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kaiyaki-sano · 2 years ago

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Lend Me Your Voice(band!Eren x fem!reader) pt.3

Basically, Eren is a douchey frontman of the rock band “Titans”. This will be a 4 part slightly angsty mini-series, with a shameless little OC self-insert as Eren’s sister Kai in part 2 and 3 bc I have no self-control when it comes to Levi~ I hope you enjoy it!!

MINORS DNI!!!!

|| Part 1 || Part 2 ||

DISCLAIMER: THIS PART BEGINS WITH HEAVY HEAVY ANGST WITH A LOT OF TW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

TW: Eren is an asshole to reader, very minor character death for backstory purposes, swearing/dirty talk, yandere elements if you squint, and for this part specifically there is physical abuse/domestic violence, blood, choking, sex work, triggering language/actions, PTSD style flashback, basically we learn why Eren is the way he is

“It’s been a long time since Mommy left, I watched three Scooby-Doo movies and she isn’t home yet! She said she’d be home after two of them, where is she??”

A small, scared, newly turned 6 years old Eren thought as he watched the front door like a hawk. Today was his birthday, and his mother had promised she wouldn’t be gone the whole day for it. But six hours later, she was still gone.

He had no idea what was truly going on, all he knew was what his mother said.

The Bad Man had left with her again, the one who was awfully mean to him and his big sister Kai whenever he was around. He hated that man.

Not even the birthday cake his sister made him helped. He knew it would taste bad, all they had to eat was ramen noodles, so he didn’t want to know what she’d used to make the cake. But, so he didn’t make her sad, he blew out the candle when she sang to him and mustered a weak little smile.

“It’ll be okay, Rennie. Mom will be home soon, and if that jerk is with her, I’ll protect you.” Kai promised, ruffling his hair. But truth be told, she was just as scared as he was.

“I hate that guy!! He hit me when I spilled my juice the other day, and it wasn’t even my FAULT!!” He was upset, more upset in such complex ways that a child should never have to experience.

His sister was about to comfort him again when the dilapidated front door finally swung open, revealing their mother and the Bad Man.

Their mother looked distressed, more so than usual, and the asshole next to her looked more enraged than usual. There was something wrong, something bad was going to happen, it was in the air.

“You dumb fucking bitch, I told you, no less than $1200 was to be made before you could call it a night!! DIDN’T I?!” The Bad Man roared in his usual domineering and intimidating tone, slapping their mother hard in the face.

“I-I’m sorry, I just- I promised Eren I’d be home for his birthday! I made $800, I figured that would be enough, please- not in front of the kids, please honey!” Their mother pleaded with him, wiping the blood from her lip as she trembled.

Anxiety and panic tightened his chest, and he squeezed his sister’s hand in raw fear. He wanted to speak, to stand up for himself and his family, but he was frozen, as if his jaw had been wired shut and his limbs were cemented where he sat.

“That little pussy needs to learn how to be a man!! Can’t always be crying for his fuckin’ mommy, the little shit needs to learn! Fuck his birthday, fuck those kids!! I SAID 1200!!!!!” He continued to hit their mother, kicking the front door shut to avoid nosy neighbors intervening again.

All Eren and his sister could do was watch, they were no match for that man, and their mother made them promise to never get involved so they didn’t get hurt too.

But the second he saw his mother fall to the floor from the force of a punch to her jaw, followed by a kick to her ribs, he forgot all about his fear.

“STOP IT!!!! LEAVE MOMMY ALONE!!!!!!!” He screamed as loud as his little lungs would let him, running up to do something, only to be slapped away with full strength by the adult male.

He whimpered when he saw blood on his hand from the split in his cheek, the ring the man wore making direct contact. As any normal child would do, Eren began to cry. It hurt, he was scared, and he had no concept of this situation other than terror.

“You wanna get your ass beat, you little shit?! HUH?!?!” The man screamed in his face, grabbing the child up by the neck.

“NO!! Let him go, take it out on me, please!! Don’t hurt the kids, PLEASE!” Their mother begged, crawling and wincing as she reached her arm out.

The man scoffed with a villainous grin, dropping Eren to the ground, and instead grabbed their mother up by the throat.

“Fine, I think I’ll do that,” he focused his glare back to the terrified and bleeding little boy, something extra sinister in his voice when he spoke next, “he’s gonna learn today that his precious, useless ‘mommy’ won’t always be there to help him. Time to be a man, you little piss-ant.”

That was all the warning he gave, before proceeding to beat their mother to death before Eren and his sister’s very eyes.

When the police showed up and arrested him, paramedics taking their mother’s body away, Eren managed to grab the picture of him and his mom from the last year’s birthday before the police took him and his sister to the station.

Eren was snapped out of his usual flashback by Jean snapping his fingers in front of his face, and he blinked a few times before scowling in his usual facade of couldn’t-be-bothered.

“Fuck you want, Jean?” He snipped, jadeite eyes boring into the bassist’s now mildly fearful ones.

“We’re talking about the new album, thought our literal frontman would want to know the songs he’s gonna be singing.” Jean sassed, before softening just a little, lowering his voice before speaking next, “You okay, man?”

There it was again, that fucking sympathetic look, the one he hated the most. As if he were some helpless god damned woodland animal. He was Eren fucking Yeager, invincible and adored frontman of the most popular rock group in the world. The last thing he needed was sympathy, especially from the likes of that Kentucky Derby-looking bastard Jean.

Truth be told, deep down, Eren just didn’t know how to accept it. To him, all it did was show weakness if he opened up or talked about his issues. He didn’t need that shit. He wasn’t weak.

“Get out of my face and I’ll be just fine. Try a mint, too.”

His tone was devoid of feeling, just like his expression. Crossing his arms, he leaned back in his chair and kicked his boots up onto the table, crossing his ankles as he lit up a cigarette.

“Fuck you, dude. God forbid someone tries to be a friend to you, right?” Jean rolled his eyes, taking his seat next to Connie.

As Levi prattled on about the tracklist, saying they needed at least thirteen, or something stupid like that, Eren zoned out again.

What was y/n up to right now? Were you thinking about him? Would you like the new album? Tch, you were probably thinking about Connie.

“Oi, Caillou,” he called for the man in question once Levi finished talking, blowing smoke from his nose, “still chasin’ after y/n? Or did she finally reject you?”

“Why do you care, asshole?” Connie bit right back, sick of this bullshit, “Wish it was you she was texting right now??”

“Like I give a shit about a groupie’s attention. I have a thousand sluts in my DM’s right now and you have one. You’ll never be me.”

Of course he gave a shit, a lot of shits actually. It drove him fucking insane that he wasn’t the one you were chasing after, and he’d be damned if he lost you to Connie bald-headed Springer.

“Thank god for that.” The drummer gave a dramatic sigh of relief, before flipping Eren off, “Y/n will be here later after the concert, hope that doesn’t get your panties in a fuckin bunch. And I swear to god, if you say anything to her, I’ll beat the shit out of you. Got it??”

The threat only amused the lead singer, and he smirked around the filter of his Marlboro Red.

“Oh yeah? Well, miracles happen every day, don’t they?” His voice was mocking, and he stubbed his smoke out on the table, “Enjoy the taste of my dick when you go down on her. And use three fingers, she loved that shit. Hope she doesn’t accidentally scream my name instead of yours, would be pretty damn funny though.”

With that final quip, he made his way to his room on the bus, slamming and locking the door behind him. He flopped onto the bed, reaching for the flask under the mattress and taking a swig, sighing at the burn of the whiskey in his throat.

Interrupting you and Connie?? Well, that sounded like a mighty fine plan to him.

Whether Eren knew it, or you knew it, you belonged to him. He had you first, and despite the show he put on during your hookup, he was gonna do whatever it took to get your attention back to him.

Watch out, y/n, Hurricane Yeager is heavy on your radar.

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giurochedadomani · 4 years ago

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Fic-in-progress type of update that has gotten a tiny, little bit out of hand but I regret nothing and I really want to share it

I’m doing the third and final part of this.

When I do get to finish this I feel like it’ll work just fine as a one shot, but. Just to give you some context: this scene of the story takes place after a botched plan ends up with the son of a rival capo dead at the hands of? Leonardo? I never bothered to write out what exactly happened on That Fateful Night and now I’m taking 100% advantage of that.

The thing is, the other mafioso certainly blames him. When Primo manages to keep Leo out of jail by putting the blame of the murder on the son of the town’s mayor, their rival decides to take justice into his own hands, failing to consider how little Primo is likely to stop until he owns the city and ends with every kind of threat vaguely pointed in his direction, Leo’s or this family he has adopted himself into. Enter:

[Gioia Tauro, Saturday night]

Uhhhhh there are things I can tag for: mentions of abuse re: Primo’s childhood, discussions of murder and other Mob related stuff, but there are other things that I can’t really tag without spoiling away what happens, so I’m gonna highlight that this story is basically about a mob war and that violent stuff happens and use the handy ao3 sign of ‘Author decided not to display any warnings’

“Do you want me to tell you, or not?”

“I don’t know, you seem to be doing quite well on your own”.

It comes off way drier than Leonardo means to, and the without me goes over them, unspoken. He bites the tip of his tongue and stands his ground and tries not to picture the hint of hurt that passes over Primo’s face as Leonardo goes through his business, picking up his suit’s jacket and the briefcase from the sofa as the other looks at him like some kind of gargoyle while he fusses through the office.

“A bomb. In his office”, Primo explains, slow, after a moment, blatantly ignoring him. “Next week, we’re aiming for Friday, although Fiore needs to tie up some loose ends”. A beat of silence. “I insisted on it being Friday. Less people in the building that day, like you said”. Leonardo won’t give in to Primo’s unsubtle attempts to win him over. “I was going to tell you”.

He gives the other a sharp look. What he means to be a sharp look, really. It’s kind of endearing that Primo cannot withstand a grand total of half a minute of silence treatment. No, Leonardo’s still pissed that he didn’t call him into the meeting.

“What loose ends?”, he asks, tone clipped.

“ID passes. He wants to get a couple of original ones”, rob some innocent cleaning lady of her own pass, more likely, Leonardo thinks, as if he were in some shape or form morally superior to that, “and just modify the photos, keeping it simple. He can’t do that a week earlier, it’d be...”, Primo trails off, looking at him with a tinge of—

It’d be less likely to call on any unwanted attention, that’s for sure. And truth be told, they’ve never been lucky with forgeries. It’s not as if they’re trying to enter the fucking Quirinale, and one would think that a sleepy guard on a Friday morning wouldn’t pay much attention to some cleaning staff’s passes, but it doesn’t hurt to be a little bit extra cautious: Romano has proven himself to be able to become quite the headache. And he can’t help feeling a little satisfied at how Primo is not diving head first into danger for once in his fucking life— no. He’s annoyed.

Leonardo hums, pensive. He locks the door of his office after they step outside, and speaks again once he finds another direction in which to funnel his irritation.

“What’s their story, if they’ve got to flee the scene”.

Primo frowns. His patent confusion vindicates Leonardo, for some fucking reason. He focuses on that instead on how much it pisses him off that he already knows that Primo will avoid simply saying that he’s sorry, as if the words were fucking poisonous.

“They don’t manage to do it, what do they do”, he insists.

The eerie stillness of the building, empty at that hour, just makes Primo’s silence louder as they walk to the elevator.

“Why, if someone had thought to ask just that”, Leonardo concludes, sarcastic, stabbing the push button.

Primo huffs. He can behave like a child all he wants, Leonardo is not going to give in. He’s fully capable of becoming as difficult as Primo can be, when he puts his mind to it. Let’s see if the other can take his own medicine—

“Her name’s Lucrezia”.

…

Leonardo is so thrown off by the non sequitur that he almost manages to momentary forget about his exasperation. He stares at Primo for a long moment, the doors of the elevator opening and staying open for them. “...She’s one of his classmates”, Primo adds, as if that clarified anything.

Leonardo’s bewilderment must be patent on his face because Primo makes a whole show of rolling his eyes, looking up as if asking God for patience. He grabs him and pushes him inside the elevator, pushing the button to the ground floor.

“Francesco”, he starts again, slowly, once the doors close off again. He’s probably aiming to be more comprehensible, but doesn’t manage to make it look as if he’s not in some way explaining things to a baby. “He’s not out there doing…”, he has to think for a moment to land in something Leonardo could possibly be pissed off about, and he’s not entirely convinced when he says: “...Drugs, or whatever the hell you’re worried about. He’s just got himself a...”, he trails off again, does a florid gesture with his hand as if he could grab the right word, ends up saying a very dubitative: “... friend”. He shrugs, as if deeming it a suitable enough explanation. “So yeah. You can stop being insufferable now”.

Each button keeps getting illuminated as they descend, a little peep sounding each time they pass a floor. So that’s what was up with them both. Leonardo feels tranquility washing over his surprise, before his gut settles on uneasiness as he continues looking at Primo and the stiffness of his shoulders.

He passes a hand over his face.

“Francesco’s got a girlfriend”.

“You’re not this dense on the usual”.

“And he told you about it”.

He’s well aware that Franceso regards Primo with an undercurrent of hero worship. He’s also intimately familiar with how despite the fact that Primo is a man of many hidden talents, romance is, to put it mildly, not the subject he feels most comfortable with. The other is fucking with him in some way, he can’t help feeling sure of that, and it makes him kind of tense not being able to point out exactly where.

Uncharacteristically of him, Primo feels the need to fill the silence.

“Don’t be jealous”, he starts once the doors open, and he sounds a tad arrogant, as he always does when— “I told him to do a formal presentation at some point, bring her home to have dinner and all that stuff, let Regina gush and… yeah”. He turns to face Leonardo once he realizes that he has stopped on his tracks, adds, defensively: “You have been weird all fucking day. That’s why I didn’t tell you to come into the meeting”.

“Lucrezia”, Leonardo repeats. The name sounds familiar. It’s Primo’s closed off expression what makes realization fall onto his mind like a circuit breaker blowing up the fuse: a scratching sound and then fade to black. He stares at Primo in disbelief, mouth hanging open until he can work around the knot at his throat.

“Brambilla. Lucrezia Brambilla. Brambilla, as in. The daughter of the—”.

“Yes”.

A well-mannered girl, soft spoken and sweet. He has seen her in passing, disappearing behind the tinted windows of his father’s fancy car at the entrance of Francesco’s high school. He knows her father better. Sergio Brambilla.

Prosecutor.

“And you told him it was a good idea?”, Leonardo asks, in which he’d defend as a very reasonable tone of voice, given the circumstances, but doesn’t perhaps quite manage to hit the whole discreet thing, because Primo makes a sharp movement in the general direction of the night guard booth.

“What’s exactly bad about knowing what the fuck happens in that house?”

Of course. Of fucking course Primo would think it’s a good idea. He doesn’t even know why he’s surprised except that for the very little, trivial fact that he cannot believe what he’s hearing!

“You had a hand on it!?”

Primo has the sheer audacity to look offended.

“Me? In what? How the fuck could I possibly— As if it were my fucking fault now that your kid likes blondes!”

“I swear on everything that’s holy, Primo!”

Primo throws a look to the booth over his shoulder, then at him, then promptly grabs his arm and pushes him forward, making him advance towards the garage entrance, past the night guard, who takes a look at them and searches to fade with the wallpaper behind. He loves Primo, God damn them both, he does, but sometimes he’d hit him with a fucking chair, but also no, because someone’s got to keep a levelled head and he refuses to go down the level of a machiavelian, manipulative jerk who deems feasible to intervene in his son’s life like—

“Shut up for a fucking minute, will you”, Primo says, which is fucking rich. Leonardo shoves him off the moment they’re passing the first row of cars, the itch of a fight bubbling right under his skin. Primo doesn’t continue after seemingly making sure that he’s going to listen. He takes a deep breath before doing so, evidently to rile himself in, which would be the most annoyingly petulant thing in the world if he were any other person. “He took a liking to the girl on his own. They’re classmates, as I said. They’ve been friends since the start of the year, and now, well”, he shrugs, ostensibly. “She’s also going to study in Rome, it seems”.

It hurts. The fact that not only did Primo know before him about it, but that he has done so for such a very long time.

“And you planned to tell me when, exactly?”, Leonardo can’t help but to interrupt.

Primo copies his sarcastic tone when he answers: “When you’ve decided to make a problem out of it, perhaps?”

He knows in his heart that Primo trusts him, and that he does so seemingly to a further extent than anyone else. That he loves him, in his own peculiar way, and that he’d move heaven and Earth to protect him, and his family. That’s why it’s so hard to wrap his mind around the fact that he wouldn’t even bother to mention something like this. Besides, the careless way he’s speaking about it doesn’t really sit well with Leonardo. As if he had landed himself had single handedly on court when he came to know the girl’s father: “You remember that Brambilla accused me of murder, don’t you?”

“You were acquitted”, the other replies, instantly, tone tense. “You’re a model citizen, for all the guy knows”.

“He defended that I’m a mafioso”, he insists. He remembers the charges line by fateful line. Refusing to talk about it won’t make him forget what happened, notwithstanding Primo’s look on the subject. “He said that I planned to set up a cocaine distribution ring with the money I supposedly stole from—”.

“Nothing about them getting together forces you to have a good relationship with Brambilla”, Primo points out, exasperated, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s Francesco the one who’s dating his daughter”.

Leonardo limits himself to stare at the other from the other side of his Berlinetta when they reach it.

He should have confronted Francesco directly about it, but no, because the kid’s got an angelic face of never having done harm to a fly and he’s soft. Regina has a sixth sense for these things, she would have been a better option, except that he feared that Francesco would have gotten himself in bigger problems than a girl. It’s not a girl, though, not just like that, and really, there’s probably an option that he has somehow missed that would have prevented him from ending up in a parking lot, being looked at as if he’s hawk’s prey.

He sighs, opens the car and gets in, going through the usual motions as Primo follows him suit, putting the briefcase on the backseat, his jacket covering it after he fishes out his keys from one of the pockets.

Francesco could easily say the wrong thing, in the wrong moment, to the wrong person, and neither of them would be none the wiser. He could rat them out in a bid to brag, or because he thinks that he can relax his guard. What if he breaks the poor girl’s heart and she wants to take revenge? He remembers how stupid young love can make you, how blind.

“Telling Francesco that he can’t do it won’t work”, Primo says, serious, but not quite as biting. “You’ll just be handing him over the perfect excuse for him not to tell you shit in the future”.

Leonardo wonders if it’s the girl sticking it to her father what appeals to Primo so much about the whole thing, he supposes the other could appreciate a kindred spirit. It’s obvious that he’s talking from experience, and Leonardo doesn’t know if he feels more insulted by the possibility that Primo might be comparing him to Salvatore, of all people, or to Primo’s own dad, of all fucking people, as if he had ever given the slightest indication that he’d beat— That he’d— Just considering the idea that he might have to explain to the other that not every son has quite the same relationship with their father as Primo did with Angelo Nizzuto makes him kind of nauseous.

Primo must sense where his mind’s heading because he ends up adding: “Doesn’t matter if you’re nice about it, but you can be my damn fucking guest if you want to try”. He shrugs, then looks out of the window, as if he were washing his hands out of the situation instead of biding his time, as Leonardo is completely convinced he’s doing.

This is a lost battle, if Primo has already taken such a defensive stance on the subject. He’s got months on him, despite all (“They’ve been friends since the start of the year, and now, well”), more than enough time for him to look at Francesco and Lucrezia from every possible angle and to collect every single argument in favor of their relationship before quick starting a confrontation with him. And really, he’s just so blind sided by the whole thing. He must be a really bad father not to suspect a thing for months.

Leonardo puts the ignition key on, but Primo speaks again before he turns it.

“I’ve just told him to be smart, to pay attention, and not to run himself into problems” he insists, softer. “Your kid can do that. You know he can. Besides, I’m keeping an eye on him”, he turns to face him, “You can at least trust that, don’t you?”

That’s very unfair of Primo. It’s not a question of trust. Francesco’s a very inexperienced hot head. He’d be up to his knees in problems before he recognizes the first signs of danger, let alone ask for help.

“He’ll tell me himself if he does fuck up, you can be sure of that. Holy hell, he just won’t stop talking about the girl, you know? Lulu this, Lulu that”, Primo continues, as if he knew full well that he’s picking at his reticences little by little. Leonardo’s running out of excuses not to associate the pang in his chest with the notion that he’s been kept outside this little secret. “He calls her Lulu”, Primo explains, seemingly flabbergasted at the notion, which is very boldly rich coming from him, and kind of makes Leonardo want to ask him what exactly makes Lulu any more ridiculous of a nickname than Leo.

He snorts, despite himself.

Primo smiles a little when he sees him doing so, as if he’s just proved his point. It’d be so annoying, if it wasn’t so genuine.

“Better to wait the whole thing out. Let him go to Rome. There are more options in Rome. He’ll just grow bored, with time”. Leonardo raises an eyebrow. Primo’s smile takes the barest turn to playful. He deadpans: “Worse case scenario, they do end up getting married and we need to find you a proper suit to wear. You look hot with a suit. I don’t see a downside of the situation for anyone involved”.

Just like that. As if it were so easy.

He’d like to have a smidge of Primo’s unwavering faith in their future, of his unstoppable conviction that they’ll always come up on top, though he’s reduced to trust that the other knows what he’s doing and join for the ride.

Leonardo’s done so many bad things in his life, this is surely his God given punishment.

“When I told you to solve this I didn’t mean, like, personally”, Primo interrupts his train of thought making a vague gesture towards the backseat. “We’ve got people for that. You keep insisting on that: a good boss knows when to delegate”, he adds, in which Leonardo’s forced to interpret as his attempt to mock him. It’s very unfair, given how different is delivering the suitcase from when he told Primo that, that is, when he had to keep him in bed after getting shot, but he knows where Primo’s going with this. He knows this kind of dance.

He looks at him and keeps silent, so Primo’s forced to elaborate. If he wants to have dinner with him, he can just ask. Primo purses his lips, frowns a little, but finally says, slowly:

“I have an idea. That I want your opinion on”, then he stops for a moment, seemingly to revise what he’s going to say, and adds: “That we could discuss, with wine”.

“You want to have dinner at the Olimpo, then?”, he insists, just to hear Primo say it, and not be the slightest bit surprised when he ignores him.

“It’s got to do with your cousin. Does he still want to work for us?”

“Antonio? Yes”.

“How fluent would you say that he’s in Spanish?”

Leonardo takes the ignition key out.

___

An hour later, Dante would finish his cigarette under the street light by the back entrance of the office. He would take a quick look at his watch, and he would get into the car after checking the backseat, adjusting the jacket slightly over the suitcase. If he came back soon enough, he could have dinner with his girlfriend, he’d think, fishing for Leonardo’s car keys in his pocket. Maybe he could take her out next weekend, treat her to somewhere posh by the port. He’d turn the ignition key on.

…

KA-BOOM!!!!!

#trust fx #primo x leonardo #Lau writes #this is awfully domestic truth be told #if you made it to the end: I’m sorry but also I’m not sorry at all #Working title: My daddy’s got a gun (you better run)

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reveluving · 3 years ago

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the lady in the middle

rick flag x milf!reader x captain syverson (+ fic recs)

warnings: smut (minors DNI!); threesome(?), petnames, fingering, mutual masturbation, oral sex (f receiving + slight m receiving), sex toy (butt plug), squirting, praise & domestic kink (+ fluff)

a/n: a reupload 'cause tumblr on that bs. stay safe babes!

» j.k m.list , or check out my full m.list!

rick’s finally escapes belle reve’s clutches whereas sy and his crew had to transfer somewhere a little further. coincidentally, they moved to the same neighbourhood, in the same row, minus sy's comrades that's living a few houses further. only their respective homes are separated by another one.

of course, the neighbours heard of the new wave of veterans simultaneously moving in. who wouldn’t notice, especially the main two; tall, broad and handsome, as the shameless women would describe rick and sy. others, too, but truth be told, they’re awfully explicit. think of the children, linda!

they’ve met the women in the neighbourhood — not because they wanted too, it’s hard not too, though. they’d so happen to pass by, whether it’s in front of their homes, in the park for a jog or even the grocery store. sy’s no-nonsense personality has caused quite the stir and yet, that only seemed to reel them in. rick is a little more respectful but nonetheless firm when they’d invade his personal bubble.

that is, until they meet the ‘lady in the middle’, a.k.a. the neighbour living in between them.

well, not exactly meet per se. not yet. rick was chatting with the elderly couple, mr and mrs williams, living next his home. at first, he listened to their, or specifically, mrs william's endless stories out of respect, but then she starts to talk about you, she sounded like she was talking about her own child.

"oh, (y/n)'s an angel, dear! helps me with my groceries all the time. her kids are absolute sweethearts too!" ah, a mother, "never understood how no one's put a ring on her finger yet,"

oh?

"don't even seem like there's a man in her life since coming here," mr willaims remarked — quite the blunt man but he loves his wife like no other. a fact that rick finds quite endearing, honestly, "billy and tommy's always been her priority,"

ah, a single mother.

"you should meet her some time!" mrs williams grinned, "surely you'll too get along,"

"I'll be sure to say hello, ma'am," rick wasn't exactly lying. he replied the way he did not to only because he doesn't have the heart to say no to the welcoming elderly but in all honesty, he's not sure what to expect. at most, he thinks you're another suburban mom, just not the same as the one that's been shamelessly flirting with him. sometimes in front of their own husbands.

he definitely didn't expect that the single mother mrs williams’ been talking highly about is truly the definition of her words; an absolute sweetheart. plus, easy on the eyes too.

it happened when he visited the mini mart for some eggs. he took notice of the multiple bags of groceries as mrs williams’ paid at the counter. rick was ready to help her out when two boys, no more than seventeen years of age, came into view and helped with her stuff. at first, he thought they were her nephews until she spoke up in utter joy.

"your boys are truly are an angelic duo," she turned to the young lady next to her and from then on did he finally realized that this was more than a random customer.

no, this was the infamous ms (l/n) and holy shit.

you're a babe. supple (s/c) skin, gorgeous (h/c) hair and a radiant smile that practically lit up the room. judging from your clothes, seems like you just came back from the gym.

who knows how long he stood there, contemplating whether to greet the group or hide behind the nearest shelf.

but oh good ol' mrs williams — always one step ahead it seems.

"there he is!" she called him over and he knows it's too late to cover his face in his puffer jacket. so, with the egg carton in one hand, he waved with the other before approaching the one person he honestly doesn't mind meeting, "rick, this is (y/n), the one I've been telling you about! and these are her boys, billy and tommy,"

the boys looked nothing like you and it's obvious why. if mrs williams didn't tell him beforehand, he would've thought you were their adult sister.

"ms (l/n)," he greeted with a polite smile, only to wince when mrs williams tapped his leg with her cane.

"now, now, you two are still young! no formalities," both of you blinked at the her request. you sheepishly smiled, hoping he'd be okay with you addressing him by his first name.

"are you okay with me calling you rick?"

oh, fuck yeah.

"you're more than welcome to if you're okay with me calling you (y/n)," he joked lightly, prompting a chuckle out of you as mrs williams watched you in glee. rick introduced himself to the boys and vice versa and unsurprisingly, they have better manners than his 'former teammates' as a whole.

along the way, he learned that you're working as a part-time instructor in the local gymnasium, specifically flying yoga. while the aerial workout is nothing new to him since as it used to be harley's go-to, he's always felt indifferent about it. cool, yes, but nothing more.

now that he knows you're doing it, his imagination's going just a little wild.

at the end of the whole meeting, everyone went their own way, despite living closely to each other, continuing with their usual routine.

well, minus rick who hasn't been able to get the image of you naked and tangled up in those silks but you get the idea.

how you met sy, on the other hand, was a little different and mrs williams didn't have to do anything with it.

no, he was visiting the gymnasium with his crew. the upside of the local gym is that it's huge—so much so that it's complete with a pilates and flying yoga studio, but they didn't think much of it.

not until they passed by the studio, at least.

"this is the flying yoga studio. opens on wednesday's and thursday's. my sister's personal favourite because of the instructor," the employee opened the door ajar before peaking in, "speaking of, there she is right now,"

at first, they thought it was his sister, considering that he didn't specify who 'she' was, until he greeted the person in the room.

"hey (y/n)!" !

"hey keith!" !!!

suddenly, they're awfully curious to see how this '(y/n)' really looks like.

"finally considering the class with your sister?" they hear you teased.

"you wish. just showing some new members around. mind if i bring them in for a bit,"

"not at all!" they expected you to greet them behind the door when keith swung the door open. the last thing they anticipated was to see you mid-air, gracefully intertwined in the hammock. you turned your head to the new faces and waved enthusiastically.

"hi there! sorry i can't come down right now, my course's starting in a few hours, but it's really nice to meet you guys!" simultaneously, you untangled the fabric off of one leg, leaving the other straight up.

sy was doing a better job at hiding the throbbing mess happening in his lower region but he probably can't say the same for his crew. somehow, he feels a new kind of emotion. or at least, an emotion he hasn't felt until he moved into reve road. this insatiable hunger; something he hasn't felt for any women he's been with.

shit. and this is the same feeling he had when he first saw you with billy and tommy just days ago. you weren't doing anything, just greeting the two in excitement by the door when they came home from school.

it's the first time he's ever felt compelled to greet someone.

"syverson, right?" he snapped out of his stupor at the sound of his name and looked up at you. he curtly nodded, "it's nice to see you again. my sons aren't causing any trouble in your yard again, are they?"

he chuckled lowly, ignoring the hitched breaths coming from the rest because one; you have sons?!

and two; syverson's more or less smiling! while it's not their first time seeing the uptight man express a positive mood, let alone with a woman but in all honesty? they could recognize a forced emotion when they see one, and this is not one of them.

"not at all, ma'am. they're honestly more respectful than these boys right here," whatever possessed the brooding captain into loosening up right in front of his comrades was uncertain, "please, do what you must. we'll be on our way,"

in reality, he didn't want to leave, and he knows damn well his comrades don't wish to either.

but he'd be damn if he lets them stay any longer than he'd like.

"fuck, we got a milf in the area,"

"isn't she the girl that the other moms' been gossiping about? shit, i see why,"

"you think her flexibility applies to when she's in bed?"

sy narrows his eyes at the poor saps drooling over the one person he's finally shown interest in.

but fuck, he'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about you in the most sinful positions, with or without the hammock. he felt pathetic having to work on his own release that same night rather than a one-night stand as per usual. but how could he, when he's busy thinking about how your pretty pussy would feel milking his cock?

hey, he's an asshole to some degree but he has a heart. somewhere.

so, you've got two sexy military men pining for you. the question is; who do you choose?

at first, i planned on making separate smuts.

but, if you're like me and say "damn, that's too much work, and they're both hot as fuck", then ma'am, do I have a treat for you!

why not both?

yes. both!

it's friday night — billy and tommy are at a friend's house for the weekend, excited to play that new call of duty game they've been telling you about so now you're on your own. so, what better way to spend the night than to visit your old favourite bar? you haven't been there for a while so now's a good time, right?

you recognized almost everyone in the room; some of the girls from your course, billy and tommy's seniors, hell, even the condescending group of moms without their husbands.

good. the last thing you wanted was a bunch of middle aged-men drunkenly breathing down your neck without boundaries.

the bartender, 'boss', as many called him, greeted you enthusiastically, dramatisizing your lack of presence but nonetheless glad you didn't forget him nor the bar for another that 'met your city-girl taste'. you ordered your usual and chatted up with Boss until a group began to make a ruckus in a corner. he excused himself with a huff, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

specifically, your two new neighbours.

it's a coincidence that they both had anything to do with the military, let alone moving in with you in the middle. while you weren't around in the first few days of their arrival, words tend to spread very quickly. the first time happened when mrs williams called to notify you about your new neighbours. then, keith was telling you how you had nearly ten new students in one day after rick, along with sy and his team days later, came to the gym for a membership.

by the sounds of it, they sounded like they were the real deal and the same day you came home, you were nervous.

as conceitedly quoted by keith's sister after a session of pilates one thursday; "that angry mom club would do anything to be in your shoes."

hell, if only, but you doubt one of them would them would be interested in you, let alone both.

oh, hunny, you really spoke too soon.

you turned in your seat and settled for people watching and didn't pay any mind for the women cackling at you for coming here alone. but that didn't last long.

"(y/n)!" you jumped a little at the sight of rick entering, even more so when he called your name as soon as he saw you. he loved your closed-eye smile — he felt like he mattered to someone, even for a little.

"hey rick!" you tried your best at hiding your nerves when he made a beeline for you. it didn't help that the shirt he was wearing was practically hugging his torso, showing off every nook and cranny of his muscles.

(ma'am, you're missing the look of disbelief in those nosy moms' faces!)

"didn't expect to see you here, darlin'," you learned that rick is no stranger to petnames (for you and you only), but this is his first time using 'darlin' and quite frankly? it felt natural using it.

"tommy and billy's friends are having a sleepover so they left their dearest mother alone to spend the weekend," you pouted cutely, unaware of the impact it has on rick. he quickly distracted himself by calling boss over once he was done diffusing the mayhem at one of the tables.

thinking back, you don't remember the last time spending the weekend on your own. usually, at least one of the boys were with you.

but, while you missed your boys already, this is also a great opportunity.

what, you didn't think you could go on with you day without touching yourself after meeting the military gentlemen, did you? it's a miracle that you didn't before but a single mother's schedule works wonders when it comes to distractions.

"alone, huh? don't have any plans with friends or...?" he drawled before taking a sip of his drink, hissing at the profound aftertaste.

"i would but after all that extra sessions in the gym? i'd rather stay home," just the thought of waking up past eight in the morning, no 'mother tone' unless one of your boys calls and most importantly...

your well-deserved 'me-time'.

unless you're lucky with rick or sy. or both.

haha jk.

unless...

no. ain't no way they're interested. not even for one night. ever.

rick, on the other hand, tried not to think too much of your jaw-dropping yoga moments. but it's too late, to be honest. he's glad he chose a shirt with a longer hem when he came here.

but it wasn't just that. he wished it was 'cause it would've been much easier. no, it was more than just you in these suggestive positions.

it's your duality. like sy, rick took you as the approachable and almost shy sweetheart next door and nothing more.

but as months passed by, they began to realize the true definition of 'in evil, there's kindness'. for years, their lives were filled with details that no man would wish to even acknowledge. not especially the residents of reve road. so it's not surprise that the things they went through turned them into the way they are; slightly reserved and almost brutish to many. they're used to people come and go, depending on the context.

when you came along, or well, they came along and met you. and almost immediately, they were able to describe you in ways that they didn't even know were in their vocabulary.

it's your caring nature which doesn't limit to tommy and billy. sy, rick, mr and mrs williams, hell, even one of the angry mom club members for whatever reason. you care but you weren't naive either. you've seen the real world and even survived it plenty of times. how did you think you were able to care for the boys in the first place?

of course rick couldn't ignore you. how could he when you're the only person who'd wish him to 'stay safe' every time you two saw each other every morning? when you left him that small box of homemade chocolate truffles after he told you it's his favourite? or when he knocked on your door one night.

he couldn't sleep when all he could see in his dreams were the darks parts of his missions and it went on for days. until you pulled his head onto your lap, stroking his messy hair as he silently let out a tear or two.

he woke up the next morning refreshed and comfortably wrapped in a soft blanket that smelled like you. he couldn't find you around nor the boys around, only to find a piece of note which read:

'gotta send the boys to school, there's some breakfast sandwiches in the kitchen for you :)'

he ate his food in silence and while he would've preferred yours or even billy and tommy's presence, he hasn't felt this at ease as he is now. the sense of calmness at how... domestic, if he's making sense.

from then on, he'd always ask about your well-being. just a simple 'everything okay?' or 'anyone bothering you?' since the it's the least he can do.

he won't admit it but he absolutely adores assisting you in picking billy and tommy up in school.

normality was one thing, but it gives him a reason to glare at anyone who looks at you the wrong way.

well, he does it too but he knows his boundaries.

and then, there's syverson. that brooding bastard.

rick's words, not mine.

they've met a couple of times, mostly when they're both out to check their mailbox or in the gym working (or trying to catch a glimpse of you).

and by met a couple of times, i mean 'nodding curtly at each other and be on their way'.

upon meeting you, there's an unspoken rivalry between the two. now no longer greeting with a silent nod but instead, staring down at each other. loathing, for lack of a better word.

sy growing closer to you was just as personal as rick's.

walking home together whenever you both are at the gym, meeting and helping the williams' as your parents when he stumbled upon you tending their flowers (and unknowingly making him the second candidate for you by mrs williams) but there's one night in particular that stood out to him the most.

he found you standing on your front porch, marvelling at the starry night. you seemed absolutely content and without a care in the world. he couldn't help himself by doing the same and tease you a little.

"first time seeing the stars?" you lost your composure at the husky voice coming the house on your right. through your attempts to calm you rapidly beating heart, you chuckled.

"no, just a little amazed to see so many," it's true — it's not often you'd see the sky littered with them so you're taking in as much as you can.

"the boys not at home?" he didn't think he'd actually seem interested in knowing the boys' well-being but here we are.

"nope, they're in the city with their cousins for the night," they're not even in their 20s and you're already worried of the day that they might not need you anymore. you know they'd still love you but they'd have their own lives, meaning you might not be their main priority.

noticing the change in your demeanour, sy did the courtesy of changing the subject.

"you had your dinner already?" you shot him a thankful smile before shaking your head.

"not yet. making lasagna, though. you?"

"i was just about to make something," he's not a michelin chef but he knows how to cook the necessary.

"why not join me?" you surprised both him and yourself by your offer but you could really use some company. sy's always been laidback with you and you hoped you didn't tarnish that by doing this.

"you sure? don't wanna cause you anymore trouble by making another plate,"

"please," you snorted, "i made enough to keep as leftovers for when the boys come home,"

thus, that's how he spent the night. your house was cozy and the dinner was beyond his expectation. nothing could beat a good home-cooked food, let alone when so much love is put into it.

he didn't leave right after dinner, not when he's already deep into whatever the conversation was that night. he felt at ease for once — obliged to, even. no facade nor fear of showing weaknesses, even for a few hours. he went back home just hours before tommy and billy's arrival. despite not wanting to when you seemed so relaxed in your bed. he stroked your hair for a few minutes and on his way, even if he was tempted to kiss your forehead.

none of you spoke up about that night, but you may or may not have noticed how laxed he became with you and even your boys. he never had any issues with them, he wanted to make sure he's not the reason why they're scared to be out in the front yard whenever with him.

you thought he was just finally loosening up to you the same way rick trusted you with his feelings. you didn't think it could go beyond that.

but the universe had other plans, thus brings you to the bar today.

'stay home,' rick contemplated whether to do the thing he's always wanted but what's stopping him is rejection. he can accept it but the aftermath of it? where there's a possibility you won't talk to him the same way anymore?

that terrifies him. and he needs a moment.

"i'll be right back, okay?" he stood up from his seat and navigated the cramped restroom somewhere. you wondered if you brought up anything bad for him to run off like that but stayed put nonetheless.

and just like before, your lack of company didn't last long.

"(y/n)?" your stomach flipped at distinguishable husky voice and found another sight to behold.

"sy, hey," you smiled and so did he, just not as wide as yours. he never liked anyone calling him as such so who knew he'd be more than okay with now?

albeit, it's only for your usage.

by now, the angry mom club had either left because they couldn't witness the sight of both the captain and colonel approaching you without hesitance or is still in the bar, trying to comfort the 'leader' of the squad who's busy muttering 'why doesn't anyone love me' through her drunken state.

even though we're talking about the same person who's a ceo, has a husband who's actually faithful for once (but purposely antagonized), a dream house and three kids who are as open-hearted as your boys. but okay i guess, linda.

okay, back to you!

"seems like you have a lot in your mind," the hint of concern in his eyes were enough to tell you that he was genuinely worried for you. he motioned to the seat next you as if to say 'mind if I take a seat?'.

"please, go ahead," you patiently waited for him to order his drink before continuing, "nah, i was just wondering what to do this weekend,"

"the boys aren't around?" thank god he stopped himself from sounding hopeful.

"out in the city having game night with their cousins," he hummed and easily downed his shot. he needed it after a slight chaos that happened in the base, "what about you? got any plans?"

"no, work's been tough with the boys," he turned to you, "it's like taking care of a bunch of kids,"

"excuse you," you tutted, "my boys are wonderful,"

"never said they weren't," he replied nonchalantly, hiding his amusement behind the glass. the laughs dimmed down to a comfortable silence, or, the silence between both of you. it's a bar, after all. but he grew curious of the half-empty glass next to yours.

"you came with a friend?" you shook your head.

"no, rick came in after I did," your turned your head to the restroom, "speaking of, where is he?"

unbeknownst to you, this was their plan all along. by now, they're aware of how you had to take life by the horns but deep down, you're yearning for someone to take that role for you. you needed someone to tell you that you're doing a good job.

praise you the way you deserve.

you wanted someone to guide you for once and yes; that includes behind closed doors.

and though rick and sy despised each other, if there's something they can agree on, it's to please you. be there for you the same way you did for them. so, that's what they did.

they agreed.

"(y/n)," sy's almost authoritative tone grabbed your attention. it's not the same tone he'd use on his comrades but enough to cause a stomach flip in you, "flag and i have been talking,"

oh? now that you think about it, you've never seen the two talk at all.

"about...?" you trailed off in such a meek voice, only to jump in your seat when you felt someone's breath tickled the back of your neck.

"about you," rick whispered as he took his seat, ignoring sy who looked at him in irritation for successfully drawing the submissiveness out of you before he did.

"a-ah," you stuttered, "w-what about me that's so interesting?"

"what's not interesting about you, sweetheart?" sy's hand took ahold of yours, the callousness contrasted with his gentle touch. he left a few kisses on the back of your hand, all while maintaining his eye contact with you. that, plus rick wrapping one arm around your waist with your back almost against him, you could pass out at any given moment, "compassionate, considerate, graceful,"

"and yet stern when she needs to be," rick added in, remembering how you shot someone down for vocally insulting your sons for no valid reason, "has anyone ever told you how much of a good girl you are?"

now that right there is a hazard. you didn't know how to answer to that. they noticed how you squeezed your thighs together and smirked. you're so glad boss wasn't around to see this but then again, he's probably in on this too.

"flag asked you a question, sweetheart," sy nearly growled at the sound of your little whimpers, both from his intense gaze and rick peppering kisses on your shoulder.

"n-no," you nearly shrieked as rick's lips found your sensitive spot in between your neck and shoulder blade, "no one's ever c-called me their good girl..."

their good girl.

"would you like us to?" your eyes widened at the usage of 'us' instead of 'me', meaning they were both onto this. they both wanted you. they both yearned for you, "you can spend the weekend with me," rick continued.

"or me," sy argued, prompting a click of a tongue from the colonel before focusing back on you.

"or him. but for now, we've both agreed on something," rick gently turned your head back to look into his eyes.

"that is...?"

"let us treat you the way you deserve,"

the journey back to your home was a blur, especially when you're sandwiched between men shaped as greek gods. between sy's french kissing and rick's hands roaming under your dress, it's amazing how your knees haven't buckled yet. that, or one of them is just helping you from doing so.

on one hand, you're extremely nervous — you trust them more than you have ever trusted anyone, but it's been so long since you've been intimate, let alone with more than one person at once.

"don't do that," rick mumbled behind your ear, nosing your hair, "don't doubt yourself,"

you didn't question how he knew, too fixated on his hand creeping down under the hem of your dress.

"fuck," rick ran his fingers up and down your clothed sex, imagining the intoxicating taste on his lips already, "baby girl, you're fucking wet already,"

sy's kisses intensified, groaning at the idea of your wet panties even before the real deal. it didn't take long until they brought you up to your room, now in your thigh high socks and soaking panties while they only had their shirts off.

when sy asked if you had lube, you didn't think much of it. that is, until you heard him chuckle lowly, only then did you remember.

your butt plug.

"naughty girl," he inspected the toy — stainless steel with a pink jewel at the end of it. the combination of innocence yet eroticism was enough rile both him and rick up, "who knew you'd have such a dirty little toy,"

"i-..." you wanted to defend yourself. it's a completely normal human nature, right? just because you haven't slept with anyone for so long doesn't mean you were a celibate either.

"who did you think about you played with your little pussy, darlin'?" rick gently pushed you on the bed and hovered over your side on one arm, trailing his other hand down to your clit. your cheeks burned at the question because you thought about both of them. you shook your head so cutely, gripping the sheets at either side of your head.

but that wasn't enough. sy sat at the opposite side and out of the blue, he slapped your ass. you arched your back as your body heat only grew at the sensation.

"oh, you like that, don't you?" he massaged the reddening cheek, causing your hips to buck into his hands and rick's teasing fingers, "when we ask you a question, we expect an answer, baby,"

he had his authoritative tone back on and you quickly answered.

"y-yes, I do l-love it, sy," you tilted your head back, "rick... fuck, please don't stop,"

"not yet," you whined when he pulled his fingers away, only to be silenced by his lips on yours, "we need to make sure you can follow orders, so first, go ahead and rest against the headboard and spread your legs,"

you tilted your head but nevertheless sluggishly moved back to the headboard. you felt so exposed but didn't dare to disobey them any further.

for now.

"look at you," sy commented in approval, "you're so sexy when you can follow our orders," you dug your heels into the mattress, looking down momentarily until he approached your side, "now, what we want you to do is simple,"

he passed you your butt plug before walking over to your velvet office chair. you looked at rick questioningly, whose eyes only grew more dangerous at the sight of the toy in your hand.

"well, go on," rick propped one leg on the bed while the other dropped to the side of it, opening the fly of his pants, "be our good girl and play yourself with it. we want that toy of yours in your tight hole before you can have either of us,"

you didn't think it was possible to feel anymore turned on than you are now, but this was a different level of sexy. they licked their lips at the sight of your pussy clenching around nothing and if they don't feel or even taste you anytime soon, so help them.

sy was already seated in your office chair while rick was close enough to reach your ankle if he wanted to. their cocks were out and ready to see you at your most debauched.

slowly but surely, you sat just a little, only to drool onto your clit, letting it trail down your hole, taking pride in the groans coming from both men. sy had the plug lubed up but what's the harm in taking precautionary measures, right?

you brought the toy down your clit, breath hitching at the coldness of it before teasing your lips. the started off slow, wrapping their hands around the base of their cocks and pumping it up and down slowly. you bit your lips at the beads of precum leaking onto their hands.

unable to tease them and yourself any longer, you ground your hips against the toy and clenched around the tip.

"fucking hell," sy's groans were silenced by the slicks sounds of their pumping. if you were this hot and bothered by just the little toy, they could only imagine the raging pleasure once it's their turn, "on your knees, sweetheart. let's see that ass on display,"

you did as he told, rubbing your pussylips with both hands and finally feeling yourself in the best way.

"slap your pussy for us, baby," you didn't hesitate at rick's order and tapped your slit a couple of times. you were almost drooling on the sheets already.

rick was salivating at the sight of your pretty wet pussy and fuck, if he didn't have anymore self control, he would've shoved his tongue into you right then and there. sy, on the other hand was clenching his jaw — he didn't want to cum just yet, he's not even in the best part yet.

"get that shiny pink plug nice and slick before you shove it in," sy commanded you with that gruffly voice of his and you'd be damned if you weren't going to follow it all. your blindly guided the toy up to your tight hole, grinding into it and imagining it as one of their cocks or even their thick fingers. finally, you deliciously moaned at the fullness, rutting against the silky sheets.

"oh, fuck, look at that," rick moved his hips rhythmically, the images of fucking you from behind was too much to bear, "finger yourself, darlin', show us how wet you really are,"

moving your free hand underneath, you eased in a finger and rocked yourself against your hand. it didn't take long till a second finger made its way in, whimpering into your pillow that sent shivers down their spines.

"fuck this, i can't take it anymore, come here," suddenly, rick dragged you closer to him by the ankles, earning a shriek when your fingers dug deeper into you, "don't stop at my account, okay?"

and just like that, he shoved his tongue into your pussy, keeping you grounded by gripping your thighs apart.

"ah! f-fuuuck, rick," you cried out, fisting the blanket as his tongue reached into your most vulnerable, "i-i can't-"

"you can and you will," sy stood in front of you in all his glory, bending down a little to caress your face, "you're our good girl, aren't you?"

"i am...! i am a good g-girl.."

"whose?"

"y-yours...!" rick smacked your ass from behind, "y-yours! and rick's!"

sy narrowed his eyes at the colonel but didn't call him out on it. no, he had other businesses to take care of.

"yes you are," his breaths grew heavy at your obedience and took the spot of leaning against the headboard, "is my good girl aching to suck my cock?"

"i do..." you pathetically begged, biting your lips at the majestic size of it — his was little girthier while rick's seemed a little longer. nonetheless, it's going to be quite the ride to fit them in. speak of the devil; rick replaced your two fingers with one of his, confirming your fantasies that their fingers were absolutely thick.

"suck those fingers, sweetheart," sy eyed your digits that's covered in your juices, his cock pulsating when you bravely maintained eye contact as your soft lips took in your fingers. as soon as you take it out, he took your face in both hands before crashing his lips into yours, savouring the rousing taste.

"go ahead," he whispered when he pulled away. he would've asked you to beg even further but even he has his limits. plus, you've been following orders so well, you deserve a little break.

you would've thanked him but with rick's broad tongue and the butt plug in your ass? maybe it's best to do so later.

you slowly licked the base up to the tip, sucking in a breath when you could practically feel the veins. the precum dripped down onto your tongue before spitting it back on the crown of his cock. you were about to shut your eyes at rick's second finger when sy forced you to look up at him by the back of your head.

a gentle(r) reminder not to close your eyes at this very moment.

you continued your kitten licks around his shaft, elated at the way it jumps at every of your ministration. but you didn't tease him for long — you needed him now.

you wrapped a hand around his base, blinking at how big it truly is before snapping out of it. you were already moaning around his cock before you could even bob your head up and down. rick really wasn't going easy on you.

you looked up at the captain through your lashes, taking in the sight of his head back and mouth open. his hold onto your head neither tightened nor loosened. rick's fingers were knuckles deep and you were pretty sure you were going to cum soon, especially when he's picking up the pace.

the squelching coming from behind you brought sy out of his daze, only to realize that you were getting close.

"is baby girl going to cum soon?" his eyes darkened at the mixture of drool and precum coating his shaft, "why don't you beg for it?"

with his hand on the back of your neck, you released him with a 'pop', a string of saliva connected between your lips and his tip.

"r-rick..." you called his name weakly, eye fluttering to shut when sy's thumb caressed your lips from his shaft to lap at the spit-precum concoction before continuing, "please let m-me cum..."

"aww, darlin'," he taunted, both his saliva and your juices ran down his chin, "you can do better than that," he took ahold your butt plug, pushing it in and out just a little, "turn around, rest your back against syverson's front for me,"

your limps were nearly jelly at this point so you're glad sy carried you around as if you were weightless. his cock throbbed behind you whilst rick's wasn't any better — fucking his own hand but it was all worth it.

sy snaked one arm around your waist, tilting your chin up with the other hand so he could give you all the chaste kisses. rick's hand forced your legs open, prompting you to grab onto sy's forearm that's wrapped around your body.

"can you give me the sweetest begging? then you can cum as much you'd like,"

sy held your jaw in his hand and rested his forehead against yours, "you heard him. beg."

and begging, you did, babe.

"please rick! please let cum! I'm-I'm gonna squirt-!" you eyes popped open at the last part, and so did sy's and rick's.

squirt, huh?

"my baby can squirt too?" rick's fingers reached in a part that nearly pushed you over the edge, "can you squirt around my thick fingers? can you do that, pretty girl?"

"yes! please, f-fuck yes," you just needed your release and as promised, he fingerfucked you like there's no tomorrow. his tongue tried to capture each drops of your juices while sy held you down. his breathy moans in your ear didn't help either and before you knew it, your eyes rolled back before gushing all over rick's fingers, mouth and chin. sy purposely bit your neck to hear you cry out in ecstacy.

you couldn't help but shake in sy's arms as he cooed.

"you did so well, sweetheart," he licked the little bits of sweat off of your neck, "my good girl,"

even in your fucked-out state, you gave him the most irresistible smile. you lazily turned your attention to rick, bashful at essence dripping down his chin.

"s-sorry," you played the edges of your thigh high socks, only to be snatched out of sy's arms and into rick's.

"don't," he warned lightly, "you did what i asked you to do, didn't you?"

"mhm," you nodded in his chest.

"then I don't see why you need to be sorry," he concluded, his chest rumbling out of delight. you purred in his touch but immediately froze up at the captain's next words.

"but it's not over yet, baby," he had a sinister look on his face, and so did rick, "what do you say? you up for another round, sweetheart?"

what do you say?

there's not way you could leave them high and dry, right?

'cause let's just say; with that flexibility of yours? riding sy's cock while sucking rick's after is only the beginning of it all.

-> lol a mess. next time, i'm writing in bullet point form + i'm no smut writer but joel kinnaman fics has me in a chokehold.

-> reve road is just my interpretation of a neighbourhood where milf!reader + your favourite men lives in!

-> anyway! it's time we show some love for my current rick flag & cpt syverson obsessions (smut and/or fluff-focused)!

r. flag:

r e a d e v e r y t h i n g by @babblydrabbly

again, e v e r y t h i n g by @lacontroller1991

remedy & welcome home by @sweetfictionalworld

cpt. syverson:

homeland & make me your future history by @cruelfvkingsummer

vignettes series by @invisibleanonymousmonsters

#— reve's reverie 🌹#rick flag x reader #rick flag x you #rick flag smut #rick flag fluff #rick flag #joel kinnaman #joel kinnaman smut #captain syverson x reader #captain syverson x you #syverson x reader #captain syverson smut #syverson smut #captain syverson #henry cavill #henry cavill smut #milf!reader #x reader

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myelocin · 3 years ago

Text

home, eventually | toji fushiguro

synopsis: the perks that come with having a single father as your roommate.

characters: toji, reader

genre: domestic fluff | wc: drabble type so i didnt count lowl

commissions | ko-fi

you ask toji to list three things he love, and from the get-go he first says that he loves the 7/11 down the corner of your place, because the old man that owns it could never count change right and would always give him extra.

then the next, he says he loves the feeling right after goodbye.

it’s an odd thing to say, so you questioned it with a tilt of your head, the why, unspoken. he picks up on it quick. with a shrug, he answers you in half a truth, the other a haze. “it feels good,” is what he first says. then when you take a sip and stretch the quiet— a thing he’s always hated— he clarifies, “when you say bye to someone, after it feels like you can do something else.”

“that really what you want?” the scar on his ring finger reminds you that a piece of metal kept the skin beneath invulnerable once. “to do something else?”

it’s scarred now. you don’t ask why. the puzzle pieces of his ache never did form a piece worthy of a finale, but you suppose if he’s anything—he’s a work in progress.

in lieu of resurfacing heartache, his peace is displayed instead. “it’s not about what i want,” toji breathes. “when things leave you have no choice. life fucks you up so the new thing might as well be something good.”

you take a sip from your own glass. “sounds like you settled.”

he hangs his arm over the back of the couch. “let’s be realistic here. we’re given things that we settle with.”

raising a brow, you pose a challenge. “this what you teach megumi?”

“i teach him enough to survive.”

if there’s anything you’ve learned, he’s a hard man even when it comes to love. still, you recognize the nearly microscopic twitch of his lip that hints a suppressed smile. you hold three fingers. “so three,” you laugh. “he’s third on the list.”

he rolls his eyes, unfazed. “that kind of love is unconditional. doesn’t count.”

“so you had a different third in mind?” you ask, quirking a brow.

you know it’s not you. his role in your life has always just been the roommate. he ate the meals you always cook for three quite well, and he knows enough about you to mind himself about walking quietly enough outside your door when it’s 11 when you’re asleep.

megumi calls you by your name, but from time to time he does ask for you when he’s awake and trying to make sense of the nightmares.

“i was gonna give that spot to you.”

his eyes don’t look faraway—an assurance that because he’s here, staying, he’s with you. he’s present with truth.

but even so, “that’s a lie,” you say.

then toji scoffs, flicking your forehead. “i don’t lie.”

“you’re awfully blunt.” when you speak, your voice is a whisper now, unsure of whether you’re still on solid ground or not.

toji grins. lopsided and a little lazy, but you admit he is pretty. “i’m just awful.”

“you did say life gives you stuff to settle with.” you don’t move when he takes the can you’ve been holding and drinks from it. “this what you settle with?” you ask, prodding for truth.

“you didn’t let me finish,” he tsks.

in exaggeration, you gesture towards the imaginary stage. “by all means.”

“you settle at the start, because let’s be realistic—life’s shit.”

you laugh, then grab his can from the table that you realize isn’t even half empty anyway. he clinks the can he holds against yours— an awkward exchange, a questionable give and take.

he looks around. painted walls with a spot half assed because megumi slapped that corner with his bare hands and toji couldn’t be bothered to paint over it. your books on the shelf. his work boots beside yours, then megumi’s lightning mcqueen crocs that truth be told, looked fucking ugly.

life gave him circumstances, that formed directions, that led to this. to you. to kind of a love.

(to eventually, home.)

he thinks it’s been the same for you too. you woke up, made choices, that led to you being roommates with a single father and his six year old son who insists on switching the channel to a true crime series instead of the cartoons.

somehow, he knows you love the boy, though.

toji swirls the can. your can. his take, your give. “then the next part is you make a choice. you choose what you’re led to or you say bye to it and restart the damn cycle.”

“hm,” you nod, looking at the can—his can— and weighing the contents. your take. his give. “interesting.”

he smiles. a pause. then, you meet his gaze and do the same.

you both take a sip.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x reader #fushiguro toji #toji x reader #toji scenarios #toji fluff #toji imagines #jjk x reader #jjk scenarios #jjk fluff #once again...wat r..the tags..cry

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starks-hero · 4 years ago

Text

Right a Wrong || Part Two

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You help Bucky make amends and things start to look up for the both of you.

Word Count: 2,800

Warnings: angst, fluff, tfatws spoilers! 1×06

a/n: A few people were interested in a second part to Right a Wrong and the finale gave me a little inspiration so ta da! :) This fic can be read as a stand alone but I'll link part one for anyone that's interested. A little rushed so all mistakes are my own. Spoilers below!

|| Part One ||

*gif not mine*

Bucky didn't sleep on the floor anymore, or the couch. Since being with you, falling asleep in a bed had become his new normal. But it was strange. It was soft and warm and comfortable. In a way, it felt wrong. Bucky didn't deserve something this homely or domestic. When he lay down on the silk sheets he felt like they were going to swallow him whole. Or that he'd sink right through the mattress and into the cold floor. It had been so long since he'd slept in a bed his body was completely unaccustomed to the soft, plush bedding beneath him, his back had long since grown used to the stiffness of the floorboards.

In fact, the night you both left the Wilson's and stayed in a somewhat decent hotel together was the first night Bucky had slept in a bed in months. Longer than he cared to admit. But amidst the strangeness of it all, there was you.

His discomfort at the foreign feeling of laying in a soft bed dispersed the moment you crawled in next to him. He'd pulled you to his chest, arms wrapping around you whilst you clung to his side, hands laying lazily across his stomach. And for the first time in years, Bucky fell asleep peacefully. It was the best night of sleep he'd gotten since before the war.

And he owed it all to you.

Buckys feelings for you had only grown stronger since that day you agreed to go with him. Since then he'd sworn that he'd never met anyone as loving or caring as you in his lifetime.

You didn't run, you didn't leave him. When the nightmares came you stayed. You would gently coax him awake and calm his waking mind with soft words of comfort when the night terrors left him terrified and confused. You held him, gently running your hands down his body and through his hair, not showing any disdain for where man met metal. And when you gently kissed the side of his head Bucky swore he was prepared to forgive everyone that had ever wronged him if they had played a part in bringing him to you.

His nightmares had also declined in the time that you two were together, as did most of his self deprecating thoughts. Of course, they didn't go away entirely. But you helped him where you could and understood when you couldn't. You knew that despite how much you wanted to, you couldn't love his demons away. And Bucky loved you all the more for accepting that.

Over the course of a few weeks, when the dust had finally settled after the Flag Smashers attack on the GRC HQ in New York, both you and Bucky focused on the names in the book that Bucky could now recite in order without even glancing at the page. When you'd asked him where he wanted to start, one name immediately leapt to the forefront of his mind. And that name is exactly what had led you both to the quaint apartment block tucked away in the corner of New York City.

"I can't do this." Bucky's voice was timid as you both stood outside the apartment complex. He swallowed and turned to you helplessly.

"Yes, you can." You gently took his hand in yours.

This was it. The first name on Bucky's list. Yori Nakajima. You were both aware that the first was going to be the hardest. But now that you were actually here, standing in front of the home of the elderly man who'd lost his son at the hands of the winter soldier, it suddenly seemed all too real and just a little bit impossible. Bucky's stomach tied itself in a knot.

"No, I can't. I can't." He said through laboured breaths. He shook his head as he paced in front of you. "I can't tell him. I can't watch what that will do to him. I can't-" Bucky's breathing began to grow erratic.

"Hey." You quickly stepped in, stopping his relentless pacing and holding his face in your hands. "It's okay, you're okay." You softly shushed him. "Bucky, you can do this. You have to."

He sighed, calming slightly beneath your touch. "I'm guessing I have to do it alone, too. Don't I?" He asked and you nodded sympathetically. Your thumb caressed his cheek, tracing the stubble along his jaw. As much as you wanted to be there with him you knew he had to do this part alone.

"You can do this."

Bucky smiled softly at your words despite the growing fear in his eyes. He gently caught your wrist and moved your hand to his mouth, placing a tender kiss to your palm.

"Okay," he said quietly and turned to glance at the door of the building. He exhaled slowly.

"I'll be waiting right here," you comforted and he acknowledged you with a curt nod. His hand slipped from yours as he headed inside and you watched him go, your heart in your throat.

Time seemed to drag on forever as you waited, nervously toying with your hands. Bucky had been gone for a little under forty minutes and you couldn't tell if that was a good or bad sign. You tried to convince yourself that everything was fine but your mind kept reminding you of the worst possible scenario and what that might mean for Bucky.

You bit down on your lip as you impatiently shuffled your feet. You watched the crowds pass as you stood out of the way of the busy street, leaning against the wall of the alley next to the apartments.

After a few more painfully long moments you saw him amongst the crowd. Bucky's expression was unreadable as he stopped in front of you and you couldn't tell if things had gone well or not. He almost seemed to be in a state of shock.

"Bucky," you tried timidly and he looked up at you. There were tears building in his eyes.

"He forgave me." He managed hoarsely. The frenzy of emotions he was experiencing was evident in his expression. It was almost as if he didn't know whether to laugh with joy or cry. You wordlessly pulled him to you and he welcomed your embrace.

"You did it, Buck," you muttered as you comfortingly ran your hands along his back and he clung to you like a lifeline. "You did it."

He pulled away to look at you, still slightly teary-eyed but features now flooded with relief. The weight of the world seemed to have been lifted from his shoulders and a small smile found its way to his lips as he looked at you in disbelief

You pulled the small red book from your pocket, where it had been stowed away for safekeeping, and Bucky nodded. You were the only one Bucky trusted enough to share it with. You handed the tattered notebook to him and he turned the pages in a flimsy, disorganised motion, his fingers shaking slightly. Pulling a pencil from his pocket, Bucky's smile widened as he drew a line through 'Nakajima'.

He traced the faded name with his thumb one last time before glaring at the multiple other names and initials jot down on the paper.

"What now?" He asked as he glanced down at the open book in his hand.

You shrugged. "One down."

Bucky huffed, shoving the book back into his pocket with a surprising level of caution. "Only a dozen more to go."

"Still, it's a start." You smiled, gently placing your hand against his shoulder and dragging it down his arm.

He smirked, catching your waist and pulling you into him. He captured your lips in a kiss, ignoring the fact that the street was still bustling with people a few feet away from you both. Bucky wasn't always the biggest fan of PDA, mostly because it wasn't exactly encouraged to be all that affectionate in public back in the forties. But this was different. This was you and him and in light of what had just happened, he didn't care who saw. He was going to kiss you as much as he damn wanted to.

"Thank you," he muttered against your lips, slipping his hand into yours as you both stepped out onto the busy street.

"You've got to stop saying that." You shook your head and Buckys hand only tightened around your own.

"Why?" He tilted his head with a bemused smirk.

"Because I told you," you grinned, pulling him closer to you so your shoulders brushed. "You don't have to say thank you, not to me."

Bucky didn't answer, truth was he was at a complete loss for words. He just offered you a loving smile as he wondered how he got so damn lucky.

It had been a few weeks since the final name had been crossed off the list. Some had taken their toll on Bucky more than others, but now it was finally complete and Bucky once again experienced that wonderful feeling of being freed. This time not from trigger words, but from burdens he'd been forced to carry.

Things were finally looking up for you both. You'd managed to carve out your own unique sense of normality. And as both you and Bucky worked in the kitchen of your shared apartment on a particular Saturday afternoon, your new normal seemed to include watching the worlds most deadly ex-assassin baking a cake.

"And you're sure we couldn't have just bought one?" You asked, trying and failing to hide a smirk as you glanced at Bucky's handiwork. The cake was lopsided and the icing Bucky was currently covering it in seemed to be its only saving grace.

"Of course not, doll. Where's the fun in that." Bucky stated plainly. However, given your earlier attempt at cake baking, it would turn out that Buckys idea of fun involved throwing flour and eggs at each other and then making out on the tabletop whilst the cake overcooked in the oven.

But you didn't complain. You were just glad to see him so happy and carefree after everything.

He plastered a finishing layer of cream over the cake, looking awfully pleased with himself as he held it up for you to see with a proud smirk.

You bit the inside of your cheek to stifle your laughter.

"Get cleaned up." You ordered, motioning to his flour-covered henley. "Sam told us to be there by five o'clock. We're going to be late."

Bucky nodded dismissively as he sucked the stray icing from his fingers, making a point to keep eye contact with you as he did so. He smirked knowingly. Purposely pissing you off just to get a reaction out of you was just too much fun, he couldn't resist it.

"Problem, doll?" He asked and you wordlessly crossed the room and kissed his stupid smirk right off his stupid mouth. His mischievous grin only widened as he moaned against you. The sweet taste of icing lingered on his lips.

"Nope, no problem." You swiped your thumb across the corner of his mouth once you pulled back, wiping away the last of the icing. "You just had a little something on your lips."

He grinned down at you, heart full. You were going to be the death of him but god would he die a happy man if that were the case.

It took every ounce of control and willpower he possessed but he masterfully with-held the urge to shove you against the nearest surface and instead did as he was told, heading upstairs to change with one last peck to your cheek.

Ten minutes later and you were both on the road, cake securely strapped into the back seat of the car. The apartment you and Bucky were staying in was only a short drive away from the Wilson's and Sam was right, the people in the town really were the most welcoming in the world. You and Bucky had never felt more at home.

As Bucky parked the car on the dock, Cass and AJ were the first to greet you, ambushing Bucky. You smiled fondly as you watched him goof around with the boys before greeting everyone already at the cookout. Both boys then turned their attention to you, almost tackling you to the ground with the strength of their hugs. You couldn't quite put it into words, but there was something about how AJ rambled on so fondly about how Uncle Sam had set a place for you and Bucky at their table that made you feel more at home than ever before. Dinner itself was filled with laughter and shared stories. You did sit with the Wilson's, Bucky and Cass sitting to your left and right with Sam, Sarah and AJ sitting across from you. It was perfect. Between the bad jokes and the arguments over things as simple as the salt and pepper, it all blended together into the perfect mess of domestic bliss.

You glanced at Bucky who was smiling widely and laughing as he told a story to both boys who looked to him as if he were explaining the secrets of the universe. He was relaxed, unburdened and above all else, happy. He looked like he had finally found a home, a family.

As the meals were finished and things quietened down, you helped Sarah and Sam clean everything up. Then once everything was done, you simply sat and enjoyed the atmosphere. There was music being played, people dancing, and a little off to your left you could see Bucky. AJ and another kid were comedically hanging from his metal arm. Playful smiles were adorning all their faces. Who knew the worlds deadliest assassin had no issue with being a jungle gym if it meant making kids smile?

"I told you. Didn't I tell you?"

You turned and found Sam grinning behind you. He motioned to you and then Bucky.

"I've never seen him like this, so happy. Feels like I'm looking at the old Bucky Steve use to talk about." He said and you beamed.

"Yeah. He's come so far, crossed off every name in his book. I guess he finally feels like he can move on now."

Sam's elated expression softened as he glanced between you and Bucky again.

"I guess we've got you to thank for that, huh?" He playfully elbowed you in the side but his voice was nothing short of genuine. You laughed and shook your head, pushing back into him.

"I didn't do anything, it was all him. I just stood by."

"That's exactly why it's you I should thank." Sam smiled. Both of your gazes fell back on Bucky who seemed to have started a rather competitive game of tag among the kids he was surrounded by. "You stood by him no matter how bad it got. Not a lot of people would do that. Hell, not a lot of people have done that for him. I don't want to think about what could have happened if he didn't have you."

You nodded solemnly, eyes not leaving Bucky.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere so you don't have to worry about that."

Sam nodded with a grin, clasping a hand down on your shoulder. "Glad to hear it. But we should probably stop staring at him now, it's getting creepy, people are going to start asking questions."

You laughed at Sam's comment, muttering a quiet 'Copy that, Cap' as he headed back over to Sarah. As the sun began to set beneath the waves, most of the guests began to take their leave and head home. However, you and Bucky strayed away from the main party for a little time alone. You stood on the dock overlooking the water, Bucky behind you with his arm around your waist and planting kiss after kiss to your neck.

You couldn't explain the warmth that spread within you as you both watched the sun go down. But this was all you'd ever wanted. Bucky pulled you closer against him, opting to use his new vantage point to gingerly kiss your cheek.

"I love you," he sighed, resting his chin against your shoulder. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

You grasped his hand and laid back against him, counting your lucky stars that you'd both made it to where you were at that moment.

"I love you too."

He grinned at your words and held you close as he looked out over the golden waves and setting sun. He was finally home.

tag list: @bakerstreethound @doozywoozy @miraclesoflove @the-queer-dungeoneer @kealohilani-tepise

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky fanfic #tfatws spoilers #tfatws x reader #marvel x reader

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aminiatureworld · 3 years ago

Text

Disappearance III

Character: Childe, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,581

Warnings: None

Premise: In which there is an argument and the reader disappears.

Author’s Note: Childe my favorite character, how I love to torture you.

But genuinely I really like how this one came out.

Childe

Childe craned his neck to stare at the clock on the wall behind him. Sighing at the lateness of the afternoon he turned back towards the papers in his lap, trying desperately to focus, to not let his thoughts drift off to the argument that had taken place in the morning.

It had started out simple enough. Childe had informed you that he might be gone for some time, as the Tsaritsa had requested a high-level reconnaissance mission, and Childe was to be the one to lead it. He thought that you react much the way that you always had, assurances of his success, light-hearted reminders to stay safe, and a goodbye kiss as you two settled back into a normal routine before the day of departure. Instead however, your lips had slanted into a frown, and you stopped making your breakfast to turn and face your partner.

“Childe, I wish you wouldn’t always take things on yourself.”

“What do you mean darling?” Childe felt a wave of surprise wash over him. After all, what else was he supposed to do?

“I mean that you’re being entirely too reckless Childe. You know that you have too high a profile to be doing stuff like this. I… I would like you to sit this one out. Just this one.”

Childe couldn’t help but laugh, whether out of irritation or genuine amusement he wasn’t sure of. “As much as I appreciate the concern, I can’t do that. No leader worth their salt would send their underlings off alone, even if they are some of the weakest underlings in the world. No one’s been able to pull the wool over me yet darling, it’ll be perfectly alright.”

“You’re not listening to me,” your voice picked up in intensity. “Childe I really try, I try to remind myself that you’re a Harbinger and able to take care of yourself; but sometimes it’s just too much. This is too much.”

“You’re being silly,” Childe said, trying to keep his tone light. “I’ll be fine. Besides, I can’t disobey the Tsaritsa. She wishes me to do this so I will. It’s as simple as that.”

“The Tsaritsa is far away, she has hundreds, thousands under her command. She won’t bat an eye at your safety.”

“Like you said, I can take care of myself.”

“But what if one day you can’t? What if, what if one day you don’t come back. Please, just this once; just this once don’t go.”

“I know that the length of time is upsetting, but you can’t react like this every time I have to go away for a while. I promise that you’ll have me all to yourself afterwards.”

“It’s not about that Childe! Please, please listen to me. I’m worried about your safety. I’m worried one of these days you’re going to end up in a fight too big even for you. What will you do then? What will your underlings do? What will I do? Please, tell the Tsaritsa you have to stay and make sure the Bank stays out of trouble, or that nothing happens in Liyue. Please, don’t go this time.”

“You’re being irrational.” By now Childe was definitely irritated.

“No, I’m being realistic. You don’t take care of yourself enough.”

“You’re just underestimating me. Besides, I’m a better fighter than you’ll ever be. It’s not like you can protect me even if I stayed here.”

“What?”

“It’s not like staying in Liyue would be any safer, better to face things head on. For the Tsaritsa, for Snezhnaya, that is the most important thing. If you can’t see that, you’re just being stupid.”

Although Childe regretted the words almost immediately after they left his mouth he could see that saying that would’ve had no effect. So instead he watched silently as your face clouded over and you stormed out the door, not bothering to grab your food as you slung your pack around you back and walked out. A part of him wanted to call after you, but he knew that even if he did you probably wouldn’t listen. Even if you did, what could he say? After all, he had simply spoken the truth; even if you couldn’t accept it as such.

Now Childe sat on the couch, eyes glazing voer as he stared at all the paperwork that needed to be done before his mission. He had already spent a hectic, uneasy day at the bank. Though he knew that none of his underlings would be foolish enough to try to pull something while he was gone, Andrei would make sure of that and Childe would make sure of Andrei, it was still tedious, boring work. This was in no way helped by the lingering ill will from his fight with you earlier. Though Childe ultimately forgot fights relatively quickly the time right after was always an uneasy one, filled with sudden flashes of irritation replaced suddenly by the wish for it all to have never happened.

He had hoped that you might be home by the time he arrived, but your absence wasn’t truly much of a surprise. Besides the fact that you were still probably angry with him, something Childe couldn’t really fault, you had recently been involved with some project near the Chasm, and it was hardly surprising that something that big caused you late hours. Still he couldn’t deny the fact that he was somewhat disappointed, or maybe disheartened was a better way to put it. He hated fighting with you, especially fights that lasted. Even if he was irritated with you, even if he thought that you had demanded something impossible, he still regretted snapping at you. He just wanted you to come home now, that way he could apologize and explain the situation better. That way he wouldn’t leave with any ill will behind him.

The clock was excruciatingly slow, but the insult of that wasn’t registered until Childe dozed off. Waking up in the middle of the night he was surprised at your continued absence. Though he had expected that sleeping on the couch might’ve happened, your total disappearance was certainly something that threw him for a loop. Making his way to the bedroom and flopping down on the bed Childe closed his eyes, pushing away the anxiety that clustered at the edge of his thoughts.

Perhaps you’d ended up staying with Hu Tao, or maybe you’d gone back home to your family. He had been awfully mean after all, and you were never the kind of person to take his insults sitting down. Still, if that were true why hadn’t you packed more, or come back to collect your things? It didn’t make any sense. Questions and half baked reasonings floated through Childe head as he tried to delay the inevitable pull of sleep. The last conscious thought he could remember was the knowledge that at least you would be back tomorrow.

You were not, in fact, home tomorrow. The Harbinger’s time spent at the Northland Bank was almost completely useless, the meeting with the people he’d be going on his mission with even more so. Though Childe wasn’t necessarily the most attentive listener, often letting his mind wander when his fellow Fatui members fell into arguing about the most insipid things, he knew that paying attention to a plan as a whole was critical to its success. Even so he couldn’t bring his mind to focus on the maps and profiles that sat in front of him. Where were you? It seemed like such a silly question, but the longer it floated in Childe’s head the colder he felt.

Finally the meetings and the menial tasks ended and Childe could go home. Sprinting down the winding streets of Liyue, not bothering to hide the fact he was in a hurry, Childe burst into the apartment. His heart sank as he was met with the same image he’d seen when he’d left that morning.

Afterwards Childe wandered around the docks of Liyue, trying to keep the quickly fragmenting pieces of his mind together. He knew that he was probably overreacting, knew that you were simply staying away because of what he said, knew that it wouldn’t be forever – you would have definitely told him if that were the case. Still he couldn’t help but feel dread crawling over him, saturating the cracks of his brain as he wondered how he’d managed to fuck everything up so much. He had underestimate how much his words must have affected you, and that only made him feel worse. Finally exhausting his walk along the pier Childe set off towards the edges of the city and into the vast wilderness of Liyue. He needed to find something to fight.

The nightmare continued on into the next day, then into the day after that. Childe could barely remember what he did during those days, walking around as if possessed, unable to concentrate on anything for more than a few moments before his thoughts inevitably found their way back to you. Mostly Childe ended up sleeping, dozing off at his desk or on the couch, papers fluttering from his hands onto the floor. Mostly Childe dreamed of you.

They weren’t dreams of any particular note, their contents incredibly mundane. Not that it matter to Childe; within those dreams he felt nothing but happy domesticity, a calm that washed over him as he walked with you to the market or lay next to you under the stars. Always you would appear in his dreams suddenly, and always he would throw his arms around you, clinging to you as if even an embrace wasn’t enough. Always he woke up with a sense of desolation so vast it threatened to consume him.

Finally on the fifth day Childe couldn’t take it anymore. Waking up at almost the crack of dawn the Harbinger rushed to the Bank. He wouldn’t stay long, only enough to inform Andrei that he’d be out for the day. Then he’d go to the Guild and check and make sure everything was okay. Then, well he’d figure out what to do then. It seemed pathetic to chase after you, not to mention gross. He wouldn’t become a stalker, wouldn’t let himself fall into such pathetic behavior. Still, he had to make sure you were at least okay. As long as he did that, well, the rest could come later.

Striding into the Bank Childe was met with a surprising sight. Normally Ekaterina stayed firmly tucked inside her receptionist cubby, even more antisocial than the likes of the Balladeer or the Fatui that guarded Dragonspine. Now however she stood at the front of the booth, wringing her hands this way and that as she stared at a piece of paper in front of her. Feeling a sudden sense of dread Childe walked up to her.

“Ekaterina?”

“Oh!” Ekaterina whirled around, look on her face one of utter anxiety. “My lord, I was horrified to hear of the news, tell me, do you know if they’re almost free?”

“What are you talking about?” Childe narrowed his eyes.

“Why, your partner. I only heard today from Nadia; no wonder you’ve been so distant recently, if it’s not too much for me to say so. I only hope that they’ll soon be rescued, I’m sure you know about the situation better than I do though.”

“Ekaterina, what in the Tsaritsa’s name are you talking about?”

A shadow passed over Ekaterina’s face, a look of utter dread. Swallowing slightly she stared at a spot in the wall right to the side of Childe. “You partner, my lord, I’ve been informed that they have become trapped in one of the caverns of the Chasm. I thought that you knew about it, it’s been five days after a–”

Childe didn’t hear the rest of what Ekaterina had to say. Whirling around the Harbinger slammed his way out of the bank, aiming towards the nearest waypoint. Cold dread washed over him and with it desperate determination. He’d rescue you. If he had to tear apart the entire Chasm and raze all the mountains in Liyue to the ground so be it.

Approaching the Chasm Childe felt a rush of adrenaline wash over him. He was terrified. By the Seven, he was utterly terrified. Images of you flashed in his mind, images of you cowering in the dark, stuck at the bottom of an endless pit, lying on the ground with no air or food or life in you. How could he have let this happen? How could he have not known of this before? Anger burned within Childe, anger at himself. He should have never let you walk out of your apartment without apologizing first. He should have enquired after you after the first night you didn’t show up. He should’ve been the first person there for you, instead of the last person to know. He was so utterly stupid.

Approaching what must’ve been the site of the accident Childe felt his stomach drop to his feet at the sight of you. You were covered in dirt, cuts spread across your arms and legs as you slumped against a Guild member, dragging your feet in an awkward shuffle towards the stretcher that must’ve been meant to bring you to the apothecary. There were a variety of Guild members flocking around you, along with one of the doctors of Liyue, who was scribbling notes down furiously. Your expression was utterly dazed, as if you weren’t exactly sure of what was going on, something that tore Childe apart.

Stepping towards you Childe called out your name. At the sound your head jerked up, and you gave a hoarse sort of cry before turning to make your way towards him. Sprinting towards you Childe stepped backwards as you fell awkwardly into him. Steadying you for a moment before wrapping his arms around you Childe felt all his emotions crashing over him, so intense that he couldn’t control them anymore. Ignoring the tears that tracked their way down his cheeks the Harbinger let out a shudder.

“Thank the Seven, thank the Seven you’re safe. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. You don’t have to forgive me, alright? You don’t have to forgive me, but by the gods I’m so sorry.”

“I wish you had been there,” you mumbled softly. “It was so dark, I couldn’t see anything. I thought, I thought that I might never see you again.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I said all those things to you, I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. You should’ve fold so easily you know, you should be really, really angry at me.”

“I don’t want to be angry at you though, I just want you to stay.”

“Then I will,” Childe tightened his embrace around you. “I promise I will.”

“Okay.”

Having apparently said everything that had to be said you let Childe sling you onto his back, refusing to be carried to the hospital in the stretcher. As you appeared to doze off on his back Childe made a promise to himself. Even if he couldn’t disobey the Tsaritsa, even if he couldn’t change who he was, he would never leave you when you needed him to be there.

You would never find yourself needing him to be there without the chance of your need being met. That he promised you.

#genshin impact fanfiction #childe x reader #childe #genshin impact #genshin childe #requested #fanfiction #scenarios #my writing

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katehuntington · 4 years ago

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Title: Ride With Me (part 25) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±6900 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part 25: Y/N and Dean struggle with the aftermath of their split. Working together proves to be difficult, but other relationships within the ranch family took a hit as well. When the cowboy thinks the day can’t get much worse, complications arise, forcing him to make yet another difficult decision. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak, slowburn. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: (opening scene) The Eye - Brandi Carlile. (Ride with Meadow scene) Home - Hans Zimmer. Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Beta’d by my mom (yes, you read that right. My mom reads my stuff and is on Tumblr). Thank you, @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish, @kittenofdoomage, @manawhaat, @waywardbeanie, @atc74, and @winchest09 for helping me with this story. Also a special thanks to @jules-1999, who has offered me her knowledge about rodeo events like these, and @squirrelnotsam, who knows Arizona like the back of her hand.

Ride With Me Masterlist

With frustrated motions, Y/N stuffs her clothes into a bag, not even bothered to sort the items out. Her cheeks are tear-stained once again and she wipes at them angrily. Stop crying, it won’t get you anywhere, she scolds herself, done with feeling this emotional. After all, today is Monday, just another day at the ranch, and they have a lot of work to do. Garth and Ellen did the necessary stable work, but the horses which are usually trained by Jo, Dean, and herself had three days off while their riders were in Flagstaff.

Dean. Just the name reverberating in her head forces her to pause her actions. She dips her chin, closes her eyes, and takes a breath. Why? That’s the question she keeps asking herself. Why did he break up with her? Why did he pretend to care, only to hurt her the way he did? Why has he become so bitter, so selfish, so unlike the man she thought he was?

The questions remain unanswered, and she doesn’t expect they will give her any consolation either. That was the whole issue to begin with, wasn’t it? He can’t be honest. Apparently, he doesn’t think she’s capable of bearing the load he is meant to share with his partner. Apparently, she’s not good enough. Just like she didn’t meet her first boyfriend’s standards, who got tired of her spending more time with her horses than with him. Her second relationship ended in a fiasco as well, this time it was his jealousy of her success that caused the split. Yesterday proved that the third time clearly isn’t a charm. But neither of her previous significant others ever caused a cataclysm as the one Dean has left behind. Her heart is a wasteland now.

“Are you leaving?” She’s pulled away from her thoughts by Jo’s voice, her tone matching the horrified expression on her face. She stands in the doorway, looking down at the open suitcase on the floor and the unzipped bag. All of a sudden, Y/N realizes what the scene must look like. “No. I’m just sorting out my washing,” she says quickly. “Oh…” the blonde cowgirl sighs, relieved. “For a second there I thought--” “I won’t let your scumbag cousin chase me away, Jo,” her friend assures her.

Truth be told, though, she has been thinking about it. Last night she had typed down her information on a booking website, ready to confirm her flight back to Freeport, but as her finger hovered over the ‘confirm’ button, she closed the tab and slammed her laptop closed. The intern came here on a mission. She is going to prove to her parents and to herself that she has what it takes to run her own ranch and that she deserves that business loan. She is not going to abort just because her heart is broken, come hell or high water.

“Well, good. I would have roped you like a cow and tied you to the saddle anyway,” Jo scoffs, leaning against the doorframe.

The cowgirl chuckles as she collects the last of her dirty laundry, zips up the bag, and puts it on the bed. The sight of the not-particularly comfortable mattress has her wishing she could crawl back under the covers and get some much-needed sleep. That’s not an option, however, and so she takes her hat from the corner bedpost and places it on her head. Before she goes out, she quickly checks her makeup in the mirror, but thankfully her tears haven’t smudged her waterproof eyeliner and mascara, and her foundation is still covering the bags under her eyes. It’s been a while since she hid behind the beauty-products, but the confidence Dean gave her has disappeared the second he ended their relationship, so she put her mask back on. There is no way she will give her ex-boyfriend the satisfaction of witnessing just how broken she is.

Y/N inhales deeply and squares her shoulders, lifting her chin as she stares at her reflection. The woman who looks back at her is fierce and resilient; the complete opposite of the little girl that’s hiding inside. Of course, she doesn’t want to face the day nor the man who hurt her, but she is left with no choice. There is so much more at stake here; her future, her career. This is business, and she will treat it as such. Y/N glances at Jo, giving her a nod, and her friend smiles faintly doing the same.

Rubbing his tired eyes, Dean pours himself his third cup of coffee. Saying that he had a rough night, is putting it mildly. The first digit of his alarm clock had already changed into a ‘2’ when he finally drifted off, only to jolt awake an hour and a half later, his bedsheets clinging to his sweat-covered skin. For the first time in years, a nightmare has caused havoc, images of his worst memories coming through cracks in the walls he built around all that childhood trauma. After freshening up, he laid in bed again while last night’s events alternated with those same disturbing scenes he saw in his dreams, the sad motion picture of sorrow and heartbreak projected on the ceiling. He gave up on sleeping around four-thirty in the morning, got dressed, and sat out on the porch until the sun came up. But no matter how hard he focused on the sounds of the night that tried to soothe him, he couldn't get her out of his mind. The pain laced in her desperate voice, the tears that fell because of him. But after those hurtful images, he also remembers that bright smile, her giggles, the sparkle in her eyes when she has achieved something. Her tenderness, her touch… It hasn’t even been twelve hours and he’s already craving Y/N, fighting an addiction for a drug he can never have again. The girl who is no longer his Yankee.

A door squeaks and Dean glances aside, immediately redirecting his gaze back to the coffee mug on the small kitchen counter when Y/N comes into view, followed suit by Jo. Instantly, the tension in the living room shoots through the roof, the crooked, little bunkhouse barely able to maintain the strain. He doesn’t say anything, but thankfully Garth and Benny do exchange a ‘good morning’ with the girls, the silence interrupted by the casual exchange.

He spots her perfectly applied makeup, her hair tied back in a tight ponytail that doesn’t allow a single strand to escape the rubber band. Her shirt is neatly tucked into her jeans, ironed and spotless, just like the day when she arrived at the ranch. Even though she looks breathtaking, the vision saddens him; she’s back to being the woman who needs to have everything under control. He gets it, though, because when she took his advice to loosen up, she let her guard down. If she had kept both hands on the reins, Y/N would have never allowed him to get so close and comfortable. Dean only made things worse for her, and now she was left to pick up the pieces of all that he broke.

Without saying a word, he grabs his coffee and pushes the door handle down to make his exit, not wanting to make her life more difficult than he already has.

Ultimately, this Monday was bound to get worse with every passing minute. Dean decided to get an early start before breakfast and got on the tractor, but when the ranch hand tried to back up in order to drag the arena, he couldn't get the old John Deere into reverse. A glance underneath soon determined why and he exclaimed a loud ‘fuck!’ when he detected the puddle of gearbox-oil on the dusty ground. Turning the fresh horses out only added to his agitation, especially when the youngsters stirred up the palomino stallion Led while the wrangler was hand-walking him. The Quarter is still recovering from the nasty tendon injury he suffered on the job, and isn’t supposed to be bouncing off the concrete like a rubber ball on a leash, but tell that to an energetic horse who has barely been out of his box for the past month. Garth readied a horse for his boss, which he managed to ride before breakfast, but Dean was unfocused and gave up after thirty minutes.

Now, they were all quietly eating their breakfast, the delicious meal giving them some consolation. Ellen observes the awfully silent crew, exchanging a look with her daughter, who with a slow shake of her head tells her mother to not bring it up, and so she doesn’t. The head wrangler is the first to get up from his seat, rinse his plate in the sink, and return to the stables. The others follow his example, the barn soon buzzing with activity.

Y/N works like a dog, mucking out the stable in record time without pausing. It’s a good distraction for her reeling mind, the hard labor ridding her of the frustration that boils her blood whenever she thinks of the man who ruined her faith in true love. Garth, sensing that the intern was fine on her own, took the tough job of raking the arena by hand, since machinery has let them down. Meanwhile, Jo and Dean train the animals as per usual, but there’s no bantering between them during the cool down. In fact, the wrangler’s cousin has decided to ignore him altogether.

Getting more irritated with every second passing, the horseman dismounts the six-year-old gelding named Santana, deciding that a light workout is enough for today. The wrangler is always careful to not let his emotions bleed into his work, but he’s finding it difficult to keep himself in check. Jo has already parked her horse next to the bay Quarter and has tacked down the buckskin without granting Dean a look. He sighs; Jo is not easily going to forgive him for hurting her friend, but he still tries to break the stifling silence.

“Can you pass me the water?” he asks, nodding at the yellow garden hose that’s rolled up by the faucet. Without even granting him a look, the ranch owner’s daughter throws the showerhead in his direction, the nozzle clattering on the tiles in front of Dean’s feet. He sighs, annoyed. “So this is how it’s gonna be?” he scoffs. “I get that you’re mad, but you can at least t--” “I have nothing to say to you,” she snaps.

It’s not the first time Jo is angry with him, because the two have a habit of getting on each other’s nerves. This time it’s different, though, and the bitterness in her tone sends a clear message that he has burned his bridges. Gritting his teeth, he lets the comment slide, deciding that it’s useless to fire back a counter. She has a solid point after all; he doesn’t deserve her sympathy in the slightest. Figuring that these will be the only words they exchange for at least a couple of days, the cowboy begins to hose down Santana, when Jo turns on her heels with her horse’s lead rope in one hand and her fist firmly planted on her waist. “You know what? I do have something to say. You just don’t get to speak in return,” she kicks off, about to unleash her wrath. Dean lifts his gaze from the dirt and sweat that he’s washing out of his horse’s coat, for the first time looking into his cousin’s fiery eyes. The petit cowgirl, who is easily nine inches shorter than the man before her, is intimidating nonetheless. He takes a breath, bracing himself for impact. Here it comes.

“You’re a cold-hearted, spineless, self-absorbed dick, know that? For once in your life, you’ve got something good goin’, someone who was willing to look past your gigantic ego and your daddy issues, yet the first thing you do when life gets tough, is drop her like a hot potato. Do you have any idea how much pain you’ve caused the poor girl? Because I do! She wouldn’t want me to tell you this, but she cried for hours, hours, and that’s on you! Guess who had to comfort her, huh?” Jo goes off. “I am so far past mad; I am furious! I really thought you had finally found a reason to change into something better than the abbreviated piece of nothing that you are now, but it seems like Y/N wasn’t the only one who was naive.” “You done?” the wrangler says coldly when she pauses to catch her breath. “Go hump a cactus, Dean,” she sneers.

With those words, Jo strides away, the large animal next to her obediently following her, well aware that now is not the time to be stubborn. The man who’s left with the poignant insults still echoing inside his head, pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth, staring at his feet for a second before he sniffs and focuses on the task at hand again. He might have pretended that her message left him unbothered, but the opposite is true. Jo could as well slap him across the face; it would hurt less.

Defeated, the wrangler takes Santana to his box and removes the halter from the large animal’s head. The sweet horse seeks contact, nudging her nose against Dean’s shoulder. He rubs the Quarter’s withers before he exits the stable, appreciating the only kindness that he’s received so far this morning.

“Dean?” He tenses, not expecting his name to fall off the lips of the woman who he parted from only yesterday. When the cowboy meets her gaze, the look Y/N gives him is as cold as the tone of her voice. “I need a word,” she says, although it sounds more like a demand. “S - sure,” he stutters, glancing down briefly before he looks back up again, suddenly nervous. He’s not sure if he can handle being scolded by his ex-girlfriend as well. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to work together anymore,” she states formally. “I’d like a new supervisor.”

Dean cocks his head back slightly, unbalanced by the appeal. He rubs his temple, averting his eyes but then nods, acknowledging that she’s probably right, even though the request is a painful one. “Yeah, uh - sure. I’ll ask Garth,” he stammers, estimating that he would be the obvious choice since she’s so close with Jo. He wouldn’t want their friendship to be tainted by the difference in rank. “Okay,” the intern responds, her expression stark and strained, before she walks past him.

Motionless, the head wrangler remains on his spot, setting his jaw and closing his eyes for a second. Somehow, he didn’t expect their first exchange to be strictly business. Her stance is so different from what he’s grown used to. Even on the night they met when she gave him a hard time, the tension between them didn’t feel as heavy as it does now. He realized when he called it quits that she would struggle with his decision, but Jo’s confirmation that she spent most of last night crying over their separation has him desperate to ease the pain.

“Y/N…” he says softly while turning before she’s too far gone to pick up on his voice. “I have work to do,” she cuts off, shooting him a short glare over her shoulder.

Dean swallows thickly while watching her leave, fast and determined strides taking her as far away from him as possible. Damn it, he really did ruin his chances of even maintaining any sort of a friendship, didn’t he? He’s not sure what else he expected after the way they parted, but despite the loathing and vexed look she just shot him that feels like a bullet to the heart, he’s glad. Let her be angry, let her hate him. It will be easier for her to deal with those emotions, than just the overwhelming sense of sadness. He knows, because he hasn’t felt this devastated, empty, and incomplete since his family fell apart; he’s talking from experience. Wishing the day was over already, the cowboy adjusts his hat and gets back to work, hoping that riding will offer him the therapy he so desperately needs.

Unfortunately, the day doesn’t pass by nearly as fast as Dean would like to. After riding five horses, he, Benny, and Garth use their lunch break to look at the beat-up tractor that once again has let them down. The head wrangler doesn’t mind skipping his midday meal; he would rather avoid sitting across from Y/N in a room overflowing with awkwardness, plus, he’s not hungry anyway.

The machine from 1979 was bound to die on the crew sooner than later, but after the farrier slash mechanic discovers metal particles in the gearbox fluid, it becomes clear that a simple oil change isn’t going to cut it this time. “Yep, she’s toast,” Benny sighs, wiping his dirty hands with a cloth. “Just what we need,” his friend grunts. He’s not looking forward to his uncle’s response to the setback. “I’ll tell Bobby.” “I can if you want me to,” the stable boy - who is also responsible for the machinery - offers. Dean purses his lips slightly, his thumbs hooked through the belt loops of his jeans while he stares at the old John Deere absently. “Nah, I’ll do it. I got a question for you, though. Do you mind supervising Y/N from now on?” Garth shakes his head, taking in his boss, somewhat confused. “No, not at all.” “Good,” the wrangler replies quickly, thankful that the slender employee takes on the task without question. The clueless young man didn’t pick up on the relationship between Dean and the intern to begin with, and he would rather keep him in the dark, especially now that it has ended. He knocks on the rusty hood of the tractor before he heads off. “I’ll see y’all in a bit. Can you start rolling out the hay to the pastures with the wheelbarrows? It’s gonna take a hell of a lot longer without this old thing.”

The shade inside the stables is welcoming, and not just because it offers cooler temperatures. Dean’s eyes are still painfully sore from the lack of sleep and he rubs at them again, trying to stop them from burning. Shit, and it’s only Monday, he sighs to himself. The three-day event over the weekend means no time off for the employees who attended. The last time he didn’t have to show up at seven in the morning or earlier was late September, which means that he has been working twelve-hour plus shifts for fourteen days straight now. Work never stops on a ranch. The horses depend on him; they will always need food, a clean stable and exercise, no matter how tired, lovesick, or miserable he is.

The cafeteria is already empty. His aunt is probably at the guesthouses to change the sheets and towels, giving the accommodations a quick once-over. However, he finds a post-it on the long table with his name on it; ‘Don’t forget to eat. Bacon sandwiches are in the fridge - Ellen’. As the cowboy smiles for the first time today, he wonders if Bobby has told his wife anything about John’s unexpected visit in Flagstaff, hoping that he hasn’t. Knowing his aunt, she’s going to sit him down for some sweet tea and a talk, even though previous attempts of having a conversation as such proved to be unsuccessful. He appreciates her concern, though, the idea of his surrogate mom caring about him offering Dean some solace.

The wrangler walks through the high barn doors on the other side, the sun doing its very best to cheer him up, but the rays don’t reach his soul. He makes his way to the Singer’s home, reckoning he will find Bobby there. As per usual, Dean takes off his hat and hangs it on the coat hanger, kicking off his boots before he proceeds to the office in the back of the house. After knocking, he pushes the door ajar, finding his uncle behind his desk. The place is still a mess, but the occupant’s features aren’t draped in shadows like the last time he was here. The blinders are open, the window a passe-partout of the Joshua tree, together with the paddocks and pastures surrounding it.

The rancher looks up when his nephew enters. “Hey, son. How’s the tractor comin’?” “Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s fried. The oil is swimming with debris,” Dean tells, taking a seat on the other side of the desk. “Metal?” Bobby questions. When the young man across from him nods, he curses. “Balls!”

Dean presses his lips into a firm line, keeping still in the worn chair to prevent it from squeaking. His uncle seemed to be in a good mood after the successful show, but he can tell that this setback has put a strain on the old man’s frame of mind.

“You’re gonna call the service station?” the head wrangler wonders. “No, that’s gonna cost us. We finally managed to make some money, I ain’t planning on spending it on that damned thing.” The rancher adjusts his ball cap before leaning back in his chair. “You boys can give it a go first, open up that gearbox, see what’s broken. I’ll order parts once you figure out what’s wrong with that piece of shit.”

Scribbling something down on a piece of paper, Bobby sighs, but then returns his focus to Dean. “There’s somethin’ else I need to discuss with you.” His right-hand raises his eyebrows slightly, his interest peaked. “What’s that?” “It’s about Cain,” his uncle murmurs. “Apparently MacLeod didn’t tell the entire story.” Dean scoffs, shaking his head. “Should I be surprised? I’m not sure what kinda vibes you picked up from that shady dude, but I sure as hell don’t trust him for the life of me.” “I don’t either. That’s why I think we should reconsider that deal.” Bobby rests his elbows on the armrests of his chair, forking his fingers together in his lap. He expected some resistance from Dean, but not such a strong reaction as his nephew fires back.

“What?! Are you serious?” he counters, perplexed. “You’re just gonna wipe it off the table?” “Not ‘just’, but we need to consider our options,” his boss returns. “How many options do we have exactly? Because the way I see it, this arrangement is a pretty damn good one. It’s good money, a steady income with the prospect of a huge bonus, not to mention what doors it might open for the future. This horse might be the break we need,” Dean advocates, remembering Y/N’s words clearly when she summed up all the possibilities that Cain might bring with him. “Look, I know Fergus is a proper dick, but he has a reputation to protect. There’s too much at stake for him, and I don’t believe he will double-cross us. If we deliver, he’s gonna pay good bucks.” “And that’s where we might have a problem; actually delivering,” Bobby returns, taking in his head wrangler. Dean draws his head back, slightly hurt, frowning at his uncle’s words. “You don’t think I can get the job done?” “I’m not sure if anyone can, son,” the owner of the Gold Canyon Ranch states calmly. “The horse doesn’t just have ‘some behavioral issues’, as Fergus put it. He’s unapproachable, unpredictable, aggressive. That stallion is dangerous to everyone in a square mile radius. Jody rang me this morning to warn us.” “Jody?” the cowboy returns, puzzled. He’s aware that the female rancher knows a lot of people in this business, but he didn’t expect the news of the famous stallion’s arrival would spread so fast. “How did she even know that Cain was coming to us?” “Because MacLeod is a client of hers. Cain is currently in her stables.”

Dean’s eyebrows hit his hairline, emerald greens staring over the desk at the man on the other side. While gaping at his uncle, questions begin to race through his mind. Jody did business with Fergus? Jody is a good trainer with excellent judgment, so if she claims Cain is untrainable, that says something. Their last conversation in Flagstaff comes to mind, the news about Gabe’s hospitalization shocking him at the time. Could his friend’s injuries be the stallion’s doing?

Bobby watches his trusted worker process the information, rolling his chair a little closer and resting his forearms on the varnished wood, closing his hand over his fist. “I know this complicates things, but I’m gonna leave it up to you. If you think you can handle the stallion, I will trust your judgment. But I don’t want you to risk your neck for the money, Dean. We will find another way.”

The horseman chews on his lip as he ponders, his focus capturing nothing in particular as his eyes flick over the items and documents on the desk. “We’ll have a week to evaluate him. I’ll make the call after that,” he decides. “Mind if I contact Jody to get some insight on what I’m up against?” “Knock yourself out,” Bobby consents. “Just leave the numbers that we agreed to out of it.” “Will do.”

Dean gets up from his seat, pushing the chair closer to the desk before he intends to slip out of the office before he’s stopped by his boss. “One more thing,” the wise man says, looking over his enclosed hands. “What’s going on with you and the intern?”

Caught, the head wrangler freezes, eyes wide with shock and pure horror staring into the hallway. Shit. How the hell is he going to answer that? Is he referring to the dance at the opening night of the horse show or the palpable tension that has surrounded the former couple whenever they were in close range of each other? Dean doesn’t know, but he has the feeling that the continuation of this conversation is going to be anything but pleasant. Composing himself before he turns back to face his uncle.

“Nothin’. What do you mean?” He shrugs as the corners of his mouth draw down, pretending to be careless. “Don’t play dumb, boy. I was born at night, but not last night.” Bobby glares at him knowingly. “Are you messin’ around with her?” “No,” Dean says firmly, the truth in his words hurting him deep down. His uncle lifts his chin, holding the cowboy’s gaze while narrowing his eyes. It’s clear that he’s not buying. “You wanna explain then why you two were like two peas in a pot in Flagstaff, but can’t even look at each other now?”

With his hand still on the door handle, his nephew attempts to keep his act together, but then he sighs. Damn it, he was so close to making it out of this meeting alive. Oh well, what’s one more lecture, right?

“Look, there’s nothing going on, not anymore. I - uh, I got carried away and I shouldn’t have let it,” he admits. “I broke it off. It won’t happen again.” “Is this gonna be a problem?” his boss asks sternly. “If you two can’t work together--” “It isn’t. Garth will supervise her from now on. Just to prevent any issues in the future,” he continues, hoping the fact that they actually discussed how to carry on as colleagues from this point forward will put the concern to rest.

“There better be a future for her here on this ranch. I can’t afford to lose a free worker, especially not one as skilled as she is,” Bobby warns, not convinced. “I’d pray that she won’t pack her bags if I were you, ‘cause I’ll give ya one guess who’s gonna have to work twice as hard and whose ass I’m gonna bust.” “She won’t leave,” his head wrangler guarantees, willing to bet his life on it.

His promise might seem based on a hopeful hunch, but Y/N hasn’t given Dean any indication to question her professionalism. She even approached him in order to change the conditions of her internship, which couldn’t have been easy for her. Their interaction will be minimized and strictly business from now on, something he reckons she will handle much more gracefully than he will, simply because she has a bigger purpose to focus on. This placement is a stepping stone to her dream of owning her own ranch, and that goal hasn’t changed. He knows she won’t leave Gold Canyon.

Bobby observes his nephew, still bothered by the fact that he didn’t listen to him when he specifically told the bachelor not to get involved with the intern. He’s going to save the rant for another time, though, the sight of an already dejected man before him having him hold back. It seems like this is doing a number on young fellow, and considering how they were with each other at the horse show this weekend, he’s not surprised. The two reminded him of his twenties when he first got together with his Ellen. The boy is hurting, more than he lets on. “Alright then. Get goin’, I’ve got bills to pay,” he eventually says, shooing Dean out with a flick of the wrist.

Relieved that his uncle is cutting him some slack, he nods and silently pulls the door shut, putting a barrier between himself and the conversation he has been dreading for weeks. If only he could be able to tell Bobby that he’s with the girl he’s in love with; he would have taken the grumpy rebuke with a grin on his face. If only.

While stepping outside, the cowboy pulls his cellphone from his jeans pocket, looking up Jody Mills’ number in his contacts. He begins to slowly stroll back and forth on the porch in its sheltering shade, the floorboards moaning and cracking under his boots as he waits with his Nokia pressed against his ear. The steady tone beeps twice before his friend picks up. “Hey,” it sounds from the other side of the line. “I was hoping you’d call.” “Yeah, Bobby told me about Cain,” he returns. “Kinda complicates things, don’t it?” “I need to listen to me very carefully,” Jody starts, earnest and worried. “Do not take that horse into your stable.”

The cowboy sighs, glancing over the land while hooking his thumb behind his belt. He figured the female rancher would try to convince him to back off. “It’s good money, Jody, and I’ve handled difficult cases before. Cain deserves a shot. I have to try.” “I get it, but hear me out. If Fergus offered you a deal that seems too good to be true, that’s because it is. I know you’re an excellent trainer, hell, the best that I know. But I’m telling you, we’re not talking about a stallion with some authority issues here. That horse is twisted, has wires crossed. I have never seen such behavior,” she presses. “So many people have tried to straighten him out already. I did some digging, and Fergus’ supposedly ‘million dollar prospect’ has moved in and out nine different stables over the past year. No one has succeeded.”

He ponders, not taking her warning lightly. Jody is an experienced equestrian who has dealt with many tough animals. She even passed some horses on to him when she couldn’t get through to them. The woman is well aware of the limits to her expertise and has always been honest with clients when a horse was too much for her to handle, but never before has she doubted that the wrangler from the Gold Canyon Ranch could do the job.

“When Gabe got hurt, was it…?” Dean wonders, hesitant, not finishing his sentence. “It was Cain.”

He sets his jaw, the muscles flexing under his stubble. Although he assumed it was the stallion who has put his former colleague into the hospital, it still shocks him. He continues to pace the deck in front of the Singer’s home. “How is he doing?” he wonders. Jody pulls in a deep breath, the message she’s about to deliver clearly a difficult one. “He’s never gonna walk again. Paralyzed from the waist down.”

Dean closes his eyes and swallows thickly. It’s the outcome they all feared, but hearing the confirmation makes his gut churn. Losing one's legs is a nightmare for everyone, but for a rider? He can’t possibly picture it, becoming wheelchair-bound. Honestly, he would rather die than to never be able to get in the saddle again.

“Dean, I know you believe every horse deserves a second chance, but please, let this one go. He is beyond repair. I’m not asking, I’m begging,” she pleads, a tremor in her voice. “If you take on Cain, it’s only a matter of time before you get hurt, or worse.”

The words are backed up by a heavy silence. The two stay quiet for a while, the words sinking in with the wrangler. Flight animals fueled by fear can do either two things; run or attack. If getting away from the supposed threat is impossible, they tend to go for the last. It’s not something the horse will even think about; it’s a survival instinct. When a naturally kind creature takes a turn like that, it becomes a thousand-pound killing machine. If Cain is truly that far gone, it is likely that he is indeed beyond saving. The trainer has to see it for himself, though, and not just because the ranch can use the cash. He realizes that if he doesn’t take on this task, someone else will, someone with less experience. If this stallion is really that lethal, the next novice trainer might make an error of judgment that will be his or her last. At least Dean has the skills. It seems like he is Cain’s last resort, because if he isn’t trainable, he will get the bullet at some point. He wouldn’t be the first horse to be put down because of similar problems.

“Thanks for the warning, Jody,” he responds after a long pause. “I’ll keep it in mind.” “Dean--” “I know. I know what you’re gonna say, but if I don’t do this, who knows what might happen to him. I’ve got a week to decide if we wanna go through with it. That’s the least I can do.” He can hear his friend grunt, frustrated, probably realizing that changing his mind was a long shot to begin with. “Just… be careful, okay?” “I will, promise,” Dean assures. “Talk to you later.”

The cowboy hangs up, staring at his phone for a few more seconds before he puts it away and steps out into the sun, heading back to the stables. The admonition continues to ring in his ears, and he allows the caution to imprint the decisions he needs to make in the upcoming days. After all, warned is forearmed.

Y/N wishes anyone had warned her how painful it is to have her heart broken by the person who made it beat just for him. Maybe she would have been more mindful then, more guarded. Maybe she wouldn’t have let him have it, had she known how careless he would be.

Around 5 o’clock, her new supervisor said it was okay if she wanted to take her own horse for a ride. Normally she trains Meadow either before or after shift, but she got all the work done at record speed, desperate for a distraction, that all her daily tasks were fulfilled two hours before dinner. Maybe Garth detected that she needed some alone-time with her four-legged friend, because he suggested the ride with a sympathetic smile and a kind nudge, sending her towards the Quarter’s box.

After straightening out the saddle pad, the cowgirl tightens the cinch. Meadow, who can be a bit of a grumpy mare when it comes to tacking up, stands still without moving a muscle, allowing her owner to ready her for a ride without pulling a prank like she usually does. Sometimes the cheeky horse will try to fish Y/N’s phone from her back pocket, nibble at her hat or her sleeve, or refuse to take a step aside when requested, but not today. Maybe she can sense that such an action could set her human off.

The horse accepts the bit when the cowgirl offers it to her, after which she pulls the headpiece over Meadow’s black-tipped ears, securing the straps skillfully. She sniffles, wiping her nose and forcing herself to keep her composure a little while longer. In a few minutes, when she’s away from prying eyes, she will allow to let the tears flow again, but not now, not yet.

Y/N unties her horse, places her left foot in the stirrup, and swings her right leg over the back of her bay mare, softly landing in the saddle. Picking up the reins, she steers her horse away from the tack up area, the smooth leather between her fingers giving her a sense of control that she’s missing in her love life.

Instead of leading Meadow towards the arena, the rider guides her towards the gate that leads to the trail. Her horse had an eventful weekend and gave it her all in competition, so it wouldn’t be fair to put her through a full workout. The performance took a lot out of the willing horse who never seizes to bring her best efforts and more. Even though the freestyle only lasted minutes, the athlete peaked with a brilliant execution of the routine, which takes a lot of skill and strength. Then there’s the ambiance of a show, the new environment, all the sensory overload. The combination of all those factors did a number the Quarter, and she deserves a calm and relaxing ride, much like the young woman she’s carrying on her back. Y/N is in no state to train, well aware that the heightened emotions will get the best of her if something might not work out the way she planned, and that’s not something she wants her companion to bear the consequences of. If anything, Meadow has been absolutely wonderful, seeming to understand that her person is sad and needs someone to lean on.

After closing the fence behind them, the girl and her horse follow the path that leads towards the hills. Cacti flank the road ahead towards the Superstition Mountains, which stand tall in the backdrop. The beautiful amber colored volcanic rock formations seem even more vibrant now that the setting sun blesses nature with a warm glow. The vegetation is much greener than it was when they searched for the herd of youngsters in the reservoir. Autumn is here, and within a couple of months, the ridges that reach for the sky will be covered in snow. It’s supposed to be a beautiful sight, at least that’s what Dean told her.

Now that it’s just her and Meadow, Y/N finally allows the suppressed tears to fall. The battle she has been fighting all day is one she knew she would lose eventually, she just wanted to be with her most faithful friend when the levee breaks. She doesn’t even intend to wipe the drops of despair away, knowing that she has to let it out now in order to keep up the facade later. And so the last rays of the day catch the shimmering pathways down her cheeks, similar to how the water cobbled at Willow’s Creek, where she and Dean shared their first kiss. All the memories, those perfect little moments that she thought to cherish forever, they are worth nothing now. It was all just a dream.

Y/N transits into a slow canter, hoping that the wind in her face will chase the sorrow away. She has to feel something completely opposite to the grief that is ripping her apart. She needs to experience freedom and the bond that comes along with this unique partnership between her and Meadow, the simplicity of moving across the desert like men and their horses have been doing so for centuries. No engines, no computers, no engineering. Just two souls of completely different species merging as one.

Resting her free hand on her horse’s neck and gripping the black mane, she pushes her heels into the Quarter’s flanks, aiding her to pick up speed. The bay mare takes over, her rider is no longer in control, but she no longer has to be. Y/N doesn’t need to direct this movie, because she trusts Meadow with her life. If there is any being on the face of the planet that she would follow blindly, it’s her companion. Meadow has never let her down, not once, and her owner knows there will never come a moment when she will. And so she breathes in, welcoming the wind to fill her lungs with newfound courage, brought on by the majestic animal that gallops across the landscape, carrying Y/N on her wings.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part twenty-six here

#Ride With Me #Dean x Reader #Cowboy!Dean x reader #Cowboy!Dean AU #Dean Winchester series #Cowboy!Dean series #Dean Winchester x Reader #Dean Winchester reader insert #Dean Winchester #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Supernatural AU #SPN #Supernatural #Supernatural series #SPN series #Dean angst #Dean fluff #RWM chapter 25 #Kate Huntington

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curly-bangtan · 5 years ago

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Heatwave Drabble #8: contaminated

[Heatwave // Godless // Heatwave Drabbles] <- read first!

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

Summary: We’re always gonna be contaminated.

Genre: drabble, angst, fwb au, roommate au, f2l

Warnings: more feels!

Word count: 4.1k

A/N: Title named after the song Contaminated by BANKS. (Should give it a listen after reading!) Unedited!!!

“So what you’re telling me is, you fucked your roommate slash best friend who thought you were seducing him in the middle of a heatwave, and now, 9 months into sleeping together, you’re in love with him. Not only sleeping with, but also doing domestic coupley things like cooking together and cuddling during Netflix, but you guys not once made it official, or even exclusive because you both have commitment issues. And you thought he loved you too, so you decided to test him by saying you’re going on a date with someone to see his reaction, only for that to backfire right in your face because he slept with someone out of anger.”

You blink. “Man, why d’you have to put it like that?”

“Put it like what? I just summarised everything you told me concisely.” He laughs and pulls you in closer. You can’t help but note how different he smells, not bad, but just not what you’re used to. “So in conclusion, you’re both idiots and now you’re heartbroken.”

“I- I’m not heartbroken, I wouldn’t go that far. I’m just… a bit bummed out.” You avoid his gaze, squirming in his arms because the heat under the covers is starting to get to you.

“Wow, one night with you and I already know how stubborn and headstrong you are. You literally teared up a minute ago when you were talking about him. This is your problem: even now, you’re not willing to admit your true feelings. How well has that worked for you so far?” He shakes his head in dismay, his investment in your predicament surprisingly genuine.

This is a weird as fuck situation you’ve gotten yourself in. Out of desperation for relief from your, okay fine, heartbreak, you went out last night and came home with a guy. Taehyung had also gone out, and judging by the fact that it’s now the morning after and he still has yet to return, you can guess the direction in which his night went. It stings, but now you’re a hypocrite. This guy who you don’t even know the name of, Club Guy, has turned out to be more than just a fuck though. He knew he was the rebound for someone else, and he was more than glad to help. But one thing led to another, and the next thing you know, after your third round, you are pouring your heart out to this guy - this random, incredibly attractive, amazing at giving head, guy from the club.

It would be awfully strange, except he is unusually good at comforting people. You’re might consider keeping this one as a friend.

“Dude, I know it’s not my forte. I’m not good at expressing my emotions, okay?” You revel in the softness of his fingertips as he feathers your back. The sun is peeking through your curtains; you’re counting down the minutes until Taehyung returns, but at least speaking to Club guy is taking your mind off the fact that he was with someone else last night. “Yes, I’m heartbroken. I… I fucking love him. I know it was my fault for trying to get a reaction from him, but I just wanted him to say it, you know? Say that he loves me out in the open and that he wants me to… I don’t know, be his girlfriend. Girlfriend? Is that the right word? It sounds so weird. I don’t fucking know.”

Club Guy rolls his eyes, sighing at your ineptitude to grasp the simple concept of love. “Yes, girlfriend. God, you’re so annoyingly cute.” He smiles a smile at you that others would surely swoon for, and though your mind is too preoccupied with the boxy grin of someone else, you appreciate the warmth in his eyes. “Look, was it the night before the last that this all went down?”

“Yes.” Too fresh, too soon for you to be sleeping with someone else, you know. But you needed it so badly, you just needed to take your mind off him.

“What about the morning after? Surely you’ve seen each other since. From how you described him, I feel like there’s no way he could bring someone home knowing that you’re in the room next door.”

The memory sears.

You distinctly remember hearing their awkward morning-after conversation out in the dining room. After a long debate of whether to go out and reveal yourself to them or not, you decided that, fuck it, you’d already cried yourself to sleep last night because of this stupid son of a bitch, there is no reason for you to inconvenience yourself just to save Taehyung an even more awkward encounter. And so you stormed out of your room, eyes probably still a bit puffy and red, pretended you can’t see them and proceeded to make yourself a smoothie.

Yes, a homemade smoothie. You made sure to turn the setting of the blender all the way up so it was as loud and noisy as possible. You’re petty like that.

Especially because she’s using your mug.

Taehyung’s look of surprise when he saw you come out of your room did not give you even a fraction of satisfaction. Just a sad pang in your heart.

“I- Oh. I didn’t know you were home.” There was shame in his voice, and you hated every twist of your heart that it elicited.

You ignored him, not even a second of eye contact, poured that mango and berry smoothie and padded back into your room.

You had cried into your smoothie because his hair was messy like it usually was in the morning, voice still a deep rasp and eyes not fully open yet. And you had wanted to hug him so badly.

“It was awkward. I was a cold bitch and ignored him when I interrupted their breakfast. But no, he didn’t know, he was shocked to see me home.” You mutter, burying your face into your pillow to try to forget yesterday morning.

You could have said something, at least shown how hurt you were so he would apologise. Because you know he would apologise. But of course, you had a prideful image to uphold. Classic classic.

“Then…” Club Guy runs his fingers through your hair, twirling at the ends. “Then I feel like it’s really not too late. I’ll be out of here soon, and when he comes back, just sit him down and speak to him calmly. Calmly being the key word here. Explain to him that you weren’t actually remotely interested in the guy you went on a date with, and just wanted to prompt him to make you his. Tell him that you made a mistake and you’re hurt by what he did, but you can look past it because you were both in the wrong. Or maybe just tell him that you love him and don’t want to be with anyone else. It’s your choice whether you tell him about you and me, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him is all I’m saying.”

You contemplate his words. It sounds easy as hell when he says it like that, but you know when the moment comes, you will freeze up, panic, and muck it up somehow. It’s just a ‘I’m sorry’ and three simple words. Yet it feels like the most difficult thing you’re going to do.

“But what if he doesn’t understand. What if he doesn’t even like me like that, I feel like I could be grossly misinterpreting things.” You’ve pondered about this possibility since two nights ago. Afterall, how could he just go out and sleep with someone like that right after your fight if you mean so much to him? But then again, look at you now - likewise in bed with someone, albeit mostly for therapeutic reasons.

Club Guy shakes his head looking at you, almost in pity at how you could possibly still not get it. Smirk playing at his lips that remind you so much of Taehyung’s smugness. Fuck, it hasn’t been two days and you already miss him so much that your bones ache.

“Look, your best friend is head over heels in love with you and you’re seriously blind for not being able to see this earlier. Didn’t you say he would stay up all night with you during exam season to make you coffee and massage your shoulders? There’s no question about it, the guy is more whipped than whipped cream.”

Club Guy sits up, the covers falling off his front to reveal his toned sparsely tattooed body. You watch him wordlessly get dressed, the storm that is your mind whirling you into pieces. He’s right. He’s so right, and you hate it. The solution is honestly so simple. You and Taehyung are like two dots on a blank page. Instead of a mere straight line to connect the dots, you drew spirals around each other, closer and closer but never touching.

Should you tell him about Club Guy? You feel like you should. Though he is right, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. But you don’t want any more games, anymore dishonesty. Straight line.

“Uh, thank you for talking this out with me, I appreciate it. I’ve had no one to talk to about this because none of my friends know about him and I, and it’s kind of too late for me to drop the bomb now.” The awkwardness begins to trickle in, on your part at least. Club Guy just smiles that smile at you, rather pleased with himself.

“I should have charged you for that.” He shimmies into his skin tight black jeans, eyes crescent in amusement.

“What, the sex or the therapy session?” You joke. It’s sad because he has such potential to be a great fuck buddy, and you 9 months ago would not have hesitated to make him your next booty call. But the truth is, even as you were kissing, fucking someone else, you were imagining Taehyung the whole time.

If love is a sickness, you’re plagued on your deathbed.

Club Guy laughs. “If it doesn’t work out, call me I guess. But I’m rooting for the two of you idiots. You better not fuck this up.” When he slides into his shoes, you realise how much you dread him leaving. Firstly, because finally speaking to someone about all your pent up emotions for Taehyung feels like a weight lifted off your chest. Secondly, because you really don’t want to be left alone right now. You don’t want to agonise over every second that Taehyung isn’t home yet.

Lethargically, you stretch over the covers and roll out of bed, your limbs feeling especially heavy with the looming pressure of what you have to say to Taehyung. “I’ll… walk you out.”

The next series of events happens in shutters.

Mid yawn, as you’re scuttling down the hallway after Club Guy to see him out, the front door swings open. Taehyung walks in in yesterday’s clothes, wearing a miserable expression to begin with. But when his eyes glance up and locks on your male company, his face…

Shatters.

You have never seen Taehyung’s temper explode before. You’ve witnessed his grumpy tantrums, his quiet sulking, but this - a detonation of pure rage, catalysed by shock - runs your blood ice cold.

‘What the fuck?’ His voice is deadly low, eyes flying between the two of you. And instantly, you’re filled with a reciprocating anger. He can’t possibly go off on you right now, he can’t have the fucking nerve. Not when you hadn’t said a word about him and that girl yesterday.

“Holy shit…” From the corner of your eye, Club Guy turns a ghastly sheet of white.

It doesn’t dawn on you until he spits his name out like poison. ‘Park Jimin, what the fuck?’

And sense exits your brain.

You can’t move a muscle if you wanted to, nor utter a sound. You feel like flotsam, swept away by a roaring wave. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. Of all people, all people, you slept with Park Jimin. As in Taehyung’s ex-best friend who his girlfriend had cheated on him with, Park Jimin.

“Oh my fucking god. Kim Taehyung…” To his credit, Jimin can at least speak, unlike you. Gone was the lovely, charming guy talking you through your crisis. He brushes his hair back in disbelief. “I- What the fuck… I swear I didn’t know she’s your girl.” You try not to let the words ‘your girl’ sink in too much. Because you were his, even if you weren’t.

“I swear to fucking god. I give you 10 seconds to leave my house before I kill you.” Not only can you not believe your poor luck of managing to bring home Jimin of all people from a random bar, you also cannot believe the fury seething from Taehyung, someone who you no longer recognise.

Jimin does not need to be told twice; he spares you one last glance before dashing out.

After the door slams, there’s just silence. Your eyes fixed on Taehyung’s, mind trying to comprehend how royally you’ve fucked up once again. You’re desperately trying to convince yourself that it isn’t your fault, you didn’t know. But the hurt trickling through Taehyung’s angry facade inoculates you with enough guilt to make you nauseous.

“Seriously?” Taehyung is trembling, from rage or heartache you don’t know. “You fucked Jimin?”

“I… I had no idea, I swear, Taehyung.” You want to move towards him but your feet stay planted on the ground. Your own throat is trembling, definitely out of heartache. You can’t imagine the pain tearing through him right now.

Another moment of an agonising silence. Every second you’re just standing there flabbergasted is a fresh stab to your chest. How did you two get to this place?

“So you fucked him? Yes or no?” When his voice cracks, it takes everything in you to keep the tears from springing.

You swallow. “Yes.”

Taehyung shuts his eyes, and it feels like he’s shutting the chapter of his life that is you. The end is looming, you can feel it. You don’t see how you two could possibly recover from this. How could he forgive you?

“Did it not cross your mind that that Jimin you were fucking could be the Jimin who stole my ex-girlfriend? Like the Jimin that led me to move in with you in the first place? Did I seriously not cross your mind even once?” His words are a slap after slap, no, even more physical than a slap.

Did he not cross your mind, he has the audacity to ask. He was the only thing on your mind, that idiot.

“I didn’t know his name, Taehyung.” You try to suppress the surge of injustice you feel. Of course you thought about him. How could he even ask something like that, as if you’ve done this out of malice.

“Oh, right.” He scoffs, shoulders dropping. “I forgot, you fuck guys without learning their names.”

And just like that, the line between sadness and anger is breached.

“Excuse me? What did you just say to me?”

“Do you want me to repeat it?”

Somehow, anger hurts more than the guilt you had felt. It manifests as something grotesque festering away in your chest, all the bitterness, the tears, the heartbreak, all condensed into this ugly emotion.

“Taehyung, you went and fucked someone first while I was in the room next door.” His tightly drawn brows soften a little. “I heard everything, every creak of the bed, every moan, every fucking thing. You have no idea how much that killed me, not a single fucking idea.” You feel your face crumpling, eyes stinging, and you hate falling apart like this in front of him, but there’s nothing holding your broken pieces together anymore. “I didn’t say a single word about it, shit, I even let that bitch use my mug while I was dying inside. And now you have the nerve to pin this on me and make me feel like a worthless piece of shit.”

You watch it dawn on him, the distraught state of your mind. And you want it to feel like a competition, like ha, you hurt me way more. But it isn’t. There is no winner. There’s just you two, gradually losing each other.

“I was drunk…” He croaks. “And I didn’t know you were home, I thought you went home with Junho.”

“You really think that little of me. Then you don’t know me at all if you think I would’ve done that. But look at yourself, you didn’t text me once that night, just went straight out to the club and fucked some girl. And what about last night? You didn’t come home either.” You hiss, pitch raising.

“I didn’t sleep with her last night. I couldn’t even kiss her for more than a minute on her bed because it felt so wrong it made me fucking sick. I stayed on her couch and thought about you all fucking night. Happy?”

The truth rams into you no lighter than a train. You curse yourself. You curse him. This spectacular mess is unravelling so devastatingly that you want to scream. You can’t stomach the thought that you were fucking Jimin while he was thinking about you. Your situations mirrored one night after the next.

“And you say you were dying inside, but what about me? Hmm?” He flings his arms in exasperation. “Well what about me? How do you think I felt when I found out you were going on a date with some guy I’ve never heard you mention? How do you think I felt when you left me here all alone after that fight to wonder what the hell you were going to do with him that night? What else could I have done except get so drunk that I didn’t even remember my own name?” Seeing pain splatter across his beautiful features perhaps ruins you more than anything else. But your own pain is ringing.

“You didn’t even text me once! All you needed to do was tell me not to go, and I would have fucking stayed!” You cry, your throat dry and clogged.

“Did you want me to get on my fucking knees and beg? I didn’t have a right to tell you not to go. If you wanted to go, who am I to stop you?” He yells, a sheen now coating over his eyes, much like your own.

“GOD, I didn’t want to go, Taehyung! I don’t like him at all! Junho was nice but my mind wasn’t on him for even one second. I was coming back home to tell you I love you because I can’t stomach being with anyone else. But guess what? You were out pulling someone else because I clearly meant so little to you. Then I had to stay up all night listening to your fucking sex noises. I’m not the one who fucked up first here.”

Taehyung takes a breath to retort, but stops. Nothing but woundedness in his eyes. It’s clear that your words are embedding into him. The I was coming back home to tell you I love you. His expression falls, rapid breathing slows.

You’re looking at each other like you don’t recognise the other. Because it has never been like this between you two before. He has never felt more foreign, distant.

And when a wave of silence to calm you both has passed, he says quietly, “Why did you have to do that to me in the first place? I… I thought it was clear how I felt…”

The thundering tempest of your temper eases completely at the brokenness in his eyes. Acrid taste of regret in your mouth at the words that you hadn’t meant. Taehyung wasn’t the one who fucked up first, you shouldn’t have pulled that whole date thing. If you had just trusted him, and given him time, you would not be here right now.

But look at you two, fighting once again. Calmly, Jimin had said. And even that, you weren’t capable of. This is a childish game, the tossing of blame, and you’re drained. You don’t want to fight anymore. You don’t want to hurt. But you don’t know how to end this without ending everything.

“You really, really hurt me, Taehyung. But I was still willing to let it go. I was waiting for you to come back to tell you that… To tell you how I feel.” Your voice is soft now, diminished to just more than a whisper. You feel so extremely vulnerable, your frame creases inwards.

“You slept with Jimin…” Taehyung breathes, fists slowly unclenching. “Y/N, not just anyone, Jimin. I know I’d be a hypocrite if it were anyone else, but it’s him.”

“I didn’t know it was Jimin.”

“I didn’t know you were home after the date.”

For a good long second, you just stare at each other, chests heaving, throats raw, and you wonder if you are going to kiss and make up right this instant. Because for a moment, it feels like you could. It feels like you could forsake the past and just start anew.

But the window for that opportunity passes by as neither one of you takes a step forward.

You’re going in circles, you know.

“This isn’t going to work.”

Despite everything, this has been the hardest thing for you to say yet. And this time, you let the tears roll down. Your heart is screaming at you because it is on fire, but you persist through it because you know this has to stop and he doesn’t have the heart to say it so it has to be you.

And you just look long and hard at Taehyung, watch his eyes widen, shift, as he registers the finality of this outcome. It has been a wreckage. Only fragments of what once was a beautiful thing is left. You can’t keep hurting each other like this, and he finally knows it.

“What do you mean?” He asks, as if your heart hasn’t broken enough.

You want to fall onto your knees and sob.

“I mean, this needs to end. We’re doing and saying things we don’t mean and causing each other so much pain. If it was meant to work, it would have worked. I don’t want to keep doing this, Taehyung. Let’s stop this before we hurt more.”

Falling. Tears keep falling.

You’re breathing, yet choking on air.

Taehyung’s cheeks are stained, eyes rimmed with red. You have to clamp down on your lips to prevent yourself from crying out loud. When he closes his eyes, streams flow out, and you don’t think you’ve ever experienced greater pain. You want to hold him so badly, so badly. You want to tell him that you’re sorry for everything, and that you’ll always forgive him no matter what he’s done. But you can’t. Because you know things can never return to the way they were. Neither of you will be able to forget what the other’s done, it will live in the back of your minds, eating away at your insecurities.

Your love is tainted. Contaminated. And always will be now.

And even still, the selfish part of you wants him to say something, protest, fight for you. But you know he won’t. Because you know he knows it won’t be the same.

“So this is it? It’s over?” Cracks in his voice, cracks in your hearts.

It’s over.

But you can’t say it, so you just nod. All of this, just gone within days. Was your love so fragile to begin with? You were such a fool to believe that it would be enough.

“You can stay here, I’ll go.” You finally tear your eyes away from him, vision but a white glassy blur. You would rather him stay, it’s the least amount of respect you could offer to show how much he means to you.

And as you’re about to turn away, “You know that I love you, right?”

He says it, the first and last time you’ll hear those three words containing the meaning you’ve been seeking.

The tears don’t feel like they can stop.

“I know. I love you, Taehyung.”

And that has been your problem. You love each other too much but trust yourselves not enough.

A/N: Sorry SORRY!! Don’t hate me… ;----; one part left </3

22/02/19

@taexxxiiaa @shookpreme @taetaeobsessed @tangledsparkles @nonexistentfucks @evilkookie @nbiased95 @taehyungmakesmeoof @itscalledgayhoney @tahaing @deliciouslydisturbed365 @expensive-bangtan-girl @jwlmnbt @herakimkim @dnyad @kaepjjang365 @gingerpeachtae @spring2787 @askingtheimportantthingshere @casualminiaturetimemachine @vasysauce @deadinsidebitch2412 @emiyooa @i-dont-even-know-fck @chimycthulhu @gixanjos @hisunshiine @xtaeyi @softjellyjimin @bluemooncnblue @malfeitofeitto @bangtanfancamp @keopitae @out-of-jams@camilaxpolanco @d-noona @haechanspudu @dawnispeace @vante-visuals@liquanzhe222 @bangtanloverrrrr @inner-monologue @bs14401 @seokjoontae @trviahope @comingjimin @jeonsshadow

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schrijverr · 4 years ago

Text

Revealing Outfit

Jon invites Martin to stay with him for the weekend, because he felt bad about MArtin having to stay in the Acrhives (no he did not have a crush, shut up). His Mechs outfit is still lying there when they arrive and Martin sees it, causing Jon to accidentally invite him to a concert.

Bit pre-slash and getting together :)

On AO3.

Ships: JonMartin

Warnings: none really, Jon’s a little praise starved. Tell me if you want me to tag something and I will!

~~~~~~~~~

Jon was trying to be better. He knew he had been an asshole to Martin ever since they were moved to the Archives all because he would rather ignore the flutter in his heart and mistake it for irritation at the bumbling, clumsy, adorable, uhm, awkward man.

But, like he said, he was trying to be better. He had stopped insulting Martin at every turn and tried to be nice when the other made a mistake. Especially now that Martin was forced to live in the Archives. Jon felt terrible he hadn’t noticed his own assistant had been taken hostage for two weeks, which is probably why he had offered Martin his couch for the night.

Yes, The Jonathan ‘keep everything separate and professional’ Sims had offered Martin to stay at his place for a few days.

He hadn’t known what had gotten over him when he offered (that was a lie, of course, he knew. Martin had looked so sad? Deflated? At the thought of being alone in the Archives for the weekend again and Jon couldn’t bear it, but that was neither here nor there). The point is, he offered and through a terribly awkward misunderstanding and a quick coming out as asexual, Martin had gladly taken him up on his offer.

Which is how they’d ended up in this situation.

Honestly, Jon had forgotten he had left his outfit so out in the open. He hadn’t expected visitors when he had put it there, so it wasn’t such a stretch it had slipped his mind, but it was awfully embarrassing right now.

A little bit of backstory is perhaps required, you see, Jonathan Sims had a life outside his work, to contrary belief. And it wasn’t even a boring one. He was in a band, a steampunk band of immortal space pirates.

It was just something fun he did with friends and they had quite a dedicated following. They had a small performance this weekend (which Jon hadn’t at all forgotten about when he had offered Martin a place to stay, just to make him smile at Jon) and he had taken his costume to the dry cleaner, because it had gotten soaked in a mixture of sweat and beer last time, which didn’t make for an appealing smell.

He hadn’t taken the time to put it away, finding it useless when he had to get it later anyway. Instead he had hung it over his chair and laid the rest of his costume with it. The outfit was obviously not Jons usual work clothes. The steampunk vest and goggles vastly different than his librarian style cardigans. Which was why Martin had immediately pinpointed as odd when he’d seen it.

Without really thinking about it, he had lifted the article of clothing and frowned at it, before he heard Jon let out a startled cough and he dropped it like it burned, while apologizing.

When Jon was done with his coughing fit he said with pinched voice: “It’s alright, Martin. I left it there.”

“Still, I shouldn’t have just grabbed it. That is highly inappropriate.” Martin insisted.

Wanting to get the clothes out of the way before Martin could get a better look at them, Jon gathered them in his arms quickly and made his way out of the room as he assured Martin that it was really alright.

After he had fled the scene, Jon dropped his costume unceremoniously on the chair in the corner of his room, which also functioned as a closet since it always got covered in clothes throughout the weeks. He sighed in relief that he had made it, until he noticed one part was missing of his ensemble.

His goggles.

He must have dropped them in his haste to get everything out of Martins eyes. Panicked he turned around, hoping they were lying on his bedroom floor. But alas, no such luck was on his side. When he got back to the living room, he found Martin holding them in his hand as he looked at them curiously.

Jon swallowed and Martin met his eyes. Wordlessly he held out his hand and carefully Martin laid it down on Jons palm. Once the object was out of his hands, it seemed Martin regained his ability to speak and he asked: “Why do you have that?”

Immediately his brain caught up with his mouth and he stumbled out: “Not that you have to tell me, of course. No, I was just asking. Doesn’t seem your style. Not that I can judge, sorry.”

Jon cut him off, before it got more embarrassing for both of them. Only then he realized he now had to give at least some explanation, especially since he was going to disappear this weekend and stay out until late, leaving Martin alone in his flat.

Fuck.

This whole thing had been a terrible idea and Jon suddenly remembered why he kept everything nicely separated.

He floundered for a second, then he carefully chose his words: “I, uhm, I had forgotten actually that I had something this weekend, uhm, old uni friends. I, I- I needed to give those back to one of them.”

Internally he cringed at the vague and partially untrue statement. I mean, technically they were uni friends, but this wasn’t going to be that casual and although some of his friends did own goggles in a similar style, those were definitely his own.

“Oh,” Martin replied, “I can still go back to the Archives if that’s better. I wouldn’t want to impose and I assume you wouldn’t want someone you barely know in your flat while you’re gone.”

Jon has never claimed he is not a stupid man and what he did next only cemented that. Martin was already inching back towards the door, face crestfallen. And Jon, Jon quickly said: “Oh no, it really isn’t a problem. You can come if that’ll make you more comfortable.”

A heavy silence hung between them as both processed the words that had just come out of Jons mouth. Jon realized how weird and personal that sounded and he was about to take it all back when Martin said: “If it isn’t a problem, I think I’d like that.”

The retreat died on Jons lips with Martins agreement and smile. Jon just smiled back and said: “Alright, I’ll let them know. It’s going to be pretty loud, I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, thank you. It’ll be good for me to listen to something else than the silence of the Archives for a change.” Martin chuckled, but Jon caught the underlying truth and decided that he couldn’t back down from this, no matter how mortifying it was.

Then he realized how rude he had been and quickly showed Martin to his kitchen where started on some tea. The goggles were still dangling around his wrist and when Martin noticed he told him to put them away, before he damaged them and said he’ll finish the tea.

Grateful for the breather, Jon slipped out the room and into his bedroom where he send a frantically whispered voice recording in the Mechanisms groupschat: “I did something stupid, I accidentally invited a coworker to our show, but I didn’t tell him about anything and he doesn’t know and he’ll find out and it’ll be weird, but I can’t go back now and I don’t know what to do and I need help.”

To avoid suspicion he put his phone away and hurried back to the kitchen. There he had to do a double take, because Martin was sat at his table with two mugs, gently sipping from his cup as he scrolled through his phone.

It was oddly domestic and Jon had to swallow away a lump.

The sound alerted Martin of his presence and he looked up and smiled at him, gesturing at the tea opposite of him. This didn’t help the lump. He silently sat down and started to sip his tea to avoid conversation.

Martin seemed to pick up on it and he stayed quiet as well. They stayed like that for the rest of the afternoon, just sitting together in silence while they did their own thing. Jon broke it to ask Martin what he wanted from the pizza place and then they had a heated discussion when Martin wanted pineapple on his.

They ate on the couch and watched a documentary and Jon could almost forget that this wasn’t his life and it wouldn’t all come crashing down tomorrow.

After that he made up the couch and he and Martin brushed their teeth together. It was peaceful, kind of nice and if Jon had to admit it he missed this in his life. Before he retired to his room Martin called out a soft thanks along with a goodnight from the couch.

Jon returned it equally softly and with a smile. A smile that fell when he was met with the sight of his outfit in the corner. He checked his phone only to find his so called friends laughing at him and offering little support.

He slept little that night, lying anxiously awake, mulling over everything that would go down tomorrow. Only coming out of bed late after he finally fell into a fitful sleep.

Martin was already dressed, when Jon stumbled out in an oversized sweater with small short pajama bottoms. Jon yawned sleepily and rubbed his eyes as he excepted a cup of tea from a heavily blushing Martin.

Once Jon had taken a sip, he realized what the sudden appearance of tea meant and his eyes snapped wide open as he met Martins eyes. He swallowed and looked down at his own state of dress. Then he mumbled: “Sorry, I’m going to get some better bottoms.”

And hurried out of the room, unknowingly giving Martin to compose himself as he tried to imprint the image of sleep ruffled Jon in those pajamas in his mind.

When Jon returned he was dressed in his normal librarian clothes. During the night he had resolved to tell Martin as late as possible what was going to happen, so he would get dressed at the bar where the Mechanisms would be performing.

The rest of the day passed relatively normal. Martin had retreated to the couch with a notebook, while Jon was sitting in the kitchen with some statements, later leaving them in favour of reading on the couch next to Martin in silence.

Then it was time to leave and the nervousness grew inside Jon as they walked towards the little pub. They were pretty early, since Jon wanted to avoid any fans that would throw a wrench in his plan. Inside the others were already setting up. Jon stopped Martin, wanting to tell him what would be happening, before the others could do it for him.

Martin shot him a confused look and Jon came clean: “So, I might have undersold and lied a bit about what is happening, but you have to promise not to tell the others about this. Tim will never let me live this down, please.”

“I don’t- What are talking about Jon?” Martin asked, distressed.

“It’s nothing bad.” Jon assured him, “I’m going to get you settled at a good calm table and you’re going to be fine. I promise.”

“Jon.” Martin did not sound pleased.

“I’m preforming, with my uni band.” Jon blurted out.

“What?” Martin exclaimed.

Jon explained further: “I didn’t want you to ask me questions and stuff, so I lied and then I invited you and I got nervous and I was too afraid to tell you, so I kept it hidden. I’m sorry. You can still go back, I’ll give you my keys.”

Martin hesitated, but they were spotted and Gunpowder Tim called out: “Jonny, there you are! Come on, you need to get dressed and in makeup if you want this to go through. Here, introduce us to your friend.”

Jon looked back to Martin, who nodded. Jon shot him a smile and lead him to the stage, where he quickly introduced everyone. When everything seemed to be going well, he pointed to the table Martin could go sit at, before he left them and slipped away to get in costume.

He was done moments before they had to go on stage. Ashes nodded at him and grinned: “Your friend seems nice. Well informed.”

“Oh shove off.” Jon replied, embarrassed.

But there wasn’t time for more, since it was time to get out there. The Mechanisms stepped onto the stage and all the anxiety slipped from shoulders along with his normal life as he morphed into Jonny d’Ville, Captain (First Mate.)

“Well, I’ll say one thing for this planet, it does produce some spectacularly ugly people.” he started, creating the normal banter with the crowd, he went on: “Killers and vagabonds, liars and thieves. We are the Mechanisms, a band of immortal space pirates roving through the universe on the starship Aurora, having fun wherever possible, violence when necessary and if were very lucky both at the same time.”

He scanned the crowd filled with smiling faces and desperately ignored the corner he knew Martin was in. He didn’t let it show though, as he went on: “Allow me a brief moment of self indulgence to introduce to you, the crew of our mighty starship.”

Jon gestured to the side as he started to introduce everyone next to him on the stage, until he got to himself: “And last, but the opposite of least, myself. Jonny d’Ville, your humble Captain.”

The crowd along with the band corrected him and he grinned, shedding the last bit of nervousness over who he know was in the corner watching as well.

With the adrenaline pumping through him and the energy of the crowd feeding into his confidence, Jon was in high spirits after the very successful performance. He had chatted with some fans that had hung around, but now the pub was mostly empty. The other were packing up and were chatting idly when what Jon had known would happen, but also dreaded, happened.

Martin walked up to him.

Sitting on the edge of the stage, Jon didn’t move, just swallowed heavily as he waited to see the anger in Martins eyes after he’d been lied to and forced to sit through such a strange thing as this. Jon was sure Martin must be weirded out. He knew it wasn’t everyones taste and most didn’t get it and that was okay.

It was okay, if it wasn’t Martin.

Fiddling with his vest, he kept looking to the ground until a familiar set of shoes appeared in his sight. Preparing himself for the worst, he winced a bit as he met Martins eyes, only to be pleasantly surprised at the smile along with the excitement in Martins eyes as he exclaimed: “That was amazing!”

Jon blinked for a second, then he bashfully asked: “You really thought so?”, all the confidence of Jonny d’Ville disappearing.

Martin nodded and said: “Yeah, I loved it. I’ve always been pretty text orientated, so having a full story with great music is something I didn’t know I needed until now, but I definitely did.”

With the praise a smile appeared on Jons face (he was just happy Martin didn’t hate him for lying. It wasn’t at all that Jon desperately wanted to know he had done well and that his heart fluttered with the slightest praise, especially from Martin. I don’t know where you got that idea).

“I’m glad.” was all he managed in return.

Their eyes stayed locked for a long moment after that and they only noticed when Tim called out: “Jonny, we’re done here, you gonna get something to drink with us.”

Jon looked back at his fellow bandmates, then at Martin, before looking back again. He shook his head and yelled back: “No, I think I’m going home. I’m pretty tired. It was fun seeing you.”

“Okay, bye, Jonny.” Ashes said.

The sentiment was echoed and returned. As the other filed out, Jon looked back at Martin and whispered: “I should probably wipe the makeup off or get out of this outfit at least.”

“I don’t know, I think it suits you.” Martin said, before his eyes grew wide and he spluttered something incomprehensible.

Wanting to please him, Jon said: “Thank you, I think I left my makeup wipes at home anyway, so I just have to hope I don’t run into anyone else I know.”

Martin looked up at him and smiled. He waited as Jon gathered his normal clothes and haphazardly threw them into his bag. Before he left, he looked into the mirror self-consciously. His dark hair was braided, grey streaks running through the interwoven hair. Perched on top of his head were the goggles and around his eyes was black lighting. He had black jeans on and a white shirt with a light brown vest over it. He had too many belts wrapped around him, with a golden ornament over his heart and a holster with fake gun by his hip.

Out of context he looked like an idiot, but Martin liked it, so he breathed in and walked out to where Martin was waiting. He threw his coat on over it and together they walked back. Jon was happy he lived near the pub, so the walk was short.

During the walk Martin filled the air with chatter about the performance. Jon wished he could blame the cold instead of the compliments for his read cheeks, but the weather was quite nice.

Once they were inside Jon switched his persona's clothes for his pajamas, this time he did put on longer pajama bottoms immediately. He wiped his face clean and when he looked into the mirror just plain Jonathan Sims looked back and the anxiety began creeping up again.

Slowly and unsure he made his way back to the couch where Martin was sat at. When he entered Martin looked up and Jon swallowed as he tried to smile back, but he probably couldn’t manage more than a grimace. Martin didn’t seem to mind, just offered him a cup of tea.

Timidly Jon sipped his tea and didn’t bother to start a conversation, dreading what the conversation would be about. It seemed Martin picked up on his unease, but he didn’t know what it would be about, so to try and ease the tenseness in Jons shoulders he said: “I have to say this was not what I expected when I think about how you were in uni.”

“No?” Jon asked curiously, not wanting to be the one to fill the silence.

“Not that it’s bad thing.” Martin told him, “Just- well, uhm, no offense, but you can be kind off stuck up from time to time. And that’s fine, but then you don’t really assume this.”

He gestured with his hand to encompass the Mechanisms.

Jon chuckled slightly at that, relaxing bit by bit when Martin didn’t suddenly backpedal and hate him anyway. He shrugged and said: “I can’t fault you for that, really. You are mostly right, I was pretty studious and probably a bit pretentious. The Mechs was my spot to let go and just have fun, you know. I don’t like to advertise it, it isn’t really professional.”

Martin was quiet for a moment, then he said: “Thank you for sharing it.” then he gasped, “Oh my, I hope I didn’t force you or anything! I didn’t mean to.”

“Martin, Martin, I invited you.” Jon said, trying to calm him, but also dreading what might come.

“Yes, but.” Martin began, “But you only did so, because I was being awkward about it, you shouldn’t had to.”

“No, I invited you.” Jon insisted, “I made that choice, it isn’t your fault.” then he bashfully went on: “Besides, I don’t mind you knowing.”

It was silent for a moment as the two met one another's eyes and stared as they started to breath in sync due to close proximity. Then Martin swallowed and looked away as he asked: “You don’t?”

“No.” Jon forced out, “You, you are, uhm.”

Jon didn’t know how to go on, so he rubbed his temples and sighed with frustration. He clenched his eyes shut and allowed the pressure to calm him. Then he met Martins inquisitive eyes and the flush retook his face. He stumbled out: “You’re kind, Martin. I know, I’ve been harsh on you and I’m sorry about that. I know you wouldn’t judge anyone over something like this and you don’t deserve to live in the Archives and I should have noticed and I didn’t. I’m so sorry about this and this is the least I could do to make it up to you and I don’t mind you being here. You’re a good person.”

He finished his rant. Martin blinked in confusion a few times as he processed everything. Then he carefully said: “Thank you, I guess. Uhm, that’s quite a lot, sorry. Let me just- uhm, give me a moment, please.”

“Of course, apologies.” Jon said.

“You didn’t invite me out of pity, did you?” Martin asked, sadness on his face.

Jon hated to see the sad expression on Martins face and he quickly shook his head and answered: “No, no, I didn’t. I did it, because I like you.”

Immediately after he clasped his mouth shut, but the words had already tumbled out and he couldn’t stop them. For a moment they hung heavy in the air. At the same time they spoke: “You like-” “Forget about it-” “-me?” “-I’m sorry.”

Then in union they said: “What?”

Martin repeated his question: “You like me?”

Jon was now resembling more a beetroot than a person. He silently nodded then said: “Yes, I’m sorry that was highly unprofessional of me. I didn’t mean to tell you, sorry. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s not making me uncomfortable.” Martin rushed to assure him, “I just didn’t think you even found me an acceptable person.”

Jon winced and curled a bit into himself. What he had already known about himself and hadn’t wanted to admit was out in the open and if he wanted to explain he would have to admit another thing to himself and Martin. Something that would also open up the possibility in the back of his mind, something about the feeling he was being watched.

But for Martin he would admit it, so he did: “I, uhm, I know I am not the best person when it comes to emotions and I hid behind irritation instead of admitting it. Sorry, I know that is no excuse.”

Then the most unexpected thing happened: Martin started laughing. It wasn’t malicious or mean spirited, but Jon didn’t know how to react, so he snapped: “What’s so funny?”

Martin composed himself and said: “Sorry, it’s just, it’s just- I’ve been trying so hard to get your attention and approval only to find out I already had, but you’re just terrible at expressing it and all it took was a performance by a band of immortal space pirates for it to come to light.”

When Martin put it like that Jon had to admit it was pretty funny, he chuckled lightly then the rest of the statement caught up and he stopped laughing. He looked at Martin and asked: “You’ve been trying to get me to notice you?”

His voice was vulnerable, just like Martins when he answered: “Yes, it’s embarrassing, really, but yes.”

Jon took a deep breath, then he said: “Martin, uhm, would you like to accompany me to a date somewhere next week? A proper one?”

Martin agreed with a smile and Jon silently thanked the murderous alter ego he had created to have some fun in uni for helping him open this conversation.

The rest of the night they spend talking and when they came into work together they had established a comfortable companionship between themselves. The other assistants immediately noticed the shift in dynamics between the two, but when Tim asked Martin about it all he replied was: “Nothing happened, I went to a concert that’s all.”

#RR writing #jon sims #jonathan sims #jonathan sims x martin blackwood #jonmartin #martin blackwood #martin x jon #tma #the magnus archives #the magnus pod #tma the mechanisms #the mechanisms #jarchivist was a mechs

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confusednarcissistwrites · 5 years ago

Text

Hotsy Totsy Pt. 3 (T.C.)

ahhh the last bit of prewritten work!! thank GOD. reworking my own writing from a few years ago was killing me slowly (who tf let me write). next update will be all fresh 😎 hope you enjoyyyyy. things heating up quickly!

(sexual references)

“Man, this is… crazy,” Nick said, shaking his head. He held his tongue for a moment, his brow furrowed. He knew Timothée was already grasping desperately for something that appeared to be just out of his reach, so he needed to phrase his words carefully. “Look, Tim… she’s a married woman-”

“You think I don’t know that?” he retorted, a wild, grief-stricken look in his eyes. He fell into the doorframe, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew he shouldn’t be frustrated with his friend; it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know the full story.

Nick looked at him expectantly, sitting down on the edge of his bed; he sensed this was going to be a late night.

“We met at an audition for A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the college.” Timothée stared at his hands and fidgeted a bit. “She was auditioning for Hermia and I for Lysander, as fate would have it. The connection was instant. Every moment after only confirmed what I’d known the moment I’d met her.” A sad smile graced his lips, melancholic memories of hushed conversations had backstage and through rehearsals. You glowed with life and vigor and enthusiasm; he was snared from day one. “Things quickly grew serious, and I planned to ask her to marry me. But then the draft order came.” His eyes were dark and his hands trembled a bit as he remembered the atrocities of war and the nightmares that still plagued him. He carried on, telling Nick about the day he saw your marriage announcement in the paper and how he, to this day, still believed he was in your heart, that if he could become affluent like her family he would be able to steal you away again. By the time he’d finished his sorry, he had slid to the floor, his back slumped against the door jam. “Before I left, she had promised me she was going to wait for me to return. We’d had our life together planned and names picked out for our future children; I had no reason not to believe her. A couple months at camp turned into two years, and I never heard a word from her. I think I knew then, but I refused to believe it. I kept her on my mind until it became a habit, a coping mechanism, still writing to her every moment I could.”

Nick listened intently to every word, learning every piece of his best friend’s life that had somehow been going on behind the scenes that he hadn’t caught on to; it sickened him a bit. How had he not seen the pain Timothée had been suffering this whole time?

Despite the tragic backstory, he wasn’t sure he could go along with his plan. Married is married. He’d been raised in a home with strong religious values and, though times were changing, he felt he shouldn’t act as an accessory to the two lovers finding their way back to each other.

Seeing his apprehension, Timothée spoke up again. “She doesn’t love him,” he stated earnestly. “She did what she had to so she could get the life she wanted, but she doesn’t love him.”

“How can you be sure?” Nick pressed.

Timothée paused, his eyes closing as if in prayer. “I just… know. I can feel it in my bones.”

Nick looked down at the floor, mulling it over in his mind for a few moments. He couldn’t find it in him to tell him no. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

***

Jordan sat on the vanity as you got dressed for the evening. You wore a rosy-pink, silk shift dress that came down to about mid-thigh with fringe along the hem. Your garters were nearly completely exposed, holding up your black fishnet stockings. You sat down in the chair in front of her, slipping on you Mary Janes and fiddling with the buckles.

“You’re being awfully quiet,” she noticed, pulling the cigarette from between her lips and exhaling swirls of smoke as she spoke.

“Just thinkin’” you replied with a shrug, getting up to pick out some jewelry from the many ornate boxes perched on a shelf inside the armoire. Truth was you’d been off ever since your conversation with Nick the night before.

“That’s dangerous,” Jordan chuckled, slipping off of the desk and striding over to peer over your shoulder. She was in a much more revealing outfit for her performance that evening; a gold, glittering, bedazzled leotard with triangle cutouts right at her waist, thigh high stockings, and a black velvet choker resting against her throat that completed her ensemble.

“You figure he’s gonna be here tonight?”

You huffed, wanting to ignore her as you tried to pick out a set of pearls. “I dunno.”

Jordan rolled her eyes. “What's going on in that pretty head of yours, doll? And don’t say it’s nothing because you know I’m gonna keep buggin’ until you give it up, so you might as well just start,” she chided.

“I just-” you began, clearly flustered. “I’m going through some personal things, okay?”

Jordan went a bit wide-eyed at your snappy reply. “Fine, fine,” she submitted.

You looked at yourself in the mirror as you adjusted the layered pearls that laid against your chest. Would he be there tonight? Noticeable circles were under your eyes, and you looked less than yourself. You patted on a bit more powder, adding some body glitter here and there.

“I’m sorry, J,” you sighed, shaking your head a bit. You turned to see her as she headed toward the door. “I’m just a little tense is all tonight. I’ll be fine soon.”

“I know you will, doll,” she smiled reassuringly, slipping out of your dressing room.

As she stepped out, the door to the manager's office at the end of the long, narrow hall cracked open. Lola, a new fan dancer from Chicago, came slinking out looking blatantly disheveled, red lips smeared and mascara lines down her cheeks. Jordan’s brow drew together as she tried to get a better look. She stepped behind a stage prop, her back to it and her neck craned to watch as the girl scurried away. Before the door closed completely, Jordan caught a glimpse of James sitting on his desk shirtless and his trousers hanging loose.

She quickly stood, ready to storm in there and demand an explanation, but that’s when she saw you standing in front of your dressing room looking shell-shocked. Your entire body was tense and your face white as a sheet. She hurried over to you, pulling you back into the dressing room and closing the door to avoid making a big scene. She had no idea what to say, her mouth open as she grasped for words.

“Son of a bitch,” you muttered, your eyes wide and quickly welling up with tears. The fear coiled in your stomach tightened around your guts, your subconscious hissing cruel “I told you so”s. You shook your head almost violently, expelling them. Short gasps left your parted lips as your chest refused to let your lungs expand.

“Y/N, you need to breathe, love. Come on, in and out,” Jordan quaked, gripping your hands tightly in her own.

You watched her with your eyes that burned from unshed tears, shakily following her breathing she modeled for you. Your chest heaved, and your mind fought hard to clear itself from all the horrible conclusions the other part of you wanted to jump to.

Eventually, she managed to calm you down, but your hands continued to tremble. Jordan looked over you worriedly, feeling like she didn’t know what to do for the first time in awhile.

“I’m- I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,” you shuddered, pulling away to clean yourself up in the mirror.

Jordan sat looking a bit dumbfounded. “What?” she asked, unsure she’d heard you correctly.

“I’m sure it wasn’t what it looked like.” Even you could hear the slightly hysterical edge to your voice.

“Y/N-“

“No,” you interrupted in a clipped tone. “This will never leave this room.”

While a woman confronting her husband wasn’t something that happened then, Jordan had never had any of it. She also never had believed you to be a woman to be pushed around, and normally you weren’t. Your lifestyle wasn’t one of a typical domestic wife, and, being an educated woman, you’d taken your fair share of guff from conservative men. Yet, you’d never been one for confrontation, especially in your current emotional state.

Jordan shook her head in disbelief. “Y/N, he has no excuse for-”

“If you are my friend,” you choked, “you will pretend nothing happened.” Your voice was broken, but unyielding.

Her face softened slightly, and she stepped back, her hand on the doorknob as she shook her head. “You are upset and don’t know what you’re saying. I’ll see you after the show,” she replied, leaving and closing the door gently behind her.

Nausea washed over you and you bolted for the bin, the contents of your stomach evacuating unceremoniously. Your whole body heaved as you were sick repeatedly, the brief glimpse of your disarranged husband playing over and over in your mind. Denial was a hell of a drug, but your body was beginning to reject it. A quick knock at your door informed you that you were expected on stage in ten. You quickly began to clean yourself up, knowing that once you left that room, you were Daisy: the beautiful, the talented, the flawless. Hotsy Totsy would never know you as anything different if you had any say.

***

“I need a drink,” Nick grunted, hoisting himself from the desk chair he’d been sitting for the past hour, writing intensively.

Timothée hung his coat up on the hook and dropped his briefcase carelessly, just glad to be home. “I’ll pull something down,” he replied, heading over to the liquor cabinet.

“No, no, Tim. Don’t be a bluenose. I want to go out. I could go put in word with Cousin...” He raised his brows, knowing how to convince Timothée into doing what he wanted tonight.

He turned to him disdainfully. “Nick, I’m pretty tired. I don’t think I can handle that all tonight..”

“We are going. Go get dressed,” he insisted, grabbing Timothée by the shoulders and turning him to go upstairs to change.

He huffed but complied anyways. Subconsciously, he was eager to see you again, no matter how many nerves and feelings it stirred up inside of him. He changed into more casual wear: slacks, a white button up cuffed up to his elbows, and his favorite suspenders.He peered into the mirror, mussing his hair a bit before hurrying downstairs.

Nick was in similar attire, but with a striped shirt and a bowtie. “You ready, man?” he asked, slapping a newsboy cap on his head.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go before I change my mind,” he chuckled.

***

The high-end club was busy and bustling as always that Friday night. Cigarette smoke plumes hung heavy in the hot air, and every person had the Devil’s brew gripped tightly in their fists. A swing group played on the stage while a small group danced the Charleston below them. Timothée couldn’t help but smile as they came in: it really was soothing to his soul to be in such a carefree setting filled with so much life.

As the band’s song came to a close, an announcer came bouncing out and up to the mic. “Ladies and gents, please put your hands together for the lovely and exotic Ladies of Godiva!”

A flock of feathers came shuffling out onto the stage, three pairs of feminine legs peeking from below the large fans. The band began to play a soft and slow ballad beat. One by one, the women began to reveal themselves from behind their ivory plumes, but only in teasing glimpses that fell in time with the music. Eventually, three, jaw-dropping, dark haired women stood on the stage. Their fans were discarded to the floor to reveal bejewelled, scanty bodysuits and long, stocking-covered legs. They all huddled around the microphone and hummed sweet harmonies along with the saxophones and trumpets. Both Timothée and Nick, and every other man in the joint, were held captive. However, it was Nick who was truly in awe. In fact, he was particularly enamored as he took in the sight of the daring girl he’d met a few days before looking absolutely sinful on stage.

Timothée caught him gaping and planted his elbow between his ribs with a smirk. “Put your tongue back in your mouth, dude,” he snickered, leading him over to the bar.

Meanwhile, you stood backstage listening to Jordan and her girls, feeling guilty for snapping at her earlier. James brushed by you, catching your hand and giving you a wink on his way by, on his way to do god knows what with god knows who. He didn’t even notice when your hand quickly pulled out of his as though it were a hot flame. You wanted everything to be okay, but it was still too fresh in your brain. Before you knew it, Jordan was brushing past you with the other girls, giving you a soft smile. You smiled back, feeling a bit of relief that she wasn’t too upset with you for your outburst.

“Next up, our Lady of the Night: Miss Daisy!”

You quickly slipped into your role, a pout on your lips as you strutted on stage. The feeling of hungry eyes didn’t even phase you anymore. However, your heartbeat quickened slightly as you imagined one certain pair of eyes. You pushed that to the back of your mind and focused on the feelings bubbling in your chest. A thought came to you suddenly, and you turned on your heel to bend down to whisper into the drummer’s ear. He then, in turn, murmured down to the rest of the band while you returned to the mic. “Good evening, how is everyone doing so far? Everyone have a drink?” Your voice was low and sexy, the crowd curled into the palm of your hand as they cheered and whistled for you. “Well, I have a little something special I think you all are gonna like tonight alright?” You looked to the drummer, and he gave you a nod of confirmation that you returned.

Timothée leaned against a wall in a more secluded part of the club, eating up the swagger that poured off of you. His imaginings of what you’d become after all those years had far from given you justice. You were not at all shy; you never had been, but seeing you right where you had told him you wanted to be made him bubble with contagious pride. His eyes widened when you growled out the first note over the nearly silent club. Once everyone recognized the tune, cheers and hollars joined your voice, many girls hopping up and pulling their dates over to dance. All he could see was you.

“You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog snoopin’ round the door..” Your body rocked to the percussive beat, your face scrunched up in emotion. “You told me you was high class, but I can see through that..”

You dug up the rage bubbling in you and growled it into the microphone, feeding off of the audience’s shouts and howls. Your hips snapped to the beat as you danced and sang your heart out.

Timothée watched you with a nearly predatory gaze. Hunger bubbled up in him; he was greedy and desperately wanted to pull you away from all the lustful men in the audience to be his and his alone. He wanted to feel you up against him again like the many escapades you two had had in college.

Your last note rang out over the crowd of cheers and catcalls, your chest heaving from not only the exertion of your performance, but also the emotions rushing around your mind. You stayed in character despite it all, but found your eyes searching the audience.

Suddenly, there he was, his eyes already on yours.

Timothée was deafened by his heartbeat in his ears as his eyes met yours. Somehow, he managed a small smile.

You quickly came to, realizing you were staring on stage. Your eyes flitted away, but you were clearly distracted as you waved and slipped off stage. You easily let Jordan pull you out and down the stairs and into the alley outside to get a little break. Everything felt like a blur.

Nick, who had been mingling around the club, watched as you two bolted outside; he knew this was his opportunity. He looked around for Timothée but couldn’t seem to spot him. He figured he was probably drinking somewhere and headed the direction you had left, weaving between the dancing bodies. He was met with a big man in a bowler hat blocking his path.

“And where exactly do you think you’re going punk?” he questioned, his thick New York accent making him almost unintelligible.

“My name is Nick Carraway. I’m a cousin of Y/N’s, Miss Daisy,” he explained, trying not to cringe at the brute’s horrid smell.

After a moment of contemplation, he stepped aside. “You best keep your hands off the ladies or I’ll bash your little head in, ya hear me?”

Nick nodded quickly, hurrying past him and out into the alley. Girls in skimpy feathers, jewels, velvet, and silk stood about in little groups, gossiping and sucking on cigarettes or cocktails. It was a lot of the young bachelor to have to take in, but eventually he spotted you. Girls shot him dirty looks and muttered things from “whatcha you lookin’ for? your ma?” and “who is this little peeping Tom!’ to “Hey, sugar. Wanna ride?” and many other crude things that made him blush hotly.

“Cousin Nicky? What are you doing back here?” you said, spotting the tall boy weaving through all the girls and looking incredibly uncomfortable. You heard Jordan laugh softly behind you, clearly amused by how flustered he was.

“Y/N! You were fantastic as always!” he smiled, giving you a small side hug. “You and Jordan were both uh, stunning! Yes, you were stunning.” He flushed, shaking his head as he stumbled over his words helplessly.

Both you and Jordan just laughed and thanked him. However, you could tell there was more to what he had to say.

“Anyways, Y/N. I wanted to ask you something, um, privately,” he stammered.

You gave Jordan a little look and she politely excused herself, brushing by Nick and making him blush again.

“Go ahead,” you ushered, curious as to what was so important.

“Well, I was hoping you’d join me for tea and luncheon tomorrow,” he said.

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing a bit. Did he know? “And you needed to ask me this in confidentiality because..?”

“Oh well, I um, have a… male house guest currently. I wouldn’t want to start any sort of rumours or anything.” It was a lame cover up and you both knew it.

“Will this ‘house guest’ be joining us?” you asked, trying not to be too conspicuous.

“Well, I suppose you’ll have to just wait and see,” he replied, scratching the back of his neck.

“Alright, Nicky. What time?”

#timothée chalamet series #timothée chalamet x reader #timothée chalamet imagine #timothée fanfic #timothee chalamet series #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet imagine #1920s #hotsy totsy #confusednarcissistwrites

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evermxre-a · 3 years ago

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@fhett sent : ❝ shhh, they’re finally asleep. ❞ - everything baby sentence starters.

adam has had to deal with a lot of things in his life. a LOT. but, standing here right now, he’s pretty sure that none of it quite compares to the wrath of boba fett— especially when the hunter has just now gotten those two little demons to go to SLEEP. admittedly, adam isn’t at fault here ; he’s been working all day, how was he supposed to know that he’s been trying to get them to go to sleep for the last couple of hours? there’s something about seeing boba GLARE at him, something about the way that a gloved hand immediately reaches up to cover his mouth the moment that he walks into the kids’ bedroom. it’s awfully DOMESTIC, isn’t it? maker, has he domesticated boba fett? fucking hell. adam hadn’t thought anything about being quiet wheen he walked into the bedroom, truth be told, but boba had quickly reminded him exactly WHY he needed to shut his fucking mouth. it’s always rather amusing when he does things like that. blue eyes flicker over to where the two sleep. expression softens slightly at the sight of the little zabrak and tusken curled up in the bed together, and only then does boba’s hand move away from adam’s mouth. he could make some snide comment about how if boba wanted to shut him up, he could have waited until later, but he refrains. “ which one was putting up the most trouble tonight? ” he whispers, arms folding across his chest. “ was it s’kheeq? i feel like it was him. ”

#fhett #— * ❝ so‚ you've come to stare at the 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓‚ have you? ╱ answered asks.#— * ❝ knights‚ and men‚ and swords and things. ╱ star wars.#// GAY AND DOMESTIC #GAY AND DOMESTIC

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myelocin · 4 years ago

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a house, turned to a home | kenma k.

synopsis: pondering about the potential joys in the what ifs of life. you, him, a ring, and some groceries in a cart that you know by heart. a crib, some nightlights, and the image of a house that was built for the purpose of it becoming a home.

characters: kozume kenma, you, +mentions of a babie lmao

genre: fluff, slice of life, domestic!au, parenting!au

wc: 1400+

a/n: i did NOT know i accidentally deleted this but ksdjfh,,, also hi @haiikyuuns

kozume kenma had never been a fan of the unpredictable.

not exactly the little details in life he knows he can overcome with strategy, but rather the one-sided unpredictability. the surprise parties kuroo always threw him years back, his parents giving him the shifty eyes when christmas rolled around and a box looking awfully like the gaming system he’d been eyeing wrapped under the christmas tree with his name written in his mother’s familiar handwriting.

the sentiment, of course, had always been received with gratitude from his end.

but he liked life like this. he liked how his day was planned from start to finish—not in the intricate details of the schedule you have on your planner, but a little more like the bullet points on the sticky notes he keeps posted on the corner of his pc.

a schedule like he knew point a, then b, until he eventually hit z, but reading the little notes under it wasn’t really a necessity. because after all, kenma still did appreciate the little serendipities that came with the unknown.

like now; instead of settling in bed and catching up on the sleep he knows the both of you desperately are needing, you’re at the twenty four hour supermarket pushing an empty cart through the empty aisles by the produce section. kenma says it’s because he was bored, and you looked to be having the same dilemma as him.

partly, you think, it’s true, but really you just like grocery shopping with him.

you know the pantry as well as the refrigerator back home is well stocked, but watching kenma stand in front of the cereal aisle has a familiar warmth settling in your chest. you already know what he’s going to pick; always going for either the lucky charms or cinnamon toast crunch, but always picking the box behind the one pushed to the front because he claims that it was less manhandled.

he always says it too with a grumbled sort of whisper, so you laugh every time he puts it in the cart and shoves his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

and much like you, kenma likes these unofficial sort of dates as well. he likes the fact that whether he walks in front, beside, or trails behind you who pushes the cart, you always slow your pace and turn to look at him with the same kind of smile always so constant in your face. the kind of smile that reassures him every damn time that he’s loved.

love, like the feeling that wasn’t wasn’t quite foreign nor familiar to him over the years. he knows his parents love him, his friends, that cat he always left food out for in the neighborhood—himself towards his passions.

but with you, love was trickling.

like getting in the shower and feeling the water slowly trickle on the top of your head and pool there momentarily before it cascades down your body and engulfs you as if it were a waterfall. you had always been the steady presence in his life that he never knew he craved for this much. and unlike the other times—this time,with you, he was never terrified.

there never came an instance where he was afraid of the drop that was the inevitable on the other side of the high he was riding. he knew heartbreak could truly be as present as the love that has his body succumbing to the will of the universe in seconds but it doesn’t terrify him.

he knew that neither of you were fragile like that.

but as he passes through another aisle: where the baby food, wet wipes, and cribs looked like it would fit right in inside that empty room of the house the two of you just bought—kenma bites his lip. his fingers fidget a little inside the pocket of his hoodie—something you can clearly see, so you smile, a soft kind of smile you know you reserve just for him and push the cart a little forward so you’re standing shoulder to shoulder and staring at aisle 12.

“what are you thinking of?” you ask.

you keep your eyes trained on the box of lucky charms in the corner of the cart, next to the carton of eggs that’s surrounded by a few packets of the brand of marshmallows you’ve been liking a lot more lately. you feel his shoulder jump, not really much of a flinch, before you hear him chuckle lightly and explain that he’s just thinking of nothing much.

you smile again; you know him more than he gives you credit for.

“wanna look around?” you ask.

kenma’s already chuckling because he sees you take two steps forward towards the aisle before you could even wait for his answer.

having kids, he thinks probably is something that’s in the schedule. he thinks that it’s most likely written in a planner, though, and not in one of the sticky notes he scribbles a rough draft of his day on.

because raising kids is a lot, kenma comes to realize. truth be told, the two of you had no problem in the financial aspect of raising your children, but at the same time he knew that it was just so much deeper than numbers on a checking account, or a zero balance on his children’s tuition account.

he chuckles because the thoughts are already beginning to consume him before he even has a chance to sit down with you and talk about having children of your own.

“ken,” you call. “look.”

when he turns to face you, he’s smiling. you’re pointing towards the animal shaped nightlights on display beside the crib, your face lit up in a way he’s never seen before. personally, he thinks the lights would look in place next to the crib he saw just a few steps before in that empty room he keeps thinking about.

suddenly, he sees you, glowing and ethereal in the middle of a room, a bundle in your hands and a finger by your lips as if to tell him to hush, because a baby’s sleeping. something catches in his throat as his eyes widen in the smallest fraction. a few moments pass, and as he’s still listening to you speak about which light would look good with which other one, kenma realizes that he could get used to this.

used to coming here, in this aisle more often—maybe not when it’s at this hour of the night—talking over which furniture would look the best with whatever’s already bought and set up in the room. he doesn’t really like building the do-it-yourself cribs, but he can see himself sitting in the middle of the floor and assembling the pieces anyway.

something in his chest blooms, and when you look at him with the glint in your eye looking so much like his, kenma has his breath stolen just like that.

this, he thinks to himself, was definitely not in the sticky notes. this was definitely something that belonged to a well thought out and properly detailed planner.

“do you wanna try?” is the question he hears you ask though, and even though the background music that comes across the intercoms of the grocery store is still playing low, he hears your voice and the message it carries clear as day.

you’re smiling at him in a way that’s so sure, and so filled with love that kenma just knows this isn’t a question you’re pulling out of thin air. you’ve always been the one to hold on to the longer planner after all, so when you said that you were ready, he knew that deep down he has been too.

love, like it trickles—truly. because in a second he’s walking down the aisles and putting his usual box of cereal in the cart, and in the next—it’s this. it’s where the truth he knows he’s carried for a while is finally being laid out in the open for him to face.

and it looks beautiful, kenma thinks.

truly as beautiful as the look on your face as he relaxes his shoulders and says, “we did buy a house with extra rooms in it for a reason, right?”

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lynneshobbydomain · 5 years ago

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Gundham. And Kokichi. And ferrets. This isn't a shipping ask, but a scene with them seems interesting.

(Hey Anon so sorry for the long wait! I hope that you enjoy this! I haven’t played SDR2 in a while so it took me a bit to see if i could get Gundham’s character down. I hope I did alright! Please enjoy this story, as I had so much fun writing it!)

Little Thief

Rated: G Summary: Kokichi finds a ferret and believes he knows exactly who it belongs to.

Kokichi was walking by one of the alleyways when he heard a loud CLANG and froze on the spot, carefully pedaling backwards to see what was going on. Sometimes he found people dumpster diving for the hell of it, and sometimes he found people that he could use in his secret organization (how do you think he got to 12,000 people already? He could almost hear Saihara sigh wistfully like a maiden who was exhausted by society’s shortcomings and tell him that was a lie). He could hear whoever it was rummaging furiously through the rolling garbage bin as though they were scrambling for something. Maybe it was a racoon? Weren’t they nocturnal though? Unable to keep his curiosity in check, Kokichi walked further into the alleyway to the garbage bin, watching amused as papers were flying out. He got down on his hands and knees and blinked when he saw a furry slinky.

“Aren’t you supposed to be like, domesticated or something?” Kokichi asked as he reached in and tried to pull the thing out. God he never thought that he’d feel such soft fur, and this thing needed a bath. Ugh the smell was unbelievable and it didn’t help that they were through a garbage bin of all things. The ferret kept slipping out of his grip like a wet soap bar in the middle of the shower. He wondered if this was how Shuichi felt when he was trying to grapple with his anxiety. (Maybe that metaphor went a little too far).

Kokichi struggled with maintaining the grip and coaxing the ferret out, getting just as dirty and smelly as the animal that he was trying to fight. “How did you even get in there?” He grumbled. “Wait, I wonder if you’re one of Tanaka-chan’s.” He brought the ferret up closer and yipped when it started to try to weasel itself out of his hands. “Oh no you don’t you furry ribbon boneless creature.” He tightened his hold and struggled to get back to his feet.

The ferret was indeed long and skinny in length. The fur was a striped snow white and stormy grey with a white beak and a sakura colored nose. The beady eyes were trying to look innocently up at Kokichi, but the D.I.C.E supreme leader knew better than to fall for that trap. Nothing was innocent about dragging a tiny school boy into a garbage bin. (OKay he knew that he did that all on his own, but it was fun to think about).

Now came the hard part. If Tanaka was missing a ferret there’d be school signs right? Tanaka was more or less pretty uptight about where his animals were and he was always vigilant about letting the whole school know when one of them was missing. Kokichi racked his brains trying to come up with a memory of Tanaka posting up flyers recently, but couldn’t think of anything.

Still...Kokichi looked at the struggling creature that was clearly wanting to get back in the garbage bin. (Maybe it wants to slither up against Kokichi’s neck. He could be the new mascot of D.I.C.E! No, better not get too attached to that idea anytime soon). He tucked the creature closer against his body. The only way to know was to go bother the Supreme Overlord of Ice.

It was just a good thing that the 77 class’s dorms weren’t too far away from here. “Okay little long mouse, let’s go find your daddy and then I can take a shower.” Kokichi lectured the furry creature as he made his way across the school yard. Unlike his own class, 77 didn’t really care about his pranks or about his tall tales. They let him have his fun, but they were fast to pick up on the fact that he was lying, telling the truth, or was just goading them on. Tsumiki was his favorite to prank sometimes, but so was Saijoni when she got an attitude.

He didn’t mean anyone on his way to the dorms and whether that was a blessing or a curse, Kokichi didn’t know. He made his way down the 77’s class hall and found Tanaka’s dorm room. “Okay this is where we part.” He told the ferret. “I’m going to give you back, and we’re all gucci.”

He knocked a couple of times on the door. “Tanaka-chaaannnnn!!!! I need help!!!!! I found a fur baby and I think it’s yours!!! Tanaka-chaaaannnn-”

The door swung open swiftly. “You did not need to call me in such an annoying tone, clown prince of lies. I heard you when you kno-” The heterochromatic stood in front of the doorway as imposing as Kokichi wished he could be. (Curse his short stature). His long red scarf tailed behind Gundham’s back along with the purple overcoat that he wore. His left arm was still heavily bandaged and he only wore the one earring. Sonia said that it got lost at the beach but Gundham was for certain that it had disappeared into the abyssal realm as a sacrifice.

(Kokichi still had it somewhere...he thought).

“What is that infernal beast doing in your hold?” Tanaka spoke slowly.

Kokcihi pouted, “What?! Do you think we couldn’t be friends?! That’s so mean of you, Tanaka-chan, I just might cry! I found this little poor baby in a garbage bin. Have a bit of mercy!”

“I would not be surprised if the Thieves of Hell decided you to be their infernal partner.” Tanaka blinked slowly. “Alas, as good of a creature as that is, they do not belong to me. They must have sought you out specifically. Come! You have done well to come to me for aid! I will teach you how to tame the beast! I will not break such a strong bond so easily!”

“Eh?” Kokichi felt like he just got whiplashed and it wasn’t easy for him to feel like that. Then again, Tanaka was probably the only one in this school that could give him something like that. “Wait hold on! This isn’t yours? They aren’t yours?”

“No. I do not tame many thieves of hell as I would like. My Four Devas are handful enough. Are you going to come in or not?” Tanaka demanded and Kokichi felt compelled to at least hear him out. He closed the door behind him, not really knowing what he was getting himself into.

“Do you know much about ferrets?” Kokichi asked as Tanka found a two-tiered cage in his closet (honestly that man was prepared to find any animal wasn’t he? It was already prepared for an animal’s welcome too. Specifically a rodent’s).

“I must know plenty of the different beats of hell if I am to remain as I am as a tamer.” Tanka replied easily. “You will find, clown prince of lies, that they are similar to you in spirit as they are similar to you in personality. I have no reason to suspect any harm will come to them as long as they are in your care. Though be warned! They are picky as they are clever. They can get out of any imprisonment they so chose to. Food must be to their liking. I will provide you as such so that you have something for now.”

Kokichi blinked, “What makes you think I’m gonna take it home with me? Tanaka-chan is being awfully assumptious. I was just trying to give the fur baby back to you! I’m too young to be a daddy!”

“What makes you think I would break your bond? If having such an infernal creature is too much for you I can break the seal and contract.” Tanaka offered. “Perhaps that may be for the best?”

A sudden fear gripped on to Kokichi. He just wanted to give the ferret back and go on his merry way. But...if it wasn’t Gundham’s and no one was going to claim it...then maybe the creature could be useful after all! (Kokichi still remembers finding Shuffle against the garbage bin when she was just getting started in middle school. He remembers having to scavenge to eat. He remembers…) “Nishishishi~ if you’re so busy with your hamsters, I can watch a ferret for a while. It’s not a big deal.” It was a huge deal.

“It is quite rude for us to assume gender, but I believe if I’m looking correctly you have a female. You may wish to be careful with her.” Tanaka mused thoughtfully as he took the creature from Kokichi and allowed it to climb up his arms. “They will get up to any places you may find hard to reach and if you train them well they can be a valuable asset to you.” The ferret suddenly wrapped itself around Tanaka’s neck, but it was an easy tug and pull to put the creature into the cage. “I unfortunately do not have much in ways of entertainment for the poor creature. So you may have to go out and get some. Partners like this do not come to you easily. Bonding and being a part of their fleeting lives is a sacred promise and one you should uphold to your best.”

“You sure know a lot about animals.” Kokichi casually crossed his arms behind his head. “I just wonder how it got on to school property if it’s not one of yours.”

“Infernal beasts have an instinct that I do not fully understand myself. Perhaps she knew that she was destined to be with someone at the school and came to it’s siren’s call. You were lead by fate and now you have met.” Tanaka said simply as he double checked the cage and then held it out towards Kokichi. “You should come to me for more aid should you have need. My door is open.”

“Your cellphone number would be better.”

“The last time I gave it to you, clown prince of lies, you gave me nothing but images of things you call “memes”. I believe I had the right to revoke such a right.” Tanaka deadpanned.

“Awww.” Kokichi pouted. “We were so close too. Alright, I guess I’ll...figure out a way to smuggle this into my dorm room. Ciao sunflower seed!”

Unbeknown to either of them, Shuichi had a flyer in his hands looking for a grey and white striped ferret that had gotten out of someone’s apartment complex. The name Tinkerbell was scrawled in a hasty flourish. “Now where could you have gone…”

#lynne's self indulgence #sdr2 #gundham tanaka #kokichi ouma #shuichi saihara #ferrets #danganronpa v3 #dangnaronpa fanfic

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