#somehow i did not have to cut off any elbows...a miracle!!!

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The way I am EATING up your “Hand Her Over” series ahdkdjaklsdj 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼 your Ran parts are so SO spot on, exactly how I envision him dealing with it, we need moreeeeee!!!! (please🥺)

Hand Her Over I (Part 6): Ran Haitani x Fem!Reader

wc: 1.7k

tw: lots of fluff

masterlist

Hand Her Over Megapost

It's quiet.

Ran awakens right before dawn, his arms around your body and his face nuzzles your neck. With a deep inhale, he takes in your sweet scent before gently disentangling himself from you.

It's difficult - undoing himself from his protective posture - but somehow, he's able to do it without waking you. You don't even stir, and Ran's feet press against the carpet gently. It isn't until he's unfolded himself and crept into the bathroom that he realizes...

She slept through the night.

The realization doesn't blow him away at first, but then, as he stands in front of the mirror, he feels his entire body un-tense. By some miracle, the weight that used to sag on his shoulders day in and day out has lightened a bit.

Ran racks his brain for any memory of what he did last night before you went to bed. You both read a novel you'd picked out, creating a sort of book club for two. He'd massaged your feet as you told him about your day, and then put on the white noise you love so much as you fell asleep in his embrace. Nothing out of the usual was done. He'd even ordered takeout for dinner, nothing special.

So, maybe... just maybe...

Ran doesn't let his hope bloom too quickly, though. His hands turn the knobs of the tub's faucet, and water trickles out before becoming a more substantial - but quiet - stream. Making a bath for you is a treasured ritual, one that has given Ran a very easy start to the morning.

In a few minutes, the white noise would fade away, and you'd awaken before joining him in the bathroom. You'd give him sleepy kisses and whisper your daily greetings, and he'd repeat them back to you as he helped you out of your clothing.

He remembers the hurried mornings when he was in Bonten; the mornings that were filled with hisses of stubbed toes, stumbling into the kitchen to find something to eat, the urges to leave without kissing you goodbye so he could make it to the never-ending slew of meetings...

But now, he doesn't have to do that anymore. And he's fucking glad.

Your grunts and moans tear Ran away from his thoughts, and he peers at you, stretching and grumbling and perfect. But you're still sleepy. He can see it in the way your head aches to lay back on the pillow, in the way your eyes are still closed and praying for a few more minutes of rest.

"Good morning," Ran murmurs and you turn to him, eyes still closed. "Did you sleep well?"

"I slept so good," you croak, and Ran grins lazily. "Want some more sleep, though."

"I can stop the bath," he offers, then turns to shut the faucet off. That never really mattered anyway. Ran joins you in the bed, letting your head rest on his crease of his elbow. "You slept straight through the night," he notes, and you open your eyes, shocked.

"You're lying."

"Not," he replies, tapping your nose with one finger. "You didn't even wake up when I got out of the bed." Ran can see the hope blooming behind your own eyes, and he tries with all of his might to stuff his back down. This could just be a fluke. You might go back to the crying fits tonight, and then, he'd be right back at square one. Still devastated.

"You think," you begin, but it's cut off by a long yawn. "You think we can go to the bakery downtown for breakfast?"

"Of course," Ran whispers, kissing your forehead and pulling you close. "Whatever you want." You hum and fall back asleep, your hands bunched up in Ran's shirt.

"You should grow your hair back out." Ran stops mid-bite.

"Huh?"

"Your hair," you murmur, pointing your fork at his head. "You should grow it out again." Ran chuckles, trying not to think about himself with long purple hair.

"And have a purple, long-haired husband?" He shakes his head gently, Rindou's hair flashing in his mind. They only had a similar haircut one time for a reason. "I don't think so."

"You don't have to dye it again," you add, shrugging. "Could grow your roots out and cut it like you have it now." When you shrug again, Ran watches the straps of the sundress slide around on your shoulders. And he can't help but think - mid-conversation, no less - how beautiful you'd look if they inched down a little, and--

"Would you two like anything else?" Ran's gaze moves to the waiter, and he looks between the two of you.

"Can I have another strawberry smoothie?" you ask, and the waiter nods before looking at Ran.

"I'm alright, thanks." Once the waiter is gone, Ran looks back over to you, and he watches the way your red lips curl around the straw. It's not sexual in any way but Ran can't help but think about how lucky he is.

"Have I told you lately that I love you?" You look up at Ran in surprise, and your face brightens immediately. And it takes his fucking breath away.

"You tell me all the time, my love," you reply sweetly. "Why? Are you forgetting that you love me?" You're teasing, but Ran's heart still skips a beat.

"No," he breathes, taking your hand in his. "I'm just making sure I tell you often." He kisses your fingers, noting that they're a little cold, then he warms them up with his own fingers. You smile even more.

"Can I tell you something?" you whisper, a mischievous look in your eyes.

"I love secrets," Ran jokes, leaning forward. You lean forward and Ran expects you to whisper something scandalous, but you kiss his lips instead. The waiter comes by right at that moment, but if he hadn't, Ran would have said something absolutely scandalous.

He's still considering it as you both walk out of the bakery hand in hand. "You know what," he begins, looking at the colorful window display in a boutique shop. "We could make a few stops on the way home..."

"Yeah?" You follow his gaze, and smirk. "Shopping?"

"Maybe..."

Ran's devious plan comes together in the dressing room of the boutique, his hands roaming up your thighs in an exaggerated way. The garters brush against his fingers and he shivers, delighting in this image of you.

“This reminds me of better times.”

“Does it?” You look down at him, and he chuckles, taking in your lusty expression.

"Why don't you do this..." Ran takes his credit card and slips it between the lace of the belt. "Buy this one. Then buy another one that makes you happy. I'll be waiting outside for you."

Goosebumps follow the brush of his fingers across the tender flesh of your ass, and Ran leaves the store, a twinge of excitement settling in his stomach. You emerge minutes later, holding your items with pride.

"Did you get what you wanted?"

"Of course," you answer, kissing his cheek and slipping his card into his pocket. "Would you like to see it?"

"Do I like to breathe?" Ran jokes, and you take his hand, lacing your warm fingers through his.

"Ran!"

"My hair's still wet," Ran answers when you call his name.

"I need you," you call out, and Ran tosses a towel over his head, rubbing it back and forth hurriedly as he leaves the bathroom.

"Coming," he replies, stepping into the dimly lit room and expecting something other than what he's met with. "B-babe?" You're lying in the bed, covered in a blush pink lingerie set Ran's never seen before. It must've been the one you bought when he wasn't in the store, but flashes of your wedding night come back in quick bursts.

"I thought you'd like this since..." You run your hands up the garment and smile coyly. "It might remind you of 'better times'." Ran's towel drops from his head and lands on the floor behind him. "You looked just like that, too. All awed and..." You point a swirling finger at Ran's body. "Aroused." His eyes look down at the towel around his waist, and of course, there's an indication of his enjoyment of the moment. You crook a finger at him and whisper,

"Come and get it; if you dare." Ran's hesitation lasts for longer than it should have. When he doesn't make a hasty path toward you, he knows he has to ask. He knows he has to make sure.

"I..." He pulls himself together, and his brows furrow. "We can take things slow."

"Never said we couldn't," you murmur back, propping your head up on an open hand.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Never said you would." God, Ran feels so childish saying these things; he knows you know he loves you and wouldn't dare hurt you, but... The breath catches in Ran's throat, and he's unsure of what to say. And for all of the tears he's shed in private, he's not sure why he's crying. Everything's better now, right?

"Oh," you coo, watching Ran tear up and scrub at his face furiously. Ran hears you get up from the bed and feels your hands wrapping around his wrists, leading him toward the comfortable sheets and pillows. When his cheek rests against your skin, Ran can't contain himself. Crying is not his thing, but when he feels you, touches you, and remembers all of the years he's spent by your side, he's overwhelmed.

"I'm... sorry," he hiccups, tucking his face into your body in shame. "I shouldn't be crying."

"That's bullshit," you whisper, stroking his hair lovingly like his mother used to. "Cry whenever you feel like it." Ran doesn't add how he's felt the overpowering need to be strong for you always, but he senses that you understand and you love him despite it.

He finds himself curling into your embrace and lulling himself into a night of sleep he's unable to fight. It's warm, it's comfortable, almost exactly like your wedding night when you both collapsed in the bed, utterly exhausted... but full of joy.

[softguarnere]

Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter 23: Turkey and Hooch

Summary: Gene’s hands shake more than before as he passes the picture back to her. He doesn’t look at her. “She just . . . looked familiar, somehow.” A/N: Sorry for missing last week's update! I was on vacation and so busy hiking in the middle of nowhere that I didn't have much of a chance to work on this. There are so many details in this chapter that I want to point out, but at the risk of spoiling things, I'll add them to the author's note for the next chapter instead. (But if you're impatient like me, you can find them in the endnotes for this chapter on AO3) 😊 Warnings: language, death, grief, mentions of war, injury Taglist: @lady-cheeky @liebgotts-lovergirl @latibvles @lieutenant-speirs @ithinkabouttzu @mrs-murder-daddy @hxad-ovxr-hxart

Belgium, 1944

Like wildfire, the news spreads through the company – they’ve found a woman disguising herself as a paratrooper!

Zenie drops her spoon in the middle of the chow line. It’s just hit the snow when Bill ducks down to pick it up, pressing it into her hands like nothing happened. No one seems to notice.

“No shit?!” Skip cocks an eyebrow, a look that makes him appear half surprised and half skeptical.

“It’s what I heard,” Lieutenant Compton is saying. “The American soldiers who captured her said they never would have known if they hadn’t made her take off her helmet. That’s when they saw her braids.”

“God-damn! Did the Krauts know she was a girl?”

Compton shrugs. “I don’t know. And I don’t think they kept any of them around long enough to find out.”

“Well shit. I mean, that’s really something.”

Bill’s posture loosens. They’re not talking about her – just someone like her. Someone who has been caught just as easily as she could be. Any thoughts of wandering to the OP to find Shifty vanish from her mind. What if she takes a wrong turn like Babe did and ends up in a German foxhole? Hinkle wouldn’t be so kind to her.

Luckily, even in the snow-covered forest, Shifty’s powers of navigation cannot be thrown off. No one has ever doubted his abilities as an outdoorsman, but it’s still a nice surprise when he drops down into Zenie’s foxhole that evening.

He smiles, the warm air from his mouth creating a puff off steam against the cold that perpetually hangs around them. “Siyo.”

“Siyo,” Zenie echoes.

The joy she feels at seeing him is not reflected on Shifty’s face. All the worry in the world settles into the crease on his forehead as his brows scrunch together. He taps her sling.

“You really were hit.”

“Just some shrapnel.”

“Just?” The corners of his mouth twitch despite himself. “You act like you didn’t feel a thing.”

Try as she might, Zenie will never be able to forget the pain and the heat zipping through her arm as the shrapnel cut into her, or the discomfort as Gene and Renée dug it out of her flesh. Her friends’ sentiments keep echoing in her mind, though: it could have been worse. So, yes – just.

With no one around, Shifty leans closer to her, his shoulder pressing up against her uninjured one. “Sorry I didn’t make it here sooner. Shames kept sendin’ me out to scout. I couldn’t say no, bad as I wanted to.”

“You can’t ignore orders,” Zenie agrees. Shifty hums, frowning as he stares at her sling. She nudges his ribs with her elbow. “You’re a good soldier, Shifty.”

“I should have just come. Especially when I heard they found a woman . . .”

“Not me, though.” Somehow, the situation pulls a breathy laugh from her throat. God, what are the odds? She gets hit and keeps her secret intact, but a German girl gets found out just because she got captured when she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Could have been worse. What was it Renée said? That someone was watching out for her. Well, that just might be true. She’s made it this far. Some would classify that as some sort of miracle.

Keeping their shoulders pressed together – keeping their connection established – Shifty leans back a little so that he can study her. “Are you okay though?”

She’s alive. Even in this icy forest with its daily explosions and its lack of food, she’s still here. Sitting in a hole in the ground, sure, but at least not laying in one in the horizontal sense.

“I am now.” She doesn’t bother hiding her smile. “I think I’d be more okay if you stayed here.”

“Am I stealing Bill’s spot?”

“He won’t be mad. Especially now that he knows.”

Shifty’s eyes go wide. “Bill knows?” Other questions remain unspoken: does that mean that everyone in the company will know within the next few hours?

“I trust him,” Zenie assures him. The Italian’s words from their earlier conversation echo in her mind. She repeats them, for Shifty’s sake. “We’re going to be fine.”

Bastogne is changing them.

Babe is not the same when he comes back from his patrol. Julian’s death weighs heavy on him in a way that feels similar to the way Bill’s grief clung to him after his brother’s death. He’s quieter. Silence does not suit him. Often the only sound he makes is the harsh, rattling cough that settled into his chest soon after they arrived here. A shame – he has a face that was meant to be happy and a voice that was meant to tell jokes and to laugh.

Zenie recognizes the hollow expression on his face all too well. It’s the same one that stared back at her in the mirror for so long after Granny died. She slides Babe her extra cigarettes and hopes that he understands what she’s trying to say by giving them to him. I’m sorry, I know it hurts, I’m here with you.

Gene is constantly on the move, running from foxhole to foxhole trying to fix everything. Several people have started whispering that he’s going crazy. There’s never a day when he doesn’t drop into her foxhole to ask how Zenie is doing or to check her arm. Besides the snow and the miserable temperatures, it’s the one constant thing that she can count on each day. Although he seems . . . distant, now. They were never close before, but he doesn’t stick as closely to her as he did before Bill knew her secret.

Zenie, too, feels different. The old sense of urgency returns. The same one that haunted her back in her room as a teenager, then the one that caused she and all her friends to live fast and reckless before and after D-Day.

Whenever Shifty isn’t all the way out at the OP, he’s sharing a foxhole with Zenie. And whenever they’re sharing a foxhole, she presses up against him, relishing the short time that they spend together. As cold as it is, no one can say anything about her leaning into his side or his arm around her. Anything to stay warm in this place – if anyone notices, no one gives them a second glance, because they’re all doing the same.

Pressed against each other in their foxhole, they peep over the rim, exchanging worried looks with men doing the same from their foxholes nearby. Today it’s not the cold that’s set them all on edge, but an unexpected foe – thirst.

“Jesus Christ, he’s actually gonna do it,” someone says as Babe lifts himself from his foxhole. He crouches low, glances up at the sky above them, looks around at all the faces peering out at him from the frozen earth, then takes off like a shot.

Zenie holds her breath, listening, just like Shifty taught her to all that time ago back in the woods of Clinchco. The second she hears the humming of a plane engine, she’ll shout a warning to Babe. After all, that’s what had taken the kid from I Company the day before. He had attempted the same mad dash to the little frozen creek nearby, only to get hit by strafing from an American plane flying overhead. All for some water.

His body is still there. Stiff, motionless, and frozen to the ground. Babe lifts the corpse’s hand and pries the handle of a jerry can from its fingers. He glances up at the sky again before slamming the bottom of the can into the film of ice that covers the creek. Zenie counts the seconds as he plunges the can into the water, holding it down as it fills up with water.

Finally, the deed is done. Still crouched low to the ground, Babe begins the two-hundred-yard dash back. A few feet away he pushes himself sideways, sliding over the icy ground and landing beside Bill in a foxhole, like a baseball player sliding onto home plate – safe!

A collective exhale is released from those watching. After a moment’s pause to make sure they’re still in the clear, Bill and Babe climb out of their foxhole, motioning for everyone to follow their lead.

Men scramble from their foxholes and form a line. One at a time, Bill opens people’s canteens and holds them steady while Babe fills them with water. He hardly finishes filling them before men lift them to their lips, greedily gulping at the cold water.

At the back of the line, Zenie’s tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth as she waits. If they run out of water before she gets there, she’ll make the dash to the creek herself, she decides, injured arm be damned.

Babe squints down into the jerry can to gauge the water level as Zenie and Shifty approach.

“Goddamn it,” he hisses. Water sloshes inside the can as he shoves it under Bill’s nose. Take a look! the gesture screams in defeat.

“Je-sus Christ!” Bill turns the jerry can so that Zenie and Shifty can see for themselves.

In the darkness of the can and with the lack of light from the cloud covered sky, Zenie squints, trying to make out what her friends are looking at. Bill gives the can a slight shake, and that’s when she sees it.

Despite the dryness in her throat, Zenie swallows thickly. “Is that - ?”

Shifty curses under his breath when he realizes what he’s seeing. There, in the bottom of the can, are floating chunks of something spongy looking. Zenie has never seen anything like it before, but it doesn’t exactly take a genius to deduce that it’s pieces of human brain. Specifically, those of the dead man from I Company.

Babe grimaces. “What do we do?”

For a moment, Bill hesitates – something that he seldom does. He sighs through his nose. “We gotta drink somethin’ if we don’t wanna die.”

“Hey!” Babe calls to the men who have already received their water. “Use your water purification pills. Now!”

Without letting the Philadelphians fill her canteen, Zenie screws the lid back on and walks back to her foxhole. She would rather take her chances with dehydration than drink water with brains in it, thank you very much. Bill and Gene will just have to try to understand this time.

Lots of things feel very big at sixteen. Any misfortune or slight can feel earthshattering enough to end it all. Now at twenty-one, with the distance of time and an ocean between that stupid Christmas party, Zenie realizes that 1939 was not the worst Christmas of her life. Sixteen-year-old Zenie had been wrong; she had no idea how much worse it could get. Especially because, if the rumors are to be believed, the generals are out there somewhere enjoying a dinner of, in Colonel Sink’s words, “turkey and hooch” in the lovely company of such bright shining stars as Marlene Dietrich . . . and Rebecca Sadowski.

But – at least this time she’s not quite so alone. In the cold of the foxholes, Shifty is pressed up against her right side and Gene is on her left. Somewhere across the snow, German voices ring out in familiar melody. They might sound beautiful under different circumstances.

With shaking hands, Shifty tucks his pictures and letters back into his jacket. Zenie shuffles through her own one last time, wanting to look at Granny’s kind face before trying to sleep for the night.

“Who is that?” Gene asks suddenly as Zenie is about to tuck one of her photographs back into the pile.

She stops, staring down at it before tilting it so that Gene can better see it. Through the darkness settling around them, Matthew and Marilyn smile up at them from their graduation picture.

“My older brother and sister,” Zenie explains. Shivering, she hands the picture to Gene.

He holds it very close to his face, squinting. For all that he does know about Zenie, there’s also a lot that he doesn’t. Besides the fact that she’s not a man, she realizes, he really doesn’t know much about her. In fact, from what she keeps hearing Babe complain about with the nicknames, he doesn’t seem to have that level of closeness with anyone.

With a finger stiff from cold and stained from his work as a medic, he points to Marilyn. His lips part slightly but he doesn’t speak.

“Marilyn. She married the boy next-door – her teenage crush. Didn’t want to be left at home without him, so she joined the Red Cross after he joined up.”

Gene’s hands shake more than before as he passes the picture back to her. He doesn’t look at her. “She just . . . looked familiar, somehow.”

Back in Bastogne’s church, for a split second, Zenie had thought that she caught sight of her. Maybe Gene has seen her, in all his trips back and forth between here and there. She’s about to ask when she realizes that Gene has closed his eyes. His breathing is starting to even out. With his job keeping him in constant motion, she couldn’t wake him up just to ask him. Tomorrow morning. She’ll have to try to remember to ask him then.

She tucks her photographs and letters back into her jacket and leans into Shifty’s side. He slips his hand into hers, tilts his head so that it rests on top of hers. The German voices are still singing somewhere across the snow.

“Ulihelisdi danisdayohihv,” she says, adding her own language to the mix. Then, with the foolish optimism and determination of her sixteen-year-old self she thinks, When I get out of here, I’m going somewhere warm. If she can’t stop Christmases from getting worse, at least she can stop them from being cold.

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 4

A/N  Some strong reactions to the last chapter, which I admit caught me by surprise.   Writing is a funny craft, where you spend a lot of time and effort trying to show your reader exactly the picture you have in your mind, but then also have to surrender to each reader’s interpretation of what you wrote.  That said, some interpretations miss the mark entirely, and for that reason this chapter is entitled “False Assumptions”.   Trigger warning for childhood disease.

Jamie’s weekly appointments continued through the grey slumber of late April and into the wakening month of May.  Thursday became Claire’s favourite day of the week, for reasons she didn’t care to scrutinize too closely.

With regularity came a certain brand of predictability.  Their appointments took one of two forms, she realized.  Some days Jamie was full of life, witty and exasperating by turns.  He would spin long yarns about some trivial aspect of his life, fascinating tales that turned out to be nothing more than surface reflections, revealing little of the murky depths beneath.  He was also adept at using his considerable verbal charm to draw her into divulging more about herself than she ought.  Those visits left her equally frustrated and challenged.

The rest of the time her patient arrived with a weary slump, the thousand watt bulb of his personality dimmed to an occasional flicker.  Given his offhand comment about whisky and women, she tried not to ponder if he was hungover or suffering from the effects of an all-night hook-up.  From a diagnostic point of view these days of low ebb were beneficial because Jamie was far more likely to offer some nugget of inner revelation, truth sneaking out through the cracks of his weakened defences.

“I was away on business, in Hong Kong, when my Da passed,” he said on one such afternoon, the skin below his eyes drawn tight and the copper in his hair somehow muted.

“Did it happen suddenly?” 

“No’ really.  Jen had been at me fer months tae come hame, sayin’ that Da was workin’ himself tae death.”   Jamie looked out the window, eyes reflecting the overcast skies beyond.  “I ignored her.  Too wrapped up in my own grand self tae pay any heed.  Twas Ian, my brother-in-law, who called tae say Da had dropped in the pasture.  Massive coronary.  I caught the first flight back, but he was gone before I landed.”

She watched Jamie’s face closely as he spoke, but beyond the understandable emotion of reliving the sudden loss of a parent, he remained inscrutable.  The urge to draw him out overcame the deference she paid to Jamie’s well-defined boundaries.

“Do you think you’re to blame for his death?” she asked, half-expecting to be met with silence or a nimble deflection.

Jamie shook his head ruefully.

“Nah.  I dinna think I’m tae blame.  I ken it.  I was the only surviving son, ye see?  In the Highlands, tradition is everything, an’ a Fraser man had worked those lands fer generations.  I was only meant tae complete my studies abroad, an’ then return tae Lallybroch and take o’er from Da.  Instead, I left my sister an’ Ian tae watch o’er the farm while I played the business tycoon.”

“Is Lallybroch still in your family?” she wondered aloud, the name rolling about in her mouth like marbles.  

“Jenny and Ian couldna keep it.  I wasna well enough tae object, an’ they sold tae a developer.  It’s some kind of corporate wellness retreat now,” he finished with a distasteful grimace.

For every disclosure Jamie made, two more questions arose in its wake, like hacking away at a many-headed Hydra.  She wished she could delve further, but the chime from her computer announced the end of the session.

“Will I see you next week, Jamie?” she asked as he reluctantly rose to leave.

“Aye,” said with a sad smile.  “I’ll be here.”

***

The following Tuesday, Claire took the afternoon off work to perform an errand she’d long been avoiding.

Her departure from the Royal Hospital for Children had been so precipitous, she hadn’t filed the necessary paperwork to close her employment file.  The Human Resources department had been pestering her to complete the process for months.  The threat of holding up the transfer of her accreditation finally forced her hand.

To her great relief, the personnel offices were nowhere near the actual wards.  They lay at the end of a long white hallway broken by large windows looking into a series of meeting and activity rooms.  Her plan was to get in, sign the damn forms, and leave without running into any former colleagues or patients.   

The sun slanting into one of these sparsely furnished rooms glanced off the top of a bent head, causing it to glow like a freshly minted penny.  She stopped and stared, trying to reconcile the image of James Fraser seated in a too-small plastic chair, surrounded by a group of hospital-gowned children.

He must have caught sight of her while she stood gaping.  Running to the door before she could find the motor function to turn around, he called out joyfully from behind a blue hospital mask.

“Doctor Beauchamp!  Fancy meeting ye here.”

She mumbled something incoherent, damning herself for the blush she felt enveloping her cheeks.   Behind Jamie, a row of dewy eyes watched on.   She recognized the paper-thin skin and missing hair of chemotherapy patients, and a salty knot rose in her throat.

“Can ye spare a few minutes? Ye’re jes the pair of steady hands we need.”

She longed to decline, to disappear, to come up with a plausible excuse why she couldn’t enter that room.  Her heart thumped angrily in her chest, warning of its fragile state.

Seeing her conflict, Jamie extended a welcoming hand.

“Come, Sassenach.  The lassies would love tae meet ye.”

The space smelled of sterile laundry and sawdust.  With a habit borne of years of practice, Claire disinfected her hands in the small utility sink and donned a spare mask from the nearby dispenser, all while wondering what the hell she was doing.

The children were seated on colourful chairs arranged around a low table, its surface covered in pieces of pre-cut lumber, colourful pots of paint, a glue gun and all manner of cheap decorations such as you would find at a craft store.  The little girls ranged in age from pre-school to young teen, but they all looked at Jamie as though he’d hung the moon as he addressed them.

“Ladies, I’d like ye tae meet Doctor Beauchamp.  She’s a braw doctor but I bet she kens next tae nothing about woodwork.  Ye’ll have tae show her how it’s done.”

A chorus of nervous giggles was the only response.  Claire knew from experience that being a medical professional wasn’t going to endear her to children who spent much of their lives being essentially tortured in the name of science, hoping for some kind of miracle.

“Hello, everyone,” she waved meekly.  “You can call me Miss Claire, if you like.  Now, whatever are you doing with all this wood?”

It turned out that Jamie was supervising the construction of a half-dozen birdhouses.  He had pre-cut the lumber for easy assembly, but was assisting each girl to create a custom masterpiece that would hang outside her hospital window.  With the patience and steady manner of a primary school teacher, Jamie led the group through each step.  

A waifish girl of perhaps six sat directly to Claire’s left, her bare scalp covered by a brightly coloured bandana, offset by a huge pair of peacock-blue eyes that glimmered above her mask.  Eyes that were the mirror of the ones that visited her office every Thursday.  Something heavy settled inside her ribs.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” she asked in a low voice as she pushed an open pot of sky blue paint away from the table’s edge.  Small hands busied themselves pulling apart a package of cotton balls that looked suspiciously like the ones kept in the hospital’s supply cabinet.

“Margaret Murray, Doctor, errr, Miss Claire,” came the timid reply.  

Not Fraser, then.  But that didn’t necessarily mean anything.  She snuck a glance across the table at Jamie, who was just then teasing the youngest girl by tickling her cheeks with a fake feather.  Despite her heavy thoughts, she couldn’t help but smile.  That smile faltered when she noticed that the inside of Jamie’s elbows bore a matching set of fresh bandages.   A series of puzzle pieces tumbled into place.

Perhaps sensing the weight of her scrutiny, Jamie looked their way, whistling in admiration when he saw Maggie’s near-complete birdhouse.

“Tis a fine hame ye’ve built fer yer wee birds, Maggie.  What is all yon white fluff for?”

“Tis clouds, Uncle Jamie,” Maggie replied with the certainty of childhood.  “I dinna want the birdies tae miss the sky, even when they arenna flyin’.”

Claire watched the words hit him as surely as though they had been bullets.  A frozen gasp, a shudder that travelled the length of his body and the crest of tears that he tried valiantly to blink away.

“Aye, ye’re right, a nighean.  Any bird would be fair honoured tae sleep in yer skyhouse,” he managed to reply, voice bouldery with contained emotion.

When each birdhouse was complete and left along the window ledge to dry, Jamie set his small crew of helpers the task of clearing up the mess.   Claire stood next to him as he loaded his tools back into a small carrying case.

“Thanks for inviting me to join you, Jamie.  It was... well, it was unexpectedly wonderful,” she admitted.

“Ye’re most welcome, Doctor Beauchamp.  We couldna have managed wi’out yer steady hand manning the glue gun,” he teased.

“You’re not my patient here, Jamie.  You don’t need to use my title,” she said, a bit vexed by his formality.

“Aye, but it doesna feel right tae call ye by yer given name either.  An’ Miss Claire is jes weird.”

She had to acknowledge that he had a point.

“What was it you called me earlier?  Sassa-something?”

“Sassenach.  My Da woulda skelped my hide if he heard me call a lady by that name,” he said ruefully.

“Why, does it mean something terribly offensive?”  She was almost afraid to know, having enjoyed the delusion that Jamie felt as fondly towards her as she did towards him.

“Nah, tis jes an old-fashioned word for an English person in Scotland.  Seemed tae suit ye, is all.”  He shrugged, seemingly embarrassed by the explanation.

“Well then, Sassenach it is.  When I’m not on the clock, that is.”

Jamie’s eyes danced above his mask the way they did when he smiled, and she imagined hers replied in much the same way.  A long moment passed when nothing was said, neither of them looking away.

“You’re her platelet donor,” she said at last.  “Maggie’s, I mean.”

“Aye.  Every week while she’s in hospital for chemotherapy.  Tis the least I can do.”

It was an explanation that fit all the facts, but one that she never would have guessed.  Jamie had always worn long sleeves to his appointments, but she was certain the weeks when he was haggard and worn out coincided with the times he was donating the litres of blood necessary to distill into the platelet concentrate that would then be injected into Maggie’s body, helping her combat the poisonous effects of her chemotherapy.

“Whisky, women and song?” she prodded, relieved and yet frustrated that his offhand comment had kept her from seeing the truth.  “Why didn’t you just tell me, Jamie?”

“I didna want yer pity, Sassenach.  Fer once in my life, tis no’ about me, ye ken?  I didna want ye lookin’ at me like I was some kind of hero.”

She held back her reaction that his was a textbook definition of heroism, and instead asked the next obvious question.

“Are you a compatible bone marrow donor as well?”

Jamie shook his head slowly.  Although he was a close match, he explained, it wasn’t close enough.   Maggie’s older brother, Wee Jamie, was a perfect match but the law prohibited him from becoming a donor until he was at least sixteen, in seven long years.

“We’re jes tryin’ tae buy her enough time,” he said sadly before stepping out of the room, explaining he’d be back momentarily.

Claire stood in a daze, running through everything she’d assumed about Jamie in light of these newest facts.  A light tug on her hand drew her back into the moment.  Maggie was looking up at her with wide, trusting eyes.

“Are ye the Sassenach lady Uncle Jamie and my Mam argue about?”

“I suppose I might be,” she replied, curious what had been said between the siblings that Maggie had overheard.

“Are ye a heart doctor?” Maggie continued.

“Well, no.  Not exactly.  I’m the kind of doctor who helps people who are sad, and I try to find a way for them to be happy again.”  It sounded so easy when explaining it to a six year old.

“Sometimes Mam and Da talk about Uncle Jamie when they dinna ken I’m listenin’.  I’m verra good at sneakin’,” Maggie confided, and Claire couldn’t help but smile.  What a precious child.    “I’m sure you are,” she replied warmly, a hand coming to rest gently on the tiny cloth-covered head.

“Mam says Uncle Jamie is more stubborn than a mule and that he canna see past his own big heid,” Maggie continued.  Claire couldn’t say that she disagreed with that assessment.

“But Da says Uncle Jamie’s heart has been broken too many times, and thas’ why he’s given up on living.  Can ye fix his heart, Miss Claire, so that it isna broken any more?”

She couldn’t have stopped her tears if she tried.   She knelt on the floor and gathered Maggie’s thin, fragile body in her arms.

“Oh, Maggie.  I’m certainly going to try.”

[the-modernmary]

always been a storm || hotchley (ch 1)

summary: Lots of people wondered about their love story. How they met, how they fell in love, and even how they fell apart. Haley likes to tell their story from end to beginning. Aaron tells it from the beginning to end. Somewhere along the way, they meet, and it always ends with a goodbye.

Author’s Note: This is inspired by the musical The Last Five Years, so I will be following that format. If you aren't familiar with it, it is told in opposite chronological directions from both character's POVs. So Haley's POV will start at the end of the relationship and move backwards, while Hotch's POV is going to start at the beginning and move forward. Hopefully it should be clear as you read. Also, since the writers couldn't decide how old Hotch was, I sort of played around with the years/canon timeline. But canon is just a suggestion anyway.

read on ao3

Haley - 2009

Haley Brooks once told her sister about a boy who kissed her at the Pirates of Penzance cast party. She had said that she could see herself with this boy for the rest of her life and, when the couple got engaged five years later, Haley told her sister that she just knew that she was going to love this boy until the day she died.

Haley Hotchner never could have expected it would end like this: a serial killer, gun pressed to her temple, on the phone with her husband — ex-husband — and no way to protect her 5-year-old son, the little miracle she and Aaron never thought they were going to get.

“Tell Jack I need him working the case,” Aaron says through the phone, voice shaking, and Haley has no idea what Aaron could possibly mean by that.

“What?” she asks, even though she knows it’s futile. Years of chasing down serial killers and getting into their minds has made Aaron paranoid. He has backup plans for the backup plans of their backup plans. He has safety plans for anything that could possibly go wrong, some that even Haley doesn’t know, and this must just be another one of those plans.

Aaron repeats himself a little more forcefully, and that’s when Haley knows it’s over for her. At least Aaron is still alive, and not dead like she had been told he was. At least Jack won’t be completely orphaned. It was a small comfort.

 If Jack survives, her brain reminds her unhelpfully, but she pushes that thought down. For all of Aaron’s faults, he’d never let anything happen to Jack. And if the only person Aaron saves is Jack, then Haley can die peacefully. 

  When she hugs Jack, she doesn’t even realize how tightly she’s holding him until he tells her, and it’s with reluctance that she loosens her grip. Logically, she knows it’s safer for Jack to go off and do whatever Aaron told him to do, but the motherly side of her brain is screaming to hold her baby boy to her chest and never let him go. She can keep him safe and protected from the world, she just knows it. She’s protected him this long from the reality of the world - fed him stories of villains and superheroes to try and explain where his dad was and why his dad so often woke up in tears - so she can do it just a while more.

And if she can’t protect him, she selfishly wants to keep Jack close to her for a little longer, for both of their sakes. For Jack, she wants his last memory of her to be one of happiness and love — a final hug from his mom who loves him so, so much. For Haley, well, she needs that last bit of bravery. Aaron keeps telling her to be brave and to not show The Reaper any weakness, but she’s never been that person. She’s always been the emotional and dramatic one of the marriage.

(If she had more time, she might have considered that, no, she actually wasn’t the dramatic one and that up until the bitter end, she had been reasonable and willing to compromise, and it was Aaron who believed the weight of humanity was on his shoulders, despite the fact that he was nothing more than a man. But no one would ever believe that Aaron Hotchner was overemotional, and like most things, it’s just easier to put it on Haley.)

As if reading her mind, Aaron’s voice cuts through the silence. “You’re so strong, Haley, stronger than I ever was,” he assures her, and she can’t find the right words to say, not when her mind is racing a million miles a minute.

 She thinks of her sister, her best friend in the whole world, and how she never got to say goodbye. They had been planning on taking Jack on a weekend camping trip when Haley got pulled into WitSec. There had been no fanfare, no tearful farewell. Just a nondescript car from the hospital to a nondescript building where Haley Brooks went to disappear. She wasn't able to tell Jessica that she loves her or to thank her for everything she had given up for Haley. Now Jessica was going to lose her little sister.

And her dad… God, the last thing Haley did with her dad was fight with him. It was something so stupid, too — Roy had insisted on Jack going into Pop Warner football even after Haley had told him multiple times that she didn’t want Jack starting in such a high contact sport so early on in his life. They had gone back and forth on it for close to an hour before Haley had stormed out in tears because if she had to hear one more word about “Jack needs to develop tougher skin” and “he should be around more male figures, it'll be good for him” as if it was Haley’s fault that Aaron didn’t make it to see Jack the past two weeks, she was going to lose it.

God, she was so bone-deep, achingly exhausted of everything always being her fault. 

“You’ll hurry, right?” she asks, eyes never leaving the Reaper. He’s stalking across the room, gun hanging lazily at his side.

 “I know you didn’t sign on for this,” Aaron starts, and it’s not lost on Haley that he avoided her question.

Still, she doesn’t need an explicit answer from him. The Reaper is behind her now, his hot breath creeping down her neck and the column of her spine, meeting perfectly halfway with the tip of his gun. “Neither did you.”

The conversation somehow switched from comfort to a goodbye without either of them ever realizing it. “I’m sorry for everything.”

The cold steel of The Reaper’s gun nudges against Haley’s back. A braver, tougher person than Haley might have fought back - might have elbowed him in the gut and kicked him where the sun doesn’t shine and escaped - but Haley’s accepted her fate. All she’s able to do now is grip the phone a little tighter. It’s the closest thing she has to holding Aaron’s hand one last time.

“Promise me that you will tell him how we met,” she starts, and her voice becomes steadier and more confident than it had in years, “and how you used to make me laugh.”

“Haley…”

She thinks back to the Aaron she met in high school - tall and lanky and smiling despite already feeling like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. She hadn’t seen him smile in so long. Aaron always believed himself to be a protector, and Haley knows that he already blames himself for Sean and Gideon and Spencer. God only knows how far he’ll spiral after this.

“He needs to know that you weren’t always so serious, Aaron.” She takes a grounding breath and says the next part to him directly, hoping that he’ll understand what’s unspoken. “I want him to believe in love. Because it is the most important thing. But you need to show him. Promise me.”

There’s a long pause that makes Haley’s stomach drop. A million things still need to be said, but she can’t bring herself to say them. She can’t even think, not when she hears the click of The Reaper’s gun cocking. She can’t be brave any longer.

The air in the room seems to get thinner, and Haley gasps desperately to try and get a breath while tears stream freely down her face. She’s going to die alone and Aaron and her son are going to hear it and oh God, Jack is going to be in the house with Foyet and nobody to protect him. Her one job as a mother is to protect her child and she’s going to die a failure. 

They both know what’s going to happen next, but in his own bit of stubbornness, Aaron doesn’t say goodbye. It’s not what she wants to hear, anyway. He decides to give her comfort, a promise that he’ll see through her final wishes, although it’s not the first promise he’s made and broken. Haley wishes she could go out believing him.

BANG

Haley cries out in pain, falling to her knees as white hot pain spreads like a fire through her abdomen. The phone drops out of her hands, but that doesn’t stop her from calling out for Aaron. 

“Aaron… Aaron, help me… Please,” she begs through tears. She wants to hear his voice again, to tell her that it’s going to be okay and that he’s about to burst through the front doors and save her. She wants to hear him say goodbye and that he loves her. 

All she gets is silence from Aaron’s end. The only proof she gets that he’s still on the line is the rumble of the SUV he’s in. Black spots dance in the corners of her vision, so she can only barely make out the Reaper towering above her and the barrel of the gun being pointed towards her face.

Haley calls out for Aaron again, unable to say anything but his name through her sobs. It’s useless to beg for her life, she knows that, yet she still tries. Tries to reach out to him and tell him how sorry she is. Sorry for not being stronger and for not protecting Jack. 

The Reaper raises his gun, and Haley immediately wishes that she had said more to Aaron. She wants him to know that she never stopped loving him and that she doesn’t blame him one bit and that if she had the chance to go back, even knowing how it all was going to end, she absolutely would because Aaron is all—

BANG

[rainpuddle13]

35 Ross and Demelza

#35 - An awkward kiss given after a first date

This was a lot of fun to write. Thanks, anonymous!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was like a knife to his gut to sit there and listen to Demelza recount her previous evening out with an old chum of their friend Caroline. The bloke fancied himself some sort of artist and poet apparently.  She showed him a sketch this Hugh Armitage had supposedly done of her which Ross found a bit off-putting. She had seemed inordinately pleased though to his dismay. Ross thought it had barely captured the unique beauty that made Demelza so earthy and desirable.

“Dandy more like,” Ross muttered under his breath before stuffing chips in his mouth.

“He breeds racing  horses,” she continued on, seemingly oblivious to his disparaging words.  “He promised to take me to Ascot in June.”

Ross wiped his hands on his napkin before speaking.  It was like she was trying to pour salt on his wound. “So you’ll see him again?”

“I think so. He is nice,” Demelza flicked her blue eyes up to meet his, arching one delicate brow, almost as if daring him to say something, “and he is handsome.”

Oh, Ross knew the type alright, Armitage was one of those old money aristocracy types who have never worked a day in their life, using his family connections and money to float through life without the burden of actual responsibility. His occupation was probably more along the lines of being elegantly wasted all of the time.

He wanted to damn Caroline all to hell for interfering, but ultimately he knew it was his own fault that he found himself in this position with Demelza. Ross had fancied her from almost the first moment they met nearly five years ago. He’d been entangled at the time with Elisabeth Chyoweth so he was unable to act upon the spark that was obvious between them. The timing never seemed right after that, and was not helped by his lengthy deployments, so he’d settled to just secretly worship her from afar.

“Hmm,” Ross mumbled, very unimpressed. “Rich too.”  There was no way that he could possibly compete with the ponce on that front.  While his salary was adequate compared to what it was when he had first enlisted, he wasn’t trying to support a wife and possibly a family with it either. He’d always thought Demelza had deserved much better than anything he could have to offer.

It was her turn to huff coupled with a dark glare. “You know I don’t care about that.”

He did know what she said about matters of money, but there was this little voice inside his head that told him she deserved the whole world.  “I know what you said,” he reminded her.

This long awaited lunch out with Demelza all to himself was not going according to plan. He hadn’t been able to see much of her while he’d been back in Cornwall.  Her catering business had exploded during his last deployment after she had been featured in a local magazine for her farm to table approach to cooking.  Ross was happy for her to be sure, but it really cut into the time he could spend with her.

She broke the silence after a couple of minutes.  “Have you gotten your orders yet?”

“Yes,” Ross answered, glad for the change of subject before he could say something to really tick her off, “I’m leaving for training in Canada at the end of the month.”

She reached across the table to place her warm hand over his, clear relief was etched on her lovely face.  “I’m glad it’s not Iraq again.”

“Me too. It’s miserable no matter the time of year.”

“I’m just glad you won’t be in a war zone,” she admitted softly.

“Just from the local wildlife” he assured her. “I understand moose are a particular danger.”

“At least it’s not IEDs or bullets.” 

“Agreed.” He reached up to touch the scar that ran from his eye down his cheek almost to his jaw on the left side of his face.  It was only thanks to Dwight’s skills he hadn’t fared any worse than he did. Demelza had visited him several times when he was home convalescing and did her damnest to talk him out of reenlisting.

“I guess I won’t have to send you care packages this time since you’ll be near civilization,” she said while taking her hand back and becoming very interested in her nearly empty plate. She’d had the ploughman’s lunch.

“I wouldn’t say no to some of your chocolate biccies.”

She looked up again and laughed, a warm throaty sound that made him feel all quivery inside. “I’m sure you wouldn’t!”

“I’ll need a break from poutine and maple candies.”

She made an adorable scrunchy face. “I’m not sure I even want to know what poutine is!”

“I understand it’s chips and cheese covered in gravy.”

“Sounds very healthy.” She jumped a bit when her phone buzzed and she picked it up off the table, frowning. “I need to go. I’ve got a cocktail party tonight at Tehidy.”

Disappointment didn’t begin to cover how he felt about their time together being cut short because of her work commitments, but he also more than understood. His chosen line of work was keeping him from being with the woman he was pretty sure he could spend the rest of his life with. It would be unfair to her with him being deployed to dangerous parts of the world for long stretches of time. He couldn’t even bring himself to imagine what it would do to her if the worst happened.

“Let me settle the cheque and I’ll walk you out,” Ross said, getting up to retrieve their jackets. 

Demelza was waiting out front of the Red Lion in the bright afternoon sunlight for him. The air was crisp for early spring and the sky a cloudless deep blue.  She took his proffered elbow when he joined her and they walked the few streets over to her storefront mostly in silence.  It always amazed him how at ease felt being with her.

“I should go in,” she said once they’d reached the cheerfully painted building.

He nodded.  “Yes, Jinny might be burning the canapes.”

“Bite your tongue,” she grouse and playfully shoved him.

“You know it’s true,” he laughed. The girl’s misadventures in the kitchen were near legendary in their circle of friends and it was a true miracle she’d not burnt the building down.

Demelza sighed and looked up at him, like she was waiting for him to do something. He shifted his weight off his bad ankle, torn between wanting to ravish her senseless on the spot and leaving so he could go be miserable that he hadn’t acted on his impulse.  

Then it all happened so suddenly after staring at one another in awkward silence for a few heartbeats. He mistook Demelza leaning up to hug him while biting her bottom lip as something more than it was meant to be, engulfing her in his arms and without thinking mashing his mouth to hers,  somehow painfully clinking their teeth in his haste.  He’d almost managed to get more of her cheek than her lips while nearly crushing her nose.  As far as kisses went, his first and only kiss with Demelza could be deemed a spectacular failure.

Demelza growled at him after he finally released her and balled up her fist before proceeding to sucker punch him in the stomach as hard as she could. He bent over double from the unexpected blow while she hopped about shaking her hand and cursing. 

“What was that for?” he asked after catching his breath, but he was leant over with his hands on his knees still. Thankfully his fish and chips lunch seemed to be staying put.

“For making me wait four years, seven months, and eleven days for you to kiss me, you wanker,” she hissed.

He stood up straight, blinking at her first in confusion then in wonderment as the gravity of her words sank in. “You kept count?”

“Of course I did,” she said, exasperated, balling up her fist again, this time punching his shoulder.

“Oi!” he yelped.

“That’s for making me suffer through a date with Hugh Armitage to make you jealous.”

“At least it was just a first date,” he chirped, a wide grin splitting his face as his heart pounded in his chest.

“Only date,” she promised, reaching to grab a hold of the lapels of his jacket. “Now shut up and kiss me properly!”

[tothemeadow]

Okkkk SOoOoo,,, kinktober 😳 Kyojurou and orgasm denial with a Male Reader?? Pretty please oohgg

Day 5: femdom / latex/leather / orgasm denial

warnings: NSFW, vibrators, voyeurism, exhibitionism

words: 1,931

(a/n): art is not mine

It’s unfair, ridiculous, a complete bastard move.

Across the table, Kyojuro remains unbothered. Which, of course he would, since he’s the one in control of this whole situation. He’s acting too casual for your liking; he merely sips his coffee, his trademark grin on his face.

Fuck this guy, seriously.

Tengen’s rambling on about some bizarre story, his hands moving animatedly as he knits his tale together. Frankly, you don’t the heart nor the right mindset to give a single damn about what comes from his lips. It’s always this way when the two are together. You don’t mind Tengen, really, but he has the habit of bringing out the wilder side in your husband.

Glancing down at your own coffee mug, you try not to drop the thing as you take a sip. You hope Tengen doesn’t notice the trembling of your hands or the utter lack of conversation on your part. It’s all Kyojuro’s fault. It’s always his fault.

Shifting in your seat, you bite back a groan, your teeth digging hard into the flesh of your bottom lip. At this point, your lips are acting more like a chew toy than anything else. If either of the others have noticed, they haven’t indicated as such. It’s a miracle, really, how Tengen hasn’t heard the buzzing coming from the vibrator shoved up your ass. To you, the sound is deafening.

You cover a pathetic whimper with an awkward cough. Your cock twitches inside your sweats, the front almost entirely drenched with precum. Even if you wanted to stand up and walk away, you couldn’t. You didn’t want Tengen to see you in such a state; for one, it’s wickedly embarrassing, and two, he wouldn’t hesitate on the chance of having a threesome with you and Kyojuro.

Kyojuro had to have planned this. He doesn’t seem the type to come up with maniacal schemes, but he has his moments sometimes. Things were getting hot and heavy between the two of you in the bedroom by the time Tengen had called Kyojuro – as it turns out, he was sitting right outside your house, waiting for Kyojuro to let him in.

“Don’t cum,” Kyojuro had said to you, placing delicate kisses all over your face. And, if to make matters worse, he insisted you sit around with a vibrator shoved against your prostate.

Yeah, well, you’ve had your fun.

You can’t control the tremors of your body. Tengen is either extremely dense or he’s being polite by ignoring your current state. Kyojuro catches your eyes over the rim of his mug, a dark glint in his brilliant eyes. You swallow thickly and cast your gaze to the table.

“(y/n)? You okay? You’re being awfully quiet,” Tengen suddenly remarks.

God fucking dammit.

Tearing your gaze away from the table, you look to him and nod. “I’m fine,” you say. You inwardly curse at how weak your voice sounds. “Just spacing out, I guess.”

Tengen scoffs. “Damn, and I thought you were completely riveted by my story.” Cocking a neatly groomed eyebrow, he tilts his head at you. “What were you thinking about?”

Kyojuro snickers.

You send a glare towards your husband. “Nothing important…”

The glint in Tengen’s eyes tells you that your lie isn’t working. Biting the inside of your cheek, you force yourself to keep your composure. That is, however, until the vibrator inside you gets knocked up a notch. Your fingers clench impossibly tight around your mug as your back arches. A small moan slips from the confinements of your mouth; your eyes go wide, panic beginning to bubble inside your chest.

Oh, shit.

“Everything alright, dear?” Kyojuro questions, his voice dripping with honey. It makes you want to hiss at him in retaliation.

Both men flash you pearly smiles. Their expressions seem innocent enough, but you’d be a complete fool if you didn’t notice the hungry gleam in their stares. Just what did Kyojuro have in mind when he decided to invite Tengen over?

The vibrations inside you intensify. The cry spilling from your mouth cannot be held, nor can the instinctual roll of your hips. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, the pleasure of your prostate being stimulated becoming too much to bear. You watch as Kyojuro pulls the remote controller from his pocket and sets it on the table.

“You bastard,” you spit through clenched teeth.

“You were right, Kyojuro,” Tengen mutters as he rests his chin in his hand. “He really does look pretty like that.”

“Doesn’t he? Baby boy always makes the prettiest expressions whenever I fuck him silly.”

You can’t believe your own ears. They’ve talked about you? What exactly did Kyojuro say? Oh, god, what did Tengen know???

“You haven’t cum yet, have you?” Kyojuro asks you. He talks to you in a gentle tone, almost like he’s talking to some caged wild animal – which isn’t entirely wrong, but you aren’t going to admit that anytime soon. Shaking your head no, Kyojuro then flashes you a smile. “Good boy.” Shifting in his seat, he leans over the table, resting his weight on his elbows. “Listen, I know this abrupt and all, but I really want to show Tengen those pretty little expressions of yours. You always take my cock so well, baby. I want to show you off to everybody.”

Your throat suddenly feels too dry. You swallow desperately; your mind is positively swimming and you can’t quite grasp the situation. Okay, so Kyojuro wants to show you off. But what does that entail, exactly?

“Come here, baby boy,” Kyojuro gently coaxes. He gestures to you with a wave of his hand.

Glancing to Tengen, your insides tighten. You’re not exactly opposed to the idea – the realization comes as a surprise to yourself – but you’re also not sure how this is all going to play out. Hesitantly, you rise from your seat; you curse as the vibrator shifts inside you with the movement and grab onto the table for support. Both your arms and legs tremble violently, all threatening to give out entirely. Somehow, you shuffle to Kyojuro’s side of the table.

He swiftly takes you into his lap, holding your back to his chest. From here, you’re looking directly at Tengen. Ruby eyes dart down to the wet patch between your legs and his tongue darts out across his bottom lip.

“Holy shit,” Tengen mutters. “You got like that all because of a vibrator? Charming little prince, it’s no wonder Kyojuro’s obsessed with you.”

You jolt at Tengen’s choice of words. Kyojuro’s large hands land on the insides of your thighs, spreading them further apart.

“Show Tengen how pretty you are, baby boy,” he whispers into your ear. A shiver rips down your spine. With his help, you manage to tug your sweats and boxers off, leaving your lower half completely bare. “There we go,” Kyojuro mumbles, his hot breath fanning over your ear and the side of your face.

Tengen whistles in appreciation. “Fuck. Look at you, you pretty thing. What a cute little cock.”

Squirming under his attention, you turn to Kyojuro. You gaze finds his heated one and all words die on your tongue. Now that’s silent, the buzzing from the vibrator can clearly be heard. Being propped on Kyojuro’s lap like this, you can feel his own cock hardening under you. With a small whine, you press your hips down against his clothed cock; the bulge in his pants is enough to push the vibrator the slightest bit, making you keen.

“Don’t you dare cum yet,” Kyojuro commands. You feebly nod your head. Kyojuro gives an approving hum and turns his attention to Tengen. “Where do you want him?”

“Just like that,” Tengen says, leaning back and getting comfortable himself. You see the beginning of a tent in the front of his pants.

“Are you alright with that?” Kyojuro mutters into your ear.

Were you? Yeah, this is all happening a bit too fast, but something about your husband showing you off in front of one his closest friends makes your heart beat a little too fast. Your cock twitches at the idea. Slowly, you nod your head.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” Kyojuro tells you. Within moments, his pants and underwear are bunched at his thick thighs and his thick cock is pressing against your back. He grinds leisurely against you, his chin coming in and settling on the crook of your shoulder. “Let’s put on a show, okay? Be a good boy and show Tengen all those pretty faces that make me cum.”

“Kyojuro-“

You cut yourself off with a loud moan as he reaches behind you and pulls the vibrator out. The lube covering the damned thing catches the evening light pouring through the window as Kyojuro unceremoniously drops it to the floor.  Kyojuro spits onto his palm, then, using it alongside his precum as a makeshift lube.

“Holy shit,” Tengen breathes. His own cock is in a hand, beautifully thick and long. You swallow the building saliva in your throat.

Combined with your lube sodden hole, the spit and precum make the slide of Kyojuro’s cock easier. Granted, it’s still a bit painful, but you’re actually thankful for the earlier stretch and the vibrator. Soon enough, Kyojuro’s buried to the hilt and you’re delightfully full. An absolutely sinful moan passes through your lips as you throw your head back against Kyojuro’s shoulder.

“Just like that,” Kyojuro grunts, his hips starting to move. He holds onto you tightly as he fucks up into you, helping you guide your hips down to meet him per thrust. It takes little to no time at all until you’re a moaning, sweating mess. Kyojuro has your shirt bunched up to your neck, one hand pinching and pulling at your nipples while the other furiously pumps your cock.

Your hands rest against his knees for support. There’s not a lot of room to move, but you make do and fuck yourself back against Kyojuro’s cock. The sounds of panting and the chair creaking fill the kitchen, along with the wet sound of Tengen jacking himself off.

Heat skims along the surface of your skin, the knot in your stomach so deliciously tight. You want to cum so bad, but you’ll surely be punished if you do. You do as your told, not holding back any noise or lewd expression your face contorts into.

“Kyojuro, fuck, please, it’s too much,” you whimper. “I wanna cum so bad.”

“Not yet,” Kyojuro grunts into the side of your neck. “Be a good, strong baby boy and don’t cum yet.”

“Jesus, Kyojuro, let the guy cum already,” Tengen groans. “I bet he’s sexy as fuck when he cums.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Kyojuro challenges. He snaps his hips up into you, the head of his cock driving home to your prostate with each brutal thrust. You cry out, your fingernails digging into his thighs. Your whole body goes rigid as you finally cum, spilling your load onto your lower stomach and over your husband’s long fingers.

“Oh my god,” Tengen grunts. “Fuck.”

“Baby boy, you’re so tight,” Kyojuro says. He then nips at the back of your neck and you can feel him snarl into the skin. “You came before I said you could, though. Do you know what that means?”

“Please, Kyojuro,” you whine, rocking yourself weakly onto his cock. Despite already cumming, your cock refuses to soften. “Don’t be mad.”

“Sorry, baby,” Kyojuro mutters as he kisses your shoulders. “But when baby boy misbehaves, he deserves to be punished.”

[quickspinner]

Month of Miracles - Dressing Up Part 2

Find the prompt list here!

Hallmark Movie AU Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 (end) | Read Month of Miracles on AO3

Marinette tapped her pencil on the small stack of sketches and sighed. She felt dissatisfied with them, but that was nothing new. She was dissatisfied with almost everything she made these days, so why should this be any different?

Her thoughts drifted back to Luka for the hundredth time. She was going to have to face him again. He was expecting her and she really did need to source some materials from the wardrobe he was offering. 

She might be able to put it off a day, though, she mused. Maybe it would be better to give him some space, anyway. She had just rejected him, after all. That had to sting, no matter how chill he acted about it. Marinette would be doing him a favor, staying away for a day. She could go shopping and see what she could get in the way of basic materials first. That was a perfectly plausible excuse. 

Coward, she thought sourly at herself, and sighed, dropping her head into her arms.

It would be easier if she didn’t like him so much. Marinette turned her head and looked at her phone where it lay on the table in its cheerful pink case. She could text him, but...would that be weird? People here didn’t seem to do that, they just...popped up. He’d told her just to show up whenever, but…

I don’t have his number, she realized suddenly. How funny was that? All the times they’d talked, and they’d never even traded numbers. 

She wouldn’t even be able to text him when she went back to the city. The thought made her ache, but she pushed it aside. That was the kind of problem you could push off for later, she thought as she packed up her things. Not like making out with a guy you were probably never going to see again once the week was out. Which was a real, actual problem that should be avoided. 

Right?

Marinette groaned, and grabbed Gina’s car keys, marching out of the door. She had a job to do, and surely she was still professional enough to manage that much. 

She had herself mostly together by the time she pulled into the Couffaine farm. The yard wasn’t empty when she pulled in, to her mild surprise. 

“Ahoy, Marinette!” Anarka called, waving at her, and Marinette, feeling she should be polite, got her kit out of the car and walked over to where Anarka was working. Ankara was unloading some small saplings from the back of a pickup truck that looked a lot like Luka’s, only about twenty years older. “For a moment there, I fergot it was you and not yer grandma pulling up,” Anarka chuckled as Marinette approached. “Here t’see Luka, I expect? He said ye were comin’ by.” 

“Yes,” Marinette tried to smile, and hoped she didn’t blush too hard at Luka’s name. Yes, hi, I kissed your son this morning and broke his heart, so this isn’t awkward at all. Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?

“He’s been working like a demon all day,” Anarka commented, lifting another tree down with a grunt. “He was drivin’ me crazy, bein’ so efficient, and I about bit his head off.” She glanced at Marinette, who tried hard not to look guilty. “Told him to make himself scarce for a bit. I think he went t’ take a shower, but he should be done by now.” 

“Oh,” Marinette said lamely, trying very hard not to think of accidentally walking in on a freshly showered and not entirely dressed Luka. Maybe awkward small talk was for the best. “He, um. He said you were done for the year?”

“Aye, closed to the public fer the year,” Anarka smiled. “Though o’ course if there was anyone in town that needed anythin’ we’d open right back up. Nah, the public part of business is done for the year. Now it’s just all the work nobody sees.” She turned away from Marinette for a moment, walking over to the rail fence that separated the rows of trees. Marinette followed, unsure what else to do, her kit bumping against her knees as she carefully skirted the saplings. 

“Never really thought I’d end up in a place like this,” Anarka said, leaning her elbows against the fence rails. “There’s a kinda poetry t’ it, though. Renewal. Rebirth. The old makin’ way for the young.” She winked at Marinette, and then went on. “I might not even be here by the time these trees are big enough t’ cut. Got a wandering foot, y’know, and it’ll take seven or eight years minimum for these to get the size where anyone would even consider cutting ‘em. Who’s to say I won’t be off to some new adventure by then? But they’ll still be here, growing, because I planted them. Endings, beginnings. Sometimes it’s hard to tell one apart from the other, aye?” 

Marinette made a noise in reply automatically, but Anarka’s musings had put her thoughts on another track, and she barely heard the last bit. 

Anarka eyed her sidelong for a moment, and then sighed and shoved herself off the fence, turning to smile at Marinette with her hand on her hips. “Out with it, lass, what’s on yer mind?”  

Marinette blushed, snapping back to the present. “Nothing. It’s none of my business.” 

“Maybe not,” Anarka shrugged. “Ye can still ask, though. If I don’t want to tell ye, I just won’t.” 

Marinette shifted her weight and adjusted her grip on the handle of her kit, still uncomfortable, but...“Were you...disappointed?” she asked in a low voice. “When Luka gave up his career?”

Anarka laughed loud enough that it echoed back to them. “Nah, lass, I was proud . Luka was miserable, livin’ that life. It takes guts to admit that and come home, ‘specially when everyone around you is telling you how lucky ye are, having a talent and a chance like that. Like somehow you owe some cosmic debt and if ye don’t stick it out, yer wastin’ somethin’. Like success is a cookie cutter and ye have to slice away bits of yerself to make it fit.” She shook her head. “It’s not how I raised my kids. I taught them to take chances, and I taught them not to let fear make their decisions—and I also taught them that there’s no shame in what the world likes to call failure. There’s no shame in trying out the different shapes of success until you find one that fits, instead o’ tryin’ t’ force yerself into the one kind.” 

Marinette blinked at her, surprised at the way her expression softened as she spoke. 

Anarka was silent a moment and then sighed. “Still. You do your best to teach them, but you never know whether the lesson’s gonna stick. So when I think of the courage it took for Luka to walk away, to look so-called failure in the face and turn it into just another lesson learned, to find a way to believe that he’s still his father’s son even if he doesn’t follow in the old man’s footsteps—I’m so proud I could burst.” Marinette started slightly as Anarka suddenly stepped forward and put a surprisingly gentle hand on Marinette’s shoulder. “Luka’s never needed to prove his talent to me, lass. He’s still finding his feet again, and that’s okay. When he’s ready, he’ll make success fit him instead of the other way around, I’ve no doubt of that.” She squeezed Marinette’s shoulder, and looked at Marinette for a long moment. Marinette swallowed nervously, but couldn’t think of anything to say. 

Ankara let her hand drop and jerked her head towards the house. “Go on now, we’ve both got things to be doing. Go straight on in, he’ll be expecting you.” She turned back to her young trees, and Marinette, clearly dismissed, turned towards the house, butterflies surging back to life in her stomach. She was being stupid, she told herself. Luka had accepted her rejection gracefully, and tried so hard to make her comfortable. Marinette was sure she’d hurt his feelings if she suddenly got awkward about being around him, and that was the last thing she wanted to do. 

Marinette sneaked a glance back towards Anarka, and then despite what she had been told, she knocked as loudly as she could. She lingered on the doorstep as long as she dared (which wasn’t very long, knowing that Anarka could see her not going on in), and let herself into the house. She could hear guitar music even before she got the creaky old door open, and once inside, she followed it to the great room. Luka was perched on the same fragile-looking chair as before, with an acoustic in his hands this time. He looked up as she entered, and smiled, laying his hand flat against the strings. His hair was damp, and his t-shirt sticking to him a little bit. He couldn’t have been out of the shower long and Marinette was kind of glad she’d stopped to talk to Anarka. 

Luka stood up and put the guitar in a stand, and Marinette realized she hadn’t even said hi, but it seemed too late now. “I was starting to think Mom was going to talk your ear off before you made it up here,” Luka teased gently as he straightened. 

“Oh, we were just, um—” Marinette winced. “Talking.” She was so lame, ugh. 

“I saw through the window,” Luka grinned. “Figured you’d get here when you were ready. The stuff’s all in the attic, so…” He gestured towards the stairs, and then reached for her kit. “Can I get that for you?”

Too flustered to object politely, Marinette let him take it, and then followed him. She should say something, she thought, but she couldn’t think of anything.

She sighed mournfully as they climbed the stairs. Part of her ached for what he was offering—but she was pretty sure that same part wouldn’t want to let him go, and that was just...and really, she was such a disaster, and he was amazing, and he deserved so much better than someone who was so mixed up and wishy-washy. Why did they have to meet like this? Would it have been different if they met before?

Except before, she was with Adrien, too dazzled and in love to even see anyone else, and Luka had been a rock star, surrounded by all the glamorous women he could possibly want, and she had never really stood out, as Audrey loved to remind her. She just didn’t have Adrien’s celebrity magnetism, nor Audrey’s force of personality, so she was always overlooked. It was no wonder that nobody ever really saw her until she came here. 

“Well, here we are,” Luka’s voice broke into her thoughts. He was reaching up to grab a hanging cord. 

Marinette shook her head and slapped her cheeks as Luka pulled the attic ladder down and ascended it. None of this was actually solving the problem at hand. She needed to keep her mind on the costumes. Marinette had sketched out some ideas at home, thinking she could probably get some sheets to use as a base, and then maybe she could source some of the less expensive things from Luka’s old wardrobe for embellishments on the fancier things like the angels, or for the snaps and things. There was a single big box store in town, actually; the selection would be limited but surely she could find some things there too. This project was ridiculously easy, when it came down to it. She had a plan that would work, and it was all simple sewing, stuff she could do in her sleep. No sweat. 

So why were her hands shaking?

She lifted her hands and watched them tremble before her eyes. She felt her breath getting short.

She started when a large hand closed over both of hers. “Marinette.” She looked up, and Luka was there, framed against the light coming down from the attic. “Are you all right?” 

“Yeah,” she said, a little too quickly, with a smile that was a little too wide. “Just, hoping there will be some stuff I can use.” 

Luka smiled. “It’ll be fine. Come on up.” He shifted his hold to just one of her hands and drew her up the narrow stairs after him.

He let go of her hand once she was up, and Marinette looked around in mild surprise. The attic was cleaner than she expected. Cluttered, like the rest of the house, and full of things in piles and stacked, sometimes draped in sheets, but she didn’t encounter the dust she had expected, and the small, high windows were clean and let in plenty of light. She wondered if they were just carting things in and out of here so often that they kept it clean, or if they used the space for more than storage. There was a clear path to where they needed to be, and she followed Luka across the creaking floor.

Marinette waited nervously as he whisked the protective sheets off two racks of clothes. Marinette had to blink as the light hit the clothes; there were metal accents and rhinestones and metallic fabrics everywhere, and she was unprepared for the amount of light they threw back in her eyes. 

“There it is,” Luka sighed, folding his arms as he sat on a trunk a short distance away. “Every bedazzled scrap of it.”

She had to giggle a little at that. Luke Stone had certainly favored ostentation, though that was almost unavoidable when you played with Jagged Stone. 

Still, they didn’t have to, she thought, as she walked up and began mechanically sliding looks along the rack to have a look. They could have played up his simplicity. They could have made him stand out by contrast, rather than by imitation. She wondered if they were deliberately setting up an implied rivalry between father and son with their choices, or if they just hadn’t thought a rock star could be simple. Costume design wasn’t exactly the same thing as fashion design, but there was enough overlap that— 

Marinette brought her thoughts back to the present, and swallowed as she stepped back again, suddenly overwhelmed. She turned away and opened her kit slowly, taking out the stack of drawings she’d left on top, suddenly profoundly dissatisfied with them. Rose and the kids expected her to work magic with this stuff, and all she had was a pile of generic toga-style costumes.

Simple. Uninspired. Pedestrian. 

Her gut began to churn.

Marinette glanced at Luka nervously, and then jerked her gaze quickly away, but of course he caught it. 

“I don’t have to be here if it makes you uncomfortable,” he said quietly. “I can go back downstairs and you can just call me if you need help with anything.”

That was so far from her thoughts that it gave her pause. “You...don’t make me uncomfortable,” she said, and looked back at him with a sad smile. “You never have. You’ve been...really wonderful, Luka, now matter how weird things got. I am uncomfortable, but it’s not about you.” Taking a breath, Marinette stepped back to the rack and ran her fingers down the fabric in front of her in a practiced motion, taking in the composition and the drape almost without conscious thought.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Luka asked quietly. 

Marinette thought about that for a moment, and then turned back to the garments on the rack. “Not tonight.” She couldn’t afford to get worked up now, she had to figure something out. She...she had to do something, she couldn’t just…

“Okay.” Luka said simply, and Marinette swallowed hard, squeezing her eyes shut. He was so understanding, but—what was she going to do? She couldn’t just drape the kids in sheets and call it a day, they deserved so much better than that. She had to figure something out, she had to—She put both hands in her hair and pulled it, trying to focus on the clothes in front of her, but her eyes stung. She squeezed them shut tight and held her breath, trying to keep it together. 

Luka’s hands closed on her shoulders from behind, squeezing lightly, and Marinette turned to him in a rush, burying her face in his chest. 

“Marinette, look at me,” he said, pushing her shoulders back gently and taking her face in his hands. “Just breathe, and look at me.”

Marinette stared up into his blue eyes, reflecting calm and assurance while all that fluttered in her chest was panic and self-doubt.

“Slow down,” he said emphatically. “It’s okay.”

“But I—” she began, and he shook his head.

“Marinette. There’s no failure here. Anything you put together will be better than moldy, moth-eaten rags. Without your help we’d all be frantically cutting armholes in pillowcases or something. No matter what you do, Rose will be ecstatic.” He smiled encouragingly at her. “These are the lowest possible stakes. You can’t screw up, so just have fun with it.” 

Marinette turned her head out of his hands, looking at the designer, rock star wardrobe laid out for her to use. “But—”

Luka reached over and grabbed her fabric scissors out of her kit. He grabbed a shirt at random off the rack, and cut it in half in a ragged line. Marinette stared as he offered her the scissors back. “That’s how little I care about this stuff,” he grinned. 

Marinette’s mouth closed abruptly and she glared at him, and would have snatched the scissors from them if they hadn’t been—well, scissors. Well-sharpened fabric scissors at that. Instead she took them with the appropriate amount of care even as she narrowed her eyes at him. “I might have needed that,” she told him, kicking his foot lightly. 

“I have faith,” Luka grinned wider. “You’ll manage.” 

She huffed and turned back to the garments, and looked at the second rack next to her. Luka backed away, leaning his elbows on an old dresser as he watched her. 

Marinette studied the racks, and suddenly she pulled out her phone, swiping to the group photo she’d taken at the library today. She looked over the children there, at their dyed hair and punk haircuts and all-black outfits interspersed with riots of color, and began to smile a bit. “Okay,” she muttered, picking up a leather garment studded with rhinestones. “I guess this Christmas is about to get a little bit rock ‘n roll.” 

Luka raised his eyebrows slightly.

Marinette barely noticed him, eyes lighting up as her mind began racing. She picked up the stack of designs she had done earlier and crumpled them absently in her hands. “I need my sketchbook,” she muttered. 

“I’ll get it,” Luka said, shoving off the dresser and crossing the room. “Where?”

“I left it in my car. On the passenger seat, I think.”

Luka clattered down the stairs and out of the front door to grab Marinette’s sketchbook. Halfway back up the stairs he hesitated, and ducked into his room to grab his own notebook. Marinette practically snatched the book out of his hand, digging in her kit for her pencils, and Luka grinned, sitting back on the trunk again and resting his notebook on his knee. 

He watched her, fascinated, as her focus narrowed to her task, and she began sketching, making notes and separating out items from the stacks of clothing he never thought he’d look at again. Luka began scribbling notes to himself as well, just...idle thoughts, the web of concepts and ideas that eventually came together to make a song, but he kept looking up to watch her, intrigued by her creative process. She muttered something to herself or tossed something aside with more vehemence than usual and he grinned. 

Slowly, the attic transformed, suddenly strewn with gaudy clothes. Several distinct heaps were forming. Every once in a while Marinette would stop, and go back to her sketchbook, scratching in new details or ideas, or crossing something out with a sigh. 

He jumped slightly, though, when she tossed the book aside with a little scream, and buried her face in her hands. “I’m such an idiot,” she muttered. “Why didn’t I think of that? It’s never going to hold up with that kind of weight, I’m so stupid —” 

“Whoa,” Luka said, a little sharply than he’d meant to, putting his notebook aside and getting up quickly to go to her. “Hey, hey, hey, slow down. What’s wrong?”

“I just—I should have accounted for this, and I didn’t, and now I have to change it—”

“Okay, so change it,” Luka said, putting his hands on her shoulders again to make her look at him. Marinette looked at him like he had two heads, and he almost laughed at her. “Marinette, you’re an artist, not a machine. It’s okay to backtrack and change your mind.” He smiled at her, hoping he looked reassuring and not enchanted. “I know every artist is different and music isn’t the same as fashion, but for me…” he shrugged. “Success comes from a series of small failures. You try something, and it mostly works, but something isn’t quite right, so you make a change and try again. That’s not something to be ashamed of or upset about. If you’re that frustrated, we could take a break. Or if you want to rework it some and come back tomorrow, that’s fine too. I’m not going anywhere.”

Marinette stared at him for a minute, her mouth working soundlessly. She looked down at the sketchbook in her hands, and then back up at him. 

“Do you want to take a break?” Luka asked her. 

“I...no,” she said. “It’s...it’s not that big of a deal, I’m pretty sure I can fix it if I...um—” 

“Okay,” he said simply, giving her shoulders a little squeeze. He really wanted to hug her, to hold her tight and tell her how amazing he found her, how entranced he was watching her work, how alive she looked when she was creating, but—he couldn’t, so he squeezed her shoulders and then let his hands fall. “No need to explain it, I trust you.” He glanced down at the book, and then looked away. “Sorry, I’m not trying to peek, but that—that looks really badass.” He couldn’t help looking again, and, blushing, Marinette turned the book so he could see. His smile grew as he looked at it. “That’s amazing, Marinette, what are you worrying about? If it looks half this cool in real life we’re going to have to have someone standing by to give Rose oxygen.” 

Marinette giggled, and looked back down at it herself. “You really think so?” she murmured, with a small smile that made his heart skip. Just when he thought she couldn’t get any sweeter. 

“I definitely think so,” Luka told her, backing away. He sat down on the floor this time, leaning back against the trunk. He groped behind him blindly for his notebook and nearly knocked it off the far side of the trunk. 

Marinette gave a pleased hum, and then took a deep breath before her brows furrowed into her concentration face. Luka drew his knees up and leaned one elbow on them, smiling like the fool he was. 

There were a few more frustrated groans, but no more spirals, and Luka kept quietly in his place even as piles of fabric grew around him. Finally she sat back and sighed. “I think that’s everything I’m going to need.” 

“Cool.” Luka looked up from his notebook and smiled. 

“I’m so sorry about the mess,” Marinette gasped, looking around as if she had only just now realized the chaos she had created. “I can help you clean it up—” 

Luka cut her off with a laugh. “You’re welcome to,” he chuckled, “but there’s really no need. Clutter is a way of life around here. Trust me, the only reason they were so organized to begin with is because they were delivered that way.” His eyes fell to her sketchbook. “Can I see what you have in mind?” he asked, unable to contain his curiosity any more.

Marinette tensed up immediately, biting her lip. She looked at the book and then at Luka, and then she offered it to him.

Luka took it, though his eyes stayed on her, concerned and a little baffled by her hesitation when the one sketch he’d seen had been so cool. Marinette turned back to the pile of garments she had chosen, though, and so he let his eyes fall and began looking through the few pages of sketches she had made, careful not to go beyond even though he was aching to see more. A slow smile grew on his face as he looked, and he shook his head slightly. “The angels are still my favorite, but these are amazing, Marinette. You might want to get some earplugs because Rose is going to shatter glass when she sees these.” He grinned up at her. “I knew you could do it.” 

She smiled faintly, but looked away. “They’re just pictures, though. I still have to actually execute the designs.” 

“Hey,” Luka said, reaching a hand up towards her. Marinette blinked in surprise, but she slowly stepped forward and put her hand in his. He tugged gently, and she sank to her knees in front of him. “ Yeah, you might have to make some changes when you go to actually put it together, but that’s part of the process for everybody. Sometimes a song I thought was finished doesn’t work out right the first time I play it with the band, and I have to make some changes.” He hesitated, and then went on. “I don’t know what’s going on in there,” he poked her forehead gently. “And I’m not exactly up on fashion, but—” he gestured at the racks of clothes. “I have some experience too, and I gotta say…” he shook his head, and turned the sketchbook towards her. “You outclass anybody else I’ve worked with by far.”  

Marinette blushed deeply. “They’re just costumes,” she murmured, tucking her hair back as she looked away. 

“They could have been, but they’re not.” Luka offered her the book back. “Marinette.” He waited until she looked at him. “Do you like them?”

Marinette looked back at the drawings, and bit her lip. Her face was growing red again. “Yes,” she finally admitted quietly. 

Luka put his fingers under her chin and tipped her face back up. “Stop thinking so hard,” he said gently. “I know it’s easy to lose faith in yourself, but...you’re creating something, you have to find a way to tune all of that stuff out and just be in that moment. You can deal with the aftermath afterwards.” He grinned. “That’s what editing is for, right? Or so I’m told. I was never any good at it.” 

Marinette smiled. “That’s why your music was so good. It was...raw, instinctive. Still polished, but deeply emotional. It’s why I always loved it.” 

It was Luka’s turn to flame up red, and Marinette giggled. 

“That wasn’t fair,” he huffed, pulling his knees up to hide his face in his arms for a moment.

Marinette laughed harder. “How many thousands of records sold and you blush at a little old compliment from a fan?” she teased. 

Luka turned his face on his arms so that he was looking at her. “You’re not just any fan,” he said, and smiled at the pink returning to her cheeks. He sighed, raising his head, and letting his legs fall and cross beneath him again. “Don’t ever let anyone let you feel like you’re not special, Marinette.”

“It’s definitely not a problem when I’m with you,” she said, and then bit her lip, like it had slipped out without her intending it to. 

“Good,” he grinned, and then decided he’d better move before he did something stupid. “So, show me what you need me to take down to the car for you, and we’ll just leave the rest of it like this until you’re done in case you need to come back for something.” 

“Oh,” Marinette’s eyes widened slightly and she scrambled to her feet. “Right.” 

She told him which piles of clothes she wanted to take, and Luka got some bags and gathered them up. Marinette made a token effort at tidying up, despite Luka having told her to leave it. She hung a few things back on the rack, and paused suddenly, hand hovering over a jacket still on the rack. 

Marinette picked it up slowly, looking at it. The scent of leather and something like electronics hit her nose, and her eyes widened slightly. She felt around the bottom hem and found something hard and rectangular there. Another minute of searching, and the jacket lit up in her hands, the fiber optic lights sewn into the seam pulsing faintly. 

Marinette laughed a little, and crossed over to the trunk Luka had been using as a chair all afternoon. She sat down and spread the jacket across her lap. She remembered this. He’d been wearing it at the show she’d gone to. They’d started with all the lights off and just Luka on stage, wearing this jacket and the pants that went with it, making him just an electric outline on the stage when the curtain went up. 

Hard to reconcile that image with the guy from the tree farm, she thought affectionately. But then, he’d always had a reputation for being a sweetheart, good to his fans and generous with his time, so...maybe it wasn’t so hard to believe. 

At least this contraption is well made, she thought, running a finger along one of the light tubes. It was still secure after all this time, and clearly in working order. 

The lights began to flash and jump around, and Marinette giggled. It had started that right before Luke had swept his hand up and down in a dramatic power chord that had rattled her teeth. Once again it was hard to reconcile them in her mind. It was almost funny, now that she knew Luka, remembering those dramatics. 

The light reflected back off something in the corner of her eye, and when she looked, she saw it was the metal coil of Luka’s notebook, half buried under a pile of clothes he had shoved out of the way. She picked the notebook up and smiled a little bit as she did so; the page was a mess, full of scratched out lines, and the writing went every which way in a complicated web. Was this how his mind worked? It was so different from her own process— 

Jewels Diamonds in the sands of time Those are my memories with you And even if it’s only a precious few They’re the ones I’ll keep when everything else flows away

It made Marinette think of her first fashion show, when she’d been new and excited about the garments she was putting out there, excited and happy. That moment shone jewel-bright in her memory, despite all the drudgery that had followed it. That was she was working for, after all, another chance at that feeling. All of this frustration would be worth it if she could have another moment like that. 

Marinette blinked back to reality and suddenly realized what she was doing. She slammed her eyes shut and turned the notebook over in her lap. Oh, she shouldn’t have looked at that, she thought frantically, her heart suddenly beating triple time. This—this was private, just like her designs were, and she shouldn’t have—but she hadn’t meant to— 

Luka’s heavy boots thunked on the stairs and Marinette jumped, dropping the notebook so that it landed on the floor splayed open with an inelegant smack . Marinette scrambled up and hurriedly grabbed it again. She hastily smoothed it out as Luka came the rest of the way up into the attic. “Oh, I think this one is yours,” she said, holding it out to him. 

“Oh, yeah, thanks,” Luka said, curling it in half and sticking it in his back pocket. Marinette tried not to wince. “Anything else?” His eyes landed on the jacket in her hands. “Oh, I see you found the switch,” he chuckled. 

“Will you put it on?” Marinette blurted, and Luka raised his eyebrows at her. “Please?” she smiled, hunching her shoulders slightly as she held it up.   

Eyebrows still raised, Luka took it, and slipped it on. He grimaced slightly as he zipped it up. “Definitely doesn’t fit as comfortably as it used to,” he commented, tugging down on the hem. “Not too bad, though.” 

“You probably build muscles in different places, hauling trees,” Marinette said absently, stepping forward to adjust the way it sat across his shoulders for a moment. “Not as uniform a workout as using a personal trainer. It gives you a more natural build.” She smiled a little as she smoothed the arms and stepped back.

“It still looks good on you,” she observed. “You were wearing this at the concert I went to. The first time I saw you live.” 

Luka smiled ruefully. “Doesn’t exactly have the same effect in my attic, does it?”

“No,” Marinette smiled back. “It was a wonderful performance, though, and I guess I wasn’t expecting to be reminded of it just now.” She bit her lip and asked in a rush, “Were you...were you writing a song? Just now?” She gestured vaguely toward his pocket. 

Luka looked a little taken aback, but not offended. “I was starting to,” he admitted. “I...really enjoy the time we spend together, and it was really nice, seeing a new side of you today. I guess I felt a little inspired, yeah.” 

Marinette’s breath caught. “It was...about me?” 

“About you and me, yeah,” he admitted. “Does that bother you?” 

Marinette’s eyes widened. “No!” How could he think she’d be offended by such a thing? It was...it was amazing, that she’d inspired anything in him, when she was so—and—how she had felt, in that first fashion show, was he...was he saying he felt that way with her ? She shied away from the idea even as she thought it, it was so...so much, and she was so—she was—   

Oh no. Luka was looking at her intently, a slight crease in his forehead. She tried to think of something to say, but her internal meltdown was too complete, and she just stared at him. 

“You’re extraordinary, Marinette,” Luka said softly, and his expression was completely serious and not at all flirtatious. “Getting to see you work today was a privilege. I’m better for meeting you, even if my heart breaks when you’re gone. It’s...it’s a long way from being a song, but I meant it.”

“But I’m…”

Luka shook his head slightly, a smile softening his expression. “You’re what, Marinette? Tell me everything, I want to hear all of it.” 

Marinette gaped. “You—you—how do you do that?” she cried, throwing her hands up. “You’re sweet and kind and you have an amazing talent but you’re so laid back and grounded and—”

“And you are all of those things too,” Luka laughed. “Except maybe the laid back part.” He grinned, and Marinette made a face at him. “You kinda maybe worry too—”

Marinette had taken two large steps toward him. She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled. Luka staggered, grabbing on to her shoulders as she dragged him down and kissed him. 

He made a very undignified noise even as his arms were coming down to wrap around her. Marinette couldn’t hold the kiss very long; she hadn’t taken a good breath and her nose was smashed against his cheek, so she was forced to break it before Luka really even had a chance to respond. 

Luka sucked in a breath, blinking at her. “Are you sure?” he blurted, and then looked like he wanted to kick himself. Marinette had to giggle, giddy with elation and adrenaline, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest. 

“No,” she told him when she was able, and a little shiver of fear went up her spine before she stomped it down again. “But I’ve never met anybody like you and...anyway, you’re right. It’s stupid to be tearing myself up over it when I could just be kissing you instead.” 

“Very logical,” he laughed, and Marinette kicked his shin lightly.

“Take off this ridiculous jacket,” she told him, tugging. “I can’t take you seriously in this thing.” 

“I don’t know, I’m suddenly a lot fonder of it than I was a moment ago,” Luka grinned, putting his hands over hers on the lapels. His tone was teasing, but his thumbs caressed the backs of her hands, and there was a light in his eyes that had her heart galloping all over again. 

She slipped her hands away, and Luka fumbled at the hem until he found the switch, turned the lights off, and shrugged the jacket off, dropping it carelessly on the trunk beside them before reaching for her again.

They were still wrapped up in each other when Rose popped her head in the attic looking for them, and rattled the windows with her scream.

Fiction Master Post | Month of Miracles

[babbushka]

This sounds like a blast for your Lawyer couple to argue over! Maybe they even have to pull into a seedy motel on the way due to gas or weather. Poor Kylo, his cashmere sweaters and 3k suits being soiled just by hanging in the closet of the cheep roadside motel. 🤣

10. Person A and Person B are driving to visit family for the holiday, when their car starts to have trouble. Turns out, Person A didn’t fill the tank, and they’re not sure they have enough gas to make it to their destination…or do they??

Thank you!!!

Anonymous said: Happy chanukah, Z! If u dont mind, that prompt about the car not being gassed up when theyre driving to see family sounded like it could provide some fun banter between lawyer kylo and his better half. Thanks and have the best holiday!

(2.8k Fluff, mostly banter & silly shenanigans!)

Rain beats down on the windshield of Kylo’s shiny black Mercedes relentlessly. He’s behind the wheel, you’re in the passenger seat next to him, the seat heaters on to keep you both cozy. It’s a miracle that the rain hasn’t frozen, the last thing you wanted to have to deal with was black ice, as you and Kylo make your way up the interstate to Connecticut.

It’s still surreal to even think you’re in the car with him, to think that you’ll be celebrating Hanukkah together. Go figure that despite you and Kylo being sworn enemies, your parents and his parents were friends. Something about having gone to the same law school, and coincidentally moving into the same lavishly expensive small town. It would only make sense for them to invite you and Kylo to a joint-family Hanukkah celebration, where you would be staying in your mother’s big mansion for eight nights – separate rooms, of course.

There’s music playing softly on the radio, Kylo had let you hook up your phone so your spotify plays through the bluetooth; a Hanukkah playlist you made just for the occasion late last night. You didn’t want to listen to the incessant sound of Christmas music, not during your favorite holiday.

“About how much longer do you think it’ll be?” You break the comfortable silence between the two of you. Kylo doesn’t have the GPS on or anything, he’s driven this route too many times to need it.

“The worst of the traffic is behind us, probably only an hour.” He shrugs, not looking away from the road.

Despite all your better judgement, you think he’s particularly handsome tonight. No doubt wanting to dress up to impress your family and meet the standards of his own, he’s in a navy blue dress shirt, with a black and silver patterned sweater vest. His suit jacket is laid down carefully in the backseat along all the Hanukkah presents that you’ve somehow managed to stuff into his car, and his Rolex glints occasionally when the street lamps pass over it through the windows.

You’re just about to tell him how handsome you think he is, when the car makes a strange motion that you’re positive wasn’t on purpose, causing you to frown and ask, “What was that?”

“What was what?” Kylo, for his part, doesn’t react at all. Or at least, he pretends you.

Sometimes Kylo forgets that you’ve had a lifetime of being able to tell when people are lying, and you don’t appreciate his stubbornness right now. He turns to glance at you for a split second, and you are already gearing up for a bit of an argument.

“That lurch.” You explain, gesturing with a wave of your hand.

“I didn’t feel a lurch.” Kylo shakes his head, the liar.

“Yes you did, don’t be difficult.” You turn around in your seat to try and glance out the rear-window, but it’s too dark, the rainclouds obscuring the sky. “Did we hit something?”

“Are you doubting my ability to keep my eyes on the road? No I didn’t hit something.” Kylo replies with a dangerous sort of edge to his voice that only makes you cross your arms over your chest and fix him with a hard stare.

You get a small ounce of satisfaction from the way his hands grip the steering wheel a little nervously, Kylo doesn’t like to be scrutinized, least of all by you.

“Well then what was the lurch?” You press, and he finally grits his teeth and shakes his head.

“There wasn’t any fucking lurch, (Y/N) – ”

Ding!

You and Kylo shut up at the noise, your eyebrows flying up. For the first time, you lean over to see what the hell is going on with the car, disbelief flooding through you when you see the little gas-light blinking on and off.

“Oh my god you didn’t fill up the tank before picking me up?” You’re incredulous, when you see the needle on the gas dial all the way down below ‘E’.

“Oy, here we go.” Kylo grumbles to himself and you scoff and huff and smack at your thigh, because yeah, here we go.

“No really, you really thought we could just make the drive from Manhattan to Darien at rush hour on a Thursday on what was it, a quarter tank of gas?” You grill him, knowing that sitting bumper to bumper couldn’t have helped his cause.

“It’s a hybrid!” He runs a hand through his hair, as if that makes it any better.

“I don’t give a shit if it’s a hybrid or a gas guzzler you should’ve thought to fill up.” You’re immediately pulling your phone out, typing furiously into the navigation to try and see where the nearest place to fill up would even be. “Now look at us, we’re running on fumes. Can you switch it to the electric?”

“It’s not charged…” Kylo groans, his face burning bright red, hating every second of this. You blink at him, mouth already opening to complain, but he puts up a hand and cuts you off before you can even start. “It’ll be fine, I’ll pull into the next gas station that I see.”

Dismay trickles down your spine, when you see that there isn’t a gas station anywhere near where you are, certainly not close enough to make it on the couple of miles that Kylo’s Mercedes has left.

“I don’t think there is another one, we might’ve passed it before driving over the bridge.” You smack a hand to your forehead, Kylo literally growling under his breath at the news.  

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He snaps, and his anger only makes you angry – because yes, you’re not just in disbelief about the whole thing, you’re angry about it.

“I offered to drive you know.” You start, and Kylo can already tell in your voice that you’re ramping up to something.

“I know.” He grits out between clenched teeth.

“So we agree, I said ‘I’ve got a full tank of gas, and plenty of trunk space for us.’ Do you recall me saying that to you at approximately eight P.M. last night? Or were you too fucked out of your mind to hear me? Why you never listen to me I will never fucking understand.” You keep going on and on, your hands waving and punctuating the air.

“I’m trying to fucking think over here sweetheart, I’ve got some schmuck riding my ass – fuck it I’m pulling over.” Kylo decides all at once, puts on his blinker and gets off at the exit that comes up just off the interstate.

He pulls the car to a slow roll, you frantically searching on your phone for something, anything nearby that would maybe get you out of this situation.

“My mother is going to kill me if we’re late.” You sigh, thinking about how dinner is going to be served soon. Your stomach growls, thinking about latkes and sufganiyot and brisket and and and…

“Your mother? Wait until Leia gets a load of this.” Kylo mutters, already envisioning the proverbial smackdown he’s going to get. And here he wanted to make a good impression, he can’t help but think how angry your family will be for putting you in a predicament like this.

You grab at his bicep just then, and he startles at the contact, it’s the first time you’ve touched him since waking up in his bed earlier that morning.

“Kylo, look I see lights! Looks like a motel, maybe they can direct us somewhere close.” You give him big pleading eyes, and as much as Kylo hates asking for help, he can’t just keep wasting gas like this.

“Okay but stay in the car.” He concedes, urging the car closer to the motel. It doesn’t matter that it looks kind of run-down, he’d give a thousand dollars to anyone who could get gas in this fucking thing, he thinks.

“Why?” You frown, not liking the thought of sitting alone in the car.

“It’s cold and wet and I don’t want you bitching about the weather.” Kylo grumbles, “Stay in here where it’s warm, I’ll keep the engine running.”

What he really means is, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.

He doesn’t say that, but you hear it anyway, so when he parks in the lot outside the Motel, you do as he asks.

You don’t have to wait for him for very long, because about fifteen minutes later he comes back with a little key-card in his hand that you eye suspiciously.

“So.” He gets back in the car, closing his umbrella and sticking it in a bag before chucking it in the back seat. “There isn’t another gas station.”

“Do we have enough to double back to the one just before the border?” You wonder, trying to do the math for how far away that is, but Kylo beats you to it.

“No. I got us a room for tonight – ” He starts, holding up the key card, and you feel the hot sting of tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, frustrated and sad about this whole nightmare.

“We can’t stay, it’s the first night of Hanukkah!” You complain, leaning forward and crossing your arms on the dash, burying your face in the crook of your elbow in defeat.

“I know, I know we can’t stay, but we can’t keep driving either. I’ve already called your mother, she’s going to drive over in the morning with some gallon cannisters and fill us up enough so we can make the rest of the way.” Kylo smooths a comforting hand across your back, and you peer up at him just a peek through your sweater sleeve.

“You called my mother?” You arch a brow at him, knowing how prickly he can be when he’s irritated.

“Yes, I was very polite I’ll have you know.” He seems to read your mind, and untangles you to gently push you sitting upright again, “Come, lets go get settled in the room, I’ve got a pounding fucking headache and I just want to go to sleep.”

 The room is…well. It leaves much to be desired, that’s for sure. It’s not bad, certainly not the worst place you’ve ever stayed, but it’s not really much else than a bed, a television, a couple dressers and a bathroom. Which is fine, considering you plan on staying for less than 12 hours, but…but you really wish you could be with your family.

Kylo is none too pleased about the situation either, which makes it at least a little better. He refuses to take anything out of his suitcase, not wanting to get his suits soiled by the mediocrity of the motel room. You don’t blame him, honestly. You do, however, take a couple things out of your suitcase. It’s just about seven o’clock, and you know that the sun would be set by now if the rain clouds weren’t here, so you pull the curtain windows open and set your menorah down on the windowsill.

“What are you doing?” Kylo blinks from the bathroom, standing in his boxers and undershirt.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m lighting the candles.” You hold up the little box of matches and the shamash.

“You brought a menorah with you?” He comes over to where you’re standing, drapes his body against your back, his arms wrapping around your middle.

“Mhm, it’s the one I got on my very first Hanukkah when I was a baby.” You nod, lifting it up to show him, “My mother gave it to me when I moved, so I’d always have a piece of home with me. I always light it along with the others when we get together to celebrate.”

“That’s very sweet.” Kylo grumbles, pretending not to be as affected by this whole thing as he really is. Kylo had wanted to be with his family too.

“Well?” You nudge him expectantly, as you strike a match and light the Shamash.

“Well what?” Kylo frowns, making you smile tiredly at him over your shoulder.

“Are you going to say the prayers or not?” You prompt, and he swallows.

Kylo hugs you tighter around your middle, his cheek resting against yours as he clears his throat and starts the first of the three prayers.

“Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tsivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah.” Kylo’s voice is deep and the baritone spreads through your whole body as he cocoons you in his arms.

You lean back against his chest, watching the flame share with the first night’s candle, the two of you huddled together as the heater in the motel room cranks to life. He chuckles, and you chuckle, and the whole thing is so fucking ridiculous.

“Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, she-asah nisim laavoteinu v’imoteinu bayamim hahaeim baz’man hazeh. Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, shehecheyanu v'kiy'manu v'higiyanu laz'man hazeh.” Kylo finishes, the prayer for the first night complete.

It’s not the Hanukkah that either of you wanted, but as the two of you retire to the single bed – of course there’s only one bed, you think slyly – and kiss one another by the glow of the candles, his smile pressing against yours as the mattress squeaks underneath you, you think that maybe it isn’t such a bad first Hanukkah together after all.

[misskittysmagicportal]

Just a thought, no particular character in mind. Car sex can be very awkward, what if, after several knocked elbows and banged heads they fuck on the hood of the car

Rebel Yell (Sean Falco x Reader)

Word Count: 1370

Warnings: funny smut. Yes funny.

A/N: Some nights Sean can really take you for a ride

You and Sean stood side by side at the valet stand. There were nights the wait staff had to fill in when either Derek or Sean couldn't show. Most of those times, you practically threw yourself at Nino when Falco was alone.

Now the two of you danced around each other. You would find any excuse to touch him. To brush those unwieldy curls from his forehead. Laughing awkwardly at his ridiculous jokes, mostly puns. The way his very existence reduced you to a giggling school girl.

Sean was a bit more blunt when it came to flirting. Boldly asking you out, which you deflected every single time. Openly staring down your shirt. Which you ALSO deflected. Never really understanding why you played hard to get when all you wanted to do was drown in those green eyes.

Then one night..

“You know one of these days, Sean Falco, your constant cell phone use is going to get you in trouble,” you teased him while trying to look over his shoulder.

Sean shrugged you off but kept tapping away at a rapid pace. A smirk played across his lips. You held your chin in your hands as the boredom took over. A buzzing from the stand took you by surprise.

Next car that comes around that corner, we're taking for a joy ride. Then we're gonna park it on some busy street and hash out this obvious chemistry we've got.

Your face flushed as your heart began to race. Then a second buzz.

Only if you want.

You looked up and out towards the busy high street, “Or it can get you in trouble tonight.”

The next half an hour was quite possibly the longest of your life. Not one single car even attempted to pull up to the curb. People came and went, having parked on their own. You stood together in awkward silence for the first time since the two of you met.

“T’ere’s always my car,” Sean’s Irish accent filled the night air.

You snorted without meaning to, “I've seen your gaudy Texas State orange car. It is one violent sneeze away from falling apart.”

Sean rolled his eyes before scratching his forehead. “Fine. My flat or yours?”

“Me go home with a handsome Irish stranger? What kind of woman do you take me for?!” You feigned shock.

“COME ON!” he clasped his hands together like he was praying. “I'm not above getting on my knees and begging ye.”

“While you’re down there, my shoe needs to be tied.”

Without a second thought, Sean knelt down in front of you and began tying your shoe.

“Sean! What are you doing?”

“You said ye needed your trainer tied.”

“I was being sarcastic, you bloody potato.”

“Ooo Ethnic slur. I love it. Do another!” He gazed up through the curly bangs. “Honestly I’m just having a bit of a cheek. I don't want anyone t’ever t’ink I'm pressuring them te have sex.”

“I'm not pressured. I'd love to come over to your place after work.”

Sean with his fingers stroking yours behind the pedestal. You linked them together as the breath exhaled heavily from your lungs. You bit your lip as he let his hand linger on your thigh. He traced slow circles down to your knee and back up. You simply stared at it, feeling a bit wanton already.

It took ten more minutes before a car came. A stunning. 1976. Cherry. Red. Corvette pulled up to the curb. A couple you certainly recognized tossed Sean the keys without a second thought. Billy Idol still blasting from the speakers.

“Don't worry dude. I've got three more at home.”

Your mouths dropped in unison. “Sorry darling, I'm gonna have sex with this car.”

“Only if I can watch,” you simply whispered.

From here on you felt somehow outside of your body as Sean made sure the coast was clear. He opened the door for you before bending over to stretch his arms on the hood of the Corvette.

“YOU FUCKING BEAUTY, YOU!” he shouted gleefully sliding in the drivers side.

As you left the restaurant, on for a bit of a joy ride, Sean started to sing along with the music. You couldn't help yourself as you raised your shirt over your head. Then lifted your hips to slide out of your work pants.

Sean glanced over and nearly wrecked. Righting the wheel instead of going up over the curb.

“Steady on, love. Let me catch up.”

“I don't know if we’ll have much time for foreplay before you finally decide to park. Just making it a bit easier,” you shrugged and covered his hand on the gear shift. Then tugged it towards your bare thighs.

“Fuck,” Sean muttered.

Still he allowed you to push his hand between your thighs. His fingers teasing the thin fabric of your panties to elicit a wetness. You opened your legs a bit wider so he could dip them inside of you. They slipped easily inside and out before he had to use both hands to park the car just past one of the busiest intersections.

He left the car on while frantically undoing his jeans. He bungled the job of taking them down over his legs and knees as you climbed to yours in the passenger seat. You reached under the seat and released the latch so that Sean was suddenly flat on his back.

“Right t’en,” his voice sounded like bells. “On top.”

In your eagerness to relieve yourself of your panties and straddle Sean, you knocked into the dome light. You covered your face with one hand as you freed your body with the other. Sean laughed. Asked if you were ok. You were fine the words came out. Then you were on him.

You sank down on Sean’s erection, one knee on the arm of the door. The other crushed into the center console as you started to rock back and forth on him. Your hips colliding equally with the steering wheel and Sean's body.

Sean's movements were frenzied. He squeezed your ass and rolled with you. Using his hands to find a rhythmic pattern of pulling and pushing. He was so lost in you riding him, that the hard thud of his elbow into the gear shift caused him to jerk forward. It was just Murphy’s law from there.

Sean jolted upwards from reflex. You slammed back into the steering wheel. The curve of your back laid on the horn, scaring the two of you a second time. A mass of arms and legs and various stages of two naked bodies crashed into one another. Your knee painfully wedged between the seats; you contorted with Sean still inside of you. Your twisted body twisting his cock as well.

“Holy fuck! Sweetheart, that's attached,” he reminded you gently.

You whined momentarily. “I know. Sean this isn't fun. I mean it is, but it isn't?” You struggled to free your leg from its prison. You came undone and nearly managed to knee him in the ribs. “I have a fat ass.”

“You have a lovely arse,” Sean informed. His face buried in your cleavage.

“SEA NNN STOP!”

“What? I'm sorry. We’ll stop.” He made to help you off of him. He slammed his other elbow into the driver’s side window.

“I meant being so fucking.. YOU,” you whimpered.

“I'm not ALWAYS nice.”

You settled back in the passenger seat and pulled your shirt on. Sean leaned sideways and kissed you sweeter than he had the right to. Then he noticed one of those fake Mexican blankets in the back seat. He held it up with a clear thought on his face.

“Wrap this around waist and get out of th’car.”

Sean wasn't suggesting. He was telling. So you did, sitting just on the hood of the Chevy. The blanket was like a mock skirt as Sean spread your legs this time. He hooked your foot around his hip, your other anchored on the front bumper. You didn't remember holding your breath, but you felt the air rush from your lungs when Sean buried himself up to the hilt inside of you.

Sean growled in your ear as he began to plow into you. That good pain as his pelvis crashed with yours. The hood of the car bending and popping under the weight of your bodies coming together and apart repeatedly. The way Sean cut into you; made his hips rut in a circular motion with breakneck speed. Your body somehow relaxed before you both, shockingly, came together.

"How's that for gettin’ in t’trouble?”

Tag list: @joz-stankovich @bisexualnathanyoung @robertsheehanownsmyass @magic-multicolored-miracle @badsext @imagine-you @super-unpredictable98 @elliethesuperfruitlover @slutforrobbiebro @immortalled @crisis-of-joy

[teyvattherapist]

Another one, set directly after the one where Sandrone finds Childe~ :)

-

Sandrone-- by a feat of miracle-- snuck Ajax into his Academy room and squirreled the boy away into the cramped bathroom while he snuck into the infirmary again to retrieve a first aid kit. When he returned, Ajax had stripped off his coat and scarf, leaving him in a shirt that was more holes than fabric and his bloodstained shorts. Wordlessly, Sandrone handed him an energy bar he'd swiped from the cafeteria and wetted a towel, rubbing away the dirt and grime that layered Ajax like a second skin. As the dirt washed away, the wounds were brought into stark relief. Hundreds of them, layered over each other and crisscrossing Ajax's skin like gaping mouths. Some were fully healed, nothing but thin, silvery lines. Others were an angry red and purple, bruised and swollen around the edges. All had clean cuts, suggesting an expert hand behind the blade. "Who did this?" Sandrone asked. He wasn't really expecting an honest answer, anyway. But Ajax was always one to surprise him. "The Abyss. I fell into a hole in the ground, and I was taken away to somewhere." "Was it scary?" Sandrone didn't look up from his ministrations, choosing to focus on the mangled mess that was Ajax's knees (how hard did he fall?) "It was," Ajax sighed dreamily. "But the things I saw down there... it spoke to me. The Abyss spoke to me, Sulien. It told me things that scared the everloving hell out of me, but I'm grateful to them." "Why?" Sandrone finally looked up. There were a hundred questions packed into that one word. Why are you still alright? Why are you thanking the Abyss? Why do you sound so different?

And from the bloodied fragments of Ajax's face, the eye of the Abyss stared back at him, milky and purple. Ajax smiled, a pristine tear in the mangled visage of a beast rebuilt from the ground up. "So I can protect you."

IM SCREAMING, ALMOND, THIS IS

KJFDSKJDFS??

SULIEN BEING A SNEAKY LIL SHIT IS SO TRUE, THAT'S JUST HOW HE WAS-

BUT THE SO I CAN PROTECT YOU?? SO I CAN PROTECT YOU!! OH MY GOSDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD. THE ?? JFDDF YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW!! I KNOW YOU DON'T KNOW THE LOFE, BUT THAT FITS SO WELL IM SCREAMING

as promised. Part two of Desiderium under the cut.

Another nightmare, another sleepless night. This nightmare was real though, it wasn’t like his usual ones, the ones where he was bound by chains and forced to- No, he didn’t want to think about those. His mind wandered to the latest one. He had given thought to Zhongli’s words, he was longing for somebody. But who? The God had never brought it up again, so he didn’t know. It had to be Lumine right? She was pretty, sure. Strong, good with a sword, her eyes were a nice shade of gold. But something still felt off.

He needed to take a walk.. He stopped when he reached the living room, blinking at.. Lumine? Asleep on his couch? The blonde stirred and pushed herself up some, blanket falling around her shoulders. “Sandrone? Ah- your mask- I- Sorry.” She averted her eyes and Sulien realised he wasn’t wearing his mask. This was his house! Of course he wasn’t wearing his mask. He cleared his throat.

“I thought I heard voices.” Ajax commented from the hallway, hair messier than ever from sleep. “I hope it's alright I invited Lumine to stay with us while she’s in Liyue Harbour. It's closer than the inn.” Ajax explained, seeing the panicked body language only he could understand on his fellow harbinger made him feel bad that he forgot to bring it up. Paimon snored away on the armchair, clearly unbothered by it all.

Without his mask, without his gloves, his scars and face on display. He felt uncomfortable. Incredibly uncomfortable. “I’m going for a walk.” Sulien pivoted and made a beeline for the entrance. Lumine rubbed her sleep riddled eyes, a small yawn escaping her as she looked up at Ajax who was busy staring at the archway into the entrance.

The door slammed shut.

“I’ve only known him for a month or so but,” she yawned, “I take it this is abnormal?” She sat up properly, tightening the blanket around her though. Liyue evenings could get quite cold. Ajax nodded his head in response to her question. Abnormal indeed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen such an influx of emotion. Perhaps when they were kids? That was probably it.

Sulien breathed in the fresh air, late at night, he didn’t need his mask, he didn’t need to be his rank. He could just be another nameless person in the streets, he preferred it this way. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants as he walked down the streets. Very few people were out and about so late at night, but he enjoyed watching them. A ghost of a smile on his lips as he watched lovers enjoying a late night getaway or a tired sailor returning home late.

But despite his usual late night activity that often cleared his mind, his mind began to fog once more. Trailing back to his dream, it wasn’t even that bad, especially compared to the usual ones. But being abandoned in a dream, he supposed, tied into the feelings he had been having recently. The stabbing pain in his poor heart, the squeezing of his lungs, stripping his body of blood and air.

There was no way it was about Lumine though. He didn’t feel anything when he looked at her except the pain, there was nothing underneath. He sighed, finding himself at the docks. He looked out on the dark water, lilac eyes searching the depths for answers. He furrowed his brows, all he could think of when he looked at the water, all he was reminded of.. Just one thing.

Ajax.

Sulien shook his head, no, he shouldn’t think of Ajax of all people. He couldn’t, that wasn’t allowed as far as he was aware. Well no relationship was allowed in general, he was their puppet after all, he couldn’t have any strings except to Her. But still.. This seemed somehow worse. His heart lurched at the thought and he hissed in pain, bringing his hand up to his chest, scarred fingers digging into the black fabric of his shirt.

All the books he had read, all the research he did. None of it had any answers for this. And he wondered why he felt wrong. Sulien sighed, sitting on the edge of the docks, legs dangling above the water. Ajax seemed happy with Lumine either way, right? They were much cuter together. Sulien never really belonged anyways, an outsider looking in on everybody else. He sighed, leaning back on his arms.

There were footsteps on the dock behind him and he tensed his body, ice already forming in his fingers. Then the familiar scent of cologne hit him and he watched as Ajax sat down on the docks beside him, wrapped up in Sulien’s coat of all things. Sulien’s heart hurt and he looked out at the water, it was becoming so frequent that it was more of a dull ache. Ajax deserved better than him, better than some man who couldn’t give him what he wanted.

“Talk to me.” Ajax whispered, dull eyes trained on the ocean. “You’re hurting and I want to be there this time.. I wasn’t.. I wasn’t last time.” The man hesitated, pulling one knee up and rested his arm against it. Sulien wished nothing more than for the waves to take him away, drown him until there was nothing left. He could not tell the man beside him how he felt, it was wrong. It wasn’t fair.

“I’m just sick, I’ll be fine.” Sulien manipulated his voice so he sounded more hoarse, as if to hammer in the point that it was nothing more than some freak illness. “We have field work tomorrow, you should go back home and sleep. I’ll walk you back.” Sulien stood and Ajax slowly followed him. But before Sulien could head off the docks, Ajax grabbed his elbow, stopping him.

“Please talk to me when you feel ready.” Sulien merely smiled, one of the ones that Ajax knew was fake and full of lies. But the ginger accepted it in the moment.

-

Sulien sighed as he summoned his claymore, flipping the massive weapon in one hand. The conversation from the day before played in his head, over and over. But he had work to do now. Why did Ajax care? What did he mean when he said he wasn’t there last time? Sulien swung his weapon, the frostbitten blade slicing clean through the arm of the Ruin Guard. He didn’t expect to be smacked by the automaton’s other arm, he barely protected himself with a wall of ice.

“Sandrone, pay attention!” Ajax called, utterly confused on why his colleague was so lost in thought. Ajax ripped apart his bow, the hydro blades forming as he slashed at the ruin guard. It was a simple side mission, really. Destroy the ruin guard near the skirmisher camp. Easy peasy between the two of them. Hell even alone, just one of them probably could have done it. But it was rare they both were allowed into the field together.

Sulien froze the ruin guard and Ajax’s daggers turned back into his bow, he nocked an arrow and drew his string back. Right through the core, bullseye. “Alright that’s that!” Ajax’s bow dematerialised as the automaton fell. There was a whirring nearby and Sulien narrowed his eyes, Ajax didn’t seem to hear it. But he did.

A wall of ice protected Ajax from the incoming missiles of another automaton. Sulien barely dodged the drill of a ruin hunter. Why were there so many all of a sudden? Ajax easily flipped out of the way of the hit of the ruin guard that had attacked him, sliding back to where he had been when fighting the first one. His bow appeared in his hand and he got into position again. “Tartaglia! How many did the Skirmishers report?” Sulien questioned as blocked an attack with his claymore.

His arms shook as the hunter tried to keep cutting downwards with its long sword-like attachment. He had to yield, ducking underneath it. Ajax bent down on his perch, pointing his bow upwards he released multiple hydro arrows into the air. “They only reported one ruin guard! There was no mention of multiples, let alone a hunter.” Ajax called back as another hydro arrow appeared between his fingers.

Now underneath it the ruin hunter decided this was the time to use lasers. Sulien barely constructed the dome around himself in time, manipulating the frost in the air and creating a solid ice dome. A fourth automaton had Ajax seething, how in the hell did their subordinates miss this? When the one he had been fighting slammed its hand onto Ajax’s perch he used its arm as a bridge, bow turning into a polearm.

The ice around Sulien melted but before he could react a second ruin hunter was slamming into him, sending him flying backwards. “Sulien! Careful!” Ajax called, stabbing his polearm into the core of the ruin guard. Sulien got back up, dodging out of the way of one of the hunters. He ran for his claymore, weaving between various attacks as quickly as he could while Ajax struggled with the ruin guard.

Sulien picked his claymore back up and adjusted his grip on the weapon, he slashed at the legs of the ruin guard Ajax was battling, sending the automaton to the ground, the whirring of its body stopping. Two ruin hunters left- Sulien turned around and was faced with three. What in the world- “Something is summoning them here, Tartaglia. This is abnormal.” Sulien adjusted his grip on his blade, peering through the new crack in his mask. He’d have to fix it again.

A bright light beside him blinded him and Sulien hissed as he turned away from Ajax. He didn’t really have time to focus on the transformation as he shielded the both of them from the incoming missiles. A wall of ice reinforced with vines splintered and exploded, the shards turning into snowflakes as they fell from it. At least the wall had lasted against the missiles.

While Sulien thoroughly distracted one of the ruin hunters, Ajax focused on the other two, he brought his hand down, summoning multiple thunderbolts onto one of the ruin hunters, causing it to collapse to the ground, stunned from the electricity. His bow turned into a water spear as he dashed forward, the water from his weapon spraying the automaton, thoroughly frying it. Sulien’s claymore became encased in ice once more, and the ruin hunter he had to deal with was down for the count.

Ajax turned his attention to the last ruin hunter, turning in time to watch the missiles coming at him. He used his ability to blink, reappearing closer toSulien who was looking worse for wear quite frankly. Ajax lunged forward once more, a wheel of electrified water surrounding the ruin hunter, tightening on it. Sulien stepped forward, releasing a blast of ice that froze the machine, causing it to fall from its awkward frozen position, shattering upon contact on the ground. Ajax was beaming, still in his Abyss form but he let himself actually touch the ground rather than float and he turned towards Sulien.

Sulien's claymore dug into the stone and he used it to keep himself up. Ajax closed the distance between them, his weapon floating beside him. Sulien collapsed onto his knees, the large weapon giving out underneath his weight and clattering to the stone floor of the ruin. Funny.. This didn't hurt as much as the heart problems had been hurting.. Life was funny that way. "Hey, hey what happened?" Ajax shifted back, he was exhausted from the fight and using foul legacy. His eyes trailed down to where Sulien's hand was pressed against his side. Ajax gripped the man's hand, pulling it back. The dark green of his palm stained even darker.

"The ruin hunter hit me." Sulien's head hung low, the mask he wore finally giving out, falling to the stone floor, the crack that had started to form fully breaking through the fragile mask. Ajax wished that Sulien didn't look so void, maybe it could help him assess the extent of the wound. Ajax helped Sulien out of the coat he wore, discarding the heavy material onto the ground. The touch was electrifying to Sulien, whose heart only clenched more. So many things unsaid.. But even now, he figured, he didn't deserve the right to say them.

Ajax pulled the man's shirt up, inspecting the wound. It was bad. Really bad. Sulien didn't even flinch when the man used his hydro vision to try and get rid of some of the blood to see better. "I never wanted this." Sulien mumbled as he stared up at the sky. Yes that much was true, Sulien never wanted to be on the battlefield. He was not a warrior. At one time he wanted to be a scholar, he wanted to teach. All of that ripped away with his memories. This was the end Ajax wanted, surrounded by bodies on the battlefield. Ajax ripped the banner he wore, pressing the fabric against the wound.

"Sulien, keep your eyes open, okay? I'll get you help." Would he be strong enough to carry Sulien and his weapon all the way back to Liyue Harbour? Sulien laughed, it was bitter though and it made Ajax's heart hurt. They both had so many things left unsaid. Ajax grunted as he lifted Sulien, the man hadn't listened. Though, when did he ever listen, Ajax mused. The harbinger had to use foul legacy again, there was no way he'd be able to get from the ruins all the way back to the harbour. The warm blood on his hands made the decision for him.

The stares he got as he moved through Liyue Harbour meant nothing to him, he kept Sulien's coat over the man in question, shielding his face and wound from the general public. The claymore in his free hand as he quickly moved through the streets. There were so many things Ajax hadn't said, so many things he felt, so many things he wanted to do. He gripped the man in his arm tighter.

Ajax kicked the door open, much to the surprise of Zhongli and his guests who watched as the large abyssal creature ducked to get through the doorway. Ajax dropped the claymore in the entrance way, letting the weapon clatter to the ground. He then shifted back, all but falling to his knees, Sulien’s still body rolling from his arms. Ajax slammed his hand into the ground as he tried to push himself back up.

“Help, help him please.” But he found himself unable to get up, breathing too unsteady, his own wounds catching up with him as the adrenalin was all but gone. Zhongli dropped his teacup, moving quickly he picked up Sulien, bringing him further into the house. At least Ajax could rest now, leaning his head against the hallway wall.

“Lumine, go get Baizhu please. Paimon, could you bring me the medical kit from the kitchen?” Zhongli lowered Sulien down onto the couch, pulling the fabric away from the wound the God grimaced. Lumine nodded, stepping over Ajax to get out the door as fast as she could. Paimon also listened, despite her small frame she managed to drag the medical kit into the living room. Zhongli peeled his gloves off and rolled up his sleeves as he tried to stop the flow of blood now staining his furniture.

-

“He should recover if he doesn’t get an infection. But do you think it is wise to treat Fatui? One less Harbinger may be-”

“I appreciate your concern, but Sandrone is a good friend no matter his occupation. He can’t help his work. Thank you for coming. Have a good night Baizhu.” Zhongli shut the door soon after and then returned to the living room. Sulien was asleep on the couch, a thin blanket covering his lower half while his torso was wrapped in multiple bandages. Ajax, meanwhile, was sitting on the ground, holding Sulien’s hand, head resting against the couch.

“They look kinda cute.” Paimon’s whisper was absolutely not a whisper, but at least she tried as she floated between Zhongli and Lumine, a smile on her face despite the fact it was two harbingers in front of her. She couldn’t know, there was no way for her to know what the two men in front of her have been through. Both alone and together. The scars could give her a hint. But that was it, and she was too naive to get it. And so to her, they were just bloodsoaked warriors who fought in the name of something she did not understand.

To Zhongli though, he’d seen this story play out thousands of times throughout history, and all he could muster was a frown, especially as his eyes traced the scars on Sulien's bare chest. As he retraced their previous conversations, he had first thought maybe it was Lumine. But as he watched the way Ajax nearly killed himself for the man. Zhongli sighed softly. What a tragic position to be in indeed.

“I’ll bring him home. Thank you for helping.” Ajax stood slowly, wincing at the pain he felt. He was in a bad state himself. Lumine held out the tattered coat, the black and navy fabric stained in hidden crimson. Ajax took it, wrapping it around Sulien before hoisting him up with a grunt. Sulien stirred in his arms but remained asleep. “I’ll pick up his claymore tomorrow.” Ajax couldn’t carry the weapon right now.

“Be safe.”

-

Sulien blinked at the ceiling of his bedroom. It was light outside, but the room was dark, the curtains drawn shut. His side hurt like hell, the events of what happened melding into his fragmented memory though, and he couldn’t quite recall at the moment. He felt weight shift in the bed beside him and he tensed immediately. There were very few he’d ever let close enough to him who-

“I know you’re sleeping but..” Ajax started with a soft sigh and Sulien promptly squeezed his eyes shut and evened out his breathing as if he were sleeping. “I think I know why you’ve been sick lately.. It’s the same reason why I’m sick.” Sulien wanted to furrow his brow as he quickly grew confused but opted to continue pretending he was asleep.

“I thought spending time with Lumine would take my mind off of you but it didn’t.” So he had been doing it on purpose. “Lumine is nice and all. But she’s not you.” Sulien could feel Ajax’s warm hand against his cold one, his long slender fingers playing with the scarred skin of Sulien’s hand. “I just don’t want to ruin the friendship we have if you don’t feel the same. So I tell you when you’re asleep like a coward.” Ajax sighed to himself. “This is so pathetic of me.” He mumbled.

“And then it’s my fault you’re hurt, they were my subordinates and my mission.” Ajax’s voice cracked and he didn’t even try to hide it. Though, Sulien supposed when you’re talking to somebody who is asleep, there’s nothing to hide. “All I do is fail you, what kind of friend am I? If I can’t even be a good friend, how am I supposed to be a good enough lover to tell you how I feel?” Ajax intertwined their fingers, but his touch was so hesitant. His hand was so warm, too.

“You say it all the time.. We’re just pawns in all of this.. This is one choice I have control over in this mess and yet I can’t even make it. You deserve so much more.” Ajax pulled his hand away and Sulien missed the comforting warmth. “You deserve somebody who can help heal those wounds, not.. A bloodthirsty monster like me. Whew, okay.. That helped. Good job Ajax.” Ajax mumbled to himself, a soft sigh of relief now that the weight was off of his chest.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Ajax sat up, dull eyes wide as he looked down at Sulien whose eyes were still closed. “I don’t really know how love is supposed to feel. But I think I feel it.” The man sighed, he didn’t know very much it would seem. “Could I have your hand back? I like how warm you are.” Sulien finally opened his eyes to Ajax staring at him, a range of emotions on the ginger’s face. Huh.. Had he always had that many freckles on his face? Cute.

“How much did you hear?!”

“All of it.” Ajax inhaled sharply, panic setting in. Sulien reached out, grabbing Ajax’s hand, warm. “You deserve somebody who understands the things they are feeling. And I’m not that. But I can try to learn..” Sulien cleared his throat, it hurt to speak but he couldn’t really remember the last time he had. He must have been hit pretty hard. “Te-” he hesitated, looking away from Ajax’s shocked expression and out the window. “Teach me.”

Ajax settled back down on the bed, intertwining their fingers once more. “Okay.. I’ll teach you.”

[lemonietrinket]

small displays of affection in domestic life with dream

genre: fluff, bits of bad humour you know me wordcount: 4073 warnings: mentions of very minor sprain in jaemin’s, bickering an: trying to keep the writing flame alight, so im currently not doing anything too heavy, just in case if that puts it out entirely due to stress (it pains me more than it does you, i promise, as all my ideas are always big ones)

gender neutral reader as usual :)

~ all members below the cut ~

mark 

you were washing up in the kitchen, the wind chimes humming quietly outside on the porch. you squinted against the beams of the sun that lazily snuck through the window, as you watched the squirrels squabble on the grass of the front garden. you had to stifle a laugh as the acorn rolled away from the two of them as soon as they tussled too hard. however, your joy was cut short as you moved a plate to the draining board. your sleeve unfortunately had decided to slip, and soon enough it was down to your soap-dappled elbow. glancing around, searching for a towel to maybe dry your hands so you could roll it back up again, you suddenly heard footsteps creaking across the floorboards heading into the dining room and you suddenly had an idea.

“mark?” you called, staring into space as you tilted your head over your shoulder, “mark, baby?”

there was a sudden rush of those same footsteps, and suddenly, the sweet face of your boyfriend poked round the door frame.

“yes, love?” 

those big, wide, searching eyes. you could never get enough of how they caught the light, always made him look so curious of the world. “can you roll my sleeve up for me?” 

he smiles brightly and strides over to you, ever happy to help. folding the material neater than you ever could have done, he pushes it up to your shoulder, before sighing contently. “anything else?”

“no, that’s ok,” you murmured, giving him a coy glance, “you’ve done your duty mr lee.”

he snickered, quickly pressing the chastest kiss imaginable to your cheek. he then seemed to shift his weight to make a getaway, yet remained where he stood. having turned your attention back to the next plate to be washed, it took you a few moments for you to notice. as soon as you did however, you met his gaze, and he appeared in a daze. mesmerised.

“you ok there, mark?”

he paused, barely taking in your teasing grin. “you know i love you, right?”

“of course!”

he merely beams at you, shyness just tinging his cheeks. “you’re so beautiful.”

you scoffed, hands heading straight into the sink. “ew, that’s enough sap for one day.” you scooped up some bubbles and swiftly bopped him on the nose. 

however you must have misjudged the positioning slightly and only ended up making him sneeze.  what could you say, it was a cute sneeze.

“love you too mr lee,” you said through your laughter. 

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

renjun

it had bee a long day, the sun finally setting as if it had been waiting for him to make it back home to you, his comfort. when he finally stepped through the door, he met a surprisingly quiet flat, the lights off. confused, he dropped his bag onto the floor carefully by the door and made his way into the living room, just to make sure what he guessed was true. 

and he was right. there you were, dozing on the sofa, legs tucked up and hand thrown over the side. your book was somehow still clutched in your fingers, by some miracle the page not lost. melting into a smile he tiptoed over to you, before kneeling down at your side. 

“there you are, my angel,” he whispers, reaching out to carefully stroke your hair, “i couldn’t wait to see you.”

he clears your face of any stray hears in one graceful movement, pads of his fingers just barely causing you to stir in your sleep. he chuckled at your small pout. “sorry, sorry...”

slipping the book from your hand he placed a bookmark inside and put it on the coffee table behind him, before turning back to you. it wasn’t long before that hand encroached back onto the sofa, joining the other at your chest. renjun, if he could see himself, would never be able to handle how soft you made him. it was fortunate then that he couldn’t, and was free to lean across to the end of the sofa and pull the blanket there up and over your sleeping form.  tucking the hem beneath your chin you curl in on yourself more, your cheek squishing on the cushion. 

unable to stop himself he brought his fingers to your free cheek, tracing your skin with his thumb. “sleep well angel. i’ll get us your favourite takeaway.”

he leant in and planted a kiss into your crown, before getting to his feet and heading back down the hall for his bag and phone.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

jeno

he watched as you practically whirled around the kitchen, measuring sugar at one counter, grating zest at another, procuring another bowl he didn’t remember seeing you take out of the cupboard, let alone use and place it at his side. at first he had been worried since you seemed so all over the place, but by now he was accustomed to it. you were in your element, and even though it appeared hectic, it always produced the best baked confectionery he’d ever tasted. and he soon learnt to just follow your lead. 

to make himself feel more useful he offered to wash up as you went along, and even though it hadn’t quite crossed your mind to mention it yet, you were more than thankful. it made your life so much easier, with more space freed up--even if you had to ask for a spoon back every now and again. he soon learnt to wash those last.

with your music over the stereo, from a playlist you made for him, he couldn’t have been happier on days such as this, even if the rain drummed against the window in a desperate attempt to be allowed to join you. that was when the music dampened and a short ping emanated from the speaker your phone was connected to. 

“bub, do you mind checking that for me?”

you didn’t even look up from your mixing bowl, beating something with a fork. meanwhile he froze, measuring jug and cloth in his hands, brain fumbling over what you meant. his feet meanwhile walked him right over to your phone, lit up with a message.

“it’s from doyoung,” his mouth spoke for him, and it wasn’t until you continued, head still turned away from him, that the realisation came to him.

“oh! what does it say?”

even though it was something seemingly so small, he couldn’t help but revel in the swell of his heart. you trusted him. there was no way he had anything to worry about at all--not that he even had been. it felt like a leap of a milestone, and the glee entered his voice in a stutter. “h-he’s asking about what jaemin likes. he doesn’t know what to get for his birthday.”

“surprised he didn’t ask you for that,” you chuckled, suddenly dumping the beaten mixture into the larger mixing bowl, “tell him he should tag along with hyuck’s present, since it was actually pretty clever.”

picking up your phone carefully he smiled as he noticed your lock screen. it had been a picture of the two of him, he had been aware of that, but now it was a photo of just him, dozing off in the cafe you’d visited last week.

“got it,” he replied through a grin, making a mental note to change his lockscreen later. 

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

donghyuck 

��ynnnnn...”

“what.”

“i hate youuuu.”

“you started it?!”

donghyuck whined again and swatted a hand lazily at your arm. you gave him a shove, though underestimated your strength and he reached the edge of the sofa.

“nooo, i’m falling, save meee!”

you took one look at him from where you were sprawled on the couch, and lethargically reached out your arm. though as soon as it was clear that you couldn’t help unless you sat up, you let it thump to the cushions again. “sorry, no can do.”

“but yn...!” you watched him slowly slip over the side with a sly smile.

“that’s what you get for being a pain in the ass.”

“but i love you!”

“and our aircon isn’t working! you’re too hot so i don’t want to even be near you right now, let alone exert all of the little precious energy i have left to drag--”

hyuck’s gradual journey to the carpet came to an end as his shoulder and head propped him up on the floor, his legs still swung over the sofa. “you think i’m hot?” he suddenly poised.

you groaned. “oh, god, hyuck, not--”

he immediately clambered back onto the sofa, only to throw himself at your side.

it was your turn to whine, the summer heat clumping at your skin and now your annoying boyfriend was there too, kicking out more heat like a bonfire, with his head nestled into your neck.

“donghyuck, go awayyy!”

you wrestled him off you again despite his protests, and normally there was no way you would’ve won since he had a habit of playing dirty, but he too was too exhausted to put up a fight, and so let you roll him further down the sofa. 

“you’re the worst partner ever, yn.”

“second worst,” you countered, “you’re 100% number one.”

he scoffed, before the two of you fell into silence, laid uncomfortably across the sofa, waiting for the air conditioning to come back on.

eventually, you got bored. glancing over at your boyfriend, you found him sulking, his arms loosely crossed to let out the heat, and his dazed eyes narrowed into a frown. 

“hyuckie...” you began in singsong.

he huffed.

“hyuckie duckie...” 

another scoff. 

“my cutest duckie hyuckie who i love so very very much--”

“what!”

you grinned as sweetly as you could manage in the face of the overwhelming heat. “can you pass me the tv remote, please.”

he stared you down, lips pursed in dissatisfaction. “no.”

“oh but please...!” you whined, pulling your signature puppy dog eyes. ‘yeah, lets see him dodge that,’ you thought.

and you were right, he couldn’t fight them. with a groan of despair, he sat up. “why are you so cute, yn,” he grumbled, stretching across to the table and grabbing the remote hanging off the edge, “it’s not fair.” slumping back he took a moment to catch his breath, before shimmying across the sofa, back to you. “such a needy princess, huh? always needing help from their handsome prince.”

it was your turn to scoff as you held out your hand to receive the remote. 

however, at the last second, donghyuck suddenly withdrew it. “on one condition!”

you sighed. “what?”

“you cuddle me.”

you opened your arm and let him collapse onto your chest with a contented groan. he held up the remote weakly as if it was taking all of his strength just to hold it for you, and you rolled your eyes, dragging it from his fingers and finally pressing ‘on’.

“i hate you so much,” you said, planting a kiss on his forehead as the room lit up blue from the tv.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

jaemin 

“ow...” 

jaemin turned to you from the other side of your bedroom, sorting out his hoodie and watching your expression closely. “babe?”

“i’m ok!” you answered swiftly, “just... that sprain from yesterday... didn’t ease up overnight.” you cautiously furled and unfurled your arm, wincing when you hit the angle that twinged. 

“are you ok?”

you shrugged, smiling despite your boyfriend’s worry. “i’m ok! i’ve had worse.” you got to your feet, waddling over to your dresser. “we don’t have anywhere to be today right?” you enquired, changing the topic to hopefully alleviate jaemin’s worry. it didn’t work, as even though his face softened he still watched you closely, sleep still hanging in his eyes. he hadn’t had his morning coffee yet.

“nowhere to be,” he replied simply, coming up behind you. he wrapped his arms around you lazily, head resting against yours as he mt your gaze in the mirror. you smiled at him, holding onto his hands loosely. 

“good.” you leant against him for a few moments, letting his warmth seep into your back. however, you suddenly noticed the time. “come on, we should have breakfast before it gets too close to lunch.”

he was reluctant to move though, and only clutched onto you tighter. 

“come on, minnie, gotta brush my hair,” you urged, nudging his head with your own.

he sighed, quickly pressing his lips to your temple, before slipping away to find where he had discarded his slippers the night before. 

you smiled to yourself thinking about his tired little face, the ways his lips were set in a small pout and his cheeks puffy. it made your heart ache, how much you wanted to hold that face in your palms. alas, you needed to get ready.

that was when you encountered your first problem.

as soon as you lifted the hairbrush and reached up, you suddenly felt that twinge of pain and yelped, nearly dropping the brush. 

instantly jaemin was looking at you. “babe, are you sure you’re alright?” 

“y-yeah, i just... forgot...” his hissed as you brought your offending arm back to your side and grimaced as you looked back at your hair. “minnie what do i do. abou..” 

the words had barely left your lips when jaemin had returned to you and eased the brush from your fingers. and soon enough, his were running through your hair gently, followed by the bristles of the hairbrush. he was wordless, focused on his ministrations, making sure he didn’t accidentally tug on a knot.

you watched him through the mirror, feeling your heart melt. “thank you.”

“it’s no problem,” he said, an airy chuckle on his lips, “you’ll be here all dyay otherwise.”

ah, the sleep was starting to leave him. 

before long, your hair was officially not-free, and jaemin had his arms around your waist again, grinning at you in the mirror. “you happy with it?”

you nodded, giggling as he kissed the shell of your ear. 

“good.” and with that he began to shuffle the two of you towards the door, still entangled.

“why do i feel like this is going to result in another sprained arm?” you sighed.

“pssh, don’t be silly, i’ve got you.”

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃  

chenle 

“yn.”

“yeah?”

chenle looked left, then right. 

“get in.”

“what.”

“get in the trolley, quick!”

you hesitated for a single second before bounding over the metal rigging, narrowly avoiding kicking the kitchen roll at the bottom. you sat up, puffing as your hoodie had become dishevelled with the hood over your face, and your boyfriend merely snickered. “i got you!”

he pulled the cotton away from your face, to reveal his own gazing back at you with his bright eyes, gleaming smile, and light stubble. you couldn’t explain why his natural face seemed to break your heart and sew it back together again in a matter of seconds but it always did, every time you laid your eyes upon it. he was just so gorgeous.

“well what are you waiting for?” you teased. “onward!”

leaping round to the back of the trolley he began to push you down the aisle--way faster than you expected.

“oh my god--lele!”

you careened round the corner and into the bread aisle and chenle merely cackled. “do we need bread?”

“i--? yes?!”

“grab it as we go!”

“are you serious?!”

“that one there! see it?”

he drove you closer so the trolley was hugging the shelving and despite all rational thoughts you hung your hand over the side, and snatched up the bread, depositing it by your feet. 

chenle whooped, before speeding you round the next corner.

“oh my god--chenle!”

he took it wide and you almost bumped into the frozen cabinets but before you knew it you were surrounded by cereals. 

“we need cocoa pops surely...!”

you whipped your head back to look at your boyfriend, too afraid to watch you hurtle through the shop. there you met the glinting eyes of someone who was having way too much fun. you knew it was your first time going grocery shopping together, but still--!

“i’ll get it, don’t worry,” he reassured, though within seconds you found what that involved was in no way reassuring. 

he let go of the trolley, skipping over to the shelving to your right as you screeched his name. the trolley was old, with uneven wheels, like all trolleys, and it meant you were left to roll into a long spin. “jesus--christ--chenle get your ass back here right now!”

and then his hands were back on the handle, you were facing the right way, you had a cereal box in your hands--

and there was a member of staff.

chenle yanked you to a halt with all his might, the speed and the inefficiency of the trolley meaning you very nearly crashed into him, but fortune had it that you came to a halt just inches before.

the two of you sat in silence as you stared up in pure fear of the stern glare of the man before you. 

“excuse me, please exit the trolley,” he ordered, “i’m going to have to ask the two of you to leave.”

panic swept into your system. the next nearest affordable shop was forty five minutes walk away--an hour from home. 

“i’m so sorry, sir, it won’t happen again, sir, please don’t kick us out,” you pleaded, stumbling from the trolley.

“please, we’re really sorry, we didn’t mean to go so fast--”

“you are a danger to the health and safety of everyone in this shop, now please, leave.” despite the fact that he was the first other person you had seen in the shop you didn’t dare mention it: there was no breaking through this man. he was a wall of stone. 

just as you thought all hope was lost however, another person entered the fray: the manager. 

fear switching into utter panic, you clutched onto chenle’s arm, and he to yours. the woman had an even sharper glare, and was twice the size of both of you. 

“we’re not going to get arrested are we?” you whispered.

his eyes widened even further at you. “we can get arrested for that?!”

just as the two of you nearly dissolved into pure fear, the manager spoke up. “oh let them alone samuel, there was no harm done.

the man turned to her in shock. “but--ma’am, the shop policy--”

“i am well aware of the shop policy--enough to know that what you do in the storeroom with miss lee is also against shop policy.”

it was if the man’s voice evaporated into the air. she turned to the two of you then. her hardened glare softened when she laid eyes on you, arms folding laxly. “you kids don’t have to leave,” she explained, “just don’t do i again.”

the relief washed over the two of you like a waterfall.

“thank you so much ma’am!”

“it won’t happen again!”

she stepped aside to let the two of you through, an opportunity you took gladly. she chuckled once you were out of sight. “ahh... it’s not every day you see young love as vivid as that, samuel.”

the man in question seemed offended. “but... you know about me and--”

“hanging around in a dingy storeroom is the furthest from romantic, samuel, ask her out to the 50s diner in the city already.” 

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

jisung

you couldn’t contain your excitement. it had been so long since your last date night, nto that it was anybody’s fault, but at long last you could show off your new outfit that you’d bought especially when jisung had told you he’d managed to book at the semi-prestigious restaurant in town. you never really got dressed up, and always went on calm and relaxed dates--walks in the park, drinks and chocolate at the cafe, midnight snack runs to the corner store--but you’d always said you wanted to try being fancy, at least once. 

and so there you were, your hair styled, earrings adorned, and the finishing touch, the necklace you had received from your partner on your birthday. it’s silver and simple, a small shimmering knot at the end of chain, but it meant th world to you. you couldn’t help but associate your relationship with those entwined threads. maybe those threads represented your destiny, or your choices, or merely the strength that you had together--you weren’t sure and nor did you mind really what it was. but you kept it safe at all times.

the problem was, all your excitement was jumbling up your nerves, leaving you fiddling with the clasp longer than you saw fit to admit to. with your arms aching and a huff falling from your lips, you relented and held it at arm’s length. it wasn’t going to ruin your outfit to not wear it, but you really did want to.

to your luck however, in that moment you were no longer alone.

“hey, yn, you alright?” jisung asked from outside the door. he’d obviously heard your small sounds of mild distress.

“yeah, i’m fine!”

he poked his surprisingly broad shoulders through the gap in the door then, mouth opened to speak, only for no sound to come out. you attempted to wrestle with the clasp once again for a good minute before giving up for the second time. “i can’t get it on,” you announced sadly, glancing over to your boyfriend.

he was still staring at you, wordless, and it wasn’t until you looked over to him properly that you understood why, falling into the same state. 

he looked gorgeous in his blazer jacket and tie, things you didn’t even know he had. it made him look so different, so confident, and yet his smile was still tinged with shyness like the jisung you knew and adored.

“you look beautiful,” he finally managed, barely blinking and still mesmerised by your eyes alone. 

“thank you,” you said quietly, a smile of your own forming on your lips. “so do you.”

he blushed. “d-do you want some help?”

it took you a few seconds to work out what he meant. “oh, yes please! thank you.”

he sidled over to you and accepted the necklace so cautiously, as if he thought it might break. coming to stand behind you, he let the metal rest gently at your neck, before working the clasp and chain together.

he too struggled with it, but you barely noticed the time pass, to busy focusing on how the pads of his fingertips felt when they brushed the sensitive skin of your neck once or twice. you couldn’t meet your own stare in the mirror, well aware of your own reddened cheeks.

soon the necklace came together and jisung straightened, hands coming to rest neatly on your shoulders as he looked over at you in the mirror. the two of you smiled at one another in your reflections, before you turned to take him in in the flesh. 

“why haven’t we done this sooner?” you murmured, stroking a loose strand of his gelled hair back to his fringe, only for it to fall forward again. you smiled anyway, letting your fingers trace across his cheek instead. 

“i don’t know,” he said, “but i’m glad you suggested it.” he took your hand slowly into his and moved it from his cheek to his lips where he placed a kiss to your fingers chastely. “come on, we wouldn’t want to be late.”

just when you thought you couldn’t be more wordless than how he left you when you just looked at him. 

~~~

an: i feel like maybe jaemin’s is inaccurate, as i couldnt tell if he would be hyper or not in the mornings, but i figured if hes anything like the people i know, its that hes not going to be super bouncy in the morning without his shot of caffeine. i thought this type of sleepy jaemin was cute ok.

i tried my best, my writing mojo is constantly running away so i hope this is worth it !

please leave comments, they mean the world to me and remind me that i have things to do and places to be!

[unedited]

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

masterlist

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

[honeytama]

St. Patrick

Spinner (Shuichi Iguchi) X Fem!Reader

A/N: ‘St. Patrick’ by PVRIS goes really well with this fic, enjoy!

Commission for @dittomckiddo

Summary: It’s a miracle that you had been saved from an oncoming car. Plus, it also led to you meeting the guy of your dreams, one you’d never expect. After offering your services as a masseuse to him in return, you both end up growing close and come to realize the purpose in each other’s lives.

Warnings: Smut (18+), cussing, reader has a vibration quirk, meet cute, strangers to lovers, first time, tending wounds, praise kink, body worship, oral (giving/recieving), double penetration

Word Count: 7.5k

The cement of the sidewalk crunched under your work shoes on your way to the luxury spa in the middle of the city. The sun is just about to come over the horizon to break in the morning. Even though it was early, many people in your area usually came to open their stores and restaurants. Every morning you’d pass by the familiar donut shop owner who turns on their Open sign to start their day. Lugging your bag over your shoulder, which contains your spa uniform and toiletries, you walk block after block while half asleep.

You’ve always been in love with your job having the quirk that you do. It has made your life rewarding to be able to help people through your birth given trait. However, walking alone before sunrise to prepare the spa for clients every morning can feel redundant.

You walk along the same trail, the same path… make a right there, make a left here, and cross this street. Nothing ever changes, you think as you step out off the curb—  Honk!

“Ah!”

“Ain’t watching the road, asshole?” the man holding you yells at the trunk of the speeding car escaping down the street.

You push yourself back into his chest into a hug with your arms thrown around his neck. “Thank you! Thank you, thank you. You saved me,” you squeal. “I can’t believe I wasn’t watching.”

Pulling away, you notice the flustered look in his expression as he looks around the rest of the block for something or someone. He mumbles something about “the morning” before trying to walk away.

“Uhm, wait! I feel like I need to repay you somehow.” The zipper of your bag is swiftly opened and you rummage through your belongings while he turns back to you.

He tries to stop you by placing a hand on yours but quickly pulls it away. “No, no, I don’t need your money—,” You pull out a small white slip of card stock from the bag and hold it out for him to take. “What’s this?”

“My business card! My name's Y/N, I’m a masseuse at the spa down there,” you point near the end of the street at the glass doors to your store. “I’d like to give you a free massage in return for helping me out.”

“You want me to call you?”

“Yeah, we can set up a session.”

“Fine.” He slides the card into his back pocket. “Just, don’t get hit by any cars on the rest of the way there. I gotta go.” He pulls his hood further down his face and shoves his fists into the front of his jeans.

“I won’t! Bye!” You watch as he quickly makes his way to a nearby alley.

—

The most gorgeous girl flung herself into my arms… and in front of everyone. I can’t believe I didn’t ask her name myself or give her my number. But, I had to get out of there. Damnit.

He reads off the business card you’d handed to him while laying in bed the same night you had met, F/N L/N, Professional Masseuse for the City Spa. Phone number and email...

Fuck it. It's a free session, she was nice to me, and my body hurts like hell.

You lay watching a movie and mindlessly scrolling through your phone near midnight. Tapping through your different social accounts, your phone vibrates and your screen darkens. The Caller ID ‘Unknown’ is written in white lettering across the top.

You tap on the answer button quickly, silently hoping it would be a call from the interesting man you gave your card to earlier that day.

Bringing your phone up to your ear, you wait for a moment in silence before speaking up yourself. “Uhm, hello?”

“Uh, hi, hey.” A deep, gruff voice comes to your ear. ”It's the guy you gave your business card to earlier today. Sorry, I was kinda nervous to call.” He explains. “Call me Shuichi, by the way.”

“Hey! It’s no problem, Shuichi. How has your night been?”

“Uhm, good?” He questions. “I just wanted to call to let you know I’d like to take you up on your free massage thing? It might be an inconvenience, though, uh I can't really— I mean, I don't really like going out. That’s why I left you so quickly this morning.”

“Oh! Well, it’s fine. I understand. The whole point of my job is to make people feel comfortable, so how about we do the session at your place? I can bring my massage table and everything else!”

Fuck. “No! No, uh, I mean. I have roommates and, uh, I don't know how they would feel about me bringing in a stranger.” Yeah, that's it.

“Hm, well I wouldn't mind you coming over to my place then? If you're fine with that?”

“Yeah! Good, that sounds good. Uhm, do I need to bring anything?” Her place?

“Nope! Just bring yourself on over. How does tomorrow evening sound? I can send you the exact time and place through text.”

“That sounds good then. I'll see you, uh, Y/N.”

“Great! Goodnight, Shuichi. Uhm, thank you… again.”

“That was nothing but, uh, you're welcome. Have a good one.”

The soft crackling ambiance of his location and voice cut out as he hangs up. You sigh before pulling the covers over yourself and getting really to rest up for tomorrow’s venture.

—

You had set up the massage table in the living room that morning. Right now, it’s about fifteen minutes until your new ‘client’ Shuichi would arrive at your door. You scurry around your apartment preparing warm face towels and pulling his robe out of the drier. You’d spent your time creating the right amount of mood lighting in the space you have using lavender-scented candles. You dressed in a clean pair of the usual massage uniform you wear for work. It’s a white top that wraps with a tie in the front and a pair of comfortable white linen pants.

Your stomach turned over on itself several times waiting for him to arrive. You want to make his session as amazing as possible, even though it's for free. He had saved your life.

You roll up the warm towels on the decorative side table in your living space and fold the plush robe to place on the sink in the bathroom. You check your phone seeing you have five minutes until he could show up at your place.

The second you pocket your phone in your pants, you hear three knocks at your front door. “He’s early.” Ok, relax. “Coming!”

You rush to the door from the bathroom and brush down the front of your shirt before opening the door with a smile.

Shuichi stands there with his elbow against the door frame with his head covered with a hoodie. When he notices you standing there, his arm falls from the door nearly knocking him out of balance.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Hey! Come on in,” you wave him inside to lead him to the small foyer. “You can take off your shoes here.”

“No problem.” He stumbles trying to take off his sneakers and you just watch him in awe. “Uh, wow, you have a great place.” He throws the gray hood off of his hair and light pink, voluminous locks fall to his shoulders. You didn’t get a good look at him the other morning, and now you can already tell this will be a long night.

He catches you staring at him and averts his eyes to admire the living room and its furnishings.

“Well, thanks! I, uh, spent the day setting everything up. The massage table is over there in the corner, and then I have some warm towels and candles set up just for the occasion.”

“Smells good.” His snout twitches a bit as he tries to catch the scent. Again, he catches your eyes looking at him as if you’ve never seen someone like him before. He clears his throat, “Uhm, where do I—?”

“Oh yeah, I left a robe in the bathroom for you to change into. Then you can come back in here and lay on the massage table face down. Just pull the sheet over your back, to uh, cover up. I'll be waiting in my bedroom until you call me back in here. Sound good?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” he rubs the back of his neck and follows you towards the bathroom past the kitchen.

“I’ll see you soon, then.” You point finger guns at him before walking quickly into the back hallway toward your bedroom.

Pacing around the room, your mind splits to tens of questions and thoughts about the man you’ve brought into your home. How did you not notice how attractive he is? He’s sure different from anyone you’ve met before, but you’re so intrigued? And he’s in your apartment. Getting completely undressed in the room beside you. Being a professional, you’d never thought about having a relationship with a client. But, he’s not a client, right?

You feel slightly embarrassed about your reaction to seeing his full face. You hope he wasn’t offended by the way your eyes trailed along his features.

You hear him walk out of the bathroom in the slippers you had provided him and wait patiently for his call out to you.

“Uh, Y/N, I’m ready!”

You breathe out and leave the bedroom to meet him. Coming out from behind the corner, you see him lying on his stomach with a white sheet laying gracefully on his backside.

You stop at the side table to grab your bottle of massage oil and a moistened towelette you throw over your shoulder. “I was planning to focus mostly on your back, but it looks like you work out a lot, huh?” You smile down at him.

“Oh, yeah, whatever you think is best,” he shimmies his full body making himself more comfortable.

“Of course, I’ll lead through all I'm doing. Please let me know if anything I do makes you feel uncomfortable, alright?”

“Sure, yeah,”

You can’t help but gaze at the deep divots that cause muscles in his back as you warm an amount of oil between your palms. You cock your head slightly at the long and short scars that are sprinkled down the length of his exposed back. The green tint is slightly lighter than the rest of the forest shade of his scales.

“Getting started, now,” you place one hand on either side of his back and massage in small circles. You usually don’t try to talk too much during your professional sessions at the spa, but maybe talking with him will calm your nerves. “So, I see you work out a lot? Is it a part of your job? Or a hobby?”

“Uhm, yeah, I guess you could say that. I practice sword-wielding and, uhm, self-defense?”

“Ohh, that sounds really cool. You’ve definitely got a nice physique.”

“Nah, that's just what everyone looks like in my line of work.”

You hum as his denial of your compliment. He has a body he should be proud of; he needs to care for it a lot better than he has, especially under such stressful work conditions.

You bring your hands to his lower back and decide to finally use your quirk. Energy pushes down your arms to the expands of your palms and fingertips. Your hands start to vibrate at a low speed as you run them back and forth away from your stomach on his back.

“Is that your hands? Doing that?”

“Yeah, it’s my quirk, it got me into the line of work at the spa,” you explain.

“Feels... good,” it almost sounds like he doesn’t know if he should be feeling good.

“I have to say I’ve never met anyone like you before, Shuichi, your scales are so damn cool. You have an awesome quirk.”

“I have to say I’ve never met anyone like you before, Shuichi, your scales are so damn cool. You have an awesome quirk.”

He huffs at your comment. “No need to butter me up.“ Silence floats around the room while he thinks about the unfamiliar kindness you’ve shown to him. “I guess… I’ve learned not to think about myself in that way.”

“How come?” You keep your hands moving along the muscles in his back. The energy from your quirk continues to work at the tights knots underneath his shoulder blades.

“I just want to be seen for all of me, exactly as I am. I don’t admit it to many people but, I sometimes don’t like just being known as the guy who looks like a lizard. I do so much more— I wanna be so much more, than that.”

“Well, I see you. And, I’ve only known you for a day. I'm already intrigued by who you are as a person,” you reassure him softly. “Even if no one else respects you, know that I do.”

“That’s… that’s really nice of you,” he says with breaks in his voice.

“If I pried too much, I—,” you start.

“No...Sorry, I’m just not used to respect. Thanks.”

“Anytime,” you smile.

You spend the rest of his session massaging him in silence after that.

After you finish, he’s directed back to the restroom to get changed while you wait for him in the foyer of your apartment.

You shuffle around near the front door with butterflies in your stomach. It didn’t occur to you that you’d end up feeling such strong things by the end of the night. But, now, you’re pacing in some slippers while trying to find the right words to ask him out.

“I think I should get going,” Shuichi says, startling you.

“Oh, yeah, of course! I hope you enjoyed the massage.”

“I did,” his toothy smile warms you up.

You watch him retrieve his sneakers and sit on the arm of your sofa to put them on. Now’s the time.

You clear your throat. “I was wondering… Would you like to go out sometime?”

He shoots his head up, “A date?”

“Mhm,” you nod while wringing your hands nervously.

“I— Yes. I’d like that, Y/N.” A blush sweeps across his snout and cheeks. Your heart squeezes seeing this for the first time.

“Cool!”

“Cool,” he repeats. He points to the door. “Well, I gotta get home before my roommates suspect somethin’.”

“Oh, yeah!” You open the fort for him to go. Your meeting ends with a nice wave goodbye before he disappears again.

—

Over the past two months, Shuichi and yourself got to know each other through long phone calls, picnics in empty parks, and movie nights in the living room of your apartment.

One week ago, you spent an hour building the most comfortable pillow fort with him before watching his favorite action movie. Shuichi came to your door with your favorite take-out meals, a portable projector, and a pack of fairy lights in hand. You had given him the biggest hug after praising him for remembering you had dreamt of setting up this sort of date before. However, you had the gut feeling to ask where he had gotten those things. The urge to question him about it was stamped out by the immensity of your excitement to share the night with him.

You used all the blankets and sheets you had in the house to create a canopy over the couch and a couple of bar stools. The projector sat on a tower of books and faced one white wall of your living space. The ground was covered by your bed comforter and pillows were propped comfortably against the bottom of the couch.

That was the first time he had the courage to pull you into his chest as you cuddled on the floor. The remnants of your meals were scattered at your feet as you both enjoyed the film. He had watched you caress his chest with your fingertips.

By the third quarter of the movie, you both were all over each other; exploring one another’s bodies for the first time felt like nothing you had ever experienced. You had your first kiss early on, but you could tell he was nervous to get even rougher with you. After you made out and felt each other up for another hour, Shuichi left your apartment in the late of the night with a kiss to your cheek.

Even sitting alone in your apartment tonight, you had regretted not convincing him to stay with you. You sit on your couch watching your favorite show eating a bowl of pasta. You had checked your phone several times today waiting for a call, or even a text, from Shuichi. Your mind wandered to the worst thoughts all day. Was he just using you for your quirk? The massages? To keep you around until you put out for him? Though you know in your heart that something is there between you two.

You stare mindlessly at the television until your phone starts buzzing to your side. You’re pulled from your thoughts and you grab your phone expecting his name to be on your screen. You sign, realizing instead that it’s a message from the city you reside in. You tap to play the automated voice message:

“Citizens, by our information, we are currently aware of the presence of the League of Villains in your residential area. Please, stay inside and stay safe. There are currently heroes handling the situation.” 

“What?” You grab the TV remote and turn the channel to the news. The luminescent screen shows streets burning in blue flame and people run for cover. You watch as heroes search the roofs and alleys for the League’s members; the commotion maybe only ten blocks from where you live. Nothing like this has ever happened this close to you before.

A hard knock at your front door pulls your attention away from the distressed news anchor. Even with this situation, you hope that it’s Shuichi coming to check on you, to see if you’re alright.

You rush to get up and open the door. And to your luck, he’s there leaning against the door frame in the same manner as the first time he came over. But. he falls into your chest the second he realizes you’ve let him in. With his chest against yours and his arms thrown around your waist, you can feel exactly how labored his breathing is.

“Shuichi, oh my god, are you ok?” You rub his back comfortingly.

“Y/N, I—I’m so sorry,” he groans against your neck.

“Look at me,” you pull away to pick up his chin from your shoulder. Facing him head-on now, you see the raw gashes on his forehead and bicep. “Holy shit, did you get caught in all that?” You point to the chaos demonstrated on the TV.

He walks over to the remote sitting on the armrest of the sofa and clicks the TV off. “I’ve got to explain something to, Y/N.

—

“You’re part of all of that… the League of Villains,” you repeat him. “And they call you Spinner? When were you going to tell me?

“I—I tried convincing them not to come to this area,” he laments. He sits in front of you hunched over your knee, distracting himself with the material of your pajama pants as you tend to his wounds. “Ah,” he hisses as you dab his forehead with a rag dampened with hydrogen peroxide. “I understand if you’re mad at me, Y/N. If you never want to see me again—,” he huffs.

“I understand why you didn’t tell me right away,’ you whisper. “From now on, can we promise to tell each other everything, no keeping secrets?”

“From now on?” He looks up to face you. “You want to keep this going?”

“I really like you, Shuichi, I don’t want to let go of you after this,” you kiss his cheek to reassure him.

A deep blush rushes to his cheeks. “I—I really like you, too. I’ve liked you since you said you liked my scales,” he laughs. “So, yeah, no more secrets, I promise you, Y/N.”

“Good,” you smile and take his hand to help him up. “I’m gonna run a bath for you.”

He watches your hips sway as you walk to the bathroom to set up the tub.

—

With the bath filled with a layer of fluffy, lavender bubbles blanketing the surface, you call Shuichi in from the living room.

He peaks into the bathroom before smiling at your kind gesture. “Are you gonna stay in here, while I—uh, ya know?” He stammers while pulling at the edge of his shirt.

“I was thinking I could give you a massage to help you relax. If that’s ok?” You watch as he pulls his top over his head in one fluid motion. His arm muscles ripple with the smooth movement. He drops it to the floor and then combs out his lilac hair with his fingers.

“Yeah, I’d like that. Uhm, could you maybe—?” He cocks his head to the side while rubbing the nape of his neck.

You giggle at his modesty before spinning around toward the wall. You hear him drop his pants and disrobe from his arm wrappings and eye masks. The costume he came to you with today was much more sinister than the cozy ones he usually wore.

The water splashes a bit as Shuichi gets into the tub. He settles himself to the side of it for you to get access to his shoulders. His mind silently thanks you for adding the bubbles prematurely.

You turn and he’s leaned back against the glossy, white porcelain of the tub. You run your fingers along the skin of his shoulders and he shutters as the surprise of your touch. You set both of your hands flat on his swelled shoulders and activate your quirk. He immediately lets out a breathy, relaxed noise. You move your hands back and forth and delve deep into the muscles of his arms and neck in a circular motion.

“Mmm,” Shuichi lets a pleased groan go out of his throat. He lets his head rest against your chest and takes note of the beat of your heart against his scalp. “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Of course,” you say softly. Leaning down, you give him a gentle kiss to the side of his neck. You move your kisses to his jaw and cheek next. You watch as the water moves from under your lashes. Under the water, he rubs the tops of his thighs with his palms.

He clears his throat before stammering out, “Do you wanna, maybe, get in?”

You perk up at his offer. “You sure?”

“Yeah, c’mon in,” he confirms.

You deactivate your vibrating hands and stand up completely to take off your shirt and bottoms quickly. All of your shredded clothes form a puddle on the tile floor of the bathroom. You hook your thumbs to pull off your underwear and let them fall to the floor. It’s not cold in the bathroom at all, but you can feel your limbs shake slightly as you walk towards the edge of the bathtub. Goosebumps coat your bicep and neck as you carefully step into the water while grabbing the edge in order not to slip. Lowering yourself into the water, Shuichi faces away from your exposed body. A blush paints over his cheeks and snout. You sit across from one another, but he’s still so close.

“Hey,” you smile while flowing your arms through the water trying to get used to the temperature.

“Hey,” he responds. Shuichi holds out a hand out for you to take. “C’mere.”

You take his hand and he leads you to sit in front of him against his chest. You settle yourself between his thighs and clench your own legs to your chest.

“Can I tell you something?” His tone feels as warm as the water pooling up the middle of your chest. The soft fragrance of the bath relaxes you the most you've ever been in a long time; you melt into the cushion of Shuichi’s chest.

“Mhmm,” you hum while letting your eyes fall closed.

“I—uhm,” he stammers before taking a deep breath that you could feel against your neck. “Thank you for all you’ve done for me,” he says with a smile. “I didn’t have anyone to protect… to look forward to seeing before you came into my life. I’d be happy if just being here to save you from incoming cars,” he chuckles.

“I said it wouldn’t happen again!” you laugh and throw your hand back to press into his shoulder.

“Mhm,” he smirks, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips for a kiss.

“I’m glad to have met you too, handsome,” you turn and smile up at him. “You’re so sweet to me.” You lift yourself just enough to place a chaste kiss on his cheek.

“Stop,” he shakes his head.

“But, you look so good,” you sing.

“I look good?” he laughs. “You’re the girl of my dreams.” You feel both of his arms wrap around your midsection and his thumbs massage small circles underneath your chest. He leans into your ear to kiss the crest of it before whispering, “I’m sorry to have worried you, baby”

“Are you going to make it up to me?” you softly say.

Shuichi’s eyes widen as you turn your body in full to face him. If he wasn't already involuntarily sporting a hard-on with your body pressed up against him, he definitely is now. He catches a glimpse of your glossed nipples and watches as water cascades down the valley made between your breasts.

“Fuck,” he places his hands on your hips to guide you to straddle his lap. “Look at you.”

You rest your hands on his firm shoulders before leaning into his exposed neck.  

He holds his breath and holds onto your body tightly, his nails starting to dig into your flesh anticipating your soft lips against his scales. His neck is tickled by your tongue giving hesitant kitten licks to the side of his neck. Shuichi feels himself melt into your body further yearning for your lips to close over his muscle.

You both moan as your lips begin to suckle on the prominent segment of his neck stuck out for you to ravage upon. The scales that coat his entire body create overlapped edges that you can feel as you drag your tongue along in small circular motions. You pull at him with the suction of your lips and then give soft kisses to the darken spots you leave along the way. “Just kiss me already,” Shuichi concedes. He takes your chin between two fingers and brings them to his lips. He holds back for a second to admire the clouded, sultry eyes looking at him from under lashes before pushing through the wall of tension to kiss you greedily.

You feel Shuichi’s hand on your hip start to guide you deeper into his lap, but the sudden movement makes you pull away. The shallow sweep of his strong thighs against your aroused center makes you yelp against his mouth. Eager for more, you lift yourself slightly before starting to grind against his thighs his time of your volition. The bathwater moves around both of you in shallow waves. They splash against your back in a similar tempo to your motions.

“Mmm,” he groans against your lips. His hands leave your body before returning in front of your chest in front of him. “Can I?”

You nod and put both of your hands on the side of the tub to the sides of his head. You feel his fingers for the first time on your tits and only a second passes until you're completely comfortable. He explores your skin and nipples as you both kiss passionately; with his eyes shut, he searches for your nubs to roll in between his padded fingertips.

“Y/N,” he pulls away breathless.

“Mhm?” You continue to softly grind on his thighs and he starts to speak.

“I’ve never done this before,” he stammers. You quirk an eyebrow at him with a sly smirk plastered on your lips. “Y/N, not like that.” Shuichi shakes his head with a laugh. “I want to ask you… Would you—will you be my girlfriend?”

You can't help but stop in your tracks to give him the tightest hug possible. “Yes, of course!”

He blushes at your immediate response. His hands caress your back and slowly run down the length of it towards your thigh and ass cheek. “Your skin is so soft,” he squeezes the flesh between his fingers and palm.

“Spinner,” you let his secret alias slip from your lips as a moan while massaging the section between your rear and thigh.

“Shit.” It feels so good to finally let his hidden life be free, but how was he to know you would use his identity against him in this way? He feels himself pulsate underneath the surface of the bathwater.  

While pulling away from his embrace, the hardened tips of his cocks brush against your lower abdomen. You hear his throat catch at the minuscule touch. “You—your, uhm—.”

“Yeah…,” he sighs, covering his face with his palm. “I know it’s weird. You don't have to—.”

“It’s not weird!” You reassure him while pulling his hand away from his face and towards your chest. “I actually,” you run your opposite hand up the top of his ridged thigh. “I think it’s really hot.”

He gulps once he feels your thumb run over the smoothed tip of one of his cocks. “Seriously?”

Looking in his eyes, you bite your lip and nod. “I want you,” you whisper while leaning into his chest until your tits press against his skin.

A guttural groan rumbles in his chest before he grabs your wandering hand lightly to stop you from going further. “C’mon,” he offers in a low voice. His scaled hand rubs the globe of your ass and then squeezes. “Let’s go to your bedroom.”

He helps you up from your sitting position in the tub to standing. The lavender foam sticks to his thighs and abdomen as he steps out onto the bathmat. Your breath catches at your first sight of his perfectly sculpted ass. The speed of your heartbeat quickens as you watch him saunter over to the counter for two fresh towels.

Once he turns around, Shuichi can’t help but permit himself to catch glances at your exposed breasts. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he smirks while handing you the towel. You feel the heat of a blush come to your cheeks while you wrap the towel around yourself. He offers you a strong hand to help you out of the tub. “Careful.”

Unwrapping yourself, you dry your limbs quickly while hoping to get back to being pressed against his strong body again soon. Once dry, you both throw your towels into the hamper.

“Alright, c’mon!” Your waist is pulled into his side and you feel your body being lifted in one fell swoop.

“Ah!”

Shuichi holds you against his chest with an arm hooked underneath your thighs and an arm holding your back. You swoon at his ability to carry you bridal style without breaking a sweat.

Once in your dimly lit bedroom, you're set down to stand on the carpet. Shuichi spins you around and walks against you until you both reach the end of your bed. Your lips lock together and you pull him by the neck to meet you on top of the soft duvet.

He settles himself between your spread legs and kisses you in fervor. You feel one of his hands roam back to your tits and he uses the heel of his hand to knead into you. Another hand grips the curve of your hip and his thumb rubs the skin above the bone there.

“Shuichi,” you moan against his cheek. “Feels good.”

“So… gorgeous…,” he peppers kisses along your collarbone and chest. “I want you so badly, Y/N.” He lets himself slide down your body while giving kisses to every piece of skin available to him. He ends up on his stomach with his head between your thighs. You rest your hands in his hair and watch as his lilac locks get wrapped in your fingers. “You okay with this, Y/N,” he mumbles against the muscle of your inner thigh.

“Mhm, please,” you whine. “You look so good with your face between my thighs.”

He groans at the sight of your already wet cunt spread in front of him. He quickly realizes it might be okay to be rougher with you; taking your physical arousal as a signal that you’re actually into him. You feel a nip at your thigh and it only makes you want him closer to your core even more.

Shuichi lets his tongue lull out of his mouth before licking a thick stripe against your thigh. The feeling sends a shiver down your spine and your pussy clenches in anticipation. “Who would have thought you’d be such a tease— ?” All of a sudden, his tongue explores your soaked folds and then latches onto your puffy clit. “Oh my, God,” you whine.

He groans at your sweet taste on his tongue. The vibrations of this sound travel straight to your sensitive nerve endings. You pull his hand to come back to one of your breasts as he continues his precise movements. You move two of his fingers to pinch your nipple and he obliges by rolling the peaked nub.

“Your tongue feels so good,” you whimper as you begin to grind on his tongue while tugging hard on his hair in your hand. “Shuichi?”

“Mmm?” He hums with his tongue pressed against your clit.

“Have you— ever used both?” you stammer. Your toes curl as you try to focus on his response.

His crimson eyes widen at you from between your legs. “Both?” he mumbles. “I haven’t.”

“I—I want to take all of you,” you feel heat rush to your chest as you admit to him the fantasy you've had since finding out what he’s been packing.

He hums deeply against your clit again before using a finger to pull one of your folds to the side. “I need to prep you real good for me then, baby,” he says proudly.

You nod and brace yourself for him to prod at your tight hole. Since dating you, he started to trim his claws down in fear of accidentally scratching you, and now that fact is even more important in this situation.

The suddenness of one of his thick, ribbed fingers enters your cunt easily with the amount of arousal built up. You gasp at the abrupt fullness of his long digit inside of you. The roof of your cunt is massaged by him slightly hooking his finger and pumping slowly.

“I’m gonna add another, you’re taking this too easy,” he says gruffly before nipping your inner thigh.

Shuichi pulls out and enters back in swiftly with an extra finger and continues to pump your pussy in a more quick pace. The soft padding of his fingertips hit the ridged, spongy section of your cunt repeatedly and it's like nothing you've felt before. You can’t help but bring your other hand down to help get you closer to your release.

He watched you bring two fingers to your hooded clit and turn on your quirk. The vibrating digits sound like a buzz in his ear, but how could he mind when you’re lewdly pleasuring yourself right in front of him. “Holy fuck, yes,” he retracts his tongue back into his mouth to allow you to handle your sensitive nub while his pumps into you vigorously. “Touch yourself for me, beautiful.”

That feels amazing,” you stammer. “Please, right there,” you whine. You rotate your pulsating finger in small circles.

“So fucking hot,” he says roughly. “Keep going, baby,” he attempts to encourage you towards your first orgasm of the night.

“Spinner, I can feel it,” you grind on his thrusting fingers. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

“Shit, baby, cum for me,” he adds another finger effortlessly. “Cum all over my fingers.” The tips of his fingers move together as one to knead the squishy flesh of your cavern.

“Mhmm,” you moan loudly as you feel the build of your climax being reached within you. All of a sudden, you feel it coming. You bite your lip as your legs start to shake; you fight through the intense feeling to pursue rubbing yourself to maximum pleasure. “I’m coming, fuck!”

“There you go!” He watches as your chest rises and falls quickly. The muscles of your cunt clench hard on his fingers. “Such sweet sounds.”

“How many—How many fingers was that, babe?” You breathe out with the air you have left.

He holds up four, glistening digits and pulls them apart to watch your arousal drip onto his palm. “That was super sexy, babygirl.” You watch him take his soaked hand to his cocks and stroke himself languidly. “Could I do down on you?”

“Yes—yeah, sure,” he says enthusiastically. You help him switch to the position you were in on the bed. He lays back against your pillows stacked against the headboard. He relaxes his brawny arms behind his head and spreads his legs slightly for you to settle yourself between.

You sit back on your calves and admire the ripples of his muscular form all laid out for you. The tips of your fingers trace the divots formed by his prominent abs; you drag your fingers tantalizingly down the lines that make a V to his phallus.

You observe him from underneath your lashes as you lean over his leaking cocks. Holding his heavy package as one in your small hand, you pump them in tandem.

“Is this ok, handsome?”

He’s focused so intently on your motions that all he does is a nod in response.

Two clear beads of precum perch on the outside of his cockslits. As your first move, you lick the beads away from his tips and let your tongue move in a circle over the two heads slowly.

“Oooh.”

You smile at his content before widening the O shape of your lips to take his cocks into your ready mouth. Letting saliva drool from your lips, you use your hands to coat his cock while moving your wrist in a twisting motion. You wrap your lips around his combined cockhead and drag your tongue along the sensitive slits.

“Fuck, you’re lips feel so good around my cock,” he whines. His muscles flex involuntarily as you suck hard on his cocks. The stimulation of his nerve endings send mini shocks to all places of his body in response to your movements. To pleasure what you can’t take between your lips, your hands pump him in upward, winding actions. You decide to turn on your quirk in turn for not being able to take his package completely into your mouth. Your tongue buzzes against his heads and your hands jitter while stroking him in full. The intense stimulation makes him create large amounts of precum; it drips and oozes from your lips down his shaft.

You hum against his hot muscles pleasingly, the taste of his sweet precum mixes with your saliva and coats the expanse of your mouth. You watch him as his eyes widen at the lewd use of your quirk, but he thanks the heavens that you could do this at all for him.

“Baby,” he says lowly. “I don’t want to cum just yet, I’m getting too close— too fast,” he groans.

A soft pop of your lips comes when you pull off of him. Proceeding to stroke him in one hand, you lift yourself to place a hand on his firm chest. Leaning down to meet his gaze, you whisper, “Do you want to cum in me?”

His eyes widen at your offer the second the words fall from your lips. “Yes, yeah, baby.”

You giggle and kiss the tip of his snout before straddling his waist

“I promise to make you feel so good, Y/N,” he groans against your neck. “I’m so turned on by your body, you have no fucking clue.” He holds your legs to his waist and rolls with you until your flat on your back against the mattress. You wrap your arms around his neck and let him spread your legs to the side. “Are you ready, Y/N?”

“Mhm, please,” you whine. “Fuck me, Spinner,”

“You got it, baby,” he holds his two, large pricks together in one hand. You hold the creases underneath your things and pull them as close to your chest as possible. He presses a hand into one of your thighs as he hovers over you. He rubs his cockheads over your clit and slit to collect the residual arousal before pressing softly into your tiny entrance. You both moan at the first touch.

“How are you— still so tight?” He questions. “Mmf,” he groans, attempting to push himself further.

“Oh, I’m a virgin,” you explain. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Wha—what?” He exclaims. “I thought you said we weren’t keeping secrets?”

“I thought it was obvious,” you laugh while playing with your breasts innocently.

“And, you wanted to take both of me? First try?” He brushes his hair from his face.

“Yes, Shuichi, I want you as you are,” you say sweetly. “I wanted to at least try.”

“I can’t even believe you wanted to spend your first time with me,” he admits.

“Of course,” you hold his cheek in your palm. “I actually have some lube in the drawer. We can use it,” you smile sweetly up at him.

“Ok, baby,” he kisses your nose and crawls to the night table before returning with a clear bottle. “I said I’d make this amazing for you, but now I promise it.”

You nod and hold his biceps in your hands as he settles by your thighs again. Repeating his process, he rubs the lube from his cock onto your slit and presses down onto your thighs so they go to your chest. He presses into your cunt all too easily this time.

“Oh my, God,” you moan together.

“You ok?” He asks.

You nod and Spinner pushes his hips deeper into yours. His cocks stretch your pussy slowly as he slides all the way in. “Feels—so good,” you squeak out. Your boyfriend starts his thrusts once he feels the back wall of your core.

“Damn,” his hot breathe hits your face. “You’re taking me so well, baby,” he moans.

You bite your lip as tears form in the corner of your eyes from pleasure. His hips rock slowly, but the girth and length of him are able to hit every perfect spot inside of you. “Please, go faster, Spinner,” you plead.

“God, you look so gorgeous under me,” he praises.

“You look so good,” you compliment. “I love your cocks, Spinner, please.” He smirks before grabbing your hips with his strong hands and pistoning into you at a more quick pace. Your breasts bounce as you’re pulled into him continuously. “Fuck, thank you, baby, thank you-,” you whine.

“Take my throbbing dicks, baby, good fucking job,” he encourages. “Your cunt is amazing. Clenching so nicely for me,” he says roughly.

“For you, baby,” you say as a moan. You hold your breasts in your hands and roll your nipples with vibrating fingers.

“Are you gonna cum on my cocks? Just for me?” He groans.

“Yes, yes, yes, please,” you plead loudly. “I wanna cum all over your dicks!”

“Then do it, babygirl,” he foments. “I wanna feel you clench on me all over again. You’ve got it in you, huh?”

Your eyes widen as you realize his words have triggered something inside of you. Electricity rushes to your center and you can’t hold back. “Fuck, I’m— coming!” Ecstasy encases your entire body as your eyes roll back into your head. You try to push your arm down between you both to use your hand as a vibrator for your clit and the base of his cock as he continues to trust into you with fervor.

“Ugh, fuck, me— too,” he grunts. His thrusts come to a slow before he releases his load into the back of your cunt. Ropes of gooey cum spurt into your cavern and coat your walls completely.

Shuichi rolls onto his back beside you and lets an arm fall over his eyes. Your heart beats loud enough for you to hear as you both lay together in silence for a moment.

“Fuck,” he groans.

“Yeah,” your voice is small and your throat feels dry. “Spinner?”

“Hey, don't pull that on me again,” he laughs. He gets up from the bed to go retrieve his clothes from the bathroom.

You giggle at him and crawl to the end of the bed to meet him before he leaves the room. “I was wondering, would you like to spend the night?”

“What?”

“Honestly, we don’t know the current situation out in the city right now, and I’m kind of nervous to let you go. I want to be able to protect you, too.”

“I’d love to stay here with you,” he smiles. “Wanna protect me from my own crimes, huh?”

“Just come back to bed, please,” you whine.

“Ain't gonna get in without my pants, baby,” he taunts. “Unless you want your second time, now?”

“Shuichi,” you cover your face with the sheets. “Can you at least bring me my underwear too?” You plead. He nods and walks out of the room. You lay there alone in the dimly lit room for a minute. All you can do is smile to yourself at how lucky you feel.

Shuichi comes back and the mattress bounces as he hops into bed with you. You put on your undergarments quickly and then snuggle up close to your boyfriend.

“Goodnight, Spinner,” you say into his chest.

You earn a quick kiss to the forehead. “Goodnight, baby.”

Tag List: @knifeewifee @lilli-chae @thedreadthreadanomaly @ivymemnoch @beauty-in-ferality @cannibalchan @bnhabookclub @bakatenshii @gallickingun @hawks-senseis @royal-after-dark @wakaoujisenhime @shinsotired​ @lovelusional​

[your-local-metal-lesbian]

Gay shopping trip (gay metal fanfic mess)

Written with @theshityoucallmyheart

We're going gay to hell for this and please, don't murder us.

“Why did I even agree to this?” Tarja muttered under her breath while Sharon dragged her through the shops at the mall.

‘’Because you love me, that’s why’’ Sharon grinned and blew her girlfriend a kiss. Tarja sighed and silently begged Sharon to finally find what she wanted. Earlier that day, Sharon asked her girlfriend to go on a shopping date with her, and Tarja, who hated shopping even more than pop music, for some reason agreed. And now, after barely half an hour of being among humans, Tarja already was ready to go home and be gay by herself. Her girlfriend, on the other hand, was nowhere close to that. “Tari, have you seen any unicorn mugs? I can’t find them!”

The Finnish vampire groaned. “For the last time, Sharon, no, I haven’t seen any unicorn mugs. Why do you even need any more, we have ten at home. Saatana…” Sharon turned around. “There are never enough unicorn mugs. Also, I don’t have a rainbow one yet and I need that one because, y’know, gay?”

Tarja shot her a scandalized look. “Am I not gay enough for you or what? You should get a Tarja mug instead.”

“Did I hear ‘Tarja’ and ‘gay’ in the same sentence?”, someone behind them asked. “Where’s the fucking difference, you idiot?”, another male voice responded. Tarja turned around and saw her ex-boyfriend Emppu (yes, the one who made her realize she’s gay - and vice versa) and his boyfriend Jukka. “Wait, Emppu? Am I hallucinating or is it really you?”

Instead of answering, Emppu tackled her in a bear hug and almost knocked her off her feet.

‘’Apparently. I haven’t seen you in ages, bro. And you brought your favourite pansexual mess, I see’’ Tarja said once she recovered from the hug.

Jukka rolled his eyes. “Don’t call me that. I’m not a mess, I’m just a pansexual insomniac!”

‘’Honey, you look like you just got dragged out of a trash can.” Sharon laughed.

“Don’t listen to her, you look acceptable. Did you find that bandana you were looking for?” Simone and Floor manifested behind the group and effectively scared the living lights out of Jukka, who jumped and screamed like he was stabbed.

Sharon grinned at her fellow Dutchwomen and hugged both of them. “Fancy seeing you two here, didn’t expect that.”

Meanwhile Tarja sat down on the floor and pouted. Emppu poked her in the ribs and asked “You okay down there?” She scoffed and replied: “Too many humans here. I’m not going to move until Sharon carries me out of here.”

Floor rested her elbow on Jukka’s shoulder. “So, mind showing me what kind of bandana you got?” That was the last thing they heard before her shriek pierced the air.

“BRIGHT PINK? ARE YOU SERIOUS, THAT’S EYE CANCER!”

“Perkele, calm down. Emppu dared me to, and by the way look at your girlfriend’s shirt and tell me that’s a better colour.”

‘’Don’t insult Simone unless you want me to hide your weed and drink all your vodka.’’

‘’Try that, and I’ll come at you with my drumsticks.”

“Voi helvettin, get your shit together.” Tarja interrupted their banter, but was cut off by Sharon, who picked her up in bridal style. “Sorry guys, the midget is getting impatient. We’ll leave you to it, see you hopefully later!”

Emppu sighed. “Can you please stop with the height jokes?”

Floor ruffled his hair. “Sorry, no. Get yourself some plateau shoes and we’ll talk again.”

‘’I’m sorry, my beloved hobbit’’ Jukka said, trying to hide his laugh.

Simone, who had just sprinted back from the Hot Topic, crashed into Emppu full-force, and helped him back up. “Excuse me, didn’t see you down there. I found you something, Floor, look!”

“Awww, thanks!” Floor gave her fiancée a kiss on the cheek, but they were interrupted by Jukka, who squinted at the cowboy hat and, with a deadpan expression, said: “Bright pink? I thought that colour was eye cancer.”

Simone turned towards Emppu, who blanked and then bolted. “I’m never playing Truth or Dare with that bastard again…” she growled and then chased after him.

Jukka and Floor exchanged a look. Both were still holding their ‘eye cancer’ stuff. “So, are we going to return that shit? I’m getting a headache just by looking at it.”, the drummer asked.

‘’Nah, I’m keeping it. It’s kinda cute, and since Simone gave it to me…”

Jukka sighed. “You really are hopelessly gay. But we’re getting that little bastard back for this.” Floor grinned. “Sounds like a plan. And yes, I am hopelessly gay for her. Who wouldn’t be, after all...”

He snorted. “I guess Emppu has a different opinion of your lady, judging by how mad she is at him. And also, he’s hella gay so women aren’t exactly his vodka.”

Floor shook her head and sat down on a nearby bench. Somehow her iced coffee managed to survive the whole ordeal, so she took a few sips and waited for Simone and Emppu to return. In the distance, she saw Sharon still dragging Tarja through the mall. How these two managed to not hack each other’s heads off was a miracle to her, but then again, Jukka and Emppu’s crackhead dynamic was working out too even though Jukka was visibly losing brain cells with every passing day. After all, why bother with brain cells when you can have gay thoughts instead?

Simone sat down next to her fiancée and rested her head on her shoulder.

‘’Busy day, huh?’’ Floor asked her. ‘’Oh, yeah, but a fun one. Chasing Emppu to the ass of the world was totally worth it’’

With that, the redhead had fallen asleep on Floor’s shoulder. Great, now I have to carry a fiancée and an iced coffee back to the hotel. She sent a quick text to the two guys, downed the coffee, and carefully picked Simone up before leaving.

[alphinias]

39, jiara❤️

What color do you like better?

It took Kiara the boat ride to the mainland, trying to force JJ to remain still in the seat next to her, and almost two hours wandering around the mainland county fair, probably risking her life in rides that were two screws away from collapsing underneath her for the realization to hit.

Sarah was fucking trying to set her up.

It started out when the whole thing conveniently fell on the weekend of Pope’s mathlete tournament, which he assured them he was totally okay with because fairs made him queasy anyway, and this was just the only weekend Sarah was available. It escalated into her casually suggesting Kiara wear the brand new crop top that happened to be hanging at the front of her closet while they got ready, reminiscent of how they used to share clothes during her kook year, and Kiara had accepted, hoping to further solidly this new truce between them.

And now here she was, sitting across from JJ on the ferris wheel, their knees bumping in the tiny space. The wicked grin Sarah had shot her while they climbed into the cart had finally clued her in.

She should have known Sarah Cameron wouldn’t let this go. 

She’d asked her about JJ, once everything settled down with the gold and the whole thinking two of their friends were dead thing. She’d picked up on a vibe, she said. 

Kiara had played dumb, even though she couldn’t remain totally oblivious. She almost hadn’t noticed how much things with JJ had changed, but while John B was gone, they’d clung to each other like rocks in a storm. He was the first person she looked for in a room, the one she somehow always ended up drifting towards when there was a free space on the couch. 

If she needed a little time to figure out what that meant, then well, that was her business. 

“So, what’s going on there?” Sarah had of course asked. It had taken Kiara several moments to realize she was talking about her and JJ, and several more for her to realize that she wore the same conspiratorial smile she got when Kiara had a report back about a cute guy during her kook year. 

It put Kiara on the defensive immediately. “What?”

“You and JJ.” Sarah had rolled her eyes, like duh. “He’s into you. You know that, right?”

“No, he’s not. We’re just friends. He thinks it’s funny to flirt.” 

Kiara thought she had ended the conversation then and there. She’d thrown out her best threatening look and everything, even though just friends had lost a lot of its meaning over the past year. The water was muddied, and sometimes she had the tiniest inkling that maybe JJ did like her in a very not friend way, but she wasn’t ready to clear it up just yet. She may not ever be, but that was for her to decide. 

Sarah, evidently, did not think the same way, Kiara realized, as she watched JJ bounce his knee. 

“The ring of fire was so much better,” he complained. He shifted in his seat, and she wondered if maybe the confined space was bugging him. Either that, or it was her.

The cart had been silent for the entire three cycles they’d spun thus far, which was totally on Kiara. She had been too busy ruminating on Sarah’s meddling, and JJ, although he could sometimes be oblivious, at least had the good sense not to push her buttons when she was entering a mood. 

She bopped her knee with his. At the very least, this wasn’t his fault, and it wasn’t like she didn’t enjoy spending time with him. “Yeah. Right. It's a miracle we didn’t die on that one.”

She just didn’t enjoy the fact that Sarah was looming over their time spent together, with her creepy matchmaker agenda. 

“That’s part of the excitement, Kie.”

Kiara rolled her eyes. “Just be glad we don’t have to sit with Sarah and John B on this and watch them mack,” she said, and then immediately regretted it. She tugged a stray string on her shorts, afraid there was some implication that ferris wheels should be a couple activity hanging in the air. 

JJ paused. Slowly, his lips peeled back into a suggestive smirk, and she slammed her knee into his again. 

“Don’t even go there,” she demanded, but she was unable to keep the laughter out of her voice.  A slight weight eased off her chest. 

When the ride ended, JJ wandered off to get his second helping of some sickening fair food that made Kiara sick from just looking at the grease. That boy was willing to shovel anything into his mouth.

When Sarah and John B stumbled off the ride, Kiara did her best laser glare, hoping Sarah could read her mind. The effect was totally ruined when John B stumbled between them, demanding some of JJ’s deep fried oreos. 

“Sarah,” Kiara warned, while the boys were occupied. 

Sarah played dumb. “What?”

Since she couldn’t exactly rip into her with JJ standing two feet away, Kiara went back to silently stewing. 

She couldn’t decide if Pope was in on it or not. She didn’t think John B was, judging by the little huffs of frustration Sarah let out every time he participated in anything that drug the boys away from them for any period of time.

The next such case happened when JJ’s attention snagged on a carnival game. It was some ridiculously expensive competition for who could shoot the most targets with their water gun; there was an array of impossible to win stuffed animals hanging above it that Kiara could probably get for three dollars at the local dollar store.

JJ whistled. “Oh, whittle John B. I could kick your ass at that.”

Foolishly, John B engaged, as he usually did. He shot a glance at Sarah. “Well, I don’t think so!”

Kiara stood, tapping a foot as they forked over ridiculous amounts of money to the man running the booth. She could smell the cigars off of him from where she was standing, but the boys were unbothered as they tested out their squirt guns of choice.

Sarah was equally unimpressed. “Baby. Why don’t we go in the mirror maze if we want to spend money? We can see which group makes it out first.”

If there had been any doubt about the setup scheme, it would’ve been gone. Kiara leaned forward to hiss in Sarah’s ear, “Cut it out.”

“Cut what out?” Sarah hardly even bothered to look innocent. She sent another pleading look John B’s way, and JJ mimed crying just out of her line of vision. 

John B scowled at him. There was a brief battle on his face, which male pride ultimately won. “Just- just as soon as I destroy JJ.” 

Slowly, JJ racked up points, John B cursing under his breath. It didn’t take Sarah long to grasp for another opportunity. “Hey, if you win, I want that mouse.”

John B gave a weak grin over his shoulder. “Oh- sure.”

“No way, man.” JJ flicked his hair out of his eyes. They lingered on Kiara for a moment, and then he turned back to his game. 

He won, predictably. Even more predictably, he was a sore winner, sniggering right in John B’s face. 

There was a moment of hesitation, and then JJ’s fingers were reaching for the stuffed animals. The man behind the counter scowled, but JJ had snatched two of them before he could stop him. 

JJ spun around. He held up a green sea turtle plush in one hand and a purple one in the other. Its shiny eyes on them stared back at Kiara, one of them sewn on a good two inches lower than the other, looking crooked as hell.

“Alright Kie. What color do you like better?” JJ asked, stone cold serious.  

A stupidly warm feeling bubbled in her stomach. She pointed a finger at the purple one, unable to even be annoyed at the stench of victory wafting off Sarah. 

JJ held the turtle towards her, but it was snatched out of his hands before she could reach it. “Sorry, kid. Ten more rounds for the medium size.”

Kiara left the stand with a five inch tall turtle under her arm. JJ kept glancing at it and looking down, like he was trying to hide how pleased he was. It was impossible to miss his grin, though.

She lifted the turtle up, letting the fair lights illuminate it. Suddenly, the way Sarah was looking back at them over her shoulder as she walked wasn’t so obnoxious. 

“Hm. I think I’ll call him Squirt.”

“Squirt? Like the fucking mermaid movie?” 

“No, dumbass.” Kiara elbowed him, and then she didn’t bother to move back out of his space when their arms brushed. His steps stuttered momentarily, but slowly, his grin widened.  “Finding Nemo.”

No. They didn’t have to decide exactly what was happening between them today, but Kiara very much wanted to someday. Listening to him ramble excitedly about the cyclone ride they were headed towards, she thought maybe that someday would even be a someday soon.

[goodomensblog]

Afterward - Part 17

A Good Omens Choose Your Own Adventure Fic

Here’s how it works:

I’ll write a scene.

At the end of each scene, you’ll be presented with 2-3 options for what the characters will choose to do next.

Comment or reblog to vote for your choice. I’ll count all votes after the first 24 hours after each update is posted.

Read: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15, part 16

(#2 definitely won - but #4 was a pretty close second, so we’re doing the classic punch and run!)

Afterward - - - Part 17

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

Entropy, rising up, tilts its head and smiles a wide, infinitely deep grin. Pale, ephemeral tendrils squirm where the creature’s head and neck are rapidly reconnecting.

Gabriel has picked up the sword and is twisting it up.

Beelzebub, however, beats him to the punch. Literally.

“Mine,” is all Beelzebub manages, a low, rasping shout. Pushing roughly in front of the archangel, Beelzebub winds a bloodied fist back and strikes.

Their knuckles smack between its eyes - and with a wet sounding squelch, the head which hadn’t yet fully re-attached, flies off Entropy’s shoulders.

This time, however, Entropy seems to retain consciousness, and the head screeches in outrage as it careens across the room.

“Shoo, bitch,” Beelzebub spits.

“My angels,” the head shrieks, rolling across the floor. “Your master commands you! Attack!”

From the top of the courtyard, where tiled roofs curve above stone carved archways, movement draws Beelzebub’s gaze up.

Angels line the tile rooftop, their formidable white wings spread wide. In the place where the angels’ eyes should be, dark, sunken pools hauntingly stare.

From behind Beelzebub, Gabriel makes a low noise of distress.

Beelzebub scans the faces. There are none they readily recognize - Michael and Uriel, at least, are absent. But surely most of the dark eyed angels are - or were - under Gabriel’s command.

“No…” the archangel breathes.

Forcibly ignoring the pain they feel radiating off Gabriel in cold, nauseating waves, Beelzebub shakes their head and, squeezing their hands into fists, cracks their knuckles one by one.

“What are they?” Aziraphale asks, horror lacing his words.

The first angel steps from the rooftop. Where it lands, stone splinters around its feet. From its eyes, black ichor drips, trailing like tears down its pure, celestial skin. It takes a second step, and the floor cracks anew.

“That,” Crowley says, speaking up from the back, “looks like an angel on steroids. Bloody evil steroids.”

Another angel drops. Then another. Gray dust from pulverized stone rises in an ominous cloud.

“I - I have to-” Gabriel is muttering, and Beelzebub can feel him moving behind them, probably making up his mind to do something stupid.

“Yeah,” Beelzebub says, surveying the hoard of freaky angels. “Fuck this noise.”

Turning right the hell around, Beelzebub grabs Gabriel roughly by the arm. 

When he doesn’t move - like the absolute asshole he is - Beelzebub grits their teeth and yanks, violently hauling the lead-limbed archangel with them. When they look up and see that Aziraphale and Crowley are still standing there, waiting, they yell, “Oi! Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum! Fucking move!”

Crowley and Aziraphale retreat through the doorway, but go no further.

Beelzebub is panting, blood from a cut they didn’t even realize they had dripping into their eyes, and the room is tilting as a frankly annoying whine picks up in their ears - but this is no time to pass out, so Beelzebub doesn’t. 

At least Gabriel is finally moving; Beelzebub, all too happy to release him, shoves the archangel through the door. 

Upon crossing the threshold, Beelzebub is hastily elbowed out of the way by Crowley; Aziraphale, bracing a hand on the wall, traces glowing symbols on the floor.

“What’s-”

“That’s why we were waiting,” Crowley snaps.

Beelzebub reflects that if the room were spinning any less, they would have happily smacked that smug look off his face.

Instead, they crouch, bracing their hands on their knees.

Aziraphale straightens up with a satisfied nod. “That’ll do the trick.”

Then Crowley is swinging the door closed. Hand on the handle, he melts the lock. 

“If Aziraphale did what I think he did, we do not want to be here when they cross that threshold,” Crowley says.

“I did,” Aziraphale says with a grim smile.

Gabriel, who Beelzebub thinks is looking more like his usual insufferable self by the minute, claps his hands together. “Then let’s fucking go!”

“Right!” Crowley crows, pointing at Gabriel, “Your illicit sneaking out of Heaven door!”

Beelzebub and Aziraphale turn to look at Gabriel.

“Okay it’s really not as weird as he’s making it sound.”

 “It doesn’t matter-” Aziraphale says with a wave, but Beelzebub isn’t listening.

Blinking rapidly, they frown at the black dots blossoming across their vision. They immediately blink harder because they are not going to pass out; It is a fucking bad time for losing consciousness - and besides, they’d honestly rather die than look weak in front of these morons.

Crowley is turning, leading the way, and Beelzebub starts to step after him - when everything takes a sharp and sudden dip. 

And shit - Beelzebub thinks, consciousness slipping as a roaring white noise fills their ears. Blackness is spreading, sweeping across their vision.

They see outstretched, reaching hands - and then darkness swallows them whole.

Reality narrows to individual, isolated moments.

The press of fine, soft as silk fabric against their cheek.

A long hallway lit by a single flickering light.

Aziraphale, pale with purple bruises beneath his eyes, pulling a tapestry aside - pushing a doorway open.

Crowley’s hands cupped around that strange, blue flame.

Then white light - at the end of a long, dark tunnel.

Beelzebub stiffens, crying out in protest - because they know the saying about light and tunnels, and they straight up refuse to let that prick Death lay those frigid hands on them now.

This is followed by the soft, hesitant brush of fingers over their forehead and a whisper-soft murmur. “Don’t worry. It’s not that kind of tunnel.”

Again, darkness.

And then Crowley is exclaiming, shouting excitedly, and Beelzebub squints their eyes open to glaring sunlight - and a sleek black car, parked on what appears to be a random London street corner. 

When someone swings one of the rear doors open, Beelzebub has a sense of deja vu as they are laid down on black leather seats.

Voices drone, someone shifts beside them, and the car awakens with a reassuring purr; Beelzebub’s tired eyes close.

- - - 

Brushing his hands over the steering wheel, Crowley sits in the Bentley, taking a moment to enjoy the car’s energetic rumble. She doesn’t handle long periods of idleness very well. And though Crowley hasn’t been gone all that long, he imagines it must have been rather demoralizing to have been abandoned on a lonesome countryside road. He’ll have to make sure she’s still in working shape. 

“Just cause I gave you a little vacation,” Crowley says, tapping the dashboard admonishingly, “is no excuse for any slacking off, you understand?”

The car rumbles, and Crowley sighs, rolling his eyes. “See? I leave you for half a day and now I’m getting back talk.”

“Can we please just fucking go?” Gabriel snaps.

A glance in the rear-view mirror reveals the altogether unpleasant sight of Gabriel’s frowning face. 

The archangel is pressed up against the door, his large arms folded impractically in front of him. 

Beelzebub, in the few minutes after they’d been set down, had somehow completely rotated, and now they stretch out, arms flung out in either direction. Their booted feet are kicked up - one jabbing Gabriel’s side and the other shoved up against his face.

The archangel glowers.

From the passenger seat, Aziraphale clears his throat.

Crowley’s attention is immediately diverted.

Aziraphale is battered. Deep scratches scatter over the entirety of his person, and a bone deep exhaustion shows in his overall pallor and the bags like dark bruises gathering beneath his light eyes. 

Crowley has the impulse to stroke a thumb beneath that gentle gaze and burn a miracle to soothe some of the exhaustion marring his skin. 

He doesn’t.

Because he filled Aziraphale’s veins with demon blood, and Crowley isn’t entirely sure Aziraphale won’t come to resent him for it. 

The desperate transfusion had worked. Aziraphale is here. That is what matters. But the fact that the cost of this gamble - the cost of mixing that which was never meant to join - has yet to reveal itself, leaves Crowley deeply on edge. 

“Dear,” Aziraphale says, mercifully interrupting Crowley’s rapidly spiraling thoughts. “We fled the bookshop earlier because we believed we were dealing with a threat who knew us, personally. Entropy does not know us. And I presume that it does not know where I live.”

“...you want to go home, don’t you?”

“Yes I want to go home!” Aziraphale says in a rush, hands folded, his fingers twisting together. “It’s been a really long day.”

Crowley considers, drumming his fingers on the wheel. “I suppose we could ward the hell out of it.”

Aziraphale is eagerly nodding, “I already have a good few around the foundation as it is.”

“Is it defensible?” Gabriel asks.

“Better,” Aziraphale replies. “It’s hidden.”

“Though adding a few defenses wouldn’t hurt,” Crowley adds.

“As long as we get off the damned street,” Gabriel says with a weary sigh.

“That, we can do,” Crowley says, shifting the car into drive. 

“Wait!” Aziraphale says, grabbing Crowley’s arm. “First, we need food, Crowley.”

“....right this second?”

“As soon as possible. You do realize that we should avoid using powerful miracles at the moment, right?”

Crowley glances in the rear-view mirror, only somewhat mollified to see that Gabriel is also staring at Aziraphale with an expression of blatant confusion.

“Er - yes? I mean, we don’t want to go around putting beacons on our heads,” Crowley replies. “But what in the world does this have to do with food?”

Aziraphale is staring at him like he might be stupid - which he’s not. Right?

Crowley checks the rear-view mirror again.

Gabriel is squinting at Aziraphale. “Aziraphale. What are you talking about?”

Aziraphale looks between them, mouth agape.

From the backseat, Beelzebub groans. 

“Angel,” Beelzebub says, cracking an eye reluctantly open, “They’re both idiots. Don’t… strain their brains.”

Aziraphale glances back, relief evident. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“Of course I know what you’re talking about!” Beelzebub replies, and the other eye opens to a menacing slit. “Food strengthens your bloody corporation. You. Are. Living. In. It. So fucking feed it. The stronger your corporation is - the stronger you are.”

Aziraphale is nodding vigorously. “And we are all very injured. Beelzebub especially. A good meal will help kick start our angelic - and demonic - healing.”

“Ah,” is all Crowley manages.

“Honestly, dear. You really didn’t know that?”

Crowley, who will frankly never admit that he played hookie during the body orientation seminar to check out the strange angel he’d seen walking up on Eden’s wall, adjusts his glasses and shrugs. “I’m a demon. What’s the archangel’s excuse?”

“Corporeal bodies are not my department.”

Beelzebub blows a raspberry.

“Since you’re awake, your highness - mind moving your foot out of my face?”

Beelzebub’s only reply is a long, deep snore.

Crowley shuts both of them up by jerking the car into motion.

Food it is!” Crowley says, foot sinking satisfyingly down on the gas pedal. “And I know just where to take us.”

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

The angels and demons have managed to escape Heaven and flee from Entropy. Before holing up at Aziraphale’s bookshop and deciding their next move - Aziraphale insists they get something to eat. Crowley decides the best place to get a couple of angels and demons lunch is….

The grocery store! Crowded around a single cart, they will shuffle round the aisles of the local grocery mart, exploring the strange wonders of fluorescent illuminated human cuisine. 

The Ritz! Sitting elbow to elbow around a pristine white tablecloth, they will be sipping at champagne and making awkward small talk. Probably nothing will catch fire.

The drive thru! Packed in the Bentley, Crowley will drive them all to the greasiest of fast food establishments. With all three speaking at once, Crowley will attempt to order.

Please comment or reblog to vote! :)

Part 18

[idiot-detectives]

I’m very late on my personal deadline for this but here’s my present for @mugiwarasinger ! I was your secret santa, I hope I got a good mix of everything you enjoy! (I hope I also posted this correctly, I’ve never posted a fic on Tumblr before haha)

 @dcmksecretsanta Title: Cuffed Synopsis: KID had expected to be caught once day - just not like this. When an old foe shows up he find himself having to protect both himself and his unexpected second party from disaster.

A bright white suit jumped across the gap between buildings, his white cape flashing in the moonlight from the full moon. KID landed on the building, rolling hard. He hissed in pain as he stood up, rubbing his elbow. He cursed his luck, of all nights for his glider to get stuck closed. He was lucky he didn’t jump before deploying it, he had just oiled it too!

“Wait!!”

 KID looked back, seeing a police officer leap over the building as well. His brown coat was torn from the chase, his face scuffed as well. He recognized it as the officer assigned to crowd control for his heist today, his name was Takagi if KID recalled right. He had been chasing him for what felt like hours now, the thief was beginning to grow annoyed. 

“Dang.” KID muttered, Impressed with the officer, “He’s good.”

Takagi soon fell over wheezing, his hands placed on his knees. A concerned expression fell onto KID’s face, was he okay?

“Um… Are you good?” KID asked.

“Just… Fine!” Takagi wheezed, holding up a hand, “I’ll… get you! I swear!”

“Right… You have fun with that.” KID muttered, turning his back on the officer.

 He pulled open the door to the roof, luckily someone left it unlocked, rushing down the stairs. He soon heard footsteps following quickly behind him.

“He recovered fast…” KID muttered, checking a nearby door.

The door clicked open, but KID wasn’t fast enough.

“Kaitou KID, You’re under arrest- Woah!” Takagi tripped down the stairs, crashing headfirst into the thief. 

He felt something cold wrap around his wrist as he hit the ground. KID groaned, sitting up on the cold concrete floor. The room was dark, there weren’t even any lights from what little he could see. He lifted a hand up to his forehead to soothe his aching head, but ended up in confusion as his wrist ended heavier than he last felt it. 

“Oof!” Takagi groaned as sat up, KID felt his arm get pulled as he did so. 

KID swallowed as he lifted his arm, only to find the officer yelp in surprise as he was pulled down. A silver cuff sat on his sleeve, he followed the chain to see the other somehow managed to attach itself to the officer’s own wrist. KID sighed, this was just what he needed.

“K-Kaitou KID, I have you under arrest… You’ll be coming with-” Takagi continued with his speech as KID stood up, pulling the officer with him. 

“Sorry, I’ve got places to be-” KID mumbled, reaching into his pocket, “Ah-le?”

His fingers hit a hole at the bottom of the secret pocket, his lockpicks were gone. He patted down his other pockets, feeling no trace of the coveted lockpicks. He cursed audibly, just what exactly was he supposed to do now?

A door slamming from the bottom of the building didn’t help his anxiety either.

 “What… are you doing?” Takagi asked, curious.

 “Sorry, but that’s confidential.” KID teased with a smirk, “I’d love to tell you but I’m afraid it just isn’t in your best interests.”

 “.... Excuse me?”

“Like I said, I’ll be seeing you.” KID reached over to the front pocket of the officer’s suit jacket, startling him as the thief reached in.

 No luck finding a key, KID was quickly pushed off of Takagi as he got his bearings.

 “D-Don’t do that!” The officer stammered, “Just what were you hoping to find??”

 “Honestly, A key or something. You do have a key to get yourself out, right?”

 “Of course I do! It’s right-” Takagi pat his pocket, his face grew cold and he froze. 

“... Let me guess…” KID sighed, “It’s missing, right?”

Takagi made a few flustered noises as he searched his remaining pockets. He nodded sheepishly, much to KID’s annoyance. 

“Looks like we’re stuck together then, I’m afraid. Unless you have some sort of wire on you, Then that would be-”

KID froze. 

Footsteps started coming up the stairs, heavy at the bottom but as they reached the floor the two were on grew lighter. KID couldn’t be sure of how many there exactly were,  he pulled Takagi further into the shadows, hiding behind a pillar. 

“Hey-!”

 KID shushed the officer, “Be quiet.”

“Just what’s-”

KID put a gloved hand over Takagi’s mouth, nervously peering around the edge of the pillar. The door opened and two men stepped in, followed by one very familiar face. 

“Snake…” KID growled.

“Find him. He’s here somewhere.” Snake ordered the two men beside him. 

They nodded, both clicked on the flashlights they carried. KID pulled his head back as the light flashed over it, barely missing him. 

“Damn it… Why are they here?”

He felt a hand slapping against his own, he looked down at Takagi who was desperately attempting to pry KID’s hand from his mouth. He quickly removed it as Takagi quietly gasped for breath. The two remained silent as one of the men slowly approached their hiding spot, their breath staggered with nerves. The man approached closer and closer, KID’s heart beat in his ears. He needed to do something fast unless-!

“Sir!” Another man ran through the door, pushing it open. 

Snake turned round, aiming his gun towards the man. 

“You’d better have a good reason for this…” He growled.

The man whispered something quietly, causing Snake to curse loudly. 

“Seal the entrances! He’s getting away!” 

The men cleared the room, and as soon as they had left KID pulled Takagi out and into the stairwell. 

“Wait, Wait Wai-!” Takagi shouted, flailing as he fell into the white-garbed thief. 

“Who’s there?!” Someone shouted from above them.

“Ngh! Down, Now!” KID commanded, and continued to pull Takagi down the stairwell.

“Who are these people?!” Takagi asked as the two rushed downstairs.

“People who don’t really like me.” KID simply explained, running into the next floor down.

 He slammed open the stairwell, revealing what looked to be an abandoned office block.

 “I think that’s an understatement, What’s going on?” Takagi wheezed.

“They want to kill me, That’s what’s going on.” KID muttered, scanning the room, “Hey, Help me with this.” He pointed to a cubicle wall that looked like it was nearly about to fall apart from the bottom.

 “Huh?”

“We’re going to block the door. It’ll buy us some time to get these cuffs off and figure out a way out.” 

“R-Right.”

The two pushed the wall over with relative ease, Turns out Takagi was stronger than he appeared. With some effort, the door to the floor was securely blocked, however it wouldn’t be long before Snake found some way through it or around it. Not to mention, as far as they knew, the two were now trapped inside.

“... Now what?” Takagi whispered, looking around the dark room.

 “We set up a trick. I am a magician after all. We’ll create a miracle to get us out of here.” KID smirked.

 Takagi nodded slowly, his eyes glancing down at the floor. 

“Er, Why exactly do they want to kill you? I think I deserve at least that much if I’m going to die next to you.”

KID laughed quietly.

 “That’s the question, isn’t it? They’re also after what I’m looking for, and I’ve gotten in their way I suppose is the easy answer.” 

“Easy answer?”

KID pulled up a fallen piece of concrete, cursing quietly. “I’m not going to give you all my secrets, Keiji-san.”

“I suppose not…” Takagi glanced at the ceiling, the moonlight from the windows helped slightly in figuring out the room. 

“Now tell me, You’re rather brave for a police officer. Why’d you chase me so far? Seems like a lot of effort.” KID asked. 

“... I wanted to impress a girl.” Takagi sheepishly admitted.

 KID snorted through his nose.

 “What?! You don’t do stupid stuff to impress the people you love??” 

“Oh no, I understand more than you know. That’s why I can’t die here, and that goes for you too.” KID turned to face Takagi, “Now, Seen anything that can be used to pick a lock?”

“Unfortunately no. This place is completely abandoned…”

“TOICHI!” Snake’s voice echoed past the door, “We know you’re IN THERE!”

KID’s face dropped, a hint of fear visible in his one visible eye. 

“Your name is Toichi?” Takagi inquired.

“No. But they don’t know that.” KID muttered solemnly, “Let’s hurry, We’re almost done here.” 

“I-I see…”An uncomfortable silence hung between them as KID fiddled with something hidden behind a wall.“

I’m not telling you my real name.” KID stated.

“I wasn’t asking…”

“You wanted to though.”

“I-” Takagi frowned, “Okay, I’m curious, yes. But so is the rest of the world… You’d better be careful.” 

“I don’t need you telling me that, Keiji-san. I’m perfectly aware of that-” A loud crash cut KID off, the sound of a gunshot set both on edge. 

“Great, They’re here…” Takagi cursed, glancing at the cuff, “No more time to be picky, we HAVE to get this off now!”

“I know, I know!” The two jumped behind cover as a bullet flew past them. 

“Damn, Just a little longer…!” KID muttered, glancing around the corner. 

He recoiled as his monocle was shot off his face, a small scratch left on the side of his cheek.

 “KID!” Takagi hissed as the thief recoiled back.

 “I’m fine, That.. was too close...” The thief gasped.

 Takagi tried to get a closer look at the wound, but KID pulled his hat down further over his eyes. He could see a trickle of blood, but at least it didn’t seem like a life threatening amount.

 “... I have an idea, Keiji-san, But you’ll need to trust me.” KID muttered. 

“Huh?”

“Just follow my lead, okay? I’ll get you out safely - for the one who’s waiting for you.”Takagi frowned at KID, who smiled back with a smirk. 

“You have a girl you need to impress, do you not?” 

The officer flushed red, KID’s smirk turned into a grin at seeing Takagi in this state. 

“Fine, Let’s do this then…” He whispered over another gunshot. 

“On my mark.” KID muttered, picking up his fallen monocle.

 He looked dismayed as the glass was shattered completely, he placed the frame on his face anyways once he gave it a quick wipe with his glove. Takagi nodded in response, his eyes glancing down at the cuff between the two. 

“Toichi! You’re just making this harder on all of us! Get out! Now!” Snake called from somewhere in the office.

 KID gestured to move forward, slowly crouching down and moving. Takagi had no choice but to follow. 

“There!” A voice shouted, the sounds of gunfire caused the two to start running. 

“What the he-?!” One of the men fell behind them, landing on the ground hard.

 KID snickered, pulling the thin thread in his hand tighter. Another man fell somewhere else in the office, cursing loudly. The one behind the two began to slowly be pulled away by his ankles by an invisible force. KID choked out a laugh as the two ran towards the stairway. Takagi was impressed, He didn’t quite understand what he was supposed to have been doing but the fact that KID thought of this idea that quickly impressed the officer. 

A gunshot drew their attention from behind them, and KID’s wrist suddenly felt free. Takagi stumbled forward, the lack of force pulling him threw him off. The two ran through the stairwell door and down the stairs. Takagi had to stop before they reached the roof, his lungs burned and his feet felt like they were on fire. 

“What are you doing?” KID asked. 

“We gotta do something about those downstairs, They’ll just get away if we-”KID shushed him, holding three fingers up.

 “Three… Two…” A devilish smile curled onto KID’s lips, “One.”

Suddenly, police sirens began to echo around the entire building, someone began shouting from outside. The sound of scrabbling feet and gunshots echoed from the top floors down the stairs.

“What?? When did you-??” “I never called anyone. There’s no chance we’d be able to catch them in an ambush like this, It’s better to live to fight another day. Although, If you act now we might be able to get his accomplices.” KID smirked, “I doubt they’re getting out of those threads anytime soon.”

 Takagi stared at KID, astonished. “Just… who are you?”

KID tilted his hat down below his eyes. “Just a simple magician, That’s all. You’d better get calling, Keiji-san.”

 “You’re not going to tell me how you got these noises, are you?”

“Nope.” KID stuck his tongue out, “Oh, and Sorry, Looks like you aren’t impressing that girl anytime soon.”

“You’re not leaving me here, are you?!” Takagi gasped.

 “My partner should have the real police here soon as well, Two calls should have them coming twice as fast right?” “That’s not… how it works…”

KID pressed the button on his glider, hoping that it finally wanted to work with him for once. The glider popped open with a groan, Takagi really hoped that the glider was safe enough for him to use. 

“Well then, May we meet again.” KID nodded. 

“So you really are just leaving me here, huh?” 

Police sirens began to grow audible in the distance, KID gestured in their general direction. 

“You’ll be fine. They’re almost here. Make sure those guys get locked up for me, okay? I’d really appreciate it if I didn’t have as many people trying to kill me out there.” He turned to face the edge of the building, “It’s getting really annoying, you know?”

KID jumped off the building with a running start, Takagi simply sighed. Once again, he found himself cleaning up after the messes other people make. Somehow, he didn’t feel as bad this time.