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suddenlybambi · 11 months

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as long as you stay here [2] ♥ kyle broflovski

pairing : kyle broflovski x reader

college AU - 18+

tags : strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff, angst, alcohol, afab reader, she/her pronouns, eventual smut

words : 3.1k

chapter 2

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a/n - time to meet kyle 😈

“When you said a dress that shows off my ass, I didn’t expect for it to just be hanging out,” Y/N stood, awkwardly trying to see just how much cheek people could see. Bebe had chosen a dark green velvet dress that didn’t leave much to the imagination.

“Just a little bit!” Bebe smiled, wrapping her arms around her friend’s waist from behind and giving her a hug. “Give people a teaser.”

“A teaser for what? When I’m drunk, and the whole thing is on show?”

“Exactly! Now, come on; I need you to help me with my hair.” Bebe led Y/N out of the bedroom and directly into the bathroom while Clyde lounged on their crappy old thrifted couch, flicking through Netflix. He didn’t look at them as they snuck past behind him.

“What? You don’t trust your boyfriend to do it?”

“Yesterday, he thought my curling iron was a dildo.”

“If you’re brave enough, it can be.”

“I’m never leaving you alone with my curling iron again.”

“You never leave me alone with it anyway,” Y/N mumbled as she carefully separated Bebe’s hair to start curling pieces. She knew exactly how Bebe liked her hair on nights out as she was often the one to do it for her in exchange for Bebe bringing her back whatever takeout she drunkenly picked up on the way home at 3am.

“Because you keep on trying to make the perfect grilled cheese with it,” Bebe rolled her eyes. “We have a sandwich press.”

“Correction, Wendy has a sandwich press. She took it with her to Stan’s.”

“So you use my curling iron instead?”

“Only to get those perfect little stripes on it! I use the regular clothes iron for cooking the rest because there is way more surface area. I’m not completely crazy.”

“Our stovetop is next on the list to be repaired when we’ve saved up, right?” Bebe asked as Y/N finished the final little curls that framed her face. Their stovetop had broken a week into living in their apartment, and Y/N wasn’t going to even attempt to mess with it as she did with the plumbing. They had been living on takeout and microwave food. “Then we can use a frying pan like normal people.”

“Or we could buy more curling irons and start a whole production line? Sell the sandwiches, get rich, get bitches, go wild.”

“Are you done in there?” Clyde called out from the other side of the bathroom door.

“We’re almost done!” Bebe shouted back.

“Why are you both in there?”

“We’re having sex!” Y/N answered before Bebe could, trying desperately to hold back her laughter.

“We’re doing our hair and makeup!” Bebe ignored Y/N’s claims, which she was having none of.

“That’s girl code for having sex!” Y/N elaborated, earning a light smack on the arm from Bebe. She opened the door to see a very confused Clyde waiting.

“Ignore her,” Bebe gestured back at Y/N. “We’re done anyway.”

“If you leave the t-” Y/N started to warn Clyde that she would castrate him if he left the toilet seat up, which she had once threatened Stan with, but Bebe slapped her hand over her mouth before she could.

“Don’t talk about leaving the toilet seat up around him; it’s a sensitive topic,” She whispered, trying not to let Clyde hear.

“How is- you know what? I’m not going to ask,” Y/N shrugged it off. “Every story I’ve heard from South Park is weird, and that’s coming from someone whose town mayor was openly involved in ritualistic sacrifices and still kept on getting voted in.”

“Wait, what?” Clyde thought he had misheard. “They still got voted in?”

“In hindsight, that might mean the ritualistic sacrifices worked?” Y/N pondered this for a moment. A devilish smile appeared on her face. “Hey Clyde, wanna help me pass this semester?”

“Huh? Do you want to study together?” He asked, not catching what she was not so subtly hinting at.

“You’re not ritualistically sacrificing my boyfriend!” Bebe scolded Y/N, dragging her out of the bathroom. “Come on, let’s leave Clyde to pee in peace.”

“Peace isn’t an option in this house!” Y/N called out as Clyde shut the door.

“Ominous threats don’t work on him,” Bebe sighed. “He doesn’t understand them.”

The club was loud and crowded. Y/N absolutely hated it but did her best to put on a smile for Bebe’s sake. She had been briefly introduced to the group, who were already there, but Wendy and Stan were running late.

Bebe had disappeared off to the dancefloor. Y/N narrowly managed to avoid getting dragged along with her. Kenny’s date had apparently dumped him, so she had kept him company while he complained. He was the only one of the group she had already met as he worked delivery for a burger place she and Bebe usually ordered from. He had tried once to flirt with her, but she politely rejected him. That hadn’t stopped him from getting her number and sending her the occasional message while he was stone, which she would respond to with a picture of a frog, which would distract him.

After 10 minutes of standing around, Kenny spotted a girl from work he had a thing for, so Y/N pushed him to go and talk to her, which didn’t take much encouragement. As she stood alone, wondering if she could get away with escaping without anyone noticing, Clyde approached her.

“Here,” He held out a drink for her. She hesitantly took it from his hand.

“What’s this for?” She asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“For you. Bebe said you’d like me more if I bought you a drink.”

“Oh, did she now?”

“I don’t think I was supposed to say that to you….”

“No, I don’t think you were,” Y/N laughed softly. She knew Bebe was just trying to make sure they got along well since they were living together, but she wished she hadn’t sent Clyde in with a bribe.

Clyde took a sip from his cup, and his eyes widened. “Oh shit! This is your one, and that one is mine!” He quickly grabbed the cup from her hand and swapped it with the one he had just drunk from.

“You took a sip out of it,” Y/N looked down at the cup in disgust. “I can’t drink it now.”

“Why not? I watched you share two drinks with Bebe earlier.”

“I don’t know where your mouth has been.”

“Well, Bebe’s mouth has been on my-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence! It’s bad enough I can hear you through the walls. I don’t need a description.” Y/N groaned as Clyde laughed at her discomfort. She hoped that if she stayed quiet, he’d feel awkward and go and join the rest of the group on the dancefloor, but she was sadly mistaken. Apparently, to Clyde, an awkward silence was just an opportunity for him to ask more questions.

“If you’re a dancer, why aren’t you dancing?” He asked. She mentally cursed Bebe for mentioning that she used to be a dancer, as it always led to people asking questions like that. Truthfully, she had always hated dance. It was just something that her mom forced on her. Her mom hadn’t spoken to her since she had announced she wasn’t going to pursue a career in dancing and was instead going to study Literature in a college states away.

But she didn’t want to blurt all of that out to Clyde, so instead, she stuck with her usual excuse. “Because it’s surprisingly hard to do a contemporary jazz solo to… what is this? Eminem?”

“So, like… are you studying dance?” The question coming out of Clyde’s mouth made her laugh more than if anyone else had asked it.

“Are you studying dance?” She fired back at him.

“What? No? Why?”

“Think about it, dude; we’re in the same class. If I were studying dance, you would be too.”

“Right! You sit behind me!” Clyde seemed like he had completely forgotten that they had discussed the fact that they shared a class together only hours earlier.

“Unfortunately,” Y/N mumbled, trailing the conversion off again in hopes he was finally satisfied. Sadly, he still didn’t take the hint.

“Hey… uh… quick question… what did you do to the plumber?”

“I didn’t do anything to him!”

“She bit him!” Wendy had arrived and joined the conversation, followed by Stan.

“Except that!” Y/N mumbled. Wendy gave her a big hug to say hello, and surprisingly so did Stan. She could smell the alcohol on them, a sign that they had pre-drinks. That would be why Stan hugged her.

“Oh my god, you are a vampire!” Clyde pointed at Y/N, who couldn’t help but laugh at this. He seemed so serious, and she was keen to see how far she could actually push that theory on him.

“How did you even get in a situation where you bit the plumber?” Stan asked, slurring his words slightly.

“I was advised by a lawyer not to talk about it.” Y/N lied.

“Wait, you bit the plumber? I assumed that you guys had a dog or something,” Kenny had returned to greet the new arrivals. The girl he had disappeared to dance with was nowhere in sight.

“Nope, it was me, human person Y/N.”

“She’s just a bit feral,” Wendy rested her head on Y/N’s shoulder as she spoke. Y/N wondered how much Wendy had drunk already, as she wasn’t usually this touchy with her when Stan was around. After the date incident, he was a little defensive in front of her. “But we’re taming her.”

“Vampire werewolf!” Clyde looked like he had just connected the dots to the biggest mystery in the world.

“Does everyone in your group know about me biting the plumber?” Y/N asked, earning a myriad of nods in response. “You know what? Fuck it,” She downed the drink that Clyde had gotten her, no longer caring about him having taken a sip. She’d had worse things in her mouth and would probably have worse things in it in the future. Stan cheered as she downed the drink, holding his hand up for a high-five which she hesitantly returned.

“I thought Kyle was coming?” Kenny looked around for their other friend. Y/N had never met Kyle, which was odd as Stan was his best friend, and Stan had spent a lot of time in their apartment when Wendy still lived there.

“He’s sulking in the corner,” Stan pointed out the boy with red curls poking out from the crowd, who was looking down at his phone, completely uninterested in everything around him. “We had to drag him out of the house.” Y/N could relate to that. She was counting down the seconds until it was socially acceptable for her to go home.

“Oh god, Cartman is here,” Wendy groaned, burying her face in Y/N’s neck to hide. Y/N had heard about Cartman, but it was never anything good. Apparently, his mom was paying for his three-bedroom apartment, but he refused to let anyone else stay there unless they paid him an extortionate amount of rent. She was confused at why the group stayed friends with him after all that he had put them through, but she figured there must have been some reason.

“In that case, I think we all need another drink,” Clyde announced, earning cheers from Stan and Kenny. Stan grabbed Wendy’s hand and dragged her off with them to the bar. She tried to reach out for Y/N to pull her along as well, but she managed to escape it. Wendy pouted for a second but quickly got distracted by Clyde chanting, ‘Shots! Shots! Shots!’.

Instead of joining them, Y/N decided to take the opportunity to talk to the one person she felt she could empathise with.

“You look as miserable to be here as I feel,” Y/N joined Kyle in the corner, hoping to break the ice with some shared disdain for where they had both ended up.

“Yeah… This isn’t really my scene,” Kyle looked up from his phone to acknowledge her. He paused, seeming to recognise her. “You’re-”

“Y/N, Bebe’s flatmate,” She finished for him.

“Kyle,” He introduced himself, though he had likely clocked on that she already knew that. He held his hand out. It took Y/N a second to realise he was offering her a handshake. It was a strange sentiment in the middle of a nightclub, but welcome nonetheless. She shook his hand and smiled at him.

“This isn’t really my scene either,” She confessed, looking around in disdain at the flashing lights and sweaty bodies grinding against one another.

“Really?” He sounded quite genuinely surprised by this.

“Really. I hate it here,” She pulled out her phone from her bra and waved it around a little. “I have the Uber journey ready to go on my phone. I just need to hit the button to book it.”

“I always assumed you were the party type from what I’ve heard about you,” It felt odd to Y/N that people knew about her, despite not knowing her. Though, she supposed the same thing could be said about anyone she had been told stories about yet never actually met.

“Bebe calls me the party-hating party animal. I’d rather go wild by myself,” She froze as the words processed in her mind after they had already left her mouth. “That came out wrong.”

“I’m usually alright if I have a few drinks,” Kyle shrugged. “But I need to study tomorrow, so I don’t want to be hungover.”

“I’m studying tomorrow too,” Y/N smiled, realising they had quite a bit in common already. “I have a shit ton of notes to write up before my lecture on Monday, and it's bad enough studying while Bebe and Clyde are in their room, but if they’re going to be hungover, it’ll be worse.”

“I’m in the same boat with Stan and Wendy,” He nodded along. “I have to escape to the library most days.”

“I might have to start joining you,” She was half joking, though she waited for his reaction to see if he would seriously consider studying with her or if he would laugh it off.

“As long as you don’t go wild while studying, it’s nice to have a study partner,” He agreed, and she grinned.

“Ah, shit, I go super wild while studying!” She dramatically threw her hands up in the air as though this was devastating news. “Sometimes, I even have three books open at once.”

“That’s hardcore,” Kyle laughed along with her for a minute, stopping only to tilt his head so he could hear the music better. “Oh god… What is this song?” Y/N stopped to listen to it as well.

“I can’t tell if she’s singing in another language or if it's just aggressively… cursive?” She tried to make out some words, managing to get ‘love’ and ‘sorrow’ from them. “She sounds like a goat trying to do a Shakira impression.”

“And the goat has a blocked nose,” Kyle added. “Oh, wow! Somehow, the chorus is even worse. How is that possible?”

“Wanna bail on this club and share my Uber home?” Y/N decided to just take the opportunity to get out of there. At least with an accomplice, they could both be buzzkills together and share the disappointment of their friends.

“I thought you’d never ask,” He smiled at her as she unlocked her phone, booking the Uber to arrive ASAP. “We should let them know so they don’t look for us.”

“Or we just leave and text them when we’re already gone so they can’t try and force us to stay?” She suggested but looked over at where Bebe was dancing with Clyde. Both of them looked unsteady on their feet from the alcohol they had already consumed, and Stan and Wendy looked even worse for wear. “Actually, you’re right. There’s no way they’ll read their phones in this state.” She led the way over to the group, wrapping her arms around Bebe from behind so she could talk next to her ear and be heard over the music. She swayed slightly with her.

“I’m leaving!” She announced. “Stay safe, and see you at home! Love you!”

“What?” Bebe let go of Clyde, who pouted at the lack of attention, instead turning and swinging her arms around Y/N and holding her in a close hug. “No!”

“I do love you, I promise!” Y/N knew that wasn’t what she meant, but she was trying to diffuse the situation so that Bebe would let her go.

“I love you too, but you can’t leave!” She pleaded, her hands clumsily trying to play with Y/N’s hair, but her rings just got caught in it. “Oh… shit…”

“I hate it here, and so does Kyle,” Y/N explained, pulling away to help untangle Bebe from her hair. “So we’re sharing an Uber.” As she did so, she heard Kyle telling Stan and Wendy that he was leaving.

“You have your keys to let yourself in, right?” Kyle asked.

“Uh…” Stan patted his pockets but came up empty. “Wendy?”

“I thought you had them?” Wendy groaned.

“Crap!” Stan grumbled, checking his pockets again as if they would magically appear there. Unfortunately, they didn’t.

“I’ll have to let you in later,” Kyle sighed, checking his watch.

“Dude, you’re such a heavy sleeper!” Stan protested. “You’ll sleep through it, and we’ll be stuck outside all night!” Kyle looked dejected at the thought that he couldn’t leave until Stan and Wendy wanted to leave.

“We can just get the Uber to our place, and then you guys get one later with Bebe and pick Kyle up as you drop her off.” Y/N jumped in with the suggestion, looking to Kyle for confirmation. “If that’s okay with you, of course?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Kyle nodded eagerly, looking relieved that he didn’t have to stay.

“Booooo!” Clyde called out, a few heads turning to look at him as he shouted louder than he probably intended to. “Party poopers!”

“Have fun!” Bebe winked over at Y/N, who gave her a very confused look in return. What was she suggesting? Before she had the chance to ask, her phone buzzed.

“Uber is two minutes away,” She grabbed Kyle’s arm so she wouldn’t lose him in the crowd. “Let's wait outside.”

taglist - @n0tangeliccc @solana-central @charqing-qing @eiizabeth-torres

let me know if you want to be added to it 💕

#kyle broflovski #kyle broflovski fic #south park fanfiction #south park fic #south park kyle #kyle broflovski x reader #south park x reader #as long as you stay here #alaysh #alaysh suddenlybambi

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hyunsuks-beanie · 2 years

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Fuck Me Daddy

Pairing: Jay x reader

Genre: Smut

Content Warnings: Inebriation; smut; mentions of boners; use of the words "Angel," "Daddy" and "Princess;" oral (m. and f. receiving); unprotected sex; dirty thoughts; choking

Part of: Mellow's You've Got A Letter Event

Mellow speaks: It's here!! The first fic for my 2.5 follower event!! Thank you to the nonnie who had requested this!! I'm so excited for this!

Tagging: @yedammi @axartia @sweethyuka @ivyvesisi

Hey angel,

How are you today? I'm sorry I had to leave before you could wake up, work called :(

I hope you had a good night's sleep yesterday. Going out partying with your friends must have been tiring but fun, right? I'm hoping your head doesn't hurt, but I've kept some painkillers and a bottle of water next to this note just in case.

I didn't get to tell you this yesterday, mainly because the both of us were rather preoccupied with......other things. But you looked absolutely stunning in that little dress of yours, and the way you slurred on your words and puffed up your flushed cheeks did all kinds of things to my heart. You need to wear that dress again sometime, when it's just the two of us, so that I can tell you just how beautiful it looked on you.

Now, I think I've set the mood just right, and I'm running out of cute things to say to you anyway. So I guess it's time to launch into the real reason I've written you this note. You passed out last night just as I was about to drive you home, but do you remember what you said to me right before drifting off to sleep?

Of course you don't. So let me elaborate.

It was something along the lines of "Fuck me, daddy." Screw that, it was exactly those three words. Those three filthy words, barely coherent as you had reached across the console, placing your hand on my thigh in a way you wouldn't even dream of when sober. Your eyes hooded, your bottom lip stuck between your teeth. In that moment, you looked like the personification of lust, and I lie not when I say that it made something twitch inside my jeans.

You looked so fucking hot like that, it made me want to rip that dress off your body and pound into you on the backseat. But your pretty, dirty, mind, obviously had different plans, because just when I was about to lean in and place my lips on yours, you decided to ruin the moment, passing out against my shoulder.

Can you imagine how mad I was just then? Do you have any fucking idea? No, right? But it wasn't like I could do anything about it, other than watching you sleep peacefully after taking my peace away. At least you looked cute, so I'll have to give you that, but in no way does that mean I didn't keep tossing and turning in bed all night.

Removing your makeup and changing you out of that damned dress was nothing if not torture, and I think you ought to know just how annoying it was to get a boner at the sight of you in your lingerie, my hands being the only thing I could use to relieve the pent-up frustration. And as if that wasn't enough, having your body pressed so close against mine was yet another ordeal, my tongue longing to get a taste of that sweet pussy.

But why am I telling you all this?

Because princess, I want you to gulp as you read this, and think of how I'm going to punish you when I come home. You wanted daddy to fuck you, right? Well, guess what? Daddy is going to do just that. He's going to kiss those pretty lips of yours until you're breathless. He's going to touch you. Touch you in the slowest way possible, touch you at all the right places.

He's going to peel his clothes off your body, piece by piece, until you're buck naked under him. He's going to kiss your skin, make you feel good, and mark you up until you're covered in bites and bruises. He's going to part your legs, nice and slow, his tongue slitting across your heat and licking off your juices while all you can do is moan and whine. He's going to eat you out and touch you, so good that you forget your name, so good that tears stream down your cheeks as you cum for the fifth time.

And then he's going to make you choke on his cock, making you taste your own salty tears as you swallow his cum. He's going to sit you down on the floor and have you worship his dick like the slut you are. Because that's just what you deserve. Don't even think that's all, because after you're all spent from the foreplay, daddy is going to tie you up. Real good so that you can't move, making your wrists struggle against the satin as he finally bottoms out inside you, no protection at hand.

He's going to place his hand on your throat and choke you till you can't breathe, he's going to ram into you till that pussy is sore. He's going to fill you up to the brim, again and again, till you're squirming and spilling onto the bedsheet.

So get ready, my angel. Wear that lingerie of yours I love, and look pretty for me when I come home. Because I'm going to ruin you tonight.

Love,

Your Daddy, Jay

#jay smut #sunghoon smut #enhypen writers #sunghoon suggestive #jay suggestive #enhypen smut #jake #sunghoon #jay #heeseung smut #enhypen suggestive #jake smut #jake suggestive #heeseung #enhypen hard hours

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lavenoon · 9 months

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Hi I'm sorry you're feeling a bit let down with the reblogging ratio. I fast reblog alot cause sometimes I feel too shy to put in my imput but now knowing how artists want that imput I'll try to be better. You have such a lovely art style You're doing us simps a favor with all your wonderful art pieces. Thank you for contributing to the fandom We anonymous simps appreciate all of your work

Ahw hey, thank you! I really didn't mean to make people feel bad for fast reblogging - I'm eternally grateful you're basically putting my art on the fridge of your blog!

I do prefer tags, because why wouldn't I enjoy seeing someone else's thoughts*? It's like - here are my thoughts, in my art! And getting reblogs (and likes) does mean that there's something that resonates. But it doesn't tell me anything beyond that. People interacting, be it through tags or replies or asks, often gives me more ideas, and knowing there's an audience for it is all the more motivation to get to it! Like - as example - the Glamrock heart emojis I posted the other day? Compared to the DCA heart emojis the response was kind of underwhelming, and I almost lost the motivation to make another batch with other characters. But then one friend sent me a couple blurry eyes emojis and enthusiastic replies to the mention of a potential MXES heart emoji, and now I know I'm going to make that other batch! Just because of that! Hearing someone's thoughts and knowing there's an interest for more will always spark more creation. Like the cake metaphor! If my "cake" gets eaten, I know it was good, sure, but if people compliment me for the cake, saying what they liked about it, I'll try do do those things more! It'll make me happy, and I'll be proud of the result because I know this will be a cake with guaranteed enjoyment!

*(of course, I've also received tags/ comments I don't enjoy - but those are a tiny minority, and were often more along the lines of "lmao what is this" or anything calling me/ my self insert a girl, which sparks dysphoria - none of this makes me think I'd rather not get comment tags, because I mostly forget about the bad ones anyway, and some of the really elaborate nice ones I even screenshot and save to look at again!)

#answer let luce #anonymous #I am also just in a bit of a slump - lots of health stuff and stress going on #so I come home to work on my art and fics and I share them and then just #get so little feedback #so the imposter syndrome kicks in and what used to be relaxation turns into a chore #some of that is ME problem and I'm working on fixing that #but the more and more skewed reblog like ratio adds to the sting #again; thank you for reblogging; and you're incredibly sweet to say you'll add tags when you want to add something!

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amrv-5 · 1 year

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@marley-manson thanks for the WIP sharing tag.....!! yet another chunk from The Long Fic below the cut.

i’ll tag @pomegranate @theblob1958 @mashbrainrot and @kaviiinsky (if you want and also if you. don’t write fic .... SOWWY ignore this)

Enjoy BJ having a pleasant morning by sneaking out of church:

They spent the rest of the service outside, with Erin jumping around in BJ’s jacket like one of the superheroes in Radar’s comic books. BJ tried and failed to recite a poem he’d often traded with Hawkeye to her—he kept getting lost halfway through the second stanza, and Erin had taken to gleefully repeating the last word of every line, which was as cute as it was thought-derailing.

“Here come I to my own again,” BJ started again. “Fed, forgiven and known again. Claimed by bone of my bone again, and cheered by flesh of my flesh.”

Erin took a few toddler-wobbly steps down the stairs, and started dragging BJ’s jacket through parking-lot gravel.

“The fatted calf is dressed for me, but the husks have greater zest for me…” he said, trailing off. He tried to imagine Hawkeye, sleep-deprived and bitter over a tray of poisonous-looking C-rations.

He recalled Hawkeye’s voice as vividly as he was able, the timbre, the inflection, the way he elided consonants when he was tired, and the vexing half-stanza came to him almost immediately.

“So I’m off with wallet and staff to eat the bread that is three parts chaff to wheat, but glory be!—there’s a laugh to it, which isn’t the case when we dine.”

Hawkeye’s voice was sonorous and soft, even coming to him from months in the past.

Erin dropped his suit in favor of picking up a piece of gravel that was partially quartz.

“Glory be, there’s a laugh to it,” BJ repeated to himself as Erin held the quartz out for his inspection.

He held it to the light, admiring the way the light refracted through the crystal. “Beautiful,” he said, and handed the rock back to Erin. “Good find.”

“Diamond,” Erin said.

“Quartz,” BJ said.

Erin tilted her head.

“Quartz,” BJ said, “is a type of mineral. It’s what we call igneous—” he paused, and let her sound the new word out— “which just means that it was made when magma inside of the Earth cooled.” He tapped his cheek.

“Do you know what magma is?” he asked.

Erin shook her head.

“What about lava?” he asked.

Erin’s face lit up. “Volcano,” she said. “Like hot laba.”

“Lava,” BJ said, enunciating carefully. “Well, it’s called lava when it’s outside. When it’s still inside the ground, it’s called magma. Anyway, the point is, when that melted rock—”

“You can melt a rock?” Erin asked, eyes ablaze with interest.

“Yes,” BJ said. “That’s what metal is, and lava.”

Erin appraised the cars around them with renewed interest.

“Anyway,” BJ said, smiling. “When that melted rock cools off, sometimes we get minerals like quartz. Actually, usually we get minerals like quartz. That rock you found is one of the most common minerals on Earth.”

“Common,” Erin repeated.

“It’s everywhere,” BJ elaborated. “You can find it all over the place. It isn’t particularly valuable, or special.”

Erin looked at the stone in her palm. “But it’s pretty.”

BJ cleared his throat, and then scooted down a few steps. He laid a hand on her shoulder, and then planted a kiss on her forehead. “I love you. Did you know that?”

“Love you,” Erin said offhandedly, looking for more quartz in the parking lot grit.

BJ leaned back on his elbows and took in the sun and the peace and the vivid blue of the sky while Erin occasionally exclaimed over finding new and interesting rocks.

#my fic #the litfic cometh #mashposting #thank you for the tag!!! hope u all enjoy this #im getting antsy to post but I really want to fully finish it first and I'm......... 125k in and still going so

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awritingcaitlin · 9 months

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10 First Lines

@elbritch-kit tagged me for this a month ago! 👋🏻 Sorrynotsorry I'm late!

Anyway, I've done a couple of these before, but this one's rules is very specifically:

rules: share the first lines of the last ten things you’ve written

So, uh, this should be interesting because fun fact about me, I rewrite the same stuff over and over again.

🔥TBW: Mama Cass normally prided herself on her composure.

🥃LGO: In all honesty, Rinnie was too drunk to remember who hit the bed first.

👩‍🦰RA: “Where are we?” Taryn asked.

🎻ROTG: A Temple of Adelus wasn’t her favorite place for a gig, but considering Em was avoiding Seamus Finn establishments, she’d take what she could get.

💥SB: The wind on Berthingtonn’s eastern docks always seemed to blow far more strongly than it did on the west side.

♟TGG: “Eileen,” Aravae said, trying to put enough warning into her tone that Eileen would get the message, but not so much warning that Finley would pick up on it.

💨WH: “Wind’s howling,” Teagan mutters in her best Geralt impression.

❄CTQ: Two women walked along the busy evening streets of Himmelmauer, their course pointed towards the castle.

🍲AEB: First there is chaos, and then there is cold.

💎TWS: Rinnie is on a beach, but it's not a beach she recognizes. The magic feels different.

Okay, that actually wasn't too hard to track down all things considered. I feel like elaborating with more stats, so I'll do that under the cut.

But first, I'll tag: @sentfromwolves, @tananaphone, @legiomiam, @mjjune, and @muddshadow (no pressure, anyone!)

The Brewing War: aka Book 1, it's up at the top of the list (most recent) because it's been in steady revisions of it since April. That first line? Totally new.

Lights Go Out: is a character study of Rinnie, Aravae, and Ciara and I was writing it separately from TBW because that content does not actually belong on the pages of TBW, but it's up there because I wrote it in June.

Redheads Abound: is a AU fanfiction essentially combining my characters with characters from 3 others writeblrs on here. Wrote that back in April.

Relic of the Gods: aka ViolinHeist, happens in the same universe as TBW but is not a prequel. It got a few revisions in April, but after rewriting the first three chapters of Draft 3, I set it down to let other stuff percolate in the back of my head.

Siege of Berthingtonn: aka Book 2 got some edits back in March, though that first line is older.

The Great Game: aka Book 4 where I've done bits and pieces of that so that's the first line I've written but it's definitely not Chapter 1 or a prologue even. That was back in March.

Wind's Howling: is a flashfic I wrote back in February. Experimenting with present tense.

Cure for the Queen: aka Book 3. It got finished back in March of 2022. April-August was ROTG Draft 1, August-October was then SB Draft 8, November-February was ROTG again which explains the break and reemphasizes that I just write the same things over and over again.

Soup 2 Another Electric Boogaloo: was something I was working on back in October of 2021 (in between working on CTQ). It was fanfiction of fanfiction and I wrote it primarily while still working at GameStop because I could just write it on my phone.

Team W Shenanigans: was also something I was working on back in the Fall of 2021, same time as AEB. It was fanfiction that Rinnie was also involved in.

Hilariously, Rinnie never seems to get first lines unless it's a character study, or fanfiction. I should probably change that. But also, Rinnie's not really a candidate for the prologues of the main series of books so there's also that.

Okay I'm done rambling now. Have a cookie if you read this far 🍪

#tag games #10 first lines #my writing #the brewing war #redheads abound #relic of the gods #siege of berthingtonn #the great game #cure for the queen #mama cass #rinnie #taryn #em

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1kook · 3 years

Text

ZOOM CALL

⇢ meeting two

jeon jungkook x (f) reader

⇢ series masterlist

summary: Most notably, there’s one group project waiting for you, which leads you to Friday. Sitting at your desk, bright and early, absolutely dreading being assigned to your group. genre: fluff, slice of life, smut (tags tba) warnings: ITS A SLOW BURN OKAY...., sweetheart jk, campus crush jk, college crushes, social distancing, zoom -_-, jk owns a keroppi plush, oc thirsts over his hot bod, jk’s sweet attempts at flirting </3 he’s just 2 cute for his own good ratings: e for everyone <3 wc: 3.7k

notes: this took long bc i wrote one version but it was SO LAME u guys r lucky my friend and editor ( @kigurumu 🖤 ) stopped me from posting it. so then i had to reorganize my thoughts n b like girl. the ppl are waiting. get it together. anyway here’s zoom jk 😎

Being grouped with Jeon Jungkook (he/him) for your first class on the first day of your first Zoom semester truly sets the standard.

By no means do your other classes suck; they’re quite enjoyable, more relevant to your area of study. They’re familiar which makes them comfortable, your Zoom meetings filled with faces you’ve seen time and time again the last four years. The material interests you, so you definitely don’t have anything against them or your classmates.

That being said, no one is prepared for the awkwardness that comes with each and every Zoom meeting. You never thought you’d be embarrassed to turn your mic on— to speak in a class filled with your peers. And the meetings are all like that, filled with uncomfortable silences and endless black screens.

You wish there was a Jeon Jungkook (he/him) in every class.

Jungkook’s just got this bubbly aura to him, this magnetic presence that staples itself into the back of your mind with each passing day. No one fills a Zoom call like he does, making every person laugh and smile like him.

Wednesday rolls around and you find yourself a little disheartened when you don’t get sorted into the same randomized group as him again. Disappointment melts into annoyance when you find out how incompetent your other classmates are, refusing to speak in the small group or just completely clocking out all together. A lot of them didn’t do the reading— the one you stayed up all night doing —and your first partnered assignment of the semester finds you doing it all by yourself. Muted mics, black windows, complete radio silence; you hated it all.

You find yourself weirdly longing for Jeon Jungkook’s presence, even if he’s only there to talk about some movie he saw last night. No one is as much of a chatterbox as him, can’t even hold a candle to the way he draws everyone in with his mindless conversations. At least he speaks during Breakout Rooms, you think bitterly.

Anyway, the first week of classes ends and your brain is a frenzied mess. There’s schedules to memorize, professors to impress, assignments to plan out. There’s definitely no time to sit around and fantasize about the curly haired cutie in one of your general classes. The weekend is spent trying to organize your planner, filling in due dates and exam days ahead of time. It’s your last semester and you’re dead set on making it your best one yet. There’s a lot of written work this time around, analyses and research papers that need to be organized. The road ahead is manageable, but you’ll have to work hard to keep it that way for the next five months.

Most notably, there’s one group project waiting for you, which leads you to Friday. Sitting at your desk, bright and early, absolutely dreading being assigned to your group.

Jungkook is early this time, not like on Monday where he’d been one of the last to filter in, and he’s looking as chirpy as ever. Donning this horrendously hot pink shirt, completely unlike the neutral tones he’d worn during your last two meetings and that decorate his room, and the cutest pair of circle glasses sitting on his nose. He says his regularly scheduled ‘good morning’ to you all and receives a collective response from the rest of the class that not even your professor got.

Speaking of the professor, you’ve been giving him the stink eye this whole time. Not that he can tell, given the fact he’s probably miles away in his own home while you angrily glare at him through your webcam. It’s this old guy who’s decided to sort you all into semester long groups for the class, which is the absolute worst. These types of groups always go the same way: you make a group chat promising to study together, those plans fall through, and then everyone just leeches off of each other for homework answers. And in most cases, it’s you handing over your homework answers because no one else ever bothers to do anything. Sadly, it’s a routine you’ve had to suffer through many times in your academic career.

The thought makes you sick. Having to spend another semester being labeled as the bossy, nerdy dictator of the group? Not exactly how you wanted to spend the last few months of college, but there’s nothing you can do. Maybe this time around you’ll just let it be, won’t fight it (and by it, you mean your lazy classmates when they inevitably try to guilt trip you for homework) and simply let it run its course.

“I’m going to put you guys into Breakout Rooms with your new groups!” your professor claps excitedly, and then you and the rest of your classmates are forced to watch him lean too close to the camera as he begins clicking around to find the preset groups he’s assigned the class. “Remember, guys, this is it for the rest of the semester. So if something isn’t right, let me know by the end of today.”

Man, this was going to suck, you groan. The syllabus had said that the purpose of these groups was to keep you all connected with your classmates during these trying times, to give you the same opportunities in-person learning would. Frankly, you’re not too worried about making friends with everyone in this large class. Most of them are younger than you anyway, save for Jeon Jungkook (he/him) and a handful of others who are apparently in your year. Befriending lowerclassmen only to have to bid them adieu in a few months seems awfully sad, a little too heartbreaking. You really just want to get a good grade in this class, collect the last of your credits, and put this whole college experience behind you.

Your thoughts are wrapped up by the pop-up message that appears on screen.

The host is inviting you to join a Breakout Room: Group 12

You sigh, contemplate dropping this class for all of two seconds, before dutifully accepting the request. Worse comes to worst, you make up some lie to tell your professor that you’re allergic to group work and hope it works. (It won’t.)

You sit through the mandatory loading screen for a few seconds before being abruptly dumped into your new room, Group 12, or so the message had said. There’s no one else here yet, which isn’t really a surprise. A lot of your classmates are probably like you, scowling at the pop up message every time your professor sends you into small groups before accepting the request. So you chill by yourself, eyes tracing over your own mirrored image. The notes on last night’s reading are neatly laid out before you, your copy of the book off to the side.

Another beat and then, much to your surprise, Jeon Jungkook (he/him) is appearing in your room. “Oh,” he says, round eyes magnified by the thick lens of his glasses, the glare of the computer’s glow casting a funny shape across the lens that momentarily robs you of his pretty eyes. His pretty pink lips stretch into a smile, upper lip thinning out a bit when he flashes you those perfect teeth. “Hi, __,” he greets politely, bubbly.

It’s embarrassing how much his presence affects you, your back going ramrod straight in a terrible attempt to compose yourself. “Hi, Jungkook,” you manage to get out, fingers nervously reaching for something, anything, to ground yourself. They land on a pencil.

Jungkook doesn’t seem even the slightest bit aware of the commotion he causes within you. “I was really nervous for these groups,” he begins rambling right away, lips pushing down into an exaggerated frown as he shivers at the memory. “But I’m glad I got placed with someone hardworking like you!”

Despite how sweet he sounds, you’re not entirely sure if he’s buttering you up just to take advantage of your ‘hardworking’ attitude later down the road or if he’s genuinely being polite. The little information you know about Jungkook wants you to believe it is the latter; he’s very kind, sweet and nice in a way that makes everyone he speaks to feel warm. Still, for all you know this could be some elaborate ruse of his to make you trust him now and then convince you to do all the work for the rest of the semester.

Tentatively, you ask, “and how would you know that?” You try your best to keep your usual snappiness out of your voice, pose it simply out of curiosity. But everything you say or do feels like a stark contrast to Jungkook and his bubbliness.

His head tilts cutely to the side, imploring brown eyes looking at you for one hard second. And then, “I read your forum analysis from Wednesday,” he admits, breaking into a smile. Shy and tiny, bashfully looking down at his desk. “I thought your perspective on the piece was really interesting,” he says, lips pursing together as if he’s suddenly too embarrassed to admit such things to you.

Stunned, all you can manage is one slow nod. “Thank you,” you eventually choke out, trying to ward the heat away from your cheeks as Jungkook sheepishly nods back, cute smile still on his face.

“Oh, please,” he chuckles, raising his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Don’t thank me!”

It is in this exact moment that you are suddenly made aware of two things.

One: despite his collection of soft sweaters and t-shirts, his bouncy curls and sweet smile, Jeon Jungkook’s body is neither as cute nor as soft as any of his belongings. In fact, Jeon Jungkook’s body is all hard planes and prominent veins. Arms beefy, biceps that bulge beneath the fabric of the short sleeve t-shirt he’s donned today. His shoulders fill out the material nicely, making him look broad and huge, but that’s not even the worst part, because—

—two: Jeon Jungkook is covered in ink. Dark streaks and swirls paint his forearms, curling around his elbow. Every inch of his pale skin is littered with tiny designs. They dance along the back of his hands, over his knuckles, and end at an unidentifiable point beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. When he tugs at the neckline of his shirt in an effort to readjust it, you hope your eyes are deceiving you and that isn’t a hint of ink by his collarbone.

Your normal composure seems to slip away at the mere thought.

It’s Jungkook’s voice that brings you back, a soft timbre that asks, “aren’t we supposed to have someone else in our group?” You flinch as if you’ve been caught ogling him, never mind the fact he’s started mindlessly shuffling some papers around on his desk, not the slightest bit concerned with you.

“Oh— um, yes. I think,” you stammer, feeling like some creep for ogling your very cute, very sweet classmate. The memory of his inky skin nearly sends a shiver down your spine as you navigate back to the class syllabus. “We’re supposed to have at least three people,” you read off, glancing at the boy on your screen who frowns at the news.

“Do you think they dropped?” Given it was still only the first week of school, probably. There had been a fewer number of people in the call when it started, you remembered. Jungkook sighs, this rather light sound that ends in a hum. “Well, we can always wait a few minutes just in case.”

So you wait, nervously bouncing your leg up and down. It’s not awkward, or at least, not as awkward as it would be with anyone else. The other week you had silently sat with another classmate in a one-on-one discussion and hadn’t uttered a word for five minutes. It wasn’t because you didn’t care about the class, but because said classmate had been tapping away on their phone the entire time and hadn’t even responded to your simple greeting. That was awkward.

With Jungkook it’s more weird than awkward. You can tell the silence makes him uncomfortable because he keeps doing these tiny inhales like he’s about to speak, followed by a little head shake where he seemingly stops himself from saying anything at all. He wants to talk, very badly it seems, but holds back for some odd reason.

He’s scribbling on some sheet of paper, leaning forward to give you a view of the top of his head. From this angle, his shirt hangs forward and a silver necklace falls out from beneath the neckline, thuds against the table. And then your suspicions are nearly confirmed, and oh god, is that a chest piece—

You quickly look away.

Robbed of his handsome face and feeling like you’ll die if you look at his body any longer, you settle for your newly acquired favorite pastime: inspecting your classmates’ rooms over Zoom. Yes, you’ll admit it is incredibly nosy, but what else can you do? You can only look at your professor for so long until you inevitably grow bored, attention drifting off to your classmates tiny windows. And with no professor in sight, just gorgeous Jeon Jungkook, you quickly begin your examination of his bedroom.

Jungkook’s room is pretty much the same as you remember it, rather neat and plain. There’s not a lot going on in terms of decoration, which is a little surprising to say the least. Over the course of the week, you’ve watched your classmates’ dormitories and bedrooms gradually change, decorations and tapestries decorating the walls, mountains of pillows added to their beds. It’s only natural that everyone has an innate need to show off who they are now more than ever, and you thought Jungkook would be the same.

Apparently not.

Aside from the guitar you had spotted on Monday, his little dorm room remains unchanged. Blank walls, grayscale sheets. The same perfectly fluffed pillows and then—

A tiny Keroppi plush smack dab in the middle of his bed.

It’s adorable but a little out of place amongst Jungkook’s rather masculine decorations (or lack thereof). A tiny green doll sitting by his pillows, cute striped shirt and ridiculously dopey smile.

Leaning forward, you unmute yourself and conversationally say, “I love your Keroppi.”

At the sudden sound of your voice, Jungkook abruptly straightens up, glasses practically at the very tip of his nose. Eyes wide, it takes him a second to process your words before jerkily whipping around to stare at the aforementioned item. “Oh,” he jumps, slowly looking at his screen again, lips pulled into a tight line. “Um… it’s not mi—“

“It’s adorable,” you add, propping your chin in your palm, absolutely endeared with the rosy color that paints his cheeks, fades down the column of his neck.

He squirms, hurriedly pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He looks like he’ll deny it again, nervously nibbling at his lower lip, before eventually he settles with a sigh. “I won it from a crane machine,” he confesses with a sheepish huff of laughter, rolling backwards to the edge of his bed to snatch it from its spot.

(Of course he manspreads as he sits, dark jeans hugging his thighs as he rolls back your way. His arm looks so strong, covered in all that ink, you nearly drool.)

“It’s cute, isn’t it?” he says, abandoning his embarrassment as he shakes the little figure around, makes it look like it’s dancing for you. “My mom said it looks like me.”

At that, you laugh. Loud and boisterous because you were definitely not expecting Jungkook to say that, such an odd but weirdly fitting comparison that has you looking at the doll in his hands with renewed interest. And through the pixelated screen, you can see the similarities: Jungkook does have the same smile as Keroppi.

“Your mom was right,” you agree, wiping a faux tear from the corner of your eye. “Very cute.”

Jungkook’s got this big goofy smile on, shaking his head in disbelief that you would ever dare agree with his mom. Like he’s genuinely enjoying himself, you think, oddly proud to have evoked that reaction from him. Granted, Jungkook always looks like he’s pretty happy during class, but it feels nice knowing that you were (confirmed) the reason why.

A little caught up with the bumbling feeling in your chest, you’re not expecting his next words. “Does that mean I’m cute?” he asks, still with that same dopey smile on his face.

It’s a bold statement you wouldn’t have expected from him, someone who seems content being the world’s friend, but apparently Jeon Jungkook also craves compliments.

Slowly, you nod. “...yes,” you say, trying to keep the tumultuous emotions inside of you at bay while you grant him this one compliment. Outwardly, you give him what you hope is an obviously feigned look of disbelief, managing to lace it with a little amusement as you shake your head at his inquiry. On the inside, your mind and heart are a thundering racetrack, the roar of the engines and the screams of the crowd enough to momentarily make you lose your senses. “Very cute,” you repeat, hoping he can’t hear the same pounding of your heartbeat in your throat and in your ears as you do. “Like a little frog.”

Jungkook graces your robotic response with the most boyish laugh, head tossed back as one loud cackle (because, really, there is no other way to describe the sound that tears itself from his throat) escapes him, curls bouncing back from the movement. “Cute like a frog,” he wheezes, seemingly to himself as he shakes his head with a grin, scooting closer to the camera again. “That’s a new one.”

“You set yourself up for it,” you defend, busying yourself with the papers spread out in front of you before Jungkook can distract you any further. “Anyway!” you announce, neatly lining the papers up. “Our group.”

Jungkook does his best to wipe the glee off his face, but even as he reaches around for his things, it’s still there. “Right,” he agrees, “we have to, um—“ a huff of laughter “—group contract! Or, well, partner project.”

Briefly, you consider calling in your professor to inform him of your missing partner. He had said to let him know by the end of today if something was wrong. But, honestly, you didn’t see a problem with your group the way it was now. While you can only hope he’ll turn out to be as dedicated to his work as you, as it stands now, there weren’t any major red flags surrounding Jungkook’s character.

Besides, you didn’t mind being with him for the rest of the semester.

You nod, forcing yourself to ignore the glimmer in his eyes when he looks at you through the screen. “I think it’s safe to say it’ll just be the two of us, which I don’t mind,” you say, glancing at the time on the corner of your screen to see five minutes have passed since you agreed to wait. “Do you?”

On screen, Jungkook profusely shakes his head, curls bouncing all over the place. “Nope,” he hums. “I don’t mind at all,” he reassures you, resting his chin in his palm as he regards you, and then sweetly adds, “it’ll be nice with just us, __.”

Right.

You gulp, heart fluttering at the dreaminess he exudes through your screen, the soft strand of hair that falls over his forehead, tickles his brow bone when he flashes you another smile. He was so handsome. Before you say anything silly, you quickly attempt to move on. “But it does make us more of a duo than a group.”

Jungkook looks away from his screen for the first time in what feels like forever and you finally let your heart rest for a second. “A duo,” he murmurs, shuffling through his papers. “Like Mickey and Minnie?”

You nearly choke on your spit, coughing to hide the surprise from his rather cute suggestion. He’s not even looking at you, doesn’t even realize the absolute shock he’s thrown you in by comparing the two of you to one of the most famous couples— that’s what they are, a goddamn couple, not a duo! the words mean two completely different things! —in the world. Instead, Jungkook is humming the theme song to Drake & Josh.

This man was dangerous for your heart.

After having felt all the emotions in the world in the span of ten seconds, you eventually gather the courage to say, “sure,” and quickly try to move the conversation along. “We just need to, um, make some ground rules and responsibilities for us to follow.”

Jungkook nods, finally glancing up again, but not at you. He’s glaring at some point behind his computer, brows furrowed together as he begins brainstorming on his own. You try to, really, but his lips pout adorably when he’s deep in thought, and they’re just so pink and look so soft and would feel like—

“Well, we should probably exchange numbers first,” Jungkook says, interrupting your spiraling thoughts with a new topic to spiral over. He tilts his head to the side, brown eyes focused on you.

“Yes, of course,” you stammer, fumbling for your phone as Jungkook lets out a soft yay at your acceptance of his request. Quickly, he recites his number and you type it in with trembling hands into the number pad, giving him a quick call so he can have your number as well.

You save him right away, just his name followed by the class you share with him. Not like you know any other Jeon Jungkooks, and if you did, you doubt anyone could ever leave such an impact like this Jeon Jungkook.

“__, look,” Jungkook calls, that same excitement lacing his already lovely voice, and you raise your head up at the screen again. He’s waving his phone over his camera, so you don’t get to see his face when he says, “It’s a little mouse emoji and a pink bow— just like Minnie!”

Dangerous for your heart and, most likely, the death of you this semester.

#networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #bts smut #bts fic #jjk smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk♡#mine

2K notes · View notes

penrose-quinn · 2 years

Text

Couldn’t Tell

“You know,” you smiled. “Keep this up, and he’ll start to think I’m gonna replace him.”

It’d just been a casual joke. Even if it wasn’t, Wakasa doubted that, but he still asked.

“You think so?”

pairings: wakasa imaushi/reader ❁ background (oblivious) shinichiro sano/reader

content tags: companion piece prequel to green light. tokrev manga spoilers. first gen black dragons ultraviolence era. gender neutral reader. reader is a bit of a menace and so is wakasa. growing up together and growing apart. oblivious mutual pining. denial of feelings. blood and injury. mentions of violence and shady gang behavior. mostly friendship. the ambiguity of teenage crushes.

a/n: can't believe i'm really expanding on that one brief mention of wakasa, but here we are lol. this is mostly platonic!first gen black dragons x reader but more waka, and shin's the center of everyone's world so yeah. heads-up, tw for underage drinking. they’re minors in that one scene, but in the next one they’re at least 18-19 but still.

green light ❁ read on ao3

“Don’t tell Shin about this . . .” his brow crept up slowly where you trailed off, only to interrupt yourself with an awkward cough. “He’ll freak out.”

Wakasa said nothing, about to clean the cut on your cheekbone with a washcloth, and you leaned back out of irritation. Sitting on the floor with him, you still attempted to put up a bluster of stubbornness, but your injuries didn’t let you, wearily slumping you back against the wall.

That didn’t mean you didn’t have your wild eyes on. You probably didn’t mean to look so dangerous – just a last, exasperated aftereffect from the heat of that scuffle earlier – but you fought for his attention. He’s a bit convinced you’d even claw for it.

“Imaushi-san.”

He thought you’re in no position to make demands, though you framed his name in the tone of an earnest request, so he’d shrug, maybe threaten another second more.

Maybe Shinichiro had rubbed off on him, scraping away the edges that made him ruthless, unchallenged.

But then again, it wasn’t like you cared who challenged you. Even that monster Tobe.

“Stay still.”

This time, he dabbed the washcloth on your cut without warning, though he made sure to not press too hard, which baffled you with a blink.

“I won’t tell him,” said Wakasa, and your mouth no longer hung open in protest, resigning to a sigh instead, as you angled your face for him in compliance the moment he began to wipe the streak of dried blood that ran down the side of your face.

You observed him, but whenever your gazes met, you’d pore your attention on something else.

Christmas in Ginza was rather eventful.

Wakasa thought about the gang fight they had with the Roppongi Blue Devils earlier, and then back to you, ambushed right after.

“What do you have against Tobe anyway?”

“He had a score to settle with me,” you shrugged, but you didn’t elaborate further. “You know him?”

“He used to be a member of Kodo Rengo,” Wakasa answered, pausing to linger on a reflective, “before I . . .”

“Black Dragons,” you finished with a nod, and then you scratched the back of your neck, eyes lowered down bashfully. “Oh. Um, sorry?”

He faltered in his ministrations for an interval, hand hovering above your wrist, waiting.

“He must’ve been your friend, I guess. I sort of dislocated his shoulder,” you explained, as if he wasn’t with you to witness it all himself. You’re mangled now, but you didn’t really need his help back there. “I don’t regret it. I mean, he did some damage on me too, but well . . .”

Wakasa huffed out a chuckle, resuming to apply salve on the hideous gash on your right forearm, and you tensed from the brush of his fingertips, more from his reaction than the mild sting of the antiseptic.

Even so, he took it upon himself to be gentle on the raw skin from the jut of your elbow; in his opinion, a tad indulgent from the last swipe there, though you didn’t comment on it nor did he on the manner your throat bobbed, swallowing on nothing. He assumed that you’re just mulling over his slip earlier, and then proceeded rolling the gauze around your forearm.

“That’s between the two of you,” Wakasa replied, bearing no ill will, as he tied a knot on your palm. “It’s none of my business.”

“Thank you,” you murmured after he’s done treating your wounds.

“Sure.”

Your fingers lightly touched the bandage patch on your cheek, and Wakasa tried not to dwell on the warmth of your skin, almost close to burning. He thought of abrasion, and then back to your gaze wandering around his room until it was fixed on the trophies gathering dust on the mounted shelf above his study table.

“You competed,” you said in awed realization, even though he was indifferent about it nowadays when the last time he joined in any of those martial arts tournaments was before he got himself thrown in juvie. “Explains a lot. The way you fight.”

“So you trained too?” He didn’t exactly take up karate, but he recognized the form in your kick.

“Yeah, back then. At the Sano family dojo.”

“Sano, huh. Why does he still suck at fighting then?”

“Beats me. He always bailed training,” you recalled, lips curving up in nostalgia. “Said he’d rather go off be a delinquent.”

There’s a question that sat quietly between his lips, but he figured it’d be too obvious and there wasn’t anything much to pursue about it now.

Wakasa reclined back against the wall next to you and pulled out a lollipop from his pocket, which you stared at intently.

“Do you have more of those?”

“What for?”

“I gotta bribe my niece.” When he regarded you with confusion, you tilted your head at him, tacking on a question. “No little sister?”

“No. What does bribing have to do with that?”

You lifted a shrug. “Easier to talk to girls.”

Now, that intrigued him. Perhaps, in a curious sense whether you had more of a shot with them than your best friend because he wasn’t going to be that surprised if you did have a few admirers.

Perhaps, if you’re reputation didn’t precede you and that you could tone down the harsh reservation you built around you like a cold wall. Like right now, offhanded and a bit curious, and even though you still acted like a stiff, you looked more like you could breathe a little better, smile a little wider.

Wakasa wondered if Shin was actually trying to hoard this side of you all for himself.

“And they’re better at keeping secrets.” Then your voice was softer, more than you’d probably admit: “Me and my niece have a pact, you see. Gotta honor that.”

Wakasa snorted. “Over candy?”

“Keiko has a sweet tooth,” you reasoned. “She’s also the one who unlocks the door for me when I sneak out this late.”

Then your hand slid in your pocket, rummaging for something. “I’ll pay up, if you want.”

Although Wakasa already repaid you for backing him up from the previous fight, he humored you anyway when he fished out his least favorite lollipop from his desk drawer. Sure, he found you amusing now, but you weren’t worth losing any of his lemon lime and sour apple ones.

You bartered two sticks of gum and a fifty yen coin.

Wakasa considered it with a wry glance before just taking the gum in exchange of a lollipop.

Unwrapping one, he stuck it on his mouth. Spearmint. "Fifty yen can't buy you shit."

You shrugged. "Not when you have another fifty."

"Might as well give me a hundred then."

"Too late. You chose the gum."

Well. It wasn't like he was planning to give it back.

Arashi Keizo was easier to read.

For all their disparities and long-standing disputes, they were delinquents through and through.

Wakasa could say the same for someone bullheaded like Takeomi, and to an extent, Shinichiro, even if he’d been an enigma more than anything.

Then beside him was you, and as astute as he was in his observations, he couldn’t quite figure out where you exactly fall under when everyone else held a different kind of disaster to them. It wasn’t like you weren't, though he couldn't fathom why you wanted that part of you to be subdued.

It's what made you into such a walking contradiction.

You didn't look like a delinquent, but you felt like one. You’re also determined to amend that in the manner you spoke and the way you dressed.

Though it would only take a glimpse of your torn knuckles, the jut of your chin, and the insolence that had one charging forward with a raised fist, wild and half-crazed from adrenaline.

There’s a kind of vagrancy to you that no one saw closely. Perhaps, Shin had, but that's just how he was, and Wakasa wondered if this was what intrigued him about you, framed behind your glasses.

He didn't like them the first time.

It's what got him fooled about you. They’re fake, and you wore them for some reason. He wouldn't tell you that they never suited you; a second too distracted with the clarity that you looked more like yourself without them.

After he had crushed them under his heel.

Even he'd admit now that was a dick move at the time. Though he returned to this memory with a rather dull realization that you weren't upset at him because he stepped on your glasses.

It didn't exactly hit him at first. More like kick.

On the same, sore place he'd sent Sano Shinichiro to the hospital that day.

After all that, Wakasa wouldn't have thought that he could still find a place in the Black Dragons. Like how you did in your persistence to be set apart from them.

“Here,” you said behind him, and he nodded before parking at the side of the path.

Your house was smaller than Shin’s, ordinary and conforming within an equally ordinary and conforming neighborhood; a little far-off from what he’d known in the city, too quiet for his liking.

However, something about the potted plants at the front of your place set off a kind of sweetness from the others. It looked more lived-in, modest but in a charming way. He wasn’t sure where he drew that out from, though he wondered if it revealed something about you. He couldn’t quite see you as the type that watered geraniums in the morning.

You dismounted from his motorbike, making a poor attempt to appear unaffected by your wounds. Then unclipping the chain strap, you returned back his helmet, which he accepted but wouldn’t wear on his ride back. “Thank you again, Imaushi-san.”

Wakasa drawled out your name, lacking an honorific for emphasis. “Told ya to not be so formal.”

You considered it for a long moment. It made him a little impatient.

“Okay. Just don’t tell about tonight, all right?”

“Thought you and Shin-chan were close. Why’re you keeping things from him?”

You shrugged. “He doesn’t always have to know everything.”

That didn’t really answer why you’re so hellbent on hiding it.

“But I’d know.”

A soft pause. “Yeah, you’d know.”

And that’s how this friendship began between the both of you.

It’s uncalled for, and Wakasa still thought of you more like a case study for acting the way you did around him.

You grinned at how perplexed he was about this. There's a hint of blood on the slits of your teeth. You looked messed-up, and he’d like to think there’s just some stale gum stuck on his molars when he felt a tug from the corner of his mouth.

"Oi. Aren't we minors?"

Wakasa figured you'd be the kind of person to bring up something like that after going through the trouble stealing beer and snacks from a shop owner in Shinjuku, who to everyone's disgust and indignation owned child porn.

No one had qualms roughing him up and raiding his shop. The bastard deserved it anyway.

Yet for some unspoken reason, Wakasa could tell that everyone in the room had seen worse.

"Go be an uptight ass somewhere else," retorted Takeomi.

"Want me to kick yours?" you returned back.

“Bet I can—”

"All right! You two, cut that out."

Shinichiro would intervene as usual.

Wakasa wondered how long Shin had been putting up with this shitshow – when those two likely occupied a space in his heart for the longest time, any fool would notice – and although he really wasn’t that sentimental, it rewound glimpses of another time. It wasn't that long ago, just a year or so, and it wasn't pretty like this either, not that this garage should be with all this clutter and camaraderie.

There were boxes of junk and a poster of a Yamaha FZR1000R EXUP bedecked on the wall like a shrine. There's a garden outside that his grandfather tended to with such great care and everyone was still mindful enough to not step on shrubs or flick away cigarette butts like they'd been scolded little kids, scared shitless of the delicate mundanity of something they weren't apart of. Something Shinichiro welcomed them in because he'd been that guy to just stomp his foot stubbornly and say, why the hell not?

Wakasa wanted that kind of simplicity for himself or perhaps had lost it because the gutter of city streets weren't suburbia and between survival and criminality, those two often blurred if you didn't give a damn. Turf wars only brought out the worst in people; each vendetta brutal and blood-soaked just to best the other until nothing else mattered anymore.

How amusing, he thought anyway, calmly sitting side by side with his one and only rival in Shinichiro’s garage.

"Just take the beer," Benkei cut in, reaching a bottle to you. "Or not."

You blew out a sigh, accepting the beer, but Wakasa was the one that got the grunt of your temper.

The truth was he didn't mind at all. He'd rather you be like that.

"This ain't a show."

Wakasa shrugged. "I beg to differ."

Then you opened a bag of chips, helping yourself with a mouthful, and then you offered it to him as to make up for snapping back earlier. His hand stretched forward to reach.

You aspired to be a boring person.

Shinichiro would mock your resolve by unintentionally sabotaging you from that path in life. Takeomi settled with just calling you both dumbasses. Benkei would still puzzle over your words, still coming out blank, though Wakasa thought that anyone who made a promise out of them must be the most miserable people for making themselves appear more interesting than they actually were.

He was right, of course.

Because as it turned out, you were just weird.

Shinichiro laughed at that. Must've known deep down that anyone who was close friends with him was in some way.

For one, you wanted to look like a valedictorian, but you're lousy with algebra equations. Wakasa was no better when he hardly remembered anything in his classes or had attended them in awhile. Though he couldn't help but watch you when he caught you finishing it before a meeting. It looked doomed from the start, but you’re studious when you'd get it right after three flustered attempts and a bottle of roasted barley tea. He rewarded you with Mitarashi dango from the stall he frequented in Ameyoko, and you ate the rest of it even though he would learn later on from Shin that you disliked dangos.

You’re unfairly good at memorization. You read a lot too, but that’s because you preferred short stories over novels. You didn't have much patience for the latter, as you did with most things.

He knew you liked that book about a psychiatric patient meeting kappa people because you thought it's bizarre – in a comforting way, like reading your first ghost story. You had a small collection of Akutagawa's works, and you liked manga that was similar to Junji Ito's, with the exception of Ranma ½.

Your sister got you into it. That's the only time you spoke about your family, albeit everyone knowing who your brother was.

The slightest mention of him had people shuddering the moment you were there within earshot because your brother was a delinquent from a fearsome generation, and if he was still anything like the stories, then mouths were better off shut – unless they'd be sealed for good, six feet under.

You, however, didn't waver like them. The mere thought of him always made you livid like a bruise, angry and aching.

Wakasa never knew what happened, and perhaps, it's for the best that the past remained unearthed in lieu of the mildness Shinichiro had brought out of you.

You shared everything with him: childhood, cigarettes, and all.

There's really something between the two of you that no one could put into words.

The worst one that had ever been mustered up was from a snide remark about him sucking you off so you could win his fights for him and the unfortunate bastard was battered up so bad he coughed blood and teeth. Shinichiro had to stop you himself.

The both of you were open about the fact that you didn't even see each other that way.

You're more vocal about it and other things about him.

Like going on a tangent about being a firm believer that Shinichiro must've been a single auntie in a past life because he doted on little kids, he always had candy that he gave away, and he gossiped a lot more than any other teenage boy. His cooking was below average, but he made sure no one ever starved around him. He was warm.

It wasn't as if Wakasa didn't believe you, but there's a deep fondness in your eyes whenever you spoke about Shin; eyes that were intense and strong and vivid with emotion; eyes that were looking at him.

He wondered what you saw.

"You're more like a bird than a big cat."

Benkei guffawed.

That earned him a kick on the shin, and he retaliated with a swing of his arm before chuckling under his breath. "Fucking big cat, I swear. Why's he a bird then, eh?"

Wakasa sent you a stare that dared you, and you stared back unfalteringly with a smile.

"I've never seen anyone kick as high as that. Looks more like he's flying."

"Well, would you look at that. You're being praised, birdie."

With a block, Benkei dodged the following kick. It's slower than the last time.

Wakasa didn't break eye contact with you, but he didn't say a word.

The only time he did was when you were finally alone with him.

"You," Wakasa said. "What else?"

"Huh?"

"What else do you have to say about me?"

"Look, I'm not mocking you when I compared you to a bird, but I meant what I said. You really do look like you're flying," you clarified before opening up again, more passionate about it this time, "it's cool. You're cool."

There's something else stuck inside your mouth. It lingered in the silence; your eyes averted, abashed.

Wakasa wanted to tug it out of you, but he found himself too fixated over your words. Something about them made him want to soar.

"I think you're cool too," he told you this with an honesty that had taken him aback more than you had. It lacked the usual, lackluster drawl in place of something softer, close to a whisper, but he figured you'd be the only one who got to hear it. He'd rather it just be you.

“You don't mean that," you replied, making him raise a brow at you.

"What makes you think so?"

"You're just being nice," you sighed with an uncertain gaze. "I don't know why. But you're always nice."

"I'm not,” said Wakasa. He and Benkei just beat up an entire gang; the leader had his jaw broken from the force of his foot. You covered for him so he could go for the finishing blow, even though you took more damage from it. All of you probably weren’t nice, though that didn’t matter to him. “But I meant it."

Then he threw back your words at you with a sly bend of his lips.

"You don't have to fly to make me say that."

“You look like you’ve just woken up.”

You were about to wave your hand at him, though it stopped midway only for your arm to fall back and prop against the leg that’s crossed against the other, palm bent by your chin, shoulders slouched.

There’s a soft languidness in your stare, but that didn’t make you any less awake, peeved, after huffing a little. “You’re not wrong.”

Wakasa stared at the coffee can beside you, and then back to your face, the slight ruffle of your hair.

“Why aren’t you in uniform?” he asked.

“Still in the wash,” you slurred a bit after a yawn. “I kind of forgot we had a meeting today. Told Shin I should just skip it, but he insisted.”

You're in a t-shirt and a pair of joggers, though what really caught his attention was the sandals and the inked head of a dragon slithering on your right ankle, partially hidden under the cuff of your pants. If you weren’t so discreet about it, everyone would've known by now that your tattoo spiraled up to the length of your calf. Honestly, why get one if you're just going to hide it in the first place?

“You should’ve worn something warmer,” scolded Wakasa, starting to unbutton his gang jacket. “It’s cold out.”

You quirked a brow at him at first before abiding with a shrug, standing up to put it on you but somewhere along the way, your hands must’ve missed and his acted on their own when he draped it on you.

There’s an obscure point where your shoulders eased and his thumb brushed on your collarbone.

Wakasa wondered if he’s crossed the line, though he was quiet and distracted when he watched you slip your arms into the sleeves of his jacket.

Then you sent him a funny look in return when you stared at his sweatshirt paired with his boots and boiler pants, and found how terribly mismatched the both of you were, like a myriad of complicated things trying to figure each other out, and he thought that it wasn’t that farfetched.

“Shouldn’t you be in uniform? You’re a captain.”

Didn’t make him any less, so he shrugged, hand on his pocket. Perhaps from negligence, there’s still a candy wrapper inside; his idle fingers clutching onto it, not knowing whether it’s a gum or a lollipop one.

“You know,” you smiled. “Keep this up, and he’ll start to think I’m gonna replace him.”

It’d just been a casual joke. Even if it wasn’t, Wakasa doubted that, but he still asked.

“You think so?”

You didn’t exactly give an answer, but you weren’t looking at him anymore. “Can anyone really replace him?”

Then his eyes followed after yours, on the stone platform where Shinichiro made his grand entrance.

Everyone stood upright from his presence alone. The meeting was about to commence.

His lips curled up. “Guess not.”

The both of your gazes weren’t without respect and admiration for him from this distance; the solemn flap of his gang jacket spreading out behind him like the cowl of the night, emblazoned in gold.

Even though Wakasa agreed with you that it probably hadn’t been washed and it stunk of cigarettes. Benkei chided the two of you after clearing his throat, which suspiciously sounded more like a snort of amusement than anything else.

“I like yours better, though,” you whispered, still clad in his jacket, and a little lost from your words, Wakasa didn’t tell you that you shouldn’t forget yours next time.

But next time had become your last time when you made the decision to quit the Black Dragons.

Posture proud and rigid and arms tucked behind your back, you bowed at them to your waist, with the last, flaming blaze of the sunset falling over your shoulder. Some would like to believe it was the early twilight of an era when your shadow had appeared taller that day.

“Thank you for having me!”

Wakasa couldn’t even find it in himself to badger you for the formality.

Later down the line, Shinichiro would disband the gang and the few remnants would take over after them, like the passing of another day, and whenever Wakasa looked back to it now, his commander had eyes set at looking forward, even if the brighter times must come to an end.

“Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t hang out,” said Shinichiro, resolute as ever.

“Didn’t think I was so missed,” a handful of snorts, and then you sighed. “All of you didn’t have to scare off my seniors, though.”

“That’d be Kei’s ugly mug.”

“You’re the one who threatened the teacher!”

“He was pissin’ me off,” Wakasa said insouciantly before twirling the lollipop in his mouth. “How’s cram school by the way?”

“Boring.” You frowned with a hand under your chin, no longer telling them that you’d also been occupied prepping up for college entrance exams for weeks. “Well, seems more like I’m the one that missed out. What are you all up to?”

“We put some punks from Kichijoji in their place for trying to mess with us,” Takeomi bragged. “Ain’t that right, Shin?”

“Yeah, yeah, anyway,” dismissed Shinichiro with a wave, and something about his disinterest hurt Takeomi a little. “I’m taking an apprenticeship for the summer. Yoneda-san’s gonna have me in his motor shop.”

Shinichiro was excited about it because everyone knew how much he dedicated himself into gaining his knowledge on motorcycles. He was already somewhat of a mechanic in a way when he'd volunteer to fix their bikes if they broke down, wrecked, and he'd tinker on a dead engine for hours on end.

It's one of those moments where his passion shined through when he really didn't seem to have as much motivation being in school and whatever it offered there.

All of them were aware that Benkei was working in a small gym from Nishi-Azabu, though what surprised them was that Wakasa had been referred by him to take the job opening for full-time assistant trainer. Shrugging, he planned to start next week.

Takeomi was blatant about wanting to be rich a long time ago, maybe own a club in the future.

Talks of dreams and stories went about over pizza. They were drinking Coca Cola awhile ago until someone snuck alcohol in there, mixing it in their glasses in small doses.

They were careful to never let it anywhere near Mikey who joined for pizza slices and listened in the conversation with curious eyes. The moment he drifted away to watch TV back in the house was when all the recklessness began after the suggestion of beer pong because first, there was no beer; second, one of them brought up the psychotic idea to let the loser down a cocktail of Coca Cola, gin, and hot sauce; third, it devolved into chaos when it turned into a competition.

Backs were stabbed, curses were thrown. Benkei flipped a stool. You slipped on an ice cube. Takeomi accidentally spilled gin on Wakasa's hoodie. Shinichiro was probably crying at some point. Everyone was getting sick of junk food. There's a mess on the floor of the garage. It was just two in the morning.

It was stupid fun.

Despite it all, you're the first one to pass out. Not really from the alcohol, but you’re quick to doze off after you still had the stomach to finish the leftover pizza. Everyone stared at you curled up on the floor, mumbling in your sleep.

Shinichiro would speak on your behalf that you were probably tired, but Wakasa was already on the move to carry you to his bedroom once he began lifting you up, unconcerned whether he roused you awake. He’d rather you be, but you’d always been such a heavy sleeper.

There’s something off about how Shinichiro assessed this, however.

Perhaps, he was just a little stunned that he hadn’t done it first – or someone else had done it for you – though he nodded it off, instructing him where the extra futons were in the house, and simply smiled. It’s too smooth, lacking that playful crookedness, when he noticed your arm resting on his shoulder.

His eyes lingered a second too long just before Takeomi pulled him into his stride with a rag, doing something responsible for once.

Benkei watched them, but he didn’t ask him if he needed help with you, concerning himself with a trash bag.

When you were settled on the bed, it’s starting to dawn on him why you thought he’d overreact on certain things – were you aware or were you just as oblivious? – and while Wakasa couldn’t brush aside the way Shinichiro looked at you, he couldn’t help but feel selfish about this, like he’s trespassing on something that he shouldn’t.

Like he’s trampling it all down, and he’d done it before without remorse to enemies, to weaker people, but he liked Shin.

Then he stared at you and sighed.

Wakasa gently removed your glasses, untucking a few strands, and he would brush them back from your face, soft from sleep and the subtle, ambient glow of a lamplight from the window, passing through the blinds. The both of you were striped in white against the indigo shadows of the room, and there’s a part of him that thought it’s nice that you almost looked the same.

He felt like he could reach you like this. He wondered if he could. If he should.

Tender from the pads of his fingers.

The glint of silver helix studs distracted him, twin stars on your ear.

Wakasa remembered complimenting you, searching for the expression of your face. The day was an October gray, and the wind was harsher on your hair, tousling it all over the place. He couldn’t take you seriously when you gave up keeping it still until it compelled his hand, pushing them back behind the curve of your ear.

Nice piercings, he told you back then, and something about your hair and words tangled from that, lips slightly agape. He leaned closer for a better look.

There’s a strand at the corner of your mouth, though a name curled along there now, barely a whisper, and he didn’t want to know whose it was. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to know at all.

"I kissed someone," you said in the middle of the crossing. "It didn't feel right."

Silence fell for a long, stagnant moment, yet the both of you kept moving, and so did the words that didn't make sense to him.

"No one gets it right the first time," was the only thing he offered, and as your eyes wandered to the madding crowd, a little disheartened, it's all what he could think about that afternoon.

“You’re moving to Nagoya,” Wakasa repeated, letting the thought sink down and drown him.

“Yeah . . .” you said as if you’re still taking it all in yourself; your smile thin, but you’re sucking on sour candy and he understood you with his own, slowly starting to unravel behind his teeth.

"Meidai's a good university," you made it sound like you're trying to convince yourself that, and he went silent for a minute. Something awful dangled on his mouth.

“That’s pretty far,” he mused, drawing in another breath.

“Not that far.” But far.

“How did Shin-chan take it?”

“Well, I guess,” you lowered down to a pensive mumble.

There’s a stillness to both of your hands; not meeting to touch but close.

“Then—” Wakasa caught himself before the words slipped, cloying and sour on his tongue.

Don’t go.

“I’m happy for you.”

All five of you gathered at Shibuya station.

Shin insisted, though it was Benkei who swooped you up for a hug, making you breathe out a surprised laugh.

Benkei would always charge forward with how he expressed himself, whether from a fight or fondness, and it nearly had you in mid-air but you weren't one to back down either, clinging back to him.

Then an exchange of encouraging words and a few dad jokes, and that kicked off a trend that had all of you making such a small scene in public. Even so, they didn't care if they were.

Takeomi only relented after Shinichiro pushed him and he began to uncross his arms, sighing from his nose. The hug was stiff and awkward that it had the rest of them grunting out a chuckle at the sight.

Takeomi had too much pride to show affection, but he did make an effort with a lean and three pats on your back. The moment his hair splayed on your face, you jolted back petulantly. "Cut your damn hair."

"Fuck off," retorted Takeomi.

You were grinning at each other, all harmless profanity instead of best wishes.

Then you walked up to him. You still had your glasses on, but there’s a meaningful look in your eyes.

Before Wakasa could take a step forward, you didn't wait for him as you wrapped your arms on his sides. He froze at first, though something about your warmth thawed his initial shock from the embrace, and he felt himself loosen for a long, wistful moment where he could slide his arms around you, nestling his chin on the curve of your shoulder.

You harbored so much brutal strength though you felt delicate, bird-boned. He wanted to trace out your wings with a fingertip.

You likened him to a bird once, but you were the one that was about to take flight and disappear.

Wakasa was uncertain whether he wanted this to last or not, though he was sure that this was the only time he'd hold you like this. He whispered your name and you whispered his back, unspoken words lost to each other's hair, but the sentiment was all soft and well-meaning, quieter than a farewell. The two of you were a little older now to understand what this meant.

Then he lingered for a heartbeat before he unwound himself, thinking this was enough.

“Okay, that's about it,” you stated.

“Oi.”

“Bye, Shin.”

Then his hand hooked on the hood of your jacket. You let him drag you back to him like an idiot.

That’s right. The both of you were idiots, and Wakasa smiled.

You tilted your head at him. “What? No tears for me?”

Then Shinichiro embraced you, like he could engulf you within his arms.

You looked like you’re about to give in to a cry.

“You're gonna come back anyway,” he said stubbornly, sniffling. You didn’t complain that you’d get snot on your collar.

Shinichiro held you tighter, half-buried by your hair. He had a place in the space where your jaw met your throat, perhaps warm with tears.

You stared at all of them from his shoulder, but you were smiling sadly for him.

You didn’t want to let go of him the most.

“Take care of him.”

Shinichiro cared so much about you.

He wouldn’t admit it, but he didn’t have to.

He searched for you in gazes, in the vacant seat next to him, in every little, insignificant thing. He’d always try to bring you up in conversations, as if to keep your presence near and important, and recount how you were based from your calls and messages. However, the following months took a toll on him when you got busier, more distant now than ever.

Because there’s this miserable truth about him.

Shinichiro was open to talks, to friendships, to shedding his tears for the smallest of reasons, though for someone so ardent and emotional, he didn’t let himself truly be vulnerable around anyone. Except you.

But you weren’t here. Wakasa wished you were, melancholic over your absence and the gap it left between them.

“You could trust me,” he said; the last trace of sour-sweetness on his lollipop stick was an afterthought, and bereft, he still tried, “Shin, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t tell anyone . . .” Shinichiro sighed, and it felt as if you never left at all.

“We’ll all hang out together again someday,” Wakasa reassured him, even after being weighed down over what he knew for the longest time.

He wasn’t in school anymore, but the feeling was awfully similar, like how one passed notes in class, all the while carrying the sentiment that he was in on the secret that wasn’t much of a secret at all.

Senju wasn’t all what he expected as Takeomi’s little sister.

There’s a fierceness in her eyes that he hadn’t seen anywhere else.

“Fight me!”

Bullheaded too, like her older brother.

Who had apparently shirked his responsibilities as one for spending the rest of the night in Kabukicho.

Wakasa couldn’t remember when he had agreed to babysit a demanding child, though Benkei was opposed to leaving her alone with a hungover Takeomi back at home. He also couldn’t remember when he began to enjoy his sessions with said demanding child, who’d been exuberant in her potential, her high kicks unmatched in the training grounds. He never doubted that she would soon be a force to be reckoned with.

He could say the same for Mikey, though he liked Senju more.

Instead of sweets, Wakasa traded tact and blows in the gym. He’s better at this than he thought.

Guess we have a pact now.

“—hey, don’t hang up just yet!”

Shinichiro exclaimed from a private room of the motor shop, making Seishu raise his head a bit from the couch, and Wakasa and Benkei mirrored the boy with as much inquisitiveness.

Then he barreled out of the door with a broad grin. He looked younger again, hollering out your name.

“Benkei and Waka are here. Greet ‘em,” said Shinichiro, gesturing them to come closer. Then he reached out the phone, waiting on his palm.

Benkei nodded off to Wakasa to take it, and regarding his friend with mild annoyance, he did with a sigh.

Reluctantly. “Hi.”

Then a second of static.

“Oh. Hi Waka,” you said. You almost sounded like a stranger at first, but you got his name right.

Wakasa would say yours back, not meaning for it to roll off a little foreign out of his mouth. He hoped you could hear that he was smiling, though there’s no way of telling on the other line.

“How are you?”

#wakasa imaushi x reader #wakasa imaushi x you #wakasa imaushi x y/n #shinichiro sano x reader #sano shinichiro x y/n #shinichiro sano x you #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers scenarios #tokyo revengers spoilers #tokyo revengers headcanons #tokyo revengers #shinichiro sano #wakasa imaushi #black dragons #pen writes #i honestly don't know what i wrote but imma go read waka fluff fics instead bc i hate it here ;-;

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paralleledmediaexperience · 3 years

Text

right before my birthday back in May someone made a post about Jack needing more love and hugs, and I had this idea in the tags and then went and wrote about a thousand words of this and then. forgot it existed!! anyway I’ve mostly polished it up now. enjoy Jack telling one of his dads he loves him and then not only being hugged but also hearing it back!! it’s what our boy deserves!!!!!

Now with part two!!!!!

Jack hadn’t meant to fix everything, in his defense. Yes, they’d defeated god with his powers, which had unintentionally released Amara, who had agreed to take her brother’s powers from Jack and then let the world mostly be as long as she got the chance to see him every once in a while. She’d returned the universe to normal, with a few additions for their happiness, as Amara had said. Dean had choked out Cas’ name, and Amara had frowned before replying that it might take a bit more time.

They had gone back to the bunker and then the bunker had been thoroughly overrun the whole next week by- it seemed- everyone the Winchesters knew, including a few faces who were apparently as back from the dead by Amara’s hand as Mary was last time she owed a Winchester a favor. Through it all- old friends and odd allies and more- Jack knows Dean isn’t doing well. Isn’t sleeping well. There’s only been one night- well, Jack hadn’t seen Dean drinking but he’d heard Sam’s arguing and Dean’s short, choppy answers, and it was familiar enough.

He’d googled “what to do when my dad misses someone and we can’t talk to them yet,” and wikihow had good suggestions- he’d read through the sections for both short-term separations, and managing the death of a loved one. He hadn’t really been able to figure out which would be more helpful. It had turned out to be the death of a loved one, which… shouldn’t be surprising, no matter that Cas would be back. Soon.

He couldn’t make Dean do any of the things on the list, but it had suggested that the person would like to feel loved during their time of grieving.

And when he’d searched “how to make someone feel loved,” the first article had said the easiest way was simply to tell them. So when Dean hands him a plate of pancakes with the bacon cooked just how Jack likes it, Jack thinks it’s such a small thing to make his heart feel so big and warm. And he smiles and says, “Thanks Dean. I love you.”

Unfortunately, Jack hasn’t actually grabbed the plate when he says this, and Dean’s hands drop it. The sound of the plate shattering on the tile is only half as upsetting as the wounded look in Dean’s eyes as he looks back at Jack. And Jack isn’t sure why it went so wrong but he looks away immediately, the shame of causing that hurt somehow and the slow horror of realizing he’d ruined the breakfast that Dean had made him turning his stomach into knots. He steps back almost unconsciously before remembering the plate had just broken, and in just his socks, a piece of ceramic jabs into his heel and slices him open, and he actually can’t help the small cry of surprise and pain that slips out.

“Jeez, kid,” Dean breathes out, and Jack gets pushed into the nearest chair. “Get that out of your foot while I clean this up.”

The warm feeling in his chest was gone, pressed into something cold and tight in Jack’s throat. He’d just- the article had said it makes people happy to hear they are loved in times of grief.

He watches, silent as Dean turns off the stove and sweeps up the wasted food and plate pieces, soundly dumping it in the trash before digging under the sink for a second and coming out with a clean dishrag and a box of bandaids. It’s only when he sees Dean stop and take a quiet, private shuddering breath to forcibly relax his tensed shoulders that he lowers his gaze again. He picks the sharp sliver of plate out of his skin through the sock before peeling it off to examine the cut it left. Very shallow, but it still stretches two inches along on the inside of his heel, the blood sluggishly dripping out.

It’s not bad, but very inconvenient, so he almost heals it before remembering that Amara had said not to use his powers after she took Chuck’s powers. Not until she returned and okayed it, at least. He sighs, pinching it together with his fingers, half heartedly wishing it had been more awkward and antagonistic between his aunt and his dads, so he could have maybe convinced Dean that they shouldn’t listen to what Amara told him to do. It probably wouldn’t have worked anyway.

He hears Dean turn the water on to damp the cloth, but he can’t make himself look back up again. His gaze goes back down to the floor as Dean starts to turn back toward him, focusing on the small smear of red on the floor, where Dean had dragged the broom through the spots of blood he’d left.

He raises his hands as Dean approaches, ready to be handed the stuff to bandage himself up, but Dean just beats them away as he sits down next to Jack, hunching in as he grabs the injured foot. Jack still feels unbearably small in the silence between them, both him and Dean leaning in and feeling small and unwilling to speak as he wipes away the blood and then dries the skin around it. Jack grabs two of the bandaids and opens them, and Dean wraps them around the cut before patting it and drawing away, and Jack doesn’t know what else to do.

“Sorry,” He says softly, because he isn’t sure what he did wrong but it hurt Dean. And he wasn’t even angry, Jack could tell, cause his shoulders hadn’t tensed the way they did when Dean was trying not to lash out- they’d tensed the way they did when Dean was trying not to fall apart. Jack’s felt like he had to know the difference for a while now.

“Jack,” Dean says, and it’s so sharp that Jack jerks up to look at him. Had he read that wrong? Was Dean angry? But when he meets Dean’s eyes it’s still that hurting, the one that Jack could remember all the way from back when he was a newborn, or something close to it. “No, you don’t-” Dean lifted a hand to his face and dragged it down with a rough breath, and Jack wasn’t expecting him to look back at him but he did, eyes burning into Jack’s. “You don’t have to be sorry. That was on me- I dropped the plate.”

Jack tries not to squirm, because it’s not about the plate, is it? The food had been thrown away and the plate had hurt him, but he’d said he loved Dean and that had made him drop it. “I’m sorry that I-”

“Jack,” Dean cuts across again, and this time his brows are drawing together the way they do when he’s angry. But he looks away from Jack again, and he can tell somehow that it’s not anger at him. Dean doesn’t even want Jack to be looking at this anger. “You say whatever you want, okay? I’m not upset that you said it.”

It isn't that he thinks Dean doesn’t mean the words, but Jack’s also not sure Dean believes them either. “I am, though,” he says, petulant, crossing his arms and letting his foot fall back down to the ground, ignoring the bite of pain from treating the cut so roughly. “If it hurt you, I shouldn’t have-”

Dean cuts him off again. “No. Jack, that’s-” He struggles for a second, but Jack just wants to understand. Unbidden, he holds his breath and Dean draws his in, trying to find the words.

“You get to love me if you want to,” Dean grinds out, and Jack realizes there are tears gathering along his lower lashes. “And you get to tell me if you want to. This hurt ain’t about you.”

That does clear it up, somehow, and Jack nods and looks back down at his hands, realizing there’s still blood on his fingers, too. Dean turns away enough that they can almost pretend he’s not rubbing the tears out of his eyes. “I won’t say it if you don’t want me to either, though,” he says, and he grabs the cloth from the table where Dean had left it, finding a clean spot on the damp corner and using it.

“That ain’t how it works, kid.” He doesn’t elaborate. He just grabs the box of bandaids and closes it before gathering up the paper wrapping. It gets thrown out, and the box stowed back under the sink, and then Jack is just staring at Dean.

“How does it work?”

They both stop. Jack didn’t expect to actually let the question out, but it’s off of his lips before he can seal them.

Dean is frozen, staring at him.

“Not like that,” Dean says eventually, weariness dripping from each word. “Jack, do you… do you want us to say…”

He doesn’t say it, the kitchen fan blowing white noise into the quiet air between them. Jack knows that he could ask and Dean would say it right now. Dean always gives the people he loves what they want, what they need, and this would just be the next thing he could offer. Something he could give.

“I don’t need you to.” Jack says, honestly. “I know. I just wanted you to hear it, because I don’t think I’ve ever gotten to say it to you.”

Dean squints at him. “You... “ His eyes are wet again. Without warning, Dean grabs him and pulls him up, into a hug, and Jack grabs back as tight as he can, feeling lost. But it’s good, it’s good just like every time Dean hugs him. He squeezes his eyes shut tight as if he can’t feel the tears welling up in his own eyes, hot and stinging. “I love you too, Jack. I don’t get- you and-” Dean sputters off, still holding him. “If you want to hear it, you let me know. I’ll get better at it.”

“Maybe every once in a while,” Jack says, trying not to let his voice sound like he’s crying. It does anyway.

“Alright then,” Dean says, and he squeezes him one more time before letting go, turning away abruptly and bustling back to the stove. Jack wipes his eyes on his sleeve, his whole chest feeling empty and full all at once. The rag had fallen out of his hands sometime in their conversation, and he leans down to grab it, pausing to wipe up the blood on the floor. Dean comes back a minute later and pulls it out of his hand before passing him another plate. “Here, since the last one humpty-dumpty’d.”

They don’t continue the conversation. Jack eats his breakfast as Dean fixes himself another cup of coffee, and they sit quietly, waiting for Cas to come home.

#Jack Kline #Dean Winchester #supernatural #my fic #creativecaviar #pancake cinematic universe

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munsnz · 3 years

Text

TRICKS OF LIFE — STEVE HARRINGTON

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐯. — 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞? Overview: Y/N tells Mike information to help their lost friend, she also heads to the search party for Will with Victor. As they explore, the past unravels and there is an odd occurrence that happens. Navigation & Mixtape

Tag: @samiyamuntaha @thepowerstoner @ughgclden @mqyfield @cooperdaysgf

“So right by Mirkwood right?” Mike Wheeler’s voice peeped after listening to Y/N’s remark of details about what she heard at the Hawkins Police Department a few hours ago. It was around 7 pm, right around to where the girl was getting ready prone to the search party being held with a few of the residents of the town.

Y/N hummed a positive response to clearing out his doubts just in case he was confused by any means, this wasn’t going to help Mike, it was going to help Will get a faster chance to be retrieved to his home again.

Although Hopper disapproved the request of letting young people in the search, Y/N and Victor were eventually allowed to come along, “Yeah, but remember you have to be somewhat far from the real search group okay? We don’t want you to get caught.”

”Mike! What are you doing?” Nancy’s faint voice was caught on the other line of the phone, leading Mike to leave the phone out, Y/N overhearing them argue over the dumbest things.

Prior to the noises of Mike pushing Nancy out of the basement she guessed, the boy came back on the line, sighing loudly, “Sorry about that, Nancy gets so annoying, I still don’t know why you still hang out with her.”

”She could be a priss sometimes,” She responds, breathily giggling, clenching the ceramic telephone tighter, “But she’s still my friend if you could say.”

Continuing with their conversation based on the plan, it was perfectly assembled, safe with a high possibility of finding Will, even if it had been a day. Will couldn’t have gone far anyways. Y/N was about to speak, but was suddenly caught off guard as soon as she heard her dad in the hallway, getting prepared for the search.

”Oh shit! I have to go now,” Y/N hushed in a subtle tone, trying her best to keep away Hopper from listening to their discussion, “Remember to be home by 9 at least with flashlights. Stay safe Mike.”

The line went awfully silent, placing back the phone to its regular position on the handset, while it being attached to the wall. Rapidly, spinning to look at her father, trying to act as normal as possible, his brows furrowed at her.

”What were you doing?”

Shrugging it off calmly, Y/N breathily giggles while she put her hands on her hips saying, “I was just checking in with Victor, that’s all.”

Hopper’s eyes widened at her point, clicking his tongue as he started grabbing on his sweater for the frosty night ahead, “Funny, but I just called his mom to let him know that he was coming.”

”Right..” Y/N casually crossed her arms, cursing under her breath before she showed any subtle reaction to what she was up to. Play it cool.

In the silence of her looking around the messy home by the front door, Hopper sharply whistles while slinging the car keys in the air to catch them, making Y/N follow right behind me, pretending as if the few minutes didn’t occur. Feeling the breeze of the autumn air, both the relatives made their way to the vehicle, on their way to the small yet important search for this boy, Will Byers.

As the road got narrower and narrower, the car drove deeper into the dark woods, where Y/N could see the slender trees and branches surrounding them. The starry sky lit up the place with a soft tone of dim blues and grays painted across it on the chilly night. Watching out the window, Y/N squinted her eyes to see a figure from afar waving towards the vehicle, a familiar figure to be Victor. Hopper drove nearer, the headlights being able to guide him to the stop where a small crowd of people were surrounding along with the patrols.

Hopper cleared his throat, while he pushed the breaks down and turned to his daughter, “Hey kid, remember don’t be-“

Without hesitation, Y/N swung the car door open to step out of it, hustled her way to her so called “acquaintance”, Victor. It was more like a friend but she didn’t want to be that close with the boy. Victor wearily smiling at her.

��You seem tired,” Y/N creeps up next to him, watching the small groups of people around the mounds of dead leaves and twigs gathered for the search.

Victor’s voice brings the girl’s attention back to him, he clears his throat, “I mean dealing with Flo is already a lot for me to handle, so I suppose I am.” The two silently chuckled, the frost getting to their noses, “I heard there’s gonna be a chance of rain.”

”Really?”

“Yes really! Haven’t you seen the forecast? I’m even wearing a jacket!” Victor squinted his eyes, his eyewear raising up on the bridge of his nose and the girl shrugged aimlessly.

Y/N scoffed, shoving him slightly, “I think there’s way more important things we need to focus on instead of the weather.”

From afar, Hopper and the policemen indicated all the volunteers to gather around on the sidewalk, near the entrance of the forest. The flashing blue and red lights were turned off from the cars, everyone else preparing for the upcoming search.

”Okay guys!” The chief shouted to direct everyone, “We need to stay in the 5 mile radius from where Will was last scene! Everyone please be careful and remember to blow the whistle if you find anything at all!”

Heads were nodded, agreeing to the directions, Officers Powell and Callahan guided two separate groups from different directions, Y/N having to come along with the third group including her dad. Although the girl was 16, her father wanted to take the best care for her, after Sarah. He wanted to keep her as close as possible, but he knew she was getting older. It was just for today, he can protect her for today, now being aware of a kid disappearing in their town. Maybe one of them was next.

“I guess that’s your call genius,” Y/N told Victor as she pointed towards Powell’s group who were walking to the right side of the woods, the people disappearing one by one into the darkness.

Not budging at all, Victor stood his ground saying, “I think I’ll stick with you for now, there’s just soccer moms hoarding the group for Powell, he has a fan club.”

“You’re not wrong Vic,” She sniggered quietly but failed miserably, letting out a subtle loud laugh, both of the teenagers walking behind their group, down a steep hill leading to the inner nature.

Rushing down first to the bottom, the tall brunette reached his hand out for Y/N who was still at the top, to help her come down to his level, “M’lady?”

”Why thank you, what a gentleman!” Y/N sarcastically gasps, gripping onto his hand to steady herself below, after they jogged closer to the group, flicking their flashlights on to carry on.

Everyone glanced above the branches, the moon shining as the crickets chirped. The crisp wind running across their faces, making the trees shuffle loudly. As flashlights led them with its brightness, they all searched and searched, for any trace of the boy around the area.

Half an hour later, the air became cooler than usual, almost bringing a frostbite to their bare hands. The sound of branches and dead leaves crunching over the few people above them. In the silence, Y/N stayed near Victor and her father, hearing shouts for Will. The realization hit the girl, they were looking for lost Will, Will hasn’t appeared, he was probably in some sort of danger. She fastened her grip on the flashlight, looking around more closely, along with the rest.

”He’s a good student,” Someone decides to break the silence of the leaves and twigs crunching under their feet, Victor and Y/N turned their attention to him as they strolled in the woods.

Hopper cocks an eyebrow up and looks towards the teacher’s direction after the statement, “What?”

”Will. He’s a good student. Great one actually,” He elaborates, smiling sheepishly to lend his hand in front of the chief to introduce himself, “I don’t think we’ve met, Scott Clarke. Teacher, Hawkins Middle. Earth and biology.”

“Don’t you remember he was my teacher back in the day?”

Victor nods agreeing with Y/N’s statement from behind, Hopper reluctantly trying to remember his daughter’s middle school teacher, still not recalling since in those past years where fighting for Y/N’s custody between the parents, “I always had a distaste for science.”

”Well maybe you had a bad teacher,” Mr. Clarke remarks, checking if his flashlight was still operating, trudging closer to the group of three ahead of him.

”Yeah, Ms. Ratliff was a piece of work,” Hopper scoffs jokingly, Y/N doing the same as well, remembering his shitty science teacher from his past years while he studied at Hawkins High.

”Ratliff?” The teacher ponders, realizing that the same teacher still resides in Hawkins after all these years, “You bet. She’s still kicking around believe it or not.”

Victor elaborates in between them, sliding his hands onto his pockets, “I had her when I was in eighth grade a few years back.”

”Oh I believe it Victor. Mummies never die, so they tell me,” Hopper smiles, trying to get his daughter to notice but she dozed off beyond the sight of the woods, ”Sarah, my youngest, galaxies, the universe whatnot.. She always understood all that stuff. I always figured there was enough going down here, I never needed to look elsewhere.”

Y/N flickered her eyes towards her father’s direction after hearing the special name, it wasn’t so special to one, but to her, it was. Sarah, Sarah Hopper her little sister, but soon enough the teacher interrupted, “Maybe I’ll get her in my class I-“

“No, she uh.. she lives with her mom in the city,” He cuts the man off from his statement, Victor widening his eyes on Y/N’s side, knowing fully that wasn’t true.

The girl beside the tall boy looked back at his dark eyes, signaling him to be quiet, Y/N was aware of the fact that everyone in Hawkins knew Sarah’s death. Just because of her own blabbermouth, Steve told everyone including the parents her little secret the young female confessed to.

As much as her dad still wants to deny the fact the little one was gone and resting in peace, staying of his delusion Y/N wished she could have. It was a promise. A promise that everything was okay and there wasn’t nothing to worry about, almost some sort of fairy tale where everything had its happy endings with a happy family which wasn’t it.

“Thanks for coming out, Teach. We really appreciate it.” Hopper clears the air, trudging past them farther into the dark eerie woods, Y/N and Victor repeating his steps behind him.

Once they were out of the picture and range from hearing, a middle aged woman spoke up next to the teacher, in a hushed tone saying, “She died a few years back.”

”Sorry?” Mr. Clarke shifted his head in bewilderment towards the lady for any clarification from the inadequate statement given.

”His kid.”

The teacher’s eyes widened, observing the two family members mumbling inaudible words behind the brisk trees of the cool night. He didn’t know the Hoppers hid their family, they never talked much about family when it came to projects when Y/N was younger. It seemed like something ever so private not like where many kids shared experiences with their loved ones, they always kept everything about their family closed up. Almost a mystery.

Y/N could hear the soft mumbles of the quiet conversation being exchanged by the lady and her former teacher, she felt sick knowing that her father stays in the delusion of her sister being alive, lying. Lying wasn’t so hard for her, Y/N was almost a professional at it when it came to helping the party in situations. But lying to her dad was different, it was the both of them against the horrid place called the world.

“Is Sarah going to be back?” A small girl walked over to the grown adults who stood at the front door, puffy eyes showing on their faces, as they held a plastic wristband and stuffed tiger after a long day from not seeing her sister. It was already near midnight.

Without any move, the woman, who to be seen was the girl’s mother, bursted into tears, her husband catching her into his arms. The youngling worriedly watched her parents shed tears, a middle aged woman got up from the couch to comfort both of them. Whispers and mumbles being shared between the adults, bringing more tears.

”Mommy?” The girl steadily crept next to her mom’s leg, wrapping her short arms around her waist, pressing her cheek against the woman’s body, “Don’t cry, I’m here.”

Sobs were still heard from the mother, the two of the women held each other tightly while the tall man let go from their hug, kneeling next to the girl’s level, “Y/N, kid-“

”Dad, where’s Sarah?!” Y/N shakily shouted, her stomach feeling uneasy, with her sister not being found. What happened to Sarah? She knew Sarah was going to get better. Why was mom crying? So many questions filled her head, eyes welling up, her father hugging her tightly with all the hurt and love. Y/N noticed the wristband that her father was holding, she peered closely to see a sloppy handwriting shown as the name Sarah, written all over it with the date when she was sent to the hospital.

”Sarah is... gone.”

The little’s watery eyes widened, her bottom lip trembling, she threw her arms around her father, her head leaning onto his shoulder. Her little sister was gone, she was alone now, her heart crumbling into a million pieces. Sarah, Sarah wasn’t here anymore. But it seemed so surreal, it was only yesterday the two sisters laughed about one of the nurses dropping her cup of coffee while getting chemotherapy.

“Dad.. Can she come back?”

Sadly grinning, Hopper wiped the girl’s chubby face from her tears, shaking his head, “I’m sorry kid, she’s not coming back.”

”But she has to! Sarah has to come home with us,” Y/N choked in her tears, her eyes becoming swollen, grabbing the wristband from her father’s large hand, “Sarah can’t leave me alone here. She promised she would stay.”

”Y/N, I know this is difficult but your sister left us. She’s in a better place now.”

Making her cry even more, Y/N’s mother rapidly kneeled next to her husband and daughter, she sniffed, grabbing onto her daughter, “We promised Sarah we would love each other and always stay safe. Forever.”

”Promise?”

Both of the girl’s parents joined in for a tight hug, Y/N fastening her arms around the two others, “Promise. We promise you sweet pea.”

”Y/N! Y/N!” A familiar voice boasted in the ears of Y/N, she focused her attention back to the voice. There was no one beside her by the time she looked around, it was the sounds of the wind and her alone. Her flashlight flickered in her hands, she shook it vigorously to try and turn it back on, but there was nothing coming out of it, just a dimly lit tone guiding her way. Nothing else in her sight except for the trees and moonlight, she tried her best to not overthink this and make her way back to the group.

Every turn she made in the paths, it led her to nowhere, noises filled the aura. Slowly, she began to worry, she wasn’t coming back to the group. Y/N’s head filled itself with thoughts, there was no way she could be lost, last time she was with Victor, rambling about the weather. Where was she? Looking up, she felt small droplets of water dripped onto her face above, Y/N squinted her eyes to avoid the drizzle. The water fell down slowly until it started raining heavier in the air, she wiped her face to dry it off and continue to try to find her way back.

“Dad!” Y/N shouted, wrapping her arms over herself, her hair becoming soaked along the time. She kept shouting and shouting, worry filling her in. The girl was afraid. What if she went missing like Will? Oh no.

Without a precaution, a branch from behind was heard. Y/N whipped her head to the direction, seeing a small human with a white gown rapidly run off to opposite direction, the rain blurring her eyes. Was that Will? Curious, she picked up speed to follow the boy, it may be Will. A chance of relief rushing in as her adrenaline sped up, almost running faster. “Will! It’s me!”

The boy didn’t stop, sprinting faster with his bare feet. Y/N still yelled, slowing her pace down, then picking it back up, going through the trees. An idea came to her, tugging at her metal whistle to her lips, blowing on it. The sound coming off it, maybe attracting people to find her and the boy, it has to be Will. Using her arms to run faster, she suddenly trips over a thick log after not seeing below her because of the wind, sending her to the floor. She whimpers as she felt her ankle burn in a pain, whistling even more.

From the distance, few people to what she could tell came forward to her, rain soaking over her head. Thunder being heard far away, Victor came into the picture to kneel down next to Y/N.

”Hey are you okay?” He worriedly checks on her, receiving a nod. Victor looked around for any possible wounds since he found her on the ground, “We couldn’t find you!”

Y/N hardly paid attention to him and looked afar to see if the boy would turn up again. She held Victor’s jacket to pull him closer, “I think I saw Will! He was running through there I-“

”Chief Hopper coming through, excuse me,” A voice from the crowd of people called in, Hopper bringing himself forward to find his soaking daughter on the ground pointing toward another direction. “What’s wrong?”

Victor moves to tell Hopper while being next to shaking and wet Y/N, “She saw Will.”

#Steve Harrington #steve Harrington x reader #steve Harrington fanfic #steve harrington series #Steve Harrington fanfiction #Steve Harrington x Hopper reader #Stranger things #stranger things x reader #Stranger things Fanfiction #Steve Harrington angst #Steve Harrington fluff #Steve Harrington smut #Steve Harrington fanfic navigation #Steve Harrington x reader Fanfiction #Mike wheeler #nancy wheeler #jim hopper #stranger things season 1

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bakugohoex · 3 years

Note

I’ve seen the Jean x reader in Marley, and it was really good, so can you do a levi x reader in marely as well pls🥺🥺🥺

“i always notice you, y/n”

pairing: levi ackerman x female reader

cw: fluff, violence, kissing, language, season four spoilers

word count: 2700+

a/n: hopefully this shows up in the tags if it doesnt i dont know what imma do, but anyway hope you guys like it and enjoy this, this will be my last fic for this year, i hope you guys enjoy tonight and have a happy new year

summary: in which you and levi are undercover doing reconnaissance in marley, want turns to stalking different marleyans leads to feelings being brought out from the two of you

↞ back to attack on titan masterlist

The sound of Marleyans seemed to flow out through the streets, you had all separated from each other on arrival to Marley. Eren having wandered off himself and his arrival to Marley having shocked you all, making you all come to Marley yourself. Even after all these years with the new group of adults they were still the babies you remembered meeting with Levi.

You had been in Levi’s squad from the beginning, being his second in command so whilst the rest of your squad got massacred by the female titan you had been with Levi and Erwin. Levi wouldn’t admit it, but he was glad you had come with him that day, he was glad you didn’t die on the countless scouting expeditions that occurred.

The bustling of propaganda engulphed you, hearing Levi come through a door of where you were staying for this visit. To the outside world you and Levi were just a happy couple starting afresh in Marley, but you and him both knew how a downfall was evidently going to occur.

He chucked the newspaper on the bed that you both had been sharing, you had both learnt how to sleep beside each other without touching each other, the way you wouldn’t face each other when you fell asleep. A silence arising at night, you loved the man, of course you did but he loved being a scout more and you, you were always going to be his second in command and nothing more.

“More bullshit.” You mutter straightening out the dress, it was floral and disgusting to wear, you had been too a custom to the cream trousers and brown jacket that a dress felt unnatural. He wore a black suit and white shirt, the dress shoes looking even more older in the many years he had had it. He had disregarded his mother’s ascot many years ago, but you missed the look of it on him.

“You know what they’re like.” He spoke expressionless watching you put the necklace around your neck. “You ready for this hell.”

You nodded, his dull grey eyes skimmed up and down your body, the way the dress hugged your frame and made you look youthful and content. But he knew the truth, knew that behind those eyes of yours there was murder and deceit.

He watches you walk up to him putting your hand out, he grabs it without hesitance as you both walk down onto the streets. Hanje had told you both about the midday market where announcements were heard, you knew that a war was occurring with how Eren had easily been motivated to infiltrate Marley without your knowledge. He opened the door before you, the smell of chamomile hit your nose, the wind making your hair sweep in front of your face.

He saw you trying to get rid of the hair from your face, he doesn’t speak grabbing your hair and the elastic to keep your hair in place. He easily ties it, stray pieces framing your face, it was a shock that led to the red to brush across your cheeks and nose. “At least now you can see.”

“And I thought you just wanted to touch my hair.” You mock out.

He looks at you which makes you turn to not face him, “Your hairs nice.”

“Umm… thank you.” You felt your face redden even more, his gaze moving up and down your body again, you quickly spoke to leave this situation, “let’s go.”

He nodded before taking your hand again, you both walked past the Marleyans, you didn’t have the Eldian arm band making you look like them. But you really weren’t, the way you acted, walked it was something new and different. “This is the place Hanje said to go.”

You nod, looking to the floor, people barging past, clearly common courtesy was dead in this place. You stand with a crowd, all their faces meshed as if it was just you and Levi watching the one man speak.

“My Marleyan brothers and sisters, today marks the day our hero Helos saved us from the devils of the Eldians.” He continued spewing out bullshit, people cheering and happily listening along. The grip of your hand tightened around Levi’s.

“Stay calm Y/n.” Your name fell from his mouth with comfort, it was sweet and your whole demeanour changed.

“Yes sir.” You say, turning back to the fresh out of the cadet corps.

You remember meeting Levi on your first day in the survey corps, your fresh face and innocent eyes made everybody believe you were weak. You had been shouted at by one of the cadets who had trained with you, he knew you weren’t weak but was trying to impress the captains around him.

He went to grab your shirt, but with ease you kicked his stomach. He jolted backwards ready to throw the first punch, the captains not daring to make a move to see what was about to happen. You smirk sadistically, he went in for the punch, but you easily dodged and grabbed his arm putting pressure on it. He fell to the ground below you before you kicked him in his face making him fall to the ground.

A man twice the size of you, a man who had gotten 2nd spot had gotten defeated by you. The girl who had beat them all, the girl who achieved 1st easily. “Whose she?” Levi asked to Erwin who had come outside.

“That’s our new recruits, and our number one spot Y/n Y/l/n.” Hanje had instantly come over asking if you were some sort of god. You made friends with her quickly, but Levi had kept an eye on you after that moment. He knew as soon as he saw you kill three titans on your own that you were going to be in his squad, you would be his second in command.

You had grown closer to Levi over the years, he trusted you as much as he trusted Hanje, maybe even more. You heard his life story, talked to him about your problems and issues, your life and most of all. You both knew what the priorities were, and it was to kill titans. But here you were the years of loving a man who didn’t even glance at you twice.

The man kept speaking and rambling, Levi had lost concentration on the man. He looked at your facial features, the way your eyebrows knitted every time devil was brought up. Or how your y/e/c eyes had murder rushing through the pupils, he saw the years that had taken a toll on you. But all he could see was the girl who had broken the nose of a man twice her size. He smiled before looking down just as you looked at him.

His hair covered his smile and soft eyes he had just had for you, even after all these years you had stuck by him. You had been there through it all, every decision you had been with him to make. As long as you were alive then he knew you’d both win against the Marleyans who were the true enemies of the Eldians.

Loud roars made you both get out of your thoughts of each other, the speech had ended and you both had left. The whole point having been to listen in but instead you both had ignored it all. “Do you remember what it was about?” You question.

“I was thinking about other stuff.” He doesn’t continue not elaborating on the other stuff, most likely of a plan that he and Hanje would have to think up.

He takes you down an alleyway, the opposite direction of where you were staying, “are we not going back?”

He was in front dragging you along by the hand, he looked back to you, something different in his grey eyes. His mouth was almost in a smile as he continued to drag you along, in those second she had looked back to see you he had seen warmth.

“I overheard one of them say that another event was occurring.” Of course it was about the mission, you didn’t speak just following along.

The alley led way and you were in an open area; you saw the streets filled with merchants and businessmen. Noticing a tower you see it to be a watch tower, it looked beautiful, maybe there was some pretty stuff in this hell hole. Levi watched your eyes skim through ever intricate detail of the building. Seeing people go up and down it he took a note of where it was and how easily it would be to get inside after dark.

The event was another propaganda event, people cheered at the hatred of the Eldians, even throwing bottles of alcohol at some Marleyan children who had come back from war. You looked at them, they had something to them, one stared directly in your eyes. You dismisses the blond boy and his group of friends, listening to the speeches.

Hanje had told you and Levi to go to as many of these events as you could, just to hear the hatred. It felt like a stab in the neck listening to the many speeches, but both you and Levi had gotten distracted by each other.

Your soft fingers had been entangled in his own for hours now, your thumb occasionally rubbing up and down his finger. He hadn’t felt this type of love in years and it was coming from you, the only woman who could handle and stick by him.

You both were at the final event ready to hear the countless indoctrination to what felt like the one hundredth time today. You felt a wandering hand touch your other arm, it instantly made you flinch, making Levi look at you. He noticed the Marleyan man behind you, his hand moving closer and closer to your body.

You were at the back luckily if you started something nobody would notice. “Come on sweetheart, let’s go get a drink.”

His voice filled you with disgust, you were ready to knock him unconscious before you heard Levi speak, “she’s with me.” It was with an unamused tone and he didn’t give the man a second glance.

“What’s a pretty woman like you doing with a shortcake like him? I’ll show you what its like to be with a real man.” You gave the same look Levi had given, you had to give it to the man, the nickname was funny. You looked at Levi, waiting for a sign for you to kill the man.

“Let’s move this somewhere else.” Is all Levi said, taking your hand, the man followed stupidly. He took you to the alleyway, looking at you with no emotion.

“You want to give me and your girl some alone time.” You looked at disgust at how he was about to reach for your arm, just as he skimmed his touch against your bare skin. Levi stood between the two of you. “Move it.”

Levi didn’t speak, staying in the spot in front of you, “I said fucking move boy.”

“Let me do it.” You whined out knowing Levi was going to punch him.

Levi ignored your childish moan to have some action and instead punched him square in the nose. He really was humanity’s strongest solider, with that one punch the man was down. “He’s not dead, is he?” You question kicking the corpse.

“Come on, don’t touch it.” He says grabbing your hand, you oblige, rubbing circles around the bruises knuckles. He watched you bring comfort through the pain; the man had had such rough face that it felt like punching a titan.

He didn’t need to have punched him; he could have left you to do what you wanted. But he had touched you, he had tried to make a move on what was his. You may have not known it, but nobody touches what he owns. Nobody touches what was his.

The night had fallen, the stars dancing through the blues and blacks of the sky. You looked up seeing the beauty of the stars whilst Levi looked at you noticing the beauty that you had. You were about to walk in the direction of the street your accommodation was, but Levi stood still.

“Close your eyes.” You looked at him in confusion. “Just do it, you damn brat.”

You laughed at the word before closing your eyes, you felt his hand move to your shoulder and elbow. Directing you past the people, you could hear mumbling, but you trusted the man to not lead you into a wall or the river for that matter.

He let go feeling like it was your cue to open your eyes, he quickly put his hand around your face. He could feel your eyelashes brush against his palms, “I didn’t say you could open them.”

“Sorry Levi.” You mutter, he loved hearing the way you said his name, it was enchanting and almost seductive. He let go of your face, you missed his touch, as you stood with the wind blowing through you. You undid your hair tie letting your hair cascade onto you whilst you waited.

You heard something being broken almost like someone kicked it. He takes your hand whilst you keep a tight grip on and start walking you with him. Your hand brushed against the cold brick, Levi keeping a hold of you making sure you didn’t fall.

The air hit you again, it moved through your hair, Levi admired how beautiful you looked up in the air, the dark sky up for you both to see. “Can I open my eyes now?” You give a soft chuckle.

“Yeah.” He speaks, your eyes adjust to light coming from the moon.

Joy, happiness every emotion of love was felt through you, you turned to look around the watch tower you had been looking at a mere hours ago. “You noticed.” It was a whisper hesitant that he might have just liked it himself.

He leant against the cobble and brick, his gaze flicking between your face specially your eyes and to where you were looking. “I always notice you, Y/n.”

Your heart panged, he started to walk towards you, your back against the brick, the sky in your eyeline. “It’s amazing.” You whisper.

“You always did love the sky.” He mutters it, enforcing the idea that he had always paid attention to you. He knew everything about you even if you didn’t blatantly tell him.

“I…” You didn’t know what to say, instead trailing off, he had gotten closer to you, he undid the first couple of buttons to feel the air that blown through your hair.

You looked up to the sky, not meeting his ever-growing gaze, “look at me.”

“Yes sir.” The sir seemed ever more sexual than usual and you looked him dead in the eyes, his gaze flicking to your lips and eyes.

“Since the first day I met you, I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” It was out of character for the emotionless captain, but your eyes had become soft at his confession.

“Re…really?”

He looks to meet your eyes directly, “I love you.”

It was the three words you needed to here to grab his hair, pulling him towards you. It was messy, lips smashing together, teeth to teeth, it was long awaited and needed. He grabbed your waist bringing you closer to his body, rubbing circles around your sides. A soft moan came from your mouth, it was heaven to his ears, you had imagined kissing Levi in every possible scenario. But this, this was something new and unexpected and here you were kissing the man who you had longed for.

The man who you had spent countless nights dreaming of the man who had saved you countless times. Who had held you in the air past the titans so you could leave the final blow.

His hair wrapped between your fingers, his tongue guiding your own. Soft moans and grunts coming from the tower, it was he start of something in a place that was filled with hell. But he had finally accepted that he didn’t just like you, he needed to protect you. Needed to make you know he loved you, make you know that after all these years the only person he had ever seen was you.

i’d really appreciate if you guys could leave a like, reblog or comment, thanks x

if you guys want to be a part of a tag list, just reply to any post and i’ll add you xx

@samusimp @alainarose13 @crispychannie @underratedmage @jennammaee @cathy8taffy @sugacious @moonlightaangel @kat-sukis-hoe @effmigentlywithachainsaw @swankiifiied @maat-the-prescriptive @missmultifangirl @tvwhoresblog @kuroos-world

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #attack on titan levi x reader #levi ackerman fluff #levi x reader #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan fluff #aot #aot levi #aot levi ackerman #attack on titan levi ackerman x reader #aot levi x reader #aot x reader #aot levi ackerman x reader #shingeki no kyoujin #bakugohoex #aot fluff

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tinyboxxtink · 3 years

Text

"...So I Married A Monster" *Chapter 1*

[Yes I know it's absolutely inappropriate/irrelevant but this gif was too priceless not to use it, okay?]

Chapter 2 is HERE!

So, I gotta shout out the anon who asked me to explore this idea from a one-shot I wrote. Which actually was a request from @word-scribbless, so really this was a team effort. LoL.

Alright so here's the sitch:

You're dating Rafael Barba, and you finally decide to introduce him to your kids. Everything's going fine, until he figures out your ex-husband "Billy Loomis" is actually William Lewis!

Chaos ensues.

RIGHT?

Alright so I just decided to elaborate on the one shot, so I hope you enjoy this introduction.

Yes, I don't know why we're going back into the dark dark depths of angsty, dark storylines, but here we go. It's William Lewis once again, so you already know it's not going to be some fun fluff piece.

Plan your expectations accordingly.

Also, @storiesofsvu said they might read this one, so there's that. Eeep.

Obviously my lovelies are the best as well.

Tag List

@madamsnape921

@lolliepopsicle

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@milkshqke

@wanniiieeee

@gibbs274

@sassyada

@aprildecker-blog

@bookishfanfic

@stars-in-the-skies-world

@stars-trash-18

@omgsuperstarg

@objection-argumentative

@thatesqcrush

@shittanyy

@mrsrafaelbarba

—————

You twirled your hair nervously, pacing back and forth in your living room. Rafael Barba, the man you were seeing, was on his way over, it was just a normal day. Except that it wasn’t. Today was the day you were going to introduce him to your kids. Something he wasn’t even aware you had.

You had your reservations about dating guys without kids, as it never really worked out. Men without kids didn’t tend to understand the problems that came along with it, like having to cancel plans at a moment’s notice if one of your kids got sick or something. But Rafael seemed like a really good man, and though he didn’t seem like the “I love kids” type, you had gotten to know him enough to know he came from a good family, and that he might be open to at least meeting yours. You hoped you were right.

Soon your doorbell was ringing, your toddler Kylie came bounding towards the door.

“I’ll get it!!!!” She squealed.

“Uh– No no, Kylie!” You intercepted her on her way to the door, snatching her up in your arms.

“Maggie!” You tried to call her softly, not wanting Rafael to hear you. Your eleven year old came strolling out of the living room while on her phone.

“What?” She barely looked up at you.

“Can you take her? Please?” You asked her sweetly, causing her to move her phone down from her face.

“Why? Who’s at the door?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow at you.

“Just…a friend,” You looked towards the front door nervously. Maggie noticed your hesitance, it finally made her forget about whatever she was doing on her phone.

“Who is it, mom?” She pressed.

“I’ll explain everything, okay?” You gave her a pleading look. “Just take her in the living room and I’ll be there in a minute,”

“…It’s a guy, isn’t it?” She crossed her arms in a sassy manner.

“Maggie!” You pleaded.

“Ok fine…” She rolled her eyes and took Kylie from your arms. “Come on Ky, let’s go find a snack,”

“Thank you,” You kissed her head and ruffled Kylie’s hair as they walked towards the kitchen. You fixed your hair once more and swung the door open, revealing Rafael standing there holding flowers for you.

“Hey baby,” He kissed you softly while handing you the flowers. “I can’t believe I’ve never been to your house, it’s gorgeous,”

“Probably because we’re in New Jersey,” You teased him. You knew how much he hated Jersey, so the fact that he came all the way out here on his day off, really meant something.

“Probably,” He nodded with a teasing smile.

“So…there’s also another reason, I’ve never asked you here,” You ran your fingers through your hair as he entered your foyer.

“Oh?” He asked, curiously.

“I um, so– remember when I told you about my ex husband…?” Your voice trailed off.

“Yeah, that he was a real douche,” Rafael rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, but there’s a good thing about him,” Your eyes glanced over to where the girls had run off to.

“…Oh?” Rafael had a hint of worry in his voice.

“He’s a…” You looked down. “He’s a good dad,”

“….A good dad?” You heard Rafael’s voice shift an octave higher.

“Yes…” You forced yourself to look up at him. “In fact, he’s been keeping the girls all summer,”

“The girls?” He blinked, trying to wrap his head around it. “As in, multiple?”

“…Yes,” You bit your lip. “….You can run screaming now, it’s okay,”

“Ay, carino…” He put both hands on either of your face. “…Where are they?”

“Really?” You bit your lip with a relieved smile.

“Of course!” He kissed you and wiped a few tears that started dropping down your face as he spoke.

“…Okay, come with me,” You took his hand and let him into the kitchen. Maggie was handing Kylie a pudding cup and a juice box when you walked hand in hand with Rafael. Maggie gave him a side eye, while Kylie instantly bounded over with her snacks and a huge smile.

“Hi!!!!” She beamed at Rafael, sticking out her left hand which of course made the snacks fall out of her hand onto the floor. Maggie groaned in frustration as she ran over and picked up the snacks, now eyeing Rafael up and down.

“…Who’s this, mom?” She asked you, not taking an eye off Rafael. He didn’t seem phased at all, he just stuck out his hand to Kylie, since she addressed him first.

“Hi, I’m Rafael. And what’s your name?” He smiled warmly at her, making her eyes sparkle.

“I’m Kylie!” She shook Rafael’s hand furiously with a huge grin. Maggie snatched her up quickly, breaking their handshake.

“I’m Maggie,” She said curtly.

“Maggie,” You said through gritted teeth. “Be nice,”

“Oh it’s fine, carino,” He chuckled, smiling at Maggie. “I was protective of my mami when she’d bring strange men home too,”

“So you’re saying you’re a strange man?” Maggie smirked.

“Maggie!” You hissed.

“I guess you’ll have to figure that out yourself, chica,” He smirked back.

“…Guess we shall, amigo,” She narrowed her eyes, but quickly smiled. She liked this guy.

“Wow…I’m impressed,” you whispered to Rafael as the girls got more snacks for you and him.

“Thank you, mi amor,” He smiled before kissing you on the cheek. “And thank you, for trusting me enough with your kids,”

“Anytime,” You smiled warmly as you pulled him into a real kiss.

“Gross!!!!!” Kylie made a gagging sound before collapsing into giggles. This had gone better than you could have imagined.

-----------

After you and the kids all had snacks, you set up a movie for them to watch while you and Rafael went to your kitchen table to have coffee and talk more about the situation.

“So...I guess this is a stupid question, but why haven’t mentioned you had kids before this, carino?” Rafael ask while he sipped his coffee.

“Well..” You nervously stirred your coffee with your spoon. “I guess I was selfish,”

“Explain,” He pressed.

“Well I don’t typically start a first date with ‘hey by the way I have kids, so you might wanna run now’,” Your explanation caused him to chuckle in amusement.

“Yes I can see that,”

“And honestly by the second or third date, I don’t even like the guy anymore so it’s just pointless,” Your voice lowered even more as you started to allude to your feelings for him.

“...I see,” His chuckle turned into an amused smile. “And with me…?”

“With you...I wanted to introduce you,” You looked up to meet his eyes, hoping that would be enough explanation. His growing smile made it obvious it was.

“Well, I’m glad you did,” He put a hand over yours. “So I guess you want to keep me around, huh?”

“For now,” You teased him with a small giggle. He leaned over to give you a kiss, but your phone began going off. You looked down to see the screen:

BILLY CALLING

“Oooh, one sec baby,” You grabbed the phone. “It’s my ex,”

Rafael nodded in understanding as you turned from him to have the conversation.

"Hey Billy, what’s up?” The mention of their father’s name caught Maggie’s attention.

“Is that daddy?!” She called across the room. “Tell him WICKED was so fun!!!!”

“Wicked?” You repeated into the phone with a sharp tone. “Billy...did you take them into the City?”

“Daddy lives in the City now,” Kylie added to the conversation.

“He WHAT?!” You stood up and moved away from Rafael as your voice raised. “Billy, when were you going to tell me you moved to New York City?”

“No, I think it is a pretty big fucking deal,” You growled into the phone.

“Swear jar!!” Kylie giggled.

“You know how I feel about the City,” You ignored her as you lectured your ex.

“...And how is that?” Rafael raised an eyebrow.

“Shut up, you know I love it,” You rolled your eyes at him. “I just don’t want my children--” You were cut off by Billy’s questioning.

“What? It’s nobody, Billy,” You saw the hurt in Rafael’s eyes when you called him a “nobody”. You walked back over and squeezed his hand.

“I don’t want to get into ‘the talk’ with my ex on the phone, baby,” You explained softly.

“Well I was pretty sure you introducing me to the kiddos was ‘the talk’, but clearly I was wrong,” He shook his head and stood up to go, but you squeezed his hand tighter preventing him from walking away.

“I’m sorry Billy, that was my boyfriend,” You gave Rafael a small smile, hoping for his approval. His grin back gave you all the approval you needed.

“...What?” Your brows furrowed. “Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t know I needed your permission to have a boyfriend, Billy,”

“No, he just met the girls today. In fact it wasn’t even like fifteen minutes ago--” Billy’s voice was rising, Rafael could hear obscenities through the phone.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business--” You bit your lip in nervousness.

You hated it when he got like this, he had quite the temper on him. It was one of the reasons you got divorced. That, and the fact that he was constantly absent from your lives for work. It was like raising the girls on your own anyway, so you figured you’d make it official.

Rafael noticed the fear in your voice, and he went into a protective mode. He grabbed the phone from you and spoke to Billy with an eerily calm voice.

“Listen Billy, I don’t know who you are, but I don’t appreciate you calling here and intimidating my girlfriend when we were having a perfectly nice day,”

“.....Barba?” A very familiar, terrifying voice came through the ear piece.

“E-Excuse me?” His voice wavered.

“Rafael Barba, is that you?” The voice half laughed; all of the color drained from Rafael’s face.

“...Lewis?” Rafael barely whispered, causing your eyebrows to furrow again.

“Loomis,” You told him, causing him to furrow his own eyebrows. “His last name is Loomis,” You clarified.

“You have some balls, detective,” His evil chuckle made Rafael’s blood run cold. “First you and the red headed bitch try and put me away, and now you’re fucking my wife?”

“She is NOT--” Rafael clenched his fists.

“You know what, as much as I enjoyed this trip down memory lane, I think I’d like to talk to my wife,” William quickly tried to avoid any more detection.

“Like hell you will--” Rafael started to growl, causing you to snap the phone out of his grasp.

“Um, Billy,” You gave Rafael an accusatory look as you spoke to your ex. “Can I call you back?”

“I don’t want that man near my kids,” Billy stated angrily.

“What?” You blinked in surprise. “Why?”

“He’s a bad man, Y/N,” William lied.

“W-What are you talking about?” You looked at Rafael cautiously.

“What is he saying?” Rafael questioned angrily. “Whatever he says, he’s lying,”

“No I’m not, he’s the one who’s lying to you sweetheart,” William quickly shut Rafael down as he heard his accusations through the phone.

“I-I have to go,” Your voice quivered as you hung up on Billy.

Your mind was racing. Who could you trust?

-----------

After you hung up, you just sat there for a second trying to process what had just happened. You didn’t have much time, as Rafael started throwing a million questions at you almost immediately.

“You were married to William Lewis?” He hissed. “Do you have any idea what that man did to me? My squad? My best friend?!”

You suddenly snapped to attention as the familiar feeling of being interrogated kicked in. “Dining room, NOW,” You grabbed his arm and pulled him into the other room, away from your children’s ear shot.

“What the FUCK are you talking about, Rafael?” You now raised your voice a bit. “I don’t know who the hell you’re talking about, but I married Billy Loomis, not this-- William Lewis,”

“Oh please,” Rafael scoffed with a dry laugh. “That’s barely an alias!”

“I’m sorry, are you insinuating I’m a moron?” You crossed your arms. “You think I’m that stupid not to know my husband is a...whatever you think he is?”

“He’s a MONSTER, Y/N!”

“What are you talking about?!” You tried keeping your voice below a roar, but this was getting to be a lot. “You just heard his voice, you don’t even know if it’s the same--”

“He knew my name,” Rafael simply said. “He knew who I was, and he taunted me about it,”

“He taunted you?” You laughed sarcastically. “How did he ‘taunt you’?”

“He’s rubbing in the fact that he escaped NYPD, and now he’s upset I’m fucking--” He paused at the offended look on your face. “...Dating, his ex wife,”

“Wow,” You exhaled exasperatedly. “Wow,”

“Look I’m sorry to be crass, but those are the words he used,” He put a hand to your face, but you stepped back. “Except he used wife,” He added.

“What are you talking about?”

“He still thinks you're his,” Rafael explained. “He thinks of women as things, as property. And he clearly thinks he still ‘owns’ you,”

“Look I-- I don’t know who you think Billy is,” You shook your head as you walked towards a cabinet full of family photos on display. You picked one up and handed it to Rafael: A family photo at the beach.

Billy’s arms were around you, his gorgeous smile at it’s full power. That smile was heart melting, you fell in love with it as soon as he had flashed it your way in a coffee shop. Maggie’s arms were around his neck, and Kylie was in your lap with her hands raised in glee. It was a few years ago, Kylie was a baby and Maggie was nine.

“But this man isn’t a monster,” You finished your thought. “He’s a kind, generous man. He’s a wonderful father, even if he wasn’t that great of a husband--”

Rafael’s eyes were wide and horrified as he saw Lewis’s arms around you, that sick evil grin looking at him as if he was taunting him through the frame. He snapped his head up when you mentioned him not being a great husband.

“Why do you say that?” He cut you off. “Did he hurt you?”

“What?” You laughed, as if thinking that Billy could ever be violent was the funniest thing in the world. “No, he never hurt me Rafael. That’s why I don’t understand--”

“Look, I don’t want to scare you Y/N,” Rafael put the photo down and put his hands on your shoulders. “But this…’Billy’, he isn’t who you think he is,”

“And who is he?” You gave him a curious look.

“He’s a…” He looked into the other room, making sure the girls weren’t listening. “He’s a serial killer and a rapist,”

“What?!” You yelled rather loudly, stepping out of his grip. “Alright, that’s it--” You started leading him to the door.

“W-What are you doing?” Rafael began to panic as you showed him out. “Y/N please, you have to listen to me--”

“No, I’m not going to sit here and listen to you say such vile things about the father of my children,” You narrowed your eyes.

“Why would I make this up?!” He cried, trying to stop you from shutting the door on his face.

“I-I don’t know,” You looked down, thinking about it. Why would he make up such terrible things about Billy? Then you thought about what Billy had said: Rafael was the bad man.

“Maybe because YOU’RE the monster,” You suddenly glared.

“W-What?” Rafael’s voice fell to a whisper, hurt tears came to his eyes.

“Billy said you were a bad man, maybe you’re trying to flip all of this on him. Maybe Billy was trying to warn me, and you’re trying to get to me first,” The more you said it out loud, the more it made sense to you.

“NO!!!!” He almost screamed, tears now dripping down his cheek. He tried desperately getting back into the house, causing you to put more pressure on the door to keep him out. You had never seen him this...unhinged, before.

“No, Y/N please,” He pleaded with you. “You have to listen to me. Please, for the love of God baby you HAVE to listen to me--”

“No, I don’t have to do anything Rafael,” Tears stung your own eyes.

“I-- I thought we had something,” Your heart was breaking as you spoke.

You had thought you were really falling for this man. This kind, sweet, amazing man. And now it was all unravelling, his true colors were coming out. You almost let this psychopath into your children’s lives.

“We did-- we DO!” He was shaking; he was so upset. “Why do you think I’m being so adamant about this? I-- I love you!”

“Shut up!” You barked at him. How dare he say that to you for the first time, at this of all times?

“You-- You need to leave, Rafael,” You pointed to the driveway. “And don’t come back. Don’t call me, don’t text me,” Your voice was stern but filled with tears.

“No,” Rafael barely whispered, his eyes filled to the brim with fresh tears. “Don’t do this, Y/N. Please don’t do this--”

“NOW,”

“Look-- I’ll go,” He put his hands up in defeat and started to walk backwards off your porch. “But for the love of God-- PLEASE, just--- Just google the name ‘William Lewis’,”

“...Why?”

“You’ll see I’m telling the truth, I swear you will,” He looked at you with serious eyes. He was really convinced of what he was saying to you. Your heart started winning over your head, but just for a moment. You had to think about your children’s safety, you couldn’t listen to the ramblings of a crazy man.

“I don’t need to do that Rafael, you’re clearly the psycho,” You snapped before slamming the door in his face. As soon as it was closed, you sank to the floor and pulled your knees to your chest as you silently sobbed, trying to not alert the girls about the chaos that had just erupted.

Why did this have to happen?

#rafael barba imagine #rafael barba x you #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba fanfiction #rafael barba angst #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction #so i married a murderer #raul esparza #william lewis

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forthegothicheroine · 3 years

Text

The King in Yellow, 1949

Much of this story is true. Warnings in the tags.

When I had pneumonia in my early teens, my mother brought home an armful of VHS tapes from the library to alleviate my misery. Knowing my snobbish preferences, she had grabbed copies of whatever she found in black and white. I remember something musical that I suspect was Busby Berkeley, I remember Mildred Pierce (a bad choice, as it turned out- the plot includes a young girl dying of pneumonia), and I remember a period piece called The King. I faded in and out of consciousness while I watched it, but it soothed me while I was awake and filled my fever dreams with sparkling images. I could never find it at the library again, nor at Hollywood Video or even early Netflix (once my father got the subscription service where you could order practically every DVD.) It was a bit odd that it seemed to be so obscure, given that it starred old Hollywood legend Ingrid Bergman (and, although I initially forgot it, Marlene Dietrich.) But even big stars make films that fall by the wayside in public memory, and it seemed that this was one of them. Google was no help, and at the time that was that.

I didn’t see the film again until I was watching Turner Classic Movies at my grandparents’ house. I loved watching that channel with them while filling out the crossword puzzle that came in their little TCM catalogue (all of it based on movie trivia, the only kind of crossword puzzle I’ve ever been any good at.) I recognized a certain scene where Bergman stood on a balcony, looking sadly at the moon. Her face had an expression of unutterable melancholy, and the crescent moon reflected in each of her eyes, giving the impression of two moons in one sky. I had very little time to catch up on what I’d missed before we had to go meet my cousins at the local Italian restaurant. I knew logically that the movie would be long over by the time we returned, but I turned on the channel anyway. Of course it had moved on to the lesser known Alfred Hitchcock film Stage Fright, but then I heard Marlene Dietrich sing before I could reach the remote to turn the tv off in disappointment. I knew that I had heard her sing before, and I knew it had been in The King.

Dietrich’s singing often comes across as somewhat campy today, with its Rs pronounced as Ws and it’s up-and-down tone. Madeline Kahn parodied it brilliantly in Blazing Saddles, such that it was a bit of a disappointment when I finally saw Dietrich’s western Destry Rides Again and found it to be lifeless and inconsistent next to the parody. Still, we remember her voice for a reason, and when I remembered it that night, I knew that its sardonic loneliness had rung through The King and made me shiver in my dreams.

The TCM schedule didn’t list The King in its time slot, but something else. If I had taken down the name, maybe it would have helped me find it. Sometimes the same movie runs under multiple names.

I didn’t see the film all the way through for many years, after I graduated college. I had found a web page that listed public domain film noir, including one called The Masked Guest. The website described it as a costume noir, and I curiously clicked on the link. Once I took in the credits running on the youtube window, my eyes grew wide and I did not move from my place on the bed until the movie had run its course.

The credits did indeed list it as The Masked Guest, but I recognized the strange repeating design on the title cards. They told me that in addition to starring Dietrich and Bergman, it was directed by Fritz Lang, and a character called The King was credited to “???” (I hadn’t seen that kind of credit since the first Karloff Frankenstein.) When the King finally appears on screen, though, it is unmistakably Orson Welles’s voice that booms out from behind his elaborate costume.

Here are the things I understand about The King, or The Masked Guest, or The Man in Yellow, or any other title I’ve found for it on public domain archive searches. Dietrich and Bergman play princesses named Cassilda and Camilla, respectively. Though Dietrich’s accent is German and Bergman’s is Swedish, they blend together to give the film the impression of being set somewhere on the map that I can’t quite find. The scenery and camera angles are very Freudian, with a great deal of archways and pillars.

The first act of The King involves frankly dull romantic plotlines, and the only thing that really saved it was the feeling that the suitors were supposed to be insipid, a suspicion lended credence by the fact that the love interests were listed so low on the credits. Dietrich is the scandalous sister and Bergman is the responsible one, though each takes on aspects of the other as the film goes on. Dietrich sings her song at a party, dressed in a fake 17th century gown and leaning against a piano. Although just a moment ago she had been laughing and joking with her gentleman friends, her song takes an abruptly serious tone (not seductive, not sentimental) as she tells the story of a city lost to time and memory. Bergman slips away from the party and onto the balcony, where we see that wonderful shot of the moon in her eyes. Is she mourning? Is she longing?

Dietrich cuts off the song by abruptly screaming “Not on us, King! Not on us!” She flees the party weeping and shaking, and from there on the film goes mad.

Though uncommon, it is not unknown for movies to switch between black and white and color, done most famously in The Wizard of Oz. The film The King recalls here is the silent Phantom of the Opera, which had a masqued ball scene tinted in shades of red and green that tried to provide a whole spectrum of color. The effect is even odder in the masqued ball scene in The King- the only color that appears is yellow, highlighting things like candlelight, Dietrich’s hair, a passing gown, a vase of tulips. It also highlights one particular masked figure, whose expressionless mask was decorated with a black pattern against a sickening yellow canvas- the same pattern I had seen in the opening credits. The color of his costume causes him to stand out from the crown even when he is far off in the background, just one head among many others. It must have taken long and painstaking hours of work to color in every frame.

Dietrich still seems broken up days after her song, though Bergman tries to coax her into joining the dance. Finally, at midnight, Dietrich goes out to face the party, but only to demand that every guest remove their mask. The yellow man with a voice that once warned America about a Martian invasion tells her that he wears no mask. Bergman reacts with disbelief, but Dietrich starts laughing like a woman unhinged. As she laughs, the yellow hue seeps out of the King’s clothing and face- if that really is his face- and begins to color the entire ballroom crowd. I think that what follows is bloodshed, but if there is any carnage (doubtful under the Production Code censorship), the blood must be tainted yellow and splashed across the camera like daubs of paint. Dietrich’s laughing face is doubled and tripled on screen until it dissipates, but even when it has faded offscreen, it feels as if her ghost continues to watch the proceedings.

By the end of the scene (filled with German Expressionist camera angles and mad violin screeching), only Bergman remains alive, cowering behind a grandfather clock. It does not hide her for long. The King steps towards her and extends his hand. Reluctantly, but with a fatalistic expression, Bergman takes his hand. They walk away together hand in hand. The screen shifts back into black and white, and then the credits roll before we can get a good look at all the bodies in the scene. The credits say it was based on a play called The King in Yellow, although Raymond Chandler of all people apparently had a hand in the screenplay.

As I said, that’s what I think I understand. It’s an oddly experimental art film for the era, and it may be awaiting rediscovery by the film festival crowd. I feel as if I alone know about it, though that obviously isn’t true. It is my little secret; I tell myself that my husband doesn’t need me to show it to him, it would be too odd for his taste. I’ve rewatched it many times, even if it seems like each time I search for it I have to find a different video platform or torrent. Naturally, no subscription site has it available. Maybe I am the last person who will ever watch it. Maybe no one will ever think to look for it again after me, and it will be completely forgotten.

When I was hospitalized, they let me use my laptop at night before I went to sleep (no power cord, though, in case I tried to hang myself.) I found a youtube link for The Man in Yellow, and I watched it every night. It wasn’t a soothing sort of movie, but having it in my mind all day and then watching it in the evening allowed me to think as opposed to crying endlessly while the other patients shot me awkward looks. I clutched the childhood stuffed animals my mother brought me when she visited, and I always held them extra tight when the masquerade scene started.

I watched the movie when I had to move away from my beloved San Francisco. I watched the movie when I lost the last of my grandparents. I watched the movie when a doctor unwisely took me off my medication and I couldn’t manage to eat for a month. I watched the movie when the whole world got sick and we all locked ourselves away from each other. I don’t mind that I don’t entirely know what it means. I don’t mind the nightmares. In the hospital they kept telling us about mindfulness exercises, and maybe the fact that I can focus on every aspect of the film so closely that all else falls away is the reason I keep coming back to it. I’m being mindful. I’m not letting any stray thoughts invade my head. I’m just watching and waiting for the next beat of every scene, leading inexorably to that yellow-stained bloodbath.

Streaming media doesn’t last forever, and each time I find The King, I worry that it will be the last time I ever can find it. My efforts to download it have so far been unsuccessful, odd considering that it is in the public domain.

When I watch The King, I am once again a child in my bedroom being cared for in the throes of agonizing sickness. I am once again sitting on the couch with my grandparents in front of the tv, both of them alive and lucid again. I am once again in the hospital, all alone except for my stuffed animals and the staff trying to keep me alive. The film reflects in my eyes like the crescent moon in Ingrid Bergman’s gaze. It sings to me.

I am determined to find a way to obtain The King under any name so that I never have to worry about losing it. During some of the worst times in my life, it is the only thing that has kept me sane.

#the king in yellow #cw mental illness #cw disordered eating #cw institutionalization #cw suicide

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strawwritesfic · 3 years

Text

Loki Laufeyson x Female!Midgardian!Reader: A Bird in the Hand

Summary: …is surely not worth its asking price.

Rating/Warnings/Tags: All (some foul language; not Thor Ragnarok compliant)

Fic Trade Prompt: “Please, I don’t want to lose you, too.”

A Bird in the Hand

Once upon a time in a realm known as Midgard, there lived a girl. This girl, of course, was you, and you lived as many young women at the time did during that Age of Miracles. None of these miracles ever happened to you. There were no fish oil transformations on your horizon, nor were there any divine calls to adventure. Just like all New Yorkers, you grew use to your daily commute being interrupted by superheroes, to calling insurance companies to argue over their decision to not pay for alien invasion damage to your apartment, and even to carrying an umbrella around with you even on the driest of days in case certain Asgardians decided to visit. Life went on. You had stopped looking for a real miracle years ago.

As well you should have, because there was nothing miraculous about your wedding day. Outside, a seemingly endless mass of dark gray clouds let loose bucket after bucket of rain. Thunder rolled across the sky; lightning flashed–and that, really, was all you could see through the window you had stationed yourself in front of to sulk. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d have blamed the city’s resident thunder god for the disastrous timing of this storm front. As it was, all you could blame was your string of bad luck.

Speaking of bad luck, the door to your parlor snapped open and in stepped the dripping figure of your best friend. Aliyah paused only long enough to adjust her sodden pink hijab before plopping soggily onto an overstuffed loveseat.

“Well, the gazebo is flooded,” she announced, “the food is soaked through, and the caterer won’t bring more to replace it. Your flower arrangements are in pieces, and the band already ran off. I don’t think there’s anything left of your wedding ceremony.”

You did not bother to leave the window, though you did turn just far enough to throw her a sour look. “Do you have any good news to impart?” you asked.

Aliyah grinned. “Your maid of honor hasn’t walked out yet. At least there will be one person here to witness this fiasco.”

“Gonna need a groom for anything to be witnessed.”

Most close friends would offer sympathy when their friend’s fiancé of a year and a half decided to just not show up for the actual wedding. Most acquaintances would feel bad enough when the carefully planned event got rained out. Not your Aliyah. She simply let out a sharp breath and leaned her head back against the couch cushion.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said.

You glared at her, which of course she didn’t see, having shut her eyes to listen to the water tumble from the roof to the street outside.

“Thank you. So much,” you said.

“What?” she asked, forcing her eyes open again. “I told you Jared wasn’t good enough for you. Besides, you should keep all the gifts even if he doesn’t stop by. I saw, like, nine blenders in that pile. You’re better off this way, if you ask me.”

“You’re just saying that because you want a free blender,” you said.

“I wouldn’t say no. But, really, you should count your lucky stars. Free stuff and free of your jackass boyfriend. What better start to a weekend?”

“I’d rather be married to my jackass boyfriend.”

Aliyah’s disdain for Jared was nothing new or surprising. He’d fallen from grace in her eyes when he’d got jealous over your fondness for an injured pigeon you’d rescued only a few months after you started dating Jared. Even releasing the bird hadn’t entirely put an end to his complaints about how you spent your free time. On the other hand, you knew one thing that neither Aliyah nor Jared did: Jared’s jealousy wasn’t entirely misplaced.

But that was years ago. This was now. And that bird had always been bad news.

“Are you going to cry about it?” Aliyah asked, peering over at your perch by the parlor’s bay window. “Because, if not, I’d hate to have dragged Habib all the way to America for nothing.”

At the mention of her long-distance boyfriend, you motioned for Aliyah to go on. You preferred to do your moping alone, and Aliyah knew it. She stood and crossed the room to give you a quick hug before she left without another word. Probably you did owe your maid of honor at a least a blender for all the trouble she’d been through on your behalf.

Sighing, you lifted one hand, dug your fingers into your hair, and tore out what was holding it in its elaborate design. Who cared what you looked like now? Even if stupid Jared had shown up, the storm would have ruined your appearance before you made it down the aisle. Now Aliyah had free rein to spend the rest of her afternoon cuddling with Habib, and you had no one else to bother looking pretty for.

Outside your empty room, you could hear the indistinct muttering of your remaining guests. Family, mostly, who had already given up trying to convince you to let them in. What the rest of them were waiting for before they left, you couldn’t guess. Perhaps for you to come out and make an official announcement: The wedding has been called off. Party’s over. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. And thanks for all the blenders.

The shame of your situation suddenly threatened to crash down upon you. It would have, if you had remained sitting where you were. Instead, you got up, white dress rustling as you stalked across the room. A quiet shriek of rage was stifled only by your gloved hand pressed to your colored lips. Of all the pathetic, idiotic, insane things you had done in your life! Now you didn’t even have the courage to face your friends and family with the truth.

“Tap. Tap. Tap.”

Hail began to hit the glass behind you, soft and hesitant. Since you had no plans to leave the building any time soon, you ignored this weather development.

Jared hadn’t even called to say he’d changed his mind. You should have known when he hadn’t come home after his stag party the night before. He was probably laughing it up over your stupidity with some blonde bikini babe by the beach that you were supposed to go to for your honeymoon. The thought caused you to kick out angrily at the coffee table, and you heard a quiet rip issue from your skirt in response when it caught on a corner.

You swore.

”Tap. Tap. Tap.”

Now that you thought about it, the sound wasn’t regular enough to be hail. It wasn’t very hesitant anymore either. Still, you ignored the noise as you yanked off your veil, your gloves, and your garter. You were mentally preparing to rip them all to shreds with your fingernails when you heard it again:

“Tap. Tap. Tap.”

That time you did not suppress your shriek. As it faded into the overstuffed furniture surrounding you, you marched over to the window and shoved it open. The wind whistled through the empty space, sending anything in the room not tied down into the air and splattering your face with water. If ever there was a time to reasonably expect an Asgardian thunder god to step inside, it was then. No one was there, though, save for a single bedraggled pigeon.

“Oh, hello,” you said when it hopped onto the sill, and automatically you held out your cupped hands toward it.

The poor thing shivered once, then stepped onto your warm palms. Only when it looked up into your face did you see that it had bright green, very un-pigeon-ish eyes.

Before you could stuff the bird back outside, it lifted itself into the air to half-flutter, half-fly over to the loveseat Aliyah had been sitting on. A flash of light that had nothing to do with the lightning outside filled the room. When you had blinked and cleared your vision enough that you could see again, the pigeon was gone, and in its place reclined a tall, dark-haired, beautiful man, dressed to the nines in Asgardian fashion.

“Hello, darling,” said Loki Laufeyson. “Don’t you look ravishing?”

You were too shocked to contradict him. No mention of your torn dress, mussed hair, or smeared makeup escaped your lips. Instead, you said the only thing you could in that sort of situation: “What are you doing here?”

“Why, I’m here to offer you my congratulations, of course,” he answered, examining one perfectly manicured nail. “Or should it be my condolences?”

“Really?” Your tone dripped with enough sarcasm that it could be heard over the protesting window as you forced it shut. “You disappear for two years, never write, never visit, and then you just happen to pop by to celebrate my wedding to another man?”

“What kind of secret lover would I be if I did not?”

“We are not secret lovers.”

“Well, no, we haven’t been for quite some time. I see no reason why that should stop us from picking up right where we left off, however.”

“We were never secret lovers.”

“Really?” he said, mocking the tone of your earlier question. “That’s not what it seemed like to me. Of course, I had the brain of a pigeon most of the time, but at night when your beau had to work and leave you so very alone–”

“You can’t just show up out of the blue and expect me to want you again,” you interrupted. “And on my wedding day to boot.”

To his credit, Loki looked genuinely confused by your behavior–like he’d expected you to jump straight into his arms, marriage or no. Obviously, they did things differently in Asgard. You were not Asgardian.

“Fine,” he said. “If that’s the way you want it. I was only trying to thank you for helping me, you know.”

“All I did was take in a pigeon that got injured when Thor threw a bunch of peanuts at a flock. It didn’t really deserve that sort of thanking.”

“Ah, but you enjoyed it anyway.” That wasn’t the point. He knew it wasn’t the point just as well as you did, because once he made it, he got fluidly up to his feet to and walked over to stand in front of you. “If you are that disinclined to see me, I suppose I had better get going. If you ever grow tired of being lonely again–oh, that’s right. You don’t know how to contact me.”

You opened your mouth to remind Loki that you didn’t want to contact him, but then something about Loki’s words rang strange.

“Alone?” you echoed.

“Yes, alone. Or do you expect your Prince Charming to come riding up on a horse of white any second now? Better late than never?”

Without thinking, without warning, you slapped him straight across the face.

“Ow!” he snapped, pressing one of his hands to the mark on his face. “What was that for?”

“What did you do?” You lifted your hand for another blow. “What did you do to Jared?”

“Me? Do something to Jared? What should I have to do with that ponderous ass?”

“Did you kill him, Loki?” you asked, voice quavering. Loki could do it. Easily. He was a god, and Jared just…well, just a ponderous ass.

Loki let out a single bark of laughter. “Oh, please. I just got out of Asgardian prison. As if I’d risk going back over the murder of a petty moral such as he.”

That brought you up short. Frowning, you deigned to look at him again. “Prison?”

“Yes, prison. Did you think my absence was due to taking a pleasure cruise?”

“I thought you’d escaped prison when I found you the first time.”

“But you sent me back to Asgard when I started causing trouble,“ he reminded you. "Odin does not forget his son’s crimes easily, nor is he inclined to forgive them. Luckily my brother is far easier to manipulate.”

He had not, you noticed, made any real move to leave. Loki still stood in front of you, looking down as the pink handprint faded from his cheek.

“So…you didn’t kill my fiancé?” you asked uncertainly.

He shook his head. “If he isn’t here, it is because he is a dunce, not because I tricked him in any way.”

“Oh.” All the problems of your appearance seemed at once apparent and embarrassing. To think that this man would see you in such a state, and only because he’d wanted to see you after his release from jail. “Why did you really come, then? Since you knew he wasn’t here. To gloat?”

“The thought did occur to me,” Loki confessed. “I am not often in the position of being the more desirable choice. But,” here his voice turned oddly sincere, “I actually came to ask you to come with me.”

Your mouth fell open. Some of Loki’s usual acerbic amusement returned as he watched you flounder; you could see the faint outlines of his familiar smirk at the corners of his mouth. Finally, you managed a short, “go with you where?”

He shrugged, and started to twist the curtain in between his long, pale fingers. “I don’t know, really.”

“You want me to go somewhere with you without anywhere in mind?”

“I thought we’d figure it out as we went along,” he said. “Travel the galaxies. I cannot return to Asgard and Midgard, of course, is out of the question so long as I do not rule it.”

“You want me to follow you into outerspace?”

Only his silence could tip you off that Loki was actually nervous. He clearly had no idea how you would respond to his suggestion–which was by falling into a nearby chair to gape at him.

“You want me to leave my family?” you asked.

“They live far away and hardly talk to you.”

“And my job?”

“That you’ve never liked. We’re both aware.”

“And my best friend?”

“She spends most of her time visiting mosques in India with her boyfriend,” Loki said with a dismissive flick of his hand. “Besides, there’s no rule to say we can’t come back to visit her every so often. I have no objection. She seems a sensible enough woman.”

“And you want me to leave them all,” you went on as though you couldn’t hear him, “for you, a man I haven’t seen in years because he was in prison.”

Once more, Loki said nothing. His green eyes peered into yours with unreadable depths, just as they had the unfortunate day you had returned home after to work to find your injured pigeon friend gone and a strange man eating all of the meat out of your fridge in its place. You could remember, too, the feel of that man’s skin against yours, the heat of his lips on your neck, the sound of his low voice in your ear–and Jared complaining, always complaining, about how much time you spent with that damn bird.

You buried your face in your hands. “I can’t do it, Loki. I can’t.”

You waited to hear him leave again, to hear the glass move and the rush of the storm and the flutter of wings. None came. All that did was one soft word:

“Please.”

“Huh?”

When you looked up, Loki was right above you. His hands gripped the chair arms at your sides with enough force to make them whiter than ever–but his eyes were not on yours anymore.

“Please,” he said, “I don’t want to lose you, too.”

Another move without thinking or warning: You gently touched his other cheek.

Loki’s eyes closed for a half second before he moved one hand to hold your wrist there. “I have already lost my father, my mother, my home. My own brother has thrust me unceremoniously from both realms I sought to rule. And then to hear that I would lose you, too, to an oaf like that Jared.”

No one could say that Loki losing all of this wasn’t entirely his fault. He had decided to lead an alien invasion into Earth, to try murdering several members of his mentioned family, and to seduce young Earth women under the guise of hurt animals. But part of Loki’s charm was that he never failed to make one doubt that he could be better, maybe, if you only let him try.

“I’m sorry,” you said sincerely. A sincere apology didn’t mean your mind was changed, however, and this, also, Loki knew.

“Do you want me to beg?” he asked. “I am no longer a stranger to begging.”

With that, Loki slid to the wooden floor before you. Stranger or no, it was positive it wasn’t a position he relished being in, what with how stiff his hands were around yours when he made to hold them. He swallowed, took a deep breath, and began:

“I know I am asking a lot. But I, too, have lost a family, a job, and my closest friends. I would not ask you to come with me if I did not intend on paying you pack ten times in kind. If you will allow me to take you with me, I know I can make you happier than you would be here. Together we will find some place to call our own, and you shall be my queen. So please,” he said, “please let me keep one last thing that I love. Don’t make me leave you behind, too.”

It wasn’t the prettiest speech you had ever heard come out of his mouth, but it was probably the most honest. You gave him a tiny smile as you squeezed his hands in return. “A queen, huh?”

Loki smirked. “Or a comfortable, quiet living, depending on what we find, and how thorough Thor is in seeking me out. At least we could be comfortable and quiet for a little while.”

“Can’t imagine that’s going to last long with you around.”

“With you around to look after me, though…”

That got you to laugh. “Oh, yes, I’m sure I’d do a wonderful job making sure you didn’t get into any trouble. I did such a good job before.”

Some of the color returned to Loki’s features. He was starting to hope. Against your better judgement, so were you. A couple of things, however, remained to bother you:

“What if you came here and Jared and I were married?” you asked.

“Then I would have had to resort to kidnapping.”

“And how did you even know I was getting married today to begin with?”

He smiled his Cheshire smile, and that was when you knew you were truly lost. “You really ought to stop talking to the birds on your fire escape. You never know which one would be willing to pass information off in exchange for a couple of peanuts.”

“Oh, and you stalk me. What part of this deal doesn’t sound good?”

“None of it, I should hope.” Standing, Loki kept one hand firmly around one of yours. “We should go, you realize. Unless you want to say your goodbyes?”

You thought of your parents blustering about how you dared to invite both of them to your wedding. You thought of the forlorn apartment you shared with a man that had never really loved you for you. You thought of Aliyah and her instance that Jared would never be good enough for you. You thought of the awkward explanation that would be expected as soon you set foot outside that door–and you grinned.

“Not a chance.”

“Then I believe,” he said, and abruptly pulled you into his arms in an obvious parody of carrying a bride before pushing the window open with his boot, “we have a few errands to go on before we get on our way.”

“Like what?”

“Unless you plan to live the rest of our lives with nothing but multiple blenders,” he began, but was not able to finish over your sudden laughter and the return of the torrent outside.

You latched your hands behind his neck as he dove back into the rain. There were stars somewhere above those clouds, and you would be visiting them soon enough–them and endless other realms. Maybe eloping with a man that could turn into a pigeon wasn’t the best miracle there ever was on Midgard, but it pulled off the most important trick of them all: Against all odds, you lived happily ever after.

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shyvioletcat · 3 years

Note

I have no idea if you’ve seen NCIS: LA, but they have an episode just like your fic Treacherous of two agents posing as a married couple in the suburbs!! It’s season 3 episode 22 for reference!

Prompt based on that: A comes home and sees blood, panics and follows the trail thinking B has been hurt/killed. Carefully pushes the door open and finds A has simply cut their foot and didn’t hear B

I have watched some and I did go looking for this episode but came up bust in my search. It could have provided some good inspiration I’m sure. We all love a good fake relationship.

*EDIT: TAGLIST DONE. Sorry if you’ve already seen it and are getting the notification.*

Treacherous Masterlist

~~~~~

Grabbing the shopping bags out of the boot of the car Rowan swept his foot under it to activate the automatic close, all the while suppressing a yawn. He was dead tired. Aelin had gotten her revenge after the pen incident, setting an alarm clock in his room to wake him up at exactly 3:47. The damned thing hadn’t been within reach so he had to get out of bed to turn it off. And from copious missions together Aelin knew once he was up, he was up so he’d hadn’t bothered to try and get back to sleep. Knowing her she might have set others up in the room anyway, even if he had tried to sleep again paranoia would have kept him awake. All the while she slept blissfully across the hall.

Being just the two of them in the house they hadn’t bothered to keep up the bed sharing part of the charade. They slept in separate rooms and thank the gods for that. If he didn’t have that space to himself he might have never been able to get away from her and have some quiet. Aelin seemed to fill every room she was in and it was suffocating for him… most of the time. She had a way with people he had admired at times, it was what made her such a good agent, especially when undercover. Not that he would ever tell her any of that. No need to inflate her already insufferable ego.

When he had grumpily asked her over his third cup of coffee why she’d chosen 3:47 exactly she’d smiled at him, bright and cheery as ever after sleeping in until 8 o’clock, and alluded to some lockeroom talk she’d heard about certain measurements—in millimetres. When he had rolled his eyes she had gone on to clarify she was talking about 30 and not just 3 he’d promptly left the room, well and truly done with her immaturity. Her laughter had chased him out.

Shifting the shopping bags so he could open the back door, Rowan entered the kitchen expecting to find Aelin in there preparing the food for the ridiculous party tomorrow while listening to some obnoxious music very loudly just to piss him off. But she wasn’t, in fact the house was silent.

“Aelin,” he called, stepping around the length of the counter.

That was when he saw the blood.

Rowan dropped the bags, things crushing on impact. The blood pooled in one spot, then splatters made a path across the tiles. He didn’t have a gun on him, but there were enough stashed around the house and he found one in a low kitchen drawer. It was pointed and ready in moments and Rowan made sure he didn’t disturb the blood on the linoleum floor.

“Aelin,” he called again. “Agent Galathynius.”

Still silence. He followed the trail of blood towards the small bathroom that was on the bottom level, his heart pounding in his ears. There wasn’t enough that the situation looked dire, but the assailant may have dragged her off to another location, hidden away from windows. Why hadn’t the team been alerted to anything? Where was the back-up? Panic started to fill him, but his training kept it under control. If something had happened to Aelin…

He shook his head to shake out the thought. She was a perfectly capable agent, one of the best. Rowan was overreacting and he needed to calm down. A deep breath in and he nudged the door, when there was no reaction he kicked it open, gun ready. Eyes darting around the room, his gun dropped to the side when he took in the scene before him.

Aelin was seated on the floor, holding wads of toilet paper on a wound on her foot, wincing from what he gathered to be pain. She hadn’t noticed his entrance and was still focused on her foot.

“Aelin,” Rowan said, but got no response, so he tried a little louder. “Aelin.”

She jumped looking up at him. “Why do you have a gun?”

“Did you not hear me calling out?” Rowan asked, putting the safety back on the gun.

Aelin took small earbuds out of her ears. “What?”

Rowan rubbed a hand over his face, panic turned to exasperation. “I called out to you and you didn’t answer.”

“Podcast,” she held up her earbuds in explanation. “But the gun?” Aelin then asked him, her attention going back to her foot.

“The blood trail…” he said but didn’t elaborate.

Aelin straightened where she sat and looked up at him, then laughed. “Did you think I’d been murdered in the bathtub?”

Rowan didn’t answer her question. “Would you mind telling me what happened exactly?”

Aelin sighed. “I was trying to cook and I knocked a knife off the counter and my hands were full so I couldn’t catch it. It nicked my foot and now here we are.”

“Okay,” Rowan said, the adrenaline finally settling and he knelt down to assess the injury.

“What are you doing?” Aelin brows were furrowed in confusion.

“Inspecting the cut, you can’t get at it from the right angle,” Rowan said, turning her foot and earning a hiss.

“I can do it myself,” Aelin said and tried to pull her foot away but Rowan held firm. She relented with an over dramatic sigh and leaned her back on the bathtub.

Aelin had already got down what he needed, so he cleaned the cut up and foot, putting a large bandaid on it to stop the bleeding. “There,” Rowan said succinctly, brushing a thumb unconsciously along Aelin’s arch before letting go, making her suppress a laugh. She was ticklish.

“Hmm,” Aelin said, looking at him curiously.

“What?” Rowan asked, standing and washing his hands. When he turned around to dry his hands on a towel she was still looking at him.

“Careful Whitethorn, someone might think you were concerned for my well-being if they found out about this.”

“Not likely,” Rowan scoffed. “It was the paperwork I was concerned about.”

Aelin snorted and walked past him, Rowan taking a moment before he followed. There had been a moment when… He shook his head. Concern for a partner was only natural, no matter the feelings of enmity between them. The two of them couldn’t stand each other, but that didn’t mean he wanted her hurt or dead. Rowan left the bathroom, headed for the kitchen to put away the groceries when he heard a frustrated exclamation.

“Are you serious, Rowan?”

Any concern he had felt evaporated at Aelin’s tone. Entering the kitchen he found her holding a carton of eggs, leaking yellow and clear goop. They must have cracked when he dropped the bags in his panic at the blood.

“You need to go get more,” she told him, dropping the ruined eggs in the trash.

“No, I am not,” Rowan groaned. He was tired, he didn’t want to take another trip to the grocery store across town.

“Oh, you are. I needed those eggs for the barbecue tomorrow, so because of your overreaction over a little bit of blood I am now eggless,” Aelin explained. There was no answer from him as Aelin unrolled some paper towel to clean up both egg and blood. “Off you go.”

Too tired to fight anymore Rowan just grabbed his keys and left to get more precious eggs.

~~~~~

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