#tired of standing there like yeah i guess we are pretty fucking inconvenient to you huh

[cutealienenby]

feeling lonely and sad, in the day this time

[myhaikyuuacademia]

Hi, I know it’s super cliche but I was wondering if I could get a one bed friends to lovers story with Jaime Reyes?

This request made me so happy lmao. I wrote so much for it. Sorry it's late!

How could I not? | Jaime Reyes x reader (Blue Beetle 2023)

Summary: we love one bed. We love a sprinkle of accidental confession. Warning: tired Jaime is clingy. Canon. A/N: I LOVE this lmao tysm

You and Jaime hadn’t been friends for very long when all of the Kord stuff happened, but you didn’t hesitate to offer letting him and his family stay at your apartment while their house was getting fixed. They didn’t end up taking you up on that, since Jenny also offered them their own apartment and they’d rather take that then inconvenience you, but it was a little cramped in that apartment (not that it wouldn’t have been at yours). Jaime complained about it all the time. Especially about how Milagro had been relentlessly teasing and annoying him about stuff. He didn’t specify what. Anyway, that’s how you found yourself on a Sunday evening opening the door to a kinda disheveled looking Jaime. “Oh. Jaime. What’s up?” You moved to the side, letting him enter your apartment. “Ugh.” He groaned. “I haven’t slept properly in ages. Between renovations, hero stuff and my family seemingly being more overbearing than usual, especially in a space so small I can’t escape them, it just. I can’t fucking sleep.” He ranted and then ran a hand over his face and hair. You just chuckled as you closed the door and walked further into your apartment. “So you came here to escape?” You sat down on the couch and looked up at him, standing before you, hesitating for a second whether to sit down or what to do before deciding to do so. “Yeah” He breathed out. “I guess.” You hummed, understandingly. “Well, my doors are always open for you.” Turning towards the tv, you grabbed the remote from your coffee table. “Wanna watch spiderman with me?” Jaime sighed and then grinned, “sure.”

He didn’t last 5 minutes.

You glanced over at him and noticed his closed eyes and deep relaxed breaths. Hesitant, you gave him a nudge, trying to wake him up. The couch, and the way he was sitting right now especially, would give him a sore back and neck if he continued sleeping like this. “Jaime.” You whisper-shouted. Another nudge, “Jaime!”. Groggily he murmured and tried to move out of the way so he could continue his sleep in peace. “Come on Jaime, go to bed.” You tried pulling on his arm to get him to stand up, but he barely moved. Instead he pulled you down, so you landed half on top of him and he buried his head in your neck, while his arms closed around your waist holding you close. You froze and your brain simultaneously short-circuited and erupted into chaos. His breath was warm and even on your skin and his hands so soft on the little bit of exposed skin between your top and pants. He didn’t seem bothered by the position you two found yourselves in, hell, he probably didn’t even notice. You were pretty sure he was immediately and fully asleep again. Meanwhile your heart was still beating as if to escape your chest.

“Jaime.” You tried again after you’ve had a while to compose yourself. “Come on, let’s get you to bed, it’ll be more comfortable.” No success. “Khaji-Da?” Last resort. You heard groaning, and felt Jaime moving ever so slightly. “Come on now, let’s get you to bed. I promise you can continue sleeping in just a second.” Carefully, you tried slipping out of his arms, standing up and holding your hands out in front of you to help him up. With a pout on his lips he looked at you through half-lidded eyes before taking your hands with an overly dramatic movement and you pulled him up rolling your eyes, laughing. You didn’t notice the way he smiled at that. One of his hands still in yours, you led him to your bedroom. “Go. Sleep.” You lightly patted him on his back in a shoving way to get him to go to your bed. Standing in the doorway with your arms crossed you were observing if he was doing what you’re telling him to. He was well on his way when he stopped, as if a sudden thought occurred. “What about you?” He turned around. His voice was raspy, still half-asleep. Your heart was racing again, and your face felt very hot suddenly. “W…” you cleared your throat. “What about me?” “Aren’t you going to sleep?” “Oh. I’ll just sleep on the couch it’s fine. Plus, we didn’t really get that far with the movie, so I can just finish it.” He didn’t seem to like that answer, by the way his brows furrowed and his pout came back. “I’m not stealing your bed and leaving you to sleep on your couch. Especially in your own apartment.” “You need sleep more than I do. It’s fine. Really.” You tried convincing him. A feeling of an old western stare down crept up on you. Like whoever blinked first, lost. “Come on Jaime, just go back to sleep.” You plead, head slightly tilted and puppy-dog-eyes. His eyes narrowed. He was going to strike a deal. Or a compromise. “I’ll only go to sleep if you go. And I’ll only sleep in your bed if you do. Wait that came out wrong.”

“Pffff.” You burst out laughing. Ignoring how flustered his proposal made you. This man was gonna be the death of you some day. “You sure?” you asked jokingly. “Fine, go to bed. I’ll turn off the tv.” You sighed playfully defeated and turned around. Your heart was doing the racy thing again at the thought of sleeping in the same bed as Jaime. You groaned annoyed as you turned off the tv and lights and went back to the bedroom. For a second, you had considered staying in the living room and hoping he’d fallen back asleep, but he was stubborn and you knew that. There was no escape. And as predicted, he was sitting in your bed waiting, watching the door for you to come back. You noticed he was only wearing a t-shirt now, his sweater and pants on the floor next to him and it reminded you that you still had to change into your pajamas. Being around Jaime really saved you a lot of money on blush. You could tell he was watching you as you made your way over to your closet. If you wanted to, you could just go to the living room to change, or the bathroom. The question is, did you want to? Not really. You felt comfortable around Jaime, and you trusted him. And it’s not like you were about to get completely naked. And honestly, he probably might just look away anyway. So you took of your pants first, to put on some shorts, and then your top, to put on a flowy shirt. All the while your back was turned to your bed. You might have heard a “shut up Khaj” from behind you but you weren’t sure. Okay, maybe in hindsight it did make you feel a bit embarrassed and flustered to change in front of him. When you turned around, Jaime was staring at the wall in front of him very intently, and with a very red face.  Pressing your lips together to contain your facial expression you made your way over to the other side of the bed. “Happy now?” You asked as you sat down next to him, pulling the blanket on top of you. “uhuh.. hmm. Yeah” He was still looking straight ahead and avoiding your eyes. “Jaime.” You called out softly. This made his head turn. “Go to sleep.” You grinned. He only rolled his eyes in response and shook his head in mock-exasperation. But for some reason you couldn’t move your eyes, or stop your lips from smiling, and you kept looking at him. At his pretty, pretty face, with his soft, soft hair. His lips, that had been breathing into your neck just minutes earlier. His beautiful brown eyes that you found staring back at yours. In just a second, a tension had built up and the energy in the room completely changed. You licked your lips nervously.  What now? Neither of you dared to move. You weren’t even sure if you were breathing at this point. You felt the urge to say something, but you didn’t know what. Your mind was wiped completely empty. Jaime’s eyes were the first to flicker down to your lips.

And then his phone made a sound. You almost jumped apart, and he dizzily looked you up and down before turning around to grab his phone. His attention elsewhere and his eyes no longer on you, you remembered to breathe. Turning to face away from him, instead facing the wall he had been looking at so meticulously earlier you glid down so you were no longer sitting and let your covers almost swallow you whole. As if they could protect you from the fire you felt inside. You heard him setting his phone down again, and the rustling of the duvet when he laid down as well. You felt him looking at you. Did you dare look at him?

No.

“Good night, y/n.”

Only then you glanced over at him. “Good night Jaime.” You whispered, before looking back up at the ceiling.

By the sound of his breathing, he fell asleep soon after. Something you were, so very far away from at this moment. Your whole body was tense and your mind was going a mile a minute. You were acutely aware of his presence, his face just a couple inches to your side. There was no way you could calm down enough to fall asleep with him in your bed, next to you. You turned to face away from him, hoping it’d give you some sense of distance between you two. After some brainstorming you figured your best bet was to sneak out on to the couch once you were sure it wouldn’t wake him up. Well, that’s what you would’ve done, if you weren’t suddenly wrapped in Jaime’s arms literal seconds before you would have tried sneaking out. “Stay.” He murmured sleepily, face buried in your back. “Wh..” slipped out of your mouth as you tensed up, caught off-guard. “Khaj.” He answered your unspoken question, his hands around your waist. You had two choices. Give in, or not. You gave in.

Surprising how fast you can fall asleep when you’re in the arms of someone you l- When you’re in the arms of someone. Period.

You woke up still in his arms, and it made you feel all warm inside. Though, face-to-face now, with your face buried in his neck for a change. “Morning.” His voice was hoarse, though it sounded liked he had been for a while already. You didn’t feel like talking yet, so you just wrapped your arms around him tighter and buried your face in his shoulders more. Suddenly shy. One of his hands moved from your back to stroke your hair. This, you thought, is a moment you wished you could stay in forever. “You want some breakfast?” Jaime asked. “mmhm” you declined. “I only want to stay in bed with you.” He chuckled at that and started playing with your hair, wrapping strands around his fingers. “And to think just a few hours ago you tried to sneak out.” He teased. Your face scrunched up. “hmmh” you mumbled, “well, I changed my mind. Now you have to come over every night so I can fall asleep.” You weren’t completely serious when you said it, but Jaime just replied with a “Deal.” There was a content silence after this. He continued playing with your hair and you continued holding him. “Do you think trees get sad when their leaves fall off?” This came completely unprompted and so sudden it made you laugh. “Jaime what the fuck.” You pulled away to look at him, amused. He looked at you so full of love your brain stuttered. “I…” You trailed off. “No. If they’re capable of enough thought to be sad about it, I think they know the leaves will come back.” “But they won’t be the same leaves.” His fingers that were weaving through your hair before now began tracing invisible patterns on your skin. “Do you get sad when you get a haircut? I imagine it’s the same way.” You replied sincerely. He seemed to think about it before his face scrunched up. “I’d be sad if I got a buzzcut yeah.” You burst out laughing. After you calmed down you started running one of your hands through his hair. “I’d be sad if you got a buzzcut, too.” But I’d still love you.

“But I’d still love you.”

You didn’t even notice you said it out loud, the thought itself stunned you and made your hand stop playing with his hair for a second before you managed to get it moving again. You completely forgot about your face, so the shock was still seared into it. Eyes wide, looking at your hand in his hair, focusing on it, as if combing through his hair was the most difficult thing to do, just so you didn’t have to look into his eyes.

“You love me?”

Your hands halted and your eyes met his. “What?”

“You… love me?” he repeated in the same soft and unbelieving voice, barely above a whisper.

“What?” you felt like a broken record.

“You said you would still love me.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

In a way this situation was like the one yesterday, before his phone went off. Both of you staring at each other, not saying a word. But the energy was so different. He was waiting for you to say something, it seemed, to confirm or deny, but you didn’t know what to say. There are two wolves inside of you. So you stayed completely frozen instead. There was no phone ‘ding’ to save you this time. It was getting uncomfortable, neither of you saying anything. Your fight or flight instinct was begging for you to run. Instead, almost out of your control, your mouth opened, as if to say something. But then you remembered you had no idea what to say. “yes.” Oh. I guess we’re going with that. This seemed to break you out of your spell, you turned around, out of his arms, out of the bed, you got up. “Sorry.” “What? Why are you apologizing?” Jaime asked. Your back turned towards him you heard him move. Flight was kicking in, and you were well on your way out the bedroom when he managed to grab your arm and keep you from moving further away. “I love you!”

You stood still. Then you turned around. “I love you too.” Jaime said again, this time adding the ‘too’. “So you don’t have to apologize.” It was a little funny, if you were honest. The way he was half kneeling on your bed half standing on the floor, holding your wrist and telling you he loved you in just his shirt and underwear. “You do?” “Yeah. Of course. Of course I do, how could I not?” He said it so earnestly, it made you want to laugh because he was still in that weird position. “You do.” No longer a question. You stepped closer with a smile. “You love me.” Grinning now. “You love me.” He just repeated. Spiderman pointing meme. You nod. And then you kiss him.

[thought-42]

It gets harder every year

Star Wars, 2050 words, Luke Skywalker, Ezra Bridger Luke has acquired a Mandalorian and is maybe panicking a little. It's fine. He nows a guy. Set in a universe where Ezra wound up in the Chiss Ascendancy post-Rebels and eventually he and Luke became like. Space internet friends. Don't worry about it. *

Luke Skywalker, pinnacle of Jedi calm and patience, only does four laps around the school while he waits for his comm signal to work its way through seven layers of encryption and a long string of relay nodes stretching across lightyears, vast and unknowable, between his current location and his target.

“No,” Laezra says as soon as he picks up. His little hologram is blurry and half a second out of sync with the audio, but Luke can still see the way his hair is flattened on one side and standing straight up on the other, and he's holding the comm in such a way that his (probably bare) chest is out of frame. There is, perhaps, a timezone issue Luke should have taken into account.

“You're so rude,” Luke says. “This could be an emergency.”

“Is it?”

“The point is that it could be. And you, my only peer, my only fellow Force user, you who stand in brotherhood with me against a harsh and uncaring universe–”

“Your sister exists and is literally a princess”

“What value does the royal title hold within the forced diaspora, really? Also the last time I asked if she wanted to meditate she threatened to tell someone I don't pay taxes.”

“That's an actual criminal crime, for the record. What kind of example are you setting for your students?”

“I have two students,” Luke says. “One of whom I'm related to. Besides, didn't you meet your master in the middle of a criminal crime?”

“It's not a crime if it pisses off the Empire,” Laezra says automatically, then, “Luke, please. I am so tired. There was a whole... thing. I haven't slept in my own bed for three weeks. My student had to use her lightsaber in actual combat for the first time. I had to side with my commanding officer against my mentor, even though the asshole was absolutely in the right, and I'm feeling some kinda way about it. Sometimes preemptive action is good, actually, but don’t tell anybody I said that.”

“Sorry,” says Luke. “Is she ok? Your student, I mean.” Laezra still refuses to tell Luke the name of his or his fellow Navigator Jedi's student, and wierd trust issues aside, it makes conversation grammatically difficult sometimes.

“Yeah. We're ok. We were both doing twelve hour shifts on the way home, though, because I guess ‘we aren’t Sky Walkers’ doesn’t mean ‘we aren’t Sky Walkers’ when the ship’s actual Sky Walker is made of germs and fever and barf. Then it becomes ‘jump-by-jump is so inefficient, this information is so critical, everybody’s so tired. Have you ever had the experience of getting nosebleed blood crusted in your beard? BecauseI don’t recommend it.”

Between Leia and Laezra, Luke knows enough classified information to sink two major governments. Or at least inconvenience them a lot. 

"Ok, ok, ok," Luke decides he's going to sit down on the grass,and only realises it’s still wet from the afternoon rainstorm once his pants are already soaked. “So. Listen. You know things.”

“Wild,” Laezra says flatly. “Is this how you write report cards at your school?”

Luke glares down at the little hologram. “You know things about Mandalorians,” he clarifies. He decides he's gonna stand back up, and while he's at it he may as well do a few more laps.

“I-- Luke. Luke you can't tell me I'm the only person you know who knows a Mandalorian. Who I am, just so we're super clear, still on pretty shaky footing with, given my whole... everything.”

Luke waves this off. He is very over Laezra having fucked off on actual Purrgils, never to return, less than a year before Luke discovered he was a space wizard and could have really desperately used some support in that from someone who wasn't a hundred years old and a friend of his father's. It's so fine. He definitely doesn't lie awake imagining being one half of a pair of Jedi, back when the Rebellion had felt huge and overwhelming and kind of terrifying. Some people blow up a massive space station/doomsday weapon full of living beings (twice) and hold their evil dad in their arms while he dies. Some people ride away in a burst of martyrdom on their bffs the legendary space whales. Some people live alone but for two little kids in the ruins of a temple that they call a school, desperately trying to rebuild an entire religious and cultural institution from barely legible texts and ghosts. Some people live in another galaxy and embark on exciting new projects for an alien government where they get to research brand new Force techniques and go on adventures and live in an apartment where they can just walk across the street and buy fresh pastries whenever they want to.

Jedi do not feel envy. Jedi do not feel resentment. Jedi are always well aware that the grass is perpetually greener.

“I have a Mandalorian now,” Luke says, instead of any of this.

“Like, you... have obtained one? Are you feeding them? They need so much exercise, I cannot emphasise this enough.”

Luke puts his comm on the ground so he can drop his face into his hands. “He gave me? His kid? But also I think he's the king of the Mandalorians, and he keeps stopping by for visits, and I don't want to mess up.”

“This is so much,” Laezra says. “This is so much. Luke Skywalker, are you crushing on the Mand’alor?”

“Calling you was a mistake,” Luke says.

“Calling me was the opposite of a mistake, oh my God. What House? What Clan? I ask like the answer will mean anything to me, but like..... it might.”

“His name's Din,” Luke says. “I don't know if I'm supposed to tell people that.”

“And have you and Din..... you know?”

“He doesn't take his helmet off,” Luke says, helplessly. “Except once, and I think that was... not ideal. For him.”

“But was it ideal for you– sorry, sorry. Ok. Was he an Academy kid?”

“I don't think so,” Luke says. “He barely knew anything about the war. He didn't know who I was. He has a lightsaber that he really doesn't want to have, though.”

“Wait. Wait. So he's like.... the real deal. You're having sexy parent/teacher interviews with the legit Mand’alor.”

“I'm not having sexy anything with anybody,” Luke says.

“That's so sad, my guy. But hey, keep on trucking. I bet you can seduce him with your farmboy charms.”

“His son eats frogs,” says Luke. “I caught him a whole bucket full to take with him last time Din came to take him on a trip.”

“You just. ...handed the Mand’alor a bucket of frogs and his kid? ‘Have a good time, gang!’ You’re my very favourite little guy, Luke.”

“I think most of them escaped inside his ship,” Luke admits. “Which, actually, let me tell you about his kriffing ship–”

“Why am I perpetually surrounded by pilots? Luke, look at me. Look me in the eye. I don't care about his ship. Tell me about his cute kid or his dick or the actual ass Darksaber. Do not tell me about his ship.”

“It's very bad, though. It’s a bad ship and he should feel bad about it, he lets his child ride around in it, and I know for a fact his fuel injectors were recalled–”

“So were you hoping I'd... know the Mando dating cheat codes, or something?” Laezra says loudly.

Luke frowns. “I want to get to know him as a person. I'm his son's teacher. It'd be inappropriate for me to ... do anything. I'm just hoping I can maybe be a bit more culturally sensitive.”

Luke's only ever seen one propper, full-colour picture of Laezra that isn't a blue light holocall; there’s a holo on General Syndulla’s desk of a grinning teenager, limbs gawky and eyes that reminded Luke of the feral tookas he was never allowed to take home during trips into town as a kid. Even so, it's easy for Luke to picture the other man sitting in the dark of his bedroom, shoving his hands back through his hair as he groans. Luke wonders if he's the kind of person who needs to have everything unpacked and in its place when he comes home from a mission, or if he's more the 'dump bag and clothes on floor, fall face first onto nearest flat surface' type. It's probably a weird thing to wonder, but it's the sort of thing Luke knows about all his other friends.

“Ok. Luke.” He drops his hands from his hair and leans in close to his comm, so the top half of his face is all Luke sees, weird and disproportionate as the camera tries to compensate. “I bet you've probably been reading a bunch of old Jedi books or scrolls or cave paintings about the danger of attachment. Maybe your ghosts have lectured you. But that's what they are. Ghosts and old writings. You're starting something new. And-- Kanan. My Master. He loved somebody very much, and she loved him back. And he was the best Jedi I can imagine.”

“You can just say it was General Syndulla,” says Luke, who has only ever seen one mention of attachments in the documents he’s recovered, but doesn’t want to devalue what Laezra is trying to tell him.

“Ok, yeah. They loved each other so much, and I never once saw it interfere with Kanan’s dedication to helping others. To making the galaxy a safer, kinder place. If anything I think she made him better. And vice-versa.”

“I just meant,” Luke says carefully, “that I wouldn't want to risk things not working out and Din not wanting to leave his son here anymore. There's nobody else who will train him. But I’ll keep the other stuff in mind.”

“I have so many things I definitely  don't actually want to say to Ahsoka,” Laezra mutters. “But oh boy am I thinking them.”

Luke presses his lips together. He doesn't know if Laezra knows who Vader was when he was a Jedi. Doesn't know if it'd mean anything to him even if he did know. “She's got some pretty compelling reasons for the choices she makes, he says. "I don’t agree with her, but… I mean. Anybody can become dangerous if attachment gets possessive, but you've gotta admit Force users are especially risky.”

“People just keep making bigger guns,” Laezra points out. “How are they any less dangerous?”

“A gun can't get inside your head and change how you feel. It can't make you do things you wouldn't normally do.”

“Ahahaha,” says Laezra, and his hands go back over his face as he leans away from the camera. “You don't need The Force for that one, either.”

Luke winces. “Anyway,” he says, because he knows most people don't actually want to talk about their feelings, even if that seems super counter-intuitive. Whatever. “How do I become friends with the Mand'alor?”

“You keep saying it and it doesn't get any less unhinged. I don't know. You're already taking care of his kid, and you value family. You're highly skilled in combat. There's really no secret trick to it, just... be a person.”

“I've tried that,” Luke says. “I'm so bad at being a person around him though.”

“Does he like art?” Laezra asks, with a sudden burst of gleeful intensity. “Luke does he like art, this is important. I can tell you so much about art. Do you want to know which chemical combinations are the best for neon colours and also timed explosions? Do you want to know about historical graffiti culture throughout the Outer Rim? Do you want to know how to use the remaining art from the various Mandalorian factions to construct a sociopolitical thesis on their people with a focus on military tactics?”

“You know what," says Luke, "I think I hear the kids calling me.”

“Coward,” Laezra says immediately

“Go back to bed; say hi to your student for me; may The Force be with you bye.”

Laezra is still swearing at him, laughing,when Luke clicks the channel closed.

Luke, with all the dignity befitting the last Jedi Master, opens his notebook and writes 'Ask if he likes art.'

[cyncerity]

Mmmmm.,, thinking about how if Tubbo nommed Tommy and Tommy grew just enough in his stomach to make a little bump.,,

Ok when I asked for sizeshifter Tommy getting nommed prompts, you got the message. You understood the assignment completely, you genius anon. Funnier yet, I had the same thought about Tommy shifting while in someone earlier, so you’re pyscic and also very much pandering to what i like to write and it’s working very well.

tw: vore, cursing

Btw, I took my shitpost idea from this post and made it a full story

“Tubbo, no.” Tommy deadpanned at Tubbo, who looked back at him with puppy eyes. “Tubbo yes!! You actually studied for this and I didn’t and if I flunk another test my dads gonna kill me!” the shorter teen whined. Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose and let out an exasperated sigh. “Well then maybe you should’ve studied! I’m not gonna help you cheat this, I don’t even know how i would do that!”

Tubbo pouted and gave him a death glare that he ultimately couldn’t hold as long as Tommy could, so he sighed in defeat and started to get ready for school.

*****

School went pretty well for Tommy. He’d been pestered about the test a few more times by Tubbo, but he ignored most of the advances. He was just walking from the class he’d taken the test in to his next class when he got a text from his best friend: ‘meet me in the storage closet by the caf.’ Huh. Odd. Nevertheless, Tommy shrugged and headed that way. Not like he had much else to do at the moment.

He soon stepped into the storage closet, the heavy door closing behind him and shutting him in almost complete darkness as he fumbled around looking for a light switch. He could hear things clattering around him, but every time he reached in the direction of the noise, more noise seemed to come from another direction. What was going on? “Tubbo?” Tommy whispered. “You in here, big man?” Tommy said, a bit louder. No response, except the noises. Tommy could feel himself start to shrink in a bit as his movements became more sporadic looking for the light. “Seriously man, this isn’t funny!!” Suddenly, a loud clap sounded from behind him, scaring him and accelerating the shrinking he had already subconsciously been doing as he shrieked, now a measly 3 inches tall.

Suddenly he felt himself be lifted off the ground as the lights finally came on. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the light, he looked up to see Tubbo holding him by his shirt collar, the heavy, large textbook that Tubbo had violently shut to make the clap noise now laying closed on the floor, looking smug with himself. Tommy glared daggers at him. “That was a low blow, Tubso.” “Of don’t be over dramatic,” the bigger teen smirked, “I’m just getting the help I need.” And with that, Tommy was tossed up into the air and quickly caught in Tubbo’s mouth. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing!!” Tommy shouted as Tubbo’s tongue lapped at his face. He was unceremoniously pushed into the side of Tubbo’s cheek as he tried to respond. “You just took the test, I’m going in to take the test now, so you can at least help me get some answers.” “You little-“ Tommy tried to finish before he was cut off by a loud swallow.

Tommy felt his legs get pulled down into the tight muscles of the throat. He tried to punch at Tubbo’s tongue to get his friend to spit him out but he only heard Tubbo chuckle as the muscles pulled him down to his shoulders and eventually sucked him in completely. Tubbo left the storage closet once he couldn’t feel Tommy in his mouth anymore and made his way to class. Tommy landed in his stomach with a dull thud as he heard the storage room door close and felt Tubbo start walking. Great. Didn’t this asshole know he had school, too?

Tommy pouted and laid back one of the wet spongy walls and slid down, begrudgingly accepting defeat. Eventually he felt Tubbo sit down, and he heard the lecturer start to speak, before silence once again. Tubbo poked his stomach. Tommy kicked at the wall where he had been poked. “You can’t just eat me and expect me to help you. Prick.” Another poke from the outside. Tommy kicked again.

There was an annoyed scoff from outside and soon the small space Tommy was sitting in practically folded in on itself as Tubbo moved to sit with his knees pressed against his torso. “Oh, fuck off, you dickhead!” Tommy shouted. “I’ll give you the fuckin answers, Jesus, just let up!!” Tommy could practically hear Tubbos smug grin as he put his knees back down and sat normally. Tommy sat fuming, giving Tubbo the answers to the test, waiting for the signal tap that signified his giant friend was ready for the next answer. So as Tommy sat and mindlessly rattled off information, he thought about what he could do to get a little revenge for the impromptu nom session. It was hard to think of something good enough. He needed something that was funny, but inconvenient, and that he could do from the stomach he was stuck in. Something that would piss Tubbo off in a playful way, and nothing that would cause him pain, maybe a bit of discomfort…wait. That’s it, that would work, all he had to do was time it right. The logical and mature side of Tommy’s brain said it was a bad idea: he’d never tried shifting while in a person before. Well, that part of his brain could fuck off for all Tommy cared. He’d never listened to it anyways. ‘Oh, this is gonna be so funny…’

****

A half an hour later, Tubbo finished the test. He was pretty proud of his successful plan to get Tommy to help him cheat, and he couldn’t see himself getting caught. There was no physical evidence of it, and he knew that as annoyed as he knew Tommy was, his best friend wouldn’t rat him out. He even made sure to fill in some answers wrong, it was foolproof! Tubbo leaned back, feeling the minuscule weight inside him, and if he focused hard enough, could even feel Tommy breath. He’d never get tired of how weird that felt, no matter how many times he ate Tommy. It gave him a sort of peace. He felt kind of bad for practically forcing Tommy into sitting in his gut, but it was his fault in the first place! If Tommy hadn’t refused to help him, Tubbo wouldn’t have had to resort to this! And he knew that Tommy would try to reign hell on him for this, but for the moment, he put that thought aside. There wasn’t much revenge Tommy could do from his stomach.

Tubbo soon heard the bell ring. And as soon as he went to stand up, he felt something inside him move. No, not move, grow. Double, triple the size Tommy was when he was swallowed, bigger than anything he’d ever even try to get down his throat, and all within the span of a second. The sudden shock of the change mixed with the uneven and unfamiliar added weight in Tubbos body made him fall backwards with a yelp, landing on his ass and knocking over a chair in the process. He heard some kids laugh at him on their way out the door, and saw other just stare. He could feel his face get hotter from the embarrassment. He not only heard, but felt Tommy laugh at him, the shifters now louder voice making the stomach walls around him vibrate slightly. And, oh god, that was a weird feeling.

Tubbo clutched his gut for dear life as he tried to stand. He grabbed a nearby desk and pulled himself up, doing his best to steady himself. And as soon as he finally managed to get used to the weight, more was added. He felt his stomach stretch around Tommy, more weight being added, making him stumble a bit more before he elbowed himself in the stomach, pulled his hood over his head, and tried to walk as quickly as possible to anywhere private, ignoring Tommy’s laughing fit.

Ten minutes later, Tubbo found a private, hidden area under a set of outdoor steps near his school. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and put it up to his ear just to be sure that if anyone saw him, they wouldn’t think he was a crazy person talking to himself. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Tubbo yelled, making Tommy laugh more. “Oh, you have no idea how much I would’ve paid to see the look on your face!” Tommy wheezed. “What did you do?” Tommy’s laughter died down as he tried to answer the question. “Well, I think that’s pretty obvious big man. I shifted.” “In me?!” “Well, yeah. Consider this payback for scaring me shitless and swallowing me without permission.”

Tubbo face palmed with his free hand and started to pace, feeling Tommy’s much larger form sway in his stomach and stretch it with every turn he made as he walked. “Ok, ok, fine I guess I deserved that. Just, why’d you have to do it in class? People were looking at me like I was an idiot. And how big are you even right now?” “Cause you are stupid,” Tommy answered part of the first question, but pondered the other. “I’d say a foot tall? Maybe a foot and a half?”

“A foot?!” “Yeah, that’s what I said. Listen, maybe.” “Alright, alright, ok, you’ve had your fun, now shrink so I can get you out of there and we can both go about our days.” Tubbo sighed. “No can do, big man.” Tommy replied simply, as if Tubbo were to have expected that answer. He didn’t. “Why the hell not?!” Tubbo yelled again, sitting on a step, to frustrated to keep pacing. “You put me in here in the first place. I’m now your responsibility, and you did this to yourself.” Tubbo felt a somewhat uncomfortable pressure on the front of his stomach and pulled up his shirt, partially horrified and partially amazed to see the front of his belly pushing forwards, slight imprints from under his skin. Tommy’s hands. Before Tubbo could even get a word out, Tommy finished: “Remember, I’m not stuck in here with you. You’re stuck out there with me.” The pressure released, and Tubbos abdomen went back to normal. Well, as normal as it could be. It still looked somewhat bloated for obvious reasons, the outline of Tommy practically indistinguishable from any other stuffed gut to everyone but Tubbo, but it wasn’t anything his hoodie couldn’t hide. Tubbo made it a point to stand up from the step quickly to try and jostle Tommy, but only succeeded in making himself feel a quick pit in his stomach, making him instinctually hunch over as it stretched downwards to accommodate Tommy’s weight. “Whatever. I’m done talking to you.” Tubbo replied sternly before walking off to his next class, which he was now horribly late for. “Sounds good, but I’m not quite done talking to you yet.” So the next 10 minutes was spent with Tubbo walking to class and Tommy rambling about increasingly bizarre topics in an attempt to irritate Tubbo, and with Tubbo unable to respond without being heard since he’d put his phone in his backpack like an idiot and now couldn’t reach it.

***

He walked into his next class 20 minutes late, and as quickly as possible made his way to his empty chair next to Ranboo, who started giving him weird looks a few minutes after he sat down. Tubbo gave him a weird look, and Ranboo looked back utterly confused and somewhat distraught looking. Tubbo shrugged and went back to his work, trying to pick up what the teacher was saying and drown out Tommy’s nonsense. Ranboo didn’t stop giving him weird glances though, and he seemed to be getting more and more anxious. Tubbo was about to ask him what was wrong when surprisingly Ranboo stood up and addressed the teacher. “Excuse me, I have a really bad headache. Like, it’s hard to concentrate and I’m seeing spots and it’s all around just really awful, can I go to the nurse, please?” He was given permission and was told to take someone with him, roughly grabbing Tubbo by the arm and practically dragging him out of the classroom as fast as possible.

At this point, Tubbo was worried. Ranboo was an introverted guy, there’s no way he’d draw that much attention to himself in class unless it was an emergency. He got even more worried when Ranboo dragged him past the nurses office and into a storage closet not dissimilar to the one Tubbo and Tommy had been in earlier. “Boo, are you alri-“ “Out of curiosity, where’s Tommy?” Ranboo interrupted. Tubbo froze. “Ummm…I don’t know, why do you ask?” He replied, trying not to sound as guilty as he was as Tommy, who had been silent since Ranboo had dragged Tubbo out of the classroom, mumbled to himself. Something about Tubbo being an asshole. “Oh, maybe because once you came in late and sat down I started hearing Tommy. Quiet, muffled, even, but I know his voice. That, and literally no one besides Tommy can talk about absolutely nothing for so long.” Tubbo heard Tommy let out an offended scoff and a “fuck you” at Ranboo, who apparently also heard it. “See, there it is again! You can hear him to, I know it. So where is he? I thought he was in your backpack, but you didn’t bring it with you to the ‘nurses office,’” Ranboo said, putting in air quotes, “so I don’t know where else I’d be able to hear him from.” Tubbo was left speechless again. Luckily for him, or actually rather unlucky, depending on how you look at it, Tommy was incapable of being left speechless. “In here, Ranboob!!” Tommy shouted, punching the front of the stomach walls, making Tubbo let out a hiss of pain as he punched himself in the stomach. Ranboo just stared blankly. “He’s…he’s in there?” Ranboo asked, pointing at Tubbo’s midsection. Tubbo sighed and nodded. Thank god he had to explain this to Ranboo and not some rando who didn’t know that he and Tommy did this regularly. “I thought that no one besides you could hear him when you ate him? I’ve never heard him from in there before.” “Probably because I’ve never been this big in a person before.” Tommy shouted in reply. “He’s a fucking foot tall, Ranboo. He’s making me miserable.” Tubbo deadpanned. “Just returning the favor!” Tommy shouted. “Ok, ok, wait, what happened, I’m so confused.” Ranboo questioned.

Tommy and Tubbo filled Ranboo in on what went down, who had his face in his hands by the end of the explanation, his thoughts clear to Tommy and Tubbo: ‘why do I have such idiot friends?’ “…ok,” Ranboo finally spoke out, “If anyone asks, I have a fever and you two, er, well, Tubbo helped me walk home. School ends in, like, 3 hours anyways, so it should be fine.” Tubbo and Tommy both seemed ok with that idea, so they went back to Tommy’s house, since Tommy’s family was at work, where Ranboo made both Tommy and Tubbo apologize for being assholes to each other, eventually convincing Tommy to shrink back down and finally give Tubbo a break. Tubbo didn’t spit him out though, and from the one sided conversation Ranboo was hearing, it seemed like Tommy was fine with that. Soon enough, all three were taking a nap.

***

At 2 o’clock, Phil got home, surprised to find the front door unlocked. He carefully made his way inside the house, looking for anything that could have been stolen or god forbid a thief still in the house. But nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Until he got to Tommy’s room, where he found Ranboo and Tubbo asleep on a backup comforter they kept around for the two when they slept over. Phil only had to wonder briefly where Tommy was, until his mind registered Tubbo’s hand, which was pressed protectively against his stomach. ‘Wait, shouldn’t they still be in school?’ Phil thought. But he took one look at the sleeping teens and decided he would chew them out later, turning of the light and closing the door.

[disgruntledspacedad]

The Rules of Engagement (4/5)

part of the The Better Love Series

pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader/ofc (Ears)

summary: (slow-burn, sexual tension, angst, a little bit of h/c in later chapters) He’s a DEA agent. You work for Centra Spike. Peña’s not your boss, exactly, but you’ve been fwb long enough that certain people are starting to think of you as An Item, and that just won’t do. 

words: 3.7k

warnings: 18+ for alcohol, language, smut, violence, general trauma. 

a/n: unbeta’d. Yeah, I know - I can’t count. This is gonna be five chapters. 

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

MASTERLIST

Murphy nearly bowls you over on his way down stairs, pulling up short when he sees you. 

“Shit!”

You glance down at yourself. Your clothes are rumpled and covered in ash and bile. You don’t even want to know what your face looks like. There’s rubble in your hair.

Murphy is still staring open-mouthed.

“The pharmacy below my apartment got bombed,” you explain hollowly. “I’m fine, I just need a shower.”

“You look like you need a hospital,” Murphy counters, eyeballing you with something akin to worry. “Fucking Christ, Ears, if Javi -”

You snap your eyes up at the mention of Javi. “Have you heard anything?”

For the first time since you’ve met him, Steve Murphy cracks a grin at you. “On his way home now.” He looks as relieved as you feel. “We got him.”

You manage to smirk back. “Good.”

“Congratulations, by the way. This one’s on you as much as anybody.”

“Thanks.” You sag against the side rail, trying to be subtle about it. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, your legs are shaking, and you think it’s only a matter of time before you fall over.

Murphy notices, because he reaches for your shoulder to steady you. “I really think-”

“No.” You cut him off forcefully, glaring at him with all the energy you have left. “No, Steve. I’m tired, that’s all.”

He sighs. Narrows his eyes. Frowns. “You’re bleeding.”

What?

Murphy gesturers to your temple with a finger that you have to stop yourself from flinching away from. “You’re bleeding, Ears,” he repeats, as if he’s expending a great amount of patience by pointing it out to you.

You reach up, wincing as you notice for the first time that your head hurts. When you draw your fingers back, they are coated in blood.

Murphy moves closer to get a better look.

“It’s just a scratch, Murph,” you tell him wearily. As far as you can tell, that’s true. There’s no gaping hole or giant gash, just a stinging little cut right at your hairline. “You know how head wounds are.”

He’s still glaring suspiciously at you, and you let him, meeting his gaze in silent challenge.

Eventually he sighs. “Okay, your funeral, I guess. Gimme a minute.”

Before you can retort, he ducks back inside, leaving you standing awkwardly on the front step. The walls are thin - you can hear him rummaging around in the kitchen. He’s back seconds later, key in one hand, a slip of paper in the other.

He hands you the paper first. “This is my pager number. Javi’ll be back soon, but I want you to contact me if anything crazy happens.” He motions to your head with his thumb.

“Okay,” you promise.

“And here’s this.” He presses the key into your hand.

You look up at him wide-eyed. “Murphy, you can’t just give me Peña’s key.”

“What, you think it would be any different if I stepped across the landing and did the honors for you? I’m already late.” He runs a hand through his hair with a huff. “Besides, he’d want you to have it.”

Somehow, you seriously doubt that.

Murphy fixes you with a stare. “Trust me.”

“Hardly,” you mutter, taking the key from his hand anyway. You hold it up for emphasis. “But you’re taking the fall for this one, alright?”

Murphy rolls his eyes. “I think I can live with that. Stay safe, Ears, and page me if you need anything.”

♠

You resist the urge to flop down on Javi’s sofa and sleep for a thousand years, instead making your way to the shower. Peeling away your dusty clothes feels so incredibly good. So does the hot water. You take your time, exploring the lingering aches and pains in your body as you scrub them with Javi’s little sliver of Irish Spring. Aside from a few bruises and that one little slice on your temple that won’t quit oozing, you’re not injured anywhere. You think you might be a little sore from being thrown backward tomorrow, and your lungs still feel funny and raw from having the air knocked from them, but otherwise, the bombing of your apartment is more inconvenient than anything.

You try very, very hard not to think about Emilio.

You step out of the shower only when the water runs tepid, the cold jarring you awake. Javi only has two towels, it seems - one left out to dry on the towel rack, the other crumpled in the corner with a pair of boxers. Nice. You opt for the one that’s on the rack, wiping yourself down then wrapping up your dripping hair.

There’s something deliciously deviant about sneaking naked through Javier Peña’s apartment when he’s not home. You shake away your guilt, trying hard not to be too weirded out or too turned on as you rifle through his dresser drawers. You’ve got to wear something.

Eventually, you come away with the green t-shirt and the only pair of sweats the man owns. You eye yourself in the mirror, considering. Javi’s clothes are ridiculous on you - you have to roll the sweats three times at the waist just to keep from tripping - but hell, at least you aren’t naked. Looks like that cut finally stopped bleeding, too.

Carefully, you pull your hair into a sloppy braid and gather your dirty clothes, doing a cursory sweep of the apartment to see if Javi has anything else that needs washing. Other than the little pile in the bathroom, you find a t-shirt and a pair of mis-matched socks in the corner by the nightstand. Not bad for a single guy living alone, you decide.

You make the trip downstairs to the communal laundry room quickly, noting the time on the kitchen clock when you return. You don’t feel like waiting beside the machine today. Flopping on the sofa has lost it’s appeal - you’re bone weary, but every time you close your eyes, you see fireballs and charred bodies.

Sleep is not on the agenda.

Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, glancing at the clock for the umpteenth time. 9:42. You put the water on, then shuffle downstairs to switch the laundry to the dryer. 40 more minutes, and then you can get out of here.

And then what?

You examine your options and find that the list is short. You aren’t going to stay here any longer than necessary - you’ve intruded on Javi’s privacy enough. Your only friend in Colombia is Ana, and that’s off the table for obvious reasons. Murphy isn’t at home, and Connie had left for the States just weeks after you’d arrived. Back to work, then.

You decide that’s best anyway. Somebody fucking bombed your apartment. Well, the mark was probably Emilio’s drug store, but still. Bombings don’t happen in Bogotá - that’s a Medellín thing. Especially a civilian target.

The rush of anger that consumes you is staggering. Who did this, and why?  Bombing a business is a very Pablo Escobar thing to do, but a small pharmacy? In Bogotá?

Ana and her father are good people. You know deep in your bones that they aren’t involved in the drug trade. You also have major doubts that this was an accident. So, what the fuck?

The injustice of it all makes you feel small and cold and helpless.

You’re missing something big.

Javi doesn’t have a television in his apartment. Even if you did have access the news, the information that you’re seeking is hardly going to be broadcast on live television, and certainly not so soon.

Work really is the best option, then. Between the bombing and Verdugo’s arrest, the sicarios must be on red alert. Maybe you can pick up on some chatter. 

Besides, you probably need to let Stechner know about your situation as soon as possible.

You glance at the clock. 10:07.

Ugh. You rise up on your tiptoes, bouncing in frustration. Caffeine and adrenaline have made you jittery. There’s something really cringe-worthy, too, about being alone in Javi’s apartment without his knowledge, especially given the way things ended between you.

The memory chafes, and you shake your head hard enough that it throbs.

Goddamn this day.

A shrill beeping jerks you from your thoughts, and you barely manage to stifle a shriek. Your pager!  You’d forgotten all about it. Your stomach swoops as you pick it up.

The number that flits across the screen belongs to Javi.

You take a breath. Weird. Aside from that one brief conversation yesterday, you haven’t spoken to him in weeks. It probably has something to do with Verdugo, you decide. Maybe he wants to inform you personally. That would be nice of him. After all, this was a pretty big arrest for you, too.

You locate the phone in the kitchen, dialing the number with trembling fingers. Damned coffee.

“Peña.” His voice is terse, clipped.

“Got your page,” you say warily. He sounds like he’s in a mood. “Is there -”

“Where are you?” he demands, cutting you off harshly.

You blink, startled. Forget ‘a mood,’ Javi sounds fucking livid. You’d assumed he’d be pretty relaxed, considering. “Umm, I’m actually at your place,” you speak slowly to hide the shakiness of your voice. Fuck, of all the times to get emotional. “Listen, my apartment was bombed. I just needed -”

You’re interrupted again by a sharp sigh. “Stay there,” Javi grinds out, and then there’s nothing but dial tone.

Slowly, you place the phone back in its cradle, processing the conversation.

What. The. Fuck.  

Bits of plastic clatter to the floor as the pager smashes into the refrigerator - you’re hardly even aware of throwing it. You sink to the kitchen floor, cradling your head in your hands and doing your damnedest to just breathe.

It’s not fucking fair. He was the one who stormed out slamming doors. You haven’t pressed him, haven’t been a nuisance. Well, aside from basically breaking into his apartment and borrowing his shower.

But fucking hell, somebody - probably Pablo Escobar -  just bombed your fucking apartment. You’re living in a foreign country and you don’t even speak the fucking language. There’s nowhere for you to go, and your clothes were a mess, and goddamn, you are just tired.

What were you supposed to do?

Footsteps thunder up the stairs. God, that was quick. You manage to leap to your feet just as the front door slams open with a bang.

Javi stops dead when he sees you, and your tirade dies in your throat.

“Hey.” It’s awkward, but it’s all you can manage.

He’s just staring at you, standing stalk still in the open doorway. He’s breathing heavily, like he’s been running. His expression is tight, carefully closed off. One fist is clenched at his side, the other still gripping the doorknob.

“Murphy let me in,” you babble. You knew he was on his way, but still, his sudden appearance startled you. “My place, I mean, the drugstore -”

“I know.” He’s toneless, expressionless, frozen except for his eyes. They rove over your face and body, and you’re reminded suddenly of watching him read reports - quick, efficient, and exacting, like he’s taking in every detail in an instant.

Fuck. Heat rushes you as you remember that you’re still wearing his clothes. “Okay,” you breathe shakily, hardly aware of speaking aloud. This is getting weird, and you really don’t have the emotional capacity to deal with Javier Peña’s shit today.

Your laundry is probably dry anyway.

“Where are you going?” Javi demands, resting a hand on your shoulder as you attempt to push past him.

That does it. “To get the laundry!” you bite back, twisting away from his touch with a lot more drama than is really necessary. “My clothes are dry!”

He pulls away as if burned, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

You stand there like that for a long moment, just assessing each other. You’re glaring up at him warily, sizing him up, while he watches you with an expression that you don’t recognize.

“I’ll go,” he says softly. There’s something quiet, almost regretful in his tone, and it shatters your defenses. You bit your lip and nod shakily, and then he’s gone, descending down the stairs without another word.

Jesus.

You exhale another shaking breath - everything you do seems shaky, today - and pour another cup of coffee.

♠

You feel like you’ve got a little more control of yourself once you’re back in your own clothes. Javi is lighting a cigarette at the kitchen table when you exit the bathroom, a fresh butt still hot in the ashtray next to him.

“Rough night?” you ask, dropping his half-folded t-shirt and sweats onto the counter.

He huffs sarcastically.

You sigh. Your patience is wearing very, very thin, but you decide to try one more time, just for the hell of it. “Congratulations, by the way. Murphy told me about Verdugo.”

He blinks up at you, like you’ve pulled him from deep thought. “Yeah,” he says slowly, still staring at you with an intensity that’s starting to really freak you out. He pulls hard at the cigarette, and the moment breaks. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”

You nod, suddenly tired.

He notices. “Ears?”

“I need to go back in,” you cut him off before he can ask whatever he was going to ask.

He frowns. “Didn’t you just leave this morning?”

Frazzled as you are, it doesn’t occur to you to ask how he knows that. “Yeah, Peña, I did,” you snap. “But then some fucker bombed my apartment, and I’ve got a nasty feeling that it has something to do with Pablo Escobar. I can’t go home, and I can’t get any sleep, so I might as well make myself useful and see if there’s anything worth listening to today.”

His gaze had drifted during your speech. He’s resting his jaw on his his palm, staring off into the middle distance.

Ugh.

“So, will you drive me, Peña, or am I calling a cab?”

“Sorry,” he says softly, breaking himself out of whatever stupor he’d been in. He stands and extends a hand like he might like to reach for you before deciding against it and grabbing his gun instead. “Of course I’ll drive you, if you feel like going in.” He catches your eye as he tucks the gun into his belt, serious now. “I really am sorry about your home, Ears.”

God. All Javier Peña has to do is throw you a tiny bone, and you fucking melt. The relief you feel is palpable. “Thank you,” you whisper, closing your eyes for a long second.

You hear him rustling around with keys. “Let’s go, then.”

♠

The car ride to headquarters is silent. Javi smokes three more cigarettes, tossing the butts out the open window before you even hit the parking lot, one after the other. You wonder what the fuck is going on with him.

He makes a point to let you out of the passenger side door, a little quirk that had been hit or miss before, depending on his mood. You walk together up the embassy steps, him hanging close to your shoulder but not quite touching you, and you wonder if this is his strange way of apologizing for the weirdness before.

You’re halfway to Stechner’s office when you realize that Javi is still following you. You arch a curious brow in his direction. He pointedly ignores it.

Okay, seriously. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” The question comes out a lot harsher than you intend, but hell, it’s been a terrible day.

He glances down at you, almost apologetic. “It can wait a minute.”

“Ears!”

Oh, fuck. Steve Murphy is running up the hallway, gaze zeroed in on you.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer, just whirls on Javi. “Javi, what the fuck is she doing here?”

You bite the inside of your cheek in an effort to keep from screaming. “I’m trying to go do my job, Murphy, if the fucking DEA will let me.” Thankfully, your voice comes out pretty level.

Javi’s looking at Murphy with a narrowed gaze, head cocked, hands on hips. “What do you mean, Murphy?” he asks in a low voice.

Murphy throws his hands up in consternation. “I mean she should be in bed, or at a fucking hospital. You should have seen her this morning, Javi. Looked like she’d come straight from a war zone!”

Javi whips around to stare wide-eyed at you. “Wait. You didn’t say…” All of the color is draining from his face. “You were there?” 

Something about the breathlessness the words, like they’d been punched out of him, sends little shocks of electricity zinging across your skin. “I’m fine,” you manage. As protests go, it’s pretty weak.

“God, Ears, you’re still bleeding.” Goddamn Steve Murphy and his fucking preoccupation with your blood. “Now get out of here, please, before I call you an ambulance. Jesus.”

Javi’s face is a storm cloud of emotions as the pieces continue to click into place. “Ears,” he growls, more horrified than angry. He grips you carefully by the shoulders, looking you over again. This time, he brings his fingers gently to your temple. They come away bloody.

He sucks a sharp breath, glancing up at Murphy. “You’ll handle Verdugo?”

Murphy’s lips are pressed into a fine line. “Absolutely, Javi. Get her out of here.”

♠

He escorts you from the building with a hand pressed firmly against the small of your back. It would be sweet, if not for the blistering pace and the stony expression that’s frozen on his face. People take notice, leaping out of your way, craning their necks to watch as you storm by. By the time you reach the doors, your cheeks are flaming.

“Agent Peña!”

Oh shit. You hadn’t even noticed Martinez and his entourage milling around the entrance.

“Yeah?” Javi bites out.

Martinez raises a brow at the scene the two of you make - you, bleeding and shamefaced, Javi damned near parading you into the parking lot with all the subtly of a thunderclap.

God, there’s no way this ends well for either of you.

“Verdugo is in interrogation room three,” Martinzes says, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Javi doesn’t even slow. “Stick Murphy on it,” he snaps over his shoulder. “I’m busy.”

Nobody dares argue with him.

♠

Instead of getting into the car, Javi leans heavily against the door.

You pause, opening your mouth to question him, but he reaches for your jaw before you can speak, carefully tilting your face up into the sunlight.

“Are you okay?”

His voice is soft, but he’s looking at you in undisguised concern, eyes roving over you with an intensity that tempts you to drop your gaze.

You shiver. You can’t help it - you’re exhausted and emotional, and things with Javi have been so weird for so long, and now he’s staring at you, sharp and worried, running his thumbs across your scalp to gently assess for injuries.

No, you are not okay.

He notices the little tremor that darts through your body and rests one hand on your shoulder, leaning in to look you straight in the eye. “How far were you from the explosion?”

“Across the street,” you tell him, breathless for all of the wrong reasons. It’s only half-way true, you’d been crossing the street when the bomb had gone off, far closer to the blast zone than you’re leading him to believe. But he’s so close, cupping your cheeks in his hands, leaning forward to shield you from the traffic-side of the parking spot with his body as he continues to draw his fingers across your skin, gently assessing for more damage.

“It just knocked me off my feet,” you continue. Your throat is suddenly so dry. “Startled me, more than anything.”

Javi reaches with one finger to expose the wound on your temple. It’s still oozing.

“And this?” he asks, pinning you with another piercing stare.

You reach up, catching his hand as his fingers begin to drift down your cheek. He twitches reflexively. “Just a little scratch,” you promise him. “Falling glass, or shrapnel, I guess. Something grazed me. I never hit my head.”

This is not a lie. You never blacked out; you’re not hurt.

He blusters a sigh, scrubbing his face with his palm for a brief second. “I should really take you to the hospital.” His jaw tightens as he speaks.

“I just said I didn’t hit my head. I’m fine.” You indicate the wound on your temple. “This is nothing. You know how head wounds like to bleed.” You look up at him, projecting as much wide-eyed, awake, vibrant woman as you possibly can after walking away from a fucking bomb, and squeeze his hand in reassurance. “Please, Peña. I just want to go -”

Home, you almost say.

You stop yourself just in time. There is no home, not anymore. And you won’t make the mistake of referencing Peña’s place as anything other than ‘Peña’s place.’ That would be supremely stupid, given all of the recent drama.

“To bed,” you manage instead. “I’m just tired.”

And god, that is the truth.

If Javi notices your faux pax, he doesn’t mention it. He’s hardly taken his eyes off you. He’s near enough that you can feel the heat of his skin, one hand still twined in yours.

It’s all you can do to avoid resting your head on his chest.

“Okay,” he mutters begrudgingly, and then shakes his head like he hadn’t meant to agree. “I’ll take you home.”

You smile wanly at him. “Thanks.”

♠

author’s notes/confessions

I know you still have questions. I promise you, I will answer them.

Steve Murphy is a good bro.

Y’all hit me up if you want a little Javi one-shot after this next chapter. I wrote it for my own reference, but it might be a fun read, if you’re wondering what’s happening inside his head right now.

@tiffdawg​, look what you made me do. ;)

[jaehyunfirstlove]

Highway to Heaven - Ch. 5

Your best friend Johnny wants to go on a road trip. The only catch? He wants to bring his roommate, Jeong Jaehyun, someone you just couldn’t stand.

Genre: e2l, fluff, angst, smut (18+ only)

Warnings: fingering, swearing

Taglist: @jaehyunnie77​ @sehunniepot​ @jaejoongiewifey-blog @glxwingstar​ (send me a message if you want to be tagged)

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 

A/N: A bit of smut in this chapter, but what will it meannnnnn ;)

You woke to arms around you. His breath tickled the back of your neck. He was cuddled into you, his body molded perfectly around you. You didn’t know what to do, you were truly torn. You had to admit it felt nice, to be held by someone again, but you still weren’t sure how you felt about him, and this would certainly be a complication. You shifted slightly, but it was enough to wake him. You could hear him waking up, his consciousness slowly returning, and when he finally realized the position he was in, he froze. He slowly removed his arms from you and turned over in the bed.

“Rise and shine, sleepyheads!” Johnny came into the room, pretending to cover his eyes, “Is there anything going on I should know about?” he questioned innocently, as he threw himself onto the bed in the space between the two of you.

“Grow up,” you complained, getting out of the bed and heading for the bathroom.

“Dude, what happened?” he turned to Jaehyun. You left the room but hovered behind the door, wanting to hear what Jaehyun would say.

“I screwed up! I was doing so well, staying to my side of the bed, but when I woke up I was spooning her!”

“What! Did she know?”

“I don’t know, I took my arms out carefully, she didn’t move, so I don’t know? Ah man, I fucked up. She’s never gonna trust me now.”

“Hey, maybe she didn’t even know? We can only hope.”

“I can’t face her without apologizing though.”

“Suit yourself.” 

You heard the bedsprings groan as Johnny got up from the bed, so you ran into the bathroom and closed the door behind you. You sat on the edge of the tub, head in your hands. You’d never been in such turmoil before, it was usually pretty clear to you if you were attracted to someone or not. Jeong Jaehyun, however, threw you for a loop. On the one hand, he was that callous playboy who slept around with women and dumped them at any inconvenience. On the other hand, he was that guy who would hold your hair back as you threw up, the one who would remember the most innocuous things you liked, the one who would stare with wonder at stars. The one who cared about whether or not you would trust him.

“Hey Y/N, hurry it up in there!” Johnny knocked obnoxiously on the bathroom door, “We got sights to see!”

“Gimme a sec,” you called back, turning on the faucet to splash some water on your face. You looked at yourself in the mirror and decided to be resolute. You had to trust your instincts.

When you came out of the bathroom Jaehyun was on the balcony. The morning breeze was fluttering his hair, his bangs falling into his eyes, which were closed. He was leaning on the railing, in a plain white tee that hugged his shoulders, the hem of it waving slightly in the wind, threatening to give you a view of his perfect abs. You looked away quickly, grabbing your suitcase and heading for the door, hoping he wouldn’t notice you. No such luck.

“Y/N!” he called, coming back into the room. His hair was now mussed from the wind, a bedhead look that would be unattractive on anyone but on him, it just increased his attractiveness. It almost made you angry. “Hey, I just wanted to apologize for last night.”

You faced him, your emotions warring in your gut. “Don’t mention it.” You said in the calmest voice possible.

“I really didn’t mean to-”

“I know.”

“I just need you to know-”

“I get it, Jaehyun. Let’s just forget about it, okay?” You walked away, leaving him standing alone in the room.

---

That day was spent at a local market, the three of you navigating through the stalls of fresh fruits and vegetables and various homemade goods. Once in a while one of you would stop and peruse the wares, or try samples offered by the food sellers. Jaehyun gave you space, not overtly avoiding you though, which you found you were thankful for. He’d sometimes point out things to you and you would just nod before walking away, missing the lingering looks he would give you. At one point Johnny went off to look at some leather goods, leaving you and Jaehyun alone at a fruit stand.

“Would your girlfriend like to try some?” the fruit seller had offered Jaehyun a sample of their peaches, and had gestured towards you, standing behind him.

“Hm? Oh, she’s not my girlfriend,” he offered politely, “just a friend.” The seller apologized, and the two of them continued to engage in conversation about the fruit.

You stood there, feeling like someone had just stabbed you in the chest. There was a dull throb that at any other time you might have thought was a heart attack, but you’d felt it before and you knew exactly what it was. You could feel your face getting hot, ridiculous tears pooling in your eyes. You willed them not to fall, and thankfully they listened.

Johnny came over then, and seeing the look on your face he opened his mouth to ask what was wrong but you stopped him.

“Hey I’m just gonna go back and find that stall that sells soap, you guys stay here I’ll catch up with you later.” You turned and walked away quickly, not giving them the chance to protest.

By the time you had found the soap stall you had calmed down, still determined not to let whatever you were feeling for Jaehyun come to the surface. You’d picked out some soaps and decided to wait for them back at the car. Eventually they came back, talking and laughing over something they had seen.

“Let’s go, I’m hungry,” you called out, getting into the passenger’s seat as Johnny got into the driver’s seat. When he caught your eye he mouthed are you okay? You nodded and he didn’t press any further, knowing that sometimes you needed your space.

You didn’t offer much to the conversation for the rest of the night, not at dinner at the local taqueria, not even when you were all choosing the local motel for the night.

“You guys choose,” was all you said, and soon enough you were pulling up to the gaudy neon sign of the closest roadside motel.

“I managed to get a room with two beds this time! Are you proud of me, Y/N?” Johnny poked you in the side teasingly, but you weren’t in the mood for his jokes.

“Just remember that I’m not sleeping with you,” you warned.

When you got to the room you let the two of them wash up first, wanting to take a long hot shower to soothe yourself. Before you went into the bathroom the two of them were in the same bed, but when you came out Johnny had moved to the other bed, his long limbs splayed out so there was no room for anyone else. Both were asleep. You sighed, thinking about kicking Johnny in the head for being an ass, but thought better of it. Jaehyun was on his side, and even though he wasn’t the smallest person, he was so tucked into himself he took up very little of the bed.

Screw it, you thought, and just laid down on the bed beside Jaehyun. You were too tired for this and sure enough you fell asleep seconds after your head hit the pillow.

---

You were dreaming and you knew it, but it felt so real. His hands were warm on your skin, caressing your naked stomach, reaching down further, parting your legs. Before he could reach your core you woke with a start, not realizing you had cried out in your sleep until you looked over and Jaehyun was staring at you, his eyes practically bulging out of their sockets.

“Y/N?” he whispered, “Are you okay?”

You huffed in frustration. “Fine.”

“Were you having a nightmare?” he asked softly, “You almost screamed.”

“No, it wasn’t that kind of dream,” you sighed.

“What kind of dream was it?” he asked innocently.

“Don’t worry about it,” you snapped, and he took the hint and turned over. 

You, however, were still aroused from the dream, and it was making you frustrated beyond belief. You had to finish yourself if you were going to have any peace, so you looked over to make sure he couldn’t see. Satisfied that what you would be doing wasn’t in his viewpoint, you slipped your hand down your panties and dipped your fingers into your pussy. Sure enough you were wet from the dream, and so you proceeded to finger fuck yourself, but in that position your fingers just couldn’t reach your g spot and it made you even more frustrated. You swore under your breath, and suddenly it hit you that the person in the bed next to you definitely had long enough fingers to reach. You must have been delirious with arousal to even consider it, but you were beyond rational thought at this point.

“Jaehyun,” you whispered, but he didn’t respond, so you shook his shoulder lightly. He turned to you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked sleepily.

“I need your help,” you whispered, and he propped himself up on his elbow to look at you.

“Of course, what do you need?” he whispered back.

“I need you to help me get off.”

You could barely make it out in the dim light but he was blinking his eyes rapidly, shaking his head at the same time. He was definitely malfunctioning.

“I’m sorry, did I hear you correctly-”

“Yes, I need you to finger me until I climax, can you do that?” you clarified. You could feel your arousal slipping away and you were desperate.

“I mean, yeah, but are you sure? What does this mean for our relationship?”

“Listen, I’m horny as hell right now and I can’t even think about that. This is going to be awkward either way, whether you agree to it or not, at least if you do it I’ll have gotten an orgasm out of it.” Your argument was twisted but he contemplated it and seemed to be swayed.

“I guess that’s true…” he agreed, and you almost whooped in relief.

“Great, here, give me your hand.” 

He obliged, and lifting your shirt, you took his hand and placed it palm down on your bare stomach. He inhaled sharply when he made contact with your skin, and the same feeling from the dream returned to you.

“Mm, that’s good,” you moaned softly, which emboldened him. His hand moved independently now, slowly down, and you squirmed in anticipation as he got closer.

“That’s it,” you encouraged, as his fingers reached your folds and he began to part them.

“You’re so wet,” he whispered in awe, and when you moaned again he slid two fingers in. Your back arched off the bed, a silent scream dying in your throat as he started to pump his fingers inside you.

You pressed your lips together to keep from making a sound, not wanting to wake Johnny, but you could feel an intense orgasm coming on. Jaehyun’s fingers were heavenly, hitting you directly in that spot that made your toes curl. You pulled at the sheets as the pleasure in your gut ramped up.

“That’s it,” Jaehyun whispered in your ear, “Come for me, baby.” The combination of his magic fingers, the low tone of his voice, and the term of endearment sent you spiralling. Stars exploded behind your closed eyelids as you had the strongest orgasm of your life at that point, your body shaking, pussy clenching around Jaehyun’s fingers.

He let you come down from your high before he removed his fingers, and you sighed softly at the loss. He got out of the bed quietly and came back with a damp towel to help clean you up, gently wiping away your arousal. When he was done he pulled the covers back over you and smiled.

“Sleep now,” he whispered, because your eyelids were fluttering, and the last thing you remember before you fell into slumber was his fingers ghosting along your cheek.

[twink-appreciation-posts]

Strange Thoughts - Spencer Reid x Reader

chapter four of “all bets are off”

sexual tension featuring lowkey fluff. also maybe a bit nsfw but we’ve come to expect that. 

Many thoughts. Brain full.

That’s where you were mentally as you finished the drive to your apartment in complete and utter silence. Wait. The drive to your…? Fuck.

“Did you not wanna remind me that I totally missed your exit?”

Just your luck, your mind was racing so much that you drove straight home instinctively, totally forgetting to drop Spencer off at the BAU to get his own car so he could get to his place. The inconveniences just kept coming, didn’t they?

Spencer didn’t reply. You turned your head to examine him. He was clearly deep in thought too. You couldn’t blame him, you guessed, being lost in thought was the reason you had forgotten to drop him off in the first place.

“Spencer.” You exhaled deeply.

You watched him shake his head a bit, bringing himself back to reality. He looked at you for a moment, and then out of the windshield. “We’re at your-“

“I know. I was a bit distracted. I was just kind of… driving without thinking.” Fuck. What were you supposed to do now?

“That sounds pretty dangerous. Did you know that there are around 33,654 fatal motor vehicle crashes a year?” Ah, there he was. Good ol’ Spencer.

“Well, we made it here alive. It’s just… the wrong here. I’ll turn around.” You stuck the key into the ignition again, exhausted. Not only had you just uh.. well, for lack of better phrasing, cum harder than you had in years, but you were on your way back from a full day of work that included dancing on a bar. And it was almost 3am. You were beyond tired.

“No, it’s okay,” Spencer said. Your heart stopped. Did he wanna stay at your place?

“I can drive. You’ve been driving all night.” Oh. Right. That was probably for the best. You nodded wordlessly, getting out of the car and walking over to the passenger's side. You looked at him. Back at your apartment complex. Back at him again.

“Spencer, you can stay overnight if you want.” You eventually explained, against your better judgment. “It’s already late, I think we… we both just want to shower and head to bed. I can take the couch.” Ah yes, sleeping in the same bed would be far too unprofessional. And you didn’t like blurring the lines like that. Of course.

“Are you sure, y/n?” He questioned. “I mean, I agree we’re both tired, but I don’t want you sleeping on the couch in your own apartment.”

“You’re gonna act shy now, Reid? It’s just one night and it’s the best option. It’s not like we’re gonna do anything unprofessional. We’re both too smart for that.” You winced at your own words. It was an attempt at a joke… but you realized it was far too soon to joke about it.

He must’ve noticed your discomfort because he spoke more seriously. “Are you absolutely sure you’re okay with me staying over? I don’t want to impose or make you uncomfortable.”

“Spence. Really. It’s fine.”

So, you walked upstairs together. After unlocking the door to your apartment you tossed your keys to the side, flopping unceremoniously onto your couch. “Do you wanna use the shower?” You mumbled in Spencer’s general direction.

“That’s probably a good idea, yeah.” He nodded. You pointed him towards the bathroom, already feeling yourself doze off.

“Wake me up when you get out, please. I wanna use it too.”

A bit later you were being gently shaken awake. You blinked your eyes open. Standing over you was Spencer, of course, his hair dripping wet. Your eyes wandered. Oh. And not wearing a shirt. Made sense. He didn’t have any clothes here, did he? You glanced lower, relieved to see a towel wrapped around his waist. “Are you sure you want to be woken up?” He whispered. You wiped the grogginess from your eyes, mumbled a quiet “yes,” and attempted to sit up.

He wrapped an arm around you gently, assisting you, and you inhaled deeply. Hm. He smelled good. “What are you gonna wear to bed?” You asked him, half-listening.

“Yeah, that’s kind of a problem. I mean, I can just wear the pants from earlier I guess..”

“I probably have an old oversized shirt or something in my closet. Feel free to look.” You gave him a tired smile before slipping into the bathroom to take a shower of your own. When you walked into your bedroom after your shower, you noticed Reid wasn’t there. A bit further into the room and you saw him, sitting on the floor of your closet, an old high school yearbook of yours in hand. You chuckled. “Doing some reading?”

He looked up at you, smiling. “You look so similar, yet so different at the same time.”

You walked over to him, taking a seat as well, and laughed at the image he was looking at.

“Sorry if you didn’t want me to look at this. I just saw it while I was looking for a shirt.”

“It’s okay. I’m the one who gave you free access to my closet.”

His hair wasn’t nearly as wet now, having had time to air-dry. It was fluffy. You toyed with it absentmindedly as he flipped through the pages. You were sure it was a combination of the exhaustion, the leftover hormones from earlier events, something like that. You were sure that was the reason you were having so many strange thoughts about Spencer Reid. Why you were silently wishing he wouldn’t get up and you could just stay there, leaning against him, playing with his hair. Your train of thought was broken by him letting out a quiet yawn, and you stared at him, in awe. Truly, how hadn’t you noticed him like this before? “You seemed pretty tired earlier,” he spoke, eyes not leaving the book in his hand. “We should get some sleep.”

No. No. No.

“Yeah. You’re right.”

You both stood up. Spencer argued with you for a few minutes about how he should be the one to sleep on the couch, but you won out in the end, wishing him a goodnight before retreating into your living room.

Minutes or hours could have passed. You weren’t sure. You were still exhausted. So why, you asked yourself, couldn’t you sleep? Memories from only a few hours ago played in your head. His hands. His lips. His…

Oh. Your hand was working it’s way down your body now, almost like it had a mind of it’s own. You found yourself pressing your thighs together, a familiar heat beginning to crawl up your skin. You tried to fight it at first, but maybe this was just what you needed to fall asleep, right? Who hadn’t gotten themselves off before bed a few times? It was stress relief. You focused on remembering the details of your encounter with Spencer, breathing becoming heavy. You thought about how close he was now. Just a few steps away. Why did that that turn you on more? The thought of him hearing or seeing you filled you with a rush of adrenaline.

“Uh, y/n? You still awake?”

Fuck. Never mind. Your heart dropped into your stomach. Getting caught was not exciting.

“Y-Yeah. What’s up, Spencer?” You stuttered out. It had been dark and you were being pretty quiet, you reassured yourself. There was no way he knew.

“I was just gonna get some water. I haven’t been able to sleep either.” He said simply.

You were sure he hadn’t heard you, then. There was no indication in his voice or attitude that he had.

“Do you mind if I turn the lights on? I can’t see and I’m not familiar enough with your apartment layout.” He continued.

“Not at all.”

He grabbed himself a glass of water, offering you one as well. When he was finished, he turned the lights off again, ready to retreat back to the bedroom.

You hesitated a moment before piping up. "Hey, Spencer, if you can't sleep, I have something that might help."

"Oh, really?" His voice shifted a bit. Deeper. Curious.

"Yeah, I have melatonin gummies on my bedside table."

Silence. Too much silence. Why wasn't he saying anything?

After what felt like forever, he replied, something strange about his voice. "I guess I'll take one. Thanks. Goodnight."

"No problem. Goodnight."

taglist <3

@101donuts @annestine

[puckinghell]

The Plus One Pact | William Nylander | Part 5

Summary: Your ex is getting married, and you don’t have a date, which means the unavoidable “why don’t you have a boyfriend” question is about to haunt you for the rest of eternity. But then there’s Will, who could be the answer to all your problems. A simple business pact, no feelings involved: that won’t be hard for you, because you really don’t like him anyways. Except pacts were made to be broken… or something. Right?

Note: This is part 5. Click here for part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

--

When you wake up, there’s something heavy draped across your chest, and everything around you is warm.

It takes a few minutes, for everything to get back, and until you can fully open your eyes. You didn’t bother taking off your mascara – were a little preoccupied – and you’re paying for that, now.

You don’t regret anything from last night, though.

Finally, you shift so you can look beside you. You’re laying on your back and Willy is pulled up against your side, lips resting against the naked skin of your shoulder. His arm is across your body, effectively pinning you to the mattrass, as if he subconsiously tried to stop you from leaving.

He doesn’t have to worry about that.

He looks peaceful, his blond hair spread across the pillow, his eyelashes fluttered shut against his cheekbones. The rise and fall of his chest is steady with every breath he takes.

Last night comes back in flashes; lips pressed against your collarbone, your fingers curling in his hair. Your heels kicked out in the hallway, his back bumping into the wall. Cursing, laughter. His hands all over your body, with just the right amount of pressure. The way he looked like he’d never seen anything so beautiful before. The way he’d blushed when you told him that you hadn’t, either.

The question, when it was silent and dark in the room, just the sound of catching breaths.

“Stay?”

Willy’s immediate answer, unwavering and steady. “Always.”

Your alarm clock tells you it’s past 9 am, now, but you know neither of you have anything important today, so you’re more than content to press your nose against Willy’s scalp. It smells nice; familiar. He hums in response, but you don’t think he’s awake, not really.

Then, your phone buzzes.

At first, you think about ignoring it. It’s only 9am, after all, and there’s nothing that you can think of being that important. It’s probably just Zach, asking if you got home safe.

God, you’re gonna have to tell Zach what happened. He’s gonna be so smug about it; you’ll never hear the end of it.

But then your phone buzzes again, and again, and you think about Noah’s wedding. It could be your sister again, bothering you about it, or maybe your parents. Besides, the buzzing is making Willy stir, and you really don’t want to wake him up.

He’s been looking tired, the season running him down, and you’re not taking away any sleep that he could potentially get.

You carefully unwrap Willy’s arm from around you, which earns you another not-really-awake hum, this time one that sounds a little annoyed, and manage to grab your phone from your nightstand.

The words on your screen almost seem fake, but once you read them properly, you kinda feel like the room is spinning.

3 missed calls, and a text. 

From: Noah Daniels

I’m outside your apartment, can you let me in?

What in the actual fricking heavens...

With surprising clarity, your brain immediately realizes that you have two options now. You can go let him in, and talk to literally the last person on earth you wanna talk to, or you can not let him in, and risk your entire family screaming at you.

Besides, you’re supposed to be at this guy’s wedding in two days. So maybe only one option, then.

Your heart is beating way too fast, but you very slowly start the task of getting yourself out of bed without waking Will. It’s hard, to leave him there, and the thought flashes through your mind what would happen if he woke up, but he looks pretty knocked out so you decide not to worry about that.

You’ve got enough to worry about.

You throw on the first clothes you can find and try to make as little noise as you can while getting out the bedroom. Will stirs a few times, but his breathing remains even.

You really hadn’t wanted the first time you saw your ex to be like this, looking like a drowned panda wearing old sweatpants and – is that Will’s shirt, you grabbed?

But you guess you’ve learned nothing ever goes the way you want it to, with Noah.

When you open your front door, you almost expect him not to be there. Surely he was kidding, or sent that text to the wrong phone number, or it was a dare.

But no. He’s there, standing with his hands in his pockets and a hint of a smile on his face. He looks the same as he did back then, which throws you a little.

“Hi, Y/N,” he says, his voice soft. “I hope it’s not inconvenient, I was just in the neighborhood.”

“Uhm,” you bring out. It’s really inconvenient, but for some reason, the words can’t pass your lips.

“Can I come in? I wanted to talk about something, I guess.”

Great, now your nerves are truly flying at an all time high. Wordlessly, you step aside, and he takes the invitation for what it is and moves through your living room like he owns it, sitting on the couch without being asked. He doesn’t take off his shoes. It unnerves you, which is stupid, because Will doesn’t take off his shoes, either, and that hasn’t bothered you.

“You look…” Noah starts, pauses. Then settles on: “Different.”

“So do you,” you say, which is a lie, but you don’t really know what else to say. You could offer him coffee, but you find yourself not wanting to, so you cross your arms and stay standing in the middle of the living room.

“What did you wanna talk about, Noah?”

Noah sighs. “Straight into it. You never had a lot of time for small talk.”

You’re not sure if it’s meant to sound offensive, but it does. Maybe everything he says sounds offensive to you, now.

How did you ever love this guy?

“Well, as you wish.” Noah’s hands are folded in his lap. The engagement ring is shiny on his finger. “I’m getting married in two days, and you’ll be at the wedding. So I just wanted to make sure there weren’t any problems.”

Something in your brain short circuits. “Problems?”

Noah sighs again. It reminds you of the way your mom used to sigh when you were a little kid and you wouldn’t put on your shoes fast enough.

“Obviously things didn’t end great between us…”

Yeah, because you cheated. You don’t say it.

“And your sister told me you had some reservations about coming.”

That bitch.

“So I just wanted to make sure you weren’t, like, still in love with me.” He says it as if the thought amuses him. But he doesn’t look like he’s joking, and a storm is brewing in your mind. “Cause I know our relationship meant a little more to you than to me, and for that, I do apologize. But I don’t think it would’ve ever gone anywhere, anyway, you know? What we had was more of like, a summer fling.”

It’s like there’s wind whistling in your ear, but there’s no windows open in your apartment.

“A summer fling?” you repeat, a little dumbfoundedly. “We were together for four years.”

“A very long summer?” Noah offers, and you can tell by the smirk on his face he thinks he’s truly being funny.

“You cheated on me.” It’s the first time, you think, you’ve ever said those words to him, but you can’t keep them in now.

Noah’s face falls. “Hardly,” he says. “I just knew immediately that Betty was the one for me. I had to act on that, you understand that, right? I told you right after.”

Still counts as cheating. You don’t say that, either. Instead, you say: “You begged me to take you back.”

“That’s not how I remember it.”

You want to laugh. How else could he remember that night?

He stood on your porch in the darkness and said: “Look, I know it was stupid, but I’m young, and I don’t know anything about anything. I just know I miss you. The worst thing that I ever did was what I did to you, and I just want to make it up to you.”

You said: “Go fuck yourself”, slammed the door in his face and cried yourself to sleep for the next four months.

It’s not worth it, though, and it hits you how much you’ve changed. Because there was a time when you wouldn’t have had the strength to send him away, where this would’ve made you feel something. Frustration, sadness, anger. Hope, even.

It doesn’t, now. There’s not even the dull ache of being the one that was cheated on. There’s just indifference.

It feels like closure. 

“Look, Noah,” you say, “it doesn’t really matter. There’s not gonna be any problems at your wedding, okay? I’m just there because my mom wants me to be. I’ll keep quiet.” You smile, and you’re sure it looks fake but Noah doesn’t seem to notice.

“Okay,” he says. “If you say so, I believe you.” He stands up, clearly ready to go now that his worries have been soothed, then walks to the door and you watch as his hand lands on the doorknob. At the last moment, he turns around.

“I knew you understood, back then,” he says. The smile on his face is a little too sharp and pointed to be genuine. “You’re just not really the kinda girl guys end up marrying, you know?”

You’re still staring at him with your mouth open when the front door slams behind him.

Suddenly, you hear a different voice.

“Nice guy, that.”

You turn around to find Willy leaning in the doorway to your bedroom, fully clothed now. His arms are crossed and he’s frowning.

“You invite him over?”

“What?” Now you’re frowning, too. “What the fuck, Will, of course I didn’t. He just showed up.”

An unwelcome feeling is starting to creep up your spine, tingling through your skin like the most unpleasant current.

What if Noah is right?

What if this isn’t anything special to Will, what if he’s just passing the time until something better comes along? You’ve never seen him pick up many girls but looking like that, surely he does, and you think of his cocky attitude that bothered you so much before you really knew him, think of the way he was used to everyone loving him.

What if you’re just a conquest to him, to show himself that he can still get people to love him? What if you didn’t get to know the real him, but simply walked straight into his trap?

What if none of this is real and he’s going to go run off to someone else, because you’re just not that kinda girl.

“Do you think he’s right?” you blurt out, before thinking it through.

You really should’ve thought it through.

“Do you think I’m not the kinda girl guys end up marrying?”

Will’s eyes widen, and you see his hands clench where they’re wrapped around himself. Something clicks in his jaw. 

“Are you fucking serious?” he says, and he sounds upset. And angry. Really, really angry. “You really think I would be here if I did?”

You don’t answer. No, you don’t really think that. You think Will is better than that. But something inside of you is gnawing at your conscious, because if someone had asked you that question last month, you would’ve absolutely thought that.

“You do,” Will says, and he sounds like he almost can’t believe it. “You think I’m that kinda guy, still. You said you got to know me, but you still think I would be here and have sex with you and tell you all those things I told you if I didn’t mean them.”

When he says it like that, it sounds stupid, and doubt is starting to rise in your chest.

“No, Will, I didn’t mean it like…”

“But you did.” Will pushes himself away from the doorway, stalks towards his shoes and shoves his feet in. Instantly, you start to panic.

He’s leaving.

“Will, come on…”

“No.” Willy looks up, and there’s nothing but pure hurt in his eyes. It cuts like a knife, because you put that there, and you never wanted to be the reason for his hurt. 

 “You know what the funny thing is, Y/N? I’ve never thought anything bad of you. I liked you as soon as Zach introduced us. I thought we could be friends. But you were always so… judgmental, and you always rolled your eyes at me so I figured I shouldn’t bother, and that hurt, because I liked you even when you didn’t like me. And now you’re accusing me of thinking something so awful of you, when I only ever though the best, and when all you’ve ever done is think the worst of me.” 

He’s grabbing his jacket as he talks, stalks towards the door and you know there’s nothing you can do or say to stop him, not when you’ve hurt him like this.

Willy stops at the door, like Noah did. But he’s not smiling, no sharp amusement in his eyes. Only pain. Only sorrow.

“I always liked you, and you always disliked me. For no reason at all. And now, after everything, you still don’t like me, and the worst thing is, I still like you.”

The door falls quietly into the lock behind him, nothing like the way it slammed behind Noah - everything around you shatters, anyway.

--

He’s not coming you text Zach.

Zach is currently at a restaurant with his entire family in law, but he still answers right away. He’s truly been your rock, the past few days, even if he did also tell you how stupid you’ve been.

You already knew that, though.

He promised, didn’t he? He’ll come.

He won’t, though, and you can’t even blame him for it. If you were Willy, you wouldn’t come to the wedding either.

You’re standing in front of the church. Your family already spotted you, tried to get you to come inside with them, but you couldn’t. Not when there was still the slightest chance, when you still had the tiniest sliver of hope that he would be there.

“I’m just waiting for someone,” you had said, and your sister had given you a look of pity.

You kinda wanted to bite her head off, except you really didn’t have the energy anymore.

The ceremony is about to begin. If Will doesn’t show up, like, right now, he’s not coming.

He’s not coming.

Against everything you knew, you’d still hoped.

Suddenly, you hear a familiar voice.

“Y/N?”

Your eyes widen as you swirl around, but it really is who you thought you heard, her hair curled and wearing the most beautiful sundress. “Ellie? What are you doing here?”

Ellie laughs. “Your sister invited me. Said you could use some friendly faces in the crowd.” She frowns. “Aren’t you supposed to be inside? I thought I was running really late.”

“You are.” You sigh, and suddenly you feel like you could cry. You haven’t really cried, yet, refused to cry over Will when what you had was so new and uncertain. It’s not like you got dumped, for crying out loud.

If you’re never together, you can’t get dumped. So why does it feel exactly like that, then?

“Hey, what’s going on? You don’t look so good.” Ellie looks genuinely worried and that nearly pushes you over the edge; you let yourself sit down on the steps before the church.

The street is empty. The ceremony is starting, and he isn’t here. 

Ellie takes her seat next to you and waits patiently for you to talk. You want to, you need someone to talk to who doesn’t know Willy like Zach does, who might not judge you the way you’re sure Zach had – although he’d hidden it well, being too good a friend to be angry with you. 

It’s just hard to get the words out, is all.

“Remember Will?” you ask. Ellie smiles at the memory.

“The hot guy you brought to the last wedding we were at? That spent the entire evening shooting heart eyes at you while you ignored him? Yes, I remember.”

The guy who did what now?

I’ve liked you since Zach introduced us.

Fuck.

“Yeah, well.” You sigh. “I kinda fucked that one up.”

And so you tell her everything.

You tell her about the pressure of being single while Noah got married, how much you hate your family asking you those questions with pity in their eyes. About how Will promised to be your plus one if you were his; about the pact you made, the only rule that that was all it was.

You tell her you didn’t like Will, at first, but that’s because you didn’t understand him, and maybe, selfishly, because you knew how much you would like him, if you tried to understand him, and you were too scared to get hurt.

About how that happened, anyway; he wiggled his way into your heart with witty remarks and honest eyes, shy glances and the brightest smile you’ve ever seen.

About how finally, you gave in to the desire to kiss him. About how it had been magical, until Noah showed up.

How, just momentarily, you’d doubted him, because Noah’s words rang harshly in your ears and you don’t think the scars he left fully healed, no matter how many stars Will had drawn around them.

About how he immediately crawled back into his shell.

“I don’t think it’s so easy for him to let people in,” you tell her. “And he let me in and I immediately broke his trust.”

Ellie shrugs. “You were scared and hurt and you lashed out. It wasn’t a good decision, but if he likes you as much as he says he does, it won’t be the end of everything. You’ve gotta talk to him.”

“I know.” You stare at the stone of the curb in front of you. The sun makes it look strangely bright; it’s a beautiful day for a wedding. “I was scared to do that, too.”

“Yeah, but, sometimes scary things are worth it.” Ellie is looking at you, clearly trying to find something there. “Honestly, the way you’re talking about him? It sounds like he might be worth it.”

“It doesn’t matter, now.” The look on Ellie’s face tells you you sound exactly as pathetic as you think you do. “He’s not here, so he clearly wants nothing to do with me. Zach said he’d come, you know, because he promised and apparently he never breaks a promise.” You laugh, a little humorlessly. “I can’t even blame him for that, after what I said to him. But I didn’t mean it, El.”

“I know,” Ellie says softly. “But he doesn’t know that, Y/N. I’m not the person you need to be telling that to.”  

You sigh. Maybe you should, but you can’t, not right now, and you don’t think it would really matter anyway. 

“We should go inside, probably.”

“Yeah.” Ellie helps you up and tightly wraps her arm around your waist, like a crutch for you to lean on, and starts to lead you inside. One more time, you look behind you onto the empty street.

But there’s nobody there, so you enter the church.

He’s not coming, anyway. 

[everybodyscupoftea]

Ooo yes a part 2 for that new pike Jj

for sure for sure, gonna fix it!

(i know i said it’ll be up “in a bit” hours ago but time isn’t real anyway)

5 times she makes him suffer and 1 time they talk it out

same warnings as before :)

so you were pretty hurt, understandably so, jj had invalidated your feelings and, in your eyes, showed you exactly where your friendship ranked on his priority list. not a stellar night for the frat boy.

one:

sunday mornings were for brunch. jj picked you up and the two of you drove to a diner near campus. you’d been doing it for so long that all the workers knew you both by name and your normal orders. it started as a hangover thing freshman year but quickly turned into just a normal event.

that sunday, you got a text at the usual time, that read outside.

normally you’d go downstairs, but instead, you texted him not hungry and left it at that. your feelings were still pretty hurt and you’d rather have some space than possibly yell at him if he tried to push it under the rug or ignore that it happened all together.

before you had time to reconsider, he sent back i said i’m sorry

that strengthened your resolve and you put your phone down with an eye roll. he still seemed to be missing the whole fucking point.

two:

studying or doing homework in your room was never really the best option for you. for one thing, your desk was full of clothes and random shit, so anytime you wanted to do work, it had to be done on your bed. secondly, everything in your room became infinitely more interesting when the other option was homework.

so, you really tried to move around between the library and some coffee shops in the area to do your work and study. unfortunately, jj knew all of your study spots, and you still didn’t really want to see him.

it wasn’t even really about revenge, you really wanted to be the better person, rise above, all that jazz, but you were so scared you’d lash out and ruin things more than they already felt. plus, you wanted to make him suffer a little, and the dorm was the only of those places he couldn’t get into.

you’d told jj that you weren’t going to be in the library that afternoon, but he called you anyway.

“hello,” you answered, a little coldly.

“hey,” he sounded hesitant, “i got coffee and our table.”

“i cleaned my desk off so i’m just going to do the last bit of my homework here.”

“oh.”

“yeah, so i’ll talk to you later,” you said, trying to end the conversation.

“see you in class?” he asked, hopefully.

“yeah, sure.”

three:

so maybe you were still feeling a little petty. but to be fair, it was still fresh. you always beat jj to class, it was your first of the day and he had one before. the girl who sat directly across the room from you was sitting in the hall when you walked up, and you got an idea.

sliding down next to her, you cleared your throat, “hey, um, are you particularly attached to your spot in the room?”

she gave you a weird look, “i mean i’m not ready to marry it, but i like it fine enough.”

you laughed, “yeah, i was just wondering if you’d be willing to switch for the day.”

her eyebrows shot up, “depends on why. aren’t you and that blonde kid really good friends?”

with a sigh, you answered, “yeah, but he kinda blew me off the other day and it hurt my feelings. just trying to get back at him.”

she nodded, look of understanding crossing her face, “got it, we’ll switch for today.”

“god, you’re a lifesaver.”

reaching out to squeeze your shoulder, she said, “anytime.”

it was actually kind of nerve wracking waiting on jj to show up. you watched his look of confusion at the girl sitting in your normal seat next to his and then him scanning the room to find you. his face absolutely fell when he saw you sitting and you averted your eyes, not wanting to be caught staring.

the entire class you could feel him staring at you, and every time you looked up, he was pouting. you had a class across campus right after that one, so as soon as the professor dismissed you, you were packed and gone before jj could get across the room.

four:

since you’d pretty much locked yourself in your dorm room outside of class and jj couldn’t find you, he’d resorted to blowing up your phone.

hey we still on for lunch today?

guess not about the lunch...library later? i need some help with finance

wait, what problems do we have to finish for stats

want me to bring you some coffee tomorrow morning, i can swing by dunkin on the way to class

eventually ending with one that pulled on your heartstrings a little.

are you ever going to talk to me again?

you typed how’s it feel asshole into the message before thinking better of it and deleting it without sending. 

five:

about halfway through the week, doing homework in your room just wasn’t cutting it anymore. you couldn’t focus and every time you sat on your bed, you immediately grew tired. eventually, you decided to just face the music and head to the library.

you were kind of hoping jj wouldn’t be there and that your table would be empty, but it wasn’t and he was. freezing, you ducked out of view before he could look up and see you. your options were very limited of places you could go without having to actually walk past him.

with lack of better plan, you sank to the ground and leaned against one of the stacks of books, pulling your stuff out to get some work done. it wasn’t comfortable, but you already felt more productive than in your room.

and then he found you, sitting on the ground, crouched in a weird position, trying to do some history work. he cleared his throat, arms crossed in front of him, “comfortable?” he asked.

“yes.”

he rolled his eyes, “you’re really going to sit on the floor instead of sitting with me?”

“for the time being.”

“come on, just give it up.”

you cocked your head, glaring at him, “give it up? give what up?”

jj sighed loudly, “you know what i mean, this is getting ridiculous.”

straightening your shoulders, you ignored the pain in your back, and glared at him, “my feelings aren’t ridiculous. i’ll see you around, maybank.”

+ one:

you finally decided to air things out four days later. jj was sitting at your usual spot outside the chick-fil-a, not paying attention, when you sat down across from him. he looked up, clearly ready to say something, and froze when he saw you.

“haven’t seen you in a while.”

“i’m ready to talk about it,” you told him, unwrapping your food.

he nodded, “okay, i’ll start with an apology. it wasn’t cool of me, i’m sorry.”

you raised your eyebrows, “not cool of you seems a little understated.”

with a little laugh, jj added to the apology, “yeah, i got distracted and i forgot what day it was.”

“it happens i guess,” you told him, “but i was mostly upset because it made me feel like an inconvenience to you. i know your life doesn’t revolve around me and i know studying on a saturday afternoon isn’t as fun as a party, but a little heads up would’ve been nice.”

“it’s not that,” he defended, “you know i love spending time with you right? no matter what we do it’s fun because it’s us. i’ve never had a bad time. and by the way it took me five hours to do my finance homework without you.”

you laughed, “yeah, it was hard. and look, i don’t want you to lie to me, it’s okay if you didn’t want to come. just tell me next time.”

“i know this seems like a cop out, but my phone was in my room charging, it died around when we started drinking and by the time i was drunk, i’d forgotten i’d moved it in the first place.”

“i believe you,” you told him with one last sigh, finally letting it go.

“hugs?” he asked, standing and holding his arms out.

you smiled and stood, walking around the table to hug him. he squeezed you close, burying his face into your neck, and whispered, “there, best friend position restored.”

“yep, my best friend,” you responded weakly, heart sinking a little at the last word.

[everlarkficexchange]

All the World's a Stage

Prompt 31: “We never see you two so much as kiss in public but last night we all heard you having sex.” Submitted by Buttercupbadass

Rated E (Explicit): Mainly for language because Johanna is a potty mouth and so are other certain characters whilst mid coitus okay I don’t make the rules here so there’s more than one f-bomb therefore we rate it E. Also sexual content.

Written by: @katnissdoesnotfollowback

Beta reading by: @stjohn27

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

Act 1

Johanna Mason loves her neighbors. That is to say, she loves the entertainment they provide her with. It’s a rotating show of fabulous, ridiculous, and delicious drama, and she has a window to each and every one of their lives. Literally.

Victor’s Square is not exactly a square. It’s more of an elongated rectangle shaped building consisting of thirteen apartments, a workout room, a community center, and an office, with a hollowed out central area for a pool. Honestly, the pool is the reason she picked this place instead of The Arbor, which is pretty damn swanky but somehow they forgot to include a pool, of all things, when they added their five thousand luxury amenities. Since Johanna likes sunbathing and not golfing (ugh boring!), Victor’s Square won out.

The three story design of the building, and her luck in snagging the single apartment on top of the office, means that at some point in the day, barring sun glare on glass or inconvenient curtains, she can see directly into every other apartment on the rectangle. Hence the entertainment.

She’s been privy to all sorts of great shit, and none of them seem to know exactly what they’ve given her. The best part is, they’re clueless. As soon as she realized they were basically living their lives on a stage for her, Johanna started parading around her own place with the curtains wide open…while naked. Stark fucking naked. Just to see what would happen.

And nothing changed. No one complained. Which granted, she’s got a banging body. Axe wielding will do that, but she can think of at least half a dozen residents who’d be put off by her exhibitionism. And yet… nothing. No one started suspiciously keeping their curtains or blinds closed when they hadn’t before. Since they’re all too dumb to figure out that their lives are her parade, she just popped the popcorn and settled in for the show.

Tonight, however, Johanna is in no mood for the show. After a late night shift ending a bitch of a week, all she’s in the mood to do is swim a few laps to get the grime off of her skin then lay back in one of the lounge chairs around the pool, listening to the hum of the air conditioners in the sweltering Carolina night, swatting at the mosquitos because she’s too damn lazy to light the citronella torches, and stare up at the rectangle of starry sky she can see.

It’s quiet tonight. She swims her laps, and it works wonders to relax her tired bones and even more tired soul. After, she lays out on one of the squeaky lounge chairs. The hum and the warm air make her drowsy. Inevitably, she begins to doze, with only a vague awareness of the passage of time and the sounds around her.

It’s the loud click and the whoosh that wakes her. Just for a moment. Not long enough to place it at all before she fades back out into half slumber. 

Her psyche is a bitch tonight, dropping long breathy moans into her dreams. The sex so good you can’t quite keep it in kind of moans, even though you’re trying. Completely aware that she messed up a truly great thing just days ago, she tells her subconcious to fuck off and stop reminding her of the one she let get away. Because she was stubborn. Unfortunately, her subconscious is not listening to her. Stupid fucker.

Scrunching up her nose, she refuses to move. She’s sticky with sweat and pretty sure that she’ll lose two layers of skin off her back and thighs when she goes to stand up from the lounge. Besides, there’s a low moaning noise that makes her wonder if maybe she wasn’t actually dreaming those sex sounds. 

The moans in her mind grow louder and slightly more frantic until she can place the heavy feeling in her limbs. She’s awake after too little sleep. 

Damn it. She’s not actually dreaming this shit. Which means one of her neighbors is on the brink of a seriously great orgasm. She’s not sure if she’s annoyed by the fact that she herself hasn’t had decent sex in far too long, or if she’s amused at yet another dramatic chapter in life at Victor’s Square.

The real question is… who’s doing the nasty tonight?

Act 2

A slight shiver and a thrill goes through Johanna as she finally opens her eyes and stares up at the canvas of stars above her.

Another moan ends in a slight squeal and fuck it, Johanna is hooked on the mystery. Shame she doesn’t have any popcorn down here, because given the sheer volume, and the way the sounds are magnified by the shape of the rectangle around the pool, she’s pretty sure whoever it is, they’re fucking with the windows open.

Kinky.

And a lot more interesting than her job. She does a happy little shimmy and settles in to guess who it possibly could be. First things first… she glances around the pool and discovers to her dismay that every apartment has at least one window open, but they’re all dark. Not surprising given that it’s well past midnight. But it’s unfortunately unhelpful. The air conditioner must be out again. That’s probably what that loud noise was earlier.

She closes her eyes again, hoping to pinpoint the direction of the sounds to figure out which of her neighbors is getting lucky tonight. But the shape of the building makes it impossible. Sounds just carry weird in this rectangular bullhorn. They could be coming from anywhere.

“Ung, yeah, right there… oh-oooooh!” The last sound is hitched and breathy. That’s a woman’s voice, Johanna thinks. 

“Yes. Don’t — don’t stop! – I –” The word is pinched off in a desperate sort of ecstasy and Johanna smiles. This could be fun.

It can’t be Caesar and Claudius, the two radio talk show hosts who live in apartment 6. They’re gay. And men. And a couple. But truthfully, she’s not at all disappointed that she can rule them out. She already knows more than she’d like to admit about their sexual habits. Usually she’s not one to kink shame, but electrodes on nipples is a little too close to the realm of torture for her tastes.

“Yes! Please!” the woman begs and Johanna feels her body flush with the erotic sounds, she’s half aroused but fully invested in figuring out who this is. She could of course, get up and walk around to triangulate the sound, but what’s the fun in that?

She quickly rules out Mags in apartment 5. She’s the sweetest old lady, surprisingly spritely. From what Johanna has seen from old pictures of her, Mags was a fucking dish in her youth, but now she’s gotta be pushing ninety. Besides the wrinkles (shudder), Johanna would be worried about heart failure if Mags were the one getting her boots knocked around with this much vigor.

The long moans shift to the choppy, catch breath ones that mean she’s close, whoever the lucky bitch is.

Cinna in apartment 3 is out. He’s ace. Asexual and aromantic. Claims that he’s in a love affair with his work. Well if she could design clothes like the ones Cinna does, Johanna would be willing to give up sex too. She snorts a little and turns her ear, hoping for a better angle on the sound. She’s pretty sure it’s coming from one of the upstairs apartments, but can’t be sure.

Whoever it is, she lets fly a single high pitched note. And then a long stuttering moan that just sounds exactly how it feels to come back down from a really good orgasm. Satisfied, relieved, a little sleepy and a whole lotta euphoric. 

Lucky bitch, Johanna thinks again. Her legs feel heavy and her toes tingle in empathy.

Now if only she could catch something of the partner’s noises…unless the woman is masturbating. Possible, but the directions to not stop earlier make it less likely.

A low pitched murmur and a deep masculine laugh helpfully nix that thought almost as soon as Johanna has it. 

Not flying solo, but also Johanna can now rule out Enobaria and Lyme from apartment 2. She’s never understood them exactly. On the surface, you’d think they’d be perfect for one another. Their personalities mesh in a weird kinda way. Enobaria is louder while Lyme is more dignified, but they’re so often bickering about politics… and the truth is, they have an open relationship.

Or at least Johanna assumes they do based on the number of not-Lyme women Enobaria has entertained shoved up against the glass door leading to their balcony…but if not, Johanna is perfectly willing to offer up herself as a rebound to Lyme when the inevitable shit hits the fan. That woman is built like a house and fucking sexy in a domineering sort of way. Like Brienne of Tarth hotness.

She can order me to submit anytime she wants, Johanna thinks with a smirk.

As if confirming her thoughts, a long deep moan drifts down to her ears, slow and almost silky. Delighted and yet a little astonished, like he can’t quite believe his luck. Definitely a dude. Blowjob or penetration? Either way, this guy’s pent up, she thinks. She’s also guessing that the girl’s orgasm was from fingering or cunnilingus, which means the show is not anywhere near to being done.

There’s only so many people left who it could be…

Her phone vibrates on her chest and she finally opens her eyes again, lifting it above her face and squinting at the overly bright screen.

Finnick: I can’t believe you’re sleeping on this. Do you hear this?!

Johanna frowns. The time stamp is right now. Which rules out Finnick and Annie in apartment 4. Damn it. They were the most obvious choice for a man-woman pairing going at it with this much abandon, and while Johanna is pretty sure they have mind numbingly, porn worthy good sex, they’re unfortunately discreet about it. 

It’s maddening.

Whenever she talks about Finnick and Annie, Johanna’s therapist always hums that way therapists sometimes do when they know you’re engaging in something destructive or unhealthy — such as a minor obsession with your best friend’s love and sex life — but the therapist wants you to figure it out on your own. Johanna can’t help it. Finnick’s a walking sexual fantasy for almost every woman out there. Even her lesbian friends find him hot. And Annie’s gorgeous. Johanna can’t help it if she not so secretly wants them to sandwich her. She’s got a good strap on that Annie could borrow to get it done.

But alas, or maybe fortunately, Finnick’s text eliminates them as the current lucky couple. Pity. She was hoping for something new to add to her spank bank.

Johanna: Where are you?

Finnick: Well we were asleep.

Johanna: Boring. You could be giving them competition.

As if to punctuate her point, a steady cadence of low, slow moans begins filling the air. They weave through the humidity and now Johanna is just angry.

Johanna: Do you know who it is? 

Finnick: Nope. I have my theories…

Johanna: Ugh spare me. 

There’s three potential couples left, and of those three, Johanna’s got a good guess who Finnick thinks it is, or at least wants it to be.

Johanna: I’ll gouge out my eyes if it’s them.

Finnick: Say it. Call them the name.

Johanna: I’m not using that stupid nickname, you absolute child

Finnick: Like you’re any better. 

“Fuck fuck fuck, stop. You’re gonna make me come,” the lucky man gasps. The woman must say something because he chuckles and whispers back to her, the tone traveling if not the words.  Johanna sets her phone down then, perked up by shuffling noises that sound maybe like a position change. 

So who is left…

There’s Haymitch and Effie. Those two… residents of apartments 9 and 11 respectively…they pretend like they hate one another, and maybe they really do. While Johanna enjoys their epic fights, she’s not overly fond of their making up sessions. She’s pretty sure Effie was some kind of tantric goddess or pretzel in another life with the way that woman can bend.

It’s…unnatural.

Her phone vibrates again and Johanna lifts it in front of her face, this time it’s a notification from Facebook, sent out to all the residents in the group.

Effie: I have already filed a complaint with Mr. Heavensbee in regards to the broken a/c. He says there will be a repairman here first thing in the morning. In the meantime, we should all attempt to be cordial in our behaviors and not disturb the other residents since all will likely have the windows open for the night.

A text almost immediately after let’s Johanna know what her friend thinks of that.

Finnick: Where’s your sense of fun, Effie?

Johanna bites back a snort. Although the notice does rule out the exuberant woman as a candidate for Porn Queen tonight, so Johanna texts Finnick again.

Johanna: My money is on Cashmere and Gloss

Johanna sends the text and waits for the response. She’s not disappointed. She cackles internally at the flood of barf emojis and angry exclamations she gets back. Cashmere and Gloss of apartment 1, or as Johanna likes to call them, The Lannisters. Because they may be brother and sister, but they’re totally doing the nasty. Really nasty.

No one believes Johanna about this, though, and she’s not about to tell the other residents how she knows it’s a fact, not just some cockamamy theory of hers. People get pushed off walls for things like that. 

Not to mention then they’d all figure out that she can see into their apartments as well and there goes that bit of fun. 

“Fuck,” the lucky dude draws the word out into almost a croak, and there’s a soft sigh from her.

Finnick: Something is wrong with you

Johanna: Do you think he’s well hung? Whoever he is?

Finnick: Who cares as long as he knows how to use it?

Johanna shakes her head at this, easily able to picture her friend wiggling his eyebrows. 

Johanna: He sounds well hung. It could still be Haymitch, sans Effie

After all, Haymitch isn’t officially tied down, and at the last residence brunch, Peeta’s good friend Delly was visiting and wasn’t at all subtle about her attraction to Haymitch. The girl was deceptively sweet, bubbly and innocent, but with those knockers on her chest and the way she kept laughing at Haymitch’s worst jokes, Johanna is pretty sure Delly has a thing for the much older man.

Finnick: I’m going to ignore your obsession with Haymitch’s junk for now. And also nope. Annie says she can see Haymitch through our window, sitting on his balcony, drinking.

Finnick: Alone.

Well damn. There goes that theory. Just to be sure, Johanna turns her head and cranes her neck. Sure enough, Haymitch sits on his balcony, lounged back in his chair with a glass in hand. After a second or two, he must feel eyes on him because he looks down towards Johanna and lifts the glass in toast.

Which is when the wall pounding begins and the lucky man’s moans start to grow out of control. Damn. They’re really into it now. 

Finnick: You know I’m right

Johanna: You’re ridiculous.

Finnick: It’s Peeniss. How much you wanna bet?

Johanna rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Finnick has some crazy theory that Peeta Mellark, baker and all around way too nice guy of apartment 8 is somehow secretly dating Katniss-I-Will-Shoot-You-If-You-Touch-Me-Everdeen of apartment 12. Not that the girl doesn’t need a good fuck. If anyone is desperately in need of a body shaking, mind blowing, toe curling orgasm, like the one currently building in the summer night, it’s that perpetually scowling and uptight bitch. 

Johanna just seriously doubts that the woman now moaning in cadence with the steady headboard thumps and the increasing volume is Katniss. She sounds way too into it, relaxed. Whoever she is, she’s getting nailed five ways to Sunday and is ecstatic about it.

It could be one of Katniss’ lovely roommates. Katniss lives with her younger sister and one of her best friends, Madge Undersee, in apartment 12. They’re crammed into it somehow… but before Johanna can suggest it to Finnick, she dismisses the idea. 

Prim’s at college, left three days ago…so it won’t be her. Shame. She’s been living under her big sister’s overprotective arch so long that the poor girl has got some catching up to do in the sex arena. College will be good for that, but it means she’s not the woman–

“Fuck yeah.” A resounding slap and the accompanying whimper make Johanna’s eyes go wide. “Lift that ass for me. Fuck yourself on my cock. Love it when you do that.”

Whoa. Okay.

It could be Madge. Or Gale who lives right next door in apartment 13, but they’re almost as unlikely candidates as Katniss. Johanna is pretty sure Madge is a lesbian. Closeted still, unfortunately, because Johanna wouldn’t mind burying her face between those creamy thighs. And Gale… well it could be Gale, Johanna supposes, with some lucky girl who doesn’t live in Victor’s Square. 

Maybe Delly.

Shame it’s not me, Johanna thinks and risks stretching a little. It has been her before, in her own apartment, because while Gale is usually down to fuck, he’s never down to doing it in his apartment. 

That’s because he’s got a massive boner for Katniss and isn’t willing to risk her knowing that he fucks around with at least half a dozen girls that are not Katniss. Masochist. That’s what Gale is. But it’s also why Johanna doubts that Gale is the guy currently balls deep in ecstasy. He’s too loud for someone who wants to keep his sex life secret from his neighbor.

As for Peeta…well it could be Peeta with a girl who isn’t Katniss. He’s handsome and sweet enough to get plenty of pussy, if he tried—

“No! Don’t stop!”

“You don’t get to come again just yet,” the man growls and Johanna automatically clenches her thighs at the commanding tone.

More shuffling and grunting. One yelp from her, then the pounding resumes. And doesn’t let up.

“Harder!”

Faster and faster, his moans keeping pace. The resounding slapping of skin.

 “Gonna – gonna!”

A chorus of “yes’s” and desperate pleas.

“Fucking yes! Peeta!”

Her phone goes off with a stupid amount of speed.

Finnick: I TOLD YOU!!!! 

Johanna types madly at this. 

Johanna: So it’s not the Lannisters, but that doesn’t mean it’s Katniss up there with Peeta. 

Finnick: Oh come on! Who else could it be? You know he’s got it bad for her!

Okay yeah, there is that. There’s also the fact that Johanna shouldn’t be so bitter about this. Just like Katniss is in dire need of a good fuck, so is Peeta. But based on the sounds and the things they said…

Whoever she is, she’s still squealing and the thumping hasn’t let up yet. Damn that’s a long orgasm, Johanna thinks with more than a little jealousy.

“Come for me. Fucking come inside me. Now. Peeta!” 

Those aren’t the words of a sexually frustrated prude talking, Johanna wants to say. Nor are they words of a couple going at it for the first time. Nope. This couple is way too comfortable with each other for it to be a first time. This couple has fucked before. Maybe often.

Go baker boy, Johanna wants to say, but she can’t imagine who he’s with. He hasn’t so much as brought a date home in a year.

A series of texts from Finnick crop up on her phone. Flame emojis and winking faces. An eggplant or two and the three drops of water people use to represent cum. Johanna slouches in her chair, a little miffed that she can’t shut Finnick up yet until…

There’s a deep growling, animalistic sound. A long string of curse words mixed with moans and then— 

“Katniss. Fuuuuuuuuck.”

The curse word takes him about a minute to get out all the way. Damn it, Johanna thinks. Now Finnick will be impossible to live with. She can’t even look at her phone as it blows up again, knowing that he’ll be gloating. Instead she turns it off. 

As carefully as she can, Johanna peels herself off the lounge chair and tiptoes towards the stairs, intent on reaching her own balcony. Not because it sits caddy corner to Peeta’s apartment and if they’re in his room, it’ll be easier for her to hear any pillow talk. Not at all.

She hurries and nearly gives herself away with the door, but manages it. She stands in the shadows of her balcony and nearly chokes on her tongue at the first thing she hears, besides the unmistakable sounds of coming down thrusts or sucks, maybe kissing, quiet aftermath moans.

“Hold still. I’m not done.”

“Feels too good,” he pants. “Can’t take much more, Katniss.” 

“Mmm, you’ll take it and you’ll like it.”

“Yeah, I will,” he says and she giggles. 

“Are you braiding my hair?”

“Can’t help it. You look so gorgeous sucking yourself off my dick… I can stop…”

“No… go ahead.”

Another few seconds of suction noises and then Peeta sighs in relief.

There’s the fwump and creak of a bed under weight. Johanna can practically see them all cuddled up like a cute little couple in his bed. Sighing and kissing and caressing in their afterglow. 

Disgusting.

“Such a cute ass, and all mine,” Katniss says and there’s a slap then a gasp.

Fucking hell, Johanna thinks, eyes bulging out of her head.

Who would’ve thought the two of them would be so wild in bed? Who would’ve thought they were actually fucking each other?

Johanna wrinkles her nose then, finally forcing herself to go inside her own place. Just out of curiosity, though, she chances one last peek at Peeta’s place. The curtains are drawn, but a helpful gust sucks them out the window just long enough for Johanna to catch a glimpse of two naked bodies on his bed, illuminated in the soft glow of a lamp. Katniss with her head tipped over the edge in the direction of the window and a smile on her face as Peeta kisses a lazy path over her body. Her fingers plucking absently at the tangled sheets.

Well damn and fuck.

Johanna heads to bed after that and prepares a salvo of taunting for tomorrow morning. There’s no way she’s letting something this juicy go unremarked upon, especially since literally everyone who was home would’ve heard it.

Act 3

In the morning, Johanna is up early and down at the community center well before the once a month residents’ brunch that Effie insists on hosting. Poor thing is pinch faced and pale this morning, flummoxed when Johanna offers to help set up.

“I suppose. Since no one else appears to be out and about yet. Nothing funny with the vegetables this time,” Effie chastises and Johanna salutes. She’s got better things planned than erotic displays with the produce.

Honestly, she couldn’t care less about the flower arrangements or the energy inherent in the order of food laid out on the table. Helping Effie this morning affords her a prime view through the community center windows of each stairwell and of everyone arriving this morning.

And not just for brunch, she thinks with a smirk as she spots Gale, still wearing his work shirt, sneaking up a stairwell towards apartment 13. 

Where have you been all night? Johanna wonders. Not with Katniss, the girl he’s so obviously got the hots for. Even better for the impending drama. She wonders if he’ll find his neighbors present or if Katniss is still cozied up with Peeta in post coital bliss. They’re probably totally morning sex people, Johanna decides.

Slow, sweet morning sex with loving words. Ugh, gag me, Johanna rolls her eyes at her own thoughts.

Preparations move swiftly after that, even with Effie on her case every few minutes. The pending drama is just too great to dampen her mood.

Peeta’s one of the first to arrive, conspicuously alone. He chats with Johanna for a few minutes, friendly as always, and then moves off as more of the residents arrive.

It takes everything in Johanna’s energy reserve to not throw something at the back of his head. He acts like he didn’t have the fuck of his life last night. It befuddles her and also infuriates her because it means Finnick could be right. 

Oh my god, Finnick could be right about them! They might actually be dating. Who’s to say they aren’t if they can keep their sex life together such a secret. If the air conditioner hadn’t failed…

Peeta’s nonchalance this morning throws all her arguments against Finnick’s stupid Peeniss theories out the window. How is that even possible? She had Peeta pegged as a total softie. Hand holding, nose rubbing, and obnoxiously cute, borderline clingy PDA type of guy, not a rail you into the bed then pretend I don’t even know you the next morning type of guy.

Huh. Pegging. Wonder if he’s into that, Johanna thinks then has to forcibly shake the image out of her head. Because not only does it make sense in a way, but the image is also…sexy as fuck. And she doesn’t need yet another happy dappy ass couple to fantasize about and maker her therapist hum at her in that knowing way.

Fuck Finnick and his stupid theories.

When the tenants of apartments 12 and 13 finally arrive together, Madge splits off to talk to Mags. Gale and Katniss are both suspiciously wet haired. If Johanna didn’t know any better, she’d guess that they were the culprits last night, especially when Katniss doesn’t even so much as look in Peeta’s direction.

Her cheeks are flushed, but she’s avoiding her fuck buddy, talking to literally everyone else, twisting the damp ends of her braid around her finger.

“What do you make of it?” Johanna asks Finnick, bumping her hip into his. He shrugs, with that insufferable smirk on his face that he always gets whenever he’s right.

For two people who were so clearly intimate last night, Katniss and Peeta are doing a pretty good job of acting like the other one doesn’t even exist.

“They’re just… both very private people. But the signs are all there for anyone paying attention.”

“But that’s the thing… the signs aren’t there!” Johanna protests. What game are they playing, she wonders.

“I just don’t get it,” Johanna says and Finnick glances down at her.

“What?”

She waves her hands at Peeta, who looks for all the world like he’s fascinated by whatever Caesar is talking about. But why would he be when Katniss is literally right there.

“They act like nothing happened.”

“Well we know something happened,” Finnick says conspiratorially. Then his smile slips. “Actually, everyone here knows about it.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah. Apparently everyone was home last night…”

“Not Gale,” Johanna adds and lifts one eyebrow. Finnick’s eyes go wide and his mouth turns round.

“Oh my. Delicious.”

“Isn’t it?”Johanna says. “But still… you wouldn’t guess it from the way they act.”

“They can’t stop looking at each other.”

Johanna turns her head and motions at them. Absolutely not looking at one another.

“Are not.”

“You missed it. Gotta be quick with these two.”

Johanna shakes her head as she watches Katniss, and Gale who is placing some kind of food on her plate. She’s nodding and listening to him but subtly shifting the food off to the side of her plate while picking up something else and nibbling on it straight away.

And finally, Johanna can’t take it anymore. She stomps over to the tables and loads up her own plate, absolutely not eavesdropping on their conversation.

“Thought you were gonna text me when you got off work?” Gale says.

“Oh. Something came up… Prim. Prim needed to talk.”

“Everything alright?” Gale asks.

And this time, Johanna just catches the quick dart of gray eyes towards blue. Peeta’s shy smile. Katniss’ swift flutter of lashes and nibble on her bottom lip before returning her attention to Gale.

“It is now.”

“Usually is after a seriously good orgasm or two. And by the way, that’s low, using your baby sister as an excuse,” Johanna snorts. She doesn’t mean to, but it just sort of slips out.

Katniss whips around to face her. Dark rouge staining her high cheekbones and her lips pinched together.

“My sister isn’t an excuse.”

“Oh please. Cut the crap.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Katniss hisses.

“I’m talking about the fact that we never see the two of you so much as kiss or even hold hands in public, but last night, I heard you having sex. Loud sex. Phenomenal, shake the rafters loud, sex.” Johanna smirks at the pair of stunned faces looking at her. And the dozen curious faces plus Peeta’s mortified one. All of them focused on her. Center stage, she thinks with a grin and waves a half eaten croissant around at the gathered crowd. “We all heard you. Except for Gale here who was probably out getting consolation tail since you didn’t text him. Really, Brainless, what do you expect if you and baker boy are gonna bang with the windows open?”

There’s ten seconds of stunned silence before Finnick shouts, “I figured it out first, by the way!” Then he grunts as Annie elbows him in the gut.

“Baker boy?” Gale practically growls and Johanna sashays away as Peeta steps over to stand behind a now scowling Katniss. Her hand clenches into a fist as she faces Gale. She leans back against Peeta’s chest, as if she knows he’s there before she even sees him. Good for her. At least she’s not going to shy away from it. But now they’re going to be every bit as insufferably disgusting as Finnick and Annie are.

Love’s a bitch, oh well. Time for that popcorn, Johanna thinks.

[kaweeella]

To Be The Best Me

Chapter 3- Drats I Forgot To Name The Chapter

Gotta catch em allllllll pokemon

~~~

“Alright, neither of them have a lot of experience, Masumi doesn’t have a pokemon, just go over the basics with them. Also, don’t let Matsukawa cook.”

“Okay.”

Izumi gives Tsuzuru the rundown before she leaves. She only packed a few things, she isn’t going to be gone long.

“Bye, Ms. Tachibana!” Sakuya waves.

“Please take me with you.”

“I only have one ticket, sorry. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

She leaves. Her flight and time at home are pretty mundane. Nothing much happens. 

After she lands, Izumi goes back to the dorm building. When she gets in the dorm, she sees Tsuzuru writing something. Hashiru sits by his side.

“Oh, Izumi. I was working on some lessons for tomorrow. Glad to see you back, though. If you’ll excuse me,” He gets up and falls unconscious.

“Tsuzuru!” Izumi rushes over to him.

Hashiru picks him up and carries him to his room. She looks over the papers. “Jeez, how much did he write?” Potions, status affects, special care, gyms, leagues, there are several different worksheets on the topics. “How did he…? It’s only been a few days!”

“Did he finally go to bed?” Sakuya peaks in. “He’s been working nonstop. I was worried.”

Izumi stares at the papers. Had he really not slept the entire time?

She doesn’t have time to think about that, as she’s grabbed and hugged by Masumi.

“You’re back.”

“I told you it wouldn’t take long.” She pats his head.

“It was still too long.”

“So, how have things been?”

“Pretty good!” Sakuya says with a bright smile. “Mr. Minagi is a very good teacher.”

“Yeah, from the looks of it he had a lot on the lesson plan.”

“I didn’t like it. It wasn’t you.”

“Masumi, I think we’re going to have to talk about personal boundaries.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this is incredibly weird and pretty uncomfortable.”

“Oh…” He scoots away from her a little. “Sorry.”

She looks over the worksheets. They got pretty high marks on them.

“You guys have been doing good! I’m very proud.”

They both look so happy to hear that.

“So, Masumi, our next lesson will be catching your first pokemon. That is, if you haven’t already.”

“No, I was waiting to do it with you.”

“Boundaries.”

She keeps looking back at the papers. She’s surprised he was lucid enough to read, let alone write and grade these things.

“Right, how about we try tomorrow?”

“Alright.”

The next day, Izumi takes Masumi out to a wild area. They make their way through the forest, the breeze and shade of the trees making it a little cold.

“So,” Izumi tosses him a pokeball. “When catching a pokemon, you weaken it. It can be caught without weakening it, but it makes it easier.”

They continue walking until they see something wandering between the trees.

“Bud dew dew!” A budew.

Masumi throws the ball immediately. It shakes, shakes, then stops. They hear a small click.

“Good job, Masumi!”

He picks it up and turns it over in his hands. “Thank you.”

“Let’s head back and show everyone else.”

“Okay.”

They make their way back out of the forest, Izumi holding Masumi’s hand so they don’t get separated.

“So how was it?” Izumi asks as they get back to the main road.

“It was fun.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Soon the two arrive back at the school.

“Hey Tsuzuru. Sakuya.” She greets as they enter the classroom.

“Hey, how was the lesson?”

“I’d say it went pretty well.” Izumi says. “Wanna show them what you caught?”

Masumi opens the ball and out comes the budew.

“Wew bew!”

“He’s so cute!” Sakuya says.

“Good job, Masumi.”

“So we should tell you how to take care of this thing. Grass types need sun to grow properly. And water. And-” She realizes she needs to get groceries soon.

Tsuzuru rests his face in his hand and closes his eyes.

“What is it, Mr. Minagi?”

“I feel like there’s something about budew that I’m forgetting.”

Masumi recalls budew and the four of them head back to the dorm.

“I’m gonna go get groceries. I’ll be right back.”

“Right. I’ll look after them while you’re gone.”

Izumi heads out. The three of them watch tv for a few minutes.

“Do you guys wanna play a board game or-” Sakuya’s suggestion of impromptu family time is interrupted when…

“Ahh!” They hear someone screaming outside.

“I’m going to check it out. You two don’t go outside.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

Tsuzuru rushes out to see someone being chased by a grumpig. He quickly jumps between the man and it and calls out Hashiru.

“Look at that thing...” Sakuya mutters as he and Masumi watch what’s happening through the window.

“Do you think he’ll be able to handle it?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Harishu use dual chop!”

Harishu lunges forward and cracks down on it twice. The grumpig stumbles back before readjusting. It stands up, the orbs start glowing, and it begins…

“What’s it doing?” Masumi asks.

“Looks like a dance.”

“Weirdest dance I’ve ever seen.”

“Damnit.” Tsuzuru mutters.

The kids watch as the two men’s limbs tense up and then go limp.

“What are they doing?”

“Nothing good. We should help them!”

“How are we gonna do that? We have two pokemon between us and no experience.”

“We have to do something!” 

Sakuya runs outside while Masumi grabs the phone and starts dialing.

“Hey!” He calls. The grumpig stops and looks at him. “Leave them alone!”

“S-Sakuya? I told you to stay inside!” Tsuzuru says when he snaps out of his trance.

“Always a big brother, huh Tsuzuroon?”

“What?” He looks at the man behind him. “Miyoshi?! How did you get yourself into this?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

The grumpig headbutts Tsuzuru in the ribs.

“Fuck.” He mutters under his breath. He recalls Hashiru, grabs Kazunari and Sakuya and runs back inside. The grumpig bags on the door for a few seconds, before giving up and wandering away.

“Bad job.” Masumi says.

“Fightings weak to psychic. What do you want from me?” Tsuzuru turns to Kazunari. “And what exactly happened?”

“I guess it was just in a bad mood. Wish I brought my pokemon with me.” He rubs his neck and chuckles nervously.

“Wait, Mr. Minagi do you know him?”

“I’m Kazunari Miyoshi!” He turns to Tsuzuru. “So, Mr. Minagi. What’s that about?”

“He’s my teacher!”

“I didn’t know you were a teacher.”

“I’m not. The head teacher just needed a sub.” He suspects that she’s not a teacher either, but he keeps that to himself.

“It’s good to meet you, Mr. Miyoshi!”

There’s a knock at the door. When Tsuzuru answers they see a man with dark skin, blue eyes, and a black headscarf. He’s holding the grumpig. It’s struggling something fierce.

“Your grumpig got out!”

“That’s not our grumpig.”

The grumpig wiggles it’s way out of his grasp. It’s orbs start glowing again. Masumi grabs the phone again.

Kazunari throws his jacket at it, something falling out of his pocket. A pokeball falls out and hits it. Shake… shake… shake… click.

“Nevermind. He caught it.” Masumi says into the phone.

Kazunari slowly picks up the pokeball and looks it over.

“Good job, Miyoshi. Now please get out.”

“Wow, so cold, Tsuzuroon.” He grabs his jacket and stands up before pausing. “Thank you, by the way.”

Before anyone can react as a grocery back is thrown through the door, hitting Kazunari in the chest and knocking him over. Another one is thrown and goes over his head.

“Christ!” Izumi enters the door.

“Izumi, why are you so angry?”

“Why?! I got a call telling me there’s a problem so I run from the grocery store all the way here and then I get another call saying it’s back and then “Oh, it’s fine now.” after I’ve already got here and I see two strangers with the kids. Pardon my french but putain je suis tellement fatigué que j'ai couru jusqu'ici, est-ce que c'est arrivé la première fois que je suis parti aussi? C'est quoi ce bordel.”

“Sorry, Ms. Tachibana, I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again, Ms. Tachibana.” Tsuzuru quickly says.

“So, who’re they?”

“Kaz-Kazunari Miyoshi, ma’am.”

“And you?”

“I’m Citron! I returned your grumpig!”

“Still not our grumpig.”

“Oh yeah, where is it?”

“Right here!” Kazunari shows off the pokeball. Izumi stares.

“Minagi. Minagi get the bat.”

“Hey, I couldn’t catch it before because I didn’t have any of my other pokemon on me so I had to run and then Tsuzuroon stepped in to save me! Please stop being mad.”

“Whatever. I got the groceries. Could you boys put them away? I’m tired from my impromptu run.”

They all start putting the stuff away. Citron walks over to Izumi.

“Huh? What do you want?”

“Here,” He says, presumably with a smile. “Pet ninetails. She’ll make you feel better.” He opens a pokeball and out pops a fluffy silver-blue ninetails.

“Huh. I’ve never seen a ninetails like that before.”

“This one lived on an arctic mountain. They adjusted to the colder temperatures and became ice types.”

“Okay… is she gonna curse me if I touch her?”

“No, not at all. At least not according to any texts I’ve read.”

“Alright.” She pets the fur. It’s soft and cold.

“I apologize for any inconvenience I’ve caused.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Alright,” Tsuzuru says. “Groceries are away.”

“Woah.” Sakuya stares in awe at the ninetails.

“Sick ninetails, Ronron.”

“No, I assure you she’s quite healthy.”

“He’s saying he likes it.”

“Thank you!”

“She’s so pretty!”

“She is, isn’t she? By the way, Izumi? Your french is impeccable, though your vocabulary is a bit crude.”

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 29: Toe the Line

Lance isn't creepy! He swears he's not creepy! This is basically fluffy filler, so like... the cocoa pebbles of breakfast cereal? Idk eat it and enjoy

First  Previous  Next

“Okay, so what you want to do is follow and flee from my toes.”

“Excuse me?” Keith’s flat stare has Lance biting his lip. “Don’t laugh at me! It’s not my fault!”

“How can you dispatch soldiers with such grace and yet you’re the most awkward dancer I’ve ever had the misfortune to be paired with?” Lance’s scales gleam with his amusement.

“Because kicking ass is important. This is not important.” Keith glares at his awkward feet. “This is the exact opposite of important.”

“It’s extremely important- Hey.” Lance moves his hand from Keith’s waist to his chin, encourages him to meet his gaze. “Don’t look at your feet; look at me.”

“But if I look at you I- Sorry!” Keith’s ears wilt as he moves his foot off of Lance’s.

Lance just laughs, scales glittering with light. He playfully steps on Keith’s foot in return. “It’s fine. You’re fine, beloved. Just look at me and follow. Your feet will figure it out.”

He can’t. He’s too busy glaring at his feet. He doesn’t know how to do this. He doesn’t want to do this.

They're in a random sitting room, all the furniture pushed up against the walls so they have space. Light, airy music filters through a system of speakers. Keith doesn't know how to dance, and frankly never cared to. He still doesn't, in fact. But he was informed by Alfor this morning that he must learn, and quickly, so here he is.

“Beloved,” Lance murmurs. Keith sighs, forces himself to look at his spouse. That delicate brown hand reclaims his waist. “One step at a time, okay? We’ve got this. Let me lead. You follow. I know you like being in control, but I know what I’m doing and this is how Adam wants it.”

“I’m starting to think Adam just wants me to be female.”

“You think so?” Lance asks, frowning. Keith’s gratified that Lance doesn’t seem to like that, doesn’t dismiss him immediately. He manages to keep moving without stepping on Lance’s toes again, but he’s still stiff and awkward.

“That’s how it feels. Seems my womb is the only thing people around here care about.”

“Well, it is. In a way.” Lance gently guides Keith into a new step. “See, we are not people, you and I. We cannot be. The difference is that I am something more, and you are something less.”

“Gee, thanks.” Keith stumbles, regains his composure. Lance gently reorders their feet. The Altean has far more patience. Keith envies that.

“Adam’s coaching has made you likeable. It has made you relatively safe. But the one thing my father and I can agree on is that we must be more than people. We must be untouchable.”

“How the fuck does that work?” That somehow still feels like being less to Keith.

“Charisma and perceived power. Which you have none of. But don’t worry. We’ll find you some.”

“Yeah…” Keith sighs, steps forward as Lance steps back, as those delicate hands coax him to follow, to keep them together- Oh. Keith can work with that. He’ll keep them together. That can be his job.

“Good! Hey, you’re doing really good!” Lance grins at him, spins him out, draws him back in. Silent communication, Keith thinks. Physical communication. He smiles, ears perking just a bit. “There’s that smile! You’re doing great, beloved.”

“Thanks…” Keith’s ears are still tipped back and out just a bit, Lance notices.

“What’s bothering you?”

“I… I’m not sure how to explain it.”

“You don’t like it, do you?” Lance whispers. The music tinkles along in the background, but Keith barely hears. “You don’t like what Adam’s asking of you.”

“I’m not your wife, or your pet, or a decoration, which is exactly what he seems to think. I guess I've just grown tired of it?”

“So… Don’t do that.”

“I thought you wanted the people to like me,” Keith grumbles glaring back down to his feet again.

“I think you’re extremely likeable. You’re reserved, clever, sassy. Pretty. You don’t need to be my pet. Frankly, I find the idea repulsive.”

“You…” Keith’s brows crinkle up, a cute little frown crossing his face. His ear twitches with a sudden wave of shyness. As a poorly-socialized runt, he doesn’t get compliments like that very often. Never, actually. “You think I’m pretty?”

Those dark eyes peer up at him through thick eyelashes, and Lance is reminded once again that he’s terrible. A terrible person, and a weak one. “W- Well, yeah. I mean… Y- You’re very pretty, y’know, for a person. Any person. I mean, beautiful even, as far as people go. Like all people. Of all ages. I’m not creepy! I swear I’m not creepy!”

Keith laughs, admiring the way Lance’s blush creeps up to his pretty, pointed ears. He’s never seen the charismatic Altean so awkward. It’s reassuring, in a way, to see him so flustered. It makes him seem closer, not so far above Keith.

He chooses not to mention that many Galra find their mate before their final growth. He imagines it’ll make the next few phoebs more interesting.

“I think you’re pretty, too,” Keith whispers. “Especially when you babble like that.”

This automatically leads to more babbling, until Lance finally takes a deep breath and says, ever so eloquently, “You dance good.”

Keith smiles, ear twitching shyly. “Not bad for some backwoods kit, huh?”

“Not bad for anybody, beloved.”

“Right.” Keith doesn’t buy it for a tick. He knows what an inconvenience he’s been-

“I literally do not care, Keith. I don’t care where you came from, or where you grew up- Well, no. that’s not true. I care about that very much. It’s a part of who you are. What I mean is-”

“Lance, it’s fine. You don’t have to-”

“What I mean is it doesn’t bother me. Not a thing about you bothers me.” Lance smiles, watching Keith’s ears hit that angle to indicate his embarrassment.

Lance had it wrong when Keith first arrived. Keith can be very expressive when he’s comfortable. Meaning that the only conclusion Lance can draw from what he’s currently looking at is that Keith is comfortable with him.

It causes some kind of unfamiliar, fluttering warmth in his chest. It feels like there’s a small bird hovering in his chest, tiny wings brushing against his insides. He feels guilty, standing here with this kit in his arms, his feelings threatening to burst out.

He’s not physically attracted to Keith, of course. It doesn’t matter how old he looks; attach the word ‘kit’ or any equivalent to someone, and Lance is immediately turned off. But beauty is subjective, and everyone one has some aesthetic that endears them. He finds Keith beautiful, and it makes his heart feel warm.

How is he supposed to feel, spending so much of his time with Keith, a complex blend of shy and fierce, timid and outgoing, impenetrable and vulnerable? It’s like the Ancients are playing some terrible trick on him, blessing him with something he can never truly have.

“Is something wrong?” Keith asks, head cocked. Those violet eyes shine so bright, mouth held in a tiny frown.

Lance smiles, because what else can he do? “Not a thing.”

He squeezes Keith’s hand, uses the one on his waist to pull them closer together. Keith feels the warmth between them, finds he doesn’t mind. He’s heard the worry in Lance’s words.

Keith understands the difficult position they’re in, knows exactly where that poorly hidden worry comes from, but with Lance guiding him so carefully, he doesn’t feel uncomfortable at all. He feels safe.

Safe enough to later groan along with the rest of the court when Lady Seran stomps in to complain about how someone looked at her kits funny. The poorly suppressed smile curling Lance’s lips feels like a reward.

When Keith takes Lance's hand on the arms of their thrones, it’s a matter of choice, not duty.

[calumbringbackthewatermelonshirt]

Why You? (C.H.)

a/n: ENEMIES TO LOVERS bby aww yeah its here. this is only the first part, there will be a part two i swear!! (Maybe even part three idk). also, disclaimer: I really, really lover the name gemma!! I think its super pretty!

There were two things in this world that Gemma was certain of. One, that her parents had really fucked her over by naming her Gemma. And two, Ashton Irwin had terrible taste in friends. 

Well, friend.

Calum Hood. The bane of Gemma’s existence. Somehow, when he walked into the room, every rational thought she ever had left. They replaced themselves with the need to make passive-aggressive comments. 

Now, Gemma prided herself on the fact that she was very much not a bitch. Well, as much as possible, she wasn’t. But it was hard to not hate this man. His irritating smirks, the way he smoked, even how he always called her Germ (Gemma, Gem, Germ. Real clever, Cal).

But what ticked her off the most was how he always barged in unannounced. To everything.

This was especially inconvenient now. You know, since Gemma was half drunk and sobbing her eyes out on Ashton’s couch.

“I don’t get it, you know?” It had been a tough day at work. It was always a tough day at work. Gemma watched as her tears plunked into her wine glass, a frown reflected back to her on the maroon surface. “I’m just plain better than him. So why am I always last for promotions?”

“It’s probably the fact you think you’re better than everyone.” Oh, great. If there was one thing this night was missing, it was that ever-present nail on a chalkboard voice.

There were several different types of drunks, as far as Gemma was concerned. Weepy, fun, angry, needy, philosophical, and blackout. Normally, Gemma was a very fun drunk, the life of the party. But she was about to turn into the Incredible Hulk of drunks. 

“Cal, what’s up?” Ashton jumped off the couch, a smile on his face and a hand outstretched to greet his friend.

“Was in the neighborhood. Figured I’d stop by and see if you wanted to hang.” Cal shot daggers at Gemma then, crossing his arms. “Didn’t know you had company.” 

He practically spat out the word.

“Whatever, bitch boy. I was leaving anyway.” Gemma threw the blanket off of her, using more force than necessary and began snatching up her things. She hated acting like this in front of Ashton, but if Gemma didn’t stomp her feet to release anger, well, there was a chance Cal wouldn’t be able to have kids in the future.

“Gem, wait. You’re drunk.” Ashton caught her arm, concern written all over his face. Gemma watched him as he kept glancing over at his keys on the kitchen counter. His concern wasn’t her problem, though. 

“I already called for an Uber. It’ll be here in five.” Gemma made another move for the front door, only to find Ashton’s hand still on her arm, a tight vice grip.

“At least wait inside where you’ll be warm.” She almost said yes. It was right on the tip of her tongue, waiting to spring into the world and agree. And then.

“Nah, let the drunk wait out in the cold. Maybe she’ll sober up a bit, eh?” Calum fucking Hood. The door was slamming shut behind her before Ashton could even blink.

Gemma could see her breath in the desert air. That’s what kept her from screaming into the night sky. Well, that and basic social constructs. But Gemma kept it in. Each time a puff released out into the night sky, she felt a little more tension leave her shoulders. Yeah, she still wanted to feel her hands around Calum’s neck. And yeah, she still wasn't promoted. But at least there was the cold.

--

“Why do you two hate each other?” Ashton stood at his door with his eyes closed and forehead resting on the frame. 

“I have no idea what you’re referring to.” Cal was rummaging through Ash’s fridge, looking for something to drink out of boredom.

“I’m serious. Why? Why are you two constantly at each other’s throats?”  Ashton spun, rubbing his hand roughly over his face. There was always this tension between the two of his friends, and it was torture for Ashton. Every party playing the negotiator, every dinner he was the peacekeeper. Hell, he practically had to put them in a time out the last time they went to the bar together. It wasn’t like he could just not invite them to things. Gemma and Calum were two of his closest friends, and he wanted them at important things. “I mean, on paper, you two should be best friends.”

Cal spat out the kombucha he had found in the depths of the fridge. “What the fuck?”

Calum and Gemma had nothing in common. Nothing. Cal was cool, confident. He was a normal fucking human being.

Gemma Rossi was out of her mind. She was a control freak, and barely tolerable even at her best. Everything that came out her mouth was both petty and passive aggressive.

“First off, I am nothing like that psychopath. Second, what the fuck?” Cal’s voice rose more and more with the second what the fuck. This time it was his turn to slam things, the kombucha splashing out onto the counter as it made contact with the top of the kitchen island. 

“I’m serious. You’re both funny and cool. And know-it-alls.” Ashton was starting to see this. See everything. Calum and Gemma paired perfectly together. They had enough similarities to get along, but plenty of differences to still have stuff to talk about. This was maybe brilliant. 

“You’re out of your mind.” Cal rolled his eyes, hard. The last time he had a full length conversation with Gemma, she told him he was drinking beer wrong. As if that was even a thing. 

Cal was tired of this bullshit spiel Ash was going on. It was hard enough having to interact with her almost daily. He didn’t need Ashton comparing him to her now. It wasn’t that Cal didn’t want to like her. In fact, he tried to see the best in people even at their worst. But the way Gemma was so full of herself, so sure she knew everything. God, it set fire to something deep within his soul. 

When he told Ashton as much, Cal did not enjoy his response. 

“That’s called being horny, mate.” Ash let loose a giggle, rubbing his hands together. The grin stayed on his face. “And that whole sure of herself thing? Confidence.” 

Cal just grumbled and swallowed the rest of his kombucha in lieu of a response. Truth was he didn’t have one. It was hard enough trying to convince himself to be civil with her, much less try and see her as a likable person. 

--

Coffee was a safe space for Gemma. Caffeine had never really had an effect on her, but it was comforting. She didn’t care hot or cold, as long as the coffee was strong. 

So when none other than one Calum Hood sauntered his way into her favorite shop next to the recording studio, she deflated, to say the least. 

All she wanted was one thing. One thing unmarred by the smug jerk that was Calum Hood. She brought her phone to her face and her coffee to her lips, trying to hide as much as her face as possible as she attempted to escape from the shop without speaking to him. Well, walked dignified, not escaped. She wasn’t afraid of speaking to him, of course. She would merely prefer not to. 

“Hello, Gemma.” Ah, there it was. He was leaning with one shoulder on the wall, waiting in the queue. It would have been kind of hot, had it been anyone else. Well, it was still kind of hot. But Gemma would never admit that, not even to herself. Feelings for Calum were like bathing in mud. Disgusting on principle, no matter how good it might feel. 

“Hey, Calum.” She forced a smile onto her face, but it greatly resembled the smile of the Mona Lisa. Practically non-existent. So much for escaping unnoticed. “I have some papers for you to sign when we get back to the studio.” 

“Ah, look at the little lawyer, ever the professional.” Cal smirked at her, his arms still crossed as he stepped up to the counter to order his drink. “Since you did say ‘we,’ I’m assuming you want me to walk back to the studio with you. Now, while normally I find desperation unattractive, I’d love to accompany you back to the studio. If you’ll so kindly wait as I get my beverage.” 

Gemma had to find a new job. When she signed up to be a legal representative for bands, she thought it would be exciting. Meeting new people, traveling the world. She didn’t know how much of a pain in the ass said bands would be. Maybe at her next job she’d get respect. She could see it now, her own little fantasy keeping her sane as she stood next to her least favorite person in the coffee shop. She didn’t feel inclined to leave the fantasy, that is until Calum started snapping his fingers right under her nose. 

“What.” Her voice was flat. Gemma had recently come upon the decision that no emotion was probably better than anger her voice, so she kept it neutral. 

“I was just asking you what you got.” Gemma looked at him with a blank stare. Got? Got what? She certainly didn’t have anything for him, if that was what he meant. 

Calum must have seen the confusion on her face, judging on how hard he rolled his eyes. “To drink.” 

“Oh. Just a cold brew dark roast.” Gemma started down at her shoes, a small smile playing upon her lips. Who was this man next to her, asking downright civil questions? If it had been anyone else, she could have mistaken it for some twisted form of casual, pleasant conversation. She glanced up at Calum again to make sure that it was, in fact, Calum Hood standing next to her and not some reverse-doppelgänger that was kind instead of evil. 

Then Calum snorted. “Guess that explains why you’re so bitter all the time. The coffee is a reflection of your soul.” 

Ah. There it was. 

---

Calum didn’t know why he said it. They had been having a decent conversation. He had even thought to himself how nice it was to have a talk with her that didn’t include fighting. So why had he gone and ruined it? He had never been the self sabotaging type, even though there was nothing to sabotage. He didn’t want there to be anything to sabotage, either. 

But when Gemma had smiled at him, well, at something he said… It was kind of nice. That’s why he said that. She was about to say something, Cal could just tell. But he turned away from her, going to retrieve his coffee instead. It was hard enough watching her smile and charm the pants off of their bosses every day. He didn’t need her fake attitude with him as well. Although, if there was one person Gemma was never fake with, it was most definitely Cal. She had been up front with her dislike of him right from the start. And she never tried to hide it either. 

Still, as she followed him out of the coffee shop with several exasperated sighs, he couldn’t help but wonder about what it was like for her to smile at him and mean it. He shook his head quickly. It was probably awful. He would never enjoy her smiling at him. It’d be weird… and gross. 

The studio was at most a four minute walk, but god, did it feel like an eternity. So much awkward silence ensued, Cal almost wished they were screaming at each other. Which, she was probably close to doing. 

“Listen, darling, if you want me, you can just say so.” Calum figured it was a good enough ice breaker. Gemma could yell and rant all she wanted, but Cal just wanted her to get it over with before they got to the studio. The studio was his sacred space. 

“All I want from you is silence. And to be left alone, but I’ll settle for silence at the moment.” Gemma was clutching her coffee like her life depended on it. Her Knuckles were practically white, and Calum could swear that there was a vein bulging in her forehead, just like the cartoons. 

“Well, your wish is my command, dollface.” Calum mock-bowed and could hear her practically growling. The smirk that played upon his face was just reflex at this point. Making her angry was so easy these days. He bowed again as he held the door for her when they got to the studio. Just to rub it in. 

---

“I’m done with him. Ashton, if I never see him again, it’ll be too soon, I’m telling you.” Gemma dropped her head into her hands and sighed. What was the point of life really? “In fact, I might have to strangle him.”

“I’d really prefer if you didn’t. We kind of need him for the band.” Ashton leaned on the counter adjacent to Gemma, staring hard at her. His brow was furrowed, as if he was trying to make a tough decision. About what, Gemma had no clue. “We should go get drinks tonight.” 

“Um, no? You’re literally a recovering alcoholic. There’s not a chance in Hell I’m putting you in that situation, especially when you’ve come so far.” Gemma picked her head up, studying every inch of Ashton’s face. She could not have been more proud of him, each day her heart swelling more with pride and love in his progress. She would never, ever let herself even think of putting him in a situation that could harm him. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ashton chuckled, twisting a ring on his index finger. “Better than ever, actually. I was thinking we could just go to a restaurant, actually.” 

“Oh. Well in that case. Sure.” 

--

Thirty-eight minutes. That’s how long Calum had been sitting alone at the bar of some poorly-lit restaurant waiting for Ashton, without so much as even a text. Ashton had a lot of great qualities, but being reliable wasn’t one of them. 

Minute thirty-nine was when he noticed her. Gemma. 

She, too, was sitting alone at the bar, just a few seats down. Calum was guessing that she hadn’t noticed him yet, since she hadn’t fled the bar like a trapped animal. 

She was furiously typing on her phone, a petulant frown upon her lips. Her dark hair was pulled up into a ponytail, but there were a few little strands falling out around her face that did nothing to conceal the alcohol induced flush on her cheeks. 

Cal was wondering why she was here. That is, up until a large man came up and put his arm around her shoulders, leaning in until his lips were practically on her face to speak to her. 

Cal almost looked away. He almost left, almost minded his own business. 

Until he saw the look of disgust on Gemma’s face. And the way she tried so hard to get his arm off of her. 

Maybe he hated Gemma, but she didn’t deserve this. No one did. 

“I don’t see a boyfriend anywhere.” God, Calum could smell the stale beer on his breath from here. He didn’t know who this guy was but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Gemma wanted nothing to do with him.  

“How bout now?” As the drunk straightened, Cal sized him up. While the man probably had about fifty pounds on him,  Cal had a solid two inches on the drunk. 

But the drunk just grumbled something about ‘whore’ and ‘not worth it’ and waddled away. 

Gemma, for the most part just looked defeated. Slightly surprised, but again, mostly defeated. 

“Hello Calum.” It came out with a heavy sigh, but Cal still took the seat next to her. 

“Aw, hello to you too babe.” The bartender slid Cal’s half finished drink back down to him, and Cal took a long sip. “Don’t look so happy to see me.”

Gemma snorted. Like actually snorted, as in the sound a pig makes. And then she laughed. Calum was convinced he had broken her. Who knew that was all it took. 

“I’m sorry. It’s just. Why you? Why did you, of all people, have to be here? What god cursed me with having to deal with you constantly? It’s just- why are you here?” Gemma looked incredulous. She stared at Cal, one eyebrow cocked, and a sarcastic smile on her lips. 

“Ashton told me to meet him here and then never showed.” As soon as Cal said Ashton’s name, Gemma fully choked on her drink, coughing and everything. Cal just stared at her, wondering if she was so drunk that she could remember how to swallow. Was that even possible? 

“Okay. I should go.” Once again, Gemma was trying to escape having to have a conversation with Calum. He had half a mind to just let her go. But curiosity got the better of him, so he followed her out into the frigid air. 

“Hang on. What do you know?” He stood next to her on the street. There was something going on for sure, something she knew that he didn’t. 

“According to you, nothing.” She smirked, clearly reveling in the fact that she had something he wanted. 

“Spill.” It was cold, and Cal just wanted to be at home in bed, not here playing games with Gemma. 

“Fine.” Gemma shivered in her sheer top, clearly as cold as Calum. “I think Ashton set us up. I was supposed to meet him here, too.”

“I’m going to strangle him.” Cal closed his eyes and tipped his head up to the sky, exhaling slowly. 

“You and me both.” Cal watched as Gemma turned away from him and began walking down the dark street, her shoulders hunched for warmth. 

Calum really had to learn to bite his tongue. And not stick his nose in other people's business, especially not Gemma’s. Still, it was getting harder and harder for him to convince himself he didn’t care. Even though he didn’t. Care, that is. She could walk home in the cold, all alone in the dark. Wouldn’t matter to him. Not one bit. In fact, it’d probably be good for her. Teach her a lesson about forgetting her coat. 

That reasoning was how he found himself walking her home, his warm leather jacket around her shoulders. 

@rip-lukes-balsamic​

[talesmaniac89]

Choices - Sam - Front Door

New to Choices? Start Here

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Summary: Choices is an interactive Supernatural choose your own adventure story where your choices determine the outcome and whether it’s a Dean x Reader or Sam x Reader. Go to the intro to start your story now!

Triggers: Swearing, hostage situation, pain, worry

Choice:  [You chose to go in through the front]

Y/N = Your Name 

---

Glancing at the massive mansion you weighed your options. Sure, you could probably sneak around the back easier than Sam. But the front door was also most likely to draw the witches’ attention. You were smaller than the boys, you stood a better chance at dodging whatever they threw at you while the boys made their way through the house. 

Sam was faster than you too. With his long legs he’d make it around the back way before you ever could. Which meant you’d get all three hunters into the house quicker. Making the hunt tip in your favour instead of the two against two it’d be while you made your way around following the tree line. 

Yeah… The front door was your best bet at keeping the two men in your life safe. 

“I’ll take the front door,” You said as you steeled yourself for the hunt and Sam’s surely soon to follow overprotective rebuttal. Choosing to focus on rechecking your revolver for the thousandth time, you kept your eyes away from Sam’s squared jaw and the way you could follow the worried words he swallowed back down with a bob of his adam's apple. 

“No (Y/N), I’ll take…” His normally light eyes were darker where he watched the front door, as if an army of monsters were waiting for you on the other side of the white wood. His big hand shook from strain as he clenched his own gun at his side. The worry rolling off him in waves and wrapping around you like warm, soft cotton. 

“No can do big man. You’ll make it ‘round the back much faster than me, and we need all hands on deck. Stat,” You shot back with a tired sigh. You didn’t have time to stand around there and argue. Your body was buzzing with unused adrenaline, your muscles tensing and relaxing with the need for action now that you were so close to finishing the hunt.

“(Y/N)...” Sam’s voice was low and rough, the early hints of a whispered argument you didn’t have time to listen to. You didn’t need to hear his many reasons, or whatever excuses he’d tried to cook up. 

There was no way you were putting him, or his brother, in harm's way by sitting the hunt out. No matter what Sam was planning to say to stop you from walking through that front door. And you sure as hell weren’t going to walk around the back and leave the two of them alone in there for God knows how long with the size of the house as big as it was. 

Still, you kept your eyes on your weapon, on the door, on Dean… Anywhere but Sam. Knowing that those damned puppy dog eyes could always make your stubborn strength crumble. You weren’t going to leave him. Ever. Even if you couldn’t tell him how you felt. Choosing to just hastily slip your heart into his big palm and hide it up his sleeve instead. 

You not going in there... Hell, to you that meant deserting him. Even if he saw it as a way of keeping you safe from the many imagined shadows in his mind. If Sam’s fears were the monsters in his closet, then you would be the flashlight and soothing lullabies that he never got as a child. The warm hand to hold that assured him he could still rely on others, that people wouldn’t just up and leave.

You were not going to run from the front-lines. You weren’t letting him fight your battles for you as if you were some sheltered princess hiding behind the walls his fears had shaped him into. You’d promised yourself to never abandon the Winchesters, and that’s exactly why you had to go in the front door. You had to hunt with them. 

“Don’t Sam. I’ll… We’ll meet up inside, ok?” Biting back the promises you wanted to give him, if only to soothe his worry, you straightened and walked past him instead. Eyes locked on the white wood of the front door as you fought the urge to brush up against his sleeve and check in on the heart you’d safely tucked away under the flannel. 

“I just… Please be safe, alright?” Sam’s hand was wrapped softly around your small wrist as he stopped you in your step. Big, calloused fingers brushing against the sensitive skin above your pulse point, as if he was reassuring himself that you were still alive even as you stood right next to him. The small, gentle gesture made you catch your breath as you struggled to keep your voice strong and confident. Turning with a smile you let your own forced bright words chase the last of the shadows from worried eyes. 

“Of course, I’ll kick ass in there, then we’ll go home, together,” You promised as you carefully removed your wrist from his shaky hold. The small circles his index finger has traced on the soft skin above your pulse etched into the very core of you as you forced yourself to refocus on the door. On the hunt. 

In the not-so-immortal words of Elmer Fudd; it was time to hunt some rabbits… Or, well, witches. But who the fuck cared? Whatever was hiding in the McMansion ahead of you, it was as good as dead now that the Winchester’s and you had shown up to play.

Keeping your steps light and your eyes on the wooden door you tried to ignore the feel of Sam’s eyes burning into you. The warmth of worried eyes dragged up your spine the same way you’d imagined big hands do time and time again. He should be moving, not watching you run towards the door. But you couldn’t turn around to signal for him to get going. Not when you knew he was standing there, looking afraid and alone with dimming sunshine eyes that would make you want to run back to him.

And so, you kept moving, keeping your eyes on the heaviness of wood ahead instead of the soft heartrending protective worry behind you. Worry you knew wouldn’t fade until you met up again inside the house. Until he was certain you wouldn’t leave him in that achingly permanent way that each new vicious monster tried to make a reality. The way you were unfortunately likely to leave him at some point in the future. Since your lives didn’t really hold the promise of forever. 

For now, you just had to rely on the heart in his sleeve to keep the hunter company. To keep Sam safe until you could have his back again. 

--- 

The front door was locked. 

Of course it was. Nothing could ever be easy. Why couldn’t just one monster, just once, make your lives a bit easier by rolling out the red carpet and lining up in front of you? A little roll-call of big and bad for you to check off, one bullet at a time. 

Luckily, a locked door had never stopped you. So, just as you felt the warm worry of Sam’s eyes leave you to start moving around to the back of the house, you slid down to crouch in front of the door. Resting on the balls of your feet, you momentarily holstered your gun to dig out the small lock picking kit you always kept on you. 

As the scouts said; always be prepared. And though you might not have had the girl scout, cookie sales type of childhood, you were damned sure to be prepared for any situation. Weapons and other little lethal toys included. 

The lock was pretty basic. For a mansion that just screamed ‘rob me’, the owners had felt quite secure in their seclusion. Relying only on a standard single cylinder deadbolt lock. Opening the door itself was child's play. Even if the short inconvenience had your body itching for action. 

As soon as you heard the satisfying click of metal sliding against metal you pocketed your kit again. Your hand finding your revolver at your side as you carefully stood back up and let your eyes glance behind you to find both boys gone. Dean would be just reaching his door by now, and Sam still had a bit left to move around the freakishly large house. 

Keeping the gun pointed at the door you took a small careful breath and rolled tense shoulders. It was show time. You’d go in, kick some Copperfield wannabe’s ass and find the boys again. Just like you always did. 

---

If the outside of the house had seemed large and overly luxurious, the inside screamed new money and tried too hard at being bourgeois. From the first step in on the heavy carpeted hallway to the over the top winding staircase to the second floor, the little you’d already seen of the place seemed like someone had tried to copy it right out of some over the top romance novel. 

You nearly expected seeing Scarlett O'Hara glide down the stairs and invite you in for some sweet tea and drama. Instead you were stuck with the Scarlet Witch, and not the cool, kick-ass superhero version. Yours were a little less Wanda and a hell of a lot more Wicked Witch of the West. 

Sighing, you weighed your possible options. Other than the stairs the hallway split into two nearly identical rows of rooms that seemed to go on for forever. One snaking away under the stairway and out of sight, while the other continued down towards what you guessed was the back of the house, where Sam would be coming in. 

You could take that hallway, down past the smiling faces of the former owners and hex bag recipients. Happy in the bliss of picture-perfect lives and unaware the gory fate that awaited them. That’s the way your heart wanted you to take. To get to Sam’s side as quickly as possible. But you knew it would be a waste of precious seconds. You needed the whole house checked. Not just that one hallway. Both boys would end up there and easily cover that length of smiling portraits between them. 

Tearing your eyes off the quick and easy way to get back to Sam you let your eyes glide over to what was hiding under the stairs. That was most likely the way Dean would head down once he reached the front of the house. The hallway looked darker than the others. And your best friend would always shield the rest of you by taking the most dangerous tasks on himself. 

Which left you with the winding wuthering heights of staircases. Swallowing down a couple of creative swear words you aimed your gun slightly higher, keeping your eyes peeled for movement on top of the stairs. You had to go up there. It was the right choice to make. But that didn’t mean your heart didn’t sting like a son of a bitch at the thought of leaving the two men to deal with the downstairs area. 

You couldn’t let yourself dwell on it. You’d meet up with them afterwards. It was fine. 

Two witches. It shouldn’t take long. And then you’d be back by their side, watching their back as they watched yours. But first, you needed to find the two monster squatters and exterminate them. 

Keeping your eyes and gun raised, you stepped onto the stupidly wide steps of the stairs. Taking them one at a time as you paced your quiet breaths with soft, careful steps against the carpeted stairs. Damn it, this place really had to be hell to clean. Not only was it massive, but with this much carpet around, a bucket of suds and hot water just wasn’t going to cut it. 

At least your steps were swallowed by the thick carpet below your heavy steel toed boots. Which made it much easier for you to move relatively quickly up the unnecessary amount of steps in the lazy slope of the staircase. Allowing you to reach the top and scan the new endless hallways that came into view after just one strained minute. 

Fuck.

Of course there’d just be more hallways, more smiling faces in pretty picture frames. Well, you had no choice but to start looking. One door at the time as you rolled your shoulders and steadied your gun, one finger resting on the trigger guard as you chose a hallway at random and stepped towards the first of many doors. 

--- 

Damn it, how many rooms did one couple need? They had more guest rooms than you had enemies, and that was saying something. As there wasn’t a shortage of people who wanted to kill you. 

Your muscles were screaming at you from where they’d been forced to tense and relax every time you carefully pushed a new door open, only to be met with another empty room. Or, in one case a linen closet that was twice the size of your room back in the Men of Letters bunker. 

Freaking unfair. 

Yet, you kept walking, slow and steady, towards the end of the hallway. Checking one room at the time and keeping an eye on the still unchecked rooms as you strained to hear any sign of a scuffle from downstairs.

It was so quiet... Screw the damned cliché, but it was right. It was too quiet. Two of the best hunters you knew were searching downstairs. You should have heard something by now. Anything. Yet, even as you stopped moving and held your breath to listen, there was nothing. No sound of a fight, or gunshots from downstairs. Where were the damned witches hiding? 

Of course, the silence was a good sign. The Winchester brothers were still safe. You had to believe that, even as the pressure cooker of worry and what ifs boiled deep in your gut. The two men in your life were somewhere in the big mansion. And your legs ached from where you had to force yourself to continue your search without going to look for them. 

Every part of your body wanted to screw the logical hunter 101 ingrained in your mind after years in the business to find them, to find Sam, back downstairs. But you knew you had a job to do, and you were damned good at your job. ‘Employee of the month’-good. You needed to stick to the plan, to go slow and steady, not the frantic steps of overprotective love and worried hearts. 

Sam had your heart. You’d slipped him that a long, long time ago. For now, you had to rely on your mind, on your instincts and your training. You’d be back by his side soon enough. But for now, you had to stifle your fears, and move on with the search. Like a good little soldier.

The Winchesters were the best in the business.

You loved Dean like a brother, and your best friend could take care of himself. Sam too, you knew that he could. Sam Winchester was the strongest man you’d ever had the pleasure of stumbling headfirst into unrequited love with. Broken and reshaped so many times by an unforgiving world until the pressure had made him a diamond, all sharp and beautiful, as he reflected the harsh reality of the Winchester family business through sunshine eyes and gave the world a rainbow in return.

Breathing out through pursed lips, you forced your thoughts to return to the hunt as you shifted your hold on the gun. Fingers tightening around it as you kept your eyes on the remaining few doors of the hallway. A small, barely there sound drawing your eye from the door you’d been eyeing and down to the end of the hall. Bingo.

Smirking to yourself, you ignored the last few doors and strode quietly towards the final door. Someone was in there, and it sure as hell wasn’t one of the brothers. 

Moving your finger off the trigger guard. You reached out to turn the handle of the door, only to find the chrome turn in your hand without any movement from your careful fingers. Taking a step back, you readied yourself to see what was hiding behind door number… Hell, you hadn’t bothered counting. 

Coming face to face with wide blue eyes as the witch pulled the wooden door open and froze in her steps from the gun aimed right between them. Allowing yourself a quick victorious grin you nodded at your gun as your eyes stayed on the Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Bitch in front of you. Speaking up before she could spout some bullshit about guns not being able to kill her. 

God, you were just so sick and tired of the same stupid back and forth that all the monsters seemed to have to go through when you fought them. Like you were some sort of greenhorn that didn’t know your vamps from your wendigos.

“Witch killing bullets, don’t fucking move,” 

Of course, the witch parted painted lips. 

Still intent on forcing you through the little high school play of empty threats or promises of pain that you’d had to sit through one too many times. Yet, before she could start saying whatever prompt the monster playbook told her to say, she was forced quiet by a gunshot from downstairs. 

The loud explosion of sound shook your concentration for just one small second. As you glanced down the hallway towards the stairs. Worry heavy in your stomach. But that was all it took. The witch was just that fraction of a heartbeat faster than you as she sent you flying sideways into the wall, your head connecting with the smiling picture frames and your gun dropping to the carpeted floor with a dull thud. 

Fuck.

Your bleary mind barely had the time to even formulate the single swear word as darkness swallowed your vision. The edge of a frame had connected with your temple. There was no way you could keep yourself from slipping temporarily away from the real world. Your last thought as you faded into nothingness against the pounding pain in your head was Sam. 

A weak prayer for his safety on your lips as you crumpled to the floor. 

---

You hadn’t been out for long. You knew that much. The still fresh pounding in your head that had brought you back and the coppery taste of blood on your tongue was still in the early stages as you forced your eyes to open again. 

But it had been long enough for the witch to pull you back into the bedroom she had been busy leaving and tie you to a wooden chair in the middle of the white walled room. The leather belt tied around your wrists burning against the skin and erasing the soft touch left above your pulse point by Sam as you tried to loosen it. 

“Oh, look who’s up!” The woman in front of you was impeccably dressed, but that didn’t make her any less slimy to you as she softly clapped manicured hands together like a giddy child with a new toy. Her vicious attempt at teasing mismatched with the classic black dress that ended at her knees and matching heels that were leaving dents in the room’s heavy carpet. 

“Bite me, bitch,” You spat back as you tugged against the restraints. No good, you couldn’t even make the leather biting into your wrists give a little. If you were proud of your girl scout preparedness, then she was the one with the eagle scout rank. She’d tied your arms up good. Though she’d left your feet alone, you noted, which at least gave you some chance. 

She clearly had plans for you as she sauntered closer. Maybe she was going to hex you, or hurt you. But she sure as hell didn’t look like she was getting ready to kill you. No, you were playing the role of hostage. A little bait to get the Winchesters to come running and keep them from hurting her. 

Damn it. 

You knew better than to be inattentive when facing a monster. But the gunshot had come out of nowhere, and after spending so long in absolute silence, it had rattled your mind and broken your focus. 

Setting your angry eyes into the witch in front of you, you caught the glint of steel behind her where your revolver had been thrown haphazardly on the bed. If only you could get loose then she’d be toast in a second. But the leather was tied tight enough that you could nearly taste it mixing with the blood in your mouth from the cut on your lip. 

You had to think. You didn’t have many options. You could scream. Call for help and wait for the cavalry to come to your rescue. Sam and Dean were smart, they’d know what your scream meant, and they’d come running in prepared, instead of whatever trap the witch hoped to prepare. But it wasn’t a perfect solution. Someone could still get hurt. Sam could still get hurt. 

Or, you could keep fighting. Keep being the good little soldier and use whatever you could to get out of the chair and knock the Eastwick wannabe in front of you down a few pegs. 

It wasn’t much of a choice at all. But you had to choose and choose fast.

---

Make your choice below to move the story along:

What do you do?

[Try to get loose] or [Scream for help]

---

Confused or New to Choices? Start Here Choices is an interactive Supernatural choose your own adventure story where you pick your Winchester brother and go on a hunt for one of 8 different endings in total. Four for Sam and four for Dean (2 happy and 2 bad endings per brother). Go to the intro to start your story!

---

[turtle-steverogers]

Not Guilty

remember when I was gonna write a murder mystery? well, it kinda took a turn plotwise, but here it finally is

Being a homicide detective is all fun and games until you start to fall for the lead suspect in your most recent case.

warnings: description of a dead body, talk about death

ship: ralbert, platonic spalbert

word count: 2480

Chapter 1

Even before Albert walked in on the dead body, his day wasn’t going well.  

His good uniform shirt hadn’t dried properly the night previous, so he had to go with his old one that was a little bit too small in all the wrong places.  The department was out of his favorite green tea, which meant he had to settle for that fucking dirt coffee Kelly and Conlon kept around for “sanity”.  And he’d been late on his lunch break, since Chief Roosevelt stuck Cortez’s paperwork on him last minute.

So, when he ventured into the bathroom of his favorite sandwich shop, only to find a fresh corpse and more blood than he ever really cared to see propped up neatly on the toilet, all he could find in himself to do was sigh.  And gag a little, but that was a given.

The coppery smell of blood and freshly shut down internal organs cuts brutally through the air and Albert reaches under his button down to pull his undershirt over his nose as he dials Spot’s number.  

As his phone’s ringing, Albert takes the time to steel himself and assess the body, first checking the pockets for any kind of identification.  When all he comes up with are a couple candy wrappers and a condom, he sighs again.  So, they’ll have to do this the hard way.  Typical.

“Yo, Dasilva, how’s the meatball sub?”

Albert gags again.  The last thing he wants to think about right now is his abandoned meat sandwich covered in red sauce.  No, nope.  Not right now.

“Yeah, uh, no,” Albert says, leaning back on his haunches, “We got a 10-54, possible homicide- multiple stab wounds to the chest and stomach.  I’m gonna need backup down here.”

There’s a pause, then Albert hears Spot groan, “And you’re still at Gianno’s?”

“Unfortunately.”

There’s a pause and Albert can picture Spot rubbing his eyes, “Fuck, okay, me and some others’ll be there soon.”

The line goes dead with a click and Albert casts another cursory look over the body.  Dilated eyes stare back at him, a slack jaw giving way to a bluish, swollen looking tongue.  He scrunches his nose, feeling a little dizzy.

“Bruh, you’re lookin’ rough.” 

The body does not answer.

-

The victim, Albert learns upon returning to the precinct, is some low level reporter for one of the smaller newspapers in New York: the Brooklyn Eagle.  

“Frank Wiesel, but folks call him Weasel.  Fitting, too.  The guys a biased asshole, apparently.  Republican, Conservative, the works.  Probably would fit in better with Fox News instead of a city newspaper, but…”

Spot leans back in his seat, tossing down the manilla case file and taking a long drink from his “10-4 Coffee That” mug.  It’s a stupid mug, but Spot has worshipped it since Jack had passed it over one Christmas Eve in the department, and honestly, Albert hasn’t seen him nearly as passionate over anything, so he bites his tongue. 

“An asshole, huh?” Albert pulls the case file towards himself and flips it open, eyes scanning the scowling face of Wiesel, “Anyone in particular who would have it out for him?  Or is he more of a generally known bastard type.”

“Hard to say,” Spot says, “He wrote some pretty nasty stuff about a few left leaning politicians in the area and got some pretty bad backlash because of that.  Plus his general lack of a filter’s gotten him kicked out of bars here and there around Manhattan, so…”

Albert hums, scrunching his nose.  Wiesel really is ugly.  All 1940s mobster with a stupid bowler hat and beady eyes, mouth turned down under a ratty handlebar mustache, “Has the autopsy come back yet?”

“They’re finishing up the toxicology report,” Spot says, “S’taking a little longer than usual, ‘cause Mush suspects something mighta been up with the vic’s blood.”

“Poison?”

“Maybe,” Spot shrugs and pours himself more coffee.  Albert eyes him, wondering how many cups he’s had today and vacantly wondering if Spot would be off put by him taking the pot and drinking directly from it.

“Has the wait staff at Gianno’s been questioned yet?”

“Mostly,” Spot answers.  The look in his eye tells Albert that he’s about to drop something pivotal.

He cocks his head, “Mostly?”

“One waiter went home right before the murder occured.  Claimed a migraine.”

Albert’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline.  Now that is interesting, “And nobody fucking thought to bring this guy in?”

XXX

The waiter- Antonio Higgins, according to the file Katherine handed off to Albert and Spot- lives in an older looking apartment complex a few blocks down from Gianno’s.  Despite the slightly dilapidated exterior, the place has a pleasant enough, homey sort of vibe.  The vague smell of pasta sauce wafts through the air, assaulting their nostrils the moment they step into the building.  Distinct Italian villa music plays in soft undertones through the lobby and the walls are adorned with various renaissance-era paintings.  

Albert and Spot exchange a short glance, raising their eyebrows slightly before approaching the front desk.  The lady behind the counter is a stout, but demanding woman, her eyes lined with harsh black rouge and hand gesturing wildly as she speaks on the phone in rapid fire Italian.  A quick glance towards her name tag tells Albert that her name is Maria, which fits her whole Italian mother look.  Albert watches, bemused, as she looks at them inquisitively, then at the badges on their shirts and rolls her eyes, firing off a few more sentences into the receiver before hanging up the landline and placing it back on its phone stand.  

“Yes, hello officers, how may I help you?” Her heavily accented voice is tinged with annoyance and Albert sees Spot shoot him another glance in his peripheral.

Inwardly, Albert sighs.  He’s never understood why people can’t just be cooperative.

“Hi, ma’am, sorry for the inconvenience,” He trains his voice into something resembling empathy and plasters his most charming smile onto his face.  She doesn’t look amused, “I’m Detective DaSilva and this is my partner, Detective Conlon.  We’re here from the 17th precinct investigating a case regarding the tragedy that occurred over in Gianno’s earlier today and one of the waitstaff there, Antonio Higgins, lives here in your building.  We’ve got a few questions for him, so if you could do us the courtesy of buzzing us up to his room, that would be greatly appreciated.”

Maria’s eyes widen and when she speaks, the previous irritation is absent, “Tonio?  Is he in trouble?  That boy is the sweetest thing, so helpful.  There’s no way he could be who you are looking for.”

Albert tries to soften his expression, “He’s in no trouble yet, ma’am, I assure you.  We’re just following protocol and questioning all employees at Gianno’s.  He went home a little before the incident occurred, so we were not able to question him with the rest of the waitstaff.”

Maria looks a little relieved at this, but her sternness is back when she says, “Alright, I will buzz you up, but don’t do anything to hurt my dear Tonio.  He’s had a tough year and I’d hate for some pish posh detectives to upset him further.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Spot says, amicably.  

Maria picks up the phone again, presumably to call Higgins’ room and Spot looks at Albert, mouthing, ‘tough year?’  Albert shrugs and shakes his head, turning back to Maria as she hangs up the phone with a friendly, “Si, si, abbi cura, tesoro.”

“Okay,” She says dismissively, waving her hand as she picks up a pen and starts scribbling on some papers, “You can go up.  Elevators are around the corner.  Tonio lives on the 7th floor, room 712B.”

They thank her and head towards the elevators, relieved to find the one that picks them up to be empty.  

“I wonder what this Higgins dude’s been through for the fuckin’ receptionist to be that protective,” Spot says, pressing the button for the seventh floor and wincing when the elevator groans as it begins to ascend.

“Yeah, me too,” Albert agrees, “Sounded kind of cryptic, too.  Hope he’s in a good enough headspace to be helpful.”

And it’s true.  The more fucked up the suspect, the less willing they are to talk.  Vexation is one of the many banes of Albert’s existence.  They arrive at the floor and find room 712B at the end of the hallway.  Spot knocks and in less time than they anticipated, the door swings open to reveal a tired looking man.  He’s a bit taller than either of them with curly blond hair that sits like a mop on top of his head.  His blue eyes are accentuated by the bruise-like bags that sit underneath and the pallor of his skin makes it look like he’s sick; or was sick.  With a wince, Albert remembers that this guy had supposedly gone home with a migraine earlier.  

“Officers,” The man- Antonio- greets tiredly.  He looks bored at their presence and leans his shoulder casually on the doorframe, crossing his arms in front of his chest.  His grey t-shirt stretches obscenely over well-muscled arms and Albert swallows.  Spot snorts next to him.

Recovering, Albert flashes him a quick smile, “Antonio, right?  I’m Detective Dasilva and this is my partner, Detective Conlon.  I’m assuming you’re aware of the incident that occurred over at Gianno’s earlier today?”

Antonio’s bored expression doesn’t waver, but when he sighs, it sounds shaky, “‘Course I heard.  Business is about to go to shit ‘cause of it, too.  No one’s gonna wanna come to a murder scene to eat, so bye-bye good paychecks.”

“Right, I apologise for that,” Albert continues, “But we’ve gotta ask you a few questions regarding the case.”

Antonio’s eyebrows shoot up, “Am I a suspect?”

“Everyone’s a suspect until we find the culprit,” Spot says evenly.

“Right…” Antonio sighs again, “Okay, come in I guess.”  

He opens the door wider to allow them to enter and turns to walk into the apartment, flicking on a few lights along the way.  Albert follows him, noting how excessively clean the apartment is as he makes his way to the kitchen where Antonio is opening a pill bottle and throwing back a few pills, washing them down with what Albert assumes is coffee.  Spot joins him in the mouth of the kitchen, looking as hesitant as Albert feels.  Antonio looks at them, lips quirking upwards into something like a smirk.

“Want anything to drink?” He offers, “I’ve got water, coffee, milk...if you’re weird like that.”

“We’re good, thank you,” Spot declines, stepping further into the kitchen and leaning against one of the counters.  

Albert follows suit, noting with a frown that everything here is impeccably organized as well.  A neat row of cookbooks are pressed against the fridge, descending in order from thickest to thinnest.  The counters are bare and shiny, boasting no crumbs or residue.  Kitchen appliances line the walls neatly, also showing barely any sign of use.  Albert suspects if they opened up the fridge and the cabinets, they’d find neatly stacked dishes and immaculately organized silverware.  

Antonio shrugs, sipping again from his coffee mug, “Suit yourself.”

“Okay,” Spot pulls out his pocket notebook, flipping it open to a blank page and clicking his pen against his chest, “So you claimed to have gone home around 12:20 with a migraine.  Did you take any detours on the way home?”

Antonio’s jaw clenches, “Well, seeing as my head was trying to kill me from the inside out, I wasn’t very keen on going window shopping, so…”

Albert hears Spot blow out a breath through his nose, “I need a direct answer here, sir, if you could please.”

Antonio rolls his eyes, “Yes, I came straight home.”

Undeterred, Spot plows on, “Did you have any connections to the victim, Frank Wiesel?  Was he a regular customer that you knew of?  Anything of that sort?”

“Fuckin’ Weasel was the one to get his ass smoked?” Antonio says, nostrils flaring.

“So you did know the victim,” Albert says.

“Yeah, I fuckin’ knew him.  Worked with my Pa for a while, before leaving him in the dust to go work for some hotshot newspaper.  Asshole if I ever knew him,” Antonio shakes his head, laughing dryly, “‘Bout time he met his maker.”

“Okay, don’t say that to any officer about a murder vic,” Albert admonishes, “And you said he worked with your dad?  What did they do together?”

Antonio shifts, suddenly looking uncomfortable, “I don’t really know, but my Pa never liked him much.  Always complained about how he was tryna ‘do him in for a big one’ whatever that means.  I think it had something to do with accounting, but I’m not entirely certain.”

Spot’s nodding, scribbling rapidly in his notebook, “You met him, yes?”

“Few times,” Antonio says, “ornery fucker.  Homophobic, too.  That was the only front he and my Pa ever agreed on it seemed.  Which worked wonderfully in my favor.”  He says that last part sarcastically and Albert sends a brief look to Spot who grimaces.

“Where’s your dad now?” Albert asks.  The situation Antonio’s painted for his involvement with Wiesel sounds like a breeding ground for motives- if not from him directly, then his father.

“Dead,” Antonio smiles bitterly, “Was fighting cancer for a while and finally kicked the can ‘bout three months ago.”

There’s a tense pause and Spot clears his throat, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Antonio snorts and Albert senses his frustration building.

“And you were here, in this apartment building, when the murder occurred say around...12:50?”

Antonio blinks, “I already told you I came straight home,” he pauses, “I didn’t fuckin’ kill Weasel.”

“We’re not saying-”

Antonio scoffs, “Kind of sounds like you are.  We done here?  ‘Cause as you seemed to know, I went home because of a migraine, which is still fucking me up.  So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get some sleep.”

“Yes, my apologies,” Albert says, sensing that they weren’t going to get anything else out of this visit.  He nudges Spot, beginning to back out of the kitchen.  Antonio follows them to the door, watching warily as they step out, “Thank you for your time.  I appreciate your cooperation.  We’ll probably be back sometime this week for a few follow up questions.”

Antonio wrinkles his nose, “Wonderful.”

The door shuts with a resounding click and Albert and Spot stare at it for a long moment.

“Well…” Spot starts.

“Yeah,” Albert says, “There’s some digging to do here.”

“Sure is.”

They begin to retreat back towards the elevators.

“You gotta be careful, though.” Spot says, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.

“About what?” 

“You were totally hot for him.”

Albert thunks his head against the elevator wall, groaning, “Man, shut up.”

Spot just laughs.

-

i actually know where this one is heading plot wise, so...,.,

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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[septic84]

Your soul knew it belonged to me. 2.0 END

A03

**Please check out the A03  for a special thank you to the originals of this story, HERE 

Chapter 6: The “B” word

Dan didn't see Phil until the following morning when he was struggling to make coffee again. The apartment had never been more threatening than it was right now, and Dan had to bite his lip to keep from crying.  He knew this was his fault, and he hated it. Cautiously he approached the kitchen.  "I can help you know," "Wouldn't want to inconvenience my flatmate," "Phil, you know that's not, I mean it's not like that."

Phil sighed, "No, course not." He poured the boiling kettle, stirred in the coffee, and leaned against the counter. He refused to meet Dan's eyes. "I can take that out the lounge, if you want to sit, that can't be comfortable," "I'm fine. I told you I didn't want the help before, and you refused to listen." "I know you're hurt from last night; I didn't mean to hurt you." "I know," Phil's tone was cold and clipped." "Phil, I don't know what I can do; what do you want?" "How about an apology? Didn't that ever cross your mind? That's typically what people do when they are shitty and don't mean to be, Dan." Dan's face blazed red; he stared at the floor, and in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, "I'm sorry, Phil. I really am," Phil sighed, his tone softening, "Thank you. Will you please take my coffee to the lounge for me?' Nodding silently, Dan took it and set it down, waited for Phil to sit, and wordlessly went back to his room. He was ashamed, he felt awkward, and he had no idea how to make this better. Surely Phil would want more than some words? He would want noticeably changed behavior too, and Dan wasn't sure he could do that. He didn't know if he would ever indeed be comfortable with "boyfriend." It made him feel such disgust and fear, not because of Phil, though. The reason wasn't ever because of Phil. The reason was because of him. He hated himself so much, especially when he thought about terms that implied he wasn't straight. The strange thing about it is was that as long as he thought of Phil as just that and not a gender, he felt fine. Nothing about them together disgusted him; nothing made him uncomfortable; Dan and Phil together felt right. It was all the other things that had him in a downward spiral.

After an hour or so later, Phil texted Dan. He was famished, and leaning against the counter wasn't a good idea earlier; he was in a lot of pain.  Dan emerged, his hair was a mess, his nose and eyes were red and puffy. Phil sighed; he really hadn't meant to hurt Dan. He was just so angry, so hurt himself that he lashed out. Phil was extremely disappointed with himself that he had done that at all, let alone to Dan. "S'okay, what would you like to eat?" "Cereal is fine," Dan reappeared with what was requested, handed it to him slowly, and waited. When Phil said nothing, he asked, "Did you need anything else right now?" "No," Phil set down his bowl, "but I could use some company," It was risky, Phil knew it was, but he couldn't help himself. Dan rubbed the back of his neck, "Ah, yeah, okay. I'm going to get some coffee." Phil was relieved that Dan had not flat out refused, or just ran away. He knew they needed to talk; he also knew right now Dan's nerves were raw. Phil understood how much anxiety went along with their "things," and he knew Dan was struggling.  He would have to be patient and slow; he needed to respect Dan's resistance to all of this. Phil knew it wasn't Dan's fault. "Do you want to watch anything in particular? Phil asked as Dan sat back down. "No," "Okay," quietly, they watched a show that neither one of them really was able to pay attention to. It was so tense that Phil could barely stand it; It was about a half-hour later when Phil set his hand on Dan's thigh. Dan looked at it, confused, then back up to Phil. "I forgive you, Dan." "Okay, thanks," "We should talk," "There isn't anything to say that I am sure you haven't already come to a conclusion about on your own," Phil frowned, "I am trying not to assume how you feel, Dan." "Since when?" Dan said, hesitantly, "Sure did last night," Phil sighed, "That's fair. I did do that." "Yeah, you did. And it's not that I don't want to, you know," Dan motioned between them, "be this, us, together. Just to be clear." "Okay," "I just," Dan took a deep breath, "It's just fucking scary, Phil." Phil didn't allow any emotion to pass onto his face, "What about it?" "Everything. Labels, the emotions, you, and me. All of it. I am terrified." Phil grasped his hand, "It's okay to be sacred," "But it's not, look what happened last night. I hurt you, badly but something my body did without my consent, so it isn't okay, is it? I don't know how to control that shit, Phil. Christ, I didn't even really know what happened until you had left," Phil shook his head, "I've figured that out now, I'm sorry, Dan." "Why are you, sorry? I was the once who recoiled at a common word, one that I had already used, that is supposed to bring delight and joy." "I'm sorry that I reacted like that. It wasn't fair of me. I let my own insecurities get the better of me without even a thought to yours. I really should have handled it better; I should have been kinder to you." "Stop fucking doing that! You defend me when I am an asshole all of the time, and I hate it. You don't have to defend what a shit person I am. It's not like I don't know I am an asshole, Phil." "No, you're not! You are fucking scared; you've mentioned it before. I should have been more considerate of your feelings. I should have talked about it with you, you were clearly upset, and I just walked away. I know you aren't out, I know you won't be ready to come out for a long time, if ever. That's okay. I told you before it was. I am not making excuses for myself; I don't have a right to; last night, I was just overly tired and sore, and I reacted like a spoiled brat having a fit. I didn't see it like that at the time, nor this morning, but I do now. I am sorry, I am so sorry that I didn't see through the surface shit to see the war that was raging inside. I didn't see that you are scared and hurting, not ashamed." He smiled, sadly, "Rational minded Phil knows that he just wasn't present until now." "I don't know what to say. You will disagree with everything I do," "It's okay to be mad and hurt by me. I was pretty callous towards you as a friend, let alone anything else." "This is so stupid, in 10 years it won't even matter, so it's fine." "We are not in the future, Dan. It does matter; it matters now. What can I do?" "Hell, I don't even know. I don't know what I even feel. I know last night I was upset, but I was upset because of how hurt you were. I didn't think how you reacted was out of line, honestly. Besides, I don't know what to do myself, let alone know what to tell you to do." "Then, we will figure it out together, yeah?" "Right," "Dan, please be patient with yourself. This is a huge thing; it's harder for you, I know that. I know about your past. Things right now are not ideal, but you are allowed to need time to figure this out." "I hope that's true because I've no idea how long it's going to take me to figure it out." "That's okay, there isn't a time limit on healing, nor is it linear, do this at your own pace," "I am afraid I am going to fuck it up," "How?" "What happens when my pace is too slow?" "I'm not sure what you're asking me?" "For you, I mean," "I guess I haven't made it clear enough. This isn't about me, Dan, it's," "How long will you wait?" Dan blurted out, cutting him off. "Oh Dan," Phil grabbed his hand, "I've been waiting for years already, this isn't a guilt trip, far from it. Have I ever indicated that I wasn't happy being with you? I have been content with the amazing friendship we have built. What makes you think I am not ready to wait years for us to build even more?" "Age, mostly." "I can't imagine a life where you are not in it, please don't worry about that. I am not going anywhere." "Okay," Dan mostly believed him; he still wasn't entirely convinced. "You're just going to have to trust me," "I do trust you; I don't trust me. I know, astoundingly cliché, but it's true." "I trust you," "One of us should," "Is there anything else you want to say?" "God, no, let's end this now. I've already reached my emotional vulnerability quota for the next three weeks," Phil snorted a laugh, "Noted, thank you for opening up." "Yeah, yeah. Can we play Mario cart or something?" "Sure, Dan," Phil knew he needed a distraction to keep the mind demons away, "But don't think I am going to go easy on yah, Danny boy," "Bring it on, Lester. Can't even use your bum leg as an excuse, and you have no others, so prepare to lose." "Yeah, be prepared to eat my shells!"

Phil lost, over and over again, but the happiness returning to Dan's face was worth it. They played for hours, and for the first time in a long time, things felt normal again. "Okay, that's enough, I concede, you win." Dan rolled his eyes, "Obviously," "Dominoes?" "Sure, you're buying." "Yeah, yeah,"   Phil placed the order while Dan went to shower, leaving Phil alone. He wondered how long it would take for Dan to be comfortable doing couples things, being relaxed about being together, if he'd ever want to get married, and the list went on and on. He meant what he had said about waiting; he would respect Dan every step of the way. It didn't mean that he was 100% okay with it.  He would never breathe a word of this to Dan, but he would be lying if he said he wasn't concerned about it. Though he knew that he had no say in how Dan processed this, when he "came out" or any of the following things that went with them, Phil hoped that he would be able to be more supportive in the future. He knew last night's actions could never happen again; it would take him a long time to forgive himself for them. "Phil, I can tell you're in pain. You should just take the meds." Phil sighed, "It's not that bad yet, I'll manage," Dan shrugged, "If you say so," "When do you think we should film a gaming video?" Dan barked out a laugh, "What?" He looked at Phil, "that's what has you so lost in thought over there?" "We still should make videos, Dan. So, when works for you?" "Ah, when you can go upstairs?" "I can now," Dan scoffed, "No." "Okay, dad," "Nope nopity nope nope nope, don't call me dad." "Shut up; you know what I meant. I can make it up those stairs; I'll prove it to you." "You can't be serious," "Watch me," he stumbled up, "Phil!" Dan gently pushed him back down. "It's been a week. You are not supposed to try to walk without the crutch for at least two, and even then, maybe longer." "I think those are suggestions, Dan, not requirements." "I wasn't high out of my mind on pain meds when the doctor was speaking." "Low blow," "Realistic, I am being realistic." Dan closed his eyes and took a deep breath, "I don't want you to hurt yourself, Phil," "I won't," "You are so annoying right now, please, just stop.  If it's that big of a deal, I'll lug it all down here, and we'll set it on the dining table." "The dining table isn't set up for that, nor is the dining room," Dan squoze his eyes shut, and as calmly as he could, he said, "Please, Phil. Work with me, for fuck sake." Phil looked at Dan regretfully, "You're right, I'm sorry. I just am so useless right now," Dan looked at him and smiled, "You're not, you're injured." "Yeah," "I was serious, though; I will bring it all down if it makes you feel better." "Maybe, we'll see. It's an awful lot of work," "It would be, and it isn't as if they don't know that your ankle is broken, and the gaming room is upstairs." "True." "I know we can't do a gaming video," Phil hesitated a bit, "but what about a joint live show? Are you up for that?" Dan shrugged, "I suppose we could," "I think it may help me focus, you know. Get my head back into it. I want to film a video about the accident." "You mean tonight? Now?" "Why not?" "Right, okay." Dan conceded, at least Phil had given up the idea about going upstairs. "Are you tweeting it, or am I?"

"Hi to Sally, and Tara and Phil's eyelash and Dansfan and Sarah and Hayden and all of you, welcome to the live show," "More like the sofa show, am I right?" Dan added, "What up?" "Several people are asking me to tell the story of my ankle. I am going to film a video about that, so keep an eye out. I will tell you this, and I now have metal in my foot." "Well, it's in your ankle, really." "Close enough. Anyway, look out for that video; it should be a hoot." “A right banger,” Dan winked at the camera.” "What else have we been up to, Dan," "Not much, you have a bum leg, Phil." "Oh, we finished an excellent Anime," "That's true," As the live show continued with the typical banter, Dan noticed that Phil was looking very tired. They had been live for about an hour, so it was time to wrap it up anyway. "Well, Philly, I think it's about that time," "Yeah, I suppose it is. Well, thank you all for coming to the live show! Watch out for a new video, I will see you all very soon," Phil turned to Dan, "Cover the camera," "Rude," "Please?" "Fine, rat," Dan covered it as Phil said, "Goooood-bye," after it disconnected, Phil yawned. "Thanks for doing that with me," "No problem, you okay?" "Yeah, I still feel like this isn't enough," under his the breath, he muttered, "I still think I could make it up those damned stairs."

Sighing, Dan moved closer to Phil, resting his head on his shoulder, "The things I put up with Lester, I swear," "We put up with each other. You don't make it a habit to be easy going either, you know." "Yeah, I suppose that's true. But I have. I never threatened to walk upstairs on a newly broken ankle, either." "You have other things, other emotional things." "Now that's a low blow, you little shit," Dan turned and kissed Phil's cheek. "I call 'em as I see 'em," "Very articulate," "Still true," "You're lucky I love you," Dan whispered in his ear. Phil swallowed hard, "Yeah, I really am," he turned his head, causing Dan to move and brought his hand up to cradle his face, leaning in closer, he paused. "Is this okay?" "Yes," Dan was the first to press his lips into Phil's; the kissing became more passionate, and the entire environment shifted around them. Days of hesitation and the uncomfortable unease melted away as they held each other. Dan's hand tangled into Phil's hair, and Phil's hand loop around Dan's back.  Time passed; it could have been seconds or hours; Phil didn't know which, and he didn't care.  All that mattered right now was the warmth in his chest and the lips trailing further down his neck.  A moan got caught in his throat. "You are so fucking attractive, Phil. And you don't even know it." Dan's hand trailed down his chest, brushing one of his nipples through the fabric. "Shit, Dan,"         "Sorry, is this okay?" "Yes," Phil's voice was almost a whine, a pled to continue. "Never would have taken you for someone who has sensitive nips," Dan pinched one lightly between his thumb and forefinger. "Ah," Phil squirmed, "Interesting," "Dan, please," "Please, what, please, more?" How could Dan be so brave with this part of it? This was what made Phil the most nervous, well that wasn't necessarily true. It was afterward when there was an opportunity for regret that made him the most unsettled "Yes. No, I don't know," Dan paused and looked up at his face, "You're nervous, why?" "I just don't want to push too far," "We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with," Dan dropped his hands. Phil smirked, "Not me, silly, you." "Oh," "Just because we have done stuff before, doesn't mean it's required." "Well, no shit, Phil," "I am just," Phil took a deep breath, trying to ignore the ridiculously hard part of him that wanted to lunge at Dan and start to kiss him again, "Flustered? Wanting? Extremely turned on?" Phil's face blazed an even deeper red, "I'll take that as a yes." Dan brought his hand under Phil's shirt, back to his nipple. "Good, I think I would be offended if you weren't." Dan's lips latched onto his, enticing Phil to moan again.  Slowly Dan's hand made it to Phil's waistband. He dipped his finger beneath it, toying with him. Phil pulled out of the kiss panting, trying to catch his breath, "Jesus, Dan, you're so brave today." "I wanted to distract you from your stupid stairs idea," Dan pushed his fingers in further, the tips of them just brushing the start of pubic hair, but the back of his hand came in contact with his cock. "Ah, it seems I am going a good job." Phil hissed with his inhale, "May I?" Dan's hand pulled back, his fingers tugging at the waistline. "Yeah," Phil watched his hands amazed as he lifted his ass. The movement caused his ankle to protest. "Hey, don't move dingus, let me do it, so you don't hurt yourself." "Right, okay." Dan maneuvered him gently and got his sweats and pants down to lower the hip level. Phil caught the expression on Dan's face, and he had to close his eyes, so he didn't cum instantly. "You are so hard; I haven't done anything." "It's just you, god Dan, I try to keep telling you, but you never," Phil stopped short when a moist warmness enveloped him, his eyes shot open, "Oh my god, Dan," Dan pulled up for a second, "Shut up, Phil,"

Dan helped Phil adjust himself, and once they were finished and Phil was resting his head on Dan's chest, listing to the steady gentle thumping in his chest. The stillness, the peace, the safety; that's what Phil loved most about this. Neither one of them had to be anything; there wasn't assigned roles for them to live up to. It was just them like it always had been, and Phil was okay with that. At that moment, Phil's earlier concerns about time faded away. It didn't matter if Dan wasn't even ready to come out, to call him his boyfriend, or even marry him. It didn't what the rest of the world knew, or what Dan wanted to call it, as long as he had these moments, he would be fine. "I love you, Dan." Dan kissed the top of his head, "I know," he held Phil a little tighter, "I love you too."