#I thought this house getting snatched out from under us might teach him a lesson but. uh. no. no it did not | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fanmoose12 · 3 years

Text

catch me if you can

Сharacters: Hange Zoe, Levi, Erwin Smith, Kenny Ackerman

Genres: Mystery / Romance

Summary: The Ackerman duo. Just the mention of this name filled Hange with so many feelings. Mostly, when she reread the files of their cases over and over, until her eyes watered, she felt pricking annoyance. Sometimes, when she stared at the dead bodies of those scarce unfortunates who stumbled upon their crimes, she was filled with hatred and a pushing need for revenge. Hange couldn’t deny, however, there were times when she marveled at the impudence of their crimes. And, when she was investigating the Ackerman’s cases and saw just how meticulously planned they all were, she couldn’t help but feel something close to fascination.No one knew who they were. No one had seen their faces, no one knew their true names. Almost everyone knew of their crimes.Hange was determined to unravel every last one of their secrets. She will put an end to their crimes and then she will get the elusive Ackermans behind bars.

Chapter 9/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

“We aren’t looking for Krista Lenz. We’re searching for Historia.”

Despite the evidence quite literally staring right back at her, Hange could scarcely believe what she herself had just said. Krista Lenz, the missing girl she was searching for, wasn’t actually Krista Lenz? Apparently, the girl’s name was Historia, at least, according to the birth certificate. But it didn’t make any sense, and, what’s worse, it raised so many additional questions…

The main question, of course, was the reason for why the girl was living under a false name, and how did Kenny Ackerman acquire this piece of information? And for what purpose?

Luckily, she had the person, who, hopefully, could shed some light on this new mystery. Hange shoved the photo and the document in Ackerman’s hands, staring at him expectantly. “Do you know something about this?”

He didn’t answer right away, and that gave Hange a semblance of hope. Perhaps, it was just a misunderstanding? Perhaps, the photo and the birth certificate were put into one envelope by a trick of fate? And Krista Lenz was truly Krista Lenz? Hange certainly hoped so. It would save her so much trouble.

Ackerman’s eyes were narrowed as he studied the document. Hange watched him with bated breath.

Her world crumbled when he gave a little nod.

“I think I know where Kenny got it. Remember the robbery of that politician’s manor? Kenny stole this thing from the guy’s safe.”

Hange remembered that robbery, remembered that murdered man. But how could it possibly be connected to her recent case?

“How did you know where to find it? And why did your uncle need it in the first place? It makes no sense…”

“On the contrary,” Ackerman shook his head. “Now everything makes perfect sense. I couldn’t understand why Reiss asked us to rob that guy’s house, but now I’m starting to think that your missing girl…”

“Wait! Wait!” Hange silenced him with her palm on his mouth. She whirled around, starting to pace around the room. What he was saying just now? He didn’t mean it, right? At least, not in the way Hange comprehended it. It couldn’t be, she refused to believe it. But what if Ackerman was telling the truth? What if— Hange turned back to him, her eyes pleading for him to say it was an ill-timed joke. “What was that about Reiss? Did you mean Rod Reiss, the member of the parliament? That Reiss?”

“Naturally.”

Hange slowly sank into an armchair. Her head was spinning, her thoughts were going in circles. Rod Reiss, the model politician, the law abiding citizen was working directly with Ackermans. It seemed completely outlandish.

“Are you serious?” she asked quietly, to keep herself from shrieking. “Are you actually fucking serious?”

Ackerman shrugged, looking so nonchalant, a stark contrast to her frantic appearance. “Why would I lie about this?”

Why indeed… Logically, Hange knew there was no reason for him to lie about Reiss’ involvement, but, damn it, she just couldn’t wrap her head about this. Even the notion seemed utterly ridiculous, like it was taken from a dumb conspiracy theory.

“Just before I dropped your case…” Hange began, desperately trying to find a way to contradict Ackerman’s claim. “He wanted to help me solve it. He offered me money and people, anything to get you behind bars.”

And that meant that he wasn’t working with them, right? It meant that Reiss was actually a good guy, who wanted to fight the bad ones.

He’s a politician, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Erwin reminded her. You can’t get so high just from being good.

Despite her endless stubbornness, Hange couldn’t disagree with that. Those who held a lot of power didn’t acquire it from being honest and honorable.

Reiss claimed he wanted to catch Ackermans, but that desire could just be his attempt to cover up his traces.

Fuck.

Ackerman was right. Everything was starting to make sense.

“I guess Reiss wanted to get rid of us,” Ackerman confirmed her guess. Hange’s heart sank. “Maybe, that’s why Kenny didn’t return him this,” he showed her the birth certificate.

Hange felt another wave of nausea. If she correctly understood what Ackerman was implying…

“Are you saying that the missing girl…” she swallowed, reluctant to end that sentence. It would become more real then.

“Yes,” Ackerman nodded, his voice a little softer. Was it his attempt at giving her a bit of comfort? Did he simply pity her? “I think that your Krista Lenz is actually Historia. And that her father is Rod Reiss.”

Even before he spoke, Hange knew that Ackerman had reached that conclusion. Reluctantly, she was almost ready to agree with him. But… her inner world was practically in shambles. Rod Reiss, the good-willed, kind looking man with a gentle smile, was working with the criminals. He had a secret daughter.

She really couldn’t trust anyone, huh? She should have learnt this simple truth by now. Levi Ackerman did a great job of teaching that lesson to her, after all.

Hange dropped head into her hands, letting out a deep, bone-weary sigh. Couldn’t she have at least one simple, easy case? One that wouldn’t make her revalue all of her relationships and lose her faith in the humanity?

A case like that would have been real nice.

But instead she had a case that grew more complicated with each clue and a girl who was waiting to be rescued.

If nothing else, Hange couldn’t let Krista Lenz down. Or Historia, whichever name was the correct one.

“Hey listen…” a tentative touch to her shoulder and a gentle voice in her ear made Hange jump. She looked up and saw Ackerman, standing right next to her. He was… gods, he looked worried. Hange didn’t know if she should be amused or slighted. Just how pathetic she seemed just now, if Ackerman decided to comfort her? “I know it’s a lot to take in…”

Hange brushed his hand aside, abruptly jumping to her feet. Ackerman could take his pity and fuck himself with it. It was a lot to take in, but she was fine. She had taken it all in, she dealt with that mind-blowing revelation. Well, she didn’t really deal with it, but she took a pause in dealing with it. She’d finish the processing after this fucking day was over and she’d get drunk at some shitty bar. But now, she had work that needed her attention. And Hange was ready to begin.

“Give me that,” she snatched the birth certificate out of Ackerman’s hand, studying it intently. The graph with the father’s name wasn’t filled, but the mother’s name was there. Alma. There was no last name, but still, it was a start. Certainly not very promising, but Hange did more with less.

Alas, there was nothing interesting about the document except the name of the child’s mother. The child was born here, in their city, twenty two years ago. Krista Lenz was exactly twenty-two years old. A small detail that simply couldn’t be overlooked.

Next, Hange turned her attention to the photo. The picture showed adult Krista, and it was shot from distance, only her profile visible. Could it mean that someone was spying on her? If Krista was Historia, and a daughter of Rod Reiss, it made sense that he was keeping tabs on her. However…

Hange’s eyes widened, the realization swiftly settling.

The photo and the document, it didn’t come from Reiss. Reiss asked Ackermans to steal it for him, meaning…

“Do you think Reiss has enemies?” she asked Ackerman. “Do you think that someone wanted to expose him?”

“Perhaps,” Ackerman tentatively replied. His eyebrows furrowed, as he continued, rubbing his chin. “The guy that we killed… he wasn’t supposed to be at home that night. Reiss said he wasn’t going to be at home.”

“But he was.” Hange uttered, confused.

“He was,” Ackerman agreed. “And I think Reiss knew about it.”

“You think he tried to set you up?”

“Possibly. Or it was a pure coincidence and the guy just decided to return from the party earlier. Or…” he spread his arms, his point more than clear.

Closing eyes, Hange rubbed her temples. Possibly, Ackerman said. Well, she was definitely getting into something she shouldn’t. Secret children, Ackermans, nasty politicians… It was well above her paygrade.

But she couldn’t just give up. And, fortunately, she knew a place where they could find more information. If the person spying on Krista wasn’t Reiss, then it was someone who was actively trying to expose him. Someone who had died before he could reach his goal.

Hange still remembered that brief conversation she had with the politician’s widow, remembered her mentioning something about a girl that worked for her late husband. Perhaps, that girl was the one who took that photo of Krista. And if she found Krista once, perhaps, she’d help them to find her again.

The plan of action was prepared, and that was enough to calm Hange’s mind. At least, for a short while.

“We’re going to visit the politician’s house,” she announced to Ackerman. “His widow might know something.”

“You want to go to the house of the guy we robbed and killed? Awesome.”

Hange hummed, letting her eyes linger on Ackerman’s bored face. There was a question that’s been bugging her for a long time now, ever since she learnt about his true identity. They weren’t in a hurry yet, so she decided to take another moment to satisfy her curiosity. “That guy… were you the one who killed him?”

Ackerman stared back at her, his eyes surprisingly honest. “Would it make you feel better if I tell you that my uncle did it?”

Would it make her feel better to know that he was just a thief, and not a murderer? Maybe. Or, maybe not. Hange wasn’t sure what feeling this knowledge would provoke. These days, she wasn’t sure what to feel at all. The only feeling she was certain of was the exhaustion.

“Back at the museum…” perhaps, bringing this up was unreasonable. Perhaps, completely unnecessary. But she had been thinking about it, a lot. She had already formulated an explanation. Now she wanted to hear Ackerman’s reasoning, and see if the two versions were compatible in any way. “I know you weren’t the one who shot me, your uncle is much taller. When he raised that gun, he was aiming at my head, I could see it clearly,” she laughed, the sound too broken to be genuine. “I thought I was already done for, so why…”

“Why what, four-eyes?” Ackerman snapped. “Why did I stop him? Do you actually not know?”

Ackerman was staring right at her, his impassive mask slipping to reveal his anger and… frustration? Hange couldn’t clearly interpret the look in his eyes, not when she was so confused herself. She swallowed heavily, her heart pounding as she struggled to look away. Ackerman’s gaze… was burning.

“I wouldn’t have let Kenny kill you. I couldn’t bear the thought,” he said, his voice raw. He took a step towards her, and, subconsciously, Hange took a step away from him, her back now pressed against the wall. Despite their height difference, Levi seemed to loom over her, his eyes brimming with feeling. The feeling of… what? Hange didn’t know if she wished to know the answer. “Do you actually not understand why I did it?”

Ackerman was wrong. She did understand. She had him figured out, all thanks to dark, long and sleepless nights.

“You still needed me, right? That was your reason? I was still useful to you, that’s why—”

“Useful?”

Hange flinched at his tone. There was no protest there, no anger. His voice was thick with pain. Her eyes widened at the realization.

“What did I use you for, Hange?” he grabbed the lapels of her coat, roughly pulling her close to him. His breath was hot on her skin, and his fists were clenched so tightly she could almost hear the sound of the coat’s fabric ripping. “What did I ever use you for? Did I steal something from you? Did I get some piece of information out of you? You gave me the keys to your damn office, I held your shitty notebook in my hands, and did I use it?”

In the face of his outrage, Hange felt numb. She didn’t try to push him away, felt too weak to escape from him. She could only stare helplessly at him, feeling small and insignificant. Feeling like she had missed something vital, a central piece of the puzzle.

“I don’t know,” she murmured. “I didn’t check, perhaps you did take something—”

He breathed a curse into her face, his eyes a liquid fire. Just as suddenly as he had grabbed her, Levi let her go.

His back was now facing her, as he stared out of the window, his breathing loud and irregular.

“You can think whatever you want about me,” he said, deadly quiet. “You can think that I am a liar, a thief and a scumbag. But I didn’t use you Hange. It was never my intention. And if you really don’t know why I didn’t let you die, then you’re a shitty fucking detective. No wonder you couldn’t catch us.”

He stormed out of the room a second after, leaving Hange to stare incredulously after him.

His words, his touch, his eyes, it weighted down on her. They made it hard to breathe.

The places where Levi had touched her were burning, his words were still ringing in her ears and she couldn’t quite shake off the image of his eyes, his stare furious, but simultaneously hurt.

She was hoping to gain some clearance, hoping to deal with one of the many mysteries of her life. But now she was even more confused.

She took one deep breath after another, clutching at her chest. What the heck had just happened? What was Levi so worked about, what was he— it was another lie of his, another act, it had to be, Hange at last decided. What else it could be? Levi, no, Ackerman, he couldn’t really speak the truth just now? Because if that was the truth, then—

The loud bang of the closing door snapped Hange out of her reverie.

She was being naïve and foolish, again.

She was letting him get into her head, she was allowing him to fool her once more. But she wouldn’t let him do it, not after everything she had gone through.

She also couldn’t let him distract her from the case. Be her name Krista or Historia, but that girl needed to be saved. Hange had to save her.

And she wouldn’t be able to find her if she continued to stare numbly at the wall.

Hange shook her head, pushed the hair back from her face and fixed the lapels of her coat. She had no time for confusing feelings, she had to get back to work.

She was fully intent on doing that, until she remembered what had helped her get her focus back. The front door was thrown closed…

Hange shrieked, her hands flying to her head. Ackerman! He had escaped!

With a lightning speed, she rushed out of the room and out of the apartment. She took two stairs at the time, hurrying to get to the bottom of the stairwell. Her mind worked just as fast as her legs, as Hange tried to predict what direction Ackerman would take. Where would he go? Would she be able to find him? Should she even find him, after everything that just transpired?

By the time, she reached the exit of the apartment complex and tumbled out on a street, Hange was completely out of breath. She took a fleeting second, doubling over in an attempt to stop her lungs from burning out. Shit, she was getting too old for this kind of thing.

With her breathes still coming out way too rapidly, Hange slowly straightened out. Left or right? Which direction Ackerman would take? Maybe, if she was lucky, she’d catch him before he ran away.

But as Hange turned her gaze to her left, she was surprised to see that the escaped criminal… didn’t actually escape. He was standing right next to her, lazily smoking a cigarette.

“I thought you had a girl to save, detective?” he asked in a bored, indifferent voice.

Hange hated how good he was at concealing what was going on inside him. She was still shaking.

She also hated how attractive the damn bastard was, especially while smoking.

But Ackerman was right. There was a girl, and she needed to be saved.

Hange shrugged, adopting a more confident stance. She couldn’t let him know she was worried that he left. Or how handsome she thought he was. She had embarrassed herself plenty already.

So with a determined face, Hange lifted an arm, hailing a taxi.

There was no time for feelings. Not when there was work needed to be done.

***

The time they’ve spent in taxi was spent in silence.

Hange was looking out of the window, stubbornly refusing to even look in his direction. Levi himself was staring at his knees, lost to his own thoughts.

There was a lot he had to think about, the main focus, of course, was on Kenny and his involvement with Reiss and his new-found daughter.

Levi had kept a faint hope that when they got to their apartment, Kenny would be there, laying on a coach with a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of beer in another. Until the very end, he hoped that this whole ordeal with kidnapping and letters from Kenny the Reaper was a result of a weird coincidence.

Unfortunately, his hope was crushed without mercy.

Kenny wasn’t at home, and what’s more, the state of their apartment frightened Levi. Kenny wasn’t as obsessed with cleanliness as him, but he had never created such messes either. At least, it had never happened during all these years they’ve lived together. Was the mess caused by the fact that Levi had left? Or was Kenny truly going crazy?

If he decided to kidnap a girl, Reiss’ daughter, and then run off to god knows where, then he was definitely not quite right in his head.

But that wasn’t the only thing occupying Levi’s mind. Ashamed as he was to admit it, Kenny wasn’t in his thoughts nearly as often as was Hange.

Their fight back at his apartment was, for the lack of better word, a complete disaster. He made a mistake, he shouldn’t have lost his cool, he shouldn’t have admitted the things Hange didn’t have to know.

For fuck’s sake, he practically admitted that he was smitten with her. Worse yet, he almost admitted just how far he was willing to go not to hurt her. It was dangerous and it was foolish. Luckily, Hange wasn’t too interested in listening to what he had to say.

And still, the things that she had said hurt him. More than Levi was ready to admit.

She really lost all trust in him, didn’t she? Perhaps, this outcome was not at all surprising, but… painful nevertheless.

Levi stole a glance at Hange - she wasn’t looking back at him. So he allowed himself to admire her profile. Her bright, brown eyes, that hawkish nose, those enticing lips… He sighed, tearing his gaze away.

Coming here was certainly a mistake, he could have hid a little better, could have tried to run from Hange for the second time. He could have done so much more, could have at least attempted to not get caught in all of this.

Too late for any regrets now, he thought bitterly. Besides, it wasn’t like he had come here for Hange, right? He had to get Kenny out of whatever shit he had involved himself into this time.

Kenny, he was there for Kenny. For him and him only.

He had to repeat this to himself a couple of times more, because with Hange sitting so close to him, with their thighs slightly touching in the backseat of the taxi, it was hard to remember his main and initial goal. With Hange so close, it was getting hard to focus at all.

He had to think of something else.

Levi looked out of the window, watched the streets they passed by. They were getting close. Close to the house of the man he murdered.

Levi gulped. Perhaps, the idea to focus on something else wasn’t as sound as it seemed at first.

Another train of thought then. He turned to look at Hange again.

He couldn’t think about her, but there was the matter of their case. He could try and pay attention to it.

“You mentioned that the girl is missing for almost a week. Why are you the only one who’s working on finding her then? Aren’t these types of cases supposed to be…” he waved his hand around, gesturing uncertainly. “Especially time-sensitive?”

Hange sighed, showing just how stressed she truly was. “They usually are time-sensitive. But… thing is… no one actually cares if I solve this case or not.”

“Do you mean—”

“Yes. Krista, or, well,” she winced, “Historia, doesn’t have a family. She doesn’t seem to have any friends either. We received the tip about her disappearance from a fucking anonymous call. No one even noticed that she is gone. I talked with the students at her college, and some seemed sympathetic, some even mildly worried about her well-being, but no one actually cared about her. No one truly knew her too, at least, no one knew her well enough. As I asked about Krista, I got the same answer. She was kind, always ready to help. She was attentive and diligent during classes. And that world ‘was’,” Hange shook her head, her palms clenching into fists. “It seemed like everyone had already accepted that she was gone for good.”

Hange sounded so sad, so frustrated, Levi desperately wished to give her what little comfort that he could. He understood now, why she was so determined to find that missing girl and bring her home.

It was good to know that people like Hange existed. People, who would do their best to try and help someone else.

Levi could be that girl, he realized. If he went missing and Kenny wasn’t there to find him, no one would care to help him. If something like that ever happened to him, he could only hope to come across a person, who would be as selfless and kind as Hange.

If there were more people like her, perhaps, his life wouldn’t be so miserable. Perhaps, he’d be a different person.

But pondering on it was pointless now. He was who was he was. For the better or worse, Hange was who she was too.

“So no one is pushing you to hurry?” Levi glanced at her beneath his fridge. “Then what was that shit about? When you ran out of my apartment, red in face and panting like a dog?”

“Oi,” Hange slapped his knee. “Fuck you.”

“Fuck me?” Levi raised his eyebrow, remembering their first conversation. “Aren’t we moving a little too fast?”

“Shut up,” she grumbled, turning her face away. Just before she did, Levi saw the red on her cheeks.

Hange blushed. Hange, the hot-shot detective and a huge pain in the ass, had actually blushed after his stupid joke.

Well… now Levi had something to be proud of.

“I just thought—” she huffed, moving hair from her face. “It doesn’t matter what I thought, but… thanks for not running away. I… appreciate it. Looking for you would be a large inconvenience,” she gave him a side-glance, her lips twitching. “Thanks for not creating even more problems for me, I guess.”

And who said that Hange wasn’t a paragon of politeness? Levi almost felt good about himself. He almost thought that things between them were… not as disastrous as they actually were.

“We are almost there,” Hange announced, nervously tapping fingers against her thigh.

The bubble busted. There was no time to fool around. There was no time for playful banter and witty back and forth. There was no time to… appreciate that bright sparkle in Hange’s eyes.

Levi nodded, acknowledging her words, but remained speechless. What was there to say? He was going to the house that belonged to a man his uncle had killed right in front of his own eyes. And he was going there willingly. God, his life was just a string of one fucked up shitty event after another.

Hopefully, this visit would help him learn more about Kenny’s new job and, maybe, even find Kenny himself.

Hope… that’s all he had these days.

The taxi took a turn and drove up to the tall, black gates. Levi remembered climbing over it during that awful night two months ago.

This time, he wasn’t climbing over it.

Hange got out of the taxi, just as they approached the front gates. She spoke through the intercom, requesting entrance. After a long moment, the gates slowly opened and the taxi drove inside, bringing them to the large doors.

Front doors. Last time Levi was getting inside through the back door. Well, another improvement. Another sign that this visit, hopefully, wouldn’t end so horribly.

Hange paid the taxi driver and told him not to wait for them. Together they exited the car.

As they walked to the door, she leaned in to him and whispered, “It’d be best if you don’t tell the grieving widow that your uncle killer her husband.”

“I’m not an idiot, four-eyes.”

Hange chuckled and lifted her arms, palms-up. “I’m just saying. I don’t think she’s eager to meet us as it is.”

When the front door had finally opened, they were met by a butler. A fucking butler, dressed in a suit and tie and with glasses on his face. Levi stared at him, incredulously.

Killing people in general went against Levi’s principles, and killing the owner of this house in particular was obviously wrong, but stealing from him? Perhaps, he and Kenny should have also taken a few paintings.

“Good day,” Hange smiled – to Levi the expression seemed a little forced. “I’m detective Zoe and I wanted to—”

“I know,” the butler bowed his head, gesturing for them to follow him. “The Lady asked me to bring you to her office.”

The Lady? It took all of Levi’s willpower not to scoff. Rich people were ridiculous. That’s why he preferred to steal from them. Served those fuckers right.

The butler led them through a big, brightly lit hall, up the majestic stairwell, through a row of ugly paintings, and finally they stood before a brown oak door.

“The Lady is inside,” the butler said, taking a step back. “I’ll bring tea in just a few minutes. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

Hange waved her hand, obviously not interested in his false politeness. She threw the door open, walking inside without waiting for the invitation. So that was detective Hange at work? Levi watched her, hiding his amused expression.

“Sorry that we didn’t give you a heads-up,” she spoke to the woman that was sitting behind a long, mahogany desk. Suddenly Levi realized it was the same room, where Kenny had killed a man. Suddenly he realized that he was staring at the face of a woman, who had lost a husband because of him and Kenny. Avoiding the widow’s gaze, he did his best to hide behind Hange. “But there’s something we wanted to discuss.”

“Did you find my husband’s killer?”

No, but I'm his nephew and I was there when your husband had died, Levi almost blurted out. But Hange had warned him. So he wisely kept his mouth shut.

“No,” Hange walked further inside, plopping down on a chair. Much more humbly, Levi did the same. “But we think your husband is related to our other case. So we were wondering if we can ask you a few questions?”

“Who are we?” the widow arched her perfectly thin eyebrow. “Last time we spoke, I didn’t remember you having an assistant.”

Hange’s smile became strained. “That’s, um, Levi,” she gestured at him. “My, well, he’s sort of my partner.”

“A partner, huh?”

“He helps me with the case,” Hange answered vaguely. “Now about our questions…”

The widow arrogantly waved her hand, allowing Hange to continue. “Just be quick about this. After my husband’s death, I have a lot of work on my hands.”

And all of it because of him and Kenny. Great. Levi sat lower in his seat.

“I remember you mentioning…” Hange took out her notebook, Levi cringed at the sight of it. As he watched her shift through it, he briefly wondered if that note he had left for her was still there. Did she tear it out, rip into pieces and then burn the rest? Or did she… leave it there, so she could stare at it whenever she felt especially angry? Levi wasn’t sure which option was more preferable and which one would make him feel more sad. Meanwhile, Hange continued, “A girl who visited your husband. Do you remember what she looked like? Can you describe her to us?”

The widow scrunched her nose, clearly displeased. She reached to the desk’s drawer, taking out a pack of cigarettes. She opened it, putting a cigarette in between her lips. “If you don’t mind,” she mumbled, flicking up a lighter. The widow took one long drag, letting the smoke curl up towards the ceiling. She lazily traced its movement, then, when the smoke had dissipated into nothing, she spoke, “I saw her only once, she was leaving our house late in the evening. It was dark and I didn’t get a good look on her face, but I remember that she was tall,” she squinted, looking at Hange. “Slightly taller than you. Had brown hair, gathered in a low ponytail. Her clothes were baggy, and, overall, she looked just like…”

“Like what?” Levi snappily required. “Like a criminal?”

“Well, yes,” the widow agreed, throwing the ash off her cigarette. “I think she was doing some shady work for my husband.”

“Do you by any chance have a way to contact her?” Hange asked. “A phone number or a home address…”

“And why do you need it?” the widow looked at them skeptically.

“Classified information,” Hange smoothly replied. “But it’s for the greater good, believe me.”

The widow huffed, obviously not buying it. But she put the cigarette down and reached for the drawer again.

“I don’t know if that will be of any help, but,” she rummaged through the drawer, taking out a yellow envelope. “I found this when I was looking through my husband’s things. He must have destroyed the letter that was inside it, but there is the sender’s address on the back, so…”

“Thank you for your time,” Hange spoke sincerely, snatching the envelope from the widow’s hands. “You really helped us. A lot. You might have even saved a young girl’s life.”

“Whatever,” the widow rolled her eyes. “Just get out of here already. I have the work I need to do.”

“Thank you,” Hange repeated, rising to her feet. “Have a nice day.”

“And…” the widow hesitated. “Good luck with your case. I hope you do better this time.”

The smile on Hange’s face faltered, but didn’t disappear. “I’ll do my best,” she promised, before walking out of the room.

Throwing a quick last glance at the widow, Levi dutifully followed.

***

The address on the envelope led them to the worst part of their city. To the streets that were filled with garbage, where the walls had paint falling off and most windows stood completely smashed.

Hange in her fancy light brown coat looked starkly out of place. Perhaps, Ackerman was right about her having too much privilege. Right now, the contrast between her and the more unfortunate ones were sharp as ever. Although, Ackerman’s attire wasn’t that humble either.

Hange stepped a little closer to him, in a futile attempt to hide from the unfriendly gazes that followed after her ever since they stepped into this part of the city.

“I’m surprised you’ve agreed to come here,” she spoke to him in a quiet voice, “Since I know how much of a clean freak you are.”

The look Ackerman gave her could probably freeze someone to death. “I wasn’t always living in a nice and neat apartment, four-eyes. People like me usually come from the places like that.”

Hange’s eyes widened at the realization. She glanced at the man beside her, tilted her head to study him more intently. It was hard to imagine sharp-dressed and clean-shaved Ackerman, or younger Levi living in a place like that, walking through the dirty streets with broken windows. He came a long way, it seemed. Hange was amazed at his perseverance.

“I think this is the right house,” she pointed at the grey four-story building. Hange took out the envelope, checked the address again. “Yes, this is it.”

Wordlessly, Ackerman started walking in that direction. Hange caught him just before he pushed the front door open.

“Shouldn’t we, like, knock?” she asked, doing a poor job at hiding her nervousness.

Ackerman just rolled his eyes. “Don’t be an idiot,” he scolded, adding a quiet ‘tch’. “There are several apartments here. You’re not trespassing on someone’s private property yet.”

“Oh, alright,” Hange mumbled, letting him open the door and following him inside.

The inside of the building… was dirty. There were bags of trash lying around, shards of broken glass and half-shattered empty bottles. The house wasn’t silent too, from somewhere deep inside the building a child’s wailing was heard. It was accompanied by the sounds of a fighting. Or, maybe, extremely passionate love-making. Hange desperately hoped it was the latter.

“We need to go to the basement,” she said to Ackerman, trying her best to sound nonchalant and confident.

“Basement?” he repeated incredulously. “Is the address actually pointing to a basement? Are we looking for a vampire?”

“I don’t know who we’re looking for. But here,” she thrusted the envelope to him. “You can check it for yourself.”

He pushed her hand away. “I’ll trust you on that one.”

They made their way down the stairs in silence. Not wanting to see something that wasn’t meant for the police officer’s eyes, Hange kept her gaze focused on Ackerman’s face. Unsurprisingly, his expression was indifferent. But his breaths were coming out more raged than usual and he was walking with his head bowed low.

Compared to his regular level of emotionlessness, Ackerman seemed almost overly distressed.

Was this place affecting him so much? He had hinted at his not so happy childhood before. Were bad memories the reason for his emotional state right now?

Hange placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Ackerman, listen…”

Roughly, he slapped her hand away. “I’m fine, four-eyes. Focus on the task at hand.”

She stared at him, affronted. Here she was trying to— what was she trying to do? To comfort him? Because she was worried about him? Hange conceded. Perhaps, Ackerman had every right to scold her. She was losing her focus. She couldn’t allow herself that.

As they climbed to the end of the stairs, Hange looked around, searching for an apartment 009. It stood just at the end of the hallway, and without hesitation she marched right there.

She knocked, quite forcefully. And received no answer. She huffed, ignoring Ackerman’s amused gaze, and knocked again. Again, there was no answer.

Hange put her ear closer to the door, listening to any signs of life inside. There was… nothing.

“I think no one is at home,” she announced mournfully to Ackerman. “Perhaps, we can come back later…”

“Or we can stop wasting precious time,” he rolled his eyes. “Move your ass, four-eyes, I’ll get us inside.”

Ackerman went down on his knees before the door, searching for something in the pocket of his jacket.

It took Hange a long moment to realize what he was about to do. As soon as that realization kicked in, however, she rushed to pull Ackerman away from that door.

“What are you doing?” she cried out. “Ackerman, it’s illegal!”

He gave her a pointed look. “I’m a criminal, remember?”

“I’m not! I can’t let you break inside someone’s house, I’m a police officer!”

“And can you let a young girl suffer? My uncle is an impatient man, if she pissed him off…”

“Don’t joke about it!” Hange scolded. Fuck, she didn’t know what to do. On one hand, she couldn’t let Ackerman just break into someone’s house. On the other, she couldn’t really waste any more time.

“You can look the other way, four-eyes,” Ackerman proposed, his voice an octave softer. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Damn it, Hange couldn’t believe what she was about to do. Ackerman and his damn influence, if Erwin ever finds out…

She sighed, surrendering, and turned away from that door. “Do your thing already,” she urged. “I’ll be… on a look-out. Or whatever you people say.”

“You people?” he repeated teasingly. “What kind of people?”

Hange could practically hear the laughter in his voice. Well, at least, someone was enjoying himself.

“Criminals,” she gritted.

“Just don’t forget that it’s a nasty criminal,” he said, “That helps you solve this case.”

Gods, what a fucker. But he was right. He was helping her. For his own reasons, sure, but even so, Hange was working with him for merely a day, and already she accomplished so much. Perhaps, after all of that mess was over, she could even thank him.

If he wouldn’t give her another reason to hate him.

Ackerman dealt with the door just in mere seconds. Hange didn’t know that it was possible to break the locks so swiftly. He surely was talented.

“Wow, you really are good at it,” she marveled under her breath.

“Figures why you couldn’t catch us, eh?”

So he was not only a fucker, but a cocky one as well. Hange shouldn’t have found that trait of his attractive. He lied to her, for god’s sake. But she had to admit – he looked damn good while doing it.

Ackerman opened the door and let Hange go in first. She did, a bit precautiously.

The first thing she noticed was, of course, the absence of the light. Outside the afternoon sun was shining brightly, painting everything in warm orange colors, but here, in the basement, it was dark as ever. Distinctively, Hange could hear the sound of the pipes leaking, the steady drop, drop, drop that set her just a little further up on edge.

She blindly searched for the switch on the wall. As soon as she had found it, a lone lightbulb filled the room with faint light.

Apart from that, the interior of the apartment wasn’t so different from the interior of the whole building. It was in similar bad shape, with torn wallpapers and leaking ceilings. But, surprisingly, the apartment also seemed strangely empty, like whoever was living there didn’t actually consider it their home.

As Hange looked around, she found nothing personal there, no photographs or postcards or any other kind of trinkets people usually treasured.

There were some clothes thrown here and there, but that was about it. The rest of the apartment was disappointingly empty.

“I don’t think we’ll be able to find something here,” Ackerman said, as he walked inside beside her.

Truthfully, Hange was of the same opinion. But they came here. They broke inside. She wouldn’t leave until she finds at least something remotely useful.

“Let’s look around,” she said, deciding to start with the kitchen.

Unfortunately, there was nothing useful in the kitchen. The only thing Hange found was the insane amount of instant noodles and cheap beer.

No clues were found inside the living room as well. She looked under the dusty old couch and the rug, behind the shattered TV-screen and the wardrobe. But she found nothing.

Met with the absence of the clues and Ackerman’s increasing impatience, Hange was starting to get desperate.

“We’ll find something,” she murmured, to assure both Ackerman and herself.

He simply clicked his tongue. “I searched the bedroom already. I didn’t find anything that might be of some interest.”

“I’ll go and have another look,” Hange stubbornly pushed past him. “Perhaps, you missed something.”

“Or, perhaps,” he countered, his voice laced with venom. “This lead is a dead-end. And we’re just wasting our time.”

“Need I to remind you that this is the only lead we have? Because you’re unable to find your own uncle.”

Hange knew she had said the wrong thing as soon as the words had left her mouth. She didn’t mean it, not really. But she was frustrated. She was tired and lost, and Ackerman’s proximity and their shared history were making her even more stressed than she already was.

But all of it didn’t mean that Ackerman deserved her bitterness. Not in this moment, at least. Hange knew she was in the wrong, she wanted to take her words back, but then— then Ackerman decided to retaliate.

“And need I to remind you that the only reason I’m here is because you can’t solve this shitty case all by yourself. So stop accusing me of being useless when I’m helping you out of the kindness of my heart.”

“Out of the kindness of your heart?” Hange repeated, completely scandalized. She couldn’t believe that she was meaning to apologize to that shithead just moments ago. And he had the audacity— Gods, he infuriated her to no end. “You’re a fucking asshole, Ackerman. When you were lying to me like a total scumbag, were you doing it out of the kindness of your fucking heart as well?”

Ackerman was getting riled up to, his face became contorted with faint lines of anger. His hands clenched into fists, he took a step forward, breathing heavily. “Are you still going on about that thing, really? Yes, I lied to you, but I’m sure I’m not the only person in this life who did it. So can you just let it go already?”

“Let it go?” Hange felt like she was boiling, there was so much fury inside of her that it seemed like it was pouring out of her. She wanted to smash or break something, preferably Ackerman’s stupidly handsome face. “Are you seriously asking if I can let it go? Do you really not understand how much—” she faltered, choking on the hurricane of her emotions. “I trusted you, Levi, I believed you were a good man. For god’s sake, I was starting to develop f—”

Hange abruptly stopped herself. She was angry, true, she was overwhelmed as well. But she was not so lost as to reveal to him just what he truly made her feel. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how good his lies were and how much they’ve hurt her.

After taking a deep breath, she risked a glance at Ackerman. He was staring right at her, wide-eyed and shocked and… was that sadness in his eyes?

Before Hange could decipher his expression, it changed again, became more cautious.

She blinked, and Ackerman was already moving, rapidly, in her direction. All out of sudden, he was standing right beside her, close enough for Hange to hear just how loudly his heart was beating.

Confused, she wanted to push him away, she meant to do it, but before she could react, Ackerman had her encircled in his arms. He pulled her to the side, and just as Hange was trying to get away, they swayed and tumbled. In a mess of limbs, both of them fell onto the ground.

No more than a second later, Hange heard a loud, sudden noise.

A noise she knew so well. A gunshot.

Confused and with her ears ringing, Hange tried to make sense of her surroundings. There was a gunshot, and she fell but she wasn’t on a ground. Ackerman was on the ground, and she was lying right on top of him. Hange stared at him, wide-eyed and shaken.

Their sudden close proximity made her thoughts move even slower.

Still in Ackerman’s embrace, she turned her head in the direction, where that gunshot had come from. A girl stood there, her gun raised and aimed at them.

How long had she been standing there? How in the world Hange hadn’t seen her enter?

The reason for her lack of caution was still beside her, holding her tightly to his chest.

It felt good to be so close to him, Hange felt so warm and safe—

“Get the fuck off me,” feeling her face burn, she pushed Ackerman away, and jumped up to her feet.

“That’s the thanks I get for saving your life,” he grumbled, standing up as well and dusting off his jacket. “And I did it for the second time, four-eyes.”

“Shut up,” Hange gritted, returning her attention to the girl who almost shot them both. She was tall and brown-haired. Could it be their mysterious lead?

“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt… whatever that was,” for a second the girl’s lips curled in a wicked smirk, but then she gripped the gun in her hands tighter, her finger going to the trigger. “But who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my house?”

Still slightly shaking from the whole ordeal, Hange’s fingers trembled as she took out her police badge, showing it to the girl. “I’m detective Hange Zoe, and I came to ask you some questions.”

The hand that held the gun didn’t lower. “Regarding?” the girl asked.

“Regarding Krista Lenz’s disappearance.”

The girl relaxed. The gun was tucked safely inside her leather jacket. “So the police have finally taken notice of that case? Took you long enough.”

“I’m hoping to rectify that mistake. And I hope I’ll be able to bring Krista home. What is your name?” Hange smiled and tentatively offered her hand for the girl to shake.

“Ymir,” just as cautiously, she shook Hange’s hand. “And Krista isn’t her real name, you know?”

“She is Historia, right?” the smile on Hange’s face widened, as she saw Ymir’s genuine surprise. “We found that bit of information already.”

“Seems like you’re a real deal then,” Ymir concluded with a nod. “I’ll share what I know with you. But,” she raised a finger. “I have a condition – you’ll let me join the investigation.”

Their crew was rapidly growing, and two-thirds were presented by criminals, Hange thought grimly. Well, she was ready to do anything to bring Historia home. It seemed like she would have to stick to her own promise.

Just when Hange was ready to accept Ymir and her proposition, Ackerman took a step forwards. His eyes were narrowed to slits as he glared at their new companion.

“And what guarantee we have that we can trust you?”

“You have no guarantee,” Ymir replied, staring down at him. “But as long as our goals align and as long as you promise not to hurt Historia, I promise not to betray you.”

Ah, so their crew was rapidly growing and they couldn’t really trust each other. A recipe for a horrible disaster, but… Hange had no other options.

She clasped Ymir’s shoulder, giving her the most convincing of her smiles. “Welcome aboard then. What have you managed to find out?”

Ymir grinned and turned around, gesturing for them to follow. “Probably much more than you did. Come with me, I’ll show it to you.”

#the quote from community perfectly summarises this chapter #'i think you two like to partner up on cutesy capers so you can hold hands in the dark and address your urges in semi-acceptable scenarios'#nothing else in this chapter but this!#levihan

57 notes · View notes

obsessive-ego · 3 years

Text

Beetlejuice x reader (ambiguous pronouns)

Prompt: Beetlejuice starts digging around your things in the dead of night. Not having the most structured sleep schedule, you hear him, and in the state of sleep deprivation forget that Beetlejuice was staying over, this mistaking him for an intruder. Hilarity ensues.

It was late, nearing one am. You only noticed this because you realised you had been sat in the dark, which you swore it had just been light, on another video binge that ended up rabbit holeing through videos of countless interesting topics. You sighed at yourself and your lack of awareness when it came to the passage of time. You've done this exact thing many times before. You took off your headphones and set your sights on actually trying to sleep. With the lack of a bulky headset blocking your ears, however, sounds of rustling and movement echoed from outside your room. You stiffened, listening to it. Someone was definitely in your house, there was no mistaking it. Carefully, slowly, you slipped out of bed to grab the bat out from under your bed. An impulse buy, you only bought it because it had "Li'l Bitch" carved into the top and the mental image of "accidentally" imprinting that on someone with a whack made you laugh. While remembering this made you grin, it faded at you hearing a soft thud. Were they upstairs or downstairs? It was hard to tell with the closed door. How long had the intruder even been in the house? Focusing on the problem at hand, you crept to the door and slowly opened it, peeking around it. You cringed when it let out a creak, straining to hear if there was more movement.

Thankfully, whoever was present was not sneaking around upstairs, meaning your awareness of their presence was undetected. You could hear their movements clearer now, and they were clearly downstairs. You were so grateful to yourself for having the common sense to keep your more important things in your room. Creeping over to the stairs, you kept your eyes peeled for any movement in the halls. Throat dry in fear, knuckles white from the death grip you had on your bat, you descended. You made sure that the stairs wouldn't creak by tiptoeing along the sides, slowly putting pressure in each step before commiting. You did not want to alert the potential threat to your presence. They could be armed. They could have intent to kill. Sneaking up on them and knocking them out was the best bet, the cops can be called once they were subdued.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, you worked out that the culprit was in the living room. You listened close, for any hint as to where exactly, before slowly inching closer for a glance. They were faced away for you, searching. It was dark, no lights on, so they wouldn't see a shadow if you snuck up. All you had to do was be quiet and get a hefty hit.

Taking in a deep breath, you advanced, bat at the ready. Your heart hammered loudly in your chest. Blood rushed in your ear as you got closer, eyes scanning over the vague silhouette for any clue that they'd turn. You froze as they straightened up.

"Nothing… Bet they keep all the juicy stuff hidden…"

So they were looking for things to steal! Taking another step closer, you got ready to swing. A creak of the floor betrayed you.

"Huh?"

Instincts kicking in, you swung the bat at their head as they turned. You put way too much force in it, in your panic. With a pained yell, the head went flying across the room, leaving a headless body standing in front of you. You stumbled back in shock, a scream getting caught in your throat. The body felt in the air for its lack of a head, to check it was really gone, before feeling around. In it's fumbling it turned on a lamp, and you instantly recognized who the body belonged to- Beetlejuice. That's right, he was staying over. He must have gotten bored while you "slept"...

"Yowzer! That hurt, doll, when'd you get so strong!?"

The demon cried out from somewhere across the room.

"Over here, dummy, come on!"

He made a series of whistling sounds in the hopes of getting his body to find him. It was fairly useless without the head so it had difficulty following the source of the sound. You watched Beetlejuice's body struggle to locate him as you clutched your chest, recovering from the scare. The anticipation leading up to the shocking conclusion really made the whole ordeal all the more frightening, and your sleep deprived state did nothing to help cool the adrenaline rush. It took a moment for you to realise Beetlejuice was calling your name.

"Will you help me out, already? I'm sorry for looking through your things, I won't do it again, maybe, just pick me up! It's dirty in here!"

You went over to the source of the complaints, a little amused at how you managed to hit his head directly into the fireplace that you never used. Who actually owns working fireplaces anymore, anyway? Dropping the bat, you reached in to pull the soot covered head of Beetlejuice out from there. He coughed his thanks, covering your shirt in more soot.

"Just slap me back on my neck, will you? You have no idea how annoying it is not having limbs."

You pondered the demand. He was looking through your things, and you'd quite like to know why, actually. Not to mention, a swift hit to the head was most likely not enough to teach the demon a lesson in privacy.

You gripped Beetlejuice's head by the hair, irritated by how that made him let out a purr, and shook him to get the dust and dirt off of him. He made an amusing, warbling yell, obviously not too fond of the gesture. His eyes rolled around in dizziness when you stopped. Beetlejuice groaned as you dumped his head onto the couch, tugging his body away from him by it's tie.

"Hey, hey hey, what are you doing?"

"I want to know exactly why you were looking through my things. You're not getting your body back until you tell me, and you better be honest."

Beetlejuice frowned, watching you as you turned the light on. You picked the bat back up, letting go of his body to turn back to Beetlejuice. You'll use your trust weapon to keep his body away from his head, if it tries anything.

"You won't last, you're supposed to be sleeping."

"You're right! That's why if you take too long, I'm going to go upstairs with your body and use it as a nice weighted blanket while you're stuck down here."

"WHAT?! Without me?"

You had to snicker at his dejected whine.

"Yes, that's what I said. Me and Dummy here are going to snuggle while you have to wait for the sun to rise, and probably longer seeing as I'm so tired. I'll definitely wake up late."

You couldn't help but speak in a taunting manner. It wasn't often you had the advantage over the demon, so it was a bit of a power trip when you did.

"You really know how to break down my walls, huh?"

You pushed the body away from you as it moved to grab at your head, as if it wanted to steal it for itself.

"Yep. Tick tock, you wouldn't want to have to wait for so long, right? So unable to do anything but stare at the unchanging surroundings…"

"Ok, ok, fine! I was looking for things you like, I… Well, it was supposed to be a surprise but… I wanted to get you a gift…"

You blinked at him in surprise. A gift? This had to be a joke, or some lie told to hide some other devious intent.

"... I said be honest."

"I am! I heard about the festival, holiday thingy that you breathers have, think it's called, uh, Valentide's Day, and I thought, well, you're my favourite breather, so… I'd get you a gift like people do."

You could feel your cheeks gaining colour as he spoke.

"It's Valentine's day… And typically, that's reserved for romantic gestures…"

"Romantic? Hmm…"

He looked down, pondering.

"Weeell, if you want me to put some petals on your bed too~"

You groaned, poking the body away from you with a bat as it tried to swipe your head again.

"Can I please have my body back, now? I did what you asked, even if it meant spoiling the surprise!"

Beetlejuice pouted at you, giving big pleading eyes in the hopes of you agreeing. You sighed, giving in. He had done as you asked, and you were too tired to milk the otherwise perfect opportunity to mess with him further. You dropped your bat, moving to pick him up.

His body had other plans, however. Hearing you unarm yourself, he lunged forward to snatch you up. You yelled in surprise, struggling in his grip.

"No, no, out 'em down you Dummy!"

Beetlejuice berated it to no avail. You squirmed in the hold, but it was just as strong as Beetlejuice always was. You were stuck.

"Help me out, Beets, there has to be something I can do to make him let go!"

From the face Beetlejuice made, it confirmed that there was. However, he seemed very hesitant to tell.

"I dunno, you might use it against me…"

That was true. Not even a might, having something to one up him would be lovely, and definitely put to good use. You weren't above lying, though.

"Of course not, Beetlejuice! Say, hey, if you tell me, I can still do the cuddling up plan- but with yoooou involved. Head and all!"

Jackpot, his face lit up at the suggestion.

"Really? You'd let me in your bed?"

"Yes! But I need to get out to reunite you to your body first."

Beetlejuice made a hesitant noise, waying up the options. In the end, the enticing over of getting to cuddle up with you was too good to pass up.

"Fine! But do not use it against me, I'll get you back for it if you do! Just… scratch at his ribs, not too hard, and he'll let go."

You nodded, shuffling in the body's hold to reach for them. You dig your nails in, raking them across it's ribs. The body shuddered before it let you out of its vice grip. You stumbled back, watching as it hugged his chest.

"Hold on, are you ticklish?"

"Are you?"

You squinted at Beetlejuice, who mimicked the action. With a tired sigh, you picked his head up and slapped it down onto his neck. He let out a pleased sigh, grabbing his head to turn it 360°, making sure it was firmly in place. You grinned when you noticed "Li'l Bitch" was imprinted on his cheek, and he squinted at you.

"Seriously, though, are you?"

Upon him clawing his hand at you, you kicked your bat up, grabbing it from the air smoothly. He got the message, holding his hands up in surrender. The fact you did that successfully was impressive enough to warrant a minor truce.

You turned away, heading towards the stairs.

"Try anything and I'll banish you. Also turn the lights off before you follow."

"You got it, boss!"

Crawling into bed after the whole ordeal could not have been more satisfying. The exhaustion hit you like a truck. Beetlejuice was quick to follow, diving under the covers before popping his head out, having gotten comfortable on top of you. You realised that he was likely not going to sleep, and he'd instead watch you. You were too sleepy to care, however, already dozing off. For a moment you wondered if he found anything to clue in on what gift to give to you… You decide you'd definitely look into finding in a gift, too, tomorrow.

...

I am hollering

This is beautiful

I cant Express that enough

My Only issue is that the tumblr app doesnt notify me when I get a submission lol

But like wow

I love the head and body bit so much, headless beej being a grabbing bastard 😩👌

Thank you SO much for sharing this

#my art blog is 3dimensionalcircles btw!#hehe free promo #beetlejuice #beetlejuice x reader #this isn't the most polished so sorry if you catch a typo or something pfpf #submission #just gonna add one more tag #musical beetlejuice x reader

104 notes · View notes

thoughtfullyyoungduck · 3 years

Text

water rippling

A/N: I’m so sorry this took so long, please let me know what you think!

Summary: could you do a young losers x reader where the reader can’t swim but richie convinced her to come w them to the quarry bc he’ll teach her. but while he is pennywise comes underwater and tries to drown her so they have to save her

warnings: this whole chapter is basically about drowning and the fear of it so please don’t read it if that triggers you.

‘I’m not getting in.’

‘If you don’t get in than I can’t teach you anything either. Fuck, just get in already.’

‘I told you I didn’t want to go swimming Richie, this is all your stupid idea so at the very least be fucking patient with me’, you bite as you dip in foot into the water, then lift it up higher again so the water can’t reach you. The scowl on your face deepens.

You never understood why people swim as a hobby. You’d get why everyone has to learn how to swim - even if you didn’t and never learned-, but actually enjoying swimming? No, those people must be out of their minds.

Richie laughs, mocking you, but all in good fun. ‘Start with one step. Just until the water reaches your ancles. You can’t drown from that Y/N.’

‘I could trip and drown.’

‘Literally how? I’m right here, the losers are further up keeping an eye on us, and all you would have to do is stand up. It’s not deep here.’

You sigh, but know that ultimately, Richie has a point.

Most people don’t automatically back away from water as soon as they catch a glimpse of it, but people hadn’t had a trauma related to it either.

Swimming always reminds you of the day you nearly drowned. It was on vacation, in the same resort your parents took you every year, and then left you in the Mini club while they went off and had a relaxing day. The animators who were supposed to be watching you, spoke a language you, at that time, hadn’t been able to disaffirm, and that’s where an almost deadly mistake was made.

The leaders lured you away from the club house, and you, like every other little kid present, followed them along unfearingly. They were older, and you trusted that they would keep you safe. Until one of them picked you up near a pool, and threw you in without any warning.

At the time, you hadn’t been able to swim by yourself without help, and so the second your feet left solid ground, you panicked. It didn’t seem to matter how many times you tried to wave your arms for help, none of the animators were glancing your way.

You can’t figure out how you somehow managed to reach the edge of the pool, but you did, only to get thrown right back in after by the animator, who thought you were having the time of your live.

Of course, you didn’t blame them. It’s not like you could tell them you couldn’t swim, so they had no way of knowing that, but it still scared the life out of you. For the rest of the trip, and after, you refused to go anywhere near the water. Not even your parents trying to persuade you with promises of ice cream and candy if you were brave, made you take another change in the thing that nearly killed you.

You never tried to swim again, and that meant you had no knowledge of how to do it. It was embarrassing, to decline going to swim during P.E and being forced to explain why. Your peers often ridiculed you for it, and it made you feel like a losers for being such a coward.

But, cowardness is easy, especially when compared to facing your fears, and you never tried to learn how to swim, even after all the mockery. Only your new best friends hang out in the quarry all the time now, and you’re sick of being the one who has to watch from the shore as the others have fun.

Nothing bad has occurred to them in the water, -you’ve seen them go in about six times in three weeks now, and no one has come close to trouble - and Eddie, who is the most cautious person you’ve ever met, told you that statistically, there’s very little chance of you drowning. At your wits end, the only person you can think of asking for help, is Richie.

Richie might be an add choice, but he’s the only one who wouldn’t turn the lessons entirely boring and practical, like the others might. Richie jokes around a lot, brings humor into any situation, and you need that. You can’t get in your hard about the rippling water, or you’ll back out again.

‘Fine, I’ll go in, I’ll even sit down, but if I freak out and want to get out you’ll let me okay?’

‘Yeah I’m not gonna force you to stay. I’m not Eddie’s mom.’

Maybe you’ll be embarrassed by the motion later, but in the moment, you reach for Richie’s wrist, just to have some sort of support. Richie doesn’t mention it, just careful takes the same steps you do and lets you pick the pace at which you’re going.

It goes slow, but not at any point does Richie try to speed the process along. He does drop down in the water, on his ass, choosing a spot that just covers both of your torsos but is close to the shore.

You copy his every move, breathe deeply when you feel the water ripple around you and adjust to the new intrusion, until your closely packed to Richie’s side, in the water.

It takes a second to set in, that you’re sitting in the water and nothing is happening, but then you let out a breath of disbelief.

‘See, told you you could fucking do it. Repeat after me, you’re a woman who don’t need no man.’

‘You’ve been watching to many soap operas rich’, you tell him when you feel like you’re not on the verge of panicking anymore.

Inside the water, something pokes your leg, but you try to ignore it. You focus on breathing through the initial panic, remembering that nothing bad had happened to the losers despite being in the lake for a long time, and that pretty much ensures nothing would happen to you either.

‘Oh gross’, you utter as your try to force the slimy thing away from your feet. ‘You didn’t tell me there would be fish in here.’

Richie snorts, rolling his eyes as he grabs a handful of water and aims it at your face. He misses -Richie’s aim is always horrible whether you’re playing dodgeball or he’s trying to pass something on-, but he doesn’t care.

‘This is your fear Y/N/N, don’t try to scare me now. Besides, I’m not afraid of fish, Eddie’s mom vagina’s smells like a few died down there.’

You can’t focus on how disgustingly distasteful that joke is, because all you concentrate on is the slimy sensation, slowly sliding up your leg higher and higher.

‘Richie’, you beg, your voice reduced to that of a scared toddler. ‘Then what the fuck is touching me right now?’

A louder, slightly strained chuckle is produced by Richie, like he too is getting worried but is trying hard to convince himself everything is alright.

‘Stop fucking with me Y/N.’

Richie pushes the boundaries a lot, keeps going until somebody gets really annoyed and about ready to shut him up for a longer time, but the sincerity in his vox is so present that you’re instantly convinced he’s not messing around now.

‘I’m not fucking with you’, you raise your voice to a shrilled scream, so loud that the other losers, engaged in a game of chicken in the middle of quarry, also become aware of the situation. ‘Something is down there.’

It’s too late for them to help. The slimy blob, muddled by the water but visually a hand, tightens around your ancle, and snatches, hard.

Richie’s scrawny arms can’t resist against the strong haul, but he tries to hold on for as long as possible. His nails dig into your flesh, and the more you get pulled inside the water, the more marks his nails dig as you slide forward.

You shriek, arms flailing around now that the water is still too shallow for you to not be able to touch the bottom.

Plunges of water drip onto your face, both from your doing and Richie’s, and the others are advancing rapidly to come too your aid. Unfortunately nothing else can be done. Richie has no other options but to let you go, and the hand drags you to the middle of the lake.

Once you’re far enough away that you can’t touch the bottom with your feet anymore, the hand lets go, and you’re left to flounder on your own. Your legs slap around, trying with all your might to stay afloat and give the losers an opportunity to save you. A haunting chuckle breezes over the shell of your ear, and then the hand returns, satisfied with watching you struggle and panic for a while, but now ready to increase the terror.

You get one more chance to scream and suck in a handful of fresh air, and then your sinking down, under the surface.

The water douses your ears, muffles your ability to hear and see, and suffocates you with her insistence. You open your mouth, but it can’t produce a scream anymore, and you realize that you are completely as utterly doomed.

The hand has yet to free you, and it continues to pull you down. With each second that ticks by the fire in your chest spreads, and is unable to be ignored. After barely a few seconds, your movements turn sluggish, and you stop fighting against the hand. It’s at that time that it finally loosens his hold, but the fire has dilated up so much you can’t focus on anything other than the pain. Without ever learning how to swim, you wouldn’t be able to make it to shore anyway.

You read somewhere once that as soon as you swallow in water and it fills your lungs, you’ll die, and the pain will stop.

Your life plan hadn’t included dying this young in your life, but if you must go, you’d rather have it be quick. Losing the strength to hold out any longer, you open your mouth, and feel two separate pair of hands unclasps around your arms. The anxiety inside of you spikes, but you lack the energy to struggle against the grip, so you allow yourself to be guided. It’s not until your head breaks up from the water, and o2 greets you in plenty, that you see that the hands have brought you back up, instead of down.

You gasp, coughing up water, feeling as any minute you could pass out on the spot.

‘Jesus Y/N, stop struggling. We’re going to get you out.’

The two pairs of hands that saved you from drowning turn out to be Mike and Bill, and the float with you to the side of quarry where Eddie is gearing up to perform cpr if needed. If you had some breath back in your body, you would laugh at the sight.

Bev and Richie help drag you onto the dry rocks, away from the water, but still too close for your liking.

‘Get away’, you retches, crawling back in your arms. Eddie, who has been checking you over, tuts, but you don’t let it stop you.

‘It grabbed me. It fucking grabbed me. Get away from the water.’ You think you begin to cry, out of relief and alarm, but you can’t disentangle the water with your fluid.

‘There was nothing out there Y/N’, Ben tries to sooth, approaching you like a frightened animal. Eddie is less cautious, and stamps towards your with a frown on his face. He turns you on your side, his instruction not too brazen but still firm.

‘There was though guys. I swear on Eddie’s mom that something pulled her away.’

‘I saw it too,’ Eddie conforms, not looking away from your body, checking for any permanent damage.

‘Guys,’ Bev interject with a head shake. Her eyes gesture to you, shivering with wet clothes and crying hysterically. ‘Not now.’

‘Yeah. We’ll t-t-talk about it l-l-later.’

It’s Bev that gently ushers Eddie’s prodding hands away, as she opens her arms and awaits to see you reaction. You, once you pick up on what’s happening, accept gratefully, your tears subsiding only slightly once your wrapped up. The others join the cuddle pile soon enough, until there’s a shield of people protecting you and obstructing your view of the water.

‘Promise me we won’t ever go in there again. Not any of you. Please,’ you beg, afraid not solely for your life but for theirs as well.

‘Okay, okay Y/N. We promise.’

#My writing #the losers x reader #the losers club imagines #richie x reader #eddie x reader #stan x reader #bill x reader #mike hanlon x reader #ben hansom x reader #beverly march x reader #please let me know what you think #I could really use some uplifting words lol #richie tozier x reader

88 notes · View notes

wreckofawriter · 4 years

Text

Redbull

Pairing: Harry Potter x reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Swearing, a complete crack fic.

Song to Set the Vibe: Break Shit ~ Jasiah

Request: Reader gets extra homework from Snape and drinks redbull to finish it, she then freaks out becaue of overintake of caffeine

A/n: this is a crack fic plain and simple, kinda fun to write, I used it as an excuse to bash Snape and Pansy. It's not edited so ignore spelling and grammar(Ps I'm in love with Shigaraki Tomura so if anyone can help me that would be great)

You rolled your eyes aimlessly flipping through your potions textbook in hopes to find something worth your time inside of it. You found nothing but continued to scan the pages, thoughts wandering to random topics. You groaned wondering if you could catch Harry’s attention from across the room. You cursed Snape for separating you, now you were stuck next to Pansy Perkins, someone you would sooner pitch from the autonomy tower than have a civilized conversation with, although you doubted she was able to have such things. You let out another loud sigh as your stares into your boyfriend’s head gave you no reaction.

Pansy turned, glaring. You stuck your tongue out at her and she scoffed turning away.

“You’re disgustingly childish.” she spat inching her seat away from you.

“At least I’m not in love with a boy who finds me annoying and borderline repulsive.” You shot back.

She scowled back at you, “Shut your filthy mouth, you know nothing about me.”

“I know you’re an uppity bitch.” You shrugged back grinning.

She let out a high pitched shriek as you struggled to keep in giggles. Eyes snapped toward your table and you looked towards your desk-mate pretending to be shocked by her outburst.

“Ms. Perkinson, is everything alright?” Snape was clearly uninterested in her answer.

For a second you were sure she would snitch on you but she decided to keep her dignity intact and shook her head.

You snickered, waving to Harry who rolled his eyes playfully, a small grin on his face.

As Snape went back to his lesson you smirked at the red-faced girl, “Wow Perkionson you truly decided to keep your pride on that one didn’t you?”

She responded with nothing no longer playing along.

“That’s something I would have done, you know us prideful Gryffindors. I suppose you were placed in the wrong house.” You continued to bait the girl.

She scoffed again, “I was put in the right house, thank you very much.”

“Oh sure, you were.” You bit your lip in thought before an idea revealed itself. “Oh my Godric, Draco is totally staring at you.” You gasped in mock surprise.

She snapped to attention spinning around to look where the blonde was seated only to find him asleep at his desk. You laughed quietly as she spun around to glare at you again.

“I’m only kidding of course,” You chuckled, “I’m sure he would rather stare at a troll’s ass than you, I know I sure would.”

Her cheeks blossomed with red anger, her eyes narrowing to slits as you held back barking laughter. “Shut up.” Her voice was shaky with fury.

“Ooo, looks like I’ve struck a nerve.” You jeered happily. “ ‘fried Darcy is never gonna love your little pug face?”

Apparently you took it too far because the girl leapt to her feet swinging her wand at you, “Flipendo!”

You flipped straight off your chair and was flung into the desk next to you, a splintering pain shooting through your back. You didn’t let it show laughing as you stood “What?! Can’t take the truth pug-face?” You snatched your wand from your robes, “Tentaclifors!”

Pansy’s head was replaced by a large grey tentacle in seconds, “At least now you’ll look better!” You barked in a wide grin. Laughter and shouts echoed around you but your joy was cut in one swift flash.

“Y/l/n!”

You turned to see your professor, his anger quite evident amongst his dull features.

“Ms. Greengrass, please escort Ms. Perkinson to the hospital wing.” He snarled as you bit back a giggle.

“Since you seem to find dueling with a classmate while I’m teaching so amusing, y/l/n, I expect six pages on the essay due tonight instead of two.” He snapped.

“But she fired first!” You defended.

“I simply do not care.” He responded, “I want six pages.”

You glared at the man mumbling some unpleasant words under your breath before taking your seat again. At least you only had ten minutes of class left.

Saying you liked to procrastinate would be an understatement. You were wildly in love with procrastination. You were an absolute expert at finding anything but your work to do. You shoved the essays and worksheets to the back of your mind and instead helped the twins with a prank or read a new book. You could close off the bad thoughts of school work like a pro, even Hermionie’s nagging couldn’t get you to work until the sunlight had faded and the stars were visible in the sky.

You had once again followed through on your usual routine and now at ten at night you were finally beginning to start your hours of work.

You groaned, “How can our professors be so cruel? This is a wildly unfair amount of work.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Maybe if you had gotten started on it right away then you wouldn’t be so stressed right now.”

“Whatever.” You mumbled.

Harry who sat beside you, his head on your shoulder, arm around your waist peered at the textbooks you had placed in front of you. “Don’t you have that essay from Snape too?”

You whimpered, the sound of a wounded animal, “I totally forgot about that.” You buried your head into the dark-haired boy’s chest, “I’m so fucked.”

He chuckled earning a glare from you as you pouted up at him, “Sorry,” he murmured, “You’re just so cute.”

Ron groaned, “Can you not do that in front of me?”

Harry rolled his eyes, “Don’t be jealous Ron, green is not a good color on you.”

“I am not jealous.” He scoffed.

“Whatever,” you whined, “Someone help me. I’m gonna pass out in like an hour.”

“That’s your own fault.” Hermione pointed out, you ignored her picking up your transfiguration notes and beginning to scribble down answers.

Three hours later you were completely exhausted. Both Hermione and Ron had retired to their beds. Harry was beside you struggling to stay awake as he poured over your Defense Against the Dark Arts paragraph. Your eyelids felt too heavy and your mind was fogged over, memories smeared in the mud of fatigue. You were at your breaking point.

“I haven’t even started that stupid essay.” You whimpered, eyes suddenly pricking with tears. You hiccuped choking back sobs, “I can’t do this.”

Harry sat up rubbing his eyes and stumbling towards you. He sat next to you holding open his arms as you buried yourself into his embrace. You let yourself go, tears spilling down your cheeks onto the boy’s shoulder.

“Y/n/n.” He whispered causing you to look up at him. He cupped your head in his hands using his thumbs to wipe your tears, their cold temperature feeling refreshing against your hot sticky skin. “You’re gonna be okay, I’m gonna get you an energy drink and you're going to be just fine. I swear.”

“Energy drink?” You tilted your head in confusion.

He nodded, “I’ve got a whole bunch of them up in my room so I can stay up.”

“Okay.” You mumbled leaning into his touch which was so cruelly torn away from you.

“I’ll be right back.”

Harry stumbled back down the stairs with a brightly colored box a few minutes later. You investigated one of the cans he had given you and frowned.

“Redbull?”

He nodded, “Yeah muggles drink the stuff all the time, it's like super-powered coffee.” You shrugged, cracking open the can to a small fizz, “Careful it tastes like shit.”

You took a large swig anyway cringing at the taste but ignoring it.

You heard the hiss of carbonation and glanced over at Harry who was about to take a sip of the liquid. “Harry, go to bed, I’ll finish this myself.”

He glanced hazily at you, “Are you sure?”

You nodded, taking the drink from him, “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” He spoke hesitantly standing, “Love you y/n/n.” He placed a kiss on your forehead.

“Love you too.” You responded “Goodnight.”

He disappeared upstairs and you took another sip.

Harry awoke the next morning and clambered down the dormitory steps to find you pacing and what seemed to be mumbling to yourself. He scrunched his brow and continued across the room looking down when he heard a loud clang and felt something bounce off his shoe. It turned out to be a can that was sent rolling across the carpeted room knocking into three others on the way.

You had now noticed the boy’s arrival and turned to greet him, “Harry!” You yelled a bit too loudly, “Thank Godric you’re up! I’ve been waiting for ages.” You scampered across the room laughing a bit. Harry noticed the almost hazy look in your eyes immediately, dark circles also accompanied them.

“Y/n how long have you been up?” He hesitantly asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.

You glanced down at your watch and did a bit of math, “26 hours give or take.” You were bouncing on your heels.

Harry’s eyes widened, “You didn’t sleep at all?”

“Couldn’t, that shit really works man,” You spoke too quickly, “Like really works”

“Exactly how much did you have?” He wondered in part amazement part fear.

“Umm like all of it.” You responded as you walked away from him and began to pack up your stuff in a rushed manner.

“All of it?!” Harry choked out his eyes glancing around the room finding far too many can littering the floor.

You nodded, “Yep, yeppers, sure did. In fact, do you have any more? I think I might need to ride this high for a few more hours.”

“Y/n, I’m not giving you anymore that is extremely unhealthy,” Harry said, watching as desperation filled your eyes only to be replaced by determination.

You sprinted towards his stairs, tripping on one but standing before you could even feel the bruise begin to form on your knee.

“Y/n/n what are you doing?” Harry called after you, “Hey get down here!”

By the time Harry managed to make it up the stairs you had already pulled another box of the drinks from under his bed, ripped it open and was drinking a can. Ron who was shirtless apparently changing stared at you in horror.

“The hell y/n!”

You laughed, “Bug off Ron.” Your voice was so rushed it was almost inaudible. You then ran from the room dodging Harry and stumbling back down the stairs. Harry chased after you frantically. “Y/n!”

You laughed again, “Let’s head to breakfast Harry!” You then skipped out of the portrait hole.

By the time potions rolled around you had finished off almost all of the cans in the new box you had stolen before Harry managed to snag it from you. You were still hours from crashing and insisted on running on your good feeling. Literally.

You sprinted through the halls not much caring about the students and teachers you bumped into. You ran straight through Nearly Headless Nick and shrieked at the icy temperature you plunged into but kept running. You reached the dungeons in record time before running into Malfoy who cussed at you.

You turned to face him in a whirlwind, “You know Draco, I think I’m quite a nice person but you make me just want to break your nose.” You said it so matter-of-factly his eyes went wide and you were gone before he could answer.

You made it to the potions room and burst inside Harry wheezed for breath at the door deciding he needed to work out more.

“Snape!” You called loudly plopping onto your desk and removing your papers, scrawled in messy handwriting.

“It’s Professor Snape.” He corrected you in a snarl.

You blinked owlishly at him tilting your head to the side, “But I’m not a professor.”

Snape frowned, dropping his mouth to say something but before he could, you lunged at him, shoving your homework into his hands and laughing wildly as he stumbled backward.

“Y/l/n what on earth is wrong with you?” He spat.

You shrugged, “Redbull.”

“What is a Red Bull?” he scoffed.

“A potion.” You responded and Harry snorted, “You haven’t heard of it? It's something muggles made, it helps keep you awake when your dickwad of a teacher gives you extra homework.”

Snape’s face flashed, red anger crawling onto his pale visage, “10 points from Gryffindor for insulting a teacher.”

You snickered, “Make it twenty you greasy hairball.”

He did.

Pansy found sitting next to you extremely difficult, you continued to pick at your desk, leg bouncing absentmindedly as you hummed a song.

“Have you gone insane y/l/n?” she asked in a hushed whisper refusing to meet your eye after yesterday’s duel.

“Yes.” you confirmed loudly, “I was forced to look at you.” Snickers and laughs echoed around you and you smiled smugly. “I can’t even imagine what it's like for poor Malfoy when you shove yourself into his face every hour. No wonder he constantly looks like he has a broom handle shoved up his ass.”

This caused Seamus who sat a few seats from you to laugh so hard his eyes began to water as his deskmate Dean chuckled helplessly.

“Y/l/n!” Snape hissed, “Do you think this is a comedy club?”

“Considering you’re the one in charge it should be.” You answered. “But you aren’t very funny, so maybe not.”

Seamus howled slamming his hand on his desk as Ron damn near fell out of his chair. Gryffindor lost more points and Harry decided to never give you an energy drink ever again.

Taglist:

@accio-rogers

@roslea

@k3nz-doodl3

@theseuscmander

@sleepingalaska

Masterlist

#harry potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter au #harry potter imagine #harry potter ships #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter x reader #harry potter crack

600 notes · View notes

hansolmates · 4 years

Text

jjk; angel’s trumpet [05]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, mentions of smut in future chapters w.c; 4.7k a/n; can u believe this fic is already over halfway done??? i feel more loved and supported for angel’s trumpet w each chapter! i hope u enjoy a more fluffier chapter and some insight on the separate relationships. thank u for the support!

[04] [05] [06] -> masterpost

Bliss. It’s been so long since you’ve experienced this feeling.

These past few weeks have been nothing short of wonderful, like the sweetest version of reality. Working as a language teacher at BigHit was wonderful because of the staff and the fact that in the long run, your job would be helping the rookies get to know their fans better all over the world. But your job was also incredibly strenuous, and you felt an immense amount of pressure from the higher ups to teach the rookies as much as you could in between their other lessons and training. You remember the early days you’d be crying in the bathroom, scared of their exam scores because you knew it wasn’t possible to learn a language in less than a year, but the higher ups wanted you to achieve the impossible.

But now, teaching is like a breath of fresh air. You found it appropriate to reabsorb your classes, and you’re still getting used to the sudden heavy workload. Namjoon was over the moon when you returned to your regular office in the biology department, treating you to coffee and catching you up on what you missed. Chan almost cried when he saw you Monday morning sitting in your lecture hall, saying his grade will finally be salvaged.

However, the cherry on top has to be your budding romance with Jungkook.

Maybe it’s the fact that you’re still swimming in the honeymoon phase, but everything just felt right. Of course, you can only hope your W2 self was already going to interact with Jungkook in one way or another, just like you had in your world. As of late you don’t feel like you're tearing this universe apart, worrying that you’re interfering in an alternate universe.

A buzzing interrupts your thoughts, and you pat around your mattress for your cellphone. You don’t hesitate to answer.

“Good morning, baby,” Jungkook’s rumbly morning voice flits through your speakers.

You swoon, shuffling and kicking under your covers. A little part of you is disgusted how easy it is to turn to butter in Jungkook’s grasp, but it’s unsurprising. “Hey handsome,” you reply, trying to hide your giddiness.

“How do you know I look handsome? My breath smells like leftover mac n’cheese and there’s dried drool on my chin.”

“Mm, still handsome.”

“Ugh, you’re so gross,” but you can hear him smiling on the other line. “Do you have any plans for today?”

“Dunno.”

“Well there’s this new bubble tea cafe I know you’d like so maybe during my lunch we can--”

The rest of the words fade away as you notice an incessant banging on your front door. Whoever wants to come in is far too eager for this early.

It’s then your calendar notification pings, and you see the big fat message atop your phone:

Hobi Date 🍷🍷🍷

“Oh shit—” you smack your forehead, you completely forgot today’s the day you would find Sehlyung’s wine lady. “I’ll call you later Kook, okay?”

You end your call, throwing your phone on the bed as you dash out to answer. Taehyung is yelling from the kitchenette, “I’m trying to eat some damn salad here!” By the time you slide out in your socks and down the hall, Hoseok is already inside your humble abode, holding coffee and donuts.

“I brought libations,” Hoseok says with a bit of flair, setting them down next to Taehyung’s breakfast.

“Thanks man,” and Taehyung makes grabby hands towards Hoseok’s coffee, and Hoseok looks horrified before snatching it away. “C’mon man, no coffee no entry!”

“Taehyung, this is Hoseok,” you introduce, opening the box of donuts and offering Taehyung one in truce. You look pointedly towards Hoseok, sipping idly on his coffee, “Hobi, why don’t you wait in my room before we go, okay?”

Hoseok tilts his head, eyes darting between Taehyung and you. It’s almost comical, the way Taehyung’s early-morning brain is having a hard time processing what was going on, and you wanting to keep a lid on the situation. “Sure, mom,” he slurps obnoxiously on his americano, waltzing down the hallway and into your room. He slams the door rather sharply, and that’s when Taehyung pounces.

“Who’s the hippie?”

“Hippie?” you balk, “Hoseok’s not a hippie.”

Taehyung shrugs, shoving a powdered donut in his mouth and completely forgetting about the limp lettuce on his plate. So much for a balanced breakfast. “I know all your friends, but I’ve never met this one.”

“He’s new,” you take your pick of donuts as well, picking up a vanilla glazed one with rainbow sprinkles, “we’re gonna go shopping.”

“Oo, can I come?”

“No,” you say a little too quickly, causing Taehyung’s eyes to widen in confusion. You quickly backtrack, even going as far as to grab a napkin and dab the powdered sugar from Taehyung’s cheeks, “it’s old people shopping. We’re sending ginseng wine to our families. No brand names there.”

Taehyung immediately buys it, scrunching his nose. “Not my favorite,” he says to himself. “Well, have fun doing old people things. Maybe Jimin will be willing to do something cool with me.”

And with that, he abandons the limp lettuce with a flick of his wrist, letting them out your windowsill and into your little garden for compost. You two make your separate ways, you into your room and Taehyung into the bathroom.

When you open your door, you already see Hoseok making himself comfortable on your bed, flipping through your notebook.

“You really shouldn’t be leaving this out on your desk,” Hoseok waves the yellow pages around, trying to look serious, “Taehyung could read this and you might end up in the cuckoo house.”

With a roll of your eyes, you search for a sweater, “As if he wouldn’t join me.”

You pull out a large black hoodie, courtesy of Jungkook. Trying not to look like a smitten high schooler, you subtly smell the collar before slipping it over your body. You melt in the fabric, and you almost hug yourself. Since your time at BigHit, you’ve missed wearing Jungkook’s things, and that’s a constant you can’t ignore.

“If you end up in the cuckoo house, I’ll end up there too by affiliation,” he flops on your bed, waiting for you to get ready, “so, we gonna nab an old lady today for some wine?”

“Ohmygod. What is wrong with you? You can’t say it like that, someone could report you!” you laugh, slapping him with a long sleeve.

“So it’s more appropriate to say, ‘let’s go find the lady’s coked up wine that could’ve potentially sent you to an alternate universe’ right?”

“Exactly,” you grin, pulling him up with an outstretched hand, “now let’s get going before we both end up in the cuckoo house.”

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

Jungkook thought bliss ended once he got a good filming gig and a stable job, but no, it just had to get better.

He doesn’t want to say he’s all consumed by your presence, but he can’t get enough of you. Sometimes he has to reel it in when you go out on dates, but he feels so lucky to call you his and hold you in his arms whenever he wants.

You dropped into his life, quite literally. One day you just showed up and barged into his life. At first it scared him, immensely. But as he got to know you, wear you down and realize that the strong, blunt woman he met on the street is just as kind and sweet and soft–

The bottom line is, Jungkook wears his heart on his sleeve and loves loudly. He feels so much for you he can’t contain it.

Except when Jimin wants to embarrass the hell out of you when they’re going over old pictures during work.

“Can I tell you a story about how y/n almost peed in that fountain?” Jimin points to the small thumbnail Jungkook took earlier last week. You’re perched on a large limestone fountain, smiling at the little fish tickling the sides of the bowl.

Taehyung gwaffs, choking on his sandwich. “God, that night was incredible! I got the Snapchat receipts too, Kook. If you want to second guess your standards.”

A loud laugh bubbles from his throat, and Jungkook eagerly leans over Taehyung’s shoulder to get a better look at the screen.

He likes your friends, too. To the point that he can safely consider them his friends. Of course he was intimidated the first time, especially when you were so pretty in your red skirt and surrounded by your equally attractive friends, but turns out Taehyung and Jimin are equally dopey and cringey as he.

As silly as you look crouched over the water and pulling up your skirt, he melts at how carefree you look enjoying yourself on a free night. Jimin is hauling you off the ledge, grabbing you by the waist as you fruitlessly try to kick him away.

“Careful,” Jimin tuts, sipping at his latte. “She’s gonna kill you if she finds out you showed it to Kook.”

Taehyung scoffs, stuffing his phone away. “She looked like she was gonna kill me today when she brought that friend over. They were acting really weird,” Taehyung points his kimchi in Jungkook’s nose, “do you know Hoseok?”

Jungkook blinks, opting to take a bite off Taehyung’s fork, “Kinda,” he shrugs, letting the tang of the kimchi spread across his tongue, “she has office hours when he’s working at the library daycare. They have lunch together.”

Jimin leans in, hands fold over the white cafeteria table like he’s in the mafia, “What do you mean by weird, Tae?”

“Like, she wanted him to wait in his room and they kinda just snuck out, y’know?” Taehyung divulges, “Like I love y/n, she the home girl, but who’s secretive about buying ginseng?”

Jungkook’s chewing slows. He trusts you, however, he doesn’t know what to make of that little tidbit. But instead he swallows his kimchi, not caring that he didn’t chew enough or that it went down uncomfortably, and steels himself. “Probably just stressed about her thesis or something, I’m sure everything’s fine.” he says smoothly, trying to convince himself that he’s right, and he’s pretty sure he is.

“Awh, Jungkookie’s so mature since he’s started dating!” Jimin paws all over the younger one like they’re long lost siblings. His hands travel to pinch his cheeks and ruffle his hair simultaneously, cooing like Jungkook’s a little bunny who’s merely existing.

There’s a blush staining Jungkook’s cheeks, but he doesn’t mind Jimin’s bouts of attention. A small smile blooms to Jungkook’s face, and confirms to himself that he’s in a good spot in his life.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

“So, what are you and Jungkook like?”

You shrug, “We’re good. It’s only been a few weeks though.”

“No, I meant your Jungkook.”

By definition, your Jungkook isn’t necessarily yours. However, the term is the byproduct of your current setting, and an unfortunate reminder that the Jungkook you’re dating now can never be definitively yours.

(Or…? Can it?)

“We were,” since when did you refer to you in and him in a past tense, “kind of a slow-burn, actually. We’d pass each other in the hall and exchange conversation during lunch in groups but, he kind of just crept up on me.”

The train is going at a break-neck speed, the fancy rail floating across the track as it beams you closer and closer to your destination. Gone are the concrete jungles and carefully architected trees. You’re finally starting to see some natural foliage and blue seas. Today’s journey is a bit of a shot in the dark, you don’t even know what the person you’re searching for looks like, but it’s the only clear lead you have.

“So you didn’t always know you loved him?” Hoseok asks, fiddling with the wire of his buds.

You shrug, “I had a feeling. He’s an easy guy to fall in love with,” you don’t want to mention that nearly half the world is smitten by the Golden Boy, but from the bittersweet expression on your face Hoseok has an inkling. “There’s just a lot of factors that come with relationships. Factors that aren’t worth it. It’s easy here.”

“It would be easy,” Hoseok replies to the air, closing his eyes.

And he’s right. It would be easy to continue on with life, forgetting about the possibility that one day you could wake up in W1. It would be easy to forget about your other life, Beomgyu’s forgotten quiz that’s still probably lit up in your MacBook back home, Sehlyung’s wish for you to approve Jin’s new outfit.

You wonder how your life back home is going, whether they’re moving on just like you seem to be.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

You really have no idea what Sehlyung’s wine dealer looks like. Work friends are work friends, where you’re close enough to share sexy secrets to each other but not as close as to divulge family life.

You know that Sehlyung lives in a small town closer to the shore, as she’s mentioned one too many times that her feet are baby smooth from the constant sand exfoliation. You’re vaguely aware that this is the right area, at least you hope because W2 Sehlyung could be living in Guam for all you know.

Passing by the village square, you search idly for an old lady selling ginseng wine. You didn’t realize how much a shot in the dark this could possibly be.

“Hey,” Hoseok whisper-hisses, and you try not to ignore the spit that brushes your ear, “you said to look for an old lady, right? All these ladies. They’re old.”

He’s right.

The village may be small, but there were over fifty booths with plenty of old ladies selling something. It would take hours, you didn’t even know if this lady would still be selling ginseng in this life.

Your hands fall limp at your thighs, and you point to a small house at the end of the square. It’s cute, almost cottage-like, looking more high-end than the other shops on the street. “Maybe we should eat something before we do some searching. Otherwise someone’s gonna have to scrape us off the street.”

“Good idea.”

Surprisingly, the interior of the establishment is nothing like the front. There’s a very authentic quirkiness to it, down to the colorful blown glass vases and the eclectic amount of alcohol lining the bar.

Not feeling like waiting for a table, the two of you wait by the bar, hopping on the two available stools in the corner.

The two of you don’t waste any time, telling the waiter passing by that both of you would like a heaping bowl of glass noodles.

“Care for a glass of something sweet?”

Looking up from their dessert menu, you see an older lady leaning over you to pour you and Hoseok a cup of tea. She’s the definition of a chill grandma, from the easy way she smiles to the colorful hoop earrings she wears. You watch as she carefully pours you a cup for you, and you get a glimpse of the beautifully painted ceramic teapot, adorned with watercolor flowers.

“If you have some angel wine,” you lick your lips, looking straight at her, “that would be lovely.”

There’s no hesitation in her work, and the lady continues to pour Hoseok’s cup with impeccable grace. She doesn’t bat a lash at your slight jab, even goes so far as to send you a crinkly smile.

“Fresh out, m’fraid,” she replies easily, “sold my last batch to a lovely blonde over a month ago.”

You swallow your surprise, the bile coming up your throat returning slow and achingly hard. Hoseok’s eyes dart between you and the old lady, and you clench your hands under the table. “Thought so,” you smile tersely, “then, do you have any recommendations?”

Hoseok noisily slurps tea, as if he’s watching a melodrama. The old lady nods eagerly, placing her ceramic mug on a nearby potholder. “I’ll whip up something extra special.”

It isn’t until the old lady whisks away from the bar and into the bathroom does Hoseok blurt, “Is the special thing drugs? Is she giving us drugs?”

“Who knows,” you thank the waiter who sets down two metal bowls of glass noodles in front of you, “maybe the next drink will send us to the moon.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Hoseok grimaces, “my fuckin’ dream is to visit the moon.”

As you two eat in silence, the restaurant slowly dwindles down as the lunch rush leaves and the start of dinner commences. Being a weekday, there aren't many coming down to eat out. You let yourself be immersed in the hubbub of the cottage, the clinking of clean tea cups and the laughter of staff sitting in the corner table.

The lady finally returns when you’re nearly done with your meal. There’s a tall frozen glass in her hand, ice particles clinging to the barrier. There’s an umbrella and a pineapple adorning the rim, looking uncharacteristically bright and tropical. She places it next to Hoseok’s tea.

He narrows his eyes, “This doesn’t have LSD or anything, right?”

She laughs, the hearty sound enveloping the restaurant. “Nope. Just passionfruit and mango.”

Hoseok easily takes her word for it, sipping happily as it washes down his dinner.

“For me?” you pop in.

“Ah, some advice.”

You shrink in your seat, “I want a fruit smoothie too.”

But you relent when she opens her palms to you, gesturing for you to give her yours. They feel calloused and worn, as if she’s spent lifetimes dedicating her life to her craft. She rubs her thumbs against your palm, sending soothing circles to your skin.

“Enjoy your time as it lasts,” she says, quiet enough for only you two to hear, “things will fall into place very soon.”

She senses you tense, and continues to hold you. You can’t tell whether this advice is foreboding or comforting.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

“I know what you're thinking,” Hoseok says when you return to Seoul, walking in the direction of your apartment.

“And what exactly am I thinking, o’ wise one?” you kick a stray pepple your way, getting in a groove as you walk lazily down the sidewalk.

“Her words,” he mumbles, “I don’t think it’s an invitation for you to get too comfortable here. Eventually… you’re gonna have to go back.”

“I know, Hoseok.” You don’t mean to sound so agitated. After all, the mission was mostly successful. You got your answers, albeit vague ones. The old lady in the cottage simultaneously sparked and eased your soul, unfortunately it didn’t give you any definitive direction as to go on with this life, other than to simply “enjoy it.”

“I know we’ve been debating whether you’re hallucinating or whether you’re in a coma and you’re having a really long dream or some weird mix of the two—” Hoseok jogs up to stop in-front of you, stuffing his hands in his orange cargos. He’s standing directly behind a 7-Eleven, the gaudy green and red lights lighting behind him like a halo.“And trust me, I’ve spent hours in bed thinking whether I’m real or not and potentially reaching an existential midlife crisis,” he grabs your hand and presses it to your chest, his other hand flailing wildly to the sky, “but this is real. All of it, I’m convinced it’s real. I’ve lived a long, slow, twenty-something life so far.”

He pulls you into his arms, and you suppress a shudder as his warm embrace envelopes you. Is this some sort of punishment? For the first time in a long time, you’ve felt content. Not to say that your life in your world wasn’t normal but you could honestly admit that the time you’ve spent here is nothing short of amazing. There’s an ease to this life, something so simple and easy to love that you want to keep it in your heart and cherish it forever.

“But ‘m gonna miss you,” you sigh into his chest, “we aren’t very close back in my world, y’know. So I’m glad I got to spend the time that I could with you.”

“S’okay,” he mumbles into your hair, and you can feel the smile in your skin, “if we’re really meant to be friends, it’ll happen again.”

Hoseok leaves you with these words, allowing you to breathe easy as you make the steps back to your apartment. Your feet are heavy from the day’s trek, but your mind feels lighter as you near your floor.

You spot a young man in a long jacket hanging a bag on your doorknob, taking great care that the contents inside wouldn’t spill.

“Jungkook?” you ask, smile widening when his gaze perks up to meet yours. It’s almost comical how he reacts to your voice, perking up like a little rabbit at the sound.

His smile grows the closer you get to him, “Hey, pretty girl,” he murmurs, closing the space between you to press a chaste kiss on your cheek, “great timing. I got you something.”

Your eyes dart to the cup of bubble tea hanging on your doorknob. The cup is adorable, pink-tinted and rounded at the bottom with little cat ears for the lid.

“Oh, you went! How was it?”

“It was great! We should go once you’re free. Taehyung ordered three cups! Nearly puked all over Jimin’s couch.”

“So,” your fingers trail up the buttons of his shirt, and you look up through your lashes, “you’re implying that my roommate isn’t inside our apartment right now.”

He leans in, nose nudging your neck as his voice rumbles against your sensitive skin, “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

You’ve never punched in your key faster, clutching the bubble tea bag to place it along the counter as the two of you clamber in. Instead of making it to your bedroom or living room, Jungkook traps your body between the doorway, cradling your face in both his hands to press a sweet kiss on your lips.

There’s nowhere to put your hands because both of Jungkook’s are up, so you close your eyes and let yourself savor the slow taste of his lips moving against yours. Finally you decide to settle your hands on his belt buckle, absentmindedly thumbing the loops as you get lost in the feeling.

“Mm, Kook? Koo—” he presses quick pecks to your lips, barely giving you a chance to forge complete sentences, “can we move this somewhere more comfortable? ‘M legs are turning to jelly.”

“Glad to have that effect on you,” he replies airily, thumbs pressing into your soft skin, “but I actually have to go, so no time to get comfy.” You whine against his lips, and he chuckles. “I have a cohort meeting at 8AM. We’re gonna organize our portfolios together.”

“Nerd,” you pout, pressing a kiss to his chin.

“And me and Mingyu are meeting online for some Overwatch in like, two hours.”

“Gamer nerd,”

“Your nerd,” he beams, his thumb reaching out to swipe the sheen from your swollen lips, “lemme plan date night to make it up to you. Minghao will be out of town for the weekend so it’ll just be me at the apartment.”

Date night. It all sounds so domestic to you, planning out designated days to spend time together. It isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but the fact that Jungkook sounds so settled with you is nothing short of heartening.

“I’ll make dinner,” his fingers twine between yours, “and we’re keeping the dress code super casual. I want to see you in nothing but sweatpants and oversized t-shirts.”

“But sweatpants aren’t sexy!”

“They are on you,” he retorts with a wiggle of his brows, “and sweatpants are easy access.”

“Alright, as long as you don’t upstage me.”

“Never,” he grins, pearly whites on display, “now, I really gotta go.”

He unlatches your body from his, only to have you immediately jump on him like a koala. You feel his large hands caressing your hair, taking the time to run his fingers through the tangles. You could fall asleep standing in the middle of your doorway, melting under his touch.

“Good night, baby.” he says, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“Sweet dreams, nerd.” you reply reluctantly, letting him open the door so he can go.

“Dream of me!” is the last thing he says before he forces you to shut the door, leaving you thoroughly needy and wanting for him.

Tonight, you dream long.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

Seven months ago, W1

You’re crying. There’s big, fat, ugly tears falling in rivulets along your face. You don’t even bother to wipe away the tears, just let them flow freely and dampen your pants as you watch the group take their final bow.

From your seat, you take in the energy of the concert like it’s your last breath. The purple confetti dusting your hair, the slow remix blasting through the speakers. The sea of stars swimming across the stadium, all for them.

You wait until everybody’s long gone before you get up from your seat. Until the only people that surround you are staff and clean-up crew, forcing you to leave. Your face still feels achy and your cheeks puffy. Sehlyung is urgently texting you (quadruple texting!) to hurry your ass up and get to the green room so you can all leave together.

A hand on your shoulder stops you from replying, and you wave them off. “Yeah, yeah. I’m leaving already, sorry.”

“Rude, I just got here.”

Jungkook is glowing. He hoists his whole body to plop himself in the seat next to you, so heavy you fear he may break the plastic in two. His arms splay across the other seats, urging you to lean in closer.

“Jungkook,” you smile, resting your hand on his thigh. “The show was great, I really felt the energy from all the way back here.”

“I can see that,” he tugs at his long sleeves, reaching to brush a stray tear, “you okay?”

“What, yeah.” you scoff, crossing your arms.

“So you weren’t moved by my impeccable talent?”

“Obviously,”

“Because, there’s nothing to be ashamed of if you were crying,” he goes on playfully, using his hands to narrate his spiel as he talks out to the stage, “I mean I get it, knowing how much I slaved over that solo and finally getting to perform it, and how I got sick the night before is a pretty–oh shit.”

You’re blubbering again, feverish now that everyone’s gone and it’s only you two in the stadium. The lights have already started to go out, the only light illuminating are the red exit signs and the last pair of doors leading to the main lobby. Your cries are echoing across the large room, and you feel nothing short of embarrassed but you can’t stop crying.

“Awh, my little crybaby,” he cooes, dripping with affection as he moves the armrest to pull you onto his lap. You dive your face in his neck, wracking with sobs.

“I’m, I’m just so proud of you,” you seep out, nuzzling your nose between his freshly cleaned face, “and you—you make it so damn hard for me to not love you it’s just, it’s not fair!”

“You don’t make it any easier on me either,” he whispers, soft enough to crumble under his grasp and melt under his skin.

The confessions are so soft, so easy to say. Little did the both of you know how much it would strain for you to place this love on the backburner.

#jungkook fic #jungkook fluff #goldenclosetnet #bts fic #bts scenarios #jeon jungkook #koo #unedited so i wont be offended if u message me and tell me theres a mistake #im welcome to it bc im kinda in a rush but i wanted to get it out sooner than later #im running to get my first tattoo appt :)#bye bubbies

232 notes · View notes

selinakidreams · 3 years

Text

year six at hogsmeade

ho ho ho! Merry Christmas! This fic is for the @haikyuucreationsadm secret santa event! dedicated to @ichorizaki ! sol, I hope this gives you the warm fuzzies!

genre: fluff

warnings: none!

tags: harry potter au!, gn! reader, friends to lovers, yams is a lil over protective, fake dating (if you squint really really hard), yamaguchi’s pov !

a/n: no i do not hate the character i put as the slytherin (i’m not gonna spoil anything <3 teehee) i did it almost as an easter egg ...? like if you remember how yams reacted when he heard a certian thing come from his mouth,,,,,,, you’ll understand why- the clip was playing in my head on repeat while writing it lmao (super vauge ik but ah ha haa)

Both of your school capes sashae across the cold stoned floor as you two head to the one class you had together. The air was nippy; delicate flakes of snow danced around the sky until they landed on the ground. Yamaguchi hugged his books closer to his chest in hopes to ease the lack of warmth. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you nuzzle into your silver and green scarf that was already bundled up to your nose.

‘Cute,’ he thought to himself- and when it comes to you, that word comes up in his head quite a lot.

Far from being his favorite class, Yamaguchi Tadashi had to get used to the defense against the dark arts course. It was very… out there for him in the beginning. By pushing his limits, it created a wave of self-consciousness that would wash over him, resulting in the feeling of incompetence. Thankfully you were there to encourage and support him, just as you had been since the day you guys met. It was something about your strength and determination- he learned that through the years when you had an idea, a goal, or a project in mind, you would see it through. It was so inspiring to young Yamaguchi, the little boy constantly cowering away from anything that seemed too much. He would constantly be picked on and could never speak the words that clogged his throat but then you came along with a single snarky remark to end all of theirs. There was no time between the moment he words left your lips and when your hand slipped into his- pulling him away from any sense of loneliness he would ever feel again. You were there for all the big moments, from when he first got his letter to him getting sorted into Gryffindor to him trying out for their quidditch team. You two had been absolutely inseparable and neither of you would change a thing.

Yamaguchi cherished walking to class with you- the way you fit so well in the environment… he just couldn't take his eyes off of you. His favorite version of you was in the winter because you just looked so much cozier. The dark colors of your house heavily contrasted against the bright sparkling snow that reflected natural light into the corridor. The pink that tinted the tips of your ears made his heart skip a beat. If it hadn't been for you stopping by the opened door way, he would have completely missed the entrance to the classroom because of his… observations. He motioned you go in first, your eyes crinkled in thanks as you stepped inside and he swears that you caused a heart palpitation.

It was your guy’s sixth year at Hogwarts and by far Tadashi's favorite Defense Against the Dark Arts course yet. The teacher, Remus Lupin, had such a way of teaching that it was not only fun and interactive, but also incredibly informative- the prime way for him to learn. He was so happy that Lupin’s tactics were sticking, this meant he didn't have to cling to you for help as he had previously; He was able to show you that he was capable of being strong on his own. Whenever you showed your delight at Tadashi’s progress, he only wanted to work harder.

“Hey so… after class, did you want to go to Hogsmeade and get something to drink from Honeyduke’s? It’s all snowy out and it’s the perfect weather for something warm and comforting.” You grinned as the both of you took your seats, conveniently across from each other, the only thing that separated you two was a slim isle way. Yamaguchi turned to you with a small smile curving his lips, “Yea, sounds good but just remember I have practice later so I can't be out too la-“ his last word was cut off by an obnoxious scoff from the keeper from the Slytherin quidditch team.

“That was supposed to be our practice, you know. Daichi snatched up our usual practice time.” Koganegawa Kanji said snottily, judgmentally eyeing Tadashi up and down before turning his gaze to you. Suddenly there was a different type of look in his eyes, a bright one that showed that he believed he could secure all sorts of things… including you. “Those Gryffindors think they can take whatever they want, but I know what we're going to be taking. The win at our next game… which just so happens to be against Gryffindor. You’re going to be there, right y/n?” He practically beamed to you as he kept side-eyeing Yamaguchi.

Before you could even answer- before he could even realize what was coming out of his mouth- your shy, kind hearted, wouldn’t-hurt-a-fly Tadashi rolled his eyes and said, “Yea they’re going, they’re going to be screaming out my name when I catch that snitch.”

Your eyes widened as you turned to him with your jaw slack, the sexual innuendo in the forefront of your mind but when facing your freckled best friend, it looked like he couldn't believe he was able to even speak up. Yamaguchi is not one for confrontation or someone who initiates fights… but when things come down to you, he acts in ways he doesn’t recognize- for painfully obvious reasons.

“You better watch that mouth of yours, Yamaguchi, or else i might just have to zip it up.” The Slytherin hissed, getting ready to reach for his want but stopped in his tracks when his gaze caught sight of a scruffy man in his mid 30’s standing behind the frozen Gryffindor, hands in his pockets and a brow raised.

“Now… I know you were not about to hex mister Yamaguchi inside of my class, right Mister Koganegawa?” Professor Lupin tempted, a small smirk danced on his lips with the unmissable glint of entertainment that twinkled in his warm eyes.

The professor didn’t give the boy a chance to answer, instead turned around and headed to the front of the classroom while saying, “Return to your seat Koganegawa, I expect whatever hex you were going to cast was going to be a naughty one. Well ironically, today’s lesson is focused on learning to reflect those nasty curses…” The whole class settled in for the lecture as Tadashi sneaked a peak at the reaction that had been plastered on your face- boy, was it a cute one. Both of your lips curled in with saucer eyes, cheeks tinted a faint red, as if you were holding back a laugh that was forcing its way out.

<♥︎>

After Lupin bid the class adue for the day, everyone went their separate ways; Tadashi held you close as you both headed to Hogsmeade, his arm draped over your shoulder as you leaned into him for warmth. The walk had been a comfortable silence until you spoke out your curiosity to break the ice, hitting him with the million dollar question.

“Hey, what happened back in Lupin’s class? That was.. odd.. of you to say.” You inquired. Normally when you catch Tadashi off guard or in a vulnerable state, a cute blush dusts along the apple of his cheeks and the tips of his ears. You knew you were robbed of the sight, the cold had beat you to it, a violent scarlet already bared his skin.

He let out a sigh, the breath showing itself in the cold, before he muttered, “I’m just tired of him openly ogling at you like you’re some toy. It’s not cool.”

You responded with a slight hum, the real reply bouncing off the walls of your brain: I can't believe we’re not together by now.

“Oh yams,” you chuckle as you huddle closer into his side.

<♥︎>

Passing under the grand Hogsmeade archway, he was grateful that there were barely any students about- this meant you guys could get your drinks faster and walk around the shops easier. With the antique green and pink building in sight, the beeline to the shop’s entrance was determined.

“Okay okay, let me guess…” you started as Yamaguchi held open the door for you to walk in, already eyeing the colorful treats that decorated the room, “you want a hot chocolate.”

“And you want a hot strawberry tea.” Tadashi retorted with a smile.

“It’s almost like… we’ve known each other for years.” You say, your tone dripping in sarcasm as he watches your finger trace over the newest candy they sold.

Sol, a sweet that’ll brighten your day! The container said, with a picture of what looked to be an edible ball of light. Supposedly, once it hits your tongue, it melts into the flavor you're craving most.

After inspecting the shelves around the store for any new and exciting treats, you both headed to the register where Tadashi placed the drinks order and fished out two golden galeons and five silver sickles. He snuck a glance at you admiring the brightly colored walls to make sure you weren't looking as he slipped the cashier the two packets of sol he stealthily grabbed and handed them three extra sickles. A sweet surprise for later.

Leaving the store, Yamaguchi watched the way your hands slipped around the warm cup, the tips of your fingers slightly intertwined. He wanted nothing more than to take your cup out of your hands and intermingle his fingers with yours…but he couldn’t, it would be crossing a line, wouldn’t it? Nevertheless, the image of holding your- probably- freezing hand was on his mind the whole time you two were walking around the village you knew all too well.

Deciding that it was pretty late you guys began to head back to the castle. The snow crunched underneath your boots with almost empty cups in your hands, you knew it wasn't going to take long before you’d be greeted by the back entrance of the castle. “‘Dashi… do you have to go to practice? I… i need help with Lupin’s coursework.” you stutter out, causing Yamaguchi to pause and turn toward you.

This took him by surprise, normally you were really good with your coursework, so for the roles to switch… something had to be off.

“ y/n... You know I can't. The team said they really need me there. Daichi would have my head if I missed practice. The game against Slytherin is so close and I really need to-” he cut himself off before he could reveal too much or get too annoyed, the flash of Koganegawa smirking flashed in the back of his mind.

“you need to… what? I saw your last game and the way you soared through the air was incredible, it didn't seem like you needed to work on anything!” you pouted with damn wide eyes.

Tadashi tried to ignore the slight increase in his heart's beating pace, “aha well..” he said as he lifted his arm to scratch the back of his head, “we’re a team and they need me as much as i need them!” you stopped walking so he turned to face you.

He watched the small sad smile creep onto your face before hearing you mutter, “Jeez, when did my Tadashi become so popular?”

For Yamaguchi to not lean in and plant a kiss on your lips, something had to be holding him back... but there was nothing- if anything, you seemed to slightly lean in.

He figured that you'd assume that the first move was going to be on your part, as it normally was when something serious would happen between the two of you but he wanted to prove to you that he's changed. He's not scared anymore. He has no reason to be. He’s learned so much about himself throughout the years because of you. You're the reason he was the social person he was today. And he was the one that finally connects your lips with his.

Due to the cold and dry winter, both lips are not as smooth as wanted but it doesn't stop him from deepening the long awaited kiss. He placed his open palms on your waist and his fingers gave you a small squeeze when he heard you sigh into the kiss.

When Yamaguchi felt your arms around his neck, he swore the world stopped turning for a second. The warmth that he was feeling was unmatched- this was warmer than any other winter coat had made him.

When he pulled away, your arms stayed around his neck and he refused to let his hands leave your waist.

“I uh-“ at this point Yamaguchi’s face was bright pink, yours being no different, “um I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” You said, cutting him off.

Tadashi had to blink a few times, as if he was clearing his vision because what he just heard wasn’t possible.

“N-no way…” he mumbled, looking at the ground next to you. Tadashi almost felt overwhelmed but one thing's for certain, the weight of needing to properly confess was only getting heavier so he gulped down his anxiety- as you had taught him so many times before- and brought his eyes to meet yours.

“Y/n… I’m so in love with you. I have been for so long-”

Something red wizzed before your guys’ eyes, cutting off his huge confession. His eyes became wide at the hovering letter facing him.

A howler.

Before you could even raise an eyebrow, the letter opened itself in the shape of an origami mouth.

“Yamaguchi, YOU ARE LATE FOR PRACTICE! WHY? WHAT COULD BE SO IMPORTANT THAT IT’S CAUSING YOU TO MISS PRACTICE?” the letter with daichi’s deep voice boomed around the empty of the woods. It began to look around, as if it could see the surrounding area- which was weird because typically howlers were only used to relay a (very loud and disappointed) message. When the envelope eventually faced you, the bottom of the mouth dropped and seemed to gulp.

“Ah.. i see.. Hi y/n… um,” the letter turned to face Yamaguchi before reminding him to go to practice and ripping itself apart.

It was silent for a second, neither of you knew what to say.

“I dunno but it almost sounded like Daichi wanted me to go to practice.” was the first thing he said. He watched your face contort from a small smile to a full out grin joined with a hearty laugh.

“Let's get you to class ‘Dashi.” you said as you wound down from your laughing fit. Holding out your hand, the expression you gave him was one that he never saw from you before. The corner of his eyes crinkled with how genuine he was smiling as he took your hand, finally getting to entwine your fingers together as you guys headed to the quidditch field.

Ps. yes you did scream out his name when he caught the snitch- it didn't go unnoticed...

36 notes · View notes

kpophours · 4 years

Text

Private Lessons (M)

➵ SF9: Youngbin x fem. reader / one shot, tutor AU / fluff, smut

➵ warnings: explicit mentions of sex (handcuffing, oral: receiving/giving, toys, a bit of dirty language, slight breath play), slight cursing

➵ word count: 5.1k

You are nervous.

Clutching your way too heavy bag between your hands, you look around the little café. You’re a tad too early, but you had hoped your new tutor might already be waiting for you. You only know him from a picture so far, the one your mutual friend had shown you a few days ago. All you remember is a handsome face, soft brown eyes and dark, fluffy hair - but that’s about it. You have never been good with faces, much more so with names.

You take another step into the café, trying to find the face you’re looking for - but suddenly, someone calls your name: “Y/N?”

You turn towards the voice and see him: a smile graces his handsome face, dark eyes forming little crescents when he walks towards you, one hand extending towards you for you to shake. You release a shaky breath and return his smile, relief spreading through your whole body. “Youngbin?”, you ask while you shake his warm hand and he nods.

“You found the place alright?”, he inquires, leading you to his table in the back of the café, a bit more quiet and away from all the noise of the other people. “Yes, I’ve actually been here before.”, you explain, taking the seat opposite him and placing your bag on the free chair beside you. “Ah.”, he just makes, shuffling through some papers in front of him, “Okay, so I heard you’d like to receive some additional lessons in Korean?” You nod enthusiastically. “Yes, exactly! I’ve been taking some classes at university already, but there are limits to what you can learn in those. My friend said you’re offering private lessons, so I thought I’d ask you for help.” Your explanation is rushed and you begin to fiddle with your fingers, but you can’t seem to stop the nervous tick - Youngbin is handsome and the way he looks at you makes your heart flutter a bit.

Which is ridiculous because he is your tutor who you’ve only just met.

But still…

“That’s right! The easiest way to learn a new language is to speak to someone who’s fluent. And I’m more than happy to help you with that! So, I’ll have you take a little exam first as I need to know how much you’ve learned so far. Afterwards we’ll talk about what we can and will do to improve your Korean skills and what we should focus on. Is that okay with you?” He has clearly thought about this or done this kind of tutoring more than once already, that much is obvious - he seems very organized and structured. You nod in agreement, and take out your study notes to give to him while you take the little questionnaire he’s prepared for you, slowly beginning to fill it out, thankfully not having too many difficulties with it.

He flips through your notes while you work on the exam, humming from time to time in approval, before he looks up and smiles at you. Your stomach flutters, but you try to ignore your body’s reaction to him. He waits for you to finish the questionnaire and checks your answers afterwards, finally nodding to himself. “Well, I see you’re already pretty advanced. You probably won’t have any problems talking in Korean to me, I think. I know talking in a different language can be scary and more difficult than reading or writing in it. So, I want to put you out there and have you talk to people! Not only to me though - we will visit a Korean BBQ restaurant and I want you to order something for us. We’re also going to watch some kdramas or Korean movies and I want you to explain the plot to me afterwards, talk about your favorite characters and scenes and so on. How does that sound to you?”, he finally proposes, propping his chin up on his hand and gazing intently at you.

You tilt your head to the side and think about his idea for a few seconds. Then, you finally nod: “I think that sounds like a reasonable plan. My friend didn’t say anything about payment yet, so I think we should talk about that, too.” Youngbin shrugs. “We can settle that some other time. I want you to have a few lessons with me first, to see if you feel comfortable with me - and with my teaching methods. If you want to continue after about… two weeks, we can talk about the payment.”

You lift both eyebrows at that. “You’ll work for free…? For two weeks?”, you inquire, a bit baffled at his generosity and he grins. “I mean, I get to eat delicious food and watch some amazing movies as well as tv shows in the company of a beautiful woman. I think that‘s not too bad.”, he explains, giggling adorably when he sees you’re beginning to blush.

“I guess we have a deal then.”, you finally manage to say and he nods, reaching out his hand for you to shake. When his warm, much longer fingers wrap around yours, your heart begins to pound twice as fast. You quickly snatch your hand back, hoping it won’t seem rude. But Youngbin simply smiles at you and takes a sip of his coffee. “Well, let’s begin with our first conversation in Korean, then.”, he finally says, leaning closer and gazing at you with warm eyes, “You start.”

The first lessons with Youngbin are a bit… awkward, maybe even tense. It truly is something entirely different to talk to a native speaker, you quickly notice and are, at first, a bit hesitant to talk freely to him, afraid you’ll make too many mistakes. But you soon learn not to hold back - Youngbin is not one to judge, he’s always quick to help whenever you try to think of a word or stumble over a pronunciation. He radiates trustworthiness and warmth, quickly making you feel comfortable around him. It doesn’t take long until you begin to meet up outside of your planned tutoring lessons - it starts with Youngbin spontaneously sending you a message asking if you’re free one afternoon. You actually don’t have any plans, so you meet up for some coffee just around the corner of your workplace. This, soon, starts to be a regular place for you both to meet, sometimes before work, sometimes afterwards. You also go to the cinema to see a few non-Korean movies together. One evening, he even cooks for you and it isn’t even... that bad (you still offer to be the one to cook next time).

One day while you’re on your way to work and see a new message from Youngbin (with an attached image of his super adorable dog Jamong), immediately beginning to smile brightly, you’re hit with a realization.

You’re have fallen for him.

You almost choke on your coffee, quickly stuffing your phone back into your pocket and clutching the seat under you with alarming force.

Oh no no no no no.

This is not good. You can’t be in love with him. He is your tutor! Just because you began to hang out outside of lessons doesn’t mean he actually likes you… Right?

Your mind is beginning to spiral and you almost miss your stop, stumbling in your haste to get off the bus. The cold air outside clears your head a bit and you take a few deep breaths.

No need to panic. Feelings come and feelings go. This isn’t the end of the world. You can just… pine from afar. And then you’ll end the tutoring lessons and won’t ever have to think about him again.

Yes.

That’s a good plan.

… Right?

… It’s not a good plan.

The second Youngbin messages you again, you already have your phone in hand and come up with something witty to text back. When he asks you to come over to his place for tonight’s lesson, you immediately agree.

With your new revelation, you’re twice as nervous when you ring the bell to his house. Your heart skips a beat when you hear the door buzzing, and you quickly enter, taking the stairs instead of the elevator to give yourself a bit more time to prepare. Jamong runs towards you as soon as you step into the hallway, the door to Youngbin’s apartment thrown open. You kneel down to greet the little ball of fluff, scratching his ears and murmuring soft compliments while smiling down at him.

“Can I have some of those scratches as well?”, an amused voice from the doorway suddenly asks, and you look up. Youngbin’s almost towering over you, looking down at you with a small smile playing on his lips. You release a shaky breath at your positions, but before your mind can begin to wander, he holds out his hand for you to take and quickly pulls you up and into the apartment, Jamong following you both inside.

“I thought we could order takeout and watch a movie, what do you think?”, Youngbin asks, already halfway into the living room. You kick off your shoes and hang your jacket on the rack, following him quietly. “Sounds good to me.”, you simply answer and sit down on the couch, Jangmon shuffling through your legs and nudging you with his nose to get some more cuddles. You oblige, the little fluff being too cute not to.

“Perfect. You can think of a movie while I order us Chinese. You’ll take the same as always, I guess?”

You smile at him and nod, feeling all mushy and warm inside because he remembers your preferred food like it’s no big deal - but to you, it is.

Half an hour later, an Avengers movie plays on tv, Jamong has disappeared into the kitchen for his own dinner and you sit beside Youngbin, your entire body tense. You see how he glances at you from time to time, a small frown on his face, like he tries to figure out what’s wrong with you.

“Are you okay?”, he finally asks and you jump at the sudden noise. He chuckles at your reaction and places one warm hand on your arm, rubbing it gently to calm you. “Relax.”, he murmurs. You smile shakily at him and nod. “I’m fine. Just…”, your mind is reeling, “A long day. I’m a bit tired and tensed up.” He nods in understanding. “You have a lot to do at the moment. I could massage your shoulders to help you relax...?”

“What?!”, you almost squeak, head whipping around to face him. He raises one eyebrow. “A… massage? To help you relax?”, he repeats, lips twitching. He tilts his head to one side, dark eyes observing you. “I heard I’m quite good at giving massages.”

Your heart skips a beat at that.

… Why did he tell you that?!

“I- I …. No thanks, I’m good?”, you finally answer, voice wobbly.

You quickly turn to face the tv again, missing the smirk blooming on Youngbin’s face.

About 15 minutes later, your food arrives and you’re glad for the distraction. When you open the obligatory fortune cookies, you almost groan out loud: The love of your life is right in front of your eyes.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”, you mumble under your breath and Youngbin peaks up. “Hm?”, he makes, leaning over your shoulder to read your quote. You quickly close your fingers over it, shrugging. “It’s nothing. Let’s continue to watch the movie, okay?” He observes you for a few seconds, before beginning to smile again. “Sure.”

Back on the sofa, he gently places a fluffy throw over you both, shifting closer to you so both your bodies fit comfortably under it. You place both hands in your lap, just so they don’t begin to wander in search of others, but then you think better of it and simply sit on top of them.

Better be safe than sorry.

When Youngbin notices your shifting, he chuckles. “What’s going on? Why are you sitting on your hands like that?”, he asks quietly, leaning closer towards you and observing you with dark eyes. You blink like a deer caught in headlights, mind empty while you stare into his brown orbs. “M-my hands are cold?”, you answer in a small voice and he releases a soft “Ah”.

Then, he holds out both hands, a silent invitation. You curse yourself for your flimsy excuse, grumpily placing your hands in his. His fingers immediately close around yours, so much bigger and longer than your own. Your hands look almost ridiculously small in his. He gently begins to rub your hands in between his, blowing gently on them. “They’re not even that cold.”, he finally says, “So maybe you‘re just feeling cold in general? Not that you’re coming down with something.” His worry touches you and you quickly shake your head. “I- I… guess I already warmed them up a bit while sitting on them.”, you reply and return his relieved smile. “That makes sense. Still, I’m always happy to share my body heat with you.”

And with that, he throws one arm around your shoulders, pulling you close and snuggling you into his side. You can barely suppress your surprised squeak, whole body tensing against his. His fingers draw gentle patterns on your shoulder and soon, you can’t help but relax against him, your heart beating unnaturally fast inside your chest. When you finally dare to place your head on his shoulder, you feel his lips ghost over your temple. He suddenly shifts a bit and you look up at him. His eyes are earnest while he gazes at you.

Time seems to stretch while you lock eyes, but then your gaze drops to his lips. He releases a shaky breath when he sees this and then, suddenly, his mouth is on yours. He pulls you even closer to his body, one hand gently cupping your cheek. His head lowers towards yours, lips gently brushing against yours, tongue silently demanding entrance and slipping inside when you open them, caressing your tongue with his. You quietly moan at the sensation, both hands fisting into his shirt and clawing at the soft cotton to pull him even closer. He gently bites down on your lower lip, breaking the kiss to press his lips on your jaw, slowly making his way down, teeth grazing the soft skin on your neck without breaking it. He sucks, hard, making you mewl at the sensation.

Your whole body is hot and tight and alive, hands trembling slightly and heart pounding twice as fast. He reaches your collarbone, pulling at your shirt to bare your soft skin to him, leaving open mouthed kisses on it. Your hands fist into his hair and you pull at the soft strands, softly and without much force, but it makes him grunt and lean backwards. His pupils are dilated, lips slightly swollen and hair already a mess. He fixes his gaze on you, lips curling into a small smirk when he sees your lust-filled expression. “You tell me if you want to stop.”, he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss against your lips and looking at you for consent.

You nod and a rushed “Please don’t stop.” leaves your lips. He groans at that, pressing his forehead to yours and releasing a shaky breath. “Thank God.”, he murmurs before diving back into kissing you. He shifts you, pulling on your legs so you lie on your back, with him now towering over you, his hands slipping under your shirt and softly caressing your sides, slowly making their way up. He ghosts his hand over your clothed nipples, drawing a moan from your lips. He smiles into the kiss, pulling your lower lip into his mouth to suck on it. Then, he releases it again and looks down at you, gaze hazy with lust. He grinds his hips into yours and you feel his bulge pressing into your core, a shaky groan passing your lips.

“Y-Youngbin.”, you plead and he raises one eyebrow. “Yes, darling?”, he answers, the grinding of his hips not stopping. “Please touch me.”, you whine, shifting your hips to meet his halfway and he groans at the movement. “Mhm, I can’t resist if you ask so nicely.”, he replies, quickly pulling your shirt over your head and discarding it on the floor. He quickly unclasps your bra as well and when you’re bared in front of him, he groans at the sight. “God you’re so fucking beautiful, darling. Such soft, pretty skin. I’m going to make you all mine tonight.”, he whispers against your skin, leaving gentle bites on your neck and collarbones, before taking one nipple into his mouth, beginning to suck harshly on it.

Your back bends upwards and you grind your hips against his bulge. He gently kneads your breasts, before making his way further down, kissing your stomach and hip bone, finally halting at the waistband of your jeans. He looks up at you, toying with your belt. “You’re okay with this?”, he asks gently and you nod heavily, making him grin. “Good.” With that, he hooks both your legs around his hips and stands up. You yelp, quickly wrapping your arms around his neck and holding onto him like your life depends on it. He chuckles, hot breath tickling your neck and presses his lips just under your ear. “Let’s take this to the bedroom.”, he explains, hands kneading your ass while he walks you towards the door, which he closes behind him.

Soft city lights illuminate the otherwise dark room, painting everything in soft greys. Your eyes quickly get used to the darkness and when Youngbin lays you gently on top of his sheets, you see the way his eyes take on an almost predatory expression. You instantly clench around nothing, more wetness pooling between your legs while your stomach jolts. Slowly, he begins to pull down your jeans, helping you wiggle free of them. He makes a strangled noise at the back of his throat when he sees the white lace barely covering you, already sticking to your wet core. He stands up again, still completely dressed, and looks down at you, lower lip pulled back between his teeth.

He seems to mull something over, before finally coming to a conclusion. He walks around the bed and opens the second drawer of his nightstand, pulling out two silk ropes. When he sees your questioning expression, he grins almost wolfishly. Then, he reaches for one of your wrists, gently wrapping the soft rope around it, before pulling your arm up and wrapping the other end around his bedpost. Your breathing is already getting erratic and you can’t help but rub your thighs together, hoping to get at least some friction to stop the almost painful need between your legs. When Youngbin sees you shifting, he swats your thigh, the stinging pain making you whimper.

“Don’t.”, he says - softly, but the warning is there. Immediately, your whole body tenses and you stop your movements. Then, he takes your other hand, tying it to the bedpost as well. Your whole body is tight with anticipation and your eyes follow his every move. He takes his time, slowly rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and over his forearms, long fingers working deliberately. You gulp at the sight, eyes wandering towards the front of his jeans, his hard cock forming a deliciously big bulge for you to ogle at. You moan at the sight, shifting on top of the sheets, getting impatient. Youngbin’s dark eyes dart towards you, lips curling. “Patience, darling. It won’t be long now.” He opens the drawer again, clearly looking for something - then, he seems to find it. When you see the pink vibrator and the blindfold in his hands, you almost pass out. He smirks when he sees your surprised yet expectant expression. Gently, he fastens the blindfold around your head, pulling it over your eyes and you release another shaky breath at the sudden darkness. You feel the mattress dip when he finally joins you back on it again, beginning to leave slow kisses on your lower legs, working his way up, leaving gentle love bites on the insides of your thighs.

Your breath comes out in unsteady fits now and you don’t think you’ve ever been so turned on before - and Youngbin hasn’t even really touched you yet.

Just then, he ghosts his lips over your clothed core, drawing a whine from your lips. “Please, Youngbin, please.”, you says in a hushed voice, not caring that you’re literally begging now. You just need him, need some friction or else you’re sure you’ll just combust. He chuckles at your distress and pulls the lace to one side, revealing your slick core to him. He moans at the sight. “I can’t wait to taste you.”, he murmurs, “I can’t wait to finally split you open on my cock.” He grins when you groan at his words, one long finger slipping between your slick folds, teasingly circling your entrance without slipping inside just yet. “I have thought about this moment so many times.”, he murmurs, pressing another kiss on the inside of your thigh, “Thought about having you on the counter top where I always take my coffee. Just bending you over and taking you from behind. Thought about pressing you against the wall when you take a shower.”, you hear the smirk in his voice, “Thought about touching you under the table in our coffee shop.” You whine at his words, hips bucking without being able to stop them. “Tsktsktsk, darling. You know I’m the one in charge here.”, Youngbin’s voice is stern all of the sudden and he swats your thigh again, quickly soothing the reddened skin with one of his large hands, “Just a bit more patience. We’re almost there, I promise.”

With that, he pulls down your panties and you’re finally completely bare underneath him. You hear the slight buzz of the vibrator when he turns it on and not long after, he presses it against your core, teasing your entrance until he draws impatient whines from your lips. Finally, he pushes it inside, you‘re already so slick with want that it easily glides inside. You moan when the vibrations begin to hit you, and can’t help but clench around the toy, making your whole body tremble with lust. All of the sudden, Youngbin’s lips close around your clit and suck, harsh, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bundle of nerves. You gasp out his name, tugging on the ropes around your hands, but they hold firmly.

Youngbin hooks your legs over his shoulders, and dives back into eating you out. It doesn’t take long for you to feel the familiar pressure start building in your body, skin tightening, mind blurring with lust and then, you snap, shattering around the vibrator and on Youngbin’s lips. A small scream tears from your lips and your legs begin to tremble, but Youngbin is insatiable now, lapping up your release and continuing to suck on your clit, the vibrator suddenly buzzing even faster and harder. You squirm under his caresses, everything feeling too much and not enough at the same time, whines and prayers spilling from your lips until your second high is approaching at racial speed.

You tug on the ropes again and this time, they actually give you some kind of support when you shatter for the second time, a hoarse curse tearing from your lips, every thought being ripped away from you. You feel blissed out, whole body trembling, legs and arms prickling softly. Slowly, Youngbin withdraws the vibrator from you, pressing a last soft kiss on your clit, before sitting back on his knees, sliding your legs from his shoulders in the process. He crawls over you, and gently tugs the blindfold away from your eyes.

His smile is soft when looks at you, one eyebrow quirked in a silent question. “That was....”, you trail off, head still spinning from pure bliss, and lean towards him to press your lips to his, tasting yourself on his tongue when it slips into your mouth. When he breaks the kiss again and presses his forehead against yours, you’re still breathing hard, heart pounding inside your chest. “We don’t have to go all the way tonight.”, Youngbin murmurs against your lips and you shake your head. “Oh no, I think we have to. I can’t wait for another night.”, you whine, grinding your hips and making him groan when your slick core presses against his bulge.

“Your wish is my command, darling.”, he says, lips curling into a smile and then, he slips off the bed to undress. Your heartbeat quickens immediately, tongue darting out of your mouth to wet your lips at the sight. He notices your gaze and quirks one eyebrow, pulling his jumper over his head and throwing it into a corner of the room. You bite your lip when you take in his well defined chest, the broad shoulders and muscular arms. Then, he steps out of his pants and reveals his more than pressing bulge, making you groan and tug on the ropes around your wrists again. He grins at your desperation, hovering over you again and pressing open mouthed kisses on your neck, until he whispers into your ear: “Would you like me to release you from those ropes, darling?”

You nod hastily. “Please. I want… I want to taste you too.”, you say, voice and eyes pleading. He groans at this, quickly unwrapping the ropes and soothing the slightly red skin on your wrists by pressing his lips to the marks. “You did so well, my darling. God you’re so pretty when you come, do you know that? A masterpiece and only for me to look at.”, he murmurs against your skin and you whimper at his pleased tone.

“If you want to please me now, you better get on your knees.” His demeanor is completely changed again and you straighten at his tone, immediately crawling from the bed and getting on your knees, looking at him through your lashes, body tight with anticipation. He groans when he sees you gazing at him and slowly, he presses his index finger against your lips. “Open. Relax your jaw.”, he murmurs, tugging his boxer briefs down and freeing his length. You gulp when you see it for the first time, marveling at the beauty and girth of it.

It is perfect and all yours.

You obediently open your mouth and Youngbin pushes inside, moaning when you close your lips around him and suck, tongue running over the length of him. “God, you’re such a good girl for me, Y/N. You’re taking my cock so well.”, he whispers, slowly thrusting his hips forward. You let him take over, slacking your jaw, hands gripping his thighs to steady yourself against his thrusts. He pushes both hands into your hair, gently pulling on it and making you whine around him. You clench around nothing, almost dripping with want and need for him. His cock hits the back of your throat and tears begin to gather in your eyes, but you continue to look at Youngbin, at his hazy, lust-filled eyes, the way his teeth dig into his lower lip and how he gazes down at you, full of adoration and awe. “God, darling, you’re so pretty like this. Letting me use you like this, your mouth was fucking made to suck me off, hm?” His voice is hoarse and his breathing stutters until he suddenly withdraws his cock from your mouth, letting you breathe freely again.

“I can’t wait anymore.”, he says, pulling you up and against his chest, kissing you long and in an almost desperate manner. “God, you’re perfect.”, he murmurs against your lips and walks you back towards the bed, laying you gently on top. You feel your mouth get dry, when you see him roll a condom over his length, positioning himself in front of your entrance. He looks at you, head slightly tilted, and opens his mouth to ask for permission, when you grind your hips and force the tip of his cock inside you. He groans and slowly pushes inside, one hand wrapping around your thigh to open you even further, his other hand gripping your own, interlacing his fingers with yours. You wrap one leg around his hip and use it to push him even deeper inside of you. You both moan when he bottoms out, his body pressing into you at all the right places, feeling like he’s everywhere at once.

“You’re okay?”, he murmurs when he feels you clench around him and you nod. “Y-yes, you can move now.”, you answer a bit breathlessly and he smiles, pulling out of you, only leaving the tip of his cock inside until he slams his hips back into yours. You close your eyes and quickly lose yourself to the steady, almost punishing rhythm he sets inside of you, hips pushing against yours in an almost bruising manner. He lets go of your thigh, long fingers gripping around your throat, using just enough pressure to make you a bit dizzy. You moan, voice hoarse and begin to clench around him. His left hand lets go of yours, slipping between your bodies to circle your clit with his thumb.

Your third high quickly barrels towards you and you finally shatter again, clenching around him and moaning his name, over and over again. He grunts, your hole clenching around his length making him quickly tumble over the edge as well. With a few last thrusts, he finally comes to a halt, breathing heavily and nuzzling his face against your neck.

You bury both hands in his slightly damp hair, ruffling it a bit and making him laugh. He draws back to look at you and begins to smile, before leaning down again, kissing you slowly and deliberately. “How about a bath and some hot chocolate afterwards?”, he murmurs against your lips when he breaks the kiss and you smile, nodding happily. “That sounds amazing. Y- you were amazing...”, you whisper, a blush creeping on your cheeks.

He grins, maybe a bit proud, and gently cups your cheek. “As were you. You definitely don’t need any private lessons in the bedroom.”, he teases and you giggle, kissing the tip of his nose. “But I think we found a new reward system for your rapidly improving Korean skills now.”, he adds and you blink at him, surprise written all over your face.

He laughs and flashes you a wolfish smile, kissing you one last time before pulling out of you and quickly discarding of the condom. Then, he extends one hand towards you.

“Come on, let’s go take a bath now.”

You smile and take his hand.

[masterlist] | [requests]

183 notes · View notes

gaylotusthatexists · 4 years

Text

Tomorrow Will Come

CHAPTER ONE

fandom: black friday

pairings: ethan/lex

words: 1583

trigger warnings: swearing, abuse/neglectful household

All Lex wants is to get out of Hatchetfield, to get to California where she and her sister can start a new life. But navigating her current life in Hatchetfield is proving to be more difficult that it seems. However, returning to school after having taken a year off, she meets a boy who just might change that.

an: me? writing somethings other than sanders sides? yeah, never thought i'd see the day either. this is a prequal to black friday that i'm writing because ethan is making me sad and he (plus lex and hannah) deserved better. also i'm lowkey obsessed with black friday rn so like what are you expecting. anyway, hope y'all enjoy this?

next chapter | ao3

The morning sun warmed her skin as she walked down the street, wishing that she was anywhere else. California - that's where she wanted to be. Away from Hatchetfield, away from her mom, away from this life.

But she couldn't leave. Not yet. This was her first day back at school, the first day of her trying to get her shit back together. If she could just get through this year, pass her exams and get some sort of qualifications, she could get a job and save up and soon enough she would be out of here. Just her and Hannah, starting a brand new life.

"Okay, Banana, here we are," Lex said, spinning ninety degrees and letting go of her little sisters hand. "Just head on through that gate-"

"Don't leave."

Lex sighed and closed her eyes. "Hannah-"

"Don't leave."

She crouched down so that she was eye level with Hannah and attempted to smile, but she was afraid it came off as more passive aggressive. "You need to go to school, and so do I. So just head on through the gate, I'm sure your friends are waiting on the other side."

Hannah looked down.

"I'll be back later," Lex promised. "As soon as school has ended for you, I'll be standing right here to take you home, okay?"

Hannah kept her eyes fixed on the ground. "Right here?"

"Right here," Lex confirmed. "As soon as you leave the gate."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart."

Hannah's head tilted up, looking through the school gates. "What if it's bad?"

Lex shook her head. "It won't be bad. You'll have fun. You like school, remember?"

"I liked school," Hannah said.

"So what's different now?" Lex asked.

Hannah didn't respond.

"See? There's nothing to be afraid off." Lex rose back up, now looking down at Hannah who still wouldn't budge. "Hey, how about after school we go to the bakery? I'll get you one of those cakes that you love."

Hannah glanced up. "The yellow icing?"

Lex smiled. "The yellow icing. If you make it though the school day, I'll get you one. As a treat."

Hannah smiled back. "Okay."

"Then it's settled!" Lex stood back. "I'll see you after school, okay?"

"Right here?"

"Right here."

"Goodbye."

Hannah turned and walked through the gates, and Lex let out a sigh of relief. She stayed for a moment longer, watching Hannah until she entered the building, just to be sure that she got there alright. When Lex was certain that her sister was safe, she turned and continued on her journey to her own school, a couple streets over.

She silently cursed herself for promising to buy Hannah that cake, having no idea where she would get the money from. There wasn't really anyone at school who'd lend her a couple dollars, but theft wasn't really off the table...

Shut up, she told herself. Obviously theft is off the table. She couldn't get into too much trouble this year. Not after the trainwreck that last year was. She just needed to make her way through high school, secure a good enough job, and get out of this town.

She'd find the money somewhere. She must have had a few coins lying in the bottom of her backpack - she could check later at school. And if not, she could always cut back on lunch. She'd snatched a couple dollars off the table before she left the house, whilst her mom was still asleep, so that she'd have a little money to spend on lunch - she'd already used up the rest of their food for Hannah's lunch. It wasn't as if Lex needed to eat, though. She'd be fine.

But of course, if she was really desperate, maybe she'd be able to make the workers at the bakery pity her. She'd done that act a little more times than she probably should have, and it didn't always work but it wasn't as if she didn't have a shot. Maybe she'd get lucky and be served by an employee that didn't want to murder her.

Lex reached her own school far too soon for her liking. Part of her wanted to carry on walking around the back of the school for a cigarette before classes started, but she stopped herself, because this was the year that she'd be responsible. If not for her sake, then at least for Hannah's. Besides, she didn't have any on her - deliberately, as she'd known that it would be far too tempting if she did.

She walked through the gates and towards the building, eyes locked on the ground and hands in her pockets, trying her best not to draw any attention. People were probably wondering what she was doing back, what she was doing last year. Or maybe people had already forgotten about her, maybe nobody really cared about her presence at the school - that seemed to be the far more likely option, the more she thought about it.

Somebody shoved past her shoulders in the hallway, causing her to stumble to the side and almost fall over it. After regaining her balance, Lex glared at the culprit. "Hey, watch it, asshole!" she shouted.

The culprit turned around and looked at her, a mixture of concern, regret, and fear swirling in his eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"Fuck off!" Lex turned around and began walked in the opposite direction, not really caring about what the guy had to say for himself. She didn't want to start a fight, not yet. Not so early in the school year.

Just make it past today, she told herself, turning a corner to head round the long way to class.

When she reached her classroom, she continued with her eyes locked on the ground, and found a seat at the back window. Slumping down in her chair, she looked out across the field, realising that she didn't miss this at all.

It's just this year, she kept reminding herself. Then California.

Somebody sat down next to her and she groaned. "Do I know you?"

Placing his bag under the table, the guy replied, "We just met."

She turned her head towards him, confused before she realised who it was. "Oh, God. Seriously?" It was that guy, the one who had quite literally bumped into her.

"I just wanted to apologise," he said. "Really, I didn't mean to push you."

Lex rolled her eyes. "Sure you didn't."

"I'm telling the truth." He drummed his fingers on the table. "I'm really sorry."

"Well." She closed her eyes. "Now that you've apologised or whatever, you can go and sit with your friends and leave me the fuck alone."

He blinked. "I was actually-"

"Okay, class, settle down," the teacher said, walking into the classroom. He began to take the register and teach his lesson, so the guy didn't budge.

Lex supposed that meant she was stuck with him for the rest of the school year. Perfect. Just perfect.

She spent the first lesson not really paying attention and instead stealing glances at him every now and again. He had dark brown, curled hair, shaven a little at the back, and wore a worn-down black leather jacket. He seemed to be concentrating very hard on the lesson, although every now and then he'd glance at Lex and she would quickly look away.

When the lesson ended, Lex stood up and grabbed her bag, attempting to exit the classroom before he could talk to her again. She wasn't planning on making any new friends this year. She didn't have time for that, not between desperately trying to pass her classes and taking care of her sister. For now, she kept her head down and ignored anyone who tried to slide into her life.

She didn't meet that guy again until last period, in Mr Houston's class. He approached her again and spent the whole lesson by her side, with Lex silently planning the best way to murder him.

"Why are you talking to me?" she finally asked him, when Mr Houston set them off on a task.

He frowned. "Why wouldn't I talk to you?"

"I don't know you," she said. "We don't know each other."

"Oh. Well-" He reached out a hand. "I'm Ethan Green."

She rolled her eyes. "Knowing your name doesn't mean that I know you."

"How are you supposed to get to know me if we don't talk, then?"

Lex groaned. "Is it so hard to understand that I don't really want to talk to anybody?"

Ethan hummed. "You weren't here last year, were you?"

She shook her head. "Obviously not."

"Did you just transfer here?" Ethan asked.

"No." She sighed. "Well, not really. I didn't come in last year, but I was here the year before that."

"Why?"

"You ask a lot of questions that really aren't any of your business."

"I'm just curious," he defended. "You seem like a nice enough person."

Lex laughed.

"What's funny about that?"

She sighed. "I think literally everybody else in here would disagree with that."

The bell rang.

Lex smirked. "Well, I'd say it's been nice, but it really hasn't." She grabbed her bag again and began to walk out, but Ethan still ran to catch up with her.

"Do I get a name yet?"

"Nope," she said, popping the 'p' and turning the corner. Ethan seemed to stop following her after that, and she let out a sigh of relief.

One day of school done. One day closer to California.

thank you for reading! imma try to get the next chapter out soon (maybe at the weekend? idk.) if you want to be tagged when that happens, let me know :)

#tomorrow will come #black friday #black friday starkid #black friday spoilers #black friday fanfic #starkid fanfic #ethan/lex #ethan green #lex foster #hannah foster #my fanfic #my writing

60 notes · View notes

toedenandbackagain · 5 years

Text

Brokering A Good Deal

A Follow Up to ‘Duh’.

Read on Ao3

Warlock hates doing maths, and when he rules the world he’s going to make sure he never has to do it again. But because he doesn’t rule the world yet, Nanny says he needs to do it. Warlock dawdles. He swings his feet. He flicks at the edge of the neatly squared paper so it curls in on itself. He gnaws on the end of the lead pencil until Nanny’s quick fingers snatch it away and replace it with another, which tastes of something awful when he put it to his mouth.

Warlock changes tactics.

“Brother Francis said a swear yesterday.”

Nanny pauses.

“Did he now?”

That’s the voice Nanny uses when she’s pretending she isn’t interested. Warlock smiles and leans his elbows on the table (and promptly removes them when Nanny’s eyebrow shoots up on her forehead).

“Yep,” he says, popping the ‘p’ for effect,“A big swear. I could tell you what it was if you’d like Nanny. But I’m doing my maths.”

Nanny drums her long, dark nails on the table and smiles. “Well then, perhaps you can tell me after?’

Warlock scratches the pencil on the paper and sighs, doodling an answer in one of the blank squares, “I might forget by then,” he begins, “But if I didn’t have to do my maths, and I could go outside... and have a sweet. And have cake for dinner. And three stories tonight, not one. Maybe I’ll remember it.”

The noise Nanny makes is strange, like she’d tried to laugh but someone had shoved something down her throat instead. When her hands don’t dip down to the neat little pocket of her coat, Warlock knows he hasn’t done a good enough job of convincing.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t be working on mathematics today, dear,” she says, reaching out to gently pull the paper towards her, casting a quick glance at it. Warlock feels, for a little, that he has won and he grins. Nanny tuts and gives him a gentle poke to the forehead.

“Don’t get excited, we’re having a different lesson instead.”

“But Nannnnnyyyyy,” he whines, though he knows both of his parents hate when he does. Nanny doesn’t mind, not always. She says being annoying helps the great argument, some times.

“Don’t pout, dear. If you pick it up quickly, maybe there will be time for us to go for a turn in the garden before supper.”

Warlock quietly resolves to work as hard as he can at whatever it is Nanny teaches him. She’s much more fun than his tutors, who talk and talk and talk and don’t even notice when he stops listening because they don’t even care if he’s learning, not really. Nanny’s lessons are always fun. Nanny moves her chair closer to him and Warlock leans in.

“What you did just there, offering me something in exchange for something else. That was clever.”

“Thank you, Nanny,”

She smiles at the edges of her mouth, “But you didn’t do it very well. You asked too much for what you had, and you lost a good opportunity. But I’m willing to give you a second chance. It’s important to think about how much what you’re offering is worth, Warlock. How much does the person want it, and what do you think they would be willing to give you in exchange?”

Warlock doesn’t tell Nanny that he think she would want to know the swear an awful lot. He and Nanny haven’t talk about Brother Francis very much since that day in the kitchen, but he still sees all kinds of things. He saw Nanny bring Brother Francis a funny shaped glass full of juice in the garden last week, and a shiny red apple. They had laughed together, and when Nanny had been walking away, Brother Francis had smiled so bright Warlock was sure he got all fuzzy at the edges. But if he told Nanny about that, she might get upset and then he’d have to do his maths and he’d never get to go outside. So he thinks, screwing up his nose as he does.

“If I tell you what the swear was,” he starts, “I’d like cake for dinner. And three stories instead of one- but you don’t have to do the voices.”

He thinks that sounds okay. Nanny already said they could go into the garden, and the sheet of maths is already caught under her hand. And cake is better than a sweet, as long as it’s the strawberry kind with the cloudy cream.

“You can have cake with supper, and I’ll do two stories. But with the voices.” Nanny says back to him.

Warlock think about it. The stories are always better with voices, and he can smell dinner being made in the kitchens and it does smell good. He nods and makes a face, scrunching his forehead down and flattening his lips. He sticks out his hand.

“A pleasure doing business with you,” he says, just the way his dad does when he’s saying goodbye to his friends who come around, when they all sit on the patio and smoke fat little cigarettes and drink apple juice.

Nanny does laughs, this time. Her shoulders shake and she brings a hand up to cover her red painted mouth. Warlock likes making Nanny laugh, the only other person in the whole entire world who can do it is Brother Francis. She brings her hand down and closes it around his, giving it a gentle shake.

“No, my dear. It was a great pleasure doing business with you.”

She slides the sheet of maths away from them both and stands up, already reaching for her soft black hat and her parrot headed umbrella.

“I suppose there’s time for a turn about the garden,” she says, “Once you’ve fulfilled your end of our little bargain.”

She waits, and even behind her dark glasses, Warlock can tell she’s looking at him. He fidgets a little. he’s not supposed to repeat the swears he hears around the house, after the one time he asked at dinner what a ‘shit headed prick’ was because he’d heard his dad say it on the phone. But Nanny would never tell on him. And they had made a deal.

“He said... he said,” Warlock leans in and Nanny gets down to her knees on the rug so he can see her. Only Nanny and Brother Francis talk to him like this. It makes him feel special.

“He said damn these bloody petunias all the way to Hell. That’s three whole swears in one sentence, Nanny! He was quite mad.”

Nanny looks like she’s going to laugh again, and she does. She laughs so hard Warlock sees a tiny little tear slide out from under her glasses. She gets to her feet and brushes on her skirt before holding out her hand for him to take.

“Oh, my dear. Perhaps we go and ask him how he’s fairing with them today, hmm? Might take a miracle for him to get those things in order.”

Warlock feels like maybe he’s missing out on a joke, later, when he and Nanny are standing beside Brother Francis and she repeats the words. Brother Francis looks at her with sharp eyes, and then to Warlock, who smiles.

“My dear woman,” Brother Francis begins in his funny little accent, “These things are practically demonic,”

Warlock likes the way Nanny smiles when she’s around Brother Francis. He sees all her teeth and the little crinkles at her eyes, behind her glasses. Nanny says they need to let Brother Francis get back to his work, so he says goodbye and says he will be back tomorrow. He and Nanny walk around the garden three more times before dinner. Warlock points out every animal he can see, tells Nanny it was Brother Francis who taught him all the names. Madeline runs over to them and pushes her head against Warlock’s hand until he scratches her behind the ears and he tells Nanny that Brother Francis once threw Madeline’s ball so far it was like magic.

Nanny smiles.

Warlock has cake with his dinner. He hadn’t thought they had any of the strawberry cake with the cloudy cream, there hadn’t been any this morning and the baker didn’t come on Fridays. But when he walks into the dining room there’s a slice as big as his head set out on a plate. His mother doesn’t ask about it, and he wouldn’t tell her anyway.

Nanny always comes to his room for bedtime. She will read him his stories and sing him a lullaby, turn on his night lamp and tuck the covers around him the way he likes. He’s at his bookshelf, searching for the best two stories he can find, when he hears Nanny laughing. It’s her special laugh. The one that Warlock only hears sometimes. He tiptoes to the open window (Nanny says sneaking is an important skill), and looks outside, down into the grounds where two people are standing beside a bed of flowers. He doesn’t need the moonlight to know it’s Nanny and Brother Francis. He wonders what they’re talking about. Nanny laughs again.

Warlock smiles.

He’ll remind Nanny about the stories tomorrow.

This is better.

#good omens #good omens fic #warlock dowling #nanny ashtoreth #brother francis

596 notes · View notes

tarteausuga · 4 years

Text

killing boys

Jaehyun (NCT) x Reader [x Chaeyoung (Twice)] angst, implied wlw cw: cheating, strong language, sexual content word count: 2.1k Inspired by killing boys by Halsey

"You're killing people." “No, I'm killing boys. Boys are just placeholders, they come and they go." "You're my best friend, and I wanna help you. But I won't let you kill again, that's a lose-lose."

You could only describe it as the worst pain you've ever felt in your life. Even worse than that time your older brother body slammed you while you were "playing WWE" with him and you ended up breaking your arm in 2 spots and a broken collar bone. It was even worse than the period pains that felt like someone was jamming a blunt knife into your abdomen. The only thing was that it wasn't a physical pain or something your body was actually experiencing physiologically. It was the strongest emotional pain ever and it threw your life for a loop.

Eating was the last thing you wanted to do and you had run out of people to vent to about the current worst thing that's ever happened to you. But your childhood best friend always had a way of making her way into your life at the best/worst times.

Chaeyoung was always a free spirit compared to your more grounded personality. She was usually always out doing something while you were at home watching Netflix. She would occasionally show up at random times, knocking on your window when she needed a place to sleep for the night. But she always had a keen sense of how you were feeling because her visits, despite his chaotic she was at times, calmed you from whatever was going on in your life.

"Hey Charlie Brown, what's up?" She says the moment you open the front door of your house. She had arrived with two bags full of convenience store food: three of each of your favourite chocolates, drinks, chips and anything else you could want in the moment.

"When are you going to stop calling me that?" You form a weak smile as she drops the bags onto the floor before pulling you into one of her signature chokeholds that are her version of hugs.

"Never. You're my lovable loser. Bedroom, I brought your favourite foods and your favourite movies." She doesn't even wait for you to say yes. You quickly rustle up the bags before peddling up after her.

She's greeted by the mess that was your room. Normally fairly neat and tidy, it looked like a hurricane had ripped through as you attempted to erase any memory or any chance of an object conjuring up an unwanted memory that would cause you that unbearable pain again. Chaeyoung glanced at you empathetically as she waded through the waste and jumped onto your bed. She pulled the laptop out from the bag and turned it on before patting the space next to her for you to join her.

The two of you watched the movie without speaking much to each other. The only noises were from the movie and the crinkling of wrappers as you satiated your hunger with the junk food - exactly what you needed.

"So what did the jerk do?" Chaeyoung finally said when she felt that you had a full enough belly to not collapse into a ball of misery and self-pity.

"He was caught with another girl. My friends saw him around town with a girl on his arm. He tried to play it off like she was his cousin but you don't kiss your cousins." You say glumly. You had told this story to so many people that it didn't even hurt anymore.

"What an idiot. Haven't I told you? Jung Jaehyun was and always will be an ass hat." She chuckles as she leans back on her hands.

"I guess but I've had a crush on him for so long..." You say while playing with the candy wrapper in your hands.

"Right when he completely ignored you in high school and let those dumbass basketball guys make fun of you. Ass hat." She chuckled but this time, out of spite. Chaeyoung was quite known around your old high school of being the tough girl despite her small size. She called out anyone and everyone when they needed to be put in line and every guy was terrified of her as she was known to air out their dirty laundry if they humiliated a girl they dated. She's stood up for you on countless occasions but when you drifted apart in high school, you fell out of her protection as your new friends were unsavoury people to Chaeyoung. "He only started dating you when you became hot."

"Shut up." You threw the wrapper at her but she was right.

You had graduated a little over 2 years ago and that's when you started becoming more confident in yourself. You carried yourself better and that's when he started to take notice of you. He had made up this elaborate story that he had liked you since high school but deep inside, you knew that wasn't true. You just lied to yourself because you were finally getting the boy of your dreams.

He was just that. He was everything you wanted until he wasn't. You were convinced that he was the love of your life until he wasn't. Everything was an illusion because apparently, this was not the first time he has cheated on you or any other girl. Despite the warnings, you wanted to believe that he wouldn't hurt you… Until he did.

"I thought he was the one, Chae." You say glumly again.

"It can feel like that but I don't believe in it. There are plenty of people out there who would treat you like the peach that you are. Cheer up, Charlie Brown." She nudged you with her elbow with a wink.

She started calling you Charlie Brown when you two became obsessed with the Peanuts comics in middle school. Chaeyoung loved that he was a lovable loser and said that he reminded her of you. She proclaimed that she was Peppermint Patty and you agreed because Chaeyoung was always out there with the most absurd thoughts and ideas.

You had moved on to the second movie and you were now cuddled up with your best friend on your bed. You were about to fall asleep when she suddenly sat up, shocking you out of the sleepy state and said, "let's ruin Jung Jaehyun," with a smile.

"What?" You rub your eyes, "Chaeyoung, no. It's not that big of a deal. I'll get over it."

"Not a big deal my ass. C'mon, ___, we need to teach him a lesson. Show him that he can't just go around sticking his dick in random places without consequences. It's our duty to any future woman that he might hurt." Chaeyoung says passionately.

You sigh and think about it before admitting defeat. "What are you planning?" You rub the bridge of your nose knowing she has already come up with an elaborate plan of some sort.

---

You park your car a block away from Jaehyun's house as instructed by Chaeyoung but you start having second thoughts. "This is a bad idea, Chae. Let's just go back to my place and finish that movie."

"Don't back out on me now! We're here, let's get it done." She almost hisses at you and you start wondering why she holds so much hate for Jaehyun all of a sudden.

Chaeyoung had always been protective of you from the day you two met in kindergarten. A bully had tried to take the chocolate chip cookie your mom had packed for you to help ease your nerves from your first day at school. You just sat there and cried when Chaeyoung came out of nowhere and snatched the cookie back, said some choice words and gave it to you. Though you had drifted away when high school started, you made new friends in high school from your club activities and Chaeyoung joined cheerleading, she always kept an eye on you. But she's never gone to this extreme.

"We've done some crazy things in the past, Chae, but this is literally illegal. We could go to jail for this!" You grab her wrist.

"Only if we get caught!" She yells in a hushed tone. Her eyes had changed into something more menacing than before.

"Why are you doing this?" You hiss back.

"I can't just standby and let that asshole get away with hurting someone I love." She shakes her hand free and gets out of the car before you can stop her.

In the time it took you to unbuckle your seatbelt and get out of the car, she was already at Jaehyun's house. You told her everything. The spare key was under the third flower pot on the right. He was usually at basketball practice at this time, then he would go hang out with the boys. It was Friday night so his parents were out for their weekly date night. This used to be the time where you and Jaehyun would have sex as you had the house to yourselves…

Chaeyoung's plan was simple: key his car. Sneak into his room and spray paint something (she didn't tell you what), sneak out and go home.

It was too late to stop her since you weren't a fast runner and you knew perfectly well that it was impossible to stop your best friend from doing anything once her mind was set. All you could do was wait.

You tapped your foot impatiently, trying to make the time go by faster to no avail when suddenly, you heard yelling from down the block. The next thing you knew, Chaeyoung was sprinting down the road yelling at you to start the car. You fumbled with your keys as you tried to do as she said and finally got the engine to start when she hopped into the passenger seat.

"JUST DRIVE" She yelled breathlessly.

You instantly stepped on the gas and look in the rearview mirror to see Jaehyun standing there, furious.

"What the hell happened?" You demand from Chaeyoung.

"That fucker." She laughed as she sunk into the leather of the car seat.

"Chaeyoung!" You glare at her, your knuckles going white from gripping the steering wheel so tight.

"So I keyed that ridiculous car of his and went into the house, no problem right? I mean I took a little longer on the car than I wanted but that was great penmanship considering I was using a damn key but anyway!" She continues, "fuck man, I go in and I just hear shit. It kind of freaked me out because you said the house would be empty right? But I'm like okay whatever, I go to his room and there he was balls deep in some girl." She can't help but laugh and even though you want to cry, you join her. "I'm so sorry Charlie Brown but you deserve so much better."

"Yeah, I know." You stop the car at a red light. You take her hand in yours and kiss it, "Thanks for that, Chae. I needed it."

"Anything for you." She smiles and pulls you in for a kiss.

You pull away with a gasp and look at her with wide eyes before diverting your attention to the road and continuing driving in silence. Your focus was solely on the road as you attempted to try and avoid the feelings you could possibly be feeling. While you were doing this, you failed to notice that Chaeyoung’s energy was dwindling, something she rarely lets other people see. All you could do was drive.

The car pulled up to the curb of Chaeyoung’s house and you put it into park. You finally turned to your best friend and saw how small she truly was for the first time in your life. You easily had a head of height on her but her energy was always so strong and exuberant that her physical size wasn’t even on your mind. But in that moment, she looked so small and vulnerable. The one who was always standing up for you and protecting you has a weakness: you.

“Chaeyoung…” You say quietly but she cuts you off.

“It’s okay, Charlie Brown. It was the heat of a moment thing. Something Bonnie and Clyde would do, you know?” she pasted a smile on but you could’ve sworn you saw her wipe a tear from her eye.

“You’re my best friend, Chaeyoung. We shouldn’t complicate that.”

“You’re right, we shouldn’t do anything. Really, ___. It’s fine. I’ll be fine. Like always.” She patted your hand that was gripping the gear shift with white knuckles. “Until next time.” Once again, she slipped out of the car before you could react and disappeared into the house by the time you got out to try and talk to her.

#nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct blurbs #twice scenarios #twice imagines #twice blurbs #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop blurbs #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun blurbs #jaehyun imagines #chaeyoung blurbs #chaeyoung imagines #chaeyoung scenarios #jaehyun angst #chaeyoung angst

6 notes · View notes

darkblueboxs · 4 years

Note

howdy i love your aftg writing!! here’s a concept: i feel like once neil’s past is out, he has no reason to hesitate absolutely sucker punching someone. like we know he made neil a pushover because it raises less questions, but now that everyone knows who he is im SURE he’s just bitch slapped someone mid-game. no holding back, like if u say something fucked up he’s just gonna try to kill you!! do you know who this man is?? there’s no doubt in my mind that he knows some quick and lethal punches!

Oh yes, anon. Bruiser!Neil I can DEFO get behind.

Here’s 3k of Neil punching stuff, and Andrew being wildly turned on by it. Read here or on AO3 (Check AO3 notes for content warnings, etc.)

*Edit* : In the original version of this fic, Nicky faces racist abuse in addition to homophobic abuse, and quotes the offensive language and slurs used against him. After concerns were raised regarding how I handled this abuse (specifically, the language used, the context in which the abuse takes place, and my position as a non-latine) I censored and subsequently removed the relevant dialogue. I sincerely apologise and promise to do better in the future. Please don't hesitate to contact me with any questions and concerns regarding this subject.

[01/06/2020]

All the Guys Love a Bruiser

Neil’s mother taught him how to throw a punch, of course she did. Their lessons took place anywhere spacious enough to swing a fist, in empty parking lots behind greasy gas stations or in dingy motel rooms if she thought the walls were thick enough to cover up the noises they made.

Mary had always been more flight than fight, an instinct she had forced into Neil over years of running. Even she had to admit, however, that sooner or later they would hit a dead end, and while that would spell certain death for both of them, it would be better to go down fighting than it would on their knees.

If their lessons ended with Neil aching black and blue, it was his own fault. He needed to be quicker, smarter, crueller. More like his mother.

Matt’s teaching style is different from Mary’s, as is his fighting style. It bears the hallmarks of professional athleticism, all stances and positioning and strategy. While his mother’s idea of a lesson in self-defence was to hit Neil until he figured out how to dodge her blows or hit back, Matt talks him through how to angle his body, how to make a fist in a way that won’t break his fingers. At the end of their first boxing lesson, the only bruises on Neil’s body are the light purple spreading across his knuckles.

That evening, he and Andrew take over the beanbags, TV muted in the background while they dig into ice-cream. The tub is pleasantly cool in Neil’s hands, and he rubs his knuckles against the sides like an improvised icepack. When the residual cold has melted away, Neil flexes his fingers, enjoying the faint tingle dancing across them. These marks are different from those his mother gave him; they weren’t inflicted on him unwillingly but earned with sweat and exertion. When Matt had let go of the punching bag and told him they were done for the day, Neil had been surprised by his own disappointment. He had never been sorry see the end of his mother’s lessons.

Andrew takes his hand suddenly, startling Neil from his thoughts. It’s a purely analytical touch; he turns Neil’s hand over and runs a finger across the blossoming bruises of his knuckles.

Neil bites back the I’m fine, knowing the look it would earn him. Instead he says, “I had fun. We’re meeting again next week.”

Andrew nods. It’s a few moments more before he relinquishes Neil’s hand, however. The heat of Andrew’s skin mingles with the singing twinge of Neil’s bruises like an after-print.

Next week, Andrew slouches into the gym after Neil. He ignores Matt’s invitation to join them, flopping onto a rowing machine and leaning back against the machinery so he can kick his feet up on the seat rail. They’re lucky that they chose unsociable hours for their workout, or a line of athletes would be forming to glare at him.

Andrew watches them train from across the room with apparent disinterest. He can feign boredom all he likes; Neil knows he wouldn’t have bothered following him to the gym without reason.

Matt, if anything, seems amused by Andrew’s presence. “Dan comes to watch me practice sometimes, too.” He pauses to correct the angles of Neil’s feet before nudging his arms into blocking positions. “She did it even before we started dating. She used to sit on an exercise bike and pretend she was cycling so I wouldn’t know she was there to watch me. It was never very convincing.”

“Why did she want to watch you?” Neil shifts his weight, trying to copy Matt’s position.

Matt’s face crinkles up with laughter. “That’s the most Neil thing you’ve ever said.”

“Everything I say is a Neil thing.”

“She liked it when I took my shirt off. C’mon, man, join the dots.”

“You don’t take your shirt off to box.”

“Yeah,” says Matt. “Don’t tell her that.”

Neil rolls his eyes. “Can I hit you now?”

Matt barks out a laugh, and training resumes.

“Enjoying the show?” Neil asks Andrew an hour later, dropping down on the gym mat next to him. Andrew hands Neil his water bottle with an unimpressed look.

“You’re awful.” Andrew flicks a look over to Matt, who is using their break to chat with the only other gym regular insane enough to be working out at the crack of dawn on a Sunday. “He could knock you on your ass with one right hook.”

“I know I’m awful. That’s what training is for.” Neil pauses to gulp down most of the bottle. A droplet escapes his lips and tracks down his jugular before falling into the dip of his clavicle. Andrew’s eyes track its path. “Matt isn’t going to hurt me. Is that what you’re worried about?”

“I’m not here to babysit you.”

“Huh.” Neil drains the last of the water before shaking the residual droplets over his head. The beads glint in the corners of his vision as they catch in his bangs and fleck his cheeks, mercifully cooling against his skin. Andrew is still watching him intently. His eyes flick to Matt once more, checking that he is still absorbed in his conversation.

“Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Neil replies, and he watches as Andrew takes Neil’s hand in his. The skin is flushed from strike after strike, not yet coloured in bruising patches but soon to be. Neil’s hands feel softer for it, sensitive to Andrew’s touch.

“I know my limits.” Neil isn’t sure why the gym suddenly feels three degrees warmer. “Really, it doesn’t hurt.”

“I know. I trust you.” Andrew sends one more look over Neil’s shoulder like he’s checking the coast is clear before pressing Neil’s knuckles to his lips.

The breath Neil was in the process of catching slips from his grasp entirely. “Oh.”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“You like watching me fight.”

“It’s more interesting than watching you run.”

Neil leans in until he can see each individual freckle on Andrew’s cheeks. “Interesting?”

Andrew’s cool look is betrayed by the twitch of his jaw. “Something like that.”

If Matt notices Neil’s new vigour when they return to practice, he doesn’t comment on it. When he catches Neil’s eye, however, he grins knowingly. Perhaps Matt’s conversation had not been as absorbing as he made it out to be. Soon, however, the rhythm of the exercise draws Neil’s attention back to the task at hand.

Neil first learned to throw a punch because his mother believed that one day his life could depend on it. That isn’t the reason that he has resumed his training with Matt; it turns out that a good instructor and fewer death threats make the activity far more pleasant than Neil remembers. It may be a useful skill, but he values the challenge more than he does the practicality. The physicality, too – in fact, he likes boxing for the same reasons that he loves Exy. Quick, brutal, thrilling. He finally understands, too, why Andrew likes to spar with Renee whenever his emotions get on top of him. There’s a certain a sense of control that comes from putting his fist through a break-board. Not that he needs the empowerment as much as he once might have – most of Neil’s tormentors were killed long ago, his fears with them. Given his new life of safety and security, it’s likely that he’ll never really need to know how to throw a good punch.

It takes all of one week for Neil to be proven wildly, wildly wrong.

Opposition strikers – with one glaring, now very dead exception – are not typically Neil’s problem. Generally, if they end up playing on the same side of the court as him, something has gone wrong in the team’s strategies.

He can tell even from a distance, however, that one of the Terrapin strikers is causing difficulties. Not in terms of ability – of which Terrapin’s #13 has little – but in attitude. Thirteen is a vocal player, and Neil can hear snatches of his voice echoing across the court. No fists have been swung, which is an impressive feat for the Fox defenders, but perhaps only because the luck of substitutions has put Thirteen against Nicky more than anyone else, and Nicky is more likely to react to insults with mirth than anger.

Shortly before the end of the first half, Nicky is subbed off at the same time as Thirteen. Nicky passes Neil on the way to the court doors, clacking their racquets together with half a smile. “Give them hell, Neil.”

Thirteen passes them at the same moment, slamming Nicky’s shoulder as he passes. Nicky mutters a word under his breath that would have earned him a month of washing-up duty at Abby’s house before heading for the Foxes’ bench. Neil watches him go, eyebrows creasing together. Nicky isn’t easily upset by the cruelty of strangers; it’s the cruelty that comes from within his own family that is most likely to shake him from his good humour. The barbed insults of nameless players on the court, on the other hand, are usually brushed off with a rude gesture and no more.

Swept up in the rush of the match, Neil forgets about Nicky’s discomfort until half-time. The team pours from the court in high spirits; they have a decent lead over the Terrapins which should carry them through the second half when exhaustion starts to kick in. Nicky, despite having blocked more shots on goal than anyone, reacts to the arrival of the rest of the team with only a pallid grin. His grip on his water bottle is tight, and the cheap plastic crackles and caves in his hands.

Nicky is an easy read, and it doesn’t take long for the other Foxes to notice. After he brushes Renee’s concerned enquiry off, however, the team leaves him be.

When Neil returns to the court for the start of the third quarter, he breathes a sigh of relief to see that Thirteen is nowhere near Nicky. He’s standing closer to goal than Neil is happy with, but Andrew is more or less impervious to verbal abuse and Thirteen has yet to show signs of physical violence. As much as he wants to keep a closer eye on the situation, Kevin’s barked commands draw his attention to the match at hand. The best thing Neil can do for the Foxes’ defence is to spend as much time lobbing the ball at the Terrapin’s goal as possible.

Neil and Nicky are substituted at the same time; they collapse onto the bench and drown their exhaustion in Gatorade. Thirteen crushed Nicky against the wall moments before the substitution, and Nicky is uncharacteristically quiet as Abby examines the cut over his eye.

“You’re not whining about cramping your style,” she says as she presses a plaster in place. “Should I be worried?”

“Nah, this is great for my style. All the guys love a bruiser.” Nicky winks despite the blood crusting in his eyelashes. “Neil knows what I’m talking about, don’tcha, Neil?”

Abby makes a noise that isn’t convinced, but doesn’t press the issue. Neil waits until she’s out of earshot before saying casually, “I still have a few contacts in the mafia.”

“Your sense of humour is dire,” says Nicky, but he’s grinning, so Neil counts it as a win. “Don’t worry about it. I think Andrew’s drawing his fire now. Andrew handles that kind of thing a lot better than me.”

“What kind of thing?”

Nicky winced. “Don’t ask.”

“Tell me.”

“Let's just say he isn't exactly lining up to lead a Pride march.” Nicky snorts humorlessly.

The joke doesn’t land, and not because of Neil’s non-existent sense of humour. He may not be as obvious as Nicky in his preferences nor as dark-skinned, but he has still been on the receiving end of enough of that brand of bullshit to know how it scratches at one’s insides.

“I wasn’t joking about those contacts.”

Nicky sighs. “I was worried you would say that.”

Neil’s attention keeps slipping from the game and over to Andrew, who is standing in goal and ignoring the tirade of insults being thrown his way like a statue facing down a breeze. His non-reaction only seems to stoke Thirteen’s fury, spittle catching in the mesh of his helmet as he watches Andrew knock yet another attempt away from the Foxes’ end.

Andrew spares Thirteen no more than a second of blank indifference in the face of his tirade. Then he drops his stance, shoulders setting into a silent challenge that sends a hot bolt of excitement straight Neil’s to gut. Andrew is locking down the goal.

The Terrapins don’t score again for the rest of the match.

Neil is through the doors before the final buzzer has died, charging into the crush of Foxes at centre-court to join in their celebrations. Andrew, as usual, hovers at the edge of the throng, but he accepts the clack of Neil’s racquet against his. A light sheen of sweat dances across Andrew’s forehead and his lips are parted as he regains his breath after the exertion of locking the Terrapins out.

“Did Thirteen give you trouble?”

Andrew snorts derisively despite his breathlessness. “He tried.”

Neil gets to see Thirteen up close during the handshakes. He barely grazes the tips of each Foxes’ fingers as he passes one by one, but he stops when he gets to Neil. “I remember you. You were all over the news, weren’t you? The runaway Wesninski.” His expression speaks to his delight at the revelation. To no-one’s surprise, Thirteen is a sore loser.

Andrew barely moves, just a slight adjustment to his footing so that he presses a little closer into Neil’s shoulder.

Neil smiles. It is the kind of smile he has not had use for in some time. “Looking for an autograph?”

Thirteen snorts. “Bet you think you’re real bad. Bet you think those scars make you look tough. Too bad you’re still a puny little bitch.”

Neil flexes his hand before clenching it into a fist. “I do think I’m real bad, actually. Want to find out why?”

The striker waits for the hit to come. Neil doesn’t give him the satisfaction; the guy is a piece of shit, but he isn’t worth the trouble he’s clearly looking for. Neil drops his hands, meets his gaze, and waits for him to give up on getting his reaction and leave.

Most of the other players are moving off to their own respective sides, and their stand-off is beginning to attract attention. Kevin squints over at them, and at his side, Aaron pulls off his helmet.

“Oh shit. Twins.” Thirteen’s gaze swings from Aaron to Andrew, flashing with sudden recognition. “I remember you too.” His expression turns sharkish. “Now that was a story. So, which one is the murderer, and which is the brother-fucker?”

Andrew barely twitches. Neil’s reaction is less restrained.

It’s almost a play-by-play of decking Riko at the Winter Banquet. The key difference between that punch and this one is hours of training with a borderline-professional boxer.

Neil squares his stance, draws back his fist, and puts his whole body behind the punch. He’s rewarded with the sickening crack of a nose breaking and a hot spurt of blood splattering his knuckles.

Thirteen staggers back, shock registering for a second before he spits blood at the floor. He’s swaying on his feet, but there’s still fight in his eyes.

Andrew’s hands go to his sheaths, but Neil waves him back. He wipes the hand bloodied by Thirteen’s face across his jaw unthinkingly, feels the wet, red heat clinging to his skin. “Hey. This one’s mine.” The smile he tacks onto the words is toothier than he means it to be. With blood still smeared across his chin, he can only imagine how he looks.

Andrew’s hand judders to a halt at the hems of his armbands. His jaw is clenched tight but roaring over the current of concern is something far darker. It creeps into his eyes, a weight to his gaze normally only visible in the privacy of their bedroom. Andrew’s gaze runs the length of Neil’s body before coming to rest on Neil’s mouth. His bottom lip catches momentarily in his teeth as he nods.

Thirteen’s first swing hits, and a burst of blood dances across Neil’s tongue as his lip is split open. Thirteen’s luck ends there; Neil blocks his second punch with a move Matt taught him the day before. He drives his free hand into Thirteen’s solar plexus, knocking the air from him.

Neil doesn’t get much time to appreciate how the striker falls on his ass as they’re rushed by teammates and officials who break them apart.

Neil stands placidly before Wymack and bears his row with the bare minimum of decorum. The lecture is undercut by Nicky, who’s expression alternates between elation, amusement and mock disapproval from moment to moment. Matt, at least, waits until Wymack is finished before applauding.

“I’ll give you some notes later, but all things considered it was a solid right hook.”

Neil brushes the team’s reactions off as best he can; he certainly didn’t do it for their recognition.

He takes his time showering, watching with a strange, sick pleasure as he rinses the striker’s blood away. It turns pink in the shower basin before swirling at last down the drain. Beneath the blood, Neil’s knuckles have begun to bruise, satisfaction burning them blue.

It’s at these times that Neil worries that he may have inherited too much from his father; the temper, the violence, the bloodlust. Then again, they all served as tools to his survival at one point or another. The key difference between Neil and his father is who they choose to turn their anger on. Neil’s father always set his sights on the underdog. Neil prefers to punch up.

No; if there’s one thing Nathan gave him, it was a distaste for bullies.

There’s a familiar tap at the door to Neil’s stall. The rest of the Foxes cleared out some time ago, still rowdy from the post-match high. Tonight was a home game; most of the team will be halfway back to Fox tower already, thinking only of booze and the weekend stretching ahead of them. There’s only one player who would have any reason to linger.

Andrew steps under the spray, his hair is plastered to his head by the steamy drizzle. He holds his hand out, and Neil offers his without question for Andrew’s inspection.

Andrew’s voice is dispassionate as he inspects the damage. “I don’t need a knight in shining armour. Nor for you to fight my battles for me.”

“The fight was for my own satisfaction. But I’ll stop if you want me to.”

Once again, Andrew presses his lips to Neil’s raw knuckles. The contact stings, sweet and savoury, pleasure and pain. “Would it kill you to make life easy for once?” The words tingle against the tender skin.

“I thought you liked to watch me fight.”

“Just because I find your stupidity entertaining doesn’t mean I encourage it.”

“It’s my stupidity you like, is it?”

“What else do you have?” Andrew’s eyes track the rivulets of water snaking down Neil’s neck.

“I’m sure I can think of a few things.” Neil says. Then, for clarity, “Yes or no?”

“Yes.” Andrew doesn’t let go of Neil’s hand, thumb running across the reddening knuckles once more before leading it to his chest. Neil leaves it resting there, marvelling at the colours bleeding between them under the shower’s onslaught, pink and brown and red and blue. Andrew soon tires of Neil’s staring, and is the first to bridge the gap between them.

Neil once compared Andrew’s kisses to a fight with their lives on the line. Countless kisses later, this fact has not changed in the slightest. Andrew leaves a bruising trail of kisses across Neil’s neck until he can’t remember which marks are from Exy and which are from Andrew. They all sting the same, sweet way.

Each kiss pressed to his mouth carries a metallic tang from Neil’s burst lip. He can tell from the fierce pressure of Andrew’s mouth against his that Andrew can taste it too, is feeding off the adrenaline rush just as Neil is. He catches Neil’s bottom lip between his teeth and with it sucks a groan from deep in Neil’s chest.

Andrew draws back to level him with an unimpressed look. “You’re far too into this.”

“You’re one to talk.” Neil raises his hand to Andrew’s eyeline, wiggling his fingers. Andrew’s eyes catch on the blooming violet patches. “You like this. Admit it.”

Andrew steps forward until his cheek brushes Neil’s fingers. Neil turns his hand automatically, cupping Andrew’s face.

“Yes,” says Andrew. His eyes stay on Neil’s, even as Neil’s hand drops lower.

It’s a small miracle, Neil thinks, that Andrew can trust Neil’s hands on him, after all he knows they are capable of. Maybe that’s part of the appeal, the evidence painted into Neil’s knuckles that Neil’s gentler touches are reserved for Andrew and Andrew alone. It’s strange that Andrew should love Neil’s fighting spirit as much as he does. After all, it was Andrew who taught Neil how to stand and fight in the first place.

It’s a fact that neither will ever let the other forget.

Neil leaves the shower sporting several more bruises than he entered with. Some are from Exy, some are from fighting, and some are from Andrew’s mouth.

He loves them all just the same.

* Thanks for reading, let me know what you think! Still open to prompts etc.

#tfc #aftg #andreil #the foxhole court #all for the game #my fic #asks #anon #WHY IS TUMBLR FUCKING WITH THE POST FORMAT ASKDHSKDFGGGG

16 notes · View notes

tcmmysheiby · 5 years

Text

don’t touch her: tommy shelby. [smut]

authors note: reupload of a smut i wrote ages ago. very long at 5000+ but one of my favourite pieces so enjoy. let me know what you think as well.

Anxiously tapping the top of your fingers along the wooden table in the kitchen, you waited uncomplainingly for Tommy to come back home. They usually let everyone out of the prison cells - the ones who had been thrown in overnight to help them calm down - at midday but it was gone seven o'clock and you feared that something had occurred. Your husband was someone who could guard himself, but it didn't stop you worrying. Tommy was doing it on purpose, he wanted to know what you were suffering after the trouble that you had caused the previous night. However, it wouldn't be long before he was back home. Tommy had plans for the night.

You cursed yourself as you thought about the night before. It had started out as a pathetic game that you had developed in your head once you had stepped inside of one of the local pubs in Birmingham. Tommy had been a nuisance all day; regularly snubbing you, dismissing your business ideas and not even bothering to eat the dinner that you had made for him. Business was taking its toll, but it was no excuse to you and you wanted to teach Tommy a lesson, show him that you required his attention at least some of the time but you hadn't expected it to get so out of hand.

"Well, if it isn't Luke Howard. How are you?"

Tommy was sat at the other end of the room, his eyes occasionally turning to look at you and one of Tommy's old business friends from a long time ago and he could feel the temper building up already. Luke was nothing more than somebody that you used to know, an old acquaintance that you had not seen in a while, but you used his invitation to the pub as an excuse to get under Tommy's nails and show him that you meant business. If anything was to kick off - big or small - you would not care for Luke being hurt and that was the truth.

"Mrs. Shelby." Luke extended his arm and you charmingly shook his hand, sneakily looking over his shoulder to look at Tommy who was finding it hard to concentrate on the contract in front of him. He had already made his way through two glasses of whiskey. "I am doing very well, thank you. How are you?"

Melodramatically, you faked a lengthy sigh and flopped your head against the bar surface. This way, you could easily see Tommy, but Luke was also in your view. "I'm doing alright, I suppose."

Luke smiled compassionately before looking back at Tommy. It was risky for him to be talking to you, especially as he was an old business worker of Tommy's, but Luke was also a nice man to a certain extent, despite his malicious ways - Tommy was somewhat a saint compared to Luke. However, Luke had always had a soft spot for you and could not bear to see you upset. Despite his detestation for Tommy after the catastrophic breakdown of a business meeting which ended in Luke losing out on a lot of money, Luke didn't not want to see you troubled and he also saw it as a chance to get one over of Tommy. Fortunately, you were enthusiastic to play along.

"Is the marriage failing?" Luke awkwardly nodded back at Tommy before raising both eyebrows. "Because I know for a fact that if I was married to you, I would not be sat in the corner of this place with a bunch of men deliberating business that could easily be done another time."

With a blush, you responded to Luke's statement. "That is very kind of you."

"It's the truth, love. Tommy Shelby is a foolish man for letting you sit alone," Luke replied. "You never answered my question."

"What question?"

"Is your marriage with Tommy failing?"

"I wouldn't say failing. We just don't have a lot of time to spend together and when we are together, well, we might as well not be. The business comes before me, always has done and always will," you answered.

"I don't think that's true - "

"Oh, it is," you interrupted before leaning back up properly. You grabbed the drink that Tommy had ordered you before he had gone to ignore you for the rest of the evening. "I guess I've gotten used to it though. Tommy does what he does because he wants to deliver a good life for me and I respect that."

"But?"

"I just want some attention every now and again. I love him greatly, there is no denying that and I know that he would do everything in his power to keep me safe and look after me. We purchased a big home but what for? It feels so isolated a lot of the time and I hate it very much. We didn't have much money before the business grew but we were content, and I think that's what's most important."

Luke smirked before looking down at the bar table. His hand started to trail across the wet and sticky bar until it touched your own hand. It was completely wrong, but you didn't bother to pull away and instead, allowed him to rub the top of your hand with his fingertip.

"Tommy Shelby needs to get his priorities right."

An obnoxious cough came from behind Luke and you slowly closed your eyes, not daring to make eye contact with Tommy. Luke didn't have the nerve to turn around and face Tommy, didn't even have the bottle to make response to Tommy's understandable aggravation. Silence surrounded the three of you as you finally looked at Tommy with pleading eyes, wordlessly begging him to not kick up the fuss. With one eyebrow raised, Tommy nodded towards Luke's hand that was still placed on top of yours and you quickly ripped your touch away from Luke's.

"Do I really need to get my priorities right, love?" Tommy asked you. His tone was filled with jealously as he waited for you response, staring deeply at you.

For some odd reason, a burst of self-confidence hit Luke straight in the face as he stood up and turned to look at Tommy. "Yes, you do."

Tommy tilted his head to the side before laughing. "I wasn't talking to you so how about you fuck off? This is between me and [y/n], not you and me."

It would have been sensible for Luke to have done a runner there and then, protect his face and keep his eye sight in tact but he didn't move. Standing up straighter, Luke looked at Tommy in the eyes before chuckling.

"Treat her with a bit more respect mate or someone else will snatch her from your hands. Got a gorgeous lady there and you are letting her slip away."

"That's not tru - " you tried to say, only to be interrupted by Tommy.

"You really need to shut your mouth," Tommy spat, digging his digit into Luke's chest. Even though Luke was more malicious than Tommy - he didn't have a leg to stand on. His killing days were long gone after the collapse of his business and was simply a man who made an appearance sometimes; an okay fella but not much to him. "Let's go home, [y/n]."

"She's staying here with me," Luke announced, adding fuel to the already growing rage. Tommy had to cut the meeting short because he was finding it impossible to concentrate and Luke was getting on his last nerve. It would not be long before Tommy shattered and did something that he regretted. "Never know, I might even take her home with me."

"The only man that [y/n] will be going home with is me."

"I can change that, Mr. Shelby." Luke leaned forward until his mouth was next to Tommy's ear. "One ride on my cock and your wife will be mine."

Tommy chuckled as he looked down at the ground and before you could process what was happening, Tommy's fist was smashing against Luke's cocky expression, sending the man flying backwards into the bar. You stood up and gasped, too shocked to stop your husband from committing a violent act in such a public place.

Watching as Tommy dragged Luke out of the pub naturally, you yelled his name and attempted to chase after him but was stopped by a random stranger who immediately brought you back into the pub to stop you from viewing such violence and misery.

You could picture it in your head; Luke cowering against the wall as Tommy ruthlessly kicked him, Tommy leaning for his hat and Luke losing his eye sight. Jealously was something that never usually effected Tommy, he loved and trusted you enough to know that you would never go against him or be with another man so to see such possessiveness and green-eyes was a shock to your system.

The pub was hushed apart from your pathetic attempts to loosen yourself from the grip of the random stranger, the people of the pub eavesdropping in on the shrieks and horror that were coming from Luke. You knew Tommy, you had met the temper before when someone had overstepped the mark with him at the horse racing tracks, it wasn't pleasant, and you felt for Luke.

"Get your bastard hands away from me," you heard Tommy shout. Finally managing to get away from the strong man that was holding you back, you headed towards the pub doors and was met with a sight that you hadn't seen since before the War. Tommy was lacking control as the police men gripped him, eventually managing to calm him down.

Tommy was unexpectedly silent as the police men patted him down, getting rid of any dangerous weapons that could bring them harm. The notorious cap was ripped from Tommy's head; his hair ruffled and thick, no longer styled. Tommy looked over at you as he tried to control his breathing but there was darkness behind his eyes and you was frightened that it was aimed at you.

"Go home [y/n]," he muttered, his jaws tense and his eyes wide. "I'll be back tomorrow."

The night was spent unaccompanied with you worried about your husband's state. You knew that he would be okay; Tommy was a strong man and no police officer could hold him down. It would only be a matter of time before they released him for his crime. Tommy could have murdered someone, and he would still get out of a prison sentence. You just hoped that Tommy had fell into the company of some police officers who were on the pay roll and not any of the ruthless ones.

The sound of the door opening froze you in your place, unable to move as you listened to the heavy footsteps making their way through the house. All the maids had retired for the night, going up to their bedrooms on the other side of the house where they would be unable to hear the quarrel that was guaranteed to take place.

"Hello."

Tommy's voice was cool as he sat down on the sofa across from you, his coat still on and eyes worn-out but there was something behind them that both thrilled you and concerned you. Reaching his hand into his coat pocket, Tommy pulled out a cigarette and lit it before blowing the smoke in the direction of the ceiling. You watched his every movement, waiting patiently for him to blow up and scream as you. It never came.

"Are you okay?" you asked finally after building up the courage to talk to him. It was clear that Tommy was not in the mood for chit-chat, but you needed to know that he was fine.

A lengthy and heavy sigh came from Tommy and he leaned his head back up to look at you. "Hmm, I am now that I am back home." You nodded once, words refusing to be heard. "Come here." Tommy tilted his head to the side and watched as you stood up before raising one finger in the air and moving it from side to side, gesturing for you to stop. "No. Get on your knees and come here."

Nodding, you followed Tommy's orders and sank to your knees before crawling over to his body. The whole time, Tommy was watching you with harsh eyes, sometimes trailing them over to your ass where he smirked arrogantly.

You positioned yourself in between Tommy's thighs, looking up at him with full submission and wanting. There was silence as Tommy looked down at you, him trying his hardest not to grab your body and lay you across his lap as a punishment.

"Did you think it was funny?" Tommy asked, leaning down to grab your chin and make you look at him. His head was tilted to the side mockingly as he waited for your answer, but your words were unable to form and all you could do was blink at Tommy a few times, hoping and praying that he would have mercy on you. "I said, do you think it was funny?" Tommy repeated, his jaw tense and breath hot on your face as he leaned down. The cigarette that he was smoking had been stubbed into the ashtray, but the smoke was still whirling around in between your faces. "Don't make me say it again."

"No," you blurted out, your eyes turning to the side.

"Look at me."

You couldn't, the humiliation and scandal of the previous night was hitting you like a ton of bricks. Tommy had spent a night in a prison cell because of your self-centred ways, Luke was in an atrocious way and you feared for the relationship that you had built with Tommy.

"I said, look at me." Slowly, you moved your pardoning eyes back to Tommy and waited for his next comment. "Why did you do it?"

"I wanted your attention," you admitted, voice cracking a little as Tommy moved his hand to your throat.

"Do you want it now?"

"Yes," you whined, doing your best to lean forward so you could capture Tommy's lips, but he pulled you back by your throat and chuckled. "Please."

Tommy took in a deep breath before releasing your throat and pushing you down towards his crotch. You didn't even need to be told, within seconds you were unfastening his slacks and freeing him from his boxers. Gulping, you looked up at Tommy through your eyelashes as you wrapped you hand around his thick length, not moving it up and down until Tommy gave you permission.

"Remove your hands and put your mouth around my cock," he ordered. Nodding, you obeyed his instructions and waited for the next part of the act. "Good girl."

Tommy laced his fingers in your hair before pushing your mouth down his cock. Allowing yourself to relax, you moved both of your hands to Tommy's thighs and rested them there, preparing yourself for what was to come. There was nothing but the sound of Tommy' breathing and low grumbles as his tip hit the back of your throat and without warning, Tommy bucked his hips up, causing you to gag around his hard cock.

The combination of his hips bucking and his hand pushing your head down had you gushing. The sexual desire inside of you growing and growing until you felt as if you were ready to burst. It had been so long since he had properly touched you. A quick fuck before work and then he was gone for the day, sometimes not leaving you fulfilled enough. It was the stress of the business, which you understood, but sometimes all you needed was to be a little manhandled.

It had been done so many times before - Tommy using your mouth to get himself off - and it was your beloved thing. Tommy would move your head up and down his cock, not stopping until he was fulfilled, and you would keep your eyes on him. It was during these intimate moments that you got a chance to see how much of a work of art your husband truly was with his mouth open a tad, his eyes fluttering shut and his hair a mess.

You were in your element as you helped Tommy get to the edge. Your nose brushed against his pubic hair for only a few seconds before he was bringing you back to the top and then he would repeat the action again, chuckling every time you gagged. Your fingernails were digging into Tommy's thighs as you hallowed your cheeks, adding more pressure which had Tommy whimpering - your favourite sound. Multiple curse words slipped through Tommy's lips as he pushed your head down impossibly further, a smug grin on his face every time he looked down at you and spotted the water running from your eyes. If you could, you would have returned the grin.

"Are you sorry?" Tommy asked followed by a loud moan. You couldn't respond when your lips were around his wet cock, but you tried your hardest and the response that Tommy got was not good enough. "What was that?"

Tommy pulled you off his cock completely, but his hand remained tight in your hair as he dragged you up a little bit. Your lips were desirable and red, saliva dribbling down your chin and your eyes were watering but to Tommy, you looked spectacular.

"I am sorry," you cried out, the need to kiss Tommy growing with every second.

Tommy mockingly pouted as he ran his free hand across your face and then his thumb across your lip, smirking at how wet they were. "I know, darling." A kiss so delicate it felt as if it wasn't there was pressed against your mouth and then Tommy continued. "Now, go upstairs and I will meet you there soon."

"Naked?"

"I think you already know the answer to that one, darling."

+++

A teasing game. A punishing, teasing game that had you wriggling on the sheets as you waited for Tommy to enter the bedroom. It had been at least fifteen minutes since you had first gone upstairs and got yourself undressed for him and with every passing second, you could feel yourself getting needier and needier. It was a test, you knew this, and you were ready to fail the test.

Laying back against the cold, silk sheets, you glided your hand across your lower stomach. You continued to listen out for Tommy's footsteps because if he caught you in this position, without his permission or him being there, you knew that it would lead to a bigger punishment, but your needs were enormous, and you needed some sort of release - with or without Tommy.

You were already soaked and dripping onto the bed sheets as you slipped one finger inside of yourself, not moving your digit for a brief second as you listened out for Tommy. Silence. Another digit was soon entered as you continued to pump in and out. The thrill of going against Tommy's orders was bringing you new pleasure, along with the way that your fingers hit that one spot inside of you that had you gushing all over the sheets. Still, no matter how hard you tried, nothing would ever compare to Tommy's fingers which had been created to grant you pleasure.

"Someone is having fun without me."

Your body ran cold under his words, your fingers still deep inside of you, and your cheeks inflamed as you turned your head to the side to look at Tommy. His suit jacket had been discarded and in one hand he had a glass of whiskey, the other a cigarette. He was trying to come across as annoyed, but you could see the lust filled eyes and his cock tightening against his slacks again. Your growing desire only increased as you look him up down. He had folded the sleeves of his shirt up, showing his muscles and the veins that ran along his arm.

Walking over, Tommy downed his whiskey before putting the glass on the drawers besides the bed. It was uneasily silent as you observed his every move, trying to figure out what plans he had for you. Punishment was going to happen; you knew that much.

"Continue," Tommy said as he sat down beside you, pushing your body back down when you tried to sit up. You looked at him expressionlessly, confused by his demand but nodded your head anyway. "If you want to come then you will do it with your own fingers. Is that understood?"

You nodded your head again, the only thing your body could do. Tommy placed his hand on his cock, rubbing it through his slacks as he looked at you with half lidded eyes. It was a seductive gaze that you had pushing in and out harder - eyes moving to Tommy's face which was fixed with a grin and then back down to his hand that was adding more pressure to his cock. It had been a while since the two of you had been intimate like this and the thought of it lasting all night had you moaning louder and louder. This punishment was going to drag out for hours and you would be a sticky, sweaty mess by the end of it but you revelled in it and Tommy knew that.

"I wish you could see yourself," Tommy started, gripping his cock harder. "You look like an angel."

Your orgasm rocketed through you like wild fire as you arched your back off the bed. Tommy looked on in awe and rubbed your thigh as it turned from side to side, your legs stiffening and your toes curling. During all of this, Tommy had reached into the drawer besides your bed and had pulled out an old tie. Before you knew it, Tommy was rolling on top of you and stretching your arms, tying them to the headboard tightly to prevent you from becoming undone.

"Tommy," you groaned, pulling on the ties causing the headboard to creak. Tommy stood back up and looked at up, his head tilting to the side as whistled conceitedly. "Please."

"I kind of hate how irresistible you are," he said, voice low and thick. His Birmingham accent always became stronger when he was turned on. "Because right now, I should be angry with you but oh, baby, you are just too perfect."

A blush came to your cheeks at Tommy's comment. The rough, dominant Tommy was still there but he was showing his love for you and that meant the world to you. Even after your act last night, he still worshipped you and loved you. Tommy even felt slightly bad - it had been his fault in some way. The fact that he had been abandoning you had led to your coquettish behaviour with another man and Tommy should have noticed this.

"Tommy - "

"Guess what?" Tommy interrupted, resting his hands on his thighs as he bent down to look at you. "I'm going to fuck you so hard to the point that you won't even think about another man, let alone flirt with them. If you ever do, which I hope you don't, all you will think about is my cock buried inside of you. Okay?"

You nodded your head enthusiastically, keen to get the show started. Your neediness was growing and growing as you watched Tommy walk around the edge of the bed, looking like a million dollars, until he reached the clothes that you had thrown on the floor area.

"Is that all this just from me being down your throat?" Tommy asked, referring to your soaked knickers that he had picked up from the floor. "You are going to kill me one of these days," he mumbled.

"I want your mouth, Tommy, please," you begged, lifting your hips in the air. Tommy looked down at your slit; wet for him.

"Do you deserve it?"

"No," you admitted, shaking your head in the process. "But you can't deny me."

Tommy hated how true that statement was. Clicking his tongue, Tommy finally gave into temptation and crawled up your clothed body, not stopping until his mouth was on yours. The kids were different as you opened for him, allowing his tongue to slide in so fluently. You whimpered into the kiss as you rolled yourself against Tommy's cock, sighing as he pushed your hips back down with his hand. The kiss remained uninterrupted through all of this and it just encouraged Tommy on.

"Please," you breathed against his mouth, pressing another kiss to his swollen lips.

Tommy moved down your body until he was kneeled in between your thighs, his large hands running across your thighs before pushing them apart, completely exposing yourself to him. There was an erotic smirk on his lips as he bent down to lick one stripe along your slit, snickering to himself when you tried to push your hips forward for more of his tongue.

"Don't make me tie these legs up as well, love," he mumbled as he pressed kisses along the inside of your thigh.

Parting the lips with two fingers, Tommy swirled his tongue on your clit, stopping to suck for a few seconds, before going back to the normal circles. Two of his hands were pressed against the inside of your thighs as he continued to push your legs further apart, giving him more access. His hair was teasing you and you were starting to grow frustrated, both with Tommy's slow movements and the fact that you wanted to grip his hair and push his face into your core.

The noise's being created were sensual as Tommy sped up his movements. Delving his tongue in, Tommy made a noise of appreciation as he tasted every inch of your soaking core, all for him. Pulling away, Tommy inserted two fingers inside of you and began to thrust relentlessly as he watched you with dark eyes. The moment that they hit your g-spot, you were arching your back of the bed and twisting the tie in a circle as you tried to get yourself off.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, please," you moaned, somehow managing to lift one thigh over Tommy's shoulders.

Your orgasm was already close as Tommy continued to swirl his tongue all over your juices, gathering them on his tongue and moaning in gratitude. "Are you close?" he asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear your breathless voice.

"Yes." Tommy continued his assault in the most beautiful of ways, flicking and sucking your clit to the point that your legs were tense as you orgasm washed through you; sending your legs into a frenzy and your heart beat through the roof. It took longer for you to calm down this time as Tommy continued to flick your clit through your orgasm and even afterwards. "Tommy, stop - "

Travelling back up your body with his lips, Tommy pressed multiples kisses along your stomach and breasts, taking his time to pleasure both nipples before finally capturing your lips. It was short and sweet, enough to leave you longing for more. An affectionate kiss was pressed against your shoulder and then your neck, distracting you from what Tommy was doing below.

"Jesus," you cried out, your eyes closing and mouth falling open as Tommy pressed his fingers against your clit. His mouth was doing wonders on your neck and you could feel the grin as he rubbed your clit, not once being calm.

Tommy pulled away from your neck and smiled proudly at the marks that he would leave. They would be a reminder of his love for you and every time you looked at yourself in the mirror for the next week, you would recall the way that Tommy fucked you.

"I'm going to come again," you breathed out, throat becoming dry.

Your third orgasm of the night had you throwing your head backwards as you clamped your thighs around Tommy's fingers, ignoring the laughter that slipped from your husband's mouth. There was no better feeling in the world as the pleasure ran through you.

"That's it, my darling. That's it," he cooed, helping you through your orgasm.

"Do you think you can go again?" Tommy asked as he removed his shirt and slacks, your hands twitching forwards as you desperately needed to touch him. "Oh, I don't think so," Tommy said, taking note of the weakening knots. Leaning over your body, Tommy retied the notes and looked down at you, a twinkle in his eyes. "Do you think you can go again?" he repeated.

"Tommy, where are you?"

Your eyes widened as Arthur's voice made its way known throughout the house, screaming for Tommy. There was no reason for him to be there, meaning that something had either gone wrong at the betting shop or he was popping in for a general chit-chat. Either way, Tommy was not leaving that bedroom until he had finished with you.

"The door is locked," Tommy announced as he got himself in position, pulling his cock out from his boxers. "But you need to keep fucking quiet. Do you understand?"

Tommy didn't even give you a chance to respond before he was slamming into you. A loud, drawn-out moan jolted from your mouth at the feeling of his cock stretching you. Tommy raised one eyebrow before moving one of his hands to cover your mouth, his hand pretty much covering the whole bottom half of your face. With every thrust, he pressed down harder and dug his fingers into your cheek, squeezing them together and silencing your moans.

"You have my attention now, don't you?" Tommy moaned, pulling his cock all the way out before slamming back in. Bruises were going to be formed but you did not care in the slightest; too invested in chasing your orgasm. "Hey, this is what you wanted, isn't it?"

You gripped the headboard and nodded your head. Tommy's moans were echoing throughout the room, yet he was silencing yours - not that you were complaining, the sound of his moans was like heaven on earth. Considering you were so stimulated from your previous three orgasms, you were surprised when you managed to get the ties undone. It was easier than you had expected but knowing Tommy, he probably did it on purpose.

"I want you to come inside of me," you told him as you ripped his hand away your mouth.

Tommy, taken aback, nodded his head before engulfing your waist and pulling you up until you were sat on his cock. Tommy was buried deep inside of you as he brutally lifted you up and down, repeatedly slamming his cock inside of you as one hand gripped your hair.

"I fucking love you," Tommy whispered into your ear. "Even though you are a little shit."

"I'm going to come - "

"No, you are going to wait," Tommy told you, ignoring the way that you groaned after he had finished his sentence – you would pay for that later. "You are going to hold on and wait for."

"I can't - "

You were cut off by Tommy slipping his fingers inside of your mouth, the taste of your previous orgasm coating his fingers. "You can."

Your eyes squeezed shut as Tommy continued to fill you up, his own moans edging you towards your orgasm. The thought of coming undone without Tommy's permission was tempting but you decided against as it would only lead to a bigger punishment.

"Tommy, I can't hold it – "

With a few more thrusts, you were clinging onto Tommy as you pushed yourself against his chest. Your sensitive clit was pulsing every time it brushed against Tommy's pubic hair. Your hands were tight in his hair as you brought Tommy to his own orgasm, him crying out in pleasure as he released himself inside of you. The warmth had aftershocks rush through your body as you clung onto Tommy, hoping and praying that he wouldn't go again.

"Satisfied?" he asked, rubbing his hand up and down your back. Your forehead was on Tommy's shoulder as you attempted to catch your breath. "Don't ever do shit like that again, do you understand? It wasn't funny."

"I know, I'm sorry. Just wanted your attention."

"You've got it now, haven't you?" Tommy hummed as he moved some hair away from your face. "And you've got it for the rest of the night. So, I'm going to go downstairs and deal with Arthur and you will wait here for me."

"And when you come back upstairs?"

Tommy gripped your chin and forced you to look at him. "We haven't finished yet, let's say that much."

#tommy shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagines #thomas shelby #thomas shelby smut

2K notes · View notes

seitjun · 5 years

Text

dangerous night

freewood // 6400+ words // fahc au

description: The fears of being in love with a criminal like the Vagabond become apparent, and Gavin is left to face the music. Sometimes, all it takes is the world to tell you that you've had it too good for too long for your life to change drastically.

notes: this contains physical and some psychological torture! not explicit but not vague descriptions either, so this is a darker fic compared to rest of the series despite the good end. this was me practicing darker, angstier writing; it's no worries if this isn't your cup of tea! take care of yourselves <3. otherwise, onwards, and song inspo is dangerous night by thirty seconds to mars.

this fic is also posted on ao3 (link)!

Things come to a head on Tuesday.

They’ve been living too-busy weeks for the last month or so, barely managing to sneak in phone calls and text messages — between multiple projects on Gavin’s end and more dangerous heists on Ryan’s, there’s little time for much else besides work and mutual yearning.

“I promise, Ry, I’ll call you when I get home. A shoot’s running late after a wank deleted important footage last week,” Gavin complains. He leans against a wall near a corner, far away from any prying eyes or eavesdropping ears of his coworkers. He feels too on edge to deal with anyone on set, already hating the idea of working overtime for an idiot’s mistake. “No, don’t kill him, as much as I appreciate the thought. They’d suspect me anyway, if you did do that.”

“Not with me killing him. I’m good at clean kills and planting false evidence, so that wouldn’t be a worry. But if you’ll be okay handling him…”

A puff of laughter escapes Gavin at hearing Ryan sound so blase about his criminal skills. If he were a saner man, he’d be concerned for himself and the criminal he associated himself with; instead, it’s an amusing and comforting sentiment from Ryan. Lovely Ryan who’s very much one of the most murderous men to walk Los Santos but also the sweetest boyfriend that Gavin’s had the chance to date.

“I’d still be interviewed about him anyway, plus it’d be less work to re-shoot the footage than be a murder suspect,” Gavin reasons, playing with a loose string from his shirt. He frowns. “The bloke’s been chewed out anyway from what I heard walking by the main office. Might’ve been let go early after that.”

“If he’s not careful, he might let go of his life early too.”

Gavin giggles, hiding his mouth behind his hand. “Ry, please, it’s fine. He’s got what he deserved, and it’ll teach him to be reckless about files next time. ‘s annoying to do overtime, but can’t do much about it now.”

He hears an incoherent grumble from Ryan, barely snatching a few words like ‘revenge’ and ‘fucking idiot’. Despite the context, Gavin’s heart grows fonder of the man on the other side of the line, putting up with mundane complaints and willing to help in his own odd, illegal way. It makes the situation a little less dreary feeling.

“Alright, break’s over, everyone! Let’s finish up this last scene to shoot, then we can finally head home for the night!” A booming voice exclaims, just as tired and irritated as the rest of them, and there's a sudden flurry of activity. There’s skittering steps, clamoring cameraman, and a rebuilt set for the current scene. “Let’s get this shit done!”

“Gotta go now?”

Gavin groans softly, pushing himself off the wall as a wave of disgruntled assent follows the supervisor’s words. “You heard that, huh? I just hope we finish up in an hour or two, maybe get back to the apartment before one for once.” His eyes dart to the supervisor, and he watches the lady start her rounds to check on everyone’s position. “I have to hurry, or else I’ll be like the other guy.”

“Alright, just be careful on your way home. If you don’t pass out the moment you get home, phone me or shoot me a text at least, dear.”

Ryan’s voice is soft, nothing like his voice before when he’d been threatening the incompetent guy, and there’s an obvious fondness dripping from the petname. It makes something lodge in Gavin’s throat, all the words and affection he has for the man stuck there, while his heart beats like a jackhammer against his chest.

“I promise,” he swears. His hand tightens on the phone as if it’d stop him from ending the call. “You have full permission to break into my house if I don’t call or answer, but don't stay up too late for me, okay?”

Ryan chuckles, low and sweet, and Gavin wishes he could spend the night like this. But the grumbling of his coworkers and the imminent rage of his supervisor warns him otherwise, pushes him to murmur, “G’night, Ry.”

He ends the call there, resists the urge to stay on even longer, but it’s another minute until he can stop staring at the phone, chest feeling a little more hollow than before — it’s been far too long since their last date. It takes another booming warning for his feet to rush towards his spot, flitting between exhausted coworkers and an irritated supervisor. Even when he’s finishing the set-up of the camera, all muscle memory by now, he finds himself thinking of Ryan.

He doesn’t know how he managed to get attention from someone like him, but Gavin is grateful for it. He’s done fine all his life without a partner by his side, and even after dating Ryan, Gavin’s still an individual who can live his separate life; they’re not dependent on each other. It’d just be nice to get a break though, spend a day with Ryan again before their busy lives overtake them again.

He misses Ryan an awful lot.

-------

[to love <3]:

on my way home, call you soon.

The reshoot of the footage ends at midnight, which is leagues better than the shoot ending at one am.

Gavin had been one of the last to remain, making sure all of the files were saved properly and creating backups, but he manages to clock out at a decent twelve thirty. He’d rather take the extra thirty minutes rather than another night of overtime and bringing down the rest of his coworkers with him; they’re all overworked and tired in this business, and it’s one less thing to worry about tonight.

Clocked out, Gavin waits under by the doorway of the stage five building where the closest, working lamppost on the grounds is. He scrolls through social feeds, eyes-half lidded and thumb slow; his back is aching with his heavy backpack, energy completely drained, and his brain is lagging behind in processing anything. He barely scrounges up the energy to tuck closer into his jacket against a sudden wind sweeping by, the September chill greeting him.

10 minutes away , his rideshare app informed him when he placed the request. An uncomfortably long wait at past midnight in Los Santos; it was the downfall of being in this field, having to work in big studios out of the city’s way.

He shifts his backpack to the side, pulling out a small stress ball before adjusting his bag again. 6 minutes isn’t much in the grand scheme of things, but every minute outside is nerve wracking, and it’s better for Gavin to squeeze a stress ball than use his nails to scratch his fingertips. Last time he went without a stress ball, the skin of his fingertips were shredded and sensitive. It’s an ugly memory, so he tries to focus on the ball, not his precarious situation or anything else.

It doesn’t work for long.

“Hey, uh, excuse me! Mister? Hellooo ?”

Gavin jerks in surprise at the sudden appearance of a person beside him, squeezing the stress ball too hard. He turns to see the person trying to converse with him, but his body stills as he finally realizes who it is in their embarrassed, awkward stature; memories of the harsh yelling and angry coworkers from today play in his mind, a man creeping out of the set with his tail between his legs.

“U-Uh...hello?”

The guy perks up at Gavin’s acknowledgement albeit its hesitant tone. “Hey, I...didn’t think you’d reply honestly, but this is a nice surprise,” he beams, bright and open, and its vivaciousness in the late night unsettles Gavin. “I’m Adam! But, uh, maybe you knew that already…”

“I didn’t want to come off as rude,” he mumbles; he doesn’t mention how he didn’t know Adam’s name before. “‘m Gavin.”

He returns to squeezing the stress ball, trying his damndest to not fidget so obviously in front of the man. He’s not afraid of the stranger per se, but the situation is odd , and something nervous bubbles in his stomach; everything in Los Santos is more dangerous at night, and there’s alarm rising slowly to the surface in his mind.

A quick check of his phone yields a notification update: 5 minutes away .

Adam laughs before slapping Gavin’s back out of some misplaced camaraderie. Gavin winces. “No worries, Gavin! I wouldn’t blame you if you had anyway, after what I did back there.” His smile drops slightly, and his next words are a little somber, “Made a lot of extra work for everyone on the project. I know you’re one of the higher ups in charge of cameras and slow motion filming, so...I wanted to apologize for what I did, being reckless.”

And Gavin — he blinks, taken aback. He had expected something awful to happen — like a surprise mugging — but certainly not an apology, one that seemed so genuine too. He’s not the best at reading people, but the way Adam shifts awkwardly as he waits for a reply and the odd, hopeful glint in his eyes with every sneaked glance — it looks real, like he’s truly remorseful for what he’s done.

“It wasn’t good what you did, not very professional,” he starts, his tone stern like his parents’ during his rowdy childhood. He’s always been soft at heart, Ryan as proof of it, and he knows he’s forgiven the man already, but it doesn’t hurt to include a lesson. “We managed to save the re-shooting and back up the files from today at least. Be careful with your files next time, this incident could lock you out of future jobs.”

“I know, it was dumb of me! I promise I’ll be a lot more careful in future jobs! Well...if I can find them after this.” Adam gives a self-deprecating laugh, scratching the back of his head. It looks like the gravity of his mistake finally dawned on him.

“Good luck with that.” Gavin nods as he gives one last, polite smile. He peers down at his phone, sighing in relief when the tracker read 1 minute away . “I’ll have to head off soon, my ride is a minute away,” he informs the man. A quick heads-up that Gavin’s about to be away from the admittedly sketchy but kind stranger. That as polite as he’s been, Gavin still wants to be far away.

Adam waves a hand affably and unbothered, grinning. “No worries, it’s late, and I’d wanna get home soon too! I wouldn’t even have stayed this long if I didn’t have anything to do here still.”

Gavin hums mindlessly until he realizes why the stranger had to stay back. He freezes; the man had been ejected early in the shoot today, revoked of any responsibilities when the missing files had been stumbled on, and been given an order to leave the entire shoot. As little as Gavin knows about the situation, the man shouldn’t have been here still.

And that — that’s sketchy.

All of Gavin’s instincts fire up, and he gives a forced laugh as he takes a step back. The red flags from before are waving wildly now, no way to ignore them, and warnings are blaring in his head like announcements over the intercom. He’s not safe.

He’s not safe at all.

Not when Adam’s eyes suddenly narrow, relieved grin from before morphing into something more malicious. Not when Adam is matching every step of Gavin’s to keep the distance close between them. Not when Adam is lifting his fist and aiming it towards Gavin’s face, much too quick for Gavin to shield himself from.

Pain blooms across his right cheek, all the way up to his temple and jaw. His eyesight shifts out of focus, startled by the hit, and his brain is still reeling at the new turn of events; he doesn’t even process the next punch that lands on his left cheek, a knee digging straight into his stomach before he collapses forwards in a ball. All he can process is the sharp slide across the rough concrete, the sting of his forehead landing on the hard surface.

He’s dazed right when a black car skids by, thrown into the trunk haphazardly, and the back of his head thumps harshly against something metal. Groaning, all Gavin can do is think about just how close he was in evading this situation.

( 0 minutes away .)

--------

Gavin’s lived a good portion of his life in Los Santos already. He’s got almost a decade of experience, actually.

He’s gotten a feel on how to live in a city as filthy and underhanded as Los Santos — from avoiding contact with certain people to minding his own business for the most part, he makes the smallest ripple he can in the pond. No need to bring extra attention to himself with the types of people lingering in the city. He’s figured out how to make a life here as safe as he could, formed out of theories and trials from the last near decade.

Meeting the Vagabond had screwed that entire safety net up. Falling in love with Ryan had burned the netting completely, with nothing left to salvage and lapping quickly at the foundations of his life here. He’s been left to dangle over a pit of what ifs, worst case scenarios, and bare contingency plans, only held up by Ryan’s grounding presence and the all-consuming desire to be by Ryan’s side. A belief in Ryan being there for him when Gavin needs him, like Gavin is for Ryan.

The fear of it all, or what little of it he could feel nowadays, doesn’t lessen the affection he has for the criminal. He had understood the danger, and if anything, a part of him had welcomed it; nowadays, being able to love Ryan, all the civilian and criminalistic parts of him, is more than enough reward for the new danger Gavin had placed himself in.

Gavin’s made his peace with it. Had done it months ago, on a couch and an apartment away when falling in love with Ryan had been an inevitable outcome. Gavin’s rationalized it over and over again, and he’s calm about it, but it didn’t feel so real until he’s face-to-face with the consequences.

The consequences feel much like a bucket of freezing cold water dumped over Gavin for the third time already, leaving him to tremble in his drenched clothes. There’s a draft somewhere near him, wind sneaking through to brush over him and chilling him to the core; the sharp tang of ocean spray, the deafening crash crash crash of the waves remind him how far he is from help.

“I won’t lie, didn’t think you’d even make it this far. Sure it’s just water, but it’d be a real damn shame to go out ‘cus of the fuckin’ cold,” a voice chuckles. “I’ve met bitches weaker.”

Gavin flinches as a hand slides through his hair and yanks his head back, a sting washing over his scalp at the harsh grip and digging nails. His back is arched unnaturally, almost grotesquely, with how the hand pulls him, and he whimpers in pain, shutting his eyes tight. He squirms uncomfortably, but his rope-bound wrists and ankles argue against him.

“Now, now, don’t be like that. Open up and look at me, Gav, otherwise I’ll have to make you. Don’t make me tell you again.”

It takes another rough tug at his hair until Gavin forces his eyes open, watery with unspilled tears and poured saltwater. He peers up at the man — Adam , he reminds himself — leering over him, this stranger who faked his way into Gavin’s good graces for a fleeting moment — just enough to distract him from how horrible the city’s people could be at times. Polite, little Gavin who hates being rude and making a fuss, being played a fiddle with no shame.

Beneath the pain and gut-wrenching fear, hurt is simmering. It can’t help but make itself known as he bares his teeth, as tiny as it is, and snarl a quiet threat. He must’ve looked less intimidating than a cat, but it must have been enough insolence for his kidnapper.

Adam looms over him with disappointed clicks his tongue. His face twists into an ugly expression as he releases Gavin, only to slap him across the face, and the sharp smack! echoes in the lonely structure. “I suggest you don’t give me an attitude. I’ve been kind to you with mild punishments, taking it slow and steady ‘stead of jumping into the real toys.”

A raging fire blooms across the spread of reddening skin, and the buzzing skin makes Gavin’s mind dizzy. Makes him squint his teary eyes and turn his brain fuzzy as he tries to force himself to ride out the pain; he’s never had a good pain tolerance, and he can feel it kicking his ass now.

“Now, c’mon, you just gotta tell me what I wanna hear, buddy,” Adam croons, softly and maliciously kind. His touch is gentle now as it combs through Gavin’s hair, and Gavin isn’t sure which is more terrifying — the obvious violence or the sweet trickery, the quick switch between the two. “I know you’ve been with the Vagabond for a while now, it’s hard to miss him always visiting the same place if you know what to look for. Both of you were horrible at keeping this a secret.”

“We...we weren’t trying,” Gavin mumbles through chattering teeth. With a loud yowl, the ocean winds slam against the building, and a chill is starting to seep into Gavin’s bones. He shivers, hunching over himself as best he can.

The man cocks a brow. “You’re kidding me. You two, a famous criminal and a clean civilian, didn’t try to hide it?” He scoffs, and he shoves Gavin’s head away and loses his hold. “Are you two absolute morons? Or did the Vagabond overestimate himself, his reputation? Did he think he could protect you just by name?”

Gavin shudders. A cold heaviness, his clothes and something else he can’t place, is settling over his body as he mumbles in a tone colored with hurt, “We just wanted to be together. Nothing more.”

“Idiotic.” Adam sneers, looking almost disgusted by the sentiment. He levels a calculating look towards Gavin, and its empty, soulless nature pierces through Gavin; makes him feel less than human, nothing more than an object in the way. “I’m afraid that it was never in your cards to have anything like that. You forfeited normalcy and peace the moment you associated with the Vagabond. Forfeited safety .”

He rolls his shoulders as he paces around Gavin, each step a gentle thud on the rank floor. With a silent flick, quick and precise, the man unsheathes a knife and presses it against Gavin’s throat. Lets the cool blade raise prickly goosebumps on tanned flesh, the sharp edge whispering reminders of what it could do, and the grip on the back on Gavin’s neck pinning him down.

“This doesn’t change my plan. Don’t take it personally, though. We wanted the Vagabond, you were just the perfect bait,” the man whistles. “Blame your boyfriend for being kidnapped. Shoulda’ covered his tracks better, shouldn’t have thought you could be together with no consequences.”

-----------

Knife wounds hurt like a bitch.

That’s the first thing Gavin learns. He’s had little experience to go off on when comparing how painful things are, but he can say without a doubt that getting slashed and stabbed is up there on the scale. He wants to say that it’ll be the most painful thing on the scale, but the rising irritation of the man, a subdued force building beneath his skin as he scowls — it feels like a terrible premonition of Gavin's future.

Suddenly, all those jokes of stubbing his pinky toe against furniture being the worst aren’t funny anymore.

“Look, I didn’t wanna do any of this to you. Even tried being nice, going easy on the torture—” And Gavin’s wounds protest loudly to that. “—for a civilian just caught up in the criminal’s wildness. It happens, we know, the thrill of it all is tempting. But you’re actin’ like a horrid bitch now, y’know.”

Adam plunges his knife into the soft flesh of his thigh, dull edges leaving a trail of burning destruction as it sinks deeper in. He looks almost bored, despite the venom in his voice and the rage behind his eyes, as he makes eye contact with Gavin. Twists the knife as he does so, and Gavin screams in pain, throat dry and hoarse from the previous wounds.

“You wouldn’t have all these wounds on you if you just told me what you knew about the Vagabond,” the man croons. “Are you actually going to keep quiet and take all this torture for a criminal? This is mild, y’know, and it’d be a shame to permanently harm you for a criminal who doesn’t even love you, and you don’t love.”

At that, Gavin makes a choked noise. His eyes are watery, barely able to see Adam through narrowed eyes, as anger and pain and fear flash across his face. His thigh twitches out of reflex from the pain, but it only works up the shredded muscles more. “No…”

Adam perks up, and the building rage from before is replaced. A sly grin on his lips and eyes shining with glee, he crows, “Oh? Don’t tell me you actually love the Vagabond? He’s a man-turned-monster, heartless and merciless. Did you know that he’s got a reputation for being cruel, known for being a masterclass in torture and assassination?”

Gavin whimpers as the man drags the knife out, tries not to let his body jolt as the cool but wet blade grazes over another knife wound. He wonders how much of his skin had been turned to blood trails, if his skin became more red instead of tan — less of a human, more of a brutalized half-corpse. He refuses to look down and see.

“Whatever you think of him,” Adam continues, “he’s got you fooled. You don’t even know the half of it about the Vagabond, and I’m more than willing to bet that he doesn’t love you. Shame on you, really, on that life choice.”

And Gavin can’t suppress the tears anymore.

-----------

Adam is unfortunately smart.

Each visit from him onwards becomes more and more like psychological warfare. He still has a weapon on him, something to inflict wounds to drive the point of his words home, and it’s escalated as much as his methods have.

Gavin hisses as Adam pushes the butt end of a lit cigarette against his palms, all his thrashing for nothing compared to the tight knots that tie him down. All he can do is catch a glimpse of his torturer from his peripherals, hoarse pleads of mercy and half-incoherent cries escaping his tongue to no avail.

“I wouldn’t have had to resort to this if you just tell me what I want,” Adam says. He repeats the message as if it’d convince Gavin by the fiftieth iteration. “Tell me what you know about the Vagabond, all the gritty, personal details, and I’ll let you go happily.”

Gavin’s shoulders slump in brief relief as the man lets up on the burn mark, even as the man takes his chin between his fingers to tilt it up. Makes their eyes meet, one pair lighting up in pain and the other patiently smug. Gavin can’t keep it up for long before his eyes are falling shut, and he squeezes them close tight; his head is spinning, the pain catching up past the waves of adrenaline.

“I…”

“What is it? Just tell me, and I won’t hurt you anymore,” the man presses. “You won’t have to be hurt for your selfish, little boyfriend. After all, I don’t see any sign of him coming, and that says a lot about how highly he thinks of you, doesn’t it? Why are you still holding onto hope for someone who frankly doesn’t care for you?”

Gavin shakes his head furiously, trying his best to shake off the words that the snake of a man is murmuring to him. His hands are trembling with the searing burn and the barely there hope for Ryan to find him, for Ryan to swoop in and prove the man’s every single word wrong. For Ryan to save him before he gives in to those awful, insecure thoughts and the bubbling misery inside him.

God, he hopes .

“The Vagabond may be your lover, but he’s lying to you. Whatever you may think of him, he’s only playing you,” the man drones on. He flicks cigarette ash across Gavin’s face, runs a thumb over the grain. “Consorting with criminals is dangerous, you must’ve known. But did Vagabond ever tell you the truths of his past, the type of people after him?”

Gavin doesn’t answer. Can’t really, with how his throat feels dry, a lump stuck there with no way to swallow it down.

“No? I’m unsurprised. After all, the Vagabond had a horrible past. Ruthless, sadistic mercenary who wanted the thrill of it all. It didn’t matter who got hurt to him, families or friends, as long as he got his kill and his payment,” he scowls. He looks away from Gavin, eyes pinpointed on something in the distance and a cold, sharp anger forming in his gaze. “So much of a monster, we all called him Malicious . The terror of the South, until one day...he just disappeared.

“But those sorts of things, you can’t just run away from them. They’ll follow you until you suffer the consequences, chase you down until you trip up, and have you questioning every single movement of yours. Will it be the move that finally gets you killed?”

Gavin is sobbing softly now, head down as he tries to hide away from the man; from the horrid words that paint a dark picture in his mind, slowly cracking at the memories he has of Ryan. It’s an awful, awful corruption.

The man shakes himself out of his stupor, snorting at Gavin crying and looking pitifully small. “He made a wrong move, after years of playing the game perfectly,” he says carelessly. “I’m afraid that wrong move was you.”

There’s another sharp flash of heat, against his shoulders instead now, and Gavin screams. It stays pressed and pressed and pressed longer than before, burning his skin, and the scent of it is acrid. His muscles flex and tense, his body trying to pull away even as rope digs into his wrists, as fear and anxiety claws itself into Gavin, makes a home in his frazzled brain. The pain is blinding now, seeping into his mind with flashes of white and a headache forming and just—

Gavin can’t handle it anymore. He faints.

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

He wakes here and there. Sometimes it’s of his own volition, other times it’s to a swift punch to his face. At least the water is done for now, even if he’s just as cold and probably sick now.

His body is exhausted beyond belief still, and each moment of consciousness is brief. It’s just enough to register how much his body is hurting, the sloppy bandages feeling like hell as it brushes against his injuries and the taste of blood prominent on his tongue. Just enough for Adam to question him again and for Gavin to mumble a denial.

Gavin wonders, for the nth time since he’s been taken, if Ryan is looking for him. Wonders if Ryan is even aware of his disappearance and the hell he’s going through, if he’ll actually save him. And the ugliest part of himself wonders if what the man said is true, if he really should be putting up with all this torture for an unknown factor.

He can’t give it much thought past that, not when his brain is shutting down and trying so hard to rest for whatever else lies in his future. He gives in easily.

----------

There is a rescue for him, 4 hours past his kidnapping and right when Gavin’s given up on himself.

He doesn’t know this yet. Doesn’t dare get his hopes up at all, as low as it is, and the situation he’s in. Not when he’s woken up by the loud gunshots that echo nearby, just outside of the warehouse, and it has him startled for a moment; maybe the man had deemed him far too stubborn, far too useless for his situation, decided that it was Gavin’s time now. There had been no sign of the man near him when the shots fired, but maybe it was a dramatic build-up — one last effort to play with him.

He takes the thought of his execution with less panic than he thought, calming himself down after the initial flurry of emotions. Maybe it’s his usual nature coming back to him, body adjusting to grow detached from the fear he experienced today, or maybe it’s his own way of beating the man at his game, to not care anymore. He didn’t know.

What he does know is that he’s awake, but his eyes are shut as he hangs his head down. Past the ringing in his ears, he hears the thudding of multiple footsteps grow louder and louder, and he waits for the verdict on his life. Hears the door slam open, metal clanging against the wall, and wonders briefly if it’ll be delivered by bullet or by blade.

----------

Los Santos is not a kind city. Gavin’s known that for a long time now; only fools would believe in that sentiment, and fools never last long in the city.

But when he wakes up again, unbound and in Ryan’s arms this time, the belief falters for a flicker of a moment. The way he’s held by Ryan, an imposing but warm figure at his back with broad arms wrapped tight around his chest, how a body that has killed before cradles him sweetly as if afraid of its strength — it is kind. It makes Gavin remember that even in the darkest eras, there’s good to be found amidst the agony.

His mouth is dry, and his tongue is heavy, feeling out of place. Upon opening his eyes, slightly squinted in pain from keeping them shut for so long, he sees the passing streaks of light from lamp posts and the occasional vehicle — he’s a car then. He hears the low volume of the radio, but the words don’t make sense; the music feels like television snow in his head, incomprehensible and fuzzy.

“Gavin?”

And as much as music is fuzzy, that voice isn’t. This voice is important , his brain tells him, and therefore can’t be forgotten, should not be forgotten. So he doesn’t, and it’s with more energy than it should take that Gavin finds the words to say.

“Hi, love,” Gavin croaks out with a soft smile, wincing when it tugs at the split lip and pulling at his bruised cheek. He must look like a right mess, but all he can feel is a heady relief; Ryan is here, close to him and holding on tightly. “You look absolutely minging,” he says.

His thumb brushes under Ryan’s eyes, where heavy eyebags reside. In their months of being together and Ryan’s murmurings of his insomnia, Gavin’s never seen them so prominent, never seen Ryan so exhausted. His shoulders are sagging down, his eyes bloodshot, and every faint line makes Ryan look aged.

His hand drops down, already tired from exerting that much energy in a simple action. “What happened to you, Ry?”

“Gavin, darling,” Ryan whispers, a quiet mortification bleeding through. Large, calloused hands cup his cheek with a touch lighter than air; it’s a gentle touch, afraid of damaging Gavin more than the other man had. “What did they do to you ?”

Gavin’s brows furrow. After the exhausting series of events he’s gone through, his brain can’t process much and of what it can, it’s not very fast. He remembers, though, the one man that had taken him and hurt him; there had been no one else there. Adam.

But all he voices out is: “They?”

Ryan gives a small, slow nod. He looks...concerned, but whether it’s the confusion evident on Gavin’s face or the wounds evident everywhere else on him, Gavin doesn’t know. “There was a group of them there. But most of them were sitting around near the front of the place in a black car,” he explains. “It doesn’t matter though. Not anymore, when they’re already dead and about to rot in the ground. They already paid for what they did to you.”

Gavin mulls over Ryan’s words, a frown creeping on his lips. He can’t help but echo the words from before, how the man murmured images of Ryan from a lifetime ago — true or false, it seeps into every memory and fact he has on his lover, and Gavin’s struggling to find where the truth begins, where the lie ends. They blend into something muddy and incoherent, a failed painting of a portrait, and it makes Gavin’s head hurt more than it already has.

He shakes his head, an automatic response to rid the thoughts away, but he groans at the sudden motion. Eyes falling shut, his hand twitches with the urge to cover them, but he doesn’t. He can’t , more like.

“Gavin, darling, are you alright?”

Ryan’s voice is a timid whisper, so quiet and small; Gavin doesn’t like it at all. Doesn’t like that it’s him who put those emotions on Ryan’s face in the first place, that he’s responsible for the worry and fear instilled in this criminal who’s taken things so much worse than this — yet this is the breaking point.

But Gavin doesn’t voice those thoughts. He refuses to let Ryan see just how split open and carved up he is from the torture, the words and the wounds, and the raw sensitivity that overwhelms him. He refuses to let Ryan feel worse at his insecure thoughts, to let him know just how much the man had won even in his grave.

Gavin slowly cracks one eye open again, a weak and wavering smile on his face; the split lip is more of an inconvenience than he thought. “Can’t handle much,” he rasps, hopes it’s enough for Ryan to understand. The screaming and crying had taken all of his voice.

And it is enough, Gavin finds out, when Ryan grows more devastated. His hands are trembling as they cup Gavin’s cheeks, and his eyes are anguished in a way that Gavin’s never seen before — not on Ryan, not on anyone else. There’s a choked noise that escapes Ryan, and Gavin can feel guilt swallowing him up.

“Love,” he calls out, near inaudible. It’s enough to capture Ryan’s attention anyway, for his lover to sniffle quietly and brush his shaky thumb over his purpling cheekbones, his broken nose bridge. He makes eye contact with Ryan, puts as much reassurance and confidence he doesn’t feel into his gaze. “I’ll be okay.”

Somehow, Ryan becomes shakier, and the choked sob from before is a soft, teary whimper. The big, bad Vagabond, in all his painted glory and infamous reputation, is reduced to a human like the rest of them.

Despite unshed tears, Ryan voices out, “You will, and I’ll make damn sure of it. I should’ve been more careful, should’ve known that things would have caught up, and you’d be stuck in the middle of it.” His voice is tight, sounding more pained with each word that slips out. “I never meant for this to happen, I thought we would’ve been safe. I’m so sorry, I promise I’ll help you through this, but afterwards...if you don’t want me, I can leave forever. I can move across the country if it means you’re safe.”

And if Gavin could, he would laugh softly, the type of laughter saved for bitter moments when he doesn't know what to say. He just knows he’s hurting, and the moment is too painful, so he deflects, because it’s easier than handling the issue head-on.

But this is Ryan who looks so genuine in his words, Ryan who Gavin can trust to not hurt him like Adam had with his apologies. Who’s willing to put away his happiness if it meant Gavin was safe and could find his own happiness separate from Ryan’s. This is Ryan who is sweet and gentle, still holding onto Gavin kindly.

As ruthless as Los Santos is, a hurricane of a city wreaking destruction on whatever it touches, Ryan is the calm safety in the middle. Gavin can’t give him up so easily.

“No,” he murmurs, fingers twitching with the urge to hold Ryan’s hand. “Stay with me. I’ll be okay,” Gavin says. Still quiet, still weak — but a little more stubborn. “ We’ll be okay.”

It sounds much more hopeful and bright, a welcome thought against the dark descent Gavin’s mind had fallen to and the swirling pool of emotions that encompasses Ryan. We . Like a promise of sticking together through thick and thin, if Gavin had been a romantic, the situation less despairing, he’d say it’s almost like a vow in sickness and in health.

“We’ll be okay,” he repeats when he sees the flickering doubt in Ryan’s eyes, the way his throat jumps at a hesitant swallow. His eyes are fiery, and if he can’t express it outwardly, he knows in his soul that he means his words. It’s still not confidence or reassurance, but a belief in them.

It leaves Ryan silent for a moment, and Gavin can see the cogs rumbling in his head until Ryan mumbles, “I…okay. Us, this is an ‘us’ thing.” He leans his head forward, pressing their foreheads together and ignoring the running the paint; it’s comforting the way their noses graze, eyelashes fluttering against cheeks, and the shared space where their breath intertwined. “Us.”

Gavin closes his eyes shut, plays trust fall with Ryan and lets himself savor this moment of relief. His entire body stings and aches, mind littered with deeper wounds he can’t bring himself to face right now but can’t run away from without consequences. He’ll have to address the new insecurities clawing at his core, new scars he can’t hide so easily, and this atmosphere of guilt that hangs over both their heads, but he’s tired. They’re tired.

For now — being alive, being here with Ryan is enough. It’s okay. They’ll be okay.

“Us,” Gavin whispers in return, in full-hearted agreement.

#ragehappy #fahc #freewood #seiju writes #tw // torture

17 notes · View notes