tomorrow.

Cole closed the curtains, pulled the covers over his head, and went to sleep.

MOSPA, as Cole found out in the span of a month, was its own special brand of hell. The students there hated Cole for always messing up and acting strange, as if grieving for a loved one was something to make fun of. The teachers hated him for not talking or making eye contact and always zoning out. Everybody seemed to agree that he was the weird kid who should be avoided at all costs. His roommate, a kid named John, disliked him enough that he asked to be put in a different dorm.

“Thanks for messing up again, Brookstone,” one of his classmates sneered. Brant Green, yet another asshole who existed to make Cole miserable. “You ruined the whole performance.”

It hadn’t been Cole’s fault. Another student had purposefully tripped him, causing him to fall and knock over several people. “Yeah, I did. What’s your point?” He tried not to flip off Brant. That would just cause more trouble, trouble he couldn’t risk. The teachers hated him enough already.

“How’d you even get into this school? I thought you needed to have talent to get in,” Brant spat.

“Do I look like I want to be here? I hate this place,” Cole stood up and glared at the taller boy. Brant was a good head taller than him, unfortunately.

Brant didn’t seem to know what to say to that. Perhaps he’d thought Cole was going here willingly, though how he’d come to that conclusion was a mystery. He gave Cole another sneer and walked away.

Cole rolled his eyes and went back to his lunch. For all its faults, at least this school had good food. The chicken salad was pretty tasty.

A large group chattered next to him. One of them gave him the side eye. “That’s the Brookstone kid,” she said, loud enough for Cole to hear. “His dad’s a Royal Blacksmith. Isn’t it weird how he didn’t get any of the family talent?”

Cole scowled and looked down at the table. He stabbed his lunch with more force than was needed.

“Nicholas Brookstone to the office, Nicholas Brookstone to the office,” a speaker sounded. All eyes turned to him. Cole looked down at the floor and wondered if he could just die right there in the cafeteria. It would save everyone a lot of trouble.

A kid coughed from the table in front of him. Awkward, Cole thought. What had he done this time? There wasn’t anything recent he’d done to warrant this.

It took five minutes for the school to realise he wasn’t moving any time soon. They all went back to their conversations, and Cole snuck out the side entrance. He had always been good at going unnoticed.

Cole walked through the halls briskly and knocked on the office door. He was let in by the guidance counsellor, a lady in her forties with platinum blonde hair. “Nicholas, we need to talk about your behaviour,” she said as they sat down.

“I haven’t been in any more fights,” Cole said. It was true.

“Your teachers say that you don’t pay any attention in class and that you’re not following instructions. It has nothing to do with your peers.”

“I’m trying my best, okay?” Cole snapped. Why couldn’t anyone just listen for once? He was trying, he’d been trying for ages.

“Then how come your grades are so low? This is one of the top arts schools in Ninjago, Nicholas. We expect better.” The counsellor had a mask of false concern on. Cole kind of wanted to punch it off.

“It’s not Nicholas, it’s Cole. And I am trying,” Cole gritted out.

“Your grades are barely scraping fifty percent.”

“So?”

The counsellor frowned. “If you don’t start doing better, you may get expelled.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Cole said under his breath. Then to the counsellor, “I’m sorry. I’ll do better.” She might be suspicious of the sudden change of pace, but Cole couldn’t care less. He just wanted to get out of the office.

The counsellor nodded and fixed her glasses. “That’s all for today, Nicholas. You can go to class now.”

She didn’t even bother to get his name right. “Thanks,” Cole marched out the door.

Cole stared down at his exam results and wondered if he was dreaming. Forty percent average, the paper said. A fail. He’d managed to do so badly that his average wasn’t even fifty.

Dad’s going to kill me, he thought. Dad expected at least nineties, and this definitely wasn’t it. He’d be grounded until his thirtieth birthday, if he lived that long.

The only subject that had above sixty was visual arts. The teacher for that class was nice — he understood Cole’s struggles and gave him all the time he needed. It wouldn’t make Dad overlook all the other failures, though.

The paper crinkled under his grip. Cole blinked the tears out of his eyes and shoved the paper into his folder. His classmates were conversing all around him, comparing grades and bragging about what they’d gotten. The teacher sat at her desk on the computer. Nobody would notice if he went to the washroom and never returned, hopefully.

Cole got up and walked to the front. “Ms. Jackson, may I please go to the washroom?”

The teacher nodded distractedly and waved her hand. “Yes.”

Cole grabbed his belongings and slipped out the door. He hadn’t taken a hall pass, not when the teacher would notice it missing. She wouldn’t know he was gone, but she would notice the hall pass. The teachers here were strange like that.

He opened the door to his dorm and collapsed on the ground. How was he going to explain his grades to his dad, much less the teachers? He could already hear the lecture. “Your mother would be so disappointed in you, Cole. What happened to all that potential?”

Then again, Dad didn’t pay attention to him. Cole doubted he even remembered that he existed; Dad was too busy partying. Maybe he could burn the report card and pretend it didn’t exist.

Or… Cole’s thoughts drifted to a snide comment Brant had made a few months ago. “Why don’t you just run away? Nobody would miss you — we’d be happy to see you gone.”

Cole had ignored him at the time. It was just another uncreative insult from the stereotypical bully. But it wasn’t exactly a bad idea. As strict as the school was, Cole knew all the weak spots in its system. It was easy to sneak out and never return. And he’d been thinking about leaving and never coming back for ages. This was just the final straw.

“All right, then. Guess Brant gets his wish,” Cole said. No one responded, of course — he was all alone. But talking to himself was a habit. Cole got up and went to the closet, finding the duffel bag he used to use for camping. He blew the dust off and packed anything that seemed useful. A flashlight, multiple sets of clothes, a reusable water bottle, that box of granola bars he’d bought a month ago, all the cash he had.

More food would need to be picked up from the school cafeteria, he decided. And he’d need to find a sleeping bag somehow. But everything else was ready. Cole could leave during the night — he refused to call it running away, he wasn’t running from anything — it was easier that way. This was the best option, he told himself.

Cole snuck out as soon as it was dark. He didn’t need to avoid any roommates, thankfully — anyone who’d been placed with him had moved out. It took a few minutes for him to write a letter to Jay. His best friend didn’t deserve to have him disappearing without warning, though they hadn’t been best friends since before Mom’s death. He put it in the outgoing mail on the way out, sealed with a blue sticker. Jay would know what that meant.

He took the back exit and walked down the road to the bus stop. The city’s streets were dimly lit, people rushing past him to get home. A couple looked at him curiously but didn’t stop him. A drunk man sat down next to him on the bench as they waited. Dogs barked in the distance and a truck drove past. It was peaceful, Cole thought. The most peaceful he’d been in a while.

The bus arrived just after midnight. Cole got on and paid for a ticket to the next town over. He could find a sleeping bag and extra clothes there, and the further away he got the better. He was finally leaving MOSPA and his dad behind, and he wouldn’t be stopped by something as simple as not having basic supplies.

Running away wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. All the books made it seem easy — there was no mention of sleeping in alleys, or trying not to get mugged, or having to do odd jobs to get money. Thank goodness for Ninjago’s lax law enforcement; nobody would have hired a thirteen-year-old if the police were good at their job. Especially a thirteen-year-old who may or may not be on the missing persons list. Cole still wasn’t sure if anyone had noticed him missing.

Cole shouldered his backpack as he walked away from Jamanakai Village. He’d managed to find work at a local restaurant a few weeks prior and had finally saved up enough money to get somewhere else. He wasn’t quite sure where his next destination would be, but for now he planned to go back to the mountain range near Ninjago City. He deserved a break, and climbing was therapeutic. The city having a lot of people to pickpocket was just a bonus.

Jamanakai was isolated, unfortunately. It would be an entire day before Cole could get to a more urban area and find a bus stop. He knew there wasn’t a lot of point in travelling so often, of course, but Cole couldn’t shake the feeling that if he didn’t keep moving, someone would find him and bring him back to MOSPA. He couldn’t let that happen. And it kept his mind off of Mom and Dad. Nope, not thinking of that today, Cole thought. It was a good day and he wasn’t going to ruin it.

“Probably enough money for a ticket to Ninjago City,” Cole muttered. “Then it’s just some hitchhiking.”

Not a difficult journey, really. Cole continued on.

The mountain was tall. And windy. And probably dangerous to climb without proper gear. Cole tried not to think of that as he pulled himself up the next ledge. He’d already had a close calls today, almost fell off before he found a foothold. Cole thanked Wojira that he hadn’t fallen to his death. If he was going to die, he wanted it to at least be dignified.

Only a bit more to the top of the mountain and then he could rest. Cole planned to camp there for the night and then go back down, hopefully without any major injuries. The broken ankle still ached, and it had been months. He hadn’t been able to walk for two weeks the last time, and Cole wasn’t eager to have a repeat.

Huffing and sweaty, Cole reached the top. He climbed over the last few rocks and stopped, feeling pretty proud of himself, when he noticed the man sitting in front of him.

“Hello there,” the man said. He looked ancient, with deep set wrinkles and a long white beard. He took a sip of his drink and smiled.

Okay, that’s creepy, Cole thought. He had thought he was the only one climbing. How had he not noticed this guy?

“Wha— who are you?” The words exited Cole’s mouth without permission. He really should work on his brain-to-mouth filter at some point.

“Maybe that is a question you should ask, but first: why do you climb the mountain?” The old man looked at Cole with something like curiosity. Curiosity about what?

“Because it’s a good way to get exercise?”

“You can tell me the truth, Cole. I don’t judge.”

“How do you know my name? I never introduced myself,” Cole took a step back. Was this man some sort of stalker? Nobody knew where he was. If he got kidnapped, or murdered, no one would be able to find him.

“Because I know you, Cole. I was there when you were born.”

“You know my Dad? Are you going to bring me back to him? Give me another lecture on how I’m a disappointment? I don’t need to hear it,” Cole crossed his arms and prepared to make a run for it. It would be suicidal to jump off the mountain, but he was a fast climber. The old man wouldn’t be able to catch up with him.

“I knew your mother. She was one of my students,” the old man stood and held up his hands in the ‘I surrender’ gesture.

“Student?”

“I taught her to be a hero. Did you think that all the stories she told you were made up?”

Cole hadn’t thought about his mom’s stories in years. She used to tell him about great heroes who could control the very elements themselves, who tamed dragons and fought against evil. He’d loved those stories.

“You’re telling me that all those stories about ninja and dragons were real? Yeah, and I’m a giant purple unicorn,” Cole glared at the old man. This guy had to be crazy, spouting nonsense about real-life superheroes and monsters. Mom had told him those stories for entertainment and bonding, nothing more.

“You are stubborn. Also like your mother, I suppose. I can prove to you that all the old legends are real. You just have to trust me,” the man held out his hand. His face was a mixture of hope and worry and maybe a little bit of fear. Fear of what, Cole didn’t know.

Cole hesitated for a moment. There was nothing left for him back at home, if he still had one, and no one cared if he went missing. The only people he cared about were either dead or better off without him. His life truly couldn’t get any worse, and if this man had known his mom he couldn’t be too bad. Cole took the hand.

#in the very early days of my time in this fandom I saw a headcanon that Cole's full name is Nicholas and it stuck in my head #still not happy with this but it's better than the first draft #bruise childhood friends au #cole ninjago #cole brookstone #ninjago cole #cole hence #ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago fic #ninjago fanfiction #lego ninjago fanfiction #kit's writing #bonus chapter will be coming soon!

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darkpoisonouslove · 6 months ago

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Ruled by the Heart

Summary: Distance never worked for them. The separate bedrooms did nothing to keep temptation at bay when they sat on their thrones next to each other all day and it was perfectly natural–expected even–for a king to come and go from his queen's chambers as he pleased. They only had anger to shield themselves behind and now here they are – fucking like they want the other dead, for the crime of making them dependent. Everything is working against this story. I had to let it sit for months, then when I finally got motivated to fix it (shoutout to the tumblr user going through my Erendor x Samara tag and liking everything), I got sick (probably worst fever I've had in my life) and now that I've finally made it to posting, FFN isn't working. I'm pushing through all that because I need to free this story, and myself from it. CW: explicit sexual content and blood Read on AO3 | FFN

Fire-like, pain races through her nerves. Samara only half succeeds to strangle her whimper in her throat, completely fails to stop herself from clenching around his cock.

Erendor's teeth drive deeper into her shoulder, into the tender skin connecting it to her neck as if searing their shape there isn’t enough. As if he wants to tear a chunk of her flesh out and scarf it down to brand her his. As if he’s allowed to devour her because he owns her.

She hates that.

It makes no difference.

She can only dig her nails in his desk, bite the inside of her own cheek.

She's not allowed to leave a mark on him.

He's her king and he is as much hers as the throne is without him sitting it. She has no claim on him – in blood or in name.

She's taken it as a compliment. That he asks her into his bed regardless, because he wants her.

This is not it.

He's pounding into her in a way she honestly did not consider him capable of. It's rough and vengeful, like he wants to shove her over the edge, hurl her into orgasm.

It's ugly and angry, and she cannot stand the sweaty contact of their bodies where he tore her clothes off and she pulled his aside. Their skin sticks together and it might just peel off when he pulls away.

He will once he's had his satisfaction.

He always does.

He knows the same thing she does.

"You're going to come for me," he grunts in her ear in-between pants loaded with exertion.

Something tightens in her lower belly, in the pit of her stomach.

He's right.

She's quickly building to a climax and her eyes well up with tears.

It's sickening.

She doesn't want it.

Not like this. Not when her pleasure isn't the end goal, nor is his for that matter. It's all for his ego and if her energy weren't all going into just breathing through the inevitable quivering, the violent seizing of her pussy around him, she would have splintered his desk with her bare hands.

Her orgasm is a given, has been for years, and she can't do anything to stop him from wringing it out of her. Her body cooperates with him rather than with her, especially now that they've been fighting for weeks. Her flesh is begging for his touch, has been since they'd left each other high-strung and dissatisfied. The sounds of his fingers pumping into her drenched pussy would have shaken her to her core if he hadn’t bent her over the desk and sheathed his cock inside her in one swift, smooth thrust, all the air in her lungs replaced with their shared craving.

She hadn't been sure which would be the bigger defeat – to try to pleasure herself and face the inevitability that it will feel nothing like she wants it to or not to try at all and silently admit that any relief for her lay in his arms. Her only consolation had been his gaze lingering on her lips every time she’d opened her mouth and his too-frequent stolen touches for the sake of appearances.

She’d had to force herself to keep an amble pace on the way to his chambers, her heart fluttering with excitement and dread. He’d grabbed her from the door and slammed her against his desk, her palms slapping brutally against it and the wood digging into her thighs. She could have hissed, twisted like a snake out of his grip. A simple no would have restored the space between them.

Her teeth would have sooner severed her tongue than let a single treacherous sound slip out of her.

She needs this.

Distance never worked for them. The separate bedrooms did nothing to keep temptation at bay when they sat on their thrones next to each other all day and it was perfectly natural–expected even–for a king to come and go from his queen's chambers as he pleased. They only had anger to shield themselves behind and now here they are – fucking like they want the other dead, for the crime of making them dependent.

If she knew when and how they’d bound themselves together, she could pick the pattern and undo it, protect them both from this burning agony, this need to be so close even when they're mutually destructive.

He is hurting her.

If he lets her go, she will stop breathing. And it won't matter one bit compared to the emptiness she'll feel if he doesn't fuck her over that precipice of resistance lodged into her brain.

The way he stretches her to bursting with every quick thrust only to leave her hollow and then fill her again pulls her taut like a bowstring. A pulsing, vibration, has already started behind her sternum where she’s stuffed her voice. At a point the dam will break and everything will spill from her – the tears, the screams and her orgasm.

She needs this. Not given out of the goodness of his heart or the urgency of his lust, but because she took it from him.

She pushes back into him. Challenging his rhythm takes him by surprise, throws off his balance to leave him grasping, clinging to her. The force in her own hips dictates his movements, sets the pace in the space that opened between her and his desk – enough for her to slip a hand to her clit and stroke herself to ecstasy.

He sputters behind her, chokes on the air rushing out of him in a hot, heady torrent assaulting her neck. It does nothing to deter her touch – the squeeze to his balls, her nails scraping the sensitive, vulnerable skin. With every uncontrolled jolt of his hips, his cock hits spots inside her that make her eyes roll in the back of her head.

His fingers close around her throat and she's coming. There's no doubt about it, no choice afforded to her, no defense against it.

The orgasm rips through her like a tidal wave.

She collapses back against his body, grabs at his arm, his thigh. She can’t breathe, doesn’t remember human speech but her voice erupts like lava from a volcano, burns through her ribcage, her throat, his palm covering it.

He holds her through it, the tremors of her climax shaking him, too. His hips have stilled, keeping him wrapped up in her. Her name falls from his mouth – half awe, half reverence, as he comes inside her. As if he's just been claimed by a force of nature even when it’s her pulse kicking under his fingers.

Blood wets her fingertips where she's driven her nails into his flesh.

She has him now.

#winx club #winx samara #winx erendor #erendor x samara #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing

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magicaldogtoto · 2 years ago

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Parallel Worlds Record Chapter Seventeen: Please... Don't Leave Me

Rating: Teen

Genre: Magical Girl, Fantasy, Angst, Drama, Crossover

Word Count: Approx. 5,700 words

Summary: Still stunned from the revelation that Amare was hiding information from her, Yachiyo and co. continue to Glinda's palace, where the Sorceress offers a way to help Yachiyo find her missing alternate self.

Author's Note: Thanks again to @celesticnova and @evatriceakiyama for beta-reading this for me! Also thank you to my friend Luce on Twitter for letting me include her version of Lucina in this fic, as well.

[Also posted on AO3.]

***

[YACHIYO]

Yachiyo felt a ringing sensation in her ears. “W-what? Please tell me this is a sick joke.”

Amare looked away. “It isn’t… I helped Epithene conquer Oz.”

Yachiyo stepped back, just looking at her. Her mind was in a whirl. She thought about how Amare had kept to herself ever since they arrived in Oz. How she didn’t want to join in the tour of the Emerald City. How she said she didn’t think her parents would want to see her again. It all made too much sense.

All this time… and Amare never told her! Had she been traveling with a war criminal this whole journey?

“Amare…” Yachiyo clenched her fist. She wasn’t sure what else to say.

“She’s telling the truth,” the girl on top of Amare said. She got off of Amare, only to give her a swift kick in the stomach.

Amare yelped, wincing on the ground from the impact. “Please…” she said weakly. She attempted to get up, only to wince once more and fall onto her side.

“My home in the Munchkin Country,” the girl said, glaring at her. “Epithene’s army burned it down. You were there, I saw you!” She kicked Amare once more, causing the dark-haired girl to cry out again.

“So many of us died during that war! My family…!” the girl screamed, tears forming in her eyes. “Why are they dead, while you aren’t?!”

“Hold on,” Yachiyo said, holding up her hand. “This isn’t…”

“Thought you could get away from what you did by running off to Japan, huh?” the girl next to the first one said. “You have a lot of nerve showing your face here again.”

Amare didn’t say anything else, simply staring at the ground. Her wavy black hair was a tangled mess, and there was dirt on her face. It was a pathetic sight, and Yachiyo didn’t like the thought of watching Amare get kicked around while defenseless.

The sound of footsteps running could be heard from behind Yachiyo. Neseel immediately got in between Amare and the other girls.

“Don’t hurt her!” the young Magical Girl said, her arms outstretched as she glared at the girls with her brown eyes.

The girl who had kicked Amare hesitated, before glowering at Neseel. “Out of the way, Neseel,” she said, “she deserves it!”

“If she deserves it,” Neseel began, “then so do I! I worked for Epithene, too!”

Tara glanced at the other two, waiting to see what their next move would be.

“You’re different, Neseel,” the girl who kicked Amare said. “You were just a child; Epithene manipulated you. You joined us and helped fight to protect Oz. You’re nothing like her!”

“Neseel’s right,” Yachiyo said. “We don’t have to do this…”

They turned to her. “Don’t get too carried away, Yachiyo Nanami,” the first girl said. “We still don’t get why you still chose to stay with a worthless girl like her.”

Yachiyo paused. “I…”

“You’re wrong,” Amare said. “That’s not Yachiyo… not the one who I fell for.”

“What?” Tara asked. “What do you mean, Amare?”

Amare grimaced. “It’s complicated…”

“If that’s the case,” the first girl said. “Then she won’t mind if I do this!” She pushed Neseel to the ground and raised her hand, preparing to strike Amare.

Before Yachiyo or anyone could do anything, someone grabbed the girl by the arm. A hand wearing a blue, fingerless glove held the girl back.

Amare looked at who the hand was attached to. She blinked. “Lucina?”

“That’s enough now.” It was a girl with long, blue hair (as long as Yachiyo’s, even, and with a gold headband on top), and blue eyes. She had a lithe body, and wore a blue tunic with knee-high, blue boots, in addition to the gloves. She even had a blue cape on, and a sword by her side.

“Big Sister!” Neseel got up and ran up to her, hugging her tightly. Lucina hugged her back before looking her over.

“Hello, Neseel,” she said. “How was the Witch? Are you hurt?”

Neseel looked up at her. “It wasn’t too hard. Kira and I ran into Yachiyo and her friends, too!”

“Yachiyo, right…” Lucina turned to Yachiyo. “We were expecting you…” There was a familiarity in her eyes, something that Yachiyo could not return.

“Am I… supposed to know you?” Yachiyo asked.

Lucina smiled at her. “You are. We fought alongside each other before. Glinda did mention that something had happened to you.”

“Lucina,” the girl the former was holding onto said, “let me go.”

Lucina turned to the girl, her face stern once more. “Only if you promise not to hurt Amare.”

The girl glared at Lucina, then at Amare. She sighed, putting her hand down. Neseel moved to help Amare back up.

Lucina released her. “There we go,” she said. “You three should know better. What would you do if Glinda saw you like this?”

At the mention of Glinda, the other girls tensed up, their faces pale. Their eyes darted around the area, and Yachiyo wondered what it was they were looking for. Her eyes caught sight of a red bird perched on the tree nearby. It seemed to be looking at the group. Watching.

“Is everything alright?” Another girl walked up to them. She wore the same red uniform with gold braids that the other girls were wearing. Her hair was also long, and dark brown, as were her eyes. She had tanned skin, and a sword and pistol by her side. Even in the red uniform, Yachiyo couldn’t help but notice how fit she seemed, nor could she ignore how impressive her bust seemed to be…

“Aliss,” Lucina turned to her. “Amare’s here…”

“I can see that,” Aliss said. Amare had managed to get back on her feet, and looked Aliss in the eye.

“A-Aliss, hi.” Amare seemed to have a look of regret and guilt in her eyes.

Aliss smiled at her. “Hello, Amare,” she said. “It’s been a while. I was wondering when you’d come back to Oz.”

“You’re Aliss?” Yachiyo asked. “Amare’s mentioned you before.”

Aliss turned to her. “I am,” she said. “The other you and I are also friends.”

“I’m getting used to being told that,” Yachiyo said.

“Glinda said you’d be coming by today. Sorry we had to meet like this, but we ended up getting ambushed by another Witch. Lucina took care of it.”

Yachiyo turned to the other blue-haired girl. “You’re a Magical Girl?”

Lucina held up her left hand, showing her Soul Gem ring. “I am indeed. I’ve been protecting Oz for over a year now.”

“I see.”

Aliss surveyed the area, before turning back to Yachiyo. “Here, how about you come with us? We’re just about to head back to the palace. We can guide you there.”

Yachiyo nodded. “That would be wonderful.”

“Hold on,” one of the girls said. “If we’re all traveling, Amare should stay in chains. Just so she doesn’t do anything.”

Aliss frowned. “I don’t think we have to…Ozma pardoned her, remember?”

“It’s fine. I’ll do it.” Amare looked at the ground. “I won’t protest or anything.”

Aliss’s expression remained. “If you’re sure…?”

Amare nodded. “Please. Let’s just go now.”

Aliss shrugged. “Okay. But you’ll ride with me. And I’ll be making sure that Glinda hears about this… all of it.” She glared at the three other girls, who seemed to tremble just a bit.

Yachiyo, meanwhile, noticed the red bird taking off from the tree and heading Southwest.

With that, Amare was led away by the other girls. She glanced back at Yachiyo, their eyes meeting one more time, before she turned away.

Yachiyo watched them leave, saying nothing. She turned to see Mifuyu a short distance away, and walked over to her.

“Hey,” she said. “Are you okay?”

Mifuyu looked up at her. “I… I’ll be fine,” she said.

Nearby, Yachiyo could hear Claudine and Uwasa Tsuruno arguing. She turned, and saw Kira in the middle of the two of them, trying in vain to reign things in.

“You could have gotten us both killed!” the blonde girl said, her voice sounding even louder in the empty field.

Tsuruno seemed taken aback. “I was just trying to stop the Witch,” she said. “If you’d just let me go ahead and attack first…”

“You just ran in there without thinking,” Claudine pressed on. “What if one of the Familiars got a lucky shot? You’d be dead!”

“There’s no need to get too heated…” Kira said, holding up her hands.

“I’m the Mightiest Uwasa!” Tsuruno shouted back. “You can’t hesitate in battle, that gives the Witch enough time to kill you! If you really were as great a Magical Girl as you said you were, you would understand that…!”

Claudine glared at her. “I may not be the best Magical Girl,” she began, “but at least I’m an original. I’m not a cheap copy of another girl!”

Tsuruno flinched at her words. The life seemed to fade from her eyes as she slumped.

“Tsuruno?” Yachiyo walked up to her.

“...” Tsuruno turned and slowly trudged along the field, back to their carriage. She passed by Kira, who reached out to her, only to stop, frowning.

Yachiyo glared at Claudine. “Nice job,” she said.

Claudine just crossed her arms and looked away. Kira looked at everyone, clearly trying to figure out the right words.

“I think we’re done here,” Kira began after a moment.

“I agree,” Yachiyo said.

Up ahead Aliss, Lucina, Neseel, and the other girls had gotten on horses. Amare remained with Aliss, now tied by her wrists and holding onto the older girl. Kira walked over to them and joined on her own horse. Yachiyo sat back in front of the carriage. Claudine was from the opposite side from Tsuruno, looking out the window. Meanwhile, Mifuyu sat in-between the feuding duo, leaving Yachiyo to sit on her own. By now all of them had de-transformed.

“Everyone in there?” the Sawhorse asked. “Let’s get going, then.”

The Sawhorse began making his way down the road once more, the party on horses traveling ahead of them. Yachiyo watched the scenery go by, not entirely sure what she should be feeling right now.

“Did you know?” she asked, eyes still on the grassy fields passing them by.

“What?” Claudine asked behind her.

Yachiyo turned to face the blonde, who’s magenta eyes still seemed fiery with emotion. “Did you know?” she asked again. “Did you know about Amare?”

There was silence for a few seconds. “Yes,” Claudine said. “I did.” Tsuruno remained silent, her eyes still glazed over.

Yachiyo frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Amare made us promise not to,” Claudine said. “She wasn’t sure how you’d react, given that you don’t know anything about this world.”

“I didn’t know,” Mifuyu said quietly. “Amare and I weren’t close enough for her to tell me.”

The white-haired girl gazed out the window next to her. “Another Magical Girl who makes a mistake because she’s afraid…” she whispered under her breath.

Claudine’s gaze wandered to Tsuruno, before immediately looking away. Tsuruno still seemed lost in her own world, her face unreadable. Yachiyo decided to let her be for now.

“What about Ozma?” Yachiyo asked. “She didn’t say anything while we were with her.”

Claudine glanced at Yachiyo, her elbow propping her head up as she watched the fields go by. “Amare told her she would take care of it. She really wanted to be able to tell you herself.”

All of this was too much for Yachiyo to take in. Just when she thought she got the hang of things around here, more details emerged to catch her off guard. She closed her eyes, the fight and lull of the journey now getting to her. Before she knew it, she was drifting off to sleep.

When she awoke again, they were now journeying about brooks with wooden bridges, and wide fields with flowers and grain growing. The homes were all red now, and now and then Yachiyo could see people wearing all manner of red clothes.

“Are we there yet?” she asked, covering her mouth to stifle a yawn.

“I hope so,” Claudine said quietly.. Next to her, Tsuruno was looking out the window, still saying nothing. Ahead of them, the girls riding on horseback kept going.

Within minutes they saw a castle with red columns and roofs standing on a hill. As they traveled closer, they passed by many beautiful gardens, and Yachiyo could even see water fountains splashing in the distance around them. There were girls walking among the gardens; some wearing military uniform and carrying spears, and others wearing maid outfits or more casual dress. The party on horses went ahead of them, heading into the palace.

Soon they reached the gates at the entrance of the castle, where three girls in red uniforms and wielding spears were standing guard. The Sawhorse stopped in the front.

Yachiyo emerged from the carriage and walked up to the three girls.

“State your business,” one girl who couldn’t have been more than a year older than Yachiyo said.

“I’m Yachiyo Nanami,” the girl said. “I’m here to speak to Glinda the Good Witch.”

The girls turned to each other, then back at Yachiyo. “We knew you were coming,” the girl who greeted her said. “Glinda has been expecting you. Come on in.”

Yachiyo motioned for the others to get out of the carriage. The girls walked behind her as they made their way into the palace. All eyes were on them as they entered, though Yachiyo did her best not to notice. She was used to strangers looking at her, after all.

Once they had walked into a grand hall, Aliss appeared to them.

“There you are,” she said. “Follow me, Glinda’s in her throne by the colonnade.”

They walked further through the castle, passing by more and more girls. Amare was right, there wasn’t a man in sight. The girls all seemed to range from their late teens to late thirties. Of course, knowing that no one in Oz had to age unless they wanted to, Yachiyo couldn’t help but wonder how many of them were actually as old as they appeared. Yachiyo did, however, have to agree with what Amare said: there was a certain beauty and grace with how they all carried themselves. Even the maids seemed to move with little effort in looking composed while they dusted the vases or carried items around. And the soldiers and guards were equally graceful.

Eventually they reached the palace court, which was made of white marble. Fountains poured water into stone basins, the sound greeting Yachiyo’s ears when she entered the court. At the other end of the court was a vast colonnade, which overlooked green fields with pretty flowers and fruit-bearing trees. Further than that, Yachiyo could make out a vast desert that seemed to stretch out into eternity.

But what really caught her attention was the woman sitting on the golden throne before her. Yachiyo had already heard everyone talk about Glinda, the Good Witch of the South. She vaguely recalled that name from hazy childhood memories. Half-formed images of an old anime, some illustrations in a book she had borrowed from someone from somewhere. She even remembered the images she had seen when she watched The Wizard of Oz a long time ago, a woman who appeared from a floating pink bubble, holding a wand and wearing a pink dress with puffy sleeves and a crown on her head.

This Glinda was nothing like that. This Glinda had long, red hair that fell over her shoulders in ringlets. She had skin that looked like it was formed from pure marble, and bright, blue eyes, nothing like Yachiyo’s own dark blue ones. She wore a long, white gown that covered everything but her delicate hands and head. She looked like she could have been anywhere from thirty to fifty, but there was no way for Yachiyo to deny it. She was beautiful, in a mature way that made her seem like a welcoming mother.

She smiled at Yachiyo, and the blue-haired girl felt her cheeks burn a bit. It was a smile that even she would have been willing to fight for. No wonder she had so many women working for her.

“Hello, Yachiyo Nanami,” Glinda said. “You’ve surely come a long way to get here, haven’t you?”

“I…” Yachiyo took a moment to compose herself. She was so focused on the Sorceress, that she barely noticed the few handmaidens who were sitting around the court, wearing similar white robes as Glinda. Yachiyo took a deep breath.

“I have,” she finally said as professionally as she could. There was a light breeze blowing in from the south, and it washed over the palace court, a warm feeling that hummed against Yachiyo’s skin.

Glinda stood up from her throne, nearly a head taller than Yachiyo, and slowly made her way towards the girl. She stopped and looked her over. Yachiyo had to remind herself that she was already in a relationship. Even then, she hoped she didn’t look too unkempt from being cramped in a carriage for most of the day.

Glinda looked over at Yachiyo, at the other girls. “Welcome all of you, as well,” she said. “I hope your journey wasn’t too rough.”

The others murmured and nodded in agreement. Glinda turned to Aliss.

“Thank you for bringing them here, Aliss. I wouldn’t have expected less from my personal bodyguard.”

The older girl smiled demurely. “Of course, mistress.”

Glinda turned back to Yachiyo.

“Ozma told me about your plight,” Glinda said. “You were ripped out of your world, and stranded in this one. Curiously, the Yachiyo of this world appears to have been taken from it.”

“That’s… that’s what I’ve been told,” Yachiyo said. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Claudine taking the sight of the palace court in. “I need to get back to my world. And we need to find out where the other me went.”

Glinda nodded. “I can help you with that. At the very least, I can help you find out what happened to the other Yachiyo.”

Yachiyo blinked. “You can?”

“I can. And soon, I’m sure we’ll get you back to your world, too.” She looked at the rest of the party. “I’d like to speak to Yachiyo alone for now, if that’s all right.”

Yachiyo looked at the others. Tsuruno was still a bit despondent, and Mifuyu was lost looking at the handmaidens. Claudine stepped forward and curtsied.

“If that’s what you want,” the blonde girl said. “What should the rest of us do until then?”

“The palace and all its features are for you to use,” Glinda explained. “You can eat in the dining hall, walk around the gardens, or swim in the pool. Anything you want, my maids will get for you.”

“Thank you…” Tsuruno said quietly. Yachiyo and the others looked at her. Her magenta eyes were still rooted to the ground, but it was the first thing she’d said since the battle.

“It’s my pleasure,” Glinda said. She summoned a maid to the court–a short girl with shoulder-length, brown hair and green eyes.

“This is Meela,” Glinda said, the girl bowing to Claudine and the others. “She’ll help you settle in.”

“I’ll do my best,” Meela said. She looked up at the girls, her attention soon going to Mifuyut. Mifuyu herself seemed distracted by Meela’s green eyes.

“I’ll see you all later,” Yachiyo said. The others said their goodbyes and walked away, including Aliss, leaving Yachiyo alone with the Sorceress.

“Wait,” Yachiyo said when she and Glinda were alone. “What about Amare? Is she… is she okay?”

“Hm?” Glinda turned to her. “She’s in her room for now. Don’t worry, she’s free to move around the palace.I even made sure her Soul Gem was given back to her” A small frown appeared on her face. “I’m not sure if she’d like to leave her room, though…”

“Can I… Can I see her?” Yachiyo felt she at least should talk to the girl.

Glinda nodded. “After our talk. I think Amare needs to be alone and take everything in. Don’t you agree?”

Yachiyo thought it over; she slowly nodded.

“Good. Follow me, then.”

She led Yachiyo out of the court, and through the palace once more. Once again Yachiyo found herself being observed by the girls who were wandering the halls. They passed by many other rooms–most were lodging for the girls working and staying in the palace, but others included an indoor pool, a spa, and even a public bath like the ones Yachiyo had read were once common in ancient Rome.

“You sure have a lot of things to do here,” Yachiyo said as they turned a corner.

Glinda smiled. “I want my girls to be as comfortable as possible. Of course that now includes you and your group.”

Soon they walked through a wooden door and were in a library with pink walls and lined with shelves full of all kinds of books, some possibly even older than a hundred years.

Yachiyo looked around in awe. “Are all of these books… yours?”

Glinda nodded. “I’ve accumulated many books on all kinds of subjects over a very long time.” She walked over to a corner and pulled out a dusty old tome with a brown cover. She flipped through the pages and stopped on one. “Does this sound familiar?” she asked, offering the book to Yachiyo.

Yachiyo gingerly held the tome in her hands and read the section that Glinda pointed out with her hand:

“... The Master Woodsman turned to the White Rat. ‘Do what you need to save all of Creation, but take no more than what you need from mankind.’ The White Rat nodded, and vanished from the Forest of Burzee.’” On the page was a woodcut showing Ak, the Master Woodsman, recognizable by the horns on his head, holding a silver ax in his hand. He was looking down at a familiar, feline creature with red eyes.

Yachiyo frowned. “Kyubey.”

Glinda looked at the page. “He’s been around for a long time, hasn’t he?”

“I still can’t believe the Immortals of this world allowed him in.”

Glinda sighed. “The Immortals are caught up in their own machinations. It’s our job to do what we can in the world.”

“Right.” Yachiyo handed the book back to Glinda. “So what exactly did you want to show me here?”

Glinda pointed a slender finger at a corner of the library. “That.”

In the corner was a small podium with a light and a cushioned stool behind it. On the podium was a thick book that seemed to have a million pages. Glinda walked over to it, Yachiyo behind her.

“This is the Book of Records,” Glinda said. “It records everything that my spies see. As soon as they see it, it appears in the pages of this book.”

Yachiyo tilted her head. “Spies?”

Glinda smiled and opened the window behind the podium. A red bird–the same red bird Yachiyo had seen before?--alighted itself on the podium, before gliding down to the carpeted floor of the library. Before Yachiyo’s eyes, the bird began to grow, its shape became intangible, until it solidified again as a human girl in a red dress with red eyes, and red hair like Glinda’s.

“I have many familiars, Yachiyo,” Glinda explained. “And I don’t mean the kind you find in Witch Labyrinths. These are spirits that have helped me watch over Oz for a very long time. They can take on many forms, but they make the perfect spies, don’t you think?”

The familiar smiled sweetly at Yachiyo. Yachiyo nodded. “They do.”

The familiar leaned up to Glinda and held her hand up to her mouth. Glinda leaned down and listened to what the familiar said, but all Yachiyo heard and saw was some whispering and a frown growing on the Sorceress’s face.

“I see,” she said.

“What’s wrong?” Yachiyo asked.

Glinda straightened herself back up and turned her attention back to Yachiyo. “This one saw how some of my girls treated Amare when they ran into your party.”

Yachiyo winced. “Oh, right. That…”

“I’ll be sure to discipline them for what they did,” Glinda said, her tone stern. Even when upset, she still looked beautiful. “The people of Oz may not have forgiven Amare for her actions, but I don’t tolerate attacking her like that.”

Glinda excused the familiar, which wandered off into the shelves of the library. Yachiyo spoke up once more.

“If that Book can show everything that happens,” she said, “can it show us what happened to the Yachiyo of this world?”

Glinda frowned. “About that…”

Glinda walked towards the Book. “I had familiars present in Kamihama the night that Yachiyo vanished. There’s a passage here…” Glinda flipped through a few pages, before stopping at one point. “Here it is.”

Yachiyo was immediately by the Sorceress’s side. “What’s it say?” she asked.

Glinda skimmed the passage. “It says that Yachiyo was out hunting that night, when she came across…” she frowned. “Unfortunately, the text can’t say, because the familiar that was present is no longer around.”

Yachiyo frowned. “What?” she asked. “Why?”

“Something… erased it from existence. I cross-referenced this with other familiars present in the city, but aside from some strange sensation, none of them can really report on what had happened. Whatever it was, it just slipped in and took this world’s Yachiyo away.”

Yachiyo clenched her fist. “We have to find her.” She thought about Amare, how she had cried the day before.

Glinda nodded. “That’s what I also wanted to use the Book for,” she said. “My familiars found something that could be of use to us.”

She went and got another old book from a shelf, and opened to a marked page. “This is a potion I found. When someone digests it, the potion allows them to mentally connect to a version of themselves from another world. Like a trance, of sorts.”

“I get it,” Yachiyo said. “If I take that potion, I can see where the other me is.”

“If she isn’t dead, that is,” Glinda added.

Yachiyo tensed up a bit. “For Amare’s sake, I hope not.”

“Precisely. I was able to gather all the ingredients I could, but one ingredient eluded me. A rare flower called a Moonlight Bloom.”

“‘Moonlight Bloom?’”

Glinda pointed at a woodcut on the page. It was a flower with silver petals opening to the light of a full moon. The moon had a comical face on it that smiled down on the flower. “It’s rare, but I used the Book of Records and my familiars to find a place where it may be. The nearest one is in the territory of the Hammerheads.”

Yachiyo blinked. “It’s in the ocean?”

Glinda chuckled. “Not those Hammerheads. These Hammerheads are creatures native to Oz. They are fiercely territorial, and though they lack arms and have short legs, their heads can really pack a punch. The Moonlight Bloom grows in the middle of their land, and getting to it during the day would be difficult.”

Yachiyo realized what this meant. “You want me to get it at night.”

“Not just you,” Glinda said. “You’ll have to take a small group with you. I think Aliss and Lucina would be able to help you with this. Neseel and Kira can help you, too.”

“I see.” Yachiyo thought it over. After how Claudine and the others had underperformed during that Witch fight, maybe it was better to go with a group that seemed more together.

“I’ll do it,” Yachiyo said. “I can even go tonight.”

Glinda smiled. “Perfect. Then I can get started on the potion right away.”

“Thank you. That sounds like a good idea.” Yachiyo looked around the room, deep in thought.

“Yachiyo? What’s wrong?”

Yachiyo turned to Glinda. “I was just thinking… about Amare.”

Glinda looked at her, putting the potion book down. “You’re worried about her, aren’t you?”

Yachiyo nodded.

“If you want, you can go and talk to her now. She’s probably still in her room.”

“Can I?”

“Of course, now that we’re done here. And right now, I think you’re the person she’d want to talk to the most.”

Yachiyo’s mouth was in a firm line. “But… I’m not the Yachiyo she misses.”

“I still think she’d rather speak to you.”

Yachiyo decided Glinda was right, and soon found herself following another maid towards Amare’s room. It was at the end of a hall with doors leading to other girls’ rooms.

The maid left Yachiyo alone as soon as they arrived. Yachiyo took a deep breath before knocking.

For a moment, there was no answer. Then, Amare’s voice drifted out. “Who is it?”

“It’s me,” Yachiyo said.

Soon the doorknob turned, and Amare opened the door. Her face stared out from the darkness.

“Yachiyo…” she said.

Yachiyo held her hands behind her back and tilted her head. “Amare,” she said. “May I come in?”

Amare seemed taken aback, but nodded, letting Yachiyo enter and closing the door.

The room was sparsely decorated. The bed seemed barely made, and the curtains were drawn, casting a dim light.

“This is your room…?” Yachiyo asked, looking around.

Amare shook her head. “It’s just the room they gave me,” she said. “My old room… Aliss’s girlfriend is using it now.”

Yachiyo looked around a bit more, before fixing her eyes on Amare. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Amare looked down. “I didn’t know how to tell you,” she said. “You didn’t know anything about this world. You don’t even know about what went on before you arrived here…”

Fair enough. Yachiyo frowned. “I can’t believe you all hid this from me. I didn’t have any clue about what you did before moving to Japan. Had I known…”

“What? What would you have done if you had known?” Amare scowled. “We were the only way you could get help here.”

“What else are you hiding from me?” Yachiyo asked. A million thoughts ran through her head. “Is there something about the other Yachiyo that I don’t know about? Some other dark secret…?”

“No!”

Amare’s voice was louder that time, and in the quiet of the room, it seemed to echo off the walls. Yachiyo shut her mouth, looking at the dark-haired girl before her.

Amare looked down at the ground. “The Yachiyo Nanami of this world is just as good a person as you are.” She closed her eyes. “That’s why I still can’t believe she’d have anything to do with a good for nothing girl like me…”

Yachiyo held back from saying anything. She didn’t like how Amare seemed to easily refer to herself as good for nothing. It reminded her of Mifuyu.

Mifuyu… She hoped she was okay back home.

Amare for her part sniffled, tears beginning to leak out.

“I was scared, okay?” she said, her voice choked. “I thought I was going to lose everyone! So I contracted with Kyubey and joined Epithene. I thought… I thought I could make a deal to have her spare my friends and family. I did it for them…!”

She buried her face in her hands, her body heaving. “And now… I can’t even face them without feeling guilty…”

Yachiyo watched her, unsure what to do. Like Mifuyu with the Magius… she thought quietly. “What made you change your mind?”

Amare looked up at her, her eyes red from tears, streaks of water trailing down her cheeks. “You,” she said.

Yachiyo blinked. “Me?”

Amare wrung her hands together. “I came to Kamihama to get Ozma back for Epithene. While I was there, I ran into the other you, and after our initial hostility, she showed me that I didn’t have to be so afraid of losing everyone. That was when you–she– told me… told me that she would never let me be alone ever again.”

She didn’t look up, teardrops falling to the floor. “Even when the war ended, and people still hated me… she was still there for me. She let me stay in Mikazuki, until I could figure things out. No one understood my pain more than she did…!”

The emotions seemed to become too much for Amare, and she resumed crying once more. Yachiyo, unsure what to say, walked closer to her.

“Amare…” she began. What could she say? Could anything she say matter to Amare when she wasn’t even the Yachiyo she wanted to talk to?

“Amare…” Yachiyo said again. Instead of saying more, she simply pulled the shorter girl in for a hug, wrapping her arms around her.

That seemed to catch Amare’s attention. “Yachiyo,” she sniffled. “What are you…?”

“It’s going to be okay,” Yachiyo said, rubbing Amare’s back. “I’m going to do everything I can to help you. I promise.”

“R-really?” Amare looked up at her. At her height, Yachiyo couldn’t help but note how easily Amare’s head could fit under the crook of Yachiyo’s neck. She wondered about how often the other her and Amare had held each other like this. Were their nights when Amare still needed comfort, after all that she went through? Was the other her better at understanding what this girl needed?

Yachiyo smiled softly down at her. “Really.”

Amare returned the smile. Before Yachiyo could say one more thing, Amare moved her face closer to Yachiyo’s, closing her eyes, her lips close to the blue-haired girl’s.

Immediately Yachiyo let go of her and stepped back. “What are you doing?” she asked, eyeing the other girl.

Amare looked like she had just been slapped. “Y-Yachiyo,” she began. “It wasn’t… I mean…”

Yachiyo clenched her fist. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I have a girlfriend, Amare. It… it wouldn’t be right.” She turned to leave.

“Yachiyo, wait!” Before Yachiyo took three steps, she felt Amare’s hand holding onto her arm. She looked back.

Amare stared at her, desperation in her eyes. “Yachiyo, please,” she said. “Please… don’t leave me. We can stay here and talk some more… Just the two of us.”

Yachiyo yanked her hand away. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t.”

She immediately went to the door and left the room.

“Yachiyo!” Amare cried out, but Yachiyo shut the door and kept on walking, fighting down the burning feeling in her cheeks.

#parallel worlds record #magia record #the wonderful wizard of oz #the wizard of oz #revue starlight #fire emblem awakening #yachiyo nanami #claudine saijou #glinda the good witch #mifuyu azusa #tsuruno yui #uwasa tsuruno #lucina fire emblem #fanfic #my writing #my post #text

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unseededtoast · 8 months ago

Text

Shadow of Obsession | Spencer Reid x Reader

Part Four

Series summary: In which you find that love is an obsession that can quickly spiral out of control.

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted!

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Finale

"They don't believe me." Your words shatter his heart completely.

"Don't worry about them. You're all that matters right now."

For hours, you've sat in the same spot at the dining room table, watching Spencer work with a tenacity you have never seen before. His eyebrows are drawn tightly together, his tongue darts out between his lips as he concentrates. Every so often he runs a hand through his hair and sighs.

You feel like you should be helping him, but you find yourself all too distracted by the simple fact that your stalker knows where you live. Who knows how long he's known, and what else he's done that you're not even aware of. The thought of a stranger walking around in your apartment makes you sick to your stomach.

But what really sends you over the edge is the fact that your stalker took an item of your clothing and then returned that same night to deliver the folder. He was right outside of your door while you sat petrified in your bedroom and he now possesses a part of you, no matter how small that part is.

The thought of what he's using your sweater for sends a chill down your spine and you shudder. Your sudden movement must have snapped Spencer out of his trance and he sets down the picture he was analyzing. You see the sleep-deprived bags under his eyes and know you likely don't look any better. His eyes soften as he looks you over.

"You should get some rest, you've been at this for hours." Your voice is scratchy from not speaking. Spencer is quick to shake his head.

"I'm fine, you should go lay down though, I know you didn't sleep all night." Though his guess is accurate, you won't admit it.

Before you answer, you take a second to let your eyes focus on his hand resting on the table. Under different circumstances you may even say the veins in his hand were oddly attractive, but you refuse to let that thought run wild and instead focus back on the matter at hand.

"No, really I'm fine." You fight the urge to yawn and you know you don't have him fooled in the slightest.

He stands straighter and crosses his arms across his chest. Like you're a child being reprimanded, he gives you a stern look, one that lets you know exactly what he's thinking. A silent exchange occurs only through the look in each other's eyes. His are golden-brown, like fresh honey, and they transport you to a time when things were simpler.

For a moment you're taken back to your first day at the BAU. You were fresh out of the academy, recommended to the team by your trainer. The nerves had your stomach twisted and upset, and you vividly recall walking through those glass doors for the first time; your heartbeat pounded in your ears with each step. Everyone had been welcoming, warm, and kind. And you very distinctly remember seeing the most handsome man you've ever laid eyes on. His hair was long, maybe just a touch messy, but it was the kind and reassuring smile he offered that let you know you had made the right decision to join.

And now, sitting only a few feet away from him, you can't help but to feel reminiscent. Your relationship with Spencer had grown far deeper than with anyone else on the team. You had been there when he was wrongfully imprisoned and now he's here when you're being stalked. The two of you celebrated the arrest of each unsub together and worked wonderfully as a team, playing to each other's strengths.

A feeling within your chest flutters, one that you've been trying long and hard to suppress. And it had worked for a long time, that is until very recently.

"I know you're not fine. Please, just come on." His voice is soft and he offers his hand out to you. Not thinking twice, you take his hand in yours and let him lead you to the sofa.

Without you even having to ask, he makes sure that the curtains are closed and you watch as he scans the street for anyone who looks out of place before he sits next to you. He's warm and inviting, and if given the opportunity you know you could fall asleep in his arms.

You lean your head on his shoulder instead, and he wraps his arm around you, hugging you closer to his side. His hand rubs up and down your arm, comforting you as you allow your eyes to flutter shut.

Not another word is shared as you feel yourself being lulled to sleep by Spencer's presence. Just having him near is enough to make you feel safe and secure. You vaguely feel him lay you down on the couch, and you feel a pressure to the top of your head. And you're not sure if you're hallucinating or half-dreaming, but you swear you could hear him whisper to you,

"I promise that I will find who is doing this to you."

-----

Hotch arrives at the office early in the morning before anyone else. His signature scowl is plastered on his face and he's deep in thought about what Derek presented to him yesterday. While the system clearly shows that you were the one who made all of the alterations to the case reports, something deep within Hotch tells him that you're innocent.

There's just no way you would go to these great lengths for simple recognition. But it seems the others on the team are convinced you're behind all of this. Their insistence is the only thing giving him pause. He makes a mental note to follow up with them again sometime today, perhaps there's more that wasn't initially disclosed. There's just no way they've all been swayed by simple electronic records, ones they know are hackable.

Hotch sits at his desk and looks over the reports again and again, hoping that the answer jumps out at him. And it's on the fifth re-read that he notices something. It's a very small detail, but he thinks it could be an important one. He grabs a highlighter and begins marking up the reports.

After a few hours, Hotch walks down to Penelope's office. When she opens the door she's surprised to see Hotch on the other side, but she knows that whatever he's here for is something serious; Hotch doesn't make these visits often.

"Can you show me the video footage on the night that the document changes were made?" He asks, nodding to Penelope's plethora of monitors.

"Certainly sir." She says and sits down, pulling up the footage. She's watched it a hundred times, she knows this video like the back of her hand.

Hotch sits next to her and she plays the video. Just as she watched with you, and the others, the video has been tampered with. The shadows on the ground make that obvious.

"So someone got into the computer system and altered the footage." Hotch states the obvious.

"It appears so, yes." Penelope says, nervous about where this conversation is headed.

In the past day Penelope has had the same conversation with just about every other member of the BAU. Each of them didn't want to believe you had orchestrated this elaborate scheme, but they couldn't ignore the evidence.

Everyone was reluctant to admit that they believed you were responsible; Spencer was the only one to flat out deny your involvement. He was adamant about it, and his passion caused Penelope to second guess the others.

Of course she would never say that out loud, but it caused her to do some digging. She remembered how upset you were about the flowers, and she wasn't sold on the narrative that you had planned this for recognition and praise.

"Is it possible for you to-"

"Already ahead of you sir. I got into the system and looked for interferences. And it shows that she was the one who got into the camera systems as well, only a few minutes after the documents had all been changed. And it was her badge that scanned into the office." Penelope cuts Hotch off, eager to share what she learned from her sleuthing.

Hotch nods his head shortly and takes a moment to collect his thoughts. There are only a few people in this building with the kind of expertise to be able to pull something like this off. But he is apprehensive to accuse anyone of anything without further, concrete proof.

"Can you send this to me, along with the edit history?" Hotch stands from the seat and goes to leave Penelope's office, who sends him the video right away.

Being no stranger to situations like these, Hotch knows he has to keep this investigation under wraps. Especially if the team has seemingly turned their back on you. The BAU has had their fair share of rough moments, and during those moments the team always stuck together. But for some reason, this caused everyone to doubt you. It just isn't adding up to Hotch.

He returns to his office and looks out into the bullpen. Everyone is working diligently and he plans on how to handle this. While he forms a plan, he picks up his phone and makes an important call.

-----

"What do you mean I can't go in?" You ask Spencer, who just got off the phone with Hotch. Spencer sighs and sets his phone down on the coffee table. Running a hand through his hair he answers,

"Hotch said it's best if you stay out of the office while he figures out what's going on. He didn't say much about specifics, just that it would be best if you didn't come in." The words feel like a hot knife being pushed through your heart. Does this mean you're under investigation? Will you be suspended from the bureau?

You sit down on the couch, shocked about what's happening. As if being stalked wasn't bad enough, it might actually cost you your job? Not only your job, but some of the closest friends you've ever had?

Rubbing your eyes, you try to make sense of it all, but you just can't. There has to be something you're missing. There's a missing piece of the puzzle, that one piece would complete the picture. But now, it's just fragmented and incoherent.

"What am I missing? There were the flowers, the document changes, the re-tagged evidence, the tampered video, and now the folder." You speak, mostly to yourself but you know Spencer is listening as well.

You rub your temples as you try to connect the dots. Obviously it tells you that there's a stalker, and the evidence points in the direction of that stalker working for the bureau but you cannot figure out why the stalker would take those specific actions.

"Whatever it is, we will find it and we will find who is doing this." Spencer's voice is low and even, the determination is obvious. He moves to sit next to you, his leg only a few inches from yours.

You turn your head and look at him. His hair is disheveled from the amount of times he's run a hand through it in frustration, but it's charming.

"And what if we don't? Spencer you know how these things end." You simply state. As you say the words you realize you're not speaking as a profiler, but rather like a victim. And you're not sure how that makes you feel.

Spencer places his hand on top of your thigh and gives a reassuring squeeze; your heart races with the contact and you try to hide the feeling so that he can't perceive it on your face. The way his eyes dart down to your cheeks and lips make you think you didn't do a great job of hiding it. His tongue wets his lips and he goes to move a piece of your hair behind your ear.

"I don't care how many times I have to repeat myself. But I promise you that I will not rest until we find who is doing this to you. I will hunt down the man who is making your life miserable, and I will make him pay for what he's done." His words are laced with malice and venom. You nod your head and swallow, unable to think of anything coherent to say.

After a few moments, Spencer squeezes your thigh again before he gets back up to analyze the folder for the thousandth time. As he walks away, your heart swells with gratitude, and your skin buzzes where his hand was.

-----

Spencer walks into work with a feeling he can't quite place residing in his chest. It's something raw, and intense. His focus feels like it's been dialed to 100.

While he felt bad for leaving you at home alone, he knew that he would be able to do his best work here, without distractions. He had dedicated every piece of evidence to memory and was sure he would see the full picture soon.

But until then, he's got a job to do. And that job is to track down whoever is making your life a living nightmare. Spencer is unable to find the words to describe how upset he is every time he sees you looking over your shoulder in fear, or fending off sleep because of anxiety.

He hadn't felt a rage like this in a long time.

Spencer drops his bag on his desk and walks to Hotch's office. During the call Hotch made to tell you to stay home, he had also told Spencer that they needed to talk as soon as he got in. He isn't sure whether or not it's in your defense, but he knows it has to deal with your situation.

Hotch's back is turned when Spencer enters and as he turns around Spencer sees the file in hand and the scowl on Hotch's face.

"Please, sit." Hotch takes a seat and motions for Spencer to take the one across from the desk. Spencer tries to get a glimpse of the file Hotch has, but he's unsuccessful.

"We have some things to discuss." Hotch speaks again with a sigh. Spencer nods, agreeing. He only hopes Hotch believes you're innocent as well, or else he fears this discussion might become heated.

"You've probably already seen the electronic records with her credentials and the tampered video, I assume?" Hotch questions.

"Yes, I've seen them." Spencer doesn't give more information than necessary, not until he knows which side Hotch is on.

"Give me your unbiased professional opinion." Hotch leans forward on his desk, fingers interlaced and elbows resting on the wood. Spencer blinks a few times, trying to formulate an opinion void of personal feelings.

What he realizes is that he's been handling this entire case almost entirely with his personal feelings. But he recovers quickly and soon finds the words he's looking for.

"I think that she is being stalked by someone who works here. But not a regular agent, I believe it's someone pretty high up." Spencer says. Hotch nods, stoic expression not revealing anything.

"And why do you believe that?" He tilts his head just slightly to the right, something that tells Spencer that Hotch is genuinely interested in what he has to say. It's one of his small giveaways.

"Well, there are only a few people here that would have the expertise and ability to access and change credential logs like that, and to be able to get into the system and change the video. It would also take someone within the bureau to know where she's located at within the building, to send the flowers to. And whoever it is would have enough working knowledge to know how to retag evidence properly." Spencer rattles off, becoming more and more confident with his theory as he speaks. It's like saying this all out loud is helping him connect the dots.

Hotch takes a moment and nods while he studies Spencer's face and body language. It's usual profiler behavior and Spencer has seen him do this hundreds of times before with other people.

"But what else?" Hotch eventually asks. Spencer's shoulders tense up and his eyebrows scrunch together.

"What do you mean?" Spencer questions, recounting the evidence and what he explained. What more could there possibly be to say?

"You raised you hand like you had something else to add onto your explanation, but then you said nothing. What else were you going to say?" Spencer curses Hotch for being so observant just this once. With a sigh, Spencer decides it's easier to just lay everything out as plainly as possible.

"I know she didn't do it because I was with her the nights before everything happened, for the most part." Spencer doesn't elaborate any further, wanting to keep your relationship with him as much to himself as possible. Hotch's eyebrows raise in surprise, but he recovers quickly.

"I see. You'll be glad to hear I don't think she did any of this either. But what we think and what we can prove are two different things here." Spencer is all too familiar with this premise.

In fact, the similarities between this and his wrongful imprisonment are beginning to share too many things in common. You're being framed just as he was, evidence was planted and tampered with, and you're scared out of your mind because you don't know how this is going to end.

But not only that, he remembers in vivid detail how you helped him find sobriety after Tobias Hankel, how you stayed by his side through the entire journey when he was terrified. And he remembers how supportive you were when Maeve died right in front of him. You had shown him love and compassion when he thought neither of those things existed. It was you who stuck beside him through it all.

Spencer remembers the fear of being framed and the anxieties that accompanies the unknown. He hates that you're experiencing this, and he so badly wants to take it all away. And he knows the only way he can do that is to catch whoever is doing this. Now it's his turn to return the favor, to stick with you until the end. With strong resolve, he leans forward in his seat.

"So what's our next move?" Spencer asks Hotch, ready to put in as much work is needed.

Hotch nods his head and explains to Spencer his plan. It's simple, but should be effective.

-----

Hours later, Spencer sits at his desk, trying to look like he's busy. All he can think about is how you're doing back home, he worries that you're scared and wants nothing more than to run back to you; to keep you safe and away from the man wreaking havoc.

His daydreams are cut short as the agent from the IT department walks through the doors. The agent walks into Hotch's office where Hotch asks him to see if he can find any evidence of credential fraud.

The agent sits down at your desk and Spencer can't help but notice how nervous he looks. His shoulders are tense and his eyes are darting every which way as he acquaints himself with your space. Spencer's eyes narrow in suspicion and decides to keep a close eye on the man.

Spencer finds an old report and acts busy, when in reality he's watching the man's every move with careful and clinical eyes. He notices how the agent's eyes linger on the flowers sitting on your desk, and how he keeps momentarily looking at your photos.

Alarm bells are sounding off in Spencer's mind and he has to remind himself to keep calm. He reminds himself of what's at stake and forces a nonchalant demeanor. His knuckles turn white with how tightly he's gripping the paper in his hands and he's thankful the agent isn't a profiler, otherwise it would be a dead giveaway about just how angry Spencer is.

The agent works diligently, and then Spencer sees it. The man's shoulders go rigid, he holds a breath, and his eyes grow ever so slightly larger. He swallows and looks around the office before returning his focus on the screen in front of him. Spencer pretends not to notice.

While the agent is obviously dealing with some sort of turmoil, Spencer is envisioning lunging across the table at him and demanding answers. When he realizes his train of thought, Spencer knows he hasn't had these kinds of violent thoughts since he spent time in prison.

And somehow, he's okay with it. He knows that if it led to finding answers that he would be okay doing whatever it takes. He's also quick to understand the lengths he's willing to go for you and the risks he's fully prepared to take.

Abruptly and without a word, the agent returns to Hotch's office, just out of earshot from Spencer. And within minutes the agent is hightailing it out of the office, not even sparing a passing glance.

Curiosity gets the better of him and Spencer goes to speak with Hotch almost immediately. Sitting behind his desk with a troubled look on his face, Hotch's eyes flick to Spencer as he enters the room.

"Please, close the door and have a seat. We have some things to discuss. There's been a slight change in plans." Spencer closes the door quickly before taking a seat in front of Hotch's desk.

Spencer's heart beats heavily in his chest and it's like he can feel the blood pumping through his veins. Before Hotch says a word, Spencer knows that whatever he is about to say is nothing good.

"What happened?" Spencer barely recognizes the serious tone of his voice. Hotch sighs,

"The agent told me he found evidence of AES 128 bit encryption." Hotch says and Spencer's heart sinks.

"Rijndael Algorithm. It's never been cracked before." Spencer says, his heart rate increasing as his mind processes what this means for the case.

"I'm going to put Garcia up to the challenge. But I believe you're right, whoever is doing this is very intelligent and has a lot of access to our systems. With that said, I'm going to have her placed under twenty-four hour surveillance." Hotch says matter of factly. Spencer shakes his head,

"I'll be there at night, she wouldn't want to be constantly watched like that." He tries to advocate for the least invasive surveillance possible. Deep down he knows that the twenty-four hour monitoring is safest, he also knows you're likely to protest about it.

"I believe in your abilities to keep her safe. I'll put in for twelve hour surveillance, with additional overtime as needed." Hotch nods his head and Spencer thanks him.

The only thing on his mind now is getting back to you as quickly as he possibly can.

-----

You jump as loud knocks on the front door echo through your apartment. Normally you would go and answer it without a second thought, but you catch yourself worrying about who is on the other side.

Three more knocks sound off and you approach the door cautiously.

"Hey it's just me." Spencer's voice can be heard through the door and you release the breath you had been holding.

You answer the door for him and he wastes no time coming in. He turns and locks the door as soon as he's inside and he doesn't bother taking his shoes off before he's buzzing around. He's closing the curtains and pulling the couch away from the window like a mad man with thirty seconds to complete the mission.

"Spencer what's going on?" You feel a new wave of anxiety bubble up within you. You've never seen him act like this before.

Spencer stops moving around and you see him take a deep breath. He rubs his eye with the palm of his hand, and your eyes grow wide. You've seen that mannerism before, but you haven't seen it in so long. Something bad happened while he was at work today. Something very bad.

When he opens his eyes he walks up to you, leaving only a few inches between the two of you. He places his hands on your shoulders and looks into your eyes.

You see a tenderness in them, but you also notice almost a crazed intensity, like his mind is working a hundred miles a second and he's having trouble keeping up with himself.

"I will explain everything shortly. But please let me do this first." You nod wordlessly and watch as he walks back into the living space. He tosses blankets over the curtain rods to make sure nobody can see through the windows.

He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows and moves the couch even farther away from the window. And just for a split second your fear is forgotten as you admire the way his biceps flex under the material of his shirt.

There's something about his behavior that seems different, and you can't help but be attracted to it. Like a moth to a flame or a bee to clovers, your eye is drawn to every move, every flex of a muscle.

After he's satisfied with the changes, he walks over to the dining table and opens the folder. You had put away all of the photographs earlier, you couldn't stand the feeling of having them out in the open, it was like they were taunting you.

Spencer spreads the materials back out across the table and leans forward. You see his eyes dart over all of the pictures and the notes before he stands back to his full height and tugs at his tie, loosening it from his neck.

Your eyes stay glued to him as you step forward. His eyes glance from the photos to you and you can see how his face instantly softens.

"Will you tell me what happened now?" You ask and he nods, gesturing for you to join him on the couch.

You listen intently as he explains that Hotch believes you're innocent and that he had called in one of the IT workers. And a fresh wave of nausea came over you as he explained the encryption that was found. This most definitely is not just some guy, no, this is the work of someone sophisticated and organized.

"But, listen to me, I will not rest until we find him. Believe me, there is no obstacle too challenging. I promise you that I will not stop until you're safe again." Spencer says following a few moments of tense silence.

You've done so well to hold your emotions together, well, the best you could anyways. Up until this point it was only fear that you felt, but that fear has morphed into several other things much more terrifying than simple fear. You bite your bottom lip to keep it from trembling and blink rapidly to keep from crying.

Your breaths are shaky and you look down at your lap. This is no longer just affecting you, but the whole team as well. Spencer and Hotch are willing to go out on a limb to prove your innocence while the others are convinced of your guilt. You feel guilty about the anger you harbor for your teammates who don't believe you. And truthfully, you don't know how you will be able to move forward after this.

This stalker has already taken from you something near and dear to your heart; they've taken your team.

It's then, when you accept the reality of what is, that you let the first tear fall. It's full of anger and sadness and remorse, and just a little bit of love.

Spencer envelopes you in his arms and the dam breaks. He holds you close to his chest, your tears staining his shirt. But he doesn't seem to mind. No, instead he hugs you tightly and presses the most delicate of kisses to the top of your head. You grab onto the front of his shirt and let the emotions finally break free.

-----

Spencer cradles you in his arms and as you cry it breaks his heart just a little more with each sob. He hates seeing you in such distress. Once you finally calm down a little, you sniffle and look up at him with wide, watery eyes.

"They don't believe me." Your words shatter his heart completely.

"Don't worry about them. You're all that matters right now." He says, running a hand up and down your back to try and soothe you.

But your words remind him that he needs to speak with the team about this situation. Even he can't believe they've apparently turned against you so easily. It makes his blood boil; the team is supposed to stick with each other, not work against one another. He does his best to suppress his own anger towards them, knowing that if he expresses his distress that it will likely only make you more upset.

Instead, he focuses on nothing except you in his arms, and his anger dissipates almost immediately. He doesn't think he'll ever admit it out loud, but he secretly loves the way you cling to him. He loves how you trust him, how you confide in him, how you've taken care of him and stuck beside him through thick and thin. He loves the way your smile brightens his day, and how even the smallest glance sends butterflies soaring through him.

He presses another kiss to the top of your head as he realizes and admits to himself for the first time that he's in love with you.

He is absolutely and undeniably in love with you. And God help whoever threatens his love.

Part Five

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

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octoberobserver · 2 years ago

Text

Dearly Loved and Forever Missed

(Read on ao3) (This was inspired from this Tumblr post.)

OBITUARY

Richard Tozier

1976-2016

————————

A native of Derry, Maine, Richard Tozier suffered through a troubled childhood that was marred by self-doubt and indecision. His countless insecurities led him to ridicule the few friends he had, an action that would come to haunt him for the remainder of his meaningless life. Richard was an awkward-looking child, and his parents regarded him with both shame and disappointment. Their contempt for him only intensified during Richard’s adolescence, when his repulsive inclinations towards homosexuality and deviance emerged.

He began performing in the late 1990s, and went on to achieve an unimaginative and forgettable career in stand-up comedy. Unable to escape his anxieties and incapable of sustaining any real human connection, he was eventually abandoned by his remaining friends, who never really knew him in the first place.

In the end, his pathetic indecision in life and disgusting sexual urges left him alone, without any reason to live, and now everyone knows his dirty secret. His death is the punchline to the only funny joke he ever made: His life.

He is survived by nobody, and will not be missed.

“Hey Eds, have you seen the—”

Eddie Kaspbrak’s gaze shot up from the laptop, just in time to see Richie freeze, wide-eyed, his mouth hanging open mid-sentence.

“Richie…” Eddie rasped, his chest clenching painfully as he gestured to the screen, unable to look at the words he had just read, they swimming in his suddenly blurry vision. “What the fuck is this?”

Richie blinked, once, twice, before storming over to the table and slamming the laptop shut, eyes lowered.

“It’s uh, it’s nothing. Do you know where the take out menu is for that new Thai place? I can’t find it in—”

“That is not nothing, Rich,” Eddie cut across him sharply, “that’s a fucking obituary. A horrible, disgusting—”

“Why were you looking through my laptop?” Richie interjected, voice weak as he continued to avoid eye contact, crossing to the sink and turning on the faucet.

“I was going onto the Thai place’s website because I knew you were craving curry and wouldn’t be able to find the menu,” Eddie explained, standing up and walking towards his friend’s back that was lined with tension, his shoulders hunched, his head lowered as water continued to flow.

“...Did you write it?”

It was a question he really didn’t want to ask. Couldn’t bear to consider the possibility, but also disliked the idea of it being some sort of sick hate mail.

Meaningless life. Shame and disappointment. Repulsive inclinations. Unimaginative and forgettable. Incapable of sustaining any real human connection. Abandoned. Disgusting sexual urges. Without any reason to live. His death is the punchline. Survived by nobody. Will not be missed.

Eddie’s stomach twisted with nausea as those words flashed before his eyes and he tried desperately to blink them away.

Along with the unshed tears.

Slowly, he reached out to clasp Richie’s shoulder.

Only to have Richie shrug it off, sidestepping him to grab a glass.

“No, I didn’t write it. Fuck.”

He shoved the glass under the water and took several large gulps before slamming the glass back down and finally turning off the faucet.

He sighed.

“But I might as well have.”

Eddie’s heart clenched in his chest as he waited, worry gnawing at his nerves.

Richie’s back was still to him, his hands gripping the kitchen counter, his head hung low.

“It’s what that bastard made me see back in Derry. Just like...just like the Missing Posters back in ‘89, only new and more traumatising. Gotta give the guy props for flair, I guess.”

Ice flowed through Eddie’s veins.

Of course. Pennywise .

“Shit, Richie, that’s...that’s so messed up,” he muttered lamely, hands wrapping themselves around his elbows, hugging himself to stop from reaching out for him again.

“But…” he cleared his throat, hating how raw his voice sounded as he swallowed down the emotion that was clawing its way up his throat, “why is it on your laptop? It’s...it’s saved in your work folder, Rich, I—”

“I typed it out awhile back,” Richie gave a shrug, his back still turned, “surprised I could remember it pretty much verbatim, but ol’ Penny did always have a knack for being particularly haunting.”

Eddie thought of his mother strapped to a table and begging him to save her. He thought of lepers and spider-Stan heads and claws impaling him to death. He had to agree.

But even with all that, nothing made him feel as sick as those three short paragraphs. Not his mother’s screams. Not lepers projectile vomiting all over him. Not the decapitated head of his then-dead friend sprouting legs and attacking them. And not even his own death.

Will not be missed…

Did Richie really think that? Believe that? Pennywise did always base his attacks on fear so…

Bile rose up Eddie’s throat.

“Why did you type it out?”

It wasn’t the question he wanted to ask. But those words were stuck in his rib cage somewhere, right beneath his scar, nestled firmly between his own fears and insecurities.

Richie heaved another sigh, finally turning around to rest against the counter, folding his arms tightly across his chest and staring at a spot on the floor.

His entire body screamed, I don’t wanna talk about this. Drop it, Eddie. Leave it alone. Leave me alone.

Will not be missed…

“Rich,” he coaxed gently, trying and failing to catch his eye, “why would you—”

“I don’t know! I don’t fucking know, okay?!”

If Eddie were a lesser man, he would have reared back in shock at Richie’s outburst, but as it was, he was too busy trying to make sure Richie didn’t hurt himself as he suddenly began to violently pace back and forth, his voice loud and thick with emotion.

“It stayed with me. And I hate that. I hate that something so fucking dumb, so insignificant when compared to all the shit we went through, fuck, you went through, before and after, keeps fucking showing up in my dreams. Taunting me, making me read it over and over and over like it’s some self-fulfilling prophecy that I just haven’t accepted yet. Because fuck, Eds, he wasn’t wrong, you know?”

Richie paused, waving a hand, his eyes wide and wild behind his glasses.

“I was a total screw up. I was filled with self doubt and insecurities out the wazoo. I was awkward-looking and Maggie and Went didn’t know what to do with me most of the time and they...they knew. They always knew about me and they...they just never brought it up ‘cause fuck, I don’t know? I guess I was already enough of a shameful disappointment without being fucking gay in the eighties on top of all that.”

He let out a horrible sound, a cross between a laugh and a sob, running a hand through his hair.

“And my career was unimaginative, forgettable, fucking atrocious most of the time. I was so insecure that I let other people write for me, but deep down, I knew they had a point. I just…wasn’t good enough. Wasn’t funny enough. And any ‘friends’ I had didn’t know me, not really. They knew “Trashmouth” the character I played so I wouldn’t have to get real with anyone, show anyone who I really was because I knew when they saw me, the real me, they’d leave. But they still did anyway.”

He sniffed, shaking his head.

“And I hated myself, was disgusting and pathetic. I couldn’t leave the closet so I ridiculed it instead. Aligned myself with sexist and homophobic dickwads so I could use those jokes as a shield, all while getting off to the same shit I made fun of. Settled for strangers in bars in cities I’d never visit again, my own right hand and the most discreet porn subscription I could find. I was a hypocrite and a coward.”

He sagged back against the counter, his entire body deflating as his voice dropped to barely above a whisper.

“And maybe he was right, you know? Maybe the funniest joke of all is—me. I’m the punchline. Little Richie Tozier who always yelled the loudest and craved attention and notoriety, ended up being nothing but a washed up, closet-case with more neuroses than friends to miss hi—”

Eddie surged forward and tugged Richie down against him, wrapping his arms tightly around his back and leaning up on his tip-toes.

“Beep beep, Richie.”

A choked sob escaped Richie as he practically melted into the hug, his arms coming up to wrap around Eddie’s waist, clinging tightly as he pressed his face into the crook of his neck.

Eddie suppressed a shiver as Richie’s lips brushed his skin, focussing on his words.

“None of that is true, Richie, do you hear me? Not one fucking word. You weren’t a screw up, you were the smartest kid in school, are you kidding me? It used to drive me fucking crazy that you never opened a book but would somehow get straight A’s. And you weren’t awkward looking, you were cute as hell. Even with your terrible Hawaiian shirts and coke bottle glasses you were charming as fuck in your own way.”

A small exhale that could have possibly been the beginning of a laugh, tickled Eddie’s neck.

“And Maggie and Went were maybe a little baffled by you, a little confused, but I don’t think they were ever, ever disappointed or ashamed of you. Fuck, your mom was only telling me last week about the time you won that trophy for your routine in the talent competition and how she still has it proudly displayed on her mantel. And Went said at dinner two months ago about how relieved he was at seeing you thriving after coming out. About how he hopes you find someone who’ll love you for you.”

Eddie felt Richie tense a little at that, his arms tightening around his waist.

“And as for your career, the nineties weren’t fucking ready for Richie Tozier. So you were forced to spout other people’s shit even though you are a thousand times funnier and so ahead of the times you were practically Marty McFly. And I don’t blame you for keeping on the ghost writers. You were making a living. And I know you’re not proud of the things you said, but you’ve more than made up for it, Rich. You’re so honest now, so apologetic and repentant for every shitty one-liner some jackass wrote for you. You’re doing your best to write your own material and it’s gold, Rich. I know I’m biased but, fuck. You have a Netflix show. Completely written, 100% by you. I was here, I saw the blood, sweat and tears you put into that routine, and we all couldn’t be prouder of you.”

He squeezed Richie’s shoulders to emphasize his point.

“Even if the ‘your dad’ jokes still make me want to jab a chopstick in your eye.”

A full laugh, albeit quiet and subdued, escaped Richie then, the little puff of air causing goosebumps to spread across Eddie’s neck and spurred him on.

“And you…you can date now. Openly, publicly. I know the world isn’t perfect, will never be, but you have so much support, Rich. So many people behind you that just want you to find happiness with someone. You don’t have to hide anymore. You were so brave coming out, telling the world who you are and I know...there is someone out there just waiting for you. And he’s the luckiest guy in the world.”

Eddie’s heart thumped hard in his chest as he willed away the ache, the words far more honest than Richie could possibly ever know, even as they broke his heart to say them.

His breath hitched as Richie’s hand brushed up from his waist to settle in between his shoulder blades, tightening the hug.

“A-And,” Eddie forced himself to continue, “You have friends, people who know you inside and out and...love you for who you are. You will forever have people to miss you, Rich. Fuck, I miss you when you fly to New York for meetings, I can’t even bring myself to imagine how much I’d miss you if—”

He cut himself off, shoving down that horrible thought before it can break the surface of his deepest, darkest fears.

He stepped back, breaking their hug to catch Richie’s eye, but his arms staying firmly around him, their stance almost like a motionless dance.

Their gazes met, their dark eyes shinier than usual, their cheeks damp.

“Bottom line is, Loser, you’re not allowed to die any time soon. But when you do, your obituary will be nothing like that. It will be filled with details of a childhood rife with laughter and fun, a career which thrived after complete revitalisation and a life filled with love. So much fucking love it’ll have all the readers jealous as fuck. You know, if people still read newspapers in 2076.”

A full belly laugh met those words, Richie sniffling so loud it should have grossed Eddie out and had him running for a Kleenex, but instead only had him grinning widely, his eyes tracing the adorable flush crossing Richie’s cheeks.

You are so, so loved.

“You think I’m gonna live to see a hundred, Eds?”

Eddie nodded.

“You better. ‘Cause I sure plan to and you’re not leaving me to yell at kids to get off our lawn by myself.”

Richie blinked.

It was then that Eddie’s words caught up with him and heat rushed to his face.

Jesus, Eddie. Why don’t you just fucking propose while you’re at it. Fuck.

“You think we’re still gonna be living together then?” Richie asked, voice quiet and...vulnerable in a way Eddie couldn’t ever remember hearing.

“I thought this whole roommate thing was only temporary?”

Eddie knew it was a joke. That Richie was just poking fun at Eddie’s own words when he had first moved in with him coming up to a year now, when he was freshly-resurrected and recently-divorced and in need of a new start.

He lowered his eyes, shuffling a little, but not breaking their loose embrace.

“Uh, well, I mean...probably not, right? You’ll uh...you’ll have found someone by then. A boyfriend or…or husband maybe, but I—I’ll always be there for you, Rich. I’m not going anywhere. Except maybe like, to become your neighbour when—”

“I’m not gonna find some random boyfriend or husband Eds, so you won’t be going anywhere unless...unless you want to,” Richie cut across him, giant hands giving a quick squeeze to Eddie’s hips that had him sucking in a breath.

He looked up.

Those large, dark eyes that he had never truly forgotten even with Derry amnesia magic, stared down at him with a look that had his stomach swooping pleasantly.

“I don’t want to,” he replied, firmly but quietly, reluctant to burst whatever bubble they had found themselves in.

“I don’t want you to either.”

A beat.

Two.

Eddie watched, utterly transfixed as Richie’s eyes flickered minutely downwards. Eddie let his own do the same, catching on Richie’s lips that were slightly parted, short little breaths fanning against his skin, their faces merely inches apart.

How could he ever think he isn’t loved?

Almost unbeknownst himself, Eddie reached up and brushed away the remaining tear from Richie’s cheek with his thumb.

“So, I guess we’ve got another sixty years for you to learn how to load the dishwasher without me having to correct it then, huh?”

Richie chuckled, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, dear.”

Eddie’s stomach gave another swoop and god, he wanted to kiss this gorgeous, infuriating, ridiculous man with every fibre of his being.

So he did.

Richie let out a gasp as their lips met, but it was soon replaced by a groan as he pulled Eddie flush against him, kissing back wholeheartedly.

Eddie wound one hand into Richie’s hair, the other clutching his hip as his mind sighs— finally .

Years of unspoken words were woven into that kiss, passing between them with a strength that made Eddie weak at the knees.

Reluctantly, he pulled back barely an inch to catch his breath, staring up at Richie with a gaze he knew to be honest and open and everything he wanted him to know.

But he wanted Richie to hear it, too.

He deserved that and so much more.

“I love you, Rich. I always have. You...you’ll never be alone, or unmissed. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

A slow but radiant smile broke out on Richie’s face, his eyes wide with awe.

Suddenly, he leaned forward and began peppering every inch of Eddie’s face with wet kisses, murmuring words in between.

“Love you so much—since I was—twelve years old—I want you for forever—and after—can’t wait to watch you—yell at kids—grumpy old man—”

Eddie snorted out a laugh, catching Richie’s face in his hands before he could stoop back in to smack a sloppy peck on his forehead, instead capturing his mouth again, this time trailing his tongue along his bottom lip.

Richie opened his mouth with another loud groan, their tongues meeting as he pulled Eddie even closer to him, lifting him several inches off the floor in a move that should have had him grumbling, but instead shot a bolt of arousal through his abdomen.

Something to examine at a later date...

“Fuck Eds,” Richie gasped against his lips as they exchanged soft smiles, “you kiss me like that again and I might even learn how to use the tumble dryer...”

~*~

OBITUARY

Richard Tozier

1976-2076

———————

A native of Derry, Maine, Richard "Richie" Tozier grew up in a loving household with his parents Wentworth and Margaret who were always a little bemused by their energetic and vivacious son, but proud of his unique and fun personality, their home always filled with a litany of impressions and voices.

Richie had a small, but close knit group of friends, affectionately called The Losers Club, made up of best-selling horror novelist, Bill Denbrough (1976-2074), stylist to the stars, Beverly Marsh-Hanscom (1976-2075), award-winning architect of Hanscom & Co, Ben Hanscom (1976-2075) travel writer & groundbreaking documentary filmmaker, Mike Hanlon, (1975-2074), civil rights lawyer, Stanley Uris (1975-present), and Richie’s future-husband, founder of the L.O.V.E.R. Foundation for LGBT+ kids, Eddie Kaspbrak-Tozier (1976-present.)

The Losers’ many adventures and anecdotes were lovingly recited by Richie over the span of his near-forty-year career in comedy, first as a standup comedian and then as a television writer and producer, his comedy/drama Clownin’ Around becoming an international hit and earning him multiple awards including, Emmys, Golden Globes and memorably, a People’s Choice Award for its depiction of a same-sex couples’ adoption process.

Richie famously came out as gay live during one of his shows, ‘Trashmouthed’, completely unrehearsed to the shock of the media and public at large. But he was soon embraced by a wave of support after issuing a heartfelt, sincere apology for his past jokes. Soon after, he and his future-husband began dating, eventually marrying in 2019 and adopting a daughter, Margaret, "Maggie-Bev."

Richie is survived by his husband, Eddie, their daughter, their two grandchildren and their dog. He was dearly loved and will be forever missed by his family, friends, and many fans around the world.

(More Reddie fics)

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it chapter 2 #it 2019 #my fanfiction

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svenotes · 4 years ago

Text

stay with me | jjk

❝ maybe staying another night at your boyfriend’s isn’t such a bad idea ❞

[ PAIRING ] : jeon jungkook x reader

[ GENRE ] : established relationship au + smut and a smudge of fluff

[ WORD COUNT ] : 6k

[ WARNINGS ] : oral sex, some real good tongue technology on jungkook’s part, fingering, overstimulation, penetrative sex, creampie, LOTS AND LOTS of dirty talk, jk calls oc ‘baby’ and ‘pretty girl’ way too many times, oc worried that her bf is going to get tired of her, some mentions of anxiety, jk is the sweetest bf and even sweeter at sex, there is barely any plot and just a lot of sex im so sorry

[ AUTHOR’S NOTE ] : i'm on my period and i got horny and then this happened

masterlist | wattpad cross post | ao3 cross post

“No.”

Jungkook shuffles behind you, the bed moaning. “You don’t even know what I’m going to ask.”

You shake your head, failing to suppress your smile as you slip on your thong. However, it does little to hide you from him. Glancing at the mirror, you see him shamelessly stare at your ass, licking his lips before he meets your gaze through the glass with a boyish grin.

You turn around to face him. “You’re going to ask me to stay.”

Jungkook hums, eyes dancing across your bare skin, darkening. Heat rushes to your cheeks as he admires you, confidence swelling in your chest and you take a moment to admire him. He sits at the edge of the bed, naked and yours, white, silk sheets pooled around his lower abdomen.

Your eyes trace over his rigid muscles, and your fingers itch to touch him. Even under the dim light, he is beautiful with his dishevelled hair and swollen lips. You finally meet his gaze and swear your knees almost give out. Heat pools in your stomach when you see the hunger in his gaze, breath hitching in your throat. Your thighs press together reflexively and it doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

“Wrong.” Jungkook pulls you at you until you're straddling him. He cranes his neck to press butterfly kisses along your jaw. “I was going to ask you to not leave.”

“Baby.” You thread your fingers in his hair, tugging at the strands. “That means the same thing.”

“Don't care,” he hums, pressing a firm kiss against your lips. “Don’t go.”

His plea tugs at the strings of your heart. It’s hard to say deny him. It’s especially hard to deny him with his dick hard, prodding against your thigh and his lips coercing you to stay cocooned under the sheets with him. However, the anxiety that builds in your chest is overwhelming and the thoughts that kept you up the night before still linger.

“Jungkook.”

“Unless you’re telling me you're staying, I don’t want to hear it.”

You giggle, leaning down for a sweet kiss. Minutes pass by before you pull away with a burn in your lungs and clouded mind. He chases after your lips, but you tilt your head for his lips to press against the corner of your lips, to his reluctance.

“Baby,” you start, “I need to go home and get new clothes. I’ve spent the entire weekend here and now I have nothing to wear.”

“I like you naked, anyway.” He grins as you slap his chest, failing to bite back your smile. “You can wear my clothes.”

“I have no underwear left.”

“I have a laundry machine.” He traces every curve of your spine, sending shivers down your back. “You’ll have clean clothes tomorrow.”

You brush the long strands of his hair from of his face. “I could grab some new clothes and come back tomorrow.”

“It’s going to be dark soon,” he reasons, unhooking your bra with two fingers and you cock a brow. “Leave in the morning — after breakfast. Dangerous people come out at night, y’know? I don’t want anything bad happening to you.”

“You would’ve won me over with that one if you didn’t unhook my bra,” you remark, pinning him with a look.

“Really? Wait, lemme redo that—!” You let out a heartfelt laugh, throwing your head back and he grins. “Seriously, don't go. I don’t want you walking outside late at night.”

“The sun’s only about to set, I can get home before it gets too dark.”

Jungkook’s brows pinch together, lips curling downwards. “You’re trying so hard to leave. Why?”

Your heart misses a beat and you pray he doesn’t notice the hesitation in your eyes as anxiety swells in your chest. Your worries flood your mind as a reminder as why you must leave.

“You're going to get sick of me if I don't give you some space.”

“I could never get sick of you,” he retorts, holding you closer with a shake of his head. “And I don't need space from you. Wanna keep you in my arms forever.”

Your gaze softens on him and his cheeks are coloured pink. “Kook.”

“I don’t want you to leave — not tonight.” He presses hot, open-mouthed kisses against the column of your throat. “Want you to stay with me.”

You indulge in the idea; one more night. You could stay one more night. You could. However, the fear in your chest does not allow for it. You’re scared — worried if he spends every waking moment with you he’ll soon get tired of you. Perhaps it’s a stupid thought considering you’ve been dating for over a year now, but the dread still lingers. No matter how much you reason with it, it haunts your thoughts — keeps you awake in the middle of the night even as he rests in your embrace.

He drags you from your reverie, pressing a kiss against the sweet spot under your ear and you let him have his way for now.

“Don’t go,” he says again in a whisper, pleading with his eyes. “Please. I want you to stay.”

Before you can answer he leans down to press his lips against yours. His lips meld with your own in a fervent kiss, his hand trailing down your body and tracing the curve of your ass, as he presses himself against your core. You roll your hips against him as the kiss becomes more sloppy and desperate with every press of him against you. Waves of pleasure shoot down to your core, your pussy clenching around nothing.

“Jungkook,” you moan.

His lips trail down the underside of your jaw, pressing a wet kiss against your pulse. A coil of desire begins to tighten at every nudge of his shaft against your nerves, nails digging into the skin on his back in response.

“Ngh — Jungkook, please,” you urge as presses his hips against yours, applying pressure to your bundle of nerves.

“Please, what, baby,” he hums, smirking against your skin. “Use your words.”

“Touch me. Please, ah,” you moan, throwing your head back against the pillow. “Need you to touch me.”

He throws your unhooked bra to the side. Bringing a hand to wrap around your breast, he squeezes it adoring how soft and pliant you are under his touch. You arch your back as his tongue flicks against your perked nipple.

“Are you sure?” He asks, his warm breath fanning across the pebbled bud on your breast. “Thought you had to go, hm?”

“Jungkook—!”

“I won’t stop until I’m satisfied,” he says, hoarse, searching your eyes for an answer. “I won’t let you go until you’re begging me to stop. Do you want that?” He rolls grinds his cock against your core, groaning. “Won't stop ’til I feel your hot, tight pussy milk me for every last drop. Ah, wanna feel you fall apart on my cock, see you all pretty and full of my cum, hear you beg for more and more until you break.”

You gasp at his vulgar words, the hot, white coil tightening in your stomach. You wish so badly for him to be inside of you when you clench around nothing. His lips wrap around your perked nipple, licking and biting you, eliciting the sweetest of moans from your lips as his tongue swirls around your bud.

Your thread your fingers through his hair, pulling at the strands at the nape of his neck how he likes it. He moans against you as you continue to experimentally roll your hips against him, desperate for some friction — for him.

“Do you want that, too, baby?” He asks, leaving a trail of kisses up the valley between your breasts. “Means you can’t go home though. You’ll miss your train if you let me do the things I want.”

“Are you sure you’re not going to get tired of seeing me every day?”

You try to laugh, but your voice comes out strained and full of worry. It doesn't sound like a joke as you hoped, voice shaking as you ask your question. Your heart thunders in your chest and you wonder if he can hear it.

Jungkook stills, his lips brushing against your collarbone. He pulls back to look at you, brows furrowed and eyes full of confusion.

“You think I’m getting tired of you?”

You look away from his piercing gaze and he doesn’t like it. Taking your face in his hands, he urges you to meet his eyes and you find yourself meeting his concerned gaze.

“Talk to me,” he says, softly.

You take a deep breath, eyes flickering to your hands resting against his chest. Mustering the courage to open up, you meet his gaze again as he patiently waits for your response, a thumb rubbing soothingly against the soft skin of your cheek.

“I—I’m scared that you're going to realize I’m not as great as you think I am,” you begin softly, voice shaking. “I’m worried if you spend too much time with me you'll get sick of me. I’m scared you’re going to get tired of me and leave me.” You pause, noticing the bewildered expression on his face. “I wanted to leave so I could give you space in case you wanted it. I didn’t — I don’t want to suffocate you.”

He’s silent for a long moment and you know it’s because he’s collecting his thoughts. However, a part of you still worries. You worry it's because he realizes he has grown tired of your presence. You worry he realizes that you have too much emotional baggage and doesn’t want to deal with it. You worry because you have a hard time accepting someone’s love.

“I haven’t done a good job at being your boyfriend,” he starts and your eyes widen, “if you’re thinking I’m going to get sick of you.”

“No,” you reply immediately, cupping his face. “It's not you. It’s my insecurities — my anxiety. You’re more than perfect. You say and do all the right things, Kook. I just… I’m scared one day you’re going to get tired of me — tired of constantly reassuring me, sick of having me around all the time and clinging to you.”

You’ve talked to Jungkook about it before. He knows about the thoughts that keep you up at night — the worries that gnaw at you until you’re in tears. He knows and he stays. He tries to help you in every way he possibly can. He holds you when you need it, whispers reassuring words, comforts you no matter when or where. He’s there for you in every possible way because he loves you.

But sometimes your anxiety gets the best of you — especially when it comes to him.

“Baby,” he starts and it’s hard to meet his eyes, “I will never get tired of you. I will never get sick of you.”

“You don’t know that—!”

He cuts you off, “But I do. I know because I can’t get enough of you. I don’t think I ever will. Every moment you’re not with me all I want is you. All I can ever think about is you. You drive me crazy and you don’t even know it. All I ever want is you beside me, in my arms, in my house with me. I always want you right beside me — right where you belong.” A pause. “You know I love you, right?”

“I love you, too.” Your response is almost immediate and he smiles, leaning to press a soft kiss against your lips.

“Do you know how much I love your laugh?” You’re silent. “Do you know how much I love making you smile; how much I love waking up beside you and falling asleep with you in my arms. How much I adore your victory dances when you win games and your snoring—!”

“Hey!” You complain, but there’s a smile curling on your lips to match his.

“I love you so much — every single part of you — I couldn’t possibly ever get sick you. I love you so much I don't ever want to let you go.”

Hesitantly, you look at him and let the sincerity of his words sink in. His eyes are full of adoration for you and your heart is enveloped by a sudden warmth only he can elicit in you. Lifting your hand between your bodies and extend your pink finger to him.

“Promise?”

He doesn't hesitate to wrap his small finger around yours before sealing the promise with a sweet kiss. “Promise.”

“Okay,” you say, gnawing on your bottom lip. “I wasn’t being too clingy this weekend? I wasn’t bothering you or being annoish—!”

“I’m going to stop you before you say more things I don’t like.” He smothers your face in his hands, eyes narrowed. “Remember, I wanted you here this weekend, too. And I want you to spend another night because I love you and I’m going to miss you when you’re gone.”

“Okay,” you murmur, shyly. “I’ll stay the night.”

“Good. I want my pretty girl beside me,” he chuckles under his breath, tucking a loose curl behind your ear. You notice his eyes grow softer, an emotion you cannot decipher hidden behind the awestruck in his eyes that leaves butterflies in its wake. “Move in with me.”

You blink. “What?”

“I—!" His eyes are wide as if he didn’t expect himself to say the word himself. His eyes flicker downwards before they meet yours again with purpose. “I want you to move in with me.” A deep breath. “My apartments too big for just one person and I miss you whenever you’re gone. You spend more time here than you do at your own place anyway. Move in with me.”

You search eyes and all you're met with is sincerity. “Are you sure?”

“Yea,” his smile is soft but it makes your heart swell. “Yea, I'm sure. I’m tired of waking up every morning and not having you beside me.”

“Moving in?” You ask, uncertainly.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while, but I wasn’t sure if you were ready. And you don’t have to give me an answer tonight or tomorrow. I want you to think about it and if you’re not ready, that’s okay because I’ll wait for you. You’re worth the wait.”

“Kook—!"

“I already know I want to spend the rest of my life with you, ___.” Your eyes widen at the declaration and his cheeks are coloured pink despite the bright smile on his lips. “I know we’re not there yet, but I want you every single day for the rest of my life. So while I wait for you to be my wife, I want to move in with you.”

Jungkook momentarily stills before he realizes the soft pressure against his lips is your own, smiling into the kiss as he closes his eyes. He kisses you tenderly and sweet, but there is desperation behind them. You’ve kissed Jungkook thousands of times but he still makes your head dizzy as he slips his tongue between the seams of your lips. You’re not sure how long you stay like that, your fingers tangled in his hair and his own pulling you closer towards him.

He pulls back first, a string of saliva connecting you before he places another firm kiss against your lips. “Was that a yes?”

“Yea,” you breathe, grinning. “Yea, it was.”

He flips you onto the bed with practiced ease, your back hitting the mattress as he hovers over you. You giggle as he places butterfly kisses all over your neck and shoulder.

“I love you so much,” he breathes, face hidden in the crook of your neck. “My pretty, pretty girl.”

“Jungkook.”

“Yes.”

“I want to cum.”

He laughs, pulling away. “Shameless, too.”

He leaves a trail of kisses down your body until he’s a hair's breadth from your cunt. His fingers brush against your closed slit, arousal leaking through the flimsy material as he presses against your core. Your breathing becomes erratic when he presses a kiss against your clothed lips.

“Baby — fuck.” Your eyes roll back as he drags his tongue to your clit, the friction from the fabric on your nerves driving you crazy. “St-stop, agh, teasing.”

“You’re not in the position to make rules, baby,” he says, rubbing against your clothed clit. “I’m going to take my time with you — have you begging for me to taste your cunt. And when you do, I’ll use my tongue to lick every little drop of sweetness from your pussy. Make you come on my mouth over and over until you’re begging me to stop.”

You whine, “Please.”

He teases you, moving your underwear aside just enough to lick a long stripe from your pussy to your clit. Groaning, he meets your eyes as your underwear slides back in place.

“You taste so good, baby,” he purrs, pressing a kiss against your thigh. “And you're so fucking wet. Bet I could slide right into you.” His fingers are back on you, brushing against your clit but not enough to do anything. “You want me, baby?”

Your arch your back in response to his next ministration. “Yes.”

His touch is gone just like that and you whine, brows furrowed in frustration. He snaps the waistband of your thong against your skin with a smirk.

“Beg.”

“Jungkook—!”

You’re about to complain, but he cuts you off. “Beg or I’ll fuck myself using that pretty mouth and leave you dry. Tell me, baby, how bad do you want me?”

“Please, baby, I need you.” Your hooded eyes meet his heated gaze. “Need your fingers, mouth, cock — you. I need you so bad. Wanna feel you so bad, please.”

“Could be better,” he muses before he presses a kiss against your clothed core. “But I’m impatient.” He taps your hips. “Up.”

Helping you out of your underwear, he brings his face towards your core, blowing against your opening. His nose brushes against your thigh as he places another kiss against the soft skin, hooking your legs over his shoulder.

“You’re soaking and I’ve barely touched you.”

You hum, contentedly when his tongue brushes against your slit. “All for you.”

“My pretty girl,” he rasps, nose brushing against clit. “So wet and needy for me.”

Before you can complain again you feel his hot, wet tongue press harshly against your lips before he drags it up to your clit. He swirls the rosy muscle on your clit, teasingly until your moaning and breathless. Without warning, his lips envelop around your throbbing bud, sucking in full force you scream his name as your hips buck. Warm hands hold your waist down as he hums, tongue licking against your entrance again. For a moment he dips inside you, moaning at the taste of your sweetness before going back to suck at your clit the way you love it and you see stars behind your lids.

He repeats the motion over and over, swirling his warm tongue around your swollen bud and sucking it in a way that has you forgetting your own name. Against your slick lips, he whispers praises, before he slips two fingers into your warm cavern and curling his fingers inside you.

“O-oh, fuck—!” you gasp, fingers tangled in his hair. “Don — mmngh — don’t stop, ngh.”

“Gotchu,” he grins when he finds your sweet spot. “Does it feel good, baby?”

“S-so good.” Your nails scrape against his scalp and he emits a low groan. “So fucking good, fuck.”

His fingers continue their onslaught at a new pace, brushing roughly against the spot that leaves you breathless. His lips are back on your clit like a hot suction and you scream out from the overwhelming pleasure.

“So fucking tight,” he muses, pressing a kiss against your bud. “Your pretty cunt's taking my fingers so well, baby. You sound so pretty while I fuck you with my fingers, but you sound prettier when you cum, you know that?”

Your head is spinning from euphoria, ecstasy and the lack of oxygen, but it doesn't matter — not when he's bringing you closer and closer to your release.

“Mngh — J-Jungkook!” He sets a new violent pace that leaves you overwhelmed as he hits your sweet spot. His name falling out your lips like a broken record while he licks at your juices, groaning against your cunt when you fist his hair and pull him closer to you. An electrifying coil in your lower abdomen tightens, building further when his ministrations bring you closer and closer to your peak. You clench around his fingers, bucking your hips further into his hand, whimpering as you say, “God, yes — ngh, fuck. I’m so close.”

“Cum for me.”

Euphoric pleasure slowly, yet surely floods through your body, his lips enveloped around your sensitive bud as he curls his fingers against your soft spot. With one last flick of his tongue, you fall off the euphoric cliff as he laps at your juices. He presses harsh, but sure circles against your clit with his thumb as you ride out your orgasm. Your hip spams, thighs trembling as he coaxes you through an indescribable, mind-blowing release that leaves your vision white.

His lips don’t leave your nether regions, wincing at the oversensitivity. You tug at his strands of hair but he shakes his head.

“Not done with you yet,” he whispers, licking the fruits of his efforts once his fingers slip out of your dripping cunt. “Wanna have you crying my name. Wanna show you how much I love you. Will you let me?”

You lift your head from the pillow, leaning on your elbows as you sit up. He holds your stare, smirking before he flattens his tongue and drags it up your slit to your sensitive bud and you shudder. His grip on your thighs tightens to keep you in place before he lowers his head between your thighs, the hot suction back on your clit.

“Agh, Kookie.” You throw your head back, chest heaving. “I’m too—” Gasp. “—sensitive.”

“You can take it.” A kiss against your nether lips. “Wanna show you how much I want you — how much I love the taste of you. I’m not letting you go until you’re begging me to stop. You up for that? Want me to remind you how good I can make you feel?” He dips his tongue back in you and you hiss. “Can you be my pretty, little slut, baby, hm? You wanna make me happy, don’t you?”

“Y-yea.”

You feel him smile against your thigh. “Who does this pretty pussy belong to?”

“You.”

“That’s right.” A rewarding stroke his tongue. “This pussy belongs to me. You’re mine. This pussy is mine. Will you let me play with this pretty cunt, baby?”

He watches you with hunger in his eyes and the desire to have him use you as he pleases to seek his own pleasure overcomes you.

He brushes his tongue against your swollen nub, and you gasp, “Yes.”

“Pretty girl,” he hums and you’re immediately wrapped around his finger. “Do you want to be my perfect little slut?” You nod, meeting his heated gaze, a wolfish grin curling on his lips. “You're too good to me, you know that, baby?” He teases his tongue around your entrance, eliciting a whine from you. “My pretty girl.” Lips wrap around your clit and you scream, body falling limp against his sheets. “My perfect, little slut.”

And with that his tongue is on you, violently bringing you to another release. You are oxygen and he is a man deprived, burying himself deeper in your cunt. A growl emits from the back of his throat as you thread your fingers through his hair, your winces from oversensitivity shifting to moans of pleasure. He finds home between your thighs, reluctant to leave as he licks at every drop of sweetness you grant him. Jungkook brings you to release over and over until your tears stream down your face and you find it hard to take the pressure of his tongue against your overly-sensitive nerves.

With one last wave of pleasure washing over you, he pulls away. His cheeks are coated with a warm fuchsia, lips parted as he looks at your cunt with a predatory gaze. From his nose to his chin, he is covered in a sheen of your juices, eyes blown out as they meet your own.

He adores your fucked out expression, your chest heaving while you catch your breath. His tongue swipes at the remnants of your release on his swollen lips, the back of his hand wiping the excess off his chin before he leans down to catch you in a short kiss. When he pulls away, his eyes search yours for any sign that you want to stop, but he finds nothing.

“You did so well, baby,” he whispers against your lips. “How are you feeling?”

“You told me you would make me pretty and full of your cum.” His gaze hardens on you, dark eyes trained on your own. “‘M not full of your cum yet. Can you fix that?”

“Such a greedy slut.” A smile grows on his lips as he leans down to your neck, nipping at the skin. “I made you come on my mouth so many times, but you still want more. Greedy, needy slut.”

“For you.” You wrap your legs around his waist as you grind yourself against his dick. “Only for you.”

He groans, hips rolling in rhythm with yours. “You like being my slut?”

“I like being yours.”

He stills for all of a second before he breaks out into a grin, laughing as he presses a kiss against your lips. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pulls his lips back on yours. As he leans towards you, his shaft presses against your folds. You’re barely able to focus on the kissing as you lose yourself in the overwhelming sensation as he grinds against you, coating his length with your juices.

A knot forms in your lower abdomen like a hot, tight coil wanting to snap. You can already feel yourself get needy at the feeling of his length against your folds, but before you can act upon it—!

“Tsk.” Jungkook clicks his tongue against his teeth as he catches you trying to slip his cock past your folds. “You want my cock?”

“Mhm,” you hum in a daze, eyes lazily meeting his. “Want you inside me.”

“It’s not going to be that easy, baby.” You furrow your eyes at that, mouth opening in protest. “Beg for it. Tell me how badly you want to be fucked by my cock.”

You frown. “That’s not happening—!”

There’s a teasing pressure against your pussy that makes you gasp, eyes rolling back as your mouth hangs open. A soft whimper escapes from you as he adjusts his cock to rub against you, mixing his pre-cum with your juices.

“What was that?” He asks, smirking and you glare at him through your lashes. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. I can give you everything you want if you just—” he leans down until his lips brush against your ear, his finger grazing over your sensitive clit and you hiss, pushing your hips against his hands for more, “—beg.”

Again, you ignore his request but more so because he aligns his cock to prod against your cunt and you cannot focus on anything but your need to have him buried in you. You can feel the sudden weight in the pit of your stomach as you lick your lips.

“So hungry for my cock,” he grunts. “You want something to fill you up so good you forget your name, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you cry at the lack of attention on your sex. “Please.”

“Please what?” He asks, lips curling because he knows he has you exactly where he wants. “Words.”

“Please fuck me,” you give in, frustrated as your walls clench around nothing. You’re hungry for more — body craving more of what he’s willing to offer; of the undeniable pleasure he would provide if you just gave in. “God, I want your cock — need it. Need you to fill me up, need you to fuck me — nngh!” You moan, body going rigid against his as his head rubs against your swollen bud, fingers tweaking at your perked nipples. “Want you so bad, baby. Wanna be your perfect, little slut so bad. Have me however you want, I don’t care — do whatever you want to me. I don’t fucking care.” You grind yourself against him, chest heaving as the desire for him to fill you up becomes desperate. “Just fuck me, baby, please.”

“That’s my girl.” He rewards you with a kiss. “I’ll fuck you, baby. I’ll fill you up with my cock. Gonna bury my cock deep inside your slick cunt. Gonna stretch out your walls so good no other cock will be good enough for you — no other cock could ever fill you up like mine. No one will fuck you better than me.”

“That’s right, baby,” you urge. “Make me yours.”

Painfully, slow he slips his cock into your warm cunt, groaning. He’s big, in both length and grith, causing a slight burn accompanied by an abundance of pleasure. Moans fill the room as he fills you up to the brim, inch by inch until he no longer can. Your hot, slick walls clench around him and he groans, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck.

“Stop that,” he growls, brows furrowed in concentration. “You’re so fucking tight, ah. If keep you do that I’m going to fucking blow my load.”

“Do your worst, baby,” you say, eyes hazy. “I want you to ruin me.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, unsheathing himself from your cunt until the tip is nestled an inch within your entrance and then slams himself back into you. A lewd moan erupts from both of you as the stars decorate your vision. You arch your back, pressing your chest against his, eyes rolling back every time he sinks back into you. With each thrust and roll of your hips, he rubs himself against the spot that leaves ecstasy rushing through your veins.

“You’re so, agh, hot like this.” You can feel the pressure build in your stomach, the coil tightening with every brush of him against your sweet spot. “So hungry for my cock.”

“Feel so good in me,” you moan, watching as his dick slips in and out of your cunt. “Fill me up, ah, so good. Fuck, take what’s yours, baby.”

He visibly shudders at that before latching his lips on your perked nipple. His tongue laps around the perked bud on your breast, spare hand coming to knead the other before he swaps breasts.

You groan, dragging your nails down his back, sure to leave a mark. “Oh, fuck.”

Your eyes roll back as the head of his cock brushes roughly against the spot that has you seeing stars. He has your toes curling, his name coming out like a mantra as he ravishes your body, moaning into your neck. A knot of pleasure tightens, burning like a hot coil and he knows with the way you pulse around his dick that you’re so, very close.

You can taste the bits of your orgasm on the tip of your tongue, but it’s still not enough. You need so much more and he hears it in your pleas.

“Puh—please,” you breathe as you feel him press his lips against your pulse. “Hard—oh, my God.” You barely get the words out of your mouth before he’s ploughing into you with a force that knocks the air out of your lungs. “Ngh, like that, fuck. S-so good, baby. Feels so good.”

“Yeah,” he groans, biting your neck. “So good to me, fuck. Such a good fucking girl.” At that, you squeeze around him and he lets out another lewd moan. “You gonna cum?”

All you manage is a nod and a sharp breath of air. His hand slithers down your body to find your clit and he presses against it harshly, eliciting a hiss from you. It’s oversensitive from the multiple times he made you cum on his tongue, but he doesn’t care because he knows you love it. He’s quick to rub circles around the bud and smirks to himself at your vocal response.

“Don’t — ah — stop.” You feel the coil burn more, pleasure building in your body like rapid fire. So fucking close to your next release, even as the sensitive bud stings. “Gonna — ah — gonna cum.”

His lips are eager for yours, pressing against them in a searing, hot kiss as he tries to coax the orgasm from you with his sinful lips. You can taste yourself on him and hum. His release threatens to unravel before him, but he fights against it so he can feel you wrap around his cock when you cum. He lifts himself off you to admire the blissful look on your face as you slowly become undone before him.

“Pretty girl — ngh,” he whispers, hot breath fanning over your cheeks and you whimper. “All mine. Come — ah — for me, hm? Come all over my cock, baby.”

Sweat drips down both your bodies, your walls clenching around him as he fucks you hard. Every thrust leaves his head nudging against your sweet spot, clouding your vision white. A fire builds within you again, leaving you to gasp for air between every moan.

“Kook, I — ah, I can’t come—” Moan. “I can’t come again.”

Softly rubbing against your clit, he presses a chaste kiss on your lips. “You can take it. You’ve been such a good slut for me, tonight, baby. You can do it. Come around my cock for me.”

And with his words and one last thrust, the burning coil snaps, pleasure rushing through your body in euphoric waves. Your veins flood with ecstasy and he soon follows, his seed coating your walls. Overwhelming pleasure unravels within you both like a wildfire, spreading across your bodies as he continues his pace to ride out your highs. His lips find yours once again, pressing a lazy kiss against yours as you both ride out the last remnants of your orgasms.

Once he’s caught his breath, he slowly slips out of you, lifting himself to admire the way his seed spills out of your pretty cunt. You feel his cum spill out your cunt, down your thighs and onto the sheets beneath you.

“Such a pretty cunt,” he says aloud and your lips curl into a tired smile. “So dirty and full of my cum.”

He leaves the bed, heading towards the washroom to grab a warm cloth and you lay there, tired. Exhaustion seeps itself into your bones, lids heavy as they flutter shut. You don’t hear Jungkook return, but rather feel him when a warm cloth brushes against your swollen pussy, cleaning you up. He’s swift to clean you up the best he could before attending to himself and putting the rag away. Maneuvering over you, he brings the blanket over your bodies, nudging you to lay beside him.

“You were so good, baby,” he whispers as he pulls you closer towards him. “Always so good for me.”

“Mhm.”

He chuckles. “Are you tired?”

“Yea.” You nuzzle against his chest finding comfort in listening to his heartbeat. “I honestly could’ve knocked out after that first orgasm.”

He laughs, pressing a sweet kiss against your forehead. “Sleep. We have a long day tomorrow.”

“We do?” You furrow your brows. “Why? What’s tomorrow?”

“I’m gonna help you pack your boxes so you can move in by the end of the week.” You laugh along with him, throwing a leg over his own as you get comfortable. “Are you sure? You really ready to move in?”

Unable to hide your smile, you press a chaste kiss to his chest. “Yea, I’m sure.”

"You’ll be stuck with me for a long time,” he hums, exhaustion washing over him. “I won’t be letting you go for a while.”

"You better not.” Your smile quickly turns to a frown when you finally notice. “Jungkook?”

“Yea.”

“I'm hungry.”

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook imagine #jungkook fluff #jeon jugnkook #jungkook #jungkook scenarios #bts smut #bts imagine #bts fluff #bts scenario #bts #bts imagines #jungkook imagines #jeon jungkook imagines #usersuhdays

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xxlost-cityxx · 3 years ago

Text

ABSOLUTELY NO MINORS

Ship/Characters: Kirishima Eijirou, Bakugou Katsuki

TW/CW: Rough anal sex, virgin Katsuki Bakugou, slight choking, slight piss kink/bladder control, brief spanking, rimming, bottom Katsuki, dom Kirishima, begging, crying, anal fingering, degredation and praise

I posted this on Ao3 literally last night, so enjoy.

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Stupid fucking Kirishima with his stupid fucking face and stupid fucking body-

Again. Once-a-fucking-gain. Katsuki was hard at work. Kirishima had simply aided Katsuki in a surprisingly powerful villain attack- even though everyone knew Dynamight had it under control. But Eijirou's help...made it easier to take down the villain- NOT that Katsuki needed his help in the first place.

The villain landed a hit on Katsuki and he flew into a pile of concrete and wooden rubble, and the next thing he saw was Red Riot, unhardened, nearly body slamming the guy into a wall, digging his forearm and elbow into his neck and his knee between his legs. It looked painful for the villain and it looked like Ejirou was definitely holding back from completely crushing the dude's balls...But. The way Kirishima was looking at the guy, a stone cold face, a deadly glare he hasn't seen since the last time Eijirou had heard Monama talk back in U.A. He was mad. And Gods if that sight didn't make him pop a boner-

So now here he was. Virgin Katsuki pretending he was too good to be around all his druken friends who were surely getting laid tonight, meanwhile, all Katuski would do tonight is ride his dildo until the sun came up.

Bakugou couldn't jack off. It wasn't really a fact, but he's pretty sure that any man would avoid jacking off with even a small risk that you might blow your own dick off, especially if you were gay. Gods bless the prostate. And really, it takes forever to cum riding 6 inches of colored silicone without touching your dick, but the point was, it got the job done and no one knew his secret to having 'thunder thighs' or some shit. He still remembers the first interveiwer who asked about his leg day routine, stating that he had entranced everyone with his thighs or some shit. He never thought he'd be referred to as 'thick' or whatever it was.

He took another shot of vodka, ignoring the pestering jealousy as he watched Kirishima dance with Denki. It was obviously platonic, not only did they repeatedly state in multible interviews that they were 'strictly bromance' and that they liked fucking with their fans's minds, Denki was dating Dead Eyes and Earphones.

Bakugou wasn't even a little tipsy really, it took a lot to get him drunk. It took a lot to get any of them drunk, but that didn't stop anyone from trying. But Bakugou wasn't going to go home drunk and have drunken masturbation for 5 hours, never was his thing. So he'd stick to being sober for tonight.

He growled as Kirishima's hand was on Denki's hip, Kaminari's back against Eijirou's chest. The much smaller blonde wiggled his hips against Kirishima's surely soft dick. Sero and Mina were laughing their asses off from their seats, Denki smirking and trying to be as dramatic and intimate as he could, a few phones recording them.

Katsuki growled to himself, slamming the shot glass on the bar top so hard it slightly cracked. He stood up and grabbed his coat, oblivious to how red eyes quickly switched from watching the smiling and laughing faces of his friends to laser focused on the ash blonde in a split second.

As Katsuki left the bar, he grumbled to himself until he was outside his place.

An hour later, he was panting. It felt like his entire body was covered in lube by the time he was bouncing on the silicone properly. He frowned, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt the head bump into his prostate with practiced movements, usually a feeling that would have him gasping and shuttering, but he wanted this cock to be Kirishima's. He was sick and tired of riding an inanimate object that didn't praise him, didn't make noise, didn't cum. He wanted to be pinned and fucked so hard he would have to call off work the next day.

He whimpered as his toned thighs easily let him travel up and down the silicone. Silicone. He couldn't even get himself hard, he was soft, even with his ass stuffed and his prostate stimulated, he was soft. There wasn't a twitch, and even his prostate felt dull.

He groaned to himself, sliding off the dildo and reaching for his phone. He quickly unlocked it and pulled up his gallery with his singular 'clean' finger, quickly going to his hidden folder and clicking on the picture that always got him hard. Kirishima did a photoshoot nearly 6 months ago, he was in a kimono that was completely opened with white pants that banded to his stomach. He stared at Katsuki through the picture, a belt in his big, tanned hand. He already felt his cock harden slightly, a small frown painting his face as that was like a weak attempt at mimicking his usual reaction to the picture.

He slid back on the dildo propping his phone against his wall and started bouncing. He imagined those toned hands sliding against his back, barely touching him, and it was almost like he could feel it, his body twitching with slight interest. He imagined his voice, telling him to ride the dildo, training his hole for what was surely a monster cock, Eijirou too nice to let Katsuki destroy himself on his cock right off the bat...unless… What if he would just fuck him? And that got his reaction. His dick was fully hard now, but it wasn't aching with need like usual.

What if Eijirou would slam into him as soon as the dildo was out? Would he let Katsuki adjust, or would he pound him into oblivion with the raw power his body held?

He let out a moan, but the pleasure didn't last long as his phone started ringing. He nearly flinched, scowling at his phone for ruining what he worked hard for, but his face sofened as it was Kirishima calling him.

His mouth went dry, his eyes slightly wide. He doesn't know what really compelled him to answer the phone, but as Kirishima's voice rang through the other end, he couldn't help but bite his lip and shift on the dildo. "W-What do you need, Dumbass?" He asked, cursing himself for starting his sentence off weak. "Haha- Hey, Kat! I just wanted to made sure you were okay. You hit that rubble pretty hard today, and you left earlier than usual." His cheery, sober, voice said. Katsuki closed his eyes, slowly rolling his hips up the dildo, the familiar arousal burning in his stomach, finally.

He stifled a whimper, "M' fine, Shitty Hair…." He pretended to grumble out, desperate to think of something to keep him on the line as long as possible. "That's great! I was a little worried, y'know. Didn't want to lose the manliest man I've even known since highschool!" He said, and Bakugou's heart did a mixture of dropping and fluttering. He felt guilty for trying to get off to his voice, clearly ignorant and innocent, but he couldn't help but acknowledge that he didn't refer to him as his best friend which would usually put him down. He squeezed his eyes shut and rolled his hips, gasping as he accidentally his his prostate. He dropping the phone, slapping a hand over his face. "Katsuki!? What was that?" Kirishima urgently called. Bakugou's dick was on fire, his body was alight with arousal, if only Kirishima knew.

He hesitantly picked up the phone. "I'm f-fine~ Shitty Hair!" He replied, cursing himself for not stopping himself from slowly bouncing on the dildo again.

Silence.

He slightly wondered if he accidentally hung up, but there was still static. "I'm not stupid, Katsuki." Kirishima suddenly said. Bakugou froze. His voice was lower but soft, almost like he was hesitant to say it in the first place. "W-..What the hell are you talking about?" He asked, not daring to move on the dildo, even though he wanted to take advantage of Kirishima's tone so fucking bad.

"Are you getting off right now?" Kirishima asked, Bakugou suddenly became aware of how slick and schelchy the lube was. Bakugou's throat closed up, his mouth too dry to produce words. "Fuck…" Kirishima whispered, the sound making Bakugou's eyes widen. "Are you trying to fuck with me…?" He asked, but Bakugou wasn't deaf to the distant sound of Kirishima nearly break checking himself.

Bakugou whimpered quietly, but a part of him prayed that Kirishima heard him, and as his breath hitched over the phone, he knew he did.

"Fuck-" Kirishima groaned. Bakugou gasped at the sound, bouncing on the plastic lightly once again, the lewd noises surely reaching the phone. "C-Come over." Bakugou's stern voice said, once again sounding weak in the beginning. "Already on my way." Kirishima nearly whispered back.

Bakugou's body was on fire, every part of him was twitching. The call ended only a minute ago, and suddenly Bakugou's night was going to change who he was. He was hard, nervous, excited but horny above all else. As soon as he heard his front door open and nearly slam shut, Bakugou gasped, trying to let out his nerves. Heavy, fast footsteps made their way down his halls, and suddenly Bakugou was conscious about how he should present himself.

He didn't have time, and so he let himself be cocky, leaning forward on his hands, arching his back and rolling his hips on the silicone gracefully, and it probably looked a little too good based on how smooth the action felt. But he didn't have room for his usual pride, Kirishima was stuck in the doorway with his mouth slightly open and wide eyes. Bakugou looked at him in the mirror to his side, and his eyes were staring at him.

"Holy fuck.." He groaned, his hand slowly moving to his crotch, but he gripped the inside of his thigh. Mid. Thigh.

Bakugou's eyes widened as he finally had the rough sketch of Eijirou's cock in his mind, and fuck he wanted to go stupid with cock.

"C'mon…" Bakugou nearly whimpered, rolling his hips a little more dramatically. Kirishima groaned in the doorway, slowly walking into the room, Bakugou's position giving him the perfect view of his pink, glistening and stretched hole swallowing the silicone easily, the dildo's girth seemed pathetic to what Eijirou knew he had.

Eijirou knelt down behind him, and as Katsuki smiled, expecting him to caress his body, that didn't happen.

Kirishima quickly wrapped his hand around the smaller man's throat, yanking him back to meet his still clothed chest. Bakugou wheezed at the unexpected and sudden movement, but fuck if his own cock didn't love it already.

"Riding this pathetic dildo while I was out there concerned about you, hm?" He darkly whispered, his finger tips lightly digging into his neck. Bakugou whimpered, wiggling his hips back, trying to get a feel for the man's clothed cock for himself. Kirishima sighed, almost in disappointment. "Tell me.. What were you thinking about? Riding this pathetic excuse of a dildo." He asked, talking right into Bakugou's ear. Bakugou let out a stuttering breath, squirming in Kirishima's sturdy grip.

"Tell me."

Bakugou gasped at his dark tone paired with his hand gripping his entire neck roughly. He wasn't used to feeling so small compared to someone else, but fuck he was loving it.

"Y-You…" Bakugou gasped out as Kirishima loosened his grip just enough. "What about me..?" He asked, only slightly softer.

Katsuki's cock was aching, begging for the same attention Eijirou was giving his throat. "H-How hard you would fuck me- How big your cock is…" Bakugou finally admitted, squeezing his eyes shut.

Kirishima hummed in his ear, his hand moving to the back of Bakugou's neck instead and pulling him up to his feet. Bakugou let out a guttural moan as he was ripped off the dildo still suctioned to the floor.

Kirishima hummed, noting how the dildo really did look like a pathetic version of himself.

Kirishima dragged Bakugou to his bed, glaring at the blonde when he tried to move. He pulled off his own shirt and pants quickly before joining him on the bed. Bakugou's eyes quickly widened at the sight, his mouth slightly open and his face slightly filled with fear and shock, but quickly replaced with determination. "Better fucking prep me, asshole." Bakugou spit out, laying on his back.

He didn't expect Kirishima's rough nature to continue though. Eijirou glared at Bakugou before swiftly gripping his neck and pinning him further into the mattress. "Excuse you? Who the fuck do you think you're talking to right now? Order me around again, I fucking dare you." Kirishima spit out a look of fake disgust on his face. Bakugou was shocked by the moan that left him, more than happy with his decisions from tonight, at least so far.

He yelped as Kirishima's hand left his neck and grabbed his hips instead. Kirishima pulled his ass into the air, Bakugou's legs spreading automatically, falling to almost meet his chest. "W-What are you gonna do?" Bakugou asked, eyes wide with arousal. "None of your fucking buisness." Kirishima spit out, digging his thumbs into the stretched pink muscle. Bakugou gasped as Eijirou pulled his rim apart, testing just how stretched he was.

Bakugou saw his cock when he took off his pants, the way it weighed itself down, how his fingertips would definetly have trouble touching each other, and the fucking length- he wondered if Kirishima would actually show through his stomach…

As Kirishima added a finger to stretch and play with his rim, he decided to take down the roughness, only for a couple seconds though. "Use the traffic light system, okay?" He almost ordered, wanting to keep the same sexual energy but also let Bakugou know there was a safe way out. Bakugou's breath stuttered and he quickly nodded, having read enough fanfiction about being fucked by Kirishima and having done enough research to know something as simple as the traffic light system, and he's so fucking green.

Bakugou didn't expect a tongue to enter him though.

Bakugou nearly shouted, gripping at the sheets before pathetically trying to reach for the other man's head. "N-No!" Bakugou shouted, but it was moan filled and an empty request. Kirishima's eyes shifted to Bakugou, lapping his tongue over the blonde's rim before softly shoving it inside as far as he could.

Bakugou was squirming around at the foregin feeling, gasping every time he moved his tongue, it felt so warm, soft and perfectly wet.

Kirishima took his mouth away, licking his lips as he roughly slammed 3 fingers into the unsuspecting hole. He quickly spread them as far as he could, Bakugou's gasp turning into a pained moan. As Kirishima softly stroked his slightly pulsing insides, Bakugou was panting with wide eyes. "Beg." Kirishima ordered darkly, jamming his fingers into Bakugou as far as he could, hitting his prostate hard.

Bakugou moaned out, caving in on himself because of how Kirishima held his ass up. But he wouldn't beg.

After a few seconds of soft finger thrusting and no begging, Kirishima picked up the pace, slipping one of his fingers out, knowing Katsuki won't like the lack of fullness anymore. He jams his fingers into his prostate every time, Bakugou's eyes nearly crossing as he tries to arch his back but just keeps caving in on himself.

"Fucking. Beg." "F-Fuck you.." Bakugou responds, his voice shakey, the defiance fake and fragile. Kirishima's eyes narrow, a frown forming on his lips. "Fine." He replies, shifting one hand to Bakugou's abdomen and pressing, pleased with the slight fullness under a specific layer of muscle. He continued to slam into his g-spot, Bakugou's eyes widening and getting slightly watery. "W-Wait-!" Bakugou moaned out loud, slight panic coating his oh so beautiful face. The tip of his penis kept rubbing against Kirishima's arm, and he knew so much stimulation was working against him. He was either going to beg or piss himself.

"S-Stop! Too much- T-Too fucking much! I have to go you f-fuckkk-ing lunatic!" He moaned out, grabbing at Kirishima's arms. "Beg. Beg for me to fuck you, or you're going to piss yourself, get your clean sheets dirty, all unsatisfied and embarrassed. Poor little Katsuki couldn't hold his little blatter while I fucked you with my fingers." Eijirou cooed, tiliting his head a little before bending down and licking along the back of his thigh to the crease of his ass. He travels up to his sack and licks him firmly with the flat of his tongue.

Katsuki screams.

His clawing becomes frantic, and he's sure he's sobbing, but he's no match for even Kirishima's strength. "N-No! Ei- Stop! I-I'm gonna pee!" Katsuki cries, thrashing around as much as he can. But as Eijirou gently sucks in one of his balls, his resolve snaps. "Please! Please, please, please!" Katsuki finally cries, Eijirou's fingers slowing down and his hand letting up on his blatter. He moves away from Katsuki's cock and smirks down at the red and teary face below him.

"Please what?" He asks, Bakugou's eyes widening. "P...Please… Please fuck me… I want you to fuck me with your fat cock!" He cries, tears falling from his eyes.

Eijirou sighs, content with his work. "Good boy~" He coos, swiftly plunging 2 more fingers inside and spreading them. Katsuki gasps, looking up at Kirishima who refuses to look away from his face.

As Kirishima slowly pulls out, he bends over and grabs the lube from the floor, popping open the cap and pouring it into Katsuki. He flinches and wines at how cold it is, and Eijirou just travels the bottle to his cock, rubbing his hand over it and coating everything with lube.

As he sloppily closes the bottle, he moves Katsuki onto his stomach, Bakugou groaning as he was finally out of that horrid position.

Kirishima places the tip at his entrance, kissing Bakugou's nape, and right as Bakugou prepares for a dreadfully slow slide. Kirishima slams into the hilt. Bakugou's eyes shoot wide and his thrusted up further into the bed with the force, his mouth dropping open as a horrid moan filled scream leaves him.

This is it….he's not a virgin anymore…

He feels nothing but cock, painfully perfect cock that makes it hard to breathe.

Kirishima groans at the tight feeling, his body shaking as he convinces himself not to fuck Katsuki into oblivion.

Eijirou starts off slow, dragging his cock out halfway before pressing in again, the pace making them both groan. God, Katsuki's back tooks so fucking pretty all arched like that, delicate but strong all in one. He always knew Bakugou would look so pretty with his face burried in sheets, his ass high in the air and filled with his cock.

He feels himself slipping, his thrusts slipping into violent, angry lust every so often before he catches himself quickly.

But as Katsuki's sweet moans keep reaching his ears, he finally gives in, grabbing Katsuki's wrists and pulling them back, lifting Katsuki off the bed and using his wrists as leverage, pulling his weak body back onto his cock as he slams his hips into the man's ass.

"Holy fucking shit~" Bakugou's voice calls out as Kirishima's thrusts get rougher, violent. His voice bounced with the thrusts, his moans cutting each other off as Kirishima no longer cares about hitting the man's prostate, pounding into him purely for selfish pleasure Bakugou didn't know he was capable of.

"Fucking pathetic cocksleeve- Such a fucking whore for dick, huh? You fucking-love! -taking my fat cock like this!" Kirishima spits out, pulling on Katsuki's wrists harder. Bakugou's eyes are crossing, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

'Ruining me-'

"Not a single thought going through that head of yours, huh? Just taking my cock so good like this, loving how I ruin every other cock out there for you! Only my cock can make you cum, can make you feel so fucking good!" "Y-Yes~" Bakugou's broken voice cries out, tears sliding down his cheeks.

The bed is slamming into the wall so hard the pictures are rattling, and Bakugou can't register anything but cock, pleasure, Kirishima and cumming.

"So fucking good, so~ fUCKing go-od~" Bakugou sobs, not caring of the searing pain in his arms and shoulder blades. But as Kirishima angles his hips, he starts slamming into Bakugou's prostate, and as Bakugou tries to arch in Kirishima's hold, he cums. He clamps around his cock so hard Kirishima moans, letting go of Katsuki's arms and letting him fall face first into the bed as his entire body rocks with unbroken thrusts, shaking with the ongoing orgasm that never seems to end. Eijirou hears the sobbing and groans with pleasure, swinging his hand down to Bakugou's ass, growling as he watches the muscle and fat ripple with the perfect impact.

Kirishima puts his hands in the curve of Katsuki's spine, pressing him down and shifting forward, slightly sitting back on his calves as he jackhammers into Bakugou's swollen, red and oh so fucking soft boy cunt.

Katsuki is screaming but it's so distant to Eijirou, all he can hear is the squelching of his ass and all he can think of is cumming.

"FUCK- EIJIROU~" Katsuki screams, sobbing and begging for him to slow down, not to thrust so hard, not to be so brutal. He can't feel his limbs, all he can feel is the overstimulation as his body is pounded so hard he inches forward on his bed, only to be pulled back just as quickly. He feels like a cocksleeve because he is one.

Kirishima groans, finally slamming into Katsuki with all he has, his cock pulsing inside Bakugou almost like a slow vibrator. As Kirishima completely fills Katsuki's intestines with cum, his own cock spurts out a pathetic amount of it's own cum, his balls drawing up tight and his cock twitching with painful interest.

Kirishima and Bakugou are panting, and as Eijirou gives another overstimulated thrust for good measure, the both moan out.

"F-Fuck…." Kirishima groans, Katsuki panting into the sheets with wide, tired eyes.

He really did ruin Katsuki's chances at fucking anyone else. There's no way he can go back to toys, and there's no way he can fuck anyone else.

#bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bnha imagines #kirishima #kirishima eijiro #kiribaku #kiribaku thirst #kiribaku smut #mha smut #mha thirst #bnha smut #bnha thirsts #kirishima thirst #bakugou smut #bakugou thirst #mha oneshot #smut #aged up

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alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer · 3 years ago

Text

champagne problems (part 1)

here's my first part of my modern no magic "champagne problems" singer-songwriter quarantine thomastair AU! happy birthday to @foxglove-airmid even though I don't think it's your birthday where you live anymore (and I still haven't posted zia's birthday fic, it'll happen I swear)!

no content warnings for this part (besides maybe quarantine), but future parts will include discussions of mental illness, substance abuse, and a suicide attempt

obviously, the song alastair "wrote" in the fic is not mine, it's by taylor swift! and a few of the lyrics have been changed!

Masterlist | AO3

Thomas breathed out a sigh of relief as he lugged his suitcase up onto the fifth floor landing.

“‘Ere we are,” Piers announced as he unlocked the door.

Thomas was utterly exhausted, such was the result of taking a redeye flight across the Atlantic during a global pandemic, but any idea of rest that he’d had was interrupted when he heard the sound of piano flood the apartment.

“Ah, sorry about that,” Piers nodded, “One of my flatmates, the walls are paper thin. He can’t record at the studio right now, but he’s trying to finish his EP, so it’s been a bit noisier around here. He’ll take a break soon, hopefully.”

Thomas shook his head. “It’s no problem. Thank you, again, for allowing me to stay here. I’ll be looking for my own place as soon as the quarantine is up.”

“Of course. You’ve got the couch as long as you need it. Couldn’t just hang you out to dry, could I? Although, you did pick a god awful time to move to the city, if I do say so myself.”

Thomas sat down on the couch and tried to make himself comfortable. It was more comfortable than the flight or the airport, at least. “I know… I considered postponing the move, but the visa was so difficult to get, I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity. They say this will all blow over in a couple of weeks, but borders are closing and I heard talk of them suspending all pending visa applications. I didn't know how long it would be if I waited, if the job was even still here for me at all.” Although at first entrance, the music had seemed to be a nuisance, it now comforted him. It wasn’t bad at all, in fact, it quite reminded him of the days Alastair’s playing had filled their flat…

“Where did you say you were working again? At a record company?”

“Yeah. I’m just doing pretty basic stuff for now, but if I ever do want to record my own music, I’ve got to start somewhere.”

“Hm,” Piers said, gesturing to the room the music was coming from. “Perhaps you’ll get on with him well, then. Would you like some tea?”

Thomas nodded and Piers went to start the teapot. Piers continued, “Though I suppose he's more of the tortured artist type. Very reserved, quite prickly. I didn't even meet him until a couple weeks after I moved in here because he was off in some psychiatric hospital.” Thomas shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was never one for gossip. “My other roommate’s nice, though, I think you’ll like him. He-”

“How did you end up in New York, again? I don’t think I ever asked.”

Piers dove into the subject change quite readily, explaining his uni - or college - years in New York City and his decision to stay afterwards. Thomas had tuned most of it out, truthfully. It wasn’t that he was trying to be rude, but he was rather exhausted, and Piers was wearing thin on his patience.

As the kettle started to whine, Thomas heard the musician begin to sing, and he froze. It sounded so much like Alastair. But it couldn't be, could it? With over 8 million people living in the city, he would not end up in Alastair's apartment by accident. His Alastair was certainly reserved and prickly, but it wasn't possible. It must be like all those times he thought he saw him on a street he'd never walked or heard his laugh in a café he'd never been to. Just his mind, tricking him. Even if he knew that voice so well, despite not hearing it in so long.

“It’s quite good, isn’t it? His first single just dropped.” Piers asked, bringing over his cup of tea. He hadn’t realized it, but he’d been staring intently at the door.

Thomas took the cup. “Hm? Yeah, I guess. Thanks.”

“You should look it up. It’s called “champagne problems” by Simurgh. That’s spelled- Well, it should come up.”

The name Simurgh sounded familiar, but Thomas couldn’t put his finger on where he knew it from. At Piers’ insistence, he pulled out his phone and brought up the song. As he skimmed through the first few lines, a cold feeling settled in his stomach.

“You booked the night train for a reason So you could sit there in this hurt Bustling crowds or silent sleepers You're not sure which is worse”

“Simurgh,” Thomas realized.

“Yeah, I think it’s Arabic or something.”

It took Thomas a moment to process that Piers was responding to him. “It’s Persian.” He was certain that Alastair would have some very stern words to say if he heard Piers confusing the two, actually. Thomas had admittedly let his Farsi skills deteriorate quite a bit since the breakup, but he was fairly certain the name came from the Shahnameh. There was no doubt in Thomas’ mind now: he was staying in Alastair’s apartment, and Alastair’s first single was about one of the most painful days in Thomas’ life. “I, er, I used to study it.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right!” Piers launched into a tangent that Thomas tuned out as he read through the rest of the page.

“Because I dropped your hand while dancing Left you out there standing Crestfallen on the landing Champagne problems”

“Thomas? Are you alright?”

He realized then that his hand was trembling so badly that his tea nearly spilled. He used his other hand to steady it. “Oh, uh, yes, I’m just tired.”

“Perhaps you should rest. I can ask Alastair to quiet down for a while-”

“No!” he exclaimed rather too forcefully. “No, that’s not necessary. I’d just rather not talk, if that’s alright.”

Piers nodded.

Thomas kept reading.

“Your mom's ring in your pocket My picture in your wallet Your heart was glass, I dropped it Champagne problems”

Of all the songs, why did he release the one about him? Why was it about a memory still so painful in Thomas’ heart, all of these years later? He remembered it so well, standing there, alone, shattered into a million pieces.

“You told your family for a reason You couldn't keep it in Your sister splashed out on the bottle Now no one's celebrating”

He was fairly certain that Barbara had been more excited than even he was, confident that Alastair would accept, and so very proud of her baby brother, all grown up. She’d been furious when it fell apart, but it was her who stood with him during the aftermath, who boarded him onto a train to Edinburgh to visit Eugenia when he couldn’t stand to be in the same city as him any longer, who went through his phone, blocking all of Alastair’s accounts so that he could obsess over him no longer, who comforted him as he wept and held him as he picked the pieces of himself back up again.

And all the more sour was the memory in light of her death.

“Dom Pérignon, you brought it No crowd of friends applauded Your hometown skeptics called it Champagne problems”

He looked up at Piers, who had fortunately become enthralled with something on his phone and was no longer paying Thomas any mind. He lifted the teacup gingerly to his lips, but he felt far too sick to take a drink.

“You had a speech, you're speechless Love slipped beyond your reaches And I couldn't give a reason Champagne problems”

A reason, that’s all Thomas had wanted. Just any explanation. He understood if they were moving too fast, or perhaps he’d misread something, but he just didn’t understand it.

Why? Why can’t you tell me why? I deserve an explanation, Alastair. Please, anything.

I… I’m sorry, Thomas.

Stop it! Stop apologizing! We can just go home and pretend this never happened, please, forget about all of it, it was a stupid idea-

Thomas, stop. I shouldn’t’ve… This was a mistake. I’m sorry I didn’t see that sooner.

That was the moment Thomas felt his heart stop beating.

“Your Midas touch on the Chevy door November flush and your flannel cure "This dorm was once a madhouse" I made a joke, "Well, it's made for me" How evergreen, our group of friends Don't think we'll say that word again And soon they'll have the nerve to deck the halls That we once walked through”

Despite the nearly two decades Thomas had spent in London before Alastair, it was never the same without him. He saw him everywhere he went, despite knowing he was thousands of miles away. After graduating uni that May, he accepted a spot at a graduate program in Spain and didn’t look back.

“One for the money, two for the show I never was ready so I watch you go Sometimes you just don't know the answer 'Til someone's on their knees and asks you "You’re the only one I want by my side, What a shame you’re fucked in the head," you said”

Those were the words that haunted Thomas’ nightmares, even now.

It’s you! It’s only you for me! It was always going to be you! But I can see now that I was never going to be enough for you, you and your secrets and walls and your lies. It’s a shame… it’s a shame you’re so fucked in the head, Alastair. You’ll never truly love anyone, will you? You’re not physically capable of it.

Alastair hadn’t responded. Thomas had wanted a rise out of him, any reaction at all, despite knowing how lethal and volatile Alastair could become when provoked. But there was nothing. Not a flicker of anything in his steeled expression. He’d simply looked down, apologized again for any pain that he’d caused, and left.

That was the last time they’d spoken.

Thomas and his sister left for Edinburgh that night, and when he’d returned to London, Alastair was gone.

“Well, you'll find the real thing instead Who'll patch up your tapestry that I shred And hold your hand while dancing Never leave you standing Crestfallen on the landing With champagne problems”

Thomas couldn’t imagine giving his heart to anyone again, not now and certainly not then. He’d dated in Madrid, but it had always stayed casual. He’d made sure of it. He could see now that he and Alastair had gotten together quickly, moved in together quickly, done all of it very quickly. After all, he’d fallen hard and fast. He gave all of himself to Alastair, and he’d nearly lost all of himself in the process.

“Your mom's ring in your pocket New picture in your wallet You won't remember all my Champagne problems

“You won't remember all my Champagne problems”

Now, he wondered what the rest of the story was. He’d convinced himself that Alastair had never loved him, that he was heartless and cruel, though he’d known that wasn’t true. Could Alastair have written this song if he’d never truly loved him? Perhaps he was a sociopath.

Thomas felt like he should run. Like he should pick up his bag and dart out of the apartment before Alastair could notice him, find some hotel somewhere with undoubtedly extraordinary high rates and just pretend like this never happened. He could get back on a plane and go back home to his parents and delete his phone browser history and pretend like this was all just a bad dream. But he could not move.

He didn’t know how many minutes had passed before Alastair’s door opened. He looked up with a start.

“Thomas,” Alastair breathed. He stood wide eyed, flushed.

“Do you two already know each other then?” Piers asked.

There was a moment of silence before Thomas cleared his throat. “We used to,” he said, looking down.

“I, er, I forgot that your friend was coming today,” Alastair told Piers. “It’s quite a long journey from London, you should have told me, I would have been quieter.”

Thomas considered correcting him for a moment, but decided not to. “Don’t worry about it. I heard you had your first big release. Congratulations.”

Alastair gave an awkward nod. “Thank you. Right, well, I’ll just…” He rushed over to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. “I’ll try to be a bit quieter.”

“Don’t- It’s fine, really. In fact, I’m sure there’s some hotel in the area I can stay at for now, actually-”

“Well, don’t leave on my account,” Alastair interrupted. “We agreed to let you stay here, and the city’s a bloody mess right now. I’ll stay out of your hair, Thomas.”

Thomas only nodded as Alastair disappeared back behind his bedroom door.

Thanks for reading! Taglist (ask to be +/-): @stxr-thxif @chaos-and-starlight @zosiaenrique @lifewouldbebetteronmars @littlx-songbxrd @dianasarrow @eugeniaslongsword @bookswitchcraftandcats @jamesherondaleofficial @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @livingformyself @anarmorofwords @foxglove-airmid @writeforjordelia @sapphic-in @jem-nasium @fortheloveofthecarstairs @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @shadowrunner2000 @thewarthatsavedmylife @fair-childd @itsjusta-j-really

#alastair carstairs #thomas lightwood #thomastair #tlh #the last hours #fanfic #fanfiction #champagne problems au

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storytellerofuntoldlegends · 3 years ago

Text

an icarus and his sun: chapter 7

A/N: scott's pov, finally!! as well as more of my "the empires smp gals deserve to go off, actually" agenda. also check out this rad art submitted by @dancinglifeboat! i also would like to apologize ahead of time, the updates from here on out are probably going to slow down a bit because while i am still extremely motivated to write this fic, it hasn't been as high as it was for the upcoming chapters as it has been for the previous ones. i honestly don't even know HOW i was so motivated to write several chapters so fast that i actually had a backlog of them for a bit and was able to post them daily. so the updates will likely slow down to being every couple of days or maybe every couple of weeks, depending on time/motivation. but yeah! anyway, enjoy!

Warnings: lying/manipulation, threats of violence, past violence, arguing, heartbreak

AO3 Link - Tumblr Masterpost

Scott felt just about sick to his stomach every time he looked at the slimeball Jimmy had given him. It was such a stupid little thing to get emotional over, and it was honestly kind of gross and sticky. But Scott couldn’t bear to get rid of it. It had stung more than he cared to admit when Jimmy had reminded him of how isolated and distant Scott was from everything. Staying up and away from the world kept him safe, kept his empire safe. But being safe didn’t make it any less lonely and isolating. And then Jimmy had looked at him like he was the world, and told him that he should be able to enjoy the little things too. Scott couldn’t bear to get rid of the slimeball, even though the memories were painful now. For as much as bluntly being reminded that he was alone stung, Jimmy telling him to leave stung even worse.

Looking back on it now, Scott didn’t really know why he had sided with Fwhip. It was long before Scott had really felt anything for Jimmy, mostly flirting with him to get a rise out of him. That flirting had always devolved into fighting, and it was after one particularly nasty argument that Fwhip had pulled him aside after the meeting and talked about how the House Blossom Alliance would be the downfall of their empires. And at the time… Scott had agreed with him. He loved Katherine, he really did- but there were too many rivalries in that alliance for it to ever truly work. So he went along with Fwhip’s plan- go along with the meetings until an opportunity arose. Then came the addendum of Scott keeping an eye on Jimmy to make sure he wouldn’t be a problem. And then came the plan of rigging the ballroom to explode and blame it on another empire. And even worse- Scott actually caught feelings for Jimmy, instead of it being an act like Fwhip had planned.

So before the night of the ball, Scott had struck a deal with Fwhip. If there was no argumentative behavior during the ball, then he wouldn’t set off the TNT. To his surprise and relief, Fwhip had agreed- and then went and purposefully antagonized Jimmy. And Jimmy- sweet, impulsive Jimmy- had fought right back. Scott didn’t get a chance to pull Fwhip aside and convince him to change his mind before Lizzie had asked him for a dance, then spun Jimmy right into his arms. Fwhip had been watching them the entire time they danced, then left as soon as the song ended, heading up the stairs. Scott snuck away from Jimmy to follow him- only for Fwhip to have flown off by the time Scott made his way up the stairs. Then Jimmy followed him too, and once he spotted Fwhip in the distance with his crossbow, Scott realized he had been used to draw Jimmy out. So he kissed Jimmy, and then Fwhip set off the explosions. It was then Scott realized Fwhip had lied to him about the plan- somehow he had rigged Katherine’s entire castle with TNT, not just the ballroom, and wanted to be sure that everyone knew it was Fwhip and the Wither Rose Alliance behind it all. A show of power, so that no one would mess with them.

So now Scott was alone again. Jimmy felt like Scott had betrayed him- and frankly, Scott had. He should have told the House Blossom Alliance about the TNT, instead of striking a weak deal with Fwhip. Now the House Blossom Alliance would never trust him again, and all Scott had now was the Wither Rose Alliance- which Scott wasn’t so sure if he wanted to be a part of anymore. And at their next secret meeting, Scott found out that he wasn’t the only one with this opinion. Usually they met in Gem’s hidden meeting room, but this time around, she insisted on meeting in the Grimlands, not giving a clear reason why. Scott had thought nothing of it, until the time for the meeting actually came.

“I’m done, Fwhip,” Gem said, not even taking a seat at the table. Fwhip leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow at Gem.

“What do you mean, you’re ‘done?’” he scoffed. Gem slammed her hands down on the table, purple magic sparking in the air. Everyone in the room had ranging expressions of shock and terror on their faces. Gem never got angry like this, at least not as long as Scott had known her. Fwhip, however, seemed unphased.

“You lied to us. You said you were going to make a point at the House Blossom Ball. Instead you blew it up! You could have killed us!” she fumed. Fwhip rolled his eyes.

“Gem, you know me. What other point would I have made that didn’t go off with a bang? Besides, Sausage and Scott knew about the TNT,” Fwhip replied with a shrug. The glare Gem sent him was deadly, and Pearl rose from her seat at the revelation.

“I was hoping that maybe Scott was clever and figured out your plan, and just wasn’t able to get the information to anyone in time- but you told him and Sausage?! And I’m not exactly pleased that neither of them felt it was necessary to tell Gem and I what was going on, but the nerve of you to hide information from your own allies, Fwhip!” Pearl scolded. Scott and Sausage didn’t say anything, a little embarrassed- but to be fair, it hadn’t really occurred to Scott that Fwhip didn’t tell everyone about his plan. He had told Scott one-on-one, and Scott had foolishly assumed that he had told the others as well. Yet another frustrating hoodwink courtesy of Fwhip.

“Because I knew you would react like this! But there’s no sense in arguing about it now, what’s happened has happened. Let’s discuss plans for the future, shall we?” Fwhip said with an overly charming grin.

“No,” Pearl said firmly, and Fwhip blinked in surprise.

“What?” he asked in disbelief.

“You heard Gem. She’s done, and so am I. I won’t be a part of this senseless destruction anymore,” Pearl said evenly. And before Fwhip had a chance to protest, Pearl and Gem stormed out of the room. Fwhip let out a dejected sigh, before sitting up straight in his seat again.

“Fine. Who needs them? We’ll be just fine- won’t we, boys?” Fwhip asked, and the smile he gave Scott made his stomach roll.

“Yeah! Now we don’t have to tiptoe around them anymore!” Sausage cheered, and Scott could only give a weak smile in response. Something in Fwhip’s smile turned sharp as he leaned towards Scott with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“You know, I never properly complimented your acting skills. You really had Jimmy caught like a fish in a net. It’s a shame though- you got a little too wrapped up in the act- not to mention him- and we lost a valuable chance to deal with the Codfather once and for all. But that’s alright- I’m sure we’ll get another opportunity,” Fwhip said in a low and dangerous tone, the thinly veiled threat very clear to Scott. Don’t get in the way again, and don’t try and weasel out of plans. Or he’d make sure he’d regret it.

“R-right,” Scott said shakily. Fwhip seemed satisfied, and leaned back in his chair once more.

“Good. Now I suppose that advantage with you pretending to like Jimmy is gone now, unless you do a lot more than just kiss him this time around-”

“No,” Scott blurted, before he could really think about it.

“What was that?” Fwhip asked, raising an eyebrow. A lie about how Jimmy definitely didn’t want to see him again- which wasn’t really a lie per se, but it wasn’t the reason Scott said no- was at the tip of his tongue. But he couldn’t say it. And in that moment, he finally decided to do what Pearl and Gem had done.

“I’m not doing this anymore. It makes me sick to my stomach to even think about bringing more pain and destruction to J- to these lands,” Scott said, voice shaking a little but his eyes sharp as he glared at Fwhip. But Fwhip caught the wobble in his voice and how he nearly said Jimmy’s name. However Sausage spoke up and commented on it before Fwhip could.

“You WEREN’T pretending, you actually fell for Jimmy!” Sausage gasped, and the tone of his voice reminded him of simpler times, when Sausage would tease him about his flirting with Jimmy and Pearl would admonish him and tell Sausage to leave Scott alone. Then Fwhip had taken advantage of Scott’s banter with Jimmy, and brought Scott’s world crashing down around him as a result.

“You’ve gotten weak, Scott. What happened to the imposing, cold ruler of Rivendell?” Fwhip sneered. Scott rose from the table at that, glaring Fwhip down.

“I’m finally being the ruler I should have been. I’m not going to let other empires use me for their own gain, and I’m not going to be part of your destructive plans,” Scott fumed, wings flaring and making him seem taller, more threatening. Fwhip chuckled darkly.

“You walk out of here, and you’ll regret it,” he growled.

“I’ll take my chances,” Scott shot back, turning on his heel and exiting the room, ignoring both Fwhip and Sausage’s voices after him. He was done with the Wither Rose Alliance. In fact, he was done with alliances entirely. He was going to stay in the mountains and care for his empire, like he should have been all along.

Then the slimeball on the side table by his bed reminded Scott why he didn’t want to stay in the mountains. He would just be exactly what Jimmy expected of him- high and mighty, being too good for anyone. And being alone. Scott had a taste of what a sense of togetherness felt like, and now being alone hurt more than ever. But there was no one he could go to, no one who would trust him. Maybe he could form something with Pearl and Gem, or maybe the two new empire rulers, Shelby and Joey- but it wouldn’t be the same. Nothing would ever be the same, not as long as the mere memory of Jimmy’s goofy grin sent his heart fracturing a thousand times, over and over again.

He couldn’t stand being within the walls of his home any longer. His wings itched with the need to spread and take to the skies, and flying always made him feel better. So Scott did just that, taking to the skies and flying nowhere in particular, just far away from all the empires as much as possible. Maybe if he flew far enough, it would all disappear and Scott wouldn’t have to deal with his problems anymore. And maybe with enough distance, his heartbreak would disappear too.

Taglists below! Ask to be added/removed!

MCYT General Fic Taglist: @corazon10000 @damiensaidno @franticfandomfanatic @gattonero17 @hetapeep41 @space-ace123 @vyeoh

AIAHS Taglist: @anty-kreatywna @beepa99 @devilwoodkitty18 @riobug

#empires smp #scott smajor #fwhip #mythicalsausage #geminitay #pearlescentmoon #flower husbands #mcyt #aiahs #sage writes

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