#BREAK HER THUMBS YOU FUCKING WALNUT
Note
könig as the nutcracker 🥹🥹
you just brought some terrible sleeping beast out of me, anon.
nutcracker prince König x fem reader (mostly gender neutral but you're wearing a dressing gown)
tw: mouse murder???
He's a very odd looking nutcracker, all things considered, but you can't take your eyes off of him.
"If it's a nutcracker why does it have that stupid veil over its face?" Your brother asks, noisily crunching candies between his molars. You glare at him, both for the rude remark and for chewing with his mouth open.
"This is a special one," your aunt gushes. "He's based off of a legendary soldier who never showed his face on the battlefield. One of a kind, from a specialty toy shop.”
"How interesting..." You muse, gently rubbing the fabric of the veil between your fingers. It's sturdy fabric, but still soft to the touch.
"He was probably ugly as hell," your brother declares. You swat him, and he only cackles and gets up to graze at some more sweets.
"Maybe you should try covering that ugly mug up once in a while," you call after him. He pelts you with a walnut shell.
Your aunt shakes her head fondly. "This one's not just decorative," she says. "He's a real nutcracker by Steinbach."
You look at her, wide-eyed. "So he can crack nuts?"
She nods and tosses you a hazelnut. "Try it."
You lift the wooden man's veil a little to put the hazelnut in his mouth. You could just pull the whole thing up and out of the way, but that feels almost...forbidden? You're not sure why you feel this way—he's just a piece of wood, after all, and he probably doesn't even have anything painted on underneath the veil other than those vibrant blue eyes. But even so, you're hesitant to unmask him.
Cracking the nut works like a charm, though, and some childish excitement bubbles up inside you as the remnants of the cracked hazelnut spill into your palm. "That's incredible!" you gush, running your thumb over the nutcracker's lacquered uniform.
"What do you mean incredible, that's what nutcrackers are for." Your brother returns, a few walnuts rolling around in his palm. He holds his other hand out. "Give him here."
"No. You called him ugly, so he's mad at you," you say, teasing him by holding the nutcracker out of his reach.
Your brother rolls his eyes. "Give it here, you little shit."
"Crack your own nuts," you shoot back. "This is my nutcracker."
He makes another grab for it, and this time he manages to grab the nutcracker's arm. It's only a lighthearted tussle between siblings as you shove at your brother and he refuses to let go of the nutcracker's arm—until it's not.
A terrible snapping of breaking wood causes you to gasp. The two of you stumble away from each other from the force, your brother holding a tiny wooden arm in his hand. He's just pulled it clean off. On closer inspection, your idiot brother has somehow managed to Hulk-rip the arm piece off of the piece that fits inside the socket. "This is a brand new nutcracker, how did you fuck it up?!" you cry.
"Hey, you should have—" Your brother takes one look at your expression and decides not to give you a hard time. "Look, I'm sorry. I was too rough on it. Sit tight for a second." You sit there, numbly staring at the pieces of your poor nutcracker. Really, it's your fault too—why didn't you just let him have the damn thing?
And why is this upsetting you so much? The nutcracker's just a decoration, albeit one with a little more function than most. You feel a sort of attraction to this little wooden man in your hand, though. Maybe it's because his unique design is interesting, or maybe it's because you're intrigued by the idea of a masked soldier who never shows his face. Either way, he was your gift anyway, so it's not that unusual that you're attached to him...right?
"Here, let me see him." Your brother's back, but to your horror, he's holding a pair of needle-nose pliers. "Absolutely not," you respond, jumping up from where you were sitting on the floor. "You are not getting anywhere near my nutcracker with those things. You're just going to fuck it up even more."
"It'll be fiiine," he insists, clicking the pliers open and closed like some maniacal toy surgeon. You're not sure you like the devious glint in his eye. Your brother's a nice guy for the most part, but sometimes he gets this look in his eye that you imagine Dr Frankenstein must have had when he was assembling his creation.
You hold the nutcracker and his detached arm protectively to your chest. "I'll figure out how to fix him in the morning with glue or something," you insist. "I don't need you poking around with pliers and splintering the wood."
"Are you sure? I am sorry, for what it's worth."
You wave him off. You're still kind of mad at him, but you're both adults. You'll live. "Don't worry about it. I think I'm going to head to bed soon, anyway."
"You should keep his arm with him, dear," you aunt pipes up. She had gone into the kitchen during the whole ordeal, but had probably heard everything go down. "Tape it to his side or something. You wouldn't want to lose it."
That's a good idea, you muse, examining your poor amputated nutcracker. You're just about to take her suggestion when you get an idea.
Your brother checks in with you later, right before he goes to bed as well. "You can't be serious," he says. "You made him an arm sling?"
You tie the knot on the little scrap of cloth around the little wooden man's arm nice and snug. "Oh, I'm dead serious," you say. "Doesn't he look cute?"
Your brother lets out a resigned sigh. "Yeah. Sure."
The rest of the evening is relatively uneventful. You put the nutcracker in your room, right on top of the dresser, while you go about your bedtime routine. It always brings you a bit of joy to walk out of the bathroom and see him there, standing tall and proud.
Well, your evening would have been uneventful...had you not bolted awake in bed an hour or two later.
You're groggy and confused, trying to figure out what the hell is going on, when you hear the cacophony of noise. It sounds like footsteps, dozens upon dozens of them, stampeding through your walls. And then the mice show up.
They crawl up from the corners and the floorboards, swarming across your room. You're too terrified to move or even scream out, sure that you must be having some terrible nightmare or hallucination.
And then your nutcracker moves.
You're absolutely positive now that you must be dreaming, watching frozen from your bed as your nutcracker leaps down from your dresser as if he's a living, breathing man and beginning to fight the mice. And he's even...talking?
"Finally, some worthy adversaries!" you hear him cry. You gape at this bloodthirsty little soldier as he beats through mouse after mouse with his tiny sword.
It's an impossible battle, you think. There's no way he can take all those mice alone, and with one injured arm aside...you're usually pretty squeamish when it comes to dubious little animals, but you can't just leave your nutcracker to be overwhelmed. Besides, this is all a dream, so nothing matters, right?
There's one mouse, larger than the others, who's at the back of the pack, squeaking as if giving orders. You're having quite a wild dream, honestly, because the mouse is even wearing a little crown. Like a king, you think with some amusement. You reach over the edge of your bed to pick the mouse up by the scruff.
You're not quite sure what happens next. One moment, the mouse is chattering angrily at you, the next you're on the floor. At first you think you've simply lost your balance and fallen onto the floor, but when you scramble to your feet, you nearly fall over again as you take in your surroundings.
You've shrunk.
Your bedroom is cavernous above your head, your bedposts and furniture as tall as skyscrapers. And worse still, the mice are huge too: the once palm-sized mouse king is now as large as you are, sneering down at you from his snout. You didn't even know mice could sneer.
You yelp and throw yourself to the side to dodge one of the mice lunging at you. "It's time to wake up," you mutter to yourself through clenched teeth. "It would be really really nice to wake up right about now...!"
The mice are unrelenting, a vicious gleam in their eyes as they nip at your heels. They manage to corner you against a piece of furniture, snapping their jaws menacingly. All you can think to do is pray as they draw ever closer, their breath hot as they crowd around you—
A sword neatly lops off the head of one of the mice in front of you.
You gasp and look upwards to see your nutcracker looming above you, his sword gleaming in the low light of your bedroom. He's incredibly menacing at this size, his veil becoming intimidating rather than charming. You're far smaller than him now—if he had been a normal sized man, he would have easily cleared six feet. His eyes are vibrant and intense, staring down at you for a brief moment before they turn back towards his enemy.
You sit there, stock-still in awe as you watch him mow through his adversaries. It takes you a moment to realize you probably shouldn't be hanging around and gawping. Good thing, too, because your knight in shining lacquer is too distracted to notice he's being snuck up on. The larger mouse is creeping up behind him, a wicked glint in its eye.
"No!" you cry. Thinking fast, you pull off your slipper and chuck it at the mouse's head, stunning it. I can't believe that actually worked, you think.
You have to give your nutcracker some credit, his reflexes are wicked-sharp. In a single heartbeat, he's run the mouse king through with his sword. He cuts an imposing figure, his eyes sharp and deadly. But there's a sort of glee in them as well, the kind of thing that should make you uneasy.
It doesn't.
The rest of the mice, seeing their leader fallen, beat a hasty retreat, tugging the corpses of their fallen comrades along with them. You watch them, fascinated, until all that remains of the bloody conflict are a few tiny pools of blood streaked along your floorboards.
"I must thank you," comes the voice of your nutcracker. You look at him, unsure of what to say. You're welcome for throwing a shoe at a giant mouse to keep it from killing you?
"I...of course," is what eventually comes out. You smooth out your dressing gown in a futile effort to look presentable. "I couldn't let him hurt you."
The nutcracker tilts his head curiously. "You don't know me."
"Of course I do. You're my nutcracker," you say, instantly feeling silly once the words leave your mouth. You just received him as a gift, and you only just found out he was sentient anyway. You don't know why you feel so protective...
He shifts his injured arm, the sling still in place. "You bound my arm, as well."
You flush with embarrassment. "I-it was the least I could do," you stammer. "I shouldn't have let my brother do that. Really, it was my own fault—" Your words die in your throat as the nutcracker moves in close to you, so close that you can feel his body heat. Since when did he have body heat?
"Pretty," he murmurs under his breath. You stare at him, dumbfounded. Is your nutcracker...hitting on you?
Suddenly, you snap back to your senses. "Oh my God," you exclaim, staring down at yourself and then back towards your surroundings. "I'm still small. And I haven't woken up yet. Am I dreaming? I must be dreaming. Please tell me I'm dreaming." You pinch your skin, letting out a small exclamation when it hurts. But you still don't wake up.
"Hmm...you won't solve your predicament that easily, little one," the nutcracker muses.
"Wha—do you know how to fix this?"
"I have a hunch," he responds, brow furrowing. You hadn't noticed eyebrows on him when you were examining him earlier in the evening, you note.
"Do tell."
"You've had a curse placed on you, but I don't know how to break it. I do, however, know someone who might know how."
"Well then take me to them!" You stare at him beseechingly. You watch as several indecipherable emotions run through his eyes, then he nods.
You visibly relax. "Thank you."
"You'll have to trust me. You may find the whole process a little...fantastical."
"More fantastical than my nutcracker coming to life and fighting an army of mice on my bedroom floor?" you ask, cocking an eyebrow. His eyes crinkle in a way that must mean he's smiling.
"More fantastical than that," he says. He offers you a hand like a true gentleman, and to your shock, it feels like flesh, not wood. His grip is firm but soothing, his hand so huge it dwarfs your own.
"Let's do this, then."
uhhhhhhh wow this got kinda long I had to cut it short. I'll probably write a part 2? But it's gotta wait because I've got a gazillion other things to write first :P Thank you for the inspiration, anon! 🥺
#yes this König has blue eyes#könig#konig#könig x reader#konig x reader#könig x you#konig x you#könig fanfiction#konig fanfiction#könig cod#konig cod#könig call of duty#cod#call of duty
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3 birds 1 stone - chapter 5
‘Dick, Jason, and Tim. Supposed brothers 'till the end, until all three fall in love with you. Who wins your heart?
The man who earned it, the man who stole it, or the man who always had it?’
A/N: you’ll all either love me and give me a hug, or burn me at the stake.
WORDS: 9119
WARNINGS: batarella being an evil witch
MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST
-----
A head of black hair. You could see it behind one of the couches at the library. Tim. He was reading a book.
“Pretty bird?”
Jason crept up behind you with his eyes squinted. Then he peeked into the doorway you were standing behind to see what you were stalking like some creep.
“Trying to talk to Tim?”
You swallowed. “No…”
“And you’re hesitating?” Jason quirked up a brow. “Why else would you stand here for a minute straight?”
“You’ve been watching me for a minute straight?”
“I came from all the way down that hall. I forgot something at the cave. Came back and saw you staring at something at the doorway like a mugger.”
You rolled your eyes, then turned back to face Tim not realizing how much you were moving your jaw.
“Pretty bird, talk to him. We can all feel the tension like some kind of invisible string.”
“God, not you, too.”
“Oh it isn’t just me. Trust me. A lot of us have noticed. On Christmas Eve you’re all touchy and lovey on each other and the next minute you're avoiding him like the plague.”
“I get it,” you snorted.
“Tim needs it. You probably do to.”
You scoffed at him when he came over and placed his arm around your shoulder, facing Tim just as you were.
“Listen. When you want advice about boys, my brothers especially, talk to me because if there’s anyone out there who knows those two walnuts more in this house, it’s me.”
“Two?”
He snorted. “Come on. Don’t deny about Dick, too.”
“Fuck, don’t tell me everyone knows about that-“
“Quit worrying.” You glared at Jason as he ruffled your hair. “I’m the only one who knows about Dick, other than Steph but that’s only because you told her. So don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”
You rolled your eyes and pushed him off you.
“Remember,” Jason nudged your shoulder before he walked away. “I know my brothers best.”
You didn’t respond to that.
You waited until he was gone.
Then you stepped in, knocked, stood as still as a lamp.
Tim turned around and caught sight of you. He smiled, casually nodded for you to come in, and you did just that. Seeing that you were going to take the seat right beside him, he inched himself away.
Then he went back to his book. Kept himself occupied. He didn’t glance up at you even when you were so obviously staring at him.
Trying to keep things casual. Ignoring the obvious and only making things a whole lot weirder. You placed your hands on your lap and looked around the room. The coffee table was too far for you to just pick something up and have something to do, so was the next book despite you being in a library. You sank into the couch, your chin almost touching your chest to cower yourself away.
Though cowering right now would be the worst thing to do.
Tim looked up at you, eyes so soft you desperately wanted to melt. And he watched you so kindly, smiling despite it being clear that it still hurt.
“You okay?”
You just wanted to remember him looking at you this way forever.
At opposite ends of the same couch, with the window right in front of you so you could look into the gardens. Damian was outside. Meditating on the snow-covered grass and looking so peaceful. You wanted a bit of that peace.
“Y/N?”
Your throat had that itch, but it hadn’t hurt yet, giving you no reason to hide behind for not having anything to say. At the same time, you had everything and nothing to tell him.
“How are you?” you asked.
It was all you could say. You said it so swiftly, and it was basically all of what you wanted out of him. but barely, barely, could it cover the immense depth of what you wanted to know that was going on. Because behind that soft smile and that crinkle on his eyes, you knew Tim too much to know when he was about to break.
Not surprisingly, you should be looking the same way, too.
“I…” Tim put his book down on the arm rest and leaned towards you. “I’m alright, I guess.”
Maybe it was from the way you were looking at him. Wide eyed, yet with your mouth trembling and your hands kept to yourself. Like every spirit that kept you up had sunken so low towards the ground, you just wanted to sink even deeper until you couldn’t even see yourself.
When you kept your head down, thumb brushing over the back of your other hand, you heard Tim shift on the couch.
“I’m… I’ll be okay, Y/N…” Tim had faced away from you and leaned onto his knees as well, head to the ground between his feet.
The itch was starting to grow. Still it wasn’t enough to hinder you from talking.
“I’m sorry…”
“No,” he said. “Please don’t be sorry.”
You desperately wanted to just reach for him and hold his head to your neck, let him fall asleep in that couch wrapped in your arms so tightly, he couldn’t possibly feel safer anywhere else. But you couldn’t even do that, no matter how much he looked like he needed it.
“You didn’t deserve how I hurt you…” Tim whispered. “That was selfish.”
“Tim…”
You inched closer, but he backed away.
‘I love you.’
So close to just slipping out of your lips.
You weren’t too sure what would happen next. Frankly, you were too afraid of that.
You still loved him. Every bit of you throbbed at the sight of him. Both your arms constantly wished to hold him and stay. Your eyes lock onto him like you were seeing a sunset in Greece. Nothing passed when you weren’t worrying about where he was, wondering what went on in his head at times when you just catch him smiling. You stare at him for too long people often had to snap you out of a trance. You discretely did favors and the littlest things just to earn a laugh or even a smirk from him just because his smile meant everything to you. Your day was made from the sight of him laughing so hard he was on the floor clutching his stomach and you ended up realizing it was the most beautiful sight and the most beautiful sound you’ve ever witnessed. You always kept a side eye stuck on him wherever he was in the room, no matter what he was doing. Always, always put his happiness first over anything else. You watched him be with other people, watched him grow into this incredible man to admire and look up to. He never failed to make you proud. Never failed to earn your smile just as much as you worked to earn his.
Trusting him with your life. Letting him see all the hidden parts of you. Letting him see you with your leg off. Letting him hold you even when his hold meant two different things between you and him.
Seeing him slowly fall in love with you again, feel his touches warmer, his hands feel tighter, his gazes last longer, his words softer, his talks mean deeper, his eyes shine brighter.
Knowing with all your heart that he had fallen so deeply, desperately, undeniably in love with you all over again.
You not knowing if it was for the best…
Tim, with his long hair falling over to his face with his head dipped down, shut his eyes so tight it looked painful.
You never stopped loving him. Not even for a day. Torturing yourself to this extent, to care so much for someone who’d hurt you unlike anything and anyone else your whole life. Still holding on, with no plans of letting go, even when your own memories and trauma and your own feelings were screaming at you to forget him. When both your love for him and the pain from all those years ago never went away, coexisting into this mush of all the emotions you couldn’t possibly control.
Because looking at Tim hurt you just as much as it sparked your love. Not a day when you didn’t constantly long for him to be in your arms, but neither was there one when you forgot what it was like for him to just throw you aside.
The most agonizing, torturous thing you could possibly do to yourself. You wouldn’t know if kissing him would feel any different from Christmas night, or if that old spark would come back and convince you that this was a decision you made right.
And being with him, it would only make things so much worse. Telling him how you felt, no matter how strong and how much they just wanted to all be poured out on the table for him to know, it just wouldn’t make things any better for either of you. Because you’ve seen him fall in love with you the first time, when you were both just fifteen years old, he told you how much he loved you, when he asked you to be his, and you lept into his arms screaming ‘yes’ over and over until both your ears hurt.
And that had gone. Faltered. Crushed you into pieces you still haven’t been able to pull back together.
You don’t want to through all that again.
“Tim…” You needed to let this all out. “I wish there was something I can do…”
“Please… You have to believe me… I’ll be alright.”
It wasn’t so sudden. It wasn’t a surprise. Still, when his palms reached over to hold your hand so tightly, you shot up and stared unmoving at him.
“You still love me,” he said. “I always knew that.”
There was nothing more heartbreaking than the way he smiled at you then.
You just held his hand tighter, never looking away from him.
“But I hurt you too many times. I can't turn back what happened… I realize that now... I shouldn’t have made a move…”
“No…”
You knew he had more to say to you that he was trying to hold back. After he took his hand away, you felt too cold, too alone. You desperately wanted to lean into his chest.
The gifts. Tell him about the gifts. The Valentine’s present that he gives you without fail. The ones that only started arriving right after you’d broken up. How it would be the fourth year now since then. When you thought it was from Bruce who took notice of the things you liked until you eventually realized it was Tim making things right after he’d torn your heart apart. The perfectly wrapped silver box with a crystal-like bow. The BlueBear Sketchpad. The ten-piece Tremblay brush set. The five tubes of Lalande Acrylic paint. All the other gifts. All supposedly just gifts. All just things, but everything had been so carefully picked out, chosen to your best interest as if he knew exactly what to find, as if you’d told him all those yourself.
Only he could have possibly known you enough or have paid attention to all the sketchbooks and paint brushes you yearned for every year. Only he could have loved you that much to never forget to make you so happy. Only he could have possibly taken notice of the tools you like to use and how you did your work. Only he could have the guilt to make up for your broken heart.
Tell him about how those gifts practically made your career. Tell him how much they pushed you even further to be a better artist.
Tell him how the thought that was placed on every single gift, how you could just feel the love he’d left on the way he tied the ribbon. Tell him how much you appreciated everything so much that each time you look back at every gift, you could make an entire painting just from how inspired you were of him.
Tell him it was one of the reasons why you had partly healed and moved on, knowing he was still there looking out for you, supporting you, taking care of you, loving you even from afar.
Tell him how those gifts made you hold onto your love for him so much, that even now you just couldn’t let him go no matter how painful it was to want to stay.
He could have given you a stuffed toy from a crane machine or a burger from down the street for all you cared. It was the thought, and so much of thought came from each time you opened the gifts and it was adorned with little love notes, individually wrapped presents in a silver box. It not only looked like it came from him. It looked like it was meant to fit everything about you.
And perhaps, it will remain to be the biggest mistake of your life, when you continue to live on knowing you didn’t tell him any of those truths.
Because you just kept quiet.
It hurt how much he was just as silent as you were, punishing himself with his own thoughts that were probably just as cruel as the ones you were telling yourself. This was why it couldn’t be anymore. With him.
Being with him had so much love, and with it came so much angst. So much hurt.
And it hurt even more that you had fallen in love with Dick as well.
“I’m sorry.”
Tim stood up and left the room, and you didn’t look at him long enough to know if his gaze on you went on until he’d stepped out of the door or if he hadn’t looked back at all. Because you’ve grown far too stiff, far too frozen for you to react to anything, even when it had growntoo cold for the window to be open. Your muscles had set in place, you stuck on that couch. You didn’t bother to move even if icicles were to be forming under your chin.
And yet, even after you did what you had been telling yourself for so long, nothing changed. You still had that deep crater permanently staring back at you from where you could see your chest. You still had that dark emptiness that caved in each time you dove further into your poisonous, torturous thoughts. It didn’t do anything any better.
Six years ago, you chose Tim. There was probably no one else you could possibly think of to be your first love, your first boyfriend. You chose him and never looked back. You loved him more than anyone you could possibly learn to love even when you were far too young to even fully understand what love was.
You chose Tim, and when he’d hurt you, left you as you realized he didn’t choose you the way you’d chosen him over everything else, someone else came along and you learned to love him, too. And you realized that you could, in fact, love someone just as greatly and deeply as you did the first time. Maybe even more.
But that was what Dick had been to you. Someone you loved. Someone who brightened up the days that seemed pitch black for hours on end. You hated yourself knowing that no matter how much you loved Dick, he was still just a second to Tim, who you’d always choose first. Dick was someone who was only there because of the circumstance.
Someone you wouldn’t have fallen in love with if Tim hadn’t left you.
Someone you hadn’t kissed yet, even when you probably should have that night in front of the easel, because someone, the man who still had your heart was keeping you from falling into the arms of the man you so greatly wanted.
One of these days, you had to admit the truth. Never mind to anyone else. You had to admit it to yourself.
It didn’t matter if Tim was the one you loved the greatest or not.
You’re not holding yourself back from Tim because of Dick.
You were holding yourself back from Dick because of Tim.
-----
You never promised to stay longer than a week, or even longer than when you actually wanted.
You couldn’t take this anymore.
Your bag looked and felt a lot fuller than when you came in and it needed a bit of effort just to squeeze in your hoodie. Though it was definitely because you were just piling all your clothes unfolded without much care for creases, you just went with it and closed the zipper hoping it wouldn’t explode. Hands on your hips, eyes taking its much-needed break, you breathed.
“You’re leaving?”
Dick. He was at the door and he looked frantic.
You shrugged and played it as cool as you possibly could. “I think I should head home now…”
“It hasn’t been a week.”
“I have work,” you swallowed. Your coat was all the way over to the other side of the bed.
“Did we do something? I swear, we’ll leave you alone next time.”
“It’s not that.” You took your other bag filled with all your equipment. “I shouldn’t be staying here long. Besides. I know you’re going back to San Francisco tomorrow.”
“I-“ He looked nervous. “How’d you know about that?”
“Steph told me. You got something to take care of with the Titans?”
When you had both your heavy bags slung over your shoulder, you went over towards him.
“Yeah… I do… But I was gonna come back.”
“It’s fine. Seriously. Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you again when you come back”
You hand was on his arm and you smiled.
“I haven’t had a nightmare since I came here.”
Then your palm found itself on his cheek.
The way he was looking at you then…
“If you need anything at all, you know you have me.”
You pulled him so close to you, but he remained unmoving, stiff. Your arms were around his neck and you kept holding him tight even when you felt his own arms hold you back far too late.
When you backed away, Dick wouldn’t let you.
“Wait.”
His low, breathy voice, much more resembling a whisper. He held you by the waist and wouldn’t even let you pull your head back away so your mouth wouldn’t feel his breath.
“Can we go somewhere?”
You blinked. “Go somewhere?”
“Just the two of us.”
“Right now?”
“Right now.”
You finally pushed yourself away so you could stand on your own. Being so pressed so tightly against his chest was making you lightheaded.
“Why?” you choked. “Where would we go?”
“There’s this place I’ve been wanting to take you for a while.” Dick held both your hands and you didn’t know if you were dumbfounded at how intimately he was holding you or at the words he was blurting out right then. “It’s not too far off, but it’s quite the drive. It’s not as cold there, too. So it’s the perfect place to paint.”
“Paint?”
“Yeah…” He smiled softly. “I just thought you’d like that.”
Instead of a decline or even a snort at the ridiculousness of this spontaneity, which probably wasn’t spontaneity if he’d planned this out before, you were grinning.
“That a yes?”
You couldn’t exactly say no to him.
“Fine.”
“Take everything with you. Come on.”
Dick held your hand the whole way out, into his car, speeding out of the garage like some runaway driver in a car chase even with the snow-covered streets stopped him from going even faster.
Your heart was racing even when you were still sitting on the passenger seat and trying to hold back from smiling too much at the sight of Dick looking so panicky and jumpy at the intersection.
“I can't believe we’re doing this.”
“You don’t even know where we’re going. Just relax.”
“Excuse me, you relax. You look like your hair’s about to jump out of your scalp.”
Dick actually messed up his hair even more and smirked. You took your coat off, settled on the seat and reclined it back so you could lie down. “How long’s the drive?”
“About an hour. You can sleep if you want.”
Dick had slowed down, and his nerves most probably did too.
Your eyes were all on him the whole time as you slowly drifted into this light, calming nap, the first that hadn’t been over a night of too much thinking.
When you’d woken up, you could have sworn you were still in a dream, a trance, something that had come straight out of the own creative runs in your head.
On one side of the car, you could see the hill Dick was driving up to in a spiral. Snow-covered grass. Pine trees magically being blanketed by the white whilst still showing off that earthy green of their leaves. The cold, grey cement that the car was slowly driving up to. Everywhere you looked about, the hill looked magnificent.
Then there was the equally majestic other side. On your side of the car window. You peeked over, and where the road had ended, the cliff dropped all the way down into the crashing, roaring ocean that went further out into the far horizon stretching towards the end of sight. It wasn’t so blue as it was this mysterious, freezing gray that looked too similar to the road’s color, but that, with the white of the snow and the trees and the clouds that littered all over the sky, you’d say your breath would be taken away if you even had any left at all.
You only wished your paint would do any of this any justice.
Dick drove until you’d reached all the way up the hill.
Coat over your shoulders, you stepped out of the car and were surprised you weren’t freezing your fingers off when you were so high up and the sea so close.
“See.” Dick threw his arms up. “Not too cold, right?”
“It’s perfect.”
You were too enamored with everything in front of you that you hadn’t even noticed Dick had taken out your equipment from the trunk for you.
You walked over to the edge, to where the hill started to descend, and you had probably had the most perfect view there possibly could be on the planet, where the cold ocean met the snow-covered land, before it morphed into this forest of green spikes shooting up to the view of the ocean and the clouds that looked too much like the snow. There was no sun, but it shouldn’t matter. Not if you painted this fast enough. And this might actually be one of the most scenic things you’ll ever paint.
You turned back to set up your easel and Dick helped you with your paint. He even brought a chair for you that you hadn’t thought of bringing, and with all that, as you sat in front of your easel, you had no idea where and how you were going to bring justice to such beauty in front of you and cram it all into one measly canvas.
But you weren’t even worried, even when you probably should be. You weren’t too in your head and neither were you too frozen to move or start picking up your brushes and work.
And before you could even come back to your senses, already your brush had been dipped onto this mix of a darker white and you were downright copying everything that went on in the scene in front of you. And it might have just been from the cold that stung your cheeks in place so frozen, but you were smiling the whole time. Brush on the canvas, that sound of each stroke of the tip’s hairs that left on a line of color. You started mixing the darker gray for the ocean and the rocks, then you started on the hill at the bottom side from where you were sitting.
In front of you, Dick had walked over from just watching you work to admiring the view all the way over to the edges of the slope. Even with the cold and the drying snow, Dick sat on a dry spot and brought his knees up to rest his elbows on. That, with his black hair waltzing about with the wind blowing against him in the face and the coat over his shoulders the same color as his Nightwing suit, he looked just about as beautiful as the view itself.
Smiling as you watched him lay down on the grass, you looked down and got another brush for you to start with the horizon.
You kept it subtle, since it wouldn’t be the center of the painting. You worked with the waves and how it came crashing down to this rocky abyss, right before it shot up to this pine-covered hill. That was what you’d envisioned. And with each stroke of the grayish blue and the whites for the sea foam that looked similar to the clouds hovering above it, you continued with the pines.
“What’s the best part about it?” Dick was propped up on his elbows.
You tapped the brush onto the easel. “About the view?”
“Yeah.” He rocked about while he hugged his knees. “The ocean?”
“I don’t even know. Everything about it’s so beautiful.”
He didn’t know you started painting a black-haired man sitting at the side of the hill.
“Gotham can only give you so much beauty to work on. You don’t get to go out to the country much to paint.”
“I really don’t. It’s always skyscrapers and helicopters and busy streets,” you sighed. “It’s nice to have something else for a change.”
When Dick looked back to shoot you a glance, you were dabbing the end of a fat brush onto the hill for the snow that had grayish tones in for the dirt and uncovered patches. Your fingers started to stiffen, but you managed to ignore it and continued to work so calmingly that it didn’t even cross your mind how nothing was crossing your mind at all. Like your head had been so engulfed into this paradise you found yourself in that it gave you that favor you needed of not having any thoughts that controlled you and your emotions, gave you that minute of freedom from the confines of your own head, that light you so desperately seek for the past few years when you needed that light. The waves filled in for any other sound, the white and the snow brightening that black static from your nightmares. Your head blank from everything you’ve been dwelling on. And the tapping of your brush, every stroke, every dab, every color you mixed on the palette, it filled in for that urge in your fingers that urged you to do something about your situation and the problems and the circumstances you had to deal with.
This was heaven.
And you could have sworn it was definitely the view that did this, not anything else. But deep down, when you really thought of the realities that went on with how you felt and the last time you were brought to such gorgeous scenery, you’d know that the person you were sharing this with plays a significantly larger part in that calmness.
Perhaps hours had gone. Maybe two. Dick had stood up from his space on the ground and had taken another chair from the car to sit beside you. Then you heard a snicker when you’d finished up with ocean and the clouds and the pine trees and the hill and went on to the finishing touches of a handsome man looking out into the sea, with a blue coat and black hair flopping over his ears. He was looking to the side, faint red lips curved up, and his eyes, even with it so tiny, you could still see how it was the brightest blue in the picture.
Even with the view so breathtaking, you’d done so much justice to Dick’s beauty that only he could possibly contest the ocean. With the ocean so striking and the hill side so gorgeously done, all eyes would still end up on Dick, and he had on that smile he’d give you that always brought out the best in just about anyone he meets, takes away the darkness wherever he went, pulls anyone’s spirits up from the ground so much that you couldn’t possibly remember even the worst thoughts you’d otherwise never be able to escape from.
“I’m going out on a hunch here,” Dick said. His face was right beside you and your shoulders were touching. “But I do believe that’s me you just painted there.”
“Lucky guess.”
You placed your brushes onto the container on the easel and sat back. Tilted your head. Took advantage of the light whilst it was still there. Because in front of you, the sun that was tucked beneath the clouds had started to settle and soon enough it will be so cold you’ll freeze before it’ll eventually be too dangerous to drive around in the dark province. Though Dick didn’t look like he was too worried about that.
“I can't possibly look that good.”
You guffawed. “I think I did just about right with one of the best-looking men on the planet.”
“Aren’t you the charmer,” he winked. And you shook your head to avoid looking at him in the eye too much and choke.
You placed all your paint back into your bag, along with your brushes and rags. Then Dick folded up the easel and you held the now dried painting up in your arms, holding it up to match the view you just took it from. As you lowered it, the sun had gone, and it was dark.
“Dick.”
He came up behind you, hands in his coat as it was starting to get really cold, then when he was in front of you, you handed the canvas over to him.
“It’s for you.”
He smiled. “I brought you here for you. As much as I love it. You should keep it for yourself. When’s the last time you painted just because you wanted to?”
Everyday, his words never fail to remind you how deeply you’d fallen over. “I-I don’t…”
“Exactly. You don’t. Hang it up on your room. Wouldn’t hurt to have a bit of me up on your wall.”
With your brow up, you wanted to titter as he took the painting for you and placed it in the back seat. You trailed behind him, hugging yourself in your jacket when the wind that was blowing up on that hill were getting much stronger than your tolerance.
You blew hot air into your hands, scrunched yourself up into this stiff body, then when Dick turned back around you wished you weren’t shaking so much like a goof. With a handsome little smile, he came up to you and held your arms tightly in his palms.
“You’re cold?”
“No, actually I think it’s a little humid.”
You thought he’d stop at your remark but he just rolled his eyes and kept rubbing your elbows to keep you warm. “Aren’t you cold?”
He shrugged.
The little street lights at the side of the hill were all there was, because it was pitch dark by then. And when you looked out into the far end of the other side, behind the view you were just looking at, the city lights contested with the country side’s calmness. Although it was so beautiful, and even with your place being so quiet, you still could hear the bustling noises you wanted a break from now.
Dick was leaning against the car, and you felt how his hands longingly lingered on your arms just before he slipped them off of you. But even then, you still felt close. You were standing in front of him, alone in the gloom in the best place on earth. And with the silence, more so could you hear the ocean against the hillside rocks. The smell of salt from the sea and the earthy musk of the hill made it all the more calming.
You met Dick’s eyes, wide-open and glimmering. His forehead was creased up, hands in his pockets, he looked at you so enthralled by how close you were standing that it pulled you to take another step closer.
“If you won't stay at the manor…” He licked his lips. “Is it okay if I visit you a lot? Like, a lot more than I already do?”
You wished you didn’t sound so casual like you were just talking to Cass or Duke, just friends. “Of course, Dick. You’re always welcome.”
And even when he was so obviously trying to hide it, the way he flattened his lips and faced the ground let you know that it killed him.
You sighed. “Sorry, I just… With what happened with Tim-“
“I know,” he said. “I know what happened.”
“You do?”
“Well, I know something happened. I honestly wished I realized that before I invited you over. I had no idea then.”
“It’s alright.”
Still, he was looking at his feet. You toyed with a rock with the tip of your shoe, and accidently you tapped on his.
“I’m glad I did.”
“Really?” He looked up.
“Yeah.”
His back was no longer against the car, so he was standing even nearer to you, close enough that your toes would touch and linger to stay. Creases at the corners of his eyelids. His lips so plump and looking so soft.
Dick was definitely glancing at your lips as well, with the way he was looking at you, eyelids now relaxed and his mouth parted slightly enough for you to have a peek of his teeth.
He was so beautiful…
“I’m glad your stay at the manor made you feel better.”
No more games. You wanted him too much.
Is it selfish to go through with this? Knowing what was going to happen?
“Dick…” you gulped. “It wasn’t the manor…”
He didn’t look surprised. He wasn’t moving, nor did he react. But you could feel how his breath had quicken, his eyes open wider, how that relaxed concern turned into this breathless panic even when he was standing so still.
Though you wanted to cry, you found yourself smiling.
That same smile that always seemed to silence him. The one that lingered in minds and stopped all things happening around. And with how you were standing so close to Dick, you were practically giving him the whole world.
You swallowed.
A hand on your cheek. You didn’t even notice it come up until it was holding your face so firmly and warm, you wanted to melt right then. It was so dark, but with so little light, you could still see his eyes. And the cold breeze that had long passed, you couldn’t care to notice. Your body wanted to shiver, but you kept still.
“It’s you…”
He wasn’t exactly smiling.
In fact, Dick looked nothing else but relieved.
You could feel it in the way his hold on you loosened and his eyes drooping so low from how he was so close to just falling into you, and how his other hand had now found itself on your waist.
Even when you were silent, you just knew exactly what he wanted to tell you.
And he told you everything, without uttering a single word, when he so lightly touched your lips with the radiating warmth of his own.
You closed your eyes. He smelled like jasmine.
Then you listened to everything he had to say.
‘Finally. Finally, when I thought you’d never get to be mine. Kiss me, and I’ll make it all go away. The pain. The darkness. I’m here for you for so long as you’d have me.’
Your arms had long circled his neck before you even realized it. Fingers lost in his thick hair, so tightly holding on so he couldn’t possibly pull away. Then there was the way he was holding your waist, and you moved about, pushing on each other, pulling towards each other. Beating and throbbing and just getting every bit of the kiss you possibly could. As the winds started to blow harder, you started to shiver from the sudden gust of cold, but he held you even tighter as if he knew.
So, so beautiful. And so magical. The voices of angels right up against your ear. Some sultry song perhaps, guitar strings that go so well with the ocean. Because even if you had the strength to possibly hold it back, tears had fallen to your cheeks. This was too long awaited. Too long have you wanted to kiss and hold him and finally he was here with you.
‘Y/N’ he continued to say when his tongue so sensually parted your lips. ‘I never thought I’d have you. I never thought I could want someone I could never have as much as I wanted you. Please have me, too.’
You hand gripped on the fabric on his chest, under his jacket, and Dick grabbed hold on your hand and so slowly brought it up to his face, which you held so dearly, you heard a deep moan escape his lips.
But even if you weren’t standing on that hill, when the waves of the sea weren’t rolling against the cliff and the winds were so nicely blowing your hair all over or even if you hadn’t spent the past few hours being mesmerized with the most beautiful view by the side of the most beautiful person, nothing could change how sweet your kiss was. Dick held your body so tight, and for so long did it last, you had no idea just how much this was going to dawdle against your skin. The balm. The song. It was all too much like you were floating in the clouds.
Dick was leaning into you that you had your back arching, then you pushed back, hands all over the back of his head, and when your moth parted so open, his tongue was all over you and you just wanted to fall to the ground. Your strength just couldn’t keep up with him any longer.
When your hands were on his cheeks, you were surprised to feel tears there as well.
‘I love you.’
You didn’t want to make yourself believe that was actually what he wanted to tell you, because with the way he was kissing you, how hot his tears felt and how they continued to seep out of his eyes, how he watched your face move like he wouldn’t miss a detail for the world, it all seemed to point towards it being the truth.
But it couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be.
And just like all good things, reality caught up.
With your arms now against his waist, Dick went on to pepper light kisses all over your face. Your eyelids. Your cheeks. Your nose.
Then you had your forehead leaning against his. Even with his touches, how securely he held you, you swallowed.
And you just wanted to burst out crying.
Because even with all those other things he told you with that kiss, it all dawned to you at that one, excruciating moment when you stopped being so obsessed with his lips, looked at him in the eye and read between the lines. Because it was all so clear, you just wished you’d seen it sooner. His kiss told you many things, but it also told you more than you hoped.
It was the way his throat hitched when you looked at him so longingly. You weren’t so sure at first, but you were sure of it now.
“Y/N-“
“Kori’s back…” you whispered. “Isn’t she?”
The way everything fell. His face. The shift in his cheeks and eyes. You could tell he wanted to back away. And you did it for him.
He just pulled you closer, but he didn’t even have to answer you anymore. You wiped that long-fallen tear from your cheek and shook your head.
“That’s why you’re going back?” you said. “You’re going back to see her.”
“Y/N, I swear I was going to tell you-“
“It’s okay…”
Maybe it wasn’t such a good thing that even with the god-awful sting that slapped your chest, you still managed to smile and caress the side of his face so gently, you just knew the chaotic discourse going on in his head was just as irrepressible as yours.
“It’s okay. Dick…” You thumbed his cheek. “Go back to her.”
“Y/N, please listen to me,” he held both your hands now. “It isn’t her I’m going back to. There’s this thing that the League. And they’re calling the help of the Titans. Everyone has to get on board and Kori had to be called in-“
“Dick…” you said. “ You were supposed to marry her.”
“That’s-“ he was trembling. “I know. But it was my choice to call it off and I didn’t even get to talk to her after I left. I at least owe her that. A talk. But I swear, it’s all there will be-“
“Dick… Please…”
You let go of his hands.
“Y/N,” he swallowed and his voice stiffed and deepened. “I swear to God, I know for a fact that you’ve known all these years. You couldn’t possibly have told yourself it wasn’t true. You know I want you. I’ve always wanted you, and you’ve always known that.”
“Dick-“
“You’ve always been…” He loosened his hold on you just in case you didn’t want to be held so tightly. “Always. It’s you.”
Lips between your teeth, you kept your eyes closed. And just as he’s let go, you backed away.
“Then why does it feel like you’re saying goodbye?”
Goodbye.
Goodbye.
You felt it the moment he said he had to take you somewhere so suddenly, when he took you to the most beautiful place on earth and looked at you like it was the last time. Goodbye. That was the word you instantly thought of after all those moments. You couldn’t point it out, and it never raced from the back of your head, all until you finally said it and it was out in the open. Goodbye. This was how he was saying goodbye.
“I’m-“
“Dick, it’s alright.”
“It’s not.”
Dick held your face again.
One more kiss. It truly, definitely felt like goodbye now. So soft and gentle were his lips, you held his wrists and so slowly pulled them away from holding your face. And when he had lost his hold, you backed away.
And after a long, painful moment of quietness, staring at the empty grass, letting the wind get in between, Dick wiped his eyes with his sleeve and went around to the driver’s seat of the car.
You got in. And as he started up the car, you closed your eyes.
Dick didn’t deserve to be in this mess.
Because in those fantasies you let your mind wander off to when you were being good to yourself, you could only imagine ever being with Dick when times were perfect, when you had the whole of your heart solely belonging to him, when you weren’t loving anybody else, when he had the propriety of all your love and effort directed to him. When there was only peace, light, and if there were to be darkness, only his presence was called for and it would fix everything. Only then could you allow yourself to commit to him. When you knew you had your demons set aside no longer to come back.
Because he deserved to have that perfection. That light. He deserved to have you bring that light into his life just as much as he brought that light into yours. He deserved nothing less than all that brilliance he’d trail behind and he deserved to be as carefree and happy as he made you. Dick deserved that kindness. That peace.
You loved him too much to possibly give him the you that you were now. Still hung up on Tim. Still having that internal dilemma. You had to hold back. At least now, when you knew it just couldn’t be.
And he had Kori.
Dick can only say so much now, how nothing was going to happen. But it won't be the same when they see each other for the first time in a year. That spark will come back. He’ll fall in love with her all over again.
And you’ll have done all this for nothing.
So no, you weren’t going to give all of you to him now. Not when you were rational enough to know what to expect.
You reached your apartment.
“Thank you, Dick.”
He couldn’t even look at you in the eye.
“I’ll see you…”
Dick gripped on the steering wheel.
“Bye…”
His voice wasn’t at all solid or frustrated. He kept that softness that was always there when he was with you. He whispered it out.
And with that, you were certain that this was, in fact, goodbye.
You got all your things from the back and went into the apartment. You heard him drive off soon after.
You basked in that loneliness. The silence. Realizing that maybe it was possible that the manor cured your dreams.
You took off your coat. Changed for bed
You took out all your clothes from your bag and put them all in the laundry.
You went over to the kitchen to get a glass of water.
As it almost fell into midnight, you pulled out your equipment bag to clear it out.
You got your extra canvases, your paint brushes, your paint, and for a moment you ignored the silver box that sat on the floor of your bag for a long while to place all your supplies all around your studio.
By the time you finished, you were sweating. But you brushed it off. You drank from your glass again and went back to your bag to pull out that silver box.
Then you stopped.
The silver box. With a crystal-like bow on top. Your name scribbled on top. Everything wrapped so perfectly with the gentlest hands.
Your fingers were trembling as you pulled on the bow and took out the cover.
A BlueBear Sketchpad.
A ten-piece Tremblay brush set.
Five tubes of Lalande Acrylic paint in periwinkle blue, mandarin yellow, raw umber, antique gold, and viridian. All different colors from last year’s Valentine’s day.
A six-piece charcoal pencil set.
A necklace with a color-wheel pendant. One you found at the art fair but couldn’t buy for yourself.
Pencil pouches with your name engraved on a gold plaque.
A palette the shape of a lily made of ceramic.
A letter.
You knew exactly what was going to be on there.
You already knew what was going to blow over when you open that envelope.
But as much as holding back can get you so far, you couldn’t possibly hold yourself back from this.
You didn’t dwell on that question for too long. You didn’t want to stop yourself.
You sat yourself down on your bed and opened it.
.
‘Y/N.
If I could go back, by some sort of possibility, you don’t know the things I’d change.
I won't go back to when you and Tim broke up and I swooped in to take care of you without bringing things any more than what we still are now. Friends. If anything, that was far too late for me to do anything.
I won't go back to before I had anyone else in my life, to before the wedding, to when I was supposed to get married. I wouldn’t go just to tell myself right then to leave and go to you. Still, it was far too late.
If I could change anything that’s ever happened, I’d go back to before you met Tim. So then, with you unknowing, you’d have met me first.
I’d give up my life for you to have met me first.
And I’d take it from there. I would have been the one to bring you to the manor and introduce you to my family, to Tim, and he would have my place in sitting in the sidelines, watching us get together and be together and kiss under the moonlight on rooftops and jump down skyscrapers and fight for those who can't fight for themselves side by side. Tim would have been the one who’d fallen in love with you regardless of having you wrapped in my arms and longed so much to have you in the room, settle for what he’d have and only meet you when other people are around. He would have been the one to watch us be the happiest couple he’s ever seen and have the selfishness to secretly wish we’d break up and he could have you for himself. He would have been the one to seek comfort in others, meet other people, try to have that kind of love we had and fail because he’s just so stuck up on you, someone he can't have, and give up on anything else that could have possibly made him happy because he only wanted you.
And he would have been the one to watch you hurt so much, get his heart broken each time he had to watch you cry over his brother who’d wasted away the best person he’s ever come to meet. Tim would have been the one to hate me for ever hurting you that way, because I had somehow forgotten that I could never have anything that I should choose over you, while Tim has had to keep himself aside knowing you could never be his but just can't stop to yearn for you. Tim would have been the one to come up to me one day and tell me that I was going to regret it for the rest of my life, letting you go.
But none of that happened. Tim was me. Tim met you first. And I, unfortunately, was the one at the sidelines in this story watching you both. And I hate it.
But I tell myself that if I had just met you first, that if I was just given the chance, I would have you right now. It probably isn’t true, because you and Tim weren’t even together yet when you and I first met. You chose Tim.
You chose Tim. And I would have been okay with it if he hadn’t hurt you so much.
And it might have been one of the worst things I could have ever done to you, spend too much time with you the last three, almost four years. Not look away when you caught me staring and let my compliments out of hand. Because I ended up hurting you, too.
By the time you had broken up with Tim, I had Kori. I won't say I didn’t love her. And I definitely won't say I’m happy our wedding didn’t push through.
But on that day, when I stood on that altar as the supposed groom, I caught your eye in the crowd.
And when I saw how you looked at me, trying to hide your tears. You were trembling. Your lips were shaking, and I saw the same look on your eyes as when you had your heart broken the first time.
I wanted to run to you right then. Because I realized, with how you had to watch me stand at that altar and not have you walk down that aisle, that you felt the same way I did for you.
The wedding stopped, and I had the choice to still go through with it or not.
But I didn’t want to be the reason why you had to be hurt the second time. No one, not even me, is going to hurt you. Not when I have a say on it.
But even if it weren’t true, if you didn’t feel the same way, I knew no one was ever going to have my heart the way you have mine.
So I took the risk.
I knew you still had feelings for Tim. No one was going to deny it. Tim had fallen for you again and by then I was sure I’d never get my chance. But it didn’t even matter anymore.
I choose you. Over everything.
I’m telling you all this not knowing what’s going to happen next, and it’s probably one of the most selfish, most dangerous things I’ve ever done. Cowardly, too, since I’m telling you this right before I leave the next morning. I don’t even know what I am going to do.
Believe me, if you choose Tim again, knowing he was going to make you happier than he ever did, never hurt you, bring out the best parts of you that I’d fallen for everyday, then I myself would tell you to choose him. There’s nothing I could ever ask for more than to see you smile. Even when I’m not the reason behind it.
But I’m writing you this letter, just in case you had doubts, because you deserve to know that if things don’t go the way you first wanted it, that I’m still here. And I’m telling you, whatever I’ve done to brighten up your darkest nights so far, I will do it all over again ten times just to prove to you that I will do everything I can to make you just as happy. Maybe even happier.
I keep myself alive so I can still be around to make sure you’d being cared for, no matter how much you’d hate that. This might have been too overwhelming, and I’m so sorry for that.
I don’t know for how long I’ll be gone, but I don’t think I’ll be there for Valentine’s to give you these gifts. I’m glad they make you happy. I made sure to take note of the tools and paint you like when I watch you work because nothing seems to make you happier than painting. I haven’t missed a year. I’m not about to miss now. Even when it means having to tell you the truth.
And this is it. The truth.
I never thought I could love someone this much, someone who was never even mine. But I do.
I love you.
- Dick
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MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST
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A/N:
MAIN TAGLIST:
@everyartistwas-firstanamateur, @sarcasmismyfirstlove, @damned-queen-of-gotham, @idkmanicantenglish, @wunderstell, @birdy-bat-writes, @get-loki, @everyday-imfangirling, @comic-nerd-dc, @multifandomgirl-us, @multifandoms916, @icequeen208, @offendedfishnoises, @egdolan, @xemiefx, @arkhamtoddler, @elsenthal, @mythicbitchx, @lucy-roo, @roseangel013bf, @loxbbg, @reclusive-chicken-nugget, @l-inkage, @http-cherries, @river9noble, @zphilophobiaz, @annoylinglyaries, @knightfall05x, @hyp-oh-critical, @satan-s-ass, @1-800-starmora, @flowersgirl02, @nahcho, @thatonecroc, @trixie-bb, @daddyissuesmademe, @ jasonsbitch, @shadowsndaisies
SERIES TAGLIST:
@spaceservicestation, @thedeadlythoughts, @vanessafabricius, @pinkforest05
#dick grayson#jason todd#tim drake#dick grayson x reader#jason todd x reader#tim drake x reader#reader insert#nightwing#red hood#red robin#robin#stephanie brown#cassandra cain#duke thomas#damian wayne#batfamily#batfam#dc comics#3 birds 1 stone#3 birds 1 stone series#batarella#batarella series
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Losing
This was written as a request for the eternally lovely @samwisethegr8. Hope you like it, baby! Idk where the chipmunk stuff came in, I must’ve had forests on the brain or something. As always, I’d love any advice or critiques!!
Title: Losing
Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader
Word Count: 3283
Summary: Losing her hair following a spell makes it challenging for the reader to feel like herself.
Warnings: swearing, fluff, hair loss
Dean knows better, by now, than to say anything about the beanie you straighten as you get into the backseat, giving you some soft eyebrows in the rearview mirror that are maybe worse than if he’d kept joking about it. Typical, for the spell making your hair shed like some cartoon pulling out fists in a temper tantrum to be one of the few you’d seen hang on after the casting witch died. You’d been doing research for weeks now on ways to get it back with nothing to show for your efforts except a few stomachaches from attempted potions (and one influencer-inspired collagen and ACV concoction you’d dumped out after feeling ridiculous). Sam had convinced you that getting back into the swing of things might make you feel better, and was trying a little too hard to be cheerful next to his brother in the front seat.
“The weather’s so nice today—sometimes you forget how good the sun feels, being in the bunker for a while.” He flashes a smile over to Dean expectantly, willing him to say something encouraging too. Dean looks exasperated for a fleeting second before relenting.
“Yeah, uh, great day for a drive.” You catch the tail end of his tiny eye roll in the rearview mirror.
“If you guys are going to treat me like an invalid I’m out of here.”
“Invalid? I just think it’s a nice day out,” Sam says, trying for indignancy through his put-on ignorance and not quite hitting it. Looking back at you over his shoulder, he’s able to hold onto it for about 2 seconds of eye contact before his face relaxes into more familiar kindness. “Okay, fine, sorry. I’m just happy you’re coming.”
He’s unphased by your glare back at him, keeps up the sympathetic puppy dog eyes because he knows your snark is coming from a pit of frustration and self-consciousness. Just like Dean’s tenderness of omission in not saying anything about it today, it’s simultaneously comforting and annoying. You feel a lump forming in your throat. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” Sam seems a little hurt.
“Like I’m dying or something. Both of you. I’m serious, you’re making it so much worse.”
Dean catches your eyes in the reflection. “Kid, you just seem so fuckin’ bummed. It’s only hair, it’s probably even going to grow back.”
“Easy for you to say, you’re not going fucking bald! So, are we going or are we doing group therapy in the driveway all day?” You can hear that you’re being too harsh but can’t muster up the energy to stop, flopping into the seatback with your jacket balled in your lap. Sam and Dean exchange a look and Dean turns the key in the ignition.
It really is a nice day, sun streaming through the windows of the Impala and cutting the still-slightly-chilly spring air just enough to be pleasant. You make a conscious effort to let go of your indignation, counting farm houses on the way out of town as a sort of meditation. Dean starts singing along to the Deep Purple tape playing, and when he catches a glimpse of your smirk he really hams it up, banging out the drum line on the steering wheel and pulling faces that would make Billy Idol jealous. After a few bars you can’t help yourself and start to laugh, the excited accomplishment that breaks through Dean’s act to light up his eyes sending a pang right to your heart. He holds his fist up in a facsimile of an invisible microphone to Sam, who plays along. By the end of the next song the Impala is rocking like Madison Square Garden, radio up so loud you can barely hear your own thoughts as you scream-sing until you’re laughing so hard you can barely catch your breath. The music changes over the next few hours, the volume turned down for snippets of conversation or debriefing about the upcoming case from Sam then back up for one of Dean’s favorite B-sides, and by the time the sun is going down you’re genuinely only thinking of how hungry you are while Dean turns into a diner that stands alone sharing a parking lot with a strip mall.
Dean’s two steps toward the restaurant by the time Sam has the back door opened to offer his hand to you. He looks surprised when you don’t take it right away, standing there awkwardly for an extended beat with his palm outstretched and his head tilted like a curious dog.
“I’m not going in.”
Through the windshield you can see Dean stop and turn back toward the car, jamming his hands in his jacket pockets like he thinks he’ll be waiting in the chilly evening for a while. Sam wraps his fingers around the top of the door and runs his other hand through his hair. “Babe, come on, it’s just some stupid diner. No one will even notice.”
“Sam, I’ll notice. Forget it. I’ll wait here, you guys go—grab me a sandwich or something.”
His lips tighten into a sympathetic but frustrated line and he looks over the car to his brother, who shrugs without taking his hands out of his pockets. Loud enough that you can hear him through the windows and around the car, Dean calls out, “How’re you planning on talking to the sheriff if you won’t even walk into a diner, hot shot?”
You match his volume. “Good point—I’m not planning on talking to the sheriff, I’m staying in the motel.”
Sam takes a deep breath and winces. “You don’t know anyone here and we’ll never see them again. You’ve gotta eat something. Please?”
“You’re not the fuckin’ Elephant Man, you’re a chick wearing a hat,” Dean offers loudly, absolutely not helping. Sam shoots him a look that says as much and clenches his jaw. Dean shrugs and opens his jacket with pocketed hands as if to say ‘what?’ Sam jerks his chin toward the diner and Dean nods, spinning lazily on his heel to walk in alone. When Sam moves forward, you slide over on the bench seat to allow him to sit next to you in the backseat.
“It’s just hair.” He says, low and soothing, just above a whisper. “You’re still the same person.”
You let your head roll back onto the seat behind you. “You don’t get it—my hair was the only pretty thing about me.”
Sam’s face contorts in disbelief like you’ve just told him not only are unicorns real, but you have one in your duffel bag. “What?”
“You heard me,” you repeat, training your eyes Dean through the diner window, winking at a woman in her mid-twenties whose cheeks are full and cherubic under bright, friendly eyes. You can see even from here that she bites the inside of her lip to keep from beaming back at him, holding onto his gaze for a beat longer than necessary before taking her tiny notepad back to the kitchen.
Sam shifts to put himself more directly in your line of sight. “Baby, the pretty thing about you is you. These hands are beautiful because they’re yours, because they, I don’t know, put an extra dryer sheet in with the laundry so it smells amazing, scratch Dean’s back when he can’t fall asleep. Your eyes are the first ones I want to see every day, not only because they’re beautiful—and don’t argue with me about this for once, please—but because they’re the same ones that always seem to notice that last symbol we’re looking for after I’ve read a stupid book of runes 400 times. Your lips—” he pauses, touching your lower lip with his thumb so light it could be a feather, “—are beautiful because they’re the only ones that I can hear your voice through. Was your hair beautiful? Of course. And it’ll be beautiful again.”
“You don’t kno—”
He rolls his eyes. “I do know, but even if it isn’t, you’ll still be you. You can borrow mine if you want.” Sam’s eyes are so earnest, so sweet as a tiny smile tugs at his mouth, that you can’t help yourself as you lean forward and press your lips to his. The way he kisses you back is such naked affection and relief, slipping a hand around the side of your neck to cradle your jaw, that it’s hard not to believe it’s how he really feels.
The moment is broken when Dean opens the driver’s side, startling you enough to take a sharp intake of breath against Sam’s cheek. “Quit sucking face and look alive,” he says, nonplussed as he hooks an arm over the front seat to hand you a paper bag filled with Styrofoam boxes.
“That was, ah, fast,” Sam replies, and it’s almost steady enough to hide the stammer.
“3 BLTs, not like they fucking built the Great Wall. Waitress in there said there’s a motel in the next town over, 10 minute drive.” He waits until you have the bag supported with a hand on the bottom and one taking the handle from him. Sam squeezes your thigh once before slinking back into the front seat, but Dean’s eyes stay trained on you. “Touch my fries and die.”
You manage to keep your mitts off everyone’s fries until you pull into Walnut Suites a few minutes later, thinking to yourself it sounds like some kind of hotel for squirrels and hope sort of absentmindedly it’s one of the kinds of motels that decorates to a theme; even when they’re stupid—maybe especially when they’re stupid—anything to break up the monotony of thousands of motel rooms over the years is welcome in your book. Sam coming out of the office dangling a room key attached to a plastic walnut is evidence that you might be in luck, and you grab the food as you get out of the backseat.
Dean already has your duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “This feels light; you bring your gun?”
You wait a second to see if he’ll figure it out himself, but Dean only raises his eyebrows and juts his chin out like you haven’t heard him. “Hardly need a blow dryer now, do I?”
If there was more light in the parking lot you’d probably have been able to see Dean’s cheeks flush as he cleared his throat to cover. “Uh, right. Do still need a gun though, so as long as you’ve got that.” He offers Sam his bag and shuts the trunk as his little brother reaches the parked car.
“Apparently we’re in the chipmunk room.” Sam’s going for above-it-all but he knows you secretly like this kind of shit and drops the key into your palm with a wink. “It’s the only one with queens instead of fulls.”
“Whatever,” Dean grumbles. “I’m hungry enough I’d eat a damn chipmunk.”
“What does that even mean?” Sam asked, annoyed in a way only a sibling can be as the brothers trail after you to the room.
“That I’m fucking hungry, what do you think?”
“A chipmunk is like, the smallest animal you could possibly say. It doesn’t make any sense; anyone could eat a chipmunk.”
“You trying to chow down on a chipmunk kabob, Sammy? Aren’t you like 99% vegan now? It’s the principle of the thing.”
Sam rolls his eyes in over the top sarcasm. “Yeah, I’m vegan now, that’s why I’m about to eat a BLT with mayo, dumbass.”
“Bacon doesn’t count. And it’s about timing; you said chipmunk room, I said I could eat a chi—you know what, I’m not explaining this to you. You either understand comedy or you don’t.”
As you open the door, the light from the room illuminates Sam’s bitch face kicking back on his neck. Winchester bickering had already put a smirk on your lips but the décor was everything chintzy you could’ve hoped for; forest embroidered quilts on the beds and a chain of hand-holding chipmunks that appeared to be hand painted in a waist-high border around the walls. The bed frames were made of those stripped logs that could look very chic in otherwise minimalistic Scandinavian architecture, but here they looked impossibly cute and dorky with chipmunk stuffed perched on each bedpost. Dean seems not to notice any of it at all, throwing his duffel on the bed closest to the door and snatching the bag of food out of your hand.
The three of you eat watching Alf while sprawled on various furniture. When the half-hour flips the programming over to Mork and Mindy, you offer Dean the rest of your fries and get up to stretch your back. “Either of you dying to use the bathroom? I want a shower.”
Both shake their heads so you grab your ditty bag and head to the reasonably sized bathroom, trying not to be startled at the large Chip and Dale portrait painted onto the back of the door that reveals itself in the mirror when you go to set your things down. It’s clean and the water pressure is good, which is far more than you can say for many similar places you’ve stayed in, and you linger in the shower longer than you need to, shaving your legs twice for an excuse to stay under the water and out from under the oppressive weight of your self-consciousness here where the boys can’t see you. Washing your remaining hair as quickly as possible and chuckling once, mirthlessly, at the lingering reflex to squirt the amount you used to need into your palm, you finally leave the shower with only momentary nausea at the amount of hair you have to grab from the drain to let the water empty. For the ever-growing list of pros and cons for shaving your head you’d been building in your head: no more shucking these sopping hairballs into tacky little wastebins across America. You wrap a towel into a turban around your head more as a reflex of propriety than anything, marveling again at the amount of rituals there are—were—around hair. Maybe being unburdened by that would be freeing. And it feels sentimental in an annoying pseudo-useless way staying attached to the hair that remains, like lingering in the victimization of this stupid spell when you could just as easily shave your head and be done with it, become some kind of Tank Girl badass version of yourself and pretend you’re too cool and tough to care about girly shit like ponytails and the way Sam held his nose to the crown of your head sometimes, took a deep inhale of you and smiled so you could feel it laid on top of your hair like a tiara more precious than any you could imagine. In any case it won’t be right now, so you throw the loose t-shirt you’d gotten from your bag over the towel on your head and slip on some athletic shorts before heading out to the room.
You were in the shower for even longer than you thought because Dean is in his standard “just-before-sleeping-on-the-road” outfit, having lost the flannel he wore that day as well as his belt. The jeans will come off just before he gets in bed, pooled on the floor with neatly set boots beside the mattress so he can jump into them like a firefighter if he needs to, an old habit that you’d stopped making fun of the Winchesters for when it actually had come in handy a few times. Sam usually folds the jeans and sets them on top of his boots next to your bed. Dean grabs one of your hands and flips it over for inspection as you walk by. “Surprised you’re not a raisin. Going to send this county into a drought.”
You roll your eyes good-naturedly and toss your toiletries on your bag as you head to your bed, watching Sam brush his teeth in the kitchenette sink. Dean follows with a tight handful of clean tee and boxers as Sam comes back to you, the younger Winchester grabbing the back of his collar to tug off his t-shirt and toss it on top of his bag in one fluid motion before folding back the sheets and getting in. Over your shoulder, the shower turns on and you can hear Dean humming through the door. The beanie you’d taken off was exactly where you’d left it, and you flipped your head over to take off the towel on your head and replace it with the hat as inconspicuously as possible.
“Babe, you don’t—” Sam starts softly, stopping when he sees you turn back to him with your jaw set.
“Can we just go to sleep?” you reply, almost succeeding at keeping the sting out of your voice. He bites his lip and nods mostly to himself, flicking the covers on your side back in invitation. You crawl in, turning your back to him partly to be wrapped up by the warm shell of his body and partly so he can’t see your face. A large hand covers your hand where it lays on your sternum, intertwining your fingers in his and pulling you back into him a touch. After a long minute of listening to the shower-dampened noise of Dean going through Skynyrd’s greatest hits, you feel Sam’s voice through the knit on your head.
“I feel like we’re camping.”
“What?” you ask, genuinely confused.
“You wearing a hat to bed, you only do that when it’s freezing.”
“I really don’t want to tal—”
“I know you don’t, but I just…you’ve been boxing me out for weeks now. Listen, I know I don’t get it, I know it’s not the same as if it had happened to me, and I’m so sorry you’re dealing with this, but I don’t care about your hair. I mean—fuck—not like that, I care about it because I care that it’s affecting you, but I just wish I could get you to understand that nothing about the way I think of you has changed. You’re always going to be the sweet, funny, badass girl I’m beyond lucky lets me hang around. It’s like this spell took your hair but the real punishment is putting this wall up around you.”
You take a deep breath to steady your voice and realize there’s no way you’re going to be able to talk without it cracking, instead just yanking the hat off your head and letting it fall to the ground beside Sam’s jeans. He hesitates for a second before pressing his face to you, and you can feel the smile against your scalp. It’s a struggle, but you manage not to wince when he kisses a spot you know is effectively completely bald.
“You smell good,” he murmurs against you, and you don’t know why it’s that simple statement, after all the flowery poetic things he’s said for weeks and especially today, but there’s something about the total acceptance, no hint of the disgust you thought was inevitable no matter how hard he tried to insist wasn’t there, that melts you. It’s enough to unwrap some of the defensive prickliness you’ve built up, and the amount of emotional energy you’ve been putting into keeping it there dissolves the way it sometimes does the second your body realizes the adrenaline of a hunt is no longer needed and you crash in the backseat of the Impala. The heat from Sam’s body and the delicate sound of his heavy breathing on your neck puts you to sleep before Dean’s out of the shower.
-
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Never Have I Ever: Post-Series Fic
Ben Gross prided himself on being smart. And falling in love with Devi Vishwakumar? Well, that was just about the dumbest thing he could do.
But, it happened anyway.
He didn’t exactly know when, but somewhere between first grade and watching her dance with that tool, Paxton Hall-Yoshida, she had gone from the person he always wanted to beat to someone he genuinely hoped would win. Because she deserved that. After everything she went through with her dad and then everything after, she deserved a win.
But, did that win have to be him?
“Of course, it’s him,” Ben said, voice colored with defeat and just a hint of indignation. He still hated losing. Even if he technically wasn’t in this game. Aneesa was waiting for him over by the punch. “It’s always been him.”
Beside him, Eleanor said, “What? No, it hasn’t. After you took her to Malibu, she wanted to choose you.”
Ben listened incredulously as Eleanor explained how she and Fabiana had talked Devi out of choosing him. It was fucked up, and he was going to tell her as much, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Devi, imagining how different things would have been. It would have been him with her, not that glorified meat puppet.
“So, just for the record, it hasn’t always been him.”
Eleanor walked off after dropping her figurative bomb and he stayed rooted in place, not knowing what to do or think next. He wasn’t used to this level of indecisiveness and he probably would have just stayed there, staring at Devi dance with another guy, if Aneesa hadn’t come over, sliding her hand over his shoulder.
“Hey, I thought you were meeting me over by the punch,” she said, glancing over at where he had just been staring. “Oh wow, good for Devi.”
Aneesa looked up at Ben, noting the tense set of his jaw. “But…you don’t think that.”
“What?” he said immediately, finally looking away from the slow train wreck happening across the dance floor. “I don’t care about them. I mean, he’s a tool who, based on what I’ve seen, can barely read above an eighth grade level. But, I don’t care.”
“Uh, yeah, you do.”
“Aneesa-“
“Ben, I saw the way you were looking at them. At her.”
He went to argue, but then realized he had no defense. Aneesa ducked her chin to her chest.
“Okay. So, I guess I’m going to go now.” She turned to leave, but then stopped, turning back. “Don’t mess this up for her?”
He didn’t know what he hated more, the implication that he would mess things up or the fact that Aneesa was maybe a little right. The song ended and he watched Paxton and Devi kiss before Paxton dipped his mouth to her ear. Devi nodded at whatever he said, and then Paxton walked away, not letting go of her hand until the distance made it necessary. Devi’s grin widened and Ben hated Paxton even more.
Devi stood alone on the dance floor for a moment, seeming blissfully content, and then she caught his gaze. Ben noticed that her grin dimmed slightly and then she walked over, clasping her hands nervously in front of her.
“Look, I know what you’re going to say,” she began.
“No, actually, you don’t.”
She widened her eyes slightly. “Okay. Then, what are you going to say?”
I know you wanted to choose me.
“I’m happy for you, Devi.”
It wasn’t what she expected, and not what he wanted, so they both felt out of sorts. But then her shoulders slackened, a genuine smile spreading on her face, and Ben knew he did the right thing. Because she deserved the win. Even if it wasn’t him.
“Thanks, Ben.”
Paxton came over with two glasses of punch and handed Devi one, his now free arm going around her waist. He gave Ben a lukewarm hello which, given their history, wasn’t entirely unfounded.
“Anyway, I’ll see you around,” Devi said.
“See you around, David.”
Paxton looked at him strangely, but Devi only smiled wider.
-----
There were only a few weeks left in the school year after the dance, and Ben did his best to keep his distance from Devi. She hovered a bit after learning about his and Aneesa’s breakup, but then they all got busy with finals and then the schoolyear ended. Ben was grateful for the time apart. He didn’t know how long it took to fall out of love with someone, but he figured summer break’s three Devi-free-months should do the trick.
That summer, he lined up a volunteer program to pad his college applications just like every other summer. He was supposed to help out with pro bono work at his dad’s firm, but at the last minute his dad hired a law clerk instead so that he could bill out his time at a markup. So, he was stuck with a retirement home. Everyone volunteered at retirement homes, which meant it was the last thing Ben wanted to put on his resume. But, there was nothing else left and it was better than nothing, so he grudgingly accepted a spot at one about fifteen minutes from his house and prepared himself for a summer of moth balls and stories about “the war”.
Instead, he got Devi.
“I thought you were working at your dad’s firm this summer,” Devi said.
“Something came up. Weren’t you supposed to do Habitat for Humanity?”
Devi nodded. “I had an incident with a hammer. Apparently, you aren’t supposed to bedazzle it.��
Ben smirked. “You bedazzled your hammer?”
“Oh, yeah. I added feathers, too. Honestly, it was an upgrade.”
“I can’t imagine why they wouldn’t want to take you,” he mocked.
Devi shrugged. “Probably for the best. I mean, would you want a house built by me?”
“You make a fair point.”
“So, here we are,” Devi said. “Slumming it at the retirement home.”
“You may want to say that a little louder. I don’t think the guy in the back with the hearing aid heard you.”
“But, you know what, if anyone can make the best out this, it’s you and me, Gross.”
She flashed him a smile and he felt it all the way down to his toes. This was going to be a long three months.
----
It turned out, Ben was surprisingly adept at being around old people, and Devi was an immediate crowd pleaser.
“Even Marvin likes me,” Devi said. “And I’m pretty sure he’s a low-key racist.”
“Not that low key. He specifically asked me to help him fill out a banking form yesterday because, as he put it, your people are good at that.”
“Damn. Remind me to not give him an extra pudding cup.”
One of the long-time residents, Gladys, rolled by with her walker and said, “Benjamin, don’t forget my granddaughter is visiting this afternoon. I told her all about you.”
“I won’t forget, Gladys.”
“Look at you, Benjamin.” He rolled his eyes. “Using the residents to get a date. Honestly, it’s sort of genius. If I wasn’t dating Paxton, I would totally use these guys to pimp myself out.”
“Slow down, David. Gladys came to me about her granddaughter. I’m not that desperate. I have options.”
“Sure, you do, Ben.”
“But, um, you and Paxton? That’s going well?”
He didn’t know why he asked. You don’t ask the girl you’re in love with how her relationship is going, but he asked, and now he had no choice but to hear the answer.
“Yeah, it is,” Devi said. She tucked her hair behind her ears as she smiled, and Ben wished he could sink directly down into the ground.
“That’s great.”
“Yeah. It is.”
That afternoon, he asked Gladys’ granddaughter out on a date.
----
Ben could always tell when Devi and Paxton were fighting by her mood. She had never been good at hiding her emotions, and while in a relationship, that hadn’t changed. He noticed it a few weeks in. She went back into the employees’ area and shoved her bag forcefully into the cubby hole.
“Did the cubby hole do something to you?” he asked.
“No,” she said stubbornly. “The cubby hole is doing nothing. Which is the problem. The cubby hole just sits there playing video games all day. Which, sure, I can play some Mario Kart here and there. I’m a team player. But, at a certain point, enough with the stupid video games. I am not dating freaking Yoshi!”
Ben was quiet for a moment and then said, “I didn’t know a cubby hole had apposable thumbs to play video games.”
She shot him a look, but then couldn’t help but laugh.
“The cubby hole was a metaphor.”
“Yeah, I caught on to that.”
----
Ben found it remarkably easy to be around her, even as his feelings stayed rooted to the core, and at a certain point he became resigned to it all. Maybe Devi was just one of those people he would always have feelings for. Isn’t that what they said about your first love? You could move on, but you never really forgot it. So, he would love her and just move on.
He dated Gladys’ granddaughter, enjoying himself but never really feeling anything beneath surface level. But, she was nice enough, and Gladys was delighted by the pairing, even as the volunteer coordinator was not.
“Just don’t have sex anywhere on property,” she had said in a huff.
“I, uh, won’t. Thanks for the clarification.”
He was dating someone else. He and Devi were finally sort of back to how they were before. And then he accidentally ate pecans.
“Oh my God, Ben, your mouth is getting huge,” Devi said, eyes wide with concern.
“I am so sorry,” Gladys’ granddaughter said. “I thought the muffin was banana-walnut, not banana-pecan.”
“Do you have an Epi-Pen or something?” Devi barked at the terrified looking volunteer coordinator.
“No, and even if we did, I don’t think we can technically use it on a non-resident.”
“Are you freaking kidding me right now? Do you see him?” She pointed at Ben, whose face was rapidly growing in size. “You know what, I’ll just handle it myself.”
Devi dragged him out to her car, which was concerning since he knew she only just got her license the week before, and he also knew based on what she told him that her passing was a total fluke.
“I think I’d rather go into anaphylactic shock in there,” he said, already turning back toward the retirement home.
“Don’t be dumb, Ben,” she said, forcefully pulling him back to the car. “You are not going into anaphylactic shock. I’ll take you to my mom’s office and she can give you a shot or something. She’s only a few minutes away.”
He reluctantly got into the car, and Devi started her car, forgetting to put it into reverse before she pressed on the gas. The car lurched forward, nearly hitting the one parked in front of them, and Ben said, “Please don’t let me die in this car.”
“No one is dying today, Ben Gross. So, calm down, okay? I got this.”
It was not exactly a smooth ride, but true to her word, five minutes later they pulled into a parking spot in front of Dr. Vishwakumar’s office. They burst into the office, Ben now leaning a bit on Devi as it became harder to breath.
“I’m pretty sure I’m going into anaphylactic shock,” he gasped.
“No, you are not. You are fine.” Devi’s words were calm, but her tone was not.
Nalini Vishwakumar walked out of her office and stopped short when she saw Devi and Ben.
“What in the world – Benjamin, what happened to your face?”
“He ate pecans which, turns out, he’s also allergic to,” Devi said quickly. “Can you give him a shot or something?”
“Devi, you should have taken him to the emergency room!” Nalini said, rushing over to her daughter and Ben and bringing them back to an examination room.
“The hospital was farther away.”
Ben became to gasp for breath and Nalini hissed, “He’s going into anaphylactic shock.”
Ben could barely breathe, but he managed a, “Told you.”
“Well, how was I supposed to know!” Devi said loudly.
One shot of epinephrine and an IV full of antihistamines and cortisone later, Ben could breathe again, but Nilani made him stay for a while longer so that she could observe him. She put he and Devi in one of the unused examination rooms, and told them to let her know if he had any more trouble breathing. Devi sat next to him, her knees pulled tight into her chest.
“I’m sorry that I almost killed you.”
“You’re not getting valedictorian that easily.”
He was joking because, yeah, his throat had almost closed up and she probably should have taken him to the hospital and not her mom’s office, but it was fine now. Except, when he looked over at Devi, she still looked scared. After a beat, she launched herself toward him and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he said, rubbing her back. “I’m okay.”
She pulled away and gave his arm a light punch. “You really scared me.”
“Yeah, well, next time I’ll double check my banana-walnut muffin actually has walnuts.”
“And I’ll believe you when you say your throat is closing up.”
Devi’s phone rang and he saw Paxton’s name flash on the screen. He asked her, “Do you need to get that?”
He watched her hesitate before sending it to voicemail.
----
Devi and Paxton broke up a week later. He found out from one of the retirement home residents, who he overheard telling Devi, “You’re better off, Devi. Take it from an old woman. You have the rest of your life to be with one person. Now is the time to be free. Sow your wild oats, if you will.”
“Um, I don’t really know what that last part means, but I feel you. I mean, I’m too young and hot to be tied down, right?”
“Exactly. You know, I have a grandson you might be interested in. He’s pre-med.”
“I appreciate the offer, Beatrice. And offering me your grandson after I just broke up with my boyfriend? Savage. But, I think I need to take some time by myself.”
That afternoon during bingo, Ben casually brought up the breakup after calling out B-27.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” she said. She ran the machine and picked out the next ball. “B-13!” She put the ball down and said in a regular volume voice, “We just didn’t have that much in common.”
“Yeah, I bet,” Ben said automatically.
“Wow, okay,” Devi said with a laugh that didn’t exactly sound reassuring.
“I didn’t mean,..” he trailed off, because he kind of did. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re okay.” He paused and picked up the next ball. “N-7!”
“Bingo!”
----
Summer was coming to a close, and so was their time at the retirement home. For some reason, Ben felt an impending sense of dread. Sure, he would still see Devi, but it would be different. Everyone else would be added back to the mix, including Paxton.
Their last big event at the retirement home was a movie night. They set up a projector in one of the recreation rooms and made it up like an old theater, complete with velvet ropes and individual little bags of popcorn. They even wore old-timey usher costumes they rented from a local costume shop.
“Does yours also smell like nachos?” Devi asked.
“Yeah. I’m trying not to think about it.”
The movie was It Happened One Night, and Devi and Ben sat in the back, watching the movie along with the residents. It was secretly one of Ben’s favorites. He and his mom had spent little time together when he was growing up, but she shared with him her love of old movies.
It was the Jericho scene, where Clark Gable’s character was setting up a sheet between him and Claudette Colbert in their motel room. He stripped down to just his undershirt, and Devi mused, “Clark Gable was super bangable.”
“Shh,” Ben said. “This is my favorite part.”
Devi looked over at him and grinned. Feeling her gaze, he glanced over and felt his breath stop when their eyes met. They were close, and in the darkness her eyes seemed to glow. He always thought she had pretty eyes. Even before, when he hated her more times than he liked her. He felt an urge to lean forward. It would be so easy. Just the slightest lean and his mouth would be against hers. But, that would just be a kiss in the back of a dark room. He wanted more.
“Eleanor told me that you wanted to choose me after Malibu.”
She blinked rapidly. “What?”
“After you scattered your dad’s ashes. She said you wanted to choose me, but they made you also consider Paxton.”
“Okay.”
“Is that true?”
Devi didn’t answer, so he kept talking.
“And she said that you started the rumor about Aneesa because you thought that we were dating and you were jealous. And, you see, I’ve had it in my mind all this time that it was always Paxton. And that I was, I don’t know, some detour on the way, but-“
“You were not a detour,” Devi said immediately. “You were…you were perfect. And I messed us up.”
“So, Eleanor was telling the truth?”
Devi nodded. “Yeah, she was.”
Ben took a deep breath. “Devi. I’m going to kiss you now.”
She nodded, all business, but he could hear the nerves in her voice when she said, “Okay. Thank you for the advanced warning.”
He leaned in and captured her mouth with his. The kiss was sweet and unhurried, like they had all the time in the world. And in a way, they did. There was a noise behind them, and they pulled apart abruptly. Their supervisor stood over them and said, "Remember what I said about no sex on property?"
"Are you kidding me right now?" Devi said. "Who is having sex in these gross costumes?"
"You'd be surprised."
The supervisor walked away, and Devi looked at Ben. "You don't think she meant..."
"I think she absolutely did."
"I need to take this off immediately."
#never have I ever#ben x devi#devi vishwakumar#ben gross#never have I ever fanfiction#post-series fic
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From the same anthro MLP dreamscape dream that Her last resort is from.
Octavia took a sip of her sparkling mineral water while her gaze continuously sweep the ballroom. The string quartet was taking a break between sets.
A few minutes ago her RESF superior officer had left the ballroom and begun her part of tonight's operation. Octavia's job was to keep watch on the ballroom and report any unusual activity to Rarity via the disguised magical comm link that all team members were wearing. The comm link was in the form a large gold earring.
Like Rarity the Royal Equestria Security Forces (RESF) had made a concerted effort to keep the knowledge that Octavia was a member a secret. During war against the Realm of Shadows, the earth pony had served as part of the Equestria's armed forces Quick Tempo, but with the end of the war it appeared that Octavia had returned to her life of being a professional musician.
However the war had made the Crown aware of another danger to the realm. Changelings. But the response to this threat was generally being handled much more covertly. Octavia had been quietly recruited to help with this new threat.
The musician fiddled with the short bolero jacket she was wearing. The setting for tonight was formal, but no clear dress guidelines had been issued for it gala. So for the evening Octavia was wearing a pant suit outfit with high waisted, snug pants of dark violet-grey, a white corset-like top, and a violet-grey bolero jacket. Rounding out her ensemble was separate white collar and her signature bow tie. Her outfit was fancy enough for the evening without drawing too much attention to herself.
Octavia recognized a few of the ponies gathered. Ponies she'd seen as attendees at various concerts, music festivals, or other events like tonight. However as her eyes continued to sweep the room she felt a cold lump form in her stomach. 3 new ponies had arrived. All of them were well dressed but had a surly air to them, but it was one stallion in particular in this group that made her heart skip for a moment.
In the underworld of Equestria they were known by their nickname of Knuckle Sandwich. The stallion was an enforcer for the Steelhoof Association. He had a reputation for his brutality, acts of wanton public violence and his short temper, but Octavia knew a dirty secret about this stallion. Knuckle Sandwich was a changeling. The mare had run afoul of the changeling once before during an op and the warrior changeling had vowed to kill her someday.
Lowering her head Octavia pretended to be reviewing her sheet music for the next set. As she did she tapped her earring and opened her comm link. As she did she visualized Rarity in her mind.
Ma'am we have a situation. The earth pony started thinking the words in her mind. At least one disguised changeling has entered the ballroom. It's Knuckle Sandwich. Over!
Oh. That's not good dear. Rarity's voice popped into Octavia's mind. Are they alone or are they with others? Over.
Let me confirm ma'am. Standby. Over. Octavia removed what appeared to be a pair of reading glasses from a jacket pocket. Placing them on her muzzle she continued the charade of reviewing the sheet music for a couple more seconds. Then slowly she lifted her head and looked at 3 new arrivals that were gathered around one of the hors d'oeuvres table. The glasses had a matrix that been developed in secrecy by RESF researchers to allow ponies to identify changelings. All 3 of the newcomers had the shimmering aura that marked them as changelings.
And Knuckle Sandwich was staring right at Octavia. There eyes met and the stallion started making a beeline for the earth pony.
Octavia appeared to get up and go over to the case for her cello and a soft case that had the other personal belongings she'd brought tonight. As she did she tapped the earring again.
Ma'am! I've been compromised and the situation is quickly escalating! Over! She knelt and unzipped the the long pocket of the soft case. The mare glanced up and saw Knuckle Sandwich still bearing down on her. His right hand vanished as he quickly reached for something hidden under his jacket . Octavia recognized the gesture and dove behind an unused wet bar. As she did she dragged the soft case with her.
"I told ya I'd fucking kill ya if I ever saw ya again!" Roared the stallion with complete indifference of everypony gathered in the room. Drawing his 9mm pistol from his shoulder holster the stallion began pumping rounds into the heavy walnut bar. Ponies started screaming and fleeing from the room.
Blast! Ma'am I'm taking fire! Over! Octavia jerked her carbine from the case and yanked on its collapsible shoulder stock to deploy it. Thumbing the selector she popped up over the bar and fired a 3 round burst. The destabilized mage crystal ammunition generated concentric rings around the muzzle as the projectiles punched into the torso of the changeling. Blood/ichor erupted from the changeling's chest and he toppled to the ballroom floor.
Suspect is down! The mare dived back behind the bar as the other 2 changelings having now drawn their weapons started shooting at her. Officer taking fire requesting immediate assistance! Over! In Octavia's mind she could hear other team members beginning to initiate various pre-planned actions.
Hang on sugar cube! Help is on the way! Applejack's voice popped in Octavia's mind. A few seconds later she heard the sounds of gunfire outside the mansion.
I hope you like what you see. Please help make more art like this possible by supporting me at Patreon
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Imagine:
Erik and Reader have a special dinner to celebrate their year anniversary of being together and Erik tells Reader I love you for the first time. She’s afraid to fall in love. 🌺
“Just so you know, you look bad as fuck right now.”
“Thank you, and you look very handsome.”
Erik took multiple shots of Y/N on his iPhone while she stood in a smoking hot red dress with matching red heels and a glass of red wine in her hand. Her pressed hair was finger combed to one side of her head and her ruby lips pouted in the sexiest manner. Erik was proud of himself and this dinner he planned. One of his friends owned their own restaurant and he also catered. He had him make lobster tails, stuffed salmon, garlic mashed potatoes, creamed spinach, and a blackened chicken salad that was Erik’s favorite. Dessert included rum cake with butter pecan ice cream.
Erik wore the sleeves to his silk black dress shirt rolled up. Black slacks, and dress shoes to match. After taking one final photo of Y/N, Erik handed her the bouquet of red roses he purchased from a nice black owned flourish shop down the street from his loft in LA. Her eyes twinkled as she grabbed the bouquet, leaning in to kiss Erik softly. Y/N pressed her nose into the roses, inhaling sharply before letting out a pleasant sigh.
“You really out did yourself, babe,” Y/N pulls a single rose from the bouquet, breaking the stem and placing it in the pocket of Erik’s silk shirt, “Perfect.”
Erik couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across his face. Y/N giggles, bringing her arms up to wrap around his neck. She pecked his lips with her matte stained lips before using her thumb to stroke the fullness of his bottom lip.
“A year together already, can you believe that?” Y/N bashfully looks away because of Erik’s intense eyes, “I really appreciate this, Erik, no guy has every taken the time to do this for me. I feel special.”
“That’s because you are,” Erik strokes some of her hair behind her ear, “I-I wanna talk to you about something, Y/N.”
Y/N’s eyes studied Erik carefully while bringing her arms down to grab his hands, “I hope it’s a good thing.” She could feel her heart pounding against her chest.
“All good,” Erik kisses her again, “Don’t worry. Let’s go eat, okay? We don’t want the food to get cold. My homeboy worked really hard on this meal, babygirl.”
“Did you hear my stomach just now?” Y/N jokes, “I mean it’s been at least six hours since I’ve eaten.”
“Oh hell no, I ain’t having that.”
Erik grabs Y/N’s hand, leading her over to a nice table set for two, patchouli candles in the middle and champagne on ice. Luckily it wasn’t a windy night since they were eating on the rooftop. Erik pulls out Y/N’s chair watching her take a seat before walking to his chair. He sat down, scooting forward a little, leaning his elbows on the ivory table cloth, his face now bathed in candle light. Y/N mirrored his moves, flipping her hair over her shoulder, brown eyes going from chestnut to tawny because of the candle light. Erik could see light freckles on her nose and shadows on her upper cheeks from her eyelashes.
“You are...fucking...breathtaking,” Erik grabs her left hand, stroking it with his thumb, “You know that?”
“Erik,” Y/N always felt shy when he complimented her like that, “Stop-“
“I can’t help it. Stop looking so damn good then maybe...never mind I don’t think I could ever stop.”
“My cheeks hurt from blushing,” Y/N looked towards her right, spotting a waitress and friend that he asked to serve tonight walking over with a tray of buttery rolls and honey butter with a salad, “Stop it.”
“You’re getting this treatment all night,” Erik popped the cork on the champagne, letting some of the fuzz spill off before pouring Y/N and himself a glass. Erik’s friend, someone Y/N instantly recognized as Sammie, a tall guy with a brush cut and walnut colored skin, came over with a bright white smile. He sat the food down after greeting them and walked away before turning back to give Erik a thumbs up. It was a guy code so Y/N didn’t interfere.
“Wow, the salad looks bomb,” Y/N grabs the tongs to help herself to some, “and is that...honey butter?”
“Mhm,” Erik grins while grabbing one, adding some butter to the middle, “Homemade and probably better than Texas Roadhouse.”
“Uh-huh, we’ll see,” Y/N forked a piece of chicken with some lettuce and green peppers. She placed the food in her mouth and began chewing. Her eyes closed and a hand came up to cover her mouth so she could speak, “This is soooo gooood. Oh my goodness. Perfect salad.”
“The chicken is well seasoned, right? Best blacken chicken since my mamas,” Erik grabbed some chicken from the salad bowl with his fork.
“Don’t eat all the chicken out!” Y/N playfully slaps his hand away, “Stop that!”
“Make me.”
“And if I do?” Y/N looked Erik up and down, challenging him.
“You won’t, that’s the point. I’ll be making you do some things.”
“Eat your roll, Erik,” Y/N shook her head, her lips twisting to fight a smile.
Erik continues eating, his eyes focusing on Y/N because he couldn’t help himself. The way he was feeling towards her was something powerful. Y/N was becoming his never ending thought. She was the best thing he never planned. He only needed to see if she felt the same way. After they finished their salad, they talked and joked like they always did. Erik’s friend, Sammie, came back again with their delicious meal: Lobster tails, stuffed salmon, garlic mashed potatoes, and creamed spinach. The food was still sizzling and Y/N’s mouth was watering and damn near drooling when her plate was placed in front of her.
“Dig in, make sure y’all chew y’all food though,” Sammie laughs, clapping Erik on the back before walking away.
“One bite of this and my mouth will be a vacuum. Suck all this food down in one bite,” Y/N says while cutting into her salmon. Erik chuckles, looking over at her with playful eyes.
“A vacuum, huh? Your mouth suck that hard?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Y/N rolls her eyes, “You turn everything into sex-“
“You set yourself up for that one, baby girl-“
“Just-no,” Y/N waved him away with an annoyed expression before exhaling, a smirk appearing on her face, “Now, can we talk?”
“I was going to wait until we finished eating, babe,” Erik chews his food slowly.
“I thought it wasn’t bad? If it’s not bad we can talk right now, right?”
“True but-“
“Baybeeeeee,” Y/N begs with that cute little pout of her lips, “Talk to me.”
“Okay,” Erik grabs his glass of champagne to finish the rest, “Here goes nothing. I’m just gonna come out and say it because I’m not gonna deny how I feel about you, girl.”
“Oh...Kay,” Y/N has a gaurded expression.
“Uh, so,” Erik clears his throat, “I love you.”
Y/N grabs hold of her napkin that was placed in her lap, looking away and out towards the city. She felt her breath halt in her chest when Erik said those words. It petrified her. Especially when they came from Erik. It took forever for him to even admit his feelings for her when they started dating and now he was being open about his affection for her?
“Y/N?” Erik called out to her softly.
“...Yeah,” Y/N blinks away from the sunset, looking down at her food. She forked a chunk of salmon, stuffing it into her mouth to chew. Thank God Sammie brought the food out on a skillet so it can stay hot but now Y/N’s tongue was burning.
“See, this is why I didn’t want to mention anything until afterwards,” Erik went back to eating he food as well. Y/N looked up at him, seeing the frown on his face and how he played with his food.
“Erik. I...I don’t know what to say. You love me? Like...you really love me?” Y/N asks with frantic eyes, “I mean, that’s heavy, Erik. You know how I feel about that.”
“I do,” Erik looked across at Y/N with earnest eyes, “Which is why I wanted to tell you and talk about it. I mean what I said, ma, I love you. I know what this is,” Erik grabs Y/N’s hand, “I’ve found a natural drug for all of my pain, depression, anxiety, and anger. It’s your voice. It’s the way you look at me. It’s your smell and your presence, it’s you. It’s always been you.”
“Babe,” Y/N lets out a harsh rush of breath, “I’m scared.”
“WHY?” Erik asks with a firm tone.
“Because LOVE failed me COUNTLESS TIMES.”
Y/N snatched her hand away, looking down at her lap so Erik wouldn’t see her eyes.
“I...I have strong feelings for you too,” Y/N spoke with a choppy voice, “your arms are strong enough to hold every fear, every beautiful broken piece of me. You don’t just make me feel complete. You complete me.”
Erik swallows spit before talking in a shaky tone, “I look at you and I can’t believe someone didn’t think you were enough...you’re my everything.”
“Don’t day these things to me if you truly don’t mean it,” Y/N couldn’t hide her cries now. She frustratingly dabs her eyes, careful not to remove makeup, “I love you too but I’m so fucking scared that if I let this happen it’ll all come crashing down. It just feels too good to be true.”
“That’s why it’s called a leap of faith, Y/N. You don’t think I’m scared too? I am. I’ve never been in love before. You know who I am and who I once was. I didn’t have time for love. So, now that I do, I want to embrace that. Do you even realize how amazing you are to me? I’ll never finish falling in love with you. If you’re not ready, I’ll wait. I’m here. I’m patient. I’m not going anywhere.”
All of his words were exactly what she wanted to hear from a man.
“I found someone I want to annoy for as long as I live.” Erik says with a smile while grabbing her hands from across the table. Y/N giggles before landing her teary eyes on Erik.
“So, are you ready for me?” Erik asks with a steady voice.
“...Yes,” Y/N took a labored breath, “I love you too and I am ready. I want to be ready. I’m tired of being afraid of my feelings for you. I’m tired of being comfortable where we are now. I want to grow with you. If it’s a dream, fuck it, I’ll accept that because this is the best I’ve ever felt.”
Erik’s whiskey colored eyes were glossy. He clenched his jaw before taking his thumb to rub the tears away. Y/N reaches across the table, grabbing his chin to make him look at her.
“We’ve come this far, we got more time, baby,” Y/N wipes Erik’s eyes with her fingers, “Hey, handsome, you got me, I got you. Let’s give this love thing a try. Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Erik licks his full lips, “I’m not perfect. I’ll annoy you, piss you off, say stupid shit then take it back but put that all aside and you’ll never find a person who cares or loves you more than me.”
“Id rather have bad times with you than good times with someone else.”
The smile he gave her made her heart grow with delight.
——————
The sex that night was the best sex they ever had. They couldn’t even make it to his place. Erik parked his car, Kept the radio on low, stepping out of his car to her side. When he opened that door, Y/N was pulled into his large arms. Erik pressed her body against his car, hands resting on the hood of his car while his lips molded and meshed with hers. Y/N grabbed his face, running her fingers along his scruff. Erik’s groin pressed desperately into her crotch. It was heated and passionate. When Erik broke the kiss, he pressed his forehead to hers before opening the back seat. Erik grabs Y/N’s hand, pulling her with him and over his lap in the car. The kissing continued, Y/N’s dress up and around her waist while Erik palmed her ass. It was cramped but she was so wet and needy for him.
“Take care of me,” Erik whispered to her over the Donell Jones- This Luv, playing low on the radio, “I need you to take care of me, baby girl. Can you do that for me?” His fingers were tickling her puss on the outside of her lace red thong.
“Yes, baby,” Y/N whispers against his lips.
“Thank you, baby,” Erik spoke softly before pressing his lips on her neck. Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut as she enjoyed Erik’s tongue on her throat and his hands slipping between her thong and wet mound. His fingers spread her honey bucket open, fingers instantly coated in her wet sweetness. She whispered please shallowly from her lungs. Erik’s fingers found its way inside of her. Three. He worked her up to it so many times. Her hips began to grind into the palm of his hand. Her fingers wrinkling the fabric of his silk shirt. She could feel her essence dripping to the seat. Heated breaths warmed Erik’s ear. He could even hear her pussy talking to him. Her pussy was letting him know that he was pleasing her. Y/N could already feel her release coming before she could even adjust. Short, sharp gasps filled the car, Y/N’s thighs squeezing Erik’s waist as her sugar flowed on his lap and back seat. His quickened heart beat thumped against her chest, his fingers still there .
“Baby,” Y/N spoke with a shivering inhale, “I wanna ride you nice and steady.”
“Take what’s yours, baby,” Erik kisses Y/N’s cleavage, “Take all this big dick. It’s yours. All yours to play with.”
Y/N loved that a lot. More than she could put into words. She sat back in his lap, undoing his pants and pulling them down and around his upper thighs. His dick was then pulled out of its compressed confines, a growl coming from Erik. Y/N stroked him while sucking on his bottom lip. Lifting slightly, Y/N places Erik’s dick between her folds before pressing him in between her right walls. She swallowed him with her pussy. Erik’s head went back, eyes closed and mouth hanging open. Now that she was fully filled, Y/N uses all her strength to ride Erik’s hard. She purposely made her ass clap against his upper thighs. Short, harsh, gasps flowed from her mouth as Erik stared at her beatific expression.
“Damn, baby, that’s how you take care of me,” Erik massaged his tongue with hers, “Yes, that’s how you handle all this dick.”
“Fuck,” Y/N felt Erik suck on her neck. She would have a hickie there in the morning.
“Feels so good, baby, don’t stop. Take care of me first.” Erik begged.
“Okay, Daddy,” Y/N bounced. She grabs the back of the couch, “her ass arched while giving him her all. She could feel her pussy pulling on his dick. Y/N could only imagine how Erik must feel. She knows her pussy is tight. She knows Erik’s dick is really thick. Imagine a unyielding pussy and Erik’s girthy length moving against eachother. He could feel everything. She could feel everything.
“Fuckkkk, your pussy is so tight on me, girl.”
“Uhhh!” Y/N quivers, “Damn, baby you’re so thick.”
Erik started moving his hips to meet her strokes. They fucked eachother in that back seat. The rose Y/N placed in Erik’s shirt pocket was smashed and losing pedals.
“Shit, girl. I’ma cum in you,” Erik grabs her waist, moving her himself, “let Daddy take care of that pussy now.”
His hips shot off into hers like a loaded gun. She was extremely wet. His dick slid in and out easily. She could still feel his length and thickness but since she was so damn drenched it made the experience even better. Y/N has never been that wet before with another man. Ever. Erik has the magic touch.
“Ooooo, fuck, yes, mmm, babyeee, oooo,” Y/N pressed a single hand against the foggy glass of the window, “Yes, Daddy, give it to me, ahhhhh-“
Y/N sucked in a quick breath before cumming on him. He still stroked her just as fast and hard. His balls slapped her ass and his fingers squeezed her hips.
“Mmm, Damn, I’m about to bust all in you, shit don’t make no sense, fuck, Ugh.” Erik’s eyes widened before a harsh and uneven breath escaped his mouth. His body shook as his cum fired off into her puss. He hissed heavily before placing his sweaty forehead against Y/N’s shoulder.
“I love you. So damn much.” Y/N spoke with a weak tone, “I feel like we just remade that iconic titanic sex scene.”
“This one was better,” Erik shuddered before placing a weak kiss to Y/N’s cheek, “I love you too, baby girl.”,
#killmonger imagine#killmonger x reader#killmonger fanfiction#nahimjustfeelingit-writes#erik killmonger
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The Miys, Ch. 93 - Campfire Stories Part 3
Okay, final chapter of Campfire stories, then we are back to our regularly scheduled shenanigans.
Chapter 93: Campfire Stories, Part 3
After Tyche’s story, we took a break to get stuff for s’mores - Charly, Conor, and Simon had teamed up on me, swearing a camping trip was incomplete without them. In lieu of the traditional fire, we were heating them with a short-term portable unit, only good for ten minutes, tops. While I wasn’t worried either way, not particularly liking marshmallows, Charly had taken it upon herself to do rather rigorous testing and assured everyone that the desserts would turn out right.
Once everyone who wanted it had sticky fingers, Conor politely swallowed his fourth sugary concoction. “These are too good, you know?”
“No such thing,” Simon argued. “Be as suspicious as you like, but I firmly believe in taking whatever joy we can get out of life and not pointing it out. Hoping God doesn’t notice, if you get my drift.”
I chuckled, while Arthur looked alarmed. “I did not expect that from you, lucky bastard.”
Simon shook his head furiously. “No. I know I wasn’t in the After, but life on its own was unfair and unjust enough before that. When you get those small moments of ecstatic delight - love, a good dinner, a happy dog, a chance to be kind - you just take it, and don’t let the universe know. Life never apologized for being harsh, I’m not going to apologize for any scrap of happiness I could find.”
“But some things can be far too good,” Conor insisted, picking his teeth thoughtfully. “My family always warned against things like that. The things to be afraid of weren’t the… scarred or damaged ones, but the ones that are flawless. That’s how you spot them, right?”
“Spot whom?” Grey asked, trying to wipe chocolate from their fingers.
“Witches, at least the evil ones. Fae. That sort.” He scrunched his face thoughtfully and leaned back. Tyche arched a brow, and he lunged to point at her. “See? That. You and Sophie arch that brow so much that it’s permanently just a wee bit higher than the other. That makes your face your face. But a face that’s entirely symmetrical? It’s so wrong that even artificial intelligence makes a point to avoid it.”
“Uncanny valley,” I offered, nodding.
He nodded to me. “Exactly. It’s uncanny. Not just in people. I was warned away from perfect circles in nature as a boy. Stones, a patch of grass, any perfect circles. Fairy circles, they called it. My parents told me about a girl who lived near where they grew up, didn’t listen about the woods. Said there was a stand of trees in the woods with a clearing in the middle.”
“Conor -” Charly tried to interrupt.
He waved her off. “The clearing wasn’t a normal one, see? It was exactly perfect, ten feet across from tree to tree, even if they never got an accurate count of trees. Da said twelve, Ma said sixteen. Nan swore blue it was ten. But all agreed that clearing was ten feet across, tree to tree.”
“Con…” This time it was Maverick, glancing around furtively.
Still, he kept on. “What made this clearing so memorable, were the trees around it. Like a snowflake, they were. Closer, but just as even between. Seven feet, precise, no matter who measured it. Then five.”
“Conor, please,” Charly begged, scooting closer to her partner. Even Coffee was giving the clearing a serious gaze at this point.
“The worst part, though,” he soldiered on, “was what told them it was clearly either a cursed place or a Mound: the trees themselves. Any one of them gave a normal person shivers and turned them back if they looked. The trees, you get, were just as bad as the woods themselves. Completely symmetrical, like a spoked wheel. And each ring of trees was exactly the same height, taller ones around the clearing.” He huffed a bit before continuing. “And this girl… this girl, you see? She’d been warned out of those woods since she was knee high to her da. But she kept wandering off, after cats and butterflies and a pretty flower here and there…”
Simon and Maverick were scowling at the trees around us at this point, with Maverick scooting closer to me and periodically glancing at Tyche to make sure she’s still there.
“One day, when he was about sixteen, Da says he saw the girl - she was maybe ten - taking off down the path, pretty as you please. At this point, he knew about her: Doreen. Dreamin’ Doreen. Ten years old, cute as a kitten, and prone to wanderin’ off. So he followed her, makin’ sure she didn’t get in trouble, right? And at first, she’s just… toddling off, if that’s what you can call it for a ten-year old. Right down the trail, not a step off, dead center. But then. Then she just turns, takes a hard left off the trail, between the trees, like she’s following something.
Da was right behind her, only looking away for a second at a time to make sure nothing was coming up on them. After about a half hour of this, he barely registered that the trees were thinner and… odd. Something about the trees bothered him, but he swore he couldn’t figure it out at first. Then, he turned back, and Doreen was gone. No sound, nothing. Just… gone. He started looking for her, thinking she couldn’t have gotten far, but after about five more steps, he saw the clearing.
Even panicked, he knew not to set foot in that clearing. He screamed and screamed for Doreen - they heard him all the way back in town, came running, and he was still hollering for her. When they started to drag him away, he fought ‘em off until Nan stopped him.
Nan grabbed his arm, pointed to a tree, right on the trunk. Those trees were so… perfect… that the damned bark looked like tile on a pillar, not like real bark. Every piece, just as pretty and even as you please. The leaves were the same, could be folded in half and look like they were cut instead. Da swore blind that lookin’ up through those branches was like looking through a bike wheel, the branches were so even-spaced. ‘They din’t look like trees, son,’ he always told me. ‘They looked like trees were described to a sculptor who never seen one’.
To the day they died, they swore that place was a faerie ring, that Doreen got taken by the Sidhe. No one ever found any of her, not a hair, not a bone, not even a scrap of her clothes,” he ground out, frustration clear. “Worse, there was never any proof, ever, that a person had ever stepped foot in those woods. Not even DNA testing on something a person plucked and handed to a researcher, with video proving it happened. Never did figure out what happened in there, not to Doreen or anyone else.”
By this point, Tyche was looking suspiciously at the clearing, and that set of alarm bells in my head. “Conor,” she drawled slowly. “You do realize that the clearing we’re in is… really rather round, and ten, maybe eleven feet across?” He just grunted, staring into the light emitter like he had been since the end of his story. “Conor.” Her tone was firm and more emphatic. “You just told that story in a clearing of fourteen trees, ten feet across, with just enough space between the trees outside for tents. Maybe seven feet?”
When he didn’t respond, she scowled at him and stepped close to a tree. Maverick tried to stop her, but she flung off the arm he reached out. “You shit, these trees… Grey. Can you and Charly come here?” Charly shook her head vigorously, while Grey cautiously stepped over. After a couple minutes, Tyche made a point to stare down Charly, firmly gesturing as politely as possible to stand right here please.
Eventually, all three were looking up at the branches over their heads. Far from her hesitation earlier, Charly marched over to Conor with what I could only describe as ‘intent to kill’. While I looped an arm around her waist, she flailed with all four limbs at him. “You rat faced walnut! You did this on purpose! Lemme down! Let me at him!!!”
To his credit, he flinched away from the angry ball of woman I was keeping away from him. “Char! It was a joke, I swear!” Peeking around his hands, he still flinched a little. “It was just a prank.”
That last word seemed to deflate her entirely. Suddenly, instead of a brunette bundle of possessed weasel, I had a very calm woman gently patting my elbow. “You can let go now, I won’t hit him.”
Hesitantly, I set her back on her feet. Glancing back at Coffee, he nodded, so I relinquished my grip on her entirely. She pushed her hair out of her face with both hands and spun to sit beside her partner. My face must have shown my confusion in brilliant technicolor. “It was just a prank,” she clarified. “I got fooled. I’ll figure out a way to get him back,” she waved nonchalantly.
“Without including me or Maverick?” I asked, arms crossed.
“Shoot.” She bit her thumb. “Yeah, I can do that. It’ll just be harder.”
“I doubt it would be harder than a prank three months in the making,” Arthur pointed out, still looking at the trees with suspicion. “Three, right?”
“Four,” Grey corrected, staring impassively at the bark on the tree. “How did you get the bark to grow in a tile pattern?”
Conor rubbed his neck and grinned abashedly. “A razor, when they were still young enough the bark hadn’t split naturally? It was just a score, to make specific weak points where it would split better. And I stopped when I couldn’t reach anymore.”
With that comment, Coffee surged to his feet and stalked to the closest tree. After a close inspection and a not-at-all-discrete rub of his hand over the tree bark, he nodded. “I can confirm the bark is much more random above seven feet. The detail is very well done, though.” He glanced back at Conor with an impressed expression. “Four months planning did not go to waste.”
“Thank fuck,” Conor chuckled. He looked over his shoulder at Simon, who was still running a careful hand over one of the trees.
“I didn’t know this was possible,” Simon admitted. “You did this with a razor?”
“Trees split into bark when the outer layer gets so dry and firm that it stops stretching,” Grey explained. Conor pointed at them, choosing to be silent. “Since any substance in nature splits along the weakest point, scoring the young bark with a razor, especially if done repeatedly, would cause the bark to split along the scores.”
A dawning look shot across Simon’s face, echoed by a matching expression on Charly’s. “Conor,” Simon ventured. “These trees were force-grown until they were planted. How often did you score them?”
“Two, three times a day?” he winced. “I didn’t want to damage them, so the cuts were really shallow until the bark started to establish. Just so I could tell where to keep scoring.”
“Do we have co - Oh! Thanks, Mr. Farro!” Charly grinned sunnily at Arthur.
“Just… just Arthur right now, okay?” He carefully capped the thermos of hot chocolate.
“Right, you bet, Mr. Farro.” He winced, but she continued blithely. “I have to admit, four months on a prank is a lot to invest, but it paid off.” A careful sip of her drink, followed by a marshmallow coming from nowhere and dropping in. “You literally cultivated a stand of trees to pull this off. Well done, sir. Very well done.”
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They say rain on your wedding day is good luck.
Patrick thinks that’s probably only true when the rain stays outside where it belongs.
They’d found a quaint little inn on the outskirts of Elm Grove, just far enough away from Schitt’s Creek to keep anyone they hadn’t invited from dropping in, just close enough to still feel like home. David had fallen instantly in love with the sunny parlor at the back of the inn, with its rustic wooden bookshelves filled with well-loved old tomes and its floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a wide, sweeping porch and a well-tended field beyond, surrounded by lush, leafy apple trees.
Patrick had fallen in love with the way David looked in the golden, late afternoon sunlight spilling in on them and the way he could already picture them there, lifelong promises brushing just as warm and bright across their lips.
The contract had been signed and the deposit put down before they’d even left the building. There’d been no need to go home and mull it over. No need to see any place else.
This was it. This was the place where they were going to get married.
The months after had been dedicated to planning the rest around it: finding the precise shade of blue to best complement the dark, warm walnut of the parlor floors, renting furniture and linens that would look at home amongst the verdant field and thick grove of trees, debating the pastoral appeal of peonies in the centerpieces as compared to garden roses. David had insisted on an outdoor reception, dinner and drinks and dancing as the blush and tangerine of sunset fade into dusky purple dotted with stars, a breeze wrapping around them soft and fragrant in the early autumn night. Patrick had insisted on a back-up plan, just in case, and so David had agreed that in case of rain, they could hold both the ceremony and the reception in the parlor, retreating to the covered porch between for a brief cocktail hour so that the room could be switched over.
Patrick had hoped of course that they wouldn’t need the back-up plan. But now instead it seems they should have made a back-up to their back-up plan.
He stands in the parlor doorway watching rain pour into trash bins scattered across the floor where their guests are supposed to be seated, chairs still arrayed amongst them in drenched rows beneath a nightmarish constellation of holes in the ceiling. Even though the sudden storm looks like it will end soon, everything left behind will still be a soggy, bedraggled mess, their dreams of a perfect day washed away in the deluge.
Judging by the raised voices coming from some other room, the Roses have a pretty good handle on the anger side of the situation, which is helpful because at the moment, Patrick can only find it in himself to be disappointed. Disappointed that every careful decision they’ve debated and fought over and apologized for and made and unmade and remade is all for naught. Disappointed that the vision David had spent so long crafting for this day—for them—is going to go unseen. Disappointed that after months and months of waiting, today isn’t the day he gets to stand in the golden light of the afternoon sun and finally make David his husband.
“He needs you,” Stevie says as she squeezes into the doorway beside him. Her face is carefully impassive as she surveys the damage, but when she turns to meet Patrick’s eyes, he can see the sorrow glinting there, sharp and silver like the curve of a knife.
It’s a little bit of a relief, he thinks, to know others wanted this for them as much as they wanted it for themselves.
His knock on the door of the honeymoon suite goes unanswered, but he slips in through the unlocked door anyway. “David, are you—”
He finds his fiancé sitting on the floor beside the door, knees pulled up to his chest, eyes closed, head tipped miserably back against the wall. Despite the dolorous position he’s in, despite the splotchy red stained along his eyelids and across his cheeks and down past the crisp white collar of his shirt, he’s still the most beautiful thing Patrick has ever seen, and another tiny piece of his heart crumbles to dust at the thought that he doesn’t get to marry this man today.
Removing his jacket and dropping it onto the bed beside David’s, Patrick folds himself into place at David’s side, twisting their fingers together. In the silence, he runs his thumb along the ridge of the three gold rings on David’s right hand—just for today, his left empty and awaiting the return of the single ring David had given back to him last night, the ring currently sitting heavy and useless in Patrick’s pocket.
The quiet beats on around them like the pulse of a leadened heart.
Outside, the rain finally tapers off, the sun already threatening to peek through the gloom, but Patrick knows—they both do—that it’s too little too late. There will be no wedding today.
“I hate this,” David says finally, his voice thick and wet.
“I know.” Patrick leans over to press a kiss to his temple and another to his cheek and another to the corner of his eye where a fresh tear slips free. “You spent so much time and effort planning all this for us—I mean I know I helped, but you’re the one who knows what flowers go with what and the difference between engraved and…”
“Embossed,” David fills in, shaking his head.
“Yeah, that. And I’m sorry that it’s all ruined. I know you wanted things to be perfect—”
“No.”
“I wanted them to be perfect, too. I wanted them to be perfect for you, and—”
“No,” David says again, finally opening his eyes to stop Patrick with a glossy stare. “You think I’m upset about… flowers or— or seat covers?”
“I am,” Patrick replies, finding a little surge of that anger he was missing before. Not at David—never at David. But at the owners of this stupid, charming little inn with its leaky disaster of a roof and at mother nature for dropping a storm right into their well-dressed laps and at himself for not insisting on a back-up to the back-up just in case. “We spent so long planning this—you spent so long planning this, making sure it was everything we wanted it to be—and it was. Or it was going to be at least. It was going to be perfect and amazing, just like you, and now the whole day is ruined just because—”
“Button.” David says it so softly, his mouth twisting so sweetly around the name that Patrick feels his breath rattle in his chest.
He’s not going to cry. He can’t. David is crying, and that means Patrick has to be the strong one right now; it’s his turn to be the one holding them both together, so he swallows against that burning lump in his throat until he feels like he can breathe around it.
It only works until David opens his mouth again.
“Button,” he says once more, somehow softer still, “I don’t care about any of that. I mean, I do, but it’s not why—” He swallows thickly, more tears squeezing out even as he scrunches his face up against them. “I’ve been looking forward to this day for so long. And it’s not because of— of decorations or tasteful dance music or cake—”
“It’s not about cake?” Patrick deadpans, and David laughs, sodden but warm as the sun breaking through the clouds outside their window.
“Hush, you. It’s mostly not about cake. It’s about you. I just—” He looks at Patrick with bright eyes, mouth twisting into a frown that belies the soft smile threatening to form instead. “I wanted to end this day married to you.” He shrugs, like he hasn’t just said the most perfect thing Patrick can imagine. “I didn’t want to go to sleep tonight not as your husband.”
Patrick leans in and kisses him, a slow, sweet press of lips, savoring the way the words taste in his mouth, the way David melts into him as if to confirm their truth.
“Come on,” he says when he manages to pull himself away from the draw of his fiancé’s lips. David tilts his head in question but allows himself to be pulled to his feet. After shooting off a quick text, Patrick slips his jacket back on, straightening his tie and giving David a reassuring smile when their eyes meet in the mirror, and when they’re both dressed and ready, and when they’ve shared one more lingering kiss with Patrick’s hands on David’s jaw and David’s fingers in Patrick’s hair, Patrick slips his hand into David’s and pulls him out the door.
The voices in the room at the bottom of the stairs seem to have dulled from hysterical yelling to merely firmly raised, and Patrick drags them past the closed office door, past the dining room where the few guests not already driven home by the storm are gathering their things to go, past the ruined parlor and out onto the porch. He’s already down most of the steps before David manages to pull him to a halt.
“What are we doing?”
Patrick turns back to find David awash in all that beautiful, golden sunlight he’d waited months to see again, a crooked smile stretched across his mouth. He looks just as gorgeous as Patrick had thought he would, and he thanks god and fate and the entire fucking universe for setting him on the path that would bring him to this exact moment.
“We’re getting married, best.”
That smile goes more crooked first, then straightens as it blossoms into something wider and brighter, something somehow just for Patrick but for the whole world, too, and David flings himself down the steps in his soon-to-be-husband’s wake.
Their feet sink into the grass, mud squelching beneath them with every step, and a flicker of remorse crosses Patrick’s face at the thought of their shoes, but David only squeezes his hand tighter, encouraging him on across the field. They weave between rain-soaked tables topped with soggy, wilted centerpieces and duck beneath the heavy branches of well-soaked trees. Disappearing into the grove, they wind their way around trunks and under dripping leaves, until they find the lone figure waiting for them just on the other side, the setting sun burnishing the three of them in copper and rose.
“You know I don’t have any legal authority to do this, right?” Stevie asks.
Patrick only smiles. “Don’t care. You can bully Roland into putting today’s date on the license whenever he signs it.”
Her eyes narrow and the line of her mouth goes firm, like she’s offended by that. But he’d seen the look on her face earlier, and even if he hadn’t, he knows her well enough by now to see through her defenses.
He knows she’ll do this for them, and he loves her for it.
She’ll do this for them, and then tomorrow or next weekend or a month or two from now, they’ll pull everything together for a proper redo of this day. They’ll put their suits on again and they’ll surround themselves with everyone they love and they’ll speak the vows they’ve written for each other. They’ll eat cake and drink champagne and dance until dawn. They’ll have the wedding they’ve both been dreaming of, the one they should have had today, or they’ll have a different kind of wedding entirely if they want. They’ll do it because they deserve it, because it will give them another day to celebrate—their wedding day—one more in the ever-growing list of memorable days of their lives.
But today, Patrick thinks, today is the day he wants to remember most.
Today with the pouring rain and the golden light, with the disappointment and the tears and the way the word husband had tasted on David’s lips. Today, here, now, in the warmth of the setting sun, under the rustling of an autumn breeze, feet caked in mud and fingers intertwined, as their best friend reads them a ceremony script from her phone. As they laugh through all the parts she changes and cry when she gets to the vows. As they slip golden rings onto each other’s fingers and she officially calls them husbands for the first time. As they pull each other into a kiss before she’s even done and they press wet, laughing kisses against her cheeks as she tries to cringe away. As she slips back into the grove, off toward the inn, leaving them to watch the sun dip below the horizon and the first stars burst to life. As they wander back in the plummy dark and crawl beneath the soft, plush covers of their honeymoon suite bed, exhausted and overwhelmed and deliriously happy, to fall asleep curved around one another, their rings pressed together where their hands splay across the steady rise and fall of David’s chest.
Patrick wants to remember it all, the bad and the good, the disappointment and the joy, the rain and the shine, every single minute of the day he marries David Rose.
#julie this one's for you#schitt's creek#schitts creek#david x patrick#rebel writes#long post#as always: sorry if the cut doesn't show up on mobile#also available on ao3 if that's your preferred jam
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this one’s actually a request I got on the ao3 version of this drabble collection, butch!sak/tomboy!hina coffe shop au! and is this the first coffee shop au I’ve ever done?? I think it might be!
(requests open)
(ao3 mirror)
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It had been a long morning and Hinata desperately needed caffeine.
She’d had to wake up hellishly early – which might’ve been fine if she hadn’t been up until three in the morning desperately trying to finish her thesis in time for her first class – then spent almost an hour being jerked around by the aggressively indifferent receptionist of her school’s laboratory, before learning that the time she had booked for her vital preliminary experiments, had in fact been given to another student and the next available slot wasn’t until the end of the week. Handily throwing a wrench in her entire year’s calendar that she would be trying to work around for months to come.
And, on top of all that, the heavens had opened up the second she stepped outside, releasing several days’ worth of water all at once, leaving her to trudge home through a downpour, or hang out in the waiting room of the lab until it passed.
With the smirking receptionist, who she was too polite to tell to fuck himself, but who she dearly hoped would suffer several minor inconveniences for the rest of the day.
She chose the cold, wet walk instead.
Perhaps it had been a mistake, she could probably have found an empty classroom to quietly study in for an hour or so if she’d tried, but with her mind only lightly tethered to reality in her current state, it was more likely she would’ve just had a cry-nap instead.
It wouldn’t be the first time, but if a lecturer found her like that again, someone was bound to try and contact her father to inform him of her struggles, and he would wield that knowledge like a sledgehammer against her dreams of a career of her own; one without constant parental oversight and criticism.
She was absolutely not going to let that happen. Right now, however, what mattered most was getting out of the rain.
Squinting against the water running off the hood of her coat, she searched for somewhere – anywhere – that she could duck into and while away the time until her next lecture in a few hours. When she spotted a small café tucked away between a derelict bookstore and a corner shop that proudly called itself ‘Cheap-mart’ she didn’t care how dingy it looked, she just threw open the doors and shook herself off like a dog the second she was inside.
The barista leaning against the counter with his head in his hand glanced up at her; she offered him an awkward smile as she tried to brush down her damp hair. He returned with his own smile, one somehow even more awkward than her own, but straightened up and waved her over.
“Welcome, what can I get for you today?”
She didn’t bother to peruse the blackboards painted up behind him. “Black coffee, thank you.” Definitely not a drink that fit her usual tastes – she was more of a tea person – but she was about five seconds from collapsing on the cold, hard floor and wanted as little diluting the terrible, life-giving substance as possible.
If she’d had a syringe with her, she would have injected it directly into her bloodstream.
“Can I interest you in something to eat?” he asked, voice robotic and smile unnaturally fixed in place. “A sandwich, perhaps even one of our homemade cakes?”
The word ‘cake’ immediately caught her fraying attention and she stared into the glass display to scrutinise the options available with the same keen eye she would use for chemical analysis. It was actually quite impressive how… unappetizing they all looked; sponges were wonky, frosting looked like it had been applied with a slingshot, one was painted in the garish colours of a toddler given free reign of the crayon box and they had apparently all been cut with a chainsaw, she had no other explanation for the crumbling edges and uneven slices.
“I’ll have the coffee and walnut.” She glanced back outside, noting that the storm didn’t look like it would be passing any time soon and she had already skipped breakfast. “Actually, make that two slices.”
Dark eyes blinked at her in pure shock, before the man wordlessly fulfilled her order, only breaking his silence to tell her the cost and exchange cash.
She barely noticed, taking her plate and her cup and her sopping bag, she stumbled to the nearest table and sank down into the wooden chair like it was a plush, feather pillow. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the barista slipping through a door that presumably led to a kitchen; she might’ve found that a bit unprofessional, if it weren’t for the fact that she was literally the only customer in right now.
As she gulped down half of her coffee – grimacing at the taste, but pushing through it regardless – she wondered if the place was always this quiet. Sure, it was a little out of the way and if she hadn’t been looking for somewhere to escape the weather, she probably wouldn’t have noticed it was even there, but it had a stylish interior, wall painted with abstract ink patterns and rustic furniture.
And, when she shoved a generous forkful of cake into her mouth, she had to wonder even more about how a café with such incredible goods had flown so completely under the radar.
She literally closed her eyes and moaned.
Her fatigue was completely forgotten as she eagerly shovelled another mouthful between her lips, then another, and another. She was onto the second slice in about thirty seconds.
“Holy shit, I didn’t actually believe it…”
Hinata glanced up, absolutely no clue who would be disturbing her mid-meal and, even if her mouth hadn’t been full of soft, melting deliciousness, she probably wouldn’t have been able to say anything.
The short, stocky woman, with arms practically bursting out of the sleeves of her chef’s jacket – which presumably had been white at one point, but was now littered with so many stains in basically every conceivable colour that it was basically tie-dye – pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down heavily, crossing her arms on the table and leaning forwards with a slight frown. “Someone actually bought a cake.”
She was still chewing and had to wash down her bite with a generous gulp of coffee, just to respond.
“Huh?”
Very eloquent. Her father would be proud.
“No one buys the cake, we get about fifteen customers a day, I would remember someone buying the cake before-” she jerked a thumb in the direction of the barista leaning boredly against the counter “-Sai was so shocked he immediately came into the kitchen to tell me about it.”
That a customer actually choosing to eat the food on offer was such an anomaly that the chef had to come out of the kitchen, just to see if it was true, was a damning report on the state of their business. “Really?” she asked, looking down at the slice on her plate. “I can’t imagine why, it’s delicious.”
Dark brows narrowed over her green, green eyes. “Are you making fun of me? Did my mother send you here? Are you an EHO?” The woman was standing up now, leaning ever further into her personal space, flour-covered hands steady on either side of the table. With her face only a few inches away, Hinata could pick out individual pores on her nose and several old, faded scars. “I assure you; all my paperwork is up to date,” she said slowly, in such a low, threatening tone that left Hinata less assured than ever before.
She waved her hands in front of her face and backed away as far as the chair would let her. “I don’t’ know what that means and I came here on my own, I just… really like the cake?”
The speed at which the chef’s entire demeanour switched left Hinata feeling a little dizzy. Suddenly her bright eyes were sparkling and she had a wide, toothy grin stretching across her face as she asked, “For real? Even though it looks like absolute dogshit?”
“Well, as long as it tastes good, I don’t think the appearance really matters that much.” A statement easily reinforced by the fact that she was wearing an old, faded hoodie and some leggings she’d technically bought just for the gym, but were so comfortable that they’d wormed their way into her everyday wardrobe anyway.
Also, she was still soaked through and probably looked like a bedraggled cat, but she was trying to ignore that right now.
“Finally, someone who appreciates my genius!” Slapping a hand against the table hard enough to make it rock on its uneven legs, she turned around to shout at her co-worker, “You hear that Sai?”
“As glad as I am to have a satisfied customer, I would point you to the forty-seven other slices of cake that have been consistently rejected by everyone else who’s come in today.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but Hinata got the feeling that he really was trying his best. “You can’t decorate cakes for shit and no one wants to eat them.”
The scoff and dramatic rolling of eyes suggested that this was a regular argument for these two. “Ignore him, he just thinks that he’s a better artist than me-”
“I am an objectively better artist than you.”
“Anyway-” she displayed a middle finger at him over her shoulder, all while keeping her gaze fixed on Hinata “-I’m really glad you like the cake, I know my presentation’s a bit… rough, but I know what tastes good, just wish more people would give it a chance.”
Hinata had to give a wobbly smile at the woman’s childish pout; ohhh she was in trouble. “You do have a talent for flavour, I must admit,” she said, “I think this is the best coffee cake I’ve ever had.”
“Right? I’ve been playing around with some ideas for new recipes- actually wait here a sec, I’ll go cut you off some samples.” She was charging through the door leading to the kitchen before Hinata could object, but, looking at the rain still hammering down against the windows and taking another bite of beautifully soft cake… she could think of worse ways to spend an afternoon than being fed a selection of baked goods by an incredibly handsome woman with biceps that could probably crush steel.
Maybe she could even come up with an excuse to touch them. Just to satisfy her scientific curiosity.
---
By the time the rain had settled down to a slow drizzle, she had completely forgotten everything that led her to the café in the first place, so distracted was she by chatting to the charmingly exuberant chef – who was called Sakura, she quickly learned.
They had shared several slices of experimental cakes and, while none of them looked very pretty, Hinata had been blow away by the taste each and every time.
If her alarm hadn’t started buzzing insistently, she would’ve happily spent the whole day getting lost in sugar and soft pink hair and distractingly shifting muscles and a boisterous, snorting laugh that had absolutely no right being as cute as she found it. Alas, she still had classes that she could not afford to skip and she really shouldn’t keep Sakura from her work for any longer. Even if she didn’t seem to have much to do.
As she gathered her things and pulled on her coat, she glanced down at the woman with a soft smile. “Thank you for all the wonderful food, and conversation.” She rummaged through her bag and drew out her wallet, dropping a few notes in the tip jar as she passed. One benefit to coming from a wealthy family, she afford to be very generous.
Sai grinned at her, slapping a hand over Sakura’s mouth before she could object to the payment – and judging from the look in her bright eyes, that was almost certainly what she was planning.
Rolling her eyes as she pushed his hand away, she leaned over the counter to grin widely at Hinata. “Please, come again!”
“Yes, and bring friends with you next time, as you can see, we’re pretty desperate for business.”
“Idiot, don’t tell that to the customers!” Sakura yelled, slapping a hand to her forehead hard enough to leave a red mark there.
He gave her a Look. “It’s advertising.”
“No, it’s desperation, you better not have been telling that to everyone who comes in here.”
“Are we not desperate?” He asked, voice completely even and reasonable. “Do I have to show you our account books again? Maybe you should focus on trying to find a cake decorating course, before you start criticising me.”
Hinata laughed softly to herself, but not quietly enough that she didn’t catch the attention of both workers. She smiled at the pair, marvelling at their bizarre friendship that she wouldn’t mind seeing a bit more of. “I’ll tell everyone I know that the food here is delicious and they need to come try it-” she glanced at Sakura, who was almost glowing at the compliment, and had to duck her head to hide her blush “-and I live pretty close by, I’m sure I’ll be coming in here a lot more too.”
Before she could rush out of the doors, a voice called out to her, “Hey, what’s your favourite kind of cake? I wanna make it for the next time you come here.”
She stopped and had to take several calming breaths before turning around. “Anything with cinnamon,” she said, not wanting to give herself too much hope, but unable to deny the rush of excitement fizzing through her veins at the thought of spending more time – much more time – with the wonderful, strange, charming baker.
Sakura nodded, eyes already sparking with ideas. “Alright, I’ll make you something amazing, you better come back to taste it soon!”
“I will,” she said, stepping out into the damp afternoon, feeling lighter than air and ready to take on the whole world.
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#ictoan writes#sakuhina#hinasaku#hinata hyuga#sakura haruno#naruto#hinata is Relatable and sakura is a Disaster and all is right with the world
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Hunger: One
PAIRING: Jared x Reader
WORD COUNT: 4,558
CHAPTER(S): 1/?
SUMMARY: When reader isn't attending a Supernatural Convention, she's preparing for the next one. Staying busy is the only thing that keeps her sane. While it's difficult for some people to understand her motives, one person will show her that he knows exactly what she's going through. Will Jared be able to make the reader believe she deserves to be loved or is she too far gone already?
SERIES WARNINGS: While this first chapter has little in the way of warnings, future chapters may contain content difficult for some readers. Each chapter will be tagged appropriately but may contain topics such as: Mental health, severe depression, trust-issues, and abnormal psychology along with eventual forms of healing and discussions centered around relationships and support systems. Please heed the warnings for each individual chapter.
A/N: This is the first chapter of what I’m guessing will be a fairly long series. Originally I was going to try to tie this up in a neat little one-shot, but it’s just not going to happen. This was completed for @saxxxology‘s Plus Size Reader Challenge
“It’s called Alexithymia.” “Yeah, I don’t know - I’m just glad I’m not actually a sociopath.” “What? No I--fuck!” “Fuck these fucking pants!” The sleek metal phone slipped from its precarious position against your shoulder and fell to the floor with an ominous clatter. Closing your eyes in frustration, you filled your lungs with several deep breaths - in through your nose, out through your mouth.
In-out, in...out.
Rolling sideways from the mattress onto the floor and reaching a cautious hand towards the new device, you prayed to whatever God would listen that the screen was still intact. Opening one eye a fraction of an inch, a deep sigh of relief flooded your body as the smooth, black screen flashed once; the tinny voice echoing from the speakers prattling on as if nothing had gone awry.
Standing from the walnut floorboards, you turned to face the floor length mirror. While it had taken almost a decade, the wide, curving hips reflected in the glass had become the favorite part of your body. Only problem was, finding jeans that fit well was nearly impossible. “I need new pants.” Whining into the receiver, the woman on the other end of the phone simply snorted in amusement.
“Well if you’d spend more than twenty-dollars on your clothes, you’d have a helluva lot easier time finding ones that you liked.” “I’ve offered to take you shopping how many times?” Your best friend had a point. Focusing again on the phone call, you relented - one outfit couldn’t possibly cost that much, could it?
Two hours later, your arms rested atop a cool wooden counter; a scowl painted across your features while numbly holding out a metallic blue credit card. The woman behind the desk smiled brightly, faltering a bit when she had to wrestle the card from your grasp. Walking from the store with what felt like an entirely too-small-bag-for-the-amount-of-money-you-spent outfit, you joked about what else you could’ve done with that money.
Shaking her head in exasperation, your friend tried again to argue her point. “These clothes will last you a long time - the photo ops you so voluntarily throw your money at last all of - what? Ten seconds?!” Pushing one hand through the hair covering your eyes, you tried again to explain why you paid large sums of money for those ten-second interactions. Violet’s expression let you know that she still didn’t understand. Funny thing was, she’d been the one to introduce you to Supernatural in the first place. “Well this weekend you’ll be at the boys’ beck and call, so I think you spending the money here is worth it. Don’t they give you a free photo op for working anyhow? While far from glamorous, you’d been thrilled when the company hosting the event had accepted you as a volunteer. Rolling your eyes, you assured her (and, okay, yourself) that you likely wouldn’t even see any of the cast. Only seasoned help got to be handlers.
The rest of the week flew by, and Thursday afternoon found you trying (unsuccessfully) to clear the sting of sweat from your eyes while simultaneously carrying an arm full of poles and light posts. They’d put you on stage duty for the first day. Afterwards, you were pretty sure if you ever saw another velvet-backed chair again, it would be too soon. Two-thousand of them sat in neat rows filling the main theater room. “Alright [Y/F/N], could you please take these and label the seats?” Suddenly conscious of the slight tick in your right eye, you nodded silently - sliding the heavy rolls of numbered stickers over your wrists before walking to the end of the front row to begin your new assignment.
You don’t recall falling into bed Thursday night. The melodic voices of Rob and the boys from Louden Swain cut through your dreamless sleep far too early Friday morning. “Is it cool if I come over…”
Excitement warred with irritability while dressing in the new jeans you'd purchased the day before. The dark denim clung to your hips, the waistband taut once the button was fastened. “Woah! What. Is. This?!” Turning to the left and then the right, your mouth fell open in a soft “oh” - there was no gap! You'd never been able to find pants that fit both your hips and waist simultaneously. It was a miracle. Still - you weren't about to complain. Pulling the basic black volunteer tank top over your head, you slipped on the trusty pair of Chucks that had followed you to every convention over the last decade. Some people cherished a hat or a cozy flannel, for you - these shoes filled that spot.
“WHAT!?!” “What do you mean she’s not here today? How..what am I supposed to do?!” You’d been about to duck behind the heavy black drapes dressing the stage to report for your morning assignments when a familiar voice made you stop short. Derek, a fifty-something event planner was pacing just the other side of the divide, his simple brown loafers kicking up small torrents of dust with his agitation. Startled as the man threw open the curtains and stomped across the stage, you decided it was probably a better bet to find someone else to talk to about how you could help for the day. Turning, you were nearly through the opening and had started to descend the rickety metal staircase leading to the volunteer break-room when a heavy hand landed on your shoulder.
“ ‘Scuse me. You’re working here...yes?” Unexpected tension lanced through your body at the sudden contact and some part of you froze. As if he could feel it, Derek removed his hand rather quickly, absentmindedly shoving his ring-adorned fingers into the pocket of his slacks; the other hand busily scrolling through his phone; artificial light illuminating his tired, pale blue eyes. In your silent contemplation of the man, you’d failed to answer his question. “Ms…[Y/L/N] - right?” “Have you been assigned yet today?” With a slow shake of your head, his hand shot out of his pocket as he threw an arm around your shoulders - laughing heartily at something you’d missed. The mans face was jovial, faint creases of forehead wrinkles and crows’ feet framing his watery irises allowed you focus on what he was saying, rather than the pressure of his proximity.
“You’re savin’ mah bacon Miss [Y/L/N] - I tell ya what.”
The shrill screaming of his phone was sudden and briefly you felt bad for Derek. Raising the device to his ear, his body language calmed significantly; assuring the person on the other end that he’d found a replacement. A replacement for who, you still didn't know. Not that it was really any of your business. Nodding once, Derek turned back to you, sliding the small device into the clip on his belt.
Fishing into the pinstriped fabric of his pocket, he pulled a cluster of keys out. “Okay, take my car to this address” -- procuring a pen from his jacket, the man scribbled some notes onto a slip of paper; the handwriting sharp and messy -- “Have you got a phone?” Tentatively reaching into your back pocket, you slipped the oversized Samsung into your fingers. “Good! When you get there, call this number..” --more scribbling-- and bring everyone here.” “Let me know when you’re back.” Glancing at the unfamiliar handwriting, you squinted, trying to make out the address.
“Ms. [Y/L/N]..?” The impatient snapping of his fingers focused your attention on the man before you. “Please hurry - lots to do...lots to do!” With that he turned on his heel and hurried back through the curtained wall.
Although it was still well before noon, the parking lot held hundreds of vehicles, including two beautifully restored impalas. Sunlight glinted across the deep onyx paint as you walked by. The only clue to what car you searched for was a familiar gold emblem embossed on the black key fob clutched in your hands. Anxiety prickled along the base of your neck. You should've asked where Derek had parked. As your mind filled with every possible worse-case scenario, continually jamming your thumb to the unlock button prevailed when a flash of golden light several cars down caught your eye.
The engine roared to life with the press of the ignition, the lumbering bear of a Tahoe easing from it's reserved parking space as you wondered why anyone needed this large of a vehicle. Twenty minutes later, the truck settled into a quiet hum in front of a downtown hotel. Derek hadn't bothered to write a name on the paper he’d hastily scribbled upon, and you really had no idea who you were supposed to be collecting.
Craning your neck to see through the windshield, the immense hotel tower rose impossibly high before you; the steady ticking of scarlett hazard lights keeping time with the ringing as you waited for someone to answer.
The tall, revolving glass door caught your attention, several people clambering into the contraption at once made you smile; a generic voicemail message kicking on after the fourth ring. The group spilled from the door in a mess of laughter and a tangle of bodies.
Why you felt the need to duck behind the steering wheel upon recognizing them, you'll never know.
Rob, Rich, Briana, Kim and Billy were still laughing amongst themselves. Inside, you were happy the windows were tinted, as you were fairly certain you sat there with your mouth hanging open while you watched the group of friends wander over to talk to a street performer. Eyes darting to the clock on the dash, you quickly realized it'd been nearly an hour since Derek had sent you on this assignment.
Without looking away from the group, you tried the number again. The phone clicked and a cheerful voice answered with a giggly hello. Immediately you refocused on the task at hand, “Uh, hi. I think I'm supposed to be picking you up?” The mean bitch in your head snickered at how uncool you sounded.
“Scuse me, what was that?” A blush crept across your cheeks when you realized who you were talking to. Looking from your lap to the window, Rob stood halfway between his group of friends and where you were. Twisting and looking back over his shoulder, he must’ve put two and two together because he waved before beckoning the others to follow.
You weren’t prepared for this - you’d volunteered with the direct understanding that behind-the-scenes was where volunteers stayed. Occasionally one would bring the cast bottles of water or coffee, but picking them up at their hotel? Didn’t they have drivers for that? Your thoughts were cut short as three doors opened almost simultaneously and bodies began to climb in around you.
That had been the start to a whirlwind weekend. The Creation staff kept you on your toes constantly, although somehow Derek continued assigning tasks more cast-centered than had been expected. It started with picking up the Friday guests, sure - but since then you’d done everything from coffee runs to walking the ladies’ to the bathroom and photo-op room, to helping with the sound check for the concert currently taking place on stage.
Now in the green room, crouched in front of the mini-fridge, your mind wandered while removing water bottles from their thick plastic casing, stocking the shelves for the guests.
A faint beeping and the murmur of voices caught your attention as the door opened across from you. Osric, Clif, Jensen and Jared sauntered in, lost in their own conversation. A familiar prickling sensation that often assaulted you in new situations made your shoulders tense. Luckily, the repeated exposure to the guests this weekend had given you plenty of practice to collect your emotions quickly; stuffing them into the deepest recesses of your mind.
A few breaths later, you stood from the position on the floor, a large smile plastered across your features as you approached the small group.
“Hey guys, anyone need a drink?” Osric smiled widely and accepted one of the chilled bottles. The others followed suit, Jared’s eyebrows furrowing slightly in concern as his fingers closed over yours.
“Hey, thanks…” “What’s your name?” Your eyes darted between his brilliant hazel irises and the long fingers wrapped around the drink; beads of condensation wetting your skin as his hand rested on yours.
Hurriedly pulling away, you scrubbed a palm against the denim of your jeans before extending it and introducing yourself.
“Hey, I’m [Y/F/N].” The others said their hellos as well, your gaze shifting between them while they chatted animatedly for a few moments. Occupied as you were, you failed to notice that Jared didn’t take his eyes off of you for even a moment.
She was nervous. Not that he wasn’t used to the look. But this one was different, Jared decided. He recognized the determination to hide her anxiety as something he’d gone through as well. He could see she was excited to meet them, and yet, she held back; likely protecting a small part of who she really was as she presented the version of herself she wanted everyone to see. While genuinely happy to interact with all of his fans, Jared felt intrigued by [Y/F/N]. He wanted to know more about her. About the discomfort she tried her best to disguise as nerves. Something was off.
Crossing her arms over her chest while making small talk with the others, Jared noticed how proficient she was at distributing her attention to each of them equally, pausing for only a moment before looking to the next person.
Releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, Jared turned his attention to the door, having opened for a second time; watching as Rich strode in, beckoning to Jensen.
“C’mon man, your public awaits.” He bowed dramatically, waffling his hand in the space before him. Jensen huffed, shaking his head as he clasped Rich’s shoulder, following him from the room. [Y/F/N] trailed along behind them and Jared allowed himself to take a longer look at the woman. The tank top she wore clung to her body, the curve of her full breasts and thick waist led his eyes to her hips.
“Damn.”
The word of admiration was muttered under his breath, but as he focused on her face again, the pink in her cheeks made it clear she’d heard him.
“You coming Jared?” She’d stopped, holding the door open for him. Nodding, he quickened his stride and disappeared into the darkened hallway as he headed for the holding area backstage.
If Saturday had been busy, Sunday was borderline chaotic.
Attendance surged for the final day of the convention. Awake earlier, you were due to report in by 6:30 even though the first panel wasn’t due to begin until noon.
Shuffling through the abandoned corridors of the hotel, you could only hope there’d be caffeine waiting at the check-in station.
“Good morning Ms. [Y/L/N].” Blinking several times in rapid succession, you focused on Derek as he sat behind the assignment table. The quiet murmur of his voice as he looked over the sheaf of papers laid out before him only partially registered in your mind.
The concert the night before had been amazing, and you’d been up until the early hours of the morning from the level of energy you’d absorbed. It didn’t help that a certain phrase kept replaying in your mind. You’d definitely heard Jared last night and you liked to imagine he’d been talking about you. The thought brought a smile to your face, regardless of how absurd the notion was. While pretty sure he likely had some gorgeous girlfriend waiting for him back home, you were content with the small amount of time you did get to spend around Jared. Silent pining was more your style anyhow.
“...order.” “Ms. [Y/L/N]?” Snapping out of your daydream, you worked harder to listen to the man in front of you.
“I’m sorry...what was that?” The middle-aged man smiled kindly.
“I know it’s early Ms. [Y/L/N], but we really need you to be completely present at these briefings. Otherwise, the chaos about to descend on this place will be ten-times worse.” Shifting oversized reading glasses from where they’d fallen down the bridge of his nose, the man cleared his throat, consulting the Sunday schedule. Finished with his admonishment, Derek held a slip of paper out to you.
“As I was saying, please grab the coffee order for the cast. It’ll be ready precisely at 9:50. That should give you enough time to get back upstairs so everyone can get their daily dose of caffeine.” “Until then, make sure the green room has plenty of breakfast items and if the cast need anything, it’s on you to make them happy.”
Derek’s last sentence drew your attention from the list you’d been perusing. Outwardly, you nodded so he’d know you were paying attention, even though you still struggled with the personal Hell that came with sleep deprivation.
Later that morning, as you stood in line at the bustling Starbucks just outside the hotel, your mind once again turned to thoughts of the cast. Although you were tired, you wouldn’t change these experiences for the world.
As silly as it seemed, these conventions had gone a long way to helping prevent you from falling into your depression. In-between event weekends you often busied yourself with planning the next one and it got you through each day. It was refreshing to see mental health being addressed more by the media. When you’d been diagnosed several years prior, only your doctor had believed it was a real thing.
Walking up to the waist-high counter and pulling the folded paper from your back pocket, you began to list the order scribbled upon it. At one point, squinting your eyes in an attempt to read Derek’s handwriting you gave up and handed the barista the list, hoping she’d be able to help discern it.
“Maybe I can help?” Clutching the paper, you raised your eyes to the woman in front of you. She stilled as a hand reached over your shoulder and gently took the list from your grasp. Breathing deep, you turned to find Jared standing behind you, long strands of auburn hair falling across his face while he perused the handwriting.
Shifting to stand next to Jared’s tall frame, you took a moment to point at the line you were having trouble with. His body was like a heater, the intoxicating scent of his cologne made all the more apparent by the warmth of his skin.
Jared brought the paper closer to his face, squinting at a particular cluster of letters.
“I..think that says...skinny?” Glancing at the rest of the scribbled letters, he was able to make out the order for a non-fat soy latte. “Huh, I didn’t know Mark was here today.” Shrugging, his eyes flicked up to yours; an easy smile replacing the serious expression he’d worn moments before. “Did you get everything okay?” Nodding, the young woman behind the register added up the total while you handed her your credit card.
Moving to the end of the counter to await the several drinks, you turned to the man behind you. “My hero.” The smirk on your face was genuine, even if your tone erred on the side of sarcasm.
“Hey, no problem [Y/F/N].” God, the way he said your name… Clearing your throat as you settled against the far wall, you did your best to continue the conversation.
“Why are you up so early?” “Figured you’d be sleeping while you could.” Jared shrugged his massive shoulders before answering.
“Went for a run. Couldn’t sleep.” You wanted to ask why. You wanted to ask a lot of things, but instead you kept to yourself. He likely had his reasons, and you’d be willing to bet - if he was anything like you, that he wasn’t keen on sharing the details of his life with a relative stranger. Nodding in understanding, you turned back to the counter, gathering the three drink trays and rearranging the cups so each carrier held the same size. Stacking the grandes atop the venti order, you slid the coffees into one hand, grabbing the third tray with your free arm.
“I can carry one if you want..” Jared was at your side again, talking to you as if he wasn’t a gorgeous, successful actor with his own security detail. Speaking of which, where was Clif?
“Uh, nah..I’m okay.” Scoffing, the man saw right through your feeble attempt to decline. Removing the top tray from where it rested under your chin and taking the second one as well, he simply smiled. “Lead the way [Y/F/N].”
There was something about her that occupied Jared’s thoughts. She was strong, sure of herself (or so it seemed) and gracious. He wanted to know more. “So, [Y/F/N] where are you from?”
The chill bite of a fall day in the Pacific Northwest swirled around your body when the two of you stepped from the relatively warm coffee shop. Breath fogging in the early morning air, the small-talk you made with Jared as you crossed the street to the hotel gave you a small look inside the finer points of Austin, his hobbies and the show. Back in the green room, you passed out drinks to their respective owners, everyone murmuring their appreciation to you for your efforts. Pulling the phone from your back pocket and realizing it was nearly time for the Sunday morning gold panel, you ushered Jared and Jensen out the door as politely as you could.
Grabbing two mics from the table set-up behind the stage curtains, you handed one to each of the boys and turned to leave. Jared’s hand on your shoulder made you freeze momentarily, more out of habit than anything. Apparently it didn’t matter who it was, the discomfort of being touched still prevailed.
“Thanks for the chat [Y/F/N], we’ll talk more later?” Searching his face for any hint of what was going through his mind, you nodded numbly. A wide smile spread across his face as he squeezed your shoulder before turning and taking the stairs two at a time. Wild cheers assaulted your ears as the gold members screamed for their first panel of the day.
The voices of Rob and Rich joking with Jensen buzzed in Jared’s ear, but his thoughts were still on [Y/F/N]. She’d flinched when he had touched her shoulder. Whatever made her react that way, he hoped it was something she’d be willing to talk to him about. For the hundreds of people who thanked him on a daily basis for noticing their struggles and standing in solidarity with them, he knew there were many others who couldn’t bring themselves to share.
Before you realized it, the afternoon autograph sessions were scheduled to start. Walking through the main theater hall, your most recent task was simple enough: Provide each of the guests with a handful of colorful sharpies at their table. The headphones connected to the phone in your pocket piped Swain music into your ears and you danced happily while completing the mundane task. You’d do this job full-time if you could.
“Oh, there you are!” Turning abruptly, you pulled the cords from your ears, effectively silencing the indie rock as Derek strode up to you.
“Ms. [Y/L/N], did you receive my text message? You’re wanted in Adam’s office as soon as possible!” His blue eyes searched yours frantically, even while you became acutely aware of your quickening heartbeat.
“Oh, uhm..do you know why?” The man shook his head as he hurried away, staring intently at the clipboard clutched in his hands. A million scenarios chased themselves through your mind; the least of which involved the numerous bottles of tums you were sure Derek consumed regularly. Walking through the side doors and turning down the long hallway where the convention offices were set up, you busied yourself with the pattern beneath your feet. There were fifty-two blue diamonds set into the grey carpet between the main theater and Adam’s office. After several deep breaths, you squared your shoulders and rose your fist to knock on the oak door. The sound of a chair tracking across the floor echoed from behind the barrier and when the door opened, you were surprised to see the man still sitting.
“Ah, Ms. [Y/L/N], do come in.” Following him inside, you paused to close the door at Adam’s insistence.
“Ms. [Y/L/N], it appears we need to have a chat.” Shifting uneasily just inside the door, you tried to still the worried thoughts still cavorting in your subconscious.
“Is something wrong sir?” Adam barked out a laugh and you were disappointed when you jumped at his tone.
“Quite, the opposite actually.” The man still sat in the office chair, his head thrown back as it swirled in lazy circles. “We’ve had a request to add you to our permanent staff.” He said it as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Furrowing your brows, you tried to think of a reason why, or, for that matter who’d sent such a request. Sure, you had thought about talking to Adam about the possibility, but you hadn’t made any solid plans to do so.
“Can I ask by who?” Maybe Derek? I mean, he’s really the only staff member I’ve interacted with on a regular basis this weekend. Stephanie perhaps? Adam chuckled to himself and shook his head, his eyes bright.
“Mr. Padalecki has asked for you personally.” Of all the people you thought might’ve suggested it, Jared certainly hadn’t even come close to making the list. You were quiet as you absorbed the information. Looking up at Adam as his chair lazily swayed behind the card-table turned makeshift desk, you cleared your throat.
“Did he...did he say...why?” The little conversation you’d had with Jared this weekend had been pleasant enough, but you couldn’t think of a single reason why he’d make such a request.
“We discussed it.” “Suffice it to say he is impressed with your dedication to the job.” “This opportunity doesn’t present itself often Ms. [Y/F/N], strictly because exactly zero personal requests have occurred. Like, ever. I’ve been doing this a long, long time...and this is a first.” “Usually we staff the more experienced volunteers as handlers, it just so happened that our senior team member bowed out with the flu this weekend and you were the first person Derek saw upon finding out.” “Simply a ‘right place at the right time’ kind of scenario.” “Jared came to me earlier today after his gold panel and asked about you.” Shrugging, the black suit jacket he’d pulled on over his grey t-shirt bunched at the seams. “That’s all I know.” “Think about it Ms. [Y/L/N].” Nodding slowly, you turned, grabbing the overly shiny brass door handle to let yourself out.
“Oh, and [Y/F/N]?” Looking back over your shoulder at Adam as he started gathering papers together, you paused; “Jared’s about to start his autographing sessions, I suggest you make haste.”
CHAPTER TWO
TAGS: @jaredsunflowergoddess @arses21434 @wings-of-a-raven @jamielea81
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21 Sanders Street Chapter Nine: Food (and) Fights
//Amazing art by the wonderful @divinedrabbles can be found here!
First | Previous | Next
Story Warnings: Death, violence, crime, police, strained marriage, non graphic mention of torture, cursing, mental trauma, stabbing, gang, pregnancy
Chapter Warnings: food, arguments,
Rating: Young Adult
Ships: Endgame Logicality and Prinxiety
After Virgil Diaz went undercover, nothing was quite the same at the station. Sure, the squad still went to coffee at the cafe down the street, Logan still fussed over his wife, Roman still risked life and limb to get an adventure. Patton still made cookies on Fridays. But nothing was the same. Not really. The thing, though, was when Virgil came back. That’s when it all changed.
Thanks for paying for me, you absolute sweetie. You’ve got a heart of gold.” Celine cooed, patting Roman’s shoulder as he pulled money from his wallet.
“Oh, no,” He laughed as he handed the cash over to the street vendor. “You’re paying me back for this.”
“Whaaaat?” Celine said, her voice laced with mock offence as she picked up the plastic container of food and bottle of soda from the counter. “No way! You owe me from last time!”
“Do not. I shouted us for coffee on Friday.” Roman countered. “Remember?”
“And I payed you back with my precious time helping you trim your demon dog’s nails.”
“That doesn’t count!”
Celine plucked Roman’s wallet from his hands, practically skipping down the sidewalk towards the hot dog stand on the corner. “Sure it does! And besides, you love me too much to be mad at me for not paying you back.”
“I’m trying to help you not make mistakes I’ve made,” Roman rolled his eyes as he followed her, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It’s called sharing knowledge and experience.”
“Come off of it- ew, watch that puddle, I don’t think that’s water-” Celine dodged around the murky brown splash on the pavement. “You mooch off of people, like constantly. It’s totally a different thing.”
Roman shook his head. He looked around the street as Celine ordered his food, his gaze combing over the familiar graffiti-splashed scenery. People hurried past, footsteps and traffic a dull roar that echoed across the concrete streets. He turned back to Celine as she returned from the hot dog stand, proudly holding out a dog almost overflowing with toppings.
“… You’re temporarily forgiven,” Roman took the food and his wallet, rolling his eyes again.
Celine punched a fist into the air triumphantly. “Hah! See? Told you that you love me too much.”
“Oh, whatever.” Roman bumped his hip against hers lightly. “Let’s get back before Optimus Crime calls and complains about us being out for too long.”
“It’s our lunch break!” Celine shrugged. “Besides, he’d hardly get mad at me!” She fluffed her hair, her red lips curving into a self-satisfied smirk.
“Whatever, just start walking, you dope,” He laughed and started striding back up the street towards the precinct.
“Hey!” She squawked, trotting after him. “Don’t ditch me, you asshat!”
“Then keep up, Goldilocks!” Roman called over his shoulder with a cheeky grin, deliberately speeding up a little as she huffed along behind him.
By the time they got back up to the office a half hour later, Celine was scowling at him. “I’m in heels!” She whined. “How could you do that to me?”
“Not my fault you didn’t wear appropriate footwear,” Roman shrugged.
“Oh, like you’re one to talk. Dress shoes aren’t any good for an emergency. I would’ve thought you learned your lesson after you hurt your ankle.” She scoffed, setting down her food on her desk and kicking off her shoes.
“Honestly, neither of you are great at picking out practical footwear for day to day work,” Patton chimed in with a giggle.
Roman glanced over and raised a hand in greeting to Patton and Virgil, who were huddled together over Patton’s desk, going over the paperwork and procedures that would be necessary for Virgil to return to work. It had been a couple of weeks since they’d sprung Virgil from the motel, and there were piles of forms to be signed and evaluations to be completed.
He’d be back soon, though. The thought made Roman smile.
“Nobody asked you, Patton,” Celine spun around in her chair to face Patton’s desk as she sipped her soda. “Why don’t you mind your own business?”
“Sorry, I didn’t realise you had such a singular claim on my friend,” Patton’s smile was brittle as he looked up, staring at Celine.
Celine glared at him. “You know people just tolerate you, right?” Her tone was sickly sweet as she flicked her hair over her shoulder.
Uh oh. Roman exchanged a look with Virgil, who looked kind of stunned at the icy exchange.
“And you know you’re really not pretty enough to be this sour and stupid, right?” Patton mimicked her tone, tilting his head to the side.
Celine stood up, stalking over to Patton’s desk and leaning over it til she was practically nose-to-nose with him. “You’re calling me stupid? You couldn’t pour water out of a boot if the instructions were on the heel, you walnut.” She spat.
“I swear to god, you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth and a stick up your ass!” Patton snapped, standing up straight to loom over her.
Celine gasped, recoiling a little before scowling and ripping the top off of her soda bottle. Roman watched in horrified awe as the neon pink liquid flew upwards, splashing all over Patton in slow motion.
Patton gaped, blinking owlishly as soda ran in rivulets down his face, soaking into his shirt in large purplish patches. He reached up and wiped his glasses with his thumb, stunned. Virgil looked between Patton and Celine, his eyes wide, then looked back to Roman, who shrugged helplessly.
The office was deafeningly silent as their coworkers stared at the scene, all frozen in the middle of their tasks. The stillness rather reminded Roman of a crystal ball; calm and clear, yet fragile.
The crystal-silence was shattered as Logan’s door flew open. “What on earth is going on out here?!” He exclaimed, eyes combing over the scene before him.
Officers and detectives alike rapidly scrambled to look busy to escape Logan’s impending wrath as he approached his friends. A wise decision, Roman mused to himself.
“What did you do?” Logan’s head snapped to look at him.
“Woah, woah!” Roman held up his hands defensively. “I didn’t do anything! It was all-”
“It was me.” Patton spoke up, plastering on a sheepish smile. “I bumped into Celine, and she dropped her soda. It kinda… blew up.” He gestured to himself. “Sorry about the mess, Lo!”
Celine dropped back down into her chair and smiled sweetly. “Yeah. Just an accident, that’s all, sweetheart.” She agreed, nodding her head.
Logan sighed. “Come on, Patton. I have some spare clothes in my locker, you can borrow a shirt.”
“Aw, thanks, Lo!” Patton giggled.
Logan shook his head, smiling fondly. “Let’s go, you disaster.”
Patton beamed as he trotted after Logan, disappearing into the elevator. “You’re the best!”
There were several seconds of awkward silence before Virgil spoke up. “What the fuck just happened?” He hissed to Roman under his breath.
Roman ran a hand through his hair and shrugged. “A regular skirmish between opposing factions of the office?”
“No, fuck off. Why did Patton… lie?” The word clearly left a bad taste in Virgil’s mouth, as he blanched. “To Logan, no less?”
Roman’s smile felt forced as he responded quietly. “Well, you know. Patton and Celine both hate Logan being upset, and if they started pointing fingers at each other, it’d be, you know… ugly.”
Virgil stared at him in disbelief. “You’re telling me they’re just covering up all their fights?”
“Just the big ones. Around Logan.”
“Because Pat’s scared of upsetting him? And Celine is a sneaky shit talking bitch?”
“Hey, now that’s hardly-!”
Virgil held up a hand to silence him. “It’s fine, Princey. I know how to even the playing field a little,” He almost purred with a faint smirk.
Before Roman could protest, Virgil was already at Celine’s desk, head tilted to the side in mock innocence. “Heyyy, Abaddon. Whatcha eatin’?”
Celine glanced up, raising an eyebrow slightly. “Oh, hi, Virgil. Roman bought me some ramen, so…” She poked at the noodles with the plastic spork. “I got the seafood one.”
“Isn’t that stuff, like, crazy messy?” Virgil crossed his arms, leaning against her desk.
“Unlike some people-” Celine tossed an amused look over her shoulder at Roman. “I actually know how to eat like a civilised human being.”
Roman made an offended noise. “I can, too, eat civilised! How dare you!”
“You have ketchup smeared on your cheek and coffee stains all over your desk-” Celine huffed, then turned back to Virgil. “Anyway, what’s it to you? Looking for lunch recommendations?”
“Oh… not exactly.” Virgil bent over, leaning close to the plastic container and studying it. “Call it curiosity.”
“About what?”
Quick as a flash, Virgil’s hand shot out from his pocket, grabbing the edge of the container and throwing it over Celine, who shrieked as though she’d been stabbed.
“Virgil!” Roman screeched, diving over and grabbing Virgil by the arm. “What the hell are you doing?!”
Virgil leaned in close to Celine’s face, expression deadpan. “Don’t mess with a Diaz or our friends. You’re just gonna regret it.”
Roman pulled on Virgil’s arm, guiding him away from Celine as she spluttered incoherently, shaking noodles from her hair. “Let’s not have you and Celine murder each other, hm?” Roman said, his voice a little high pitched, pulling Virgil down the hallway towards the break room.
Virgil grinned, glancing over his shoulder and laughing at the small cluster of people around Celine, offering her napkins and helping rescue paperwork from spilled broth. “I have no regrets, Princey. My only wish is that the liquid melted her like the Wicked Witch of the West.” He held up his free hand, making a sizzling noise as he wiggled his fingers.
Roman groaned, shoving him into the break room. “Wait here. And don’t touch anything!” He wagged his finger, slamming the door shut behind him.
Virgil snorted as he dropped back to sit on the couch. “Sure, sure, whatever,” He muttered, looking around the room.
It hadn’t changed much. There was a new calendar on the wall, the days marked off with the attached container of animal paw print markers that Patton kept supplied. The same clunky fridge sat in the corner like a grumpy guardian. The air conditioner hummed with the same faint wheeze it had had since Roman and Patton had started a food fight and gunked it up with macaroni; a cheesy death rattle.
He picked at loose threads on the couch’s arm, peering out through the window of the break room into the office. Celine had already stormed off in a huff, and Patton was hanging back as Roman and Logan bickered back and forth about the puddles of food splashed across the floor. A lot of things were the same, he mused as he leaned back, closing his eyes and settling into a more relaxed position. Should make it easy to fill out all that damned paperwork if everything worked roughly the same. It was probably fine. They wouldn’t have changed that much, right?
Oh, what a fool he was.
The thick stack of papers Logan dumped next to him made him jump. “Jesus fuck, Lo, did you print out the Oxford Dictionary or something?” Virgil yelped, jerking upright and staring wide-eyed at the pile.
“Nope. I’m not letting you step foot near your desk til you read through and sign all of this.” Logan shook his head resolutely.
“Looooo!” Virgil whined. “Come on! Do I really have to? This seems so pointless!”
“You know, refusal to comply with regulations and the like really just delays your return to work? You know that, right?”
Virgil side-eyed the pile of papers. “… Do you at least have a pen?”
“If you didn’t bring your own pen, I’m not letting you drag me down with you.”
“Glad to see you haven’t changed from 10th Grade Biology at all.”
Logan cracked a smile. “Just got older and wiser, Virgil.”
“Older, maybe,” Virgil teased, propping his chin up in his hands and looking up at him.
He rolled his eyes, plucking a pen from his pocket and tossing it at Virgil. “Here. I want that back when you’re done.”
Virgil uncapped the pen, settling back down and placing the pile of papers in his lap. “Sure thing, chief.”
Logan paused halfway out the door and turned back. “… Virgil?”
“Yeah?” Virgil didn’t look up from the papers.
“It’s good to see you back.”
Virgil looked up to see his face suddenly soft, eyes shiny behind chunky frames. “… Thanks, Lo. I missed you too.”
21 Sanders Street Taglist (let me know if you want to be added or removed! :o):
@pattson @royallyanxious @thesocialbookwormishere@wisepuma23@redisawerewolf @lacrimosathedark @demonvirgil@lucifer-in-my-head@2queer2deer @crayonthegreat @rose-gold-roman@my-happy-little-bean@thats-kat-with-a-k @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2@davidthetraveler@just-a-random-word @wolfishhel @romanussy@moxieties @the-no-name-system @everythings-comin-up-aces@awkwardcaitlin @pr0bablypr0crstinating@generalfandomfabulousness@nyamafriend @the-average-loner @livsig@theresneverenoughfandoms@daughterofsomnus
#virgil sanders#logan sanders#roman sanders#patton sanders#21ss#milo writes#fanfiction#sanders sides#food
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Always: Part 1
Pairings: Chibs x Reader (Reader has breast cancer)
Warnings: Swearing, breast cancer, angst, fluff
Word Count: 1,724
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You felt numb. Numb as the worst word imaginable rattled around in your head. Cancer. You were too out of it to even have an opinion on it yet; to feel any sort of emotion toward the life altering news. You just felt empty.
“Hey sweetheart. Coming in to play again?” Mike asked as you blindly stepped into his music store on main street in Charming. You looked up at him with tears in your eyes as you pulled out your weekly payment for the guitar you had on layaway.
“I… I have cancer.” You instantly burst into tears as the older gentleman quickly stepped around the counter.
“Fuck sweetheart.” You let him wrap you tight hug and you broke down in the only fake ‘family member’s’ arms you had left. “You’re gunna be OK, (Y/N).”
“No.” You cried as you shook your head. “No it’s not.” After a few moments, he took a step back and gestured with his head toward the guitar case behind the counter.
“Play it out, baby. Play your heart out.” You nodded mechanically as you walked toward the black guitar case and grabbed it by the handle. As the soft, Bob Dylan that played throughout the store cut out, you set your payment on the counter on your way over to the stool at the end of the counter.
A gorgeous, brand new Martin Limited Edition SS-OMVINE-16 looked up at you from the velvet interior; a thirteen thousand dollar guitar some idiot woman sold for a measly five hundred bucks. Mike, who still needed to make some kind of money off it was willing to sell it to you, on layaway, for only four grand. You were only a quarter of your way to your goal but you were still allowed to come in and play it whenever you wanted.
Tears fell onto the walnut body as you slid your fingerpick on your thumb and placed your left hand on the neck. You strummed it once before breaking into an acoustic cover of Switchfoot’s ‘Only Hope’. With a shaky voice, you began singing along; pouring your broken heart and soul into every note you played and not noticing the attention you had caught briefly from the biker that happened to be walking by.
——
“Just another day at the Goddamn office.” Jax grumbled as he strolled into the hospital to figure out what Bobby had done to land himself in the hospital this time.
“Prob’ly jus’ ‘ung ov’a ‘gain.” Chibs chimed in as he hung his sunglasses on the pocket of his kutte. “Typical Monday.” He glanced over at the person sitting just inside the front door and did a double take at the woman that looked more familiar than just the glimpse he got the week before. Your tear stained, slightly green face was staring down at your phone and you sat curled up as tightly as you could on the chair. Chibs stopped walking and hit Jax’s arm. “I’ll catch up wit’ ye.” Jax glanced back at his brother and followed his gesture to you.
“Yea. You got it.” The VP said with a nod of his head. He continued down the hall as Chibs took a step over to you.
“Ye alright, lass?” A small smile pulled at the corner of your lips at you glanced up at the familiar accent at the slightly less familiar face from your past.
“I’m fine.” You said with a slight nod of your head. He smirked at you as he sat down next to you.
“Ye don’ look fine, luv.” You looked over at him as you rested your head on the wall and tried to swallow the nauseous feeling in your stomach.
“You don’t completely recognize me, do you?” His brow furrowed the slightest bit as you rubbed the center of your chest in a vain attempt to stop the acid reflux. “Can’t blame you. It’s been six years since I last saw you and it was only once or twice. I’m Kyle Hobart’s step sister… (Y/N).” You watched the recognition flash across his face for only a moment before you leapt to your feet and ran to the nearest trash can to lose your lunch after your first round of chemo. You felt an extra pair of hands helping you pull your hair back and rub your back as tears started to pour down your cheeks again. When you had lost everything you had in your stomach, you flopped down on the nearest chair.
“Ye alright, luv?” He asked as he handed you a bandana from his back pocket. You nodded slowly as you weakly took the cloth square and wiped your mouth.
“First day of chemo.” You said as you started to wrap the dirty bandana around your hand. “Stage three breast cancer.”
“Shit, luv.” He muttered as he rubbed your back. He sat back in his chair for only half a second before sitting back up to look at you. “Are ye ‘ear alone?” You nodded in agreement as you wiped away your steadily falling tears.
“Yea I’m alone. Mom died when I was a baby. Dad remarried to a woman that never wanted me but he died, too. Kyle’s a piece of shit scum bag. I always hated April, the stupid, stuck up bitch. Don’t really have any other family. Tend to stick to myself so I don’t have many friends.” You gave him a tight lipped smile and a small shrug. “It’s just me.”
“Christ.” He mumbled as he glanced up at someone walking toward the front door. You glanced over at Jax as Chibs pat your back. “Stay ‘ere for me, luv.” You gave him a half nod as he got up to talk to Jax. You distinctly heard your step brother’s name and the word cancer, which you realized was going to be your new moniker, as the pair of them and the couple Sons that were with them all glanced in your direction. Your pale, slightly green cheeks flushed the slightest bit and you looked back down at your phone to call a cab for a ride home.
“Sack, with Chibs. Get her home and stay with her ’til I can get Gemma there.” You glanced up and shook your head as you tried to get to your feet.
“No, I’ll be alright.” You tried as you put your hand out on the wall to keep yourself upright when the blood rushed to your head.
“No, luv. We’re takin’ ye ‘ome. Don’ fight us; we out numb’a ye.” You sighed as he passed off your bag to a young boy in a prospect kutte you assumed had to be Sack. “Le’ us ‘elp ye.” You nodded slowly as you held your bandana covered fist to your mouth as another wave of nausea hit you. He nodded and wrapped his left arm around your middle and gently grabbed your right forearm with his right hand. “Le’s get ye ‘ome, luv.”
——
“I like this one.” Chibs said as he pointed at the TV at Samantha from Sex and the City before putting his hand back on your shoulder. “She’s ‘er priorities straight.”
“Carrie’s my favorite.” You said as you adjusted your head on his thigh. “Her shoe collection is on point.” Chibs chuckled as the prospect kicked his feet up on your coffee table out of habit.
“I don’t know. The quite one is kinda hot.” He said as he put his hands behind his head and leaned back in your chair.
“Boy, get yer feet off ‘er table ‘fore I make ye sit outside.” Chibs snapped, causing Half Sack to sit up quickly. “An’ get ‘er more juice.”
“Chibs…” You tried as the prospect lurched to his feet to fulfill his request.
“’s’all right, luv.” He said as he ran his fingers through your hair. “That’s wha’ ‘e’s ‘ere for.” You huffed as you grabbed your remote to turn on the next episode. You said a small thanks as the guy set your drink down on your coffee table when someone knocked on your door. You barely moved to sit up before Chibs put his hand on the side of your head to keep you still. “Tha’s wha’ ‘e’s ‘ere for. Yer supposed ta take it easy.” You huffed a sigh as he pulled the blanket up over your shoulders again.
“It’s Gemma.” Sack said as he pulled open the front door to your apartment. The matriarch of the club strolled in with a younger blonde behind her and tons of grocery bags in both their arms.
“So I scoured the internet for treatment friendly foods.” She said as she passed her bags to the prospect and looked over at you with a smile. She sighed as she put her hands on her hips and shook her head at you. “Why didn’t you call us, baby?” Tears welled in your eyes as you sat up slowly on your couch.
“I didn’t think I was allowed to.”
“Oh baby.” She breathed as she bent over to give you a hug. “You are always family to us, sweetheart. Even if your step brother is a fucking traitorous idiot.” You huffed a laugh and nodded as you pulled away from her. She sat down on the chair next to you and took both your hands in hers as Chibs got up to help unload the groceries. “Now, tell me everything.” You took a deep breath and exhaled it forcefully.
“Confirmed last week. Stage three A breast cancer. The tumor is about six and a half centimeters big on my right breast and it’s invaded five of the lymph nodes near my breast bone. My doc’s… well… we’re doing chemo once every other week for two months… then um…” Tears filled your eyes again as you gestured to both your breasts. “They’re…” You whispered as you began to cry again.
“Oh (Y/N).” She said as she pulled you into her arms. You wrapped your arms around her and sobbed into her shoulder as the weight of the situation crashed down on you like a suffocating wave. “It’s gunna be alright, baby. You’re not alone any more.”
“Thank you.” You sobbed as she kissed the side of your temple and simply held you until you had no more tears to cry.
Part 2
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9/17 prompt kiss for Blackwall and Lavellan ❤️ I love how you write them!
The mottled light of dawn shines weakly on her hair - deep, rich brown, like walnut, a sturdy, steadfast wood. Like leather, and like soil, and a million other things he can’t quite place there on the creaking docks.
He doesn’t register when she calls his name, or when she turns toward him, because all he can see is her hair spread out over a pillow, his pillow, which would mean that he would be next to her, his sight full with her, and in this fantasy moment he would never let her go like he did in the real world.
Elara shakes her head, the cowl that had only haphazardly covered her curls falling down to her shoulders. The small movement draws his attention to her eyes, to her face, to the wider world around them.
“Thom?” Elara calls, her eyes wide with worry and fear, but the name is only ever precious on her tongue. Soft, and gentle, like her.
And like the broken man he is, he reaches for that softness. His hands find her jaw and tip her face to meet his, and he slants his mouth over hers - once, twice, three times before he lets her go, before he has to breathe and fill his lungs with air that isn’t her.
Thom Rainier - the man behind the mask, as broken as it and he are - stutters his apology, but finds himself unable to lie to her again, to say he regrets it, even to let his hands fall from her face. Impulsive, yes, but she stirs him, brought some part of himself back to the surface that is Warden Blackwall.
He loves her - Void take him, he loves her. More than the glimmer of hope that had been the Wardens, more than the love of retribution he had nursed in his youth, more than his need to atone, to be better. It is all-consuming, irresponsibly, dangerously so, and he would sooner see himself undone than he would let her go.
It does not escape him that he might have to see both.
He should have stayed far away from her, and she from him, and they’ll both regret it in the long run, but he needs her, more than food and water and light and air and all things good and holy. He isn’t a pious man, by any means, but he would pray to her in every moment if she let him.
“Thom, I -”
Elara cuts off her own words to kiss him back. His hands find her waist and pull them closer, clothes and armor and so many unsaid words, so many demons, standing between them. They stumble together, there on the creaking planks of the docks, in the rain, with the whole of Highever around them, and neither care.
They bend, and it is as if they had never been two parted souls, two separate beings. Thom cradles him to her, one hand in her hair and the other at her hip, and she presses into the hollows of his armor, curling into the spaces between plate and leather and chainmail to nestle around his thundering heart.
“Don’t go,” he pleads. “Don’t, please, you don’t have to go.”
It isn’t until she brushes the damp from his cheeks that he realizes he is crying.
“Don’t go,” he asks again, pressing the words to her mouth. If he could distract her long enough, the boat might sail without her, and she might find reason to stay. He knows her too well to truly believe it, but he has to try.
“I have to, Thom. I…” Her voice breaks and she turns her face into the cold silverite of his breastplate. “My people are there. I have to go to them, Thom. I have to go home.”
He buries his face in her hair, rubbing his chin against the crown of her head. “You belong here. You belong here, with us, with… with me. Elara, you belong here with me.”
“Don’t lie to me, Serah Blackwall,” she says, and her hands creep along his throat, her fingertips brushing over the memory of an ill-timed love bite, of an affair left easily behind at the castle. “You said - you said -”
“Fuck what I said.” Thom steps away just far enough, gives them just enough space so that he can look her in the eye. He tilts her face, his hand once more at her jaw to hold her, his gentle captive.
“Fuck what I said then, on the battlements, my hands strangling my heart instead of holding you. I thought I was doing something noble, and look where it got us. You deserve so much more than me - so much more - but we belong together.”
Thom traces the lines of her tattoos with his thumb, memorizing their black curves against the ochre of her skin. “Come back. Please, please come back.”
Elara leans into his touch, rubbing her cheek over his calloused palm. “I can’t.”
“You can,” he insists softly. “I won’t lose you.”
She shakes her head. “No, I… you have to go back. They need you. The Inquisition needs you, Thom, needs good, steadfast, honorable men like you. My clan needs me. I have a duty. I have to do this.”
“Then I’m coming with you.”
She laughs, the harsh sound colored with a tinge of mania. “You can’t. You can’t! I can’t let you.”
“I won’t let you go.”
Elara closed her eyes at his words and if her mind is anything like his, she’s screaming inside, and a small part of him hopes she’s just as tormented by her words as he is.
“I can’t let you go, Elara Lavellan, and I know you have whatever it is that pulls you back, but I can’t let you go. Not alone. Please,” he says again. He might as well be on his knees for all the begging, but it isn’t enough, it would never be enough. “Please let me come with you.”
On the docks, a bell rings. It peals over the water, over the heads of dock workers readying their ships for the morning voyage. It shakes something in him - the knowledge that, at any moment she’ll slip from his fingers for the last time, and he’ll watch, helpless, as she walks off alone into her pain.
“Elara.” He hopes the name is as gentle on his lips as it is on his heart. “Please.”
She shudders in his grip and looks up at him, eyes brimming with tears. “Yes,” she says softly. “I need you with me.”
Elara reaches up to wrap her arms around his neck and pulls him to her again. “I need you, Thom,” she murmurs, pressing her brow to his. “We belong together.”
The bell rings again, too soon, but time and tide wait for no man. He picks up their discarded travel packs and follows her to the harbor master.
Thom doesn’t hesitate when he follows her to the boat, when he walks up the gangplank, when he settles into their shared berth.
He doesn’t hesitate.
#fic: lavellan's knight#elara lavellan#blackwall#blackwall x lavellan#soulrebel writes#dragon age: inquisition#fanfic#my fanfic#felorinbailenshield2
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Herding cats - Rafael Barba x OFC - Part Five
A/N: Part 5 is from Rafael's perspective because I thought 'Why the hell not! There's always room for more naughty dreams!'. This chapter has been a literal bitch to edit since I'll be on my phone only for another week or so. No idea how many words this one has and I promise once I can get to a laptop I'll put the link for chapter 4 as well. As usual, I hope you guys enjoy and any tips on how I can improve my writing are appreciated!!!
Links to previous chapters:
Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four
Pairings: Rafael Barba x Lemon/Astrid Kelly (Original Female Character)
Fandom: Law & Order SVU
Rating: 18+, NSFW
The streets of Manhattan were cold that time of night in the October drizzle. Wet pavements reflected brightly coloured lights in a blurred frenzy while he felt spent and ready to go home and have a drink, probably even fall asleep on the couch.
“Barba!” Amanda called after the ADA as he was making his exit.
He stopped, tuning to face her with a pointed look. “I am not discussing her with you too.”
The blonde placed a green bundle of fabric into his hands. She knew Olivia talked to him earlier about Lemon and that was the reason he stormed out of the captain’s office without a word. “She forgot her scarf at my desk. Go to her place and give it to her.”
“I don’t need a pretext, detective,” he bit back between grinding teeth.
In what could be named as a last minute decision, Astrid’s best friend tried her luck. Rafael knew Finn and Amanda were close to Astrid. Hell, Finn even threatened to break his legs under muttered breaths. It was hard keeping his personal life away from his professional one when fate was so ironic.
Amanda’s gaze softened. “We both know that’s not true.”
The ride back to his apartment couldn’t have been any longer. He let the smooth silk of her scarf pool around his fingers, his mind busy imagining her wear it around her neck. Rafael didn’t even know what he was doing until he registered the notes of her favourite perfume – bergamot, jasmine and vanilla. The scent brought back many memories – most of them spent between bed sheets.
“Long day, counsellor?”
Rafael had to reign in the primal urge that surged through his body when he saw her figure lean against the doorway of his bedroom. Astrid made her way over slowly, heels clacking rhythmically against the wooden floorboards. He leaned back into the soft cushions of his couch, downing the rest of his scotch glass and enjoying the view. She truly was a sight to behold as she climbed onto his lap and placed her smooth legs on either side of his body to straddle him. The heat of her core against his aching member caused him to let out a short gasp.
“I missed you, Rafael,” Astrid whined, her breath wetting the shell of his ear. Hearing her utter his name never failed to arouse him. She made it sound like a capital sin.
He leaned forward to catch her lips in a searing kiss and she responded with eagerness. Maybe it was the whisky or the way she wore one of his plain white shirts with high heels, but his mind was spinning and his senses were on overdrive. He wanted to ravish her and take her how she deserved – fast and hard, so he could see her scream for more into the bed sheets. He wanted to hear his name on her lips over and over like a prayer.
Astrid ran her hands up and down his chest, pressing short kisses to his lips and jawline. He went for more, but she broke contact and leaned back to slowly unbutton the silk garment.
“You’re impatient, papi,” she teased. Rafael could only palm her thighs while the show she put dragged on.
His cock twitched in his pants when he saw what she was wearing underneath. He fixed her with green eyes as she parted the thin material. “You vixen…”
Astrid took off his white shirt to reveal a set of red and black lingerie. The flesh of her full breasts threatened to spill over the edge of the bra’s half cups with every breath she took and the thongs she wore barely covered her sex.
Rafael was wrong. She was the temple and he the humble worshipper. He would get down on his knees and worship her body all night long if she’d let him. He’d bury his face into her wetness and run his tongue along her folds while his fingers were deep inside her pussy. Rafael wanted to feel her thighs shake from pleasure as he ate her out, but she was the one calling the shots.
“You like?"
“I love,” he answered, eyes hungry.
He started biting at the mounds of soft flesh, sucking and licking at her skin. “Eres tan hermosa…”
She moaned, arching into the attention he gave to her body. Her fingers threaded through his hair and he let out a muffled moan when she raked her nails at the base of his neck.
A wave of need washed over him and he undid the zipper of his pants. He nearly came at the thought of fucking her naked body while he was fully clothed. Astrid took the lead, fingers brushing against the length of his cock. She gave his dick a few pumps, smirking when he met every stroke with a needy thrust of his hips.
“Don’t make me punish you…”
“Another time, counsellor,” she promised.
His long fingers touched her over the thin material of her panties. He pushed it to the side, two digits stroking her folds. Rafael smirked when he felt how wet she was for him. She guided him to her entrance and her body sank down on his swelling cock, taking him slowly inch by inch. He growled. She was so tight and warm around him. Her movements stilled as she adjusted, but Astrid soon started to roll her hips at a steady pace.
“Do you like how my pussy takes your thick cock as I’m riding you?” she asked between moans.
He’d never forget that moment – her back arched as she leaned back to place her hands on his thighs for support, creamy breasts bouncing as she rode his dick. His grip on her hips tightened knowing the next morning she’d have imprints to testify the moment spent between them.
“Me encanta,” he barely responded.
“Harder, Rafael!”
She let out a cry of pleasure as he started thrusting upwards with more vigour. He wanted her to come undone, to feel the muscles of her cunt tighten around him.
“I don’t think I can last much longer, counsellor!”
His thumb found her clit and teased the sensitive bundle of nerves in circular motions. They were both close. He leaned to take one of her nipples into his mouth, needing to feel as much of her as physically possible.
“Cum for your papi, cariño,” Rafael ordered, his voice pushing her over the edge as she continued to ride her orgasm at a fast pace. Every movement sent aftershocks through her body, her muscles tightening and spasming around him.
He came moments later, reduced to an exhausted, but extremely satisfied mess.
“I can’t get enough of you,” Astrid sighed, her body trembling in the afterglow as she slumped against his chest completely spent. She pressed her face into the crook of his neck while his fingers traced the canvas of her back. The world didn’t matter anymore - it was just the two of them and the soothing sound of the rain.
Rafael woke up suddenly, cold sweat dripping down his back. He needed a moment to take in the surroundings of his bedroom – dark coloured walls and walnut furniture. Crimson drapes were drawn back to showcase a mellow cityscape.
His hands almost searched for Astrid’s silhouette beneath the covers. The dream seemed so real he could still feel her muscles clench around him as she came undone. He looked at the clock on his nightstand and groaned, cursing Rollins for giving him Astrid’s scarf. It was 4 A.M. and he was having wet dreams about her.
“This is ridiculous,” he huffed, turning on his side to try and get back to sleep. Snippets of his dream flashed before his eyes.
Rafael groaned in frustration. He couldn’t get any more sleep. He threw back the covers and headed for the bathroom. He felt like a teenager again that morning when he masturbated as the thought of her riding him.
#law & order svu#law & order svu imagine#law & order svu one shot#rafael barba imagine#rafael barba smut#rafael barba x reader#rafael barba x oc#rafael barba#herding cats#law & order fanfic#fanfiction#raul esparza
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for the character ask meme: one member of the IPRE (your pick!)
*slams my fists down* L U C R E T I A. This is just gonna be…it’s just gonna be rough. I’ve made a few goofs about the Director here and there but I literally have not written a happy headcanon here.
Send me a character and I’ll write 10 headcanons!
Lucretia’s hair has been white all her life. Her mother suffered a bit of a magical mishap halfway through her pregnancy and there was a lot of concern that Lucretia would die, or be born with three heads, or the gods only know what else, but instead she was a perfect, healthy baby girl with skin like black walnut wood and tightly crimped white curls and all the usual number of limbs. She wore her hair long for all her childhood and all her time in the IPRE, usually tied back into a ponytail that poofed out into a snowy cloud like a halo behind her. On the Starblaster, as the crew grew closer, she let the others come up with new ways for her to wear it, letting Lup cast spells to turn it straight as bone (and long enough to brush her knees), or teaching Magnus how to twist it into dreadlocks, or letting Merle braid it with flowers and oils that kept it soft and strong. Sometimes Lup and Taako would team up with two Mage Hands each and she’d have eight hands turning her hair into a thousand tiny perfect plaits. It reset after each cycle, after all–Lucretia was game for anything, as long as it didn’t require her to cut her hair.
After Lucretia became Madame Director, after the Bureau had been founded and the moon base was under construction and all her journals were gone, the Director stood in front of her mirror and took a razor to her hair until it was a cap of curls less than half an inch long, and all the glorious clouds of white lay littered around her feet.
Lucretia’s resume might say ‘biographer’ but it would be more accurate to call her a ‘war correspondent’. A universe where a significant majority of the population has powerful magic means that even a minor civil dispute can be some pretty impressive hijinks, and Lucretia was kind of like Angus, a wayward twelve-year-old wandering into the local dragon-vs-hero battle and writing furiously in the background while dodging fireballs without looking up. By the time she got recruited by the IPRE as a young twenty-something, she’d ghostwritten about fifteen books and every journalist worth their salt knew that, if you needed someone to go somewhere horribly dangerous and write something about it with no concern for their own safety, you wanted Lucretia. Lucretia’s class is Multitasker and she’s level 450 with a prestige class in Unflappable and she didn’t exclusively get that from her time on the Starblaster.
Lucretia and Magnus were an odd pair, as far as most people could tell, but they fell in together immediately and with a vengeance. It was never an issue of romance or sex–Lucretia only occasionally remembers that those are things that people experience–but Magnus was big and jovial and seemed to fill a room with his booming voice, and Lucretia leaned toward him like gravity and was surprised to find that he could be quiet and soothing as easily as loud and boisterous. Lucretia never had a brother, before, but she thought sometimes that Magnus was what brothers were like, affectionate and rough and protective. So protective. Magnus died in almost one in five cycles, more than anyone except Merle–and Merle’s many deaths were quick, painless things. Magnus died trying to find the Light, bled out as they tried to save him or fell protecting their backs as they ran, and after his tenth death Lucretia hurled herself at him, at the start of the next cycle, and burst into tears. He had to be more careful, she said as he hesitantly rubbed her back. He had to remember that they were waiting for him to come back, he had to remember that the crew was waiting for him. Sometimes Lucretia thinks about telling Magnus those exact words and she hates herself.
Lucretia couldn’t stand the idea of abandoning her crew, even after the voidfish took their memories at her behest. Davenport, of course, she took on as an assistant–she didn’t know, she had never imagined that she would reduce him so far, her brilliant, competent, well-spoken captain. She cried for an hour and a half, locked alone in a room, before she could stand to face him again. She attended Merle’s wedding, took a private bet with herself that it wouldn’t last more than two years. She attended Magnus’ wedding, too, and that one, oh, that one she thought would last–news of the destruction of Ravensroost came just months later, and Lucretia’s chest hurt with the need to go and hug Magnus and let him cry into her shoulder the way he had when worlds died. Barry was…a problem to track, to say the least, and Lucretia was never quite sure if he was alive or dead or just a very competent illusionist. Liches are such a pain. Seeing Taako playing up to an audience without Lup at his shoulder was jarring, but he seemed…not happy, but like he was enjoying himself, at the very least, and then Glamour Springs happened and Taako dropped off the map and Lucretia’s heart stopped. Lup was dead and if Taako died too, she would never forgive herself.
Lucretia hired Magic Brian for a lot of reasons, among them his competence, but his voice–his voice reminded her so much of the twins. On her better days, she would listen to him talk and her wistfulness would be a small part of her, not enough to really distract her. On her worse days, she would hear Brian laugh from across the room and there would be a lurch in her chest as her head snapped up and she looked for a flash of red and identical smirks, and the crashing revelation was like losing them all over again.
In theory, the Bureau of Balance uniform is blue and silver. Lucretia chose it on purpose, because she couldn’t take the way her throat closed up every time Davenport wore a red coat. She doesn’t enforce it, but generally speaking people don’t wear a lot of red because it makes them stick out like a sore thumb. She should have known that Magnus and Merle and Taako wouldn’t give a damn one way or another. Merle still dresses a little bit like a train crash in a tropical print shirt, and Taako’s sense of style remains Unique, but they both usually have at least one item of red clothing on at all times. Magnus has a red bandana that he wears around his neck like it’s sewn in place. When it’s pointed out to them, Carey making a joke about how “well, no one ever has to wonder who you are, you all dress in red!”, they laugh it off and make excuses about how it’s just what’s in their closet. They just don’t feel right without some red. Lucretia, overhearing this, has to excuse herself, because she can’t tell if she’s going to laugh or cry.
Lucretia is tired a lot of the time. She can’t tell if it’s because her body is older, now, older than she’s ever been but also nowhere near the age she really is, or because she’s so lonely. There are days where she’s just numb, where the only thing that gets her out of bed is Davenport standing there looking expectant, and other days where she breaks everything in her office, until she runs out of things to throw and is left staring at a room full of shards through a haze of tears she doesn’t remember crying. It shocks her, a little bit, to wake up on the first day after she’s recruited the boys, and actually think I can’t wait to see what happens today. It’s the first time in years that her reflection smiles at her.
Lucretia sits with Junior sometimes and just…talks to them. Tells them about all the things that no one knows, that no one remembers, talks about the Starblaster and all the worlds they visited. She talks about how Lup and Taako could cook an entire feast with a bunch of shitty phosphorescent mushrooms, and how Davenport banned the pair of them from piloting the ship except in a crisis because while Taako was learning the controls Lup shouted do a barrel roll and he almost killed them all. She talks about Magnus and his huge stupid heart that he always wore on his sleeve, and how it broke every year that they failed to save a world. She talks about Barry and the way he once accidentally became the messianic leader of a necromantic cult, and about how Merle had to swoop in and save him from being sacrificed by riding a treant into battle. She talks about the year where she was alone because they had all died, they died and she escaped and she thought that this would be like that year, but this is worse. Seeing them see her and not know her, knowing they’re literally inches away, it’s so much worse. Junior presses their tentacles against the glass when Lucretia starts crying, and she presses her hands back.
Lucretia hasn’t slept for more than three hours straight in a decade. She has nightmares, you see. This is a known, but unspoken, thing at the Bureau. The Director wanders the halls like a homeless ghost at odd hours, not really checking up on anything so much as just…drifting. Sometimes she finds another person, wandering, and brings them back to her office for tea, but there’s never any discussion of it. One night, after Refuge, she passes the Reclaimers’ dorm and hears the sound of clattering and murmured voices, a familiar ramble about who the fuck makes powdered chocolate why do people not love themselves Magnus do not FUCKING touch that pot, and she has her hand on the doorknob and is about to walk inside on weary autopilot before she remembers.
After the dust settles, Lucretia goes and sits on the floor in the mostly-dark voidfish room. Not very Directorly, perhaps, to be sat on the floor in the light of the voidfish tank with her old jacket in her lap, but she’s finished her task and she’ll be unDirectorly if she wants to. Besides, there are tearful reunions happening, and she feels horribly out of place. This is their victory, this is what she worked for all these years, what she sacrificed everything for, and she just feels empty, because even after all this, her crew, her family, is still outside and she’s in here, in this base that has been more or less her self-made prison. It is, she thinks, no more than she deserves, but the part of her that’s still a reserved twenty-something biographer newly thrust into the spotlight had wished for something else. The sound of footsteps takes her off-guard, and she looks back over her shoulder, away from the voidfishes, to see Davenport. He looks sharp and alert in a way she’s sorely missed, but he also looks…unsure.
“You, ah. You cut your hair,” he says, and Lucretia raises a hand thoughtlessly, as if she’s not used to the short length.
“It was too much work to take care of it alone,” she says, the lie she always tells about why she keeps it so short, and Davenport huffs at her, cracks a faint smile. She’s a very tall human, and sitting, they’re almost on eye level.
His eyes fall to her jacket, in her lap, and he sighs. “Come on,” he says. “Everyone’s getting drunk. You’d better join us or they’ll come get drunk here, instead.”
“I thought maybe–”
“We’re still going to have a talk,” he says sharply, interrupting her. “But get up off that floor and come have a goddamn drink, Lucretia.”
“Yes, Captain,” she says softly, and after she stands, he takes her hand and leads her back into the light.
#lucretia#the director#madame director#taz#the adventure zone#headcanon meme#ask meme#i stayed up much later than i should have delivering these angsty-ass headcanons to you all#someone better validate me for this#no really this was very gratifying#i have not actually listened to the last episode yet so that last headcanon may be inaccurate#but anyway i'm ride or f u c k i n g die#i love lucretia with my entire soul and you'll never convince me otherwise#starlight writes stuff#idiot teenagers with a queue#anonymous#asked and answered#taz balance
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Nepenthe Part Two (Cody Ko x Reader)
Note: Hey it’s Katherine, and I’m back at it again with that hetero shit.
Word Count: 1575
5:30 pm
“Cody! Hurry up! We’re going to be late!”
I graded nearly 15 essays as I waited for him. It was odd that my boyfriend took longer to get ready than me nowadays. I remember when he was so full of life. Waking up early in the mornings and go surfing, and he would go work a normal job. With Youtube, it’s been his main focus, but I’m very proud of him for putting himself out there especially with his stand up. My thoughts were interrupted by Cody emerging from the bedroom. I got up from the couch and took a good look at him. He was wearing a very casual black shirt, black skinny jeans, and white converse.
“Oh, you look so nice,” I complimented as I gave a shy smile. He pulled me in for a hug; his chest was firm and soft, and over time it became my favorite place to rest my head.
“You know, I was thinking that when we get back we can have a little fun… like the good old days.” Based on the look on his face, I could tell he knew what I was referring to.
“Where did you find it?” He asked with an inquisitive gleam in his eye.
“I was looking through some boxes, and I found it just waiting in its case.” I smoothed back a stray strand of his hair. We began to head out, and I reminded him to make sure he tried his best not to get too drunk. He brushed it off, but it was his way of saying he’ll try.
~
The Uber ride to the party was less than eventful, so I decided to browse social media. My timeline was filled with discussions of how Trump is going to cause the end of the world. I turned to Cody briefly and our eyes met. He gave a reassuring smile and reached out to hold my hand. Soothingly brushing my knuckles with the pad of his thumb, I was grateful for this kind gesture. Letting out a sigh, I turned to look out the window of the car, and we arrived.
~
“Well, since you start getting tired by 10:30, we can plan to leave by then. It should be pretty easy to spot me.” I said as I pointed to my hair. He chuckled and spotted his friends.
As I walked around alone, I noticed I was completely surrounded by Instagram models and influencers of Cody’s sort. So, I began to explore. As I walked into the house, I spotted the host. He was lounging with a book as models chatted his ears off. He raised his head and saw me. Immediately, he got up and rushed to embrace me.
“(Y/N)! You have no idea how much I’ve missed you!” He spoke after he inhaled deeply.
“Tai, it’s been too long.” He pulled away and looked into my eyes.
“It’s been so lonely without you…sleeping in my bed—” his gaze drifted from me, and he adjusted his glasses before he continued, “anyways, how’s your boy toy?”
“Oh, for goodness sake, he’s a grown man.”
“Yeah, then why did you leave me for a grandpa like him?”
My lips tightened into a straight line, “You know why.”
Suddenly, I felt two arms hug me from behind and place their hands over my eyes.
“Guess who…” I instantly recognized the voice.
“ISABEL?!”
The person turned my body around, and I saw my best friend. I gave her a huge hug, and she led me away from Tai.
After we got away from him, she asked, “Why were you talking to your ex?”
“I-I just wanted to say hello.” As I said this, I saw my friend’s disappointment in my peripheral vision. We walked over and chatted with 2 beautiful women named Bryana and Crystal. We discussed new things going on in our lives, jobs, and a variety of other topics.
Then, from a distance, I heard a man slur the words, “I LOVED YOU!” in my direction. As I looked up, Tai was already standing in front of me. He grabbed my arms forcefully, pulled me close, and gave me a drunken and fat kiss on my lips. I shoved him off me as best as I could, but he was too strong. Finally, he broke the kiss and started shaking me.
“I could’ve given you everything. What could that jackass give you that I couldn’t?” Tai sobbed, but still maintained the strong grip on my arms. The party already grew silent.
I knew I’d regret this later.
“A baby.”
Before I could blink, Cody came up from behind me, ripped Tai’s hands off my arms, and punched Tai in the face.
Cody looked around and stopped at me, “I think I’m tired now, babe.” He began to walk out, apologizing to the strangers around us, and I followed behind him.
~
We waited for our Uber by a curb in complete silence. He would open his mouth to say something but then shut it again. I couldn’t take this anymore, and I had to break this unbearable tension between us.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.”
“How long have you known?” He asked, yet still refusing to make eye contact with me.
“I took a few pregnancy tests 2 weeks ago, and they all said positive.”
“Should we stop having sex? Can’t my dick hurt the baby?”
I burst out in laughter, and Cody finally turned to me with a confused expression plastered on his face.
“Cody—” I started between laughs, “your dick isn’t that big.”
“Hey! It’s decent.” He replied, trying to defend his manhood.
“Oh, trust me I know, my little tickle bee.”
I watched Cody cringe at the mention of the pet name.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to force you to settle down with me. Or just lose you altogether.”
“You shouldn’t have to worry about that with me.”
~
9:30 pm
As soon as we got in, Cody lifted me by my legs, and I swung them around his waist. He carried me to the bedroom, and we bumped into a few walls. I may have distracted him with a few kisses along his neck, jaw, and practically every inch of his face.
He set me down on the bed, and we undressed between kisses. Once all our clothes were off, he gave me a concerned look.
“Hey, maybe you should stretch me out a little. Just with your fingers.” He spoke softly. I agreed to start slow. So, we held each other and kissed for a while. I felt him become less tense and much more comfortable after a while. Shyly, I grabbed the bottle of lube, and the crack of the top echoed throughout the room. Lubing up my fingers, they found their way to Cody’s ass. I began teasing his taint, and he let out a low moan. Then with small hesitation, I plunged my fingers into his asshole.
His eyes widened as I probed the walls of his hole. After several seconds of shoving my fingers deep into his ass, I found his prostate. It felt like a walnut, so I began to massage it. Cody moaned and began to caress my breast.
“Tsk, tsk, Cody this night is for your pleasure. Not mine.”
He grumbled an opposition, but he allowed me to continue. I felt that he was ready, so I grabbed the purple strap on. Cody excitedly grabbed the lube and seductively lathered the toy with it. It was amusing to think this is probably what he saw when I did this to him. After he was pleased with the amount of lube, he turned around on all fours. The toy hovered outside his asshole, and carefully I thrusted into him.
“Agh, f-fuck.” He panted heavily as I continued. I slapped his ass hard, but not enough to leave a mark. With a mischievous grin on my face, I picked up a copy of the bible that I bought to try to convince my friends I was religious. With the book in hand, I raised it high above my head, and I slapped his ass as hard as I possibly could. He yelped but nonetheless was incredibly turned on. On his right ass cheek, in small, red letters read “The Bible”. I chuckled to myself and thrusted harder into him. Unfortunately, my legs were growing tired, and Cody sensed this.
He laid on his side, and I positioned myself behind him. Grabbing the strap on, he reinserted the toy. I massaged his cock, and I could tell he was close. With one last stroke of my hand and thrust of the toy, Cody was writhing. I felt his cum drip down my hand and watched some squirt onto his stomach. I took off the strap on and set it aside. Coming back to him, I began to lick up the cum from his stomach. He watched silently as his shaft twitched. I kissed his abdomen, all the way up his chest, to his clavicles, and eventually gave a hungry kiss on his lips. It was incredibly animalistic of me, but he loved it.
“Sweet dreams, lover boy.”
Epilogue
Cody and (Y/n) lived joyous and kinky lives. (Y/n) gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl, named Noel and Samantha (she preferred just being called Sam). Noel grew up to roast his father and his poor fashion decisions, and Sam grew up to become fluent in the language of money like Tai Lopez.
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