#thanks for providing the perfect text to put in the black space | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

silver-tongued-bby · 3 years ago

Note

Could you do one of loki in a tattoo parlour with the quote "if you keep moving like that we will have a problem." With smut please? Thought the reader could be getting a tattoo across the shoulders and loki is sat right against her ass and whenever he hits a soft spot she wriggles her ass or even moans, if that's okay. I love your writing by the way! ❤

Well this ruined me. Tattoo artist Loki?!

Thank you so much for your kind request and for bringing tattooed Loki into my life! I hope you enjoy this as much as I did putting it together 🖤

This fic is a part of A Dark Celebration.

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Loki x fem!Reader

Words: 6,256 (I couldn't stop, okay!)

Summary: After a stroke of luck, you manage land an appointment with the legendary tattoo artist, Loki Laufeyson.

This is work of fiction is 18+!!!!, and contains graphic descriptions of sex, HOURS OF TEASING, fingering, sex (m/f), dirty talk, and it mentions the tattoo process aka needles. Please do not interact if you are a minor or are sensitive towards any of the themes mentioned above.

Tagging: @lokistoriesblog @sineads-art

Thank you so freaking much to my followers for all of the amazing requests for this challenge! Likes, reblogs and comments mean more than you know 🖤

~~~

You scrolled through the instagram page for the tenth time that day. You peered over the intricately laced designs tattooed so delicately on the skin. Each design was unique, beautiful, perfect in an imperfect way.

No one could hold a candle to the way he tattooed. No one could hold a candle to Loki Laufeyson.

~~~

“The guy’s a vampire,” your friend had told you over drinks once. “He only takes appointments at night, alone in his private studio. He refuses to let anyone in his space except the client.”

“Sounds like more of an axe murderer to me,” you mused. “You’ve got to admit he’s talented. I’ve never seen even a hint of blowout on his lines. And those designs- unique and seriously fucking detailed.” You took a sip of your drink, shifting the glass between your fingers. “If I ever got a tattoo it’d be one of his.”

Your friend smiled pitifully at you. “If you ever get an appointment you mean. He is good though. I’ve seen some of his work from over a decade ago and it still holds up. May be worth being drained of all your blood after all. Too bad he rarely takes appointments anymore.”

~~~

You bit your lip, absentmindedly toying with the raw hem of your shorts as you tapped through the familiar photos of his page. You’d almost memorised each post.

You swiped up to the one you saw by chance a few weeks back. Your heart raced as you remembered seeing it mere seconds after it was posted. He had a cancellation for an appointment at the end of the month. You could book via email.

You immediately shot off an email to the address provided, assuming nothing would come of it. Then the unthinkable happened. You got a response about a minute later, asking for a deposit to hold a spot for you.

You had the money saved for a few years now and forwarded it off immediately. It wasn’t real until you got the scheduling email from his assistant, telling you that “he’d love to freehand something like that on you.”

He’d never posted a photo of himself, and there weren’t any snapshots in the range of magazines he’d been interviewed in. The only posts on his page were of the work he’d done on clients, and the odd text post update presumably posted by his assistant. There was one particularly good shot of his hands in Inked Mag a few months back, the black gloves straining against his long fingers as he held a tattoo gun.

You took a deep breath, checking the time again. You could probably head over now.

Zipping up your knee-high boots and sliding on your jacket, you left your apartment, your stomach full of butterflies.

~~~

You made it to the painted brick building five minutes before your appointment. It was a stand-alone, one-floor building painted black. The tinted windows and lack of sign made for a stylish, discrete shop.

Double checking the lengthy email his assistant had sent you a week ago, you typed in the code on the keypad and were met with a loud buzz. Gripping the door handle, you stepped inside, greeted by a space that was breathtakingly well designed.

The cool concrete floors were accented by various sculptures, photographs, and expensive-looking plants. You could hear the distant sound of Joy Division’s “Disorder” echoing through the space. There was a dark brown couch by the front door, which you remembered was the area you were instructed to wait in.

You slid onto the leather, your hands clammy. You tried to calm yourself, nervous for both your first tattoo and finally meeting the elusive Loki Laufeyson. You took a deep breath. God you hoped you didn’t faint.

Before you could spin out any further you heard footsteps coming around the corner. Looking up, you swallowed hard at the man in front of you. He was tall, lithe, and dark-haired, his black trousers and pointed leather boots making his legs look endless, his crisp white shirt tucked in perfectly. His sleeves were rolled up to expose forearms covered in tattoos, all in black ink. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing a fair amount of his chest, littered with more black designs that ran up to his neck, stopping just below his sharp jaw. You could make out the tip of a green tattoo at the base of his sternum though you didn’t dare to linger your gaze there long. His hair was slicked back into a low bun, the dark black of it a sharp contrast against his pale skin. His cheekbones were pronounced, his dark brows accenting his clear, blue-green eyes.

“Are you my seven o’clock?” His voice was deep velvet, his accent crisp. He held his hands in his pockets, forearms flexing as he looked down at you with bright eyes and a hint of a smirk. Fuck. You were in trouble.

“I think so,” you smiled, losing yourself in his gaze.

“Loki,” he offered a hand and you stood to take it. You stumbled over your name as your hand slid into his, the feel of his warm, calloused hands against yours made your heart race.

“Nervous?” He asked, his eyes running up from where he held your hand steady.

Fuck.

“A bit,” you smiled. “This is my first time.”

His eyes widened at that. “I’m honoured. It’s not often someone asks for such a big piece for their first tattoo.”

He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before releasing it from his grip. “This way, darling. Promise I’ll be gentle.” He gave you a grin before leading you towards the back of the building behind the large wall separating the shop.

You took in the room before you, the open space well-decorated with modern, comfortable-looking furniture. There was a sturdy, sleek tattoo bed in the middle, with a large trifold mirror against the side wall. Your eyes fell onto the record player, the antique thing holding a stack of vinyl discs above the turntable as it spun. The large speakers were playing “Candidate” off the same album. There was a Japanese style garden through the back window, a warm light illuminating the few plants immaculately kept before a dark concrete wall.

“You’ve eaten recently, right?” He asked from behind you.

You turned to him and nodded, remembering the advice your friends had given you to prepare for the process. “I’ve kept hydrated too.”

He smiled. “Good girl.”

You did your best to ignore the way those two words made your heart race. You made your way to the centre of the room where a sleek tattoo bed was set up. The black padded leather of it looked soft and comfortable, covered in a dark sheet.

“Take off your top half and lay down on the table. Leave those boots on if you want,” he paused. “I’ve got a sheet there for you. I’ll give you a moment to get undressed, okay?”

You turned towards him and noticed his eyes flickered up to your face. Had you just caught him checking you out? You quickly shook it off as you gave him a small smile and a nod.

He spun on his heel and his footsteps followed him out of the room. You slipped off your jacket, your top and bra quickly following, placing them with your bag on the seat by the wall. You laid down on the sheet covering the bed and perched your head atop your folded arms, angling it to look out the window towards the garden. You took a breath, feeling your muscles loosen on the exhale.

After a minute you heard his footsteps approaching. “Are you decent, darling?” He called.

“You’re clear.” You watched him approach from the reflection in the glass. You could see his eyes moving over your form and wondered once again if his gaze had lingered a little over you.

He came to your side, pulling on some black surgical gloves. You looked up at his hands, straining against the nitrile of the gloves. Just like the picture. You squirmed a little at the thought.

You didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered down to your waist momentarily before he sat in the stool facing you.

“I’m going to have to shave the area first. Is that alright with you?”

You nodded. “Sounds good.”

You heard a cap snap a few seconds before you felt his hands rubbing over your shoulders, covering your skin with shaving cream. It took you every bit of will not to moan at his touch. His hands felt like heaven on you. You felt yourself grow wet at the idea of his sinking his hands lower, or having you turn over and-

“Okay, so you mentioned in your email that you wanted some snakes and peonies. Do you have colour preferences? Any type of snake in mind?” His hands were gone, replaced by the feeling of a safety razor dragging across your back.

You licked your dry lips. “I was thinking of a deep red for the peonies. As for the snakes, I don’t know- really anything but a garden snake I suppose.”

He chuckled. “I was thinking of something a little more dangerous.” The movement of the razor stopped. “How’s this?” He showed you a photo on his phone, a brown snake with black stripes going from its wide, flat head to its skinny tail.

“She’s a beauty,” you angled yourself up slightly to get a better look, your front still mostly covered. “What species?”

“A death adder. Nocturnal,” he put his phone down then rubbed your back lightly with a cloth. “Quick to strike, it’s one of the most venomous snakes in the world.”

You looked up to give him a curious grin. “What made you choose this snake?”

“You seem like trouble.” He met your gaze momentarily and smirked.

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Tough talk from the guy who’s about to jab me with a needle for four hours.”

He smiled, shaking his head. “You’ve got me there.”

He stepped around to the other side of you and you heard him uncap a marker. You could feel him start to mark up your back, one gloved hand firm against you. You could smell the slightest hint of him, a combination of something peppery and deep, almost cool.

“So what made you decide to get a tattoo?”

“I’ve always wanted one,” you closed your eyes, focusing on his movements. “But I wanted to find the right artist and commit, you know? Let them run with something.”

“A purist,” he commented, sweeping a line across your shoulder blade.

You smiled against your hand. “I guess I like what you do, and I like how you do it.”

“So,” he guided one of your hands from under your chin, laying it by your side. “How does it feel to be the ideal client?”

“Hmm, pretty much the same. Do you have any gold stars?”

He chuckled, sketching more lines on you, these ones felt curved. He sighed, “that’s why I stopped taking so many appointments.” He came over to the other side of you. “I love tattooing,” another stroke, his other hand smoothing down your spine, “but I don’t love customer service.” He swapped your arms, bringing your left down by your side.

“I get it,” you suppressed a shiver from the feel of his hands running over your back. “And now?”

“Much calmer. I take a maximum of four clients a week,” you stilled at the feel of his breath over your shoulder, his pen stroked focused. In the reflection of the glass you could see his form bent over you. You swallowed hard. “I can take my time with it and do things right. Speaking of which,” you heard him cap the marker, “time to take a look.”

You sat up, holding the sheet to your front as you followed him over to the set of mirrors. He guided you onto a wooden step in the middle, and you caught a glimpse of the lines he’d drawn on you. He angled one slightly and your mouth fell open at the sketch of the two snakes, one over either shoulder, their tails intertwining between your shoulder blades. He’d drawn rough peonies and leaves to accent their shape, already beautiful and complimentary to your form.

“Wow.” You turned, catching his eye. He was leaning up against the mirror, hands in his pockets as he watched you, the tiniest hint of something simmering behind his gaze. “I love it, Loki.” You found it hard to keep your cool as you faced him, knowing he’d just sketched out an insanely beautiful design in under 10 minutes.

“Thank you, darling. Are you ready to start?” He held out a hand for yours, helping you off the polished step.

“More than.”

He led you back to the table, bringing an angular pillow wrapped in black silk for your front. He helped you prop yourself up so you could lay comfortably.

He pulled a stool over to your side, adjusting it before pulling on a new pair of gloves and turning to squeeze out some blank ink into a little cup on his side table. He picked up the tattoo gun, adjusting his setup so the cord would allow him more reach.

His eyes searched yours. “Take a deep breath for me, okay?”

You nodded and filled your lungs with air.

He turned and the gun started to buzz. In your periphery you could see he’d brought it closer to your skin. “Breathe out.”

You did as you were told and felt a vibrating little scratch on your shoulder, almost as if a cat was scratching your skin. It got a bit harder but it wasn’t unbearable, more annoying than painful.

“Good girl.”

You took in another deep breath at that, the velvet of his voice pushing the feeling further away. You could feel him leaning over you, one hand firm on your back.

“You’re doing so well,” he spoke by your ear, eliciting goosebumps. With that voice, he could talk you into anything. “It doesn’t hurt too much, does it darling?”

You shifted a little. “No,” the distant pain and his voice drawling in your ear had your breath uneven. You bit your lip, feeling yourself grow wet from the combined sensations. “It doesn’t really hurt at all.” Your voice sounded small in your ears.

“I promised I’d be gentle,” you could hear the smile in his voice. “Try to relax a little more, and keep your eyes forward for me. That’s it, right there. Perfect.” He whispered that last word and you held in a little whine.

You let your eyes slip closed, trying to focus on something other than him- his hands, his scent, the warmth of his body radiating against you.

You fell into an easy conversation through the outlining process, though every now and then he’d come a little closer to tell you something, his breath on your shoulder forcing you to grip the pillow harder. Each time he whispered a word of encouragement in your ear you could hear a hint of a smirk in his voice, as if his comments weren’t entirely innocent.

“And,” he added another long line above your shoulder blade, “there we are. Lovely.” He looked at you from his stool, smiling and nodding. “Let’s take a break.”

He got up, stretching as he went, discarding his gloves, massaging his hands. He stepped over to the record player, the stack once elevated now fully on the turntable as it spun. “What kind of music do you like?” He asked, flipping through the shelves full of records in the back.

“A little bit of everything, really. Wait, is this a test?” You asked, rolling your neck to relieve some tension. You took a few deep breaths, attempting to calm yourself after the past hour or so. You could feel how wet you were as you rolled your hips a bit, working out one of the many knots your body had formed while trying to hold yourself still. You sighed.

You looked back over to him, he was leaning against the shelves, the stack in his hand frozen in place as his gaze slid along your body. You gripped the pillow a bit, your heart beating fast. His eyes met yours and he smirked, his forearms flexing as he continued to flip through the catalogues. “No test, just wondering if you’d like to hear something specific.” He kept flipping through records, choosing one every now and then to rest on top of the growing stack elevated above the turntable.

“I guess if I could put in a request with the management, I’d ask for a little Warpaint.”

He smiled before he turned to pull out a record, flashing the cover at you. “Management says good choice.”

He placed the vinyl on top of the stack then flipped the switch, the machine dropping the bottom record onto the turntable. He came back over to you. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine, a little stiff,” you stretched your shoulders back, feeling your muscles loosen a bit.

“Let’s move you,” he nodded towards an angled chair, and your rolled up off the bed, wincing at the distant ache in your body. You loosely held the sheet to your chest, still rolling your shoulders as you settled into the seat, your chest supported by the leather platform in front. The new position definitely felt more comfortable, and you felt your muscles relax into the support of the chair.

Loki came up behind you, lowering his stool to be level with the seat. “Here,” he handed you a glass of orange juice. “Drink this. I’m going to put some numbing cream on you before I start the colour.” He carefully rubbed some cream onto your skin with his gloved hands. You shivered lightly, the pain fading almost immediately as you drank the juice.

“Good girl,” he nodded, taking your empty glass from you. “I won’t lie to you,” he got to work assembling reds, greens, browns, and orange inks from a cabinet. “Shading and colour usually hurts a bit more.” He brought over a sterile package, opening it and holding it up between you. “I need to use a few more needles.” The cluster looked menacing but you nodded. How bad could it be?

He gave you a reassuring smile once you met his gaze. He turned to assemble the dyes in more small cups, and swapped out the head of the tattoo gun with the needle he’d shown you. He wrapped everything back up in sterile cloth and tape. Before moving his setup closer to your new position and settling in his seat by your side.

He turned to you, his face level with yours. He was close, his gaze travelling up from your lips. “Tell me if I need to stop, okay?” His brows were drawn together, eyes serious.

“Okay,” you whispered, suddenly finding it a bit hard to breathe.

“Try to relax,” he rested his hand on your leg. You nodded gently, holding your breath as you kept your eyes on his. “No shame in coming back again to finish things up.” He brought his hand away, rolling his shoulders back as he shot you a grin. “I wouldn’t say no to seeing you again, darling.”

You smiled at him and nodded. You took a deep breath and straightened your posture as he moved behind you, his knees warm on either side of you.

“Ready?” His voice drawled in your ear once more.

“Yes,” you breathed, leaning into the leather a little more. You heard the telltale buzz of the needle and winced as it hit your skin, letting out the breath you’d unknowingly held. Okay, you thought, fuck this hurt a lot more.

“How’s the pain?” You distantly felt his free hand wiping away gently at your skin between strokes.

“It’s definitely worse,” you bit your lip, squirming a bit.

“Don’t focus on it. Relax,” he came up a bit closer to you. You could feel his legs against your own, his trousers soft against the bare skin of your lower thighs. “That’s it, good girl. Relax, just listen to my voice. You’re doing so well.”

You felt him stiffen- and you realised you’d absentmindedly moved your hips back against him. You shifted forward and gripped the leather, taking deep breaths.

“There we go,” he spoke by your ear, “just breathe through it.”

You focused on your breath, but couldn’t help letting out a little whimper. You felt absolutely overwhelmed. The pain was one thing, but the feel of him behind you, so very close, had your heart racing.

He stopped to pick up more ink before coming back over to you. “It’s looking good,” he felt closer to you now.

You moved your hips again, half out of discomfort, the other half out of most of your thoughts slipping away as you felt him against you.

This time he kept going, though you could feel his strained breath against you.

He kept on for a few minutes, before stopping to pick up more ink. Coming back, he drew some repetitive circles and you gasped, gripping the leather tight between your fingers, your hips pressing back farther.

“Fuck,” he sighed, pulling back the needle. “If you keep moving like that we will have a problem.” His voice was rough against your ear.

You could hear the exasperation in his voice. You felt high- the pain, the heat between you two finally too much. You kept your hips angled back against him. You were keenly aware of your situation, essentially naked except for your leather boots and shorts. Pushing your hips back farther, you turned to the side, looking him up and down. “Like this?” You moved a little more against him.

The buzzing stopped and he set the tattoo gun down on the side table. He pulled off his gloves and ran his hands down your sides before stopping at your hips and pulling them back against him. “You are playing a very dangerous game, darling.” His voice was low, full of warning.

You could feel how hard he was behind you and instinctively rocked yourself back against him. “I’m sorry,” you gasped.

“I don’t think you are,” he brushed his fingers down your exposed thighs.

“You’re right,” you gripped his knees through his trousers. “I’m not.”

“Wicked little thing,” he hissed then backed up and helped you out of the chair, his eyes hungrily taking in your exposed chest. “I knew you were going to be trouble.”

“Likewise,” you eyed him up and down, before he pulled you to him, sliding one hand along your hip to press against your lower back. He brought the other up to graze your cheekbone lightly, fingers slipping down towards your jaw. He angled your chin so your lips were inches away from his. He held you there, his chest heavy against you as his eyes searched your own, his expression dark.

“Is this what you wanted?” He slid a leg between yours and you whined at the sensation.

You swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“Do you want me to fuck you, darling? Right here?”

“Please,” you breathed.

He quickly closed the gap between you, kissing you hard, your hips rolling against his. He swallowed your moans, his teeth dragging across your bottom lip. He pulled away, breathing hard against your lips. “Take off everything but the boots and lie on the table. Face down. Like before.”

You let out a shaky breath and did as you were told, sliding the shorts off before your damp panties. He kept his eyes on you the entire time, watching you darkly as he leant against the side table, one arm over his midsection, the other angled up as he rested his thumb against his lips.

You laid over your hands, letting out a little gasp as your skin stretched and moved. You were faced away from him, but watched in the reflection as he put on another pair of gloves and brought a bottle over. You felt him spray your shoulders with something, gently wiping it away before he returned with a little tub. You could feel him smearing something over your sensitive skin.

“Apologies darling,” he rasped into your ear and you whined. “But I couldn’t fuck you properly without covering this up.” He covered the area with a bandage then some medical tape, securing it to your skin before peeling off his gloves.

“Now,” he was back beside you, “be a good girl and stay still for me.”

“Okay,” you whispered, your thighs pressing together.

“Relax.” He let his fingertips trail up and down your spine, eliciting a shiver from you. You relaxed your muscles, consciously letting yourself melt into the bed below you. You let out a little hum at the feeling, most of the tension you’d built up slipping away.

“That’s it, good girl.” His lips ghosted against the shell of your ear and you felt an electric warmth spreading through you. “You don’t know how hard it’s been to keep my hands off of you, darling. Every little whine,” his fingers moved down your spine, this time trailing them lower. “Every little gasp,” he brought his fingers even lower, curving them along the inside of your thigh, inches from your dripping heat. “Every little tremble had me wanting to hear more. To see more. It made me curious,” he lightly trailed a finger up your slit and you inhaled sharply. “Will you let out those lovely little gasps as you come undone on my fingers?” Quickly finding your clit, he gently rubbed it in small circles as he took your earlobe between his teeth, flicking his tongue against it. You moaned, the sound loud in the empty room. He drew back, “I wonder, darling, what you’ll look like when I make you cum on my cock.”

Your breath was heavy, and you were whimpering, already so close.

“Loki I’m-“

“I know. You’re fucking dripping.” His voice was making your head spin, and when he dipped a finger within you you saw stars. “All for me?”

You swallowed and nodded, your fingertips diffing into the leather as you held yourself still.

“And how long has this pretty cunt been wet and ready for me?” He traced his tongue along the shell of your ear as he added another finger to lightly tease your dripping hole.

You tried to answer, you really did. But you found yourself completely overwhelmed, every coherent thought gone.

He slowly moved his fingers within you, curling the digits as he went. You were mewling, your hips absentmindedly angling up to meet him. “Oh, pet. Has it been hours?”

You whined in response and he chuckled darkly. “Don’t worry, darling. I won’t make you wait much longer.” With that he picked up the pace, and hit that sweet spot deep within you repeatedly. You were moaning, the frantic sound of your breath and his movements filling the air.

He angled your legs apart a little more and brought his other hand under you to lightly tease your clit. You cried out at the sensation, your fingers aching from their grip on the bed. “That’s it- fuck. You’re gripping my fingers so tightly. Come on, be a good girl for me and cum.”

His words sent you so far over the edge, your vision went black as you froze, the pleasure hitting you hard. You were crying out a mixture of curse words and his name over and over, your hips eventually riding it out against his hand.

As your breath returned to normal, you turned to look up at him. He smirked down at you, bringing his fingers to your lips. You quickly took them in your mouth, swirling your tongue over them as you held his gaze.

His smirk fell at that, brows knitting together. His jaw was hard as he watched you suck his fingers. He pulled them from your lips, and helped you sit up.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, restrained. You could see the bulge in his pants and felt a shiver run through you.

“Pretty fucking excellent.” You were surprised at the gravel in your voice. “But I don’t think we’re done here.”

“Oh?” He raised a brow.

“No.” You stood, stepping closer to him to press your chest against his. He was still fully clothed, his shirt still perfectly pressed.

“Tell me, darling. What else do you need?” He kept still, his expression daring.

“I need you to fuck me.”

He tilted his head, a slow, filthy grin spreading across his lips.

“Please.” You finished.

In a flash he’d captured your lips, his fingers holding your jaw as he held you to him. He teased you with his lips and tongue, making you whimper against him, your hands gripping the thin cotton of his shirt.

Still holding your jaw, he pulled away to kiss your neck, nipping and biting at the skin between kisses. Moving away, he led you over to a couch on the far side of the room, sitting down before pulling you on top of his lap. You held yourself above him, admiring him.

“Come here.” Hand sliding from your knees on either side of him up to your waist, he brought you down to settle over him, your hands smoothing against his chest. Holding his gaze, you slowly unbuttoned his shirt before undoing his belt and pants. He was watching you closely, his chest heaving with his slow breath.

You took him out, breaking eye contact to look at his cock. “Fuck,” you whispered. His skin felt like silk under your fingers, the hardened length of him heavy and hot in your hand. Your eyes traced up to his abdomen, finally seeing his chest piece, a green snake coiled around itself surrounded by the black ink of his other tattoos.

Raising your gaze to his face, you were struck at the sight of him, his eyes heavy lidded, bright blue-green now darkening with your touch. Although his body was covered in ink, you could still see the fine, long musculature under his skin. His jaw clenched as he leant back against the couch, eyes burning a cool flame as he watched you.

He slid a condom out of his pocket, pinching the package between two fingers. You took it from him, unwrapped it and rolled it onto him, his length twitching in your hands as you did so. You licked your lips before looking back up to him.

Gripping your ass, he guided you over him. God, those fucking hands felt so warm against you, his long fingers pressing into your flesh.

Not wanting to wait another second, you slowly slid onto his cock, shuddering in pleasure. Taking him inch by inch, he stretched you, eventually filling you completely. You groaned and took a moment to adjust, your fingertips digging into his shoulder.

“Christ,” he breathed, his mouth hanging open to accommodate his quickened breath. He shook his head at you, his eyes flickering over your chest. “You’re too fucking lovely.”

You twitched a little around him, bending to kiss him. He slid his hand onto your lower back and shifted to press you flush against him, your clit hitting the base of his cock. You inhaled sharply, your hips angling themselves to get more contact.

You had your hand splayed across the side of his neck, your thumb just under his jaw. Holding you tight against him, he broke the kiss to lick against your lips briefly before he started moving his hips up into yours.

You could feel your eyes roll back at the sensation, the angle he held you in somehow hitting you in places you’d never felt. “Loki, fuck-�� you breathed, pulling back to find him darkly staring up at you, his expression hard. You held one hand on his shoulder, the other flat against his chest as you took each thrust he gave you.

He brought one hand up against your breast, his eyes not leaving yours as he pinched your nipple between his fingers, causing you to squirm harder against him. “That pretty cunt is so wet for me, darling. Is this what you needed?”

You nodded, your chest heaving as you arched your back to press harder against his hand.

He let out a breath. “You’re gripping me so fucking tightly. Are you going to cum again?”

“Yes- please,” you breathed, “please don’t stop.”

“Not until you cum. I need you to cum on this cock. I need you to come undone for me.”

You whined, so very close. You cried out when he lightly rubbed his thumb against your clit.

“Be my good girl,” he growled, “and cum for me again.”

You moved your hips with his once, twice, three times before you were screaming, an intense pleasure hitting you so hard that your fingers went numb as they clawed weakly at his chest.

“That’s it, fuck-“ he groaned, holding you hard against him as he came with you.

You fell forward against his chest, the both of you out of breath, still twitching from the aftershocks.

You distantly heard Warpaint’s “Whiteout” in the background, the record just hitting the needle. He was running his fingers lightly up your spine, the feeling comforting you.

“Darling,” he spoke, his voice rumbling against your chest, sending a tremble through you.

You leant backwards, wincing a little as you did so, your muscles weak. He held you steady, smirking up at you.

“Don’t you want to see your tattoo?”

Your eyes widened, realising you’d never gotten the chance to see what he’d done. “Shit- I really, really do.” You slowly got up from his lap, his strong hands supporting you.

You walked over to your panties and shorts and slid them on over your boots. You turned to find him waiting by the mirrors, his pants on but his shirt still unbuttoned. He had one arm up against the side as he leant on them, his other hand in his pocket.

“Come here,” he smiled, his eyes running over your still topless form.

You strode over to him and he nodded to the little step. You stepped up and stood still as he peeled off the bandage.

“It isn’t quite finished- there’s still a lot of shading and colour to be done,” he warned. You could sense a bit of nerves in his voice.

You smiled at him through the mirror as he angled the one on the side so you could get a good look of your shoulders. When you caught sight of it your mouth fell open. “Holy shit.”

It was the most intricate work you’d ever seen. A snake on either shoulder, both done in such a beautifully artistic way, so detailed yet they held a hint of abstraction. Their bodies were posed similarly, but you could see he’d added little differences in their scales, eyes and heads. One’s tongue was flicked out slightly, the dainty pointed fork just peeking out from its lips. Their positioning was also altered slightly so it almost looked natural but still remained beautifully symmetrical, their curved bodies accenting your shoulders perfectly. You could make out a branch that he’d added in, the delicate peonies blooming from it as it held the bodies of the twisting serpents. You could see where he’d reached with the shading, the body of one snake partially filled.

“Loki, I-“ you shook your head. “I don’t know what to say. This is more than I could have ever imagined.”

He was smiling from the edge of the mirror, one long leg crossed over the other.

“I absolutely love it.” You turned to him, your eyes searching his, the swirling blue-greens bright once more. “Thank you.”

He tilted his head down, a wide grin across his lips. “You’re more than welcome.”

He helped you off the step and covered you back up. You put on your shirt, not risking the band of your bra rubbing up against your sensitive skin.

He walked with you back to the front of the space, helping you into your coat.

“So, I guess I should book a follow up. Maybe 2 or 3 weeks?” You asked, holding your purse in your hands. You wanted to see him again, but you kept your expectations low. You knew from your friends that a second session couldn’t start until you’d sufficiently healed from the first.

“Here’s my personal number,” he picked a card and pen up off the coffee table, writing on it before handing it to you. “Why don’t you come back tomorrow, darling? We can sort it all out then. Same time, around 7?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, smirking. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation.

You stepped forward and kissed him, your hands snaking up to his shoulders to hold him close. He gripped your hip, his other hand caressing your cheek as he held you to him, his lips still teasingly slow against yours.

You moved to rest your forehead against his, your breath mingling.

“Tomorrow then,” you whispered, licking and biting his lower lip before pulling away. You stepped back, sliding one hand along his forearm as you moved towards the door.

He licked his lips, shaking his head at you. “Trouble.”

“Likewise.” You gave him one last smile before slipping out into the cool night air.

Part II here.

Author's Note: Serious question- do we think Loki kept slipping in "good girl" to fuck with the reader? Cause I think yes.

I like to think his snake tattoo is a green adder (which is also venomous af) and he chose the death adder so reader would match.

I drew on a lot of my personal experience with my first tattoo for this. Especially the part about shading/colouring hurting a lot more than the outline. No one told me this and holy fuck it hurt! Especially after the outline.

Thank you as always for reading 🖤🖤🖤

#loki fic #loki x you #loki x you smut #loki x reader #loki x reader smut #loki #loki mcu #au loki #tattoo fic #tattoo artist fic #tattoo artist loki #tattooed loki #loki smut #a dark celebration #fic request #loki fic request

1K notes · View notes

renstardust · 3 years ago

Text

Warm Bodies

Charlie Barber x Reader

Warnings: Brief mention of abuse, Charlie not respecting your space, Post-Divorce

Word Count: 818

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

Summary:

A short wip about the night after finalizing your divorce with Charlie.

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

You finalized your divorce with Charlie.

Sitting in the courtroom, slowly turning your head as his hard stare from the opposite side of the room burned into the side of it. You met his amber-colored eyes, those same stupid puppy eyes he always gave nearly melting your facade. But not this time.

“You may be dismissed,” The judge waved everybody off. You rose from your seat rather quickly, making sure to give extra thanks to your lawyer, Paulette, who was a big help in providing the evidence needed to support the divorce that Charlie was fighting against.

Because of course he would be.

In all honesty with yourself, you should’ve dropped things the first time he laid his hands on you. Waiting until you lost count of the smacks and the hair-pulling and the choking wasn’t the best idea - but at least you still did it.

You didn’t press charges against Charlie. Deep inside, you knew his potential; his ability to be the gentle, understanding husband that he was the first two years you had been together. But when things at the theater got frustrating for Charlie, and your job got more stressful for yourself, you both struggled to see things eye-to-eye.

You returned to your quaint, but cozy townhome that you had become well-acquainted with over the past three months since leaving the brownstone you and Charlie had shared. You were finally free, as they put it, yet it felt different than you had imagined. That heavy feeling of loneliness and slightest hint of regret still lingered, and you assumed that time would be the salve to heal the wound inside of yourself.

Your phone lit up with a few texts as you changed into a big t-shirt to sleep in. The number no longer had a contact name to it, but you still recognized it. You had set your phone to that option that only shows your messages when you unlock it, which came especially in handy this evening. Popping open a bottle of some cabernet you’d gotten at the corner store the other day, you poured yourself a rather liberal amount into a wine glass and climbed into bed with it in your right hand.

The fluffy, cream-colored cat you’d adopted a few weeks ago joined you in your cloud of blankets and pillows, helping warm you up and lull you to sleep along with the wine. Your phone lit up one more time - the same number sending another message - but you ignored it, flipping the screen over and setting your hastily-emptied wine glass down. It was time to allow sleep to overtake you, and you desperately needed to forget about the day, even if it was barely ten o’ clock at night.

You dreamt of nothing. It was perfect.

And then, the sun began to shine through your curtains, giving the room a soft morning glow. You nuzzled within your covers, feeling for your cat’s soft fur to run your fingers through. Your fingertips met skin instead, and your eyes snapped open from your sleepy daze to the sight of a large, muscular arm wrapping securely around your waist.

Are you fucking kidding me?

You turned your head slowly to look behind you, a familiar head of black, messy hair sprawling out on one of your pillows beside you. Charlie hugged onto your body tighter as a reaction to your movement, pulling your back impossibly flush with his chest. He was warm, so fucking warm, but you knew this still wasn’t right.

“Hey,” You hissed, reaching over and flicking his forehead. “Get up, dumbass.”

A low, husky groan. Then, some stirring. But Charlie didn’t budge.

“Charlie.”

He smacked his lips, his eyes still closed.

“Hm?”

“Get up and leave. Now.”

Charlie chuckled in his half-asleep daze, stretching his legs under the covers before burying his head into your neck. You received no reply.

“How did you get in? And when?”

“…I texted you a warning last night that I was coming over,” He grunted, leaving a chaste kiss against your shoulder. “I still have a key-“

“I never gave you a key to this home, Charlie.”

Silence for a moment. Then, a soft snore.

You let out a sigh of frustration, trying not to let yourself get too worked up this early in the morning. This wasn’t doing any harm, right? It’s just sleeping in the same bed. Conserving body heat. Nothing sexual, nothing romantic, probably just Charlie being bored in that brownstone by himself and struggling to let you go just yet.

Besides, you were divorced now, so of course it wouldn’t be romantic anymore.

This was completely fine. Normal for divorced couples to have separation issues, you were positive. All you’d have to do is wake him up again, and really push him out of your house.

You fell back asleep in less than twenty seconds.

Charlie Barber was really fucking warm.

#charlie barber #charlie barber x reader #charlie barber x y/n #charlie barber x you #marriage story #adam driver #charlie barber fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #kylo ren fanfiction #adam driver fanfiction #kylo ren #one shot #adcu fanfiction #adcu #renstardust

83 notes · View notes

slytherwrites · 3 years ago

Text

Dedicated Interest - pt 1

Costume Innovation

The moment when a Class 1A member became interested in you would be days into the second year of school when you actually approached them after the second year lunch. With your notepad in hand and confidence spurred on from Power Loader himself supporting the redesigns, you head towards your target: Momo Yaoyorozu.

You’ve seen her fight—you’ve seen all of the future heroes fight. Support Class students are encouraged to watch Hero Course students in order to gain inspiration. Over the winter break, something in you had the urge to fix many of the hero students’ costumes—particularly the ones in Class 1A. They seemed to need your help the most.

The cafeteria is massive. But the tall girl isn’t hard to spot. With her long, black hair and confident, but charming voice, you’re able to locate her pretty easily. Getting her away from the girls she’s walked in with is the hard part.

But you don’t stop. In fact, you just go for it. It’s now or never, afterall.

“Yaoyorozu,” you ask, “can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Oh yeah, sure!” She replies, “don’t wait up for me guys. I’ll be there shortly!”

You lead her out into the hallway. The noise of the cafeteria can still be heard, but it’s muted enough so you two can clearly hear each other.

“Have we met before..?”

“Not formally,” you reply, “I’m one of the Support Class students, L/N Y/N. I was watching a bunch of the students compete and I was inspired to do costume redesigns.”

You pass her the notepad. A barebones sketch of her is underneath a more detailed drawing of your suggested hero outfit. With inspiration from both her summer and winter costume, it gives more strategic thought to her hero costume than there was before. There is an open back with an easily detachable front that can optionally be worn with a cloak. Elbow pads and knee pads provide joint protection, as well as shoes that’ll support her instead of the heeled boots she’d been fighting in. The cutouts are strategically placed, with spots on her thighs, lower legs, back and stomach. There still is an element of modesty, as her breasts aren’t halfway out all the time anymore and it’s all in her original color scheme.

“This is…” She pauses. You can’t tell what’s on her mind.

“Sorry if I overstepped my boundaries, I promise not to bother you anymore!”

“This is ingenious!” Momo replies, “Tell me, when do you think you could have this made?”

“Oh umm… I would have to get you measurements and source the materials, but that shouldn't take too long. A week, maybe two tops? Nothing new’s being innovated, it’s just a matter of taking it from my notes to an actual thing…”

“Sounds great.” She takes the pencil you keep clipped on your notepad and writes down her number, “I need to get to lunch but I’m free this afternoon for measurements. Text me!”

“I will!” You take the notebook, clutching it against your chest. Yaoyorozu was the right person to start with.

===

You immediately added Yaoyorozu’s number after lunch and now you’re getting a ping from it.

Yaoyorozu: Hey, I’m free anytime from 4:30-6:30pm. What time works best for you?

You look at your clock now. 4:30’s coming up soon. A number of your classmates are still in the 2-H Workshop, but it isn’t so busy that you wouldn’t bring in another person—that’s only when Hatsume’s working, as she’s a safety hazard in and of herself.

Y/N: Now’s fine! I’m in the 2-H workshop. It’s in the east wing.

The chatter of machinery and the lyrics to some pop song trail along in the background. You’ve mostly tuned it out, so Yaoyorozu has to tap on your shoulder to get your attention.

“Y/N?” Her calling you by your first name gets you out of your daze and you reply, “Oh, hi Yaoyorozu!”

You turn to face her. A bit of heat heads to your face as you see Yaoyorozu’s skin tight outfit. She certainly isn’t uncomfortable in her skin.

“You like my outfit? It’s designer—part of Mount Lady’s recently dropped workout line.” She replies, “I thought I’d wear something closer to my skin in order to get proper measurements done.”

“Oh yeah. That’s smart. Let me grab my tailor’s tape and a sticky note!” You rummage through your school bag for spare supplies, pulling it out and pushing your classwork aside, “Here it is! Now we’ll start from the top down, getting all of the measurements and then you can be on your way.”

“Sounds perfect.” Momo stands straight, arms and legs shoulder width apart. She’s obviously done this before.

As you hum along to the music, Momo watches you. You don’t notice, but she stares at you, dedicating every little detail to memory. Something in her wants to replicate everything you have for herself. Though, as you stand up and put your tape measurer down, she coughs and clears her mind of it’s racing thoughts.

“So… what were you working on?”

“Schoolwork, nothing much.” You admit, “Just some back to school safety briefings—as if most of us didn’t come in during the winter to continue our projects. You probably don’t want to hear about it.”

Momo proves you wrong, “What other projects do you have going on?”

“Oh uh… well, Power Loader’s gave us a robotics project to work on and I’ve been specializing in costumes so I’ve been trying to create a list of heroes and hero students to make improved costumes on. You’re the first I’ve actually been able to do hands-on work for though… That’s for this, by the way!”

“How could I refuse?” Momo asks, “Your improvements and overall design is better than what I could’ve come up with on my own.”

“I guess…”

“May I ask,” Momo says, “How did you come up with this design?”

“Mostly by watching your trainings, as well as current pro hero costume trends.” You repsponds, “Most female pro heroes have their legs exposed in some capacity, but don’t have any sort of knee protection—which I think is stupid. And if we do knee protection, we need elbow protection. And I’d advocate for more coverage in order to have protective plating underneath the suit, but since you need your skin out, I had to limit it to specific areas. And the cloak came really handy for that! Plus I could have it cover your back in order to let you conceal items you create and have you… I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“No, no! It’s fine.” Momo replies, “I find this fascinating. Please continue!”

“Well… I’ve noticed that in a pinch that you’ll lose your top and then have to make yourself new clothes. But since your shirt is magnetic and can be put back together, you can save… materials as well as use that space for other things.” You continue with a laugh at yourself, “I don’t really understand how your quirk works, but I hope this costume will work…”

“I convert fat lipids into other atoms and release them from my skin.” Momo explains, “but I think your idea will work.”

“Let’s see.” You reply, “Well, I think that’s all I need from you. Thanks for sticking around and listening to my rambling, Yaoyorozu.”

“Call me Yaomomo. My friends do, anyway.” She tells you, “Text me anytime!”

“Oh uh, cool.” You tell her, “I will.”

She eventually leaves you to your devices, but you don’t leave her thoughts. In fact, you are steadily taking up a large portion of her thoughts as she contacts her house staff to start construction on a wing in the manor to give you the biggest, best laboratory possible.

#yandere class 1a #yandere mha #yandere bnha #yandere momo yaoyorozu

205 notes · View notes

sunfleurry · 4 years ago

Text

II. Soie et Satin

Part 1

Thank you for the lovely feedback on part 1 of modern prince!Harry <33

NOTE: I decided to give my MC a name (which I also edited into part 1). I hope you enjoy Rose and Harry’s story!!!! this part is not edited oops

***

Harry was on TV and he looked like a star. Rose watched him from the comfort of her living room while she sipped her morning coffee.

It was a live broadcast showing his arrival to the event with his family including the queen, his mother. She was an intimidatingly beautiful woman who gained the respect of the entire country, if not the entire world throughout her life. She was known to be strict on tradition, but she’d done so much for the country when it came to helping the less fortunate, advocating for global health, and supporting free education for everyone.

Now that she was older and had quite a few children, she passed on some of her duties to them. They, including Harry, followed in her footsteps, looking out for the population by supporting the same causes their mother dedicated her life to as a young woman. Their role was to represent the queen, and they did so flawlessly.

Rose didn’t want to admit that she’d googled Harry the day he sent flowers to her office, but she did, and she was reminded of the fact that Harry was heir to the throne. She never cared much for learning about the royal family and this was something everyone knew, but reading it after meeting him was like a big wake-up call. She’d danced with a man who would one day become king. She tried not to let herself think about it too much, or else she knew her thoughts would spiral out of control.

Harry and his brother wore a simple black suit, a change from his usual style, and his mother and sisters were donned in modest dresses she knew were designer and likely cost the same as her home.

Men with flashing cameras were going crazy behind the gates, desperately trying to get the perfect shot of the country’s “perfect” family.

Upon seeing the paparazzi, Rose was instantly reminded of how lucky she and Harry were to not have been caught by anyone when they went out. She quickly picked up her phone and googled Harry’s name and filtered the results to hours before the charity event just to be sure. She sighed in relief when there were no photos or stories of the both of them.

She relaxed into her sofa and fixed her eyes on the television, watching the rest of the event, subconsciously smiling every time Harry’s handsome face popped up on the screen.

***

Three days later at work, Rose received a text from Harry. What are you doing tonight?

She quickly replied, I have a date with a really hot guy I met a while back.

She barely put her phone down before it pinged with another message. What? Who is he? Tell him you’re busy.

She grinned. I don’t know. He’s kind of cute. Did I mention he’s a prince?

Her phone vibrated with a call, Harry’s name in block letters at the top of the screen. She accepted the call and brought it up to her ear. “Hello?”

“You’re not funny.”

She barked out a laugh, then winced and apologized to her coworkers whose desks were adjacent to hers. “I think I am.”

She heard him huff through the line then say, “Can I pick you up at seven?”

“Where do you want to take me?” She asked, tamping down her giddiness. It had only been less than a week since she’d last seen him, but she missed him.

“I thought we could take a walk on the beach, maybe have some ice cream?”

“How romantic of you,” she teased.

She could almost see his eyes rolling. “Are you in? I haven’t been able to go out in public since that morning charity.”

“Why not?”

He sighed. “Normally after making such a public appearance, we’re encouraged to stay low-key for a couple days. Something about the media being on high alert.”

Suddenly remembering the thoughts she had the morning she watched him on TV, she instantly knew what he meant. Rose worried her lip between her teeth as she tried to form the words to articulate the worry that had been building up since that day.

“Harry, will there be people following us?” She closed her eyes, hoping she didn’t sound stupid.

The other end of the line was quiet for a moment before he finally spoke up. “You know what, change of plans. Wear something comfortable.”

“Oh,” she ran a hand through her hair and sat back in her chair. “Okay.”

“I can’t wait to see you, Rose.”

She smiled. “You too,” she whispered.

***

Harry said to wear something comfortable, so she slipped on the most comfortable outfit she owned: A pair of joggers and matching crewneck. He’d only ever seen her dressed up, she figured she would let herself look more casual for once. Her doorbell rang just as she was slipping on a pair of Nikes. Reaching over, she opened the door to reveal a nervous-looking Harry standing with his car key in hand.

“Hi,” he said, a smile breaking onto his face at the sight of her then pulling her in for a hug.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, breathing in the cologne she absolutely loved.

“You look lovely,” he said as he pulled back to take a look at her.

She couldn’t resist kissing his cheek. “Please, I’m wearing glorified pyjamas.”

He looked down at his own pair of joggers and t-shirt. “I’d say you understood the assignment.”

She laughed as she followed him to his flashy car. It wasn’t the same one he picked her up in on their previous date, but just as nice.

Less than a half hour later, Harry had driven them to the middle of the city and into an underground parking garage of a large high-rise building. One of the tallest she’d ever seen in person. It had a modern design, the surface covered in mirrored windows. He drove through the garage until the car reached a closed door. He inched the car closer until the sensor detected it and opened the door, allowing the car to enter a smaller parking area containing two other cars, one of them Rose recognized as the one she’d been in on their last date.

“Do you live here?” She asked, taken aback.

“Yes,” he smiled nervously. “This is my private parking.”

“I can see that,” she frowned. “I thought you lived with your family, at the palace.”

“You and everyone else in the world,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You don’t?”

He unbuckled his seat belt, and pocketed his key before turning towards her. “I come from a not so traditional family, but I need my own space despite the responsibilities that are expected of me. I’m a man in my twenties who values his privacy so I moved out when I was nineteen. Under a fake name.”

She was shocked by the revelation, even more by the fact that he was trusting her with his information.

“Nobody knows you live here?”

“I mean, the other residents do, but they’re under contract.”

“And your family?”

“Of course they know where I live,” he chuckled. “They just don’t come here. They don’t want to risk being seen here because they respect my space, they want to make sure I have all the privacy I can get away from the public eye, because, well, one day I won’t have that luxury.”

Rose deflated at the reminder of what his future entailed. “Do you ever think about it? Being heir and all?”

Harry looked down at his lap, picking an invisible thread on his pants. “Let’s go inside,” he said at last.

Taking the hint, Rose smiled and opened her door, Harry doing the same. He scanned a card inside the elevator and keyed in a code on the keypad. The lift immediately started rising, only halting when it reached the final floor of the building.

Nothing could have prepared Rose for the extravagance that would welcome her as soon as the doors opened. An entire wall was made up of giant windows, overlooking the bustling city underneath. They were so high up, she couldn't hear any of it. Instead, the height provided a peaceful silence in an otherwise busy area. The flooring was marble, the luxury kind one would only see on TV, and the place was spotless.

Harry’s warm hand on the small of her back urged her to walk inside, the elevator doors closing behind them. She took in the open concept penthouse, a staircase in the corner of the grand living room leading to what she assumed was his private corner, the bedroom and bath.

“Holy shit,” she breathed.

Harry laughed behind her, before grabbing her hand and leading her to the kitchen she knew even Gordon Ramsay would drool over. “Would you like something to drink?”

Snapping herself out of her dumfounded state, she looked at him. “What?”

He suppressed a smile and repeated, “Would you like something to drink?”

“Oh! Um, yes please,” she said, wringing her fingers together.

“Relax, Rose.”

“How could I?” She asked, eyes wide. “I feel like I’ll break something just by looking at it!”

“That’s fine, love. I want you to be comfortable.”

“But this place—”

“Is my home,” he interrupted, stepping closer and gently grabbing her shoulders. “And I made the choice to trust you with my secret, so please, make yourself comfortable.”

Her eyes softened. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.”He leaned forward to capture her lips with his, and she melted into him without hesitation. She’d been wanting to do this since their first kiss and the wait was definitely worth it.

He pulled back with a grin, leaving her breathless. “So, drink?”

She nodded, exhaling as an attempt to calm her beating heart.

“I also made us dinner, I just need to put it in the oven.”

The statement made her heart swell, a feeling of fondness for the man in front of her taking over. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” he smiled, as he pushed a few buttons on the oven until a yellow light started flashing and the desired temperature was displayed. “Can’t bring you here and not feed you.”

She chuckled and pulled out a stool tucked into the island to sit on. “No you can’t.”

***

The food would take an hour, so the two decided to go to his living room to wait. They were cuddled up on his couch, watching a movie she’d chosen and that he’d seen a dozen times. Rose didn’t know that though.

“Do you ever worry people will recognize you?” She asked, out of the blue. “When we went out together, you seemed unfazed by the looks some were giving you.”

He shrugged. “I get used to it, really. Besides, Fen is always around in case something happens.”

She pushed off the couch to look at him. “Fen?”

“My security detail,” he nodded. “He’s always around when I’m out and about.”

“But, I didn’t see him the other night. Or the first time we went out together.”

He grinned. “That means he’s doing his job.”

She frowned as she slowly tucked herself back into his side. His arm automatically wrapped around her. “So, we were being followed all night?”

“It’s for safety purposes, Rose. Plus, I would never intentionally put you in danger.”

“What could possibly be so dangerous?”

Harry ducked to press a kiss to her head, breathing in the shampoo scent that coated her red strands. “Anything could be dangerous, even the paparazzi.”

The thought of being followed by paparazzi sent shivers down her spine. She’d seen videos of celebrities being hounded by them and felt sorry for the public figures who had to live with that.

“What if they see us together. Would they publish photos? Are you scared of what they may think?”

“Are you ashamed of me, Rose?”

She craned her neck to kiss him softly. “I would never be ashamed of you, Your Highness.”

“I knew it!” He cried, dramatically pushing her away. “You’re just using me for my title!”

“How did you know?” She gasped, trying to hold in a smile.

“I’ve always felt something was off with you,” he tutted, leaning his back on the arm rest and pulling her on top of him.

She giggled, raising her hand to run her fingers through his hair before smoothing it down. “Why is that?” She whispered.

“There’s no way someone as beautiful as you would give me the time of day,” he murmured, brushing his lips on the corner of her mouth.

She pulled him in to give her a proper kiss, their legs tangling as he switched positions until he was hovering on top of her, forearms caging her head against the sofa.

“If anything, you’re out of my league, Prince.”

The words didn’t sit right with him. He pulled back. “Don’t ever say that,” he frowned.

“It’s true—“

He kissed her again. “Who I am... What I come from... Means nothing between you and me.”

She stared at him intently, the conversation taking an unexpected turn.

“Do you hear me?” He murmured, brushing his lips along her cheek.

She nodded.

He sighed. “Good.”

Rose gasped when Harry’s mouth was suddenly on hers, instantly brushing her tongue against his in what could be the best kiss she’d ever had. She wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him down to feel his comforting weight on top of her. The kiss morphed into something wetter as his hands trailed along her side and dipped under her shirt. She shivered from the contact, bending her knees to cage his body between her legs. Harry brushed his lips against her jaw before slowly making his way down her throat to the fabric of her top covering her chest. His hands inched along her skin to her back where he applied pressure, making her arch, chest pressing against his own.

“Harry,” she breathed as he pressed open mouthed kisses up her throat, leaving a wet trail.

He hummed in response before coming back up to connect their lips. She sighed into his mouth, arms wrapping around his neck as his hands trailed back to caress her sides. “Can I take this off?” He breathed, fingering the hem of her shirt.

She nodded against his neck, where she tongued at his skin, savouring the feeling of just being so close to him. He pulled her shirt up but before he could take it off completely, his phone rang, the shrill ringtone breaking through their bubble.

Harry scrambled to get off the couch, recognizing the ringtone, while Rose fought to catch her breath, mourning the feeling of his weight on her.

Harry excused himself and left the room to speak to whoever it was while Rose readjusted her top and sat up. She decided to braid her hair while waiting for him to finish.

Just as she was tying up her hair, she heard his footsteps before he appeared with a grim look on his face. He tossed his phone on the coffee table.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” he smiled but she didn’t buy it.

She tucked her legs under her and extended a hand towards him.

Harry accepted it and she tugged him over to sit next to her. He complied and slumped back, neck resting on the back of the couch.

“It’s just PR stuff. You don’t need to worry about it,” he said, eyes never leaving the ceiling.

She felt her heart sink to her stomach. “What kind of PR stuff?”

Before he could answer, she jumped at a sudden beeping coming from the kitchen.

He chuckled half-heartedly as she held a hand up to her chest. “It’s just the oven, love. Come on, food’s ready.”

“But what about—“

He kissed her. “I’m hungry.”

She pouted but decided to drop it, not wanting the mood to be ruined.

***

Rose placed her fork on her empty plate and got up to make her way to the sink. “How did you learn to cook like that?” She turned on the water and waited for it to turn hot before rinsing her plate. She reached for the sponge and squirted soap on it, intending to wash all the dishes.

Harry walked up behind her and slid a hand around her waist, splaying his hand on her stomach and pulling her back against him. “My mother,” he said before reaching over and turning off the water.

“Hey!” She went to turn it back on but he wrapped a hand around the tap, preventing her from moving it. “Harry…” She warned.

“Rose…”

She turned around and crossed her arms, ignoring the way her body reacted to his proximity.

He laughed, and pried the wet sponge out of her hand, then pushed her out of the way to rinse it and put it back in place.

Rose scowled. “Let me do this for you.”

“No, I have a dishwasher that could do that for me. I want to spend time with you, not watch you wash my shit.”

“You do so much for me, Harry. Let me wash your shit.”

“I can wash my own shit.”

“Okay, this is getting gross.”

Harry giggled and kissed her cheek before walking over to his fridge. She took the time to wash her hands and dry them before turning around to ask if he needed help with whatever it was he was doing.

She was met with the sight of him standing next to the kitchen island, a delicious-looking chocolate cake on it with two small forks.

Harry chuckled at the way her eyes lit up, knowing her love for chocolate was the way to her heart.

“I was too shy to ask if you had something sweet to follow up with dinner,” she admitted sheepishly, biting her bottom lip as she sat on the stool while he did the same across from her.

His smile widened, handing her a fork. “I would never forget.”

She blushed and followed his lead by taking the first bite of the cake. “Oh my God,” she moaned. “Is this André’s?”

Harry looked at her, horrified. “Don’t ever say another man’s name after moaning like that.”

She snorted, taking another bite of the delicious cake.

“Yes,” Harry said finally, expression morphing into one of amusement as he watched her devour her half of the dessert. “He did make it. Something about giving the lovely lady a real treat.”

Rose laughed at the way he mocked André’s accent, and pushed the plate towards him to finish the cake. “I can’t take another bite,” she groaned.

***

Rose awoke to the sound of faint chattering. She didn’t remember when she fell asleep but once she was aware enough to take in her surroundings, she realized she was still in Harry’s penthouse, curled up on his couch under a warm blanket. A warm feeling engulfed her when she realized Harry had tucked her in.

“Fuck you, I can do whatever I want.”

She frowned, knuckling her eye to try and wake herself up as she heard Harry start pacing, wherever he was.

“I know, I know, she’s been telling me the same thing all week.”

“Harry?” She called out. He didn’t hear her.

“If I hear you call her that one more time, you’re fired.”

“Harry,” she called again, louder. His pacing stopped and a second later, he appeared from around the corner, phone up to his ear.

“Rose,” he sighed, then scowled at whatever the person on the other end said. “Yes, now don’t call me back.” He locked his phone and gave her his attention once again. “Sorry about that.”

She smiled sleepily and reached over to caress his face. He breathed out and knelt on the ground to come face to face with her. Her fingers wound in the short hairs at the nape of his neck and he exhaled, dropping his forehead to her collarbone. “Sometimes I hate being me.”

“Want to talk about it?”

He shook his head and a laugh bubbled out of her, unwillingly. He snapped his head up. “What’s so funny?”

“Tickled me,” she mumbled.

He snorted then got up, asking her to move over before laying down next to her and pulling her to his side.

“You seemed angry,” she said gently.

She could feel him tense under her. “My mother was just pissed at me, had my publicist relay a message.”

“Did you do anything?”

Harry looked into her warm brown eyes, his own glinting with mischief. “When am I not?”

Rose giggled and laid her head on his shoulder. She could feel herself being pulled back into unconsciousness, and as much as she tried to fight it, she couldn't. She wanted to stay awake for him, to comfort him further but exhaustion suddenly washed over her. Before being completely lost to the world, she could’ve sworn she heard him murmur, “I won’t let anything come between us.”

***

THANK YOU FOR READING <3333 lmk if you’d like to be tagged !!!

Tag list: @mellamolayla

#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles story #harry styles blurb #harry styles drabble #harry styles series #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #one direction imagine

170 notes · View notes

voiceless-terror · 4 years ago

Text

In which Martin and Gerry help Jon acquire a cat, among other things.

“Martin, look!”

A phone is shoved in his face; on the screen is a tiny black kitten sprawled on a carpet with the headline “Free to a Good Home!!” Martin knows where this is going.

“Finally time to bite the bullet, eh?”

“We could surprise him!” Gerry’s voice is animated as he waves his phone in the air. Martin loves when he gets like this, unguarded and sweet. “You know how stressed he’s been. Honestly, I’m shocked we haven’t gotten one already.”

“Well, he’s certainly been hinting at it.” Martin gestures broadly at the walls of the bookstore, decorated with various cozy knick knacks and art they’ve picked up at charity shops. There’s no less than three oddly majestic cat paintings along with a shelf of tiny porcelain felines, not to mention the gaudy clock that has cat breeds instead of numbers. Jon has...particular taste. “Not very subtle, is he?”

“Should I message them, then?” Gerry squints at the screen. “We met them at trivia a few months ago - Mara, the one with the-”

“Green hair, yeah.” Martin remembers the night rather fondly. Gerry usually spent most trivia nights scowling in the corner and making snarky commentary with Jon, but on that particular occasion he had a few drinks and was considerably more relaxed. He managed to charm half of the bar with his stories and wit while Jon stared on, adoration clear on his face. “But you know Jon would kill us if we didn’t let him have a say. You know how he gets, he needs to prepare-”

“-buy ninety toys-”

“-think up a ridiculous name.” They both laugh at that- Jon’s got a penchant for renaming their friend’s pets when he doesn’t think their moniker “suits them.” He’s gotten into more than one fight about it. “Text him so he doesn’t stay late, though. I’m not staying up until midnight again.”

“On it.”

_______

They hear Jon before they see him.

The door creaks open, alerting them to his presence as Jon lets out his usual long-suffering sigh (Gerry fondly calls this mood ‘The Bouchard Blues.’) His clothes are wrinkled and his eyes are barely open; from the slight indent on his face, Martin reckons he fell asleep at his desk again. Gerry meets him at the door, grabbing his bag and giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Rough day, love?”

Another sigh, this one a bit more huffy. “Elias came in at half past four with a box of ninety random documents and wanted them all organized by tomorrow. Impossible, of course, unless I stay the night-”

“But you came home!” Gerry says it with a sort of wonder in his voice; Jon very rarely stands up to his boss, no matter how ridiculous the ask.

“W-Well, you said it was important,” Jon looks between them with large, worried eyes. Always assuming the worst. “It’s nothing bad, is it?”

“Jon, I thought the twelve reassuring texts and afternoon phone call put that to rest,” Gerry replies as he steers them towards the couch. “Suppose I should’ve just told you. I wanted it to be a surprise.” He unlocks his phone and scrolls until he finds the ad, handing it over to Jon.

His eyes immediately light up, alert and awake. “Cat!”

“Cat,” Martin agrees, settling down beside them. “We were thinking of getting one for the bookstore-”

“Of course,” Jon’s smiling that rare, bright grin and Martin melts just a little. “It’s only logical. And I do like black cats-”

“Damn it!” Gerry groans, startling them both. He throws his phone down on the couch, crossing his arms in a sulk. “Someone just claimed her. I knew I should’ve said something-”

But Jon’s already fishing his phone out, his smile not dimming in the slightest. “There’s a shelter not too far from here- I’ll see if we have to make an appointment. Martin, can you call Georgie? She’s got an excellent carrier for the Admiral, and she can probably recommend other necessities-”

They end up going to bed at midnight anyway.

________

“I still don’t see why we had to order so much,” Martin complains after another confirmation email lights up his phone. The credit card bill’s going to be astronomical this month. “Surely we’re overpreparing. We don’t have room for the deluxe cat tower in the shop, and we certainly don’t need one for the flat as well.”

“I assure you these are all necessities, Martin.” Gerry and Martin are both fairly tall, but even they have trouble keeping up with Jon’s brisk pace, sharing a fond look over his head. Jon managed to find them a Saturday appointment with a rather impressive combination of wheedling and charm. When it came to cats, Jon didn’t pull his punches. They made it to the shelter in record time and Jon burst through the doors, his next words full of self-importance. “We’re expected. Jonathan Sims.”

They’re led back to a large room by an amused assistant, Jon at the front of their little line. Martin watches as his eyes light up upon seeing the many cages that lined the wall; even Gerry seems a bit excited, though he tries to hide it by hanging back. Gerry’s never been much of an animal person; he shares Jon’s distaste of loud and jumpy dogs too unpredictable in their behavior. He only just started getting used to the Admiral, and that was through much prodding on Jon’s part. Jon’s love is surprisingly infectious.

Jon peers into each cage intently, answering every inquisitive noise with a prim “Pleased to meet you.” One of the first cages contains a fluffy brown cat with curious eyes and Martin stops to poke a finger through the door. “Walnut” (as provided by a helpful nameplate) does not respond, though she seems interested.

Jon’s already halfway down the row before he stops in his tracks, eyes trained on a large, grumpy ball of gray fur sitting right at the bars of the cage. He’s missing an eye, and he begins to growl as soon as Jon nears him.

“This one.” He declares, staring as if entranced. He hasn’t even touched it or attempted to pet it- they’re locked in some sort of silent standoff. Martin’s reminded of those romantic comedies Jon and Gerry hate, where couples lock eyes across the room and it's love at first sight. He surreptitiously takes a picture. Adorable.

“Jimmy?” The assistant inquires. Jon scoffs at the plainness of the name. “He’s been here awhile. Not very friendly, I’m afraid.”

“No, not Jimmy.” Jon offers up a hand, and the cat comes closer, sniffing at it with suspicion. After a few moments, he butts his head against Jon’s hand, earning a smile. “Lance Corporal.”

“No.”

Jon swivels around, eyes narrowing at Gerry’s words. It’s the first time he’s spoken and he’s got one eyebrow quirked up in amusement. It’s a good look on him. Jon, however, is having none of it and he puts a hand to his hip. “And why not?”

“It’s such a mouthful.” Martin has to agree; it doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. “I’m not going to call him that. What about Lance?”

Jon wrinkles his nose. “Ew.”

Martin sighs; Gerry and Jon get along like a house on fire but when they bicker, they bicker. He eyes the cat that’s now rubbing against Jon’s hand and purring; he hopes the its sudden geniality will extend to Martin and Gerry. Jon would pick a cat that’s just as prickly as he can be.

Martin gives it a good look, coming up beside Jon at ‘Jimmy’s’ cage. The cat immediately stops its gravely purr, it’s eye now trained on Martin. It’s unnerving, Martin never thought a cat could radiate authority but this one surely managed to. If any animal deserves a title, it’s this one. “What about the Captain?” he asks in a fit of inspiration.

They both turn to look at him; Gerry amused, Jon thoughtful. “Go on.”

“It’s a title, you always liked the naval ones.” Jon nods in agreement, the beginnings of a smile on his face. “He looks like an old sailor, very distinguished. I dunno, I think it’s cute.”

“The Captain,” Jon whispers in awe as the cat resumes rubbing against his hand. “Martin, that’s perfect. Inspired, even.”

He can’t help preening a bit. “Thank you.” Gerry rolls his eyes.

And then there’s the moment of truth- the assistant opens the cage door and Jon steps forward with all the solemnity of a man about to be knighted. He reaches out his arms and the cat lets itself be picked up, going limp as Jon brings it to his chest. He sighs in contentment, giving himself one more moment of bliss before he perks up and opens his eyes.

“Now pick yours.”

_________

Three. They’ve got three fucking cats.

Martin and Gerry immediately began to refuse, but Jon was insistent. “The Captain is obviously very partial to me, and I think you should have some say in who we adopt. If we each get one it eliminates any favoritism. It’s only logical.”

There was nothing logical about it. Three cats and three people in their tiny flat, or worse, destroying their bookstore. They didn’t have the space, the cats might not get along, it would be too expensive. But Jon wouldn’t hear of it, countering every point in a calmness that was borderline unnerving. Martin shot Gerry a pleading look; he’d gone silent after the initial refusal, content to let Martin do most of the arguing, but he just shook his head in amusement- he knew how this would end, and Martin did too. As the final nail in the coffin, Jon deployed the eyes and that’s how he found himself in the front of a taxi with a lapful of Walnut. She’s a friendly thing, instantly purring on contact and meowing whenever he turned away. Martin hadn’t the heart to turn it away.

Gerry took more time. He slunk around the cages and the cats seemed to sense his reluctance. But soon he came upon a small, sleek black cat, not unlike the one from the Facebook post. It was a tentative thing, barely coming to the edge of its cage to sniff at his fingers, but Gerry was determined, patiently waiting the fifteen minutes it took to get him to warm up. Martin didn’t point out the similarities between it and a certain goth, though he shared a knowing look with Jon.

“I’ve got it - the Unfathomable Void.”

“Dear God,” Martin muttered, rolling his eyes. So dramatic, the both of them.

Jon snorted. “That’s a bit much.”

“Okay, Lance Corporal.”

“Excuse me-!”

“Settle down, boys,” Martin put a hand on Jon’s shoulder, he looked liable to pounce. “If that’s what you want, go for it. But we’ll call him Void for short.” Gerry nodded, seemingly satisfied. Jon continued to scowl, though without any heat.

The cabbie was definitely not pleased at having to cart around three men and three cats. He muttered the entire drive while Jon bounced in the backseat, cooing at his companion. Gerry sat much more stoically, though Martin didn’t miss the tiny smile as the cat nipped at his fingers. Jon’s insistence on multiple supplies was starting to make sense now. He definitely planned this from the beginning, sneaky thing.

“Oh no,” Jon suddenly said upon entering their flat, struggling with the carrier in his hand. Martin’s starting to think he shouldn’t have picked such a massive cat. “I forgot this was for the bookstore!”

“Well, yeah.” Gerry sat his cage on the ground, kneeling down beside it. “I figured mine or Martin’s would do. The Captain’s not very friendly, Jon.”

“But what if they get lonely? We can’t split them up.” Jon’s eyes dart around the room, growing more conflicted by the second. “Perhaps we should keep them all at home.”

“There’s no room, Jon! And no one’s here during the day.” Martin surveys the room- the three carriers already seem to take up an enormous amount of space, not to mention the living creatures inside of them. And all of those packages, that damn tower…

“You can take them back and forth. Commute.”

“Christ, we did not think this through.” Gerry’s smiling even as he says it, watching as the Unfathomable Void slowly makes his way out, sniffing tentatively at the air. Walnut’s content to stay in her cage, and Martin tucks her in a corner away from the other two. Jon’s already got the Captain out, holding him in his arms and refusing to let him go.

“You’re right, we didn’t.” Jon agrees, tucking his face in the Captain’s fur. “We should’ve gotten four-”

“Fuck’s sake, Jon!”

“Let’s talk about this later, alright?” Gerry takes Martin’s place as the voice of reason, a rare occurrence. “We’ll keep them at home, let them get used to us, and then we’ll figure out the bookstore situation. No sense getting worked up about it now.” Jon sighs, cradling the mass of fur to his chest and plopping down on the couch. Martin’s sure they’ll be at it again tomorrow; Jon sniping as Martin tries and fails to put together a massive cat tower, Gerry groaning about whatever surprises the cats left for them in the morning. The next few weeks were going to be stressful, to say the least.

For now, though, he sits with his partners once again until midnight, watching their new additions roam about the flat and ignore each other. Jon frets, Gerry sighs, and Martin unsuccessfully attempts to steer the conversation towards anything but cats. By the end of the night, only Void manages to feel at home, curling up in Martin’s favorite armchair (much to his chagrin). Could’ve gone worse, Martin cheers himself with. They’ll get used to the flat. And the bookstore. Probably.

Later that night, once their partner’s asleep and snoring softly between the two of them, Martin turns to Gerry, borrowing Jon’s patented sigh.

“We’re gonna get a fourth cat, aren’t we?”

Gerry’s voice is just as resigned. “Yeah, reckon so.”

“Christ.”

-------

Others in the JGM series:

What We’re Given and What We Make

At the End of the Day

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28945809

#my writing #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerry keay #jongerrymartin #jonmartin #jongerry #gerrymartin #christ this is a lot of tags #pointless fluff honestly #but fun #when i picture jon's smile in this fic its messisauce's art tbh #you know the one

295 notes · View notes

phykios · 3 years ago

Text

honesty and promise me, co-written with @darkmagyk [read on ao3]

Update: Annabeth has not done what needs to be done.

August moves over into September, hot and sweltering days giving way to the first few hints of the coming autumn chill. One unseasonably cold night, Annabeth had gone to bed wrapped in one of Percy’s old Paris Opera sweaters, waking up with it and wearing it home to ward off the chill of the morning drizzle, like some a normal girlfriend would.

It’s a problem, she knows, but she just cannot quit this man.

And boy did she try, about a hundred different times.

One time, she spent an entire Tuesday before seeing him googling around until she found a picture. It was three years old, and it showed Mittie--oh, sorry, Her Royal Highness Margherita--at a soccer game in Moscow. Next to her is the handsomest man in the world. Percy’s hair is shorter, and something about his windbreaker reminds her of some of the crew boys she knew at Harvard. They aren’t touching, but they are both smiling. This is the kind of girl Percy deserves. This is the kind of girl he should want. His type. She reminds herself of it for hours before meeting him at a show. But the smile he gives her is nothing like the one in the pictures with the princess. And when he whispers what he wants to do to her that evening, she just can’t do it.

She even took him to his favorite pizza place once to soften the blow. But then she thought about how her dumping him would forever taint the magic of Antonio’s for the both of them, and she just couldn’t abide that.

So she kept putting it off. And putting it off. And putting it off.

And then he asked her to dinner with his parents again, on his one night off in three weeks.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to bring you something?” he asks for the fourth time, concern making his connection thin and tinny.

“It’s just a little stomach thing,” she lies, shaking out a ramen flavor packet. “I’ll be fine. You go have fun with your mom.”

“Okay. I’ll call later to check up on you.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m just going to be asleep.”

“Talk to you later.”

“Yeah.”

He clicks off. Her apartment is very quiet. For lack of anything else to do, she decides to check her mail.

Who even mails anything anymore, she thinks.

Rifling through the pile of wasted paper, she sighs at the banality of it all. Junk, junk, junk, NYCB brochure she needs to cancel, junk… Harvard?

She peers at it.

The red seal is unmistakable, as is her name, printed in neat, black ink. “Ms. Annabeth Chase.” Why are they contacting her? And more importantly, who the fuck gave them her address?

Hands shaking, she unfolds it. “Dear Ms. Chase,” it reads, “Thank you for your generous contribution to the Harvard Graduate School of Design. As one of our most promising graduates, we are so pleased and thrilled to receive your encouragement. With your gift, we were able to reach our fundraising goal of $2.5million, which will go to support the various operations of the school, so that we can continue to provide a top-notch education for your fellow students. You do make a difference for us, and we are immensely thankful for you!” And then it goes on. “As a thank you for your generous gift of $15,000, we would like to invite you to the Alistair Moore dinner for distinguished graduates and faculty. We would be delighted to receive you at...”

She can’t finish, dyslexia scrambling the words in front of her. Or maybe that’s just her, trembling so hard she has to sit down. Fifteen thousand. The Alistair Moore dinner. She knows it well, yet another fancy networking event, like the Eta Industries party. Bile rises in her throat. Who would…

The answer hits her like a freight train. Only one person would be so bold.

Crumpling the letter in her fist, she pulls out her phone, dialing the number she still stubbornly has memorized, despite deleting it off her contacts list.

She isn’t sure if she’s upset that she gets his voicemail, or relieved. “Hey, dad. It’s me,” she says, grimacing as she starts off like he wouldn’t recognize her voice. Like it’s any other phone call. “I got your message. The Alistair Moore dinner? I’m not going. I told you, I don’t want your help. I don’t need your help. What I need,” she sneers, “is for you to butt out and leave me the hell alone.”

Then she hangs up, before she can chicken out and delete it.

She shoves the letter into her recycling bin, down to the very bottom. Out of sight and out of mind.

Well, her night is pretty much ruined.

Ramen growing colder, she lies on her couch, her head hanging over the edge, studiously not looking at her phone. She shouldn’t have left that message. She shouldn’t have opened that letter. She shouldn’t have rebuffed Percy’s invitation. Or maybe she was right, in all those situations. Who the fuck knows. Who the fuck cares. Her leg bounces, frantic, stomach roiling.

Like a gunshot, her phone vibrates on her coffee table. Annabeth catapults herself up, reaching for it, nearly dropping it, even as her eyes begin to blur. Please let it be her dad. Please let it be anyone else but her dad. Please. Please. Please.

checking in, writes Percy. feeling any better?

With a sob, she hits call. He picks up after the second ring.

“Hey,” he says, softly. “Everything okay?”

“Can,” she hiccups. God damn it. God damn her. “Can you please come over?”

She can feel his demeanor change over the phone. “I’ll be right there,” he says, calm and collected. “What’s your address?”

Her address is supposed to be a secret. No one is supposed to know where she lives. She doesn’t even like Luke knowing where she lives, and he might be the closest thing she has to family right now. But she tells Percy, and he promises to be there within thirty minutes. Throwing her arms over her face, she lies back down, breathing through her nose so she doesn’t vomit.

He makes it in twenty. here is the simple text, devoid of any hearts or emojis, and she buzzes him up. Less than a minute later, he knocks on her door. “It’s open,” she calls, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes.

Softly, the door clicks open, someone smoothly and quietly stepping inside. “Annabeth?”

“Here,” she moans. She should get up to greet him. She can’t feel her legs. She can’t feel anything at all.

The couch dips as someone sits next to her, a warm, large hand on her shoulder, and she can’t help but open her eyes. Percy is there in his blue sweater that she returned the last time she had slept over at Nico’s apartment, his brow furrowed in worry, but he’s smiling a little, too, just happy to see her, to see that she’s safe. In his other hand, he holds up a plastic bag. “I brought you a cookie,” he says, gently. “Chocolate chip.”

Annabeth blinks. “It’s… blue.”

He nods. “It is.”

Blue cookies. His mom’s special recipe, he had told her, for bad days of aching feet, harsh dance instructors, and school bullies.

The dam breaks.

She launches herself into Percy’s embrace, sobbing. He tucks her head into his neck, his arms coming up around her. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s okay.”

“I’m--I’m so sorry,” she gets out, in between heaving breaths. “I just--I didn’t want to be alone and--”

He shakes his head against hers, his nose in her hair. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

They sit there for a long, long time, him holding her as she cries, pathetic. She can only imagine what it must be like from Percy’s end: here he was, having a lovely dinner with his mother uptown on his night off, only to get a frantic call from his hookup, demanding that he drop everything and rush to her side. And he did. He even fucking brought her one of his mom’s special cookies.

She does not deserve this perfect, amazing man.

It’s that thought more than anything else that pulls her out of her spiral, her sobs abating somewhat. “There we go,” he says, sweetly. “I’m going to get you some water, okay? Be right back.”

Resisting the urge to hold onto his sleeve like some kind of child, she lets him pull away, stepping into her kitchen. Head aching and eyes puffy, she can’t even really register the fact that he is in her apartment right now. Her secret hideaway. Her sanctum sanctorum. He can see her tasteful couches and her expensive coffee maker and her giant TV screen.

But honestly? She doesn’t care about any of that right now. All she cares about is the long, solid line of Percy’s body next to hers as he sits back down next to her, handing her a glass of water. She drinks it down, greedily, falling back against him, his hand automatically coming up to her shoulder, and she turns into his side, drinking him in, just as desperate.

They don’t speak, just holding onto each other.

As she drifts off, there on her couch, her arm around Percy’s midsection, she only has one real thought in her head.

Forget the apartment--this is her sanctum sanctorum. This is her safe space.

***

Annabeth wakes up in a bed that isn’t her own, in an apartment that isn’t her own.

It reminds her, weirdly enough of her mom’s apartment, she thinks as she sits up in the soft, cream sheets, here in New York. She had only ever been a handful of times, whenever her mother deigned to claim her for their allotted family time. She doesn’t remember much about that place--mostly the skyline through the window, the low, uncomfortable furniture, the spotless, empty kitchen.

Across from the bed is a mirror, squat and wide. Annabeth has her hair back, her face devoid of metal. She looks tired, she thinks, and maybe a little older, dark, heavy bags beneath her eyes. She’s wearing a real, actual set of pajamas, rather than a sweater or an oversized shirt, pale pink silk tight around her body.

Shaking her head, she looks down, and spies a thin band of gold on her left hand, which rests on her stomach, sporting a slight, but noticeable curve.

Only then does she realize it’s a dream. She lets out a grateful sigh. Just a dream.

It seems like a pretty boring one, too. She’s older, a little fatter, and has a nicer apartment. Somewhere in the distance is the indistinct sound of a person singing. And beyond that the even more indistinct sound of the city.

Stumbling out of bed, her feet falling into a pair of soft, pink slippers, perfectly positioned next to her bed, she makes her way out into the apartment. The walls are cream, decorated with generic seaside landscapes, a nondescript sailboat in the background against an unchanging, cornflower blue sky.

The kitchen is empty. Breakfast is cooked, laid out on a placemat at the kitchen island, but no one is there eating it. No one is there cleaning up, or making coffee. The food looks delicious, like a magazine spread: a perfectly made bowl of granola and yogurt, a lemon poppyseed muffin, a glass of orange juice on the side. Nutritious. Small.

It’s weird. It’s really weird.

Moving on, she enters the living room. There’s a little girl on her knees, maybe three or four, she’s wearing a red pinafore over a white polo shirt and Mary Janes shined like the top of the Chrysler building. The preschool version of a prep-school uniform. She’s hunched over the glass coffee table, frizzy blonde curls bouncing as she moves her hand back and forth, scribbling with a colored pencil on a piece of paper.

All of a sudden, she notices Annabeth standing there.

“Mommy!” She jumps up, holding the pencil behind her back, her green eyes wide with apprehension. “I--I was--”

She hears whistling, and turns to see… well, it's Percy, but he looks nothing like her Percy. His hair is cropped shorter, parted and moussed perfectly flat. He’s in a three piece suit. He’s in trousers. Not a pair of sweatpants or a muscle tee in sight.

He stops when he sees her. “Sorry, didn’t know you were awake, wouldn’t have been singing.” Which makes no sense, Because Annabeth loves Percy’s ambient music. He looks around her, speaking to his--to the girl, “I told you you’d have to stop when mommy got up.”

Annabeth glances at the little girl, who nods too solemnly.

“Don’t worry,” this stranger wearing Percy’s face says, “She’s ready for school. She is ready for her Math qualification. I only said she could draw for a little, to calm herself down.” He glances at the girl again. “Put your things back in the art box, and we’ll go to school. I have an 8:30 meeting with the board.”

The little girl runs off. Holding her paper and her pencils close to her chest, like she’s afraid someone is going to take them away from her. Maybe someone is.

Percy turns to her. “I confirmed our reservations at 7 tonight at Sarabeth’s with your mother’s assistant this morning. And the nanny is going to stay late, so we don’t have to bring her.”

The her in question reappears just then. She’s so small. And she’s carrying a backpack. She looks like that breakfast, out of a magazine. But normally kids in magazines smile.

“Are you ready?” Annabeth’s voice finally says.

A beat, then she nods again. “Yes, mommy.”

“Good,” she says. Outside, the sunlight through the windows isn’t so bright anymore, but dark and cold, like a solar eclipse. “Make me proud.”

And she turns to go back to bed, but the floor has disappeared, and she steps on nothing, tumbling down into the void.

With a start, she wakes up again in her bed, to the smell of breakfast in the air. Which is confusing, because she’s pretty sure she fell asleep on the couch, and she usually doesn’t wake up in time for breakfast, let alone actually make it herself: she has Percy for that, now.

Right. Percy.

It comes back to her in flashes: the donation, the voicemail, calling Percy out of desperation. Inviting him into her room, her bed. Falling asleep in his arms.

She physically shakes her head, roughly scrubbing her face, forcing herself further into consciousness. The light coming through her window is grey and weak, doing absolutely nothing to help her out. The morning feels muted, for some reason, like it’s very far away. Maybe it was her nightmare.

She can’t hear Percy, Annabeth realizes. That’s what’s wrong. She can smell breakfast, but she can’t hear him puttering away. She doesn’t hear the clanking of pans as he tries to be quiet, or his off-key humming, or the dull thump of footfalls on her floor as he practices his steps.

God, how late did she sleep? If he has to leave for a morning class he usually makes sure to wake her up, first. For a kiss if nothing else.

But when she pads out to her kitchen, she’s stunned to find Percy still there, sitting at her warped kitchen table. There are two plates in front of him, eggs and bacon untouched and cooling. He’s fully dressed, too, in his dark jeans and stupid dance pun t-shirt: “Girls Just Wanna Have Buns,” his sweater on the empty chair. Annabeth had been weirdly looking forward to wearing that this morning; he likes seeing her in his clothes, and she likes seeing him without them. It’s a system that works for them, typically leading to a lot of smiles, a couple giggles, and maybe another round or two before he has to leave.

He’s not smiling now. His gaze is fixed on his plate, hands in his lap. “Morning,” she croaks, softly.

Percy lifts his eyes to her, unfathomable like the sea. “Morning.”

Something in her stops her from sliding into the seat across from him. Standing gives her strength, gives her power that she doesn’t want to give up. She may not be able to tell what Percy is thinking right now, but she knows when someone is gearing up for a fight. “What is it?”

“What is what?”

“What’s the matter?”

He is uncharacteristically still. Annabeth has gotten so used to him expressing himself via his body, the stillness is unsettling. Percy holds her gaze for a moment, then sucks in a breath, sitting up a little bit straighter. “I kicked over your recycling by mistake, and when I was cleaning up, I…” He bites his lip, a little ashamed. “I accidentally read some of your mail.”

“Okay.” He can’t be that broken up about her junk mail, can he?

It’s only then that she sees it, laid out neatly next to the breakfast plate. The letter has been carefully uncrumpled, but the red Harvard seal is as obnoxiously bright as ever. “I don’t mean to pry, but…” Percy licks his lips, gathering his words together. “I thought you didn’t get into Harvard?”

She doesn’t say anything.

“It’s just--this is from the Graduate School of Design,” he continues, looking at the page as if to confirm it. “And the dean says you were one of their ‘most promising graduates,’ here, so. That means you have, what, a master’s degree? Right?”

Still, she doesn’t say anything.

Percy rubs a hand over his mouth, square jaw squaring further. “I guess I just don’t understand why you lied to me.”

“I never--” she blurts.

“I mean, were you trying to spare my New Yorker sensibilities by telling me you didn’t get in? Did you think I would actually care?”

There’s nothing she can say in response. So she doesn’t.

After a moment, he blows out a sharp breath. “So. Fifteen thousand dollars, huh.”

She sighs, looking away. It’s not like Annabeth doesn’t hate it, too. “I didn’t do that,” she says, crossing her arms. “My dad did it, he just put it under my name.”

“And, he did that… why? I mean,” he tilts his head, a little bewildered. “I thought you guys weren’t on speaking terms.”

“To try and get me to network again, probably.” She shrugs. “And I’m not on speaking terms with him. He just hasn’t gotten the memo yet.”

He hasn’t raised his voice at all. He hasn’t moved from his seat, or made any kind of threatening gesture, but like an approaching storm cloud, she can feel the anger rolling in, dense and crackling. “Does he do this a lot, your dad? Throw his money around for you?”

“It’s not like I asked him to.”

But he’s shaking his head, rueful. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. You know, I thought it was weird that you could afford an apartment in the East Village with a bedroom on periodic architecture contracts, but I’m guessing he pays for that, too?”

He’s right, of course, but that doesn’t stop her from bristling. “It’s a trust fund,” she snaps. “It’s still my money.”

“A trust fund,” he says, softly. “Right.”

Anger lances through her, cold and burning. Just because her dad had set it up for her didn’t mean that she wouldn’t use it. “Yeah, a trust fund. Is that a crime, now?”

He opens his mouth as if to say something, then snaps it shut with an audible click. Pushing his chair out, he stands up, hands flat on the table. “I should go and get ready for my class. I’ll… I’ll text you later, okay?” Percy takes a step towards her, hands reaching for her on instinct, then pauses. “See you around.”

Percy leaves without so much as a look back, closing the door so quietly she can barely hear it over the roar of blood in her ears.

#my fic #percabeth #the rivalry ends here #ballet au #😈😈😈#darkmagyk #happy endings onlyyyyyyyy #percabeth fic #PJO

56 notes · View notes

hizashis-lil-bunbun · 4 years ago

Text

The Silent Auction- (Hizashi Yamada X Fem!Reader)

This is my contribution to the Citrus Dome Auction Collab! Hizashi is honestly one of my favorite characters to write for and it’s a crime I don’t use him more.

Word Count: ~8.5k

Contains: smut, pet names, unprotected sex, creampie, DDLG (if you squint)

Banner by @ladyshinigami

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“I can’t believe this.” You sigh for the umpteenth time, twisting this way and that to look at yourself in the bathroom mirror. You’re wearing a rich, black, floor-length gown with a high slit up one side and just the right amount of ruching to tastefully accentuate your curves. It was truly a miracle that it fit without the need for alterations, considering you’d had to buy the thing in a rush. Hell, you’d barely glanced at the price tag before slapping down your company credit card, viewing it as a bit of karmic justice for your boss’ callous, last-minute assignment. Sure being a sidekick of Endeavor’s (even a minor one) had its perks, but that didn’t make him any less of a nightmare to work for. As you struggled with the miniscule clasp on your necklace, you replayed this morning’s events in your head.

“The Heroes Gala?” You’d questioned, cocking your head in confusion and earning an irritated groan from the Flame Hero.

“Surely you’ve heard of it.” He’d snarked, the flames that ring his face seeming to flare in annoyance. “The Commission holds it once a year as a way to celebrate our achievements in hero society today and raise money for future endeavors. Dignitaries and heroes from all over the country– the world really– are expected to attend.”

“I’m aware of that, sir.” You’d chirped back, straightening up to make up for your lapse in decorum. “I’m just confused by what this has to do with me.”

If looks could kill, the glare he’d shot you would have put you in a coffin.

“Unfortunately, I’ve been called away on an urgent mission and can’t make it to the gala this year. But since I am the Number One Hero, my agency must provide some form of representation. That’s where you come in.”

Your eyes went wide at that, heart jumping into your throat as the gravity of the situation sank in. As far as your job was concerned, Endeavor’s word was law. There was no bargaining or substitution to be made. He didn’t even wait for a response before continuing.

“Your role for this event is simple: smile, wave, and maybe bid on a few of the auction items as a show of good faith. If you win something, fine. Just make sure it’s nothing… distasteful.”

You were tempted to question the noticeable shudder that ran through him as spat out the final word. But the careless wave of his hand was the signal for you to bow and leave, giving you no room for queries. However, just as you were about to walk out the door, he decided to toss some parting remarks your way.

“Make sure to wear something appropriate. It is a black tie event, after all. And one of my other sidekicks will be escorting you this evening. Call it insurance to make sure you don’t do anything to embarrass me.”

“Asshole.” You hiss under your breath, successfully hooking the clasp shut and putting a few loose hairs back in place. “What does he think I’m going to do? Get wasted and swing from the chandelier?”

Still muttering a litany of colorful curses, you march to the edge of your bed and plop down to slip into the matching stilettos you’d picked out during your brief shopping trip. Shoes like these were normally well out of your comfort zone (not to mention your price range), but you weren’t the one paying for them. Call them compensation for sacrificing one of your precious nights off. Once they were on, you stood up from the bed and carefully made your way over to the full length mirror in the corner of the room. You smooth down the fabric of your dress, picking away a few stray pieces of lint and checking for any “embarrassing” blemishes or stains. But everything is almost irritatingly perfect, not a stitch out of place. You’re about to launch into another tirade against Endeavor when your work phone chimes from it’s spot on the nightstand. No doubt it’s your “escort” (you refused to call him a date) texting to let you know he was coming to get you. Or worse, already here.

“No turning back now.”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“This is it.” You hear Endeavor’s other sidekick grunt, forcing you to snap out of your daydreaming and look towards him. You hadn’t batted an eye when you stepped out of your apartment to find Endeavor had sent a limo, driven by one of his fleet of personal chauffeurs, to pick you up. He did have a knack for flashing his wealth and status whenever possible. What did surprise you was his choice of escort for the evening: a man by the name of Buru (or Taurus if you were to use his hero name). Buru was a fair bit older than you, sporting a pair of bull horns and hooves, and corded with so much muscle it was a wonder how he managed to squeeze into a tux. You seem positively miniscule compared to his hulking frame, making you look like a rather odd couple. The driver pulls up to the curbside, quickly putting the limo in park before getting out to hold the door open for you. He courteously extends a hand to you, which you graciously accept before snagging your evening clutch from the seat beside you. You gracefully step out of the vehicle and onto an honest-to-god red carpet leading towards one of the glitziest hotels in the heart of Tokyo, blinking in the wake of what feels like a hundred camera bulbs flashing around you. Reporters and cameramen are clamoring to snap pictures of the various celebrities and heroes, asking questions that run the gamut from classy to trashy.

Buru plods around the limo to join you by your side, giving you a subtle nod to signal that it’s time to start walking. You set off down the plush runway, walking with more confidence than you felt as reporters peppered you and Buru with questions about your relationship to the Number One Hero. Evidently they’d been tipped off regarding Endeavor’s absence. Buru remained stone-faced, his long strides quickly outstripping your much more delicate steps.

“So much for being an escort.” You think, deciding to pick up the pace so as to not be left behind. And that decision quickly reveals itself to be a terrible mistake. Your pencil thin heel catches on a hidden snag in the carpet, causing your ankle to twist and buckle beneath you. You’re thrown off balance, teetering wildly before plummeting headlong towards the carpeted pavement. But before you can fall flat on your face, a set of strong, slender hands wrap themselves around your torso and pull you upwards, your back coming in contact with your savior’s chest.

“Woah there, little listener!” A familiar voice trills in your ear, their hands releasing you once you’re back on stable footing. “You almost took one helluva stage dive! You good?”

You turn over your shoulder to find a smiling face, framed by outrageous orange sunglasses and a well-trimmed mustache. Hypnotic, emerald eyes seem to sparkle back at you and his long blond hair is tied up in a messy, half-bun. You know this man. Everyone in Tokyo with a radio knows him: Present Mic, the Voice Hero.

“Thanks, Present Mic.” You mumble, an embarrassed blush rising on your cheeks. It was bad enough you’d stumbled in front of the press; the incessant clicking and flashing of cameras was reminding you of that. But to be saved by another hero on top of it… it was a little too much. However, the blonde doesn’t seem to care, giving a hearty laugh and clapping a hand on your shoulder good-naturedly.

“Don’t mention it, baby!” He chortles, winking in a way that would seem forced or cheesy coming from anyone else. “Always happy to help. Besides, it doesn’t seem like your boyfriend is too keen on stickin’ around.”

“Boyfriend?” You ask, cocking your head before remembering who you came with. You blush an even deeper shade of red, sure your face is about to burst into flames akin to your employer’s own. “Oh! No, no, no! He’s not my boyfriend. We just work together at the agency.”

“No kiddin’?” Mic says, his grin spreading impossibly wider before straightening up and offering an arm to you. “In that case, how ‘bout I lend you a hand until we get inside? No offense but those heels ya got on seem closer to stilts than kicks, ya dig?

While his radio slang is a bit confusing, you can’t help but find it a little endearing. With a sheepish nod, you grab a hold of his jacket-clad forearm and allow him to smoothly lead you down the remainder of the red carpet. He’s in full ‘Present Mic mode” as you walk together, all winning smiles and carefree waves as the press peppers him with questions.

“Mic who are you wearing this evening?”

“Present Mic! What’s the name of your damsel in distress?

“Mic! Is it true you’re involved in a scandalous affair with fellow Pro, Eraserhead?”

He lets their shameless inquiries roll off of him like water off a duck’s back, only blowing a dramatic kiss to the crowd before you both disappear behind the front doors. Once inside the lobby, Mic walks you over to one of three elevators, ushering you inside with a crush of other gala-goers once the doors open. It’s a short ride up to the venue space, and you can’t help but gasp when the elevator doors open onto an immaculately decorated ballroom. Every wall and archway is decorated with banners in the Hero Commission's signature black and gold colors, festooned with matching sprays of floral arrangements. There’s a live band somewhere in the room, playing soft jazz in the background to create an elegant atmosphere for the evening. But most impressive of all is the view; the farthest wall is made up entirely of floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a panoramic view of the Tokyo skyline. The sun is just starting to dip below the horizon, washing the room in an amber light that gives everyone a coppery glow. You’re so spellbound by the scene before you that Mic’s low whistle causes you to jump slightly. How long has he had his arm draped over your shoulders? Come to think of it, when had you slipped your own arm around his waist?

“Damn.” He breathes, carefully walking out of the elevators with you in tow. “This place is bitchin’. So much cooler than last year’s venue.”

“Is that so?” You say, your head swiveling around as a waiter breezes past you with a tray of finger foods. You don’t notice the way Mic watches you, nor do you see the crooked smile that crosses over his face as your tongue darts out to wet your lips.

“Oh yeah.” He says, leading you away from the elevators and further into the crowd. “Last year the Commission rented out some–”

“Mic!” A deep voice calls above the steady thrum of conversation, cutting him off. An equally deep, if not more irritated voice calls out your own name simultaneously. The two of you look in opposite directions, the blonde towards a pair of dark-haired individuals waving him over and you towards your forgotten escort. Buru is fuming, smoke practically pouring out of his ears as he marches towards you.

“Where were you?” He growls while grabbing the hand closest to him and pulling you away from Mic harshly. “You’re not supposed to leave my side. Boss’ orders!”

“Stop it Buru!” You snap, yanking your hand out of his grip. “If you didn’t want me to leave your side, maybe you should have waited for me back on the red carpet. I nearly fell and busted my ass thanks to you! If Present Mic hadn’t been there–”

“No excuses.” Buru snaps back, “I shouldn’t have to wait around because you can’t keep up. We’re Mr. Todoroki’s sidekicks, so try to act like it!”

“Todoroki?” You hear the blonde hero echo behind you, “As in Enji Todoroki? Endeavor?”

You wince at Mic’s words, grateful your back is turned to him at the moment. Endeavor may be a hero, but being associated with him didn’t evoke a lot of warm, fuzzy feelings in folks. And many tended to react poorly when they found out who you worked for. With a dejected sigh, you turn back towards Mic, ignoring the way Buru impatiently stamps his hooves behind you.

“Yes, that’s right.” You say glumly, putting up your mask of professionalism. “I’m one of Endeavor’s sidekicks. He was called away on urgent business and sent me and my associate here to represent him and his agency. Forgive me for not telling you earlier.”

You offer a quick, apologetic bow, hoping to slink away as quickly as possible. But to your surprise, Mic doesn’t scoff, jeer, or even try to suck up to you for favors. He laughs. Not in a cruel or condescending way, but a real, mirthful laugh, infectious to the point you feel your own tension ease slightly.

“So that’s why I didn’t recognize ya!” He chortles, smacking his palm to his forehead. “Although it’s not too surprising. That dude cycles through more sidekicks than a jukebox does music.”

The nonchalant way he insults your boss causes your mask to slip and you let loose a giggle of your own. Buru, on the other hand, is clearly not amused.

“How dare you insult the Number One Hero!” He roars, stepping forward to point a scathing finger at Mic. “Endeavor is twice- no, three times the hero you could ever hope to be!”

“Woah, woah, woah! Take it easy, dude!” Mic says, putting his hands up before shooting you another playful wink. “All I meant was I definitely would have remembered meeting a pretty little thing like your partner here.”

You find yourself blushing and batting your eyelashes at him, returning his obvious attempts at flirting in a more surreptitious manner. Buru just places one broad hand on your shoulder, giving Mic a derisive snort before he starts to drag you away.

“You’re not worth the effort.” He huffs, “Just stay away.”

You can’t resist adding one more match to the fire of Buru’s rage, looking over your shoulder and belting out a cheerful, “It was nice meeting you!”

“See ya around!” The blonde calls back, giving you a chipper wave before disappearing into the throng. Buru leads you to a table at the far end of the room, set with fine crystal stemware and gold place settings. He stiffly pulls out a chair for you, allowing you to sit down before taking up residence beside you. You’re amazed the flimsy looking things can support any weight at all, much less the mountain of horned muscle currently glowering at you. He crosses his arms and leans back with a grunt.

“So… now what?” You ask, absentmindedly fiddling with the gold napkin ring in front of you.

“You stay put.” He commands, “No leaving my sight for any reason.”

“You’re joking right? Do you seriously expect me to sit here with you all night?”

Buru doesn’t answer, instead turning his glare onto the crowd. You groan and flop forwards to rest your elbows on the table, opting to occupy your time with people watching. The ballroom is crawling with high-profile attendees: pros and sidekicks, politicians and CEO’s, celebrities and VIP’s. All of them with money, power, and prestige oozing out of their pores. You watch as the tuxedo-clad waitstaff scurry amongst the party-goers, offering up trays of hors d'oeuvres and honey-colored champagne. Every once a while, one of them makes their way over to your table with some delicious little morsel to offer. And in your famished state, the already excellently prepared food tastes like heaven. But when a server carrying a tray of champagne comes by to offer you a glass, Buru grabs your wrist before you can partake and rudely waves the poor girl off.

“What the hell was that for?” You hiss, rubbing at your now sore wrist.

“No alcohol. You’ve embarrassed me and Endeavor enough as it is.”

That does it. You can deal with villains, Endeavor, even your parents if necessary. But this “personal babysitter” schtick has gone far enough. You stand up from the table with a huff, swiftly moving out of Buru’s reach before he can grab you again.

“Sit down!”

“No! I have to go to the bathroom. Can I at least do that?”

“I’ll accompany you.”

“Like hell you will! I’m a grown woman. I can go to the bathroom by myself without getting in trouble.”

Buru narrows his eyes and scowls deeply at you. You stare him down, refusing to back down from this fight. After a few tense moments, he relaxes slightly and gives a curt nod.

“You have ten minutes.”

You grab your clutch, turn on your heel and march off into the fray, doing your best to avoid stepping on other people with your dagger sharp heels. As you make your way across the crowded dance floor, you begin to recognize the more popular Pro Heroes among the sea of faces. Some of them you’d had the privilege of meeting personally, like Hawks and Miruko, both of whom were currently surrounded by fans and admirers. Others you’d only seen on TV or in newspaper clippings, but that didn’t make them any less impressive. In fact, you were too busy watching Fatgum scarf down a whole tray of artisanal onigiri by himself to notice a certain blonde standing in your way until it was too late. You bumped right into him, bouncing off with an embarrassed “I’m so sorry!” before coming eye-to-eye with those striking green whorls again.

“Oh hey, it’s you!” Mic exclaims, grinning down at you like he hasn’t seen you in ages. “No need to be sorry, baby. This thing’s a rental anyways!”

“But you’re all wet now.” You say, watching him while he wipes the remains of his spilled champagne off his tux jacket. “I can pay for the cleaning fees if necessary. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Honey, trust me. There are worse things to be covered in than free champagne. I’ve been to enough of these gigs to know!”

You giggle and open your mouth to respond, but are cut off by a velvety voice coming from your left.

“Is this the little songbird you were telling us about, Zashi?’

You turn to find one of Present Mic’s companions from earlier, a dark-haired woman sipping her own drink and watching your exchange. She’s dressed in a skintight, scarlet gown with a neckline that plunges almost to her navel. A matching pair of horn-rimmed spectacles are perched on her nose, framing her striking cerulean eyes. Even without their signature harness and flogger, you recognize her as Miss Midnight.

“Yup! She’s the one!” Present Mic confirms, casually slinging his arm back around your shoulders. “What’d I tell ya? Pretty cute, right?”

The R-Rated Hero turns her gaze on you at his words, the sultry look in her eyes causing your stomach to flip a little. Seriously, it should be illegal for anyone to look that sexy.

“Very cute.” She assesses with a nod, “Zashi says you work for Endeavor, yes?”

“Y-yeah.” You fumble, slightly flustered and tongue-tied in the face of her scandalous beauty. “I’m one of his sidekicks.”

“I’m sorry.” Midnight quips back, her lack of manners shocking you slightly. But judging by the booze-bitten blush on her cheeks, you suppose the liquid courage in her system is to blame. “I know he’s the Number One Hero, but I’ve been his colleague long enough to realize how intense he can be. He must have you on a pretty short leash, huh?”

“I’ll say!” Mic chimes in, “He sent along some “nanny cow” of a sidekick to watch her all night. Speakin’ of which, how’d you manage to shake him?”

“Well…”

You glance back in the direction you came from, only for your face to drain of all color as you see a tell-tale pair of horns bobbing up and down amongst the crowd. Hizashi follows your line of sight and instantly sees the danger. Quick as anything, his arm snakes around your midriff and he turns to Midnight for assistance.

“Hey Nemuri, I got a gig for ya. See that guy with the horns? Big, mean, and ugly lookin’? Think you can distract him for a few minutes?”

“No problem!” She chirps without hesitation, tipping back the rest of her brightly colored cocktail before readjusting the neckline of her dress. It makes you wonder how much cleavage someone can possibly show before it crosses the line into pornographic. You’re too busy looking over your shoulder for Buru to notice the subtle wink that passes between the two heroes. And then Hizashi is moving, seamlessly flitting through the crowd and keeping you firmly glued to his side as you duck and weave around the other guests. You have to admit the speed at which he navigates the crowded space is impressive as he heads for one of the darkened archways lining the walls. Soon the crowd thins out and you reluctantly pry yourself out from under Mic’s arm to get your bearings. He’s lead you into a dimly-lit, side hallway, with tables and doorways lining the farthest walls. The din of party conversation and music is more muffled now, making you feel like you’re in a state of limbo.

“Where are we?”

“Silent auction.” Mic answers plainly, “Figured I’d take you somewhere quieter while we let Midnight do her thing.”

“And what exactly is her ‘thing?” You ask skeptically, wandering over to one of the display tables to check out the wares.

“You’ll see.” He says with a smirk, silently following behind you with his hands in his pockets. There are miniature spotlights shining down on the auction items, with slips of paper and pens for people to write in their bids. All the prizes are exceedingly lavish, from baskets overflowing with expensive spirits and goodies to exotic trips around the world. And the bids themselves leave your head spinning, shocked and a little sickened by the amount of money being casually thrown around.

“I’m sorry, the minimum bid for this is how much?” You scoff, pointing at the high price tag on what appears to be a singular bottle of wine. Mic leans over your shoulder to read the number himself, letting out a low whistle.

“Must be some good stuff.” He says with a smirk.

“I’m totally bidding on it.”

“You’re kiddin’ right? Last I checked, sidekicks don’t make that kind of bank, even if they do work for the Number One Pro. What are ya, some kind of secret billionaire princess?”

“Sadly no.” You say, digging into your evening bag to pull out a sleek, black card. “But I’m not the one who’s paying. And Endeavor did say to bid on a few items, ‘as a show of good faith.”

You end your sentence on a terrible impression of the Flame Hero, earning another snicker from the blonde as you place your bid. The pair of you wander the auction area for a while, gawking at the ludicrous prices and talking quietly. Or at least, as quietly as the blonde can manage. You fall into easy conversation, mainly discussing work in the hero world and Mic’s teaching career. Present Mic, or Hizashi as he prefers to be called, is a surprisingly eloquent speaker and his high-energy demeanor ensures there’s never a lull in the conversation. It’s honestly refreshing after dealing with the snooty, intense people you’re used to at the agency. Not to mention, he has no qualms about encouraging you to be a little mischievous when it comes to spending your boss’ money.

“How ‘bout that one?” He says, gesturing to a particularly gaudy piece of abstract art. “I think that would look rad on the big man’s mantlepiece, yeah?”

You giggle and lightly push against his arm, as mild punishment for his goofiness.

“No way. Endeavor specifically said to not bid on something too ‘distasteful.’ And I’m pretty sure that thing is towing the line. What’s it even supposed to be?”

“It kinda looks like All Might.” Hizashi offers, “If you stand really far away and squint. I don’t really know much about fine art. But I do know ‘distasteful’ and I’m tellin’ ya now, this aint it baby.”

“And what would you qualify as distasteful?”

A grin that can only be likened to the Cheshire Cat spreads across Hizashi’s handsome face.

“I’ll show you.” He says, extending a hand to you. You grab a hold and allow him to guide you towards one of the doors along the wall. As you get closer, you realize there are small placards inscribed with a number on each of the handles. Hizashi is currently leading you to a door marked with the number seventeen, opening it for you and allowing you to step inside ahead of him. You find yourself in a much smaller room, washed in the same dim lighting as the rest of the auction area. It’s just big enough for two people to stand inside (three if they’re thin), and the oak paneling and cramped quarters almost remind you of a confessional booth. But there’s no man of the cloth here; instead there’s a screen set into the farthest wall and a small, black button resting on a shallow shelf below it. The screen only displays a three-digit number, every so often flashing red before going back to the number.

“What the hell?” You breathe while stepping farther into the room, allowing Hizashi to squeeze in behind you.

“Welcome to the main event of the Heroes Gala.” He says, closing the door. “The Anonymous Auction.”

“The Anonymous Auction?” You parrot back quizzically, turning around to face the blonde.

“You’re aware that most of the Commission's funding comes from public taxes, yeah?” He asks, waiting for your nod before continuing. “Well taxpayer dollars can only go so far. Especially when hero and villain activity has only gone up over time. Rebuildin’ a city you just smashed like an old record ain't cheap you know.”

He pauses to jerk one thumb behind him.

“That’s why they started holdin’ auctions– this whole gala, really– in the first place. It’s all just a fancy way to supplement the Commission’s budget. And due to the popularity of the auctions, they started offering some more… exclusive items in recent years.”

“What do you mean by exclusive?”

Hizashi gives you another playful smirk, looking at you over the rim of his sunglasses.

“You’re a smart girl. What do you think it means?”

He steps a little closer to you and places his hands on your waist for emphasis, thumbing small circles at the swell of your hips. You unconsciously lean into his touch and your eyes flutter closed for a moment before snapping open once more, realization crashing over you like a tidal wave.

“You mean like sex stuff!?” You squeak bluntly, earning a laugh from the Voice Hero.

“Well not all of it! But there have been some bizarre and kinda risqué items up for sale in the past.”

“Such as?”

“Well, I know for a fact that Nemuri donates a part of her “collection” to the auction every year.” Hizashi states, putting air quotes around the term. “And rumor has it that last year All Might auctioned off a pair of his underwear. I don’t know about that one, but if that’s true, then it explains how UA paid for it’s new training grounds and why the staff got a nice Christmas bonus.”

You can’t help but giggle at the thought of some snobby billionaire drooling over a pair of All Might’s underwear. Maybe they’d had them framed, mounted on the wall like a hunting trophy. You’re too caught up in your ridiculous daydreaming to realize Hizashi has stepped even closer to you, not until you can feel his hands sliding a little further down your sides and a little farther behind you. You’re now chest to chest, breathing in tandem as he leans down to speak directly into your ear.

“So now that we’re in here… what do you say we play a little game?”

His voice is low and smooth, audial honey dripping into your brain. Your breath unconsciously catches in your throat as your body moves of its own accord to press closer to him. The energy between you is shifting palpably, from friendly strangers to something much more intimate and heavy. The room feels like it’s heating up and your dress suddenly feels much too snug.

“What kind of game?” You murmur back, a delicious shiver running down your spine when he hums in response.

“How ‘bout the quiet game?” He says, his bristly mustache tickling your cheek when he speaks. “But we’ll make it a little more interesting.”

You can feel him begin to gently push against you, forcing you to walk backwards until you feel the top of your tailbone bump into the low shelf. Hizashi’s hands never leave your body, roaming lower to finally settle on the plush curve of your ass. If anybody else was doing this, you’d have kneed them in the jewels and run for the nearest exit by now. But for some reason, you trust Hizashi. You want Hizashi. And if the steady throbbing in your core is any indication, you need Hizashi.

“Here’s the deal, babygirl.” He says, lifting his head to rest his forehead against your own. You can’t help the way your thighs tense at the pet name, something that definitely doesn't go unnoticed by the Voice Hero. “You’re going to try and stay as quiet as possible. And every time you get too noisy, you’re going to press that little button.”

His eyes flit over to the device in question before locking back on yours.

“That button raises your bid on whatever item is currently up for grabs. So the less noise you make, the less bids you make. And you wouldn’t want to end up winning something distasteful, yeah?”

You subtly shake your head and crack a small smile at his joke, bringing your hands up to rest on his clothed pecs. You’re surprised to feel powerful muscles rippling underneath his rented dress shirt, along with the heat rolling off of his body and the steady thrum of his heartbeat. Clearly that rented tux is doing nothing for his figure.

“Well what are you going to do?” You tease, running your hands up the plane of his chest and underneath the jacket to grip his broad shoulders. “Seems like I’m the only one playing this game of yours.”

One of his hands leaves your ass to hook a finger under your chin, forcing your head to tilt upwards. He gives you a sinfully wicked grin.

“Oh but that’s the best part, baby. I’m going to try and make you scream.”

Suddenly his lips are crashing into yours, sloppily at first but soon smoothing out into a steady push and pull. He takes your bottom lip between his teeth, biting gently before letting it spring back into place. You sigh into his mouth, a sound eagerly returned by the hero. Your nails dig into his shoulders, bunching the fabric of his shirt as he deepens the kiss. There’s tenderness in the kiss to be sure, but also a fierce dominance that has you fighting against the moans rising in your throat. Hizashi uses the shelf behind you to force and arch into your back before kissing his way down the sensitive column of your throat. He licks and sucks at your pulse point, not hard enough to leave marks but enough to remind you that he’s in control. You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, even going so far as to clap a hand over your mouth when he gives a particularly sharp nip. He clicks his tongue against your skin, bringing up his free hand to pull yours away.

“Ah ah ah. No cheating, baby.” He says, moving farther down your chest until his chin rests between the supple swell of your breasts. “If you try to put yourself on mute again you’ll have to press that button regardless. Ya dig?”

You nod and he releases your hand, allowing you to curl your arm around and place it at the base of his neck. Pleased with your compliance, Hizashi hooks his thumbs under the straps of your dress and gently shrugs them off. The top half of your gown falls away, pooling around your waist as your breasts are fully exposed to the open air. They pebble and peak instantly, despite the perceived heat in the room, and you feel Hizashi’s hum of appreciation rumble through your sternum. His hands come up to cup them, indulging in their full weight and supple give as he squeezes them lightly. His head dips down to kiss your right breast, ghosting over the pert bud of your nipple as he places featherlight kisses around the areola. It’s maddening, far too light and teasing for your liking. The hand on the back of his neck suddenly fists in his hair and you pull him closer to you, squishing his nose against the pliant flesh.

“Damn baby. Feelin’ needy already, huh?” He chuckles against you, pulling away slightly to look up at you through half-lidded, golden lashes. You whine softly, still pulling his head closer to your body. Hizashi resumes fondling your breasts, taking one nipple into his mouth while using his thumb and forefinger to toy with the other. His tongue swirls around the sensitive nub, every deft twirl and brush mirrored by his fingers. It’s a blissful sensation, heating licking across your nerves and shooting straight to your core. Suddenly, he gives a particularly hard suck and pinch, pulling an involuntary gasp from you. You can feel his smug grin before you even look at him, and he pulls off your nipple with a soft pop.

“Strike one, princess. You know what you have to do.”

“I thought you said no cheating.” You whine, feeling the fresh slick coating your panties and relishing the lingering sting emanating from your nipples.

“It’s not cheating, it’s part of the game. Your job is to stay quiet, my job is to break the silence. Now are you going to play by the rules or not?”

You look over at the seemingly innocent button and furrow your brow. It’s only just dawned on you now that you have no idea what you’d be bidding on and a bolt of panic shoots through you. What if it was a piece from Nemuri’s collection? Or something worse! Hizashi, seeming to sense your trepidation, briefly raises his head up to plant a soothing kiss to your temple.

“Hey, we can stop if you wanna.” He says, removing his hands from your breasts to cup your cheeks. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. I’m not gonna push ya.”

Your eyes bounce between the little black button and Hizashi’s face, biting your lip in your moment of indecision. It was a gamble for sure, a gamble that could easily cost you your job should you end up winning. But then again… how much humiliation and strain had your nightmare of a boss put you through in the past year? The past month? The past 24 hours? Taking a deep breath, you tentatively press the button, the screen behind you flashing green to signal the successful placement of your bid. Hizashi smiles down at you, impressed with your boldness.

“Fuck it.” You breathe, stretching up to press a chaste kiss against his lips. “I’m all in.”

Hizashi returns the kiss with interest before fully sinking to his knees, running one hand up the slit of your dress to rest on your exposed thigh.

“Okay then, baby.” He purrs, “I need you to spread your legs a little more for me. Lemme see what we’re workin’ with down here, yeah?”

You willingly comply, widening your stance as Hizashi sweeps the bottom half of the dress out of the way and tucks it behind you. The black, lacy thong you’d picked out for the occasion is soaked through, your essence already starting to coat your inner thighs. Hizashi runs one finger up your barely clothed slit, whistling when he feels how damp they are.

“Damn baby.” He breathes, almost like he’s in awe. “These are fucking ruined.”

You resume biting your lip when you feel two of his fingers hook underneath the material and pull it to the side, fighting against the urge to close your legs.

“Such a pretty girl…” Hizashi coos against you, planting a soft kiss to your right thigh before resting his head against it. “Everything about you is pretty.”

You can’t stop the blush that rises to your cheeks at the whispered praise, nor help the way your cunt clenches around nothing. It certainly doesn’t go unnoticed by the blonde as he leans in closer, using his thumbs to gingerly pry your labia apart. He looks up at you hungrily, pupils blown wide with desire as he tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“Hold on tight, baby.”

Hizashi uses the flat of his tongue to lick a hot stripe up your slit, letting out a low, filthy moan at the taste. You realize now why he gave you a warning. He’s using his quirk to amplify his moans tenfold, turning his mouth and tongue into the most attentive sex toy on Earth. The vibrations send shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, clouding your senses with desire. Whatever restraint the hero possessed dissolves the moment he tastes you, as he latches on to your rapidly swelling clit and sucks roughly. You gasp at the new sensation, hips unconsciously bucking to force his face further into you. He hums and willingly obeys your body’s command, replacing his mouth with a heavy thumb and delving his tongue between your folds to lap at your quivering entrance. The increase in intensity causes your thighs squeeze together, caging in the hero’s head as he dutifully tongue-fucks you. You can already feel an orgasm mounting deep in your core, his earlier teasing and stimulation paying off in spades. But his tongue isn’t enough, even with his quirk.

“M-More!” You cry out, unable to quell your pleading voice. “I need more. Need to cum. Please let me cum!”

Hizashi pinches the back of your thigh, a silent reminder for you to follow through with the rules of the game. With a groan you bring your hand down on the button, ignoring the flashing screen as you grind your hips down onto his face. But just when you’re about to tip over the edge, he pulls away from you, breathing heavily and his face coated in your sticky juices. You whimper at the loss of contact, but his hands keep your thighs spread apart to deny you the friction you seek.

“Good girl.” He pants, still swirling his thumb over your aching pearl. “So good for me, baby.”

“Then why’d you stop?” You softly moan, tears of frustration pricking at the corners of your eyes. You’d been so close.

“Because,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “The only way I want you to cum is on my cock.”

Before you can fully register his words, he grabs you by the hips and flips you around, pulling your dress up and bunching it in one fist. Your panties are roughly yanked down around your ankles and you have to brace yourself against the shelf as you feel the hard bulge of Hizashi’s pants rub against your bared ass. A sharp smack to one cheek causes you to yelp, and a quick smack to the other forces you to bring your hand down on the button.

“Cheater.” You pant, earning a dark chuckle for the man behind you.

“Name-calling are we now, baby? Just for that, you don’t get to cum until I say so. Understood?”

You nod quickly, glancing behind you when you feel him start to fiddle with his belt and zipper. Your eyes widen when you see his painfully erect cock spring free: long, thick, and with a silver ring adorning the reddened tip. He gives the length a few short pumps, coaxing out a pearly bead of precum that quickly winds its way around the Prince Albert piercing.

“I think someone likes what she sees.” He says coyly, flicking one finger against the metal for emphasis. “Ever been with a pierced guy before?”

You shake your head and Mic smirks.

“Then trust me. You’re gonna love this, babygirl.”

He lines the head up with your entrance and starts to slowly push into you, the initial stretch causing you to hiss in pain. But the burn soon melts into pleasure as Hizashi buries himself to the hilt, bottoming out with a grunt of his own. You can feel the metal ring bumping against your cervix already, a low moan escaping when he gives a few shallow thrusts.

“Good girl. Takin’ me so well. So tight and perfect.” He mutters breathlessly, voice barely above a whisper. The praise makes you whimper and clamp down on his cock, earning a moan of pleasure from Hizashi. He starts to move in earnest, pumping in and out of you at a steady pace. Each forward thrust pushes your face closer to the wall, your breasts brushing back and forth across the cool wooden shelf and stimulating your pebbled nipples.Your mind is floating in a haze of hedonistic bliss as the air around you fills with the sounds of slapping skin and the scent of sex. You can already feel your orgasm racing towards you at a breakneck speed, the coil in your belly tightening with each thrust. Hizashi suddenly sinks his teeth into your right shoulder with a an almost feral growl, blunted teeth nearly piercing the skin. You squeal at the brilliant pain, only to feel his tongue lave over the forming welts, soothing them. You automatically bring your hand down on the button and his pace quickens in response, rewarding you by maneuvering his hips until he finds the spot that makes your vision go white and your mind go blank.

“Th-th-there!” You sputter out, smacking the button before instinctually backing into him. You don’t give a damn about your boss or the money anymore. All you can focus on right now is chasing your own mind-numbing pleasure. He gives a hum of acknowledgement and straightens up, angling his thrusts to hit that spot every time. He can feel the way your walls flutter and shiver, right on the edge of release.

“That’s it, babygirl.” He grunts, licking the pad of his fingers before reaching below your bodies to find your clit. Slender digits rubs tight circles on the swollen bead, the rough touch making you almost sob in relief. “Cum for me. Cum all over my cock!”

It’s a demand, one that your body is more than ready to obey. With one final circle of his thumb, the pressure snaps and you cry out in toe-curling ecstasy. It feels like your entire body locks up from the intensity of your orgasm and Hizashi gives a cry of his own when he feels the way your pussy clamps down on him like a vise. He forgoes gentleness in favor of animalistic rutting, gripping your hips to set a brutal and unforgiving pace. His cockhead and piercing continually slam into your g-spot and cervix, lengthening your own orgasm to an almost unbearable extent.

“Shit.” He curses, pistoning into you like a rabbit while his balls slap against your clit. “I’m fuckin’ close. Where do you want it?”

“Cum in me!” You wail, the game forgotten as fireworks explode behind your eyes. “Please! Hizashi! I need it.”

Hearing you beg so sweetly for him snaps what little composure he had left. Hizashi lets loose a guttural howl and after a few harsh thrusts, his hips stutter to a halt. You can feel his cock pulsing deep within you, filling you up with rope after rope of thick, white seed. He stays inside you for a moment, breathing heavily and feeling the way your velvety walls throb around his length. Your body feels hot and heavy, head swimming as you gradually come down from the high. Eventually, Present Mic pulls his spent dick from your abused hole, pausing to admire the way his cum oozes out and drips onto the wood floor before pulling your panties back up. Your legs might as well be made of jelly for how useful they are right now, wobbling on your stilettos as you hold onto the shelf for dear life.

“That…” You pant, “That was good. So good.”

“Yeah?” Hizashi says behind you, tucking himself back into his trousers before smoothing one hand up and down your exposed back. His gentle touch causes goosebumps to rise on your skin, your nerves still overly sensitive.

“Yeah.” You breathe, “I needed that.”

Hizashi smirks and leans down to pepper kisses along your shoulder blades, basking in the afterglow alongside you. You practically melt under his affections, never wanting this tender, warm feeling to end.

“Can you stand?” He asks after a few minutes and you weakly nod. Carefully, he helps you stand upright, brushing a few stray pieces of hair behind your ear while you fix your dress and cover your chest once more. Hizashi then moves to fix his own half-bun, smirking at the way you’re dreamily looking up at him.

“Hey space cadet.” He teases, tapping the tip of your nose with one finger. “Come back to Earth for me, will ya? We better get outta here before your nanny cow calls the cops. Or worse, Endeavor.”

You blink slowly and hum in agreement, lazily looking over at the button one last time. And then you freeze. A new message is scrolling across the screen:

Congratulations! You have won lot #114. Please collect your prize.

“Oh my god…” You whisper, feeling your blissful headspace drown under an icy wave of fear. “Oh my god, NO! What the fuck did I just do?”

“Hm?” Hizashi turns to the screen and it’s too-cheerful message. “Oh! Well wouldja look at that?”

“Why are you being so calm about this!?” You shriek, grabbing him by the lapels of the tuxedo and frantically shaking him. “My boss is going to kill me! I have no idea what I– what he just bought! It could be a dildo in the shape of All Might’s dick for all I know!”

“Hey, hey! Chill out, baby!” Hizashi says, placing both hands on your shoulders to steady you. “Just breathe for me, okay? Nice and slow. You didn’t buy anything like that, I promise.”

“How do you know?” You squeak, trying not to hyperventilate.

“Because I know exactly what they were auctioning off with that lot number.”

“Then spare me the dramatics and spit it out, Hizashi! What did I just win!?”

“... Me.”

The world seems to stop for a moment as you stare up at Hizashi’s sheepish face. You open and close your mouth like a goldfish, your overloaded brain trying to find the right words to say. It settles on a neanderthalic, “Huh?”

“You won me.” He repeats, “Well not forever anyways. Just for 24 hours.”

“I don’t understand. Are you trying to be funny?”

“I’m dead serious, baby! The Anonymous Auction doesn’t just offer material stuff. People can bid on and win “dates” with Pro Heroes. The more popular the Pro, the more money comes in. I volunteered to do it this year since a couple of my buddies did it last year.”

You blink slowly, allowing your panicky brain to process this new information.

“So… is that why you brought me here? Because you knew it was time for the bidding to start on your date?”

“I swear, I had no idea.” Hizashi says, crossing an X over his heart for emphasis. “I just wanted a chance to talk to you more and get ya away from that creep of a partner you came with. It was honestly just a lucky coincidence.”

“And the quiet game?”

“I came up with that on the fly when I saw my lot number on the screen. But I didn’t expect you to actually win the auction. And if you don’t wanna go through with this because of your boss or me, then I totally get it. You can always defer to the second highest bidder. That kinda thing happens all the time.”

You step back from Hizashi and turn away, muttering a quick, “Give me a minute.”

Looking past the insanity of the situation, you had to admit you were a little impressed, even grateful, for Hizashi’s scheme. He’d saved you from dealing with Buru, at least for a little while, and made sure you had a fun time doing it. And besides, it’s not like you weren’t attracted to the man. Sure he was loud and goofy, but he was also sweet and charismatic. Not to mention a damn good lay.

“... Okay.” You say after a few moments of thought, snapping your attention back to Hizashi. “Here’s what I want to do.”

You hold up one finger.

“First of all, I want to find a bathroom and get myself cleaned up. This is a nice dress and I don’t want it to get stained, if you catch my drift.”

Hizashi nods in understanding. You put up a second finger.

“Secondly, I’m absolutely starving. So I want to get some water and food. And maybe a glass of champagne.”

Hizashi cracks a smile at that, giving a chuckle of “You got it, baby.”

“And finally,” You say, stepping forward to grab Hizashi by the front of his jacket and pull him in for a kiss. “I want to collect my prize.”

#hizashi yamada #hizashi x reader #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #hizashi yamada x reader smut #mha x reader #citrus dome collab

246 notes · View notes

mrsgiovanna · 4 years ago

Text

Unhinged - Don Giorno x Fem! Reader

A misunderstanding causes the reader a whole lot of distress. Blame it on the stress of planning your wedding to the Golden dreamboat or his shifty behavioral cues. Needless to say this occurs many years after the events of Vento Aureo. Some mild angst, some fluff, some mild nsfw- a mixed bag that nobody asked for really, unashamedly self indulgent 🥺💭💖

You always judged those unhinged girls. You know the type, the ones who would steal their partners phones and “run into them” at very convenient times. Pathetic, you’d always think, so you could not understand how, in heaven’s name, you found yourself sitting in your car across from your favorite Café, spying on your fiancé. You were thankful for the oversized sunglasses that hid most of your face as you stole a glance at yourself in the rear view mirror. You can’t imagine what your eyes might look like at this point.

It all started a week ago… Giorno was an extremely busy man, you of all people knew that best. He always made time for you though, however, the closer it got to your wedding, the less you saw of him. You were busy yourself, so you didn’t really have much time to yearn for his company, but the coldness of your bed was always a reminder that someone very important was supposed to be occupying that space. It wasn’t just the scarcity of your lover that had set off alarms in your mind, it was more his odd behavior. He was so secretive these days, keeping conversations shorter than they needed to be, hiding his devices from you when he received texts, discarding every scrap of paper from his pockets before properly greeting you when he did manage to come home in the daylight. Each time you questioned his behavior he just sweetly smiled and replied that everything was alright.

And so continued this mistimed waltz on eggshells until that fateful morning. A swirl of emotions bubbled up in your chest suffocating you when you found some kind of broken jewel clinging to Giorno’s suit. You couldn’t really make out what it might have been part of, or what lewd activities managed to dislodge it from its original owner and onto him, but for the first time in the years you have been together, you were suddenly unsure of whether you could spend your life with this man. Did you even know him at all?

The walls of the villa never felt so restrictive before, you needed to get out, clear your mind, perhaps even get another perspective. You could just be overreacting as you know you are inclined to do sometimes. Giorno was still in the shower, you contemplated letting him know that you were going out, but decided to just go. He can stew a little, get a taste of your personal hell for just a few hours. Hurriedly throwing on the outfit you laid out, you grab your keys and headed off to your favorite coffee shop, calling Trish while you were on your way there, asking her to meet you. The two of you had grown closer over the years and right now you needed a friend who would give you sound advice without sugarcoating the facts.

Giorno had sauntered out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, his upper body still glistening from the shower with his wet hair cascading down his back. He expected to find you there just doing your hair or putting on your mascara, he loved watching you get ready. It gave him a chance to fully admire you, making him feel proud, bordering on arrogant, that you were his and only he got to see all the different sides there were to your beauty. He knew he was being distant with you but he had his reasons for being so preoccupied. Walking towards the nightstand to check his phone, he sees the jacket he wore yesterday on the floor with the little jewel still hooked onto the fibers of the expensive fabric. Throwing his head back in resignation, he called Trish, already aware of what you might be thinking, and knowing that she’s usually the first person you’d turn to when you needed to chat.

“Hi Trish, do you have a second to chat? I’ll make it quick,” he starts off, putting the call on speaker so he can get dressed for the day.

“Giorno, what did you do? She already called me in a state, I’m on my way to meet her for coffee as we speak,”

“Okay look, I can explain everything, just know that I’m not being unfaithful,”

“How did this escalate so fast? Why are you giving her reasons to jump to these conclusions so close to the wedding? You better not be messing around,”

Giorno could hear the suspicion that edged Trish’s voice, so he explained everything and begged her to calm you down while he tended to a few issues.

You felt your shoulders relax as the tension melted away after pouring your heart out to Trish. After speaking to her it dawned on you that coming out and asking Giorno would be better than letting this outlandish scenario fester in your mind. After giving you the pep talk you needed Trish left to get on with her day while you stayed to organize yours. Sipping the last bit of your mocha Frappe, you darted towards your car when suddenly your attention was caught by a flash of gold and a flourish of a deep cerulean blue coat entering the Café. Certain that your eyes were playing tricks on you, you blinked a few times, but it was as clear as the blue sky above you, Giorno had arrived there with another woman. Hastily getting into your car, you sank into the soft leather seat and fished out your oversized Chanel sunglasses to conceal your presence as much as possible in the off chance he looked in your direction, although chances of that seemed very slim given how engrossed he was in their conversation.

Oh you hated every painful second of this, all the tension and anger that you’d let go of, found you all at once, marring your otherwise beautiful features.

You watched as he pulled out her chair and sat across from her, smiling that charming smile that could disarm a terrorist. He barely looked away from her, you wished he would see you, wondering what kind of explanation he’d conjure up. You contemplated going back inside to confront them, but you didn’t trust your emotions, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. You wouldn’t dare give them the satisfaction of seeing you cry… and so you watched, preparing yourself for what you may or may not see, however your resolve shattered when you saw Giorno pull out a little black box and slide it across the table towards her. She beamed as she opened it examining the contents without taking it out… was it a replacement for that trinket that you found? He always did have impeccable taste, you had always thought it was reserved for you though. Unable to watch any longer, you started the car and sped off, not wanting to go home, but having no motivation to go anywhere else, you just drove aimlessly for a while.

“Oh Mr Giovanna, these are perfect, they’re exactly what I needed to complete her bracelet, I’m sure your fiancé is going to love it!” exclaimed the lady sitting opposite your lover.

“Please, call me Giorno. I would hope so, it’s more sentimental than anything else, I’m just astounded that you were able to recreate the intricacies of the original design. Your talent knows no bounds,”

“Ah, like any artist, I’m always intrigued by beauty and mystery. How were you able to get a this many dainty gems at this short notice?”

“I have my network, I’m just glad you can complete it now, I can’t wait to give it to her,”

“Well you won’t have to wait too long, I should have this ready by the close of business today,”

“I won’t keep you any longer then, thanks once again for handling my request,” said Giorno with an extended hand as he stood up to leave.

It was a mission to try and recreate your mother’s heirloom bracelet from a faded, wrinkled picture, but he was determined to give you something special, that would make you feel closer to her as well. Your lineage was a mystery, your father unknown, so when your mother arrived in Italy it was one of the few valuables she had had on her person. She did everything she could to provide for you when you were little, but she unfortunately had succumbed to her circumstances leaving you to fend for yourself in an unforgiving world. His heart clenched when you recounted stories of your childhood, which somewhat mirrored his own. You never complained though, he could see your heart ached when you thought of her, and all the things she would have helped you with especially now. Still, the way you concealed your heartache with a trained smile, would always make him wonder how such strength could be contained by something so angelically beautiful. Drawn out of his reverie of you, Giorno had arrived at his destination and continued with his day until it was time to collect your present and head home.

By the time you had finally found yourself at your driveway, you were exhausted and wanted nothing more than to bury yourself in a cave and hibernate until everything was over. How arrogant of you to assume this would last when every good thing in your life came to an end. Dragging your wary body up the stairs, you buried yourself under the soft comforter, shutting your eyes with the hope that it would all have been a dream by the time you resurface.

When Giorno finally made it home, the first thing he did was seek you out. Usually you’d be quietly nestled on the couch reading or working on something, or you’d be tinkering in the kitchen making some sort of delicious treat, both as a means to relax and indulge your shared sweet tooth. But you couldn’t be found in either of those places. He found you huddled on the bed you both shared, looking so fragile as you slept in a fetal position. He didn’t want to disturb you but he couldn’t help gently brushing your hair off your face, which unfortunately resulted in you waking up.

“Gio, I didn’t expect you back this early…” you murmured, still waiting for your eyes to adjust to the light. The events of today came flooding back to you and you resolved to just come straight out and confront him. Noticing the change in your demeanor, Giorno sat next to you on the edge of the bed, while he loosened his top shirt button and took off his tie.

“Giogio, I don’t know how to put this delicately, so I’m just going to say it… you’ve been acting so different lately, always so secretive, hiding things from me, and this morning I found remnants of some jewelry that didn’t belong to me on your clothes… and probably the worst thing of all is that I saw you with someone while I was out this morning. You both looked very comfortable with each other, and… I… who is she?” you rambled on, your voice barely louder than a whisper. This wasn’t playing out how you had imagined it, with most of the fight being forced out of your body by melancholy. Seeing the evidence of your anguish in your eyes, Giorno reached out to cup your cheek, you mentally chastised yourself for automatically melting into his touch.

“Ah my sweet principessa, I love you, only you, I would never do anything to intentionally hurt you or break that trust. The lady you saw me with is a jewelry designer, I commissioned something very special for you, so we just met so I could give her the materials to complete it… I wanted to give it to later at dinner tonight, but you’re in no condition to go out, so let’s stay in, okay?” he explained as he pulled out a box from his breast pocket and settled down next to you. “Go on, open it,”

You gingerly take the box, opening it slowly, curiosity and embarrassment fighting against each other in your mind.

“Gio, how did you manage to find it after all these years? I thought it would have been melted down and broken up completely.”

You simply couldn’t believe your eyes, it broke your heart when you sold off the bracelet to pay off her debts after she passed, it killed your spirit entirely when you were told it wasn’t enough to cover what she’d owed. That’s how you found yourself in Passione, working as one of Bucciarati’s underlings.

“Well, unfortunately I couldn’t find the exact piece bella, trust me, I tried. You’re probably correct in saying that it was taken apart, so I had this recreated to its exact specifications. I hope you like it,”

Giorno’s voice was so tender, as was his expression. Tears clouded your vision, it was the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for you, you were at a complete loss for words.

“Gio… Tesoro, I don’t know what to say, thank you doesn’t seem like nearly enough. And I’m so sorry I ever doubted you, I feel like such an idiot, that’s probably because I am one. How can I make it up to you? I totally understand if you’re too upset to talk to…” your rambling was cut off by Giorno’s lips gently pressing against your own. His hand softly grasped the back of your head, slightly tilting your face upwards to deepen the kiss.

“That was thanks enough amore mio, I love you,”

“Ti amo con tutto il mio cuore,” you reply, while trying to hide your embarrassment by nestling your face in the crook of Giorno’s neck.

“Molto bene, your Italian is improving bella, I’m proud of you.”

Giorno snaps the sparkly trinket onto your wrist and admires how your eyes light up when you look at it. The glimmer of his eyes in the soft lighting of the room awakened a yearning within you. Giving in to the feeling, you kiss Giorno’s collarbone, earning a hum of approval from him, as you softly trailed kisses up his neck and onto his jaw, finally settling on his lips. You felt him smiling into the kiss, he ran his tongue across your bottom lip asking for entry, to which you willingly obliged as your hands toyed with his braid, undoing it completely. His hands ran up and down your body, worshipping the dips and curves he adored so much. Breaking away from the kiss for a moment, he looked down at you, eyes darkened with lust, hands hovering over the buttons of your shirt asking for permission to disrobe you, which you granted with a small nod. He was so gorgeous, so strong and he exuded such charisma that you found yourself submitting to his every request, spoken or otherwise, lapping up every bit of praise he afforded you as you took him in his entirety. Once, twice, you had lost count of how many times you both peaked.

At some point in the night you had woken up ensconced in the warm embrace of your sleeping lover, finally being able to form a coherent thought, you promised yourself to never baselessly doubt his love for you ever again. With that you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to fall asleep again, feeling completely safe, content and loved.

#giorno giovanna x reader #giorno x reader #don giorno #don giovanna #giorno giovanna #giorno #giogio #jjba #vento aureo #golden wind #jjba fanfic #my writing #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #trish una #n/sfw

121 notes · View notes

kunekos · 3 years ago

Note

gives him a big smooch, as a treat ♡

there are certain things in life that, sometimes, are simply not meant to be. ——— oil & water will never mix. drinking & driving will never sound like a fine idea. religion & science will always contradict each other. luck & hard work, like as all others : is a matter of perspective & chance. it depends on the side you chose for yourself & the resilience you put into your honest belief : & what's written to be ... will be. eventually.

instead of weeping & feeling unfortunate for every misstep made on the court today, Kuroo's smiling & reaching for his opponents on the other side of the net. the captain looks at them in the eyes & shakes their hands with vigour ; pulls them into an awkward embrace that he's still learning how to employ. despite all the hurt & gloom that he'll have to bargain with once the team enters the locker rooms : he can't help but think that things do turn out to be more fun this way.

use that unhappiness to bring you further next year. use that bitterness to make you train harder in the months to come ... but above all else : remember this ache so you'll never face it again.

this is what perpetuates the end of Nekoma's chapter at nationals ... a bittersweet loss. the near - deafening cheers inside the arena weren't in support of the losers ; it wasn't to make them feel better after undergoing such an intense battle as they just did. no ... they are crying for the unpredictable, fearsome winners. Kuroo would do the same if only he were part of the people inside the stadium but alas ... he is not. he can only hope that next year, — when their teams step into court against each other once more —, the team in orange & black will encounter a more decisive challenge than they did now. different players ... different strategies ! it makes perfect sense !

after taking a shower & getting himself dressed, Kuroo reaches for his phone & immediately notices the rush of incoming texts that he has received in the last hours. most of them are from the same person, though : & he laughs at each one of them. a whole damned report of the match sits now at his phone's screen ( whether it be a little biased or not, considering how it was documented by none other than his darling girlfriend ).

on his way outside the lockers, he decides to press the call icon & wait patiently for Kira to pick up the call. meeting after that is only a concern of moving around & knowing how to correctly direct yourself inside the arena without walking into a corridor you're not supposed to. luckily enough ... Kuroo's been here a couple of times before : & in no time, he finds himself at the entrance with his arms tightly wrapped around Kira's shoulders.

❛ Thanks for comin' all this way t'a see us, chibi - chan. ❜ he sighs, jaw resting at the top of her raven - black crown & his eyes coming to a close whilst he basks in the warmth of the girl that so comfortably leans into him. ahhh — call him a loser if you will ... but if he gets this kind of treatment just because of a loss at volleyball, he'll do it as many times as possible.

but then he's caught by surprise when the girl leans up just the slightest bit ... & when he moves to provide her with some space, she pulls him close & kisses him full on the lips. ( which, of course, gets him to turn crimson in the blink of an eye; all the way from the end of his nose to the tip of his ears! leave it to Kuroo Tetsurō to redden like a tomato because of a small gesture of affection ! ) however ... he relents. his palms meet Kira's cheeks & he allows them to enjoy the uniqueness of the moment by kissing her back with as much adoration as she does ... as many times as she wills. — don't you dare repeat this, woman !

❛ Heya beautiful. ❜

𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝 , // always accepting ! ☆

#☆┊ — 𝐇𝐈𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐑 — in character ✧#☆┊ — 𝐇𝐈𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐑 — inquiries for kuroo ✧#☆┊ — 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 — violevin ✧#( I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS ????#AT ANY AGE HE IS JUST #A TOTAL SIMP FOR KIRA WOW #THE POWER SHE HAS....... TO KISS HIM OUTSIDE AND HE ALLOWS HER TO???#SO POWERFUL WOWOWOWOW )

2 notes · View notes

luciferloveschloe · 5 years ago

Note

50 Cliché Prompts: 27

27. Help me I’m being hit on at a bar please be my fake boyfriend for a second

this is part of my 1k celebration! i invited people to send in prompts.

okay, so, the fact that i need to explain this highlights how long it took me to write it. in my defense, i have never written a longer one shot, and there is fake dating and pining and feelings and a bit of smut thrown in for flare. enjoy!

[deckerstar, 4.5k words, set early in s2, fake dating, first time, porn with feelings]

of holy things

“Ms. Decker?”

Lucifer’s bartender – Patrick, she remembers – slides a tumbler to where she’s taken a seat at the bar, perched somewhat uncomfortably.

“Oh no, I didn’t order any–“

“Ms. Decker, please.” Patrick interrupts her. “You do know you’re at the very top of our guest list, right?”

Oh. Oh.

She can’t help but glance in Lucifer’s direction, who’s currently deep in conversation with Maze, his right-hand-ninja-demon-bartender-whatever, pouring over what appear to be business records. He’s in a dark ensemble today, hair just the tiniest bit ruffled from their work, and he’s smirking at something Maze said. It suits him, all of it.

The very top, huh?

“Well, let me just…”

She makes to scramble for her wallet, but Patrick only shakes his head at her, chuckling softly.

“Do you want me to lose my job, Detective Decker?”

At that, she takes the offered drink with a grateful, earnest smile, tipping it briefly in salute to him before turning in her seat to face her partner’s club in full swing.

The stakeout had been a complete bust, she can admit that, but it had also been in close proximity to Lux. Lucifer had offered his penthouse to regroup and go over the case files again, Dan had Trixie for the night, and Chloe had agreed to his plan fast enough not to second-guess herself.

As she watches the ecstatic dancing, she starts to relax. Tonight’s DJ is clearly talented, the base surprisingly isn’t too overwhelming for her, and Patrick has mixed her a whiskey sour, she recognizes, which is– Absolutely delicious, really. Tart, sweet, perfectly balanced – and probably also ridiculously expensive. But, guest list.

Who knew having a night club owner for a partner came with such perks?

Said night club owner is still talking with Maze, though, and Chloe hopes he–

“Hello, beautiful.”

Oh, no.

The man stands right in front of her, and it’s too late to turn back to the bar again. Someone trying to flirt with her is the last thing she needs tonight. She opens her mouth to say so, but gets interrupted.

Rude.

“I’m George, by the way. I’ve been watching you since you came in. You’re such a pretty little thing.”

George is in his late forties, by her guess, and passably attractive. He’s also condescending, drunk, all but shouting in her ear and standing way too close for her comfort.

“Sorry, but I’m not in the mood for–“

She halts because he’s just put his right hand on her thigh, clammy fingers reaching toward her ass.

No. Definitely no.

“What’s your name, sweetheart? Tell me while we’re dancing, alright?”

Both of his hands clutch at her skin now, insistently, and she’s helpless at the instinctual well of fear inside of her. But not helpless against him.

Her fingers find her badge easily, and she reckons it’ll be enough to scare George into–

“What’s going on here?”

Lucifer’s voice is sharp and cold next to her, and she breathes easier instantly. George’s hands slip from her legs, and his gaze flicks between them in confusion. She knows the look Lucifer has fixed on him right now, knows the deadly calm, disquieting focus of eyes that sparkle for her, and she loves that it makes the other man squirm.

This is so much more satisfying than just flashing her badge at him, and – hold on, jerk – it’s about to get even better.

“Oh, Lucifer! Let me introduce you to George here. George, meet Lucifer, my boyfriend.”

“Boyfr–“

She elbows him to get him to shut up, then leaps from the bar stool and wraps her arm tight around his waist, pulling him to her.

Lucifer tries to sputter more, but when she looks up at him, he swallows and recovers enough to put his arm around her shoulders, the sensation somehow featherlight. Maybe she should be more shocked at how nice his touch feels in contrast, how right.

“I– I… I didn’t realise–“

George’s stammering is ridiculous, the crimson blush on his face betrays his embarrassment, and the way he tries not to cower speaks of how effective Lucifer’s psycho tricks are. Chloe fervently hopes their show will be cringy enough for George to stop him from bothering anyone else tonight.

“Oh, it’s a fresh thing,” Lucifer beams, now clearly onboard with her plan to cause maximum mischief.

She can’t not grin at how giddy he looks, and raises up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. He smells of luxurious cologne, maybe sandalwood, and something that’s just inexplicably him, something warm and intoxicating that makes her want to trail her lips down his neck to mouth at his collarbone.

What happened to being repulsed on a chemical level, exactly?

Her kiss probably turns out less chaste and fake than she intended, and when Lucifer’s smirk slips off his face and his eyes find hers, fingers hovering over where her lips were, she fumbles.

“Babe, let’s… Grab our stuff and head to the penthouse, yeah?”

She turns to gather her bag and the casefiles without waiting for an answer. When she’s facing Lucifer again, he nods at her, a cheeky little smile curling his mouth for her eyes only. They only spare George a glance when they leave, walking closely. Lucifer’s palm rests at the small of her back, barely touching, warm, soothing.

It stays there until they arrive at the elevator, when Lucifer withdraws it to punch in the code. Chloe immediately mourns its absence, but the doors slide open for them and Lucifer gestures for her to go in first.

His eyes are intent on her, his expression uncharacteristically open, almost insecure. There’s wonderment there as well, and awe. She smiles at him in return, unguarded and joyful because she wants to, and maybe because she’s just a little awed herself.

–

Chloe’s smile warms him like the sun, but he’s still apprehensive, and he can’t shake the image of that dullard’s hand on her thigh from his mind. The doors close behind them, and Chloe sags against the wall across from him, relieved. Or deflated, rather?

“Detective, are you alright though? I should have noticed that insolent, boorish nitwit sooner, I apologise–“

“Lucifer, no. I’m okay! There’s nothing to apologise for. I was just about to show him my badge, actually, but when you showed up… Well, I hope what we did will be more effective.”

Oh.

What they did.

Nothing, really. But he still feels a band of warmth where she’d pulled him into her side, and his skin still prickles where she’d pressed her lips to his cheek. It never felt like this before. Why does it feel different? What is she doing to him?

And why, why can’t he stop thinking about how her body felt underneath his hands?

(Soft, bare ivory instead of blazers and jeans and suits. His fingers wander, and her body yields to his, breathless sighs taking the place of clever quips and banter. She’s his Detective, she’ll always be, but here, in the gentle darkness of sins and holy things, here with him, she’s only Chloe. They’re wrapped around each other, flesh and bones and soul, and she moans in his ear. His name has never sounded sweeter than on her tongue, and he groans and he kisses her and–)

“Lucifer?”

He clears his throat, and it’s too loud in the small space, jarring. She’s studying him with her sea foam eyes, curious, and she has no right to be so beautiful in her simple white blouse and black jeans. His heart still thumps in his chest, and he needs to touch her, to be touched by her again, so very badly.

The Devil, tempted.

“Well… Well, I’m sure it was. Effective, that is. But I’ll text Maze to chuck him out anyway. There’s no room for miscreants like him in Lux, after all.”

He unlocks his phone to do just that, and he’s glad for the task, the distraction it provides him.

“Oh, that’s… That’s good. Thank you, Lucifer.”

He pauses and nods, trying for nonchalance and failing miserably.

There’s that rush coursing through him again, this exquisite high he’s never quite managed to recreate since, no matter how many of his favourite substances and bedfellows he’s been combining.

And it’s… It’s just her, he realises with sudden, aching clarity. Her, and how she… The way he feels when–

“Lucifer, are you okay? I hope I didn’t overstep earlier. I mean, I…”

He wants to claw at his collar, flee, needs to kiss her until he can’t breathe anymore.

Chloe…

How come she knows him so well already? How come she sees right through him when he’s spent literal eons perfecting his masks, his charades? All the walls he built in loneliness and despair, the last defences meant to protect him from more hurt and pain, they crumble and give easily before her.

Why does he want them to?

The elevator dings, and he’s saved by the bell.

“Nonsense, Detective. You know me, always up for some good old-fashioned roleplay! Now, tell me what drink I can pour you, darling.”

–

He’s oddly quiet next to her. So far, she’s counted several excellent opportunities for a bit of Luciferish commentary, but he’s used none of them. His contributions to the conversation are thoughtful, but clipped, any attempts at jokes half-hearted at best.

By now, it has worry eating at her insides, the unsettling feeling slowly replacing the strange euphoria from before, from when he’d touched her.

Although the question is on the tip of her tongue, she doesn’t ask him if he’s fine. Again.

He is focused on her though, there’s no doubt about that. His eyes follow the movements of her hands where she spreads and rearranges the evidence on the coffee table in front of them, and every so often, he nods in agreement to something she has said.

When he takes a sip of his brandy, she doesn’t acknowledge the slight tremor of his fingers.

“So, that’s why I think you were right, yesterday. We tailed the wrong guy after all.”

A statement as rare as this should earn her a gleeful, exuberant “Detective!” at the very least. Instead, he only smiles distractedly, barely even looking at her, and gets up from the chair across from her abruptly.

O…kay?

He starts to pace in the open space of the penthouse, and although she should probably gather her things and leave so he can sort out… whatever this is, she feels compelled to watch him. To stay with him.

He doesn’t seem to notice her concerned staring at all, his graceful long lines tense in a way they usually aren’t, his eyes distant and his mouth set in a hard line. It’s such a far cry from his bubbly joy from earlier, and she doesn’t understand.

A predator, she thinks, but scared and backed into a corner.

What could possibly unnerve him like that?

He drags a trembling hand through his hair, the hair that’s always meticulously and perfectly styled, and it’s all wrong.

Maybe she can get him to talk by dragging him back to their case? A little bit of projecting never hurt nobody, either.

“So, Lucifer, what did you think about–“

“Can I touch you?”

“What?”

–

No. No, no, no, no, no.

“I… I’m sorry Detective, I didn’t… I‘m actually not feeling so well tonight? We should… We should go through the files at the precinct tomorrow. Alright, see you then!”

“No Lucifer, wait. What did you mean by that?”

Her eyes are bright and sharp when she’s focussed on him like she is now. Detecting mode on. She’s raw and unbridled energy, always hunting for the deeper truth, ready to pounce, ready to deliver justice, ready to bring whoever stands in her way to their knees.

She doesn’t know that before her, he’d sink to his knees willingly.

Chloe arches her eyebrows at his silence, and it’s a visceral effort to tear his thoughts away from her beauty.

“I– I just… When you–“

He has to stop and releases a shaky breath, feeling unsteady and disturbed by all this want, this pathetic longing that Chloe surely will have no need for.

“Lucifer, it’s alright, talk to me. We both… You make me vulnerable as well, remember? What do you need?”

He can’t lie to her.

“I– I want to touch you again, Detective. It felt… I know we only made believe, but I just–“

“Okay.”

It’s his turn to gape, now.

“What?”

Chloe tilts her head, considering. This can’t be a smirk she’s trying to hide. Can it?

“Wellll, I seem to have slept with my neck at a terrible angle last night, and my shoulders and back have been killing me for weeks now. I think… I could do with a back rub, actually. So…?”

She beckons him with sparkling eyes, smiling knowingly, and he’s helplessly lost.

“I– At once, darling.”

He crosses over to her, and tries to joke about massage oil and his comfortable bed, but it all gets stuck in his throat. He settles gingerly behind her on the couch eventually, his heart beating wildly and his stomach in knots, feeling as though he has never even touched a woman in his entire life.

And is this… Is this really what she desires? He has no way of knowing, will probably ruin things between them, and–

Chloe cranes her neck to look back at him, nothing but warmth in her gaze.

“Stop overthinking and worrying, okay? I want– I want this, too.”

He nods, completely enthralled by all her mercy, but she turns to face forward again, lifting her hair away from her shoulders. Just like that, her soft skin is bared before him, and he drinks in the graceful lines of her exposed neck and back. Without even intending too, his fingers card through her hair, carefully smoothing it to one side.

She sighs, and he brushes his fingertips over the expanse of her back, his hands coming to rest lightly atop her shoulders.

He knows it’s no small gift to have earned the trust of his Detective, and he’s not sure if he deserves it, but fuck, he’ll give his all to be what she needs, to give her everything she could ever want. He doesn’t understand his feelings, any of it, but he understands desire, and it has never been clearer to him what it is that he desires. Uncaring Devil façade be damned.

He starts with gentle pressure, massaging her with all the care and skill he possesses, and it is exactly as exhilarating as he thought it would be. She’s melting into him, her body welcoming and pliant under his hands, and he can’t quite believe she allows him to touch her like that.

When he tries digging his knuckles in a tad more forcefully, her surprised, pleased moan sends blood rushing towards his groin. He shivers, does it again, and–

“Yes, Lucifer, just like that. Right there, yes.”

This unfamiliar, all-consuming need is clawing out of him again, and it’s all he can do to clench his jaw, flex his fingers, and comply with her demand.

It’s not just that he can finally touch her, either. He can smell the nuances of her perfume, her shampoo, even her fabric softener. He feels her warmth and the rush of her blood, the vibrancy of her soul against his fingers. She should be just one simple human, but her life is more precious to him than he can even fathom, and everything about her calls to him like nothing, like no one before her ever has.

He continues to sweep his hands over her body, kneading down alongside the vertebrae of her spine, and her sounds of pleasure get him more drunk than all his booze ever managed.

When he’s arrived at her waist again, he stills her hands on her body and lets his forehead rest gently against her back. His breathing is heavy by now, but so is hers. He’s still not sure what they’re doing, but he has to ask before he goes insane. Slowly he moves his hands so that he’s cradling her waist, embracing her more fully. Surely she’ll flee now?

“Is this okay?”

To his surprise, Chloe covers his hands with her own, even pulls his fingers under her blouse suggestively.

“Yeah, Lucifer.”

He swallows hard, and finally dares to press his lips to her neck, peppering the skin he kneaded earlier with soft, open-mouthed kisses. There’s a small intake of breath, then Chloe sighs and arches her back as if to give him more access. He’s dizzy from it all, high on the sounds he can elicit from her, finally.

His fingers drift upward over her ribs of their own volition, but just below the temptingly full swell of her breasts, he hesitates.

“Chloe… Please, please tell me to stop when you need me to. I– I don’t want you to regret anything.”

To regret me.

Almost abruptly, she turns in his arms again. Her eyes focus on his for a second, intent and searching, then she drops her gaze to his mouth. She wets her lips, cradles his face with both of her hands, and claims his mouth with her own.

He groans against her lips, helplessly, and finally, gently cups her breasts. As if she set out to drive him mad specifically, she wears a simple lacy T-shirt bra under her blouse. He can feel everything through its material. When he flicks his thumbs over her stiff nipples, Chloe whines against his lips, nearly breaking off their kiss, and fuck, has he ever been harder in his life?

He takes his time to explore her, thoroughly, committing her shape and feel to his memory in case she decides never to grant him this again, and laughs when Chloe bites down on the swell of his lower lip.

“Lucifer,” she breathes against him, and it sounds even better than it did in his fantasy. She looks as dazed and unbelieving as he is, but her eyes are frantic with need. He wants nothing more than to please her, in whatever way he can.

“Let me take care of you, love. Please.”

She nods, and he slowly turns her in his arms. She leans fully against him now, not an inch of space between their bodies, and he notices the way her heart races.

He dreads the second she’ll leave him.

Almost timidly he lets his hands trace over her body until they’re resting at the tops of her thighs. When his hands hover over her fly, his resolve wavers again. Chloe saves him, pulling her zipper down quickly and wriggling, adorably, to give him more space.

She couldn’t state more boldly that she wants this, now, and the Devil might just come in his pants like a horny teenager.

Only their breathing fills the quiet as he slowly reaches to cup her over her panties, and they groan together at the first connection, as he realizes how drenched she is from what they’ve been doing.

“You kill me,” he whispers against the shell of her ear, then pushes her underwear aside because he has absolutely zero restraint left.

He’s allowed to touch, and she’s swollen and dripping wet. For him. He mouths at her neck, wraps his hand around her throat lightly when she throws her head back, and it’s intoxicating, all of it.

It would almost certainly be embarrassingly easy to get her off in this state. (Hell, he can barely keep himself in check, and he has eons of practice.) A few determined strokes, a handful of precise circles around her clit, and she’d be gone, he reckons. But this is not at all what she deserves, not at all what he wants to give her, now.

Instead, he takes his sweet time, caressing every inch of her, spreading her wetness with fingertips and knuckles, worshipping her silky skin. He keeps his touches deliberately featherlike, as if anything more would shatter her, but he knows it’s him that’s fragile, and he finds he’s not ashamed of it anymore.

She’s restless in his arms, writhing against his body, and he’s sure he bruises her hip with his left hand, but she doesn’t mind, keeping it there by pressing her own above it, linking their fingers together tightly.

Like this, only teasing and exploring, he brings her to the edge.

He senses when she’s almost there, and it’s glorious. She’s trembling and twitching, gifting him with quiet little whimpers he will treasure forever, and grips his thigh with enough force he has to bite back a grunt. (It hurts, and isn’t that marvellous in itself?)

But this is not how he wants to do this, and so he withdraws his fingers at what is possibly the last possible moment before she reaches her peak.

“Fuck, Lucifer– Why did you stop?!”

He almost feels sorry at the desperate lilt of her voice, almost. But pleasure is one of the few things he’s good at, and he knows this will be worth it in the end.

“I know, I know. Fuck, you feel so good, darling. Trust me when I say I know what I’m doing. I’ll stop your pleasure one more time and then I’ll make you come, I promise. If you don’t think it was worth it after that, you can throw me out of my own house, you have my word.”

She chuckles weakly, thankfully, then throws her head back again when he wastes no time and pushes one finger inside her.

“Ugh, Lucifer… More like you’ll do– Fuck. You’ll do my paperwork for a month.”

He smiles against her skin, both because of their banter and at the thought of him actually doing paperwork. He’s glad she doesn’t make a real deal out of it, but then, he trusts his abilities, doesn’t he?

She gasps when he finds her G-spot, and the way she clenches around him makes his eyes roll back in his head. He’s not sure which colour they are anymore. But all that matters is her pleasure, and he lets himself get lost in it.

He brings his thumb to massage her folds, all the sensitive spots he discovered earlier, but is careful to avoid direct contact with her clit. She keens in his arms, moaning openly, and he watches every beautiful reaction play across her face. He never wants this to stop.

A second finger follows the first, and he grazes sensitive nerves over and over, makes her grind against his fingers inside her. She pulses rhythmically around him, and the feel of her heat and strength maddens him.

“Lucifer, please, it’s so good…”

She almost sounds delirious by now, and it’s a conscious effort not to come just from this, just from seeing her carefree and lost in pleasure like this.

“Hold on for me, love, once more–“

He removes his hands from her body, and she whines and whips her head around immediately, crashing her lips to his with a fierce intensity that takes his breath away.

“Make me come already,” she demands against his mouth, and he groans helplessly.

He keeps her like she is now, wanting to watch when she finally falls apart, and returns his hands to her. With his left hand, he cups her breast, teasing a nipple with insistent, back-and-forth-strokes that earn him an exhale and hands fisting in his hair.

Two fingers of his right hand slip inside her again, snug against her G-spot, and he’s holding back nothing. Finally, he presses his thumb directly against her clit, in rough, dirty circles, just the way she needs now, and never lets his eyes leave hers.

After all the build-up, she’s completely lost in it, her face soon scrunching up in sensation beautifully and her fingers bruising his skin. He lets his forehead fall against hers and gasps with her, committing everything to his memory.

Her orgasm starts in little tremors and ripples across her body. Tangled up with her as he is, he feels them all, feels her clench around his fingers like a vice grip. Her mouth falls open, her eyes press shut, and finally, with his thumb circling her relentlessly, she freezes up in his arms and comes with a wail that cuts right through him.

He swallows it with his mouth, and he kisses her tenderly, smiling against her lips as she rides his hand through her peak, clinging to his body and whimpering softly.

Only when she goes limp and boneless in his arms he carefully removes his hands from her, breaking their kiss and opening his eyes to take her in, flushed and euphoric with pleasure. It’s the most beautiful, rapturous sight.

He brings his fingers to his lips because he has to, and he groans at her taste in his mouth, revels in the breath she sucks in.

“Fucking– Shit, Lucifer. You really had every right to brag all this time, didn’t you?”

She’s breathless and gorgeous and happy, and he always wants to be the reason she is.

“Course I did, darling,” he retorts automatically, but he can’t help the shit-eating grin, and he can’t help how not-unaffected he sounds.

Her smile dims a little, though, and it’s ridiculous how fast he panics. If she leaves now, he’ll be ruined forever.

“I– I know this is maybe not the right time, but I just… I guess I need to know if I’m just another notch in your bedpost, you know? If I am, if we are, I don’t know, more than– Ah shit, forget I said anything.”

She leans in to kiss and distract him, but he stops her with a finger, understanding perfectly for once.

Chloe couldn’t be farther away from being just another notch in his bedpost, he realises. She is light and everything good that’s been missing from his existence. His heart stutters inside his chest, but the thought that someone could hold power over him loses its terror when he’s looking at her, when her emerald eyes shine like they do now.

“You are, Chloe. We are,” he vows, and it’s the absolute truth.

Voicing it aloud lends his devotion a shape, and he knows the word humans would use to describe his feelings. Some dark part of him still scoffs at the notion of him ever being able to love someone, much less being loved in return, but nevertheless, he knows it’s love that spreads like fire in his veins, that settles like a comforting weight in his chest, that floods his battered heart with life and his soul with hope.

“Really? Oh, thank God,” Chloe mumbles before she kisses him again, and not even the mention of his father can take this giddy happiness away from him.

This is new. This is terrifying. But it is good, and this time, he cannot wait to fall.

“Lucifer,” Chloe breathes against his lips, and there is nothing but her.

#lucifer on netflix #deckerstar fanfiction #lucifer fanfiction #thedeckerstarnetwork #1k celebration #me actually writing #asks answered #i PROMISE i'll also complete the other prompts #i'm always this slow lmao

118 notes · View notes

milkybunbuns · 4 years ago

Text

iii. battles → previous → perfection masterlist → next

w/c: 1.4 K

warnings: spoilers for season 1 episode 8, swearing

a/n: this series is such a slow burn dang, i just can’t bring myself to make y/n be with todoroki 24/7 but then by the time i finished typing everything i realise i have like 5 times more text than todoroki time udiswjokaq

You found yourself heading to school on time, only to find a hoard of reporters standing outside the gates attempting to interview every student that passes by. Arms crossed across your chest, you were NOT going to budge until the damned reporters got out of the way. Like yeah, it’s your job, but aren’t you going too far? What a joke.

“L/n-san. Are you not going in?”, Todoroki appeared beside you magically, almost scaring you.

“Well what does it look like to you?”

Before even properly processing what he was saying, Todoroki blurted out, “Are you on your period L/n-san? Fuyumi told me this is what happens to females-”

“WHA AHSIJQKAOW”, you threw your hands towards his mouth trying to shut him up, “You don’t just say that to a female’s face!” Your outburst seemed to capture the attention of the press as they rushed towards the two of you, microphones sticking out and tripping over each other.

“Sorry L/n-san”, and with that he pushed through the crowd of reporters, entering the school and leaving you to face the hoard by yourself.

“TODOROKI YOU BITCH!” okay you didn’t have the guts to yell that out loud cause if that was caught on cameras you could pretty much say bye to your hero career smh. Maybe that was a bit exaggerated. Sighing, you took matters into your own hands, activating your quirk to cover most of your body in a bright light. “Okay guys!”, you smiled fakely, clapping your hands together, “This material around me is light energy and is super hot, I don’t really want anyone to get burnt today, so if you would all kindly back off and let me get through, that would be wonderful.”

The reporters surrounding you immediately backed off, a path clearing for you to walk through. Closest to the gates was Aizawa who looked quite tired, shooing away as many reporters as possible. “Thank you for the help L/n, but that does not mean you can use your quirk in public. You still don’t have your licence.”

“Alright Aizawa-sensei”, you nodded your head, walking through the gates with Aizawa following.

BANG

You flinched slightly, turning around to see what happened while Aizawa just kept walking forwards, not paying any mind to the sound. The gates had just shut, activating the defence system at the gates.

“Okay everyone. Today we will be picking class representatives. This will be an extra way to gain recognition. Now do whatever you want until homeroom ends, just don’t bother me”, Aizawa immediately fell to the ground in his sleeping bag. Poor guy must’ve been so exhausted from shooing those nasty reporters away :((

Yells filled the room, everyone fired up to be representative, honestly, you had no want to do it and you weren’t responsible enough for sure.

“Calm down! We will do this is an orderly fashion!”, Iida exclaimed, robotic arms gestures following his words and the room quieted down for a moment.

“Kero, but won’t everyone just vote for themselves.”

“Precisely! That means that those who get more than one vote will be deemed suitable for representative.”

Names were hastily thrown into a random box then counted up, you had voted for Tsuyu cause she was such a nice person! Even though Iida would’ve been ideal, let’s just say you were biased towards Tsuyu since she’s basically your second friend at UA.

“And the class representative will be Midoriya with 3 votes and deputy will be Yaoyorozu with 2 votes.”

“OKAY WHICH ONE OF YOU FUCKERS VOTED FOR SHITTY DEKU!”

Silently, you were agreeing with Bakugo, minus the shitty part. I mean, Izuku, really? He was a nervous mess and a bundle of uncontrolled nerves, there was no way someone such as himself could lead when he could barely keep himself under control. But then again, who are you to complain, you ended up with 0 votes anyways.

“Okay home room is dismissed.”

Everyone hastily rushed out of the room, eager to see what was on Lunch Rush’s menu this time. Holding onto your tray of (favourite food) tightly to make sure that it wouldn’t get knocked over, you scanned the full cafeteria, deeming it too full for their to be space for yourself anywhere. Sighing, you hauled yourself into the seating area outside where it was slightly drizzling. There was a picnic bench under a tree which would at least provide some shelter from the rain. You stabbed your fork into the food, repeatedly stabbing all around it.

“L/n-san, may I join you?”, a cool voice made you look up from your food, to be met face to face with none other than Todoroki.

“Yeah, sure, take a seat”, you said, trying to act nonchalantly. You still hadn’t really forgiven him for the morning’s events.

And it was like he read your mind, “Look, if it’s about this morning’s situation, I am deeply sorry”, Todoroki could only stand so much awkward silence.

‘Okay whatever I forgive you.”

You swore you saw a small smile on his face and a sigh of relief, but Todoroki was seriously a tough nut to crack. The awkward silence turned into a calming one, as the two of you had your respective meals in peace. Neither could be bothered to make small talk, too much work.

“DING DING! LEVEL 3 SECURITY BREACH! ALL STUDENTS PLEASE EVACUATE CALMLY! DING DING!”

You shot up from your seat, Todoroki doing the same not much after., “Let’s go, it’s probably not safe out here”, by now the rain had gotten heavier than before, “Take off your blazer and use it as an umbrella”, you facepalmed as Todoroki tried to follow you through the rain without any protection. He nodded, forming a temporary umbrella for himself.

“L/n-san, we should be going to check on the gates to see how they’ve broken in.”

“Are you out of your mind Todoroki!? If it’s a villain we’re doomed okay!?”

“To become a hero, you must face your fears.”

“I’m not scared of villains okay?”, you grabbed him by the wrist, dragging him into the building of UA.

“L/n. Why do you think this is called an evacuation, it means we have to get out not get back in”, he snatched his arm away from your grip, rushing his own way up the stairs.

You stood in shock for a moment before realising, “That’s just going deeper into the school Todoroki!”, but he had already walked off and could definitely not hear you. Without wasting a moment, you ran after him, stumbling over stairs and at the top there were 3 ways to go, left, right and straight. He’s probably gone back to class, the alarm’s stopped ringing, it means everything’s okay now. You took a turn to the left, passing by the staff room where you couldn’t help but notice a masked figure in the room with a black hoodie on. You slammed open the door, startling the figure.

“Who are you? I know for a fact that you aren’t one of the staff here”, a surge of confidence rushed through you, you were in UA, surrounded by heroes and high tech. If you yelled once, the man would be immediately apprehended.

“My name is none of your business and I wouldn’t be yelling for help if I were you, Takami Y/n~”, he dashed towards you, putting his fingers dangerously close to your throat, “Keep quiet about this, or I will find you and make you watch as I kill your brother. And then you will be next, or maybe I’ll let you live in pain and suffering”, he grinned under the hood, falling into a mist of darkness that spawned behind him.

You were left speechless, hands shaky and sweat uncontrollably forming on your palms.

“L/n-chan! What are you doing in there?”, you turned around, ready to start your quirk up, before heaving a sigh of relief. It was only Nejire fortunately. “Oh uhm Aizawa-sensei just sent me to grab some papers for him!”, you nervously replied, reaching behind you for a random handful of papers.

“Oh right! Are you okay? You seem a bit shaken up, though I mean I guess it makes sense since it’s still your first week here and there’s already been a level 3 security breach. I can take you back to class if you’d like?”

“Thank you for the offer but no thanks Nejire-senpai, I can walk there myself.”

“Okie dokes, see you later!”, she smiled brightly, walking off to her own class.

Sighing, you put the papers back onto the desk, trying to make them look how they did originally, before peeking your head out to make sure there was nobody near by, then walked towards 1-A looking as unbothered and calm as possible. Who was that man..should I still tell Aizawa-sensei...

previous - masterlist - next

tagged: @awkwardangelthings @dyna-m1ght @chibishae34 @vhskenma

#todoroki x you #todoroki x reader #mha todoroki #todoroki x y/n #bnha shoto todoroki #bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

9 notes · View notes

originofjaehyun · 5 years ago

Text

Interlude: No More Drama | Part 3 | Boom

Interlude: No More Drama Masterlist

Word count: 3,178

Warnings: None except for mentions of cigarette I guess

Part 3 | Boom

“It was rather good baby, the day you were standing there again like a picture.”

Prev • Next

Jaehyun’s used to girls flocking around him.

He never meant to boast about his look, but it would be a lie if he told people that he's not confident with it. His pale skin, combined with the defined jaw, decorated with a pair of brown eyes that could penetrate with just a look, he is chiseled to perfection.

There are many times where he would go to clubs, either with a friend or with his clients, just to have the rest of the night pretending he’s having a good time when he’s not. He is sick with the same pattern, girls trying to steal his attention, trying their best to seducing them. He has witnessed more than a handful of women that wore something that could barely hold their breasts.

Jaehyun hated these types of girls. But he would hold them just for the sake of temporary satisfactions. What is wrong with hookups, as long as both parties gave their consent? They would feel like they owned Jaehyun the next morning, texted him even when they were already back at their respective homes. But Jaehyun would never respond, seeking nothing more but just a one night stand.

Not until he saw you.

He was sitting right across you, so he had a full picture of how you look that night. You were pretending, just like him. He saw a glimpse of him in you. When you made eye contact with him, he thought you would be another girl that he would bring home for the night, expecting you to send back another flirtatious peek just like how other girls would. But no, he was just another indifferent person for you. You’re back, talking with your best friend and letting out the most genuine smile of the night.

Curious.

He thought as he continued to observe you. In the end, he saw his opportunity to find you, as you walked towards the balcony for a smoke. The moment Jaehyun’s lips touch yours, he feels like a bolt runs through his vines. His heart beats faster as the kiss becomes more intense. Your kisses feel like the first spring for Jaehyun.

Jaehyun woke up with the absence of your presence. So she left, he thought to himself. This is nothing new to Jeong Jaehyun. Every time he had those casual sex, there are times where his partner would just storm outside without even bothered to say goodbye. He’s used to it.

It’s a shame, he thought there’s something different... from you.

It just makes sense for him to flinch when you suddenly opened the door with two glasses of water on both hands.

“Sorry, did I wake you up?” You said to him, apologetically. Worried that you’ve woken him up from his slumber because of the ruckus you’ve made.

You put the glasses on the side table, “I thought you’ll wake up feeling thirsty after… Uhm, last night.” You gulped, feeling slightly embarrassed as you remembered how he devoured you just a few hours ago.

“I’m sorry for barging your apartment, but you look so content in your sleep that I don’t want to wake you up. I promise I didn’t steal anything.”

Me, content?

This is something new to Jaehyun. This is the first time he sleeps longer than his partner. Even when they left without trying to not wake him up, he would pretend that he’s still asleep, just for the sake of being polite.

He stared at you, scanning how you look, before letting out a soft hoarse simper.

“There’s nothing much in my place anyway, but I’m guessing you’ve taken a liking on my shirt?”

You blushed, “Well, I technically passed out last night, and you refused to let me go after the fourth round.”

“We left our clothing in the hallway, so I just grab whatever is lying here. I hope you don’t mind, here’s yours.” You passed the already-folded shirt and trousers to him. “Uhm, your boxer is in the middle. I left your coat at the coat hanger.”

He blinks repeatedly, without replying to your statement. Realizing he might still be collecting himself after being woken up, abruptly, you continued your speech.

“I’ll be gone before long. I hope you’re ok with me changing here, I don’t know where your bathroom is and I’ve been barging long enough.”

You’ve sensed that his gaze has become softer, eyes gleaming.

“Don’t change yet.” He finally talked to you. “Can you come here instead?”

He stretched out his arms, adorably asking for your presence. He pressed both of his lips together, acting spoiled and forcing the dimples to come out. After last night, he actually asked, rather than commanding. You let out a small chuckle, before falling on top of him, cuddling with each other.

You took a moment to enjoy the silence between you. The room only filled with the sound of your breathing, harmonizing with each other. He casually caressed your hair, tightening his hugs while making sure you’re still comfortable in between his arms. This man could be gentle too, so you thought, after seeing him being so beastly last night. He placed a kiss on your temple, then playfully snuffling himself onto your hair.

“I should get going.” You stopped him from tickling you further.

“As much as I enjoy this and it’s Saturday morning, I think I’m overstaying my welcome.”

“Who said so? I can do this all day.” He put his head on the crook of your neck, continued to act spoiled. “At least stay for breakfast? I can cook for you.”

“You’re good looking, smell nice, extremely experienced in bed and now you can cook? God seems a bit unfair when he created you, huh?” You scoffed at his statement, making him burst in laughter.

“But really, I have to turn down the offer. My best friend will start hunting for me if she knows I’m at a stranger’s house. But thank you for your kindness.”

You raise yourself up, ready to change back to the attire you wore last night. He then limped himself back to the bed, staring at the ceiling as you changed.

“Can I see you again?” He’s now sitting down again, watching as you continued to wear your pants.

You zipped your trousers.

“Oh Jaehyun,” You walked towards him, picking up the phone you left at his side table. “You’re a charmer, you’d find plenty of women like me.”

You plant a kiss on his forehead, before striding your way to his apartment door.

–

“Do you have everything ready?”

You rolled your eyes before replying to the owner of the sweet voice. “Joy, this is the fifth time you’ve asked me and yes, I have everything.”

She sighed, “Well, it’s only natural for us to be nervous, right? After all, we are going to meet a representative from NCT Corp., big bucks, y’know?” She rubs her thumb with her index and middle fingers, acting like there’s a dollar bill in between.

“Well, my dear friend, you’re in luck cause the creative director is coming with you. Besides, ever heard a rumor that our clients would prepare a signed document beforehand if they knew I’m coming?” You said while shrugging your shoulders.

“Fucking show off.” Joy rolled her eyes.

“Language, miss.”

She then clings your arm, acting spoiled – in case you would ask her to go home early; which is not a good sign.

Both of you then proceed to enter the car, provided by the company that’s ready to drive you to the potential client’s office, NCT Corp., located at the heart of Seoul. It is a commercial property services firm, the biggest in South Korea. It has managed billions of square feet in property and facilities management and has done over thousands of leasing transactions. No wonder Joy breaks to sweat when she’s told that she’s going to be in this project with you when the client is in such caliber.

That’s not the case for you. You love the challenge and you love the thrill, when you’re faced with something that needs more than just a simple multiplication, your brain starts to work in wonders and you love that feeling. You love being in control of your job and you take pride in every work you’ve done.

You aligned at the lobby. It’s very modern and chic, but you know that the marbles that they used to decorate the floor would cost a fortune.

“Hi, how can I help you today?” The lady at the receptionist greeted you with a wide grin.

“Hi, I’m here to meet Mr. Seo? We’re scheduled to have a meeting at three.”

“OK Miss, may I have your ID card?”

You swiftly took your wallet and gave her your ID card.

“It’s [Y/N] [Y/L/N], from The Paper Plane.”

She then scans your ID card and flips open the ever-thick notes, filled with the black ink marking the company’s busy schedule. She stopped at one of the lines, before handing over two guest cards.

“Ms. [Y/N], we’ve confirmed your appointment today with Mr. Seo. All you need to do is to tap the card on the entry, and press the number 27 at the elevator.” She continues and pointing the direction of her right, showing you which way to go.

You grab both of the guest cards, handing one of the cards to Joy, “Thank you very much!”

She nods, “You’re welcome, I’ll inform Mr. Seo immediately that you’ve arrived. Have a good day!”

You’re trying your best not to let out a loud gasp when you reach the 10th floor. While the lobby downstairs was leaning towards the grandiose side, the current floor opts for a more humbled tone. The space was designed with a monochrome palette with wooden accents. The pillars were painted in black, but what impressed you the most was the wide panoramic window, showing off the breathtaking view the employees got to see every single day. You are then greeted with another person, this time a young man with curly brown hair, skin washed in a healthy tan. His eyes flicker at the sight of you.

“Are you Ms. [Y/L/N]?” He asked you and you nod.

“Great, I’m Donghyuck and I’m Mr. Seo’s current assistant. Please, follow me.” He said quickly, refusing to waste any more second.

“Nice office, by the way.” Joy jumped into the conversation.

Donghyuck chuckled, while he continued to lead his way, “Our Mr. Seo hated it when we’re constrained in the same view every day, thus the wide window.”

“You’d be surprised by how many times he forced us to brainstorm with him near the window. There’s a reason why I have my tan on, despite not taking any vacations.” He put his hand next to his mouth, being extra careful not to be caught by his boss talking about him. Both of you just laugh at his remark, making sure you stopped before Donghyuck knocks the door in front of you.

“Mr. Seo?” Donghyuck asked the person in question, being replied with a muted ‘yes’.

“The people from The Paper Plane are here.”

“Oh, please come in!”

Donghyuck enters the room, leaving the door open so that you ladies can enter after him. You didn’t make him wait for long, as you stride your way in. You’re then faced with a very tall man, a handsome chap. His eyes were the color of the earthy brown, glistening like an old copper penny. He greets you with a smile, showing you a dimple that is located on one of his cheekbones.

“Hi, I’m [Y/N] [Y/L/N]. It’s great to finally meet you.”

“Pleasure is all mine. I’m Johnny Seo, Chief Marketing Officer for NCT Corp.” He said as he shook your hand, letting you smell his fragrance, noting the spicy and woody scent.

“I hope finding your way here was not difficult?” He continues as he made a gesture to let you and Joy sit on the couch at his office.

“Not at all, Mr. Seo. There was a slight traffic jam at the corner of the street, probably because today is Friday. Otherwise, there’s no way we could miss such a beautiful office.”

A gum smile appears from his face, “Please, just call me Johnny. I might have the chief branded as my title, but I believe I’m too young for people to call me Mr. Seo all the time.”

“But you are an exception, Donghyuck, let’s try to make us look professional in front of these ladies, okay bud?” He then jokingly glared at the younger boy, causing him to hold his laughter. Both you and Joy are quick to realize that the person in front of you is definitely friendly, and kind for loosening up the atmosphere. He probably noticed how nervous Joy was.

“So, let’s get started, shall we? I booked my calendar for this, but surely I’m a busy person!”

You softly giggle, “Right, that is why I got you covered.” A brow raised from Johnny’s face, impressed with the amount of reference you brought with you.

–

“And that, finally concludes everything!”

A joyful squeal came from Joy’s mouth – no pun intended. You didn’t realize the sun was already set when you wrapped up your meeting.

“I know from the beginning I was right for choosing The Paper Plane.” Johnny smiles, followed by him stretching out his shoulder due to hours long of conversing with you. “Your portfolio impresses me, [Y/N], I’m looking forward to our project.”

You helped Joy, cleaning up the papers from the coffee table where you guys were pouring out your ideas.

“Shit, it’s already this late?!”

“Hush, Joy!” You shrieked in panic, eyes wide open as a warning for Joy who just tragically cursed in front of their client. Thankfully Johnny signed the deal already. If not, there goes your hard work.

Johnny, as kind as he is, just laughs at it, “Please don’t mind me, it’s over our working hours anyway, so we’re allowed to be our personal self again.” He said as if he knows that you’re scared of offending him. “Regardless, is there anything wrong, Joy?”

It’s only because he is Johnny Seo and the charisma that he has that he could easily be casual with someone who just jammed hours-long meetings with him. Joy, glad that she ended up didn’t fuck this meeting, quickly grabbed her phone and texting someone before replying to Johnny. “I’m meeting my girlfriends tonight. We’ve planned this dinner since God-knows-when.”

“Wait, you got an appointment? And here I thought we always eat somewhere after our meetings! It’s our tradition, no?” You whined at the last minute change-of-plan, clearly unhappy with the sudden news.

Joy gasps as her eyes widens, “Oh no! I’m sorry I forgot to tell you!” She said as her eyes continue to move frantically, concerned because you would usually eat dinner with her and now the probability of you having your dinner alone is almost absolute.

Just when you’re about to say you’re going to order a delivery or something, Johnny cuts you off, “If you don’t mind, [Y/N], I’m meeting a friend tonight. You can join me for dinner if you want.”

“Oh, please don’t take it the wrong way,” worried that you might start to have a weird judgment about him. “The person in question is my long-time best friend. We’ve known each other for years and we’re constantly in touch. So a night without my friend whining and complaining about life would actually be a good idea.”

You then look to Joy’s direction, telepathically asking for her advice. Her face said that you should go with it, but you’re still doubting.

“I’m sure my friend will like you,” he continues. “Also, I think your portfolio, combined with your personality will impress ‘em.”

“Well, uhm,”

It’s not that you hate meeting a new person, you’re just not sure how you could be comfortable by having dinner with a – if you dare to say so; a client that could secure your income for the rest of the quarter. Even so, the addition of his friend that you don’t even know what kind of high profile that person has tripled your worry.

“My treat?” Johnny looks at you, shoulders are now both ups, making it his last straw for you to come with him.

You finally laughed, “Oh dear, you surely know how to win someone’s heart.”

Johnny smirked from ear to ear, “Well, I trained for years. It’s only right for me to be able to do so.”

–

“You’re not treating me at Wolfgang’s.”

You stopped your step after you saw the restaurant sign. Wolfgang’s Steakhouse is a steakhouse that originally came from Park Avenue in Manhattan. Ever since it opened its chain restaurant in Seoul, it has been packed with celebrities and other VVIPs. You’re not the type of person who would be stingy with how you spend your money on food but definitely would think twice if you’re going to splurge that much money over a single meal.

Johnny then turned his way to you, before then a waiter opened the door for him.

“Well, consider it as a token of my apology for taking your time during the meeting, and for taking our time before making it for dinner. Besides, me and my friend are regulars at this restaurant. It’s always our go-to if we want to have a good meal. The steak’s awesome, the wine’s great, and the people here are relatively more, I would say, conservative in comparison to other places? So I can actually hear my partner talking, not some random gibberish from others.”

You just felt like you’re underdressed for Wolfgang’s. Not to the point where you’re ready to scoot your ass on a street-food stall at Myeong-dong (those are awesome, by the way), you’re glad that you still dressed properly to meet this client of yours. But you wished you’ve worn something fancier if you were to know your future patronage is going to treat you for an expensive meal.

But since you’re here and your stomach is clearly not on your side if you want to leave the place, you unconsciously follow behind Johnny’s tall figure, and even if you consider yourself not that petite, Johnny would still be able to hide your stature.

“My friend’s already here.” He said while looking at his phone. “He said he’s seated in our usual spot… Oh, there he is!” His eyes wide-opened at the sight of his friend.

So does yours.

“Jaehyun, buddy! Sorry I got caught in traffic!”

It’s been over a month since the night you left his apartment. He didn’t see you at first, no thanks to Johnny’s tall figure, but once he saw your face, his face perks up, you could’ve sworn you didn’t see his invisible tail wagging.

But whatever that has happened, you find yourself smiling without even realizing it, at the sight of him.

A/N: Sorry if this chapter was a bit too... slow in pace in comparison to the first two ones? At least this is how I envisioned Boom to be, just simply sweet. It was also hard to put the lyric into the chapter I literally squeezed my creative juice for this lols also im sorry the words are getting longer and longer by each chapter

#jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun fluff #jaehyunxreader #jaehyun fic #jaehyun angst #mafia!au #jaehyun #jaehyun scenario #fic jaehyun #angst jaehyun #interlude no more drama #nct scenario #inmd #neo zone #boom

116 notes · View notes

stranger-who-writes-fiction · 4 years ago

Text

the one with my favorite martian

AKA: J’onn’s intro the CAK ‘verse

*insert itsbeeneightfouryears.gif here* ...

THEN

It's her first big story.

The article runs on the front page of the business section—under the fold, sure, but still fairly prominent. The bold, black text of the headline runs half the width of the page, as does the large candid photo that accompanies the write-up. Kara's certain that the photo accounts for at least 70% of the attention the article has received over the course of the current news cycle; it's perfect. A shot that walks the fine line between candid and staged, capturing an otherwise unremarkable lab space and about a dozen lab techs on the move, dynamic as they go about their routine tasks, but at the center?

Dr. Kimiyo Hoshi, effortlessly commanding the room, unflappable and somehow radiant, in spite of the terrible fluorescent lighting.

Kara makes sure to highlight it at every opportunity. As her coworkers drop by her desk, offer congratulations, give her hearty slaps on the back (that result in more than a few confused murmurings—geez, Kent, you got...a solid shoulder there) she points to the photo, and reminds them, a picture's worth a thousand words. A response that charms a few of the staff writers, but incenses Perry.

“It's a good article, Kent. Wouldn't have run it on the front of the section if it wasn't,” he says with an almost paternal huff of exasperation. “Stop deflecting and just say, 'thank you.'”

So Kara does, if only to keep peace with her boss. It bothers her, though, to be so firmly in the spotlight for any length of time. It pokes at a wounded part of her—whatever part might've been happy to receive accolades, and recognition, prior to arriving on an alien world where she could be hurt, where Kal could be hurt, if anyone ever got too close to them. To the real them.

It's only when she's back home with Martha, Jonathan, and Kal that the praise is not immediately met with a level of discomfort. Though, it is a little embarrassing.

“On the fridge? Really?” Kara laughs as she reaches for the milk carton.

“Well, she wanted to hang it up on the bulletin board at the rec center,” Jonathan tells her from his seat at the kitchen table. “I had to talk her down. Bribed her with brand new magnets.”

“Aren't they cute?” Martha smiles at the updated collection. Kara has to agree that yes, the little plastic fruits are cute.

Kal, at least, is less concerned with telling her how great the article is, and more concerned with how professional journalism works. He wants to know everything. The questions last well into the evening; all four of them end up staying up late, comfortably gathered in the living room. Kal's in his usual place, sprawled on the rug, Jonathan in the recliner, Martha and Kara on the couch. It's only when Jonathan starts snoring at an octave unpleasant for Kryptonian super-hearing that they decide to call it a night.

“Put out fresh sheets,” Jonathan tells her through a yawn as he makes his way up the stairs. Both Jonathan and Martha keep insisting that they're eventually going to get around to turning Kara's room into...something. (Guest room and/or office are the prevailing front runners, though 'craft room' and 'home gym' have also been tossed around, on occasion.) The only proof that they've made any sort of progress is the handful of boxes in the back of her closet, otherwise it remains unchanged.

“Thanks,” Kara says, as Kal trails close behind Jonathan. She's about to follow, when the phone rings in the kitchen.

Martha answers. Several seconds pass, and then, from the doorway,

“Kara? It's for you.”

Kara blinks in surprise; she has no idea who it could be. Not any of her coworkers—she's made a point not to mention her routine weekends trips back home—she'd never be able to explain where she gets the money for 'airfare.' And she doubts it's anyone from town—the median age in Smallville is about fifty, and therefore, almost everyone's in bed by eight.

She accepts the receiver from Martha, but not before raising her eyebrows, hoping she can provide some sort of guess as to who it is.

But Martha shakes her head; she doesn't know.

“...Hello?”

“Kara?”

It takes Kara a moment to place the voice, distorted as it is by the phone. “Dr. Hoshi!” she says, both by way of greeting, and in answer to Martha's questioning stare. “...Hi!”

“I haven't caught you at a bad time, have I?”

“No, no, of course not,” Kara says as she leans against the wall. Martha offers a quick wave and mouths goodnight, which prompts Kara to glance at her wrist watch. “Er...uh. Well. It's a bit late, actually.”

“Oh! That's—sorry. I didn't even consider,” Dr. Hoshi says.

“It's fine,” Kara assures her, idly fiddling with the phone cord. “Just...unexpected?” she admits. “This actually isn't...” Kara pauses for a moment, trying to decide how much she wants to share. “...My primary number.”

“I know,” Dr. Hoshi says, “I used our tracking software to find you.”

Kara drops the phone cord. ...The mapping software can do that? A reflexive paranoia causes momentary chaos with her response time; she wants to stammer out some sort of reply, but she can only open her mouth, and close it. It's on maybe the third or forth guppy imitation when she hears a soft chuckle on the other end of the line. “...That was a joke.”

The alarm bells in her mind cease their loud ringing. “Oh, ha,” Kara forces out her own chuckle. “A joke. Of course.”

“I tracked you down the old-fashioned way,” Dr. Hoshi explains. “I asked the receptionist at the Daily Planet for the best number to call.”

“And she gave you this one?” Kara asks, incredulous.

“No, she gave me five,” Dr. Hoshi laughs. “And I tried them all, several times. This is the first call to get through.” Kara can hear the smile in her voice as she adds, “You're a difficult woman to track down, Miss Kent.”

That's by design. “Oh, that's...I think I just need to update my contact information,” Kara lies. And, because it is late, and Kara's still recovering from that momentary scare, she's inclined to be a little more blunt than she might normally be, otherwise. “Was there something you needed?”

“Well, now it seems silly,” Dr. Hoshi says. “I just...” she trails off briefly. “Wanted to thank you. For your work on the article. I had a chance to sit down and read it today, and...” There's another pause. “It's very well done. Thank you.”

Kara's both relieved, and a little...underwhelmed? She'd almost been expecting the worst—that Dr. Hoshi was displeased with the article. Because why else call at this hour? But...a simple thank you? She probably could have left that with the receptionist at the Planet...

“Oh, uh...” Kara returns to fiddling with the phone cord. “You're welcome. But, really, I was just. Reporting the incredible work you're doing.” 'Stop deflecting, and just say thank you', she can hear Perry saying. “But, ah. Thank you. For the...thank you. Call.” She finishes awkwardly.

“I'm used to not being taken seriously by my peers,” Dr. Hoshi goes on like she hasn't heard Kara. “For a number of reasons, as I'm sure you can imagine, but. The work I'm doing certainly doesn't win me any favors.”

Kara frowns. “Your mapping software is the most advanced cataloging system of its kind,” she says. “The data you've been gathering should be proof of concept—”

Dr. Hoshi cuts her off with a laugh. “See, that's what I'm talking about. Your conviction. Your faith in the work we're doing here. You treat us with respect, and the same cannot always be said of my colleagues.” She sighs. “That is what I wanted to thank you for, Miss Kent.”

Kara is truly at a loss for words. She has to go back to, “You're...you're welcome.”

“I've kept you long enough, I think,” Dr. Hoshi says, and Kara's grateful, because she's not sure she'd be able to keep this conversation going. “And again, sorry about the late call.”

“It's no trouble, really.”

They exchange polite goodbyes, and Kara returns the receiver to its cradle, still processing the exchange.

As she turns off the kitchen light and heads upstairs, she reasons that maybe it's not that weird, this late night thank you call. She remembers her dad and her uncle, and how they would lose track of both time and social graces when wrapped up in a project.

And of course Dr. Hoshi would pick up on...how had she described it? Kara's conviction. Because Kara, for as cagey as she tries to be about some things, has a very hard time not wearing her passion on her sleeve. She's honestly surprised that Dr. Hoshi didn't ask her if she'd be interesting in donating to their funding, for as much apparent interest Kara has in their research.

She tries not to let this worry her as she brushes her teeth and changes into her pajamas. She's just finished putting the clean sheets on her bed, when she hears Kal.

“Who was on the phone?”

He's using their 'super secret cousin communication line'—basically whispering at a volume only the two of them can hear.

“The scientist from the article,” Kara answers, relieved to discover that he didn't resort to eavesdropping to satisfy his curiosity. “She just wanted to say thank you.”

“That's all? ...I figured it was some sort of emergency, cause it's so late.”

“I thought so too, but.” Kara flops down on her bed and closes her eyes. “Nope. Just a thank you.”

“She thinks you did a good job?”

“Seems so.”

“That's good. That she liked it.”

“Mmmm-hmmmm.”

“...”

“...Kara?”

“...”

“...Are you asleep?”

“...I'd like to be.”

“It was really just a thank you call?”

Kara sighs. “I think...she was just happy that I took her seriously. She liked that the article was respectful, of her and her work.”

“...Why wouldn't it be?”

“Because a lot of people think her work is...” Kara tries to find a good word. “...a waste of time.”

“I thought she made space maps.”

“Not that work.”

“Oh.” There's a lengthy stretch of silence. Kara thinks that perhaps Kal's finally out of questions, and she can get some sleep. But, “Well. What other work does she do?”

Kara stares at the ceiling. The paint and drywall fade away to reveal the dark night sky overhead.

“She wants to find aliens.”

* * *

NOW

The Grand Mesa SETI Installation isn't much to look at, squat and square as it is, surrounded by miles and miles of red dirt and scrub. The fifteen or so arrays aren't terribly impressive either—in fact, they have something of an eerie quality about them, occasionally shifting, intermittently whirring, all in a slow, synchronized dance.

Against the backdrop of the Arizona desert, it's all just a bit...alien.

Kara would laugh at the irony, if not for the pervading somber mood of the visit.

The interior of the facility is less off-putting than the exterior; no-nonsense linoleum, flat grey walls, plastic furniture left over from the mid-eighties. Kara wonders if the equipment, too, is as dated as the interior decorating, which only makes her frown deepen.

There's no one at the front desk. Kara takes a quick glance at the rest of the facility with her x-ray vision—there are a few blind spots, thanks to what she imagines is old, lead-based paint, but she can see that it's basically a skeleton crew; the bare minimum amount of techs to keep the place running.

Kara sighs quietly to herself as she hears the click of the door on the far side of the front desk.

“Oh, uh. Hi.” It's a man, perhaps in his forties, dressed casually and clearly surprised by her presence. “Um. Are you here to see somebody?”

Kara opens her mouth, but is cut off by the arrival of a second person breezing through the same door.

“She's here to see me,” Dr. Hoshi tells the man. He catches a glimpse of her expression—stony and displeased, and quickly excuses himself. “Hello, Miss Kent.”

She doesn't smile, but the displeasure softens marginally into something like annoyance. Kara marvels at how different this woman is, from the woman she'd written about in her article, years ago. She's still austere, with her sharply styled a-line bob and pristine oxford and slacks, but where there was once idealistic determination in her stern gaze, there is a brittleness; cold and fragile, like thin ice.

“Dr. Hoshi,” Kara greets. “It's been a while.”

“It has,” Dr. Hoshi agrees, but her tone is utterly flat. “But that's to be expected, I suppose. As you can see,” she gestures to the room around them, but it's obvious she means the entire facility. “I'm hardly a high-profile catch these days.”

“You alluded to as much, in your recent...” Accusation? Confession? “...Interview.”

“If you're here for proof,” Dr. Hoshi shakes her head. “I have nothing for you.”

“I know,” Kara says, and Dr. Hoshi's expression changes for the first time since they've started talking. Not much, though. Just a slight narrowing of her eyes, a barely perceptible twitch in her frown.

“Then why are you here?”

“Well,” Kara's relieved for the opportunity to drop the hardened reporter act, “you might not have proof, necessarily. But that doesn't mean there isn't a story here.” Dr. Hoshi looks like she's going to protest. “This is all off the record. I'm not on company time. Honest.” The other woman still regards her with suspicion.

“You came all the way out here, on your own time, just to talk...off the record?”

“I came 'all the way out here' to visit friends in California,” Kara corrects her. “This was on the way.”

Dr. Hoshi regards her for several long moments. Kara feels inclined to add, “I want to hear your side of this. Because...I think you deserve that chance.” She shrugs in what she hopes is a disarming manner. “And I'm just. Still a big fan of your work.”

This seems to be convincing enough for Dr. Hoshi to acquiesce to her presence. Not fully accept it, exactly. But. Tolerate it?

Which Kara can work with.

“Was doing,” Dr. Hoshi tells her, breezing past Kara and gesturing for her to follow. They enter a hallway off the main lobby and head deeper into the box-like building. Handcarts stacked high with half-packed boxes of broken and outdated instruments litter the spaces outside of large rooms that house the actual monitoring equipment: computers just as boxy and unremarkable as the cardboard boxes in the halls.

“This entire facility is obsolete,” Dr. Hoshi explains over her shoulder. “We're basically a glorified tax right-off.”

“They put you here to keep you quiet and out of the way,” Kara surmises. Dr. Hoshi nods.

“And I got tired of keeping quiet.”

Kara nods. She'd seen the 'tell-all' interview, an impassioned accusation on a local news channel that had stumbled its way on to the national news scene when a LexCorp lawyer happened to catch a rerun of the broadcast while holed up in a grimy motel off of 10. (Why a LexCorp lawyer was even in a grimy motel in Arizona in the first place was conveniently left out of the equation, no doubt thanks to LexCorp's not inconsiderable PR team.) Had the lawyer never seen the footage, it probably would've faded into obscurity. Some loony, local scientist claims big business stole her stuff.

Big whoop.

Dr. Hoshi flips on a light switch, and the dim set of fluorescent overhead lights are joined by a second set of equally dim fluorescence lights; these ones buzz louder, though.

“Do you think they'll fire you?” Kara asks, watching as Dr. Hoshi begins what looks like a routine check of the computers and recording apparatuses.

“No, not really,” she says with an air of grim acceptance. “It will be easier for them to blacklist me. I'll be forced to stay here, and they'll be able to keep an eye on me.” She pauses, and stares at the large arrays in the red expanse just outside of the building. There's a dull whine as they turn their large, concave faces to the east. Mechanized sunflowers, searching the starlight. “All these relics, constantly recording. And I'm the only thing here LexCorp cares about monitoring.” She says this quietly, more to herself than Kara.

Kara gives her a moment, not wanting to be rude as she gently continues her questions. “Do you know if LexCorp is using your technology currently? Do you know if they used it to track the Doomsday Event?”

“The Doomsday Event was a terrorist attack,” Dr. Hoshi parrots the widely-accepted official statement. Kara blinks, surprised to hear that line come from Dr. Hoshi.

“But what about Supergir—” Kara starts to say, only to swallow the rest of her sentence whole as Dr. Hoshi slowly turns.

“...What about Supergirl?” She asks, eyes narrowed. Kara frantically tries to think. She's only done a handful of interviews, and she can't remember. She can't remember...did she ever say it? Did she ever admit that she was an alien?

“I thought,” Kara clears her throat. “I thought she confirmed. That Doomsday was extraterrestrial.” She hopes Dr. Hoshi doesn't follow the news too closely; Kara never actually commented on the Doomsday Event.

“...Maybe she did,” Dr. Hoshi says with a shrug, turning her intense stare away from Kara. Kara breathes a little easier. “And maybe it was. But STAR Labs handled the autopsy, and they insist that whatever attacked Metropolis was human in origin. I know LexCorp tried to bully them into sharing access to their findings, but they were never successful.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, because I did some of the bullying.” Dr. Hoshi says. Kara's eyes widen. “But it became clear to me that they weren't going to budge, so I backed off, and focused on my own work. LexCorp 'locked down' my research shortly thereafter. Maybe in retaliation, for failing to procure the STAR Labs files. Or maybe because they felt they were falling behind in the new space race, and my insistence that we should proceed slowly and carefully and follow the science was too much of a hindrance.”

Dr. Hoshi's voice rises slightly as she ends her statement; it's the most emotion Kara's seen from her since she arrived, even more than the quiet suspicion of LexCorp's spying.

“...I'm sorry,” Kara says. And she means it.

Dr. Hoshi must sense this, because she lets out a very long sigh, and even offers a smile. It still carries that brittle quality, though. “Thank you.”

They share a moment of mutual silence before Dr. Hoshi turns to inspect the last computer.

“So, no. LexCorp was not using my work, prior to the Doomsday event. But they're almost certainly using it now.” She leans in close to the screen, and types something on the keyboard. “Or, they're leasing it to the military. We'll probably never know for sure, though.” She squints, and types another command in on the keyboard. “Odd...”

“What's odd?” Kara asks, moving to stand closer to the computer. There's a lot of information on the screen, but Kara can't decipher it. It just looks like a lot of random numbers and letters.

“This computer tracks our data here against the information gathered at the sister installation, down in Brazil. There's a lag, but the systems generally keep in sync, which we use to make sure everything's up and running properly.”

“So if they fall out of sync—”

“Something's broken.”

“It's not just...picking up space radio waves?”

Dr. Hoshi chuckles. “No. See this collection of data here?” She points to a set of numbers on the screen. Kara nods. “It's essentially too strong to be from space. Something is physically affecting an array.”

“Here?”

“No, down in Brazil.” Dr. Hoshi moves to the other side of the lab and grabs a phone from one of the desks. Kara hears the dial tone, and then the rapid succession of key tones.

She plans on listening to the entire call, of course—all the while making a show of how very interesting this computer screen is—until the conversation lapses into Portuguese. Kara winces.

Mental note: Learn Portuguese.

Given the tone of the individual on the other end of the line, Kara gets the sense that something is wrong. Maybe not catastrophically wrong, but the other scientist is clearly distressed. Dr. Hoshi says something that Kara assumes is meant to be assuring before ending the call.

“I'm sorry, Miss Kent, but I'm afraid we'll have to cut this visit short.”

Yes, we will. “That's okay, I understand,” Kara tells her as Dr. Hoshi leads her back into the hall. “Is everything alright?”

“There's some sort of...” Kara can see that the other woman is choosing her words carefully. “Mechanical problem, which means I get to look forward to a long evening of phone tag. Complete with international rates.” She smiles ruefully. “Another tax write-off for LexCorp.”

Dr. Hoshi apologizes again for the abrupt end to the visit, but Kara is quick to remind her that this was unplanned.

“Now we're even,” Kara says, and Dr. Hoshi blinks at her in confusion. “Um. From when you called me, back when the article...never mind.”

Dr. Hoshi is kind enough to ignore the awkward moment, and simply wishes her well on her visit to California.

“Are you driving?” Dr. Hoshi asks as Kara digs her car keys out of her purse. Kara heads for the parking lot.

“Just a rental,” she says, holding up the key fob and the bright yellow tag attached to it. “I'm heading to the airport.”

“Have a safe flight, then.” Dr. Hoshi says, and returns to squat brick building.

Kara drives back into town and returns the car to the rental agency. That part wasn't a lie. And technically speaking, she is going to fly.

She finds a secluded spot, behind some buildings on the edge of town, and tugs at her shirt, revealing the primary-colored costume beneath.

Up, up, and away.

* * *

The only similarity between the Grand Mesa and the Montanha Verde SETI installations are the collection of large arrays flanking the main buildings; while Grand Mesa's surrounded by a vast sea of parched, red earth, Montanha Verde lives up to its name, nestled atop a collection of vibrant green foothills, the arrays dotting the terraced slope of the mountainside just above.

As Kara touches down on one of the far hills, she takes a quick x-ray scan of the building and the immediate surrounding area, mentally tallying the number of people onsite.

There are more techs here than at the Grand Mesa facility; she hurriedly does the math. If it comes down to it, she can clear the entire site in two minutes. Depending on wind speed, anyway.

She's hoping that won't be the case. As it turns out, 'mechanical failure' means that one of the arrays is on fire, and threatening to topple into an adjacent array, which is troubling enough on its own. More troubling, is the potential for the arrays to tumble down the mountainside, right into the back corner of the main building.

Easy fix, she decides as she (literally) flies into action. She decides against freeze breath, not wanting to damage the arrays further. Instead she flies in a tight circle around the flames, creating a vortex that robs them of oxygen. The flames die down almost instantly; she does send a light breeze in the direction of the singed metal, just to cool it down.

Once she's certain the nearby vegetation won't catch fire again, she lands, and pulls the leaning array back into position. She welds a quick patch into place—hardly a permanent solution, but better than simply hoping the compromised array won't fall over.

Some of the techs want to rush over as soon as they see her finish with the spot weld, but she holds up her hands, stay back! They nod, and keep a safe distance.

“Thank you,” they all start to talk over one another as she approaches, and that's the only phrase she can 1.) pick out and 2.) understand.

She underlines her mental note. Learn Portuguese!!

“You're welcome. I'm—sorry, I don't,” now only a few of the techs are talking, realizing that she's a little overwhelmed. “I don't speak—”

“Verde, verde,” Kara hears.

“Verde? Right, Montanha Verde,” she points over to the building, hoping she's understood. But one of them—a man with dark hair greying at the temples and a neatly trimmed beard—shakes his head profusely.

“Verde monstro.”

“Green...monster?” Kara can't imagine that word meaning anything else. The man doesn't confirm if she's translated correctly; he points farther down the ridge, past the land cleared for the facility, where the cropped vegetation gives way to actual jungle.

It's both the last thing Kara expects—this was supposedly just a mechanical failure, after all—and yet somehow, terribly fitting. Of course a 'green monster' would be the source of mysterious troubles at a SETI facility.

“I'll check it out,” Kara tells them, hoping her tone and facial expression help get the meaning across. She takes off quickly, only to belatedly realize that perhaps it's not terribly wise, to charge into unfamiliar terrain.

It's not like there's anything on Earth that can hurt you, Kara reminds herself.

Still. She doesn't love the prospect of accidentally spooking a wild animal. She slows down and flies just above the canopy, keeping her eyes trained on the forest floor for any signs of...whatever tracks a green monster might make.

She keeps up the search for several hours, and tries not to think about the fact that this is a textbook case of needle in a haystack. She's not physically tired when she finally calls it quits, but it's getting dark; the search is only going to become more and more difficult as the sun sinks lower in the sky.

She spots a clearing and drops into a quick landing, intent on checking the wristwatch she keeps in her cape pocket while there's still enough light to see. It's set to Metropolis time, and she's somewhere west of Belem, but what is that in terms of longitude—?

Kara doesn't notice it at first. Or, she does notice it, but it doesn't register until it's almost too late—she mentally cataloged it as just. Typical forest sounds.

But there's a pattern. A rhythm.

Footsteps.

Kara whirls and her heat vision goes off without conscious thought—just a bright beam of blue that shoots in whatever direction she's looking. A half-fallen tree branch bursts into flames.

“Argh!”

The yell isn't Kara's—a tall, something. Man? Stumbles back, away from the flame, bringing an arm up to shield his face.

Kara sends a gust of cold air on the flames, not wanting to create an international incident. Superhero Burns Down Amazon Rainforest by Accident is a headline Kara would very much like to avoid.

The man continues his frenzied retreat from the flames, only to stumble over a large exposed root. He lands on his back, hard.

“Please,” he says in a voice that is distinctly not human. “Please, do not kill me.”

He drops his arms, revealing his face. Green skin and bright red eyes.

Verde monstro.

Except, no. Not a monster. Not a monster at all; frightened and confused lab techs had, perhaps understandably, seen something unfamiliar, something monstrous among the flames. But Kara is not frightened and confused. Startled, maybe, but otherwise able to see how scared he is. She can hear it.

“I'm not going to kill you,” she tells him, holding out her hands in an open, non-threatening gesture. “I'm sorry about my—about the fire,” she apologizes. “That happens sometimes. When I'm scared.”

She doesn't move forward at all—she doesn't want to do anything that could be perceived as aggression. She lets him set the pace of this...encounter? Exchange? Whatever this is.

He uses the opportunity to climb to his feet, all the while keeping a close eye on her. He remains tense, arms bent in a defensive position.

“I'm—” Kara knows she should say Supergirl, but what comes out instead is, “Kara Zor-El. I'm here to help.”

He says nothing. They continue to stare at one another for a very long time.

After a small eternity, he finally speaks.

“My name is J'onn J'onzz,” he says. “And I don't think you can.”

* * *

Kara starts a fire—deliberately, and safely, this time—and invites J'onn to take a seat.

He does take a seat. About ten feet away from the flames.

“...You don't want to sit closer?” Kara asks. It's possible he's impervious to extreme temperatures, like her and Kal, but. If he sits closer to the light at least, the conversation might be a little less...spooky.

(Because, as much as Kara hates to admit it, she can understand why the lab techs were scared; J'onn's face is comprised of hard angles, and a long, ovular cranium. Not unlike the shape humans ascribe to the stereotypical 'Gray' aliens supposedly found at Roswell. But, more so than the harsh angles and green skin, Kara thinks perhaps they were mostly reacting to the glowing red eyes.)

“No,” J'onn says simply.

Kara nods. “Okay.”

Another small eternity passes. And then,

“My planet...burned to death.”

Kara stares at him across the flames, watching the shadows shift over his face as he pointedly turns away from the fire.

A heavy sadness settle in her chest.

“You're a refugee,” she says.

J'onn doesn't look at her. He keeps his face turned away. “Someone who is forced to leave their home to escape war, persecution, or a natural disaster,” he recites the definition. “Yes. I am.”

Kara takes a deep breath, reflexively reaching for the edge of her cape, to run her fingers of the corner. An outlet for her pent-up emotions. “I'm sorry,” she says quietly. “Did...did anyone else escape?”

“I am the last.”

Tears spring to Kara's eyes, the words landing on all the broken bits, the still-healing bits that she buries down deep inside. They press down hard and cause her to let out a watery chuckle, which J'onn probably thinks is extremely rude.

But he must see the glint of the firelight reflecting off her tears, because his expression is one of confusion, not outrage. And Kara then explains,

“Same, actually.”

The confusion lingers only a moment longer, before understanding sets in. He nods.

And then, slowly, he stands.

Kara watches, a little confused herself, until she sees him skirt the edge of the clearing, and come to sit fractionally closer to her. Still quite far from the flames, but. Most definitely closer.

“I'm...sorry.”

She wipes at her tears and takes a steadying breath. “Me too.”

* * *

It's weird. Not a bad weird, but certainly some kind of weird—two complete strangers sharing stories of lost home worlds around a campfire, somewhere at the edge of the Amazon Rainforest.

Kara can't remember which one of them started it. She thinks maybe it was J'onn who got the ball rolling, telling her a little bit about Mars. Not much; there was still a guarded element to his demeanor, and Kara would eventually come to understand that wariness was borne of having spent so long on Earth hiding. Decades to her fifteen or so odd years.

And then she started talking about Krypton. Really talking about Krypton. The blemished, imperfect Krypton that Kara had, perhaps a bit unintentionally, scrubbed clean for Kal's bedtime stories.

Talking with Kal...it was just stories. Because all he knew was Earth.

Talking with J'onn—he knew. He'd had friends, family, a daily routine. Favorite foods that could never be replicated, because the ingredients no longer existed.

“That's why I wanted Dr. Hoshi's work to succeed,” Kara finds herself explaining, as the conversation inevitably turns to how they both came to be in Brazil in the first place. “I mean. Obviously, it's going to be...a long time, before Earth reaches the point where they have the technology necessary for intergalactic communication, let alone travel, but...” she purses her lips, and stares into the flames. “I'd like to think that someday, aliens will just be a fact of life. And then...maybe...” she sighs. “Maybe. We won't have to hide.”

She can see J'onn shift in her peripheral vision.

“That is where we differ,” he says. “I've been on this planet a very long time. I don't think we'll ever be able to stop hiding.”

Kara wants to argue the point, but J'onn continues, “There's a group that's been following me. Hunting me. I don't know how they're managing to track me.” J'onn looks off in the direction of the SETI facility. “I...overheard, that they were planning to make use of facilities like the one on that mountain ridge. If not to track us on this planet, then to track those like us before they even arrive.”

“Is that...” Kara swallows. “Why you...”

“I didn't want to injure anyone, I only wanted to disable their tools.” J'onn tells her, and Kara can't help that her first thought is one of stern judgement, that he's basically admitted to destroying private property, and by extension, potentially endangering all those people. “But I miscalculated, and the dish caught fire.” He takes a breath. “So I ran.”

“I...I understand your...” Kara doesn't think concern is the right word to use. “...Fear. I do. Really.” And she does. It's now, in her adulthood, that she's recognizing that it was not normal or healthy, for a thirteen-year-old to live with the constant background radiation of worry that a shadowy government organization could come snatch her or Kal at any time, with no warning or consequence. “But we can't just assume that everyone—that they're all like the group that's—” hunting, stalking, preying, “following you.”

“You have not encountered these people,” Kara can see that J'onn is making an effort to respond calmly. His shoulders tense, and his hands curl into fists. “You do not understand.”

It's a sobering reminder, one that Kara doesn't counter, even though she'd really like to. As alike as they are, they've also led very, very different lives. Kara has to respect that.

“You're right,” is what she decides to go with. “I'll never fully understand, and I'm sorry, for everything you've had to endure.”

“...Thank you.”

* * *

WHUP, WHUP, WHUP.

Kara grumbles in irritation. Her apartment building is 'centrally located, close to public transit, ideal for commuters,' which is realtor speak for: overlooks the elevated train tracks of the city's metro system on one side, and the approach to the Monarch Bridge on the other. So if it's not the sound of the yellow line waking her in the morning, it's the sound of a traffic copter, covering rush hour.

She reaches for her quilt, intent on burrowing beneath the covers to try and catch a few more minutes of sleep.

The quilt feels. Weirdly like her cape? That's—

She's awake in an instant, as the sounds of the helicopter become impossibly loud and close. She's not in her apartment; she's in Brazil—her and J'onn had talked so long, that she ended up deciding to simply catch an hour or so of sleep before heading back to the states, just before dawn. J'onn had offered to stick around and keep watch, 'just in case.'

Kara thought it was both courteous and maybe a little unnecessary at the time.

Boy, does she feel foolish.

“It's them,” J'onn says in a strained voice, eyes trained on the sky. “I have to go.”

He's already turning to head deeper into the jungle. Kara jumps to her feet, shaking off leaves and dirt.

“Wait, wait, there has to be...something we can do—” Kara says, rushing after him, but as she says it, she thinks, what? What can we do? Talk to them? Fight them? She's not even sure who this 'them' is. She's only heard J'onns vague accounts of their various encounters, and she gets the sense that he doesn't really know who they are, either.

“Don't involve yourself in this,” J'onn says, not bothering to look back at her as he speaks. “You're fortunate, you look like them. You have a life to go back to.” The words are painful to hear, but probably even more painful for J'onn to say, and they aren't untrue. “So, go.”

But Kara won't. She can't.

“Let me help you, at least,” Kara insists, reaching out to try and touch J'onn's shoulder. The movement makes him turn, causing him to slow.

There's a sharp Crack! followed by a terrible sound of wet impact. J'onn grunts, and falls to his knees.

“J'onn!” Kara cries out in concern, stooping to support him before he falls forward completely. A figure emerges from the dense brush and trees.

“Supergirl, what an unexpected surprise.” Kara looks up to see a black man dressed in camouflage fatigues, holding a semi-automatic weapon. The tag above his left breast pocket reads: H. Henshaw. “Didn't know you were hunting this monster as well.”

J'onn lets out another pained grunt. Kara helps him to apply pressure on the wound on his abdomen. “Do I know you?”

“No, but we know you,” Henshaw says with a terrible grin. “It's our business, to know all about our...” he pauses, and brings up his gun to train the sight on J'onn. “Strange visitors, from other planets.”

Kara positions herself between Henshaw and J'onn. “Are you CIA? Military?”

“I'm afraid that's classified information,” Henshaw says. “Move.”

“I'm not going to let you kill him,” Kara says fiercely.

“Careful, Supergirl,” Henshaw growls, tightening his grip on his gun. “So early in your career...do you really want to make yourself an enemy of the state?”

Kara doesn't know how to respond; she's desperately trying to think through this. Trying to see all the angles, all the potential consequences, instead of rushing in. (As she's prone to do.) But she can hear J'onn's labored breathing, her attention thus divided, her mind running in too many different directions.

Henshaw must mistake her hesitation for defiance. “Alright, let's try something else. Move, or I'll have a group of agents at that quaint little farm of yours faster than you can blink.”

Kara can't stop the strangled choking noise that works its way out of her mouth—no, no, she was so careful, she'd always been so careful...

You never should have become Supergirl, she thinks, but then, as she continues to stare, wide-eyed at Henshaw's face, she has a horrifying realization that he looks familiar. She's seen him before. Somewhere. Some--

A memory. Smallville. Shortly after her and Kal had landed, going into town with Martha, having pancakes at the diner before finishing their errands...

A couple of guys in suits at the far end of the restaurant. She caught their eyes a few time, but thought it was a fluke. An awkward, accidentally moment of eye contact.

But it wasn't. It wasn't a fluke, it wasn't an accident, they had found them. They'd known all along. But how?! She thinks, borderline hysterical. How had they evaded her detection? She has super-hearing! She can see through walls!

It's a struggle to simply breathe through the panic and processing; she doesn't notice as Henshaw loads a new cartridge into his gun—one that gives off a subtle glow in the milky, pre-dawn light.

He's about to fire, but there's a roar from behind Kara.

“Wha—no!” Henshaw yells as J'onn barrels into him. They both tumble further into the trees. Kara forces her mind to stop spinning in frenzied circles long enough to clamber unsteadily to her feet. They've known, they've always known—

Focus! She tells herself, and charges after the two men. She can hear them before she sees them, the grunting, the struggling, another gunshot.

Someone yells—Henshaw. But the yelling fades, like he's—

She's spotted them now. She surges forward through a tight knot of trees. J'onn is slumped at the edge of a cliff.

Henshaw is not with him.

“He...he went over, I wasn't—” J'onn tries to say, but he's breathing heavily, and still clutching his side. “—Not strong enough, not fast enough to pull him back—”

He passes out, at that point. She approaches the edge of the cliff, just enough to see that it's...a very long way down.

She presses the back of her fist to her mouth, eyebrows drawing together in distress as she imagines the fall. She proceeds no further. There's no need.

Instead, she picks J'onn up as gently as she can, and extends her hearing as far as it will go. The helicopter has landed a few miles to the south, and she can hear two separate scouting parties.

They need to leave.

They also need to...figure out what to do about these people, the ones who have been following J'onn, and apparently Kara as well.

...One crisis at a time, Kara decides.

She takes off, her speed probably more than a little reckless, but she needs to get J'onn help. And fast.

...She just hopes that the Danvers know as much about patching up Martians as they do about patching up Kryptonians.

* * *

Alex usually isn't allowed to have a second juice box, but she takes her chances asking mom if it would be okay. After all, Kara is visiting, and when Kara visits, sometimes the rules change a little bit.

Like getting a second juice box.

(She checks to see if any of the grown-ups are looking, before quickly grabbing a third juice box that she stuffs under her sweatshirt.)

She makes sure to close the refrigerator before hurrying past the dining room, where Kara and her parents are. They don't notice her, which is okay—they're really busy talking.

So she continues on her way to the family room. It's a little messier than normal, and for once, it isn't because Alex has forgotten to clean up her toys. Instead, there are Band-Aids and stuff all over. She's careful not to disturb anything—it's all stuff that only the grown-ups are allowed to use, and she's already sneaking juice boxes, so. Best not to break any more rules.

She settles herself on the couch, fluffing a pillow, and getting comfortable before she turns her attention to her juice box. She pulls off the straw and bites through the plastic wrapper.

The big green man that Kara brought with her stirs at the other end of the couch.

“Wanna juice box?” Alex asks, removing the super-secret extra one from under her sweatshirt. “It's fruit punch.”

The big green man blinks at her with his glowing red eyes. Christmas colors, Alex thinks.

“Fruit...punch?”

“It's really good,” Alex explains. “Because it has all the fruits. Together.”

She offers it to him. He looks at it for a second, before reaching out to take it.

“...Thank you.”

“Welcome,” Alex says. She starts on her own juice box, then realizes the green man is still staring at his. “Oh. You gotta—” Alex reaches over and pulls off the straw to hand it to him. He takes it, but he stares at that too. So she reaches over again and takes the straw, slamming it on the coffee table to get it to pop up out of the plastic.

She sets the wrapper off to the side, and gives him the straw once more. “Now poke it through the silver dot.” She points to the top of the juice box.

The green man follows her instructions. The straw slides into place. “Yeah. Like that.”

She watches as he takes a hesitant sip. The juice box trembles a little in his grip, but that's probably because he was hurt earlier, and is still getting better.

“It is...very good.” He says after several more sips. Alex smiles.

“Toldja.”

They sit side by side, enjoying their juice boxes in companionable silence. As Alex finishes her own, the cardboard crumpling as she noisily slurps the last fruity drops, she says, “My name's Alex.”

“I'm J'onn J'onzz,” the man says.

“Are you from Krypton, like Kara?”

“...No...I'm from Mars.”

“Oh.” Alex nods. “Okay.” She looks down at her hands, and counts on her fingers. “My...very...educated...mother...” She looks up. “That's right next to Earth!” she smiles. “Like a next-door neighbor.”

“...Yes,” J'onn agrees.

She looks over to see that he's finished his juice box, too. “Want another one? Mom will probably say it's okay, because you're sick.”

J'onn regards his empty juice box. “Would it also be...fruit punch?”

“Yeah.”

“...Then yes, please.” He gives her a small smile. “I would like another juice box.”

* * *

It takes J'onn two days to recover. It's mostly thanks to his own healing ability—Eliza and Jeremiah do as much as they can for him, but their resources are limited.

So, he spends the two days sleeping in their guest bedroom. Kara spends those two days thanking Eliza and Jeremiah profusely.

“I owe you guys,” she tells them.

“You can pay us back in juice boxes,” Jeremiah says.

J'onn is up and about by day three, and pretty much immediately insists on leaving.

“I'm a danger to you all, staying here.” The Danvers try to reassure him that, it's fine, that he doesn't need to feel like he has to flee into the night.

But. Kara had told them. About the man, Henshaw, and what he had revealed to her, when he'd cornered them in the jungle.

“They probably know about you, too,” Kara admits with a grim expression. “I'm so sorry.”

“Don't be,” Eliza says with a firm shake of her head. “We were well aware of the risks, when you came to us after the Doomsday Event.”

“But J'onn's right,” Kara says. “It's dangerous—”

“Then it's a good thing we've got a Kryptonian on speed-dial,” Jeremiah interrupts with a grin.

“Still, I understand why he's anxious to go,” Eliza concedes. “Is there anything we can do to help him?”

Kara admits she isn't sure, and is determined to find out. Which is how she finds herself in the Danvers' backyard, joining J'onn in quietly admiring the sunset.

“I've never been able to just,” he takes a long, deep breath. “Enjoy this planet.”

Kara nods in somber understanding. But then adds, “One of the things Earth has going for it,” she smiles. “It's beautiful.”

“It is.”

Encouraged by his agreement, Kara continues, “And a lot of the people on this planet...are really wonderful too.”

She braces for an argument. But,instead, J'onn looks down at his hand, and Kara realizes he's holding a juice box.

“I still have a hard time believing that,” he says. “...But I would like to try.”

She nods again. “The Danvers want to help,” Kara tells him, crossing her arms over her shirt. She's not in costume. Standing next to J'onn, though, with his regal blue cape and dark, armored suit, she feels under dressed. “We all want to help. However we can.”

“That group...I think they're called the D.E.O.”

Kara frowns. “How do you know that?”

“I heard one of the other agents,” he says, which Kara finds strange. She'd heard the agents too, but they'd mostly just been whispering commands and confirming locations, entirely in code; she hadn't heard any of them openly discussing specifics.

But then, maybe he meant he'd heard it during one of their earlier encounters.

“They'll be looking for Henshaw.”

She turns away from him. “There's no way he survived that fall,” she says in a low voice, trying not to think of the man's grizzly fate. She's still horrified by what Henshaw told her, and she got the impression that the man took a sickening glee in the prospect of killing J'onn—and possibly any alien they deemed 'too powerful' to conceivably coexist with humanity in peace. But still. It was a gruesome end, one Kara wouldn't wish on anyone.

“I'm going to take his place,” J'onn says suddenly.

Kara starts. “What?”

She turns back to face him and he's—something's happening. There's a red glow that envelopes his entire body, and J'onn's face fades away, replaced by the face of Hank Henshaw.

Kara gapes.

“I've thought about this,” he says, “If Henshaw is listed as 'MIA', or worse, it they find and identify his remains at the bottom of that ravine, they'll intensify their search, maybe even respond more harshly to perceived 'threats'.

“But if I take his place...I can divert their entire operation. Change it from the inside.” Kara's trying to focus on his plan, because, as wild as it is, it's...admittedly a very good one. It would potentially solve...a lot of problems.

...But she's silently freaking-out, just a little. J'onn just—dead! Dead guy! Dead guy, standing here, talking to me! “I can make it safer on this planet, for people like us.”

“That's—you—” Kara shakes her head. “You can shapeshift???”

J'onn smiles.

“I can also read minds.”

* * *

“—and she didn't come back, but satellite imagery suggests she left Brazil alive, with an injured civilian. They entered U.S. airspace that morning.”

“...I see.”

“Did you get the reports on the array? The damage was surprisingly minimal.”

“...I did get the reports, but I still need to look them over.” She ends the conversation abruptly, knowing she'll have to apologize to Dr. Silva later.

But she doesn't really care.

Because how was it, that within hours—hours—of speaking off the record with Kara Kent about an incident at the Montanha Verde installation, Supergirl arrived at that very same location, without any explanation as to how she knew they were in trouble, how she even knew where to go?

The obvious explanation is that Kara leaked the story to someone with connections to Supergirl. Or maybe Kara herself was in contact with the superhero.

Or.

Dr. Hoshi retreats to her office. A sparse room consisting of a desk, a chair, and a meticulously organized bookshelf. It's free of any personal touches—Kimiyo remembers feeling like it would have been admitting defeat, to settle down here. To invest in the lie LexCorp was building, about her. Her career.

Normally, the sight of the office simply depresses her. Now?

She finds herself growing angry.

She sits at the desk, and thinks. Kara Kent had always been so invested in their work. Kara Kent had come here, unannounced, and had basically received a VIP tour, getting an up-close look at their monitoring equipment. (However rudimentary and obsolete it may be.)

And there was that business about the Doomsday Event. And Supergirl.

Supergirl...who went to help with the damaged array. The damaged array that Kimiyo had specifically mentioned.

To Kara Kent.

...A crazy theory, she decides. But then, how many widely accepted scientific truths began as mere crazy theories?

She just has to test it.

But to test a crazy theory, you need funding. And resources.

She looks around the small, bleak office.

She reaches for the phone on her desk. Dials a familiar number.

The call is picked up on the second ring.

“Kimiyo, hello. What a pleasant surprise,” the greeting is not delivered with any sort of sincerity. “Has E.T. phoned home yet?”

Kimiyo refuses to dignify the stupid joke with a response. “I want out of here, Lex.”

“You're welcome to tender your resignation at any time.”

“I know how we can get back at STAR Labs,” Kimiyo says.

The line goes quiet for a time.

“I'm listening.”

“It's just a theory, at this point. I'd need to test it...I'd need—”

“Access to your research? Your old lab?” his tone is mocking.

“And money.”

“Natch.”

“You wanted Doomsday, right?”

“...You have something on Doomsday?”

“No,” Kimiyo admits, and Lex makes an irritated noise. “...I might have something on Supergirl.”

She waits for his response.

There's a chuckle. A laugh. A guffaw, and she's certain she's blown her chance at redemption, that she's destroyed her career for a record second time in the space of three years.

But then he speaks.

“That's even better.”

Dr. Hoshi takes a steadying breath.

“So we have a deal?”

Lex Luthor laughs, in a manner most unsettling.

“Oh, yes.”

* * *

NOTES:

- I generally try to keep the notes to a minimum but THIS ONE’S GONNA NEED SOME EXPLANATION - It took me forever to decide on when J’onn appears in the CAK universe. I had initially planned on just using the date and circumstances from the show, essentially replacing Jeremiah with Kara. - Buuuuuut that would mean J’onn would arrive when Alex was a teenager, and the thought of Smol Alex inspiring J’onn to have faith in humanity was. Too compelling of a notion to pass up. XD - So this kind of contradicts events in ‘the one where alex saves the world’ but those inconsistencies can be handwaved away with: Alex wasn’t aware that her cool Martian friend she met One Time is the same guy as Kara’s grumpy colleague from the DEO. - TIMELINE CHECK: This takes place before, and then after ‘the one with the beginning’ (AKA the Doomsday one.) - As always: the science is just pure made-up nonsense, cobbled together from light Googling and my vague recollections of Contact. - Kara finds J’onn in Brazil as opposed to Peru because I definitely misremembered episode 1x17. - And SPEAKING OF, if the whole trip seems contrived and like it was meant to be the beginning of a much longer plot/mystery, that’s because it was, but I lost the notes to what I had initially planned.

#stranger writes #supergirl fic #cool aunt kara AU #CAK AU #J'onn J'onzz #kara danvers #alex danvers #j'onn and kara centric #long post

21 notes · View notes