Oh my GOD I've about had it with this priest holy shit

Frustrated || Oikawa Tooru x Reader

“What, Oikawa? What do you want to talk about?”

He bit his lip as he looked down at you, his shoulders heaving with a deep breath. “We need you at the tournament this weekend.”

“Oh, really?” Your eyebrows rose. “Seeing as I’m such a useless manager and all, I figured Suki could handle it.”

His lips pressed into a line, the irritation clear in his face. “You know you’re not a useless manager.”

“Oh wow, what a compliment,” you drawled. “Not a useless manager. I’m flattered, Oikawa, really.”

He rolled his eyes, gripping the back of his neck as he looked down at you. “You know that’s not what I mean.” He sighed. “And I need you there this weekend.”

At that, your mouth fell open—you were at a total loss for words for a moment. “You—you what?”

Summary: You're the manager of Oikawa's college volleyball team, and after nearly four straight years of bickering with the unfairly attractive captain, you reach a breaking point. Fortunately, that might be just what it takes to make him admit his feelings for you.

Word Count: 3365

Author’s Note: I never thought I’d like Oikawa, and now here I am being a thirsty bitch for him. Highkey considering writing an extra-smutty part two to this, so be sure to let me know what you think!

Cross-posted to A03.

The ball hit the ground with a gentle thud, landing just a few inches behind Oikawa. His hands were still in the air, ready for the throw that never came, and when he turned around to look at you, his face was plastered with his most charming smile.

“What happened there?” he asked, his tone sickeningly sweet. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have thought he was genuinely concerned. But you did know better, and concern was definitely not what Oikawa was feeling.

You gritted your teeth, muttering something utterly inappropriate as Iwaizumi shook his head at you, reminding you that it just wasn’t worth it. As always, you were the one who had to bite your tongue when Oikawa decided to be an obnoxious dick. It had been two hours since practice ended, two hours straight of you tossing balls for Oikawa and Iwaizumi to practice their quick attack. Your arms and shoulders were already sore, reminding you just how much you’d rather be in bed.

“What was that?” Oikawa asked, flashing you that insufferable grin. “Didn’t quite hear you.”

“Nothing,” you replied, your voice low and even. You were not going to give that smug bastard the satisfaction of getting you worked up.

“Oh good!” He turned back toward the net, holding his hands in a ready position. “So, another few tosses?”

You brushed your hair out of your face, grabbing another ball from the bin. Goddamn Oikawa had somehow convinced you to stay. Unless you don’t want us to win this weekend, he had crooned, giving you that look that mimicked sincerity so well that you almost wondered if he was a psychopath. Everyone had been on edge with the Regionals tournament coming up, and the team had been practicing so much you wondered how they stayed upright.

Throwing the next ball on instinct, you cursed below your breath as it flew wide past Oikawa and out of bounds.

You could practically feel the eye roll as Oikawa turned to look at you. “You’d think after being our manager for four years, you’d be able to throw a decent toss. That is one of your only jobs, isn’t it?”

“Oikawa, don’t—”

“No need, Iwaizumi!” you snapped, whipping the next ball at the ground with a smack that made the black-haired man take a large step back. “Let me handle this one.” You crossed the court, stopping just inches from Oikawa and pulling yourself to your full height. “You know damn well that I can throw a ball, Oikawa, seeing as those were the first two I missed in the two fucking hours we’ve been here, maybe the first two I’ve missed since I got roped into this goddamn job freshman year.”

He smirked, crossing his arms as he looked down at you. “So, why are you missing them now?”

“Because it’s nearly nine at night and I haven’t been home in twelve hours!” you snapped. “Unlike you, I can’t keep going forever.” Taking a deep breath, you took a step back from him—in the four years you’d been working with the team, you had a shouted at Oikawa more than a handful of times, and you knew better than to draw it out too long. Oikawa hated to lose, and that included shouting matches with his team manager.

“I don’t remember saying we had to go forever,” he replied, a hint of an annoyed edge cracking through his cool composure. “Just until Iwaizumi and I had this attack down.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, sure, Oikawa, whatever you say.” Throwing your hands in the air, you turned to walk away from him. “I’m done, though. Find someone else to throw for you.”

“You’re done?” His eyes widened in what actually looked like genuine surprise. “You can’t be done—we still have drills to practice.”

“Wanna bet?” You kept walking, not bothering to turn around.

Iwaizumi called your name, but you ignored him, ready to go home and finally crawl into bed.

“Well, you may as well not come to the tournament this weekend, then!” Oikawa called. “Seeing as you’re done and all.”

“Sounds good to me!” You turned, mimicking his sweet smile. “Have fun at Regionals—I’ll be sure to leave Suki my clipboard.”

“Oikawa, would you just—”

“No,” he snapped, cutting off Iwaizumi. “If she wants to go, let her!”

It took all the self-control you had not to flip him an obscene gesture, but you just keep walking, storming out of the gym and into the women’s locker room. Letting the door slam behind you, you yanked off your sweatshirt, your heart racing from the argument. You flopped onto the bench, dropping your head into your hands as you tried to steady your breathing.

You hated that he had the power to get to you like that. You’d think after four years, you’d be used to his jabs, to the endless teasing and snarky remarks. He’d been that way since you met freshman year, him fresh out of high school where he had been a superstar ace setter, and you relatively new to volleyball but in desperate need of something to do outside of class.

Your relationship hadn’t been bad at first—you realized quickly that underneath the layer of asshole, Oikawa was actually a really good teammate that worked hard to make sure his team was successful. He had even been one of the first people to really give you the rundown on volleyball, making sure you were comfortable in your role before the first real match.

And then, once he was sure you knew what you were doing, the teasing really took off.

Shaking your head, you stood up, opening your locker. You knew it was just how he was, that he talked to everyone that way, but it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Especially when you’d been up fourteen hours and were already stressed about how they were going to do at the Regionals tournament this weekend. If they lost, it would be the senior’s last college tournament, and Oikawa and Iwaizumi would be crushed.

You grabbed your shirt to tug it off, but before you could, the locker room door squeaked open behind you.

“Oikawa, what the hell?” You yanked the shirt back on, your cheeks heating with embarrassment when you saw who it was. “This is the women’s locker room, you asshole.”

He rolled his eyes, waving off your complaint. “I had a feeling you hadn’t changed yet—can we talk?”

Your mouth fell open slightly, and you started shaking your head. “Iwaizumi made you come in here, didn’t he?”

“Iwaizumi left right after you did,” he answered, an annoyed expression on his face. “Apparently, he’s not too happy with me either.”

“That’s because you’re an asshole.” You grabbed your bag, deciding you didn’t really need to change. Throwing it over your shoulder, you started walking past him.

A firm hand closed around your forearm. “Wait.”

The word seemed to shoot straight through you, a note of desperation making you jerk to a stop.

“What, Oikawa?” you asked, shaking your arm out of his grip. You sighed heavily and turned to look at him, your voice soft with exhaustion. “What do you want to talk about?”

He bit his lip as he looked down at you, his shoulders heaving with a deep breath. “We need you at the tournament this weekend.”

“Oh, really?” Your eyebrows rose. “Seeing as I’m such a useless manager and all, I figured Suki could handle it.”

His lips pressed into a line, the irritation clear in his face. “You know you’re not a useless manager.”

“Oh wow, what a compliment,” you drawled. “Not a useless manager. I’m flattered, Oikawa, really.”

He rolled his eyes, gripping the back of his neck as he looked down at you. “You know that’s not what I mean.” He sighed. “And I need you there this weekend.”

At that, your mouth fell open—you were at a total loss for words for a moment. “You—you what?”

He exhaled harshly, his gaze flicking away from you. “You’ve never missed a match,” he said hurriedly, the words seeming painful on his lips. “You’ve never missed a match, and I’m used to having you there.”

Stifling an amused laugh, your lips curved into a smile. “Oikawa,” you asked slowly, “are you saying that you can’t play without me?”

“I’m saying I’d rather have you there,” he retorted, the edge in his voice returning.

You were grinning widely now, thrilled by this turn of events. “No, Oikawa, I think you’re saying that you can’t play without me, that you need me there.”

He sighed, running his hand through his hair frustratedly. “If that’s how you want to take it, fine, but you better be on that bus with us tomorrow.”

There was still a stunned smile on your face as you shook your head. “No.”

“No?” Oikawa’s eyes narrowed with confusion. “Did you really just say no?”

“Sure did.” You nodded, crossing your arms over your chest stubbornly. “I’m not going unless you apologize.”

He scoffed, giving you an annoyed look. “Apologize? For what?”

“Well, treating me like shit, for one,” you said, mimicking his smug tone. “Maybe also for barging in on me when I could have been naked. Oh, and what about—”

Out of nowhere, Oikawa’s lips were on yours, your hands frozen at your sides as he gripped your shoulders. The kiss was quick, just long enough for the shock to pass and for you to realize that you kind of liked being kissed by Oikawa. Then, when he pulled back, his brown eyes were fixed on yours with an expression you had never seen on the confident captain’s face before—nerves.

“Oikawa, what…” you breathed, your mind spinning. “What is—why?”

He sighed, his hands drifting down your shoulders to your upper arms. “I told you, I need you at the tournament,” he said, his gaze flicking nervously away from yours. “And I obviously don’t mean as a manager.”

You would be lying if you said you hadn’t daydreamed some version of this moment countless times over the past few years, but you had never expected it to come true, much less after an argument that ended in you storming off the court. In fact, you had put a lot of effort toward eliminating the crush entirely, knowing that Oikawa could have his pick of nearly any girl in the university and didn’t show even a hint of interest in you.

“Oikawa, are you serious?”

“Of course, I’m serious,” he answered, annoyed. “Damn it, can you take anything seriously?”

“Can you?” you laughed, lifting your hand to his chin to force him to look at you. “I’m pretty sure this is the first genuine thing you’ve ever said to me.”

His lips quirked into a half-grin, and you could swear he was leaning into your touch. “So, does that mean you’ll come to the tournament this weekend?”

You lifted your other hand to his hair, running it through the silky locks as you took a step closer to him. “I believe I’m still waiting for an apology.”

“Fucking apology,” he muttered, pulling you close for another kiss. “I’m not going to apologize when you’ve been too dumb to notice me flirting with you for the past three years.”

You laughed as he pushed you back into the row of lockers. “Well, then.”

“I’ll show you an apology.” He kissed you hard, his lips like fire on your skin as he trailed his way down your jaw to your neck, nipping lightly between kisses. His hands were tight on your hips, his fingertips just barely tugging against the waistband of your shorts. “Can I—” he breathed, glancing pointedly down at said shorts.

“You’re going to apologize by going down on me?” you laughed, breathless from his kiss. Just the thought of it made you shiver with desire, your clothes suddenly feeling way too constrictive.

“If you don’t stop talking, I’m not going to do anything,” he murmured, one of his hands sliding up your shirt to rest on your lower back. Holding your bodies close together, he caught your lips in another heated kiss.

You moaned into his mouth, feeling his hardness through his shorts as you arched into him. “Fuck, Oikawa,” you gasped. “Please.”

He grinned, flipping his hair off his face before crouching down. Grabbing your waistband more firmly, he slowly started pulling the material down as he pressed his lips into your hipbone.

Gripping his hair, you briefly wished you had worn sexier underwear, but you didn’t have much time to think before his lips were on your stomach, shoving your shirt up. You pulled it off the rest of the way and leaned back on the lockers, letting him do most of the work of holding you upright.

The metal was cool against your skin, a sharp contrast to Oikawa’s lips that were like fire as they trailed along the hem of your panties. He nipped and sucked, teasing his way down to your thighs and nudging them apart. “Fuck,” he breathed, looking up to see you in nothing but a bra. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

His words shot straight through to your core, your hips bucking toward him as you whined needily. “C’mon, Oikawa, stop teasing.”

“Stop teasing?” he mused, his breath hot against you as he hiked one of your legs onto his shoulder. “What kind of ridiculous request is that?”

“I thought this was supposed to be my apology,” you replied, trying to use your grip on his hair to redirect him.

“Don’t make me regret telling you,” he muttered, dragging a finger up your slit and feeling the wetness through the material of your panties. “Fuck, you’re soaked.”

You moaned, half-pleasure and half-annoyance. “Yeah, because you’re such a fucking tease.”

“Aw, stop trying to flatter me, beautiful, you know I have an insufferable ego.”

You rolled your eyes, choking back a moan as he pressed his fingertip roughly onto your clit. Your legs shook as you regripped his hair, doing your best to stay upright. At that, Oikawa’s impatience took over, and he yanked your panties down, dropping your legs just long enough for you to get them off.

When his fingertips dragged across your soaked pussy, it was like someone shooting fire through your veins. His touch was light, still teasing, and in drastic contrast with the intensity of his kisses.

“Oikawa,” you moaned, tipping your head back against the lockers. “Goddamn it.”

He laughed, the rumble sending shockwaves through you. “You look so good begging for me,” he mused, still gently tracing his fingers through your folds, just barely avoiding your clit. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to slam you against these goddamn lockers and just have my way with you.”

“Then have your way with me,” you begged, the sounds coming from you downright pitiful. “Please just touch my clit already.”

“Like this?” he asked, flicking his thumb against it. Your back arched, and it was only his grip on your thigh keeping your upright. “Fuck,” he chuckled, his mouth only centimeters from your pussy. “You really are needy.”

“Oh my god, Tooru,” you whined. “Stop being such an asshole.”

At the sound of his first name, Oikawa let out a low moan. With a quick glance up at your face, he lowered his lips to you, desperate to hear you moan his name again. He started with broad, slow strokes, his tongue just barely brushing against your clit before making another stroke.

“That’s it beautiful,” he murmured, sliding two fingers inside you with ease. “So, fucking tight.”

You were already on the brink of orgasm, his teasing alone enough to put you on edge. And now, with his absolutely skillful mouth on your pussy, you didn’t think you’d be able to last long.

Oikawa’s fingers were long and perfect inside you, searching out just the right spot to make you come undone. He hummed with pleasure when he brushed against the spongey patch that almost made you scream with pleasure.

You could barely even form words anymore—the combination of his fingers inside you and his tongue flicking rhythmically over your clit was sending your body into overdrive. All you could do was whimper his name, your hands in his hair as you tried desperately not to collapse on top of him. Your legs were sore, Oikawa holding them firmly apart so that you didn’t suffocate him, and you could feel your arousal running down your thighs.

Pulling away for just a second, Oikawa looked up at you with a grin. “You seem just about ready to cum all over my face, beautiful.”

You nodded hurriedly, pushing his head back toward you. “Please, Tooru, I’m so close.”

His mouth returned to your clit, alternating between sucking and flicking so quickly that the sensations started to meld together. Your eyes squeezed shut, your mouth falling open as you hurtled toward the edge.

“Tooru, I’m—fuck—I’m cumming!”

He held your thighs a bit tighter, keeping you upright as you came undone for him. Electricity seemed to shoot through you, your mind going blank of everything but his mouth on your clit and his fingers inside you. It was almost overwhelming—you had never cum so hard in your life. When you finally came down, your body was weak, being hit with little aftershocks as Oikawa slipped his fingers out.

“That’s it, beautiful,” he murmured, lowering your leg to the ground and taking a firm grip on your hips. “Fuck, you looked so good cumming for me.”

Slowly, you pulled your eyes open to see him looking at you, his brown eyes warm and his pupils blown wide with desire. You dropped your hands to his shoulders, pulling him to you for a kiss.

“That was some apology,” you murmured, holding him tight against you. “Feels like you could use a little help now, though.”

He bit back a moan as you jerked your hips into his bulge. His shorts didn’t do a good job of hiding it, and you were absolutely desperate to get him naked now.

“We don’t have to right now,” he said, his voice soft as he cupped your cheek surprisingly tenderly. “This was your apology, after all.”

You laughed, running your hands under his shirt to start pushing it off. “And you know what would really prove you’ve learned your lesson?”

“What?” he asked, grinning as he pulled his shirt the rest of the way off.

“If you fucked me,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his neck.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned, pressing you back into the lockers. “I’d be happy to.”

You palmed his erection through his shorts, feeling just how hard he was for you. “Do you have a condom?”

At that, his face dropped. “Shit, no, I don’t.”

“Really?” you asked, teasing him. “The great Oikawa Tooru doesn’t keep a condom stash with him at all times?”

“I’m not a complete animal,” he muttered, rolling his hips into your hand. “And I didn’t exactly plan on getting laid tonight.”

“Fuck.” You glanced over at the clock to see it was now well after 10:00 PM. “Well, that’s probably for the best anyway since we have to be on a bus in less than eight hours.”  

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he grumbled, still keeping you pinned against the lockers. “I finally take the condoms out of my locker and then this? Fucking cursed.”

You laughed, grabbing his face to pull him in for a kiss. “How about this? When you win all your matches tomorrow, you can come back to my place to celebrate?”

Smirking, he kissed you again. “And what if I don’t win all my matches?”

You rolled your eyes. “If by some miracle, some other team manages to beat you, I’ll be sure to console you appropriately.”

“Trying to make me throw my matches?” he laughed, running his hands down to your ass to squeeze tightly.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Jumping, you wrapped your legs around him. “So, you better win for me, got it?”

“Whatever you say, beautiful.”

~~~

Thanks so much for reading!! If you enjoyed this, be sure to check out my masterlist in my description, and feel free to send in requests!

Miscellaneous Batfam headcanons

Dick

He’s really the only person in the family who can get away with getting out of hostage situations because of his job as a police officer

… but he doesn’t

Yes he uses this as an excuse to hug his family

No he doesn’t feel bad about it

He’s a good actor, he has to be with his job, so if there’s other civilians around or the tied up henchmen are still conscious… well, what kind of asshole wouldn’t hug a sobbing civilian?

Clings to whichever unfortunate sibling is closest when he’s let go

Just… no shame whatsoever

Yeah, the family is more than a little hesitant to help him

Unfortunately for them Dick is pretty much the entirety of the family’s emotional support system

So, eventually, someone caves and goes to rescue him

(Also, one time they didn’t, and he was insufferable for months, and they don’t want a repeat of that)

Babs

Babs knows EVERYTHING

This makes getting around her… difficult

One time she decided to make everyone get over their unhealthy habits

She was mostly just concerned about everyone’s habit of substituting sleep with coffee

They'd done everything to keep Babs from finding out

Checked everywhere for bugs, made sure she wasn’t home, bought new phones, EVERYTHING

And yet when they snuck to the kitchen for food…

The phone started ringing

Cue screaming

They only got back their unhealthy habits by begging… and considering they're the bats…

Well, let’s just say it took a while

Jason

He regularly kidnaps his siblings

It’s a love language, okay?

He might not be good at emotions like Dick is

But he WILL break into everyone’s safehouses, grab them by the back of their shirts, and drag them out for joyrides and ice cream

And that’s just as important, really

The bats are terrible with dealing with emotions and he is perfectly happy to help them avoid their problems

His services also extend to stealing them away from Dick when he’s attempting to get them to open up before they're ready

One text and he’s there

There’s two older siblings, one of them has to be bad, it’s called balance

Tim

The only time he sleeps is when Bruce is attempting to lecture him

Of course, he didn’t start out that way

He’s Tim Drake, after all, he has a duty to be perfect at everything he does

But… there’s only so many times you can listen to the ‘Don’t do reckless stuff’ speech before you can recite it from memory

At this time, lecture time has been changed into nap time

Bruce has started to use this to his advantage

When he notices that Tim hasn’t slept in days he starts lecturing him

One time he had a dream where he was getting the lecture and he had to wake up

Bruce had to scramble to start lecturing again

Tim figured out what was going on after that

But the other option is to listen to the lecture all the way through so he accepts that he has to sleep

Steph

I see your “Jason Todd/Damian Wayne are the embodiment of the Cain Instinct(™)” posts and raise you Stephanie-fucking-Brown

The Wayne Love Language is almost murdering each other and it really shows

Steph walks into a room and it is On Sight

Who punches first? Who knows

(It’s usually Steph)

It’s a smack or be smacked world and Steph is just living in it

No one is safe

At least they get a lot of sparring practice

Cass

You would think that having Cass around as a lie detector would be a good idea

And, on paper, you’d be right

She can tell when everyone is lying before they even open their mouths

But…

She’s a little bit more petty than people give her credit for

She Remembers Everything

She ranks siblings in her head based on who has the most indiscretions

Whoever is at the top of the list when something bad happens is the one she will point out as the culprit

And if nothing bad happens? Don’t worry about that, she’ll make something happen

Damian

He definitely gets teased the most because he just happens to be really young

(Doesn’t help that he’s so tiny)

But the moment someone has the audacity to make a joke about him or agree with one of his siblings?

Let’s just say the bats reconsider their No Killing Rule

Damian mentions someone at school being a little snot? Tim and Jason aren’t above throwing hands with children

A teacher gives an unfair grade to him on an assignment? Hope they weren’t expecting to get saved in the next Rogue attack

And god forbid someone call Damian a slur in front of his siblings

He's the baby of the family. What else is there to say?

Duke

He used to be annoyed that he got the reputation as the person in the family with common sense

He’s done so much stupid and dangerous stuff but nooo he’s the sane one

(Granted, he kind of is. It’s not a high bar to meet. Still, he’d like some recognition that he is also completely batshit insane.)

But now…

He realizes there are benefits

Like how he can prank his siblings and no one will ever think he did it

And when no one fesses up because they didn’t do anything? Prank wars ensue

And Duke? Duke gets by unscathed because everyone agrees he wouldn’t be stupid enough to do any of the pranks

Bruce

He has an adoption problem, we all know this

The man practically has adoption papers in his utility belt at this point

The moment a new kid appears in Gotham the batkids all start a betting pool on how long it’ll take him to adopt this one

Most of the time the kids don’t even realize they’re being adopted until it’s too late

“B caught me crying on a rooftop and he disappeared and I was like ‘wow, rude’ but then he came back with some car keys and it may not have fixed my trauma but damn did it feel better to cry in a sports car than on a random gargoyle”

“B gave me an allowance? I was going to say something but this is rent for three months so I guess I’m a bat now?”

Does he even know which kids are his and which aren’t?

(No. He treats every child that frequents his house the exact same because he can’t remember which ones are his and which ones aren’t.)

Could I please have Hisoka do something that makes s/o really tired of him and when he tries to tease s/o, he sees that he might've actually done something wrong (?)

I..........assume this is HC’s bc nothing else was specifiedddddddddd

Warning: Hisoka being a little shit as usual

- we all know this man is insufferable when it comes to bothering you

- every. damn. day.

- nothing but (playful) snide remarks, suggestive comments, touching you via poking, jabbing, running his fingers along you, playing with your hair, at the worst times, or all the time

- he also tends to bother you while working, like a needy, annoying cat who lives off attention (which, he is, all he’s missing are some cat ears and a tail)

- so when he manages to absent mindedly throw cards at your laptop, hitting the screen and some how deleting your soon-to-be-due research paper (soon-to-be as in........the next day) you might’ve actually burst a blood vessel

- weeks spent working on the paper, and he deletes the most recent, important information

- its safe to say that you being livid was an understatement

- Hisoka is quite happy with himself in having you stop your incessant working and pay attention to him for a minute (he’s hopeful!)

- He also notices your now furious aura, and is a little excited

- maybe you wont just pay attention to him, you’ll give him a little fight? ohhohoho? ,’:)

- ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh but you know him, that menace of a clown and you dont indulge him

- you simply get up, and lock yourself in your bedroom

- Hisoka was perplexed. Dumbfounded, even. Not only did y/n ignore him, but they got up and walked away. Well now what? The attention he was expecting to be showered with was now cut short, and essentially before it had even started. Walking over to the bedroom door, he tried the handle. Locked. Tapping the door, he waited for a response. Silence. All he could hear was slow, heavy breathing. Tapping again, he waited for a response from y/n. Again, silence. He rolled his eyes and knocked this time. Silence, silence, silence. “Y/nnnnnnnnn what’re doing in thereeeeeeeeee? Are you doing something for me?~” he purred, hoping y/n was actually doing something. He leaned against the door and listened, trying to guess what his s/o was doing. He heard shuffling on the other side of the door and he perked up, assuming the door would be opened and a lovely surprise, or some sort of attention from y/n. “Hisoka....” you started, “I’m fucking sick of your shit, piss off.” you hissed, barely able to keep your composure, even from behind the door. Hisoka stood up straight and blinked. He could tell y/n meant it. He could hear them keeping their bloodlust at bay within each word. Genuinely, now was probably not the best time to provoke them, because as much as he loved to, he’d rather them not go throughout the rest of the day on a particularly sour note. Now he was picking his brain, trying to figure out what had set them off in such a way. Slowly turning he saw the laptop and sighed. On the occasion that he was a little dense and too much of an asshole for his own good, he did let things, even provoke things, to get out of hand. As much as the events that unfolded from such provocation was usually to his enjoyment or benefit, he was aware that his timing for doing such things was off, on the rare occasion, as well as with the wrong people. As much as an angry y/n was something interesting to see, and led to many interesting things, he’d rather have them be content with him, lest they see reason to leave him, seeing as he was quite fond of them. He shuffled over to the living room table, where the laptop was resting. He plucked the car from the screen, looking the laptop over. It still worked; it was more or less superficial damage rather than internal. Superficial can be fixed, so that was on his side. He grabbed a marker off the table and pulled out a pack of cards. Scribbling furiously on the cards, he walked back over to the bedroom door.

- Hisoka is now.......slipping cards under the door?

- You have the right mind to open the door and throw them in his face

- but the cards have a very, very, very long (and kinda cute) apology on them

- he offers to have it fixed at his expense 

- offers to leave you be for the rest of the day

- he’s drawing hearts on the cards

- writes about loving you on at least 10 cards

- you draw on the other side of the cards and talk through the door

- you open the door and he smothers you in kisses

The Same Coin - Part 1

Prologue | Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

A/N: Thank y’all so much for the nice comments on this new series! This picks up shortly after the prologue. I had to hold back a lot for this chapter because pining is not allowed yet - patience😌 I hope you enjoy, and as always feedback is welcome!❤️

Words: 3.4k

Warnings: some mentions of violence, angst (but not the Yearning kind yet)

You’ve just finished getting ready to start the day when you hear three loud knocks at your door. Hurriedly buttoning up your blouse, you go answer it and find Steve standing outside with his hands on his hips.

“Peña’s out of the hospital and back home now,” he informs you.

You briefly remember the scene from a couple days ago. He’d been fine, of course, just bleeding out and unable to stand. A local helped you call an ambulance while you got Peña upright and put pressure to the wound. Much like he always did, he spent a bit of time swearing under his breath when he claimed you were making too much of a fuss over it. You had to drive the Jeep back, so he went off to the hospital on his own once the paramedics arrived. You made sure he was going to be okay before you left him, and Steve went to visit him so you assumed he was recovering.

“Okay,” you comment. This couldn’t wait? “Is he alright?”

“He’ll be off work and on crutches for a few weeks,” he answers. He looks down at the floor before looking back up at you.

“What is it?” you ask suspiciously.

“They...put us in charge of watching over him until he’s back at work. Mostly you.” He mutters the last part, and you raise your brows.

“What? Why me?” you ask, confused.

“You’re the one who lives next door to him,” Steve answers, matter-of-factly. He and Connie live a couple floors above you, so logistically he’s right. But that doesn’t mean you want to be his personal nurse.

“Yeah, but—” you start to say, a little louder.

“It’ll be fine,” he insists, patting you on the shoulder. “You just need to check in every now and then and make sure he’s getting some food and water in him.”

Steve grabs your hand and slips a key into it. “I’ll come by too, but you’ll be able to hear if he falls or something at night, right?”

At that, you can’t help but chuckle dryly. Yeah, you can hear plenty, alright.

~

After work, you drive back home and feel the tension leave your muscles once you step into the apartment complex. Work was uneventful, without any new leads or intel. Mostly it was just you and Steve poring over mindless paperwork. As expected, you’d gotten quite the scolding from the colonel and Messina today. This was nothing new; not with Peña for a partner. But it was the first time he’d gotten himself hurt in one of his schemes, which didn’t look good on either of your parts. You didn’t feel like hashing it out with them, so you took your warning and left, opting to chide Peña on it on your own time.

Steve had gone out with Connie after leaving today, so it’s on you to check on Peña first. The heels on your shoes clack as you make your way down the dim hallway to his door. He should still be fresh off the IV painkillers from the hospital, so he probably won’t be awake to answer. You pull out the key Steve gave you and unlock it, the cool air greeting you as you enter his flat.

It’s not your first time in his apartment. You and Steve have often had late nights here, working on some new lead after hours. Only a lamp's faded light is on, but you hear rustling inside.

“Peña,” you call out. You find him in the kitchen, trying to heat something up in the microwave while leaning on his crutches. His hair is tousled and messy, and he's in a t-shirt and loose pants—a surprising sight and a stark contrast from his usual attire. He greets you with only a glance. You almost ask how he’s feeling but the cold gesture makes you decide against doing so.

You hold up the paper bag in your hand. “Steve picked up your painkillers,” you tell him, putting it on the counter.

“No need to knock before you enter,” he remarks sarcastically, pulling his food out of the microwave.

You roll your eyes, figuring he’d be in a bad mood. “You’re supposed to be in bed. Doctor’s orders. And you’re welcome,” you counter. How does he manage to be insufferable even when fully medicated?

“You really always go by-the-book, don’t you?” he clips, the sound of his crutches clanking on the tile as he walks over to you. Jesus, Javier thinks to himself. He already has to deal with you at work, and now he has to deal with this in his own home, too?

“The hole in your leg says otherwise, although I wouldn’t say that’s my fault,” you answer tersely.

“Well, if it makes you feel better, Messina seems to have made you and Murphy my punishment,” he grumbles.

You purse your lips. “Believe me, this thrills me, too, Peña. But I can’t have you collapsing on me anymore,” you say, which catches his eye. “I’ll get in trouble again,” you add, and he smirks at that.

“Ever the caring partner,” he huffs, though he’s mildly amused. He looks you up and down for the first time since you came in. He notices how you’re playing with the fabric of your shirt; another habit you have, typically when frustrated. Javier hates that he knows this, attributing it to how much all three of you are around each other. You see each other around the clock, so it’s impossible not to pick up on the little things. For a moment he ponders what you might have picked up about him—not that what you think of him matters.

You ignore the sarcasm in his voice, eyeing the box of bandages and bottles of antiseptic on the counter. In all honesty, you’re not sure how well he’s dressing his own wounds; he probably gives them a quick swipe and calls it a day. “Do you...need help changing your bandages? I know how to clean them—”

“No,” he cuts you off.

“Okay, well if you need me to get anything—”

“I’m fine,” he interrupts again. “So unless you want to help me shower…” he says, sneering at the face you make.

“Yeah, I’m not sure even Steve will help you with that,” you wave a hand dismissively.

“Anyways, these meds should knock you out for a while,” you continue, changing the topic. “Which means I can get some quiet on the other side of your wall, for once.” You're only partially joking, but Javier doesn’t miss the mild embarrassment in your eyes. He chuckles without humor, but doesn’t respond.

A moment passes before you speak again and readjust the bag on your shoulder. “Get some rest, Peña,” you instruct. With that, you head back out the door as he watches you leave.

He sighs deeply, running a free hand through his hair. Why can't Murphy be the one who lives next door?

~

You continue to alternate check-ins with Steve daily, always trying to come during evenings, when Peña’s more likely to be awake. The visits are brief and somewhat civil, although they usually involve you nagging him about one thing or another and getting snippy comments in response. Really, you know he’s a grown man and all, but even when injured he’s not terribly careful.

It’s not his fault his place is getting messier—he’s not fully mobile—but his flat is usually decently tidy, most likely for his “guests”. Now the place is covered in half-empty glasses and bottles of liquor, along with random things strewn haphazardly on the floor. You’ve told him often that the papers spilling across the floor are a safety hazard for him, but he brushes you off every time.

“You’re not on the job right now, you don’t need to be an asshole,” you tell him.

“You’re not at the office now either, lighten up a little,” he rebuffs.

Javier swears that if he hears you remind him to drink more water or be more careful one more time, he’s going to lose it. He tells you as much, but you’re never able to get through to each other. It’s always been like this as partners; of course it’s no different when you’re off the clock.

You seem to be under the impression that he’s impulsive; maybe he is, and maybe he’s not proud of everything he’s ever done. But Escobar plays the game according to his own rules—playing it safe only puts more people in harm’s way. Sooner or later you might understand, but until then he’s not going to wait around worrying until you do.

~

One night, you’re met with the sight of him, shirtless, sitting on the couch. He’s smoking a cigarette and barely looks up as you enter and walk towards him.

“Steve and Connie went grocery shopping and wanted me to bring you some stuff,” you tell him as you unload the plastic bags you’re carrying. “Looks like you’ve got some snacks and instant dinners to hold you over.”

“Thanks,” Peña answers, and you're almost taken aback by the tiny bit of politeness.

He picks up the prescription bottle on the coffee table and uncaps it, shaking a pill out onto his hand before picking up his glass.

You look across the room at him and frown. “Are you taking your meds with alcohol?” you ask, probably louder than necessary.

You walk over and forcibly remove the glass in his hand, replacing it with the water bottle from your bag. He looks up at you, annoyed at your snatching of his drink. “Jesus, Peña, don’t you know anything? Are you trying to get yourself back into the hospital?”

He responds by muttering something under his breath before throwing the pill back and downing it with the water.

“You know, me and Steve would have to come over a lot less if you took better care of yourself.”

“I don’t need you mother-henning me in the first place,” he retorts. “It’s a fucking leg wound, not something that’s gonna kill me.”

“That’s exactly what I thought, too,” you snap back. “Unfortunately for both of us, our bosses think otherwise.”

“Hey, I didn’t ask for this,” he tells you, shaking his head. God, you’re infuriating.

“No? Neither did I,” you quip. “Fuck, Peña, do you not—I'm just trying to help.”

He exhales and puts the cigarette to his lips again, leaning back against the couch. You dig around in your bag for a granola bar and shove it in his direction.

“Do yourself a favor and eat something, or those meds aren’t going to sit right.” He groans but takes it, and you turn on your heels to leave.

Except, Javier never misses anything; especially not the way the thin fabric of your sleeve slides up on your skin as you hand it to him, revealing a sliver of something white on your arm.

He abruptly grabs your wrist, gently but it still takes you by surprise. “Wait,” he mutters in a low voice, stopping you mid-step. He turns your arm over, not making eye contact as he pushes the loose fabric of your sweater upwards, revealing the large white bandages that are covering the back of your arm, near your elbow. He can’t see the damage underneath, but his mouth presses into a hard line.

You bite the inside of your cheek as he examines it for a few seconds before you pull your arm away from his hand.

“I thought you and Murphy haven’t been in the field recently,” he whispers, his tone suddenly much softer than it was moments earlier.

“We haven’t,” you reply quietly. You know he’s not going to drop it by the way he’s looking at you. “It’s...from the broken glass. When the sicarios shot at us in the car,” you shrug.

“Just because I was in a hospital, you didn’t think to mention you were injured?” he sounds offended, but there’s a different feeling cutting through the air, one that you can’t place your finger on.

It really isn’t a big deal, just a few superficial gashes that will heal easily—you’ve had much worse, working in the field. You hadn’t even meant to hide it, but the bandages aren’t a pretty sight and your work attire often consists of three-quarter sleeve blouses, or your favorite cardigan.

“Peña, it’s literally a few scratches. Hardly newsworthy,” you answer, though your own voice is calm now, too.

He has an unreadable expression in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he finally says.

“It’s not your fault,” you tell him simply, and you mean it. “And I’m not the one who got a bullet put into my leg,” you continue, offering the smallest of smiles.

Javier glances at the ground before looking back up at you, but you’ve already turned to leave.

Hunting Escobar meant you were all in life-or-death situations regularly, one way or another. But for an unknown reason he suddenly feels a bit heavier, and he doesn’t like it.

~

The radio’s playing as Javier sits on the floor, tossing away some bottles of liquor that are crowding his coffee table. Christ, your nagging was starting to get to him. He wishes the stations would play something besides the latest news on Escobar. If there’s anything he hates about not being able to work, it’s that he has too much free time when he’s home alone. That, and the fact that Escobar and his sicarios are still out there, and there’s currently not a damn thing he can do about it.

He’s been on crutches for a few weeks, and is now used to your coming and going. He watches as you drop some more groceries off in the kitchen, but notices you’re quieter than usual tonight. It’s not a proper check-in from you unless you’ve reprimanded him about not taking his meds, or skipping meals, or something else. Not that he’s complaining about a break from the incessant nagging, but his attention is drawn to the more pronounced lines that have appeared under your eyes lately. It doesn’t take long for him to drop his gaze, but he knows there must’ve been things happening at work that you haven’t mentioned. Or it might have just been one of those nights; he knows those too well. He definitely knows better than to ask about it.

“Wait,” he calls as you leave, and you take your hand off the doorknob before turning to him.

“Any new leads?” he asks. You almost have this look of pity for him in your eyes, which he hates.

You shake your head. “Messina’s running some intel by the ambassador tomorrow. If all goes well, we’ll be back to business soon.”

He nods. “Thanks,” he says curtly.

Your lips press together into a tense smile before opening the door and shutting it quietly behind you.

Javier rubs the back of his neck, his eyes lingering on the door for a moment. He exhales quietly; there’s nothing except the sounds of the radio show and the ticking clock on the wall. What annoys him most of all is how dangerous it is when he has this much time to think.

~

It’s the weekend, so you make plans to get breakfast at your favorite spot around the corner. The few people you know prefer to sleep in on Saturdays, so you’re on your own. It’s early, but your stomach still grumbles with hunger. This makes you think of what Steve said about making sure Peña kept himself fed—you know very well that on many nights, whiskey is the only thing anyone is able to keep down. For a second you hope he hasn’t been drowning his boredom with alcohol anymore—not that it’s your problem.

At any rate, it’s probably too early to check on him, so you head out and plan to do it later.

~

Javier wakes up after an unrestful sleep, still groggy, and shuffles into the kitchen to find something to eat. He walks over to the cupboard to find a bowl, propping himself up on one leg. How much longer with these damn crutches? he grumbles to himself.

He takes the crutches out from under his arms, resting them against the wall and limping over to the sink. Pain sears up his leg and he hisses, but he hates needing the physical support—or any other support, for that matter. He’s about to fill a pot with water when he sees a package on the counter, wrapped in tin foil.

He grabs it, realizing it’s a large, warm plate of food with a note on top. Dinner. Eat, cabrón, it says in your scribbled handwriting.

For the first time since the incident, his lips curl into a small, genuine smile. You really are infuriating, he thinks. But somehow, it’s almost endearing.

~

It’s raining outside tonight, a light shower but it seems relentless. You hop over a puddle of water as you step into your complex and close your umbrella. It’s Steve’s turn to check on Peña, so you can go straight to your flat, much to your relief.

Your clothes are wet, so the cold air conditioning gives you goosebumps as you open the door. Turning on a single light in the foyer, you pry your wet shoes off, followed by the damp cardigan you have on. You’re not dry yet, but you almost feel a little better. Tonight calls for a hot shower, but you don’t have the energy for it, so you make your way to the bedroom.

You don’t bother turning on the lights as you strip yourself of the day’s burdens and change into something cleaner and lighter. If only your mind worked that way, too. As you crawl into bed, you feel as though you could just sink right in and disappear. The soft covers don’t do much to comfort you, and you’re not quite ready to lie down yet so you sit with your back against the headrest, rubbing your eyes from exhaustion. The rain continues to fall outside your window.

Images from today fill your mind. It was another day in the field, one you were supposed to spend tracking down a low-tier sicario. Instead, you found a bloody crime scene Escobar decided to leave behind to prove a point. You had no doubt Steve was at a bar now, doing what he could to drown out the sight.

It’s not something you’ll ever get used to. Despite yourself, you think of more mundane things—your many meals eaten alone, the quiet drives home with only your mind keeping you company. Somehow, it makes things easier for you this way. You don’t want to imagine the possibilities otherwise.  It’s for the best, you tell yourself on nights like this—but repeating it doesn’t make it any easier to believe.

When your head finally hits the pillow and you pull the blanket up to your chin, you can’t help but allow yourself to wonder what it would be like if you didn’t have to face all of this on your own. It’s a common thing for you; empty thoughts in a dark and empty room, before fatigue finally overpowers your conscience.

On the other side of your thin bedroom walls, Javier lights another cigarette, deciding whether he wants to turn up the volume on the TV or turn it off entirely.

He’d already heard what happened from Steve. No, he wasn’t at the scene. But he should’ve been, instead of being stuck at home and helpless. When he’s out in the field, he likes to think he’s able to stomach it all better, running on pure adrenaline. He runs his hand along his jaw, willing the anger and tension to leave him. He wasn’t even part of this mission, nor did he make any of the calls, but somehow he knows it’s going to be another long night. He’s had worse days where he can’t take it anymore, finding comfort only in the arms of some woman he doesn’t know. Even then, it’s more of a distraction than anything else.

The guilt never leaves him—it’s a weight he deserves to carry. Every decision he makes affects something, or someone else. Whether he’s ever made a good choice, he’s not sure. But when he looks at the bandages covering the wound in his leg, tracing the edges with his finger, he knows he’s tired of dragging other people down with him.

 ~

Translations:

Cabrón = asshole

~

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A Flower, A Note, A Secret

Summary: Bucky Barnes gets to school and finds a flower and a note taped to his locker. He figures it’s someone setting him up. Then again...it might be from someone wonderful.

Characters: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 1.2k

Tags: high school, mentions of recreational drug use, fluff

written for @captain-rogers-beard​‘s  Flex Your Writing Muscles Challenge 

Prompt: The language of flowers, pajamas, a secret passageway

Bucky stops short right there in the middle of the hallway. Taped to his locker is a yellow flower. With it, an envelope--his name scrawled across it in messy handwriting. 

People are staring at him. Some giggling. Some impatiently. Some shocked. Probably because Bucky Barnes, their resident charity case and outcast has a flower and a note on his locker. It’s probably some sick joke. Just another asshole in this insufferable school trying to fuck with him.

With all those eyes on him, Bucky plucks the flower off, gives it a sniff, and then opens the envelope. Inside, is a folded up piece of paper. Written on it, is the name of the flower and what it means. 

Yellow Chrysanthemum = Secret admirer.  Meet me behind the locker room after 9th.

Not that many people know about that room. An old weight room, Bucky thinks. Shield Preparatory School’s own secret passageway. Bucky’s gone back there to get high when he just needs to get away from all these snobs.

When the two buddies he does have in school--Natasha and Clint--get wind of it, neither of them are willing to let him miss this opportunity. 

“You gotta go,” Clint urges. “Maybe someone’s gonna ask you to prom!”

Bucky scoffs. “Doubtful. I’m gay. Which fucking guy here is gonna ask me to the prom?”

“What about Sam Wilson?” Natasha suggests. “He’s a cool guy.”

Captain of the baseball team, student body president, and member of the LGBTQ Alliance Club. 

He is a cool guy. For all the complaining Bucky does about most of the student population, there are a few exceptions and he’s one of them. Bucky had quite the crush on him last year. There’s only one problem.

“He’s already going with Maria Hill,” Bucky says. “Besides, what would Sam Wilson want with a guy like me?”

Both of them punch him in the arm, and since they’re on either side of him, it means both arms get punched. 

“Ow!” he exclaims, even though that really didn’t hurt. “Totally unnecessary.”

“You’re going,” Clint says. “You’re not talking your way out of it.”

Flower in hand, Bucky sighs. He doesn’t really want to admit it, not out loud anyway, but there’s a part of him that really does want to go. He’s sort of dying to find out who’s behind this. But there’s an even bigger part that’s dreading it. Because it wouldn’t be the first time that someone’s fucked with him.

He’s been a target in this damn school since the first day he came to it. He’s a nobody. Just a kid from a public school who wrote an essay that was good enough to earn a scholarship. Which meant assholes like Brock Rumlow and Helmut Zemo, kids of very powerful alumni, decided to make him their personal victim. Whether that meant punching bag or verbal harassment, they’ve been on his case for the past three years. 

If this flower came from one of them or one of their friends, and they make a laughing stock out of him, Bucky’s not so sure he’ll get over it.

“What if...” His voice cracks. “What if it’s a joke?” Bucky keeps his eyes on their lunch table. “What if it’s one of--”

“If it’s one of those assholes,” Natasha says, “I’ll rip off their dicks and make them choke on it.” 

“If it’s big enough,” Clint adds.

The remark, while so totally absurd, makes Bucky laugh so hard he nearly falls out of his chair. Neither of them is actually capable of such a thing, but they truly mean they’ll kick some ass if someone is fucking with him. 

Which is the only reason he says, “Okay. I’ll go.”

By the time 9th period is over and Bucky’s on the way to the locker room, he’s starting to wish he just stayed home in his pajamas today. His heart is in his throat. Pounding. So hard he can hear his pulse thudding in his ears. 

Just in case, Natasha and Clint are waiting for him right by the door--his backup. His bodyguards, he likes to think of them as, even though he’s very capable of throwing a few good punches if need be. More than capable. Just because he’s in drama and writes for the literary magazine instead of making touchdowns or three-pointers doesn’t mean he’s out of shape.

Bucky sucks in a deep breath and goes into the room.

At first glance, there doesn’t seem to be anyone there and he’s sure he’s been had. Then someone stands.

“B-Bucky?”

Bucky nearly falls over when he sees who’s there. For a second, he actually thinks it is a joke because there’s no way that Steve “All American” Rogers, quarterback and captain of the football team and artist and going to Yale next year and homecoming king and probably soon-to-be prom king, left him a flower that means secret admirer. 

Not only is the idea of Steve being his secret admirer just crazy, there’s no way Bucky’s that lucky. He’s had a crush on Steve since he met him when he tutored him in history. 

Out of all the people he’s met that aren’t Natasha and Clint, Steve is his favorite. He’s most decidedly not an asshole. In fact, he’s the opposite. He’s kind and sweet and both shy and social at the same time. Everyone likes Steve and those who don’t are total assholes who Steve hates right back. 

“Steve?” he questions. “Did you--” He lifts the flower. Remembers that Peggy Carter’s locker is right next to his and this is probably meant for her. “Sorry I, uh, I thought this was for me.” Bucky hands it back to him. “I guess you want this back.”

“What?” Steve shakes his head. “No, I...” A blush fills his entire face. “It’s for you. From me. I’m...” He scratches the back of his head. Shifts from foot to foot. “I’m sorry. This looked a lot romantic in my head.”

“Wait, I’m...confused.”

“Well, when I pictured asking you to prom, I thought this would be super cute, having you come to the secret room and now I’m looking around and it looks creepy as fuck and, Jesus, Steve, you suck at this. I’m sorry. Sorry, just forget about it, I’m such an asshole.”

Bucky lets out laugh that echos through the room. “Steve Rogers, are you asking me to the prom?”

“I, uh...that was the idea.” Steve sighs. “I...would you want to go with me? I understand if you don’t, I can’t imagine why someone as awesome as you would want to go with me.” 

“What?!” Bucky shrieks. “I’ve had a crush on you since day one!” Face flushing, Bucky can’t believe he just said that out loud. 

“You...really?” Steve blinks a few times and then his jaw drops. “I’ve had a crush on you, too! Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He laughs and drops a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “If you’re really asking me to the prom, my answer is yes!”

“Y-yes?” Steve's mouth tugs itself in this adorable smile. “You wanna go with me? Really? Like, not just as friends, as...maybe more? If you’d...maybe wanna go get some pizza beforehand? I mean, like, this weekend?”

“You mean, a date?”

“Uh...yeah.” Steve nibbles his lip and, seriously, how is it fair that everything this guy does is adorable?

“I’d love to, Steve.”

Steve, stepping closer, gently cups Bucky’s cheek in his big, athletic and artistic hand. He looks like he wants to kiss him. 

“I hope you know,” Steve murmurs, leaning in closer, “I’m gonna get you more flowers.”

And he seals that promise with a soft, tender kiss.

DEArtfest Day 14 - Enemies to Lovers

Calling out @octopunkmedia​ for today’s prompt!!

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I’m kidding I did write something but this was my basic reaction to reading the prompt. Also I will be making a drawing AND writing something for two other prompts so look forward to that...

(one might be an actual piece and not just a comic...)

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Gavin sat at his desk, his coffee cup empty because he refused to be in the same room with an android for longer than two seconds. His day started as well as any other day did for Gavin Reed, with him waking up feeling like shit, drinking one cup of coffee at home, then another once he came into work, barely being able to stay awake while also having his new android partner quietly looming over his shoulder, tablet in hand, every so often glancing at him with what only could be described as a very displeased frown.

“Hey fuck face, could you fuck off to the next recycling bin and do your job there instead of leaning over me like some kind of fucking bodyguard?” Gavin said, turning to look at the android behind him, and watched as his frown seemed to deepen, probably in more displeasure towards Gavin’s words.

“Detective Reed, I believe for our partnership to function properly we must become at least comfortable with each other being in the same room. As for my presence, I was simply reviewing my scanners and noticed that your vitals are, simply put, terrible and it is my belief that you should go home before-” 

“Oh so the fucking android is worried about my health now? Pretty ironic considering what you were made for. Why don’t you just fuck off and mind your own fucking business. Go one, wait somewhere else like the good little android you are and wait for someone to give you your next orders.” Gavin said, interrupting the android. Turning back around and facing his computer, ignoring the dirty looks he got from Tina and Chris as the RK900 promptly turned to walk towards the break room.

The RK900 sat at one of the tables in the break room and continued to look through the previous scans he had done of the Detective. They showed he was low on energy, yet had an accelerated heartbeat, most likely due to his over consumption of caffeine. He pushed his scans aside and instead focused on the tablet in front of him as he continued to silently work. If the Detective wouldn't cooperate with him in the future then he saw their partnership only ending with one of them physically hurting the other.

Before long, he looked up as Officer Chen came into the break room, asking if she could sit next to him. He nodded and focused on her presence as it was obvious she had come to talk to him.

“I’m sorry about Gavin. I know he can be pretty harsh but he’s not so bad once you get to know him a little, and even then he’s still kind of an ass-”

“I am sorry to interrupt you Officer Chen, but I am not interested in your apologies on behalf of the Detective.” Nines said. Looking back down at his tablet, he continued.

“He is an insufferable man child who insists on holding my designed purpose over my head as if my deviancy means nothing. I understand his prejudice stems from his own insecurities and interactions with Connor but it is still infuriating to be treated like this.” The RK900′s LED swirled, from yellow to a deep red. He felt the officer reach over to put her hand on his shoulder, smiling at him in understanding. He realized how rude he sounded and nodded at her, his LED returning to its yellow color.

“I won’t be returning his threats in any way but I will not let him continue to berate me as if i was still a slave to my programming. The only positive about this situation is the fact that this partnership will end once Lieutenant Anderson and Connor return. I might not have a purpose, I’m still trying to figure that out for myself, but I do know that I don’t want to hurt anyone ever again. I want to protect androids and humans, including Detective Reed.” He looked at the officer next to him, a silent understanding between them. 

“Well,” Officer Chen stood from the table and started to turn to walk out of the break room. “I just hope Gavin doesn’t try to do anything stupid. He’s all bark, hardly any bite. Just...don’t kill him, alright? He’s an asshole but he’s the only asshole I can stand in this place.” she said to the RK900 before making her way out of the break room.

“I’ll try not too.” The android said going back to look at his tablet before looking up once more to see Detective Reed stopping in his tracks as he saw the RK900 sitting in the break room.

“Fuck this shit.” The detective said, before turning back to return to his desk.

“These are going to be some very long months” the android thought as he looked back down at his tablet, finally alone to work in peace.

.

.

.

“Nines, I’m gonna need you to fuck off right now before I decide to switch you out for Connor.” Gavin said, obviously joking as he continued to chew on his last slice of pizza. He had managed to eat a whole box of some of the best fucking pizza in all of Detroit because fuck it if he gets fat, not like he’s really interested in getting laid any time soon. In fact he could go the rest of his life without getting laid so long as it kept Nines pestering him like a mother hen, with a concerned look on his face. He liked having Nines pay attention to him. He didn’t know why, but he assumed it was because it had become a lot easier to get under his skin since their partnership began. By not taking care of himself he got to see some very interesting expressions from Nines besides his usual cocky smirk and neutral face.

“Detective, I know you seem to find yourself quite charming in many ways but I highly doubt Connor would want to spend more than two minutes as your partner, no matter how nice he is.” Nines said, clearly amused by Gavin's assumption that he’d ever be able to actually get rid of Nines. He had become quite attached to the Detective over the past few months as partners, even if he still found him to be irritating, especially in the way he handled his personal health, he would never be able to picture himself being partnered up with anyone other than Gavin.

“I can already see that you’re desperately trying to be like the Lieutenant by gaining some weight, although he has lost a lot of his previous weight and is in fact quite healthy. Might even say a bit attractive, in a roguish kind of way if that's something people are into.” Nines smirked as he saw Gavin scowl at this and slam the pizza box that was on the table shut.

“Excuse me? Tin Can I would NEVER let myself go to the point of even looking remotely like Hank? And attractive?? Something must be wrong with your fucking eyes if you think Hank fucking Anderson is attractive in any way, shape, or form because I am ten times more attractive than he is!” Gavin sputtered out, clearly set off by Nines’ comment.

“Tell me Detective, does the possibility of me finding anyone attractive bother you?” Nines asked, clearly enjoying the reactions he was getting out of Gavin now that he had distracted him enough to take the slice of pizza and throw it into the trash.

Gavin hardly took notice, now riled up by Nines’ question.

“Listen here Tin Can, I don’t know what the fuck you’re insinuating but the only reason I even care is because I am obviously more attractive than Hank fucking Anderson so don’t go thinking you can get away with saying dumb shit like that. I refuse to be partnered up with an android with clearly faulty eyesight.”

Gavin and Nines continued to argue, jumping from topic to topic, not noticing the two officers who looked on from the other side of the break room, whispering among themselves and wondering if Detective Reed and Nines were actually friends or not. Their continued eavesdropping into the Detective and Nines’ conversation did nothing to answer their questions.

.

.

.

Gavin opened his eyes as he felt the sunlight that filtered in from his window beginning to warm his face. He groaned and closed his eyes, feeling the side of his bed for a body but only found cold sheets. That’s when he noticed the smell of coffee and a much lighter smell that mingled beautifully with the smell of coffee. Eggs. His stomach growled and urged him to follow the heavenly smells that were obviously coming from the kitchen.

Once he made his way out of the bedroom he found Nines, at the stove making breakfast. Making him breakfast. His heart squeezed inside his chest at the image before him. He smiled lazily and made his way over, hugging Nines from behind and looking over his shoulder to see exactly what he was making.

“Good morning, Gavin.”

“Morning Tin Can, whatcha making?” Gavin asked, as he began to smell something sweet emanating from the kitchen table.

“I thought since we made that Red Ice bust a couple days ago, that it would be nice to treat ourselves this morning. I made you breakfast that I had hoped I’d be able to bring you to bed and later I was hoping you’d join me in going to the library. They have just started accepting androids for library cards and I’d like to get one for myself.” Nines said, before turning around and kissing Gavin on the cheek.

“Holy shit what did I do to deserve you? And you can totally serve me breakfast in bed, just let me go back so I can lay down. Also I love you, but I refuse to leave my bed today until after 3 PM.” Gavin said, as he sauntered back to the bedroom to wait for his breakfast. In bed.

Nines chuckled and went back to cooking, drastically reducing the amount of sugar in Gavin’s coffee and making sure to bring some fruit for Gavin to eat. They were definitely treating themselves today but he was still going to force Gavin to have a balanced breakfast even if it killed him.

.

.

.

That’s it! Probably one of my my longer ones but I really enjoyed writing this one.

No, You Left Me

It’s been three and half months since Dean had come back from one of the darkest places of his life. As unbelievable as it sounds this place was that if being a demon. There had been many unimaginable terrors of this time in his life. He had committed just about every unthinkable act in the book. In fact he had become so nasty that even Crowley, the King of Hell had wanted nothing to do with him in the end. Most of it the elder Winchester brother tried to block out with cases and drinking. But late at night he would wake with memories racing to the front of his mind. The worst memories weren’t of the fighting or murder he committed, but of the joy he had felt during this. Castiel and Sam always told Dean that wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t him who had enjoyed it. It was something else! But Dean knew the truth. He knew they were wrong. Something in him was broken even before this all happened. Some part of him had enjoyed every moment of being a demon and being Crowley’s best friend. Crowley.....That son of a bitch was to fault for this. He had caused all these sleepless nights, all this chaos and when he realized Dean was more broken than he was.....Crowley had thrown him away. Even now sitting on the edge of a cheap motel bed Dean felt a rush of embarrassment wash over him. His hands balled into fists and his head hung low. What was so wrong with him that everyone left? How did he become so broken that the only people who remained in his was his brother and an angel who didn’t know any better? Why did everyone leave?

Dean scowled down at his lap trying to push these thoughts from mind. If he sat there thinking on this too much he was liable to do something more messed than what he planned on doing already. And what he had planned even in his current state of mind he knew it was dumb. Two days ago he had left Sam and Castiel. He had told them he was going to meet up with an ex girlfriend. Both Sam and Castiel knew it was a lie. They knew Dean was trying to ditch them, but what could they do about it? They couldn’t force him to stay by their sides. The more you tried to tell someone like Dean to do something the less likely he was to do it. So, against their better judgment they had let him go after getting a promise that he would keep his phone on and be back within a week. Maybe this break from them would be for the best. Maybe he finally get out of the slump he had been although nobody really believed this. Castiel and Sam just hoped that Dean didn’t do anything too dumb on his own. Castiel had asked if they should follow after him. Sam had been tempted to say yes, but ultimately decided against it saying Dean was a big boy.

It was uncertain to Dean how long he had been sitting on the bed, but finally he rose up. His eyes flickered the floor. Around the messed up queen bed were scattered beer cans. Just beyond that there was a Devil’s Trap craved into the cheap wood floor. Candles were placed around it along with other some other things. The room was set up for a demon summoning. Not just any demon. Oh no. There was only one demon Dean wanted—No needed to speak with and that demon was Crowley. Dean hadn’t seen or heard a peep from that son of a bitch since everything went down. Needless to say the demon had a lot to answer for. For every monstrous thing Dean had done as a demon, for every night he has woken up in a cold sweat with thoughts of the past, for every damn thing that demon has done.....He was going to answer for it. Just thinking about it all was getting the Winchester heated behind the collar. As he began the ritual Dean already started questioning his actions. Wasn’t this exactly what he would advise Sam against doing if things were turned around? The absolute worst time to summon a demon is in a highly emotional. Desperation, sorrow, and anger, they are what fuel demons and give their soulless lives meaning. It’s these emotions that allow for them to dig their claws into a human and twist them around. No demon in all of creation was more talented at this than Crowley. And still, Dean couldn’t resist summoning him. Candles were now lit and the necessary words had been said. Everything was in place. Only one thing was missing....Where the Hell was Crowley? Dean glanced around the small room. Nope. No Crowley. Dean growled under his breath.

“Figures. Anytime someone actually wants you around you won’t show, right? I should have just went somewhere and shouted for you not to come then ya would have ca—“

The candles flickered and like a rabbit being pulled from a hat Crowley wasn’t there one a second and now suddenly he appeared. Dean got lucky. Hell’s King was exactly where Dean wanted him....Right in the Devil’s Snare. Crowley looked at Dean, he then looked down at the ground, and immediately saw the predicament he was in. Raising his brows he once again the hunter. He knew Dean was mad at him. Hell, he would be pissed if he was Dean too and it was part of why Crowley had almost ignored this summoning. Why his demon lackeys had begged him not to come. He knew he should listen to them, but there was something about these Winchesters. He was drawn to them like a moth to a flame. Only unlike the moth, Crowley fully knew he would get burned every time he got too close to these men. Sam he could resist maybe even kill. But Dean was different. For some sick reason he would always answer Dean.

The two had an understanding of sorts. They would push each other to their breaking points, mock one another mercilessly, and even have the occasional throw down with one another. But at the end of it all they had an understanding that they needed each other. In a sick way Dean was the only being Crowley could maybe possibly trust. He loathed the flannel wearing duo that was Dean and Sam, but at the same when it came time to throw his eggs in a basket it would always be theirs. He let out a soft chuckle and took a step towards Dean causing the other man to tense up. Crowley stopped inches from the edge of the markers to his current holding cell.

“Can’t blame a girl for getting dolled up for a night out can you?”

Came the self proclaimed “New Devil”’s explanation. Dean rolled his eyes. Crowley looked no different than normal. He had one a black custom fit suit with dark crimson colored tie. His shoes were some over priced sleek black dress shoes. Dean on the other hand looked a mess. His hair was out of place. The blue and black flannel shirt he wore was days pass needing a wash. His jeans had several food stains on them and for some reason he was currently wearing only one sock. It was obvious Dean hadn’t slept any time recently. The elder Winchester didn’t understand it. How could Crowley show up here and act like nothing was out of the ordinary for them? How could he ignore everything that had last transpired between them? Why was he being so.....Normal? Why was Dean feeling like he was standing before an ex girlfriend who had broken his heart and moved on? Too much liquor and not enough sleep. That was surely to blame. A thousand insults sat on the edge of Dean’s tongue yet none would leave his mouth.   You’d never guess it from Crowley casual mannerism, but the silence was killing him. Being here with the man he damn near affectionately called “Squirrel” was painful. When Dean had been a demon they shared something. Crowley had felt a real connection for the first time since he become what he was. That is until Dean went full psychopath on him. He had to cut ties. Save face while still had some to save.

“Funny isn’t it? I come all the way here.....You’re welcome for that by the way.....But you’re the one who looks like Hell. You’re wearing flannel worse than normal. It’s offensively impressive. Now why don’t you be a doll and tell Daddy what is you need?”

Look of disgust came across Dean’s face. He thought he was going to spew vomit all over Crowley after hearing him call himself “daddy”. That was the last thing he wanted to think of the man being to him. He pointed a finger at Hell’s King.

“Dude! Don’t ever say that again! And you know what you said before you try asking!”

“And you’re avoiding answering me by being all shout-y. Real mature. Stop wasting time, Squirrel. Some of us have things to do. Realms to run and lives to destroy.”

Countered Crowley his tone now showing irritation. His temper was always short, but this interaction had him on edge. He didn’t like that being here made him feel.....Something. He was a demon, he shouldn’t feel at all! That was supposed to be the beauty of being soulless! It was why he could do such horrendous things and think nothing of it. Or at least he had been able to until he crossed paths with this man and his insufferable younger brother. Dean gritted his teeth. He never should have summoned this asshole, but what was done was done.

“You turned me into a freaking demon, Crowley! Did you really think I was going to forget about that? That I wouldn’t be pissed and come gunning for you!?”

Raw emotion was too clear in Dean’s voice and he hated himself for not being able to hold it together better. For a split second Crowley looked from Dean. He couldn’t believe it, but he felt a small bit of guilt. As twisted as it sounded he hadn’t gone into things meaning to upset Dean. Honest! He thought he was doing the hunter a favor. He was freeing him the same he had been freed years ago when he became a demon. Why couldn’t anybody see this? Why couldn’t he understand it? His eyes locked back onto Dean and Crowley scowled at him.

“I freed you and we both know you loved every damn minute. Don’t bullshit a professional bullshit. What are you really mad about, Squirrel? Are you mad at me for giving you a taste of freedom or are you mad at yourself for not realizing how good it would feel? Please don’t tell me you’ve summoned me for a whole “feelings” talk. If so, spare me the torture of it and end me now.”

His mouth hung open in a mix of shock and anger. He wasn’t mad at Crowley exactly. This was how the ex crossroads demon had always been. This was expected behavior. He was a demon and this is their nature. To be cruel and uncaring. Dean was disappointment in himself, because some part of him despite knowing had expected more of Crowley. He was mad because what Crowley said was painfully true. He had been kidding himself earlier when he tried saying this was to have it out with the demon and make him pay. As good as punching someone would feel.....He didn’t want to hurt Crowley. Not for this. Cocking his head to the side Crowley watched Dean with curiousness.

“What’s the matter, darling? Cat got your tongue.”

Without responding Dean picked up the knife he had used to crave the Devil’s Trap. Crowley frowned confused as ever while he watched the elder Winchester brother bend down and destroy the marking freeing Crowley. This caused the King of Hell to retreat further into the Devil’s Trap. He didn’t trust whatever was happening for a minute.

“Get. Out.”

This was all Dean could get out as he gritted his teeth together. Crowley’s eyes went wide. Maybe it was stubborn pride or perhaps it was that nagging feeling for Dean which he couldn’t explain, but Crowley didn’t budge.

“Didn’t you hear me? Leave.”

“Oh I heard you. But I don’t take orders from you. You don’t get to summon me and send me away at will. You wanted me? Well you got me now deal with it.”

A snort escaped Dean. He shook his head. Stupid, stupid, stupid. It had been so stupid to call Crowley here. He should have listened when Castiel told him not to leave. He should have gone done to the strip club and drowned his sorrows there. Grabbing a duffle bag off the ground Dean went to the door.

“Fine. You stay. I’ll go.

This was all the fight Dean suddenly had left in him. He felt drained and exhausted as he made his way out to the car. Crowley stood in spot. He knitted his brows together. For once he didn’t know what to do. He shook his head.

“Feelings. Who the Hell needs them? Not me.....Not me.”

The King of Hell muttered softly. Raising his hand to the side of his head he snapped his fingers.

“Till we meet again.”

Crowley said louder before vanishing from the room knowing the two were fated to meet again sooner than later. If only he had known just how soon that would be.

COMIC KLAUS (Klaus Hargreeves x Reader)

Request: umbrella academy oneshot where klaus figures out how to do some of the things he can do in the comics ;)))

ua masterlist

Though you love him, sometimes Klaus could be insufferable. Right now, he sits with his feet on the kitchen bench, wishing he were smoking a joint instead of sobering up. Well, too bad for him.

Klaus watches with pride as you sigh loudly, throwing your head back in frustration. He loves annoying you, he could do it all day. But to be fair, you could do the same to him. Looking at him intensely, you raise your voice. “Maybe if you weren’t so childish this would work!”

Placing a hand on his chest, as if he’s clutching pearls, Klaus gasps quietly, “You sound exactly like my father.”

You pause, eyes completely focused on him. The tension in the air grows thicker. Standing up from your seat, you ask a simple yet intimidating question, “What did you just say to me?”

“Nothing, nothing.” He quickly stands to meet you with a shake of his head, nervous at the look you give to him after his comment. You’re nothing like Reginald Hargreeves. You both know that. Klaus just says whatever comes to his mind. You both also know that. “Alright, alright. Just - let’s try one more time.”

“Yeah and remember I’m not doing this for me, I’m doing it for you.” You glare at him, “Asshole.”

Klaus furrows his eyebrows and bites his bottom lip. “Ugh, I love when you degrade me!” He shakes his hands up and down, jumping slightly, “Gets the blood flowing, the adrenaline pumping.”

You just watch him, “Hopefully some of that blood will go to your brain.”

“Yes, just like that. Keep going!” He moans loudly, scaring off Luther who was just about to walk into the kitchen.

You begin to walk away, rolling your eyes. “Okay, we‘re done here.”

Quickly, Klaus rushes to meet you. Placing his hands on your shoulders and leaning down to be eye level with you. The closeness the two of you share almost stuns you, making you gulp nervously.“Alright, alright.” He sighs, “Let’s do this.”

“Are you going to take it seriously?” You question him, watching his expression closely. Klaus just nods like a child. Not good enough. You know that if you don’t push him a little, he’ll never listen. “Are you?”

“Yes, okay!” He laughs, letting go of you and walking back to sit on the kitchen bench as he speaks. Some part of you misses the contact. “I just don’t think I have any more powers to discover. Channelling the dead and lifting shit with my mind is enough for me.”

Half agreeing, you nod. It’s only been a month and a half since you both discovered Klaus’ new ability. You were all on a mission, one of your first since being recruited to The Umbrella Academy along with a few other people born on the same day. It was a dire situation. 

You had been training for months before being placed on the field with the original team. And in that time, you and Klaus have become extremely close. Not everyone who had abilities wanted to be a hero. Not all had the luxury to. 

One girl had the ability to manipulate the earth. And she utilised it to tear buildings down and send debris flying everywhere. In a quick moment, large cement was sent flying your way. You had no time to move. And you all thought it was the end. Until it just... stopped. Mid-air. Out of the blue. It was Klaus. 

That’s never happened before. Everyone seemed to stop in shock but you stared in admiration as the cement went flying in the opposite direction. The look you shared with Klaus at that moment was one you had never shared before; and one you haven’t shared since.

“Look,” Sitting opposite him, you shrug. “I know you hate your dad - we all do - but maybe he was right. His journals said you were the third most dangerous.”

“Because I’m hotter than all my brothers and sisters.” He replies simply, subsequently remembering his agreement to be serious. “Okay, sorry... You didn’t disagree but go on.”

You take a long, deep, loud sigh and he gazes at you fondly. “I think you’re capable I’d much more than you care to admit.”

“Is that so?” He wonders, pouting his lips as he rests his head in his hands.

You nod with a hum of agreement. “You know you’re special, you’re just scared of admiring or proving it.”

Klaus shuffles towards you, feigning interest and curiosity. He widens his eyes for a split second, “Go on, Y/N.”

Folding your arms, you raise an eyebrow at him. “You know that if you live up to your potential people will expect more of you. And you think that’ll make it worse when you can’t live up to their expectations.”

Leaning back on his palms, Klaus looks down at you and you nearly melt under his intense gaze. “Hm.” Is all he mutters, “And what about your abilities?”

“What?” You scoff, with a laugh, “the ability to nearly be crushed by flying sidewalk?”

He clicks his tongue, “Not quite.”

Ever since you were little, you’ve been able to talk to animals. Yeah, sounds weird but it can be pretty useful. Especially during fights. “You know I only have one power.” You shrug, furrowing your eyebrows at him.

Shaking his head, “I don’t think that’s true.”

Sitting on the bench beside him, you continue, “This isn’t about me, Klaus, stop deflecting.”

He throws his head back slightly, looking back to you and the glass of water before you. The same glass he’s been staring at for the last half hour, trying to move it. “Fine.” Klaus breathes, watching the glass, “Where do I even begin?”

“Just imagine it moving?” You suggest, cringing when he gives you an unamused look. “Think about how you felt the last time you did this.”

Klaus’ face falls significantly. Even the thought of losing you makes his chest ache. That day, the possibility or losing the one person who understands him was all too real. It seemed to take over at that moment and it was like a natural instinct to protect you.

All those feelings come rushing back and Klaus can feel it transforming into energy, adrenaline, power. The glass shakes, lifting up in the air and... pouring water all over you.

Your mouth hangs open and you instinctively shut your eyes as the cold water drenches your face and neck. “Really, Klaus?”

Leaning forward and wiping the water from your eyes with his thumbs, Klaus laughs loudly and you open your eyes to see his wife smile. “Hey, at least I did it.” He smirks, glancing down to your wet lips as his smirk turns into a gentle smile.

I really want to kiss you.

You feel your cheeks heat up, “Huh?” You ask him, wondering if you heard him right. You were too focused on the green in his eyes.

“I said at least it worked.” Klaus blinks, still watching you closely.

You shake your head, “No, after that. What’d you say?”

“Nothing.” He furrows his eyebrows, smiling as though you’re trying to trick him. 

Wish I could tell you.

“You can tell me anything.” You reply.

Klaus pulls back now, his hands no longer upon your cheeks. “How are you doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“It’s like you’re reading my mind.” Klaus widens his eyes.

You put your hands up in defence, “I’m not doing anything!” You admit, watching him puzzled. “Hey! Maybe it’s you!”

“What?”

“Maybe you’re projecting your own thoughts into my head?! Think something to me!”

“Wha-”

“Just pretend you’re talking to me but in your head, I don’t know.”

“Okay...” he shrugs, closing his eyes and making a confused expression.

 Y/N, this is dumb.

“Y/N, this is dumb!” You repeat, eyes wide as you kneel on the kitchen bench in excitement, “Telepathy! You’re communicating things to me through thought transference.” Klaus doesn’t seem super excited like you do, “Klaus, this is amazing!”

Yeah... he shrugs, sending thoughts into your head, but I still want to kiss you.

Your smile fades as the tension returns to the room, suddenly making everything serious. You find yourself gulping, unable to stop the nerves. Klaus notices this and he pulls away slightly, wishing he had just stayed quiet like he has been doing for the past few months.

“We don’t have to.” Klaus shakes his head, “I know it would change the friendship we have. And I don’t want that to happen... I’d rather have you in my life any way I can than not at all.”

Leaning closer towards Klaus, you feel your breath catch in your throat. He just watches you, his eyes flicking from your curious eyes to your parted lips. When you’re inches away from one another, both your breathe mix as one between your bodies. “Klaus,” you whisper, eyes glued to his perfect lips.

“Yes?” He replies with a dry throat, leaning even closer when you place a hand on the back of his neck.

“Kiss me.”

Upon hearing this, Klaus doesn’t rush to press his lips against yours. He lets a slow smile spread upon his lips as his hands rest on your waist. Completing the action together, you both lean in. Your noses brush, making you laugh lightly before you both begin to kiss.

You and Klaus can’t stop smiling, making it even more difficult to press your lips together. Your teeth keep bumping and your noses keep brushing against one another’s. But it’s perfect. And sweet. And it’s Klaus.

taglist: blathena exquisitex113 scorpionxloveimaginexmeintheuniversemultifandom-ramblings mega-trash-cringe the-one-and-only-celine thehanwen 

Under Your Spell (Chapter 19) - Myself A Storm

Summary: A Jared Padalecki /OFC/ Oscar Isaac fiction.

Stef & Claire head to a convention, with a few surprises :)

Married Jared! Single Oscar! Single Richard!

Chapter warnings: Cursing, fluffy smut, a bit of ranting.

Chapter WC: 3,800

With shadows tall and grim, and histories inked in sin.

‘It’s a convention, we just walk around and look at stuff.’

Claire was near to stomping her foot with discontent. She didn’t want to come to the convention, she didn’t want to get on the plane and she absolutely didn’t want to walk around and look at stuff. 

She was lovesick. Richard wouldn’t be arriving until the next morning. 

It wasn’t unlike Claire to be cranky when she didn’t get her own way, but this was almost insufferable.

‘Well I’m going to go get a drink at the bar if you want to join me, you are welcome to. But don’t bring bitch-Claire with you.’

Stef threw her bag over her shoulder and put her hand on the door handle, from the corner of her eye, she could see Claire pausing while putting on her mascara. She pouted at her reflection.

‘I’m sorry, Stef.’

The apology took her by surprise, ‘I know you miss him, but he will be here in 10 hours so let’s just try enjoy the time before I don’t see you because you’ll be too busy being romanced.’ Stef waited for her friend to respond.

Claire sighed heavily, chucking the rest of her make up back into its case. ‘Ok, fuck it. I’m being a dickhead, let’s get a drink. I hate men!’

Stef laughed, ‘you hate men?’

‘Only the men that make me feel like this!’

‘You’re angry at Richard coz he’s not here yet?’ Stef bit her lip, watching her friend struggling to slip her arms into her jacket. 

‘Bitch, hang on I’ll help you, chill.’ 

Claire huffed. ‘Yes I’m angry with him for not being here all the time. He should be at my beck and call, you know.’ The sarcasm was there, but there was sincerity behind it too.

‘I’m in love with him, Stef.’ 

Stef fumbled with the jacket collar, Claire turning to look at her, to see her reaction.

‘I know you do.’

‘It’s very new to me. I’m not really sure what to do with myself when he’s not around.’ Claire was adorable in these moments, dewy and doe eyed. 

‘Enjoy it, coz that feeling fades.’

‘Fades to what?’ Her eager eyes meeting Stef’s. 

‘A different kind of love. The type where you would do anything for them, your tummy doesn’t squirm around like it used to, but your skin hums when they’re around.’ 

‘That’s beautiful. I’m at the squirmy stage, but the next part sounds good too,’ Claire whispered.

‘Morning snuggles that you love turns into ‘you’re breathing on me, turn over.’’

Stef crinkled her nose, remembering the last time she lay awake while Jared slept next to her. That man could snore!

‘Yeah, for me it was always get out before they wake up, but I stick around for Richard to wake up so I can bring him coffee.’

‘Oh, you do love him.’ Stef simpered, throwing her arm around Claires shoulders, guiding her to the door. ‘So let’s go to the bar and talk about him some more, maybe even video call him so we can see his handsome face, huh?’

Claire squealed, pulling out her phone, unlocking it to show Stef her wallpaper, a cute photo of Richard leaning in to kiss Claire’s cheek, a similar face to what she was wearing now. Pure happiness. 

Stef gave her friend a quick peck on the forehead. ‘So happy for you, honey.’

***

The bar was busy enough for how early it was. The girls picked at some nachos and dip while sipping beer from ridiculously tall glasses.

‘So, when you’re with Jared, do you get all the lovely squirmy love feelings too?’ Claire had reapplied her lipstick twice already having lost most of it to the entire rim of the beer glass. 

‘Kinda.’

‘What do you mean ‘kinda’,’ Claire looked at her quizzically.

‘Well, I do but I know that he’s not mine. If you get me?’

‘And the fact that he’s someone else’s husband stops you from knowing your true feelings for him?’

‘Kinda.’

Claire rolled her eyes. ‘Talk to me girl, you’re so fucking evasive.’

‘Well, it’s like this. I agreed to be the other woman, k? So that means when he’s not working, he’s with his family, when he’s away from his family, I’m his…’

‘Girlfriend.’

‘No.’

‘His whore.’ Claire winked.

‘Fuck off, Claire.’

‘What? I meant it in a nice way.’

Stef huffed, crossing her arms across her chest. ‘You’re not wrong.’

‘I know I’m not wrong, Stef. But you said it’s what you both wanted. So, he’s your whore too.’

Stef snorted a laugh. ‘Oh he is.’

Claire wriggled in her seat, a sure sign she was waiting for Stef to tell her everything.

‘No, bitch. You don’t get to know. Some things should stay private.’

‘Aw come on, I’d love to know what he’s like in the sack.’

Stef widened her eyes in warning, ‘I can’t just start talking about it, that’s not fair. I wouldn’t like it done to me!’

‘Fair enough!’ Claire scooped some guacamole onto her fork. 

‘So, long term?’

Stef sighed, ‘I dunno.’ 

‘Not something you’ve talked about? I mean, it’s been about six months now.’

‘About that, since we met. We haven’t been seeing each other that long.’

‘You and Richard?’

‘Don’t change the subject!’ Claire poked a finger in Stef’s direction.

‘We both know it’s what you want to talk about,’ Stef waggled an eyebrow. 

‘When will Jared be here?’

‘Sunday,’ Stef replied dismissively. ‘Do I have the hotel room to myself tonight?’

Claire let a contented sigh escape her mouth around the glass, ‘Most likely.’

‘Sweet, I’ll definitely be having phone sex with Jared, so don’t come back.’

Claire giggled, slopping beer down the front of her dress.

‘Oh fuck, I’m so nervous now thinking about Richard walking through the door. I feel like a schoolgirl.’

Stef snorted, remembering the line from Jared’s favourite movie, ‘I feel like a schoolboy again, a schoolboy who desperately wants to make sweet, sweet love to you.’ She snorted again thinking how that line worked out for Harry, poor guy. 

Stef could sympathise, there were often times she was clumsy with words or even just her body. When they were teenagers, Oscar would (lovingly) call her a bonehead, though mostly ‘Steffy’, which evolved to Effie. 

‘You’re mind has wandered, where did you go?’

‘Oscar.’ Stef blurted.

‘Oscar? Can you see him from here?’ Claire raised her hand and began waving excitedly.

‘Who are you waving at?’ Stef craned her neck looking about the room.

‘Oscar!’ Claire shouted. 

‘Oh my fucking god.’ 

Oscar was standing in the doorway, dressed in black, looking suave as fuck. He smiled, waving back at Claire, his smile widening when he saw Stef gaping at him.

‘Did you know he was coming?’ 

‘No! Did you?’

‘Why would I know?’ Claire shimmied out of her seat to hug Oscar. 

‘Hey Claire, so good to see you, it’s been an age.’

‘I know! You look good.’

Stef stood up, pulling Oscar into a hug without looking at him. Too tight of a hug maybe, she heard him grumbling. 

‘You ok?’ He asked, putting a hand on her lower back.

‘Surprised to see you here, is all.’

‘Well, I had time off and someone invited me so I figured I’d come and see what was up.’

Sliding into the booth next to Stef, he ordered three more of the ridiculous sized beers. 

‘You staying for the whole weekend, then?’ Stef bit her lip while Oscar nodded. 

Shit, she thought. There’s no way in hell Oscar and Jared won’t run into each other. 

‘Is that not ok with you Ms. James?’ Oscar queried, hearing her sigh.

‘Sorry, I read that if you don’t sigh, you die. That’s why all the people in the early version of the iron lungs died…’ 

Shut the fuck up, Stef, she thought, taking a huge gulp from her beer.

Oscar frowned at her before turning to Claire. ‘So how’s your dude?’

‘Oh my god, did Stef tell you about it?’

‘Uh, no…you did…that night you both got hella drunk and called me.’

‘Wow, yes, that was a fun night… I think.’

While they were both laughing, Stef was thinking about how she could keep the two men away from each other. Or why she would want to in the first place. Was she ashamed of what she was doing? Of course she was. 

He had warned her it would get messy, she had disagreed. There were parts of her life she liked to keep away from each other, exes and new partners were definitely one of them. 

Stef was so caught up in her own thoughts, she didn’t realise Claire had left the table. 

Oscar nudged her. ‘So what’s up, you can tell me if you’re not happy to see me.’

His half smile belied how he really felt. It wasn’t the happiest greeting he’d ever had. 

‘I am happy to see you.’ She responded brightly.

‘But…’

‘But nothing, don’t be silly,’ leaning into him to brush her shoulder against his.

‘Ah ha, I know what’s going on.’

Stef raised her eyebrow, ‘you do?’

‘Mmhmm.’

Oscar didn’t say anything, putting both of his elbows on the table, he gulped down the last of his beer.

Stef waited for an explanation that never came. Once his beer was gone, Oscar stood up from the table and made to leave.

‘Don’t go!’ Stef reached for his hand, grabbing it just in time. 

‘I just want to go for a piss.’

‘Oh,’ Stef felt a little deflated. And foolish.

‘I’ll leave you and loverboy alone this weekend, I promise.’ Oscar said softly, brushing his fingers through his dark curls. 

‘I thought you were leaving coz I was being an asshole.’

‘Why are you worried we might be in the same place at the same time, there will be a couple thousand people here, the chances of us meeting are slim. And if I stay away from you, we will probably not even be in the same side of the hotel.’

‘I’m sorry. I’m just…can you sit down so I can explain, or should I stand up?’

Oscar huffed and sat down, her hand still wrapped around his.

‘You’re not an asshole…’

‘Well, I feel like one. I don’t want you guys to meet because I want to keep some things private.’

‘This is quite a public place to keep things private, Effie.’

‘I mean from you! There are some things I want to keep from you to keep myself sane.’

‘I don’t deserve all parts of your life.’

Stef agreed, just not out loud. It was true, he wasn’t her partner, he didn’t get to live every moment of her life with her.

‘I’ll be around, Stef.’

Sighing, Stef put her hand against her forehead, cursing herself. Why was she such a dick? It definitely wasn’t him, not this time.

Sitting alone for a few minutes before Claire came back, Stef held back the tears. She should go after him and apologise, but he was gone. The bar itself was now half empty, the convention was kicking off. 

‘You ok, girl? Where’s Oscar?’

‘We had a disagreement.’ Stef said, sadly.

‘Oh no. About what?’

‘I told him I wanted him to leave me alone this weekend without actually using those exact words.’

‘Stef!’ Claire scolded.

‘I know, I should get over it and hang with him.’

‘Well, check who he is here with first, you don’t wanna be third wheel.’

‘Do you think he’s here with a woman?’ 

‘Probably, come on, he’s Oscar Isaac, he has women throwing themselves at him all the time. All. The. Time.’

‘Yeah I got it. Thanks.’ Stef rolled her eyes.

‘Can I give you some advice?’ Claire was typing something into her phone. 

‘Sure.’

‘Stop giving a crap.’

‘Just like that?’

‘Yes. Just like that.’ Claire clicked her fingers. ‘You’re worrying about two men meeting. Two men that are crazy about you and fall over themselves to please you all the damn time. What’s the worst that could happen? They might take their shirts off and fight. But, seriously, you’re an adult, you’re not going to get into ‘trouble’ with anyone. If someone has a problem, tell them to fuck off.’

‘You’re right.’

‘I know I am. Now if you’re not going after Oscar to fall at his feet and plead with him to forget you’re a crazy, paranoid person, then help me face-time Dick.’

‘You don’t need my help with that.’

‘Then go find Oscar.’ Claire dismissed her friend with a wave.

The beer had gone to her head pretty quick. Or her legs, whichever. She was a little unsteady but she was wearing a pair of heels, terrible footwear for walking Stef always said. 

Oscar was not in the bar, he wasn’t in the foyer and she wouldn’t have a chance of finding him in the huge rooms now stuffed with people. 

After trying his phone and not getting an answer, she got caught on her way through the doors. A woman was waving and grinning. ‘Oh my god, I’m such a big fan. I can’t believe you’re here.’

‘Hey, thanks.’ Was all she could say. It was rare to be recognised, but in a place this busy there was a bigger chance of it happening.

‘Yeah, I came with a friend. It’s my first convention.’ 

‘Wow, are you here to support Jared?’ The fan asked, kindly.

‘Yes and no. I’ll hang with him when he gets here but I have always wanted to see what goes on at these places, huge chance of me going home with a case full of memorabilia I don’t need!’ 

‘You’re so cute, can I get a picture with you?’ The girl pulled out her phone.

‘Only if I can get a picture with you!’

Several clicks later, Stef asked that she be tagged in absolutely everything she takes pictures of this weekend. The fan was a sweet girl after all. You always need more sweet in your life, right?

The cool air rushed at her as she stepped out into the street, the sun was hanging low and bright in the sky. Hearing a whistle, she turned and found Oscar at the corner of the building across the street. He waved her over.

‘I thought you were giving up.’ Stef nodded to the cigarette hanging from his lips.

‘I thought you were giving up on me.’

‘Nah, I came to apologise.’

‘Oh really?’ Oscar laughed. He was always quick to let go of his bad moods. 

‘Yeah. I’m sorry. I’m a jerk.’

‘Don’t apologise.’

‘I just did. So can you live with me being an asshat?’

Oscar shrugged, his gaze hanging on her like the smoke that clings to your clothes well after the cigarette is gone.

‘I’m not worried about anyone meeting you. It’ll just be less embarrassing for me if you guys don’t meet. And it was nice seeing you showing up like that.’ Stef crossed her arms across her chest, looking at the ground rather than at him.

He still didn’t say anything, he was just looking at her and she hated it. He was dissecting her. When she finally met his eyes, she wondered if he was undressing her in his mind. She could never really tell with him. 

‘OK.’ He replied, simply, finishing his cigarette. ‘We’re both asshats. Can we enjoy the weekend together and not together?’ 

‘Yes.’ Stef walked towards him as he opened his arms to her. 

‘Are you here with somebody?’

‘I’m here with a few people.’

‘That’s not what I was asking.’ She felt Oscar chuckle. 

‘I’m here with someone and I’m here with a group of people too. So get out of here unless you meet and the world implodes.’ 

Stef shivered, rubbing her arms. She had left her jacket with Claire. ‘Oh god, I’ve left Claire in the bar.’

‘Oh no, that girl can’t handle herself, you should go to her rescue.’ Oscar said sarcastically, crossing the street back to the hotel.

‘Well, I didn’t think I’d be gone this long, I got stopped while I was looking for you.’

‘I haven’t been stopped yet.’

‘You’re super famous, so they’re probably afraid to approach you.’

‘It’s still early…’ his sentence was interrupted by someone shouting, no, screaming his name. Several women lunged at him, pushing cameras into his face. 

Stef offered to take some pictures for them, even being surprised when one of them asked her for a photo too.

She took a mental note to thank Jared for making her recognisable in the street. It hadn’t been her music, it had definitely been him.

Oscar walked her back to the bar, walking as quickly as they could through the throngs of people gathering everywhere.

Claire was in an embrace when they found their table. Stef cleared her throat, surprised to see Richard’s head duck out from behind Claire.

‘Hey!’

‘Wow, two surprises in one day!’ Stef grinned at Claire.

‘Right? I called him and he pretended to be getting ready but he was already here!’

Richard was eyeing Oscar.

‘Oscar, Richard. Richard, Oscar.’ It wasn’t really necessary to introduce them but it was polite.

‘Well, tickle me pink. I had no idea you were coming here together.’

‘We didn’t,’ Oscar and Stef spoke together.

‘Just met randomly, actually.’ Oscar offered.

Claire was wiping lipstick from Richard’s face. 

‘Are you joining us?’ Richard held his hand up for the server.

‘Why not.’ Oscar slid across the seat across from Richard, patting the empty space for Stef to sit next to him.

‘Great! Beers for all then.’

‘Yay!’ The giddiness from the couple opposite them was palpable. 

While they whispered and giggled with each other, Oscar leaned in, ‘we were like that as teenagers.’

Stef grinned. ‘We were. It’s cute isn’t it.’

Oscar sighed, ‘man I miss those days.’

‘Of carefree making out!’ He laughed, seeing Stef make a face.

‘And feeling you up behind the gym hall.’ A shiver ran up her spine as he leaned in close to whisper.

‘Oscar!’ She whispered back, scolding him. Squeezing her hand on his knee, making him jump and try to pull her hand way. 

‘Calm down there, you two.’ Richard winked at Stef when he saw her blushing.

This weekend is gonna be interesting, she thought.

***

Much like the previous hotel meeting, Jared was upon her before she had time to close the door. 

His mouth was on her neck, biting playfully. ‘Having a good time so far? I brought you a gift.’

‘Why?’

Jared presented a rose by putting it between his teeth and lifting her and physically throwing her onto the bed.

‘Jared!’

Stef was giggling so much she couldn’t form a sentence. Jared was busy stripping to music in his head.

There would be no calming him. He would come down in his own time. 

Once the excitement of seeing each other wore off, their clothes would be on the floor.

Jared lay next to her, running his hand along her hip, resting his long fingers against the cooling skin of her stomach. ‘It hasn’t even been that long since I’ve seen you but it feels too damn long.’ He complained.

‘I always say you’re insatiable.’ Stef propped herself up on her elbow, sweeping her fingers across the hair that fell into his face. He kissed her mouth, her chin, her eyelids. 

‘Thanks for coming, by the way.’

‘You made me come.’ 

Jared shuddered with laugher, ‘I meant to the convention. Get your mind out of the gutter, Stef!’

‘NEVER!’ 

Stef launched herself onto him, pinning his arms down, straddling him. Her strength was no match for his, he could pull out of her meagre grip easily. But was enjoying this. Stef was wiggling her hips, grinding her core against his balls. His cock twitching against his stomach.

‘You gonna ride me, pretty girl?’ 

‘Maybe.’ She teased, leaning over him. Her nipples grazing lightly against the hair on his chest, he groaned as she kissed him. ‘Please, never stop kissing me like you do.’ Jared lifted his hips to grind into her as she moved, rubbing her slick along his cock. 

Sliding her hand down the soft underside of his arm to his chest agonisingly slow, she sucked on his lower lip, pulling away for just a moment to see his face. His lips puckered, eyes closed. He looked beautiful, innocent even. 

Her hand reached between them, pushing at his cock with her fingers so she could angle him at her entrance. His mouth fell open slowly as she slid down onto him. 

Capturing her hands with his he pulled her flush against his chest, entwining their fingers over his head while she ground onto him. 

Jared put his feet flat on the mattress to get some leverage so he could thrust into her, slow and steady, allowing the pleasure to build.

They were kissing softly, with tongues, sucking noisily at each other when he came with soft groan, halting his hips while he was still buried deep inside her. 

‘I need your hands,’ she whispered against his jaw.

She was on her back, his fingers moving against her, inside her, his cum dripping from her swollen lips, he used it, pushing four of his fingers up against the front of her walls. She came hard, arching off the mattress, grabbing his hair. 

Both panting, sticky with sweat, they lay in silence. Jared’s phone rang.

He ignored it until the second call came in. ‘What the hell?’ he grumbled, getting off the bed, Using his ‘clean’ hand to pick up his phone. His eyes widened when he saw his messages. A few had pinged while they were fucking. 

‘What is it?’

Standing by the bed, gloriously naked, he cursed.

‘My family are here.’ 

‘At the hotel?’ Stef was pulling on her bathrobe. 

‘They’re at my door right now. Gen says she’s been knocking, she wants to know where I am.’

Jared ran to the bathroom, a string of curses following him. Stef heard him running the water for a minute before grabbing his clothes and dressing quicker than she’d ever seen.

‘I’m so sorry, Stef. I didn’t know they were coming.’

’S’okay.’

Jared huffed angrily and took a steady breath. ‘I have to go see them.’

Stef threw his beanie to him as he was grabbing for the door handle.

‘Thanks.’ 

As he opened the door, he turned on his heel and moved towards her, grabbing the back of her neck and kissed her quickly. ‘I’ll make it up to you.’

Stef nodded. He was out of sight before the door clicked closed behind him.

‘I hate surprises.’ Stef threw herself back onto the bed.

and my burden to bear is a love (i can’t carry anymore) | pt.2

Jossam + Ghost AU

Summary:  After the events of Blackwood, Josh’s ghost is stuck in limbo. Sam is the only one that can see him (much to her chagrin) and has to put up with his ghostly persistence. Who knew that even in the afterlife he could be so annoying.

[Read on AO3], Moodboard, part 1 / 3 / 4

Josh watches.

Whoever said death was peaceful was full of shit.

For him, death was cold. It was lonely. It was boring as fuck.

After the monster- Hannah- squashed his head, Josh didn’t immediately realize he was dead. The first few days had been the worse. It took him awhile to notice he wasn’t hallucinating. That his friends had made it out of the mountain but he didn’t. And that he never would. Not alive at least. 

Needless to say, Josh didn’t like to dwell on his current circumstances. 

He had tried to communicate with the others. Had wanted to make them understand that he was still here. That he wasn’t really gone. But nothing worked. 

Josh refuses to believe he sucks at being a poltergeist. Completely unacceptable. Joshua Washington, son of horror mogul Bob Washington, did not suck at scaring the shit out of people. If anything, his prank on Blackwood proved exactly that. Even if things turn out the way he wanted at the end. 

Finally, he has the inherent ability to scare the shit out of people that comes with the territory of being a ghost and these assholes don’t even let him have a go at it. Even Chris didn’t react when Josh tumbled over a few stuff at his place. The dude survived a night in a mountain full of supernatural creatures and still doesn’t believe in ghosts. His friends- if he can still call them that- were the worst at getting haunted. That was the only explanation.

She was an exception.

Josh watched as Sam roamed around in her room, preparing for the day ahead of her. She moved slower now, her movements heavier, as if there were a weight pressing in on her. That energetic edge she had about her gone. 

Sam was the only one that actually interacted with him. Even if she thought he was a hallucination and ignored him most of the time, it still didn’t change the fact that she could hear him, that she talked back to him, and as recent events showed...

She saw me. 

Josh was still processing it, trying to figure out how the fuck he did it. He was still learning what he could do, trying to understand how to manipulate his surroundings. He knew the basics, of course. It was the things that took more… concentration, to say the least, that were giving him trouble. Like a child who has already mastered their gross motor skills but was still honing their fine ones. But if Sam saw him then Josh must be doing something right. 

He still couldn't believe it, after all these months…. He remembered the shock and grief on her face, the panic creeping into her eyes. It wasn’t exactly the reaction he was aiming for- at least not from her- but it was better than nothing. 

Josh goes to stand behind her as Sam plops down in front of the dresser mirror, both of them looking at her reflection. Her pale face stares back at herself, and unknowingly at him, her hazel eyes bright but hollow above her sharp cheekbones. Her lips thinned as she tried, and failed, to gather her hair into a bun, the blonde strands slipping between her fingers. It had been months since The Big Chop, as he likes to call it, but it was still too short, barely beneath her chin now. 

He recalled the feel of his thumb brushing against the nape of her neck, the way her long waves tumbled down her naked back. How his fingers threaded through the soft tresses, savoring those rare moments Sam decided to let her hair down. Both literally and figuratively.

Again Sam tried to amass her hair, letting out a sigh when the strands fell back to her face.

Josh thought it suited her.

Giving up the fight with her hair, Sam strode over to her armoire, yanking open the doors, her hands pushing and pulling the clothes as she searched. Josh tried not to react as she walked right through him. It still freaked him out a bit when people do that. 

It was frustrating. Watching as she wasted away. Not able to do anything about it. Reduced to a useless presence, a mere bystander watching from the sidelines, useless to help her like he couldn’t help his sisters.

So Josh being Josh did what he was best at: run his mouth off. 

“Going out today, are we?” he teased as Sam kept aggressively rifling through the clothes, pretending she couldn’t hear him. “I wonder what could be so important that put moping around in your sweatpants on hold.”

Sam didn’t answer him but Josh already knew. He’d seen the text Emily sent her last night, asking Sam to meet her for brunch this morning. Good. She needed to get out and distract herself. As delightful as those creepy paintings of hers were, Josh was bored of watching her being cooped up all day. 

Besides, he enjoyed watching her squirm when he chattered her ear off in front of other people, trying to keep her features on line and her scowling to a minimum everytime he says something to deliberately provoking. It takes a lot to get on Sam’s nerves, oh but once he does, it’s so worth it. Just because he’s dead doesn’t mean he can’t have fun.

Sam clenched her jaw but still didn’t acknowledge him, her search becoming more vicious. Every once in awhile she’d pull something out, only to frown at it and put it back in. 

Josh smirked, peering over her shoulder. “Look at you, actually making an effort to look like a lady.”

Sam abruptly stopped her ransacking. Slowly, she pulled a dark blue sweater- his sweater. The one he left the last time he stayed over. He’d left that morning on a haste, eager to get back to Blackwood, his plan already in motion. 

He had been a fool.

Her hand brushed against the soft fabric of its sleeve, the touch feather light. Her other hand glided down her necklace, finding purchase in the key resting atop her breastbone. Blinking furiously, she swept it aside just as brusquely as when she stopped, before finally pulling out a long sleeved dress and slipping it on. 

He found it fascinating how Sam could put moments like this aside as if nothing happened, yet still clung to what happened in the mountain. Letting it consume her. It had been over half a year now, and she was still a ghost. 

The irony wasn’t lost on him.

The fabric of her dress slid over her shoulder as she bent over to tug on her ankle boots, her collarbones jutting over the loose collar. She was so thin. So damn thin. Had she noticed how much weight she’d lost? 

Does she even care? 

Sam kept going on her gloomy way, oblivious to his worrying. When she was already halfway down the hallway she paused, half turning, those hazel eyes searching. 

Josh crossed the space between them. His gaze raked over her face, looking for some kind of recognition, a sign.

Look at me. He begged silently at her. I’m right here. Look at me. 

Sam shivered. Her eyes flickered over to where he was standing, and for a moment, just for a moment, something like hope dared to flare in his chest.

 He wanted her to know. He wanted her to see. He was here. He never left. 

Just as fast as it happened, her gaze slid right over him, unseeing. 

The feeling in his chest sunk, instantly swept by a spark of frustration. 

The lights flickered. Once. Twice.

“Freaky...” Sam whispered to herself. She opened the door, throwing another look over her shoulder before walking out. 

Josh wasn’t going to stand on the sidelines anymore. 

***

  She couldn’t sleep. 

It was going to be one of those nights, it seemed. Full of tossing and turning, sleep failing to come to her as easily as it did before. The frustrating thing was that she was actually tired- so tired. Had spent all day fighting the immense heaviness that now lived inside her. But as soon as her head hit the pillow…

Sam sighed sharply, pushing the covers away. A lick of cold went down her spine, sliding along her bones. She ignored the way it made her skin prickle. At the implication of why, exactly, she was so fidgety. 

It had been a few weeks since the Josh incident, or whatever it had been. She hasn’t told anyone about it, nor she planned to. Hell, nobody even knew that she could hear Josh talking to her in the first place. Not her mom. Definitely not her friends. They already worried enough.

 For something she had come to consider as a minor blip, Sam had been going around the matter a lot. There were a bunch of plausible explanations for why she’d seen him. Stress. Lack of sleep. Maybe she had smelled a bit too many paints that day. Maybe she had a brain tumor. Or maybe- 

You’re overthinking things.

Sitting up and turning on the lamp by her bed, Sam grabbed the diary stowed away on her bedside table for times like this, already full of entries and drawings that typically wouldn’t be in a diary of a girl her age. 

So what if Sam saw him- or thought she did. She hears his voice in her head all the time, which lately had been more insufferable than usual. She was making a big deal out of nothing. 

And yet the feeling of being watched never went away.

Wait, why am I still racking my brain over this? And when the hell did it get so cold in here?

As if summoned by her thoughts, a deep voice drawled, “And here I thought you’d be catching up on some z’s right now.”

Ah, there he was. The bane of her existence.

“Can’t sleep?” 

“Go away, Joshua.” she said, not really in the mood to deal with this bullshit tonight. 

He chuckled, the sound low and soft. “Joshua? You must be really pissed.” 

“Am I? Gee I hadn’t noticed.” 

“So grumpy tonight, Sammy.”

Sam scowled and kept scrawling stubbornly on her diary. Maybe if she ignores him, he’ll go away. 

Another chuckle. “Can you at least tell me what’s got your panties in a twist?”

She squeezed her eyes shut. Not real.

“Saaaaam.” he went on. 

Silence.

“Sammy.”

Sam still didn’t answer.

There was no quip from him this time, and Sam almost sighed in relief but kept her mouth shut instead, trying to bask in the seconds of peace that, somehow, she knew wouldn’t last very long. 

She startled at the caress of something on her ankle, letting out a curse as her back slammed with the headboard. 

“I figured that would get you to stop ignoring me.”

She lifted her eyes, immediately regretting her decision as they zeroed in on the source of her distress.

Sprawled on the foot of her bed was Josh, head propped up by a hand and smirking.

Sometimes I see tweets and write incredibly self indulgent stuff, so anyway, here’s two new OCs I just made based on this tweet 

///

Christmas. It was always goddamn Christmas. 

Or, she supposed, the days leading up to Christmas. Her least favorite holiday by far. Easter, she could deal with. Hell, Halloween was even fun. But Christmas? Just… the worst.

She sighed, reaching down to the overstuffed messenger bag at her side as the elevator hummed softly, the gentle sound of insufferable muzak drifting through her ears. She understood why her employer would pick such AWFUL music, but that didn’t mean SHE should have to deal with it. 

She took out a few of the envelopes, grimacing and looking them over. Truth be told, she had more of a soft spot for kids than most of the others, so seeing the messy crayon handwriting did make her feel a little bad. She was sure as hell none of the others were going to sign up for it, so she figured she’d bite the bullet. It helped that she got holiday pay for it. Literally no other time of the year, or job, got holiday pay. He was such an asshole like that.

Trarnadoch grimaced at the small dark red stamp in the corner of the envelope, a black inverted pentacle. He had this… bizarre, twisted sense of humor that she could only assume came with doing the same shit over and over for… what, ever? It had to get a little boring. She actually passed by him doing one of the dances from Fortnite once, accidentally banging up one of his horns. She’d been around long enough that she knew she could laugh, even if all the other demons stayed stoic, applauding him for his effort. 

Maybe that’s why he gave her the job. She was sure a few other people had signed up for it, at least, but every year, it went to her. Could Satan appreciate someone? That was an interesting concept. 

The elevator rumbled hard and she grimaced, gripping the rail and shoving the envelopes back in the back as it shook violently before finally settling out. She was in the human world now. The fine line between heaven and hell. And she was already freezing. She draped the jacket over her shoulders, breathing into her hands and shivering softly. She had a higher temperature tolerance than most, at least. Everyone joked that Xozraxar could get frostbite in Texas in June (which, admittedly, he almost had, making the joke even funnier). 

At least she only needed a thick jacket for the North Pole.

The elevator finally rumbled to a stop, a soft ding indicating that they’d arrived. She gave a deep sigh, tugging her hair back around her horns, looking to one of the semi-reflective panels of the elevator and making sure it looked okay, glancing over her makeup and giving a final, satisfied huff, before finally opening the door and heading out.

Maybe that was another reason He sent her up so frequently.

She groaned as she started through the thick snow layer, up to her shins and rendering the rubber boots essentially useless as it saturated her socks and made everything feel like a slushy wet mess. At least the elevator didn’t let her out TOO far away from her destination, even though she could see the glittering city of Winterville in the distance. What a stupid name. 

She hesitated as she kicked her boots off, stepping up onto the porch and stopping at the door. She could probably just leave the bag behind and go. It was always an option. He just told her she had to deliver it, not actually follow up with Santa’s helpers. Still, she found her raising a fist, grimacing and closing her eyes before giving a few soft raps at the door. 

There was a noise of a light commotion before the door opened, a man several feet shorter than her opening the door with a look of confusion that quickly turned to shock.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, before grinning. “Trarnadoch! You’re early this year!” 

“Yeah, yeah,” she laughed, rolling her eyes and passing inside as he patted her on the back, just about as high on her as he could reach. “Hey everybody.”

The pointy-eared people at the cubicles looked away from their work, perking up and waving excitedly, a murmur of excitement rippling through them. 

“Please, sit, we just put on a pot,” the man grinned, guiding her to a couch and she chuckled, settling in as he took her bag, starting to hand them off to the others, who happily added them to their already enormous stacks of envelopes. “How’ve you been? How’s life down in hell?” 

“I dunno, alright, I guess?” she smiled. “I mean as nice as hell is to a demon.” 

“Sorta like the North Pole to an elf,” he laughed and she nodded. “Well good! I hope business isn’t too good for you, these days!” 

“You can probably tell by that naughty list of the big man,” she snorted, kicking at his shin as he laughed, waving at her playfully before starting off toward the far side of the room, pouring a large mug from the coffee pot and handing it to her, and she tried not to look too eager as she sipped at it. God damn elves made the best hot chocolate. She paused for a minute, before giving a soft sigh, closing her eyes. “I, uh, should probably… get going. You know, demon stuff and all.” There was a disappointed groan from the crowd. 

“Well, alright,” he sighed, patting her hand. “If you don’t think you can stay just a little longer.” She saw the sparkle in his eye and opened her mouth to speak, when the far door opened to the break room, an elf in silver and gold jingling out, yawning and heading back to her cubicle before pausing, eyes widening. 

“Tra?” she said softly, a huge grin broadening across her face as she started across the room. “Oh my god, Tra!” She laughed, jumping at the demon as she yelped in surprise, catching her as she hugged her tight, tinsel collar tickling Tra’s neck. “It’s so good to see you!”

“Y-yeah, you too, Holly,” she grinned, knowing that at least the elves didn’t have a problem with her sharp teeth. “How are things?”

“Oh, good! I’m so happy-” She paused, whirling on her heel to the man that had seen Tra in, grinning at the both of them. “Noel, can I possibly extend my lunch-?”

“Of course,” he laughed, patting her shoulder and nodding. 

“Let’s take a walk,” Holly grinned, taking Tra’s hand and leading her out of the office and out into the snow, to a walkway that Tra hadn’t even noticed existed, but the snow was shallow enough that it didn’t bother her too terrible. “Oh my goodness, Tra, how have you been? Are you eating enough? Did you write a Christmas list?”

“How’re you going to deliver it?” she laughed, shaking her head.

“If you made a Christmas list, I would hand deliver you your gifts myself,” she said, crossing her arms and giving a resolute nod.

“Yeah, that does sound like you,” Tra smiled with a blush. “How’re things with you? How’s the office life? How’d it work out with that, uhh…? Was it Candi?”

“His name was Cheer,” she chastised, rolling her eyes as Tra laughed hard. “And… it didn’t… go super well.”

“Oh no,” she frowned. “Was he a douchebag?”

“No!” Holly laughed. “I don’t think elves can be douchebags.”

“Sounds boring,” Tra grinned.

“No, he was just… he wasn’t…? What… I was looking for, I guess.”

“Want one of those bad elves, huh?” Tra teased, elbowing her. “Leather studded jackets and a motorcycle with little jingly bells on it?”

“Tra, I swear, I do not know why I enjoy you coming around so much,” she sighed with exasperation, giving her a nudge to show she was kidding. Tra opened her mouth to say something, but Holly took her hand, leading her to the side of the path, over to a wood park table, crusted over with ice, with a perfect view of a pristine, untouched lake of pure ice, a few penguins mingling around the sides. 

“It’s really pretty,” Tra murmured as she carefully sat at the table, shivering from the cold. 

“Isn’t it?” Holly sighed, sitting across from her, back toward the lake. 

“So no, he was just boring?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Holly frowned, tracing her finger along the table. “He just wasn’t… what I’m looking for.”

“Wanted like 16 kids?”

“Oh my goodness, no, Tra,” she scoffed. “I wouldn’t mind if it was just kids, I want kids someday, I just… I’m…?” She grimaced, scratching the back of her neck and looking away.

“You gotta spell it out for me, Hollz,” Tra replied. “Did he have a second head? Did he snore? Was his candy cane too small-?”

“I’m gay!” Holly groaned, throwing her hands in the air, leaving Tra to blink in stunned silence. A long moment stretched out between them, Holly watched Tra’s expressions as Tra tried to figure out how to react. 

“Huh,” she finally said.

“‘Huh’?” 

“Huh,” she repeated. “Neat?”

“‘Neat’?” Holly gaped. 

“Shit, I dunno, Holly! That’s… great? I’m super super happy for you, that’s… hard to like, deal with, I think. I dunno, demons are all pretty fluid, but I assume elf society is more about making little elflings or whatever.” Holly sighed, hanging her head. “But no that’s rad, I’m proud of you, findin’ out who you are and shit, that’s super neat-”

“If you say neat again, I’m gonna throw you in the lake,” Holly muttered and Tra barked out a laugh.

“You really are the most fiery elf, aren’t you?” Tra grinned.

“I try,” she said softly, steepling her fingers as she kicked her legs. “Um. So demons are pretty fluid?”

“Well, yeah, I mean we’re shapeshifters kinda, so like, it’s mostly how we feel like presenting, you know? Being gay is sort of weird when your boyfriend isn’t your boyfriend the next day.”

“Ah,” Holly frowned. “But you’re a girl whenever you’re here. Are you ever a boy?”

“Rarely?” she sighed, threading her fingers through her hair and shivering softly. “I mean I try not to be. I don’t like the whole… aesthetic. We’re like ‘peak performance’ or whatever so boy bodies end up being so…”

“Hard?” Holly asked, scrunching her face.

“Yeah,” Tra grinned. “And girls are so soft.”

“Yeah,” Holly sighed with a pleasant grin. 

“Got your eye on anyone?” she chuckled, nudging her under the table.

“I think I do,” she nodded. “I don’t know if she likes me back.”

“If she didn’t, she’d been an idiot,” Tra snorted.

“You think?”

“Yeah, you’re like? The only cool elf. And you’re pretty, so like, you’ve got that going for you.”

“You think I’m pretty?” she asked, going rigid, the tips of her pointed ears going bright red.

“Well yeah, like… look at you,” Tra chuckled. “I mean you’ve got pretty hair and the soft girl thing going on like we said and oh god it’s me isn’t it?”

There was a long silence between the two, the only sound being the soft wind and the penguins chirping from the lake, muffled by the gentle snowfall. “Is that bad?” she whispered, frowning into her hands. “A whole city full of people, and I just… keep thinking… about you.” 

“Holly…” Tra started, her mouth going dry, her brain short-circuiting. 

“It probably is, right?” Holly laughed bitterly, standing and wiping her eyes. “I mean, it was… it was silly, I think. You’re from a literal different world, and I-I have so much work, you know? I can’t… be bothered with relationships right now, it’s… it was silly. Maybe being gay was silly! Maybe I should just try men again, maybe it was just… Maybe Cheer was a bad fit.”

“Holly,” she tried again, but her mouth wouldn’t form words. 

“It, um. It was good seeing you again, Tra,” Holly muttered. “Can you tell Noel I’m taking a sick day? I don’t… feel very good suddenly.”

“Holly,” she tried again as the elf started to jingle away, crying softly as it turned into a run. “Holly!” 

She swore, stumbling awkwardly out of the too small table, starting after her before grimacing, pulling her jacket up and starting back for the office. 

Holly liked her? Possibly past tense, now. Tra was… just so confused. She had the wriggling thought of a really bad idea, but she tried pushing it down, each time it resurfacing stronger. Finally she groaned loudly, pulling out her phone and blinking at the message.

THE BOSS, 4:12pm: yes

“You’re such an ASSHOLE,” she groaned, shoving it back in her pocket and breathing into her hands as she stormed back up to the office, pushing through the door to grinning elf faces, who looked to her, than the door as she closed it behind her, faces falling. 

“How did things go?” Noel asked tentatively.

“I need a double hot chocolate,” she sighed, collapsing to the couch. “And the name of a few good hotels.”

Fare Thee Well - - 16

Summary: She hasn’t seen Gabriel since he died nine years ago, then a phone call changes everything.

Pairing: Gabriel x OFC

Series Warnings: ANGST, smut, swearing, PTSD Gabriel, Character Deaths, Canon Compliant

Beta’d by: @aquietuniverse

Words: 4.3k

Time was standing still. Liv and Rowena sat in the library of the bunker, and the silence was unsettling as Lucifer sneered at them, his eyes traveling between the two of them. Liv was one step away from despondent. She’d just sent the love of her life off on some suicide mission into a world she’d never be able to get to if anything happened to him. She’d spend the rest of her life trying, that was for sure, but deep down she knew she’d never get there. It was hard to consider that that could have been the last time he kissed her, or smirked at her or made some crude, sexual joke. He very well could have just told her he loved her for the last time. Now seemed like the time she should be committing him to memory, the sound of his voice, the golden flecks in his eyes and the way his fingertips danced so gently across her body despite being powerful enough to destroy entire civilizations at will. Those were all things she was going to want to remember, needed to remember. She mentally kicked herself for not snapping a single photo of him before he left, her phone had a damn camera on it but the thought of preserving that shit-eating grin forever hadn’t passed through her head until now. “Sidelined eh ladies?” Lucifer mocked, rage burning at Liv’s cheeks at the sound of his voice, “Kinda… misogynistic no? Leaving the women behind in the kitchen while the men go off and fight for glory.” Liv rolled her eyes, at this point she wasn’t sure which fate was worse, death or being stuck with Lucifer for an extended amount of time. Maybe it was one in the same. “I’m disappointed in you,” he continued, turning his attention onto Liv, “I didn’t take you as the type to let your boyfriend order you around. Thought you had more stones than that.” “Do you ever shut up?” Liv snapped, kicking a chair in his direction. With a shrug and a smug smirk at her failed attempt at hitting him, Lucifer laughed, “Typical Gabe, tryin’ to be the hero. Know how many times that’s worked? Zero. Kid can’t even save his own ass never mind anyone else’s.” “Maybe I wanted to stay behind. Marvel in the sight of you all tied up and useless, bleeding out like a pig on a spit.” “Oh, feisty. He always did like the lively ones. Honestly though, now that we’re here, I’m glad it happened like this. I think we need to get to know each other better. I mean we are family now, right? I have to make sure you’re apt to be around my son-“ “We are not family. Not now, not ever.” The thought sent a wave of nausea into her stomach. She found herself fantasizing about Gabriel finishing him off once and for all while simultaneously wishing he’d been able to do it when he had the chance earlier that morning. “What? You’re my brother’s wifey now, that makes us, what do they call it?” Lucifer droned on, his nose wrinkling up in confusion, “In-laws?” “Absolutely not,” she seethed, teeth gritted. “Accept it sis, you’ll see me at Christmas dinners from here on out.” “Not a wifey, one.” “Ah, but you will be! In whatever sense you two figure out. Don’t think I can’t see into that conflicted, melodramatic head of yours. You’re better than that. I see Gabe’s little lovesick eyes looking down at you when he said he’s gonna marry you.” Lucifer feigned a gag, and Liv fought back the urge to lunge at him, plunge the angel blade tucked into her jacket through his sunken in chest a few times. Like she needed the reminder of that little snippet right now. At the time she’d laughed it off, he was ridiculous and lame and corny, but now she saw an allure to it. Maybe it was just the thought that this eons old bachelor, the party boy, the pornstar for fucks sake, had even considered completely and irrevocably devoting himself to her that had her swooning, but if he really did ask she knew what her answer would be. You’re fucking insufferable,” she groaned, not wanting to egg him on further. “Whoa, geez. Okay dude… that hurts,” Lucifer whined, his face overacting offense. “This is how I die, isn’t it? Annoyed to death by Satan himself.” “What a way to go.” Moments ago she missed Gabriel, but now she was cursing his existence. What was he thinking leaving her here with this pompous asshole? It’s like he didn’t even know her at all. He should have been well aware that being stuck for hours, days on end with Lucifer was going to end badly. One of them was going to end up marred, beaten or dead. Rowena not ending up in the crossfires was her goal at this point. “I need a drink,” Liv stated, turning her attention to the witch watching on to the soap opera with a perturbed gaze, “Do you want a drink?” “Yes. Please,” Rowena groaned in agreement, throwing her head down onto the table. “What you want?” “I don’t care, whatever they’ve got will do just fine.” Spotting the liquor cabinet, Liv ran from the two pairs of prying eyes. Once she was out of sight, her breath huffed out in relief. Everything was spiraling out of control faster than she could reel it back in. Self-destruct mode was very much activated and no matter how many alarms were going off in her head she just couldn’t switch it off. She wanted Gabriel. It wasn’t some inherent need that she’d waste away without, it was purely an insatiable craving her soul was pleading for. It begged for his arms and his safety and how he’d know exactly what to say right now to make this whole unbearable situation completely tolerable. She wanted his lips and his wandering hands and that soft look he got in his eyes when she did something completely ridiculous, that look that screamed ‘you’re the most perfect thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on’. Maybe it came down to solely just wanting to feel… wanted. She’d wandered aimlessly her entire life, not quite finding her niche, until that honey-haired Trickster came around and showed her what it felt like to be loved. Grabbing the first three bottles she could find, Liv headed back into the library and was shocked to find Lucifer silent. Assuming he was just planning his next verbal war with her, Liv placed the three bottles down in front of Rowena and resumed her seat back at the table, propping her feet up onto the table. “Dealer’s choice,” Liv sighed, throwing her head back in exasperation. “You got old, Liv,” Lucifer taunted, causing her to groan at the unbearableness of this situation, “Like, really old. What’s it been like nine years? Red over here looks better than you and she’d got a couple hundo’ on you.” “Jesus Christ,” Liv mumbled under her breath, downing the entire glass Rowena had passed to her. Whiskey. Thank God. Before the tumbler had even hit the table she was already sending it back towards the witch for a refill. “I mean, gray hairs, wrinkles, I can’t even imagine the scars. It’s not a good look,” Lucifer continued with that nasally tone of his, “I’m shocked he didn’t run right past you when he saw you. You’ve seen some of his former conquests, right? Never knew how he did it… but wow. And then there’s you.” “Well Lucy,” Liv began, licking the burn of the whiskey off her lips as the devil grimaced at her nickname, “I’ve heard you’re quite the looker yourself these days. I mean, this vessel is cringe-worthy enough, can’t imagine what’s underneath is much better.” “You don’t want to know,” Rowena cautioned, smiling as she side-eyed Lucifer. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Liv was really starting to like Rowena. She now saw why the Winchesters had yet to put a bullet in her brain. “You two are awfully chummy,” Lucifer noticed warily, “I don’t like it.” “Go on then, keep insulting us poor wee women. Anything to distract yourself from your profound, deeply emasculating humiliation,” Rowena tacked on, the smugness in her voice sending a little swell of pride to Liv’s heart. What neither of the women in the room saw, however, was the bindings holding their captive in place flickering as their self-satisfied giggles echoed across the cement walls. They didn’t know what he did. Enough rage, enough anger and he didn’t need grace to break this pathetic spell-work. One of them would crack. He’d been working on Liv but she was shockingly holding her own against him, maybe it was time to move onto good old Red. When he burst into song, digging through his archives to find the most obnoxious one he knew, their synchronized groan only egged him on further. Just a few more hours, and they’d both be goners. This world was a nightmare. There was no other word for it. As Gabriel marched on, leading the way for himself, Castiel and the Winchesters, he couldn’t help but feel displaced. The rain pelted against his leather jacket, his golden blade dripping as he thanked the universe for keeping Liv at home. This whole place gave him the creeps, and that didn’t happen very often, if ever. The ever-present darkness and gloom had him glancing over his shoulder every few seconds, the silence eerie enough to set his instincts on high. So this is what the world would have been like if the Apocalypse had happened. This may be the only instance where he was happy people didn’t listen to him. He’d been rooting for this for a little while there. Castiel stayed in step with his older brother, staying silent as Liv’s words echoed in his head. Dead or alive. He knew that she wouldn’t survive losing him again, getting Gabriel out alive had to be a top priority. “What’d she say to you?” Gabriel asked from beside him, almost as if he was reading his mind, “Before we left.” “She… she asked me to bring you back, “Castiel confessed, “Dead or alive.” Gabriel’s chest constricted at Castiel’s disclosure. She was under no illusions, and he knew that, hell he’d probably helped that train of thought along with his little final goodbye monologue he’d given her before taking off. Yet hearing that she’d pleaded for his dead body to be returned twisted his stomach. He pictured her face at the sight of Castiel carrying his limp, bloodied form back into the library, the wretched, soul shattering scream that would erupt from her chest echoed in his head. The ghost of her fingers trailing across his face traced over his skin, he could feel her memorizing his features, the ones he always thought so lowly of being some of her favorites. She’d kiss the round tip of his nose, run her thumb along his bottom lip that sat just a little too deep under his upper one as she’d plead in her head to see his eyes one last time. The thought of her losing him was almost as unbearable as him losing her. “Gabriel I… I need to ask something of you,” Castiel asked nervously, snapping Gabriel out of his turbulent thoughts, “Please just, hear me out.” “Okay…” Gabriel dragged on, eyebrows furrowing. “Heaven is dying. There are only a handful of angels left in all of existence. We need you help-“ “You already know the answer to this Cas. I’m not leaving her again. Plus, heaven doesn’t want me back. As far as they’re concerned I’m a screw up. Hell, as far as I’m concerned I’m a screw up.” “Well, heavens been run into the ground by upstanding angels. Perhaps a screw up is just the change we need.” “I can’t.” “If heaven dies, Gabriel, the consequences will be monumental. Millions of souls will come crashing down to Earth, vengeful and displaced. Whatever semblance of peace you’re considering would be lost. She’d be called back to war and die fighting, just like the rest of us. Except you.” “She isn’t dying.” “One day she will, and then what? Where will she go if heaven is obsolete?” This was not the place or time to be talking about this. Gabriel’s nostrils flared as he subdued the reflex to hurl Castiel against the nearest tree by the lapels of that ridiculous jacket he wore for thinking now was a good time to bring up Liv dying. He knew she was going to die one day, she was human after all. What he hadn’t planned on was all of his brothers being taken out, leaving him with no one to do the deed for him. No heaven to go to? So what, she was just going to walk around in the veil until someone burned her bones? He’d be damned before anyone took a lighter to her. There was another way to fix this all, there had to be. What did heaven expect him to do? Run the joint? “Stop. Just, stop! I can’t talk about this right now. I can’t run heaven, Cas. I can’t. You need some grace to fill the tank with, take it. Take all of it for all I care. But I’m not my father. Never was, never will be. Find someone else,” Gabriel panicked, his voice frantic. “There is no one else!” Castiel implored, his desperation growing. Castiel knew it was hopeless. He wasn’t going to leave her behind. Granted, he knew it was a slim chance to begin with but nothing Castiel had said had been untrue. If heaven fell, the world would burn. He glanced behind him, watching as Sam and Dean were deep in conversation as they followed. If heaven fell, Dean would be in danger too. This was an impossible situation, but what obstacle that stood in their way wasn’t? A scream in the distance gained the attention of all four men, all sharing a glance as they formed a small circle. “Not our world, not our problem, right?” Gabriel shrugged, hoping that these idiots didn’t want to play savior to everyone. The singing had yet to cease. It’d been hours. Liv had her head pressed into the cold wood of the table, the decanter of whiskey practically drained in her right hand. She’d given up on glasses a few hours ago. Her head was swimming, the usually delightful buzz from this much booze couldn’t even settle with the American Idol Reject bellowing on and on and on. Such a waste of really good whiskey she was sure Dean was going to be livid she cleaned house of. “Just kill me now!” she cried, theatrically throwing her head back. “That can be arranged!” Lucifer chimed, breaking from his tune just long enough to get the words out. “I need a break.” As she walked from the room, the singing ceased. Figures. How Rowena was keeping her cool through that atrocity was beyond her. If she had some way of making magical ear plugs and wasn’t sharing there was going to be hell to pay, that was certain. She meandered her way to the washroom, exhaustion from hours of boredom and anxiety finally kicking in during these moments of peace. As she waited for the water to warm up, she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She had gotten old. She’d never really paid any mind to it before, but after hearing Lucifer dissect each and every one of her flaws they were glowing like beacons now. Maybe it was high time to get a box of dye from the pharmacy, she thought, as she realized those single grays in her temples were colonizing now. Gabriel hadn’t seemed to mind any of it, but, she really was no where near the level she knew he was used to. Back in the day, when they’d first met, she’d never considered herself a looker but she saw none of that girl in the reflection staring back at her now. It was truly a wonder Gabriel had even recognized her at all. Her eyes continued to inspect herself and when they drifted to her neck she noticed one of Gabriel’s careless marks he’d left along her throat. No doubt it was from their anger-fueled romp in the back of her car just that morning, they’d certainly thrown all caution to the wind and the evidence was staring her in the face. She ran her fingers over the welt, her chest tightening as her mind focused; the panic she’d been harboring reared its ugly head again. Gabriel. The archangel. The Trickster. The man who could fuck her in a rest stop bathroom and still make her feel like a queen, who loved her, above all other things, gray hairs or not. The man who would die for her, that would sit in hell for close to a decade in hopes of keeping her safe. The man she’d let wander off into an unknown world, prepared to die if he needed to, alone. The man that she loved, with every fiber and cell of her being. It was too late now, even if she tried she’d never find him over there. She was stuck here, in limbo, not knowing if she’d ever see him again. The steam from the running faucet had fogged the mirror she’d been staring into before her thoughts wandered. She shook herself from her wallowing, wiping the condensation from the glass, her worn-down reflection coming into sight once again. Knowing it was time to return, she shut the faucet off, not even bothering to splash her face down as she’d intended, before turning and heading back to the library. Her stomach was growling, but preparing food seemed tedious, there were bigger issues to be concerned with right now. The closer she got, the more she swore she heard… shouting. She ran, skidding into the library to find Rowena screaming at Lucifer, a handful of his hair locked between her fingers and the ropes of magic restraining him beginning to flicker. Whatever was happening was about to release the devil on them both. “Rowena! Stop!” Liv warned, but it was too late. The cords snapped and Liv watched in horror as Lucifer rose to his feet, grabbing the witch by her throat as his eyes blazed red. She was frozen in fear. This whole time she’d been worried about Gabriel dying, she’d never once considered that it might be her kicking the bucket. “Ah, Red. You shouldn’t have made me mad. Step into my office. Livvy, be with you in just a sec,” he sneered, his words barely audible over the sounds of Rowena’s gasps and chokes. In a flash the two were suddenly against the wall, the thud echoing through the room. Liv knew she needed to act, and quick, but she saw no real option. She had no weapon handy, she knew no magic, she was stuck. Instincts kicked in however, and she ran towards the devil, willing to do whatever it took to get his hands from Rowena’s throat and hopefully give her enough time to do whatever it was that she could. “You know… you and Gabe, you kicked me when I was down. I didn’t have any fight. I didn’t have anything to live for. But you… you… you gave me something to fight for again. My boy. So for that, I’m going to be quick-“ Lucifer droned on, Liv’s hands grabbing his shoulder stopping him short. “Defendatur!” Rowena called, effectively forcing Lucifer away from her. What Rowena didn’t know, was the passenger he’d taken with him. “Sammy!” Dean cried, following Castiel down the dark passage after his brother. Gabriel ran after them, but stopped short as he came beside the small human girl they’d picked up just hours before, his heart stopping. When he looked at her, he didn’t see the wayward survivor, all he saw was Liv. His brain begin firing off images and horrors, his head twitching as he fought to keep them at bay. He saw her bloody and lifeless on that warehouse floor, he heard her calling to him just as Sam had for his brother, her voice filled with fear. Gabriel! He watched as her lifeless body was dragged down that corridor, the monster’s hissing and snarls ricocheting off the walls. She’s not here. She’s not here. She’s not here.  He whispered the words under his breath like a mantra, doing his best to control the terror icing his veins as he watched Castiel return empty handed. Sam was gone. Liv would have been gone. He would have failed. When he saw Dean’s face, he felt that sorrow deep in his own heart, and selfishly a small hint of gratitude that it wasn’t he who had lost everything. He needed to get home. No more lost orphans, no more side missions, he needed to see her, feel her, again. “Dean, we should go,” Gabriel reasoned, knowing Castiel would never be able to take charge over this situation, “we can’t stay here or you’re all toast.” Dean glared at the angel, rage and despair mixed into his eyes, “Bet you feel real good about yourself right now, don’t you?” Gabriel looked at him confused, “What?” “Why can’t you save him!? If it was her you’d be barreling down that fucking…” Gabriel’s face fell in shame as Dean’s words caught in his throat. Even if he tried, he knew he didn’t have the juice. “Yeah I would, doesn’t mean I could fix anything,” Gabriel began, keeping his voice level, “I can’t, Dean. I didn’t even have enough for the spell, what makes you think I can raise the dead?” Defeat fell across Dean’s face as he grabbed Castiel by the shoulders, shoving him out of the way as he lunged at Gabriel. The archangel let himself be tackled by the hunter, their bodies tumbling to the dirt as Dean grabbed two handfuls of his jacket. Gabriel took it, knowing exactly how Dean felt, not like he could hurt him anyway. When a fist connected with his jaw, Gabriel could barely feel a sting, but as Dean’s hand came back down Gabriel stopped it with an outstretched palm. “What is this helping?” Gabriel yelled, “I’m sorry, Dean! But if we don’t keep moving, we’re gonna lose more than Sam and… whatever his name was.” Castiel came behind them, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder both in comfort and warning that if he continued, his brother was not going to stay this complacent for long. With a snap of his arm, Dean pulled his fist from the angel’s grasp and stood, adjusting his backpack and jacket, before silently taking off down the passage alone. Castiel held a hand out for Gabriel, helping him back to his feet before running after the reckless hunter before he got himself killed. Gabriel then looked at the poor human that was stuck in the middle of all of this now, her face was dripping with fear. “Come on, we gotta go,” Gabriel instructed softly, clapping his hand on her shoulder once. “Who is she?” Maggie asked, slowly letting one foot fall in front of the other as they started down the cave, “the woman, that you would save?” “Uh… she isn’t here. She’s back at home.” “She’s human?” “Yeah, she is.” “And you… you love her?” Gabriel nodded, wondering why she was asking these questions, but as he looked down at her face he saw the confusion and the wonder. She’d been living in a world where angels hunted and murdered humans, something like him was unheard of. They walked in silence from there on, catching up to Dean and Castiel once they’d come out unscathed from the tunnel. Gabriel’s thoughts again traveled to the thought of it being her left behind in that wasteland. He swore he could still hear her calling out to him, the sound fuzzy and staticky, like it was coming through on a bad signal. This world was strange, and he needed out. Her cheek was firmly planted into the wet ground, the rain cold on her skin, a twig poking right at the corner of her eye as she came to. She was on her stomach, laying on the ground outside. That made no sense, she was just in the bunker… As she pushed herself up and opened her eyes her heart damn near stopped. She wasn’t in Kansas anymore. This world was void of color, barren and desolate. About thirty feet away she could see the rift, shining brighter than even the sun was, and she took off running towards it. She wasn’t stupid, she knew that she’d never make it out of here alive stuck to her own devices. She was weaponless, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, she’d freeze to death if some murderous angel or monster didn’t find her first. So focused on her destination, she was oblivious to the fact she hadn’t come over alone. Suddenly, a hand reached out and grabbed her by the arm, effectively stopping her from crossing back through to the bunker and her stomach dropped. “Oh no no, you’re with me,” Lucifer sneered, “partner.” “Not a chance,” she spat in response, pulling on her arm in his grip. “Uh, you don’t have a choice. Like it or not sis, we’re in this together now.” With a sharp pull, Lucifer dragged her along beside him, and she knew there was no escape. Gabe… Gabriel…. GABE! She called and called but no answer came. Surely he wasn’t dead already, right?

TAGS: @idabbleincrazy @analisespn @nodistressdamsel @morganas-pendragons

Kinktober Day 3: Baba + Temperature Play

Note:  Third day! This took me longer than it should have, it’s also longer than it should have been.. I just stopped writing to check notifications on my phone and ended up playing 4 main stories+3 POV’s on Love365. So, yeah.... R.I.P my bank account and my self control. Then when I took a brief break towards the end of writing it, an idea popped into my head. I don’t know why, but making Baba and MC the grossest, lovey doviest, cheesy couple, is just what I do. 

Summary: It’s hot as fuck, but Baba has some ideas to help cool MC off. 

Pairing: Baba/MC (Cis!Female)

Word Count: 2339 (These were supposed to be shorter than my normal one-shots...)

Warnings: Dildo, Temperature Play, Blindfolds, Light Bondage, Vaginal Sex, Creampie (I’m starting to think I’m physically incapable of making characters pull out or use a condom)

It’s hot; an unbearable, insufferable heat. Typically, the ac within the Tres Spades would take care of that. But, something is broken, cause of course it is. She’s been running around like crazy and there’s a disgusting sheen of sweat stuck to her skin. Everything is terrible; quite frankly

She’s cleaning the penthouse suites, thankfully most of the bidders are gone. Finding places to escape the heat, working, or trying to get people to fix the ac. If she’s being completely honest, she doesn’t dislike the bidders, but she’s already frazzled from the heat. As much as they’ve become her reluctant asshole friends, they have a tendency to get on her last nerve. But, if it wasn’t for them and the auctions; her and Baba wouldn’t have been brought together. She can look back on every moment of stress and hurt with a smile now, knowing that it’s all led her to him.

Wow, his romantic dorkiness is rubbing off on her. She shakes her head at her own cheesy thoughts, her cheeks feel warm now and not because of the heat. She’s cleaning up Baba’s, and kind of her’s too at this point, suite. Busying herself with making the bed. Arms wrap around her waist and pull her backwards, a usually comfortable but currently overwhelming warmth on her back.

“Hello, beautiful,” Baba whispers against her ear. She turns within his arms and puts her hands to his chest, giving him a chaste kiss before trying to put a little distance between them. He’s the absolute love of her life, but it’s too hot to be on top of each other.

“Hello, to you too,” she manages to say before he kisses her again, deeper this time. His tongue swipes her lips. She pulls away, feeling her body heat up.

“Something wrong, princess?”

“Sorry, it’s just too hot. I’m already sweaty and gross, sorry.”

“You’re gorgeous,” he presses a kiss against her sweaty forehead, “I’ll see you after work.”

They exchange ‘I love you’s’ before she leaves to go back to work, she feels bad turning him down. Makeout sessions throughout the day are usual for them, but she really can’t stand anything that will make her burn up even more. Thankfully, Baba is understanding as always, how did she get so lucky? She’s a bit more energetic as she goes about her work day.

Her shift passes by easily, though sweat is still dripping off of her skin by the time she’s finished and going back to Baba’s suite.

“I’m home,” She calls out as she walks inside.

“I’m in here, princess!” His voice is coming from the bedroom. He’s usually in the kitchen by the time she gets home, working on dinner, is he up to something?

“Okay… I’m gonna grab a shower.”

“Actually, could you come here?”

Suspicious, she ventures into the bedroom. It’s empty, though she notices an ice bucket near the bed, but she can’t see if anything else is in it. Arms wrap around her waist again, making her yelp as she’s pulled back against Baba’s chest. A once again smothering body heat against her sweaty back.

“What are you doing?” She asks, trying not to laugh at the surprise.

“Mm,” he hums as he kisses up the nape of her neck, “I want to help you cool off, sweetheart. Can I?”

“Yes,” she answers softly, her face flushing. He grabs the hem of her shirt and pulls it off, kissing across her shoulder blades while he undoes her bra. Her body is heating up and it’s unbearable despite the pleasure. He gropes and teases her bare breasts, then the world goes out from underneath her, Baba picking her up and putting her on the bed. He’s leaning over her and they exchange a deep kiss before he pulls away. His fingers hook into her waistband, pulling her jeans and underwear down in one quick move.

She’s burning up and she looks away, she sees the ice bucket. She tries to lean up on her elbows to see if anything is in it, but a large warm hand cups her cheek before she can look. Baba’s warm brown eyes look deep into her eyes, love and adoration shining through his soft gaze.

“No peeking, you don’t wanna ruin the surprise.” He kisses her again and shows her a a blindfold, “do you mind wearing this, princess?’

“No problem.” She trusts him completely and this isn’t the first time she’s worn one, He carefully secures it around the back of her head, making it as comfortable as possible. The world going black.

“That okay?”

“Yes, it’s perfect.”

“Can I tie your hands up?”

“Yes.” There’s no hesitation in her voice, again, not the first time for her to be tied up. His fingers ghost across her skin as he ties something that feels like silk around her wrists, securing them above her hand. She’s on full display and his hands stroke down her body, just teasing. Every sensation making her squirm, goosebumps rising across her skin.

Something cold and slightly wet touches her jaw; she gasps as a chill runs through her body. It runs across her jawline and up to her lips. She licks it, it’s not an ice cube. It has a noticeable curve to it and it solid under her tongue, not melting. But, it’s dragged down her chin before she can figure anything else out. Warms lips press against hers in it’s wake, a sharp contrast that makes her shudder. He pulls away and she’s left licking her lips, wanting more.

Baba runs the chilled the mystery object down her body. She can’t help but writhe as he slowly drags it across her skin. Down her throat, across the dips of her collarbones, circling the plush of her breasts and making her nipples stiffen. His warm mouth connecting with her chest right after, overwhelming warmth as he sucks and laps at her breasts. She can’t help but tug at the binds on her wrists, wanting to grab his hair and keep him there. But, he pulls away a moment later.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispers against her skin, the warmth of his breath along with the cold dragging down her stomach, makes her squirm. His hand grips under her thigh then pushes her leg up and out, she does the same with her other leg for him. Leaving her splayed out and she can feel the air on her wet cunt.

The warmth of his mouth connects with her innermost thigh, while he runs the cold object up and down her slit. She moans, feeling it bump and tease her clit with each stroke, while he nips at her thigh. He slides it in, a solid cold rigged length slipping deep into her. A moan leaves her and she throws her head back onto the bed.

Baba pumps it in and out of her, slow at first, building her up. It’s freezing cold against her hot insides, his knuckles just brush against her sex when he plunges it in as deep as it will go. He slowly builds up speed, moving it faster and faster. The ridges and bumps of it rubbing against the sensitive nerves inside of her. Tension is building up inside of her, getting closer and closer to orgasm with each thrust. The wet squelching sound of him fucking her with it echoes throughout the room, mingling with her moans. She’s right o the verge of orgasm when he slides it out, leaving her painfully empty.

“Uhn, Mitsunari…” she can’t help but whine, squirming her hips, trying to chase the feeling. Her frustration is short lived, hearing a shift in the mattress, then his cock slides into her. A borderline searing heat inside of her compared to the cold from before. She can his presence hovering over her as he slowly begins to fuck into her, his breath fanning across her skin and the ends of his hair brushing against her. His hands now keep both of her legs spread wide.

He feels amazing inside of her, even with the heat, she’d rather have him inside her. It feels right. Stretching her perfectly, rubbing the sensitive nerves in the best way, reaching the deepest part of her; like they’re meant to fit together. His body feels perfect against hers, her rock to match his pace, not wanting a second to pass where they’re not connected. A gentle kiss is pressed against her lips as he starts to move faster, making her tremble and moan.

“I love how desperate you get for me,” he whispers against her skin and she wishes she could wrap her arms around him.

“I love you,” she moans back, trying to meet his lips again even if she can’t see where they are. He takes mercy on her clumsy attempt and meets her part way, their tongues rubbing together as their mouths come together.

Another hard thrust hits just where she needs it and she’s pushed over the edge. Her moans of pleasure muffled by his lips as she squeezes around him, like her body is trying to milk him dry. He’s close behind, hot cum gushing into her. They ride their orgasm out together, spending a moment to catch their breath before he starts to move.

He slowly pulls out and she whimpers at the feeling. The world comes back into focus when he pulls off the blindfold, her adjusting enough to see his face. He places soft kisses across her eyelids and he’s smiling into it. She’s a little cum drunk and grinning like an idiot as he unties her wrists. He checks them over, but the silk sashes haven’t left any marks, they never do. But, that won’t ever stop him from checking. While he’s doing that she looks around and see something on the bedside table.

A dopey smiles draws across her lips; it’s a glass dildo from their chest of sex toys. He ordered up in ice bucket just to have a freezing cold dildo by the bed for her. It’s weirdly sweet yet pervy, just like him.

“You okay, darling?” He settles in next to her, his brows furrowed in concern. She lies ontop of him and buries her face into his chest, smiling against his sweaty skin.

“Yeah, I’m perfect.” A chuckle rumbles in his chest and he kisses the top of her head, cuddling in close. A few moments pass, just enjoying the comfort of each others body heat. A feeling she never wants to turn away again. Everything is perfect, her body relaxed and her heart warm with affection.  

“You called me Mitsunari,” he breaks the quiet first.

“Mmhm, I want to start calling you that more.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s gonna get weird calling you Baba all of the time. Especially, when I take your last name,” she rambles without thinking. It’s something she’s been thinking for a while and the orgasm seems to have made her more honest.

A moment passes, without him saying anything and she realizes what she just said. Her body tenses, they’re not even engaged yet. Oh no. Did she just freak him out? She’s an idiot, she’s an actual idiot. She looks up at his face, trying to gauge his expression and just how much damage control needs to be done. The hand not on her waist is pressed against his face and a deep red is coloring his cheeks. She’s never him this red before, he matches his famous suit at this point. She doesn’t dare speak, not sure what exactly this means.

“Did you just propose to me?” He finally asks after a few moments, still not looking at her and trying to hide his flushed face.

“Uh, look, Baba I-”

“Nope,” he finally looks at her and he’s grinning despite his blush, “you can’t go back to calling me Baba after that, I won’t let you.”

“Well, Mitsunari,” her cheeks feel warm now too, “I didn’t like, propose-propose. But, I mean, I love you and eventually, if you want, you know…” The words coming out of her mouth make no sense, but she’s not sure she can formulate cohesive thought.

“You’re so cute, I don’t know what to do.” He presses kisses across her face, he’s still red and grinning ear to ear.

“Just go to sleep, you big dork.” She buries her face back into his chest, invading his kisses and hiding her flush.

“Whatever you say, Mrs. Baba.”

whiplash

Theme: warmth

“To be brave is to love someone unconditionally, without expecting anything in return. To just give. That takes courage, because we don’t want to fall on our faces or leave ourselves open to hurt.” — Madonna

ao3

.

Shouto knew his boyfriend was all kinds of troublesome; Izuku, as amazing, kind, and wonderful he is, has certain traits (maybe even flaws) that would drive any person insane.

His reckless and borderline self-destructive behaviour has particularly been getting on Shouto’s nerves recently.

“We,” Shouto starts as he strides through the doors, glaring at his amazing, kind, wonderful, but stupidly reckless boyfriend who has managed to land himself in the hospital for the third time that month, “have got to stop starting our evenings like this.”

“It’s five,” Izuku croaks from his place on the bed, arm and leg strung up, head wrapped in gauze. “Six is considered evening.”

Shouto glares, and Izuku withdraws, muttering a meek apology under his breath.

“I’m not going to ask what happened,” Shouto says, not because he doesn’t care, but because he’s… tired. Of this.

He watches Izuku shift uncomfortably in place, more likely because of their conversation than his injuries.

Everything.

Shouto moves to sit on the visitor’s chair, but not without sending Izuku another dirty look. “When are you getting out of here?”

“A couple hours,” Izuku says. “I’ll be on leave for a couple days. My manager forced me to.”

And yet you didn’t listen to me when I asked you to do the same. “Okay.”

Izuku reaches over, placing a hand over Shouto’s. “You’re mad.”

“No.” Shouto looks away. “I’m tired. That’s all.”

“You can go home. I’ll be fine here.”

Shouto’s heart twinges. He looks at his boyfriend from the corner of his eye, teeth grinding. “I’m not that kind of tired.”

“Oh.” Izuku squeezes Shouto’s hand. “I’m frustrating you, aren’t I?”

Shouto exhales through his nose. “Little bit.”

“I can’t… I can’t not do this,” Izuku says, not bothering to clarify himself because Shouto understands exactly what he means. “So many would have been hurt, Shouto.”

“I know.”

“I can’t just stand by.”

“I know.”

“You would have done the same.”

“I haven’t been to the hospital three times in a month.”

Pause. “Touché.”

Shouto tugs his hand away. “What am I going to do with you?”

The silence that stretches is familiar. They’ve been present since Pro Hero Deku was named the Number One Hero, which had been three years ago.

“I’m sorry.” Then, “I love you.”

Shouto hates how quickly the ice in his heart thaws. He hates the whiplash in emotions Izuku causes him, ranging from fondness and warmth to fear and grief, sometimes even sadness.

It’s been mostly the latter recently.

“I love you too,” Shouto says, and the smile Izuku sends them makes his heart soar. “Just. Tone it down a bit, okay?”

“Okay.”

Shouto decides to believe him, even as his thoughts weigh with doubt.

.

Midoriya Izuku, Shouto deduces as he finds himself in the hospital again, sees Izuku on the bed again, sees Izuku in bandages again, (the only difference from the last visit being that he’s unconscious this time), is a goddamn liar.

“I hate you,” Shouto says once the door slams shut, stumbling towards Izuku’s prone figure, legs trembling with each step, his hands reaching out to grasp Izuku’s cold, scarred hand. “I hate you.”

It doesn’t wake Izuku up.

Shouto shakes his head, and he feels stupid for talking to himself, but Izuku’s not exactly giving him many options, being in a coma. “Stupid, reckless, selfless, self-destructive idiot.” Then his body starts shaking, throat tightening. Tears start pooling. “They told me you might not wake up, y’know that? They— they told me not to hope. That you went too far. I don’t want to believe them, but you—you’re making this really hard, you know that?”

When Shouto first pursued a relationship with Izuku, he knew not to expect too much. He knew what Izuku was like, how insufferable he could be, how ignorant he could be of other people’s worry for him.

Izuku gave so much of himself to the public and their safety that he forgot to give back to the people who loved him the most.

But Shouto knew this. He’d even been warned to about this very issue by a concerned Yaoyorozu (“I know you love him,” she’d said, placing a gentle hand on Shouto’s shoulder, “and I know he loves you, but that’s not the only thing that makes a relationship last.”), yet Shouto hadn’t cared. He’d loved Izuku, and felt more than ready to deal with the consequences.

Years later, and Shouto is starting to feel that determination wane.

Yes, he knew not to expect much, had been content with loving Izuku and showing it whenever he could, had been okay with the sleepless nights filled with worry and stress whenever Izuku didn’t come home on time, had been okay with the meek excuses and the empty promises that he would be better, that he would take care of himself next time, but this?

Was it really too much to ask his boyfriend to value his own life for once?

Shouto finally chokes on a sob, angry and upset and tired and angry and upset and so fucking tired. He blindly reaches into his pocket, wrenching out a small black box that he’d planned on pulling out later that night, when Izuku would come back from work.

When Izuku should have come back from work.

He throws it on the ground, hard enough that the box creaks open and the ring tumbles out.

“I refuse to be a widower,” he says, tears tumbling down his cheek and he stumbles out of the room, ignoring the worried looks the nurses send his way. He thinks he sees Izuku’s mother, but he’s running out the doors so fast that he can’t turn around to confirm.

He’s tired. He loves Izuku so, so much—loves Izuku’s kindness, his warmth, and his smiles and jokes and ramblings—but he’s tired.

He refuses to dedicate his life to someone so willing to throw their own away.

.

Shouto doesn’t go to the hospital when they call him, informing him that Izuku had woken up, and would be ready to come back home within the next week.

Instead, he stays huddled next to the kitchen island, phone in hand, sobbing from relief.

.

“Shocchan.”

Shouto ignores the voice, determined to scrub a particularly stubborn stain from one of the pots.

“Shocchan.” Arms wrap from behind him, gently tugging him into a broad chest. Shouto studiously ignores it, despite the part of him screaming at him to turn around and return the gesture.

“Shouto.”

The pot clatters onto the sink. Shouto falls back into the embrace, clutching onto Izuku’s forearms.

A shuddering sigh, then— “What.”

The embrace tightens. Shouto can feel Izuku’s breath next to his ear, slow and steady and warm. “I’m back.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll—I’ll always be back, you know that?”

Shouto’s nails dig into Izuku’s forearms. “You don’t know that.”

“I do.” Izuku starts rubbing Shouto’s sides. “I won’t leave you, Shouto.”

Shouto stays silent.

“I lov—”

Ice and fire crawl up his skin as Shouto croaks something that sounds like don’t and stop and you can’t keep doing this to me, you asshole.

But Izuku doesn’t let go.

“I love you,” Izuku repeats, arms winding tighter even as Shouto all but combusts, ice winding around his scarred forearms, flames (not hot enough to burn, because Shouto might be upset, but he’s not completely out of it) following. “I love you.”

“I said st—”

“No.” Izuku kisses the space between his ear and neck, and Shouto hates hates hates how easily he melts, leaning into the warmth. “Never.”

“You’re lying.”

“Not this time,” Izuku says, and it’s—it’s that voice, the one Izuku uses among crowds, the one he uses to soothe and comfort and, most importantly, when he promises safety. “Not this time, Shocchan.”

Shouto can feel his resolve weakening. His flames and ice dial back, slowly disappearing under his skin.

“I hurt you,” Izuku whispers, “I—I never realized how much I did, and I regret it.” He presses another kiss on his cheek. “I can’t even properly apologize, because I know you won’t believe me.”

“I won’t.” Shouto agrees, hating how weak he sounds.

“That’s okay.” Gently, Izuku turns Shouto around. Scarred hands cup Shouto’s cheeks, and Shouto’s breath hitches at the rawness in Izuku’s gaze. “I’ll prove myself. Then you’ll believe me.”

“How are you so sure I’ll give you another chance?”

Izuku touches their foreheads together. He retracts one hand, and when he lifts it again, Shouto sees a familiar silver band, still in prime condition despite how badly Shouto had treated it just days before.

“I don’t deserve it,” Izuku is saying, cradling the ring almost as carefully as he cradles Shouto’s face. “I don’t deserve you. But I—I want this. I really, really want this.”

Shouto swallows thickly. “I’m not giving that to a dead man.”

“And you won’t,” Izuku says firmly. “You’re giving it to me, and I’ll wear it for the next sixty, seventy years of my life.”

The sincerity—borderline ferocity— in his tone almost leaves Shouto breathless.

“Bold of you to assume you’ll live to your nineties.”

“For you, I’ll do it.” Izuku (stupid, reckless, selfless, self-destructive, amazing, kind, wonderful, Izuku) slips the ring onto Shouto’s own finger. He lifts Shouto’s hand, peppering his knuckles with kisses before leaving a long, sweet kiss on his ring. “Just let me prove it.”

Shouto barks out a weak laugh, the fight in him leaving completely. “Okay,” he says. “I still hate you.”

“That’s fine. I’ll prove myself, I swear.” Izuku intertwines their fingers, then kisses Shouto speechless, pushing him against the sink. Shouto can feel the handle of a pan dig into his back uncomfortably. When air runs out and they part, Izuku leans his forehead against Shouto’s own again. “I love you.”

Maybe Izuku is lying again. Maybe he’s just saying this to placate Shouto for the time-being, maybe Izuku will end up in the hospital again and this vicious cycle will continue with vengeance, but Shouto is tired. He can’t fight back Izuku when he’s dangling everything he’s ever wanted from their relationship right in front of him.

Shouto can’t imagine a life without Izuku.

A life without Izuku had, after all, been the very reason why Shouto didn’t want to marry Izuku anymore in the first place.

“I know,” Shouto says, watching the way Izuku brightens, determination shining in his green eyes. When Izuku turns away for the briefest second, just to kiss his knuckles again, Shouto closes his eyes.

He loves Izuku. Nothing will change that.

But that won’t determine whether Shouto will stay.

That’s all up to Izuku.

Strays (1/1)

Summary: It’s not the first time Ryan’s seen this particular stray around his building.

Notes: Because reasons.

AO3

It’s not the first time Ryan’s seen this particular stray around his building.

Lean and lanky, sand colored fur with muted tabby markings. Bright green eyes and gentle temperament, loud little bastard who does his best to trip him up when Ryan comes home.

Showed up out of the blue one day with a fancy gold collar pulled so tightly around its neck it wasn’t breathing properly. Fur matted with mud and dried blood, limping along with a bad fracture in one its forelegs. Sharp eyes and sharper claws, it didn’t hesitate to flash when Ryan got too close.

Patience and a bit of kindness had won it over, allowed him to get close to it. Coax it out of hiding and see to its injuries. Earned him an odd little friend of the four-footed kind over time.

“Hey,” Ryan says, tied and aching, shoulder twinging uncomfortably as he bends down to scritch the stray’s ears because he knows what will happen if he doesn't.

Sad eyes and soft, pitiful cries as it trails him up to his apartment as though Ryan is the worst kind of person there is, career choices aside.

The stray meows, accusatory as it looks up at him, look on its face as though it’s annoyed Ryan’s late.

“Look buddy,” he says, past the point of caring that he tends to talk to the stray as though it can understand him. “These things run long sometimes.”

Because sometimes the asshole you’ve been hired to kill has access to things like grenades and homemade explosives and things get tricky. Especially when the guy’s the paranoid kind who knows someone’s coming after him and things go to shit for a bit.

The stray sneers at him, trotting ahead with its tail held high and this flounce that has Ryan shaking his head as he follows.

========

Ryan had done some looking, put out feelers around the city for anyone missing a cat with a fancy gold collar worth a pretty penny. Did a little looking online too, just in case, and when no leads turn up he figures it’s probably some rich asshole who has enough money not to care if their cat goes missing.

So now the stray isn’t so much a stray as it is a frequent visitor in Ryan’s life.

It lounges around his apartment like royalty, loud and demanding and bossy as hell, and Ryan -

Well.

He knew what he was in for when he made the mistake of letting the cat stay the first time it set paw inside his apartment. (It’s a cat, that’s what they do.)

At the moment Ryan’s tending to an array of minor injuries from his latest job. Picking bits of dirt and crumbled masonry out of a gash thanks to flying debris and bad luck. The stray’s watching him, tip of its tail twitching.

The stray smacks his hand with just a hint of claws when Ryan when Ryan thinks about passing on stitching it up. Thinks butterfly bandages will do the trick just as well, if a bit messily.

Ryan looks up to see the stray has this displeased look on its face, starts growling when Ryan just sits there, and flashes its claws. Mean looking things that would undo what progress Ryan’s made so far.

“Christ, alright,” Ryan mutters, wondering when he started taking orders from a damn cat.

========

Ryan knows there’s more to Los Santos than the rampant crime and corruption. Desperate souls just trying to keep their heads above water.

There’s a flipside to everything here. Go down this street and knock on the door with a mark on it, and if you know the password you’ll find yourself in a goddamn fantasy novel.

There are creatures here - ‘shifters and vamps and everything in between.

Beings from the old country who’ve migrated to America generations ago and found their way to Los Santos. Gotten lost in a city that doesn’t care who (what) you are or where you came from so long as you know how the city works.

Ryan’s heard the stories, all these beings with powers and abilities and how one terribly fragile human like him can’t possibly hope to match up against them – and yet.

He’s garnered a reputation of his own in this city, made a name for himself that stands him on level footing with some of the most powerful names here.

There are crews, gangs, you learn to be wary of if you last long enough. The Fake AH Crew are at the top of the list, notorious wanted criminals known for being ruthless when it comes to their enemies.

They say Ramsey’s something old – no one’s sure what he is, just old and tired and waiting for the world to end. Passes the time entertaining himself, gathering strays of his own with mixed heritage and watered down bloodlines, wreaking havoc and making sure the whole city knows who’s behind it all.

“You’re the Vagabond, hmm?”

Ryan sighs, looking up to see Ramsey watching him, amused little smile on his face.

He's had a long day and isn’t really in the mood to entertain guests at the moment. Just wanted to go home, deal with his latest injuries in peace.

His arm stings, parallel scratches bleeding sluggishly and nursing what feels like cracked ribs.

“Ramsey.”

The man moves forward. Looks disheveled with sleepy eyes and that smile like he’s laughing at the world. (Something he knows no one else does, perhaps, or maybe he just finds what people will do to get by so terribly amusing.)

On the surface of things he seems like he’d be the harmless kind, but there’s this air of subtle power about him. The kind of person who knows their worth, is comfortable with it.

“Looks like you’ve had an exciting day.”

Ryan’s been fucked over, is what he’s been.

Contacts who were blinded by greed and a phone call that led him to a construction site expecting to meet with a potential employer and finding an ambush instead.

Pair of ‘shifters with sharp fangs and claws and looking to make a name for themselves by killing him, not realizing the mistake they’d made. (The same one so many of their kind make, again and again and again because how could a squishy little human ever be a threat to something like them?)

And now this.

Not his day, really.

Still, it’s not Ramsey he’s worried about so much as the banshee. Eyes on Ryan the whole damn time, and angry as hell about something.

Steps up beside Ramsey who watches, mouth quirked in a faint smile.

“Where the fuck is he?” he demands, so very quiet.

Ryan stares at him, bemused.

The banshee takes another step forward, pushes into Ryan’s space -

They both freeze when there’s a rattle and clank above them, and look up to see the stray making his way down to them via drain pipes and rusty fire escapes.

It drops down in front of them, this smug little look about it.

“You little fucker,” the banshee snarls. “Do you have any fucking clue how long we’ve been looking for you?”

The stray’s tail flicks once, twice, and then it makes a little run at the banshee, leaping at the last moment to land, lightly, perfectly, on his shoulders. Purrs up a storm as it butts its head against his face, making these chirping noises like laughter as the banshee seethes, muttering darkly under his breath.

“Gavin,” Ramsey says, and the cat looks over, ear flicking.

There’s an amused smile on Ramsey's face. Shoulders loose and easy as he takes in the stray draping himself across the banshee’s shoulders like it’s a favorite perch of his, and Ryan -

Ryan’s just so very tired because this is Los Santos and there’s a flipside to everything here.

========

“You know,” Ramsey says, eyeing Ryan thoughtfully. “We could always use someone as resourceful as you in the crew.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow at that, sounds of Ramsey’s crew getting the stray – Gavin – to spill what he’s been up to for the past few weeks. Where he’s been after disappearing on them after a job went bad and he ran into Ryan. Thought he was interesting and all and decided to stick around for a bit. (Clearly Ryan is even more of an idiot than he thought for not realizing.)

Still.

A crew like this doesn’t need a mundane like him, fragile little human up against the things that go bump in the night.

Sure, Ryan can hold his own in Los Santos, but running with a crew like Ramsey’s is on an entirely different level.

He doesn’t go looking for trouble deliberately, but hell if he turns tail when it comes looking for him. (Surefire way to paint a target on your back, that. Get the wrong kind of people interested in you.)

They both look around as the banshee’s voice rises in pitch.

Anger and exasperation and this distinct note of concern.

A moment later Gavin comes tearing out of the living room, ears pinned back as he leaps for Ryan, sharp caws digging in as he scrabbles for stable footing.

When Michael comes skidding around the corner Gavin meows somehow managing to make it sound insufferably smug as Michael regards Ryan warily.

“Give it some thought,” Ramsey says, this little curl to his mouth as he watches the three of them locked in their little stalemate. “You might like it here.”

========

Gavin on two feet is just as much as a menace as Gavin on four feet.

The only difference is that he can use actual human words now, which makes acting like he doesn’t understand what he wants a bit harder for Ryan.

Still, there are workarounds.

“What does that even mean?” Ryan asks, not-so-secretly enjoying the exasperated look on Gavin's face.

Gavin sighs and repeats himself, a string of unadulterated British nonsense spilling from his lips that, sure, Ryan could make an educated guess about, but this is far more entertaining.

“Ryan,” Gavin says, bit of a pout creeping in and it’s honestly a little bit annoying at how adept the little bastard is at manipulating Ryan and the others. “Don’t be a minge.”

See, Ryan can guess what Gavin means by that, but -

“That’s not a real word,” Ryan says, biting back a smile at the look Michael tosses him from across the room.

Little bit wary of him still, but that’s fine. Ryan’s the newbie here, gun for hire for job Geoff insists will more than make up for the hassle of having to deal with the others for the duration.

Gavin throws his hands up and launches into a rant about idiot Americans who doesn’t understand clear English, and Ryan -

Ryan sits back and lets Gavin’s little rant or lecture or whatever the hell it is wash over him while processing none of it.

He’s not entirely certain he’s cut out to work with a crew, but for now this isn’t so bad.