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sugako · 3 years

Text

after dinner special

bokuto x f!reader x hinata sum: after seeing the way his teammate looks at you, bokuto comes up with a plan to help all parties cw: 18+ only minors dni i am begging you, established relationship (bokuto x reader), slight manipulation (?? reader/bo make a secret plan to seduce hinata and he wants to so not really but idk what else to tag it as), oral (f!receiving), double pussyjob, nipple play, orgasm denial, D/s, spit roast, unprotected, hinabo if you squint extra hard wc: 4.2k a/n: finally back from the dead with this wayyy overdue fic ive been thinking about/writing for months, no edits or beta bc i'm too impatient and haven't posted in so long

Above all else, Bokuto was incredibly perceptive to other’s emotions. Among other aspects, that quality had really drawn you to him even if it wasn’t as extraordinarily overt as his confidence and enthusiasm. His perceptiveness didn’t end with you, of course, he was well-connected with his teammates, which meant when he saw the way Hinata’s eyes just barely glazed over when he met you he knew there was something more happening in his head. He watched the burning grow in Hinata after he had witnessed the two of you had, quite obviously, snuck off to another room during a get-together at Meian’s, spit still drying at the corner of your dry, puffy lips a week prior.

Even he wasn’t sure what exactly his plan was as he started up in the locker room a couple weeks later, oversharing every little detail he could recall about your body, namely when it was under him. Ignoring Atsumu and Kiyoomi’s groans for him to stop while Shugo and Oliver snickered to themselves reminiscing about their own escapades from a handful of years ago, he focused on Hinata’s reaction.

Shōyō remained uncharacteristically quiet as he rambled on about how cute your soft tits were, only speaking to quietly excuse himself to the bathroom. He was careful, but not careful enough to hide the tent in his shorts.

Not one to keep a secret, the words came tumbling from his mouth when he burst into your shared apartment.

“I think Hinata likes you!” He managed, tearing off his shoes to stumble into the hallway to wrap you in a tight hug like he did nearly every day.

“I-...what?” You choke, wrapping a tentative arm back around him and peeling away to look at him in the eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Not like… I don’t know, I think he wants to fuck you.” The smile on his face doesn’t waver, only confusing you.

“I’m not sure how to take this.” You deadpan, brows just short of knitting together. “Why…?”

“Well if you would like that I certainly wouldn’t mind.” His teeth graze over your skin as he pecks messy kisses all over your cheeks and neck.

“You wouldn’t mind?” You blankly repeat back, holding his back by his muscled shoulders to make him look you in the eyes. “Because not minding something and wanting something are very different and I just want to make sure whatever we’re about to talk about we’re just being really clear.”

Bokuto inhaled a massive breath, squeezing his eyes shut tight as he collected exactly what he wanted to say to you. Before he could, the smell coming from the kitchen distracted his senses, leaving him to weakly exhale and blink his eyes open. “Talk over dinner?”

The long talk over the dinner table was eventually fruitful. After he collected himself and stuffed his rumbling stomach, Bokuto was better able to explain what he had seen in Hinata. It made you recall every time you had seen him and you would be lying if you said you didn’t see it too. He wasn’t exactly a subtle person.

When it came down to it, you certainly weren’t opposed. Bokuto certainly seemed interested in the prospect of sharing you, especially with his favorite prodigy as he liked to class him. You recognized that Hinata was attractive and you had to admit that the concept of being squished between the two thick, bubbly men was alluring as long as he was truly interested.

Before the full invitation to come over for dinner - specially prepared by you - had even slipped from Bokuto’s mouth, Hinata was eagerly accepting. Part of you dreaded the entire ordeal, anxieties bubbling up about the lead up and the talking beforehand that you had foolishly agreed to do most of. Over dinner you stayed a little quieter than usual, trying to gauge Hinata’s expression and body language.

When he politely excuses himself to use the restroom after finishing, Bokuto grabs your hand across the table, rubbing a thumb over your knuckles.

“If you’re nervous we can stop right here.” He whispers, grinning softly.

You can’t help but smile back, shaking your head. “No, I’m okay,” you assure him, “I am a little nervous, but I really want to.”

He opens his mouth to say something else, but is cut off by the sound of the bathroom door closing and the soft pad of Hinata’s feet down the hallway. Clearing your throat, you give a reassuring smile to Bokuto, and stand to face where Hinata soon pops out of.

“Hinata, would you-”

“Shōyō is fine!” He interjects. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“That’s fine,” you smile, ghosting your hand down his arm and resting your palm against his elbow. “Shōyō, would you mind helping me wash up in the kitchen. I feel bad asking the guest, but Kōtarō has something for you and you’ll get to it faster if I finish this.”

Hinata can feel his heart pounding behind his rib cage so hard he worries you can hear his pulse reverberating. You look so sweet with those pleading eyes staring at him, the warm touch of your fingertips sending heat to his chest.

“Of course, I don’t mind.” He nods, letting you lead him a room away to the kitchen.

“Great, thank you, this is such a big help.” You grin while placing the dirty dishes in the sink before you and handing him a dry towel. “You can just dry and put them in the cabinet in front of you.”

“Okay,” he says quietly, eyeing down your low-cut shirt as you squeeze your arms together and lean down to grab the first bowl. His eyes roll to the back of his head when you turn the tap on a little too fast and water splashes all over the front of your thin, pale dress, making the black lacy bra underneath pop.

“Whoops!” You exclaim, smiling a little too happily, feeling how his feet shift beside you. “This tap is a little loose, I always get messy and wet trying to do anything.”

He has to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning, glad that your gaze is in the sink and not on his flushed face. He doesn’t want to feel this way about his friend’s girlfriend, but it’s so hard when you’re standing so close - did you take a step toward him? when did your hip start brushing against his? - and you look so pretty.

“So, Shōyō…” you start, handing him another dish, “Kōtarō talks about you a lot, you know.”

“Really?” His voice is pitched and strained, stopping short of choking on his own words.

“Yeah, he thinks you’re great. He was so excited when you joined the team. He, uh, he pays attention, a lot more than some people give him credit for.”

Hinata nods, carefully placing the bowl in the cupboard. “He’s great, I’ve always loved watching him play.”

“He’s fun to watch,” you agree, “You know he thinks….actually, can I just ask what your type is?” The words tumble out quickly as you try to gain confidence, a small bit of worry creeping into the back of your head.

“My type?” He repeats back, pausing in his drying motions. “I don’t know if I really have one. Just anyone I feel good with. Why?” When he turns to look at you again you’re turned to face him, a small smile lighting up your features.

“That’s a good way to look at things. I only ask because, well Kōtarō seems to think you have some kind of interest in me.” You force the words to come out casually, keeping your eyes on him. Hinata sputters and chokes on his own words, the way your hand comes down over his doing absolutely nothing to help him compose himself. “There’s no good way to say this, but he was thinking you could, uh well take what you’ve been thinking about, if you want to.”

Taking a deep swallow, he took a short deep breath to clear his mind. “And what do you think?”

Tension dissipates from your body at his question. “I think I would like you to do whatever you want. Touch me, kiss me, anything. Only if you want to.”

His fists clench and unclench again, gears turning in his head as he realizes this was planned. All those stories Bokuto told, the glint in his eyes for the past few weeks, the way you put yourself on display for him all night with that sly little smirk - it was all part of some plan. A little worried voice in the back of his head told him this was too good to be true. But you were offering yourself up to him, angled forward so your tits would pop and watching him so carefully as though he were a scared animal ready to run, and he knew it had to be true.

The timid, apprehensive look he had been sporting slowly drained from his face, replaced with a much more confident and delighted one. His hands moved from his sides to dig into your waist, lifting you up onto the counter behind you.

“Don’t tease me.” He whispers hoarsely, lips ghosting over the pulse of your throat. The loose dress Bokuto had purposefully picked out for you to wear for the evening rode up as Hinata settled his thick body between your welcoming knees.

“I’m not,” you pant, “Kōtarō really wanted this.”

A shuddered sigh comes from his chest as he rests his head against your shoulder, just barely kissing the soft spot between your neck and shoulder. You fidget restlessly, trying to pull his still body closer to no avail.

“Wanna know he wants this.” He says eventually. “I trust you, I just…”

“No, no, I get it.” You say a little too abruptly, fishing around for where your phone was tossed onto the counter. With shaky hands you hurried to click it open, immediately going to your messages, scrolling to the most recent chat with Bokuto where he depicted how much he wanted to see you fucked out on his and Hinata’s cocks in vivid detail. You push the phone into his hand. “You can scroll wherever, he mentioned it before that one’s just… yeah.”

“Oh, wow.” He breathes, glancing through a few other messages from earlier in the week. Gently, he sets the phone down beside you before pulling your hips to the edge of the counter. His lips collide with the base of your throat knocking the air right from you.

You wind your fingers up in his hair as he pressed harsh kisses straight down your front, his rough hands pushing the skirt of your dress up even higher, leaving the tops of your thighs completely exposed. He keeps journeying lower until his cheek is flush to the hem of your panties. When his nose presses up against the slowly growing damp patch leaking his shoulders heave as though to hold himself back.

“And he doesn’t want us to wait up…?”

Truthfully, you didn’t know completely. Bokuto had asked to make some kind of subtle move on Hinata in private, he figured it would be less stressful for the both of you, but he hadn’t said how far to go with him, and you weren’t really sure what he was doing in some other part of the house, and Hinata’s fingers were so hot against your skin…

“No, it’s fine.” You pant, desperation evident in your voice. He doesn’t need much more, hand moving to pull the stretchy fabric you had purposefully worn to the side, his wide tongue darting out to lap up the wetness seeping from you.

With an aching whine, you lean into his touch, massaging his head and bringing him closer to you with every burning second that passes. Not that you had expected him to be inexperienced by any means, but you hadn’t expected him to be so good. He was loud, moaning against your cunt as he buried his tongue inside of you, nose tapping against your pleading clit.

The sound of your breathy whimpers and the loud slurping squelches drowned out the steps coming down the hall or the kitchen door swinging open. Bokuto stood there for a moment with a small smile, admiring how pretty you looked like this, even if he wished it were him, but he couldn’t let the moment pass him by.

“Puppy,” he sighed. The first syllable was enough to make Hinata pop off of you and stumble back to turn around, eyes hazy and drunken of the taste of you. Ignoring the hardened look in Bokuto’s eyes, you pouted sweetly, spreading your legs a little more to let him see your soiled panties.

“Kōtar-”

“You’re being greedy, don’t you think, puppy? Going ahead without me like that.” He imitates you with a fake pout, the look never quite meeting his blazing eyes. You can feel what’s coming and make no more attempt to argue. Hinata is taking in the interaction, still halfway in his own daze. “She’s great, huh, Shōyō? Pretty little pussy and she makes the best noises, especially when she’s crying for your cock.”

Hinata swallows hard, absentmindedly palming over his pants where he’s quickly grown half-hard. “Yeah, she’s, yeah no, uh she’s really great. This is still okay?”

Both of you nod quickly, reassuring him, but you remain silent for now, trying to settle before you know what’s to come.

“Totally okay as long as you’re okay.” Bokuto drops the edge in his tone to carefully watch him for a moment, assessing.

“Completely.” He agrees with a dreamy sigh.

Nodding again, Bokuto approaches the two of you. Refusing to meet his eyes you stare just ahead at the door.

“Oh, don’t look so sad, puppy, you know you’ll get what you want in the end anyway.” He jabs as he scoops you over his shoulder and gives you a gentle pat on the back of your thighs. “Let’s at least go to the living room.”

You glance back at Hinata, mouthing a silent whoops, while Bokuto leads him around the corner. Bokuto plops into the corner of the couch, back propped up by the plush arm, and maneuvering your pliable body to sit comfortably in his lap with your back pulled up flush to his chest. You’re gently pushed forward so he can peel the dress off and unclasp your bra. He’s calm for now, at least on the outside, but you can feel his heart pounding through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Don’t need these anymore,” he hums, latching his fingers in the sides of your underwear and motioning for you to lift your hips to let him slide them off. Hooking his elbows under your knees, he pulls your thighs to your chest, high enough so that he can palm your breasts. Quietly whining, you turn your head away so you don’t have to look directly up at Hinata - not that he’d notice your face with the way your cunt was glistening under the low, soft lights of the room. “Shh,” he directs at you before glancing back up at Hinata, “go ahead, but don’t let her cum.”

With a warm grin he gets on his knees between Bokuto’s spread legs. You almost felt too exposed, all power taken from your hands, splayed open like this. Bokuto slots his chin against your shoulder and presses the softest kiss to your cheek in stark contrast to the way his rough hands are kneading and pinching your sensitive breasts.

Hinata eagerly gets back to it, lavishing your cunt with softer licks than before, making your hips shake as they seek out more friction. While your neediness grows so too does Bokuto’s grip on you.

“So pretty,” he coos, eyes glued to where Hinata was firmly pressed against you. Pride bloomed in his chest at the sight of his teammate sloppily eating out his favorite girl so enthusiastically, appreciating you so much as he should.

It’s impossible for him to not get rock hard with the way you’re grinding down into his lap and the crude, wet sounds and groans vibrating from the back of Hinata’s throat.

“Taste so good.” Hinata grumbles, pulling back and forcing his tense hips to stop rutting into the couch cushion. He feels himself making a mess in his pants, hoping that he isn’t leaking through to your nice furniture, but he can’t quite bring himself to stop either. Both Bokuto and you watch the string - you’re not sure whether it’s his spit or your own wetness - that stays connected between your slit and his puffy, glossy lips.

“Good...good job.” Bokuto sighs. You’re not sure if he’s praising you or Hinata, but you don’t have much time to think too hard about it before he releases your legs and wedges his hands under between himself and you to pull his straining cock from his pants. Mind buzzing, still a little hazy from the feeling of Hinata’s tongue, you grab out from him, pulling on the band of his pants. Truthfully, he’s not quite sure what you’re asking for but he does know how tight his balls are and how inviting your cunt looks.

Just as Bokuto is settling his cock between your ass, Hinata’s pants are slipped off, thrown to the ground. He dips his head down to take one of your breasts into his mouth, moaning around you and pressing in close so his tip catches against your clit. At your whiny cry and keening, Bokuto lets out a low, single chuckle. “Don’t let her have your cock, not all the way. You were being so greedy earlier puppy, I don’t think you deserve it yet.”

Hinata keeps his mouth firmly planted on your chest and reaches down to perfectly slip himself between the top of your folds, acutely aware of Bokuto’s heavy head just barely bumping against the base of his own cock. They’re both so thick and heavy as they rabidly hump against you, Bokuto maneuvering your body for you back and forth across both of them. Everything is warm and wet between Hinata’s mouth on your chest and Bokuto’s lips kissing down the side of your neck.

The tease of release that’s been creeping up on you for so long draws closer and closer. Hinata’s cock is catching so exactly on your swollen clit and Bokuto’s tip keeps threatening to slip past your entrance, slick dripping past your thighs.

“Gonna, ahg, cu-cum!” You manage out, hips already bouncing on their own accord against them.

“Go ahead.” Bokuto says with a shaky breath, squeezing you as tight as he could between his body and Hinata’s. One more roll of their hips has you crashing down, pleasure rolling through your body. All you can feel is warmth and overwhelming satisfaction as you twitch between their arms, creaming across their cocks. “Good girl, good girl…” you faintly hear Bokuto coo into your ear as you slump back against him.

The buzzing, quiet moment is quickly squashed as he hoists you out of his lap and onto all fours. He’s talking to Hinata and you know you should be listening, but your pussy is still throbbing and you’re trying to catch your breath.

“...okay, baby?” You catch the very end of his sentence and blink hard, desperate to refocus.

“W-wait, what? Sorry, I just-”

“It’s okay, puppy,” he rubs a soothing hand down your back, slowly bringing you back to reality. “Need a second?”

You shake your head, the last of the fog slipping away. Before you, you see Hinata, his rigid cock slicked up by you only a few inches from your face. “I’m okay now, can you just say that again?”

“‘Course,” he grins, teasing your entrance, “I said I’m going to take your pretty pussy from back here and Shōyō is going to use your mouth. If you want.”

Wiggling your hips back to meet his and craning your neck up to look at Hinata you give a deft nod.

“I do, I want that.” You sigh.

Trembling with excitement, already so riled up from feeling you cum against him, Hinata shuffles the last bit forward. He’s pretty and much thicker than you had imagined. The tight strain of scattered veins and his heavy balls tell you all you need to know about how pent up he obviously is. Reaching out with palms still a bit shaky, you helped to reel him in the rest of the way with welcoming, parted lips.

You wrapped your fingers tightly around where you couldn’t quite reach, sloppily taking more and more of him with each bob of your head. His salty precum meshed with what was leftover of your own mess, the taste making you moan around his length.

Bokuto was trying to move slower now, recognizing that you were easily slipping, but the way you rocked your body back and forth bumping against his sensitive, reddened tip, he couldn’t hold back much more. Digging his fingers into your hip, he eased the motions of your body, lining himself up, resisting from plowing into you at full force.

“Ready?” He asks, nearly whining. At the sound of his voice, you pull off from Hinata, letting your quickly tiring jaw grow slack.

“Uh-huh.” You barely heave out before wrapping your lips around him again. So sure you can take both at once and not falter, you ramp back up to your original pace, slobbering down his cock, the click of your quick motions echoing around your head. Unfortunately for your ego, you’re dead wrong.

Bokuto wastes no time drilling himself into you, setting a bruising pace straight from the beginning. It’s all you can do to loudly moan around Hinata’s cock, still stuffed in your mouth by the slight pistoning of his hips, the way Bokuto is ramming you forward only forcing him deeper down your throat.

As you gag, sputter, and moan down his length, drool dripping onto the already soiled cushions below, Hinata feels the pressure building and building in his core. Electricity tingles down his limbs, aided by the fucked out look in your pretty eyes. He doesn’t even have to move now with the way Bokuto is railing you against him. He wonders if you realize he’s close when you suck a little tight, cheeks hollowing as you take a little more of him, the hand that had been working his base coming down to lightly hold his swollen balls.

You don’t know. At this point, you’re moving on autopilot, simply trying your best. Your brain doesn’t know where to focus - Hinata filling out your mouth or Bokuto as he purposely alternates between hitting against your spongy spot and deep inside of you. It’s all a mess of spit, sweat, and cum, but you don’t think you’ve felt the rush of pleasure that comes with being used so well by more than one person.

Bokuto doesn’t know how much longer he can last. You’re clamping around, cunt fluttering each time his digs in a little deep or Hinata’s cock twitches against your tongue. He can tell by the scrunched up expression on his friend’s face that he can’t last much longer and he doesn’t blame him. Between fucking against your pussy and being wrapped up in your pretty mouth, no one really could. He’s determined to hold out though, a little spark of competition lighting up his chest. When Bokuto’s strokes suddenly slow you groan again, the vibrations dragging a stuttered moan from Hinata’s pretty lips.

“Gonna, hngh, uh gonna cum.” He sputters out, hips quivering as he tries to hold back from fucking too far back into your throat. At that, Bokuto’s hips speed up again, forcing a little whimpered cry, muffled by the cock in your mouth, from you. Still, you force yourself to focus on Hinata, sucking him dry as soon as the first spurt of cum hits the back of your throat.

He cums fast and hard and a lot. It’s seeping out from your lips, making him messier than he already was until he’s pulling his softening length from your mouth and flopping back against the couch, gently rubbing your arm while he catches his breath. With a heavy grin, Bokuto shoves a hand between your shoulder blades, knocking you into Hinata’s lap. Somewhat in vain, you try to clean him off between the pitchy mewls and cries that you breathe out while Bokuto chases his own release.

In no time, he’s there again, his own pressure built up as high as it could just before he burst inside of you. He fucks himself raw, your tight hole sucking him in, his cum only making it easier to slip in and out of you. Knowing he’ll finish when he’s completely spent, you lie limp in Hinata’s lap and he lazily wraps a hand around the back of your neck, soothing the leftover tension. You recognize Bokuto’s nearly done when his cock stops twitching and his hips slot against yours with some finality just before he slumps over you.

Whining when he slips out, even soft his cock is still a tight squeeze, you fall all the way against the couch, legs giving out at last. He falls back against the back, moving your legs to sit on top of his thighs and massaging them with great care. Completely spent and drifting half-asleep you just barely hear him.

“So,” he starts, head lolling toward Hinata who’s still lightly working his fingers against your upper back, “Dinner next week?”

#bokuto x reader #hinata x reader #bokuto smut #hinata smut #bokuto x you #hinata x you #hq smut #haikyu x reader #haikyuu smut #hinata shoyo smut #bokuto kotaro smut #hq x reader

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enhypia · 3 years

Text

SN ; always loving the sun

[4:21 PM]

okay so maybe the universe is not that bad

paring: kim sunoo x pisces gn!reader

genre: fluff, mild angst

word count: roughly 960 words

this is a two-part timestamp and this is the second part

read part 1 here!

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

you didn't go after it. but that didn't stop your feelings from growing.

it's final, the universe really is out to get you. you want to be around sunoo so bad but everything hurts. why were romantic feelings ever a thing.

"you're sure we're okay right?" sunoo asked again his lips pouting.

"yes sunoo, i swear, nothing's wrong, i've just been feeling drained lately, i think it's because of the chaos at home" you assured. 'it's actually because my feelings for you are eating me alive but you don't need to know that.' you thought

"well do you want to hang out after school later then? so you won't have to endure the noise for a while" he invited, his eyes sparkling again.

and that's the sound of your heart cracking, it took so much to not actually clutch your heart.

"sure! where are we going?" you replied brightly. sunoo visibly relaxes after seeing you being you again.

he's noticed changes in your attitude and it's always with him so he couldn't help but feel like he did something wrong. he knew you were lying but he didn't want to push since it was clear you weren't ready to say the truth.

it does sting that you can't tell him, but he understands, there are some things he can't tell you as well. like his big massive crush on you

"the arcade? then the park after?" he suggested.

"i'm good with the that, i have pent up rage about the stars, i'll release them on the shooting games" you joked making finger guns.

sunoo rolled his eyes at your antics, and maybe if you just looked closer, you would've seen the fondness and adoration in his look.

"the stars won't appreciate that" he teased, you shrugged in reply

"yeah well i don't appreciate what they've been doing lately so i think we're even"

"i can't wait for the day the stars give you what you want so i wouldn't have to hear you complaining"

"that's the dream sun, that's the dream"

'i don't think they'll give me you sunoo' you thought

⸻

walking in comfortable silence along the quieter parts of the park with sunoo was one of your favorite things in the world, but right now the dumb loud pounding of your heart is making you re-think.

"wait let me take a picture of the sky" you heard sunoo say. you stopped in your tracks and watch him take pictures, you couldn't help it and took a picture of him taking a picture.

"wow this turned out well" you said after checking the photo, you showed it to him and he smiled widely.

"send it to me, i'll post it on my instagram" he said then he went back to scrolling through the photos he took.

you continued to stare at the photo you took of him, another crack. the sound resonating in your brain.

he was walking ahead of you, i should probably get used to this view if all goes bad. you can't take hearing your heart break any more than it already is.

"hey sun" you call out softly and walking up to him.

"sun, look at my horoscope for the week" you said turning your phone to sunoo so he can read it.

"it's not hard to love. in fact you always are loving the sun. qualities of perspective ask you to consider. but your mind is made up" you read out loud, voice coming out a little shakey.

sunoo stares at you with wide curious eyes and gives you a questioning look.

"nothing sun, it's just scarily accurate." you stated. "it's not hard to love, in fact you always are loving the sun" you confessed, looking straight at him.

1.. 2.. 3.. a blush forms on his cheeks, his wide smile isn't helping. he covers his face with his hands.

he lets out a tiny squeal when he takes a peek at you.

"what?" you asked chuckling at his reaction. you're trying very hard to keep you cool.

"my brain isn't processing anything right now. you can't just drop something like that so suddenly! give a guy a warning. my heart is beating so fast it's like bang! bang! bang! you better take me to the hospital if something happens to me. oh god it's still not calming down. yah~ take responsibility for this" he rambles while clutching his heart.

you burst out laughing, the weight on your shoulder getting lighter.

"i had this whole thing planned out to confess to you but no you had to go and do it first, now what do i do with that idea? this is all your fault" he complained pouting at you. but your mind went blank the moment you heard "confess to you"

"you were going to what?" you asked in disbelief. sunoo's blush got impossibly deeper upon realizing what he said, he turned and speed walked away from you.

"yah! kim sunoo get back here!" you exclaimed chasing after him.

"no! go away!"

"kim sunoo if you like me stop right now!" you cry.

sunoo stopped. kim sunoo stopped.

you couldn't help the tears falling from your eyes. sunoo turned at the sound of your sniffling and he was right in front of you immediately.

"why? why? why?" he panicked trying to wipe your tears. you laughed at him, at yourself, at the universe.

"i'm just so happy, i didn't think it'd end this way" you answered.

sunoo rarely initiates skinship, but here he was engulfing you in a hug. the cracks in your heart were healing itself.

"are the stars on your side now?" he asked after releasing you from his hold.

"i think they always were, i just refused to listen"

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

prev.

masterlist ⸺ enhypen masterlist

a/n: this was longer than i intended it to be but im happy with the result, i got this idea when i saw the tweet for pisces about loving the sun, i instantly thought of sunoo, then the previous horoscope matches that's why i decided to cut it into two parts. i enjoyed writing this and i hope you guys like it as well <33

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen angst #enhypen timestamps #kim sunoo scenarios #kim sunoo imagines #kim sunoo timestamps #kim sunoo x reader #sunoo fluff #sunoo #enhypen sunoo #sunoo x reader #enhypen x gender neutral reader #sunoo imagines #sunoo scenarios #sunoo timestamps

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kamilah-the-bloodqueen · 3 years

Text

Remember Me (4/???)

I AM SO FUCKING SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO FINISH. Honestly I lost a lot of motivation to write after Bloodbound because PB has greatly decreased in the quality of their books. I am still trying to find the time and motivation to write and am forcing myself to finish my series at the very least but if I am being completely honest I feel like the Kamilah fandom has died, PB’s books mostly suck and I don’t even really play choices anymore. Who knows, I’m trying to learn to write the code for episode so maybe I’ll start posting my own stories and choices on that platform with better plot, smut and less diamond focus since it would be a hobby. This chapter is ASS and mostly just moves the plot along - so if you want action I would wait for a different series or later chapter - okay bye!

Pairing: Adrian x MC x Kamilah (Amy)

Tags: I paused the tag list since it’s been so fucking long but if you want a tag please let me know because I’m pretty sure most people think this series died with me :)

Words: ~1500 (Short because I needed to finish a chapter to motivate me to finish the next)

Kamilah took a deep breath as she knelt on the floor beside Adrian, carefully wrapping her arms around her brother, her heart sinking with every sob that left his lips. She didn’t speak, she knew her words would come off too harshly and she couldn’t blame Adrian for feeling that way, after all she knew how much he loved Amy.

“Adrian, I’m sorry. I...I truly don’t know what to say.” As their eyes met Kamilah saw exactly how devastated he was, and even in her two thousand years of life, she had never been in his situation.

“Kamilah, do you think she’ll...well she says we’re just friends but do you think she’ll fall in love with me again?” His lips trembled, his hands shaking and his eyes glistened with tears.

“I don’t know. As much as I believe love is a silly mortal affair, and a simple chemical reaction, it can’t be forced but I’m sure if you just be yourself and do your best to be her friend that any romantic feelings will follow.” Kamilah moved away as Adrian calmed himself, both of them passing a nod of agreement as he wiped his face clean with tissues.

“Your wisdom has always guided me well Kamilah.”

“I suppose that is two thousand sixty three years of experience speaking.”

“Heh, I guess my two hundred years don’t nearly compare...”

“You’re still a simple child in my eyes, I just took a liking to you.”

“Well, thank you Kamilah. It seems I owe you quite a bit.”

They both stood from the floor and took seats on Adrian’s office couch, Kamilah folding her legs and crossing her arms and Adrian crossing his ankles and folding his arms.

“We’re practically siblings - you don’t owe me anything. Just try to take care of yourself and well...don’t expect anything from Amy. I’m sure this is difficult for her, difficult is an understatement. I can’t imagine what she’s experiencing.”

“Maybe I’ve been too selfish Kamilah...I’ve been thinking more about what I want from her instead of focusing on if she’s okay or what she wants.”

“Sometimes it’s alright to be selfish, and I can understand why you felt that way but you are correct, we need to focus on what Amy wants now, not what she wanted before the accident.”

“You’re absolutely right. I can only hope for the best...I just really...I really wanted...I believed she was the one.”

“I know you did. I wanted her to be the one for you as well, I still hope she comes back to you Adrian.”

“Me too.”

Adrian’s phone buzzed at the same time Kamilah’s did, Lily having texted both of them to rendezvous with her and Jax at Amy’s old apartment to talk about the recent events.

“We should go, but do you feel okay?” Kamilah patted Adrian’s shoulder as they both stood from the couch.

“Yes I think so.” They hurried to the elevator and got into Adrian’s black Mercedes as they navigated towards Lily’s apartment. Once they arrived Lily greeted them before guiding them up to the apartment where Jax waited on the couch with a beer in hand.

“Hey guys...how ya doin?” His words were slurred and he was obviously under the influence to a decent extent.

“Tell me you have something other than beer Lily.” Kamilah grimaced as Jax took another swig of the beer. She had no problem with beer but she hated that brand and would rather remain sober than allow herself to drink that brand.

“Yeah, vodka or wine?”

“Vodka.” Kamilah spoke without hesitation while Adrian grabbed a beer from the fridge and took a seat next to Jax on the couch. Lily began to pour Kamilah a shot, and once the glass was full Kamilah took the bottle from her and took two large gulps before sitting on the leather chair and holding the bottle with one hand.

“So we’re here to get drunk? I thought we were supposed to talk about Amy?” Kamilah’s voice broke the deathly silence that filled the room. Adrian leaned in the door before removing his tie, unbuttoning his shirt and, grabbing three bottles of the cheap beer and sinking into the recliner opposite of Lily and Jax.

“I didn’t want to drink...well grieve...alone. I mean I can’t do this with Amy anymore...well I could but it wouldn’t be the same... and I have my friend back but it’s really just...it’s not the same. I don’t know I just didn’t...you can leave if you want but I didn’t want to grieve alone…” Lily began to sob, her tears falling into her glass of wine as Jax and Adrian frowned. Kamilah held her stoic expression, but even the alcohol could not erase the ache she felt in her chest.

“I see, well I guess we all process grief differently…” Kamilah spoke calmly, but deep down she felt her own sense of grief. As she gazed around she realized how messy Jax’s hair and clothes were, and how exhausted and drained Lily was. “You guys look a mess…”

“Thanks Kamilah.” Jax drunkenly snickered and Lily sniffled. Adrian remained quiet, taking a long drink from the bottle in his hand before switching to the other glass and downing it just as quickly.

“Does this not fucking hurt you?” Lily drunkenly scolded as Kamilah flinched ever so slightly. None of them had ever heard Lily so fragile, so devastated. She had every reason to be - she had lost her best friend - even though Amy had survived the accident, the memories were all gone and everything they had once shared was gone.

“It...does...I was just remarking on-”

“I don’t care about your remarks, at least not now. Don’t you fucking get it? I lost my fucking best friend and I have to watch her find everything again! Do you know how that fucking feels Kamilah? I’m sure you do from all your time as a vampire, but please, for the love of god and for the sake of our friendship just shut the fuck up. I can’t handle this.” Lily’s hand gripped on her bottle as it shattered against her palm, the beer pouring onto the tile floor and seeping into the edges of the carpet.

“I...apologize Lily…”

“It’s fine! It’s fine! Everything is fine I guess. I don’t know I just...I’m not coping well...and I feel guilty for saying that because Amy has it the hardest of us all and yet here I am getting wasted to be in her position - to forget everything while also being the person who put her in this position in the first fucking place. I don’t think it’ll ever be the same as it was before…”

“Maybe that’s for the best…” Adrian finally joined the conversation. Kamilah, Lily and Jax turned to face him as he swirled the bottle around in his hand - his brown eyes shiny from the tears that had built up. “...we all lost someone...Amy was a different person to each of us...but maybe we have to lose that person for some reason…”

“Adrian, do not try to give me that ‘it’s for the best’ bullshit.” Lily took a deep breath as Adrian shrugged.

“I’m not. I guess it’s just the alcohol talking, but I was going to propose to Amy that night and maybe it was a sign I shouldn’t have, or maybe the world is punishing me for my sins...but fuck all of that...it’s...it’s a forgotten memory and we need to forget just like Amy...”

---------------- Amy’s POV ------------------

It was a weird feeling that I couldn’t describe. Having people who seemed like strangers tell me all about the things we’ve done together gave me such comfort and anxiety at the same time. I wanted to believe and trust each of them but at the same time, it would be so easy to lie about it. Maybe I’m just being paranoid about the situation - nobody would really benefit from creating an elaborate story just to mess with my mind.

God this IV really stings...and now that I’m thinking about it, my ribs really hurt too. I should call the doctor or nurse but it’s nearly midnight. I mean it’s their job but they’re humans and I don’t want to be that super needy patient…

At least that Lily girl seems genuine, I can see why I was her best friend. I appreciate her sincerity more than I can verbalize to her. I’m still wary of Jax though - that man looks like he could kill in an instant and I don’t want to get on his bad side. I’m glad they’re friends with each other though - they seem to get along really well and...Adrian. Poor bastard. I broke his heart. I broke his heart and I can’t even help it. How am I supposed to even really process that whole fucking mess. He’s so sweet and gentle and genuine and I can’t even reciprocate it back to him...but maybe with time I could…? But Kamilah...she makes my heart skip a beat too...but she’s so unlike anyone I’ve even taken interest in - callous and stoic most of the time with very few soft spots. It wouldn’t be any type of understatement to claim my heart is as confused as my head.

#kamilah x mc #kamilah sayeed #kamilah the bloodqueen post

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hawkinsindiana · 4 years

Text

i don’t want you to worry

ALMOST PARADISE: PART THREE - CHAPTER ONE OF ELEVEN (?)

pairing: steve harrington x henderson!reader

word count: 3.8k

a/n: six months later, here’s part three! i’m not gonna lie to y’all, i have no idea how many chapters there are gonna be or if it’ll get updated regularly, but fuck it. i’ve been sitting on this for a while and figured we could use a bit of levity! thank you for your patience! hope you enjoy! lmao i didn’t feel like making a gif pls forgive me

masterlist

Fog is hovering just above the ground; you can practically feel how thick and wet it is against your skin. The hairs on the back of your neck all stand as a gust of wind flows through the air - the freezing temperature makes you shiver.

The ground is wet, squelching underneath your sneakers as you move forward, still uncertain of where you are; the environment’s been completely coated in the dense fog. When your surroundings finally begin to clear a bit, your heart starts to race in fear once you recognize where you are.

It’s the junkyard.

“Stay close, yeah?”

The voice sounds like it’s right inside your ear, but at least he’s here - you’d recognize him anywhere.

Steve’s to your left, bat slung effortlessly over his shoulder, and his presence helps calm your nerves. You won’t have to face this alone.

You want to thank him before the situation gets any worse, but your mouth won’t cooperate. All you’re able to reply with is a nod.

Suddenly, the palm of your hand feels heavy with the weight of your weapon; Steve presses on, moving through the space to approach the threat that lurks beyond. A form begins to take shape behind the grey clouds, hunched down on all fours as it stalks towards your position. Your fingers tense as you prepare to fight and adrenaline begins to overtake you, until the silhouette rises onto two legs. It’s not supernatural, it’s human.

You want to call out to Steve, tell him to fall back because it’s too dangerous but your voice still doesn’t work - you can’t warn him what’s coming. The soles of your shoes dig into the ground as you run to catch up with him, fingers extended out to grab and yank him away.

But it’s too late. One moment he’s right there in front of you, the next he’s gone, vanished right before your eyes. You blink.

On the ground, Steve’s in the dirt, blood spilling from his face; Billy Hargrove quickly approaches.

And then, it’s just like that night. You’re unable to move, unable to save him as Steve tries to fight back but Billy’s too quick. His crimson colored fists are tearing skin with each impact until the brunette boy on the ground is lifeless, as if all warmth was drained right from him. Billy’s twisted grin never falters as he relishes in your pain, tears streaming down your face until-

You wake with a gasp, body jolting, hands shaking.

God, it feels so real, like you’re still there; your nose can smell the disgusting metallic scent from the blood, skin still chilled from the temperature, veins still threaded with adrenaline.

That was only a dream… right?

As soon as that thought is introduced to your worried mind, you throw off the covers before grabbing the nearest hoodie off the bed post. Tugging it over your head, your bare feet skid across the hardwood floor as you rush to the phone in the living room.

Your fingers are trembling as you press the buttons of the number; you have to know if he’s okay. You have to confirm it was just a dream.

“Fuck, Steve,” You start to mutter to yourself, counting the rings to attempt to steady your breathing, “Come on, pick up, pick up.”

The longer it takes, the more nervous you become. The darkness that surrounds you starts to close in, and when you squeeze your eyes shut, the image of him bloodied and lying dead in the dirt haunts you.

“I swear to Christ - Dustin, if that’s you and those bozos again, I’ll come kick your ass myself,” Steve’s voice, tired and very irritated, comes through the speaker.

“Steve! Oh my god-” The back of your throat starts to burn at the feeling of tears welling up; the relief crashes over you in a wave, “Are you okay? Where are you?”

“What? Jesus-” He pauses, his tone softens once he hears it’s you, “Why wouldn’t I be okay? It’s nearly-”

Steve stops again; you reckon it’s to glance at the time.

“Shit, sweetheart it’s nearly two in the morning, what’s goin’ on?”

You sigh, finally realizing that you must’ve awoken him, “Fuck I just-”

The phone is gripped tighter in your hands as you speak, “I really just needed to know that you're okay. It’s stupid, I shouldn’t have called. I’m sorry-“

“No, no it’s okay-”

“But I-”

“No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about me,” Steve’s reassurance helps to slow your pounding heart; he’s okay. He’s safe at home.

There’s nothing to worry about anymore.

You repeat that to yourself multiple times, whispering it to yourself under your breath. At this point, you think that you’d do anything to forget that night.

Your back slides down the wall as your body grows exhausted from the severe reaction; Steve’s voice continues through the phone, “Did something happen?”

“I had-” You force a deep breath through your lungs, face scrunching in fear at the memory, “I had a really bad dream, Steve.”

Your arm wraps around your knees to pull them into your chest, forehead coming down to meet them and dig into the soft material of your pants, “I woke up and fuck, I was so scared. I was so scared and all I could think to do was call you. And I’m all alone. I’m all by myself tonight and I hate that I can’t be alone anymore. And I haven’t slept through the night in weeks-”

“Weeks? What do you mean weeks? I mean - I knew you weren’t sleeping well right after, but Christ it’s been nearly two months!”

You curse at yourself for rambling, words suddenly escaping your mind as you hesitate to respond. With your silence, Steve huffs; you can imagine the disappointment and worry over his face, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You bite down on your lip before answering, only letting up on the pressure when the taste of blood touches your tongue; you’re ashamed of the answer, “I don’t know… I’m sorry, Steve.”

All you feel is guilt in the moments that follow. Something like this… dreams about him dying in front of your eyes isn’t something that should be kept from him.

“Hey,” Steve’s soft tone reels you back in, “You call me whenever you have to. I’ll always pick up, okay?”

You exhale as you nod, before remembering that he can’t see your reaction through the phone, “Okay, yeah. Thank you.”

“Of course, anytime. Are you okay?”

You weave the phone cord between your fingers, “I’m better now. Uh, I’ll let you go then.”

“Okay. Try to get some rest, for my sake,” Steve pleads. You twist the cord tighter, “I will.”

He sighs at your oath, finally able to relax a bit more, “Hey, we don’t have to do anything tonight, if it’s too much. Or if you’re tired… ”

You hum at his words, head leaning back against the wall. A smile creeps over your lips at his consideration, wishing that you could thank him in person for his words, “No, no let’s do something. It’ll be good for me.”

He laughs a bit; even with how horrible the quality might be through the receiver, it still makes your stomach flutter with butterflies, “Okay, good. I’ll see you tonight. Get some sleep.”

“I’ll try, Steve.”

After wishing him a good night, you place the phone back onto it’s base. Standing up on wobbly legs, a shaky exhale leaves your lungs when your fingers remove themselves from the smooth plastic. The image of him is still there when you blink.

Fuck - you should’ve told him.

—

Three taps against the window pane startle you awake. Rubbing your eyes as you sit up, you check the time - you were only able to finally fall asleep twenty minutes ago. Anxiety starts to creep over the back of your neck - until you see the culprit.

“Jesus…” You mutter to yourself. You can’t help the small smile that erupts over your face at the sight of Steve, fingers nervously drumming on the window sill. His expression relaxes a bit once you come over, and you’re already rolling your eyes as you move to pull it open.

“You know that I’m the only one home, right?”

Steve nods, not following your logic, “Yeah? And?”

“You could’ve just come to the door, Steve.”

The boy in front of you shifts at your words; his retort stutters as he tries to come up with an excuse, “Okay, alright. But you know, I didn’t want to scare you or anything!”

You step back to cross your arms over your chest, “And coming to my window while I sleep seems a whole lot better to you?”

“Alright whatever, Henderson,” He answers quickly, waving off your tone, “Will you just let me in already?”

You gesture for Steve to enter, laughing quietly to yourself as he does. As soon as he’s crawled his way through the opening, you latch and lock the window closed. He huffs, “You have no idea how thrilled I am that your house only has one floor.”

“Did you drive across the neighborhood just to scare me?” You ignore him, pulling the cord on the lamp by your bedside. The light illuminates the worry on his face.

“No, I just-” Steve pauses as he fiddles with his keys, “I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said. I had to know you were okay.”

You nod, crossing your arms over your chest once again, “Y-yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Steve’s brow raises at your deflection, “Um, did we not have the same conversation over the phone?”

“We did,” Your answer is laced with a bit of aggression, “You didn’t need to come all the way over here, okay? I’m fine now-”

“But are you?” Steve interrupts. His voice is genuine, soft, and you want to spill everything because he has that look in his eye; you’re not sure you can push him away forever.

“Of course, Steve-”

“Don’t lie to me,” Steve puts more force behind his words - it’s like a demand. He takes a few steps closer, “Please don’t lie to me.”

Hearing Steve plead with you like that makes your heart shatter. It’s killing him to watch you stand before him like this. He’s known you long enough to know when something’s not right, and he’s gotten especially good at reading you over the past few weeks. And by the way your jaw clenches, Steve knows you’re about to crack.

A shaky inhale comes through your lips; you have to tell him something. But how much?

“I just… I don’t want you to worry,” You mutter. Your voice is just above a whisper, although it doesn’t matter; it’s not like there’s anyone home to overhear. You’re scared to admit there’s something wrong. He shouldn’t have to do this for you.

Steve almost laughs. He runs his free hand through his hair, “It’s like, a year too late for that, you know.”

You sigh, realizing that he’s absolutely right. Of course he should worry, especially with how vague the conversation over the phone was. Letting him in is something that you’ll have to get used to.

Even though you’d been friends for a while, it was always more about him than you. You always wanted to be there for him, if he ever needed anything, how he was doing. It’s something neither of you understood was happening until your relationship became more; it was no one’s fault.

All of a sudden, Steve realized just how much you’ve done for him - he’s wanted to return the favor. And this… is all new to you; you’re not used to someone checking in.

“Oh god, you’re right,” You mumble under your breath. Your hands come up to cover your eyes in shame as you continue, “I’m sorry, Steve. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

Witnessing your sudden change in mood, Steve moves towards you; he sets his keys down on your nightstand as he does. He goes to reach for you, pulling your body into his, “Hey hey, it’s okay, it’s fine.”

He wishes he could come up with something better to say. You’ve always been better with words than him. You’re better at a lot of things than him. But he’s trying - he’s trying to be better to be worthy of you.

Your arms wrap tightly around him once Steve’s pressed against you. He smells like freshly washed cotton, like pulling sheets from the dryer when they’re still warm.

It’s all so overwhelming, it makes you want to cry. You feel like you should, but the familiar burn behind your eyes never comes. Instead, you resume speaking.

“I guess I just…” You trail off, wanting to give him a reason - he deserves one.

Your fist knots the fabric of his tee; Steve’s palm slides up over your back, “I’m just not used to leaning on others for help. I’m trying to get used to it.”

“Sometimes it’s okay,” Steve’s reply is muffled by your hair. He ponders what to add, lips pressed into a firm line as he thinks, “Sometimes you gotta do stuff on your own and sometimes you need somebody else. That’s just how life works.”

Your chest heaves as you sigh at the weight of his words, this moment cements a single fact inside your brain - you won’t plan on hiding anything from him.

Well, except for that one thing. You’re still not ready to admit that to him yet.

You wish that pulling away didn’t mean losing his warmth; but his gentle eyes meeting yours mimics a feeling like it that fills your chest.

“You can lean on me, you know,” Steve says, and the smile that was already pulling at your lips widens even farther. And then he nudges you - his mouth curls into that stupid smirk of his, “However you want.”

You crack a laugh, accompanied by a roll of your eyes, “Yes, I know. Sometimes I just need a little reminder."

Suddenly, you remember just how lucky you are to have him. How fortunate you are to have him there to brighten your darkest moments, even if he’s sometimes battling his own demons at the same time.

“Thank you,” You say, bringing your gaze back to meet Steve’s again. He nods slightly, tone genuine and soft as he answers, “Of course. Anytime.”

The pads of your fingers graze over his cheekbone before tucking a strand of brunette hair behind his ear; Steve shivers a bit at the gentle touch before you meet his lips in a kiss.

He still gets a bit nervous each time, only because this feels so much more different than the others. The level of comfort and security he feels when you’re in the room was never there before he met you. Like really met you.

And you - well, you’re still so overwhelmed that you finally, after all that time, get to be with the one you love - you feel like you could jump out of your skin with joy. You’ve treasured every single moment, because it’s never been lost on you how it all could be taken away in an instant.

The brilliant grin you two share after pulling away shakes it all from your mind. Your fingers move to grip his hands in yours; you just like being able to do it, even if it is in the privacy of your own bedroom.

But then that feeling settles in your stomach, the one that doesn’t go away until morning. The dread that something’s going to happen. Steve can sense your growing anxiety - it’s almost like the air surrounding you changes. Leaving you now, something about that doesn’t sit right with him.

“I’ll uh, stay if you want.”

He mentions the idea quietly because, well, you’re not officially together. But to be fair, he hasn’t asked - but neither have you. Even though your hands are still in his, pressing into his skin, Steve finds it important to ask and make sure you’re on the same page.

You can’t lie - the idea of Steve spending the night makes you a little nervous. Although, knowing that you’re safe with each other might just be the push you need to relax. And with that thought, you’re stepping away from him, “Okay. Yeah, sure.”

The doorknob is so cold against your skin as you exit to grab an extra pillow from the closet in the hallway. The darkness of the living room seems to go on forever; it almost feels like something’s creeping up your neck once your back is turned to it.

After quickly shutting the door once you’re back inside, you turn around to see Steve, perched silently on top of your comforter - his presence warms the entire room, bringing life and love into it.

He hasn’t spent that much time in this space; he’s trying to take everything in, because it’s very reflective of you. There are neat piles of VHS tapes and comics on top of the dresser, a closet dominated with dark colors and sneakers, and some of your well worn denim tossed over the desk chair.

But his eye catches on a stack of photographs on the desk’s surface, and he’s halfway across the room before you can interject. You clutch the pillow a little tighter to your chest as Steve flips through them, laughing at one of you and Dustin from a few years ago at Christmas wearing matching pajamas.

He spins to show it to you, “I’m never gonna let him live this down.”

You approach his side when he finds another one of you as a child, playing with a cake battered spatula in your previous house. Baby curls framed your face, and your eyes were wide with adventure and wonder, “Holy shit, look at you!”

“I don’t know why I remember that day so much,” You mutter.

Steve’s silence pushes you to continue, “It was Mom’s birthday, and my grandparents baked her a cake - double chocolate I think. I wasn’t tall enough to reach but I wanted to help so badly. So they sat me on top of the counter and let me mix everything. They even let me tell her that I made it.”

You laugh quietly before the memory turns cold in your mind, and your wistful smile turns to a slight frown, “I haven’t seen them since we moved here.”

Steve isn’t even looking at the picture anymore. He listened to every word that left your mouth; you don’t speak much about the rest of your family. Instead of trying to probe further, he leans over to press a kiss to your forehead, a gentle and silent reminder of his support.

This feels strange. Opening up to him like that, making yourself that vulnerable - that’s a level of intimacy you haven’t explored quite yet. At least not with him… or anyone really.

Thankfully, it hasn’t seemed to scare him off. If anything, Steve’s more relaxed. He likes knowing how you feel.

Steve flips through the others while you rest your chin on his shoulder, your eyes intently watch his reaction to each one - you think you could stay in this moment forever.

And then he comes across one - an image of you and the kids on Halloween a few years back all dressed like Jedi. He pauses on it, “When do you think we should tell them?”

A sharp inhale comes through your nostrils at his comment; you hadn’t thought about that.

In all your bliss, you had completely forgotten - no one else knows. Not even your brother.

“Oh God, Steve-” You start, removing yourself from him, “I don’t even know how we would do that.”

“What are you talking about?” Steve replies, turning back to meet your gaze, “We just… tell them. It’s not rocket science.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you answer, clenching the pillow a bit tighter in your grasp, “It’s really not that simple with them, Steve. You know that. And honestly, I still feel like I’m trying to figure out how to do all this.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair, knowing just how messy involving the kids could make your relationship, “I’ve kinda liked it just being about us. You know, we’re together because we wanna be, it’s not for anyone else. And trust me, they’ll have so many opinions-”

“So let’s keep it to ourselves then,” Steve interjects, shrugging his shoulders a bit as he answers, “We’ll tell ‘em when we think it’s right, when we’re sure if this is serious or not.”

You hated keeping your feelings for him a secret. You hated that you were never able to tell him, but this is different. The idea sends a rush of excitement through your veins, you can’t deny it.

He smiles a bit and sets the photos down before continuing, “I know it might be too early to tell, but I feel like this could last, you know.”

You feel blood rise into your cheeks when he looks at you like that - irises filled to the brim with admiration. His hands come up to cup your face as you reply, “Me too.”

Steve leans in to drink a slow kiss from your lips, the kind that leaves you breathless when it’s over.

“Good,” He mutters, earning a small grin from you. Steve takes the pillow out of your grasp, “What do you say we try and get a couple hours of sleep in? I guess Dustin wants to go to the arcade before lunch.”

You laugh, pushing your hair back away from your face as you answer, “I will never be able to get used to that, I’m sorry.”

Steve tosses the pillow onto the empty spot on the mattress while you pull back the comforter. The bed dips as you both settle under the covers; Steve’s arm starts to slide over your waist before stopping abruptly, “Is this okay?”

You clear your throat, “Yeah, yeah that’s fine.”

The darkness washes over the room after you pull the cord to the lamp; it doesn’t feel as scary with Steve lying behind you. His touch stops your mind from wandering as it so often does - it can’t concoct anything to torment you with.

That being said, the sight from the earlier nightmare does appear behind your eyelids when you blink.

“It was about you,” You mutter, “The dream.”

It’s spoken before you can stop yourself. You instantly regret it, due to the lack of a reply that follows.

But then Steve tugs you closer, and you feel like you could melt against him. He tucks his nose right underneath the base of your hairline, deeply inhaling as you relax into him.

“I’m sorry,” He mumbles against your skin; your fingers curl around his as a quiet thank you.

Steve thinks that this is probably what home is supposed to feel like - warm clothes, the scent of your shampoo, a comfortable silence to lull you both to sleep. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more comfortable.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, the pair of you have finally found a bit of peace.

—

taglist: @stevebabey / @mrsukai / @hannarudick / @crazycookiecrumbles / @hellisateenageheather / @alewifex / @l0ve-0f-my-life / @naomiiiiiiiiiii04 / @daddystevee / @thecaptainsgingersnap / @let-the-imaginationflow / @asianravenpuff / @im-a-stranger-thing / @mikariell95 / @pilunb / @harringtherin / @royalestrellas / @ultrunning / @buggs177 / @poutfull / @yoheyyosup / @duchessdaisybat / @janieavalos / @sassisaluxury / @beththebubbly / @i-bitch-you-bitch / @captainstilinskis / @juliebean247 / @im-nada / @whatabeautifulsurrender / @rexorangecouny / @pass-me-jeez-it / @ahoy-scoops-troop / @halefirewarrior / @jointhehunt67 / @wallacetdog / @ketchuplukehemmo / @m-a-r-i-n-t-p / @fangirl485 / @emmegirl827 / @lookalivesunshine-x / @elite4cekalyma / @marjoherbo / @just-my-fandom / @idumpyourgrass / @alafolieee / @mochminnie / @phantomalchemist / @dustyblueboo / @alonewolfsblog / @ggclarissa / @hufflepuffing-all-day-long / @bippityboppitybabe / @readinthegarden12 / @bakugouishusbando

if you wanna be added to the taglist, just lemme know!

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #st fic #st imagine #my writing #almost paradise

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soda-pop-kandy-krush · 3 years

Text

so this is a tiiiny bit longer than the drabble i set out for it to be... clearly i have no chill and get carried away far too easily. also, i wrote most of this whilst incredibly hormonal/sleep-deprived, so please excuse any mistakes. i will probably go through and proof-read it at a later date. maybe. in the meantime, enjoy! <33

(Prompt Post)

12: Come cuddle!

17: I’ve never been more embarrassed in my life...

Knock, knock.

“Vee? Are you in there?”

Virgil’s brow furrowed a little, but he didn’t look up from his switch screen as he fiddled with the buttons to reorganise his inventory. “Who is it?”

“Your favourite dad!”

A tiny smirk pinched at the corners of his mouth. He wriggled into a more comfortable position on his beanbag, lifting the console closer to his face. “You can come in, Pat.”

Patton pushed the door open, scanning the room for his son. A beaming grin appeared on his face when he found him, and he made an immediate beeline towards the pile of cushions on the floor.

“Hey, kiddo!” He flopped down right next to Virgil, pulling him into his chest so that he could wrap him in a bear hug.

Virgil grunted in surprise, dropping his switch in his lap as Patton squished his arms to his sides. He squirmed a little, trying to sit up, but Patton only held him tighter, smushing his cheek against Virgil’s soft, purple hair. “Can I help you, Pops?”

He could feel the excited hum of his words vibrating through his scalp. “Come cuddle!”

Virgil squinted. “... Is that not what we’re doing right now?”

Patton giggled. “No, silly! I meant in my room! I’ll bake cookies, and I’ll build us a pillow fort- oh!�� He bounced on his knees. “And I’ll even let you choose what movie we watch! As long as it’s not the scary one from last week, with all of the monsters in it.” Virgil rolled his eyes fondly as Patton shuddered.

“The Nightmare Before Christmas isn’t scary, Pat.” He wriggled one arm free and used it to pick up his switch, going back to his game. “Why don’t you ask Princey? I’m kinda busy right now.”

“Oh, come on, kiddo. You can put down the video games for a couple of hours to spend some quality time with your old man, can’t you? Plus…” Patton leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “We both know how much you love your cuddles.”

A choked scoff escaped before Virgil could stop it, his ears turning pink. “I- you- I do not-”

Patton giggled, blowing warm air on the back of his neck. “Yes, you do!~”

“No, I don’t!”

“Don’t lie, Vee. I’ve seen you in action. You’re really not as slick as you think you are, cuddlebug.”

Virgil’s face was so red he thought he was about to burst into flames. He didn’t realise the others actually noticed the way he slowly migrated towards whoever was sat on the other end of the couch during their movie nights, curling his legs up on the cushions so that he could worm his way under their arms and bury his face in their chest. Or how he would drag his beanbag into the common room and plop it in front of anybody in there, sinking down and not-so-subtly leaning back to rest his head against their knees so that they would play with his hair and let him drift asleep. Patton had caught him out, and he’d never been more embarrassed in his life.

In his final attempt to hold onto the last, tattered shreds of his dignity, he turned to the only sensible option left: sulking like a child. He folded his arms with a petulant huff, glaring at the ground. Patton couldn’t help but laugh.

“Awww, what’s wrong, kiddo?” He teased, wiggling a finger under his chin. “Where did that little smile go?”

Virgil’s scowl immediately flattened out, the corners of his mouth twitching as he scrunched his shoulders. Intrigued, Patton repeated the action, grinning delightedly when Virgil made an ‘mmph’ noise, his hand coming up to push him away.

“Wait a second... Is somebody ticklish?”

He pulled Virgil into his lap and tweaked the curve of his waist, earning a loud squeak as the dark side lurched away from the attacking hand, struggling to hide what was unmistakably the beginnings of a flustered smile.

“Oh my goodness,” He gasped, spidering his fingers up and down Virgil’s sides. “This is the most adorable thing in the whole entire universe!”

Virgil whined, premature giggles already beginning to bubble up as he batted at Patton with one hand, burying his burning face in the other. “Shut uuuup!”

Patton chuckled. “Oh-ho, I would watch what I said if I were in your position, Mister.” There was a devious lilt to his voice that wasn’t there before. Virgil’s stomach dropped. “The tickle monster really doesn’t take kindly to that sort of language.”

He would deny the way that he shrieked when Patton reached down to poke his belly until the day he died. Virgil’s hands immediately shot down from his face to protect himself- but unfortunately, that was exactly what Patton was betting on.

“Uh oh! We’d better get those-” He caught both of Virgil’s wrists, pinning them against his chest so that he was effectively trapped in Patton’s embrace. “-out of the way. There we go!”

Virgil whimpered, nervous giggles spilling out as he tugged uselessly at his arms. “No! Pat, plehease!”

“Please what, Vee?” Patton grinned mischievously. “Pleeease… Give you all of the tickles?”

“No!”

“Yeah?”

“Nohoho!”

“Aw, kiddo! All you had to do was ask!”

Ten wiggly fingers suddenly dug into the spaces between Virgil’s ribs. Combined with the teasing and his current helplessness, it tipped him over the edge just far enough that he couldn’t hold back the bright, child-like laughter that spilled from his lips. It was the sweetest sound that Patton had ever heard- and it was coming from Virgil!

Oh, yeah. He was never letting this go.

“I can’t believe that you kept this a secret from us!” He moved to pinch Virgil’s lower ribs, chasing the cluster of sweet spots towards his back that had him squealing and arching away. “Oooo, that was a good spot, huh?” Patton chuckled, reaching over to his other side and repeating the action.

“Ahahaha- Pat! I cahahaha-!” Virgil collapsed against the moral side, his laughter tinged with hysteria as Patton’s fingers started poking his all of ribs randomly, making him squirm so much that he was now practically laying flat in his lap.

“What was that? You can’t believe how much fun you’re having?” Patton cooed, grazing his midriff using his fingertips. “Well, aren’t you just the sweetest! And don’t you worry- we’ve got plenty of other places to explore before we’re anywhere near finished~”

Virgil groaned as Patton lifted his wrists above his head, allowing him to catch his breath. He screwed his eyes shut, preparing for another attack, only to jump when he felt Patton’s hand cup his cheek, gently stroking the soft skin with his thumb. He blinked and looked up to see the moral side smiling back down at him.

“You okay there, kiddo?” He chuckled.

Virgil flushed, leftover giggles spilling out as he panted. He was giving him a chance to escape. Asking him if he wanted to continue. Making sure that he was actually enjoying himself.

He knew that he liked it... And he was okay with it?

Swallowing, Virgil nodded. His timid smile morphed back into a wide grin within seconds as Patton’s fingers scribbled their way down his neck, his collarbones; looping over his shoulders before they wormed their way into his armpits, scratching at the taut skin and causing Virgil to fall right back into loud laughter.

“Ehehehe- gehehet out of there!” He cried, pulling at his arms. Patton laughed along with him, still reeling from his wonderful discovery. The sight of a happy, squeaky, ticklish Virgil was a million times cuter than he could ever have imagined.

“Huh? You mean here?” He wiggled a single finger right in the centre. “Okay, sure!” Patton switched to the other side, vibrating his fingers deep into the hollows.

Virgil squawked, promptly falling into uncontrollable cackling. By this point, he was so weak with laughter that he could barely even fight back. Not that that was such a terrible position to be in, but he’d be damned if the others ever figured out that he liked this, as well. Having the resident goofball know was bad enough, but he’d never hear the end of it if word spread around the rest of the mind palace.

However, Virgil didn’t have much time to sit on it, as all comprehensive thoughts evaporated from his head as soon as Patton started to graze his fingernails up and down the underside of his left bicep.

“Nonono-nohoho!” He pleaded, curling his arms around his head, not unlike a baby hedgehog. “Pat! Pahahat! Lemme gohoho!”

Patton laughed. “Oh, I’m afraid it’s too late for you now, stormcloud. I’ve got you trapped, and you’re mine forever!~” He booped his nose gently before moving to the other arm, his lips curling up into a playful smirk. “Plus, I couldn’t possibly let you go before finding your worst spot.” His fingers slowed to a halt. Virgil felt a shiver run down his spine.

“And I’ve got a feeling I know exactly where it is…”

Virgil immediately broke down into nervous babbling, wriggling and giggling desperately as Patton trailed his fingers down the length of his body- stopping whenever he found a particularly ticklish spot to give it some attention- before he arrived at his middle. Slowly, dragging out the process as much as he could, he lifted Virgil’s shirt, the soft material brushing against his skin and lighting up every nerve in his torso, sending the poor dark side into fits of anxious giggles.

Patton tittered amusedly. “Well then, it looks like I guessed right, huh, Vee?” And with that, he used all five fingers of his free hand to form a claw, spidering across the sensitive skin of his stomach.

Virgil shrieked, bursting into loud laughter and kicking his legs out. Drained of his strength and hopelessly giddy, there was nothing left to do except lay there and take it as Patton’s tickly fingers crawled all over his belly, pinching and squeezing and scribbling every tiny, hidden spot until Virgil was sure he’d go insane. It was completely unbearable, and he never wanted it to stop.

“Gitchy-gitchy-goo! Tickle-tickle-tickle!” He cooed, scribbling at the skin beneath his bellybutton. “Gee, kiddo, I think you’ve got to be the most ticklish person on the planet!”

Virgil’s laughter dialled up even further, blushing so hard he could feel it in his ears. Oh, God, not the teasing! He was pretty sure whatever was left of his brain had now melted entirely, leaving him a loopy, flustered mess.

He scrambled around to try and pull together a suitably snarky comeback, when Patton began to scratch at the sides of his stomach and he finally, finally lost it.

“Nahahaha! Stop! Stohohahap!”

Patton gradually slowed down, eventually stopping and pressing the palm of his hand firmly into Virgil’s abdomen, rubbing away the phantom touches that lingered on his sensitive skin. His head lolled to the side, resting against Patton’s hip as he gulped down air, hiccupy laughter bubbling up in between each breath.

Patton chuckled. “You alright there, giggles?” He ran his fingers through Virgil’s hair, mussed up from all of his wriggling.

Virgil, with the remains of a dazed grin still stuck on his face, nodded, nuzzling against the soothing touch. He let his eyes slip shut, the occasional, solitary giggle escaping. The moral side smiled warmly.

“I’m glad. You definitely needed that laugh.”

Leaning forward, Patton switched off his gaming console from where it had been abandoned on the floor, before carefully scooping him up into his arms to carry him back to his room for the snuggles he was promised. Just as he was about to close the door behind him, a quiet voice interrupted him.

“Thank you…” Mumbled Virgil, sleepily.

Patton chuckled. “You’re welcome, kiddo.”

#gahhhh i hope people like this #my writing #prompt writing #tickle #tickling #ts tickle #ts fanfiction #ts fanfic #ticklish!virgil #lee!virgil #ler!patton #moxiety #tss tickle

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yoshkeii · 3 years

Text

Tendou Satori hcs!

࿐ character: Tendou Satori

࿐ genre: sfw, nsfw

࿐ requested by: a lovely supportive friend <3

⌦ sfw first, nsfw last

⌦ Nsfw includes, top-switch?tendou, bottom!reader. Continue at your own risk.

A/N: this is my last hcs that I’ll be posting so I’m finally open for requests! i migth post about it soon so i can get requests for all da fandoms im accepting i dunno. if you wanna check out the fandoms, just check my masterlist!

══════ SFW ══════

★彡 He would most likely own sweaters and hoodies, which are usually oversized compared to you. He finds it extremely adorable and cute when you wear them, the sleeves are a big play in it. Cause you could just aimlessly wave them around ahsjsha-

★彡 Probably would own a stash of candy or sweets somewhere in your home. if you found it and tried to take it away he might throw a little fit or pout at you,, but honestly he would still get more candy/sweets in secret (lil sweet tooth demon) If you asked for some, maybe, maybe, he'll share candy with you. Maybe feed it to you~

★彡 Maybe bilingual?? like his sub va speaks fairly good English from what I’ve seen,, so why not! He would use it to tease you with since you may/may not know a lot of English (depending if you lived in Japan etc.) Big flex about it and likes to show it off of course

★彡 He secretly loves to hold hands with you, just seeing the size comparison fascinates him. He might softly kiss the back of your hand knowing how much it flusters you, he laughs when it does-

★彡 Tendou would hug you from behind out of nowhere! Most likely trying to mess with you and loudly saying "Khai-chan/kun~!!" He will do this almost anywhere- usually when you are over at the gym watching him practice.

★彡 Since Ushijima and him are close friends, I bet you and Ushijima are rather close. Speaking of Ushijima and the team, Tendou would talk about you constantly when around his team. He loves you that much.

★彡 He would dance with you randomly in the kitchen, living room, or any of your bedrooms and music plays in the background. This can range from classical slow music to like "Happy" by Pharrell William type music haha- He'll try to dip and twirl you, staring at your soft smile and hearing your laughs make him extremely happy.

★彡 When Tendou sees you upset or down at the slightest, he will try his all out best to cheer you up! And it usually works showing how upbeat and positive he can be, since he has been bullied as a kid, he knows how negative feelings can get. He will even take time to go to the convenience store in secret to grab your favorite snacks and drinks, and maybe a comfort movie if he's able too! Once he get back home to you, he'll cuddle the fuck out of you, giving you kisses all over your face, arms, hands, anywhere. Tendou just wants you to feel safe and loved.

★彡 Tendou's ideal dates are usually at carnivals and fairs. He LOVES to go on the rollercoasters n rides especially with you, but if you can't handle extreme ones like he can, he won't hesitate to avoid them just for you. His love language seems to be more the quality time and words of affirmation to me! So going to events like these always make his day and seeing you smile n laugh with him as you both wander the carnival. He would always, ALWAYS get you at least one stuffed animal or a prize from the games. Usually its the medium and small sizes. Don't forget about the Ferris Wheel too~

★彡 Speaking of carnivals, he would just tell you to wait at a small bench as he rushes off to order some specialized sweets that are exclusive to the fairs or carnivals. Tendou will take a bite out of yours first as you hold it to make you flustered or blush. A sly smile on his as he does so afterwards shows proof he did it on purpose.

══════ NSFW ══════

★彡 Honestly, seeing how Tendou in general is a curious type of guy. I don't doubt he's not experienced, maybe not from doing it, but from deep-diving the internet about... those things. Ranging from kinks to maybe even toys. You never know. This guy could hold some scary surprises.

★彡 Speaking of kinks, (yeah i know- weird to jump on.) he's probably into a few even if he may know a lot of them exist. Praise kink, maybe some overstimulation might be something of his. Don't see him as the 'daddy' type but I don't doubt he would love to hear you say that, try adding 'sir' to that. Ooooo, bondage would be another, since I believe Shinbari? is the special tying of bondage in Japanese. So I HELLA don't doubt this man hasn't researched about it. Body worship is a to go.

★彡 Aftercare? Hmm.. He's surprisingly good and prioritizes it. He likes to make sure you are fine after doing it. He'll make sure you are all cleaned up with a nice warm bath at least! If he's not drained from going at it, he would double check on you and ask "Hey, Khai? Do you need anything else?" If you guys don't it would end up in nice cuddles. Tendou just nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and giving you the sweetest of kisses~

★彡 Tendou probably has a few habits in bed. Like hair pulling (which he hella enjoys, like damn,, have you seen this man with his hair down like-), maybe scratches or nail marks from his hands when he holds you down, add some tiny nibbles or bite marks, holding your hands in whatever position (he likes dem hands)

★彡 Volume? He's not that loud nor that quiet, he's inbetween but it can range on how much he is currently into it. He will occasionally growl, grunt and moan into your ear at least which he knows edges you. When he does do that near your ears, he will bite the end/tip of it too.

★彡 Piercings-? I don't really see Tendou having piercings. Maybe one on his tongue at least, which he will most likely use it to please you instead generally.

★彡 Kisses is all he really wants. Even if its simplistic pecks n kisses to passionate make-outs while doing it. Doesn't matter to him, he loves it. And let alone, he's actually an amazing kisser. Maybe he was a little sloppy at the first kiss, but practice makes perfect for our Guess Monster~

★彡 Intimacy? He may not be a very romantic type person but he will make sure at all cost you are comfortable and feel safe.

★彡 Tendou's stamina is scary as hell. Like after you guys go one or two rounds in a row, give him maybe 2-3 minutes and a drink of water. He's rearing to go again. Ya'll can't even keep track on how many times you go jesus-

#at-dusk;- 🌆#late-nights;- 🌃#folder 📁;- 𝙷𝚊𝚒𝚔𝚢𝚞𝚞 #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x male reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #tendou x reader #tendou x male reader #tendou x gender neutral reader #x reader #x male reader #tendou satori

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iamanartichoke · 3 years

Note

Congrats on follower milestone! I greatly enjoy your presence on my dash with your thoughts and witty tags and all :) For the Loki writing prompt, here's a sort of idea or mood or emotion, very vague, but maybe you can make something of it, and if not, totally cool! Prompt: Mobius taking care of Loki.

@humbae Thanks so much for your kind words as well as the prompt! I kinda just took the "taking care of" idea and had Mobius do the bare minimum, bc it's angstier that way, but I hope you like it anyway.

Summary: Takes place immediately after the end of episode 1; Loki has a realization and Mobius kinda maybe cares. Word Count: 1460 Author’s notes: Please forgive the quality, I started this earlier today and wanted to post it before watching the finale, so I finished the last bit of it in a less-than-alert state, merp.

“What’s this?” Loki asks. He can’t keep the edge of suspicion out of his voice.

“It’s tea,” Mobius says, as if it’s obvious. He sets the red mug down in front of Loki. “What we normally do is drink it.”

The suspicion doesn’t leave him. Loki eyes the mug, wondering if he’d even be able to tell if Mobius had done something nefarious to it - but, there would be little point in Mobius going to the trouble of intervening in Loki’s “trial” and recruiting him to the TVA only to turn around and poison him so, despite himself, Loki picks up the mug and takes a cautious sip.

“Hope you like chamomile,” Mobius adds as he takes the seat across from Loki. “It’s all I could find.”

“It’s passable,” Loki says, after a longer sip. When was the last time he’d had anything to drink? He can’t remember; the blur of New York shifts too sharply into the shock of the TVA and his brain feels too muddled to grasp onto any specifics. There’s been a consistent twisting in his stomach for days; he doesn’t know how long it’s been since he’s eaten, either.

Mobius is just watching him and Loki hunches his shoulders, a bit defensively. “What,” he says, setting down the mug.

Mobius shrugs. “You’re not the first Loki variant to come through here,” he responds. Before, when he’d been questioning Loki, everything about his posture had been straight and precise; now that the interrogation is over, Mobius has adopted a much more casual stance, leaning against the back of his chair with his legs slightly outstretched. “There’ve been a lot.”

“How many is a lot?” Loki’s mind is still spinning from the revelation that the rogue variant they’re hunting is another version of himself, but the idea of even more being out there just makes him feel slightly ill. There would be a crisis here, were Loki in a clearer headspace - something about how it could be possible for more than one version of himself to exist, and if those versions existed, what proof does he have that he, himself, in this moment, also exists? How does he know he is the real Loki? Is there a real Loki?

Apparently, he is in a clear enough headspace for a minor crisis. He wraps his hands around the mug, waiting for Mobius to answer.

“I don’t know,” is all Mobius says. “I’ve lost count, to be perfectly honest with you. You’re like a bad penny, you know - you just keep turning up. You’re a stubborn bastard, I’ll give you that.”

“Thank you.” Loki’s tone is icy. “So if there are so many other variants, why not prune me? What do you think I can do for you that they couldn’t?”

Mobius looks thoughtful for a moment before he shrugs. “Call it a hunch, I guess.”

Wonderful. Loki’s entire existence rests on this bureaucrat of a man’s hunch. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t find that particularly reassuring,” he counters. “How do I know you won’t simply prune me either once we find this other variant, or once I stop being useful to you?”

“What, whichever comes first?” Mobius’s lips tilt slightly upward. “I suppose you don’t.”

Loki slumps a bit in his chair. He’s still holding onto the mug and, for lack of anything else to do, brings it back to his lips. Chamomile, Mobius had called it. It tastes like honey, with just the slightest tinge of apples, and it makes Loki think of the fruit in Idunn’s orchard, how they melted on his tongue like sugar. He remembers dewy summer evenings, laying in the grass with Thor, each of them with a golden apple’s sticky sweetness coating their lips and teeth.

The back of his throat tightens and he focuses on the tea, blinking hard against the sudden sting of tears. Crying in front of Mobius is not something he wants to make a habit of.

Still - “In the desert, when your hunters set off those reset chargers …”

“They pruned the alternate timeline you created when you took off with the tesseract, yeah.” Mobius adjusts his position, straightening up and leaning forward, elbows on the table. “You - that is, the you that’s supposed to exist - never escaped. Your brother took you back to Asgard.”

“And the sacred timeline continues as it should.” The twisting in Loki’s stomach worsens, and it has nothing to do with hunger. “Which means I can never return to Asgard, because he’s already there.”

Mobius’s forehead creases a bit as he nods. He looks almost sympathetic. “You don’t have a place there, no,” he agrees.

A heavy silence falls over them. Loki doesn’t need Mobius to spell it out any further. Loki, the Loki he is right now, will never see Thor again. Nor his mother, or even Odin … but mostly, not Thor. His brother is the worst kind of gone, because he’s not dead, nor lost. He exists on the sacred timeline, forever separated from Loki, and none the wiser to Loki’s absence. He’ll never know that Loki is gone, because the correct Loki is still right where he should be - rotting in Asgard’s dungeons, perhaps, but home all the same.

Rage wells up inside of him, swift and cutting. He pushes away from the table and jumps to his feet so abruptly that even Mobius startles, but before he can do anything, Loki has hurled the red mug against the wall and it shatters, tea and glass shards clattering to the floor. “It isn’t fair,” he snarls; he pushes his hands through his hair, yanking hard at the strands yet the sting of it barely even registers. "That's not fair."

“Loki -”

Loki barely hears him. He drops his hands and clenches his fists; the rage is pressing against his throat, desperate for escape. He wants to scream. He wants to hurl magic in every direction. He truly wants to burn this place to the ground - the TVA, the timekeepers, and every person within it who is complicit in taking away entire realities with hardly a thought spared to the variants left behind.

He’s breathing hard. The trouble is, all of that anger has nowhere to go. Loki cannot bring himself to explode the way he wants to - with neither his magic nor the ability to set fire to the timekeepers’ hearts here and now, the only other option he’s got is to throw things, and he’s hurled enough chairs for today.

Closing his eyes, Loki turns in a circle, grabbing the back of his chair. Instead of throwing it, he leans forward, pressing all of his weight against it because he isn’t sure he can hold himself up. The effort it takes to keep from screaming is leaving him light-headed. Not Thor. Please, please don’t take Thor from me.

“Loki,” Mobius says again. Loki draws in a breath and lets it out slowly, and then opens his eyes and looks up. Mobius is hovering over him, but somehow he’s less dominating than he’d been before. He seems almost concerned - either that, or just plain tired. “Look, I get it. I get that you’re upset, but -”

“How?” Loki demands. His voice is hardly more than a growl. “The timekeepers made you. You’ve never lost anyone. You’ve never known anything besides this … this nightmare.” Frustrated, he pushes away from the chair and gestures broadly at the room around them. “Don’t tell me you get it.”

Mobius sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re right,” he agrees, “I suppose I don’t get it. But I can’t change what you’ve lost, either. All I can do is -”

“I know,” Loki cuts him off, and now he is the one who feels just plain tired. Just as swiftly as the rage had crashed over him, it was now receding again, leaving Loki feeling drained and so, so exhausted. “All you can do is offer me opportunity.” Not salvation. Not anything useful.

Instead of replying, Mobius just puts his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “Why don’t we start fresh tomorrow,” he suggests. “Okay? ‘Cause I can also offer you your benefits package, if you’re interested. Involves a hot meal and a place to sleep.” His lips quirk a little. “No offense, but you look like you could use both, like, yesterday.”

Loki eyes the other man. Mobius’s features blur a bit, and he realizes it’s because his eyes have welled up. He rubs them and then sighs and nods, giving in because what else is he to do? This is what he has been reduced to - powerless, with nowhere else to go, his entire existence contingent upon getting in - and staying in - Mobius’s good graces.

He’ll start with a hot meal.

#charlotte writes #follower celebration prompt series #loki series spoilers #loki spoilers #loki tv series spoilers #mobius dick #loki + mobius (platonic)#validatemepls #NOW i am going to go watch the finale #wish me luck

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uas-fics · 3 years

Text

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

Read on AO3

Title: How to Train A Champion and Keep Your Reputation Intact

Summary: Piers doesn’t want to coach Leon, but the last thing Piers needs is for everyone to know a cool punk like him used to perform in Pokemon Contests! If it means keeping his reputation intact, he’ll begrudgingly teach this ray of sunlight what he knows.

Fandom: Pokemon Sword and Shield

Ships: LeonxPiers | dnnz

Rating: T

Contest Warnings: N/A

Chapter 1: The Early Morning Visitor

----

Of the people Piers expected to be sitting across his kitchen table at eight in the morning, the former champion was not one of them. Leon wasn't even in the top ten, yet here he was, twiddling his thumbs behind a cup of tea with a peppy expression on his face.

Piers was barely a human being this early, yet Leon seemed to have the same energy as a particularly bushy-tailed skwovet.

"You have a nice kitchen," Leon commented, more to fill the silence than an actual compliment.

Piers glanced at the pile of take-out containers on the counter then the singular shoe that hadn't made it to his room with its partner the night before. His kitchen was nothing spectacular, and it didn't need to be. His home was a place to crash or bring a date, not some fancy townhouse. With only he and Marnie there, why should he bother fancying the place up?

"What do you want, Leon?" Piers took a sip of his tea.

Leon wrapped his fingers around his cup but didn't move to drink. If Leon would have preferred coffee, he could have said something before Piers poured him a cup. It'd be a waste to pour it down the drain.

"Well, it's a little silly, but I could use your help with something," Leon explained.

Piers narrowed his eyes.

Leon was the chairman of the Pokemon League. Piers gave his gym over to Marnie after the last Champion tournament. What could he want Piers to help with at this point? The only connection he had with the League was Marnie.

Unless...

"I swear if you're goin' to pull the same shit as Rose did and try to get me to make Marnie move the gym—"

"No, no, nothing like that!" Leon raised his hands, palms facing out. "It has nothing at all to do with Spikemuth or the gym."

"Then what does it have to do with?" Piers leaned back and crossed his arms.

"Uh, well, alright," Leon didn't meet his eyes, "it's about a rumor."

Piers' frown deepened. He always had rumors about him floating about. It came with his persona.

"I heard Piers beat a man to a pulp because he spilled his drink on him." or "I heard Piers took three girls back to his home and made them leave before the sun was even up." or he was a dealer of rare hallucinogenic flowers or that he used his pokemon to break into Rose's office and peed in a potted plant behind his desk.

There was rarely any truth to the rumors. He didn't care to squash them. He was a dark-type trainer, having everyone thinking he was a bigger badass than he already was could not hurt his reputation.

"C'mon, mate, aren't you a little old to be listenin' to rumors?" Piers cocked an eyebrow.

"It's not a bad rumor.”

"What's the rumor then?"

"Ah, well, I heard," He paused to clear his throat, "that you, ah, that you competed in pokemon contests when you were younger—and that you won."

Piers barely kept his face deadpan.

Where had Leon heard that? Those contests happened just before posting on the internet boomed, so it wasn't like the contests were live-streamed and archived. The only video that he knew existed of his contest days hid in a box in the back of a closet. Marnie captured it when she could barely see over the railings at the stadiums. Even then, the video quality was terrible and Marnie kept moving the camera around. He looked like a black and white blob in them.

He forced himself to calm down. He could easily deny this rumor. No one would believe he, Piers, former Spikemuth gym leader, head of Team Yell, the fierce trainer of powerful dark-types, would ever compete in a pokemon contest.

"Where did you hear that?" Piers reached for his tea just to have something in his hands.

What credibility did this rumor spreader have? Probably none. Denying this would be easy.

"Oh, I heard your sister mention it."

Piers nearly dropped his cup.

Shit.

He could not deny this, not without putting Marnie's credibility on the line. She was still a new gym leader. The last thing she needed was the chairman thinking she was a gossip.

He hissed out a breath. "Oh, did she?"

"Yeah, she was talking to Opal while Bede filled out some papers," Leon told him. "She said she remembered you used to be good at pokemon contests. That's why I'm here."

"So what?" Piers spat. "It isn't illegal, now is it?"

Why couldn't this have been about Malamar scaring passers-by on Route 7 when he was bored? Why could this have been about the rave Piers helped throw in an abandoned mine last month? Why could it have been about pissing in the potted plant? Why couldn't this have been about anything else?!

Leon frowned. "Of course not—"

"Then why are you askin' me about it?"

"Because I wanted your help to win one."

Piers' mouth gaped. Did he hear that right? Leon, the former champion, one of the strongest pokemon trainers in all of Galar, wanted to enter a pokemon contest.

He stuck a finger in his ear and twisted it.

"Sorry, say that again. I must have somethin' in my ear. I didn't just hear you ask for help in a pokemon contest."

"That is what I asked." Leon beamed. "There is one in Ballonlea in two weeks and I want to enter, but I don't know the first thing about them. If you know, you could help me—if you want to, that is."

"Why?" Piers held back from pinching himself. How was this not a dream? Maybe he was messing with hallucinogenic flowers after all.

Reaching into his pocket, Leon took out a folded piece of lavender paper. He laid it flat on the table, smoothing it with the side of his hand, before pushing it over. The faint scent of roses wafted from it.

"All are invited to the first Bellonlea Pokemon Contest!" It read in a flowing, elegant font. "Coordinators of all ages and skill levels are invited to the Bellonlea Stadium to participate in a Pokemon Contest. Please contact the Bellonlean Ladies' Society for more details and how to enter."

"Was this ‘ppose to explain somethin'?" Piers pushed the flyer back. "Why do you want to win a contest?"

"That prize, of course!" Leon took his phone from his pocket. He scrolled a moment then turned the screen to Piers.

A picture of a red and white hat with a black logo stared back. It honestly looked like something an overly-excited ten-year-old would win from a cereal box drawing.

"It's a hat." Piers peered over the top of the phone to look at the hat Leon already had on.

"It's not just a hat. It's a limited edition!" Leon pulled his phone back. "I had one when I was a little kid, but I lost it to an angry corvisquire. The first place in the beginner contest wins it."

"And you can't just, you know, buy one for yourself?" He rolled his hand. "I know you have sponsorships out your ass." Piers looked down pointedly at his Spikemuth Chamber of Commerce shirt for emphasis.

Leon shrugged. "What fun is that?"

Piers downed half his drink in one go. The burn on his throat reassured him he wasn't dreaming.

"Piers?" Leon leaned over the table, his face alight with a smile. "Can't I talk you into helping me out? Please? I promise to owe you one after this."

Piers groaned. What choice did he have? He couldn't deny it without hurting Marnie's reputation. Their reputation used to be the only valuable he and Marnie had to their names, besides each other. Lying to Leon to save his own skin was not an option.

"Yeah, yeah, alright." Piers raised his hands in defeat. "Fine. I'll do it, but," he held a finger up in Leon's face, "you have to swear on your life that you won't tell a soul about it. I don't need anyone thinkin’ I ever put any of my pokemon in a frilly suit or made them dance around like pretty ballerinas or some shit."

Leon nearly jumped across the table. He put his hands on Piers' shoulders and squeezed a little too hard.

"Thanks a million for this!" He hopped up. "Where should we train? I think I understand the rules, but maybe we should go over the rules first? Or outfit—"

"Tomorrow." Piers cut him off. "We'll start tomorrow."

Leon's face fell like a growlithe that just had his bone taken from him. Piers held his sad gaze. Marnie's morpoko did the same pout when she wanted something, and Piers knew better than to give in.

If Leon still wanted to learn how to be a coordinator, he had to prove himself first. A day would be enough time for Piers to think up obstacles to make Leon forget about the silly notion. Contests, despite the stereotype, were hard work. While beginner contests weren't all that complicated, Piers didn't mind sprinkling in some of the more difficult to grasp bits from the higher tiers. With any luck that would confuse Leon right out of the idea and out of Piers' life.

Leon took a breath. He pulled his hands from Piers and squared his shoulders.

"I'll meet you back here at eight sharp tomorrow and then we can get started."

"No. You'll meet me outside Spikemuth at noon."

"Oh, well, alright. It'll be a champ—" Leon caught himself from using his old catchphrase. "It'll be a fun time."

"That's one way to think of it," Piers muttered, feeling less and less enthused at the arrangement by the second.

----

True to his word, Leon stood outside the front gate of Spikemuth at noon on the dot. He perked up when he saw Piers and jumped in front of him.

"Good afternoon, Teacher Piers."

He winked.

Piers wrinkled his nose.

"Call me that again, and I'm callin' this off."

Leon laughed nervously. "Sorry." He whistled. "Sooooo, what should I learn first? How to use music? Or pose? I'm already pretty good at that."

"How about the rules?"

Piers waved him to follow down the road towards the Spikemuth Tunnel. People were less likely to eavesdrop on them if they walked.

"Alright, rules. I know there are two rounds, and each trainer uses only one pokemon."

"Coordinator," Piers corrected sharply.

He promised to teach, but he didn't promise to be entirely pleasant while doing it.

"Yeah. There are two rounds. The first round is the Performance Stage. You show off your pokemon's appeal with a choreographed set of moves. The judges will assign points based on how well the performance fits into particular categories."

Piers began to ramble on about the different move categories as if the contest in Bellonlea would be so complicated. Beginner contests weren't judged by the five categories individually like higher-ranked contests.

Back when Galar still had a contest circuit, the people in beginner contests were kids with weak pokemon that might only know two or three moves. A performance with a cool move first and a cute move next wouldn't be judged as harshly as the first rank contest would.

However, Leon didn't need to know that. If he thought that the category system was complicated and—in Piers' humble opinion—limited and stupid, maybe he would back out.

"And that's all there is to the appeals rules." Piers looked at Leon, expecting him to be confused and dejected at the long-winded explanation, but instead found him holding onto every word.

"Well, that doesn't seem too hard." He nodded. "It's just putting on a show in a time limit with your partner. Easy."

"We'll see how easy you think it is when you're doing it." Piers stood under a shade tree. "The next round is the harder one. It's the battle round."

"Battle? I thought contests were for show, not for fighting."

Piers cackled at the genuine confusion on Leon's face. Of course, he would think that. That silly stereotype about contests never seemed to die, did it? Coordinators didn't just train their pokemon to teach them new moves. Their partner had to be strong to last the battles against one another. Even though Piers was a gym leader when he did contests, he still struggled against the stronger opponents.

He idly grabbed a lower branch and bent it down. If he didn’t slouch, Piers was tall enough that he could just about reach into the pokemon nest a few branches up with relative ease.

"You would think that, wouldn't you?" He opened his hand.

The branch whipped up and hit the branch the nest was on. The skwovet in the nest jumped with a squeak. Its sudden movement knocked a sitrus berry over the side.

"In the second round, two coordinators battle to remove points from the opponent, usin' moves that fall into the contest categories." He snatched the sitrus berry out of the air.

The skwovet glared at Piers. Piers smirked at it before wiping the berry on his shirt. The pokemon chattered and hurried higher into the tree.

Leon frowned at Piers' interaction with the skwovet. Piers met his gaze, daring him to comment on it.

Leon cleared his throat. "That wasn't necessary."

"It was an accident."

Leon pursed his lips in doubt but didn't argue. Instead, he said, "So it's a battle, but it's an entertaining battle. I can do that."

Around a bite of berry, Piers shrugged, "It's a five-minute battle, but the point of the battle isn't to knock out your opponent with the first move. No one needs to faint. It's to show that your pokemon is better than theirs."

Piers half-expected Leon to go on about how no pokemon was better than another, instead, Leon stroked his chin in thought. Maybe Leon realized that a contest wouldn't be as fun as he thought and wanted to give up on the idea.

The branches above shook and the skwovet chattered. A leppa berry slammed into the ground near Piers' boot. The skwovet, arm loaded with unripe leppa berries, held up another. It threw it. Piers took a step to the side.

"Nice try," he mocked. The skwovet's fur bristled. It tossed down the rest of its armful and missed every time. With a huff, it stomped back towards its nest to rustle through its hoard.

"Alright. I think I can handle this," Leon said, moving into Piers' personal space and lifting his arm over Piers' head, "with your help."

Grinning, he stepped back then opened his fist to present an oran berry. The skwovet cried out in frustration. Piers rubbed the top of his head. He glanced up at the wild pokemon once more before walking away from the tree, with Leon in tow. It was best not to test his luck anymore. The skwovet might use a move on him and the last thing he wanted was to spend the night picking slobbery bullet seeds out of his hair.

The skwovet angrily chattered but seemed to give up. It hurried down the tree to gather its berries. Leon crouched to roll the oran berry over. The skwovet eyed him but snatched the berry up to shove into its cheeks anyway.

Piers raised an eyebrow. Maybe this training wouldn't be as bad as he thought.

----

The training area outside Spikemuth wasn't much, just a patch of barren earth that trainers from Spikemuth would come to battle when they didn't feel like using the gym. Currently, the only souls there were Piers and Leon. Since Marnie took over as gym leader, the younger trainers of the city moved their training back to the gym.

"They didn't want to come when you were the gym leader. They think you're scary," Marnie had explained. "Dunno why though. You're about as scary as a teddisuara."

Piers crossed his arms. "Do you know which pokemon you're goin' use? These are Hoenn rules, so you can only use one."

Leon tapped the pokeballs at his belt. "I'm not sure. I didn't think I could go in with Charizard, so I didn't bring him with me."

"Why not Charizard?"

"Everyone knows what my Charizard looks like," Leon explained. "And I don't think I can pretend not to be me if I use him."

Piers' brows furrowed. What in the world was he talking about?

Upon seeing Piers' expression, Leon chuckled to himself.

"I guess I forgot to tell you." He put his hands on his hips and set his feet a shoulder-width apart. "I'm going to do this contest in disguise."

The hope Piers just acquired vanished.

"You're what?"

"I'm going in disguise," He repeated. "I was the champion, and now I'm chairman. That would give me an unfair advantage, don't you think?"

Piers pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course, Leon would want to win on a level playing field. The Bellonean Ladies' Society would probably just give him the stupid hat if he promised to simply show up and bring more attention to the event. If he did that, Piers could have stayed at home and lazed about, but, noooo, Leon had to win his silly hat fair and square.

"How do you plan to do that?"

"Well, I hoped you could help me with that, too." Leon pointed to his face. "I've seen your stage makeup, and you're talented. I bet you could make me look like a different person."

Piers hated that he couldn't argue with that. Not long after he decided to follow his dream of being a punk star, one of the gym trainers offered to teach him the basics of cosmetics. Once he had the basics down, it only took a year of using his pokemon, friends, and Marnie as test subjects for him to perfect his art.

He could easily make Leon's face look different enough: soften his cheekbones, maybe a few freckles, pull his bangs back, color contacts, and glasses...Leon would look good in glasses, even if it meant hiding his natural eye color...

Piers shook his head. He hadn't agreed to anything but training for the contest. He was not giving Leon a makeover like they were preteens at a slumber party.

Leon pursed his lips. "It would be pointless if I won because of who I am. That wouldn't be fair to the other train—coordinators."

"No. Figure that out yourself."

Leon sighed, his shoulders slumped. He muttered under his breath, something Piers couldn't make out. Finally, he straightened and shrugged.

"You know, I have to approve the budgets for each gym provided by the league," he lifted one finger and wagged it as he continued, "and wouldn't it be nice if Spikemuth got a little extra in their budget so their new gym leader could fix up her gym stadium? I know the Spikemuth Chamber of Commerce can't always give too much to the gym, and it needs a few repairs."

Piers' mouth fell a gape. Did Leon just try to bribe him through his sister? He had to admit, he was impressed. It wasn't the best bribery offer he'd ever been given, but considering whom the offer came from and what Marnie would get in return, he decided to give in.

"Make sure the gym gets enough to replace the crumplin’ stadium walls, and I'll do it." Piers stuck out his hand.

Leon took the offered hand in his and shook once. "I knew you'd have a change of heart."

Piers yanked his hand back. "Change of heart my ass. Just send out your pokemon."

With a nod, Leon let out each of his pokemon in turn: Aegislash, Haxorus, Dragapult, Mr. Rime, Seismatoad, then Rhyperior. True to his word, he hadn't brought his ace pokemon with him. Like a well-oiled machine, they quickly lined up and turned their full attention to their trainer.

Pride rolled off Leon as he gazed at his team. Up until last year, this team was undefeated. Leon kept them at their best and even Piers could call that admirable.

"Alright everyone, listen here." Leon clapped his hands as if any of them didn't have their eyes on him. "Remember how I said we were going to enter a contest? Well, only one of you can enter it with me."

Leon's Mr. Rime leaned on his cane and Aegislash shifted his shield, though the other pokemon didn't react one way or another to the news.

"Contests aren't like normal battling. They're a performance." Leon gestured to Piers. "Piers is going to help pick the best one of you for the contest."

Piers snorted. "Oh, didn't I tell you? I'm not assessin' your team."

Leon's hand dropped to his side. He tilted his head.

"You're not?"

"No."

Piers took out the only pokeball he had on him. With a flick of the wrist, he released his own contest partner. The stench of rotten eggs filled the air. Everyone but Piers jerked back to cover their noses.

Skuntank shook himself out. He stretched his front paws forward then pulled the rest of his body up like a cat in a sunbeam. Piers crouched down and patted his partner between the ears.

"Skuntank here won nearly every contest he entered," Piers explained. "He knows more about them than even I do, I'd say. Even keeps track of the Sinnoh contests online. If anyone can give this team a proper assessment, it'll be him."

Skuntank lifted his head proudly then stomped forward. He stalked up, down, and around the line, eyeing each pokemon. He stopped in front of Haxorus, narrowed his eyes, and rumbled. Haxorus shuffled nervously. She looked to her team members then back at Skuntank. Siesmatoad shrugged, and Dragapult looked away.

Satisfied, Skuntank trotted back to Piers. He took a breath and stated something to the pokemon, loud and clear.

The other pokemon were taken aback. They muttered amongst themselves, all except Mr. Rime and Aegislash. With his chest puffed out, Mr. Rime strode forward. A moment later, Aegislash floated next to him. The rest of the team remained still.

"That's the two to choose from," Piers said. To the other members of Leon's team, he continued, "You can go over there. Take a rest why don't you?" He jabbed his thumb towards the grass at the side of the training area.

Without missing a beat, Dragapult floated away, soon followed by Siesmatoad, Haxorus, and Rhyperior.

Leon gasped. "That's amazing. How does Skuntank know?"

It wasn't as if Skuntank could smell contest talent on Mr. Rime and Aegislash. It just so happened that when Skuntank asked, Mr. Rime and Aegislash wanted to enter a contest. The rest weren't interested.

Ignoring Leon's question, Piers asked, "How do you want to decide between these two."

Leon blinked. "Isn't that what Skuntank is here for?"

With a thump, Skuntank flopped to the ground, paws under his chin, and shut his eyes.

"He's filled his quota." Piers said. "This is your job, Mr. Chairman."

Leon stroked his chin. He crouched down between his pokemon. Mr. Rime tapped his feet and spun his cane. Leon lifted his eyebrows at the impromptu performance. Not to be outdone, Aegislash held his shield up and spun it on the end of his arm. He tossed the shield then expertly caught it.

Mr. Rime danced backward. He spun in a circle, holding his cane up to the sky. From the tip of the cane, snow flurried around him, glittering like tiny diamonds.

Aegislash, upon seeing Leon's dazzled expression at Mr. Rime's performance, clanged his shield and blade together. With his trainer's attention back on him, Aegislash whipped his arm out. The shield rolled out on its side into the middle of the battle area. In the blink of an eye, Aegislash descended into his shadow. Using shadow sleek, he hurried in front of the shield.

Aegislash burst from the ground, large and dark. He whipped the shield up. the sun glinted off the polished metal. Contrasted against Aegislash's dark form, the shining shield appeared like a bright star in the night sky.

Leon's mouth fell a gape. "Wow, I didn't know you could do that, Aegislash."

Aegislash returned to his normal appearance and smugly shurgged. Mr. Rime stomped his foot in frustration. He put his fingers to his mouth and whistled for Leon to look at him. Once again, his cane spun. Around him, aurous panes of light screen appeared then frosted over. Mr. Rime stopped and raised his arms. The light screen panes shot up and burst like fireworks.

Aegislash bristled. His grip on his shield tightened and his single eye narrowed. Mr. Rime sneered at him as Leon carefully picked up the frozen light screen fragments to examine.

Piers clapped his hands once. "Don't you lot make this a battle." To Leon, he ordered, "You need to pick one."

Leon stood. "But they're both really talented."

From behind them, Skuntank snorted. Aegislash and Mr. Rime turned their glares from each other to the dark-type.

Piers agreed with Leon, even if his pokemon didn't, but leaving those two to keep one-upping each other wouldn't end well. Leon had to pick a partner for the contest, even if it would hurt someone's feelings.

Leon thought on his choice then slumped forward with a sigh. He rummaged in his pocket and held up a coin.

"I can't decide," he admitted. "Heads for Mr. Rime and tails for Aegislash."

He flicked the coin into the air. Like the oran berry before, he caught it from the air. With a hard smack that made the top of Pier's hand hurt, Leon slapped it on the top of his hand. Aegislash and Mr. Rime stood tense as Leon slowly lifted his hand.

"Heads."

Mr. Rime jumped up with joy. Aegislash dropped his shield to the ground with a thud. Leon reached out to comfort him, but Aegislash waved him away. Dragging his shield through the dirt, he trudged towards the other pokemon.

Skuntank lumbered back to his feet. He intercepted Aegislash. Skuntank rumbled at Aegislash. He silently mulled over what Skuntank said then lifted his shield from the ground.

In a voice like clashing metal, Aegislash yelled at Mr. Rime. Mr. Rime stumbled in his tap dancing, looking shocked at what his teammate said. Skuntank cackled, slapping the ground with his paw. With his mood improved considerably, Aegislash led Skuntank away to join the other pokemon.

----

Mr. Rime was a showman. Even with the occasional heckle from Skuntank, he and Leon managed to cobble together the start of an alright appeal round. After Piers finally admitted that the move categories meant shit all for the beginner contests, Leon decided to make use of what Mr. Rime already presented: sparkling snow and unique uses of psychic power.

Piers, for his part, offered critique when he saw a move that might be too showy or too dull, but mostly left Leon to his own devices. After all, Leon was the one entering, not him.

A thunderbolt tore through an icy column, shattering it. A glow of psychic power protected some of the ice from the heat. When the mist cleared, what remained was the carving of the Champion's logo.

Leon pumped his fist. "There we go!"

Skuntank muttered something to Aegislash, who replied in agreement. Though he hadn't been as loud in his criticism as Skuntank, Aegislash made snide remarks for every misstep.

Piers had more fun watching Skuntank and Aegislash than Leon and Mr. Rime, honestly.

As the heat both from the thunderbolts and the day wore on, Piers was thankful he choose to sit under the shade instead of directly interact with Leon.

Though on the field, he would have had a better view.

Every time Leon raised his shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow, Piers turned his attention towards him. Rehain once mentioned Leon weight trained and exercised to stay as fit as his team, and Piers could tell. He stared at the well-formed muscles usually hidden under Leon’s shirt several times before finally being caught.

“Is something wrong? Is this too much?” Leon gestured to Mr. Rime’s newest ice sculpture.

Piers made up a suggestion to save himself the embarrassment.

“It’s fine, but you’re rushin’. Slow down, if you know how to do that,” Piers replied, turning his head to hide his pink cheeks against his shoulder.

“Oh, alright.” Leon nodded. “Mr. Rime, take a few more seconds before calling down the thunderbolt!”

Stuntank chuckled and Piers sent him a glare.

“Shut up,” he hissed, earning another laugh from Stuntank.

Something pulled at Piers' sleeve. One of Dragapult's dreepy chewed on his jacket. When Piers acknowledged it, it flew in a circle trying to get him to play with it. It went to nip at the end of one of his ponytails.

Dragapult sighed and wrapped his tail around the dreepy to pull it back. He gave Piers an apologetic look.

The rest of Leon's team wasn't doing much better. They were bored out of their minds.

Siesmatoad ripped a clump of grass from the ground and tossed it in her mouth. Rhyperior and Haxorus took turns stabbing leaves through their horns or tusks, seeing who could make the biggest hole without tearing the leaf in half.

Before Leon and Mr. Rime could start again, Piers called, "That's enough for today."

He stood and put his hands on his lower back to stretch. Skuntank grumbled but got to his paws.

"Well, if you say so." Leon came over to the crowd of pokemon with Mr. Rime. "Everyone ready?"

Seismatoad spat out the grass clump, nearly hitting Rhyperior's foot. Dragapult cooed and the rest of his dreepy hoard hurried out of the tall grass. Aegislash refused to look at Mr. Rime, instead of staying close to Stuntank. Haxorus bent forward and pressed the button on her pokeball with her mouth scythe, returning herself.

When Leon took out Aegislash's ball, Piers put a hand on his wrist.

"Before you return him, can I ask you a favor?"

Leon raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Aegislash and Skuntank seem to be havin' fun together. Do you think Aegislash could come back with me for tonight?" Piers asked. Skuntank stamped a foot and wheezed in approval.

Leon lowered Aegislash's pokeball. He bent down so he looked Aegislash in his singular eye.

"Do you want to have a slumber party with Skuntank at Spikemuth?" He spoke like a parent to a child. Mr. Rime snickered. Stuntank kicked sand at him with a short growl.

Piers pulled the bill of Leon's hat down over his eyes.

"Aegislash is probably older than both of us combined," he reminded. "Don't call it a slumber party."

Leon pushed his hat up and wrinkled his brow. Realization crossed his face.

"Ah." He asked Aegislash, "Do you want to have a date with Skuntank at Spikemuth?"

Piers went to pull Leon's hat clean off, but Aegislash took hold of the bill and pulled until it completely covered Leon's face with the bill touching his chin. He rolled his eye and shrugged towards Skuntank. Skuntank snickered and shook his head back in reply.

Leon laughed, taking the hat into his lap. "I'm joking. I'm joking. Sorry." He put a hand on Aegislash's shoulder. "Really, if you want to hang out with Skuntank for the night, you can." He smiled sincerely.

Aegislash paused, eyed his trainer, then seemed to sigh. He took the hat from Leon's hands and set it on his head. He patted his head, like a parent pacifying a child. Aegislash floated by him towards Skuntank.

-----

“Listen up.”

Piers whistled to the crowd of dark-type pokemon around the Spikemuth stadium. All heads turned towards him and the two pokemon by his side.

“This is Aegislash. He’s part of Chairman Leon’s team.” Piers nodded to Aegislash. “He’s visitin' for the night, so don’t be an asshole.”

He sent a pointed look at Malamar, who crossed his tentacles. Malamar only recently got out of trouble for scaring people around Spikemuth. Neither he nor Marnie needed Aegislash going back to Leon traumatized from Malamar's pranks.

The gym pokemon muttered and mumbled to themselves, eyeing Aegislash suspiciously.

Going well so far.

No one jumped to attack or called out an obscenity towards the new pokemon. Already it was going better when Raihan brought his pokemon over to play while he and Piers visited. Not one sucker punch to the back.

Marnie’s Grimsnarl picked up the toy ball and held it protectively. Both scrafty scooted to shield their tower of cards. Obstagoon took his nose out of a bag of crisps for a moment before shoving it right back in. Liepard yawned, purposely exposing her fangs, before laying her head on Toxicroak’s lap. Toxitricity peeked an eye open from his corner then continued strumming his chest. Morpeko jumped off the stage and scurried over to Aegislash and Skuntank.

She greeted them. Skuntank wheezed to her as Aegislash lifted his shield in a hello. Morpeko spoke with Aegislash a moment before turning to the rest of the pokemon. She took a deep breath and shouted to them her approval.

Malamar snorted but uncrossed his tentacles. Grimsnarl slowly took the ball back out. Neither scrafty moved from their hard work. Toxitricity waved idly. Liepard and Toxicroak and Obstagoon didn’t acknowledge the announcement, the former two napping and the latter still stuffing his maw.

Skuntank jerked his head towards Toxitricity's corner of the gym. Aegislash and Morpeko followed after. Grimsnarl and Malamar watched them closely.

Marnie took a bite of her hamburger. Around it, she asked, “Is that really Leon’s aegislash?”

Piers open the bag from Bob’s Your Uncle to dig out his order. “He is. He and Leon’s Mr. Rime got into a fight, and Aegislash wanted to be away.”

“So Leon asked you?” She swallowed.

Piers thought on his feet. “Dark and ghost types are pretty close when you get down to it. Born of night and the deepness of the soul and all that.”

“Shouldn’t he have asked Allister?”

Piers took a bite of his burger and slowly chewed. He swallowed and said, “Kid must have been busy. He’s still got school to go— just like you.” Piers smirked, leaning over. “And how’s that school work going, little sis?”

Marnie blushed. She huffed, snatched the bag from Piers, then marched to the stage at the other end of the stadium.

Even being a gym leader, Marnie still had to go to school like every other kid her age. Since she was still learning to juggle gym leader duties and school, Marnie fell behind in her classes and had to take extra lessons.

Piers had been the same when he took over the gym, but he usually skipped after-school lessons. She complained about the lessons often, and Piers offered an understanding ear.

He wasn’t above using this information against her, though.

With long strides, he followed his sister. He overtook her quickly. Holding his burger between his teeth, Piers hopped onto the stage and sat, his toes brushing the ground. Marnie walked up the steps to sit near him. She purposefully set the bag with their food on the side farthest away from Piers. He leaned across her to fish his chips out of the bag.

They sat in companionable silence, watching the pokemon as they ate their fast food.

When Marnie’s scrafty turned to open another pack of cards for their tower, Malamar raised a tentacle glowing in psychic power. With both scrafty backs to it, a card from the middle of the tower pulled itself out.

Piers’ scrafty gasped and tried to hold the wobbling tower together, but only managed to save the top two cards from falling. As the scrafty started to argue, Grimsnarl went to the wooden crate next to the stage. She sat her ball inside and began to dig through the pokemon toys until she found another ball. This ball was worn and patched up. She wandered over to Malamar to talk.

Skuntank, Toxtricity, and Aegislash lounged against one of the crumbling stadium walls as Morpeko chewed on a berry. They made friendly conversation until Grimsnarl and Malamar came over. Grimsnarl raised her ball.

Skuntank shrugged and spoke to Aegislash. Malamar sneered at Aegislash. Aegislash rolled his eye and pushed himself up. Skuntank slowly lumbered to his feet. Toxtricity shook his head. Morpeko tossed her berry up and caught it in her mouth before standing as well.

Piers nudged Marnie and pointed at the pokemon as they walked to the middle of the stadium.

Grimsnarl tossed the ball and hit it to Skuntank. Skuntank bopped it with his head. The ball dropped towards Aegislash. Aegislash raised an arm to hit it, but Malamar’s tentacle shot out and smacked the ball up. Aegislash snapped something at Malamar, who ignored him.

Piers chuckled to himself as the game of hot potato continued. Every time the ball neared Aegislash, Malamar or Grimsnarl made sure to hit it before he could. Of course, they were testing him. Being on the former champion’s team wasn’t enough to prove Aegislash worthy, even with Stuntank and Morpeko's approval.

Soon Aegislash had enough. When Malamar went to hit the ball for himself, Aegislash shadow sleeked behind him. He burst from the ground and slapped the ball towards Grimsnarl. The attack on her friend took Grimsnarl by surprise. She stumbled back trying to hit the ball but missed. For the first time since the game started, the ball bounced against the floor.

Skuntank cackled. Morpeko chased after the ball. Malamar stared at Aegislash, who held his ground.

Marnie started to push off the stage to break up the fight, but Piers put a hand out to stop her.

After a few tense heartbeats, Malamar coughed a laugh. He covered his beak and shook his head. Grimsnarl took the ball back from Morpeko. Seeing the newfound respect for Aegislash from Malamar, she went back over to the box to switch the worn, old ball, for a nicer ball with a pink and cream polka-dot pattern.

Marnie let out a breath. Piers tossed a chip in his mouth.

He knew things would work out well. Like his trainer, Aegislash was endearing in his determination.

He wondered what Leon was doing while the Spikemuth pokemon played. As late as it was, he was probably home, or maybe he was training with Mr. Rime for the contest. Piers could almost see him now working with Mr. Rime to pose in time with some pop song.

Leon worked hard for what he wanted. It's no wonder he became champ so young and held the title for nearly a decade. If Piers had that kind of drive, he wouldn’t have left Spikemuth fall into disrepair as he did.

He bet he could ask Leon to help him fix up Spikemuth, and not just the gym. The outside walls needed the myriad of penises and breasts painted over. He could do it, but it would be better with some company, particularly with company that had the energy of a sugar-high puppy. Enjoying the outside air, just talking and working—That would be fun. Piers would be willing to wake up early for that.

Piers reached into his chip container absentmindedly but found nothing but salt. He jerked out of his thoughts to see his last two chips disappear—one into Morpeko’s mouth and one into Marnie’s.

“The hell?” He held his hands out towards the empty container.

“Do you have a new girlfriend?” She asked bluntly.

Piers choked on his tongue. “What?” He shook his head. “No! Why would you think that?”

“A boyfriend? A non-binary friend?”

“No,” Piers assured. “I don’t have anyone.”

“Huh.” Marnie scratched Morpeko behind the ears. “You had that look on your face.”

“Look?” Piers’ stomach clenched as he asked, “What look?”

“That look.” Marnie pulled her pokemon to her lap. “The one you get before Morpeko and me find some gushy love song folded up on the living room floor. It happens every time.”

Piers’ ears grew hot. Twice, Marnie found his secret love songs twice. For that reason, he didn’t even write them on scrap paper anymore but in a nondescript notebook in his dresser drawer—which he hadn’t pulled out since he broke up with an ex gym trainer more than a year ago.

Morpeko stuck her tongue out in disgust at finding another love song. She clambered over Marnie’s arms to the chips container. Morpeko licked her paw, dabbed it in the leftover salt, and cleaned her paw before hopping off the stage to rejoin the game.

“I don’t have a look like that.”

“Yes, you do,” Marnie replied in a sing-song voice. “You get this far away look on your face and a little, tiny smile like you’re thinkin' of somethin’ soft. I only see it when you’re datin’ someone or,” her eyes widen in realization, “you gotta crush.”

Piers’ stomach unclenched and fell to his boots.

“You’ve got a crush, dotcha?” His little sister pried. “Who is it? Do they like you back? Can they like you back? Are they a trainer? What’s their pokemon team? Do you see them often?”

Piers' head spun, blurring the rest of Marnie’s inquiries.

No way. He was too old for crushes, for one thing. For two, if Marnie’s theory held any water, then his ‘crush’ would be Leon.

That wasn’t possible.

Sure, he admired Leon’s strength and his determination. His kindness towards pokemon and others was sweet if a little goody-two-shoes. He was much more clever than he first appeared. His athletic frame stole Piers' attention and he wouldn't mind leaning up against that strength-trained chest.

Oh. Arceus. No.

Piers’ face reddened as he cataloged his thoughts. He did have a crush. He had a crush on Leon. Leon was the Chairman of the League. Not only that, he was and still is the poster child for preppy, sporty trainers everywhere. Leon was the goal children were taught to chase if they wanted to compete.

Only the trainers from Team Yell ever wanted to be anything like Piers, a badass who sang to his own song, not the one society dictated.

Sponsors flocked to Leon like mothim to a flame for his perfect public persona.

Only the Spikemuth Chamber of Commerce ever sponsored Piers, and that’s only because they always sponsored the gym leader.

Leon was the light that the world idolized.

He was the darkness that fought back to prove to those that the shadows were protective and safe for people like him. He was a fierce dark-type trainer. He sang punk rock. He had a band of miscreants who would follow his every order.

He could not have a crush on Leon.

Yet, he did.

What if people found out? Arceus, if news got around he wanted some of Leon’s finely toned ass—

“Piers?” Marnie poked his cheek.

He jumped, losing his balance and tumbling off the stage.

At the thud of his fall, the pokemon stopped their game. Obstagoon tossed his crisps bag aside to barrel towards his trainer. He skidded to his knees, dramatically throwing his claws up and crying out as if Piers fell off a ten-story building.

Marnie hopped down. Crouching, she asked, “Did you break your face?”

Piers groaned loudly. “Dark void, open up and swallow me. I no longer want to live in this cruel world that would play my heart like a harp string and snap it with its sick, twisted irony.”

Once Piers went on with his dramatic monologue, the pokemon returned to their games, confident Piers was fine. Obstagoon patted the back of Piers’ head reassuringly.

Marnie crouched next to him. “Is the person you have a crush on that bad? Are they married or,” she lowered her voice, “old?”

“We’re the same age.” Piers didn’t lift his head from the ground. “He’s single as far as I know.”

Marnie poked his cheek. “So what’s the matter? Are you too scared to ask him out?”

“No. It’s worse than that.” Piers crawled into Obstagoon’s lap and leaned his back against the warm, somewhat smelly, fur. Obstagoon wrapped him in a hug. He’d seen his trainer confused and in a pansexual punk panic before. Piers needed all the comfort Obstagoon could give him.

Marnie tucked her legs under her and waited expectantly for Piers to clarify.

He sighed, slumping farther down Obstagoon’s lap. Obstagoon’s arm fur tickled his nose as he buried his face in it.

“I can’t ask him out,” Piers muttered. “He’s my opposite.”

“Opposite?” Marnie echoed.

“Opposite,” Piers repeated. He paused, then said, “I’m punk. He does ballet. What more can I say?”

Her brows furrowed. She opened her mouth, then shut it, opened, shut, then tilted her head with one eyebrow raised.

"He dances?”

Piers rolled his head away. “You kids have no culture.” He sighed. “He’s the kind of person every kid wants to be like. I’m the kind of person kids stop comin’ to community gyms to train because of.”

Marnie hit her fist into her palm. “Oh, I get it. You don’t want to drag down his rep ‘cause people think you’re a lazy delinquent.”

“Hey!” Piers bolted up, right into Obstagoon’s hanging tongue. He wiped the slobber off his forehead with his forearm. He jabbed a finger at Marnie.

“It’s the other way around. He’d pull mine up from a mysterious, cool rebel rocker.”

He cringed at himself. Out loud it sounded childish. What was he, a schoolboy?

Piers flopped back against Obstagoon, grabbed Obstagoon’s arm, and dropped it over his face.

“Suffocate me. Please. I need to die to escape this torment.”

With a humph, Marnie wrapped her arms around Obstagoon’s thick forearm and lifted. She looked down at her brother with a frown.

“That’s it?” She shook her head. “That’s sad.”

“You’re a kid. You don’t understand.” Piers countered, trying to pull Obstagoon’s arm back over his face.

Marnie wrinkled her nose and tugged against Piers’ attempts.

“I am not.” She dug her feet into the ground. “It is sad. If you’re a ‘mysterious, cool, rebel rocker,’ why should you care what anyone thinks?”

Piers dropped his hands to his lap.

Without the opposing force against her, Marnie fell backward, still clinging to Obstagoon’s arm. Instead of letting her fall, Obstagoon lifted his arm, leaving her hanging off the ground. He carefully lowered her, but she kept his arm pressed against her chest.

Piers pushed himself up to his feet. He patted the back of his shirt, throwing black and white fur into the air. Without a word, he headed to the stage and picked up the trash from their food.

“Piers?” Marnie hugged Obstagoon’s arm to her chest. “Are you ok? I didn’t break you, did I?”

Piers turned. “Yeah. Just fine.” He walked back, bag in hand. A smile spread across his face as he reached up and ruffled her hair.

“You’re right. I was being the opposite of cool.” He admitted, prying her hands off Obstagoon's arm. “Thanks for reminding me.”

Marnie was right. He was the cool, fierce master of dark-type pokemon. He became one of the strongest trainers in all of Galar without resorting to Dynamax in a pinch.

Why the hell should he give a flying ratata’s ass about what other people think about who he wants to make out with?

He still didn’t want people knowing about his contest days. The stereotype of elitist snob coordinators still hung too closely to contests. The attraction could excuse Leon, but he didn't have a good enough excuse for dressing skuntank in a tophat and glittery, purple bow tie when he was still a stunky yet. Maybe if the contest scene grew a little, he could try again, but until then best keeping that particular secret under wraps.

Marnie shrugged, aloof. “It’s whatever. Someone needs to help you keep your head spun the right way around. I'm the only one qualified for it.”

“What would I do without you?” Piers chuckled.

“Die, probably,” Marnie replied. “So can you ask this guy out? Does he like you at all?”

Piers shrugged.

He didn’t know if Leon liked men. As far as he could remember, Leon never dated anyone of any gender. Leon had always been laser-focused on training and being the strongest trainer in Galar.

But if he did like men, would he be interested in Piers? He didn't know, but given how much time they’d be spending together training for the contest, maybe he could figure it out.

Marnie, her ponytails somewhat righted, asked, “If you need help, Gloria and me could—”

“I’d rather step on a pincurchin,” Piers cut her off, crushed the paper bag into a ball, and tossed it to the side. It bounced and went right through Scrafty's new card tower.

"Sorry," he apologized.

Scrarfy sobbed and slumped back. Marnie’s scrafty looked towards him then sighed. She walked around and helped him pick up the cards, their friendship restored.

“I’ll tell you if I find out anything.” He pointed at the hot potato game still ongoing with his thumb. “Right now, though, you and me don’t need boys when we can play with the best pokemon in the Galar region, though.” To Grimsnarl, he shouted, "Oi, toss it to me!"

Marnie giggled as Piers took her wrist and led her towards the game.

----

AN: Shout out to my friend Sara for the help with this! You da best!!! ^-^)/ Next chapter should be next week? I'll probably post to A03 first though if you want less of a wait.

Also feel free to follow my art blog @uas-art if you enjoyed the chapter art.

#fanfiction #dnnz #gym leader piers #Champion Leon #piersxleon #multi chapter

16 notes · View notes

wanderingchocolateeclair · 3 years

Text

A Frayed Thread of Hope

[Part 3] (this was written quite a while ago, just a heads up for the quality of it)

Ao3 Link here! :)

Finally got round to transferring and posting this chapter to here!!! It’s taken a little while, but I’m hoping that this being in here might remind and motivate me a little more to write the next part out...the fic is up on ao3 and will be updated on there first when I get round to it and then transferred over here at some point too :)

Tagging (you can ignore if you’d like, or tell me if ya wanna be tagged or taken off the list. This is just a repost of a chapter that’s already up on ao3 so sorry if you’ve already read it 😅 I also haven’t posted in a while so sorry if I’ve accidentally tagged you or forgotten to tag): @kouricaesar @chaotic-trash-can @kiriderp @theshisthings

TW: slightly graphic description of injury, mentions of blood, slight mention of nausea, a lot of crying and sad.

——————————————————

(Flashback)

‘No no no, please-’ Shinya panicked as he heard the lack of response coming from Jeanist’s side of the raid. Minutes prior to this, he had felt his heart drop and a ringing sound echoed through his head. He knew that this was not a good sign, but pushed it away as he helped to apprehend the LoV. ‘Please, please be okay...’

Dammit. He knew that he should’ve tried to stop him. He saw it in his eyes...those eyes...his eyes. Tsunagu knew that something was going to happen and that the worst part would hit his team, he always knew when the worst would happen, and it always had to happen to him.

‘That’s why he looked at me like that...Dammit....DAMMIT! Shinya, you are such an idiot!’ Shinya’s mind was racing as he made his way towards Kamino with Endeavour, where the other team was based.

“We can only hope that we are not too late.” Endeavour said harshly, knowing that he had to reassure the other man but unaware of how to do so.

Shinya simply hummed in response, taking a large leap from one building to another. He wasn’t really listening, his mind was way too busy to hear anything but his own thoughts. ‘Tsunagu....why? You knew that this would happen, and you knew the pain I’d be in once I found out...so why?’ He found himself trailing off into thought, ‘heh....nevermind....even if you could answer me now, your words would always stay the same - that it was “the only way I’d prove myself to be heroic” by taking a hit that could kill you, for the sake of others....’

“Dammit....”

(end of flashback)

————————————

Shinya was torn away from his rapid train of thought by the sound of footsteps hurdling towards him and Tsunagu’s family. Before even he could react, cold hands grabbed his shoulders and shook him gently, a pair of red wings knocking over several items along the way.

“Edgeshot-senpai! You’re okay! Well, you look okay! Are you okay?” The flustered young man exclaimed in a panicked manner, blond hair ruffled across his head as messily as a bird’s nest.

“Ah, Hawks...yes...Yes, I’m alright. Ju-just still a little shocked, I guess...what about you? What are you doing here?” Shinya shakily answered, his mind still thinking back to what happened.

The winged hero sighed in relief, giving a small apologetic bow to the family that was scattered around him. “Isn’t it obvious? I heard the news and came as quickly as I could! All Might-san retiring, Endeavour-san...moving...up the ranks...” Hawks eyed the end of the corridor wearily, “it’s all a lot to take in right now...for everyone.”

The ninja hero nodded, gesturing for the other to take a seat. Hawks simply shook his head in response and mumbled something about feeling too uncomfortable to sit down in this situation, making Shinya chuckle lightly in agreement.

“Hey....Shinya-san...”

“Hm?”

“...Tsunagu...” Hawks trailed off, staring cautiously at the door standing opposite them.

The mention of the fiber hero’s name caused Shinya to snap his head up a little too fast, making him wince at the sudden pain that shot through his neck.

Hawks paused for a moment, before slowly carrying on. “Tsunagu-san....will...will he be okay?” He looked at Shinya with sad eyes, nervously fiddling with a small marble that he held in his hands.

“I-” Shinya’s voice cracked as he tried to find an answer, looking down at his own hands, that were still bloody and shaken. “...we don’t know...we- we can only hope...” he blinked rapidly to try and clear the tears that blurred his vision once again. ‘Not here, dammit, not here. You are so weak, Shinya, don’t cry- you can’t...’

They shared a small silence, standing there, gazing at the closed door in front of them. Just as one of them was to try and break this silence, a rather loud buzzing came from the winged hero’s jacket, causing him to fumble around for his phone.

After exchanging a brief conversation with the mysterious caller, Hawks looked up at Shinya apologetically and lightly grabbed his shoulder. “Ah, sorry, urgent call from the commission...I gotta go...”

Shinya smiled slightly. “Of course. That’s understandable. Thanks....thanks for checking up on us....”

“Yeah,well, someone’s gotta do it. We wouldn’t want our favourite parental ninja to pass out from shock all by himself!” Hawks exclaimed brightly, his wings spreading out even more, almost hitting Ai in the face. “Oh, Rumi sends her regards, by the way. She’s busy so she couldn’t come in person, but she said for me to tell you ‘if that jeans bastard dies I’ll kill him, give him a good thump ‘round the head when he wakes up, will ya’ so....uh....yeah! Um....well, please make sure you let us all know how he’s doing...”

“Heh, yeah I will, don’t worry,” Shinya chuckled at the other’s enthusiasm. Waving at the winged hero, he watched as he briskly disappeared from his sight.

Shinya sighed, leaning his head back against the wall, his mind overflowing with doubts and worries yet again. He thought back on the sight of Kamino, destroyed and in ruins. All might’s thin and frail form, barely holding back that monster....and.....Tsunagu... ‘dammit! Stop it!’

——————————————

(flashback continued)

As they arrived, they realised that this was no ordinary villain, and that the LoV had already managed to escape. Shinya scanned the area anxiously, trying hard to mask his panic but failing to do so. ‘Where......where are you....I’m here, please, Tsunagu where are you....’ he tore his attention from the ruins and glared at the madman that was loitering in the air. He was absolutely filled with rage, his body shaking, he could barely breathe. He wanted to lunge forward and completely rip this...thing...apart. He wanted to completely let go, just like he did all those years ago, this time with no regrets. But he knew that it was not his fight to do so. He knew that he was only there for support, with the rest of the heroes, to help All Might.

A huge gust of wind from one of All for One’s blasts knocked him over, sending him tumbling backwards. He was never brilliant at going against power types (he’s a light little man, leave him alone) but this was troublesome. Bracing himself for the impact of a harsh landing, he was startled when he felt himself being caught by something wrapping around his arm.

“Edgeshot-senpai!” Kamui called out, catching the other man before he could hit the ground. He set them down, away from the main fight, sheltered by a huge chunk of a building. His shoulder was occupied by a rather unconscious Mount Lady, but he had another in his arms...

Shinya gave a brief nod of thanks, before noticing the condition of the lanky figure that hung loosely from the other hero’s grasp. ‘Oh please- please, oh god, no...’ he felt his heart drop.

He started panicking as he took in the sight in front of him. Eyes lifeless, staring out at him. Hair, messy and dirty. Tsunagu’s body laying limply, now on the ground, his arms and costume bloody and torn. What’s worse, is the gaping hole that was present in the middle of his stomach. He wasn’t breathing, he wasn’t moving, it was as if his life had been drained straight from his body.

Shinya felt as if he was going to be sick, his body shaking too hard for him to stand. This feeling....this feeling was way too familiar. He was so worried in finding him, but when he finally found him...when his partner’s body was lifted from the rubble...he felt even more hurt than before. He started choking on the tears that he couldn’t hide....that he wouldn’t hide....gasping for air as he stared at Tsunagu’s broken form, imitating that of a torn rag doll, riding the edge of death as if it were a knife with which to cut the rest of the strings that connected him to his life.

“No no no, please, no- not again....not again....why- why? Tsunagu, why you....why my family? Why is it always my family?! The people I love....mother...father...my....why did it have to be you?!” He blurted out, unable to contain the rest of his pain. He held onto Tsunagu’s unconscious form, clutching it tighter as more and more tears soak into his mask. He would hide his anguish, but he didn’t care. Not anymore. He didn’t care who saw him crying. He didn’t care who heard his silent screams and cries of lost hope. He ignored everything around him as he hugged his partner closer.

“Senpai....I’m sorry....I’m...we really need to get him to hospital....he’s...it’s...” Kamui spluttered out quietly. He watched as the ninja hero lost all of his hope and felt his heart beat rapidly at the thought of what else could happen. “We are...we’re out of sight from everyone else...it’s- it’s...”

Shinya sniffled. He looked up at the younger man, his eyes still blurry and unfocused. “Thank you....I’m sorry....I....”

“No...it’s okay....I understand.” Kamui replied, cradling Takeyama in his own arms gently.

(end of flashback)

————————————

His thoughts became muffled, his ears ringing, and only one sound echoing through his head.

“Shinya...”

It was Tsunagu’s voice. He snapped back to reality, looking around anxiously.

“Shinya.....I’m sorry...”

15 notes · View notes

zigtheeortega · 3 years

Text

redeemed

pairing | m!raleigh x mc

word count | 6.6k

warnings | cursing, innuendos, mentions of sex

tags | @natesewell, @choicesarehard, @empressazura, @raleighcarrera, @pixeljazzy, @pixelsandkink [tagging people who usually ask to be tagged !]

author’s note | i’ve talked about this before but i’m not a huge fan of the platinum mc’s personality, so i’ve kind of crafted my own that’s quite a bit more rebellious than canon. i’m obsessed with the idea of an mc who’s romancing raleigh and falls into the same pattern of behavior and it genuinely concerns them – so yeah i play with that idea here! i deviate from canon some but not too much ! this is my submission for day 2 of @platinumweekend as well ! also i had no idea how to end this so i apologize for the fizzle out at the end lol

•─────────────────•

As soon as he stepped off stage, he was shuffled to his tour bus, Fiona on his heels. She looked like the human embodiment of rage in a grey blazer, a look in her eye that made him thankful he wasn’t the one it was directed at – or at least he hoped he wasn’t the reason she was two seconds away from a murderous rampage.

She slammed the door behind her, locking it, running to the windows and closing the curtains, peeking out at the paparazzi that no doubt had already tried flocking at the edges of the blocked off area where the bus was parked.

“Damn, what’s the problem? Can’t I at least get my food from craft services? Jesus,” he complained, grabbing a bottle of water from the fully stocked mini fridge, downing it while Fiona frantically ran around the bus, turning off every electrical device in sight.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

She wheeled on him, a few strands of her hair sticking to her lips. “We’ve got a problem.”

“Yeah, you won’t let me go get my fuckin’ overpriced grilled cheese that I know is waiting for me,” he jabbed his thumb towards the venue. “At craft services.”

She eyed him, pupils wide, her anger nearly palpable. “It’s bigger than food.”

He ran a hand through his damp hair, some strands completely drenched in sweat. “Lay it on me.”

And the three words that fell from her lips were soul crushing, his post-show high wearing off in an instant.

“Dom’s been arrested.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He sat up, posture rigid. “What happened?”

“Not here. We’ll talk on the plane,” Fiona said, twisting the knob of the closet door, grabbing the black duffel bag on the ground. She tossed it at his feet, motioning for him to stand. “The jet leaves in an hour. I packed for you.”

“The plane? Where is she?” He was getting more and more frustrated, nearing hysterics. He should’ve felt a bit more shame about how worked up he was getting, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Fiona took notice, her fiery gaze softening at the edges, the blue flames flickering across his face. “Not here, Raleigh.”

He slung the duffle bag on his shoulder, walking to the door.

“Wait –” Fiona said, leaning over the couch to pull the curtain to the side, peering out again. “I paid off a security guard to distract the paparazzi. And when he does, we have to run to the car that’s gonna pull up any minute now – undetected,” she shot back at him, her icy gaze warning.

Within minutes, a security guard with a similar build to Raleigh sprinted towards the venue, jacket over his head, paparazzi on his heels.

With the camera’s flashing finally pointed away, they were able to slide into the back of the cab, thankful that Hank had connections everywhere. The driver rolled up the barrier without question as soon as Fiona tossed him a wad of cash that she’d fished out of a plain leather pouch.

She shook the pouch, her lips set in a thin line. “You know what this is?”

“A purse?” He asked, brows furrowed. “Is this some kind of fuckin’ trick?”

“It’s an emergency fund. Cash. Not traceable.”

She shook her head, dropping the pouch into her lap, before pinching the bridge of her nose. “When Dom first started getting into trouble, I had to pay off a few people here and there, but when it became more frequent, I had to actually sit her down with her accountant and sort this out.”

“Sort… what out?”

“How much money she needed to allocate to her… antics,” she rolled her eyes, propping her elbow on the back of her seat, hand pressed to her forehead.

She looked drained. Fiona never looked disheveled, but he sensed this was the closest she’d be to it.

“If it’s money she needs, that’s fine. Lemme call my agent –”

“There’s only so much cash I can hand people under the table before it becomes a problem. Not just financially, put publicly,” she sighed, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I’ve been able to cover up the smaller mishaps, but this, I’m afraid, might be the start of something… much worse than disorderly conduct.”

“You gonna tell me her charges?” His jaw set in anticipation, already running through a list of the best lawyers in L.A. that got him off from potentially hefty lawsuits.

Her short locks swayed as she shook her head. “I don’t think it’s my place to tell you.”

He blew air out of his cheeks, leaning into the corner of the cab, legs splayed wide as he tried to take a nonchalant stance. “Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”

“You’ll be glad you have a bedroom, shower, and fridge on the plane,” she said with another shake of her head.

––––

Raleigh laid in bed, aimlessly scrolling through his burner account.

He never really cared for social media under the public eye. Every post of his was either related to tour or the series of brand deals for products he never used. Each page was a personified advertisement – some shit he regretted signing up for.

One drunken night, his curiosity got the best of him and he found himself making a pretty inconspicuous profile, following some funny internet personalities and political commentators. And although he had plans to delete it, once Dom came into the picture, he unabashedly lurked.

He followed her on all platforms, and when he had the chance, he watched her stories, voted in her daily polls, and occasionally scrolled through her old instagram photos.

This time in particular, though, he was looking for something specific without really knowing if there was an answer.

He scrolled to her first post, hundreds down, smiling at high school Dom. Thick eyeliner, layered hair, brace-adorned grin – she was a poster child of adolescence.

Photos of her with Shane at pep rallies, in Halloween costumes, in prom formal wear filled the screen, later transitioning to senior portraits, graduation photos, and dorm photos. A setting of picturesque normality as Dom grew into herself, growing out her choppy layers, softening her makeup, her gleaming smile lighting up each photo.

She grew more beautiful with each year, each little phase of her life coming with a new style, a new little identity or association, Dom’s willingness to try new things the reason she was able to break free from her small town.

God, was Raleigh so fucking envious of this imperfect little portion of her Instagram. If someone were to look this far back for him, there’d be photoshoots and magazine spreads and paparazzi photos all neatly planned. The shaky off-guard photos, the unedited red eyes, the off guard photos, the expressions they made in them… it was something Raleigh never had the chance to do.

Being in the business for ten years, everything was pristine, crisp – always smiling or smoldering, no in between. Sexy and rugged or smiling and happy. Like he had two modes and he wasn’t ever able to exercise those other parts of himself because being in front of the camera was restrictive – while Dom was able to be unabashedly herself.

He was breaking shit just to feel something, to have some range of emotions even if it was a stupid fucking publicity stunt where he damaged property or made out with another politician’s daughter or attempted irreparable blows to his public image.

The more recent the posts, the more calculated her photos got, the phrase “ad” showing up more and more. But even with a skincare brand deal, her step-by-step skincare routine video was on brand for Dom, her bright smile and wit always present in everything she did.

But Raleigh couldn’t help but feel like parts of her were slipping away.

Her online persona was still pretty crisp, except for her style shift – tattoos, a couple piercings, and some edgier photoshoots signified a tonal shift in Dom’s aesthetic, but nothing he hadn’t seen before.

Hell, when he used his first innuendo on his solo album, there was widespread outrage on Sunset Skatepark fan forums, ripping into him for singing about using his dick (even though he was definitely an adult and definitely not a virgin).

But other than her general style, nothing was different. Nothing to indicate this downward spiral that Fiona kept a secret.

Where’s the shift? He thought to himself as he scrolled to the top. When the hell did she start changing for the worse?

She’d come a long way from her clean songs that didn’t require a radio edit. He felt a pang of something in his chest –– regret, maybe? Was he the reason she’d changed?

The questions sent him into a near tailspin, his pulse quickening at the realization.

He was the problem.

She’d since deleted her photos with Raleigh, because their breakup was so public, but he could tell that the shift happened right around the time she started spending more time with him.

He’d been a mentor of sorts, opposite of Avery, showing her the ropes… which meant that he was teaching her how to evade the press, fuck with the paparazzi, pick out industry plants – the whole nine yards.

She was impulsive, daring, adventurous, fearless – all the qualities he liked in himself. But he never thought those traits would take a negative turn, morphing her into a rebel with an affinity for breaking laws.

He could blame himself all he wanted, but he couldn’t blame her for taking the same route he took.

He knew it better than anybody – it was hard to shift the public’s persona of you. Once you did something horrible to make them hate you, either the rebrands and ass kissing worked, or you get written off by everyone.

Raleigh Carrera was a special case, a wild card of sorts who toed the line, unpredictable, both with his craft and his behavior. The nastier his lyrics, the crazier his publicity stunts were, the more polarizing he was.

And that was no doubt the route Dom was on, heading towards an inevitable press nightmare – if people were to find out the home grown rags-to-riches Dominique Avalos dove headfirst into her rebellious phase with no smooth transition, she wouldn’t be able to Google herself for months without having a panic attack.

She’d changed drastically, but that’s what fame did to people. Some people cracked under the pressure, or they rebelled to show the public they were in control of their narrative… or that they desperately wanted it back.

He took a shaky breath, swiping out of the app.

He wasn’t sure if he could save her, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t gonna try.

––––

The moment the jet touched down, Fiona was in full manager mode, adamant on abandoning his phone, stressing the importance of going off the grid.

“If anyone finds out you’re here, they’ll be able to put two and two together. Why else would you be in the same country as Dom when you’re supposed to be heading towards New York for your next show?” She asked, hand outstretched.

“I hate it when you’re right,” he grumbled, tossing his phone into her palm. “Where are we exactly?”

“I can’t tell you,” she sighed, looking exhausted. He had a gut feeling she hadn’t slept a wink since they’d boarded the plane.

“Why not?”

“It’s a bit safer that way.”

He scoffed. “You’re serious? Look, I’m not exactly thrilled to pull the A-List celebrity card, but this is borderline kidnapping.”

“Let’s just say you might be able to pick up on some of the language,” she said, turning on her heel to exit the plane.

Within minutes, they were pulling onto a dirt backroad, the small houses they passed barely casting shadows onto the ground.

The town itself was seemingly innocuous – the tiny brick houses riddled with dust, the stone paths lining the road cracked and deserted. The tiny town had turned in for the night, their old Sedan sticking out like a sore thumb despite the old model.

Raleigh squirmed in his seat, twisting the expensive watch on his wrist. He fucking hated this.

No matter where he went, he was noticed in some capacity – so wearing a Rolex and Cartier rings in a small village in the middle of nowhere just made him look pretentious.

He slipped the rings and watches off, shoving them deep into the pocket of his jeans, ignoring Fiona’s calculating side eye (one he knew all too well).

The only light, other than the gas lamp posts and their high beams, came from the building at the end of the road.

The car pulled around the side, flicking their lights off, the driver peeking around before motioning for them to exit the car.

“Throw the hoodie on, Raleigh,” Fiona ordered while slipping on a ball cap of her own, her casual t-shirt and leggings wildly different from her normal outfit.

“Sure,” he murmured, tugging the hood on.

The walk from the car to the dusty glass front door was short, Fiona breaking into a light jog to keep up with Raleigh’s brisk pace.

The makeshift “waiting room” in the front corner of the station was empty, the scratched up folding chairs in crooked rows. The front desk was occupied by a sleeping form, head buried in the crease of his elbow, snore muffled by the counter top.

The other officer stood at the back near an old vending machine, sliding coins into the slot, the clink of each piece ringing out against the brick and linoleum.

No cameras, he thought, after a quick scan of the room, shoving the hood back in its place at the nape of his neck.

The holding cells were farther back, but he couldn’t see her.

He stepped up to the counter where the man was sleeping, giving a gentle knock to the top. The man stirred, unfurling his arms, while the other man in the back glanced up from where he was, elbows deep in the snack machine as he fished out his bag of chips.

Raleigh offered a basic greeting in Spanish, frowning just a bit when both officers’ eyes lit up – the phrase “famoso” and “celebridad” falling from their lips almost as soon as they recognized him.

Yeah, he was gonna use his notoriety to their advantage, but that didn’t mean it still didn’t sting when people immediately tried gauging what they could get from him when they realized who he was.

For a long time he’d been waiting for the day where name dropping himself didn’t get him out of deep shit.

And the day he met Dom, when he assumed she knew who he was, all she did was raise her brow as if to say “Why the fuck should I care?”

It startled him, truthfully. But it was such a breath of fresh air. He couldn’t remember a time before or after that someone showed no interest in him.

The officer in the back jogged to the front, pulling his phone out of his back pocket while asking for a picture.

He looked to Fiona, who was shaking her head furiously, stepping up next to him like her 5’5 stature was enough to shield him. “Nobody can know we’re here.”

He nodded, turning back to the men, trying to negotiate with them.

Yes, Dom’s here.

No, you can’t see her.

He racked his brain trying to figure out how he was gonna get himself – and Dom – out of the situation unscathed if he couldn’t give them a photo or autograph.

“Dom bought me the Rolex and Cartier rings, right?”

Fiona’s brows furrowed. “Yes. She gifted them to you on your birthday. You know this –”

“No, what I mean is, she has the receipts? Or you do?”

“I don’t have them, but I have access to them,” she said, still confused.

“Get rid of ‘em. I haven’t told anyone she bought them for me.”

Her face lit up in recognition, and she nodded, encouraging him to go on.

He dug in his pockets, fishing out the watch and thin bands.

After a quick exchange, the officers took two rings each, and began rapid fire arguing over the Rolex. They tossed Raleigh the keys, stepping out the front door.

“I’ll keep watch,” Fiona said, turning towards the door.

“Hey –” Raleigh said, laying a hand on her shoulder.

She quirked a brow at him. “What?”

“You’re not coming with?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Why not? I’m not even sure what the fuck I’m supposed to say –”

“She specifically asked for you.”

He took a step back, resting his palm on the countertop behind him. “What the – are you… are you serious?”

She nodded once. “She might’ve been slurring, but she was clear as day. She wanted you.”

He blew air out of his cheeks, running a hand through his short waves.

Fiona’s gaze softened, her eyes still piercing. Fiona was a lot of things – steadfast, headstrong, determined – but she wasn’t soft. She didn’t sugar coat shit.

“She’s missed you. She doesn’t confide in me much, but even I can tell she’s unhappy. Be gentle with her,” she said, gaze tearing right through him.

The walk to the holding cells felt miles long – his resolve was shrinking with every step.

He wasn’t afraid of seeing Dom, not at all. He was afraid of whatever part of himself that might’ve been reflected in her.

The cell was empty, save for the curled form on the bench, long dark hair cascading over the edges of the seat.

“Dom?” He called, hearing her sharp inhale of breath as she stirred, bending into a long stretch, her limbs unfurling until she was lying on her back on the bench, tilting her head towards his voice.

God, even when she looked like life had torn her to shreds, she still looked beautiful.

“Raleigh?” She croaked, her eyes squinting to adjust to the low lights. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

She arched her back, stretching again, her long frame covering the bench. It was almost the right level of distracting to stop the creeping annoyance at her question.

“What do you mean? I’m here to bail you out, obviously.”

“Where’s Fiona?” She asked groggily, rolling off the side of the bench awkwardly, trying to gain her footing.

“You asked for me, didn’t you?” He raised a brow, sliding his forearms through the bars, resting them there.

“She told you?” She asked, voice raising in betrayal, a scoff following his silence. “I was drunk.”

“And? You still asked for me.”

“Oh, fuck off,” she murmured, crossing her arms as soon as she was balanced.

He dangled the keys between his fingertips, gently jingling them. “I’ll let you out if you tell me what happened.”

Her lip curled in annoyance. “You’d really leave me here?”

“You don’t want to find out.”

She ran a hand through her hair, blowing air out of her cheeks. “Alright.”

He unlocked the door and slipped in, the heavy door creaking as he slid it wide enough for him to fit through.

She backed up, plopping back onto the bench, arms lowering to curl around her sides.

He followed suit, sitting a couple feet away from her on the other end of the bench, shoving his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie.

She stared at the floor, clearly waiting for him to make a move.

“So…”

“So, what?” She grumbled.

“So… how’d you end up here?” He asked, trying to remain as relaxed as he could since she was clearly on edge, ready to tear him a new one at a moment’s notice.

“I was drunk. I got in a fight. Here I am.”

He sighed. “Look, you don’t have to tell me everything, but I can’t help you if I don’t know if you’re ankles deep or neck deep.”

She chewed her lip, chin dipping lower, strands of her hair falling forward, creating an inky veil. “Fine. I’ll tell you but… can you not… look at me?”

Raleigh’s face contorted in confusion, but he listened, swivelling until he was facing the back wall, propping one leg up on the bench.

He waited for her to speak. The break in conversation was a bit too long – but before a quip could fall from his lips, she spoke.

“I did get drunk, and I did get in a fight. I’m telling the truth but I, uh, left out some details,” she started, her voice low.

“I, uh, was passing through this town after my last show because I wanted to go to a bar without being noticed. Like the old days. I know it was stupid, but I didn’t think anyone would find me here.”

That was her first mistake. Smaller towns surprisingly had the most dedicated fans – maybe because they’re bored or nothing exciting happened in their towns, but most of his die hard fans came from the middle of nowhere.

“The first hour was fine, and I was able to drink and dance with strangers. Most of them were a lot older than me and spoke zero English – and I speak a little bit of Spanish as you know, so I could make some small talk, but I was on my own just… enjoying myself and my freedom,” she said, and he could almost see the grin tug at the corner of her lips.

“I noticed someone taking photos of me with their phone, so I got a bit paranoid and sat in a booth in the back drinking for a little while longer so I could figure out my next move,” she continued, before sighing loudly. “I guess they told the local news or something, because by the time I decided to leave, I ran smack into a reporter on the sidewalk.”

Silence ensued again, this time more deafening than the last.

“I didn’t mean to give her a black eye. Or break the camera. Or elbow the camera man in the face when he tried restraining me. I just… couldn’t think straight. I was mad. Intoxicated and wrong, but still mad.”

“I know Fiona’s trying her best to get me out of this mess but… I think I went too far this time.”

Raleigh stared at the wall, racking his brain for something. He was a little dumbfounded that she spilled to him so fast. He figured it was gonna take a bit more digging to get her to open up, but she blossomed in front of him; despite the wilted petals, he was relieved to know she still trusted him enough to confide in him.

“Are you gonna say something?” She asked, a bit timidly.

“Not if I can’t look at you.”

“Okay, then don’t say anything.”

He sighed, settling into his spot on the bench, waiting again for her to speak.

“Why did you come?”

Instinctively, he shrugged. “You asked me to.”

“But you don’t owe me anything. We’re not together.”

“Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t drop everything to come help you. I mean, I’d like to think we’re at least acquaintances, if not friends,” he joked, resting his arm over the back of the bench.

“Sure,” she said, voice straining just a bit. Just enough for him to notice.

Dom was a special kind of resilient – one trait that Raleigh was sure she didn’t copy from him.

He knew that being a woman in the industry was already hard enough – everything from beauty to body standards to raging misogyny was enough to give people reasons to hate her, as stupid as they were.

Raleigh benefitted from the standards in place for men. He was young, attractive, talented – didn’t matter what he did wrong. He’d bounce back.

But he’d seen some vile shit since he’d ascended to fame. So many celebrities fading into obscurity after one mishap. One bad album. One bad interview. One rude encounter. One rumor.

For some reason, despite diving headfirst into troubled waters, Dom bounced back every time, fire in her eyes, her jaw set in determination, her face painted with the look she got when she was ready to face the world.

But whatever she was feeling in that moment, in that jail cell in the middle of nowhere – was enough to break her.

He heard her take a deep, shaky breath, and he started to turn, but he felt her warm palm on his shoulder, holding him in place.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

He listened to her labored breathing, likely struggling to hold back tears, while he stared at the cracks in the wall, trying to think of something – anything – to console her.

“Did Fiona seem… upset?” She asked, seeming a bit nervous.

“It’s kind of hard to tell, to be honest. She’s pretty intense all of the time,” he laughed, not really meaning to.

He was relieved to hear a light chuckle from behind him.

“Yeah, I figure she’s pretty mad at me. I don’t blame her,” she sighed, another break in conversation ensuing. A couple beats later, she asked, bluntly, “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” he answered with zero hesitation. “I know you’d do the same for me.”

She laughed again, a bit more genuine that time. “Not sure where you got that impression.”

“You wouldn’t leave me here to rot if I asked you to come, Dom. You’re not that heartless,” he teased gently, glad that things were taking a lighthearted turn.

“I’m just glad you’re not gonna lecture me. I already know I’m gonna get an earful from Fiona, not to mention the shit I’ll get from Shane and Avery. I couldn’t handle one from you.”

He grimaced. “Uh, well, you’d rather hear it from me than Fiona, right?”

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” she mumbled under her breath.

“You know I normally don’t care what you do, because it’s your life, and you should be able to do whatever the fuck you want, but Dom…” he trailed off, trying to choose his words carefully.

“I know I fucked up, Raleigh. I don’t need you making me feel more guilty than I already am,” she said defensively, voice raised.

“I’m not gonna make you feel guilty. Just offering some advice.” God, did those words feel foreign to him. Offering advice. He never did shit like this for anybody.

He took her silence as a green light. “You’ve just gotta slow down, Dom.”

Whatever impact his words made, he couldn’t see it, since he was still facing the damn wall. “Can I please turn around? I can’t talk to you like this.”

“Sure.”

He adjusted himself on the bench, trying to look attentive without staring. She was stunning, even with the smudged makeup, the dark circles, the red eyes “You don’t have to do anything and everything you’re asked to do, but you gotta find some kind of balance.”

She wrung her hands in her lap, picking at her cuticles absentmindedly. “Yeah, I know.”

“I mean balance the good and bad, Dom. There’s a line for people like us and you can’t cross it often. You can get close, but you can’t just dive over it and not expect there to be some fallout.”

“I know,” she said, bluntly, looking a bit more annoyed with each word that came from his mouth.

“You can cause some chaos, but some of it isn’t acceptable,” he said, watching her expression contort in anger. “For them. Not acceptable for them. The average person, I mean.”

“Oh, you’re one to fucking talk!” She rolled her eyes. “How are you gonna sit here and tell me that your brand of shit stirring is okay, but mine isn’t?”

“I’m not the one sitting in a jail cell right now, Dom,” he said, calmly but firmly. He wasn’t used to being the rational one, but he had to be level headed. He was trying to save her.

She ran a hand through her hair, leaning back against the back of the bench. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“Trust me, I know.”

“You’re hypocritical.”

“Not necessarily,” he said, propping his arm up on the back of the bench. “I was in the industry for years before I started dirtying up my image. You just got here.”

“And you’ve been here too damn long to act the way you do,” she nearly spat, lashing out.

“I’m too far gone,” he simply stated, keeping surprisingly calm through it all.

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“I’ve been here for a long time, which means, I’ve got a lot more fuck ups under my belt. Irreparable damage, if you will.”

“People love you,” she said, matter-of-factly, like that solved it – it honestly relieved him. A bit of Dom’s naivete from when they first met was shining through.

“People also hate me, because I’m a little shit who sets fires for fun,” he grinned. “For legal reasons, my lawyers insist I clarify that I’m joking.”

She rolled her lips, trying to suppress a smile. “People who hate you don’t know you.”

He nodded. “You’re right, and you’re so close to the point I’m sure you can taste it.”

“I’m too far gone to save. No matter how hard I try for the rest of my career, I can never get away from the wild card label. Plenty of people don’t wanna work with me. I’ve damaged business relationships. Lots of artists don’t want to collab with me because of how it’ll make them look.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because I know you don’t want this. You’re too good for whatever baggage comes with being a ‘rebel’, Dom. I don’t want to see you turn out like me.”

For the first time that night, she stared at him – really stared at him. Her deep brown, nearly midnight eyes searched his for any sign of insincerity.

“You’re… serious?” She asked finally, brows furrowed in confusion.

“One hundred percent honest,” he said, nodding.

She sat back in her chair, chewing on her lip, contemplating.

“Can you turn back around again?”

He nodded, wordlessly facing the wall again.

“I left out a few details,” she said from behind him.

“I’m listening,” he affirmed.

“I, uh, was pretty hammered by the time I left, so it was even harder for me to understand what people were saying,” she said before he could speak. “I heard the reporter say ‘Raleigh’ and ‘novio’ and I saw red… so… I, uh… swung.”

His chest clenched, tightening until it was difficult to breathe. He was thankful she’d asked him to face the other direction, because he knew his reaction betrayed his cool demeanor.

“I guess I’m not over it,” she laughed humorlessly.

He ran a hand over his face, racking his brain for a response, but coming up short.

“You, um, don’t have to say anything if you don’t feel the same. I shouldn’t have gotten attached. It’s on me.”

That made him turn, swivelling around before she could finish speaking.

She flicked her head towards the bars of the cell, raising a hand to cover her face. “I said ‘don’t look at me’, Raleigh. Goddamn.”

Years and years of PR training and interviews and he had no idea how the fuck to console her. Partially because he was trying to get a grip on whatever the hell was going on in his brain as well.

Instead, he answered her with a question of his own, a tactic he’d used anytime he wanted to deflect in interviews.

“Why can’t I look?”

Dom tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, slowly rotating to meet his gaze. She sank her teeth deep into her bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

“Fuck,” she cursed, rubbing the backs of her hands under her eyes, the dried black mascara under her eyes beginning to liquidate again. “Because I’m crying, Raleigh. And I don’t cry.”

“You wanna tell me what’s wrong? I know there’s more to it than you’re telling me,” he asked, holding up two of his fingers in a solute. “No judgement.”

She sighed, crossing the room to put some distance between them. She began pacing, taking slow steps as she spoke.

“I might’ve fucked up my career and I keep letting people down and I’m destructive because this whole fame thing isn’t what I signed up for and I didn’t think I’d cave under pressure like every other mid twenties child actor who goes through a premature mid-life crisis, but here I fucking am,” she said, nearly out of breath by the end.

His legs carried him across the room before he could think twice, pacing towards her while she strode across the room in the opposite direction.

“God, I’m so fucking stupid –”

“Stop. You’re not stupid.”

“I am,” she said, wheeling on him. “And – and I’m embarrassed. I’m embarrassed that my manager and – and my ex –” She stopped in her tracks, rubbing a palm over her forehead, shutting her eyes.

He reached out to her, but let his hand fall almost immediately.

“My acquaintance had to fly out to a fucking village in the middle of nowhere to bail me out –”

“Dom, stop –”

“– because I fought a fucking reporter over not being able to handle my fucking feelings –”

“Dom –”

“– like an adult with a functioning frontal lobe all because I love someone who –”

Her eyes popped open, her expression horrified. “Oh my god, I’m – I –”

She dug the heel of her hands into her eyes, dropping into a squat. “Fuck, fuck, Goddammit –”

“Did you just –”

“Yeah, Raleigh, I did. Don’t make me feel worse, alright? I know I fucked up,” she groaned from her heap on the ground.

“You just said you love me, Dom. I think I’m allowed to react,” he said, a slight teasing to his voice.

She glanced up, glaring. “Okay, then, react.”

Her gaze was fiery, her deep brown irises challenging – something else a bit more vulnerable lying beneath.

She was terrified.

He leaned down, gripping her around the waist to pull her back up, wrapping his arms around her upper back, hugging her to his chest.

She melted into his arms, relaxing and leaning into his embrace.

“I didn’t mean to say it,” she murmured into his chest.

“So do you?” He asked, chin gently balanced on her head.

“What?”

“Do you love me?”

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully, voice small.

“You don’t have to know. I don’t know either,” he said, just as earnest, feeling her tense in his arms. “But I do know that I like you enough to want you around, and that counts for something, right?”

She laughed (as genuine as he’d heard it), leaning back to look at him. “Yeah, it does.”

Their bodies were still pressed together, Dom’s chin tilted upwards towards him, their faces nearly touching.

“If this gets out, don’t let anyone make you feel like you’re a bad person,” he said, voice low. “You’re the best person I know –”

Dom closed the gap between them, capturing his lips in an intense kiss. He cupped her face in his palms and held her in place, moaning into her parted lips.

God, there was nothing that compared to kissing her. Nobody matched up. He’d made out with a lot of people since he was flung into stardom at sixteen, and no one – absolutely no one – left him in a daze like she did.

She gripped the strings of his hoodie, pulling him closer, sighing contentedly against him.

The smell of her shampoo mixed with the sweet scent of her skin and the warmth of her hands and her chest flush against his – it was the next best thing to being inside of her.

He pulled back, trying to catch the dreamy, half-lidded look she always got when they parted.

“So… did you take your jet here?”

He smirked and rolled his eyes. “Out of context, that sounds so superficial.”

She grinned, her first genuine smile that night. “Oh, but you’re not? Hanging around a rising artist to cling to relevancy?”

He laughed, the sound reverberating off of the walls. “I really am rubbing off on you, aren’t I?”

“Yep. The good and bad,” she agreed, still smiling at him.

“The good?” He shook his head. “Nah, I’m not so sure about that.”

“You’re literally the reason I haven’t walked out on my label and moved to bum fuck nowhere and lived off the land,” she said, shrugging. “You taught me how to have fun. You were the only one keeping me sane.”

He thought he was the one encouraging her to leap over the edge, but he was the one tugging her arm back.

The whole time he was convinced he was a bad influence, but he was doing some good – for her.

But with that revelation came the guilt at her words.

“‘Were’?”

“Well, we don’t really talk anymore. I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

“Yeah,” she chewed her lip, stepping back, unraveling herself from his embrace. “I’m sorry.”

That was a slap to the face. Dom rarely apologized, because if she felt she was right, she wasn’t going to budge. She was stubborn as hell.

“Huh? Why?” “I don’t want to guilt you into spending time with me… or feeling things for me,” she said, rubbing her arm. “I didn’t mean to corner you.”

“You didn’t. I wanted to come.”

She glanced up, blinking at him. “No, you didn’t –”

“I did,” he emphasized, slipping her hand into his, intertwining their fingers. “I kinda missed being forced to hang out with you. Feels like old times.”

She couldn’t stop the laugh from ripping from her, this one louder than the last. “Oh, shut up.”

“No, but seriously, I’m here for you. Whatever you need. Always.”

“Thank you.” With her free hand, she punched his shoulder lightly. “You’ll regret that sooner or later.”

“Nah,” he said, lip curling into a smirk. “I don’t think I will.”

––––

#playchoices #platinum #raleigh carrera #raleigh carrera x mc #platinumweekend #my fic #jade writes choices fics #tbh i really loved writing this one - it's really special to me !!

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aspiringauthorintraining · 3 years

Text

Volleyball Actually: Scene 2

It was a cold, dreary day outside, which meant for you it was a perfect day to eat a freshly-made warm onigiri from Miya’s Onigiri. But really, everyday was a perfect day to eat at Miya’s Onigiri. And it seemed like the rest of Japan had the same idea as you, seeing the long line of customers when you walked in.

You made your way up the front of the line soon enough with the queue moving fairly quickly. When you reached the register, the girl recognized you as you took your mask off to order. And before you could even speak, she asked if you wanted your usual, to which you nodded happily. It wasn’t the first time this happened, although it was with a different worker. But with how much you visited the restaurant, you weren’t surprised the employees remembered your face.

Holding onto your receipt with the order number, you walked over to sit down in an empty corner of the store to wait for your food. Sitting down on one of the stools, you checked your phone to see multiple text notifications. There was one from Kiyoko, wanting to make sure you were coming to the big match next week, one from Kageyama confirming your visit his team again later in the week, and some from your manager about an upcoming schedule.

A tap on your shoulder made you jump up from your seat.

“How’s my favorite customer doing?”

“’Samu!” You greeted him with a hug, surprised by his sudden appearance.

Your friendship with Osamu had started out as a purely business relationship- customer and restaurant owner relationship to be exact. You had just moved into the city and went to the newly opened Miya Onigiri’s flagship restaurant for lunch, after seeing all the good reviews. After noticing you coming in frequently, he stroked up a conversation with you while waiting for your food one day, and the rest was history.

“What are you doing here? You said you’d be busy this week with finalizing the opening of your new restaurant in Miyagi.”

He took a seat in the empty stool next to you. “I had to stop by today to check on the store’s inventory. And I heard you visited the team yesterday. How’d it go?”

“Great! Your onigiris were a hit with the team by the way. Thanks for the suggestion.” You shot him a thankful smile, before remembering what Hinata had texted you shortly after your visit. “Why didn’t you tell me your twin brother was also on the team?”

Osamu burst out laughing at your accusing question, putting his arms up in mock surrender when you frowned at his reaction. “‘Tsumu always needs to be knocked down a peg or two, and having a pretty girl not know who he is would have crushed his ego.”

You had thought it was a strange that there was someone with the Miya surname on the team, when looking up how many players were in the MSBY Black Jackals team. But when you had brainstormed ideas with Osamu on what food to to bring on your visit, and he didn’t mention anything, you thought it had just been a coincidence.

“Also, last week that bastard said my onigiri was salty, so he deserved it.”

“Have either of you matured at all from high school?” You deadpanned.

“I have, but he dumbs me down.” Osamu shrugged.

You shook your head with a sigh, not being able to imagine what it would be like to put up with two Miyas, when one was already draining your energy. Bless the Miya matriarch.

“You know you could have just looked it up on the internet to find out.” he added.

“I wasn’t really that curious to investigate. And unlucky for you, he wasn’t even there when I went to visit anyways.” You looked to the front thinking you had heard your order number being called out.

“Well, let me know if you go visit them again. I’ll make him pay for the food next time. But you know, I am surprised you and the shorty are so close after all these years.” Osamu changed the subject, referring to your relationship with Hinata. “You weren’t even in the same year.”

You breathed a happy sigh, thinking back to your time at Karasuno. “The team, when I was in my third year, was really special. With everything we went through that year, it felt like we were one big tight-knit family. So I try to keep in touch with everybody and visit them whenever I can. And it helps that we have a big group chat with everyone that was on the team, making it a bit easier.” You smiled, thinking back to the last time you all got together- it being the Tanakas’ wedding. But even then, not everyone was able to make it due to their busy lives. “But I guess I do dote more on the first-years though. Even more so with Shoyo as of late, since he had gone to Brazil right after graduation.”

Having heard one of his workers call him over, Osamu got up as soon as you finished talking, heading over to the counter. You watched as he grabbed the bag handed to him, walking back over to you before placing the said bag in your hands.

“I told them to add an extra onigiri in there.” He informed you, sitting back down.

“Is this what it feels like to be a valued customer?” you asked, placing your hand over your heart in a dramatic fashion. “Did you know I didn’t even have to tell them my order up at the front? She knew what my usual was as soon as she saw my face.”

He smirked in response. “I think that’s rather a testament to how much you come here.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

“With how often you come here and the amount you order when you do, I can’t help but be worried about the health of my favorite customer. I want you to live a long life ordering my onigiri, not have it be the cause of your death.”

You shrugged, brushing off his comment. “It’s healthier than other fast food options, since it doesn’t have any msg- which is good enough for me.” You looked over at the crowd of customers that had just walked in, seeing the restaurant having become even more busier than when you first came in. “I should let you get back to work.”

You got up from your seat, collecting your things after putting back on your face mask. Osamu watched you get ready to leave from his seat, when a sudden thought occurred to him.

“Oh yeah. I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” You paused your movement, waiting for him to continue. “How would you feel being the face of Miya’s Onigiri?”

“Eh?!” You reacted like he had just told you Atsumu was actually just him in a blonde wig. “Me?”

“I told you about the new location we were opening in Miyagi, yeah?” Seeing you nod, he continued explaining. “Well, I’ve been thinking about doing a celebrity endorsement, and I thought of you since you’re from the prefecture.”

You still weren’t understanding why he would ask you of all people. “Why me though?”

“Didn’t you say you were a singer?”

“Singer? Sure. Celebrity? Not really.”

“C’mon. It’s not like we’re a super famous company either. Think of it as beneficial opportunity for the both of us.”

“I feel like it’s more beneficial on my end than yours, though.” You frowned.

Osamu brushed off your worry. “I’d much rather work with someone who I know and trust than a random person anyways.”

Knowing it was a good opportunity for publicity, you sighed, relenting. “Well, If you’re okay with it, then I guess I am too. But,” you raised your finger, “I’ll only accept onigiri as payment. I’ll feel bad if the advertisement doesn’t help bring in any customers.” Osamu tried to argue, but you just ignored him. “I’ll give my manager your number so that y’all can work out the scheduling.”

And without giving him a chance to negotiate the deal, you waved him goodbye, scurrying out the door.

Director’s Cut: Scene 2 Part 1

“Hey, Tobio!”

“Hai, Hoshiumi-san.” Kageyama looked at his teammate, in the middle of changing into his practice clothes.

“Did you see this?” Hoshiumi showed the Adler’s setter Hinata’s picture posted the night before. “We have to be careful, Tobio. These guys might steal (Y/N) away from us! That’ll mean no more visits, no more delicious bentos, or sitting on our side of the court during matches. And worst of all, no more good luck hugs!”

Hoshiumi started to pace back and forth around the locker room.

“Senpai said she will come visit us the day after tomorrow.” Kageyama replied with a straight face, resuming his changing.

“Who’s coming tomorrow?” The Schweiden Adler’s captain, Hirugami Fukuro, asked the two younger players, walking into the locker room.

“Captain!” Seeing his captain brought an idea to the Little Giant. “Can you convince Sachiro to come tomorrow with his dog? She likes dogs, right?”

Kageyama nodded in response.

“(Y/N)-senpai said she’ll visit on Thursday.” Kageyama answered the confused Hirugami.

“Oh, Sachiro will definitely want to come then. He wasn’t able to come because of a midterm last time she came to visit.” Hirugami replied.

“Who’s coming to visit?” Ushijima asked, having come back from the bathroom. He wiped his wet hands with a handkerchief, folding the wet part inwards before putting it away in his pocket.

“(Y/N)-senpai.”

“I see.” The wing spiker nodded in understanding. “I will bring some of my tomatoes tomorrow. She mentioned she wanted to try some of them last time we talked.”

“Tomatoes? The Black Jackals can give her tomatoes too! We need something that’ll convince her to stay with us.”

“My tomatoes are of high quality. The MSBY Black Jackals will not be able to find fruit with similar quality and grade easily.” Ushijima responded in confidence.

“That’s true. (Y/N)-senpai seemed very interested when Ushijima-san mentioned his gardening to her.” Kageyama confirmed, agreeing with the ace.

“Maybe I should bring some seeds for her as well?” Ushijima asked. “You should ask her if she has fertile soil to support good seedlings.”

Hoshiumi had already left the locker room, realizing the conversation was going nowhere.

The Karasuno alumni gave him a nod, making a mental note to text his senpai after practice.

Director’s Cut: Scene 2 Part 2

You had a busy schedule the following morning, so you prepared to sleep a bit earlier than usual. Right as you were about to fall asleep, your phone pinged loudly, waking you up. Drowsily, you grabbed your phone to check who had texted you.

Reading the text, you blinked in confusion, rubbing your eyes to see if you had read the message correctly.

Received 9:10 p.m.

From: Karasuno #9

Message: Senpai, do you have good dirt?

______

(A/N): Hoped you like Part 2! Leave a like, comment, or do whatever ^^

#haikyuu!!#Haikyu!!#haikyū!!#haikyuu x you #msby black jackals imagine #msby black jackals x you #schweiden adlers x you #schweiden adlers imagine #schweiden adlers x reader #no beta we die like daichi lol

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zmediaoutlet · 3 years

Text

in support of Texas relief, @merle-p donated $45, and requested Sam/Mick. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post.

(read on AO3)

This hotel really is a tip. Mick takes the keycard up with him—American quirk—and shakes his head at the identical thin carpets, the shoddy elevator, the spotting on the mirror, the bed with its awful polyester duvet. No, not a duvet—a thin bedspread, with a vile leaf-and-flowers pattern that wouldn't do for wallpaper of even the saddest pensioner. He leaves his bag on the cheap luggage rack and tosses his keycard onto the desk and looks at the bed, rubbing his hand over his mouth.

He orders dinner from what passes for room service. He doesn't know what the Winchesters are doing—probably dipping away to some diner, from the profile work Lady Bevell had provided—but they don't call for him, either way. A chicken marsala of decent quality, sticky rice, overcooked broccoli. He eats it efficiently with his mobile playing a midnight stream of the BBC World Service, sitting at the table with the lamps lit. He looks out the window, its view of overcrowded trees and the parking lot and the road, and he does see the Chevrolet pull back in, bulky and too-big and too-loud and too-American, and he smiles at it even if he shouldn't, and passes the napkin over his mouth, and sits back in his chair, to think.

Work of a moment to set up the typewriter. A quick twist of the ink-ribbon and a murmur of Farsi and he sends his report back home. Casefiles distributed to local hunter, he types, and pauses. Tests of loyalty continue, he types, more slowly, and doesn't have much to add. His reports are terse as a matter of course but he isn't often given to dissembling. Not, at least, before the massacre at the headquarters. He unclenches his jaw and tears the sheet of paper out of the typewriter. That's more than enough.

Quiet, since the alpha vampire was destroyed. Ketch has been doing his own work, directed by both Mick and by the old men on orders Mick isn't given to know, and he's been allowed replacement assistance at headquarters but it isn't as it was. The Kendricks-trained goons they sent are more of Ketch's ilk than his and he doesn't know them. Mary Winchester has been distant. It's only Sam Winchester, really, that Mick knows at all in this country, and Sam is…

Mick sits watching the trees in the moonlight, for a few minutes longer, and then goes to the minibar in the suite's kitchenette. Not much to inspire, there. He calls down to room service, again, and makes an order, and then goes to the ensuite and washes his face, and swishes the marsala-flavor out with mouthwash, and then looks at himself, his suit somewhat rumpled and no tie and his eyes—he looks away from his eyes, and thinks, well. If it goes wrong, it will hardly be the first time something has gone wrong.

The suites are all on the same floor. Dean's in 703, Mick's in 706, and Sam's down at the far end of the hall, 712, the hall ending with a great picture window looking out onto the moonlit woods, and Mick pauses in front of that last door, watching out for a moment. Not yet nine o'clock. Plenty of time to turn around and try for a different night.

The elevator dings, halfway down the hall. Mick's mouth hitches, without him meaning it to, and he knocks at Sam's door. A moment, while Mick stands placid in full view of the peephole, and then a muffled rattle while the chain is disengaged, and then the deadbolt and then the door opening by a foot, Sam standing in the gap and giving Mick a look like he's not to be trusted. "Yeah?" he says, not exactly unfriendly but not welcoming, either.

Mick smiles, as friendly as Sam isn't. "I wondered if we might have a talk, you and I," he says.

"It's late," Sam says, which it clearly isn't. His brow tightens. "Something about the job?"

"Something like that," Mick says, and at that moment the girl arrives with the room service cart, looking confused. "Ah," he says, and gestures. "Please come in, miss, Mr. Winchester was just waiting for his order," and Sam blinks at the girl and then gives Mick a look that would melt steel, but luckily Mick is not steel. He opens the door wider and Mick sees he's in bare feet, his jacket removed, the most informal he's been in Mick's presence since he was being tortured—and Mick follows the room service cart into the suite and Sam's too polite or too circumspect or too self-controlled to stop him.

The room's dim, illuminated only by the bedside lamp, and the girl's uncertain. "Where would you like it, sir?" she says, and Mick gestures at the table under the window, and Sam's silent while she unloads the bucket, the two glasses set down with gentle clicks.

Sam smiles at her as she leaves—very fake, it drops off the second her back's turned—and waits until the door closes behind her to say, "What the hell, Mick. Champagne?"

Mick shrugs, pulling the bottle out of the silver bucket. "Not a good one, if that helps," he says. Appropriately cold, at least. He starts working the wire cage, ignoring the look he's getting. "I thought it might be appropriate, that's all. Inauguration of a new stage in our partnership."

"Our partnership," Sam echoes, with unflattering skepticism. The cork pops smoothly and Mick smiles at Sam, eyebrows high, and gets at least a sigh, an eyeroll, a shake of head. Slight exasperation—how he looks, sometimes, at his brother. Mick pours while Sam watches, saying, "If it's about our partnership, then I should invite Dean over."

Mick watches the bubbles rise in the second flute and licks his lips. That was a particular sort of tone, from Sam. "I thought we might discuss some things privately, you and I," he says, and turns to hold out one of the glasses. "Dean, I think, isn't yet my biggest fan. Though I'd like that to change."

"Champagne probably wouldn't do it," Sam says. He's giving Mick another look. Assessing. Mick tips his head and can't tell if he's been found wanting. A beat, before Sam walks over and takes the glass. "Maybe if you brought whiskey."

Damn Ketch. Mick shakes his head and extends his own glass as a toast—but Sam's already moving away, sitting in the chair on the opposite side of the table, looking out the window. His hair's tucked behind his ear, lamplight on his cheek and moonlight on his brow. Like a sculpture. Mick sits opposite him and sips the champagne and it's—sugary, light. "This really isn't ideal," he says.

Sam glances at him, and then down at his glass. He takes a sip and makes a face. "Sweet."

Mick licks his lips and gambles. "Truth be told, I like the cheap stuff better," he says, and—yes, Sam looks up at him and it's with slight surprise. An opening. Mick shrugs. "I wasn't always top Kendricks material. Had to learn to drink like my betters."

Sam huffs air through his nose. "Sounds familiar," he says. Mick raises his eyebrows and Sam half-smiles, his head tipping. "At Stanford I think I was the only one who actually liked Hamburger Helper without the hamburger."

Not a reference Mick gets, but he gets the sentiment. "To not being posh," he says, lifting his glass again, and Sam snorts but nods, and takes a drink, and Mick watches his throat move as he swallows, the way his hand's delicate on the flute. The size of him.

"I wanted to thank you, too," Mick says. He sets his glass down. "I didn't really get the chance, before." A frown, Sam not understanding. Is it genuine? Mick clears his throat. "For—killing the alpha vampire. I would've died if you weren't there."

Surprise—god, it was genuine. Mick's out of practice, being around people who aren't hiding ten different agendas up their tweed sleeves. "You're probably right," Sam says, after a second. His mouth lifts at one corner. A dimple. "No offense. But I didn't do it for you."

"Oh, thanks," Mick says, leaning back, and Sam actually laughs a little, says: "I meant, that's the point, of being a hunter. You kill the bad thing and save whoever you can. That's what makes the whole thing worth it."

He shrugs, sips at his champagne again. Makes another face but seems to be getting used to it. Mick taps his thumb on the table, watching him. "I'm getting that," Mick says. "I think. It was always… very academic, before. Clean research, without the messiness of the real world."

Sam's eyelashes sweep low. "Sounds easier," he says, with a queer twist to his voice that makes Mick wonder.

He's not going to uncover everything there is to know about Winchester the Younger tonight, however. He makes a note, puts it to the side, and instead tops up their glasses, reaching over the table to fill Sam's without Sam much helping. "Mick," Sam says, sighing protest, though Mick notices he doesn't actually pull away.

"Once the bottle's opened you have to finish it," Mick says, easy, "it'll go flat, otherwise," and he lifts his glass in a little toast and drains it in a few frothy swallows—Sam sighs, and takes a gulp too—and then Mick gets up, comes around the table, and sits on the edge, a little too much in Sam's space to be mistaken for casual.

Sam blinks at him. His mouth's still damp a little from the champagne. "What's up?" he says. Almost warning.

"I said I wanted to thank you," Mick says. He reaches down—Sam's legs long enough that his knee's close—so Mick puts two fingers there, very lightly, feeling the twitch of reaction. Still, Sam doesn't completely pull away. "I can provide other benefits than not-very-good champagne."

Sam's chin tips up and he looks at Mick very steadily. "You're serious," he says, after a few seconds. Mick lifts a shoulder. Sam's eyes tighten, minutely, at the corners. "What's with the British Letters and using sex to infiltrate the enemy? That something they teach at Kendricks, too?"

Mick swallows. It is, but Sam's not to know that, unless—he'd wondered, if Lady Bevell had, but he hadn't been part of her debriefing. "Not the enemy," he says, forestalling the thought. "And not using. And not infiltration, either, and not even, really, the British Letters, here." He takes a breath and gives Sam a little smile, feeling unaccountably like he's at the edge of a cliff without belays to hold him. "Just Mick. Michael, if you like. Expressing my gratitude and wondering how I can show it."

"Most people just do beer and pizza," Sam says, still with those tight searching eyes.

Mick doesn't move his fingers, where they're still just brushing the warm denim. "Never much liked pizza," he says, which he knows is stupid as soon as it comes out of his mouth, but Sam hasn't moved—isn't moving, still as a watching tiger in square uncomfortable chair. He chances it, spreading his hand flat on the lean muscle of Sam's thigh. It flexes underneath his palm and he breathes out, slowly. "You're ridiculously attractive. You know that, I trust."

"Thanks," Sam says, after a moment. He grips Mick's wrist, tight but not bruising, and Mick swallows again, meeting Sam's eyes and trying to look honest. He's out of practice with that, too. Sam looks at him, and at his mouth, and Mick thinks for a second—yes—but then Sam detaches Mick's hand from his leg, firmly, and pushes it back against Mick's chest. His fingers are briefly hot through Mick's shirt. "But I don't accept payment," Sam says, with a quick hard press for emphasis before he lets Mick go. "Especially not—" he starts, and shakes his head instead of finishing. He pushes his chair back and stands, turning to the window. He pushes a hand through his hair and it falls messily right back into place. He blocks out the moonlight. He's so oversized—in everything—smarts and skill and beauty. Mick wants to touch him again immediately and doesn't.

"My mistake," Mick says. He bites the inside of his lip very hard, until it hurts more than he can stand, and lets it go, and waits for the throb the grow and swell and pass, and in all that time Sam doesn't speak. He stands up, fixing his cuff, at pitches his voice to lightness. "At least you enjoyed my champagne."

"I wouldn't go that far," Sam says, not precisely light but not cruel, either, and Mick turns to go—and is caught, by the wrist again, while Sam says: "Wait."

He's being looked at, again, and before he can decide what expression Sam's wearing he's pulled forward and he's being kissed. His hand flexes in Sam's grip and with the other he touches Sam's stomach, surprised. Sam's hand on his jaw, controlling, and his mouth—firm, not giving anything up, but good, too—not a hint of uncertainty, not dithering about. Mick breathes in through his nose and enjoys it. A man's kiss, he thinks, hard and uncompromising. He tips his head back, letting Sam guide him, and parts his lips, and there's Sam's tongue—for a second, a hot brief flash that jolts his gut—and then Sam pulls back, a centimeter, breathing against him. Mick strokes a thumb over the waist of his jeans where his belt is weighing them down, and Sam ducks his head, breathes against Mick's jaw for a second, and then steps back entirely, letting Mick go.

There's a warm throb in Mick's wrist. Sam gripped him very tightly, for a moment there. "That was unexpected," he says, after a moment. His lower lip is damp and he very much wants to lick it, but resists the impulse.

Sam has no such compunction, apparently. He licks his mouth and stretches his jaw, too, resettling. Mick's put in mind again of a tiger, looking at willing prey, and his cock flexes in his trousers. "Just wondering," Sam says, casual.

Mick's startled into a grin. "You absolute prick," he says, and Sam smiles back at him. A little smug. "And how was it?"

A lifted shoulder, like nothing. "Maybe we can stay here again when we're done with this job," Sam says. Then, a little more serious: "We can talk. If it's just Mick, and not anything else."

Mick runs his tongue over the sore spot inside his lip. "I'm looking forward to it," he says, and Sam nods. He steps back and Sam lets him go, and Mick hooks the bottle of champagne out of the bucket, dripping ice-water onto the carpet. "But I'm taking this." Sam snorts. "And I hope you don't mind if I have a furious wank over this in about ten minutes."

An eyeroll. "TMI," he says, the bastard, and Mick sighs at him and exits with what dignity he has, and when the door's closed behind him he stands in the overly bright hall with the bottle still dripping cold against his trousers and breathes out. He licks his lips and gets a taste of champagne.

After the case is done, he thinks, and can't imagine for a moment what might go in that space. It's a strange uncertainty. For the first time in his life, something unplanned and uncalculated-for, something the Letters haven't decided for him. Something just for him. He flexes his hand, still feeling the echo of Sam on his wrist. After the case. He really is looking forward to it.

#ffcc #sam/mick davies #spn fic #first kiss #my writing

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