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thatlotuscookie · 16 days ago

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could you do for Dabi x villain reader who he has a crush on and one day after a mission he feels like shit so he just goes to his room because he's body's burned and hurting and reader goes to his room and helps him, kisses his scars, treats his injuries, hugs him and stuff. FEEL FREE TO COME UP WITH SOMETHING MORE IF U'LL LIKE

✧･ﾟ: a/n : thank you so much for the request! I absolutely love the idea of Dabi letting his guard down with the reader after a rough mission and getting the comfort he doesn’t usually let himself ask for. enjoy<33

✧ Title: ✧ Hidden Flames ✧ ✧ Characters: Dabi x Reader (Gender Neutral) ✧ Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Fluff ✧ Rating: T ✧ Summary: After a mission leaves Dabi battered and exhausted, he retreats to his room to nurse his wounds alone. When you show up, intent on caring for him, he’s reluctant at first. But as you treat his injuries, kissing his scars and reminding him that he doesn’t have to face everything alone, Dabi realizes just how much he values your presence. ✧ Content/Tags: Injuries, Vulnerability, Comfort, Mutual Pining, Scar Kisses, Established Crush, Soft Dabi, Hurt/Comfort WC: 1365 words // 7.4k

The hideout was cloaked in stillness, a hollow silence hanging over the building like a fog after the chaos of their latest mission. Dabi’s feet dragged as he approached his room, a wave of exhaustion nearly toppling him as he stumbled inside. His vision blurred slightly, and he let out a frustrated breath, every fiber of his being screaming in pain.

He shut the door with his shoulder, leaning on it briefly, letting the cool wood press against his back as he caught his breath. His mind was a mess of aches and exhaustion, a hazy reminder of all he’d taken on tonight. The burns littering his skin throbbed persistently, a reminder that he wasn't as invincible as he liked to think.

Finally, he sank onto his bed, shutting his eyes as he tried to will the pain into silence. He hated this feeling—weak, vulnerable. It wasn’t supposed to be him. He’d built his life on fire and fury, not…this. Not whatever this gnawing, hollow feeling was. He exhaled sharply, mentally daring himself to stay conscious, to fight through it. But just as he was sinking into that fog, he heard a gentle knock.

He bit back a curse, forcing himself up enough to glare at the door. “Go away,” he called out, his voice rough and almost pleading, hoping it’d scare off whoever it was.

But the door creaked open, and there you were, a small first-aid kit in hand and concern written all over your face. Dabi's heart gave an unwelcome thud, a mixture of annoyance and—dammit—relief swirling inside him. Of all people, why did it have to be you? It was too much; the last thing he needed was you seeing him like this, all messed up and hurting.

“Dabi,” you said, your voice soft, cutting through his haze like a breath of fresh air. “You look awful.”

He wanted to snap back, deflect, say something snarky to keep you at a distance. But he couldn’t bring himself to. Instead, he just let out a low huff, rolling his eyes as he mumbled, “Glad you’re as blunt as ever.” He tried to sound annoyed, but the truth was, he was a little relieved to have you here. That was the damn problem—he was starting to like it too much, having you around, and it was messing with his head.

You ignored his attempt to play it off and stepped closer, your eyes searching his face with that worry that he could never quite get used to. His chest tightened as he watched you, that soft look in your eyes making him feel exposed in a way he’d never felt before.

“You’re hurt,” you said quietly, kneeling beside him, so close he could feel your warmth against him. Your voice held a tenderness that made his throat tighten. “Let me take care of you.”

Dabi felt something inside him give way, the part of him that was tired of holding up walls and pretending he didn’t need anyone. He looked at you for a long moment, the vulnerability in his gaze unguarded, and he finally muttered, “Fine.”

You set to work, gently cleaning his burns and cuts, your touch careful and precise. As you dabbed at his wounds, he hissed, the antiseptic stinging like hell. “Shit, that hurts,” he grumbled, half expecting you to laugh or roll your eyes.

“Sorry,” you said, glancing up at him, your expression apologetic but unwavering. “But it’ll help, trust me.”

Dabi tried to look away, to focus on anything else, but his eyes kept drifting back to you. The way you were so damn focused on him, so damn tender… it made him feel something warm and dangerous, something he’d been fighting down for too long. He wasn’t supposed to get attached, wasn’t supposed to let anyone this close. But you were different. You made him feel human in a way he hadn’t felt in years, and it scared him how much he liked it.

Once you finished cleaning his burns, you leaned down, pressing gentle kisses along his scars, your lips soft against his raw skin. Dabi’s heart skipped, a rush of heat flooding his chest that he couldn’t ignore. “You…you don’t have to do that,” he stammered, trying to sound unaffected, but his voice was shaky, a little breathless.

You gave him a small, knowing smile. “I want to,” you whispered, your gaze steady and sincere. “You need to know that you’re not alone, Dabi.”

Those words struck something deep within him, a part of him he’d buried long ago. He looked at you, his walls crumbling with every second, and for the first time in a long while, he felt a flicker of hope. It was terrifying and exhilarating, a pull he couldn’t resist. His chest tightened with feelings he wasn’t ready to name, but he knew one thing: he didn’t want you to go.

He let out a shaky breath, meeting your gaze. “Why…why do you even bother with me?” he asked, his voice softer than he intended. “I’m nothing but trouble.”

You paused, looking at him with a tenderness that left him speechless. “Because I care about you,” you said simply, your voice gentle but unwavering. “And no matter how hard you try to push me away, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Dabi’s heart raced, a blush creeping up his neck as he took in your words. This wasn’t just some passing crush; it was more than that, something deeper that scared him more than any wound ever could. He reached out, hesitantly wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into an embrace. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the comforting scent of you as he let himself relax, for once, in your warmth.

The hug was clumsy, awkward, but he didn’t care. He wanted this, wanted you, and that realization hit him with a force that left him breathless. He didn’t want to lose you, not now, not when you were the one person who made him feel like he was worth something.

“You know I’m… I’m not good at this,” he whispered, his voice barely audible against your shoulder. “I’m not good at letting people in.”

“I know,” you murmured, your hand running gently over his back, soothing him in a way that felt like home. “But I’m here. And I’m staying.”

He pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes, the depth of his feelings clear in his gaze. “You’re…too good for me, you know that?” he muttered, trying to keep his voice steady, but there was a tremor in it that gave him away.

You chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “Maybe,” you teased, your eyes warm with affection. “But you’re stuck with me now.”

Dabi’s heart swelled at your words, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself. He didn’t want to admit it out loud, but you were the light in his dark world, the one thing that made him feel like he could be more than just fire and destruction. He reached out, intertwining his fingers with yours, holding on as if letting go meant losing the only good thing in his life.

“Just…don’t leave, okay?” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Not going anywhere,” you promised, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. You stayed there, holding him as the silence settled around you both, a comforting weight that wrapped around them like a warm blanket.

As sleep began to creep in, Dabi felt a strange peace settle over him, a feeling he hadn’t known in years. For the first time, he felt like he could finally let go, to trust that someone cared enough to stay. With you beside him, he could finally breathe, letting himself fall into a sleep that, for once, wasn’t haunted by nightmares.

In that quiet moment, Dabi knew he’d do whatever it took to keep you close, to make sure that, somehow, he’d find a way to deserve you. Because with you, he felt like maybe, just maybe, he could be more than what he’d been before.

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daycourtofficial · 9 months ago

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On Bended Knee

Summary: Nesta catches you touching yourself, a clear violation of the rules from her and Cassian. The two decide to punish you in the best way they can.

Author’s note; this is pure filth. Smut with no plot. This won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, but dammit there’s not much out there with Nessian and reader.

Warnings: spanking, degradation, voyeurismish, bondage, toys, hair pulling, Nesta and Cassian being mean as hell, face sitting, minors DNI

“Cassian, look who I caught.”

Nesta’s fingers held onto your hair as she dragged you into your shared bedroom with her and Cassian. Her fingers grab your jaw, forcing you to look at him as she says, “tell him what you did.”

You start shaking in fear, and maybe some excitement, as you tell him, “I was touching myself.”

Cassian’s eyes darken, his immediate scent of arousal coating the room. He looks at Nesta, who looks every part the predator she makes herself out to be.

“You know you’re not supposed to do that.” Cassian’s tone is stern, the counterpart to Nesta’s icy tone. He walks towards you, his wings flaring behind him.

Nesta drags you by your hair to the couch, handing you off to Cassian as she situates herself. Cassian holds you firmly in his arms, no chance of you moving, much less wiggling out of his arms.

“Bring her here,” Nesta tells Cassian, completely overlooking you as if you were merely an object. Nesta sprawls you over her lap, face down into the couch. She shifts your nightgown up to your waist, exposing you to the cool air. She hadn’t allowed you to put your panties back on after she caught you. She grabs your hands, placing them behind your back and holding them there in a firm grip.

“Hand or paddle, Cass?”

Cassian thinks about it, ignoring your soft gasp. You know arguing will get you in worse trouble, so you stay quiet. “Hand - I like seeing your hand prints on her ass.”

You whine and start wiggling your hips to try to break free, but Nesta shuts you up by pulling your hair and forcing your head up to look at her.

“You will get 10. You will count them out loud, and if you miss one or stutter, we start again.”

At your lack of response, she asks, “do you understand?”

You nod, but that further sparks the fire in her eyes. “Did you forget how to use your words?”

“Yes mistress-ah!” you shriek, as Cassian chuckles on the other side of you. Nesta likes to inflict punishment when you least expect it, leading you to call out a meek, “one.”

Cassian watches as Nesta continues to land blow after blow on your behind, your skin becoming a harsh shade of red. After the fifth hit, Nesta grabs both of your cheeks, rubbing the pain in. She asks you, “do you have anything to say, dove?”

You hide your face in shame in the couch as you tell her, “I was bad - I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched myself without permission.”

Cassian’s fingers graze your chin, bringing your head up. He looks at you with sympathy, and you begin to think he might tell Nesta to lighten up, until his face reaches yours and he licks up the tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Bad girls don’t get sympathy,” he tells you, practically laughing in your face at the situation you’ve brought upon yourself.

Nesta lands three more blows while you keep track of the tally vocally. As you’re reaching the eighth strike, you haven’t paid any attention to Cassian, which is why you didn’t notice Cassian taking his pants off until you feel his hands gently grab your chin, raising it up to meet his hard cock mere inches from your face.

“Nine,” you call out, Nesta’s hand making contact with your skin. One more, you tell yourself, you can do one more.

As Nesta pulls her hand back to land the final smack of your punishment, Cassian grabs the back of your head, shoving his cock into your mouth. Nesta hits you, causing pain to coarse through your body.

You want to tell her “ten”, having finished this punishment, but Cassian’s grip on your head is unrelenting as he holds you to his cock.

You try to mumble the number out, but nothing tangible comes out. Nesta chuckles darkly. “Did our dumb whore forget how to count?”

You wiggle, trying to convey how you feel about them tag teaming on you like this, but your movement just earns you another quick swat to your butt.

“Poor dove,” Nesta coos, her fingers caressing your soon to be bruised skin, “so needy for us she can’t remember how to count.”

She drags her nails up your thighs, and you want her to touch you so badly. She drags a finger up your slick heat, grabbing your juices as she goes and you moan at the feeling.

“Poor needy baby,” she coos, licking your arousal off of her finger. You moan onto Cassian’s cock as he keeps driving himself further and further into you, his cock reaching your throat.

Nesta shares a look with Cassian as she grabs the paddle from the table. “Be a good girl and count properly this time, or you’ll face a new punishment.”

Your eyes widen as the paddle makes contact, and Cassian fists your hair in his hand as he pulls your head off his cock so you can yell out, “one!”

This goes on - Cassian putting your mouth back on his cock until you have to call out the number. You’ve finished saying “nine”, and Cassian puts your mouth back on his cock, but Nesta doesn’t strike again. Instead Cassian begins thrusting faster and harder into your mouth. You’re choking on him, spit drooling out of your mouth as you can feel him getting closer. He taps your chin, prompting you to look up at him.

“Don’t. Swallow,” he commands, as he finishes into your mouth, his hot semen filling your mouth. He pulls himself out, making sure you don’t swallow, as Nesta swiftly spanks you again, tears streaming down your face.

You look in fear to Cassian, who gives you a challenging look right back that tells you decide who to disobey. Sometimes Cassian and Nesta would both become territorial and want to be the more dominant in the relationship, often putting you in the middle, forcing you to pick whose punishment you’d take.

Nesta grabs the back of your head, yanking it up to look at her, your mouth closed tightly to not spill any of Cassian’s cum, eyes wide with fear.

“What number was that, dove?”

Your eyes widen as she strikes you again, but you remain silent. Nesta chuckles, abandoning the paddle, pushing you off of her lap. You fall to the floor and Cassian whispers behind you, “you can swallow now, sweetheart,” as he chuckles. You do so, trying to avoid the wrath of both of them at once.

“Crawl to me,” she tells you, and you oblige, your hands and knees crawling over the cold floor. When you reach her, she tells you to sit right in front of her.

“Good dove,” she tells you, patting your head. You nuzzle into the touch, taking what soft touches you can get when she’s like this. She nods to Cassian, who picks you up and throws you onto the bed, pushing your back against the headboard. He yanks your nightgown off, leaving you completely exposed to the chill in the room.

You start to object, to ask what is happening, but Cassian reacts faster and makes quick work of tying your hands to the headboard. He makes you sit up, your legs underneath you but your torso straight. You try to thrash around, but Cassian’s knots keep you tied in place, leaving you vulnerable to the other predator in the room. She slowly walks around the bed, grabbing something from her nightstand before turning to you.

She grips your face in her hands as she tells you, “what were you thinking about when I caught you touching yourself?”

Cheeks flare red as you tell her, “the two of you.”

Her grin turns feral, “and what were we doing?”

You look down, shame and embarassment coursing through you as you tell her, “you were riding him. I caught the two of you this morning and it made me aroused and it wouldn’t go away..”

She looks pleased with your answer, and before you can enjoy the moment, she slips her panties off from under dress and before you can process it, she’s stuffing them into your mouth, her sweet flavor coating your tongue.

Silver eyes meet your own, amusement in her gaze as she pulls her hand up. “Still one more surprise for my little dove,” she tells you, the toy catching the light. You realize you’re in the perfect position for her to place it in you, and she does exactly that, a wicked gleam in her eyes as your eyes roll back at it going inside of you.

“Now,” she tells you, pulling her dress off, “if you wanted to think about it, we might as well put on a show for you.”

She presses herself down onto Cassian’s cock, a moan eliciting from all three of you. She begins bouncing up and down on his cock, and you start bouncing yourself without realizing it.

She undoes the braid in her hair, letting her long blonde hair flow down her back as her hands reach up and use Cassian’s chest to stabilize herself. You just want to run your own hands through her long locks, earning her affections.

The toy is staying nestled inside of you, not allowing you to use it to simulate what Nesta and Cassian are doing in front of you. Cassian laughs, his wings splayed behind him the bed. They’re right in front of you, the peak of Cassian’s wings a foot or two away from your knees. Nesta is making eye contact with you the entire time she rides Cassian, an amused gleam in her eyes.

“You could have been right here with us, you know,” she tells you, amusement on her face as you try to talk through the gag.

This was the worst punishment you’ve ever received, and you don’t see an end in sight.

She turns her gaze onto Cassian, whose eyes are black with lust and need for both of his mates. The scent of arousal from all three of you is heavy in the air, a musky scent that he adores.

“Should we make her watch us finish like this?” Nesta asks Cassian, going back to pretending like you’re not there.

Cassian tilts his head back to look at you, tied to the headboard, a toy nestled in your cunt, arousal dripping down your thighs.

He chuckles at the sight, “yes.”

You look up at the ceiling, unsure of how long your torture will remain, when Nesta starts picking up speed, bouncing up and down on Cassian’s cock.

The two of them are putting on a show, their moans echoing through the room. Cassian looks back to Nesta, putting his face in between her breasts, his hands roaming them.

“You know Cass,” Nesta says, her words breathy, “I caught her pretty quickly, probably only a minute or two after she started touching herself.”

She licks a stripe up Cassian’s throat, staring straight at you.

“I waited until she got close to come in and make her stop.”

You whine, her words getting you so close.

You can tell they’re close too, and you keep thrusting onto the toy, when Nesta’s long fingers reach towards you and pull it out of you right before you finish.

“Agh!” You muffle through the gag, and Nesta actually laughs.

“Cassian, look at our needy whore.”

Cassian tips his head back, getting a full view of your wet cunt that you’re still thrusting into the air. Both of their gazes watch you in hunger, wanting to utterly devour you.

“I love it when she misbehaves.”

Cassian and Nesta share a look, and Cassian holds onto Nesta as he moves up the bed to have his face directly underneath you. His breath fans your pussy, and your back arches with desperate need at the proximity.

“You may sit, dove.”

You sit down on Cassian’s face, his nose dragging through your folds. Nesta leans forward, her hands moving from Cassian’s chest to yours. Her fingers graze your breasts, focusing in your nipples. You moan as she pinches them.

Cassian continues thrusting deep into Nesta as you feel his tongue around your clit. He gently nips it with his teeth, causing you to gasp.

Cassian’s tongue causes you to come completely undone, finishing on his tongue, your breathing ragged. Cassian’s tongue continues at a tortuous pace, and not long afterward Nesta finishes.

Nesta pulls herself off of Cassian, quickly moving to undo your restraints. You start to thank her, but she makes quick work of binding your hands behind your back instead.

She smirks, watching as Cassian grabs you, hauling your soaking cunt right onto his hard cock. He slams into you, not giving you any chance to get used to the fill of him.

Cassian’s hands are all over you as Nesta holds you up by your hair, making you ride Cassian.

“Oh, you thought we were done just because you came?” You nodded your head.

“No, dove. We have a whole night in store for you. We just wanted to be nice and let you finish now.”

She laughs as Cassian’s thrusts get harder and faster, spilling himself inside of you. You pant, continuing to thrust on him until Nesta pulls you off his cock.

“See, dove, this is the plan for tonight,” she says, pushing you down so your head is on the pillow.

“You’re our little toy to play with as we please.”

She starts lowering her slick, wet heat onto your face, and you involuntarily moan.

“And we want to cover you in ourselves.”

#nessian x reader #nesta x cassian x reader #cassian x nesta x reader #acotar fanfiction #poly!nessian x reader #nesta x reader #cassian x reader

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goldenseresinretriever · 3 months ago

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False Confidence: Chapter 10

Pairing: Javy “Coyote” Machado x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: The Athletic named Javy Machado the fifth sluttiest player in the NHL last year. He’s a known playboy who leaves every game with a different girl. As far as he’s concerned he’s living the dream, playing his dream job with the dream lifestyle. Unfortunately his friends and bosses don’t agree. At 33, they think it’s time for him to settle down. You’re a kindergarten teacher at an esteemed private school. You don't expect much when you finally accept your colleague’s invitation to attend her husband’s hockey game but when you accidentally get separated in the post-game rush, you find yourself in a compromising situation with the last person you’d ever expected to meet. When his PR rep suggests a mutually beneficial agreement, your hands are tied. How long will you have to keep up the act? And how long will you be able to?

Series CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, angst, fluff, fake relationship, suggestive language, anxiety, school system inaccuracies, hockey inaccuracies etc. There will be individual chapter warnings. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 5.6k

A/N: This might be my favorite chapter I’ve written so far 👀

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

“What type of flowers do girls like?” A burst of raucous laughter crackles through the speaker of his phone and Javy glares at the screen as he rifles through his dresser, looking for a clean pair of socks. The woman on the screen slumps over the wooden counter she’s sitting at, tears in her eyes as she keeps laughing and Javy rolls his eyes. “Isa, I’m being serious.”

“I know!” The woman looks up from where she’s sprawled over the counter, wiping tears from her eyes as she shakes her head at him. “That’s the best part!” Javy flips his oldest sister off as he puts his hands on his hips.

“Come on, Isa, help me out here!” He considers hanging up on her, but he really needs her help. She turns her head to make eye contact with the camera, still sprawled across the counter. The look in her eyes is a combination of mirth with a sharp glint of something dangerous and Javy swallows nervously because she looks so damn much like their mother right now.

“Tell me what’s really going on, Javier, and then maybe I’ll help.” Her voice is dripping with danger that urges him not to push her but dammit he doesn’t have time for this. He’s supposed to pick you up in an hour and he doesn’t want to be late. His mother raised him better than that.

“I have a date. I feel like I should get her flowers.” He blatantly ignores the way his heart starts pounding as the four-letter word passes his lips and focuses on the cool glare his sister is angling at him as she sits back up.

“With the girl you’re dating?” Javy’s brow furrows in confusion before it hits him. Fuck.

“Isa… Isa I can explain,” he stammers but the look he gets from her has him snapping his mouth shut so fast that he swears his teeth rattle.

“Javier Antonio Machado… you were raised by not one but FOUR women and we have to find out you have a GIRLFRIEND from the MEDIA?!” Javy flinches. A heavy silence falls between them before Javy dares open his mouth.

“It’s not that simple Isa, it’s complicated. She’s not technically my girlfriend, well she is, but that’s only on paper, she just…” He hesitates and watches his sister’s suspicious eyes narrow so he plows on. “We’refakedating.” The words rush out before he can avoid them and he watches Isa’s eyes widen and he keeps going before she can stop him. “We’re fake dating but turns out she’s actually really nice, and I think I like her, but I’m not sure because I’ve never liked anyone like this before. I don’t want her to get hurt, least of all by me, but it’s probably inevitable, and I’m really trying not to think about that right now so I’m taking her out on a date because I think she’ll like it and I want her to like it so I was thinking I should buy her flowers but I’ve never bought flowers before, I mean I have once but those were just from the grocery store and I didn’t really think about it, and this time I am thinking about it and that’s why I’m asking WHAT KIND OF FLOWERS DO GIRLS LIKE!” His chest is heaving by the time he finishes and he can hear his heartbeat in his ears. For once his sister doesn’t say anything and he feels ridiculous, standing there like he’s just run a marathon staring at her staring at him.

“Do you know her favorite color?” Isa says finally and Javy blinks a few times before he realizes she’s asked him a question. He shakes his head even as guilt bites at his stomach for never asking. She purses her lips in thought as she looks around her at the rows of pots and various greenery. “Well then, let’s get to work, shall we?” Javy lets his shoulders slump in relief as he nods nervously at his sister as she picks up the phone and starts walking around the store.

***

“Roadie these are really good!” You look away from the bathroom mirror where you’re putting the finishing touches on your hair. Unlike last time, you’ve gone as simple as possible. The green dress is elegant and you’ve elected for your usual light makeup, except for the slight dusting of gold Nat tastefully brushed on your eyelids. As you shyly regard your reflection you can’t help but feel beautiful.

You follow the sound of Nat’s voice to your living room where she’s examining the various canvases leaning against the walls. The space isn’t traditional in any sense, lacking any entertaining furniture such as sofas and chairs. Instead, you’ve repurposed the space into a makeshift studio, the space taken up with easels and tables, canvases leaning against anything and everything in various states of completion. It’s a little chaotic but it works for you. Truth be told, you’ve had more people visit in the last month than in the last three years.

Earlier, you’d stared at your phone while sitting on your bed, brow furrowing as you hesitated over who to call. Normally, Josie would be the obvious choice, but normally she’d be the only choice since you didn’t have any other friends. Tonight, however, you were faced with the possibility of options, your phone feeling heavy with the weight of all the new numbers you’ve been collecting. You could still taste the bitterness in the back of your throat after Josie had dressed you for your last date with Javy and how you’d had to explain to her afterward why her thousand-dollar heels were somewhere at the bottom of the bay. Before you could overthink your decision, you’d called Nat, inviting her over to help you get ready for your date.

To your surprise, you’ve become comfortable around her. She knows Javy, and slowly but surely she’s getting to know you, and as much as you love Josie, you can tell how much animosity she harbors for Javy. With every day that passes, you’re realizing that somehow you’ve started falling for Javy and while you’re terrified of the realization, you’re even more terrified of how Josie will react to it. Nat, however, you don’t mind. She’s only ever known you as Javy’s fake girlfriend, so if she’s going to judge you over any of your choices, it’s that, and she’s already made it clear that she doesn’t.

You make your way over to see which canvas Nat is looking at and your cheeks heat as it comes into view. The canvas is covered in swathes of dark shades of blue, silhouetting the shapes of the edge of the cliff and the roiling water at the bottom. The background is so fierce and dark that it draws attention from the tiny figures in the corner at the edge, curled around each other. You don’t normally find yourself painting scenes from your life, but something about the salt in your lungs, and the way the wind whipped around you as you became aware of your body like a live wire, has been stuck in your throat every since so you’d let the feeling pour out of you onto the canvas. You had meant for it to be a landscape, but the figures in the corner, light bluish-gray forms with no defining features, had seemingly painted themselves, flowing out of your brush before you could stop them.

“Thanks,” you murmur and Nat turns from the canvas to you, smiling.

“I mean it, Roadie. The world deserves to see them.” You squirm with embarrassment under the compliment but manage to find your words.

“I actually, I have my first gallery show next week,” you splutter. You haven’t told anyone, despite jumping and dancing around your living room when you received the news. You’ve dreamed of having your art shown at a gallery for years, a dream you’d thought was out of reach for the time being until you’d gotten the call earlier this week. “It’s not much, just a pop-up event for one night, but it’s something.” It’s everything. Nat blinks at you for a long second before she screams and jumps up, almost knocking over the easel in her excitement and she wraps you tightly in a hug, jumping up and down and you can’t help but join in.

“Oh, Roadie! That’s amazing, congratulations!” She squeezes you tightly and you try to force down the tears welling up in your eyes at Nat’s enthusiasm, trying not to ruin the makeup you’ve just finished. “You have to give me the info so I can swing by!” You freeze, surprised at the offer. You hadn’t even considered that anyone would actually want to come.

“But, but you’ve seen everything already,” you wave a hand at the room around you. She looks at you like you’re crazy.

“I mean yeah, but I haven’t seen them all hung up! Plus, I want to come see YOU, silly! This is huge, we have to celebrate!” You swallow hard as your lip begins to wobble and Nat’s eyes soften as she pulls you back into a hug. “Hey, it’s okay, that’s what friends do, okay? We support each other, we cry together during the losses, and we celebrate the wins no matter how big or small. I’m so proud of you, Roadie and I hope you can be proud of you too.” You nod into Nat’s shoulder, sniffling as you try to hold back overwhelmed tears. When she pulls away, she motions for you to stay still while she disappears into your bedroom, coming back with a tissue that she carefully uses to dab at your wet eyes, making sure not to smudge your makeup. “One more thing,” she digs into her pocket before she shows you a clear tube and when you frown at it in confusion she unwraps the packaging before carefully applying the clear gloss to your lips. “There we go, subtle but has the perfect amount of zing.” She holds up her phone camera for you to examine the way your lips shine with the clear gloss. She’s right, it’s subtle, not tinted, but it makes your lips look for lack of a better word, juicy. It feels sexy while being simple and it[‘s your turn to hug Nat.

“It’s perfect, thank you, Nat.” She squeezes you back before letting you go and pressing the small tube into your hands.

“Just so you know?” She says with a fond smile. “I’m rooting for the two of you.” You feel your cheeks heat at her words and you surprise yourself when your next words come out.

“Yeah, me too.” Before she can reply your doorbell buzzes and your head jerks towards the door as your eyes widen. Javy’s here.

“Go get him, tiger,” Nat says as she pushes you towards the door, gently and you shuffle over, stopping to bend over and step into your shoes for the evening. Another product of your and Nat’s shopping spree, they’re simple wedges that provide good support and are much shorter than the shoes Josie lent you.

You unlock the door with shaking hands and the sight on the other side steals your breath. You’ve seen Javy in a suit multiple times before, from the day you met, to your first date, and then yesterday at the game, but the sight of him in a full tuxedo has your heart skipping a few beats. The tuxedo is a simple black but the sight of his crisp dress shirt buttoned to his throat, complete with a black bow tie has him looking more handsome than the sexy that his usual style tends to lean towards. You’re so busy ogling him that you don’t see the flowers at first but your breath catches as your eyes find the brilliant orange flowers. You reach out a shocked hand to trace the curves of the tiger lily blossoms as you try to ignore the voice in your head screaming that you have their pink cousins currently wilting on your kitchen table after you’d excitedly purchased them for yourself last week.

“Hi,” Javy says and his voice is so soft you almost convince yourself that he’s as out of breath as you are.

“Hi,” your voice is breathy as you finally tear your eyes away from the flowers back to his face. “Tiger lilies,” you whisper like it’s a question and he looks down at the flowers like he’s just remembering he’s holding them.

“They reminded me of you,” he says to the flowers before he looks back to you, and your brow furrows in confusion. The blooms are bright and bold, shaped like trumpets that announce their presence, nothing like you. “They’re delicate and shy,” he runs a finger along a bloom that’s slumped over slightly, “but they’re also bright and full of life.” He gives you a gentle lopsided smile that almost knocks you over. Even so simple and small, it feels like you’ve been hit by a sunbeam and you can’t help the way you smile back.

“Thank you, Javy, they’re beautiful, I love them.” You reach for them and as he hands them to you, you realize they’re in a vase already.

“My sister, she runs a flower shop, and she said if you should get a proper bouquet made so whoever you’re buying the flowers for gets a gift instead of a chore, or something like that.” He scratches the back of his neck with his now-empty hand.

Before you can answer, the door opens wider and Nat appears. “Well look at you, who knew you clean up so nice? I’m gonna head out so you guys can be on your way, but I’ll take those first.” She takes the vase from you and heads back inside as Javy gapes after her.

“Sorry, I invited her over to help me get ready-” Javy turns back to you, shaking his head.

“No, no, that’s fine, great even.” He pauses before thoughtfully adding, “She needs more friends.”

“JAVY MACHADO I HEARD THAT!” Nat yells from inside the house before she emerges, glaring at him. “Fuck you, too.” She says flashing the finger at him before stomping past the two of you and heading for the parking lot. Javy sticks his tongue out after her. “Have fun, you two, and Javy if you do anything stupid, I’m calling your mom!” She calls and you watch Javy blanche slightly at her words before he turns back to you. You watch the worry slide from his face as he looks at you.

“I know I’ve already seen you in the dress, but you look beautiful, Meep.” Your cheeks heat at his compliment. He offers you his hand and you take it without a second thought, letting him lead you down to the parking lot. When you reach his car you frown in confusion as he opens the passenger door of the Land Rover.

“Where’s your car?” You ask as he helps you into the passenger seat. Javy looks like a deer caught in the headlights as he answers.

“I, uh, thought we could just go out tonight. Just us, no press or anything.” You feel your cheeks heat to match the way his have to be.

“Oh,” you whisper.

“If that’s okay with you, I mean,” he stammers awkwardly. You consider his words. He’s giving you an out if you want it. This isn’t a part of the contract, and you both know that. And yet you don’t want to get out of the car.

“Yeah, that’s okay with me, Javy.” You try not to focus on the way relief transforms his face as he grins at you before closing the door and jogging around to the driver’s side.

***

Your eyes are wide as Javy hands his keys to the valet in front of a gallery that you recognize the name of. You’ve never visited but the artist’s name emblazoned on the banners outside makes you slightly dizzy. Javy offers you his arm and you take it before turning to question him. “Javy, what are we doing here?” You whisper urgently as he leads you inside and towards a table where a woman with a clipboard is seated. He ignores your question to address the woman.

“Machado, party of two.” He says, flashing a polite smile at the woman and she blinks at him in surprise before she checks the list on her clipboard and gives him a saccharine smile as she hands him a pair of paddles that catch your attention as Javy pulls you closer and you look up at him, surprised before you catch the predatory gleam in the woman’s eyes and the way Javy’s gone rigid against you. You curl against him, silently reassuring him with a squeeze of his arm. You feel him relax at your touch and then he turns away from her.

You reach for his hand, fingers brushing as you take the paddles from his hand, examining the numbers on them as Javy silently leads you to a pair of double doors and into a big room. There are tables around the room and a stage at the front with a podium. He leads you to a table that’s currently empty as people are still arriving. When you sit he finally turns to you, and you see exhausted frustration in his eyes and you reach out, placing a green-painted fingertip against his lips. “It’s okay, it’s going to be okay,” you whisper and his shoulders relax. You watch his lips pucker slightly in what could be construed as a kiss to your finger. You withdraw it and reach for his hand, squeezing it in yours. “Don’t let her ruin our night,” you remind him and he nods. In an attempt to take his mind off it, you gesture to the room. “Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?” You ask.

He surprises you by leaning his forehead against the side of your head as you glance around the room. “Come on smart girl, you tell me,” he says and you hope he can’t hear the way your heartbeat is in your ears. You reach for the paddles he’s set on the table, turning one in your hand thoughtfully.

“An auction?” You ask, cursing the way your voice shakes in nervous excitement. He nods against your head before he straightens.

“Attagirl, I thought it might be something you’d be interested in,” he explains and your heart flutters in response. “Have you ever been to an art auction, before?” He asks and you shake your head.

“I can barely afford to make my own art let alone buy anyone else’s,” you admit before you can stop yourself and you cringe in embarrassment.

“Well that’s what I’m here for,” he watches your eyes widen in surprise and your mouth open to argue but he shakes his head. “My treat, if you see something you love, let me know. Plus, I need some pieces for my apartment, and I want to get something for my mom. I don’t really have a great eye for this kind of thing, so I figured I’d ask a professional,” he tips his head in your direction and you feel your cheeks warm. “You’ve seen my place, let me know if you see something that’ll look good there.” You nod, dizzy at the prospect of Javy valuing your opinion enough to want it.

“Okay,” you relent and the grin Javy turns on you may be worth more than all the art that’s going to be sold tonight.

***

“Javy,” you hiss as he raises his paddle, brow furrowed as he glares at a little old lady whose paddle is also up. The painting currently up for auction is a gorgeous modern impressionistic take on a rainy night in the French Quarter and the moment Javy had set his eyes on it, you’d seen the adoration and nostalgia in his eyes. It’s gorgeous and you think it’ll make the perfect centerpiece for his living room and you told him as much, but things have quickly spiraled out of hand.

“$30,000” the old lady exclaims indignantly and you feel sick to your stomach.

“$35,000” Javy retorts, and your eyes threaten to bug out of your face.

“$38,000” the old lady aims a sharp glare back at you and Javy.

“$50,000” Javy’s voice is almost lazy and you gape at him as he shrugs and smirks at the old lady who’s gone white as a sheet.

“$50,000 from the young man in the back. $50,000, going once,” The auctioneer calls, looking impressed. Javy arches a challenging eyebrow at the old lady who’s gaping at him. “$50,000, going twice,” Javy gives the old lady a nonchalant shrug. “Sold to the young man in the back for $50,000.” He finally turns to you and you’re still gaping at him.

“$50,000?!” You squeak at him and he shrugs.

“You said, and I quote, ‘It’s beautiful, and it would be like having a piece of home in your apartment and it would make the perfect centerpiece for the living room,’ and I remember telling you I trust your judgment.” You shake your head at him in disbelief.

“Not for $50,000!” You hiss and he rolls his eyes.

“I thought you believed in supporting artists,” he says, arching an eyebrow at you and you throw up your hands in exasperation. He leans in then, whispering so only you can hear. “You know if you let me see yours, I’d bet it’s worth a lot more than $50,000,” you roll your eyes even as heat creeps up your cheeks. Your art isn’t worth that much. You’re not so self-deprecating that you don’t think your art is good. It is, but it’s definitely not worth anything financially, especially since that’s not why you make it in the first place. Your art is a creative outlet, a way for you to process emotions that are too big for yourself, the words you can't bring yourself to say, a way for you to scream without saying a word.

You’re saved from retorting by the reveal of the next painting and your breath catches as the assistant steps away from the painting he’s just placed on the display easel. It’s a simple landscape at first glance, but the colors are what take your breath away. It’s a sunset over the bay, the cliffs beautifully silhouetted in shadows and you’re reminded of the view from Javy’s car on the way here tonight as the sun progressively sunk to the horizon. The flurry of oranges, purples, pinks, and blues, feels so perfect that you almost wish you’d painted it yourself. You almost don’t hear the auctioneer as he confirms the first bid until your ears catch the end of it. “...from the young man in the back,” you turn to Javy, lips parting in surprise as you catch him looking at you a fond smile on his face that he quickly schools.

“Javy,” your voice is a whisper but he just shakes his head gently as he turns back to the auction and counteroffers as bids come in from across the room. You have to excuse yourself, looking for the bathroom as the tears rise unbidden to your eyes. You dab carefully at your eyes as you stand in front of the mirror and try not to think about how Javy is currently spending thousands of dollars on you. You start with surprise as the door opens behind you and the little old lady from earlier walks in. You brace yourself for her anger but instead, she chuckles when she spots you before giving you a fond smile.

“Young love,” she remarks to no one in particular before she addresses you. “You’re a lucky lady, you know that? He reminds me of my Nathan,” she says with a bittersweet smile that you return as you nod. “Have a good evening,” she says simply before walking past you to a stall. You resist the urge to splash some water on your burning cheeks, leaving the bathroom before she finishes, hurrying to get back to Javy. As you approach the table, you spot a woman standing next to Javy whom you quickly recognize as the lady from earlier in the night. You frown as you approach and then you catch Javy’s voice. “I told you already, I have a girlfriend, so I’d appreciate it if you left us alone.” You can hear that he’s gritting the words out through his teeth and you feel anger wash through you. The lady doesn’t seem deterred by his words and you approach, hands shaking equally from nerves and rage. You watch as she places a possessive hand on Javy’s arm.

“I believe he asked you to leave him alone.” The harshness in your voice surprises you and you watch Javy and the lady turn towards the sound of your voice as you approach. “No means no.” You say firmly as you reach out and forcibly remove her hand from Javy’s arm. “Now please leave before I have someone come make you.” You don’t believe your own threat but she seems to as he eyes widen and then she turns and heads back the way she came as you glare after her. Once you watch her exit the room, you turn back to Javy, brows furrowed in concern. “You okay?”

***

Javy stares up at you like you’re an avenging angel, your gentle fingers replacing that woman’s claws on his arm. He shifts so the tablecloth hopefully hides the beginning of what he’s sure is going to be a very painful case of blue balls. He realizes you’re still looking down at him, worry swirling in your eyes and he almost pulls you into his arms then and there. His fingers itch to bury themselves in your hair and he wants to climb inside your skeleton to get as close to you as physically possible. Instead, he simply breathes the words rattling around inside his skull, “Thank you.” Your eyes soften and he can’t stop the way his eyes flit down to your perfect plump lips.

“That’s what friends do, right?” You say with a soft smile and your words are a proverbial bucket of ice water that’s been dumped over his head. Friends, right, friends. Javy doesn’t know much but he knows he’s never wanted to tear the dress off of one of his friends. He also knows he wouldn’t have just spent ten grand on a painting for a friend, but he also knows he needs to let you set the pace here. It’s the best advice he’s ever been given as much as he hates that it came from Bradley Bradshaw. As you sit back down next to him and turn your attention back to the auction he thinks back to a week ago.

***

“I just don’t want to fuck this up,” he admits, squirming in the chair he’s currently sitting in. Around him, curled up on the couch and sprawled on the floor are Bugs, Zam, Dragon, Nat, and Josie. Josie’s been glaring daggers at him since she arrived and honestly, he’s surprised that she showed up, but he has a feeling it has more to do with girl code than any particular desire to help him.

Zam regards him thoughtfully from where she’s seated on the couch, hugging a fluffy pillow that looks like a new addition. “Well that’s the first step, I think. You know what you want, and you know you don’t want to hurt her anymore,”

“Though why you hurt her in the first place is still a mystery,” Josie remarks from her spot next to Zam.

“That’s not why we’re here,” Bugs reminds her while giving Javy a soft look that tells him he needs to have a chat with his best friend about secretkeeping. “We’re trying to find a way to move forward, not back. Zam’s right, acknowledging the problem is the first step in making any progress toward a solution.

“What the fuck?” Javy’s stomach drops as everyone’s eyes follow his to where Bradley Bradshaw is standing at the entrance to the living room.

“Bear! You’re home!” Zam chirps happily, ignoring the irritation blossoming on her boyfriend’s face. It softens slightly at her greeting as he answers,

“Hey Honey,” before he turns back to the the scene taking place in the living room, roving over the girls’ faces before coming to a stop on Javy. “What the fuck is he doing here?” His frown deepens.

“Javy’s acknowledged that he’s in deep shit, and has called upon the sage knowledge of the Dogfighters’ Council of Ladies.” Bradley’s brow doesn’t budge.

“That still doesn’t explain why he’s HERE.” He points out and Zam rolls her eyes.

“Well we wanted to meet somewhere where all the ladies are,” she points out, waving a hand towards a small table next to where Bradley’s standing. Javy had cloaked it when he first arrived. On it are two picture frames, one of a couple that must be Bradley’s parents and the other of a woman who looks like an older version of Zam. There are also two vases, filled with daisies and irises respectively. The fight surprisingly goes out of Bradley as he follows Zam’s hand.

“Fine, am I ordering pizza?” He asks, heading for the kitchen, and Zam brightens.

“Yes, please!” He shakes his head but Javy can tell it's an endeared exasperation. “Okay now, back to business, ladies, what do we think Javy should do?”

“Leave her the fuck alone, that’s what,” Bradley calls from the kitchen where he’s tapping away at his phone.

“And why is that?” Zam turns to face him, glaring at him over the back of the couch.

“Are you kidding? She’s too good for him. She deserves better.” Bradley says without looking up and Javy hates the way his stomach tightens because he knows Bradley’s right.

“That’s rich coming from you, Bradshaw,” Dragon remarks and Bradley looks up, cocking an eyebrow at her. “Mr. Grumpy, ‘I emote with my fists,’ Mr. ‘I punched my girlfriend before the first date’ who’s dating someone that’s absolutely out of his league wants to talk about ‘too good’ and ‘deserves better?’” She arches an accusatory eyebrow right back at Bradley and in that moment Javy’s reminded of who her dad is. Splotches of heat climb up Bradley’s neck and he looks chagrinned. “You want to participate, maybe you should be the one giving Javy some advice.” Bradley puts down his phone and leans against the kitchen counter, looking at Dragon for a long moment before turning to Zam and Javy watches him watch her, fondness mixed with anxiety in his eyes.

Finally, he turns to Javy, almost against his will. “Fine, you want to get her back? First, apologize, and really mean it. If you don’t, don’t even bother. And if she accepts your apology? Take things at her pace, and give her control. She’s a nervous little thing, so let her take the lead. Only go as far as she lets you. Relationships are built on trust and right now you’re fresh out. You won’t get anywhere without it so you have to build it. Show her she can trust you. That’s it. The rest will take care of itself.” He shrugs before he picks his phone up again and continues ordering the pizza.

“Damn,” Josie speaks up. “I hate that he’s right.” She turns to Javy. “But I’ve been married to a hockey player for ten years and honestly that’s it. It all comes down to trust and respect. If you can earn that, you have a chance.” She thinks for a long moment, “Well that and she has to be attracted to you.”

“Is she?” Javy asks before he can stop himself. Josie snorts in response and it’s Nat that speaks up.

“Yup, definitely.” She pops the p and Javy’s head jerks to look at his friend. “That’s all I’m giving you, Javy, so don’t you dare come sniffing around for more. We hung out when she came to watch practice and she definitely likes you,” Javy tries to ignore the way his stomach flip-flops at the reveal of this new information.

“That poor girl,” Bradley mutters from the kitchen. “Alright, Machado, you got your advice, now get out of my apartment.” He jerks a thumb towards the hallway.

“But Bradley, what about the pizza?” Zam pouts at him.

“It’s ordered, but it’s Council-only, he’s not staying,” Bradley says, crossing his arms across his chest, leaving little room for argument. Dragon does anyway.

“You’re not on the Council,” she points out from where she’s sprawled out on the floor.

“I live here and I paid.” Bradley shoots back.

“I’ll pay half,” Javy offers and Bradley’s eyes narrow as they come back to him. “Or I could pay it all,” he amends and Bradley considers the offer.

“Fine, but the moment the food’s done, you get out.” He states firmly and Zam cheers as Javy nods and pulls out his wallet.

***

Javy smiles to himself at the memory and the fact that Bradley had given him the money back on his way out with strict instructions to buy you some flowers with it. He’s doing his best, even if it’s not great. You seemed to like the flowers at least. But as he looks down to where you’re holding his hand, he wonders if maybe he’s not doing so bad after all.

A/N: Y’all… I think he’s in love 🥺

#san diego dogfighters #san diego dogfighters au #san diego dogfighters hockey au #false confidence // goldenseresinretriever #fc // goldenseresinretriever #javy machado x you #javy machado x reader #javy coyote machado x reader #javy coyote machado #javy coyote machado x you #javy machado #coyote x you #coyote x reader #top gun maverick #top gun maverick hockey au #tgm #top gun #no use of y/n

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aimbutmiss · 5 months ago

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Buggy sighed in frustration as he clenched another important document that he absolutely couldn't care less about as he tried to make sense of the words on it. Crocodile rolled his eyes at his "dramatic theatrics", as he put it. And while Buggy did indeed hold the sigh a bit longer than necessary, he could argue it was a very justified reaction. The words on the paper were basically alphabet soup in his brain as it completely shut down, unable to process any more information.

He rubbed his eyes as if that would somehow fix the problem. He felt closer to death with every second he spent inside the dreary office tent. The room was suffocating, filled with the smoke of Crocodile's never ending cigars. Buggy desperately needed fresh air and exposure to direct sunlight, or a poor crew member was going to find his corpse under all those papers by the end of the day.

"Croccy, it's been hours... How many more signatures do you need from me?"

Crocodile puffed out the smoke in his mouth as he spoke, making the air in the tent even heavier. Buggy had to hold himself back from coughing as he kept his eyes locked to the other man's unimpressed ones. "You're the one who insisted on reading all the documents when I already had done so. You could have just quickly signed all of them and left by now if you weren't so stubborn."

"Of course I have to read them! How can I trust you? You could be making me sign away my life to the slave trade for all I know!"

Crocodile laughed menacingly, the only way he knew how, as far as Buggy had seen. "No one would pay good money for you, clown. And if I wanted to sell you off I would have done it by now."

Buggy crossed his arms with a frown, ready to argue with his business partner, but he was cut by a low-ranking worker entering the tent reluctantly.

"I'm saved." He thought as Crocodile got up to talk to the poor man. He took the moment to sneak outside, limb by limb. As he put himself back together outside of the tent, he took the sunlight in with a sigh and cracked his back in relief. He was unfortunately too old and certainly too sexy for an office job. Being an Emperor was supposed to be more flashy than this god dammit!

He locked eyes with the shaky man as he left the tent, and gave him a reassuring smile. The man visibly relaxed, smiling wide as he bowed down before leaving Buggy's presence.

Buggy hated how much Crocodile ruled by fear. These were his men! He was responsible for their well-being and happiness! Well, he couldn't even protect his own well-being so how could he do the same for his enormous crew...

"Don't think so hard, your head will explode."

Buggy jumped in his place as Crocodile spoke in his ear. Too close! When had he snuck up on him? He was too tired to deal with this.

"I'm gonna go now."

"Not before you sign the papers."

"I'm tired..."

"Then don't read them."

"But I want to!"

"THEN GET BACK IN THERE!" Crocodile pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his cool after his outburst. "Okay, you either go in willingly or I'll drag you in there myself if I have to." He moved his hook at an angle, making the light reflect off its sharp edge menacingly. And Buggy probably should have listened, but something snapped in him.

"Stop threatening me with that damn hook of yours! You know I can't get cut."

"But you can get pierced, can't you?"

Buggy gulped, sweat forming on his forehead but not daring to drop. "... You wouldn't dare."

"And why's that?"

"Because..." Buggy stared the scary man in the eyes and was somehow overcome with boldness he couldn't explain. "Because this" he gestured to his face with exaggerated motion "is what sells your shitty personality to everyone!" He was spitting out the words like venom, emphasising every word slowly. "You need me. Certainly more than I need you. You're just an overgrown accountant, but I'm a fucking Emperor. I leave, and the thousands of men under me also leave. You are nothing without me. So stop acting like you can get rid of me without consequences. I dare you to pierce me with that hook."

"..."

Buggy smiled smugly. "I'm gonna take a nap now."

He was lighter than a feather as he made his way to his tent, the smile never dropping from his face. He did it! Well, he wasn't quite free but it was certainly a step in the right direction. And sue him, he was fucking proud of himself.

As he left with his head in the clouds, he was completely unaware of the scene he left behind him. Crocodile was fuming. He felt hot with anger and another annoying, sticky emotion eating at his insides. He completely ignored Mihawk, who had been a witness to the whole conversation.

The swordsman raised a brow in question at the man's silence. "What are you gonna do now, go masturbate?"

Crocodile stared daggers at the man before turning into sand and flowing away. And he absolutely did not masturbate to thoughts about the clown. Ridiculous Hawk Eye really thought he knew everything...

(and he did.)

#I feel so rusty with writing 😖 especially little drabbles like this #the beginning of this has been a draft for months... glad I could finally complete it #also not related but I'm dying of heat rn #one piece #buggy the clown #cross guild #sir crocodile #dracule mihawk #crocbug #crocobug

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thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch · 3 days ago

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Wishing on Golden Stars [5]

Anxiety of Illness

genre: isekai, slow burn, fluff, hurt/comfort, humor(?)

chapter warning(s)!!!: descriptions of illness/aches/fevers etc., ayato in distress he's stressin', teeny hints of overprotective/jealous ayato 🫣

chapter w.count: 6.3k

a/n: he's back babie (fr this time)!!! and bc i've deprived you guys of ayato scenes for two whole chapters in a row- i combined what was supposed to be two chapters into one :D (dont say i never did anything for you. this baby is jam packed (kinda))

The following few weeks Thoma and Ayaka would take silent shifts on keeping an eye on you. The chip on your shoulder finally starts falling away and you begin returning back to the mannerisms you garnered since first arriving here. If you weren’t serving or tending to Ayaka, then Thoma was watching you like a hawk. Assigning himself the position of ‘supervisor’ when it came to household chores you both had somehow falling into together.

While it was a bit suffocating and annoying at times, you understand their dilemma. You did just sort of decide on your own to rush off to Tataratsuna without any approval while also being constantly stressed beyond belief for days on end with no explanation for them to fathom. You figure when they get tired of babysitting- for lack of better wording- and realize that you’re calming back down, they’ll give you a little bit of leniency back.

You were currently out in the courtyard, hanging out laundry that's just been washed. “Y/n,” a cool, and far too collected voice calls at your back. Throwing a sheet over the laundry line, you jump at the familiarity of it, nearly dropping the freshly cleaned linen onto the ground.

Oh…he’s back early.

You turn after flattening the sheet out of creases on the line, what greets you is Thoma standing behind one early returnee from extended business: Kamisato Ayato.

Thoma stood behind Ayato's shoulder, a sheepish look on his face. That coupled with the stretched smile on Ayato’s face you know that someone had tattled. You’re not sure if Thoma told him about your recent fleeing to a different island or Ayaka in the short window he's been back without you even knowing, but whoever did, you wouldn’t be forgetting about it anytime soon. Because now you’re going to either face a lecture from your incredibly far too composed employer or crumble under his scrutinizing smile that declares nothing short of silent irritation.

“Welcome back, milord.” Maybe you can play nice and just skate by his attitude. “I hope your business went well?”

“Quite,” was his curt reply. “Once you’ve finished your tasks out here, please see yourself to my office. I believe you and I are in need of a discussion regarding your recent… behavior while I was away.”

Dammit. You lower your head, yielding quickly. It would do you no good to try and worm your way out of this. He’d only get more annoyed, and you didn’t feel like poking the proverbial bear.

“I understand,” you dejectedly obey. Ayato, with a cheekish shift in his grin, turns with practiced grace and leaves you. Thoma weakly apologzing silently behind his back towards you as you glare at you. His kicked puppy expression tells you all you need to know. Traitor.

Turning back to your laundry, you wonder if you should take your time. Extend the task as long as possible as to postpone the scolding waiting for you in Ayato’s office. Even then, he’d somehow know that you did so and would then also scold you for that. You whine to yourself among the white sheets that billowed lightly in the wind of the midmorning air.

“This sucks,” you murmur defeated before finishing your task. Taking the basket you used to carry the sheets outside back where it belongs, you were soon marching sadly towards those familiar sliding doors where your pale haired employer sits inside. Staring at the doors, you wonder if he knows you're out here already. Wonder if he’s aware of you fidgeting and hesitation on announcing your arrival and purposefully drawing it out for his own amusement?

Or maybe you’re just thinking too much.

Taking a deep, quiet breath in, you hold it just enough to announce your arrival. “My lord, you requested my presence?”

You hear him hum inside, a bit too cheerily. An eyeroll leaves you behind the safety of the still shut door.

“Come in,” he commands with a suspicious lithe in his tone. With one more breath, you slide the door open, step inside and close it at your back. You wonder if it’s too early to start groveling?

Making familiar strides across the office, you move to take your place on a small cushion reserved for guests at the back of the room with a small tea table. It was this very table years ago Ayato got his first bit of information out of you. It really has been a while, it’s weird you remember it so vividly. You begin kneeling down to get comfortable when-

“Not there,” Ayato stops you mid-kneel. Body awkwardly standing at a half-bent angle. You look over towards him. He hasn’t lifted his gaze from whatever document he was looking over. One of his hands holds the long sleeve of his opposite arm back when he lifts his brush to scribble something down on an unrolled scroll with wet ink. You slowly, cautiously, stand back up and your fidgeting starts running the autopilot function.

“My lord?” Still, without looking up at you or even making a slight stop in his work, his chin juts out to the front of his desk that rests on the floor.

“There,” he says. The more extravagant cushion on the other side of him was undoubtedly what he was referring to. You’ve only caught glimpses of much higher individuals sitting there when coming to meet with the Kamisato head. The Kujou and Hiiragi Clans for example. You, a random staff member who was hired on more than suspicious terms, shouldn’t be doing so as well.

Looking around you wonder if there was different cushion around for you to take instead of that one. Or perhaps he means for you to take the cushion you were about to sit on over and sit in front of his desk in that fashion. If that was so, you understand perfectly.

“No, no,” his voice takes on a playful shift. Still, it makes your shoulders jump because when you lift your gaze back up from the plain cushion at your feet, Ayato is finally looking up at you.

He's set down his still wet tipped brush on a block of elegantly carved wood to prevent it from rolling away and ruining his hard work. The scroll he had been brushing upon with his skilled calligraphy was left idle as the ink began the drying process. One of his arms rests with his elbow on the very edge of his desk to support his chin- a very unprofessional yet comfortable move- while the other rests on his folded lap. “Come here and sit,” he instructs. His eyes shut with a smile and you feel sweat gather at the nape of your neck. Oh, he’s pissed.

As collected as you could, you make your way to the far too fancy pillow and set yourself formally on top of it. Seemingly satisfied, Ayato picks up his brush once more. Dripping it into the ink well that was surely to run out soon, he begins new brush strokes in silence. The sound of the brush bristles against the parchment would be almost soothing any other time when the aura of the Kamisato head wasn’t boring down on you like a boulder.

“Are you perhaps… upset, my lord?” You test the waters quietly. You didn’t want to be here all afternoon with this pressure. You could throw up if he drags this out.

“Oh,” he chuckles, “so, you can tell?” Forget the boulder. A mountain of negative energy just crashed directly into your cranium. “You’ve gotten better at reading people since I've been gone I see.” You know better than to reply. No matter what answer you could give him, it’d be pointless. So, you choose to sit there and give him nothing. He chuckles at your decision of silence. “That reminds me. While I was gone, it seems you also decided to go off and your own, shall we say, adventure?” You swallow and avert your gaze guiltily. “Thoma informed me.”

“That snitch,” you whisper entirely to yourself impulsively.

“Part of his duties as a trusted aide is to inform me of anything that could interest or involve me. It seems your actions fulfilled both criteria judging by the haste in which he rushed me as soon as I arrived.”

“It really wasn’t that large of an ordeal,” you murmur in half-truth.

“Was it not?” Ayato’s voice shifts once more. All playfulness vanishes and your posture stalls. You ball your hands on our lap with your chin down staring only at the top of his desk and the items that liter it. You hear him once again place his brush down and you know you’re in for it now that his full attention will be directed at you. “I assume your reasons for making such a foolish decision after rescuing Thoma from the Shogun- which while I am grateful for- are justified?”

“It’s a bit complicated.”

“How.” That was what you always say when he tries to ask you anything about yourself. It was so frustrating to him.

You swallow at his pressing agenda. You have no idea how to explain it to him. If he knows what happened, then surely he knows about Aether too. Or maybe he hasn’t been home long enough to hear word of him? No, there's no way. Aether’s name is floating all across Inazuma by now, so he has to have heard it at least once. Should you just use his name to your benefit to try and worm your way out of this? Would that be morally wrong?

“Y/n,” Ayato beckons your train of thought back and you jump at the summon.

“It’s just,” you fumble, “it was for Aether!” You continue to fumble. Ayato’s anger-laced smile finally drops and his brow furrows in mock confusion. You swallow at the bitter look on his face.

“That blond traveler?” His voice reflects the stupid excuse you just spat at him. “I’ve also heard of him from Thoma and Ayaka in passing when she greeted me back.”

“That's right!” You shuffle on your legs that were slowly starting to go numb. “He was a big help in the Vision Hunt Decree rebellious forces. After we returned to Komore Teahouse, Aether was going to head towards Tatarasuna alone. I thought, since I was also seen with them, that showing him the way would be better than-”

“-Then staying at the teahouse with Thoma where it was safe? Instead, you chose to throw yourself into more danger by exposing yourself out in the open with a stranger you hardly know a thing about?”

“...Well, when you say it like that.” Ayato sighs, the hand supporting his chin has now been promoted to holding his forehead as he lowers it with a small shake of his head. “Aether really isn’t all that bad though.” Even with you looking towards him now that his gaze wasn’t boring into you, you still miss the twitch his body goes through at the mention of your defense of the blond. “He really pulled through with the rebellion and he kept me safe the whole time until we got to Watatsumi. We even have a lot in common!”

“A lot in common, you say?” His voice was quiet and you couldn’t be sure if he spoke aloud to you or to himself. “Explain.” Oh, so he was talking to you.

“Well, we’re both a long way from home. And, um, we’re both from really far away places.” You lower your eyes and take a moment to collect your thoughts. You did have a lot in common with Aether, and while those two things are true, the majority of the connection comes from the more emotional impact of your time in Teyvat. Ayato, not satisfied with your two weak defenses, lifts his head annoyed.

“Thats-”

“We both feel alone here,” you whisper. It must’ve been a slip of the tongue judging by the quick reaction of you slapping your hands over your mouth. Ayato’s arm drops as his tense expression relaxes into something somber. “No, what I meant is-” You fumble around trying to backpedal and Ayato just barely hears it.

You felt lonely? Was it because you weren’t allowed to leave Narukami without sufficient reason or supervision, for instance for business or the like? Did you feel trapped? Did he do it? The last thing Ayato wants to do was make you feel like him. Trapped.

While Ayato loves his family and takes pride in his work, he was undeniably stuck here. Unable to go and run from it even if he tried. He had to take this position for his deceased parents. To protect Ayaka and keep her shielded from the more bloody and cutthroat aspects of the position as clan leader. To keep the Kamisato Clan safe and stable. He could hardly ever be Kamisato Ayato, he was always the Yashiro Commissioner.

Was it his fault?

“Ayato!” You screaming his name brings him back to the here and now. Have you ever called him solely by name before? “Please, calm down, my lord. It really isn’t a big deal.” He feels a pain in his leg, one caused by his tight grip against his thigh. When did he start doing that? “What I meant is that sometimes I can get a bit homesick, that’s all. I don’t mean anything else by it.” That was a lie. He could tell. The look in your eyes makes it all too obvious, but you also just wanted him to relax.

“I apologize,” he composes himself quickly. “It seems I’m more exhausted from my trip than I originally thought.”

“You often work yourself sick. You ought to fix that bad habit,” you quip. Ayato chuckles.

“Perhaps I should take a small moment to regather myself.”

“I’ll go and prepare some tea then. I’m sure her Ladyship would enjoy hearing about your trip. Perhaps you can spend the afternoon together for a change?” You shift backward to wake up your legs before Ayato is nodding along with your suggestion. Taking advantage of the laxed situation, you quickly stand and politely excuse yourself.

Standing out in the hall and escaping from the heavy atmosphere of his office, you let out a deep breath from the very pit of your gut. You managed to worm your way out of any consequences and kept most of your secrets to yourself once again. Still, looking over your shoulder at the doors, you wonder why you feel like crap? The look of... guilt on Ayato’s face from earlier plays in the back of your mind.

Shaking your head, you dismiss any idea of telling him anything. He was the one who graciously took you in and gave you a job that came with the added bonus of close companions you can depend on. On top of that, he was an incredibly busy man. How could you unload your burdens onto him when he was already feeling enough of those himself? You couldn’t and until some immovable object places itself in your path, you wouldn’t.

“Y/n!” Thoma comes walking down the hall towards you. You huff, snubbing him as you pass him by. With a nervous chuckle, he chases your back. “Look, I’m sorry, but I have to tell his lordship these kinds of things.” He lamely tries to defend himself, but it doesn't work. Not at all.

“Lord Kamisato will be having tea with her ladyship this afternoon. Please, go start brewing some while I look for her.”

“...Understood,” with a sad air of acceptance, Thoma ambles off with a cloud over his head. You’d accept his apology later when you've properly calmed down. Right now, there's a younger sister you have to find and invite to tea.

It’s been months since the Vision Hunt Decree as well as the Sakoku Decree were abolished and the nation of electro was slowly returning to the times. Opening its borders and allowing traffic in and out to all sorts of people. It was a rough road since there were rumors floating around that a part of the rebellion had tried to reignite conflict. It was quickly shut down however, since more fighting at this point would be pointless.

There's been a feeling in the back of your throat all day long and despite your best efforts to clear it out, nothing was working. The itch was constant and no amount of muted coughing behind your fist would clear it.

You were currently out with Ayato, taking the role of unofficial babysitter from Thoma for the day. What his goal for today is, remains a total mystery to you. He was only insistent that you accompany him into the city and was strangely unable to be swayed into taking Thoma instead.

His lordship was currently in a rather passionate conversation with Tomoki about yet more unusual flavors of dango milk when you try once again to clear your throat off to the side. With yet another unsuccessful attempt, your attention was pulled away from the commissioner-vendor duo when your name was called from the other direction of the stall.

“y/n!” Both you and Ayato turn to the familiar chime of Paimon’s voice. Coming up the way from the north side entrance of Inazuma City was none other than Paimon and Aether. On a completely separate occasion when you were out with Ayaka, apparently Aether had come into Inazuma looking for Thoma and ended up meeting Ayato at the Kamisato residence. Of course, that was all in Ayato’s character quest according to your reality-knowledge. It was relieving since Ayato didn’t need to keep his guard up around the pair of travelers now.

The pale-haired man politely dismissed himself from the conversation he was having with Tomoki. Making his way to your side as Aether waltzes himself up to join the group.

“It’s been a while,” you greet when the blond stops in front of you. You’ve seen him once or twice in quick passing since your trip to Watatsumi during the war. He’s always busy with something or another when he’s here. Whether it be wrapped up in something Itto had dragged him into, or commissions he’d picked up out of the goodness of his heart; so proper greetings were hard to come by. “I hope you’ve both been keeping out of trouble.”

Aether rubs the back of his head sheepishly as Paimon joins him in the silent answer of ‘sort of’.

“It’s never anything we can’t handle,” Paimon defends.

“I’m sure,” you humor.

“What brings you both back to Inazuma?” Ayato asks. An easy and relaxed expression rests on his cheeks and it makes you forget about the discomfort in your throat seeing him even a smidge more relaxed than usual. “Nothing untoward I hope.”

“We just wanted to come and catch up with some friends!” Paimon explains.

“It’s been awhile since we’ve come back here on anything other than business,” Aether supports. “It’s nice to take in the island air sometimes.” You nod, understanding. He, of all people, needs to look after himself in the event of a crisis.

“It’s good to take time for yourself,” you tell him. Crossing your arms, you shoot a look of disapproval to your employer who stands at your shoulder. “If only I could get a certain someone to follow your example.”

“Why, whatever do you mean?” The smile that was once relaxed, shifts to one of enjoyment as he looks at you. “I’m making time right now, aren’t I?” Rolling your eyes you brush off his attempt at pushing your buttons.

“Only after Thoma’s constant insisting.” With his arms folded behind him and a slight bend in his back to get closer into your space, you turn away from him with a huff. Paimon and Aether look at each other before looking back at you both. It's obvious Ayato is enjoying prodding you and from the looks of it, you were just letting him. It could hardly be seen as a scenario between a mere employer and retainer. It’s much more... comfortable.

Ayato’s attention was briefly taken away from you at Tomoki’s nervous beckon. Apparently, he had taken one of Ayato’s out of world ideas into consideration and wanted a bit more of an idea for the future. Dismissing himself, Aether steps up to the plate to continue entertaining you in Ayato’s stead.

“It’s good to see you’re getting along,” he tells you in regards to Ayato.

“Of course. He’s tough to handle, but nothing I can’t subdue.” You chuckle. It was always good seeing Aether. Even if you both couldn’t speak of your outworld heritage, just knowing that he knew was enough for you to feel a weight off your shoulders.

“It’s usually Thoma trailing after him like this, so I was shocked to see you instead.”

“Yeah, that's true!” Paimon agreed. You nod.

“For some reason, Lord Kamisato wanted me to come out with him today instead. Thoma may have been too busy with housework and since Ayaka had no plans today, having him stay with her made more sense.” Of course, you didn’t know the full reason and that was just you thinking out loud.

“Yeah," the floater draws out her word with an unconvinced look. "Somehow Paimon doesn’t think that’s true at all,” she shoots you a look with her arms cross. Blinking at her, you raise a brow.

“What do you mean?” You ask. She shares a knowing glance with Aether before looking back. “What are you both thinking about?” Aether steps forward and whispers something in your ear.

It was nonsense. Ayato preferring you over Thoma like he was suggesting was just folly! Still, it made your ears burn and you wanted to smack the smirk off his face when he finally stepped away from you.

With your head down and hand raised to pinch between your eyes on the bridge of your nose, the smirk on Aether’s face twitches as he looks over your shoulder.

Behind you- turned away from Tomoki who was scribbling something down in a small notepad- Ayato shoots him a rather ominous look. Aether was a pretty good reader of a person's emotions, but Ayato had always been difficult to grasp; years of experience he guesses. This look, however, was loud and clear. The blond took another half-step back as he tucked his hands down to his side.

“What’s your problem?” You ask, head lifted back up and noticing his odd shift in behavior.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” He brushes off your attempt to get behind the reason for his change. You want to press more, but don’t get the chance to do so.

The itch in your throat rushes back to the forefront of your mind with a harsh cough. Turning away from Aether, you cover your mouth and try to swallow back the coughing behind your hand to avoid making a scene. It doesn’t work. Suppressing it only makes it feel worse.

You hear Paimon start panicking behind you and Aether’s body comes closer, hovering around you unsure about what he should do. The hand you feel push against your back wasn’t the traveler’s, but the gloved hand of Ayato. With him watching your back, he quickly takes notice of your condition and rushes to your side. Your coughing fit ends with you gathering your breath with a slumped posture. Ayato’s hand still softly runs up and down your spine as you gathered yourself.

“Are you okay?” Paimon asks in worry. With sweat on your forehead, you nod. You can't tell if you mean it or not. It's suddenly far too warm out in Narukami today.

“This always seems to happen around this time of year,” Ayato speaks. You weren’t sure if he was addressing you, Aether and Paimon, or deducing it himself. Still, it’s heard by everyone regardless.

“Oh no," Paimon worries, "are you sick?” She floats over to you, now standing back up to your full height, and frets in even closer proximity.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with worse than a cough before.” You voice stays muffled behind your hand you keep in front of it. If you were sick, then you'd hate to spread it around.

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t sick,” Aether argues before Paimon floats back to his side and agrees behind his shoulder. “You should go home and rest.”

“That’s-”

“Exactly what we intend to do,” Ayato interrupts. You look over your shoulder at him behind you. His face is serious. He means every word. You feel sort of guilty. Like you just ruined one of the few chances he has to come into town that isn’t work related because of a cough. “You’ll have to excuse us,” he addresses Aether, not letting you get a word in to argue with his decision.

“Should we walk you back?” The blond offers. Ayato knows it’s all in good faith and he’s only worried, but the clawing feeling at the back of his neck almost makes him frown at the suggestion.

“No need,” Ayato declines. “We can manage.” Aether doesn’t press anymore, leaving it to the commissioner. With a few more quick words of parting, Ayato offers you his arm to hold onto, which you politely decline since you weren’t so weak you couldn’t walk on your own. Soon, you both were leaving the city and making your way back to the Kamisato estate.

By the time you arrived back home, Ayato is holding your hand in his gloved one. Leading you through the gates on the verge of yet another coughing fit. A samurai standing guard was quickly instructed to find Thoma immediately. Kamisato Ayato was a man of many skills and talents, but caring for the ill is still something he lacks in. He would need guidance to collect himself.

Not too much later, you were placed in a private room on a clean futon. Thoma swiftly leaves after getting you situated to inform Ayaka of your state of illness while Ayato stays behind to tend to you. All the housekeeper left behind was instructions to make sure you consum the medicine he had prepared for you. 'Make sure she drinks it all!', he had told him.

“Sit up, just a bit,” Ayato softly instructs you. You felt fine this morning, nothing but that itch in your throat. Now you feel terrible. The itch was now a burn, and no amount of water or tea would soothe it. Your head pounds and your eyesight would swim between weary blinks. You feel your body being lifted behind your shoulders. You can barely see a small bowl of tonic hovering near your chin as Ayato keeps your torso lifted with his arm. “This will help.”

You try to down the tonic, you really do. However, the moment the bitter taste hits your tongue, your body pulls away in repulsion. You already feel awful, you just couldn’t bring yourself to swallow something just as awful.

Ayato sighs when you close your eyes in disgust. You were so stubborn even when sick. Though, he's more than aware of this fact.

The last two years you’ve been here, this scenario has happened before. Around this time every year, you get sick out of nowhere. No one knows why you’re sick or what's wrong but it’s always the same: a fever, a horrid cough, aches and pains and agony no medicine can help followed by several days of near-continuous sleep.

It didn't matter how many doctors he calls upon; none are able to diagnose you with any sort of illness. 'All we can do is wait it out' are the words he's always forced to hear with another prescription of medicine to add to his ledger.

Always this time of year. Always around the time when Thoma first found you on the docks of Ritou and Ayato brought you back to the Kamisato home.

Living through two years of this illness before, Ayato was half expecting this. The whole reason he wanted you to come with him to town was because he wanted to keep an eye on you. He didn’t know how quickly your condition would deteriorate though. Guilt nags at him as he watches you lay in the futon. Still, he needs you to consume the tonic regardless of if you want to or not.

With a defeated sigh, Ayato looks to the closed door to the room. There was no sound outside. Good.

“Pardon my actions,” pulling the small bowl away from you, he takes the bitter liquid into his mouth, holding it there. The taste is atrocious, no wonder you didn't want anything to do with it.

Setting the bowl aside, he keeps your body raised and his other arm crosses over to rest on the opposite side of your hips so he hovers over your face. Pushing his lips against yours that desperately gasp for air, he pushes the tonic into your mouth, forcing you to swallow it. He keeps his hand on the back of your head so you don't pull away from him and waste the medicine.

Once the foul liquid is out of his mouth, into yours and properly swallowed, you cough and recoil from the taste when he pulls away from you. He swipes his palm under his chin, wiping away the trails of medicine that didn't make it to you.

Ayato once again lays you down gently, pulling the blanket up to your shoulders to keep the chills of fever away. He takes one of his gloves off, setting it aside and places his palm on your forehead. It was on fire. He winces at the clammy, hot feeling of your skin against his.

“If only I was able to pinpoint why this keeps happening to you,” he laments. Your breathing, while harsh, evens out as you slip into a fever induced state of sleep. He hopes that the illness doesn’t cause you nightmares. With a deep breath, his hand slips from your forehead to brush against your hair in a weak attempt to soothe you. “Just as before, I’ll make sure your recovery is swift.”

And just as the two years before, during your bedrest and hazy moments of consciousness, Ayato has his work moved into the recovery room in which you rest so that he can spend as much time beside you as he can. It makes him too anxious- leaving you on your own. The room is private for this very reason, and no one can talk him out of these actions- not even Thoma.

You never remember falling so deathly ill when you finally start recovering- or, at least you haven't in the years prior; it's all just a long, blacked out memory.

You never remember Ayato tending to you as often as he can. You never know that your deep, struggling breaths become the only noise he pays attention to. You never know that when he gets accustomed to your ragged breathing, he holds your wrist in his palm so he continues to feel your pulse ebb over his touch. You never know how he looks up at the sky at night while he grips your hand tightly in his, hoping he won’t see any shooting stars that he fears might carry you away.

It was the dawn of the fourth day since you had fallen ill and the anniversary of your arrival had passed. Thoma and Ayaka had both gone out and purchased two small trinkets for you as both a get well presents and also to commemorate your years with them. Ayato would do the same once you were awake, aware and healthy again just as he has in the past. Perhaps a good luck charm centered around health would be an ideal purchase.

Ayato’s temporary work desk, one much smaller than his office desk in the office, was already filled with paperwork and open books to scrawl in when he heard two knocks on the door. No doubt it was Thoma coming to check on both of his friends.

“You may enter,” he grants. As he suspects, Thoma’s face slides into view with the opening of the plain doors. “Good morning, Thoma,” he greets without lifting his face from his work. Partly because work did have his attention for the most part, but also because he was probably sporting some nasty eyebags that the pyro wielder would scold him about.

“Same to you, my lord. Are you hungry? I’ll have breakfast ready in no time.” Ayato only nods along to Thoma’s whims even if his appetite hasn’t been the biggest the last four days. Thoma moves to kneel in front of your still unconscious body. Placing his hand on your forehead, replacing a cold rag there, and checking your pulse he nods to himself. “I’ll bring some more medicine for y/n while I’m at it. They seem to already be doing better. That’s much faster than last year!”

That was true. Last year it was a week before you started showing any signs of improvement. Ayato’s shoulders relax a bit at that fact.

“You really shouldn’t stress out so much, my lord.” Thoma looks at the small space between your head and Ayato’s place sitting at his temporary workspace. “I know you’re worried, we all are. Still, if y/n ever finds out that you always push yourself so much when she gets sick, she might feel guilty about it.”

Ayato halts all his actions and lets out a deep breath. He knows Thoma’s right, but it wasn’t like he could just not care.

“I’m not saying you’re not allowed to care,” it’s like Thoma could read Ayato’s mind sometimes. “We all just wish you’d take better care of your health too. Y/n will recover, she always does. So please, try not to worry too much.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Thoma.” The housekeeper dismisses himself with a small quip and when the door shuts and Ayato is left alone with you again, he deflates. Placing his items down, he shifts and reaches over to brush his fingers over your bangs that were damp from the fresh cold cloth on your forehead.

Later that day, Thoma visits once again only this time, he’s brought an additional party member. Or rather, two.

“Ayato, we’re here to visit y/n.” Paimon announces as she floats in beside Aether and behind Thoma. Ayato feels astonished to see the blond and also somehow conflicted at his visit. Perhaps it was just his imagination, and he was more tired than he thought.

Thoma excuses himself to leave you all alone so he could tend to his own work. Aether takes a seat next to your body while Ayato dismisses himself from work for the duration of however long Aether plans to stay. He feels antsy. It's irritating.

“How is she?” Aether asks.

“Improving. This happens annually.”

“Does she have some kind of illness?” Paimon asks.

“We’re not sure. No one has been able to identify exactly the cause of her collapsing like this. It’s always around this time of year, but it doesn’t last long enough to become fatal.”

“How weird,” Paimon worries.

A small conversation between the three of them begins easily and Ayato is soon changing your towel again. Aether and Paimon are near astonished seeing the commissioner remove his gloves to tend to you. In fact, they were shocked he was taking this so seriously if it has happened before and doesn’t risk your life. They expected him to worry of course, they know Ayato isn't heartless- but he was taking it so seriously. Like you really could die.

Ayato’s fingers run briefly through your hair when he draws back from placing the freshly squeezed towel on your forehead and dabbing your face of sweat.

“Say, Aether,” he starts yet another conversation while looking towards you instead of his guest. Bad manners aside, Aether hums back at the call of attention. “You come from beyond Teyvat, correct?” The blond swallows.

“I do.” There was no point in hiding it if Ayato already knew. Of course he did, it seems like he always has access to knowledge that is basically pointless to him.

“Y/n once told me that you both have many things in common. Being far from home was an example of such a bond.” Finally lifting his gaze and straightening his posture, the commissioner looks Aether in his eyes. “Is there a chance y/n is also from beyond Teyvat. A place we of the common folk could never reach?”

Aether knows the answer. Of course that was the truth, but he has no right to explain that in your stead. It was something you had to do yourself.

“I couldn’t say,” was the answer Ayato received. “Why not ask her about it when she recovers. I’m sure she’d be willing.”

“Perhaps,” he muses dismissively. You hadn’t opened up to him about your home for three years at this point. Why would you suddenly do so now? Then again, maybe it was because he wasn’t fully open with you either. It was a challenge opening up to anyone, but maybe if he explains your position in his life- your significance- you’d be more willing...?

Ayato looks up at the sky outside the room. It was late afternoon and soon the sun would be setting. Would you wake up tomorrow? He hopes so.

Aether and Paimon stay at the residence for dinner. Ayato is persuaded to join them, Thoma and Ayaka all for a big joint meal. You were left with a trusted attendant until Ayato could return and while he knows you're in good hands, he still couldn’t focus. He even drops his chopsticks a few times when his mind began to wander for too long causing his grip to slacken.

After a good meal, and a politely declined offer of staying over the duration of the night, the Kamisatos' see Aether and Paimon off. Free from the binds of being a good host, Ayato makes haste back to your side to dismiss the attendant tending to you as well as settle the anxiety in his chest that comes with being away from you.

Oh, how he wishes you’ll wake up tomorrow.

a/n pt.2: oh the woes of be infected with isekai sickness. rest in pieces but did you see that he kisSeD-

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#genshin impact #kamisato ayato #ayato x reader #ayato fluff #ayato angst #ayato hurt/comfort #ayato comfort #ayato x you #ayato x y/n #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact fanfic #genshin imagines

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mystargirl-interlude · 8 months ago

Text

𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑

Sam claflin x fém!reader smut❣️❣️❣️

No use of y/n, oral (male receiving) PnV, unprotected sex, slight handjob??? This is requested! 😘 @jen-parker

hi we are gonna act like I didn’t take over 2 months to make this! I had to go on lockdown cause I almost got canceled on twitter anyway enjoy

Waking up in the morning to an empty bed and the smell of pancakes in the air was definitely a way to start the morning off, getting up and washing up you go in the kitchen to see Sam still in his pajamas cooking breakfast.

“You’re staring” Sam says grinning breaking me out of my thoughts

“sorry I zoned out” you reply smiling as he brings you in for a kiss.

What was supposed to be a short peck turner into 3 pecks turned into a full kiss.

Wrapping his arms around your waist he pulls you in as close as he can get, you can feel his tongue brush against your lips asking for permission which you grant immediately.

Thank god his kids were at summer camp

Your hands go up to his hair tugging slightly making him groan into your mouth, but unfortunately being interrupted by the sound of pancakes burning on the stove

“Shit! dammit!” Swiftly moving the pan over to the other side of the stove to cook off you look down at what use to be the breakfast

“Do you think it’s still edible?” are the first words out of your mouth, looking up at Sam

“I am 99% sure it is not..” he says, swollen lips smiling at you. Realizing he lost your attention he looks at what does and sees that there’s a sun shower outside casting a rainbow through the windows

“Sam, Sam we have to go outside, quick before it’s over!” You say jumping up and down He picks you up throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of flour taking you outside. Immediately met with the warm sun and cool rain Sam puts you down as you both get soaked in the rain water.

Your pink nightgown begins to stick to your body emphasizing your figure, Sam takes his shirt off once it begins to get wet throwing it off to the side

He picks you up once more placing you onto the pool chair before crawling on top of you.

Coming down to kiss your lips “so” kiss “fucking” kiss “beautiful” he says before fully kissing you knocking the wind out of your lungs

Tongues brushing up against each other you wrap your legs around his waist pulling him in as close as possible, the mixture of the cold rain with warm sun feels like heaven

Thrusting your hips up to grind against his now hard cock a loud whine leaves your swollen lips

“What do you need?” His raspy British tone says while moving his kisses to your neck

“I n-need you inside of me” you say breathlessly

“Well since you asked so nicely..” he says while peeling your nightgown off of you leaving you completely nude underneath him, then proceeding to take his pants off

His fat dick slaps up against his lower stomach making your mouth water

“I want you in my mouth first” you say looking up at him through the rain

You get off of the chair dropping to your knees you quickly grab his cock in your hands spitting on it before slowly jerking it off

You look up at him once more as he lets out a deep sigh of relief

Taking his fat tip in your mouth your eyes roll back slightly at the familiar taste

You moan which sends vibrations through is dick making him moan loudly. Deciding you want more you start taking the rest of his cock in your mouth making his tip hit the back of your throat.

Bobbing your head around his length with spit dripping down onto your breast’s Sam wishes he had his phone of him to capture the moment as you get all the way down to his base, with your nose buried in the short hair

“Fuck, get up I don’t wanna cum yet” he groans out. Standing up your knees are slightly scraped due to the rough concrete, quickly straddling him your lips meet letting him taste himself and a mixture of rain water in your mouth

He lays you down on the chair hovering over you, he grabs his cock and slaps it on your clit rubbing it through your folds, letting out a whine as you wrap your legs around his waist

“Please I can’t wait anymore please please please” letting out words of nonsense at this point Sam finally gives in letting his cock slip through your cunt immediately starting at a fast pace, the sounds of him groaning and skin hitting mix with the sound of rain

“Fuck fuck, your so good” Sam groans into your neck as he pounds into you.

The feeling of the tip of his cock just barely kissing your cervix is ungodly, his hand slips between the both of you rubbing your clit in sync with his thrusts. Pulling your hair back revealing more of your neck he buries his head into in leaving a trail of blood sucking kisses behind.

You’re almost positive you can feel him in your stomach rearranging your guts with how hard he’s pounding into you

“yeah, yeah right there!” You practically scream as you feel him hit that spongy spot

“Found it” he says against your lips

You can feel warmth beginning to spread in your lower stomach the same time as you feel Sam start to twitch in you

“Fuck Sam, sam I’m gonna cum, fuck!” You whine

“Me too baby just let go” he says as he lets out a moan

Clenching hard around him almost completely pushing him out he rubs fast at your swollen clit almost letting out a feminine moan as you gush around him feeling pure white hot pleasure run through your body. Your orgasm almost immediately sets off his as he fills you up to the brim

Sam slows down his pace letting the both of you ride out orgasms letting the rain water cool you both off

“We should do that more often” you say causing the both of you to laugh

See you next time stargirl nation 😘

#sam claflin x reader #finnick odair x oc #finnick x reader #finnick odair fanfic #billy dunne #billy dunne x reader #sam claflin smut #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair smut

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gintrinsic-writing · 7 months ago

Text

A Flicker in a Distant Timeline

CW: references to violence, loss of a limb, blood.

Like this, the King of Evil didn’t look like much—sweating through his robes, hair in disarray, panting through pain and exhaustion alike. He was too weakened to transform, and his baser form—his simple Gerudo body, absent of Demise’s visibly corroding influence—lacked the same petrifying, untouchable presence. Link figured he should tell him so.

“You reek.”

Ganondorf’s glare was half-ruined by the tears rolling down his face; courtesy of some well-aimed dirt, Link thought smugly. “And you,” Ganondorf managed between breaths, “sound like a dying frog.”

Link barely had enough energy to muster up the indignation that deserved, but he managed. “A frog? That’s the worst you could come up with?” He scoffed, ignoring how much it stung to do so. “Were you even trying?”

“Croak, croak, croak,” Ganondorf griped, waving a hand back and forth. The Triforce of Power shimmered like a kaleidoscope against the back of his hand. “Annoying little wheezes.”

“Oh, forgive me. Some asshole punched me in the throat.”

“Only after another asshole pulled my hair!”

“So what?” Link croaked—ah, dammit, Ganondorf was right. What a miserable day.

“So, hair’s off-limits.”

“Off…” Link paused to stare. He blinked several times for good measure. Only a little blood managed to dribble into his eyes. “It was a fight! To the death!”

“Fated by the deities themselves,” Ganondorf agreed darkly.

“And you think hair is off-limits?”

“Well, yes.” Ganondorf sneered at Link as if the hero was particularly dense. “We’re not animals.”

“You literally are, you dumb pig,” Link groaned.

Ganondorf made some weird growling sound, then coughed. “Just you wait,” he grumbled. “As soon as I catch my breath, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Link mocked. “You’ll kill me? With what weapon? You couldn’t summon a speck of dust right now.”

Ganondorf curled his lip disdainfully. “As if you’re one to talk. You can’t even get up, can you?”

Link chose that moment to finally admit to himself that he’d been managing his half of the conversation while lying prone on the ground. He was sure the Master Sword was within grasp if he needed it. Probably. “I can move,” he answered loftily, only croaking a little, “whenever I want to.”

“Sure,” Ganondorf agreed.

“I can.”

“Like I said, sure.”

Link groaned again. Dirt stuck to his lips in a very unheroic way.

Seconds passed, then Ganondorf heaved another breath. It sounded more significant than the previous ones in some strange and foreboding way. He pushed off his knees with both hands and stood up straight. His spine popped immediately. “Damn the goddesses,” Ganondorf spat, bracing a clawed hand against the small of his back as he resumed his slouch. Link couldn’t help but nod in tired agreement. “And damn Demise!”

That sounded particularly vicious. Link nodded again for solidarity. “Is Demise the reason you’re so fucked up?”

“Yes,” Ganondorf hissed.

“Ah.” What was he supposed to say to that? Something meaningful, probably. “Sucks.”

“Indeed.”

Something wet fell on Link’s face. Then it happened again. Rain, he thought bitterly. Maybe he’d be lucky enough to drown. “I don’t suppose you’re dying? Spare me the trouble of having to finish this?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Ganondorf grumbled. “You?”

“Also unfortunately no.”

Ganondorf eyed him skeptically. “I thought you’d bleed more when I cut off your hand.”

Ah yeah, that. His right wrist really hurt. “To be honest, me too.” A wave of dizziness washed over Link, which he promptly ignored like he had the last four times. “How did you survive that light magic bomb?”

Ganondorf shook his head. “No fucking idea. Luck, perhaps. I felt my heart stop for a moment.”

“Really? Cool.”

Ganondorf shrugged.

“So… now what?” Link asked quietly, licking at the raindrops gathering on his upper lip. They tasted like dirt. “You gonna kill me?” Because in all honesty, he couldn’t get up. Trying left his pulse racing and his limbs trembling. He was pretty much useless.

“I should,” Ganondorf answered just as quietly.

When nothing else was said, Link grunted. “But…?”

“I’m tired.” Simple, honest, absolute.

“Yeah,” Link muttered. “Me too.”

With a pained little oof, Ganondorf sat down beside Link, crossing his legs at the ankles and keeping his weight off of his left hip. He fiddled with his many bracelets. Link struggled to read his expression. “Perhaps I’ll feel up to it in a minute,” the King of Evil finally said.

There was something awkward about that. Something sad. Link decided to do what he did best and make a nuisance of himself. “Did you have to sit so close? I wasn’t lying earlier. You stink. Does deodorant not apply to demon kings?”

“Shut up, worm.” Ganondorf flicked a pebble at him. Somehow, it landed right between Link’s eyes.

“Ow! Fuck you.”

“In your dreams.”

Link gagged, loudly. The effect was ruined when it started to rain in earnest. Before he could think of the best way to complain, Ganondorf threw out a hand, and tendrils of dark magic formed a barrier above them.

“Oh,” Link said lamely. “Guess you’re not out of juice after all.”

Ganondorf frowned up at the barrier. “It’ll last a minute if we’re lucky.”

“Then what?”

“Then we’ll get wet. Maybe you’ll be able to walk by then, assuming you don’t bleed out in the meantime.”

A pretty bold assumption, all things considered, but Link wasn’t going to say so. He’d take what he could get. “And then?” he pressed.

Ganondorf clearly held back the first answer that came to mind. He pursed his lips before saying, “Your choice. I got us this far.”

Link couldn’t help it—he laughed. It sounded pretty terrible. “Yeah,” he wheezed after several seconds. “Yeah, I guess so. Okay.”

Ganondorf shook his head in apparent resignation. The barrier began to flicker.

#this idea hit me over the head and i had to sit down and write it immediately #but now i'm about to start ffvii rebirth so So Long Farewell it's been nice knowing you guys #honestly it'd be fun to write more for this idea #ganondorf #link #legend of zelda #loz fic #loz #gintrinsic writing

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pinkroseblooms · 9 months ago

Note

Thank you thank you so much for taking my request! I wish there were more Bucchigiri fics out there. I love it so far! Matakara needs more love! And Shindo being a rival is perfect!

I'm glad you're enjoying it! Here's part 2! (ngl this might end up being a 4 or even 5 part story. I'm getting invested)

A Whole New World! An Unknown Admirer and an Unknown Enemy!

Matakara/f!Reader/Shindo, Pt.2

Summary: Your first day at Ichizu high has finally arrived! As you take the next step towards your long awaited fresh start, Matakara reflects on the past and looks forward toward a future with you and him, finally no longer separated. Meanwhile, Shindo is making plans of his own... wc: 2.6 a/n: There's a lot of references from Disney's version of Aladdin because of course there is. Enjoy!

“Arajin, you couldn’t have done worse if you had thrown the rock at her head.”

“It was supposed to be romantic! What do you know?” Arajin has half a mind to drop the book bag he had offered to carry for you. “It’s not like you have any experience.”

“I have common sense.” You retort lightly. “If you want to get anywhere with this Mahoro, you can’t ignore her feelings. Reign it in and don’t be so pushy.”

“Yeah, I know.” Arajin hangs his head, trudging alongside you; his frown only grows deeper as the school gates come into view. “Are you sure you don’t want to meet up for lunch?”

“What, you’re not eating with your girlfriend?”

“Ha ha.” Arajin hands over your bag, shouldering his own with a yawn. “Listen, keep a low profile, okay?” He scans the entrance gates with narrowed eyes. “It’s a mad house but you should be fine if you keep your head down and…keep close to Matakara.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Is that your way of giving us your blessing?”

“Ugh, stop! Look, if people know you’re cool with him, they’re not going to bother you.”

“Maybe you ought to take your own advice; stop being such a big baby and start talking to him again.”

“Dammit, will you butt out?”

“I’m only saying, it’s obvious Macchan cares a lot about you. Can’t you just-?”

“Isn’t it bad enough we had to come back here?” Arajin cuts you off tersely. “The past is the past. Drop it.”

“Fine.” Your hand tightens around the strap of your book bag and you pointedly turn away to the Ichizu high’s doors. “I’m sorry I messed everything up for you. I didn’t ask to be here either, but I am and I’m going to make the best of it. If you ask me, the only one hung up on the past here is you.”

“Wait, I didn’t mean it like-”

“I’ll see you at home.”

You don’t give Arajin a chance to say anything else, opting to hurry off to your homeroom, wherever it was; the map Arajin had sketched out for you was still in your bag’s front pocket, but you didn’t want to do anything to slow down. You had to get away from him and the regretful look on your brother’s face. Even if he’s sorry, you can’t stand Arajin’s stubbornness; your nerves are rubbed raw and all you want to do is get through this day quickly. After the first day, surely you’ll feel more at ease being back in a classroom with other people. You don’t need your brother lecturing you to add to your anxieties.

“Good morning!”

You flinch; you were hoping you wouldn’t run into Matakara before getting settled. As soon as you see him speed walking down the hall towards you, two unfamiliar boys trailing after him, all you can think about is how nice it would be to latch onto him and stick by his side for the remainder of the day.

“Good morning.” You wave and attempt a smile. “Hey, am I anywhere close to 2-C?”

“Sure, I’ll walk you.” Matakara skids to a halt in front of you, bright eyed and breathing a touch labored. “I can give you a tour later. These are my friends, Zabu Kakeru and Sakigake Komao, we’re all in the same class as Ara-chan.”

“I apologize in advance for any trouble my brother might cause.” You tell them with a sheepish smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Yo.” Zabu regards you curiously. “You’re that shrimp’s sister?”

“Huh, I was expecting you to look prettier.” Sakigake looks you up and down. “Matakara wouldn’t shut up about you all week, so I kinda assumed you’d be a supermodel or something.”

“Hey, knock it off!” Matakara looks at you with a shaky smile. “He’s kidding, really, I was just telling them how we went way back and, er, you know, I was excited we’d finally be going to the same school.”

“You already seem less annoying than Shorty.” Zabu smirks at you from over Matakara’s shoulder. “Where is the brat anyway?”

“I told my brother dearest I could find my own way to my homeroom. He’s probably already in his class now.” You unzip your bag’s front pocket and take out a folded up piece of notebook paper. “I’m guessing he didn’t make the best impression.”

“Aw, don’t listen to Zabu, he skipped breakfast.” Matakara sidles up to you, looking over your arm to scan the crudely drawn map. “Did Ara-chan make this?”

“You can tell?” You’re a bit impressed. “I guess it looks pretty similar to those old treasure maps he’d make up. See?” You move in closer to show Matakara the place Arajin had marked your classroom with a big, bold ‘x’. “X marks the spot.”

“Thi-this looks about right, but it only shows you how to get to your homeroom.” Matakara moves back a few steps. “Why don’t you let us show you around?”

“Us?” Sakigake grins, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Sweet, now we have a reason to cut class!”

“Since when do we need a reason?” Zabu snorts. “I wouldn’t mind ditching the first period.”

“Um, I really shouldn’t.” You speak up carefully. “I don’t know if Macchan told you, but I’m a bit easily winded. I wouldn’t want to slow you guys down and I really should stick to my schedule.”

“Lame.” Sakigake pouts. “Matakara said you were cool.”

“He did?” You eye your old friend with a half smile. “Sorry to disappoint you, but believe me, he’s exaggerating.”

“We could give you a tour during lunch.” Matakara offers, face flushing slightly. “I was hoping we could all hang out, maybe do something after school? You said if we ever attended the same school we’d do stuff together, like get lunch or study and all that…”

“I did?”

Matakara nods quickly. “You pinky swore.”

“Well, I can’t break a pinky promise.” You’re beaming; somehow, he always knows just what to say to get you back in good spirits and you feel like you’ve gotten your second wind. “Alright, I’ll drop by your homeroom for lunch period, but if you change your mind and just want to be with your buddies-”

“Not a chance; I want you to get the whole high school experience! We’re all going to grab food at the cafeteria and picnic on the rooftop, you’ll see, it’s gonna be a lot of fun.”

You don’t need convincing. “I’m looking forward to it. I’ll see you at lunch then.”

“Awesome.” Matakara grins. “No take backs, okay?”

You make your way to your homeroom, waving over your shoulder at the three boys; when you turn the corner, Zabu and Sakigake glance at one another as Matakara stands there, hand still waving despite you not being in his line of sight any longer. The expression on his face is similar to one might make if they were beat silly over the head a dozen times with a sack of bricks.

“Why do I feel like we’re gonna be third and fourth wheels?” Sakigake leans over to whisper in Zabu’s ear. “Cause I won’t be able to keep my lunch down if those two start going at it at his desk.”

“Ew.”

“Sorry guys; you don’t mind me volunteering you for the tour, do you?” Matakara finally regains some semblance of awareness and smiles at the two boys bashfully. “She’s putting on a brave face, but I know she’s feeling nervous being here.”

“It’s fine.” Zabu shrugs. “Are you sure she’d want to hang around with us though?”

“Huh? Of course.” Matakara says simply. “You guys are awesome”

“Cut the crap.” Zabu crosses his arms, but he can’t contain a small smile.

“Zabu, Sakigake, I really would appreciate you guys helping me make her feel welcome here.” Matakara grins softly. “I guess I’m hoping if anything happens, you two will have her back like how we look out for each other. I’d like that.”

“Alright, alright, we gotcha.” Sakigake thumps Matakara on the back between his shoulder blades. “Let’s see how things go; you know, she might end up making friends in her class though?”

“Oh, right.” Matakara hadn’t really thought of that. “I guess. But until then, I want to do as much as I can to help her until she’s settled. She’s a really good person, you’ll see when you get to know her a bit.”

Matakara remembers you were all but bedridden and barely able to walk past your own front yard for most of the time he knew you; if he wanted to see you, he would have to go to your bedside or sit with you in the backyard where Yayako had planted you a small plot of veggies to help keep you occupied. You spent a good amount of time there, trying to soak in the sun and the fresh air, a book in your lap and Matakara glued to your side, following along or listening to you read aloud. You never failed to ask him how he was doing, how his brother was, ushering him to take home any of the vegetables you spent so much time tending to with the little strength you could muster to do so. You, who seemed so small and frail in spite of being a head taller than Matakara and with a much thicker skin, had no shortage of time or energy for him to come to you for advice or to wipe away his tears. Back in those days, he admired Arajin, borderline idolized him, but you were something else entirely in Matakara’s eyes.

When you moved away, Matakara cried until his eyes were raw and his stomach ached and then he cried some more. Now you’re here, finally able to be out and about like you always wished you could do and attending Ichizu with him. It’s like a dream come true; Matakara could hardly contain his own joy when your somber expression brightened at his offer to meet up. He’s essentially bound now to make sure you enjoy yourself at Ichizu high. Even at this moment as he listens to Zabu and Sakigake go over what they should do after school ends, Matakara wants to rush out to your classroom and take a seat at your side and stay there for the rest of the day. Really, how can he do anything else when you give him such a blindingly gorgeous smile? A smile like that should be protected at any cost; Matakara is almost ashamed at how eager he is for you to turn to him for support the moment you feel any discomfort or unease with your new surroundings.

“I should be wishing her good luck and for her to make a lot of new friends.” Matakara slumps at his desk, hardly conscious of the rest of the world around him. Not even Arajin’s cold shoulder in response to his morning greeting phased him, at least not as much as it would have before your arrival. “I thought I was over being so childish. I’ll have to be careful not to get too clingy; we’re not little kids anymore and it’s not as if I can keep her all to myself.”

Matakara buries his face into his arms; he can feel his cheeks burning. In spite of admonshing himself for getting carried away, he simply can't force you out of his head. It doesn’t help that you somehow managed to become even cuter over the span of five years. No, scratch that: cute doesn’t cut it. The sensation of you leaning in slightly to show him the hand drawn map had nearly caused Matakara to freeze up just from the feeling of your shoulder pressing against his.

“So pretty. I remember her being cute but now? I mean, seriously…she has those eyes and that hair and…that smile...”

Matakara exhales; imagining your warm, gentle smile alone is making him lightheaded. All those times Matakara spent leaning on you, head on your shoulder, so brazenly nuzzled against your side and he had nearly done so again out of habit or perhaps instinct only minutes before.

“She smells nice too. I still wish we had the same homeroom. If I asked, maybe she would read to me again and let me hold her.” Matakara presses his face harder into his arms, pretending he has you in them, your own arms wrapped around his neck, his mind somehow hearing your voice low and soft in his ear. “Wanted to hold her so bad…she’s so pretty and smells so good."

“Matakara Asamine?”

“Asamine-san, wake up, roll call.”

There’s a tap on Matakara’s shoulder from the student seated behind him and he raises his head; everyone is staring at him. Had he been asleep? How many times had the teacher said his name? Even Arajin is turned in his seat, looking his way but turns his head immediately when they make eye contact. After a moment, Matakara finds his voice to call out a hasty response.

“Here!”

The teacher goes ahead with the next name and even though no one dares laugh at him, Matakara is self conscious anyway. He knew it would be hard to keep himself in check around you, especially considering how long he had spent hoping to see you again one day, but Matakara had no idea exactly how hard it would hit him. If anything, his feelings for you have only gotten more intense.

“I’ve decided…I’ll do everything I can to make her wish come true. We’ll make a whole new world, one where she can do anything she wants with nothing holding her back. I can’t believe this is actually happening; she’s here and we can be together again.”

Matakara smiles to himself as he idly flips through his workbook, not really seeing the words and having absolutely no idea what page he’s meant to be reading; he’s already counting down to when the clock strikes half past noon, despite the morning having barely started.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Arajin Tomoshibi’s sister? I see.”

Shindo leans back against the couch; the information he had a few of his underlings gather on you isn’t much, but it’s enough to satisfy his curiosity. The file, if it can be called that, is one sheet of basic information with a couple of photographs attached. One is of you from that morning, walking with Arajin on your way to Ishizu. The second photo is one of you taken of you watering some potted plants and a planter of herbs outside your family’s restaurant; you look a bit tired, frowning slightly as though disappointed with the progress of the herbs growing on the windowsill. You hold the small watering can, tipped downward, hand on one hip and lips pursed in a way that makes Shindo recall the face you had made when you left him standing in the aisle of the bookstore. A scarf is tied around your head and the apron draped over your body is stained. Not the most flattering angle or ensemble for a surprise photograph.

And yet, Shindo continues to stare down at the picture, held between his slender fingers; he turns it over and around, eyes scanning every detail. It’s as if he’s searching for something, but it’s not like there’s anything to gain from gazing upon your discontented pout.

“How dull a life she must lead: in and out of doctor’s offices and hospital rooms and when she’s well enough to be released, all she can do is pitter patter the hours away with books and plants. It explains her misconduct; names or not, she wouldn’t have the first clue of who I was, too ignorant to realize how easy it would have been to discipline her for being so mouthy.”

Shindo considers the photograph with a chuckle; his pinky traces your lips with a feather light touch. Such an unattractive expression; he’ll make sure to obtain a photograph with you looking more presentable.

“Poor little bunny, trapped in a burrow for so long. I know how to bring a little excitement into your life.”

#bucchigiri?!#matakara asamine #akutaro shindo #arajin tomoshibi #zabu kakeru #komao sakigake #matakara asamine x reader #akutaro shindo x reader #fem reader #reader insert #x reader

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casualaruanienjoyer · 20 days ago

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Hi all!! Guess what?? I'm back with Part 3 of the Cadet Aruani mini series I've been working on! I have no idea if this is a new chapter or what because I've never written a follow up for a fic before but we're improvising, I guess!? Read Flowers and Weapon for part 1 and part 2! Also thank you for your incredible support on this series! Now on AO3 too!

Dance

Well.

This is certainly not how Armin imagined his evening would play out.

The plan was to attend the party, do a bit of chatting, dance briefly, stay away from any dubious liquids and then carry home whoever had a bit too much to drink. Usually Jean.

The plan is easy. Clear. Perfect to a tee. It works every single time.

But now he’s holding Annie’s hand as they climb up the stairs to leave the canteen. This wasn’t part of his carefully constructed itinerary. How exactly did it come to this?

"I can teach you, i-if you want?"

Ah yeah, of course.

In a sudden burst of confidence, he offered to teach Annie how to dance. But really, it wasn’t supposed to be a serious question. He’s very much not a good dancer, let alone a good teacher. Armin was just improvising, something he’s been doing a lot of recently. And now…it finally came back to bite him.

He didn’t expect her to say yes. And he certainly did not expect her to say…

"My room is empty. We can do it there."

Dizzy. Her words seized his mind and now he’s feeling dizzy. He’s almost sure that all his blood had gone to his ears because they were definitely aflame.

Armin… going with Annie… to her room…to dance? The same Annie that’s been helping him train overtime, the person he was always delighted to share his reading time with. The one he admired the most for her strength…and the same one he embarrassed in front of all her roommates not that long ago…

Armin Arlert is an idiot.

They haven’t spoken in a week and this is how they reunite? It came as somewhat of a surprise that she was even talking to him to begin with! This most likely meant she wasn’t angry with him at least, right? Right!?

Though more importantly, how would Armin even go about teaching her to dance? Would he demonstrate first and then let Annie follow? But what if he makes a fool of himself instead, or what if he’s a terrible teacher and she kicks him out? Or worse!? And what about the music!?

Lost in thought, he doesn’t notice rain pouring down his cheeks or the cold breeze outside. How long have they been running for?

"You ok?" Annie’s stern voice breaks his chain of thoughts.

"Huh?"

They’ve made it to the porch leading inside the girls’ cabin, both soaking wet. Annie’s shaking off some water that seeped into her clothes, heavy drops rolling down her hair and onto her white hoodie.

"Yeah, I’m alright." Armin’s cardigan feels damp and heavy, so he peels it off and folds it over his arm. The rain seems to have cooled his face down at least. Thankfully.

From where they’re standing the buzz of the canteen is very much still audible. Lights pour out of the few windows ornating the building, contouring the various other military cabins around. As the sun finally disappears in the distance, Armin wonders if moments like this could go on forever.

"Follow me." Annie pushes through the doors, heading down the hallway to where Armin assumed her room would be. Well, based on where her window sill was-

Dammit, his face’s heating up again. This is already going absolutely stellar! Not only did he embarrass Annie in front of all her roommates, but now he sounds like a downright stalker!

"Are you coming or what?" He takes one last look at the outside world before scuttling down the hallway. There’s no going back now.

He turns to step into her room, but before he can say anything something comes flying his way, smacking him right in the chest.

"Huh?" he looks down at the clean hoodie in his arms, confused.

"You’ll catch a cold in that" she points at his drenched shirt. "You should change." Annie then turns around, fingers hooking under the hem of her own top.

"Oh, um. I can use one of Mikasa’s shir-…!!" Armin’s eyes slam shut and he turns around faster than a bullet. Annie’s changing… right in front of him!?

He can hear rustling and the soft thud of her damp hoodie hitting the floor. Armin can also hear the sound of his own blood pumping his heart like crazy. What has he gotten himself into?

"You sure you’re fine with that?" her words persuade him to turn back around. And when he does, his knees weaken. Annie’s hair hangs loosely around her neck, still soaking wet. She’s discarded her hoodie in favour of a simple black tank top that shows off more than Armin could ever process: the defined lines of her biceps, her broad shoulders and the softness of her-

"I can give you something else?" her eyes fall on the garment in his arms and Armin breathes for the first time in what feels like a thousand years.

"No, no, this is fine, I’ll be right back." And with that he steps back into the hallway to get changed. His fingers clumsily undo the buttons of his shirt while his mind counts to 100 in an effort to relax his body.

This always calms him down…so then why is it suddenly impossible for him to simply erase the image of the soft skin of her lower back from his mind?

Armin Arlert is not a pervert.

The moment he slides the clean hoodie on, pleasant warmth surrounds his body. Huh…Annie’s hoodies are just as comfortable as he imagined them to be. It just so happens to be a perfect fit on his body too.

"Thank you for this" he returns a minute later, finally taking a moment to analyse the inside of the girl's bedroom. It looks pretty much like the boy’s dorm room, same creaky bunk beds and old furniture, except it certainly smells a lot nicer. There are clothes scattered around, mixed in with books and other personal belongings. He recognises Mikasa’s bed, where a few of her cardigans rest neatly in a stacked pile. A sweet floral scent invades Armin’s lungs and he notices a vase on a small table under an opened window. Forget-me-nots, among other flowers that he gifted Annie last week. They’re still somewhat in bloom and the water looks fresh. Does that mean…Annie’s been taking care of them?

His heart skips a beat.

"So…" she says, earning his attention. Annie’s arms rest awkwardly at her sides as if she doesn’t quite know what to do with herself. It’s interesting, Armin thinks, to see her confidence falter like this.

"Right, yeah. Dancing! So…um" he begins, taking a step closer. "How much experience do you have?" But her somewhat annoyed expression is enough for him to understand that the answer is -none-.

"How did you learn?" she asks.

A simple question, really, but it somehow drowns Armin in a sea of memories he thought he’d forgotten. Vague visions of his grandpa playing the lute flood his mind. Images of him, Mikasa and Eren dancing while Mrs.Yeager joined in with the flute. The bliss of holding hands with his loved ones. Bittersweet memories from a past far gone. There’s no more grandpa and no more Mrs.Yeager, but the joy of music persists in Armin’s memory. He feels it every time the cadets throw one of their rowdy parties.

Armin isn’t a great dancer.

But he never wanted to be great. He just wanted to enjoy the moment.

So when he takes Annie’s hand in his, he flashes her a smile so warm that it sets the whole room on fire.

"I’ll show you." He whispers in a soft voice that surfaces a beautiful colour on Annie’s cheeks. "First, you want to put your hand here" he gestures towards his shoulder, and her palm cautiously hovers over it.

"Don’t worry, I don’t mind your touch." He follows, unintentionally, or maybe a little bit intentionally choosing words that would make her eyes widen. "I-I didn’t mean it like th-!"

"It’s -fine-. What next…?" She cuts him off. Is her voice shaking… ever so slightly? This is a side of Annie that he’s not seen before. How much would she soften… if he kept going? He curses himself for being so god damn curious about her. It’s this blasted curiosity that led him into this mess to begin with!

"Depending on the type, we can go faster or slower." Oh, now she’s really red! A small mischievous grin plays on Armin’s lips.

Armin Arlert certainly isn’t a tease.

"Slow, I think. And wipe that smirk off your face." She mutters, avoiding his gaze. Annie’s fingers curl into the fabric of his, well, -her- hoodie and she steps closer. Armin hopes that the faint music coming from outside is enough to cover the loud beats in his chest.

"Then my hand goes… here." But his fingers don’t dare touch Annie’s waist. Especially not when he knows just how easily she could flip him over if she wanted to.

"I… don’t mind it… either." Her voice is so low that he almost misses what she says. So, to solidify her request, Annie presses his palm to her side, albeit not very gently.

"Oh right." he chuckles awkwardly, trying not to think about the firmness of her waist against his fingers. "Now, your other hand in mine. Like… this."

Without thinking, he pulls her closer, fingers carefully intertwining while he tries to avoid sliding off her ring. What could be the story behind it, exactly? But when his gaze returns to Annie, he finds her staring at the floor between them, unmoving. Worry flushes over him.

"Are you ok?" Armin asks cautiously. He fears he’s already stepped over several of Annie’s boundaries in the span of a week. "We can stop, if you want."

"No." is the only thing she says.

She’s so flustered that Armin can’t help but wonder if she’s simply embarrassed to try something new, or if there’s more to it? He has no right to question her, however. His actions have been nothing but confusing. Not only to her, but to himself as well.

Armin Arlert isn’t thinking straight.

And Annie rests so stiffly in his arms it almost feels like he’s holding a statue. So before she completely turns to stone, he begins to move. Slowly, from side to side, one step at a time

"Wait, what’s next!?" she asks somewhat frantically. Her feet awkwardly follow him in an attempt to hold herself up.

"Just follow me. And don’t think too m- Ouch!" She steps on his foot with a bit more strength than he expected.

"Shit. I’m sorry!" She tries to pull back but Armin keeps her in place, continuing as if nothing happened.

"After all our training together, you think I can’t handle a bit of pain? I feel hurt, Annie" He grins, lightly stepping on her own foot in retaliation. She flashes him what was supposed to be a threatening look, but with the situation they’re in she comes across as more of an angry kitten. Armin laughs.

They don’t say anything for a while. Annie seems focused on controlling her body, eyes darting between her legs and her surroundings, making sure she doesn’t take a wrong step. Armin takes in her every expression, amused. Just how many more sides to Annie are there?

After a while she seems to get the basics of their dance and her movements become a little more assured. "It’s not that hard, after all."

"Maybe you’ll even grow to like it one day!"

"Not likely." She replies sternly, although Armin could swear a smile was tugging at her lips.

And then, there’s silence. The music from outside seems to have faded slightly, leading Armin to believe the cadets must’ve tried to tone down their volume.

"I think I’m done now." she mutters. A signal for him to stop, perhaps? So when he ceases their movements, why doesn’t she pull away?

"Annie?" He asks, not quite sure why she’s seemingly frozen in place. Her gaze meets his for the first time since they started dancing and she looks... puzzled?

"Why?"

"W-why what?" he asks, sheepishly.

"Why did you get me flowers?"

Oh.

Armin Arlert is in big trouble.

#annie leonhart #armin arlert #aruani #aot #attack on titan #snk #shingeki no kyojin #aot scenarios #aot fanfiction #aot fanfic #annie x armin #armin x annie #stella writes #this is where I die #Armin was so hard to write #i hope you like this!#aruannie

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double-vandammage · 1 month ago

Text

Title: Unexpected

Word count: 2,404

Rating: 18+

Ship: Bret Hart x Shawn Michaels

Tags/Warnings: Shawn POV, Drinking, Fighting (mentioned), Blood and Injury, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Quickie, Hand Jobs, Making out

Also posted to my a03: aa_beatrix

This is what happened when they buried the hatchet right? Right? 🙀

Timeline is 2010.

My sister @taydaq and I decided to do an Art Trade and her only request was Shawn and Bret on a counter top. I decided to write older Hartbreak and this was the result! I hope both her and you guys like it. I certainly had fun typing this out. 😜 It's mostly Bret telling Shawn to STFU.

I used the prompt: "do right people with wrong timing get a second chance?" from nightprompts. I really liked it and was going to use it for another fic I have in the works, but it ended up here. 😏

Tysm for reading as always! 💕

Fuck, he was too old for this shit. Bar fights were a younger man’s game. He wasn’t twenty something anymore. Shawn had taken his fair share of beatings inside and outside of the ring, but he couldn’t afford to take risks these days. Two guys had gotten into a heated argument and in a millisecond the first fist was thrown. In Shawn’s infinite wisdom, he thought he could break it up. Now he was left rummaging around his kitchen trying to locate bandages, an ice pack, and quite possibly another beer. He opened one of the drawers and felt around, pushing various junk aside. “Oh for Christ sake.” he muttered. Unexpectedly his cell rang. “Yeah?” he answered without a glance at the screen to see who was calling.

“Did you forget?” the voice on the other end asked. Shawn stopped shuffling through the drawer, squinting at the nearby calendar. “What?” He hadn’t a clue what he was supposed to do tonight. It was likely the blow to his head earlier. “Dammit Shawn, I waited for your skinny ass.” he barked through the phone. “Oh shit. Was that today?” he said, squeezing his eyes shut. “You’re the one who asked to meet Shawn. Are you home? I’m outside.” Shawn looked toward his front door, “You are? Um, okay yeah. I’ll be right there.” He hung up, abandoning his search for the bandaids. He walked to the door, smoothing his disheveled clothes and hair. He had no idea the current state of his appearance, but it would have to do.

He opened the door where Bret stood at the bottom of the steps, clearly irritated. “What the hell happened to you?” he asked, pocketing his own phone. “Heh, you should see the other guy.” he laughed, trying to play it cool. He hadn’t seen or talked to Bret much in the last few years. He wanted more than anything to be on good terms again and this was his chance to maybe repair the damage. Bret still had that same swagger and ruggedly handsome face. His hair had begun to show silver, but he managed to keep it long. “Oh don’t give me that. What really happened Shawn?” he demanded. “Alright, alright why don’t you start by coming in.” Shawn stood to the side of the doorway, motioning for Bret to enter.

Shawn led Bret to the kitchen, “I was trying to find something to patch myself up with and a nice cold beverage. Do you want one?” he asked, opening the fridge. “Sure.” Bret said, taking the offered beer. Shawn popped the caps off their drinks before hopping up to sit on his counter. He took a long swig of his beer, “How have you been Hitman?”. Bret stared at him puzzled. “Aren’t you a little old to be doing that?” he pointed. Shawn scanned his surroundings, “Doing what?” knowing exactly what Bret was referring to and began kicking his legs back and forth. “Jesus.” Bret muttered before taking a sip of his drink. “Don’t you want to take care of your face first?” he asked. “I can’t find the damn first aid kit.” he groaned. Bret wandered out of the kitchen, “Where’s the bathroom you idiot?” Bret said, setting down his beer and already starting down the hallway. “First door on your left.” Shawn shouted.

After a few minutes, Bret came back toting his first aid kit. “Most people keep these in their bathroom.” he stated. Shawn rolled his eyes. Bret placed the kit beside Shawn, opening it up. He surveyed Shawn’s face, taking in every cut and scrape. “Whoever did this sure banged you up.” he observed. “So what really happened?” Bret began taking out various supplies. Shawn watched as Bret meticulously sorted out different ointments and materials. “Well, not much to tell. Two dumb guys got into it and I tried to break it up.” Shawn shrugged. “To tell you the truth, I kinda forgot my age.” he smirked. Bret didn’t meet his gaze, but chuckled as he ripped open a packet of gauze and q-tips.

He poured some disinfectant on a gauze piece and moved into the space between Shawn’s legs. Shawn shifted nervously at the sudden proximity. Bret started at Shawn’s eyebrow, wiping gently at the open wound. Shawn sucked in his breath at the slight sting. “Sorry.” Bret said before moving down to his cheek. Shawn tried his best not to make eye contact as he helped to clean him up. How long had it been since he experienced a friendly touch from The Hitman? Bret then dabbed cautiously at Shawn’s split lip. When did it get so hot in here? Something in his stomach fluttered. It was a feeling he hadn’t remembered until now.

Bret threw the gauze into the trash bin and picked up a q-tip. He coated the q-tip with some of the ointment he had procured and delicately spread it across the cut on his eyebrow. He then carefully positioned a small bandaid over the cut before moving on to do the same to his battered cheek. “Ouch.” Shawn winced. He was definitely going to be sore tomorrow. “It’s already beginning to bruise, you got a plastic bag?” Bret asked as he opened the freezer door, pulling out an ice tray. “Yeah, bottom drawer.” Shawn replied, gesturing with his chin in the direction of the drawer. Bret filled the plastic baggie with ice and tied the end off to secure it. Shawn extended a hand to take it, but Bret was already back in his space to lightly press the cool plastic to the skin of his cheek.

Shawn tensed, his eyes meeting Bret’s. He wanted to say something witty or maybe just an asinine joke, but he was drawing a blank. Bret always had such an intense stare, but tonight he could see something soften in his eyes. “Feel okay?” Bret asked. Did he feel okay? Hell no. His face throbbed like a son of a bitch and for some reason Bret Hart was situated between his thighs icing his boo-boos. What the fuck was Bret doing here again? Shawn took in a deep breath, “Um, yeah, yeah I feel fine.” he answered, taking hold of the ice pack. Bret placed his fingers beneath Shawn’s chin, tilting his face upward to take one last observation. “Yep, you’re gonna be fine Michaels.” he decided confidently. “Thanks Doctor Hart.” Shawn teased. “Shut the fuck up.” Bret countered, unable to stop the grin spreading across his face.

For a minute they giggled like two kids, forgetting they barely tolerated each other. Bret composed himself first, his eyes falling to Shawn’s mouth. His hand was still under Shawn’s chin, his thumb tenderly caressing the split on his lower lip. Shawn felt his chest tighten and heartbeat quicken. The fluttering in his stomach returned with full force. There were times during their careers where Shawn felt similar knots in his heart toward Bret. These moments were triggered by a passing glance, a handshake, a hug after winning a tag match, and even during their most heated segments.

Shawn dropped the ice pack to the floor as he threw his arms around Bret, dragging him roughly into a kiss. The plastic bag unfurled, ice cubes scattering around the kitchen floor. Shawn’s lip stung as their mouths clashed together. Bret’s hands braced against the edge of the countertop in response to Shawn’s sudden advance. Shawn was entirely prepared for Bret to pull away and dismiss him altogether, instead Bret’s hands found their way to his waist and kissed him back with just as much enthusiasm. Shawn gasped as the slit on his bottom lip reopened, tasting beer mixed with the metallic flavor of his blood. “Sorry.” Bret mumbled against Shawn’s mouth.

Bret moved his hands down to grip Shawn’s thighs, tugging his body closer to ease him off the counter. Shawn held onto his shoulders as he slid off the countertop, pressing in closer to Bret. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting this.” Shawn confessed as he tried to catch his breath between kisses. Bret pressed his forehead to Shawn’s, “Shit, me too. What the fuck?” he asked before meeting his lips again. Neither of them wanted to waste time and began to lower themselves to the kitchen floor. It wasn’t graceful by any means, Bret had a bad knee and Shawn’s back was basically shot. Bret fumbled backwards in order to catch Shawn before they both crashed onto the hard floor. Shawn struggled on top of Bret, straddling him to regain his composure. He leaned forward to bury his face in Bret’s chest, attempting to muffle the cackle threatening to escape.

Bret covered his own mouth as he tried his best not to completely lose it. “So the thing about our age…” he said. “Old fucks.” Shawn laughed into the fabric of Bret’s shirt. He rose up, to look at his long time rival. “I think I forgot why I called you here.” Bret’s hands returned to Shawn’s thighs, his thumbs lightly rubbing at his jeans. “You forgot, period.” he said, reminding him. Shawn really didn’t want to talk now that he had The Excellence of Execution under him, kissing him was much more ideal. He took a risk, kissing Bret’s forehead before running his lips down to the side of his neck. He felt Bret softly grip at his ponytail. Bret’s eyes closed, relaxing as Shawn sucked at the exposed skin of his throat.

How much time had they wasted being angry with each other when they could have been making out on a kitchen floor instead? Shawn moved back to Bret’s lips which parted slightly allowing his tongue to slip inside. He let his mind wander to when they were both at the height of their careers, Bret wearing his pink singlet and black tights. Tanned skin glistening with sweat after a match, the water in his hair drying and beginning to fluff wildly around his head. God damn he was sexy and at almost sixty years, he still was. He could feel his erection already straining his jeans, his hips grinding into Bret. Bret’s hands had roamed to cup at his ass, following the rhythm of Shawn rocking on top of him. Shawn grabbed at his hands, forcing them off him and pinning them above Bret’s head.

Bret didn’t seem to mind his taking control. In fact he appeared to welcome it, Bret’s own hard on trying to gain some friction against him. Shawn reached between them, undoing Bret’s belt and pants with practiced fingers. He wriggled his hand deftly inside, grasping Bret’s slick cock. Bret moaned into Shawn’s mouth at the touch. He kept one hand steady on Bret’s wrists, securing them above his head. “That’s it Hitman, that’s it.” Shawn coaxed, breaking apart from Bret’s lips. He stroked Bret briskly, low whines emitting from him. Shawn kissed Bret’s cheek before nuzzling into the crook of his neck. Bret tilted his head back, his hips rutting madly into Shawn’s palm. He lasted only a few seconds before he released a mangled cry as he came.

“Still so sensitive at this age, huh?” Shawn mewed, kissing Bret's ear and letting go of his wrists. Bret covered his flushed face with one hand, “Oh shut the fuck up Michaels.” he said, breaking into a smile. Shawn brought their mouths together again and Bret wrapped his arms around Shawn’s neck, deepening the kiss. Eventually they lost track of just how long they had spent rolling around on the floor playing tonsil tennis. Reluctantly they had managed to tear themselves away from each other and sat with their backs to the kitchen cupboards. Bret reached up to the counter and grabbed his now lukewarm beer, taking a long gulp. “I was not expecting that. Hell, I almost didn’t come.” he said. Shawn raised his eyebrows, “I beg to differ.” he snorted. “Once again, shut the fuck up Michaels.” Bret grinned.

They sat side by side, quietly finishing the rest of their beers. Shawn didn’t know where to begin. He wanted so badly to apologize for everything and anything, even stuff he wasn’t guilty of. “I’ve missed you.” he blurted instead. Bret set his now empty beer bottle down, glancing at Shawn. “Honestly…me too,” he admitted. Shawn felt his cheeks redden. He envisioned their reunion countless times, but he truly hadn’t anticipated Bret had missed him, not even a little bit. Shawn had always been reaching for Bret’s validation, but it always slipped through his fingers. “I never meant to push you away, but a part of me- a big part of me doesn’t regret a single thing. I also know in the last 12 years, a lot has changed. We’ve changed.” he said. Bret sighed heavily, nodding his head in agreement.

“We don’t need a lengthy drawn out conversation Bret. I know you want to bury the hatchet as much as I do.” Shawn said. He extended a hand out to Bret, waiting for a handshake. “Are you ready?” he asked. Bret appeared hesitant, but only for a second before joining their hands together. “Okay Shawn…okay.” Bret said. “Consider this matter closed, no takesies backsies.” Shawn said gleefully, dropping Bret’s hand. “You can’t be serious for a fucking minute can you?” Bret sneered, leaning over to shove his shoulder into Shawn’s. They remained seated on the kitchen floor cracking up all over again. “Stay in touch will ya?” Shawn said, tapping Bret’s shoe with his own. “I will.” Bret said.

They were both silent as Shawn walked Bret to the front door. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye, but knew he had to go. This was possibly the beginning of something new. It was also entirely likely they wouldn’t see each other again after tonight, maybe a call here and there. It happened all the time. Shawn opened the door, the cool air wafting inside. “Thanks again…for this…” he said, motioning to his face. “Yeah, no problem.” Bret said, bringing his hand up to faintly run his thumb along the cut on Shawn’s bottom lip again. “Take care of yourself.” Bret turned to go, hastily stepping out into the night. Shawn watched as Bret took off, that pesky pull in his chest emerging once more.

He closed the door gently and wondered if the right people with the wrong timing got a second chance.

#fanfic #fic #a03 #hartbreak #bret hart x shawn michaels #wwf ships #bretshawn

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