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mikkomacko · 3 years ago

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So not sure if you’re going to understand this but here’s my idea: the team not knowing that the reader is dating both Bucky and Steve (Stucky) and they confront her and say some awful things like she’s using them, a cheating wh*re etc. and she just starts crying and runs and locks herself in their room (or whatever you’d like). Then Stucky comes back or out from somewhere looking for her and then they ask the team and the team tells them that she was “cheating” on both of them with each other and then they’re like no we’re all dating each other and the team feels all bad and you can end it how you want lol. You don’t have to do this and sorry if it’s bad.

A/n: Sorry it took so long! Hope it's ok! <3

Two Avengers dating would cause enough gossip in itself, but three Avengers? Two of which have been best friends since the 40s? She can't imagine what kind of reaction that would get out of Sam or Nat who have always teased Steve and Bucky about being really good friends.

So when y/n, Bucky, and Steve made their relationship official, they kept it as low-key as possible. Anything beyond cuddling was reserved for the privacy of their rooms, flirting had to be subtle, and all dates were far from the Avengers compound.

They just had to pray they could follow the rules and keep their hands to themselves when others were around.

Drumming her fingers on the folder, y/n heads up HR to submit her latest mission report. It was simple surveillance mission, nothing exciting to report on but she'd been gone for over a week and wanted to get the report in asap so it could be done with. Dropping it off on the incoming desk, she promptly turns on her heel to head to lunch but is stopped just outside of the doorway by a hand on her bicep. She's tugged into the hidden corner before she can even react, two strong arms caging her against the cool wall.

Bucky, dressed for a training session, stands before her, blue eyes sparkling and lips smiling. Immediately, her guard falls, lips widening into a smile that reflects the same love shining through Bucky's.

"Careful Barnes," she teases, "next time I won't be so kind about ya pawing at me."

He clicks his tongue. "Wouldn't be pawing if you'd come to see me as soon as you got back."

"Paperwork waits for no one. Not even Cap and Sarge."

He sighs playfully. "Damn doll, that hurts. Think ya should kiss it better."

So she does. Cupping his jaw between two soft palms, y/n seals their mouths together in a tender kiss, completely blind to Bruce and Tony who have just caught sight of them from down the hall.

Bucky heads down to the gym and y/n heads to room to clean up before lunch, ignoring his pleas for her to join him. She's technically on recovery from her last mission and she's definitely going to milk that for a day off. She's approaching her door when one just down the hall opens, a familiar blond head of hair coming into view.

She pauses, leaning her shoulder against the doorway and smiles at him. "Hey Cap, fancy seeing you here."

He lifts his head, soft blue eyes meeting hers and he smiles that cute little smirk only Steve Rogers could smile. "Hey, heard you got back early this morning."

"Yeah, way early." She laughs, tilting her chin up as he moves closer.

"How'd it go?"

He stops in front of her, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head. It's his typical go-ahead-I'm-listening stance but by the way he's eyeing her mouth she knows he doesn't actually want to hear it right now. Steve always tries to hide the fact that he's just as clingy as Bucky.

"Is that really what you're going to ask me, Rogers? After being gone for so long you want my mission run down right now?"

He chuckles, dipping his head and lightly shaking it. "No not really."

"So what's your real question?"

Bashful, he meets her eyes again. "Can I have a hello?"

Y/n laughs, butterflies fluttering in her chest as she rises on her tiptoes to kiss him. He gently grips her waist, pulling her just the slightest bit closer and humming in content. She throws her arms around his neck, fingertips shifting into the hair at the base of his neck, once again too caught up in her boyfriend to notice Nat and Sam have just spotted them from the end of the corridor.

"You'll never believe what we just saw!" Sam shouts, hightailing it into the kitchen with Natasha hot on his heels. Bruce and Tony both startle in their seats at the table, water sloshing over the edge of Bruce's mug.

"Nuh-uh, we're first." Tony says, shaking his head.

"No we are." Sam insists, Tony opening his mouth to continue the argument but Natasha cuts him off.

"Rogers and y/n are together."

And that makes Tony and Bruce pause. Sam whoops proudly, smirking at the two as they share looks of confusion.

"Steve and y/n?" Bruce confirms, eyebrows pinching together when Nat nods firmly.

Tony sighs. "Well that puts us in a bit of pickle because we saw Barnes with his tongue down her throat."

Sam's jaw drops. "What? When?"

"Earlier today!" Bruce exclaims, motioning towards the HR department. "She was dropping off paperwork and he just grabbed her and kissed her."

"Well we just watched Steve pin her against a door and kiss her not even ten minutes ago." Nat exclaims, anger building up in her veins. "Which means we've got a problem."

Sam turns to her, just as angry. "Damn right we do!"

Bottom lip between her teeth, y/n attempts to hide the giddy smile that's been plastered on her face since her reunion with her boys. It's a weak attempt because she's practically as bright as a ray of sunshine but she doesn't really care. She's happy. She's so incredibly happy and she wants it to last forever.

Unfortunately for her, the feeling is cut short far too soon because as soon as she enters the kitchen, 4 pairs of eyes are glaring at her.

"Hey everyone," she says tentatively, slowing to a stop. "what's going on?"

Sam scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why don't you tell us what's going on?" He says coldly, "You know besides you macking on our friends."

Macking on his friends? Oh god, Steve and Bucky! They found out about their relationship...

Her jaw drops, cut-off guard. "Wait! I can explain-"

"Cheaters don't get an explanation." Nat cuts off, eyes mean and piercing. Y/n heart sinks into her stomach. Cheating? She'd never cheat in her life, especially not on Bucky and Steve.

"Cheating? I'm not-"

Tony rises from his seat. "Save it y/n. We know you're cheating on Bucky and Steve with each other. How could you do that? They're like brothers and your just using them-"

"No I'm not!" She insists, panicking under the hateful gazes. "You guys don't understand. Just let me-"

"No!" Sam cuts off. "Bucky and Steve have both gone through so much. Do you realize how difficult it must have been for them to open up to you? And you thew it all away. You hurt them. You're a bitch y/n, full honestly."

Tears sting her eyes. Sam's never said anything like that to her let alone anyone they know. He's always been so kind and welcoming so to hear such hurtful words from him has her stunned. She can't even think of anything to say to defend herself.

"Y-you really think that lowly of me?" She sniffles, "That I would do something like that?"

"We saw it, y/n." Banner responds, nose scrunched in disgust. "Now get outta here before we throw you out."

Insulted and insecure, she shakes her head. "I can't believe you all." Then she turns on her heel, running to the safety of her room.

Bucky's spotting Steve on the bench press when the foursome of Avengers walk in, somber looks on their faces.

"Steve," Bucky says, gaining his attention. Immediately the super soldier is setting down his weights, sitting up to look at their friends.

"What's going on? Is someone hurt?" Steve asks, rising to his feet. Sam shakes his head, smiling sympathetically.

"No one's hurt," he assures "but we've got something to tell you."

Bucky swallows nervously, something in him going on high alert. He knows that this is about y/n, that something's happened and it makes him anxious. Where is she?

"What?" Bucky asks, noticing the lingering anger in Nat's eyes.

"It's y/n," she says "she-"

"She what?" Bucky interrupts quickly, readying himself to sprint upstairs.

"She's cheating," Tony says, eyes flickering between the two men. "On you two. With each other."

Oh, Bucky wasn't expecting that. He turns to Steve, the two sharing a silent conversation between themselves. They know? Looks like it pal. How'd that happen? I told you to be careful...

"Don't worry, we already gave her a piece of our minds-"

"You what?!" Steve suddenly asks, finally realizing what they're saying. They think y/n cheated on them because they don't know they're all three dating each other. And they confronted her about it.

"What did you say?" Bucky asks lowly.

"The truth," Sam says proudly. "that she's a bitch for using you both."

Before anyone can react Bucky is rushing towards the doors, abandoning his belongings in favor of checking on y/n. Steve doesn't mind, knowing that when it comes to being emotional and open, Bucky is typically the one she leans on. He's good at being a comforting shoulder.

"Oh god Sam," Steve sighs. "Y/n isn't cheating-"

"Yeah-"

"No she's not!" He shouts, startling them. "She's not. For the past few months we've been dating. The three of us."

The silence is almost amusing if Steve wasn't too busy thinking of his girl upstairs, upset.

"Like a throuple?" Bruce asks, confused.

Steve nods shortly. "Thanks for accusing her instead of talking it out. Appreciate it." He says icily, pushing around them. Stalking towards the exit, he calls over his shoulder. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a girl to go check on."

Bucky has wrapped her up like a burrito in the comforter from his bed on the floor of her room, leaning back against the side of the matress with her sat between his parted thighs. Her eyes are still wet and swollen but she's giggling through her sniffles, a spoon hanging out of her mouth and a bowl of soup in her lap. They both look up when he enters the room, Y/n smiling shyly and Bucky relieved.

"We ok sweetheart?" He asks, waiting for her nod before looking to Bucky.

"We're good Steve," he promises, sweeping her hair over her shoulder with his hand and brushing his fingers through it. "She was just frustrated. Didn't know they could think she'd do something like that."

"That's because she wouldn't," Steve says firmly, sitting on the floor next to them. "and we know that y/n. We know you'd never hurt us like that."

"I love you Steve," she swears, resting her head on his shoulder. "And I love you Buck. Thanks for doing this for me."

"Course doll," Bucky says, kissing the side of her head. "Don't have to thank us for loving you." Steve hums his agreement.

"But..."Bucky quickly adds, "you can thank me after I beat Sam's ass for calling you that."

Steve sighs, rolling his eyes. "Buck..." He says warningly but he doesn't even finish the scolding thought because their boyfriend's threat has made y/n smile and that's all they could ever ask for.

#stucky x reader #stucky blurb #Steve Rogers x reader x Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes blurb #steve rogers blurb

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miekasa · 4 years ago

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okay but what about airport!levi? he gives quiet businessman vibes sitting in his slacks and turtleneck

IN HIS TURTLENECK 😭😭 He would also be quiet and to himself, but not in the emo way. You got me thinking about all of them now, so here are my other thoughts about the boys at the airport.

Levi

He thinks the idea of separating classes on an airplane is beyond stupid, but if the flight is particularly long, or particularly packed, he’s not above paying for business class for a little extra personal space for the two of you.

When he doesn’t do that, tho, he never picks your guys’ seats ahead of time, so sometimes you’ll be separated. Good thing he’s also not above lying at the check-in desk, “I’m in Zone 1, could my wife be seated next to me so that we can board together?”

They respond with an “of course,” and move your seats together, and Levi walks back with a content nod of appreciation. You are not married, and marriage sucks about as much as class separation on a 30 foot long plane, but it has its benefits.

Masks on, regardless. No debates. Pandemic or not, the mask stays on. Do not perceive him, keep the pressurized air sharing to a minimum.

Doesn’t wander much in the airport. There’s nothing in there that he hasn’t seen already, except for the marked up prices on touristy t-shirts.

And if you wander, he’ll usually just sit in the waiting area to watch your bags while you window shop and do your thing. If you’re gone for more than 30 mins, he might call, under the pretenses of, “Making sure you didn’t get lost. You know that Starbucks was near gate 41 to the left, not the right, right?” Like he’s a comedian or something 🙄

He does encourage you to get snacks before you board, tho. Airplane food is gross, and he would much rather pay for a $13 sandwich that you can snack on later, than for you to have to eat mush.

He’s got a little portable mug he takes with him for when he’s wants to buy a hot drink before getting on his flight. It’s cute.

Doesn’t fall asleep on the plane ever. No matter how long the flight is—at most, he’ll take a quick power nap somewhere in the middle if it’s over 9 hours, but other than that, he’s good to go.

Doesn’t mind if you fall asleep, and he always adjusts your neck pillow to make sure you don’t get cramps.

Jean

Travel champion. This man loves being in the airport even though he’s convinced it’s a time capsule, he fucking loves it.

King of “your airport fashion matters, babe.” Not necessarily wearing a whole three piece suit, but he does put in a little effort; it’s not just the first pair of sweats he has laying around.

Swears coffee tastes better in the airport. It does not. That does not stop him from buying it. He should learn to quit tho, especially for someone who hates airplane bathrooms as much as he does.

Charming with all the security personnel and desk assistants. You could be checking in for a flight at 4am, and Jean’s got people smiling and cheery for their shifts.

Bitches about the selection of movies on the flight, and learns to just download his own ahead of time. Gets really startled when he’s watching something and the flight attendants try to grab his attention for food or drinks—the very loud, classic, Jean Kirstein “HUH?”

On that note, he also gets startled by the loudspeaker announcements in the airport. He doesn’t know why he has to hear about American Airlines flight 2170 to Cancun, when he is not on American Airlines flight 2170 to Cancun.

Not opposed to paying extra for better airplane food or drinks on the plane if it’s the right time of day. He always finds something to toast to, plus he likes to treat you whenever and wherever he can.

Takes care of your overhead luggage and helps out the people around him if he sees they’re struggling. Gets shy when you call him a gentleman for it, and he rubs his neck, grumbling, “I was just helping the line move a little faster.”

Great timing, generous, will pick up your checked bags for you, and already rented a car a week in advance: 10/10 travel buddy.

Porco

He doesn’t like planes and there’s no solid reason why—nothing bad happened to him as a kid, and it’s not even that rare unfortunate incidents freak him out or anything—something flying just makes him a bit uneasy.

He won’t say it though, and he tries to keep it together when you’re checking in, but you can tell he’s anxious once you’re sitting and waiting for your flight to board.

He’ll ask to switch seats if you have the window seat, because somehow the feeling of being boxed in between the plane wall/window and another person makes it feel more like a car than a plane and he’s okay with that.

Going to the airport is one of the few times he hair won’t be styled, and falls in his face a bit. He usually throws on a beanie to cover it up, but you think he looks pretty cute either way.

Can’t usually fall asleep and he hates it because he just sits there thinking about the worst for the entire duration of the flight. But when you travel with him for the first time and coax him into taking a nap it’s so much better.

It’s about the only time he’ll let himself be publicly babied by you; but it makes everything so much easier that he doesn’t even mind.

So now, whenever you get on flights, he just puts his hood up, lays his head on your shoulder and waits for the magic to happen.

Bonus: you’re traveling with his friends, and Pieck and Marcel past to your seats, surprised to see Porco fast asleep on your shoulder. Pieck squeals, going on about how you must be a wizard to have gotten him to nap, to which Marcel just shakes his head, “Nah, he’s just really in love with her. Look at his face, that’s the calmest he’s been since he was five.”

Connie

Loves the airport. Not an ounce of organization in his soul though. By that I mean, yeah, he’s probably forgotten his passport at home, or forgotten that a full size bottle of body wash cannot go into his carry-on luggage.

Forgets to wear shoes that easy to take off and is fumbling over himself after the security check trying to lace them back up or put them back on.

Likes for you guys to have coordinating sweatsuits, and even though you don’t travel super often, Connie’s got at least 3 pairs of them lined up for you guys.

Sweet enough to drop plans or rearrange his schedule to travel with you if you were originally gonna be alone. He knows you can handle yourself, but he doesn’t want for you to travel alone if you don’t have to, especially if you’re going someplace far and/or for an extended period of time.

He always finds breakfast food to eat before he gets on his flight (if you two even have time to spare for food that is). It could be 9pm, but Connie’s asking for a breakfast wrap.

Hates waiting in the little pre-flight area. Claims it’s boring as hell and that’s why there’s no reason to get there 3 hours early 🙄🙄

He always spends at least 30 minutes browsing all the movie and TV show options available on-board, loudly exclaiming in excitement when they have something cool to watch—only to fucking fall asleep 10 minutes later. Right on top of you when he was oh-so-excited to watch Madagascar 2.

Always steals the aisle seat, even if it’s yours. It’s probably for the best though, because he has to get up to pee at least twice, no matter how short your flight is.

Makes some cheeky remark about you meeting him in the bathroom. He doesn’t mean it... unless he does. Unfortunately, you’ve never... successfully been able to do that out of fear of being caught by the flight attendants, but there have been a few quickies in the “family” (“It’s ethical, because technically we’re participating in the act of making a family, babe”) bathroom before you boarded. It’s his fault, not yours.

Armin

He really likes planes, and traveling in general. I think trains would be his favorite mode of transportation, but airplanes are good too.

I hate to say it but he claps when the plane lands. I will not elaborate or defend my stance on this.

Prefers the window seat because he likes to look out at the clouds as he’s in the sky.

He took his passport photo a little before he cut his hair, so the security personnel always hold it up and flicker between his ID photo and his current appearance a few times before stamping it. It makes him a little embarrassed because he can’t tell if they think he looks better or worse and sometimes he’s really fighting for his life convincing them that that’s him in the picture 😭

Listens to music rather than downloading a movie or watching a show, and always brings wire headphones to the airport so that it’s easier to share and listen with you.

If you fall asleep on him first, he’ll likely fall asleep on you shortly after. If he’s tired enough, he’ll fall asleep first, though he’s somewhat embarrassed and disappointed because he wanted to see the descent and skyline outside.

When he’s not asleep or window-watching, he’s somewhat fidgety out of excitement, rather than nervousness. He’s excited to be traveling and looks forward to wherever you’re going, even if it is just a weekend long work trip.

Hates traveling alone, though. It just feels particularly lonely to him to be going someplace foreign without company by his side. So, he’ll call you at every checkpoint and send you updates.

He only ever buys two things in duty free: shot glasses with the name of the city/country you’re traveling to, and whatever variety of button down short-sleeves are available to him.

Erwin

You knew this was coming, but this man is absolutely at the airport 18 hours before your flight takes off, and he’s driving like a manic getting there, like you don’t have all the time in the world.

Fascinated by anything and everything in duty free. Definitely spends more money than necessary on your return flight on the grounds that he was getting a good deal.

Exchanges money in the airport and keeps cash in his fanny pack. There’s no traveling without the fanny pack.

Plays crossword puzzles on his phone on the plane, and it’s just about one of the only games he has. That and Candy Crush—I get the feeling he’d be on level 500+ of that game and he always knocks out at least 10 levels on a flight.

Always a little surprised when he feels his your head on his shoulder, but he says nothing, and acts like he didn’t even notice, but there’s a telling little smile on his face.

Takes the most foul selfies of him and your sleeping self. In his defense, he had the best intentions; but that angle was flattering nobody. It’s too bad he’d already paid for the in-flight wifi and sent it to Hange because now you’ll never live them down.

You could probably get him to put on a (skincare) face mask during your flight. He forgets to take it off tho, and if you don’t tell him, he’d fully walk through customs with it on his face.

Accidentally gets drunk because he doesn’t understand that just because he can handle several glasses of whiskey in his favorite bar on a Friday night, does not mean it will translate on a plane.

#anonymous #yeah this is a roast of erwin a bit but im right i know i am #aot x reader #levi x reader #jean x reader #jean kirstein x reader #connie springer x reader #armin x reader #erwin x reader #porco x reader #aot headcanons

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in-ky · 3 years ago

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Hi! I’d love a story about Negan being a serial killer who only kills “bad people” (like in Dexter) and maybe he saves the reader from her ex who’s about to kill her and Negan can save her and takes her in because she’s a mess but she’s actually a killer herself (who kills rapists etc/ only the bad ones) and Negan and the reader start fighting and then get caught up in steamy hot sex 🥵 thank you!

Savior - Negan Killer AU

Warnings: Warnings: GORE + violence, smut, domestic abuse, swearing, dirty talk ig? idk how to tag this lol

A/N: hey! i struggled over this one for a while lol. ive only seen like. 3? episodes of dexter so. i really hope this meets your expectations! also forgive any mistakes its late, im tired, and i wanna get this up lol. also, is negan batman? maybe. 3.7k words

"Will, stop you're hurting me!" I hissed, grabbing at his wrist. He tugged me out of the bustling restaurant and into the dark street.

"I don't really give a shit," He snarled, throwing me into a secluded alleyway a few buildings down from the restaurant. Will had taken me out to a business dinner with his boss in hopes of showing me off and making a good impression. But things didn't quite go according to plan. "You embarrassed me in front of everyone!" He pushed me against the brick wall of the closed department store.

"What was I supposed to do?" I sneered, trying to wiggle away from him "He kept commenting on my body, saying how he wished he could take me home at the end of the night and do all kinds of 'unspeakable things to me'."

"You were just supposed to shut up and take it!" Will said, voice filled with rage "But no, you and your untamable fucking complex just couldn't handle a compliment. You threw your drink in his face! You're lucky he didn't fire me right then and there. You made me look like some pussy who can't control his whore."

"You're an asshole." I shouted, tears welling at the edges of my eyes. Will's face contorted further into a look of pure, unadulterated hatred.

"What the fuck did you just call me?" He seethed, clasping his hand tightly around my throat and constricting his fingers around my airway.

"I said you're an asshole who cares more about his dead-end career than his fucking girlfriend." I croaked. I hated him. I hated him so much. My vision clouded with the combination of disgust, loathing, and lack of oxygen, so I hit him where I knew it hurt. "There's a reason you needed me for arm candy tonight. It's 'cause you're a boring, piece-of-shit, lowlife who has no skill whatsoever. How does it feel knowing you need me to make something of yourself?" With that, he threw me to the ground by my throat. He wasted no time and pinned me to the cold concrete. His knees dug into my shoulders and his hand flew to his back pocket, whipping out the switchblade he carried as a precaution against mugging. My eyes widened as they caught a glint of the moonlight off the sharp knife. He brought the blade up to my throat and slapped me over the cheek harshly with his free hand.

"You better take back those words, bitch," He hissed, pressing the blade into the soft skin of my jugular "or they might just be your last." A dribble of blood ran down my neck with the pressure. Realization flashed through my mind. I could die right then. That could have been my last moment. Was I scared? No. Why wasn't I scared? Maybe it had to do with the shadowy figure that was slowly approaching us from the ally entrance.

There was plenty of time for me to warn Will that someone was coming. But I didn't. Instead, I stayed quiet and watched as the shadow figure pulled Will from my body with ease and tossed him to the side. Everything was kind of a blur. I was still oxygen starved and filled with a whirl-wind of emotion. I heard Will cry out in surprise and indignance. The shadow figure said nothing. It saw the switchblade with a steady line of my blood. It kicked Will in the chest, knocking him to the ground. Then it lifted up a baseball bat over its head and cracked it down over Will's skull. He continued to beat Will until he stopped squirming. The shadow figure paused and swung the bat over his shoulder. I had regained my breath and pushed myself to my elbows. The shadow noticed me moving and took a few heavy steps in my direction. I squirmed away slightly, instincts telling me to get away from the thing that had just pulverized my boyfriend. The shadow entered a stream of moonlight. It was a man. He had peppered hair and a blood-speckled face. He had dark brown eyes and a small smile perched on his lips.

"You okay, sweetheart?" He said. His voice was deep. I was partially surprised. He wasn't a bulky man. He was tall and had a broad frame, but his limbs were long and his body was lithe. He wore a leather jacket and his boots were slick with what I could only assume were Will's brains. I didn't want to look at his bat.

"W-Why did you do that?" I whispered. It was all I could muster.

"He was going to kill you." The man sounded confused, like I was supposed to know who he was and why he saved me.

"You don't know that." My voice was quiet. My eyes were glued to a spot behind the man, unblinking. He let out a throaty chuckle and dropped to a squat, leveling with me.

"Doll, he had a knife pressed to your throat," His words were gentle "Looked like he was gonna fuckin' kill you." He hesitantly reached out two fingers in the direction of my face. I didn't move. He was wearing leather gloves. The ridged fabric ran along my injuries. "Seems like he did some damage before I could step in. Damn. Sorry about that. Listen, I live a few streets down. If you want, I can get you cleaned up."

"Okay," I said softly. I let him help me up to my feet. He guided me along with one arm while holding his bat with the other. As we walked out of the alley I couldn't help but look down at Will, or what remained of him at least. His forehead was split in half, a pool of chunky blood bubbling on the ground. I clenched my jaw and forced myself to swallow the bile that had risen in my throat. And yet, I didn't feel sad. I didn't mourn him. Maybe it was shock, maybe it wasn't. "Thank you?" I murmured, though it was more of a question. The man and I stepped out onto the street and I was grateful there was no one around to see us leaving the scene of a very heinous-looking crime.

"No problem, doll," The man hummed, setting a brisk pace down the sidewalk. "The name's Negan, by the way." Cool. Negan: my Savior.

~~~

"So you're like Batman?" I asked Negan as he dabbed the blood away from my neck. He gave a short chuckle and tore away the sticky part of the band-aid.

"I guess you can say that," he mused, splaying the bandage over the cut the knife had left "but I specifically go for people that I know have hurt others. The baddies, if you will."

"Is that legal?" I tilted my head, crossing my ankles as they dangled over the bathroom counter. My palms were flat on the surface of Negan's marble sink top, fiddling with the wrappers of the medical supplies he had used to clean and bandage my small cuts and bruises.

"I haven't been caught," Negan shrugged "besides, it's less work for the police. They don't have to do any interrogation bullshit or anything. I usually catch people in the act, like tonight. Then I do my thing."

"Do you kill everyone?"

"Only the bad people," He reminded, tossing away a bloody tissue "only people who have hurt others. But, yes, usually the offender ends up on the business end of Lucille over there." He pointed out the door into the living room, where the still-bloody bat rested against a chair. I furrowed my brow.

"Well, doesn't that make you a bad guy?" I pressed. He tapped my knee and I dropped down to the tile floor, tucking my hair behind my ear and gathering some of the scraps.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you still kill people, right? Even if they're bad? So doesn't that still make you a killer?" Negan was quiet for a minute. "Let's put it this way," I continued "What would you do if you came across someone who was like you; someone who hurt the bad people. Would you still kill them. They're hurting people." Negan took a deep breath and let it out with a contemplative sigh, itching his bearded chin.

"I'm not sure," He mused "I've never really thought about it before. See, I don't consider myself a bad person per say. Yea, what I'm doing might be considered fucked up. But I'm doing it for the right reason. I'm protecting people by attacking their attackers. In the end, someone's saved." He brushed off his hands and led me out of the bathroom, flicking the light off. "Would you rather me not have saved you tonight?"

"No," I said immediately "thank you. Really, thank you. You saved my life. Will is...was...always a dick, but I never thought he'd actually hurt me. I guess that proves people can have a whole bunch of layers." Negan nodded and moved to the kitchen. He raised a bottle of whiskey as an offering. I shook my head but he poured himself a glass.

"I was just doing my job," Negan grinned sympathetically "I'm sorry your boyfriend was an asshole who tried to murder you." I shrugged, amusement in my eyes.

"Eh, it happens to everyone." I smiled as he let out another laugh. I felt as if I shouldn't be laughing, but at the same time, everyone has their own responses to almost getting stabbed to death in an alley. So I let myself have this moment. Besides, Negan was a good guy to be around. He made me feel safe, comfortable, secure. Everything I needed right now. "So, Negan, what do you do? Surely vigilante-ing can't pay well, and this apartment is really nice."

"I'm a retired baseball player," Negan said, sipping his whiskey and settling into one of the armchairs in the living room "Hence the bat."

"Were you any good?" I asked. He let out a loud scoff.

"Was I any good?" He mocked "Sweetheart, I have a whole damn trophy room. I was fucking amazing. I just got old."

"So you're rich with no real job, you kill bad guys, and you have a massive ego," I listed "You really are like Batman, aren't you?"

~~~

Negan let me stay on his couch that night. It was leather, like everything else that man seemed to own, but it was comfortable. I woke up to the smell of bacon filling the air. I groaned and rubbed my fists against my eyes, clearing them of sleep. I stretched my arms above my head in a yawn and rolled off the couch, stumbling into the kitchen. Negan was hunched over the bubbling pan, dodging pellets of grease as they shot up at him.

"Smells good!" I purred, closing my eyes and taking a deep inhale.

"Good," He grumbled "You better fucking enjoy it because I've gotten burned at least three times." I laughed and walked up to him examining the small red patches that dotted his arms.

"You didn't have to make me breakfast you know."

"Yea, but I wanted to make sure you were comfortable," He sighed, turning off the stove and scooping the cooked bacon onto a paper towel. "Besides, I was craving some bacon when I woke up. I haven't had someone to share a meal with in a while."

"Well, if you want, you can come by my house for dinner." I offered, crunching down on a piece of bacon "I've been meaning to whip out the family alfredo recipe for a while, maybe a hot date would give me that incentive." I gave him a playful wink and he chuckled.

"Sure thing, doll," He hummed, putting the pan in the sink "I love me some fucking spaghetti. I'll see you around seven?"

"Sounds good."

~~~

I ran down the sidewalk, chest heaving. There was enough darkness to cover me, but I still kept my head down to prevent recognition. I held my hands close to my stomach, praying that the blood on my fingers wouldn't drip on the pavement and leave a trail. I had been on my way home from the store when I heard some commotion coming from an alley. My first instinct was to run, but then I heard the girl crying for help. Negan came to mind, what he did, how he helped people. I couldn't turn away. I marched down the alley and saw a greasy man pinning a woman to the wall of a building. Flashbacks of the night before hit me like a train. I looked on top of the alley dumpster and saw a crowbar perched on one of the lids. I grabbed it and stormed up to the man, whacking him upside the head with the weapon. I kicked him to the side and brought the crowbar over my head before swinging it down. It connected with his face in a sickening 'thwack.' I thought of Will. I thought of what might of happened if Negan had never stopped him. I thought of all the times that bastard had gotten drunk and told me I was nothing. I let the rage bubble up and fuel my beating. By the time I was pulled back into the moment, my muscles were screaming, the woman was gone, and the man's face was unrecognizable. I tossed the crowbar into the dumpster and ran back home.

Dried blood is extremely hard to wash off. It sticks to your skin in flakes, creating a pattern of red veins crawling over your hands. Fuck. I scrubbed as hard as I could under the rushing water of the sink, pumping more and more soap into my hand. It was under my fingernails. It was stuck in my palm prints. Shit, did I leave fingerprints at the scene? Would they be coming for me? With a hiss, I rubbed even harder at my skin, small flecks of blood turning the sink water red.

Suddenly, my door opened.

"I'm ready for my s'getties!" Negan boomed with a wide smile. My head whipped around, looking at him with wide eyes. His grin faded and he crossed the room in record time, grabbing my wrists and turning the sink off. "Is this fucking blood?" He snarled, bringing my hands up to my face. I clenched my jaw and dropped my eyes to my feet. "Jesus, who's is it? Answer me!"

"I-I heard someone screaming on the way home," I said quietly, eyes still downcast "I thought I would help..." His jaw went slack and he let go of my hands, running his fingers through his hair.

"Jesus fuck, you can't just go around killing people!"

"Why not?" I snapped, eyes meeting his "You do it all the time? What's the difference? Why can't I help people?"

"Because it...Because you just can't!" Negan growled, shaking his head.

"Why are you so special?" I hissed back, drying my hands off on a towel before tossing it at him "It's not like you can get a permit for fucking murder. Why do you do it, anyways? Is it some perverted thing? Do you get off on saving people from attackers?"

"Watch yourself." Negan warned, eyes darkening.

"Pfft, or what?" I laughed, tossing my head back "What are you gonna do, kill me? I'm not afraid of you, Negan." As soon as the words left my mouth, he charged me. His hand flew to my throat, squeezing my airway lightly. His hips pressed me against the counter. I let out a small gasp when he shoved his face next to mine.

"Oh, but doll, you really fucking should be." He spat, curling his lip "I could snap your neck right here, right now." He gave a small squeeze to emphasize his words. I let out a strangled moan. We both froze. "Are you turned on right now?" He muttered, furrowing his brow. I licked my lips and squirmed in his grip, pressing my thighs together slightly in an effort to alleviate the warm pressure growing in my belly.

"No," I lied, voice weak. A sinister grin curled over the bottom half of his face and he licked his tongue over his teeth.

"And I'm the perv, huh?" He sucked on my earlobe and peppered kisses down my jawline "Sweetheart, tell me, do you want me to fuck that pretty little pussy of yours? Do you want me to make you cum harder than you ever have?" I whimpered at his dirty mouth. "Use your words, doll, or I'll leave right fucking now."

"Y-Yes!" I breathed as Negan's lips sucked on the sweet spot right beneath my ear.

"Yes, what, princess?"

"Yes, I want you to fuck me, please!" I groaned, clawing at his shirt. He let out a short chuckle, muttering something about how needy I was, but I didn't care. Right now, the only thought running through my head was that I needed Negan. I needed all of him. And damn me if I wasn't going to get it.

We clawed at each other's clothes like rabid animals. Once we were completely bare, Negan moved his kisses down my body. His large, calloused hands kneaded my breasts, twisting my nipples between his thumbs. My arms flew around his neck and I dragged my fingernails up his back. He shivered against my touch and slid his hands further down my body. They settled firmly on my hips as he captured my lips in a fervent kiss.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he grunted, pulling back for air. I looked at him. His tawny eyes were now black, pupils far beyond dilated with lust. Both of our lips were swollen and red from the intensity of our kisses. Negan's chest inflated and deflated quickly as his eyes roamed over my body. "You're so damn perfect." I smiled sheepishly and pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, looking up at him through lidded eyes.

"You're not so bad yourself," I reached out my hand and used my pointer finger to draw a line from his collar bone down the center of his chest and through his navel, finally ending right over his pulsing cock. He sucked in a breath as my fingers closed around him. My thumb swept over the hot tip, gathering precum on the pad of my finger and rubbing it around.

"Shit," He hissed as I slowly pumped him "I'm not gonna fucking last if you keep doing that." He gently pried my hand away and took a step closer to me. I could feel his hardened length resting against the inside of my thigh. The thought of him being so close made a burst of heat rush down between my thighs. Negan took a long finger and ran it through my folds, collecting my wetness. I moaned as he teasingly dipped the first knuckle into me. He pulled back and let out a low whistle. "Damn, girl," he chuckled, raising his finger to my face "You're fucking dripping. Who's that for?" His slick-coated fingers glistened in the light of my apartment. I let out a deep groan as he slid them between his lips and sucked.

"You, Negan!" I whimpered, wrapping my legs around his waist "It's all for you." A wolfish grin spread over his features as he tugged me off him and pulled me down off the counter. He spun me around and pressed gently between my shoulder blades until my chest was flat against the cold surface.

"Then if you don't mind," Negan cooed, lining himself up with my entrance "I'm going to take what belongs to me." With that, he slowly pushed into me. I gasped at the stretch, balling my hands into fists as he continued to split me open.

"Fucking shit," he groaned once he bottomed out "you're tight as hell. I bet you've never had a dick as big as mine." He pulled out slightly and I let out a moan at the growing emptiness inside. The moan soon turned to a yelp when he brought down his hand against my ass. The smack was loud and he rubbed the red spot tenderly. "Have you?"

"N-No!" I gasped when he thrusted into me for the first time "Never. Fuck, you feel so good." Negan's thrusts sped up, his hips snapping against my ass in an obscene rhythm. Grunts and moans of pleasure slipped from both of our lips as he plowed unapologetically into me. I could feel every inch of him. He was hitting every spot, dragging against my walls in a sinfully perfect way.

"You're doing so good," He purred, kissing and biting my shoulder "So good for me. You're so perfect." I tossed my head back and he grabbed my chin, tilting my face towards him so he could give me another bruising kiss. I could only keep up for so long, though, and the white bliss of pleasure he was giving me soon became overwhelming. My jaw went slack and my head dropped against the cool tile of the counter in an attempt to ground myself in the moment. "I want you to cum, doll, cum around me. Wanna feel those walls squeeze me." His thrusts were starting to become sloppy and I could tell he was getting to his end. One of his fingers danced down my spine and found its way to my clit. He circled it with just enough pressure to get me to the edge that I was so willing to jump off. "Now." Negan growled. I obeyed, feeling the band in my lower abdomen snapping violently. We reached our releases simultaneously. My walls clenched around him, milking him of every drop. I screwed my eyes shut and screamed his name, holding in a large breath as the world around me spun. Negan eventually pulled himself out and collapsed on top of me. We both were breathing heavily, sweaty bodies entangled as well as we could over a counter. I swallowed, my throat dry from panting through my orgasm. When my eyes fluttered open, I could see Negan's thumb tracing circles over the love bites that were starting to darken on my shoulders.

"Are you going to kill me?" I rasped, running a hand through my wild hair "I guess I'm a bad person now." Negan chuckled, still out of breath.

"I think I'll make an exception," He mused, pressing a sweet kiss to the shell of my ear "I don't think I'm ready to let you go just yet."

#negan x reader #negan x y/n #negan smut #negan x you #negan smith #au!negan #the walking dead #twd smut #twd negan

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lihikainanea · 3 years ago

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Can you write something maybe a little more on the sweet side? Tiger just feeling small, maybe she’s on her period, and Bill just has caregiver vibes. Maybe it happens while they’re with his family

Ohhhh my, I am feeling so soff and subby tonight.

I think sometimes tiger gets small for some pretty valid reasons--she's having a tough time at work, she's having some drama with her friends, she's had to be a Boss Bitch for too long. She gets small when she's had to make too many decisions and she just wants to disappear into that space where she doesn't have to decide what she wants, for anything. She can just exist and float, and know that she'll be taken care of.

But sometimes it also happens just because she's been feeling really good, her Big Dude has taken such good care of her and she's feeling loved and safe and she's just....floaty.

But of course, the lead up to shark week is always kind of a gamble. More often than not she'll get small as hell--sometimes it's the good kind, sometimes it's the real bad kind and she spirals. Bill knows she's always a little more sensitive the week before--sensitive physically, definitely, but the poor bean is also just full of emotions that she doesn't know how to process.

And if it hits while they're visiting family, it's probably pretty difficult for Bill on all accounts--for one, he just wants to love up on her and cuddle her and make her feels safe but he can't, not with this many people around. Secondly, tiger always gets paranoid that people will see her like this, or that they'll know, and that's terrifying for her--so Bill has to reassure her, a lot and constantly, that it's okay, that she's safe and that no one knows she's like this with him. And thirdly, he worries for the interactions she might have with his family--usually she can take Valter's smarts comments and shoot them back just as ferociously, but when she's small like this, the tiniest thing can really set her off and send her spiralling.

Maybe Bill realizes when they wake up one morning, she's lying on his chest with his thumb in her mouth but she has a cute furrow to her brow, her face tense. Bill opens his eyes slowly, glides a warm hand up her back, and he extends for a stretch.

He knows that look anywhere. The furrowed brow, the fact that she's glued to him, the way she's self-soothing with his thumb. His heart swells already.

"Hi sweet girl," he purrs.

"Mrrrph."

He yawns, hugs her in closer and sniffs her hair.

"Want coffee?" he asks. She just grunts again--but when he goes to get up she whimpers, clings onto him a little tighter and bites at his thumb.

"Okay easy kid," he soothes, "I won't go anywhere."

But like, the problem is--sooner or later, they have to come out of the room. The whole family is there. And tiger is already spiralling, freaking out about it because she doesn't feel safe. She can hear Valter's yelling downstairs, she can hear some of the brothers swimming in the lake, and somehow she has already gotten it through her head that everybody knows. Bill has to talk her down from a few ledges before he's even had a sip of coffee.

"Let's start there sweet girl," he says softly, "They know you never get your own coffee, and they know that they never see you before you've had coffee. That's normal, okay? Can we start there? I'll go get you a cup, and then we'll figure out a plan for the day."

It takes a brief moment, but then eventually she nods.

"Eyes tiger," he reminds her gently, tilting her chin up with his forefinger, "Okay?"

"Yes, okay." she murmurs.

"Hold onto your tiger," he says, and he stuffs the plushie in her arms, "And I'll be back in 5 minutes, okay? Set your timer, sweet girl."

"I don't need--"

"Set it," he says sternly. She reacts right away, relaxing a bit as she reaches for her phone and sets the timer.

He returns not even two seconds later, with two steaming mugs of coffee and he hands one to her.

"How're you feeling?" he asks, as he takes a seat on the bed. Tiger just shrugs, her eyes downcast.

"Answer me," he insists gently. She fiddles with the handle of her mug.

"I don't know," she says quietly, "Loud."

And Bill gets it. By loud she means worried, over-stimulated, her mind going a million miles an hour and she just can't stop it. He takes a sip of his coffee as he thinks.

"You're safe here kid," he tells her, "You're always, always safe with me."

"But your family is--"

"They're here, and they're everywhere," he finishes her sentence, "That's why I need you to be brave today, okay? I'll take care of you the way you need, I promise I will. We'll just have to do it a bit differently this round."

"They're going to know," she chews at her thumb, "They're all going to know."

"Nobody is going to know," he murmurs, taking her thumb from her lips and replacing it with his own--which she takes willingly.

"We're going to stay like this for awhile," he tells her, "And then I'm going to bring breakfast up."

He hushes her softly when she protests.

"And then we're going to go on a hike in the woods--just me and you. We'll bring a picnic so we can be alone for awhile, just me and you, and I can take care of you."

He doesn't ask her if that's okay, or if that sounds good. Tiger doesn't want to decide anything right now. Instead he climbs in behind her, pulls her to his chest, and just holds her there until she's done her coffee.

"I'll be back with breakfast," Bill says as he gets up, "Set your timer for 10 minutes."

And she does. And within a few minutes Bill comes back with a tray full of food, telling her that everybody is out swimming in the lake anyway and nobody is looking for her. She nibbles on some things while Bill opens her suitcase, picks out a few clothes for her to wear. He packs a backpack with some bug spray, some sunscreen, an extra bag of gummy bears--which he waves at tiger with a wink, before putting them in an easily accessible pouch in front. He goes through her toiletry bag and pulls out a few tampons, some baby wipes, he tucks a roll of toilet paper in there. When she's done her breakfast he ushers her into the shower, starting it for her and laying out a toothbrush with some toothpaste on it.

"I'm going to make lunch," he says, "I'll be back here by the time you're out, okay?"

She nods, and he gives her a gentle push into the streaming water.

And true to his word, by the time she's done he has another bag picked with their lunch, and he's waiting for her in the room. he mapped out an easy trail--they'll be gone for a few hours but nothing uphill, nothing too physical, just lots of flat ground and lakes and shady areas they can stop and just be together.

"Go wait for me outside," he tells her with a kiss, "I'll just go say bye to everyone."

And listen, Bill never drops the ball when she's like this, you know? If she's small as hell and he's not in a position where he can take care of her--then he changes their surroundings. He makes sure he gets her somewhere alone, somewhere safe, where she can just be like this with him and not have to worry. Somewhere that he can take care of her the way she needs. He tells her when to drink some water, he decides when they should stop and rest for a bit, or grab a snack. He sets them up for lunch. The whole day he just makes sure she's taken care of, that she's feeling okay, and he protects her from anything that would break the bubble around her.

#BFF!Bill #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabble #sub tiger #bill skarsgard fic #bill skarsgard fanfic #bill skarsgard fanfiction

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4dtk · 3 years ago

Text

op.47 (you're the space in between the notes) — iii. development

pairing: soloist!gojo x violinist!reader (fem)

summary: gojo satoru always had a place in your life, whether it’s from the endless teasing at the age of ten to the dashing photoshoot of him with his violin in the concert you aimed to meet him again at. although when you’re caught in a messy situation, your childhood friend’s first solution is to announce that you’re dating. and so you’re stuck in this predicament: for you to figure out your feelings and for gojo to get one more chance. at what? even he doesn’t know.

tags: fake dating au, extreme slow burn (check masterlist for the full tags!)

word count: 7.3k

a/n: they’re so down bad for each other. also thank you again to @moonboohoo for beta reading!!! (also for clarification both satoru and y/n has photo sets of their own (where the photobooth usually prints out both sets for two people) and they’re both own set of three pics. the missing fourth pic? well read on!!!! it’s only towards the end of this chapter tho LOL)

taglist: @daddyissuesmademe @fiona782

previous │ masterlist │ next

it seemed like the few years you took was more than enough for time to ‘do its thing’, though. like always, you reconnect the following day in a blend of complaints and headaches, unknowingly on edge for every joke that you had proposed to the other.

“satoru, i hate you,” you coughed out with a gruff voice, head hurting from the incessant reporting on the morning news. everything’s a blur even after drinking the soup that nanami had cooked up, using a store-bought formula that tasted decent.

you’re thankful that you were able to at least sit across him, face on full view, to see how gojo would react to your quips.

“shut it, (y/n). you were the one acting like rachel mcadams in the 40s,” gojo groaned, downing another cup of steaming hot water in an attempt to quell the burning sore throat.

“pipe down, the two of you,” nanami sighed. he’s obviously picked up on the clouds hanging over your heads, from both your health and a possible argument, but doesn’t comment anymore as he cleans up the kitchen.

“i didn’t even get a chance to wife nanami up,” you yawn, snuggling more into the warm blanket, hardly minding the uncomfortable position on your small couch.

nanami let out a chuckle at that, “i just might have to take you up on that offer. all satoru eats is delivered food when i’m over at his place.”

satoru could only scoff, “do not!”

the manager isn’t one to fight back, so you argue in nanami’s stead.

“do too!” clearly, the noise only contributes to your splitting migraine, sinking back into the cushions as the pain shoots up the back of your head.

gojo’s ‘hmph!’ is heard, albeit quiet, the room soon dissolving into a comfortable silence. the news fades off into the afternoon dramas that no one usually watches, with the occasional rustle of gojo’s tee and the whispered clangs of pots in the kitchen.

the next few days are filled with tissue and hot water, while your relationship with the violinist slowly patches up like the shaky support of masking tape on a glass crack.

“no way she’s actually checking out the noise... bitch run!” gojo screamed at the television while you hid behind a cushion, prepared for the jumpscare that could happen at any time.

“you’re telling me,” you wiggle your mug of boiled water like a wine glass, “that you’ve never seen princess diaries?!”

“he was so horny that he had to wake up another girl?” satoru raises an eyebrow at the movie passengers, inclining back on the sofa with a disgusted look. “yeah, like you wouldn’t do that?” the narrowed eyes gojo shoots you make you crack up, even more so when he launches forward to send you into a fit of giggles with tickles.

it’s coming back, the gleam in satoru’s eyes when he talks to you and the unconditional smile he had. you see it in the way he throws his head back when he snorts and when he reuses the insults he’s used back in the day. they never fail to make you react in the same way, unfortunately always returning to your default state with a bit of caution and guilt.

“you’re terrible at blackjack, (y/n).” nanami states blankly one day, unfortunately being dragged into a game when he came over to check over the two of you.

“i will— not go that low— to insult nanami, because it is true. i am but a mere loser at blackjack, but! gojo satoru absolutely sucks at go fish,” gojo could only throw a dollar bill at you as a reply, stifling a laugh when it instead flies in nanami’s direction to hit him in the face.

“you suck at synonyms; why’d you pick codenames?” you scoff, “the fanfiction i wrote as a teenager would say otherwise.��

gojo hums in thought, “were any of your fanfics written about me?” you chuck the hourglass prop at him in retaliation, both jaws dropping when the sand inside leaks out. the other recovers first. “well, now we have all night for you to scour your brain for a word that describes both angry and sad!” the grin he had was shit-eating, clearly loving that he got to poke fun at you.

“that was one time! i said smad once!”

satoru notices your walls are lowering again, remorseful for having put you through countless days of dismantling and rebuilding but he hadn’t meant to do so. it was unintentional, and all he wanted was to be there for you when the walls fall. he wasn’t aware that behind those walls held more layers of protection.

“what the fuck are you doing?” you look him up and down, clearly uncoordinated from the waist down. as much as you know him to be talented at almost everything, dancing wasn’t one of them.

“tiktok, babe. come join!”

“what? nooooo!” the tug on your wrist is hard to resist, leaving you to stand cluelessly in front of the camera.

“what even is the dance? what- do i just stand here?” satoru answers your question by wrapping an arm around your waist, dipping you way too low. your surprised expressions are captured terribly well on the camera even after you’ve stumbled to stand up, leaving gojo with a smile as he reviews the video. “what even are you supposed to do?”

“copy a pose from one of those rom-com movies—i just chose the dipping down one. it technically woooould be better if we were dressed for it, but...” he shrugs. the immense amount of views the next day shock you.

among many movies, board games and tiktok reenactments, you could feel your body clearing up as it gets back its strength. the four days it took you to recover felt like a movie montage full of smiles and sunshine. it rang true, though, knowing you couldn’t remember the last time you had so much fun and laughed so much.

“oh my god, are you actually practising while you’re sick? you’re crazy!” gojo calls out, peeking into the practice room where you went over the many pieces you’ve been doing for the past weeks. you simply raise an eyebrow when he refuses to leave.

“are you just gonna stand… there? can you help to close the door when you leave?”

“who said anything about leaving?”

“ugh, fine, just don’t be annoying or anything.”

“baby, this is gojo satoru you’re talking about, of course i’m going to be-” you launch an etude book right at his face, an old one that you don’t practice much anymore. it hits the floor more harshly than you intended, but the whistle of your friend causes no regret that you just did that.

“okay, okay, i’ll keep quiet. i just want to watch you practice,” he renounces his attitude, settling on the old bed that you always kept in the practice room.

gojo hums as you call out to him, the sizzling on the stove from nanami providing background noise paired with the muted action movie being played.

“did you enjoy yourself these few days?” it was a timid question, but one that you were set on knowing the answer for.

all satoru answered with was the gentle smile he’s given you at events and concerts, wordlessly leaning back to cradle his head behind his hands. his eyes are contentedly closed, but not before catching the mischievous twinkle that mimics a reflection of light on glass windows. it’s the same he’s always done when he’s walking, unbothered.

you know that’s his way of affirming whatever you said, noticing how gojo pops an eye open to see you still staring at him, to which you respond with a whip of your head towards the television.

a nonchalant expression is what you hoped was on your face, but your heart sprinted like crazy, mouth suddenly dry from the way gojo had caught you. you’re hoping that at least a distraction could help you, feeling your body instantaneously relax when nanami calls out for dinner.

“woah, nanamin! this tastes surprisingly good!”

there’s a scoff from nanami from across him, which elicits a shrug from gojo as he continues to scarf down the meal. it’s the only sound coming from the table while you enjoy the food silently, giving a thumbs-up to which nanami replies with a curt nod.

gojo doesn’t give up the chance to talk about the piece he’s currently working on: Wieniawski’s second violin concerto. Wieniawski’s not that hard of a piece, he puts it, even though gojo is speaking about Wieniawski, a complete virtuoso at the violin who just happened to include a crazy amount of techniques in his compositions.

every piece was carefully thought out, meticulous and flawless and intricate. although not as tricky as his first, the amount of practice needed to perfect the second is required as much as for the many other pieces under Wieniawski’s belt.

he talks both your ears off, going on and on about the many bars in the first movement that confuses him (of course, he doesn’t mean it). he mentions how much his fingers hurt to stretch across the fingerboard (he has big hands, he’s lying).

satoru sighs, “i’m also struggling about what story i want to portray. i’ve done this piece before, but it’s always for fun. people seem to like my Sibelius and Beethoven more anyway.”

you barely catch the next thing he says, “it’s like there’s no room to breathe,” seemingly spiralling into a never-ending loop of a curse. the curse of being such a celebrated soloist that he had no room to fuck up. but before you can lay a hand on his arm, he shoots up like a robot whose switch had been tampered with. it scares you, almost, but gojo does this too often for you to know when he’s serious and when he’s joking.

“that’s enough of me! let’s talk about you, nanami~!” in a singsong voice, he’s turned his full attention to the blonde-haired man with a cheeky smile, but the latter has other plans as he stands up.

“excuse me,” nanami cuts in with a monotonous voice and a deadpan expression that incites a laugh out of you. he pays no mind to satoru grumbling under his breath. before you know it, the manager moves to clear the rubbish, prompting you to immediately get off your chair in a fit of giggles to help him stack plates. as usual, the male makes no move to help as he remains there with eyes closed and hands behind his head. you would’ve reached out to brush your fingers through his hair again, but the dishes clanging against your sink is enough to make you reconsider your decision.

the silence is bearable while you clean the dishes, the soft sounds of the sponge mix with nanami’s practised wipe downs of cutlery and porcelain. nanami didn’t seem like someone who talked much, but you avoid eye contact anyway, fixated more on finishing the dishes.

“you know, i don’t care about whatever argument you guys had, but we need him at his best in a few weeks, yes?”

“a-ah, yeah, okay,” you’re stuttering, hands frozen at the sudden voice that’s spoken up.

nanami sighs, a gesture you’ve become used to in the time you’ve talked to him. they’re usually directed towards satoru, but now you can feel that it’s laced with disappointment and resignation that resembled a father figure.

“it’s painful, sometimes, i know. it’s visible in how you look at the man. there’s no lid on your overflowing feeling of envy,” his hands pause, too, the napkin clutched tightly in his fist. “but then, i see your relaxed features when you take secret glances at him, and there’s this longing feeling within you. you don’t know what to do. it’s... bitter.”

swallowing was all you could do, fingers filled with the dish soap as the bowl threatens to fall from your hands.

“is it that obvious?”

the next yes that follows is notably grim, letting on that this was stressing nanami out than he liked to admit. “gojo’s never been this distracted more. i’d like to think it was a mere fleeting feeling, but, well...”

you’re the one to sigh this time, continuing your tasks as nanami with his, the conversation dying off into the routine clean and wipe. the thought of the other violinist weighs heavy in your mind like nanami’s words does.

“thanks for the heads-up, i guess,” you mumble, putting away the last of the dishes that had you hypnotised from its water droplets.

drip. drip. drip. it’s awfully loud how the sound makes as it clashes with the cups just below, the small kitchen now entirely falling into a harsh stillness. “i understand, completely,” nanami’s voice is hoarse from the lack of use, but he doesn’t seem to mind before clearing his throat and leaning onto the counter.

“the feeling of always being second place. it’s not good, it’s not ideal, it’s not satisfactory, right?”

your elbows are then resting on the same counter, staring out the window just next to the sink.

“i just don’t understand how he does it. didn’t i practise just as much?” a shaky breath is heard, wondering what you were doing whispering to his manager when the person of your resentment just resides outside. you didn’t even know nanami that well, but here you were pouring your heart out to him. biting back tears was easy as your eyes linger on the flat across yours, but the next thing nanami mutters has your teeth clenching.

“i can’t be the judge of that, but i do judge based on facts.” nanami places a hand on your shoulder, “some are lucky, and some aren’t. some are picked out for their talent, and some...”

a pang of guilt flashes across nanami’s face as your shoulder tenses up and you sniffle.

“yeah, i’m aware,” the manager had half-expected you to throw a fit, to push him back to defend your position. the last thing he predicted was a gentle smile while you turn to him with puffy eyes.

you know your reaction’s caught the other off guard. “i’ve been made aware of that my whole life, so what’s one more, right?” sighing, you wipe your face of any evidence before patting your cheeks. there’s a torn expression that he puts on, mouth opening and closing as he debates an apology.

“’s fine, nanami. i get your values and stuff; you’re not wrong for stating a fact, yea?” your tired smile has him nodding stiffly, although he still feels the need to apologise with a “sorry” at the tip of his tongue.

“i get it, i get it. you don’t have to say sorry.” by now, you just want to keep quiet and zone out, taking a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet. you hope the burning sensation of alcohol doesn’t trigger another sore throat, but you’re ready to bet on it with the lack of events on gojo’s side, “whiskey?”

nanami accepts it, heading outside with the bottle you handed him and some ice while you search through the cabinets for the glasses. it’s dusty, from how long it’s been in there, washing the dirt off before heading out to the main room.

seeing gojo in the same relaxed position that you two left him in brought you a bit of comfort; without a care in the world, without a single speck of worry across his features that made you wonder of the times where gojo had told you to just fuck it. you’ll deal with the consequences later, just take the risk!

you take in the calm breaths escaping his mouth, unusually silent as his finger switches between writing words on his wrist to tapping to the music playing in his head. like a switch, you realise you’re going through all the small things, unconsciously locking them away in your mind.

you’ve oddly memorised how he liked his tea in the morning (coffee’s too bitter for him) when you approach the dining table. as you fill in the whiskey for three, you recall that satoru preferred a slight crispiness on his food, whether it’s chicken or gyoza.

and when you finish pouring the third glass, the clink of the ice snaps you out of the trance, finally remembering that gojo was a lightweight.

gojo realises your thought process, chuckling at your facial expression before giving you a smile. he’s peeking at you with one eye open again, and if he can see that you’ve shed a few tears earlier, he doesn’t say anything.

“’s okay. give it to me,” he murmurs as if nanami wasn’t in the room, as if you’re the bartender in a shady bar ready to hit him up, as if you’re about to tease him about his low alcohol tolerance. but when his fingers brush against yours as you pass it to him — with the usual spark of energy and rush — your conversation with nanami wins against the little surge of feelings.

the thought makes you want to tap out and make a lame excuse of feeling tired, but nanami breaks the quiet with a stretch toward his glass.

“to gojo’s concert, to (l/n)-san, and to my declining physical health of being his manager,” nanami says plainly, and the dull tone elicits a giggle from gojo upon hearing the quip. you merely hum at it, raising your cup to meet theirs in a satisfying clink before downing the alcohol.

the soloist has no problem picking up the awkward atmosphere with his endless chatter, occasionally directing a question to you since nanami can’t be bothered to answer him. gojo stopped trying after the first question, getting only an expression of disbelief at the assumption that the manager would actually entertain his antics.

ah, well, it was worth a try. time passes fast like that and before you know it, laughter is prominent around the dining table. even the stoic male found himself cracking a few smiles, the alcohol providing a bit of slack when it courses through your bodies. you pass off the weighted words from nanami, although he still stays wary of your feelings with each calculated word. after all, you’re not exactly buddy-buddy with the man.

as you and gojo laugh at his manager, the conversation shifts from his career to taking care of the violinist, and then heads towards facts about you and now lastly, the solar system and Holst’s orchestral suite on it.

“if you ask me, nanami seems like a Saturn kinda guy. that piece represents the bringer of old age, right...? it fits him, i feel,” you had to stifle a laugh at that, almost choking on the last bit of your drink if not for your reflexes.

nanami rolls his eyes, knowing that he liked to poke fun at the former’s age despite being a year older. he looks to gojo without missing a beat, “well, i think you suit Pluto very well.”

you relish in gojo’s confused expression as the joke doesn’t sink in, “but there’s no Pluto in Holst’s suite-”

“exactly.”

ooh. burn.

the dam is broken before you burst out in laughter, your laugh taking centre stage in the small flat. the joyful atmosphere has nanami cracking a smile at his playful jab as a pout grows on satoru’s face, eyes flitting between the two of you.

“nanamin~ you’re so mean!”

you’re finally able to calm down from your high of giggling as you blink away a few tears. the other violinist’s also sporting a few snorts himself before you discover that there’s a lack of ice, both in your drinks and in the icebox.

“let me get more ice,” you mutter, quickly excusing yourself from the table. gojo has another idea, though, taking off in the direction of the kitchen but not before he weirdly seeks nanami’s approval and encouragement.

“go.” the manager departs from the dining table, then, heading to the couch to give you both some privacy.

there’s a small thankful smile that gojo manages to muster, expectedly walking in something that definitely wasn’t a straight line as the whiskey gets to him.

“aren’t you gonna ask what planet are you?”

the question catches you by surprise, but the more shocking factor was its murmur from gojo’s lips. his eyes swirl like the clashing of chaotic oceans in calamity among calm seas that lap lazily at the shore, and it shows in the way he’s looking at you: unrelenting contact with a hint of softness.

“huh?”

you’re wondering why he’s up from the dining table, knowing that the man is slowly losing his grip on sobriety before he shoots you the sweetest smile you’ve seen in a while. it’s a wonder you haven’t fallen into his trap that he’s set up tirelessly, where you’d willingly hold onto his hand and play with his fingers and hair.

satoru ponders on the same thing when your eyes focus on him from behind the freezer door, envisioning all the times that he wants to come back to you after a long day as he buries his face into your neck.

“don’t you wanna know?”

you hum, giving your full attention now that the icebox is out of the freezer. gojo moves closer to you with one hand on the door and a piercing stare like any other time. for you both, the hold of your eyes was the only form of communication for a splitting second. your gentle smile wasn’t held back, like the usual caution you had of being the victim of gojo’s pranks, but nor were you fully aware of your surroundings, still a bit drowsy from the mix of lunchtime medicine and liquor.

exaggeration was a result of your hazy state, raising both eyebrows in a state of thought, “enlighten me, satoru.”

satoru was no different, either, smile lopsided and body tired from the past few recovery days. he’s tipsy, you know, but he feels as if his heart’s bursting out of his chest when he watches your tipsy grin.

“Jupiter.”

you’re sure that you were close to freezing your fingers off. your body fits snugly against the kitchen counter as it stays turned towards the other, head tilted to an angle.

“really? why so?”

through your sleepy state, you still can see and hear the hesitation in satoru’s voice as he scours for an explanation. the smirk remains on your face as you enjoy the fluster on the other for a bit, taking note that his eyes glow a little bit more tonight. questions come one after the other, not caring much for the answers as your mind searches for why he’d choose the large gas giant.

“isn’t Sagittarius ruled by Jupiter? it would fit you more.”

satoru shrugs, “well... maybe but, if i were to take Jupiter... then my poor (y/n) wouldn’t have anything,” his silky voice is cut off with a swig of his drink.

you laugh nervously, dumping a few ice cubes into his glass when it departs from his lips. “what do you mean?”

“Mars is too war-like and military-driven. Venus is based on peace, which you... do not— have—” gojo giggles when you slap his shoulder, knowing it was all in good fun.

“Mercury is too jumpy for you. Saturn’s for old man Nanamin. you’re terrible at pranks and magic tricks, so it’s a no-no for Uranus, and lastly, i’m fully aware of all the stupid things you did as a kid, so there’s no enigmatic Neptune for you.” with his detailed explanation, the only response from you is an impressed nod.

“outstanding profiling. you got all that from criminal minds over the past few days? or just from your smart, analytical, musical mind?” even in your teasing, you find a way to show your sardonic speech.

“’course,” while your talk is sarcastic, satoru’s tends to cut off when he’s intoxicated. another fact stored away for another time. “i liked watching late-night reruns of criminal minds with you.” he doesn’t even acknowledge your joke on his advanced mind.

“why?” it’s a stupid question to ask, you know, but it’s the only word you can think of right now.

“why wouldn’t i?” his butt meets the countertop due to his towering height, with arms crossed against his chest with a shade of red dusting his cheeks, “i like—”

he shouldn’t look this attractive this late in the night.

satoru sighs, “i like spending... time with you, i miss spending time with you.” the whiskey provides him with room to daydream, lifted off reality even for a little while his eyes stare at the ceiling. the breath you’ve been holding in lets itself go, and so do the restraints on your heart. subconsciously, your single finger meets the back of his palm, and he wakes from his pondering state.

with that finger, you trace his name onto his skin. satoru, it reads, the singular character of ‘悟’ coming as a breeze to you and his breath hitches.

“are you as sure of that as you are with thinking that i fit Jupiter?” his laugh is like harmony to your ears, and you have to refrain from acquainting yourself with his hand once again. “satoru, to know and understand… enlightenment. i think you’re a little too confident in that when you spent half of an episode covering your face.”

“hey!” the other glares with feigned anger and with pearly whites that you want to be directed to you when he’s happy to see you in the morning.

“i am sure of that,” satoru’s voice lowers, getting to a whisper that’s shared only with the space between the two of you — the space that’s slowly closing.

“i’m glad, i’m glad,” you simply say with frantic nods when his eyes drop to your lips, retreating your finger without much thought before placing both hands on the counter. the same sinking feeling seeps in like the last time at the roof garden, and you’re the first to cower like you always do, fixated on the dull walls of the kitchen like they could pierce holes through the concrete.

“hey— hey hey, love,” the new pet name is barely audible, but it sweeps you from under your feet anyway. hearing it muttered so tenderly, with the gleam in his eyes, felt like everything fit into place.

“look at me, (y/n).” you’re so caught up in your fantasy that you don’t realise the overlay of wetness over your eyes, vision hindered by tears as it gradually dissolves into blurriness. “(y/n), love,” the concern on satoru’s face beat the usual confidence he has. it was the same concern when you’re up against reporters and the pesky flu like the one from hours ago.

“what’s wrong? aw, man, i did something, didn’t i?”

you shake your head, half answering him and half attempting to get his hands off your cheeks.

“it’s nothing, ‘toru. i- i... ugh...” you’re thrown in for a loop when he gently wipes the tears that are overflowing. there’s a significant difference between his hands to yours, grasping onto his wrists for some kind of support.

snot’s leaking, and your nose is scrunched up in pain, but he doesn’t have a care in the world at all. taking one of your hands in his, he brings you closer until your face meets his chest.

“why are you saying all this now?”

“because i want to! can’t i tell my fake girlfriend that? jeez...” his chin rests on the side of your head, partially talking into your hair. satoru smiles when your arms encircle around his torso.

muffled, your words are barely heard as your mouth moves against his shirt, “is that the alcohol talking, or you?”

“the alcohol is playing a part, yeah,” you sigh, and he pulls away to your chagrin, “but it is me talking, too.”

“is it really?” you murmur, temporarily forgetting about your bout of tears as you press a hand to ‘check’ his temperature. satoru swats your hand away jokingly, heading back into that dreamy state when your other meets with his nape.

“why are you telling me that i’d match Jupiter? why are you telling me that you like watching stuff with me?” a whisper and an avoidance of eye contact.

satoru is at his weakest now, as fingers twist his snow-white hair around the curves of your digits and your brushed-away hand ghosts over his shoulder; whatever joke that lingers on his tongue is gone. your eyes which were focused on the spot behind him, flickered back to his eyes and then, down to his lips.

you opted instead to have your eyes linger on his collarbones after, panicky and shifty at the way your eyes found his lips so quickly.

“what do you want me to say...?”

“anything but-!” your energy depletes to his lowest point, replaying this conversation in your head time and time again. writing out a script in your head meant taking on different possibilities, but the way this was playing out seemed to be going on an improvisation mode that left you troubled.

“can you at least tell me why?” your senses are heightened. the faint smell of alcohol laced with his usual minty breath, the tiny micro-movements that he reacts with, the sound of your heart beating in your chest that you weren’t sure even matched satoru’s.

you make a slight noise of objection when you hear the question, brought on next by a knit of your brows when he cups your face in his hands. “why are you making this so hard? why, why, why?”

i’m supposed to despise you! i’m supposed to surpass you and laugh in your face when i finally get what i want. i’m supposed to see you crumble in the seats when i get the applause and the praise and realise that talent isn’t all that.

that fantasy and alternate universe lives somewhere out there, nothing compared to the situation that’s currently playing out. you resented the soft touches he gave you, along with the smirks he’d shoot your way when someone complimented you.

but who were you to resent them when even you weren’t sure of your point of view? did everything appear like a reverie? or did you paint satoru in a world of black and white?

even your mind screamed at you to pick a side, and when your mouth contorts into one of heartache with the overspill of tears, you hated how even more gentle he was. you let satoru sweep you up again, both figuratively and literally, as he shushes you. he’s extra attentive to your growing frustration, recalling all the words he’s said to you on the floor in the very same house.

satoru knows your throat closes up and how uncomfortable you feel when tears get into your ears and neck. he’s aware of your restless hands, reaching everywhere and anywhere to clutch at something — fabric, a stone counter, his wrist.

you’re doing the same things as he remembers. like a cheesy scene, it rivals the one years ago when you’d learn of his mentorship, minus the complicating story and feelings.

“i’m here,” the two words ring in your head ironically, like an unending bell that won’t go away. it taunts you like a jester, surrounding you from all corners until they’re sure they’ve tormented you. when seated on the counter, you fail to meet satoru’s height. he humbles himself, though, by lowering to your eye line as he rubs comforting circles into the back of your hand.

“even when you’re crying, you’re beautiful,” satoru whispers, going back to brushing away your tears once he knows you’ve calmed down. although you’d like to spill more tears over that sentence, you hardly have any left and rather, your head collides with his chest.

“and you’re insufferable.” satoru’s chest rumbles when he lets out a low chuckle, not taking offence to it one bit. like a doll, you let your head go limp when you feel the other take your face into his hands.

“and you’re spent. c’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

everything is quiet in the main room when satoru brings you to your room in a bridal carry, the absence of nanami not registering in your brains. before you can react to the familiar creak of the door with squirming and a faint “no!”, however, satoru’s already standing in the cosy area. the violinist grins, looking around your room to look at the various posters you’ve put up of him. there wasn’t a lot, but any more of those posters and his ego might just shoot through the ceiling.

“you didn’t tell me about your obsession~” he coos. you know he’s trying his best to sound neutral when your face was literally swollen with tear stains, but even then, satoru couldn’t hold back on his teasing nature. when he looks down at you, he finds you turned away from him, eyes narrowed and lips pouting.

“heh, okay, okay, i’ll shut up,” the other sets you down, ignoring the little thank god as he takes his time to admire a performance shoot at carnegie hall and another masterclass teaser shoot in germany. he doesn’t miss the little scribbles you had done either, printouts of worn-down photos next to the pictures of the two of you goofing off in a photo booth.

it’s been years that the corners have curled, and the paper reduces itself to yellow, barely sticking to the wall with the double-sided tape you used. as expensive as the tape was, it still held up after all these years. his fingers trace over the photos one by one, passing over the professionally printed paper of the posters and the inky, rough feeling of the A4 templates you used to jam into the printer.

“you still have these?”

wish i could’ve gone for your masterclass! ~(y/n)

lol, remember when we’d prank shoko and tell her that rehearsal was an hour early?

those memories that you tried to hold onto were plastered on your walls. there was a single pin on a particular sheet of music amongst your posters and pictures. the handwriting’s old, the pencil marks blurring from the years of exposure to light and heat.

ask satoru to teach you this, dumbass!

you can’t bother with a smile, producing a rather pitiful nod as you rubbed your blocked nose.

“i...” satoru pauses with a finger, possibly telling you to wait before taking a light jog outside. there are noises of him rummaging through a bag, and you take the opportunity to sit on your bed as he comes running back with a leather wallet, looking through it with determination in his eyes.

“aha!” his smile widens when he pulls out a folded piece of paper, showing a fancy frame around the two of you at the mall’s photo booth. it matched the three-photo set pasted above the bedside table, wondering why the photobooth decided to cheat your money that day. the bed dips under his weight.

your grins are priceless on the frayed photograph, arms wrapped around each other while your heads are pressed together. it replayed seamlessly in your head, and the next memory (and missing photo) makes you cringe.

“oh my god, i kissed you on the cheek after that one, didn’t i?”

satoru suppresses a laugh, “yes. yes, you did.”

“what happened to the fourth photo anyway?” you took a quick glance at the photos on your wall and back to him, noticing the way his white locks blew in the wind gently, almost in hypnosis. the only other thing bringing you out of the trance is his fingers turning the paper around to show you the one photo you’ve never seen your whole life.

eyes closed, heart thumping, fist clenched, all while planting a peck on the younger satoru’s cheek. the camera at the time doesn’t capture the shock on his face enough, although they seem to enhance the blueness of his irises.

“what? what the hell?” you grunt, kicking at the dispenser when it only produces three photos instead of four, albeit doubled due to the settings you keyed in before. you’re hopeful when you look through your wallet, though finding that you were a few cents short of another round.

you’re unaware of the way your friend manages to distract you, easily tearing out the last photo from each set using the perforated lines before putting it back into the photo tray, still warm from the photo-developing process in the machine.

satoru at the time only shrugs, “don’t look at me. i didn’t bring cash today!”

“liar. aren’t you always loaded?” you make grabby hands at him, ascertained on getting a hand on his wallet. with one glance, you trail your eyes down his arm that was tucked neatly into one of his pockets. “you’re hiding cash in there, aren’t you?”

“naaaah, nope! give me a kiss again.” you scoff, shooting him a disgusted look when he taps his finger against his cheeks.

“you’re insufferable!” you storm off after, leaving the other to fiddle with the two torn photographs in his pocket, slipping it into the wallet you failed to steal with the one photo that made him wish you did it again.

well, he’d tell you when he was ready, when he was sure you’ll stay in his life forever.

you shove him, “so you did tear it out to take it! i thought the machine really was broken.”

his laugh decorates the room with its brightness, “it was the last outing before i left, anyway. i wanted a part of you with me~”

you tch, nudging him with your foot, “that’s gross. cut it out— will i ever get the other picture though?”

his shrug elicits a curl to your lip. he surrenders pretty fast, “ow- ow! okay! give me like ten years, i’ll probably be back to the States by then.”

“it’s in the States? ten years?”

“told ya, wanted a part of you even during my mentorship.”

he sighs after your lack of reply, looking back down at the picture yet again with an uncharacteristic quietness to him. you almost think he’s going to keep it back into his wallet, but instead, he leans forward to you and past you to place it side by side with yours.

it completes the picture and the tear line. the ornate frame, probably created in MSPaint, connects as the exaggerated designs and stickers finally make the photographs whole.

you also almost think that satoru’s looking at the wall as you are, but when you turn back, you don’t expect him to be gazing back at you. his arm reaching past you feels too close, and you can feel his leg touching yours, knee to knee that it ignites your skin all around.

he swallows uncomfortably, and the only sounds apparent to you are the neighbours and his breath on your face. the only touch clear to you is satoru’s eye-catching hair under your hands, sticking out from in between your fingers when you run it through his white locks. there’s a flutter in your heart when he smiles at your soothing affection and leans into it.

you’re ready to conclude what you see: a lick of his lips, a hesitation in his other arm, a melt of his azure eyes.

but the list continues on when he finally meets you halfway with a slight nod from you. you see nothing but blackness as his lips descend on yours. it stops; the photo he was pinning to the wall drops from his hand, the other wraps around your waist and the weight he was holding is now released, breaking your fall as the other hovers over you.

you’re doing it again, (y/n).

he laughs. he has the audacity to laugh and make your heart clench up, to make your palms clammy and your body craving to feel any part of him on you.

and then when satoru kisses you again, blackness turns lighter, lighter until it turns as white as his hair before the colours start. yeah, clichéd, but you couldn’t deny the romance books you’d read under your covers. when you smiled ear to ear as the protagonist kisses the love interest, and their heart feels like it’s about to burst? it was worse than that. it hurt, it hurt so good that you only ever want to feel his body close to yours and his plump lips on yours.

no. no. no. stay away.

the other deepens the kiss when he turns his head, scooting closer with his long legs that it makes you smile at the sight. satoru feels like he’s dreaming, finally seeing you amongst his blurred visions of running away from a chicken or making small talk with an alien in a suit. those were just some of the weirder dreams he had.

occasionally, he did dream of you. he saw how you’d react dramatically to his success. he remembered one where he came back to find you, only to find you gone from your childhood home.

and now, he was dreaming too, in a way that it felt surreal that he finally feels you reciprocate without any hidden feelings. with a grin gracing your lips and your hands tangled up in his hair, all he could feel was you.

“are we really making out in your childhood bed?”

you throw your head back to laugh, even when there’s a big fat NO floating around in your mind, “this isn’t my childhood bed! did you forget that we grow up and grow taller? growth spurt? that cross your mind?”

“no no, not really,” the violinist fully cages you in now, body twisted over yours while you lay on your back comfortably.

“no— stop. are you gonna say ‘i’m the only one that crosses your mind?’”

satoru gasps, “oh, you! who knew you could be so cheesy?”

“piss off.” you push him off you with all your might, and he falls beside you in mixed giggling with you. you forget how strong he is, however, and within the next second, satoru’s pulled you atop of him. his hands trail up to hold your cheeks.

“now, how am i going to do that when i’m holding Jupiter in my hands?” the air is knocked out of you; and when your eyes soften, satoru’s sure he’s struck a chord within you. he offers a smile, and you return it tenfold, bending down to capture his lips passionately.

the no’s fade. it fades, and it dissolves. just let me be selfish for once, for once, you repeat over and over while you press further in his embrace. you smile, and he smiles. you laugh, and he laughs.

the second kiss is messy and uncoordinated, fitting in tiny little pecks before getting into its rhythm. you almost want to cry when his thumb strokes your cheeks tenderly, mouth moving slowly, lovingly when your hands do the same to his face. holding the golden prodigy of the classical world, nanami’s source of endless headaches, and a hell of an asshole of a childhood best friend.

oxygen is scarce, and it forces you to pull away. you’re met again with blue hues and a blinding smile that you need to hide the heat creeping up on your face.

“love, look at me,” satoru says for the second time that night, using little to no force to get you looking when you obey his command anyway.

“stay?”

“stupid, this is my room,” you’ve got no strength to talk loudly, muttering it out with a giggle laced within your tone. sleep and alcohol catch up to you too soon, but you want to be awake with satoru. he only shakes his head, placing one last kiss that lingers for too long that you have to break away, “what do you mean, then?”

satoru hugs you close to his chest, “’s okay, ignore what i said.”

you’re exhausted that you just fall back down onto his chest, content with the moments now and the reunited memory on your wall (even if you had to fish out the other quarter from under the bed).

46 notes · View notes

rpmemes-galore · 4 years ago

Text

iconic vines for the nostalgia my dudes ... sentence starters

“Merry crisis.”

“I can’t swim.”

“I smell like beef.“

“That was legitness.“

“Come get y’all juice.“

“Chipotle is my liiiiiife.”

“He needs some milk!“

“What are thooooose?”

“Hi, welcome to Chili's.”

“What the FUCK is up??”

“(Name), is that a WEED?”

“That’s why you’re my bud.”

“It's a avocadooo... thanks.”

“Look at all those chickens!“

“And they were roommates!”

“I wanna be a cowboy, baby!”

“Bitch, I hope the fuck you do.“

“I brought you Myrrh... Mur-dur!“

“’Pretty cute’? I’m a GODDESS.”

“I'm a bad bitch, you can't kill me!”

“Oh my god, they were roommates!”

“How much did you pay for that taco?“

“Lipstick? In my Valentino white bag?!“

“You try’na fight? Hold my breadsticks!”

“A mug shot? I don't even drink coffee.“

“Stoooop! I coulda dropped my croissant!”

“Who opened that? Devil car! DEVIL CAR!”

“What's better than this? Guys bein dudes.“

“Girl, you're thicker than a bowl of oatmeal!“

“I burnt my entire house to the ground, so…”

“This is the dollar store, how good can it be?“

“I look good in black and I’m willing to suffer.”

“Can I get a waffle? Can I please get a waffle?“

“What the fuck, is this allowed? Is this allowed?”

“I don’t need no degree to be a clothing hanger.”

“Road work ahead? Uh yea, I sure hope it does.“

“I don't have enough money for chicken nuggets.“

“My resting heart rate registers as a panic attack.”

“I’m an adult. I do grownup things. Independence.”

“So, I’m sitting there, barbecue sauce on my titties.“

“I thought you were bae… turns out you’re just fam.”

“Mothertrucker, dude, that hurt like a buttcheek on a stick.“

“I love you, bitch. I ain't never gonna stop lovin' you, bitch.“

“Oh, hi. Thanks for checking in. I’m still a piece of garbage!”

“I ate half a stick of butter… for breakfast. So, it’s pretty bad.”

“This is your space, this is your area, she can't do that to you.“

“Two brooos chillin’ in a hot tub, 5 feet apart ‘cuz they're not gay.”

“My liver says ‘Thank God’, but my heart says ‘please… not yet’.”

“All these ghosts, ALL these ghosts… and I still can’t find a boo. “

“What up, I'm (name), I'm 19, and I never fucking learned how to read.“

“Go to Del Taco. They got a new thing called freesha-freesha-vaca-do.”

“Be whatever you wanna be. If you wanna be a dog... RUFF. You know?"

“Welcome to Bible Study. We're all children of Jesus... Kumbaya my looord.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t see you there. I was too busy, hmmm, blocking out the haters.”

“Next time you put your fuckin' hands on me, imma fuckin' rip your face off, bitch.“

“When will you learn? When will you learn that your actions have consequences!?“

“Why the fuck you lyin’? Why you always lyin’? Mmmm, oh my god, stop fucking lyin’!”

“I’m not a cake face. I’m an ice cream cake face. Under this thick cosmetic frosting, is my cold interior.”

#misc #rp meme #sentence starters

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out-of-control · 3 years ago

Text

REMEDY

PREVIOUS: PLACE

NEXT: STARGAZER

words: 2739

warnings: none

summary: NOTE: this is posted out of order. The morning after Jim’s first night in Jax’s apartment.

Jim wakes in an apartment. He’s not sure where, or whose, exactly, until his arm is moved ever so slightly as it’s draped over the side of Jax’s rising and falling ribcage, and he feels Jax’s breath on his chest through his shirt, and he remembers. Jim pulls back a little to look at him, to see that he’s still sound asleep.

Jim looks over Jax’s prone form, to the room, atmosphere completely changed by the morning light streaming in the window compared to the dim streetlights from the night before. It feels warm, even despite the dinginess. It’s weird. Jim’s fuckable, sure, but he isn’t one to stick around after. He isn’t really the kind of guy people tell to stick around after, and when he does, it’s because he isn’t in the condition to go anywhere else– in which case, he feels a little obligated to get the fuck out of their way as soon as possible. Half of him wants to stick around this time. The other half is telling him that’s a bad fucking idea. The second half wins.

Carefully, Jim separates himself from Jax, maneuvers himself off the bed, and retrieves his jacket off the back of Jax's chair.

"Hey," Jax's voice comes, as Jim reaches for the door handle. Jim flinches a little and turns back to him sitting up in the bed.

"Shit, sorry," Jim says quietly.

Jax squints at him, something unreadable passing across his face for a few awkward, silent seconds. His chest is bare, sheets pooling at his waist. "You don't, uh," he starts, tucking one of his sidelocks behind his ear, "You don't have to clear out like that. I mean, you're not bothering me." He clears his throat, looking pained. “You’re my friend, you know?”

You’re my friend, you know. Well, they hang out. Jim likes being around him. Apparently Jax likes being around him, too. It's pretty stupid, now that Jim thinks about it; obviously they're friends. He had to go and make it weird by just leaving. Now he's making it even weirder by staring. "Right," he blurts, after a few seconds. "Duh."

Jax’s brow creases, and he swings his legs over the side of the bed to stand up. “If you’ve got somewhere to be, I mean,” he coughs out, and pulls on a shredded pair of jeans, “then go, but if not… I was gonna make coffee.”

“I can stay,” Jim says, because otherwise he would be lying.

Jax looks visibly relieved. “Cool.” And he passes Jim, out the doorway and into the kitchen, glancing behind him like he’s making sure Jim is following. Jim looks down to his jacket in his hand and hesitantly throws it over the arm of the couch.

“How’d you sleep?” Jim asks after a bit, because he has no fucking idea what else to say.

“Uh, really good, actually,” Jax says, busying himself with the coffee machine. “You?”

“Well I think my spine is the straightest it’s ever been around you,” he muses, moving closer to lean back against the counter. “So, pretty good.” The coffee maker beeps.

Jax's head is turned away as he shuffles through the cabinet, but Jim can see the corner of his mouth curve up. "Glad to hear it, man. Pink or black?"

Jim huffs a small laugh. “I feel like you just asked me if I’m a prep or a goth.”

Jax shoots him a glance, fully grinning at him now. "Actually," he says, faux-serious, "It was a test to see if you're comfortable in your masculinity, or still beholden to the constraints of society." He brings two mugs out, pink and black, and sets them on the counter.

“I think you just wanna see me with a gay little pink mug.” Jim squints at him and tilts his chin up. “But you failed to consider maybe I just wanna see you with a gay little pink mug.”

"I love this mug," Jax says. "I'm offended you think I wouldn't love this mug. My coworker got it for me. It has the word 'bitch' on it. Are you saying you don't love this mug?"

Jim snorts. “Well, now I can’t morally come between you two.”

Jax grins wide at him. "Oh, such a gentleman," he cooes, and hands Jim a plain black mug. "The gentleman can pour his own fuckin' coffee, though," he says, filling the pink mug himself and whisking it away to the couch.

"Chivalry is dead,” Jim sighs, pouring his own fuckin’ coffee. “You got any sugar?”

"No," Jax's voice comes, sounding unapologetic.

Jim tuts and moves over to the couch, taking a seat on the other side. “This guy has a whole apartment and he doesn’t even have sugar.” Jax shifts on the couch and kicks gently at Jim's shin, careful not to spill his coffee. Jim smirks, but stays quiet as he settles in. Without really thinking, he pushes the hair out of his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Jax glancing at him, sneaking a look, and suddenly Jim feels jarringly exposed. Jax hasn’t really seen Jim in the daylight much, and when he has, it’s been Jim in the driver’s seat, scars hidden away on the other side of his face, under his clothes. Jim clears his throat and looks down at his mug, letting his hair fall back over his face, and rubs his arm against his knee to shimmy his sleeve over his wrist. He takes a sip. It might be the worst coffee Jim’s ever tasted; gritty and bitter and unsweetened. He makes a face at it, without meaning to.

Jax snorts. "Yeah, I've basically conditioned myself to tolerate it."

"You masochist," Jim says, looking dismayedly at his cup before taking another sip.

Jax shakes his head. "You gotta leave the dirty talk in the bedroom, man, or I'll never get anything done."

Still looking down, ever so slightly, Jim smiles. “Well, how else am I supposed to get you into the bedroom, then?”

“Like you have to fuckin’ try,” Jax says easily, leaning back and putting his legs in Jim’s lap.

Jim hesitates before he rests his arms on them. He blushes, just a little. “Yeah, whatever,” he huffs. “Gaylord.”

Jax grins, the tip of his tongue sticking out through his teeth. “I should compliment your ass more. See if I can make your face match my mug.”

Jim wrinkles his nose. “I can think of a few ways to shut you up if you try it.”

Jax raises his eyebrows, and then twists his body to set his mug on the ground. He looks back up at Jim. “Put your coffee down,” he says. Jim gives him a confused look, and Jax flaps a hand at him. “Just put it down somewhere, I don’t care.” Jim leans forward and sets it down on the milk crate coffee table. Jax is grinning ferociously now, and barely trying to hide it. He folds his legs up and shifts, kneeling over Jim’s lap. “I sure fucking hope you don’t have anywhere to be this morning,” Jax says, hands on Jim’s shoulders, and then he starts kissing Jim's neck.

“Woah,” Jim exhales, hands settling on Jax’s waist, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks. “I didn’t even have to do any of ‘em. You’re really never getting anything done,” he murmurs, sharp-toothed, impish smirk spreading across his face.

“With you on my couch, looking like this?” Jax says, biting at Jim’s ear. “I’d be stupid as hell not to take advantage of the situation.”

“Just taking advantage, huh?” Jim shifts, gripping Jax’s hips and shoving him down on the couch with Jim still between his thighs. “Well when you put it that way.” He runs a palm up Jax’s bare torso, peering down at him.

“I think the real question is can you handle me again so soon,” Jax says smugly, even as he shivers underneath Jim’s hands.

Jim dips down, hovering just above Jax’s face. “Can you?” he asks in a low voice, teasingly.

“Well,” Jax murmurs, reaching up to run his knuckles along Jim’s rib cage, “I had a really good night’s sleep.” Then he curls his fingers in the hem of Jim’s t-shirt and starts tugging it up. A twinge of panic courses through Jim, and before he can stop himself, he roughly grabs Jax’s wrist and pulls it off, pressing it into the couch. Fuck. You idiot. Jim tilts his face away, choosing to look at his own hand’s betrayal instead of Jax’s eyes. Maybe if he doesn’t say anything he can play it off like he didn’t just freak out a little.

Jax doesn’t try to break Jim’s grip, but his eyebrows draw together. “Hey,” he says, sounding suddenly uncertain. “What’d I do?”

“Fuck,” Jim grits out. He lets Jax go, but still refuses to meet his eyes. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

Jax sits up on his elbows. “No, seriously, what’s up?”

Jim may just kill himself. He sits up fully, shifting his gaze to the ceiling instead. “I didn’t mean to do that,” he says quietly, after a beat.

“Okay,” Jax says. His face is caught somewhere between bemused and concerned, but sliding rapidly towards the latter as Jim keeps trying to evade his probing. “Forgiven. Dude, are you good?”

Jim pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just.” He lets out a long, drawn-out sigh. “It’s like, fucking bright in here, or whatever, I don't know. You’ve never, like,” he takes his hand away to gesture vaguely at himself, and pauses. “Seen me,” he says quietly.

Jax blinks at him. “Dude, I had your dick in my ass last night. I feel like we’re kind of past modesty?”

“It’s not about fucking modesty,” Jim says, giving Jax a distasteful look. “I know, it’s stupid.”

Jax frowns. “I mean, we can knock it off,” he says, “But, like, whatever it is–” He pauses, rubs at the back of his neck. “–I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t care.”

“I know,” Jim sighs. “It’s fine, really, we don’t have to stop.” He’s going to rip one of his own teeth out. “It’s just that, like, people, kinda get weird. About. The scars. And… I don’t know. I guess I do too.” he rambles. It doesn't usually get to him this much, but he actually really cares what Jax thinks.

Jax's face goes stony and inscrutable for a few moments, and then he surges up to meet Jim where he sits. His hands find their way back around Jim's waist. "Hey," he says softly, slipping just the tips of his thumbs underneath Jim's shirt. "You can take it off for me."

Jim freezes. He sits there, studying Jax. It’s kind of mortifying; the fact that a boy is having to guide Jim through stripping his own fucking clothes off right now. But Jax is right. Jim can do it for him. He reaches back, and pulls his shirt over his head.

Jax doesn't hesitate. The instant Jim is uncovered, he runs his hands across Jim's torso, over muscles and tattoos and, yeah, scars, without a single word. He dips his head to mouth at Jim's neck, and then, dragging his lips down slowly, he presses them to the ridge of tissue rippling across Jim's collarbone. Again, not a word.

A profound sigh escapes Jim, and he brings a hand up to the back of Jax’s head, lacing his fingers through Jax’s hair. Jim’s skin jumps under Jax’s touch as the blush returns to his cheeks. He's never been touched so intently, so tenderly. He thinks Jax might just be able to kiss him better; right here, right now. He works his jaw to say something, but the words abandon him.

Jax picks his head up, carefully touches their lips together. "Cool?" he murmurs, against Jim's mouth.

Jim swallows. “Yeah,” he breathes, shutting his eyes. This is too much, part of him thinks, too intimate, that he needs to leave. The rest of him is stuck here, frozen on this couch, at Jax’s mercy.

A hand on the side of Jim’s neck, thumb pressing ever so gently against the scar traveling down Jim’s throat, and Jax opens his mouth wider, coaxing Jim in as he leans back, down to the couch cushions again. “Don’t freak yourself out, man,” he says, breaking the kiss to look Jim in the eye. “Just–” Whatever else he was going to say is lost as he tips his jaw up to kiss Jim again. He doesn’t need to say it. Jim kisses back slow and deep, shifting a little to get closer, pressing skin to skin. He runs a hand down the outside of Jax’s thigh, gently pulling it up and hooking Jax’s leg over his hip as their tongues slide together. As Jim lowers his head to mouth along Jax’s jaw, Jax starts laughing quietly, a little breathless. Jim pulls back a bit, gives him a questioning look.

Jax shakes his head, tries to suppress his laughter, and fails utterly. “I just– I thought you were gonna say something crazy, like you had a third nipple or something.”

Jim gives him a weird look, somewhat amused. “What the fuck?”

“Not that it would be a dealbreaker,” Jax wheezes, sincerity undercut by the fact that he’s still kind of losing it. “Hell, it might be a– dealmaker. Extra– erogenous zone–” He looks like he might be going red from lack of air.

Jim huffs. “Well,” Jim kisses the dip in his collarbone. “Shame you don’t either,” he murmurs, and moves downward. He presses his lips to a nipple, takes the ring between his teeth and tugs. Jax’s breath hitches, cutting a laugh off right in the middle, and he squirms, generating friction between them.

“I think–” he gasps, “–that I’m doing pretty fucking well with my current ones.” And he casts about until he finds one of Jim’s hands, and grips it tight. “Let’s desecrate this couch.”

Jim smiles against Jax’s chest as he laces their fingers together and pulls Jax’s arm up, above his head, against the cushions. He sits up a little, looks down at Jax. “I guess there are worse ways to wake up in the morning.”

“Yeah, like my fucking coffee,” Jax replies. Jim smirks, undoes Jax’s jeans with his free hand.

It ends up that Jim doesn’t leave until five.

Not that they spend the whole time screwing. But afterwards, it becomes a little difficult for Jim to remember why he was in such a hurry to leave before, and Jax doesn’t seem to mind letting him lounge around the apartment, so Jim stays. And when the clock starts approaching five in the afternoon, it only makes sense for Jim to offer to drive Jax to the Prosecutor for his shift. It’s not a long drive; Jim is almost disappointed when it’s over.

“Thanks, man,” Jax says, unclipping his seatbelt.

"'Course," Jim replies, and pauses. "Thanks for letting me stay."

Jax smiles at him. “No problem,” he says. “Anytime.”

Jim chews on a fingernail, looking Jax up and down for a brief moment, sitting next to Jim in his passenger seat. After hesitating, he says: "Thanks for… everything else."

Jax’s smile fades, but he still sounds good-natured when he says, “Like I said, man.” He opens the door. “Anytime.”

Jim winces a little. "I didn't mean– the sex. I mean. Yes, the sex. But the. Christ." Jim rolls his eyes at himself and waves a hand dismissively. "Whatever. You know," he says defeatedly, putting his hands back on the wheel and leaning his head back.

Now Jax is staring at him, brow creased. “Okay,” he says slowly. “You’re welcome.” There’s the barest hint of a question mark curling the end of the word up.

Christ. Vibe sufficiently squandered. Jim picks his head up, glances over at him. "I'll see you around," he says simply.

“Ditto,” Jax says, exiting the car. He turns and gives Jim a two-fingered salute, and then he’s gone.

Jim exhales, and grinds his palms into his eye sockets. Smooth, Jim. Real smooth. He digs in his pockets for a cigarette. He lights it, blows a cloud of smoke out the window, drumming his fingers on the gear shifter. He doesn’t really have anywhere to be, anything to do, anyone to see. He shifts the car into drive. He’ll find one of the three. He always does.

—

#words

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volleychumps · 5 years ago

Note

HIIIII!!! I just read your latest hcs and i was screaming when akaashi gave the reader his jacket :(((( i was hoping to put in a request for headcanons about the different captains giving the reader their jacket? The concept just has me so fuckin soft :))) i completely understand if you don't want to do it!!!!

I hope you enjoy, thank you for your support!!

Haikyuu Captains Giving their Crush their Jacket

----------------------------------------------------

Daichi

- “Do you always lock up by yourself? What if you get mugged or something?” “...why would I get mugged, we live in the countryside.”

- “Wow Daichi, I was just trying to care, no need for saSs.”

- Sweatdrops when you push off the wall to walk ahead of him, causing him to release a deep chuckle as he jogs up to your side

- “are you actually mad right now?”

- “I don’t know. There’s a taiyaki stand over there. Totally unnecessary information.” You pout a little as Daichi shakes his head, an amused smile tickling the corner of his lips as he makes the turn to greet the old lady running the stand.

- “Three please.” You hop a little in place in excitement when Daichi hands you the one filled with red-bean, the warm pastry sending tinges of heat to your skin as you look at the other two questioningly

- “...you like both flavors.” you fail to notice the flush to his cheeks as you grin brightly. “You’re forgiven!”

- chuckles, knowing you were never really mad in the first place as the two of you continue the walk home, casting glances at your giddy figure as you bite into the pastry

-suddenly frowns, noticing the thin material of your school uniform being your only coverage as you grasp at the taiyaki for warmth

- “You don’t have a coat?”

- You still, blinking in realization. Slowly, you turn to smile sheepishly at Daichi as he fights the urge to palm his face

- “How do you forget? In the middle of winter?”

- “Maybe it was your sass?”

- scoffs a little as he stops, turning so he’s facing you.

-He gives you a stern look as he moves to set his bag down on the side of the road, you blinking in confusion as the second taikyaki is suddenly being pressed against your lips

- “Bite.”

-Your look of confusion continues as you take the taiyaki in your mouth, the other remaining half-eaten in your hand as the other is holding your bag

- ignores your protests around the taiyaki as he slips his own coat off, looking down at you amusedly as he wraps it around your shoulders, the warmth and his scent embracing you immediately

- takes the taiyaki and your bag from your hands, eyes stern with a playful smile on his lips “Now put your arms in the sleeves.”

- the heat rushes to your cheeks at how large the coat was around you, and the heat intensifies when Daichi steps forward to zip it up for you all the way up to your chin

- You give him a look, what about you?

- leans forward to take a bite of the taiyaki hanging out of your mouth, chewing as he looks down at your shocked figure in slight amusement

- “This is warm enough.”

- Daichi you smooth fucker

Kuroo

- “Oi, be quiet. She’s asleep.” “You’re just saying that cause you like her-” “LEV shut up-” “You never care when I’m sleeping!”

- the whole bus freezes as you stir slightly in your sleep before relaxing again, allowing the team to sigh in relief as Kuroo glares at the tall Russian boy, who bows his head in apology to your sleeping figure

- “Kuroo, come switch places with me.” “What? Kenma, why?” “You’ve literally been looking over here like a puppy that lost its’ owner for the past hour.”

- scoffs, sputtering that Kenma was talking nonsense before agreeing immediately

-omg what a nerd

- nervously sits next to you, rigid in his seat as your eyes suddenly open and your neck lifts from its spot on the window, a look of irritation on your face

- “Shoot, did I wake you up?” You blink in a daze at the captain in the seat next to you, still half-asleep as your head plops down on the raven-haired boys shoulder

- “Sorry, do you mind? The window’s killing my neck.”

- Kuroo.exe has crashed

- “Nope! Nope, no not at all!”

- “Ahah what a siMp-” “Yaku don’t ruin this for him.”

- before he can death glare his team, he notices how cold your skin was from the arm that grazed his, quirking an eyebrow as he takes into account the slight trembling of your fingers

-ah. you were right under the AC.

- moves as slowly as he can to reach down into his duffel before emerging with his own jacket “(Y/N)?”

- “mm...yes?”

- “Can you sit up real quick for me?”

- holds his breath, thinking you look absolutely adorable as you sit up in a stupor, following his demand half-asleep as he manages to slip his jacket over your shoulders, allowing you to relax back into the seat and onto his shoulder

- “Better?”

- “Much.” he literally feels his breath hitch when you smile a little up at him. “You’re so warm.”

-you cuddle closer, causing Kuroo to become a blushing mess as he nervously wraps an arm around you

- “...he doesn’t care that much when I’m sleeping-” “Lev, literally no one cares”

Oikawa

- “Y/N if it’s too cold don’t eat it.” “don’t tell me what to do.”

- watches in slight amusement as you take a big bite of your anmitsu as if trying to prove a point, your eyes challenging as the dessert sweetens your mouth.

- “Cold?” A knowing smirk tickles the corner of his lips as he takes a sip of his hot coffee, knowing damn well eating ice cream in the middle of winter was a bad idea

- but you were stubborn. he liked that about you.

-before you can shake your head no vigorously, a sudden ache comes over your head, numbing it slightly as a whine slips your lips

-pretty bitch bursts out laughing through a barrage of I told you so’s, laughing receding when he sees the pout on your lips

- “you got a little something...here.” You cant fight the blush on your cheeks when his thumb swipes at the ice cream on the corner of your lip, swatting it away lightly

- “Stop. I’m not a kid.”

- “you’re right. Even kids admit when they’re wrong.”

- “what kids have you been talking to?”

- before he can retort to your witty reply, you visibly shiver from the coldness of the dessert, feeling another headache come on before Oikawa clicks his tongue

- Pretty boy stands from his seat across from you to slip his own coat over his shoulders, causing the other customers in the shop to glance over

- “my, it must be nice to be young.”

- “Oikawa...people are getting the wrong idea” when you try to slip it off, he clicks his tongue a second time before slipping it on again, fastening the clasp just below the chin so it’ll stay

- “And what if I want them to get the wrong idea?” His hands rest on your shoulders momentarily as your head tilts back to meet the eyes of your friend, brimmed with confusion

-“what-?”

-hoe wipes the ice cream from the corner of your mouth with his thumb, putting it in his mouth afterward as you become a stuttering mess

-smirks down at your flushed expression, feeling coldness on his tongue as his chest pounds with anticipation

- “you heard me.”

Bokuto (Scarf, not jacket...oop)

- “It’s freezing outside, y/n!” “Bokuto, for the umpteenth time, I’m fine. I have layers, see?”

- guiltily can’t tear his eyes away from your form as you try to stop yourself from shivering, arms wrapped tightly around your figure as you remain seated to the bench for the bus.

-“this is all my fault. I shouldn’t have messed the bus times up.”

- puts his head in his hands as he chuckles humorlessly, feeling depressed that his attempt at a hang-out that could possibly be a date blows up in his face. It was now ten pm, and the perfect day had been ruined by the cold weather and his jumbled bus times.

- before he can enter a fit of depression, your surprisingly warm hands place themselves on his cheeks as you look at him with a stern tinge to your pupils

- “Don’t blame yourself. This weather is the problem.”

- nervously leans into your palms, noting how nice your hands felt against his skin before he suddenly brightens, starting to slip his scarf off

- “Akaashi’s gonna be here in ten minutes, you don’t have-” you stop immediately when Bokuto’s smile dims, snapping your mouth shut before nodding, giving him the go ahead to wrap his scarf around your neck

- becomes excited, and surprisingly gentle when his fingers graze your skin as he slips the warm cloth around your neck

- freezes, holding both ends of the scarf in either of his hands when he sees your embarrassed expression before swallowing back the lump of nervousness in his throat

- “Are you warm?”

- “...yeah.”

- smiles brightly as he presses his forehead against yours, causing you to gulp a little as Bokuto had pulled you closer by both ends of the scarf, your noses brushing

- “Bokuto-” “Just for a little.”

- chuckles when he feels the skin of your forehead flare up even more in embarrassment, his fingertips grazing yours as you sat centimeters away from the most loving man on a bus bench

- “Just a little longer, okay?”

- “Okay.”

Ushijima

- “Do you have a cold or somethin’?” “Tendou you were just bullying me earlier, don’t pretend like you care.” “I’m just showing my affection for our lovely manager!”

- daddy ushijima blinks when you sneeze into your elbow a second time, face betraying no emotion as he stalls his walking pace to meet yours as you trail into the gym with the rest of the team

- “Are you...okay?”

- Hesitant baby can’t show emotion what a cutie

- “The weather’s all it is. I can’t be worrying our star player at a time like this, so don’t worry, okay?” Your bright smile is a vivid contrast to the slight paleness of your skin, causing Ushijima to become analytical as he crosses his arms, standing in front of you

- “It’s okay if you’re not.”

- “And it’s okay if you get out on the court and get our team another win!” You spin him by his shoulders, slightly surprised he was letting you, before giving him a little push

- “Good luck!”

- glances back at you as if he was hesitating before following your command, Tendou, who had stayed behind, whistling lowly

- “He literally never listens to anyone but the coach.” The sly redhead draws up to you, smirking before starting his pace to follow his best friend. “Why are you so special?”

- “Tendou, I have full control over your training schedule, don’t push it.”

- “Mean~”

- can’t stop glancing over at you while on the court, noticing how you were trying your best to hide your sneezes and coughs as quietly as you can before he can’t take it anymore

- so when the next time out hits, Ushijima is standing in front of your position on the bench as you scribble down on your clipboard, his team jacket with its’ #1 hanging from his grip loosely

- you sweat drop as the whole Shiratorizawa team seems to be looking on at what was happening, ignoring Tendou’s shit-eating grin “what’s up?”

- silent for awhile, making you wait in slight anticipation for the usually stoic, talented boy. His arms move to wrap said jacket around your shaking form, kneeling down afterwards to zip it up as your face flushes

- Now at eye-level, he meets you with an even stare. “Go to the nurse. I’ll come see you after.”

- As you stutter out of embarrassment asking him why, he glances back as he walks back on to the court. “You told me to not be worried.”

- You groan, listening to Tendou’s laugh as your face seems to heat up more in your hands. From fever or feelings, you couldn’t tell.

- “So that’s why you’re special.”

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu captains #haikyuu anime #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu daichi #haikyuu kuroo #kuroo tetsuro x reader #haikyuu oikawa #oikawa #haikyuu ushijima #haikyuu #haikyuu bokuto

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hintofelation99 · 4 years ago

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Hi! I love your posts and want to ask your opinion on something. Who do you think in the batfam has the most and the least common sense of a normal person? If you can, can you also list how they are arranged? Thank you!

Ooohhh, this is a fun one! In my mind all bats lack common sense. Like obviously they're hella smart, after all they are a family of detectives, they just aren't very bright.

Here's a quick rundown (least to most): Tim and Dick tie for first place, both lack common sense in just in completely different ways. Then Damian (mostly cause of the whole 'being raised by league of assassins' thing), Bruce, Cass (controversial ik), Steph, Jason, Duke, Babs, and last on the list is obvs Alfred. (Kate is probs between Cass and Steph, but I've only really seen her in the DCAMU and need to get to know her better).

And Ima add a 'keep reading' cause this is gonna get long.

Tim:

Tim is one of the smartest in the family. He deduced Batman's identity as a child, majorly fucked up the League of Assassins, and has been honored (I say this v sarcastically just btw) with Ra's creepy obsession. He's smart, plain and simple. However, when it comes to just day to day survival and being loved, goddamn that boy is dumb.

He regularly mixes energy drinks and coffee. Sometimes he even mixes energy drinks, alcohol, and coffee.

In his mind warnings are optional. "Tim, did you just sniff that drano?" "Yeah, why?" "IT LITERALLY SAYS DO NOT SMELL" "Oops"

He regularly tests shit on himself. "Why is Tim on the floor?" "He mixed joker venom and fear gas to see what would happen" "HE WHAT"

Also if you try to compliment him or tell him you love him he will find a way to misunderstand. "Tim, I love you and you are an amazing son." "I don't know who this Tim is but he sounds great" "It- it's you, literally you. Timothy Jackson Drake." "I'm a bit confused, I didn't know you knew two Timothy Jackson Drakes. You should really introduce us."

Dick:

Dick in many ways is a total himbo. He's a complete sweetheart, super supportive, and very ditzy. His ditzy-ness directly correlates to how relaxed he is. Chilling in the manor? Peak himbo. A mission in space? Absolute genius and amazing leader. Just took down a bunch of thugs? Slowly reverting into dopey boi. He always has the ability to be super analytical, smart, and big brain, but he likes being whimsical and even airheaded. And that's not a bad thing, it's just him taking mental breaks, being lighthearted.

"YOU PUT DIESEL IN YOUR CAR?" "...Yeah, in my defense the nozzles look basically the same" "They're different colors?! Also the diesel nozzle doesn't even fit into your gas tank, how did you get it in?" "I'm a good pourer."

He always responds to the word dick and it always confuses him. "God Ra's is such a dick!" "What?" "Ra's is a dick" "I'm not Ra's!" "Wha- no! I mean penis dick!" "Ohhhh, yeah he is a penis dick"

Once Dick is safe he reverts into himbo pretty quickly, even after stressful situations. "Hey Wally?" "Yes babe?" "I forgot how to change my lock screen again" "Dick, you just hacked into an alien spaceship not even an hour ago??" "What's that have to do with anything?"

Damian:

Damian lacks common sense from growing up with the League of Assassins. He's an amazing warrior and super analytical but casual human interaction alludes him. He is getting better though, so eventually he'll be lower on the list than Steph. But for now he's a senseless bby.

The first time someone tried to give him high five he assumed it was an attack and flipped them. Same with a fist bump.

This is complete canon but his original treatment of Alfred, his brothers, and, well, everyone. Like bby boy please read the room.

His ego can easily override common sense. Like he wouldn't jump off a bridge if everyone else was doing it, but if someone said he couldn't he'd immediately swan dive off that bridge.

Bruce:

For the world's greatest detective he can be a major dumb bitch sometimes. Some of it's growing up rich and some is being so wrapped up in his 'crusade for justice' that he just misses basic shit.

One time he walked in on Roy and Jason making out, the next day he saw them cuddling, then they mentioned moving in together. It took him three months to realize that they're dating.

He doesn't understand coupons, like at all. Jason has tried to explain them but Bruce just gets even more confused.

Bruce tried to make coffee once. He literally just poured coffee beans in water and microwaved it. He was surprised when it didn't taste good.

Cass:

Cass is similar to Damian in she lacks common sense from an unconventional upbringing. However she's learning way faster than Damian and depending on where in the timeline you're looking she might have more common sense than Babs.

Basic things like lines, turn taking, and speaking when spoken to aren't innate to her. Like, she knows and understands them, but often forgets about them.

There are many times that she blurs the line between civilian and vigilante because she'll do something that looks v stupid and dangerous for a civilian. The thing is she never notices when she does this.

One time she was in a restaurant and there was a cockroach on the wall across the room (cause Gotham) and instead of getting up and killing it like a normal person she threw her steak knife and impaled it.

Steph:

Steph is probably lacks common sense the most conventional yet slightly concerning way. She lacks common sense in the same way a cartoon character or sitcom character would. Like it's sorta realistic but at the same time damn bby girl why are you such a disaster??

She will do anything on a dare. Anything. There is a rule against daring Steph to do things while in the manor or on patrol.

Every time she hears someone say Red Robin she yells yum. This has gotten both her and RR shot.

Steph is v lucky that 1) she's a badass and 2) the batfam loves her because she annoys absolutely everyone just for shits and giggles and the only reason she hasn't been murdered is that Cass scares everyone.

Jason:

All common sense is lost when dramas at stake. Say what you will but Jason is the (second) biggest drama queen in the family. Also he, like most bats, lacks a sense of self preservation which leads to shit common sense.

He tried to steal Batman's tires.

Sometimes he listens to music during patrol and tries to hit people/shoot on beat. This has lead to stab wounds.

Jason loves to loudly quote classic literature while on stake outs. This is a problem for obvious reasons.

Duke:

Ok this is around the time you get to average common sense levels. But he still runs around Gotham beating people up in tights (or kevlar) so he doesn't get full points. Also he's still not Babs level common sense. One area Duke lacks common sense in is how to deal with the Batfam (which is v understandable tbh)

One time Duke was joking around with Jason and decided to steal a roll off of Damian's plate. This ended in blood.

Other than lacking Batfam common sense, most of his poor judgement moments are less notable but still concerning.

For example the time he challenged Dick to a hot dog eating contest then went on a roller coaster.

Babs:

Other than being a vigilante Babs almost has normal human common sense. However being a vigilante has negative side effects on ones common sense.

While Babs' sleep schedule isn't as bad as Tim's it's not a whole lot better. She's stayed up 72 consecutive hours multiple times.

She has accidentally poured coffee onto her computer instead of into a coffee mug.

One time she drank an entire gallon of milk before realizing it was a month expired.

Alfred:

Most assume that working for Bruce Wayne is a sign of him lacking common sense. But nah, it's him knowing, understanding, and challenging his own limits. Also it's him being a charitable human being. Like he has enough common sense to go around and tbh it's the only thing keeping the family alive.

"Master Bruce, you may not use Elmer's Glue All to close a wound."

"Master Dick I would encourage you not to teach Master Duke acrobatics on the glass coffee table."

"Miss Stephanie I would not advise trying to consume an entire jar of peanut butter in one sitting, and no, I do not care if Master Jason dared you to."

Tada, there's the list! Sorry that was probably a lot longer than anyone wanted, but I enjoy talking about how ditzy the batfam is. Like they're all geniuses but at the same time they're just sooooo dumb.

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bbrandy2002 · 4 years ago

Text

Fool’s Rush In -- Chapter 16

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Liam x MC

Warning: Some language, mild sexual talk

Since it’s been awhile since I last posted an update, in the previous chapter Madeleine had confronted Riley with a video after she left the ball.

Thank you @burnsoslow for the preread and beta.

-------------

Riley sat on a leather bench at the foot of the bed with a television remote held loosely between her hands, folded in her lap.

Somehow her worn-out body managed to walk from the corridor after the encounter with Madeleine, up the many stairs of the quarters she shared with Liam and to their bedroom. The shock of the situation combined with exhaustion and throbbing pain in her lower back was secondary to the fear she felt at possibly giving up the man she loved.

With trembling hands, she had slipped the DVD into the player and watched her nightmare play out on the screen -- It was all true. Madeleine acquired an illicit video of Riley and her ex-husband that the Queen had no clue was recorded of her or existed.

Her thumb grazed over the pause button several times, but she knew pressing it wouldn’t stop the hurt and embarrassment she felt at that moment at watching her former husband violating her trust and privacy. It wouldn’t stop Madeleine from releasing the video of it to the press and public. And it wouldn't stop the love she felt for Liam -- no one was powerful enough to take that feeling away from her.

But it was those words Madeleine threatened her with that got equal consideration with that video in Riley’s mind. She tried to envision how the scenario would carry out if the video was released and for those who would be affected by it: her father, her friends, her former students.

Liam.

“It’s a shame that he’ll lose his reign, all because of you.”

“Would you really do that to Liam?”

“Do you genuinely believe you’re worth all the trouble it will cause him?”

Riley hit the pause button, her hands flying up to cover her tear-laden face as she bent over in sobs, shaking her head. She was wrestling with that inner voice, replaying Madeleine’s words like a broken record while struggling to remember everything Liam told her about trusting him and his love for her.

No matter how hard she tried to let his tender voice speak to that sacred place in her heart, Madeleine’s threats and taunts were getting the best of her. If there was even a slight possibility that the Countess was right, and Liam would get dragged through the mud in all of this, then there was no question what needed to be done.

Those scattered bricks that formed the walls she came to Cordonia with, the ones Liam had broken down, were quickly stacking up again, one on top of the other. If something didn’t happen soon, Riley would be surrounded and suffocated inside that impenetrable cocoon that initially caused herself to doubt her worthiness to him in the first place.

All of those insecurities and fears crept up faster than a flooded riverbank, and she felt powerless to stop it from rising. Even if she could, she’d never allow Liam to suffer the consequences of something she had the power to prevent. To hell with whatever happened to her, but not him. He saved her weeks ago, and as her teary gaze slid from her hands to the wardrobe closet across the room, this would be her way of saving him.

Riley picked up the remote from her lap and tossed it aside. Determined to get out of the palace and Cordonia before anyone could see her, she swallowed her anger and grief and swiped a knuckle under each eye to dry the tears shed.

She rose to her feet faster than she should have, feeling an intense shock of pain that began in her hip and shot down to her feet. There were no doubts that the fall from struggling with Madeleine injured her far worse than she wanted to admit to herself. With a shrieking whimper, she ground her teeth together and doubled over, feeling like she might faint.

Riley grasped her back and gave herself a second to breathe through the pain before straightening up and staggering to her wardrobe to pack whatever she could as quickly as possible.

_____________

Liam stepped off the dance floor with Olivia's arm curled through his and escorted her back to their table. The conclusion of the ball was nearly upon him, and most guests had already stopped on their way out to say their farewells and offer congratulatory well-wishes. When they'd ask about the Queen's whereabouts, he'd tell them she had something come up that needed her attention. No one dared press him on the issue.

Checking the time on his watch, Liam looked up as Maxwell ran over with his phone in hand and dropped into a seat. He looked curiously at the out of breath Beaumont and asked, "What's going on, Maxwell?"

"Sorry," he replied before plucking a flute of champagne from a passing server's tray and gulping it down quickly. Wiping the droplets that dribbled from his mouth to his chin off with the back of his hand, he panted. "I ran here as fast as I could. I just got a text message from Drake. He's heading back soon."

"Did he say what the results of the paternity test were?" Olivia asked.

Maxwell nodded. "Yeah. They're Bastien's for sure. Las Vegas officials are allowing Drake to leave, but they've detained Bas until he pays up the $200,000 he owes to Boom Boom. Drake's return flight is scheduled to leave tomorrow morning, Cordonia time."

Liam pulled out his wallet and tossed $100 at a smug Leo, who promptly counted them out and stuffed the bills into his pocket. "I told you those little dudes weren't mine, bro. Really, your doubt in me hurts."

"I'll admit you were right, Leo. But you do have a track record when it comes to being involved in weird stuff like this."

"Yeah, I've gotten myself into some pretty hairy shit a time or two," he laughed as the memories came to him. "Ahh, good times, good times. But, y'know, it wasn't always just fun and games with me, Liam. During those few occasions when I'd show up to train on being the top dog of this place, Father taught me several valuable lessons. Wanna know what they were?"

"Not really," Liam answered dryly, then tossed back the rest of his scotch to prepare himself. "But I assume you're going to tell me anyway."

"Damn right I am! This is good shit to know, straight from the Big Kahuna himself." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "You must never tell anyone what I'm about to share with you all. This is top secret, classified Cordonian shit we're talking about; lives are on the line here. Father would be pissed if --"

"Just spit it out already!" Olivia snapped.

"Alright, first, never jizz in a jacuzzi unless you want to be covered in a thin spiderweb-like amalgamation of your own gravy. Daddio said he learned the hard way on that one ..."

"Oh, God. Leo!" Sickened, Liam dropped his head.

" ... Next, when you kiss a woman's hand, do it on the thumb side. Most people scratch their asses with their fingers, but rarely their thumbs. I might be an exception to the rule on that one." Leo chuckled to himself. "And lastly ... Rys spermies are MEAN sons-of-bitches, and we should dip my balls in a mug of hot water every day to kill them before having sex."

"What the hell?" Olivia grimaced as she lowered her coffee mug away from her lips and pushed it away.

"My dad told me the same thing," Maxwell boasted. "Except he called them Beaumont spermies. I guess he heard the same story from someone different than your dad."

Liam lowered the hands that were covering his face and breathed out heavily, "Leo, did our father ever teach you about anything other than using protection and sex during these meetings? Anything about negotiations, taxes, treaties ..."

Leo considered him for a moment. "Nope. He said you'd do all that stuff."

Liam grumbled. "Of course he did."

Olivia looked between Leo and Maxwell and scowled. "Well, it's too bad neither of your fathers took their own advice." She grabbed her clutch from the table. "At least I'll rest easier knowing the two of you aren't reproducing. Now, if you'll excuse me."

"I'll walk out with you, Liv." Liam rose and left the ballroom, having had more than enough of his fill of Leo for the night. There was also an incredibly sexy woman upstairs he'd been dreaming of pleasing all day, and he was overly eager to make good on his promise to join her shortly.

______________

Liam made his way through the residential wing and down the long hallway to his quarters. While undoing his tie, he stopped midway when he noticed a vase that usually sat on a decorative table along the wall, tipped over on its side with bundles of long-stemmed roses littered on the ground around it.

As he stooped down to pick them up, he found it oddly peculiar -- they didn't just fall over like this on their own. If a member of the staff had knocked them over, they would have picked them up; he felt certain Riley would have, as well.

After rearranging the flowers in the vase and situating them back on the table, Liam removed his key card from his pocket and swiped it through the key fob next to the door.

"Riley! I'm home," he called out in a sensual tone, knowing she was most likely upstairs -- hopefully naked and ready to get her ass spanked -- and wouldn't have heard him.

Taking a moment to check his reflection in the entryway mirror, Liam smoothed back his hair and tested his breath against his palm, satisfied he was good. After a quick stop in the kitchen to grab a can of whipped cream and chocolate sauce, Liam ascended the stairs, two at a time, to his bedroom.

"Daddy's ready for his dessert ..." his exuberant voice trailed off as the sultry smirk he donned quickly faded away when he walked into an empty room. "Riley?"

Glancing around the bedroom, the en suite door was still open, and the light was off, so he knew she wasn't in there. The bed was still in pristine form and didn't look touched. He wasn't at all worried; Riley likely went for a snack, even though that thought seemed rather odd considering how adamant she was about returning to their quarters earlier.

Liam placed the toppings on a side table and slipped out his phone. He plopped down on the bench at the foot of their bed, thinking maybe he'd missed a message or call from her.

There was nothing.

He scratched his head; it wasn't like Riley not to mention to him if she'd gone somewhere, not that she had to. But in this case, she knew he'd be up soon. Thinking about the overturned vase Liam walked upon, something started to not sit well with him.

With the cell still in his hand, he pulled her contact information up. Just as he was about to hit the dial button, he heard "Liam" in a low, raspy voice.

Relief washed over him as he stood and put his phone away. "Love, you worried me. Everything okay?" Her face was ashen, and her eyes red and swollen. Liam's insides immediately clinched.

Riley didn't answer as Liam crossed the room, frantically approaching her, worry engraved on his features. “Riley, love, what’s wrong? What happened?” His eyes were desperately searching for any clue as to what was clearly something wrong with his wife.

She held out her hand, preventing him from coming too close. “Please ... don’t.”

Bewildered, he asked, “What are you doing, sweetheart?”

Riley turned her head away somberly; she couldn't bear to look at him. She had planned to get out of the palace before he returned from the ball; there was no way she would be able to face him. Liam would want an explanation that she couldn't give him. But when she got to the car, Riley noticed there was something important she forgot to give back to him, and there was no way she would take it. Maybe somewhere inside, even if she couldn't admit it, she needed to see him and do this right. “I ... have to go.” Her words were barely audible.

Liam's brows bumped together. “Go? You’re going somewhere this late? But you were tired before --”

“No,” Her head shook faster than she realized before she spat the rest out. “I’m leaving Cordonia. I’m returning to Las Vegas, and I’m not coming back.”

“Riley? What the hell is going on? You were fine and having a good time 30 minutes ago, and now, all of a sudden, you want to go back to Nevada. What am I missing here? Does this have something to do with what happened at dinner? Because I told you --”

“You’re not missing anything. I came here to prevent you from marrying Madeleine, and I did that. That was the agreement, and now ... I’m going home.”

Liam started to laugh and wagged his finger at her. “Leo put you up to pranking me? He's mad about me sending that damn monkey away and is trying to get me back, right? Because if he did, that's just … just heartless. And I don’t find it funny.”

“No, Liam.." She shook her head again. "Leo didn’t put me up to this, and it's not a prank.” Riley carefully pulled off the wedding bands she came back to give him and held them out to him.

He looked at them and gritted his teeth. “Put them back on,” he commanded.

“I can’t do that, Liam. They belonged to your mother, and I’m not taking something so sentimental with me back to Vegas.”

“You’re damn right you're not taking them back to Vegas with you because you’re not going!”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not!”

Riley choked out into a wispy sob, “I’m so sorry, Liam. I'm so sorry!”

He said nothing as he stared at her in disbelief and saw that she was serious. “Why?” He asked as his throat clenched and the first tear slipped down his cheek.

Her body felt leaden, never having seen him this shattered. “Liam, I just want to go home, okay? I mean ... this has been an amazing experience, and I’ll never forget it, but I miss my home, and my job, and my friends ..."

“Fuck your home! I’ll buy you one here that looks just like it. Visit your friends all you want ... hell, bring them here if you want to; I don’t care. That's NOT what's going on! There’s something you’re not telling me. And I want to know, NOW!”

Riley startled at his yell, wanting to hold him and make it better. “Liam, I don’t want to be in Cordonia anymore, or be the Queen, or live in this palace. I want to go home.”

He motioned around the room.“THIS is your home, Riley ... Cordonia. I’m your home! This palace is your home." Liam scrubbed a frustrated hand furiously over his face. "Again, you were fine 30 minutes ago. What changed between you leaving the ball and coming up here? You're not telling the truth for some reason, but I can’t figure out why. Did I do something to upset you? Did someone else do something to upset you?"

"No!" she responded expeditiously.

"I love you, Riley. You know that, right?" She nodded; the glisten in his blue eyes and the desperation in his trembling voice was destroying her willpower. "Do you … still love me?"

Riley slammed her eyes shut. She loved him with every fiber of her being, and to tell him so in this very moment would only serve to prolong this hellacious situation. The only way to protect him from losing everything -- in her mind -- was to let him go. He would fight her on this, and it broke her heart to see the pain and confusion in his eyes, but it had to be done.

“Do. You. Love. Me?” he enunciated his question once more. The struggle and agony on her face were evident to him.

Riley turned away from Liam and faced the door. Did she have it in her to answer that question with a lie?

"... the council will have no choice but to question Liam's decision-making abilities after not only squandering his pick of a queen on some American nobody but now one whose ass will be featured on the desktops of teenage boys across the world. It's a shame he'll lose his reign, all because of you. Would you really do that to Liam? Are you worth the trouble?"

The sadness crushed her. There was no other way to protect him. Riley swiped at her face and answered firmly.

“No.”

With that, the Queen walked out, leaving the King in an empty room with his shock, his confusion, and an unimaginable pain he'd never get over.

-----------

Tags:

@burnsoslow @dcbbw @ao719 @jessiembruno @texaskitten30 @janezillow @merridithsmiscellany-blog @mskaneko @callmeellabella @queenjilian @sirbeepsalot @drakexwillow @jovialyouthmusic @forthebrokenheartedthings @bebepac @kingliam2019 @lovablegranny @cordoniaqueensworld @amandablink @liamxs-world @choiceskatie @iaminlovewithtrr @hopelessromanticmonie @charlotteg234 @annekebbphotography @txemrn @ofpixelsandscribbles @alyssalauren @monsoonblooms12 @mom2000aggie @theroyalheirshadowhunter @princessleac1 @kimmiedoo5 @graceful-leah @iam-the-kind-and-thoughtful @thegreentwin @gkittylove99 @neotericthemis @pink-diamond13 @walker7519 @yourmajesty09 @natureblooms24 @gabesmommie1130 @sweatyrysconnoisseur @kat-tia801 @debramcg1106 @shewillreadyou @choicesstan650 @emkay512 @royalromancer

Liam x MC: @cordonia-gothqueen

Fools Rush In tags: @narrytheworld @queenwalton @cordonianprincess @zaffrenotes @zilch3 @drrookie @sfb123 @secretaryunpaid

#fools rush in #Liam x mc #liam x riley #king liam #the royal romance #trr #choices trr #prince liam #bbrandy2002

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wordsnwhiskey · 4 years ago

Text

As It Should Be | Chapter 3: Statesmen & Demons

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F!Reader x Frankie Morales

Summary: The morning after is filled with misunderstandings and overwhelming feelings. Things just get worse after you, Whiskey, and Frankie debrief with Champ, Ginger, and Pope, and old demons are brought to light.

Rating: M - No Minors

Warnings: Mentions of minor injuries, mentions of non-major character deaths, lots of talk surrounding drugs, a panic attack, angst, alcohol - If I'm missing any just let me know!

A/N: We’ve got misunderstandings and angst in this chapter. We get a peek at Frankie’s prior drug use and he’s not in a good headspace about it. This chapter and the next will deal pretty heavily with these issues. A very special thanks to Agent Capri Sun and @danniburgh for reading over these chapters and giving me the encouragement to get these out there! ~5.9k WC

Chapter 2: All Hell Breaks Loose [AO3]

Consciousness found you as it did most mornings, pinned by a strong, warm arm. You groaned softly while nuzzling back into the warmth, then opened your eyes, surprised to see Whiskey lounging in a chair off to the side of the bed, scrolling on his phone. His eyes met yours with a smile of his own, and then everything that had happened the night before came flooding back. Murmuring in his sleep, Frankie pulled you closer to him and you smiled back at Jack. It felt so right, so natural, you just wished Jack would leave his phone and come back to bed. Whiskey put his phone away and tilted his head, gesturing for you to join him and put his phone away. Carefully, you did your best to extract yourself from Frankie’s warm embrace, wincing as your body ached in protest. You let out a huff once you steadied yourself on your feet only to have Whiskey pull you into his arms.

“Are you alright, Sugar? I found some sweats and a t-shirt that’ll fit you in the closet. Figured you’d want somethin’ a touch more comfortable after last night.”

“You’re a godsend, Jack. I’m good, you boys just really wore me out.”

Jack chuckled softly and you moved to put on the clothes that lay folded on the chair Frankie had been bound to last night. It was normal that the safehouses were stocked with loungewear of a few different sizes in the event an agent needed a quick change. Groaning, you hobbled over to the kitchen, intent on pouring yourself a cup of coffee. He beat you to it though, and you heard him tut in disapproval.

“Uh-uh, you just sit your pretty little behind down and let me get that for you, darlin’.”

You didn’t bother arguing, knowing Whiskey wouldn’t hear it, and frankly, with how sore you were, you didn’t want to. He set a mug down in front of you, then took a seat at the table with his own mug.

“I talked to Ginger earlier. From what it looks like, our pilot was right, they launched one hell of an amorous agent at the gala last night. She sent me some more details, and so far the only casualties were two of the guys from the private security attachment, the people we downed, and a few attendees who had prior heart complications, their hearts gave out from blood pressure spikes.”

You took a sip of your coffee, letting the warmth fill you, then bit the inside of your cheek in contemplation.

“We’re probably safe to assume then that casualties weren’t their goal, and had they known Statesmen agents would be there, they would have made sure to neutralize us first. With all the chatter Ginger was catching wind of though, they’re either new or they were trying to get someone’s attention.”

Whiskey nodded, pursing his lips and staring down at his coffee while his fingers tapped rhythmically on the table.

“Penny for your thoughts, Whiskey?”

Deep, melted chocolate eyes flickered up to meet your gaze and his mouth twisted as if in distaste for the words he was about to say.

“Now, there’s no good way to bring this up other than just saying it, and I told Ginger I’d ask.” He paused, reconsidering again, then sighed. “Did you tell Frankie or Santiago about Statesmen?”

Your brow furrowed and a muscle in your jaw ticked as you clenched your teeth. You had kept Statesmen’s secret all these years, even though it killed you to keep anything from your old squad. They were your family, and you couldn’t stand lying to them. A sharp flare of anger burned in your chest. The need to lie to them had frankly been a major part of why you hadn’t been back to visit since Tom’s funeral.

“No, of course not, Whiskey.”

Your voice was even, deadpan almost but it was clear from your face that your anger was growing. Jack put a hand up in surrender and gently rested his other hand on your forearm.

“Hey, hey, we don’t want to wake him up.”

He let out a sigh and moved his hand down to cradle your fingers in his own.

“I didn’t figure you had, darlin’, I just had to ask. Especially since he apparently already knew we had a safehouse.”

You took in a deep breath then slowly exhaled, glancing over at Frankie who was still sleeping peacefully.

“Yeah, well, if there were two people in the whole world who’d never believe my cover, it’d be Frankie and Santi. They’re smart, and they know me better than almost anyone else.”

Whiskey jerked his hand away from you, feigning hurt for a moment before it gave way to a teasing smile when you swatted his arm.

“How was he? After I fell asleep.”

“Well, his wrists are in a bad way. Shy as could be when I had him sit down so I could bandage him up. As if he hadn’t moaned at deepthroating my fingers just a bit before.”

You nearly choked on your coffee. It was downright sinful the way Jack could say such lewd things with a voice like honey.

“If you’re wondering whether he regretted it, I highly doubt it, sweetheart. I think you were exactly on the money when you thought about him, but… Well, this ain’t exactly the best way for it to all happen.”

You nodded, sighing while you rubbed the back of your hand with your thumb, a self-soothing gesture you seldom did anymore.

“Certainly not the way we had hoped for it to happen. This was hardly dinner and a conversation. I didn’t expect to spring this on him after only just popping back into each other’s lives after five years. I can’t even really count the funeral since… well, we hardly talked.”

Jack squeezed your hand reassuringly.

“Nothing doing worrying about it, darlin’. We’ll sort everything out once he wakes up.”

Just then, your stomach growled and Whiskey chuckled.

“Besides, sounds like I should be worrying about what to make us for breakfast. Champ isn’t expecting us to debrief until 14:00. Which reminds me, I had Ginger get a hold of Santiago. He’s fine, and they’re sending Vermouth to pick him up and bring him to the office for the debrief.”

Letting out a sigh of relief, you nod, grateful that Santi was ok after the attack. A small huff of excitement brings your attention back to Whiskey, finding him holding a box of pancake mix triumphantly.

“How about pancakes, darlin’?”

His eyes twinkle at the way yours widen in excitement.

“Pancakes it is then, baby.”

Frankie woke to hushed voices and the smell of pancakes. His stomach growled, and he groaned as he sat up. He felt like he had been hit by a truck.

“Hijo de puta.” [Son of a bitch.]

He muttered to himself, hissing when he bumped his wrist. You turned from your conversation with Jack after hearing Frankie curse, and you couldn’t help but admire how cute he looked in his post-sleep haze. His unruly curls were at all different angles and you fought the urge to walk up to him and sink your fingers in them.

“Morning, sleepyhead!” You paused a moment, looking at the stove clock, “Well, not exactly morning anymore.”

Frankie groaned as he stretched his arms and rolled his aching shoulders, then staggered to the kitchen table, sinking into the open chair and pulling out his phone for the time: noon.

“Fuck, Whiskey, I told you I only needed five hours.”

Whiskey stretched in his seat, waving dismissively at Frankie.

“Clearly you needed more than five hours, Flyboy. You were barely standing when you woke me up this morning. I called our Executive Tech Coordinator, Ginger, to check in. She’s having Santiago picked up, and he’ll meet us at our office. They’re not expecting us until 14:00, we’ve got some time.”

Frankie grumbled under his breath, and you noticed the way Jack’s eyebrow shot up in response to the grumbling. Hiding your smile, you got up and made a plate of pancakes for Frankie, then poured him a cup of coffee.

“Cream or sugar?”

Frankie shakes his head and takes a sip from his coffee, a small hum of pleasure vibrating in his throat.

“Gracias, Halcón.”

Both you and Jack watched him, bemused at the way Frankie shoveled the pancakes into his mouth.

“You should be thanking Whiskey. He’s the one who made them.”

Frankie swallowed then paused, looking over at Whiskey, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“These are delicious, Whiskey, thanks.”

A warm smile lit up Whiskey’s face, and he nodded in appreciation. After a moment, his gaze flickers over to yours, silently seeking your approval to start the conversation you know needs to take place before the debriefing. You refill your coffee, then give Whiskey a nod.

“Before we head out, there are a few things we need to go over, Frankie.”

Whiskey’s drawl floated in Frankie’s ears and tugged at him in a way he hadn’t expected it to without the amorous agent in his system.

“First things first, how did you figure we had a safehouse? Did you already know about Statesmen?”

Frankie blinked and sat back, looking between you and Jack before clearing his throat.

“Pope and I always figured you went into intelligence after the Army, Halcón. Pope doesn’t get called in for small gigs much anymore, and the money Pope pitched the job to me for meant it was high profile. Never believed that story of you being an EA at a distillery for a second. You hate paperwork. Seeing you there meant there might be trouble... Well, you’re always trouble, Halcón.”

He smiled, chuckling a bit to himself.

“Your revolvers and whip, and her pistol in a thigh holster… Well, with everything else, that pretty much confirmed to me that you’re both spooks. That’s why I figured you’d have your own safe houses. I couldn’t guarantee any of Pope’s because of the gas. I didn’t know who had been caught or who had been affected. Just put the pieces together, really.”

Frankie shrugged, and Jack, who had been watching him intently, nodded.

“We’re not on anyone’s radar, Frankie. The distillery is real and helps fund our operations, but not even the President is aware, and we like to keep it that way. So you can understand why there were some concerns when you seemed to have it figured out.”

He nodded, understanding completely the security concerns that came with that kind of secrecy.

“Glad you’re not a jackass CIA agent at least, Halcón.”

You snorted and shook your head.

“No, but Whiskey here is plenty jackass for the both of us.”

Whiskey scoffed and shook his head.

“That’s not the tune you were singing when we first met, darlin’. I seem to remember rescuing you, then stitching you up.”

“I didn’t need rescuing, Whiskey. They grazed me, but I had them!”

Frankie chuckled, a smirk settling on his lips at your indigent retort as he held your gaze. His smirk faltered, however, when he felt your hand rest on his arm. He knew this fleeting moment where things felt oddly right and natural, joking around in the kitchen was just that: fleeting. Now, the other shoe was about to drop.

“All things considered, Fish, you look good… I’m glad.”

Jack sat back, observing the two of you. That simple sentence held more weight than he’d expect it to in a normal conversation. The way Frankie frowned slightly and looked down and away didn’t escape his attention. He watched you fidget for a moment before starting again.

“About last night, Frankie-”

“You two look really good together. Seem to be really great partners, and… and I’m not going to do something dumb like try to get in the way of that or anything. I know we were all affected by the gas, a-and I was available.”

Frankie blurted out. The words felt thick and bitter on his tongue, his heart protesting each syllable, but he so desperately wanted to give you an out from this situation, from him and his baggage. He didn’t want to lose you or your friendship, not when he had just gotten you back in his life. His gaze was actively avoiding yours and Whiskey’s, opting instead to stare down at the floor. You and Jack shared a frown as you took a beat to recover. Whiskey was clearing his throat to try to salvage the conversation, but you could see the gears moving in Frankie’s head as he suddenly stood.

“I need to go prep the helo if we’re going to make it back in time.”

The walls were coming up brick by devastating brick in Frankie’s downcast, coffee-colored eyes. On instinct, you reached out for him, your fingers wrapping around his wrist, only to jerk back just as suddenly as he winced in pain.

“Sorry. Frankie, just wait a second.”

“Yeah, now look here, Flyboy, we didn’t do anything we didn’t want to. Hell, you can be damn sure I enjoyed myself.”

There was an ugly, acrid taste pooling in Frankie’s mouth that he couldn’t stop: jealousy. Of course Whiskey had enjoyed himself. At the end of the day, he still had you. Frankie hated himself all the more for this jealousy. It didn’t even have anything to do with the cowboy, he actually liked him despite his cocky attitude. He caught himself, realizing it had almost everything to do with the self-hatred he still harbored. Three years clean was still more than three years too late. Realizing he hadn’t responded, Frankie nodded, gaze flicking from Whiskey to you.

“Can we all at least grab dinner this Friday and talk about it?”

There’s hope in your voice as you plead with him, and you can see his walls stop rising, at least for the moment.

“Ok, yeah.” There’s another awkward pause before Frankie checks his phone for the time and rocks back on his heels. “I’m going to get the helo ready. We need to head out soon.”

You watched as he quickly dressed himself in the disheveled clothes from the night prior and headed out the door in record speed.

Frankie breathed in the fresh air as he walked over to the helicopter. He needed to clear his head. His emotions were all over the place from the night prior and lack of sleep, and it felt like he was giving himself whiplash. Reaching the helicopter, he set out to pull the tarp off of the aircraft. It was much easier taking the damned thing off than it was putting it on, probably having to do with the fact that he wasn’t moments away from collapsing to try to give himself some relief. Gritting his teeth, he willed the thoughts away and made quick work of folding the tarp, stowing it away in its compartment in the cockpit. Frankie sank into the pilot's seat with a sigh and began taking inventory of everything. The blazer he had carelessly wrenched off was still laying in a heap on the floor. He leaned down to pick it up and dust it off, his eyes meandering to Pope’s pistol laying in the co-pilot’s chair. Thankfully, he hadn’t lost it in the chaos of everything. Throwing his head back against the headrest, Frankie closed his eyes. At least they’d be heading out soon and he could throw himself into whatever came next.

You and Whiskey sat at the table for a moment longer, and it was Whiskey who broke the silence.

“Well… everything considered, sweetheart, that could have been worse. Could have gone better too though.”

You groaned and rolled your eyes at Whiskey.

“It’s probably just… a lot for him. The last time we saw each other wasn’t exactly stellar.”

“It was a funeral, Bourbon. That’s understandable.”

That wasn’t exactly what you’d meant, but you kept silent, nodding. Whiskey stood up, walking around the table until he stood in front of you. He took your hands in his own and hauled you up, holding you tight and kissing the top of your head.

“C’mon, sweetheart, let’s get our things together. Champ’ll be waiting for us.”

You and Whiskey moved quickly to gather your belongings, and you had never been more grateful for the stock slip-on shoes Statesmen provided. You didn’t want to have to go out barefoot. Looking back at the safe house, you almost felt bad with the mess you were leaving behind, but you knew for a fact the Statesmen cleaning service had seen far worse.

Frankie only acknowledged you and Whiskey once your headsets were on.

“Get ready, we’re taking off. Statesmen New York office in 20 minutes. Thankfully, we’ve got plenty of fuel.”

The trip back to the office was awkward but thankfully quiet, and Frankie focused on the calming effect flying had on him. After about 20 minutes, you heard Campari’s voice on the radio.

“Approaching aircraft, state your clearance code.”

Whiskey got up from his seat and stood next to Frankie.

“Campari, this is Whiskey, clearance code Alpha-Whiskey-Niner-Niner-Foxtrot.”

There was a pause on the other end as Campari reviewed the code.

“Confirmed, welcome back, Agents Whiskey and Bourbon. Mr. Morales, you’re cleared to land.”

Frankie expertly navigated the helicopter to the landing pad and Whiskey was the first to hop out once they landed. You followed closely behind, turning to make sure Frankie was following. He certainly was, although a few steps behind, and his gaze was still downcast. Frankie was only vaguely aware of his surroundings, still mostly inside his own head as they walked through giant oak double doors into a conference room. It wasn’t until he heard Santiago’s voice that his gaze snapped up.

“¡Hermano!”

Frankie gave Pope a smile as they clasped arms. Then, the other man grabbed Frankie’s shoulders tightly.

“¡Nunca más me asustes así! ¿Entíendes?” [Never scare me like that again! Got it?/Understand?]

Frankie nodded sheepishly, then went to take a seat across from you and to the left of Whiskey.

“Put those on.”

Whiskey gestured to the orange tinted aviators resting on the conference table, identical to the ones you and Whiskey now wore. You watched Frankie bite his lip in concentration, then smiled at the way his eyes lit up as he put them on to see a hologram of Champ seated at the far end of the table.

“¡Ay!”

Frankie and Santiago shout in surprise. Champ shares a look of amusement with you and Whiskey, then gives the other two men a warm smile.

“Alright everyone, let’s get this show on the road. Name’s Champagne but anyone who knows what’s good for them calls me Champ. The lovely lady on the screen on the wall here is Ginger, and y’all are familiar with Whiskey and Bourbon.”

Frankie and Santiago were still in awe, but they nodded their acknowledgements to Champ and Ginger.

“Now, Ginger has an update for us, but first, I must commend you, Catfish. From what I understand, you identified the threat and moved to get Whiskey and Bourbon out of there, minimizing casualties as well as ensuring two of our best agents weren’t captured. I’m sure it was a tremendous feat to do so and fly yourselves to safety given the… well, the condition y’all were in.”

You, Jack, and Frankie had the decency to blush. Frankie ducked his head at the compliment and did his best to avoid eye contact with Pope. He just knew Santi would have a teasing remark about the three of them being together.

“Ginger was able to confirm that the amorous agent used in last night’s attack is a variant of a new drug being used to torture information out of victims.”

“From what Whiskey and I were reviewing,” You interjected, “I think it’s safe to say casualties weren’t their primary objective. Considering how... incapacitated the attendees were, it would have been easy to take more lives. Instead, the deaths seem to be accidental, the result of the private security team or us. It looks to me like their main objective was humiliation. I doubt they knew who Whiskey and I are, if they even had Statesmen Distillery on their radar since we were last-minute additions.”

Frankie nodded and thrust his chin out to Santiago.

“Pope and I heard about it at a conference for his security firm. The ingredients and refinement process are supposed to be too delicate and expensive for something mass market or on the scale that we saw last night.”

Champ nodded and pursed his lips in thought. A sound came from the TV as Ginger chimed in.

“It appears we may have caught a break with that, actually. Final lab results just came in, and analysis of the Agent Red compound also included trace elements of cocaine. Now, last year we busted the Golden Circle cartel, so this could be the competition sweeping in. They might have the resources and facilities to pull it off.”

The room went quiet. Frankie hadn’t heard anything past “cocaine” and the sound of the blood rushing in his ears. His head turned in stiff, jerky movements as his gaze met Pope’s then yours and you can’t think of a moment you’ve seen him more afraid than he is now. Years of dropping into war zones couldn’t touch his reaction now: the quickening of his breath, the way his brows went up and furrowed slightly, the way his eyes widened and froze or the way his lips were parted, tense from the words that were silently stumbling over each other trying to escape the leash of his tongue. Jack took in the way you blanched and Frankie’s pure terror, and finally the pieces fell into place. The words had finally pulled free from Frankie’s tongue, but it was clear that he was far too panicked to put together much of a sentence.

“N-no! I--this, this c-can’t be… Hawk,” he started, desperate to reassure you he’d been clean, as if this brush with the illicit substance negated everything he had done. But you hadn’t been around to see him get clean, so how could he expect you to believe him after how he was when you had left? Frankie started again, frantically seeking Pope’s gaze, “Pope, you know… you know I’ve been clean for three years. I can’t-no, I can’t lose it! I just...I just got it ba-”

Frankie’s voice was broken, the words were crashing into each other, frantic in between sharp, shaky inhales. He looked physically ill, and Jack could see all of the tell-tale signs of a bad panic attack playing out before him. Without hesitating, he swung his chair to face Frankie.

“Hey, Flyboy, you gotta breathe.”

Frankie squeezed his eyes shut, ears clinging to Whiskey’s Southern drawl, desperate to ground himself to something. The peaceful image of a cabin by a quiet lake that he conjured up during times like these was gone, just out of reach, almost taunting him. He flinched when Jack’s large, warm hand came in contact with his back, but he let the other man gently push him forward until his head was between his knees. Frankie did his best to try to regain his breathing, he was emotionally and physically exhausted, this had just been the final straw. The warmth emanating from Whiskey’s hand spread down his back, and his mind clung to the sensation like a drowning man would a lifeline. Slowly, Frankie’s gulping of air began to shift towards almost normal as the pressure in his chest eased.

Pope shared a look with you, then cleared his throat.

“Fish had...some issues with cocaine a while back, and his pilot’s license was suspended because of it. He’s worked hard to get his license back, and he’s been clean.”

Champ nodded. He held no judgement. Hell, their own Tequila had had his own run-ins with illicit substances. Your gaze flickered to Whiskey, it seemed like his sole concern was Frankie in that moment. His eyes met yours briefly, and the warring emotions in them foreshadowed a later conversation, but then the moment was gone, and his focus was back on Frankie. Champ paused a moment longer, making sure that Frankie looked to be recovering before continuing.

“Not to worry, Catfish, should you have any trouble with a surprise drug test, Statesmen’ll take care of it. After all, it couldn’t have been helped, and we owe you for Whiskey and Bourbon.”

Frankie slowly brought himself to sit upright, nodding stiffly. Ginger felt for Frankie, watching him as he emptily accepted Champ’s promise.

“If it’s any consolation, we found only trace amounts, nothing substantial.” Not enough to get you hooked were the unspoken words accompanying her statement.

A shaky breath of relief found its way out of Frankie’s lungs, but the fear remained in his eyes. What if he slipped up? Champ was running a cigar under his nose pensively.

“For now, Pope, I want you to coordinate with Ginger. See if you can fill in any of our gaps on the attack last night. Whiskey, Bourbon, I want your reports in tonight. I don’t need to explain but anything you two can remember could be helpful for Ginger and Pope. Catfish,” Frankie’s head snapped up, gaze settling on Champ at the sound of his name. He was ready for an assignment, for something, anything to get his mind off of the thoughts swirling around in his head. “Ginger booked you a hotel just a few blocks from the New York office. I want you to go there, relax, and get some sleep. I understand you got some rest this morning, but given the ordeal you’ve been through, I’m having you take the rest of the day.”

Frankie opened his mouth to protest, but Champ quickly shushed him by continuing.

“Now, don’t worry, it’s not just you. As soon as Whiskey and Bourbon are done with their reports, I’m sending them home too.”

Frankie pursed his lips and nodded, already feeling like a burden and that his last foothold was crumbling. The meeting went on for a few more minutes, but Frankie was in his own head, effectively on autopilot. His shoulders were slumped and his gaze was fixed on some unknown far off point. You, Jack, and Pope shared a concerned glance as the meeting ended. Frankie blinked when Santiago walked up to him, putting his hand on Frankie’s shoulder.

“Hey, I forgot your go bag, but I grabbed your hat. Figured you’d want it, hermano.”

Standing, Frankie nodded, murmuring his thanks. The doors opened and another agent walked into the conference room.

“Mr. Morales, I’m Agent Vermouth. Please come with me. Ginger asked that I make sure you get to the hotel without any issues.”

You winced at the hurt in Frankie’s eyes that quickly gave way to a hollow nothingness, and your heart clenched for him. There was no way Vermouth could have known the circumstances, what the additional weight his words would have on Frankie. Frowning, Frankie shuffled after Vermouth and disappeared from the room. With a sigh, you turned to Santiago.

“Hey Pope, Whiskey’s just next door, and I’m down the hall. I’m sure Ginger will give you a call in a few minutes. You’ve got the whole conference room to yourself for the rest of the day.”

Pope nodded before you and Whiskey turned to head out.

“My office, Bourbon.”

Whiskey’s voice was low. You had been expecting this, you knew you hadn’t been exactly forthcoming given Whiskey’s past issues. Before you both could make it out of the conference room, Pope’s voice stopped you.

“Hawk?”

Santiago frowned and took a deep breath.

“He really has gotten his shit together. Colombia broke him, and none of us should have been there but I-” Pope sighed and scratched at his beard. “Frankie’s put in the work, he did it, he’s doing it. I know you might have doubts since you weren’t there, but you know I wouldn’t enable him… I just mean that, don’t write him off because of this, Halcón.”

You gave Pope a soft, sad smile and nodded.

“I won’t, Santi.”

There was a beat of silence, Jack quietly observing the two of you. At last, Santiago nodded, and you left the conference room with Jack. He unlocked the door to his office, holding it open for you and you strolled in, making a beeline for the whiskey and two tumblers that sat on the bar cart. You heard him lock the door again as you poured two fingers for each of you. Taking the tumblers in hand, you slid down onto Whiskey’s brown leather couch and handed him the other glass. He was quiet. You both took a sip from your glasses, and then he bit his lip, staring at the swirling amber liquid.

“When were you going to tell me, Bourbon? Were you going to tell me? I mean hell, especially with what we’re considering with him, you gotta tell me shit like this.”

His eyes only met yours at his last word, his face was one of hurt and anger tinged with betrayal.

“I’m sorry, Jack, I really am. I was going to tell you, I was planning on telling you after we went down for the fight. If he was still doing well, then we’d talk about it. If he wasn’t… well, then I was going to tell you anyways. Like Santi said, I don’t have the full story. You’re right though, and I’m really sorry, Jack. I should have told you.”

He held your gaze and nodded almost imperceptibly as you gently reached out to hold his hand and took a sip of your whiskey.

“About three years ago, I reached out to Benny, one of the guys from our unit, to congratulate him on a fight, and we started catching up. He mentioned Frankie was cleaning up his act. The guys-- Pope, Catfish, Benny, Ironhead and Redfly-- went to Colombia on a job, and I don’t have all the details because it wasn’t an official mission, but Redfly, our old Captain, died.”

Whiskey nodded, remembering you were fairly new at the time but already a rising star. He remembered the devastation on your face when you had gotten the news. After all, he had been the one to escort you to Champ’s office when you requested time off for the funeral.

“I remember. You went to his funeral. About 4 years ago now.”

You nodded.

“It was the last time I saw Frankie, and he was not in a good place. Not only because of whatever happened in Colombia, but he got back to find his fiancée had left him, and he had started using again. The guys don’t like to talk about what happened, especially not Pope, as I’m sure you noticed. I called Benny again a year ago. With everything that was happening with Poppy and the Golden Circle, I was worried Frankie had slipped up, but I was also so hopeful that he hadn’t. Benny told me that Frankie was still clean, he’d gotten his license back, and was doing well for himself.”

Whiskey sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It… it doesn’t make me think less of him, sweetheart. You know I’ve been doing the work in therapy, and I understand he’s not the same as the bastards who took everything from me. I know that’s why you were apprehensive. If this is going to work though, we need to communicate. I can’t have you keepin’ secrets like this.”

You nodded. The understanding between you was solid, and you knew you should have told him sooner. He took your glass and pulled you closer so you could nestle into his side. It had been an exhausting 24 hours, and you both wanted nothing more than to have this moment to just exist with each other. After a few quiet moments, you took your glass from his hand, threw back the rest of your drink, then disentangled yourself from Whiskey.

“I’m going to go get changed then get on that report so I can get the hell out of here. I want to take a bath and unwind a bit first, but do you want to do takeout at your place tonight?”

“Wouldn’t have my night any other way, sweetheart. I’ll text you later?”

You nod and wink, earning you one of his soft smiles, then you head out.

The hotel room was nice, far nicer than any room Frankie would have ever booked for himself. It was swanky and refined, whereas the hotel they had planned for the gala at was gaudy and flashy. Frankie stared at the menus laying on the bed next to him, not really seeing the words printed before him. Agent Vermouth had told him to order room service and not to worry about the cost, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat. He closed his eyes, cradling his head in his hands, trying to shut out the dark thoughts circling around him. This feeling, low in his stomach, twisting knots in him, felt like failure. Like he was a failure. It felt like somehow all of the work he had put into getting clean had been undone in a blink of the eye. He hadn’t even sought it out or consented to it. No, it seemed like no matter what he did, his past… the drugs, they would always catch up to him. Of course it was happening now, when he had a real shot at something better. He wasn’t sure what you were hopeful for when you pleaded with him to do dinner in two days’ time, but at least he could hope for regaining your friendship.

With a sigh, he got up and ambled to the minibar, grabbing a few bottles of whiskey, downing one, then sank back onto the bed. His personal phone suddenly went off. Fumbling around for it in his pocket, he took a deep breath, then unlocked it.

Kevin: I couldn’t find someone to cover for you, I’m letting you go Morales. If you have any personal belongings we’ll have them mailed to you. Your final paycheck will be deposited on Friday.

Frankie felt tears prick at his eyes, and he desperately scrubbed at his face with the heel of his left hand as if his efforts would keep the tears from falling. That was the last thing he needed right now.

What a fucking mess he was.

He was a veteran, a former cocaine addict, and now he could add jobless to his titles. It felt like his world was crumbling all around him.

Fuck.

Frankie squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, desperately wishing this was just one of his nightmares. His hands shook, whether from stress or something else he wasn’t sure. He downed another bottle, staring at the minibar a moment longer, fingers fumbling with the cap of the third.

He was drowning. He needed...something. He needed help.

Soooo, hi...yes...thank you for reading! I've got Chapter 4 in the wings and Chapter 5 knocking around my drafts!

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