#heaven officals talking about how dangerous he is and he’s just twirling his hair and kicking his feet | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

certifiedmoth · 5 years

Text

Delicious and Dangerous (Part 4)

Sugar Daddy/Werewolf Duncan x Reader

Summary: Y/N awakes one morning to find Duncan missing, only to have him demand she visit him at his house in the woods. As the day unfolds, she sees a different side to her lover, one that she’s not sure she likes.

Word Count: 8.8K

Warnings: fem!reader, duncan in heat, mean!duncan, bits of dark!duncan, angst, smut (oral [male receiving], unprotected sex, rough sex, lots of biting (he’s a werewolf duh), overstimulation, breeding!kink, knotting, daddy!kink, degradation, bondage)

Notes: Here’s part 4 (finally)!! I’m sorry it took so long to get out, ya girl has been busy. This is pretty much all smut, but lots of angst in there as well. I’m gonna be the first to say that some parts of Y/N and Duncan’s relationship feels really unhealthy and if I met somebody as possessive as Duncan, a bitch just might run. Anyways, this is fiction and duncan and y/n are both stupid, but I love them. Enjoy reading this shit show (and try not to hate me for that ending oops) Any comments are appreciated (even if you just want to yell at me) ♥ (gif credit to @spellman)

___

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

You awoke from a night of blissful dreams to the sound of rain tapping against your window. Groaning, you instinctively pulled the comforter up your body, relaxing further into the plush mattress beneath you, letting sleep take you once again.

Life had been truly great lately; Duncan made sure of that. It had been about a month since his little stint at the restaurant and he had made sure to be on his best behavior since then. You were sure that something would have come out in the press about that night, but oddly enough there was silence surrounding the Shepherds. Life with Duncan was actually as sweet as it had ever been. You were constantly pampered. Constantly loved and doted on. It was as if you were in a dream – one you wished to never wake up from.

Most of your attention was given to Duncan these days, but Nick did occasionally cross your mind from time to time; especially since he seemed to call you every other day. Shortly after the incident at the restaurant, you talked with him on the phone and apologized for what had happened. The truth was that you weren’t sorry for leaving him at the restaurant, you were just sorry for how you left him. Apparently, he wasn’t the Nick you remembered him to be and that was a disappointing fact you had to come to terms with. No matter how many times you dodged his calls, he never got the clue.

Although, you were living on cloud nine with Duncan, and truth be told, felt that Nick deserved the anger that was directed at him, shame filled your mind anytime it wandered back to that Saturday night. Duncan was an enigmatic soul – It was as if he was in a constant battle to find balance between his two selves. He could be intense and heated; you’ve come to find out. And when he was like that, it was hard to talk him down or convince him of anything beside his own reality. But he also showed you more love than anyone you had ever known. You sometimes didn’t know how to handle being loved that much. There were moments where you’d catch him stealing glances your way, looking at you as if you were his one reason for existing.

Any shame you felt towards him from that night quickly left whenever you thought of his gentle touches and warm kisses. Your heart fluttered and a smile always managed to find its way on your face any time thoughts of him crossed your mind. Even when he wasn’t there, you were left feeling comforted in a way you would always be grateful for.

Duncan’s behavior since that night was endearing, to say the least. You could tell he was embarrassed for his actions that night, but had too much pride to show it. So, he apologized in other ways. He catered to your every need trying to gain your favor once again. He brought you flowers and gifts, was gentle when he made love to you, and he had even promised to take you away on vacation for however long you wanted. One of his gifts, a beautiful necklace, dangled from your neck every day. He loved to bite on it playfully while he had you pinned underneath him, kissing your neck. Duncan was complete putty in your hands, even though he’d never admit it. But you didn’t care about the constant and never-ending gifts. All you wanted was time alone with the man of your dreams. Even after all this time, you could never get enough. You were afraid you’d always want more of him.

After the revelations of that night, when he confessed to you that you were his one true mate, you both came to terms with how strong your bond and need for one another is. You moved into his apartment and now it became a shared space between two lovers. Duncan was finally at ease having you this close to him – He could make sure you were always safe this way, always out of harm’s way. As gentle and sweet as he was, he was also fiercely protective of you. He would go to the end of the earth to protect you.

Every morning you’d wake up with either the sensation of his stubble tickling your skin as he placed delicate kisses all over your face, or his preferred way to wake you up, with him nestled perfectly in between your legs, placing rather more passionate kisses elsewhere on your body. It was heaven for both of you. After some fun in bed and having to nearly pry Duncan off of you, he would go to work and you would make good use of his credit card. But you always kept him in mind, making sure to buy things that he’d loved and was sure to enjoy once he got home. And that left you to your favorite time of the day, when you could hear the front door unlock and his designer boots making their way towards you. After a long day of meetings and bossing around other people, he found comfort in evenings spent with his girl. Meaningful kisses, tender embraces, and easy, genuine conversations; nights spent intertwined on the couch with your empty wine glasses on the coffee table. It was what you both had dreamed of. Domesticity. Being in each other’s company – simply being in each other’s arms. It was everything, and yet it still wasn’t enough.

You craved each other – Constantly needed more of each other. Every night ended with Duncan carrying you to the bedroom to have his way with you. To show you just how much he needed you. And afterwards, once you two were exhausted and left in a love-filled daze, you’d eventually drift off to sleep in each other’s arms, ready to do it all over again the next day. The both of you felt contempt and happy for once in your lives. Everything was just as it should be.

Except this morning, something had changed. Duncan was nowhere to be found as you finally opened your eyes, weak from sleep. The warmth from his body that always surrounded you in the early mornings was gone, and instead was replaced with a feeling of unease and worry. You furrowed your brows in confusion and reached your arm out to search for your phone on the nightstand.

7:17 am To: Duncan [Where are you?]

It was Saturday morning and he didn’t have work. He should have been right beside you, sleeping sound under the covers with his hair tousled wildly, letting out small breaths from his lips while he slept peacefully. But he wasn’t. Your boyfriend was nowhere to be found. Not in the bathroom, not in the kitchen, not in his office – He was just gone.

7:24am From: Duncan [At the other house, my sweet. I’m dealing with something. Not sure if I’ll see you today.]

You weren’t happy with that response as you twirled your necklace around your fingers, nervously. Honestly, you were just confused more than anything. You checked the date on your phone and realized it was almost a full moon, but not quite yet. He shouldn’t be changing tonight or seeking any type of solitude because of the shift. With no full moon, there was no need for it. So, it had to be something else.

Not knowing drove you crazy. You didn’t want to be the person that overthought everything, but you were. You had always been that way. In life, you liked having control and hated when things didn’t go according to plan. You liked the plan – You liked knowing what the plan was. Being in the dark made you uncomfortable, and in this moment, you could feel the urge to spiral start to take over.

With the two of you being nearly inseparable these days, you felt a pit in your stomach grow at the idea of Duncan keeping something from you. No matter how hard you had worked to trust others and open yourself up, there was always a part of you that felt anxious. Anxious that someone was lying to you or plotting to hurt you.

The last time Duncan had kept something from you it ended with you being chased by him in his other state, nearly giving you a heart attack and a mental breakdown. You thought back to the entire day leading up to that night in the woods. You had been so worried about the secrets and lies that were filling your relationship – so much that it made you burst until you sought him out and found out more than you reckoned for. But now, you had no reason to not trust him. He had showed how devoted he was to you and was consistently truthful and genuine with you – he never lied and never did anything for you to question him. So, why the secrecy now?

7:31am To: Duncan [Is everything okay? Can I come over?]

…

7:32am From: Duncan [That might not be a good idea. If I need you, I’ll let you know, baby.]

You weren’t sure what to make of that. He wasn’t being cold and distant with you; he was just away and clearly insistent on not telling you what he was up to. That hint of secrecy only twisted your insides further. But nonetheless, you sat back in defeat, deciding to trust the man you’d grown so fond of while knowing that he’d never betray you. You went to grab your laptop for some online shopping in the hopes of a sweet and expensive distraction.

Hours go by and you’ve nearly forgotten about your uncomfortable morning. A part of you cringes at the ridiculous and unnecessary amount of spending, but another part of you feels excitement for Duncan’s reaction when he sees you in your new items. You think back to your mysterious man as you sip from the coffee mug in your hand. Just as he crosses your mind, you hear your phone buzz to the side of you and your eyes widen as you see his name.

1:04pm From: Duncan [Come to the house. Now]

The urgency in his message brought back that uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach and you weren’t sure what to think. Was he in trouble? Was he mad? Had you done something to really anger him? You couldn’t tell from his message and it only made your anxiety worse. A part of you didn’t want to deal with any confrontation today, but another part of you, the curious part of you, needed to know what was going on and if he was okay. And you really didn’t want to wait long to find out.

Quickly, you threw some decent clothes on and jumped into your Porsche (another new gift from the man of the hour). You raced down the highway, a sudden burst of excitement filled you at the idea of finally seeing your boyfriend for the first time that day, even though you were still a bit nervous for what you may find. The rain hit your windshield, the noise calming you a bit as dark clouds loomed over the city in your rearview mirror; the house in the middle of the woods grew closer and closer as you noticed the familiarity of the trees on either side of you.

The moment you pulled up to the hidden driveway, you took in a deep breath trying to steady yourself and calm your nerves. Duncan’s sleek car was already parked next to yours and it only reminded you that the demanding man was inside, waiting for you for whatever reason he chose not to disclose. You let out one last breath and pushed aside whatever fears or trepidation you had and briskly left the car, trying to cover yourself from the rain as best you could. You made your way quickly to the front of the beautiful and familiar home, noticing long claw marks from where he had chased you that night months ago. It calmed you, strangely. Just to think of how far you’ve both come, how much your relationship has evolved and how much work you’ve put into it. It really put things into perspective for you and you decided that whatever it was you’d find inside; you could handle it. You’d handle it together, hopefully.

“Hello?” you asked timidly as you opened the large front door, stepping in and taking in the stagnant air of the modern house. The lights were off and Duncan’s coat had been long forgotten on the couch. The rain hit the glass on the house, creating an eerie feeling. “Duncan…?” Your voice rang once more throughout the empty house as you cautiously made your way up the stairs. And that’s when you heard it.

Small whimpers. The sound of someone in pain. Groaning and soft whines from a voice you would know anywhere.

“Duncan?” You asked with slight alarm in your voice as you pushed open the bedroom door. The sight in front of you stopped you dead in your tracks, causing a small gasp to leave your lips. Duncan laid atop the deluxe bed, a whimpering mess as he appeared to be in clear pain.

“Y/N…” his voice came out weak and desperate. Quickly, you rushed to his side, taking in the sight of him completely. A sweat broke out over his forehead and his cheeks were flushed. He looked as if he had just gotten finished with a 10K and immediately crashed on the bed. Duncan was dressed in nothing but his briefs and as you leaned your hand down to softly caress his cheek, you felt how hot his skin was. His eyes were closed tight as if in agony; his face contorted in pain. You had never seen him like this before. He looked fragile – Fragile and weak. But all of that was quickly forgotten once your eyes laid upon his lower region.

He was completely and, what appeared to be, painfully hard. His briefs barely held back his length from breaking free of its confines. You were as confused as ever, but your worries slowly started to vanish as a vague memory came back to you from a night weeks ago; a night spent drinking copious amounts of wine and sharing secrets about wolves, particularly of his kind. He explained nearly everything, from what it meant to be an alpha to mates and breeding to full moon rituals. You even remembered Duncan mentioning something about wolves going into heat when around their mates for long periods of time.

Was he in heat? Could this really be the source of his anguish? You bit your lip thinking about Duncan in this state, helpless and needy for you. The mere idea that you were the cause of this excited you beyond belief.

“Baby, is this what you needed me for?” Your small voice rang out, almost in a teasing and mocking manner as you stroked his forehead and gave him an innocent pout. His eyes shot open, revealing them to be an inhumanly shade of blue as a deep growl left his lips. The warning look he gave you reminded you of that first night you saw him here; he looked feral and dangerous, like a wild animal ready to rip something apart. Instinctively, your body moved away from him but his hand was faster. He quickly reached out and grasped onto your wrist, making sure you couldn’t leave his side.

“Duncan…” Your voice lost any hint of cockiness and now showed only concern, which caused him to slowly ease his tight grip on you. “Baby, what’s going on?” You managed to get out the last bit as you looked him over once again. Maybe you had read the situation wrong. He would never… hurt you, would he? The corner of your eye saw his hips slightly rise into the air almost as if it was his body’s way of telling you what he needed.

“I really tried not to call you over,” he looked away before closing his eyes in disappointment. “Wanted to deal with this on my own,” he added, his grip on you tightening once more. “But I need you,” his voice was dark and raspy as his eyes found yours once again. Simply having you near him strengthened Duncan and he found it in himself to sit up and move his body closer to yours. Afterall that’s what he needed more than anything – just to be close to his mate.

“I-I don’t understand… Why come here? Why not just stay home, baby?” You whispered while he leaned in and attached his lips to your neck, not wasting a second in tasting and licking your soft skin. You smelled delicious and he needed you now.

“In heat,” he said curtly, not wanting to part from your skin and growing more and more frustrated with being this close to you, but not being inside of you. “Can be dangerous for humans,” he added, continuing to suck on your skin, while moving his hands against your breasts, his strength gathering as he roughly massaged you through your shirt. He already felt some sort of relief just having you this close to him. The feeling of your body against him eased him slightly but he needed more. He wouldn’t be happy until he was comfortably and completely inside of you.

“In heat?” you whispered, a small smile forming on your lips as you tried to tease him. “Does my poor baby need my help-“ you were, quickly, cut off from the feeling of him nipping your skin roughly, warning you to not test him. Little did he know, it only made you want to push him further.

“So, you’re in heat…” A dangerous smirk played out over your features as you continued to push him. A small growl left his lips as his hold on you tightened.

“If you don’t stop, I am going to fucking wreck you,” all the warmth in his voice left. Only a cold and dangerous warning was left. Now, he actually wanted you to push him more, to give him an excuse to throw you down on the bed and make you a screaming mess.

“My daddy’s in heat, how cute,” you patronized.

You realized you might have gone too far as his body went completely still at your words. He slowly pulled away from your neck to look you dead in the eyes.

“He is,” the words sounded more like a growl as every bit of intensity and desire he had shown through the blue of his irises. He tilted his head slightly, the ghost of a smirk showing as he gripped your hip with inhuman strength, making you wince. “And your daddy is going to wipe that pretty, little smile right off of your face,” he whispered as he leaned in slowly next to your ear, enjoying the shiver that ran through your body. He lowered his head into the crook of your neck, biting hard on one of the already red and purple marks he left. “You see… Daddy needs you,” his hand rose to your throat, squeezing just enough to make you gasp. “He needs to feel you… Needs to be inside of you,” his hand squeezed harder, constricting your airway. “Unless, you have other plans and want to continue teasing your daddy.”

You shook your head side to side as you gasped for air. “No, sir,” the smallest whimper left your lips as you struggled to get your words out.

His ease on you let up and his hand found its way to your shirt, ripping it right off of your body. “Good. Now, I need you to behave like a good, little girl today while daddy has his way with you,” he whispered as he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your skin. “Is that understood?”

You nodded once more, biting your lip, “Yes, daddy. I’ll be so good for you,” you played along with him. He knew exactly how to shut you up and remind you that he was the one in charge. He appeared to be happy with your response, licking a small stripe against your neck only to suck on it and nip it lovingly.

“Mm, you’ll be my sweet, little princess?” His hands found your hips, raising you onto his waist while he leaned back down onto the bed. You straddled him while his hands ran all over your body possessively.

“I’ll be your sweetest princess,” you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck as you felt yourself start to fall into your familiar roles. He was your daddy and you were his princess. Of course, you could be a brat at times, but he liked it most when his girl didn’t challenge him. And you craved his praise more than anything. You’d do just about anything for him if he called you his ‘good girl’.

“That’s what I like to hear.” The dark smirk that appeared on his lips sent a shiver down your spine moments before he flipped you both over and pinned you to the mattress. “My baby’s going to be ruined by the end of today,” Duncan’s lips turned into a fake, exaggerated pout but his eyes showed malicious intent. You whined, trying to raise your hips to rub against his briefs. He glared at you, silently warning you to behave. “Stay,” he ordered, reaching over and grabbing something from the nightstand, his warm body leaving you for a second too long causing you to whine again. He found his place against your body once more, only now holding two pieces of silk in his hand causing you to bite your lower lip in anticipation.

“Is that for me, daddy? I promised I would be a good girl…” you imitated his pout while your eyes stared up at him innocently. He stared right through you, calling your bluff.

“You don’t fool me for a second, little one. Even my good girl can be naughty at times… And daddy doesn’t want to deal with you challenging him or being a brat right now.” He fastened the pieces of silk around your wrists, tying you to the bed frame as a dissatisfied noise left your lips. Duncan knew you loved being able to feel him while making love, but the beast in him had no intention of being sweet with you today. The other half of him, the animalistic part of him purely just needed your body, as selfish as that was. He was blinded by the state he was in; he was ready to do just about anything to feel his cock settled deep inside of you. You noticed him being a bit harsher than normal, but didn’t think much of it. You were too preoccupied with the wetness growing in between your legs. Your wrists were held fairly tightly in the silk and you looked up at him, whimpering.

“So, daddy can’t handle me, then? He needs to tie me up?” You bat your eyelashes at him, hoping to rile him up even more; loving this game of cat and mouse you were in.

“I’d stop talking if I were you,” he leaned in close to your ear, his powerful aura making you sink even further into the mattress. You were frightened and excited for what he would do if you pushed him too far, but he didn’t give you the chance. “Actually,” a dangerous smile appeared on his face as he rubbed his stubble in contemplation. “I think I know the perfect thing to shut you up.”

Your mind instantly thought of the gag in the drawer you were sure he would pull out, but you were wrong. Your eyes widened as you saw him palm himself through his briefs, his prominent bulge begging for release. He pulled down his briefs and threw them to the floor while your mouth watered at the sight of his length bobbing up and down. Duncan stroked himself a couple of times while staring you down, getting ready for how good you were about to make him feel. You gasped when he quickly took hold of your hair and pulled your head back even further into the mattress, making your mouth more accessible to him.

“You just look so pretty like this, angel,” he spat out coldly, gripping onto your hair even harder while making his way up your body. He held his cock to your face and slapped his thick length against your lips crudely, beckoning you to open up for him. When you didn’t, a growl escaped him and he pulled on your hair even harder. It was bordering just a little too painful. “Open. Now,” he demanded, staring down at you. You obeyed him, quickly opening your mouth to him and he didn’t waste a second thrusting into your mouth. A groan left his lips as his head slightly fell back at the feeling of your warmth take him in completely.

His thrusts were fast and hard as he chased his high. The sound of you moaning and gagging on his cock only urged him to go faster; his cock easily found its way down your throat with each thrust. He slammed his hips into your mouth as you fought against your restraints. You couldn’t help the wetness forming between your legs as he used you for his own pleasure.

“Fuck… your pretty, little mouth feels so good,” he grunted. “Are you my little sex slave, princess?” His laugh echoed off the walls. “Gonna use you however I want,” he spoke while his thrusts started getting sloppier; the feeling of his first orgasm of the day starting to build.

You tried to reply to him, but all that came out was a soft mumbling against his cock. He felt the vibrations of your words against his shaft, causing a deep moan to leave his lips as he pushed his cock even further into you.

“Sorry, princess. What was that?” He teased, smirking to himself. “Couldn’t quite hear you with my cock down your throat,” he chuckled to himself. He grabbed onto your hair and picked up his pace, seeking his own pleasure. You knew he was dangerously close from the increasing sound of his moans building up to his release. His cock roughly thrust into your mouth once more and you felt him still his movements as a loud groan echoed off of the walls. His cum shot out of his tip and coated your throat as he thrust a couple more times, making sure every bit of cum he had to give you went down your throat.

He released you from your grip and fell against the bed, breathing heavily as he ran his hand through his hair, finally feeling relief from the tortures of his morning. “Fuck…” He raised his head, looking you over while taking his time sitting up. His hands graced your thigh while he noticed the innocent, needy look on your face.

“So good for daddy,” he whispered, knowing exactly what to say to please you, while leaning down to kiss your thigh. “I hope you can keep that up for the rest of the day.”

Duncan got increasingly rougher and meaner as the day went on. The once sweet and loving man you saw only yesterday was nowhere to be found today. What you had in your presence was instead, a man who was rough with you, who taunted you, who mercilessly used your body for his own pleasure. He was always a very dominant and rough lover, but he was always still tender and loving. But the Duncan you were witnessing today was all business. He used you over and over again, his appetite never seeming to ease up.

You couldn’t really complain, because you were loving every second of it. Well almost every second of it – you wished he would ease up on you just a bit, but it wasn’t anything you were worried about as he gave you world-shattering orgasm after another.

His hunger was never-ending. Whether he had you on all fours, or pushed up against the wall, or spread out on the kitchen counter, he was savagely wrecking your body, always seeking his next high. You were growing exhausted by the fifth or sixth hour, you weren’t sure anymore, but he never showed to tire himself. He only wanted more. More of you, more of being inside of you, more of being surrounded by you, more of you bending at his will. He needed it.

He tried giving you a break, but could only last about thirty minutes once he felt that uncomfortable tension starting to build on itself again. You didn’t mind – not really anyways. His never-ending need to be inside of you left you feeling full – in more ways than one. Your heart leapt every time he called you his ‘princess’, only to have your mind turn to focus on the pain and pleasure you were feeling from him thrusting into you at a relentless pace. Duncan had so much energy and stamina, it was truly shocking. He was always a dominant lover, you knew this, but he never ceased to surprise and amaze you with just how much faster and harder he could fuck you.

And now you found yourself on all fours once again, at the mercy of your rough lover. Duncan’s hands gripped onto your hips with feverish force while he thrust into you with inhuman speed. You already had two orgasms down from this session alone and you were a whimpering mess as you tried to hold onto the comforter for dear life.

“Aw, what’s the matter, little one? Can’t handle daddy fucking you like this?” he mocked you while grabbing a handful of your hair and yanking your head back to look at him. You’d never seen his eyes so dark before as he glowered at you. His dangerous smile returning once he heard the small whines escaping you.

“Thought you were going to be good for me,” his lip curled up. “Thought you were daddy’s good little girl…” his voice mocked your whimpers. “Thought you were special,” he let out a dark chuckle. “Guess not,” any warmth he had for you left his voice as he ignored the gasp that left your mouth at his harsh words.

“Duncan…” you warned, trying to get the point across to him that he was close to crossing the line. He had pushed you relentlessly all day with his ruthless comments and nonexistent sympathy and you were only now starting to feel a bit crushed by his actions. What happened to your Duncan who always made sure you were alright? What happened to the Duncan who, even though he was rough with you, always assured you that you were loved and cared for? You weren’t sure who this new person was.

“What?” he snapped. “Is daddy being too mean?” He mocked once more, thrusting into you particularly hard, enjoying the small scream that left your lips.

You lowered your head, hiding your face in the mattress and not wanting to look at him anymore as you considered his words. You were left with a bitter taste in your mouth from the way Duncan was acting. You weren’t sure why he was being so cruel, especially when he knew how vulnerable you were in this state. His words were cutting a little too deep and you found yourself stifling a new onset of tears.

“Rose.”

Duncan fought the beast inside of him and stopped immediately at the sound of your shared safe word. You had never used it before in all the time you had known him and he wasn’t even sure if he had heard you correctly. He fell back onto the mattress and stared in disbelief as he felt his world come crashing down around him. Shame surrounded him as clarity started to fill his senses. It was as if a veil was lifted and he could finally see how cruel he had been this whole time.

“That,” Duncan muttered, while staring at his hands. “That wasn’t me,” you heard his small whisper as he spoke mostly to himself. He looked around his surroundings trying to gather himself before his eyes fell on you. You saw every ounce of heartbreak in his expression as his blue eyes started to well up with tears.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he sounded weak, even ashamed. He hesitated before reaching for you and gently caressing your leg. “Baby, I don’t- I don’t know what came over me.”

“I don’t like how you were talking to me,” you placed your hand on top of his. You needed to tell him the truth, but he just looked so devastated by the fact that he hurt you, it killed you to see him like this.

“I kept pushing you and I should have known better,” he let out a shaky breath, coming to terms with how awful he had been.

“And I should have just communicated with you from the get-go.” It was the truth. You should have told him how you felt the first moment you felt the slightest bit uncomfortable. He lifted his head and shifted his eyes from his hands to your eyes.

Duncan shook his head in denial, “I should have known.”

You could tell he’d beat himself up over this for probably the rest of his life. He’d most likely never come near you again while in heat; the thought alone made you sigh in disappointment.

“Come here… please,” your voice was soft as you gestured to the pillow lying next to your head. He softly lowered himself next to you, turning on his side to face you. His hand found your waist and he rubbed small circles while staring at you through glassy eyes.

“Okay, here’s what you’re not going to do. You’re not going to think about this all the time and let it destroy you,” he had opened his mouth to speak, but you quickly placed your hand over his lips to stop him. “Because I’m fine,” you stared into his eyes, making sure he understood. “And I forgive you and I love you.” He let out a long sigh against your hand – Sometimes he felt he truly wasn’t deserving of you or your kindness.

“I understand today has been… a unique occurrence and neither of us really knew how to navigate it. But I trust you, no matter what,” you reassured him while moving your hand to stroke his cheek. “Please don’t let this deter you from ever touching me again. I promise I’ll communicate better if you promise to always hear my needs.”

“Always,” Duncan spoke right away. “My love… I’m just so sorry. I didn’t mean any of those cruel things I said,” he looked like a lost puppy in this moment. It was always so interesting, and in a way absurd, to see him look so vulnerable. He prided himself on being the tough and powerful type, so when you did get to see moments where he looked small and hurt, it reminded you of how sensitive he truly could be.

He continued to rub small circles against your skin while he melted into your hand against his cheek; his stubble tickled you and the familiar feeling filled you with a new adoration for the man lying in front of you.

All Duncan thought of was how amazing you were. How beautiful and kind and caring. How you were completely his; it was something he would always be in awe of. He knew he fucked up. He knew that no matter what you said and how understanding you were, he fucked up. He’d give anything for your forgiveness and you already gave it to him so easily. He truly didn’t deserve you – He felt that in his bones.

“You’re my angel… you know that, right? I love you so much,” he whispered, leaning forward to ghost his lips over yours. You pulled him in for a tender kiss and you knew in that moment you had your Duncan back.

Minutes go by… And then hours go by… and Duncan still has you wrapped up in his arms. This whole time, he’s done nothing but share sweet nothings in your ear and place gentle kisses in your hair. He was still in heat, but could feel himself coming down from it. Being this close to you was, in a way, still difficult for him, but he controlled every urge he had – Even if parts of his body didn’t. You could feel how hard he was against you, but no whimpers or moans this time from being in pain, so you knew he was going to be okay. Only the occasional groan when you moved your body, which had you stifling giggles each time.

Lying beside him like this was perfect – but being this close to him with his warm breath ghosting over your skin and his hands dancing across your hips, it made you crave him in a different way. You had thought you were truly his perfect mate, to still want to go for another round with him after having sex for hours. You had to stifle a laugh but he noticed. He always noticed.

“What’s so funny, my love?” He entertained you, a genuine smile on his face as he turned on his back, bringing you to lay on his chest.

“Hm, nothing,” you tapped your finger across his warm chest. “Can I have some water, pretty please?” You asked with puppy dog eyes, as you lifted your head to look at him.

“You want me to go all the way downstairs for some water?” His eyebrow rose in question.

“Do you want me to die of dehydration?”

He rolled his eyes at you while a smile formed on his lips. “Don’t joke about that,” he kissed your forehead before getting out of bed.

You needed an excuse to get up and stretch. Okay, maybe you also needed some time to think about how to get Duncan to touch you again. To really touch you again. You were sure he’d be against it, but you wanted him. And you knew he wanted you, too. You were reminded of that when you ran your finger across your stomach where some of his precum had leaked onto. You knew he was holding back… All you needed was a way to make him let go – At least just a little bit.

You stood up, nervously playing with your necklace around your fingers, thinking about how to get him to give you what you wanted when his tall frame appeared in the room. You jumped up in surprise causing a small laugh to escape him.

“Somebody’s jumpy,” he remarked, making his way over to you with your water in his hand. You looked him over, not bothering to hide your sultry eyes or the way you licked your lips at the sight of his hard cock bobbing up and down.

Duncan cleared his throat, looking at you amusingly. Your cheeks grew warm at the smug look on his face; you turned around quickly, not wanting him to catch any hint of embarrassment on your end. A smirk played out on his lips as he reached over you to place your water on the night stand before wrapping his arms around your body.

“Something you wanted?” his voice was soft as he placed a gentle kiss on your shoulder.

“Mhm,” you teased while you reached behind you for his hard length. The mere sight of it had made your mouth water; your mind raced with excitement. Duncan bit down onto your neck and let out a deep growl at the sudden sensation. His teeth dug into your skin as a warning, but it only deepened your arousal. You moved your hand languidly across his length, letting him know that you simply wanted to please him, to give him what he so desired.

“Baby, we shouldn’t,” he spoke against your skin. He wanted nothing more than to let you continue touching him like this, but he didn’t want to risk the darker side of him coming out again.

“I want to, though,” you whispered, rolling your head back onto his shoulder. “I want you. And I trust you, and I love you. Please,” you breathed out, feeling his cock twitch in your hand.

Duncan let out a small sigh before speaking. “Okay,” his voice was quiet as he placed his lips gently to your neck. He released his grip on your waist only to take your hair in his hand and pull your head back, granting him more access to your neck. You continued stroking him as he worked his tongue over the bite marks on your skin.

“On the floor, baby,” he orders gently. You immediately do as he says, taunting him on all fours with your ass on full display for him. Seeing you like this, on your hands and knees, a whimpering mess, only excited the beast in him more. You turn around slowly to find him fixated on the sight of your helpless state, as his precum glistens and drips to the floor. He lowers himself on his knees, licking a long stripe up your back all the way to your neck where he bites down gently.

“I can smell how fertile you are, princess,” he emits a low growl as his hot breath fans over your skin. “It’s been driving me crazy all day,” his hand reaches down in between your thighs and dips into your folds, gathering your arousal on his fingers. He pulls back reluctantly, bringing his hand to his cock while rubbing your wetness on his tip, mixing your arousal around with his precum.

The squelching sounds of him getting himself off is too much for you and you turn around to make yourself face-to-face with his neglected cock. You look up at him through innocent eyes while leaning forward and pressing your lips to his tip, kissing him ever so gently. He growls excitedly and presses his cock to your face, smearing his precum over your lips and cheeks, marking you as his. His mate. His little plaything. Whatever he wishes for in this moment. You’re his.

He forces your lips open with the tip of his cock and he gently thrusts into you. You happily accept him into your mouth and moan at the salty taste of his precum on your tongue. He humps at your mouth a couple more times before you feel the base of his shaft start to swell. He had warned you about this before. Something that occasionally happens to his kind while aroused. You had never experienced it before, but you were more than excited to take his knot. Except, he instantly pulls out of you and pushes you back down onto the floor.

“You’re mine,” his voice is raspy and low while he pumps himself a few more times.

“Always, Duncan,” your voice is soft as he grabs your body and flips you over with ease, making sure you’re on all fours again. He grips onto your hair with one strong hand and pulls your head back lightly. He smears the rest of his precum along your ass as he searches for what he’s looking for. He finds the wet, warm opening he was desperate for and instantly thrusts into you, yanking on your hair as he bottoms out in you. There was no pain, only pleasure as he stretches you out completely.

Duncan made sure to control the beast in him as best he could, but still set his fast pace. His hips snapped into yours quickly as he chased his release, wanting nothing more than to spill his seed into you. It’s where his cum belonged – every single drop inside of you. He’d give it to you over and over again until you were full of him and only him.

Your moans steadily got louder and louder and in retaliation, he releases your head and leans down, holding your back close to his chest as he bites down on your neck again. His thrusts are deep as he growls in your ear, warning you to behave.

“Gonna drain every drop inside of you,” he promises. The swelling on his length you felt earlier starts to come back and the sensation combined with how primal he’s being nearly throws you into your own orgasm.

“This is what you’re made for,” he smirks to himself, “For carrying my babies.” His thrusts only grow more erratic as he chases his release. “You gonna give me some pups, babygirl?”

You’d never talked about children before and you weren’t sure what he was going on about, but you couldn’t help how turned on you were by his words. You nearly cried out just from the way he was talking to you. His knot hit against your opening with every thrust, massaging you as you start to come undone.

He was being relatively gentle with you before, but now as his need builds, he starts thrusting into you eagerly. His eyes darken and he growls deeply as he breeds you.

With one last thrust, he pulls you back into him and he forces his knot inside of you, connecting you both as he starts to fill you with his warm cum. Duncan lets out a strangled growl that slowly blends into loud groans, echoing off the walls. If you weren’t in an isolated house in the middle of the forest, you might have been afraid of the noise level. But with how vocal he was being and how amazing it felt having him release himself in you, your mind turned elsewhere.

Your body feels like it’s been set ablaze and your own orgasm hits you hard. Duncan holds you up as pleasure takes over your body and you feel every wave of bursting electricity pass over you. Your desperate moans fill his ears and it causes more cum to leak out of him. He leans down to kiss your neck as he paints your walls with a new steady stream of his seed; his quiet groans vibrate off of your skin. You’re positively full of him and you wouldn’t want it any other way.

He breathes heavily against your skin as you both try to steady yourselves. The swelling from his knot starts to go down, but he continues to stay deep inside of you. He finds pleasure from having you cradled under his body, his cum seated deeply in you. The animal in him wants to put life in you and wishes more than anything to impregnate you. But Duncan knows you two haven’t had that conversation yet and he knows you’re on the pill, making his efforts useless. His deepest desire that he was too afraid to talk to you about finally just revealed itself and he’s unsure of how to go about it now. He realizes there’s no use in keeping you two in this position anymore as you won’t bear his children this time, so he pulls out of you reluctantly.

You feel his cum drip down your legs and gather onto the floor in a puddle as he watches the sight with sad eyes. He thinks to himself, “What a waste.” But he’s immediately snapped out of his thoughts when he hears your small voice calling to him.

“Duncan,” you happily sigh, turning around and laying down in exhaustion. You think you’ve finally reached your limit for the day; you don’t think you could go for another second with him. You bask in the aftermath of your orgasm, exhausted and feeling sleep call your name.

“You did so good for me, baby,” he forgets his woes and places gentle kisses all over your face while praising you and worshipping your body with sweet and tender touches. He knew you had had enough and he wouldn’t dare push you any further. After all, he was still ashamed for how awful he had treated you earlier and now, for trying to breed you. Hell, he was ashamed for calling you over in the first place and making you deal with him in this state. He knew you deserved better – that you deserved someone who was sweet and gentle with you. And as hard as he tried, he was still an animal. He swore that he’d always protect you, but could he protect you from himself?

“Baby,” your voice broke his chain of thoughts again as he instantly found your eyes with his own cerulean ones. Your hand reached for his that stroked your cheek and you looked at him knowingly.

“Don’t do that,” you spoke with little energy, you already felt your bed calling for you. He’d have to carry you to the shower and bathe you himself before laying you in bed for the night; you had no energy to do it on your own. “I know that look and I know what’s going through your mind, stop it,” you lightly chuckle, squeezing his hand.

“Baby, you deserve better than what I can give you,” his face contorts with sadness as he thinks back to the events of the day. His words are painful to hear as you stare at him in disbelief.

“Duncan. Shepherd. Don’t you ever say that again,” your voice wavers as you fight back a small onset of tears. “Baby, that isn’t true. I’m yours and your mine. Always, remember?” your voice breaks as you try to calm him. He sighs while slowly nodding his head, comfort settling over him.

“I know,” his voice is as soft as you think you’d ever heard it. He looks so vulnerable in this moment, you’re afraid to even touch him out of fear of breaking the man in front of you. “Always…” he ponders the word. “Promise me you mean that?” His voice is raw with emotion as he begs, tears forming in his eyes, causing them to look like two perfect swirling oceans.

“Of course I promise,” you reassure him. “Now, take me to the shower, please,” you whine and laugh, sleepily.

Duncan sighs contentedly before leaning down to place a gentle kiss on your lips. “Alright, come on,” he joins in on your laughter as he helps you up.

“No, carry me,” you whine like a little child causing him to laugh a bit louder.

“You know, I’m tired, too-” He was cut off by the sound of a tree rustling around outside the window. Both of you stop dead in your tracks, Duncan with his brows furrowed and you with your eyes wide in surprise. You instinctively grab the bed sheet and cover yourself, while Duncan lets go of you and makes his way to the open window. Of all the times you had ever been here, you’d never heard that noise before. It wasn’t possible for somebody to just “stumble” onto this land. It just wasn’t.

“Duncan,” your voice was small and scared. There was always something eerie about this place and any strange sounds you heard now were not helping. You quickly found your place beside him again, realizing that that was the safest place to be. Both of you stared out into the dark of the night, looking for the cause of whatever made that curious noise.

“Baby, I don’t like this,” you whispered. He placed his arm around your waist, comforting you while he glared into the forest. And that’s when you saw it.

You were in disbelief. Shock and confusion overtook you and you couldn’t comprehend what you were looking at.

“Nick?” your voice spoke, mostly to yourself as you tried to comprehend the sight in front of you. Nick emerged from behind the trees and looked you dead in the eye before turning his gaze to Duncan and immediately running in the other direction. But what stuck out the most was the camera in his hands.

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Duncan’s chest breathing heavily. His face was contorted in a type of anger you had never seen before and wished to never be on the receiving end of. His jaw was tense and his lip curled in disgust.

Duncan was fast. Too fast. He reached for his sweatpants, pulling them on before slamming the door open, nearly knocking it off of its hinges. He was down the stairs before you could catch up to him, leaving a trail of destruction in his path.

He reached the front door just as you got downstairs. In a heated fury, he opened the front door letting in the cool air of the night before running outside into the darkness.

“Duncan!”

Part 5

Taglist: @mega-combusken, @lathraios, @sojournmichael, @1-800-bitchcraft, @ladynuwanda, @babypinkstyles94, @babydollcake, @lunarfawns, @langdonsdemon, @avesatanormalpeoplescareme, @fckinsupreme, @langdonsinferno, @michaelsapostle, @kleineshaschen, @whydonthumansfly, @junkful, @solitalangdon, @ultralightbeamsnstuff, @leaveittothewolves, @olobersy, @pumpkinspiceharry1, @femaleantichrist, @peachesandfern, @bloodsuckinvampire, @freak-war-hour, @trelaney, @hplotrfan, @kiiteiru, @chirpdesu, @avesxtxnas, @blakewaterxx, @breakingsupernaturlbad101

#duncan shepherd #duncan shepherd x reader #duncan shepherd fic #cody fern #sugar daddy!duncan #werewolf!duncan #house of cards #my writing

218 notes · View notes

bluerighthand · 6 years

Text

Growing Up A Shelby - Chapter 1: 1899

Chapters: one two three /?

Chapter Summary: A school day in 1899. Arthur and John are as crazy as ever, Tommy's tired and Polly needs a drink.

Notes: The biggest thank yous to the amazing @twistedrunes for giving the best advice and inspiring me to write again, and the wonderful @whentommymetalfie for all your lovely support and encouragement, including your TED talk style motivational messages (!!!), I’m blown away by you both & have never felt so welcomed. I hope you don’t mind me gifting this to you as a little thank you <3

Words: 6,480 AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15542805/chapters/36081438

Warnings: moderate description of violence/abuse from a parent to child, corporal punishment, bullying, underage drinking

It was a bright autumn morning in Watery Lane. The sun was shining through the thin grey haze of factory smoke, the air was crisp and cool, and all Polly wanted to do was relax in a hot bath with a glass of whiskey and a good book. Unfortunately, she lived in the Shelby household, which today meant she was rudely awoken by John, who burst into her bedroom at 7am demanding breakfast and his own gun.

Once she’d dragged herself out of bed and dressed, she prayed and collected Ada from the cot in the corner of her room, filling a bottle of milk. Ada babbled quietly, waving her tiny fists around and yawning widely as she awoke. Polly spent a few moments cooing over the chubby toddler, twirling her short curly hair, before the sound of breaking glass silenced John’s laughter from the boy’s room.

“It wasn’t me” said John, the second she entered, balancing Ada on her hip as she surveyed the broken lamp and the glass strewn across the floor. Arthur was looking equally guilty, but Tommy was still, somehow, fast asleep, curled up under his thin green blanket. She glared at the pair of them.

“We can’t afford another one” she said frankly, keeping her voice low so not to startle Tommy awake; it was rare he slept through the night. Too many ideas in that head of his. “You’ll have to sleep in the dark” she threatened, without any real conviction. John still hated sleeping in the dark, not that he’d ever admit it. Polly would undoubtedly lend them her lamp, until they could scrape enough pennies together. Their room was shadowed, not helped by the dark wallpaper, and crowded, with three beds stuffed into a place meant for one and little room for anything else.

“Sorry Aunt Pol” said Arthur, chewing his bottom lip. “I was just practising for tonight. I’ll get some work and pay for a new one” he promised, looking pointedly at John.

“Sorry” said John, pouting. Polly rolled her eyes, muttering about Arthur’s bloody boxing match, and hurried them to dress for school and fetch a broom for the glass before one of them put their foot in it. She sat on the edge of Tommy’s bed and stroked through his long hair softly, letting Ada crawl over to her brother.

“Tommy” she said, “time to wake up”. He shifted and lent towards her touch, mumbling under his breath. “Tommy” she repeated, shaking his shoulder, “time for school”. Tommy opened his eyes blearily, attempting to sit up, before groaning and flopping back down. Ada giggled and copied him, lying down on his bed. Polly ran her fingers lightly over Tommy’s side making him squeak and wriggle. She relented, laughing, and he sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Morning. Time to get up” Polly said, attempting to smooth down his ruffled hair.

“Tommy” said Ada, holding her arms out. Tommy pulled his sister into his lap and hugged her, jiggling her up and down to her delight. Polly smiled, before leaving the room and scooping up John, who was playing with a toy horse on the landing.

“Horse” he said, holding the toy up for her inspection.

“Yes. Let’s get you ready” she said, grabbing a clean shirt and trousers from the basket on landing.

An hour later, chaos had descended on the household. Arthur was drinking his father’s whiskey straight from the bottle, Ada had thrown up all over Polly’s shirt, Polly had been up and down the stairs more times than she could count and still hadn’t managed to get the boys dressed and ready for the day, made breakfast or shouted at her brother.

Arthur Senior had staggered into the house around 8am, still drunk from a night at the Garrison and a local brothel, reeking of substances and loudly proclaiming his love for a certain part of a woman’s anatomy. Polly got the ‘shout at brother’ task off the to-do list pretty quickly. Arthur was too inebriated to argue back, and lurched into his office, slamming the door behind him and promptly sliding to the floor. It was hopeless trying to organise anything in this house, and Polly silently despaired over her nephews’ future if they couldn’t even get themselves dressed and out the door at a reasonable hour. Arthur Jnr started cursing loudly, and Polly ran upstairs to find him clutching his foot, blood trickling down his big toe after stepping on the glass that he hadn’t cleaned up.

Her irritation grew further when she saw that Tommy was still in bed. She shook his shoulder hurriedly, Tommy barely stirring, before dragging Arthur downstairs and wrapping his toe in a strip of cloth. In the meantime, John had seemingly decided that Polly’s heels would make excellent school shoes, and was gripping onto the banisters determinately as he shuffled along. She picked him up, shoes dropping to the floor with a clunk, and sent him to collect their school bags from God knows where.

“Come on boys, out” she said, glancing at the clock. “You’re fifteen minutes late!”. It was no wonder.

“I’m ready!” defended Arthur, trying to stuff his arm into Tommy’s jacket, despite it not having fit him for years. Once Polly pointed this out, he found his own jacket and shrugged it on, grinning sheepishly.

“I’m ready too!” said John from where he was crouched on the floor, trying (and failing) to balance a dozing Ada on his toy horse, school bags scattered around his feet. Arthur confiscated his sister.

“Right, Arthur, John, out the door now. And where’s Tommy? Tommy!” Polly called, empty jacket dangling from her hand.

“Tommy was awake really late in the stables” said John in a singsong voice, running in a circle around the others. Arthur rounded on him, aiming a kick but missing spectacularly, probably due to the mouthfuls of whiskey he swigged earlier. Ada yawned and shifted in his arms, but thankfully remained quiet, Polly couldn’t take anymore racket right now.

Frustration set in as she thought about Tommy. Sleeping out in the pasture, under the stars and Curly’s supervision was one thing, but being out in the Small Heath streets late into the night was dangerous. Drunks, criminals, and worse roamed from pub to pub, women advertising their trade at every street corner. Sick covered the ground until it was washed away by driving rain, leaving Tommy soaked and shivering as it dripped through the wooden panels of the stable. She’d warned him countless times, yet he continued to risk his neck to spend hours with those bloody horses; resulting in deep purple under his eyes and a sore backside when she found out about it. She couldn’t live with herself if anything happened to him. Jane couldn’t take it.

“Don’t be a fucking rat” Arthur said, glaring at John, who had ratted him out on more times than his dignity could take.

“Arthur, language” Polly warned, snapping out of her thoughts and marching up the stairs, not stopping to wonder how John knew Tommy had been awake past his bedtime. The phone rang from the office, and Polly groaned, descending the stairs again to answer it; it wouldn’t do for her brother to ruin what little business they had with his drunkenness.

“Get your brother ready” she pointed a finger at Arthur as she passed.

“Tommy! Get down here you lazy bastard” Arthur called.

“Lazy bastard!” copied John.

“God’s sake” said Arthur. “What the bloody hell is taking him so long? And you’re not ready John, where are your books?” he inquired, peering into John’s empty bag.

“Oh no” said John, dashing off again through the house to look for them.

“And you’re not wearing a jacket!”.

Like Ada, Tommy had dozed off again during all the ruckus. However, unlike his little sister, Tommy had school. John ran into their room, jumping on his brother’s bed and shaking him awake, his retrieved school books digging into Tommy’s side. Tommy groaned and pushed him off, rolling over and pulling the blanket over his head. Sneaking out to the stables to brush and play with the horses at night had become a habit, one he usually got away with, but at 6am that morning Tommy had crept into the house to find John grinning at him from the top of the stairs. Tommy thought brotherly love and a boiled sweet would keep him quiet, but at this age, John was notorious for tattling, and he should have known better than to expect his brother to keep his mouth shut.

“Tommy!” John cried. “Let’s go!” he whined impatiently when Tommy remained still.

“Boys!” said Polly from the hallway. John shoved at Tommy once more before his thundering footsteps sounded down the creaky stairs. “Thomas! Up!” yelled Polly, catching John and trying to wrestle her wriggling nephew into a blazer. Tommy finally appeared at the top of the landing, hair curly and mussed from sleep, rubbing his eyes blearily. “You’re not even dressed” sighed Polly, raising her eyes to the heavens and releasing John, who promptly grabbed his horse toy and ran off again. Another glance at the clock sent Polly hurtling up the stairs, grabbing Tommy’s upper arm and handing him clean clothes from the basket on the landing. Tommy turned away to dress, but something caught Polly’s eye, and John’s earlier claims were proved correct.

“Let me see your feet” she demanded. Tommy looked around, guilt written across his face. She’d bathed all the children the night before, his feet should be clean, or at least as clean as you can get in Birmingham. “Thomas” she warned. He complied, lifting up his feet to show her the dirty soles. She smacked him three times, his arm stinging with pain.

“You’ve been in the stables at night again haven’t you” she said.

“I had to Aunt Pol” he mumbled, looking at her imploringly. “I had to stay with Percy, he was sad because he was footsore”. Polly shook her head.

“I’ve warned you one too many times about this young man”.

“I had to look after him” said Tommy, clutching his arm. “The others were scared of the shouting so I had to stay with them”.

“That shouting should scare you too” she said. Nothing seemed to phase Tommy when horses were involved. His stubbornness could be endearing at times, like when he insisted Polly have a cake on her birthday, or when he refused to let go of Arthur’s hand on his first day of school. But the dangers on the streets were too great to let this continue.

“Get to school” Polly said sternly. “We’ll talk about this later. Straight back here Thomas, no playing out” she called after him as he trudged back into his room to dress, eyes downcast.

“I’m hungry, Aunt Pol” said John, tugging at her sleeve as she returned downstairs.

“Oh God, breakfast” she remembered guiltily, hurrying John to the kitchen. It didn’t matter how late they were; she wouldn’t let the boys go hungry if there was a scrap of food in the house. Polly scanned the practically empty cupboards, picking out half a stale loaf of bread Arthur had swiped off a bakery shelf, and slicing it for the boys. Scraping the last remnants of butter out of the pot, she gave each slice a thin coating before calling for the others. Arthur and a slightly more awake Tommy appeared, taking their bread gratefully.

She watched Tommy carefully, making sure he swallowed his portion, and didn’t sneak it to his brothers or abandon it on the table. Tommy looked at the clock. Forty minutes since class started. Arthur watched his brother’s eyes flit from the wall and back again.

“We’re already late Tom, let’s not fucking bother” reasoned Arthur, earning a glare from Polly.

“Arthur, mind your language in front of your brothers” she chastised, spreading butter onto her own slice with more force than necessary. Tommy pinched his wrist.

“We already went this week anyway” said Arthur, around a mouthful of bread. Polly gave him a withering look.

“Well if you’re not going, you can go and take this to your mother” she said, pushing a plate, two pills and a glass of water into Arthur’s hands. “Don’t make a racket, she had a bad night”. Arthur sighed and went up to the top floor, knocking on the door softly. It was quieter up there, so Jane couldn’t hear Arthur Snr’s drunken shouting, or the boys playing a bit too loudly. She seemed to be sleeping when he entered.

“Mama” he said quietly. Jane opened her eyes a fraction, and smiled, beckoning him forwards. He went to her, and she cupped his face. Her hands were cold and thin, but Arthur leant into the touch and kissed Jane on the cheek before pulling away. “Here’s your breakfast” he said, pushing the plate into her hands. They trembled slightly, but she managed to grip the cracked porcelain, looking at Arthur gratefully. She glanced at the clock in the corner, brow furrowing slightly. “I’m going to school now Mama” he said quickly, tucking the covers a little tighter around her and glancing over at the fire to check it was still glowing. Jane watched her son, a smile spreading across her face.

“You’re a sweet boy” she whispered, taking a rattling breath. “Don’t get into trouble”.

“I won’t” Arthur promised. He sat with her a moment longer whilst she swallowed her pills, before waving goodbye and closing the door softly behind him. Returning downstairs, he found his brothers and Polly gathered by the door.

“Oh, we’re not actually bloody going are we?” groaned Arthur, annoyed at the prospect of being stuck in mathematics when he could be preparing for his match.

“Yes, you’re bloody going” said Polly. “Whose turn is it today?” she asked, holding out the ragged pair of black shoes the boys shared. They had originally been Arthur Snr’s, when he was a boy. Now the Shelby brothers passed them between them, alternating each day, the others going barefoot and risking a beating at school.

“Arthur’s!” said John. Polly held the shoes out to Arthur, who protested, as he did everyday it was his turn, but reluctantly accepted and pulled them on. They were getting a little tight, and he often worried about splitting them, but so far the tough leather had held out.

“You’re almost an hour late, boys” said Polly, eyebrows raised. John groaned, frustrated at the two beatings he likely had ahead of him.

“Gate closes soon, c’mon school boy” teased Arthur, nudging Tommy, who was hovering near the doorway.

“You better get up early tomorrow” Polly warned, kissing John and Arthur goodbye and fixing Tommy with a stern look, before giving in and ruffling his hair in farewell. “Go on, out”.

Tommy grabbed his older brother’s hand as John jumped onto Arthur’s back, and they set off, stones cutting into Tommy’s feet sharply as they hurried down Watery Lane. Arthur’s backpack was swinging from Tommy’s free hand, narrowly avoiding hitting workers as they weaved through the Small Heath streets. Despite their speed, they were hopelessly late, and the strike of the teacher’s cane against their knuckles was inevitable. With the exception perhaps of Arthur, who seemingly got away with anything. The menacing iron gates were closed as they approached.

“Ah, fuck it” panted Arthur, lowering John to the ground and leaning against the railings as his brothers stared up at the gate and surrounding walls. “Tommy you bloody idiot”. Tommy scowled at his brother, before turning his attention back to the gate. If only there was something to pick the padlock with…

“We could skip?” suggested John, but a look from Tommy said that wasn’t going to happen.

“Your teachers like you” he groaned. “If we skip, it won’t be you getting caned tomorrow”.

“Alright, fine, we won’t skip” said Arthur, recovering and gesturing to the wall. “We’ll go over the top”.

Despite Tommy’s doubts, and suggestions to find a suitable lock-picking-stick, Arthur determinately chucked their backpacks over the wall before giving him a leg up. Tommy tumbled down on the other side, knee grazing the concrete and throbbing sharply. He reached up and caught John, lowering his brother to the ground gently. Arthur managed, at a running jump not helped by his sore toe, to swing a leg over the towering wall, and Tommy helped him down as best he could, Arthur swearing loudly in the process. They separated and hurried off to class, Tommy and John rushing for the larger schoolhouse and Arthur running to the extension, where the older boys were taught trade and more advanced studies.

Tommy had a complex relationship with school. He was fascinated by many aspects of learning, particularly on the rare occasion that horses were involved, but his poor relationships with his teacher and many of his classmates turned his would be enthusiasm into another dreary task. He reached the doorway of his classroom, and stood on his tiptoes to peer inside.

Mr Roberts, the tall, strict professor, was at the front of the room, pointing emphatically at figures on the blackboard with his cane. His classmates were furiously scribbling numbers onto their slates, with the exception of Billy Kimber and his gang, who lounged in their desks safe in the knowledge that they were the favourites; Roberts’s son was in the group, and could therefore get away with murder. Or more accurately, get away with making Tommy’s life difficult. They were currently snickering and pointing at Danny Owen, who was sat on a stool wearing the dunce cap in the corner of the classroom.

Freddie Thorne also seemed to have lost concentration, and was staring at the empty desk beside him. Tommy swallowed, knocking thrice before pushing open the heavy door. All eyes locked upon him as he entered, apart from poor Danny, who was still facing the wall. Roberts adjusted his glasses, and fixed him with his beady glare, beckoning Tommy into the room.

“What time do you call this, Shelby?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“I’m sorry I’m late Sir, it won’t happen again” said Tommy, crossing his hands behind his back. There was a script you had to follow at times like these. Arthur had taught him the lines, and he’d taught John.

“This is the third time you’ve been late this fortnight” tutted Roberts, “the likelihood of another lapse in your punctuality is rather high, wouldn’t you say?”. Billy laughed loudly at this, but was silenced with a look. “And where are your shoes?” said Roberts, wrinkling his nose at Tommy’s bare dirty feet.

“My brother is wearing our shoes today, Sir” said Tommy, neck flushing red beneath his collar. Billy snickered again and whispered something to David, seated beside him. David scoffed back, and they both stretched out their legs, their shiny black shoes catching the light. The rest of their row grinned and nudged each other, and soon 6 pairs of immaculate shoes were shining up at Tommy.

Greta and Rosie whispered to each other from the back of the class, sending twin glares towards the boys. Some of the other poor kids, Eamonn and Donal, curled up their toes and crossed their bare feet behind their stools. Dried blood coated Eamonn’s knuckles.

“I see” Roberts replied coolly, raising an eyebrow. Tommy looked at the floor. His own pale feet were flecked with specks of mud and ash.

“Hands on the desk” Roberts commanded. Tommy reluctantly followed the instructions, and Roberts raised the cane high, bringing it swiftly down on Tommy’s fingers. Tommy screwed up his face, tears pricking behind his eyes, but didn’t cry out as he was struck, once, twice, three times. Five for the lateness, five for no shoes. The class fell silent as he took his punishment, and Tommy walked to his desk at the back of the classroom red faced, clutching his stinging knuckles. Billy smirked, and aimed a kick at his ankles as he passed, but Tommy dodged and slid into his chair.

Freddie gave him a sympathetic look as he sat down, but Tommy just took out his books quickly and stared at the blackboard, not wanting to give Mr Roberts another reason to punish him. He felt his eyelids drooping a few times, and pinched his wrist throughout the mathematics lesson in an attempt to stay awake. When that proved ineffective, he pressed on the sore spots on his hands. He hadn’t bled, not this time, but he twisted and pinched at the tender skin beneath his desk, until Freddie nudged him and nodded to his abandoned slate.

As a considerable chunk of the morning was lost, lunch rolled around relatively quickly. Despite the other shortcomings of the school, lunch time was definitely a high point. Rather than being stuffed into benches in the hall for the hour like in other schools, the pupils were allowed run around and eat outside in the yard. Although Polly said this was because the headmaster stank of gin and whiskey, and couldn’t organise a hall full of children if his life depended on it, it was a very good system in Tommy’s view. The cold breeze on his face shook him awake, and he leant on the doorframe of the schoolhouse, letting it wash over him as he waited for his brother.

The older boys soon emerged, and Tommy found Arthur, grabbing his hand and pulling him over to their usual spot in the corner of the yard. Freddie, Danny and some of Arthur’s friends were already waiting there, tucking into their lunches.

“How come you didn’t get beaten too?” asked Tommy, pointing at Arthur’s knuckles.

“Cause I’m Mrs Changretta’s favourite” he replied, flexing his clean hands, “let me see”. Tommy held out his own sore hands, and Arthur grimaced.

“It’s not so bad” said Tommy, stuffing them in his pockets. They’d had far worse.

They sat together on a low wall, and ate the small, tasteless lunch provided to poor children by the school. Afterwards, Arthur pulled out a napkin from his pocket, containing a slice of chocolate cake from Mrs Changretta. Hiding it from the rest of the group, he broke it in half and handed a piece to Tommy, who grinned at him, eating slowly to savour the taste. Arthur looked around for John, and found him sat on the concrete with some of the girls in his class, piling up sticks. He usually played with the boys, racing around the yard, more often than not contributing to his eternally scraped knees, but his friendship with little Lizzie was a good influence in calming him down. Arthur gave him the other half of the cake, ruffling his hair before returning to Tommy. His brother gave him a chocolatey smile and held out a quarter.

The rest of lunch passed quickly, with Arthur and his friends soon running off to wrestle out of sight of the windows, leaving Tommy to play with his friends. They ran around the yard, shooting pretend guns at each other and ducking behind other students for cover. Danny crept up and surprised Tommy, who mimed being hit in the chest and fell dramatically to the ground. He popped up a second later, laughing loudly and firing back at his attackers until their break was over.

The afternoon was far less exciting, with Roberts attempting to drill the history of the British Empire into their brains for the best part of two hours. Then there was an assembly, something about the bible, which Tommy took as an opportunity to catch up on some sleep. Polly wouldn’t approve, but she didn’t have to know.

His day was brightened however, when they filed into the main classroom again to find someone had drawn a rather realistic monkey, with big shiny shoes and features that looked suspiciously like Billy Kimber’s on the blackboard. Billy was, of course, livid, but thankfully having his poor handwriting and pictures mocked by the boy on a daily basis made Tommy immune to this outburst. He pondered over who could have drawn the picture, and risked a beating, but soon had his answer when Greta Jurossi grinned at him from the other side of the classroom, waggling her chalky fingers. He grinned back.

The end of the day came as a relief to Tommy, who hastily shoved his books into his bag and followed Freddie out the door to the yard. They went to the usual spot on the wall to wait for the others, the bustle of their classmates and car horns on the streets outside rousing Tommy slightly, where he’d begun to drift off again. Greta made to approach the wall, but stopped a few metres away, eyes flicking to Tommy’s with a somewhat shyer smile than usual. She looked though she wanted to say something, but was grabbed by her sister, a girl in Arthur’s class, and pulled away. Freddie nudged his elbow, smirking at him.

“She likes you” he sang in a drawn out voice. Tommy rolled his eyes and huffed, but was unable to hide a small grin. Greta was a nice girl, pretty too, he supposed, all dark hair with a bright smile. She was one of the only people to stand up for Tommy, not that he needed protecting of course. He could handle Billy perfectly fine on his own. John arrived next, Martha and Lizzie in tow. They each had small twigs, and were using them as swords, laughing happily.

Arthur finally appeared, boasting loudly about his boxing match, Irene and Erin hanging off his arms and listening to every word. Tommy stared at the scene, unimpressed, before distracting himself with his bag strap.

“Want to go swimming in the canal?” Freddie asked, swinging his bag onto his shoulders.

“I can’t” groaned Tommy, “Aunt Pol says I have to go straight home”.

“So?” said Freddie, “you said your dad was home at the moment, she’ll be busy with him”. Tommy considered it, and decided swimming was much more fun than the hiding he’d inevitably get on his return. Especially swimming with Freddie.

Sneaking off was easy. After saying goodbye to their friends, John and Arthur soon became occupied stealing apples and bread from the market stall in the next road, and then in sprinting away from the beefy owner who noticed them. Tommy and Freddie ran the other way, and soon found themselves at the canal, Tommy feeling slightly guilty for both missing Arthur’s match and disobeying Polly. They quickly stripped down to their underwear, clothes lying piled on the banks as they took a running jump into the river. It was cold, but not unbearable, and Freddie’s wide smile made Tommy feel warm inside.

“Race you!” Freddie yelled, and soon the splashes of water and shouts of laughter filled the air. They swam for a while longer, before clambering out and dressing, shaking their heads and sending droplets flying. Tommy’s good mood was not to last, however. As they turned the corner to Watery Lane, they saw Polly standing at the door, her arms folded and her expression furious. How she always seemed to know he was coming was a complete mystery.

“Thomas Michael Shelby you better get inside this house before I count to three” she called, holding up three fingers in warning. Tommy glanced at Freddie in farewell, grimacing, before running down the street, barely reaching the door in time. Polly grabbed him by the back of his collar and dragged him into the house. John and Ada were playing with blocks in the hallway, and Polly cursed as she tripped, ushering them to the side. She really needed a drink now; too many children and adults driving her crazy for one day.

“What did I tell you?” she demanded, sitting at the table as Tommy shifted uncomfortably. “Hmm? Why does no one ever listen in this house?”. She took in his wet hair and damp clothing. “Went swimming, did you?”.

“Just quickly” he said. “It’s almost too cold to go now”. At her exhausted expression and silence, he bit his lip. “I’m sorry Aunt Pol”. She sighed, catching sight of Tommy’s red and bruised knuckles, peeking out from under Arthur’s old shirt. Taking his hand, she grabbed a towel and wet it slightly, adding some ointment from an ancient Compton’s Chemist pot and wrapping the material around his sore skin.

“Better?” she asked.

“Better” he nodded.

“We still need to talk about being out at night” she said, raising her eyebrows. Tommy was about to reply, when the front door slammed and Arthur ran into the kitchen, wearing only his boxing shorts, sweat and blood dripping down his chest.

“I fucking won!” he yelled.

“Jesus Christ, Arthur” said Polly, gaping at him. “What happened?”.

“Oh this?” Arthur grinned proudly down at his bloody chest. “It’s not mine”. Polly deflated slightly in relief, but her worried expression quickly returned.

“Is the other boy okay?” she asked warily. Arthur Snr was a bad influence in the boxing ring, often leaving his opponents horribly injured as the boys watched from the side lines. Her nephew unfortunately seemed to be following in his footsteps.

“He’s alright” said Arthur, pulling up a chair and nudging Tommy’s arm. “Where’d you disappear to eh? I wanted you there. I kicked his fucking arse!”. Arthur Snr entered the room, also sweaty but considerably more clothed than Arthur, cutting off Tommy’s reply. Polly raised an eyebrow.

“Sobered up then?” she asked, rising and fetching the last few slices of bread from the cupboard.

“There he is!” Arthur Snr cried, pointing to Arthur and ignoring Polly. “Junior champion”. Arthur laughed and threw his arms up in victory. “Where were you Tom? Need to get you in the ring again, son”. Polly wrinkled her nose, wishing Arthur had washed and dressed at the ring rather than drip blood all over the floor.

“Tommy’s got better things to do with his time” she said brusquely, motioning for Tommy to help prepare dinner. Dinner as it was, anyway; she’d have to send someone to the shop tomorrow. She only had sixpence in her purse for the rest of the week, but Arthur had been caught stealing far too often, many shopkeepers barring him from their stores. Tommy clearly couldn’t be trusted alone after the top hat and coconut incident, which likely left another responsibility up to her. It would be damn near impossible to take any night school accountancy classes at this rate. She’d have to wait until Arthur was older, old enough to look after his siblings without breaking anything or losing someone…a very long time.

“Like what?” demanded Arthur Snr, grabbing Tommy’s shoulder roughly as he attempted to pass. “He’s a Shelby. Every Shelby should be born fighting”. Tommy shrugged off his father’s hand, eyes narrowing. Arthur’s face turned stony, and he set his glass down firmly on the table, pouring another drink.

“He likes the horses better, eh Tom?” said Arthur Jnr, in an attempt to diffuse the suddenly growing tension in the room.

Polly watched the scene unfold from the counter nervously, whilst also losing any hope that her brother could watch the little ones whilst she was at night school. God forbid the man took an interest in his own children beyond boxing, horse riding and alcohol. If only Jane was well again. Although the recovery from Ada’s birth wasn’t quite as painful and dangerous as it had been after Tommy’s, she was still very weak, and had hardly been out of bed two years later.

Polly had to be there for the children, but she was also nineteen, and had her own life to lead now. Become an accountant, get a job at a big firm, make enough to support all the kids and buy them shoes and toys. Maybe even meet someone, settle down and have children of her own one day. Her heart clenched a little as she thought of a time three years ago, when all that seemed possible. Easy, even.

“I like the horses better” Tommy repeated.

“Is that why all the new supplies were gone this morning?” his father questioned, staring at Tommy, who reddened slightly.

“Percy was footso-”. Arthur cut him off again.

“You think I’ve got the money to be buying new bales of hay every time you overfeed them?” he said, tipping back his glass and swallowing the last of his drink.

“I think you’ve got enough to buy crates of whiskey every week” said Tommy. The crack across his face was swift and hard. Tommy stumbled backwards with a cry, falling to the floor and clutching his cheek. The pain set in, and he bit down hard on his tongue. A few tears started down his cheeks, but he wiped them away and stood again, using the counter for support as his knees shook.

Silence.

Polly pulled her hands away from her mouth, glancing at her brother as she rushed to Tommy. Arthur’s moods changed quickly these days. He wasn’t one to cross at the best of times, but with Jane being ill, and a failing business, along with his excess use of substances and alcohol, he was even more intemperate than usual. When he couldn’t think of a retort to one of Tommy’s comments, Arthur would lash out. It seemed the only power he had over his son was physical. Polly rubbed Tommy’s back soothingly as she stared at a vein pulsing in Arthur’s forehead. He stood, rubbing the back of his head and pinching his eyes shut before looking down at Tommy again.

“Sounds like you need a good hiding, eh?”. Tommy shook his head quickly, throat bobbing as he swallowed, his mouth dry. That should be the end of it.

“You don’t think a man can buy a drink with his own money?” said Arthur, rolling up his sleeves. “Messing about with the horses again, wasting all my fucking polish and hay? I’ve told you before, Thomas, you’re to leave them alone and get some fucking sleep”. Tommy stared straight back at his father defiantly, but he fiddled with his shirt sleeves to hide the fact that his hands were shaking. He hit harder when he was drunk.

“Arthur-” Polly started, stepping in front of Tommy.

“Don’t lecture me woman” he spat, grabbing Tommy by the wrist and pulling him into his office, the lock clicking behind him. Arthur Jnr was silent, the earlier happiness at winning his match long faded from his face. John had entered the kitchen at all the noise, Ada toddling in behind him.

“No, upstairs you two” said Polly, as Arthur’s shouting started from behind the door.

“What’s going on?” asked John, Polly already ushering him away. Ada teetered where she stood and sat down abruptly.

“Arfur!” she cried, stretching out her chubby hands for her brother. Arthur made to pick her up, but remembered the blood covering him, dropping his hands and standing numbly in the kitchen. He loved his dad, which was half the trouble. He shouldn’t feel an urge to defend a drunken man, who abandoned his mother in her sickness and left his siblings crying. Ada’s lip wobbled.

Polly hurried back to the office and banged on the door, cursing her brother. A moment later, Arthur staggered out of his office, grabbed an unopened bottle of whiskey from the counter and headed out onto the street. The sky had darkened, and there were already a group of women gathered under the dim lamppost at the end of the lane. Arthur Jnr watched his father go, guilty relief flooding him.

Tommy lay slumped against the wall, one arm covering his head and the other lying limp in his lap. Arthur could see a ring of red around his wrist. Polly murmured quietly to Tommy, gently pulling him into her arms and standing up, rocking back and forth. Arthur reached out cautiously and gripped the back of Tommy’s neck comfortingly, his shaved hair prickling his palm.

“Shh, I know it hurts” whispered Polly. Tommy’s hand gripped her blouse tighter. They stayed that way for a while, until Tommy’s quiet sobs faded to nothing, and John and Ada poked their heads around the kitchen door, expressions worrisome. Polly waved them over, and they came quickly, wanting to join in the cuddle.

“You stink, Arthur!” giggled John, even as he wrapped his arms around him. Arthur Snr getting angry was always frightening to the kids, especially when one of them was on the receiving end.

“Oi” said Arthur, squeezing him back, “I smell as fresh as the roses”. Tommy emerged from where he was hidden in Polly’s shoulder, wiping his eyes and laughing softly. His cheeks were red, and there was a trickle of blood running down his forehead, but he was smiling. Ada was hanging off his foot, and attempted to clamber up to him, Polly groaning under the weight of two kids.

She indulged them for a moment, Ada leaning on Tommy’s shoulder, before agreeing with John and sending Arthur to clean up the dried blood. Soon, they all washed, with John’s typical commentary of just how much he hated bath time, and dressed in their nightclothes; Arthur’s hand downs in a varying sizes.

Afterwards, they moved upstairs, to Jane’s room, and crowded on the bed together, Polly chopping up the apples Arthur had stolen earlier to snack on in place of lard. Jane’s condition had somewhat improved throughout the day, and she hugged Tommy and John close when they snuggled into her sides. She hated that her condition stopped her from being the mother she wanted to be. Her boys and sweet Ada were the most precious things in the world to her.

Polly was too young, and too full of potential to put her life on hold to raise her brother’s children. Her relationship with her husband was also in complete tatters. She stroked her thumb across the thin cut in Tommy’s forehead, rage coiling within her. If she couldn’t even protect her children from their father’s temper, what kind of mother was she?

Tommy shifted against her to grab a piece of apple, drawing her from her thoughts and back to her family. Arthur was bouncing Ada on his knee, and she let out a happy squeal of laughter every time she rose into the air, sending the others into fits of giggles. Tommy and John wanted to hear all about Arthur’s victory, which led to a detailed re-enactment involving his sore toe and many tangents.

In a moment of calm, Polly caught Jane’s eye, smiling reassuringly, letting her know it was okay. Though her family drove Polly completely and utterly mad, particularly when they couldn’t leave the house at a reasonable hour, she’d never be without them.

#it's my first time posting a fic woo!#if one person likes this i'll be over the moon #probably mostly written at 3am so if i've accidentally misspelled john's name as 'leave him alone he deserved better' pls let me know #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #i'm so nervous ahh #tw: child abuse #guas au #growing up a shelby #my writing

56 notes · View notes

sakurablossomcreamlatte · 7 years

Text

family business

HAPPY BIRTHDAY to @mandyquesadilla, author of THE OG OsoToto fic Table Manners, inspiration to so many, cosplay queen and general wonderful person

this is a oneshot set about a year after the events of Table Manners, if you want to consider it futureverse?

title: Family Business

words: 5,419

characters/ships: Osomatsu/Totoko, mainly centred around Osomatsu - other brothers, Totoko’s Dad, Matsuyo and Chibita also appear

summary: Osomatsu tries to grow up.

“Totoko-chaaaan, you smell like fish…”

Totoko’s sweet smile turned to a scowl as she shoved Osomatsu, who had (in his own opinion, pretty damn seductively) draped himself over the side of the counter to admire her as she worked. Barely swayed by the movement, Osomatsu simply rolled with it, coming to rest his head on his folded arms as he gazed up at her with the dopey grin that had become more or less a permanent fixture on his face ever since they’d started dating. “Aw, c’mon, I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

“I don’t really give a shit if you like it or not, Osomatsu-kun. It’s the family business.”

As Totoko crossed back to the other side of the serving area, Osomatsu simply continued to grin, enjoying the view as his girlfriend - girlfriend!!! - bent down and reached into the crate at her feet before withdrawing what had to be the largest salmon he’d ever seen in his life. The fish’s silver skin was dull beneath the dimmer shadows of the ceiling as Totoko hoisted it aloft, before slapping it onto the counter with a thwack that made the entire glass display case shake. Reaching for the filleting knife, she cast a glance towards him, just the barest hint of a come-hither smile before she returned to her work. It went without saying that there was something really quite terrifying about the way she twirled the knife once in his direction before bringing it down hard, driving it through the salmon’s flesh…

….and yet it somehow also managed to be so utterly, dangerously sexy that it made Osomatsu want to melt into a puddle on the shop floor.

I am the luckiest fucking bastard on this entire planet.

It had been just over a year since he’d made that frantic, half-drunken stumble into a run from Chibita’s cart, falling over himself in breathless exhilaration to be greeted by a confused Totoko at the Yowais’ front door before being pulled into the house to finally, finally confess in a swirl of desperation and impulse and self-doubt but, probably most importantly, realisation.

Also, he’d still lost his virginity that night, so score one for me.

Aside from this beautiful, glorious development that made Osomatsu wake up and thank the heavens every single day, things hadn’t changed that much. His family were pretty much the same, his mom’s hair still grey as she pottered around cleaning and cooking and washing and doing all the other mom stuff, and his dad still slogging away in his office from beneath piles of paperwork.

Karamatsu was still as much of a bedazzled embarrassment as ever, with the exception of beginning a night school course - apparently with the aim of “laying the first paving stones, laced with duty, on the path of my future.” But all things considered, he’d actually made a decent commitment, getting a part-time job as a waiter to help their parents offset the cost and making a reasonably convincing show of studying in his free time instead of just lying around strumming his guitar and staring at his mirror.

Not that he no longer did either of those things, in fairness. They were still receiving noise complaints from the café next door at least once a week.

Todomatsu had somehow managed to reclaim his barista job - Akatsuka-sensei only knew what sort of crap he’d spun to the new manager (the former one had requested a transfer, apparently), and it brought a chill of dry ice to Osomatsu’s heart to even try and imagine. At least this time, the youngest had been blunt and direct with them, even allocating them each a once-weekly visit slot - on the condition that, “you don’t ever try and embarrass me again, or I’m showing your porn collection to Mom - and then burning it afterwards.”

Jyushimatsu had got himself a volunteer gig as an assistant coach for the kids’ team at the local baseball club. He didn’t swim in the river as often any more, and having actual work seemed to burn off some of his seemingly boundless energy - but on practice days, the children’s yells of ‘MUSCLE MUSCLE, HUSTLE HUSTLE!’ could still be heard throughout the entire neighbourhood.

With some encouragement, Ichimatsu had worked up the nerve to apply for a job at one of the newer cat cafés in the neighbourhood. Customer service wasn’t his thing, and he’d mostly stuttered and fumbled his way through the interview - but he’d mentioned how the cats seemingly gravitated towards him as he stammered his answers to the owner’s questions, rubbing against his legs and crawling into his lap, headbutting against his hands, and that was apparently enough for him to get the job. He mostly stayed away from the crowds, taking care of the cats instead, but Osomatsu couldn’t deny that Ichimatsu’s confidence had definitely grown - and the realisation was one that swelled an odd sense of warm pride in his chest.

The only one now working full-time was Choromatsu. Since his new job was only about a thirty-minute commute on the metro, he’d remained living at home “until I can get together the deposit and other stuff for my own place.” Osomatsu had attempted to brace himself for the tide of bitterness and hurt and resentment that was sure to follow, sure to rise as it had before, ready to wreak the same destruction inside his heart... except, with Choromatsu still coming in the door every evening - telling some dumb story about stupid shit his coworkers had done before getting distracted by an argument over who’d eaten the last hanbaagu - it had never really come, instead remaining at a cautious ebb in the sands of Osomatsu’s mind. His second younger brother maybe had slightly darker shadows under his eyes now, and he slept longer on the weekends - but he was still Choromatsu, at least, and Osomatsu knew he had to try and quash the instinctive fears that rose to the front of his mind with the belief that Choromatsu was wise enough to know himself.

As for Osomatsu himself… life was still good. Pachinko, manga, porn, and beer - did a man need anything else? Hell, he didn’t even have as much need for the porn now, since he was actually dating a real life girl with real, soft, squishy boobs - and not just any girl, but Totoko Yowai. The girl who had landed an oil magnate, been lavished in gold and jewels and lived like a princess, travelled and seen and done things Osomatsu could only ever dream of - she’d made the choice to come back to the little suburb of Tokyo that she called her home, and she’d chosen him. A lazy fucker with a bowl cut, a beer belly and a gambling habit, and yet he was the guy that she called hers.

Osomatsu didn’t know what he’d ever done that was worthy of the universe bestowing a blessing of this magnitude upon him, but hell if he wasn’t going to take it. When there was someone who gazed at him with eyes that were the rich chocolate brown of the sweetest, smoothest coffee he could ever hope to taste, whispered ‘Osomatsu-kun~’ in his ear with words spun from gossamer as her breath ghosted across his neck, delicate fingers dancing trails over his chest and shoulders that pooled warm heat in his belly and groin and fired sparks through his heart and mind and soul and everything in between…

...yeah, it made life pretty fucking sweet.

A loud thunk of knife hitting counter, slicing through flesh, and the sound of Totoko’s voice as the door that connected the shop to the Yowai house opened - the sounds happened all at once, and Osomatsu was jolted from his dreamy girlfriend-induced reverie, lifting his head from where it had been propped up by his arm. “Oh - hi, Daddy.”

“Otsukaresama, Totoko,” Hideaki Yowai greeted his daughter with a nod and a smile, eyes briefly surveying the shop before landing on Osomatsu - and Osomatsu instinctively straightened up, pulling himself up to his full one hundred and seventy centimetres of height as he quickly bowed in his girlfriend’s father’s direction.

“Um, hello, Yowai-san.”

“Osomatsu, I already said that Hideaki’s fine,” Yowai-san told him with a resignation to his tone that still wasn’t unkind. “Although, actually, I’m glad you’re here - for once. There was something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Osomatsu frowned, confusion pulling at his brow. Instinctively, he glanced towards Totoko - and she simply shrugged, rolled her eyes, and retrieved the knife from the counter to return to her filleting and slicing. Osomatsu glanced back towards Yowai-san - no, Hideaki-san - who nodded and wagged the fingers of his left hand in a beckoning gesture.

Confusion and uncertainty still stiffening and slowing his movements somewhat, Osomatsu followed Hideaki-san through to the small office, thoughts still racing through his mind as the older man gestured for him to take a seat on the other side of the desk. Why’s he need to talk to me…? Did Totoko-chan tell him about what we did last - nah, she would have punched me if she wasn’t into it… shit, I hope he doesn’t want me to break up with her - but we’ve been together for like, a year... wait, fuck, is this where I’m suppposed to ask him if I can marry her?!

And Osomatsu really had to wonder if Hideaki-san was laid-back enough to be happy to let his precious daughter marry a guy who had urinated in one of their house plants.

Hideaki-san cleared his throat, and at the ‘ahem’ sound Osomatsu immediately jolted to attention. “So, um, Yowa - I mean, Hideaki-san, about the plant…”

“Eh?” Hideaki-san frowned, confusion flickering across his features. “What plant?”

“Oh, uh - sorry, never mind.” Shit, that was a close call. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“Oh, right,” Hideaki-san briefly reshuffled some papers, pushing them aside to corners of the desk and absently neatening things - almost as if to occupy his hands, and the only reason Osomatsu could even make such an unusually educated guess was the fact that he’d recognised it as a nervous habit of Choromatsu’s. “Well, I wanted to ask you. You’re still unemployed, aren’t you?”

“Ah…” Osomatsu rubbed at the back of his neck with an awkward chuckle. “Um, I mean, I’m looking for work…” no you aren’t, you fucking liar! he could practically hear Choromatsu screeching in the back of his mind, “but… nothing’s come up yet. I wanna find the right thing, you know?”

“Ah, I see.” Papers finally neatened, Hideaki-san’s hands were now unoccupied, and he stared down at them for a few seconds before placing them awkwardly on the desk. “Well, actually. I was wondering… if you’d be interested in working part-time with us. Here, I mean.”

Feet already instinctively braced against the floor to make a run for it, Osomatsu paused, muscles slowly untensing as his mind processed Hideaki-san’s words. His eyes widened as the puzzle pieces unscrambled and clicked together in his head. “Wait. You… you want me to work for you?”

Looking slightly more relieved now that the proposition was out on the table, Hideaki-san sat back a little in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “Well, I was thinking about it, and it didn’t strike me as the worst idea I’ve ever had. You’re dating my daughter now, and even if you’re not the kind of person I would have really liked Totoko to end up choosing,” and here, Osomatsu winced amid the arrow that stuck itself in his heart, “she’s more than capable of handling herself, and it seems like you make her happy.”

Osomatsu couldn’t stop the dreamy smile that spread over his face at the mention of Totoko’s name, the now-familiar sensation of her soft rosebud lips against his, or the way she said his name or showed him her rare, true smile, or the feel of how perfectly her slim dancer’s body fit against his, like a puzzle piece he hadn’t even realised was missing - and how he knew that now he had that piece, had her, he’d never be able to let her go. “I’d do anything for Totoko-chan, sir.”

“I’m not offering you her hand in marriage, son,” Hideaki-san said bluntly, and Osomatsu was abruptly brought back down to earth so hard he could practically feel his ass slamming into the ground. “If I’m being honest, I really don’t approve of your gambling habit, and I still think Totoko could do better.” Noticing the way Osomatsu’s face fell momentarily, he added, “Your mother does talk to my wife, you know. Anyway,” he raised his hands, “I figured if you spent more time working, there’d be less time for you to spend at the pachinko parlour and sitting on your ass reading manga. So, how about it?”

Osomatsu bit his lip, gaze trailing down to the floor as he considered. Working was tough - everyone knew that, and if he didn’t have to, why should he? If there were no forces of the universe dictating that he had to be slaving away every day - why on earth should he put himself through that?

But… it was a chance to spend more time with Totoko, be around her. Maybe if he could make some money, he could buy her the presents she deserved rather than cheap gacha toys and take her out to nicer places more often, instead of spending several weeks’ allowance on treating her to one meal out in a restaurant that didn’t have a ticket system.

Also, since the smell of fish was one he’d come to associate with her…. Osomatsu realised, he didn’t really mind if that was how he ended up smelling all the time. Not if he could just sniff his sleeve and be reminded of the way her head fit so perfectly in the crook of his neck.

Especially not if it was another way to piss Todomatsu and Choromatsu off.

With a grin and a nod, Osomatsu drew in a breath, squared his shoulders, and rose from his seat.

“Yo- I mean, Hideaki-san…”

Hideaki-san looked up expectantly, and as he took in the expression on Osomatsu’s face, the corner of his mouth quirked into a wry smile.

Drawing himself up to his full height, Osomatsu dropped into the most respectful bow he could muster.

“Yoroshiku onegaishimasu!”

---

“Woah, Totoko-chan’s dad offered you a job?” Todomatsu finally pulled his gaze away from the screen of his phone to stare up at Osomatsu incredulously. “Actually?”

“Totty,” Osomatsu clutched at his chest, letting his voice slide into a whine of betrayal. “Do you think I’d make something like that up?”

“It’s not like you haven’t lied before,” Ichimatsu muttered, lifting the last clump of rice to his mouth with his chopsticks.

“Home run for Osomatsu-nii-san!” Jyushimatsu cheered from beside him, flinging his arms up triumphantly and almost sending Choromatsu’s bowl of rice flying. The third brother - home before nine, for once, still in his dress shirt and suit trousers and currently catching up to a slightly belated dinner with the rest of them - simply scowled, cupping a possessive hand around the green bowl and pulling it closer to himself as he lifted another piece of teriyaki chicken to his lips.

“Heh,” Karamatsu leaned over, slinging an arm around Osomatsu’s shoulders. “Bringing the fresh fruit of the sea to the good people of Akatsuka, the salt of the earth at his fair princess’s side.” Despite the crack that was probably one of his ribs, Osomatsu couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his lips at Karamatsu’s apparent sincerity. “I’m proud of you, brother!”

“See, at least Karamatsu’s supportive,” Osomatsu slung his own arm around Karamatsu’s shoulders in turn, before casting an accusatory look in Choromatsu’s direction - the only one who hadn’t yet spoken, keeping his eyes fixed on his food as he chewed slowly. “Oi, Choromatsu, don’t you have anything to say about this?”

Choromatsu didn’t even lift his eyes from his plate. “Congratulations, you’re going to work in a fishmonger’s. Good for you, Osomatsu-nii-san.”

His reply, completely devoid of all enthusiasm, instantly soured the atmosphere and increased its weight as all five of them stared at him.

Finding his voice, a flare of defensiveness sparked in Osomatsu’s chest with it. “Oi, what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Setting his bowl down, Choromatsu swallowed his last mouthful of rice and glanced up to level a glare at Osomatsu. His eyes were ringed in shadow, and something else that looked - almost bitter. “Exactly what I said. Good for you, Osomatsu-nii-san.”

Osomatsu frowned. “C’mon, Choromatsu, I know I’m not always reliable, but I’m actually gonna do my best with this. I really want to make Totoko-chan happy, you know?”

The chuckle that erupted from Choromatsu’s throat was bitter and devoid of all mirth. “I just think it’s funny how I was actually busting my ass as her manager when she was doing the idol thing, and her parents never even thanked me once - and then you sleep with her, and suddenly you guys are going out and you’re joining the family business?” He gestured with his chopsticks, and his expression darkened. “I mean, good for you on finally getting a job, but some of us are out there working all hours, so sorry if I’m not exactly rolling out the red carpet.”

There was something about the ‘sleep with her’ comment that sparked a deeper feeling in the pit of Osomatsu’s stomach - one threateningly close to anger. “Oi, it wasn’t like that. And you can talk shit to me if you want, but don’t talk about Totoko-chan that way.”

“Right, right, sorry. Confessed your love.” Choromatsu’s voice was laden with sarcasm - and while the Osomatsu of yesteryear would have taken the bait, the Osomatsu of this year was actually feeling satisfied with one aspect of his life - namely, the love of it, and he’d actually got somewhere with her family today, been offered a chance to prove himself…

...and he wasn’t going to let Choromatsu being a salty little bitch bring him down.

“Whatever.” Osomatsu pulled himself upright, climbing to his feet as he fished in the pocket of his hoodie for his cigarettes and lighter. “I’m going for a cigarette.” He began to make his way towards the door, feeling like he was practically swimming through the atmosphere for some reason. “There’s some annin tofu in the fridge if you wanna sweeten up your attitude, Fappymatsu-kun.”

A clatter of chopsticks against bowl -

“I fucking told you not to call me that, you asshole!”

- and then Osomatsu was being tackled from behind, slammed to the ground by sixty-two kilograms of shrieking, incandescent rage.

“Ow, fucking hell, it was just a joke!” Osomatsu twisted, squirmed, attempted to dodge the flying fists of his second younger brother. He thought he heard Karamatsu in the background - “shouldn’t we stop them?” and Ichimatsu - “nah, let ‘em fight it out.”

“Fuck’s sake, Choromatsu -” he reached up, grabbed a wrist and twisted his head to lock eyes with the seething pair above him. “The fuck is your problem?!”

“My problem is that I fucking tried and I was never good enough and then suddenly you were!” Choromatsu screeched, and for a second, a deathly silence fell over the room in the wake of the blunt admission - but on instinct, Osomatsu took advantage of the momentary pause to push back, up, and suddenly Choromatsu was off him, on the floor and climbing to his feet, and Osomatsu quickly did the same - okay, he was a little winded, but nothing he wasn’t used to from roughhousing.

Across from him, Choromatsu’s lips twisted into a snarl, and for a split second Osomatsu could see the sheer fury etched into in his younger brother’s face as he lunged forwards again. Osomatsu feinted to the left, ducked, pushed forward to grab Choromatsu by the waist and lift him off his feet -

“W-w-wait, not the spleen not the spleen not the fucking spleen!”

“Fuck!” Immediately overtaken by panic, Osomatsu dropped his brother, and Choromatsu fell the short distance to crash to the floor. “Shit, sorry, buddy, I -”

He was cut off by Choromatsu bringing his left foot up, hard, and directly into his crotch.

As he crashed to the floor, for a moment, all Osomatsu could see was stars.

“Well, sensei, how is it?” Matsuyo inquired anxiously, as Osomatsu groaned and adjusted the ice pack in his lap. The pain had dulled a little, mainly thanks to the numbing effect of the ice, although the taxi trip over had been a small eternity of hell he never wished to experience again.

“It’s… really not that bad,” the doctor replied, expression nonplussed as he surveyed the sorry heap of Matsuno first-born lying on the bed in front of him. “Honestly, I can’t really suggest anything other than ice and ibuprofen. You probably could have just taken care of it at home.”

Matsuyo’s expression instantly darkened as she folded her arms and levelled a glare at the man.

“Listen, you, I have six sons, and he’s the only one who’s actually managed to convince someone to date him. I am not taking any chances when it comes to the possibility of my future grandchildren.”

“A-ah, right,” the doctor backtracked, tucking his clipboard under his arm with a glance in Osomatsu’s direction. “W-well, Matsuno-san, I don’t think you need to be admitted. I’ll notify the nurses and you can probably leave within the next half an hour.”

“Thanks,” Osomatsu grunted, keeping the ice pack pressed firmly to his lap as he shifted his position on the reclined mattress slightly. With a bow and a muttered greeting, the doctor excused himself, and Matsuyo dropped down onto the edge of the bed with a sigh - and Osomatsu couldn’t stop another pained moan as the dip in the mattress sent a fresh wave of agony coursing through his lower half.

“Honestly, Osomatsu,” Matsuyo brought her hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose between her thumb and finger. “You should really know better than to goad your brother into a fight like that.”

“All I did was call him the same nickname we’ve been calling him for like, two years,” Osomatsu whined in protest, shifting his head on the pillow in an attempt to meet her gaze. “I’ve been going out with Totoko-chan for, like, a year. Why’s he getting so salty about it now all of a sudden?”

“You know how Choromatsu is,” his mom sighed. “He’s working a lot, and he’s stressed. Besides…” she hesitated, trailing off for a second as her hand found its way to Osomatsu’s denim-clad ankle, squeezing gently. “You know how you were all crazy about Totoko-chan. I can imagine he’s feeling bitter, and even if he knows it’s not right, he probably can’t stop himself from feeling that way. It’s instinct.” She lifted her head, eyes meeting his and searching for understanding in his gaze. “Just… give him some time, alright? And try not to hold it against him. I’m sure he feels bad about what happened, too.”

As if on cue, Karamatsu poked his head through the curtain, strong brows pulled together in a mixture of curiosity and concern. “Mom, Osomatsu. Everything okay in here?” He paused, fingers lingering around the edge of the curtain. “I saw the doctor come out…”

Osomatsu wearily raised a hand in greeting, and Matsuyo gave his ankle one final squeeze before rising from the bed. “Everything’s fine. We can probably leave soon.”

“Ah, that’s good,” Karamatsu acquiesced, before turning his attention to Osomatsu. “How are you feeling, brother?”

“Osomatsu Jr’s suffering,” Osomatsu told him plainly, and Karamatsu bowed his head in sympathy. Being kicked in the balls was a pain no man should have to live through, and yet Karamatsu could sympathise all too well.

Then again, on most of those occasions he’d probably deserved it.

“Is Choromatsu still…” Matsuyo trailed off, a faint hint of questioning underlying her tone. Karamatsu’s response was to simply push the curtain further aside to reveal Choromatsu, hands buried deep in the pockets of his work trousers and gaze rooted to the grey linoleum floor. “Ah. Alright, then.” She picked up her handbag from the single chair by the bed, tucking it under her arm. “Let’s leave you to it, shall we? And,” she reached forward, pinching Choromatsu’s earlobe between her thumb and finger, and Choromatsu whined and attempted to twist his head away. “No more fights, please. That goes for both of you.”

A grunt of acknowledgement from both the first and third-born sons, and Matsuyo linked her arm into the crook of Karamatsu’s outstretched elbow and took her leave.

Silently, almost like a begrudging penguin, Choromatsu shuffled forwards and dropped into the chair by the side of the bed. His eyes remained fixed on his knees, hands in his pockets, gaze so intense that were it acid it would have burned holes in the flooring. The silence stretched between them, tense and unforgiving, until it threatened to suffocate Osomatsu and he had to break it.

“So, uh,” he shifted, wincing a little, “the good news is that Osomatsu Jr’s gonna be fine.”

It was as if someone had shocked Choromatsu back to life, and his hands were suddenly yanked from his pockets as he flung his arms up. “Ugh, God damn it! I’m sorry, okay?!”

Momentarily taken aback, Osomatsu blinked. “Uh, okay...”

“What’s with that bullshit reaction?!” Choromatsu snapped, folding his arms and glowering at Osomatsu. “If you’re going to be pissed, just be pissed at me, alright? I’m too tired for mind games right now.”

“I’m in too much pain to be pissed at you right now,” Osomatsu retorted, adjusting the ice pack on his lap with a grimace. “Seriously, Choromatsu, that was a low blow. What gives?”

Choromatsu sighed, collapsing forward to rest his elbow on the mattress and rake his hands through his still-unkempt bowl cut. “Ugh, I just… I don’t know, I just... snapped, I guess.” He straightened, letting his hands fall to his lap as his fingers found each other and twisted together, and shame crept across his features. “But… I’m sorry for what I said about Totoko-chan. Even if she makes bad choices, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Yeah, but the thing is, it’s the choice she made,” Osomatsu pointed out, shifting his head to look at Choromatsu properly - but for some reason, Choromatsu wouldn’t quite meet his gaze, and Osomatsu sighed. “Look, Choromatsu, I’m sorry if you’re hurting. I’m not gonna deny that I’m really happy Totoko-chan wanted to go out with me - but I can’t change it, either. You know it was her choice. I’m sorry if it hurts you, but you gotta accept that.”

“Yeah,” Choromatsu’s voice was quiet, resigned, laden with the weight of shame. “I know.” He sighed, raking a hand through his hair again and rubbing at the back of his neck as he finally, finally lifted his head to meet Osomatsu’s gaze - and now, Osomatsu could no longer see any trace of bitterness, or resentment, or the blazing fury of a couple of hours prior. Instead, Choromatsu just looked… tired. “I’m sorry, Osomatsu-nii-san. I’m sure I’ll get over it.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll try my best too,” Osomatsu muttered, shifting experimentally to sit upright properly - and thankfully, the movement didn’t jar his lower half too much. “Alright, gimme a hand. I dunno about you, but I’m tired.”

“Yeah, me too.” All traces of anger gone, replaced only by a resigned exhale of sterile air, Choromatsu rose from his seat and hooked an arm around Osomatsu’s shoulders as the eldest gingerly lowered his feet to the floor. “Let’s go home, Osomatsu-nii-san.”

“Alright, idjit,” Chibita folded his arms, levelling an unimpressed glare in Osomatsu’s direction as said sextuplet’s steps faltered, while Totoko took her seat at the cart without a care in the world. “So where’s this ‘surprise’ Totoko-chan said ya had for me?”

Fingers trembling, a nervous dance in the air as they hovered above his wallet, tucked into his jeans pocket, Osomatsu cast an apprehensive, unwilling glance in Totoko’s direction. “Totoko-chan, do I really have to do this?”

“Yes!” Totoko snapped, slamming one delicately manicured hand against the counter. “You’re not a NEET any more, Osomatsu-kun, you have no excuse! How long has Chibita-kun been putting up with your bullshit?”

“But Totoko-chaaaaan,” Osomatsu whined. “If I do it now, I won’t have any money for later!”

Totoko simply gestured, beckoning him closer with a crook of her finger. “If you do it now…” slim fingers caught the collar of his hoodie, yanking him in closer, and her breath ghosted over his ear as she whispered words that, unlike the oden bubbling away in the bain-marie before them, were definitely not fit for public consumption. Feeling heat rise in his face - and somewhere else - Osomatsu quickly pulled away, yanking his wallet from his pocket and extracting a few notes.

“Uh, okay, Chibita. This is, uh….” he shoved the money in Chibita’s direction, and his childhood enemy accepted the notes cautiously, briefly sniffing them before running a cautious eye over the printed paper. “It’s for my tab - well, part of it, anyway.”

“Wh….” Chibita stared down at the notes in his hand, round eyes widening. “Ya serious?!” He glanced up at them both, eyes sparkling as an elated grin spread over his face. “Damn it, workin’ and now he’s payin’?! You’re makin�� an honest man outta this idjit, Totoko-chan!”

“It’s not really like that,” Totoko deflected the enthusiastic praise as she crossed one slender leg over the other. “More like if I’ve been paying the whole time, I don’t see why this shithead gets away with it when he no longer has the excuse of being a broke-ass NEET.” She slid an arm around Osomatsu’s shoulder, lifting a hand to pinch his cheek. “Now he’s just a broke-ass fishmonger’s employee.”

“Welp, if this is how it starts, I’m lookin’ forward to more,” Chibita said, reaching for two glasses and deftly popping the cap off a long-necked brown bottle as he turned to address Osomatsu. “Ya still got a long way to go, ya idjit, damn it, but I’ll give ya the benefit of the doubt - especially if I’ve got Totoko-chan on side…”

“Well, it’s gotta count for something,” Totoko pointed out, doing a pretty impressive job of keeping her voice steady - considering the way Osomatsu’s hand was slowly inching up her porcelain thigh, creeping towards the hem of her skirt. “I guess we do owe this whole thing to you and this cart, after all.”

Chibita clicked his tongue, setting the glasses down on the counter in front of them. “Damn straight ya…” he trailed off, horror briefly overtaking his expression, and then as quick as a flash he’d grabbed his ladle - a metallic blur sliced through the air, and suddenly Osomatsu was seeing stars for the second time in as many weeks. “GOD DAMN IT, NONE OF THAT FUCKING CANOODLING AT MY CART, YA HEAR ME?!”

“God, fine!” Osomatsu snapped, while Totoko simply shrugged and crossed her legs again as she reached for her beer. “Take it easy, Chibita, I already had Choromatsu kick me in the dick the other week.”

The spin of Chibita’s ladle halted in his hand. “Wait, really?” A pause, and then a brief ‘kek’ of laughter. “Man, I woulda loved to see that.”

Osomatsu glowered, reaching for his own beer. “You’re lucky you make good oden, ya know.”

Chibita snorted, poking at the ingredients sizzling and bubbling away in the steaming broth. Beside Osomatsu, Totoko leaned a little closer to him, taking another contented sip of her beer as she rested her head against his shoulder.

“It’s kinda nice like this, though. Isn’t it, Osomatsu-kun?”

The way she said his name caused the butterflies to burst and bloom in his chest, the way it had every single time he looked at her, every time their eyes met and probably always would - from now to eternity. And sure, nothing was perfect, but Choromatsu was a grown-up and he’d have to get over this at some point and Osomatsu finally had work, something to strive for - being a man who could at least try and take a step towards being the kind of guy Totoko deserved - and she was by his side, the final, missing piece of the puzzle that had clicked into place after so long.

“Yep,” he agreed, shifting his head to briefly nuzzle the soft, shiny brunette locks resting against the crook of his neck, closing his eyes and inhaling the sweet scent of fish. “It’s pretty sweet.”

#happy birthday Mandy!#if you follow me and you haven't read Table Manners GO AND READ IT #it's so good and funny and well done and you won't regret it #osomatsu #totoko #osototo #osomatsu san #own writing #fanfic #mandyquesadilla

29 notes · View notes

worldcakecakecake · 7 years

Text

Office Sweet

In which Ludwig, the boss of a designing firm, falls in love with his newly hired intern.

I’m so sorry that I updated this so late, but I explained in my last posts that I went through quite the turmoil this last month, and it is still not done as my family is moving to my grandmothers due to economic problems. Still, after finishing most of my classes and only dealing with a couple of last projects from one class, I finally had some time to edit and write. I hope you enjoy this long last chapter, once again sorry for the lateness and I hope that you continue to be patient for the rest of my works. Enjoy!

Chapter 4

Ludwig, even with his intimidation and seriousness, was quite a gem of a man that many tried their own way to flirt and get close to, only for it to be pushed aside, for Ludwig to return back to business and create no such chance for anybody. It was a wonder to everybody that the petite, sweet and charming Feliciano, the little angel that cowered so much as somebody coming close to him holding scissors, would be daring enough to somehow enchant their cold and hard boss. It was quite the loss for many who had an interest in Feliciano, who thought they would have a better chance with his friendly and easing composure, but instead he gave all that love and attention to the most frightening man in the company.

They made quite a couple, the chance bringing Ludwig into a new light, seeing him with smiles, to weaken in softness whenever they shared an embrace or when they took a spot to chat, bringing out this whole new side that the company preferred having the muscled German in.

After four dates, their fifth one to take place that coming weekend, Ludwig heavily began to wonder what kind of union they should be established on. Was Feliciano just a person he was dating? Or was he actually his…boyfriend? He was given that answer clearly one day as he handed Berwald the booth plans for a coming interior design convention they were going to participate in, both discussing his idea, hearing for his opinion, anything they could add and remove, a subject he was completely dedicated to until he spotted familiar curls by the side of his vision. Feliciano had just met up with Tino down the hall, smiling and waving, coming close for a chat, both squealing as they showed images of animals on their phones. Ludwig rolled his eyes. No matter what Feliciano was to him, they shouldn’t be doing something like that on job hours. Berwald had fallen silent, surely expecting Ludwig’s answer, one he didn’t bother to listen to as his gaze was caught by his own interest to the small Finnish blond that spoke on with the Italian brunet.

“-and this is our Maltese, her name is Hanatamago!”

“Ooohhh! She’s so cute! I have a little Pomeranian named Alfredo. My boyfriend has a German Shepherd, a golden retriever, and a dachshund!”

“Ludwig has three dogs?”

“Yes! They’re cuties!”

Ludwig shut down, his mind burned, yet his heart quickened in intense beating. He was sure he would faint from the utter emotion he felt at the moment.

Feliciano addressed him as his boyfriend…he was his boyfriend… Gott im Himmel, he was his boyfriend! He actually had to hold himself from the wall or else he would let himself melt unto the floor.

Ludwig and Berwald later had no idea what they were talking about, they left enchanted in their own feelings and thoughts.

Feliciano continued his usual business, of helping along with suggestions and ideas in groups, bringing them their coffee and drinks, and handing reports and others papers to Ludwig, to him the best part of the day now. It was during those handings that Ludwig and Feliciano had some alone time in the office. Feliciano would lock the door and take his sitting on Ludwig’s lap, one the blond would welcome with his smile, with a hand caressing his thighs, looks of longing in their eyes before they would crash their lips into the burning, into the intensity, arms wrapped around each other, dragging them more into whatever way their lips mended. It was continuous, only to depart for breaths, for smiles, for sweet words and to see how brightly their eyes shone. Occasionally they would force themselves to stop when Ludwig received a knock, Feliciano having to leave his office with a blush expression, the same Ludwig found himself in, quickly composing himself, coughing and trying to erase any proof of what just happened to whoever entered. It was never enough, it was always clear to whoever came, only spreading more rumors, more news, more wondering over what was happening in Ludwig’s office whenever Feliciano entered alone.

One day, Feliciano forgot to put the lock, desperate to be in Ludwig’s hold. He was horny, and after the day before, when Ludwig let his hand dare under Feliciano’s underwear to give him quite a rise, Feliciano was determined to get all kinds of new touches from those calloused, gentle, yet rough hands. He smashed their bodies together in one jump, Ludwig’s chair dangling and in danger of falling to the ground. Feliciano didn’t care, he would let it if it meant being in the cushion of Ludwig’s body, of their arms still around each other, of his legs finding the right balance as they once again met their lips, as they moved, twirled, somehow keeping them standing as their passion continued. Feliciano had his hands all over Ludwig’s chest, even unbuttoning some areas to take a better feel of his skin, refreshing to his touch, to the heightening of their kiss, Ludwig now biting into his lips, while Feliciano salivated with his tongue, for now both to join as they took a secure standing without the chair fearing to collapse. It was easier for Feliciano’s hips to thrust against Ludwig’s, to rut and feel as their erections grew through the fabric of their underwear and pants, moans being shared between their mouths, Ludwig’s own hands beginning the thread of his back, falling and falling until he had his ass in his easy hold, pushing him more to have them thrusting wildly, Feliciano now bouncing on him, taking more of that rod that even with restrictions was driving him to utter ecstasy, to escaped moans, to arches, to fingers threading in the hair that escaped from Ludwig’s gel as it became too heated to maintain. So hot, so hot, they were just about ready to shed their clothing, to have more of their skin against skin.

“Aaahhh, amore, forte, più forte, dammi di più,” he breathed, he seemed to sing in the most melodic voice Ludwig had ever heard, even if he couldn’t understand it all that well. Yet he was weak, compliant to piston more of their hips together, sensing the urgency, the peak approaching, just about ready to fall on them, just about ready to scream.

“Ludwig, we just got this request from Wales- and holy mother of heaven and hell, what the fuck,” Gilbert came in with a swift opening, seeing some movements, some tight holds around two people that quickly had his mind collecting what was going on in the privacy of his brother’s office.

In the suddenness, in the trying to regain some sort of decency, Feliciano fell straight to the ground, Ludwig got a mess of papers to cover his lap, stupefied and not even helping Feliciano to stand, who rubbed his backside hoping to relieve it from the pain of the fall.

“It-It’s…not what it looks like!" Ludwig tried to excuse, but his eyes were avoiding, he still flushed, Feliciano hadn’t done anything to hide his own bulge.

“I don’t know, everything looks pretty obvious to me,” Gilbert interrogated.

“It’s uh…it’s um…uh…” Ludwig really tried to find a good enough excuse, but nothing really fit, nothing could really hide the actions that Gilbert already saw.

“Luddy, just relax. Feli, can you leave us alone for a moment, I really have to discuss this request with Ludwig,” Gilbert spoke on normally, quite a surprise, he was not one to let something like this fall between him so easily.

“Yes-yes, of course,” Feliciano nodded and made his way out, avoiding eyes with Gilbert, but he could still see his grin, his teasing eyes and Feliciano only smiled back albeit in embarrassment, Ludwig thinking he only did it to be polite.

Feliciano shut the door behind him, leaving Gilbert with an even wider grin, with a wink, trying to hold himself from letting his chuckles become any higher by biting harshly on his lips.

“Um…yes, what did they sent from Wales?” Ludwig questioned hoping it could calm enough, but no, Gilbert kept on smiling and looking on with blaming eyes like an idiot.

“Gilbert!” Ludwig groaned, hoping he could quickly get to business.

“I can’t just ignore the fact that my little brother was about to get it on in his office with his boyfriend! Really, I never thought you would become so impatient as to let yourself almost bang him against your desk,” he laughed, coming close to finally land the file on his desk.

“I-I wasn’t going to, I was just…I was just kissing him."

“Your hips were kissing his all right. You were about ready to rip your clothes off,” he chortled.

“No um…no we-we weren’t, it just seemed like that to you, we just got a little… touchy,” Ludwig tried on to excuse, Gilbert couldn’t believe it.

“Right…by the way, you got a little… drool here,” Gilbert pointed to the one that was falling down the edge of Ludwig’s lips that he quickly brushed away with a rub of his hand. “Also, you might want to close up your shirt.” It was still unbuttoned as a mess, Ludwig quickly trying to put it together as well as trying to pull back the strands of hair that fell on his forehead.

“Yes…nothing happened, but all right,” he shrugged with a still evident smile.

“Just tell me about this request,”

“Okay, so…”

Six months since Feliciano came into the company, those last ones utter fantasy and dream. In that small amount of time, Ludwig was introduced to a chance of romance, to dinners, hikes, beaches, movies, even a weekend trip to New York City to spend with someone as Feliciano. Each day a new passion, a new smile, a new glow, a stronger realization to what this could be. Days at their houses, in the commodity of less clothes, of shared beds and breakfast, a normality that Ludwig had no problem with having for continuing days.

As he would wrap his arms around Feliciano’s figure, dressed in nothing but his shirt from the night before, with coffee staining his lips, Ludwig would lean in and clean it with his own, telling him, truly and with shine as the morning glow that came into his apartment: “I love you.”

That first time had brought a sudden shock to Feliciano, a frozen expression as he truly let the echo of the words reach him all completely. Ludwig had feared, instantly he hurt, and he was afraid for this brash telling, ready for apologies, but Feliciano then smiled, wrapping his arms around his neck, pulling him into his closeness and letting their lips meet in fire before he answered just as brightly: “I love you too.”

Ludwig had never known a more awake feeling, he had never seen the world with more a shine, never had more desire to work, to wake, to do everything in alight and promise. His company had never been more fruitful with the new dedications he gave it, with the new chances he brought to his workers that held it even higher. This was the opposite of what he expected a relationship would bring him. But like it had all changed in a matter of six months, it had its chance to do so in a single day.

“You’re…resigning?” Ludwig held to the letter weakly, knowing that any little wisp was enough to have it flying to the ground, or the wall, just anywhere that not lay between him and Feliciano.

“It was…what I decided when I first came here. All I needed were these six months of experience so I could go for that position in Rome,” Feliciano explained sadly.

It was an opportune position that should have left him with exploding joy, now it had him weakened to the point that he feared it wouldn’t let him stand.

“And…they accepted you?”

“Got an e-mail last night…” Feliciano rubbed his hand on his arm shyly.

Silence then settled, the letter between them hanging it.

“When would you be leaving?”

“About two weeks…”

“Oh…”

It only became more heavy, more hurting.

“Um…uh…” he hated to be doing this, he wouldn’t offer such a chance for anybody if they hadn’t been enough in the company, but this was Feliciano, his love, his recent sun and rain, and if it meant bending some things to keep him here…then he would try.

“I could…raise your position um…grant you the chance to lead projects, raise your wages, offer healthcare,” Ludwig tried to convince.

With the smile Feliciano wore, Ludwig thought it had done just the trick, but then it easily fell, Feliciano reaching his hands to take a hold of Ludwig’s.

“Ludwig…I’m the one who hands all your files, I know the company is overemployed, you don’t have enough to do something like that for me. I really, really appreciate it, but…even if you could, I would still really want this position in Italy,” he admitted, although breaking and downing.

“I’ve wanted it for so long, it’s exactly what I want to do. I’ll have my own office, my own clients, to control projects however I want, an amazing pay and more importantly I’ll be in my home and…this is a chance of my dreams and I don’t…want to give it up,” he told, leaning closer for Ludwig to see his purpose, one that Ludwig doubted he could break, even if it meant leaving him here in New Jersey.

Ludwig sighed, the hold of his hands becoming tighter, to then raise them to his lips to kiss, laying him there as what would happen next sink into his head, maintaining that hold as if it could maintain him forever with him.

“If it’s what you want then…I’ll accept, wish you the best in this new opportunity and…receive our…separation if we…if we have to…”

Feliciano could just feel his pain with the sudden grip in his hold, shaking, the bite to his lips, turning away, not wanting Feliciano to see the shattering in his eyes.

“Ludwig…I love you, I love you so much and what hurts the most about this is having to leave you behind, but…we don’t have to break up, I can message you every day and we can webcam every chance we get, I’ll send you all kinds of gifts, and you’ll come visit me! We can travel around Italy, and we could even go up to Germany!” He tried to light up, ecstatic for the future chances. He could leave this country behind, but he couldn’t leave Ludwig, and he would make him a part of him even if miles away.

Ludwig finally managed to smile, albeit with still lingering melancholy, because even if they did these things, it still meant time apart, it still meant they couldn’t be with each as often, it still meant him going away while he had to stay here.

“I’ll try what I can for us,” he decided, bringing Feliciano that large smile he adored.

They came into an embrace with strong promises, hands innocently on their backs, hips, necks and the back of their heads, awakening chances, strengthening a bond they knew not even distance could break.

Ludwig and Feliciano made sure to spend those last two resting weeks together, along with other friends Feliciano had made in the company that wanted to wish a proper farewell, luck and even appropriate gifts for all he had done for them. Lovino didn’t mind him staying at Ludwig’s so constantly these last few days, it was better than having him sulking about how much he would miss everybody…especially Ludwig. Lovino himself would leave for a position in Rome like his brother in a couple of months as well, so this wouldn’t be the last he would have of his younger brother. Now with Antonio…he was glad Feliciano was out of the house to have him over more often.

Despite the time Ludwig and Feliciano had been together, the intensity of their kisses, of their touches, their grinding and rutting, they really hadn’t been able to have appropriate sex. Ludwig sometimes hated that he waited this long, that he had to leave it for Feliciano’s last night in the city, when they could have begun to enjoy from something so intimate weeks before, when Feliciano leaving was not a threat, so it would feel wholesome instead of just a kind of special goodbye.

Ludwig had invited Feliciano to his apartment for dinner, advising him to bring wine to go with the menu of smoked trout and goat Cheese rolls, grilled beef, and his try with an orecchiette with broccoli and even some Neapolitan style pizza. Feliciano said the pasta was passable but the pizza was an abomination. He was lucky Lovino wasn’t there to give him a harsh throw of words and deny any blessings to this relationship. They ended up laughing about it, cuddling in the couch, sharing in wine and chocolate coated almonds as they spoke on, hands treading on curves of hips, on arms, sometimes falling silent to just let themselves stare to the wonderful glow of red on their skin, on the stars in their eyes, of their breaths reigning, pulling them the ever closer.

It was obvious the moment would lean them into a kiss, to move themselves much closer to the other as their simple touches grew into harshened grasps, just enough to have their moans awaken, which in turn raised the intensity of their want. Feliciano straddled Ludwig’s laps, beginning that rutting they very well knew while their hands continued to move all over them, through hair, necks, chests, legs and of course grasping of growing erections. They knew just how to spin, how to push, what parts of their necks to kiss and suck, wanting more of that skin, beginning to remove their shirts, to be granted that much more area for their lips and hands to explore, to arch them, for their voices to expand their melody of passion.

Ludwig decided this was not the appropriate place to start surely what was coming, and while skillfully keeping their lips connected in their wet mending, with swirling tongues and spit falling down to their chins, Ludwig raised them, Feliciano instantly wrapping his legs around those powerful hips, arms around the strength of his shoulder, while he moved them to the comfort of his room and bed.

Before Ludwig landed him on his sheets, he had quickly removed those jeans he wore, even his underwear, so when he did sink into the mattress, he was bare all completely for him to witness.

A golden beauty, seduction incarnated unlike any Ludwig had ever seen. Yes, he wanted that treasure, all that shine, all that love that Feliciano already welcomed with the opening of his arms…and legs. Ludwig quickly removed whatever was left of his clothing, for Feliciano to see his well form, majestic and powerful, having him dread that he kept it often concealed, but also vengeful for if any other could take a stare, could have this view. No, no, only his, Ludwig was only his, and with the choking embrace he gave him, their naked bodies lying across every inch of skin to feel and grow by its warmth, he enunciated the owning of this territory for him.

While they moved, while theirs hands and arms were all over their bodies, while they kissed in ferocity, Ludwig reached for the bedside table, where he kept them, where he stored them after he bought them that morning expecting this to finally happen. A good bottle of lube, a good pack of condoms, all to which Feliciano smirked as Ludwig laid them on the bed, taking the lube to start the preparation. Feliciano was more than eager, only a small hesitation in the way his eyes took every process of Ludwig opening the package, biting his lips in anticipation as he drenched his fingers enough with the clear substance. Ludwig neared, he pointed, laying comforting kisses on his thighs, Feliciano laying down, keeping his stare to the ceiling as Ludwig took the first dive. It began simple, movements that Feliciano only gave small cringes to, slowly accepting, slowly feeling it pleasure, having him calling, moving against them.

“More…” he moaned, with bites against his lips to keep himself from giving any other larger shout. Ludwig obeyed, loving that hint of a beg, loving how he made him contort, with a harshened grip on the sheets, heightening his voice the more he plunged. He loved it, he loved that voice, he wanted it louder, and in his intent, he began to move his fingers much quicker, deepening, hitting all the nerves that made Feliciano’s movements much rougher against it, now shouting along uncaring, just the way Ludwig wanted it.

“Stop, stop, stop, stop,” he suddenly wanted and Ludwig did so, giving him the space to breathe, to settle in his sheets, to regain enough just to speak.

To help him calm, Ludwig traced his fingers over his legs, watching how it helped him enough to regain his normal breathing, for his entire body to take a sudden rest.

“What happened? Did I…do something wrong?” Ludwig asked worriedly, ready for any kind of apology.

“No, no, quite the opposite, you were so good and I…didn’t want to cum before um…” he turned so beautifully shy with an enchanting shade of red that Ludwig couldn’t help his chuckle, from leaning and placing a dear kiss on his head.

“Thank you,” Ludwig told him, coming down into his embrace, settling well between his legs, making sure he was comfortable, that there was no fear in his expression before he let his hand line up his erection with his entrance, deliciously letting his tip rub against it, creating already enough of a sensation to Feliciano, who was arching and letting out little moans.

“May I?” Ludwig asked like such a gentleman that Feliciano found himself shouting in delight.

“Aaahhh, sì, sì, dio, sì!” He begged once again in the most beautiful way and Ludwig couldn’t deny him, as well as himself, any longer. He took the plunge, a hardened feat at first as he tried to make his way in, wanting not to be as hurtful, but no matter it was still a hard intrusion that had Feliciano whimpering, straining, gripping ever harsher to the large pillow now. It made Ludwig hesitant to continue, to just leave it at this depth, but then Feliciano moved his gripping to his shoulders.

“Ke-keep going,” he still wanted.

“Feliciano you look really strained, I don’t want to hurt you."

“Oh god, Ludwig! Just keep going! I’ll get used to it, it’s just-ah! It’s just big, bu-but I can deal!” He whimpered.

With a sigh, keeping a hand to soothe his hair, the other balancing on the bed, he began his push, slow no matter the commands Feliciano gave him. He did obey in trying to get deeper and deeper, until all his member was buried in his tightness, in his warmth, and it was the most amazing wrapped feeling Ludwig had ever experienced and he feared it would be enough for him to release that instant.

“Mmm, so good, so damn good-aaahhh,” he vocalized along with moans, breathing beside Feliciano’s head as he tried to control himself from going crazy in this kind of high and delight. Feliciano arched as he slowly got used to this delicious, amazing fullness, hands tracing sweetly on his back, easing him into their union, into the air of ecstasy, in the accomplishments of finally having each other like this. Feliciano smiled against the side of his face, one hand now rubbing at the back of his hair, then filling it with kisses and licks, until it had awakened Ludwig enough to begin his slow movements. So simple, yet enough to have Feliciano shouting, tightening his hold and whispering so enchantingly into his ear: “Aaahhh, moreee.” Ludwig couldn’t take it any longer, and with a tighter grip of the hand on his bed, the other on Feliciano, he began fastening and fastening and fastening until the bed joined along in his harsher movements, until Feliciano was shouting with each thrust, moving them along, in his hips, in the grips he had of Ludwig’s shoulder, in his moans, in his shut eyes lost to the euphoria, enough of a request of continuation and hardening. Any intensity, any loss of control was accepted and Feliciano welcomed it with wrapping his legs around his waist in a heavy grip, only strengthening Ludwig’s desire to go as untamed as he wanted, potent in those dips that had Feliciano’s screams heightening, into a mess, into frayed movements that only personified the extreme bliss he felt as Ludwig kept bringing him those powerful thrusts. God, how he still wanted him to go harder and faster and Ludwig would find a sure way to comply, to drive him crazier, to always bring a new alight of stars to both their eyes. Ludwig swore that this was what heaven felt like, that there would be no warmth more fulfilling, an embrace more loving, moans more symphonic, a more cushioned ass and thighs that held to him in quite a refresh he never thought he would find in an act such as this. So euphoric, so delighted, he didn’t feel the scratches on his back or wherever Feliciano desperately carved, it only added to his rapture, to the nearing climax that he tried not to give into, but oh god Feliciano tightened, he extended the most beautiful moan, his curls and bangs departing to reveal a face of angelic glow.

“Aaahhh, Ti amo, ooohhh, Ti amo cosi, cosi, cosi, tanto-aaahhh!” How could he continue to hold himself with someone that beautiful, that divine, that damn…perfect? Ludwig strengthened those last thrust, a quickening that made Feliciano lose any kind of ground essence, letting his screams take a volume of their own, uncontrolled as Ludwig’s meeting movements and raises.

“Du bist ein Engel des Himmels, Und oh Gott, ja, ja, ja, ich liebe dich, Gott ja, ich liebe dich!”

That did it.

Hoping to have them both joined in release, Ludwig helped Feliciano finish with a pump of his erection, drenching them both in white as they shouted out, as they gave in to the deepest shallow to let themselves ride the last of that force.

As soon as it began to settle away, Ludwig dropped and Feliciano left him use himself as his rest, both creating a melody of exhausted breaths. Sweat coated skin mixed along as one as their bodies still moved against each other while regaining their breaths.

As energy was restored, as other movements were given, they used it to caress at their hair, at their sides, meeting with a deepening gaze of their eyes, smiling and in it enough to show each other how incredible, intensifying and loving it had all been.

As it dwindled, as they had enough to be aware, Feliciano dared move back against him, to the union that still continued. Ludwig was left wide eyed, starring back to Feliciano to see him with a smile, a bite on his lips, teasing eyes and raised eyebrows.

“You…want to do it again?” Ludwig wondered as much.

“Luddy, I’m leaving tomorrow. I want the most I can get from you and I’m prepared to have no sleep tonight.”

Oh god that smirk, that new heat, that new vivacity that Ludwig completely wanted a part of.

“At least…let me change the condom,” he blushed in embarrassment, to Feliciano so cute, so sweet, leaning to place a simple kiss on his cheek.

“Of course, caro.”

Three more times, he had Feliciano four times in total that night, against the headboard of his bed, sideways, and had him riding lastly, in that very position falling against his chest, three in the morning when they decided to finally fall asleep, Ludwig so tired he couldn’t even stand for a shower, preferring to just hold Feliciano tight and let themselves drift together to dream.

Somehow they woke up in the shine of the morning, on the heaviness of a day Ludwig would lose Feliciano. The first thing they met as their eyes opened was their own gazes, with meeting smiles, new caresses…and new passionate heats. They were quick with reaching towards their lips, with hardening, with biting, licking, tongues swirling, continuous crashes of that softness that they never wanted to cease. Oh, Feliciano wanted him, for a full day to go at it again and again and again. He picked a condom from the package as he leaned down to take his penis into his mouth, licking, sucking and even rubbing with his hands, all having Ludwig begin new moans and bucks. In a break, he ripped the new one, beginning to place it on him, placing kisses down to the last of skin before it was completely covered. Feliciano didn’t waste time in mounting him, in rising enough to prepare him into his entrance, only a small amount of lube to enter in his hole. He was confident that he was slicked enough after the many times they did it in the night. He had it in him easy, the intrusion one now of ultimate bliss, that he welcomed with his own high moans as he adjusted, hands on his chest to balance himself, Ludwig extending his arms to grab his thighs, feeling on their creaminess, sending an assurance to start the movements he craved and Feliciano didn’t hesitate.

The rocking began, a hard one that messed the bed once again, that lost them in the wonder, moans released, Ludwig by know knowing just the spot to hit to drive Feliciano crazy in his rise and drop. Ludwig raised his legs to give Feliciano a better hold and rest, better to let himself harsh as he grasped tightly to his knees, head rolled, looking upward as if he was accepting heaven.

Of all the moments to receive a call.

Any other and Feliciano would have easily ignored it, continue on uncaring when he had these onslaughts. There was nothing else he wanted to give his attention to at the moment…but it was Lovino and they had decided he would take him to the airport, with his car having his luggage and everything. He reached for his cellphone from the bedside table, while leaning down his chest above Ludwig’s face, Ludwig taking the chance to lay kisses, to let his hands caress so endearingly sweet on his back, Feliciano shouting, but he had to bite it down as he accepted the call.

“Pronto?” He answered as normally as he could, rising once again to his sitting, eyes on nothing but on the shine of Ludwig’s eyes, all while continuing his movements.

“Hey, I’m about to head out to Ludwig’s place to pick you up, be ready and all that,” he warned.

“O-okay, wi-will do,” he tried to control his voice, although he couldn’t avoid how his face contorted in pure ecstasy, how he smashed himself more harshly unto Ludwig, the blond forcing himself to bite his lips to not come out with any moans that might reveal. This was not the position he wanted Lovino to suspect, even though it somehow made the situation hotter, Ludwig raising his hips more strongly, as if really testing Feliciano. No matter how he rolled his eyes, how he met those movements, how his grip on his knees turned tighter, Feliciano avoided all screams, all mewls, but he did leave out some huffs, some breaths, ones that surely Lovino would notice.

“Hey, are you all right? …Don’t tell me you’re crying with Mr. Hasselhoff over there,” Lovino still angered.

Feliciano wanted to laugh, but he only managed a smile in Ludwig’s direction, with quite a seductive wink that couldn’t make Ludwig hold that small groan.

“Oh yes, we’re really sad, sorry.” Harder slaps, pushes, Feliciano falling until he had one arm supporting him on the bed, only centimeters from Ludwig’s face, with a smile, hips continuing their banging.

Ludwig was incredibly tempted to ravage those lips that instant.

“Well pack it up and get going, I’ll be there in like fifteen minutes,”

“All right.” Feliciano hung up without another hesitation, letting the phone drop to the floor so he could focus instead on those impending thrusts, of screaming out before they finally crashed their lips, as harshened as the meet of their hips, hands on their rears pushing into the intensifying, into the growing of their sounds, into the bang of the bed against the wall.

With Feliciano keeping a last tightening hold of the headboard, he shouted out his release, Ludwig giving one last buck to give his own, joining in Feliciano’s screams, falling into the same heap that was common for every time they finished.

Oh god why did they have to say goodbye to this, to their naked holds, to caresses no matter the sweat that fell, even the sweet kiss they now shared.

A new rumbling in Feliciano’s phone, this time a text from Lovino saying that he was on his way and he would be there in a couple of minutes. They both jolted up and rushed, taking their shower together, fixing up their clothing and Feliciano dealing with a quick breakfast, not really enough after all the energy they used last night plus his still hurting hips.

Feliciano had just finished dealing with his hair when he heard the honk from Lovino’s car, of course impatient and hurrying. Feliciano sighed but knew they he had to, his being saddening, holding himself to the curtain of Ludwig’s window as a sort of way to keep him grounded there. Ludwig, now appropriately dressed, came forward, wrapping himself around his waist, kissing his shoulders, getting Feliciano exhilarated, with little huffs, a hand going to caress at his hair, savoring this. Another honk, elongated and annoying, interrupting, both defeated and knowing they had to apart.

Keeping a hold of their hands, Ludwig brought Feliciano over to the door, only a simple bag with last night’s clothes over his shoulder. The door was opened and Feliciano was out the threshold, but he turned to him, placing a hand over Ludwig’s chest, rubbing the area, looking up to him, taking that last gaze of those blue eyes in person, Ludwig letting his hand caress at his, taking the last of that softness there for him.

“Please come see me in Italy, and message me when you can. If you want, I can call you every night,” Feliciano wished hoping to make this more easygoing, filling it with more hope.

“I’ll send you all kinds of pictures of the dogs.”

“And what you bake?”

“Definitely.” To assure him he placed a kiss on his hand.

They came into an embrace, getting that warmth, that protection, that last familiar hold. A last kiss, longing for something more, but another honk reminded and Feliciano really did have to go before it got too late.

“I love you, so, so, so much,” Feliciano wanted to assure before leaving.

“And I love you as much,” Ludwig smiled, with one last little peck to his lips before Feliciano had to move away, never stopping his waving until he was taking the elevator down.

Ludwig heard him mount Lovino’s car, then driving on ahead fast…in speeds Ludwig was starting to think had been illegal.

He was gone, out, leaving his apartment empty and desolated, with no song, no passion and no light. Was this how things were going to be like from now on? Could he really just…cook, bake, take the dogs on their walk, work on some designs, continue on like it was any other day without Feliciano being a constant presence anymore? He dropped and slumped in the couch, for now accepted, but already missing that heat of his skin, that brush of any part of him over his own body, his voice, his topics, his smile. The dread had been so much that he hadn’t really stood from the sinking until he got a text from Feliciano reading: ‘Just about to board the plane. I’ll send you something once I land in Rome’ and three little hearts that added quite the sweetness.

He sighed, he would just have to deal, continue on, do what he could with only but messages like this to fill whatever needed presence of him.

In his mind he was already planning his visit to go see him, and so he would work to earn himself that chance.

‘Aww, Sasha adorable as always’

‘She’s a sweetie and she loved the Nussecke’

‘Now I want some Nussecke. I wish I could be babysitting with you~’ Feliciano truly pouted from his lean on the desk, going up the conversation to stare at the picture Ludwig sent him just a bit earlier.

It was of a little girl munching on the triangle treats, brown hair and face covered in flour as well as her shirt and jeans, but it did not cease her joy, her smile as she took it into her mouth.

She was the daughter of a neighbor from the apartment next to Ludwig’s, a single mother who constantly needed help with her daughter and Ludwig offered himself as a good babysitter. Feliciano never thought such a job would be so fitting to him, making him the more endearing and sweet, letting him blush the more at the pride that this man was his boyfriend.

It had been a year and a couple of months since they got into this relationship, months of this long distance, of missing one another heavily, of sad nights where they really wanted their embraces and closeness to relieve of whatever anxiousness, dread or load from their jobs.

Yes, Feliciano currently had the job he wanted, a great office, frames on his wall of his best projects, establishing and getting a known name in the city. The pay was great and more than enough to pay his living by himself even if Lovino was living in the city too, even had his own office in the very building. Everything was perfect…he just wished Ludwig could be a part of it as well, that he could finally visit him and spend those weeks they constantly planned and talked about. But then he would leave…and it would be the same repetition, the same suffering, the same longing and fault that left him crying in the nights already. Oh he loved Ludwig, he loved him so much and yes he would love to keep a hold of him for their entire lives, but he hated that they had to deal with their relationship like this, that they both could have such and amazing sweet moments on their own and they couldn’t be there to enjoy from them together.

‘I know you’re in your office, but can I call for a moment?’ He then texted.

Feliciano wasn’t really doing anything but dealing with some messages sent from the customers he worked for in the month. ‘Of course!’ In only seconds his phone was ringing with his call.

“Caro!” he greeted as dearly as always, just enough joy to lift him from his earlier sorrow.

“Liebling, how is everything?” Ludwig asked before anything.

“Oh, everything is going well. You know the Never Land theme I made for the Toselli kids?”

“Of course, it was spectacular. I showed it to others here in the company and they were heavily impressed. Now I’m trying to convince Gilbert not to buy a ship and stick it to his living room wall.” Ludwig rolled his eyes but Feliciano chuckled at the thought.

“They finally showed it to their kids, they sent me package of pictures of their reactions and it’s all adorable. They loved what I did and now I have new numbers of parents who want something similar for their own.” He was truly proud, excited to try new themes and bring more wonder to the living spaces of these kids.

“I’m very proud of you, and speaking of ships and Never Land, I think we should really start discussing my visit to see you.”

Feliciano jumped silently on his position, smiling wildly and ecstatic.

He was finally coming, he was finally coming!

“Yes, yes, yes, I want to be with you so badly. You have to see Rome! And we should go down to Sicily! Oh, oh! I have relatives that have a beautiful villa in the countryside, and we can go to Genoa too!”

Ludwig chuckled, not minding any of those mentionings at all.

“And then, and then, Germany! We can go see your family at Hannover, and I’ve always wanted to do a road trip around Bavaria!”

Ludwig could practically see the stars shinning around him. “I’m sure we’ll have the time. What’s the best time to visit?”

“It doesn’t matter! Come any time you want! I’ll reschedule projects if I have to!”

“How about right now?”

“Well if you can find a flight at this short notice, sure!”

“Actually I already went through my flight.”

Silence.

“Huh?”

“I think you should head out of your office.”

“Don’t tell me you just arrived to the airport! Luddy!” He hurriedly picked his car keys and headed straight to the door, ready to make his fast haste to pick him up.

“Actually…” Feliciano opened the door. “I’m right here.” With a proud smile, holding the phone still to his ear and surrounded by large luggage.

“Luddy!” Feliciano shouted, jumping head straight into his embrace, both dropping their phones to feel the caress of them after so long, that missed warmth, those scents familiar and non-changing, Feliciano not missing a chance to bury himself in it at the crook of his neck. He nuzzled him and Ludwig indulged in the form of his back, in the softness of his arm, placing an occasional kiss on his hair, until Feliciano raised his head and instantly had their lips meet, in enough of a melt to actually lean them down both to the floor, in the loss of everything but this. There was the luggage as obstacle but they somehow managed to lay somewhere between them, until they were laying upon one another as if they were in the privacy of their own beds.

“You’re here! You’re here! You’re here!” Feliciano kept shouting, not believing it still, holding him tighter, proving himself to this more real, and if it was a dream, maintaining himself in it for as long as he could.

“But-but-” he suddenly stood, sitting them and hoping that they could now talk appropriately. “When did you leave? How did you find the company? And why did you bring so many bags?”

“Last night. I called Lovino, he told me, convinced him to keep my visit a surprise, still couldn’t get him to pick me up, so I just took a taxi,” Ludwig shrugged it, helping Feliciano to get them both to stand once again. “As for why I have so many bags…well I wanted to tell you later but-”

“Hola! Estoy aqui y listo para la vitta bella!” Feliciano did not expect to see Antonio crashing in through the elevator with his own countless bags, waving ecstatically and making his way between them, surely to where Lovino’s lay.

“Antonio?”

“Um…” The elevator dinged once again with a group now, most not holding luggage, others with many as Antonio and Ludwig.

“I like our building better,” he recognized Neereja, there was also Gupta, Roshaun, João, Sadiq, Yong, Corisande, basically many who had been in the company.

“Um…what are they all doing here?” Feliciano asked, hoping that the question wasn’t rude, he was just curious.

“So um…I decided that the company should have a new base, so I opened a new one here…in Rome.”

Feliciano was frozen, letting that settle well, letting him realize. “You…you-you…seriously?”

Ludwig nodded eagerly.

“He really did,” Corisande assured.

“Hired many of us to make the move over here,” Gupta added.

“Right after you left he started working on this idea,” Roshaun.

“I wish my own significant would open up a new base just to be closer to me,” Sadiq dreamed.

“But I mean, a chance to work in Rome, Italy, who could deny that?” Yong exclaimed.

“The new place is three blocks from here, it’s still in the preparations, I actually suggested that they should just wait until everything was rightfully ready, but…” The elevator rang once again, yet another group coming, waving and greeting and making their space in the hall, filling it with all kinds of chatter now. “They were impatient, and most of them wanted to see you and-”

“Can we all crash at your place while we get our own?” Emil said squeezing himself between the crowds to greet others.

“How many came?” Feliciano wanted to know, seriously thinking how he was going to fit them all in his apartment.

“About…” Ludwig really tried to count how many he brought on his head.

“Twenty-seven!” Elizabeta shouted from her spot.

“Ludwig…I don’t think…”

Ludwig shushed him and leaned to whisper enough, “don’t worry, I got some contacts, three hostels to take them until then, but they’re still looking for an excuse to stay at your place.”

Feliciano took a breath of relief. He would drive himself crazy dealing with all these people, even if they had been once amazing co-workers.

“Well, we could all go out to eat?” He didn’t think he had enough groceries at home to feed them all, but they all chanted and celebrated at the chance.

“Are you paying?” Sadiq shouted.

“Haha! No!”

While all excited, all who had been downstairs reached up as well, Antonio and Lovino leaving the office hand in hand giving each other sweet smiles to join the rest. Feliciano pulled Ludwig away into a corner they could leave to themselves for a moment.

“So…you’re really moving here?” He had to really make sure.

“Yes, for as long as I’m able. I’m not going to let anything separate us now.” He raised his hand to leave a kiss to them, rubbing them in oath.

“But-but, what about your company back in America? And Gilbert, and your family?”

“I left it under new management, and Gilbert actually left back to Germany, got himself a good opportunity ther. He promised to come over here to visit. Germany is either a car ride, a train ride or a short flight away. I’m closer to my family than I was back in New Jersey. Honestly I didn’t care about the states, I was just there because of the offer I was given, but this one, it means more, with a perfect location, and you, you, you.” It was truly what excited him the most, the sureness that didn’t make Feliciano question this any longer, that just accepted his now staying presence with another strong hug, with sways, with laughter.

“Can we still plan that trip we were talking about?”

“Of course, we have a couple of days before we all start working here.”

“I still can’t believe it…Luddy….your Company is going to be my competition!” He laughed.

“I’m pretty confident in mine,” Ludwig dared smirk.

“Who knows, things can happen, maybe you’ll end up being my intern,” Feliciano teased.

“Hmm…” Ludwig leaned and whispered: “I assume that would be enough of a permission to make out in your office.” He had once been so shy and embarrassed about this, but now, it was all he wanted and could think about in his more heated moments.

Feliciano smirked in turn and leaned to whisper in his own ear: “We could do so much more than just make out.” He licked his cheek to signify enough of the implications.

Ludwig found himself wanting to act on them right now. It was deserving after having only dealt with pictures, naughty webcam chats and sexting. Then again…they were still out there, with a hall full of people that wanted to celebrate this beginning of a new opportunity.

“How about we leave that for tonight?” Ludwig smirked and Feliciano accepted, tippy toeing and leaving a kiss on his cheek.

Taking their hands, letting themselves be close finally, the touch of their waist fulfilling enough, they moved into the group to enjoy from the missed chats, from the missed environment that had granted Ludwig and Feliciano their love.

< previous chapter

#office sweet #gerita #gerita fanfiction #gerita fanfic #gerita fic

69 notes · View notes

rootpatterson · 5 years

Text

Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are!

Lucitober/Whumptober

Whumptober Day 5 Prompt: "Gunpoint"

Read it on AO3

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

Trixie was running and she was afraid.

Her heart pounded in her chest. Her feet hit the hard, smooth ground beneath her. Her heavy breathing echoed off the far away walls. She halted and whirled around to make sense of her surroundings, confused by the tall metal shelving reaching towards the ceiling above her.

Officer Malcolm had picked her up from school and brought her here, to the room with the helicopter and the plane and the tall shelves filled with parts. Then Mommy showed up and told her to go and hide, and she had, even though she really didn't want to. The sound of her mother’s voice when she begged Trixie to hide had caused fear to spike through her tenfold. Her eyes roved the space in front of her. She was scared, really truly scared, in a way she never had been before. Malcolm had his own gun and both of mommy’s. Trixie was smart enough to know a bad situation when she was in one.

She rounded the large white item to the right of the room, putting it between herself and danger. She watched her mother open the trunk of the car, then watched with horror as Malcolm smiled and pointed the gun at her mother. Every ounce of her strength was poured into staying put and not running back to her. Trixie dug her fingernails into her palms. There was nothing she could do to keep her mother or herself safe. Cold dread spread through her tiny frame like ice cold tendrils. They were going to die here.

The paper airplane that soared between Malcolm and her mom didn't seem real. But it gave her mom enough of a distraction to run away and hide herself. Lucifer’s voice rang out through the room. Trixie sighed and her shoulders relaxed. Lucifer was here. He was mommy's partner. He would help them. She watched as he taunted the bad man, walking to stand right in front of him despite the gun. Trixie couldn’t make out the words, but Lucifer didn’t seem worried about the danger, just amused.

A flash and a loud bang reverberated through the room.

She’d seen enough TV to know what happened, and Lucifer fell to the floor clutching his stomach. Malcolm crouched down next to him and held his hand out. Lucifer reached out slowly for whatever he was holding before the other man pulled his arm away. With the dread inside her growing, she watched Lucifer gasp for breath as Malcolm stood again and walked away from him while calling for her mother.

Trixie knew she should run again, find a better place to hide, but the fear of being caught and shot too caused her feet to stay rooted to the spot. All she could focus on was Lucifer laying on the ground, a pool of blood spreading out wide underneath him. She thought she heard him call out for his dad, but she wasn’t sure between the sound of the shot ringing out and the pounding of her pulse in her ears. She watched as his jerking movements slowed and he went still. His eyes stayed open, staring at the ceiling.

With her hand over her mouth to stifle her sobs, her eyes overflowed. Huge, hot tears streamed down her face. But she couldn't look away, couldn't think about mommy, couldn't worry for herself. She couldn't look away from Lucifer. No, from his body.

Abruptly, Lucifer sat up with a gasp, and Trixie stared in shock as he took a few deep breaths. He was alive.

His head whipped around the hanger, searching for something. Trixie heard Malcolm, having grown tired of searching for her mom and unaware of Lucifer’s revival, begin calling out her name. She watched as Lucifer’s features set in anger and, almost like magic, two large white wings erupted into being behind him and his eyes blazed red.

Trixie’s eyes widened as she stared at his beautiful wings. She knew he could do something cool with his eyes, but she hadn’t realized he had wings. They were amazing. Long, wide, and almost blindingly bright. Somewhere in the back of her head she wondered if her mom could see from where she was hiding from Malcolm. Lucifer began scanning the room with his eyes. They almost skipped right over her before he focused on her intently and they switched back to brown. She was still crying, but the tears were not flowing as hard as before. The frown he was wearing deepened.

From one blink to the next, he was gone, appearing right next to her hiding spot with a quiet flutter and the soft rush of air being displaced. He placed a finger to his lips with a cheeky grin, patting her head and wiping away a stray tear on her cheek. She was about to launch herself at him and trap him in a hug, to make sure he was really next to her and not actually laying still on the ground, when she saw movement in the corner of her eye. She tensed for a moment, thinking it was Malcolm following the light coming from Lucifer’s wings to find them.

Instead she saw her mother sneaking toward her guns, trying to stay hidden from the man stalking her. Trixie looked back to Lucifer, fear flashing through her again. Lucifer was okay, but they were still in danger. He nodded at her, pointing wordlessly at the ground and then held up his hand mouthing, Stay here, urchin. She nodded back and he was gone.

She peeked out just in time to see him land next to Malcolm, then punch the man hard in the face.

Right as Malcolm spun to face Lucifer again, her mother popped up from the floor and four shots rang out, the bullets barely missing the edge of Lucifer's wing as they sailed into the other man’s chest. Lucifer didn’t even flinch.

Malcolm slumped to the ground, dropping his gun. Lucifer walked to stand over him. He smiled, twirling a big coin between his fingers before he flicked it up in the air over Malcolm.

Malcolm stretched out for it desperately, but it disappeared in a flurry of sparks before he could reach it. His hands searched the ground around him and Lucifer crouched down beside him. He leaned in and said something to him, but Trixie was too far away and couldn’t hear. After a moment Malcolm slumped to the ground again as Lucifer smirked. Trixie sighed in relief. The danger was gone. The bad man was dead and she and her mom were safe. But for how long?

Her mother was standing behind Lucifer, her gun still in her hands and her mouth hanging wide open. She hadn't moved when Malcolm finally stilled. She just stood there staring wide eyed at Lucifer's wings.

At Lucifer. Who was alive.

Trixie sped out from her hiding spot and launched herself at Lucifer's still crouching form with tears flowing anew from her eyes.

"I didn't… you were… you DIED!" She wailed freely into his suit as he wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace. He was shaking slightly, but he shushed her, rubbing her back and stroking her hair.

"I'm quite all right, Urchin. No need to fret! I'm good as new. See?" He eased her head off of his chest and fluttered his wings with a wide smile that didn't reach his eyes. Tears continued streaming down her face, but she nodded at him before finally sparing a glance at her mother. She was still staring, her eyes wider with fear as they flicked between her daughter and her partner.

"Mommy…" Trixie started slowly and Lucifer tensed slightly, as if just then remembering her mom was there and his wings were out. His arms loosened as he prepared to move away from her, but Trixie just gripped him tighter. "It's okay. We're okay."

Her mother took one step forward, then another and another, until she was standing just a few feet away. She didn't come any closer.

"He's always told us the truth, Mommy. Lucifer would never hurt us. You don't have to be afraid." She reached a small hand out to reassure her, but didn't make a move to get away from the angel clutching her to him.

"Trixie… He's the Devil." She didn't look at her partner now, only stared at her daughter with confusion painting her tear stained face.

"Not to me, Mommy. He saved us. He stood up for me to Janice… He's my friend." She looked at Lucifer and smiled while placing her other hand, the one not held out to her mom, on his cheek.

It seemed that was all it took to convince her mother. She holstered her gun and closed the last few steps to the pair crouched on the ground. Dropping to her knees, she took her daughter's hand and the little girl pulled her into their embrace as her mother began to sob.

"Thank you, Lucifer. For saving us from the bad guy." Her hand slipped from his face to his collar, clutching it tightly with her small fingers, and her eyes grew heavy. "And for coming back."

"I would storm the gates of Heaven or tear apart Hell to protect the two of you, urchin. Never doubt that." He hugged them tighter, and Trixie knew he wasn't lying.

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

When Trixie's eyes opened, she was in her room, safely tucked into bed. Her pillow and face were soaked with tears. Her Malcolm nightmares. Though less frequent recently, they had taken many forms over the years. This wasn't the first time the dream had changed to include Lucifer with his wings and red eyes. She had never seen his wings, but Maze told her about them once, and ever since then they made frequent cameos in her dreams.

She dreamt about him many times after he left a few months ago. Sometimes he saved her or her mom, sometimes they were just spending time together again like they used to. Each one left her with an ache in her chest. She missed him, missed seeing her mother smile and laugh with life in her eyes.

Mom said he had to go back home. That he didn't have cell service or internet there, so she couldn't talk to him when she wanted to or just needed someone to talk to. But Trixie knew what Lucifer was. Knew who he was. She knew what Mom meant when she said home; that he had gone back to Hell and she would likely never see her friend again.

She began to cry again, in earnest, huge sobs racking her slender frame. She tried stifling the noise, hoping not to wake her mom. It didn't do any good, she had already heard her, because a moment later her door opened and her mother slipped into bed next to her.

She shushed her daughter quietly and stroked her hair. "It's okay, monkey. I'm here. Did you have a nightmare?"

"Sort of… Not really. It was Malcolm again bu- but…" Another sob racked through her and her mom wrapped her in her arms. "Lucifer saved us again, but it was different this time. He had glowing red eyes, and big white wings."

She felt her mother tense up. Trixie knew it was because she didn't want to admit that Lucifer was actually an angel and not just a magician.

"I miss him, Mommy. I miss him so much." She cried some more and clutched at her mother's back. Trixie could feel the shaky rise and fall of her mom's chest under her cheek and instantly regretted making her mom sad. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

"I know you do, monkey. I… I miss him, too."

They stayed that way, wrapped in each others arms, until they both fell asleep again.

#rootpatterson #whumptober 2019 #whumptober day 5 #gunpoint prompt #trixie espinoza #chloe decker #lucifer morningstar #lucitober 2019 #whump is hard #but i did it?#lucitober #whumptober #come out come out wherever you are #cocowya #trixie decker #deckerstar #lucifer fanfiction #lucifer fic

0 notes

kiribakus · 7 years

Text

yes, you say you’d like to || kiribaku week 2017

kiribaku || 5,800 words || semi-nsfw || for @kiribakuweek2k17

“You’re a popsicle biter, you fucking animal,” Bakugou says.

“You’re not?” Kirishima says around a mouthful of ice cream.

“No,” Bakugou says. “I prefer my teeth unfrozen, thanks.” He wraps his mouth around the popsicle and Kirishima realizes his mistake very, very quickly.

day one: studying / summer / anger

>> READ ON AO3 <<

Kirishima thought it would be a good idea to invite his squad to the beach. Just him, Kaminari, Mina, and Sero hanging out; maybe they’d pick up a watermelon on the way. Kaminari had a big umbrella, Mina had extra beach towels, and Sero’s mom made the best snacks. Kirishima still had a volleyball and net from middle school. The net had some tears and was probably a bit too short, and there wasn’t a chance in hell that Sero wouldn’t cheat, but they could still relax and let loose. Heavens knew they weren’t getting any rest being run ragged by the hero offices they were interning under.

But of course, Kaminari never went anywhere without Jirou, so she was added to the list. Fine. Jirou would bring an old boombox and promised to DJ. But Jirou couldn’t keep secrets from Yaoyorozu, who Kirishima then felt compelled to invite, who in turn accepted and cancelled study plans with Iida, who in turn mentioned the beach day to Uraraka and Midoriya, who naturally told Tsuyu and Todoroki. With eleven of their old class invited, it seemed douchey not to invite the rest of 1-A and that’s how Kirishima found himself in charge of a class reunion rather than a simple outing. But even with the rest of their class finding their own rides, that made eleven interested parties trying to fit in Kirishima’s van that fit eight.

At least Todoroki offered to take Midoriya on his motorcycle (but when the hell did Todoroki get a motorcycle?), so Kirishima could force the girls to squish together in the back. Kaminari—the traitor—called shotgun and promised to pay gas money, so Kirishima couldn’t be all that mad at him. He could manage this, with everyone bringing something to eat. He could manage it until—

“What the hell? And I wasn’t invited?”

“Must be your wonderful personality working its magic,” Jirou snipes Bakugou on the way to lunch. Kirishima feels his stomach drop to his feet. How had he heard?

“Actually, it’s pretty weird that he wouldn’t invite you,” Kaminari says. “I only mentioned it because I thought you’d turned it down.”

Kaminari. That traitor.

“Like hell I want to rub shoulders with you snotlickers any more than I have to,” Bakugou snaps. “I wouldn’t go even if he did invite me.”

Ah, he’s done it now. Put Bakugou on defensive mode. Kirishima’s gotta talk his way out of this one. “It’s not—don’t take it the wrong way,” Kirishima calls out. The group turns to look at him, Jirou’s mouth in an ‘o,’ and Kaminari unable to meet Kirishima’s eyes. But Kirishima doesn’t have time to chew him out.

“I want you to come,” Kirishima says. “Of course I do. I just thought—that composition we have coming up. You said you needed to focus this weekend. I didn’t want to, you know, tempt you away from your holy shrine of focus or—”

“You’re the one who needs to focus, numbnuts!” Bakugou snaps. “I could write that composition in my sleep. You’re the one who needs to worry and you’re kicking it at the seaside! Worry about me? Ha!”

Kirishima smiles. “I supposed my worry was all for naught. Well then, Bakugou, would you like to come with us? Shotgun’s free.” Kaminari protests and Kirishima stomps on his foot.

“I only ride shotgun,” Bakugou says. “Better fucking be free.” Then he turns on his heel and marches off towards the cafeteria.

Kirishima waits until Bakugou is out of earshot, then socks Kaminari in the arm.

“Ow! What the hell, man?” Kaminari yelps.

“You know what that was for,” Kirishima says.

Jirou twirls her earjack. “Thought we were one person overbooked already.”

“Yeah!” Kaminari says, scowling. “How was I supposed to know you didn’t invite him? Given that you're fucking wh—”

Kirishima smacks a hand over Kaminari’s mouth. “Dude, do you ever keep people’s secrets?”

Jirou looks between them, raises her eyebrows, and looks away. “Ooookay,” she says. “I think I know what’s going on here. And I don’t want any part of it.” She walks ahead of them.

Sighing, Kirishima resigns himself to a life of suffering.

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

As his friends pile out of the dorms, the boys in board shorts and the girls in bikinis wrapped in sundresses, Kirishima presses his forehead against the steering wheel and thinks about what a bad best friend Kaminari is.

If Kaminari hadn’t mentioned this outing to Jirou, Kirishima would still have the will to live. Because once Jirou told Yaoyorozu and this whole thing spiraled out of control, it was impossible that Bakugou would not find out. And Bakugou, out of spite alone, would definitely want to come to the beach.

Meaning that Kirishima’s life was over.

The worst part is, Kaminari knew! Kaminari knew how Kirishima felt about Bakugou, particularly Bakugou shirtless and dripping with sweat, the heaving of his chest as he chased after a volleyball or the bunching of his thighs as he prepared to spike. A hand brushing back through spiky blond hair, untamed even after swimming in the ocean, a trickle of water running down a pec, turning pink under the sun…

Kirishima is a simple gay man. A simple gay man with a big, fat crush.

The last thing he needs is Bakugou shirtless in the sun, when Kirishima is thirsty enough from the heat. He is not willing to pop a boner because he wrestled with Bakugou for the ball or they were having a splashing contest and Bakugou ended up laughing or something. Kirishima refuses to let the contents of his fantasies get any wilder because when it came to Bakugou there’s always a lot of contact and physicality involved and Kirishima is already so, so weak as it is.

Still, this is Kirishima’s reality now, so he needs to face it with a clear mind and a head held high. The girls are the first out of the dorms, splitting up with Tooru, taking Ojiro’s car. They wave and then move towards Kirishima’s van. He hops out and offers to help pack their beach bags. They’re all very cute and Kirishima sends a small prayer of thanks that Mineta was too sick to make it to their outing.

“Oh!” Uraraka says. “This is your van, Kirishima?”

Kirishima nods and pats the baby blue door. “Yep, she’s all mine! A bit beat up on the outside and not as tidy as she could be on the inside, but she’ll get us there.” Even with her paint chipping and the engine’s slight whine when he started her up, Kirishima loved his van.

The girls pile into the back, having no problem squishing an extra body into the back, but it wasn’t the girls Kirishima was particularly worried about. Jirou volunteers to be the odd one out, probably going to sit in Kaminari’s lap or something equally revolting. Iida's next, with Midoriya and Todoroki trailing, heading off to Todoroki's bike.

And then, “Oi.”

Kirishima turns away from his conversation with Tsuyu about a swimming competition to cross his arms over the edge of his window and stick his head out the window. “Why, hello there, handsome.”

Bakugou is wearing a black tank with an orange and yellow Hawaiian shirt and black swim trunks patterned with explosions. Not a single tit or nip to be seen. Kirishima feels relief settle over his shoulders and he tilts his head, grinning at Bakugou.

“You better not be wearing that stupid hat when you drive,” Bakugou says. “It’s dangerous.”

“Of course not,” Kirishima says, knocking back his straw hat. The tie latches it around his neck, hanging down his back. “Can I offer a beautiful stranger such as yourself a ride?”

“You’re so fucking weird,” Bakugou says. His eyes flicker over Kirishima and the van and he scowls harder.

“Something wrong, sugarlips?”

“Call me anything but my name and I’ll blow your balls off,” Bakugou says. Huffing, he hoists his beach bag further up his shoulder. “Your van doesn’t match your hair, fuckface. It’s weird.”

He marches around the front of the van as the rest of the crew shows up. He slams the door after he climbs in and immediately slouches, kicking off his sandals and propping his feet up on the dash, poking the glass with his toes. Kirishima notices him buckle himself in, though, and he grins. Good to the core, Bakugou was. He can almost hear Kaminari’s voice in his head, you mean rotten to the core.

“Alright, we ready to go?” Kirishima asks. He’s answered by a roar of cheers.

Even though the ride to the beach isn’t long, chaos ensues the whole way. Sero ends up squished between Iida and Kaminari, while Kaminari leans into Jirou, getting stabbed by her earjacks every time he tries to touch her thigh. The girls chat and giggle over the sound of the radio that Kaminari and Sero keep getting Bakugou to change. Bakugou, unmoved by their pleading, makes one attempt to change the station, ends up blasting static, and promptly gives up. When Kirishima tries to change it himself, Bakugou yells at him to keep his eyes on the road. Every now and then, Iida tries to calm everyone down so that Kirishima can focus, while Kirishima spends the entirety of the ride trying to figure out how to get Bakugou in his van again.

They’re the third party to the beach, Ojiro, Tooru, Shouji, and Tokoyami having secured an empty space for all their umbrellas and towels, and Midoriya and Todoroki having set up their own little corner off to the side. Midoriya's rubbing sun lotion on his stomach and Todoroki's back and Kirishima has to swallow and look away. While some people (Kaminari) might enjoy having hot classmates, others (Kirishima) would rather be able to look them in the eyes without having their eyes immediately drop to their chests.

“Kirishima!” Mina calls. “Let’s set up the volleyball net!”

And for a while, Kirishima doesn’t have to think about anything. He sets up the net with Mina and Shouji, then immediately gets pulled into a game of beach volleyball. He sheds his shirt, to whistles from Jirou and Kaminari, who he flips off with a smile. He and Mina make a kickass team against Sero and Iida, although he would swear that some of Iida's saves were inhumanly fast or that he saw a flash of tape. When they come up against Shouji’s height and limbs, however, they’re outmatched in a second, even if Tokoyami isn’t that athletic. Kirishima high fives Midoriya as he and Todoroki tag in.

Soaked in sweat and sand places the sun don’t shine, Kirishima heads for the water, yipping at the cold of the water even well into summer. He joins up with Tsuyu and Uraraka, floating and trying to sink each other. Kirishima challenges Tsuyu to a body-surfing competition and, predictably, loses miserably.

“It was a nice try,” Tsuyu says. Uraraka throws her arms around Tsuyu’s neck and hangs from her.

“Shouldn’t try to best a frog in water, huh?” Kirishima says. “Still, this is the ocean; I thought I had a chance.”

“Very foolish, Kirishima-chan,” Tsuyu says.

Kirishima sighs and flops back in the water. “I wish we could come out here every day.”

“Me too,” Uraraka says. “Maybe if we beg Aizawa-sensei…?”

“Not a chance,” Tsuyu says. “Distractions are ‘illogical.’”

“Speaking of distractions,” Uraraka says. She sinks into the water. “Don’t look now, but someone has eyes on you.”

It takes Kirishima a moment to realize she’s talking to him. “Me?” he says, pointing to himself.

“Shh,” Uraraka hisses. “Yes, you. Your two o’clock. Make it look natural.”

Sitting up, Kirishima lets his gaze wander slowly down the beach, trying not to be obvious about looking for his watcher. He passes by the area Uraraka had mentioned but doesn’t see anyone—oh! They lock eyes for just an instant, but then his eyes are hidden by a book under the shade of an umbrella. Kirishima blinks.

“I think that’s my cue to leave, ladies,” Kirishima says.

“Knock him dead,” Tsuyu says. “If he doesn’t beat you to it.”

Kirishima jogs out of the water and up the sand to the gathering of umbrellas. Yaoyorozu and Jirou are also reading together. Iida is napping in the sand with his head propped up on a beach towel while Midoriya and Todoroki cover him with sand. Midoriya is in the process of creating a lovely mermaid tail for his friend while Todoroki sculpts a massive pair of jugs on Iida's chest with careful hands. Kirishima is laughing by the time he reaches Bakugou's umbrella, Bakugou pointedly not-looking at him.

He topples onto the beach towel next to Bakugou, flicking sand and seawater on him in the process. Bakugou flinches and snarls. “Get out of here, asshole! You’re dirtying up everything!”

Kirishima rolls his eyes. “It’s the beach, honey. Everything gets dirty.” To prove his point, he kicks a bit of sand onto Bakugou's foot. Bakugou smacks him with the book he’s reading. He flicks a little more sand. Bakugou hits him again. Kirishima goes flick a little more sand, and ends up kicking a whole bunch over a sand-free Bakugou. Oops.

This time Bakugou scrambles to a sitting position, swearing and raising one palm, explosions crackling from it, and secures an attempting to flee Kirishima’s shoulder with his other hand. He makes as if to punch Kirishima in the chest, but hesitates even as Kirishima hardens his front. Bakugou's eyes flicker up and down Kirishima’s chest for just a moment before he sets his shoulders and flops back down, muttering, “Not even worth it.”

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait just a second. What was that? Kirishima can feel his heart thrumming against his rib cage and he turns on his side, eyes wide as he looks at Bakugou. He didn’t imagine that. Bakugou gave him a once-over. Bakugou checked him out.

“Dude,” Kirishima says. “My manliness a little too much for you?”

“Why don’t you tie a stone around your neck and take a swim?” Bakugou suggests through gritted teeth, staring hard at his book.

“I understand my bod can be a little overwhelming sometimes,” Kirishima says, running a hand through his hair. “But no need to be jealous of these tight pecs; you’re fine enough on your own.”

“I’m what,” Bakugou says.

“I mean,” Kirishima says, swallowing. “In a strength test you’re going down against my guns, but you’re not too shabby yourself, is what I—is what I meant to say.”

Bakugou fixes him with a murderous look. “You’ve got two seconds to convince me not to blow a hole in your stomach.”

“Oi, everyone!” Sero calls from over the ice chest. “Popsicles!”

Kirishima tilts his head to the side. “I’ll get you some ice cream?”

Bakugou wrinkles his nose, but snaps his book back open. “Red.”

“Dude, seriously? Everyone knows blue is where it’s at.”

“Oh. My God,” Bakugou says, throwing his hands up. “Can you just leave?”

Kirishima grins and salutes him, rolling off the towel and joining the scurry to get ice cream. He holds up two fingers and Sero procures a red and a blue popsicle from the ice chest. They’re cold and wet with condensation as Kirishima trots back to the safety of Bakugou's umbrella, the rest of their friends settling around them under their respective umbrellas. He tosses the red one at Bakugou who snatches it out of the air.

“One red, coming right up,” Kirishima says, throwing himself next to Bakugou, their shoulders brushing. Bakugou grunts and sits up, tearing off the packaging with his teeth. It makes Kirishima’s heart skip a little, but all of this is manageable. It’s the ideal, actually—sitting with Bakugou at the beach, Bakugou covered up and Kirishima’s dick in his pants. And now they had ice cream.

He takes a bite out of the popsicle, crunching on the sugary ice, and hears Bakugou make a disgusted noise next to him. Kirishima raises an eyebrow.

“You’re a popsicle biter, you fucking animal,” Bakugou says.

“You’re not?” Kirishima says around a mouthful of ice cream.

“No,” Bakugou says. “I prefer my teeth unfrozen, thanks.” He wraps his mouth around the popsicle and Kirishima realizes his mistake very, very quickly.

Kirishima’s fantasies weren’t especially adventurous. Ever since the rescue he’d had this thing for imagining holding Bakugou's hand, so there was that. But he hadn’t even thought too in-depth about kissing, let alone…that. But even if he was out of practice, Kirishima was still a healthy, horny, eighteen-year-old boy and the love of his life was doing some unmentionable things with that popsicle.

In order to quell the thrumming under Kirishima’s skin and the racing of his heart, he looks away, pointedly. But that only works so long when Bakugou slurps at the ice cream and Kirishima just has to see what he’s doing.

If only he’d just lick at it. But no, Bakugou wraps his whole mouth around the ice cream bar, dragging his lips across it slowly and lapping at any juice that might try to escape. He whittles down the width of the popsicle, bobbing his head, and Kirishima has to look away again. When he glances back, Bakugou's running his tongue along the length of the popsicle, staring into the distance. A single droplet of red trickles down the corner of his mouth and Kirishima imagines pressing his mouth to the underside of Bakugou's chin, chasing that droplet to its source and kissing—

Bakugou snaps his jaw down around the popsicle and cleaves it in half. Kirishima starts and has to pretend to not be watching.

Bakugou chews the ice cream. “Hmm, not bad.” He takes bites out of the rest of his ice cream and Kirishima doesn’t have the balls to look at him again. When they finish, Bakugou chews on the popsicle stick, baring his teeth. The color from the ice cream stains his teeth and lips red. He looks like a barbarian with his teeth bared, blood staining him from his last kill. He looks like an animal. Kirishima imagines that he is the prey, having his insides torn out by this noble beast, and how he’d be thankful to go at the hands of someone like Bakugou.

“’S what you get,” Kaminari says as he walks past Kirishima, obviously having seen Kirishima’s entire dilemma. Kirishima looks up at him and Kaminari shakes his head, mock-disapprovingly. “Impure.”

Kirishima grabs his ankle and Kaminari nearly trips with a yelp. Kirishima rolls his eyes as Kaminari flips him double birds. Kaminari was such a crap best friend.

Kirishima had waited until the start of their second year to tell Kaminari of his pent-up feelings for Bakugou. How the violence under Bakugou's skin made his heart race, how every smile that bore teeth made his skin itch with tension, how Bakugou's focus, crystal clear and impenetrable steadied Kirishima in a fight, made him feel braver—

“Dude, that’s so gay,” Kaminari said. “You are so gay for Bakugou.”

“Well….yes, that was the point,” Kirishima said, a little thrown off guard. “It’s been eating away at me—”

“I mean, I knew you wanted to do him,” Kaminari said and Kirishima choked on his own spit. “C’mon, man. I have eyes.”

“That’s not—that’s not entirely the point—”

“I know, and that’s why you’re weird,” Kaminari said, pointing his frozen yogurt spoon at Kirishima. “Pretty much everyone in the class wants to bone him. Just look at him. He’s a natural ten, dude. I mean, I’m easy, but even I don’t give away my tens to just anyone. Only him and Todoroki. And my girlfriend, of course. Not even you make it and you’re…you.”

“I can’t believe my best friend wants to bone me,” Kirishima deadpanned.

“All best friends want to bone each other,” Kaminari said, snorting. “If they say otherwise they are lying.”

“I don’t want to bone you.”

Kaminari gave him a look.

“At least not when you’re being an insensitive ass,” Kirishima conceded, grumbling.

“Most everyone in class will agree Bakugou is totally fuckable,” Kaminari said. “Mineta was right when he said the hero course is full of babes. But no one in their right mind wants to date him, except you. Why? What is appealing to you about getting screamed at or blasted on a daily basis? What is it, exactly, that calls you to Bakugou Katsuki?”

He’d been thinking about that question since he decided that Bakugou was worth following at USJ. And over their three years at UA together, Bakugou had done nothing but give him more and more reasons to fall in love. So when Kaminari asks something like, Why are you drawn to Bakugou Katsuki? Kirishima wants to ask right back, Why aren’t you?

You like it when Jirou ties you up, Kirishima wants to grumble. Who’s really the weird one here?

“Let’s go wrestle,” Kirishima suggests, stretching his arms over his head. All this musing has him itching to move. After the whole ice cream thing, a shirtless Bakugou wasn’t going to faze him. “You can’t really plan to sit under this umbrella all day.”

“Sure can,” Bakugou says. “I’ve got fair fucking skin.”

“Oh, boo,” Kirishima says. “That’s no excuse. Put on some sun lotion.”

“Eat a dick,” Bakugou says, flipping him off.

Ignoring the part of his brain that immediately responds, I’d eat yours, Kirishima peeks over the top of Bakugou's book. “Please?”

“Die, maggot,” Bakugou says, swatting at him.

Kirishima resorts to rolling on the ground next to Bakugou, nuzzling his shoulder with the top of his head. “Bakugou,” he whines. “Bakugou, come on. Bakugou, please.”

Bakugou's ears go red at the final note of Kirishima’s whine so he repeats it, over and over. “Please, please, please—”

“Alright!” Bakugou snaps. “You—you plague. If it will get you to shut the hell up, I will roast my skin until I’m a fucking red bean, you snotting, sadistic, asswipe.”

“Aww, babe,” Kirishima says.

“‘Babe’?” Bakugou mutters.

Ignoring him, Kirishima continues. “Just put on the really strong stuff. I’ll do your back.”

“You will not.”

Kirishima pouts. “Fine. Burn.”

A muscle in Bakugou's jaw twitches. He sheds the Hawaiian shirt and stuffs it in his bag. Then he grabs the tank by the neck and tugs it over his shoulders in one swift movement.

(Had Kirishima said something about shirtless Bakugou not fazing him? Ha. Good joke, Eijirou.)

“What,” Bakugou deadpans, stuffing the tank in his bag and fetching sun lotion from his bag. “Never seen a shirtless dude before?”

“We change in the locker rooms all the time,” Kirishima points out, making a commendable effort to look Bakugou in the eyes.

“So what’s your deal?” Bakugou says.

Oh, Kirishima thinks. Oh, wait, this is dangerous.

“I—” he starts, but he’s cut off by a feral grin spreading across Bakugou's face. “What?”

Bakugou cocks his head to the side and wow, why did that look so hot on him and stupid on Kirishima? Bakugou grins. “All that talk about being a tough guy—you’re intimidated?”

“I am not,” Kirishima says. “I’ve seen you naked before!”

“Uh-huh,” Bakugou says. He runs a hand down his chest. “More than you expected, up close?”

Kirishima can’t feel his face. There’s no way Bakugou can’t tell that he’s a gay, flustered mess when he’s burning all the way down his neck. He can’t look at Bakugou's body and he definitely can’t look at Bakugou's face, so he looks at his hands, too cowed to speak.

He jumps when a bottle of lotion catapults into his lap. Kirishima looks up and Bakugou has his back turned to him, dabbing lotion down his arm. “Well?” Bakugou says, and Kirishima scoots closer to him. He squeezes some of the sunscreen onto his hand and then approaches the planes of Bakugou's back.

When he first dabs the lotion along Bakugou's back, Bakugou shivers at the cold. The muscles of his back tense and Kirishima can see the shape of his shoulder blades, the sinews of his neck, and the line of his spine. Kirishima smooths out the lotion, white on already white skin. When he sets his palms against Bakugou's skin, Bakugou tenses again.

It’s okay, Kirishima wants to say. It’s okay.

His face is still hot. Being allowed to touch Bakugou isn’t helping. Even so, Kirishima’s heartbeat steadies and he lets out a long sigh. He rubs the lotion into Bakugou's shoulder blades with the heel of his palm, his fingers rubbing in over the tops of his shoulders. He works his way down, dragging a thumb down the length of Bakugou's spine. The tension in Bakugou's body slowly lessens and he arches forward, baring more of his back to Kirishima.

Kirishima finishes rubbing in the last of the sunscreen on Bakugou's lower back and looks up to see that Bakugou has stopped moving. His eyes are almost glazed over. Kirishima presses the heel of his hands into Bakugou's back experimentally and Bakugou doesn’t move aside from the flutter of eyelashes.

“Um,” Kirishima says.

It only takes a word to get Bakugou moving again. He straightens up, twists to snatch the bottle of lotion from Kirishima’s lap and starts vigorously applying sunscreen. “What?” he snaps, quickly followed by, “Thanks.”

Are you mad or thankful? Kirishima wonders, grinning. Bakugou was an adventure.

“I’ll race you to the water,” Kirishima says, getting to his feet.

“What? No. No, you motherfucker, I’m not ready—!”

Kirishima sprints towards the ocean, Bakugou swearing colorfully behind him. He hears Bakugou scramble to his feet and then the telltale sound of him using his palm explosions to blast him towards the goal. Kirishima takes a running dive into the water at the same time Bakugou propels himself face first into an oncoming wave.

Kirishima comes up laughing. The water sizzles where Bakugou landed and he rises from the water, shaking his head like a dog and his hair standing up every which way. Kirishima splashes him with water and Bakugou uses both hands to create a tidal wave, wading through the water to presumably punch the shit out of him. Kirishima runs away, diving into the water and swimming away, sending a spray of water into Bakugou's face.

“You little—” Bakugou says.

He pursues by wading after Kirishima, trying to grab ahold of Kirishima’s ankle. Kirishima evades him for about five minutes before the current and a larger wave pushes him back into Bakugou and Bakugou finally grabs him, pulling him closer, one hand ready to blast. Kirishima hardens himself in time, but the blast Bakugou unleashes is little more than a puff of soot and a spark.

Kirishima cackles, floating on his back and holding his sides at Bakugou's pathetic showing. “Oh man,” Kirishima says. “Water’s not your thing, huh?” Bakugou dunks him.

When Kirishima comes back up for air he’s ready to start another splash war, but is stopped by Kaminari calling his name.

“Oi!” Kaminari says. “Can you and Bakugou pick up a couple of boogie boards? The rest of us are getting stuff from the van to set up for lunch!”

“Yeah, no problem!” Kirishima calls back, waving. To Bakugou he says, “C’mon. Todoroki’ll want a surfboard to show off, probably.”

“He doesn’t show off,” Bakugou says.

“No,” Kirishima agrees. “Not normally. But Midoriya Izuku…”

“Ugh,” Bakugou says with feeling. “Disgusting.”

“Nothing wrong with two dudes loving on each other,” Kirishima says.

“It’s wrong if it’s Deku,” Bakugou says. “He should just fuck the megane and leave Deku out of it.”

Kirishima raises his eyebrows. “You think the three of them…?”

“I don’t care, fuckmunch!” Bakugou snaps. “I just happen to possess eyes.”

Kirishima starts a race to the surfboard rental and in the interest of reducing casualties, Bakugou doesn’t use his Quirk. And still wins. Pure willpower, that boy. Kirishima rents three boogie boards and a short surfboard for tricks for Todoroki.

“Here,” Bakugou grunts, putting his card forward before Kirishima can fish the cash out of his bag.

Kirishima blinks. “You don’t have to—”

“Sparky paid for gas, didn’t he?” Bakugou says. “Get your filthy paws out of your wallet.”

Kirishima smiles.

“Shed’s round the back,” the clerk says. “Pick out the boards you want. I’ll need to hold your license until you return them.”

Bakugou hands his over and they walk around the shack to the board shed. Kirishima hauls open the shed door and steps inside the bamboo shack they called a shed. He claps his hands together. “Alright! What are the most embarrassing boards we can find for Kaminari and Sero?”

He glances back at Bakugou and has to do a double take. Bakugou's arms are crossed over his chest and he’s looking at Kirishima with an unreadable expression.

Kirishima swallows. “Uh, Bakugou?”

“Do you know what this looks like?” Bakugou says.

“What does what look like?” Kirishima asks.

Bakugou shakes his head and takes a step towards Kirishima. “You’re either incredibly stupid or incredibly good at playing stupid.”

“Dude, what?” Kirishima says. “What are you getting at?”

“You,” Bakugou says, taking another step forward. “Me. Separated from the rest of the group. Alone together.”

Kirishima squints at him. “I don’t…do you think I’m going to launch a surprise attack on you or something?”

“A surprise attack,” Bakugou says. “Well, I suppose it would be something like that.”

He steps into Kirishima’s space and steals the breath away from him. Bakugou's close, close enough to brush their noses together, close enough to take Kirishima’s chin in his hand and tilt it up, close enough for Kirishima to feel behind him for a wall and collapse against it.

“Is this what you wanted?” Bakugou asks. “Did you think you’d get the jump on me?”

“Wh-what…” Kirishima says, hardly able to hear over the beating of his heart. “What are you even…”

“I know you want me,” Bakugou says.

The floor opens beneath Kirishima’s feet. He stumbles, and Bakugou grabs him by the arm, knee pressing between his legs to steady him. “What…” Kirishima says. “I don’t—”

“You do,” Bakugou says. “You watched me eat that ice cream. I saw your eyes on my mouth.”

“Oh,” Kirishima says, and nearly falls over again.

“You look at me with hunger, you call me by pet names I never asked for, you’re more tactile with me than anyone else,” Bakugou says. “I know you want me.”

“It’s hard to, you know, think, when your knee is between my legs,” Kirishima slurs.

“But then you say something like that,” Bakugou says. “You look away. You don’t make a move. When given opportunities to push boundaries, you play it safe. When we’re alone together, you think nothing of it. When you have the opportunity to see me without clothes on, I’m the last one you invite.”

“There’s…a reason…” Kirishima says.

“Well then what the fuck is it?” Bakugou snaps. “Because I’m sick to fucking death of you dancing around me. Tell me what you want from me! Sex? A fuck buddy? Or is it just pent-up frustration that you can’t stick your dick in Kaminari because he has a girlfriend?”

Kirishima goes very, very quiet. “I want…”

“Yes?”

Kirishima swallows. “I want to make you as happy as you make me,” he says. “I never even got as far as imagining sex. I just, uh, love you a lot? Like, a lot, a lot? So I was always thinking about how I could help you have a good time and not pop a boner and make things awkward at the same time.”

Bakugou leans back and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Are you an idiot?”

“Probably,” Kirishima says.

“Definitely,” Bakugou says. “You hair-brained, mixed-signal-sending moron.”

“Sorry,” Kirishima says, offering a small smile. “I just…really like you, Bakugou.”

“Yeah? Well, I hate your fucking guts,” Bakugou says. “You’re pushy and a personal space invader. You have no respect for peace and quiet and you always have to drag me into all your stupid bullshit.”

“Uh-huh,” Kirishima says, putting his hands on either side of Bakugou's face.

“Your pet names suck. Your hair is stupid. You’re a fucking dumbass. Your fashion sense is terrible.”

“Uh-huh,” Kirishima says, pulling Bakugou's face closer to his.

“You really, really suck,” Bakugou says, his lips brushing Kirishima’s. “I’ll never get used to you.”

“I’ll never get used to you either,” Kirishima says. “But that’s what makes this beautiful.”

He kisses Bakugou, his entire body surging to meet Bakugou. Bakugou presses back against him, crushing Kirishima against the wall of the shed. He chases the faint taste of cherry across Bakugou's lips, mingling with salt from the ocean. Kirishima feels like he really is being eaten alive this time, the predator he’d seen earlier surrounding him and pressing into him, protective and wanting, even as he tears Kirishima apart.

Kirishima wants Bakugou's teeth on him, on his lips, on his tongue. He doesn’t bite back but Bakugou's tongue finds the points of his teeth anyway, a tentative swipe over sharp. Kirishima feels Bakugou's curiosity in the way his body shifts when he finds that they’re as sharp as they look. He likes Kirishima’s tongue, which is well and good because Kirishima likes putting his tongue in Bakugou's mouth.

“You’re never blowing me,” Bakugou says against Kirishima’s mouth. “Not with those teeth.”

“Aw,” Kirishima says. “I kinda want to, though.”

Bakugou inhales through his nose at that, which makes Kirishima thinks that statement isn’t as set in stone as Bakugou would like to think.

“Hey, Bakugou,” Kirishima says, draping his arms around Bakugou's neck and looking into bloodred eyes. “I think you like me.”

“Bullshit,” Bakugou says. “Dunno where you got that idea.”

“Uh-huh,” Kirishima says, and kisses the corner of his mouth.

“Let’s get these boards and get going, asshole,” Bakugou says.

“I’d love to,” Kirishima says, “but unfortunately, I’m still too hard to function. Any ideas?”

“Just one,” Bakugou says. “I think you have a pretty good idea of what it is.”

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

On the way back home, the sun setting in the background, Kirishima is the only one awake.

All five girls are piled on top of each other, everyone leaning in against Yaoyorozu, who has a line of drool running out of the corner of her mouth. Kaminari has both Sero and Iida in his lap, snoring loud enough to hear over the radio. And leaning against the window in the passenger’s seat, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face, Bakugou naps soundly.

Kirishima doesn’t mind being the only one awake. He’s been glowing all day, enough that everyone getting laid regularly were able to pick out one of their own. Kaminari and Jirou made retching noises, but Todoroki had given Kirishima a once-over and a thumbs up, and coming from the hottest guy in class, Kirishima thinks he’s done well.

The radio plays: I’m sailing a ship on a lake that never runs dry…

Kirishima smiles. Yes, he’s done well.

#kiribaku #bakushima #krbkweek #bnha #fics #i made it technically #wails it's not even GOOD #i wish i could write but alas #enjoy a patchwork monster i didnt plan well enough

264 notes · View notes

forthelulzy · 5 years

Text

Heaven By Violence: Chapter 8

I’m waking up at the start of the end of the world But it’s feeling just like every other morning before — “How Far We've Come”, Matchbox Twenty

Julien surfaces from the darkness, smoothly, swiftly. He is too aware that he is not where he should be, and the sensation is something like falling asleep on a caravan in the Hinterlands and waking up on a boat off Rivain. Disorienting, but he does not gasp or open his eyes. The air on his face feels alpine, little needles pricking his cheeks, and the rest of him, save his right hand, is wrapped up in a heavy blanket that traps his sweat against his skin. He is not in his armor, and he can’t remember getting out of it. He can’t think of why he would get out of it, with things as dire as they are. Unless he is dead. Then why is he cold? The Chant was never specific about these things.

“…taking so long?”

“Ree-Ree? I imagine she’s telling them how she died and came back to life. Oh, to be a fly on that wall…!”

A long pause, and an image presses itself under his eyelids: russet strands shifting, sliding down to hang free as that face tilts sideways, curiosity or mania or sadistic glee in luminescent eyes — he can’t know, now, it has been too long and who can predict the emotion of the moment? He wants to sit up and check, though he can’t bring himself that kind of pain again.

But Tacere doesn’t sound like any of those as he sighs and adds quietly, “It’s always going to hurt.”

“How practical of you.”

“Ha. I have my moments, lordling. I think this is the first, but still. A moment.”

Caius — and that is strange in itself: he has always made a point of actively avoiding Tacere before, as his personality and the rogue’s are oil and water, if not oil and fire — huffs.

“You know, you did a fabulous job swooping in to save the day, mon ange.”

“I do not ‘swoop’. I was coming anyway. It’s just magic.”

“Mm-hm. Some would call it blood magic.”

“How do you— Don’t answer that. It’s blood magic like a phylactery is blood magic. Less so because it was with consent.”

A warm hand finds his own, and clever fingers trace circles in his palm. “Ah, you do not have to convince me, darling. I do wonder if they will think to ask, though.”

He huffs again. “If it does come up, it’ll be during the other interrogation, I think. Something tells me this lot is lousy with them. Interrogations.”

“I’m sure that lovely redhead has some ideas on how to make you talk.”

Another pause, undoubtedly while Caius rolls his eyes. When he does speak it is with an ironic lilt. “Yes, she’ll have the other one break me in half.”

“Cassandra? She’s a teddy bear.”

“That’s you want her to be, not what she is. If anything, she’s an actual bear.”

“What I want is to climb that like a tree. Wow.” The fingers pause their strokes, slip up to lay across his wrist. He realizes what Tac is doing just as the elf says, smile evident in his voice, “Not that I would dream of leaving you for the lady Seeker, my dear Julie.”

Julien doesn’t bother playing dumb. He pulls his hand back, and tucks it into his cocoon before the absence of Tac’s warmth can convince him to return it. When he opens his eyes a moment later the first thing he sees is the dark cloth canopy directly above, and a strip of star-scattered sky further right. A brilliant light hovers at the edge of his vision, and as he slowly sits up — aware, suddenly, of the pull of stitches in his abdomen — it resolves itself as a wisp, floating over Caius’ head. The mage has crow’s feet now, he notes; it hasn’t been that long since they last met but he seems so much older, so much more like a corpse. The harsh illumination doesn’t help with the bloodless impression.

Caius’ lips twitch, pressed thin, and he shifts on his stool. The motion draws Julien’s eyes past him. They are in a camp, not far from a roaring fire that spits embers up into the night. Beyond, he can barely make out tents, the shadow of a guard stalking between the rows. A few people are gathered around the fire, but it is late, too late for more than whispers. Slush, trampled from snow by the tromp of many booted feet, clings to the ground; this and the temperature tell him that he has been either moved a great distance west, into the Frostbacks, or asleep for a month or more.

“How long?” he asks hoarsely.

With a shrug, Caius glances left, and Julien steels himself to meet Tac’s unnervingly bright eyes. Looking doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would, but the blissful, self-satisfied expression on the elf’s face does. Julien clenches his jaw. Could he have forgotten?

“I actually don’t know,” Tacere says breezily. “I joined this adventuring party, ah… last night? Ree-Ree could tell you.” He twirls a lock of hair around his finger, and Julien has to force himself to refocus.

“She’s still occupied with her advisors.”

Thank the Maker Caius is here — while his presence won’t stop Tac from flirting, it will keep Julien from giving in. Hopefully. But then the full weight of the mage’s words sinks in — Irene. His sister writing him after years of believing contact too dangerous, telling him about her new title, her new burden, her new advisors. His reply, all but begging for help.

“Julien?” It’s Caius, surprisingly, leaning forward to pin him with his eyes. “Julien, what do you remember?”

“I… it doesn’t matter. I need—” He tries to wriggle out of the blanket, and his abdomen twinges, a spike of pain shooting through his stomach.

The mage stands up, head brushing the canopy, and deftly frees him from the cocoon. Instantly the cold air rushes over his sweat-soaked underclothes. He shivers, but it’s better than being trapped. He lays his head back — the pillow is lumpy and smells, oddly enough, of lyrium — and takes stock of his body. A blossoming headache in his left temple, but that’s to be expected. His mouth is dry, and his stomach is hollow. All normal.

“I remember red.” He hadn’t meant to speak aloud but can’t take the words back; the only thing to do is continue. “Lucius was trying to get everyone on the new lyrium. Started with the officers and worked down, which is why we weren’t able to fight back when we realized something was wrong. If our commanders said everything was fine…”

“Templars were never very good at disobeying orders?” Caius supplies, and though it is phrased as a question Julien knows he’s just being polite.

Tacere cackles. “Didn’t get that promotion, did you Julie?”

Julien scowls and sinks further into the bed. No, I didn’t. Thank the Maker.

“I need to see my sister,” he says. Irene will be a comfort, in her own way. It has been far too long, and she’s the only family left that cares to be a relation. He thinks of Lord Trevelyan — he’d gotten into the habit of thinking of his father by his title, all the easier to maintain the distance required of a bastard — whether he knows, whether he will try once more to mold Irene into the perfect daughter now that she is the Herald. More likely, he’ll simply take credit. Oh yes, that’s my dear Irene, I never once tried to control anything about her, never drove her to drink…

“She doesn’t know I’m here yet, unless they’ve told her,” Caius says, making to stand again. “Maybe I should—”

Quick as lightning, Tac leaps up and bounds off towards a tent set apart from the others. He chatters at the guard stationed there for a second then barges past him.

“Ugh, Tac,” Caius mutters, shaking his head and sinking back down. Julien rather agrees.

There’s a commotion from inside the tent, and Tac reappears, shoved out by a stern woman with short hair and Seeker armor. She glowers from the entrance, arms crossed, and refuses to budge before Tac’s wheedling. Julien admires her tenacity.

“Let me go! Julien? Julien!” Irene staggers from the tent, struggling to break free of the hands grasping at her arms — an armored man with unruly blond curls and a petite brunette in an impractically ruffled dress are trying to hold her back. Julien can see why — his sister is a bloody mess, face scarred up from frostbite and a fresh-stitched wound peeking out from the fur blanket draped around her shoulders. She doesn’t seem to notice or mind the cold, or that a few minor cuts on her right arm are steadily dripping, reopened by her movement.

“Merciful Maker,” Caius breathes. Julien has never heard him invoke the Maker or his Bride before, and glances towards the mage just as he rises, ducking out from under the canopy and taking a cautious step toward the still-struggling Irene. “She’s going to hurt herself—”

Irene gets loose of the brunette, wrenching her left arm away with clenched teeth, and the woman, unbalanced, falls flat on her arse in the slush. “Josephine!” shouts the man, grip slacking enough that Irene is able to break free, and stumble clear of the tangle. She makes it halfway to Julien, staggering like a very determined drunkard (and Julien hates the simile the instant it crosses his mind) before she has to stop, clutching her side and panting.

“Idiot,” says Caius, abandoning all caution. He puts his hand on Irene’s heaving back and bends to look at her face. Behind them the advisors look ready to interfere, the lone man opening his mouth and shouldering forward. Caius whips his head around in that bird-like way of his and snaps, “I’m not going to hurt her. Help me get her to the other cot. And I need food and water.”

They hesitate. Julien pushes himself up some more and swings his legs over the edge, leaning with his elbows on his knees as the world tilts dangerously. Tac reappears, trying to help, but Julien ignores him. “Maker’s sake, just do it,” he says wearily.

That spurs them into action. The Seeker — Cassandra, Tac had called her — comes over to help Irene the rest of the way, to the empty cot on the other side of Julien, while the others disperse. Caius shoots him a glare with no heat — he’s full of gestures like these, a facade that will fool no one — and mutters about useless Southerners, and Julien shrugs because he knows the complaint is solid but there isn’t anything he can do about it without talking over him even more, and he’s done and seen enough of that already. At least Caius didn’t call him templar, with the sneer. He’s fairly certain he’s done with that life. He was never suited for it.

It’s a miracle he lasted as long as he did. It certainly wasn’t by a sense of duty to the Cause. He stayed with the others in Therinfal because he was — is — a coward. Too afraid to sneak off in the night, though there were opportunities. Too afraid of what awaited him out there, and what would happen to the few good, duty-bound templars left.

Yes, he’d had a mild crush on Delrin Barris. But it was just that, and hardly a good reason.

He huffs and flops back on the cot again. He is parched, famished and far more exhausted than he would like.

“You haven’t asked what happened,” Tac says, perching at his bedside once more.

“Thought you said you just joined up yesterday.”

Tac titters, but wisely shuts up. Josephine comes with the provisions — some for Julien too, bless her — and he swears the soup is the best he has ever tasted, even if the broth is thin and the little bits of meat within are tough. He’s not going to be choosy in the middle of the wilderness.

“Julien…” Irene breathes, and when he looks up she’s smiling, though it’s strained from exertion and something else, probably disbelief. She’s on her side facing him, hand extended. It is the unmarked one; the other she cradles close to her chest, bruises standing out on her skin.

He reaches, intending to clasp their palms as they used to do as children. The gap is too wide, and he barely brushes her fingers, but it is enough.

“Good to see you, sister.”

She cracks a pained smile, like she hasn’t truly done so in a very long time.

***

Hours later, long after their tales have been exchanged, Julien wakes again to more voices. He wasn’t aware he was falling asleep at all, but as he blinks into the pre-dawn gloom he finds much of his earlier exhaustion gone. Tac is curled up on the chair, dozing in a position that makes Julien’s neck ache by proxy. Someone has draped a blanket over him, but one ear is exposed to the cold, twitching madly as the voices rise and fall. Julien wouldn’t be certain the elf was asleep at all if he wasn’t drooling on his own shoulder.

“I don’t exactly feel very hopeful right now,” Irene snaps, loud enough to startle, and he turns over to find her sitting on the edge of her cot, glaring at a woman dressed in the red and white robes of the Chantry. The Mother is watching her with pity, even as Irene bristles.

“I know you don’t, and neither did many of these people,” the Mother soothes. She must be the same one Irene met in the Hinterlands. Giselle. “But they know what they saw: you, returning to them. They saw the Maker’s hand. Would you take that vision from them?”

Irene sighs, glancing away, toward Julien. The fire in her eyes burns low, but steady. She studies him for a long moment before replying to Mother Giselle.

“No.”

Giselle nods, but there is no satisfaction in it. “We have lost much, but in this darkest hour we must remember that the dawn will come.” She retreats, disappearing into the darkness, presumably to minister to other souls. That she tried with Irene is surprising, perhaps speaking to courage, or to unfamiliarity. What is more surprising is Irene’s response; his sister doesn’t like the philosophical questions, and has always had more faith in her own sword-arm than the Maker. That she actually conceded the point at all…

“How are you feeling?” he asks quietly.

“Like I’ve been run over by a herd of druffalo,” she says, picking at her bandages. Julien starts to murmur something sympathetic, but she’s not done. “And like all the illusions I clung to, that the fight was almost over, that I was making a difference, that if I did just one more task, one more, one more, I could grieve in peace — it’s all gone and I’m back to where I was when I woke up in that dungeon with this fucking thing on my hand—” The mark flares as she gestures wildly, and she grits her teeth in pain, hunching over.

Julien sits up faster than he probably should, but it’s over as suddenly as it began.

Irene lets out her breath in a low hiss, flexing her hand, and looks out across the fire, where the four advisors are in the middle of yet another argument. “And now it seems no one can make a decision without me.”

“You weren’t supposed to be the leader, but it’s what happened and they’re going to tear themselves and each other apart without someone to tell them what to do. Honestly, I’d rather it be you than anyone else at this point. You know the price of power. You won’t abuse it.”

She snorts, picking at her bandages again, and he grabs her hand before she unravels all the healers’ hard work. “Right,” she mutters darkly. “Because that went so well the last time anyone put me in charge of anything.”

“And you’ve learned from that, which makes you better than someone untested, or who has tasted power and found it intoxicating,” he retorts, tapping her hand gently to distract her from the dark path her mind seems determined to travel. Maker, his sister has changed so much. Colm was her refuge, her rock, and without him she is lost. He just hopes his words can reach her.

Irene shrugs helplessly, and the silence stretches between them. The advisors have stopped bickering for the moment, but he doubts they are truly finished. Josephine and Leliana are talking quietly, while Cassandra studies what maps they managed to salvage and Cullen paces, gripping his sword’s pommel like a lifeline.

They are self-destructing, like he said. He isn’t sure how Irene is going to solve the immediate issue of where to go and what to do, but she should have a voice. A vote. Because they’re going to need a plan, and a place to go.

She hauls herself to her feet abruptly, so abruptly that Julien worries she will fall again, but she just crosses her arms, releasing a cloud of breath into the mountain air. The stars are cold and distant, but brilliant as ever, and he wonders what she is thinking as she stares up at them, tracing the constellations with her eyes; she steps out from under the tent a pace, the better to stare straight up as the stars fade before the coming dawn.

She stays standing like that, even as Mother Giselle emerges from the gloom again.

Her eyes are closed, her hands lifted halfway to prayer, singing soft but sure. It is a Chantry hymn, one Julien knows well, one most of the gathered people know well, and he is not surprised when Sister Nightingale joins in, then a few of the soldiers. By the next verse it seems the whole camp is awake, people streaming out from the rows of tents to crowd around, naked hope on every face. An impromptu chorus in the middle of nowhere. He can even pick out Leliana’s bard-trained lilt and Cullen’s surprisingly strong tenor among the others.

Irene has her back turned, but turns her head to listen on the last verse. Though he knows she has heard this hymn many times, she looks like she’s truly absorbing it in its entirety. Unlike him: he is immune to the power of it, it seems, dissecting its pieces.

She needs this. You do not.

***

The elf called Solas — whose head must be freezing — calls Irene to the edge of the camp. His face is unreadable as they walk past, Irene’s still full of wonder.

A weight settles in Julien’s gut; he ate too much, probably. The crowd has dispersed and the advisors gather around the map again, considerably quieter now. They will still get nowhere, he knows.

“Well then,” Tac says, and Julien’s heart stutters. The elf stretches like a cat, yawning wide, and leaps up, discarding the blanket. “We’d better get you up, hm?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Tac winks at him. “You’d better.” He giggles at his own joke. “If we’re going anywhere, love, you can’t ride on a bronto the whole time. Those things give terrible saddle sores.”

Julien sighs into his hands. Tac has a point, but he does not want to do this right now — or, with Tac, ever. “Get Caius, then,” he groans, still covering his face. He knows Tac heard him, though, as the elf huffs dramatically and, when Julien looks up a few seconds later, he’s gone.

***

By the time Julien has managed to stand up and shuffle a few paces, Caius doing his level best to support him despite being half his size, Irene has returned and is in hushed conference with her advisors. Her movements as she speaks with them — sharp, jerky, hands going to her hips when they’re not gesturing wildly — would speak of anger to anyone else. But he knows her. She is hopeful. Ecstatic, even. Something has happened, an idea of where to go and what to do. Suggested by Solas, perhaps? Irene had described him somewhat, as she had all her companions up to this point, and he guesses if anyone knows a place for them, unclaimed by Ferelden or Orlais, it’s him. A self-taught mage, a Fade-walker who likes to poke around old ruins and consult the spirits that linger there.

Who knows what he has hidden up his sleeve.

“I don’t know if I should be here,” Caius murmurs as Julien settles back onto the cot. He’s gotten as far as he can go today, which is farther than he’d thought after being ill for so long. It aches to walk, but with the Maker’s favor he’ll make it to… wherever.

Caius, though. The mage is as high-strung as Julien has ever seen him, which is saying something. His hair is still mussed from sleep, but he is far from rested.

Julien does not have to ask what he means; though Caius is no more a threat to him than any other mage, it’s not like this Inquisition knows that. He is still painfully Tevinter. Still an altus, one step away from magister. Every action will be suspect. Julien cannot quite blame them; in their shoes, knowing what little they know, he would be suspicious too. Irene’s word and their dire circumstances are all that keep Caius safe, for the moment.

“That Spymaster of theirs was sniffing around,” Caius says, glancing toward the advisors. Standing a little farther back from her fellows, hands folded behind her, is the woman in purple known as Leliana, Sister Nightingale and former Left Hand of the Divine, according to Irene. “I doubt she’s done.”

“Where would you go?” It’s an honest question.

Caius blinks, and a little color returns to his cheeks. After a moment he lets out a long breath, watches it mist and dissipate. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? There’s nowhere left, not now that the rebel mages are corrupted. I’ve been on the run before, but it’s a lot harder on your own.”

Julien shakes his head. “Irene won’t let them do anything to you, you know that,” he says, as firmly as he can.

“I don’t know how much power she really holds here. They call her Herald of Andraste but do they see her as a leader or a symbol?” He chews his lip, thinking. “And… Colm is dead. Would she really be comfortable seeing his identical twin every day?”

He has a point with the first one, at least. “We’ll find out soon enough, when we get wherever we’re going. But even if she’s not comfortable, she has to be the one to say that you’re not welcome. You know her, she’ll want to confront it head-on.” At least, he hopes so. She could also throw herself into busy work, physical work, to avoid emotional tangles as long as possible.

Either way, an Irene who’ll throw her brother-in-law to the wolves is not an Irene he knows.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #da:i #dragon age fic #dragon age fanfiction #heaven by violence #lulzy writes

0 notes