#so he's just leaning into that whenever possible. getting his money's worth so to speak lmao

[cantuscorvi]

Raum has no problem touching other people. There is a clear boundary between his space and yours, and he will cross it often. He has that domineering way about it, patting your shoulder, steering you a certain direction, fixing your mess. But the other way around is often much more rarely tolerated. He would frequently slap away a hand that ever casually reaches for him the way that he does to others. He comes across as uptight.

Same often applies to a more intimate setting. He reaches out first, and doing so, draws that line around himself as well. He is a giver, and by extension a controller. There is a wall. And yet. Something in him craves that simple contact like any other person.

The way he will never ask, avoids it like the plague, but then secretly goes wild for physical affection whenever it's offered. A big beast that likes to be petted. Play with his hair, touch his face, rub his back, anything like this, really, and he internally goes mrrrrrrrr.

[thetriumphantpanda]

Come Away With Me | Joel & Tommy Miller (Monday)

Summary | Day One of your trip to the lake house with Joel and you can't keep your hands off each other. It's all about making up for lost time.

Warnings | Fluff, 2(3?) lovesick fools, mentions of food and alcohol, explicit smut, breeding kink, oral sex (F & M Receiving), unprotected PiV sex (We can't all have a sexy Joel Miller to make us pregnant, please wrap it up), talk of UTI's (Honestly, not worth it, PEE AFTER SEX PLEASE), as always, Tommy kinda getting cucked and Joel just being Joel.

Word Count | 5.1K

Authors Note | The love that this series has received already, without me even posting a chapter has been overwhelming and I am so grateful to you all for being so enthusiastic about this. This little trio means more to me than you can ever imagine and I'm so incredibly happy to be able to bring them back to you. I would love to know what you think about this first instalment, so please leave your comments, reblogs and my ask box is always open if you want to scream about this with me. If you enjoyed this then please consider leaving me a tip on my Ko-Fi here.

SEASON TWO OF TRIAL & ERROR. Read the first instalment here (This probably won't make sense without it.)

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

You press a kiss to Joshua’s forehead as he keeps his hands around Tommy’s leg. He’s four now, toddling about, like a perfect little human, and still, whenever you see him, your chest swells with happiness and love in a way you didn’t think would still be possible. 

“You be good for daddy, okay?” You smile, ruffling the hair on top of his head, before bending down to his height, opening your arms for him to fall into as he hugs you, “I’ll be back soon, I promise, and I’ll call every day.” 

A whole week away from your baby boy was daunting. You don’t think you’ve ever spent longer than twenty-four hours without him, but you know he’s in good hands. His dad knows what he’s doing, you’re not worried. 

Tommy has picked Joshua up into his arms, the little boy clutching onto the collar of his shirt as he leans down to lock his lips with yours. You smile into his kiss, letting your hands drop to his waist to pull him a little closer to you. 

“You make sure you give the old man a run for his money, okay?” He smirks when he pulls away, hand running over your hair. 

“He’ll wish he hadn’t come up with idea.” You whisper back, one last chaste kiss to Tommy’s lips and Joshua’s head. 

“You ready?” Joel asks from across the truck, sliding into the driver’s side. 

“Yeah, I’m ready.”  

Joel is nervous. He very rarely feels like this in his older age, especially when it comes to speaking to Tommy. They’ve grown up together, he basically helped raise him, had countless awkward conversations with him, including the one that got him here in the first place, waiting patiently for his birthday so he can steal away his girl and have one night with her all to himself, but he’s still nervous. 

It's the end of summer, Sarah will be leaving for college in the next few days, dead set on becoming a doctor, so Joel’s decided the only way to celebrate his little girl going off and doing what neither he nor his brother could do, and to ease the impending loneliness he’s going to feel at having this big house all to himself, is a cookout. He’s fed everyone, spent time keeping Joshua amused so you and Tommy can eat in peace, and now, a few beers in, he thinks he’s ready. 

He walks down to Tommy, who is cleaning the grill off, listening to the sounds of you and Sarah chasing Joshua around his garden, trying to tire him out. He puts his hand on Tommy’s shoulder and squeezes and they share a smile between them. 

“You alright, brother?” Tommy asks, brushing down the last of the grill. 

“I’m good,” Joel replies simply, “But I have something to ask you, a favour.” 

“Anythin’ for you brother.” He smiles, setting down his cleaning tools and picking up his beer. 

“I know we never discussed it, between us, but what happens between me and her, it makes me happy, y’know?” 

Tommy’s smile gets bigger, and Joel knows that because it’s all his brother has ever wanted for him, to be happy, and he doesn’t think he’s ever been so grateful for the man in front of him. 

“I know second time around it’s takin’ longer than we’d all like,” Joel sighs, you’d all been trying for months for the second baby – people had told you second time around was easier, but whoever decided that was a damn liar, “I just wondered, y’know, ‘cause she’s stressed and all, whether I could take her away?” 

“Take her away?” Tommy asks, eyebrow cocked with his lips on the bottle of beer. 

“Not from you,” Joel stutters, “Just for a week, somewhere quiet, I don’t know, the lake or somethin’, just see if her relaxin’ might help things.” 

“Where were you thinkin’?” Tommy asks. 

“I’ve been lookin’ and there are some nice places up in Colorado,” He rubs the back of his neck, not wanting to admit to his brother that he’s trawled the internet late at night trying to find somewhere he can afford, that in his mind he has it all planned out, “Close enough that we can get back if anything happens with Josh.” 

“I don’t know that she’ll get the time from work, Joel,” Tommy sighs, “It ain’t that I don’t want her to go, I know she’d love the time away, but she’s pressed.” 

Joel turns around and follows Tommy’s eyeline, you’re sitting on the grass with your back against the veranda, watching as Sarah plays with Joshua a little further away. Your head is leant back against the wood and Joel can tell you’re exhausted. A full time job, plus being a mother, whilst Joel’s got Tommy working longer and longer hours so they can finally get their business off the ground properly. 

“When was the last time she was anythin’ but a mother?” Joel asks, turning back to his brother, “Come on brother,” He pleads, “We can give her a break, give her the chance to be just her again,” Then he decides to sweeten the deal, “I’ll even give you the week off work.” 

“You really don’t have to beg me Joel,” Tommy insists with a smile, “If she can get the time off work, then you can have her.” 

You’re three hours into the drive. Joel has insisted he can make it in one go, with a few comfort breaks on the way, despite it being a twelve-hour drive, but you’re not going to argue with him. He’s well and truly in charge this week and you’re more than happy to relinquish control to him. It’s nice, having someone else worry about you, whether you’ve got enough snacks to keep you going, whether you need to stop to use the bathroom, whether you need to close your eyes and take a nap, as opposed to you worrying about doing that for your son. 

Joel is tapping his hands on the steering wheel. Sarah had made him a mixtape before she left, supposedly full of the songs they used to listen to in the car together, though you can’t imagine Joel had allowed much Taylor Swift judging by how fast he was to press skip when the familiar sounds of Teardrops On My Guitar started playing through the truck. He’s just finished singing along to Bon Jovi, a smile on his face as he looks at you. 

“I love your voice,” You smile, running your fingers lightly up the arm that is resting near you, his warm palm on your thigh as he drives, “It’s not too late y’know, to make it big with your guitar.” 

He snorts but with a smile on his face, “I was never any good at bein’ on stage, always got choked up and froze,” He turns his head to you a little, “I’m happy to just save my singin’ for you.” 

The CD he’s got playing skips to the next song and the sounds of Destiny’s Child’s Survivor start filling the car. Joel is already moving to press skip so you grip hold of his wrist. 

“Don’t you dare,” You warn, “This is such a good song.” 

“Sweetheart, come on, you don’t really wanna listen to it.” 

You chuckle at him, “You’ve listened to everything you wanted, just give me this one song.”

“If I’m lettin’ you listen to this,” He growls, “Then you’re gonna owe me.” 

“Is that right?” You play coy, “And what do you deem suitable payment for a single Destiny’s Child song?” 

You watch his face, still trained straight ahead on the highway, but with that smirk that you always love to see from him. It means he’s thinking something filthy and filthy Joel is something you simply cannot get enough of. You watch as his eyes meet yours momentarily and then drop to his lap. If you hadn’t been so focused on his face, you’d have missed it, but your eyes trail down his body where you can already see him growing in his jeans. 

You lean back in your seat, nodding to yourself, “Joel Miller, grown man, wants me to suck his cock whilst he drives, just like a horny teenager.” 

He brings a hand to the back of your neck and squeezes, trying to gently drag you forward, “I’ve waited a fuckin’ year to have you to myself, pretty girl,” He speaks lowly, “Didn’t think I was gonna wait for a bed, did you?” 

You chuckle but move to undo your seatbelt. He keeps his hand resting on the back of your neck, but it’s gentle. He doesn’t pull you towards him, just waits for you to set your own pace. You reach across the console of the truck with your hand, palming him through his jeans, reveling in the way his head tips back and he lets a long sigh fall from his lips. 

“You missed me, huh?” You tease, bringing your fingers up to the button on his jeans, you should have known he had something planned when he turned up without his belt on. 

“You seriously askin’ me if I missed you?” He asks as you pop the button and drag his zipper down slowly. 

You lean over, lips pressing a chaste kiss to the scruff on his jaw, “Boost my ego, Joel Miller,” You whisper into his ear as your hand sneaks underneath the waistband of his underwear, “Tell me how much you missed me.” 

He lifts his hips for you a little so you can shuck his jeans down just enough to pull his cock out. You lean over, Joel’s wide palm still resting at the nape of your neck as you fist him, running your hand up and down his length. If you were a stronger woman you’d tease him, but you’re as desperate for him as he is for you, so you bring your mouth right to him, swirling your tongue over his tip, lapping up the drops of pre-cum that are waiting for you. 

Your wrap your lips around him and swallow him down as far as you can take him without him hitting the back of your throat, using your hand to pump the length your mouth doesn’t reach, swirling your tongue around him as you pull your mouth back up. 

“God fuckin’ damn, babygirl,” Joel groans above you, hand tangling in your hair as you continue to bob your head up and down on him, “You’ve done this before.” 

It strikes you in this moment that in the four or so years you and Joel have been together like this, he’s never once let you put your mouth on him like this. Before Joshua, he had always been hyper focused on your pleasure, whether you felt good, and in the years since, in those few short hours you had together, he’d never once asked for it, had stopped you when you tried, he’d only ever come for you when he was fucking you. 

You sneak your hand lower, cupping his heavy balls in the palm of your hand as you take him further down your throat. The added sensation of your hand has him bucking his hips up into your mouth enough that you have to pull away from him, coughing and spluttering. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” He worries, taking his hand from your head, “Are you okay?” 

“Focus on the road, Miller,” You demand, moving to get right back down to business, “If I choke to death on your cock that’s my business.” 

“Kinda hard to focus on the road when I’m seconds away from filling your mouth, pretty girl.” You can hear the strain in his voice as you start working his cock again, pulling off only long enough to reply. 

“That’s what I want,” You whisper, “You gonna come down my throat Joel?” 

“That what you want?” He grunts from above you. 

“Wanna taste you.” 

“Well pretty girl, you just keep goin’ and I’ll give you what you want.” 

He stays true to his word, and after a few short minutes, he’s gripping a fistful of your hair, breathing your name out, as his cum spreads across your tongue. Salty, masculine, musky, but distinctly Joel, and you think from this moment on you might be hooked on the taste of him. 

You pull back up, sitting back in your seat, Joel turning his head to watch you as you open your mouth, sticking your tongue out just enough to show him what he’s given you. Then, you close your mouth and swallow every last drop, wiping the small amount that had gathered in the corner of your lips back into your mouth.

“Jesus,” Joel breathes, “You’re somethin’ else, baby.” 

It’s late evening by the time you and Joel arrive at the lake house. It’s dark so you can’t properly take in your surroundings, but it’s peaceful and quiet, and when you step out of the truck, it smells different. The smell of pine and fresh water fills your senses and it’s at this moment you realise you really needed this – a break away from the suburbs and the city you’re so used to. 

You make a simple dinner of chicken and roasted vegetables, washed down with lukewarm beer that hadn’t had a chance to properly chill. Joel insists on doing the dishes, silently cursing he didn’t pick a cabin with a dishwasher. The more time he has to spend washing up, the less time he can spend buried deep inside you, which is what he wants most right now. He’s hungrier for you than he’s ever been, you having refused his offer to pull off the highway so he could return the favour earlier. 

You’ve taken two fresh beers from the fridge outside with you. He can see you sitting on the small swing seat on the porch, taking small sips of your drink as you wait for him. You’re on the phone to Tommy, letting him know you arrived safely and then he can hear your voice change as you speak to Joshua – more high-pitched than normal. The conversation doesn’t last long, Tommy clearly needing to put Joshua down to sleep, so you’re hanging up the phone in no time. He notices you shiver through the window, so he digs out one of his flannels from his bag that hasn’t made it to the bedroom and takes it out with him, draping it across your shoulders. He takes a seat next to you, his thigh touching yours, as you hand him his beer. 

“I bet this view will be beautiful tomorrow.” You muse, taking another sip of your drink. 

“I don’t know,” He speaks back softly, looking at you, “It’s pretty perfect to me already.” 

You can feel your face grow hot at the compliment, but you smile. Joel drapes his arm across the back of the bench, and you automatically shuffle in closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder as his hand trails up and down your arm. 

“So, how have you really been in that house without Sarah these past few weeks?” You ask, hand coming to rest on his thigh. 

“It’s been strange,” He answers honestly, “But I’m so proud of her, my little girl training to be a doctor.” 

Your heart swells because you’re pretty fucking proud of her as well. She’d worked so hard to get into medical school the past few years, finally settling on what it was that she wanted to do, and you have no doubt that she’s going to find some incredible medical breakthrough during her career. 

“Still don’t know where she got her brains from,” He grumbles, “Sure as hell ain’t from the side me and Tommy got ours.” 

You swat your hand to his thigh, “What have I told you about being kind to yourself?” You chastise, earning a low laugh from him, “Don’t sell yourself short, you started your own business Joel, not everyone can do that.” 

He nods, but you think it’s more to placate you than understanding his worth, but you decide to let it lie, “You know, she’s not far from here,” You offer, “If you wanted, you could go and see her.” 

“I’d like that,” He smiles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “I’ll call her tomorrow, gonna have to think of a white lie as to why I’m all the way out here though.” 

“I’m sure if we put our heads together, we can think of something.” 

It’s silent for a while between you. Listening to the wind rustle the leaves on the trees is soothing. Pair that with Joel’s gentle tracing up and down your arm, and the way he’s slowly rocking the swing with his foot on the ground, and you’re almost ready to fall asleep. 

“Hey Joel,” You whisper, leaning your head up towards him, he answers with a hum of acknowledgement, “You wanna take me to bed?” 

He leans down, pressing his lips softly to your own, “I thought you’d never ask.” 

You stand, extending your hand to his, which he takes, letting you lead him back inside. Because he’s used to it, the routine of checking the locks at home, he makes sure he double checks all the doors are locked before letting you take hold of his hand again and lead him down the small hallway, into the master bedroom at the end. 

The bed is huge, white sheets resting on top, with plump pillows at the end. If it wasn’t for Joel’s hands on your hips and his lips on your neck, you’d be focused on falling into it and going straight to sleep. He’s walking you forward, trailing wet kisses down the expanse of your neck, then he turns you once your knees hit the foot of the bed. 

He brings his palms to your face, cradling it in his hands as he leans down, pressing those soft, plush lips to your own. You bring your arms to wrap around his shoulders, pressing yourself up on your tiptoes as his arms wrap around your waist, pulling your body flush to his broad frame as he opens his mouth, tongue licking into your own mouth as he deepens your kiss. It’s the first time he’s kissed you since last year, both of you having some form of silent agreement with each other that Tommy doesn’t need to see that. He see’s everything else you do when you’re together, when he’s watching his brother fill you up, this here, when Joel kisses the very breath from your lungs, this is just for the two of you. 

With his mouth still latched to yours, he uses his hands to push his flannel from your shoulders, before he reaches down and tugs your own shirt from where it was tucked into your jeans. He takes his time, unbuttoning it one notch at a time, until that too is pushed from your shoulders. You don’t even realise he’s undone the button on your jeans until he’s pushing them down your hips – too focused on the way his mouth tastes. 

“Sit down, pretty girl,” He whispers, dropping to his knees, “Been drivin’ me wild all day,” His hands trail up your legs, parting them in front of his face when you perch on the edge of the bed, “Thinkin’ about you all wet down here, after you sucked my cock.” 

He runs his thumb over the front of your panties, tracing the seam of your pussy, which has indeed been completely soaked for him since you sucked him off. He presses his mouth, wet and hot, against the delicate skin of your thigh as you let your head drop back and a sigh to escape your mouth. His mouth comes to rest between the crook of your thigh, where the seam of your underwear is, and you think he might just pull them to the side and give you what you want, but instead, he starts a trail of kisses from the opposite knee, moving slowly up your other thigh until you’re squirming for him. 

“Don’t tease me,” You beg, running a hand through the curls on his head, “Make me feel good, Joel.” 

“This what you want, pretty girl?” He asks, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, dragging them off you when you lift yourself off the bed a little, “Want my mouth here?” 

His thumb runs up the seam of your pussy, the friction without the barrier of your panties delicious now. You spread your legs for him, heels resting on the bottom of the bed, baring your spread, aching cunt for him. His palms are resting on the inner part of your thighs now as he leans in, lips pressing a single chaste kiss to your clit. 

“Fuck,” You breathe out, chasing the feel of his lips as he pulls away, you almost whine until you feel him push one of his delightfully thick fingers straight into your weeping pussy, “Fuck Joel, holy shit.” 

He’s grinning up at you like the devil when you look down, pulling his finger out all the way before slipping it into his mouth to clean it off, “You been this wet all day?” He asks, thumb moving to gather the slick at your entrance to drag to your clit, moving in featherlight movements. 

“Y-yes,” You manage to choke out, “This is what you do to me.” 

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he puts his face right back where you want it, tongue licking a firm, wide strip from your weeping hole and up to your clit, using the tip of his tongue to place precise flicks on your swollen bundle of nerves. He’s so fucking good with his mouth it actually hurts. He’s managed to learn exactly how you like it, what combination of moves with his mouth and the addition of his fingers bring you over the edge the fastest and that’s exactly what he’s doing right now. He slips two of his fingers back inside you, curling them straight up into that spot within you that makes you cry, lips sucking your clit into his mouth whilst his tongue still moves perfectly across you. 

“God fucking damn it, Joel,” You cry, fingers tugging at his hair as you push your pussy closer to his face, “Gonna make me come.” 

He doesn’t bother to pull his mouth away from you to tell you it’s okay like he usually does, just continues the movements just as they are until your crying his name out, the rope that was pulled taught inside you snapping as your pussy clenches around Joel’s fingers and you come so hard your vision blacks out for a moment.

You collapse down onto the bed, arms no longer able to hold you up as Joel takes his mouth from your clit, gently pulling his fingers from you. Without needing to be asked, you scoot up the bed, letting air fill your lungs. Your eyes are trained on Joel as he starts to undress in front of you, smirking at you when he drags his shirt over his head. 

“You should charge people for this,” You mumble, “Sure a lot of ladies would pay good money to watch you strip.” 

“Like this?” He chuckles, slowly undoing the button of his jeans, dragging the zipper down painfully slow as you start humming, encouraging him to really put on a show, “Zip it.” He laughs, pushing his jeans down his legs, his cock hard and pressing against the thin material of his boxers. 

He shucks them off his body as well and you watch, captivated as he fists his cock, he is, next to his brother, one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Joel Miller,” You breathe out as he clambers onto the bed, pulling you up slightly so he can take your bra off, “Do you know that?” 

His mouth is pressing kisses between your breasts, letting his teeth nibble small marks across your chest before he takes one of your nipples in his mouth. You can feel his cock pressing between your folds, running up and down your pussy as he settles properly between your thighs. You run your hand through his hair as he trails his lips up to your face, peppering your jaw with kisses. 

“Can’t say I’ve been told much,” He whispers into your ear, “But I’ll take it.” 

You can feel him reach between you, base of his cock in his hand as he brings the tip to your slick cunt. He thrusts forward just a touch, giving you the tip, lips settling onto your own so he can swallow the small moans you let out as he inches deeper and deeper into you until he bottoms out. You shift your hips underneath him, legs hitching around his waist. 

“Baby please,” He pleads, “You gotta give me a second,” His head dropping to the crook of your neck, “Fuck, how does it always feel like I’m fucking you for the first time?” 

You want to give him all the time in the world but you’re just as bad as he is. He needs to move, and he needs to move now otherwise you think you might actually die. 

“Please Joel,” You moan, rolling your hips up into his, hand still firmly tangled in the curls at the back of his neck, “You need to move.” 

“I ain’t gonna last, babygirl.” He groans as he pulls himself out and slams back into you. 

“Don’t care,” You moan as his lips attach themselves to your throat, “Just need to feel you.” 

He moves, placing his hands on either side of your head, pushing himself up, as he drags his cock from your tight heat and starts thrusting properly. You’ve had this man more times than you can count, two or three times a month for the past six months whilst you try for your second baby, but the way he feels inside of you never fails to set your body on fire. 

He’s always so big, and you feel so fucking full of him. You close your eyes and tilt your head back further into the mattress as he drives himself deeper into you, head of his cock brushing against your cervix. It’s pain and pleasure, it’s too much and not enough all at the same time. He makes you stupid when he fucks you like this. Focused on one thing, and one thing only. 

One of his hands clutches your chin, his voice hoarse with pleasure, “Look at me,” He demands, “Give me those beautiful eyes when I fuck you.” 

You do as you’re told, eyes opening and staring into his own chocolate orbs that are dark with lust. God, you love him. You know you shouldn’t love him this much, it’s dangerous, but he’s so fucking good to you, you can’t help yourself. 

“Good girl,” He praises, making your pussy clench around him, “Doin’ what you’re told, you’re so good for me, aren’t you?” 

“So good Joel,” You moan, fingers gripping the meat of his biceps as you hold onto him, hips rolling up to meet his with every thrust, “Want you to come for me.” 

“Yeah, want me to fill you up, pretty girl?” 

“Yes Joel!” You cry, “Fill me up baby, please.” 

His hips start to falter from their precise thrusts of before, he’s so fucking close, you can see it on his face, hear it in his growls. He dips his head back to the crook of your neck, teeth nipping along your collarbones as he pounds into you. He lets out one long moan of your name as he stills inside you, and you can feel the familiar warmth of his cum filling you up. He brings one of his hands down to cup your ass, lifting you up a little, as if he thinks the angle of your pelvis makes much of a difference when it comes to getting you pregnant. 

He groans into your neck as he slips out of you, letting your hips finally drop to the bed as he rolls off you, collapsing in a heap beside you as he catches his breath. You lean over, kiss pressed to his cheek with a mumble that you’ll be back in a minute once you’ve cleaned up, the pain of last month’s UTI still fresh in your mind after you fell asleep without going to the bathroom. 

When you return, two glasses of water in hand, he’s already pulled back the sheets and has settled himself back against the pillows. You hand him his glass, setting yours on the nightstand as you climb into bed, settling your aching bones against your own pillow when you realise this is uncharted territory with you and Joel. When you spend your one night with him, neither of you sleep – you spend as much time as you can connected, making each other feel good, and when he’s with you outside of that, with Tommy watching, or joining in, whichever he feels like doing that night, he’s always gone in a flash. You’ve never settled down to sleep next to him, you don’t know if he snores, you don’t know if he wants you to cuddle into his side and drift off to sleep together. 

“Stop thinkin’,” He sighs, “And c’mere.” 

You smile, crawling over the space between you as he moves his body down to lie flat on his back. You drape one of your arms over his tummy as his wraps around your shoulder, the other resting on your arm wrapped around him. You bring your leg up to wrap between his and let out a sigh. 

“You have no idea how much I’ve always wanted this,” He whispers quietly, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “Somethin’ so simple as fallin’ asleep with you.” 

You hum against his warm skin, letting the thumb that’s resting on his tummy start rubbing small circles on his skin, “It’s nice,” You speak, punctuating it with a yawn, “Hope you don’t snore though.” 

His chest rising with a chuckle as he pulls you tighter to his body, “Go to sleep, babygirl,” He speaks quietly, “I’m gonna wear you out tomorrow.” 

You don’t know whether he’s referring to the hike he wanted to take you on through the mountains, or the fact that you both know what you’re really here for. Is he going to keep you right here on this mattress all day, filling you up until you can’t take it anymore? Either way, being here with Joel has already been the ointment you needed for your stress. Your shoulders are more relaxed, and you don’t have the headache you usually do at the end of the day from gritting your teeth. Whatever he’s got planned, you’re going to take it, and for now, you’re going to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach that this time, though longer than you ever get, is still fleeting. You can worry about that another day. 

Taglist: @morning-star-joy @sinsofsummers @dinsdjrn @cavillscurls @cupofjoel @tightjeansjavi @kaitangatatacos @paleidiot

[murdrdocs]

i just wanna think about how step brothers rafe would blackmail you because he caught you sneaking back into the house after a party you were told not to go to.

what could you possibly do for rafe so that he doesn't go and tell ward and your mom

your foot lands on a creek in the floorboards and instantly, as if on cue, your body freezes. you wince under your breath, squeeze your eyes shut, but the damage is already done.

in fact, you figure that the damage was done once you'd snuck out of your bedroom window hours ago, when the sun had just started to set and day bled into night.

"where've you been?"

the voice comes from your left, probably in the living room, and it's one that causes frustration. you sigh, roll your eyes, and weigh if it's worth arguing. unfortunately, that choice is made for you.

"you went to that party, didn't you? wearing that." rafe spits his last words out, as if your outfit of shorts and a cropped tee were something completely inappropriate whenever his sister –– your sister –– wears the same without any comments.

you turn towards him, voice already laced with venom before you even speak. "it's none of your business, rafe." you add the same emphasis to the end of your words just as he did.

"oh but it is my business. dad specifically told you not to go."

"your dad, rafe. ward's not my dad." you can see him getting even more upset. getting irritated, which is an emotion that doesn't wear well on rafe. it fits too tightly too quickly.

he stands from his seat in the armchair, approaching you almost menacingly. but you refuse to submit. you push your shoulders back, puffing your chest out and hardening your eyes to stare up at him.

"you're living under his roof," his pointer finger, long and dexterous, circles around in the air. "you're spending his money." he stares down at you over his nose, gaze virulent. his top lip curls. "treat him––treat us––with some respect."

your eyebrows lift in an amusement and shock mix. "us? i think i respect sarah and wheezie just fine."

"me."

"and why would i respect you? i don't owe you anything, rafe, especially with how you treat me." you go to turn away, done with this whispered conversation, but rafe catches your elbow before you can escape.

"you don't owe me anything, huh? i wonder what would happen if dad found out that you were sneaking out?"

you shrug, pretending to be uncaring. "i'm an adult. and again: he's not my dad."

"okay." rafe lets go of your arm. "then you can say goodbye to that monthly allowance. no more credit card. no more shopping trips. this was the third time you disobeyed him, right? and what did dad say..." rafe puts a finger on his chin and pretends to think. "something about three strikes and you're on your own."

your facade cracks, your eyes fall. because rafe's right, as annoying as he is. you stare up at him, defeated.

he sees that he's won, pink lips curling into a victorious smile. his hand comes to your hip, hooking in the belt loop of your shorts and pulling you closer with the curl of a finger. your chest thuds into his but rafe doesn't falter. he instead stares down at you, his other hand pressing into the exposed skin between your top and bottoms.

when he speaks, he leans down, whispering into your ear and speaking each word clearly. "unless you're willing to make up for it. to show me some respect."

[yansimstorythatiwillnotworkon]

#16

Monday

__

Ayano had been acquaintanced with Kizana before. She whined a lot, complained a lot, but still was one of the most organized clubs in Akademi. The mix between people who liked her was cut 9% of people who genuinely liked her, and 90% of people who didn’t like her but feared her. Ayano was likely the 1% who didn't care either way.

Info-Chan hadn’t explained what else Ayano had to do regarding the gyaru’s tasks. All she claimed was that it would come in handy later. Additionally, Info-Chan suggested possibly getting a job. If not for more money, then to earn a reputation around town. Ayano didn’t understand what good that would really do, but rationalized that more money was always worth the effort.

Not that that mattered at the moment. What mattered was Kizana’s suspicious sudden interest in Taro. Truthfully, Ayano never imagined that Kizana could even be a problem. Kizana was pretty high in the popularity ranks and Taro was on a more humble scale. Not to mention she already had several students slaving after her. What could she possibly want Taro for?

That’s what Ayano hoped to find out, though, while she stood around a corner, trying her best to listen to the conversation that Kizana and Taro were having in front of the Drama Club room. From afar it seemed far too cozy for Ayano’s liking.

Kizana chuckles proudly, not surprised at all at Taro’s wish to get into the club. “Of course, I’ve seen you hovering around! Twas only a matter of time before you got the courage to approach me!” She looks back briefly to Tsuruzo, who was accompanying her throughout the day to help her properly prepare for the play. “Us.” She corrects herself, flipping one of her drilled ponytails over her shoulder.

Tsuruzo seems happy with her correction, although he doesn’t bring himself to speak just yet. Whenever a new member wanted to join, he usually left it to Kizana to do the introduction and decision-making , unless it was the case of just three weeks prior, where she was absent for a time.

“Right.” Taro chuckles lightly, seeming a bit hesitant to be interacting with someone as bumptious as Kizana. That was natural considering how quiet Taro usually was. “I’m… Well, I’m not 100% sure on joining just yet, but I was wondering if I could… I guess volunteer to help with the play this week? Maybe get some acting tips..?” He continues, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, which Kizana seems to notice. “I’ve been… interested in acting for a while.”

“Hm.” Kizana raises a hand to her chin, nonchalantly circling Taro, which visibly makes him more nervous. Before he could stutter out some other sort of response, she smiles and leans herself on his shoulder. “Oh, of course you can volunteer! It’s really just an extra hand, isn’t it? And I’m not held responsible for whatever you screw up!” She says cheerfully, booping his nose despite her last comment.

Ayano scowls at the physical contact at all, but keeps herself quiet and still so as to not be noticed by the three. As she listens in, Info-Chan suddenly texts her.

Info-Chan: You should volunteer, too.

Info-Chan: The club already likes you generally speaking, so you should try your best to get into Kizana’s good graces by working with her.

Ayano pauses in thought, and decides that that’s a pretty good idea. The only two in the club currently that don't have any significant opinion about Ayano are both Shozo and Kizana, although Kizana does have good words about her from Tsuruzo. Maybe Shozo should be someone she tries to get closer to as well..

Ayano’s thoughts are interrupted as a familiar voice calls to her.

“Good morning, Ayano.” Taro greets briefly, smiling and waving to her as he walks by.

Rather than responding in any way, Ayano just freezes in place. Her face suddenly felt incredibly hot, and Taro wasn’t even nearby any more. It was thrilling whenever Taro noticed her, but it happened so out of the blue and remained so brief. If only Ayano could figure out a way to function like any human being whenever Taro was around.

Suddenly, Ayano hears someone else call to her. “Ayano! It’s always a pleasure to see you.” Tsuruzo beams at her. He likely noticed her when Taro greeted her. “Your help last week is so incredibly appreciated.” He leans in slightly, saying in a lower tone. “I don’t think I’d ever admit this to Kizana, but we were quite behind before we received your help.”

Before Ayano could respond, a sharp clear of the throat was heard behind Tsuruzo. “Ahem.” It was Kizana, who looked somewhat skeptically at Tsuruzo and Ayano, although Ayano couldn’t place why. “We have errands to run, Tsuruzo. I fear this will be quite the full week.” She sighs, looking exhausted before even having gotten started.

Tsuruzo smiles at Kizana, stepping back to stand beside her. “I’ve no doubt that this week will go exactly as planned, Kizana.” He assures her, which she visibly appreciates with a light smile.

“Hmph. Well, I suppose it’s only right that I take your word for it.” Kizana claims, her cheeks growing slightly pink as she tosses her hair over her shoulder again.

This time, Ayano speaks up. “Actually, I wanted to know if I could continue running errands for your club.” She says, looking between the two leaders. “I think I could learn some valuable information, and I have nothing but time right now.”

“Hmm.” Kizana raised her hand up to her chin yet again, although her expression looked more disapproving and suspicious than the look she gave Taro. Part of Ayano wondered if Kizana simply disliked her. She seemed to like her when they first met, so what would have changed?

Kizana looked to Tsuruzo for insight, who seemed quite enthusiastic about the idea based on his bright smile. She pauses in thought before sighing. “Oh, alright.” She points a finger to Ayano. “You’ll stick with me and help me run errands. Tsuruzo, if you could please deal with the Taro boy?”

Tsuruzo nods, happy to help. “Of course. See you during lunch.” He waves to both Kizana and Ayano before turning to trail after wherever Taro had gone.

As soon as he leaves, Kizana’s suspicious expression returns as she looks at Ayano. “Yan-Chan, was it? What’s your type?” She asks immediately, shocking Ayano slightly.

“Um.. type? You mean… romantically?” Ayano asks, receiving a stiff nod from Kizana as the drama club leader folded her arms.

“Well…” Ayano hesitates. “I-I can’t say I have a type. I do prefer, um… simpler, more average-looking people? I..think. Why do you ask?” Ayano was really just trying to use whatever Info-Chan had used to explain Taro, but if Ayano were to honestly explain Taro, it would be in a far more starstruck way.

Kizana didn’t seem satisfied with that answer, but ignored her own thoughts to continue with their task at hand. “Well, anyway, let’s head to the auditorium, we’ve things to do.” She sighs, walking ahead without waiting for Ayano to catch up.

__

As the two entered the auditorium, Ayano took in just how much effort was being put into making the area look nice. The art club was scattered around, hanging up decorations while the flower club helped to put up the many, many roses they’d been growing over the past few months.

Floral decorations had been put all around. Even arches had been put up around every exit and entry, and large plants had been set up on the balcony to hang over and give a fancy, whimsical look. On the balcony, Sumire was walking around and watering the flowers that were hanging over the sides. She spotted Kizana and immediately leaned over.

“Hey, Kizana! Uekiya wants to know if the morning glories are too long!” She calls, nearly falling off the side but quickly catching herself.

Kizana doesn’t comment on that possible near-death experience and looks around at the hanging flowers, which were apparently morning glories. “I want the longer ones to be over the door way, and I want them just a few inches shorter on every one of the other ones.” She pauses before adding, “Aren’t these a bit… leafy? There are hardly any flowers!”

“Well, yeah, but the more flower-y purple flowers like clematis and wisteria are poisonous to humans, so there’s no way we could hang those around!” Sumire explained, leaning onto the railing and proceeding to almost drop her watering can.

Kizana again ignores that possible injury and sighs. “Ugh, of course. My luck is dreadful..” She sighs dramatically, leaving Sumire with a somewhat awkward expression.

“Okay, well… Scilla!” Sumire calls to the male, who was carrying another pot of flowers inside the auditorium. He looks up to her in question.

Sumire points to one of the many hanging plants. “Do you think you can cut any plant that isn’t hanging over a doorway maybe three to five inches up?” She then drags her finger over to a bucket sitting near one of the exits. “And then put them in that bucket!”

Scilla nods, placing the pot of flowers down and then pulling his favorite pair of scissors out of the pocket of his gardening apron. Ayano was unsure why he was allowed to carry that around, especially considering how many accidents have been caused because of it.

Ayano turns around, realizing that Kizana had quickly left without her, and rushes to follow her. Behind the stage, Kokona was sitting in a chair, rehearsing lines as Riku worked on one of the lights, which they had apparently taken down from the ceiling of the stage.

Kokona sighs, leaning on one of the tables next to Riku. She looks at her script. “I’m just not sure what’s wrong. I feel like my voice right now is… okay, but it’s missing something. Or, maybe I’m just… doing it all wrong? I can’t place it..”

Riku hums lightly, seeming to finish something in the light before looking up to Kokona with a smile. “Perhaps it’s because you’re mocking another narrator?” He looks back down to the light and continues working with a screwdriver. “You usually make your voice more deep and dramatic, which leads me to believe that you’re trying to sound like someone else when you narrate.”

“I-I do? Well, I guess I knew that, but I thought it was theatrical..” Kokona claims bashfully, tilting her head as she looks at the script.

“Well, Kokona always has had an ugly habit of copying others.” Kizana claims with a huff, making her presence known in her regular unnecessary manner.

“I..” Kokona starts, but doesn’t really have much to retort with that Kizana hasn’t already heard.

Riku sighs, shaking his head disapprovingly at Kizana. “It’s admiration, Kizana. If you lent Kokona a hand with her hairstyles then she’d likely be able to find a hairstyle that looked a little less than your own.” He claims. He moved aside a pile of screws and pulled a piece of the light off, looking to see what exactly could be changed to somehow fix it.

Kizana rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on. Everyone knows how to function a basic set of pigtails. A ponytail? A bun? It doesn’t have to- are you repairing the light?” She asks, looking shocked at that find.

“Yes. I was doing a light check to see if everything worked, but this one shone strangely.” Riku explained, tapping the piece he had pulled off. “This one looks badly dented, so I might have to try to find a tool in the workshop to help bend it back into shape.”

Kizana raises her eyebrows. “Is that right? That’s impressive, you’ve never told me about your hardware skills.”

Riku shrugs with a light hum. “We’ve never had a busted light. It must have dented the last time it fell from the bars.” He guesses, piquing Ayano’s interest.

“How did it fall?” Ayano asks, probing Kokona to smile and wave at her happily. She gave a brief wave back.

“I’m pretty sure it was just old. We aren’t allowed to buy any items until next Monday, so we won’t be able to repair it properly just yet.” Riku says, setting the piece of metal aside and standing up from his chair. “Ah.. I think I’m going to go check the other lights, just to be sure. It’d be dreadful if any of them were to fall on someone.” He sighs, the thought alone chilling.

Chilling to him, at least. It sounded outstanding to Ayano. If it could fall on Kizana, that would be lovely. Then Taro would have no reason to join the Drama Club, and he would no longer have an admirer or a reason to get close to anyone in the club. That sounds perfect to Ayano, in fact. She wondered how she would go about that scheme.

Kizana clears her throat out sharply, giving Ayano another suspicious look and follows her gaze to where Riku had just left. She didn’t comment on it, though, and simply went onto the matter at hand. “We can move onto checking on Shozo and his affairs now.” She claims, turning her gaze to Kokona. “I think your narration is fine for the play, Kokona, so don’t waste time doubting yourself. It’ll hold off my performance and make you more susceptible to pimples. You know this.” She hisses.

Ayano couldn’t figure out if that was Kizana attempting to be nice, but she knew that it was likely that the compliment backfired immediately as it was followed by complaining. Regardless of Kizana’s intentions, Ayano quickly followed the drama club leader out of the auditorium as they headed towards the gardening club.

__

Uekiya was busy picking seeds from flowers that seemed to have been cut previously by Scilla. She was sitting on her knees on the ground, picking up cut vines and flowers from one bucket, and then separating the seeds and leftover foliage into two other buckets. Nearby, Shozo was standing and looking at several other pots of flowers, a clipboard and pen in his hand. He seemed to be counting the amounts of plants and writing the information down.

Tucked away in a corner, Ayano hadn’t even noticed him, Geiju was sitting in a chair with an art book resting on his leg. He seemed to notice Ayano and Kizana enter the garden first and immediately stood up. Flipping to a certain page, Geiju approached Kizana and lifted up his art book, revealing several shades of certain colors like red and purple pasted onto the book.

Kizana notices him approach and lifts an eyebrow at his gesture. She stares at the open page for a moment before she looks up at him, unamused. “I know you don’t talk much, but you still talk. Use your two words.” She huffs, crossing her arms.

Geiju’s eyebrows lowered, looking equally displeased at her response. “Pick some.” He holds his pencil out to her and points to the colors. “For decoration.”

“Decoration..? Hmm…” Kizana furrows her eyebrows in thought, plucking the pen from Geiju’s hand and pulling a hand up to her chin in thought. Their interaction seems to grab the attention of Uekiya, who stands up to greet them.

“Ladies!” Uekiya beams at the two, brushing her gloves off on her gardener’s apron. “I take it you’re looking for all the details for the decorative flowers? We’ve got the flowers for the show set aside still growing so that they’re fresh once the big day comes.” She explains, giving Ayano a brief closed-eye smile as a greeting.

Kizana circles a couple colors on Geiju’s book but turns to Uekiya with a nod. “That’s right. I see you’ve grown plenty of roses.” She looks at the corner of the garden that had been specifically cared for and dedicated for Friday. It took up nearly a full fourth of the garden due to the sheer amount of rose bushes held inside. “It seems a bit excessive, don’t you think? How am I going to use all of these? Too many flowers could be a slipping hazard, you know!”

Uekiya chuckles wryly, but nods. “I agree. I was actually going to ask you about the amount specifically. Leftover flowers are really no problem, but I wanted to know where exactly we would have to gather them. And if it would be now or later.” She waves Shozo over and points to his clipboard. “I personally recommend later just for the sake of keeping everything fresh, but we do have plenty to spare, so hypothetically we could cut a few roses and then place them in a few areas for the day, see how they feel, and then decide on something special for Friday? Just so we don’t spend all day picking different patterns to put them in.”

“Hmm, well…” Kizana allows herself to look back over to Geiju’s art book as she thinks, successfully picking which colors she would like for what while directing Uekiya what to do with certain plants.

Ayano watched her jump between the two of them, before she dragged her gaze over to Shozo. The male in question seemed to have noticed something on his clipboard. With furrowed eyebrows, he scribbled something onto the clipboard with a frustrated frown. Seeing this as a chance to be helpful, she walked closer to Shozo.

“Hello, Shozo. Is something the matter?” Ayano asks, folding her hands in front of her lap with a curious expression. She wasn’t yet sure what sort of company Shozo preferred, so she couldn’t pull up a particular persona just yet.

Shozo nodded as a greeting, but his frown deepened at the question. “Yeah. Just a mistake, really.” He explains briefly, but after seeing Ayano’s curious expression, he decided to explain further. “Well… In return for the gardening club using their funds and resources to get us so many flowers for decoration, we were going to offer some of our funds in order to get them more important resources like fertilizer. Unfortunately, I misread the count of how much they needed and now they have less than we promised. We won’t be able to get any more in until next week, which is really inconvenient for them.”

Ayano frowns as well, trying her best to seem sympathetic. “That’s unfortunate. How many bags are you missing?” She asks. Her plan was to buy the bags for him, and she was wondering if she could afford it at all.

Although he looked confused as to why Ayano was asking at all, Shozo did eventually respond. “Six bags.” He says, “It probably doesn’t sound like much, but that’s 60 pounds Uekiya’s missing for the plants that we’re asking her to grow for us. And she’s going all out, even with the limited supply.” He looks a bit disappointed in himself at the mistake he’s made, but doesn’t go into it.

“I take it, it's not an option to just have someone else buy it?” Ayano asks, raising a hand to her chin in thought.

“For $120? We’d rather leave that amount for the school funds.” Shozo grins slightly, but it’s only to give a mocking scoff. “It’s not like many of us in the club have the best income from our personal lives. Whatever Kokona and Tokuko make are meant to be saved for their own personal reasons, Tsuruzo doesn’t make enough to spend on the club, I don’t even have a job, Riku’s parents don’t let him spend money on school activities, and Kizana..?”

Shozo looked over to the purple-haired girl in question as she seemed to finish up her conversation with the two club leaders. “...I mean, she is one of the richest students in the school, but she was against paying Uekiya at all. From her perspective, she was asking Uekiya to do something she loved for her using the school’s funds.”

“I see. I guess the odds are just stacked against you right now.” Ayano says, shaking her head, “Sorry to hear that.”

Shozo’s expression lightens up a bit at the sympathy and he shrugs a bit. “Snags like this happen. It’s nothing out of the ordinary.” He pauses, before nodding at Ayano, “I… appreciate the sympathy, though.”

A sharp snap of Kizana’s fingers snatches Ayano’s attention. “We’re done here, Ayano.” She claims, not waiting for Ayano to respond before leaving the area.

Ayano nods as a goodbye to the three other students, before quickly following her.

__

As the two walk, Kizana remains silent, outside of occasional responses to greetings. For some reason, Kizana seemed a tad bit stiff- or at least far more from when the two had first met. Perhaps those first encounters were just for the sake of flattery, and now she had no reason to show such politeness? That would definitely emphasize how bad of a choice she was for Taro.

Ayano’s phone buzzes, and she sees that Info-Chan has left her a bit of free information on Kizana.

Info-Chan: I see you have your eye on Kizana! ;D

Info-Chan: Thankfully, I can give you all the information you need to confirm your suspicions!

Info-Chan:

Name: Kizana Sunobu

Gender: Female

Class: 3-2

Club: Drama

Persona: Lovestruck

Reputation:

Overall: +63

Liked: -10

Respected: +100

Feared: +100

Crush: Taro Yamada

Strength: Incapable

Likes & Dislikes:

Likes: Drama, Gossip, Art, Money, Socializing

Dislikes: Music, Violence, Martial Arts, Solitude, Anime

Ayano’s brows furrow as she reads the information given to her. It was already somewhat obvious that Kizana liked attention, but she didn’t know that she had a full-on crush on Taro. That explained her spontaneous interest.

Yan-Chan: So she does have a crush on him?

Info-Chan: That’s what I said :)

Info-Chan: The better question is, what are you going to do about it?

Pausing in thought, Ayano thinks. What could she do? More likely than not, Kizana is going to spend most of her time around others planning and practicing for the play. Maybe there was a way to get closer to her so she could convince her to come somewhere private. But even so…

Ayano looks up to Kizana’s back as the club leader walks as prim as ever. As she stared, she wondered how exactly she would get close to Kizana considering the kind of person she is. Doing favors was a start, but she needed to prove to Kizana that she was more than just a servant girl. But how?

As Ayano repeated the exact same question to herself over and over again in an attempt to think, Kizana’s phone suddenly rang. Kizana sighs, seeming somewhat stressed and unwilling to answer a call at the moment. Still, as she looked at the called ID, she seemed to relax, and almost seem a bit brighter after seeing whoever it was.

Kizana looks at Ayano and points a finger to her. “You stay here. We still have things to do.” She says, leaving Ayano at the entrance of the school as she walks back outside to take the call. She didn’t go too far, and her loud voice was clear enough for Ayano to hear if she took a few steps closer.

“Hello, mother! How are y..you… huh?” Kizana’s bright answer immediately dwindled down into a confused mumbled as the other person on the phone- her mother- speaks. After a second, Kizana nods, “Well, yes, I understand. Did… something bad happen..?” She asks hesitantly, raising a hand to her chest. Her demeanor immediately shrunk from confident to deathly worried just by whatever her mother had said.

Suddenly, Kizana nearly screeches, “Wh-What?! But- But I…” She pauses for another moment, allowing her mother to speak, before her voice escalates further. “..I-I know, I- I believed that would be a choice, but… I… I have- I have everything I could want here, mom, I don’t–” After another response from her mother, Kizana quiets down significantly, “...but I don’t want to. Why take such drastic measures..? I–”

Once again, Kizana is cut off, and for a few moments, her responses are nothing short of weak hums and quiet, reluctant confirmations. “I…I understand…” She mutters, hanging her head in defeat. After another mumble, she hangs up, looking down at her phone.

Kizana sighs first, before raising a hand to massage her temple with a long groan. “Perfect…” She hisses to herself.

Ayano takes this time to return to her spot and look away from Kizana, appearing as nonchalant and uninformed as possible. Kizana eventually strides back, looking practically the same outside of a more harsh gaze. “Come.” She demands simply, once again walking ahead without bothering to wait for Ayano’s reply. Bad mood or not, this proved that Kizana really just was this type of person. Not that Ayano minded. More fuel to use against her, she rationalized.

Again, Info-Chan texted Ayano.

Info-Chan: Look at you! Learning and stuff :3

Info-Chan: Now you should keep an eye on whoever seems closest to Kizana, see if she’ll speak to them about whatever her distress is about.

Yan-Chan: Right.

Yan-Chan: I feel as though Tsuruzo might be that person in Kizana’s case.

Yan-Chan: I’ll keep an extra close eye on him.

Info-Chan: As you should!

Info-Chan: And here’s your last tip of the day-

Info-Chan: Study biology and physical ed in all of your free time!

Info-Chan: You’re sincerely going to need it ^^

__

“Thanks for showing me around, Tsuruzo! It definitely seems like joining the Drama Club would be a good idea. Still, I think I’ll stick to volunteering for now.” Taro says, smiling at the taller male.

Tsuruzo nods reassuringly. “Don’t you worry! You wouldn’t be the first. Still, you’ve expressed the most interest in this club out of anyone, and Kizana seems to have very high hopes for you.” He chuckles confidently, “I’m sure we can find a way to fit you comfortably in the club.”

Tsuruzo immediately spotted Kizana from across the hall, and led Taro over to her. “Hello, Kizana.” He looks around briefly, realizing that Ayano was no longer with her. “Where might Ayano be?”

Kizana huffs, although Tsuruzo couldn’t place what exactly that exasperated action was directed to. The purple-haired girl tossed one of her drilled pigtails over her shoulder for the nth time that day and responded quickly. “She’s off running some errands. As am I. What about you and our possible-newest member?” She asks, shooting Taro a charming smile.

Taro smiled bashfully at Kizana’s attention, and nervously rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I’m certainly interested. I’m still debating on actually joining, though. I’ll definitely need more than a day or two.”

Kizana didn’t seem too bothered by this answer, and instead shot him a confident smile. “Well, you’ve all the time in the world.” She then shrugs, “Not really, but you get my point. Take your time, darling! No decisions are good decisions if they’re rushed.”

“I agree.” Taro responds, looking happy at Kizana’s reassurance.

“If you end up being particularly talented, you could even earn the role of Romeo, you know.” Kizana claims.

Taro seemed excited and anxious about that opportunity, although Kizana didn’t miss how Tsuruzo stiffened and looked at her in question at her statement. “That sounds exciting! I’ll make sure to work hard.” Taro claims, smiling happily at the thought.

The school bell rang and Taro took that as his time to leave. “I’m going to head to class now. See you there, Kizana.” He says, waving briefly to both her and Tsuruzo.

After he was out of earshot, Tsuruzo gave Kizana a troubled look. “The role of Romeo, Kizana?” He repeated her words, although he was significantly lacking his usual bravado.

Kizana hums, her voice and expression lax as she smiles at Tsuruzo. “Oh, don’t you worry about that.” She swats her hand back and forth dismissively, stepping right next to Tsuruzo to hang onto his arm. “Consider it a method of encouragement for the poor thing. He’d have to be… be Toshiro Mifune to replace you.”

Even as Tsuruzo seems to relax slightly at her reassurance, Kizana lifted a hand to guide his face to look at her. “I’ve seen how hard you work. I’d have to be stupid not to.” She smiles charismatically as Tsuruzo’s face slowly turns more and more red. “I hope you’re not insinuating that you think I’m stupid, Tsuruzo.” She hums in a low tone.

After struggling for a moment, Tsuruzo exhales, his face far more red than he would have liked. “If…If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume that you were trying to.. distract me.” He says, again internally punching himself for not sounding as charismatic as he attempted to.

Kizana’s facade eventually falls and she forces herself to look away and let go of him before he can see the redness of her own face. She sputters, trying her best to sound as offended and confident as possible. “The fact that you aren’t distracted is insulting.” She huffs, sheepishly twirling one of her drilled ponytails around her fingers.

Tsuruzo leans over just a bit, trying to catch a glance at her face, but is interrupted by a sharp ‘ahem’ coming from behind them.

Tokuko stood with an irritated expression, her hands on her hips. She looked more tired than usual, and even her hair looked unintentionally more high-volume than it usually was. The only reason Kizana would say that it looked bad is because she wasn’t used to Tokuko doing anything different with her hair outside of performances.

“You know, teenagers like you usually do that in bathrooms or storage closets.” Tokuko claimed, her voice filled with a judgemental tone, although this wasn’t unusual for her.

With a roll of her eyes, Kizana crosses her arms. “Tokuko, I haven’t seen you all day. I see you’re starting your day with the energy of Juliet in act 5.” She grins, raising her eyebrows. “Scene 3.”

“Dead?” Tokuko guessed, crossing her arms as well, as if trying to mock Kizana’s sass.

“Unhelpful.” Kizana smirks, although she’s only rewarded by Tokuko rolling her eyes.

Tsuruzo smiles at their banter before leaning down a bit to Kizana. “I’m heading to class. See you after.” He says, briefly placing his hand on her back before leaving the two ladies to bicker.

Tokuko watches him leave and returns to glaring at Kizana. “I request more time to myself rather than practice this week.” She says, although her tone attempted to emphasize that this was something she planned on doing more than something she was asking permission for.

“Sure.” Kizana shrugs, before immediately hissing, “If you want to fail.”

“A little time away from practice won’t deteriorate my skills, Kizana.” Tokuko sighs, rolling her eyes yet again- something she found she did often when she was in Kizana’s presence.

Kizana scoffs. “It will with you no longer taking those voice lessons. Do you know what all the melodies you need to sing during the performance are? Do you have a list or an idea or a plan?”

Tokuko groans. “I’m just asking for a little time to myself, Kizana. I’ve taken on that new job- I need some time to destress.”

“Destressing, Tokuko,” Kizana begins, placing a hand on her hip and giving her clubmate a nasty look, “is for after school. Not club time. Not practice time.” She scoffs, sounding offended at Tokuko’s suggestion. “You shouldn’t choose an important time like practice for your ‘destressing’. Especially time that may drag my progress down. We’re depending on a vocalist and that’s all you do.”

Kizana points an accusatory finger at Tokuko with a strict expression. “Take all the time you need. But if your ‘destressing’ ruins our performance, Tokuko, you will not be forgiven.” She says before adding with a calmer, although just as stern expression, “You understand, don’t you?”

What Tokuko’s answer was didn’t matter to Kizana, as she simply walked past her in order to get to class. Tokuko scoffs, now left alone in the hall. Part of her feels like even if Kizana had given her the time with no questions asked, she’d still find a way to ruin Tokuko’s mood.

Before she could dwell on it further, a familiar ding tone erupted from her phone. Her mood immediately grew calmer at who was texting her- a friend she could only contact online. Equally, a friend she didn’t think she’d ever have since she was hardly online before she got in contact with this guy.

Clandestein: I sense negative energy!! :0

ToKita: How’d you know?

Clandestein: Holy shit I was right?

Clandestein: Whom must we murder? :(

ToKita: My club leader, lol

Clandestein: You mean the super, super vain one?

ToKita: I’d call that description vague if I didn’t know you lol

Clandestein: Her pf aaaalways pops up in my recommended because you two are friended

Clandestein: Also cuz she has like

Clandestein: Almost a million followers :|

ToKita: Wy to rub it in my face :(

ToKita: *Way

Clandestein: But “Wy” is she bothering you so much anyway?

ToKita: Jerk.

ToKita: You know how I just got that job?

Clandestein: Yup, that hostess one?

Clandestein: Wish I could drop by for a bite :P

ToKita: The food is revolting, don’t worry.

Clandestein: I’d pay to see you :D

ToKita: You’d pay $50 for a glass of water to see me?

Clandestein: Wtf

ToKita: Thought so.

ToKita: Aaaaanyway..

ToKita: I can’t catch much of a break since my job lets me off late, so I’m trying to catch a break while at school.

Clandestein: (Mission Impossible)

ToKita: But she’s super absorbed in this performance we’re doing at the end of the week

ToKita: And she doesn’t want me to take a break :(

Clandestein: Betcha she’ll take plenty of breaks.

ToKita: She would!

ToKita: She’s always been this way.

ToKita: It’s the whole reason I’m convinced that any friends she has are paid

Clandestein: LOL

Clandestein: That’d be hilarious. At least you know that you have more friends than her! ;D

ToKita: That I do.

ToKita: I wish someone would just give her a scare :(

ToKita: She’s too lax and way overconfident

ToKita: I’m usually above pranks but I’d love to scare her at this point with one

Clandestein: If you do make sure you send a video to me!!!!!

Clandestein: Imagine it’s like a stalker serial-killer moment

Clandestein: Like, she keeps looking over her shoulder, thinking someone’s following her

Clandestein: And when she finally investigates, no one’s there!

Clandestein: She turns around, “Oh, well… must have been the wind…”

Clandestein: And then BOOM!

Clandestein: Oni mask to the face!!

ToKita: I want to see that sooooooo bad!!

Clandestein: Your wish is my command! :DDDDD

ToKita: Ha, I wish.

Clandestein: I’ll send my good vibes your way!

Clandestein: Hopefully Kizana stubs her toe on her way home

Clandestein: Whoo!

ToKita: Whoo.

ToKita: lol ^^

Tokuko turns off her phone and begins heading to class. “Clandestein”- who’s real name was apparently just “Stein”- was a fun character. Not even a friend Tokuko would imagine herself having if it weren’t for his funny remarks about whoever Tokuko complained about. Although that was usually just Kizana.

Still, he did always make her feel better. And frankly, he might be the sole reason she’s still dealing with Kizana’s unnecessary sass. She wasn’t sure what she’d do without him.

[todoscript]

SEQUEL TO  “don’t forget it”

SYNOPSIS: One week after accidentally blowing you off on your date, Bakugou Katsuki seeks your forgiveness.

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

genre: fluff, very little angst

word count: 5.4k+

warnings: none really accept maybe a character sustaining an injury

author’s note: hellooooo this is a very very very late part 2 of my don’t forget it drabble that many people asked for! i hope this lived up to your expectations and was worth the wait!

Since the events that led you to leave Bakugou’s room in a fit of bitterness after attempting to penetrate that thick head of his, he hadn’t been able to speak to you for a week.

It goes without saying he did his best to chase you down the hallway from his room and toward the elevator the moment he realized his faults. But at the stink eye you shot him through the minimizing slit of the elevator doors sliding into place, he knew he had no right to reconcile with you after pulling a stunt like that. Nor did he think you’d want to spare him any more words to begin with. It was clear you were done arguing with him.

“C’mon man, it’s probably best to let her cool down before you try to make up with her,” was the advice Kirishima offered when Bakugou returned to his room, disgruntled as he heavily fell back into his seat next to the desk. He did the bare minimum to acknowledge his friend’s words with a grunt before resuming tutoring the redhead, his method of teaching suddenly harsher than how it began thanks to his soured mood. He lapsed the day away by pounding Kirishima with problems upon problems against that hard noggin of his, both literally and figuratively.

At the very least, Kirishima earned himself a passing grade on their exam as a result of his hard work and their rigorous tutoring sessions. But what followed Bakugou’s and your relationship was still undetermined.

Days later and you were relentless in giving him the cold shoulder.

Bakugou was met with nothing but empty glances and blatant disinterest whenever he crossed your path. It felt like the wall you slotted between him grew another layer at each encounter, your defenses so impenetrable, it could give Kirishima’s quirk a run for its money. He couldn’t so much as utter a word in your direction without you effectively dodging every possible interaction in favor of joining another conversation nearby.

At first, Bakugou shrugged it off, calling your “childish attitude” unwarranted for something he thought was incredibly trivial. In his eyes, it was just an ordinary date at some run-of-the-mill restaurant he just happened to suggest to you because he took a liking to their spicy food. Not like it was some fancy dinner reservation serving caviar on dry toast beside a pretty, city night skyline. To him, it was nothing special.

However, as the week continued to roll by, it became clear to him how much he hurt you due to his selfishness. In a hangout with the Bakusquad, he learned that you apparently told Mina, along with the rest of the girls, everything during one of your girls’ nights. Which included the events prior to your heated argument in Bakugou’s dorm. And Mina, being just as peeved as you were at how Bakugou stood you up that day, had to let the blond know of the damage he’d done.

.

.

“I swear, Bakugou Katsuki, I know you can be an asshole sometimes—”

“Make that all the time,” Sero quietly adds in the middle of Mina’s rant while he lounges backward on Kaminari’s bed. If it wasn’t for his current dilemma, Bakugou would have elbowed him in the back of the head.

“—but this is crossing the line!” she finishes. Her arms are thrown exaggeratedly over her chest. The amber surrounded by the black scleras of her eyes points a beady look at the ash-blond crisscrossed on the floor between Kirishima and Kaminari.

“Poor girl sat there for hours waiting for you, only to find out she got blown off because you couldn’t even properly check your reminders!” She paces back and forth in the room, feet excessively stepping across the floor as she’s engulfed by the emotions she feels for her friend. “What’s worse? She comes back and finds out you’ve been doing your own thing with Kirishima the whole time!”

“Hey! It’s not like we were playing around! We were actually having a very serious study grind, thank you very much,” the redhead immediately clarifies. Though his explanation doesn’t alleviate Bakugou’s case in the slightest, who pounds his palms against the surface of the table they’ve gathered around.

“Look. I fucking get it, Ashido. I screwed up, okay?! Now what the fuck do you want me to do about it?!” he exclaims, anger overpowering his voice, but it does little to deter Mina.

“Fix it, obviously!” she quips back with equal fierceness, leaning in eye level with Bakugou.

“And how do you propose I do that, Raccoon Eyes? Hah?” Repositioning his elbow to rest on the table, he leans his cheek against his hand. “Y/n won’t even let me within five fucking feet in front of her and you still expect me ‘fix this’?”

Despite the situation weighing heavily on his shoulders, no immediate answer is bestowed upon him. That is, except the obnoxiously loud crinkle of a chip bag popping open next to Bakugou that cleaves into the scene like a record scratch. As if unable to read the mood in his own room, Kaminari fishes a chip to throw in his mouth, stirring the awkward silence into tension.

“Wow, Bakugou. I know you’re bad with girls and all, but you really messed up this time,” he remarks. His voice is slightly muffled as he munches his chips, continuing to wrinkle the bag for more. It incites a vein to swell on Bakugou’s forehead. He amasses all the willpower within him not to blast the bag of chips to ash, and the boy alongside it.

“If you dunce faces are just gonna sit here and throw salt in my wound then I’m outta here.”

“No, wait!” Kirishima catches Bakugou’s wrist before he fully lifts himself off the floor. “Come on, Bakugou, I’m sure we can think of something! We just need to put our heads together! Right, guys?” he assures. Finding it hard to deny his friend’s hardened conviction, Bakugou gives Kirishima the benefit of the doubt, albeit with slumped shoulders and a tentative raise of his brow as he slowly sits back down.

“Right! Everyone, let’s get some brainstorming done!” Mina yells encouragingly.

The atmosphere of Kaminari’s room is consumed by moderately thoughtful silence for the next ensuing minutes. A few hums pass, followed by an exchange of contemplative looks as four of the five rack their heads together to uncover a solution. The one in need of help only hunches in his seat, waiting with mild disinterest.

“Oh hey, don’t we have hero training with All Might tomorrow?” Sero is the first to comment, scooting to the edge of the blond’s bed.

“Yeah. So?”

“He said we were going to work on group exercises this time around. You know, teamwork and stuff,” he explains further.

At that, Mina snaps her fingers, the work of a brilliant idea flickering in her head. “Sero, that’s it! Tomorrow, during training, we’ll just form a group together with Y/n! After all, she’ll have to talk to Bakugou if you two are on the same team!” She claps her hands in front of her, her enthusiasm rippling through her body and shown energetically with each raise of her voice. “Then, while the rest of us ‘split up’ to cover more ground, that will be your chance to make everything better with Y/n! It’s genius!”

“You missed one fucking crucial detail, Pinky,” Bakugou gruffs. “That will only work if Y/n doesn’t join another group. The moment she sees I’m on yours, she’s not even going to hesitate making a u-turn.”

“Worry not~ I’ll just text all the girls except Y/n about the plan later and ask them to help sort everyone out!” She solves the problem with relative ease—quick as a click of her phone lighting up and finger sliding open to her messages.

“Uh, another thing though.” Kirishima raises his hand to spare his concern. “All Might says we’ll be splitting into groups of five at most, but there’s already five of us here.”

There’s a brief moment of deadpanning until Mina speaks casually. “Oh, that’s right. Kaminari. Take one for the team and make sure to join another group, ‘kay?” She settles without batting a lash.

Kaminari almost chokes on a mouthful of chips. “H-Huh?! What?! Why me?!!” he sputters.

“Because you’ve been eating chips this entire time and haven’t contributed to anything.”

“Hey, I offered the room, didn’t I?!” He tries justifying but is inevitably rejected by Mina’s wagging finger.

“Ah-ah, no complaints! Besides, it’s only one day of training. If we want this dilemma between Bakugou and Y/n fixed then we all have to play our part, got it?” Mina finalizes with a firm point of her finger nearly grazing the tip of the blond’s nose as he leans back to avoid it, eyebrows scrunched in discontent at the role he’s been reduced to.

“Alllllright!” Kirishima springs from his seat with outstretched arms and tightened fists. “Operation: Get Y/n to Forgive Explosion Boy is underway!”

“Dude, that’s a terrible name!” Sero laughs but rises from the bed to join the redhead’s cheer alongside Mina, the group already in high spirits.

Despite rolling his eyes at their swell of confidence, Bakugou does not object to the state of things. As crazy as it sounds, one could almost decipher the cusp of a grin pulling the seams of his lips as a possible sign he’s actually all for this extravagant little plan. Quite a first for Bakugou, but then again, there’s not much else he can do in this situation except rely on his pack of chumps.

Meanwhile, Kaminari grumbles something beneath the salty grit between his teeth.

“Alright, can you all get out of my room now?”

.

.

The scowl etched on your face carries a strong air of disdain that dampens the mood around your teammates considerably. Well, no one should be surprised. With Bakugou standing across from you, staring into the void of your expression, it’s to be expected that you wouldn’t be happy with this outcome.

No, “unhappy” doesn’t quite do your circumstance justice. You are beyond livid.

You feel your eyebrow twitch as you try quivering your lips to form a tinge of a smile. Unfortunately, all that quickly falls apart when you suddenly recall the disaster of last week, triggered by an accidental glance at Bakugou’s mug.

Trying to simmer down, you release a mental sigh amidst the turmoil boiling inside you.

Okay, maybe you’re over-exaggerating. Maybe you’re still just a bit too bitter for your own good and letting your emotions get to you. But in a class of twenty or some students, how did you end up in a group with the one person you were actively trying to avoid?

The moment All Might gave everyone the go-ahead to form their teams for today’s training exercise, you swiftly made a beeline toward two particular star students. Midoriya and Todoroki.

It was simple really. Your experiences throughout the school year told you Bakugou planned on staying away from his rivals when it came to teamwork, regardless of whether you’re there or not. He’s a competitive ass whose goal is to beat anyone he deems a threat in his climb to be the number one hero. It’s only logical you partner with people he adamantly dislikes to evade him.

Yet it seems fate has other plans for you today. By the time you found yourself pacing over to the two students you had in mind, they’d already gone and picked their own group members, forming teams before you could even ask.

Your nose wrinkles like you’ve taken a whiff of something rancid. Or, to be more specific, something fishy. Hooking an arm around Mina’s elbow, you drag the pink-haired girl off to a corner somewhere while tilting your head back at the three other boys.

“Ex. Cuse. Us.” Your words sound as stiff as cardboard. It comes out in practically a hiss when your eyes cross Bakugou. Once you’re positive you’re out of earshot, you whip your head at Mina.

“Mina, what the hell? When you dragged me over here to form a group with you you didn’t tell me he’d be there,” you groan. Childish and petty as you may sound, you just couldn’t fathom the idea of confronting the boy so soon.

Mina holds her hands out, ready to rationalize the whole ordeal. “C’mon Y/n, this is actually an advantage for us! With us four plus you on our team, we’re sure to knock the rest of the other guys out during training today! I mean we showed pretty good teamwork together at the sports festival, didn’t we?”

Steadying your gaze, you hold a finger below your chin as you slowly buy into the explanation. The reasoning is there. It’s hard to argue against a case like that, fully aware that being on the same team as explosion boy will easily snag good results for you and your party. ‘Cause as much of an arrogant jerk as he is, you have to admit Bakugou Katsuki knows his way around hero action like the back of his grenade gauntlets.

“Besides it’s not like you could avoid him for the entire school year. I mean, you two are in the same class. It was only a matter of time before you had to—”

“I know, Mina,” you interject, not wanting the rest of her sentence about the inevitable fall to your ear. “I just… Agh, you know what I mean!” You ruffle your hands through your hair in confliction, unsure how to piece your thoughts together.

Tilting your head over Mina’s shoulder, you sneak a glimpse at Bakugou, watching him as he’s cast to the side with the others. He’s fending himself from Kirishima and Sero’s combined jokes, that usual look on his face sending glares at the two and yelling something you could almost pick up on if you honed your ears a bit more. Surprisingly, when his eyes meet yours for a split second, he stands there looking nonchalant again. Both of you immediately avert your gazes.

Mina pats your shoulder, bringing you back to the conversation at hand. “I know, I know, but after this, I’m sure you can go back to ignoring his ass. After all, it’s just one training exercise, right?” she says. As her words deliver some relief to your ill-timed situation, you give in with a sigh.

Unbeknownst to you, turning your back to Mina and striding toward the rest of your teammates again, you miss the small glint in her yellow eyes, along with the subtle gestures she aims at the three boys, waving her pointed thumbs over your head secretively.

“So I take it you’re on the team with us, Y/n?” Sero asks when the two of you return. You nod in reply and the boy flashes his pearly whites in a wide grin that Kirishima mirrors. He nudges Bakugou at his sides which you subtly catch in the far corner of your eye.

You raise a brow suspiciously at their fidgeting, wondering why having you on their team warrants such enthusiasm, but you’re thankful for their energy at least. Someone has to lift the atmosphere for this not to be a complete drag and Bakugou surely isn’t going to be the mood maker of the group.

The blond scoffs. “Yeah, well, if you dumbasses are going to form a team with me, you’ll follow under my leadership, got it?”

The three readily agree. Though you roll your eyes, you don’t challenge his position, considering no one else is that much up to the task as he is. You’ll simply have to deal with the fact that you’re forced to tread through the day under his leadership. So with no objections, the five of you walk back to the class, gathering around the entrance of today’s battlefield.

Jumping into the activity, All Might goes about explaining today’s lesson to the four sets of teams—consisting of a group exercise to heighten teamwork. The name of the game? Capture the flag.

In short, each team will be split off into different sections of the labyrinth where their assigned flag is stationed. The objective is to not only protect your flag from being stolen but also try and steal an opposing team’s flag from their base and escort it safely to your home field. Nice and simple.

Not long after All Might’s explanation, the gate to the training grounds opens and you all scatter off into your teams, navigating through the twists of the maze to locate your flags. Once your group situated themselves onto your home base, you assemble in a huddle to devise a strategy before the game starts.

“So what’s the plan?” Kirishima asks, eyes darting around his teammates until they rest on Bakugou—the team leader. The ash-blond crosses his arms, a confident sneer plastered on his face as he’s already thought of his plan of action the moment All Might announced the mission.

“Easy. I’m going straight to the front-lines to swipe one of those dumbasses’ flags. You lot are gonna stay here and guard ours until I come back.” He delivers the strategy in a matter-of-fact tone that you quickly don’t take a liking to. Your fist curls in irritation.

“What kind of a plan is that?” you question audaciously, your voice louder than you intended. “So you’re just going to do all the work while we sit around and wait for you?”

Bakugou grits his teeth, leaning further into the huddle to direct his senseless logic. “Look, it’s the fastest and most surefire way to snag our victory without sacrificing anyone,” he says. Playing over his words again, he finds it surprising he even chooses to offer his reasoning. Because if it were anyone other than you he was arguing with, he’s certain he’d leave it at that.

Knowing the current tension between you was a result of his misjudgment, it feels only right for Bakugou to make an effort in communication. He ignores the antsy expressions belonging to the others who signal from behind you to follow along with their original plan.

You don’t seem to catch the hint, nor do you buy into his ridiculous strategy. “Oh, so you’re that confident you won’t get taken out by the other team then?” you quip. As a result, Bakugou’s brows tighten at your noncompliance.

“I know how to take care of myself. You of all people should realize by now that no other nerd in this whole damn class can outmatch me.”

“And what about an ambush? How do you know they simply won’t anticipate your strategy and see you coming?” You fire another counterargument and the boy purses his lips, beginning to find this quarrel spiraling into a headache rather than a step in the direction of reconciliation.

While Sero and Kirishima stand there, shifting their heads back and forth throughout the fiery exchange, Mina speedily reacts. The gears of that cunning mind of hers click into place again.

“You know what, Y/n’s right. Why don’t you two go together then?” she proposes boldly. Her suggestion catches you by complete surprise. You veer in her direction with an incredulous look blown in your eyes.

Before you can open your mouth to protest, the two boys standing beside her immediately back her up.

“Hm, Mina has a point. The chances of you falling into a trap wouldn’t be much if you two work together,” Sero remarks.

Kirishima follows, “Yeah, you guys can watch each other’s backs while going to collect the flag! It’s safer to go in a pair than by yourselves I’d say.”

The three seem adamant about the idea, sharing equally content expressions, and with all that said, you find it hard to dig yourself out of this situation. In a way, you practically volunteered yourself after questioning Bakugou’s plan and doubting his abilities. The group only feels it’s right you come along as his support since you clearly must be worried about his well-being.

Pushing your objections down your throat, you reluctantly agree to tag along with the blond. What you find exceptionally shocking is how Bakugou doesn’t oppose these new conditions. Given his hard-headed temperament, you thought he would’ve scoffed and turned his back at being paired without notice, but no such things were happening here.

...Odd.

“Tch, whatever. Let’s get going then,” is all he gives, starting in the direction into the urban area of the training course.

You trail behind him. “Coming, Boom-Boy…” you mutter the last bit but don’t suppress the urge to let your words be known. Bakugou turns his head and gives you a look akin to an uptight six-year-old you just offended at your local playground. You shrug in response, a corner of your lip pinched upward. He doesn’t pick a fight over the nickname, but his eyebrows remain fiercely slanted, and coupled with his heavy steps and the excessive swinging of his gauntlet-clad arms, it tells you of his emotional constipation plain as day.

.

.

The journey toward the other teams’ flags is cloaked in strained silence and the physical gap between you two does not encourage any of you to speak up. At this point, both of your levels of annoyance for each other have mellowed out. Now it just feels... awkward—strange. You don’t see his expression, nor does he see yours. It feels like you’re being left in the dark, having only the back of Bakugou’s head to stare at the entirety of the way, and though you supposedly have his back, Bakugou feels precarious in this state as he trudges along at the front, not daring to turn his head to cross your eyes.

The ambiance is reminiscent of the ancient Greek legend of Orpheus and Eurydice. Where Bakugou walks through the depths of the underworld, seeking you out in hopes you’d join his side once again. If he turns around now and spills his thoughts to you too soon, he fears that your forgiveness would be whisked away, thoroughly beyond his reach, and replaced with your promises of retribution.

That was the eloquent version of the situation anyway. To put it bluntly, Bakugou was just impatient as hell to say something to you. The silence suffocates him to the point where the words are nearly about to be squeezed out of his throat, but he bites his lip to snuff out the urges.

The more he keeps them in, the more fidgety he becomes, hands itchy and mouth trembling with grit between his teeth. The idea of not letting his voice be heard was something Bakugou detested. Mainly because it was already such a challenge to even keep his mouth shut, given his fiery attitude and lack of patience.

Man, what the hell am I hesitating for? he asks himself, that outspoken side of him spurring him on.

Ah, screw the uncertainty, he thinks. If he doesn’t say anything now, then he won’t get to say anything ever.

Bakugou stops in his tracks, turning his head. Here goes nothing,

“Hey, Y/n, I–”

“Katsuki–”

Words collide into each other, jumbled and incoherent, which take you two by surprise as you meet each other’s furrowed gazes. It’s quiet as you both piece your way through this, eyes trained like you haven’t seen each other in months when the reality is that a week of bitterness has somehow made you act like strangers. The bewildered look crossing his features is foreign to you; you’ve never quite seen Bakugou as taken aback as he is now.

“You first,” you grant before Bakugou could mix up your words again. Even being given permission, the blond still isn’t sure what to say, his thoughts lost on him the moment his voice clashed with yours. He takes a deep breath, calming his senses and steadying his mind for what he wants to convey.

“Look, Y/n, I don’t know how to put this as nicely as I can,” he begins, tone consistent yet wary, assessing your expression, “but I know I fucked up and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you there all by yourself. I shouldn’t… have blown you off like that and forgotten about you.” He delivers this bluntly—honestly—as open as a boy of his nature can muster with arms spread out, willingly exposing him to his faults and your reprisals.

Looking at you, he finds your eyes are cast to the floor, assuming to be reflecting on his words carefully. After some deliberation, you come across the vermillion in his eyes.

“Frankly, I haven’t entirely forgiven you just yet. But I will say that despite how I’ve been acting, I’m not as mad at you as you think,” is what you give, and Bakugou would be lying to himself if he didn’t achieve relief at your statement. He mentally releases a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding throughout the exchange. However, you aren’t done yet.

“I just want you to understand what moments like those mean to me. It’s during that time where I can share my feelings and learn more about you—understand who you are,” you say. Bakugou latches onto every word. “And it goes both ways, you know. It’s hard to want to stay in a relationship with someone who doesn’t make an effort to make time for you.” It’s obvious you aim that comment at him as Bakugou’s eyes soften slightly hearing it. His calloused, glove-clad hands wrap into his palms. Man, he really was a jerk.

“Still… I know you’re making an effort to be sincere and that you’re genuinely sorry for what happened, especially considering how the others seem to have set this whole conversation up, right?” Bakugou winces over the Bakusquad’s ploy coming to light and makes a note not to follow along next time unless those dummies can scrape up a more elaborate plan.

Despite that, he presses on, “So, what does this mean?” A smile settles on the curve of your lips, sensing his impatience as his voice hastens you along.

“Well…” you begin, speech drawn out in anticipation as you step toward him to where Bakugou follows your movements. That is until he catches a few shadowy figures shifting around atop the small building behind you. Before you can open your mouth to continue, his instincts flare to life.

“Hey, look out!” he exclaims, already acting on his warnings by lunging forward to push you out of the way. Your breaths draw back into your lungs, your body thrust abruptly into the opposite direction. Landing on your butt, you wince at both the shock and the pain, but your whines desist when you witness Bakugou taking a force to the head as a result of coming to your aid.

“Katsuki!” you yell, immediately getting off the ground to rush to his side, but he can’t find it in himself to respond. Afflicted with a substantial blow to the crown of his head, his whole being throbs and his vision spins.

Fuck, is Y/n, okay? is the first thing on his mind, ignoring the liquid trickling down his forehead. His question is answered upon turning his head to meet your anxious expression—your eyes wide and lips quivering as they move to say words he can’t exactly make out beneath the pounding sensations consuming his mind. As he feels a set of arms wrap around him, he tries discerning his surroundings to form a reply, but can only capture bits and pieces.

“—tsuki! ...old… n!”

“...god—! I’m so dead!”

A sputter of words tangling together is the last he hears before his vision fades to black.

.

.

The next time Bakugou awakes, his eyes slowly sever open to come face-to-face with a blurry white ceiling. The lights assault his vision as his senses take time to adjust, unraveling the environment to realize he’s laying on a bed—a hospital bed to be precise.

He attempts lifting himself but is met with retaliation in the form of his pulsating head which he immediately flinches at. His hand goes to rub his scalp to soothe the ache and he finds bandages wrapped tightly around him. “What the hell happened?” The last he remembers is traversing the urban area with you for the capture the flag mission before finally confronting the subject that had been plaguing your minds for a week now. After that, he caught sight of some object descending toward you and before he had even realized it, his feet had moved on their own. Next thing he knows, he’s waking up in the nurse’s office with a headache from hell.

Wait, what about you? Were you okay? Surely, he had to have pushed you out of the way in time, right?

His head moves quicker than it should’ve, revealing the other hospital bed in the room to be unoccupied, vacant. He sighs and his relief is further bolstered by the door to the nurse’s room opening to unveil you unharmed with only your heavy look of concern troubling him.

“Katsuki, oh thank god, you’re okay!” you say, quickly pacing over to his side with a glass of water in hand. You leave it at his bedside, sitting before him. Gauging your appearance up and down, Bakugou tries making out even the smallest details.

“You aren’t hurt?”

You’re appalled he would ask this despite clearly being the one patched up in a hospital bed right now, and likely sporting some serious head trauma.

“Of course I am, you’re the one that lunged forward to protect me,” you tell him. Bakugou looks down at his lap, figuring that was what happened, but hearing it from you comforted him more than he thought. However, his comfort is wretched from him by the intense pressure persisting in his skull. Seeing him in pain, you urge him to lay down and rest.

“How the hell did I end up here anyway?”

You fidget with your fingers, hesitating on answering. At that, the blond lifts a brow, suspicious.

“Mineta… accidentally dropped a rock on your head.”

“...You gotta be joking, right?”

Bakugou leers hard, finding the reason he was out of commission to be a damn pebble hitting his head a detriment to his pride. And because of Mineta of all fucking people. Still, if he hadn’t acted as quickly as he did, you would’ve been the one to meet his fate instead, and he weighed this outcome to better than the former.

Then you explain how the teachers had temporarily intervened to bring his unconscious body to the nurse’s, where the old lady went about tending to his injury. Said she did her job and all he needed was to rest and let her quirk take fuller effect within that time.

“So did we win the game?” He switches the topic to today’s mission of capture the flag that was cut short on his end.

You shake your head, but at least grant him the benefit of knowing Mineta’s team ended up placing last. At that, his eyelids shut and he crosses his arms behind his bandaged head. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t my intention to win anyway.”

You give him a look. “...Liar.”

Bakugou cracks an eye open at you. “Hah? What do you mean I’m a fucking liar?”

“I know you, Katsuki. I dated you, after all. And the Katsuki that I dated is an arrogant, competitive jerk who thinks of being the best above all else.” Bakugou scrunches his nose, wondering what you’re implying through your... overly frank descriptions. “Still… he’s sweet and caring at times… and reliable when he needs to be,” you continue, tone softening that draws Bakugou in, “And the kind of guy I want to give a second chance to.”

Absorbing your words, Bakugou blinks. “S-Seriously?” He doesn’t mean to stutter, but the offer catches him off-guard. He replays what you just said. That’s what he heard, right? A second chance?

You giggle at how uncharacteristically astonished he sounds. “Yes, seriously.”

“Does that mean you forgive me for what happened last week?”

You hum between pursed lips in playful contemplation. “Well, maybe you can redeem yourself by going on another date with me then?”

Hearing your proposal, a wide grin arcs his lips, edging into a smirk.

“That’s it? Well, I can definitely fucking do that,” he states, confidence rejuvenating his body at the new, hopeful chance before him.

“Oh, just one more thing though,” you suddenly add.

“What?”

“We are not going to that Chinese Restaurant again.”

[sunshineandaisies]

What’s in the Box, Peter?

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader 

Words: ~1.7k

Warnings: fluff, mentions of pregnancy

Note: Happy Mother’s Day to all the baby mommas, the fur mommas, the plant mommas, and all the momma’s in between! 

Ever since you started dating Peter during your freshman year of college, you always spent Mother’s Day with him and May. 

Of course, you always had the customary FaceTime call with your own mother but with the prices of plane tickets constantly increasing, going home to spend the day with your family just wasn’t possible when all your money went towards rent and school expenses. 

So spending the day with Peter and May became tradition, and quite frankly, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

May Parker had practically inducted you into the family after only a few months of dating her nephew, and she was the very definition of what you thought motherhood was all about. She was understanding whenever Peter found himself in trouble - whether it be as Peter Parker or his masked superhero alter ego - and she was always willing to lend an ear whenever you or Peter needed to rant about something (even if it was about each other). She worried about Peter - of course she did - but she let him have his space to make his own mistakes and learn from them. 

She may not have been Peter’s actual mother, but damn did that woman deserve the best Mother’s Day that you and Peter could muster.

You’d stayed at May’s apartment the night before rather than at yours and Peter’s apartment on the other side of the city to save yourself the commute in the morning, and you were infinitely glad that you’d done so. An extra hour of sleep was definitely worth you and Peter squeezing into the small bed in his old bedroom. 

Peter still woke up early, though.

He always did, unable to really sleep in the days leading up to Mother’s Day. He grew restless and quiet, and you didn’t need to ask to know why. 

He pressed his lips to your cheek before he left for his visit to his mother’s grave that morning, his jacket tugged on to protect himself from the early morning chill and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. He whispered a promise of coffee when he returned, and your appreciation for him doubled in an instant.

By the time he returned, you were busy making pancakes and humming along to the song on the radio while May tittered around the kitchen despite your insistence that she let you take care of making breakfast.

It was her day, after all.

“Good morning,” Peter greeted, pressing a styrofoam cup into your hand. He pressed his lips to your temple before greeting May with a hug and wishing her a happy Mother’s Day. He set a small, wrapped box down on the counter, making you cock your head in curiosity.

“What’s that?” you asked, pointing at the box in question with the spatula. You were sure that you had already gotten May a Mother’s Day gift. In fact, you had wrapped her gift yourself the night before. Had you forgotten something? 

“Just a Mother’s Day gift,” he replied vaguely, a smile curling his lips. “You’ll see after breakfast.”

Your gaze kept flitting back to that mysterious little box as you finished stacking pancakes onto a large plate, as you filled three glasses of juice and set the table, and as you and Peter caught May up on all of things that you had accomplished over the course of the last semester. You were just barely managing to contain your curiosity enough to actively keep up the conversation and not be rude, and Peter wasn’t helping any. 

The way that he seemed extra fidgety and the way that his gaze kept flitting to you more than usual while he talked to May about his plans once you were both finally done with grad school had you wondering if you did something wrong or even worse- if he was planning something that you didn’t know about.

Oh, God. Was he going to propose?

Outwardly, you were smiling brightly and nodding in agreement to what Peter was saying about your plans for the summer, but inwardly, you were panicking.

You loved Peter, you really did, and you’d be happy to marry him. Just not now. You’d had the discussion about marriage over a year ago, knowing that you both wanted it at some point, but you and he had both agreed that marriage was off the table until you were both done with school. You both had at least one year of grad school left, and that was only if you - ever the academic - decided to not continue your education with further certification. A proposal was at least a year away, so long as Peter adhered to the agreement you had made nearly two years ago.

You cleared the table with lightning speed once everyone had finished with their breakfast, wanting nothing more than to know what Peter was hiding. You retrieved May’s gift from Peter’s bedroom and placed it in front of her while Peter held onto the small mystery box, his fingers flexing and unflexing nervously. 

Jesus Christ, you were about to implode from impatience and anxiety and-

“This is so cute!” May exclaimed, holding up the small succulent in a pot shaped like a dinosaur. “Did you find this at that shop on 47th?”

“I think so?” Peter looked to you for confirmation, but you only shrugged in response. “Y/N picked out most of the stuff in there. She has a better eye for things than I do.”

“Peter did pick out the wine, though,” you pointed out, nodding towards the fancy bottle of white wine that had cost more than your electrical bill last month. “I will, however, take credit for the plant and the memory foam slippers.”

You shared a small smile with Peter as May looked over her gifts happily. “This is so sweet. Thank you.” She leaned across the table and pulled your both into as tight a hug as she could manage with a table in the way.

“Happy Mother’s Day, May,” Peter told her, and the few happy tears she swiftly brushed away with her thumbs didn’t escape your attention.

“Happy Mother’s Day, May,” you repeated, feeling so incredibly grateful to have May in your life. “You literally deserve the best Mother’s Day for putting up with this guy for most of his life.” You gently nudged Peter in the side with your elbow as you teased, chuckling as he rolled his eyes at you while struggling to fight back an amused smile.

“Whatever,” he scoffed, and it only made you and May laugh harder. “You both love me.”

And suddenly your laughter died as your attention was dragged back to that mysterious little box, now pushed in front of you by Peter. “What’s this?”

“It’s for you,” he answered as if it wasn’t already blatantly obvious.

“I get that, but why?” You observed the small gift nervously. “It’s Mother’s Day, Pete, and I’m very much not a mother. Not unless you count being a plant mother. You didn’t need to get me anything.”

“What?” His face twisted in confusion, brows knit together and lips slightly parted. “You don’t know? I thought you knew.”

What the hell? Your brows knit together as you looked from Peter to May, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. “Know what? I think I would know if I was a mom, Peter.” You let out a breath and started to pull at the wrapping paper. “I mean, thank you for the gift, but this was really unneces-” Your words died on the tip of your tongue as you saw what was tucked neatly into the small box.

You lifted the mug from the box, staring at the words written across the front in pretty pink script. 

‘Happy (Expectant) Mother’s Day’

You blinked, too confused to speak.

“I thought you said she knew,” you heard May whisper to Peter.

“I thought she did!” your boyfriend whispered in return. “I thought she was waiting for today to tell me!”

You finally snapped out of your trance, placing the mug down on the table and turning to Peter. “Can you please explain what’s happening?”

After a beat of silence, he answered, “You’re pregnant.”

You snorted in disbelief. “I think I’d know if I was pregnant, Peter.” You took a second to mentally count the days, and your heart began to beat erratically once you realized you had been so busy with final papers and projects to remember when your last period had been. Well, shit.

“You are,” he said confidently. He draped an arm around the back of your chair before taking your hand in his. “Some nights, when it’s really quiet, I can hear the baby’s heartbeat. Scared the hell out of me when I first heard it.” Instinctively, your hands dropped to your stomach, cradling it tenderly. Leave it to your boyfriend to find out you were pregnant before you did thanks to his hyper-senses. “I thought you knew and you were planning to tell me today, you know, because it’s Mother’s Day.” He scratched the back of his neck and laughed nervously, his gaze flitting to May before he met your eyes again. “I, uh, realize now that you didn’t know.”

“We’re gonna have a baby?” He nodded, lips curling into a smile. “I’m gonna be a mom?” Another nod. “I thought you were gonna propose! I was so nervous!”

“I mean, I can still do that if you want,” he offered, a mischievous twinkle in his chocolate eyes.

“No!” you exclaimed. “I think one big life change is enough for today.”

You shared a soft, sweet kiss with Peter before turning your attention back to the mug on the table. Your fingers curled around it, holding it gently in your hands as you stared at the words again and a smile tugged at your lips.

A gentle hand on yours called your attention away from the mug and to May. The older woman was smiling widely at you and her nephew, i she’d tears glittering in her eyes. “Happy Mother’s Day, Y/N.”

[wri0thesley]

Hey Nat, I'm kinda blaming you for my budding infatuation with Nanami and I was wondering if I may request Nanami and his s/o having their first kiss? It doesn't have to be long but I'm just feeling soft and with the way you write him it sounds like a treat once this reserved, professional man finally allows himself to give in

oh anon i am so... so very soft.... you cannot blame me for the nanami desire. he is simply irresistible. 

date night - nanami x reader (3k)

you’re nervous about your first date with nanami.

warnings: none. fluffy, soft. neutral reader, some mentions of food and alcohol.

You cannot help but be nervous about tonight.

Your friends have made fun of you, talking about your hot date – Gojo thumping you on the back, Shoko looking at you with her tired eyes but a smirk on her face. Neither of them really get it, you don’t think – to them, Nanami is their former junior who is just a little too serious for his own good. A gloomy, stoic presence who they trust implicitly due to the good head on his shoulders, but who they do not really see as ‘a potential romantic match’. They know that you’ve been harbouring a crush on the former salaryman for months, and they’ve already tried to warn you off him.

“He can be so boring,” Gojo had said, swinging an arm around your shoulders. “Let me set you up with someone instead!”

Your face had heated up at the idea that Gojo didn’t trust you to make your own romantic decisions, but he was already halfway through listing the name of every eligible bachelor he knew (and a few who he said ‘weren’t eligible, but they probably could be, for you!’). You’d been able to do nothing but listen politely as you’d walked with him to his classroom, occasionally gathering strange looks from the students that were milling around in the corridors.

“Think about it!” He’d cried to you as he’d stepped into his bare classroom (you hardly ever see him doing any actual classwork in there; mainly, you see him lying on top of desks and making fun of his students) and greeted the three first years waiting for him. “You don’t wanna be stuck ironing Nanami’s socks for the rest of your life!”

You hope his students don’t hear him, as you decide to go for a walk outside to clear your head.

You and Nanami have been dancing around the idea of maybe possibly being something more than friends for weeks. You’ve felt it, in the brush of his hand against yours, the way that his eyes seem to soften and his tiredness seems to lift when you’re near him. You’ve felt it, as you’ve passed him a cup of coffee and he’s relished the warmth emanating from the cup. In the soft way he speaks to you.

You’ve felt it when he’s held your hand as the two of you have walked together, not saying anything. In his scarf wrapped around your neck, smelling like him.

What you haven’t done, is go on a date.

And perhaps this isn’t a date the way you’d once have dreamed about it. You’re going over to Nanami’s place; he’s going to cook a meal for you, the two of you are going to catch up after he’s been gone on a mission for almost a week -  the two of you are going to watch a foreign film he’s been able to get hold of, that you’ve been saving to watch with one another. You’re going to perhaps have a glass of wine together, or two--

You kind of do want to be stuck ironing Nanami’s socks for the rest of your life.

It sounds so silly when you say it aloud! You haven’t even kissed him, just brushed fingers and held hands and saved each other’s lives whilst on exorcisms together. But whenever you close your eyes and imagine your future, Nanami is always there, right beside you.

You breathe in deeply. You have to ignore what Gojo and Shoko and everyone have been saying. They’ve known Nanami for longer than you – they were his upperclassmen, after all, and you suppose it’s traditional to make fun of and quash your younger classmates a little. You just need to think about what you want, and what Nanami himself may want. Plucking uselessly at your clothes, nerves fizzing in your stomach, you elect to ignore the anxiety gnawing at you until you’re at least outside of Nanami’s front door.

Then, you tell yourself, then, I’ll allow myself to panic a little bit. Seeing Nanami’s calm, handsome face always calms me down. The minute he answers the door, I’ll forget that I was even nervous, and everything will be just as it should.

It doesn’t stop you worrying, as you get dressed and try and fluff your hair and rearrange all of your accessories whilst you get ready. It’s just an evening at his house, you try and keep telling yourself. He’s not expecting me to show up like a runway model, he’d probably hate that anyway--

Still. Having a crush on somebody is never easy, and Nanami can be so utterly unreadable at times, that you get dressed and undressed twice more before you settle on something in between casual and formal; that looks like you’ve made an effort, without looking like you agonised for hours to figure out what the level of effort should be. You’re clutching a bottle of wine and standing outside of his door three minutes early, wondering if he’s the kind of man who gets annoyed if you are there too early.

The door swings open, and Nanami is there, leaning on the door frame. He’s breathtakingly handsome, in casual clothes – an expensive looking sweater in soft grey that gives just a peek at the column of his throat, cuffed jeans. You’ve never seen him look so . . . relaxed. And the fact that he’s looking at you, his lips barely tilting, his tired eyes just a little turned up at the corners.

“You look nice,” he tells you, and you thank God that you went with this outfit. You hold out the bottle of wine for him, and his smile breaks wider as he looks at it. “You didn’t need to bring me anything, you know. I’m happy to be the provider this evening.”

“It’s-- it’s polite!” You insist, and Nanami steps aside to allow you into his house. He’s very proper, and you’d wanted to impress him – you think the young lady who had served you in the specialist store you’d anxiously entered had sensed your worry, and had been very kind as she’d picked something for you she was certain you’d like.

“You made a good choice,” he tells you, as he invites you into his hallway and you gratefully pull off your shoes. “This one looks fine--”

“I didn’t really choose it,” you admit. “I let the experts do it.”

He laughs, the sound like an early spring morning. You don’t think anybody else hears him laugh like that, and the comfort that the two of you share makes you feel soft and warm.

“Even more admirable, then,” he says. “Most people we know would just barrel in guns blazing and insist they knew the right way to do things.”

You both share a secretive smile, your cheeks warming. You can feel tension draining out of you the longer you spend in Nanami’s company. Something about him just sets you at ease.

When you’d first met him, you’d been frightened of him. He seemed so gloomy and intense, so utterly focussed on his goals – when you had tried to speak to him, he had brushed you off with short one word answers and you’d caught him looking at you when your back was turned as if he was waiting for you to slip up.

But as time had worn on . . . as time had worn on, Nanami’s edges had softened. You’d realised that he was willing to talk, when the participant had proved themselves to be worth talking to. He’d told you once, shrugging, that most jujutsu sorcerers just tended to be . . . odd.

“Not you, though,” he’d said, and your heart had leapt in your chest. “Well. You’re not odd in any way that isn’t charming.”

He’s not usually the kind of man who heaps praise on other people; that little compliment, you had carried with you like a flame in your heart. The first time he had held your hand, he hadn’t said anything. The first time he had walked you home, and met you for coffee in a morning a half hour before you were due to be at the scene of an exorcism; Nanami Kento shows that he cares about you in a hundred different little ways that aren’t as simple as telling you it out and out. You admire that about him. You’re so used to putting your foot in your mouth.

“Come sit at the table,” he says, and you follow him obediently. His house is tastefully decorated, somewhere between modern and traditional; he has shelves of books everywhere, and that makes you smile. You’ve heard him say, sighing; “When I’m done with all this, I’ll finally have time to get around to reading them.” The shelf in the very corner of the dining area is the only one that looks well-thumbed; even from here, you can see that it’s where he keeps his recipe books.

“I hope you’ll like it,” you settle into the chair that he pulls out for you. He moves into the kitchen with purpose, grabbing serving dishes and utensils and juggling them with a precision that makes you admire him all the more. “I’m very glad you were on time. It’s the kind of dish that needs to be eaten at the exact right moment.”

He whips the cover off the main dish.

You knew that Nanami was a foodie. His instagram is full of pictures of various places and treats he’s eaten – with a particular focus on adorable baked goods, especially bread, that had made you feel warm inside when you’d noticed. Still, the spread that he’s laid out before you would not look out of place in the most high-class of restaurants; the kind that you’d never had the money to afford to eat in, and you’d have been afraid of showing yourself up at the tables of. You stare at it, mesmerised; the vegetables, so bright and colourful and steaming, lovingly presented – the glaze of the meats, the bowls full of side-dishes that you can’t quite recognise.

There’s an anxiety in his face when he looks at you.

“Sorry,” he says, quietly. “I think I probably over-estimated. And over-compensated, I suppose, for not taking you out to a restaurant--”

“No,” you say, quickly. “It looks delicious. I’m glad you invited me. It’s just . . . a lot.”

“Yes,” his eyes rove over the table. “There are only two of us.”

“It’ll make good left-overs,” you suggest, and he brightens.

“That should have been my line,” he tells you as he retrieves the wine you’d brought. You can see that there was already a bottle chilling in a bucket by the table, but Nanami’s face is affectionate as he pops the cork and pours some into the wine glass by your plate. “I’m supposed to be the responsible one.”

“Sorry for stealing your thunder,” you take a sip of the wine.

“Just as long as you don’t make a habit of it.”

The food really is delicious. You could easily have had seconds, or even thirds – on an ordinary day. A day in which your stomach isn’t churning from how alone the two of you are. There’s a buzz in the air that isn’t quite tension; more, it’s a promise that there’s more yet to come. You and Nanami laugh over dinner, the conversation surprisingly easy when the knot in your insides is so tight. He talks about his old job, and you talk about your own adventures before you’d ended up in Tokyo – he smiles, and laughs, more than you’ve ever seen him do.

He seems so much more at home here. That’s silly, considering it is his home – but somehow, there’d always been an image of Nanami in your head as serious and unforgiving with his tie very tight and his suits perfectly pressed even when he was relaxing in his own rooms.

That image is quickly wiped away, by the way he looks as he rolls up the sleeves of his sweater to take the dishes away.

“Let me help you wash up,” you try and say, but he waves you away.

“I’ll leave them for after you’ve gone,” he says. “I’m not going to ask a guest to do that. Or maybe I’ll even be bold; leave them for in the morning.” His smile makes you feel weak at the knees, this time – a spot of pink high on those sharp cheekbones. Is he blushing, or has his face gone rosy from the wine?

The two of you migrate into the living room. His television is large, but not ostentatiously so; a row of DVDs are neatly in the cabinet beneath it, mainly drama films, period films and some foreign prestige box sets. The movie the two of you have been talking about is one of those – a Danish film about an ageing detective who takes on one last case. You had originally planned to see it together, when it made it to Tokyo cinemas; but one thing had lead to another, and before you could both get the schedules to work out it had gone.

He places the DVD into the player and you can’t help but stare at him; how the soft material of the sweater clings to his broad shoulders, how the jeans seem to emphasise his ass – he’s always in slacks, you’ve never really had the chance to ogle it before, but seeing it in front of you now you suddenly understand why he keeps it covered. Who knows what riots it might incite, if it were just out and about for anyone to see?

“You’re staring,” Nanami turns his head slightly, catching your eye. Heat rushes to your face – but he keeps your eyes pinned with his own for a moment, before deliberately dragging them down the length of you, sat on the sofa. You feel hot and warm and bothered by the way he smiles afterwards, as if he is saying that he likes what he’s seeing too. “You don’t need to be sneaky about it. I don’t mind.”

You swallow, your throat suddenly going very dry. Nanami moves across the room, sitting on the sofa beside you. Heat seems to be radiating off of him; there’s a comfort in having him next to you.

“You look uncomfortable,” he says, five minutes into the movie. He leans back, an arm coming to rest on the back of the sofa behind you. “You can lean on me, you know. I don’t mind.”

He looks inviting. His head is tipped to one side as he meets your eyes; there’s no challenge in his. Just a softness. A quiet affection. Perhaps a touch of nervousness – of trepidation, that you’ll refuse the offer. You hesitantly sidle closer, leaning your head against his side. His scent wraps around you; freshly cleaned laundry, peppermint, coffee, spices, some of the wine from earlier--

You fair go dizzy at it all, but not as dizzy as you go when the arm on the back of the sofa wraps around you, his fingers resting on your shoulder. How are you supposed to concentrate on anything, with him so close to you? With everything about him making you feel like you’re on a roller-coaster climbing upwards and upwards, hurtling towards the inevitable?

You try – oh, you really do try – to keep your eyes on the film and the subtitles scrolling across the bottom of the television. But the aged detective is not half as interesting as Nanami; as the way he focusses on the screen, as his face bathed in the light. As his hand, as it gently starts to stroke over your shoulder, as if he’s barely aware he’s doing it. As his tongue, as it darts out to nervously lick at his lips.

“You’re staring at me,” he says, and you flinch that he’s noticed. His head turns, pinning you with the full force of his gaze. “Are you not enjoying it? We can turn it off?”

How do you answer that?

The real answer: ‘I’m not enjoying it because I can’t concentrate on anything other than you, and how badly I want to be brave enough to kiss you’, feels too bare and bold. You bite your lip.

Nanami leans in closer to you, so close that you can see the flush on his cheeks. The slightly ruffled hairs falling over his forehead. You can count his eyelashes, almost--

“I’m not sure what’s going on either,” he admits, softly. “And I can speak Danish.”

The arm not around your shoulders moves, resting on your waist. You can barely breathe. He’s so close to you; so gorgeous, in the light. All of that former salaryman indifference seems to have gone; he’s not cold any longer, but boiling hot. You’ve been watching it slowly strip away from him since you met him, you think, but tonight might be the first time he’s been Kento Nanami with no pretension.

Nervous about his food, even though he knows he’s an excellent cook. Blushing as he realises you’re checking him out. Almost trembling, as his hand slides up and he cups your cheek like you’re made of porcelain and he’s afraid he might drop and shatter you at any moment. You blink up at him, honey-slow, so dazed by his touch and his presence you can barely make sense of what’s happening.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Nanami says, as a warning. Even now, he seems to think you might pull away. But you cannot, you do not; you just press yourself closer into him, your voice coming out very soft and small as you whisper;

“Please do.”

He does not need to be asked twice. His lips are so soft against yours. The wine clings to them, intoxicating and heady. The hand on your cheek tips your face further up, so he can keep his mouth pressed against you so sweetly. You pull back, your heart pounding.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” he’s saying, almost immediately, nervous that you have changed your mind – but all you do is free your arms, so you can wrap them about his neck and pull him in closer, to devour him the way you’ve wanted to for months.

The movie plays on, forgotten.

[cas-kingdom]

Dad

A/N: Thank you to my anons for helping me come up with some perfectly Geralt-like explanations of parenthood. <3

Despite the summary, Geralt doesn't outright call Akela his daughter in a couple of these, but the point of the story is to show how he can call her that without actually saying it, if that makes sense. Still fluffy and (dangerously) sweet! Also a nice little Yennefer-Geralt scene here.

While writing number 4, I listened to 'Scared' by Jeremy Zucker.

Title: Dad

Summary: Three times Geralt called you his daughter, and the one time you called him ‘Dad’.

Words: 4607

1)

“I knocked it off the cart.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “Why would I try to steal something I have money to pay for?”

The old man’s face turned sourer, if that was at all possible. “Oh, you have money?” He expectantly stretched his hand out, palm up as his fingers twitched. “Pay me, then!”

You rolled your eyes. “But I’m not buying them!”

“You tried to steal them!”

“I did not!”

“I saw you!”

“What you saw,” you spat out, leaning forward, face the picture of anger, “was me bumping against your cart and knocking a couple apples off—which I apologised for.”

A noise somewhere between frustration and rage spewed from the man’s mouth and he shot his arm forward like a snake striking to attack, grasping the front of your tunic and tugging you forward. “Listen here, girl—”

You clenched your fists and readied to bite back, but before you even had a chance, the man’s hands were ripped from you, and he was shoved away.

“Get your hands off her,” a stony voice ground out, voice brooking no argument. Geralt stood tall and menacing in front of the hunched old man, head tilted slightly to the side as he glared at him. He knew you were often capable of looking after yourself, proven clearly when you stepped beside him and a look of smugness appeared on your face, but he also knew that that would likely never change how much the anger flourished inside him when he saw someone lay their hands on his child in a way such as this.

The old man pointed a shaky finger at Geralt. “You stay out of this, Sir!”

You scoffed, and Geralt spared a glance down at you, briefly raising a brow. “What, exactly, am I supposed to be staying out of?”

“The little bitch tried to steal my produce!”

“I didn’t!”

“The little bitch,” Geralt said, holding out an arm to stop you from lunging, “is my daughter. And if you ever speak in that manner to her again, you won’t be able to speak another word.”

The man looked ready to respond with vigour, but at the last moment his eyes averted to the sword and the daggers at Geralt’s waist, and the cogs in his brain began to turn as his vision wandered up to the white hair and the amber eyes. He shut his mouth and stepped back, resigned.

“Forgive me,” he said. He appeared as though he was ready to run before he grabbed one of the apples you had knocked off his cart and pressed it into your hands, a forced and nervy smile showing on his lips. “Here, take this!”

Your eyes lit up and you smiled victoriously, taking a bite from it and turning to walk off as you called back a quick, “Thank you!”

Geralt sighed deeply and hummed, giving the man a final glare before following after you. “He was right. You are a little bitch,” he remarked.

You grinned and tossed the apple in the air, the sunlight glinting on the green fruit as though in triumph. You handed it to him and watched as he relented with a roll of his eyes and took a bite. “Waste not, want not!”

2)

“What’s it like?”

Geralt lifted his head to look at Yennefer. She was lying on her side opposite the fire, her head resting in her hand, and she seemed contemplative. Curious, in a way, which was odd for her, though what could he really say about that? It wasn’t as though he’d known her long.

“I’m sorry?” he asked.

Yennefer jerked her head in the direction he’d been staring in for the majority of the past ten minutes, where you were fast asleep, curled under blankets, head beside Jaskier’s, who was wandering in the land of dreams himself.

He looked at you a moment longer before turning back to the mage. A hint of his own confusion danced in his eyes, but she spoke before he could open his mouth to question what it was that she meant.

“Parenthood,” she clarified, her voice softening. “What’s it like?”

Geralt rose an eyebrow, briefly floundering for words at the, quite frankly, surprising question. For a woman who was all invulnerability and strength, it was something he hadn’t expected to come from her. Not to mention he didn’t often think about what she’d asked.

He glanced away and shook his head. “More trouble than it’s worth,” he told her with a short breath of a laugh.

The corners of Yennefer’s lips drew upwards. She fidgeted with a stone on the forest floor. “I’m serious.”

His other eyebrow shot up. “So am I,” he assured her. “She may seem sweet, but underneath it all is the monster I’m most afraid to go up against.” He offered her a rare smile, which she returned, and for the first time in a while both mage and witcher felt peaceful. It was blissfully quiet—the only sound being Jaskier’s snores and incoherent mumbles—and it was dark, giving the two the serenity they needed after the trials of the previous days.

“It’s… hard,” he said seriously, despite the fact he was admitting that he, the infamous Geralt of Rivia, found something difficult. “You learn new things every day.”

“What kind of things?”

“Everything. About yourself, about her, about the world in general… you make decisions you probably would never have thought about before. You have responsibilities you wouldn’t have believed would ever be associated with you.” He let his eyes wander over to your sleeping form. “You don’t know what the hell you’re doing most of the time. You can feel so… so lost at it, right until you start to realise the only thing that’s keeping you grounded is the same thing that gave you the title of father. It…” He paused, leaning forward to poke a stick into the dying fire. “It gives you something to live for, and at the time I found Y/N, that was what I needed most.”

Yennefer’s lips curled into a smile as she slowly sat up, tucking her legs underneath her. “It sounds tiring,” she said, glancing down for a moment, and Geralt nodded.

“It is. But the rewards outweigh the difficulties. It’s something you’d give up everything to keep.” He looked across at her, noticing her loosened shoulders, and realised for the first time that he took his title of father for granted. Yennefer’s mutations had made her sterile, and though he was the same, he’d still somehow found a way to get past that, even though he’d never once pondered on the possibilities of it before he’d found you. Yennefer hadn’t been so lucky, and as he looked at her, he found that that reflected perfectly in the eyes he now viewed as… sad.

“You’ll feel that someday,” he said without thinking, and when she glanced up, he nodded in your direction. “When you have your own.”

Yennefer gazed at him, violet eyes piercing the amber of his. They stared at each other for a moment, no words passing their lips but every meaningful word being said nonetheless, until Jaskier snorted in his sleep and the both of them ripped their eyes away, returning to their stone and their stick.

“Thank you, Witcher,” Yennefer spoke up a moment later, and Geralt nodded once.

“You’re welcome, Mage.”

3)

Geralt turned his head down to look at you. You were standing beside him, absently tugging on the neckline of the dress you’d bought from a market that very morning. You were clearly irritated, sighing in annoyance and muttering under your breath every so often.

When you noticed him looking, you shook your head, face every bit unhappy. “I don’t want to be here,” you ground out.

He rose an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

“Why are we here again?”

“Lord Lyon invited us.”

“And how do you—” You scratched at the back of your neck, the foreign material rubbing it raw—“know Lord Lyon?”

Geralt glanced down again and frowned, slapping your hands away from your red neck. “I saved his sister from a werewolf,” he said, instinctively tucking a few strands of hair that hadn’t made it into your plait behind your ear, “and he insisted my attendance at his feast tonight.”

You rose an eyebrow at that, finally relenting in your fiddling and letting your arms hang loosely. “Your attendance,” you picked out. “I could have stayed at the inn.” He ignored that, as you expected, and you sighed, shoulders slacking. “You never usually care for extra repayment,” you said. And it was true. He didn’t. He preferred to do his duty as a witcher and not stick around to see the aftermath of his hunt, except to accept his money. He didn’t care for physical shows of thanks. It was better that way, for you and for him. But he’d, for once, genuinely been concerned for the lord’s sister, so he’d accepted the invitation with the intention of only staying long enough to gain information on her wellbeing before leaving.

Geralt lifted his chin as he noticed a familiar man enrobed in silk and jewels walking towards you. He took in a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the conversation ahead of undoubtedly mindless babble about his life and anything else the lord wished to ask him.

“And you never usually say no to free food,” he remarked quietly to you before forcing a tight smile at the open-armed, freely grinning man when he stopped in front of him.

“Geralt of Rivia!” he greeted, and you turned your head to meet him, only just refraining from raising your brows at the sight that met your eyes. You weren’t used to seeing royalty or regality of any sort, so you were never one to shy from your overly dramatic opinions of how these people dressed and carried themselves. You were quite certain all the clothes on your body wouldn’t amount to the price of a single ring on his finger, even though you’d had to beg Geralt for weeks to buy you the new leather boots on your feet now, just about hidden by your long dress.

Geralt had made an attempt to dress nicely, too. He’d washed and brushed his hair—and made several mock lunges (and one actual one) for you when you’d continued to tease him about it—and was wearing clothes that, though giving him an extremely regal look of his own, seemed unfamiliar to you. You much preferred him in his loose tunics and trousers, hair muddy and tangled in knots that he wouldn’t give a shit about until he needed to (which was barely ever, unless you were counting surprise and sudden invites to feasts such as this).

“Lord Lyon,” Geralt said with a small nod. “How is your sister?”

The lord reached forward to clap him on the shoulder, and this time, you did raise a brow, knowing your witcher’s dislike for such actions. Sure enough, Geralt’s smile grew tighter, and you could see the lines on his forehead become more pronounced. Perhaps in different circumstances—definitely in different circumstances—you would have laughed at his predicament, despite his clear discomfort, nevertheless this time you had to do with quickly turning your head to the side and stifling a grin.

“My sister fares well!” Lyon told him, not removing his hand. “She’s been asleep since you returned her safely to me, but the healers assure me she will make a full recovery. Thank you again for your unforgettable help, my friend!”

“Thank you for inviting me here tonight.”

Lyon stepped back, finally letting his hand drop to his side, and the corners of your lips twitched when Geralt subconsciously rolled his shoulder. “Well, this is the only other way I could think of repaying you when coin did not seem enough. A good meal!” It was at this moment, when you were shuffling from foot to foot in boredom, almost reverting back to your scratching and tugging, that Lyon noticed you, and he rose both eyebrows, glancing between you and Geralt. “And who might this be?”

“Y/N,” Geralt introduced, stopping you with a firm hand to your shoulder. You looked up at the lord, offering a smile. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought her.”

Lyon tilted his head slightly to the side in obvious interest, disregarding Geralt’s last sentence with a wave of his hand. “You mean she’s yours? Your daughter?”

You continued to stare at the man in front of you, unbothered. You were well used to being called his daughter—it was easier for him to agree when people asked if you were, and you sometimes wondered when exactly he’d given up on correcting people. If he’d ever corrected people in the first place.

“Your daughter?” Lyon repeated at Geralt’s lack of response.

“Yes.”

“I thought… well.” He looked a little sheepish, but Geralt was all too aware of what was coming. “I was always told that the trials witchers underwent made them—”

Geralt interrupted him before he could continue. “They did. I am.” He squeezed your shoulder. “She’s not mine by blood. But she is mine.”

Lyon stared a while, thinking to himself, before he abruptly smiled in acceptance. “Very good. Though I would never have taken you for the parent type.”

“My apologies,” Geralt said, inclining his head, “but you don’t know me well enough to make that assumption.”

A soft smile graced your lips and you glanced down to the ground, your heart swelling with love you could only ever feel for him.

“Quite right.” Lyon was clearly apologetic. He opened an arm out and motioned for the two of you to follow him. “Come, let us eat. You can tell us all exactly how you killed that werewolf!”

The hilariously dismayed look Geralt sent you after that made you snort.

4)

How had it come to this?

“Geralt?” you whispered, daring to edge closer. He looked so pale, even in the short rays of moonlight radiating down. His skin was pallid, white hair muddied and hanging in knots around his face. His eyes were shut, his lips were set in a straight line, and even as you shook his shoulder, he did not move.

He did not move.

Geralt always moved. He had long since trained himself to wake at the first sound or touch that did or didn’t come from you. And yet now, even as you doubled your attempts and shook him so hard you were sure he’d be disorientated were he awake… he remained still. Still and silent. Completely dead to the world.

Dead.

Your heart soared, not for the first time, and you sat back on your haunches for a moment, staring with eyes as wide as the yellow moon looming over head. It was almost as though your unconscious mind was waiting for him to wake up. Willing him to wake up. Because you knew good and fucking well that without him, the point of remaining in the living was completely lost on you.

Reluctantly, your mind swiftly hurled you back. Back into damn memories of the swings of his sword and his shouts of exertion and pain as he fought with the monster that had suddenly stormed where you’d been resting. You should have stayed behind the rocks as he’d ordered… you shouldn’t have listened to the clash of metal hitting sturdy skin and bone… and you certainly shouldn’t have jumped up from behind the rock and screamed his name, leading him to whirl around in panic and giving the beast time to throw him against a large boulder. You could still remember the sickening crack of his head hitting the solid stone. That would have been the perfect time to scream his name, but you’d found that no words had been able to escape your clenched throat. You’d felt like you were being strangled, and your heart had stopped beating for the longest second as you’d watched with absolute terror…

He’d been telling you a story. You’d been lying beside him, exhausted eyes staring up at the starry sky as his voice lulled you to sleep. You couldn’t even remember what the story had been about, all you’d been focused on was the comfort his voice offered, and for that reason you had not registered at all when he’d abruptly stopped speaking. He’d waited a moment, eyes narrowed, before quietly standing to his feet, picking up his sword as he went. All his senses had been alert, and were he an animal, his ears would have been pricked up and forwards, listening for any noise that sounded at all abnormal.

He’d taken calculated steps forward, hands tight around his sword’s hilt, boots making no sound as he stepped over fallen leaves and twigs. And then he’d stopped, standing completely still, save for his eyes, which roved the area in front of him. He’d turned his head the slightest bit and harshly whispered your name, but it had not been enough to rouse you, and you’d stayed sleeping until less than three seconds later when what you now believed to have been a kikimora burst from the cover of the trees, screaming raucously and lunging towards Geralt. You’d bolted upright and he’d yelled at you to hide yourself as his sword came clashing down on the thing, not waiting to see if you’d done as was asked before moving to attempt to lead the monster away.

That had been only three minutes ago. One and a half minutes ago, he’d been thrown against the boulder. One minute ago, he’d managed to use the last of his strength to pierce the beast’s hide with a cloying crunch, mixing with both his and the kikimora’s shrieks of agony. You had looked on with trembling hands as it fell to the side, completely unmoving, and watched, waited, for Geralt to stand to his feet.

When he hadn’t, you’d taken one trembling step forward, hands cold and in fists at your sides, before running the rest of the way, not caring in the least that there was a possibility the monster might still be alive. All you’d cared about was the possibility that Geralt might not be.

You stared at him now, hopefully waiting for his eyelids to flicker, or a finger to twitch… but there was no movement.

You shook him again, harder now, but it didn’t work, and with a desperation you had never felt before, and your breathing quicker than ever, you hurried closer towards him, grabbing the sides of his face and shaking him, slapping him, hitting him… anything that had a chance of waking him.

“Geralt!” you shouted, voice cracking. You slapped him again, pausing only when you felt something wet and sticky coat your right hand. When you pulled it back, the sight of red met your eyes.

You stared at it for a moment, hands shuddering, before the red and the blackness of everything else melded into one as tears filled your eyes. A tightening of your throat and a short intake of breath was all that was heard before gut-wrenching sobs tore through your chest and you fell forward, clutching your bloody hand to your chest and squeezing your eyes shut as your grief poured from you in an onslaught of irrepressible tears.

“Please, please, wake—wake up!” you choked out, your forehead resting against his chest, hands gripping his ragged tunic. “Please! I can’t—I can’t—Please! Geralt! You can’t die! You’re a witcher! Witchers don’t die! Wake up!”

But he didn’t.

You harshly breathed in with as much effort as you could muster, and the smell of blood overpowered your senses… yet, at the same time, there was still that hint of forest and greenery which made him Geralt. The scent that was often the only thing that could make you fall asleep. The scent that you only had to catch for a moment before you immediately calmed. The scent that, even now, amidst your hiccups and sobs, caused the briefest feeling of serenity to swirl through you before it vanished as the new, metallic aroma abruptly tickled at your nose.

Another sob racked your body when the scent disappeared and you shook your head. “Daddy…” It came out as a mewling whine, so broken and utterly devastating that it would have made even the heartless cry along with you, but there was no other sound… no other noise in the darkness of the forest around you except the guttural cries wrenching from your throat.

It was the feeling of being alone which scared you the most. The feeling of… being without the one person who’d ever made an ounce of sense to you. The one person you loved more than life itself and who probably loved you even more than that.

You would rather die alongside him than live in a world you knew he no longer walked in.

A moment passed, and you sat there, hunched over with your head on his chest and your tired hands slowly slacking in their hold on his tunic. Your eyes were red and swollen, cheeks wet and tracking the mud and blood which had inadvertently transferred from his clothing to your face, and you were shaking so much that when a slight tremor rippled beneath you, you took no notice of it whatsoever.

At an exhausted yet almost incoherent groan, you blinked, opening your eyes despite it doing nothing against the blackness of you face pressed to him. You tried to silence your cries as much as you could, holding your breath, not quite willing to believe it but hoping more than you’d ever hoped before all the same.

“Fuck…”

And you bolted upright, your eyes blinking against the blurriness. You wiped at them, your heart thumping, blood pulsing through your distraught and exhausted body, and looked on with shock as Geralt—yes, Geralt!—slowly raised his arm and brought his hand to the back of his head. His eyes squeezed tightly shut as his brows furrowed in obvious pain.

“My fucking head,” he rasped out, and you let loose a noise of relief, suddenly and without warning bursting into tears once again. You launched forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his chest. He groaned and finally opened his eyes to peer down at the mop of hair in his line of vision.

He gulped down the sickly feeling in his gut as best he could, trying to make sense of his surroundings, and after a moment the memories returned to him, causing him to shut his eyes once more at the force of it. He returned his attention to you, lowering his hand to place it on the back of your head.

When your sobs grew, his frown deepened and he tried to lift his own head, swallowing back bile when the throbbing ache increased. He felt nauseatingly terrible and instead dropped his head back to the hard rock below him. “Hey…” he whispered. His voice was hoarse and he didn’t really trust the words coming from his mouth. “It’s alright.”

You shook your head. “N-no! It is-isn’t! I thought you were dead!”

He sighed unsteadily and moved his trembling fingers through your hair, trying his best to block out the discomfort (which was a nice word for agony). “I’m not dead,” he told you, and you finally lifted your head, showing him the extent of your hysteria. You looked as though you’d been bawling for years, and he shook his head softly, raising his other arm to wrap around you and pull you back towards him. His head was pounding, he knew he was bleeding in more places than one, but to be perfectly honest, he was simply happy to be alive, and to be holding his child in his arms, however much he would be covered in tears and snot by the time he finally gathered the strength to push himself up.

“I thought you were,” you croaked out, and he rubbed his thumb across your temple. You reached up, grasping his hand, and he narrowed his eyes, blinking at the sight of blood coating your own.

“Is th-that yours?” he asked, the words feeling funny on his tongue as he stumbled over them. You sniffed and glanced to where he had turned your hand over in his.

“No,” you said, “it’s yours.” At that open revelation and reminder, you lifted your eyes, haphazardly wiping your hair from your face and blinking against the tears that still didn’t seem to be stopping. “It’s from your head. Does it hurt?”

Geralt’s face contorted into one of pain yet again as he reached his hand to his head, bringing it back and intaking a sharp breath once he saw the blood. “Damn,” he grumbled. “Yes, it hurts. Like hell.”

You unconsciously bit at the inside of your cheeks and watched him as he lowered his arm and shut his eyes. Your heart continued to pound and every so often your ragged breaths were interrupted by a hiccup. “I’m sorry,” you muttered after a short while.

He blearily opened his eyes to look at you. “Why?”

“I called your name,” you told him, “and you turned around.”

He nodded faintly in remembrance. “Why?” he repeated.

“I don’t know.” You swallowed thickly, tears fogging your vision again. “I was stupid. I just… got so scared, and I didn’t—I didn’t want you to… to…”

At your rising distress, he pulled you down to his chest again, ensuring your ear was conveniently placed over the left side of his chest. His heart was slow—perhaps a little faster than normal yet still slow all the same—but in the silence of the forest he knew you would be able to hear it and let it soothe you.

It worked, and the two of you stayed there for a while. Geralt fixed his attention on his own breathing, trying to match yours as he felt your pulse through his hands. He wondered briefly how far the nearest village was and if he could risk asking for medical help. Perhaps he could reach Triss in Novigrad, and both he and you would have a safe place to recuperate.

His muddled mind was interrupted when he turned his head and noticed the kikimora for the first time, lying in a rotten clump on the ground a couple feet from him. He swallowed the knot in his throat and shut his eyes, remembering all too clearly what had happened and, more importantly, how close it had been to getting you. Unconsciously, his hands tightened around you, and he slowly breathed out, calming himself before he let his emotions reign over him. You didn’t need to see that.

“It’s alright,” he said softly, more to himself, but it assured your all the same.

“Next time, I want to fight with you. I don’t want to watch. I’ve been trained for these moments.”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“I thought you were going to leave me.”

“Leave you?” He shook his head. “No, no, never…”

He shut his eyes. He knew that the day he left you would be the day the stars burned out and the world became shrouded in darkness. To leave you would be to leave his heart, and that was the one thing that, no matter how battered and bruised, he would hold onto and keep safe with every fibre of his being.

It was his duty, after all.

As your father.

Witcher Masterpost

[mypoisonedvine]

Based on something I was writing some days ago... Dark!character, any of Chris', getting a new sex slave and she's new and haven't learn the basics yet. So he teaches her in his twisted way... 😈

oh wow, anon, I LOVE the way you think... that being completely perverted.  and of course I had to make it freezy, because who else??  obviously this is noncon, there is also degradation, kidnapping, slapping, spanking, bondage, master/slave dynamics and virginity loss under the cut.

“wakey wakey...”

you were slowly lifted from your sleep, slower than normal.  why was it so hard to open your eyes?

someone hit you on the face-- not that hard, but enough to make you jolt a little and blink a few times.

“cmon, show me those pretty eyes...”

you didn’t recognize the voice, but when you finally managed to keep your eyes open, fighting the heavy drowsiness that weighed them down, you recognized the face.  “freezy?” you wanted to blurt out, but you couldn’t-- there was duct tape over your mouth, and restraining your wrists behind your back.

“you recognize me,” he realized with a small smile. “you remember what I said last time you bought a cone from me, right? ‘I’ll be seeing you.’ I don’t think you knew what I meant.”

you felt your chest begin to shake as tears stung your eyes and wet your cheeks, falling down over the makeshift gag as he grinned at you.

“oh, don’t cry sweet girl,” he cooed, even though he didn’t seem too upset that you were sobbing as he knelt in front of you.  “it’s gonna be fine, as long as you follow my rules.  that’s what the tape is for-- I’m gonna keep you restrained until I know you can behave, alright?  so just do what I say and you’ll be perfectly safe.”

you considering struggling against the tape, until you glanced down to his belt and saw a gun tucked into it.  with wide and watery eyes, you looked back at his face which was twisted in sick delight.

“ready to learn your new rules, pet?”

sheepishly, you nodded.

“you will call me Master.  you will speak only when spoken to.  you will say please and thank you.  you will obey or be punished.  capisce?”

he slowly peeled the tape back-- and you wanted to scream, cry, beg him to stop, ask a million questions-- but fear pushed you to do what you knew was your safest bet.  “yes, Master,” you whispered hoarsely.

“good girl,” he smiled proudly.  “I knew I got my money’s worth with you... you’re such a sweet little thing, wanna please me so bad... go ahead and stand up, let me get a good look atcha.”

your legs were weak and bruised-- aftermath of the struggle you had with the men who must’ve been the ones to sell you to mr. freezy... or maybe he’d hired them himself.  shuddering at the thought, you weakly stood up and wished your hands weren’t restrained so you could cover yourself, since you were stripped down to your bra and panties.  it was cold in the room, too, meaning your nipples were hard and clearly visible through the thin cups of your bra.  it was obvious that he was staring at them as his gaze raked over you slowly, his smile growing wider.  “fuck, such a pretty little thing,” he sighed as he started to circle you slowly, like a predator eyeing wounded prey.  “you got any idea how hard it was to see you in those short-shorts and bikini tops in summer, licking on my popsicles like it wasn’t the most sinful thing imaginable?”

he stepped closer, his warm breath moist on the back of your neck.  “and of course, when I say ‘how hard it was,’ you know what ‘it’ is, don’t you?”

he pushed his hips against your hands where they were restrained behind your, and you gasped when you felt his hard cock in your palm.  he groaned and rocked forward into your touch, smiling when you whimpered quietly.

“ever touched a dick before, pet?” he asked quietly.

“yes, Master,” you admitted nervously.

“mm, dirty girl,” he winked.  “I bet all the boys were banging down your door, weren’t they?  everybody wanted you... but you’re all mine now.  is that all you did, sweetheart?  touch it?”

“I... I put it in my mouth...” you stammered nervously, remembering the night a few months ago where you fooled around with a boy you thought wanted to date you, but who disappeared when you said you weren’t ready to go ‘all the way’ yet.  the memory was humiliating enough... having to explain it to this man was even worse.

“did you let him fuck this innocent face?” he chuckled.  “did you like it?”

“no, Master,” you stammered.

“which question are you answering?”

“both.”

“don’t worry, you’re gonna like it this time.  you’re gonna love having your Master’s cock in your mouth.”

you heard him unbuckling his belt, and winced when you felt the hard, silky member pressed into your palm.  

“your hands are so soft, pretty baby,” he sighed.  “feel how thick it is?  I bet you’re drooling for it now,” he chuckled.  “your mouth and your cunt.”

his hand wrapped around yours and guided it to stroke him, and you grimaced when you felt a warm drop of precum slide over your wrist.  his little grunts behind you made your stomach turn as he rubbed himself on your bound hands.

“turn around and get on your knees,” he instructed suddenly.  “show me how you treat the boys when they ask real nice.”

“i-it was only once,” you stammered, “I’m not very good.”

“I’ll teach you,” he promised.  “now do what I said--” he suddenly twisted your hand painfully, making you yelp-- “or I’ll hurt ya worse.”

“yes, Master,” you whispered weakly as you spun to face him and fell to your knees, ignoring the discomfort of the concrete floor beneath you.

you’d felt it, but seeing it was another matter entirely-- thick, red and bobbing slightly, a drip of clear precum running down over his shaft.

you hesitantly put the tip between your lips, feeling the foreskin slide forward slightly when you took him a little deeper.  the taste was subtle but masculine and not as gross as you’d expected.  what was gross was how it looked, staring forward at his undone belt and fly.  he corrected that quickly, though.  “look up at me, babydoll.  I wanna see those eyes.”

he groaned as he grabbed the back of your neck, pushing deeper until you gagged and tried to pull away.

“keep choking on it,” he moaned, “feels so good in that tight little throat of yours, fuck.”

you sobbed a bit as you fought for air, afraid you’d pass out before he let you go, but he finally gave you some relief as you fell back and gasped for air.

“aw, poor thing,” he faked a pout as he watched you cough and sputter.  “want some more, pet?”

you shook your head, croaking out a “no, Master.”

he slapped you across the face and you cried loudly.  “you should know you can never deny me.  you give me whatever I want, whenever I want.  now keep sucking or you’ll regret it.”

you whined but opened your mouth for him to shove his cock into, holding your face steady as he fucked it roughly.  spit dribbled down your chin and onto the floor, and it made you feel disgusting and used.

“god, I could come just from this, just from your hot, wet little mouth,” he purred.  “but I need to break in that virgin cunt first.”

you stumbled over your words as he pulled you up and bent you over a dirty table, holding you down with a thick hand tangled in your hair while the other smacked your ass sharply.

“n-no!” you sobbed.  “please don’t.”

he hit you several more times, making your legs flail as your ass stung from each hit.  “you know you can’t say no to me.  why do you keep fighting?  you’re mine, and the more you misbehave the worse I’m gonna treat ya.”

“I’ll do anything, just don’t do that,” you bargained.

“so you want it in the ass?”

you tensed up, and he laughed darkly.  “yeah, that’s what I thought.  don’t worry, I’m not gonna fuck you there, yet.  it’d be a waste of a perfectly good little pussy.  but be careful what you wish for, pet, and be thankful I’m so generous.”

you swallowed thickly.  “thank you, Master.”

he ripped your panties off easily, growling when he saw the wetness that had gathered between your legs.  “if you get your attitude right, I’ll get you ready with some fingers first.  you gonna behave pet?  or do you need to learn a lesson?”

“I’ll be good,” you whimpered.  he leaned down and licked the shell of your ear, making you shudder.  

“do you want my fingers inside you, sweetheart?”

“yes, please, Master,” you nodded weakly.

you winced when he slipped a finger inside you, twisting it around and adding a second quickly.  you could hear the clicking and sloshing noises of your own wetness, and it made you hate yourself for the pleasure you felt.

when he added a third finger, you kicked your legs and breathed through your teeth.  

“you need these if you have any chance of taking my cock,” he explained gruffly, moving his hand faster until your back began to arch.  “mm, feels good, huh?  I bet you wanna come all over my fingers.”

instead, he pulled them out, and you heard him spit into his hand and smear it all over his cock before you felt the head slide through your folds.

“ask me nicely,” he instructed coldly.  “beg for your Master’s cock.”

you whined and closed your eyes, your delay punished by a slap on your sore ass.  “please!” you cried out.  “please put your cock in me, please fuck me, Master.”

he groaned deeply as he pushed into you, and even for all the warm-up you’d gotten, he still stretched you so wide; he still filled you so deep, deeper than you thought anything could reach inside you.

“fuuuuuck,” he sighed, “what a tight fuckin cunt, damn you feel good.”

he chuckled when he felt your walls tense around him.  

“you like making your Master feel good, pet?” he taunted.  “I knew you’d be such a good little girl for me, once you learned your place.”

with that, he began to fuck you in earnest, ignoring your cries and please for him to slow down.  he fucked you so deep that it was starting to give you a stomachache-- but you realized, much to your dismay, that it was really the first swells of pleasure of an orgasm more intense than you’d even known was possible.

“can’t wait to use this pretty pussy every. fucking. day.” he grunted, hitting deep inside you with each word hissed through his teeth.  “can’t wait to fill you with my come whenever I want.”

you opened your mouth to tell him he can’t come inside, before realizing it was useless and stopping yourself.  finally, you were learning.

he held your hips roughly as he pumped into you, his head falling back in a gasp of pleasure.  “fuck yes,” he moaned, “best little cunt I ever had, feels so much better knowing you’re gonna be mine forever, that nobody else is ever gonna touch you but me.”

you felt sharp jolts of desire shoot up your spine as he started to fuck you faster, his balls slapping against your clit just enough to add to the overwhelming sensations inside you.

“at first I thought I wouldn’t really care if you came or not,” he admitted, “but now I’m thinking it would be fun to see you cream all over my fuckin cock.  I wanna see you give in, pretty baby.  I wanna feel you squeeze my cock and hear you scream for me.”

you wished it was avoidable, you wished you could stop yourself from giving him what he wanted, but with a sob you felt the peak of it slam into you, making you cry out and clench your insides around him in desperation.  worst of all, it felt like it would never stop so long as he kept slamming into you like this, and soon you really were screaming until your voice went hoarse.

“yeah, there you go,” he encouraged lowly all throughout, “grip me with that tight little hole, gonna fill you up...”

he made a sudden choked noise as he slowed down, and you realized with a whimper than he was coming, each hot rope of come filling you and warming you from the inside out.

his movements came to a stop as he caught his breath, a new wave of tears dripping down your face with the realization of what he’d done (and what you had done because of it).

“god, you’re everything I dreamed you’d be,” he mumbled.  “can’t even think how many times I came all over my hand and imagined it was your sweet little virgin cunt.”

you winced when he pulled out, the sting still present even with the numb pleasure that protected you from most of it.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, pet,” he promised as he stuffed his cock back into his pants and left you locked in and alone again.

[hops-hunny]

Distance Makes the Heart Grow

CHAPTER 2

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Mafia Boss!Neville Longbottom x Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: (Y/n) lives a normal life. But that’s the issue, it’s normal, it’s plain, and it’s growing boring. Everyday she wishes for something, anything to spice up her life. But, when her old school friend (and crush) shows up at her bakery with a new look (and what looks like a new life), what will it bring for her? Will their puppy love grow? Will his big secret lead to the end of them or will it spark a new beginning?

Warnings: None, just more fuel to the fire. Fluff!!

A/N: Honestly this was fun to write, stay on the look out for chapter 2.5 -winks-

“Neville?!”

(Y/n) walked around the boy, taking in his appearance. She almost couldn't believe it was him. The lanky, tall, awkward boy she spent her days pining over had truly blossomed and from the looks of it, turned into a flower truly worth attention. Part of her almost didn't believe it was him but the cadence of his voice combined with the soft look in his eyes was more than enough confirmation. She'd recognize them anywhere.

The boy nodded, a small smile gracing his face as he held his arms open, inviting him into the warmth of his embrace. She accepted it gladly, sighing as she relaxed into them, squeaking a bit as she felt her feet leave the ground. Relaxing a bit, the girl closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around him tighter. 'Just like I remember..'

"Pardon?" He asked, causing her to tense as he sat her down. Had she said that out loud? If she had she certainly hadn't intended on doing so.

"N-nothing!" She started as she made her way back behind the counter, using her distance to admire his appearance. Twyla nudged her, still eyeing up the dangerous looking men.

"Geez (Y/n), and here I was thinking you were a complete prude. Who would've thought that you knew such hot guys!" She said, biting her lip as she eyed up the red head. The shorter girl crushed her foot, glaring up at her employee. She yelped but quieted up, staring down at her boss

"To be fair, I haven't seen any of them in 3 years. And plus, none of them looked like this during our years at Hogwarts." Her eyes drifted to the rings on Neville's thick tattooed hands. "I apologize for it taking me so long to recognize you, Nev. I hope I didn't make things too awkward."

"You're quite alright, petal. I'm not the same man I was when you went to school with me." He sighed, looking out the window into the distance as he adjusted his tie. "I've changed quite a bit."

(Y/n) could tell by the tone of his voice that he wasn't just referring to his new (but most certainly not unwelcomed) appearance, but he had been through some things as well. As much as she wanted to ask him about the things he had seen and the things he had done, she knew now wasn't the time. Neville had always been private about how he felt, that was another thing that clearly hadn't faded. She reached across the counter, placing her hand on top of his as she offered him a smile.

"So, how's life been treating ya? From the looks of it, I'd assume good?" She asked, watching as he scratched the back of his neck nervously. He went to speak but Twyla cut him off.

"Yeah, you look like you've got money! How'd you get so rich?" She leaned forward, eyes squint as she eyed them all. "What're you like loan sharks or something?"

"Something of the sorts." The redhead responded, nodding as he spoke. However (Y/n) was in shambles, she gaped at her friend, giving her a pissed look.

"Twyla you can't just go around asking people if they're rich!" She hissed out, going to tell her off but stopped as she felt a hand on top of hers. Neville chuckled some, patting her hand a few times.

"It's fine, 's only natural to be curious. And to answer your question…" he trailed off as if he was looking for an answer. "We work a less...desirable form of work. Lots of things people normally wouldn't wanna do."

"Yeah lots of paperwork. You wouldn't wanna hear about it, trust me." The freckled brunette finally spoke up. He held his hand out for the (h/c) haired girl to shake which she shook. "Seamus Finnigan."

"Oh! Your Nev's best friend, yeah? I remember during one of our herbology classes we had to leave because you blew something up." She began to giggle at the memory, trying to stifle some brasher laughter. "I don't know how you manage to do that with a plant. I'm (Y/n)." Seamus stepped back, clearing his throat as his face tinted a dark rouge.

"Oh trust me, we know. The bos- Neville would never shut up about you. Sometimes he still doesn't, going on about how he wonders what you're up to. Maybe running into you like this will shut him up a bit." The ginger spoke up, offering her a nod of acknowledgement. "Ron Weasley."

"Well it's clear who the lover boy here is swooning for but what about you two? Are you single?" Twyla asked, stepping from around the corner. The three of them began to converse, leaving the two former acquaintances to be amongst themselves.

"I'm sorry about her. She's got no filter on her mouth." She said, laughing to clear the stiffness to clear the air. He joined her, his familiar dopey smile on his face.

"It's fine. Don't worry about it, really." He sighed, looking around the bakery. "You got a job in a bakery like you always wanted! I'm happy for you, truly." She could feel the sincerity in each of his words. During her time at Hogwarts, Neville had been kind enough to be the one to sample her baking all the time while encouraging her to follow her dreams. Having him in her bakery was enough to make her heart burst.

The girl felt her face heat up as she shrugged, smiling at him sheepishly. "Actually, I don't just work here, I uh," she looked back at him as he had his focus on her, engaged as every, "I own it."

His eyes widened as he gasped, a mix of happiness and shock on his face. "Really? That's even better!" Neville's eyes wandered along the different treats and such in the display table, looking at them in awe at the variety of things. Each item was different than the other and yet they all worked together. "I see you're still as creative with your flavors. You are a true artist, (Y/n)."

"I-I wouldn't go that far. I'm just doing what I love and I couldn't be happier." She squeezed the man's hand, trying to ignore the burning in her cheeks and ears. "I wouldn't have been able to do it without you. Whenever my parents would send me those awful howlers, you'd be right there to lift me back up."

He felt his eyes gloss over but blinked back his tears, clearing his throat as he unwillingly ripped his gaze from hers. "Wait- are those the chocolates? The ones with the brownie pieces in them?! I've been thinking about these for ages!" He exclaimed. If it weren't for the fact she was still nervous, she would've found humor in the giant, tattoo covered man freaking out about her coco brownie chocolates. 

"I remember you used to give them to me every valentine's day. We'd take them up to the astronomy tower and share them together." He sighed dreamily at the memory. "You were such a good friend for that!"

Right. Friends, that's what they were if you could even call them that. They rarely hung out with each other outside of school except for Valentine's day. She had originally gifted him the chocolates as a way to show how she felt about him but for some reason or another, he didn't realize the meaning behind them. She didn't correct him either. The way she saw it was any time she got with Neville was good time to her and that's all that mattered.

"Yeah...did you want me to pack some up for you?" She asked, reaching back for an empty box before leaning down, filling the box with the rest of the chocolates. "Here. My treat."

“Are you sure? I couldn’t possibly just take these from you! You’ve got a business to run here.” He responded, pushing the box back towards her. However, she pushed them right back, shaking her head.

“I’m positive! Think of it as an IOU for all those late night cram sessions during 7th year.” she wasn’t really giving them to him for that reason. Saying that though was just easier than saying ‘Hey take these, I’ve been in love with you for 5 years.’ and to be fair, she wasn’t in the mood for rejection. (Y/n) found herself being disappointed that even after all these years, she was conveying the way she felt for him through sweets. Anytime she went to say how she felt it was quickly just replaced with some excuse along the lines of ‘needing him to sample something’ when in reality, she knew her baking was good. But, there was just something so fulfilling from the way he’s eyes would light up whenever she’d give it to him, leaving the heart felt note in her pocket. 

“Thank you.” he smiled, taking them in his hands, acutely aware of the way her fingers were on his. He felt his face flush as he looked up at her, finding her eyes were already on his. “Listen (Y/n), I was wondering if you’d like to-” his words were cut short by the sound of a phone ringing. Shortly after Ron came up, whispering something in his ear which caused his soft expression to turn into stone. He gave him a nod, taking the box and ending the contact. “I’ve gotta get going. Duty calls! I’ll see you again soon, yeah?” he muttered something under his breath smiling at her before turning around and leaving the bakery. 

“Soo, what’s going on between you and the tall one?” Twyla questioned, sneaking another cookie from the display counter (which didn’t go unnoticed). (Y/n grabbed it from her hands, putting it back in the glass case as she rolled her eyes.

“First of all, you work at this bakery, not eat here. And second, nothing!” the blue haired girl gave her a look that screamed ‘bullshit’ which she simply chose to ignore. “He’s an old friend of mine and…”

“Andd?” she urged, using her hands to motion for her to continue. (Y/n) huffed, crossing her arms across her chest as she looked to the side.

“And my old crush. But I promise the only feelings we ever had in common were platonic ones!” she leaned over the counter, watching as his figure disappeared into the distance. A wave of regret fell over her wishing she had done something, anything to be able to see him again. She knew the reason he probably didn’t ask for her number was due to the fact that during her time at Hogwarts, she didn’t use a smart phone. It was something she had gotten into as of recent. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t have asked for his.

“That looked like a lot more than platonic to me.” the green eyed girl sighed dramatically, placing a hand over her chest as she spun around. “Love is in the air with you two! I can feel it, you know I’ve got a 6th sense for these sorta- woah! Look at the tip he fucking put in the jar!” she exclaimed, reaching her hand into the jar.

 (Y/n) gasped, eyes widening as she looked at the three hundred dollar bills in the girls hand. ‘I kinda wish I had just let him pay..’ she thought to herself. She grabbed the bills, holding them up in the light to check the authenticity. She knew Neville would never give her fake money but it was almost hard to believe that he had given it to her without hesitancy. When had he even done that?

“I told you they have money! I mean, did you see the ring he had on? The big skull one with the sapphire eyes?” she asked, watching as her boss shook her head. “There’s only 3 of those in the world! It’s a hefty price for one of them. They must be really good at what they do!”

“Since when do you know about fashion?” (Y/n) asked, causing Twyla to let out a dramatic gasp. 

“I’ll have you know I went to one of the most elite fashion schools in the wizarding world thank you very much!” (Y/n) eyed her suspiciously causing her to let out a sigh. “Okay I give up, I just shagged a guy who did. However I did steal his books!”

“Whatever.” she giggled out, walking over to hand a menu to a regular that walked in. She knew he didn’t need it but it was still common courtesy. “I just wonder what he was going to say before he left…”

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

As the sun began to set, (Y/n) flipped the sign to closed, closing the blinds. Although Wednesdays were their slow days, that didn’t mean they still didn’t get customers. There was also an unexpected lunch rush due to a conference being held in the hotel a few blocks over. Walking over to a cushion, she sat down relaxing into the softness of the chair. Her eyes shot open at the sound of the backroom door slamming open.

“You wanted excitement didn’t you?” her worker asked, causing her to nod cautiously. “Well get ready. We’ve got plans this weekend! Hope you’re ready for a much needed shopping trip.”

PREVIOUS||NEXT

TAGSLIST: @vayeya11 @pink-hufflepuff @clancyscookies @beewitchedlou @nevillelongbottomsgirlfriend @redpanda-poetry @vibingaesthetically

[writingtoforgetreality]

Professionally Unprofessional (Sam Wilson x Reader)

Request: Samuel wilson x reader, reader is an interviewer who is on the ground when wilson speak with the senator, they had a huge fight before but wilson is like grab her and kissed her and then like "fuck this shit, cmon lets get married gurl" (by anonymous), [Marvel-Masterlist]

Summary: You were everything but average. As a reporter, people expected you to be laid back, professional. You were all those things, you simply added a bit of spice into the mix to lend your interviews something special.

Words: 2,696

Warnings: language, humor, sarcasm, fluff (?), arguments, female pronouns used, REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

[Thanks @shmaptainhotchner for helping me out with this one! <3]

If you like my work & wanna support me: a coffee would be highly appreciated ❤

You were part of a local news station, usually the one doing interviews & all of that sorts. The viewers liked you so much because you did not ask typical, boring questions. Whenever you had someone in front of your microphone, you went out of you way to create something special that entertained the people. Much to your boss’ dismay. But then again, she would never fire you because your views would drastically sink if she did so.

Thanks to your job, you had interviewed most of the Avengers throughout the years. That was how you met Sam in the first place. You somehow made yourself appear mysterious enough for him wanting to get to know you better. Mainly because of your odd approach at asking questions. It made you stand out. It did not take all too long for you guys to start dating. Your personalities harmonized perfectly together & whenever you two were out, shit was about to go down.

“You working today?” Sam asked as he stripped on his new suit that Bucky gifted to him.

“If someone’s worth interviewing.” you shrugged mindlessly. “You know, someone with a metal arm for example.”

“Yeah?” he approached you. “What about Captain America?”

“Meh.” you answered absently, not even looking in his eyes. Simply to mess with him. “That guy’s too boring. Literally nobody wants to see him.”

“Is that so?” Sam came to a halt right in front of you. Just as he stretched out his arms in your direction did you spin around & distance yourself from him. “Hey!”

“What?” you turned to glance at him again, an innocent expression on your face. “Something the matter?”

“Baby.” he spoke in a warning tone & you had to hide your giggle. “What are you planning?”

“Damn, you’re really thinking the worst of me, huh?” one corner of your lips lifted slightly.

“I know you, (Y/N).” Sam shook his head. “You’re trouble when it comes to interviews.”

“Well, the trouble ensures for my income. Not everyone is an Avenger, alright?” you crossed your arms over your chest & pretended to be angry at him.

“Maybe you should ask your boss for a raise.” Sam pointed out.

“She’d fire me before she’d give me more money.” you laughed at the absurdity of it. Because honestly, you really believed every day could be the last at your current job.

“What if I end up ignoring you amongst all other reporters?” he was kidding, of course he was. Usually, it was the other way around. You were the only interviewer he ever paid attention to & therefore he knew about your quick changes in questions. No matter how much you had prepared, in the end you were always straying far from that.

“Then it would mean no money at all. Sam, come on. It’ll be fun.” you sent him a big enthusiastic smile.

“Come on, baby. Not this shit…” he sighed loudly. So you were planning on messing with him later today but you were not enlightening him. There was no way he could possibly prepare for the chaos you would put him thorough.

“Oh, so my creative, well thought-through profession is shit but you risking your life flying around like a fucking bird while throwing a metal frisbee isn’t?” you looked at him expectantly but no answer came. Sam simply approached you, leaned down & pressed a quick peck on your cheek. It brought a sweet smile to your face. While the playful banter & arguments between you two were pretty much a constant, you always made sure to say goodbye properly. Though, if you were honest, you already had some questions in mind that would bother the shit out of him. Oh, this would so turn out in your favor.

Being Captain America’s girlfriend was not necessarily easy. Especially when his life was at risk almost daily. And Sam did give you a scare or two (or maybe even a thousand) ever since the Flag Smashers had been doing their things. Of course you loved joking around & pretending that none of this truly faced you but if you were to be entirely honest, you probably were the one who worried the most. More than Sam & Bucky combined. You were not as successful as you hoped to be when it came to hiding your feelings. Luckily, your boyfriend read you like an open book & he never teased you about it. Not about something as significant as this. So, without actually addressing the topic, he cheered you up & eased your mind without you even realizing it in the first place.

You had been awaiting the phone call for a while now so when it finally sounded up, you felt relief washing through you. Not Sam was calling but your boss.

“(Y/L/N). Heading to the main event soon?” she asked without greeting you first. Simply getting straight to business. As you were used to from her.

“Yeah, sure. Just waited for your call. The team is already on its way I guess?” you inquired & already walked over to your closet to pick an appropriate outfit.

“They are…Can I trust you?” she hesitated & you rolled your eyes at her stupidity. You two were not the best of friends if that had not been clear yet.

“You can always trust me, boss. Otherwise you wouldn’t have called me.” you concluded & smirked when you heard her sigh on the other end.

“I wanted to sign Brock up for this one, actually.” she took a deep breath before she continued. “But we all know what the viewers wanna see & it ain’t your colleague.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior today.” you straightened your back though nobody could see.

“That’s what I’m afraid of…This is a big deal, (Y/L/N). We really need a good interview.” she informed you. Your boss was aware that every task you handled ended up being successful so you did not quite understand her worries.

“I’ll be there in 15.” was all you said before you ended the call & tossed your phone on your bed from across the room. It was frustrating to have your boss calling you with the same plea every time. By now she should perceive your take on interviews & the views spoke for themselves. You believed her biggest concern was you messing up big time. That big, in fact, that your news station would go bankrupt afterwards. But each time you finished talking to someone in front of the camera, your popularity only increased. Maybe you were not an average reporter but who cared for average in the 21st century? It was no secret that you were a master of your profession, collecting tons of people who envied you over the years & delivering accordingly when needed. Without you on their team, your station would have gone bankrupt. You were the only one keeping it alive & every member knew that.

You smoothed out the material of your pantsuit, checking if everything was ready for the live interview that would happen soon. The cameras were already working & your sound man fiddled with the microphone attached to your fabric one last time before he left you alone to do your job. When you first started here, your heartrate picked up its pace whenever you were about to interview someone. Nowadays, you simply relaxed, took a few deep breaths & went for it without too much overthinking. The fact that your boyfriend was on the other end of your microphone aided your calm demeanor as well.

Tons of people surrounded you & you scrunched up your nose at their attempts to stand in the front row. Your team had arrived pretty early so your cameras focused on the main area where the real deal would happen. Honestly, if it were not for you actively working as a reporter, you would have loathed that profession. Then again, you differed from the others. That kind of excused the ugly side of that job. Voices grew more frantic which meant that something was brewing. Your eyes flickered up & there he was. Your boyfriend. Captain America in all his glory. In his new suit that simply took your breath away. When you first caught a glimpse of it & even now.

Stupid & boring questions were fired at Sam’s way but he sidestepped them like a pro. The microphone in your hand was moved around from one side to the other. One thing you had learned in this job was to have patience. And to stand out because then, people tended to approach you more often than the rest. So you ordered your camera man to film Sam’s encounter with the Senator before you would interrupt. Your smirk was wide when you watched Captain America clapping back at the higher-ups who believed the entire world revolved around them. Seemed like he finished his speech because his back faced them & he made his way over to the swarm of reporters. But his eyes only trained on one. You.

“Captain America.” you nodded as you stretched out the microphone in his direction. He rolled his eyes at you trying to stay professional. The first words & you were already failing. “Mr. Wilson. Let’s keep it simple, shall we?” you corrected yourself.

“Sure thing.” he nodded, not once breaking eye contact with you.

“All of America is wondering about one thing.” you made a pause for dramatic effect. “Have you lost it?”

“What?” Sam was confused yet at the same time, he was used to the perplexity that came with you interviewing him. It was the same old.

“Your sanity.” you stated without batting an eye, appearing as serious as ever. He tilted his head backwards & could not hold his laughter in any longer. Success for you.

“Everything is as it should be.” he brushed you off but you were better prepared than this, of course.

“Yeah? Then explain this…Imagine your worried girlfriend sitting at home, simply waiting to receive the news of her boyfriend getting his ass kicked.” it was no secret to the world that you two were dating but you were not allowed to include that in your interviews. But when did you ever follow rules?

“Well, she can’t be that worried. Since she’s standin’ here & all.” he pointed out & you had to admit that he did have some good comebacks today. People would love the bickering between you two.

“We were lucky enough to watch your encounter with the Senator.” you quickly changed the topic in order to keep the conversation alive & interesting. “Don’t you think it’s time for you to give credit?”

“Credit for what?” he inquired with furrowed eyebrows. You had him again.

“Generally, when someone gets inspired or when they had help, for example with coming up with a speech that leaves everyone stunned, it is only fair to give credit.” you saw how deep he was in his thoughts to process what you had said but it seemed useless.

“Baby, you’re literally making no sense.” Sam shook his head, one of his hands raising to his face to brush over his chin. He just called you by your nickname during a live interview, the media would go crazy over that. It was the very first time because, again, you were not allowed to mix work & private stuff. You needed to figure out a reasonable excuse to tell your boss later on.

“While that speech was remarkable, it is everything but fair to skip the fact that your girlfriend was the one helping you create it in the first place.” only after your explanation did he understand what you were trying to say. But you were literally selling your viewers bullshit.

“Improvisation doesn’t need credit.” one of his eyebrows perked up as he chuckled.

“I agree with you on that, Mr. Wilson.” you contemplated his words, acting as if you were giving in. But you were not. “And we’re totally even if you give me credit for your speech there.” you then turned around so you were looking straight into the camera. “It was me who wrote little cards for him to memorize every day during breakfast. You’ve gotta know that I have the brains in this relationship so-“ Sam interrupted you, came up right next to you & nudged you with his elbow. It earned him a little grunt & an unhappy look from you.

“Who the hell watches this?” his question was directed at your team behind the camera who only shrugged in return.

“A lot of viewers expect quality content, Mr. Wilson. So if you could please occupy your previous position so I can finish this interview in peace, that would be very much appreciated. “ the camera angle changed once more as you shoved Sam back to his place. He let it happen but in the back of his mind, a plan had already started forming. Just as your mouth started opening, Sam snatched the microphone from your hand, ripping off the one that was connected to your pantsuit in one swift movement. You were too shocked to reply right away. Seemed like your team was experiencing similar emotions because nobody moved or said anything. When you were free, he grabbed your wrist & dragged you away from the scene. Your mouth opened & closed a couple of times yet no words were coming out. Hundreds of interviews & never had something like that occurred before. There was a first time for everything.

“The fuck?” was the first thing you breathed out after Sam pretty much shoved you into an alleyway.

“Yeah, likewise.” he laughed, his eyes holding the softness that were reassurance enough that nothing was wrong & that he was not mad at you. His lips pressed onto yours in a fiery & passionate kiss. One that caught you completely off guard. That was a…different reaction to you teasing him during an interview. A pleasant one at that.

“Should I ask?” you almost whispered after you two had to pull apart for air.

“Damn, let’s get married, baby.” he said it so casually, as if there was nothing special about it. Your bewilderment gave you away. You had discussed marriage before just not that straight forward.

“What, you got a ring?” your head tilted to the side & the look on his face was priceless. He did not expect your answer to be as bold as his suggestion. “I’m kidding, Sam.”

“We could go buy one.” he shrugged & made you laugh. Honestly, that was such a typical move of him.

“You wanna marry me even though I literally messed with you back there?” you questioned. Sam held out his hand for you to take & you intertwined your fingers with his. A gentle smile played at the corners of your lips.

“I didn’t expect anything else from you.” he commented after a short pause.

“You gotta admit, though…I was on fire today.” you nudged him & widened your sparkling eyes at the genuine smile he gave you.

“If on fire is another word for annoying, then hell yeah.” he sighed loudly, the sarcasm clearly detectable.

“I didn’t remember you to be this rude, Mr. Wilson.” you emphasized the last part & loved watching his body tense up. His grip tightened & his steps fastened.

“Come on.” he urged you on but you wanted to keep this game alive for a little while longer.

“Where are we going?” you glanced at him with innocent eyes.

“Home. We can buy your ring another time.” so you two made your way back to your shared apartment. Throughout the entire walk there, you fought the urge to bite your lip at your clever approach for this interview. If that was what you got out of it, then you were fine with being fired as well. Because, truthfully, you did not believe your boss would keep up with you any longer after today. But she did not fire you, no. The views were skyrocketing & she needed you to keep their station alive. You got your well-deserved raise, finally.

Published (05/13/2021) by Cathy

✨MY Ko-fi PAGE✨

Tags: @zestyemby, @met4no1a, @missroro, @bibliophilewednesday, @msmarvelsmain, @weareironmanbitches, @patricexirene (thanks for your support <3)

[extremelyblackandwhite]

cardigan

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x reader

warnings: violence

a/n: this is a limited three part series based on three of my favourite songs from taylor swift’s 2020 life saving albums; cardigan, willow and invisible string. this one is cardigan, hope you enjoy xx

WILLOW

She clutched onto her worn out brown leather bag as she stepped inside the her father’s precinct. There wasn’t much that looked different from when she was a little girl, the tables still stood on the same messy layout which made no sense, the officers still didn’t look up whenever someone came in and the whole room smelled like stale coffee and burnt bread. The only difference was that the once endless room now felt small, nauseating, confining, a place where she didn’t want to be. 

      - Y/N. - her father’s voice rang through the small room, making her look up to where he was standing. Captain William, or dad if she was lucky enough to call him as such, was an intimidating presence even after all these years yet after her mother’s death it was him who was left of her family. - Come in. 

Her shoes felt heavy as she stepped inside his office, two more officers standing inside as she walked with her father. He closed the door, nodding his head which was a tell tale for everyone to sit down. She sat at the end of the dark green couch, away from the other two officers who were looking her up and down as if she were a prey.

       - I told you she would be perfect. Inconspicuous, he wouldn’t even think she’s undercover.

       - She’s not the type of woman Barnes go for.

       - She doesn’t need to be the type of woman he goes for, she needs to be the one who works in his bar and listens to their plans. 

Her father had told her about James Barnes. They had been trying to get him in for minor offences yet nothing seemed to pan out. The force knew they could never apprehend him for the crimes he knew he had committed but if they could get him in for something small: weapon charge, drug charge, something. For that to happen they needed someone to be in their circle and unluckily for them, Barnes and his men knew everyone who worked in the force but they didn’t know her. In return for her working in his bar, the force would pay her tuition fees as well as any books she needed. 

“It won’t be hard” was what her father had told her but as they dropped her at the bar she couldn’t help but freeze at the door. They were expecting her, she had gotten the job yet she couldn’t find herself walking inside. In any other situation she would’ve rushed past it, it wasn’t the place she would like to be in. Her hand grasped the bar of the door, pushing it open. The nightclub looked vastly desert with squeaky clean floors and bright lighting which showed the dark aesthetic of every single owned Barnes club in town. She didn’t know the man but she knew his style, dark, sleek, leather, sensual even, enough to make people feel sexual whenever they walked into his club. Yet, in broad daylight it was merely an abandoned establishment with one a table with a few hangover men still nursing a bottle of beer each, waiting for 7 PM for the club to come back to life. 

She stood out like a sore thumb, dressed in brown tones. A loose gingham black dress over a brown turtle neck covered and low black Mary Janes. Her eyes roamed the room, looking for someone to speak to but someone found her first. A tall man, probably pushing fifty, toothpick hanging from his lips and dirty rag on his left hand. She felt short, cowering under the gaze of the man.

     - You're the new girl, or what? - he questioned, thick Brooklyn accent yet Y/N didn’t dare reply, instead nodding at him. - Do you have a name?

     - Y/N.

     - Y/N, that’s nice. I’m Bobby, I’m the bar supervisor. You wanna talk to anyone? You talk only to me and you’ll do well.

She nodded her head quickly, almost like a bobble head figure, following him behind to bar. Now Y/N knew about bars or at least what they did in them, she just wasn’t expecting to see the huge amount of spirits, wines, and beers behind her. She was almost sure if someone robbed the club, they’d be better off with the booze than the money in the cash register.  The man, Bobby, ran through the basics, showing here with the cleaning products were, where some more complicated cocktail mixtures were written, how the washing machine worked and how crucial it was to constantly collect glasses from the bar and put them in there. She held a small reporter notepad, pen scribbling down messy wiggles which she wouldn’t be able to understand later on but it was still worth it. She could memorise it, she was a university student after all hence her memory for cocktails shouldn’t be hard. Everything was so polished, meticulously placed, almost too organised for a bar; the bottles placed onto glass shelves which light from under, placed almost the same measure apart in a sea of expensive beverages. 

     - Don’t serve any drinks to people who haven’t presented a payment form. If the boss comes in, serve him whiskey on the rocks. Glenlivet, no other brands. 

     - I’ve never seen the boss.

     - You’ll know. 

She was left there watching as more staff came in, the sun going down at the same time. “Just breathe, Y/N” she remembered her father’s words, she could do it, she could do it. How hard could it possible be to be a bartender? Just breathe, Y/N. She can do it, she can help his father, she can do this and then no longer have to worry about how many hours she would have to do at that little mean shop which had taken more of her than she gave them. She could be a regular university student, she just needed to breathe.

The purple, blue lights started to light the sunlight coloured bar as people started to queue up outside for a chance to get inside one of the most famous bars in town. She could faintly remember hearing her friends talking about how exclusive it was but as she looked out the window and at the queue she could finally understand it. As the doors opened and people started flocking in, suddenly she was serving drinks left and write, vodka and other shoots drenching her dress and apron as she messily tried to serve everyone at the bar screaming at her to hurry up. She kept running around like a crazy person, dragging bottles and bottles and pouring drinks which kept overfilling and dropping onto the floor. People kept yelling at her “hey sugar, how long does it take you to bring me some vodka?” but one man who was sitting still, gaze glued onto her while a cigarette hanged from the middle of his lips. She cowered under his gaze returning to hand a tray of jello shots to some girls. 

She continued to work until the last person was out of the bar but the man remained calmly leaned against the bar, the flame of his cigarette dying down. She tried to avoid him, pretending to clean the spot over and over again but the man merely scoffed, rubbing the butt of the cigarette against the ash tray.

      - You’re terrible. - he spoke out, voice raspy. - Who hired you?

      - That’s nothing to do with you. - Y/N turned around to place back the bottles onto the shelves.

      - Are you the owner?

      - No. - she placed the bottles on the shelf, hands shaking. 

      - Then it is something to do with me. - the air seemed to be punched out of her lungs, as her grip tightened around the neck of the bottle she was holding. She refused to turn around and look at him, understanding what it implied. Instead she just looked at herself in the glass wall. Just breathe, Y/N. - Can I get a ...

      - Glenlivet. - she rose herself on her tippy toes, interrupting him mid sentence. Grabbing from ice from under the bar, she added it to the glass, topping it with the expensive whiskey before placing it under a black square napkin. She continued to wipe down the counter until Bobby came back from the storage unit with more alcohol. 

     - You can go now, Y/N. I’ll see you at 7. - Bobby dismissed her and almost like thunder, she bolted off, not even stopping and allowing him to question why their boss was sitting at the bar.

Clutching her bag against her chest she started walking up to campus. She had done it, or at least managed to do something yet get no information her father wanted. That is unless her father wanted to know James Barnes’ drink of choice which she was pretty sure he didn’t want to know. Reaching her flat, she turned the key around, opening the door to see her friend Wanda waiting in the couch. 

    - You’re alive. - she mocked, turning the TV on. - Once again, tell me why you said yes to working in a mob bar ...

    - It’s not a mob bar, Wanda.

    - It is a bar owned by a mob boss who has been blamed on several murders. It is a mob bar. 

    - I’m just a bartender, nothing is gonna happen.

    - Can you tell me again why you’re doing this? Your father is the reason why you were raised by John Hughes’ movies. 

    - Okay, Wanda, you made your point. - Y/N took her jacket off, hanging it onto one of the hooks in the door.

    - I’m buying you pepper spray.

    - Pepper spray is illegal, Wan. 

    - So is the bar you’re working.

    - Okay. I’ll be careful, don’t worry. I’ll go to sleep now.

Wanda continued to ramble about her working where she was but there was really nothing she could do other than continue. All she had to do was breathe and listen and the department would pay for her tuition for the rest of her degree. Small price to pay for a much bigger price. 

As another day started, the routine started once again with her awaking up and running into class with Wanda complained about her brother followed by spending the rest of her free time until her shift began. Walking back to the bar she was telling herself once more that she would be just fine and that Wanda slipping a knife inside her bag was only her overreacting. Stepping inside the same building, Bobby was setting some shoot glasses on the counter.

    - Y/N. - he acknowledged her. - Glad to see you’re still here.

    - Wouldn’t be anywhere else. - she placed her bag and jacket under the bar and tied her apron around her waist. - Busy day?

    - Fridays are the busiest. All the university kids. Let me know if you need a hand.

    - I’m sure I’ll be okay.

Once again, wrong. She was not okay and as everyone found themselves flocking to the bar she was already running around like a crazy person, holding two bottles on each hand as people. The lights were blinding, shining on her as she served and slide more drinks onto the bar counter and to the waitresses who’d give her snide remarks whenever she took too long. Her hands were numb from the ice already yet her face was warm from moving side to side. At least, Mr. Barnes wasn’t around and that was already something she could be thankful for. She knew she had to eventually speak to him if she wanted to ever hear anything or maybe she wouldn’t have; she was good at being invisible, maybe she could just overhear something without having to ever speak with him.

   - Hey, sugar, where’s my drink? - a sluggish voice came from the bar and Y/N ignored it. Bobby told her, if anyone sounds or looks drunk to cut them off that “Mr. Barnes doesn’t need drunk people being roudy in his bar”. She continued to serve the group of girls celebrating passing an exam until the man moved over to them. - Hey, I asked where is my drink?

   - Sorry, you’re cut off. - she shrugged, grabbing some glass onto a plastic bucket so Bobby could put them in the washing machine.

   - What the fuck? C’mon give me my drink.

   - No. - Y/N just ignored it, turning around to put the bottles back onto the shelves.

   - Well then be useful and show me your tits. - the man scoffed as if it was the best joke in the world. Y/N turned around, speechless at what he had said before grabbing an half empty drink from the bar and throwing it at him which surprised the man just as much. - You bitch!

   - What’s the problem here? - fuck. Of course he had to show up. Mr. Barnes made his way towards them, holding that same powerful yet frightening stance as the strobing lights painted his face. His eyes were on her, waiting for her to say something but Y/N was mostly frozen. That was it, she was about to get shot, or worse, lose a finger or a leg or an arm. Oh god, how could she take exams without an arm? 

   - Your bartender isn’t serving me. - he pointed at her as if he were a 5 year old. 

   - Really? - Barnes stood slightly behind him and all she could see in a glimpse second was his metal arm, reflecting the strobing lights, come up to the nape of the man’s neck before he slammed his face against the glass topping of the bar counter. Y/N was startled by this, jumping back against the wall of drinks. - Get the fuck out of my bar. 

The man ran off, bloody nose, like a scared wounded animal leaving Y/N only to stare at him. Her mind rushed miles an hour, wondering if he had done that to someone what he would do to her. She should’ve taken the pepper spray from Wanda. 

   - Get back to work. - he left her with that, turning around and getting lost in the sea of people dancing. 

   - Hey ... - Bobby touched her arm, waking her from her own mind. She looked at her hands; good she still had both hands. - Go take a break, wash the glasses, I’ll do the bartending for a while.

   - I’m fine, Bobby.

   - I know. I just want you to go do something else. - Y/N nodded, not wanting to disobey anyone yet she couldn’t help but be glad she would be in the back where the big washing machine was for most of the pint glasses and other oddly shaped cups. After all, Mr. Barnes wouldn’t be hanging in the kitchen.

She pushed her hair away from her face and put on the big pink gloves and started to wash the glasses and plates from some small appetisers they sold until closing time started to near. Once the bar was cut off, she joined Bobby to clean the always messy bar and make it look as precise as it looked every single day. Another day survived, no limbs lost. 

   - That was a good one, Y/N. See you tomorrow. - Bobby bid her farewell as he exited through the door. Y/N stayed behind, moping the floor behind the mar which was mostly a pool of mixed drinks that she always somehow managed to overfill and drop onto the floor on her way to serve them. As she continued to mop, the person who she didn’t want to see sat at the bar and without much thinking, she served him his drink of choice. 

   - I ... hm ... I have to go, I have to walk home and my flatmate is waiting for me.

   - You’re walking home with your flatmate?

   - No, she’s waiting for me at the flat. - Y/N grabbed her cardigan, putting it on which immediately brought her a nostalgic warmth. 

   - I’ll drive you. 

   - Oh .. no, Mr. Barnes. It is not necessary, I’ve walked home before, I know the way. 

   - And I know the type of men who walk around my bar. - he downed the whiskey as if it were water. - Come on. 

Oh god, I’m going to sleep with the fishes. He’s gonna kill me in his car. Y/N thought to herself as she followed him to the back of the bar where he had parked his car. Of course it was a good car, a new model black Audi with sleek matte black leathered seats which looked more expensive than everything together at the bar. She wondered how much money he made. Her father hadn’t told her much about him and all she knew was merely gossip. He opened the door for her which she took as a sign to get inside the car. Once in, she noticed how awfully warm it was, he probably had the heating on so she took off her cardigan, shoving it in front of her feet as he entered the car. 

   - Where am I dropping you?

   - The student campus, south building

   - You’re a student? - he asked as the motor roared, signalling the start of the car. - Why you working here then?

   - It pays well. My mother paid for my first years but I still have my third one and a possible masters. 

   - Why not ask mum for the rest of the money then?

   - Well she’s dead. - she said, not taking the eyes off the road. - Her inheritance lasted as long as it could but tuition is expensive.

   - I’m sorry. - he tried to sneak a look at her but gave up, instead keeping his eyes on the road. - You’re a terrible bartender.

   - You’ve said that one time already, I’ve heard it. If I’m so terrible why don’t you fire me?

   - Bobby likes you. Says you’re a quick learner. Yet again, he likes every single wide eyed Disney Princess girl who works behind the bar. I give you a month or two before you quit or get knocked up.

   - I’m not gonna quit and I’m not gonna get knocked up either. 

   - Got a boyfriend?

   - No.

   - Husband? Friends with benefits?

   - I don’t have the time so if you want to get rid of me you’ll have to fire me.

   - I don’t fire people. - she saw her building come closer and closer from the car window. - Is it that one?

   - Yes. - she grabbed her bag, eager to leave the car before anything could happen. 

   - Hey, you got a black dress? - he asked as she exited the car and she nodded yes. - Good, bring it to work tomorrow. 

She mumbled an okay as the car drove away. God, she was alive. Good.  All she wanted now was to return to her home and in a few minutes she was back in her living room where Wanda and her twin brother Pietro were waiting for her. Of course waiting meant watching Shark Tank and discussing how bad all the inventions were. 

   - How was work in hell? - Wanda didn’t even look at her, eyes glued to the TV while she stuffed popcorn in her mouth.

   - I didn’t need to use the knife you snuck into my bag, thank you.

   - You snuck a knife onto her back? - Pietro looked dumbfound at his sister who immediately snapped back with a response. 

   - She’s working for James Barnes, she needs to carry a knife block and she’s lucky I only put a steak knife. - Wanda turned around in the couch. - Hey where’s your cardigan? I swear you left with it. 

   - Shit. - Y/N looked around. - Fuck, I’ve left it in his car.

   - Whose car? 

   - Mr. Barnes’. He gave me a ride and I took my cardigan off because the car was so warm. Fuck. I’ll never see it again.

   - Why were you in his car, are you crazy? - now Wanda was interested. Clearly her best friend’s lack of judgment was more interesting than the poor soul trying to pitch a tuna can opener shaped like a tuna to a bunch of executives.

   - He gave me a ride ... oh and do you have a black dress?

   - I do. - Pietro said gaining an odd look from the two girls. - What? Girls love me and I love them. Stuff get’s left behind. What can I say?

   - You’re disgusting. - Wanda rolled her eyes. 

taglist: @lookiamtrying @mariamermaid @sebastianstansqueen @unmagically​

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Californian Dream (Pt. 11 of 11)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove X Reader

Word count: 2.3 K

Summary: Being part of one of the richest families of California doesn't mean you're happy. Your life is boring, and you're surrounded by meaningless people and their meaningless talk. Even during Summer, with the break you have from college, there's nothing good going on. Nothing but the new pool guy, Billy, the most handsome man you ever saw. You were successfully avoiding him, not wanting to act like an idiot in front of the guy until Billy accepts to be your date for a fancy gala you're forced to attend. The night was going well, even better when he sneaked you out to go to the beach. But a gang of criminals breaks into the party, kidnapping the heirs to the wealthiest families, which includes you. So, for your safety, your parents want you to stay with Billy, living in his apartment until the criminals are caught. And that could take weeks, maybe even months.

Warnings: Light violence

<- Previous part (10)

{Stranger Things Masterlist}

{Dacre Montgomery Masterlist}

×

California Never Felt Like Home

Even though he's not going anywhere any time soon, you hook one leg around his waist, just to pull him a little closer. “You're my prisoner now.” You mutter, sleep still clouding your voice.

“I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.” He answers, placing kisses all over your face.

“The good part is that we'll have all the afternoon to ourselves.” You giggle, moving to lay on your back with Billy hovering over you.

“I'll take you to see the sunset on that beach you like. Completely desert.” He says in a low voice. “If we survive your parents.”

“We already did.” Kissing him, you move to lie on top of him. “It'll be at this super expensive, fancy restaurant, so it means they won't yell at me or put on a show.”

“Sometimes I think you should consider what you're giving up.” He gets sad suddenly, sighing. You know what he's thinking about, and it will take time for Billy to see and understand this is what you really want.

“I'm giving up a huge house I never felt like it was mine. Lots of money that never brought me happiness.” In between the words, you place kisses all over his face. “But what I'm getting...? God, it's amazing.” Sitting up, you straddle his hips. “I got real friends now, and a home. And an awesome boyfriend who doesn't compare to the assholes on my parents' list.”

“I'm so happy I'm around to see the good daughter rebelling.” He sits up too, strong arms encircling your waist. “You look so good, little rebel.”

“You're just saying that because I'm wearing your shirt.” Wrapping your arms around his neck, you raise an eyebrow. Yesterday, you decided to pick one of his shirts to put on instead of your regular pajamas.

“Babe, you look good on everything. But I gotta admit seeing you wearing my clothes is very hot.”

Smiling, you can't help but blush. “We still have a few hours, so I think we can maybe make out for a while?” Biting your lip at his smirk, you giggle.

“Starting the day off with good ideas already.” He mutters, holding you up and throwing you back on the mattress. “This is the first day of the rest of your lives, you know that, right? Because I'm never letting you go. Unless you get tired of me.”

“I don't think I'll ever get tired of you, so yes...” Caressing his cheek, you take a deep breath, the sunlight illuminating his face. “The very first day of the rest of our lives.”

•••

The morning bliss had to be interrupted. But, as you sit across from your mother at the restaurant, you don't feel scared, or nervous. You feel perfectly fine. You're not dressed for this place, you can see it in your mother's eyes, but you don't care. You like the clothes you're wearing, and your mother's disgusting stare makes you chuckle under your breath. Making yourself comfortable, you ignore the silence. Nobody is saying anything, and your father has been staring at Billy as if he could kill him with his stare.

“So... I believe you want an explanation.” You start, cupping your hands together above the table. “Billy and I are dating. And I'll be living with him.”

“Is it some kind of joke?” Your mother interrupts, leaning closer. “You can't possibly think I'll believe you'll do that.” You're about to say something when she raises a hand, and you shut your mouth. “I get it, (Y/N). Billy is good looking, he has this appeal, he's different from the guys you're used to, rougher around the edges, I get all that. But this? This is insane.”

It's only a matter of time for the insults to begin, you're aware of that. “That's not all, mother.” You add, not even considering giving her a proper answer. “I'm not going to course Law anymore. I'll look for something I actually like. And go to the public University.”

“What the–”

“I have a good job now, at a store of diving equipment and I love it.” Cutting your father short, you raise your voice just a little. “That's my life now. I'm not going back to the house, but I want you both to know that I'll visit, of course, and you can visit me whenever you want and–”

“I'm not going to let you throw your entire life on the trash because of the freaking pool guy.” Your father's voice storms out, making a few people look your way. He does seem a little embarrassed, but definitely angry. “This man–” He points at Billy, and you hold his hand under the table. “–he can give you nothing. Nothing. What do you have in life, Hargrove? I shitty job, a tiny apartment. Do you think you can provide to someone like my daughter?” There it is. The insults. And, knowing exactly what Neil told Billy, you won't let your father treat him this way.

“You wanna know what Billy gave me, father?” Smiling, you begin. “He gave me a life. I never felt truly happy, never. Not in our mansion, or those fancy galas, or wearing fashionable clothes. Never. But with the pool guy, as you call him, in his tiny apartment with his lowlife friends? I finally felt something. I finally felt life was worth living.”

“Alright.” He slams his fist on the table, glancing at your mother, a mean smile on his face. “If you insist on doing this, I'll disown you.” He giggles, a hand half covering his mouth. “You won't see any cents from me anymore. Is that what you want?”

He looks like he got everything figured out. Exchanging a stare with Billy, you can tell he's worried. Does he think you'll fall for this? Squeezing his hand a little and smiling, you try to reassure him. He must feel awful, seated here, and listening to all this shit. “I–”

The waiter comes and you're cut short, waiting for your parents to order whatever they want to eat. “Oh, finally. We'll want Muffin Pan Shrimp Ragoon. Thought I'll give my kid one last decent lunch at a decent restaurant. What do you think?”

Seriously? “I can't eat that.” You think it's so obvious, but by the look on your father's face, he doesn't get it.

“What? Do you want to order something more expensive as a goodbye to your good life?”

“She's allergic to shrimp,” Billy speaks for the first time, his voice strong and deep. Both your parents look a little surprised, but soon enough recognition comes to their faces.

They completely forgot, but it doesn't bother you. You're happy Billy actually remembered it. You only mentioned it once, at the gala. “It's alright, though. We'll have lunch by the beach.” You tell them, smiling at Billy.

“Let me guess...” He dismisses the waiter with a gesture of his hand. “Sandwiches and soda?”

“Actually, yes.” Exclaiming, you stand up, and Billy does the same. It's over. You told them what's gonna happen now, and they have to make peace with that. And if your father wants to change his will and cut you out of it, so be it. “I made them myself and they're delicious.”

“For goodness sake.” Your mother mutters, running a hand through her hair. “Honey, please think this through, alright? Your house will be opened whenever you want to come back.”

“Thanks, mom. I will visit, I promise.” That said, you smile at them before turning away, hand in hand with Billy, walking away from the table.

“You better wipe off your bank account, (Y/N), because you'll never get a penny from me again!” Your father yells, and you simply wave at him, not even bothering to look back.

When you're outside, you feel light-headed, relieved. “This wasn't as bad as it could be.” You breathe out, walking to where Billy parked his car, a block away.

“Did he mean it? About disowning you?” He sounds serious, despite the smile that's on your face.

Turning around without letting go of his hand, you start walking backward. “I don't give a damn.” Speaking slowly, you wink at him, stopping suddenly and letting him come closer by himself before grabbing the collar of his shirt and tiptoeing to kiss him, sweet and slow.

“What the– (Y/N)?” Someone calls and since you do know who it is, you keep kissing Billy for a while longer. “Holy shit.”

It makes you giggle when he pulls your closer, deepening the kiss. But eventually, you have to breathe, so you break apart, a smile on your lips.

“Care to explain why the hell you're making out with the pool guy? In public?” Daniel says as you turn to face him. He has a girl with him, but you don't know who she is. He seems better, given the time he spent held hostage. “Have you lost your mind, girl?”

Sighing, you roll your eyes at him. You have a lunch date on the beach, and you don't wanna waste any more time with meaningless people. “Yeah. I'm dating the pool guy.” You tell him, shrugging your shoulders. “Actually, I'm in love with the pool guy. And now I work at a scuba diving store, so you can come up with some kind of name for me too, but you wanna know what? I don't give a damn.” Pulling Billy harder, you start walking again. “I'd love to say that we'll be seeing each other soon, but we won't. So... Goodbye, Daniel.” Turning on your heels, you leave the couple behind.

The drive to the beach is short, and instead of sitting on the sand, you chose to seat on the hood of his car. Which he now calls Lily, and you peacefully eat the sandwiches and drink the soda. You wouldn't trade it for all the money in the world. The ocean, the sunlight, the fresh wind messing with your hair. The simple food, the hood of his car... And him. Billy is certainly the best part. Having him here is indescribable, and knowing you'll go back home with him is even better.

“So... Will you help me chose something to major in?” You ask as he helps you climb off of the hood, taking your hand and starting to walk down the beach.

“Actually, I have some fresh news coming straight from Jason.” He says, a bright smile on his lips.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you stop to look at him. “What news...?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Heeler, from the store.” Billy starts, putting a strand of hair behind your ear. “They want to retire and they're thinking about passing the store over to you and Jason since they don't have any relatives. If you both agree on being associates.”

“Oh my God!” You exclaim, tiptoeing to crash your lips on his. “This is amazing.”

“Please act surprised when Jason tells you.” In a sudden motion, Billy reaches for your thighs, pulling you up and wrapping your legs around his waist. Using his shoulder for balance, you giggle. “He didn't want me to tell you but I couldn't resist.”

“This is just awesome. This is...” Taking a deep breath, you take a look at the ocean. The sound of the waves crashing is low and calming, and the way the sunlight reflects on the water shines like liquid silver. Then, you look at Billy again, his smile warming up your heart. “I love you.” You haven't said it yet, but it feels like the right time. And this is how you feel. You've never been in love before, but you know how this is how it feels. Like someone owns your whole heart. “I'm not sure if you feel the same but I just need you to know that–”

“I'm completely in love with you.” Billy cuts you off, bouncing you up a little and making the way back to his car. “I have been for a while and that scared the hell out of me.” When you reach Lily, he puts you down on the hood, remaining in between your legs. “But now... I'm sure of it. I want a life with you. A future.”

Blushing, you smile, your forehead touching Billy's. “So that thing you said about me getting to pick the kid's names...” You tease, placing a kiss on the corner of his lips.

“I mean it, if...” Pulling away from a little, he locks eyes with you. “If you don't pick something silly like the name you insisted on giving my car.”

“It's not silly!” Playfully, you try to push him away, giggling when he grabs your sides, tickling you. “Alright! Alright!” After a while you manage to stop him, his hands going back to your hips. “We'll pick names we both like. How does it sound?”

“It sounds like we're talking about kids even before getting married.”

“What?” Furrowing your eyebrows, you try to process what the hell he just said. “Sorry, I thought you heard you talking about...”

“I never felt like the type for marriage but, God, I want to marry you,” Billy exclaims, connecting his lips to yours.

You have a lot to say, a lot of things to ask, but you surrender to the kiss instead. This is all the answers you need. His lips on yours, on this paradise on Earth.

California never felt like home because home isn't a place, but a person. Billy is your home. Wherever you are, if he's with you, it's the right place. Nothing else needs to be said. The life you had before vanished like smoke in the air, and this is even better than everything you could ever dream of. Not all the money in the world can buy this moment, and you don't regret a thing. Love is far more important, and now that you found it, nothing will make you let it go.

×

@multific @dontxfearxthereaper @nope-thanks @nikkixostan @shinydixon @clockworkballerina @infinitelycharmed23 @lilred91 @moatsnow

[searchingwardrobes]

Ivory Runs Red: 4/6

Just look at this cover art by @cocohook38 !!!!! Isn’t it amazing? I just can’t stop staring at it. She is so talented and spent so much time working on this, please head over to her blog and give her some love. 

This chapter is sort of a bridge chapter (no pun intended) where we begin to discover connections between all the characters. Belle especially is tied to Emma in a surprising way. 

Massive thanks again to my beta @demisexualemmaswan​ and everyone in the @cssns​ !

Summary: When ebony flashes gold, blood runs cold. When ivory runs red, you’ll be dead. Killian Jones had heard the old rhyme his entire life. Every child did in Storybrooke, Maine. They heard it whispered in the dark at sleepovers as children; taunted as a challenge as teenagers. Killian never believed it was actually true. Until that fateful night …

Rated M for graphic depictions of violence, abusive relationships, and major character death (I mean, it’s a ghost story ya’ll, people are dead. BUT I promise, there is a happy ending. Trust me? *peeks from around a corner*)

Length: 6 chapters, complete, updated every Friday

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @xhookswenchx @let-it-raines @bethacaciakay @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @spartanguard @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @ohmakemeahercules @carpedzem @branlovestowrite @superchocovian@hollyethecurious @vvbooklady1256 @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan @itsfabianadocarmo @lassluna @distant-rose @courtorderedcake @winterbythesea @thesschesthair @killian-whump @thisonesatellite @batana54 @it-meant-something @xsajx @therooksshiningknight @gingerchangeling​

Chapter Four: Red

“Neal Gold,” Belle said, her voice trembling with excitement, “no wonder it got covered up.”

Belle struggled with an ancient tome on the top shelf in the library’s genealogy room, and Killian rushed to help her. When they set it atop the metal desk nearby, a cloud of dust billowed up. The genealogy room was hidden away in the basement too. 

“I still can’t believe Graham went to the bridge,” Belle continued. He’d never seen her so giddy with excitement. “This will show everyone Killian! You aren’t crazy!”

Killian nodded weakly. He knew it was true, and he knew that Graham getting Neal’s last name from Emma was a huge break for them, but he was starting to worry. He wanted to help Emma by solving her murder, but he also didn’t want to lose her. Didn’t ghosts linger because they had unfinished business? If he, Belle, and Graham, took care of Emma’s unfinished business, then would she . . . what? Move on to paradise? Cease to exist?

“Killy, did you hear what I said?” 

He shook the thoughts from his head and focused on Belle who stood over the huge book, her finger pointing to its binding. 

“Um, sorry. What did you say?”

“I tried to look up Swan, Emma, but the entire S section is missing.”

Belle’s fingers ran along the torn edges of several pages. Killian ran his hand wearily down his face. 

“Of course it is. So no birth certificate there either.”

“Wait a minute!” Belle exclaimed. “We know she died in 1894, and we know she was sixteen years old.”

“Which means she was born in 1878. We figured that out already. But the birth certificates from that entire year are also missing, remember?”

Belle nodded. “Yes, yes, the Gold family had money and power and were very thorough, but they may not have thought about baby announcements.”

Killian grinned. “Parents put baby announcements in the newspaper! Belle, you’re a genius!”

They ran down the short hallway to the microfilm room. Belle quickly pulled out the film for 1878 and put it in the machine. Once they figured out where the social section of the paper was located, they were able to scroll fairly quickly. And then - there it was. Just a few short lines: 

David and Mary Margaret Swan are pleased to announce the birth of their daughter, Emma Eva Swan, on October 22nd, 1878 at three o-clock in the afternoon. She is welcomed by her paternal grandmother, Ruth Elizabeth Swan, and her maternal grandfather, Leopold Blanchard.

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

“David and Mary Margaret,” Emma whispered. 

Killian tightened his hold around her shoulders and brushed a kiss against the crown of her head. “They were your parents.”

Emma nodded slowly, and he watched her facial expression under the light of the waning moon. He could practically see happy memories light up her face. 

“I remember them,” she whispered. “We didn’t have a lot of money, but we were very happy. We lived on a farm.”

She dropped her head onto Killian’s shoulder and let out a contented sigh. They remained that way for a long moment, silently watching the stars twinkle overhead. 

“She had a beautiful smile,” Emma told him quietly, “and he used to cup my head so tenderly whenever he hugged me. That’s all I remember, though. Their faces are even fuzzy in my memory.”

“I’m sorry.”

She turned in his embrace so she could look him in the eye. “Don’t be. I wouldn’t remember anything if it weren’t for you. Thank you, Killian.”

She pulled his head down gently so she could press her lips to his. They lost themselves in the passion of their kisses.

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

Killian sat with Belle once again in the library’s musty basement. Books with cracked leather bindings were piled around them: genealogy records, property records, and marriage certificates. With names and the information that Emma grew up on a farm, they were able to piece together the history of the Swan and Gold families. 

There was no evidence, however, of the Swan’s reporting their daughter was missing. In fact, aside from the birth announcement in the paper, there was no evidence that Emma Swan had existed at all. Everytime they got close, records were conveniently missing. Pages had clearly been torn out of several books, and years worth of Storybrooke Mirror and Portland Press articles were missing from the microfilm records. 

“It’s so obvious, though,” Belle exclaimed in frustration, slamming yet another large book shut. “Neal Gold falls in love with Emma Swan, a poor farmer’s daughter. His family would never approve of the relationship, so he never plans on marrying her. She’s just a good time to him.”

“I’m still a little grossed out by how old he was,” Killian muttered. 

Those records hadn’t been missing. Neal Gold was absolutely, unequivocally twenty nine years old when he met fourteen year old Emma Swan. Which made him thirty one when he got her pregnant and murdered her. 

Disgusting. 

“Belle? Did you hear me?”

His friend had gone completely pale, her finger frozen in the center of a yellowed page. Killian got up and leaned over her shoulder. 

“What’s this?”

She flipped the heavy leather volume back to the cover with a deep sigh. Killian leaned further over his shoulder and read the title out loud. 

“The Life, Impact, and Genealogy of Storybrooke’s Founding Family: The Golds. Well that’s not pretentious at all,” he snorted. Belle giggled. “By -”

He cut off, reeled back, and looked at Belle, who nodded in affirmation. “By Roderick Gaston?”

“There’s more,” Belle told him, flipping back to the page that had left her frozen. 

It was a family tree, and Killian scanned it quickly. At the top was Robert Gold, the founder of Storybrooke, with his wife Milah’s name beside his. Below that, it listed their only son: Neal Gold. He married Tamara Gold in 1894, the same year Emma died.

“Well, there’s another motive for murder,” Killian murmured, “not only did he get a teenager pregnant, he was cheating on his fiance.”

“Keep going,” Belle whispered. 

Neal and Tamara had three children: Bonnie, Felix, and Gretchen. The oldest daughter, Bonnie, had married Roderick Gaston, and they had two sons: Lewis and Mitchum Gaston.

“Wait - isn’t Mike’s dad Mitch Gaston?”

“Yes,” Belle told him softly, “and I met his grandfather once, too. His name is Roderick. I never put two and two together before, but the man was the worst snob. He kept asking who my people were and going on and on about how the Gaston’s were connected to Storybrooke’s finest families.”

“So this means that your boyfriend -”

“Is the descendant of Emma’s murderer.”

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

“Where the hell are you going?”

Killian jumped at the sound of his brother’s voice. He whirled away from the back door to find Liam standing in the kitchen with the phone in his hand. Killian could hear the loud, grating beeping of the line as it went dead. 

“Who were you talking to at 3 am?” Killian shot back. 

Liam narrowed his eyes then slowly put the phone back onto the receiver that hung on the wall. He took his time untangling the long cord before turning back to face Killian.

“Something’s happened, little brother.”

Liam’s voice was so full of fear, shock, and sadness that Killian didn’t even bother correcting him on the little brother label. 

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

The girl in the hospital bed couldn’t possibly be Belle. Her eyes were wild and darted around the room, her hair was a tangled mass around her face, and when she saw Killian she began to scream. 

“I saw her, Killy! The ghost! The blood, the blood, the blood . . .” 

Orderlies ran in and grabbed her before she could lunge from the bed. She fought them tenaciously, her back arching and her eyes rolling back in her head.

“Ivory runs red, ivory runs red. He’s dead, he’s dead.” She started to laugh maniacally as one orderly managed to get a syringe into her veins. They wrestled her to the bed and strapped her down, but she continued to speak, her words slurring. “He’s dead, dead, dead.”

She arched her back one more time, mumbling about ivory and red, shaking her head back and forth. Then she began to say the rhyme they had learned as children, singing it to a morbid little tune. 

“When ebony flashes gold, blood runs cold. When ivory runs red, you’ll be dead.”

Killian felt the blood rush from his head, leaving his skin cold in the sterile room as he watched Belle’s breaths even out. He knew the kinds of drugs running through her veins, God did he know. He also knew no one would believe her. 

Mike Gaston was dead, and Killian couldn’t muster a modicum of grief. 

[96dys]

hydrangea ; johnny seo

money makes the world turn. there was so much of it, and yet so few people ever saw it. maybe if it weren’t for the money, johnny might have acted differently. maybe his family’s badgering wouldn’t have weighed on him as much as it did. maybe he wouldn’t have taken you, because finding a wife this way wouldn’t have mattered. he didn’t like the circumstance, but he couldn’t keep himself from liking you—the dirt-poor girl who worried more about helping others than feeding herself.

ceo au

taglist: @tyongpoetry @xianxian95 @aaaaalex05

masterlist

02 | little prince

eating breakfast alone wasn't something that was very new to you, though it wasn't often that you were able to eat breakfast, let alone something this size. your stomach had begun to ache just looking at the size of the plate in front of you, but your eyes lit up in awe of the colorful array of fruits. of course, they were accompanied by an alarming amount of vitamins and supplements, just as you'd been asked to take the previous day. a glass of water was provided to help you wash it all down, which you gladly sipped on between bites.

for the sake of getting out of your bedroom, you'd asked to have your meal in the common area, though you did your best to keep yourself just as isolated. you sat with your legs crossed in front of the coffee table, mindful of the way the skirt of your pale pink dress fell upon your lap. despite being alone, you couldn't help but feel as though you were being watched at all times. the door was open but a crack, just enough for you to see staff members pass through the narrow hallway. the curtains had been pulled open, allowing the bright sunshine to wash over your figure. a peaceful silence filled the air, something you were especially fond of. jisung was very kind, but you weren't sure you'd be able to handle any more of his mindless chatter after this morning.

of course, he had offered to keep you company while you dined, but you were very quick to decline. as hard as you tried, you were unable to hide your haste, for he had just spent almost an hour talking your ear off about the most random details of the wedding to come in just two days. it had gotten to the point where you stopped trying to decide which information was important and what was not in favor of blocking it all out entirely. even as you stood under the warm stream of water flowing from the showerhead above, you could hear him muttering things to himself as he tidied up your bedroom. you most imagined this behavior was due to growing up without the presence of others his age--if anyone at all. while you did feel sympathetic toward the boy, you weren't used to the constant noise.

your previous life was fairly quiet, even at the tiny, makeshift school where you had spent all of your free time. there was always the odd occasion where a child or two would be exceptionally talkative, though most of the time the children were too malnourished to have the energy. it was a struggle to get the group to participate much at all, let alone speak amongst themselves. you tried your best to encourage your pupils to make friends with one another, but this wasn't something that was accepted with open arms. you couldn't even find it in yourself to be upset at them for this, given that your brother had been your only friend growing up; it was this way for most people you knew.

after a long day at the school, you would go home to an empty home. it was tiny and everything seemed to be falling apart, but it gave you a private space to unwind as much as you possibly could. you never cared to invite anyone over, nor did you have anyone to visit. it was lonely at first, but after a while the silence became very calming. perhaps this was because it was the only constant in your life; the only thing that would be waiting for you at home without fail. a meal was not always promised, nor was a new book to read, but there would always be a heavy silence ready to envelope you as you drifted off each night.

looking down at your plate, you noticed that it was nearly empty. oh how you wished your brother was there to fight you over what remained, like he used to when he was too young to understand how little your family truly had to go around. unless you finished your food with incredible speed, he would begin whining about how hungry he was, about how you needed to share with him. you would always shoot him a glare and questioned why he deserved to eat more than you did, which would only result in the little boy pinching the tender skin around your ankles. as you cried out in pain, he would quickly grab at the food resting atop your lap., smiling to himself as he bit into your food. this wasn't something you ever imagined yourself missing, although the change in circumstance caused the memory to become very fond.

after having your entire life uprooted against your will, you've found that many of the things you used to find so unpleasant have been on your mind. this was especially conflicting, as none of these were things you had to deal with within recent years. it almost made you sad to realize that there was nothing to your life that was worth missing; everything you cared for had been ripped from your fingers the moment all of your family members were gone. you longed not for the days you spent as an adult, but the miserable nights you spent as a child begging your father to stop yelling at you over whichever minor inconvenience had stressed him out that time.

perhaps the anger you felt toward your current situation was purely out of spite, though this only caused your heart to sink a little further down into your chest. was your life of so little meaning that you couldn't find a good reason to continue to be hateful? did you have so little back home that this new setting seemed only a little less than pleasant? the change was beyond unfair, yet you could only sigh knowing that you were likely better off here anyway. you wanted to do more--to lash out in anger, fear, or something--but you just couldn't.

a light knock floated through the air, causing you to dart your head toward the door. it had been pushed open, allowing johnny to lean against the frame. he was smiling down at you, like he was genuinely happy to see you a second time. your eyes widened ever so slightly, just enough to make him chuckle. you had been doubting his promise to make time for you everyday, so his presence came as a bit of a surprise. in all honesty, you figured that work would come first, making you an afterthought for him to tend to at the end of the day, but he was as early as he possibly could be without having interrupted your meal. it was as though he couldn't wait.

"i'm really glad to see that you've eaten," he spoke happily, glancing at your plate for a moment before returning his gaze toward your face. he could tell that you'd taken all of your vitamins as well, which made his smile widen just a bit. a wave of joy washed over him momentarily, knowing that you felt comfortable enough to do so without any resistance. he made a mental note to send someone to clean up the remains of your meal, though it wasn't like you had left much of a mess at all. "we don't have to leave now, but i'm ready whenever you are. i don't mind waiting in here for a little while if that's what you want to do."

you set your fork down on the edge of your plate and shook your head. there was nothing left for you to do here and therefore no reason to stay. standing up was a very slow process, as you had to be very cautious in your dress, but it felt nice to stretch your legs once you were able to do so. it was no surprise that you were fatigued already, but you hoped it wasn't very obvious to the man in front of you. he seemed unfazed, so you assumed he was unable to tell.

"please tell me there's less walking this time," you muttered, mostly to yourself.

johnny laughed in response as he took a step to the side, allowing you to pass through the doorway. it wasn't hard to fall in time with your lazy footsteps, yet continuing to keep your pace posed a bit of a challenge for someone with such long legs. he did his best, though he wound up a few steps ahead within a minute flat.

he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a white plastic card. he waved it around for a moment before returning it to its spot, smirking down at you.

"it's your lucky day; being with me means you get to use the elevator and not the stairs."

an elevator. you were unable to form a proper response. of course, you'd read about such a thing in a few of your old books, though you had yet to use one yourself. it wasn't very often you ever entered a building with two stories, let alone enough to warrant the installation of an elevator. you wondered why the little card was relevant, only to conclude a few moments later that it must be some sort of a key. then, you wondered why it would be restricted. if you were able to use the stairs without issue, what was the purpose of deeming the elevator off limits? if they accomplished the same thing, you would get to your intended destination regardless. maybe he felt that blocking off the stairs wasn't needed, given the likeliness of you getting lost before making it anywhere important.

for a brief minute or so, you found yourself feeling less than adequate. it wasn't that you felt an overwhelming need to impress anyone here, but it was quickly becoming evident that you truly knew so much less than he did. the rational part of your brain knew that there was no one to blame for this, and yet you couldn't help but think that you should've taken it upon yourself to learn more. just knowing how to read as fluently as you did was a feat in and of itself, but the accomplishment seemed meaningless in comparison to all the things you did not know. you didn't even want to think about how poor your math skills had to be next to his.

much to your surprise, it didn't take very long to reach the elevator either. you both stopped in front of two metal doors, causing you to stare curiously as he swiped the little card. you bit back a gasp as they pulled apart. when you were rushed down to the garden yesterday, you had assumed that these doors were different solely for decoration. remembering that johnny works in technology, you didn't feel that it would be very off to assume that he would have more of a futuristic sense of style. stepping into the little room though, you realized that this made much more sense.

each wall was mirrored, causing you to become lost in your reflection as the doors came to a close. you could see johnny press a button on the large panel to his right, though you failed to focus your attention on the action itself. you didn't bother to wrack your brain trying to figure out how the elevator began to move on its own just a few seconds later, as you were so entranced by the couple that stood before you. you were already well aware of the height difference, since it was so hard to ignore during a conversation with the man, but it was so much more interesting to see the both of you side by side. he looked like a giant standing next to your small frame.

his eyes met yours through the mirror, causing you to quickly look away. he only smiled at your response, waiting but a second more for the elevator to come to a stop at the correct floor. as the large doors slid open, he gestured for you to step out first. he wasn't worried about there being any trouble finding the library, as it was located directly across the hall. this in mind, he allowed you to lead the way, which you seemed more than happy to do.

he thought it was cute how your steps became so much lighter once the open doorway was in sight, how your eyes seemed to light up upon entering the large room. he watched as you stopped a few steps into the library, examining your features as you looked around. while he had been expecting a positive response, you surely didn't disappoint. your jaw was nearly on the floor as eyes the size of saucers scanned the maze of bookshelves.

just past the entrance was an area that resembled the common area; a large sofa sat opposite the door, which was paralleled by a coffee table of equal length. there was a chair positioned on either side, though the fourth side was left open. the furniture sat atop a beautiful floral rug, which distracted from the dull navy carpeting the rest of the room had been floored with. there were rows upon rows of shelves on the three sides in question, rows that seemed to go on for miles.

"a's start just to the right over there, i think," his voice rung in your ear, snapping you out of the book-induced trance you'd fallen into. he pointed in the general direction you needed to go, which was all the permission you needed to begin walking. you were too excited to respond, so you simply allowed him to follow your fast paced footsteps as you began searching for the book you wished to read.

you'd never seen so many books in your life, let alone all at once. your heart did jumping jacks in your chest at the realization that you could never possibly be bored here. maybe every storm cloud does have a silver lining. no matter how unhappy you might become in the future, you were certain that you would never run out of books to take your mind away from the world. you couldn't wait to get lost in each and every one.

"are you looking for anything specific?"

you could easily make out the curiosity woven into every word. his fancy shoes made a dull click clack noise against the thin carpet, the sound trailing behind you. it didn't sound like he was making an effort to match your swift pace, but then again, he didn't have to. his legs were so long, you knew he could easily match your fastest sprint with a brisk walk if he ever decided to try.

"no."

yes.

once you finally reached the aisle you were looking for, your eyes lit up. the section marked 's' was very large, but you were quick to find what you were looking for. given the letter combination, saint-exupéry happened to be toward the beginning of the section. however, it was out of your reach. even standing on the very tips of your toes, every book on the top shelf was just out of reach. sighing to yourself, you fell back on your heels.

"which one?" johnny asked, causing you to quickly turn your head.

you had been so lost in thought that the sound of his voice startled you, but his close proximity was even more surprising. there was maybe two inches between the both of you. his steady breaths felt warm against your neck even after you turned away. flustered, it took you a moment to respond. regardless of your feelings toward him, no man had ever been so close to you before; you weren't sure how to react.

"uh, it's on the top right there—the little prince," you answered finally. your voice came out a soft mumble.

he reached over your head and easily pulled your book away from the others. you assumed this was why he'd gotten so close, and you were correct. the moment he passed the book on to you was the moment he took two steps back. regardless, this did nothing to stifle the heat burning in your cheeks.

in an attempt to ignore it, you turned on your heels and began to make your way back to the lounge. he walked beside you now, most likely because he had a very good idea of where you were going. there was no reason to follow you around like a lost puppy otherwise.

"why that book?" he wondered aloud.

there was a part of his brain that worried that the question was a bit too personal, but he couldn't help himself. after watching you move through the library at such a fast pace, he had to ask. you were nearly jogging; that book had to be extremely significant to you for one reason or another. glancing down at you, he noticed that you couldn't take you eyes off of the cover.

"um..."

you allowed the sentence to fizzle out, unsure of how to begin, or if you even wanted to at all. having been pulled away from your past life, you hadn't decided whether you wanted to talk about it with anyone. you didn't have much of a story to tell, yet it still felt like something you should lock away entirely. though you didn't truly understand why, you dreaded the thought of letting anyone here get to know you. whether this was because they were undeserving or because acknowledging your past life made this one real, you didn't know.

weaving through the seemingly endless aisles, you allowed you gaze to fall upon the book again.

your brother was a bright young boy, almost too smart for his own good. he never tried to be a troublemaker—not the kind you felt the need to raise your guard around anyway—but he would risk anything to stimulate his mind. if he didn't have a book to stick his head into or a math subject to teach himself he fell into a painful state of boredom. he couldn't stand being bored; you remembered him declaring once before that not doing anything productive made him feel like his brain was rotting from the inside out.

"it's only a matter of time before it starts dripping out of my ears," he used to say.

to this day, you were able to recall in great detail the first time he got himself into trouble with your parents. he managed to drag you down with him without even trying to; your parents found you guilty before you even opened your mouth. all over a stupid book.

"it's not like he can even read it!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air.

while his intellect surpassed even the adults in your life, his age was really showing. just like any thirteen year old boy, he felt that your parents were just overreacting; that what he'd done surely didn't warrant this kind of response. after all, it wasn't like he'd truly hurt anyone. even if he really did want to, you knew he didn't have it in him. much like yours, his attacks were never physical, only verbal.

to an extent, you agreed with him. the law wasn't really enforced unless you had the money to make people care about your problems, so you doubted he would get into any real trouble. the most that could happen outside of the home would be some kind of beating from the people he'd stolen from, but you doubted they would even notice its absence. however, watching this situation unfold had begun to give you a headache and for that reason alone you felt he deserved to be punished. "you still stole it," your father shot back.

he stood his ground, arms crossed over his chest. your father was a short man, but he still managed to make himself look intimidating when he saw fit. his actions helped greatly; he had the tendency to raise his voice when things didn't go his way, or allow his eyes to narrow into a glare that would tear through anyone in his path. sometimes you hated him for being this way, but deep down you knew it wasn't his fault. working such long days with almost nothing in return was enough to drive any man crazy.

your mother though... you looked to your mother and saw nothing but disappointment painted across her face as she held the book in her hands. you frowned. for the first time in a very long time, you witnessed her express something other than exhaustion. she was so kind and caring, but she was empty. everyday was a constant fight to keep her family afloat through high tides and thunderstorms, but over the years the tiny raft she'd woven for those she loved most broke apart piece by piece. everyday you watched a tiny piece of her float far far away right along with it.

"how could you let this happen?"

you quickly averted your attention toward your father, your eyes widening as a wave of shock wracked your body. he glared down at you, but you didn't really understand why; you hadn't done anything wrong. and so you said nothing. instead, you nervously pulled at the hem of your shirt, wishing this would all go away. but this wasn't good enough. when you failed to respond, he only rose his voice even more. he pointed his finger at you accusingly, like you'd gone out and committed the crime yourself.

"you were supposed to be watching him! it's not like you have anything else to do. you don't work, can't go to school—what could you possibly have been doing that was more important than making sure your brother stayed safe at home?"

it was then that you began to cry. tears flowed down your cheeks in rivers as you tried so hard not to start hyperventilating. you never took criticism well—not when it was far from constructive. it felt like he had lunged at your throat and your windpipe was beginning to crack under the pressure. if he kept at it, you were certain you wouldn't be able to handle it at any capacity.

you refused to respond. what was the point in trying if your father wasn't even going to try to understand? how were you going to tell him that your idiot brother had managed to sneak out because you spent the day asleep on the cold, hard floor? how were you going to explain that you were so tired, that your body was so physically exhausted that there were periods of time where you were unable to stay awake during the day?

you couldn't, not when everyone else struggled just as hard as you did. you could already imagine his response, something about how he works himself to the bone and still manages to stay awake.

it was pointless.

you thought you were never going to be able to forgive your brother for that day. that night, when you were certain the rest of your family had fallen asleep, you picked the book up off of the floor where your mother had left it. it shouldn't be there; your brother shouldn't get the pleasure of reading it.

so you hid it. you remembered having to be so careful as you moved the heavy water pot, struggling to keep quiet as the lid began to gently crash into the rim. you then lifted up the broken floorboard beneath it and placed the book inside of the small opening before repositioning everything. that night, you laid next to your brother feeling content with your actions, yet no more happy overall.

for so many years, you avoided that book just as much as you did the negative memory associated with it, but after your family passed, something changed. it didn't feel like something you wanted to distance yourself from anymore, but rather something you wanted to hold close to your heart.

the first thing you did once the body collection team cleared your home was rush to the water pot. you were so hasty in trying to move it that it tipped over in the process, spilling what tiny bit of water was left all over your thighs. but holding that book in your hands, it didn't matter. there was a tiny piece of your brother you had yet to familiarize yourself with and you so desperately needed to. it felt like it was all you had left of him. for almost a month you read the book time and time again until the tears stopped; by then you had memorized the entire story word for word.

the little prince.

"someone that i used to know was really interested in it, that's all," you said finally.

you were too stuck inside your own head to notice how much time had passed, but by that point you'd reached the lounge already. the couch closest to you suddenly seemed very inviting, so much that you quickly sat down in the middle. your mind was still a bit too far away to realize what you'd done, but by that point it was too late.

johnny was left to seat himself on your right. much like before, this left very little space between the two of you. this got your attention immediately. your cheeks burned red hot as he rested his arm atop the edge of the couch behind you.

"would you mind if i read it?"

too stunned to form a proper sentence, you merely nodded and placed the book on his lap. when you took the quickest look up at him, you saw that he was smiling. it was a genuine smile, not one of those smug smirks you'd seen once or twice before. staring toward your lap now, you could see him using his free hand to quickly flip to page one.

oh. he was going to read it to you.

"you don't have to do all that," you quickly spoke up.

you did your best not to come across as rude. in reality though, you weren't sure whether or not you should've said anything at all. you had yet to decide if you were uncomfortable with someone like johnny making himself part of something so sacred, or if you were angry at yourself for letting his close proximity make you so flustered. no matter how much you tried though, you couldn't help it. it would've been this way with any boy, you told yourself, but the fact that it had to be him was so, so irritating.

the brunette scoffed lightly.

"you think i don't care enough to get to know you?" he quirked an eyebrow at you, only resulting in your gaze being averted elsewhere. a moment went by as he awaited a response that never came. "i don't want to be strangers; i want to know things about you. i think it's premature to say that things are most definitely going to be real between the two of us, but i would like to try, if you'd let me. at the very least i want to get to know you as a person. if this book is something you're into, i want to read it."

he watched as your eyes fell upon the open page. as hard as he tried, he couldn't make out the expression contorting your features. somewhere deep in his being he was hopeful you were considering what he said, though he knew not to get his hopes up. while he understood why you would do so, the idea of being wed to someone who refused to keep him any closer than arms length made him sad. while he despised it, it happened to be the normalcy and there was nothing he was able to do about it.

almost pleading with you, he quietly added, "for me? you can sleep for all i care; just entertain me for the rest of the hour, please."

very hesitantly, you nodded and allowed him to wrap his arm around your shoulders. he then pulled you close, causing your breath to catch in your throat for a moment. never before had you been held this way, nor had you witnessed your mother in such a position; this type of intimacy was something you'd only ever encountered in the few fairytales you'd been able to read in your youth.

as he began to read in that oh so soft tone, you found yourself lost in thought. the more you tried to think of an occurrence where this scenario had been normalized during your childhood, the less you were able to come up with. it would be humorous to call what you were required to have with johnny love, and yet it was likely the closest you would ever come to such a thing in your life time. marriage was more out of necessity than anything, you had come to realize--especially for women. each person was allowed to interpret societal norms however they so chose, though you felt that marriage offered women a degree of safety that living alone was unable to, while men were given sex and children in exchange. in all your years, you had yet to come across a couple that seemed to truly love one another beyond this platonic agreement.

having been a woman that had grown used to living alone, you understood the need for a man in the house. it wasn't that you were very strong on ancient gender roles, but that you had been forced to live with such extreme anxiety at all times. what few policemen there were didn't care about any crime that didn't have the potential to pad their pockets, so young women were often assaulted late at night on the lookout for whatever scraps of food they might be able to find and eat. even going out during the day made you nervous at times, depending on who was in sight. you'd even made a mental catalogue of which neighbors seemed especially sketchy and why, as you had learned not to trust anyone. living seemed to become extremely dangerous after your father passed away.

your eyes began to flutter closed as his low voice hung in your ear. being endlessly tired was not something that was new to you, for each and every day you felt as though you could sleep for hours and wake up feeling like your limbs were packed full of sand. the man beside you wasn't helping either; the steady sound of his heartbeat was the perfect backdrop to your thoughts. perhaps he noticed, though you couldn't be bothered to open your eyes in order to check. instead, you allowed him to slowly brush his palm over your head, almost as if he was petting you. it was endearing in a way, though you would never say so out loud.

counting down the days, you realized there weren't too many left until the wedding to come. jisung had brought it up earlier, but the subject matter made you uneasy, so you did your best to tune it out, just as you did the rest of his blather. normally you soak up information like a sponge, but the young boy had begun to babble about who all he thought was attending, which wasn't something you cared to know. the thought of being trapped in a room with at least half of the world's most wealthy made a knot tie itself oh so tight within your stomach. not because you felt the need to impress any of these people, but because you had spent your entire life drowning in poverty while these people had very little to worry about. your main concern was finding a way to keep from choking one of them to death on your way down the aisle.

on top of that, it sounded as if the majority of the relatives that were to be in attendance didn't like the idea of your marriage in general. jisung had recalled chatting with a young servant named yeri over lunch, who apparently dealt with all of the invitations. he relayed that she was tasked with calling each household personally, so she was able to get a feel of how they had received the news. as he ran the brush through your wild locks, he snickered and told you not to worry about johnny's family, as she told him that over half of those she spoke with sounded very irritated.

"i think it's about the money, honestly," he'd laughed. his slender fingers then wove themselves through your hair, parting it in three at the nape of your neck. "that's really weird to think about, isn't it? maybe i've just been poor for so long that money doesn't really seem like something to pine over, but i think it's kind of ridiculous when people that have more money than i'll ever know what to do with are so upset that they're not able to come into more of it.'

in a way, you thought the boy was right. while you felt that greed was almost amusing coming from those who already have a great deal of money, you understood the need to pine over it. you couldn't even count the amount of times you had gone to bed hungry, as well as had to function starving the next day. even just a few dollars would've been able to keep you fed, even if only for the smallest period of time. maybe the issue wasn't that jisung had been poor for so long, but that he had all of his needs met for such a long while. in all honesty, you understood the want to fight tooth and nail for every dollar that came your way, as much as it pained you to admit.

suddenly, you felt johnny's chest move beneath you, quickly rising and falling as a gentle chuckle escaped his lips. even still, you pretended to be asleep.

"what's wrong?" he questioned, nudging you slightly. "you're gonna give yourself wrinkles or something."

you swore under your breathe. your features relaxed then. every crease in your forehead slowly evened out, then the rest of your face fell in line too. it wasn't something that you'd done consciously, though you did understand why he would question such a thing. you weren't entirely sure what it must've looked like, but judging from his reaction, you were likely pouting like a child.

"how long until we have to get married?" you asked, peeling both of your eyes open.

"two days," he responded simply.

looking at the book in his lap, you noticed that he had gotten through a handful of pages. telling time had never been something you were very good at, but you guessed it had been at least ten or fifteen minutes since he had began. that was the beauty of being lost inside your head, you thought. you were free from the confinement of time, as it mattered very little when you had other things popping out of every little nook and cranny your brain had to offer. there was always something new to dissect and pick apart without having to worry about how much time you were wasting. it was nice, especially when wasting your time with him meant he was unable to bother you for very long.

instead of awaiting a response he knew would never come, he simply joked, "why, are you excited?"

"i'm thinking," you said, turning to look up at him.

you weren't sure if you wanted to continue. you weren't sure if you wanted to let him in, to let him know what was on your mind. there was a lot on your mind. the thought of being kept here forever with no one to talk to on a deeper level than the gossip jisung liked to bring to your vanity made you sad, though it wasn't like you were having very deep conversations with the kindergarteners you taught back home. however, the brunette's actions irritated you to no end. you were afraid that letting him in would mean to let go of what he had done, which wasn't something that you were ready to do yet. you weren't sure it would ever be something you were going to do.

the hardest part to grasp was that jisung had been right; as much as you wanted to hate the man for his means of getting you there, you would never be able to hate him for putting clothes on your body and food in your mouth. thinking back to the large breakfast you had woken up to that morning, you frowned. you tried and tried, but you couldn't be upset about that. sighing to yourself, you finally came to terms with the fact that finding comfort in another person wouldn't be so terrible, since you were unable to go anywhere else. it was a given that you would be exceptionally picky with what information you felt he was worthy of having access to, but baby steps wouldn't hurt.

however, you really did like his nervousness, at least in the sense that he knew better than to pry. he waited silently for you to continue, still absentmindedly petting the top of your head. he had been timid about such an action at first, but once he realized you weren't going to bite his hand off, he became more confident about continuing. he had a very soft smile tugging at his plump lips, though you could see the angst hiding in those chocolate brown eyes. it was as if he wasn't sure of what you were going to say, like that scared him.

truthfully, it did. johnny's biggest fear was that you would never get over any kind of resentment toward him you may have. this was a feeling he understood, and he very much understood why you would be feeling this way toward him, but he at least hoped the both of you would be able to find some kind of middle ground. he was just as fond of the arrangement as you were; maybe even more so, since he had grown up watching it play out before his eyes.

his mother never really did overcome her hatred for his father. perhaps this was because times were different when she was younger. she had the pleasure of experiencing life before the war; she knew freedom without having poverty cripple the entirety of her family. even in the midst of the violence and war, she still found a way to be happy without having to rely on money to do so. because of this, being pulled away from her parents crushed her. she wasn't like you; she didn't find comfort in a full belly, nor did she see it as a reason to excuse what had happened to her. she loved her son very much, though she never even made an attempt to hide the fact that she cared for her husband very little. in fact, johnny often suspected that she only agreed to have a child as a form of escapism. he always wondered if that was why she insisted on spending all of her free time with him, even while he was being pestered by countless tutors.

maybe it was selfish to wish for you to get over a traumatic experience in order to be happy with him, but he didn't know any other way of living. what he wanted more than anything was for you to be happy, though he didn't think this was something he would be able to communicate correctly without making a pig of himself. he understood the severity of the culture difference between the both of you and didn't want to come across as arrogant, especially because he knew that he was. he didn't intend to be, but he wasn't naïve.

"i want to hate you so badly," you admitted finally. for once, you locked eyes with him. you wanted him to see you, to know that you weren't exaggerating in order to toy with his nerves. perhaps you didn't know the first thing about talking to boys, but you knew a great deal about communicating your feelings to the emotionally ignorant. you often had conversations of this nature with you brother when he grew old enough, as you found that talking took far less energy than fighting did. the man stopped petting you then, his hand simply resting at the nape of your neck. you rolled your eyes, watching him squirm a little in his seat. "you can keep doing that thing if you want, it doesn't really bother me one way or another. even if it did, i think i could punch you in the face and you probably wouldn't do anything violent to retaliate; i probably would've done that by now."

he wanted to argue, but he knew he couldn't. you were right. even if he hated you with every fiber of his being, he could never bring himself to raise a hand to a woman. just the mere thought of what he had to do to you already made him sick to his stomach. instead, he simply began his hand motions once more.

"i want to hate you so badly," you repeated, huffing a bit. your eyes drifted off, directing your glare at whichever bookshelf you spotted first. "i've been thinking about it a lot and i don't think you have any idea how much it hurts that for the life of me i haven't been able to find a way to make you into more than just a minor annoyance. i'm irritated at the circumstances of our meeting, but the more i think about it, the less i'm able to find you terrible. you should repulse me, but really, what did i have waiting for me back home? loneliness and starvation? i try to remember that i was making something of myself by educating children that weren't able to bathe most days, let alone pick up a book on their own, but it seems a little bittersweet when the skeleton i see in the mirror is all i have to show for it. i want to hate your guts for what you did, but how can i when you've given me everything i never had?"

this time, he pulled away completely. he recognized your hurt, yet he was unsure about what to do in response. he knew that honesty was in order, but these were not the kinds of conversations he was accustomed to. johnny was taught to suppress his feelings as opposed to expressing them, as his father thought that to share one's inner feelings was a very feminine thing to do. even i love you's were assumed and not spoken. an attempt was made in explaining his point of view on your journey to his home, but even then, he had barely scratched the surface of what was buried deep in his heart.

"i'm sorry for that," he began, his features slowly contorting with the first wave of distress that wracked his brain. "i'm not really sure what to say aside from that. i understand that you're upset and i understand why, honestly. i figured you would be, which i guess is why i've been trying to overcompensate with material items. i don't know if that makes me even more of a shitty person, but i figured that the least i can do is make sure you have what you need... i'm not going to sit here and pretend like i'm your savior for doing that, nor am i going to force you to like me. do i want you to? of course i do. i hope we can be friends at the very least, but i'm always going to respect your wants and-"

"don't you have a job to be getting back to?"

you wanted to scream. he was making it so hard by being a decent person, so much that you had half a mind to punch him square in the nose. you knew it was terrible to wish he were a worse person, but it would make your frustration so much more valid. it was very clear that his intention wasn't to confuse you even further, but that was the result regardless. you weren't sure where you stood, only that the ground you wished to be upon was very far out of reach.

he shook his head, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. while he was sure your irritation was very genuine, he was relieved to see that it wasn't likely to grow into something more. the last thing he wanted to do was dig himself a deeper hole to fall into.

"i don't have to do anything; it's more that i choose to get up and go to work everyday. if i really wanted to, i could easily appoint someone to take on my workload without losing any personal profit," he explained, closing the book in his lap and placing it on the coffee table. not only did he want to cut your date short before your annoyance really began to blossom, he could see how tired you'd become. keeping this in mind, he was slow to stand up and extend a hand toward you. there was a fleeting look of hesitance that washed over the irises of your eyes, but you took it nonetheless. while helping you to your feet, he continued. "i like my job--the techy stuff, anyway. having to be the bad guy all the time is honestly really stressful, but i guess that's just part of the package, right?"

though it felt like the question was directed more toward himself than anything, you took it upon yourself to answer anyway. your hand still resting in his, you allowed him to guide you back to the elevator.

"not necessarily," you responded, watching as he swiped his keycard once more. following him into the elevator, you took a few seconds to piece together the rest of your thoughts. it wasn't very easy given how little you knew about what it was he did at work, but you felt that his mindset was very flawed regardless of his job title. "if you're really as in charge as you claim to be, i don't understand why it has to be so terrible for the people that work for you, if that's what you're trying to say."

"you don't get it," he muttered softly.

he used his index finger to press another one of the shiny metal buttons on the panel before him. while doing so, he did his best to avoid your gaze. he didn't even want to think about how he must've sounded complaining about such problems, as they seemed so silly in retrospect. he felt so guilty complaining about the way he happened to make his money knowing you came from the situation you did. in a way, he felt like he had slapped you across the face, though he would never even dream of doing such a thing.

"no, i don't," you quipped. your voice was very level, yet you couldn't help but let go of his hand. it seemed like he wasn't really in the mood to hold yours any more than you were his. "i don't know anything about science, or engineering, or even how to count without using my fingers, but i know what it's like to be poor. my father worked for someone like you. one days worth of your earnings could probably feed a family like mine for at least a week, but instead big companies throw pennies at their workers and demand that we make it stretch far enough. maybe other decisions wouldn't feel so weighted if you knew your employees were going home to more than scraps from the garbage, but you're choosing not to find that out."

johnny remained silent. there was nothing he could say to refute your argument; you were right. this was an issue that was far easier to avoid before your arrival, especially now that you were choosing to voice your concerns. the money his business produced made it very easy to ignore the conditions certain staff members were likely living in. in all honesty, he'd never even given it much thought. his father had always preached that they were not responsible for anything that went on outside of the workplace, though he was neglecting to take into account that the things they provided during work hours directly contributed to everything that took place before and after. he felt ashamed now, having this thrown back in his face.

"you're right. i'm sorry."

the elevator opened up after what felt like forever, much to your relief. after taking two steps forward, it felt like the man had wrapped his hands around both of your ankles and dragged you back ten. you were well aware that the difference in upbringings might make conversation a bit difficult at times, but you weren't expecting him to be so ignorant to the state of the world beyond the little bubble he existed in. all it served to do was dull what little sparkle had managed to find you today.

"i think i remember how to get back to my room from here," you promptly informed him.

"you're sure?" he asked softly, to which you merely nodded.

you didn't know if there was really anything left to say. you were far too exhausted to entertain him any longer; all you wanted to do was fall into bed and sleep until you no longer felt the tiny pinprick of sadness in your chest. 

perhaps tomorrow he would manage to redeem himself, you told yourself. after all, he'd already made it very clear that he had more than enough money to do so.

author’s note: i’m so sorry this took so long ): i’ve really been struggling with my mental health lately, but i’m going to do my best to be more consistent with my uploads. please let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist (:

[alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom]

THE MASTERPIECE: CHAPTER 2/5

Pairing: Modern!IVAR x Reader x Modern!HVITSERK

Warnings: strong language, mentions of torture and the warning that you’ve all been waiting for -> SMUT, unprotected sex, NSFW

Spotify playlist: here (only for those who like latin urban music)

Words: 2682

a/n: This MASTERPIECE was so much fun. It was such an honor to do this with you @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie, you are so talented! Every hour of writing and editing was definitely worth it!

Summary:

Ivar and Hvitserk had always prided themselves in being the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok. They had a comfortable life full of everything they wanted: houses, cars, money, and the most beautiful women. And with all of that came the security of always having the upper hand. But what happens when a bewitching girl from Ragnar’s past arrives into their lives claiming his fortune?

1 month later

When the waitress set down the two black coffees on the table, Ivar raised his eyes to study his brother’s face. “Why did you call me here? Are you finally going to tell me what she did? I know it was her you were seeing!”

“What? No! What are you talking about?”

Since Hvitserk stayed in silence, Ivar pressured him. “Brother, I saw Y/N’s underwear in your room, you can’t try to fucking deny it...”

“Oh really? So, explain to me how you know that it’s her underwear, dear brother? I know a lot more than you think. How come you spent the entire night in her home the day after she signed those papers? I didn’t know that your ‘business meeting’ had to be sofucking long and that you were going to get hickeys from it.”

“How do you know about that?” Ivar cleared his parched throat.

“Our chauffeur told me. Or rather I made him tell me.” He grinned wickedly.

When Ivar stared at him blankly, his sibling explained: “My knife needed to be sharpened, and I thought his throat might have been a good place to practice.” Hvitserk said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Ivar exhaled annoyed at Hvitserk’s antics. He had a habit of getting the family name in trouble with petty lawsuits. “If he sues us like the last guy that we fired...”

“Relax. He won’t. Start talkin’.”

Ivar hated to be the one showing his cards so soon at the beginning of their conversation. He always liked to have the advantage, letting other people speak first so he could turn their words on them but still, he agreed to go first. “Okay.”

He let the words pour out from his mouth, recounting the first time they’d ever seen her in their lawyer's office and how they followed her back to her house that first night.

“So, we agree on everything that happened until then?”

“Yes.” Ivar concurred.

“And what happened after?” Hvitserk took a sip of his coffee and leaned back.

“Well, I spent the entire day thinking about father and his decision. Just... running through every possible scenario in my head but I still couldn’t understand. By dinner time, I couldn’t handle the frustration anymore so I called the lawyer, fed him some lie and he gave me her number. I reached out to her and she didn’t want to talk to me at first, obviously, but...”

~~·······~~

“Please don’t hang up! Just give me two seconds! It’s me, Ivar!”

“Wrong number. I don’t know anyone by that name. Bye.”

Ivar could only hear the mocking beep of the dead line and he felt incredibly stupid. But he couldn’t just leave it like that so he made his chauffeur drop him off in secret and leave. And there he was again, in front of her house. He knocked on her door and stood some feet away from it in case she came out and slammed it as she’d done on Hvitserk. His knees were shaking.

Why is this girl making me so nervous?

Possibly because he had never been rejected. His money was a guarding shield whenever he wanted to impress a woman and have her forget about his messed-up legs. But now that he’d lost all of it to her, his defenses had been weakened.

Y/N opened the door and she was immediately annoyed by seeing him again.

Suddenly, he forgot what he wanted to say. “I- I’m Ivar.” He stuttered pathetically.

“You?” She raised her eyebrows. “You are Ivar? The one who called me? Have you lost something or what is the matter now?” She really didn’t care for his answer, but she still felt compelled to talk to him. Maybe she could have a bit of fun and toy around with him for a while.

“Can’t you give me five minutes of your time? Please? I need answers.” He bowed his head and dried his sweaty hands on his pants, hoping her eyes wouldn’t notice.

“Five minutes and not a second more!” Y/N took a step to the side and let him in. “Where is your brother? He’s your brother, right?” She walked into the living room and Ivar followed her.

“Yeah... he doesn’t know that I’m here. I wanted to do this alone.”

She ordered him to sit down as she stood in the kitchen with her arms crossed. “So, talk now. Your time is running out.”

Ivar wanted to wait until she sat down too, but she clearly wasn’t going to. The awkwardness only increased by the second so he just jumped straight to business. “My father and I had a very close relationship. I can’t understand why he planned all of this in secret. I mean, the Lothbrok-Sigurdsdottir empire is highly regarded. He was a hard-working man, very appreciated by others... It makes no sense that he would leave all of his belongings to you... I mean, who are you even? You never introduced yourself to us and father never mentioned you.”

Y/N gritted her teeth to try and push down the rage she felt at the mention of Ragnar’s name.

“Well, despite that, I’m sure he loved you,” Y/N said ignoring his question. Still, she was a bit moved by his words. His baby blue eyes seemed honest enough. She walked to her kitchen to serve two glasses of chilled wine and began to be interested in what he was saying. “This is for you, let’s have a drink… I won’t tell anyone that you were here. Promise.” She sat to his side, leaned into his space, and stroked his hand with her thumb. “Can I tell you something?”

Ivar took a sip of the wine, gulping it loudly. “Yeah.”

“You are a very attractive man, Ivar. I feel that we should get to know each other.” She bit her lip and moved closer to him. “See it as a thank you for your trust...” Her fingertips traced the skin on his toned arm.

Ivar blushed like a schoolboy. “I think I should go. My five minutes are over.” He got up and put the glass on the coffee table. “Thank you for your time. Maybe we could see each other again and talk about a compromise. In the meantime, think about it.” He didn’t want to make her angry again. It was strange, the way he felt around her...

“Ivar, wait. I mean it, I want to know you better. Why don’t you stay?”

He’d already reached her dining table on his way to the door when Y/N closed the distance between them effortlessly to squeeze her body against his until she was close enough to catch a whiff of the slight smell of wine that perfumed his breath.

“Then I could tell you everything about me. Isn’t that the reason why you’re here?” She purred with a sultry voice and a devious smile.

Ivar closed his eyes but didn’t dare to kiss her. Instead, he gripped her waist, and her dress creased in his hands.

Without wasting much time, she pinned her lips against his, profiting from his nervousness.

Y/N sat down on the table, her ass crumpling some stray documents but she didn’t care. She hooked her legs around his hips to draw him closer.

“Who are you?” He mumbled confusedly before she hushed him up.

She undid his belt and pulled his pants down as far as necessary to get to his cock.

“Y/N, I have to tell you something.”

“Later.” She grabbed him by his shirt to pull him closer and kiss him roughly.

“I can’t…” He held her hand in place to stop her.

Y/N guided his hands over her breasts, kneading them. “Trust me”. The snaps on her dress made it easy to slide it off.

She noticed Ivar’s passive behavior. “Would you prefer to sit?” She pointed to the sofa giving him a seductive look.

Ivar felt very insecure.

What if I can’t please her? Will she still like me? I’m not like other men... How should I tell her? Or does she know that already?

He nodded shyly and she entwined her fingers with his hand to lead him back to the sofa. He was relieved over the fact that they were alone. No one could ever find out about how pathetically he’d been acting around her.

She crawled on top of him looking deep into his stunning blue eyes, eyeing him hungrily. His lamblike attitude made her shiver and her cunt throbbed. It felt good to have the upper hand. She finally slipped off her dress completely and threw it to the floor.

Ivar gulped when he saw her lusty gaze.

She took off his shirt and ran her palm slowly over his upper body to feel each of his solid muscles twitching for her.

Ivar’s skin turned to gooseflesh and he moaned ever so softly. He followed Y/N’s lazy hand with his gaze.

She reached his shaft and he almost stopped breathing.

He closed his eyes as she dropped her head against his forehead.

She squeezed his semi-hard cock. “I’ve been thinking about this moment ever since I saw you standing at the door.” She wrapped her hand around it and stroked him from the base to the tip and back down again. Her tongue brushed over his lip and slipped into his mouth to chase his.

Dear Odin, this girl could kiss.

Her sensitive pussy rubbed against his stiff cock. He had no clue how she’d made him so hard in so little time and smirked when he realized what was going on.

Y/N put her panties aside inconspicuously and placed the tip of his dick in front of her soaking wet entrance, rubbing in quick circles.

Ivar clenched his teeth to prevent himself from moaning again. She tossed her head back, feeling her walls sink around his cock. His gaze was focused on her face.

Ivar was stretching her pussy and a harsh moan escaped her mouth. She had her eyes closed and her whimper made it sound as if he were hurting her, which unsettled him.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Ivar held her hips tightly against his crotch.

“Aren’t we at it already?” She tried to continue but he still held her in place. “You better start touching me instead of talking so much, Ivar.” She hissed against his ear, biting it.

He nodded but didn’t know what to do with his hands. He felt under pressure to please her.

Y/N put her hands on his chest to ground herself. Her hips moved like waves; with every movement his cock sank deeper and deeper. She did it carefully so as not to hurt him and eventually, Ivar loosened up. She pressed her torso against his and her bare tits rubbed against his chest and he grunted a low growl.

Ivar pushed Y/N’s hair away over her shoulder and nibbled on the soft skin of her neck. His lips moved to her collarbone, sinking his teeth deep into it, making sure that the imprints would stay long. His hands caressed her breasts, sliding down her belly, close to her mound but never so close as she wanted.

Y/N heard his hoarse moans and increased the pace, making Ivar forget about his disability and his every insecurity.

He was breathing heavily and his body tensed. His thighs twitched and she knew that he was coming as he let out a guttural moan while he spilled himself inside her. He was too shy to moan her name loudly.

She kept up the rhythm chasing her own release while Ivar’s fingertips sank painfully deep into her waist. She was so close. Y/N’s hands tangled into his long hair pulling his face closer to hers, needing more of his delicious tongue. She could definitely see his appeal.

Ivar’s brisk and urgent kisses triggered her orgasm, making her open her mouth to gasp for air. She opened her eyes, feeling dizzy and pleased.

Ivar’s eyes, in turn, glinted with satisfaction. It had been a long time since somebody had blown him away the way that she had. He’d never met a woman who contradicted him and even rarer still, one that was brave enough to order him around.

“Do you have a towel nearby? I think we made a mess.” He said out of breath, smiling coyly and staring at her perfect breasts.

She took a pillow and covered herself with it. Ivar’s cum ran down her legs as she stood up to look up for the towel and his face flooded with blood with the knowledge that he’d been the culprit.

“Hey, catch it!” She tossed a small towel to him and disappeared into the bathroom.

~~·······~~

“You're staying here tonight.” It was more of a statement than a question. They were sitting on her bed as she ran a comb over the strands of her wet hair.

“Doesn’t it bother you though? I can sleep over there if you want to.” Ivar pointed to the living room. He had never stayed with a woman overnight. It was a rule to keep himself from falling in love with them.

“We fucked less than fifteen minutes ago and then you stared at my tits for another fifteen

minutes-” Y/N exaggerated with a smile, wagging her comb. “-and now you dare to ask me if I mind that you sleep in my bed?” Her good-smelling hair dripped fragrant drops onto his thigh. “Of course, you can. I want to fall asleep in your arms... I want to feel safe, Ivar.”

Her words made him soft inside and awakened his protective instinct. Ivar didn’t notice the wicked glint in her eyes because he was too busy placing a sweet kiss on her forehead.

~~·······~~

Ivar was woken up by the smell of coffee. He strolled to the kitchen where the most beautiful woman he’d ever come across was standing. Her blue silk dressing gown matched the color of his eyes.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.” She giggled.

“I- I have to go home. Hvitserk is waiting for me. You can imagine that my brothers would not be happy if they find out that I stayed the night here... And even less if they knew what we did.” He gave her a little kiss near her lips, hoping she wouldn’t get mad because he was leaving. “But can we meet again soon?” He took a sip of the hot coffee she offered him.

“Maybe… I’ll call you, ok?”

Ivar put his jacket on and glanced at her one last time; he wanted to memorize every inch of her face.

“Ivar... Thank you for the nice evening yesterday.” She caressed his cheek. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about us.” Her lips twitched upward.

~~·······~~

Y/N’s POV

Dear diary,

For some reason, Ragnar wanted meto be his successor. The same Ragnar who left me behind one day without bothering to think of my feelings. I spent the longest days in my life sad and alone, wishing I could change things. At first, Ragnar treated me like a queen, but then he banished me from his life like a worthless slave.

And now, these two handsome naïve boys will help me carry out my revenge. They are nothing but arrogant rich kids who don't know what hard work and suffering really mean. They don’t deserve his inheritance so I will definitely not share it.

I can’t believe Ivar the Boneless, the ruthless heir of Ragnar, the most terrifying of all brothers, the merciless rough son that everyone always talked about... is actually a tamed puppy.

He was still asleep when I saw the message Hvitserk sent him. Lucky for me, I wrote down his number. It was as if the gods wanted me to meet with him too.

Can’t wait to make him putty on my hands as well.