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#*nervously looking at my other two month old wips*
yudol-skorbi · 1 year
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Eddie Munson is Miette coded i dont take criticism
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swiftispunk · 10 months
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WIP tease~
pairing: no outbreak!dbf!joel miller x f!reader rating: 18+ minors dni summary: mourning the end of your 20s, you get wasted after work, unaware that a formal surprise birthday party awaits you at home. luckily, your dad’s best friend joel finds you outside and offers to help keep your secret from your oblivious guests and parents. teaser warnings: alcohol, big ol’ age gap (reader is turning 30, joel is in his 50s), reader is drunk but joel is a good boy abt it. NO USE OF Y/N.
A/N: hi honies! so tomorrow I am going to the US to see Taylor (!!!!) but that means I won’t have access to my phone/tumblr unless I have wifi. also means I won’t be writing much. so I leave you with this for now! something new and something FUN bc we are having FUN this month! I’m actually planning two versions of this one shot (more on that later). love you all! see you on the other side! 
(also yes I stole this idea from an episode of Friends)
A/N cont’d: joel looks like this but greyer in this story btw:
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“Why are you dressed like that?” you demand suddenly, aggressively accusatory as you quickly change the subject. But seriously, what the hell? Joel looks fucking hot. Painfully so in his fancy little outfit, such a rare a ensemble from the man you've definitely caught with his t-shirt on inside out more than once. You look like...well, like you just stumbled drunk out of a taxi after drinking a few too many beers at the bowling alley with your coworkers. “And why are you at my house?”
“Uh...” he hesitates, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck nervously. “Guess I should probably tell ya - ”
“Tell me what?” you interject impatiently, eyes narrowing.
“There’s kind of a...formal surprise party goin’ on in there.” He points his thumb towards your parents’ front door.
“For who?”
Joel eyes you like a toddler to which he’s explaining something extremely obvious. “For you. Your parents wanted to - ”
“Fuck!”
You jolt up from your place on the step, white, hot panic sinking into your gut along with a potent wave of nausea. Joel reaches his hands out to, rising up to hold you steady with a firm grip on your forearms.
“My parents are in there?” you shriek, too loud. Joel shushes you accordingly with a finger on his lips. “They can’t see me like this!”
“What, they never seen you drink or somethin’?”
“They’ve never seen me wasted! And - sorry- did you say formal?” You’re screaming again. “Look what I’m fucking wearing!”
Joel shrugs, glancing at you up and down, your skin blazing at the way his eyes rake over you. “Y’look just fine to me, sweetheart.”
He smirks as he takes in the sight of you and you work to catch your breath. You’ve caught him staring at you this way before, like you’re something he could eat. You’ve always of kind of wished he would. His age doesn’t bother you; Joel’s only gotten hotter with age (he was already pretty damn hot to begin with).
And you know what? Maybe right now, you kind of need a hot, older man looking out for you. You’re not too proud to admit it. Maybe you’re still just a vulnerable, young girl in desperate need of guidance and not someone who tragically just turned fucking thirty.
“What do I do?” you implore him helplessly.
Joel’s smirk fades then, his expression turning stern as his tone becomes paternally instructional.
“Right,” he starts, gripping your wrists in his calloused hands as you begin to sway before him. You try to focus on him. “You’re just gonna go in there and act real surprised. I didn’t tell you nothin’, got that? Don’t need your old man thinkin’ I spoiled it.”
“You kinda did spoil it though,” you attempt to tease him. It comes out a little sloppier than you intend.
Joel just gives you this look, all disapproving and bemusedly reproachful - a warning, you realize.
God, you are so screwed.
You clear your throat and nod obediently, pulling a very serious face that it is very convincing (in your head).
“Keep your damn voice down,” he goes on, particularly chiding with that specific instruction. “And just stay by my side, okay? I’ll make sure you don’t make a fool o’yourself.”
“Really, Joel?” you slur, your eyes widening in wonder at the promise of having Joel by your side all night, keeping you in check.
“Just try’n behave,” he adds with a wink and your stomach does a backflip. “And I’ll take care of the rest.”
You salute him. He rolls his eyes.
“Ready?” he asks, his eyebrows raised. You take a deep breath.
“No.”
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tea-earl-grey · 2 months
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For the writer’s ask game: 🖍 and 🤔
from this ask game
🖍: Post any sentence from your wip.
I have a few wips rn but the one I'm actually hoping to finish and post soon-ish is a post s1 Picard fic from Seven and Raffi's pov. a large part of it is shippy but there's a lot of other stuff too including this scene where Seven goes back to the Artifact to find Hugh's body and bury him. (yeah I know this says sentence but uh... here's a full page instead.)
When she looked down at Hugh’s body, face grey and body stiff (like he’s returning to the drone they all are underneath), Seven saw someone who deserved to live.
They were never close friends. They might not had even been friends. Hugh found Seven a few months after Voyager returned and explained that he was an ex-Borg as well, that his unimatrix was split off from the Collective after he encountered a Starfleet vessel and after conflict and infighting, he and thirty others had made it to the Federation. He said that ten more had died in surgery and Seven noticed that Hugh’s scars looked fresher than her’s.
Apparently, as Hugh relayed, he nearly wept after finding out there was another ‘liberated Borg’ (as he said back then, long before the word xB crossed anyone’s lips) on a famous Starfleet ship. And, “Who knows how many more are out there? How many more need our help?” He sounded so hopeful and Seven remembered brusquely asking him to leave. Other former Borg weren’t her concern, she already had Icheb after all, and the last thing Seven wanted were more people pointing out the fact she wasn’t human.
Two years later she left Earth after realizing that no matter what she did and how she acted, no one would think of her as human anyways. 
And six years after that, Seven watched Icheb be dissected on a lab table and she started to see Hugh’s point. Maybe sentimentality does have tactical value.
And that same year, before Seven could offer any overtures of an apology, Hugh launched the Borg Reclamation Project. And the Romulans sold Borg parts to the same cruel underground that killed her son, creating more demand that she knew wouldn’t be satisfied with words like ‘ethically obtained’. Seven noticed idealism often clouded people’s vision to what was right in front of them. 
They still crossed paths on occasion, mostly when Seven met an xB who needed help or on the occasion when Hugh needed a favor. There were a few subspace messages – Seven asking if Hugh knew a safe doctor to see after she dislocated her arm beyond her own ability to repair. Or another time when Hugh needed a favor on one of the worlds the Rangers patrolled.
The point was – Hugh had long since figured out that Seven didn’t care for his project or his idealism and would happily forget that she was an ex-Borg, xB, whatever the hell you want to call people like them, if anyone would let her. 
The point was – Hugh was better than her. He cared more. He wanted a community, a culture, in some broken old Cube. And look where it had gotten him.
Seven picked up his body from the floor. “Are you coming?” she asked the two xBs in front of her.
When neither of them answered, she walked away with Hugh in her arms. These people weren’t her concern. 
They were lost, leaderless, broken. They were what Seven could have been so easily if a Starfleet Captain didn’t look at a Borg drone and give her dreams of humanity. 
She looked back for just a second.
But Seven lacked Hugh’s earnest hope of a better future and certainly didn’t have Janeway’s hero complex. They deserved someone better than her.
🤔: What's a story you'd love to write but haven't even started yet?
(glances at the notes app on my phone and laughs nervously)
out of the seven years of prompts/ideas I've gathered, I'm probably most likely to write the Star Trek ones at some point and the best ones are:
years after ds9, Jake goes through the death of a loved one and finds himself drawn back to Bajoran religion for the first time in a long while and
something about Voyager and the "died and came back wrong" trope as they come back to Earth and their family members start noticing that they aren't the same people and the grief that accompanies that realization (I did write a small scene of this from Janeway's sister's pov but I need to scrap the whole thing and start over)
i have about 3 fic ideas that are all just character studies of Seven through the lens of disability
a j7 fic where Picard era Seven and Voyager era Seven switch places
a post-ds9 fic where Worf and Ezri realize that since Klingon law doesn't differentiated between Trill hosts, they're still legally married and have to figure out how to get a divorce/annulment (more of a comedy with some moments about grief)
a Voyager/Gallifrey crossover (aka Janeway and Gallifrey era Romana are very similar and they Would Not Get Along)
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shig-a-shig-ah · 3 years
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LAYING CLAIM
» pairing: dabi x fem!reader
» cw: dubcon, revoked consent, noncon (we’re going on a journey, okay?), rimming, anal fingering, anal sex, crying, gratuitously fanon characterization. 18+, minors DNI.
» a/n: Started this months and months ago, and since I’m finally getting around to wrapping some WIPs, I guess you can have it now. Thanks @thebiggergroove​ for beta-reading!
» wc: 5.3k
» ao3 mirror
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The thing about Dabi is he's not usually a possessive guy. Fucking is fucking, as far as he's concerned—it doesn't really matter who is doing it with whom as long as everyone is getting off on it. But goddamn if there isn't something about you that makes him want to make you his.
And he's gotten that, more or less. It took some sweet talking and cajoling, and a few late nights where he made you come until you couldn't see straight, but you agreed not to go sleeping with anyone else. Sure, you've made him promise the same, but that's fine. Not that he's going to actually stop, of course, but he goes out on recruiting missions alone and he figures what you don't know won't hurt you.
That's all enough to satisfy him, at least for a little while. But then a few weeks pass and there it is again: that stupid jealousy and all those unbidden thoughts about the people you were with before him. People he knows. You never talk in too much detail about your past hookups, but he's not stupid, is all too aware that he's not the first one in this ragged band of miscreants that you've crawled into bed with. You've fucked Jin, and Shigaraki, and probably even Magne, god rest her soul—Dabi hadn't missed the way the two of you had huddled up giggling in the corner of the old bar one night, disappearing together unusually early, making those bedroom eyes at each other. And in theory that's fine. Nothing wrong with two girls having fun together, after all. Hell, bi chicks are hot and Dabi wouldn't mind taking advantage of that someday.
But first he needs to find a way to get the image of you with your legs spread for half the League out of his goddamn head.
If he's being honest, it's Shigaraki who bothers him the most. Magne is dead. Jin is a decent dude and, Dabi has to imagine, tame as a kitten in the sack. But Shigaraki, well...Dabi can tell just by looking at the guy that he's a freak, and the idea of you riding Shigaraki's dry, crusty dick, of letting him do who-knows-what filthy shit to you? It just gets to him.
And then Toga has to suggest that stupid game and go putting ideas in his head.
You're all sitting around the crumbling office space that passes for a hideout, drinking to celebrate the League's first successful double-amputation (because fuck that germophobic, transphobic prick), and blondie is just begging to play a drinking game. Normally Dabi doesn't go for that shit—why anyone needs an excuse to get wasted is beyond him—but he's in a good mood, and you make that adorable pouty face as you tell him that you played in college, that it's really fun, and somehow he finds himself sitting in a circle on the dusty floor with the rest of you losers playing 'I haven't' or whatever the fuck it's called.
It's all bland shit to start. Toga's never driven a car, Shigaraki's never gone to school. But, after you've made your way around the circle once, everyone seems to be loosening up and Spinner takes one for the team by getting to the interesting shit and admitting he's never slept with a girl. It spurs a moment of awkward silence made all the worse by his red face and obvious self-consciousness about being a virgin, but then Compress stage-whispers "Neither have I," before winking salaciously at the blushing lizard and taking a dramatic pull from his beer bottle. It's enough to lighten the mood.
After that, Dabi's forced to admit it's a decent game. There's not much he hasn't done sexually or criminally, and since those are the two topics everyone focuses on, he finds himself getting hammered faster than usual. It's a good thing too—his buzz makes it easier to ignore the look you and Shigaraki exchange when Jin announces that he's never tried watersports, easier to pretend his gut isn't twisting at the knowing smirk on your leader's face as he raises his beer bottle to drink and you follow suit.
That particular moment makes it all the more surprising when, on your next turn, you hide an embarrassed face behind your hand and announce that you've never taken it in the ass.
Dabi can't stop thinking about it the rest of the night. Obsessing over it, and the idea of being your first, your only, even if only in some less than conventional way. The thing is, it's downright tame in comparison to a lot of what you two get up to, so barely even kinky that it's almost impossible to believe you've never tried it. Sure, you've never done it together, but he'd just figured neither of you were all that into it, since it hadn't come up when you were doing lewd shit to each other.
That kind of sex is fine from his perspective, but only fine. He doesn't actively seek it out because in his mind nothing beats the feel of being balls-deep in a warm pussy, but that doesn't mean he hasn't done it. He's hooked up with plenty of girls that were into it and has always been happy to oblige; hell, he's even taken it more than once, on account of the fact that when it comes to the bedroom he's willing to try anything twice.
But doing it with you? Well, that thought sticks. The two of you finally go to bed and Dabi's so turned on by the idea of your virgin ass that he can't help testing the waters, prodding teasingly at that tight hole with one spit-slicked finger until you're squirming away and whining. He doesn't manage to convince you right then, but he makes those puppy dog eyes that are far more effective than they have any right to be, and you agree to give it a go in the future.
"Not here," you specify, the words fuzzy on your drunken tongue. "Someplace nicer, with a real bed." You already have your reservations, and you certainly don't relish the idea of undertaking that particular venture now, on a worn mattress in this falling apart building, with its paper-thin walls and complete lack of hot water. Between your booze-fueled haze and the seeming interminability of the League's poverty, you mostly forget about that casual promise by the following morning.
But Dabi doesn't. He picks up a small bottle of lube the next day and carries it around in his pocket shamelessly, a little reminder that he has something to look forward to besides roasting that prick Endeavor, and he strokes himself off to the idea more than he's proud to admit as he waits for the League to move on to better things. He can be patient, when he needs to be.
That patience takes a toll though, and the minute the League settles into their new digs in Re-Destro's sprawling villa, where there's actually privacy and clean, comfortable beds, Dabi shows up at your door with a cheshire grin and every intention of finally getting something from you that's just for him.
You grimace when you remember that promise, try briefly to talk him out of it even, but he isn't so easily dissuaded. It's made all the harder by the fact that you can't give him a specific reason why you've never tried it, beyond that it seems uncomfortable and you hadn't particularly enjoyed the couple instances when you'd allowed someone to slip a finger or two in there.
"C'mon, baby girl," Dabi coos, his breath hot in your ear as he pins you to the wall, working two unnaturally warm fingers into your cunt. "I'll make sure it's good for you. Be gentle, get you nice and warmed up first, all that sweet shit."
It really is unfair how persuasive he can be when he fixes those pleading turquoise eyes on you. The way the pads of his fingers are curling just right deep inside isn't helping either, and he teases you like that until you give in to his cajoling, though you still insist on waiting a couple nights so that you can do your research and make sure you're entirely prepared. Dabi demonstrates his appreciation by burying his face in your cunt and not surfacing for air until you've come three times and are begging for a break.
When the night finally arrives, Dabi's feeling positively giddy. He slips into your bedroom with a bottle of wine and a couple glasses he's brought, a little something to help you relax because he's a gentleman when he wants to be. It should be good booze too—he lifted it from Re-Destro's private stash, and he's certain baldy doesn't drink anything that costs less than ¥30,000. Of course, Re-Destro doesn't love sharing either, but the uptight prick is too scared of Shigaraki to complain about anything the League does. They all take advantage of that, because they can and because it's fun to watch him bite his tongue when they piss him off.
You don't make it easy for Dabi to focus on pouring the drinks though, not when you're reclining in that armchair by the window, freshly showered and fidgeting nervously. He was half-erect before he got here from just thinking about what he was going to do to you, and the sight of you acting like you're some blushing virgin spurs him all the way to rock-hard. By the time your glasses are close to empty, he's straining uncomfortably in his pants, and can't fight back his impatience any longer.
"What do you think, doll?" he murmurs, setting his glass to the side and standing up, shrugging his jacket off before leaning down to ghost his lips over your neck. "You ready to move this to the bed?"
The way you chew at your lower lip anxiously before nodding makes his dick throb.
You empty your glass with one final, large swallow, your heart racing as you rise. You know it's stupid—you and Dabi have fucked countless times and a lot of it hasn't exactly been vanilla—but it's been a long time since you've actually tried anything new. His obvious excitement doesn't help either, paradoxically; it leaves you fretting about what will happen if you're somehow bad at this, or if you can't take it and have to stop. You've never really worried about disappointing him before, but now the thought weighs acutely on your mind.
It's with halting steps that you approach the bed and then, when you can't realistically drag your feet any longer, you finally tug the nightgown you're wearing off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor to reveal what's underneath.
"Damn, baby girl," Dabi breathes, looking you up and down. You'd figured that since it was a special occasion you might as well dress up, donning a strappy bra and panties. They're little more than elaborate, crisscrossing pieces of lace, all white since he'd seemed so fixated on this pseudo-innocent, first-time act. His reaction doesn't disappoint, eyes lighting up as he stares at you hungrily.
You let yourself fall back on the bed, nestling against the many pillows. The look on his face has your stomach fluttering, and the wine has helped you to relax a bit despite your nerves, a pleasant warmth spreading throughout your body. It's joined by a different kind of heat when you feel the mattress dip beneath Dabi's weight as he positions himself over you, one knee resting between your thighs, just barely brushing against your center, a hint of what's to come.
"You look so good I could just eat you up," Dabi whispers hotly against your ear before tracing his lips over your jaw. Even though he wants to take his time, let himself savor this, it's taking every ounce of patience he has to keep the promise he made to get you worked up and ready for him, to not to tear those pretty bits of satin and lace off and have his way with you right then.
You whine eagerly when his mouth slants hungrily over yours, savoring the feel of those mismatched lips, the way the rough skin of the bottom one contrasts so deliciously with the top. Hot hands run over your sides as the kiss deepens, your tongues tangling together, and you moan against him.
When you finally break for air, Dabi moves his lips to your throat, his tongue lapping at your pulse before he sinks his teeth into you. He loves to mark you up, loves making sure everyone can see that you're indisputably his, and it's even hotter now that he knows he's going to fuck you in a way no one else has. You're shivering beneath him as he works, your hand tugging insistently at his hair, and Dabi lets out a low, throaty growl.
"Guess I'm not the only one who's eager, huh?"
Your hips tilt in response, pressing needily into his firm thigh, and Dabi can feel the skin on his cheeks straining against his staples as he grins. He traces one hand up over your ribs, cupping at your supple breasts, teasing your hardening nipple through the flimsy fabric of your bra. Those deft fingers work under the seam of your lingerie as he shifts his weight, increasing the pressure against your center while he pinches and tugs at the peaks of your breasts until you're whimpering, spreading slick along his leg even through your thin panties.
Dabi pulls away abruptly, rolling onto his back and tugging at you to change positions, shaking his head when you move to mount his hips.
"Come here, baby girl," he says, his tongue tracing over his bottom lip. "Like I said, I wanna eat you up."
The promise in those words sends a bolt of heat straight through your core as he guides you to straddle his face, hot breath tickling your inner thighs. One calloused thumb brushes your clit lightly through your underwear, blue eyes sparkling when your breath hitches at that soft touch. When he pulls that useless fabric to the side and runs his tongue over your already-damp slit, you shudder.
Dabi lets out a pleased groan at your reaction and gets to work more earnestly, lapping at your sensitive nub, licking and sucking until you're moaning and only then shifting a little so that he can lap at your insides, that same rough thumb replacing the pressure of his tongue on your clit. It strokes firm circles as he buries that hot, wet muscle inside you, the metal barbell there teasing your inner walls as you grind involuntarily against it. You can't help but whine when he withdraws it, but that disappointment is quickly replaced by you startling as that same wet muscle extends further back to tease at your puckered entrance.
"A-ah, Dabi, wait," you protest, your face heating up self-consciously almost at once.
Dabi pauses, shifting just enough to keep his reply from being muffled as one warm hand runs reassuringly up your thigh. "I don't think I can help myself, doll," he says, his slick-coated lips splitting into a wide grin, "you just taste too good."
That heat in your face worsens as he dives back in, not even waiting for you to respond before he's flexing his tongue to poke at that tight ring of muscle. You still try to squirm away, feeling unprepared for this. You hadn't even considered it among the possible activities were volunteering to participate in, but Dabi is holding you firmly in place with the hand not working at your clit, and when another whine of protest escapes you, it's weaker than the first. The foreign sensation of his tongue against your neglected hole has you hyperaware of the press of his thumb at your apex, and you can feel tension building in your core even as you writhe in embarrassment.
It's as though he knows, too, and you suppose maybe he does; after all, he's the one who's done this before. He thrusts his tongue a little deeper, rolling your clit between two hot fingers with enough pressure to cut off any further protests. A long moan is the only sound you can muster as you spill over the edge, your thighs clenching around his head and your hips jerking shakily as you ride out your climax with his tongue still buried obscenely in your rear.
Dabi's face is covered in your juices by the time he slides from between your thighs, and he wipes it away carelessly with one arm as he repositions you again, pinning you on your back and wasting no time peeling away your now-soaked panties. He grins at the sight of your glistening folds and swollen clit before stripping off most of his own clothes, kicking them unceremoniously to the side and relaxing between your legs, kissing at your still-trembling thighs.
He teases at your sensitive cunt with his fingers, coating them in your juices as you whimper. "Ready for a little more?" he asks, and you nod despite the fact that your cheeks are still burning from before and your stomach is knotting with nerves.
"Just...go slow, okay?"
"Of course, baby girl," he promises, "I told you I'd take good care of you." With that, he starts to work you open, dipping one finger into your tight hole just until he reaches the first knuckle, working it in and out slowly. His other hand toys at your clit, stroking and rolling that puffy nub again, making you mewl.
Dabi waits until you're relaxed before trying any more, pulling away from you just long enough to dig the lube from the pocket of his discarded pants, coating his fingers with it. He works that lone finger deeper this time, in and out until it's buried to the last knuckle.
The sensation is strange, but not entirely unpleasant; even if you think you'd rather have that finger curling in your cunt, the slight stretch is still adding to the faint throb already growing inside you, the one that worsens when his thumb returns to your apex.
"Fuck, you're so tight," Dabi growls when one well-placed stroke of his thumb has you clenching lightly around his finger. He ruts his hips against the sheets, trying vainly to find some relief for his aching member, but it's not enough—he needs to feel you, needs the vice-like grip clutching his fingers to be wrapped around his cock, and he needs it soon.
You feel him withdraw to add more lube, and then he's fingering you again, adding another digit to stretch you wider. It comes with a stab of discomfort when he forces his way past the second knuckle, and you reflexively try to pull back. "Dabi, that's too much."
He abandons his soothing attentions to your clit, one warm palm pressing you tight against the mattress to keep you in place, stroking soothingly at your hip. His breath tickles over your inner thigh as he chuckles softly. "If you can't take this, how are you ever gonna take me, hmm?" he says teasingly. "You're doing great, baby, just relax."
You will yourself to unclench, trying to picture Dabi's satisfied face once you're taking him, that adoring look he sometimes gives you, the one that you relish. Your efforts are only marginally effective, but Dabi keeps pushing deeper, fucking you slowly but insistently with those fingers, and when you don't complain again, his thumb returns to caressing your sex.
"That's a good girl." Dabi picks up the pace, cursing under his breath. "You're doing so good."
You're wriggling against his hand now, trying to increase the friction at your center, not quite minding the foreign sensation of his fingers and the uncanny fullness they bring so much now that there's heat thrumming in your core. "Y-yeah, like that," you pant encouragingly, and Dabi grins.
"That doing it for you?" he purrs. "Think you can take more?"
You start to shake your head—the stretch now feels like all you can handle—but Dabi's already adding a third slick finger, shoving it in with less restraint than before. You feel more than discomfort this time when three knuckles breach your asshole, and it quickly dampens the arousal that had been steadily building. "Dabi, slow down," you gasp.
"Aw, are you sure you can't handle it?" His blue eyes meet yours, pupils blown wide with arousal as he looks you over with the hungry gaze. "'Cause if I'm being honest, it feels like you're trying to suck me in. Like this greedy little hole wants to get fucked."
The huskiness of his voice sends a shiver down your spine, even as another whine of discomfort escapes you. For just a second his expression darkens slightly, but then he's slowing his movements, twisting his fingers instead of thrusting them in and out.
"Better?" he asks, and you think you catch an edge of impatience in his voice.
It is better though, a little at least, enough that you can focus on the way your cunt flutters every time his thumb strokes over your clit. So you just nod; it's not like this wasn't bound to be a little unpleasant at points, right?
Dabi's smile stretches wider, his thumb working faster. A mewl slips from between your lips and Dabi takes that as encouragement, his fingers resuming their persistent thrusts. It's still uncomfortable, though not quite as bad as when he started, and your teeth sink into your lower lip to bite back your complaints. You let your eyes fall closed instead, trying to focus on his attentions to your hooded nub, on the heat that's pooling in your lower belly. You're inching towards another release, and you let a hand lift to your breast, tweaking at the pebbled flesh of one nipple to help yourself along.
"D-dabi, I'm close," you stammer, your hips bucking against his hand.
"Yeah?" His movements speed up, his voice breathy and excited. "Do it, baby girl. Come for me and then I'm gonna fuck this tight little ass of yours."
You swallow hard, trying not to dwell on those words for now—you can tell you've loosened up more, tolerating the jab of his fingers, but his cock is substantially larger than those, all too intimidating. Thankfully, it's not hard to remain distracted, to focus only on your approaching peak.
Dabi can feel that orgasm rip through you when it hits, your asshole clenching around his fingers as you keen, and it's then that he reaches the limits of his patience. He needs you now, needs the thrill of burying himself in your tight ass and claiming you for his own, of reaching his own release deep inside and then watching his seed spill out afterwards. What a satisfying sight that will be.
He scrambles up from between your legs to catch your lips with his, fumbling his boxers off as his tongue invades your mouth. When he pulls away, his eyes are bright, needy. "Ready for me?" he asks.
You're not, not really, but you can see the fervor in his eyes, hear the urgency in his voice, and you convince yourself that he won't be able to work you open much more with his fingers no matter what. Your agreement doesn't matter anyway—he's already rolling you onto your side and slotting his chest against your back, his straining erection poking at the cleft between your thighs.
"Like this?" you ask, surprised by the choice of position.
"Just like this," he pants in your ear. His teeth nibble at your lobe as he slicks his cock generously with lube. "Want you spooned against me so I can see those cute faces you make, feel you squirming when you take me."
And fuck, when he slips one hand back down to finger your asshole one last time, it doesn't disappoint—your body ripples against him when that invasion catches you off guard, and he can see the way your lips part obscenely as you gasp at his touch. His fingers abandon your tight hole almost as quickly as they'd entered, and then Dabi is aligning himself with your entrance, using the last of his restraint not to slam his hips forward and bury himself inside with a single thrust.
You can feel the spongy head of his glans, and the slick coolness of the ring that adorns his tip, prodding at your rear. One of his arms worms its way under your side, his hand groping distractedly at your breasts as you tense in anticipation.
"Relax, baby girl," he murmurs, but he doesn't wait for you to even try. He's already slipping in, moving slowly until he encounters resistance an inch or so inside, and then pausing.
He has to struggle to keep his composure. Even like this, with not even the full head of his cock in your ass, his balls are tightening, just the thought of what he's doing nearly enough to send him over the brink. He waits until he's sure that won't happen and then starts moving, pushing insistently to work you open around his length with shallow thrusts.
"A-ah, Dabi, g-go easy," you stutter, already squirming. You can feel your body resisting the intrusion, so much larger than his fingers, and it aches slightly every time he tries to breach that inner ring.
"I am, baby, don't worry. I'll take care of you." His cheek is nuzzling against yours, his lips kissing and sucking wherever he can reach, but his motions don't change at all even as he murmurs so sweetly. He only slings one arm over your hips, toying lazily at your clit. That attention helps you relax, helps distract you a little, but it's not enough to prepare you for when he drives himself in further, finally surging past that taut band of muscle.
The invasion brings a sharp pain, one that has you crying out. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, your body reflexively contorting to try and escape the cause of that hurt, but his arms tighten around you, holding you in place as he continues to work himself deeper with every thrust.
"Dabi, that hurts." Your words are sharper this time as each stroke sends another unpleasant throb through your overstretched hole, but his only response is to plunge the fingers rubbing at your clit into your dripping cunt.
"Shh, you're doing great." He curls his fingers, stroking against that spongy spot deep inside. It makes you writhe, but that does nothing to address the pain between your legs as he fucks you.
"Dabi, don't, that's not helping, I—"
"It's okay, baby girl, you're taking me so well," Dabi coos. You'll adjust, he knows you will—you're usually up for anything, of course you can take this. And fuck, there's no way he can stop now, not when it's even better than he'd imagined—hotter and softer, your pillowy walls enveloping his length every time he plunges into you, the exquisite tightness of your entrance massaging his shaft with each thrust.
"I'm not— I don't— I don't want to do this anymore." You can hear the desperate edge in your voice now. Your heart is racing and there's a cold sweat forming on your skin as tears of pain and confusion start to leak down your cheeks. "Dabi, stop."
"Shh, shh, you're fine. You—fuck—you feel so amazing. 'S never been this good with anyone else, fuck."
"I don't care, I don't want this." You can't understand what's happening, why he's not listening. You twist your head to look at him, pleading with your eyes, but he's barely even focusing on you. His blue eyes are glazed and half-lidded as his lips wander over your shoulders and your neck, all the while murmuring those useless reassurances against your skin. You're thrashing now, your feet scrambling for purchase on the sheets as you try frantically to pull away, but he keeps his tight grip on you, one of his legs hooking around your own to hold you in place. "Dabi, I said stop!"
He shushes you again, rutting into you harshly, and a choked sob escapes you when he bottoms out inside you, his hips flush against your backside as you struggle against him. You feel sick to your stomach, and it only worsens when he pulls out until nothing but his tip remains, then drives himself back in with one agonizingly rough thrust.
You keep begging, pleading, wracking your brain and trying every past safe word you can recall, but he only continues to pound into you, his breathing erratic as he pants in your ear. "It's okay, baby. You're taking my cock like such a good girl. You're—ngh—making me feel so good."
The ache between your legs is diminishing slightly as you adjust to his girth, your body entirely unconcerned with whether you want that or not. He's still fingering your sopping cunt too, his palm grinding against your oversensitive clit with each plunge of his long digits, the lewd squelching sound of those attentions mingling with the sharp slap of his hips against your ass as he fucks you.
"You like this?" he asks, but you know he's not really asking. "You like knowing I'm the only one? That I'm making you mine, just mine, just like how it should be?"
"Dabi, stop. Please stop." Your appeals are feeble now, far more for yourself than for him as you continue to utter them between quiet sobs. Dabi's somewhere far away, awash in the tight heat of your ass and the satisfaction of finally staking his claim on you, aware of your supplications but not hearing them, not really.
You slump, still sobbing, and let him take what he wants. His attentions to your cunt have a coil tightening in your gut, but when your climax hits it's perfunctory and mechanical, no real pleasure to be found even as your hips jerk and your holes spasm, a joyless whine passing from your lips.
No real pleasure for you, at least. But fuck, the feel of you squeezing around his cock as you come is what Dabi has been waiting for, your insides massaging his length as though desperate for him to decorate your walls with his cum. It's a gift he's glad to grant—he rocks his hips more urgently, keeping his thrusts shallow now so that he's sure to get it all deep inside.
"Fuck," he groans against your neck. "Gonna make me come, baby girl. That what you want? Want me to fill you up?" You shake your head, but his movements are already growing spurtive and erratic, his grunts louder and throatier, and then you can feel his cock jerking inside you, a hot rush of cum flooding your guts.
Dabi doesn't stop then, either, keeps fucking his seed into you until he's softening, not quite able to work himself in and out of your tight, abused hole any longer, and only then does he finally pull out, a dribble of cum leaking obscenely down your thigh.
You're sniffling, drawing shaky breaths, and you try to pull away the moment his arms relax around you. They only tighten again, his lips planting soft kisses along your temple.
"Shh," he murmurs. The sound of his shushing makes you want to scream. One hand lifts to wipe at the tears on your cheeks. "You were so good, baby girl, there's no need to cry. You were fucking incredible." He means it too, doesn't think he's ever come so hard in his life as he did now, making you his.
Dabi can't wait to do it again.
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Text
Noir Spots Chapter 1
Chapter One: Out With The Old
I am a fool
---
Chat Noir was her partner.
Her best friend.
Her most loyal companion.
But enough was enough.
Marinette couldn't handle his constant flirtatious and moronic attempts at impressing her.
It was becoming too exhausting.
So Ladybug sat on their usual roof, her legs dangling down and swinging slightly. She was waiting for Chat Noir to come.
They needed to have a talk.
Ever since Marinette became the Guardian, she's been more tired and the Akumas have been harder.
She needed a partner she could rely on.
And Chat Noir wasn't that partner.
He had stopped coming to patrols and showing up for battles. And on the rare occasion that he did show up, all he would do is flirt with Ladybug.
And then there was the problem of his relationship with civilians.
She knew first hand that Chat Noir didn't stick to the "No relationship" rule. He would visit her balcony at night, demanding snacks and complaining about Ladybug.
And Marinette couldn't deal with him along with everything else in her life.
She had no support system. No friends.
Which was why she needed a new partner.
Someone she could trust.
"M'Lady! It's wonderful to see you again!" Chat Noir said, jumping down right next to her. "What's the news? Got anything...important to tell me?" He said with a suggestive smirk, inching closer to Ladybug.
"Actually, I do."
Chat Noir froze at her tone. She was far too tired to act cheerful for him tonight. And he didn't deserve it anyway.
"Chat, how long have we been partners?"
"Three years, Bugaboo!"
Ladybug shook her head, looking for all the world like she carried it on her shoulders.
"We were partners for two months. Two months before your flirting became an obstacle. Something I had to dodge to defeat an Akuma.
"But--" Chat Noir started, but was quickly cut off.
"Two months before you became unreliable and awful."
"Wait, I--"
"Two months before you stopped listening to me."
Ladybug was standing now, pacing across the rooftops.
"Bugaboo--"
"Two months before you stopped respecting me. Two months before you decided we were made for each other. That I belonged to you."
Chat Noir stood up, walking closer like he could fix her if he just grabbed her.
Suddenly, Ladybug stopped. She turned to stare down her "partner".
"One upon a time, Chat Noir, I thought of you as my best friend. My rock, my partner in every sense of the word. But then you became clingy, possessive."
Chat Noir opened his mouth to defend himself.
"You demanded my love, thinking you deserved it. You left Akumas when I would reject you, leaving me to save Paris alone. And you'd come back to demand an apology. And when I didn't give it to you, you'd throw a fit."
Chat Noir gaped. He looked confused. Which only served to make Ladybug angrier.
He didn't even know what he did wrong.
"I went around to talk to people today. Mr. Ramier asked how you were. He said you were being strange last time he saw you at the park, during patrol, and he said you were asking about his akumatizations. You asked him how he was feeling, if he liked being Mr. Pigeon." Ladybug snarled, clenching her fists.
Mr. Ramier had seemed worried, scared, even.
"And then I went to Le Grand Paris and I spoke to the bartender there. I asked him about you. He said the last time you were there you seemed sad, sulky, bored. All while you were supposed to be patrolling."
"Well we all need a break at some point right?" Chat Noir said nervously. He had never seen Ladybug so angry.
Ladybug leveled a look at him.
"And then, he said there was a fight between Chloé and Sabrina. And when you saw it, you seemed almost excited."
When Ladybug had heard what was going on, she knew what she finally had to do.
"You can't really blame me!" Chat Noir spread his arms out, under his anger she could feel his fear and confusion.
Ladybug crossed her arms and glared.
"I cant?"
"No! I was just really bored and I wanted to have some fun defeating an Akuma!"
"Really? Because for the past few weeks, you haven't been showing up for any of them."
Chat Noir froze. Had he really thought she wouldn't notice?
"Well I've been really busy and--"
Ladybug put her hand up, shutting him up. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.
"Chat. Come here."
Chat Noir took a hesitant step forward. He didn't seem to know what was going on, if the confusion in his eyes was anything to go by.
"I really do love you, Chat. Just not the way you think."
Chat clenched his fists, staring down at the roof like he could cataclysm it with his eyes. Ladybug leaned forward to grip his hand, prying the fist open so she could lace her fingers with his.
"Which is why I'm going to miss you after this."
Ladybug slipped off his ring at the same time Chat Noir looked up in confusion.
A bright green light covered the roof before Chat Noir stood in front of her, unmasked.
As Adrien Agreste.
Ladybug didn't even flinch. She had her suspicions for a while.
Adrien was a coward, unfit to be a hero.
And he stood in front of her, eyes wide and filled with betrayal.
"You--" He started.
"I'm sorry Adrien, but you are unfit to wield the Miraculous of the Black Cat."
Adrien was in shock, he couldn't even look at her. Instead, he turned his eyes to Plagg, who floated beside Ladybug's head.
Plagg stayed silent, looking anywhere but at his former holder.
Ladybug turned away in disgust, walking to the edge of the roof.
"Wait--but why? What did I do? I loved you!" He called after her desperately.
Ladybug paused. And suddenly, she was Marinette, the timid girl with a desperate crush on Adrien Agreste, who was professing his love for her under the moonlight.
But then she remembered the way he harassed her. How he didn't respect her space or her wishes.
So Ladybug paused.
"That was the problem."
And she threw her yoyo, swinging off into the night and leaving Adrien Agreste standing alone on the rooftop
---
I'm disappointed in myself
I promised that I'd finish all my posted wips before posting more, but nooo I just had to make a gay angst fic
Fuck that
--Lemon
---
Masterlist
---
Taglist:
@laulink @kitsunekat9 @nottabot @yuriyuhitsu @sere-here @mep-kittyjustkillme @fangirlingfanatic @terramay07
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snickerdoodlles · 2 years
Text
impossible things
the patpran elementary (the sherlock holmes TV adaptation) AU i meant to post the other day. edited most of this in the hospital so i apologize for any mistakes that slipped thru, but hope u enjoy this lil bit from a WIP i’ll probably never finish lol
impossible things (working title) (2201 words)
They’re ten and hiding together in the meadow by the river. There, there is a tree right along the bank with a trunk big enough to hide their covert meetings from spying eyes and knotted root networks perfect for hiding their treasures. Today, Pat’s brought a new item to add to their collection—an old, worn book gifted to him by his father, a collection of English stories titled The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.
Currently, they’re in the midst of a fierce debate on whether it’s treasure or not.
Pat’s rather irritated by the whole thing. Pran had seemed equally engrossed in the stories earlier, pressed tight up against Pat’s side as he flipped through the pages slowly, right up until Pat had said he could be Sherlock and Pran could be Watson.
Pran’s stubborn dimple is showing as he sits obstinately on their treasure haul—a funny collection of odds and ends, from their old pair of can phones so they can still talk when the climb up the branches of the large tree, to a little box filled with Pran’s origami gifts to Pat, all tucked carefully away in a protective plastic shipping bag Pat had secreted away from Papa’s shop—and kicks Pat away from adding the book in with the rest.
“I don’t like it.”
Pat groans. They’d been having so much fun until Pran decided to be difficult. “Why not?! Watson’s the narrator!”
“I’m more clever than you.”
Pat snorts. “I’m more observant.”
“Are not.”
The two of them pout at each other. Pran juts his chin out stubbornly, and Pat yields with a mullish sigh. “Fine, then you can be my rival detective.”
Pran rolls his eyes. “That’s stupid,” he says matter-of-factly, “Sherlock doesn’t have a rival detective.”
“Pran,” Pat whines with a huff. He tosses the book away and pushes into Pran’s space. The other boy’s dark eyes go wide and his cheeks go dark as he backs away with a squeak, but Pat crawls after him until Pran’s pressed up against the trunk of the vast tree with nowhere to go. Pat smirks at the victory, Pran’s scowl a sweet prize.
“Then forget Sherlock and Watson. We’ll just be us.”
):)
“I can’t believe he did it,” Korn mutters beside him, voice low and thick with disbelief, “That crazy sonofabitch actually did it.”
Pat just hums as he examines Thada with detached, professional curiosity. The man had really given his all to his ‘Professor Moriarty’ charade, dressed like a proper professor, clothing and jewellery riddled with subtle spider motifs. Pity for him that Pat refuses to address anyone as something so dramatic as his nemesis, much less one named after a fictional character, of all things. Not that the man’s weakness for theatre or preferences for address matter much, not now when he’s dead.
Korn stands beside him and stares at the cooling body with an odd mix of disgust and horrified awe. Pat struggles to find similar interest in the man. A bullet to his head, delivered by his own hand just as promised, a thousand and one more little details Pat can observe and pick apart so he can slot them into the shape of the man’s life had he cared enough to do so.
“Why are you so calm?!” Korn demands. “This asshole’s been harassing us for months and now he’s dead—”
Pat hums and crouches down to get a closer look at the man’s hardwood floors. He feels Korn’s stare turn on him, but ignores it too.
“Dude—”
“He’s a dead sociopath Korn,” Pat cuts him off. He doesn’t turn away from his examination of the floor laminate, a far more interesting puzzle than the dead body of a suspiciously wealthy man who was by all accounts, a prick. “Who are we to say what his normal is or isn’t?” Pat’s eyes dart towards the body briefly. “Was.”
Korn stammers and fidgets for a minute, shuffling nervously between Pat and the body, before he pulls himself together. “Al-Alright.” Korn shifts uncomfortably. “When do you think Watson will be in?”
“Don’t call him that,” Pat says automatically.
Korn lets out a little huff. It probably would’ve been a snicker in any other circumstance—of everyone, Korn’s the one that’s gotten the most entertainment out of the stupid nicknames, even more than Pat’s supposed nemesis. “Fine, when will Pran be here?”
“Shortly. I didn’t text him.”
“Mhm—wait, what?”
Pat frowns and squats closer to examine a crack in the floor laminate. “We’re in a competition right now,” he explains.
He feels Korn’s stare on the back of his head, but Pat’s too busy to fill in the blanks for him. “O…kay?” Korn drawls uncertainly. He clears his throat and takes a step back. “I’ll go call this in, we’re supposed to let the police handle bodies.”
Pat snorts, mostly from habit, and Korn steps out onto the balcony so that Pat doesn’t have to listen to him try to pacify law enforcement. Pat waits by Thada’s body, fingers steepled together against his lips, and waits for another presence to join him in the room.
“Moriarty,” Pat says, and the presence stills behind him, “Are you here as yourself, or are you hiding behind another strawman? Actually, don’t answer that, I refuse to keep calling you by that stupid nickname, Pran.”
Pat turns and glares at Pran. He’s leaning casually against the doorway, hip cocked and hands in his pockets. “What’s so bad about it? You were the one that insisted on calling yourself Sherlock.”
“We were ten.”
Pran grins unrepentantly. “And you wanted me to be your rival, detective. I figured you’d like having a nemesis. You’ve certainly earned it.”
Pat pouts at him, but his heart’s not in it. He can’t keep this up, acting like they’re ten again and playing rivals on the playground so their parents won’t interrupt their time together, acting like seeing Pran confirm his worst suspicions with a grin on his face doesn’t drive needles into his heart. His breath hitches in his throat and Pat breathes out slowly, eyes itching with things he won’t allow to become tears.
“Aren’t you being a little smug right now?” Pat asks lightly. “Don’t you want to know how I figured you out?”
Pran’s smile fades into something stonier, something angry. “You already knew,” he accuses. “You’ve known for weeks, ever since the slip-up in the Rio case.”
Something in Pat eases, knowing the paint was indeed a mistake and not a cruel taunt. Still, his smile is brittle and full of glass shards. “Didn’t your mother teach you to count your blessings Pran? You know I trusted you. We solved that case completely, you weren’t tied to any of it.” Pat swallows harshly, throat tight. “You could’ve gotten away with it completely, all you had to do was stop.”
“Don’t do that,” Pran says, harsh like the crack of a whip. “Stop? And then what? Lie to you for the rest of our lives?” He snorts. “Don’t lie to yourself Pat. I don’t like it when you deny what you know.”
Pat takes a step towards Pran and a gun snaps out between them. Pat looks between the gun and Pran flatly, and takes another step towards him. The cock of the gun rings out between them, but another step and then Pat’s on him. The barrel digs into his sternum, hard and cold, but Pat just raises his eyebrow to match Pran’s cocky expression. “Either shoot me or admit the gun’s unloaded, but make it quick.”
Pran stares at him defiantly, eyes narrowed and mouth set in a harsh flat line, before a dimple flashes and cracks his facade down the middle. He pulls the trigger, and the gun lets out a dry click between them.
Pat snorts. Moriarty doesn’t like gun violence, and neither do you.”
Pran wiggles the gun with a grin. “No, but it does make a dramatic prop. I thought you’d appreciate the touch.”
“You seem to think I love drama,” Pat says drily, only whining a little bit. “What did I ever do to bring you to that conclusion?”
Pran presses the tip of the gun to his lips, as though in thought. “Would you like the list alphabetically, or chronologically?”
The harsh shtlick of handcuffs cuts Pran off. His smile falls away as his eyes sweep down to watch Pat cuff the other half of the handcuffs to his own wrist. Pran stares at them for a minute before his eyes slowly move back up to meet Pat’s.
Pat smiles sadly. “You know I can’t just let you go.”
Pran’s lips twist into a shadow of a smile. “I’d be insulted if you did.” Pran stares at him, eyes dark and shining beneath the thick sweep of his lashes, almost enough to distract from the hairline cracks in his poker face. “Pat—”
Pat kisses him.
It’s a terrible idea. He knows it’s a terrible idea, even before age old nerves and surging adrenaline mix together to make the world’s headiest cocktail. It’s not a deep kiss, just the firm press of their lips together, but Pran is finally, finally not running away from the growing elephant of their feelings for each other.
Pat pulls away first, heart in his throat. When he manages to open his eyes, he finds Pran already staring at him, something dark and yearning burning in the depths of his gaze.
Pat smiles faintly. “Couldn’t let you go to prison without doing that at least once.”
Pran’s lips twist into a stubborn moue, but Pat twines his fingers through both of Pran’s hands before he can do anything.
“Sorry, Mr. Pran,” he tuts, “but you can’t seduce me into letting you go.”
Pran snorts. “I wouldn’t, that’d be cheap,” he retorts before he presses to his toes and catches Pat’s lips in a kiss. A wild, ravenous, dangerous kiss, something sweet and passionate and heartbreaking.
Pat sinks into the kiss with a gasp and Pran swallows that down too, and it’s criminal Pat can’t cradle him close during this. Pran’s been holding back parts of himself for so long—now they only have moments left, and Pat’s determined to savour every one of them, even as his eyes sting with tears and the handcuffs dig into his wrist.
“Okay, they’re sending— FINALLY!”
Pat and Pran spring apart at Korn’s arrival, lips damningly slick and red. Pran pouts and too much of Pat’s brainpower is suddenly devoted to branding that image into every layer of his mind. Pat forces that into a box deep, deep within the recesses of his mind, and forces himself to focus back on his best friend, who’s looking excited and judgemental as his eyes dart between Pat, Pran, and the dead body still chilling in the room.
“We’ve been wondering for ages when the two of you would get your shit together,” Korn says gleefully, “I thought for sure I’d lose the bet with everything that’s been going on, but clearly I underestimated you horny dogs—”
“Nope, shut up,” Pat says, cheerful and brittle, because another two seconds of that will send him spiralling into what ifs and imaginations and other impossible things. Pat points his finger at Korn threateningly. “Not one word from you.”
Korn raises his hands in surrender, even as he waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Pat snorts as he lowers his hand— wait.
Shit.
The handcuffs click open and Pran spins him as he darts out like a snake to snap his cuff around Korn’s wrist.
“Eh?!” Korn gasps right before Pran knees him in the gut and he goes down with a grunt. Korn’s deadweight and a calculated kick from Pran takes Pat down as well and in the space of the next few blinks, Pran has Korn’s other wrist handcuffed to the air conditioning unit and Pat to the furniture.
Pat rattles the handcuff uselessly. Pran had managed to trap Pat with his arms stretched out and his hand in an angle too awkward for him to easily pick the lock. “Pran—”
Pran drops into his lap and kisses him. Pat groans, unable to help himself. Not even the twinge at the base of his shoulder blade or Korn stuttering beside them can peel Pat’s focus away from the way Pran’s tongue licks across his teeth or his hands combing through his hair or Pran sucking on his lower lip until he whines. Pran backs off with a smug grin, stare hot and glittering as he takes in Pat’s dazed expression.
Pran taps his cheek, playfully scolding. “That won’t trick me into staying long enough to be caught.”
Pat’s kissed-dumb expression drops into a smug smile before he steals another kiss from Pran. “I’ll bring you in one day,” he promises. He’d chase Pran to the ends of the earth.
Pran grins fiercely at the challenge. Pat hears sirens wailing in the distance.
Pran leans closer—oh, how Pat aches—and Pat goes cross-eyed trying to hold his smug smile. “Sherlock and Moriarty, huh?” he murmurs against Pran’s lips.
“No.” Pran kisses him, too brief, too much like a goodbye. “Forget them. We’ll just be us.”
And then he’s gone, more elusive than smoke.
):)  (:(
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venus-shadows · 2 years
Note
wow!! I love your writing, so keep it up!
snippet #2 | kidnapped pt. 2
hey everyone! sorry for falling off the face of the earth for over two months. school has really been kicking my butt. but since i had some free time, i decided to finish up one of my wips! i hope this is okay :) also i just wanted to say that whenever i get comments like these, it really does warm my heart and motivates me to keep writing. so thank you to everyone who takes time out of their day to read my work!
part one
---------------------------------
Sidekick always hated this part.
There was a constant hum of anxiety that came with not knowing what mood Hero might be in that day when they returned to their home.
Sorry, not home, headquarters.
Could Sidekick ever consider this a home? For as long as they remembered, they always longed for somewhere that they could truly call their own, where the walls were thick and the ground sturdy enough to keep them steady.
But this place was nothing more than shelter from the howling wind and harsh realities of being utterly stuck. It was a place that would keep them off those filthy streets. It was a place that reminded them that they were there to be, at the very least, useful. It all made Sidekick feel sick.
It’s not like they had many options. In fact, it was only by chance that they had ended up in such an unlikely place. Their contract promised Sidekick a permanent residence at Hero’s headquarters. And at that time, that was all Sidekick cared about. They wished for someplace where they belonged. They wished to be loved and wanted. They wished to have a place where they could relish in the feeling of freedom from the responsibilities of being a sidekick, even if it only lasted for so long before they had to settle back down into the same old routine.
They wished they hadn’t been so stupid.
Sidekick cringed as the door creaked, echoing down the eerily halls. Hero hated it when they shut the door too loudly. They made that mistake enough times already. Sidekick realized that their footsteps were a little too heavy as they made their way down the corridor, but they couldn’t find it in them to care. Right now, all they wanted to do was go to their room and sleep. Sleep off everything that happened. But of course, they don’t get that luxury.
“Sidekick.”
Sidekick whipped their head towards the door where Hero was now staring them down. Those familiar eyes pierced right through them.
“What took you so long?” Hero growled lowly as they took stalking steps towards them. “You were supposed to be back an hour ago so we could execute our attack on Other Villain.”
Sidekick’s body turned stiff, their heart suddenly pumping much harder than before. How did they forget? Their only objective was to sneak into Villain’s lair and find the blueprints that outlined their attack on the city. But obviously, Sidekick hadn’t originally planned on getting caught less than a minute into their operation. The sudden confrontation with Villain had made them lose track of time completely.
Sidekick fidgeted, chewing at their lip nervously as they debated on what to do. Tell the truth. Maybe if they explained their situation, Hero would let them off the hook this one time.
Sidekick swallowed dryly. “I was caught by Villain,” they said quietly, keeping their eyes cast just to the side of Hero’s face. They didn’t know if they could handle their eye contact right now.
But even from where they were gazing, they could see the dramatic shift of Hero’s face. “That doesn’t explain why you’ve ruined the rest of our plans. And look at me when I’m talking to you."
The silence was suffocating.
Sidekick flinched violently as Hero slammed their fist against the table. Fuck fuck fuck. They looked back at the spot and realized there was now a sizable dent in the solid metal. Sidekick didn’t even want to think about what Hero was capable of doing to them.
Hero was already dangerously close, so close that Sidekick could feel the heat radiating from their body. That anger that they normally reserved for villains seemed to be present in these moments and Sidekick couldn’t help but feel cornered.
Hero let out a guttural scream. “I said look at me! I’ve been planning this attack for months. Now we’ve missed our only chance because of you!”
Sidekick opened their mouth to respond but no words came out. No excuse they could make up would shield them from Hero’s wrath. Sidekick’s eyes locked onto the ground as shame flooded their system.
“I-I’m sorry,” Sidekick tried saying. Their voice came out quiet. Too quiet to appease the enraged hero next to them.
“But why didn't you come looking for me?" Sidekick’s voice broke, barely above a whisper but still loud enough to hear the adrenaline raging through their veins.
Hero scoffed. “And what? Waste my entire afternoon looking for your pathetic ass? Your mission was simple enough. If you couldn’t make it back in one piece, I have no use for someone like you."
The words hit Sidekick like a knife in their chest. It’s not like this was the first time Hero said that. But every single one hurt more than anything else had before. Every word was a punch that shook Sidekick until their body shook with sobs. Each insult made it harder and harder for Sidekick to breathe.
“I always try so hard to be by your side whenever you need me. But you didn’t even come for me. It’s like you don’t even care!” It came out bitter. Almost angry. A tone that Sidekick always knew to avoid when it came to Hero. But it was too late. Hero’s eyes burned with an intensity that made Sidekick’s stomach drop.
“What did you just say to me?” The question was asked softly, but with an edge to it that Sidekick knew better than to fall for. Sidekick shrunk into themselves instinctively, feeling the tears welling behind their eyes, threatening to spill over their cheeks.
Suddenly, a pair of hands grabbed them by the shoulders, shoving them against the wall with such force that they heard a sickening crack. Sidekick cried out as Hero forced them to meet their glare which was contorted into something ugly and frightening.
“Everything I do is to make you stronger. You are the way you are because of me!” Hero screamed. “Without me, you are nothing!”
Sidekick’s legs shook. They tried to shrink away from them, but Hero’s grip continued to tighten. They were helpless.
“Are you crying?” Hero sneered, a mocking laugh escaping their lips. “What are you, a toddler?” Before Sidekick could respond, Hero’s hand came down hard across Sidekick’s face, sending their head reeling back. Sidekick stifled a cry as fire flashed across their cheek, steadying themselves before they fell. They turned towards Hero. Their eyes were wild.
“You know, I thought that since you were finally able to do something for yourself, that maybe all that training paid off,” Hero spat. “Obviously, you haven’t quite learned.”
A metallic taste covered Sidekick’s mouth. Whether it was from their punctured bottom lip from pulling it between their teeth or whether they accidentally bit their tongue in shock, Sidekick didn’t know. They didn’t notice the tears slipping past them, but when their vision began to blur and their breaths became erratic, it was too late.
Hands dug into Sidekick’s already raw wrists, yanking them from the ground and dragging them towards the door. Sidekick’s feet stumbled as they tried to keep up with Hero’s angry strides. “W-What are you doing?” Sidekick struggled.
Hero yanked harder. “I’m teaching you a lesson that better fucking stick this time.”
Sidekick felt another sharp pull on their wrist as they were dragged further along. “Stop! Please stop!” Their voice cracked as they begged. But their cries went unnoticed as Hero threw Sidekick onto the wet pavement. Sidekick cried out in pain, feeling the rough gravel digging and tearing into their skin.
“Come back when you’ve proven yourself useful for once. You better hope Villain doesn’t come after you again.”
Sidekick collapsed to one knee, trying desperately to catch their breath as they watched Heroes’ form recede out of sight. They leaned forward, elbows digging into the ground. As the burning slowly subsided, Sidekick’s hands went to their face. It burned. A throbbing ache bloomed on their cheeks. They touched the tender flesh. Blood coated their fingers.
With their lungs burning with every inhale, they rolled onto their side, whimpering as the gravel dug deeper into their skin. It took everything within them to sob out loud.
Sidekick didn’t dare move further. No matter how much their heart hammered against their chest. They just wanted to lay down and pretend this never happened. They didn’t want to feel anything anymore. They were tired. If it meant not having to deal with their current situation then so be it. If it meant not dealing with the guilt eating away at their insides.
Their head pounded as they tried to force their eyes to stay open but they felt heavy. Sidekick collapsed to their side, feeling like they might die there on those same filthy streets as before. The last thing they remembered was the cast of a shadowy figure above them before everything went black.
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lambourngb · 3 years
Text
a skeleton of something more [malex wip]
Inspired by the promo/trailer for season 3. Spoilers and speculation ahead. 
A tumblr work-in-progress
Pairing: Michael/Alex, Alex/Forrest
Summary: Alex goes undercover to seek out Deep Sky. Starts mid-2x13.
Alex leaned his back against the solid wood of his front door, letting the heavy oak take up his weight. He kept making the standard uneven bargain with his body, of giving just a little more, going through the motions for a little longer, and then it would be over. But the tally sheet his body held was long, overflowing with so many unfulfilled promises that it seemed ever more likely he would end this journey in the red. 
If it ever ended.
At least, tonight, he had haggled wisely for some space to breathe. On the other side of the door, he had managed to escape Forrest’s hopeful and not subtle attempts to follow him inside, toward the bedroom for a long-awaited reunion. A reunion that Alex had deftly avoided without a trace of guilt. He had used the bland excuse of fatigue from a long, cramped ride from Holloman Air Force Base to Roswell on a bus that had predated the ADA by a good thirty years. It was transparent but still true, written on every line of pain in his smile as he had said “Not tonight.” that even Forrest could read it, even if only Alex knew the real source of his fatigue. 
He waited several long moments, before turning to look out the peephole to watch Forrest’s Prius silently reverse out of his driveway. Exhaling out long and low, the tension he had started carrying a little more than a year ago slipped away, letting the calm certainty of safety of his house slip down his body as he released the facade. 
Alex was almost done with this assignment, he reminded himself, as he rubbed the back of his hand against his mouth, scrubbing away the taste of Forrest Long from earlier. 
Just a little while longer, and he will have enough good will built up to finally meet the leader of Deep Sky face-to-face, after all who could resist the request of a senior member, especially one with the last name of Long? It had been a lucky find that Alex had made in cleaning out his father’s house after his death, a ring and an old photo of the members. In washed out Kodak colors was the cabal of Deep Sky. Former military men with names Alex had memorized off the salvaged hard drives from the Caulfield prison. Linked not by overlapping time on the alien project, but what had become of their careers after their military service had ended. All of them vowing to carry on the protection of Earth against an alien threat, but without the oversight of the government. 
The photo in his dad’s desk had been expected, but the silver ring? He had remembered clutching it, his hands still sore from tearing down the shed with Michael, and feeling the imprint of the symbol press deep into his skin. Searing across what Mimi had called his long-love line, singular and deep on his palm. Searing even deeper inside with the recognition that the symbol matched the ring Forrest Long wore.
The genial historian with the loose-fitting cardigan and blue-streaked hair, who had shown flattering interest in Alex, had worn the same ring. Easy on his hand, flashing in the bright sunlight when he had eagerly met up with Alex at the paintball fields with sharpshooter skills. After that date had crashed and burned thanks to a mishmash of his father’s voice and the feeling he had whenever he thought about kissing someone, not Michael, well, Alex had figured that would be the last he would see of the man. 
It hadn’t been. 
Suddenly, Forrest was everywhere he was, the Crashdown, the Wild Pony. It should have been suspicious to Alex, after months of sharing the same town with the other man without a single encounter. His heart was still bounding uselessly after Michael, while his hands had been full of his suddenly feeble father, and he had missed the snare of the trap. Not just the one his father had laid. Then after his kidnapping, two things had become clear to Alex, his father would never change from the hateful man he was, and Alex’s heart would never change when it came to his feelings for Michael.
Alex pushed his leaden body away from the door, tottering on his feet for a moment before the new prosthesis shored up his balance and he took a deep breath for the strength to move forward.
Fuck. That was a mistake. 
His house smelled like rain. Michael. The unexpected consequence of having Michael watch over his house while he had moved around the country, playing up the role of the grieving scion of the Manes family legacy. After a year of brief trips back to Roswell and long stints on the road, the house now smelled like Michael. 
Alex sucked in greedy gulps of air, chasing the taste of green and petrichor with his tongue to wash away his previous actions at the bus stop. His security system, his reinforced door and window locks, the weight of his gun still tucked in his back holster, none of it made him feel as safe as the smell of Michael in his home. It was the smallest crumb of promise, but it filled him.
Moving toward the kitchen for a drink, he clocked the changes Michael had made in his absence. His heavier luggage, shipped ahead of him, was already stored, including the set of crutches and the charging station for his back-up prosthesis. The lights in the kitchen came on with a single touch, all of them bright. Dammit, Michael had fixed the two burnt out bulbs, along with the slightly weeping fitting on the sink faucet.
There was zero sign of neglect in his house, no matter where he looked. Not even the faintest trace of dust on his guitars. The house looked warm and well tended. Loved. 
The rush of tears welled in his throat, an impossibly large lump, as Alex fought to keep from breaking down. Don’t fucking cry, don’t do it, that’s for at night, he swore creatively at himself. Tears were only allowed under the cover of dark, in hotel rooms or visiting officer quarters, not in the middle of his brightly lit kitchen.
A knock sounded on the front door.
Abruptly, every drop of tortured longing was gone, as Alex straightened his shoulders and crossed the threshold back to the door. He pasted the right amount of faked aspiration mixed with real annoyance on his face as he yanked the door open, expecting to see Forrest back on his step with a weak excuse concocted to overcome the earlier rebuff.
Michael looked up in the porch light, his black hat in hand and his curls wild with nervous raking. “Uh, hi.” He scuffed his boots against the concrete before growing still under Alex’s gaze.
He looked over Michael’s shoulder nervously, for the distinctive truck that everyone in town knew belonged to Michael, but his driveway was empty.
“I parked a few streets over. I don’t think anyone saw me-” Michael’s explanation was cut off short as Alex grabbed his wrist and yanked him inside. Stumbling from Alex’s strong grip, Michael fell forward, and then back as the front door slammed shut with them both safely inside out of view. His mouth was still open in surprise as Alex covered his lips in a kiss. 
The surprise was short-lived. Michael came alive under the kiss, opening and yielding to Alex’s hungry lips and tongue. Alex brought his hands up into Michael’s curls, cupping his head protectively as he pressed Michael firmly against the door, drinking in every sound Michael was making. 
Hours before, he had kissed Forrest at the bus station, playing up the role of a dutiful boyfriend returning home. It was the tariff he paid with his body to get closer to the roots of Deep Sky, but this, feeling Michael whole and safe under his hands, tasting him now, that was sustenance. Lifeblood. There was an evolution of difference between the two, like comparing simple bacteria wiggling toward complexity and the finished product of a man, standing upright. 
It was both a reminder of why he was doing this and a reinstatement of focus, as he slowly broke the kiss with reluctance. Michael chased at his lips, his mouth red and wet, his eyes dark with want. He could feel the heat coming off of Michael’s thin brown shirt, his hands itched to pull it off, to descend back into the physical, but Alex knew that he owed Michael an explanation for earlier.
“I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t know he was going to be there to meet my bus. I thought it would be okay for you to give me a ride,” Alex explained quietly, as he ran his hands from Michael’s neck down to his fingertips, drinking in all the changes that had happened while he was gone. Michael looked thinner to him, as if he wasn’t eating enough despite the healthy amount of work and money. “I guess he wanted to surprise me and thought it would be romantic.” 
Michael made a face at the idea of surprises ever being considered romantic, especially to Alex. He turned sweetly toward Alex’s palm, kissing the center as Alex pushed a stubborn curl out of his eyes. “Are you sure that’s all it was? He wasn’t testing you, was he?” 
“I don’t think so.” Alex couldn’t pull his hands away from Michael, and leaned in to kiss him again. It started soft and shallow, trading breaths with Michael, lips against lips, licking deep into his mouth as his previous weariness disappeared now that Michael was here. “He saw you watching us. Now that I’m back, he’s worried about losing my attention to you. He hasn’t hidden his jealousy that I asked you to watch my house last year.” 
“Did I look sufficiently broken-hearted?” The question was light, but Alex could hear the grain of truth under it.
“You did.” Alex closed his eyes, the guilt of the situation flooded back inside. The statue of his father looking down on him didn’t make him feel nearly as sick as having Michael’s eyes on him as he let Forrest kiss him in front of the town in a cinematic homecoming moment. It was a cruel reminder to Alex that he had never been able to give Michael that, a public welcome that spelled out who they were to each other, not once in ten plus years of deployments and duty station assignments. Trading a glance across the Wild Pony was as close as they came. “I wish it wasn’t like this, sneaking around, pretending-”
“Hey, I agreed to this, right at the very beginning when I was your only back-up. Remember?” 
“We were just friends back then, you couldn’t have known that things would end up like this.”
Michael laughed, his head tilted back against the door, casting an attractive line of his throat to his collarbone. “We’ve never been just friends, Alex, but I knew what I was signing up for when you told me what you planned to do to smoke out Deep Sky. We’re in this together.”
*** to be continued... here
80 notes · View notes
opluffys · 3 years
Text
Reverse Captain- Killer x Reader x Eustass Kid
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okay okay this is like the last old story from my archive account that i’m posting here *maybe? lmao idk* :,). i’m head over heels in love with killer so i got like ten wips for him lololo. lowkey don’t like how this one turned out, but it’s a couple of months old so idc anymore hehe. anyway i hope you guys enjoy! oh, also sorry if the spacing looks weird, i was too lazy to go through the whole thing and edit it...
-smut/nsfw-
You felt deliciously full and sore, the quick sliding of your captain's cock against your tight walls nearly made you lose consciousness.
"Fuck... Kid..!" You yelled, feeling his girth stretch you.
He grunted behind you and continued to thrust into you wildly, almost as wild as that red hair of his, which was now stuck to his forehead.
Your breasts were flush against the table of his office, rocking back and forth, creating a wanted friction that fueled your desire.
It was no surprise that Kid was rough in bed, just one look at the man and pretty sure anyone could tell. But you just weren't ready for it all, the way his cock just hit every spot inside of you so perfectly... When he leaned down to nip your ear and leave harsh markings on your neck, you felt like you couldn't keep up with him.
You broke the eye contact you had with countless papers and unfinished works in progress on Kid's desk, and looked fervently for your sword. You took that damn thing with you everywhere you went, you would risk your own life for that sword.
When you finally made eye contact with that beautiful blue casing, your face illuminated, you quickly grabbed it, using the hilt of the sword to press against Kid's chest.
"What the fuck..." He started angry, then stumbling backwards onto a stray chair in the middle of the room that fell victim to you and Kid.
"I think you need to slow down a bit, Captain." You said, your voice like sweet honey as you sauntered over to where he was sat, straddling his thighs.
"So you used Sea Stone to tell me that?!" He snapped, about to get up before you pressed the hilt against him once again.
"Ah ah. Feisty are we? I think it's my turn to take charge for the night, don't you, my Captain?" You asked, raising your hips to line yourself up right against his shaft, teasing the redding head with your slick entrance.
"Damn woman..." He growled, trying to get up again, but you were barely faster than him, trailing the hilt of the sword all over his body, making him groan tiredly.
"I would fucking end you if you weren't such a good doctor." He grumbled, still attempting to take charge every few minutes, evidently failing.
"That's all I am? Your doctor?" You responded, faking a disappointment tone. You still continued to rub your folds teasingly over the painfully hard head of your captain.
He raised his hand and you raised your sword, he almost chuckled, instead sending a smirk your way.
"Relax, princess. If I still wanted to actually take charge, you would've been screaming my name over my desk years ago. I guess I'll let you dominate this one time, but next time," He leaned into your ear, nipping it and taking the sensitive cartilage into his mouth. "You're gonna be wishing that you had done it my way." He finished.
You gulped nervously, the tone of his voice nearly made you want to bend yourself back over that desk, forgetting the thoughts of ever wanting to dominate your captain ever again.
Kid let out booming laughter at your reaction, about to come up with a snarky retort, but he was soon silenced by a grunt of pleasure as you finally decided to lower yourself onto his hardened arousal.
"Oh, fuck... So tight..." He whispered, biting his lip as he tried to silence his sounds.
You shuddered noticeably as he filled you to the brim, no, even further than that. He never let you ride him before, because 'You're too slow.' as he said. But as of now, being slow worked in your favour, making the red haired captain begin to lose his cool, grunts and groans of frustration leaving his full painted lips.
"Oh! Oh Captain!! Yes!!" You yelled, feeling his strong arms just tightly wrapped against you and feeling his warm pants fanning across your equally warm face just did something for you.
"Keep talking like that... I won't fulfil my end of the deal." He panted, hands attached to your plush hips, grinding against him thoughtfully.
"That'd be a shame, Captain... Because next time, I'm up for whatever you wanna do. And I mean anything, Kid." You said, sultrily pulling him in and out of you, your wet insides protesting him pulling out every time.
That seemed to shut him up for a while.
"So I've been thinking." You started, bottoming out on his lap, hissing in pleasure after feeling so full. "Your first mate, Killer... He doesn't like me much?" You asked, warming his cock, leaning your forehead against his pectorals.
"I know how Killer ticks. He doesn't hate you or anything, just no reason to make conversation with you. Why do you ask?" Kid replied, unconsciously bucking his hips upwards once in a while, earning you to pull your sword out and poke him with it a couple of times.
"No reason. I just think he's kinda sexy. What's under that mask leaves my imagination running wild, ya know." You said playfully, using your agile hands to tweak and pinch every inch of his built torso.
"What are you really getting at, (First Name)." He said, tone now completely serious, and even though he was stilled inside of you, length twitching and just dying to ravage your insides, the captain's voice never faltered, remaining serious.
"Okay, maybe I daydream of being pinned under your first mate, childhood friend, whatever. But hey, I admit it that he's really, really hot. Okay, happy now, Eustass?" You groaned, hitting your head against his chest in embarrassment, ready for him to scream at you for wanting to have sex with his best friend.
"Okay."
"Yes, I deserve whatever punishment you think is fit- wait, what?" You paused, thinking that you didn't hear him properly.
"I was your first, but by no means were you mine. So if you wanna fuck another dude, at least do it when I'm gone, or some shit." He grunted, rolling his eyes when he saw your surprised expression.
"Fuck, Kid. Please bend me over and fuck me as hard as you want." You whimpered, feeling so pleased at his response.
"With pleasure, princess." He replied, sending a wicked grin your way, harsh hands attached to your sides.
You stood at the edge of the ship, waving goodbye to your captain, who stood alongside Heat and Wire, going into the next island that you all had drifted to.
The two of you decided to hatch up a not too great plan of leaving you and Killer alone on the ship, which was 'I leave with Heat and Wire to the next island, because I'm captain, I do whatever the fuck I want.' which, had actually worked out well.
He sent a shit eating smile your way, then turned around to take his leave, the two other men following their captain.
Killer stood by your side silently, he was never one for being chatty, you knew that much. You took a few looks at the man, his plain black shirt hugging his muscles so tight, that scar on his arm made you tighten your legs, feeling an undeniable warmth flood your senses. You continued your not so subtle stares, the way his blonde mane fell down his broad shoulders and framed his body looked phenomenal, and the only thing you couldn't see was that damn face of his. You stared at the dozen holes on the striped mask, almost like trying to see through it.
"Is something the matter?" He asked, sounding more like a statement than a question. You stiffened, looking upwards towards the blonde, feeling so small in his presence.
You didn't get to be in bed with Eustass Kid for feeling small, though.
"No, Killer." You said, dragging his name out from your tongue, walking closer to his stature. You leaned against his strong chest, a gentle hand laying on his rippling muscles.
"But I think that you have something the matter with me." You said, taking your hand off of him, giving him a sly smile.
"You must've imagined it." He replied coolly, walking away to his quarters, not even giving you a chance to further your attempt at a conversation.
You clicked your tongue and walked past Kid's lackeys, who were all staring at your ass while you passed by, going to wandering into the kitchen.
You turned your head to look at them, smiling at how painfully obvious they were being while gawking at you. If only Killer sent a single gaze your way like these men here, it'd make your job of seduction a lot easier.
You took a seat in the kitchen, a stray chair in front of the stove. You picked at your nails, desperately waiting for someone to scream for your help, claiming they've been injured and needed your help. Though it was a bit bad to wait for someone to become injured, it was your role to assist them.
You didn't know when, but you leaned your head over onto your hand and started to doze off for a while, only jolting awake when you heard the sound of running water from behind you.
"Finally awake?"
You turned to where the voice came from, swallowing hard when you saw that mess of blonde hair.
"There's a plate in front of you, if you're hungry." He said, continuing to wash dishes. Yes, of course you were hungry, but not for food.
You hummed softly, getting up to smooth your skirt and walk over to Killer, offering your hand to help. "Maybe later. How about some assistance?" You asked, settling next to him to dry the wet plates. He shrugged lightly, his blonde tendrils swaying along his strong shoulders. Oh, how you wanted to just grab onto those shoulders while he thrusted into you wildly, grunting and groaning in your ear how you took him so well-
"Here."
You snapped out of your daydreams and took the plate from him, drying it off and placing it onto the shelf.
The two of you sustained a steady rhythm of washing and drying for a while, until you accidentally had dropped a glass cup, seeming to smash into a million pieces upon impact.
"Shit." You mumbled, crouching down to pick up the glass with your bare hands, of course, a bad idea, but you weren't weak, you could take a few cuts as long as you cleaned the mess.
Killer stood silently behind you, admiring the view of you bent down, even though he really shouldn't be. He pulled you up by the arms, surprising you, nearly dropping the glass shards.
You looked at his mask with a perplexed look on your face, dropping the bits of glass into the trash bin, dusting your hands off.
Killer started walking over to you, and you, being confused of what he needed, continued to back up, until your back hit the wall.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to drop it or anything. Besides, I cleaned it up. We all good?" You asked, looking up at him.
"Why do you do this, (First Name)." He asked, grabbing your chin in his calloused hand, forcing your wandering eyes to peer into the mask.
"Do what?" You replied, resting your hand atop his sculpted arm, his muscle twitching at your touch.
"Make me want to pin you against the wall and fuck your brains out." He said, not moving his hand from your skin.
You froze in place, it seemed your job was easier than you had thought. "So do it, Killer." You smiled, tracing your hands over his strong torso.
"I can't." He answered, moving away from you, back to the sink to dry the rest of the dishes. You frowned, your painted lips then creating a flat line as you stood in thought.
"You can. I'm the captain's girl, right?" You said, walking behind him, trailing your nails through the material of the black shirt, feeling his muscles tense under you. "And you're captain when he's gone." You said, standing on your tippy toes to nip at his strong neck, leaving a barely visible mark behind.
You were sure you didn't even blink before you were over the counter, Killer's arm against your back, preventing you to move. A smile spread across your features, sighing contently as you felt his other hand squeeze and pinch along your clothed body.
"Mm, Killer..." You whimpered softly, grinding against his crotch. His breath hitched, but he easily retaliated, a loud hiss of pleasure leaving your lips as you felt a stinging sensation on your ass.
"I guess you're just like captain. Always wanting to take charge." You sighed, feeling the cool air hit your dripping cunt, accommodating the size of Killer's digits. "I guess so." He said, his gaze on how you took his three fingers.
You moaned loudly, biting your lip while shifting your weight from foot to foot, unable to take the torture any longer. "I didn't come here for your fingers." You grumbled, closing your eyes as he curled his fingers deep inside of you.
"Yeah, but this is probably the only time I'm going to be able to enjoy you. Gotta take it nice," He stopped, pulling his fingers out to circle your clit. "And slow." He finished. You were sure he was smirking underneath that mask.
"It doesn't have to be." You whimpered, backing your hips against him again, feeling his bulge rub against you. You heard him take a sharp inhale, contemplating whether to continue the teasing, or to just give in.
"Please." You begged, placing your forehead against the hard table.
And he had his answer.
The sound of a fumbling belt buckle behind you put a smile on your face. "Finally." You mumbled, feeling his tip press against your entrance. You bit your lip from letting out a scream as he suddenly filled you, a shaky sigh leaving Killer's lips.
"Ah... Fuck, Killer!" You panted, your hands grabbing the counter harshly. His tan arm lifted from you, now squeezing your hips tightly, pulling you back against him, relishing in your warmth.
"Killer... Fuck... You stretch me so good!" You yelled, moaning when you felt him fill you over and over again. "You're awfully quiet back there, am I not what you expected?" You said, a fake tone of sadness lacing your voice.
"Unlike you or Kid, I'm not so vocal." He responded, trying not to show the strain on his voice, even when you were wrapped so tightly against him, your pussy dragging him in deeper and deeper with every thrust. "You're even better than I thought, (First Name)." Killer said, pushing himself into you deeper than what you thought possible.
"Isn't this position boring? Why don't you pin me against the wall and fuck my brains out like you proposed? You can even have me do the work and ride you, or even-" You were cut off when your mouth was filled with Killer's long fingers, taking your tongue between them. "You know, you make a good point. I can't see the faces you're making." He said, pulling out of you slowly.
"Why don't we go somewhere more, private." He said, his deep voice making your legs shake. You nodded fervently, pulling your panties up and adjusting your skirt. You tried to take a step forward, but your wobbly knees betrayed you, nearly making you fall down until Killer took your hand, pulling you up gently. "We weren't even going for that long." He said, making sure that you could stand before letting you go. "You're big, what do you expect?" You mumbled, rolling your eyes.
When you were stable, you tried taking another step under Killer's gaze. Again, you failed and your hands flew to his extended arm. He sighed audibly and lifted you up, carrying you like a bride. "What a gentleman." You giggled, your hand wrapping around his neck softly. He didn't reply as he started walking back to his room, obviously attracting stares along the way.
"Killer..." You whimpered, feeling his cock push against your womb, making you see stars. Your back was against the cool wall, seeming to steal the warmth that radiated off of you. "You're tight even when you and the captain go at it everyday..." He grunted, his hips snapping against yours. You would've laughed if you weren't pinned against the wall getting fucked. "Yeah, sorry about that... I know I can get a little, ya know..." You said timidly, a warmth settling on your cheeks after getting called out for being so loud.
"I've always wondered what your lips feel like." You sighed, feeling him stretch you so good. "Not today, (First Name)." He said, biting his lip softly, trying not to let out too much noise, even though you couldn't even hear him. "Come on, Killer. All I've wanted to see was your face the second I joined the crew, and that was years ago, that says something." You said, trying to sound angry, but that was seemingly impossible with a huge cock inside of you.
Killer seemed to stand still in thought, wondering if he could actually show you his face. He didn't hold any negative feelings toward you, but he wasn't sure if he trusted you enough. "And if I do..?" He asked, not moving any longer, his cock deep inside of you. "If you do, then I most definitely think that we would enjoy ourselves much more." You replied, hands squeezing his strong shoulders tightly. He made a sound of disapproval as he pulled out of you again, walking away from you. You barely stood, only with help of a chair next to you were you able to stand.
A confused face took over your gentle features, pondering if you had said or did something wrong. "Damn it, how the fuck did I mess this up so badly..?" You sighed, starting to gather your clothes slowly, silently wishing Killer was here to help you out. It was the least he could do if he didn't want you anymore.
"(First Name), do me a favour." You heard him, he was out of view, for some reason. You hummed, signalling that you heard him. "Close your eyes, just for a little while." He said, his voice coming closer to where you stood. You complied, used to taking orders, especially on a ship where Eustass Kid was captain.
You felt a rougher hand tangle with your soft one, leading you somewhere. You trusted Killer, but you had no clue what he was going to do.
You were stopped for a moment, then brought down onto muscled thighs, your hand still tightly wrapped with Killer's. It took you a moment to realise that you were straddling his thighs, your cheeks adapting a sudden warmth at the intimate pose you two held.
You felt warm lips against yours, your abdomen knotted tightly at the feeling. His tongue softly pushed against your own, his lips tangling within your own in a fierce dance, the two of you seemingly unable to get enough of each other.
Your hand still laced with Killer's, you squeezed it harder unconsciously, feeling your lungs start to burn after not inhaling enough oxygen. Your open hand wandered lower, tracing Killer's strong abs and his beautiful V-line, finally finding his rock hard length, your hand softly pumping it when he released your lips with a groan. 
"Fuck, (First Name)... Just like that..." He whispered, his pants warming your face. His breath smelled of a cool mint, opposing your captains fierce cinnamon scent.
Your eyes were still shut, though you were dying to take a small peek, you were sure he was just as beautiful as the rest of his body.
You continued your ministrations while Killer ravaged your soft lips, his lipstick mixing with yours. Any time while the two of you locked lips, you felt his cock twitch in your hands, obviously wanting to be back inside of your warmth. You subtly raised your hips, lining his cock up with your entrance. Just as you started to lower yourself, Killer thrusted his hips forward, sheathing himself inside of you quickly. You yelled against his lips, separating the two of you.
He would've laughed if he didn't dislike doing so. "You know I can see what you're doing, right?" He asked, his harsh tone of voice seeming to disappear.
"S-Shut your damn mouth..." You whispered, closing your eyes tighter than they already were. You opened your mouth to speak once again, but you were silenced by a pair of lips against yours once again. It was as if he couldn't get enough of you, each kiss was like air to him, his lungs burning like a fire until your cool lips met with his scorching ones. It was weird how you were the one who wanted to kiss him so bad, but he was the one who kept initiating it.
He pulled back from you, leaving your lips slightly agape and stinging, a sensation that was welcomed by you. "You can open your eyes now." He sighed, worried about how you'd react.
Your (eye colour) eyes strained open, the light making it hard to fully open them on command. You squinted, then little by little opened them fully, eyes resting on Killer's tanned chest, your mouth wanting to leave markings on the skin. You just realised that your hand still laid on top of Killer's gently, you muttered a quick apology and looked up at him, your eyes meeting his.
Your mouth hung open slightly, seeing his blonde hair fall into his face perfectly, his long eyelashes tickling his strong cheekbones, his full lips swollen after meeting your own countless times.
"So handsome..." You mumbled, seemingly forgetting that he was still inside of you. You noticed his cheeks get warmer, as you sent him a small smile. 
"Thank you."
He looked at you, confusion written all over his pretty features. "For?" He asked, his now free hand caressing your hips, tracing small shapes with his tall fingers.
"For trusting me... I know we never talk, but I trust you as much as Captain." You sighed, your forehead against his chest. "And well, obviously the other two." You laughed, referring to Heat and Wire.
He didn't know what to say, but he began to feel slightly bad. "Why did you never talk to me, anyway? When I first joined you used to at least make small talk with me, but then it stopped." You said, looking up at him with an undeniable sadness in your eyes. He sighed, averting his stare. "I knew something like this were to happen if I continued to talk to you. When you and Kid became a thing, I had to back off, respect that you were his, or the temptations would overcome me someday." He said, returning his gaze to you.
You hummed, satisfied with the answer. "At least you don't hate me." You said, raising your hips to be able to kiss him again, lips against his own with fierce intent.
"Please fuck me, Killer." You whimpered, unable to take just his stationary cock inside of you any longer. He didn't respond back to you, but began to assist you in moving on top of him, your arms resting against his shoulders as you started to bounce on him, his cock going inside and out with such a lewd sound.
Killer's hands gripped your hips tightly, lifting you onto him easier than if you were doing it alone. "Fuck..." He groaned, feeling your fleshy walls tighten around him, warmth over flooding his entire being.
You felt him push against the spot that nearly induced you into a deep unwanted sleep, letting out a loud moan, unable to form words to tell him to keep hitting that spot.
He knew what angle to go out now, abusing your wet walls with every snap of his hips. He moved his hand lower to circle your clit slowly, hearing you give a wanton whisper of his name fuelled his need to make you finish around him.
You felt your leg twitch as you felt your inevitable release creep up on you. Your moans and whimpers grew to a higher pitch, with a raise of your hips, Killer met your lips against his once again, you never growing tired of the feeling. One more deep thrust inside of you, and you couldn't take it, accidentally screaming into Killer's open lips, you separated from his mouth and whimpered again as you came around him, your arousal dripping down onto his erection and onto the both of your thighs.
He continued to lazily drill into you, filling you to the brim until he was satisfied. He bit his lip as you tightened onto him harshly, almost like not wanting to let go. You moaned his name, feeling sensitive with every move.
"So fucking good." He whispered to himself, getting lost in your soft insides. He too felt release coming sooner than he thought. You were just so good around him, smaller than him and still able to take him better than initially thought.
A few more thrusts and he pulled out, grunting softly as he came on your stomach, thick white ropes of his sticky seed on your naked body.
He got up to bring you a towel, finally feeling the after effects on him, collapsing onto the bed beside you gently. You smiled, your lipstick was slightly smeared and your hair was tousled messily. You cleaned yourself up and laid next to him, locking lips again softly, feeling him being so gentle with you made you feel like you could take him again right then and there.
His eyes were on yours after you backed up from the kiss, a smile on your face as you closed your eyes.
"I could get used to this."
351 notes · View notes
cinnaminsvga · 3 years
Text
Let the Dead Weep | Jimin
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→ summary: jimin falls in love the only way he knows how: catastrophically. your heart ends up as collateral damage.
→ genre: royal guard!jimin, princess!reader, angst → warnings: jimin is cold-hearted but only because he’s afraid, jungkook tries his Best to pick up the pieces, heart ache city babey! → words: 5.6K → a/n: this was commissioned by the wonderful @kookiebunnii​!! thanks again for giving me the freedom to write my own wips (this is admittedly Very old... so old that i almost forgot this existed in my drafts lol) i hope you like it bc this one is prime zee angst propaganda... sorry jimin but i had to do it to ya (again)
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The sound of clicking heels is an unusual occurrence at the royal training grounds. Accustomed to the cacophony of grunting men and clashing swords, Prince Jungkook does not immediately notice that something (or rather, someone) is out of place.
“Your defenses are down.” Jungkook thrusts his sword forward, disarming his sparring partner in one smooth motion. Surprised, his partner yelps as his sword clatters to the ground, his now empty hands raised awkwardly in befuddlement. But his shock does not last long, as his previously occupied gaze returns to where it was, his jaw agape as he continues to stare somewhere just outside the courtyard.
When Jungkook turns his head to the source, he finally understands why he had so easily defeated his distracted opponent.
Your bright white summer dress stands out starkly against the dreary autumn scenery, your skirt bunched up to your knees to avoid tripping over yourself. It seems as though the world has gone still from shock, every man in the vicinity holding their breaths at their first glimpse of the princess from up close. Even from where he stands, Jungkook can see the sweat flowing freely from your temples as you rush towards them, your chest heaving as you dash past dozens of starstruck onlookers towards your destination.
You don’t even spare Jungkook a glance when you pass by him, your eyes trained somewhere behind him as though nothing (or rather, no one) else in the courtyard matters. “Jimin!” you call out, nearly collapsing onto the man you had been looking for as you fail to stop your momentum in time. Luckily, the head of the royal guard catches you effortlessly, his hand previously resting on the hilt of his sword jumping up to find its place on your waist to steady you.
Jungkook watches as Jimin’s gaze sweeps through the sea of heads before landing on him. The guard’s posture stiffens, jaw clenching as the two men size each other up. Eventually, Jimin drops his hand from your waist as if he’d been burned, taking an inconspicuous step back to regain some sort of respectable distance.
Jimin clears his throat, his expression as stern as ever. It only takes a single glare from him for the excited whispers to die in a second. “Well? Did I tell you to stop? Take your positions,” he growls. In an instant, the men around Jungkook rise back to action, the sound of metal hitting metal echoing loudly once more.
“Your Highness? Shall we continue?” The boy he had been sparring with speaks out hesitantly, breaking Jungkook’s trance. Jungkook blinks slowly in confusion, before remembering where he was and what he was doing. He takes one last glance at Jimin’s and your retreating forms, only managing to glimpse the trail of your skirt as Jimin quickly drags you away from prying eyes.
“Your Highness?” the boy repeats, more nervously this time. Jungkook fixes a smile on his face before turning to face him, gently patting the young boy on the shoulder with the ease and charisma only a prince could manage.
“Yes, let’s continue. On your guard,” Jungkook warns, poising his sword forward before taking the first strike.
x x x x x
Jimin drags you away to the nearby armory, causing a domino of shields to topple down in his haste to open the door. He shuts it closed, not bothering to find a light as he pulls you deeper into the large shed. Only the small window by the roof sheds any light for them to see, but it’s enough for you to see the barely concealed annoyance set in Jimin’s eyes.
“What the hell were you thinking? That was highly inappropriate for a princess,” he growls, lips downturned in a frown. He might be well-known amongst his men as a stern and unforgiving captain, but he has never been gruff with you. In any other scenario, you might have been shocked at his sudden change of face, but the news that you just heard from your father is still ringing loudly in your ears, distracting you from anything else.
“What am I thinking? I should be asking you that! How is it that despite being the princess of this damn kingdom, I am still the last to know anything around here?” you shriek, ignoring Jimin’s silent pleas for you to quiet down. No, you are done being quiet; if you had to choose a moment to you would throw away all etiquette classes out the window, it would be now.
Jimin heaves a sigh, rubbing his temples. “Your Highness—”
“Don’t call me that,” you hiss, interrupting him. You hold up a finger when he makes a move to argue. “No, you answer my questions, first and foremost. Why did I only find out from my father just now that you volunteered to get stationed at the border?” You can feel your face heating up from the frustration and betrayal you feel; blood rushes up to your head and leaves you feeling dizzy, but you refuse to stop until he budges.
You’re breathing heavily, speaking so quickly that you doubt you’re making any sense right now. “The king requested for volunteers to fill the station guard units over a month ago. We’ve met and seen each other multiple times since then, and yet here we are,” you spit out, jabbing a nail into his chest. He barely budges, only keeping his head lowered. “Huh? Why on earth would you keep this from me? Answer me, Park Jimin!”
Jimin grimaces, his face contorting as if he’s in pain. He does not make a move to reply, only continues to avoid your fierce gaze. But even from where you stand under this dim light, you can tell from his expression that he isn’t guilty—just forlorn. Heartbroken, even.
You swallow thickly, blinking rapidly to keep your angry tears at bay, but your voice still cracks when you ask, “Why won’t you say anything?”
Finally, he looks at you. “What else is there to say?” He sounds as defeated as you feel.
And yet, you’re flabbergasted. You’re angry, tired, and hysterical—but above all else, you’re hurt. It feels as though a massive rock has dropped in your stomach, crashing waves against your chest like fire licking at your bones. The heavy feeling that has been weighing on you finally has a name, as you have been fighting to ignore what it was for ages now. Deep down, you know that this is inevitable, but somewhere inside you still resides the six-year-old child entrenched in her happy fairy tales, the same girl who believes that good things will always happen to good people.
You hoped that you would have at least deserved a warning. Preparation before this mirage disappeared forever. But Jimin had always been the type to rip the bandage and muscle through the pain, so you shouldn’t have been surprised at all. You just hoped that the two of you would still have more time.
A naive thing to desire, as Park Jimin was never yours to call your own.
You’re struggling to find the words to speak, anything to convince him to stay, even if you know it is not your place. He can see you grappling for straws, and perhaps it is out of pity or self-preservation, but he does not mention it. He does not say anything about you at all.
Eventually, he speaks. “I am… I have to...” He hesitates for a moment, taking one short glance at you before staring at the door. His hand grips the hilt of his sword tightly, though you know it is not because he itches to wield it, but for his ease of mind. You have learned, after years of growing up with him, that his only comfort comes from his own strength, his own ability to control his fate.
“Unfortunately, I must leave for now, Your Highness. Let us speak about this later before my subordinates begin to wonder.” There is a heaviness in his tone when he says that, like it is disgraceful for you to be seen with him. It reignites the fire in your veins once more, and you reflexively reach out to grab his retreating shoulder before the shed is suddenly bathed in light.
“Princess Y/N? Are you alright?” Prince Jungkook stands by the entrance of the armory, sweaty hair matted to his skin from his morning practice routine. For a moment, you almost hate the way he had sounded so… well-meaning, even though he had done nothing wrong to spite you. In fact, Jeon Jungkook has always been the perfect filial son, someone any royal family would be proud of.
And unfortunately for you, that was quite possibly the only reason you were betrothed to him in the first place.
You see him eye the pair of you curiously, his gaze gradually coming to a stop where your hand still rests against Jimin’s shoulder. You retract it immediately as if burned. You clear your throat, curtsying respectfully to him. “I am fine, Prince Jungkook. I am sorry for the scene I caused. I hope I did not interrupt your daily practice,” you say carefully, folding your hands in front of you.
Jungkook nods silently, his expression giving nothing away. Feeling awkward under his scrutiny, you curtsy to him once more. You shuffle away from Jimin without sparing him another glance, but you feel his gaze trained on your back like a brand. You wait for Jungkook to allow you to pass him before scuttling away, the ends of your dress dragging across the dirt path as you rush back towards the castle.
Stupid of you.
Jimin had been right, like always. News spreads fast within these ancient walls, and the chatterings about your emotional display are sure to reach your father’s ears one way or another. You doubt he’d be surprised by it; it’s no secret that your affections have always lied heavily on the royal guardsman. As long as you kept your secret rendezvous a secret, the King is more than happy to turn a blind eye. A reward, perhaps, for keeping your side of the deal.
Except that side of the deal hadn’t meant to arrive until your older brother had been wed, right after his search for his queen consort had been completed. But Jungkook’s family had been adamant to move things along, most likely due to their desperation to form an alliance with your prominent kingdom. As the seventh son, Jungkook hardly had any use for them in their household other than being goods for barter, and in any other case, you might have felt bad for him.
The guilt feels like a dagger pressing itself against your throat, and yet, you do not have the courage to fight against it. You sigh, defeated, as you stay reclused in your bedroom, waiting for Jimin to join you.
You don’t join your family for lunch that afternoon: a bigger mistake on your part, as it probably incriminates you further. Even worse still, Jungkook and his escorts are guests at the palace, and your absence doesn’t look good for your reputation. However, you couldn’t bring yourself to care that day, only offering weak excuses about a headache to appease them.
To your surprise, Jungkook had vouched for you, according to your handmaiden. When you asked what he said, they said he had mentioned something about your pensiveness from this morning. You scoff, wondering if he must be covering your mistake for the sake of your future together.
The sun makes its way across the horizon and still no signs of Jimin visiting your quarters. You pace your room for so long that you fear leaving the carpet threadbare, your restlessness causing spikes of fear to trickle down your spine. Your entire body tingles with the need to do something, anything. Just to feel as though you still have some control, some sense of sanity.
By your dresser, your untouched violin sits, waiting forlornly for your hands to caress it once more. It is a gift from your mother for your birthday, though you have scarcely used it since then. You have always been talented with the violin, but the need to play it had died down once your days had been occupied with a different type of music—the sort of melodies that you could not pull from strings or brass.
You pluck the violin from its stand, the polished wood still smelling of varnish when you place it by your neck. You begin to play a piece from memory—a song that your tutor had once drilled into your head until your hands could move on their own. Even still, you love the piece with all your heart; the melancholy and longing of the notes resonate deeply within you.
You know that what you are doing is cruel, both to yourself and to him. With your window wide open, you are sure that the wind can carry your music to the royal offices, where Jimin is sure to hear it. Anyone would be able to tell that it is you playing, stringing note after note with hopeless abandon. Just to get a reaction, from anyone. Anything!
So deeply are you immersed in your playing that it takes a moment for you to notice the knocking. Your bow stills mid-way, your breath hitching when the knocking continues. “Just a moment,” you call out, hastily placing your violin back on your dresser before ripping open the door to find—
Prince Jungkook still has his hand poised to knock, not having anticipated you to open your door so quickly. “Oh, pardon me. I am so sorry to intrude on your playing. Have I come at a bad time?”
Your shoulders slacken, and your disappointment could not be more apparent. “Oh.”
Prince Jungkook smiles wryly, not appearing to be offended by your less than enthusiastic greeting. “I know that it is improper of me to ask, but could you invite me into your quarters for a moment? I would like to speak to you, if you would allow it.”
“Why would it be improper? We’re promised to each other anyway,” you reply bitterly, the words coming out before you can think twice.
Jungkook cringes, bowing his head sadly. “I suppose that is a bad thing, isn’t it?”
It is impossible not to feel bad after that, your face flushing deeply with shame. “Not exactly…” You offer an awkward smile to compensate, but you doubt that it reaches your eyes. You step aside, allowing him to enter. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”
His long legs allow him to take only two strides to reach the center of your room, his large frame engulfing the space. It almost feels suffocating, being here with him. Your mind unhelpfully compares him to the other only man who has ever entered your room, a man who had a much more lithe figure to the one with you right now.
You notice how he scans your room with sharp eyes, how he locks onto your violin immediately. He moves towards it and makes a motion as if to hold it, and after you give him your permission, he picks it up with reverence, turning it over with meticulous grace. “I was not aware that you were so gifted with musical talent,” he murmurs, plucking the strings experimentally.
You shrug, leaning against your door. “It was never brought up during our dinner conversations.” Not that much was said between the two of you during your meals together, as your father seems more interested in learning about Jungkook’s competency in politics than what his hobbies are.
He nods, absent-minded. He returns the violin to its proper place, his touch featherlike and graceful. He might be a violinist himself, you think. “That piece you were just playing… What was it called?”
A common question. “It’s a traditional song based on one of the kingdom’s myths,” you reply easily.
He nods again. “Why were you playing it?”
A less common question, one that you find more difficult to answer. “It… happened to be the first one I thought of, I suppose.” A half-truth, at the very least.
He hums thoughtfully, turning to you with doleful eyes. “Then I suppose that you must be grieving, are you not? if that is the sort of song that first comes to mind.”
You’re immediately defensive, curling into yourself as you watch him suspiciously. “My father… He told you, didn’t he?”
Even though you do not expound on what you mean, the prince is quick to shake his head in denial. “Nothing my eyes have not already seen.”
You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, hackles rising as you size him up. “What do you want from me then? A confession? For me to go on my knees and ask for forgiveness?” you spit.
He stares at you, astonished. “Who am I to dole out absolution when I am but only a man?”
“So does that mean you have committed the same mistakes that I have? I find that hard to believe,” you scoff, lowering your guard in your annoyance. He’s only been in your room for a few minutes and already you tire of his company; you wonder how you’ll manage to keep your sanity while spending your life with him.
But in truth, even if he hadn’t irritated you, even if he was the nicest man in the world, he would never compare to the man you have already laid your heart with.
He shakes his head once more, almost as if he’s embarrassed. “Not quite, but I do understand what you’re going through. Somewhat.”
Somewhat, he says. The more you observe him, the more you realize how young he is. Not just in the way he appears, but also in the way he talks and moves, almost like the stars trapped in his eyes have yet to escape. You can imagine him falling for one of the servant girls back in his own palace, secretly swapping lovelorn gazes across polished halls. Unlike you, he must not have acted on his greed, knowing the extent of his responsibility to his house and kingdom.
Unlike you, he does not bear a cruel bone in his body, as he would never subject that poor girl to the sort of heartbreak that only a clandestine relationship could offer.
“I want to make myself clear to you, my princess. I did not come here to accuse you of anything. I came here because I wanted to make myself clear with you,” he says. You raise a brow, urging him to continue.
“I am not asking you to fall in love with me,” he says plainly. It surprises you greatly, to hear him speak so candidly. Ever the perfect politician, he’d only ever spoken with care and precision, always anticipating the other party’s reaction. You have spoken with enough visiting royals to know that he is well-versed in that sort of language, so to hear him speak so brazenly is almost refreshing.
“I wouldn’t have offered, regardless,” you respond, smirking sardonically. He laughs at that, and you can hear the honesty in his laughter, too.
“Fair. But for the sake of the people who put their faith in us, I would suggest,” he pauses, licking his lips as he mulls over his next words, “that we might be sincere with one another. Just so our union may not perish… prematurely.”
You don’t respond, scanning him for any ill intent. As a princess from an illustrious kingdom, you have needed to stave off numerous lords and princes from taking your hand for their own wicked gain. However, none of your previous suitors were like Prince Jungkook, who genuinely seemed to care greatly for his people, as seen by how kindly he has treated his entourage of helpers.
He waits for you to say something, but eventually, he continues, “Princess Y/N, it would be the greatest honor if you would allow me to know you better. I seek nothing more than your companionship.” He blushes slightly, coughing into his fists. “W-well, not that you owe me that, as we could very well live separately for the rest of our lives, but... Umm… That came out a little more awkward than I intended, but I hope you get the gist.”
You realize, then, that he desires to live peacefully with you—guilelessly and unselfishly. Perhaps he is doing this for his parents (highly likely), or perhaps he has no other choice (extremely likely). But the fact remains that in front of you stands a good man with a simple wish: to become friends with you, if not at least become amicable with one another.
“Then I suppose you want to know more about me? About my story?” you ask sarcastically. “Want to know why the eldest daughter of the king is off frolicking with the captain of his guard?”
Jungkook snorts, an easy smile on his lips. “Well, you could tell me that, but I was thinking more along the lines of ‘when did you learn to play the violin?’ and other neutral information. You know, like how normal people converse.”
It takes you a moment to realize that he had been making fun of you. “Hey, watch it, princeling. You’re not in the clear just yet,” you huff, but there is no bite to your bark. You can tell that he knows this, from the way his tense figure has relaxed tremendously in this short amount of time. You notice your own tension fading away too, if only infinitesimally.
“I can start if you want,” he hums, tapping a finger on his chin as he thinks. “Well, I have always wanted to tell you this, but you might think I might be buttering your ass if I did, pardon the language—”
You laugh loudly, baffled by his seemingly out-of-nowhere casual demeanor. In your bedroom, with his shoulders slackened and hair still disheveled from his morning practice, he looks nothing like the perfect prince you had boxed him in as. “Pardoned,” you say, rolling your eyes.
“—but I’ve always found your tenacity to be admirable. Your dedication to your people, evidenced by your tireless work to make their lives better, has always struck me as inspirational. Pardon the cliché, but you really aren’t like other girls,” he says.
You wave off his compliments. “By the sounds of it, you must have this line practiced to perfection. Don’t tell me this is what you say to the other princesses when you confess to them.”
He flushes darkly, stuttering at your brash comment. The sight makes you snort, only worsening his embarrassment. “I have, um, never confessed to anyone before…”
“I find that hard to believe. Sure, you might not be like me—” you say drily. You haven’t sentenced your own life to heartache and misfortune, is what you mean to say. The pang in your chest comes back with a vengeance, but you carry on. “—but I would imagine that you’ve had to sweet talk many princesses before me. I was not your parents’ first choice, was I?”
“Indeed,” he admits awkwardly. “But I am not completely powerless. My father had allowed me some freedom when choosing a bride, and I…” he trails off, swallowing nervously. He gestures to you vaguely, unwilling to keep eye contact as he does.
You gape at him, pointing to yourself. “You… You chose me? Why?”
“It’s exactly as I said,” he shrugs. “I read about the things you’ve done, and I was drawn to you. It seems that my freedom has indirectly caused your misery, however…” he says ashamedly.
Guilt coils up you for the umpteenth time that day, except now it is directed at the boy in front of you. Foolish of you to think that your actions only affected you and your lover. Foolish of you to believe that your actions don’t have consequences bigger than you might have imagined.
“It… is not your fault,” you grit out, though it pains you to say. Not because it is a lie, but rather, it is a painful truth: a pill you have finally been forced to swallow. “My recklessness has caused more wreckage than I would have imagined.”
“I must admit that I have always been in love with the concept of love,” he says. He scratches the back of his neck, shyly turning away from you. “I believe that while love comes in all different shapes and sizes, it is certainly never supposed to be cruel. It is never selfish or… painful.”
Your eyes narrow, fully understanding his implications. “Then you must be as naive as you appear,” you snarl. You step away from the doorway, making your way towards the prince until your chests were merely a breath apart. However, he doesn’t back away like you thought he would. He stands his ground, looking at you through his long lashes.
“You wouldn’t understand. Have you ever loved someone so deeply that even the thought of being apart wounds you? Have you ever stayed awake at night, listening carefully to the sound of your own beating heart, aching for someone you cannot have? It is an ache, Jungkook, that cannot be salved with pretty words and sentiments. It is not a choice,” you finish, vision growing blurry with unshed tears. But you refuse to let them fall, not for a boy who didn’t know better.
His gaze is level with your own, his breathing steady. His eyes look dark to you, no longer sparkling like they once did. But before you can blink, the darkness is gone, replaced with his carefully crafted neutrality. The princely politician makes his return, except he’s a little sadder. Disappointed, even. “No, I have not experienced any of that. I cannot say for certain what is true, but I have always thought that love should be gentle and kind. Something to be enjoyed, and not a cause of strife.”
He steps away from you, his footsteps light as he makes his way to the door. When he twists the doorknob, he stills for a moment. “It was nice speaking to you, Y/N. Don’t… keep hurting yourself, okay? A lot of people care for you, even if they don’t say it. Even if it doesn’t seem that way.”
You bark out a laugh, but it sounds watered down to your ears. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with me already.”
He smiles at you, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmurs before bidding you farewell.
You’re left alone again, and your room feels significantly more hollow. Your entire body is vibrating, filled with an unidentifiable feeling swirling in your chest like a hurricane. Was it anger? Frustration? Hopelessness? Guilt? Perhaps an ungodly concoction of all four?
You feel nauseous, almost falling over from the strength of it. Everything about today has caused you to lose your hold on your sanity, the urge to scream in anguish becoming more unbearable by the second.
Love should be gentle and kind, he said. Despite how sweet his intentions, his words still feel like poison. How dare he say that to you, when he knows that you wish it was true?
You grab your violin by the neck, your violent grip causing the wood to creak. Your hands shake, tears freely falling into the sea of your self-pity.
You drag your bow harshly against the strings, striking a sound louder than your own frustrated cry. A few of the hairs snap, but you continue, playing like a madwoman possessed. The music is frantic, agonizing—goosebumps trail your skin unprompted. Your pain overflows until even the dead can hear you weep.
Your violin almost drowns out the sound of another knock at your door. “Go away,” you growl, playing more fiercely. The violin groans, as if in pain. “If you’ve come back to lecture me about love again—”
“Your Highness,” a softer voice responds. It’s not Jungkook like you had thought. “It’s Jimin.”
Even if he had not announced himself, you would have known just by his footsteps. You freeze, your heart beating wildly out of your chest. You swipe a hand across your cheek in a futile attempt to hide away the evidence. Even without a mirror, you know that your eyes are puffy and bloodshot.
He enters without your prompting: comfortable enough to invade your space as if he had not torn your heart to pieces just hours ago. His gaze immediately goes to your face, a staggered breath leaving his lungs when he sees your hollow expression. But that moment of weakness disappears in an instant, the same stoic captain from this morning reappearing right in front of you.
“Had you been expecting someone else?” he asks in place of a greeting. There is an edge to his tone, you notice. If you didn’t know better, you might have missed it. Jealousy. How dare he.
You squint at him, but you say nothing. The air is icy with tension, enough to freeze hell twice over.
He clears his throat. “I’ve come to apologize, your Highness. It was out of line for a royal guard such as myself to drag you so brusquely like that. It will not happen again,” he murmurs.
You can hear the hidden meaning buried in his words. It won’t happen again, because I won’t be here to do it.
“Is that all you have to say?” you whisper. You place your violin down carefully, but your vision is already turning blurry once more. You won’t cry in front of him. You refuse to be the only one hurt from this.
He sighs, as if worn by your childish antics. “Y/N, you don’t understand—”
When he calls you by your name, the fraying string inside of you snaps. “Save it,” you seethe. “You’re a coward, that’s what you are. There isn’t anything to understand.”
“No, you should understand,” Jimin steps forward, grabbing you by the shoulders. He shakes you, desperation hanging off every inch of his frame. “As a princess, you should know what it means to serve the people. You should know more than anyone about the oaths I made to this kingdom. You should be proud of me!”
His increasing volume only encourages you to match him, your throat nearly getting torn in two from how loudly you shout. “Cut the patriotic act! Do you think I’ve forgotten all the whispers you’ve planted in my head? About how you wished more than anything to work with your brothers as performers, how you wished you hadn’t been the breadwinner of your family just so you wouldn’t have to sell your strength to my father?”
“I was naive. I should have known it was my responsibility,” he counters.
“Then what about all the promises you made to me during our nights together? You swore to love me forever under starry nights and disheveled sheets. You said you’d run away with me, just so I wouldn’t have to marry anyone else!”
Jimin grits his teeth. “Meer words of comfort. The babblings of a child.”
You shove him away, your skin burning from where he touched you. “Then actions must speak louder than words, correct? You cannot hide from me when your lovemaking spoke volumes. ”
For once, it seems Park Jimin is at a loss for words. He clenches his fists by his side, looking utterly defeated. “Y/N… You know that it’s the right thing to do.”
“I don’t,” you mumble, lips trembling. “I really don’t.”
“Even so,” Jimin says. He lifts a finger, wiping away a stray tear from your cheek. “It is better that I make the choice than you.”
Better that he breaks your heart than you. “We… we could’ve found another way,” you croak, helpless.
Jimin only smiles sadly. “The prince… He is a good man. I have been watching him these past few weeks and I know that he will—” his voice catches, and he has to pause for a moment to regain his composure. “He will make a good match for you. It would be wrong for us to…”
It pains you to admit it, but he’s right. Jungkook doesn’t deserve your infidelity. And yet, even if Jimin were to leave, would you ever be wholly Jungkook’s anyway? What would be the difference, if your heart will continue to yearn for another man regardless?
“Tell me this, then. For once, spare me from your half-truths. Drive the final nail into my coffin so that I know that you are truly certain.” You force him to look you directly in the eye, his pupils shaking as he takes you in for what might be his last time. It is almost as if time had stopped, and only the two of you existed in this space. This bedroom that you called your haven, the place where you had fallen in love—the place that will witness your first heartache.
“If our lives could have been different, would you have loved me then?”
Jimin has never looked so weary, so different from the boisterous boy you had met all those years ago. “I’m sure… that I would’ve done what was best. For the greater good.”
“And does that greater good include us? How do we fit in that equation?”
But he only steps away, his hand still outstretched as if to hold you. Then, he slowly tucks it behind him, his posture straightening the way a guard should. “I think you already know the answer to that,” he says, the note of finality ringing loud and clear.
He pries open the door, hesitating only for one more moment before chancing one last glance at you. “Tomorrow… I leave with my men. I would appreciate it if you don’t come.”
The door closes, and your question remains unanswered.
Just like him, the empty silence of your room refuses to respond, no matter how many times you ask.
Because in the sanctity of your bedroom, no promises ever did hold. The Park Jimin you loved was never real in the first place, and no matter how much you slam your fists and stomp your feet, he’s never going to love you the way you want him to.
And there you stand, all by your lonesome, without the prying gazes of those who expect better of you. Gruesomely, and painfully you.
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ruzek-halstead · 3 years
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there’s one thing on my mind (it’s all for you)
i didn’t have a wip for jatp fanworks appreciation week, so i made one?? but i got too into it and finished it in a few hours. thanks to @ourstarscollided for sending in the incredible prompt that led to this fic!! 
home didn't seem like home anymore for luke patterson, and so he was desperate to find a new place to write music. after an especially brutal fight with his mother, he finds himself in front of l.a. books. he isn't expecting to get much out of it, it was solely a last resort. but then he sees her, julie molina, and he ends up coming back every week just to keep seeing her.
bookstore au
masterlist
If three years ago, someone were to tell Luke, he would actively be spending his Friday night in a small, but cozy book store, he would have laughed in their face.
He was a rockstar. If he wasn't jamming it out at some club with his boys, he was doing something wrong.
But life didn't always work out in his favour, and it wasn't long before he decided he couldn't write out of his home anymore. Home. Sometimes the mere word made him laugh. Home was supposed to be warm, welcoming and loving, and he felt none of those things every time he walked through the front door. It was starting to take a toll on him. Not only on his mental health, but also in his creative abilities. The songs he was writing in his bedroom had taken a dark turn, so dark they felt more like a cry for help than anything else.
So, he decided it was time to find another place to write songs; somewhere that could get his creative juices flowing. When Reggie first suggested this bookstore on the corner of Madison, Luke pinched his brows, not understanding how that was a viable solution. Reggie defended his suggestion by saying bookstores were quiet and he would be surrounded by millions of words of inspiration.
Luke never took Reggie's suggestion until one brutal fight with his mom left him pulling at his hair, desperate to leave the house. He would go anywhere at this point, but his fingers were itching to grab his pencil and book; there was so much he just needed to get out onto paper. If he didn't, he would explode. So, he grabbed his song book, a few pencils and stuffed everything into his backpack before he hopped out his window. At first, he just started walking to nowhere in particular. In the back of his mind, he was intending to drop by Alex's, but instead he found himself standing in front of L.A. Books.
He walked in with the intention of taking one quick walk around and most likely walking right back out. He was pissed off at the world and he didn't think Shakespeare would solve his issue.
But then he saw her.
She was stocking a book shelf, putting up new books as far as he could tell. Her curls kept getting in way of her vision and she was continuously tucking them behind her ears. He could only see the side of her face at this point, but when she was approached by a younger girl to help locate a book, Luke quite literally forgot how to breathe. She was stunning in every which way; her soft smile to the young girl made an unconscious smile spread over his own lips. There was no specific thing about her that drew him to her, but for some reason, he was rooted to the floor. Even when she started moving in his direction, leading the girl to a new section, he couldn't even move just enough to grab a book and look like he wasn't creepily stalking her.
But she only sent him a warm smile as she walked by.
So, maybe Reggie wasn't so wrong about this place after all.
After that, Luke found himself stopping by at least once a week, maybe twice if things at home were really bad. It was a quiet establishment for the most part, and Luke found a corner table that was perfect for his writing. He knew his song writing was starting to take a hit; he knew that. But since he started writing in the bookstore, an obvious shift was clear in the words he scribbled down.
Even the boys noticed.
"What the hell is this?" Alex had demanded one late night after Luke handed him his songbook so he could filter through it. They'd mostly been playing their old originals while Luke worked on some new stuff, and he was finally starting to share.
Luke frowned, biting his lip nervously. "What? Is it that bad?"
"Reg, look at this," Alex ignored Luke, reaching over to show the other brunette. "When were you going to tell us?"
Luke merely blinked, gaze flickering between the two. Reggie, to his credit, looked just as confused, meanwhile Alex was fighting a smirk. "Dude, I'm so confused. What the hell are you talking about?"
Alex placed the book down in his lap, finally letting the smirk take over. "When were you going to tell us you were in love?"
Luke immediately started to sweat. "What?"
"If you're writing these love songs about me, I'm flattered," Alex teased, to which Luke could only roll his eyes and snatch the book back into his possession. "But you know I'm taken."
"I'm not in love," Luke muttered under his breath.
And he wasn't. He would stand by that.
But he'd be lying if he said he didn't stop by the bookstore solely to see his curly-haired goddess. Every time, he would look at her and a sudden burst of inspiration would blindside him and he would be writing into his book without even realizing. He wasn't going to tell the boys that, though.
After about a month of hidden glances and polite smiles, he figured it was about time to say something. He also figured it could only look a little strange, him being at a bookstore every week and never buying anything. To his credit, many others took advantage of their tables to work quietly; he wasn't the only one. But he was the only one who couldn't take his off the employee with kind eyes and a mega-watts smile. Sometimes she came over to organize the tables, or wipe them down, and so Luke decided it was now or never.
"Hi," he blurted one night when she came to grab a stray book someone had left on his table. Her gaze lifted to meet his. Her face broke out into a warm smile and he nearly broke his pencil from how hard he was holding it.
Luke's eyes dropped to her name tag. He'd never been close enough to read it (with the exception of the first time he saw her, but he was understandably starstruck and couldn't focus on anything).
Julie.
He debated saying something else, it almost looked like she was waiting for him too, but the words were caught in his throat. He merely sent her a pained grin as she retreated. God, that was awkward.
Over the next few months, his confidence grew some, but he was never able to hold a full conversation with her. He was working up to it, but in the meantime, he was content in his corner writing songs about the girl who had unknowingly captured his heart.
This week had been particularly gruelling. School had taken a lot out of him (every mark counted for college admissions) and his parents were on his ass about his grades. He knew he had to do well, even if he wanted to pursue music, he needed the grades to get into a good music program; he knew that. He didn't need his mom yelling at him about it every day. So, this Friday he'd spent the entire evening at L.A. Books, anything to just get away for a bit. He knew it was almost closing time; there weren't many customers left and he could see Julie cleaning up out of the corner of his eye.
He was trying not to spend all his time watching Julie, instead focused on his latest creation. So, he didn't see Julie apprehensively watching someone shove a few books into his backpack. He was young, but probably a bit older than Julie. Why he would want to steal some books, Julie had no idea, but it was the wrong day to mess with Julie Molina.
She hadn't had her best week either, and watching someone blatantly try to steal like he was, severely pissed her off. Protocol be damned, Julie stalked over to the individual and blocked his exit. Protocol insisted on not confronting the shop-lifter by any means, but Julie was too annoyed to care.
"Are you going to pay for those books you put in your backpack or can I have them back?"
Julie was impressed with how confident she sounded. Even when he met her glance head-on, she wasn't the least bit intimidated.
"What? Sorry, I think you're thinking of someone else," he replied, but after meeting her gaze the first time, he couldn't hold it as he spoke.
"Just give me the books and I won't call the police," Julie reasoned. She sounded exhausted, and that was because she was; this was honestly the last thing she needed this week, and yet, here she was.
But as soon as the man noticed her change of tone, his mouth twisted into a scowl. "I already told you, you have the wrong guy."
"I saw you put them in your backpack!" Julie argued, her anger crawling back up her throat.
"No, you didn't, because I didn't do anything!" He replied angrily. "Are you going to move, now?"
Julie stood her ground. It was probably quite comical, considering she was a full head shorter than him, but she wasn't moving. "No. Give me back the books."
The man let out a furious snarl. "Get out of my way, bitch."
His words didn't offend her in the slightest. Honestly, she felt sorry for him, that this was how he was raised to treat women, especially someone as young as her. But she was perceptive, and she could tell he was getting agitated and possibly aggressive. She didn't know this guy, she didn't know what he was capable of.
Luke had kept his eye on Julie the entire time, he always did. But as soon as he realized what she was doing, he swore under his breath. He tried to keep his distance, to let her do her thing, but the second the man called Julie a bitch, Luke was up and out of his chair, ready to throw hands.
There was a point in his life where he wouldn't even think about the consequences of his actions, but as he approached, he caught Julie's eyes and figured punching this random guy in the face probably wasn't the best course of action. So, he hung back, close enough to be noticed, but not enough to be considered a threat.
Or so he thought.
The man noticed Julie's eyes focused on something behind him, so he whirled around to see Luke. What with his height and obvious biceps (that were currently on display because what were sleeves anyway?), the man scoffed.
"Is he coming to your rescue or something? Need someone to fight your battles?"
Luke merely raised his eyebrows.
The fact that he was saying all this to a high school girl seriously baffled him.
When the man tried to step around Luke, he side-stepped to be in his way again. Luke didn't smirk, didn't show any facial emotion. It was enough to unnerve him.
With an angry huff, he reached into his backpack to pull out the two books in question. He slammed them into Luke's chest as he stormed past him, muttering, "I don't need this crap."
The moment they heard the door slam closed, Luke's eyes slid over to Julie. Her face was blank, but her eyes were stormy, angry even. He didn't blame her; that guy was a right dick. He hesitantly handed the books back to her. Her gaze flickered to the books and back to him. She probably had no idea how absolutely intimidating she looked.
But then she smiled. A proper, full smile that had Luke merely staring. "Thank you," she said, reaching forward to grab the books. He was hoping she'd say more, but instead she took the books and walked away to put them back in their place.
It was fine, because she had talked to him and he was so ridiculously happy about that. He had also helped her out in that less than stellar situation, but not overbearingly so that he treated her like a damsel in distress who couldn't handle herself. Julie definitely held her own, but he wouldn't be able to live with himself if something happened to her and he was right there sitting in his corner. Pleased with himself and how the situation played out, he skipped back to his seat in the corner, feeling more inspired than ever to finish the current song he was working on.
He glanced up one more time, surprised to catch Julie's sparkling brown eyes already looking at him. She immediately averted her gaze, mouth twitching as she held back a smile.
That was when he decided, no more pining around; it was time to officially ask her out.
What was the worst that could happen? She would say no. And he'd be okay with that, because it was 2021 and respecting women and their decisions shouldn't even be questioned. He'd be disappointed, sure, but for now, he was still holding out hope that maybe she would be into him too.
It was nearing eight, and Luke could tell when he saw the remainder of customers heading for the door. He spotted Julie making her way over too, getting ready to lock the door behind the last customer. He gathered up his things and shoved them into his backpack as slowly as possible. His heart was hammering in his chest and his palms were sweaty; he was actually nervous to ask Julie out.
How couldn't he be? She was absolutely gorgeous.
Luke made it to the door, taking a deep breath before he met her eyes.
Julie stepped in front of him, blocking his exit.
He stumbled in his step, grabbing onto the door frame to keep from toppling straight into her.
"Sorry," she mumbled, tucking a curl behind her ear. For the first time literally ever, Luke observed the tell-tale signs of her shy and apprehensive behaviour. She was always so confident, so in tune with what she seemed to want, this was unusual to him. Not only because of that, but he'd never been this close to her, and he was suddenly finding it extremely hot (and he was barely even wearing a shirt).
Luke tugged on his backpack strap, because he needed to do something. He needed to focus, or else he'd end up doing something stupid, like blurt out that he was in love with her. "No, it's okay. I actually wanted to ask you something anyway."
Her sparkling brown eyes widened for a split second. "Actually, I want to ask you something — are you free to grab a coffee?"
It was safe to say Luke's brain started to short-circuit.
"Uh, what?"
He was so intensely focused on gathering the courage to ask her out, he didn't even know how to reply when she suddenly flipped the plan on him.
He started to lose his mind even more when a soft blush spread over Julie's cheeks. "I'm just closing up, and I could really use a dose of caffeine. I'd really like if you came with me."
Luke can't do more than simply stare at her; his body was failing on him. Julie held his gaze, biting her lip apprehensively with a nervous smile because he wasn't saying anything, and she really hoped she didn't misinterpret his signals. But then he finally fights for control of his body again, and a soft grin spreads onto his lips. "Yeah. I'd really like that."
She matched his grin, closed and locked the door behind her. "I only have a few more things to do. Just a few more minutes."
"No worries," he replied, shoving his hands into his front pockets. "Oh! I'm Luke, by the way."
Julie mulled over the name for a moment. "Julie," she responded.
"I know," he mumbled, eyes solely focused on hers. Even when she looked to him in surprise, he couldn't focus on anything but her eyes. God, she was so gorgeous. "Your name tag," he added, just to ease her fears about him being a stalker (I mean, he was there almost every week...).
Luke leaned against one of the tables as he waited for Julie to finish closing up. He watched her silently, unable to remove the excited smile from his lips the entire time he waited. When she told him he was ready, he diligently held open the door for her and then waited, hands dug into his front pockets, as she locked up behind them.
There was a coffeeshop right around the corner, and as they both started walking in that direction, there was an unspoken agreement, that was where they wanted to go. Luke hated himself and his weirdly awkward nature on their walk over. He couldn't find any words to say to her, none. He chanced a few glances in her direction, but she seemed content with just walking in silence, so he went with the flow.
Once again, he held the door open for her and smiled when looked at him with amused eyes. Julie headed straight for a table near the window, removing her jacket and setting it on the back of her chair. Luke followed, lingering when she didn't sit back down.
"I can go order," he offered, "What would you like?"
Julie looked up at him with a smirk, and dear God, his knees nearly buckled. "I invited you. It's my treat."
"Oh, come on," he nearly whined. "Let's not do this, please."
Julie pursed her lips. She was a very determined person, and if he didn't know that yet, he'd be quick to learn. "I invited you. It's only fair."
He ran a hand through his hair, shooting her the most charming smile he could manage. "Julie, I've been waiting to take you out for months. Please let me buy you a coffee."
All her determination died there and then on the tip of her tongue.
"Okay," she replied with a cheeky smile. She diligently took a seat. "I'll take an iced coffee, please."
Luke nodded, once again, skipping away from her for the second time that night. He ordered Julie an iced coffee (and a cookie because who doesn't like cookies) and a regular coffee for himself. He was already jittery enough but he could never say no to coffee.
"Here you go." He said softly, placing her treats in front of her.
Julie took a quick sip of her coffee and narrowed her gaze on Luke. "I want to hear more. You said you've been waiting to take me out for months."
Luke had never felt him blush so quickly before in his life. He nearly choked on the coffee he was currently drinking. "It sounds really creepy when you say it like that."
"I know you've been coming to the shop for months," she continued, breaking apart her cookie. She wasn't looking at him, and it honestly made Luke all the more nervous. She made him nervous. "And you've never bought anything, but you're always writing in a book."
"I needed a quiet place to write music and I found your shop."
Julie nodded along, humming. "I catch you looking at me a lot."
Luke scratched the back of his head. "Well, honestly, that's not entirely my fault. I can't help but stare at beautiful things."
Julie looked up at him with a smirk. "That was smooth. I feel like it's only fair I be as honest." She leaned her elbows onto the table, leaning in close. Luke started sweating again. "I always look for you during my shifts."
It was as if the air was entirely knocked out of his lungs. It was the reassurance he was looking for, the acknowledgement that his feelings weren't one-sided, but it was a lot to take in at once.
"You're the reason I come back every week," he admitted, the words flowing freely out of him now that he knew with certainty she felt something for him too.
Julie leaned back in her chair. Her eyes tracked his movements, mostly because she didn't know what to say next. Where do they go from here?
Who makes the next move?
"I'll keep dropping by. But under one condition," Luke reasoned, hiding his smirk with his coffee mug.
Julie found herself leaning in again. There was something about him that was so alluring, always drawing her in for more. "What's that?" She didn't want to give her real answer: anything.
"I'll keep coming by if you give me your number," he told her, running his finger around the rim of his mug. "Maybe go on another date with me?"
Julie didn't reply at first; she kept him waiting until he looked at her with curious eyes. She kept him on the hook, just enough that for a moment, he wavered in his confidence. "I'd love to give you my number."
He let out an obvious sigh of relief. Julie was definitely going to wreck him in the most beautiful of ways.
"And that date?"
Julie clicked her tongue, monitoring the way his eyes absentmindedly dropped to her lips. "I'll decide that after you walk me home. But your chances are looking pretty good."
A delicious smirk crawled over Luke's mouth, and now it was all Julie could focus on.
"Then I guess I should up my game," he winked, shrugging as he added, "Just in case."
When Luke walked Julie home hours later, she confidently latched onto his hand, mostly just to give him an ego boost because he acted like the perfect gentleman all night. And when he lingered at the door, unsure whether it was too soon to kiss her or not, she leaned up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss dangerously close to the corner of his lips.
"How's next Friday night?"
It took Luke a moment to form the words after that, but he was anxiously waiting for her response.
"I'm off at eight, you know where I'll be." Even with all the coy flirting, she couldn't help but shoot him an excited grin.
Luke stuffed his hands back into his front pockets and started retreating down her walkway. "I'll, uh — I'll text you."
Julie leaned against the front door. "I'll be waiting."
And somehow, after months of pining on both ends, all it took was one attempted theft to bring Luke and Julie together.
It would take a lot more than that to separate them now.
x
taglist: @grootsgillespie || @jayhalsteadcpd || @moreflowersthanweeds || @well-hes-just-too-cute || @echocharm17618 || @leopard-print-slippers || @jandthephantoms || @scribblingfangirl || @n0wornever || @simpformolina || @only-trust-fictional-characters || @snowmione18 || @tellurphantoms || @knitsessed || @elitharavenclaw || @wakeupfantoms || @uselessnerdnherblahg || @katie-navarro || @bookwormswillruletheworld || @lmaohuh || @thatsmyverb || @sophiphi || @kybee1497 || @lukewearingbeanies || @sapphireamethystvsco || @constantly-singing || @helloilovejatp || @your-typical-ingenue || @nonickslander || @s-h-a-d-o-w-s || @asdfghjkl-fanfics |
116 notes · View notes
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Stacy's WIP Self Promo Sunday
Just an FYI, I'm heading to Utah on 6/20 for a much needed vacation with my family. My two current fics, Waterfall Memories and Skyline Manor are all queued up and will post on their normal posting scheduled times. If you haven't checked them out, please do.
This Sunday, I'm diving into my 3 WIP's to show you some progress I've made and a little bit of a tease for each :) These are taking longer to write than my other fics, but I chalk that up to my new job and constant distractions lately.
Thank you all again so much for reading and commenting on my fics, it brings me great joy to know that others enjoy this little stress relief hobby I have taken up as much as I have.
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Void of Extinction -
Chapters written: 6 of 9
Emma woke to the sounds of crying. She jumped up from her spot and reached for her son, pulling him against her chest. “Hush now Henry, mommy’s got you.” Pressing her child to her breast she felt the tug against her nipple as her son quieted. She smiled down at the infant in her arms, her heart aching as she watched him so still against her, as if nothing in the world mattered but his own nourishment.
Emma wished her view of the world were so innocent. But she knew better.
Emma looked around the dark shack she had been hiding in for the last few weeks. She could hear the water on the other end of the door, just on the outskirts of the town line. It would be dangerous if anyone were to find her. She had given up everything to get away from Neal Cassidy. Her safety, comfort, even her future was all gone the instant she escaped the tower that had been her home for the last five years.
Emma knew it was dangerous being outside the protective walls of Storybrooke, those who had been exiled lived on the outskirts, many would not escape the plague once they lost the protections provided behind the walls. Emma knew it all too well, five years ago when the plague first appeared, she had taken ill, she was expected to die quickly, painfully. But after a month, the symptoms subsided, and Emma survived.
Doctors could not explain why Emma survived, only that she had been very lucky.
And then she met Neal. She thought she had finally found someone to share her life with. She was taken in by his father, Gold, a man obsessed with finding the cure to the plague.
His company, The Hive invested in experimenting on anyone who had come down with the plague, valiantly searching for a cure, the perfect gene sample that would save humanity, but his efforts had been fruitless as most of his subjects died before he had completed his experiments.
Emma found him to be odd, even a bit intimidating at times. His obsession with the plague caused her to keep her own situation quiet. She had a feeling if he had known that she had somehow lived through the plague that his interest in her might become more than just the father of the man she lived with.
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Mystery of Pixie Hollow -
Chapters Written: 4 out of 10
“I asked who you are, and you have yet to give me a name.” He growled again in her ear.
“My name’s Emma Swan. I just want to talk to you about your daughter.”
“What do you know about my daughter?”
“I know she went missing just like my son, Henry.” She felt his entire body flinch. “Please, right jacket pocket, there’s a picture of him. I just want to talk.”
She felt him dig into her jacket, pulling the photo free and stepping away from her. He stared at the picture, a frown slipping on his stubbled face. “How old is he?”
“He’s six. He went missing on his birthday a few days ago.”
He was waving the knife around, tucking it under his chin as he talked to himself. “It’s the appropriate age range…makes sense…hmm….few days ago…where were they…went North…” He stopped moving and stared at her. “Storybrooke, not again...”
“I’m sorry?”
“They were in Storybrooke last weekend, correct? The carnival.”
“That’s right, how did you know that?”
“I track their movements, keep an eye on where they go, look up any missing person reports after they leave.” He stepped into the boat, gesturing for her to join him. Emma stood nervously on the pier as he disappeared into the belly of the boat. She looked around at the empty pier. If she went missing now, no one would have any idea where she was.
Shit.
He poked his head up through the stairwell. “Are you coming or not, lass?”
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Love or Duty -
Chapters Written: 8 out of 9
“I’ll do no such thing.” Emma screamed at her father after he announced her upcoming nuptials.
“We don’t have a choice.” Her father countered.
“How dare you make this decision for my life; you swore to me that you would never do that.”
“I’m the King of Misthaven, I have to think about what is right for this kingdom and its people.”
“But what I want doesn’t matter? That’s what he’s saying, Mother.” Emma spun around to face her mother who was sitting on her throne, a frown on her face.
“Emma, it’s our only choice. We need the kingdoms to unite. Your father has to make the difficult decisions for our survival.”
“Oh, this is rich coming from your mouth.” She growled. “If you hadn’t defied grandpa, you’d be married to King Brennan right now!”
“Emma!” Her father’s tone was loud and angry, but she didn’t care in the slightest. She would not be told that she had to give up her life to be tied to a man she did not know or love.
“Emma what?” She snorted. “Don’t speak the truth?”
“This is different.” He paused. “I loved your mother, and she chose me. Her father accepted that. You have yet to find anyone on your own that is up to your standards to marry. And Prince Liam needs a wife.”
“Does Prince Liam want a wife?” She asked defiantly.
“Emma, you are royalty, this is a responsibility that both you and Prince Liam bear. I am sure he understands his role in his family as the Heir Apparent to the throne, as should you.” Her mother scolded.
“I don’t wish to marry.” She pouted and her mother stood from her throne and walked over to Emma, draping her arm around her shoulder.
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i-am-a-mes · 4 years
Text
Blueberry Chapter 3
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Summary: Y/N is fresh out of college with a small job at a newspaper, when she meets Chris Evans. They start a Sugar Daddy/Sugar baby relationship and try to navigate through their feelings, desires and personal obstacles.
Parring: AU Chris Evans x female plus size reader
Warning: Anxiety, panic attack, angst (sorry, have to for plot reasons ;))
A/N: Hi there. So this is my first Chris Evans fic. It’s still a WIP and don’t really have that much of a plan with it. It will be a fluffy, angsty, smutty adventure spiced with some Sugar Daddy, Ddlg and D/s elements. But don’t expect that from the get go though. It’s a slow burn in some elements. I hope you enjoy it and feel free to leave a comment and share!
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Chapter Three:
The door opened and revealed Chris standing by a sleek deep grey car. You know one of those cars you see in spy movies that you don’t believe exist. But my attention was quickly drawn from the vehicle to the man in front of it. 
He was wearing a deep blue suit that fit so well that you would think he was born wearing it. His white button-down was tieless and the first few buttons open. As he adjusted his cufflinks he looked up at me. 
I just stood still and didn’t quite know what to do with myself, so I just kinda stood there taking in this out-of-this world human specimen.
“Y/N! I thought you had bailed on me.” He came up to me and placed a small kiss on my cheek which made my applied blush disappear under the new red one I was sporting
“Uhm.. sorry.. I had to get down from the 5th floor” I looked up at him and blinked a few times.
“Slow elevator?” He asked with a cocked eyebrow.
“Slow legs.. No elevator” I said with a shrug.
“Wauw okay then. Are you ready?” 
He placed his hand behind my back and looked at me with that ever so charming smile.
“As I’ll ever be” 
He threw his head back in laughter and we made our way to the car. He opened the door for me and with a beat in his step he got around to the driver’s side and soon we were off. 
The drive was mostly silent besides the low rumble of the engine and soft music playing on the radio.
“So, have you lived here long?” He asked as we drove through my part of town, the poor and rundown side of town. 
“Well I moved here about 6 months ago, so yes and no” I stole a glance at him as I answered.
“And by that you mean…?” He had a smile in his voice as he asked the question.
“By normal standards 6 months are not that long, but by climbing 5 flights of stairs every day and dealing with my roommate it sure feels like an eternity” 
“A lot to handle maybe?” He asked genuinely with a quick glance my way.
“Yeah, to say the least” I looked defeated out the window as we drove nearer the center of the city.
Girl! Get out of your head. Ask him a question.
“Ahem.. “ I cleared my throat and some of my mind “How about you? Lived in the city for a long time?”
“You can say that. Born and raised in a town called Sudbury outside here of Boston. But I’ve lived here in the city on/off for about 10 years.”
“Oh okay” I nodded and began fiddling with my hands in my lap.
Another silent moment came over the car and before I knew it he was slowing down, and pulled up to a very fancy looking restaurant equipped with a red carpet in front of what looked like valet parking. He parked right in front of the place and quickly came over to my side to help me out of the car, and then tossed the keys to the valet guy. 
I felt his hand on the low of my back as he guided me inside. My nerves were all over the place and my mind kept bringing up the fact I had never in my life been anywhere that was this fancy or expensive.
“Take a breath sweetheart. I can feel your nerves running through you” he leaned down and whispered. I looked up at him to see his million dollar smile, which calmed me while also wounding me up more. 
He gave his name to the hostess who never glanced in my direction and we followed her to a secluded corner with a rounded bench seat and a round table. He guided me in and thanked the hostess who just battered her eyelashes at him and giggled before leaving us.
I slowly pulled off my jacket, and as I did Chris stopped his motion to sit down beside me.
“Wow!” 
“What?” I looked at him like I did something wrong.
“Nothing.. You just look great. Phew!” He smirked and shook his head as he placed himself besides me.
Soon two menus were in our hands and we were trying to decide what to get. I scanned the pages, not understanding much of what it said, only that everything was really… I mean REALLY expensive. 
Fuck! Maybe if I just get a starter as the main course and then some water. Yeah that should be durable. I got that 25 dollars I pulled from my in-case-of-emergency-piggy-bank
I gnawed on my thumb as I stared wide eyed at the options, and before I knew it the waiter was ready to take our orders.
“So what can I get you tonight?” He asked with a perfectly customer friendly voice.
“Ahem.. “I squirmed in my seat “I--I’ll have the tomato salad… and a glass of water. Thank you” I glanced up at the waiter.
“And for the main course Ma’am?”
“Just that please…” I swallowed as my face began heating up.
Chris studied me with intense eyes and then looked at the waiter.
“Will you excuse us for a moment?”
“Of course sir!” He turned and left us alone again.
Chris put down the menus and turned his body so he could get a better look at me.
“Hey Y/N...Are you okay?” 
I dared taking a peek at him before letting out a big sigh.
“Really? You really want to know?”
“Yes, I really do” His stare intensified.
“No I’m not okay. I have never been on a date with a guy like you, and never been to a place like this. I can’t for the hell of it understand why you would want to go on a date with me? Me of all the people you could pick. And I can’t afford any of the stuff, because I work a shitty job that doesn't pay much, but it's in the field of what I want to work at, so I just suck it up. And I don't have time for a second job because they keep giving me small shitty assignments that take up most of my time. And then there’s the 500 dollars I have to get by tonight so my roommate doesn’t kick me out.-- oh oh.. “I began to nervously chuckle “I’m all out of food, so can’t get any before Monday when I get paid, since my last 25 dollars are going to tonight's dinner..so no I’m not okay at the moment” 
My breath was jagged and uneven and I began pulling on the napkin in front of me.
“Easy Y/N. Breaaathe! Come on baby! Take a deep breath!” He placed one hand between my shoulderblades and one on my hands.
“Breathe with me… One..” He searched for my eyes, and as he caught them he made me take a deep breath with him.
“And two…” another one.
“The last one.. Three” His hand made calming circles on my back as he softly grabbed my hands. My eyes locked with his as we took the last big breath together.
“Good girl!” He praised as he lowered his hand to the small of my back, the praise and touch sent a thrill through my body. 
Oh holy shit that gave me the tingles.
“First of all, tonight, it’s on me. Maybe I should have made that clear, my bad. So keep those dollars for a real rainy day” He stated with a small smile and searched for my eyes again. I nodded as I held his eyes for a second.
“Second of all, I think you are absolutely beautiful, sexy and so interesting, so there is no one I would rather be here with than you”
“And thirdly I’m sorry to hear about your work situation. But why don’t you tell me about it and vent for a bit as we enjoy our meal and get to know each other a bit more”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and nodded.
“Sure, I think I can manage that”
Chris waved the waiter over and ordered for the both of us and as the waiter took the menus Chris squeezed my hands as he cast me another dazzling smile, which made me smile in return and even relax a little bit.
Over the course of our dinner we began to talk and really got to know each other. I learned he had three siblings, two sisters and a brother, loved the Patriots, loved to read when he had the time for it, and graduated top of his class at Harvard law. 
I told him about my recent college years and my love for writing and journalism. But whenever he tried to get some family info out of me, I would avoid the question and talk about something else. 
I really don’t want to open that can of worms right now. My anxiety is finally calming down.
After a few tries he seemed like he got the hint, and went on to different subjects. As the night progressed and the bottle of wine we had became empty, it seemed as if the night was over.
“This has been wonderful, Chris. Thank you, and sorry about my little thingy earlier tonight”
“Don’t think about it. And yes it really has been wonderful. But I don’t want the night to end quite yet. Are you up for a little walk?”
He looked me right into my eyes and what felt like my soul and all I could do was smile and say “Absolutely!”
We grabbed our things and went for a walk on the streets of downtown Boston. He had his arm around my waist and held me close to his side as we talked some more. Not before long we ended up in front of a little bakery that was placed in a much smaller brick building than the neighbouring houses. 
“Uhm, Chris, I think they are closed” I looked at him and crooked an eyebrow.
“Well, I might have pulled a few strings” He answered with a cheeky wink and knocked on the glass door.
A light went on in the small store, and an elderly woman walked up to the door with a big smile on her face, as she saw me and Chris and opened the door. 
“Ah Chris! My boy! Just on time.. By about 30 minutes” She exclaimed in a high pitched Boston accent as she pulled him down for a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“Well you know how it is, Mrs.Kent, time flies when you are in good company” which made him pull me up besides him.
“Mrs. Kent, let me introduce you to Y/N. Y/N, Mrs.Kent. The best baker in Boston”
I went to shake her hand, but was surprised when the old lady pulled me into a hug.
“Oh how good to meet you girly! Come in! Come in. Everything is ready for you” She yanked me towards her, and I frantically looked back at Chris, who held his hand up to his chest and threw his head back in laughter, probably caused by my confused and shocked look by what was going on. 
Mrs. Kent dragged me through the entire bakery to a back door, with me casting continued glances at Chris. Mrs. Kent talked the whole way out, but I didn’t really register what she was saying as I was utterly confused. Suddenly the back door opened and my mouth dropped. A little courtyard filled with plants of all sizes and types, and with fairy lights covering every part of the top and walls. In the middle a small table stood with two cushioned chairs and with a small candle on top of a white embroidered tablecloth.
I turned around to see Chris coming up behind me and he grabbed my hand.
“Wauw.. Chris.. This is amazing!” I was in complete awe. 
“And it’s all for you sweetheart” He whispered so close to my ear that I felt his hot breath on my skin, giving me goosebumps. He placed me in the seat of one of the chairs, and scooted closer to me as Mrs. Kent returned with a small plate. 
“There you go, your dessert. Enjooooy” She said in a sing song smile as she walked back inside.
On the little mint green plate was a blueberry muffin. The most delicious and tasty looking muffin I have ever laid eyes on. Two small dessert forks lay beside it, and Chris picked one up and took a piece of the cake on it, before lifting it up to my lips.
“Open up” He smiled a wicked smile at me and held my eyes as I did as he told me. He placed the fork gently in my mouth and as soon as the soft spongy bit touched my tongue I closed my lips around the fork and closed my eyes and enjoyed the wonderful amazing tasty bite. 
“Mmmhmm! That is amazing” I slowly opened my eyes to find Chris staring at my lips and face with his lips slightly agape.
“It sure is” He stated in a soft whisper with somewhat dilated pupils. I couldn't help but turn a slight pink under his stare.
"So Y/N. I want to talk to you about something. It might be weird for you, but just hear me out, okay?"
"Ehm.. sure?" I hesitated, not knowing where this was going.
"You see, I'm a very busy man and my work fills up a lot of my time, so to have the time to find someone special, someone like you, is very rare for me" he took my hands in his "and I would love nothing more than to dive deeper into you and me, but my life as it is prevents that. So.." he took a breath and looked at me, studying my features "so I want to work out a compromise that hopefully can benefit both of us. I have enough money for a lifetime, but nothing or no one to spend it on and.. maybe you could help me with that" He looked away almost shyly before catching my gaze again.
"... I don't think I understand, Chris?" I swallowed hard, feeling on fire under his touch and stare.
"Hehe.. right. I want to start a sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship with you"
"WHAT????" 
I was in utter shock. This wasn't even on my radar of things that could happen. 
Oh my god! How stupid was I to think Chris Evans would want an actual relationship with me. 
I'm only good for what… arm candy? Sex escapades? No no no… 
This is not how I expected this night to go. Maybe a goodnight kiss and if I was lucky a second date. Not being asked to be a fucking sugar baby!? 
Do I look that desperate?
“Y/N… Hey Y/N… “ Chris tried to regain eye contact with me, while my mind completely took over and ran a mile a minute. “Sweetheart, look at me” Nerves could be heard in his voice.
Suddenly I turned to him and stared right at him with tears filling my eyes.
“Wow, Y/N calm down. Listen listen… I just wanted to..”
“Oh I’m perfectly aware of what you wanted.” I exclaimed in sadness and somewhat rage. “And to think I really thought I had a chance with someone like you, I guess I really am stupid” This was spoken with much more sadness and merely as a whisper as I got up from the table.
“Wait Y/N!” Chris went to grab my hand as I began to walk away, but I pulled it to me before he could get a grip on it. “What, Chris? What did you really think I would say to this… this lewd proposal…? Huh?” I straightened my back and glared at him, sniffled a little before continuing “You think I would absolutely love being.. Being a whore for you and your money? I couldn't care less about how much money you got. I thought you were a good man, a man I could really fall for. Turns out you just want a little plaything to toss money at. I might not be rich or have the best job, but I’m not selling myself for some coin and a dick!” 
I turned before I could see his reaction. I just knew I had to leave before I completely broke down. My anxiety was going up by the seconds. 
Breathe girl! Just till you get to the streets to find a way home.
I ran through the little bakery, past a very confused Mrs. Kent.
“Oh dear, where’s the fire?” She yelled as I ran towards the front door. The streetlights brought a yellow somber atmosphere as I looked up and down the street for a cab or bus stop. The moment my feet stood still for a second, tears filled my eyes as I angrily wiped them from my cheeks as they rolled down.
Behind me I could hear the little bell ring from the door of the bakery and soon Chris’ words reached me.
“Y/N WAIT!” 
I just shook my head as I pulled my jacket tight around me and began walking. His heavy footsteps could be heard behind me faster and faster as he caught up with me. 
“Y/N”.. he grabbed my shoulders to turn me around to face him, but I just kept staring at my feet. 
“Listen.. Shit” He dragged his hand across his face and then put a finger under my chin to lift my face up to meet his. My eyes was still drawn downwards.
“I fucked that whole thing up big time! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean for it to sound like I was buying you or something. Trust me!” 
“Well it did!” I answered in a small sobbing voice.
“I know! And holy shit I’m sorry for that! It was never my intention to make you feel like that. Please let me explain better. Let’s go back to the courtyard” He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and began taking a step forward.
“No” I stood still.
“Chris, I want to go home. Please”
He looked at me with regret written all over his face and sighed.
“Alright. But I’m driving you home. Not up for debate”
I barely gave a nod, and he pulled me towards his car, which I had no idea how he got to the bakery from the restaurant. 
The drive back to my place was silent. I just kept myself tucked up against my door, glancing out the window at the city lights passing by.
“Y/N please believe me when I say I’m sorry! I just thought…”
“It’s okay Chris. Let’s just write this off as a bad date and leave it at that” My eyes stayed tuned on the passing streets as I answered him. I heard him say a whispered “fuck” under his breath. 
As soon we came to a stop in front of my apartment building I unbuckled and got out. 
“Bye Chris. Thanks for dinner” I cast a quick glance at him before getting out of the car.
“Wait.. Shit!” Chris struggled with his seat belt, and when he finally got out of the car I was almost at the door.
“Y/N… just hold up for a second”
He ran up to me, and for some God knows what reason I lingered at the door.
I just looked at him, a proper mess with makeup down my face.
“I really am sorry. I really hope you would consider giving me another chance, even though I don’t deserve it. Arrh! I just fucked this up majorly!”
“I don’t know what to say, Chris. I don’t know if I can, since I’m obviously not the kind of girl you are after. Goodnight, Chris, and drive home safe”
I gave him a sad small smile and went inside. I made it up the first flight of stairs before the tears began dripping down my face again.
How could I be so stupid?
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novantinuum · 3 years
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Fandom: Steven Universe
Rating: General Audiences
Words: 1.6K~
Summary: The question— incomplete, and yet bursting with long-held curiosity— emerges from thin air while he’s about to tuck Steven into bed in the back of the van one night.
In retrospect, no parenting book could’ve ever prepared him for this one.
A Greg and Steven focused fic, set when Steven is freshly four. This is one of those I had on the poll a month or so back, ahah! Finally finished it. Apologies for the wait. The good news is that my list is now whittled down to three non-Crack the Paragon WIPS! Woo! That’s rather exciting.
There’s some brief meta rambles on the AO3 version. If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3. Thank you! <3
____
“Where’s yours, Daddy?”
The question— incomplete, and yet bursting with long-held curiosity— emerges from thin air while he’s about to tuck Steven into bed in the back of the van one night.
In retrospect, no parenting book could’ve ever prepared him for this one.
“My...?” Smiling encouragingly, he lets the word dangle unfinished in the air for a moment, and gestures to try and prompt the little tyke to continue. “My what, kiddo? My... pajamas?” he says, pointing towards each item his kid bears in succession. “My... stuffed tiger? My very own... tickle monster?!”
In the spirit of good-hearted mischief, Greg tousles his boy’s dark, flyaway curls. When he then moves his hands to tickle his sides, Steven breaks into delighted peals of laughter, squirming nonstop.
“Noooooo,” he giggles breathlessly, batting his small pudgy hands at him to stop the affectionate onslaught. “No tickles, your gem! Like mine! You ‘aven’t never showed it.”
In an instant, the small universe encapsulated inside their van freezes, and he goes momentarily slack-jawed as he struggles to process the words that just came out of his son’s mouth.
“My- w-where’s my gem?”
He lets out a low chuckle at the absurd thought— imagine that, him, having a gem of his own! Where on Earth did his kid acquire this notion? And then... his memory can’t help but drift back to a few hours earlier, when Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl spent a mission-free day with Steven on the beach, surrounded by all manners of summer tourists. Humans coexisting amongst Gems, most entirely nonplussed by their otherworldly appearances. Steven was eagerly padding across the shore in his brand new swim trunks— the pair he received for his birthday just a week ago— the quartz gem at his navel on proud display. Midway through the afternoon, though, the kiddo seemed to become strangely preoccupied by all the human beachgoers. He’d glance at people’s faces, their sternums, their exposed navels, and then scowl in confusion. At one point he excitedly ran up to a dark skinned young woman with hair like Garnet’s to give her a high-five, and returned puzzled, his lips pressed in a thin line. At the time, Greg didn’t understand what all of his bewildered, curious gawking was about, and quietly instructed him not to bother other people. But now, given this latest comment, a theory builds in his mind... oh stars, was he looking for their gems?
Did he somehow assume both from his own and from his frequency of interaction with Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl that everyone had one hidden somewhere?
Swallowing, he deliberately makes it a point to mask his nervousness about this topic in front of his impressionable four-year-old child as best he can. Oh, boy. They haven’t had this sort of conversation yet. He always kinda feared it was coming, coursing towards him like a tidal wave faster and faster with each passing moment, but never in a million years did he imagine this moment would be tonight. And now, his tongue dry as a stone in his mouth, he finds himself at a complete loss for words. As best he knows, there’s no one else even remotely like Steven in the entire universe. How does one even convey this concept to their child in terms they’d understand?
Because even if he— ignoring the rose quartz gemstone embedded flush with his skin where a typical kid’s belly button would be— looks the part, Steven isn’t human. That much is obvious. That’s simply a fact. Humans don’t glow as babies. They don’t grow so ramrod still while sleeping that they appear like they’re not breathing at all. They can’t casually lift double their body weight at the tender age of four. Not to mention, in all his years of life thus far, he’s never gotten sick. Never gotten a scrape or cut that didn’t heal up completely in less than an hour. Not once. There’s no way that’s by mere coincidence, Greg muses, there’s gotta be another reason. He’s gotta have some sort of mega-boosted immune system or something, or magically healing cells. No branch of human science can successfully justify the alien nuances of his son’s existence. He just... is. He’s a walking miracle, the light of his life.
Steven’s never been a normal child, that’s for sure.
But how is a father supposed to lovingly and sensitively explain this to innocent ears?
“I, erm- I don’t have one of those, bud,” he says slow, still desperately sorting through his thoughts to figure out what else to say about this.
The kid stubbornly wriggles free from his arms, lifting up the bottom hem of his baggy pajama shirt to showcase the glittering pink gemstone resting at the center of his belly. “But I got one, an’ Amethyst an’ Pearl got one, an’ Garnet, she- guess what,” he says in an attempt at a whisper, wide eyed as if he’s about to impart some sacred knowledge. “She even got two gems!”
“That’s right, she does have two gems!” he nods, only barely holding back his chuckle at the hilarious solemnity of his kid’s proclamation. “But Steven, not everyone has ‘em like you and them. It’s something unique to the four of you. Y’see, they are Gems, just like me and everyone else in town are humans. It’s, um—“ his speech falters as he struggles to find words someone so young could possibly begin to understand— “it’s sorta just who they are.”
The corners of Steven’s mouth turn downwards in an exaggerated pout, and it’s immediately obvious that this blind, clumsy attempt at an explanation didn’t satisfy him one bit. Greg leans back against the inner siding of the van, gently tugging at a strand of his hair as he scours his mind for any potential solutions to this parenting quandary.
Think, think, think... How does one connect this topic to things such a young kid might understand?
“Listen, uh...” he begins again, marked hesitation tinting his voice. “Pearl’s been teaching you about bugs lately, right?”
However, if Steven— bless his heart— happened to notice his heightened nervousness, he sure doesn’t let it show on his face, instead enthusiastically jumping to answer his question.
“Uh-huh!” he nods, and then proceeds to happily babble about what he’s learned, flapping his hands in front of him as he does so. “She tells me all about bumble bees an’ stick bugs, an’ these...” His brow creases as he pauses, combing his memory for the right words. “...fuzzy worms? But they aren’t worms, ‘cause they sleep for really super long and then, then they get wings and fly away!”
He can’t help but smile at his son’s animation about this subject. He soaks up knowledge like a sponge, that’s for sure. Between Pearl and him, they’ve been trying to introduce him to some of the basics lately, stuff kids his age should know. Like reading, and writing, and counting, and music, and basic science. Pearl does the math and science, (those classes were never his wheelhouse in school), and he takes care of everything else. Given, erm... given their kinda strained history, they don’t exactly collaborate on lesson plans, but so far the arrangement seems to be working out okay. Steven’s having fun, at least, which is all that matters in the end.
“Oooh, caterpillars and butterflies, huh?” he says, reaching for the thick blanket folded up against the side wall of the van. “Well, y’wanna learn a cool new thing?”
His son bobs his head, his eyes glittering.
“All those bugs you named?” he begins, unfolding the blanket for the two of them as he goes. “They’re each types of completely different creatures, or, different species, we call ‘em. And humans and Gems, they’re types of species too. And every species has something that makes them unique, different from everything else. You know how all those bugs have special things the others don’t have, like the bumble bees and their stripes, and those caterpillars’ fuzz?”
“Yeah!”
“Well, that’s what it’s like for humans and Gems, too! Garnet and Amethyst and Pearl and you, you all have gemstones, just like yours right here,” he says, tapping a gentle finger over the rose quartz embedded at his midsection. Steven lets out a small giggle at the contact. “That’s your special thing as Gems, something humans don’t have.”
“What’ve humans have?” he asks in curiosity, tilting his head.
Greg purses his lips, his fingers subconsciously massaging the blanket’s rough, time-worn surface as he considers the elements that— from personal experience— he’d consider essential to human life. “Hmm. Well, let’s see... I guess... humans eat, and sleep, and grow from babies all the way until they’re adults. Gems don’t age. They don’t really... do any of that.”
“But I can do that!” he whines, brows creasing.
“Hm?”
“I thought you jus’ said I’m a Gem?”
Greg’s breath stills upon the deliverance of this pointed question, spoken with such youthful innocence, and yet wholly capable of penetrating through every layer of his ill-formed logic. He swallows hard. Once again, he is not prepared. He likely never could be.
His son... oh, his beloved Steven. Without meaning to, he keeps ignoring the inherent humanity that sets this boy apart from the rest of the Gems. He’s similar to them in many respects, yes, but he’s also not. He’s both, but...
He’s also neither.
He’s unique from everyone, his own thing altogether. Something entirely new.
Quite honestly, the best word he can grasp at to describe him is hybrid.
And while at this present moment he has no idea if he’s doing his son a disservice, othering him from the rest of humanity at such a tender age, he figures that he at least deserves to know the truth.
“You’re kinda- uh, both, at once, actually,” he clarifies, these very words acting as a beacon to clarify a wide range of once deep-seeded assumptions in his mind. “Gem and human. You’ve got special things from both sides, how funky is that?”
“Huh.” Steven mulls this new information over, and then flashes a toothy grin. “That's cool!”
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skinsharpenedteeth · 3 years
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NYE Malex prompt fill
A thousand, thousand years ago @mander3-swish sent me a prompt for a list for quote “Can we pretend never said that?” and i have literally had the WIP in my docs every since. Well, today I FINALLY wrote out a little story for the prompt. I am *SO* sorry it took this long to fill it. I hope you enjoy it!
Story under the cut, or feel free to check it out on AO3.
              The crowded main floor of the UFO Emporium felt claustrophobic to Alex as more and more people were packed into the already filled space. The room was dark with strobes and lasers cutting through the air while techno remixes of the Top 100 boomed over the speaker system. New Year’s Eve and he was alone once again. Alex tugged on the collar of his shirt and made his way over to the bar that was set up in the center of the room. Maria was behind it with Max and Liz slinging drinks for everyone. He caught Liz’s attention and she nodded, finishing up the beer she was pouring and getting started on something for him. He turned and let leaned his elbows back onto the bar as he surveyed the crowd and surreptitiously looked for someone relatively quiet to hide out.
              “Are you cruising for a hook up?” A familiar voice asked next to his ear and Alex jumped to stand up straight as he turned to look at Michael. Michael looked… good. His jeans were clean but worn, his belt buckle was alarmingly prominent at his waist, and as per usual, he’d neglected to button half the buttons on his shirt, but he looked sober and there was a light in his eyes that Alex hadn’t seen in months. A beat too late, Alex scoffed at Michael’s remark and tried to act like he hadn’t just spent that awkward second checking Guerin out. He hadn’t seen him this close in a while and it was tragic how starved he felt to take in every detail of him now that he was near.
              “I don’t know, are you?” Alex asked, trying to sound snarky but hearing the flirtatious edge to his voice instead. Michael raised his eyebrows at him, and Alex flushed in embarrassment. “Can we please pretend I never said that?”
              “Sure,” Michael agreed easily, though he still looked Alex over with interest. Liz came over and set down two drinks in front of them, barely sparing them a smile before turning to start making her next customer’s order. Alex picked up his double shot of bourbon and coke and took a slow sip, trying not to obviously appreciate the way Michael’s lips wrapped around the lip of his beer bottle. It was always like this for Alex, stolen glances and awkward encounters. Public interaction was never their forte and he knew he shouldered a lot of blame for that.
              “So, who are you here with? Forrest?” Michael asked over the music, having to lean close as another song started and the bass seemed to drown out everyone’s individual voices. Alex shook his head in response, getting another sip of his drink before leaning close to Michael’s ear to respond.
              “I’m supposed to be here with Greg. At least, he’s my ride,” Alex answered. Michael looked at him in confusion and Alex shrugged.
              “I’m pretty sure he’s with Isobel and Kyle. Want to get out of here?” Michael responded, but Alex only caught half of what he said.
              “What?” Alex yelled, trying to be heard over the music. Michael opened his mouth to respond, but when the DJ started in on the foghorn button he scowled. With a tilt of his head, he beckoned Alex to follow him away from the bar. They left their drinks behind as they started to push away from the center of the room. The crowd quickly started to swallow him, and Alex lost Michael for a moment as he tried to navigate around the drunks with their stupid New Years Eve tiaras and top hats. He stopped and looked around, trying to spot the honey brown curls that usually led him straight to Michael, but he couldn’t see anything. His brain started to panic a little until he felt an abnormally warm hand close of his. He looked to his right and there was Michael smiling softly at him. This time when Michael set off, he kept Alex’s hand in his as he wormed his way through the bustle of revelers. Alex concentrated on the strength of his fingers and the warm shot of electricity that danced through him at Michael’s touch. A simple touch probably shouldn’t have meant that much, but since his breakup with Forrest, Alex had been isolating himself and it was possible he’d become more than a little touch starved because of it.
              Michael led them to one of the far walls and just when Alex thought that was as far as they’d go, he was pulled through a door marked “No Admittance” and pulled into a service hallway. Michael locked the door behind them and kept pulling Alex along the hallway further away from the main room even though the hallway was easily quiet enough for them to speak without having to yell. Having worked for the Emporium before the fire, Alex was pretty sure this was the hallway that would lead them back to the backstage area. A sharp right turn put them into the area where the large travel cases for the rented stereo equipment was stored. Alex was about to ask them where Michael was taking them when he pushed open an unmarked door and they ended up in one of the back storage rooms. The light was dim, but it was almost silent amongst the alien props and discarded display cases and office furniture. Michael finally dropped Alex’s hand and took his phone out of his pocket.
              “We have ten minutes until midnight,” Michael announced, shoving the phone back into his pants. Alex opened and closed his mouth a few times in confusion. Michael was looking unsure, bashful even as he watched Alex watch him. Alex didn’t know what they were doing so he shrugged and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
              “What are we doing in here, Michael?” Alex asked, looking around at the dusty remains of the old emporium that was stacked around them.
              “Do you know the superstition that whatever you’re doing on New Years will trend for the following year?” Michael asked in lieu of answering Alex’s question. Alex furrowed his brow but nodded, watching Michael swallow nervously as he stepped closer to Alex. Alex could feel the heat of him even a foot away. Even nervous, he still looked like he was the silver lining of Alex’s fucked up life since returning to Roswell. Michael reached forward and gently removed Alex’s hands from his pockets and then held them in his own.
              “I really just wanted to be with you when the ball dropped. I know its stupid, but I want a better year next year and I’m hoping it means seeing a lot more of you,” Michael confessed quietly, eyes trained on Alex’s hands in his. Alex felt like the breath had been knocked out of him at Michael’s words, but he closed his hands over Michael’s and squeezed in silent agreement.
              “So you stole me away to hide in what amounts to a large storage closet?” Alex asked, smiling a little at the unintentional irony. Michael, however, looked stricken at the observation.
              “Fuck, no. That’s not what I meant to… I just figured this was, uh… more romantic than a bathroom stall?” Michael countered, smiling a little when Alex started chuckling at his explanation.
              “Oh, option two was a bathroom stall? Damn, Guerin, not that I don’t appreciate you sparing me the scent of urine cakes, but…” Alex trailed off as he pointedly looked around their surroundings.
              “Fuck, we don’t speak for a while and I always forget what an asshole you are,” Michael laughed, taking his hands from Alex’s and pushing his chest playfully. “Jesus, you’re so mean.”
              “Well, what do you really want next year, Michael? Because you’ve got...,” Alex looked at his watch before continuing, “…3 minutes.”
              Michael looked at him thoughtfully, bottom lip trapped between his teeth, and Alex found himself holding his breath as he waited for Michael to speak. Alex opened his mouth again to say something snarky, arm coming up so he could check the time again, and Michael moved forward in a flash. He walked Alex back the two steps until he was against the cold metal door and his hands came up to pin Alex’s wrists. He wasn’t hurting Alex and he didn’t look angry as he did it.
              “This isn’t a closet, it’s somewhere private. It’s somewhere I can kiss you like I always want to kiss you and not just in the ways that are socially appropriate,” Michael breathed against Alex’s lips before making good on his word. It wasn’t a sweet, chaste peck that would be fine for friends and family, or even a long, smoldering open mouthed caress that would be fine for New Years Eve on the dance floor surrounded by hundreds of other people doing the same. It was a rough and ardent, tongue searching every inch of Alex’s mouth, teeth nipping at lips, only rough half breaths through noses permitted type of kiss. It was the only kind of kiss that made Alex glad Michael had pinned his wrists to the door, because his body wanted to surrender and wanted to writhe and take, take, take. Faintly Alex could hear the throbbing yells of the crowd counting down in the main room, but his heart was beating so much faster and it felt too slow to him to be real. Michael let go of his wrists, hands sliding down to grab Alex’s waist and pull him flush against Michael’s body. With his hands free, Alex tangled his hands in Michael’s curls, making fists of them and tugging gently the way he knew drove Michael crazy. He wanted the volume between them turned up to eleven. He’d missed this undeniable connection between the two of them.
              When they had to part, had to press their foreheads together and gulp down air, Alex unclenched his hands and let them slide down to grip the open sides of Michael’s shirt.
              “Happy New Year,” Michael breathed, Cheshire grin in place even as he kept panting.
              “Yeah. Happy New Year. Fuck,” Alex replied, voice slightly awed.
              “You wanna go somewhere else even more private?” Michael suggested, hands slipping under the hem of Alex’s shirt to grasp at the smooth muscles at his waist.
              “Not until you and I go on a real first date. I’m going to teach you about romance through immersion,” Alex said, punctuating his statement with a soft kiss that made his toes curl just as much as the previous, hungry kisses had. Michael returned it, his hands sliding up Alex’s back before he moved and tucked his face into the hollow between Alex’s shoulder and neck. It took Alex a moment to realize that Michael was hugging him, but when his brain finally came back online, he wrapped his arms around Michael’s shoulder and kissed his neck and ear lightly. “Let’s make sure this trends for us this year, yeah?”
              Michael nodded against him and it felt like maybe they were finally in a place to do it right that time. This had to be a better year.
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pappydaddy · 3 years
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Ghost of You ii (f.w.)
A/N: Here is a part two for Ghost of You (Requested by the lovely @lovenonymously​!). I didn’t know which way to go with this so I kinda mashed up some of the suggestions in the request to create this! Hope you enjoy!! 
Pairing: Fred x Fem!Reader
Movie/TV Show: Harry Potter
Trigger Warnings: Character death, angst, sadness, some fluffy memories, recovery, a mention of alcoholism (recovering).
Part One | Part Two - You’re here!
masterlist | taglist | wips | navigation - my gif -
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  His breath was taken away from him the second she stepped into the moonlight. The purple dress she wore was just an ordinary dress like she always wore but then again, she always managed to take his breath away. He could only manage a smile as their eyes connected, her making her way to where he was standing, the moonlight glowing against her skin like a goddess. “Hello, Freddie.” She giggled, her bare feet stopping to stand in front of him, her dress blowing ever so slightly in the spring breeze that blew past them. 
  “Hello, Love.” He was finally able to find the correct words in the hectic jumble that was his mind. The fact that he managed to find a girl as sweet and beautiful as the one that stood in front of him boggled his mind. Despite them being so young, he knew that she was the one and that he was truly and madly in love with her. 
  “I didn’t know what you had planned so I just threw a dress on,” She spoke in an apologetic tone, looking down at her floral dress bashfully. “I don’t even have makeup on or my hair done.” 
  “You look perfect to me,” Fred whispered, thinking he talked low enough that she wouldn’t hear him. When she snapped her head back up to look at his face, the redness in her cheeks evident in the pale moonlight, he knew she had heard him. He blushed himself, trying to recover from that slip-up. She was the only girl that left the infamous flirt Fred Weasley sheepish. “You really do look perfect.” He spoke these words firmer, stepping closer to her to close the gap between them, his hands settling on her waist. 
  “I look like I just rolled out of bed, which I did because you wanted to meet at midnight. I had to go to bed so someone didn’t rat me out of breaking curfew.” She smiled lightly, though she had felt like she was in no shape to be seen by anyone with her hair falling in her natural waves and makeup-less face, Fred made those pesky butterflies swirl in her stomach with every look he gave her.
  “You’re a Hufflepuff, nobody would rat you out,” Fred spoke over the silence of the night as he swayed them back and forth in a slow dance, turning in a small circle to the beat of the imaginary music in his head. “They’re all too loyal.“ She snorted at this, the sound beautiful to him, but a flaw to her. She slapped her hand over her mouth, embarrassed that she had done that in front of him despite how long they had been dating. 
  Fred laughed, pulling her hand away from her face gently, his fingers interlacing with hers while his other hand kept a hold of her waist, her hand falling back to rest on his shoulder. The pair swayed gently, the blades of grass tickling their feet but they didn’t mind. Suddenly, he spun her out - shocking her for a second before her giggles filled the night air. The image moved in slow motion in his mind. Her dress flaring up, her hair whipping around, the large smile on her glowing face. He pulled her back into him, her body clumsily pressing against his as she stumbled a little, her hand resting against his chest before sliding up to rest on his shoulder again.  
  Silence surrounded them as they just enjoyed each other's company. Enjoying the rhythm of their beating hearts, the feeling that crawled beneath their skin from their skin touching, the swirling in their stomachs, the sheer happiness they felt. “What do you think life after Hogwarts will be like,” She posed the question, her voice softer than anything Fred has ever experienced. “I hope we still have dates like this.” 
  “We’ll have dates like this and many different dates, I will never pass on an opportunity to take you on a date.” He gazed down at her as she laid her head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. 
  “And when we get married, it’s nice and intimate, not a big wedding that’s too crowded,” She continued to think of their future, not even doubting that they would be forever. “We will live in a cottage-style house that’s nice and cozy with a beautiful garden that our kids can play in. It won’t be too far from The Burrow so that we can visit your family easily and George won’t be too far either since it wouldn’t be right to not see him every day.” 
  “But we won’t live too close to Mum and Dad, will we,” He asked nervously. “I love my mum, but I don’t think I could survive with her dropping by all the time, a couple needs their alone time.” He spoke with his normal amount of cheekiness in his voice and she could basically see the wink he undoubtedly sent her. 
  “Not too close to your parents so that you can have alone time with me, got it,” She nodded, pulling her head off his chest to peer up at the tallboy. “I’ll write it in my new journal when I get back to my room.” She told him, barely getting the words out before his lips collided with hers, nearly knocking her over by the sheer force and urgency of the kiss. Once she regained her balance, she giggled against his lips, kissing him back in a way that made him melt. 
  Fred sighed as he slowly floated back into reality, his shaking hands picking up the journal he was staring at. The brown leather covers tied closed with a matching string. It was in the same pristine condition it was in when she first got it from her mother. It was intended for her to write about all the day’s activities to keep as a portal to her Hogwarts years, but it turned into her planning her future, writing it all down on the pages. The only thing that looked different about it was the edges of the pages were turning a bit yellow where she had accidentally spilt a bit of water on them. He didn’t dare open it, he was barely managing to move her things back into their rightful places. Instead, he slipped it into its place on her bookshelf in between her old school textbooks she held onto for reference sake. 
  “Fred,” George poked his head into the room as Fred turned his back towards the bookshelf. “Dinner’s ready, come sit and rest. You don’t have to put everything away tonight.” 
  “I’ll be right out, I just have to put one thing back in here.” Fred told him. With an understanding nod, George pulled his head out of Fred’s room to saunter back into the kitchen to prepare the table. He moved across the room to the dresser, picking up the old tube of strawberry chapstick she had left there, shuffling over to the nightstand on her side of the room. Opening the drawer, he neatly placed it among the other neatly placed objects that filled the drawer. With one last look around the room, Fred pushed the drawer closed before making his way out of the room to his waiting brother. 
  “How’d it go?” George asked when he noticed Fred rounding the corner. George placed the two full plates on the table next to the two glasses of water that were already placed in the spots. Fred shrugged, settling down in the seat George didn’t take, looking down at the plate George had prepared for him. 
  “Good, I’ve got everything where it’s supposed to be except the closet, but there isn’t much to do there.” Fred answered him, picking up his fork to eat some vegetables. George hummed, taking a swig of his water, nodding slightly. 
  “Are you going to do that tomorrow? I think you should, Dr. Smith said not to do too much at once,” George reminded him. Fred had taken so long to place the few things back to where they belonged in the bedroom. “And maybe I can help you with your bathroom, the shop is closed tomorrow.” He suggested, knowing that Fred wouldn’t want to do it all alone. 
  “That would be great, I could use the help to clean the bathroom anyway, it’s a bit cluttered.” He told George after chewing all his food. 
  “Then it’s settled, we’ll tackle the bathroom tomorrow and maybe my bathroom while we’re at it - it could use a good cleaning as well.” George slid that in there, earning a laugh from Fred. There had been only a few moments when Fred had laughed recently, once being when Ron had managed to slip on a sheet of ice three times and the others from little comments George has made that he never really thinks of. 
  “Your bathroom needs to burnt and rebuilt, you never clean it,” Fred pointed out, turning his nose up in disgust at the thought of his brother’s bathroom. “After we clean the bathrooms, maybe we could get some takeout? With tacking your bathroom onto the to-do list, we’re bound to be too exhausted to even think about cooking anything.” 
  “Sure, Fred, whatever you want,” George smiled down at his plate, the smile going unnoticed by Fred who continued to talk. His brother was finally acting more like himself. His footsteps were lighter when he walked, his lopsided smile could be seen on his face more often. He has even been able to come down into the shop and work for a few hours at a time, interacting merrily with customers. Fred had a while to go before he was fully back to himself, but he was slowly getting there. George couldn’t help but to wonder what the new Fred will be like. If he would find another person to love or if Fred having a certain amount of soulmates was real. Either way, he knew that Fred was going to be alright, no matter what being healed looked like for him. He knew that he wasn’t skipping out on appointments anymore to drink, in fact, Fred hasn’t even as much as thought of a drink for at least six months and George had aided his brother in his mission of sobriety - quitting drinking himself to stand alongside his brother in his path to recovery. George looked back up at Fred as he took a break in his story about a new product he thought of yesterday to eat some of his dinner. A loose smile played on George’s mouth as he took his brother in. “I love you, Fred.”  
  Fred looked up at George, chewing his food before answering. “I love you too, Georgie,” He replied, taking a drink of his water. “But anyway, I was thinking-” He launched back into his pitch, George nodding as he listened, happy to have his brother back. He wasn’t scared of losing someone without them knowing he loved them anymore, but he certainly made it a routine to tell the people he loved that he loved them at least once a day. 
  He still felt the ghost of you lingering around beside him, but it didn’t bring him sadness anymore. Your ghostly presence provided him with comfort and strength, knowing that you were still with him in spirit. He also knew that someday, when it was meant to happen, you two would reunite in some way. He hoped that you two would spend your days in the afterlife as ghosts, terrorizing people with pranks and practical jokes. No matter what would happen, Fred was sure that he was going to live his life to the fullest until that day for that was what he knew you wanted for him.                 
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