#the grey in all their hair SNIFF SNIFF [explodes] | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

father-time-and-baby-new-year · 3 years ago

Note

M-more armin vs eren drabbles please

WC: 3.2k

Title: Melted Candles

Warnings: possessive behavior, cheating, armin x reader x eren, obsession, unhealthy relationships. manipulator armin & toxic eren.

You’re fidgeting with the hem of your short dress that your loving boyfriend bought you, nursing a drink, and half-heartedly scrolling through your phone.

Sitting on the olive couch alone as the musings of a party transpire, you eye the big and colorful banner sporting the words “Happy 20th Birthday Eren!”.

“It’s like Eren to be late to his own birthday party huh?”

A smooth, gentle voice breaks you out of your trance. You turn sideways to face Armin Arlert, a pretty boy with short-cropped blond hair and wide oceanic eyes. He’s all dressed up in a deep grey turtleneck, navy dress pants, and an expensive Omega watch on his wrist.

You must have looked frightened because he chuckles as he takes a seat next to you, a respectful distance away, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. Are you having fun?”

“Uh well it’s a surprise party, it’s not like Eren knows he’s supposed to be here.” You have an immediate desire to slap a hand over your mouth after the words spillover. You wince, not entirely in love with the fact that it was your first instinct to defend Eren.

If you had been more observant, you would have noticed the corners of his lips flick upwards in amusement. But Armin is observant enough for the both of you. He notes the color of embarrassment in your cheeks and continues the subject with ease.

“Ah, yeah. That’s right. Eren hates celebrating his birthday, but they're always a good excuse to get everyone together" He pauses before grinning so wide it doesn't look genuine, "-maybe this is more for us than him.”.

There’s an underlying tension in his words you can’t make heads and tails off. It reminds you of how truly little you knew of Eren's very own best friend.

You smile brightly, channeling all the optimism you could into changing the topic: “Everyone’s trying their best today! Sasha did all the catering and managed to leave the cake perfectly alone even though it’s her favorite flavor. She has the patience of a saint today.”

As if on cue, there’s a commotion in the background. Jean yells at Sasha, “Don’t finish all the lemon-pepper wings Potato Girl!”

Armin laughs and it's a pretty sound, a sound that reminds you of a bell chime. Unconsciously, he shifts closer to you, knees knocking into yours.

“Yeah, you’re right. Connie's even hosting it, and he let us decorate his man cave."

You look at the streamers and balloons, and Armin follows your eyes.

“You did a great job decorating.”

You blush, “It was honestly a team effort. Mikasa did way more, I promise.”

“So humble”, he teased. As he smooths his slacks, your eyes can’t help but fall on the shine of the silver band on his slender finger, an engagement ring.

“Annie couldn’t make it today?” There’s a flash of a grimace on his face but he schools his features right away.

“She doesn’t really like parties,” he laughs softly, “She’s like Eren in that way.”

“Oh,” you paused. He was clearly hiding something but it wasn’t in your place to pry. You didn’t know much about Annie. In fact, you were a little intimidated by her icy demeanor and arctic eyes. It amused you at first when you learned she was Armin’s partner.

Opposites must attract, because where Annie was the cold seeping into your bones, Armin was a furnace radiating warmth.

There wasn’t much more to say with the conversation heading to a peaceful silence, until his arms lightly touch yours, “I’m really glad you came.”

His fingertips graze the sleeve of your dress.

You flush, “Well, I wouldn’t be a very good girlfriend if I didn't come to his birthday party.”

The pretty blond clicks his tongue, “I suppose.” He inhales, thumbs swiping the rim of his glass, “You’re too good for him. Do you know that?”

To say you were surprised would be an understatement. You don’t have a response ready but Armin continues, “I love Eren of course. Been friends with him since we were children but-” Deep sigh, “I feel like I barely know him anymore. No one knows him anymore.”

In a small voice, you squeak “I do.” But the unsureness of your tone made your words seem like it was a question.

Armin smiles, one that’s filled with mirth.

Boldly, he squeezes your thigh, the flesh right below where your dress ends, “You deserve better.” His oceanic eyes seem darker under the dim lighting.

Why weren’t you moving away? Were you letting his hand itch closer to roaming the softness underneath silky fabric?

You swivel your head around, praying no one is seeing anything. Thankfully everyone was too swept up in their own conversations. As if to soothe you, his hands draw circles on the soft pliant skin, “Don’t worry, no one can see us.”

The ring glints harshly. Admittedly, Eren’s soft-spoken best friend is just a little attractive. You didn’t always think to see him this way, but Armin changed, and all the general anxiety he possessed matured into a quiet confidence.

He reminds you of Eren in that way. But still, you're at crossroads here. Is Armin making a move on you? Is he warning you? Should you even be here right n-

Your internal monologue is interrupted by Mikasa clapping her hands, and then putting a finger on her lips, “We’re going to turn off the lights, ok? They’ll be here in a few minutes. When Eren starts coming in, yell surprise.” Armin hand’s leave your legs, the warmth gone.

“Oy, oy, oy. Don’t we need a signal?” Connie asks, confusion apparent on his face.

“Jesus Connie, if you can’t even figure this out, what are we going to do with you?” quips Jean.

Mikasa shakes her head.

Sasha lightly punches her best friend, “It’s okay Coomer, just follow my lead.”

“How will that work since you’re stupider than me?” The hazel eyed boy asks, voice dripping in concern. “Eh?” Sasha replies with an equally concerned tone.

Mikasa pinches the bridge of her nose, “I’m going to turn the light off now.”

Eren would be here soon. You barely register Armin putting his arm around the couch, not around you per se, but the proximity was close enough to send your heart racing.

In the switch of a light, the room was engulfed in darkness and excited giggles that Mikasa promptly hushed. And then was just the sound of breathing. You could hear yours and you could hear Armin’s.

Softly, the blond uttered, “I’m going to do something I’ve always wanted to do.” You could feel featherlight fingers tilting your jaw, and capturing your pillowy lips.

The doorknob rattled. Soon after, light from the hallway trickled in. A still moment. As soon as the kiss started, it ended. A flash of light exploded before your eyes and a cacophony of people yelling Surprise! rang out.

At the center of attention was Eren Yeager, who...did not look surprised at all. His eyes were not even adjusting to the light the way yours was. A tall redhead accompanied him, someone who you vaguely recognize as Floch.

The birthday boy was clad in a white button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows and the top button was unfastened. His dress pants were slim-fitting and black.

The green-eyed boy’s face was devoid of expression. In comparison to his stoic nature, you thought your heart was going to explode.

Wryly Armin says, “Oh look, your boyfriend has arrived.” As if on cue, Eren’s eyes locked with yours.

At that moment, there were too many things to process.

Luckily, Eren was surrounded by a small crowd of his closest friends. You could hear Jean cackle, “Come on! You’re not even surprised.”

You turned your head to face the boy who took advantage of the darkness, a scarlet blush staining your face, “Why did you-?!”

He gazed at you with shining eyes like he had found clarity, not even bothering to feign guilt. With agility only he had, he took your palm in his, “I know you used to like me.”

Blood rushing in your ears, you tear your hands “What are you doing? Eren’s right there. Don’t touch me.” You hissed, scooting away for good measure.

“You didn’t deny what I said.” The blond pointed out calmly, “Yeager is no good for you. He keeps you in the dark about his life and he’s certainly not loyal..”

“I-I can’t deal with this. I never expected this from you Armin.” You shot up from the couch, trepidation filling your nerves, “Now if you excuse me, I’m going to greet my boyfriend.” You uttered the last word with as much hostility you could muster.

Mikasa had her arms wrapped around Eren. Which was fine. They’re best friends. They’ve known each other far longer than you knew him. He thinks of her as a sister.

He thinks of her as a sister.

You walked over, looming behind them. Most of the crowd had dispersed, with only Eren and the Ackerman girl lost in their own world.

What is wrong with you? You scold yourself. You didn’t usually think like this.

“[Y/N]”

Eren noticed you right away, and Mikasa turned around to face you.

“Sorry [y/n], didn’t mean to take so much of his time from you.” The dark-haired girl smiled apologetically.

You could feel guilt gnaw at you, how could you ever suspect her? She waved to Eren, and warmly thanked you, “You did so much of the planning. Thank you.” And before you could reply, she left.

That left you alone with the man himself. “Hi.” You said shyly. He smirked, “Hi babe. Long time no see huh.”

His viridian eyes slowly roamed your appearance, head to toe. You blushed under his stare as they paused longer than necessary on the dip of your neckline, and the expanse of legs not covered by the silk dress.

“So you did all this?” He teased, vaguely gesturing to the string lights, and hanging paper flowers.

He steps closer to you until he’s just a breath away. “Hardly. Just helped out wherever I could.” You whisper.

He hugs you, his tall frame enveloping yours. You feel so safe, pressed against his chest, as his arms compass the slight of your back.

His cologne is your favorite. Subtle, and intoxicating with thick notes of spice. You sniff something else, something overpoweringly distinct.

Still enclosed in his arms, you look up to him, “Did you drink?”

He takes a step back, still wrapping an arm to your waist, “I met up with Zeke. He offered me a drink.”

“Zeke?” You questioned, “You visited your brother?”

Eren was privy to sharing details about his life and you knew virtually next to nothing about Zeke, his half-brother he came recently in contact with.

He kisses the top of your head, and you can feel the loose strands that escaped his bun tickle your face, “It’s nothing to worry your pretty little head about.”

He keeps you in the dark about his life.

“You were cozying up with Armin on that couch, weren’t you?” His tone is light, containing a thinly veiled accusation.

You laugh it off, hoping he wouldn’t notice how tense you suddenly got, “No, no. We were just talking. I was sure I was going to kill myself out of boredom just waiting for you.”

Snuggling closer to him, you stand on your tippy-toes to kiss his jawline, trying to distract him from wavering thoughts.

“Oh?” He asked, “Armin wasn’t entertaining you well enough? Well, he does have a tendency to babble about nothing.”

As he talked, you had a feeling he wasn’t really looking at you, but rather peering straight behind you.

An uneasy feeling fills your lungs, “Um Eren, let’s head to the kitchen. I can fix you a plate. Niccolo did the catering so you know it’ll be really good-”

The tall boy waved your suggestion away, “Not hungry. In fact, why don’t we head over to my best friend? I haven’t talked to him in a while.” You didn't appreciate the mocking lilt in his tone.

Before you could dissuade him, he was already pulling your wrist so you could turn, hand placed on the small of your back, leading you somewhere you definitely did not want to go.

The charming blond was still situated on the couch but this time joined by a woman who was talking rather animatedly. You vaguely recognized her by her chin-length wavy ash-colored locks. Hitch.

“-Annie is so lucky! Jesus, I can’t believe you guys are engaged! And Marlowe still hasn’t worked up the nerve to-”

Eren coughed, asserting his presence. Two pairs of eyes flitted upwards. Hitch sighed dramatically, “Well if it isn’t the birthday boy. The big 2-0. You’re not a teen anymore Yeager. Think you’re ready for the adult world?”

Your boyfriend, who was never one for false pretenses and small talk, ignored her question entirely, “Hello Hitch. If you don’t mind, I would like to catch up with Armin here.”

The woman rolled her eyes, “Guess that’s my cue to leave.” As she stood up, she looked back and forth between the boys, noting the animosity that seemed to permeate the air as they burned holes into each other.

“Why are the vibes so tense? The energies you two are radiating...is reminiscent of a pissing contest”

Without really intending to, you let out a chuckle, attracting the attention of the three people around you.

Hitch’s eyes softened, “[Y/n], I haven’t seen you in a minute. Let’s go do shots with Mina and Hanna.”

Eren’s grip on you tightened, “She’s staying right here Hitch. Enjoy yourself though”

“Funny, I don’t recall asking you. Your girlfriend can’t speak for herself?”

“Uhm, thanks for the offer Hitch but no thank you, I’m not really in the mood to drink right now.” You chuckle nervously, flashing a big enough smile that will ascertain that everything is okay.

Hitch shrugs, “Suit yourself”, and proceeds to walk away.

“Well, I suppose I have to thank you for driving her away. She’s quite...talkative.” Armin breaks the silence. He addresses you both but his eyes are trained on you, “Back already [y/n]?” An easy smile spreads across his face.

You don't look at Eren’s face to gauge his reaction, but you notice how the hand around your waist squeezes almost painfully. The boys stand up to shake hands. Armin gestures for the two of you to sit but the dark-haired boy waves it away, “We prefer to stand.”

The blond gazes between the two of you questioningly but seemingly accept Eren’s response, “Okay then. Guess I’ll stand too.”

“Where’s Annie? Trouble brewing in paradise?”

Armin’s smile hardens, “Don’t know how you’d assume that. She’s just not here.”

Unease pinpricks at you. You could feel trepidation in the air.

“What a shame. Doesn’t Annie like me?” Eren taunts before delivering a line you didn’t expect, “I recall a time where she liked me much more than you actually.”

Surprise is an understatement for how you feel. You didn’t even want to register the implication of his statement. Did Eren and Annie have a past? You lightly touch Eren’s arm in a hint of a warning, “Eren-”

The blond shakes his head, “You’re really something else, you know? Talking about another woman so brazenly in front of your girlfriend? Are you projecting your insecurity onto me since you know” he tilts his head in your direction, “[y/n] liked me first?”

You fluster immediately, jaw-dropping slightly. It was true. You did have a rather big crush on the intelligent blond boy who sat next to you in a class that bored you to sleep. But there was nothing between you two beyond a handful of platonic study dates from when you were freshmen!

Too many moving variables. He was dating Annie and not being the homewrecker type, tried to squash the interest you had. Besides, you were planning to drop that class anyways, and in a twist of fate, it was Armin who had inadvertently introduced you to Eren.

Also, how did that damn Arlert know and why was he bringing it up today of all days?!

Your boyfriend sneers, “Does that really matter when she’s with me? When she’s dating me. And. Not. You.” He punctures the last words out.

“Uhm, I’m right here-” You finally find your voice, “And I’m not really comfortable with being discussed like this.”

Armin’s eyes find yours, “Of course. Sorry [Y/n]. It’s super disrespectful of me-”

Eren cuts in with words heavier than bullets, “Shut the fuck up. Always desperate to play the white knight in shining armor aren’t you? Your duplicity makes me sick.”

As if sensing an oncoming attack, Eren pivots away from you, creating some distance.

Armin closes the gap between himself and the dark-haired boy and bunches Eren’s collar in his fist, “You don’t know how to treat people, you know that? So full of yourself that you think basic decency has an ulterior motive.”

Eren’s eyes dance with mirth, “There’s always an ulterior motive with you, isn’t there though?”. He forcefully shoves his friend, sending Armin stumbling a few steps backward, “You really like pretending you’re one of the good guys when your hands are blood-stained like the rest of us.

You can hear the blood rushing in your ear and you attempt to get in the middle of the impending conflict but Eren grabs your arm with a painful force. He growls,“Step back”. You obey.

“Don’t touch her touch like that.” Armin snarls.

“She’s my fucking girlfriend. I’ll touch her however I want. By the way, just because your little fiance is giving you a hard time doesn’t give you the right to leer at what’s mine.”

At this point you realize you come to your senses, and you leave the area quickly to get help. You scan the area around looking for Mikasa. She’s reliable and always knows what to do. You try to calm your panicked heart.

Gaining speed, you nearly fall by running into someone in the long hallway. Thankfully, the good samaritan is able to catch you in time, holding your shoulders in a firm but comforting grip.

You look up, eager to thank the man who caught you. Mullet. Tall. Slight scruff at the chin. You recognize him right away.

“Woah y/n, what are you running for?” He asks in amusement but one look at your teary eyes has him instantly concerned, “Hey, hey. Are you okay?”

“I-uh,” You’re blubbering, “Armin and Eren are acting kinda strange--I think Mikasa should calm them down.”

Jean’s eyebrows are furrowed, “Strange how? She stepped out so she’s not here right now.” You bite your lips, wondering how you were going to explain the situation.

Jean grabs your shoulder, “Hey, don’t worry. I’ll settle this. Can you take me to them?”

You nod, supremely grateful to have Jean in your corner. As you guys take a turn to the living room, you hear the excruciating sound of glass breaking. “Shit!” Jean curses.

In the middle of the living room stood Eren and Armin like centerpieces, beating the ever-living shit out of each other. You couldn’t see much beyond the fact Armin was throwing punches left and right, landing some but Eren was able to dodge most.

As you move to run forward, Jean grabs you, “No. Stop. There’s glass everywhere. You’re going to get hurt.”

You’re incredulous, “I can’t just let them hurt each other!”

Jean merely looks at you with a look of pity,

#armin arlert fanfic #armin arlet x you #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager x you #eren jeager x reader #armin and eren fight over you #attack on titan headcanons #attack on titan fanfiction #tw manipulation #tw gaslighting #tw fighting #manipulator armin

558 notes · View notes

crazybutgood · 3 years ago

Text

Fanart: With Great Yawns & Stretchings [Exploding Snap]

This is my submission for the creating card in the game exploding snap organised by @gameofdrarry . The rules: Create Drarry fan art based off of a fic of at least 900 words that includes the trope: Pet fic. I’m glad to have the opportunity through this game to make origami for this amazing fic — With Great Yawns and Stretchings by sugar_screw (T, ~22k). Mega thanks to @fantalf for the artist beta, and to @curlyy-hair-dont-care for your feedback and giving this a look through ❤️

Origami under the cut! Please click on images for better quality. Warnings: pet death, mention of alcohol.

‘Harry nearly stumbles as something bumps hard against his shin. What the hell? He looks down to see a gray blur in the rain speed towards a trash bin... Moving closer, he sees the gray blur is actually a cowering cat... he grabs the silver medallion hanging from its collar. Pepper. 18 Diurn Alley.’

[description: A grey origami cat (Pepper) against a rainy window pane.]

‘Harry looks down as another cat, a bright orange tabby, winds around his legs... “You should pet Sandwich before you get a bite to the leg to match your arm.”’

‘Looking closer, Harry sees that what he initially thought was a kitten is actually a much older cat. The fur on its face is shot through with gray and it looks very sleepy. But she sniffs his hand cautiously. ... “That's Solitaire,” Malfoy says, returning and setting the coffee cup in front of Harry. “Our old lady.”’

‘Cracker, a timid and sweet long-haired Persian. Picking her up is like holding a cloud. Follows the panels of sunlight across the floor all morning for the warmest naps.’

[description: Orange (Sandwich), black (Solitaire) and white (Cracker) origami cats. They are against a background of a whiteboard reading 'Cat's Brew Café' and scribbles to denote the café's menu. The cats and the whiteboard are against a rainy window pane]

~~~~

(I wanted to show the progression of Harry and Draco’s relationship through drinks and the moments between them while they had said drinks)

‘“Good afternoon, Mr. Potter!” he shouts over the loud hiss of the steamer. “Small coffee, shot of caramel?”’ ....

‘“It's fine. We're not closed yet. What can I get you?”

“Oh, nothing. It's too late for caffeine, it's hard enough for me to sleep.”

“Okay, then why are you here?”

“Well, I haven't stopped by in awhile and I was just…wondering how Pepper's doing.” ...

"Don't keep Pepper waiting so long next time”’

[description: Five brown origami coffee beans arranged in the shape of a paw print in the background, with the grey origami cat, Pepper, in the foreground]

‘Harry,

Thank you for last night. Liquor and sympathy was exactly what I needed to get through all this. It means a lot to me that Solitaire has such a lovely place to rest. If you're in any state for it, come by for coffee later. If not, I'll see you soon.

-Draco'

[description: Draco's letter as mentioned in the quote above the image is handwritten in cursive on a white rectangular paper. It is tucked under two shot glasses — one standing upright and one horizontally laying next to it. Two origami teabags are on top of the letter as well — one lilac and one purple-black, both with cherry blossoms on them. Cherry blossoms symbolise a time of renewal, new beginnings, and are a reminder of the fleeting nature of life.]

‘He sets two steaming mugs on the small table between them. Harry’s favorite, clay red with the chipped handle. Draco’s delicate china white with thin blue stripes. It had been a few months of living together before Harry had noticed that, despite all the fancy, delicious things Draco can do to coffee, he just drinks his black. No cream, no sugar.’

[description: Two origami mugs, Harry's red one and Draco's white with thin blue stripes, surrounded by yellow fairy lights.]

~~~~

Solitaire

Arise from sleep, old cat,

And with great yawns and

stretchings...

Amble out for love

[description: Black origami cat Solitaire sitting near the playing card of 2 of hearts. The haiku that is typed above the image is written in cursive on the playing card.]

#exploding snap #2021 #i attempt #art #origami #HP fanart #drarry #with great yawns and stretchings #sugar_screw #fic #drarry fanart #mine #ok technically there's no urgent deadline for this #but i desperately wanted to have this up by my birthday #june 17 #it's my bday and here's my gift to fandom!#cbg folds

71 notes · View notes

putas-in-suffering · 4 years ago

Text

Warm and Cozy

Pairing: EZ “Ezekiel” Reyes x Female Reader/You

Rating: Fluff, SFW

Warnings: EZ in grey sweatpants and being cute af

Word Count: 1.2K

Summary: Cuddles with EZ on a cool fall day 🍁🍂

A/N: Here’s the start of our Sucia Fall Fluff Fest! EZ is up first and he’s bringing on all the feels. We hope you guys like it! Enjoy and share with your fellow sucias! Feedback is the preferred drug for our addiction and greatly appreciated. 💖💖

(Gif credit to the outstanding @angels-reyes)

You shivered as you turned the heat up on the thermostat. Southern California wasn’t known for its cold weather, but a rare cold front had made its way to your town, making the usually cool October day feel like a frigid day in December.

You were sure that something had been wrong with the heater too, but EZ hadn’t had a chance to look at it yet. He’d been kept busy with the club the last few months, but now...now things were starting to settle down again. The club was doing well, EZ’s lighter mood a testament to that fact. And the timing was perfect. With the holidays approaching you wanted to fully immerse yourself in the seasons.

You clutched the steaming mug of hot cocoa in your chilly hands, letting the heat warm you. The taste of chocolate danced on your tongue, reminding you of your childhood. The recipe was a token passed down through generations, a speciality during the cold months. It made you feel like you were home.

And you were. Being with Ezekiel had always felt that way.

Your wool socks padded softly on the ground as you made your way to the living room. It was dark out, but the soft glow of a lamp illuminated the space. You heard the distinct movements of your boyfriend from the bedroom as he dressed. He’d made it home half an hour ago, quickly greeting you before he made his way to the bathroom for a shower. You turned the television on to an old horror movie, snuggling into the couch as you waited for him.

The scent of his body wash began to eclipse the aroma of your sweet drink as he made his way down the hall and towards you. He wore grey sweats and a white undershirt, his arms bare. He was hot-natured and the cold air never seemed to affect him as much as it did you. Which was why you used him as your own personal furnace and he gladly let you.

“Better?” You asked him as he approached, a gentle smile on his bearded lips as he took you in.

You scooted over to make room, letting him sit down and spread out so that you could cuddle into his side.

“Yeah…” He said with a release of breath, the tension in his body evaporating as he pulled you to him, careful of your drink. “You cold?” He asked teasingly. His eyes took in your socks, the oversized sweater you wore, and the steaming mug clutched in your hand.

He tickled your side as you giggled, burying your face into the hard planes of his chest. “Just a little.”

“I can warm you up.” He whispered against your head, hands now soothing the spot they’d been attacking seconds before.

His words made a shiver travel down your spine, sending a different kind of warmth throughout your body.

“You already are.” You quipped with a smile, sipping from your mug.

“Is that my hoodie?”

“Maybe.”

He laughed, his chest rumbling beneath you. You looked up at him, eyes dancing over the beauty in his features. His eyes were light and full of love, saying so much without him having to verbalize it.

“Did you at least wash it first?” He asked as he took the drink from your hands and sipped from it. He licked his lips and smiled, seemingly getting lost in his own childhood memories. Abuelita’s hot chocolate was a staple in many Latino households, the drink crafted lovingly by mothers, tias, and abuelitas through the fall and winter seasons. Seeing his smile made your own grow, your hands smoothing over the firm ridges of his stomach.

“No, I wanted it to smell like you.” You finally responded, taking a sniff of the material to punctuate your point. It smelled like his cologne and the wind, with a faint smell of leather. It was EZ. The smells encompassed him, making you feel as if he was with you always. It was utterly cliched, but it was the truth. Scent was a strong sense that had the power to conjure up memories and people. You used it to your advantage.

Plus, the hoodie kept you warm.

A boyish smirk made its way into his lips and you swooned. Your response had pleased him, his arm holding you closer to him as he lifted his legs to rest on the ottoman at his feet.

“The heater still acting up?” He asked, changing the subject. He took another pull from your mug, his eyes settling on the movie playing out on the television screen.

“I think so.”

“I’ll look at it tomorrow. I gotta stop by Pop’s in the morning too. Help him with one of the freezers.”

“If you can’t, don’t worry about it, baby. We can always call someone.” You said as you shifted your body to sit up and face him. You didn’t want him to overdo it on one of his rare days off. But EZ was a busy body. And he liked to keep his hands occupied with either you or some sort of task. Though that didn’t stop you from letting your concern show.

Your fingers grazed his cheek as you spoke, noting the hint of chocolate that was caught in his facial hair above his lip. He leaned into your touch, his gaze both arousing and comforting you.

“I love you.” He rasped, placing a tender kiss to the palm of your hand. He set the mug on the table beside him and reached for you, pulling you to straddle his lap.

You went willingly, falling into his touch as he surrounded you. Everything else was forgotten as he kissed you, his mouth delicately consuming yours as his fingers caressed your skull. The flavorful sweetness of chocolate exploded on your tongues as they met. You ran your nails over his scalp, feeling your body come alive with passion.

You both pulled away before you had a chance to get too carried away, heavy breaths mingling together. EZ pressed his forehead to yours, his hands running along the expanse of your thighs.

“I love you.” You repeated, noting how smooth his face was when free of the furrowed brows and worry lines he often wore.

“I’ll handle it, baby. Don’t worry.” He assured you.

You nodded in acquiescence as he played with the hem of the hoodie. Your own fingers tangled in the chain that hung from his neck, the pendant heavy in your grasp. He licked his lip as his hands roamed your backside, causing you to squirm.

“At least have Angel help you with it.” You insisted.

This time, he was the one who nodded, surrendering to your demands. He leant back into the cushions of the sofa, his eyes taking in your form all wrapped up in him.

You became bashful under his intense stare, feeling the air shift. You traced his lips with your fingertip, the flesh soft beneath your touch. You could feel the desire beginning to course through his body beneath yours. Feel it in the way he held you to him. His grip was firm, the need behind his movements obvious.

“You ready to go to bed?” He asked, his voice lowering an octave.

“Yeah, I’m getting a little warm in this anyway.” You pulled at the hem of his hoodie, a cheeky smile playing at your lips.

“I can definitely fix that.” He said as he stood, bringing you with him. You giggled as you wrapped your legs around him, clinging tight to his sturdy form.

Your laughter echoed down the hall as he carried you to your bedroom, thoughts of cold nights forgotten as he warmed you from the inside out...long into the night.

Sucia Tag List:

@marvelmaree

@visintaes

@otomefromtheheart

@aquarius-smr-writing

@glimmerglittergirl

@arveeee

@fangirlingaesthetics

@maciiiofficial

@woahitslucyylu

@angelreyesgirl

@ifoundmyhappythought

@mheart27

@collegegirl83

@luna8819

@enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat

@everyhowlmarksthedead

@whatupitshuff

@noz4a2

@thesandbeneathmytoes

@minnicelli

@claytoncardenasbabymama

@brattyfics

@starrynite7114

@losolvidad0s

@prdsdjarin

@pearlkitten33

@iambabyharry

@spnaquakindgdom

@gemini0410

#sucia fall fluff fest #sucia event #fall fluff fest #ez reyes #ez reyes imagine #ez reyes x reader #ez reyes x you #ez reyes fanfiction #ez reyes fanfic #mayans mc #mayans mc fx

292 notes · View notes

celosiaa · 4 years ago

Note

hi friend!!! PLEASE keep in mind there is NO RUSH or ANY REQUIREMENT TO WRITE THIS IF YOU DON'T FEEL LIKE WRITING I'M JUST GIVING PROMPT BECAUSE YOU SAID YOU FEEL LIKE WRITING AND I LOVE YOUR WRITING!! what about canon-era POTS Jon? infections can cause really bad POTS flares (my understanding is that it lowers your BP). it could be after any of his many injuries, but even just a cold can mess with it. and ONLY IF YOU FEEL BORED AND UP TO WRITING <3 TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF!!

hello my dear!!!! you are going THROUGH IT right now!!!! I love you very very much and I hope that this fic will make your day a little brighter <3

So have a little Jon with the flu and a POTS flare up! And friends who love him!

CW nausea, fainting

This was a mistake.

Jon knows it, his body knows it—the entire train car probably knows it too. It’s barely a ten minute’s ride from his flat to the Institute, but it might as well have been an hour trapped in a boiler room for all he can tell. Suffocating, you’re suffocating—is the only message his brain will send him, as he sits squeezed in between two very unfortunate passengers on this snowy Monday morning, trying very hard both not to cough and to stop himself from tearing off his coat and scarf this instant.

Being ill always hits him hard—far harder than it has any right to; harder than he is willing to acknowledge, really—as it always seems to trigger his POTS in the most frustrating of ways. Last time he’d been ill, truly ill, Tim may have paid the price for his stubbornness more than he had himself. What with him refusing to do anything to look after himself, being caught by surprise by a fainting spell, and ending up dragging Tim to the A&E with him to be treated for a nasty head wound. This time around, he has actually taken several precautions, with his compression stockings on, a water bottle, and TENS unit in his bag, just in case the muscle aches from whatever hell bug he’s managed to catch compound the pain from his EDS.

Tim ought to be proud.

Mouth twisting in a smile in spite of himself, Jon resists the urge to bolt out of the train car as soon as the stop is announced, forcing himself instead to stand slowly and carefully before exiting.

—

As luck would have it, the lift had been broken down, forcing Jon to climb the flight of stairs up to the street. Legs nearly giving out on him before he could half-sit, mostly collapse onto the bench at the top, his chest heaves as he tries to convince his body not to faint. With somewhat limited success.

So long as the fading in and out of his vision is not followed by a lapse in awareness, he’ll be alright.

Suffocating suffocating

Whether rational or not, Jon has to pull of his coat and scarf right now, or he’s sure his brain will short out on him completely. He tears at it all as quickly as possible, fingers shaking over the large buttons of his peacoat. Anything to relieve the pressure on his chest, whether brought on by POTS or his congestion, he’s soon to find out. Preferably, he’d like to slow down his breathing a bit before coughing again, but there’s very little he can do to control that—and buries it all in the folds of his scarf, hoping to avoid as many stares from passers-by as possible.

The lightheadedness only bangs against his eyes again as the fit continues, forcing him to fold his legs beneath himself and bend forward in an effort to breathe, breathe. Surely it hadn’t been so bad this morning when he had stepped out of the door—he had been quite certain of his ability to control it enough to get by, and hopefully without raising the alarm about his health throughout the archives. By the sound of it, though, he just hadn’t been getting deep enough breaths to force it all out, as the crackling depth of it alarms even him.

All the same, after a few minutes of breathing deeply with marginally-clearer lungs, he feels finally able to look up again��even shuddering against the soft padding of snowflakes against his shoulders and greying hair, rather than panicking about being boiled alive by his own jacket.

He’ll take what improvement he can get.

Steeling himself to walk the block down to the Institute, Jon pulls up his compression stockings from where they had slipped a bit and pushes on.

—

“So I’m sitting there, right? I’m sitting there, barbecue sauce on my titties…”

“You were NOT!” Sasha bellows at Tim, struggling to raise her voice over the sound of Martin’s cackling. “Don’t encourage him, Martin, he always puts this in his fucking stories.”

“HEY! It’s true!! It could have happened more than once, you know.”

“God I hate you so much,” she shouts, sending both Martin and Tim for another round of uncontrollable laughter.

It’s the perfect opportunity for Jon—who exits the lift as quickly as he can, heading for his office with the all the single-mindedness of a particularly winded and dizzy man. Perfect, because no one saw him beyond a shadow darkening the doorstep. No one to raise the alarm as he sinks into his chair, trembling at the exertion of making the journey from the lobby to the basement.

Burying his face in his hands, he sniffs back against the congestion plaguing him, adjusts his position to take pressure off his throbbing legs, and tries to collect his scattered thoughts enough to get to work.

—

Spinning, spinning, spinning are the walls of his office around him, worsening with every cough he stifles into the sleeves of his cardigan. After the initial recovery period when he had finally been able to sit in his office, chest aching with exertion, he had truly felt alright for those first couple of hours—even finding himself able to get lost in statements for a while, barely noticing an hour tick by, two, three. Until his vision started to go out again, and he found himself leaning aching elbows on aching knees, feeling the nausea that had caused him to lose his breakfast that morning rise up again in his throat.

Please, not now. Please.

He’s got to get something in him, knows it would help to at least keep something with salt down, if he can manage it. Regretfully, the only way to stop the dizziness is sure to worsen it first—as his emergency Gatorade supply happens to be in the break room refrigerator.

Text Tim, the rational part of his mind supplies at once, the sound advice on it falling on entirely deaf ears.

Can manage this myself.

I put it there, I can go get it.

Wishing more than anything he had brought his walker, he moves slowly, ever so slow and careful to standing—and stars explode in his vision at once, driving him right back down to the chair again, head between his knees and panting.

Damn it damn it damn it

Calm, just—

Calm down.

Heart pounding in double time to the ticking of the clock on the wall, Jon does everything he can to slow it down, slow it down, ease the stabbing pain of his overworked heart in his chest with the deepest breaths he can manage. It’s not enough, can’t see, can’t breathe—

No no no—

—

Thud.

The sound drives Tim into Jon’s office at once, not for the first time—though never with any less worry or concern. Even knowing what happened, that Jon was almost certainly fine, would never truly take away the way his stomach clenches every time this happens, every time he sees Jon hit the ground, even if he’s able to catch him on the way. And today was especially worrying, with the damp coughing he had heard slipping beneath the office door since this morning.

Please be okay please be okay—

“Jon?” he calls gently, swinging the door open to find him on the ground, rolling onto his back with a groan. “Did you faint?”

“I—yeah,” he replies, more vague-sounding than Tim would like, rubbing the back of his head as he starts to sit up.

Not good.

“You hit your head?” Tim asks as he kneels next to him, already reaching forward to card through Jon’s hair, looking for any sign of swelling or bleeding.

“I don’t—not badly, if I—oh,” he trails off at once, eyes beginning to flutter.

“Alright, easy, now,” Tim mutters, supporting Jon’s head as he shifts back to lying flat again, eyes clenched again the returning dizziness. “It’s really bad today, huh? And you’re ill too.”

In response, all Jon will give is a sigh, draping an arm over his mouth as it turns into a cough, before placing it over his eyes. Something twinges in Tim’s chest at the sight—knowing how much Jon hates this, hates anyone fussing over him even more—and squeezes gently above his knee in acknowledgement.

“What can I do? Anything?”

Still nothing verbal from him for a few seconds—seconds Tim is willing to wait as Jon sorts through both his own unwillingness to ask for help, as well as through his own likely-scattered thoughts. It had taken a lot for Jon to tell him about his POTS in the first place—in fact, that trust had not been built until Tim had to take him to A&E after a particularly bad fall. Now that he thinks of it, Jon had been ill then too—and even grouchier than his current persona of “Boss-man.”

“Was trying to—ugh,” starts, cutting off for a moment to clutch at his stomach, against what is most likely rising nausea. “Was trying to get—get some Gatorade.”

“That’s what all this is about? Getting your nasty-ass purple Gatorade?”

When Jon huffs out a little laugh with a smile, Tim feels very much pumping his fist in the air for joy—but refrains, if only for Jon’s sake.

“Tastes good. Don’t know what you’re missing.”

And a joke?

Should I call an ambulance?

“Tastes like purple,” Tim replies, letting a smile filter heavily into his own expression now. “I don’t mess with shit that tastes like a color.”

A sharp gasp from behind alerts him to Martin’s presence in the doorway.

“Oh Jon, what happened? Are you alright?” he asks, with such deep concern that Jon immediately buries his face in his hands and groans.

“Just fainted, is all,” Tim says at once, waving a sharp hand by his throat to cut off his well-meaning sympathy.

“Right,” he replies with raised eyebrows, carefully schooling his expression in a way that Tim very much appreciates. “Right. Anything I can do?”

“Could grab him some Gatorade from the fridge, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“On it,” he nods at once, and sets off.

Just then, Jon starts up coughing again, so harsh and damp it sets Tim’s teeth on edge.

“That sounds rough, Jon,” he grimaces, reaching up to his desk to grab tissues from atop it and set them on the floor.

“It’s—fine,” comes the reply, of course, accented in between by a hitching at the back of his throat that drives him upwards to sitting.

“Right. Sure,” Tim mutters, rolling his eyes as he braces Jon, whose harsh coughing bends him double with effort.

When he begins to sway a bit, eyes fluttering again—Tim is already to prepared to push his head gently forward and between his knees.

“Easy, easy.”

“Fuck.”

“I’ve got you.”

The shaking beneath Tim’s hands is not altogether a rarity after a bad faint, but something tells him there might be another cause this time. A fever, namely.

“When’s the last time you’ve eaten?” he asks, after waiting for Jon’s breathing to come a bit back under control.

“Didn’t—don’t. Don’t feel well,” he whispers, bending even further forward, enough to have Tim reaching for the bin, just in case.

“Alright, that’s alright,” he whispers in response, feeling powerless to do anything but sit and rub his back.

“Tried,” he starts up again after a moment, altogether shocking an unsuspecting Tim with his verbosity.

“Tried? Tried what?”

“Tried to be careful,” he clarifies, coughing once more into his elbow, and letting it double him back down. “Promise, I—heh—tried. Thought I was fine.”

“I know, Jon,” Tim assures at once, rubbing at his back once again against the trembling, wishing it was doing anything to really help him. “I know, alright? Just save your breath. It’s not your fault.”

Thankfully, by the time Martin reappears with the Gatorade, he’s quite a bit steadier, after the coughing fit has reached it’s end. Much to Tim’s surprise, he even offers Martin a small smile as he cast a long shadow through the office, blocking out the fluorescent light of the hall behind him.

“Alright, time for electrolytes!” Tim cheers, as Martin opens the lid to the bottle before handing it to Jon, who begins sipping at it cautiously.

“You’re shaking—are you cold?” Martin asks, already removing his cardigan and kneeling to place it over Jon’s trembling shoulders.

“No,” he snaps sharply, pushing off the cardigan and shifting around, preparing himself to stand. “I’m alright, just—”

“Hang on, hang on,” Tim soothes, pressing back against Jon’s chest as gently as possible to stop his movement. “Just—hold on a second, alright? Let me get the cot set up in here before you try that.”

“Tim—”

“I know, I know, perish the thought. I get it.”

“You don’t—”

“BUT! But,” he cuts in loudly, holding up a hand to shush him. “You shouldn’t even be here, Jon. You’ve probably got the flu, or something, judging by whatever—whatever is clearly going on here. So please. Just have a lie down for, like, an hour. That’s all I’m asking.”

All I’m brave enough to ask, really.

Another pause, during which it’s Tim’s turn for his heart to pound, watching Jon try to formulate an argument against him with furrowed brows.

And then—everything that had been hunched and furrowed goes slack, as Jon starts to sway dizzily again.

“Oh—oh, Jon,” Martin gasps nervously, helping him slowly lower back to lying on the ground.

“M’fine, fine,” he assures, words slurring a bit as Martin checks his forehead for fever—and if the meaningful glance he gives Tim is anything to go by, he can be pretty certain of Martin’s findings.

“Right. Cot. I’m going to get it, and I’ll be back,” he says firmly, glancing back one more time to find Martin carefully placing his cardigan beneath Jon’s head.

Of course, Tim knows there is still a good deal of fighting to do on the “force Jonathan Sims to take care of himself” front, but this will do.

This will have to do for now.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #cw nausea #cw fainting #jon has EDS/POTS #i love you friend I hope you like this #<33333 #my writing

110 notes · View notes

lesetoilesfous · 4 years ago

Note

Are you taking prompts with the Florence + The Machine prompt list? ;v; If yes, can I request "She’s just like the weather, can’t hold her together" for Hawke x Isabela? Thank you!

This made me so happy and was such a gorgeous prompt for them, I really really hope you like it!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: F!HawkeBela

Characters: Marian Hawke, Isabela

Tags: brief reference to infanticide and making children tranquil, fuck the chantry, mage hawke, hurt/comfort, established relationship, I just really like writing boats in storms, do you like character’s eyes glowing whilst they lose control of their powers because they’re overwhelmed by emotion and Only Their Loved One can get through to them?, this fic is for you

Rating: Mature

Isabela had joked once to her first mate that if she ever fell in love with anyone it would be with a strong gale blowing in a south-westerly direction. She had never thought she would mean it literally. But now, struggling to stand on her ship as it kicks and bucks harder than any deep road Bronto, boots slipping against the deck wet with lashing rain, Isabela can’t even find the good sense to regret it. Around them, waves roar as living mountains, crashing down in blue-grey cliffs of granite that howl as they fall and send The Harpy tossing on the water like an unhappy Orlesian princess on a mattress full of peas.

Isabela ignores this, and the shouts of her crew as they swing over the side of the deck, barely held onto the ship in the storm by the lifelines they’ve tethered to the mast. Templar bodies go swinging over the sides of the boat like shooting stars or diving bells, crushing what crew Isabela has left against the rigging before flying off into the night like so much crumpled silver ribbon. Isabela opens her mouth, trying to shout over the storm. “HAWKE!”

Hawke doesn’t respond. Her always-blue eyes are blinding now, washed bright with light and magic. Her body is crackling with electricity and the tempest spirals around her, exploding outward in a strange suspension of rain and wind before crescendoing into the maelstrom above them. Around her feet are three dead bodies in apprentice robes. The oldest cannot be fourteen. Their bodies are still on the one patch of dry deck left on the ship.

A wave slams into the Harpy will all the force of an avalanche, and Isabela’s feet go flying, sending her tumbling into the wheelhouse hard enough to bend her ribs close to breaking. She swears, and slips a dagger from her belt, cloth-wrapped hilt damp as bloody bandages. “Sorry, pet.” She mutters to the deck as it rises to meet her almost vertically, like a cliff face, and the Harpy’s keel tries desperately to keep her anchored in the water against the force of the shoving waves like a bird tugged off its perch by a particularly strong wind. With a wordless shout of effort, Isabela slams her dagger into the deck, and uses it to help her start scaling her ship as she moves back toward her lover. Hawke herself is blind and raging, lost to her magic, the dead apprentices and their injured bodies as still around her as lambs in a dream.

Thunder cracks the sky open and lets lightning through, and where it spears into the ocean the water flashes from ink black to teal, illuminating like a witch’s cauldron and skittering with sparks that dance over the frothing waves. Isabela thinks she can hear someone screaming. Cannons come rolling toward her with a sound like groaning millstones, and Isabela kicks away from the deck in time to swing her body over the iron, cursing as she watches them hit and splinter the far railing before sinking into the belly of the sea.

Water is running down Isabela’s back and chest, icy fingers digging into every wrinkle and crease of her body that she’d almost forgotten she had. Her hair is heavy and damp as wet kelp on her shoulders, and her knuckles are aching. The Harpy crashes back down into the waves with an explosion of white foam like shattered glass, and above them the mainsail swells with the wind, wrenching the Harpy forward and up the next blue mountain of water that dwarfs her the way a giant would a child. Isabela gets onto her feet and sprints, chest aching with the effort.

Hawke is surrounded by a vortex of magic, and as Isabela breaks through it the lightning skitters across her arms, singeing her clothes and hair. She pushes through, fighting the water and the howling gale until, abruptly, she is in the eye of the storm. It’s silent.

Isabela stumbles to a stop and hesitates, transfixed as she stares at her lover, black hair lifting on a wind Isabela cannot feel here, so close to the centre of the tempest. Light jumps across her skin and down her body. Her clothes are dry but there is water on her nose and cheeks and chin. She is frozen like some strange Tevene statue, reduced to nothing but spitting magic. Around them on the deck, which is pale as sand next to the rain-dark wood beyond them, the apprentices lie as quiet as the sleeping children they should have been. Their hair is shaved roughly, and their foreheads are blistered with burns. Their bodies are littered with bruises.

Isabela holds her breath as she steps over them, and lifts a hand over Marian’s cheek. When she speaks, it’s in a whisper. “Hawke.”

Marian doesn’t move. Isabela catches her breath, and looks up at the whirling vortex of black clouds above them. She clenches her teeth, and touches her lover’s skin. The effect is like getting hit by lightning, a burning punch up the inside of her arm that she can feel in her bones. Isabela grits her teeth, and brings her other hand up to clasp Marian’s face in her hands, pressing forward to push their foreheads together as she kisses her cold, still lips.

Ignoring the pain of the magic racing through her skin, Isabela steps closer, winding her arms around Marian’s chest and pressing her face into her shoulder. The ship and the storm and her screaming crew may as well have been an ocean away. Here it is dry, and quiet, and still.

Isabela holds Hawke as tightly as she can, and shuts her eyes. “It’s alright. I’m here. I’m so sorry, love. I’m so sorry. I’m here.”

Isabela doesn’t know when the storm stops, or how they make it out alive. She keeps her eyes shut, and her arms around the stiff, tense line of Marian’s chest until her lover slumps like a puppet with its strings cut, and collapses around her, weeping. Isabela doesn’t move away, she just holds her tighter, running her hand through the unruly mess of Marian’s black hair as she presses kisses to every part of her she can reach. “It’s alright. It’s alright, I’m here.”

Eventually, Marian’s weight is too much for Isabela to hold standing, but she still doesn’t pull away. Instead she folds, taking Marian with her. The crew don’t come closer, and their voices are quiet - though whether that’s only the echo of the storm in her ears Isabela doesn’t know. She waits until Marian opens her eyes to look up at her, once again fully human, face red with sunburn and wet with tears. She says, “I didn’t, I’m sorry, I -”

Isabela says nothing. She just presses her closer, and rubs slow circles in her back, hushing her. Marian weeps until she cannot cry any more, and then lies there, quiet and shivering, face hidden in Isabela’s shoulder. Isabela holds her with shaking arms, and kisses her again and again. Around them, the ocean sways and kicks gently under a suddenly clear sky. Marian sniffs, and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “Sorry, again, Guessing this really wasn’t what you signed up for, was it?”

Isabela purses her lips, and catches her face in her hands, forcing her to meet her eyes. “I always know exactly what I’m getting myself into, harpy.” Marian’s mouth twitches in the direction of a smile, and Isabela leans forward and kisses her, deeply, despite the snot and tears and ozone sting of magic on her tongue.

Marian pays for the cannons, later. But first, they give the children a proper burial. Afterwards, they share a drink on deck together, sweating and dusty from the beginning of extensive repairs. The crew give Marian a wide berth. She drinks deeply from her cup, and looks at the horizon when she says, “it’s bad luck, you know.” She cuts a glance at Isabela, eyes blue as magic in the twilight. “Mages, on ships.”

Isabela shrugs, and steps closer, resting her hand over Marian’s on the railing and winding their fingers together, tightly. “Bad luck for templars, maybe. But something tells me we’re going to be just fine.” The corner of Marian’s eyes tighten, and she looks away from her, toward the leaping horizon.

“You have a lot of faith in me.” The words are pulled thin, like too little thread across an open wound. Isabela squeezes her hand against the still damp railing of her ship. The sea breeze pulls her salt-thick hair whipping against her cheeks and chest. She’s looking at the sunset when she replies, gazing at where the sun burns the sky as it dips into the sea.

“I know. But I have to have faith in something.”

#dadwc #my fic #alienturnip #hawkebela #da2 #hawke #isabela

23 notes · View notes

kushamikaitou · 4 years ago

Text

A dusty attic

Akechi hadn't fully deduced what he hoped to accomplish by spending time with Akira Kurusu. In truth, it was a puzzle he actively avoided because his train of thought tended to veer into uncomfortable territory when he examined it too closely. Certainly there were plenty of valid reasons to maintain a relationship with Kurusu - information gathering, enemy infiltration, calculated flirting as a means to distract. Sure, he never hesitated to let Kurusu know how much he enjoyed their little dates, but that was for Kurusu's benefit of course. And yet a niggling little voice at the back of his mind reminded him that those reasons were justification rather than cause, a bud of concern that there was too much truth to his words and the primary reason he chose to spend time with Kurusu was that he simply did enjoy the other boy's company.

These were the thoughts Akechi tried to force out of his mind on the walk from Yongen-jaya station to Cafe Leblanc one cloudy Saturday afternoon in early November. It had taken him all of twenty seconds to accept an invitation to join Kurusu in his bedroom for a horror movie marathon, and it wasn't until after he had agreed that he considered what he'd committed to, or why he'd been so eager. It was something in the wording of the text he'd realized, as if there was an implication that the selected films might be too frightening for him to handle. Akechi was no coward, and he made that perfectly clear in his response. "Cool, I'll make popcorn," Kurusu had replied.

He exhaled sharply and pushed open the door to the cafe. Sakura gave him a curt nod from behind the counter. "Kid's upstairs, waiting for you."

"Ah... thank you. Excuse me." He heard Sakura chuckle softly behind him and grumble something about youth as he headed to the back of the shop.

He knocked softly on the banister and Kurusu all but leapt from where he was lounging on the couch. "Hey, you made it," he said with a cheeky grin. On the table beside him was a large bowl of popcorn and two mugs of coffee. "Ready for some nightmare fuel?"

"I hardly think a few blockbuster films will reduce me to nightmares, but I'm happy to indulge nonetheless. Will your cat not be joining us today?"

"Nah, he's not into horror and gore. I think he's off sneaking into a rom-com in Shibuya with Ann." Akira glanced over his shoulder as if expecting Morgana to yowl in protest and Akechi stifled a chuckle as he removed his coat and draped it neatly over the railing.

"So." Akira began casually, strolling toward the back of the room. "We can sit on the couch if you want, but... the bed might be more comfy. I got some pillows I can prop up."

"This is your home after all, so I will defer to you." He gave Kurusu a quick wink and didn't miss the dusting of pink on the other boy's cheeks.

"Right this way, then." He gestured toward the mattress laid atop several old milk crates.

Akechi placed his coffee on the shelf next to the bed and sat down carefully, not wanting to crack the altogether precarious arrangement of the "bed." Akira fell beside him in a haphazard flop, and in his wake a cloud of dust billowed from the mattress. On an inhale, Akechi felt a sharp prickle in his sinuses. The room typically had a fair amount of dust floating through it, he had noticed the few times he'd joined the Phantom Thieves there for a meeting, but he'd never been quite so close to the source of it. He wondered for a moment how Kurusu was able to sleep at all in such conditions.

Not wanting to derail the plans or make things uncomfortable, he willed his nose to cease its itching and his eyes not to water. Kurusu, meanwhile, grabbed the bowl of popcorn from where he'd set it on the chair next to the bed and sidled up next to him. "Alrighty, we're starting with Pach Saw. Here we go, last chance to chicken out."

"Of course not. Unless that is what you desi-hh..." His eyes fluttered, the sneeze refused to be held back any longer and exploded with a grunt of breath into his arm. "My apologies. What you desire?"

"Um... bless you. Nope, I'm good. Popcorn?" Akira pressed play on the remote and shifted the bowl a bit to his left but refused to look Akechi in the eye, flushed a bashful shade of red. Akechi gave him a discerning look, contemplating the curious reaction before returning his attention to the movie.

He grabbed a handful of popcorn and settled into Akira's side, toeing the line of flirtation as always. The exposition was nearly complete when he was overcome by three more desperate rapid-fire sneezes, each more violent than the last, his body curling in on itself in an attempt to absorb the shock.

"Wow, are you OK?" Akira touched his arm lightly, rigidly, his face now crimson. "Here, I'll grab you some tissues." He shifted off the bed and reached for the workbench to his right.

"Oh, don't mind me. Though... yes, actually tissues would be rather helpful." Akechi sniffed, arm still covering his nose, trying to ward off the next set until the tissues were in his hand. Kurusu certainly was acting strangely. They'd become bolder and bolder over the past few months with their lighthearted competitive flirting, and in each incident the boy had seemed nearly unflappable. Yet he'd barely touched Kurusu today and here he was coming apart at the seams. Why was his composure suddenly eluding him?

"Of course." Akira handed him a customized tissue box with a black and white cat on the side that looked suspiciously like Morgana, still observing him with judgement even when miles away.

Akechi muttered a quick thanks and yanked one from the box just in time to double over with a renewed fit, breath hitching wildly in between violent bursts. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes and he finished the set with a loud blow as the first victim fell to a bloody chainsaw on the screen behind them. "Whew, excuse me for interrupting the movie you were looking forward to. I believe this mattress is a bit dustier than what I'm ah-hh accustomed to. One moment." He held up the index finger of his right hand and sneezed once more into his left elbow. Through tears he eyed the cloud of dust in the air, which seemed to never settle but circled above them like fish in a tank, and then blew again sharply into the tissue and dabbed his eyes. He sensed the pressure of grey eyes staring in his direction, but when he turned his attention to Akira the other boy was turning his gaze toward the remote.

"No problem, we can rewind. Sorry about the dust..." Akira's voice was barely above a mumble, eyes fixed on his hands in his lap and face flushed a deep shade of vermillion. Akechi's curiosity got the better of him. He narrowed his eyes toward the boy next to him and placed a delicate hand on his shoulder.

"Kurusu, are you alright? You seem to be quite troubled by the effect the dust is having on me. I assure you it's not a problem I can't manage." He scrubbed his crinkling nose with the back of his wrist and gave a wet sniff.

Akechi could barely see Akira's grey eyes turn toward him behind the light reflecting on his glasses, hand at the back of his neck, as Akechi held him in checkmate. Terrified, caught and with nowhere to run. The thrill of the upper hand thrummed through Akechi's spine, even if he wasn't sure why it belonged to him. "Uh... well... yeah. You're cute is all."

Akechi stared back, unsatisfied with the explanation. Certainly that much had been established already. In fact, Kurusu had told him explicitly that he was cute months ago when he fluffed his hair in public and forced him to wear those stupid fake glasses and plenty of times since. He moved the hand from Akira to his chin in contemplation. This sheepishness was new and the reason for it remained a mystery.

Sensing his confusion, Akira explained further. "It's just... um... seeing you lose control. There's something really... nice about it."

The pieces started to fit into place. Akechi's expression clicked a few degrees toward mischief as he twirled a lock of hair around his index finger. "Pardon if I'm off base, but it seems you're the one who's lost control. Humor me in elaborating exactly what it is you enjoy?" he requested sweetly. Akira was practically malfunctioning at the request, and Akechi was practically giddy with how handily he was winning the exchange, still he wanted to make Kurusu say it out loud. He watched as the other boy located his resolve and pulled the shattered pieces of his composure together in an instant, effectively turning the tables with a hint of Joker's smirk. He removed his glasses and set them gently on the ledge behind him without breaking eye contact.

"I like watching you sneeze."

Akechi's eyes widened slightly as he processed the confession. The confidence was a stark shift from the sputtering from moments earlier, but not entirely unexpected. Now, though, Akechi needed to do something bold to stay ahead. He looked at the boy next to him and set his mind on his next move. "Hmm. A bit strange, but I can work with it."

In a swift motion, he leaned forward and pressed his lips firmly against Akira's, one hand to Akira's shoulder and the other reaching around the back of his neck, pulling him close. Akira took to the kiss like a duck to water, wrapping his arms around Akechi and threading his hands through the detective's soft tangle of hair, grabbing Akechi's lower lip with his teeth and then releasing it to slide their tongues together. Several soft moans escaped both of their lips, lost in the heat of one another as electricity surged between them.

Akechi felt an itch begin to blossom, tensed and barely broke the kiss in time with a mumbled "sorry" before quickly lifting his arm and muffling a pair of sneezes to the side.

"Mmm, don't apologize." Akira growled low, hunger in his eyes as they met Akechi's. "And don't break away next time."

Next time was nearly immediate, and Akechi heeded the command and only barely turned, this time directing his fit into the dip above Akira's collarbone. Akira ran his hands up and down Akechi's back, feeling his muscles tense with every release as he shuddered against him. As soon as Akechi had a moment to catch his breath, Akira lifted his face toward him and, despite the fact that he was now congested and sniffly, kissed him deeply and desperately, and then peppered the corners of his mouth and his cheeks and his nose with little nibbles.

He leaned backward, one arm still firmly holding Akechi, to snag a few tissues. "Bless you, honey." His voice was too full of affection. It sent a shock of panic through Akechi's core and his mind flashed to the job he'd have to complete in a few short weeks.

A blood-curdling scream erupted in the room and both boys jumped. The latest chainsaw massacre victim collapsed in the screen behind them. A shared laugh, and then Akechi blew into the tissue. Akira leaned in and nuzzled his hair as he did.

Akechi didn't have time to analyze his concerns with this latest show of affection because an instant later they were on one another again. Akira shifted his weight and pushed Akechi's shoulders down, laying him flat on the dusty bed. Akechi slid his hands under Akira's tshirt and ran them along the smooth, taut muscle of his torso. Akira leaned down onto his forearms and worked both of his hands into Akechi's hair, dragging his nails along his scalp as their eyes locked.

The next sneeze snuck up on him and as he jerked forward, it tugged sharply at Akira's grip on his hair, forcing a sharp, keening noise from his throat. Kurusu looked shocked and apologetic for about half a second and made a move to extricate himself but a look at Akechi's face told him that the moan had been one of pleasure. A half smirk broke across his face and he silenced the sound from Akechi's lips with his own, lowered his body to press him hard into the mattress. Akira shifted his head and whispered mischief into Akechi's ear.

"Like that, huh? Maybe I can help."

His lips brushed feather light against the tip of Akechi's nose, then minty breath ghosted over his face, intensifying the tickle. Akira watched his nose as it scrunched and twitched, reacting to the attention, and once he was certain they were at the point of no return he turned his head to the side and kissed Akechi on the cheek as he bent forward, leashed by his hair. The release of the sneeze, the pin-prick on his scalp from the tug, his growing excitement rutting against Akira's hips. It was too much. Another. More pulling. More rutting. Akira's lips, warm and pressed to his own. Again and again.

Akira pulled his head back to look at him. "God, you're beautiful," he whispered and Akechi whined softly as he gazed into his rival's eyes, tears pricking the corners of his own, from the allergy or the pain or the affection - he wasn't sure.

Abruptly, Akira pulled away, carefully untangling his hands from Akechi's hair, and rolled himself into a seated position. He leaned for the tissues and handed one over. Akechi felt a surge of frustration from the whiplash.

"Sorry. I realized where this is going, and the shop is open and Sojiro's right downstairs and..."

"It's fine. You're right, we shouldn't, it would complicate too much."

"Haha, it's not too complicated already?"

"I suppose it is."

A thick silence hung in the air for a moment, both burning to continue, but sobering to the reality. Akechi blew his nose again and then reached for the shelf and took a languid sip of his coffee, which was fully cooled but still bursting with nuanced flavors, just like every cup he'd had at Leblanc. If only his life could be as simple as this - room-temperature coffee, secretly ignoring stupid movies in the bedroom of his rival. If only their relationship's hurdles were limited to societal expectations and monotony. If only they'd met a few years earlier, before Akechi was whisked into a dangerous world of shadows and committed to a job that stripped him of his humanity.

Warm fingers threaded through his own and squeezed, and he looked up to see Akira's face contorted into a somber expression of concern. "Maybe it doesn't have to be so complicated. You don't have to do everything alone, you know."

A surge of hatred for Kurusu burned behind his eyes. Naive, trusting, hero-of-the-masses Kurusu who thinks that the power of friendship will solve all of life's problems. Whose rolodex is filled to the brim with a gaggle of adoring followers who he truly considers friends. Whose affection would evaporate in an instant if he knew what kind of a monster Akechi really was. What can he do, but do his best to win? He can't prove that he's deserving so he has to prove that he's better. He didn't need Kurusu, he'd never needed anyone's help to scrounge his way up from the dregs and come out on top, sparkling and polished.

Gently but swiftly, he freed his fingers from Kurusu's hold and flashed a muted media smile. "Not to worry, Kurusu. As I told you before, we can't simply deviate from the paths we follow, but as long as we're working together you'll have my strength." He combed and smoothed his fingers through his hair, feeling it return to its typical relaxed state.

"Hmm." Akira turned away and nodded, expression suddenly blank. Akechi understood that the rejection must sting, but he felt another thrum of pleasure from having regained control of his emotions and the upper hand. The rest of his body seemed to follow suit as well - he sniffled a bit, but the itch had settled into a dull, pounding headache. Preferable, he thought, pain was easier to mask, after all.

They sat in silence for the remainder of the movie, close but not touching, not bothering to rewind through the parts they'd missed. By the time Akechi had finished the last of his coffee and the murderer was brutally disemboweled with his own chainsaw he found himself relieved that it was only Kurusu who had witnessed his lapse in judgement. He felt confident that given his embarrassment over his kink, he wouldn't go sharing the events of the afternoon with all of his friends. No, this secret would die with Kurusu within the month.

The credits rolled, and Akechi smoothed the evidence of their earlier activities from his shirt.

"Well. Many thanks for the invitation, Kurusu. I must be getting back to the station now, a detective's work never ends I'm afraid."

Kurusu's face remained infuriatingly passive, no doubt retreated behind his own mask of indifference. He turned to gather the empty coffee mugs.

"I'm certain you understand why we can't continue. We are on opposite sides of the law after all."

"Sure." Kurusu nodded reasonably.

"Although." Akechi tilted his head, searching Kurusu's still-bare face for the eagerness he'd seen earlier but came away empty. "It was rather enjoyable. One more for the road perhaps?" He leaned in and planted one last soft, chaste kiss on Kurusu's lips. The other boy kissed back, but made no other motion to pull Akechi in. Smart, he knows when to stop reaching.

"See you later, Akechi." Kurusu waved nonchalantly with the ghost of a smile and strolled back toward his workbench.

"Goodbye, Kurusu."

Akechi donned his jacket and as he descended the attic stairs, waving politely to Sakura before stepping back out into the November chill, he contemplated how utterly baffling Kurusu continued to be. The two of them had fallen into a pattern - revealing intimate pieces of themselves and disappearing into smoke and mirrors in turn.

No matter, no use in spending too much time and energy there. Perhaps Kurusu would be good for a few more battles, but Akechi had already won the war. His head still throbbed and he could still taste Kurusu on his lips, but he smirked to himself as he walked toward the station.

#persona 5 #snz #sneeze #sneezefic #allergies #goro akechi #persona 5 protagonist #akeshu #shuake #sneeze kink #angst #the angst is inevitable with these two #there was a lack of akeshu snz content #so i decided to make some #for other snzfucker akeshu fans #there are dozens of us

31 notes · View notes

besanii · 5 years ago

Note

Last night i dreamt about double happiness. For reasons lwj was amongst the mortals checking something out and as he's walking past a mountain side he hears a shout and some rocks falling. He looks up just as he hears laughter and sees a man who'd very clearly just slid several metres, just stopping at the edge of a steep dropoff. He waited to make sure his assistance wasn't needed and then wwx's ponytail and ribbon popped up as he skipped along the edge giggling to himself to climb back up

Extra 03: First Meeting

Lan Wangji scouts the area around the foot of the mountain where the demon had been last sighted.

According to the village chief, it liked to follow unsuspecting travellers along the mountain path, dogging their steps; its victims would only be able to hear its laughter from the shadows before they lose consciousness and wake up a few hours later naked and robbed of their possessions. As far as they knew, no lives had been lost, but the victims now number a dozen and the chief had seemed rather anxious to be rid of the demon terrorising their village.

He stops beneath the cliff-face where the majority of the incidents had occurred and sends out a light pulse of spiritual power to probe the surrounding area for signs of demonic energy. It returns nothing, not even the slightest hint of spiritual power. He gives the area a once-over and prepares to move on, when a shower of rubble slides down the mountainside and covers him with dust, followed by the sound of a cackle from somewhere above.

Bichen shoots out of its sheath and up towards the sound, cutting through the cloud of dust in a streak of silver.

“Hey, hey, hey, watch where you’re aiming that sword,” the voice yells. “You almost got me!”

The dust clears away as a fireball the size of his fist comes hurtling down in his direction. It fizzles and steams when it hits the wall of water Lan Wangji conjures, then fades into nothing. He leaps into the air.

“Ohhh, it’s another hotshot cultivator,” the voice drawls. “You’re wasting your time. You can’t beat me, even if you train for ten thousand years.”

A young man dressed in red and black is perched on a large boulder on the cliff, one leg propped up and the other swinging in front of him as he watches Lan Wangji with amusement. His long hair is pulled back into a ponytail, save for a few locks that frame his face and accentuate his dark eyes. He smiles and those eyes flash red, and another fireball appears in the palm of his hand.

“Fox Demon,” Lan Wangji says, raising Bichen to point at him. The young man wrinkles his nose.

“Demon?” he repeats. It sounds almost whiny. “How rude! I’m not a demon. Even a two-bit cultivator like you should be able to sense if I have any demonic energy!”

Lan Wangji concedes he has a point. There isn’t an ounce of demonic energy exuding from him in the slightest. He doesn’t lower Bichen.

“Who are you?” he asks instead. “Why have you been terrorising the villagers?”

The fox spirit snorts.

“They’re the ones laying traps everywhere to try and kill me,” he sniffs. “I’m just teaching them a little lesson.”

“By robbing them,” Lan Wangji says dryly. “And stripping them.”

The young man cackles. “Their faces though!”

“The use of spiritual power against mortals is forbidden,” Lan Wangji tells him. “I strongly advise you leave this place immediately.”

The young man rests an elbow on his knee and props his head up with his palm.

“Ooh scary,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Or what? You’ll subdue me? You can try, Xiao-xianshi, but you won’t—hey!”

He leaps into the air just as the boulder beneath him explodes. Lan Wangji takes this opportunity to close the distance between them in one lightning-fast step, pinning him to the side of the mountain with a forearm across his chest. Bichen hovers by his head of its own accord, pointed at the young man’s nose and glinting in the sunlight. The young man recovers from his shock quickly and laughs.

“Not an amateur then,” he says. He eyes Lan Wangji up and down and whistles appreciatively. “And very handsome too. Hey, Xianshi, what’s your type?”

“Type?” Lan Wangji repeats with a frown.

“Never mind.”The young man rolls his eyes and smiles. “Let’s be friends! My name is Wei Ying, Wei Wuxian. What’s yours, Xianshi?”

Lan Wangji chooses not to respond and Wei Wuxian sighs, put-out.

“And here I was just being polite,” he sighs. “After all, it’s only common courtesy to introduce yourself to your opponent before you beat them.”

Before Lan Wangji can react, those grey eyes flash red again and he feels a fog descend over him, weighing down his limbs until his arms fall to his side. Bichen wavers and drops slightly in the air before steadying itself. Wei Wuxian glances at it curiously, but turns his gaze back to Lan Wangji, easing himself out from between his body and the mountain face.

“Mm, you’re really my type,” he says, walking a circle around Lan Wangji to get a better look. He taps his bottom lip with a finger and peers at Lan Wangji’s face with wide, curious eyes. “You don’t seem like a mortal either. Let me guess…are you from the Bird Tribe? No, not flashy enough to be related to the peacock. You can’t be from Lotus Pier, or I’d have met you before. Hmm…you’re from the Nine Heavens, aren’t you?”

Lan Wangji is too busy fighting through the haze in his mind to respond, but his eyes narrow slightly as he glares at Wei Wuxian. He can feel a tingle in his fingers as he regains control over them; his forefinger of his right hand twitches. Wei Wuxian catches the movement out of the corner of his eye and dances away before Lan Wangji can make a grab for him.

“Ah, that was a close one,” he laughs. “You must be quite powerful to break my bewitchment spell so quickly. I should probably go before you break free completely.”

He darts back into Lan Wangji’s personal space, grey eyes sparkling with mischief as he presses two fingers to his own lips. Lan Wangji watches with wide eyes as those two fingers reach up to tap his lips playfully as well. Wei Wuxian shoots him one last smile.

“Something to remember me by,” he says sweetly. “Until next time, Xianshi.”

And then he vanishes in a puff of smoke. The last thing Lan Wangji sees is the tip of a bushy tail disappearing around the side of the mountain. By the time he breaks the spell completely, Wei Wuxian is long gone.

He reaches up to touch his lips with two fingers, mimicking Wei Wuxian’s touch.

Wei Ying. Wei Wuxian.

Notes:

Xianshi (仙使) - immortal, also can be used for cultivators

// buy me a ko-fi //

Previous parts here

#mdzs #wangxian #double happiness verse #雙喜臨門 #my writing #fox prince!wwx #dragon!lwj #extra 03: first meetings #this is how they meet!#i thought i might write more flirty!wwx for a change #we'll resume our regularly scheduled shameless!lwj in the next update

337 notes · View notes

deberiaestarescribiendo · 4 years ago

Text

Saint Jude's Miracle: A Javier Peña x OFC (Isa) Fanfiction. Chapter VI

Summary: Javier and Steve reunite and reflect on their past and their present and the hurtful memories they have to carry from their time in Colombia. Meanwhile Isa struggles with her everyday life and not having news from Javier for days is starting to worry her.

Word count: 2,6k

Warnings: PTSD talks, mentions of violence. (This is me trying to solve one plothole from season 2 from a character I really liked and hated at the same time👀)

A/N: So this took longer than I thought, I completely lost the inspiration and words didn’t flow I had to restart this many times. I guess I will look at this in a few weeks and think I should have revised even more, but I promised to post this today, so there it is. This is plot and more plot with a little bit of angst and fluff at the end.

Series masterlist

Chapter VI: Old Friends

Time is a curious thing; here they are many years after: Their bodies are not the same; the jeans are tighter around the belly and the hair is already grey in some parts, wrinkles around the eyes bear witness of the years that had pass through them, but nonetheless the conversation flows as if not a day has passed.

The empty beers sit to the side of the table leaving a small pool of their condensation over the wooden table. The music is loud at the bar and Javi and Steve had been quite for a few minutes now. The question floating above them making the air thicker every second it passes without addressing the matter.

“I should have reach to you sooner” Javi says holding his half bottle, is it the fifth or sixth he has finished?

“Don’t worry about it” Steve shakes his head and leaves his bottle on the pile “I called a few times, but I thought you needed time to process it all”

“The thing is I didn’t” Javi shows half a smile “I really fucked up and when they gave me Cali I thought I could redeem myself. Tried to do it by the book, tried to outsmart them” he leans on the table “and what happened? It was a fucking charade” he snarls

“You did well getting all that shit on the news” the blond agent taps on his friend arm “Shit! I wanted to quit myself when I saw it”

“They didn’t give me another option. But...” Javi crosses his arms over his chest when he feels that familiar feeling, the words and feelings choking him

“You didn’t want to”

“Fuck, I’m a middle age man! This is what I’ve been doing for my whole life? What was I supposed to do?” he exhales deeply, a burden is lifted out of his chest

“Everybody said it was unfair if it helps” Steve consoles

“I guess not Stechner” Javi scoffs

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Steve comes close “He disappeared. For real, MIA. Nobody has heard from him in years”

“Well, I don’t wish death to anyone...” Javier shakes his head:” who am I kidding? Fuck him!”

The two of them laugh out loud for a few minutes; the waiter guessing that their laughs deserve another round; leaves two cold beers on their table with a wink

“For Stechner, I guess”

“May he rot in hell” and they drink together

“So...about that wife of yours” Steve has been dying to ask more about Isa and Connie has tasked him with getting all the information he can gather.

“Isa” Javier reaches for his wallet. In the small plastic pocket inside it, there’s a picture of the three of them on a photo booth, the same day they had to go to the mall to get Elvi’s photo for her school application.

Elvira is seated on their laps while Javi and Isa smile at her

“Oh, she’s gorgeous. You’ve been always lucky with the ladies, Javi”

“Well, I am. I don’t know how she bears with me. I give her too many headaches”

“Connie was happy when they stopped asking me to go on field operations. Not gonna lie, it felt good for a bit getting back to a desk and just do paperwork. But then...” Steve blue eyes look glossy in this light and after too many beers “I saw myself reflected on the glass doors of the office and shit, it hit me; I was old and dying on a desk. And then you called”

“I understand”

“When you said you were married with a kid, I really couldn’t believe that you and I were once those dudes in Colombia”

“It feels like a million years ago”

“And just a few days ago at the same time” completes Steve and Javier nods

“What does she know? your wife, how she handles all that?”

“She doesn’t. When I met her she was...first of all she had left Laredo before everybody knew me for the Escobar shit, so when we met, we were just two strangers. We could talk and I could kick everything under a rug and let her form an opinion about me by herself without interferences” his gaze wanders over the tables: families having a quite dinner; a couple that has an untouched plate in front of them while they kiss and talk in whispers.

“And after you married?” Steve asks interrupting his thoughts

“I just told her the necessary” he shakes his head the necessary is almost nothing.

“Well, it’s better that way, but I couldn’t hide it from Connie. Man! I was out control; everything and anything could trigger me. I was anxious, paranoid all the time. I woke up in the middle of the night, got my gun out of the safe if I heard a car tire exploding or any loud noise and I’d had my heart beating fast for hours. And let’s not talk about the nightmares”

“The helicopter?” Javi asks, his voice is thin almost a whisper remembering the extreme methods the police used when the hunt for Escobar was on its peak

“Yeah...and many others. I keep on seeing the two of us entering that house, but instead of finding Olivia crying, she’s dead, shot dead as her mum” Steve sniffs and coughs moving uncomfortably on his chair. “That’s when I looked for help”

Javier nods remembering so many nights where he thought his brain could kill him, reimaging that kid in the ally, rescuing Helena, all the things he saw when Los Pepes were unleashed. By your hand.

“We should call it a night, amigo”

“I see your Spanish has not improved. Just the two words you knew back in Colombia” Javi scoffs with a grin

“Cabrón”

“Yep, that’s the second one”

Isa

It’s been two days since he left and he hasn’t called. Isa tries to focus on everything she needs to do before Elvira starts the new school year. She has called Chucho every afternoon thinking that maybe he had some news, but nothing.

“Ese marido tuyo aguanto mientras Elvi era chiquita y ahora que pudo se largo” (Your husband stayed with you while Elvi was a baby and now that she’s grown, he has left you) her mother commented once she got the news that Javi was away and he hadn’t call in three days. News travel fast in a small town and she hears the comments about her, about Javi: he did it again, he left another woman and run away, he left her as he left Lorraine. Every day Isa had to struggle with her own thoughts and the constant reminder from her mother and the ladies in Laredo that something was wrong with Javier.

Her brain repeats the same litany:

He must be caught up in something

Maybe he’s somewhere where there’s not a good connection

Maybe he cannot call for security

Maybe he did run away

Maybe he’s in danger

She tries to stop her mind when it gets that fast spiraling down towards the darker scenarios she can imagine. On the third night after he left and hadn’t called she had a terrible nightmare and she had to keep her little night lamp on as she does every night he spends away and every day since then, the lamp is on while she rests, sleeping just for a few hours and then spending hours turning back and forth trying not to think about the worst possible things she can imagine. What would she do if he never comes back? What would she do if something bad happen to him? Even though they had made peace by making love in that old truck before parting she could not forget their arguments and the things left unsaid. He would never leave them like that, would he?

Isa tries to be calm, not to project her fears and worries onto her daughter but each day she’s challenged with the never ending things she has to do at home each day: laundry, cooking, cleaning, and every time she thinks she’s finished there’s something new that has come up. Elvira is stressed, as any kid her age, watching the summer slipping away with its long days of freedom on top of her dad being away. So she’s more agitated than usual, sassy and misbehaving just to get her mother’s attention.

The trip to the supermarket is a long chant of demands: I want Cereals, I want Ice cream. All Isa can hear is IwanIwantIwantIwant and the wheels of her shopping cart screeching on the ground. She thinks her wrist is about to snap open just trying to hold Elvira’s hand so she sticks to her side.

“It’s really crowded, cielo, stay with me” she sighs trying to be patient.

But the moment, Isa hesitates and looks down to read her shopping list, she’s out

“I’m gonna get my cereal”

“Elvi!”

Isabel gains a few complaints from some old lady that she almost railed over trying to run for her daughter.

“Oh, you want that one?”

“Yes, please. I can’t reach” Isa laughs softly watching her daughter acting polite and looking like an angel towards the stranger woman. The lady gives her the colorful box and Elvi jumps excitedly until she sees her mum at the end of the aisle.

“¿Qué te dije de que te separases de mi?” (What did I tell you about running away from me?” the little girl pouts and answers

“I thought you would say no if I ask for this”

“Ay, Elvi. I’m sorry if she bothered you” Isa smiles to the woman. She is on her 40s, Isa guesses, she has a beautiful elegant visage framed by a brown with blond highlights mane. She smiles widely with her scarlet lips: “No hay problema” (No problem) she answers in Spanish, her accent seems different to the Mexican-American accent Isa is used to listen to in this part of Texas.

“Gracias igualmente. Está obsesionada con esto que está lleno de azúcar” (Thank you anyway, she’s obsessed with this sugary thing” Isa ruffles her child’s hair

“La comprendo, mis hijos son igual” (I understand, my kids are the same)

“¿De dónde es? tiene un acento muy bonito” (Where are you from? you have a very beautiful accent) Isa asks, for a moment she thinks that she might be overstepping but the woman laughs softly patting Isa’s arm with her hand stylishly decorated in elegant gold and diamonds rings, her manicure is perfect.

“Colombia,pero ya llevo unos años acá en los Estados Unidos” (Colombia, but I’ve been here in the USA for a while now)

“¡Oh! me han dicho que es muy bonito” (I’ve been told it’s very beautiful) Elvi grabs her mum by the hem of her dress rushing her to finish the boring conversation, mainly because she wants to get back home and open the box of cereal “Bueno, un gusto” (Well, it’s been a pleasure) Isa waves

“¿Cómo se llama?” the woman asks when they’re leaving

“Isa, ¿y usted?” (Isa, and you?)

“Judy. Un placer” she grins

The TV has already passed to that late night teleshopping advertising stupid stuff with even more stupid people repeating again and again the same lame catchy phrases. But there’s silence at this hour, Elvi is sleeping soundly and now Isabel can rest on the sofa, eyes fixed on the stupid people on TV and her longing for Javier.

She took the laundry out of the dryer today. Mixed in all the clothes an old “University of Texas” t-shirt that Javi rarely wears around the house and that she has stolen as pajamas. Without even realizing it, she smelled the fabric only sensing the sweet scent of the softener she uses so she had rushed to the bathroom and sprinkled the t-shirt with Javi’s cologne. And now hugs herself silently praying that tonight will be the night he calls.

The TV volume is set to the minimum and when the strong ringing sound surrounds the house Isa thinks is coming from it until she realizes that is coming from the kitchen. She runs, stepping on Elvi’s toys and bumping her knee over the sofa. Limping she runs and picks up the phone

“Hello?” her voice is shaky

“Isa is me” Javi says on the other line

“Javi, thank God, where were you? You told me you will call when you’d arrive and it’s been three days and I...” she babbles

“I’m fine, I’m sorry...it’s been a little bit crazy” he sounds tired and he’s speaking softly as if he cannot raise his voice

“Are you okay? Are you in danger?” Isa sniffs, the tears rolling down and she leans on the cold tile wall of the kitchen

“No, it’s just we have to go to different places, meet a bunch of people. I didn’t have the time. I’m sorry Isa. Elvi’s sleeping I guess?”

“Yes, but she will be really happy to know that you called”

“I’ll try to call earlier tomorrow”

“Yes...please, she’s being a bit difficult lately”

“Why?” Isa can hear how the bed creaks on his end and his deep grunt

“I guess it’s the end of summer, you’re not here, my mum...”

He huffs

“Elvi told her we didn’t know where you where and you can imagine”

“She hates me even more”

“Don’t worry about her. Tell me about the job” Isa sits on the ground holding the phone on her shoulder

“Isa...I rather listen to you”

“I haven’t done much. Nothing interesting”

“It doesn’t matter” he answers

And thus she begins telling every tiny detail, Javi was silent on the other side and when she asks if he’s listening he just hums.

“Anyway...I guess that’s all. And I hope you’re not mad but your old university t-shirt has a new hole in it which somehow makes it even more comfortable”

“You’re wearing it now?”

“Yes...I miss you so it’s just like having your arms around me”

“I miss you too, Isa. I only have this old dude on the medallion and the picture I keep on my wallet to remind me of you...not that I need anything to remember you”

“That old dude...” she laughs “he’s a saint and I think he’s doing a good job for the moment”

“Really?” Isa smiles widely when she hears his deep chuckle on the other side

“You’ve said I miss you for the first time, I will say it’s even a miracle”

“What? I’ve told that plenty of times” he says a little bit offended “ but we’ve never been parted that much since we’re together”

“You don’t say you love me that much either...” Isa adds

“That’s not true” he says firmly

“Yes it is, I’m not mad, you express it in other ways. I’ve accepted that when I marry you”

“I’m sure I say it many times...”

“You can say it now...” she whispers

“I love you, Isa, and I miss you” he mutters

“See? Saint Jude is working its magic” Isa laughs. Her heart is full and she feels like an enormous weight has been lifted. He loves me, he’ll be back

“So I’m not a lost cause anymore?” Javi replies with an amused tone

“We’ll see when you get here”

“And you won’t say it back?”

“What?”

“That you love me and miss me”

“Ay, Javier” she sighs “I sleep every night waiting for you with the lights on, praying that you will get back to me soon, I sleep with your t-shirt and even if I don’t believe in it really, I keep praying and praying that you will be back to our bed, that I will turn and you’ll be there, so yeah, I miss you and I love you. Te amo”

“Yo también te amo”

“Good night, mi amor”

“Good night”

(taglist: @sara-alonso)

#Javier Peña #Javier Peña fic #Javier Peña fanfiction #Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal characters #Pedro Pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #Narcos #Narcos fic #Javier Peña x ofc #Javier Pena #Javi Peña #Javi Pena #Javier Pena fanfic

5 notes · View notes

jafndaegur · 4 years ago

Text

Sesskag Week 2020 | Day 3: Thriller

Angels of Death

Sesskag

a/n: y'all already know I’ve been wanting to write this one since last year. NOW FINALLY I had a reason to lol

TW: slight gore and violence

When the white noise died and the dizziness abated, Sesshomaru sat up with a hand to his temple. Fingers sifted through short and neat cropped hair and bleary eyes opened, an empty windowed room unfolded before him. Aside from the chair he was in and the eerily unnatural moon behind the window, he was alone. A bump against his back told him a long container separated his back from the support of the chair. And a stale jumper and trousers told him he hadn’t changed clothes in a while.

Disgust twisted along his face as he stared at the unnatural moon.

How long had he been here? Why was he here? He needed answers. Tugging the container from his back, he realized it was large and long, like a cartography case on steroids. But upon opening it, he realized it was a protector for a sword. The iron glimmered faintly and in a flash the name “Tenseiga” appeared in his head before it flitted away.

Hn. So a sword of healing and an unsavory room, of course.

He took a few delicate sniffs to try and see if he could garner anything but regrettably the room only smelled of harsh cleaners. Someone knew he would try to scent things out.

Standing up, Sesshomaru left the room without a second glance, hurrying down the open corridor. It felt as though the moon behind him burned holes into the base of his head. The pulse in his throat quickened. He swallowed.

The corridor stretched long, and it felt as though he’d been speeding through for ages.

Finally a room opened to his right and further down the hall he could see traces of a grating. He slipped into the room first, intent to see if there was anything to help him. To his disappointment, all he found was a large box, a blank sheet of paper in the box, and a screen. The little screen flashed once he entered the room and prompted a single question.

What are you?

-Angel

-Sacrifice

He snorted. Most certainly he was no angel, but how dare the only other option be “sacrifice”. Shameless. He picked “angel”.

The box whirred and groaned, making a loud clattering before it stopped. Popping out at the top was the piece of paper which was no longer blank. It had a small arrow towards the front and what seemed like a series of lines underneath. Sesshomaru frowned and plucked the piece of paper between his claws. He held onto it and left the room heading towards the grating.

The grating was actually a large gate and behind it was an open elevator lift. At the center of the gate was a small slit that looked large enough for the paper in his hand. Slipping the sheet through, there was a mechanical buzz and the paper was swallowed.

The corridor shook and the gates creaked open. A loud voice blared from all around him. “Floor Seven, access granted. The Sacrafice will be entering Floor Six—Angel is notified.”

His brow twitched, hadn’t he picked “angel”?

A green arrow appeared on the left wall and the elevator pinged as if telling him to hurry up. Sesshomaru stepped in and closed the gate behind him. There was three buttons in the elevator. Large and red “6”, “7”, and “8”. He pressed the six.

A hum and a jolt later, and Sesshomaru felt the lift head upward. He frowned and wondered if he would need to find another paper box for another elevator since this one would be useless once he reached the next floor.

The elevator landed and the doors opened.

Sesshomaru’s brows twitched and his throat and neck heated with the sudden urge to vomit.

The overwhelming smell of gore that hung in the new area pressed heavily against him like a wall. The corridor in front of him was dark, and yet the smell of carcass painted a path for him clearer than any light. He opened this floors gate and stepped through. With a crash, the elevator doors slammed shut behind him, this time there was no paper insert but he noted a button. His frown deepened.

Tracking the rancid smells, Sesshomaru narrowed his eyes when he came upon a fairly mutilated body. There were several slash marks, as if it’d been cut open with a blade. And yet several arrows protruded from it like an oversized pincushion as well. An abandoned bag of potato chips had been left by the body.

Sorting through the smells, he guessed the body had been there for a week if not a little more than that—it was so saturated because of the hall’s stagnant air that it was hard to tell exactly. The greasy smell of the crisps didn’t help either.

He traveled further into the hall, noting with a heightened alarm at how quiet it was. Like the moon in his room, the quiet was fake. Something was luring him.

He drew the sword in the blink of a second as white fluttered in front of his face. Feathers fluttered. He slashed. There was a frantic tweet and he set his sword down only to realize it was a pigeon. He knew for a fact that his sword hit the bird and yet even as it hobbled along the floor, it was by no injury of his. The bird had a broken wing.

New fact: his sword could not cut.

He stared down at the frightened creature on the floor. It peeped and hopped along, and mindlessly he followed. There was the smallest nagging of guilt and he wondered whether or not he should try and put the bird out of its misery or brace its wing. He reached out.

The bird exploded in front of him in a flurry of grey fluff and wings.

Sesshomaru barked out, skidding back as a blade sliced through the air. He roared angrily only to be cut off by a volley of arrows speeding at him. Just barely cutting off their path with a sweep of his sword, he was grateful Tenseiga at least could deflect an attack.

Insatiable laughing bounced off the walls and echoed through the air as his assailant swiped her crossbow through the air. One eye burned blue and the other a dull brown. Her skin was wrapped from head to toe in bandages and yet she still flaunted a school girl’s green and white uniform. She smiled from ear to ear, her face drawn in ecstatic craze.

“Found you~” she chirped, lunging forward and swinging her crossbow like a pickaxe.

He leapt backward, matching each offensive move of hers with a planned defensive. His nose told him that she was human. And yet she moved with a speed that nearly matched his. Every swipe, every shot of arrows, it was all followed and prefaced by her damn insufferable laughing. The sound grated through his ears as it reverberated over and over without cease. Grimacing, Sesshomaru figured it would be better to fall back and regain his brings than trying to push through her idiotic barrage.

Side-stepping the blade on her crossbow, he raced back towards the elevator, hand slamming the arrow button on the wall. There was a ping but the doors remained snuggly closed.

Damn.

“Why’re you leaving? We just barely got to meet!” He smelled her approach as she shrieked down the corridor.

He pushed the damn button again and it gave a sweet innocent ping again.

Growling, Sesshomaru clawed his hands between the elevator lift doors and pried them. They groaned and creaked but budged.

Singing arrows struck at the doors, bouncing off the metal and onto the floor. He snarled and pulled the doors open enough to slip through. They slammed shut behind him as the sound of the girl’s blade crashed into the metal.

Her yelling and howling shook the metal container.

Sesshomaru wiped at his cheek where one of the bolts had managed to nick him. The blood was tepid and stuck to his fingers. How dare she.

He pushed the last button in the elevator. The “8”. The pyscho-school girl was on six, and he had come from seven. He sighed and wondered if there would be a way out further down instead of up. The lift chimed and the doors opened.

This floor was instantly different from his or the girl’s. The corridor was lined with linoleum and its light poured generously from LED overhangs. He took a sniff. Like his floor however, any and all scents had been bleached clean. Lips twisted downward but he took in the sights again. There were rooms on both the left and right sides of the hall as well as at the end. Maybe that would be another elevator shift.

Taking a breath, he pulled open the iron grating and stepped through. The doors behind him slammed shut and the shift whirred as if the lift was moving. Sesshomaru’s gaze flicked to the left and right, noting with a hint of chagrin that there was no button to summon the elevator back.

He was trapped on this floor.

His footsteps echoed along the linoleum and he peered into each room. Most of them looked like offices. A big desk, a bookshelf, and two chairs—one behind the desk and the other in front. Four of the rooms had this set up.

“Ah, Sesshomaru, you made it for our session.”

Senses screamed, and Sesshomaru spun around with a flash of his sword.

A doctor stood in front of him. The man had long wavy hair and sharp red eyes. His hands were innocently stuffed in his lab coat’s pockets. A smile.

“Sesshomaru, what’s with the toy?” The man shook his head at the sword and walked into the nearest office. “C'mon.”

Sesshomaru stood in the doorway angrily glaring at the newcomer.

The man lifted his brow. “Do you not remember me? It’s me, Dr. Onigumo—your therapist.”

Not to his surprise, the doctor’s name was one of the many things voided in his memory. Not that it would be mattered. He trusted this man about as far as he could throw him. Although given that he could pry open the elevator doors just with his own strength, maybe Sesshomaru could throw the man further than he would’ve wanted.

“There was a killer, on the sixth floor,” Sesshomaru stated.

“Ah yes, one of the many tenants here in the building,” Dr. Onigumo waved his hand dismissively. “We house souls who’ve lost their way and their minds, and try to rehabilitate them into angelic citizens.”

“She had a weapon,” Sesshomaru egged on.

“So do you,” the doctor pointed out.

Well…that was fair…

“I’m leaving.”

“But don’t you need to know how to find your way out in order to go?”

Sesshomaru lifted his brow.

Dr. Onigumo leaned forward in his chair. “As an employee of this facility, I can come and go as I wish. There’s an elevator at the end of the hall.”

So he had been correct about a second lift.

“Follow me, I’ll take you there.” The doctor stood, hands in his pockets again, and gently shoved passed back into the hallway.

A few paces back Sesshomaru followed. “Is this a psych-ward?”

“Not at all,” Dr. Onigumo chimed. “We prefer the term rehabilitation center. Except we allow it at our patients own pace…as you could see, number 6 is quite slow at change.”

Hn.

“Oh Sesshomaru, by the way,” wariness crept in as the doctor’s voice lowered. “How’s the arm?”

Sesshomaru hummed.

“Demon strength is always so admirable. And the arms, particularly for you, carry so much of it.”

…demon? Something in his memory twinged.

Dr. Onigumo turned around and smiled, his once red eyes now glittered blue—pupils shining a bright vermillion. “Won’t you give me a hand?”

Sesshomaru poised his sword.

Tentacles spurred from the doctor’s back and surged for him. Sesshomaru could see the elevator grating behind the man. He dodged the assault, rolling along the ground and snapping at his assailant. More tentacles emerged, the doctor bubbled grotesquely as if he were made of tar. Tenseiga couldn’t even deflect the tentacles, it bounced off their scaled forms uselessly. Sesshomaru cursed and—

Laughter shrieked through air and suddenly, Dr. Onigumo’s limbs fell to the floor with heavy splats. The school girl from earlier zoomed passed Sesshomaru and swung her bladed crossbow.

“You!” Dr. Onigumo yelled before he stopped. Hand flew to his throat where an arrow beautiful speared it. The tentacled man fell to the ground in a heap.

“Well that’s that,” the girl clapped her hands together before spinning on her toes and approaching Sesshomaru. In the blink of an eye, her crossbow was digging into the underside of his jaw. Her eyes watched him with bizarre fascination. She licked her lips and watch him eagerly.

He cocked his brow.

“Oh come on! Not even a wince? You were so concerned earlier.” The bolt and blade dug deeper into his skin.

Sesshomaru curled his lip and snarled, fangs flashing.

She gave an impressed “ooh”.

“Do you know how to leave this floor?” He demanded.

“I might.” By now she was starting to look disinterested. The bow slipped down a bit. “Not even a ‘please don’t kill me’?”

“Show me how to leave.” Something had struck a nerve after the therapist, if that’s what he really was, had mentioned the word demon.

“What do I get out of it?”

“What do you want?”

The insanity returned to her gaze and her smile gleamed brightly. “Well to kill you of course!”

Interesting and simple. Sesshomaru offered a cruel smile. “My name is Sesshomaru.”

Giggling, the girl lowered her crossbow with a nonchalant spin. “Kagome Higurashi. I’ll be the one to kill you, m'kay? So don’t die along the way~”

Sesshomaru sheathed his sword back into the cartography tube, and followed her to the new elevator shaft.

#sesskag #sesskagweek2020 #skw2020d3 #sesshomaru x kagome #sesshomaru #kagome higurashi #had fun writing this #enjoy #au: satsuriku no tenshi

33 notes · View notes

werezmastarbucks · 5 years ago

Text

Whitmore guy - the boy in a shirt with a bat

Part One

Part Two

Kai Parker x fem!Reader slowburn

whatever gifs I’m going to use on this one, I hope the creators are okay with that

The Mystic Falls team decide they want to get rid of Kai Parker for good - and in a way that would ensure he won’t be able to come back. Death is not secure enough this time, so they go with Malivore. Who knows what the poor bastard is doing down there, but six months later, a new guy comes to work at the college - and meets the reader seemingly for the first time.

word count: 2987 ish

warnings: none

music: blink-182 - down, blink-182 - always, green day - the last of the american girls; Y/N quotes don’t leave me by - you guessed it - blink-182

MAY

Y/N was almost done. Almost-almost done, and the clock was only showing half past seven. It’s still half an hour until full sunset, and she has every chance to wrap it up and go rush to the football field in the town, perch herself on the seats and watch.

It’s just that all the troubles of all the Whitmore students were hanging like dead weight on her, and realistically, if she worked all day, every day, with a five hour sleep, and a twenty minutes lunch break, Christmas included, she would finish reading and delegating all student complaints and applications by the year 2098.

She threw herself back in the chair and pressed her palms against her eyes, letting the green specks poke the darkness. Then she realized that the music she’s been hearing for the last hour wasn’t playing in her head – the sound has been coming from the outside world.

Y/N opened her eyes and listened. Yup, she was sure it was her own brain because nobody’s listened to that reeeally old stuff in years. There’s just nobody left in the whole state of Virginia who’s openly a blink-182 fan.

She jumped up from her chair excitedly, happiness striking in her head like a flare gun; somebody was listening to their song! At the college! Somewhere on the floor! And it wasn’t her!

Y/N left her office and walked down the quiet corridor, following the sound like a thread. What a song it was, too.

Tidal waves they rip right through me

Tears from eyes worn cold and sad

Pick me up now…

The epic teenage angst made you want to go get all the bad tattoos you could possibly spend your money on.

Y/N knew she loved that song some time ago, but couldn’t remember why. It pulled on a surprisingly sturdy thread in her heart and made it bleed in a second; like she was a teenager again, like she was on the verge of a breakdown, and the whole world was full of amazement and bursting, vivid sensations.

Y/N almost ran to the sound, holding her lip between her teeth and never noticing it. Her face was lit with anticipation as she paused in front of the door. Somebody was playing music in the gatherings hall, where the acoustics were crazy, and all the space all but welcomed all kinds of dancing, prancing and hopping. The song ended, and another started to play; and yet she knew it again.

It went like this:

I’ve been here before a few times,

And I’m quite aware we’re dying…

Y/N pushed the door and it gave. She saw the hall, lit by all the lamps, although she was quite sure that the maintenance had already turned everything off except her office.

A guy was crouching on the floor next to the window, and a big sports bag was lying at his feet. Weird, he looked like a schoolboy, and the next second he stood up and she saw he was a young man. The guy didn’t seem to notice her at first, so Y/N had a couple of seconds to stare at the stranger. He was all jumpy, tall, boyish in a way; his dark hair was a little messed up, as he probably ruffled it with his hands; she’s never seen him here before. Being the welfare office worker, Y/N knew pretty much everyone in this huge place, - which was scary, by the way, - but this one was probably new. She couldn’t really place him neither with students nor with the staff. So she just placed him with the good music lovers. She already liked this dude. He was wearing a grey shirt with a stupid drawing of a cartoonish bat, green blood spilling out of its mouth. And Converses. Again, who still wears Converses in Whitmore or Mystic Falls?

He looked up, watching her for a second, and then waved his hand. They couldn’t really hear each other over the music, but the guy still said something. Y/N motioned towards his portable speaker which was spitting out the fast chords and energetic drumming. That was the best. That was the best song in the world, and she was almost sorry when the bat guy ran towards the speaker and turned the volume down.

“Hey- woah, I didn’t realize there was somebody alive here!” he exclaimed.

“Are you having a party?” she asked instead of a hello. They stared at each other for a mere second before letting out the air from their lungs.

“Does that bother you?”

“No way. I was drawn here like a rat by a flute. Man, I haven’t heard Blink on speakers or even on the radio, for ages”.

He smiled, and Y/N melted. The guy was approaching her slowly, walking like he owned the place. His smile was white, and his eyes, in contrast, seemed completely black, but, as he came closer, she saw they were dark blue. It’s just his pupils - so enlarged they covered almost everything, trying to devour his eye. He sure looked like he was high.

Something hit her, and backed off immediately. There was something about him, something weird, outlandish, not Mystic Falls at all, neither Whitmore, but hey. Everything in the closest vicinity of Mystic Falls is completely consumed by its spores. Everything was Mystic Falls color, the people, the nature, and the college; people spoke, walked and loved in such a way that you could tell they all come from the same place, full of scandals and vampires.

This dude, though. He looked a bit mad, Y/N reckoned, his wide smile never touched his dark eyes, and they shone with something that made her look just a little too long. He smelled like trouble. After all these years she’s been rubbing elbows with all kinds of bad, Y/N could tell who’s what. She could tell a beast when she met one. Vampires looked different to her, call it intuition or habit.

But this dude… he just looked different. He was like ink, like milk, like blood. His face looked perfect all-American beautiful, with lean triangle chin and strong jaw line. And yet, it was crooked somehow. He looked youthful, but the look about him said old. The fact that he was keeping silent a second too long, was standing an inch too close, looking at her too closely, all said trouble. It was blinding how quick she felt all that, in a flash, and against all odds, she smiled.

She didn’t know what he was.

“Ha, you’re staring”, he said, amused.

“Dude, I’m trying to remember if I’d seen you before”.

His sharp eyebrows, like two eagle wings, were drawn together in mocking concentration.

“Well. Have you?” There was an inviting smirk on his lips, showcasing two things: he had a very nice mouth. And. There was a reason enough to keep distance.

“No. I have excellent memory for faces”.

He shrugged like nothing in his easy, carefree life, mattered.

“Yeah, me neither. This is the first time my eyes are on you”.

“Wow”, she nodded, “you’re weird enough”.

“I’ve been said that”.

“How dangerous are you?”

“Uhm…” he pretended to ponder, poking his chin with his right index finger. Y/N saw a large steel ring on it, with a pretty, strange scattering of tiny dark dots. A very unusual marking, too, but she said nothing. He had a face of a TV star. She could very well picture him in a sitcom with a lame title like “My crazy family”, in which he would be the geeky, but sexy, smart oldest son of a little bit absent-minded parents.

“Like… eight out of fourteen. I’ve been to a camp once… it was a type of… you know, like a summer camp?”

Y/N found she had to actually focus to follow his thought. She looked straight at him attentively, feeling bright magenta giggle rising inside of her.

“Uh-huh. The Crystal Lake type? Or the Sleepaway Camp?”

“Get out!” he exclaimed, stretching his vowels. They laughed exactly at the moment for Billie Joe to yell about the Last of the American Girls.

“No, more like a concentration camp”, he offered, “but like, you’re alone there, so you have to do all the torturing yourself”.

“God’s sake, what kind of camp was it?”

“I literally just told you”, he replied with a pause, and his articulate face went blank. Y/N couldn’t hold off a sniff. She felt like she was a bit drunk, but that was more of overworking, late evening, lots of coffee and that everlasting feeling of despair one gets upon realizing that work will never end.

“Anyway, I learnt a lot of useful stuff there”, the boy said, “how to start a fire, how to make a knot, you know, the type you’re not getting out of, ever. A-and, like, how to make stakes out of sticks”.

Alert reddened Y/N skull from the inside. She tilted her head. Reading him was in vain. This dude was misty, he was shut off like a persona that’s uncrackable simply because it never really existed.

“What for?”

“Oh, you know, grilled sausages and stuff”.

She reprimanded herself silently for being a basket case. Yeah, sure. Grilled sausages, and only then – killing vampires; that’s how it works in the normal world.

“What about you?” he asked suddenly.

“Huh?”

“How dangerous are you?”

“Ow, extremely. I mean, look at me”.

She stretched out her arms, displaying herself (like a complete sellout, she thought. There goes the very first male who listens to Green Day and blink-182 and you’re already opening your ribcage for him, what a piece of work).

Diligently, the guy took a step back to get a better view. It was all very comical, with a very characteristic soundtrack.

“I am really looking, and I have thoughts. What exactly do you mean?”

“Small. Disproportional limbs. Frail muscles. Do you see? Very angry as a result. Very angry all my life. So, very dangerous”.

He smiled joyfully, wide, bright sparkles exploding in the dark of his eyes.

“I got it. Not gonna piss you off. Actually, I guess, since I’m new here, I should bond with the strong ones, right? I’ll be working as your computer guy. You need something fixed, so that you owe me a favor and don’t kill me when you get mad?”

Y/N scratched her temple, thinking if she needed anything in her laptop fixed. Ridiculously, there was something.

“Funny you should ask. I have the stupidest problem… I… what’s your name again?”

“Oh, my manners”, the guy sighed gravely, and outstretched his hand, “Mal. And you..?”

She considered his palm for a second before shaking it. A light buzz stung her which she barely noticed. Mal’s shirt was probably all synthetic fabric. She told him her name, and he gave a nod.

“Are you really an IT guy?”

“Why would I lie?” he asked, puzzled. He pointed behind his back, turning a little:

“You see that wall? I’m tearing out the old wiring right now. That’s why I’m here so late. Tomorrow you’re gonna have new wi-fi, with the dopest name and the password you’ll never guess”.

Y/N could instantly think of a thousand passwords that were puns for punk rock songs’ names. She abstained from vocalizing them all immediately.

“Alright then”.

“What stupid problem are you having? Have you tried to…” his eyebrows moved suggestively, like he was about to say something R-rated. “…you know?”

“Nah, it’s with the browser. The default search engine is Yahoo for some reason, and I hate Yahoo with burning passion… I’ve no idea how to make it Google again”.

“Are you for real?”

“Yeah. I’m the college sociologist, not a bloody programmer”.

Mal couldn’t help laughing. He headed for the doors, hopping a little in the rhythm of the song.

“Perhaps I made a mistake in detecting you as one of the leaders of this pride”, he mumbled, “where’s your office? You’re the sociologist here?”

Y/N followed him into the corridor.

“Yup”.

“What exactly does it mean?”

“If they need somebody to listen to how they’re closeted gays, I listen. If they need me to fill out the forms for their loans, I fill them out. If teachers had a party the night before and can’t come in now because they’re hungover, I come in instead and take their classes. If…”

“Gee, how much do they pay you for that?”

Y/N felt her face move, all parts of it separately. Just thinking about it was unnerving. But that’s the job she asked for. That’s the responsibility she’d grown into. She’d been a teacher herself for some time, and then got tired of the creative pressure of coming up with the new ways of explaining one thing every day; she thought this position would bring some diversity in her everyday thinking style. She was being silly. However, when she realized she was worked up, it also brought a strange taste of satisfaction in a way that she was giving all of her, and her conscience was clear. She explained all that to Mal. Then she pushed her door and they found themselves in her darkened office. The first pink flames of raspberry sunset were trying the sky.

“Damn it”, she swore, “I’m late for sunset again”. How the fuck long did she spend in the gatherings hall?!

“You like watching it?”

“Sure. It’s like the doorframe syndrome, have you heard about it?”

Mal smiled, sprinting to her laptop that’s been waiting for her on the desk, abandoned.

“Oh yeah”, he sneered, “I was just thinking about it, but then I entered this room and forgot”.

Y/N sat in the armchair on the opposite side of her desk, thinking to herself, he’s probably gonna die really soon. Like Brandon, the last interesting dude she’d met in Mystic Falls back when she was on the haul, working at the Grill. Brandon was the best bartender the place had ever seen in its prolonged history, and he was also very clearly interested in Y/N, too. They worked together a lot, and drank at night even more. They got to know each other pretty well, which made it even worse when someone came in, in the broad daylight, and broke his neck. Just when Y/N thought that the Mystic Falls curse has been lifted and normal people could feel safe. It’s been two years, or even more, since then, and now she sat there, cynical and certain, that such a cool dude like Mal wouldn’t last here long. The place consumes people like him – those who wake up her desire to live again.

“Oh-kay, I’ll just close all this porn here”, Mal looked at the screen. Y/N has been writing a report when she heard the music, and left the document open. “You wanna Google by default?”

“Yes”.

“Come here and learn while I’m alive”, Mal said solemnly, not noticing the look she gave him, stunned at the sinister coincidence of thinking.

She circled the desk and stood at his shoulder. Mal smelled of candy (literally this time), so sweet it was almost suffocating. Did he fucking rub it in his hair?! Y/N thought of tricksters casually, the Scandinavians like Loki, whose only downfall was in that extra sweet smell of all kinds of sugar poison that gave them away. Could Mal be a malevolent spirit, luring her into a trap? What’s he gonna do? Eat her insides?

“Are you looking?”

“Yes”.

“It’s two seconds. See?”

“Oh”.

Mal turned to her in her own armchair like he owned it and looked up without a shade of awkwardness.

“You seriously didn’t know how to do that? I don’t even need to be an IT specialist to be able to fix that”.

“What are you getting at?” Y/N barked defensively. She prided herself in not understanding anything about computers, like it made her old in a wise way.

“I gotta tell you before we kick it off – I have a girlfriend”.

Y/N digested it for a second.

“Oh, you smug face”, she spat out, “you think I’m hitting on you?”

“I mean…” his innocent-wild eyes acted very well.

“I don’t know shit about this computer crap, I thank God every day I manage to even turn it on…”

“You’re cool and very nice, but…”

“I don’t hit on people”, Y/N banged herself in the chest, “people hit on me”.

Mal puffed with laughter, still looking up.

“Okay, sorry. I’ve never met anyone like you. Quiet so… helpless”.

“There. Don’t you ever assume…”

“We’re gonna be friends though, right?”

Y/N shrugged.

“Sure. Emos gotta stick together, or else we commit unspeakable things. Now, get out of my office”.

“I prefer to think of myself as a broke-free treasure hunter, thank you very much”.

Mal was smiling like a cunning happy brat as he walked out of the door. He stopped half way, catching himself on the handle. Having crossed the line of the doorframe, he must have recalled something.

“What did you say about the sunsets? And the syndrome?”

“Oh, yeah”, Y/N uttered, propping herself back at the computer. She could feel evening migraine coming, together with the song blasting and echoing from the hall down the corridor. “When I see that, you know, the bloody pink when it’s just ending, I feel like I’m remembering something I’d forgotten. It’s a weird feeling. Kind of like a déjà vu backwards. You ever had that?”

Mal blinked, thinking. Seriously, this time. Looking at him, Y/N decided, that yes, they were going to be friends. He was making her feel something. Something good about all this job, and all that was in her past. All that she thought she outgrew. He was clear, black and white, sturdy, holding on to her door like he was keeping it in place.

“You have to have your head checked, Y/N. It might be terminal…”

“Get out, Mal. Don’t let my door hit your ass”.

“Jesus, you’re really obsessed with blink-182, aren’t you?”

Y/N felt no shame.

#kai parker #kai parker x reader #kai parker imagine #vampire diaries #imagine #whitmore guy

97 notes · View notes

scones-and-texting-and-murder · 5 years ago

Text

Sweater Weather

(AO3 link 2676 words, general audiences)

Written for the @holidaymixtape and featuring adorable art by @bs-acorns!

“They’re looking for a barista at the dog park,” Sam had said, a combination of words so nonsensical that Dean asked him if he’d hit his head.

Sam rolled his eyes. “I told you I’ve been taking Phoebe to the park.”

When Sam finally reached the point where he could get a dog, he’d gone right for a Great Dane, like he was making up for all his dogless years with the biggest one he could find. Next to most people, Great Danes seemed like miniature ponies, but Dean couldn’t deny that Phoebe looked perfectly proportional striding along his oversized, long-legged brother. Despite her size, she was the world’s biggest couch potato, sometimes sitting down on the sidewalk to declare herself done in the middle of walks. As it was nearly impossible to convince one hundred and twenty-five pounds of stubborn dog to do anything, Sam began exploring other options. In doing so, he discovered that taking her to a park resulted in her loping around, sniffing and peeing in a nearly infinite loop, getting some much-needed exercise without Sam needing to cajole her for blocks at a time.

Dean pretended like he wasn’t quite sure. “You mean the one where Eileen goes?”

Sam blushed and Dean smiled smugly, happy to see his big brother intuition hadn’t failed him. He’d been “casually mentioning” Eileen and her service dog with telling frequency.

That’s when Sam explained that there was a coffee shop on site at the park.

Before Dean applied for the job, he’d never considered the logic of a coffee shop/dog park combo, but the more he learned, the more sense it made. Dog people, it turned out, loved to socialize with other dog people, and they would stay at the same location for hours on end if their dogs were happy. If they could capitalize on that by selling hot drinks to cold people, then really, it was a win-win. And while Dean might not have been a dog person, he could chat up customers and make drinks like nobody’s business.

That had been a year ago. Now Sam and Eileen were making plans to move in together, and whereas Dean started out barely able to tell a bichon from a beagle, he was currently familiar with at least a half-dozen types of terrier. And while he’ll never admit it to anyone, one time he’d accurately identified a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, leaving him with the same self-congratulatory rush he imagined birders got when they added to their life lists.

Not only had Dean gotten familiar with the dogs, he’d gotten to know a number of the owners as well. Dean didn’t quite buy the theory that dogs and their owners started to resemble each other, but he couldn’t deny the perfect pairing of Garth with his tall, skinny whippet or Mildred, whose old poodle mix shared her grey curls and slow, stiff gait.

Then there was Cas.

He was tall and broad-shouldered with strong runner’s legs. He had wild dark hair that looked like he’d walked through a windstorm no matter the weather, and his eyes were an almost unearthly blue. Dean could see him with a husky maybe, or a chocolate lab that could run alongside him, its tongue hanging out as it easily kept pace.

Whatever Dean expected, it wasn’t a small and sturdy pug. The first time he’d shown up, Dean knelt down to greet the pup, and he’d asked--like he always did--the dog’s name. He made a point of trying to remember them because that was just good customer service.

Dean let the dog sniff his hand before running his palm over her short, smooth coat. Excited by the attention, the dog’s eyes bulged and it snorted through its pushed-in nose. Dean felt his own eyes widen in response and he used the opportunity to glance back up at the handsome owner. “What’s your dog’s name?”

The man took a moment to answer as he was busy gazing fondly at the snorting creature. “Zeus.”

Dean looked back at the dog who couldn’t weigh more than about twelve pounds, and laughed. “That’s hilarious.”

The man looked apologetic. “I didn’t name her.”

“No?” Dean tried not to think about the fact that he probably had an equally gorgeous girlfriend who’d bestowed the name.

“I acquired her from a rather unscrupulous breeder. It seemed wrong to change her name when everything else had been taken from her.” His brow furrowed in such a sorrowful way that suddenly a pug seemed like his perfect companion.

Dean got back to his feet. “Oh, wow. That’s great. That you rescued her, I mean.”

“Thank you,” he said with a sincerity that had Dean biting back a smile.

“Welcome to Pups and Cups.” Dean held out his hand. “I’m Dean.”

“Cas.”

Dean liked a lot of things about Cas. Like the way he kept close to Zeus in the park. Plenty of owners unclipped their dogs from the leash and settled down on a bench, but Cas moved slowly around the park with her, like he was worried the bigger dogs might get a little too rough. He liked the way Cas seemed oblivious to exactly good-looking he was, either missing out on (or not interested in) the way both men and women tried to strike up conversations with him. He liked that Cas had an earnestness about him that was oddly endearing, an almost shy formality that made each smile Dean got out of him extremely gratifying. It generally involved greeting Zeus, so Dean made a habit of addressing her and pretending to take her order before getting his. Maybe it was the predictability of the interaction, but Cas seemed to genuinely enjoy the joke. He’d give Dean that full-on smile, the real one where his eyes crinkled.

“Ask him out,” Charlie told him after he’d gone through this routine one day.

“I dunno.”

“Dean. You spent the last forty-five minutes with one eye on the door waiting for him to show up.”

“Keeping an eye out for new customers is an important part of the job.”

“You elbowed me out of the way to take his order.”

“I did not,” he insisted as she sadly rubbed her upper arm. “Wait, did I really?”

“Of course you didn’t.” She grinned, validated. “But clearly you didn’t consider it out of the realm of possibility. Oh hey, here he comes again.”

“Shut up,” he hissed at her as Cas made his way back into the coffee shop. “What’s up, Cas? Does Zeus need extra whip?” He ignored the soft groan Charlie made.

“Actually, Dean, I just wanted to let someone know that the poop bag dispenser is empty.”

“I’m on it. Thanks for letting me know.” Cas’s cheeks were pink from the cold December day. So were the tips of his ears. Something about it made his eyes look extra blue. Dean didn’t realize they were still standing and staring until he felt something whap him in the arm.

“Here you go, buddy. Why don’t you go take care of that right now?” Charlie gave him a faux innocent look and Dean looked down to find the package of refills in his hands. “I’ll watch the front.”

Charlie was the best friend Dean had ever had, and she was practically bouncing on her toes when he came back inside. “Well? Did you ask him?”

Dean shook his head. “Charlie, I’m the guy who makes him coffee and replaces the poop bags. I’m not a guy he’s looking to go out with.”

“Dean--” Charlie began, a soft look on her face that was worse than if she’d yelled at him.

“It’s fine.” He was saved from any further discussion when a group of people and dogs came in through the door.

***

As December progressed, Charlie continued encouraging him to ask Cas out and Dean continued to refuse. He was fine for dumb jokes and he knew he made a damn good latte, but Cas had a real job doing...something important. From time to time Dean overheard him take a work call on his cell phone and it was all I’ll get you the files and Let me run the numbers and other fancy shit that reminded Dean that Cas was out of his league.

It was all good. Dean could continue to look forward to the few moments when Cas had those blue eyes focused on him, he could take satisfaction in making him smile and presenting him with a hot drink on a cold day. He didn’t need more.

One afternoon, he was crouched down in front of the counter giving a handsome Shepherd mix named Otto his puppacino. Otto’s overly large dark ears perked up when Zeus bounded over to say hello. It was well past the time Cas usually showed, so Dean had assumed he wasn’t coming, but from the looks of her, today was clearly a special occasion. She was dressed in a red and green Christmas sweater, adorned with a dog wearing sparkly green slippers and a candy-striped elf hat.

“Well, look at you!” Dean said, as she pushed her snout into his waiting hand. He got to his feet, laughing in delight when he realized Cas was wearing a matching sweater. “You guys been to an ugly sweater party or what?”

The familiar smile didn’t cross Cas’s face. If anything he looked more serious, his head tipping to the side. “Why do you ask?”

“Uh,” Dean said, praying for the floor to open beneath him. Or for the espresso maker to explode and vaporize him where he stood. Anything.

“Oh,” Cas said, as if it suddenly all made sense, and Dean thought maybe he’d be able to breathe again. He pointed to his sweater. “Maybe you didn’t realize that this is a pug.”

Dean looked more closely. It was indeed a pug. A pug, wearing an elf hat adorned with sparkly pom poms perched on a shiny red and green striped present. If that weren’t gaudy enough, green and red satin bows were scattered across the sweater.

Cas smoothed his hand over his chest in a most distracting way. “It’s even a girl! See?”

“A tutu,” Dean said, not sure if he was going to laugh or cry. “She’s...wearing a tutu.” And she was indeed, made of bright red netting.

“It’s our first Christmas together.” His eyes were shining.

Charlie, who had apparently witnessed this entire debacle, came to his rescue. “Dean, could you please. Get that thing. From the back.”

Gratefully Dean nodded. “Yeah. Sure.” In the back he stood with his forehead against the cold stainless steel of the refrigerator, trying to let it soothe the embarrassment that heated his face.

A few minutes later, Charlie poked her head through the door. “The coast is clear.”

Dean thumped his head once against the fridge before straightening up. Charlie watched him, concern in her eyes as he came back out. “What do I do?”

“I...don’t think he’s upset?” Charlie glanced out the window to where Cas was doing his normal route following Zeus around the park.

“Yeah, but he thought I was making fun of him.”

“That’s because you were.”

“What was I supposed to think?” The embarrassment was making him defensive, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “Who would wear a sweater like that sincerely?” Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. “I fucked this up.”

“I have an idea,” Charlie said.

***

The next day she arrived with a large shopping bag. They were still thirty minutes from opening and she pulled him into the back.

“Are you sure this is going to work?”

She nodded decisively. “I’m absolutely positive that it won’t make things worse.”

“That’s not exactly...reassuring.”

“Look, Dean. If you don’t want him to think you were making fun of him, then you have to put your money where your mouth is.” She reached into the bag. “Speaking of, you owe me $24.99.”

“He won’t be in until this afternoon. Can’t I put it on then?”

“No way. For this to work, you need to wear it unironically all day.”

Dean pulled off his outer layer and took a deep breath before pulling the sweater over his head. ”Not a word.”

In a flash, Charlie had her phone out to snap a picture. “You’re a hero.” She moved closer to show him. The bright red sweater was dominated by a large Christmas tree made from those sequins that changed color when flipped over. Next to the Christmas tree was a pug wearing a Christmas sweater of its own. In large letters under the tree it said BAH HUM PUG.

Dean took in a long, slow breath through his nose.

“He’s gonna love it,” Charlie said, using two fingers to flip the sequins.

He pushed her hand away. “Consent is a thing. I gotta get to work.”

All morning long Dean dealt with amused looks and a variety of snarky comments.

“You lose a bet?” he muttered as sarcastically as possible with his back turned to the counter after hearing it for the umpteenth time. The more people gave him shit--little joking comments that shouldn’t have meant anything but that built up over time until he was ready to substitute decaf in all their fucking high maintenance orders--the more defensive he got, going from shrugging apologetically and trying to laugh along, to glaring, his chest puffed out like a soldier. Why the fuck shouldn’t he be able to wear whatever he wanted without people making disparaging comments? It was an object lesson in...what did Sam call them? Microaggressions. He was making a mental note to text his brother and let him know he finally understood when Cas and Zeus came in.

Now the shyness that he’d started his shift with washed over him again. What if Cas didn’t notice, or what if he thought Dean was making fun of him. Again. He heard Charlie murmur “Here we go,” as she moved into place to take over the customer ahead of Cas.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said. “Did you get a new sweater?”

“Heya, Cas. I did.” Dean knew this was the whole point, but he felt self-conscious and couldn’t seem to keep from rushing to take his order. “You want your usual?”

But Cas was still staring at his chest and a small smile had crossed his face. As Dean watched, he disappeared out of view, popping up a moment later with Zeus in his arms. “Look, baby,” he practically cooed in his rough, deep voice. “It’s a pug just like you.”

Dean stood a little taller, tugging at the front of his sweater like it would help her see better.

“May I?” Cas asked, nodding toward Dean.

“Uh, sure?” Dean wasn’t quite sure what he was agreeing to, but cradling the dog in one arm, Cas reached out and smoothed a hand over the sequins on his chest. Dean’s mouth went suddenly dry. Cas’s hand was a firm presence, warm even through the sweater. He stroked up and down, evidently delighted. Zeus snorted and pressed her nose under Cas’s chin.

It was now or never.

“Would you like to go out some time?” It came out in a rush, Dean almost breathless with nerves and Cas’s palm on his chest.

Cas went still but he didn’t drop his hand. His blue eyes widened in surprise. “I would love to.”

“Cool,” Dean said. “Cool. Ok. We’ll do that.” They stood and smiled at each other until the customer behind Cas cleared his throat. “Let me get your coffee.” This time Dean carefully wrote his number on the cup.

***

A few months later, Cas and Zeus showed up in matching red sweaters. Each one had a shiny satin pink heart with an applique of a pug in the center. In big letters were the words Pugs and Kisses. “It’s our first Valentine’s Day together,” he explained to Charlie, after giving Dean a quick kiss.

Dean was already wearing his.

#deancas #destiel #ugly holiday sweaters #cas + dogs #coffee shop au #2019 spn holiday mixtape #my writing

141 notes · View notes

breathlester · 4 years ago

Text

moment of epiphany, in gold light

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

summary: a proposal on new year’s eve

genre/themes: fluff, established relationship, proposal, new year’s eve content warnings: mentions of alcohol

excerpt:

The door to the balcony opens, revealing Phil with his duvet still wrapped around his shoulders like a cape, the garish yellow of his emoji pyjamas poking out underneath.

Dan grins in relief, scooting over on the bench. "Did you find it?"

But Phil doesn't move to sit beside him. And when he unfolds his arms in front of his body, no bottle comes into view in his hands.

Only a small, velvet box.

Dan's sat outside on their balcony, wrapped in the sad pimp blanket, nursing a nearly empty mug of chamomile tea. A breeze whistles past his pyjama clad legs that are folded underneath him, and he shivers.

"We really ought to get a portable heater for out here," he yells over his shoulder in the vague direction of the kitchen door, where Phil has disappeared to a few minutes ago on the quest for champagne.

It's New Year's Eve 2018, and they've got a lot to celebrate.

Phil has returned only a day ago from the Isle of Man and naturally, they both opted for ringing in the new year alone together, in the comfort of their apartment. It's odd, really, how much it feels like home, Dan muses, considering that they've spent most of the year away, in hotel rooms, in places they'd never been.

Dan hasn't missed the apartment while on tour, but longed for it quite a bit in the few days he spent with his family. Because of course, it isn't so much the building that offers the comfort and familiarity associated with the concept of home, rather than...

A stray early firework lights up the sky and Dan waits for the noise to fade so he can listen for one of his most comforting sounds in the world - the cluttering of a lanky, clumsy man who at this moment is surely leaving all their kitchen cupboards open on the search for champagne glasses.

Only there's no cluttering. There's no sound at all coming from their flat behind him.

Dan stills.

Waits a moment.

Clears his throat - "Phil?"

Quiet. Disconcerting quiet.

Dan sets his mug aside, twisting around to stare at the door Phil's left ajar.

Calls again louder, more urgently. "Phil?"

There's a muted response then, and the sound of a door closing somewhere in their apartment.

Dan lets his breath escape with a hiss, the tension seeping slowly out of his body, one hand pressed to pounding heart.

"Jesus fuck," he murmurs to himself, then shouts, "Hurry up, you bum, I want my new year's kiss!"

Approaching footsteps, first on carpet, then on tile. The door to the balcony opens, revealing Phil with his duvet still wrapped around his shoulders like a cape, the garish yellow of his emoji pyjamas poking out underneath.

Dan grins in relief, scooting over on the bench. "Did you find it?"

But Phil doesn't move to sit beside him. And when he unfolds his arms in front of his body, no bottle comes into view in his hands.

Only a small, velvet box.

Dan's breath gets caught somewhere between his lungs and his lips.

Phil moves then, two long-legged steps until he's in front of Dan, kneeling down with a little trouble as he arranges the blanket around himself so he won't step on it and topple over.

Dan still hasn't exhaled, or blinked for that matter, ever since his eyes have fallen on the tiny, blue box in Phil's nervously fiddling hands.

"Dan."

He breathes sharply then, out and in and out again, gaze snapping up to Phil's face.

His hair is tousled from Dan playing with it while they've been sat outside, leaning into each other. His glasses are slightly askew, cheeks red and in spite of his blanket he's shivering from the cold - or maybe nerves, Dan can't quite tell. He's wearing the adventure time hoodie that Dan gave him for his birthday years ago, in another life it seems, and the yellow clashes terribly with that of his pyjama bottoms.

In short - he's perfect.

"Dan," Phil says again, voice soft and shaky, and Dan looks at him - looks and looks and smiles, finally.

"Yes," he says.

Phil opens his mouth as though to continue, then seems to register that the word sounds much like an answer to a question he hasn't posed yet, at least not with words.

"You haven't - you need to let me ask you first!" He protests.

Dan tugs on his furry blanket, worrying at his lower lip to suppress the giggle that's bubbling up inside him.

"Well, sorry to tell you, mate, but you're not exactly being mysterious right now."

Phil rolls his eyes, whining his name.

"Daaan. Just let me do this, please?"

Dan's never been able to say no to that face.

"Yeah, okay. Fine," he feigns nonchalance, "go ahead then."

Phil swallows thickly, closing his eyes for a second as he breathes, before looking up at Dan again.

"Dan," he says for a third time.

Dan smiles, nods softly, encouraging.

Phil's eyes brighten and he continues, "we've done so much together, this year. And these past nine years, really. I've loved you since I was 22 years old. I'm almost 32 now, and more in love with you than ever. You have and continue to challenge me to become better, stronger, more confident. You make me happier than I thought possible. You've been my partner in life and work and on stage around the world, twice. And most importantly - you're my best friend. And there's no one else I want by my side as we go into the new year - the start of a new decade in our lives, together. The second of many more, hopefully. Because I want to see you grow old and grey next to me. I want - I want to see kids grow up with you. There's so much more to come for us, I know it, things we can't even imagine yet. And so -"

His voice falters for a bit as he fumbles with the little box in his hands, head lowered.

Dan allows himself a moment to breathe, to became aware that the air is colder against his cheeks now because they're tear-streaked. He sniffles, wiping at his eyes, and Phil looks up at the sound.

His face does a complicated thing when he finds Dan already crying and Dan laughs wetly, shrugging his shoulders.

"Sorry," he croaks.

Phil shakes his head, shuffling closer on the floorboards, and reaches for Dan's hand. Dan gives him both, squeezing his fingers.

"I've thought for so long about what I want to say until I realised it doesn't matter because you already know everything. You know me so well, Dan, better than anyone else. So all I can say is just... will you ma-"

There's a whistle then, followed by a deafening bang, as golden sparks rain down from the sky. Immediately, a second rocket is launched, and then a third and a thousand more, all exploding in quick succession and painting the night blue and green and red and silvery white.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Dan half-snorts, half-chuckles, extracting one of his hands to gesture towards the sky. "Really? Was this your plan then, for us to be literally interrupted by bloody fireworks?"

Phil's eyes are wide, sparks and swirls of colour reflected in them, and he's smiling in surprise and wonder. "No, I -"

Dan leans in to hear him over the crackle and roar of the pyrotechnics.

"I didn't know when I was going to do this and then tonight as we sat here I just realised I didn't want to go into the new year without proposing. So I figured there was no better time to do it than..."

Dan giggles, sucks in a breath. "You forgot about the fireworks, didn't you? Really had your thunder stolen there."

Phil purses his lips, corners curled up in a smile. "Well, I guess there was a minor flaw in my plan..."

He laughs, too, then, eyes scrunching up, and Dan wants badly to kiss him right now - but he still hasn't asked the question.

"Out with it then, before we're sat here 'til 2020."

Phil takes his hands again, lifts them to his mouth to kiss the knuckles.

Dan can feel the edge of the box press into his skin, and then Phil lets go of his hands to click the lid open and says, simply, "Marry me?"

Dan barely hears him over the noise but he reads the words easily off his lips, as though he'd done it a thousand times.

He nods, then nods again, unable to stop the motion once he's begun.

"Yes," he gasps out, choked, "yes, yes, of course, I'll marry you."

"Yeah?" Phil's mouth forms, barely a breath.

Dan just keeps nodding.

Phil's face explodes into a smile, outshining every fireworks display.

The tears are flowing again freely, his breaths coming in big sniffs, heart thundering away in his chest. Dan has to blink several times until his fiancé comes back into focus.

There's a small, velvet box being held out to him in shaking hands.

Inside is nestled the most beautiful thing Dan has ever laid eyes on - well, save for the man offering it to him.

A slender silver ring with a delicate pattern of brilliants, embedded in whose middle is a single shimmering onyx.

Dan hears himself gasp in a breath. Then he extends his hand towards Phil.

"Put it on me already," he whispers, voice certainly drowned out by the firecrackers that are still going off in the background.

Phil struggles with freeing the ring for a second but then the box clatters to the floor and Phil's blanket cape follows as he sits up, pausing for a moment to seek Dan's eyes before he slides the cool metal band onto Dan's fourth finger.

They're both shaking violently now and Dan catches Phil dabbing at the corner of his eye with his hoodie sleeve, blinking furiously.

He sits, admiring his ring for a moment, the way the gems light up when another firework goes off in their proximity.

Then he reaches for Phil, "c'mere," pulling him up with fingers knotted into the fabric of his jumper, until their mouths collide in a messy kiss.

Phil's still kneeling on the floor, hopefully on his blanket now, and the edge of the bench must be digging into his stomach, but he's not complaining - hands sliding round the back of Dan's neck, lips framing his bottom one, kissing at his cheeks and his chin and anywhere he can reach until Dan's giggling breathlessly.

He twines Phil's hair around his fingers, watching the inky black strands caress his engagement ring, and presses his mouth to a spot just above Phil's ear.

"Happy new year, Phil," he breathes. "I love you so much."

His mug tips over beside him when Phil scrambles to his feet and onto his lap, wrapping him up in a proper embrace that crushes his hip against the armrest and pushes Phil's knee into his ribs, and they still haven't got their champagne to toast the new year, but Dan couldn't care less. He just wraps his blanket around the both of them and connects their lips once more.

There are still fireworks going off around them as they kiss and kiss until neither of them can breathe. Then Phil pulls back, just the tiniest bit, and whispers into the gap between their mouths.

"Happy new year, Dan."

*** this used to be on my ao3 page (softiejace). i’m taking my phan content down from there for personal reasons, but reposting it here so people can still enjoy it :) ***

#phanfic #my fic #softiejace #phan fic #phan

4 notes · View notes