#I got a new nightstand and wanted to pay my respects | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

scuttling · 3 years

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Crush

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 3,349 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Crushes, Fluff and smut, Rough sex, Unprotected sex, Manhandling Summary: Hotch has had a crush on the new member of his team for as long as he can remember. He keeps his distance, but he knows everything about her—her favorite snacks, how she takes her coffee. They share a room on a case, and at first, he's nervous, but being around her is comfortable, and he longs for more. Is it possible she feels the same way about him? *Requested by anon Link to A03 or read below!

Aaron has a crush on the newest member of his team. There’s no use denying it, or trying to compartmentalize it and pretend it doesn’t exist; it’s inappropriate, irresponsible, and just plain stupid, but he can’t talk himself out of it no matter how hard he tries. He is completely infatuated with her, whether he likes it or not.

And he does like it, sometimes. Sometimes, she will catch his eye on the jet, or in the office, shoot him a soft smile, and his heart beats fast, his chest feels warm. He thinks, I might never get to be with her, but she does think of me, and that’s something, at least.

Sometimes, he hates it, especially times like these, when they’re all on the jet and Morgan is using every ounce of his charm and charisma, the easy smile he doesn’t think twice about flashing, to try to get her to go out on a date with him. She hasn’t accepted the offer yet, and he’s been trying for about five months, almost the entirety of her career at the BAU, but that doesn’t make Aaron feel any better.

He knows Morgan very well. He’ll convince her eventually, and even if it doesn’t go anywhere, he’ll think about the two of them together all the time and never be able to stop. It will take his (mostly) innocent crush to a darker place, a place of anger and jealousy he’s not proud of, but has no control over.

“I would take you on the most incredible date of your life, mama. Dinner, dancing, a moonlit stroll; we go out for a couple of drinks, maybe I'll try to steal a kiss...”

“Maybe I’ll punch you in the face...” she says with a smirk, but he knows flirting when he hears it, and her threat carries no weight. Morgan shrugs, grins.

“Maybe, but I can take a punch. You need a man, and I am fully prepared to be that man; one little love tap won’t stop me.” She raises her eyebrows, looks over at him with narrowed eyes.

“Okay, first thing’s first: I don't do love taps, I do right hooks, so don't tempt me. Second, I don’t need a man, I want a man, and not just any man will do. When I want something, I want something specific. If I want dessert—”

Cherry cheesecake, Aaron thinks. He’s seen her order it three times, is slightly obsessed with the sound she makes when she takes the first bite.

“—I want cherry cheesecake or nothing. Not chocolate, not strawberry. If I want a glass of wine—”

Pinot Grigio if she wants white, Merlot if she wants red—she almost never wants red.

“—I want Pinot Grigio or nothing. If I have to have red, I’ll order Merlot, but I won’t be happy about it. When we’re on a case and I can’t sleep, and I come out to stare at the vending machine for a midnight snack—”

She either gets peanut butter crackers, or barbeque chips. That’s an easy one. Morgan has to know that.

“—I’ll get barbeque chips, or peanut butter crackers, or nothing. I am uncompromising when it comes to the things I want. So, Derek Morgan,” she says with a smirk, and a bit of attitude; it only makes Morgan smile brighter, and Aaron refrains from rolling his eyes, “when I want a man, I want a specific type of man, and I won’t be worn down no matter how many times you ask me out.”

“And what specific type of man do you want?” he asks, crossing his arms. Everyone is paying attention to their conversation, even Aaron, though he tries to pretend he isn’t.

“Well for starters, a man. You’re acting like a guy right now, and I’m not interested in guys.” JJ says ooh, burn, and everyone laughs. “I want a man who knows who he is, even if who he is isn’t pleasing to everyone. I want a man who isn’t afraid to feel vulnerable, who can be tender, who doesn’t run from a situation just because it makes him emotional. I want a man who pays attention to me when it counts, not just when he wants something. I want a man who will respect my boundaries,” she says, a little pointed, “who will help me grow but not try to change me. Most importantly, I want a man who can handle me, and I don’t think you can handle me.”

Aaron blinks hard at that. He’s pretty certain he could handle her, absolutely wants to.

“Alright, I can’t argue with a woman who knows what she wants, and it’s obvious you know what you want,” Morgan says, palms up in surrender. “Let me know when you find the lucky guy—man—so I can warn him about you.”

“Baby, I am the warning,” she says with a wink, and Aaron shifts in his seat.

It’s going to be a long flight to California. When they get to the hotel, JJ hands out the room assignments as usual, and he’s very surprised when she hands her a key out of the envelope marked 313, and then does the same for him. JJ shrugs.

“They didn’t have any singles, I guess. We’re all doubled up.” The other woman adjusts her bag on her shoulder, looks up at him.

“Is that a problem? I promise I won’t disturb you,” she says with a smile, and he shakes his head and, hopefully, his nervousness.

“No, of course it’s not a problem. Thanks, JJ. Looks like we’re this way,” he says, guiding her down the hall.

Their room is a little cramped, but clean, and he takes the bed closest to the door, sets his bag on it. She walks past him, throws her bag on the other bed and puts her hands on her hips, stares down at the ground. It takes him a moment to understand why.

“We could probably move your nightstand against the wall, share the one in the middle.” She looks up, confused, and he rubs the back of his neck. “You need room to lay down your yoga blanket, right? I know you’ve mentioned before that it helps put you to sleep when we’re traveling.” A brilliant smile curves across her face.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I was trying to figure out. Thanks.” He moves to help her, but she lifts the table easily, tucks it in the corner between the desk and the lamp. She rolls out her blanket, pulls an outfit out of her bag. “I’m just going to get changed, and then the bathroom is all yours; I’ll be out of your hair.”

“It’s no trouble,” he says, and he means it; she just nods and smiles again, ducks into the bathroom to change her clothes.

Her outfit is… it’s tight, for lack of a better description, a strappy sports bra and patterned leggings; she does a lot of bending, and stretching, and balancing, her body strong and sleek. He tries to go about his business, but he can’t stop looking.

Once he’s finally able to convince himself to look away, lest she get suspicious of his inactivity, he changes his clothes, takes off his watch and sets it beside his gun, badge, and phone on his side of the nightstand. He pulls out his tablet to get caught up on the news, and it’s actually kind of comforting, the soft hum of her breathing the only sound in the otherwise quiet room.

He doesn’t realize she’s finished until she walks around between the beds, grabs her badge off the nightstand and slides her credit card out from behind her photo ID. “Heading to the vending machine; need anything?” she asks, and he shakes his head—he already brushed his teeth—earning one of her soft smiles.

She grabs her key, slips out the door, and returns a few minutes later with a pack of peanut butter crackers and a bag of peanut M&Ms—his guilty pleasure. She tosses them onto the bed beside him, and her lips twitch, and she strolls into the bathroom and turns on the shower.

He eats his M&Ms and does not imagine what she looks like wet.

Ultimately, he’s happy she was so thoughtful to bring him a snack, but that does mean he needs to brush his teeth again. The bathroom door is open, steam wafting out, so he figures it’s safe to enter while she finishes getting ready for bed. She’s standing at one of the double sinks, wrapped up in a fluffy white towel, brushing her teeth, and he steps up beside her and prepares to do the same.

It’s pleasant, companionable, the familiar sounds of scrape-scrub-spit, and then she washes her face with some foamy, herbal scented concoction he couldn’t begin to identify. He washes his with soap and a little hot water, and she cringes; he frowns.

“What is it?” he asks, toweling off. She hesitates a moment, then flicks open a blue bottle, squeezes a bit of cream into her hands, and lifts them toward his face, pausing with a question in her eyes. He swallows, but leans in closer, and she rubs it over his cheeks, his chin, his forehead.

“Soap like that isn’t good for your skin, not even for guys, and I figured you don’t moisturize. This stuff is unisex, and it will keep you looking young and fresh and handsome; you can have this one, I’ve got more.” She pulls back, washes her hands, and he’s left kind of dazed, longs for the feel of her hands on his face again. That was an unexpected, but very welcome, thing. The next morning, he’s up early, so he showers and gets dressed and then heads down to the lobby for some coffee and a paper. He grabs two cups, stacks them in his hand when he goes to unlock the door to their room; she is awake when he returns, freshly dressed, hair pulled back, and she takes the coffees from his hand before he spills them everywhere.

“Thanks. The one on the left is for you; two sugars,” he says offhand, grabbing his cup and setting it down on the nightstand, flipping open the paper. He sits down on the edge of the bed closest to the nightstand, doesn’t notice her smile, but she settles on her bed across from him, sips her coffee, and reaches up to pull the sports section out from between his fingers. He maybe cracks a smile of his own. That evening, they get back to the room a little cranky, another late night full of dead end leads, and she skips yoga and heads straight for the shower. The blissfully hot water feels good against her skin, and she thinks about touching herself, but it wouldn’t be appropriate, not with Hotch just outside the door.

The thought only makes her hotter, but still, she refrains.

When she’s wrapped up in her towel, she pushes open the door like the night before, starts brushing her teeth, and it’s not long before Hotch fills the space beside her, copying her actions. She washes her face, and he washes his with soap again—so, so wrong—but at least he uses the moisturizer she gave him afterward. Baby steps.

He leaves the room, and she follows him out to grab her pajamas, sees a bottle of water and a bag of barbeque chips laying on her bed.

Enough is enough, she thinks. She wasn’t sure, until they shared this room, but now she’s 100% certain that Hotch has a thing for her, and she’s harboring her own thing, which is stupid. If she wants him (she really, really does) and he wants her, why aren’t they naked already?

Thankfully, that’s easily remedied. She drops her towel, and Hotch looks up from his tablet, drops his jaw.

“I’ve been thinking about last night; how shy you were about our sharing a room. It made me wonder if you’re shy about other things, too.” She walks around her bed, stands between them, presses her fingers to his tablet to push it down, out of his hands. “Are you shy, Hotch?”

“No,” he says roughly, making no effort to conceal the way his eyes sweep over her naked body. She’d blush, but she’s not the blushing type.

“No?” She climbs up, settles in his lap—he’s tenting his boxers already and it makes her feel awesome—and his hands fall to her thighs, spread around him, squeezing roughly. She moans, rolls her hips slowly. “Do you think you can handle me, Hotch? I’m kind of a lot.”

He answers with his hands, grabs her face and pulls her down for a long, dirty, messy kiss. Her chest is heaving by the end of it, and she’s definitely leaving a wet patch on his underwear, she’s so fucking horny. He tips her back, so she’s laying against the sheets, tugs off his shirt, and drapes himself on top of her, tilts her head to the side so he can get his mouth on her neck.

“Oh my god, mmm,” she sighs as he sucks on her throat, grinding his clothed dick against her, and she moves her hands down to sweep them over his body, but he grabs them, pins them up by her head instead. “Fuck, Hotch.” It leaves her mouth as a trembling gasp, and he looks up at her, his eyes dark and hard; he growls out a command for her to stay—she’s sure as shit not going for a damn stroll any time soon—and leans up, pushes his boxers down, and flips her body over.

She’s laying a little sideways, kind of lined up with the bottom corner of the bed—it always makes her feel like a complete whore to fuck anywhere but right up against the pillows, so this alone is enough to get her super hot. He gets both broad palms on her ass, squeezes her hard enough to hurt (and damn if that doesn’t make her pussy drip) and then slowly slides his fingers over her slit, making her toss her head back and groan.

“Oh, yeah. So, so good,” she sighs as he rubs her, spreads her wetness between her lips, over her clit and her mound so she’s sticky and soaked and begging for more, and then he plants his hands on either side of her and thrusts in so hard she has to dig her fingers into the sheets or she’ll go skidding off the bed. “Holy fuck,” she gasps, clutching for dear life as he slams inside roughly and deeply, but so slow it’s almost torture.

“So how am I handling you?” he asks, low into her ear, leaning in to press his chest heavily against her back, rolling his hips and grinding where he’s seated deep. He pulls out almost all of the way and then slams back in so quickly her whole body stutters forward, and her head’s empty, no thoughts but my boss is fucking me and my boss is fucking me good.

She just pants in reply, and he repeats that motion over and over, fast, nearly withdrawing just to fill her until his balls slap against her; she feels filthy, and amazing, and a little pissed it took them this long to do this, and she comes screaming his name, yanking so hard at the bedding that she pulls the fitted sheet right off the mattress.

He keeps pumping inside her, and she clenches around him, moans. He grunts, leans in to nibble her ear. “That’s my girl. Can you handle me?”

“My god, yeah.” She wants to, at least; she’s never been fucked this good in her life, so she’s honestly not sure how much she can handle. It’s always the quiet ones, she really should have known.

“Trust me on this,” he whispers, and she does because she does; he puts his hands on her arms, pries them off of the bed and moves her forward, guides her hands to the floor to support her so she’s half off the bed, her ass up. She’s strong, and he knows she’s strong, but she’s not sure she’s strong enough for this because he just fucking destroyed her and her legs are still shaking. “Trust me,” he coos again, and he shifts up, gets one foot on the ground, holds tightly to her hips, and pounds into her fast and hard, short thrusts that have her moaning and groaning and coming a second time before he even comes once.

He does come, though, just after, and she’s glad she’s got an IUD because if not she’d be leaving here fucking pregnant, no doubt about that.

“Hotch,” she gasps, daring to reach an arm back to touch him, and he pulls her up, lays her back, and kisses her, smoothing his hands all over her body. “Jesus. That was incredible.” She cards her fingers through his hair—he’s breathing heavy too, looks as dopey and pleased as she feels, which makes her smile. “I’ve kind of had a crush on you for the last few months. Thought you didn’t notice me much,” she says softly, and he laughs, incredulous.

“Didn’t notice you? All I do is look at you,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers over her cheek. She grins.

“Yeah, no, I got that. I figured that out; sorry it took me so long.” He leans in for a kiss, softer and slower, and she gets a little horny again, isn’t sure how that’s possible. “Why’d you stay away so much, if you liked me?” She’d done what she could to get his attention, smiling at him, brushing up against him when she could make it look innocent enough, but he’s always been the picture of propriety, maybe even a little distant.

“Morgan,” he says, making a face like he realizes how silly that was. “He’s been trying to ask you out and I figured you’d say yes eventually; he’s confident in ways I’m not. He’s a lot of things I’m not.”

“Yeah, that’s true, and I like you both for the ways you’re different, but his pursuing me has always been a game. A joke. He’s like a brother to me and he knows it. All in fun,” she says, and then he looks like he feels really silly. She leans up for a kiss. “All's well that ends well though, right?”

“Has this ended well?” he asks, a question in his eyes, and she runs her hands over his arms, his sides.

“If it’s up to me, I’d say this doesn’t have to end at all.” He puts a hand in her hair, kisses her deeply, passionately, and brings a few fingers to rub against her clit. She inhales sharply, licks her lips, and sinks back against the bed. “Oh my god, Hotch.”

“That’s right, baby. I’m your man,” he breathes into her ear, and she groans. Yes, he fucking is. The next morning, she goes to the lobby to pour their coffee, grab a paper to share. She passes Morgan—not a morning person—who grumbles a greeting and then does a double take.

“Whatcha got on your neck there, sweetheart?” he asks, and she grins privately, then schools her expression and turns to face him.

“What? Oh, that,” she says, poking at the purple hickey from the night before. “I’ll cover it with makeup later; needed my coffee first.” He blinks a couple times like he's missing something, frowns.

“Did you go out last night after we got here?”

“Nope, jumped in the shower and went straight to bed,” she replies, which is actually the truth. It just wasn’t her bed. She didn’t say anything about sleeping.

“Then who…?” It’s then that Hotch brushes by them, reaches out a hand for his cup.

“One sugar, one cream,” she says as she passes it over, and they both smile. Morgan knocks his cup over and spills coffee all over the floor.

Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x reader #hotch x female reader #ask #request #crush #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic

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marvelyningreen · 3 years

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Andante

[Peter Maximoff x reader (X-Men: Apocalypse)

Summary: When an injury brings Peter’s superhuman speed to a screeching halt, you figure he could use some company and cheering up.

Warnings: mild language

Notes: could be interpreted as romantic or platonic, if that’s more your speed]

You hurry in from the rain, pausing just long enough to shake off your umbrella on the doorstep before closing the door behind you. You take a moment to wipe your shoes on the mat in an attempt to keep them from squeaking in the tiled halls of the mansion.

The floorplan of this rebuilt version is practically identical to the original. The design and decor are much the same, too. Still… You feel a bit like a stranger, or maybe the mansion itself does.

With everything else that’d happened, you hadn’t really had a chance to process your own experience that day. One second, you were trimming the hedges by the mansion’s front steps. The next, you were a hundred yards away, surrounded by the students and staff, and the mansion was exploding, and suddenly there in your midst was your childhood best friend – Peter Maximoff, all grown up.

It’s funny how someone you knew for such a short time could’ve made such an impact on you. Really, you and Peter only knew each other for two years. It baffled the teachers how a quiet goody-two-shoes like you could be thick as thieves with resident mischief-maker Peter Maximoff, but you were practically inseparable. Perhaps it was partly due to some truth in the old saying about opposites attracting. But there was more to it than that. You and Peter shared a secret.

Your sporadic telekinesis had nothing on Peter’s incredible speed, but he never seemed to mind. You were both just so happy to finally have someone who understood, who you didn’t have to hide from. Those two years were some of the best of your life.

And years passed, and you grew up. You kept your abilities hidden, but you kept the memory of Peter with you. You’d think of him often, hoping that he was doing well, wherever he was. You never expected to see him again.

Lost in thought, Hank hurries around a corner and nearly bowls you over. You both apologize to each other, laughing, and continue on your respective ways.

It feels strange being back here after… Well, after everything. Everyone is doing their best to settle back into a routine, but it isn’t quite working yet. Maybe it won’t ever feel the same.

The students either converse too loudly or are oddly subdued, with very little in between. Scott Summers’ group of close friends is never far from his side, and the faculty likewise seem to hover around the professor. It’s difficult not to dwell on how bad things had gotten, and how much worse everything could’ve been.

And if it’s difficult for you, you can only imagine how it must be for the person you’re here to see. You pause to knock politely at his door, and the voice that answers sounds oddly terse.

“You can come in.”

You slip into the room to find Peter scowling morosely out the window. He’s still laid up in bed, his broken leg in a cast and propped up on a pillow. He’s got a wicked case of bedhead, and there are dark rings under his eyes. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so tired.

There’s an odd sound you can’t quite place – like the low hum of a fan or the purring of a cat – and you realize that it’s just Peter drumming his fingers restlessly on his nightstand at impossible speeds. He turns his head, and when he sees that it’s you walking through the door, his expression shifts into one of relief.

“Oh, thank God,” he says, “I thought it was somebody coming to make sure I’m still “resting.” C’mere! Have a seat!”

You grab a nearby chair and drag it closer to his bedside. You hate to see Peter cooped up and frustrated like this, but it’s good to see him, period. You don’t like to think about what could’ve happened to him in Cairo.

When you look back up at Peter, his hair is smoothed down neatly. You snort involuntarily. If he's feeling well enough to be vain, it must be a good sign.

“How are you holding up?” you ask.

Peter slumps against his stack of pillows and groans dramatically, letting his head fall back.

“I’m bored out of my mind. Do you know that they’re not letting me walk for a week? A whole week! Something about a risk of my leg not healing right if I move too fast on it. I said I’d walk like a normal person, but they apparently don’t trust me. Can you believe that? Don’t answer that. So I asked them just to drug me, knock me out for the rest of the week so I can get it over with, but they won’t do that either. This blows.”

It’s hard not to smile, but it’s just so good to hear his voice. And, damn, people say you talk too fast. You’d forgotten that Peter was the true motor-mouth. Maybe he’s where you picked it up from. Though he still looks annoyed, Peter seems a little more relaxed after all that. Apparently he needed someone to vent to.

He rolls his head to one side to look at you, and his brows furrow. “Hey, are you okay? You look tired.”

“I look tired?” you say, “Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

“I haven’t, actually, because the mirror’s all the way over there, and I’m stuck in bed. You wouldn’t guess that having to sit alone with your own thoughts would wear you out, but apparently it does.”

You’d had a feeling that the broken leg isn’t all that’s weighing on his mind. There’s still the whole Magneto business.

You almost ask him about it, but you think better of it. Peter’s got a lot to mull over on that front. If he wants to talk about it, you’ll be there to listen, but you don’t want to bring it up when he doesn’t have any way to exit the conversation if he needed to. You decide to change the topic slightly.

“Listen,” you say, “I never got a chance to thank you. You saved my life. You saved so many people. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t turned up at the mansion when you did.”

Peter ducks his head a bit as he smiles, probably pleased to get a little recognition. There hadn’t been much time for gratitude in the moment. There hadn’t been much time for anything, really. And there certainly hadn’t been time to reconnect.

You’d chased after Scott and his friends into the wreckage, trying to make sure none of them got hurt, and then things went from bad to worse. Suddenly, you found yourself tagging along with these immensely powerful teenagers on a fly-by-night rescue mission. It’s a good thing you did, too. Who else was gonna fly that getaway plane?

Your own mutant abilities had never been particularly strong, not in a combat sense. You’d learned to be a pilot in an effort to make yourself useful. You just hadn’t expected it to pay off in a situation like that.

“What can I say? Right time, right place… Right speed.” Peter’s grin turns rueful as he glances down at his busted leg. “I mean, by all rights, I should be thanking you, too.”

You’d been trying not to dwell on that whole experience. It makes you feel a little sick to remember seeing that familiar silver streak darting around while Apocalypse was tossed in the air like a ragdoll, and then feeling the hope choked out of you as you heard Peter scream in pain.

You don’t know how you managed to scramble down out of that second story ruin after Hank and Scott without hurting yourself any worse, but you did. You tried to shake it from your mind – the feeling of shrapnel and energy battering the telekinetic field you’d struggled to maintain around Peter and Mystique.

You clear your throat, as though that’ll somehow clear out the memory as well. “Yeah… I guess sometimes you don’t know what you’re capable of until it’s literally do-or-die.”

“I don’t just mean Cairo.” Peter shakes his head. “Well, that, too. But I don’t just mean that. I mean when we were kids. You always had my back.”

Just before middle school, Peter’s family had moved away. You weren’t quite sure why, but it seemed like something had happened and Peter wouldn’t talk about it. He spent his entire last week in town with you, and on the very last day he hugged you tightly and promised that he’d come back and visit if he could.

You never heard from him again.

It was only years later that you’d put the pieces together – the Maximoffs’ sudden move, the well-dressed men turning up at the school and asking strange questions. Peter must’ve gotten caught using his powers, and his mother packed up the whole family and fled to protect him.

“For weeks, months after we moved away, Mom was so scared. She wouldn’t let me out of the house. She thought that, any second, somebody was gonna show up and… I dunno, take me away, I guess. But I wasn’t worried. I was a cocky little shit, y’know?”

You snort. “‘Was?’ Pretty sure that part of your personality hasn’t changed.”

Peter laughs, but it fades quickly.

“I heard that people came to our old school looking for me. And, hey, they never found me and Mom, so I figured you must’ve covered for me.”

If there was one thing you were grateful to your younger self for, it was your instinctive distrust of these suspicious strangers.

“I didn’t tell them anything,” you say, and Peter nods.

“I knew you wouldn’t. But this one day, something hit me. What if they found out that you were a mutant, too?” Peter shakes his head, biting his lip. “I was terrified. I thought they were gonna find you, and… and I don’t know what I thought they’d do to you.”

You feel cold all of a sudden. That thought hadn’t occurred to you. You’d been so focused on trying to keep Peter safe that you never once considered that you might be in danger, yourself. All those news articles about what Bolivar Trask had been up to ten years ago come flooding into your mind. You brush them aside and focus on what Peter’s saying now.

“I wanted to run back there, make sure you were alright; maybe – I don’t know – take you with me and run away so we’d both be safe. I actually bought one of those AM radios, if you can believe it. Every night, I’d use the skip to listen to the news back there. I never heard anything about you, so I had to make myself believe it meant that you were okay. Otherwise I would’ve gone crazy, y’know?”

He laughs again, but it sounds a little shaky.

“Yeah, I know,” you say quietly. The air in the room feels sorta heavy now. Damn it, you’d come here to cheer Peter up, and it’s about time you get to it. You change topics with all the grace of a sledgehammer. “Speaking of none of this, I brought you something.”

Peter immediately perks up. You rummage in your backpack and pull out a box of Nutty Buddy bars.

“I remember these where your favorite when we were kids. I didn’t know if you still liked them, so I brought some Star Crunch, too. But you don’t have to-”

Peter seems to blur for a moment, and suddenly both boxes are torn open and several wrappers are arcing their way into the trash can. Peter lets out a satisfied sigh. You might’ve remembered his favorites, but you’d forgotten his habit of absolutely inhaling them.

“Okay, I guess I shouldn’t have worried,” you say.

“What else you got in that bag?” Peter asks. “It can’t all be snack cakes. Unless it is…?”

He’s joking, but you can tell he wouldn’t be disappointed if the answer was yes. You heft your heavily-loaded backpack onto the edge of the bed.

“I figured you’d be bored, so I brought some books over in case you… What?”

Peter never had a great poker face. You can tell that he’s definitely trying to smile, but that expression is a pained grimace. He laughs ruefully.

“I might not be able to walk, but my hands still work. And my eyes. Did you know I can read a whole bookshelf in two hours?”

“Oh…”

You hadn’t thought of that. You look down, crestfallen. Of course, if something can be done at speed, that’s how Peter will do it. So that rules out all the other usual time-killers – crosswords or jigsaw puzzles or craft projects.

But you remember Peter enjoying some things that can’t be sped through – live music being the main one. You start to wonder about the logistics of sneaking Peter out to take him to a concert or a play or something, but that’d be difficult to pull off without the professor catching you. Hmm…

Peter’s brow furrows for a second, and then his expression brightens.

“Hey, why don’t you read them to me?”

You blink in surprise. “What, me?”

“Yeah, you. Who else?”

At this prospect, you’re suddenly rethinking everything. For all Peter might call himself a loser, you’d always seen him as infinitely cooler than yourself.

“I don’t know. These are some of my own books, and I don’t know if you’ll actually like any of them.” You can feel yourself blushing preemptively, certain he’ll judge your taste in literature. “Maybe if I run to the library instead-”

“No, don’t go!” Peter interrupts. “It’s raining cats and dogs out there, and I’m sick of being alone. Come on, read me your nerd books. Please?”

He turns those big, pretty, puppy-dog eyes on you, and it’d be almost impossible to say no, even if you wanted to. Which you don’t. You sigh, smiling at him.

“Alright, you win,” you say, “But you have to at least pick which one.”

His face brightens into a full thousand-watt grin. “Done!”

Peter blurs once more as he shuffles through your selection of books. Then suddenly he’s still again, tilting his head as he studies a stout little paperback.

“Hey, didn’t they make a movie out of this?”

He tosses it to you and settles back against the pillows, watching you expectantly. You pull up your legs to sit cross-legged on the chair and take a deep breath. Here goes.

“‘Carl Conrad Coreander – Old Books.’ This inscription could be seen on the glass door of a small shop…”

You read on, interrupted only by the odd quip or question from Peter. You hardly mind his commentary. You’re just happy that the story seems to be entertaining him. He’s a far cry from the agitated ball of nerves he’d been when you walked in.

You glance over at the clock and see that two hours have gone by. You wonder if Peter would mind you taking a quick intermission to give your voice a break. But as you turn to ask him, you fall silent.

Peter’s head is lolled back on the pillows, his eyes closed, his lips parted slightly. His chest rises and falls with deep, even breaths – sound asleep.

You smile fondly at him. Poor guy. He really must’ve been exhausted.

Telekinetically, you switch off the lamp. The atmosphere in the room softens to the grey light filtering in from the rainy day outside. There. That’s more conducive to sleeping.

You make note of the page you’d left off on and close the book, picking up your copy of Howl’s Moving Castle instead. Moving as carefully and quietly as you can to keep from waking Peter, you make your way over to a more comfortable spot on the window seat.

You’d hate for Peter to think you’d run out on him after he fell asleep. You’ll stick around. And if he needs anything when he wakes up, you’ll be here. That’s what old friends are for.

#peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff #peter maximoff fluff #x men fanfiction #fanfiction #okay listen XP #we’re in the middle of a pandemic #and if writing something silly and self indulgent will cheer me up #(and hopefully entertain other people)#then I’m gonna write it XP #just shouting into the void #peter maximoff fanfiction

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eurynome827 · 4 years

Text

Watch Out For The Quiet Ones

For @the-ss-horniest-book-club Drunk Drabbles, and this delicious anon prompt - I hope it’s worth the wait!

Pairing: College AU Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1,744 !!!! (officially my longest fic ever!)

Warnings: 18+!! Dirty talk, language, consumption of alcohol, some hurt feelings, masturbation, use of a sex toy, sex with a condom, maybe a tiny smidge of sub!Bucky.

A/N: This is filth. I don’t know what’s come over me.

Bucky Barnes wasn't a complete waste of your time.

He was actually a good friend. Unlikely as your friendship was, you still cared enough about him to not tell him to his face what a terrible lay he was.

Tequila was what got you into that situation, and it was becoming an unfortunate pattern.

You threw back another shot and slammed the glass on the counter, giggling with your roommate and best friend. Her boyfriend Steve was Bucky's best friend, which is how a bookworm like you ended up hanging out with the football players in the first place. Thrown together as the plus ones of a couple, you and Bucky found yourself hanging out often, but there was never a spark until a few weeks ago when you found yourself under Bucky in his bed upstairs in this very frat house having surprisingly lackluster sex.

At least he was pretty to look at it, and he didn't want to stop until he got you off so you faked a respectable orgasm, rolled out of the bed and went straight to your own dorm.

Hearing your name from the other room pulled you from your thoughts, and you stepped closer to the door. You were shocked to hear Bucky describing your little encounter - a LOT more favorably than you would. His audience of male friends certainly seemed to be enjoying the story.

"She had a really good time," he drawled, and the unmistakable sound of hands slapping in high fives finally pulled you out of hiding.

"I had a good time? That's news to me."

Bucky whirled to see you, staring him down with your arms crossed. "Uh, hey," he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and at least had the decency to look ashamed.

"I should go find all the other girls you've slept with and start a club. The 'I Faked An Orgasm With Bucky Barnes Club'."

Steve choked on his beer.

Bucky spluttered, shocked and embarrassed. "That's fucked up!"

"No, what's fucked up is you telling our friends that we had sex and leaving out how terrible it was. Bucky Barnes, you couldn't get me off with an instruction manual and a private tutor."

You whirled around and left immediately, ignoring your friends calling your name behind you. Stomping on the sidewalk all the way back to your dorm, you crawled under the blanket completely and let your anger keep the hurt from growing.

How fucking dare he.

•

A knock on your door a few hours later dragged you from bed, and you opened up to find a sheepish looking Bucky.

"Hey."

You sighed and leaned against the doorframe. "Hi."

"Can I come in?"

You moved aside so he could pass, closing the door and turning to see him sitting on your roommate's bed. You sat on your own, silently watching him worry his fingers together.

"What do you want, Buck?" Your voice was softer than you expected, and a tiny bit of that hurt you were trying to muscle away crept in. He looked up at you.

"I'm sorry, about..." He trailed off, and you nodded.

"Okay."

"I shouldn't have told anyone. You're a good friend."

"So are you, Bucky."

He shrugged, shaking his head a little. He bit his lip and looked at you anxiously.

"Is there something else?" You had never seen him this unsure of himself.

"And I'm also sorry you didn't...have a good time." He was quiet and the words settled in your chest, and then he looked into your eyes. "I did."

"Oh, Bucky, I'm sorry I said what I said. I was hurt, and I lashed out."

"But, you meant what you said, right?"

You looked at the floor, and shrugged a little before facing him again. "Yes."

"Then show me."

Confusion covered your face. "Show you what?"

He moved to sit next to you, and suddenly there was tension in the room. "Show me the instruction manual. Be my private tutor."

You smiled before you could stop yourself. "You realize I can only teach you what works for me, right?"

He moved closer to you, his voice lowering in pitch. "That's all I'm interested in right now."

Drawing in a quick breath, you stared back into his blue eyes, feeling dizzy. "Wow, Buck. This is already so much better than last time."

Then he kissed you, cradling your face in his hands, and you had to pull away and shake your head to get a hold of yourself.

"Okay, if we're going to do this, we're going to do this right. A real lesson." You stood and pulled your shirt over your head, enjoying his eyes on you. Then you opened your bedside drawer, feeling bold, and started throwing items on the bed next to him: a bottle of lube, your vibrator, several condoms....

"Whoa! What...."

"Be a good student, now." You kissed his forehead before you pulled off your pajama pants and settled on the bed, your back to the wall and legs open, hands resting on your raised knees.

Bucky swallowed thickly, and nodded. "Okay. Um, this is all," he motioned to your naughty supplies, "unexpected."

"That's part of your lesson, Barnes. Watch out for the quiet ones."

You winked at him, and his eyes grew wide as you slipped your fingers inside your panties. You hummed, stroking softly, and brought your other hand up to caress your breast through your bra. "Feels good, see how nice that is?"

"Fuck..." He groaned, palming over himself. "You're....holy shit, you're so hot."

"Thanks, Bucky," you giggled, enjoying how your little show was clearly affecting him. "I bet you want to see how wet I am."

"Oh fuck yes please." He stared at you, biting his lip. Kneeling on the bed, you removed the rest of your clothing, making sure that his eyes followed your every move. Moving back to lean against the wall and open up to his gaze again, you gave your next piece of instruction.

"Watch me. Watch how I react when I do this," you swiped your finger slowly through your folds, gathering your wetness, "and when I do this," you rubbed over your clit gently, spreading your slick and closing your eyes, breathing in deep. "Can you imagine touching me like this? You see what I need?" You opened your eyes to see Bucky staring, hungry and open-mouthed, rubbing at himself through his pants. "God yes, honey, I'm watching. I want to make you feel good."

"I think you will. You're being a very good student." Bucky whimpered, actually fucking whimpered, and licked his lips at how wet your fingers were. You grabbed your vibrator and the lube, getting it ready and switching it on, and when your body shuddered in reaction to the tip on your clit, he growled and stood up fast.

"I'm sorry, I need, I have to..." He was besides himself, eyes wide and desperate and you gasped both at the state of him and what you were doing to yourself.

"Yes, baby, take everything off, show me how pretty you are," your voice shook. "I want to see you, I want to watch you touch yourself."

He undressed clumsily, throwing everything on the floor, and seeing him in front of you in the dim light of your room nearly took your breath away. He was so hard, and he was stunning. Closing his eyes and wrapping a hand around his cock, he stroked himself a few times before letting his wild eyes settle on you again. "I'm afraid I'm gonna cum before I even touch you. Please, I need you."

You tossed the vibrator onto the nightstand and reached a hand toward him. "Come here."

He joined you eagerly, his lips on yours and his hard cock pressing against your hip. You held his hand and brought it between your legs. "Now let's see what you learned."

Bucky pulled away from your lips to look down and watch himself pleasure you, trying to repeat the movements you made with your fingers and your toy.

"That's right, oh yes ...so good. So good, Bucky.... please, Bucky..."

Finally a little of his swagger crept back into his voice. "Please what, doll? Am I making you feel good?"

"Yeah...yes..." Your breathing was staggered, he was getting you so close. "Think you can do the same thing with your tongue, Buck?"

"Oh fuck, yes," he growled, moving down your body and licking you purposefully, repeating what he knew you liked. Bucky had been paying close attention to the lesson.

You gripped his hair and rolled your hips into his face and he moaned, and then you completely lost yourself - calling his name and pulling his hair. When he moved to be face to face with you again, you giggled at his expression of triumph. "Look at you."

"I'm looking at you," he said, softly. He kissed you and whispered, "thank you."

You hummed against his lips, and pushed on his chest under you had him on his back under you. "You're welcome, but we're just getting started."

Straddling him and reaching for a condom, you ripped open the package and rolled it down his length, reveling in the shiver of his body when you touched him.

"I have never been this hard in my entire life," he looked up at you, holding your hips as you lowered yourself into him, "you're amazing. Incredible."

You moaned and rocked back and forth, bringing his hand to where you were joined with him and giving him a little wink as he started playing with your clit like you'd taught him. "And you are an excellent student, Bucky."

It didn't last long, but it didn't matter. The look on his face and the moan of your name when he came was enough to push you over a second time. You fell onto his chest, out of breath, and he rolled you over so he could pull out and throw away the condom. For a second you thought he would just get dressed and leave, and you were surprised at how much that thought bothered you. But Bucky got back under your blanket with you, holding you close.

"Do you..." You bit your lip, nuzzling into his neck. "Do you want to stay?"

He squeezed his arms tighter around you, and you giggled. "Yeah, is that okay?"

"Of course. I want you to."

"Good. I want more lessons."

#hbc drunk drabbles #bucky barnes #watch out for the quiet ones fic #college!bucky #bucky barnes x reader

742 notes · View notes

dirty-urie · 3 years

Text

Little Brendon

Second Person

Brendon x Female Reader

PFTW Era

Fluff(ish) Oneshot

PG-13? R?

3.6k Words

Warnings In Order of Appearance: real person fic, language throughout, arguably slight smut, minor dirty talk

Author's Notes:

1. I don't know how I got this idea or what possessed me to actually write it, to be honest, but I had fun, so I guess that's all that matters.

2. Posting this in honor of the anniversary of the show I went to on the first leg of the Wicked tour, which was technically yesterday, but this fic wasn’t done yesterday, so here it is now.

“Awww, little Brendon,” you gush at the computer screen.

“Please tell me you aren’t looking at pictures of my penis,” Brendon says, walking into the room.

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Not that your ego couldn’t use a little bruising, but no, I’m not cooing at your nudes. Merch wants you to sign off on the final photos of the Beebo plush, and look how cute he is!” You shift the computer monitor so he can see what you’re looking at.

“Why are you going through my email?”

“You always ignore emails from Merch, and I like looking at all of the new Panic designs!”

“Babe, I work ten hours a day; I don’t want to do anything I don’t have to. Merch will use whatever designs they think will sell well. They don’t actually need my approval. Those sign-off emails are just a formality.”

You pout. “I know, I know. I won’t go through your email anymore.”

“Good,” he says, relieved. "I wouldn’t want you to discover all the messages from my mistresses.”

“You’re a jackass,” you call, flipping him off as he leaves the room with a smirk.

***

“I’m gonna miss you,” you pout, leaning against the door frame to your bedroom.

He kisses your forehead and puts another pair of sweatpants in a suitcase. “You can’t wait for me to leave. You get to have the girls over, watch all your shitty movies, and you won’t have to deal with my dirty underwear or noisy video games in your nice living room.”

You take the t-shirt he’s about to pack out of his hands and throw it on the bed, pulling him into a kiss. You slip your hands under the waistband of his pants to grope his ass. You pull away. “Mhm, that’s what I thought. I don’t ever have to deal with dirty underwear because you never wear any.”

“Hey! Don’t slut-shame me! You love having such easy access to this body.” He gestures to his body with a strange flailing arm motion.

“You know what? You’re right. I can’t wait for you to leave.”

He side-eyes you. “Well, in that case, you won’t want the present I got you.” He shrugs, refolding his shirt.

Your eyes light up, and you go kiss him again. “Have I ever told you how much I love you? Because it’s a lot. Enough to justify a really nice present,” You say after he pulls away.

“That’s what I thought. I guess you’ll get your present after all. Close your eyes,” Brendon says.

You close your eyes, and he hands you something soft. You open your eyes, and it’s Brendon’s likeness in plush form. He’s wearing Brendon’s tour outfit with a gold jacket over a black tee and black leather pants.

“Little Brendon!” you exclaim, seeing the toy in your hands. “Aww, it’s even got your lips and little eyebrow scar! Thank you, babe.” You kiss him and then Little Brendon. “Now I have someone to keep me company while you’re off getting bitches on tour.”

“Oh, come on, babe,” he says, putting his hand on your shoulder and looking into your eyes, “they’re not bitches, they’re groupies.”

You smack his arm affectionately and then push him onto the bed to crawl on top of him. “Maybe you should practice for the groupies. Wouldn’t want you to kill their rockstar fantasies because you’re out of experience.”

He flips you over and rolls on top of you, nipping at your neck. “Out of experience? What, pray tell, have we been doing every day for the past two weeks, if not building my experience?” he asks with disbelief, punctuating each point with a bite or kiss. “Remember when I made you come twelve times in one hour before I let myself come? Or when we fucked on the roof of my studio when the neighbors were out of town? Or when you fucked my ass with that new toy, the one that vibrates?”

“Shit, shit, point taken,” you moan, grinding up against him while he bears down on you.

His phone pings, and he slows his hips to grab it from the side table. “Fuck, Zack’s out front. I’ve gotta go.”

You grab the front of his shirt and yank him down for a deep, dirty kiss.

He’s reluctant to pull away, but his other love is calling. Tour, that is, not Zack.

“Okay, let me up, loverboy. I’ll help bring your stuff out to the car,” you tell him.

“Thank you. Most of my instruments and stuff are already with the guys, but I’ve still got two suitcases and a backpack.”

You both stand up, and he grabs the suitcases, leaving you with the backpack. “You’re not gonna readjust, rockstar?” You ask, eyeing his tented sweatpants.

He shrugs, “My hands are full, and it’s nothing Zack hasn’t seen before.”

“You just like showing off,” you accuse, and he smirks a little and winks because you’re not wrong.

You walk him to the car and give him a final goodbye kiss. “I love you to death. Knock their socks off, babe.”

***

Without fail, the one-week mark hits you like a truck. You’ve had your fun with girlfriends, and you’ve enjoyed the peace and quiet, but your bed is empty, and it’s weighing on your chest. Even the puppies seem a little more glum without Brendon.

You feel silly, but finally, after two nights of crying yourself to sleep, you give in and grab little Brendon from your dresser and cuddle up with him.

***

Two weeks later and you and the real Brendon are half-asleep, snuggled up against each other in the nicest hotel room in Houston. You can only spend two nights with him, and you refuse to let him go for even a second more than you have to. Which he did not appreciate when he had to use the bathroom, but it’s his fault for leaving you for so long.

“Baby, I’ve got an interview, but I’ll bring back breakfast, and we’ll eat in bed, okay? I’m really sorry,” He whispers apologetically, peeling away from you.

“Don’t be sorry, it’s what you have to do to pay the bills. Can you hand me Little B? He’s in my purse,” you ask, and Brendon obliges without comment, probably just happy you’re not crying.

You fall back asleep with the little guy in your arms.

Brendon knows it’s irrational when he comes back three hours later at 8 am, and he feels a tiny twinge of jealousy at the plush you’re cuddled up with. However, he feels it is not irrational that he’s upset when he climbs into bed with you, and instead of immediately clinging to him like always, you just clutch Little Brendon harder. Almost as if protecting the toy from Brendon.

“Y/N, I’m back,” he whispers in your ear, half-hoping you’ll throw the doll on the ground and roll over to make burning hot love to him for 12 hours straight. That’ll show Little Brendon. Well, no, it won’t, he has stuffing where his brain should be, but it’ll show him on principle.

You do roll over to throw an arm across him, but you still have little Brendon tucked under your other arm.

Brendon decides to call this one a draw.

“Did you bring food?” You mumble.

“Of course, darling. I’ll do anything to spoil you. That’s one of the perks of having a driver’s license and sentience.”

“…What?”

“Nothing. I’ll get your food.”

He insists on feeding you and rubbing your feet, and letting you watch whatever you want on the hotel TV. And it’s just because he wants to take care of you while you two are together. Definitely no other reason. He certainly feels no joy at the sight of Little Brendon lying discarded on the nightstand. Point Real Brendon.

After the day of pampering, it pains you when you check the clock, and it’s time to leave. “Alright, I’ve gotta head out, B. I can’t miss my flight,” you finally say, changing from Brendon’s T-shirt into real clothes.

Brendon thinks about protesting, but he knows better. You have your own life apart from him, and he respects that.

You cram your stuff in your overnight bag and give your goodbye hugs and kisses to Brendon. Then you kiss Little B before throwing him in your purse. You think you see Brendon scowl at your new companion, but you were probably just imagining it.

***

“Surprise!” Brendon shouts as he opens the door.

“Babe! Thank god I sent the strippers home early,” you joke as he sits next to you on the couch.

“Shit, I missed the strippers?”

“You fucking goof,” you laugh, playing with his hair. “What are you doing home early?”

“Nicole needed to come home for some emergency with her house, so I figured I’d charter the plane and zip down with her and Zack to spend the night with my beautiful wife.”

“God, that must’ve cost an arm and a leg, B.”

He shrugs, “Nah, we were only in Portland anyway, and it’s easier than finding a new bassist on short notice. This way, Nicole and I can be back for the San Jose show tomorrow night, and I get a whole twelve hours at home with my girl and my puppies.”

“Oh, well, I’m glad it worked out for everyone. Especially me,” you say, shifting to sit in Brendon’s lap.

You two finish up the episode you were watching before you insist that he comes to bed because he’s overworked and jetlagged. He’s sleepy and doesn’t need that much convincing, but he tries to put up a fight anyway.

“I only get a little bit of time with you; I don’t want to spend it sleeping,” he complains.

“This is the hardest I’ve ever had to work to get you in my bed,” you respond, yanking him to his feet.

His eyes light up, and you shake your head. “No, sir. We’re not having sex. You’re getting at least seven hours of sleep in your own bed with the love of your life, and then you’re going to take a shower, make me breakfast, and give San Jose the show of their lives. You’ll literally see me again in two days when I come to the LA show.”

He bites his lip, still trying to lay the seduction on thick.

“No! Bed! Or I’m making you sleep in the guest room!”

He sighs, trudging along behind you to the bedroom.

“Um, babe, I think you forgot to kick out your mistress before I got home,” he says, gesturing to his side of the bed where little Brendon is tucked into the comforter.

You scowl playfully. “Oh, shush you. Where else should I put him while making the bed?”

“I don’t know, but letting my replacement sleep in my spot feels a little on the nose.”

“He’s not your replacement, baby.”

“Really?” Brendon asks, picking up Little Brendon and getting into bed, “because” he sniffs Little Brendon’s head, “I’m pretty sure Little Brendon is wearing my fifty dollar cologne.”

You blush, “Okay, well I take him everywhere, and I didn’t want him to smell, and it’s not like I could use any of my perfumes…” you taper off, realizing that you may have given yourself away with the ‘take him everywhere’ line.

He narrows his eyes but doesn’t say anything else before clicking out the light.

“Hey, Brendon?” You ask quietly.

“Mm?”

“Um, what did you do with Little B?”

Brendon clicks on the light. “Ah-ha! J’accuse! You’ve replaced me!”

“I just don’t want the dogs to rip him up and then leave me to clean up stuffing all morning!” You defend yourself.

“Well then, you won’t mind me putting him up on the dresser.”

“Of course, I won’t mind.”

Brendon puts Little B on the dresser and goes back to bed, so imagine his surprise when instead of waking up tangled in your arms the next morning, he’s not even touching you on the king bed. Instead, you’re hugging Little Bastard with your nose buried in his fabric hair.

Little B’s smirk taunts Brendon as he storms out of bed to make his damn wife breakfast. His damn wife.

***

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna come,” you whine, rubbing your hips frantically.

“Come,” he commands. “Let me see that pretty mouth fall open as you come all over our bedsheets, pretty girl.”

The angle on your clit is perfect, and the image of him getting off on your phone right along with you pushes you into bliss, and your orgasm rocks through your core. You know you’ve affected him when you hear him grunt as come rolls down his fist.

“God, babe, you’re incredible, from a completely different country, fuck, a completely different continent, you still turn me on like crazy,” he admires.

“I could say the same about you. I came so hard just from getting to hear and see you.” You tell him before accidentally dropping your phone. “Shit, sorry, my fingers are a little wet.

Brendon would normally just be admiring the soaked panties he’s getting a glimpse of, but instead, his attention is drawn between your thighs for a different reason.

“Were you getting off by humping Little Brendon?!”

“It’s not what it looks like, okay?” You say, picking up the phone. “He’s the perfect firmness, and he’s way easier to manage than a clunky pillow! It’s purely physical!”

Brendon scoffs, “I’ve bought you thousands of dollars in sex toys, and you turn to him? In our marital bed? I’m being cuckolded by polyester!”

“Brendon, it’s a stuffed animal, not the pool boy. You come back from England in three days, and you can fuck me however you want. Y’know, because of your functioning dick, tongue, and fingers?”

“Just as long as I don’t come back to find you rimming the stuffed tiger from Calvin and Hobbes,” he teases with a smile.

“Hm, is degrading Winnie the Pooh out of the question, too, then? because if that’s the case, then I’ll need to find different plans for tomorrow evening.”

He gives you a pointed look, feigning seriousness before cracking a grin. “Alright, alright, thank you for the orgasm. I’ll see you on Tuesday,” he says before blowing you a kiss before hanging up.

“That plush better count his days,” Brendon mumbles to himself before falling asleep.

***

“Do you want me to go with you to the store?” He offers.

“No, baby, enjoy some of your time at home. I’ll just bring my other husband for emotional support.” You toss Little Brendon in your purse.

“I remember when I was your emotional support at the grocery store…” Brendon starts, looking off into the distance.

“Yeah, me too, and you were terrible. You hated it. Rest assured, I’ll make you come back to the grocery store another time, but right now, I’m being nice because you just got back from tour. And you still have the dishes and the vacuuming to do.”

“Aye, aye, captain. Don’t let the paparazzi catch you smooching Little Brendon while I’m at home doing your dirty work,” he calls as you leave.

“No promises! He’s very tempting!”

***

“You never snuggle with me anymore,” Brendon pouts after you reject his advances in bed.

“It’s August, and you’re hot,” you complain, and he gives you a suggestive look. “Not that kind of hot, Casanova. I mean two minutes in, and you’re sweating all over me. It’s uncomfortable.”

“You snuggled with Little Brendon when I was gone!” He accuses.

“Yes, because I’ve grown accustomed to sleeping with something in my arms, and Little Brendon doesn’t sweat, or snore, or wake me up in the morning with his cock pressing into my thigh, or bicker with me about how I choose to sleep,” you explain, annoyed. Brendon looks genuinely upset, so you soften your face. “When the temperature isn’t in the triple digits, and we don’t literally stick together when we touch, we can cuddle. Okay?”

“Fine.”

***

“Bogart, hey buddy, look at this toy for you to chew on. Bite, bite, bite, kill,” he says, throwing Little Brendon to Bogart.

Bogart sighs and rests his head on Little Brendon like a pillow.

“First my wife and now my dog,” Brendon shouts, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“Okay, this has gone on long enough,” you tell him, alerting him to your presence in the doorframe. “Sit,” you order, pointing to the couch. “Brendon, you’re jealous of a toy,” you state bluntly.

He blushes and grabs his stuffed enemy. “It’s not about the toy,” he finally admits.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

“It’s just,” he struggles to find the right words, “I love touring. I love seeing all the different cities on my days off, meeting fans, partying with different bands, and most of all playing shows.” He takes a deep breath. “But I also love you. I love waking up with you, going out to dinner, watching you get off on my thigh, and just getting to be near you. So when I have to be away from you to tour, sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice, and seeing you do the things I want to do with you with the stupid Beebo plush instead, kept bringing all of those feelings to the forefront” he confesses.

“Oh, B, of course, you made the right choice. I love you, and I miss you when you’re gone sometimes, but I love our life. I love getting my independence when you’re gone, visiting you on-tour, watching you do what you love, having super hot reunion sex. So yeah, sometimes I just wanna squeeze you and smell your cologne and kiss your little face, but I’d never want you to sacrifice your career for that,” you say. “You wanna know why I like Little B so much?”

“Because he’s so good for humping?”

“No,” you laugh, “well, yes, actually, he is. But it’s because he reminds me why I spend some nights alone and hop on dreadful red-eye flights every few weeks and have to hook up with my husband on a fucking bus. So you can put on this dumb gold jacket,” you fiddle with Little Brendon’s jacket, “and perform the songs you worked so hard on for hundreds of thousands of people, and then sell thousands of these dumb little dolls so we can live in a multi-million dollar house with a home studio and a heated pool.”

“So you’re not replacing me with the puppet doll?” He asks.

“Well, maybe a little, but sometimes you feel so intangible. Even when you’re here, I know you have other, more important obligations, so it’s nice to have something constant,” you laugh, “and I think Bogart feels the same way,” you say, pointing to the dog who is curled around his new friend protectively.

***

“You’ve created a monster!”

“Have not!”

“You were the one who gave him Little Brendon!”

Brendon’s eyes dart to the floor because you’re right.

Bogart grew attached to Little Brendon faster than you did and now gently carries the toy with him wherever he goes. If you try to reclaim Little Brendon, Bogart growls and snarls.

“It’s kind of cute, I guess. He’s protecting his daddy,” you say.

“Then it’s your fault for putting my cologne on him,” Brendon retorts.

“Ugh, fine,” you concede.

“Oh look, he’s dropped it,” Brendon points out.

At first, you think it’s a good thing, but you both recognize the look Bogart’s giving.

“Go, Bog! Get it!” Brendon cackles as the dog pounces.

“Oh no, you don’t, bad dog,” you scold, snatching the toy away. “If you wanna hump something, I think Zack’s coming over tonight, but we don’t do that to mommy’s things.”

Brendon’s still laughing his ass off, and you shoot him a dirty look. “C’mon, babe, you’ve blue-balled him,” Brendon says, pointing to the sad-looking dog.

“Bogart is fixed and doesn’t have balls, a characteristic you two will soon have in common if you don’t stop giggling like a ten-year-old,” you threaten, and he, wisely, shuts up. “That’s what I thought. And if anything, this is just vindication for me because I told you Little Brendon was good for humping, and you dismissed it,” you tell him.

“Okay, fine, there was a brief period of time when I was irrationally jealous of a toy,” he admits. “But I think you should get another taste of the real thing before you decide who’s the better lay once and for all,” Brendon says, picking you up and carrying you to the bedroom.

“Brendon!” You lightheartedly protest in his arms.

***

You’re lying on his chest contentedly as he strokes your arm. “You wanna know what I miss the most about getting to cuddle with you when you’re touring? Something Little Brendon doesn’t give me?”

“Hm?”

“Your heartbeat. Feeling it under my head or under my palm. Especially if we’re lying together for a while. I love how it slows and steadies the longer we’re with each other. So comforting.”

***

Little Brendon is sitting on your bed with a card that says, “Squeeze me!” on the front. You squeeze the plush, and you immediately recognize Brendon’s heartbeat coming softly from the chest of the toy. You smile and pick up the card.

Hey, baby! It reads, I’m no doubt missing you on the second leg of tour right now, but if you really need some comfort, I hope this’ll do. The recording lasts about an hour, and I made sure it got down to my resting heart rate before it stops. I’m sorry for being a jealous dick about a stuffed animal, but even my possessive lizard brain wants you to have something to make you feel better if you’re ever stressed or upset. (And now that the Beebo plushies are officially for sale, you can rest easy knowing yours is special)

xoxoxo,

Brendon

#why did i write this?#brendon urie fanfiction #Brendon x Reader #my own work #brendon urie #panic! at the disco #panic at the disco #brendon urie smut #brendon urie fluff

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sebstanseabass · 3 years

Text

Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 12

Afterglow chapters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

CHAPTER TWELVE

The chilly wind knocked against your small windows, mirroring the pounding in your head. Opening your eyes felt impossible as the dried tears stuck on your waterline. You groaned with your mouth closed, pulling the blanket over your body. You opened your mouth, licked your dry lips like a puppy just waking up; the aftertaste of liquor sat on your mouth. You almost wanted to hurl everything you put into your mouth last night but you suppressed it, seeing that you were in no state of getting up just yet. How much did I have to drink last night? Did I do something remotely stupid? Did I go somewhere? You had more to ask yourself but your thoughts dissipated, just dreading this hell of a headache to end.

There was more pounding and knocking; left, right and in just every direction — on the windows, in your head and lastly on your door.

"Are you up, doll?" A deep voice echoed from the other side of the door. It belonged to Bucky.

Bucky. Oh fuck, Bucky.

Your eyes shot open at the sound of his voice (not minding the stickiness on your waterline), sudden vivid images appeared in your mind. The bar. Bottles of vodka on the floor. Steve. Your photos. A limo on the street. Wandavision. And Bucky's arms wrapped around you, lips fluttering on your forehead. Dead, drunk thoughts.

Everything was coming back to you. Even the taste of liquor and the smell of the damp street.

Still in a state of hangover, you couldn't bring yourself to speak just yet so you groaned a bit louder, letting him know that you were now brought back to life.

"Good morning, sunshine." He said a little too loudly for your bionic ears.

"Sshhh." was all you could muster, hiding further into the little cocoon you had made yourself just earlier.

"Come on, doll. It's past twelve but I did cook you breakfast."

The softness in his voice made your heart flutter and lessened the pain in your head. Slowly, you uncovered yourself and revealed the mess that you were to Bucky who was just standing patiently in front of you.

"How are you feeling? Do you need to hurl?"

You swallowed, and shook your head no as you slowly stood up from the bed. You grabbed the edge of the nightstand as the floor beneath you started to spiral. Before it could even swallow you whole, Bucky sped towards you and kept his arms around you until you reached the bathroom. You gestured to Bucky that you could wash your face and brush your teeth all by yourself so he let you be. He retreated towards the kitchen.

You tried to find your voice back once you splashed your face with the ice cold water. Yeah, that'll cure my hangover. You stared at your reflection in the mirror and was surprised you didn't look as much of a mess than you imagined you would be. You were thinking disheveled hair (baby hairs going up in different directions, looking like a kid who just played with the static electricity ball for the first time), smudged lipstick, running mascara, and clothes from the night before — a walk of shame starter pack.

A look of confusion crossed your face, noticing that you weren’t wearing the same clothes you were wearing last night. Then you looked back at Bucky with wide eyes, who was whistling a song while preparing breakfast at noontime.

You splashed your face with more water before going to the kitchen. Breakfast had been served at the small round table. Eggs, bacon, bagels, toast, and of course, Bucky's cereal.

"T-thank you." You managed to say.

It seemed like, you noticed, whenever Bucky did something nice to you that you obviously could yourself, the words seemed to fall out of your mouth so painfully slowly. This was the second time. No one had ever bought you clothes before, and had made you breakfast before, so saying the phrase "thank you" came somewhat unnatural.

Bucky didn't seem to notice as he scooped a big chunk of his cereal. "It's no problem. I figured you'd be hungry after... last night."

"Right." Last night.

You sighed, biting a piece of bacon. Oily, savory bacon which tasted better after a hangover. Good God.

The silence started to creep around you as you ate, among the elephants in the room (yes, elephants. I was rather a big crybaby with an undeniable thirst for affection). They were hard to ignore, of course and you knew you had to say something, at least the word "Sorry" but the simple five-letter word got stuck in your throat.

"I was expecting for us to talk once Howard dropped us off but you were knocked out." Bucky started. You mentally thanked him for speaking first but God knows, you couldn't quite handle confrontation — at least not about you. "I hope you don't mind, I changed your clothes and took some of your makeup off your face. You made quite a mess."

"I-I noticed." Third time. "And no, I don't mind at all. I think a 'thank you' is rather appropriate."

"You're welcome, doll." He grinned. "Don't worry, I didn't look. I undressed you with, uh, utmost respect."

"And hey, if you'd seen me naked then we're even." You laughed, recalling the first time you had met him.

"I promise you, I didn't see you butt naked so we're not even."

The mood lightened up a bit and started to take its own pace. You began to sit more comfortably on the chair, and grab more bacon and eggs. "Bucky," You started, hating to break what was a nice, light atmosphere, "I think I need to address the elephant in the room."

You’ve always hated that phrase. Elephant in the room. Why did it have to be elephants? Why couldn't it be, oh I don't know, dogs or cats or a raccoon? It sounded less scarier.

"I was just about to start." Bucky chuckled.

"I truly am sorry for the things that happened last night. Getting drunk, being such a fucking crybaby, and for well, you know."

Bucky knew. You knew. Even if you were drunk as a skunk, you knew all too well what you did. And you shouldn't have done it. Not like that, anyway. Not in that state.

"I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused you, Bucky. I guess I just had my jar full and I exploded right then and there. Y-you have to know," Fourth time, "I don't normally act like that. So rash, and irrational, and such a child. I usually think things through but last night, I clearly didn't. Please don't tell Parker about this. Not a word. Even though I basically take care of him, he's still so worried about me. Last night won't happen again. It was... impulsive, reckless, childish. And just plain stupid."

"Are you done?"

I frowned. "Um, yeah. I think I am."

"Look, y/n. You don't have to apologize. You're allowed to feel that way sometimes and it's okay."

"To feel that way, yes, I suppose but to act on those feelings... I don't think so. God, you shouldn't have seen me like that. Oh, God. Why did I let you see me like that?" Then, your face fell on your hands.

"I don't know if you remember this but just in case... You actually told Steve to call me.”

"I did?" You lifted your face, your eyes meeting his. "Oh no. Steve. I have to apologize to Steve. I think I said some mean things to him or... or something. And I have to pay for those drinks."

"Already taken care of. I talked to him this morning."

"You have Steve's phone number?"

"Let's just say I have my ways, yeah? Now you don't have to worry that much."

"Okay, yeah." You knew now more than ever never to question Bucky when he says stuff like that. "Thank you, Bucky. Really."

"I know, doll." He continued. "So... about your little speech. It was quite big. Ironically. You, uh, really let your guard down."

"To be honest, I don't remember much of it." You admitted, hiding your face through the little knots in your hair.

"I don't remember the exact words you said but I do think you said something of the lines of having to prove your parents wrong and that you've achieved nothing since you came here. And then you told me a bit about your friendship with Wanda and I suppose seeing her studio that fine afternoon pulled a trigger on your envy."

Suddenly, you heard yourself through and amidst the honking vehicles, the sounds of feet trudging the sidewalk, and the snotty wailing coming out of your nose and mouth. You relived it in my head, heard every crack of your voice, smelled the liquor from under your nose, and felt Bucky's hand interlaced with yours.

"Yeah, it's all coming back to me now." I really did let my guard down. All walls. Down. Just like that.

"You've never been back there? To your home?"

"No." You answered. "I have never stepped foot in New Jersey again ever since I moved here. Going back meant I failed and so, maybe I should go now." Bitterness was evident in your voice.

"Y/n, if I had your talent," Bucky set down his utensils now, his eyes digging right into yours, "I would never give it all up, even if it meant rebelling against my parents. If... if my folks were alive and would stop me from chasing my dreams... Hell, I too wouldn't listen to them. And you shouldn't either."

It was the first time Bucky mentioned anything remotely related to his birth parents or anything real in his life. You looked at him, crouched like a little child, lifting a spoon to his mouth. And there it was again, an onion peeling on its own, layer by layer by layer, but still missing its very core.

"It's been years yet I'm still stuck in the bar. That was only supposed to be a temp job to help Peter pay the bills." You knew in your heart and mind that you should stop yourself from talking but your walls were already down; the downest (is that even a word?) they've ever been. Here you were, in a room in front of a man you had only known for days and you had already revealed the most vulnerable side there was to you, that you didn't know even existed.

You didn't know if it was the remaining alcohol in your system or your walls crumbling down some more but talking about it felt right. Because you knew these words were aching to come out of your mouth, desperate for someone to hear them.

To hear you.

"I was so sure," you continued, "that I was going to skyrocket in the media industry. Making a name for myself, seeing my photos on billboards, magazines — everywhere. I wanted to see the world but I got stuck on product photography for small businesses. I was supposed to move on to bigger things... Bigger names. Now, I don't know what's in store for me."

"Y/n, you're living in the city of art and culture. You're surrounded by art and that's why you should explore more of it. And then once you do, find its center; its heart. Let that be your... masterpiece and then make more of it."

"You know, you're really good at selling some bullshit."

"You say it's bullshit now, doll." He laughed. "Until you see the big picture."

Bucky's words kept echoing on the walls of your brain as you tried your best to sleep off the headache you were still suffering from. But the pain in your head overpowered his voice, letting you doze off for a few more hours before you showered, slipped into some comfortable clothes and headed down towards the bar.

It was thirty past five when you arrived in the bar — the latest you had ever been but the realization seeping in your mind slipped away upon seeing Steve enter his office. You ignored the calls from Nick and Nat from behind the counter, wondering why you were so late. Once you were outside of Steve's office, you took a deep breath and gently knocked on his door.

A soft "come in" was heard.

You obliged and stepped inside his cramped office.

Steve stood upright by the window, holding and reading something inside a folder. He noticed your figure and slowly retreated back to his chair. He ushered you to sit across from him. You sent him a tight-lipped smile as soon as you sat down.

"I think you probably know why I'm here." You started. He nodded in response. "Steve, I am so so sorry about last night. I was just... I don't... I can't even begin to fathom why I even did that in the first place — "

"Y/n, stop." said Steve. "I forgive you. And I think I owe you an apology too."

"What do you mean?"

"Last night, you asked me why I bought those photos and why I let you put some of them here in the bar. I didn't lie when I told you that I like them and they're amazing shots but... I think I also did it out of pity.”

And there it was. The truth. Whoever said the truth sets you free never had been lied to. And whoever said it must be suckerpunched right in the face.

"You were struggling, y/n. I could count on the fingers the people who went to your exhibit."

That photo exhibit happened more than a year ago, or maybe less — you couldn't quite remember as you buried it at the back of your mind. It occurred in a space for rent here in the Upper West Side, the same size as your apartment. As Steve described the scene that day, the memory immersed at the center of your brain, placing all the things displayed, all the people who showed up one by one. And little by little, a part of you started to fade into dust.

"You don't have to remind me, Steve."

Steve slid a bunch of photos on his desk towards you. The photos you took from the walls last night were staring at you. Crumpled. "Your new friend Bucky paid me a little visit this morning. We had quite the chat."

"Bucky came?"

"He showed the photos to me and left them here after paying for the drinks you drank last night. I don't know why he did it. He never gave me an explanation but it got me thinking... All these photos, I realized, were of us, the people around you."

"What are you getting at, Steve?"

"The bar, the street outside of the bar, the streets from your rooftop, and the park. They're all a part of your routine. I know I've always shown this professional front in front of you guys but you're not just my employees. I care about you and your well being, and your dreams. That's why I'm letting you go."

"Letting me go?"

"Y/n, what I'm trying to say is you're fired."

"What?!"

Your heart started to pace quicker than it usually would. It started to feel like it was about to punch Steve right in his damn face and knock him off the wall.

"No, no, no, no! This... This is a good thing."

"What? No, it's not! I'm the best employee you're ever gonna get." You argued, trying to save your job.

"That's why I'm firing you, y/n. I don't need you as my best employee. This isn't where you belong. Bartending won't get you anywhere near your dreams."

"But it helps me pay my bills!" You exclaimed, your voice getting higher and higher.

"I know, I know that's why I'm giving you a one-week notice. To think things through, and maybe have a plan."

You scoffed. "I had a plan that took me almost a year and three years later, it didn't work out and now, you're telling me I have one week to plan my damn future?"

"I'm risking losing my best employee yet." Steve replied with a smile, leaning against his cushioned chair. "Take what you can from that."

It had been a few hours after the little talk you had with Steve. Your head was spinning all over the place. You were having a hard time taking orders, and making drinks. You’ve had a few people complain to Nat. Apparently, you had been mixing up orders for the past few hours. Nick encouraged you to take a little break and while having that little break, a familiar lavender-vanilla scene filled your nose.

Your hunches rang true as you saw Bucky enter the bar (no suit this time, just a polo shirt and some trousers). Behind him followed a black man, entering the bar for the first time. Bucky spotted you in seconds inside the farthest booth where no one usually sits. A smile landed on your lips.

God, was I happy to see him.

The moment his arm snaked around your waist, your thoughts dissipated in a snap. "Hey, doll. I brought a friend of mine."

The black man beamed upon seeing you, extending his hand out for you to shake.

"Okay, let's cut to the chase. My name is Sam Wilson and I want to make business with you."

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes story #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #James Buchanan Barnes #bucky fic

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chwepen · 3 years

Text

stacy’s mom ↦ hvc

♢ genre: fluff, bits of angst and crack(?) ♢ word count: 4k ♢ summary: it may sound crazy, but you have good reason to believe your best friend may have a crush on your mom.

read on ao3!

The first inkling of suspicion began with a bouquet of flowers.

Driving home, you had expected your mother to be in her rose garden by the time you arrived. She often spent the afternoons tending to the flowers in the backyard. Whether it was clipping leaves from the stems or simply soaking in the summer sun, she enjoyed her hobby. Likewise, you liked that she had something to take comfort in while your father was at the office until the late afternoon and you and your younger brother were off with friends or in class.

What you didn’t expect was Hansol’s car to be parked in the driveway. You could recognize his beat-up Volkswagen anywhere, never mind by the house where it was stationed countless times before today. He had morning classes before yours, so it was common you’d come home to find his car parked on the grass near the street and him inside with his feet up on the family couch, headphones in and head bopping back and forth. However, this time, that wasn’t the case. You checked the garage and kitchen, but neither his bag, his headphones, nor the man himself were anywhere to be found.

Fed up with the busy day you had, you walked through the living room and towards the glass door leading out to the yard. You stopped dead in your tracks though once you saw your friend and your mother in deep conversation. Your mother was in her usual gardening gear: a blue gingham apron tied to her waist and her old visor sitting atop her head. Hansol was wearing a Metal Gear Solid t-shirt and cargo shorts, not a speck of dirt on him compared to your mother who had soil-stained hands.

With your palm still on the door handle, your eyes darted to the bouquet of flowers in Hansol’s, wondering if you had to blink twice to see the scene in front of you clearer.

“Hansol, I can’t believe it,” your mother spoke, eyes alight. Her words were breathless but loud enough for you to hear through the door.

“I know. It took me long enough right?” Hansol laughed. His smile was usually bright, brighter than it should’ve been allowed to be, but his voice was shaking and the curves of his body fidgeting in a way you had never seen before.

A blush sprang up on both of their cheeks, and you felt bile in the back of your throat. Your whole life, the only man capable of making your mother blush was your father, whether by making an inside joke or kissing her without warning.

She took the flowers from him, inspecting each one with only the knowledge of someone with a green thumb. The entire time, she beamed. “They’re perfect.”

“I know it’s sudden—“

“You don’t have to explain it to me. I understand.” She placed her hand on his forearm, squeezing it with either motherly reassurance or something else entirely. “Don’t worry, honey. Our secret’s safe with me.” Your mom winked.

You backed away, tiptoeing until you made it to the stairs and ran up to your room. More than a dozen questions ran through your head once you sat down on your bed. Why was he giving Mom flowers? Why were they acting so weird about it? Where did he even find flowers? How did he pay for them? He just got fired from Prince’s Pretzels.

The thoughts swam on, circling and burrowing in your mind. Then, a theory broke through and made you freeze in your spot. He has a crush on her?

No fucking way.

Hansol never gave you a reason to suspect such a thing. He didn’t joke with Seungkwan or Doyoung about it, at least not to your knowledge. Of course, he never would tell you if he did, but you were certain he respected you and your family more than enough not to.

Still, you knew he had dated some junior cheerleader his freshman year of high school. Guys were known for finding older women attractive, but could that mean that attraction, particularly Hansol’s, could extend to your mother?

“That’s ridiculous,” you whispered out loud to yourself, pushing the speculation out of your mind to stop yourself from feeling nauseous. There was no way on the planet one of your best friends would be into your mom. And even if he did, he definitely wouldn’t act out on those feelings and expect you to be okay with it, right?

Your door opened out of nowhere. Before whoever was on the other side suspected you were acting abnormal, you grabbed the novel on your nightstand and flipped it open to a random page. You pretended to read as Hansol strolled in with a bag of chips in his hand and no bouquet in sight.

“I didn’t realize you were back. Did Professor Lee let you out that early,” Hansol asked, hopping into bed next to you. He reached his hand into the bag of chips, putting a good amount of them into his mouth. You set your book down in disbelief, the guy outside shaking like a leaf so foreign compared to your best friend stuffing his face next to you. How could he be so nonchalant?

“Y-Yeah,” you stammered, “Lee’s kid had some sort of issue at daycare so he ran out half an hour before we could do lab-work.”

“Sweet. Time for Hulu.“ He turned to you, his face looking at yours with a tinge of confusion. “Are you alright?”

Besides the fact that I think you’re into my mom?

“Yeah, everything’s great.” You stuck your own hand into the bag, feigning a smile as you popped a chip in your mouth. He smiled back at you with joy, believing your guise, and grabbed the TV remote. His shoulder brushed yours as he reached over, and you felt the static of his shirt cling to your sweater. Something akin to a spark lit inside of your chest, but before you could ruminate on it further, you stamped it out.

Hansol flickered through the show and film previews with blissful ignorance of how unsettled you were by what you knew and what feelings it brought to the surface.

You couldn’t help but speculate more after Sunday dinner, three days after the bouquet episode.

Hansol and Joshua in tow, they had spent a good portion of the night discussing FIFA and current music releases with your brother. He was only a few years younger than you and your friends, but he got along with them so well it was like you rarely needed to be there for them to hang out. Your parents had been deep in their own conversations all night, mostly about your father’s new business lead and your mother’s visit to see her sister on Friday.

They had touched hands throughout, happy to be in each other’s presence when they didn’t have time during the week. You could tell on your mom’s face. And Hansol looked like he always did—ridiculously chipper and goofy. There was no way two individuals would ruin such happy lives for some irrational and pointless affair.

Once you had cleared the table, you strolled over to your mother at the kitchen sink, eager to help her. “You don’t need to do this, I got it.” Your mom shooed you off. She loved doing chores on her own for some ungodly reason, but you tried all the time to be included to ease the burden. Your father, brother, and the guys all wandered off, and you wanted to help even if your mother didn’t ask for it.

“Can you let me help you just this once,” you replied, a pout on your lips.

“How about this? Go grab your brother’s hamper from his room. That way after I wash his clothes he’ll actually have something to wear to school on Monday.”

You laughed and kissed your mom on the cheek before walking away. Your brother’s bedroom was right across from yours upstairs, so you took the usual trek to pester him and complete your mother’s request all at once.

A step away from the door, you could make out the rumbling sounds of a video game and your brother’s voice. “Dude, are you sure about this? I mean, I know it’s how you feel, but is it worth fucking things up?”

Your eyes widened.

“He wouldn’t be asking you if it wasn’t, dumbass,” Joshua chimed in. The night’s dinner almost made its way back up your throat, knowing the “he” in question was neither your brother nor Joshua. “But he’s got a point, Han. You’ve had more than enough time to spit it out.”

Finally, you heard Hansol speak up. “I know, okay? It seems like the worst timing, but I really care about her. I may even— Look, I know I should consider all the complicated shit in the middle. But I have to give it a shot.”

“Well, I can’t stop you, man. Just do it before you chicken out,” your brother responded.

You can stop him, you fucking idiot.

You stepped into the room, and the boys were surprised to see you there as though you had entered private territory. “What are you guys chatting about,” you asked outright, fed up with speculating.

“None of your business,” your brother replied, never looking away from the television.

“Don’t forget who helped change your diapers, asshole.”

“It was nothing, honestly,” Hansol interrupted, flinging the controller at Joshua. “Take my place. I was dying out there, anyway.”

Hansol looked at you with his typical warmth and concern, but that fresh, foreign spark rose up inside of you. This week had been an amalgamation of oddities. Why did now have to be the time for your feelings to be so tangled up? Especially when he looked at you the way he did so easily without noticing its effect on you?

Or could it be that you finally noticed it and that newfound clarity scared the shit out of you?

“What’d you need,” he asked.

“I was grabbing the asshole’s hamper. Mom asked for it.” Your brother stuck his tongue out at you in response, and you kindly sent the same expression his way with the addition of your middle finger.

Hansol laughed. “I can help.” He took it from your hands and made his way to the door. When you didn’t move, he turned his head and smiled. “You coming?”

With a nod, you remained silent as you both exited your brother’s bedroom.

You hated that you were questioning the simple act of him helping you do an uncomplicated task for your mother. You hated how Hansol seemed unbothered by what he had been hiding from you, all while you both walked down the stairs and handed over the hamper to your mother, the two none the wiser to the fact that you were questioning them. You hated a lot of things in the moment, the biggest one being the jumble of questions in your brain that got bigger with every suspicious moment you caught Hansol in. And when the night came to a close, you knew all the aching feelings inside of you weren’t going away until you got to the bottom of the situation.

“You can’t be serious!” Rin cackled, almost doubling over and running into a random stranger. The mall was quiet on a Monday at 12 o’clock, a few mall-crawlers and the occasional mom-with-a-stroller passing the both of you. Professor Lee had to run out for another parental emergency, so you appreciated the free impromptu day off from class. It allowed for you to deal with your issues head-on, especially with the advice of a friend. Typically, you would run to Hansol with a problem this big, but seeing as he was part of the problem itself, it hurt even more that you couldn’t confide in him.

Abnormal was the only word to describe how it felt dodging his phone calls and text messages, only replying once or twice in the past few days. You gave him enough so he wouldn’t notice anything weird but without any of the typical humor you both exchanged. How could you tell your best friend that you were thinking such things about him, only made worse by the feelings budding underneath the surface of those thoughts?

“You sound like a goddamn crazy person,” Rin said. Her bags bounced off of her hips as she walked, but she didn’t notice. She just looked at you like a you were the funniest and most insane woman on the planet. To her credit, you didn’t blame her.

“I know, okay,” you whined, “I know it sounds nuts, but you haven’t seen what I’ve seen this past week and a half. He’s been so weird around me, and then when I see him and her together…” You blanched, horrified that you made your mother sound like the other woman in this fucked-up equation. “Anyway, I just needed to ask you what you would do in this kind of situation.”

Rin scoffed. “Well, I would first not expect my best friend to want to bang my mom, that’s for sure.”

“What the fuck, Rin?”

“Okay, too far,” She admitted with a smile. “What I mean is you have to think about how realistic you’re being here. Like come on, don’t you think he would’ve shown some signs a lot earlier if he was really into your mom? I know we’re not teenagers anymore, but Hansol has never been the type to hide his feelings.”

��I get it, okay Rin? But how do you rationalize any guy your age and—“ You stopped yourself when you noticed Rin’s smile fade slowly, eyes alight with surprise and confusion until they widened completely. “What?”

You turned in the direction of her gaze. The sight of your mother and your best friend walking towards a jewelry store was one that stung to the bone. Your mother dragged Hansol to the entrance. His eyes were skeptical but the two of them shared knowing, humorous glances. They vanished into the store hand in hand. You felt the pit you had been making a home for in your stomach for the past week expand like a balloon. The weight of it became so heavy you couldn’t feel anything besides it, its mass too agonizing to bear any more today.

“I gotta go home,” you croaked, turning back in the direction of the main entrance.

“Hey, wait a second! Maybe it’s not what you—“ Rin tried to put a reassuring hand on your shoulder but you brushed her off.

“Rin, I just need to go home.”

The house was still vacant by the time you arrived home. You sank into the living room couch, clutching onto a frilly throw pillow for support. Not only was the predicament getting ridiculous, but so unnecessarily painful. If they could just prove your suspicions either wrong or right, you could move on and forget the whole thing ever happened.

After another twenty minutes of contemplating, the front door opened. Your mother had no shopping bag in her hand or any outward evidence she had been at the mall, only her satchel strapped across her chest and a Lowe’s bag filled with what you assumed was more flower seeds. “Hey kiddo. Didn’t think you’d be home so early! Was class rescheduled again,” Your mother asked.

The carefree tone of her voice spiked a nerve, and before you could contain yourself, you said, “Why do you care? Worried I’ll find out something you don’t want me to?”

Your mother’s face contorted into surprised confusion with a twinge of hurt in her eyes. How could she pretend for this long with this much effort?

“Forget it, I’m going upstairs,” you said before she could respond. Your shoulder almost knocked into hers as you passed her to make it to your room. You were grateful you didn’t get closer, otherwise you would’ve broken down or screamed and it would’ve made it worse. All you wanted to do was lay down and forget for a minute.

The pillow was soft under your head as you tossed and turned, your desire to take a nap outweighed by your stubbornness to know what was going on. After a minute of struggling under the covers, you pressed your back flat against the mattress and splayed out like a starfish, listening to the cars pass on your street and eyes boring into the popcorn ceiling.

I can’t do this anymore.

With a deep sigh, you promised yourself the next time you saw Hansol, you would ask him to tell you the truth. And whatever the truth was, you would be grateful for the burden being lifted off of your shoulders, even if it hurt.

One dull Psychology lesson later, Wednesday was shaping up to be one of the better days of the last two weeks. You had spent all of yesterday hanging out with Rin and your mother, Rin biting her tongue for a majority of the time and your mother showing you the newest garden catalog she got in the mail.

You had been taken aback by the fact your mother so easily forgot your outburst the day prior, but you were grateful to pretend for one day that things weren’t in silent disarray. Maybe you could fake it too for a little longer, just until the next time you saw Hansol and then everything would be out in the open, and that was what you were afraid of most.

Arriving home, you mother and father were in the kitchen, the aroma of pasta and garlic bread wafting into the hallway for you to smell immediately as you closed the door.

“Hey! Good to see you before five, stranger.” Your dad was wearing his “Kiss the Cook” apron that your mother bought for him a Christmas ago, even though she was the best cook of the two of them.

“What are you doing home so early,” you asked, beaming.

“I closed another account with one of the firm’s head honchos, so they gave me the rest of the week off as a thank-you,” he responded.

“And thank you, indeed.” Your mom winked, mixing the sauce and pasta shells together. “Since this is the last time I can think of that your dad has had time away, we’re going to stay in the city for a few days to celebrate.”

“Perfect time too. Your mother’s been raving about that botanical showcase for a month now.”

“You remembered!” Your mother grinned.

“Of course. How could I forget,” your dad asked, coming up behind her and giving her a kiss on the back of the head.

What. The. Fuck?

Did you imagine the past few days in your mind? It couldn’t be that easy for things to go back to normal.

“Honey, I forgot to bring in my gardening gloves. Can you get them for me,” your mother asked you with a smile.

“Sure, no problem,” you replied. Dropping your bag near the kitchen island, you walked towards the glass patio door that led to the backyard. Maybe things were that simple and it could be like the worry and hurt had never existed. It was all in your head, you assured yourself.

Then, surprisingly, you came face to face with Hansol in the backyard, a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

He was wearing his favorite plaid blue button-up with a wife-beater peeking out underneath, a pair of denim jeans to match. The flowers were identical to the ones you had seen Hansol give your mother a week ago. The most you had ever seen Hansol style his hair was by putting a thick comb through it, but it was obvious he primped himself up.

Your chest sank, perplexed as to why he was at your house and if this had to do with what had been going on recently. Despite the realization you couldn’t shrug off those events, you were happy to finally be alone with him after what felt like eons ago.

What were you doing with my mom?

Why is everything so confusing?

Do you know that I’ve missed you?

“Hey loser,” you replied, knowing what came out didn’t convey everything that was on your mind. And while you tried to sound lighthearted, the words were flat as they left your lips. Nevertheless, Hansol replied with his boyish smile.

He stepped closer to you, but you held a hand up to stop him. “Before you say whatever you’re about to say to me, I need to say something first,” you interrupted him, feeling a sudden cord around your throat.

“I know what’s been going on… between you and my mom.” Tears welled in the back of your throat as Hansol looked at you with a gaped mouth and wide eyes, speechless. “And I may not understand it, but I do know my mom is an amazing person and it’s not crazy to imagine she was a catch in her day, weird as that sounds,” you said, holding back a flinch.

“That being said,” you continued, “you’re my best friend, Han. And I—“ No matter how hard you tried to or how many times you had said those three words to him in the past, they struck differently now. The realization had been there for awhile, planted somewhere down the line and in the smallest of ways, but it had grown and sprouted like the flowers in his hands until you couldn’t hide it anymore. But now because of this predicament, you wondered if you would ever be able to say you loved him the way you yearned to.

“—I just want you to be happy,” you whispered, tears falling slowly down your face. “And while this may make you happy, I don’t know if I can accept it, and if that means that we can’t be friends anymore, then—“

As quickly as you had said the words, Hansol dropped the bouquet of flowers and strode forward, pressing his palms to either side of your face and kissing you hard.

You stood there for a moment, stunned it was happening and instantly, extremely shaken by how wrong all of the signs had been. “Idiot” was too easy of a word to describe how you felt and how you had been acting, coming to such a ludicrous conclusion before you had all the facts in front of you. But it didn’t completely explain what Hansol had been doing all those times you caught him in less-than-stellar acts. The answers could wait until later, though.

Shifting your focus back on your best friend, you kissed Hansol back and grabbed onto the front of his white tank peaking out of his plaid blue shirt. You both stood there clung tight to one another until you heard a whistle come from the window that looked into the kitchen. “I know you’re in love and all but quit making out, you two. You’re still my daughter,” Your dad yelled.

You both separated immediately, tiny but meaningful blushes on both of your faces.

“Why now,” you asked.

Hansol shrugged, breathless. “I don’t know, I just— I just remember walking to the cafe one morning and wanting to show these new lyrics I had written the night before. And then when I was waiting in line I wanted to buy you a cold brew because I know without one before your morning World Lit class you go ballistic,” he said, a laugh erupting from both of your throats. Your eyes became watery again as he spoke. “I woke up wanting to do a lot of things with you, and for you, and I guess I knew after I realized that that I wanted nothing more than to just be with you, whether you wanted that too or not.”

You wrapped your arms around him in a hug when he finished his speech, thinking about how ridiculous he was for believing somewhere inside of him you wouldn’t want everything he wanted and more. Even if that meant watching dumb falling compilations with him on Youtube or listening to his mixtapes that he would never finish, you would do it for him.

“Now, what the hell were you saying about me liking your mom?” You could hear your dad’s chuckle and your mother gasp in the kitchen, the two clearly eavesdropping on your conversation.

“It’s a long story,” you replied, “but I had seen you bring my mom flowers—“

“Which I was asking her about because I know she would know what you’d like,” he interrupted. “Oh!” He turned and quickly picked the bouquet back up, dusting off the wrapping paper that held the flowers in place. “For you.”

You laughed and took the flowers with a smile. “And I heard you and my brother talking last time you and Josh came over for dinner.”

“And we were obviously…“ He had a playful look in his eyes, waiting for you to finish the sentence as a way of teasing you.

“About me, jerk, I get it.” You scoffed. “But then why were you at the mall with my mom a few days ago?”

“What, were you spying on me?!”

“It was an honest coincidence!”

Hansol rolled his eyes and placed his hands in his pocket. “Well, I was gonna wait until after our date to give this to you, but fuck it.” A box inside of his palm caught your attention. When he opened it, a pair of golden teardrop earrings glistened in the afternoon sunlight. You gawked, but Hansol stopped you, knowing where your thoughts were going. “They were within my budget, so don’t tell me to take them back. All those tips I saved from Prince’s paid off, even if I could’ve done better.”

“Shut up, they’re beautiful.” They were textured but a simple yellow-gold color.

“You always said necklaces made your neck itchy,” he said.

You beamed ear to ear and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. This was more than you could have imagined. At the beginning of last week, you wouldn’t have predicted a bouquet of flowers you believed were for someone else would lead to such a surprisingly beautiful conclusion. And there was still more to come, but hopefully what was waiting for the both you involved less bizarre antics and misunderstandings.

“I love you, loser.”

author’s note: I’m back!! After a million years!! I am so glad to be back on here and writing again. I missed you guys and i missed this, just writing for the hell of it and not worrying about all the stuff that kept me away for so long. I hope you all love this story as much as I do and I can’t wait for you to read what else I have coming! x

#vernon fic #vernon fics #hansol fic #hansol fics #vernon x reader #seventeen fic #seventeen fics #vernon fluff #hansol fluff

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fallingfor-fics · 3 years

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Teachers Pet- chapter 31: goodbye Gilderoy

All chapters

chapter 30

A/n This is one of my fav chapters I wrote because of the ending <3

I yawned and stretched as I woke up the next day, for a second I almost didn't remember everything that happened, so much had happened, and so much needed to be dealt with. I sighed as I sat in bed and looked out the window. I slowly got up and saw how much of a mess the room was from getting ready yesterday.

I grabbed my wand and tidied my things up looking over to my roommates who were still asleep. I went to the bathroom and showered, turning the water as hot as I could handle to attempt to wash away yesterday. I ran my fingers over the marks on my chest and held back a few tears, I didn't know what to do about this feeling, I just remembered the fear I felt and his thoughts. Merlin his thoughts. They were vile and disgusting. I washed my face and the thoughts away, trying not to think about it. I got out and used magic on my hair and makeup and got dressed. Today everyone else went home for break, which I still haven't decided I was going to do. I really didn't want to be at Hogwarts alone, but even less did I want to meet my mom's new boyfriend, and hear her talk shit about Draco. It was still weird thinking about what happened and our plan. I was still a little hurt by what Draco did, but since I was never able to fully invest in our relationship, I would survive. Plus I loved having him as a friend. I looked over at the letter that stayed placed on my nightstand and picked it up reading it again. I thought about it for a moment and decided I'd be better off staying at Hogwarts. Plus who knows maybe it would be fun. I grabbed my wand and robes and headed to the common room to look for Draco. He walked out of his dorm and into the common room just as I was about to leave. "Hey Y/n." he chirped. "Hey I was actually looking for you." I said walking over to him. "Oh have you called off our plan?" he said with sad eyes, "No no, we need to handle a certain underwater sleazebag before breakfast." I said smiling. "Oh yes one moment." he said, turning and going back to his room and returning with Lockhart in the cup. I looked down in the cup and he was still there just swimming. "Perhaps we should just flush him." Draco said laughing. "You know that's not a bad idea, but I prefer him to die in Azkaban." I said smiling as we headed out of the room. I followed as he walked down the hall, "Draco where are you going? The Headmaster's office is this way." I asked furrowing my brows. "Well we need to get Snape first." I felt a pain in my chest at his name, he had disappeared after my solo, but I still had so many questions. Like did he really care for me at all? Why did he kiss me and then just say it was a mistake? "Y/n?" I snapped out of my thoughts and looked at Draco, "Y-yeah you're right." I said walking with him down the hall. "I figured you would be excited to see him." he said nudging my arm and wiggling his brows. I laughed and shook my head, "No, something happened last night with us and I don't know if anything will ever happen now, it's all so confusing. I went on explaining what happened, making sure he swore not to tell, knowing he wouldn't since it would just result in me spilling his own secret. We kinda made a deal to not ever tell each other secrets no matter what happened to our friendship. "Well that certainly is confusing, I'm sure you just need to have a talk with him." he said as we approached his classroom. "That's the thing I don't know if he will even give me the time of day, and I also don't want to chase him you know?" I didn't want to seem obsessed, I mean I didn't want him thinking I wasn't able to just leave him alone. It was only then did I remember I accidentally let slip that I was in love with him. "Oh fuck." I said out loud as we approached his door, "What?" Draco questioned. I didn't even know that I felt that way for him, I just thought I liked him a lot. "I told him I loved him last night, when we were fighting, and I just remembered." I said looking up at him, "Oh that's wow, what did he say?" I thought back to last night, "That our kiss was a mistake." I said softly looking down. "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sure he didn't mean it, he was probably just mad and scared." Draco said, trying to comfort me. "Yeah maybe." I looked at the door and knocked lightly.

No one answered at first, I looked to Draco and then knocked harder again. It opened quickly and there stood the tall dark professor, and I just looked away and at Draco. "Is there a reason you two are here at this time." Snape said obvious annoyance in his voice. Draco held up the cup, "We need to go see Dumbledore." he said respectively. Snape's eyes looked to the cup and flashed with anger, he looked back at me and we made eye contact, his now showing a hint of sorrow and guilt. I just looked back down and saw Draco's hand, I clasped mine around his and he looked at me smiling. "Of course, give me a moment." he said walking back into the room and then closing the door behind him as he exited. He walked passed us and down the hall, me and Draco keeping up behind him. We got to Dumbledore's office, and Snape muttered the password and let himself in, me and Draco following behind still. We walked in and Dumbledore was standing back to us getting a book from one of his shelves. "Hello what can I do for you all?" he said as he turned and smiled, walking over and sitting in his desk chair. I went and sat down in a chair and so did Draco, Snape standing behind us. "Albus there's been an incident." Snape drawled. "What happened, was anyone hurt?" he said looking at me and Draco. "Actually y-" he was going to respond but I cut him off, "No everyone is okay." I said looking up and Snape who looked at me slightly confused. "Ok so what seems to be the problem?" Dumbledore inquired waiting for one of us to spit it out. Draco took the reins and set the cup down in front of Dumbledore. "This is Sir." Dumbledore looked over into the cup and then looked back up at us. "A fish?" he questioned smiling, "It's not a fish." Draco said and Dumbledore looked at him confused and then looked up at Snape. Snape walked over to the cup and grabbed it, he carried it to a spot on the floor and pulled out his wand, he pointed it at the cup and it twisted and turned back into a soaking wet and very scared Lockhart. Snape looked at Lockhart, "Don't even try running Gilderoy." he practically growled, we all knew only an idiot would try to run in a situation like this, with two very powerful wizards on each side of him. Dumbledore got up and walked over to Lockhart, looking at Snape and then at me, I had my head down, not wanting to look at the disgusting excuse of a man that was making a puddle of water. "Well what happened? Why is he here and why was he a fish?" Dumbledore said now very concerned. "Nothing, I didn't do a thing she just turned me into a fish for the hell of it!" Lockhart scrambled out trying to get out of this, clearly he is an idiot for thinking anyone would have believed that. Snape looked at him and casted a silencing charm without even speaking and shut Gilderoy up. I felt Snape's eyes on me and I looked up at him for a moment. I felt Draco's hand grab mine and I turned to him, "It's ok he needs to know." Draco whispered to reassure me. I nodded and looked back at Snape, he still had his usual angry face on, but I could see in his eyes he felt sympathetic for me. I looked to Dumbledore and began. "Last night during the ball, I went for a walk down the hall to, um...mentally prepare myself for my solo," I said, lying since I didn't want to expose Draco, " and I ran into Gilderoy here and we had an exchange of words and he brought up how a few weeks ago I accidentally," I paused for a moment and looked at Snape, I was still afraid I would get in trouble, he just nodded his head slightly, letting me know it was fine. " cast the expelliarmus spell on him out of defense because I thought he was gonna cast one at me, and he didn't say anything about that. So last night he brought up how he did not punish me for that and I asked him well what are you gonna do about it? And he said I had a few options." I said now looking at the blonde man that was shaking his head as if I was lying, I turned my attention back to Dumbledore and continued. "He said I could clean for him, served detention with him, or I could pay off my debt right then. I didn't think much of it, and so I read his mind to see what he may have been talking about and he was thinking a lot of weird things and offered I just come to his room for a moment." Dumbledore looked at Snape quickly, whose eyes were still resting on me and then he looked at Lockhart, I looked down at my hands as I resumed, "And when I asked if he meant for detention, he then offered to meet me in a carriage." I looked at Dumbledore who was now standing with an angry look on his face, I had never seen him mad. "When I declined he slowly backed me into the wall, and he brushed my hair from my face, and I pulled back and went to walk away, but he trapped me against the wall. He said he would tell you about the incident and that I would probably be expelled." I paused for a moment looking at everyone, Dumbledore was still waiting for me to continue and Draco was still holding my hand and looking at me with sad eyes. I looked at Snape and then back down at my hands before continuing. "He placed his hand on my shoulder and then pushed down on my chest, I tried to resist it but my neck began to hurt and so did his hand, so I lowered down on my knees, I had thought maybe he just wanted the praise, but then he grabbed my jaw to force me to look at him," my voice began to waver slightly, I could feel my throat drying as I went on, "I pulled my wand on him and shot a spell, but he blocked it and knocked my wand away and then binded my hands and feet. I asked him what he wanted and he said I knew because I was smart. He stepped closer to me and I closed my eyes when I opened them, he had.." I stopped, this was getting harder the more I went on, I knew I had to tell him everything, but I didn't know if I could continue without crying. "He had untucked his shirt and thankfully a few moments later Draco came from around the corner." Dumbledore looked to Draco and then back at me. I looked over to Snape and he looked even more mad and had gotten more pale, I could tell he was livid and wanted to use the killing curse on the stupid man next to him. But I could also see in his eyes that he wasn't just mad, he was furious that the nasty man next to him had touched me, and hurt me, and almost did unspeakable things. I wanted to tell him that I was ok, and that I was so thankful he was there, but I knew I couldn't. My eyes began to sting and a tear slid down my cheek. "Draco was able to distract him when he noticed Professor Snape walking down the hall, Lockhart didn't see him and Snape was able to disarm him and help me. And now we are here." I finished, wiping a few stray tears.

Dumbledore stood in shock and fury, he walked back over and stood in front of me resting a hand on my shoulder. "y/n why did you tell me last night?" he asked with sad sparkling blue eyes. "I didn't want to ruin everyone's night." I mumbled looking down at my feet. He sighed and looked over at Snape, who just closed his eyes for a moment, no doubt to calm down. "Okay, thank you for telling me Y/n that was very brave." Dumbledore said looking back at me. It's not like I had a choice, if those two hadn't saved me, and what I thought was gonna happen happened I probably never would have spoken of it. "Now, Severus and I will discuss our next actions, although I already have a pretty good plan in mind," he paused looking at Gilderoy who was practically shaking from fear, "You two go ahead to the great hall since breakfast will start soon." he said smiling at me. I nodded and took Draco's hand as we got up and headed out of the office and to the dining hall. As soon as the door shut Snape quickly turned to Dumbledore. "We need to get the ministry here immediately or I will escort him to Azkaban myself." Snape spat out quickly. "Yes I am well aware Severus." Albus quipped back, just as frustrated. He looked over to Gilderoy and undid the silencing charm. "You're most certainly fired, and I will see to it you will not leave Azkaban ever again." he said angrily, Snape smirked at this and gave Lockhart an angry stare. "Goodluck getting me locked away for doing nothing." Gilderoy said, trying to be sly. "What do you mean doing nothing? You cornered a student, left bruises on the girl, bound her wrists and ankles, disarmed her, and attempted to assault her!" Snape sneered at the man who flinched at his voice. "Don't worry Severus, he won't step foot near this school, or any school for that matter, ever again." Dumbledore chirped. "Now why don't you take him somewhere he can't escape while I alert the ministry and we wait for their arrival." Dumbledore said smiling. Gilderoy was now crying and Snape nodded and grabbed him by the back of his shirt and dragged him out of the room.

"Where are you taking me? Let me go, I didn't do anything!" Gilderoy said, squirming trying to escape Snape's tight grasp. "You are lucky I didn't hex you the minute I found you with her." Snape growled. "Got a little crush on the girl have you Severus?" Gilderoy said, teasing, Snape turned him and grabbed his collars, shoving him up against the wall, wand pointed to his neck. "One more word and I will sew your mouth shut and make sure no one can open it." he hissed his eyes black with rage. "She's got a pretty little mouth doesn't she? Way too pretty for you." Lockhart retorted, he didn't want to seem intimidated. Which was a bad move. Snape didn't say anything; he just pushed him harder against the wall, his breathing getting heavier as he dug his wand further into the man's neck. "What's wrong Severus? Upset that I beat you to her? Upset I was able to have the little slut on her knees?" he sneered. Severus looked at the ugly man and released his grasp, "Ah much b-" he was cut off when Snape drew his fist back and punched him across the face. Severus had never been one to use the standard way of hurting someone, why would he when he was a very powerful wizard? But he was furious and needed the man to feel this pain, without getting into trouble by using an unforgivable curse. Gilderoy looked back up at Snape and raised his own fist, Snape caught it and struck the man once more. This time causing the man to slide down the wall unconscious with a bloody nose. Snape grabbed the back of his shirt and then dragged the man down the hall.

Taglist; @lovelyhoneylemon @juliijah

#snape imagine #severusnape #professor snape #snape #severus snape #severus i love you #severus x reader #severus snape x reader #Snape slowburn #slytherin #hogwarts

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thediamondgirl17 · 3 years

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Kitsune! Miya Twins x Reader: Sly Foxes (SFW-ish) Part 1

Okie dokie! So here we are! First Miya twins fic! I’m super excited! I read a fic called The Fox Witch by @haikyuufairy and it was SO FREAKING GOOD! It inspired me to write this! Now- I am NOT familiar with Kitsunes or authentic Japanese culture and things like that- so PLEASE bear with me! I’m trying my best. I’m literally going to do research for this fic because I love the concept of it so much! Kitsune Inarizaki was AMAZING and I genuinely loved it! So I hope I am doing this author justice by writing something (hopefully) as good as they wrote!

Like I said earlier I am a Kitsune/Authentic Japanese virgin and basically have no idea what I’m doing with this but...I’m gonna try anyway! So without further ado, lets get on with the story!! As always if you would like a Part 2, feel free to suggest and I will be happy to provide!

Warnings: PG-13

For as long as you could remember, you had grown up hearing stories of Kitsunes, the gods, demons, and all sorts of things that you had thought only belonged in the dreams of those older than you. You would leave offerings to the gods and the deities right outside their homes to try and keep the ‘bad’ demons away and have the good ones on their side if things were to turn bad. However, you never really believed any of it. They were myths. Fairy tales. Things adults would say to children to get them to behave. Right?

You had never expected any of it to be real. You had never expected that demons actually roamed the earth out of sight from human eyes. And you sure as hell did not expect to be passed out inside the temple on shrine grounds of the goddess Inari.

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“There...done...,” You said looking down at the pile of boxes you had just hauled into your new house. Finally you were away from your family and had just started working in the area. Your house was one floor, one bathroom, one bedroom cottage-like house that you were able to afford each month in rent. It was nice, quiet, and you had a nice big front and backyard.

You stretched out and sat down on a chair in the dinning room, crossing your legs and pulling out your phone to check it. You scrolled through for a while as a reward for hauling in boxes upon boxes of your stuff. However, when you had finally noticed you needed to unpack your clothes or else you would have nothing to wear, you did so. You grabbed a pair of scissors and started to cut open the boxes with your clothes, and clothing hangers in them. Silently you thanked the gods that the movers were able to already have helped you set up your bed and move heavy furniture so that you wouldn’t have to do it yourself. About a half hour had passed until you heard a knock on your front door. You placed down the clothes you were currently folding and walked over. Once you opened it, you saw an older man and woman standing there with a smile.

“Hello...My name is Aikio Tanjiro, and this is my husband, Eiji Tanjiro. And we came over to welcome you to the neighboorhood.” The old woman said and gave a small bow, along with her husband.

“Well it’s nice to meet you Tanjiro-san.” You said softly and bowed a bit as well. “Please, come in, I can make you both some tea.” You offered. The two had agreed and you gave them each a pair of guest slippers to wear. They sat down on the tatami on the floor as you boiled the water for tea.

“Oh please just Aikio and Eiji are fine.” Eiji said while sitting down.

“Oh...alright!” You smiled and once the water was ready, brought it over to the old couple. You sat down with them and started to pour the water into each of their cups.

“Have you been to the shrine yet since you have moved in?” Aikio said while blowing softly on her tea before taking a small sip. You smiled nervously.

“N-no actually, I’ve been busy unpacking.” You admitted with a small nervous chuckle.

“Oh well you must!” The old woman said with her eyes widening a bit. “There are Kitsune around this town that keep us protected from demons and Yako. Bringing them and the Goddess Inari an offering is an absolute must if you plan on staying here.” She warned and took another sip of her tea. You turned to her husband to see if he would say anything about her just having one or two screws loose, but all you got was a small smile.

“Don’t look at me...,” He trailed off. “She sounds a little crazy but she is right. There are Kitsune that have protected this area for generations. It’s best to appease them now when you first arrive so they don’t harbor bad feelings toward you.” He said and also sipped his tea. You just nodded slowly in agreement with them.

‘I don’t need to...,’ You thought to yourself as the three of you sipped on your teas. ‘But if they ask again, I wouldn’t want to lie to them, or disappoint them.’ You sighed internally. ‘I’ll do it anyway, besides it will help feed the wildlife.’ You thought as you sipped on your cup.

“Don’t mind the foxes in the area as well.” The old woman said. “This area is known for them. Some may be Kitsune who just haven’t reached 100 yet, so treat all of them with respect.” She nodded in agreement with herself. And for the rest of the evening the three of you talked about whatever else came to mind about your moving in.

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After spending the rest of the evening with the Tanjiro couple, you had finished a bit more of unpacking before crashing down onto the bed you had just made and groaned. You rolled over to look at the clock on your nightstand. You didn’t have work tomorrow so you would be able to sleep in. ‘I have to go to the shrine though,’ You internally groaned to yourself. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe in things like this, it was just that you thought it was childish, almost like Santa Claus or the old folk tales you heard as a kid. Oh how wrong you were.

The next morning rolled around, and you had only known this due to the fact that the sun was shining right in your eyes when you woke up. You groaned and rolled over to look at the clock. ‘11:30′ it read. You sighed and threw the covers off of yourself before rolling out of bed and trudging downstairs to make breakfast for yourself. ‘I’ll make breakfast, get dressed, do my hygienic rounds, unpack a little more, and then I’ll visit the shrine.’ You thought as you gently pushed around the ingredients inside the frying pan.

And you had followed that plan through. However when you had finished unpacking what you wanted for the day it was actually about on the verge of sunset. You sighed and shook your head. You stood up, stretched out, and went into the kitchen to whip up some food very quickly for the offering. After cooking what you wanted, you put it in two bowls. One for the goddess and the other for the Kitsune, covered them with tin foil, and then placed them in a bag to make it easier to carry up to the shrine.

Considering that now it was dark outside you grabbed your coat, and a flashlight. The shrine was not too far away from your house at all. It was about a half a mile away including the stairs to get to the shrine. So a trip there and back would be a full mile, which wouldn’t be bad at all. The stairs to the shrine were surrounded by wilderness, and the only thing you were really worried about were wild boars, but you knew that if you didn’t mess with them, they usually wouldn’t mess with you, so you didn’t worry.

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Slowly your legs carried you up the stairs to the shrine through the woods. Your flashlight pointed at the ground in front of you to insure that you wouldn’t fall. Every now and again you would hear the sound of something in the bushes beside you, but wouldn’t pay any mind to it. ‘It was probably just a bird or squirrel.’ You would think as you continued to climb.

You had gotten about halfway up the stairs when something had suddenly jumped out in front of your light. You jumped a bit and stared directly at it. It was a fox. The fox standing in front of your light had a basic grey body with completely black legs, a white tipped tail, and a patch of white under it’s chin. It’s tail was down but waved back and forth. The two of you stood there for a while just looking at each other.

“...Can you move please?” You asked softly. “I need to get to the shrine...I brought offerings...,” Your voice was quiet but to you it felt like it was echoing through the woods. Almost a moment afterwards, the fox looked away from you and jumped back into the woods where you wouldn’t be able to see it, even if you had tried.

However, after the fox had left, you heard a rumble in the sky and you groaned. ‘Please don’t start raining.’ You thought. And soon, almost as if the gods heard you and decided to laugh in your face, you heard the sound of light pitter patter on the steps to the shrine. At this point you were closer to the shrine than you were to your house, so you silently made a plan to go into the building once you got up there to keep dry until the rain would stop falling.

You didn’t think you were moving that fast along the steps to the shrine. Your legs didn’t feel like you were moving that fast. It was more like time slowed down, and you felt like you were moving slower. But no matter what the case, you felt the undeniably feeling of your foot missing a step on the rock/concrete steps. And you felt yourself fall forward a little to far for your liking. The next thing you remember was everything going black.

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“Why is she here?” A stern voice asked.

“Kita is gonna be so pissed off at you-” A playful voice teased.

“Watch your language! Remember where you are!” A deep voice scolded.

You groaned softly, from the noise, your head hurting, and being woken up. You felt yourself roll over on what felt like a futon. Your eyes opened for a moment and everything was blurry. Soon you closed them and re-opened them to asses the situation you were in. You sat up slowly and put your hand on your head. Under your fingers you felt bandages around your head. You let out a soft sigh and looked up. There were four people surrounding you.

The first one looked to be fairly younger than the rest of them. His black hair was pointed straight up in a spikey kind of way. He had grey eyes, and thick eyebrows that framed his face in an intimidating way.

The second one had greyish brownish muddies short hair and eyes that matched the color of it. He looked to be a bit older than the first one, but younger than the last one, and the same age as the third one.

The third one had blondish yellowish hair with an undercut that was brown. His eyes were also brown and he held this mischievous smirk on his face as he looked at you. He looked to be older than the first one, the same age as the second one, and younger than the third one.

Finally, the fourth one had very short brown hair, blueish greyish eyes, and darker skin than the other three. Out of all of them he looked the oldest. This was the one that kneeled down and let his eyes wander along the top of your head.

“How are you feeling?” He asked. You recognized his voice as the third one you heard. “Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous? Do you remember your name?”

“Chill with the questions Aran...She can’t answer all of them at once.” The one with the yellow hair said as if he were the smartest man in the world.

“Shut it Atsumu.” He scolded. Aran then looked back at you.

“No. No. And (F/n) (L/n)...Where am I?” You asked looking around you. “Am I in the shrine?”

“Wow...Good job...Someone get her a gold star.” Atsumu snickered.

“Leave her alone.” The second one said crossing his arms.

“Ginjima is right.” Aran replied.

“...I-is Kita gonna be mad at me Aran? I didn’t know what to do with her...I crossed her path and then there was thunder...a-and then she fell...there was so much blood...I got scared...,” The first one said pacing nervously back and forth. You sat there silently.

“Chill Riseki...Kita won’t be mad.” Aran responded.

“No you didn’t.” You replied and looked up at him. “I didn’t see anybody when I came up the steps.” Riseki furrowed his eyebrows when he heard this.

“Yeah you did! We even made eye contact...You asked me to move...,” He said looking confused.

“I said that to an animal...Where you further up the steps? If so I didn’t see you.” You replied.

“I-,” Riseki was about to say before he heard someone walking to the room you all were in. There were two sets of footsteps that could be heard. Two people walked into the room. One of them looked like a carbon copy of the yellowish blondish haired boy. And the other had very noticeable white hair with black tips.

“Is she doing well?” The man with the white and black hair said to Aran.

“Yes...She is up and about and asking questions.” He replied and everyone looked back at you.

“Did she bring an offering?” He asked.

“W-well...Yeah she was on her way up with two when she fell.” Riseki said gently rubbing his arm, a nervous tendency for the young looking boy.

“I guess it can be forgiven.” The white and black haired man spoke again. “Just as long ad you bring another one....What a waste of food..,” He said softly. While his voice held no emotion, it cut through you like a blade.

“So...Are you like the monk that runs this place?” You asked looking up at him. Almost everyone in the room looked at you as if you were stupid.

“I guess you could say that.” He replied.

“Ya aren’t gonna scold him for bringin’ her here?! What the hell Kita!” Atsumu said in a rude tone.

“No..., And watch your tone Miya. Remember where you are.” Kita said and crossed his arms. “He’s young...,” He trailed off.

“Okay but-,” You paused. “Riseki was it? Where you stalking me on my way up?” You questioned.

“N-no!” He shot back at you. “I literally walked in front of you!” He said not raising his voice but just making his words more stern.

“The only thing that walked in front of me on my way up here was a fox.” You said. Then the room went silent.

“Shit!” Riseki cried. The cussing and the sudden yell earned him a wack on the back of the head by Aran.

“It’s okay...We all messed up our first few times...,” The boy with the silver hair that looked like Atsumu said.

“However that still doesn’t excuse it...I know your getting used to this but if you can’t remember what form your in, you’re staying here.” Kita said putting his food down. You were silent until you stood up off the futon on the ground.

“I hit my head harder than I thought...,” You mumbled.

“What?” Atsumu teased. “Don’t believe in Kitsune?”

“Never seen one...or met one...so I couldn’t tell you.” You admitted and looked around. “But I think I’m dreaming at this point so...I’m gonna head home now.” You stretched a bit, eager to get out of whatever kind of a dream this was.

“You aren’t dreaming.” Kita said in his usual monotoned voice that sounded cold and strong. “And you should believe what your elders tell you.” You blinked for a moment and looked around you, at everyone.

“...Prove it...,” You said softly.

“We don’t have to prove anything to you.” Aran chimed in.

“Awe why not~!” Atsumu said playfully. “She’s already seen one of us...no point in hiding it anymore.” And soon his body had morphed. Not too much. But a tail and a pair of ears were visible. The ears were red, and that same fur had adorned the tail, however instead of red fur on the tip, it was black. You blinked then rubbed your eyes.

“Well since now you know. I expect offerings here tomorrow afternoon.” Kita said turning away from you. He started walking out of the room before pausing. “Inari along with all of us expect it now that we have shown you kindness.” And with that he left the room, leaving you in a confused state and looking around at the Kitsune in the room.

“...I don’t believe this...,” You whispered softly.

#miya twins #atsumu x y/n #osamu x y/n #kitsune #haikyuu #anime #xreader #inarizaki

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chayacat · 3 years

Text

Devil’s Sweet Star (41)

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Ghostface x Female Reader

Rated M for Violence, Language and Smut

***

My kingdom for something. It is a fairly well-known and old sentence that is used very little today. But... for you it would be: My kingdom for something that relaxes me. What for? Let's say your awakening was... Disturbed. Jed was still sleeping for once; it was quite surprising considering that he is always the first awake to go to work. But you have to believe that his evening was... Exhausting. So, you are the first one standing. And on your nightstand, you found a piece of paper. What is written on it leaves you in no doubt about the identity of the author.

*Hoggins is dead. We see each other tonight, Honey. Be ready. *

That's it. It's done. And now it's up to you to honor your share of the deal. An entire evening with Ghostface. But it is far too early. You wish you had a little more time, just to find an excuse for Jed to not be there. What can you do? How are you going to do? If Jed sees Ghostface... And if Ghostface sees Jed... God only knows what could happen. This is why you are stressed today. But you found the excuse of the festival and the journalists to not worry everyone. Although in itself this is not really an excuse, because you also tense for this reason.

What do journalists in other cities think of you? of your pastries? of the festival in general? Were they satisfied? or disappointed? What will they write about you? So many unanswered questions... For now. Several options are jostling in your head: The first is that they loved everything. They will write a very good review about you, about the festival, about the city. People from other cities would come, even tourists, to visit the city and take the opportunity to go to your café. And if they also appreciate... they could come and live there! So, the city would get a little bigger, and your coffee would be better and better known throughout Ohio.

The second option? It’s that they are... neutral. They didn't hate it but didn't like it either. As a result, they will write a fairly neutral article, which will not change much. Or it will attract a few tourists, who will make Roseville a city where spend your holidays quietly... but nothing more.

And the last... it's that they hated it. After all, and without wanting to offend Jed, journalists are quite particular. They are quite snobby; they have tastes...how to say... Let's say they enjoy luxurious places at poor little country festivals. So, when you send them to this kind of place, they're not necessarily cheerful. So just to annoy everyone, and especially the city, they write negative articles, where they criticize everything, invent fake stories and fake anecdotes just to get revenge. And so, they could do the same with the Roseville festival. They could write an article in which they would criticize everything, tell anything. It wouldn't really benefit the city, just like it would be for your coffee. Because if you want to expand, you need good reviews. But also, good reviews of the city. And unfortunately, it’s not with the Roseville Gazette that this can be done. It has to come from the outside world.

But let's remain optimistic! there's no reason they hated it, right? You were working in the back of the shop. At least you try because with all this stress in you... it’s difficult to concentrate. Amy who saw you from the counter, because she turned to you from time to time, brought you a cup of tea, a smile on her lips.

“I thought it would relax you. Do not worry! I'm sure that everything went well and that we will read good returns in the days!” she said cheerfully.

“Thanks Amy, I guess you’re right. I should relax and hope for the best. How is it in the café? we have a lot of customers?” you respond with a smile.

“Oh yeah! As usual I want to say. Corey runs everywhere but hey, I feel like it doesn't mind him more than that... quite the contrary.”

“Hahaha It's true. You know, there are people who can't stay in place. They have to move, do something all the time otherwise they get bored and find everything boring. Corey is surely that kind of person who doesn't like to stand by and do nothing, just like me.”

“AMY! New orders are here! Hurry up!” Shouts Corey from the counter.

“I'M COMING! I have to go back to work! Don't forget boss, breathe and relax. Everything's fine. We had the hardest time. Everything will be fine now.” said Amy before going back to the counter.

You smile as you watch Amy go back to work. She’s right, you have to relax. But... unfortunately for you, the hardest part has not yet passed. The hardest part is coming tonight. And you don't know what to do with Jed. How to convince him to not be at the apartment tonight? Without offending him? Unless there is a miracle, unless he has to leave on his own to find another scoop or go to the scene of a murder, it’s impossible. But hey... so far, you've been lucky. You could have been killed by Ghostface, and he decided to leave you alive. You could have been the victim of an assassination, and Jed protected you. You could have been there when this guy ransacked your coffee, and yet you were already at home when it happened. So, what could go wrong tonight?

It's better to not think about it anymore. It will happen... what will happen. For now, you need to focus on your job and nothing else. Tonight... it will be a different story. The day went off without a hitch. Customers came and went, some with a smile, others a little grumpy, some were stressed, others confident. There was everything, and everything was needed in this world.

Melina and Mattew arrived laughing, and sat down at a table. Amy took their order and Melina asked her if you were there. Amy told them you were in the back of the shop baking March cakes. You gave them a small greeting with your hand, which they returned to you with a smile. You put down your tea towel and leave the room to go see them. And as usual, they were making fun of each other.

“Only 3 slices of cake? I don't believe you. You are a little glutton, OUR little glutton Mattew. 3 parts is only the aperitif for you.” Said Melina laughing.

“Hey! I swear to you that I am telling the truth! I didn't want the boss to give me an eternal sermon! You know how he is when you don't respect his instructions... I have often been paying the price...” responds Mattew.

“That’s true.”

“My poor Mattew... I hope at least you were able to enjoy it when you got back.” you said smiling.

“Nah, I left my shares to Chris. He must also take advantage of it. With work it's hard right now." responds Mattew

“Awn it’s too cute. He's really lucky to have you.”

“Oh! I almost forgot! Jed asked us to warn you that tonight he will be coming home very late. He must apparently go to the scene of a new murder committed by Ghostface. Another innocent inhabitant who died by his cold and heartless blade.” Said Melina.

“Oh. O-okay. Poor guy...or girl.” You simply respond.

When I was talking about miracles... here is one. It saddens you to learn that Ghostface is being killed again, but it suits you for tonight. Jed will return very late, until he comes back, Ghostface will surely be gone. Luck is still on your side for now. You talk for a little while with Mattew and Melina before they go back to work, and so do you. The rest of the day was quiet, although towards the end you received the call from Mr. Parkson and your Aunt Marnie.

The first one informed you that everything was finally settled for the succession and that the inheritance had been divided at your request between your uncles and aunts. Nevertheless, they have asked that you receive a share of this inheritance as well, so you should expect an upcoming transfer to your bank account. Mr. Parkson greeted you and wished you good luck for the future, hoping that time will heal your wounds. He also informed you that if he learns something about your parents' death, you will be the first to know.

As for your discussion with Aunt Marnie, it was simple. She was taking news, knowing how you were doing, if you needed anything and if everything was okay with Jed. You couldn't help but laugh at her mother hen attitude, it was so adorable coming from her. Your uncle Joey had finally decided to talk to you on the phone. And just by his voice, you felt that it made him feel better to hear you and chat with you. He was fine, some back problems, but nothing very bad according to him. You still tell him to pay attention to him and to not force too much if he does not want to end up stuck in bed for days. He laughed, saying that you reminded him of his sister, your mother, when she was still of this world. He hung up saying that he loved you and hoped to see you soon. You answer him the same thing before hanging up in your turn.

You walk home, without a hitch, and once in the apartment, you sigh with relief. It feels good to finally be at home. And you'll get even better after a good shower. In any case, you will have to prepare. Ghostface is coming. And welcome him in work clothes... is not really a good idea. So, you take clean things, go to the bathroom and take a shower. You leave the room after a few minutes and decide to prepare food. Since you are not very hungry, because of the stress of Ghostface, a simple salad of tomatoes and cucumbers will be enough. You were doing the dishes, when you heard footsteps that you would recognize between a thousand.

“Well... I really hoped you weren't going to come tonight. I thought maybe you'd be lenient and give me an evening off.” you said without turning your back, hearing HIM chuckling.

“Sorry Honey, but unfortunately, a deal is a deal. And then... spend an entire evening by your side... I will certainly not refuse.” said Ghostface.

“Is he really dead? Are you sure?”

“Given the state in which I left him, I can tell you that he is indeed dead. He ended up... like his creator. On a nice wooden cross, crucify by me. If you could have been there... you would have been amazed by my art.”

“You’re a twisted devil.”

“And you’re guardian angel. I am both. Then... Where do we start?” Ghostface replied.

“What if you finally told me who you are? Remember? it was part of the deal. A whole evening with you in exchange for your true identity.” you respond, facing him.

He sneered before approaching you slowly, but with a determined step. He gently pressed you against the worktop and you could guess through his mask that he was devouring you with his eyes.

“Do you REALLY want to start with that? This is just a small detail... we can deal with that... later in the evening.” he said with a softly voice.

“Deal is a deal. That’s what you said. No true identity, no evening with me. And anyway... Jed will return sooner or later.” You respond with a provocative look.

“... Fine. As you wish. But regarding Jed... I don't think... that he will bother us tonight. In fact, he will no longer bother us.”

“What do you mean? What did you do to him??? ANSWER ME!”

Ghostface sneered before exploding with laughter before backing up and closing the curtains properly so that no one outside could see what was going to happen. He went back in front of you, now standing in the center of the room and gently removing his mask. And the face that was underneath... No... That's impossible... you didn't want to believe it.

“J... Jed?” you said shocked.

“Hi...Honey. I’m home.” He responds with a sneaky smile.

You couldn't believe it... you didn't want to believe it. Since all this time... he lied to you. Since all this time... the man you loved, was the one who at night came to see you under this mask.

Since all this time... your guardian angel... was also the devil you are trying to drive away.

***

(My right arm finally doesn't make me suffer anymore! what a pleasure! Gone is the horrible feeling of being hit in the arm! I will be able to write fully! But I also can't wait to go back to bars, restaurants and more... but for that I have to have the sanitary pass. And it won't be until September. What a hell! The next chapter will be the continuation of this one, but from the point of view of our dear Danny! I hope you’ll like this chapter like the others ones! Well, it's time for my brain to rest! Have a great weekend to you all! See ya!)

#dbd fanfic #dbd #dead by daylight #ghostface #danny johnson #jed olsen

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antidotenurse · 3 years

Text

Zexal III - Black Mist’s Return

Here’s a little fic that I wrote about Kanna and Black Mist’s first meeting and alliance! 3.3k words! Enjoy! ~ Sasstral

The first thing he became aware of was his sudden sense of freedom, like severing his arms from puppet strings. In an instant, he was falling to whatever ground there was below, and it must have been a long way away because he felt as if he was falling for eternity.

Wherever he was, it was far away from where he was going to end up.

He crawled, his form resembling that of liquid, across the cold ground, desperately searching for sanctuary in the unknown world he found himself in.

His powers already growing too weak for him to continue on, he found the asylum he had so yearned for in the form of a mansion. It held a certain energy within it, one that willed him forward with its strong presence.

The unbearable weakness he felt before began to melt away once he entered the very room all the chaos was flowing rampantly through.

He slid into the deck resting against a nightstand, curling up within it, he let himself lose consciousness, a form of stasis as he embraced the feeling of being safe.

A card appeared within the deck as the creature settled, it was Number 96: Black Mist.

…

Kanna Hino woke up before her alarm every morning. One of the first lessons her parents ever taught her was that tardiness was unacceptable and unprofessional, whether for school or ballet practice. She made it a goal of hers to avoid being tardy and to be as professional as one girl could possibly be.

She stretched every morning, starting from her arms and then down to her legs, keeping up good form was also important and very professional.

Every morning she’d sort through her deck, sometimes changing out cards with new ones so her moves never become too predictable, another very professional quirk of hers that she congratulates herself for.

She sat down in the chair by her vanity dresser and began sorting through them. Everything was just as she organized it the day before until she came across a card she didn’t recognize.

She held it up closer and muttered to herself quietly, “What is this?”

Suddenly, a cloud of black smoke emerged from the card and formed into a person, floating just above the floor in her room.

She sat there frozen until the being looked right at her, one eye gold and the other completely black.

Kanna let out a shrill scream, fell backward off her chair, stumbled upwards and began throwing whatever was on her dresser at the figure who stood there unfazed as the objects quite literally phased right through it.

“Are you done yet?” It asked her as it saw her running out of items to toss.

“What are you?” Kanna finally asked, gathering her calmness back and presenting herself as confident once more.

“I am not quite sure myself.” It admitted to her, it picked up the number card from the floor and mysteriously enough it was the only thing that it could touch, “I believe this is part of me.”

“Oh, so you’re a freaky card spirit.” Kanna concluded, it was the only logical explanation she could gather out of such a bizarre moment, and that was a stretch as it is. “What are you doing here anyway? I didn’t pick up your stupid card and I don’t want to be haunted.”

“I am not sure about that either.” The spirit answered, it’s eyes gazing around the room as if it had just noticed where it was.

“You have no idea how you got here?,” Kanna asked, “Into my room?”

“I remember sensations and emotions but that is all. I believe I may have unconsciously sought your room out due to its intense levels of negative energy.” The spirit said, not paying much attention to her angered expression, “It helped rebuilt my body, but unfortunately I am still incomplete.”

“Yeah, well, that sure is unfortunate but I can’t help you with that. You can take all the negative energy in this room with you when you leave.” Kanna scoffed angrily, picking her hairbrush up from off the floor and running it through her hair.

She didn’t expect to hear soft laughter following her response, still, she refused to look at the being.

“I see, so all the negative energy is coming from you.” The being pointed out.

Kanna stopped what she was doing and took a deep breath, “Why won’t you just leave already? I don’t have time to waste on you.”

“I cannot, you and I are bound together until I restore my memory and gain the ability to leave this world.” The being said.

“Hey, that isn’t fair! I didn’t even agree to help you, why should I?” Kanna questioned him.

“So long as you are the holder of my number, I am yours, if you do not like that arrangement perhaps I could make it the other way around. How about having you belong to me?” The being sneered at her, but Kanna quickly took charge.

“I’m in charge here, no freaky amnesiac card spirit is going to take control of me!” Kanna spoke with strength, the being looked as though he saw it admirable, “So once you get your memories back, you leave my life for good. I want to get back to normalcy as soon as possible.”

“Sounds like a wonderful deal to me.” The being agreed.

“So, do you remember your name?” Kanna asked after a moment of silence.

“I am Number 96: Black Mist.”

“That sounds like a mouthful…How about I just call you Mist.”

“If that is what you desire.”

“What I desire is for you to leave my room so I can get dressed.”

Black Mist stared blankly at her for a moment after she said that, “What difference does it make?”

Kanna stood and pointed towards the door, “Out.” She insisted.

Black Mist complied and left the room, only to poke his head through moments later. Kanna screamed at him and launched another item towards where his body had phased halfway through the door. He pulled back as the object hit the door with a loud thud.

Below the hallway banister, Black Mist witnessed an elderly woman look right through him.

“Kanna, darling, are you alright?” The woman asked.

Kanna opened her bedroom door, now fully clothed in her high school uniform with her hair braided, and shouted, “I’m fine, Grammy!”

The grandma walked back to whatever room she was previously in within the big mansion.

“You.” Kanna pointed at him accusingly, “Behave yourself while I’m at school. I’m a member of student council, they rely on me to be there. They wouldn’t be able to function if I weren’t at the top of my game.”

“If by games you mean dueling then perhaps my assistance would help you gain the respect of your peers.” Black Mist offered.

“It’s a figure of speech, I wasn’t talking about- Wait, you duel?” Kanna asked.

“Yes. In fact, I’m quite good. My dueling skills are the clearest memory I have.” Black Mist answered.

“Good to know. Well, see you later then.” Kanna said as she walked down the many flights of stairs she had within the big empty mansion she lived in.

That was the first thing Black Mist observed, how empty the whole place was.

What could one girl and one elderly lady possibly need such a large living space for? Neither of them seemed to interact much, having huge corners of the house to themselves and only ever meeting in the middle for mere seconds until Kanna escaped to solitary once more.

Kanna’s grandmother wished her a good day at whatever this ‘school’ was and then the woman and Kanna went their separate ways.

Once out the door, Black Mist got a good view of just how big her house really was, and how small the other houses were in the other neighborhoods they passed.

“Why are you following me?” Kanna asked, looking back at how Black Mist floated behind her.

“I told you, we are bound together. Wherever you go I have to follow. I am not doing this by choice.” Black Mist explained, “I do hope something interesting will happen at this school of yours.”

“Hey Kanna!” A fellow classmate called out to her on the school grounds.

Kanna scrambled to cover up Black Mist, hoping that just by standing in front of him would shield him from their view.

“Uh, are you alright?” The classmate asked.

Kanna looked back at Black Mist.

“Are you looking for something?” The classmate’s expression showed concern.

“You don’t see anything behind me?” Kanna asked, the classmate tilted their head and then shook it to answer ‘no’

“I don’t see anything, should I?” They asked.

“No, you’re right, there isn’t anything there. I just thought I was being followed.” Kanna used this opportunity to glare at Black Mist, causing him to smirk.

The classmate bid her goodbye and ran ahead.

“Well, now that is something, you seem to be the only one able to see me.” Black Mist pointed out

“Yeah, lucky me.” Kanna spoke with sarcasm, “It’s probably for the best. I don’t know if I’d even be able to explain why you’re stuck with me to begin with.”

Upon arriving at the school, many more students greeted Kanna, so it appeared she was decently well respected from her peers. However, the true judge of her respect would be this ‘council’ she was a part of.

Black Mist was dragged into Kanna’s student council meeting. While Black Mist expected Kanna’s hierarchy to be high in the group of students, he was a bit disappointed to see another boy sitting at the desk he expected Kanna to be in.

A ragtag group of kids had entered the room in hopes of making some sort of deal, Black Mist was interested and listening closely from the corner he floated in.

“So, you want me to make your club official.” The boy in charge said, “And, can you repeat the name to me? I don’t think I got it the first time.”

“It’s called the numbers club, Mr. President.” One of the boys explained, “Tetsuo made us badges and-“

“Yes, but what does your club do?” The president asked.

“We, uh, we do community service and…Solve problems!” The kid explained.

The president raised his eyebrows, “Hm, alright. Well, Takashi, you are a council member and I suppose I can trust your judgement.”

“President,” Kanna sprung into action and leaned over him, “are you serious about this? You should really reconsider! Look who is in that group! That troublemaker Tokunosuke, that dunce Yuma, and that freaky cat girl.”

Kanna spoke in a hushed whisper, it made Black Mist wonder why she didn’t speak her mind out louder because her statements seemed to all be true.

“If they say they’re going to be solving problems and all then I’m sure they’ll be able to keep people like Tokunosuke out of trouble. It could be a good thing.” The President assured her.

“Mamoru!” She tried again, this time on first-name basis. The boy named Mamoru didn’t budge. He instead ignored her and turned back to the kids.

“Get yourself a willing supervisor and consider yourselves an official club.” Mamoru told them, cheers erupted within the group of kids.

“Mr. President, I can’t thank you enough!” The boy who did most of the talking cheered, his friend behind him then jumped in.

“Yeah! You rock!” Another boy added.

As the kids were leaving, one of the boys looked back, his eyes squinted in Black Mist’s direction.

Black Mist stayed perfectly still, waiting to see if that boy really could see him. In the boy’s red eyes, he swore, he could have seen some recognition until one of the girl’s tried pulling him away.

“Come on, Yuma, what are you waiting for?” She asked.

“Oh, sorry Kotori! I thought I saw something.” Yuma dismissed quickly and followed the girl out with the rest.

“How could you let a club that vague become official?” Kanna questioned Mamoru, who shrugged off her statement.

“There’s no need to be so strict about clubs, it sounded harmless enough. One of our own is part of it.” Mamoru explained.

“But-“

“I don’t want to hear any more of it, Kanna.”

She exited the meeting room, arms crossed, expression blank but her frustration was evident. That much was as clear as day to Black Mist.

“Well, it seems like they do not rely on you as much as you previously stated.” Black Mist sneered.

“Just be quiet.” She said in a low voice, not at all matching the reaction to Black Mist’s comments she had before.

“You cannot combat the ignorance of others by speaking quietly. I am surprised you did not take action.” Black Mist told her.

“What could I have even done? He’s the student council president, I’m just a member.” Kanna argued.

“If you want people to listen to you and respect you then you must express your authority through power.” Black Mist advised her, “You have a lot of power within you, strong enough that even I sensed it in a delirious and desperate state. Why keep it under lock and chain?”

“How are you so sure of this?” Kanna asked him, her hands clenched up into fists, “You don’t even know who you are or where you came from and you’re telling me I’ve got some weird negative powers? I’ve always been just a human, Mist!”

“Even humans are capable of such things.” Black Mist assured her, “I have some advice if you would like to hear it.”

Kanna thought about it for a moment, looking around her to see if anyone was there to watch her talk to him.

“Go ahead.” She agreed.

“Defeat the most powerful duelist here and win the respect of your peers.” Black Mist said.

“That won’t be so easy.” Kanna added in, “There are duelists here who have competed in tournaments, I’ve never made it to that level.”

“Then let me help you. Dueling is engraved within my mind. My skills can be very useful.” Black Mist offered, his arm outstretched, “You are already inclined to help me retrieve my memories, Why not accept some help from me?”

Kanna went to shake his hand but her own phased right through, she let her hand hover above his own to show that their alliance was now formed.

She made a deal with him, a deal with the devil.

…

Shark was initially on his way to eat lunch with Yuma and the others on the rooftop out of some sort of ‘celebration’ of their club becoming official. He had no idea why he of all people was invited, after all he didn’t know Yuma’s friends all too well, but his sister was off eating lunch with some other girls and Shark weighed both options. Yuma and his friends wouldn’t tease him over embarrassing stuff, so eating lunch with them seemed like the better option.

On the way to Yuma’s usual spot, he caught something out of the corner of his eye. A card lay untouched on the ground of the school roof top, and it seemed far too suspicious to be something some kid dropped by accident.

Shark picked it and let out a gasp at the title of the card.

-32

“A negative number?” Shark questioned out loud in shock, he got out his d-gazer and began to call Yuma. Something was definitely amiss.

Just then, someone else arrived in though the sliding doors. It was Kanna who stood before him and she wasn’t just simply passing by.

“Ryoga Kamishiro, You not only made it into the National Duel Circuit and the World Duel Carnival, but you are known as one of the most powerful duelists in this school.” Kanna announced to him, “I want you to duel me.”

Shark was about to tell her to just go away and that he wasn’t dueling anybody until he saw a figure appear from behind her, one that was eerily familiar.

“Shark, what is it? What’s wrong?” Yuma frantically asked him through his d-gazer that was now held loosely in his hand against his side.

“It’s you.” Shark spoke in shock, “Number 96, how are you back?”

“Number 96?” Yuma gasped over the video call, “Shark, hold on! I’m coming over!”

“Wait, Yuma-“ Shark tried to respond but Kanna interrupted him.

“Number 96?” She questioned, then she turned to Black Mist, “Mist, he knows you.”

“He also has one of my memories.” Black Mist pointed to the card in Shark’s hand, “That card, it contains a piece of my fragmented memory, I can sense it.”

“I see,” Kanna said understandingly, “guess we’re going to kill two birds with one stone today.”

“What are you doing with that girl, number 96?” Shark questioned Black Mist, looking past Kanna.

“You should be more concerned about the duel we’re about to have over who gets to keep that card!” Kanna attached her duel disk to her arm, taking out her d-gazer and watching as the augmented reality field began to set in, “You will play for it, won’t you?”

Shark seemed reluctant but he too got set for the duel. Yuma and the other members of the numbers club climbed down from where they were sitting and met them in the middle.

Black Mist observed their expressions. Seeing them looking around frantically and in fear, questioning if 96 was really there filled Black Mist’s mind with thoughts. Has he been here before? Do these people truly fear him?

“Is Number 96 really here?” Kotori asked Yuma, “How come I don’t see him anywhere.”

Yuma gasped as it seemed his vision finally cleared while meeting Black Mist’s gaze.

“He is back…But how? How did I not see him before!” Yuma said in distress, “Shark!”

“Just sit tight, Yuma. I’ll handle this.” Shark assured him, “I didn’t see him either, until I picked up this negative number.”

“Negative number.” Yuma questioned.

“It seems like it’s his.” Shark replied.

“He has his own numbers…That must mean…Has he lost his memories just like Astral?” Yuma came to a shocking conclusion, his friends beside him gasped and Shark nodded in agreement.

“Enough talking!” Kanna shouted, everyone was immediately silenced, “I’ll be starting this duel off by summoning my Sugarplum Ballerina Mint!”

She set her card down and her monster appeared to perform a pirouette on the field.

“Next I play the field spell Land of Sweets!” Kanna announced, the area of the school transformed into a land of snow, gumdrops and candy canes stood tall around them, “As long as there’s one Sugarplum Ballerina on the field I can summon another Sugarplum Ballerina so come on out Sugarplum Ballerina Ice!”

“Sugarplum Ballerina’s special ability enables me to draw one more card, so say hello to Sugarplum Ballerina Pepper!” Kanna placed down her last Ballerina, the three of them standing tall on the tips of their toes.

Her field full of 3 level 2 monsters filled everyone with dread and Black Mist with joy.

Black Mist’s card within her deck box began to glow and Black Mist willed her to wield it. The two exchanged a malicious smiled and Kanna held Black Mist’s number up proudly.

“With 3 level 2 monsters on the field I can built the overlay network!” She announced, “I XYZ summon Number 96: Black Mist!”

Black Mist laughed out loud as he saw his avatar appear on the field before him. Just the sight of it almost brought his missing memories back to him without the Negative Number, but the nostalgic feeling wouldn’t suffice.

“It really is him…” Yuma exclaimed.

Black Mist had returned, meaning the merging of Astral and Barian World was about to bring out even greater evil.

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 3 years

Text

Real Life

Previously uploaded on my old blog, calumh-excess. Since edited and revamped.

The aftermath of Calum has left the rest of South’s people in a nasty spot. And Michael’s in an even nastier. Still needing to help his mother, he continues pushing. The only thing he doesn’t heed warnings and Marissa’s watching the aftermath of such choices. She loves Michael, but can she save herself?

Gang!MichaelxLatina!OC. CW: Gangs, descriptions of violence, brief smut/NSFW content. (18+)

A Two Part Series. Part One: Purple and Blue.

Masterlist (on a semi-hiatus)

The pool hall is cloudy, cigarette smoke filling Michael’s vision and nostrils. He watches his two ball roll down the green wool before clinking against the other balls in the pocket. He straightens and hands the cue to his baby, Mars–short for Marissa. She proudly rejected his first attempt at a nickname, Doll, stating she’s ‘no one’s Doll’ but she ‘would happily be his baby.’ So that’s his baby, tan skin glowing in the harsh lights, huffing as she lines up her next shop. They’re playing a couple’s game, him and Mars against Calum and Penelope. It’s pretty even between the two of them, but Penelope’s shockingly good and Mars’ still pretty new to the game. So Michael’s picking up the slack. He’s set her up for seven, not too far and not too difficult. It should only take a minor adjustment to the left of the cue for her to sink it. She moves too far to the left and it bounces off the wall.

Michael knows all too well the pout that’s about to settle onto her face. He rubs her back before wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her into his chest. “Next time, Baby. You’ll get it next time.”

She huffs, flicking her wavy hair over her shoulder. Her words fall with a twinge of an accent. “You’re just saying that, amor. We all know I’m shit at this.”

Michael kisses the exposed skin of her neck. He loves it when she calls him that. He likes listening to her phone calls with her mother. The conversation moves fast, English and Spanish mixing midway through sentences. It’s a reminder of just how comfortable she in around him, that in some part she’s never felt like she had to hide who she was. Though Marissa wasn’t quite the type to keep too much quiet. She inhabited space and didn’t care who didn’t like it. And Michael wanted her too, he wanted to be herself.

But right now, he’s a little too focused on the smell of her perfume and the three balls that Calum and Penelope just sunk. They don’t really have stakes on this game. But it still sucks to loose, or be loosing. They haven’t lost yet. “Fuck,” he huffs. “You guys are fucking cheating.”

Calum chuckles, readjusting the hat on his head, keeping his head pointed slightly downward. His face is still pretty messed up, the skin still hues of blues and purples. Michael already knows how bad the damage was. They made him throw some swings, offered him one too many times the switchblade. He didn’t take it--not at first. But he could tell the heated gazes would only need one more sign of disloyalty to go on a rampage and throw him into the woes with Calum. And while Michael would do a lot for Calum, he wasn’t quite in a position to take a beating too. That’s what hurts the most--the shame in knowing that Michael could’ve done more but didn’t.

Michael looks away when Calum glances up. Calum doesn’t blame Michael. He gets it. Michael had to do all that stuff. No sense in both of them being beaten into a bloody pulp. He’s tried to tell Michael to not worry about it, that he’s long since forgiven him. But whenever Michael catches a glimpse of the bruises, sees Calum moves a little too slow, face twisted in pain, that lump grows in his throat again. Michael doesn’t have enough mouths, enough time on this earth to apologize for what happened. But Michael had his own family to consider, his own debts, and the choice is never fucking easy. But Michal wishes shame wasn’t such a heavy burden.

Penelope senses the tense moment happening. They happen all the time now between the two of them. She pops her gum loudly before speaking, “The last things we are, are cheaters. Just admit it Cliffo, you can’t hang.”

Michael glances over to her, a small smile lifting his lips. “Nah, I still vote cheaters. You can go first, Mars.”

“Rather not,” she mutters, stepping away from his warm embrace.

“Baby, you can get the 5. I know you can. Let me help.” She sighs but nods. Michael guides her to the pool table. She lines up, bending over the table. Michael slides in behind her, moving her angle a bit to the right. “Remember to follow through. You stop sometimes too soon,” he whispers into her ear. She shivers a little against his chest.

With a gin, she whispers, “I hate you sometimes Clifford.”

“Oh, but you love me.”

She laughs, pulling back cue stick. Michael guides her direction, pushing the cue stick almost like trying to push it through the middle of the cue ball. The five ball glides down the wool and taps the ledge with just enough speed and angle to fall into the pocket. “Mira, maybe you’re right,” Mars chuckles quietly. “But only this time.”

Michael guides her around the table, shot after shot sinking into their respective pocket. They clear the board, solids, stripes, and the eight ball. “They’re the cheaters,” Penlope states, her tone dripping with sarcasm. Mars flips her off, both girls laughing at the action.

A phone starts to chime. Calum pulls it off the countertop next to the table and kisses Penelope on the cheek. “Duty calls,” he laughs. Calum moved out of town and works at the pool hall and bar. It’s a hike for Michael, but he understands the distance. He’s not entirely sure what’s going on with Penelope considering her affiliation still with Block. But from what Michael’s gathered, some sort of legal battle’s going on so she can get guardianship of her siblings before moving in with Calum or least into the same town as him.

“We’ll straighten up,” Michael states, one arm snaking around Mars’ waist.

“Thanks,” he nods, sliding to the back, ID in his hands, ready to clock back into work. Michael picks up the plastic case the balls rest in and starts slotting them back into place. Staring down the black tray of the pool halls, all Michael can think about is how much blood was already staining the floors to the point some puddles looked black. A chill climbs down his spine when the memory takes over him.

Calum was already pretty out of it, one eye already was swollen shut. Michael didn’t want to hit him. But then South grinned, his brow quirked up. “We got a deal, son. You telling me you’re backing out now.” Michael hated that debt was hanging over his head. He hated, even more, he was still so young to the gang. Maybe it could make things easier. But South was really putting in on Michael to show loyalty. If his mother hadn’t needed the surgery, he wouldn’t be here. And it’s not like he blames her. He blames South for making such an appealing offer. He blames South for swooping in when he was vulnerable. Michael really hates himself for opening up to South. He knew South was no good, but he had been cornered, played like a fucking fiddle.

Michael threw some swings. He tried to make them look harder than they actually were. South handed him the switchblade, the first one to swipe over Calum’s flesh. His hands trembled. He and Calum were close, even though he was a newcomer. The last thing he wanted to do was harm his friend. He’ll admit Calum took the beating well, never cried out, never said a word to plead them to stop. He sat, groaning and grunting with the punches. One particular blow landed in his gut and the curse that fell off Cal’s lips still keeps Michael up at night sometimes. It’s not so much the curse it sound, but the howl that followed. The echo of pain and yet the silence from Calum. There was a strange peace with him. Michael’s not sure he could’ve reached that point--if he could’ve found a peace in the midst of all the pain.

“Hey, don’t tell me my boyfriend machine has broken?” Mars teases, gently placing a hand onto Michael’s back.

He shakes his head, trying to rid himself of those thoughts. It’s done. It’s over. He’s been forgiven. “Sorry, I’m alright, Baby.”

She nods, knowing that far away glaze to his eyes. He’s not okay. But she doesn’t push it. Instead, she rubs his back, and finishes putting the rest of the balls away. Mars splits the check with Penelope and they pay for the games. Michael leans into the table and lets out a shaky breath. Keep it together, Clifford. But it’s hard--it’s hard to keep it together when he knows for a fact that he should be letting it all fall apart. He should be sobbing. He should let the guilt overtake him.

Later that night, Michael’s phone wakes him. He jolts at the sound of it ringing. He reaches to the nightstand and wipes the sleep from his eyes. What the fuck is going on? Seeing South’s number, Michael throws his feet to the floor. “What’s up?” he answers in a whisper, looking over his shoulder to Mars. She’s shifting, waking. He reaches out and runs his palm over her hair, to try and soothe her. Though he complains about the curls being pushed into his face first thing in the morning, he wouldn’t trade it for the world. He wouldn’t trade her for the world.

“I need to speak with you,” South states. His tone is cool, calm.

“Just tell me when and where.” Michael covers a yawn, as South rattles off the name of a small diner not too far from him. The phone call ends and Michael walks around to her side of the bed.

“Be safe,” she whispers, sitting up. More falls from her lips, a prayer he’s come to recognize and he holds still as she signs the cross over him. He’s not religious by any means, but it’s second nature to her in some respects.

Michael kisses the top of her head. “Always am.”

He slides into some jeans, sneakers and a jacket, throwing a snapback on before walking out of the door. Michael knows his appearance helps him. No one singles him out, no one questions him. The long fringe, the glasses, the clothes, it’s all him. But he’s conscious about it. He likes to keep up the appearance. And sure, Michael should be free to wear whatever he wants. But recognizes the edge it gives him and the edge it gives South too. Michael can get into places that a lot of the other guys can’t. South can push weight in a lot of places that would normally be off limit.

Though Michael wasn’t a fan of the three a.m. calls, they are fairly common. At first, he got to a point where he couldn’t sleep. Too afraid to miss a call from South and too afraid to sleep in case he somehow fucked up and needed to get away. Micheal was sure at some point he’d never sleep again. He’d always be looking over his shoulder. He’d always be waiting for the other shoe to drop. It never did. And getting comfortable was probably dangerous too.

But Mars made the thought so enticing. Coming home to a house full--either her family visiting or her cooking with the radio blasting. That’s enough to make him want to get too comfortable. That’s the life he’s always wanted and he can picture that with Mars. He can picture her teaching him the bachata or salsa and laughing when he fails miserably in front of her aunts, but knowing he was trying his best. That’s the thought, the picture, the dream, that he wants to give into. And yet this--this is his reality. Pulling into the diner parking lot.

Michael spies South leaning against his car. The neon signs reflect off the slightly wet pavement thanks to the evening rain. Unusual, the rain, but it was more than welcomed. Mars loved it, said she always dreamed of running in the rain with her lover. And though they missed this opportunity, Michael made a promise to himself not to miss the second one. The forecast was predicting more rain tomorrow.

Michael pulls up his sleeves, before stuffing his arms into the back of his pants and walks over to South. The diner is dark, the highway is fairly silent. “Going to my usual?” Michael chuckles.

South grins. “Someone’s happy.”

Michael shrugs. “I’m used to it.” And used to it doesn’t quite encapsulate the feeling. But it’s the only words he has, because he is used to his usual. Used to the early morning calls and the drives and the pushing. It doesn’t make it easier, just makes it more familiar.

Looking past Michael, South shakes his head, a small grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “No, you’re not going to your usual. Our smugglers got busted bringing in new products. We’re a bit strapped at the moment. The club needs its weight and I’m trying to make sure none of our asses get caught up.”

The question lingers in the air. Michael knows better than to ask why he’s out by himself with South at the side of the highway. So he waits, hands still in his pockets, watching the watery reflection of the cake in the sign underneath his feet. Michael is the pusher. If suppliers get caught, he’s a close second. Though, South is very good at keeping his good people out of trouble. Michael is hoping this conversation takes a good turn. He needs to be considered one of the good people right now.

“Don’t look so down. If shit gets any worse, you’re not gonna get named. On my word. But, look, tell me this isn’t true.” Michael looks up to South, nodding to signal that he’s listening. “I got some eyes saying they saw you hangin’ with Hood. Across the highway. He’s a traitor and I don’t give too many second chances.”

The only reason Calum got this chance was because of Block. The turf war yielded no new territory but it did create an interesting neutral ground within the city. Places that previously weren’t owned were split. Anyone could sell, anyone could use it as foot traffic. But they couldn’t fight. They had to keep it remotely cordial in those areas. It was area South was bound to loose of Block was pushed to the full extent of his manpower. And South didn’t really want to lose more men. So he had to agree to Block’s term. Calum couldn’t lose his life, but they could make a point. They could make him an example. And South used that leeway to the full advantage.

Michael wasn’t sure why Block cared so much about Calum--though Michael didn’t know about Penelope. But whatever the reason, South was quick to use it. And Calum was more than example, if Michael has anything to say about it.

Michael’s heart races. He’s glad his hands are in his pants now or else South would be sure to see the slight tremble. He doesn’t want to throw out accusations that someone is lying. That kind of accusation if turned up false is going to get someone else killed and them him. And Michael can’t lie to him either. South can smell a liar from 100 yards away. A hand settles onto Michael’s shoulder and squeezes. Hard. Michael blinks, jaw tightening to hide the pain. South knows.

Michael finally speaks. “He’s not one of ours. He chooses that hot piece of ass bitch over us.” God, he hates saying it. But it’s what’s going to save his ass. Right now, he needs that--he needs to save his own ass.

“All women are good for is fucking and trouble. You should know that better than anyone,” South continues.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” The words fly out before Michael can think about the consequences. But he hates the way South grins, the quirk of his brow.

“Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about. While I mainly fuck with black women, I’m no stranger to a mamacita here and there.”

Oh God, Michael’s stomach tenses, turns into a knot. It wasn’t exactly a secret who he was dating. An unfortunate side effect of his job is that close ties eventually got found out. But that didn’t mean he wanted Mars to have to be dragged into this. And for sure, he didn’t want her to be disrespected. His fists are clenching. This is South, he reminds himself. This will not go well for him if he does anything. Hell, he really shouldn’t say anything either. “That’s really fucking disgusting,” Michael spits.

South closes the distance between them, the shit eating grin replaced by a chaotic and devilish smile. “Make my fucking day. Say something else, please.”

He’s dead in the water now. But he doesn’t want to apologize. He shouldn’t have to and he won’t that’s for damn sure. It’s completely disrespectful what he’s insinuating. That somehow Mars was a stereotype, a fucking doll, not a complex human being with a rich and sometimes saddening background. She was not just her ethnicity, she was not just a woman. She was a person, she loved animals and was struggling with her waitress jig to find a way to attend school. It was just hard, she was sending so much money back home to help with her siblings. Michael offered up his apartment because he saw how much being at home was hurting her. That saved her some cash since he never asked for any type of composition, but she always snuck a couple hundred into his wallet for electricity and water.

He stopped fighting her about it when it seemed her retaliation was to only sneak more money into his wallet with a very pointed pink sticky note on it, daring him to try again to make her stop.

“All I’m saying is that maybe the women you associate only want to fuck, but not everyone is like that. For fuck sake.”

“A man of respect. I like that,” South says, loosening up his grip on Michael’s shoulder. “I want you to know, I really do like you. But you gotta keep to us and our business. Calum had interesting circumstances. But I’m sorry to report, those don’t pertain to you. So no more running around behind your man crush or whatever. If I hear about it happening again, I won’t be so nice.”

The slap to his back is firm, way too firm. Michael’s skin lights with a stinging fire. He nods. “Understood,” Michael answers softly. South gives a soft tap this time and then slides in through the driver side door of his car.

Michael steps back, watching the low rider glide over the asphalt. Was Michael going to completely stop hanging out with Calum? Probably not. But now he had to be smarter. He needed to be safer. The prayer Marissa gives everytime he leaves rings back against his ears. Safer, smarter--that’s all he needed to do. He was still his own man at the end of the day. He was only it with South for a little bit longer.

“Yeah, but how much longer?” Michael asks himself aloud into the quiet night.

When he returns home, Mars is splayed out on the couch, the comforter from their shared bed wrapped tightly around her. She looks cute with her lips slightly parted, a soft snore falling from her mouth. She never believes Michael about the snoring, even with video evidence. But he never complains seriously about it. Sliding out of his Vans, and pulling the jacket off his shoulders, he fishes for his baby under the sea of cotton before sliding in behind her and pulling her into his chest. He’s too lazy to carry her to the bedroom. It’s sure to wake her anyway. He throws the comforter back around them and lets his eyes close. South may be heated about his affiliation with Calum, but they’ll just have to be more careful then. Michael’s not going to let him ruin one of the few genuine relationships in his life. Lord knows he doesn’t have many.

__________

“What time do you have to leave tonight?” Mars asks, tending to the eggs.

“No delivery tonight,” Michael says, removing the last of the pancakes. “Hey, easy on my eggs with that heavy hand you got.”

“Ay Dios Mios. You baby. It’s not that much, see.” She shows him the pan. “And what do you mean? Why else would South call?”

“Just wanted to talk. It’s nothing.”

She knows it’s nothing. When Michael changed shirts, she noticed a pink spot on his back. He didn’t have any other injuries. But clearly, the force of the blow was enough to leave something behind. That’s not a ‘nothing serious’ conversation. That’s a fucking warning. She knows one when she sees one.“So things are good?”

He hums, snaking his arms around her waist. “Things are good,” he whispers into the crook of her neck, the stubble tickling her.

Marissa gives a smile, but the fear trickles down. It prickles her spine. How many warnings would he get before he wound up dead in a ditch?

“Can we please add those strawberry shortcake creamsicles to the grocery list?” Michael asks as he grabs plates from the cabinet.

“Would those even be out at this time?”

“Not sure. I just really have a taste for one.”

“Having one does sound good,” Marissa notes. It’s like the summers she had in the backyard, the pools and slip and slides slick with water to beat the heat. Coolers were full of melting ice and just cold enough drinks. The whir of her grandmother’s ice cream machine blurs in with the speaker that someone brought to play music

Water hoses would spray them, or fill balloons and water guns for the games to be played later. She forgets the name of the icepops that came in plastic tubing and they’d freeze days before. But grape was always her favorite, staining her tongue and lips and even her fingers if she didn’t eat it fast enough.

“Baby?” A squeezes her waist and Marissa blinks. Her hands are still wrapped around the jug of orange juice but not yet pouring.

“Yeah?”

“You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. What were you saying?”

Michael shakes his head. “No, no, what were you thinking about?”

“Just my summers. I sort of miss them. How things used to be back at home. Like as I kid you just never notice the bad because there’s always that next thing--birthday parties, going to school. After high school, it was clear what my parents wanted for me and I was trying you know. But there’s six of us and yeah.”

“The recreation center up the street has an indoor pool. We can invite a couple friends over, hang out. Bring your sisters too of course.”

The words almost fall, she almost asks who he plans on inviting, but she doesn’t. She nods instead. “I’d like that. What were you saying earlier?”

“Oh, just asking what time you wanted to go grocery shopping and if you picked up the extra shift on Saturday? Nothing major.”

_________

“Something on your mind, Baby?” Michael asks, stopped at a red light. They’re supposed to be heading up to see Calum and Penelope. But it’s in Mars gut that trouble is still lurking.

“South knows, doesn’t he? This is why we’re going so far out.” Mars doesn’t even look at Michael. She knows the truth. “He told you to stay away.”

Michael reaches out for her knee, but the second his hand lands on the denim covered skin, she pulls it away. “Yes,” he sighs. He’s not sure what her deal is, why she’s pulling away from him. But he’s not going to piss her off even more. So he settles his hand back on the steering wheel.

“You’d do this for Calum? Break rules?”

“I’d do it for you too if that’s what you’re wondering. I have done it for you.”

She huffs a chuckle, finally turning her gaze back to his face, the scratchy beard making a shadow on his face. “I wasn’t. I’m just concerned.”

“About?”

“Su vida,” she whispers. “South will not back down. I know you care; I know he’s your friend. I know your life isn’t exactly risk-free. But can you risk it even more? I-I worry enough as it is about you leaving late at night. My rosemary looks like it belongs to my grandmother. I have prayed so many times for you.”

Michael’s chest starts to ache. She cares. He knows she does and that she cares--he didn’t quite know to this extent. But to just leave one of his best friends all alone. To completely upend and cut off contact to one of the most consistent and loving people in his life–he can’t do that. No matter the risk.

“I won’t lie to you, Mars. You’re asking for the improbable there.”

“So not impossible?”

“No, I could stop--the possibility of me stopping is there. The risk is high and I know I should. I could cut off all contact. They’re all possible. They just aren’t probable. It’s highly unlikely. Besides, South needs not see me or have anyone that sees me. My mom now lives up in this area. If anyone questions things, I’ll have cover.”

“So you’d lie? On your mother?”

“No.” Michael turns off, taking the exit that will lead straight into his mother’s neighborhood. Mars watches as his jaw clenches for a moment. “I’d never lie about seeing her. I’ll just omit our pitstop afterward.”

Mars exhales, watching the houses fill out around her. The front yards, the kids playing footie. Maybe she ought to drop this, let him make his choices. But she can’t help but think about what could happen. She can’t bear even the imagined sight of Michael with a busted lip and bruised skin. She is not Penelope; she won’t be that strong. She won’t be able to put pressure on a knife wound. Her skin crawls at the thought of his blood staining her skin. She wouldn’t be able carry that weight and though it was a silly thought, because she does love Michael, she feels like she shouldn’t have to carry it. She shouldn’t have to be subjected to this.

And though it it feels like she should stick it out. She should stay with Michael through the inevitable end. She was her own person. She deserved someone to understand that she shouldn’t be on the second end of the equation. How many more times could she pray for a soul that didn’t necessarily want to be saved?

“Just know I’m concerned,” she states. She leaves it at though for the time being, seeing as they pull into the driveway of his mother’s house. And she doesn’t want to start an argument, but she doesn’t want to end the conversation.

Michael, turning off the car, looks as she pushes up from the seat and opens the door. She’s quick to pull the dish of buñuelos out from the back of the car. That’s a lot more than concerned, Michael knows. A lot more--but he steps out of the car and meets her at the front.

“Hey, look at me. What is it?”

“¿Acaso te preocupas por mí? Estoy muy preocupada constantemente.” Marissa exhales, feeling a bit better to get it off her chest. But Michael’s look let’s her know he didn’t catch it all. He’s learned a few things, but is still slow to translate sometimes. “Look, I want to have a nice visit with your mother. I do, I really do. But we have a lot to talk about.”

Michael nods. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m all ears, Baby. I’ll listen.”

She takes another deep inhale and exhale. “I really want to stuff my face. I hope your mother doesn't hate me for it.”

“She’d be happy to feed you with whatever she has.”

The visit with Michael’s mom goes by just like all the rest. She offers them tea, biscuits, any and everything in her fridge. She does not take no for an answer and she’s even more delighted at the addition of Marissa’s buñuelos. “Oh, you have to send me the recipe,” she gushes, grabbing another from the tin.

It’s nice, even though initially, Marissa is still tense. The laughs come easy and the treats don’t stop. For a moment she’s able to forget. She’s able to see Michael as the man that she knows he is, someone who loves his family, and is goofy, but so kind. That’s what she wants him to always be. Not the man she has to pray for, not the man that’s stubborn, not the man that she feels like sometimes doesn’t listen to her. And she knows initially she didn’t voice her concerns. But maybe after she did, things would change just a little. Maybe she wouldn’t feel like she’s fighting an uphill battle, which she knows she’s doomed to fail at.

As Michael and Mars go to leave, the hugs last twice as long as normal. But Michael and Mars just laugh and give into the older woman. They let themselves be rocked by her love, side to side, and whisper how good it is to see her. Michael promises before they leave that he’ll be by again very soon. Mars prays for his sake he does not get caught so he can keep to that promise.

The bowling alley is packed, kids screaming at the opposite end of the building. It looks like a birthday party wrapping up. The table’s a mess of paper plates, pizza boxes and a quarter of a cake left. Michael thinks back to some of his birthdays. “Next birthday, we’re having a party here,” he teases low in Mars’ ear, arms winding around her waist. “Complete with the ridiculous party hats.”

“Michael, please.”

He laughs and adds on, “I want an Overwatch cake.”

Mars rolls her eyes, laughter falling over her lips easily. “Fine, fine, fine. An Overwatch cake it is.” Normally she melts right into his touch, she slots in perfectly to his chest. But she keeps herself pushed forward, it’s hardly noticeable to anyone else on the outside. But Michael knows the difference--he noticed it at his mother’s house, though she eventually did settle into him. He can’t lose her. He squeezes at her flesh, willing her understand that he’s being smart about this. Or at least trying to be smart about it. But he can’t lose them both. There are very few genuine people left in his life and he needs them. He needs them desperately.

The bowling is the least of their fun. It’s the teasing. More than once Calum jokes about having to put the guard rails up for the girls. They decided to get boys vs girls. That earns Calum two sets of the meanest glares to land on him and the finger from both Penelope and Mars. Michael cheers as he lands his second strike of the night. He cheers, pumping his fist into the air, laughing as Mars glares at him. “We can get the guider too, the little rig for kids,” he offers as Calum wraps him up in a celebratory hug. Cal’s a couple pints in.

“You’re gonna need a ride home,” Mars huffs, holding the keys from her fingers. He’s had some drinks too. With the lopsided grin still on his lips, Michael walks over, bending over. He’s aware his breath is layered in beer but it’s okay. Her lips are soft against his, that’s all he cares about. Here with his eyes closed, fingers tangled in her hair, nothing else matters. She’s not worried about his safety, she’s not pulling away from him already. No, here, they are still the same. They give each other shit and the hugs, touches, and kisses are easy.

Mars wants to hang here forever, softly kissing Michael. Smiling as she does so because, god, is her boyfriend annoying but she loves him. She really does. She can love him even though others will say that his actions are morally wrong. She can handle that. He’s had to make his choices; he has to handle the consequences. She can be there for that. But would she ride this out even with her own destruction? Does this make her less than for having a limit?

Three games later and after the boys are a good five pints in, they leave. Michael giggles in the passenger seat. “You’re beautiful, Baby. You know that?”

A soft blush takes over her cheek, the heat rising fast. “You might’ve mentioned it once or twice.”

“But it’s very true. You’re fucking gorgeous.”

They don’t talk that night, not like they need to. Instead they give into each other. Marissa can’t help but give into the way Michael presses her against the door of the apartment and teases her over her panties. The material of her shorts thin and loose anyway. And Michael loves it when she moans into his ear. The curses to God because he’s touching her just right makes his whole body feel electric and that’s all he’s ever needed. To feel electric with Marissa. Because in that electricity, they are safe.

Marissa digs her nails into his shoulder, attempting to get closer in their heated kiss and Michael hisses at the pain. But he loves it. He loves this and he loves her. And there’s no way he’s losing her if she responds like this to his touch. There’s no way he’s losing her when she kisses down his stomach and takes him into her mouth. No there’s no loss here, just the sinking into the pleasure they both give each other.

“I love you,” he whispers into her skin. It feels like a prayer as it falls repeatedly, punctuating several thrusts.

“I love you,” she returns. It’s with a sigh, and a moan, but she looks at him when she says it. And for the moment that’s all he needs.

__________

The way South grins, Michael knows he’s fucked. The man doens’t even need to utter a sentence and Michael already knows the trouble he’s in. But South speaks anyway--and Michael for a brief moment wonders if South gets off on the knowledge that all he has to do now is look at someone a specific way and they shake in their boots. “How’s your momma doing?”

“Good,” Michael answers, “thanks for asking.”

“How’s Hood?”

Michael gulps. He wonders who the fuck is tailing him. South wouldn’t be bringing this up if he didn’t have proof. And one time is not enough. South’s always required pattern of behavior. He does not ask without a fair amount of evidence. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Bullshit! I told you he isn’t one of ours anymore. You think I’d come at you without evidence? Without something substantial?”

“No, I’m not saying that,” Michael opts. It’s still not the safe answer. But it’s biding time--that’s all he really has at this point.

“Then what are you saying? Because you’re implying someone’s a liar and I don’t take too kindly if you think it’s me.”

“I’m not saying it’s you.”

“You saying someone’s got it out for you then?”

“I’m not saying that either.” The only one that has it out for him is South, but Michael knows better than to say that.

“Then tell me what the fuck you are saying.”

“All I’m saying is that I wouldn’t know how he’s doing.” In fact, it’s been three weeks since they last hung out. Michael was trying to cool down the trail on him. So whoever was watching him was either delaying the reports or doubling up on them, and that would indicate either pressure from South for results or that whoever it was was going for Michael’s position or life.. But admitting that would mean again, admitting that he had gone against South’s initial warning. So Michael keps is mouth shut. Because the technicalities wouldn’t matter here.

In the silence, Michael steels himself for the first swing. He’s even ready for the second one. More keep coming to the point where he looses count. Not that counting them is like counting sheep. But keeping up with the blows, even with a small margin of error, meant he hadn’t fully blacked out. And that’s what he needed. In the end, it’s not too bad. He’s able to drive himself home, though his ribs are on fire. Breathing hurts, just sitting hurts too.

He grunts, opening the door and swinging his legs out. Inside the apartment, Michael catches the sound of some shuffling. He watches the shadows over the walls as Marissa walks into the bedroom. He sighs. He can’t face Mars. She’s going to flip, but this isn’t exactly the largest apartment ever. He grits his teeth and makes his way to the bathroom. Before he can get the door close, he hears a gasp. He’s been caught. Michael watches her look in the mirror, the wobble to her lip, the tears filling her eyes.

“It’s not too bad,” he reassures. “I’ll be fine in a couple days.”

“A couple days my ass,” she whispers. Her hands tremble. She wants to run. She can’t do this. She told Michael she was concerned. She knew it would blow up in his face eventually. South is pissed and there’s no stopping him now. “What-what can I do?”

Michael tries to tell her, he can handle it, but she orders him to sit on the closed toilet seat and he obeys the command. Her hands continue to shake as she helps clean up the busted lip and the bruise on his rib cage is bad, violently purple and red.

In bed, Michael resting on his back, Mars rests on her side, facing away from him. She understands why he does this. But how long will he defy South? How many more beatings are there going to be? This has to stop before it gets started. She can’t stand by and watch him get beat. He has to get out. She needs him to get out or maybe she needs to get out. And she wants to rip the thought out of her skull. She doesn’t want to leave Michael. But maybe she might have too. Maybe she might be forced to save herself.

Sleep does not find her that night or the nights after really. It comes in waves, for an hour or two and then she’s back awake, staring at ceilings or walls, or closet doors, wishing she could’ve done everything differently with him. Michael watches the bags forming underneath her warm eyes. He is doing this to her, not that he meant to, not that he wanted to. But yet, here he is, his actions bearing heavy burdens on her.

“What are you worried about?” he asks, sitting across from her. The diner is shockingly dead for once, a harsh buzz from the lights above settles in around him. Though Michael figures in the next hour people will be leaving clubs soon; they’ll be gunning for something greasy.

The sigh is heavy from her lips. Michael reaches out for her hand. Her lips screw up, plump like he’s always known them to be, but somehow the corners are turned down. She does not quite meet his gaze. “I’m worried about you getting hurt again. I can’t handle that. I’m thinking about how much more of this I can endure. And I--I don’t even want to think about asking you to get out. Not if the result is you dead. I want you alive.”

“It’s a couple of bruises, Baby. I’ll be fine.”

“Por Dios, you say that now. But what happens when it’s more than just a couple of bruises. What are you going to do then, huh?” She slides her hands out from Michael, standing to greet the patrons that just walked in.

Michael wants to promise her there won’t be a next time. He wants to promise that he can handle the warnings. But he’s already got plans to see Calum later this week. And the bruises still hurt. He can bear them, should it be at the expense of her?

Michael cancels the plans--he can handle that. And maybe he hasn’t been playing this smart. He tries to see if Marissa wants to go to the movies, but she picks up a double and those plans never get off the ground. Instead, he makes sure to have a bath drawn for her once she returns. Her favorite is ready for dinner and for a blip in time things could be on the right track.

But she doesn’t kiss him the same as before. And Michael doesn’t know what else to do when she rolls over in bed, away from him. They don’t share silly stories about their childhoods. And Michael misses all those stories about the casitas hanging on the walls. Or how Marissa couldn’t turn around in any room of the house and didn’t find some picture of the Virgin Mary or Jesus staring down at her. Michael misses hearing about the parties she missed throwing in the summer time, knowing the music could crush her skull but she loved it anyway.

Michael misses the way when she got sleepy Spanish would slip out without her even thinking and rather than stopping her, he’d let her go on in the story. She’d be telling him about the birthday parties with family holding the pinata and the smell of food that filled the house for days. The whispers were all he really needed to feel close to her.

___________

It happens and he knows it's happening too when he walks into the house to not even the muffled sounds of music. It’s on most of the time, always a soft tempo in the background, the soundtrack to her life. He knew it was happening all along. She touched him less, she stayed out more. They felt more like strangers in the apartment now. They past like ships, but instead they were sitting right in the living room growing further and further apart.

He was losing her; he came home one too many times bruised and bloodied. But he wouldn’t stop. South wouldn’t get rid of him; he’d just make his life hell for sure. But he was too valuable. Though, occasionally, Michael feared his value would be of no use. At some point, South would get tired of the warnings and beat him for good. But at the same time, South needed Michael--they both knew under all this it was South keeping up appearances. Because as much as Michael was breaking the rules, South wasn’t one to normally keep troublemakers around longer than they’d prove they weren’t going to stop.

But would it save Michael forever?

It was stupid to attempt to ride the thin line until it cracked. But it was all Michael had. He thought South would crack first. Or maybe he had hoped that so much that he believed it to be true. When all signs pointed to Mars being the first to go, he somehow ignored it, assumed that she’d be there forever. But forever isn’t as long as he’d hope for.

Because Mass was on the losing end of it all, having to take care of him. Having to take double shifts sometimes because there was no way in hell Michael was in enough shape to get out and push his weight. Mars had to reached her limit. And it was right in front of his face.

He watches her from the bedroom door, on her knees, throwing things into a suitcase. “I can’t do this, mamá, mi corazón can’t take it,” she cries into the phone.

His eyes are blurry, his side still aches from last week’s run-in with South. The sob pressing at his chest lights his being with fire. Everything hurts. “Then go if you must,” he whispers, “but let me ask you one question. Can I convince you somehow to stay?” He’s positive she didn’t hear it but Mars snaps her head up at him.

The tears are streaking her face, light gray splotches of mascara dotting her cheeks as well. “What are you talking– No, no, Michael. Let me call you back.” She pauses, mother urging to her not hang up. But Mars is no longer listening to the frantic barrage of her mother. “Explain. What are you talking about?”

“Is there any way I can convince you to stay with me?” Michael asks, letting the tears slip down his cheeks behind his glasses. It’ll make a mess of his lenses. He doesn’t care though.

“Convince me to stay? Comó? How are you going to do that?”

“That’s why I’m asking you. Whatever I have to do, I will do it.”

Mars stands, running her fingers through her hair. Her exhale is long and heavy from her lips and mouth.“No, there’s nothing. You won’t leave. Not with the complications now and the medical bills. You can’t leave your mother high and dry. And I can’t sit here and watch him beat you! I can’t do that--I’m not strong enough for that. I-I didn’t sign up for that.”

He’s lost her. There’s no more fighting. But Michael still tries. He gives it one more push. “I’m sorry. It’s not easy for you. But there has to be something.”

“Michael, there’s nothing, nada,” she hisses, standing toe to toe with him. “A fat nothing, zip, nil. Nothing.” The last word catches in her throat. Her body trembles.

Michael hugs her to his chest. “I’m so sorry, Baby. I am so sorry.”

She cracks, fisting the cotton of his black t-shirt into her hands. She doesn’t want to do this. She doesn’t want to leave Michael. He’s caring, always listening. He’s there for the 2 am diner shifts when her feet feel like they should be falling off and her back is a mess of knots. He’s there for all the music she blares throughout their–well his– apartment. He’s there even when she can’t shoot pool to save her life. He’s there for the baking adventures, even though they end up with him covered in flour and cinnamon.

She wants to hate him. She wants to despise him for going against South. But she can’t. Marissa understands why Michael did it. But she wishes she didn’t. It would make leaving so much easier. Her chest wouldn’t ache this much. Her voice wouldn’t be hardly going if she didn’t cry, because she couldn’t empathize with him.

But she has to look out for herself too. She can’t keep sacrificing for a person that wouldn’t do the same in return, that won’t heed the warning she’s tried to give them. So she has to go. Staying would only destroy them both.

Michael breaks the silence first. “Dance with me? One last time?”

Her chest compresses even more. Her throat feels raw as the sobs fall over it. But Mars nods. One last dance with him. She can give him that, and she can take that with her. That even to the bittersweet end, there was still so much fucking love between them. She’d never think of this, that it would be possible for her to be leaving but still want to stay and still have love to give.

Michael guides both of them to the living room, the place where all other dances were shared. She remembers the first time she asked him to dance. He was a little stiff, completely unsure of how to move what was expected of him. So she guided, gently encouraging and with a few laughs at his tense, awkward nature. And it’s not to say he’s a charmer now, but the aunties don’t tease him any more at parties-that’s for sure.

It takes a few moments before his phone is paired with the Bluetooth speakers. But it’s as the cellos begin singing, and before the voice cuts in, Mars feels her knees go weak. The song she taught Michael to dance to, Esto Es Vida. It played on repeat for nearly an hour, but the smile on his face when he finally got it still makes her heart burst.

They fit all too well together, arms winding around the other, her nestled so closely and firmly to his chest. His scent is all too familiar in her nostrils, a mixture of their detergent and his musky cologne. She can tell it’s residual from the last time he used it. It’s not as strong, just a faint note in her nose as her ears are filled with soft strumming.

Michael’s face is buried in the soft curls over hair, the lingering floral scent of her shampoo somehow feeling like flames in his nose. He won’t smell that thing again, not in fresh post fresh wash hair. It won’t be covering his pillowcases anymore. He won’t be able to still it for his own hair when it’s far too lazy to replace his own shampoo. God, is he really going to let her go? Is he really going to let her leave? But if there’s nothing he can do to convince, he won’t force to her stay. That’s the worst thing to do, forcing her to stay in a situation that makes her uncomfortable. He’s never wanted anything but the best for her.

And this is his life, Michael thinks as he helps pack the rest of her things. He should be crying, alone, shouting at her to stay. But instead, he lifts the suitcase into the trunk of her car. He watches the brake lights pulling out away from him. The house is empty when he returns inside. He curls onto the couch, ribs still screaming at him for being in such a position. He puts the song on repeat, a bad move for him as his chest finally cracks and the sobs shake his body.

It’s Penelope that comes by in the late afternoon the next day. She only forces him to shower, noting the takeout boxes she’s left in his fridge. But mostly comes by because she knows her presence should remain more neutral than Calum’s.

“I knew I was losing her. And I still did nothing to stop her.”

Penelope’s a reassuring presence, but even she doesn’t know what to say.

“I’m an idiot aren’t I? Just letting the girl I love walk away? But I want her happy more than anything. She deserves that, you know?”

“I know.”

“What do you think I should’ve done?”

“I think we make the best choices we can at any given moment. Something in you knew you had to let her go for now. Maybe it’s not forever and maybe it is forever. But either way, I think you made the best choice you could’ve in the situation.”

“But I want her back.”

“Wanting things ain’t a bad thing.”

“I should get ready,” Michael sighs. He needs to make a delivery. And if not for the fact that he wasn’t trying to be any further down on South’s shit list, he would continue his rant.

“Okay,” Penelope states, standing. “Now promise me tomorrow, even if it’s the only thing you do, you’ll take your trash out?”

“One small thing for myself,” he repeats back to her.

“Call me. Anytime.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

On instinct, after dropping off the bag, Michael finds himself pulling into the parking lot of the diner. When he cuts off the car, he pauses, one hand on the door lever to let himself out. Mars doesn’t need a ride anymore. He shouldn’t be here. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Michael strikes at his steering wheel, throwing his head back into the not too soft leather. His ribs are bruised, his Baby has left him, he’s cried his eyes out once already and he’s about to do it again. Michael closes his eyes, smashing his lips together as the tears roll.

There’s a knock on his window. When Michael snaps his eyes open, he sees Penelope standing, a sad smile on her face. He nods for her to slide in. Michael lets out a shaky breath. “I fucked up. Hard,” he whispers. “Like really fucked up.”

“I came here, just so you know, on a hunch you’d fuck up. Besides, this is real life. We fuck up sometimes.”

“You probably shouldn’t be here. Block and all”

“I’m not worried about him. He got his money. Anything else he wants is his problem. Not mine.”

Michael hums. Why did even talking hurt? Maybe it’s because he knows Penelope has more information that him. And he knows that she may not sure it even if he asks.

“She will always love you.”

Michael nods, staring out to the parking lot in front of him, huffing. He’s going to cry again. Huge sobs. He can feel it. “I’ll probably never stop loving her. But I can’t get out. Too much is on the line.”

Penelope gets it. He actively needs the money, his mother’s medical bills are still piling up. He can’t afford to leave now. “No one’s telling you to abandon your mother. This life just isn’t made for Mariss. And it’s okay that it’s not. In all honestly, I don’t think we’re meant for the shit we’ve handled. You and I don’t deserve the shit we were handed. But we all make our choices. Real life has real consequences.”

“I never meant to hurt her.”

“We never mean to hurt the ones we love.”

“She deserves better. I’m no good for her but I want to be better for her. I want to love her. I don’t think I’m built to love anyone else.”

“And if you think that, then you’re going to need a plan. And you’re going to need to get further than we did. That’s for damn sure. But right now, I want to know one thing. Did you get anything? I don’t know if you saw what I left in the fridge?”

He nods meekly. “Yeah. thanks for that.” There’s a moment of silence. “Where is she staying?”

“With Calum and I for the moment.”

That was a bad idea to ask. She’s not too far from him. He knows that way all too well. He can be there in fifteen minutes on a good day of traffic. But he just has to make sure she had a place to rest her head. Going back home would never be an option for her, he knew that much. “Do you think Mars will ever take me back?”

“You’d have to ask her and not do whatever you did that fucked this up..”

“I didn’t listen soon enough. I kept thinking I could have it all. Wanted me cake and to eat it too.”

“Sometimes we can, sometimes we can’t.”

“Should I even be worried about that? Getting her back right now?”

“Probably not, no. You should be worried about your ribs and eating. Keeping your place clean. Showering. Keeping a low profile. Your mother. Keeping your head down.”

“You said choices have consequences. And I don’t want Mars to be one. I don’t want her to be a consequence.”

___________

Marissa holds the phone to her hear, catching just enough of her mother over the ruckus in the background to understand that her mother’s talking about some from the church. “Don’t start this--not again. The last boy you tried to set me up--”

“Ahh-Marissa that was just that one who wasn’t all the way there. How was I supposed to know he was married? He had no ring.”

“I’m just saying your church boys don’t look like they’re going to make it to heaven. So I think I’d rather stick with my own bad judge of character.” She only needs to grab a card quickly and a couple bags of candy. The card for a family friend’s birthday and the candy because Marissa had been craving it for a week.

The card aisle is quick. But as she stares down the candy aisle of this pharmacy, she knows it’s going to take her a minute.

“What about--what’s his name? That white boy?”

She almost says his name but steps herself. “What about him?”

“While it beats me, you seemed happy with him. You ever think about reaching back out?”

Mars did--and she had. But it ultimately was ruining her so she had to stop for good. “I-I don’t even know if his number is still the same.” It was, but she didn’t tell her mother that. Penelope and Calum still had contact with him so that’s how she knew.

Mars carries on down the aisle, trying to see if she can spot anything that jumps out at her. But some of the shelves are bare. An associate’s working at the end of the aisle and she doesn’t want to be in the way. “They don’t have it.”

“Have what, mija?”

“The big bag blow pops. I see laffy taffy, but I don’t know.”

“Sorry ma’am, I’m working on restocking--”

Mars looks up just as the associate finishes with the box they’re breaking down. “Michael?” she breathes.

“Mars?”

“That’s his name!” her mother shouts. “Michael! I kinda liked him. Don’t tell your father that. But he always--”

Mars mutes the call--she can’t hang up unless she’s risking her life. “What-what are you doing here?”

Michael taps the name tag. “I kind of work here.”

“At a CVS?”

“GameStop never replied to my application. So I figured maybe they weren’t interested.”

And he’s still the same. A bit sarcastic, but easy going. “But wait, a CVS?” And she whispers it, like saying it too loud would cause a panic.

“It took me a couple years to get myself straightened out. But yeah, now at a CVS. And while it’s mundane and exhausting, I figured it was by time to get my life together.”

Marissa listens for a moment and her mother is still going. “Like him dancing at Jessie’s party. It still makes me giggle.”

“But, uh, about the blow pops. I’m 90% sure it’s on my car to reshelf. And I can make it 100% my next priority if you’ve got five minutes for me to find it.”

“Oh you-you don’t have to.”

“I mean they kinda pay me to have to, so it’s not a problem.”

“I guess then, I’ve got five minutes to spare.”

Michael smiles, turning back to the cart at the end of the aisle and crouches down. “I can feel you staring. So go ahead--ask away.”

There’s a lot to be asked. But Marissa’s more shocked than anything to get one of them to come out coherently. Like how did Michael get out? Is his mother doing well? Where was he staying now? Would South be looking for him? But instead all Marissa can do is stare. The glasses have changed, but he still looks the same. And she’s not even sure he’d aged at all in the time it’s been.

“Found it!” He calls tugging on the box to free it from the pile. He makes quick work to open the box with his blade and then hands a bag to her. “Also, if you don’t mind, maybe we could catch up over dinner? There’s this diner I used to go to all the time because of this really cute waitress.”

Mars grins. “I think I know the place. What time?”

“I’m off Thursday evening. Say seven?”

“Sounds perfect to me.”

#michael clifford #michael clifford imagine #michael clifford fic #michael clifford blurb #h writes #5sos fanfic #5sos blurb #5sos #5sos imagine #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer imagine #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer fic #michael x latina oc #michael clifford fanfic #michael clifford AU

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byunbaekby · 4 years

Text

One Day (PM 01:27)

Pairing: Reader x ex!Doyoung Summary: You’ve never been able to let Doyoung go. He remains in your heart though you can’t erase him, your memories that you can’t let go of. He lives in your books, though you try to ignore his presence. And now, he stands before you to remind you of that time you’ve lost. Word Count: 2.6k Author’s Note: Please enjoy this t h i n g that I wrote at one in the morning because Replay (PM 01:27) came on, and I’ve always loved that song. I’ve always felt like, although it’s kind of disco-y and upbeat, it had a deeper sadder meaning. So here is my word vomit, inspired by one of my favorite NCT 127 songs :)

Your break-up wasn’t supposed to be a break up.

Initially, it was just a break.

Fresh out of college with your undergrads, drowning in debt and lacking in love, you told your boyfriend of three years, Kim Doyoung, that you needed a break. You had simply grown apart, and needed time to reprocess your relationship. Being the understanding man you knew him to be, he obliged.

You had expected it to last a week or two, maybe a month. But Doyoung had packed his necessities from your shared apartment and, with a kiss on your forehead, left for Taeyong's place, promising to be back whenever you needed. But he never came back.

You didn’t really know what it was that kept you from calling him.

Perhaps it was that you were a writer. Your head in the clouds and your emotions always running wild, you constantly overthought every single detail of your relationship. You would keep telling yourself you needed more time away. That time grew from days, to weeks, to months, until it had been over a year since the last time Doyoung pressed his chapped lips to your skin in a chaste kiss.

Perhaps it was that Doyoung, as a law student, was far too emotionless and had no qualms giving you your infinite space, even as your relationship silently disintegrated. He respected your space, told you to reach out to him when you were ready. But you had never been ready.

Perhaps it was just that in your time apart, the love faded. You both came to realize this.

I can't move an inch, I’m still here. Afterimages of you dig into me like vibrations. At the end of the scene of longing that always circles my head. I heard a familiar sound.

It’s been two years since the last time you set foot on Korean soil.

After your break-up with Doyoung, after you came to terms with the fact that you would never collect the courage to pick up the phone and tell him that you made a mistake, you left your home for greener pastures. In other words, the States.

You had minored in English Literature anyways, and felt that you had a greater chance to kickstart your career in a different country. In some ways, perhaps you needed to get away as well. Get away from the craziness of Korea, from the reminders of Doyoung and the life you once shared together that was no longer attainable.

It’s all a lie, for your heart has been in the same place all this time.

Though it’s only been a mere three hours since you’ve stepped off the plane, your luggage tucked away in your hotel room somewhere negligible in your mind, you remember why you never wanted to return. If not for the release of your first Korean novel, you would have never come back.

Because Doyoung is everywhere.

You see him as you turn the corner, thinking you catch a glimpse of that ugly old car he had always insisted on keeping.

You feel him as you walk down the crowded street bustling with people in the afternoon, clutching your hand tightly to prevent losing you.

You taste him as you walk past a bar the two of you used to frequent, alcohol on his lips as you tugged him home with giggles on your’s.

And now, as you stand at a crosswalk surrounded by tens of commuting passerbyers, your hands tucked into the pockets of your Burberry trench coat, you hear him.

“Y/N?”

Except you turn and discover that he is real.

Between the passing people, your melody scatters. Just like then, we're facing each other.

“So… How have you been?”

He is first to break the awkward silence. Your hands, cold from both the air conditioning and your trembling nerves, clutch tighter at your cup of tea. You can see it now. Just four years ago, in the comfortable phase of your relationship, you sat with him in the same cafe, in that corner over there and helplessly in love.

Now he offers a tight-lipped smile to you.

“Fine.”

“Seems like you’re doing more than fine. I… I’ve seen your name on the news. And writer’s lists, your work is doing really well.” You would have never thought that he’d seen your writing. It was all in English, a language you didn’t remember him being too proficient in.

“I guess,” is your response. To anyone, you would have sounded indifferent, uninterested in a conversation with your ex.

A pregnant silence grows between you. Now, it is not Doyoung who is emotionless and stone-faced, but you. He had always been the rock in your relationship—you were infinitely falling apart in emotion and he was always putting you back together. Now, you are stone cold and he is reaching out to you.

“You still don’t drink coffee.” No, you don’t. You had always despised it.

“And you still drink your cafe latte with caramel drizzle.” This brings a soft smile to his face, as if amused by the fact that you could still recall such memories from your mind. What he doesn’t know is that you had spent almost three years away from him trying to banish these thoughts from your mind. You didn’t want to remember, yet he forever remained like an echo in your brain.

“Yeah,” Doyoung starts. “Some things don’t change after all.” Oh, but they do. Everything has changed, except perhaps your preference in drinks.

Another silence.

He looks healthy. He doesn’t look like a man who had been blindsighted and left in the dark by his long term girlfriend and lover. His face is more defined, no longer softened by the image of youth. Shoulders broadened. Hair done. He dons a suit, pricey as you can recall the brand. But he’s still Doyoung, the man you had been in love with since you laid eyes on him at eighteen years old.

“I’m a lawyer now.” You hadn’t even thought to ask him about his whereabouts. How rude, you scold yourself.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Finished law school a year ago. I didn’t really want to but… Taeyong encouraged me to finish what I already started. I work at Jaehyun’s dad’s firm now.”

“Oh. That’s… nice.”

You wonder fleetingly if you sound uninterested, because you’re not. It’s quite the opposite.

You’re amazed.

Unable to prevent the river of memories that hit you, you relish in it instead. Doyoung hunched over his books for hours; Doyoung stressing over his law school applications, even though you had assured him multiple times that he would be accepted with flying colors; Doyoung always debating with you over the simplest topics, and you laughing to tell him that he’d make the perfect lawyer, always so argumentative. The only time he hadn’t argued was when you told him to leave.

Another silence, except this time, it is you who breaks it.

“I’m proud of you.”

A softness falls over Doyoung’s eyes which are typically always so guarded.

“Thank you.”

Old memories, frozen times. Songs we listened to together. You and I, it's clear like it was yesterday.

“You hate it!”

“No… I never said that, baby.” You stare at him with narrowed eyes and a pout on your lips. The two of you are sitting on your bed in your PJs, it is nearly two in the morning. In his hands, your boyfriend holds the first draft of your first short story.

Though he tries to keep a straight face for half a second, he soon bursts into laughter, tilting his head back. With an indignant grunt you snatch the papers from him.

“You’d be a horrible lawyer, you’ve got horrible resolve,” you frown, clutching the papers close to your chest with a pout.

“Baby,” he says, remnants of his laugh from earlier still present in his voice. “It’s not poorly written.” As he speaks, you tuck the papers into the drawer of your nightstand and instead tuck yourself into his arms. “It’s just cliche, I mean, her parents are dead from a drunk driving car accident? She falls in love with a boy after they get paired for a project together? This is K-drama central.”

“It was the best I could do,” you mumble into his chest as he pulls you close in bed, resting his chin on top of your head.

“Thank you for your best.” Even when he is making fun of you, you feel the sincerity in his words. He never means to hurt you; that is Doyoung. He is brash and serious, sometimes too serious to the point where you don’t know when he’s joking, but he never means to cause you any pain. “But I know you’ll be better one day. And one day, I’ll read every single one of your books. I promise, and you know I’m a lawful man!”

One day. One day with Doyoung, you can see it already. “Yeah, one day when you’re the top lawyer at the firm and I’m a famous author.” You grin, tearing from his chest to shoot him a bright smile. “People will pay you billions to have you protect them, and I’ll be picking out stars for my first movie… Song Joongki will do.” This brings a giggle from your throat.

He presses his lips to your forehead, a trademark of his.

“Sounds like a plan, love. One day.”

We were so perfect and it hasn’t faded. I want to turn back time.

Though the two of you are standing in the middle of the sidewalk, surrounded by a bustling crowd of people and noise which never seems to cease, the silence is overwhelming.

It’s the same silence that lingered between you for years following your “break,” because neither of you were willing to smash it. Smash the wall between you, one that had been erected without either of your knowledge. The two of you have changed, have grown, have become adults. Yet it seems you are still both afraid.

He walks you to the crosswalk that you had earlier met at. As you are waiting for the light to turn green to allow your journey across the street, Doyoung produces something from inside his suit jacket.

It is your book, the first with its phonetics written in Korean, your mother tongue. It had only been released yesterday.

“I just finished reading this, on my lunch break, when I saw you.”

Does he know? Does he know that it is your story? A story of love, of the love that never asked but never ended. A question mark on the end of a seven year long story, never to have an ending? A couple that falls in love, falls apart, and moves on. Life doesn’t have happy endings, after all.

“You read it?” “Of course. I promised I’d read all your books.” The thought makes your heart lurch, but rather than lean away from him, it reaches out to him.

“Thank you for today. I know it was sudden, but thanks for taking time out of your busy schedule to have coffee with me.. Miss famous author.” You look up to him and he has a slight smile curving on his lips.

“Any time, Doie.” The name catches him off guard, but he tightens his lips and smiles. You mirror it.

Yet another silence grows and you almost wish you could live the rest of your lifetime without ever thinking, writing, or experiencing that word ever again.

The look that Doyoung has on his face is stoic. You want him to say it, you know he has something unsaid. It almost feels as though he has dug it from within him after three years. You know it. Say it, you want to urge him in your head.

“Have a good life, Y/N.” It is a goodbye, a final closing on your story which had been left open-ended for so many years. The thought makes you want to cry. Just hours ago you had stepped off the plane, thinking that you were perfectly content in this new life you had grown without Kim Doyoung. Now, the thought of living without him causes your heart to tighten painfully.

“You too, Doyoung.”

The light turns green. You turn your back to him.

Like Doyoung had done at your request a number of years ago, you walk away.

Our hearts that connected one by one. Our hearts that beat toward each other. In this moment, we want the same dream.

You’ve counted twenty steps when you can’t walk any further. Frantically you turn around, and search for his disappearing head in the crowd of people.

No, you can’t allow him to walk away. Not again.

“Doyoung!” You yell, but he can’t hear you. The silence is deafening.

Though the light on the crosswalk has now turned red, you sprint across. You cannot lose sight of him, you cannot allow yourself to lose him once again.

“Doyoung!” Please.

You have found him. He is walking, his eyes to the ground and your book in his hands. You have to find it—the courage, the voice within you to call out to him.

You love him.

“Kim Doyoung!” He stops. He’s heard you.

Doyoung stops in his tracks and turns over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. You were supposed to be gone, you were supposed to walk away on the crosswalk back to your hotel and out of his life once again. But no, you were standing here before him with panting breaths and tears in your eyes.

“I’m sorry.” There, you have said it. You are sorry for letting go. You are sorry for allowing your relationship to dissipate into thin air and nothingness. You are sorry for running away, and for never being able to say it until now. “I love you, I love you so much. I’ve never stopped loving you. I tried to ignore it and pretend I didn’t, and pretend that I didn’t care when you never came back from Taeyong’s. I pretended I didn’t care when I threw out the stuff you left behind, I pretended it didn’t hurt me when I stepped on that plane.” Your tears are free-falling now, and suddenly you feel Doyoung’s large hands on your cheeks, cupping them as your book falls to the ground. How foolish you must look, crying in the middle of the day in the midst of the city, but you don’t care.

“I pretended that I didn’t miss you, I pretended my heart didn’t do a thousand and one flips when you called my name today, I pretended that everything would be okay eventually if I kept ignoring the fact that I couldn’t live without you, because I thought it would be okay one day.”

One day.

“But I don’t want that day to come. That day where I can live without you. I want our one day. The one day where I’m happy and you’re happy and we can live out our dreams that we’ve planned since we were stupid kids in love in college. The one day where we can be okay again... Doyoung, I want you. I want your one day and the rest of your days.” Your voice catches in your throat. To be able to admit aloud verbally, to both him and yourself, it makes you cry even harder.

You hadn’t noticed until now that your tears were matched by his. God, you love him so much.

“Okay,” Doyoung manages, voice low as his shaky breath touches your lips. “Today.”

Cause I just want to be, I just want to be loved.

#nct #nct 127 #doyoung #kim doyoung #nct doyoung #doyoung fanfic #doyoung imagine #doyoung angst #doyoung fluff #nct angst #nct fanfic #nct imagine #this turned out a LOT longer than i planned #but whooop

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troubatrain · 4 years

Text

sober - m. barzal (pt. two)

a/n: part two every body give it up for reposting part two!!

One - Three

The sounds of skates on the ice at the Rangers practice facility were becoming almost therapeutic at this point, you close your eyes basking in it for a moment while you edited a video from a charity event the team hosted the week before. You had a makeshift desk in the hallway that led to the locker, trying to get as much work as you could none so you could try and wipe your memory of everything that had to do with Mat Barzal. You knew you shouldn’t have let him win, because men that smug don’t need an ego boost, but you did. Mika’s voice on the other side of that bathroom door was the wake up call you desperately needed. Mat Barzal was a gigantic mistake, and you had to just forget he ever existed. But, his contact was burning in your phone, Mat with a blue and orange heart just to piss you off a little bit more.

“Alright, what’s wrong?” Chris huffs out, his large frame towering over you and leaning on your desk. His eyebrows were furrowed, he’d seen right through, something was off.

“Nothing Kreids,” You roll your eyes, trying to cover up the fact that you were thinking about Mat’s mouth on your pussy in that bar bathroom, “Seriously, I’ll get over it.”

“This is about a guy isn’t it?” Chris questions, grabbing the chair across from you and sitting in it, “Spill.”

“I’m not diving into my dating life with you,” You snap back, catching yourself before your tone gets too harsh. It wasn’t that Chris wasn’t your friend, because he was, it was that you didn’t want to get caught gossiping when you were supposed to be working. Charlotte would have your head on a stick, and everything you’d been working for since you got the job would just be for nothing, “I’m fine seriously, I have a date tonight.”

You did. The night after you last saw Mat, you’d gotten bored enough to open up Tinder on your phone. A couple of swipes later, you had a date with some finance bro from Murray Hill you weren’t going to call the next day. If you wanted to get over somebody, you were just going to have to get under somebody else. Plus, in a city this big, the odds you’d ever run into Mat again were probably slim.

“Like a real date or a rebound date?” Chris asks, a humorous tone to his voice. Chris was a romantic, but you knew Chris Kreider’s were few and far between. So while you were young, you decided that it didn’t matter if you fell in love, you could do that later. For now, you were going to work hard and play harder.

“A rebound date,” You smirk, watching Chris roll his eyes at you, “Don’t slut shame me Chris or I will-”

“I didn’t even say anything,” Chris defends throwing his hands up before you really got into it, “Just call me if he’s a creep or something, please.”

“Okay dad,” You snort, laughing and directing your attention back to the video you were supposed to be editing.

***

Maybe you should have listened to Chris. The man sitting in front of you did nothing besides talk about himself, his job, and he was unbelievably rude to your waiter. You should expect this, as if some random dude you met off Tinder would be some sort of gentleman but you thought maybe, just maybe, you’d be wrong. Unfortunately for you, you were just reminded of one thing - men are trash.

“So what do you do?” Chad asks, which could very possibly actually be his name but you’d forgotten while you were trying to block this entire night from your memory.

“Oh, I work for the Rangers,” You shrug, it wasn’t that you weren’t proud of your job. But the questions that came after were always the same, and if you were right, Chad would have the same answer.

“They must love having a pretty little thing like you around,” The words were sleazy, and they left the same icky feeling in your stomach that they always did. You didn’t want to be some pretty little thing that was around for someone’s amusement. You were an adult who had a pretty important job and you liked to be respected and in the little bubble you lived in at MSG, you were. But, no one outside of 8th and 33rd seemed to agree.

That was the moment when you realized someone’s eyes had been on you the whole time, stopping you from chewing out your date in the middle of the restaurant. Mat Barzal was seated across the restaurant, a girl who looked like a supermodel in front of him. You roll at your eyes at his cocky smile, the girl paying no mind that he wasn’t even listening to her. You pull your phone, letting Chad ramble on about how nice your gig with the Rangers must be.

stop staring at me barz

i can’t when you look like that angel

pretty sure the girl in front of you should keep you busy

pretty sure the guy in front of you is a douche, sneak out of here in 5?

in your dreams

i’ve had dreams about you, they’re pretty fucking filthy though

You stop, rubbing your thighs together subconsciously. You were on this date to forget Mat ever existed and going home with him would be an enormous mistake. One more time couldn’t hurt? Right?

call the uber loser

You watched Mat’s face light up, practically slamming cash down and saying goodbye to his date, before he skipped out of the restaurant. You shake your head at his obviousness, excusing yourself to go use the restroom and thanking whatever higher power that it was close to the exit. The second you stepped out, you could feel an arm wrap itself around you - pulling you into a broad chest.

“I like this little game we’re playing,” Mat smirks, pecking your lips while you wait for a car to pull up. You raise your eyebrows at him, waiting for an explanation, “You know, where you pretend to hate me because we’re supposed to but in reality you can’t stay away - you know how these movies end.”

“I can go back inside,” You threaten, pointing to your date who is still sitting at the table.

“Why? So you can hang out with some dude who you know can’t get you off like I can,” Mat scoffs, his ego getting bigger by the second.

“Maybe I’ll just steal your date,” You smirk, taking notice of the way Mat’s face lit up, “You’re a pig.”

“You’re not a ray of fucking sunshine either you know,” Mat scoffs.

“Your ego’s huge, I’m just keeping you humble,” You tease, pushing his arm off of you, he didn’t get to claim you like that.

“It’s not going to humble me when you’re at my apartment screaming my name,” Mat smirks, and you roll your eyes.

***

Mat’s apartment was a vague memory from the night you had spent. But, you remembered enough to point out every reason why you hated it. It was a bachelor’s apartment, filled with overpriced dark furniture that you know someone else picked out - or even worse, it came with the apartment. The view was immaculate, the floor to ceiling windows lived in the dreams of your own ideal place. The decor was typical, a few jerseys framed on the walls that you most definitely should have noticed when you left his place.

“You can say you hate it,” Mat chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist while you continued to take in the apartment, “I’m sure it’s not up to your standards.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, biting your lip to suppress the moan that was trying to escape with Mat was nibbling at your ear lightly.

“It means you know you’re better than me,” Mat whispers, “But I know there’s one thing I’m better at than you and that’s why you’re here. I can fucking ruin you.”

“Mat,” You sigh, elbowing him in the stomach while he smirked against your neck, “I’ll ruin you first.”

Mat let out a dramatic groan, “You’re such a brat.”

Before you could defend yourself and chirp him back, Mat had his large hands on your thighs while he carried you into his bedroom, dropping you on the bed. His mouth was sucking at your neck, and you knew you were going to have to invest in a new concealer if you kept this up. Well, at least he finally shut up-

“You’re so fucking sexy,” Mat whispers, his hands exploring your body, “You going to remember it this time?”

“Shut up,” You whimper, trying to let out how good Mat’s hands under your shirt actually felt. They were huge, and the rough skin against yours made your pussy flutter. Mat unclasped your bra, smirking to himself when he got it on the first try, “I’m sure you’ve had plenty of practice.”

“I have that’s why I know I’m good,” Mat smirks, climbing down your body while you shed your clothes. Mat slips his finger under your jeans, pulling your panties off in one swift motion, “Fuck, I think you know it too. Are you this wet for little old me?”

You didn’t have words for his stupidity, instead you kicked his back with the heel of your foot. You heard Mat’s laugh while he pressed open mouthed kisses to the inside of your thighs, “You’d be a lot cuter if you were nicer.”

“You’d be a lot cuter if you didn’t laugh like a hyena but here we are,” You chirped, sighing when you feel Mat’s finger slid up your folds.

Mat Barzal’s oral game was, in all honesty, immaculate. Were you going to let him know that? Absolutely not. Were you going to let him milk for every orgasm you had left? You might.

“Mat, fuck,” You let out a breathy moan, a real one trying to escape you. Mat had made you cum twice already, and his mouth was well on his way to a third before his dick even touched you.

“Let me hear you Y/N,” Mat halts his movements, curling his fingers to see if he could just get it out of you.

“Faster,” You moan out, your hips lifting to try and get his fingers to start moving again. Mat smirks, finally satisfied before his tongue swirled your clit to send you over the edge. Mat finally pulled away, wiping the sides of his mouth that were glistening from you.

“Ready for me?” Mat asks, a smug smile on his face. You nod, watching while he reached over into his nightstand to grab a condom.

“That box is awfully big,” You joke, not able to stop yourself from making fun of Mat. In reality, he probably wasn’t any better than you were, but that didn’t mean for a second you didn’t think he needed to be knocked down a few pegs.

Now, it was Mat’s turn to roll his eyes, “Because you’re such an angel.”

“I’m not, I’m the devil,” You smile, biting your lip while you watched Mat roll the condom over his cock. This part you may have remembered vaguely, but you didn’t remember how big it really was.

“Tell me if I’m being too rough,” Mat groans, entering you slowly so you could adjust to him. At least he isn’t a total douche.

“I thought you were going to ruin me Barz,” You tease, “I’m sure you know better than to talk a big game and not deliver.”

Mat’s eyes went a shade darker, a smirk on his face while he snapped his hips back and slammed back into you, causing you to let out a moan that was so loud you were positive his neighbors heard. His pace kept up, the sounds of his skin slapping against yours filled the room. You grab into any skin you could find while Mat continued to pound into you, your legs practically shaking from the feeling. Your nails dug into his skin, only boosting Mat’s confidence that he was good.

Mat gave you one more orgasm before he finally let himself go, his hips stuttering and a string of curse escaping his mouth. He stayed for a minute, trying to let you both bring yourselves down before he finally slipped out of you.

“You can stay if you can’t walk,” Mat jokes, his nude frame walking back into his room with a warm towel to clean you up. You didn’t peg him as much of an aftercare guy, especially for someone who probably got laid more than the average person.

“I’ll crawl back to Manhattan before I sleep in this bed with you,” You say while you pull yourself up from the bed. You gather your clothes, getting dressed while Mat watches you from his bed.

“So…” Mat starts, his hands behind his head in a way that was just so masculine you didn’t know if you wanted to go another round or punch him square in the face, “Did I make the team?”

“We can’t do this again,” You say, trying your hardest to keep your cool. If you were being honest, you probably would have done it again.

“We can,” Mat suggests wiggling his eyebrows, “It’ll be our dirty little secret, that’s hot.”

“Barz...”

“Y/N...”

“I’ll call you.”

“So I made the cut?”

#mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #my writing

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