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animatedrapture · 4 years ago

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"𝖐𝖎𝖘𝖘 𝖒𝖊 𝖘𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖑𝖞" — suna rintarou ;

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: suna rintarō is so much more than his bored eyes, the blunt between his lips, and his tendency to slack off—luckily, you're one of the very few people who know this; especially after he comes home to you sullen after finding out he didn't make it to the olympic players.

𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖘: female reader. fluff—established relationship. angst if you squint. comfort. mention of drug use. like, one swear word.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 2k

𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖙'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊: in lieu of the influx of toxic stoner!suna content, i offer you a piece of appreciation towards him and all that he is. i was meaning to post this in my new blog but i thought there's so much of you here who would appreciate and need this more. written on a whim at 1AM and didn't proofread so for any errors, gomen. repost because tumblr tagging hates me. cross posted on ao3 under the same username. original post here. this was written before we got information that he actually made it to the olympic team. furudate really told me to stfu, huh?

It's you who find out first that there is truly so much more to Suna Rintarō than his expressionless exterior, sleepy eyes, and bored gaze towards even the most ridiculous situations. It's when his self assured stance dwindled as he walked towards you once upon a time, introducing himself first before asking you for your number.

"My number?" You echoed his request, trying your best not to gawk at his attractive features and six foot two stature towering over you so easily; making you feel oh so small. (Which is funny, given that you were already standing straight on your heels.)

"If you don't mind, 's cool if you say no," he replies, tearing his gaze from you as if he was actually anxious you'd say no.

It's funny, really. It's not every day a famous pro-athlete known for both his good looks and skills walk up to you, asking for your number and actually considering you'd say no to him and his pretty features—in fact, nevermind that he was pretty, it was more the fact that he wasn't so full of himself to actually think you wouldn't say no.

That's what makes you nod your head; your heart already beating right out of your chest as he gives you a lazy grin and his phone to press your number in. When you're done, you hand it back to him and you mentally pat yourself at the back for not visibly trembling.

"Y/N?" He reads your name from the contact information, and good God, did your name sound so beautiful coming out of his mouth. He doesn't wait for your reply anymore, looking back at you from his phone, the lazy smile still across his lips as if he knew it was a heart killer.

"Thanks, I'll text you later," is the last thing he said before he walked away from you.

It didn't take long for you to fall in love with someone like Suna Rintarō—underneath his detached personality also lied someone who was truly passionate with the things he set his mind to, gave his time to. Like you or volleyball or the video game he's been waiting to release for a whole month—it only had to be something or someone who was special enough, then, he would give it his all.

The smoke that filled his lungs occasionally did nothing to lessen your own intoxication of Suna Rintarō and his passions—because every exhale, his dark green eyes would meet yours and oh so easily, he offers you that same lazy smile yet one that was dripping with affection.

"Should you even be smoking that, Rintarō?" You had questioned him before, about the second time you've seen him put the rolled blunt in between his soft lips, inhaling it.

"It's a once in a while kinda thing, you don't actually think I'd sacrifice my career for this don'tcha?" He grins at you, amusement flooding his usually bored eyes — now glazed over with the effects of the weed—from the way he gazes at you with an eyebrow raised.

It's when you realize that Suna Rintarō was independent and knew what he was doing—did what he did with full awareness, full control, full flexibility. It's as if who he was in court was who he was in person as well.

"You're really interesting, y'know that Rin?" You had mumbled against his chest once before, it was at the first few months of dating—he had one of his arms around you with you cuddled on his side, watching a movie from his couch.

"Yeah?"

"I mean—you've always been so good at what you do, huh? But you still work for it."

"What makes you say that?" You can feel him looking down on face against his chest.

"C'mon, don't be silly. You were scouted at middle school and you only got better as you grew up!" You say, finally moving your head to meet his gaze.

But all you get is a flick on your forehead and his low chuckle, "'s not that deep, y/n," he answers.

But you already knew better.

Suna isn't one for words, and no matter how much you insist that he was beyond the description of words, he only rolls his narrowed eyes at you. You find out Suna Rintarō, your boyfriend, was a huge inspiration during your sixth month together when you finally met his little sister.

It's hard to say it wasn't amusing how snarky she was, just as he was to his friends whom you've met a few times before—Atsumu and Osamu Miya, you remember. She's quick with her tongue, easily retorting back to her brother's comments.

"Are you sure you didn't just pay Y/N-san to be your girlfriend, nii-san?"

"Nah, you still jealous I came out prettier than you?" Suna bites back, a teasing grin plastered across his face. His sister only scoffs, looking back at you.

"You can tell me if he blackmailed you to come here!" She attempts to whisper. You're not sure whether you should be worried or continue to laugh, but you do neither as you choke on the drink you were sipping on right as she told you this.

"Shit, Y/N," Suna curses as you cough, your throat burning at the drink's intrusion, but Suna's quick to rub soothingly against your back as he offers you his water, his eyes glazed over in panic.

"You okay?" He asks when you stopped coughing, and you nod in response—throat remaining slightly sore. Suna lets out an aggravated groan, "Be careful next time," he manages to scold you, but oddly enough, his words remain saccharine.

There's something about the way that his little sister doesn't seem the least bit surprised with his reaction that somehow lets you know that perhaps, Suna Rintarō might just be quite the caring brother behind closed doors.

After that, it was when Suna excused himself to take a call from his manager, leaving you with his sister.

"Hey, nee-san, promise you'll take care of Rin-nii? You won't break his heart, will you?" His sister asks, eyes gleaming with something akin to hope, expectation, wonder. It easily takes you by surprise.

"Don't you worry, I'll promise I'll take care of him, promise I won't break his heart," your voice easily softens, nodding. His little sister's gaze remains on you, as if she's assessing you and as if she would easily tell whether or not you meant the words that came out of your mouth.

It makes you hold a breath until she nods slowly, smiling at you lightly just as Suna comes walking back, eyebrows raised, knowing he must've missed something.

"Whatcha girls talkin' bout?" He asked as he slipped back on his seat beside you.

"None of your business, obviously," his sister quickly answers.

They're truly quite similar, it's enough to make you smile and get through meeting his little sister until both of you dropped her off back to the train station.

"What'd she tell you?" Suna nudged you after seeing her train leave.

"Nothing, Rin," you answered with a wide smile, leaning up to place a chaste kiss against his lips—yet just as you pull away, one of his hands has found its way behind your neck, pulling you back to him.

You never thought a kiss could feel so loving before—but it really seemed as if Suna Rintarō had a knack for proving you wrong, over and over again.

It was the day that the Olympic team was announced when you see so much more of Suna Rintarō. Quick like the blink of an eye, or lightning that leaves the thunder chasing it; Suna felt the exhaustion, the pressure, the burnt-out feeling that's been repressed in the back of his head. It comes to him, crashing down like boulders not just on his shoulders but weighing down every part of his body.

Did he lack somewhere? He wonders. Where did that lacking end and start? What could have he done? Was it training, where he spent most of his time now? Suna had end up seeing you less and less since the drafting of olympic players started and you've been nothing but patient.

What was he supposed to tell you? After all the time it has stolen away from you—that he didn't make it?

When he opened the door to your shared apartment, he doesn't look up at you with a relieved sigh as he usually would—he avoids you gaze entirely, he avoids your observing eyes from the couch you sat on, watching him slowly shrug his shoes off.

"I'm just gonn—" he started, about to make an excuse to avoid looking at you.

"Prepared your bath, Rin. C'mon," Suna hears you say but it doesn't sink in his head, watching you take his hand, leading him to the bathroom.

Suna remains silent as he looks down on the bath you prepared for him, warm and inviting.

"Meet me in the kitchen when you're done, okay?" He hears you say, followed by the echo of your footsteps walking away.

You easily understand that Suna Rintarō was more than his talents, his efforts, and every little thing about him when you feel his large arms wrapped around you, his broad chest pressed against your back and his face buried on the crook of your neck. His fresh scent right out of the shower engulfing you and invading your senses, flooding you with him.

"'m sorry, bunny," he mumbles.

"You have nothing to be sorry about, Ri—"

"It's odd, thought I'd pull it off, thought it'd be nothin' if I didn't make it. Don't know why I'm so upset right now," he continues, cutting you off, "Been so patient for me too, bunny. Thought I'd be nice to make you proud, ya know?"

Your sigh comes out sharp from the heavy feeling from your chest, not knowing what to do to make him feel better—like he did with you, always knowing his way around your low moments.

You wriggle out of his arms, making him grumble until you fully face him. He looks back at you with a small frown, eyebrows furrowed, watching your expression.

"I'm always proud of you, Rin. Olympic player or not, you make me so proud," you speak softly, your hands cupping each side of his face.

"Don't even get why it matters to me this much, it's just—" it was your turn to cut him off, tipping your toes to press a lingering kiss against his lips. Suna smiles against your lips, carrying you to sit on the kitchen counter like he always did—knowing you always would have to tip on your toes to reach him.

Soon, the lingering kiss turns slow and passionate—lips softly grazing the other, and it feels more like pouring the heavy weight of love out of your chest and into the other. A kiss so loving, so reassuring, so passionate—the kind that easily takes your breath away and makes your mind go blank. When Suna pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. You smile at him because it's all you can do when your heart feels like it's going to leap out of your throat just to offer itself to him entirely—and Suna smiles back at you, pecking your lips before wrapping his arms around you again, resting his chin on your shoulder.

You run your fingers through his hair, hoping it would help soothe him, and then you say, "I promise that you'll make it next year, Rin. I'll be with you now, and I'll still be with you then."

It only makes him hold you tighter, closer to him, "I love you, Y/N."

"I love you, Rintarō. You deserve the world and all the stars in the galaxy."

"'s too bad there's nothin' more I need than you, then."

That's what Suna tells you—Suna, who was smoke in his lungs, dumb videos of the twins to blackmail them with, little mistakes, bored eyes, and lazy attitude. The same Suna who was slow kisses, passion, and genuine smiles reserved for you—the same Suna who gave his passions his all, the same Suna who held you securely in his arms every night, the same Suna his little sister admired. Most of all, the same Suna Rintarō you loved with every beat of your heart, every fibre of your being.

📞 violet is calling... all content featured belongs to ©️ animatedrapture. do not plagiarize, repost, or modify.

#suna x reader #suna rintarou #haikyuu x reader #suna #haikyuu #suna rintaro x reader #haikyuu imagines #rintarou suna #suna fluff #haikyuu fluff #suna Rintarō #;cloud #IM SO PRESSED!!!#so anNOYED!!#GODDAMN HAD TO REPOST

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cloudninetonine · 4 years ago

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Cogito, ergo sum

Chapter: 2

Pairing: Connor (RK800) x fem!reader

A/N: Hey guys! I want to apologise for the long wait between chpaters but seeing as I’m on my last year of college my school work is coming before everything else so it’s a little hard working between them! Don’t worry, I’m not dropping this series or anything just expect chapters to take a little long to be loaded and everything! Also, this chapter seems a little too far paced for me, so sorry about that as well!

Tags at the bottom once again!

I do not own Detroit become human this is merely fanficion

Warnings: Bad language, physical assault, threats (?), hints of abuse, (Name) being weird like always, also angry (Name), mentions of drugs, there’s a bit of slander against drug abusers that I do not condone!

Undercut babes!

It’s fascinating, it really is, the way her beautiful gaze follows you as you round her, studying her feverishly, your eyes wide and bright.

She’s...well, words cannot describe her. Her beauty lies beyond your imagination and you’re not quite equipped to say anything that her magnificent ears deserve to hear, your words are below her and she’s just-

Wow.

“Ms (Last), please-”

You raise your hand towards the younger engineer, silencing with a small utter of ‘hush’ and he’s shutting his mouth, falling back to the side of your desk with not much else to say.

The android you’ve been un-shamelessly ogling for the past 10 solid minutes is still very quiet, she’s just watching you in her manufactured attire, shy, nervous, scared- everything you really wish she wasn’t right now because there is no way you want her to see you as some sort of threat, far from it.

“Henry” Turning back towards the engineer, he stiffs up like a board, sweat forming on his brow “Why didn’t you dismantle her?”

It’s rude, it’s horrible to say and it sours your mouth when you form those words, but it’s an honest question, you want to know why someone would do this, keep her alive, see her for all her glory.

The public spoke strongly about their opinions of androids, like toys to be played with, slaves to be worked, not the thing you so desperately wanted people to see them as. The masterpieces that stood beyond human comprehension.

The android lets out a noise similar to a whimper as Henry stammers out.

“I-I couldn’t she- um- I-” Finally, he sighs with frustration, Henry makes eye contact with you “She said was scared and...I couldn’t”

You snap back to face her.

“Is that true?”

She hesitates, one second, two seconds, three seconds, four- it takes a whole 30 seconds before she’s finally responding. “Yes…”

Your chest bursts in excitement.

“You’re incredible” Henry deflates in relief, placing a hand against your desk while you grasp her cheeks, her warm grey eyes glancing between your two hands then meet your own stare, confused. “Amazing, beautiful, fantastic, so, so much more”

“...thank you”

You sniff, then you’re pulling away, trying to keep your tears abay. You really can’t believe that your work has gone so far, that new forms of sentient are evolving from a human’s hand, you’re so overjoyed by it all but you’re also kind of realising how weird you’re being.

“Sorry, I’m becoming the creepy stereotypical scientist, let me just-” Pulling off your lab coat, you throw it over her shoulders, pulling it tighter around her for her dainty hands to grasp and hold, a smile growing on her face in gratitude. You’re really still in awe of it all but send her a giddy smile back “Henry get Kamski I’m sure he’s gonna love this”

When the man disappears, closing the office door behind him, you guide her to a chair, kneeling before her kindly.

“Tell me” She waits patiently for you to continue “What’s your name?”

When she opens her mouth, you interrupt her, grasping her hands “No, not the name you were given, the name you have chosen. What is your name?”

You’re at the beginning of history right here, you can already see the books that are yet to be written, all starting at this very moment, with you and her. This android, this amazing, piece of living metal, is the start of something great and you can’t wait to be a part of it.

“My name is….”

-----------

“(Name), I’m sorry, but there isn’t really anything I can do”

Your hands come down on the desk, expression unbelieving.

“But he attacked Ortiz in self defence, it’s not fair for him to be shipped to Cyberlife! That hellhole already has enough test subjects with other deviants, why can’t he be let go!?” Pushing yourself back up, you drag your hands down your face in exasperation “He’s a victim! He was defending himself, why can’t we let him off with a lesser offence?”

Billie sighs, shutting the file softly. “Because in the eyes of the law, he’s not a victim. He’s property and there isn’t much we can do about that. Besides, because Ortiz is dead, his ownership basically goes back to Cyberlife, so they have the authority to take him back”

Billie’s right, you know that they’re right, but it’s just so frustrating, so vexing that this is the case. An android, in the eyes of society, is nothing more than their components, why should they be given the same privilege as those who eat, shit and breathe?

Billie may be a judge, but they didn’t make the law.

You remember years ago, when something like this would have been seen as detestable, that the masses would have stood up to fight this kind of horror, but for some reason, with age came stupidity and ignorance it seemed. What the fuck had happened to you all?

You open your mouth, then close it, then open it again before huffing, taking the file from their desk and ripping your coat off the hanger.

“I’m sorry, (Name)!” Billie calls and you wave them off, shouting back a ‘Don’t worry about it’ then close their office.

The courthouse is only a few blocks away from the precinct, a good walk away, a good way to calm yourself down until you’re having to face the frustration that comes in with having to work in such a high strung place. It’s funny really, you used to say ACAB when you were younger, still believed it too, so it’s really a wonder as to why you joined, but then again sometimes to make change you have to become the very thing you hate-

“Detective (Last)-”

You scream, almost dropping your files and jumping a meter within the air. Passerbys don’t even spare you a glance, a generation raised on the weirdest websites like Vine, Tiktok, Youtube and god forbid, Tumblr, have them desensitised to whatever shit people like to play at now-a-days.

“Oh my God, Inspector Gadget” A hand falls to your chest, checking your racing heartbeat “You can’t just sneak up on a bitch like that”

Connor, the big old puppy, tilts his head in mild confusion “But I called your name twice, detective”

Oh.

“What are you doing here, Connor?”

The android joins your side and you continue your way. “Lieutenant Anderson informed me that you were heading to the courthouse, so I decided to come and brief you about a new case”

A new case, of course a new case, deviancy keeps popping up all over the country rapidly but you can’t hold your surprise about the fact that it’s been a few days and there’s already a new case.

“Deadass?”

Wait, you hadn’t mean to say that-

His eyes narrow “Deadass?”

A snort escapes you “Oh my God I can’t believe you just said that, it sounds so cursed coming from your mouth. I meant, seriously?”

You swear on your life, on everything that may be above and so much more, that the android lets out a laugh when he continues, explaining the details as you finally enter the office.

You realise, as he talks, you feel a whole lot lighter than you had earlier.

-----------

“This guy is as scummy as it gets”

Unfortunately, you can’t help but agree. Todd Williams is about as charismatic as a dumpster fire, messy hair, messy face, stained clothing and the stench of alcohol clung when you finally met him, having to hold back a wince of disgust.

You don’t usually speak ill of others, but you know his type, from the way he carries himself to the way he speaks. You’ve had to face men like him before, his whole demeanor brings back bad memories and you’re so glad that you’re not the one having to get details from him, to have to speak to him.

One thing’s for sure though, you don’t blame whatever deviant decided to book it from him.

“Why doesn’t he just...get a refund from Cyberlife?” You take a sip of your milkshake, staring at Hank, Connor and Mr Williams who looked to be ending off their conversation. “They do that for deviants, don’t they?”

Yes, if you remember, the new flashy CEO of the hell corp spoke it for all to see, that deviance is guaranteed to offer you your cash back.

How inhumane it all sounded.

Gavin scoffs, drinking his coffee “You think a guy like that cares about refunds?”

No. You know why he’s doing it. It’s all about power for fuckers like that.

Mr Williams leaves, Hank is looking through his notes, Connor is heading your way, probably to refer all the information back to you and Gavin is taking in a breath to start his bullshit again, despite your civilness that you had been sharing.

Eh, peace was never an option-

“Your metal boyfriend is heading this way”

The noise you make isn’t human, it’s a mix of a wheeze and scream, like you’ve just choked on the air your breathing and in all honesty, you have, but you’re not letting that mother fucker get away with catching you off guard, especially when he starts laughing.

“Shut up, furry”

Your actually feel the air from his head snapping towards you. “I’m not a fucking furry, quit fucking saying it!”

You pat his shoulder “It’s alright, Reed, we all know you wrote yiff fiction in your spare time-”

You dodge his fist, running away from his red, angered face and petty insults, dragging Connor away from the break room to the side, all while laughing up a storm.

Having your attention on the android again brings back Gavin’s words, his tease of ‘boyfriend’ which makes your face heat up, in what? You’re not quite sure, but it’s enough to make Connor notice your oddity.

“What were you and Detective Reed-”

“Nothing” You cackle, patting down his shoulders to distract yourself “He’s just being an arsehole again, nothing to worry yourself over”

And worry himself he didn’t, because he couldn’t of course, android and all.

Connor was quick to fill you in, an AX400 by the name of Kara had stolen (the word kidnapped comes to mind but you know that the robot detective will just ‘correct’ you on your wording) another android, Mr William’s ‘daughter’, model YK500 named Alice after assaulting him the night before. Mr Williams had been knocked out after the ordeal, as to why it had taken him so long to report it.

“Were there any signs of assault that you could see? Ones that could lead to a potential take down or unconsciousness?” Connor takes a moment before shaking his head “Yeah, I didn’t think so”

What a lying fuck.

“Let’s head to the briefing room”

Hank is there, as well as a whole group of other police officers, talking amongst themselves as you situate yourself behind the podium, screen remote in hand and smiling brightly. Your partners are at your side, Connor in his usual stoic stance while the old fart has his arms crossed, bored as always and you’re ready to debrief the many uniforms but they keep talking, even after you clear your throat.

You’re not one to get angry at being talked over, annoyed, yes, but anger leads you nowhere with a crowd, so instead, you use your most favourite tactic to date

“Pay attention to me or I am gonna start screaming people” You sing. Not a threat, but a promise. “And you all know I will screech like mother fucker”

The room is silent in the next second.

“Great! So-”

The door to the room bursts open.

“Fucking really-”

“Detective (Last)'' It's the front office assistant and by the looks of it, he is panicked, worried even, as he addresses you. You suddenly feel your stomach knot up “I’m sorry, but there’s been an emergency with your relative Carl Manfred”

You swallow, hard. “What?”

The meeting ends right then and there.

-----------

Hank hurls to a stop right outside the entrance. You’re already halfway out of the car when he shuts off the vehicle, Connor is taking off his seatbelt and you’re already racing down the soaked concrete path to the front door, rain pelting down on you.

You barely feel it though.

You startle the receptionist when you slam your hands down, eyes wide in panic, breathing coming out in fast, short pants and just looking as though you faced the masses to make it to this spot, right in front of her.

“Carl Manfred, he was brought here about an hour ago is he-”

She interrupts “Are you family?”

“Yes, please, I-”

“In what relation do you have to the patient?”

Is she really fucking serious right now? You debated leaning over and strangling your answer out of her, letting her know what kind of fucking pain you could put her through in this very moment-

But the hand that is placed against your back keeps you still. It’s warm and comforting and keeps you from mauling the fucker right out of her chair, though it doesn’t calm your anxiety, no, but at least it’s there.

You turn to see Connor, who nods towards you politely.

Huh, what a twist of events.

Hank leans over from your other side, looking just as angry as you feel, though he keeps his voice civil when he speaks “Listen, her old man’s just had a heart attack, could you drop the formal shit so she can see him?”

Her voice is sharp, just like her stupid fucking face and she snaps back “I can’t let you in unless I know your relation, unless you’d like to be escorted out by security”

Damn, she’s playing with fire and you’re ready to throw oil all fucking over her.

“I don’t fucking think so-” Pulling out your badge, you slam it against the desk, with nothing short of a growl “Police. Now, tell me where my fucking dad is or you’ll regret the next words that come out of your mouth”

You never abuse your power as a cop, it’s inhumane and back in your younger days you sneered at the disgusting police who would use their authority for their own gain, so you hate to admit but the nervous look that crosses her face when she sees your badge and Hank’s when he pulls it out for extra effect scratches an itch you begged to be scratched.

“Floor 3, the front desk will inform you what room”

“Thanks” You spit, already rushing to the elevator, the other two following.

Connor is quiet, to your surprise. Honestly, you expected him to speak out about your behaviour, your attitude, your unprofessionalism, but he says nothing, just trails after the two of you in silence, obediently, just like he was made for.

It’s comforting having him here, even if he’s just following orders.

The next receptionist is kinder than the last (she even scowls at the mention of her coworker) and points down the hallway, to where two officers stand with cups of coffee within their hands. They stiffen in surprise at your arrival, but you pay them no mind, pushing your way into the room where you finally pause, taking in the scene of your beloved father figure, laid still within the bed, pale, heart monitor beeping occasionally.

The doctor by Carl’s side looks up at you. “I’m sorry, but who are you?”

Hank and Connor wait outside.

“(Name) (Last), Carl’s daughter and emergency contact” You explain, walking further into the room “Is he- Can I-”

“He’s fine” She explains with a comforting smile “And yes, you can come closer, though the medication has him knocked unconscious so he won’t be talking any time soon”

The relief almost has you collapsing, brings you back from the panic attack that threatens to kick your arse right in front of everyone and you finally breathe normally.

“Thank you, and you are?”

“Dr Collins” Collins offers her hand and you shake it weakly. “Your father is going to be okay, (Name), but he’s going to need a lot of rest. Cardiac arrest at this age can be fatal, so we were lucky that he lived so close”

You nod, tiredly slinking to Carl’s side to drop into the cushion chair, taking his hand in yours. Kissing it lovingly, you place it close to you in comfort, in reassurance.

‘He’s fine, he’s fine, he’s going to be okay-’

“What are you doing here?”

Your anger shoots right back up, as does you head when you turn to look at the doorway.

“Leo” The name is dragged out of your mouth, it’s spoken with a heavy coat of venom and dirt and for all the participants who are about to see this wild shit show, is a clear indication that you’re far from happy to see the man that stood there. “The fuck are you doing here?”

He scoffs “I’m family, what else am I here for?”

“Oh I don’t know,” You’re standing, stalking closer to him with a raged gleam in your eye “To mooch off him a little bit more?”

The tension can be cut with a knife, everyone can see it, feel it, even Connor, who looks ready to intervene at any given moment.

“No, detective” One of the officiers starts, cutting in in hopes to keep you both calm. “He was there when it all happened, he saw everything-”

“He was there?” No, her words only add fuel to the fire and you’re glaring at your brother once again “You were there? The fuck were you there for? You did this?”

“No!”

“Please calm down” Collins cuts in “I understand the anger but the other patients-”

You ignore her, glancing around the area when a thought struck you.

“Where’s Markus?”

Connor’s the first to respond, “Who’s Markus, detective (Last)?”

“Dad’s care bot” A pin drops, no one is speaking, the two cops are quiet, Leo is scowling, but he’s not looking at you and your anger is quickly making room to fear, cold and stabbing when you push again, harsher, angrier “Where the fuck is Markus?”

The second officer speaks this time, hat in his hands and you know what happens next is not going to be good.

“He was leaning over your father when we walked in detective, Mr Leo Manfred told us he attacked him” The man gulps, hesitating. He’s not nervous for what he’s done, no, he’s nervous about the dark look that seems to be slowly taking over your eyes, “I shot him”

A beat goes by. Then another, another, another, another, another-

“Why were you there in the first place?” It’s soft, curious, but the rage behind it is big, your need for an answer is keeping it back “What was the call for?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t-”

“Answer the question, officer”

His partner offers up the answer “....A break in, ma’am”

There’s silence, then you nod in understanding.

No one is quick enough to stop you from shoving Leo into the wall, hands wrapped tightly around the lapels of his jacket and holding him up so you can scream at him properly, face feeling hot from anger, eyes wild from rage, practically feral.

“You fucking did this! This is your fault, you good for nothing fuck!” You pull your hand back and punch him right in the face, he’s too in shock to react but everyone else is trying to pull you off “What?! Were you off your shit from snorting that fucking powder again, you damn druggie!? Huh!? HUH!? You high right now, too!?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, (Name), let go!” Hank yells but he’s fucking impressed by your resistance.

“He could have died because of you, you good for nothing cunt! Worthless piece of shit! Now, Markus is fucking dead because of you, the person who was actually fucking taking care of him! This is all your fault! He’s in that hospital bed, because of you! You! Did! This! All for those stupid drugs! You’re fucking pathetic!”

You’re finally tugged off by someone, their arms slipping under your own to stop you from going back at him again. The officers are acting as a wall between you and your brother, Dr Collin’s is checking his nose as blood drips down his face, Leo is still in shock and Hank is leaning over, hands propped onto his knees. That leaves...

“I’m sorry detective (Last), but I’m going to have to restrain you until you calm down”

You scream in frustration and try to fight against it, but damn, you have to admit in a moment of clarity, Connor is fucking strong.

“Lieutenant Anderson, if you could take her legs, we can escort her out of the building without much trouble” Hank huffs something under his breath probably a grunt of ‘fucking android’ but complies, glaring at you when he leans down.

“You kick me and I’ll kick your ass”

Your respect for him makes you comply, but the anger doesn’t stop you from cussing both him and the android out, naming every threat under the sun as they carry you out of the building, back to the car which you are shoved placed into.

“Let me out of this fucking car, Hank!” You bellow, glaring at the man with sharp eyes who stood outside the vehicle, leaning against it “I’ll break this fucking window, I swear to fucking God!”

“You can try, but we both know you won’t!”

Once again, you’re screaming, tugging frantically at the door’s handle that you know is locked, but are way too angered to care right now.

Connor sits by your side, a good distance away to not antagonise you, silent, waiting and watching as you slowly fall from angry to desperate, tears welling within your eyes and falling down your cheeks. It only takes a few more moments for you to stop altogether, your shoulders shaking as you sob, quietly but strong.

The android finally speaks “Detective (Last)-”

You’re on him in a moment, arms wrapped around his frame, face buried into his shoulder, wetting his suit jacket as you cry, shaking.

It’s a new one for Connor. An android built for detective work, to sniff out the bad deviants, to question suspects and actually built with a comforting feature for victims of crimes. But this is a first, a first he’s seen anyone to tears, more importantly, a first of seeing you so broken. Sure, he had seen you defeated those few days ago, but this is different, you’re not trying to hide conflicting feelings behind your bubbly smile and weird jokes, you’re just...crying. Nothing more, nothing less.

His arms are hovering at your sides, hesitant, unsure and it’s not until Hank gestures from outside the car to ‘fucking do something, you stupid machine’ that the protocol finally kicks in, his arms coming to wrap around you securely and comforting, reassuring you through your whimpers.

Connor is a robot, a machine that feels nothing.

But seeing you cry isn’t something he can just let happen.

Software instability.

-----------

Tags: @dillxpixkles @1950schick @pinkittwice @iris-suoh @loveflowsthroughme @thatlonelyalto @starcatcher-kay (ya’ll I’m half asleep if I forgot you in the taglist I am SORRY-)

#connor rk800 #dbh connor #detroit become human connor #dbh hank #detroit become human hank #dbh gavin #detroit become human gavin #dbh carl #detroit become human carl #connor rk800 x reader #connor rk800 imagine #dbh connor x reader #dbh x reader #dbh imagine #dbh #detroit become human #dbh leo #detroit become human leo #cogito ergo sum

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twerkinwithhazza · 4 years ago

Text

Pumpkin Seeds

Author’s Note: UH OHHH BACK AGAIN. I’m back yall finally off hiatus all because my phone is broken LOL. Anywho tumblr is a totally different place and most of my mutuals are adulting now. I would love new tumblr friends and I’m gonna try to continue this writing stuff but I’m busy with adult things now lol and it really depends on if you guys like what you see. Please excuse my rustiness this my first imagine in years... literally. I’ll get better with time. This was also slightly edited but I know there bound to be some mistakes. Anyways watch the Golden music video for clear skin and I hope you guys enjoy! I think it's so adorable that whoever requested this thought this request wouldn't speak to me lol ! It definitely did because this went from a blurb to a full blown imagine.

psst you can read my other work here!

Warnings: smut smut smut and more smut and possible shitty writing, dirty talk, light choking, and some cursing.

Glossary: (y/c/n)= your cousins name + (y/m/n)= your mothers name

Request: hi!!!! if you are wrtiting for Harry please can you do one where missus and Harry are at a family party and have a quickie in the bathroom? don’t worry if it’s not speaking to you lol xxx

Normally you and your husband loved spending time with your families. Harry was always playing a balancing act between filming music videos, doing interviews, writing sessions, and an occasional date night in the house that always involved a Postmates order from your favorite restaurants and the two of you binge-watching Netflix on shuffle. As much as the both of you enjoyed stuffing your face with poke bowls from Poke Papa and watching True Crime stories, it wasn’t exactly romantic or fulfilling for the both of you, just enough to hold you over until his schedule clears up. So when Harry finally got a weekend off, you guys were ecstatic! You spent the week cleaning the house and meal prepping so no Postmates would be needed and Harry used his free time in between interviews for shopping for special toys and pretty lingerie he wanted to see you model for him. Flirty text messages were sent back and forth during small work breaks about your plans for the weekend and now all the two of you had to do was make it Saturday.

You’re not gonna like this...

The 5 words that destroyed you and Harry’s weekend plans. Anne called while you were organizing your closet and announced that her and Gemma, along with your parents and favorite cousins were coming to town to spend time with the two of you. You tried to convince her that maybe a small dinner party at that new fancy restaurant downtown would be a perfect spot for a get together but she was adamant about coming over to cook the two of you a homecooked meal. Breaking the news to Harry was the worst part, he was clearly devastated (you swore you saw the man shed a few tears). Now here you were stuffing your mouth with Anne’s famous juicy cooked duck instead of your husband's juicy di...

“(Y/N) can you pass me the mashed potatoes”

Your dad’s strong yet muffled voice interrupted your train of thought and broke you out of your horny trance as he chowed down on his meal. Pushing the dish over in your dad's direction allowed you the chance to look around and take a glance at Harry who was making small talk with one of your favorite cousins. He was wearing a black button-down shirt, of course with a few buttons loose, and his cross necklace bounced on his chest as he laughed at your cousin's crazy work stories. You focused on his fingers, his infamous rings adorned his hands, you noted that they were slightly damp from eating and the condensation on his glass cup. As you were drinking in his appearance a small damp spot was forming in your panties but given that there were too many eyewitnesses including, yours and his parents so you chose to just clamp your thighs shut and stuff your mouth with more mashed potatoes.

Harry deserved his credit as a husband. Despite his calm demeanor, he was very well aware of your little ordeal yet still managed to give interview advice to (y/c/n) and compliment your mom’s cocktail mix. He was quite amused by how increasingly frustrated you were becoming. He noted your concentrated face as you munched harshly on a string bean, hands clenching onto the fork for dear life. He decided to do a little temperature check to truly see how far gone you were.

“So what are we thinking for dessert pecan pie or crumble cake ?”, Harry questioned as he stuck his fork in his mouth, pulling it out again once all the gravy was licked clean. Your eyes finally met and you can tell that he was tossing the ball in your court, it was your job to show him how you wanted the game to be played.

“Mmm I don’t know I guess I’ll have some pecan pie but I really wish I had some pumpkin seeds”, you flatly said as you finished sipping your wine, maintaining full eye contact with him.

Pumpkin seeds. You and Harry were “outside of the box” thinkers, you had to be with his life as a celebrity not exactly pairing well with your shared sexual fantasies. You had code words to indicate to each other when you were craving the other one's touch, but you knew that using the same words around friends, family, and other public figures for too long would possibly cause some suspicion. So your code words changed with the seasons, literally. When the leaves started turning that classic golden yellow and auburn, your code words changed thus came the use of the word Pumpkin Seeds.

Gemma and your mom shared a glance, raising their eyebrows in collective confusion.

“Pumpkin seeds.. For dessert ?” Gemma finally burst out., both of your mothers soft laughter followed in the background.

“Heyyy” ,Harry pouted as he bopped Gemma on the nose with some gravy ,“ I have you know Pumpkin Seeds are one of our favorite midnight snacks”.

“Gross“, Gemma stuck out her tongue and wiped her nose. You couldn't tell whether she was referring to the gravy on her nose, your choice of midnight snacks, Harry’s smug statement followed by a wink at you, or a combination of all three.

“Well we can be concerned with dessert once we break out the baby pictures, I’ve been dying to see the infamous skinny dipping picture (y/m/n) has been telling me about”. Anne clapped her hands together and hopped out of her seat heading to the kitchen. Your mother followed behind but not before instructing you to head up to the attic to retrieve the pictures. You glanced at Harry but he seemed occupied cleaning up the dinner plates with your dad. You let out a frustrated huff and made your way up to the attic to grab the photo albums.

As you shuffled through old boxes holding Harry’s old tour outfits and your little knickknacks from your travels, you heard the attic door open.

“Pumpkin seeds huh?”, Harry lightly chuckled letting the attic door close and leaning against the door frame.

You refused to make eye contact with him, continuing to shuffle through the bins locating a few photo albums as you went , “It was only a matter of time Harry and you know it. Our weekend got stolen and we haven’t... ya know in like two weeks. So, yes Harry I want some damn pumpkin seeds.”

You let out a huff. You didn’t mean to come off so sassy and aggressive but you were frustrated… sexually. Your cousin was getting more Harry time in the 3 hour family dinner than you had gotten in the past two weeks. You stacked the photo albums gently on top of each other and cradled them in your arms, finally turning to face your husband but you didn't have to look very far. Harry had closed that gap between the two of you, gripping your face and making you look up at him causing you to drop the albums in shock.

“Well let’s get you your pumpkin seeds then”

That’s all it took and sparks turned into a flame, you and Harry’s bodies connected and a feverish makeout session broke out. You both were so hungry for each other after weeks of neglects and it just felt so damn good to finally connect. Harry’s wet kisses were making their way down your neck, nipping and sucking as he goes. You knew he was getting into it and normally you would be completely here for it if your kitchen wasn’t flooded with family members waiting to laugh at your baby pictures.

“Baby.. we… fuckkkkk”, You moaned out as Harry popped one of your nipples out of his mouth before moving to nip on the next one. “Baby we can’t your mom is downstairs… we have to go”, you finally let out and glanced down at your husband as pinched your nipples between his finger tips. “When has that ever stopped us”, he slyly laughs. In one swift motion, he turned you around pulling your back into his chest pulling down your skirt. You couldn’t even get words of protest out, Harry had his hands wrapped around your neck and was already freeing himself from his pants and boxers. He pulled your panties to the side and let out a hiss as he watched a string of your arousal stretch from your dripping flower to his fingers.

“Baby please just do something”, you huffed out a soft moan as you waited in anticipation. The grip around your throat tightened as he entered you, both of you letting out a sigh of relief. Harry completely bottomed out inside of you, touching that special spot that only he could. Your walls clenched around him, holding him in snug almost as if your pussy was begging him not to leave. Normally the two you were very vocal during sex from dirty talk to his loud moans and your even louder cries of pleasure. However you both knew that wasn’t possible right now and kept your moans down as much as you could. Harry was not making it easy though and the noise coming from the two of your bodies colliding were basty in the best ways possible. With every thrust of Harry’s hip you could hear your wetness coating Harry dick and as Harry picked up the speed his balls roughly tapped on your clit, only adding to your pleasure. You could barely form thoughts let alone sentence, Harry was literally fucking you silly and using your G-Spot as punching bag for his dick, The sounds and the pleasure were clearly getting to Harry as well, the grip he had on your hips grew tighter and his eyes were squeezed shut.

“Bloody fucking hell you’re so tight around me, can’t even take it”, he groans and throws his head back as he roughly draws your hips into his. It didn’t even feel like it was possible but Harry picked up the speed of his thrust continuing the assault on your poor needy pussy even further. The pleasure was all too much and that oh so familiar feeling hit the pit of your stomach and you were starting to lose your composure. Your moans were getting increasingly louder and your grip on Harry was growing tighter. Harry knew his wife and he knew your dam was getting closer and closer to breaking and he was determined to get you there. He placed a hand over your mouth and moved his other hands down to your clit rubbing it in slow circles. “ Look at you” he cooed cockily, “Taking me so fucking well like a good girl should. Barely let out a scream ‘cus you don’t want your parents to hear how much of a cock whore you are”. He knew you wouldn’t last long with the way he was talking to you and he was absolutely correct because his words were driving you insane. As the pressure was continued building up in your stomach, you felt the telling twitch in Harry’s dick that let you know he was approaching his end too.

“Gonna give me what I want uh? Gonna cum all over my cock and let me cum in that tight little pussy of yours. You gotta hold it in.. don’t want to leave any drops for our guest to find huh? Gonna be a good girl and hold all my cum in you?”, Harry grunted into your ear as you whimpered against his hands. You were seeing stars and feeling butterflies in the pit of your stomach and you knew it was only a matter of time before you both came undone.” Oh baby”, you whined and your head fell down as the pressure from your stomach finally was released as your orgasm spilled out all over Harry’s dick and thighs. The gushing feeling from your orgasm and your weak whimpers and cries drove Harry overboard, burying his face in your neck and his roughly groaning as he released inside of you. The two of you stayed connected for a bit, thighs stuck together thanks to your shared orgasm with Harry’s arm wrapped around your waist supporting both of your weights up as you composed yourselves. When he finally pulled out of you, you kept every drop he gave you tucked inside your tight walls just as promised.

“So those Pumpkin Seeds huh”

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whatifxwereyou · 4 years ago

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The Oncoming Storm Part 18: Nemuri Hime

Liu Kang x Reader and Kung Lao x Reader (gonna do both, two paths!)

Kung Lao gets serious. But forgets to tell you all the important things. Boy, he's good at talking. Lol. Hope you guys are still loving the Lao time! Liu will be back soonish. Planned out his whole part last night and then the future. Question! Are you guys READY for the choice or do you want it drawn out more? Also, for the future of this tumblr, is anyone interested in oc x reader stuff? I have so many ideas that I have never shared Lol. Anyway, thanks for reading. Much love. Update Sunday!

Part 17 Part 19 Chapter Index

“They’re going to have someone in there keeping an eye out now.” Kung Lao kicked a loose stone on the walkway, arms folded over his chest. “So much for that idea.”

“For now. We weren’t getting anywhere anyway.” You were still in wonder that any of that had happened. It felt like a fever dream. Your whole life kind of felt like a fever dream now. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it isn’t in there. I tried to trust the vision and my gut, but it led us in circles. Nothing looked the same as it did back then.”

“Why would it lead you there otherwise? Maybe this shrine has changed more over the years than we thought.”

“You think so?” You furrowed your brow. He had pushed you like you’d been doing something wrong for a small moment inside the shrine but there he was, preaching his belief in you. It’d been easy to escape the frustration of not knowing where you were going with all that had happened in the shrine, but it was back in full force now. You were grateful to Kung Lao for not making it weird, but it was also a little weird to act like it hadn’t happened. You had a feeling that he knew exactly what he was doing.

“I trust your gut, Y/N.” He shrugged as if it were nothing. That was nice. You weren’t sure anyone trusted you those days so to hear it put so plainly as if it were no big deal was wonderful. “Let’s take a walk and rethink our strategy.” Together you walked around the shrine and along the path slowly, making your way toward the volcanic cauldrons.

Some were surrounded by posts and signs, expressing what they represented and why the water was the way that it was, but you didn’t stop to try and read any of them. Many of the cauldrons had small statues lined up surrounding their edge, placed there for prayer. You didn’t speak much. It seemed that rethinking your strategy was mostly just thinking. You were okay with that. Your head was still buzzing.

It was important to try and clear the fog from your mind. Between the disorientation of this place being so different from the vision in your head and then everything with Kung Lao, you were dizzy. You stopped before one of the cauldrons and Kung Lao read the sign above it.

“One of the hells of Mount Osore…” He was not good at silence, it turned out. He hadn’t been when you were younger either. You’d asked him once back then and he’d said silence was too loud. The dizziness became a buzzing, and the buzzing became darkness. You thought that you’d drifted to sleep to the hum of Kung Lao’s voice.

When you opened your eyes again, you gasped for breath. Your lungs were on fire, as though you had been deprived of oxygen for too long, as if invisible hands had reached into your chest and grasped your lungs to force all the air out. You lost your footing and stumbled forward but before you fell, Kung Lao had his arms around your middle and was pulling you back to him with a forceful yank. You lost your balance and collapsed into him, grasping his arms in surprise with a yelp. He held you upright.

“What the hell, Y/N? You can’t just do that!” He scolded. You gasped to refill your sore lungs and the ache began to fade. You weren’t where you’d been when you’d been listening to Kung Lao but you recognized the place immediately. It was the lake of blood from your vision. You turned in his arms to apologize but the words didn’t come. How did that happen? How had it happened? His expression went from frustration to concern quickly. You wanted to ask what happened, you wanted to ask him how you’d gotten there, but in your mind’s eye, you could see your body falling into that pool and the horned creature staring over you as you drowned beneath the red water.

You shuddered and covered your mouth. Maybe Raiden was right. It hadn’t felt like there was a shadow hanging over you until then when your body had moved beyond your control.

“Y/N, did you hear me?”

“What happened? What are you talking about? What did I do?” The words came out extremely fast, all at once almost. Bless Kung Lao for understanding a word of it.

“I was reading about that cauldron over there.” He gestured down the path. It seemed so distant now but that was the last thing you remembered. “And you walked away. I followed you and you stepped up and just went to jump right in. Right into the blood lake. Didn’t respond to me when I called you.” He tried to joke but there was an underlying concern that neither one of you could shake. “If you wanted to take a dip, Y/N, then you just had to say so. There’s those bathhouses.”

“No, no Kung Lao. I… I’m confused, that’s all. I don’t remember coming here. I closed my eyes to listen to you talk.” His low and deep voice was soothing, but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that right now. “Then I felt like I was falling, and I couldn’t breathe. Then you and… here we are.” You gestured to his arms that still held you and you felt his fingers sink a bit further into the clothing at your waist as if that would protect you somehow.

“You really don’t remember walking up to the creepy blood lake and almost throwing yourself in?” His face was flooded with concern. You shook your head no. “Okay.”

“You believe me?”

“Of course I do, Y/N. You’re white as a ghost. Why would you lie about something like that? Also, you’re terrible at lying.”

“Thank you?” You couldn’t decide if that was a dig or not.

“Okay.” He exhaled and you watched his face contort as his tongue ran over his teeth. “In that case no more wandering away from me. You stay with me at all times. Got it? We tell Raiden as soon as we can.”

“Okay except that I don’t remember wandering away from you, Kung Lao. You were reading and then…”

“What do you think caused this?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t. Honestly, afterward I saw this part in my vision. I’d been choking on ink but in my head, I was drowning.” You pointed toward the red volcanic cauldron. “In there. And I could see that creature. He was watching me. I… I thought it was just my brain interpreting the ink in my throat but… what if… Raiden’s right?”

“You doubted that Raiden was right?”

“This has been a lot, Kung Lao. Accepting it all at face value is difficult.” You responded somewhat defensively.

Kung Lao finally let you go and turned away. He pulled off his hat, pushed back his hair, and then cursed. That would have been funny had you not still been coping with almost drowning because your body had decided to try to kill you. “Okay. We’ll deal with that as we go. I’m changing the subject now because I’m not sure how to process what you just did without talking to Raiden.”

“Smart. Avoiding the problem. Like it.” You were happy to go back to thinking about literally anything else. Up until now you’d handled all this nonsense with relative poise. You’d like to keep it that way.

“Let’s discuss strategy. What do you remember from your vision about the room where this artifact is supposed to be?”

“There was a well. The creature placed something inside of it and I heard this horrible ringing in my head. It was… sad?” It was difficult to describe a ringing as having emotion, but it had been sad. You’d had the distinct feeling that it was sad.

“Back up. What about the well? There was no well in that room. In fact, the whole shrine is elevated. There was a step down in the back for dining, maybe? Could the well have been in that area?”

“I think the floor of the shrine used to be level with the ground. Maybe they built over it? I read that it was abandoned here for some time.”

“That’s a very distinct possibility. Great. Now we get to desecrate a holy place. Loving this more by the second.”

“Or we can hope there’s a hatch above the old well or a way to get beneath the shrine without destroying it.”

“There are way too many people here for us to search that thoroughly without being caught.”

“You’re right. We need privacy.”

“And I’m all out of excuses, honestly.”

“The excuse you came up with earlier only really works the one time before it becomes incredibly suspicious.” You felt your face flush despite yourself. Kung Lao stood just behind you and bent over to be closer. You could feel the smirk on his face.

“You kissed me back so… didn’t feel like much of a lie.” He made a kissy sound near your ear and you tilted away and swatted at him.

“Stay focused, Kung Lao! So, we spend the rest of the day and then pretend to leave ahead of everyone. Then we can sneak in after the monks are at rest, right? Hopefully, we find an easy way to get to where we need to go.”

“That’s as good a plan as any.” Kung Lao began to lead you away from the volcanic cauldrons and you were grateful. The air was thicker there and, quite honestly, the more distance between you and the blood lake the better. “And if we’re caught tearing up the floor of the shrine in the middle of the night, then I’m pretty sure that no amount of making out will get us out of it without getting into trouble.”

“If we’re caught then we could try to be honest about it like I wanted to be in the first place.” You stuck your tongue out at him. “You could try it every so often. It works.”

“Wow.” Kung Lao sounded truly insulted but also laughed as if surprised you had the audacity. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Let’s just talk like adults for a few seconds. I’m not that little girl that you teased all the time. You don’t have to come up with crazy fake-date schemes. Hell, I’m surprised that you didn’t say we could only afford one room at this point.”

“Oh.” He straightened his posture and furrowed his brow. You nodded as if to confirm that he was far more obvious than he thought he was. “Does it really bother you?”

“Bother is a strong word, Kung Lao. Sometimes you’re just… all over the place. You go from pushing me too hard to not listening to me to having unwavering faith in me. Sometimes in a span of like ten minutes. I don’t mind the teasing, honestly, but it’s difficult to focus when I can’t tell what’s going on with you.”

“Okay.” He puffed up his cheeks as he thought and then exhaled deeply. “So, I don’t quite know how to act around you.” You were genuinely surprised that he was speaking so candidly. You’d expected him to laugh it off and move on. He didn’t.

“Why? I only expect you to be yourself.”

“I know. That’s not on you. I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

“You don’t always act like there’s a whole lot going on in there.”

“Wow.” He winced.

“Sorry, it was easy. I get it though. I have a lot on my mind too, but you are all over the place since you got back. You tease me like we’re kids, then you flirt with me like we’re very much not kids, then you push me when I tell you that I can’t be pushed anymore. It is a rollercoaster spending time with you.”

“I guess I didn’t realize I was so all over the place.” He laughed and you walked together again. The further you were from the cauldrons the better you felt. “It’s funny. I’m still a little shocked that you’re here with me. Little Y/N. My Y/N. Weirder than that is that you are the person I found peace in when I returned home to clear my mind. I never thought I’d see you again. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you.” He avoided your eyes, and you got the chills but refused to shake them off. Him speaking so fondly of you in such a serious tone was freaking you out. These were things that you probably should have talked about far sooner. Instead, it felt as though he’d gone into some weird unspoken competition with Liu Kang for your attention. It wasn’t a competition. You just wanted to talk to him. “Your hair threw me off, I think. You didn’t keep it white. Same face now that I know. Cheeks aren’t so chubby anymore, though.” He pinched your cheek playfully and you scrunched up your face and swatted his hand away.

“I… didn’t recognize you either and you came into my store at least a dozen times over the last couple years. And the dojo just as many. I remember you fondly. You were always very kind with the students. And you look way different, I mean I can still see it, but you had these… dimples as a kid.” You poked the sides of your mouth. “They were so deep then. You still have them but they’re much more subtle.” It was funny. Something about his honesty cleared the air at least for the time being. “Also, I thought you were dead. So, I never considered I’d see you again.”

“You would have been crazy to have guessed it was me.”

“Sometimes I think that I have gone completely crazy and I’m in a hospital somewhere. That this is all an elaborate fantasy that my mind has conjured up to help cope with my madness.”

“I could see that.”

“What? The wild improbability of the truth?”

“No. You being in a nuthouse somewhere.”

You laughed and shoved his shoulder. He nudged you in return. “Some things don’t change, I guess.”

“I defaulted to sarcasm with you. Being together reminds me of when life was simpler. It’s easy to joke and get carried away but I understand that there is also distance with time and age and that this is extremely complicated. And that we haven’t talked about it. Talking about this kind of stuff makes me feel… uncomfortable.”

“What? No. I couldn’t tell.” You walked peacefully along the stone path. Across the way the monks were giving a demonstration and others were setting up tables for a meal near the white beach.

“Can I confess something?” He led you off the stone and down onto the white sand that bordered the beautiful, but absolutely artificial looking, lake. He offered you his hand to help you down and you took it. He didn’t let go of it as you walked together. Fun new game again: fake date or Kung Lao being affectionate? Your brain hated this game. Your heart hated it even more.

“That depends. Is it appropriate to say? Will I smack you when you make this confession? Will you be getting smacked and are you ready to risk being smacked?”

“Maybe. It’s hard to gauge how grown-up Y/N will react to most things.”

“Go ahead, Kung Lao. I’ll try not to smack you but no promises.”

“I uh…” He hesitated and then let go of your hand in favor of grasping the air in front of him as if trying to reach for the words to say what was on his mind. “I hate that you have the dragon mark.” You stopped in your tracks and Kung Lao stopped with you. Of all the things you’d expected, it hadn’t been that.

“What?”

“Yeah. Little Y/N. The girl with the gift, mom called you. You had enough problems. Now you’re here. A warrior chosen to fight for earthrealm alongside me and a bunch of other misfits with the same mark. Lost your home. Your life.”

“I could see your logic, Kung Lao, but I’m tough.” Your heart was racing again. Was this serious conversation better or worse than the rollercoaster ride that was Kung Lao? You couldn’t decide.

“Yeah, Liu showed me the bruises you’d left on him. I was a little impressed. However, you, just moments ago I might add, unconsciously almost drowned yourself in a lake of blood. Went completely gray, weren’t breathing, just walked over and almost threw yourself in.”

“Yeah, that is concerning.” He was right. The dragon marking and your arcana had awoken things within you that were beyond anyone’s control, especially yours. You were scared. You couldn’t imagine how it had to have felt to be watching it happen to someone you cared about. “You know, Lao, it’s probably not actually blood. I’d guess it’s algae making the water red…” You tried to joke but it was a feeble attempt. Kung Lao didn’t even smile.

“That’s not the point.”

You stepped in front of him and offered him a tired and forced smile. “I don’t regret where I’ve wound up, Kung Lao.” It was your turn to speak honestly. To say things that you’d meant to say and had been afraid to say for a long time. You’d kept waiting for the ‘right time’ but the time would never be right. “I’m terrified.” You searched around them just to make sure no one was close enough to overhear. “I killed people, Kung Lao. I never thought I’d be capable of such a thing. My dojo? My shop? They’re gone. I probably won’t see my family ever again or any of the people I associated with home. That life is gone. It scares me. Everything I knew is… being unlearned and relearned. At the same time? I feel like this is where I’m meant to be.”

“Yeah. You didn’t really get to process much of that, did you? Just went straight to studying and training with Liu Kang.” Kung Lao sounded almost bitter. You hadn’t thought about it that way. Liu Kang had been a beacon of comfort to you but was that healthy? Maybe some of what had escalated your whatever-it-was you were had something to do with your sudden lack of control. You were attracted to him, sure, in a crazy way even, but you were also vulnerable. Maybe the attachment between you had gone from big to huge because of it. You felt guilty. Liu. Oh, no. You’d kissed Kung Lao. Not just kissed him but kissed him. Things were instantly that much more complicated and messy. You had to talk to Liu. You had to sort out your thoughts. You had to do the same with Kung Lao. But you didn’t know how and just kept kissing them. It wasn’t like you’d ever been good at romance.

“It’s been difficult. But also surreal. Easy to forget some of it.”

“I get it. Really, I do. Because I’m not done confessing things yet.” He still sounded uncomfortable but urged his hand to your back and continued your walk. “I’m also super grateful that you have the dragon mark.”

“Well, that’s conflicting as hell. I’m having a hard time processing that.”

“I never would have gotten to know who you were or get to know you again at all without the mark. It’s brought me closure, in a way. I never thought I’d see you again.” You walked in silence and you felt your eyes burn just enough with tears that you thought talking was a mistake. You breathed through the sudden urge to cry until it faded.

“I’d like to state for the record, that you being this serious is freaking me out a little.”

“It’s been known to happen now and again.” He bowed his head politely to you after tucking his hat beneath his arm. “I’m sorry that I’ve been weird since I got back.”

“It’s okay, Kung Lao. This has been difficult.”

“Y/N?” He started, as though he had something important to say. He hesitated then exhaled and replaced his hat back on his head, tucking the strap under his chin. “Let’s keep walking.” He turned away and did just that as though he’d said nothing at all. There was clearly something on his mind that must have been difficult to share. You caught up to him.

“What aren’t you saying?”

He turned to you and searched your face with a glint of worry that faded so fast you weren’t sure if you’d imagined it or not. Then he smiled.

“I’m starving. That’s what I’m not saying. The sun is going to set anytime now and they’re setting up food so we should grab some.” He started back across the sand. You grasped his hand and pulled him back. That was not what he’d struggled to say.

“Lao, really. You can talk to me.”

“I know, Y/N.” He smiled so you let go of his hand. Whatever it was, he wasn’t ready to talk about it and who were you to say he should be? “Let’s get some food. You’re still gray so I’d like to see you eat.” If nothing else, he at least seemed less all over the place. What were you going to do? You didn’t know so you couldn’t think about it right now. You’d take everything one step at a time. It was all you could do.

#kung lao #kung lao x reader #mk kung lao #max huang #mortal kombat 2021 #mortal kombat movie #liu kang x reader #love triangle #liu kang #ludi lin #romance #angst #drama #intrigue #action #fantasy #fanfiction #mk liu kang

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blushnote · 5 years ago

Text

rich girl | m.

⟡ word count: 6,708. ⟡ genre: smut, a bit of angst if you squint. ⟡ contains: a blowjob, facefucking, overstimulation, squirting, dirty talk, shower sex, copious use of petnames, just a whole lot of sin.

summary: wonwoo likes to call you a rich girl, and you hate it because it’s true. in fact, you hate a lot of things: your friends, your parent’s attitude, the way your life is supposed to be perfect even though you’re miserable. not much makes you happy, except for a punk boy who you can’t even be with.

a/n: this is a reupload because for some reason tumblr wasn’t showing me my own posts? anyways, sorry for the wait!! enjoy hehe.

your parents don’t like wonwoo.

even better – they don’t like the fact that you like him.

wonwoo isn’t supposed to be someone you like. he’s kind of foul-mouthed, awfully conceited, and he probably makes deals with the devil in his spare time. he likes to hang around those dimly lit corners at night, just outside the local shops, puffing from a cigarette beneath the dusty street light and chuckling amongst his friends. they all hang out together. they’re very tightknit in the way that they only meet on the corner to smoke and laugh and then head their separate ways when it gets late enough.

honestly, you didn’t think you were going to like wonwoo either. most friday nights you go out for drinks with the daughters of your mom’s friends. she’s a business lady, very professional, makes good money, and has the politeness and etiquette of a true monarch. her friends mirror her every quality, and so do their daughters. you like them, even when they snap at you to sit straighter or give you unnecessarily stern glances while you swallow your alcohol in inhumane gulps. they’re great, but they give you a headache.

also, they’re the only friends you have, even if they’re not very good ones. they once left you to get home by yourself when you got too “drunk” for their liking. not wanting to soil their sophisticated reputations, they literally abandoned you after your wobbly trip to the bathroom to fix your makeup. you came back to an empty table. when you left the bar, this unknown man tried to take you by the arm, promising that there was a telephone just around the corner for you to make a call. your cellphone was dead anyways.

“what the fuck are you doing?”

there was a deep, displeased voice that echoed from the street corner as the mystery man tugged you away. you couldn’t help but stumble in your saint laurent heels. they didn’t add much height, yet you felt as though you were walking on stilts. quickly, you made eye contact with wonwoo. he stepped away from the pole and removed the cigarette from between his bubblegum lips, just before he adjusted the glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. the air was cold, so he wore a beanie that pulled his hair back.

the man stuttered in response. he attempted to configure a convincing statement, but wonwoo cut him off.

“do you know him?” wonwoo asked you directly. his friends were silent as they crowded the corner, but they looked ready to pounce.

“n-not re-really, no.” you fought to respond sluggishly.

wonwoo then narrowed his eyes at the man who was digging his nails into your skin.

“do you know her?” the man countered. he sounded almost petulant.

“no,” wonwoo admitted impassively, “but i’m not an idiot, and i’ve hung around here long enough to see my fair share of fucking weirdos. go slink back to the other side of the street before i shove my cigarette past your eye socket and into your cranium.”

honestly, wonwoo’s words almost turned you completely sober. the man looked like he wanted to argue, but his pathetic type doesn’t usually put up a fight when their plans are directly thwarted. he released you, and melted away into the night like a sad, shrinking shadow.

“do you need to use my phone?” wonwoo was already revealing it from his pocket.

you nodded. you knew your mother would explode into fumes if you called her at this hour, so you dialled the local taxi service and decided to wait right outside the bar. you wanted to thank wonwoo for intervening when he did. he didn’t necessarily look like a bad person, but his tainted mouth and snarky expressions didn’t exactly shift him into the light.

“thanks,” you told him as you handed over his phone, “i-i appreciate what you dd-did.”

wonwoo made the effort to blow the smoke from his cigarette away from your face.

“it’s fine,” he shrugged, “happens all the time. figured i’d just stand here and be useful i guess.”

so there is a reason you’re always at this corner.

that’s what you wanted to say, but you were too shy, too foggy, to articulate any other acknowledgement apart from a tight-lipped smile. since then, you knew wonwoo would be someone you liked.

wonwoo liked to call you a rich girl. it bothered you, mostly because it’s true. you wore diamonds in your ears, pricey jewels on your fingers, dressed in luxury outfits and designer products. you lived a lavish life because your parents were well off, but it’s not like you tried to rub it in everyone’s face. in fact, you were quite modest, and you only wore the jewelry because your mother never stopped draping you in it. after your first encounter with wonwoo outside the bar, you greeted him again on the street upon exiting the floral shop.

he was alone, not even smoking a cigarette, instead sucking on a vibrant, cherry red lollipop. you could smell its sugary coating the second you stood in front of him.

“hey, rich girl.” he nodded. “how’s life treating you?”

the only reason you approached him was out of gratitude. you had already thanked him for his intervention that one night, but you wanted to thank him again now that you weren’t intoxicated and cloudy in the head. notably, your expression soured at his words.

“rich girl? that’s not my name.”

wonwoo looked you up and down skeptically. his eyes were a strong, earthly shade of brown behind his glasses, but in that afternoon sunlight, they flared up slightly, and the colour was more molasses-like. thick and sweet.

“are you joking?” he seemed like he wanted to laugh, and swirled the lollipop to the opposite corner of his mouth. “babygirl, those heels you’re wearing are more than my rent.”

you didn’t know why, but you were transiently overwhelmed with the urge to drop to your knees and let him fuck your mouth right there on the corner. was that too soon? oh well. you already thought it. remembering you were supposed to feel disrespected at his comment, you crossed your arms, though it only accented the jaded bracelet your friend bought you as a birthday gift.

“i’m going to pretend i didn’t hear anything you just said. i wanted to thank you for getting me out of that situation last week. i thought i should tell you again, now that i’m… well… sober, i guess i could say.”

you then swallowed tightly. “do you really stand there to stop creeps from taking advantage of people?”

wonwoo shrugged. he then tousled his hair, which had been flopping in multiple directions. it was on the longer side, and seemed to be the same colour as dark, silvery ashes, though the roots were pretty much black. his hair looked so soft and springy. you almost wanted to comb it down for him.

“i’m just at the right place at the right time.” he said.

what did that even mean? you simply accepted his response and pressed on.

“well, i wouldn’t mind repaying the favour one day. do you want a coffee or something?”

“no.” wonwoo replied sharply. “you could do me one better and slip me a couple hundred from your pretty bank account. i’m trying to get the local black tar heroin dealer off my back.”

you nearly choked.

“wha-what? are you… serious?”

wonwoo maintained his staid, emotionless expression, and you were really starting to believe that there was a black tar heroin dealer running rampant in the streets that might pop wonwoo if he didn’t pay him off. but then a gradual smile pulled up his lips, and you wanted to retract your entire offer.

“yes, it’s a joke. you’re too easy. the only drugs you’d find in this part of town is the ibuprofen for your grandma’s arthritis. you don’t get out much, do you, rich girl?”

you gaped widely at him.

“careful, baby,” he smirked, and he suddenly brought his hand out, raising your chin with his cold fingertips to close your mouth. “don’t breathe too much of this cheap air. it’s not filtered.”

in a bubbling, festering haze of anger, you snapped his hand away.

“for your information i—,”

abruptly, you heard your name echo from down the street. turning around, you watched your mother exit the floral shop, carrying a pale green wrapping of scarlet poinsettias. they were so huge that the petals almost covered her entire face. it wasn’t her fault, but she couldn’t have picked a worse time to come looking for you, especially when she was cloaked in the thick warmth of her sable fur coat. you sighed deeply and faced wonwoo again. he’d lost his lollipop, attempting to spark up a cigarette instead.

“aren’t these just gorgeous?” your mother swooned, running her fingers over the butter-soft petals. “they certainly cost a pretty penny to get such an exquisite arrangement, but i couldn’t help myself!”

you wanted to sink straight into the earth. wonwoo was looking between you in pure amusement as he crammed his lighter inside a pocket on his jeans. your mother didn’t even seem to notice him until he took his first puff, the distinct potency of the smoke making her nose scrunch.

“a-and who’s this, dear?” she couldn’t even mask her discomfort as she inquired you about wonwoo. at that point, you hadn’t even known his name yet.

“wonwoo,” he introduced himself, “a new friend of your daughter.”

“oh, how lovely,” she nodded at him while forcing a crooked grin. “honey,” she then placed her hand on your shoulder and spoke closely into your ear, “your father is parked down the street. we need to leave soon and get these out of the cold, so please finish your conversation quickly.”

as soon as she slipped past you and began striding swiftly toward the car, you could already taste the muddled defeat on your tongue. if you weren’t protruding the mirage of a spoilt rich girl then, you certainly were now. at least he didn’t blow any smoke into her face, though that didn’t diminish the fact you were going to receive a lengthy lecture in the car.

“why would you say we’re friends?” you scolded wonwoo.

“because you don’t have any.” he responded matter-of-factly while tapping some ash off his cigarette.

“that’s not true! what do you even know about me anyways, apart from that i’m rich.” you made sure to incorporate in-air quotations.

wonwoo pushed back the silver tresses dancing in front of his glasses, embracing the cool, afternoon current against his face.

“not a lot,” he admitted, “you come for drinks every few fridays. sit at the table looking like you hate your life and all the people in it. then you leave with your phony little rich clique.”

“not to be rude, wonwoo—” you almost wanted to laugh; you came here to thank him. now that ship had completely sailed— “but you’re kind of a dick.”

he then had the nerve to roll his eyes. “you’d drop to your knees and suck mine in a second, babygirl. now didn’t your mother say you should hurry up and get in the car? the princess can’t be out of the palace i’m guessing, especially not to talk to assholes on street corners.”

what else could you do apart from swallow your own frustration, bite your lip, and brush past him? there was nothing. it was too bitter to stand outside anyways. a strengthening winter wind was beginning to pick up from the north, the sting making your eyes water. at the same time, your cheeks were hot metal. if no one were on that street, you certainly would have taken him right into your mouth and sucked him dry. he was ridiculous and cruel, but you loved the unhinged nature he unearthed in you. it was liberating in a sense.

you wondered what would become of your relationship.

“where did you say you were going again?”

you looked up from the porcelain dinner plate, in which you’d been picking at the last few crumbs of your wine reduction pineapple cake. it wasn’t your favourite dessert, though you always finished every meal out of respect for the family’s personal chef. you saw your father reach for his water glass. he took a long sip and eyed you over the candlelight and scarlet poinsettias. it was in a way that was completely and unabashedly suspicious.

“ester and i are going to the jewellers to get a custom necklace as aria’s christmas gift. i told you like five times already.”

of course, that was a gigantic lie. you and ester had already gotten the precious necklace last week, you just needed a reasonable excuse.

“and you’re coming straight home, correct?” his voice was stern and unnegotiable.

“i always do.”

“not always.” your mother chipped in as she cut a piece of the glazed cake with her fork. “you’re not going to see that one character, are you?” she always called people with less fortune characters, like they weren’t even considered to be real.

“who?” you acted clueless, and poured yourself more of the sugary, pink lemonade.

“you know who,” there was already a note of displeasure in her voice, “that boy from the corner. the one who smokes. i wasn’t very impressed by his actions.”

you started to squeeze the white cloth across your lap. “he’s trying to quit. i’ve persuaded him.”

“he won’t do it,” your father shook his head, “and he’s not right for you. i don’t want you near him.”

“and that’s why you’re coming straight home after the jewellers.” your mother continued, not allowing you the breadth to speak.

this family couldn’t get any more ridiculous, you were tempted to scream. instead, you pushed out your chair and collected the utensils sitting on your placemat. a maid passing by had scrambled to assist you, though you told her thoughtfully that you could take care of yourself. in actuality, it was the perfect time to get going, just as you could feel the anger warm your own blood to a boiling crimson. you threw on a long peacoat, a spritz belonging to a vanilla perfume, and your saint laurent opyum heels.

“i’ll be home soon!” you shouted down the marbled corridor, but it was only your own voice that echoed back to you.

your knees were beginning to lose feeling from being pressed against the sponge-like carpet of wonwoo’s bedroom, and they would probably ache like hell whenever you came to your feet again, but for the time being, you really didn’t care. your hands were braced against wonwoo’s knees as his hand tangled possessively through your hair, each of his tugs causing your scalp to burn and tingle. you were crying. you loved to be used by him, and he loved using you. especially the warm inside of your slick mouth.

“ff-fuck, that’s it, babygirl, j-just let me fuck your pr-pretty fuckin’ face.” quickly heeding his words, wonwoo bucked his hips up in a sudden snap, the head of his cock nuzzled deep against your throat.

consequently, you gagged, and there were glossy trails of your own saliva uncomfortably pooling down your chin. he bucked up again, his fingers clasping your hair even tighter. you were struggling to breath around him, white, cottony spots blurring your vision while he forced you to take him even further. you were clutching onto his knees with enough strength to bruise his pale skin. but hearing his voice, lined with lust, heavy and laboured, how it hitched when everything felt too good; you were addicted to it.

“you’re so good at this—,” wonwoo grunted through his teeth upon jamming your head down again, “m’gonna cum down your f-fuckin’ throat, baby. be a good girl n’ m-make sure you swallow a-all of me, huh?”

you learned that wonwoo was really filthy. he didn’t have a preference for where he came, though you had to regulate his carelessness. if any of your clothes even got one rip, one pulled up thread, or god forbid a stupid ejaculation stain, your mother would put your head on a mahogany plaque. wonwoo always made fun of you for belonging to a rich family, having to act like the town’s local sweetheart because one wise crack might cost your parents a lost business partner. but you knew he loved it.

the elegant daughter of a rich heir running around with the outlandish punk? he adored it.

eventually, you had to come up for breath or else you would’ve fainted between his thighs. the air gushed into your lungs and coldly filled your chest. a string of your spit was connected from wonwoo’s flushed, hard cock to your wet lips. you could hardly discern anything that surrounded you. the oxygen had yet to thoroughly circulate and the tears were creating a thick blur. wonwoo started to stroke himself while you prepared to take him once more. the empty void in your mouth was a horrible feeling.

“you look like a fucking mess.” wonwoo grinned as he noted that your body was shaking. “am i being too rough with you, babygirl? should i just jack myself off and cum all over your face instead?”

“n-no,” you suckled in a half-hearted breath, “i-i can do it.”

wonwoo smirked. “you still want it down your throat?”

you could see him clearly now. his cheeks were tinted pink, and his eyes were impossibly dark, glittering in anticipation. without thinking, you nodded eagerly, knowing this was what you wanted. he then tapped his cock against your swollen lips, to which you opened up again and calmly took him as deep as you could. he watched your eyes glister with more tears before he started thrusting up into your mouth. his fingers were gentle. they brushed the stray spindles from your face, now destroyed by tears and drool.

“i’m surprised your tears aren’t pure gold,” he laughed, “i guess you aren’t so special.” your spine tingled as his hand crept back through your hair. “m’gonna make you cry even harder, baby.”

his grip had turned to solid iron against your scalp. you got less than a sliver to brace yourself for his unrelenting treatment, in which he pushed you straight down on his cock and kept your face right where he wanted it. with his hand against the back of your head, wonwoo snapped his hips upward, feeling you immediately gag in response. then, he unleashed on you, using your mouth as a mere fucktoy, getting all his pleasure’s worth from you in each of his hard thrusts. everything was so overwhelming and rapid.

wonwoo couldn’t help the mantra of guttural, taunt curses. he started to moan even, his deep voice cracking the second he felt his sticky cum start to abundantly spurt. without a warning, you struggled slightly to accept and swallow it, though wonwoo was intent on keeping you flush to his pelvis until every drop was polished off. he was still thrusting shallowly into your mouth, and you could feel his length gradually begin to soften. his release was warm, and it was similar to cream sliding down your throat.

after he removed himself from your mouth, he titled up your head by the chin.

“did you swallow it all yet?”

you shook your head. quickly, the side of your hot cheek was met with wonwoo’s hand. he’d given you a timid slap, one that wasn’t meant to hurt, but stung gingerly.

“i wanna see you swallow, babygirl.” he purred. “be good, won’t you?”

your tears were dribbling uncontrollably as you fully swallowed his seed. god, your throat felt like it was on fire. each muscle in your jaw was burning up ardently. your knees were so numb you didn’t even think you could stand. there wasn’t enough time for wonwoo to return the favour. you were sure he could smell the thick scent of your arousal, especially as it ruined your underwear and shone on your inner thighs.

but you didn’t care. having him use you for the night was enough.

“are you alright?” wonwoo asked, getting himself back in his pants.

you didn’t respond, just gripped onto his knee tightly and attempted to stand. your opyum heels were still on, and you nearly broke an ankle as the blood rushed into your legs. wonwoo stood also. he stabilized you by holding your shoulders, at least for a good minute. pulling back your sleeve, you rid the tears that stained your face with a quick wipe from your hand. you were going to have to be very speedy getting back to the house, unless you wanted your father to send the swat team after you.

“god,” you sighed with a raspy, dying voice, “i hate my life.”

wonwoo scoffed at you lightly.

“what lie did you tell them this time?”

you muttered, “i was going to the jewellers.”

“that’s a long time to be at the jewellers.”

“i know that,” you snapped quickly in response.

more tears pushed at your ducts. you couldn’t believe how unhappy you were, even despite having every material thing you could ever want. sometimes that particular thought would just pummel you out of nowhere and you’d fight back the urge to cry.

wonwoo’s hand cupped the side of your face. his thumb stroked gently beneath your eye and he leaned in to kiss your mouth softly. his tongue tasted like a cherry lollipop. he really was trying to quit smoking.

“what are you gonna do, babygirl?” wonwoo hummed, pressing his forehead against yours as he continued to brush your cheek.

you held his waist. “i dunno,” you croaked, “my parents don’t like you. my dad doesn’t want me near you.”

“then don’t tell him i fucked your face, princess. it’s easy.”

there was a puff of meek laughter in your chest. for a few more minutes, you let wonwoo hold you. it was the most comfortable and happy you’d felt all day. you were running short on time. the first thing you’d do when you get home would be to run a hot shower and most likely finger yourself while you thought about wonwoo’s cock lodged deep down your throat. maybe one day you’d really snap and stuff all your belongings in a suitcase and come live with him in the shitty scope of town.

but for now, that seemed unattainable.

you’d have to come up with another lie as to why you just spent two hours at the jewellers.

“the earrings were the most magnificent things i’d ever seen! i’m going to wear them for my modelling gig next month, in paris of course. i’ll even text you guys some photos of them when i get home. they have these little opal centres that absolutely sparkle.”

just one more word. if you had to listen to aria babble one more word about her modelling gig or her stupid opal earrings or her all-expense paid trip to paris then you might have to throw your glass of chardonnay in her face. those were the only three things she talked about. then the month would change and she’d have another three things to drive into the mud, yet everyone at the table ate up her words like they were a slice of chocolate cake. you were starting to develop a headache.

“that’s wonderful, aria!” ester was gleaming as she readjusted the strap on her pearl-white dress. you could just tell she was dying to incorporate tales of her own wealth into the conversation. “i can’t wait to see your modelling pictures. that reminds me, i still have some old videos from when i went parasailing in bali. do you guys wanna see them?”

everyone started crowding around ester’s side of the table, attempting to view the footage she was pulling up on her phone screen. however, you didn’t budge, and continued to stare with a dull look in your eyes out the bar’s front window. through the glass, you could see wonwoo standing at the street lamp with his friends, swirling around another lollipop from cheek to cheek. you wondered if it was cherry. his last flavour had been green apple. you tasted it on his tongue when he’d fucked you in the backseat of his car.

but that was a week ago.

“don’t you want to see?” ester was smiling at you.

winding your fingers around your thin wine glass, you shrugged. “i’ll pass.”

“suit yourself.” ester replied, and started to play her first video.

you hated everything about this situation.

wonwoo was right. you really didn’t have any friends, and that became especially clear as you observed everyone at the opposite end of the table, adoring ester’s cute, ditsy little parasailing videos that her boyfriend took. you wished you liked the same things these girls did. your life would be one-hundred times more enjoyable if you just embraced your sumptuous blessings and shed a couple brain cells to be on the same level as them.

then again, you didn’t want to be exactly like them.

they left you to get home by yourself just because you drank too much. at a bar.

pressing the wine glass against your lips, you tilted your head back and easily gulped down the remaining chardonnay. it was a pleasant coolness that streamed down your throat, and you slammed the glass onto the table once it was emptied; even slouched back in your seat and didn’t bother patting your lipstick dry with a tissue. aria raised an eyebrow at you. she looked like she was itching to say something. you were in the mood for a challenge. if she was going to make a passive aggressive comment, it better be soon.

“i hope you have a designated driver.” she finally decided to chuckle.

you rolled your eyes. “shut up, aria.”

ester and her friends immediately looked up from the phone.

“excuse me?” aria replied while tucking a strand of her behind her ear. she seemed a bit baffled by your sudden disdain. “i don’t believe i’ve ever heard you speak like that.”

you were beyond a point of caring. “what are you gonna do then? tattletale on me? you’re such a fake.”

“that’s way out of line.” ester intervened, staring you down intensely. “why are you acting like this?”

“whatever.” you stood up from the chair and reached for your coin purse, revealing a wadded clump of cash that you slapped on the lacquered table. admittedly, the alcohol concocted with your frustration (not to mention being around wonwoo’s snide personality) had quite the effect on your behaviour. if you never had to see these girls again, it would be too soon. you couldn’t believe that you’d even went through the effort of buying aria a christmas present. the only thing she gifted you was a card with her signature on it.

like that was fucking useful.

“i think you need to leave.” ester announced like you weren’t already gathering your things.

“exactly.” you falsely commended her.

she probably had a pea-sized diamond in her skull instead of an actual brain. “i’m leaving now before you guys get the chance to ditch me. don’t worry about it though. i can actually walk myself out this time.”

if only you had a camera ready to capture their gobsmacked expressions. it would have been embarrassingly laughable. you flicked past them toward the door and pushed into the nighttime air, which was crisp and wonderfully cold to your warmed flesh. you felt powerful for summoning the courage to break ties with them, and yet, at the same time, you found that you were on the verge of tears. they deserved to have their toxic behaviour thrown back in their face. it was just that you felt a bit broken.

now you truthfully were alone. well – apart from wonwoo.

you approached him as he stood at the corner, still suckling on his lollipop. him and his friends were in the midst of a humorous conversation when you tapped on wonwoo’s hard shoulder. you always wondered what they spoke about. it always seemed more interesting than the lifeless talk you once endured inside the bar. he didn’t seem all that surprised to see you, though he did look with concern at the watery film across your eyes. you could smell the sweetness of his lollipop; it had to be strawberry.

“are you okay?” wonwoo asked, his breath forming wispy cotton against the dark sky.

you ignored his question. “i want to go back to your place.” you told him.

“now?” he raised his eyebrow.

“yes. now would be good. i’ve just been thinking, and i really want you to eat me out.”

you didn’t care if his friends overheard. apparently, wonwoo didn’t care either. he smirked at you and licked his lips, though there remained a bit of uncertainty in his eyes. you had yet to answer his initial question. from inside the bar, you knew those girls were staring at you, watching you talk to wonwoo.

they were definitely going to tattle to your parents.

your fingers clawed mercilessly over the bed, practically uprooting the linens tucked beneath the mattress as wonwoo kept your thighs tightly locked apart. everything felt so dense, so hot, like the universe was pushing down on your chest and igniting flame inside of your body. you lifted your head off his pillow, only capturing a mere glimpse of his pink tongue gliding past your slit, the muscle coated purely in your arousal. he started to fuck you with his tongue, digging it as deep as he could within your heat.

unabashedly, you moaned, extremely loud and most likely disturbing everyone in his apartment complex. everything about the technicality and purpose of his movements was pushing you toward a climax that would be unlike any other. he was so impatient to get a taste of you that he hadn’t even taken your skirt off, instead bunching the pleated material up against your stomach while your underwear were thrown to the floor. suddenly, you were gasping, and your head collapsed back to the pillow.

wonwoo had managed to wriggle his hand between your thighs. as he ran his tongue in hot, fervent licks against your needy clit, he pushed two fingers inside of you, scissoring you open.

“ffuh-fuck, wonwoo!” you wailed, your hand grasping at his soft hair to keep his tongue against you. “it fe-feels s-so … s-so fucking go-good!”

he’d been taking his sweet time in building up your climax. you allowed him to have his way with you, since he knew how to work your body as though he were magic. his fingers started to curl. it didn’t take him long before they were hitching up into that one golden spot, the one that caused the entire room to whirl. you could tell that he was smiling. he began to messily circle his tongue around your clit. the sensation of the warm, wet muscle pleasuring your most sensitive region was leaving you breathless.

“c’mon, babygirl,” wonwoo mumbled against your core, his fingers thrusting up heavily and abusing that spot inside of you, “you gonna let go and let me taste your cum? you’re fucking dripping all over the bed.”

there was a glimmer of drool leaking from the edge of your mouth. you were so blissed out and crammed with euphoria that you could hardly articulate a response. wonwoo wasn’t giving you much of a chance either. he started a brisk pace rubbing his tongue against your clit, and then he closed his plump lips around you to better flick it with the pink muscle. his bicep was probably burning as he slammed his fingers deep into your heat, making you squelch. your slick had thoroughly soaked the sheets beneath you.

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” you panted, arching your chest into the air, “i-it’s s-so much, w-wonwoo—m’gonna—nngh—m’gonna cc-cum!”

wonwoo kept your hips pressed firmly to the mattress with one arm as your pleasure exploded. the tears easily streamed down your flustered, glossy face as this extreme contraction passed through you. it was incredibly wet, too wet, and you knew exactly what had happened as wonwoo pulled out his glistening fingers and completely buried his face between your thighs. god, it was fucking embarrassing. you would have curled away from him if wonwoo wasn’t so persistent. he kept licking at you, hard and fast.

at that point, your tears were no longer tiny beads. the sensitivity had left your nerves completely raw, and you sobbed helplessly as wonwoo continued to eat you out. his tongue felt like it was lapping everywhere, impatient and hungry. you tried to pull him away by dishevelled hair, but he swatted your hand back and bit down softly on your swollen clit. before you even knew what was happening, wonwoo had somehow forced your body into another orgasm. his tongue was inside of you as the second wave hit.

“pl-please,” you whimpered in utter fragility, the mixture of pleasure and pain becoming too overwhelming as wonwoo attempted to lick you clean, “pl-please, wonwoo… i-it huh-hurts..”

he chuckled against your sore flesh warmly. “are you sure you’re done, baby? bet i could make you squirt again if i was real gentle.”

“i-i don’t want to talk about it…” you said shakily. honestly, you didn’t even know your body was capable of feeling that much stimulation and pleasure. it was cosmic.

“awe, don’t be embarrassed,” wonwoo hummed, “you have no idea how fucking hot that was.”

“i don’t want to know.” you sighed.

wonwoo scoffed innocuously. he pecked the inside of your thigh, then each hip bone, before he crawled overtop of you and let you taste your own sweetness off his tongue. you spent a few minutes idly making out, smearing saliva over each other’s flushed lips, running your hands up and down his broad, hard chest, leaving scarlet rivulets along his biceps. wonwoo began teasing his fingers against your slit again, and you gasped into the kiss as his finger sunk into you, slowly, deeply.

“what’s wrong?” wonwoo asked while pumping the digit at a gentle pace.

“what do you mean?” you squeaked, staring into his brown eyes tinged with his earlier concern.

“you know what i mean,” wonwoo hummed, “why were you about to cry outside the bar? what happened?”

“are you sure we should discuss this while you’re fingering me?”

“baby, just tell me.” wonwoo urged with a comforting tone in his voice. he started to massage his thumb over your clit, and your entire body jolted.

you sniffled. “i-i just, i— i kind of cut ties with my friends. a-and i’m glad i did it but now i’m just gonna be even more a-alone.”

“of course not,” wonwoo shook his head, “you have me.”

“are you sure?”

slight amusement and shock coloured wonwoo’s face. he pulled his hand away from your core and looked like he wanted to laugh. you couldn’t blame him, but you also couldn’t help your insecurity.

“i’m sure, baby.” he told you firmly. “i’ll always be here for you. i promise.”

you smiled up at him, feeling your heart start to soften.

“can we take a shower?” you then proposed. “i want to get these tears off my face before they dry.”

while wonwoo was busy getting the water running inside the bathroom, you noticed your phone start to glow and vibrate on his nightstand. it was your mother’s number on the screen. taking a long, slow breath, you flipped your phone upside down and ignored the call. it was a risky move, but it felt almost healing in a sense to turn away from the stress in your life. instead, you focused on what mattered in the moment.

wonwoo joined you in the shower, the water gliding in silk-like pathways around his lean muscle and smooth skin. he pushed back his wet hair, sparkling droplets sticking heavy to his eyelashes. he pressed you against the tiles, and their icy touch sent a shiver up your spine. in the midst of the steam and heat, he was kissing you again, suckling softly on your tongue and squeezing your breasts in his hands. his aching length, hard and heavy, brushed between your thighs, to which your palm started to glide up his shaft.

he smiled against your mouth, “you want my cock inside you, babygirl?”

the fire slowly rebuilt itself from the embers in your stomach.

“yes please.” you lilted innocently.

wonwoo decided to press your front against the glass wall instead of the tile. his lips were leaving drifting pecks up your shoulder blade, and he didn’t seem to be in a hurry. a rough, deep groan filled your ear as wonwoo rubbed his cock between your folds, allowing your arousal to coat him generously. however, you were yearning to feel how he filled you entirely, until you could feel him nestled right to the brink. wriggling your hips against him, it was your non-verbal cue for him to start sliding in.

he cupped your breasts in his hands, whispering into your ear, “how should i fuck you, baby? do you want it hard?”

as impatient as you were, there was something about the atmosphere that told you to prolong your intimacy. “n-no,” you mumbled as the fog swathed around you, “s-slow, i want to feel you.”

your moan was almost louder than the water spraying against the tiles when wonwoo started to push inside of you. once he was buried as far as could fit, he started to grind into you, extending his pace so that you could truly feel his every inch and vein. his fingers were massaging your chest, the round flesh almost like velvet to his touch. everything about your body was endearingly soft and warm. he loved it.

“does it feel good, babygirl?” wonwoo purred. he was situated at such a pleasurable depth inside you that you felt like complete gelatine. he thrust into you a little harder, but it was enough to make you cry.

“s-so good,” you stuttered, licking the water off your lips. “do i feel good t-too?”

wonwoo smirked. he moved his hips at a shallow pace. “mmhm. you’re so tight and warm around me, baby. feels so perfect. how pretty do you think your pussy would look with my cum dripping out of it? should we try it?”

you pushed yourself back against his pelvis, “fill me up, wonwoo, please.”

“of course,” he grinned, and slowly dipped a hand down your stomach until you felt him begin to rub soft circles into your clit.

“let’s see how much you can take, babygirl.”

you were exhausted. you were sore. but you felt safe. you made an audacious decision and decided to spend the night at wonwoo’s rather than going home, where you knew you’d be greeted by an equally displeased mother and father that aria had snitched to. it was the first time you’d gone to bed without wearing pyjamas that weren’t expensive, pink satin. you were clad in nothing but one of wonwoo’s old t-shirts. he tried to give you one that didn’t still carry the scent of stale cigarette smoke.

his arm was around your waist, your spine resting comfortably against his chest while you lay together beneath the bedsheets. the sheet that was stained in your arousal had been tossed in the laundry hamper. you knew wonwoo would never stop teasing you about it. anyways, life felt different at his apartment; in fact, it felt better, especially when wonwoo kissed your temple before shutting off the light. your wealth had never been a defining factor in your personality, but it did make you consistently miserable.

that night, it was just you and a boy, a boy who you were quite positively in love with. maybe he loved you too. you weren’t completely certain yet, and you didn’t want to rush anything; however, you felt fairly confident his heart was likewise when he buried his face into your neck and wished you goodnight in his low, sleepy voice.

whatever your parents had to say, you’d find out tomorrow morning.

right now, you weren’t the rich girl, but a happy girl, and that mattered more to you than anything else.

#wonwoo smut #seventeen smut #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #jeon wonwoo #svt smut #svt fanfic #seventeen imagines

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whenimaunicorn · 4 years ago

Text

Playing House Part 5.2

Vikings College AU, Dom/sub/Dom, Ivar x Reader, Ubbe x Reader

It’s a broke, submissive college girl’s dream: living for free with your two crushes in exchange for doing all the housework. The Lothbrok boys wanted a “thrall,” and now you’re hoping they’ll notice that you’re game for all kinds of “services.” Ivar seems to know exactly what you’re looking for, but you’ve never met a Dom so mysterious, constantly keeping you off-balance and not sure what to expect next. And then there’s his brother Ubbe, who may not understand the kind of game you’re trying to play here, but makes up for it in raw sexiness and eager desire for you. But will these two strong-willed boys be able to play nice and share you as you live out one of your hottest fantasies with them both?

This fic is so far away from canon that it should be accessible to anyone that can imagine being in college and wanting to be submissive to two hot bros at the same time.

Catch up: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 (you can also find the whole thing on ao3)

A/N: after an embarrassingly long hiatus, I think I’m ready to finish this fic now. I have all the rest of it planned out, I think there will be 3 more chapters. And if I continue my streak of posting the chapters in part 1 and 2 chunks here on Tumblr, then I guess you have a lot to look forward to!

Also, you might want to review the previous section; what’s included below is pretty much all smut straight through. If you need a little seduction to get back in the mood first, the first half of the chapter is here.

Ubbe’s cock feels so good under your hand. How long had you been dreaming about touching it? How many times has he taunted you with the sight of it, letting you know how you had been affecting him on the most primal of levels. You take the time to savor it now, stroking that tantalizingly wide shaft through the thick fabric of his jeans.

“Do you like that?” Ubbe asks you, voice slow and thick. He’s got one hand on the wheel, one hand on the stick, and he keeps his eyes mostly on the road even as you slide and sculpt around the length of him. Ubbe drives like a speed demon, and apparently he can’t take it easy even with a distraction like you and your willing hand in his car. He shifts gears and tilts the wheel in tight, expert little motions, passing another car he deemed to be driving too slow. You know from driving with him in the past that just about everybody on the road qualifies for that judgment.

“I do,” you answer, with what you hope wasn’t too much self-conscious hesitation.

“Yeah?” Ubbe takes his hand off the shifter just long enough to pop open the button at the top of his fly, angling his hips enough to ease the zipper down. “Want to take a closer look?” He keeps his eyes on the road, letting you stare at the perfect profile of his chiseled face.

You never realized before this moment how much lust and hunger could feel similar. The prospect of getting your hands, and probably your mouth if the streets were dark enough, on Ubbe’s cock is actually making your mouth water right now.

Your fingers dance up to the opening in his fly. Ubbe puts his hand back on the shifter and leans his hips a little further, making more room for you. A heavy breath escapes him as your fingertips dive under the fabric.

The noise makes your submissive soul tingle. You’re quite sure Lauren or Sonya wouldn’t stoop to giving a guy road head before he’d even taken them out on a date, when you’d barely even had time to share more than a few breathless kisses yet, but you like feeling a little bit like a whore. If Ubbe wants this right now, why on earth would you withhold it from him?

You slide your fingertips across his lower belly, seeking the waistband of his boxer briefs. You allow yourself to indulge just a little in tracing your fingers along his skin, playing with the trail of hairs that tempt you lower. Ubbe rumbles an appreciative little sound, though you can almost detect a little whine at the end of it. He wants you to get on with it, doesn’t he.

Your fingers slip under the elastic band and feel down along the warmth of his body. The hairs get thicker and thicker as you go, though you can tell Ubbe keeps them cropped fairly short down here. You make contact with the side of his shaft; he’s angled mostly up and a little bit away from you, and you tickle your fingers up and down the edge of it.

“Fuck,” Ubbe whispers through his teeth; then, without looking away from the road: “are you teasing me right now?”

You give him a cute giggle, and a few more light, quick fingertip strokes. “Maybe.”

His brow crinkles, crookedly, and he glances at you like he can’t quite believe what he just heard. “I thought you were a good girl.” Blood rushes to your face. “Or do you want me to treat you like a bad girl, hm?” Watching you out of the corner of his eye, he reaches behind your head, curling his fingers into your hair, close to the scalp just above your neck. He tugs once, and you moan at the tiny pain.

You accept the reprimand, relishing the way he’s taken control of your head, and push your fingers deeper into his pants. You wrap them around the warm velvet iron of his shaft. The contact feels electric against your palm.

He groans, first tightening his grip on your hair, creating a sharp pain, and then releasing it quickly, as if he had only just realized how hard he was pulling. He scratches your scalp in an appreciative caress as you trace your loosely-cupped fist up and down the length of him. “Fuck.”

There is barely any room to work him while still inside his pants. You’re just pondering whether you should take his dick out, and what’s the best route for that, when Ubbe stops the car at a traffic light. The street isn’t busy, but there is another vehicle waiting alongside yours. Still not as much privacy as you would like.

Ubbe’s hand leaves the shifter, returning to the back of your head and pulling you toward him, his mouth meeting yours halfway for a searing kiss that seems to go on and on. He breaks away as decisively as he went in, shifting gears before you’ve even opened your eyes, barely crossing the intersection before he’s shoving the top of his undies down, letting the full length of his cock spring free.

It’s magnificent in the flashing lights of the passing streetlights. The ruddy head of it looks positively swollen with need, and you lean over his hand on the shifter to wrap your lips around its tip. You flit your tongue, tasting the salt of pre-cum. More evidence of how much he’s been longing for you.

A guttural groan comes out of Ubbe’s throat. It sounds both pleasured and exasperated, and after you give him just one more lick, his arm that’s underneath your bent torso is pushing you up and away. He needs to shift the gearstick. You lift your head to see the oncoming red glow of another traffic signal.

Turns out, there are too many traffic stops on the drive home for you to give Ubbe any proper road head. Every time you lean down to run your tongue around that fat, glorious head, you get in no more than a few licks before he needs room to shift gears again. The whole stick shift thing is suddenly feeling a lot less sexy.

Settling back into your seat, you keep your hand wrapped loosely around his shaft, arm snaked under his and giving him plenty of room to change gears. You’re counting down the minutes with lazy strokes and firm squeezes until he pulls into the parking garage attached to your building.

You can’t help but notice that Ivar’s car is in its assigned parking space as Ubbe backs into his own beside it. He must be inside the apartment. It’s impressive, really, how Ubbe is able to reverse the car so competently between the narrow lines while your fist is still gripping his rock-hard erection. As soon as he’s got the car in ‘park,’ he kills the headlights, but does not turn off the engine. He reaches across to pull you in for a kiss, wild and needy. His mouth plays expertly across your own, sucking and nipping until you’re sure your lips will be swollen.

“Fuck, babydoll, you want it bad, don’t you,” Ubbe groans against your cheek. His mouth assaults your neck again, teeth grazing your skin and tugging at your ear. “Such a dirty little girl, grabbing a guy’s cock when he’s just trying to drive her home.” His kiss claims your mouth again before you can answer. You tug harder and he squares his hips toward you. He breaks away after one last a flourish of his tongue and wraps his hand around the back of your neck, pointing your face toward his straining cock. “Let’s see how far can you fit that down your throat.”

Your pussy clenches on nothing and you moan as you bend down to show him. You’re still not sure if Ubbe has any idea about doing BDSM the “right” way like Ivar does, but his frat boy, bad-porn style of dirty talk is working for you anyway. Your head is spinning at the whirlwind this night has turned into, as you suck his cock deep into your mouth. Not in a bad way, though; you’ve built enough of a relationship with Ubbe over the past weeks to know there’s a caring guy behind this disrespectful façade. It’s safe to let this thing get a little wild.

His cock is thick. It’s hard work to suck him down deeper, and the press of his blunt head at the back of your throat bothers you a little as you strive to show Ubbe just how far you can take him. Judging by his noises, you’re doing well, though, and his hands clench and un-clench in your hair as your head bobs up and down. Like he wants to encourage you but he’s holding himself back from choking you on the damn thing. “Fuck, that’s good, oh, take it deep like that.”

Soon instead of pushing you down, his clutching fingers start pulling you up.

“Get up here, straddle me, I want to see you.”

You kick your heels off quick as you can. Ubbe rips at the seat control and lays it back almost flat, giving you just enough space to plant your knees to either side of his hips on the expensive leather and hover your body over his. Your hands land on his shoulders, keeping you balanced while hunched under the roof, and while your faces are almost close enough to kiss again, Ubbe’s eyes are focused lower.

His palms run up your thighs, greedy, still muttering filthy nothings while pushing your skirt up until you remember you’re not wearing anything underneath it. You make a warning noise and he slows down, sliding around to the sides and then exploring the bottom curve of your ass carefully, reawakening the welts Ivar left there without causing any new damage. His gaze comes back to your face, pupils widening, as his hands cover both your cheeks. Reaching that far lifts his upper body closer to yours but still he doesn’t kiss you. Your skirt’s now shoved up high enough that you know your whole pussy would be visible through the front windows, if anyone were to come walking by. He spreads you further, and you wonder if he’s thinking about that too.

Does he want Ivar to catch you? Does he know you’ll be punished? Or does he not want the interruption, is that the reason that Ubbe’s tracing his fingers between your legs out here, and not taking you inside to his more comfortable bed. The questions blur and scatter as his finger slides along the slick he finds between your inner lips.

“Fuck, dirty girl,” he marvels, “you really like getting treated like this. You’re so fucking wet for me.” But he doesn’t plunge his fingers in like you’re expecting, like he did out on the balcony back at the party. Instead his hands slide up your sides, coming to scoop around your breasts, leaving your skirt rucked up high. “I want your tits out.” He pushes the straps of your tank top and bra down your shoulders, far enough to scoop your breasts out into the thin light of the parking garage’s scattered fluorescents. “That’s my beautiful, slutty little girl. Just imagine if someone came by and saw you like this.”

He slaps you across the side of your ass, lightly, but you’re sensitive enough to jump and moan just from that. His eyes follow the bounce of your breasts, hanging out of your shirt above him. Your clothes are still technically on, but they’re not covering anything important, are they.

“I love the idea of someone else seeing what I got to watch last night,” he murmurs, and then his fingertips are sliding between your slick folds again. “Would you come for me right here, with your pussy pointed right out the windshield?”

You moan in agreement, and his fingers find your clit. He keeps on muttering filthy nothings as he traps it with his fingers and squeezes, then rocks in circles that make your toes curl. His other hand squeezes into your thigh, trying to pull you closer. His lips trace the skin of your neck.

“Fuck. I can’t wait anymore.” The growling edge of his voice sounds ragged and you absolutely believe him on that. You’re feeling it too; his fingertip on your clit is amazing but after all the buildup of the past few days you need so much more than just a little teasing. “Will you ride me?”

You look down at his cock, still springing tall and proud from his open jeans, framed by your knees. You want nothing more than to sink right down onto it. “Do you have a condom?” you somehow remember to ask.

Ubbe grins darkly, and with only a little digging produces one from his pocket.

You pluck it from his fingers. “Let me.”

You’re so conscious of his eyes on your body as you sit up and concentrate on tearing the little packet open. Your bare thighs, your pert and exposed nipples, the teasing glimpse of your pussy that’s surely visible to him under the skirt that’s been pushed up to your hipbones.

Ubbe’s looking like a wet dream himself, reclined underneath you with his shirt riding up over cut abs, a light trail of hair leading down from his navel to the base of his straining cock. His pale eyes are rapt and so hungry he’s almost begging.

But only almost. As you roll the slippery latex over his fat head, a predatory spark blooms across his features. His fingers spasm and you know that as soon as you get this condom situated, you’re all his.

He scoops up your ass with both hands, pulling you closer to line yourself up. “You might be Ivar’s in there,” he murmurs, and there’s no trace of unhappiness in the words, “but right now you’re all mine. Show me. Sink yourself right down on it for me.”

So he does know. And, apparently, is entirely cool with the situation. You tease yourself with the tip of him for a moment, gliding it along your inner folds. With his eyes locking onto yours, Ubbe spits into his fingers and reaches out to coat your entrance, a cocky look on his face like he knows exactly how wide he is and how you’re going to need this to take him all the way in. Then he grasps himself at the base and presses in between your slick folds.

The stretch feels amazing as you sink down onto him. His fat cock fills you up and just keeps coming, inch after delicious inch. When your hips come to rest against his you just stay there for a while, reveling in it, gloriously full.

He bumps his hips, just a little, and you shudder. Even a small movement has a huge effect with a cock like his, making you feel tight and delicate above him. “Not too much for you already, am I princess?” he teases.

“Ho—just hold on,” you gasp, holding onto his shoulder and trying to get a grip so you don’t just drool in his face.

But Ubbe doesn’t want to see you get control of yourself. He wants to see you a panting mess. “Like this?” he says, grasping one of your hips in each hand, squeezing hard and pulling you against him even tighter.

“Ah!” you squeal, but maybe the motion feels better, despite the intensity. You rock against him, taking a shuddering breath in, and find that all that stretch melts into pure pleasure when he’s moving inside you.

“Is that how you like it, babygirl.” He turns his hips up to meet yours, matching your rhythm as he stares up at your face. “You’re taking it so good for me.”

His thrusts start to hit harder, and it becomes more difficult to keep up as wave after wave of pleasure rolls through in his wake.

“Fuck, yeah, this tight little thing. I love to feel you ride me.”

You try and rally, forcing your core muscles to keep moving because that’s what Ubbe wants. Even though his sweet impaling is making your legs feel weak.

“That’s it. Stay up just like that.” His hand has found the back of your neck and he’s coaxing you to sit up as straight as you can inside this car, bouncing over him. “You look amazing. Keep your back straight.”

Every demeaning little instruction just makes you wetter, your core burning and stretching around his fat hog with each pornographic phrase that comes out of his mouth.

“God, your pussy’s tight. I want to feel you cum all over my dick.”

He brings his hand between your bodies, finding your clit and batting a rapid, back-and-forth rhythm across it.

“Just stay up—keep sitting up high and pretty for me so I can watch you cum.”

It doesn’t take long, not with the string of filthy words that keep coming out of his mouth, not with his expert finger on your clit and the staccato bounce of his cock buried to the hilt inside you. You press your lips together so that you don’t wail as you come to pieces all around him.

As soon as you gasp in your next breath, Ubbe’s grabbing your hips again, taking over all the movements and not giving you even a moment’s rest after your peak. He fucks up into you, fast and hard and with more force than you thought one could accomplish from the driver’s seat of a tiny sports car. You bury your face in your shoulder to stop from yelping, hands clutching at his shoulders as he groans and drives himself on. “Fuck—yeah. Fuck—yeah.”

He’s hollowing you out. The aftershocks of your orgasm feel like little climaxes of their own, given that Ubbe is still bucking up into you for all that he’s worth. You’re panting, gasping into his ear and you can’t decide if you need him to finish right the fuck now, or if you want this to go on forever.

His whole body strains, and a long, wrecked sound pushes between his teeth and against your ear. He holds you to him tight, shuddering through wave after wave of his evidently spectacular finish. “Oh,” he finally pants, with a concluding-style tone, “fuck. Yeah.” His arms wrap you up tight as his entire body relaxes underneath you. “Wow, Y/N. Just, wow.”

You’re floating. Shimmering high above the clouds, luxurious and electrified both at once. You nuzzle into Ubbe’s neck and he shifts to make room for you there, inviting the post-coital snuggle.

Except, absolutely nothing else about your current position is comfortable. As your consciousness comes back down to earth, your knees are screaming and your ass feels way too conspicuously bare up here in the front seat. The steering wheel is likely not providing it much cover. You shift, and Ubbe nuzzles your cheek before letting you go. He holds the bottom of the condom down as you disengage and swing yourself back as gracefully as you can into the passenger seat.

Ubbe tilts his own seat high enough to be even with yours again. He rolls his face toward you, peaceful and present. As soon as you’ve got your shirt covering your chest again, he’s reaching out to take your hand.

“You’re really ok with this.” It’s not really a question, though he’s looking at you like he wants a response. “Both of us.”

Warmth blooms through your body as you continue to straighten your clothes. “I’m the one that should be surprised, that you’re cool with it.”

Ubbe smiles, a little darkly. “Ivar and I, we’ve got a way that we work things out. When we both want the same thing.” His thumb is playing idly with the side of your finger.

“I think I’m gathering that.”

You’re still settling your skirt back into its correct place when you hear the stairwell door swing open. The sound of Ivar’s crutches on the concrete confirm the nervous thrill that runs through you at the noise; you look down at your fingers entwined between Ubbe’s. Does this count as “his hands on you?” You glance up to meet Ubbe’s eyes nervously. He squeezes once and then lets go with a soft, conspiratory smile.

You smooth your skirt one last time and try not to look too suspicious as Ivar comes past Ubbe’s car on the way to his own.

His face lights up when he catches your eye through the glass. “Y/N, I was hoping you would be back soon!” He nods to his brother. “So kind of Ubbe to drive you home.”

Ubbe nods with a grunt that only sounds a little bit annoyed. There is a bit of smugness to Ivar’s smile.

“Forgot my phone,” Ivar says, holding it up after rummaging through his car. “Let’s go inside, shall we? I was just about to start a movie.”

It’s too difficult to concentrate on the film he wants to show you. You’d rather think about how good it feels to be tucked under Ivar’s arm, snuggled up in the dark, even if it is a little odd that the guy that just fucked your brains out is now the one back in his bed sleeping alone.

Ivar’s fingers are dancing over your limbs, slowly, intermittently, as you pretend you’re paying attention to the movie. There’s nothing urgent about it; his fingertips just seem to like to explore.

He tickles at the base of your hairline, rolls his face into the crook of your neck. How are you supposed to think about anything but that? If he starts kissing you, you’re just going to turn off the movie.

“You’re lucky that you had your clothes back on,” Ivar murmurs in your ear. His fingers keep playing idly with your hair. “I came so close to catching you.”

You emit a sort of small animal noise. You know you didn’t violate any of his instructions today, but you still feel deliciously trapped.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” he asks, tone even, and a little bit amused.

“Mhm,” you answer in a small voice.

He nips at the edge of your ear. “Did he make you cum?”

Somehow the question sends heat flooding between your legs all over again. You’re not sure if it’s the right answer, but you nod ‘yes.’

Ivar’s fingers dig in for a moment. “Good.” Then they go back to drawing little circles all over your skin. “Tight space in that car,” he murmurs. “Were you riding him?”

Does Ivar like thinking about this as much as you do? Or is all of this some kind of trap. “Uh huh.”

Get up here, on my lap.” He pulls on your leg, setting you up to straddle him. “Let me look at you.”

You spread your legs for the second time tonight, bridging Ivar’s lap and grateful that the couch is soft enough under your overworked knees. Your pussy is already throbbing. Or did it never stop throbbing since Ubbe so thoroughly beat it up?

Ivar looks up at you, perfectly pleased by everything he sees. “Do you know how obvious it is when you’re aroused?”

You try to stop your face from flushing.

“I can tell so easily. Your lips part”—he reaches up, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip, peeling it down a little further—“your lashes get heavy, but your eyes sharpen.” His fingers trail down your collarbone. “Your skin somehow glows.”

He has to be making half of that up, but it sounds good. You put your hands on his shoulders.

“Don’t touch me, touch yourself.”

You bring your hands to your breasts, a little awkward. You wish he would let you admire his body too. Maybe you’ll ask him for that later.

He leans in, saying the next words a little lower. “You like the idea that we are both going to use you now, whenever and however we want.”

His words make you moan in agreement, and you scoop up your tits and nod.

“Our little thrall.” Affection and possessiveness drip in equal measure from his lips. “You wanted it as much as I did. I could tell, when I said it that day. You started to glow then, too.”

His fingers dance over your thighs, but he does not try to push up under your skirt.

“Tell me how much you love to be at our disposal.”

You purr for him, a little embarrassed but more than turned on enough to say some dirty things for him. “I’m all yours.” You rock your hips gently against him, mindful not to put too much pressure on his legs, and “I love letting you… have me, any part of me you want.”

“Whenever I want.”

“Whenever you want.”

“No matter how many times you’ve already come today.”

You definitely feel a flush after that one. Ivar’s hands trace up your waist, then catch at your wrists and push your hands down your body.

“Touch yourself for me now.”

You arch your back and sneak your hand into the waistband of the skirt, happy to ease the ache that’s been growing between your legs. You go right to your favorite spot, closing your eyes and making soft sounds of delight for him.

Ivar’s fingers dig into your thighs. The pain only heightens your excitement. “I almost feel sorry for you. Ubbe’s an animal, you know. Now that you’re ours he’s going to grab you every time he needs to nut and my God, that guy usually whacks it several times a day.” Although you may not be sure what, exactly Ivar gets out of telling you this, the thought is certainly sending your own arousal skyrocketing. “But then, no matter how he uses you, then”—he whacks your bottom swiftly, reactivating the bruises he left there last night—“you will always, always be ready for me.” He grabs at your wrist, making sure you’re still going, still working yourself as eagerly as he wants. “Even right afterwards. Won’t you.”

You hum and nod and press yourself even faster.

“Show me,” he urges, face dark and rapt as he stares up at your writhing passion. “Show me how your body can be so fucked out and still so absolutely ready for me.”

You moan and spread your legs wider, bringing yourself close to the edge but not wanting the moment to be over just yet. You try to keep your eyes open, staring at the way Ivar’s pupils have gone so wide there’s barely any blue, the way he licks his lips as he looks down the line of your body.

One of his hands finally slides underneath your skirt. His fingers climb quickly, his target clear when he runs one fingertip up and down your pussy. His growl is a deeply pleased noise. “So wet. That’s good, you’ll need it.” He presses more firmly; your swollen lips are tender from fitting all of Ubbe in and you jump. Ivar’s other hand is at the small of your back, catching you, holding you down.

Somehow the invasion of that one finger is as powerful to your system as Ubbe’s entire cock. Maybe it’s the way that Ivar’s gorgeous face is smirking up at you, or the sting still echoing through your abused backside, but all he has to do is press that one finger up and into you and suddenly your body is clamping down and spasming an unexpected release all around it.

You moan and writhe and keep working your own clit as the moment stretches on; you hadn’t planned to come so fast but you’re certainly going to make the most out of it. Judging by the praise Ivar’s murmuring up at you as you ride the waves of climax, you’re giving him exactly what he wanted.

When you’ve thoroughly exhausted your second fantastic orgasm of the day, you try and slump comfortably against your lover. “Stay up,” he orders instead. “Keep your back straight, I’m not done looking.”

And so you sit up straight above him, closing your eyes and letting only your head sag a little as you try and catch your breath coming down. Ivar makes it difficult by wiggling that finger inside you several times more, making pleased noises at the way you shudder and struggle to deal with the overstimulation.

“So gorgeous,” he whispers. Then he finally withdraws his finger, and draws you down to snuggle against his chest.

His hands spread wide and happy across your back. “Sorry I came so fast,” you feel compelled to say.

“Are you kidding? What better compliment could there be. You can’t control yourself around me.”

You both smile.

“I know you will always have more for me.” He pulls you down to settle into the couch beside him, grabbing a blanket to spread over the two of you. “I really do want to show you this movie, though.” He lifts the remote and presses rewind. “No more distractions now.”

On to Chapter 6

Taglist is open: @hanhanxx @xxdearlybeloved@littledeadrottinghood @persephone-is-here-omg @rekdreams247 @what-the-heart-desires @inforapound @creepshowzombae @tomarisela @vladsgirlfriend@youbloodymadgenius @walkxthexmoon@funmadnessandbadassvikings @trashqueenbitch @justlovelifeblog @earl-aive @supernaturalvikingwhore @equalstrashflavoredtrash @that-was-not-supposed-to-happen @ceridwenofwales @grungyblonde @pokeasleepingsmaug @hvittysmutanon @honestsycrets @wuxiesalt @thorins-queen-of-erebor @writingfromasgard @tootie-fruity @lordsexmachine @uncomfortable-writers @sadbutatleastsassy @sweatstreatz01 @ritual-unions-gotme

#ivar x reader #ubbe x reader #ivar imagine #ubbe imagine #dom!ivar #playing house fic

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koolkat9 · 3 years ago

Text

In the Deep (Ch. 5)

How Does He Know You Love Him?

In a matter of days, I was right as rain again. Although it was nice for Ludwig to come to visit me in bed, I was excited to get out of that room and back near the sea. Also, knowing I wouldn’t have to worry about Ludwig drying up was another benefit of our regular spot. I still couldn’t shake the sounds of his gasps from my mind. Unfortunately, there was more than that to worry about. Ever since that night with Ludwig in the tub, ignoring my feelings for him had become difficult and there was no more hiding of the fact that I had fallen in love.

“Have you ever been in love?” I asked Francis carefully over breakfast. Francis was the last person I wanted to be talking to about this, but it wasn’t like I knew anyone else around. Though, the sight of him almost choking on his water made it a bit more bearable.

“What has brought this on?”

“Fine…” I gulped not wanting to say what I was about to. “You were right,” I whispered.

“Quoi? I didn’t hear you.”

I groaned, burying my face into my hands. “You were right. I think I love Ludwig.”

“Ah! C’est bon,” Francis exclaimed, practically bouncing in his seat. Maybe I should have just suffered in silence. Now the frog could brag and tease me to his heart's content, knowing he was right and possibly.

“Yeah, Yeah. Now about your love life. Do you have a partner?”

Francis’ smile faltered slightly, his eyes becoming somewhat sad. “Oh..oui. Two to be exact. We’re all engaged actually. Hopefully, they’ll keep their damn promise and sit down with me to plan the wedding once they get home from their fishing trip.”

“You miss them?” I asked without really thinking. It wasn’t like I cared for Francis, it was only a natural question. Seeing him sad definitely didn’t make me feel bad. Not at all.

“Yes. Very much. But that’s what it's like when you’re in love.”

I tried to push back a smile, but I still felt the corners of my mouth twitch. Who knew he could be so...sentimental...dare I say sweet. But this talk about missing people was bringing up some unpleasant feelings of my own so I figured it was best to move on. “I guess. So...How exactly did you guys end up together?”

“Oh, it's such a romantic story!”

So the first of the two he met was his childhood friend Antonio. They apparently had shared their first kiss, but didn’t actually start dating until after their schooling. Shortly after that, they moved in together as Francis had inherited the inn from his parents and Antonio had started a fishing business. While out on one of his fishing excursions, Antonio came across their other partner, Gilbert, who was shipwrecked. But there seemed to be more to it. When Francis talked about this part of the story, he seemed hesitant, almost like he had to think about what he had to say. It felt off to me, but I didn’t say anything. I just needed to see that he wasn’t just all talk when it came to love. Francis went on, explaining how Antonio and Gilbert got close during that trip and they fell in love. Antonio brought Gilbert home to introduce him to Francis and the three became instant friends. Soon enough Francis also started to fall for Gilbert and he eventually confided in Antonio about it. Antonio who had also started with feelings proposed they try and court Gilbert together.

“One thing led to another,” Francis sighed dreamily, “and we started dating and got engaged about a year and a half later.”

“That’s...quite the story.”

“Yes. They come home in about two weeks.” Francis suddenly sprung up. “Oh Arthur, you’ll be able to meet them. We could even have a double date with you and Ludwig.”

I rolled my eyes. “Ludwig and I aren’t even dating so don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Ah, right,” Francis said, taking a seat once more. “Well if you want my advice-”

“I don’t.” I did. And he knew it.

“Just be honest with him Arthur. I’m pretty sure he likes you too.”

My cheeks went warm at the comment. It's not like I hadn’t considered Ludwig returning my feelings, but it couldn’t be that easy. Could it? Francis must have picked up on my hesitation as he went on to add, “All you can do is try.”

---

The salty sea air filled my lungs as I took a deep breath. ‘All you can do is try,’ echoed through my mind as I cautiously made my way across the rocky path. Ludwig turned towards me, practically glowing in the sunlight, stopping me in my tracks. I probably stared for a bit too long.

“Guten Abend,” he greeted with a small smile.

“Ah...y-yes good evening,” I stuttered out.

“Are you going to sit?” Ludwig asked after a moment.

Mentally kicking myself for being so awkward, I sat down next to him, but I was unable to meet his gaze.

“Everything okay?”

“Just peachy.”

“Okay…” He didn’t seem to believe me, but at the same time, he didn’t ask further. “So...any questions for today?”

Thank goodness, something normal. I had welcomed the distraction until I realized I had nothing to ask except for one topic. That topic was part of what had me so on edge in the first place. Then again, asking about mating rituals of his kind would be educational, normal, and possibly give me the confidence I needed.

“Y-Yes...we’ve covered almost everything b-but...there is one more thing...we talked about it a little bit a few nights ago-”

“Just spit it out Arthur,” Ludwig interjected sharply.

“Mating Rituals. Does your kind have any mating rituals?”

His cheeks flushed and shoulders stiffened. “M-Mating rituals?” he sputtered.

“Yes...You don’t have to share anything you don’t want to. I just…”

“It's okay.” His voice was too high-pitched for me to believe that, but I let him continue. “Well...There’s..um...Sorry...I’m not the most experienced with this stuff.”

“Don’t worry. Just do what you can.”

With a breath, Ludwig went on. “Well...I better start at the beginning. Usually the more...I guess...masc-...wait no...dominant ones of our species will start building nests with all kinds of plants and coral they can find. Some go for comfort, some make it more decorative, or a mix in between. It's all to attract a mate. It used to be used as...y-you know…” His gaze shifted awkwardly down to his lap, his blush creeping down his neck. “To have babies. But it's not like that anymore. At least not solely...for childbearing I mean but-”

“I get the picture,” I coughed awkwardly. Not that the idea of having sexual relations with Ludwig never crossed my mind (if anything it crossed my mind a little too much), but to talk so openly about it gave me anything but confidence. “Anything else?”

“There is a calling in our language. It is a certain pattern of chirps and clicks that also attract potential mates. Once we find someone, we further engage in conversation and go from there.”

“Do you mind showing me?” I asked, “the call I mean.”

“Oh...uh...s-sure.” Ludwig looked a bit unsure, but proceeded anyway. He sounded almost like a dolphin, but it was still distinct enough. I found my cheeks heating up, my mind thinking what it would be like if he was calling to me like that. I shook my head, patting my cheeks to get rid of their colour. I didn’t need him getting suspicious.

“What about you?” Ludwig questioned.

“What?”

“What kind of rituals does your kind have?”

I was surprised that he was asking now too. He never asked for prior questions. For a moment I allowed myself to hope, to think that this meant he liked me too. And I answered: “Hmm...there are a few though not everyone uses the same ones. But basic ones? There is the ritual of giving gifts like flowers, chocolates, jewelry…”

“Like my bracelet?” Ludwig’s eyes met mine. I felt like I just backed myself into a corner and more words got trapped in my throat. My gaze fell to the water.

“I...um...ah...tech...I…well…”

“Arthur?” His hand found my shoulder, constricting my throat further. This was my chance, I had narrowed a confession down to one word.

“N-No,” I said instead. “Gifts can be for a variety of reasons. This one was out of guilt and...friendship.” At least it wasn’t a complete lie.

“Oh…” His face fell, looking almost disappointed. “Anything else?”

“Well, then we go on a date which means we go to a restaurant or some other venue and get to know each other. Then there is the first kiss.”

“First kiss?” Ludwig asked with a quirked brow.

“Uh...Yes...Like, when you press your lips together and…”

“I think you need to show me.”

I swore I almost broke my neck when I turned back to him.“What?”

“Show me.” There was this intense fire in his eyes as he bore into me. My heartbeat quickened and my breath became short. That sly bugger.

“I-I guess it can’t be helped,” I squeaked. I cautiously leaned forward, eyes closed, too scared to look. Ludwig ended up meeting me halfway just as I was about to give into my nerves. My eyes snapped open as his lips softly pressed against mine. They were cold, wet, but made me feel warm inside and out. It was like I was on fire, just like that moment from a few nights ago. As the kiss continued, I let my eyes slip closed and pulled him closer by his neck. Oh God, it was better than I could ever imagine.

Unfortunately, we had to pull away, both of us gasping for breath. I didn’t move far, however, letting our breaths mingle. “I thought you didn’t know what a kiss was,” I joked, pressing my forehead against Ludwig’s.

“Maybe that was a lie,” he laughed sheepishly.

“So...are you going to make me a nest?”

“Shut up,” He hissed before going in for another kiss.

Author’s Note: I’m so sorry this chapter took so long. I had bad writer’s block for it, then I got caught up in ship events here on Tumblr and then university started which is taking up a lot of my time. That being said, updates won’t be as consistent as they once were, but don’t worry, I would never discontinue this story.

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#hetalia #hws #gereng #engger #geruk #hws engand #hws france #hws germany #mermaid au #in the deep #mermaid!ludwig #privateer!arthur #fanfiction #hetalia fanfiction

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last-operator-standing · 4 years ago

Text

Toll of the Bell

Chapter 2 - Tempestuous

> Ao3

> Chapter 1 (tumblr)

> Chapter 3 (tumblr)

Summary: What now? He could roll over and accept the fate thrust upon him and die as Adler intended. Starting a new life away from it all couldn't be that bad either. Or…

Or he could finish the mission.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: None apply this chapter

Words: 3.4k (5.4k total)

A/N: This took me a little longer than I wanted but I have the next few chapters thought out now, so hopefully I'll be able to get them done and shared soon!

It's bright and early when Lazar shuffles in and startles Bell awake. He offers a sheepish smile and holds up the tray in his hand as peace offering. "Thought you might be hungry."

Bell stares down at the tray Lazar sets across his lap. There's a small bowl of noodles in broth and a pack of unopened saltines along with a bottle of water. "You've been out for a while. Figured you should start with something light." A soft jingle fills the silence and draws Bell's attention. There's a gentle pressure at his left wrist and he tries to peer curiously at what Lazar's doing.

"Can't eat without hands, eh?" He playfully waves Bell's now free hand about. Bell can't resist the small smile that makes its way across his face. It falls quickly when he waits expectantly for his other arm to be released only for Lazar to awkwardly avoid his eyes.

"Eat up." The atmosphere turns tense and awkward. "We can, uh… Talk when you're done." It sounds more like a question than a statement. Lazar makes a quick retreat, leaving Bell alone with his bland breakfast.

Bell sits in silence. The meal remains untouched and he stares unblinking into the cooling bowl. His previous anxieties start to resurface, leaving him nervous and uncertain once more. One question in particular forces itself to the front of his mind.

What now?

Lazar wouldn't save him just to turn around and execute him, right? He must want something. More intel? Perhaps he and Park were starting a separate investigation into Perseus.

"I just.. I feel like I owe you, Bell."

Bell heaves a heavy sigh. All this thinking was giving him a headache. He finally relents and reaches his free hand for the saltines, bringing them to his still restrained hand to pull the package open. The plastic is stubborn at first and refuses to part. No amount of tugging or prying can pull the traitorous material apart. Bell is seconds away from gnawing the damn thing off when it finally gives, showering him in crumbs and scattering perfectly good crackers to the floor.

The dramatic groan and loud Russian cursing is well justified, Bell decides. He angrily stuffs a saltine into his mouth and crunches it with a vengeance. The door is abruptly thrown wide, nearly causing him to choke in surprise.

"Bell, are you-"

Lazar pauses to take in the sight of the wide-eyed Bell and his mess of saltines.

"I can explain."

Lazar visibly relaxes and grins. "We thought someone was trying to kill you with all that yelling." From behind his shoulder, Park peers in, calculating eyes scanning the room. They both step inside. Lazar takes a seat on the edge of the bed and snatches a cracker from the open pack. Park remains at the door, leaning against the frame. Bell doesn't miss the way she discreetly holsters her gun.

"So, Bell." It's Park who speaks this time, catching his attention. "What do you remember?" Something about her tone feels familiar. Almost.. unsettling.

"So close to Perseus."

"I, uh.. Well.."

The room is dark. The overhead lamp is the only thing to illuminate the space. Lazar stands nearby. He faces Bell, but his expression is twisted in something akin to discomfort. "The CIA reinvented you, Bell." Adler stands directly beside the gurney he's strapped to, demanding all of Bell's attention. "If you believed you were someone else, we could lead you to a place where you'd give it all up."

"Fuck this," he hears his voice waver with fear. It's the wrong thing to say. "I don't think so." Adler practically launches himself forward and roughly grabs the front of Bell's vest. "One way or another, Bell, we're gonna get it out of you."

"I mean, I remember up to Solovetsky."

The bitter wind feels good against his face. It brings a sense of serenity to Bell's turbulent thoughts despite the tense atmosphere with Adler.

"It was never personal."

Bell chews on his lip as the memories resurface. "And when Adler.. shot me. But nothing new with Perseus." Park's eyes narrow a fraction, further unsettling him. There's something else on his mind that's been bothering him since the first moment he saw Park.

"Ah, well, give it time," Park offers without much conviction. She opens her mouth to speak again but Bell cuts her off.

"I'm sorry," he blurts. The apology seems to catch Park by surprise. "I should have been faster. If only I had been faster, I could have saved you, too…" Park suddenly looks uncomfortable.

"It's alright, Bell. It.. It wasn't your fault."

"How are you..?"

"Alive?" Park's expansion finally softens. "After the skyhook pulled you two off, I knew I only had seconds left before I was dead. I managed to stumble back inside and take cover in an empty room. Luckily, Perseus didn't seem interested in checking if the building was clear."

Bell gets the feeling there's more to her story but he opts not to pry. A silence falls over the three. Lazar keeps picking at the abandoned pack of crackers while Park keeps a steady watchful gaze on Bell. Before Solovetsky, he would have matched her with his own unyielding stare. Back then he had no reason to doubt or fear her. But now he's not so sure.

"So kid, what will you do now?" Bell looks away from Park and over to Lazar. He's sitting casually beside Bell like he's unbothered by the tension but his easy smile doesn't quite reach his sharp eyes. It isn't lost on Bell that his words up to now have all been for show.

They don't trust me.

He shifts uncomfortably, careful not to make a bigger mess of crackers and soup, and clears his throat before he speaks up. "Perseus is still out there," he starts slowly. Park's expression flashes and Bell tries not to flinch. Lazar simply watches and listens closely. "Someone needs to stop him. I want to stop him. He still has the codes to Greenlight, right? All he needs is a new location to activate."

"Why?" Lazar is casual about his question but his eyes tell a different story. He wants to believe what Bell is saying.

"Because it isn't right." It seems so obvious to Bell that he's almost surprised by the question. "This is bigger than me. Millions of lives are at risk. I don't know who I was before, but.. I know who I am now ." Bell does his best to sell it, and to his relief they seem to buy it.

The truth is, the Russian doesn't know what else to do. He can't remember his life before MK-Ultra. Right now, the mission is all he has; stop Perseus. Without that, he has… nothing.

"I just want to stop Perseus before he causes a nuclear war."

And maybe punch those damn shades off Adler's face , but he leaves that part to himself.

Lazar hums thoughtfully and Park starts to relax. They don't seem quite at ease yet, but it's a start.

Over the next few days, Bell heals and collects himself. After their talk, Park eventually gave in to Lazar's pressuring and agreed to allow Bell some freedom. Stretching his legs feels nice and the fresh air certainly helps him collect his thoughts. This safehouse was undoubtedly cleaner than the last, with actual rooms and furniture rather than a dingy warehouse.

"What about Adler?"

Lazar and Bell are sitting peacefully at the kitchen table, Lazar with a bagel and an open file, Bell with a cup of freshly brewed coffee. Lazar looks up at the question. "You sound like you're ready to fight him." The Russian huffs with indignance at his amused tone. "He shot me," he complains loudly. "Just one good punch, Lazar. Please ?"

"You'll have to get in line," Park grunts as she joins them in the kitchen, gravitating towards the coffee machine. "I think we'd all like to give that bastard a good punch."

Lazar grins. "I think you should avoid throwing punches for now, Bell, least he shoots you a second time." Bell pouts. Lazar flicks bagel crumbs at him. "Jokes aside, if you're serious about taking down Perseus, it's probably best if the rest of the team doesn't know you're still alive. For now, anyway. It'll only cause more problems and distractions, not to mention Adler probably wouldn't hesitate to kill you for real."

Bell sighs dramatically. "Alright, alright, fine . But I'm definitely getting a swing in once Perseus is six feet under." He throws his head back and downs the rest of his coffee. "So where do we start?"

Park leans against the counter with her mug of coffee. "Well, if you can remember anything about Perseus or his associates.."

That tone is back again but Bell forces himself to not bristle at it. "I'm sorry. Nothing new has come to kind yet." Park gives a slow nod. "You were our most successful subject. Any old memories will be buried behind weeks of.. reprogramming. Now that the drugs are filtering out of your system, it should only be a matter of time."

"Is there any way to speed it up?" Park squints suspiciously so Bell is quick to add, "Maybe if I can remember something, we'll know where to head next."

An idea pops into Lazar's head. "Bell, do you recognize any of them?" He pulls something from the folder in front of him and slides it across so Bell can see. Park steps closer to watch curiously. "They're POIs we think are working for Perseus."

It's a group of photos. Bell sets aside his mug to spread them out and study them closely. The first three are men, but he doesn't recognize them. The next two are women and he feels discouraged when their images fail to spark any memories, too. There's one last one. He slides it close and is about to push it away when something scratches at the back of his mind.

The pub was lively tonight. Loud and rowdy with cheering, swearing, and the clanking of glass on glass. Bell too embraced the vibes; His spirit was high and he was most certainly past tipsy. He was sitting at the bar with his comrades, a still-full shot glass in hand.

"Aww, c'mon, give us the details!" The man to his left nudged him roughly. He grinned wickedly and despite the sunglasses covering his face, Bell still caught him wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Did he kiss you? Did you kiss him ?" Bell felt his face flush and he shoved back. No way in hell he was going to answer that. "I don't kiss and tell, Vang."

"Bell?"

"Aww, you did !" Bell huffed and threw back his glass as an excuse not to answer. He did his best to ignore how hot his face was. "No, wait. He definitely kissed you, didn't he?" Bell choked on the shot. The man grinned wider.

"Leave the poor kid alone." Another familiar voice called out, not bothering to hide their amusement. "Now get over here so I can beat your ass. Loser pays the tab." Bell turned to look at his savior. Their figure is too blurry to make out, but he's so sure he knows them.

"Oooh bro, you're going down !"

"Bell?" Lazar tries again, shaking his shoulder and startling him from the memory. "You alright there? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I.." The Russian glances between Park and Lazar before he stares back down at the picture. The person's face is completely covered, but the glasses make him unmistakable. Naga.

"Kapano Vang," Bell offers quietly and taps the photograph. "They call him Naga." Lazar watches him a moment longer before pulling the picture back over. "You know him?"

The memory implied Bell more than just knew him. A feeling in his gut tells him so too. They were.. friends, perhaps. "Yeah.. We are- We were friends. I think."

Park remains silent as she observes. Lazar offers a slow nod. A gentle push and the picture lands back in front of Bell. "Do you remember anything else about him?"

Bell stares. The shades are so painfully familiar. He can't quite shake the sense he's seen them a lot. This shit is stressful. I need a cigarette. Something in his mind clicks.

"New shipment's ready." The nicotine filled Bell's lungs with a pleasant burn. He turned and offered the cigarette to Naga with a hum of acknowledgement. "Got a little extra if you're interested. On the house." The Laotian accepted the cigarette, taking a grateful drag while his free hand slipped into a vest pocket and produced a small package. He held it up to between his fingers and offered it to Bell with a small flourish. "Rest of it's headed out to some of my buyers, so don't get hooked."

Bell hesitated. "I'm not so sure.." Naga pressed it into his hands anyway. "Hey, hey, it's quality stuff. How do you think my lines stay in business? Your boyfriend will certainly thank me."

" Not my boyfriend , man." Naga cackles. "Sure, bro, sure."

A shaky sigh escapes Bell. The memories are blurry and incomplete, but there's enough there to put some pieces of the puzzle together. "He's.. a smuggler."

"For Perseus?"

Bell gives a small shrug. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so." Right now, Bell can't be sure about anything.

"I'll make some calls and check with MI6." Park sets her empty mug in the sink. "We have a name now. That's a good start."

Not wasting any time, Bell muses as he watches Park leave. That's fine with him. The less time to dwell on his past transgressions, the less time he'll have to deal with the impending existential crisis.

"Meanwhile, I'll check in on the team." Gathering the papers and photos back into the folder, Lazar stands. "What about me?" Lazar barely even pauses to acknowledge Bell. "Stay put. Read a book. Do a puzzle. Embrace day drinking. Do whatever you want, just stay put ."

"But I-"

" No , Bell. Water's too hot right now. Just lay low, let it cool. You'll get your turn but not yet. Just enjoy being dead while it lasts." Lazar's wink is met by Bell's deadpan face.

By noon, the Russian's already run out of things to do. He's showered, washed the dishes, and cleaned the space lent to him. Now he sits at the table once more, impatient tapping the surface and bouncing his leg. He briefly considers snooping but the last thing he wants to do is give Park a reason to confine him to a bed again.

Time creeps by. Boredom is barely kept at bay by the pen and paper Bell found discarded on the end table beside the couch. The doodles are nothing to write to home about, but it provides temporary amusement. When he gets tired of that, he abandons them at the kitchen table and opts for a nap.

It feels like he's barely just closed his eyes before he's woken by an insistent shaking.

"Bell. Get up. Bell ."

Bell groans. It's dark now so he has to squint to make out the figure kneeling next to him. "Lazar? What, man, I was sleeping ."

"We need to go. Now. C'mon." A hand wraps under Bell's arm and pulls, forcing the Russian to his feet. Lazar's voice was calm, but the firm grip on his arm made Bell nervous. "What's going on?" He has no choice but to allow himself to be guided towards the back door.

"Here, wear this." Something is shoved into his hands and he fumbles to grab it. Looking down, it's a thin black coat. Inside rests a matching beanie hat and vibrant blue scarf. "What's going on," he tries again. "You're kinda freaking me out."

"Look, just put the shit on and I'll explain on the way. There's no time right now."

Lazar snatches the hat and scarf from the pile and Bell flips the coat around to slide his arms in. He grunts when the hat is forced over his blonde curls and the scarf is wrapped high around his neck and face. Once the coat is zipped and all curls tucked messily under the hat, Lazar practically shoves Bell out the back door and follows close behind.

The air is bitter and cold but Bell hardly notices past the adrenaline. A brisk pace is set. Squealing tires catch his attention but an arm around his shoulders stops him from turning to look.

"Park tipped off MI6."

The statement is unexpected.

"She called to warn me. Apparently, she

told them she was harboring a loose CIA asset with potentially valuable information that needed to be relocated immediately for proper interrogation. How they got an extraction team on a Soviet island, I'll never know." Lazar heaves a groan as they turn the corner and dip out of sight. "She's going to kill me once she figures out we ran."

First Adler, now Park. I'm getting tired of proving myself. Bell sighs lightly. For all he knows, Lazar is just leading him to a CIA trap. Who gets the broken toy first, MI6 or the CIA? They walk in silence for some time, occasionally cutting through small alleyways and doubling back around others.

"Why are you helping me?" Bell finally speaks up. "Look, if you're just going to take me back to Adler, do me a favor and kill me now." I refuse to be shot by him a second time.

"Don't be so dramatic." Lazar gives him a rough pat on the back. "There's another safehouse not much further ahead. I got it sorted out on the way here. Told them I had a potential lead I needed to follow up on and that's all they needed to hear."

"As for why? Well, I personally think when it comes to catching Perseus, there's nobody more qualified than you. I trust you, Bell."

A quiet clank-clank-clank fills the silence. Bell's eyes were wide in shock. He wasn't sure he heard right. There were other, more experienced agents who would certainly make a better second-in-command than him. "But sir, surely there's somebody else who-"

"Nonsense!" Perseus stood from his desk and marched to Bell's side. He swept his coat back and planted firm hands onto Bell's shoulders. "There's nobody more qualified than you. I trust you, comrade." Bell swelled with pride and childlike enthusiasm. "Of course, sir. I won't let you down."

The memory hits Bell like a slap to the face but he remains nonchalant despite the rising dread. He almost misses Lazar that stopped and narrowly avoids colliding into the back of him. "Right, here we are."

Bell finds it odd that the safehouse is nestled in the middle of a public street but he's too tired and too cold to question it. Keys jingle as Lazar frees them from his pocket and unlocks the door. They hurry inside and lock it behind them. "Home away from home."

It's smaller than the MI6 house. It's just as neat and organized, though, so Bell can't complain.

"Kitchen's here. Bathroom is the first door on the left. Your room will be the second on the left, and I'll be across from you." Lazar gestures as he speaks. "Help yourself to anything you find. I, for one, need some sleep. We can talk about everything in the morning." He disappears down the hall.

"What about Naga?" The Russian calls. 'Did you find anything out about him?"

" Tomorrow, Bell." A door snaps closed.

Bell clicks his tongue in annoyance but relents. The coat, scarf, and hat are left discarded on the back of the couch on his way toward his designated room.

Damn it all. As he lays tangled in the sheets and nursing his aching wound, Bell struggles to recall anything else about Naga or Perseus, but he comes up blank. Memories seem to be coming and going at their own discretion and it's infuriating . Now his mind is buzzing too much to sleep. Between Adler and Park and his renewed quest to stop Perseus, he doesn't know what to think. He can only hope Lazar has something to share in the morning to shed some light on it all.

#black ops cold war #russell adler #cod bell #lazar azoulay #male bell #kapano naga vang #helen park #cod bocw #bocw #fanfic

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juyeoniemyhoney · 4 years ago

Text

a soulmate who wasn’t meant to be

You love Jungkook. You’ve always known that much. But after living under the same roof for a year, you finally realise that your love for Jungkook is not at all platonic but in all ways romantic. Your feelings only build as another year passes and finally, one grocery run later, you tell him how you feel. Spoiler alert, it doesn’t end well.

-pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

-genre: angst, just angst all the way.

-warnings: swearing, Jungkook’s a little bit of an ass in this one

-word count: 3775 words

-A/N: hii this is my first time posting on tumblr but i’ve been writing since like 2016 lol. i hope you like this depressing imagine and stay tuned for more imagines that are coming soon. also, i don’t really even like the ending and i feel like i dragged this out wayyyy more than i should have but oh well, i hope you enjoy it anyway. please let me know what you think and feel free to leave feedback so that i can improve!

---------

When you decided to live with your best friend, you should’ve known you were bound to fall in love.

Flashback to senior year of high school. The two of you had miraculously graduated with incredibly average grades. Jungkook got into university solely because of his outstanding performance on the rugby team and you had gotten in thanks to pure luck. Seriously though, that was a really close shave. Anyway, the decision to live together when the two of you realised that you were going to the same university came as easy as a spring breeze.

Which thus began the deterioration of your heart.

Ever since you met Jungkook in your first year of primary school, his big eyes and beaming smile had always tugged at something in your chest. You had never denied this feeling, assuming it was because you love Jungkook, which you did, just platonically. But having to live with Jungkook made you realise that even though you were with him most of the time, you never really wanted to leave his side.

For years, you had denied any thought that maybe you might be in love with Jungkook. But you had taken every single thought by the throat and stuffed it deep, deep down inside you, into the deepest, darkest corners of your being, forgotten and left to rot. Every single time your heart fluttered when you looked at him, every single time your skin tingled when he touched you, every single time your cheeks blushed when he did something for you, you had stopped yourself from feeling those things, those pesky little butterflies in your stomach because Jungkook is your best friend, nothing more, nothing less. Even though you know that he always meant more to you than you did to him.

The one thing you dreaded once you realised that you love Jungkook more than a friend, was your monthly grocery run. When the both of you had first bought the flat — which you had only been able to afford thanks to Jungkook’s kind, high-rolling parents — you had both agreed to always go grocery shopping together, no matter what. You’re not really sure how this agreement came about, but at the time, it didn’t really matter to you because Jungkook was just Jungkook then.

But now that Jungkook is Jungkook, your crush, your heart cannot help but swell with how domestic grocery shopping with Jungkook always sounds.

And grocery shopping with Jungkook is what you are going through right now.

Right now, a year after realising that you are romantically in love with Jungkook and two years after moving in with your best friend, Jungkook stands next to you in the feminine products aisle, holding a crumpled piece of paper with grocery items carelessly scrawled on it, his other hand on the shopping cart that is a quarter-filled with household items that the two of you need to last until the next month. Despite how this situation is not at all scary, your heart beats like you are hanging precariously over a high ledge, palms clamming up as you nervously ball up the fabric of your shirt.

“Which one is it?” Your saliva is stuck halfway down your throat when he asks the question, causing you to choke and cough the saliva up. You seriously need to get better at hiding your nervousness around him, if this even counts as hiding it, seeing as how you are literally not being normal, cool, or calm. You mentally face palm yourself for being you.

“Um, I don’t see it,” you reply as calmly as you can, relaxing a little when you hear that your voice does not waver at all.

“Here! Isn’t it this one?” Jungkook exclaims suddenly, scaring the absolute shit out of you and causing you to jump up in surprise, letting out a squeak when you see that it is the brand of pads that you use. You shove the thought that Jungkook does pay attention to you and tell yourself that it is because he has to see it on top of the cabinet in your shared bathroom every time he goes into it. He has lived with you for two years, of course he knows what brand you use, you idiot.

“Yeah, thanks,” you mutter as you throw three packets into the cart before walking off, hands casually locked behind you as you roam the aisles, not sparing Jungkook another glance as he pushes the cart and follows behind you. You refuse to look at Jungkook and have your cheeks heat up again, especially not after he caught you blushing when you first met up with him fifteen minutes ago.

Despite the fact that Jungkook had gotten into university solely thanks to rugby, he had surprised everyone by deciding to major in film. Though you had been a little surprised, you knew that film, or anything that had to do with a camera for that matter, had always fascinated Jungkook. And now in his third year of university and a certified adult, Jungkook had decided to get a job and stop relying on his parents. A little later than everyone else, but at least he finally decided to stop splurging the monthly allowance he got on cocktail nights at the bar around the corner. The job he got was a good step for Jungkook but a horrible one for you for he had decided to audition for a modelling company. And he got in.

Which is why you don’t want to even spare him a glance. Because Jungkook had just gotten off work which meant that he had his hair done up, soft strands of light brown styled so that it was out of his eyes, allowing the light to hit his usually hidden, dark brown eyes, turning them a golden brown that reminded you of slow-dripping, melted caramel. And even though all he is wearing is a sky blue shirt and navy slacks, your mind and heart is going absolutely feral at how well they compliment him, high-waisted slacks cinching his waist and loose shirt hanging off of his broad shoulders. You realise that your arms ache to hold him.

“What’s next on the list?” you ask, derailing your thoughts, as you nonchalantly survey the aisles so that you don’t have to turn around and look at Jungkook, even though you want to. You want to look and never stop. But he can’t know that.

“Cereal,” he answers, catching up to you so that he is walking next to you, the end of his sleeve brushing the top of your shoulder. You give into your urge to look up at him and immediately, as if someone has punched you right in the gut, the wind is knocked out of your lungs because he is already staring down at you, a small smile tilting the corner of his lips up. You can quite literally feel your pupils dilate and you pray to god that he did not see it as you quickly but— you hope —casually turn your gaze away from him, nonchalantly asking, “Oh, we ran out?”

“Yeah,” he replies, stopping to retrieve the cereal from the shelf. You reach out too but he beats you to it, knowing full well that you will never be able to reach the cereal that only sits on the highest shelf. Your heart stops for a while when you can feel him unintentionally press into you, chest brushing up on your ponytail, heat radiating from his body and pulling sweat from the pores of your palms. But the warmth quickly retracts with him as he pulls away from the shelf and haphazardly dumps the box of cereal into the cart before setting off, pushing the cart forward and out of the aisle, leaving your frozen form in the dust.

You quickly snap out of it and follow Jungkook.

As you trail behind him, pretending to look at products along the way so that you can stay behind him and play with your thoughts, your mind wanders off. All too suddenly, you are daydreaming, imagining yourself as courageous as you confess your harboured feelings to Jungkook. In this alternate universe that your imaginative mind has created, Jungkook beams down at you and accepts your confession, confessing that he too had been harbouring feelings for you. Jungkook calling your name snaps you out of your delusions.

“Y/n?”

It takes you a little too long to realise that he is talking to you but when you do, you reply with the most flustered, the most nervous sounding what you have ever heard leave your mouth.

“I asked you if you wanted Nutella,” Jungkook patiently asks again. Far too nervous to properly internalise the question and reply with a proper answer, you haphazardly shake your head and pretend to wander off into an aisle filled with shampoo. You honestly don’t know why you said no. Nutella runs in your blood and your stupid diet — which is really just you being far too lazy to actually get up and make food — has your body aching for Nutella. But your pride runs deeper than you expect and you do not correct yourself, allowing Jungkook pass by the Nutella without another glance.

Now back to overthinking. One of the reasons why you liking Jungkook is so bad is because, well, he has a fucking girlfriend, one who he loves very much. Plus, as if the universe absolutely fucking hated you, Jungkook had told you about said girlfriend, on the bloody day that your stupid ass had finally realised that you were romantically attracted and in love with Jungkook. And as if punching you in the face wasn’t enough, the universe had pierced your heart with the fact that you knew this girl. He had started dating Yoora. And you loved Yoora. Or more specifically, you found it humanly impossible to hate that girl.

Ever the polite and sweet girl, Yoora had helped you pick up the wind-scattered pages of the love story you had written, handing them to you with a sweet smile and wishing you a good day ahead as she walked off. After that, you seemed to see her everywhere. So much so, that she had finally decided to approach you one day and become acquainted with you.

The aching pain of your unrequited love only continued, with each glance at Jungkook. You had also third-wheeled on a number of their dates and watching Jungkook look at Yoora, or someone who wasn’t you for that matter, with so much love squeezed your heart painfully, as if the universe was trying to wring a towel dry and your heart so happened to be said towel.

And Yoora being nice to you isn’t helping either. She has always looked at you kindly even though you are literally living with her boyfriend. Maybe she has always assumed you are gay or don’t harbour any feelings for Jungkook, or maybe she has always thought the best of you, that even if you did have feelings for Jungkook, you would never even dare try for him.

So how on earth are you supposed to love him when Yoora’s kind and understanding eyes always flash through your mind when you think about Jungkook? How on earth are you supposed to hate her for stealing Jungkook away from you when she has been nothing but nice to you? But at the same time, how on earth are you supposed to like Yoora when she is the reason Jungkook is impatiently waiting for you to finish with your last year in university so that you can finally move out? How on earth are you supposed to like her when she is all that occupies Jungkook’s mind, leaving you forgotten like you are some childhood toy that Jungkook has grown out of? How are you supposed to live at all when those three fucking words take over your body like a goddamn curse, seizing control of your feelings like your heart is some kind of airplane and your feelings for Jungkook are forcing your heart into a nosedive, flying straight into the ground and shattering the feeble vessel?

The answer is that you can’t. You can’t fucking live.

“Is that all?” Jungkook asks you after about ten minutes. You did not even notice that you were lost in your shitty thoughts for that long. When you raise your head to look at the cart instead of the floor, you see that it is filled with groceries that will be a pain in the ass to carry home alone. Right, you totally forgot Jungkook is meeting Yoora right after this, which means you’ll probably have to carry everything back by yourself, seeing as how you’ve been carrying groceries home by yourself for the past three months.

“Yeah,” you reply after your eyes lazily scan over the items, looking up to give Jungkook a weak smile before walking away and leading the way to the cashier.

Silently, the two of you load the items onto the conveyor belt one by one, allowing the cashier to scan and pack the items into flimsy plastic bags before handing them to you. Jungkook pays since it is his turn and quickly tucks his wallet into his pocket before rushing to help you by taking most of the plastic bags from your hands, leaving you with only one bag. Against your own will, your heart swells with love.

“Aren’t you meeting Yoora?” you question him as the two of you begin to walk out of the building. Jungkook turns to you and flashes you a bright grin, one that has something splintering in your chest and your breath hitching.

“I told her to wait a little longer,” he answers, smiling sheepishly, tone hinting that he feels guilty for ditching you for the past three months. As he should. You reply with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Also,” he starts, trailing off a little as he pauses to let you walk ahead little before switching places with you so that he is walking on the outer side of the pavement, steps spilling onto the grass when the both of you have to squeeze past people who selfishly idle on the pavement, lingering outside shops for smoke breaks. Your heart’s quickening beat rings in your ears. You ignore it and flash him a grateful smile before he continues his sentence.

“As I was saying, what’s up, Y/n? You’ve been a little off these days,” Jungkook questions, taking his eyes off the pavements to periodically glance at you, eyebrows knitted together in a concerned frown, teeth worrying his bottom lip.

Of course Jungkook would think something is fishy. Once upon a time, the both of you could easily read each other like a children’s picture book, it was foolish of you to think that just because he prioritises his girlfriend before you, doesn’t mean that he can’t read your behaviour. It was foolish of you to think that Jungkook had changed at all. So far, he seemed normal. Maybe it was just you.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’ve been cold lately. If you haven’t realised, all you’ve said to me throughout this whole shopping trip were short sentences that end the conversation straight away. And I know you’re always working on your essays for your classes but we don’t even have movie night anymore. Not to mention that you barely even talk to me anymore. So tell me what’s wrong. Did I piss you off or something?” Jungkook explains, a sadness oozing from his gentle gaze that he turns to you as the both of you halt at a pedestrian crossing. The sorrow in his eyes causes your chest to tighten as you find it impossible to talk. Because you miss him too. So much. You would kill just to feel the unadulterated rapture you felt when you were spending time with Jungkook. You really just want things to go back to how they were before you liked him.

“Oh, I’ve just been going through a lot lately,” you answer, trying to keep your reply as vague as possible, hoping he leaves it at that and waits for you to tell him when you are ready.

But of course, Jungkook continues to pry.

“What are you going through? Come on, Y/n, you can tell me. If you do, maybe I can help you,” he bombards you, eyes silently pleading that you allow him to fix your problems. You know he means well. Jungkook has never intentionally caused harm to you but right now, you just want him to drop it. Because how on earth are you going to explain to him that you are in love with him and are jealous of his pretty, smart, kind girlfriend?

Apparently your brain knows how.

“Well,” you start before you can stop yourself. The look in Jungkook’s eyes makes it impossible for you to just cut it off there, so, you continue.

“I’ve liked this boy for a long while now but he has a girlfriend. I really want to tell him but I’m afraid it’ll ruin our friendship,” you blurt. At first, your chest feels light, heart finally rid of the words that had weighed it down. But then, you look at Jungkook, gorgeous eyes conflicted as he carefully articulates what he wants to say next. Then, again, your heart fills with an unimaginably heavy weight that sinks it all the way down to your gut. And you cannot help but think, he knows. He knows and he’s is going to break my heart all over again.

“Can I ask.. who it is that you like?” he asks wearily, as if he is a hunter approaching a wild deer that startles easily. As the two of you turn the corner to your shared apartment, you glance up into his eyes once more and your heart sinks further. Fear. Fear swallows his eyes as he awaits your answer, afraid that what you’ll say next will completely decimate the past fifteen years of your best friendship, afraid that you will completely destroy his trust with your next words.

And even though you want to lie to him, you find it impossible to. Which is why, before you can stop yourself from blurting it out, you reply with, “You.”

The feeling of complete and utter horror hits you after a second of lag time. Despite the extra second that it gives you to prepare yourself, you do not use it and when the realisation of what you said hits you, it hits you hard, like a million bricks to the face.

Jungkook stills and you freeze too, too scared to even look at him. The both of you stand on the street, a few steps away from your ground floor apartment, a few steps away from privacy. But you think that at this point, privacy completely flies over Jungkook’s head.

“I have a girlfriend, Y/n,” he states, as if you didn’t already know. You turn to face him and Jungkook’s expression is not at all far from terrifying. He has never looked at you with such stern, angry expression, eyebrows knitted together in a disapproving frown rather than his previous concerned frown, and it quite literally scares the shit out of you. His gaze has hardened and he looks at you as if you have committed murder — which you have, seeing as how you have completely lynched this whole fucking relationship.

“I know you have a girlfriend,” you scoff. You swear for a second that Jungkook glares at you. Your heart stops. What have you done?

“I just-“ you start, trying to explain yourself but Jungkook cuts you off by raising his hand. For the shortest of milliseconds, you think that he is going to hit you, slap you, do something. But then, you dismiss the idea, knowing full well that Jungkook will not harm you. He is Jungkook. No matter how angry he is, he won’t ever lay a hand on anyone, especially you.

“You know I have a girlfriend and yet you decided that it was appropriate to confess your feelings to me now?” he questions in a clipped tone, frown deepening with each thought that passes through his mind.

“Look, Jungkook,” you start, taking a deep breath before continuing. To your surprise, he listens patiently.

“I have been in love with you for two years now. Or well, I realised in our first year of Uni. But I’m pretty sure that I’ve been in love with you for far longer than I’ve realised. I know that you have a girlfriend and I know that I’m being selfish and a really shitty friend right now but I’ll be honest, it was beginning to burst out of me, my feelings, the words that I yearned to speak but could not, knowing that I’d be condemned to hell for speaking them. So quite frankly, I know I shouldn’t be scolding you, but I don’t need a fucking scolding from you,” you snap at him. Your breathing is laboured after the words leave your mouth. You pause for a second and watch him, waiting for him to make a move, to blow at you anyway. But he stays silent and you walk away, shoving your key into the lock of your apartment and swinging the door open with so much force that it slams into the coat rack standing behind it, knocking it down.

Jungkook silently follows you into the house, gently placing down the groceries at the entrance of the kitchenette before he slips back into his shoes and leaves, slamming the door behind him. The slam is loud and resounding, and it feels like the sound waves are reverberating inside your chest, shattering your heart like glass.

Left in the deafening silence, an air of complete and utter regret filling your apartment like a thick fog, the weight of your’s and Jungkook’s words finally take their toll on you, somehow increasing the gravitational pull on your body and pulling you to the floor. You do not know how you have yet to burst into tears but right now, all you can feel is a numbness that overwhelms your senses, dulling them down. Your ears tune out, your vision narrows, and the cool, tiled floor of the kitchenette beneath your fingers does not feel like cool tile at all.

God, Jungkook must hate you now.

And finally, at that thought, the idea of your best friend — or really, your only true friend — hating you, do your tears fall.

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whatgaviiformes · 4 years ago

Text

10. Music Makers - Part 5 / Scenes from Gordon’s Bedside

“When words fail, music speaks”

Chapter Summary: Virgil and Gordon and music

You are Here

Chapter A/N: In honor of 10 chapters of this concept, the plan is to give you a hell of a chapter 10 with a few moments in time strung together. I decided to go ahead and share what I have with you instead of waiting. Once the chapter has been shared in full over tumblr, I will post the full piece at Ao3 and FF.net. It may or may not make sense to remain as chapter 10 or be it’s own thing. Do share if you have an opinion. :-)

The title Music Makers comes from “Ode” by Arthur O'Shaughnessy, and it is very lovely.

Part Notes: Thanks to @janetm74 and @gumnut-logic by extension for the second opinions on the thing I asked. You know what for; I can be a little on the paranoid side. For music reqs on this one, it’s a mix of quite a few different things- but I’ve been listening to a lot of this album: Endeavor by Christoffer Franzen

***

Music Makers - Part 5/6

The one advantage to the sudden upheaval in his education was that instead of continuing to grad school, Virgil was able to use his skills for a practical purpose under the tutelage of one of the world’s most brilliant minds; and meeting Brains had been awesome.

It meant that his own blood, sweat, and tears went into the building of the birds. And also very possibly his fury.

It meant he could stay on their island home to help Gordon’s recovery. For all the good it did him. One day the idiot would learn that pushing himself doesn’t make him cool, it makes him stupid.

The last thing he had expected to see when checking in on his brother for the night was him standing. Without assistance, without protection nearby, the walker and the chair both out of reach. Of all the stupid, idiotic –

Words had been exchanged, and not nice ones.

He needed to walk out before he said anything he regretted.

To be fair, welding at 2AM didn’t make him dedicated, it made him equally as stupid. He’d just been so mad, but after an hour or two, the rage had dissipated, and he’d stayed primarily to get the job done.

He’s not too much of a completion-ist, though, to admit when he’s getting tired. His work is sending all that ire right back to him. The angry shower of sparks very much tells him Thunderbird One’s panel does not appreciate his carelessness. One is going to be Scott’s and already she is so like his older brother. He can practically hear Scott telling him to clean up and get some rest before he screws up his baby.

Better listen.

He definitely needs to shower once he gets to his room; the sweat has started to make him itchy, and he feels grimy now that he’s had the time to think about it. He picks up rag from their supplies with a yawn, and wipes at his face.

Ug. Gross. The dryness in his throat warrants a stop by the kitchen as well for rehydration. He thinks that perhaps the headache he’s had throbbing behind his eyes was actually lack of water and not so much his brother.

Tired as he is, it only takes less than a second for Virgil to notice the prone form on the ground as he walks through the faintly lit lounge on his way to the kitchen. And that dryness in his throat, from earlier is nothing in comparison to the fear lodged in his throat as he chokes out syllables that are supposed to be Gordon’s name as he kneels beside the figure.

His hands are trembling as they reach out to search for a pulse at his neck, and with his other hand he pushes back the strands of golden hair to reveal his brother’s face: pale, flushed cheeks, closed eyes.

Jesus.

Tear streaks.

“Virgil?” Gordon’s voice is groggy, but he stirs underneath Virgil’s hands.

“Gordon! What’s wrong?”

“Go away,” he mumbles. “I’m sleeping.”

Virgil retracts his fingers sharply and sits back on his heels.

Sleeping.

He was just sleeping. His heart is a jack hammer in his chest, and Gordon was just sleeping.

He sighs as he tries to get his heart rate under control. But then….

“Out here?” It’s a very long distance from Gordon’s bedroom to the lounge, and there’s no sight of his chair. Or his walker.

“I had no choice,” Gordon says weakly, opening an eye to look at his brother. “Good a place as any.”

Virgil’s heart clenches at the pain behind the words. Sleeping, yes, but still hurt, and the lack of movement below him tells him exactly what happened. Gordon had followed him.

Their fight had been hours ago.

He feels his hackles rise again. “Goddamn it, Gordon, this is exactly-”

“Virgil! Not now! Please, not now.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I tried! You left.”

“You weren’t listening!”

“Shut up, Virgil,” he snaps. “God. Just – I don’t know - go get Brains or something. Leave me alone.” The biting words quickly turn into a pained cough, a gasp as the spasm hits, and Virgil feels the fight leave him. He reaches out to rest his hand on Gordon’s shoulder blade and hates that his brother flinches at his touch.

“Gordon. I am sorry. Let me help,” he says softly. “I am not leaving you here.”

“Why not?” Gordon responds bitterly. “You did earlier.”

“I know.” It surprises him when he says it, and Gordon’s not innocent either, but he can’t deny that he ran, retreated, and made himself scarce in work that couldn’t be done safely with a phone distracting him. “I know, Gordo.”

“It’s not fair. You can’t just leave when you know I can’t follow.” Even so, it’s obvious that Gordon still had tried, and it’s a stab to the gut to think about how long his brother had been stuck in the lounge, to realize that he is so used to this level of pain that he can sleep through it. He looks up at him, eyes glazed with pain when he pleads, “Please don’t do it again. Please don’t leave me alone.” Then with a twist of the knife, “You’ve always been the one that stays.”

He is the freaking worst brother in the history of existence.

There’s little Virgil can do in reply but hang his head, as he helps work the kinks out of Gordon’s back, moving slowly towards his lumbar region where multiple surgeries and lingering nanobots have started to rebuild the damage. Gordon’s spine is 40% bone, 50% metal, and 10% nanobots.

Both the surgery and the nanobots were new procedures, and while Gordon’s case was a perfect scenario for the parameters, there was a timetable to be upheld. The nanobots were dispersed into his spine overtime, every two weeks, by way of a large needle. Each injection was a step closer to full recovery.

With nanotechnology, they didn’t know how badly it could wrong, and even Brains had reminded him he had to stick to the approved physical therapy plan if he wanted to keep those nanobots working. A shock to one of their microscopic systems could mean a full failure in their duty to realign a critical nerve. Gordon could ruin everything with his obstinacy.

Virgil had just been afraid for Gordon, afraid to fail when the stakes were so high. He hadn’t meant to leave him. Not like that, not with the gut-twisting wound of betrayal that came with it. Virgil just needed time to process – he always had. His anger was the slow vibration of magma. It was easier to work through his emotions when he had time to think through them, and he didn’t mind going to bed angry. And if he was still angry in the morning it meant that whatever had transpired, it was worth his frustration.

Gordon, though, pushed and pushed until whatever confrontation was forced to happen in the here and now until his point of view was seen or the matter was resolved. His anger was fire, a deluge of sparks until you were surrounded. It was never a good combination.

Virgil left before he exploded. Gordon from a year ago would’ve known that.

“Any better?”

“A little,” he nods.

But Gordon is not the kid he was a year ago.

It’s a muscle pain, Gordon admits, a stiffness he knows well. Any damage to his spine – well, that’s a different kind of pain. Even still, they need to check to make sure he didn’t injure himself further, and that it is ok for him to move. He is just going to leave for a second Virgil promises, and he runs to the infirmary for the scanner.

It's programmed to find the status of every nanobot in Gordon’s system and will automatically report back to Brains and the team of doctors on the mainland. The green lights across the image of Gordon’s spine seem promising, and Virgil adds a brief journal entry to send with the timed log: Over-exerted in exercises today, muscle stiffness resulting in spasms and inability to move, but no apparent damage to nanos. Massaged area. – VT

Just in case, he’d rather have a doctor sign off. He adds: OK to move?

A message comes back with a ding, indicating it’s from one of Gordon’s doctors in reply.

“So what’s the damage. Am I still one step closer to being a cyborg?”

Virgil is not going to dignify that joke with a response, frowning, but tells him he is okay to move. They agree on the recliner on the opposite side of the lounge. Virgil helps shift him to his side so that he can be picked up, and he tries to be as gentle as possible with his movements, carefully slipping one arm below Gordon’s knees and the other at his upper back. At the same time, Gordon slings his arm around Virgil’s neck.

They’ve had a lot of practice. Lift from the legs, never the back.

Gordon hisses with the movement and tucks his head into Virgil’s chest.

“What furnace ran you over?” He asks through gritted teeth.

“I know. Sorry about the smell. I was welding.”

Gordon grunts in reply as Virgil situates him in the recliner, raising the footrest and lowering the backrest into position. They have a few heating pads around the villa, the closest being in a supply cabinet, but Virgil treks down to Gordon’s room instead for the one that lives there so he can also bring back Gordon’s hoverchair at the same time. Gordon’s not fond of the chair and what it means, but he’ll appreciate the independence it affords him once he’s feeling better. He’ll be able to come and go as he’s ready.

Gordon nods appreciatively when he sees what Virgil has brought back, and it is with expert hands that Virgil guides the heating pad to Gordon’s lower back. The blond exhales, breathing deeply.

“30 minutes only, Gordo. Set a timer.” He gives him a thumbs up, but Virgil knows he needs to keep an eye too. Gordon has a habit of just leaving the heat on. “I mean it.”

Water next. Even though the headache behind his eyes has a bit more of Gordon’s name on it now, he is still parched. And Gordon could use some extra fluids too.

He heads to the kitchen and fills up two 32 oz jugs.

“Here you go. Hydrate,” Virgil says when he returns, handing over Gordon’s favorite. He is happy to see Gordon’s small smile at the cartoon llama and motivational phrase: Listen to your llama, drink your water and hold the drama. Virgil has an entire shelf of coffee mugs to express himself. Gordon has water bottles.

It’s such a simple thing, Gordon’s smile. But he’d thought for a long time he’d never see it again.

For a few moments, the dim lounge is quiet save Virgil’s desperate guzzling as the water soothes his dry throat. Finally, some relief.

“You going to slow down there, big guy?”

He shakes his head as he swallows.

This evening was too much.

From the throb of his headache to the prickling in his fingers, Virgil’s body vibrates with the whiplash of the emotions from the past few hours. Exhaustion, anger, fear, anger again, sadness, guilt.

“Do you want to maybe not drown yourself?” Gordon asks. “That’s my job.”

Virgil stops gulping the water with a gasp of air, and the remaining fluid sloshes as the water jug topples out of his trembling hand. Gordon flinches at the loud thump it makes as it hits the hardwood and rolls. Virgil is shell shocked where he stands.

“Fuck. Not like that,” Gordon corrects quickly. “Shit, sorry. I just meant no one can drown you but me.”

Ah.

“I need to sit.” Virgil falls back to piano bench, dropping his head into hands and rubbing at his eyes.

Too much.

“A-are you ok?”

“I don’t know.” A pause as Virgil looks up. “Are you?”

“I don’t know.”

They’ve made a mess of this evening, such terrible things they said to each other in Gordon’s room, and they’re both tired, drained, with maelstroms behind their eyes.

Gordon holds his gaze as Virgil looks away.

Virgil glances over as Gordon looks away.

Beneath fluttering fingertips, Virgil bounces his knee. Gordon closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing, the heat on his back, on the beat of Virgil’s foot tapping on the floor.

He asks, “Hey Virgil? Can you play something?”

“Yeah,” Virgil breathes. “I can do that.” He had been about to ask Gordon if he minded.

Back poised, Virgil turns away and opens the lid of his baby grand in the moonlight, and he plays, channeling every moment of the night into melodies that speak in ways he knows neither one of them can.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

Then again, maybe it is that simple.

#Gavii Scribit #scenes from gordon's bedside #chapter 10 music makers #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #hydrofoil accident fic #thunderbirds fanfiction

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yourfinalbow · 4 years ago

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Ack anon I'm sorry. Tumblr ate your ask and I'm 🔪 But I saved your ask to put on the Google Doc so don't fret! I have it!

“Hi Ghastie Ghast, I wanted to share a prompt with you lol. I decided to go more holiday theme’d because it’s never too early to get into the holiday spirit.

“Your favorite winter drink was back on the menu, so I decided to surprise you with it.”

Please enjoy this prompt lmao”

The nickname made me -_- but hi Little Gray Circle Dude With Sunglasses! Thank you for sending me this! I had fun writing it. I'm assuming you wanted a Destiel fic, so that's what I wrote! (Also bonus points for Saileen as a background ship?) I sort of strayed a little from the prompt and the tone gets heavier as it goes on… 👀 I also accidentally wrote more than intended, so you can read it on Ao3 if that's easier. (And maybe give it a kudos because you’re the best?)

Title: Black Coffee Derangement Syndrome

Ship(s): Dean Winchester/Castiel, Sam Winchester/Eileen Leahy.

(Basic) Tags: Fluff, Slight Angst, Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker, Established Dean/Cas, Established Sam/Eileen, Using black coffee as a metaphor for hypermasculinity, With a whip cream style topping of internalized homophobia. *Finger guns.*

Warnings: Coffee gatekeeping and small sections of fluff that are as sweet as Cas’s Starbucks order. Also I’ve been to Starbucks once. Maybe twice? (Also a single mention of a drug that's commonly found as white powder, the non-descriptive comparison of Sam’s stupid health stuff with emesis, and use of the name that the figurehead for Germany in WW2 bore, just to be safe.)

Rating: T? Maybe? For language?

Word Count: 9k+

Quick thanks to my awesome beta @walksinstarllight! They are a poet and a writing sorcerer (wizard without a hat), and the only reason this fic even makes sense so please go shower them in kudos. (You can find their work here.)

Another thanks to @internetintroverts, who described a peppermint mocha to me in like 300 words because I drink black coffee and know nothing of anything ever. You can find their work here! (There's an Easter egg of one of their fics in this one hehe.)

The first thing Dean did when Cas got back from the Empty was give him coffee.

Okay no.

The first thing he did was fall into Cas’s arms and grip that stupid trenchcoat until his knuckles turned white. Shaking and laughing with hot tears streaming out of his eyes, he told him he was an asshole for leaving him like that. And to never, ever do it again. With blurry eyes and all other thoughts hazy, he told Cas he could have it, he could have what he wanted. Whatever he wanted. He told Cas he loved him too.

But then the next thing was coffee.

Caffeine is a hunter’s number one best friend, and since Cas was human again, Dean knew Sam was going to come at him with his stupid green health drinks and herbal tea. As Cas’s knight in shining armour, (a title used by Dean and Dean only), it was his duty to protect him from the disgustingly liquified rabbit food.

Now he expected Cas to like black coffee, you know, like a normal person.

But no, oh no. Apparently, he was dating a heathen.

Dean had to actually rub his eyes the first time he watched Cas fix his own coffee. He stood in the doorway of the kitchen, mouth agape.

Cas was leaning on the counter, humming some song that Dean could neither recognize, nor would he approve of, thank-you-very-much.

(Ok it was Champagne Problems by Taylor Swift and it's entirely possible he's listened to it once or twice but he still doesn't approve of it, thank-you-very-much.)

He held his yellow and black striped, bee-themed ceramic mug Eileen had bought him in one hand, and the entire five-pound bag of cane sugar in the other. And there he stood, happy as can be, pouring it directly into his mug.

Dean rubbed his eyes again.

And not even like, a normal amount either.

He just kept pouring, and pouring, and Oh my god he’s still pouring. Dean thought. It would honestly be more believable if it wasn’t sugar at all, and instead was in fact Cas’s secret stash of cocaine.

Dean might actually have to put sugar on the grocery list after he was finished.

His thoughts traveled back to Ishim doing the same thing with his coffee, in the tiny little diner Cas had set up as a meeting place. Dean had barged in that day, not thinking of his brother mocking him, or the possibility of danger inside. His vision was as tunneled as his thoughts focused only on Cas, not caring about anything else.

By that time the following day, Dean thought they were both going to die. The bloody and uneven sigil on the wall, Cas no more than ten feet away. Not quite within a comforting reach. The room was spinning from the blow to his head, and he could barely make out the words being spat from Ishim’s mouth.

“You blast me away, you’ll blast away every angel in the room. I’ll survive. Castiel, on the other hand, he’s hurt. He might live, or he might just end up a bloody smear on the wall.”

He almost lost Cas that day.

The blood rushed to his ears as his instincts sought out the mark on the wall. Ishim had told him to roll the dice, but in his head he couldn’t look past the chance of rolling a one. Watching the acrylic cube bounce until it decided Cas’s fate. There was no dilemma, there wasn’t even a decision to be made. He would always choose Cas over himself. Silent acts of care he could never vocalize.

An inability to speak formed from fear and cowardice. Like a lion in his stomach scratching at the words until they fell back down his throat.

And it was that inability to speak that led Cas to think he was nothing more than a tool for the Winchester’s to use.

He almost let Cas believe he meant nothing to him.

Dean cleared his throat. “Mornin’ Sunshine.”

Cas set down the bag of sugar and picked up the pot, the glass making a small clink as it hit the top of the coffee maker. “Goodmorning Dean. Would you like any coffee?” He greeted cheerfully, turning around like he hadn't just put enough sugar to make a pound cake in his coffee.

“Uh.” Dean was still caught off-guard by Willie Wonka over there. “Sure Cas.” He took the coffee pot from his hand and muttered a thank you.

“So,” Cas started while Dean reached into the cabinet for his own mug. “What ingredient do you suggest I put in my coffee this morning?”

“Uh...I don't know man. I drink my coffee black.”

“Yes I know you’re boring Dean, but you can still help me not be.”

“Black coffee isn't boring it's-”

“Dean, if you say ‘manly,’ I will sit you down and make you eat only spinach and kale for a week.” Sam said, walking into the kitchen, hair still spiked up from sleep. He used one hand to sign the words, his other one occupied by Eileen, who was sleepily shuffling closely behind.

Dean looked aghast. “I would starve.” He attempted to sign his indignant response, hands moving sloppily while holding both his mug and the coffee pot.

“I think that's the point.” Eileen said, laughing. She looked at Cas. “Is Dean gatekeeping your coffee aspirations again?”

“Yes.” He answered, ignoring Sam’s laugh and Dean’s huff of exaggerated outrage.

“Have you tried cinnamon?” Sam suggested. “You like Dean’s apple pie, and that has cinnamon in it.”

“I’m not so sure about that, Sam. Dean told me not to ever take cooking advice from you.“

“And I stand by that.” Dean interjected suddenly.

“I can cook!”

“Ehhh…” Eileen’s comment bought her a look of betrayal. “Though Sam may be right on this one, you might like it.” She shrugged.

“See.”

Cas pondered the thought for a moment. “Perhaps I will then.”

“Do we have nutmeg?” Eileen said, breaking away from Sam’s grip to check one of the cabinets. He walked to the other side of the kitchen, intending to look through the spice rack, knowing exactly what his girlfriend was getting at.

“You better not mess up my damn kitchen.” He said quickly. “Or you're organising them all next time.”

Sam rolled his eyes, knowing full well Dean would never let him organise the kitchen. Eileen looked through them, carefully turning the bottles around until the labels faced her. She pulled out the cinnamon and clove while she was looking for the nutmeg.

“Found it.” Sam called from the other side of the kitchen, walking over and putting a hand on Eileen’s shoulder.

“Thank you.” She said with a smile, grabbing the plastic spice jars.

She individually tossed each one to Cas. “Use these, it will taste like a pumpkin spice latte.”

“And don't forget the milk.” Sam added.

Cas scrambled to catch the spices, successfully grabbing two of them out of the air, the third one intercepted by Dean.

“What’s a pumpkin spice latte?” He looked at Eileen before snatching the bottle of cinnamon from Dean.

“It's a famous drink you can get at Starbucks.” Sam answered.

Cas tilted his head to the side and squinted at him. “What's a Starbucks?”

“You know, the coffee shop Alex and Patience drag Jody to all the time.” Dean said.

“I’m pretty sure Donna drags her there too.” Sam added. “Something about girl’s date night out.”

“The one Claire says is for ‘basic bitches’?” He lifted his hands, forming air quotes as he spoke.

“Yeah.” Dean answered, quietly laughing. “That's the one. She’s probably right, too.”

Cas carefully put the different spices in his coffee, eyeing the mug warily. His light brown coffee now had specs of...stuff in it.

(And unbeknownst to him, there was also a small pile of sugar at the bottom, the coffee so saturated it wouldn't dissolve any more.)

Eileen laughed at the look on his face. “It's good, I promise.”

Sam turned to look at her. “How would you know? Most of the time you get hot chocolate and spike it with bourbon.”

“You’re the one who gets a Pink Drink.”

Dean choked on his coffee. “What?”

“It's strawberry and coconut milk, and it's delicious.”

“Sure it is Sam.” Eileen jabbed.

“So what I'm getting here is that not only have you two been to Starbucks often enough to have a regular order, but Sam gets something called a ‘Pink Drink’?”

“No…” Sam started, trying to find a way to defend them. “Sometimes we…”

“...Make our own drinks.” Eileen snapped her fingers as she finished for him, attempting to save them from the endless stream of good-natured insults Dean would throw at them otherwise.

“Well you two are a real Martha Stewart, aren't you?”

“Yeah, except she's a convicted criminal.” Sam attempted to snark back.

“So are you!”

Before either of them could respond, Cas shoved his mug into Dean's face. “You have to try this, Dean. It tastes like pumpkin pie.”

Dean carefully grabbed the hot mug from Cas and took a sip. He was right, it did taste kinda like pumpkin pie. He took another sip, letting the pleasant flavor sit on his tongue. The different spices mixed perfectly together.

“I mean it's… okay.” He lied.

Dean contemplated his pumpkin themed food options. “Though I would rather just have pumpkin pie.”

Cas took his mug back. “Fine. More for me.” He said with a smirk, mimicking the look Dean gives him every time Cas says he doesn't want anymore bacon, before taking another sip of the makeshift pumpkin spice coffee.

Dean smiled at him, setting his own mug down and moving Cas’s out of the way to pull him into a kiss. He could smell the nutmeg almost as much as he could taste the cinnamon on his lips.

“Mmm we should bake pumpkin pie tonight.” He said, pulling away just enough so he could talk.

“I would like that.” Cas answered. “All four of us could make pie. According to the 'mom blogs', as you call them, it would be a good family bonding exercise.”

“That’s right. And if they want any pie, they gotta help make it. That means more for us if they refuse.” He grinned.

“A win-win situation, really.” Cas smiled before tugging Dean close so their lips met again.

“I love you.” Dean muttered.

“I love you too.” Cas said softly.

Behind their backs Sam and Eileen were fake-gagging at their sickly sweet interaction, but secretly just glad the two of them had finally gotten over their stubborn (and oblivious) selves.

Sam was honestly overjoyed to see his brother finally happy. He would even go as far as saying finally willing to be himself, too. (Not that he would ever say this outloud. Sam can practically see Dean’s eyes roll farther back into his head than should be possible at the words.) All four of them had gone through more shit in the last few months than any normal person would in their entire life. They were all just lucky to be alive, and with that, learning how to savour the little moments of overly sweet normalcy.

(And the pumpkin spice-life Dean had secretly been longing for since they were little kids.)

So of course they were going to help bake pie.

---

“I want to try Starbucks.” Cas said the next morning, both of them still in bed.

Dean groaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Can I ask why, or is this one of those, 'I'll tell you later’ disasters like with the slime ingredients?”

“I want to try all the human things that I didn't get to try last time.” He said offhandedly.

Dean pictured Cas’s hurt face when he had told him he couldn’t stay, smile broken as Dean’s own heart shattered from the look the newly-human angel was giving him.

He wanted to tell him it was going to be okay, that Cas himself wasn’t the reason, but the lion in his stomach clawed the words down faster than even the thought of ruining Sam’s chances at survival could.

With a pang of guilt from the memory, Dean pulled himself closer to Cas and rested his head on the other man’s chest. He wrapped his arms around him, trying to preserve as much warmth and comfort as he could until they had to inevitably get out of bed. “Only if you let me sleep like this for thirty more minutes.”

Cas smiled. “Oh, are we making deals now?”

“I’d sell my soul for you.” Dean said cheekily, which earned a glare from Cas. “Believe me, I know.”

After a beat he went on. “Fine, you have a deal.” Before Dean could celebrate by tugging the covers over their bodies, Cas added another clause to their agreement. “But... in true Crowley fashion, you have to seal the deal with a kiss.”

Dean lazily threw his arms into the air. “Victory.”

He turned over, pulling himself upwards until he was just inches from Cas. Cradling the angel-turned-Winchester’s head in his hands, Dean placed his lips on Cas’s, melting into the touch as he felt the other man’s arms wrap around his torso.

When he broke away from the kiss, Dean found himself face to face with the most beautiful smile he had ever laid eyes on, one born from adoration and love. Cas’s eyebrows were slightly scrunched up, but for once it wasn’t a sign of confusion when met with some obscure eighties rock reference. It was a tiny expression of care, and it was one that was truly Cas. Not Jimmy’s, not even one Cas had picked up from him or Sam. It was completely and wholly Cas, and a completely and wholly human thing to do.

He realized Cas had been doing that long before the Empty stole his grace.

Dean smiled back at him, relaxed. Like taking in a deep breath after being under murky water for forty years. He brushed a loose strand of soft, brown hair into its place, before falling back into his spot and closing his eyes. “Crowley would be proud.” He whispered with a soft laugh, smile deepening as Cas joined him.

When their quiet laughter died out, there was a pause, air stagnant and in its own sleepy haze

“Oh and Dean?”

“Hm?” Dean turned his head to look at him, eyes not failing to glow with their unusually bright, green pigment. He took a deep breath, the lids of his eyes already started to slowly fall back down again.

“The slime wasn't a disaster. You enjoyed it.”

“I did.” He muttered sleepily, a loose smile forming on his lips as he drifted off to sleep. Cas laid there, running his fingers through the other man’s hair, contentment and admiration showing itself in every feature on his face.

This was more than he could have ever wanted.

---

“Dean. Dean wake up.” Cas was excitedly whisper-shouting in his ear like a kid on Christmas morning. It was exactly thirty minutes later, (he had counted), and Cas was ready to get moving.

“No.” He answered back, mimicking Cas’s tone.

“But you’re like a cat.” He teased. “You're on me and I can't get up.”

Dean sighed. “I can't believe I let you talk me into this.”

“It didn't take much convincing.”

Dean rolled over to give Cas a playful glare, but was met with the saddest puppy dog eyes he had ever seen, completely throwing him off his guard.

“I'm going to kill Sam for teaching you that.”

Cas just continued to give him that look.

“Fine.” Dean relented, sitting up with a yawn and thinking about how he will now never be able to win another argument.

“Get dressed.” Cas said excitedly. “We're going to Starbucks.”

“Hooray.” He gave a sarcastic laugh, but a smile creeped on his lips.

They walked out of their room together, heading towards the bunker’s library. Dean slid in one of the chairs, turning Sam’s still-open laptop around and waking it up.

Cas, meanwhile, turned to a random page of the lore book resting on the table and started reading in an attempt to pass the time.

The sound of Dean typing filled the air. “So, I just looked it up, and do we have to go to Starbucks?”

“Yes.” Cas said simply, not looking up from the book.

Dean groaned. “Cas there isn't one in the county, let alone Lebanon. That's probably why Sam and Eileen make their own.”

“Where's the closest one?” Cas asked, his blinding, blue eyes glaring at the back of Sam’s computer like he was trying to will the coffee shop to be near.

“I thought it was across state lines and in Nebraska at first, but it looks like there's a small one in a town called Washington. It's about 80 miles from here.”

“Let's go!” Cas excitedly straightened his trenchcoat and headed towards the door.

“Or, we could leave Starbucks to the fourteen year old girls.”

Cas turned back around and rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure their entire demographic is fourteen year old girls, staff included.”

Alright, smartass. Dean thought, struggling to hide a smile.

Cas walked out the door, expecting Dean to follow.

“It takes an hour to get there, our coffee’s going to be cold by the time we get home, and it's freezing outside.” Dean muttered under his breath, but he grabbed his keys off the table and stood up, willing to follow Cas to the ends of the earth if it meant he would stay with him.

Not that he was going to enjoy this trip. In fact, he was currently doing the opposite of enjoying, and they hadn’t even gotten into the car yet. Starbucks. Starbucks. Really, Cas? Of all the places he wanted to go, it had to be Starbucks. He couldn’t want to explore humanity through Target or something?

Even Claire wouldn’t be caught dead in that place, with all the frou-frou toppings, elaborate drink mixes, and colourful, drizzled syrup. The people who go to Starbucks are the kind of people who like coffee that doesn’t taste like coffee. Teenage girls who might as well just be drinking whip cream, and that was without considering the seasonal drinks they fawn over.

Seasonal drinks that shouldn’t legally be allowed to be referred to as coffee.

Dean couldn’t believe he ever agreed to this, but still, he begrudgingly followed.

---

Using the GPS on Cas’s phone, (Dean said his insane directional skills helped out too), they found the Starbucks relatively easily once they were in the little town.

They parked the Impala, and Dean looked at the modern building. The green lettering contrasted with the tan plaster walls, spelling “Starbucks.”

He heard Cas get out, his feet making a crunching noise as they hit the gravel, and watched from across the top of the car as he started towards the coffee shop. Dean looked at the building warily, reluctance painted on his face.

Cas was telling him some random fact about a bird he saw, but Dean could only think about his reputation that was about to shatter like a vase dropping on tile floor.

Reputation with who? He didn't know.

Well, he had a vague idea, but chose not to let his thoughts wander that far.

It was okay. This was fine. He could swallow his pride and-

“Ooh. The peppermint mocha looks good.” Cas was reading the limited edition drinks on the drive-thru menu as they traveled across the parking lot.

Dean was going to barf.

They walked into the building, immediately hit with the overwhelming smell of excessive amounts of flavoured syrup indoused coffee. Dean glanced around the well-lit building, taking note of the many different people there.

(He wasn’t about to have any black-eyed minions reporting his Starbucks order to a very judgmental Queen of Hell.)

Cas pushed Dean’s protesting body into the line, looking pleased with the many different options written on the menu overhead.

He enjoyed the small touch of Cas’s hands on his back, moving him forwards to the line, but was grateful Cas was careful not to let them linger there too long.

He was still wary about doing… this, in public.

He knew Cas was patiently waiting for him to be ready, so he didn't know how to tell him that he might never be.

The teenager working the cash register interrupted his train of thought. “What will it be for ya?”

“I would like a peppermint mocha please.”

“Alrighty. And you?”

“I'll take just a black coffee.”

The barista looked unimpressed. “And your names?”

Dean grinned. “John and John.”

“No relation.” Cas added.

The barista just sighed. “How do you want me to differentiate the two of ‘em then?”

“Oh you can put ‘John Bonham’ on mine.” Dean replied.

“Comin’ right up.” Their tone didn't change, still just full of apathy that could only be perfected by the work of a burnt-out teenager.

Dean and Cas walked down to the end of the counter and towards the pickup section. “Now tell me, Castiel.” He stressed his partner’s name. “Who’s John Bonham?”

Cas sighed, but the corner of his mouth upturned in a grin. “John Henry Bohnham, affectionately referred to as ‘Bonzo’, born in 1948 and was most well known for being the drummer of the rock band ‘Led Zeppelin’.”

“Mmm very close, but unfortunately you forgot the word ‘best’ in front of ‘rock band.’” Dean smirked before leaning in for a chaste kiss.

“You should have said I was ‘John Bon Jovi.’” Cas said, smiling.

“Why? Because you’re only good at this sometimes?” Dean closed the gap between them.

As soon as their lips met, Dean pulled away instinctively, realization hitting him like a hunter with a bat as his eyes widened in terror. “I-I'm sorry, I didn’t...” His words faltered as he looked around at the people sitting in the coffee shop, all of which were paying no mind to them.

He felt sick, guilt gnawing at him from a pit in his stomach.

“Hey, it's okay Dean. You know I'm perfectly fine with public displays of affection, and no one else even saw us. There's no need to apologize.”

“Yeah-h.” He said shakily. Before he could figure out who he was apologizing to, a voice from behind the counter called.

“I have an order for a mister ‘John’ and ‘John Bonham’.”

“That's us.” Dean spat the words out quickly, turning around to take them from the barista’s hand. He rushed out of the door, the small tinkling sound of the welcome bell and the blood rushing to his ears drowning out the sound of Cas’s call from behind.

He sat in the front seat of Baby, knowing he was being childish. Dean took a shaky breath and tried not to think about it.

About what the hell he was thinking, kissing Cas out in public like that. The judgemental eyes- black or not- that were watching. He thought about what his father would say, mind instantly going back to a moment in his childhood he has tried to forget since it happened, wondering where he went wrong.

About the time John had caught him and Lee, ignoring the weak excuses Dean was stuttering out. Skipping town faster than they had done in years.

About how the left side of his face had been a yellow-ish purple for weeks following, and the sore spot on his arm from where he caught the pavement as he flew towards it.

About how he had told Sam he just fell on a hunt. “Don't worry kid, you should have seen the vamp when I was done with him.” He swung his fist around in slow motion, pretending to punch an invisible enemy as his little brother giggled in childish bliss.

About how John never looked at him the same. The disgust in his eyes, harsh words on his lips.

About how he vowed to never disappoint his father like that again, and their joint hatred for that part of him. Sometimes it felt like the only thing they could agree on.

About how somewhere, somehow, he had decided Cas was different. That he somehow didn’t count, and that losing him hurt so much, was such an egregious pain, he wanted as much of Cas as he was allowed to have. And how that was something insurmountable stronger than the twisted, sick feeling John had placed in his gut.

He remembered something Cas had told him once: “Hatred isn’t a natural trait, Dean, it’s a learned one. A baby isn’t born with the ability to hate, it’s passed on from one broken soul to another. Love, love however. That’s something different altogether.”

Cas’s hand on his shoulder pulled Dean out of his thoughts. “Hey.” He said softly.

“Hey Cas.”

“I love you.” He got in the passenger's seat, taking his coffee from Dean’s still frozen hand.

“I love you too.” He whispered absentmindedly, staring straight ahead and seeing nothing but thoughts from the past. His mind fighting an internal battle, logic telling him that what he had with Cas wasn’t wrong, and even though everything from fate to God had tried to wedge itself between them, it was still the most right thing he had. And he knew that, but his dad’s drunken, booming voice echoed throughout his head, telling him that he was dirty. Telling him the Winchester men had no place for someone like him.

“You better stop that now, boy. Bad things happen to you when you’re weak.”

At the time he had taken that as a warning, rather than a threat. But now Dean wasn’t so sure.

It’s not even that his Dad was particularly religious. He wasn’t told that it was a sin, or that he was going to Hell. Though it’s not like that particular statement would have been wrong. He thought with a bitter laugh.

While the thoughts in his head were screaming mercilessly, the drive home was in a simple silence. The only noise being Cas’s occasional sip, and the sound of soft fabric rubbing against skin as Cas moved his hand in small, comforting motions against Dean's back.

When they got to the bunker, Cas, who was genuinely impressed that Dean managed to drive them home without crashing into a tree, pulled Dean out of the car and gently shook him out of his self-imposed stupor.

“Your coffee's cold.” Cas said with a laugh.

Dean blinked a couple times, clearing the fog from his mind, before laughing along with him. “And who’s fault is that? You were the one who insisted on traveling across the state to get it.”

“Do you want some of mine?” Cas asked. “There's a little bit left, and I held it next to the heater. It should still be lukewarm.”

“No thanks, Cas. I can go make some in the kitchen.”

“But what if I want you to try it?” Dean glared at him. “Don't make me do Sam’s ‘puppy dog eyes’ again.”

“Okay, okay. You win.” He put his hands up, mimicking a surrender. “I'll try some of your stupid, Christmas cookie, candy-cane flavoured coffee thing or whatever.” They started walking towards the entrance to the bunker.

“Peppermint mocha?”

“That's the one.”

Cas laughed at him.

“Oh just, give it here.” Dean said. He took a long sip from the disposable cup. He could taste a vague hint of whipped cream mixed in with the coffee, its light fluffy texture sticking to the last swallow of smooth liquid in the bottom of the cup. The chocolate and espresso rested on his tongue, and the peppermint was strong and refreshing. He took another sip.

“Does that face mean you like it?”

Dean looked at him guiltily. “No.” He opened the bunker’s door and started walking down the metal stairs.

“Yes you do.”

“No, I don't.”

“You took a second sip.”

Dean reached the bottom of the stairs first, and walked over to the War Room table to set both coffee cups and his keys down.

“So? I was trying to make sure I properly understood the flavour. Since when is that a crime?”

“You wanted to properly understand a flavour you didn't like?” Cas walked up to Dean and pulled the nearest chair out to sit down.

“What are you two arguing about this time?” Eileen asked from the library.

Cas clenched both of his hands into fists, putting the right one on top of the other. He made small, circular, stirring motions with his right hand. “Coffee.” He signed swiftly, movements fluid.

“Ah. That makes sense.” She spoke the words.

“What makes sense?” Sam asked, walking in from one of the hallways, making sure Eileen could see his lips before speaking.

“They're arguing over coffee again.”

Sam glanced at both of them, before his eyes reached the two cups on the War Room table.

“Wait a second… Dean?” He looked at his brother, before turning to face his best friend. “Cas?”

“Yes, Sam?” Cas answered.

“Did you two go to Starbucks?”

“I don't want to talk about it.” Dean grumbled.

“Yes, we did!” Cas sounded way too excited to be referring to coffee. “I got a peppermint mocha, and Dean tried some and liked it.”

“I did not.”

“I don't care what coffee you like, Dean. What I do care about is that you went all the way to Starbucks, and didn't bother to ask if we wanted to come.”

“Not cool Dean.” Eileen walked in, shaking her head and hiding a smile.

“I might have thought about buying you two drinks, but there was no way I was ordering yours with a straight face.” He looked at Sam. “And it's an hour away, they wouldn't have been hot or cold or whatever they're supposed to be by the time we got here.”

“Well then we'll just have to go back, all four of us.” Eileen put simply.

“It's an hour away.”

“We know.” Sam added.

“Let me say that again, in case you weren’t listening. It's an hour away. For coffee. That isn't even that good.”

“I beg to differ, Dean.” Cas said.

“Yeah I'm definitely with Cas on this one.” Eileen agreed while Sam nodded along.

“No. There's no way I'm getting back in Baby to drive all the way to Starbucks again.”

“Fine. We’ll go get our own.”

“With what car?” Dean said, very sure of himself.

Sam snatched Baby’s keys off the war room table, which in hindsight was probably something Dean should have expected.

“Let's hope Sam doesn't have too many shots of espresso.” Eileen said, faking concern. “I would hate for your baby to pay the price.”

“Fine. I'll drive you.” Dean grumbled while Eileen double fist-pumped her win.

Cas looked very pleased with the thought of getting to try more coffee.

---

They left shortly after, the drive over painful for everyone except Dean, who listened to the same four songs on repeat the entire hour.

(It’s their own fault, really.)

---

“Can we please listen to something other than Bob Seger on the trip home?” Sam complained as he slammed shut the door to Baby’s backseat.

“You’re just mad you didn’t get shotgun.” Dean said, closing his own door. “Besides, driver picks the music, everyone else shuts their cakehole.” Sam mouthed the words along with Dean, having heard the speech a million times before.

Eileen and Cas got out, neither one of them had any desire to input on their squabble, and were instead engaged in their own, quieter discussion.

Both brothers continued to argue until they walked into the Starbucks.

“Ah. There's the scent of overpriced coffee I missed.” Eileen joked as she took her first breath inside the building, using her hand to waft the smell towards her.

“What are you getting?” Cas asked Sam.

“I want my usual, and Eileen, what are you having?”

“Hot chocolate with espresso shots please. This place doesn't sell liquor.” She shook her head sadly and Sam laughed. “Good thing I brought my own.” She winked at them, opening her jacket just enough so they could see the inside pocket and showing off her flask.

“Oh, now that would be a Starbucks I would go to.” Dean said.

“You two wait in line.” Sam pointed to Cas and Dean. “We’ll save a table.”

Dean looked like he wanted to protest, but they walked away before he had the chance. Cas leaned over towards him. “Don't worry. I'll order Sam’s.” He very conspicuously winked.

Dean smiled at his attempts of regular human interaction, before over-the-top winking himself.

“Can you order for us? I need to talk to Sam about something.”

“Sure thing…” Cas had to think before finishing his sentence. “...buckaroo.”

Dean outwardly cringed. “Keep trying, you'll get there eventually.” He patted Cas on the back, which was slightly moving in a chuckle.

It was good to see Cas filled with so much simple joy. Face creased from laughter rather than stress, he seemed so much lighter. Happier. It was only a small sliver of what he deserved, but it was something. Maybe he could live with driving an hour to get what he assumed was half-decent coffee.

“What would you like?” Cas asked him, eyes still filled with a sparkle that only comes from gaining something you thought you lost.

“Uh.” He thought about it for a moment, almost considering branching out into the unexplored terrain that was the dark green menu with small, white text, before shuddering at the thought.

“I think I'll take that expensive black coffee I didn't get earlier.”

Dean was not going to turn into one of those people, if he had any say about it.

Cas walked into the line, leaving Dean to scan the room, furiously waving Sam over when his eyes found their booth.

“Sam.” He sounded like he was trying to whisper, but his volume raised far higher than that. The patron closest to Dean gave him a look before turning back to their work.

“Sam, come here, it's urgent.” His brother turned to look at him, rolling his eyes before getting out of the booth.

“What do you want?” He said once he reached Dean.

“Sam. Help. What do I do?”

“About what?”

“About what kind of coffee Cas is having.”

“Oh god, Dean let it go. He's not going to only ever drink black coffee. Contrary to popular belief, former angels do actually have souls.”

Dean ignored the implications that he didn't have a soul, too distracted by Cas. “But look.” He motioned his head towards where Cas was standing, next in line to order. “He’s eyeing the weird fruity drinks.”

“Dean. It's Cas. The man’s favorite food is PB&J. What did you expect him to have, taste?”

“Alright that's rich coming from mister Pinkity Drinkity or whatever the fuck.”

“You walked into a Starbucks and ordered black coffee, I don't think I'm the wrong one here.”

“Wait, wait. Shut up. Quiet.” He hit Sam on the shoulder in a childish attempt at getting him to stop talking so he could listen.

“Ow. That hurt.” Sam muttered, before turning to watch Cas, which Dean was already doing.

“I would like to try a…” Cas methodically scanned the menu again. “A ‘Passion Tango Iced Tea,’ please.” The barista took no mind to the excessive air quotes.

“It's not even coffee.” Dean said to Sam, clearly distraught. He turned to look back at Cas.

“And your name sir?”

“Lizzo.”

Dean threw his arms up into the air. “I can't believe this is the man I love.” His voice cracked like he was holding in tears of anguish from listening to Cas order.

Sam just rolled his eyes at the theatrics. Right, and he’s the dramatic one.

“Aw. You're in love.” Sam held his hands up, forming a heart and mocking his brother.

“Oh shut up. What are you, seven?”

“Is Cas your gay thing?”

“You shut your mo-”

“What are we gossiping about?” Eileen whispered, cutting Dean off and causing them both to jump.

“We're not gossiping.” Sam said indignantly.

“Sam started it.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

“This is where I call you two ‘asshats’, right?”

“It's ‘assbutt.’” Cas said, walking up to them and catching the tail end of their conversation. “And that's my line.”

Cas handed them each their drinks, before excitedly trying his own. He put the plastic cup up to his mouth, almost missing the straw. When he swallowed the cranberry-colored liquid, his face relaxed in pleasure.

“I know this one isn't coffee, but it's really good.”

“We didn't get coffee either.” Eileen said. “So don't worry, Dean's the odd man out here.”

Dean glared at her before trying his own coffee, and well, it was coffee. The point of buying expensive caffeine still went straight over his head.

The four of them went over to their thankfully-still-available booth and sat down. Dean and Cas sat on one side, both instinctively choosing the side that faced the door, with Sam and Eileen sliding into the seats directly across from them. They sat there, talking about nothing in particular, and certainly nothing of importance, before falling into the natural art of storytelling.

Aside from killing monsters, that’s what hunters did best. Sitting around and sharing stories. As tiring and dangerous as their lives were, some hunts were worth sharing exaggerated and hyperbolic versions of, especially over drinks.

Sam’s favourite story to tell changed every time, and one would almost be inclined to believe that most of it wasn't real, but the wildest parts also caused the most merriment. (Dean pretended he hadn’t witnessed the whole thing, sparing Sam by not telling the other two how it actually went down.)

Eileen shared of her time in Ireland. “Foreign country, foreign monsters.” She said with a wink, telling of creatures neither Sam nor Dean had even read about.

Dean’s favourite story to tell, aside from the fact that he killed Hitler, was the time he got to solve a mystery with everyone’s favorite talking dog. And yeah, all three of the people that sat at the table had heard both many times before, but that didn't matter, it was still enrapturing to hear them again.

Cas had millenniums to choose from, but always found the most interesting hunts to be the ones with the Winchesters. He also had many hilarious stories about his adventures with Crowley, but he was less fond of those.

“I remember once, Dean went on a hunt with Dad.” Sam started. “Nasty vampire, it got a hit or two on Dean. I think you guys went with another hunter. Young. About your age, actually. Uh…”

He snapped his fingers, trying to recall the name. “Lee. That's it.” Dean looked up from the coffee right as Sam said it. “Do you remember him?”

Something flashed in Dean’s eyes, but his brother didn't seem to notice.

Cas, who was used to admiring every minute detail of Dean's expression and posture, didn't miss the ever so slight, yet sharp, inhale. Or the way he swallowed before speaking, trying to clear the small lump from his throat.

Dean noticed too, internally rolling his eyes at his own reaction.

“Yeah it's been a while, but I remember him.” Dean was blatantly ignoring Cas’s burning stare from beside him, and the fact that he had stabbed Lee through the chest just last year.

Cas made sure no one was watching before gently placing a hand on Dean’s thigh. Knowing it would comfort him from both intuition and experience. Dean stiffened under the touch, but after realizing no one could see where Cas’s hand was, he visibly relaxed.

“What happened to him?” Eileen asked innocently.

“Oh uh, a hunt I think. Most of us go that way, I assume he was no different.” Technically Dean dealt the final blow, but it was the entrancing call of the monster, greed, and the life Lee and Dean had both secretly wanted, that caused his former-friend’s downfall in the end.

“Yeah.” Sam said solemnly, suddenly lost in his own thoughts, most of which were riddled with grief.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, letting the weight of their many losses wash over them like a tidal wave.

One made of espresso and milk rather than the rough waters of the sea.

---

The ride back was more manageable, Dean allowing them one song choice each, complete with a warning to pick wisely.

(They all very cheekily chose the songs they knew would bother Dean the most.)

---

Full on coffee, cookies Dean bought for them at Starbucks, and brimming with contentment, (as well as the fact that they spent half the day in the car), Cas suggested to Dean that they “hit the hay” as they stepped back into the bunker.

They laid there in silence, breathing in scents of comfort, coffee, and each other, until Cas eventually drifted off to sleep.

Dean, however, continued to lay there. Thinking.

He remembered the first solo case John sent him on.

Something curled inside his gut.

They had been two nuns, their fate a product of hate crime. Put to death for simply being themselves.

Dean didn't blame them for coming back as ghosts.

He remembered the words - ones he would soon learn were slurs - that John would spit out like acid.

Or offhandedly toss like they didn't bear enough weight to shatter the window of a person's self-image.

It had taken him almost forty years to realize that very same window inside of him was in sharp, jagged pieces. Cutting anyone and everyone who came near.

It had taken Cas dying to start picking them up again.

He turned to look at the man next to him, relaxed and blissfully sleeping. His chest moved up and down rhythmically, and Dean slowed his breath to match until he fell into a surprisingly peaceful slumber.

---

When Dean woke up, the other side of his bed was cold.

He didn't panic, knowing full well that Cas probably ran to the bathroom, or was pouring another mountain of sugar in his coffee.

Losing Cas again to the Empty had ripped him apart, but months of spending every night with his partner left him with less nightmares and waking in cold sweats then he had since before Hell.

Dean also learned that his own presence was enough to fight off the demons of solid, black goo that plagued Cas’s head at night.

He was finally starting to understand why life seemed to lose all meaning when Cas was gone, and from there he could slowly start to rebuild both of them.

Dean heard soft padding noises as socked feet walked down the hall, and there was a knock on the bedroom door. "S'your room too, Cas. You don't have to knock." He laughed, words slightly slurred from just waking up

Cas walked in, wielding two mugs of coffee and a proud look shining in his eyes. “I made us coffee.” He said triumphantly, handing one of the mugs to Dean.

“I put chocolate and peppermint in your coffee.”

Dean fake-gasped. “You monster. Ruining the integrity of my drink like that.”

“I'm a human, you ass.” Cas responded, a smile tugging at his lips. “Besides, I know you liked mine yesterday.”

“I did not.” He said, discontentedly crossing his arms. “I only drink coffee that's as black as my soul. Darker than the night sky. Hotter than the bunker’s computer when it overheats. As manly as-”

“Oh, just drink your damn coffee.”

“Fine.” He groused. “But I'm not enjoying it.”

Cas raised an eyebrow at him, before setting his mug on the bedside table and sitting down behind Dean. The bed creaked underneath him as he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist. “Is this why you and Sam never use umbrellas?” He joked.

Dean laughed.

Cas rested his head on the crook of Dean’s neck and whispered. “You know you don't have to pretend.”

“Pretend what?” Dean asked softly.

“You know.”

“That I don’t like flavoured coffee?” He said with a snort.

“Sort of.” Cas hugged him tighter. “No one’s going to think any less of you Dean. You’re allowed to like the things you like.”

“I know.” He resigned.

“John isn't here anymore.”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“I know.” The words barely came out as a whisper, hot tears betraying Dean’s eyes as they silently leaked out and ran down his cheeks.

He tried to wipe the tears away, hearing his Dad’s voice in his head and knowing he was being stupid.

Dean couldn't help but think of himself as a small, living-room window, from an old, dilapidated house. Stained yellow with age. Cracking from wear.

He let the drumming of his Dad’s words in his head be drowned out by Cas’s voice.

He couldn't unwrap the fuzz from around him, so he didn't know what Cas was saying, ears seemingly filled with cotton. It was just the knowledge alone that he was there. That he was holding him and whispering comforting words into his ear. That even as a human he could heal Dean at his lowest points, and still see him as the brightest, strongest, soul.

You don't really know what a picture is going to be until it's done.

Maybe that window is a beautiful stained-glass portrait.

“Uh.” Dean cleared his throat. “What-what do you have?” He indicated Cas’s coffee by angling his head towards where it sat on the nightstand.

“I made iced coffee.”

Dean just looked at him, astounded, eyes widening. “You mean it’s not hot?”

“Yes, that's where the ‘iced’ in ‘iced coffee’ comes from.” He said very seriously.

They both sat in silence for the next hour, peacefully drinking their coffee and enjoying the presence of one another.

---

When they got out of bed and ventured into the rest of the bunker, they found Sam and Eileen in the library.

They were sitting in adjacent chairs, with Eileen laying her head on Sam’s shoulder and reaching for her water bottle on the table. They were reading a book together, but Eileen shook Sam indicating she had seen them walk in.

“Goodmorning.” She greeted cheerfully.

“Mornin’.” Dean pulled up a chair across from them, and watched as Cas did the same.

“What are you two reading?” Cas asked.

“The Men of Letters’s Bestiary.” Sam said.

Dean snorted. “Ah. Doing a little light reading are we?”

“We're thinking about filling in some of the pages.” Eileen added.

“Yeah, for all of the stuff they have here, it's surprisingly empty.” Sam continued flipping through some of the pages, most of which were blank.

“Heh. I should put you in that thing, Cas.”

Cas let out a laugh. “Right. Because I’m a good example of an angel.” The sarcasm was masking something else in his voice.

“If it makes you feel any better, you’ve always been my favourite angel.” Dean only realised how sappy he sounded after it came out of his mouth.

“Yeah, I’ve heard the rest of them are dicks.” Eileen added.

Cas smiled at that, seemingly back to normal.

“Right, well you three can do that, I'm off to the Dean Cave.”

“Or…” Sam started.

“We could go back to Starbucks.” Cas finished, nodding his head enthusiastically.

“Yeah... that's not where I was going with that, but I like where your head’s at, Cas. We should definitely go back.”

“Eileen?” He asked.

“Hell yeah.”

“Dean?”

Dean pressed his mouth into a thin line and glared at him. “Yes, sure, fine. But we're not making this a daily thing.”

“That's fair.” Cas agreed. “It's probably not very healthy.”

He went to grab his wallet and keys before Sam could start his speech on the nutritional value of green things, and Eileen snatched her water bottle off the library table as they all got up to leave.

---

Dean gave up on letting them choose the music after snickering and requesting “Friday” by Rebecca Black for the third time in a row.

(It wasn't even Friday?)

---

Dean stepped out and closed Baby’s door in the parking lot of Starbucks an hour later, kicking the loose pieces of gravel on the asphalt for the third time in two days.

“We might as well just live here.” He said, tone dripping with sarcasm.

“I wouldn't make that offer if I were you, Cas looks like he’d be totally on board.” Sam laughed.

Cas went and stood beside Dean as they started walking towards the building, smiling.

“What?” Dean asked, question genuine and free of all malice.

“Nothing.” Cas answered, smile not faltering.

His eyes revealed nothing but pure devotion for the man he was staring at. A silent promise, one without pressure, that he would be standing there, and Dean could take the leap anytime he wanted.

Dean was slowly inching towards the end of the diving board.

---

“I think I'll just drink my water.”

“Oh that's exciting.” Sam joked. “If I got you a lemon to go with it, would you be able to handle that?”

“Don't talk to me about my drink, when yours is a vivid green puke colour.”

“Hey, at least it actually has a colour. And a flavour at that.”

Dean couldn’t believe those words were coming from the same man who drinks exactly a hundred and one ounces of water a day. (Which, according to Sam, is the recommended amount for males, as stated by the Institute of Medicine.)

(Dean didn’t care.)

“Fine then.” She turned to look at Dean. “Get me the strongest thing on the menu.”

Dean laughed before turning to Cas. “Let's just go get in line before we suffer at the hands of the Leahy like Sam.”

Sam and Eileen went to look for a place where they could all sit again, playfully bickering the entire way.

While he was standing in line with Cas, Dean looked over at his brother, and found him and Eileen sitting at a small table in the corner.

Cas was still helping him learn ASL, so he caught parts of their conversation.

“If Jack is in every drop of rain, do you think he's in your water?” Sam signed, trying to contain his laughter.

Eileen pushed her water away with a look of disgust. “You’re lucky I love you.” She answered back.

“I know I am.”

He watched her silently laugh before turning back to look at Cas.

They really did have it good, didn't they?

“What are you ordering, Dean?”

Dean stood there silently, contemplating. He internally weighed his pros and cons, mind leaving the menu entirely. While there was still a lot of shit he had to work through, (shit he had been actively not working out his entire life), there wasn’t much of a decision to be made.

He would always choose Cas.

“You know what?” He reached out and grasped Cas’s hand firmly. “I was thinking about being less boring. What ingredients do you suggest I try?”

Cas smiled warmly, reaching the crinkled corners of his eyes. “They have a cinnamon flavoured one. That’ll be almost like apple pie.”

“Will it really?” Dean’s tone was dismissive, but there was a smile on his face.

“Yes, Sam told me.“

“Not that I trust Sam’s judgment, but okay, I think I’ll take one of those.”

“I'm going to have a real pumpkin spice latte this time.” Cas seemed very pleased with the aspect of buying something they could make it home, but Dean wasn't going to fault him for it.

The patron in front of them finished ordering, clearing the way for Cas and Dean. The barista from the first time they went caught sight of them and made a face. “Wait a minute. I think I know you two.”

“Yes, we came here yesterday.” Cas helped. “Well, we actually visited twice, but you weren't working the second time.”

“Right... John and John, how could I forget?”

“This time we're ordering for four though.”

“I would like a…” Dean squinted at the menu, looking for the cinnamon flavoured coffee. “‘Cinnamon Dolce Latte.’ And my devilishly handsome friend here will take the pumpkin spice version.”

“And what are the other two drinks and names?”

Dean whispered something in Cas’s ear. “I'll drink the coffee, but I won't budge on this one.”

“That's okay Dean, you’ll get there eventually.” He whispered back.

The barista looked unimpressed with them. Again.

Dean cleared his throat. “Ahem, sorry. The tall one with the stupidly long hair,” he pointed towards Sam, “is getting…” he trailed off before looking to Cas for help.

“I don't know, man. It was something sickly looking. Cold? Green? Possibly tea?”

“And Iced Green Tea Latte?” The barista suggested.

“That's the one. His name is Jimmy.”

“And the lovely lady sitting next to him would like the strongest drink you have. Her name is Robert.”

“Her name is Robert…?” He slowly pointed towards Eileen, sounding unsure of himself.

Or them.

“Yup.” Cas said.

Eileen gave a little wave from across the room.

He gritted his teeth in a very clearly fake smile. “Coming right up.”

They paid for their coffee and picked it up, taking the travel cups across the room and towards Sam and Eileen.

Cas took a sip from his pumpkin spice latte, gleefully smiling. “As much as I like trying different drinks, I think I might start just getting this one. It's my favourite.”

Sam leaned over to Dean, neither one taking their eyes off of Cas. “Should we tell him the drink is seasonal?” He glanced at Sam, before staring back at his partner, whose face was beaming like a literal ray of sunshine.

Dean’s face softened. “Nah. Let’s not ruin his moment.” He took a sip of his cinnamon coffee and damn, it was delicious.

Nothing at all like apple pie, but still delicious.

Cas walked over to him, making eye contact in a silent question. Dean nodded with a small smile, and Cas took his hand.

“I love you.” Cas whispered.

“I love you too.” He whispered back.

They didn’t whisper to hide, and it wasn't because he was ashamed. It was because that exchange was just for them.

Dean leaned in and softly kissed Cas.

Now that was to tell everyone in the shop that his devilishly handsome friend was spoken for.

Slowly, the sun would come out and shine through the stained-glass window, shadow portraying the picture of an angel.

And alright, fine, Dean could admit that he enjoyed the peppermint mocha.

He thought about it for a moment, before giving a light chuckle, realising something.

“What?” Cas asked, turning to look at him with a soft smile resting on his face.

“Nothing.” Dean whispered, squeezing Cas’s hand in his. He took a sip from his coffee, relishing in the warm and cozy flavour enrapturing his tongue.

He was only thinking that maybe, just maybe,

Cas had changed him too.

---

Bonus Epilogue:

Dean held the glass door open for the other three, and they all walked out onto the asphalt, laughing, and making their way towards Baby.

The street lamp overhead flickered, and all four of them froze.

“Did anyone happen to get the salted caramel macchiato?” Dean whispered.

---

-This fic on Ao3 (Kudos and comments would be greatly appreciated.)

-Writing Tag

-Ao3

-Request fics/drabbles/ficlets. (Please)

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spicyswords-inc · 4 years ago

Text

A Nightmare Turned to Dream - a kiralfonse ficlet

A/N: uwu I don’t normally post much fanfiction... but gosh darn it after that Book IV finale in Heroes I needed to put metaphorical pen to metaphorical paper.

Be warned that this contains MEGA spoilers for the Book IV finale in FE:Heroes. If you’re worried you might get spoiled, close tumblr, go play the chapter and then come back (or don’t I’m not your mom).

Anyways, a quick shoutout to my pal @eelkonig for giving this baby a once over. I don’t know what I’d do without you!

The fic’s below the cut! Enjoy!

Kiran woke with a start and jolted into an upright position. Their hands, which had been desperately gripping the horn that would return them home, were now gripping the soft sheets that had been covering their prone form. Kiran took a moment to slowly rub their thumbs against the downy fabric as the rest of their senses gradually came to. They slowly turned their head to take in their surroundings. It appeared that they were back in their room at the castle. Their room was sparse but convenient, only containing the necessities: the bed on which they lay, a small desk to lay their maps and tactical journals, and a small wardrobe that held several replicas of their signature cloak.

Kiran slowly swung their legs over the edge of their bed to tentatively touch the cobblestone floor with their feet. When their limbs didn’t seem to show signs of sinking beneath the sturdy surface any time soon, Kiran released a breath they hadn’t realized they’d been holding.

“That’s a good sign,” they muttered to themselves as they grabbed their boots, which had been laid on the floor at the foot of the bed. They tugged their hood a little more over their face as they gave their room another onceover before leaving. As soon as they stepped into the hallway, they heard a voice from behind that stopped them in their tracks. A voice they’d thought they’d never hear again.

“Oh, Kiran!” Alfonse exclaimed as he continued towards Kiran. “I am glad to see you finally awake! You had me worried.”

All Kiran could do was stare blankly. ‘Can I actually trust this to be real? Is he really…?

Alfonse blinked. “...Is something wrong? What is this blank expression you have?”

Before Kiran could reply, Commander Anna came from behind Kiran to join them. “Excellent. Now we’re all awake again, with Kiran back!” the red-headed commander exclaimed as she smiled towards their tactician.

Alfonse took note of Kiran’s still blank-looking expression and tried his best to catch their gaze. “So do you not remember anything either?”

Kiran feigned ignorance and shook their head no. If they’d all forgotten, there was no reason for them to share the details of the nightmare they’d just experienced.

“Let me explain what I can,” Alfonse began. “All of us slept for three days and three nights. And suddenly, now, we all woke up, one by one.” The prince rubbed the back of his neck nervously when Kiran’s expression continued to not change. “You were the last of use to wake, following just after Sharena.”

The princess in question yawned loudly and stretched her arms towards the ceiling as she appeared from around the corner and walked in their general direction. “Whew! That was a great nap…” Sharena mumbled absently to herself. When she spotted her compatriots in discussion, she quickly rushed to close the scant distance between them. “Oh, good morning!”

Alfonse and Anna nodded their greetings while Kiran continued to stare and take everything in.

“It seems like we were all sleeping for quite a while, weren’t we?” The princess brought a finger to her lip and her expression turned inquisitive. “Why did we all fall asleep, though?” she wondered aloud as she closed her eyes thoughtfully. “It feels like I had a really long dream, but the details are...gone!” Seemingly unconcerned, Sharena simply shrugged and erupted into a bright smile. “Oh well! I’m sure we have nothing to worry about. We should focus on the time we lost to our nap! Time to get out there and take today’s missions by storm!”

Sharena’s boundless optimism was so contagious that Kiran found they were finally able to crack a smile. Some of the tension they’d been holding in their shoulders dissipated as Alfonse inquired about the schedule for the day. As the quartet went about actually performing the errands expected of them throughout the day, Kiran found themself gradually relaxing with each passing moment. They found comfort in the familiar routine: overseeing training, going over strategy, checking in on the heroes, and so on.

When it came time to patrol the perimeter of the castle, Alfonse had swiftly volunteered to join Kiran when they’d asked the Order of Heroes as a collective. Normally such enthusiasm would’ve made Kiran blush; they still weren’t quite sure what their feelings involving Alfonse were. But when they thought back to the sight of Alfonse’s unconscious, prone form, and Freyja’s declaration that Alfonse, because he had cheated death, had been erased from existence, they… they…

“Kiran?”

A warm, strong hand wrapped around theirs brought them back to the present. Kiran blinked as Alfonse tried to peer beneath their hood and meet their gaze. Kiran instinctually used their other hand to pull their hood lower across their face.

“I-I’m sorry if that was too forward,” Alfonse stammered as he turned to face away from the summoner. “It was just… you’d started to slow down. And when you stopped walking besides me entirely I… well I…”

“It’s okay,” Kiran reaffirmed, squeezing the hand still holding theirs. “Sorry about that. I guess I got lost in thought…” Their voice trailed off as they glanced towards Alfonse, whose head turned to gaze at them once again at the same time. It took a moment for them to realize just how corny that must have looked, but when realization finally hit the pair found themselves glancing in opposite directions yet again.

Kiran willed their heart to settle, bringing their free hand to rest against their chest as they steadied their breathing. The duo stood together in silence still holding hands for what felt like forever. Kiran felt Alfonse adjust his posture slightly beside them. Chancing a glance his direction, it looked as though Alfonse had something to ask. But his voice caught in his throat as his sister and Commander Anna bounded towards them. The duo immediately ceased contact and tried to nonchalantly move their hands away from the other.

“There you two are!” Anna exclaimed exasperatedly. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you two.”

“My apologies,” said Alfonse, stepping towards the two women before him. “Are we needed for something?”

“Why else would we search for you?” Sharena quipped before groaning quickly. “Anyways, that’s not what’s important right now. What’s important is that Loki has been spotted just outside the forest. And she has units with her.”

No more words needed to be said as the small group jumped into action. As they all but sprinted towards the forest, Alfonse briefly glanced towards the summoner running just behind him. He’d been just about to ask them if they were okay. He’d noticed just how out of it they’d seemed since earlier that morning.

‘I suppose that will just have to wait.’ Alfonse thought despondently to himself as he returned his gaze forward. ‘They’re probably fine.’

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

“Oh, hello. Lovely weather, isn’t it?” Loki cooed, twirling a loose strand of her magenta hair around her finger as she shot the Order of Heroes a disparaging look. “How have you been? Well, I hope.”

“Skip the pleasantries, Loki,” Anna spat as she stepped forwards. “What have you done this time?”

Loki’s face feigned shock as she brought her free hand to cover her mouth. “Me? I haven’t done a thing. If you want someone to blame… well…” The witch’s lips upturned into a devilish grin. “I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.” Loki’s gaze scanned across their group a moment. When her eyes descended upon Kiran, her eyes widened with acknowledgement. “...Ah! Forgive my rudeness. Welcome back, Kiran!”

Kiran’s eyes grew wide as Loki stared them down. They gulped reflexively but did their best to otherwise hide their discomfort.

“Did you have a pleasant dream?”

Kiran’s breath hitched in their throat as images of the nightmare they’d just returned from flashed in their mind. Without a second thought, Kiran surged forward and aimed Breidablik at Loki.

“Kiran!” Alfonse shouted as he immediately chased after them. Sharena and Anna quickly shared a glance before joining their comrades in rushing the enemy.

The battle didn’t last long. The team had worked together long enough that dispatching their foes was mere child's play. Alfonse, Sharena, and Anna expertly faced against the nameless axe, sword, and lance lackeys respectively while Kiran and Loki exchanged blows with each other. As soon as Loki noticed her debilitated henchmen, the sorceress clicked her tongue disdainfully before disappearing with a snap of her fingers.

Sharena fumed as she ran towards where Loki had been moments ago. “She’s gone… again! We’ll never get close enough to capture her!” Sharena sighed while her posture deflated slightly. “Gone...again… Huh.”

“What is it, Sharena?” Alfonse asked as he walked forward. He spared Kiran a quick glance before returning his full attention to his sister.

“I feel like… Something is familiar about this.” Sharena hooked a finger thoughtfully over her chin. “Is it deja vu, or is it something from a dream?” The young princess paused and glanced towards the ground. “But… what dream would it have been?”

Alfonse didn’t miss the way Kiran flinched at the word “dream” from the corner of his eye. “Are you all right, Sharena? Are you still half-asleep?”

Sharena’s gaze was still downwards when she noticed something on the ground in front of her. “...Oh!” she chirped, kneeling to the ground to scoop something into her hands. Kiran held back a choked gasp as Sharena produced a familiar looking flower crown. “A chain of flowers? Why… Where did I…” Sharena’s hands started to tremble slightly. “Why am I suddenly...so sad? These flowers are breaking my heart, and I… I…” She sniffled slightly. Alfonse turned and watched as Kiran seemed to do the same.

Anna awkwardly cleared her throat. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’ve just received a report you’ll want to hear, Princess Sharena. It seems a childhood friend of yours has just arrived for an unannounced visit… Ah, speaking of, there she is-”

The small group of friends turned in tandem towards where Anna had pointed.

“Ah!” Sharena squeaked as a head of blonde hair similar to hers came into view.

Hot tears streamed down Kiran’s face as Sharena’s friend, who so closely resembled Peony, appeared to the summoner that way, wings, floral attire, and all. Kiran couldn’t be too sure the person in front of her was actually a ljosalfar, but at that point it didn’t matter. Kiran was barely able to choke back their cry as their emotions overtook them and they crumpled to the ground.

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

When Kiran’s eyes fluttered open, the first thing they noticed was how their eyelashes fluttered against material similar to their cloak. Eyes slowly coming into focus, Kiran then took stock of how their surroundings continued to shift around them even though they felt no ground beneath their feet. When they made to straighten their posture it was then that they felt their chest flush against someone’s back and hands that weren’t theirs wrapped beneath their thighs.

“Oh thank goodness,” Kiran heard Alfonse breathe as the prince continued to give them a piggyback ride. “I was already assuming the worst when you’d crumbled to the ground like that.”

Heat rose onto Kiran’s cheeks as they hid their face from the rest of the world by leaning their forehead against the back of Alfonse’s neck. “Sorry,” they muttered quietly, utterly embarrassed.

“It’s nothing you need to apologize for,” Alfonse reassured as he stepped inside the castle. He paused for just a moment to shift and more comfortably accommodate Kiran’s weight before continuing towards their room. Kiran took a moment to look up and take note of their route; from the looks of it, it appeared Alfonse had the foresight to not go through the main doors of the castle but instead take a side entrance. Kiran felt a wave of gratitude wash over them; they didn’t want to even think about all the looks they would’ve gotten. Their lips quirked into the faintest of smiles as they returned their forehead to rest against the back of Alfonse’s neck.

The pair continued in comfortable silence all the way back to Kiran’s room. As soon as Alfonse had reached their door, Kiran took that moment to shift their legs from Alfonse’s hold and return to a standing position. Alfonse watched as the summoner stared at their door handle but made no move to open it.

“...Are you okay?” Alfonse asked quietly, though he already had an inkling to what Kiran’s answer was.

When the summoner slowly turned to face him, the young prince felt a sharp pain in his chest. Their eyes, which he hardly ever saw appear from beneath their hood, were visibly rimmed with unshed tears while their nose was scrunched and their lower lip quivered.

Without thinking, Alfonse reached over Kiran, grabbed the door handle, and quietly ushered them inside before just as quietly shutting the door behind them. Kiran desperately covered their face with their hands to choke back any sniffles and sobs. Their tears soaked into their gloves for only a moment until familiar hands grabbed theirs to gently lower them.

“Hey-”

Kiran suddenly removed their hands from Alfonse’s to quickly grab the edge of their hood and pull it further over their face again. Despite the attempt to hide their tears, their body still shuddered as their cries became harder and harder to hold back.

Alfonse waited a moment before trying to act again. The last thing he wanted to do was make Kiran uncomfortable. He just couldn’t stand to see them this way. Chest briefly filling with bated breath, Alfonse opted to take a seat on the edge of Kiran’s bed before trying anything.

“Kiran,” Alfonse tried again, his voice only slightly raising in volume. All he received in the form of acknowledgement was the sight of Kiran’s posture straightening ever so slightly. “...What happened?” he asked faintly. All Kiran could do was shake their head in response, their tears now spilling past their hood to drip onto the floor.

“Are you okay?”

Kiran shook their head again.

Alfonse bit back a sigh. He’d never seen Kiran look so despondent. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

Kiran looked up just enough to lock eyes with the prince in front of them, their eyes peeking from beneath their hood. Then their resolve crumbled. Unable to hold back their grief and anguish any longer, Kiran slowly approached Alfonse with outstretched arms. Alfonse wasted no time in returning the embrace. He brought one hand to rest against the back of Kiran’s hooded head while the other pulled Kiran’s form flush against his. Kiran, in turn, draped their arms over Alfonse’s shoulders and shoved their face against his shoulder. Alfonse felt every tear, gasp, and shudder as Kiran wailed into his shoulder. All Alfonse could do in the way of comfort was reassuringly rub their back as Kiran let out the emotions they’d been bottling up.

“I-I thought you were dead!” Kiran blubbered into his shoulder. “I thought I’d killed you! I th-thought you were gone, and that it was all my fault!”

Alfonse moved the hand that had cupped the back of Kiran’s head to grasp one of their hands. “I’m right here, though,” he reminded gently. He tightened his grip around their hand. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

When Kiran returned his grip with a similar squeeze, Alfonse felt a burst of confidence as he quickly leaned forward and chanced a kiss against Kiran’s hooded brow. The prince felt the summoner in his arms stiffen and immediately worried that he’d gone too far.

“I’m sorry, was that too-”

“No!” Kiran immediately interjected. Both parties erupted into equal amounts of blush as the silence that surrounded the room began to envelope them. Thankfully, the silence they shared wasn’t tense or anxious. The two simply relaxed and reveled in the other’s company as they continued to embrace the other.

Alfonse had no idea how long they remained in each other’s arms. But when he felt Kiran’s breath steadily even out and then deepen, he didn’t try to hide his smile. Moving as smoothly as possible so that he wouldn’t wake his summoner, Alfonse quickly scooped Kiran into a bridal carry before just as quickly laying them down on their bed. Alfonse made sure to gently remove Kiran’s boots from their person before carefully covering them with their sheets.

He took in the sight for just a moment. He’d never seen so many sides of Kiran. The Kiran he was familiar with was the calm, calculated tactician that held together the Order of Heroes. Alfonse couldn’t think of a time he’d seen Kiran scared, upset, or vulnerable. Though he’d never wish the feelings Kiran had shared upon anyone, it was relieving for Alfonse to see. It made Kiran more… human.

“What am I even thinking? Of course they’re human,” Alfonse whispered to himself, turning to leave Kiran. A hand wrapped around his stopped him in his tracks. Alfonse looked back and saw a barely awake Kiran holding onto their hand like it was the only thing they knew to do.

“Please don’t leave,” Kiran whispered, a shudder passing through their spine.

Alfonse complied and lowered to a kneel beside them. He made sure to move in a way that allowed their hands to stay connected. “Alright. But just until you fall asleep.”

“‘Kay,” they responded sleepily before closing their eyes again.

Alfonse waited for the grip around his hand to loosen sufficiently before painstakingly removing his hand to return it to his side. Something told him that this wouldn’t be the last time he’d do this for Kiran. Alfonse smiled as he took in Kiran’s peaceful slumbering form one last time. It wasn’t as though he minded.

#fe:heroes #fe: heroes #feh kiran #kiran #alfonse (fire emblem)#alfonse #alfonse fire emblem #kiralfonse #kiran x alfonse #gn!kiran #feh #feh book 4 #feh book iv #feh book iv spoilers #feh book 4 spoilers #angst #...with a dash of comfort #as a treat #have fun :3

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the-great-bbe · 4 years ago

Note

How about something with Rhaenys/Garlan?

Setting: Regency Era!AU, “I have nothing to give but my heart so full and these empty hands.” “They're not empty now.”

Note: Marei of Oldstones is the Westerosi version of Marie de France, a 12th century poet whose work influenced the Arthurian Cycle. And yes, it was a common pastime for learned ladies to discuss the phallic imagery ever present in medieval romances lolol the tumblr instinct has been around for centuries

It begins as simple admiration. He is Margaery’s favorite chaperone, as Willas can’t keep up with her merry chases and Loras enables her chases to become proper misadventures. So he is the one that Mama sends to court when Margaery becomes lady companion to Crown Princess Rhaenys. And what a court it is—Queen Regent Elia rules with grace and glitter, and all the courtiers gossip enough to make dear Grandmama herself lean in. Here Garlan can train with the finest of knights, read from the royal libraries, discuss with like-minded lords and ladies about the progressive new laws that the Queen Regent is putting forward...

And then there is the Princess herself.

Tall, with rich olive skin and black ringlets cascading down her back. Her face is soft and round, balanced by full lips and large eyes—oh, her eyes! Garlan has never seen such eyes outside of paintings, an impossible shade of black-violet. And when he first sees those eyes, she is smiling at him. He cannot help but smile back.

It’s not just that she is beautiful, of course. Her mind is a treasure beyond words. One day she and Grand Maester Tyrion have a three hour long debate about the origins of dragons in the courtyard. Garlan nearly swoons like a green maid to hear the strength of her arguments, the logic she wove like silk in a loom. And even Tyrion concedes defeat to her, as most people end up doing to the Crown Princess. When Rhaenys takes her leave to give her mother company, Garlan bows. “An excellent battle, Your Highness. I’ve never seen a Field of Fire through words alone before and yet we all are blown away.”

“Thank you, Ser Garlan.” She smiles and there’s faint dimples in her cheeks; the sight nearly makes Garlan swoon again! “Care to escort me to the Queen’s apartments?”

Of course. Her hand is a warm weight in the crook of his arm and truly, Garlan is surprised she is not betrothed yet. She is eighteen, of age to take the throne in her own right were it not for her father in the sanitarium on Dragonstone, and easily the loveliest creature on the gods’ green earth. Perhaps she will marry Lord Robb Stark for his bloodline, or Ser Joffrey Baratheon for his riches. Had Willas not eloped with Leonette Fossoway to Braavos he too would’ve been a contender. Grandmama will probably throw the Tarly girls at Garlan, or perhaps a girl from the Riverlands...

“Your eyes seem far away, Ser. Does anything trouble you?”

Garlan shakes himself. “It’s nothing, Your Highness. I’m simply wondering when I shall become an uncle.”

“Yes, I hope my wedding present to your brother Lord Willas and his wife Lady Leonette survived the ship to Essos.” Her gaze flickers away for a moment, then she squeezes his arm. “Join my lady mother and I for tea? Perhaps you can give your perspective on elopement, as my dear brother Aegon intended to run off with Shireen Baratheon in their “doomed romance” when we’d much rather just give them Summerhall.”

“Ser Garlan! Do join us!” Rhaenys sits on a large picnic blanket with Marg, a gaggle of other ladies and Rhaenys’s fearsome cat Balerion. Prince Oberyn, Rhaenys’s uncle and practical second father, keeps watch over them and nods at Garlan. They are in the shade of a gigantic plum blossom tree given as a gift from the Emperor of Yi-Ti, and there’s a few petals fallen into her hair. Unthinkingly, Garlan sits by her side and brushes them loose, and he shivers from the feel of her hair between his fingers. Rhaenys asks, “Tell us, have you read the words of Marei of Oldstones?”

“Yes, her poetry influenced the Arthurian Epic did she not?” Epic tales set in the Dawn Age of heroes and fair maidens and wretched monsters. Garlan remembers being still in leading strings, listening to Papa read him and his siblings a passage before bed each night.

“We were discussing some of the themes in in the Epic and other tales of its kind.” Marg gives him a grin that sends a shiver down his spine. Gods, what is she up to now? “About the imagery of a knight rescuing a princess from a tower. What do you make of it?”

“I...”

Sansa Stark hides a giggle behind her folding fan. “It’s always a giant tower, so very large and impressive.” Then she and little Allyria Dayne dissolve into giggles.

Garlan tugs on his collar. Rhaenys is looking at him expectantly and he can’t ignore his future queen. But really! Marg is still grinning and Garlan narrows his eyes at her. Oh, he’ll get her for this. “It is quite a juxtaposition of imagery. As Lady Sansa said, the tower the knight must handle is always a tall and imposing one. Yet...”

“Yet?”

Garlan prays to the gods for guidance. “Yet the knight must enter the tower. So truly, what function is the imagery in this context?”

Walda Frey—Loras once called her Fat Walda at a feast and she gave him a split lip and a black eye, so now Garlan defers to her as the very best of Waldas—whispers to Marg, “Better than just scaling up and down its walls in its lonesome.”

The ladies giggle and Garlan wants to sink into the floor. Then Rhaenys laughs. “Well put! Thank you for indulging us.” She pauses, then cocks her head and Garlan wonders when the mild spring day got so warmer so quickly. “Indulge us again: do you prefer the sword, or the joust?”

“I prefer handling two swords at once, although I am no green boy when it comes to the joust.” Marg might just choke to death on her stifled giggles and Garlan hopes that she does! But there’s a hint of red to Rhaenys’s ears, and what mild flirtation ever hurt anyone? “At the next tourney, I’ll do my best to impress you.”

“Perhaps I’ll give you my favor as a good luck charm. We can’t have me being unimpressed, can we?”

Indeed, they can not. Garlan would love nothing more for her to admire him, as he admires her.

“Your Highness,” Garlan licks his lips, as they are as dry as a Dornish desert. His words catch in his throat. Then Marg in the stands motions at him to continue, Prince Oberyn himself sends him a wink...and he says, “I crown you, Princess Rhaenys, as my Queen of Love and Beauty.”

The crowd erupts into cheers. It was a very hard joust won, as Ser Jaime of the Kingsguard nearly dislocated Garlan’s shoulder and Lord Robb was no one to be trifled with. But at the end he threw even his brother Loras down to the dirt—as if his trick of using a mare would work on Garlan! Not after the tourney at Longtable where Garlan broke his nose!—and won the crown of jonquils and morning glories. They look so beautiful in Rhaenys’s hair, almost as beautiful as Rhaenys herself.

Rhaenys’s reply is nearly lost beneath the deafening roar, but Garlan hears it all too well. “I am honored and delighted to be crowned by such a noble and true knight as you.” And her favor, tied neatly around his arm beneath his armor, seems to catch alight.

He has nothing to offer her, other than this crown of flowers and his hand in the dances to come. He is a second son of a family with many mouths to feed, with no kingly descent or heirloom sword. She shall marry someone worthy to take his place at her side as Prince Consort, and he...he shall content himself with the feeling of her hand in his.

He bows over that lovely hand and kisses her knuckles.

Later that night, after hours of dancing and feasting and laughing and chasing, he kisses her knuckles again. And again, and again, and again. Until Rhaenys pulls him up from his knees and kisses him with lips as soft as spring and rich as wine. Beneath that plum blossom tree with no one to witness them other than the moon and stars reflecting in her impossibly beautiful eyes, no other sound than their shared breath against each other’s lips and Garlan whispering “I think I’m in love with you.”

He kisses her before she can tell him they cannot be. He cannot bear it.

“Do you love my daughter, Ser Garlan?”

Garlan can hardly breathe before the presence of the Queen Regent Elia Martell. So much of Rhaenys’s bold beauty is from her mother, and the Queen Regent has decades of power behind her piercing gaze. But he is no liar. He jerks a nod. “With all my life, Your Majesty.”

She nods, as if it were a foregone conclusion. She is not wrong in that, as the entirety of Kings Landing must know that Garlan would gladly die for Rhaenys, and live for her as well. Even Papa knows, and Papa hardly knows anything! After an eternity of being sized up and raked over the coals of the Queen Regent’s eyes, she sighs. “You are not my first choice, but you are not my last. If my daughter consents to it, I give my blessing to officially court her.”

Truly? Truly?! Garlan gapes like an idiot, or perhaps some ill-bred fish. And the Queen Regent laughs; she sounds so much like Rhaenys. “I encourage you not to make that same face when you ask for her permission.”

Garlan, after bowing and scraping as much as he can without fainting, eventually leaves the royal solar. Marg immediately tackles him and cackles that her hopes have gone swimmingly, and her best friend shall be her sister. Then she pulls him along to gods know where while Garlan’s head reels.

He? To court Rhaenys? To hold her hand in his and not let it go? Garlan’s knees nearly give out, especially when Willas and Loras both clap their hands on his shoulders. “Grandmama will finally be proud of us, I think,” Loras boasts.

“Her Highness has not even consented yet!”

Marg rolls her eyes “Garlan, I love you, but you are as thick as molasses. Now go confess your love to her!” She practically shoves him towards Rhaenys’s plum blossom tree. “And kiss her! With tongue!”

He stumbles into the tree and nearly into Balerion. The cat blinks up at him to say he is a fool, then slinks away to a laughing Aegon’s arms. “Ser Garlan! Are you alright?”

“Y-Your Highness, I...” Garlan peeks around the tree to see Rhaenys on the other side, standing with something hiding behind her back. She catches his questioning gaze, and flushes a pretty red before revealing a knitted scarf. “For your brother, my princess?”

“For you, actually.” She bites her bottom lip before puffing herself up. “I intend to ask my lady mother the Queen Regent if we would be allowed to court. With your consent of course! I would never presume that you would wish to—”

“I was just given permission by Her Majesty to ask for your permission.”

They stare at each other for a moment, before Rhaenys giggles into her palm. Garlan melts, and finally asks, “Would you like me to court you, Your Highness?”

“Yes.” She presses the scarf into his hands, and leans up to murmur in his ear, “And please, call me Rhaenys.”

He shivers. “Rhaenys.” All is right with the world it seems, just from the sound of her name on his lips.

Garlan smiles despite the tears in his eyes. “Rhaenys, are you sure? I have nothing to give but my heart so full and these empty hands.”

“They're not empty now.” Rhaenys squeezes their hands together.

Then she cloaks him in her house colors, and Garlan is hers, hers forever and always, just as he was always meant to be.

#rhaenys targaryen/garlan tyrell #asoiaf fanfiction #becky blue eyes #victorian au #yes i stole that quote from little women sue me #sunontherhoyne

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