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luxurychristmaspudding · 4 months

Text

Pickup Truck

summary: frankie hates your boyfriend. in fact, everybody does. but he’s willing to give him a chance. you’re his best friend, after all.

until frankie discovers something he can never forgive.

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+. MDNI. this fic contains allusions to, but no descriptions of, domestic abuse. please do not proceed if you know this will upset you.

frankie's pov. no lady and no baby for our boy. drinking, violence (against pos bf), angst, lots of hurt, allusions to dv. comfort, fluff. frankie to the rescue. unprotected p in v (wrap it irl!). oral, f receiving. creampie. bad spanish (again). kings of leon references. happy ending, of course.

wc: 9.8k

an: whew, this was an emotional one to write. but i hope a good love comes to all of you in time, no matter where you are at the moment. and if you already have it, may it always keep you safe. lovely divider from @saradika.

Frankie really doesn’t like your boyfriend.

Scratch that. Nobody does.

Nobody really knows where you found him, either. A sweet, smart girl like you, moved back to your small town from your big city life, and it looks like you picked up the very first guy who sidled up to you in a grimy bar.

Which, if you’re really honest, is exactly what happened. Because he was nice at first. Real nice. He was charming and sweet and interested - he bought you drinks all night and didn’t push to come in when he walked you home. You went for dinner a few times, and sure, he could be a little rude to the waitstaff, but it was only because he was so focused on you. He bought you flowers and took you for rides, and sure, sometimes he’d come home far too drunk after seeing his friends and get a little too close, a little too loud, but he always apologised.

And sure, he sometimes made you cry, but he always made it up to you. Sweet promises, small gifts. And he'd never laid a finger on you.

Not until last week, anyway.

You don’t know what to do. You don’t know who to turn to. The thought of it makes you so sick you have to lock yourself in the bathroom at work. How did this happen? How did it turn so sour?

And how do you get out?

Walk you home to see

Where you're livin' around

And I know this place

Frankie walks you home from the bonfire. He always does.

It’s his favourite moment of the night.

He gets to have you all to himself. Gets to watch your cheeks cool in the night air, watch as the blush from the heat of the fire subsides. Your giddy, wide eyes, your tipsy babbling about stories which had been swapped over the flames, picking out particularly scandalous details for you two to giggle about before doubling over into breathless laughter over something Benny had said.

He likes to hold your elbow, your hand, as you catch him in your amusement, gripping onto his bicep. He loves to lose himself in this little pocket of time with you.

He loves the sparkle of the stars, the glow of the streetlights as they light your features.

Frankie loves you.

And he’s so glad you’ve moved back from your life in the big city to come and be around your real friends again. So glad that you’ve all found your way back to each other. Tonight has left him with such a mellow tingle in his bones that he finds he can’t stop smiling at you, looking at you, on your walk home.

Bonfire nights have always been your monthly hangout, a time when you can be sure you’ll get the whole gang together. There used to be more of you through highschool, and still a fair few during college. It dipped when the boys joined the forces, when people moved further east and further north. But eventually Frankie, Benny, Santi, and Will had come back. Jessa, your other best friend, had returned too. A few others coming and going - Lily, Marcus, Maggie - also back and forth from their new homes to their old ones. And then eventually folk had just… settled.

Frankie felt like he was one of the last, like he was maybe the one finding it the hardest, retired to a life of civvy duties. Unable to hold down a girlfriend, struggling to stick at a job, sofa surfing around friends’ places. He was still flying whenever he could, but then this coke allegation happened, and it was like the world was finally swept from under him.

You were the first person he had called, the first person to talk him down from his panic, that debilitating squeeze around his heart when he thought about the future. The first person who made him feel like it would be okay.

So of course his joy when you had come back had been immeasurable. Maybe this time, he’d thought.

And then you’d met Tanner.

He’s pulled from his thoughts as you drag your hand out of his, skipping a little further up the dark street until you reach a corner. Frankie watches as you spin on the spot in the quiet neighbourhood, gesturing down the pathway before you.

‘This is me.’ You say.

But you don’t turn to keep walking. You watch him, a small, excited smile on your lips. Like you’re waiting for him to work it out.

Frankie drags his eyes from you, away from thoughts of your new boyfriend, to look up and down the street you’ve led him to, and for a second he is pulled beneath the ebbing flow of memory, towed with the riptide of things forgotten.

This is his grandmother’s street. Was his grandmother’s street.

The cracked concrete, the peeling paint of the porches. The weeds, the flowers, the smell.

He breathes your name like you’re the only thing tethering him to the now.

Breathes your name through the bright, sunny flashes of his childhood. His mama bringing him here with his brother, his papa swinging him by his legs in the flower-riddled front garden. Cartoons in the ripe heat of the afternoons, him and his cousins stuffing their faces with Guagitas and Frugele until they’d made themselves sick while the younger siblings napped in the sunbeams of the bedroom next door. Cycling over on his bike after school to sit at her kitchen table to do his homework, letting her fuss over him - his height, his friends, his grades, girls -

A skinnier, younger Frankie stopping by his abuela’s house with you to pick up her up for his nineteenth birthday party, along with her homemade tamales, her chiles rellenos, and specially made pumpkin sopaipillas for later on. The way you had chatted to her, natural, easy going, how you had made her laugh, her eyes sparkle. How, when you had taken some of the plates to the car, his abuela had pinched his cheek. I like her, she’d said, Será tuya algún día, mm, mijo? And Frankie had flushed bright red, batting her arms away as she chuckled at him. He had hidden in the back bedroom when you came in from outside, and listened a little longer to your conversation as he waited for the heat of his face to die down. When he reemerged, you had helped his grandmother into her shoes, her cardigan, and kept ahold of her arm until she got into Frankie’s beat up old car. At the end of the night, his abuela had kissed both your cheeks several times, rocked you back and forth in a hug, and clapped her hands as she said how she looked forward to seeing you again.

When you came home from college every summer, you’d have tea with her in her garden. She always asked Frankie about you, about how you are doing. When he told her you were coming home, she’d been so excited. Quizás este sea el momento? She’d said to him, squeezing his hand. He’d smiled, his heart quietly full of hope. Tal vez, abuela, he’d said.

When he called you two weeks later, his voice weak from crying, to tell you that she’d passed, you had been heartbroken. And it seemed like her wish, the red thread she’d seen between the two of you, had been snipped, too.

Pour yourself on me

And you know I'm the one

That you won't forget

Frankie likes to listen to you talk, because he’s never much been one for talking.

He supposes you just bring it out of him, though. Because here on this street, in the moonlight, he tells you more about his grandmother. You spend hours walking up and down the pavement as he recounts every story he can remember; him and his brother, his parents, aunts and uncles, cousins. Birthdays, weddings, funerals. The street comes alive with the ghosts of people, the spectres of feelings. You and Frankie talk of growing up. Of falling in love. Of each other.

Your small, well-loved house is half way down the street, four up from his abuela’s. It does something strange to his heart to have two of his favourite people, who loved each other in their own ways, so close but so far away.

Your fingers hold his wrist as he shows you a scar on his palm from eating shit on his bike when he was eight, and when he looks up, your eyes are shining under the streetlights. There is a glint of moon in your teeth, and a shocking want so clear on your face, but when he meets your eye there is suddenly hesitation, a realisation, a shuttering. Frankie stops his story. There is a moment, and then it slips away like sand.

You shiver, chilled all of a sudden, and wrap your arms around yourself. Frankie tries not to look too hard at the goose bumps blossoming on your bare skin, tries to fight off the urge to kiss the little raises until you’re warm again under his touch.

‘Cold?’ he asks, and you smile back up at him. God, his heart.

‘As a hole,’ you giggle, and he feels himself smile goofily back at you. ‘We gotta warm up.’ You say, and then freeze.

It takes Frankie a little while longer to hear the inadvertent invitation in your words.

Boyfriend. Boyfriend.

You both stand on the porch, frozen, like some great frost has swept over the land. If Frankie squints, he can imagine the glitter of your eyeshadow, now fallen, dusted on your cheeks, is a collective of tiny constellations of ice.

Your body is wracked with a shiver again, but when Frankie looks you in the eye, you’re burning up from the inside. He swallows.

If he could only make the steps towards you. If he could only will his heavy feet to move, if he could summon his nerves to do exactly what his brain says, he would already be in front of you. He would have your face in his hands, be able to look into your eyes to see that deep, hidden want again, and kiss you. Again and again and again, and he wouldn’t stop, because things like that shitty boyfriend of yours wouldn’t matter anymore.

No. The whole world would be glitter and stars and constellations of ice crystals.

And then you blink, smile softly, and wish him a goodnight.

When he can finally lift his foot to move, your door is already closed.

And in your denim eyes

I see that something's awry

And I see you’re weak

You don’t see Frankie for a while after that, always finding a way to brush off his attempts to hang out.

At first he doesn’t worry too much about it. You’ve just moved back - you have a new job, a new place, new friends to get to know. Tanner.

Frankie finds other things to do. He gets business cards made up for the flying school he’ll be setting up next month. He pilots people across the state, sometimes across the country. He sees the boys for drinks, even sees Jessa for a coffee. He starts to worry when they say their texts have gone mostly unanswered, and they haven’t seen you either.

It must be why he turns up on your front step one day, a six pack in hand.

You open the door on the second ring of the doorbell, and Frankie finds himself rendered speechless. You look… different.

Tired and wary, a little thinner. And when he gets you chatting, you say you haven’t really been anywhere, done anything. You’ve been settling in, getting used to it. You have two beers each, but you seem on edge, like you’re waiting for a knock on the door. And then Frankie asks about Tanner, and your eyes linger on the entryway a little longer.

‘Yeah,’ you say, ‘He’s okay.’

Frankie’s jaw twitches, his stomach clenching uncomfortably.

‘Just okay?’ He asks.

Because you should be excited. You should be gushing and giddy and falling in love. But you’re not.

‘Yeah,’ you shrug. ‘He’s good.’

There’s something in your eyes. Something which shrinks away, skitters back. Something drained, something sapped of life, of energy. Hurt, maybe. Fear, perhaps.

When Frankie thinks back now, he knows he should have pressed you harder. Maybe should have taken you to his, made you talk a little more for a little longer. Away from Tanner, the threat of his presence. But he didn’t. He didn’t.

And he hates himself for it.

When he comes around

I see you're fixin' to shine

And my face won't speak

When Frankie next sees you, you’ve had a hair cut, and there are deep, dark bags under your eyes. Both of these things worry him equally.

Your beautiful hair that you’d been growing out since you were young, hair that you swore you’d never cut shorter than it was in seventh grade, when your mum had to chop it into a bob after you got gum caught in it. And here it is now, much shorter.

Jessa says she likes it, and you give her a watery smile, a weak thank you. She asks where you had it done, when. She asks if you like it, and you shrug. You say you’re trying something new. You say Tanner likes it.

Over your shoulder, Frankie exchanges a look with Santi.

You’re quiet the whole time you're at the bar. Far too quiet, so far from the bubbly conversation you usually hold, your loud cackle, your bent-double amusement. Your affection for your friends - the hands on knees, arms around shoulders, kisses pressed to cheeks. It’s hardly there.

Frankie offers to walk you home, but you wave him off kindly. Tanner’s picking me up, you say, he’s probably outside. Jessa frowns at you.

‘Are you sure, babe?’ She says. ‘It’s not even late yet.’

You smile and nod at her, gather your stuff to go. Jessa catches your arm.

‘We’re still on to go shopping Saturday, though - right?’

You smile at her, the first warm one you’ve mustered all night.

‘Of course,’ you say, ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

When you stand to leave, you hug everybody goodbye. Tightly, for longer than usual. Frankie doesn’t give you an option when he walks you out to Tanner’s car. The smug prick is hanging out the driver’s seat window. He watches Frankie as you walk up, hostile, threatening, arrogant, and somehow still ridiculous. And, Frankie thinks cruelly - ugly.

Frankie pulls you into his arms a few steps away from your boyfriend. He kisses your hair, and you sigh.

‘Have a good time on Saturday,’ he says softly. You twitch a smile at him.

‘Thank you, Frankie.’ You say before stepping back and walking to open the passenger door. As you climb in, Tanner winks at him.

‘Gettin’ a new one tomorrow,’ he says, stupid fucking grin on his face. ‘New car. Exciting stuff. Anyway, better get this one back,’ he says, squeezing your knee a little too hard. You don’t look at Frankie, something like humiliation colouring your cheeks. ‘See you around, Frank.’ Tanner says.

Frankie steps back from the car as it glides forwards, and he watches it disappear up the street.

Deep anger burns in him. And a kind of fear. It crawls over his skin, cooling the sides of his neck. His heart churns uncomfortably in his chest.

He tells your friends about it when he returns to the table. And they form a plan. Jessa texts you a time she’ll pick you up on Saturday. You say you’re excited again, you need some new clothes.

But Frankie knows Jessa won’t take you shopping.

No, she brings you here, to the beach, to the bonfire. To him, to Santi and Benny and Will. Because they’re worried.

So worried, they tell you.

They sit you down in one of the chairs around the fire, and they explain why they’re worried. They tell you they love you - so much - and they just need to know if you’re okay. Because they can help. They want to help, want you out of this, because he’s not good for you. The silence, the hair, the clothes you were going to buy. They tell you they hate the way he doesn’t let you speak, how he speaks to you. And you are so quiet through all of it, Frankie begins to get more worried. He speaks to you gently over the fire, but you can’t meet his eye. He tells you his worries, their love for you again. He swallows down his own confession, anything to make you see. How they don’t want you pushed closer to him, want you to be pulled closer to them instead.

But your eyes are so vacant, so far away, that Jessa leaves her deckchair next to you to sit on the burned up log closer to you on your other side. She takes your hands, and you finally, finally look at her. You open your mouth, and you say so quietly -

‘You’re right. You’re right.’

It feels like the biggest gulp of oxygen Frankie has ever taken. He feels lightheaded from the relief, from the knowledge. They were right, they were right, which is a terrible, terrible thing.

Will clears his throat, and Frankie looks at him to see similar thoughts flicking over his face like film reel. He licks his lips, opens his mouth, and -

Hate to be so emotional

I didn't aim to get physical

But when he pulled in and revved it up

I said, ‘You call that a pickup truck?’

And in the moonlight I throwed him down

Kickin', screamin' and rollin' around

A little piece of a bloody tooth

Just so you know I was thinking of you

Whatever Will is about to say is cut short by the sweep of headlights over the brush near the dunes.

A beat up old pickup truck bumps up the track and pulls up alongside Will’s Ranger. The driver’s side window slides down, and Tanner’s face emerges from the gloom. He revs the engine loudly, making you and Jessa jump. A sick feeling curls in Frankie’s stomach as he watches him, this piece of shit who’s been so busy crushing you down.

Tanner leaps out of the truck, and slams the door. Frankie looks over at you, visibly panicked on the other side of the fire. How the fuck did he find you?

‘Hey baby,’ Tanner says, sickly sweet as he strolls towards you, ducking to press a kiss to your unresponsive mouth. He turns to the rest of the group, eyes skating over Will and Ben until they land on Frankie. Tanner steps towards him, offers his hand.

‘Good to see you again, Frank,’ he says, ‘Told you I’d be getting a new ride.’

Frankie stares at his hand. He takes a deep swig of his beer, breathing deeply before looking Tanner in the eye, refusing to shake it.

‘I’m surprised to see you.’ He says to the dirty-haired man.

Tanner tries his best to appear unfazed, but there’s a glimmer of something hot behind his eyes.

‘’Course man, wanted to show off the new pickup.’ He says, grinning broadly. He looks around again, eyes falling hungrily on Jessa. She shifts uncomfortably on the log, rearranging her body so there’s less for him to look at. A deep heat begins to rise in Frankie’s chest.

He glances again at the ancient car that Tanner’s driven up in. The front bumper almost hanging off, the red paint aged and scratched, bumps caved in all up the sides, the roof sagging.

‘You call that a pickup truck?’ Frankie says lightly. Tanner narrows his eyes at him, angry, before he catches the sound of Santi’s laugh.

He whirls around to the other man and spits -

‘Who the fuck are you?’

Frankie almost laughs, too. Almost.

Pope spreads his hands. He looks up at him through his brows, a glint in his eyes that Frankie is violently familiar with. You must notice it, too, because you clear your throat and say -

‘Santi’s one of my friends.’

Tanner doesn’t even look at you. Just keeps staring at Pope.

The moment seems to last an eternity. Frankie feels like he’s watching everything through sludge, like he’s in someone else’s dream. His whole body is on edge, vibrating, ready to lunge - he’s just not sure at who. He looks between the two men before he catches your eye through the flames. The adrenaline in Frankie’s heart gutters at the look of panic in your eyes.

Please don’t let them do this. Please help me stop it.

Frankie glances back to Pope, and says, so softly only he can hear it -

‘Pope.’

And Santi immediately looks away, taking a swig of his beer.

Tanner stands there still, clearly baffled at Santi’s sudden lack of interest. Then he turns to the rest of the group like a petulant child, a toddler who has been ostensibly robbed of its favourite toy.

‘It’s a good truck,’ he says, before turning to you. ‘Ain’t it, baby?’

You hum your agreement as Tanner scoops a beer from the pile by Will’s chair, shucking off the top with his teeth. Jessa looks away, disgusted. He settles himself in the deckchair at your side.

‘Y’aint allowed to touch it, of course, sugar,’ he says to you, before laughing into his bottle. ‘Ruin everything you come into, anyway. Root of all my problems, ain’t ya?’ Tanner takes a pull of his beer. The group is silent around him. Around you. Tanner notices.

‘Boy, fun bunch you are.’

You look at him through your eyelashes.

‘Baby, that’s enough.’ You say as softly as possible, and Frankie cringes at the pet name.

Tanner looks at you sharply. Dark, furious. It’s in the pinch of his jaw, the anger at what you’ve said so obviously rolling around in his skull.

Frankie hates him for it. And he hates that he hates him for it. There are already so many things he hates him for, but he’s so fucking stupid it’s almost funny. Not your equal in any way. In kindness, in conversation or in intellect. And not even willing to try. To learn. For you. Just trying to dumb you down instead, squash you into smaller, more digestible bites to chew on.

When it comes down to it, Tanner has nothing smart to say back. He just pushes a short breath from his nostrils and mutters out a little -

‘Well, well, well.’

Then he flexes his fingers against the chair, and you flinch.

You flinch hard, your brows coming together, chin scrunching, waiting for the blow to land. And when it doesn’t, your eyes flicker open slowly. Hollow, bereft, drained and dim.

Tanner hasn’t noticed, but everyone else has.

The awful unveiling of your last secret.

Frankie forces the bile down his throat. His head swings forward to the ground of its own accord, a faint, resonant ringing in his ears. When he looks at his hands, they aren’t his own. In fact, he recognises no part of his body as the ringing gets louder, as he gently places his beer bottle on the floor. When his eyes leave the dirt, the mix of faces around the fire are all mirror reflections of each other. Horror, disgust, grief. Grief that this is what you hid from them, this is what they have taken too long to pull you from. The burning building splintering around you, your shell of a body immovable in the middle.

You won’t meet his eye. You won’t meet anyone’s eye as your hand shakes around your bottle. Jessa notices. She stares at your trembling fingers for too long, but she can hardly say anything. None of them can. Her eyes shine like beacons from her seat, wet with tears. Frankie sees her bottom lip quiver, her chin dimple. And then she swallows, swallows again, and reaches for your hand.

You flinch again, softer this time, and Frankie is sure everyone around the fire - everyone in the town, the world, must hear his heart crack. Because he feels it so keenly, so deeply, that it takes the air from his lungs. His breath is caught in his throat, and no matter how hard he tries to draw it, it seems impossible to claw it down. He’s drowning. He’s drowning right here in front of everybody, and it makes it all the worse to know that this is how you must feel. Every damn day.

Come on, he hears Jessa say, Let’s go and get another drink. And through the dark swirling of his mind he watches the two of you stand slowly and disappear towards the back of Frankie’s truck. He waits until Jessa has you hidden from view, her arms around your hunched back as you bring your hands to your face - crying - and that’s when the thread snaps.

Frankie gets to his feet, slowly.

Pope and Will watch him. Benny is still staring at Tanner.

Tanner looks up at him, chin jutted out, smirking as Frankie approaches.

He’s challenging him. He’s waiting for a war of words, for the shouting to begin, for the insults, the observations to fly.

He expected the wrong war from a soldier.

The first punch sprawls him out of his seat. It makes a satisfying cracking sound, and the first trickle of blood starts to bleed from behind his lip.

Then Frankie kicks him. He kicks him hard in the ribs, making sure he doesn’t have enough time to recover from the punch to deflect Frankie’s boot.

Tanner clutches at his abdomen, wheezing, gazing up at Frankie with bewildered eyes. Fucking coward.

Frankie grabs him by the front of his shirt, pulls him upwards. He has nothing to say to him, but the fury he feels, this deep, endless, swirling pit of rage, he lets him see. He lets it fill him from the soles of his feet all the way up through his eyes, and he lets it bleed out. He lets the blackness flood the ground. He lets Tanner watch it, lets it petrify him, and then Frankie swings again. Tanner takes it on his chin this time, his jaw snapping closed, and when it goes lax, a couple jagged bits of tooth fall out. Frankie grunts in satisfaction and swings again, again, until blood spouts from Tanner’s eyebrow and his cheek begins to bruise and swell. Frankie breathes deeply, in rhythm, doesn’t even feel it when Tanner manages to land a lucky punch to his eye socket. He plants a knee into the other man’s crotch, lands him an elbow to the back of his head when he keels over, and then shoves him to the ground. Frankie gets on the floor with him, raining blows down on Tanner’s body, his face. He’s methodical about it, a punch to each eye, the crack of the cunt’s nose, one to either side of his mouth, then bloodying up his jaw. He’s aware, somewhere, that Tanner is screaming. Strangled, gargling sounds trying to claw up his throat. And then he’s aware of two pairs of hands around each armpit, dragging him away, pulling him up. Will is saying something in his ear, that’s enough, Frankie, alright now, and Benny is speaking, too, panicked - you’ll kill him, Fish, come on man.

Frankie blinks, really looks at Tanner where he lays bleeding on the dirt. His eyes already swelling, a couple more teeth scattered on the ground next to him. His face different shades of red and purple, a mess of a man, and Frankie is pleased. He could keep going. He wants to see him bleed much, much more. Will and Benny keep their grip on him.

‘Leave,’ Frankie growls, low, without a quiver in his voice. ‘And don’t you ever come back. You ever look at her again, I’ll gouge out your fuckin’ eyes. You ever touch her again, I’ll break every bone in your body. I’ll make sure they don’t find anything left of you.’

Tanner doesn’t say anything, which must be the only smart thing he’s ever done in his life. But he still doesn’t move.

The four men watch him for a moment, the silence heavy, broken only by the crackle of wood and Tanner’s heavy, wet breaths.

Then Benny lets Frankie go, steps forward and picks the man up by his collar, swinging him around to the direction of his truck. He throws him down on the dirt.

‘Move,’ he spits. ‘Get out of here. And if you have the courage on the way, wrap your fucking truck around a telephone pole.’

Tanner finally has the good sense to crawl over to the vehicle. He hauls himself up the scarred body work before creaking open the driver’s door and slipping inside. The truck sputters to life, yellow bulbs flooding the bonfire site again before it quickly backs away, turns, and drives off. Frankie watches its blinking red brake lights until he’s sure the cunt is gone, and then he turns around.

You’re stood with Santi’s arms wrapped around you, back from the fire where Tanner’s blood is drying. Pope strokes your hair, squeezes you tightly as your body shudders. And Frankie can only stare.

Minutes might have passed. Hours. And Frankie is terrified. Terrified that he’s scared you, broken you, pushed you away. And then you turn your face on Pope’s chest, moving your head from shoulder to shoulder, and you’re looking at him. Eyes red-rimmed and raw, face flushed and damp, and it’s like Frankie’s trance breaks.

Frightened, he takes a step forward. He breathes your name.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, and you shake your head. Fuck. What has he done? What has he allowed himself to do? ‘I’m sorry, querida, please - I know, I know -’ but what does he know? He looks to Santi, pleading for help, and the man offers him a small smile as you step out of his arms.

Through a fog, you come towards him. Your chin wobbles. Your eyes swim. You’re a little wide-eyed, a little shocked. And something else, something beyond his reach.

You get to him, and your arms make their silken way around his middle as you begin to cry. Hot tears stain the front of his shirt, and he cradles you to him, holding your skull gently, enveloping your abdomen. A loud sob looses from your ribs.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers, ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’ You wrap your arms around him tighter, press your nose into his sternum.

‘I’m not scared of you, Frankie,’ you sob into his chest. He clutches at the back of your head, holds you even closer, strokes your hair. When you speak again your voice is higher, strained with your tears. ‘I could never be scared of you.’

The sting in Frankie’s throat becomes hot, burning. He doesn’t know whether to pull you impossibly closer or to push you away, to run as far as he can from your broken, heaving body in his arms. Because what he’s done should scare you. It should. He’d lost all control. The only thing he’d been able to see, to feel was his all-consuming, depthless fury. And Tanner’s face as it splintered, bloodied, swelled. And he’d wanted to keep going, until there was just pulp. No nerve endings, no teeth, no eyes, no mouth, no body that he could ever hurt you with again. He doesn’t want you to hurt any more.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers into your hair.

Trembling misery

And as cold as a hole

I hug your bones and skin

Frankie holds your hand the whole way home, the drive passing in a dazed silence.

You still don’t talk when you get to his place, when he unlocks the door, lets you in, and locks it behind him. You take his hand in the quiet cool of the house, lead him upstairs. He follows, slowly, sore, exhausted. Trying to process it all.

When you reach the landing, you turn on the bathroom light, and he trails behind you. He stands propped against the sink as you dig around in his medicine cabinet, finding wipes and bandages and anything else you think might be useful. You take Frankie’s hand again, examine his bruised, bleeding and swollen knuckles with solemn eyes. You are so gentle, twisting his hand in the light, inspecting. You look over it for a while, and Frankie watches you. When you reach for an antiseptic wipe, your hand is shaking.

Frankie winces silently when you start to dab at the blood on his knuckles, cleaning it away with minute swipes. You chase the dried rivulets of blood down his fingers, over his palm. The scar there from when he ate shit riding his bike.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. You ignore him, breathing shallowly as you inspect his hand, holding his wrist, cleaning blood which is no longer there.

‘Might be a hairline fracture or two,’ you say, distant. ‘I won’t bandage it, gonna let it dry out first. But you’ll need to rest it. And we’ll need to ice your eye.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says again, into your hair. You shake your head, and the light catches the different colours in every strand. Frankie’s throat tightens.

‘Please stop apologising.’ You whisper.

A shaky breath pushes itself from between Frankie’s lips.

‘No, querida,’ he says softly, ‘It wasn’t right. Shouldn’t have done it. And I shouldn’t have let you see -’ he swallows thickly, throat bobbing. He looks over your head at the white tiles behind you as your grip on his wrist tightens. You still don't look up at him. ‘But it’s not how you treat someone you love. Not how it should be. Should be protecting them, treating them right, loving them the way you love -’ him. He cuts himself off, because he realises as he says it he’s wrong. So wrong.

Right to be like you in your gentleness. In your care, your touch, your tenderness, your loving. But Tanner deserved none of those things. He didn’t deserve your faith, didn’t deserve your protection or your silence either. None of it.

He closes his eyes.

An image of you flickers through Frankie’s mind. Your fingers on his wrist as they are now, your eyes shining under the streetlights. The glint of your teeth, and the want so clear on your face, then the hesitation, the fear, the shuttering -

And if only he had kissed you then. If only you had taken him inside. He could have shown you what it was supposed to feel like. He could have saved you from the hurt, the fear which lay ahead.

There’s a splash of warmth on the pale skin of the underside of his forearm, and he opens his eyes again. You’re still hunched over his hand, but your movements have stilled. Frankie waits, confused, before another warm drop lands on his arm and you hiccup a sob out. He whispers out your name, and you turn your face up to him, devastated.

Frankie’s face crumples, and your grip on his wrist loosens enough for him to lift his hands to your face and cup your cheeks.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, ‘I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said it. I wasn’t thinking -’

‘You think I love him?’ You croak.

Frankie’s jaw works around his next sentence, his next thoughts. He tries to process what this means. That look in your eyes, your tears, your implication. His lips move, but no sound comes out.

‘I don’t love him, Frankie,’ you choke, ‘I don’t. Christ - I don’t think I ever did, I never could -’ you suck in a deep, stuttered breath. ‘I’ve never - never hated anyone more. I couldn’t stand him, couldn’t have him near me, couldn’t have him touch me -’ Frankie flinches at your words. ‘But I was so scared. And embarrassed. I didn’t know how to leave - I didn’t know how to tell anybody about what was going on. I was terrified of what he’d do. To me, to you guys, if he found out I’d spoken about it. And he made it so hard for me to see you, so hard for me to get away.’ You sob now, panic and relief forcing out your words. ‘I thought - wherever I go, he’ll find me. He’ll track me down, and he’ll bring me back - and somehow - somehow that was worse than if he tracked me down and - and - I don’t know, killed me or something -’

Frankie’s eyes shutter. He can’t even follow your thought, so awful is the image, the gaping emptiness. He pulls you close, he lets you cry. Curled into his chest, your body wracking with tears, shaking, tense and uncontrollable, the sounds you make rooting in his brain. They file themselves away in a box where very few things go. Deployment. Tom. The darkness after his investigation. You break and break in his arms, and it’s all he can do to hold the pieces of you together. To press kisses to your head, breathe in the smell of your hair, rub his hands over your back, cradle you like a child.

He doesn’t know how long the two of you stand there for. He waits until you stop sobbing, stop crying softly, stop hiccuping, stop sniffing. He waits for a few more minutes in the silence, too. And when he pulls away, he presses a long, sweet kiss to your forehead.

You blink up at him through red, swollen eyes.

‘You’re safe here.’ He says, and you nod.

‘I know. Thank you. For - everything.’ You say thickly. Frankie swallows, nods. You know it all anyway. Any time, for however long you need.

He pads downstairs to get you a glass of water, and while he’s pouring it, he can hear you blow your nose, wash your face. Somehow, they are the most perfect sounds in the world.

Crackling wood’s gone white

And my eye swole up now

I can see the light

Frankie gives you one of his sleep-stretched t-shirts and an old pair of shorts for you to wear to bed.

The clothes dwarf you a little, and he can’t wipe the small, thrilled smile from his face, even when he looks away. You look fucking adorable.

You giggle at him every time you see it, your little what? only making him smile harder. It stretches his mouth until it hurts and his cheeks start to cramp up, squishing his swollen eye. Stop he tries to say, but it comes out as an equally breathless huff of laughter - and that only makes you giggle more. So much so that he sweeps you up into his arms to stash you under the covers, and you laugh even harder as he tucks the sheets in tight around you, just like his mama used to do when she wanted him to stay put.

He looks down at you from the side of the bed, hands on his hips, and you laugh back at him - eyes shining, mouth open in wide hoots of delight, your hands coming up in a desperate attempt to contain yourself. He points a finger at you.

‘You need to calm down,’ he says, voice tight with bridled amusement. ‘It’s bedtime.’

But you cackle back at him, this glorious puddle of sunshine in his bed, only howls of laughter for a response. Unable to help himself, he returns your joy, turning off the bedside lamps to slip in beside you.

In the darkness, your snorts subside into ragged breaths, and you turn on your side to look at him. You study him as though you never want to forget a single line on his face; such warmth, such affection in your eyes that Frankie’s whole body swells and lifts.

You take his hand beneath the sheets and hold it between your faces, smiling softly at him.

The first and only girl he’s really ever loved. This brilliant, fierce, bright, intelligent woman damped down by the waste of fucking space who had bled by the fire. At the thought of it, Frankie feels his heart fall out of his chest, down through the floorboards, and plummet towards the middle of the earth.

And finally, he begins to cry.

He tries to stop it, he really does. It’s selfish, he thinks, so awful and selfish to cry in front of you when it’s you who should be wrapped in his arms, swept away by emotion again if you needed to be, safe and warm and unworried, never having to fret about anything again.

But he can’t stop it. It comes out in great shuddering breaths - pained, wracked sounds slipping past his lips, and he can’t help it. He tries to gather them in his hands to shove them back in his mouth, tries to scoop them in his arms and press them back into the caving ache of his chest, but he can’t.

When Frankie was a child, he saw his dad cry once. Only once, and exactly like this, after his father’s brother was killed in a car accident. He had seen it through a crack in his parents’ bedroom door, and it had hurt him. It had wounded him, as a child, to see his father break with such grief, such pain, such emptiness, and to know there was nothing he could do about it. And now, he is split into those two people - younger self, older self - as he thinks of you lying next to him on the bed. This person who he loves so much, who is now so full of the knowledge of the worst parts of living, wound up so tight within you that you let it settle, let it unfurl around your bones. He sees your hurt, your grief, your pain refracted around him tenfold, and he hurts with you. He sees you as the boy he once was, this poor creature looking in at a heart breaking, as he has unknowingly watched yours break for months.

And he’s so sorry, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to stop saying it.

But here you are, still, performing the ultimate act of kindness. Comfort.

He feels the mattress move as you slide closer to him, and then your hand is on his back, swooping in gentle movements. He feels the scrabble of your fingers under the ribs he has pressed into the bed, the pressure of your arm moving under him so you can hold him properly. Frankie sobs harder, but he opens his body to you. You press closer to him, burying your face in his neck, and he breathes you in as he cries. Your scent is here, you are here. And like you heard him, you whisper -

‘It’s okay, Frankie. It’s okay. ’M here. I’m safe.’ And this realisation allows a little more air, but it doesn’t make Frankie’s guilt, his shame any better. But you’re right, he knows it. And somewhere in his crying, this turns his gasps to tears of relief. Softly, you retract your arms from around him.

You take his hands away from his face, and kiss the palms. You kiss each fingertip, each bruised and cracked knuckle. You lean forward and press a kiss to each tear, each trail of saltwater on his face. And you are so beautiful in the moonlight. Soft and wide eyed. Safe. Kind, always kind, and full of understanding. Frankie sees now that you have been crying against him, too, your eyelashes cloyed with tears. Sees his thoughts in your eyes as though you have had each of them zip to you through the air. When you were a child, you saw your dad cry once. Only once, and exactly like this, after…

A smile breaks through your eyes, chasing away the remnants of tears, glazing down, softening your lips.

And Frankie doesn’t think this time. His feet don’t fail him. He doesn’t think of stars or glitter or constellations of ice crystals. He just kisses you. And kisses you and kisses you and kisses you. And he doesn’t stop, because nothing else matters anymore.

You’re safe. You’re warm. You’re in his bed.

You’re here.

You tip your head back, deepening the kiss, licking into Frankie’s mouth. He gives in so easily to you he’s almost ashamed. But then your fingers clutch at him, ball at the bottom of his shirt, tangle in the thick of his hair, and all his thoughts are forgotten. He feels you slip a soft, strong leg over his, pulling him forward. You groan against him, and Frankie’s cock twitches. You feel it, you must do, as you pull your body closer to him, tight against him. Frankie is so lightheaded he doesn’t know where his hands are, what they’re doing - and when he concentrates, he finds them skating over your back, squeezing the tension out of the back of your neck, gripping your hip.

He moans against you as you rock your hips over his thigh, as he feels the heat of your sex against his skin. He feels like he’s on fire.

You slip a hand under his sleep shorts and palm him, brushing his silken length with two fingers, feeling him grow harder, thicker against you. You take him in your hand, pump him once, twice with the perfect grip, the perfect speed, like you were made for him. He’s gasping against you, panting as you suck his lower lip into your mouth.

‘Baby,’ he groans, breathless, ‘We don’t have to. We really don’t -’

You look up at him through gorgeous, glazed eyes.

‘I want to,’ you say, ‘Do you?’

Dangerous, dangerous question.

Frankie tries to shake his head, look away, think of anything but the tight fist of your fingers around his cock.

‘I do,’ he says, ‘I do. But I don’t think - this is the right thing -’

You loosen your grip, draw away from him. His body aches with a shudder.

His eyes flick back to yours again - confused, hurt - fuck, he can’t do that to you, ever -

‘I - I don’t want to take advantage of it - of you,’ he says. Your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks as you look down the sheets towards your toes. His jaw tightens. ‘And - and I don’t want this to mean - different things for us. I don’t want it to ruin what we have.’ Frankie breathes out heavily through his nose. He has to tell you now. He has to. ‘I don’t want it to mean different things, because I love you. I always have. And if we do this, if I have you even just for a night, I - I’ll never recover from it.’ Tears spike in his eyes again. He tries to smile. ‘You’d ruin me. And I don’t think I’d ever forgive you for it.’

Your breath hitches in your throat, and Frankie watches as your eyes flit back up to his. They search his face, the dribble of his barely-shed tears, the slope of his sad smile. You bring a hand up to cup his cheek, running your thumb over his scraps of beard. He closes his eyes.

‘What you said earlier,’ you begin. Frankie swallows. He waits for the blow of rejection. ‘About me - about me loving him.’ He opens his eyes slowly to find yours, bright and clear. Something begs to bubble over in them. Something golden and warm. ‘You were wrong - obviously. And I couldn’t tell you truly why, because I was afraid. So afraid of pushing you away, even though I think that’s all I’ve ever done. I’ve never thought I was worth it, Frankie. I don’t deserve you. And I am terrified of how much I love you.’ You beam at him, eyes bubbling over with that thing - love - ‘I love you,’ you say simply, like it’s not the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.

A stunned little laugh ripples up his throat, and you copy it. He grips your face in his hands, and kisses you again, again, again.

‘I love you,’ he says.

‘I love you, too,’ you giggle.

‘And you are,’ he presses to your lips, ‘You are absolutely worth it.’

He rolls over on top of you, and begins to kiss your jaw, nipping at the skin there, before moving down your throat. He kisses you with a hot, open mouth, sucking marks into the sensitive skin at your pulse point. Mine, he groans, and you whimper against him, rubbing your thighs together.

Frankie pushes your shirt up - his shirt - so he can bite at your chest, press kisses to every bit of exposed skin. Every single part of you that deserves to be loved, every single place which has so far been unknown to him. He sucks each nipple into his mouth, delighted when you keen beneath him, panting, please, please Frankie, before he sinks lower down, peeling his shorts away from you to expose your glistening cunt.

He groans, unable to take his eyes away from it as he leans forward, pressing his body into the mattress to lick a stripe from your asshole to your clit.

‘Frankie -’ you groan down at him as he begins to work at you, sucking and licking, nipping at your thigh before slipping his tongue into your hole, swiping and tasting everything you’re giving to him. He grinds himself into the mattress, hissing at the relief, the uncomfortable weight of his cock dragging below him.

‘Taste so good, baby,’ he tells you, and he doesn’t think he ever wants to taste, wants to smell anything else ever again. All he can do is eat at you, breathe you in, until you’re begging him -

‘Frankie, your fingers - please -’ And he flexes his hand at your hip before brushing a fingertip against your entrance and gasping at the pain.

You try to bear down towards him, but he rips his hand away, lifting his head towards you.

‘Can’t,’ he gasps, and you mewl, bucking your hips up to his face, desperate. ‘Hand’s fucked,’ he says, and you still your movements before beginning to laugh again. It’s loud and from your belly, and it's bizarre. But Frankie gets it. He gets it, and he giggles too. He doesn’t try to fuck his broken knuckles into you, but he does try to continue lathing you with his tongue. You’re making it pretty fucking difficult, though.

‘Stop laughing,’ he huffs against your clit, ‘I’m trying to make you come.’

‘Okay,’ you say, gasping for air, ‘Okay. I’m sorry. I’m very sorry. You’re doing really well, by the way.’ But this only makes him laugh. He groans, leaning his forehead against your inner thigh. ‘This is impossible.’ He pouts.

‘Nooo,’ you cry, leaning up on your elbows to pout down at him. ‘Please, baby. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good. I won’t laugh anymore.’

‘Promise?’ He says. You hold out your pinky to him.

‘Pinky promise.’ You say.

Frankie stretches his hand out to you and tries to extend his pinky. He winces at the sharp pain which shoots from the movement, and grunts at you, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

‘You bastard,’ he says, trying and failing to hold his smile, ‘You knew I wouldn’t be able to do that.’

‘Just keeping you on your toes,’ you grin, and then before you can make any more smart remarks, Frankie resumes his ministrations, lapping and tonguing at your clit, your hole, mouthing hot, wet kisses to your pussy. He shakes his head from side to side, running your bud in tight, hard little circles until you’re a moaning, whimpering mess beneath him. Your hips buck unconsciously, and Frankie hooks both his arms around your thighs to hold you down, flattening his hands against your belly to keep you firmly in place. He reaches up to twist at your nipples and you gasp.

‘God, Frankie, tongue feels so fucking good -’

He can feel you begin to pulse against his chin as your whines get higher in pitch, and he groans as you twist handfuls of his hair.

‘Come on, baby,’ he says, ‘Give it to me. Wanna see you come, querida. Wanna taste it. Come on my face.’

And you do, the sensation of it arching your back tight like a bow, a strangled moan cutting off into the ceiling.

‘Fuck, Frankie, fuck -’ as he drives you through it, nodding and murmuring against you as you try to wriggle free, squealing in protest until you manage to twist a leg and set a foot against his chest, pushing him off.

‘Fucking - hell -’ You pant, and Frankie grins down at you, smug.

‘Good?’ He asks, quirking an eyebrow.

‘Oh, fuck you, Morales.’ You laugh, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss, moaning when you taste yourself on him. Your tongue explores every part of his mouth, every crevice behind every tooth, like you can’t get enough of him. Like there'll never be enough of him. ‘Now fuck me.’ You whisper.

And Frankie does not need to be told twice.

He rips his shirt up and off his back, shucks his shorts down his legs, and squeezes himself tight as he can in his left hand. He ruts into his palm, thumb swiping to slick his heavy beads of precum down his length.

‘Ready?’ he asks, looking down to find you staring wide-eyed at his cock. It twitches under your gaze.

‘What?’ He says, and you shake your head in quiet disbelief and amusement. You lift your eyes back to his face, and they are so dark with arousal he almost melts into the mattress.

‘Nothing,’ you shrug. ‘I just somehow never believed Pope and the boys when they said it was like two coke cans put together.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ Frankie laughs, his face pulling tight with a grin as he lines himself up at your entrance, swilling the head in your arousal.

‘I mean, what if it doesn’t fit?’ You babble, and he shakes his head.

‘It’ll fit, baby,’ he says. ‘We’ll make it fit.’ Then he sinks the first inch in, and just waits. He waits and watches you, watches as your mouth falls slack, all the smart things coming out your mouth grinding to a halt. He throbs at how tight you are around him, at how you clench already, trying to suck him in further. And fuck, you are so wet.

‘You okay, querida?’ He asks through gritted teeth.

You manage a nod, a broken whine escaping you.

‘Move Frankie, please baby -’ you beg, and he groans as he pushes further inside you, watching the obscene stretch of your pussy around him, the way it pulses, the way it gets wetter and warmer and tighter around him. When he bottoms out, he feels the hot rush of his orgasm leap towards him a little too quickly.

‘Fuck, baby,’ he breathes, closing his eyes just to make sure he doesn’t come right away. You squirm beneath him, canting your hips up, trying to fuck yourself. Frankie grips you, gritting his teeth. ‘Stay still,’ he hisses, flushing a little. ‘God, fuck, please - just for a minute.’ He opens his eyes to find you watching him, your bottom lip caught in your teeth. His eyes glaze down your body - his t-shirt bunched up around your chest, perfect tits, perfect belly, and your sweet, sopping cunt split open on his cock.

He groans again, slipping out, watching as he retreats, soaked by you, before pushing back in. A high pitched whine leaves your lips, and you twitch your hands up to play with your tits. Frankie doesn’t think he’s ever seen something more sexy in his life.

‘That’s right,’ he says, ‘Keep playing with yourself like that, gorgeous. Look at you.’

So you do, looking up at him with doe-eyes as he fucks into you, soft at first, letting you adjust before quickening his pace, readjusting his angle, feeling you leak around him. His balls slap against your ass loudly, and you keen up at him, eyes wide, begging for something as you tighten like a coil around him, something you can’t quite voice. But Frankie knows.

He swipes his thumb against your clit, and your eyes roll into the back of your head, your back arching again. He groans at the sight, and works the bundle of nerve endings in tight circles, faster and harder, harder and faster, until you’re gripping him so tight he thinks you might push him out.

‘Come baby, come,’ he pants, ‘Please, querida, need to feel you - need to feel you soak me. Need you to come for me, come on this cock, baby, please -’

And he groans, long and loud as you clench and pulse around him, milking him, pulling him impossible deeper - fuck, Frankie, oh my god, feels so fucking good - the delicious pressure at the base of his spine at breaking point as he fucks you through it, as he pants and gasps -

‘Come, Frankie,’ you plead, ‘Please - want you, need you -’ and he spills himself deep inside you, hips stuttering, eyes clamping shut, overwhelmed and short circuited. He’s never known it could feel like this - good to the end of every synapse - and he’s fucking it in with three long thrusts, pulling out slowly just to watch it dribble out of you as he twitches against his thigh. He thumbs your clit just to watch you seize and sigh against him, then sits back on his knees to look at you.

‘You are something else,’ he says in disbelief.

You smile lazily at him.

‘Ain’t so bad yourself, Morales,’ and he laughs, throwing himself down next to you, kissing anywhere he can. I love you, I love you, I love you. Safe.

You lay there for a while afterwards, just feeling each other, calming your ragged breathing. Eventually, Frankie rises from the bed to grab a washcloth, coming back and swiping between your legs tenderly, gently, before collapsing back into bed and pulling you into his chest.

He feels like he’s in space, and he tells you as much. He spills secrets like a child at a sleepover. He tells you about the glitter and the stars and the constellations of ice crystals. You match him with a galaxy of feeling spanning the time he’s known you. And he feels that this is a dream, this love which floats like a nebula within the bed. He tries to keep his eyes open for as long as possible, even as you sleep. And even when he does drift off, he dreams of you. He dreams of you sparkling with stardust, waiting for him with your arms open.

When he wakes the next morning, you’re still there. Safe, soft and warm against him, furled into his ribcage, heart beating against the hand that’s pressed against your chest.

Everything’s okay. That red thread still intact, after all.

When the sun rises, bloody and mild, it’s never been so sweet.

A little piece of a bloody tooth

Just so you know I was thinking of you

#pedro pascal fanfiction #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #pickup truck #kings of leon #Spotify #pedro pascal x reader

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doumadono · 1 month

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Hello, hello, I'm so so happy for you ❤️ And I'm glad I'm able to celebrate your milestone with you 🎊

As for the request, I want a cone with a little scoop of mint-vanilla ice creams topped with maple syrup! I want to ask for a coffee shop quirkless au with Bakugo

A/N: thank you so much, sweetie! Your support means everything ♥

5k FOLLOWERS EVENT MASTERLIST MY HERO ACADEMIA

Every time you walk into the coffee shop where Bakugo works, he feels a rush of excitement. Your presence brightens his day, and he can't help but smile when he sees you.

He'd always notice you from afar, your gentle demeanor standing out amidst the hustle and bustle of the café. As you approached the counter, he'd feel a strange flutter in his chest, something he couldn't quite explain.

You always order the same thing: a large cappuccino and a carrot pie. Bakugo has memorized it by heart.

You have a habit of sitting in the same corner of the café, studying while enjoying your coffee and pie. As you settle down with your books and papers, Bakugo can't help but steal glances at you while he works behind the counter. Your dedication to your studies impresses him, and he secretly admires your focus.

Your voice, when you place your order, is like a soothing melody to Bakugo's ears. It cuts through the noise of the bustling coffee shop and calms the storm raging inside him. He finds himself looking forward to those brief exchanges more than he cares to admit.

Sometimes, when the shop isn't too busy, you engage in small talk with Bakugo as he prepares your order. It's nothing more than idle chitchat, but to Bakugo, it's a precious moment of connection amidst the chaos of his daily routine.

Despite being just a customer, you have a special place in Bakugo's heart. He cherishes the little interactions you have when you place your order, relishing the chance to exchange small talk with you.

On one particularly hectic day, as Bakugo prepares your usual order, he catches himself stealing more glances than usual. The sight of you engrossed in your studies, a faint furrow between your brows, stirs something within him.

"Here's your cappuccino and carrot pie," Bakugo says, his tone softer than usual as he hands you your order.

You look up, meeting his gaze with a smile. "Thank you. You always make the best cappuccinos."

His heart skips a beat at the sound of his name on your lips. "Yeah, well, it's my specialty," he replies, trying to sound nonchalant despite the warmth spreading through his chest. He's puzzled. What's going on with him?!

Later that day, as you're about to leave, Bakugo gathers his courage and stops you. Summoning every last ounce of courage, he clears his throat and takes a deep breath, approaching you. "Hey, before you go, I was wondering if I could ask you something," he begins, his heart pounding in his chest.

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity shining in your eyes. "Of course," you reply, your smile encouraging him to continue.

Bakugo takes a moment to gather his thoughts, then blurts out the words that have been on his mind for weeks. "May I have your name?"

You turn to him with a smile, and your eyes sparkle with warmth. "It's Y/N," you reply sweetly, offering him a smile. "And yours?"

"It's Katsuki," he tells you with a little smile dancing in the corners of his mouth. "You have a very pretty name. It's nice to finally know who I'm making all these cappuccinos for," he jokes, a genuine smile gracing his slightly chapped lips.

You chuckle softly, slowly packing your things.

"Well, Y/N, would you like to grab a coffee with me sometime?" He asks before reining in his boldness.

You pause packing your books into your bag and gaze at his face for a moment, staying quiet.

Bakugo feels his cheeks flush beet red and his heart race. Why is he acting like this around you?!

Finally, you nod, smirking slightly. "Do you like manga?" you ask instead, catching him off guard.

Bakugo nods. "Yeah, I do, especially something with some decent action."

"So I'd love to chat about the new "Chainsaw man" issue over a cup of cappuccino," you reply, grinning. "How about tomorrow after your shift? What time do you finish?"

He tells you when he finishes his shift, and you bid farewell to him before leaving the cafe.

Bakugo can hardly believe his luck. Not only does he finally know your name, but he also has the opportunity to see you again tomorrow, and on a private level this time! He realizes that he wouldn't have it any other way.

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x reader #bakugou x you #katsuki x reader #katsuki x y/n #bakugou x y/n #katsuki bakugo x y/n #bakugou katsuki #bakugo katsuki #bakugo headcanons #bakugou headcanons #bakugo angst #mha headcanons #barista bakugo #katsuki bakugou #bakugo x y/n

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eldritch-thrumming · 11 months

Text

and i wouldn’t marry me either, pt. 1

have u guys seen that movie plus one on hulu with jack quaid and maya erskine? ok well here’s this thing. also, tw for steve puking.

Steve is drunk. Like, really, embarrassingly drunk.

And that would be fine, really, if he wasn’t at someone’s actual, real-life wedding.

Somewhere between the ceremony and the cocktail hour, the father-of-the-bride speech that had made him cry and the cutting of the cake, he’d started thinking about Nancy Wheeler and thinking about Nancy Wheeler had led to him practically funding the open bar with the spare change he’d been sure to bring in his pockets for tips.

And the thing about it is, Steve normally loves weddings. He loves the flowers and the vows and watching the bride walk down the aisle. He loves the DJ announcing the new couple, loves throwing confetti outside the church, loves the look on the groom’s face when he sees his almost-wife in her dress for the first time. But—

“Harrington!” Tommy Hagan yells from across the room, gesturing for Steve to make his way over. Steve racks his brain for an explanation as to why Tommy H would be at this wedding; he doesn’t remember Gareth and Tommy being particularly close back in their college days. Steve stumbles his way over to Tommy’s table, keeping a secure hand around his gin & tonic, trying his best not to spill.

“Stevie!” Tommy’s fiancée, Carol, practically crows as she leans over Tommy’s lap. “Where’s Nancy?”

“Yeah, man, kinda thought you’d be the first one marching down the aisle,” Tommy laughs and Carol swats him on the arm.

Steve downs his practically full drink before slamming the heavy glass back down on the table.

“We broke up actually,” Steve grimaces. “Last week.”

Carol gives him an exaggerated pout while Tommy cringes. “Aw, baby, I’m so sorry,” Carol slurs. Steve has to hold himself back from rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, well.” Steve runs a hand through his hair. “We wanted different things.”

They offer him a few more words of sympathy before Steve finally flees, making excuses about finding the bathroom. He’s too drunk for this.

He leaves the table in search of another drink.

~*~

Eddie’s just outside the reception hall, out on the venue’s terrace, sparkling with fairy lights. He’s got a stack of index cards in his hands, trying to make out his own scrawled handwriting, when someone stumbles directly into his back. He feels something wet through the fabric of his dress shirt.

“Fuck, shit, sorry, fuck,” someone says, their hands patting at the wetness.

Eddie finally turns to see a disheveled Steve Harrington, a half-empty glass clutched in his fist. His hair’s a mess, his tie’s undone, and he’s clearly drunk. Eddie had seen him stumbling around the dance floor earlier.

“Dude, you good?” Eddie asks, genuinely concerned. He can’t remember the last time he’d seen Harrington drunk. It had to be way back in college, when he’d only known Steve as that annoying frat dude that Gareth and Dustin always brought around. He’d spent a full year trying to figure out what those two saw in him and doing everything in his power to avoid group hang outs.

They’d gotten closer over the years, once they’d graduated and become, like, real, fully-formed human beings. Harrington was actually a pretty chill dude, funny and sweet and able to give as good as he got whenever Eddie was in a particularly teasing mood. Eddie’s ego wasn’t so big that he couldn’t admit he’d been wrong about Harrington, at least in the privacy of his own head.

“Yeah, man, all good,” Steve slurs, barely coherent. He raises his empty hand limply in an attempt at a thumbs up.

“Man, you don’t look so good.” Steve’s eyes are practically vacant and Eddie is feeling genuinely concerned. And he’s proven right when Steve stumbles over to one of the concrete planters lining the terrace and pukes his guts out. It’s loud and disgusting and Eddie can feel the grimace on his own face. But Steve is his friend, so he reaches his hand out to rub Steve’s back, even as he keeps his distance.

“Hey, Eddie,” he hears Jeff call from the French doors that lead into the reception hall.

“Yeah?” Eddie spares a quick glance over his shoulder before returning his attention to where Steve is groaning into the dirt of some exotic-looking tree.

“‘Bout ready to cut the cake,” Jeff tells him. “Need you in a few.”

Right. Eddie’s best man speech. The reason he was out here in the first place. He’s not nervous or anything. He’s a natural showman and entertainer, loves being in front of a crowd. And he loves Gareth and Chrissy. He has plenty of good things to say about them, plenty of embarrassing stories from when he and Gareth were kids, and plenty of sweet ones from when they’d finally met Chrissy in college. Nah, Eddie’s pretty much got this in the bag. He’s just not used to the idea of his friends being actually, real-life married. They’re only 27; Chrissy’s practically a child bride for god’s sake!

Eddie glances down at Steve, whose face is red and sweaty. Eddie’s not blind or stupid; he knows Steve’s an attractive dude. He’s a little too preppy and heterosexual (even though Eddie knows on a theoretical level that Steve does sometimes sleep with other guys) for Eddie’s tastes, but the man is hot. Except for right now. He actually looks pretty bad, possibly the worst Eddie’s ever seen him. And that’s really saying something, considering Steve had actually had his stomach pumped during Greek Week their senior year. At least Steve seems to have cleared the contents of his stomach, at this point.

“Hey, man, you good?” Eddie asks him, his hand still rubbing slow circles on Steve’s back.

Steve groans before looking up at him. “Eddie?” Steve squint. “You’re pretty. Like Nancy.” And Steve sounds so sad when he says it that even Eddie’s heart gives a little squeeze.

“Uh, thank you,” Eddie glances toward the open doors again. The cake is being wheeled out into the middle of the dance floor. “Listen, I don’t wanna leave you out here, but I gotta go give a speech. Can you, uh, stand up for me?”

“Yeah, man, totally,” Steve slurs out, barely comprehensible. He drags the back of his hand over his lips and chin, which should be kind of disgusting, but Eddie just feels sorry for him. Steve makes it one step before he’s slouching into Eddie’s shoulder, all his weight falling into Eddie’s chest. Eddie grunts and fits his hands around Steve’s waist.

“Fuck, dude, how much do you weigh?” Eddie’s voice comes out a little breathless.

“175, baby. Pure muscle,” Steve slurs back.

“Yeah, I believe it,” Eddie mutters, fingertips digging hard into the firmness of Steve’s lower back. “Okay, come on, let’s get you a chair.”

It takes some maneuvering but Eddie finally gets Steve inside and seats him at the closest table. It’s empty, since most people had been dancing and are currently crowded around the cake. Chrissy’s sister, the maid of honor, is holding a microphone, finishing her speech.

“We love you, Chrissy,” she’s saying, looking at the bride with tears in her eyes. “We know that Gareth will do everything in his power to make you happy. To Gareth and Chrissy!” She raises her glass of champagne, smiling, and everyone around her does the same, echoing her toast. “Okay, now where’s the best man?” She says, scanning the crowd.

Eddie smiles and makes his way over, taking the microphone from her.

“When I met Gareth, we were five years old. We’ve been through a lot together, from Gareth’s bug eating phase, to his wetting the bed phase, to that phase he had where he used to Naruto run to class in middle school, to his Hitchcock phase where he tried to talk in that transatlantic accent for literal months, to his bleach blonde phase, to his—”

“Alright, alright, we get it,” Gareth cuts in, rolling his eyes with an easy smile. The crowd laughs.

“Okay, okay. All I’m saying is I’ve seen a lot of versions of my best friend. But the best Gareth by far is the one he is with Chrissy. I remember when Gareth first met her, in their art history seminar. He came back to the dorm after that first week and told me he’d met an angel. ‘I’m in love, dude,’ he told me. ‘I’m marrying this girl.’ I, of course, was skeptical, especially when he pointed her out later that month in the dining hall. ‘Sorry, man, but no way. She’s way outta your league,’ I told him. But to my surprise, Chrissy Cunningham came marching up to us right then and there and asked Gareth if he’d started studying for their midterm. Gareth stumbled through that whole interaction making an absolute fool of himself. I’m pretty sure he put his elbow in my mashed potatoes,” Gareth and Chrissy laugh, “but that didn’t stop Chrissy from asking him to study that weekend. And the rest is, as they say, history.” Eddie raises his own glass of champagne in the direction of the happy couple. “When Gareth told me he was marrying Chrissy, all I could say was ‘it’s about fucking time.’ Chrissy is the smartest, sweetest woman I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet and she somehow makes my best friend an even better dude. So thank you, Chrissy, and congratulations to you both.” Everyone raises their glasses. Over the sounds of the room toasting, Eddie can hear Steve at his table in the back corner drunkenly cheering.

“Woo-hoo!” Steve claps. “Yeah!” Thankfully, no else really seems to notice and Eddie watches over Chrissy’s shoulder as Steve tries to stand from his seat but falls back into it on his ass, looking dazed.

“Thanks, Eddie,” Chrissy whispers as they pull away from their hug. “I love you.”

“Love you, too, babe,” Eddie tells her, squeezing her hands in his. He glances back over at Steve. “I’m gonna take Harrington up to my room, let him sleep some of the alcohol off.”

Chrissy’s eyes widen. “Oh, good idea. I was a little worried about him when I saw him stumbling around the dance floor before.” Eddie gives her hands one final squeeze before wandering off to collect Steve.

~*~

Getting Steve into the elevator is a struggle. He doesn’t want to leave, keeps saying he didn’t even get to eat a piece of cake yet. He only lets Eddie shove him through the metal doors when Eddie promises to bring him a piece when he comes back up later.

They make it to Eddie’s room without further incident and once they’re safely inside, Steve starts ripping off his suit without a care in the world. His hands and arms are flying everywhere. He almost takes Eddie out with an elbow to the temple.

“Dude, calm down,” Eddie tells him, hands on Steve’s arms. “Let me help you.” He unbuttons what’s left of Steve’s shirt and hangs it over the closet doorknob before reaching for Steve’s waistband and undoing his fly. His suit pants fall around his ankles. “Okay, step out.”

Steve braces his hands on Eddie’s shoulders and lifts one leg and then the other, until he’s standing there in only his briefs and his dress socks.

“Thought about this a lot in college,” Steve mutters, still slurring his words.

And that—huh? What? Thought about what a lot? Eddie undressing him?

Eddie does his best not to react. Steve’s drunk. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

Eddie brings his own hands up to curl around Steve’s wrists and pull his hands away from his shoulders. He bends down and picks up Steve’s pants, folding them and placing them on the dresser. He folds back the bed’s comforter.

“Okay, big boy, in ya go.” He gestures toward the bed, encouraging Steve to lay down. Steve suddenly looks exhausted as he slides under the covers.

His eyes are half-closed before his head even hits the pillow.

Before Eddie shuts off the light and leaves to head back downstairs, he hears Steve call out softly, “sorry if I ruined it.” He shifts sleepily on the bed. “I always ruin it.”

Eddie feels like he’s swallowed glass as he slowly shuts the door behind him.

~*~

Steve wakes up to sunshine streaming in through the curtains of an unfamiliar bedroom. His head is killing him and his mouth feels like he’s swallowed 87 cotton balls. He groans, rolling away from the window, only to be met with the image of Eddie Munson’s shirtless, sleeping form.

Fuck. How drunk had he been last night? He vaguely remembers puking outside somewhere and Eddie rubbing his back, but he definitely doesn’t remember leaving the wedding. He doesn’t remember leaving the wedding with Eddie.

Steve spares a quick glance under the covers and is relieved to see that he’s still wearing his underwear and Eddie’s got on a pair of pajama pants. Surely he wouldn’t have sex and then put his underwear back on; that seems like something only a serial killer would do.

It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it. There was that one year, just after they’d graduated, that Steve had thought maybe there was something between them, something a little more than friendship.

But then he’d met Nancy Wheeler at his new job and she’d asked him out and he’d started imagining their lives together and thoughts of anyone else had just floated away.

So, yeah, Steve’s thought about it. Eddie’s gorgeous and funny and smart. It’s not like Steve would regret it. He could certainly do a lot worse.

But if he’s gonna sleep with one of his closest friends, he’d like to actually remember it.

In between Steve’s spiraling thoughts, Eddie must have woken up, because when Steve spares another glance toward his face, Eddie’s staring right back at him, making him jump slightly.

“Fuck, dude, make a noise,” Steve breathes out before running a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. “We didn’t—uh, nothing like… happened or whatever, right? We didn’t, like… you know… did we?”

Eddie stares at him for a long moment before putting Steve out of his misery. “No offense, Stevie, but I’m not really into guys that can barely string together a coherent thought.”

“Oh, thank god,” Steve sighs with relief, body sagging against the mattress. He sees Eddie’s mouth twitch. “Not that I… you know, you’re hot or whatever, but like…”

“Dude, relax,” Eddie laughs, moving to sit on the edge of the mattress. “You were black out drunk. I just brought you up here so you didn’t hurt yourself.”

Steve winces. “I didn’t, like, embarrass myself, did I? Or, like, ruin the wedding?”

Eddie looks at him with something like pity and Steve has to swallow nervously.

“No, Steve, you were fine. I just found you throwing up outside and though you’d had enough.”

Steve stares down at his hands. “Thanks, man,” he says softly.

“No worries, you’d do the same for me.” He sounds so totally sure that Steve would. “Weddings are tough. Can you believe I have, like, four more to go to, just this summer? I’ll probably black out at at least one of them. Anyway, I’m gonna take a shower and then you should probably also shower. You stink.” Eddie stands from the bed and claps his hands together. “And then we’re taking full advantage of the free hotel breakfast bar.”

~*~

After they’ve showered and Eddie’s gone back to the breakfast buffet for seconds and thirds, he offers to drive Steve home and Steve gratefully accepts. He’s really not in the mood for an Uber or, even worse, the subway.

Steve keeps thinking about what Eddie had said back in the hotel room. That he had four more weddings to go to this summer alone. Steve has five of his own and the thought of going through all that alone makes his stomach clench and his throat tighten. He knows he’s going to see Nancy at at least one of them and that thought alone has Steve desperate.

“Hey, you know how you said you have four more weddings to go to this summer?” Steve asks from the passengers seat. Eddie hums an affirmative response. “I have five.”

“No shit, that sucks, man. I actually fuckin’ hate weddings, to tell you the truth.” Eddie doesn’t take his eyes off the road.

“I used to love them, actually. But, I don’t know. They’ve kind of lost their charm,” Steve doesn’t mean to sound super mega fucking depressed about it, but he knows he does.

“Fuck, dude. Sorry,” Eddie glances at him, a worried look in his eye.

“But, uh, I was thinking,” Steve powers on. “Maybe we should, like, help each other out?”

Eddie’s brow furrows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Like, you know.” Steve gestures vaguely with his hand. “Make it less unbearable. Like, we could go together or something.”

“You want to be each other’s plus ones?” Eddie asks incredulously.

“Yeah, man, think about it. You’d always have someone to chill with, even if the party’s fucking lame. We could make fun of the bridesmaids’ dresses together and shit. It wouldn’t be as god fucking awful if we were together.”

They’re stopped at a red light and Eddie has turned to stare directly at him.

“You do realize that would mean we’d be going to ten weddings, like, collectively, right? Why would I want to go to more weddings then I actually have to?”

“Well, nine, since Chrissy and Gareth’s is over,” Steve tells him, matter-of-factly. “Come on, Eddie, this summer is fucking torture for me. You know Nancy, like, crushed me or whatever. It would really help me out, to have you there. Just think about it.”

And, Steve thinks, that’s kind of what does it. Eddie has a savior complex about a mile wide and Steve has never been above using that to his advantage.

Eddie sighs and shifts his gaze back to the road as the light turns green.

“Fine, Harrington,” he finally says. “But you are paying for all my suit rentals and buying all the gifts.”

Steve smiles. “Deal.”

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steddie ficlet #steddie fic recs #steddie au #steddie modern au #steddie rom com au

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 1 year

Text

The Other Half

Winter Prompts Masterlist | Winter Prompts List

Part Two | Masterlist

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

Prompts: Sales/ Sparkling/ Opposites Attract

“Customer.”

You glance over toward a man looking in a display case as your manager nods them toward you. You puff softly before slapping a customer-service-ready smile onto your face. You’ve been avoiding really working for the last hour; you’ve been able to hide, shuffling things around in the stockroom before your manager had insisted that you return to the floor. You’re working on commission, though—you need the sales, especially with Christmas just around the corner. You still have a couple of last-minute gifts to get.

You walk over to the man peering into a sparkling display case, stopping just beside him.

“Is there something I can help you find today?” You ask.

“Yes,” The man raises his hand, tapping on the top of the case. “I’d like to see that tie clip, the uh…The silver one with the scroll work.”

There's something familiar about his voice, but you don't read too much into it. You round the counter, drawing a small key ring from your pocket.

“The sterling silver? An excellent choice. It’s one of a kind,” You commend as you lift the small display out of the case and onto the counter. “And we have a special sale on these this week.”

The man chuckles, offering, “I’m not particularly worried about it being on sale.”

Cocky much?

You glance at the man, then freeze, eyes widening. There’s no way that the goddamn Prince of Gotham is on your counter right now. Luckily for you, he’s focused on the tie clips. Maybe he knows you’re staring and is just ignoring it. Maybe he’s just so used to the sensation that he simply doesn’t register it anymore.

You clear your throat, forcing yourself to refocus as he reaches out, hand hovering over the tie clip.

“May I?” He asks.

“Of course,” You nod. You don’t expect him to run with it—the guy’s got more money than god. He slides his coat off of where it’s slung over his arm, setting it down on the counter and taking up the tie clip. You rest your hands steadily on the counter, watching his face as he eyes the clip. His eyes narrow a touch as he sweeps his thumb over the scroll work.

“May I ask who you’re purchasing this for?” You ask.

“My butler.”

Your brows raise a touch. You’d imagine that Bruce Wayne would be the type to give someone a store credit, and to tell them to buy something they like.

“What’s his style?” You ask, though it feels like the wrong question—and by the way Wayne’s eyes flicker to you, you realize that it sort of is.

“I suppose he’d describe it as understated. I call it boring.” He looks back down at the tie clip. “I was hoping to get him something to mix it up a little bit.”

You smile a little.

“Well, if you like that tie clip, we have matching cuff links to pair with them.”

“I’d like to see those.”

“Of course.” You crouch down again, drawing up the display with cuff links and setting it on the counter beside the tie clips. He sets the tie clip down, leaning over and narrowing his eyes slightly to look at the cuff links. After a moment, to your great surprise, he plants his elbow on the counter and rests his chin on his hand. You can’t help but smile. He looks like an indecisive little boy.

“What does your butler like?” You ask.

“...Mopping,” He answers after a moment, “And berating me.”

You laugh a little, unable to help it. “Something tells me he only really likes one of those.”

Wayne’s gaze flickers to yours, and you’re surprised to see him smiling, himself. It makes your smile widen before you arch a brow. “So?”

“Come to think of it, he likes gardening,” Wayne adds, straightening up.

“Perhaps a new set of gardening gloves?” You offer. “Or a trug?”

“What’s a trug?”

“It’s like a long sort of shallow basket for carrying back flowers and produce and tools.”

“...They sell those here?”

“Yes,” You nod, “The gardening section is on the fifth floor.”

“Okay,” He nods, rapping his knuckles on the counter. “Wrap up the tie clip and the cuff links, and then let’s go.”

You blink at him in surprise before you glance back toward where your manager is watching you closely.

“Ah—I’m not sure I can go with you to another floor,” You laugh nervously as you take up gift boxes for the tie clip and cuff links. “But I’ll be happy to call down and ask for a a sales associate that could help you.”

Wayne frowns a touch, gaze sweeping you before he looks around. “Where’s your manager?”

Oh—No. Are you going to get in trouble for following the fricking rules? Is he going to change his mind about the tie clip and the cuff links? The two items alone would net you a commission of almost $500. But you force a placid expression onto your face before raising your hand, signaling for your manager to come over. A dark expression crosses her face, and it turns your stomach.

“Yes, sir,” She chirps, coming to the counter and stopping beside Wayne, “How can I—” She goes silent as she realizes who he is. Her jaw drops a touch at the sight of him before she stutters, “How can I—I—Yes, sir?”

Wayne’s smile shifts to something that you haven’t seen at the counter—a press-ready, plasticized grin.

“Your associate has been incredibly helpful.”

“I trained her myself,” Your manager grins. You can’t help but roll your eyes. She certainly did not—you’ve been here for a year longer than she has.

“Well, you’ve done a marvelous job,” Wayne insists. “In fact, I’ve found her assistance so invaluable that I was hoping you could spare her for a little while.”

“Spare…?” The manager repeats, eyes darting between you, Wayne, and the gift boxes on the counter.

“Mr. Wayne is interested in a few items in the gardening department,” You clarify.

“Her sense of style and function are just…” Wayne trails off, lips curling teasingly as he shoots you a sneaky, cheeky wink, “Just what I need.”

You don’t even care if he’s exaggerating for the sake of your manager; the flattery still makes your face go hot, and that wink—you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

“I suppose we could manage without her for a little while—But not too long. She’s such a valuable asset to the department,” Your manager coos. Well. That’s news to you—especially considering how much you slacked off that morning.

“If you could have these rung up,” Wayne reaches out, tapping at the top of the gift boxes, “And hold them for me here.”

“Of course. They were the…” Your manager glances toward you expectantly.

“The sterling silver scroll work tie clip, and the matching cuff links,” You relay.

“What beautiful choices! You have such a sense of taste, Mr. Wayne,” You manager turns a bright eye toward him again. You have to bite your tongue to keep from scoffing aloud. You’ve never seen her fawn over anyone like this. Mr. Wayne just smiles and gives a nod, taking up his coat from the counter as you tuck the two displays back into the counter, locking them up.

“Shall we?” Wayne asks, nodding toward the elevator.

“Of course,” You nod.

“Take your time!” Your manager adds brightly.

“Thank you,” Wayne rests his hand on her shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze before turning away. The two of you walk over to the elevator, and you clasp your hands in front of yourself as you wait. Wayne gestures for you to step on first, then follows, watching you jab the button for the fifth floor. It’s quiet between you for a moment before Wayne says,

“Is she always that bad?”

You can’t help but burst into giggles, raising your hand and covering your mouth.

“I think you brought something new out in her,” You tease. You lead the way off of the elevator as you reach the fifth floor. “Do you have any other people that you need to shop for?”

“What other people?” Wayne repeats. Your stomach swoops with panic. You know what happened to his parents—everyone does.

“A girlfriend, perhaps?” You clarify.

“Ah,” He nods in understanding before shaking his head. “No.” The two of you go quiet for a moment before he asks, “Have you gotten all of your shopping done?”

“Not all of it,” You sigh.

“What do you still need?”

“Something for my roommate—and uh, probably something for her parents. We’re going to hers for Christmas.”

“What about your family?”

“They live in Metropolis.”

“Are you from there?”

“No, no, I’m from Gotham. They moved there last year.”

“Why?”

“It’s just more affordable.” It feels like something stupid to say to a billionaire, but it’s the truth—and considering his comment on your manager’s countenance, you think he’s pretty good at seeing through falsity. But he just nods a little bit, looking forward.

“Here,” You gesture toward the display of gardening gloves, tucking your hands behind yourself. Wayne hums, taking a step closer and peering at the selection with the same interest that he looked at the tie clips and cuff links.

“Are there any that stick out to you?” You ask, looking around.

“He has a scarf similar to…Those,” He points to a check-patterned pair by you. You let out an interested hum, nodding and taking them up.

“They’re cute,” You turn them over, eyeing the fingertips, “And they’ve got little pads so that you can text while you’re wearing them.”

“I’m not sure Alfred would worry about that,” Wayne smiles, “Though I’ll be sure to mention it to him.”

You smile a little before nodding to the display. “All set here?”

“Mm, let’s make it two pair…You choose one.”

You consider, looking down at the gloves in your hand. If he’s getting one patterned pair…Maybe a plain pair? You look around, drawing your lip between your teeth as you consider. Then you reach out, snagging a pair of forest green gloves. Wayne reaches out, taking them from you.

“He’ll like these,” He says softly. You smile, relieved.

“Now,” Wayne adds, looking around. He seems to be squinting and pouting for emphasis. “On to the…shrug?”

“Trug,” You correct, “But I think you know that, Mr. Wayne.”

He catches your eye, his brows twitching in surprise. Then he smiles warmly, giving a small nod of concession, muttering, “Touché.”

“They’re this way,” You nod around the corner.

It doesn’t take the two of you long to choose what he considers a suitable trug—a light grained wood base with mahogany handles and silver fastenings. You expect to leave it there—to lead Wayne to the counter, to thank him for his business, and to go back to work. Instead, Wayne tells the clerk that he’ll be back for the gloves and trug, and then turns to you.

“Walk me to the elevator?” He asks.

“Of course.”

You ignore your coworker’s stunned expression and turn, leading the way down the aisle. Maybe he wants to go back upstairs and get the cuff links and tie clip. But—

“What are you doing for lunch?” He asks.

It feels like an illicit rush to get out of there—redirecting Wayne to the staff exit so that you wouldn’t be clocked by the security guard for leaving. He’d put his coat around your shoulders as the two of you had stepped into the Gotham chill. You hadn’t gone far—you’d insisted that you couldn’t. You’d wound up at a diner just a few blocks away from the store.

You glance at Wayne now, and smile as you watch him look around the diner.

“Why’d you ask me?” You ask after a moment. “Wanted to see how the other half eats?”

He chuckles, leaning back in his seat a touch and meeting your eye again. “I’ll have you know that I ate at plenty of places like this when I went to Princeton. Besides, you said you wanted to come here.”

“If I had asked to go somewhere else—”

“We would’ve gone there instead.”

“Even if it was some five-star something something?”

“Especially if it was some five-star something something. I’m guessing the wine list here is a little lackluster.”

You snort, looking down at your menu.

“...Why did you ask?” You press nervously. He doesn’t answer for a moment, and you glance up at him from beneath your lashes. He’s watching you closely, eyes wandering your face.

“Because you spoke to me like a person. Not like how your manager spoke to me, not like I’m ‘Bruce Wayne’.”

The admission is surprising. You hesitate before you argue, “But you are Bruce Wayne.”

He smiles softly.

“I know that and you know that,” He leans in, folding his arms on the table. “But I like it better when neither of us act like it.”

Part Two

Tag list: @amneris21 ; @elen-aranel ; @brandyllyn ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight

#Bruce Wayne x Reader #Bruce Wayne x You #Bruce Wayne/Reader #Bruce Wayne/You #Bruce Wayne fic #Bruce Wayne imagine #Bale!Batman #Fluffcember #Fluffcember 2022 #Winter Writing Prompts #The Other Half

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akoyaxs · 7 months

Text

Dangerous Games - I

✮ Pairing: Aonung x Tayrangi/Omotikaya fem reader ✮ Tags: Reader POV, oral sex (fem recieving), p in v, a bet, fighting, sparring, banter, fluff ✮ Word Count: 4.3k Note: this (backstory and character dynamic) is heavily based of my wattpad fanfiction "Dangerous Game", it's just a little more mature than I would post on my WP so I'm doing a Aonung x reader part now instead of the Aonung x OC in the fanfiction ˙ᵕ˙

Aonung has been infuriating since he came to the forest, his family and Rotxo seeking Uturu with the Sully's just as they had several years before in the reef.

Being practically adopted into Jake and Neytiri's family when you too sought Uturu with the Omotikaya after the destruction of the Tayrangi clan, they felt that entitled you to also care for the newcomers. You could get behind helping kind Tsireya and shy sweet Rotxo, but Aonung was a whole other problem. He was absolutely infuriating, and he seemed to be totally obsessed with you.

Neteyam, Lo'ak and Kiri had told you all about what a skxawng he'd been during their first month in the reef, but he didn't seem to be at all deterred by your "forest" features- no, instead you were the one that was slightly haughty to him, something he seemed to take as a challenge. Aonung has been increasingly more and more obvious in his exploits, needing extra help with his ikran, making more sly comments and requesting more private lessons for archery.

So once again here you are, heading further away from the Omotikaya village and into your little clearing by the river where you train him in the Omoticaya ways of fighting and steer him away from the techniques that may have once worked in the reef- but definitely wouldn't work here in the forest.

Aonung has definitely improved in his fighting, a big thanks to your violent and rigorous (at best) training. At least Tsireya and Rotxo are getting less and less scandalised from the injuries he returns with after you're done fighting him.

You can feel yourself growing less and less irritated by everything he does - the stupid way he stares when he thinks you won't notice, the way he tries to make stupid jokes to break your deadpan expression, the way his stupid blue eyes sparkle when you make eye contact - as you start to notice the other things about him.

"Up," you bark as he staggers from a particularly hard kick to his knee.

As you wait for him to recover (he's wasting time being a drama queen), you study him.

The Metkayina have a much more different physique to you. Like his father, Aonung is just ridiculously massive, a good head and a half taller than you are. Did he always look like this, with his hair braided back and muscles taut as he grits his teeth?

He is broad and wide, something you had already noticed, but there are things you hadn't. Like the curve of his shoulders and the way they rolled gracefully when he moved. The sharpness of his collarbones and jawline, or the way his lashes curled so gently. There is a slight X shape to his ribcage, his stomach toned and muscly just like the rest of him, tapering into a slim waist.

"Checking me out?" he grins.

"Yes," you say shamelessly, holding his bright blue gaze. "If only you could use your massive body to fight, instead of lumbering around being a burden for me."

"Well maybe there's something else I could use my massive body for," Aonung says.

You squint your eyes at him then raise your brows.

"We've been over this fish boy," you remind him. "I find your attention ... flattering. But I don't fuck newcomers. Earn my trust, then we can see what happens. It's been weeks, if you're really that desperate for a quick fuck, try the village girls."

Aonung just leans back against the ground and grins up at you.

"You'll find them... easier," you say, curling your lip slightly on the last word. "They like pretty things."

"You find me pretty then?"

This bitch does not listen to a word you say.

"It takes more than a pretty face and some flirty little comments to interest me," you shrug.

"I promised I'd charm you one day," Aonung says, not in the least deterred by your subtle rejection.

"And I said it'd take a century for me to even trust you," you hiss. "Let alone fuck you-"

"So why don't we make another deal then?" Aonung asks innocently.

Your eyes narrow, but you don't instantly shut him down, something he quickly notices because he grins and flops back up.

"If I can beat you in this next fight," Aonung proposes, "then I get to teach you."

"I doubt there's much you can teach me," you say coldly, leaning against the tree and raising your brows at him.

"You'd be surprised," he says, smiling like he knows something you don't. "You're missing out."

"I'm really not."

"You taught me the ways of the forest," he counters. "Then I can show you the ways of the reef."

"Right," you scoff. "Is that just fucking underwater then? Cause I'm not exactly in the mood to be slammed against the riverbed by a clumsy massive skxawng, thanks."

Aonung laughs, the damn muscles in his arms catching the stupid light as he crosses them.

"Are you backing down then?" he grins. "Shame, I thought you were braver than that."

You scowl.

On one hand, you have more pride than to give in to this flirty horny skxawng that pisses you off all day with his neediness and accident-proneness, needing you to make sure he doesn't fall to his death or get eaten by forest creatures every five fucking seconds.

On the other, he knows exactly how to get under your skin. He must have gained something from all those times he just sits and stares shamelessly at you, eyes roving over your body and face as though he's trying to soak you all in and understand you.

And it doesn't hurt that he's probably the tallest, most muscular thing you've ever seen in your life, that his hands alone could almost be double the size of yours, that you're already hot from training.

You haven't had any time for sexual relief since the five Metkayina came to the forest seeking Uturu, and you've hardly had a moment alone with anyone without Aonung needing extra training or some other bullshit.

You're considering it, and you can tell he knows you're considering it, because he straightens up and grins.

"I promise," he says, blinking sincerely at you to mask the glitter in those large blue eyes, "it'll be worth your time. I'll impress you."

"Will you?" you say, raising your brows at him. "You don't have the best stamina when it comes to fighting-"

"Is it a deal or not?" he grumbles. "I have no intention of seeking some village girls."

You blink at this, surprised. You had just assumed he was chasing you to prove some kind of point, and when he got sick of it he'd go and find relief with someone easier.

"Fine," you say.

His ears instantly prick up, as though that wasn't at all what he expected you to say despite the fact he hadn't left you alone for two fucking hours since he came to the forest.

"But remember one thing," you snap. "This doesn't mean anything, nothing intimate, no strings attached. This is a one-time thing that stays between us if you even manage to beat me, which is a big if."

You straighten up as Aonung shrugs his agreement and adjust your stance ready to fight.

To your surprise, there's a glint in his fucking eyes that's familiar, but you've never seen it this bright. It's the same glimmer every time you fight or touch but he always seems to be restraining it, hiding it behind sly grins and stupid smirky comments.

For the first time since you've known him, Aonung looks like he's ready to fight you, that he's confident, determined to win.

Strange that this newfound enthusiasm to finally fight back just happens to coincide with the fact that in beating you, he has the opportunity to finally fuck for the first time since the reef.

"Come on then," you bait him, not fool enough to make the first move. "Don't be scared to fight me, pretty boy."

He laughs, but your narrowed grins quickly fade as you begin to fight.

You can sense the difference now, his blows quick and powerful, eyes narrowed in concentrated determination. He seems to have spent more time familiarising himself with your techniques while you trained him rather than actually adopting them, but he's managing each of your blows with power finally fitting to his stupid size.

You feel your breath growing shorter and yourself slowing somewhat.

Finally, Aonung sweeps his longer thicker tail under you and knocks your legs out in a way that a forest na'vi could never, and you topple down onto the soft forest floor below. Before you can slide away or leap up, he's down as well, pinning your arms above your head with one hand and holding your body flat against the ground with the other.

"I win," he grins, fangs glinting down at you.

"How did you manage that," you squint at him, to which his grin widens.

"Stamina," he whispers slyly in your ears, breath fanning lightly across your neck.

You scoff, very aware of what this now means when you wriggle under him and feel something hard against your thigh.

"That was fast," you comment, grinning up at him.

"I've been waiting for this," is all he replies with before he releases you and is sitting back with a shameless grin.

You have no intention of backing out now. You always keep my word and moreover, you're not going to look like a coward in front of this stupid skxawng. You blink at Aonung, silently waiting for him to make the first move.

Let's see how impressive you are, fishlips.

You half expect him to just pounce on you - like he said, you'd had made him wait a long time. Now you're just hot from the fight and weeks without any relief, and it can't exactly hurt to see what this annoying but grudgingly massive and stupidly hot skxawng has to offer.

When you meet his sparkling blue gaze, there's not a single thing you can read. Usually, his thoughts and emotions are plastered all over his face but now he's holding them close, determined to surprise you. To impress you.

As he shifts closer, you can't help noticing just how large and almost tantalising the bulge in his tewng looks, and you feel my anticipation increase.

But to you surprise, before he does anything, Aonung pauses and blinks at you.

"Are you sure?" he asks with surprising gentleness, and you frown.

"You don't have to do that," you shrug. "You won fair and square."

"You can always stop if you don't want to," he says firmly.

"I doubt it'll come to that," you say with a small incredulous smile at his strange newfound gentleness. "I think it'll be you that can't keep up with me, pretty boy."

Again, Aonung just grins at you before sliding closer.

You're surprised when, instead of flipping you over or immediately moving to grope at you, he kisses you.

He's completely consuming you as he tugs you closer. His arms encircle you, his hands resting gently on your waist and back and hair. He is so warm, smelling faintly of amber and sea breeze.

His lips are gentle at first, tender, exploratory. Then hungry. Everything about you is a total embodiment of your distaste for him and his desire for you as you tangle and move and kiss and breathe.

Then as you feel yourself relax, resigning to the kiss (it's a grudgingly good kiss), and he tugs you closer, lifting you up and into his lap as though you weigh nothing.

You always knew he was strong; he wouldn't be this fucking massive if he wasn't, but this casual display of his strength doesn't exactly turn you off him, especially when his lips trail sideways and find a snug spot on the corner of your jaw, then slide down your neck.

Aonung is confident in his movements, you can feel him smiling against your skin as he kisses and sucks lightly, leaving a fine trail of small bruises. He knows he's a good kisser, and he doubtless knows what he's doing when his hands fall exploratively on the curve of your ass and he gives an experimental squeeze.

Stupid skxawng.

You audibly gasp somewhat, and he gives you a cocky pleased smile.

He's all hot and big and slightly messy, his warm mouth trailing kisses down your neck and hands sliding away your tewng. His eyes are bright with excitement and dark with desire as his hands tug down your tewng.

You reach for his own loincloth, but he's already sliding down your body, hands gripping your thighs tightly. You frown at him as he looks up at you, fangs glinting between his shiny, parted, grinning lips.

"Don't you want to-" you start to say with furrowed brows.

"I said I'd impress you, didn't I?" Aonung points out, still holding your thighs as he spreads them slightly.

"Well, it'll take longer if you-" you start to point out, before the skxawng interrupts you again.

He grunts, like he has all the fucking time in the world with you, spreading your thighs wide and licking a slow stripe up your slit with a flattened tongue. He shakes his head back and forth when his tongue reaches your clit.

You exhale shakily, trying your best not to moan and let him get a big head, but your hand instantly jumps to his hair.

"I could have stuff to do after this," you grumble instead.

Instead of replying or just sticking his damn dick in, he grazes his teeth lightly across the skin of your inner thigh, and you shudder. When he looks up at you and sees your eyes scrunched tight, he grins and lightly nips at your thighs.

You gasp loudly, but the sting is a welcome, warm pain when he lightly licks away the droplet of blood and brushes your clit with a large turquoise finger.

Aonung's grin only widens when you don't pretend to be busy, and he muscles your thighs further apart so he can slide his tongue against your clit again, adding his cool fingers and yanking you forward to bury his whole damn face between your legs.

You can feel your top shifting over your breasts, which are heaving with your shaky breaths in the effort it takes not to cry out when Aonung sucks lightly at your clit.

Your hands are now tangled in the braided bun on his head, and at another light nip at your thighs, you find yourself tugging at his hair. He groans against you as you accidentally tug, trying your best to steady yourself when every five fucking seconds, he has your back arching halfway to the Hallelujah mountains.

"Fuck," you groan, when his fingers hit a deeper spot, and he looks up at you for the first time.

There's a delighted, puppy-playful glint in his large blue eyes, and you realise he's genuinely enjoying this, the curves of your body in his hands, the spit slick and tiny pearls of blood from his bites gleaming on his grinning face.

The fact that you're trying so hard to hide your moans that you're completely breathless now is amusing him, and you realise at some point he tossed your legs over his shoulders so his face is pressed even closer to you.

You moaned, one hand entangled with his braids while the other scratched at his shoulder.

"Go on then," Aonung mumbles.

"Just stick it in," you grumble, stifling your moans long enough to choke out those three words. "I'm fucking ready-"

"Impatient," he smirks against you, before diving back down.

Aonung devoures you, sucking hard and persistent until you cry out, his hands locking you in an iron grip, keeping you spread wide for him. Each time you try to breathe, your breath is knocked away by each movement of his tongue and fingers.

It doesn't take much longer before the pleasure snaps and you're unable to hold back your moans anymore, just sinking your fangs into your hand to block out as much noise as possible, but a flood of moans and whimpers and curses spill out through the clearing as your vision clouds.

Aonung is still sucking when you come back, hands planted tight on your squirming body, and you lightly push away his head from your overstimulated clit.

"Alright," you huff, trying in vain to catch your breath. "You proved your point skxawng."

He looks delighted with himself, a stupid grin fixed on his face which is shining with spit and slick, which he carelessly wipes away with a large hand before sitting back up.

He looks painfully hard now, the seams of his tewng stretching tightly over the massive bulge in his tewng.

"Still more to impress me with though," you whisper lightly, sliding closer so you're now straddling his lap.

A small smile creeps over your lips when you feel his breath hitch as you settle over his lap and he spread his legs enough for you to settle between them. When you finally pull of his loincloth, you can't help feeling stunned at the very least.

He's fucking massive- the same smooth teal colour as the rest of him, adorned with slimmer turquoise stripes and glowing blue tahnì. You can't help reaching out to touch him, and he hisses slightly under his breath as you wrap one hand around his very... sizeable length.

He looks painfully hard, and you can't stop a small grin as you meet his gaze. His face is close to yours, pupils blown wide in his large blue eyes as he watches your every movement with near obsession. But neither of you are bothered to waste more time- it's pretty obvious where this shit is headed and theres no point prolonging it.

"Careful," Aonung nearly hisses when you shift in his lap. "You're still fucking tiny."

You glare at him.

"Not very impressive argument," you point out. "Not a great way to get someone to fuck you."

"How do you want it then," Aonung huffs, tucking your hair behind your ears.

It's a strangely intimate gesture for no-strings one-time sex, and you feel a small shiver at the base of your neck.

"Surprise me," you grin. "You're meant to be impressing me, aren't you."

He just laughs in his usual deep rumbly way before sitting up slightly and lightly pushing gently at your shoulders. You humour him, raising your brows but settling comfortably back against the soft ground.

He grins at your uncharacteristic agreeableness and lines the head of his cock up with your entrance.

Immediately, you know it'll be a stretch, but you're determined to make it work. In any case, you'd rather die before telling stupid Aonung"you're to big".

But when he pushes in somewhat, you both hiss.

You're being stretched further than you ever have, and Aonung is making a strange growling noise under his breath.

He's purring.

"Fuck," he mutters, as he tries to push in a little more and you clench around him. "So fucking- you need to relax."

"I am relaxed," you snap, gritting your teeth and trying to sink yourself deeper.

He looks amused at the sight of you trying to fuck yourself onto his dick, and he tightly grips your hips to hold you still.

"Just breathe," Aonung grunts, looking as though he's trying to hold himself back.

"Just fuc- just fucking put it in," you whine, glaring at him. "I'm not some precious little thing you need to be gentle with, I thought you were meant to be impressing me."

Aonung pauses, looking like he's trying to decide something, then his face hardens and he snaps his hips deep into you. You cry out like a wounded animal and Aonung groans like a dying man.

The stretch is a delicious burn as Aonung rocks his hips deeper, until he's as far in as he's going to get, before he pulls out nearly to the tip. When you turn to glare at him, he snaps his hips forward again and you have no choice but to cling onto him.

His lips find his way on your neck, your nails digging into his broad back as he rolls his hips and thrusts deep into you. You can't hold it back anymore, moaning shamelessly like a whore into his ear all the while scratching your mark into his back.

He, in turn, is moaning and cursing against your neck, his mouth all messy, nipping and kissing along your neck and collar and chest until he reaches your top.

You practically cry out your consent before Aonung is ripping it away - careful not to tear anything because he knows you'd murder him - and tossing it away without a care in the world to be discarded with the rest of your clothes.

He hisses as your tits are freed, bouncing with every thrust and pushed up against his chest as he thrusts deeper and deeper, his large hands coming up to grip them on the border of being too rough.

After a few experimental movements that have you nearly whimpering, he moves deep and quick, spitting curses and groans at the feeling of you around him and the sound of your shameless moans in his ears.

He's whispering nearly unintelligible things against your neck, words of worship, mutters of how tight you are, little praise of how well you're doing.

He's moving at animalistic paces, and you're unravelling into a moaning, trembling mess under him, teeth sunk into his shoulder to try and quiet your sounds, because you sure as fuck can't hold them in.

"Aonung," you hiss, "I'm- I'm close."

"Go ahead then," he grins, before sinking his teeth lightly into your collar.

With that, you unravel, crying out and arching so you're pressed right up against him. Your vision blanks out as everything disappears for a moment, the only sound in the world being your cries and Aonung's groaned curses.

He fucks you through your high, wave upon wave of overwhelming pleasure cresting in white-hot disbelief. Then, when you're done, like a true gentleman, he lets himself go. He's hissing a million unintelligible words against your skin as he spills himself inside you, rocking his hips the whole time until he finally comes to a shaky stop.

"Holy shit," Aonung mutters, flopping to the soft grass beside you.

You're hardly about to admit this to him, but you can feel your body half-turned to jelly, your heart pounding like drums and your skin burning all over from where he kissed and touched and nipped at you.

As though he read your thoughts, Aonung quickly rolls over to look at you, eyes roving all over the bruises and hickeys and tiny bite marks he left all over you.

"Oh shit- sorry," he mutters, noticing the way several small pearls of blood are beading like tiny rubies on your shiny, sweat-slicked skin. "I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine," you sigh, not in the least bothered by the marks.

Or at least, not bothered by the pain of them.

But the little rich purple hickeys and gleaming crimson nips he left across your body just feel like something... more. More than hot, desperate, no-strings-attached sex. They feel intimate and precious, a gift you you and a warning to others.

A claiming.

You stifle a groan as you slide up, feeling stupid and tender yet doubtless euphoric as you twist your dark hair out of your still flushed face and pin it up out of the way.

"So?" Aonung asks, a small, stupid grin on his shiny-eyed face, as though he knew exactly how he did. "Impressed?"

You groan, covering your flushed face and swatting at him, but he just grabs your hand and tugs you closer so you're now inches apart on the soft forest floor.

"Come on," he grins. "It's just us here."

"Fine," you grumble. "You did better than I thought, pretty boy."

Aonung's ears prick up and his tail swishes excitedly behind him at the sound of your approval like a little warrior seeking praise from their commander.

His delight at the bare fucking minimum of your words is slightly pathetic - your response sounded grudging and unenthused even to your own ears - but also kind of totally adorable.

You've done as much as you can to push him away, drive off his ceaseless efforts of amused and somewhat clumsy seduction and try to get him to find other girls and fucking finally leave you in peace. You just hope whatever point he's trying to prove in his strange and inexplicable fixation with you is finally satiated now you fucked.

You definitely don't need the opposite, some ridiculously massive, pussy-whipped reef boy on your ass every fucking minute, trying to get all close and intimate and trusting with you.

You suddenly become aware that both of you had fallen silent, lost in your own thoughts in the aftermath of that ... admirable sex, and you turn back to look at Aonung. His eyes are fixed in your face - not, surprisingly, on your still bare body - and all large and wide and sparkling blue like the shallows of ocean water.

"We should get back to the village," you mumble, not meeting his gaze and quickly reaching for your top to cover yourself.

You feel Aonung frown slightly, know he's going to say something all stupid and intimate and caring as you curl your tail closer around yourself, so you add- "Tsireya and Rotxo will be worried for you."

To your relief, Aonung accepts this hasty pretence and closes his mouth, though you can sense that he still wants to say that sweet thing.

"Doubtful," he shrugs instead. "They know I'm with you - I don't think anything would manage to get close to killing us if you're here."

"How sweet," you roll your eyes, clasping your top back into place and turning to find a small frown on his face. "Very flattering."

"And what do we tell everyone when they ask what happened?" he asks.

"What do you mean?"

Aonung laughs dryly.

"You know perfectly well that those marks didn't come from fighting," he clarifies, glancing pointedly at the various nips and hickeys that aren't covered by my top.

"They could have," you say defensively. "They don't need to know-"

"Yeah well I know for a fact that Lo'ak isn't going to believe that you got hickeys from sparring, or that you tripped and got little bites all along your inner thighs."

You scowl at him and quickly close your legs, but the stupid skxawng has a point.

"Maybe you should have just been more gentle," you point out. "Like maybe not biting and kissing me fucking everywhere."

Aonung just shrugs shamelessly, eyes roving over you again.

"Yeah I'm sure you hated it," he grins. "I could tell by the way you were moaning in my ear the whole time."

You just scowl at him and stalk away, trying your best to walk straight so he won't get a big head about the shakiness in your legs.

"You are such a skxawng," you hiss.

"Alright," he shrugs, hurrying a little to keep up with you. "Whatever you say yawne."

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moumouton4 · 8 months

Text

Three Is Not A Crowd || Eijiro Kirishima x fem!reader

Mention of Denki Kaminari and Katsuki Bakugo

A/n : Prompt 12 of the Smutember 2023 ( I've never tried to write something like this so just like the last prompt it's going to be less smutty than usual. But don't worry the spice is coming back )

The list of promps is HERE

Smutember 2023 Masterlist ⚜

Warnings : mention of : mirror sex, slight exhibitionism, roleplays, porn, rough sex, sex with multiple partners, Eijiro is such a sweetheart and wants you to be comfortable, 18+ READERS ONLY and wrap it before you tap it

Masterlist ⚜

I don’t give permission to repost my work, if you want to share it just reblogue it

Word count : 1196

You and Eijiro have always been a rather curious and adventurous couple. You've always enjoyed trying new things. You were both in tune with each other and had a fairly liberated sexuality. So after 2 and a half years together, you're experiencing countless fantasies and kinks. In front of a mirror, in unlikely places - on the academy roof was very arousing - during roleplay or even in fanciful positions, but nothing seemed able to quench your thirst for discovery and novelty.

Eijiro, always the optimist, did his best to come up with new ideas for things you could both try out. Searching, for example, Internet sites or porn. And that's how he came across something he'd never considered before. An act with multiple partners. He found the idea rather interesting, he wasn't particularly jealous and it's true that the idea of seeing you experience pleasure with another man might seem interesting. Especially if he himself might find himself busy with someone else.

Two weeks had passed since the idea had germinated in his mind. He couldn't stop thinking about people who might be interested in the idea, and who wouldn't be afraid of a challenge. You'll also have to feel at ease with them. He also didn't want any jealousy to come between you, so it would make sense to take people who wouldn't arouse that feeling in you. Boys would probably do, and he wasn't going to lie about the fact that he himself was curious about sharing his intimacy with one or more boys. So the questions remained the same : Would you accept ? And who would you choose for the moment ?

Eventually, he managed to find a quiet moment with you, despite the hectic days you were having. Always thinking of your comfort, he prepared a small plate of cookies and juice in case you got hungry and thirsty. You sit down next to each other on his bed and watch for a moment as he speaks. You talked briefly about your day, Eijiro making it a point of honor to make sure your day went off without a hitch. Then he took a breath "You know, I've been thinking about that little something that might spice things up when we... well, you know. And after a bit of searching I came across something interesting" he paused, looking into your eyes to see if you were really interested for him to continue.

And seeing the depth of your gaze, he immediately understood that he had piqued your interest. So he continued "Why don't we try a multi-party plan ?" his eyes sparkled, and he himself was very excited by the idea "It might bring that famous kick we need to spice things up a bit"

You took a cookie and bit into it before asking "I see. And do you have any idea who you'll be including ?"

"Does that mean you'll accept ?!?" he almost shouted, stars in his eyes.

"That depends on who you propose Eijiro" you smirked, your fingers playing with his spiky hair a little anxiously.

Eijiro forced his brain to work at full power, he had a good idea of who he'd be asking. In his mind, he was sure he'd propose to people he already trusted rather than strangers. A name quickly came to mind : Denki Kaminari. He knew that his yellow-haired friend had repeatedly said that he found you beautiful, so it was time to do something about this. Besides, he was sure that Denki would accept, as he had a weakness for girls, all of whom he found beautiful and seductive.

His second choice was a more surprising one : Katsuki Bakugo, his best friend. The reason was quite simple, his relationship with Katsuki, though purely friendly, was based on great mutual respect and trust.

He knew things about Katsuki that many didn't, and one of those things was that Katsuki had a lot of energy to spare in this area. Never one to back down from a challenge, he was sure to say yes, but I was more certain than Denki "Well," he scratched the back of his head, where the red dye was starting to show his ebony hair "why not Denki and Katsuki. Denki's always eager to fool around with girls and Katsuki could use a break. Besides, I'm sure you'd love his more bestial side" he said smirking, he knew you'd love it when he himself went hard with you, but in reality he was more comfortable with something passionate rather than rough. You choked on your cookie "What ?!?" You clearly hadn't expected him to suggest two people - from your group of friends - for your potential first time with someone else. Eijiro clapped you on the back to help you pass your snack. But your surprise remained the same "2 people ?!? And with you in addition, that's going to be a whole crowd of people on me !"

He laughed, a cheerful, bon vivant laugh, because he knew you hadn't shut the door completely "Y/N three is not a crowd"

"Well three dicks for one pussy is a crowd" you said with a laugh. He pulled you closer to his chest, encircling your shoulder with his arm, and pulled you towards him.

"Who says we're only going to use one hole ? I know at least three, but we can always be inventive" he tried to sound confident as usual but he couldn't stop the red that was slowly rising in his cheeks, at the same time as in yours "A-and did you ask them yet ? What was their answer ?" you couldn't hide from him - even with simple questions - that you were incredibly interested.

He kissed one side of your head as you remained on his shoulder "Denki will probably say yes. As for Katuki, I'll have to be persuasive, but I'm sure it'll get his attention" his hand lovingly caressed your arm. He was trying as hard as he could to make you feel comfortable with every step you took towards this new experience.

"So what do you say ?" his gaze met yours, and you saw a spark of excitement run through them.

"I say... yes. I can't wait" you admitted with a slight blush. A big smile came to your boyfriend's lips "Well, I can't wait either. It's going to be great" he said, his voice brimming with excitement. Your eyes locked and you couldn't helo but jumps on each others' mouth, as you kissed hungrily.

Needless to say, that evening you made love to relieve all that tension, in preparation for this new experience you'll soon be sharing with two of your closest friends. And if you only knew how eagerly Denki was going to accept and with what surprising gusto Katsuki gave the go-ahead. You may have thought that three was a crowd, but once those three pretty dicks had taken care of you, your way of thinking would change radically... especially after 6 or 7 orgasms in one evening. Hopefully the next day will be a day of rest because you won't be able to walk and Eijiro will have to carry you around wherever you want to go. Damn he is so manly.

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starlitmark · 9 months

Text

Summary: No one knows just how powerful a pretty little trophy wife can be. Pairing: Hongjoong x fem!reader Genre: smut Tropes: established relationship au, CEO au, trophy wife au Rating: R 18+ Warnings: pegging, restraints, praise, pillow prince!Hongjoong Word Count: 778 Note: here’s week 3 of Arousal August!! Huge thank you to @anyamaris and @mejuii for beta/proofing this!!

Hongjoong grips your thigh gently beneath the table. You’ve been teasing him subtly throughout this entire dinner. You knew it was an important meeting, and he did too. Hence, his silent requests to have you stop. If it weren’t clear that it was going well, you would’ve stopped. It’s painfully obvious that this business dinner was going phenomenally.

You gently let your fingertips graze against the front of your husband’s dress pants, causing his thigh to jolt slightly. It takes everything in you not to smirk at your little victory. The best option right now is to take your glass and cover your facial expression with it. You’re going impatient to get him home. You need an excuse to get the pair of you out of here. Fast.

As if the stars align, Hongjoong hides a rather long yawn behind his hand. That’s your out. You move your hand to rest on his shoulder, your engagement ring and wedding band sparkling under the lights of the restaurant. He turns his gaze toward you, slightly confused by the sudden change in your demeanor. Oh, how you play the precious trophy wife role so well in front of all these powerful CEOs.

“You getting tired, Joongie?” you ask with a giggle, “You’re getting increasingly exhausted with these new projects coming up. We better get home and rest.”

“I guess we should,” your husband chuckles, playing along with your game.

Your eyes find Yunho’s. He’s a mutual friend of you and Hongjoong. Yunho is actually the one who introduced you to Hongjoong. He’s the only one in the room who knows the true nature of your dynamic and exactly why you suddenly decided to go home. He smirks slightly and raises his wine glass toward you as if to say, ‘Have fun, you two’ without words.

“What would they think?” You chuckle sadistically as you thrust into your husband, “The big powerful CEO of Lucky Star Labels writhing under his pretty trophy wife.”

“‘M not-” he interrupts himself with a moan.

You always found it an odd kind of power trip whenever you got Hongjoong like this. No one knows just how desperate your husband could be for you. From the outside view, Hongjoong is the biggest name in the music industry. He’s quite the force to be reckoned with. You, you’re just his pretty trophy wife that’s always on his arm. Behind closed doors, though, that’s another story. One that only a few very close friends know about. Your powerful husband is quite the pillow prince. Not even in the typical sense, Hongjoong thrives when you take that power from him and rock his world with your strap.

You reach forward and wrap your hand around his painfully hard cock. Hongjoong lets out a strangled moan and tugs against the silk restraints that are wrapped around his wrists and connected to your headboard.

“Aww, you feel so good getting fucked by your precious trophy wife that you forgot you’re tied up?” You giggle with a condescending lilt.

“Please, please, pl-” your husband choked out, ultimately being interrupted by a whine when you started moving your hand around him.

You thrust into him harshly, reeling when you see him tug harder at the silk around his wrists. Hongjoong’s legs squirm as you continue your ministrations on his cock. He looks completely debauched beneath you. His dark hair splayed out against the pillows, his lips glossy and swollen from spit. With a particularly sharp tug of his member and thrust from your strap Hongjoong cums in your hand, and you watch as it drips onto his belly. You slow your thrusts as he rides out the last spikes of his high. Quickly, his moans turn into soft whines under his breath. When you pull out fully, you’re lower belly fills with heat seeing the copious amounts of lube on your strap, his hole, and the sheets below him. It’s enough to have that ever-burning heat rise higher in desperation for more.

“Joongie,” you call his attention gently, placing a hand on his cheek.

“Mmm?” he responds, half-dazed from his orgasm.

“Do you have it in you to help me out?”

You don’t expect an answer immediately. Instead, you reach up to release his hands from the silk and remove the strap from your body. Hongjoong’s hand immediately falls to your thigh and squeezes it lightly. You look at your husband and see arousal swirling in his eyes.

“If you sit on my face, I’ll be more than happy to help you.”

It’s more of a plea than an offer. Nevertheless, you’re already more than happy to take him up on that offer.

Networks: @cultofdionysusnet @kwritersworld @k-vanity

Tag List: @sanjoongie @jaehunnyy @ericssmile @anyamaris @almondmilkeu @shinestarhwaa

#hongjoong smut #arousal august #cultofdionysusnet #kwritersworldnet #kvanity #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez smut #hongjoong fanfic #hongjoong x reader

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racingline3 · 9 months

Text

Nervous ~ Carlos Sainz

♡ Carlos Sainz x Leclerc!Reader

Description: Carlos approaches you at a Ferrari party

~fluff~

Ferrari knows how to throw a party, you think as you sit at the bar.

Charles had got from P4 to P1 today. It was worth celebrating.

You had lost Arthur in the crowd and now without any of your brothers around, you were alone. Considering you alternated race weekends between Charles and Arthur, you had never really got to know much of either team. You were just the Leclerc sister with the right passes around your neck.

You had been apprehensive about going along to the party, but Charles had wanted you to come along and you couldn't say no to him as he practially bounced around like a champagne soaked puppy.

Despite not being bitten by the racing bug, it was still a part of your family's DNA and you wanted to celebrate all your brother's achievements, just like they did for you in your chosen career.

But all the familial love didn't help as you sat alone at the bar wondering how soon you could leave.

"This seat taken?" You would know that voice anywhere.

"Hi Carlos." You say in surprise, "No, take a seat." You presume he's there to order more drinks so you're surprised when he turns to give you his full attention you.

"You are not enjoying the party?" He asks and you quickly squash the bizarre urge to reach up and trace your fingers along his collarbone that's exposed from his loose button up shirt. That would be ridiculous, he's your brother's teammate.

"Not really. I don't know many people."

"You know me." He says, those dark eyes threatening to mesmerise you.

"So...have you any plans for the summer break?" You ask, wracking your brain for conversation starters while your senses are being overloaded by Carlos' full attention.

"Is that an invitation back to your house?" He asks with a wolfish grin and you blush at his words.

Last summer break, Ferrari had decided team bonding was needed and made Carlos spend a week with you family and vice versa for Charles.

You had only been there for a day, but while your brother's were off on jet skis, Carlos had chatted with you like you were old friends. Like he knew you.

You had admittedly missed those few hours ever since.

"You're always welcome." You say instead of saying something crazy like that he should come to your apartment and never leave.

"If you ever want to see the sights of Spain, you know where to find me."

"Usually in a really fast red car driving in circles?" You quip. You can't blame the electricity sparkling under your skin on the one drink you've had, you're sure it's caused by the scent of Carlos' cologne.

"How do you suggest I try to get your attention then?"

"You don't have to try to get me attention Cariño. You are difficult not to notice."

You feel like falling off your chair and turning to mush at his admission.

"Oh." You're afraid that your brain may have short circuited like a few of the cars on the grid earlier today.

"I wanted to ask you out last summer break." He admitted, and you forgot all about the party around you. "But then Arthur hopped back onto the boat and I didn't see you again until the season started back up."

"I..." You were lost for words, the two of you were in a room with the rich and famous and he wanted you, of all people. "I've been at a few races since then..."

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile, "Charles is a particularly good guard dog around you. And how am I supposed to drive the fast car is circles properly if I'm nervous about asking you out?"

You blink. "I make you nervous?" You have to ask for clarification, idly wondering if Carlos had ever looked in the mirror or checked his professional career history.

"It is not like I can impress you with race car driving like everybody else, is it? You don't care about it."

"I care about it." You argue then rethink when he raises an eyebrow, "Or I care about how people I care about do. Yeah...I do prefer watching football actually." You lean over to admit in a whisper and he smiles.

"So, what do you say about going on a date with a guy who drives a car in circles with your brother?" Carlos asks sweetly

"I'd really like that."

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #f1 #formula 1 #f1 fluff #f1 blurb #short blurb #ferrari #leclerc #fanfic #f1 fic

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its-time-to-write · 8 months

Text

ch. 1 - hustling for the good life

please never let me write a series again. if I say i’m going to, please remind me that it’s the worst and i’ll hate myself for it. anyway, here it is and yeah, i got self conscious about it. uhh also Jamie doesn’t show up till chapter 2.

table of contents

cowboy like me

Getting from the car to the hotel lobby should not be this challenging. It’s not even that far a distance, but the moment your car pulls up to the doors, you understand that this is going to take a lot of pushing, shoving, and flashing cameras.

“How’d they even know I was going to be here?” you ask your assistant-turned-best-friend Natalie.

She grimaces. “I was kind of trying to keep this from you, but your new makeup artist has been leaking your location. That’s why it’s been hell the past week or so.”

You groan and say, “Shit, and she was so nice, too! Who would’ve thought?”

Natalie shrugs. “I had my suspicions from the beginning. Gotta tell you, it was hard fucking work catching her in the act without you knowing.”

You smile and pinch Natalie’s arm affectionately. “This is why you’re the best, Nat. You’re always fighting a losing battle against my anxiety.”

She grins back and says, “You ready to brave the paps? Be warned, they’re going to be particularly vicious.”

“Obviously,” you reply. “They’re probably all wondering why I don’t have a ring on my finger.”

Natalie makes an ick noise and says, “I, for one, am glad you don’t. I think I’d have to quit if you married him.”

You laugh as your door opens and your bodyguard begins to usher you inside. You’re glad you’re not marrying him either.

—

Fame is weird because it pretty much means your entire job is based on other people’s perception of you. They never have any idea what’s actually going on, and if the people decide they don’t like you, you’re done. You like to keep your personal life, well, pretty personal. That means social media accounts run by a publicist, a secret apartment, large sunglasses, tinted windows, and a fuck-ton of coffee.

Your last three relationships had all been for publicity and you didn’t mind so much, but it was odd. There was an actor, a guitarist, and (most recently) a model. They were all incredibly sweet, which you understand is a rarity. Fake relationships have the tendency to run sour, but they were just genuinely kind people.

The last one, the model, had commented on your ability to detach one night. He specifically noted how you could fake a sparkle in your eyes, the kind that you’re only supposed to have when you’re really in love. You had laughed and patted his cheek, and told him that you didn’t want to be in love. It’s easy to fake something you don’t truly desire because there’s no underlying pain in your eyes.

The actor and guitarist had said similar things, the actor in particular telling you that you should consider switching which business you were in. You just grinned and told him some lyrics for a the song you’d release when you two broke up.

Love is a hassle. You don’t need it. You’ll take your nice car over an open heart any day.

—

It’s late but not too late as you and Natalie lay on the giant bed in your room, face masks on and glass of wine in hand.

“I still don’t understand why you won’t even keep ten percent of your new EP,” she says as you absently watch the show on the TV. “You’re making so much off it, that it wouldn’t make a difference.”

You shake your head. “Mango was always going to be for that charity,” you reply. “It doesn’t make sense that I would tell their stories and then profit off it. It’s their album, I was just the execution.”

Natalie raises an eyebrow as she says, “But no one knows what it’s about. Or that you’re the one donating all that money. Honestly, I’m shocked that no one in that entire organization has figured out what’s happening yet.”

“Well, I think Christine probably has an idea,” you laugh. “She always could see right through me. And the girls I talked to promised to keep it to themselves. You know, they each get a percentage too.”

Natalie nods. “I know,” she says. “I understand your vision, I really do. I just need to check in with you every now and then, so I know you understand what you’re doing.”

“I do,” you reply. “I really do.”

—

Mango was a one-off EP you created after becoming financially involved with an organization specializing in helping women escape domestic violence. A little heavy for someone whose songs were best listened to on a sunny day, but you needed something real. You hated the way you felt separate from real people and Christine, your point of contact, had given you a lifeline. Your money now had use, beyond buying loved ones houses and cars and whatever else they could possibly want. You didn’t want to become publicly involved, and the whole company was great with keeping you anonymous. You’d talked to so many women who had stories of love turned rotten, and the hope they’d been able to find.

You wrote a few songs about some of them, supposed to be a personal gift for those who had touched you.

It was Claire, the one who had told you the story that inspired Mango, who said you should release it.

You’d protested at first but the other girls caught wind of Claire’s vendetta and pushed you into it as well.

Natalie helped you put your vision to paper, and contracts were written so the money Mango made would go to its true visionaries.

It was satisfying in a way that no other album had been.

It had depth, it was personal, it was upbeat but in a real way, and it had a strange sadness laced throughout each track.

You came across a tweet that said, I don’t know why I’m crying to Kitchen Epiphany, but it’s 3am and I can’t stop sobbing.

That’s exactly what you wanted. Nothing is explicitly sad in the song, it’s actually one of the most sunny songs on the EP, but still. There was something that people could feel, could connect to.

You think that feeling is better than any type of love.

—

The trip to London is another PR thing. “Blue Glass singer/songwriter spotted in London on the heels of breakup with model ex,” said one newspaper.

“Mango artist has let her man go,” said another.

“I think they could have done better with that pun,” Natalie remarks. You giggle.

“I don’t give a shit, as long as they’re buying what I’m selling. It’s just nice to be out of America for a little bit.”

Natalie squints at her phone and says, “You know you’re here for work, right? You have that interview in an hour, plus we have a party tonight. You don’t have to pretend to be sad for this one, apparently you’re supposed to move on quick and act like you’re ‘happy, single, and unburdened.’”

You’re not sure who exactly she’s quoting, but you’re pretty sure she’s reading some message from someone in charge of your image. They don’t do a bad job, but they could do better.

—

The interview is good, done by a sweet girl who asks interesting questions about aesthetics and personal projects, things a little different from your normal interviews.

You head back to the hotel and figure out what you’re going to wear to this party, some football thing, while Natalie laments her inability to wear slippers.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” she says as she rummages through her makeup bag, “I fucking love the way heels look. But my feet are absolutely ruined and I just want to wear something comfortable for once.”

You hold up an ice-blue dress to the mirror. “You should just do it, Nat. It’s not like anyone’s actually going to care. I sure as hell don’t give a shit.”

Natalie’s head shoots up to look at you. “Are you serious? Please tell me you are. If you say I can, I’m totally not wearing real shoes.”

You decide to wear the dress and say, “Natalie Herrera, you can do whatever your heart desires. I literally could not care less.”

She squeals and says, “Oh my god, ok, ok, I’m going to the shops right now and I’m going to buy a cute pair. Oh my god, I’m so excited.”

“If you find a really good pair, get me some too,” you call after her, “I want some to wear around the room.”

table of contents

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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songbirdseung · 6 months

Text

PS5 / choi yeonjun

The air was heavy with a mix of frustration and disappointment as Choi Yeonjun's girlfriend, Y/N, watched him intently, her gaze fixed on the glowing screen of his PS5 console. She had given it to him as a surprise gift, hoping it would bring them closer together, but instead, it had become a wedge between them.

Yeonjun, once a social and attentive boyfriend, was now spending his free time engrossed in virtual worlds, his eyes glued to the screen, his fingers dancing across the controller. Y/N's invitations to go out or spend time together were often met with excuses of 'just one more game' or 'I'm almost done'.

You loved admiring your lover, seeing the different facial expressions they would make to daily life scenarios, or the sparkle in their eyes when they are invested in something they are so passionate about. But today was not one of those days.

You enjoyed filming (with consent of course) him and fill your gallery with silly videos of him and his reactions to certain things. Like that time, you gifted him a PS5 for just a random appreciation gift. That day he could not stop clinging onto you and thanking you. You have videos of him playing for the first few times and him whining frustratedly. Videos where he would be sweet and endearing to you. You enjoyed rewatching all those videos. But again, today was not one of those days.

Your boyfriend Yeonjun just got back from a world tour and spending his first week break with his family. Now that he's back home with you for the next and last week, you thought he'd spend his time with you. Nope, you were very wrong. When your boyfriend got home, he kissed and hugged you but right after washing up, he goes over to the living room and plays for hours on end, not paying you any attention.

This went on for a couple more days, you did not want to be that kind of girlfriend who nags her boyfriend about playing video games all day and taking away one of his hobbies, but since the week is almost coming to an end, and he'll have to start working again, you were not gonna let this slide no longer. As the days passed, you found yourself growing more frustrated with Yeonjun's constant immersion in his video games. You tried dropping hints, like casually suggesting activities you could do together or expressing how much you missed spending quality time with him. However, it seemed like your words were falling on deaf ears, and his focus remained glued to the virtual world on the screen.

One evening, after a particularly long gaming session, you decided it was time to address the issue directly. Taking a deep breath, you approached Yeonjun and gently said, "Hey, can we talk for a moment?"

He looked at you, slightly distracted but willing to listen. "Sure, what's up?" he replied, pausing his game.

You took a moment to gather your thoughts before expressing your feelings. "I've really missed you, Yeonjun. I understand that you enjoy playing video games, and I've always supported that. But since you've been back, it feels like we haven't had much time together. I was hoping we could make the most of this last week before you go back to work."

Yeonjun sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know, I know. I've just been really into this game lately, and I guess I lost track of time. I didn't mean to neglect you."

You nodded, appreciating his honesty. "I get it, and I don't want to take away something you enjoy. But I miss us, you know? I miss our conversations, our laughter, and just being close to you."

He looked at you with a hint of remorse in his eyes. "I'm sorry, babe. I didn't realize it was bothering you this much. Let's do something together now. What do you want to do?"

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Anything, as long as it's with you."

He promised you to get of gaming for the rest of the week and hang out with you. You got to finally sleep well after his words, but the next morning you woke up to another nightmare, him on that dang couch with a controller in his hand, playing the games you began to envy and grow a hatred for.

Not wanting to be in the house anymore, you grab the necessities and go out to meet a friend.

You meet her at a random museum that you always wanted to go to, once you meet up, you dont open up on the topic too much and pay attention in viewing the attractions of the art museum. But your friend knows you too well and ask what's wrong.

Eventually, you tell her everything and when you begin to tear up, she offers you both to sit down and hugs your side. "Maybe he just needs time to himself? time to adjust?" She proposes. But you shake your head and sigh "I don't know man, He's just not the same guy I started dating".

Your friend, sensing the depth of your emotions, tightens her hug and nods sympathetically. "I understand it's tough. Relationships go through ups and downs, and people change. Maybe he's just going through a phase, or maybe there's something on his mind that he hasn't shared with you."

You wipe away a stray tear and look at your friend, appreciating her support. "I just feel like I've tried talking to him, you know? I want to understand, but it seems like he's not willing to open up about what's going on with him."

She nods, offering a comforting smile. "Communication is key, but sometimes it takes time for people to open up. Maybe you could give him a little space but let him know you're there when he's ready to talk."

The two of you continue exploring the museum, momentarily shifting your focus from your relationship woes to the captivating art around you. As you move from one exhibit to another, you find solace in the beauty of the paintings and sculptures. However, in the back of your mind, the unease about your relationship lingers.

After spending some time immersed in the art, you and your friend find a quiet bench to sit on. She turns to you, her eyes filled with concern. "Look, I know it's hard, but relationships are a journey. People change, and sometimes they rediscover themselves. Maybe he's just going through a phase, and things will get better. But you also have to prioritize your own happiness and well-being. If this continues to make you unhappy, it might be worth having a serious conversation with him about the future of your relationship."

You sigh, feeling a mix of emotions. "I love him, you know? I just want things to go back to how they were."

She nods, understanding the complexity of emotions involved. "Love is important, but so is your own happiness. It's okay to want things to improve, and it's okay to express your needs in the relationship. Just take it one step at a time, and remember, you deserve to be with someone who makes you happy and values your time together."

As you leave the museum, you carry these words with you, knowing that the path ahead may not be easy, but you're determined to navigate it with honesty and compassion for both yourself and your relationship.

Upon returning home, you find Yeonjun still engrossed in his gaming world. The familiar sound of the controller buttons and the glow of the screen greet you as you enter the living room. A mix of frustration and resignation settles in your chest.

Taking a deep breath, you decide it's time to have that conversation again. This time, you need to express your feelings and concerns more firmly, making it clear that the current state of your relationship is taking a toll on you.

"Yeonjun," you start, your voice steady but determined, "we need to talk."

He looks up from the game, pausing for a moment to give you his attention. "What's up?"

You take a moment, collecting your thoughts before speaking. "I love you, and I want us to be happy together. But the way things have been lately, it's not working for me. I miss the connection we used to have, and I miss feeling like a priority in your life."

Yeonjun sighs, setting the controller aside. "I'm sorry if I've been distant. I didn't mean to make you feel that way."

You continue, "I need to know what's going on. I need to understand if there's something bothering you or if this is a pattern that's going to continue. Because I can't keep feeling like I'm coming second to a video game."

He looks at you, realizing the gravity of the situation. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I guess I got carried away with the games. But you're right; we need to talk about this."

You both sit down, and a sincere conversation unfolds. You express your concerns, and Yeonjun opens up about the pressures he's been feeling, the need for an escape, and how he didn't realize the impact it was having on your relationship.

In the end, you both decide to work on finding a balance. Yeonjun agrees to be more present, and you agree to give him the space he needs, understanding that everyone needs moments of solitude. It's a compromise, a step towards rebuilding what seemed to be slipping away.

As the days pass, you notice positive changes. Yeonjun makes an effort to spend quality time with you, and you both work on rediscovering the aspects of your relationship that brought you together in the first place.

Love, communication, and compromise become the pillars that help you rebuild and strengthen your connection, turning a challenging chapter into an opportunity for growth and understanding.

#txt #tomorrow x together #txt yeonjun #yeonjun #choi yeonjun #yeonjun fluff #yeonjun imagines #yeonjun x reader

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swannieluv · 3 months

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.𖥔 ݁ ˖꩜ Portraits and flowers- PLATONIC Albedo and Klee x Child!Reader

✦⸼࣪⸳ 𝐆𝐍!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✦⸼࣪⸳ 𝐖𝐜: 1,4k

✦⸼࣪⸳ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆!!: Slight mention of a bruise.

✦⸼࣪⸳ Part II of: Alchemy, bombs... Family?

✦⸼࣪⸳ A/N: HII!! Writing for Klee is so nice, she's just a silly ball of energy. Hope you guys like it!! Also, a friendly reminder that you're free to send whatever thoughts you have about this or my other fics on my asks <3

"Stay still."

These two words had been repeated thousands of times over the last two hours. A single command that should be simple, if it weren't terribly boring to sit in an armchair posing for so long.

"I still don't understand..." Their eyes turned to the back of the easel, which concealed Albedo's work. "Why do you want to make a portrait of me?"

"Because you're our new addition to the family; it's only fair that we have a portrait of you to put on the wall."

He wanted to present them with a painting that he would do himself. Although most of his drawings didn't make it out of the sketch phase because he always found other inspiration and left his unfinished projects lying around, Albedo was clearly making an effort for them.

For Albedo, this wasn't just a gift. It had been a few days since [Name] had joined the small family made up of Albedo, Klee and Alice; although they still hadn't had direct contact with the latter.

They were still adapting to the new reality they were living in, in the midst of a great deal of internal confusion because they couldn't remember anything about their past. That's where the idea for this gift came from, something that would make them feel embraced by him and Klee.

Albedo then returned his attention to the painting. He seemed focused, trying to capture every possible detail in his work and create the best possible representation of the person in front of him.

"It's already a great honor to have the opportunity to be painted by the 'genius' Albedo..."

They teased him in a light-hearted way. Albedo was known to many as a 'Genius'. Something in his mind said that the person who told [Name] about this title was a certain Cavalry Captain with, apparently, too much free time for his liking.

He wasn't particularly fond of being called that, thinking it was a big exaggeration on people's part. Nevertheless, he decided to join in.

"And it's a great pleasure to be able to paint the great Dodoca..." he smiled and looked at the canvas, his eyes analyzing every detail of what he had already done so that he could correct the mistakes.

"The mini terrorist will surely want a portrait if she sees it."

"Mini terrorist? New nickname for Klee, I see."

In a small family of three - or four if you count Alice - Klee was the bomb-maniac little sister. Although Albedo was the one who spent most of his time looking after the little girl, now that [Name] is here, she has been dividing her time between the two of them. Whenever Klee met [Name] along the way she would jump around and show off her new bombs, causing the two to end up in solitary confinement more than five times before even a week had passed since their arrival.

And today would probably be no exception.

"Mr. Albedo!"

Klee appeared as energetic as ever. The girl looked as if she had just returned from her adventures in Mondstadt, adventures she could only experience outside solitary confinement. In her hands was a bouquet of orange flowers: Windwheel Asters.

"I did it! I've collected all the flowers!"

Albedo stared at Klee in silence with wide eyes, his panic inside was apparent. He had agreed with the little girl to deliver the flowers after the painting was finished, not before!

But seeing Klee's sparkling eyes, he could only laugh softly and stroke her head gently. The little girl was really excited to hand over her present.

"Thank you, Klee."

As soon as Albedo's hand left her head, she ran and threw herself over them in a tight hug. Causing some of the flowers in her arms to slip, not that that was a problem at the moment.

The seat didn't have a back support, so as soon as Klee jumped, they both fell straight to the hard floor and remained there completely motionless while hugging each other.

The sound of two awkward giggles echoed around the room. The fall was funny, but a little painful for [Name]'s back.

"That was so fun!"

Klee stood up awkwardly; her backpack weighed a lot, even if she could carry it around. The contents of the backpack? A mystery, she always took the most random trinkets out of it. The only thing you could be sure of was the dozens of bombs she must hide in there every day.

"Klee picked the best flowers she could find! Just for you!" She brought the flowers close to their faces; a sweet but early surprise for [Name].

"You didn't have to..."

They prepared to get up, wiping the accumulated snow from their clothes. Their efforts were met with a gentle hand extended to them, just like the day Albedo and Klee had helped them.

"Thank you."

They accepted the support and were finally on two feet. Their sore backs would probably end up having a few bruises from the sudden impact they had suffered, but they didn't want to have to worry when they were having such a good time.

“Did Klee hurt you? I didn't intend to…” she mumbled under her breath, a hand over her mouth as the worried girl looked at them.

“I'm not hurt at all. It's okay.”

It wasn't exactly the truth, but what heartless person would say that to her? She looked so guilty right now, fearing having hurt her new friend like that.

“You could've used your vision to avoid your fall. Why haven't you done so?”

That was a reasonable question. The fact they wielded an anemo vision and weren't actively using it when needed was quite curious for him; maybe he could get the answer he was searching for. All evidence, from their vision's shape to their past clothing pointed out their origins coming from Snezhnaya.

It would start to make sense if they truly had come from the snowy nation, since they could stand the cold naturally without feeling slightly bothered by the lack of natural warmth inside his lab – unlike Klee, who would complain to no end about how her ears were “freezing” before getting her vision and becoming the walking heater she is – and their effortless pacing around the mountain, when even skilled adventurers would find the area rather hostile for exploring sometimes.

Yet, no answer would be concrete while [Name]’s memories continued to stay locked inside their mind for who knows how long. But even so, Albedo was more than willing to help them and wait for the right time when things will finally become clear.

“I don't know…” they answered with a rather puzzled look on their face. Their hands clutching to the hanging vision on their side.

“It's alright, just take your time.”

He put a hand on their shoulder, it was a reassuring action to make sure they knew he truly meant those words. Behind him was Klee, picking the flowers that fell when she jumped.

“Remember, no one's pressuring you into remembering anything”

Albedo's tone always carried a wave of gentleness with it. Years of taking care of Klee had surely improved his skills when dealing with children, she was the perfect definition of a ball of sunshine that could melt everyone's hearts.

“Yes, thank you—”

“What's this?” Klee’s question caught you two by surprise. She was standing close to the canvas, eyes exploring the painting quickly as if she was searching for something specific. Yet her facial expression showed a hint of confusion. “Oh, a drawing?”

“Yes, I'm important now so I can have one.”

They playfully stuck out their tongue to her, which she responded by leaving the flowers on a table and putting her hands on the hips with a pouting face. Of course Klee found [Name] amazing now that she was their friend, yet it didn't prevent her from feeling slightly jealous of Albedo's attention. Though it was more of a lighthearted, childish kind of jealousy.

“Right, Mr. Albe—”

He was gone.

“Oh.”

Albedo disappeared without saying a word, leaving them both alone in the lab without any kind of explanation.

“Let me see it.” [Name] ran to where Klee was, in front of the easel. Instead of a half done portrait, there was only a sketch.

Two hours, two freaking hours staying still like a porcelain doll for a sketch. It was quite infuriating, but maybe that's how artists worked? They wouldn't know.

“...”

They were so focused on their representation in the canvas that had failed to see the other two faces composing the picture. It wasn't only them; Albedo and Klee were also present in the sketch by their side. Written delicately in a small blank space was the word “family”.

“Family…"

A cozy home, big dinner, and a fireplace. Those images appeared for a second in their mind alongside the face of a familiar woman, but they couldn't remember whose face was that. It was blurred, just like everything else about their past.

"[Name]?" Klee's voice cut their thoughts. She had the flowers in her hands, ready to gift them with it.

Klee finally gave them the Windwheel Asters. A small smile on her face as she placed them carefully in [Name]’s hands. Maybe, just maybe, they were accepting it better than they thought.

“Klee wants you to be happy. Let's be siblings! I promise I won't explode you with my bombs, really!”

This time, though, the one to start the hug was [Name]. Their arms cautiously wrapped around the smaller child, afraid of hurting her somehow.

If Klee was a small flame due to her vision, [Name] would be the calm breeze to carry her with themselves. It's the very concept of siblings, right? Fighting, yet hugging by the end of it all.

“Thank you, Klee.”

#genshin impact #genshin platonic #genshin x reader #genshin x gender neutral reader #mondstadt #albedo x reader #albedo x you #albedo #klee #genshin klee #genshin #Swanniesarchive<3

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kylobith · 4 days

Text

Little Town Tails

Chapter 6: Something Fishy

Summary: A curious visitor comes to Emerald Grove.

Ship/Pairing: Halsin x Fem!Tav

Trope: Modern AU, Meet-cute, Little countryside town, Cosy

Word count: 4,831

Read it on Ao3 here

Listen to the dedicated playlist on Spotify here

‘Ah, Halsin, there you are!’

‘Good morning, Jaheira,’ he greets the florist back with a bright grin. He wipes his muddy shoes on the rubber mat outside until they are presentable enough to go in. Behind him, Scratch sits at the door, unleashed, waiting for Halsin to be done with his visit before heading home.

Jaheira grins at the white dog and whistles, calling him inside. The dog eyes his owner hesitantly, but when the latter gives him an approving nod, Scratch trots up behind the counter to be petted by his host. She grabs the banana she was snacking on and takes off a piece she offers him.

Halsin approaches the counter and smiles at the sight, always happy to see that his dog is accepted somewhere. While petting Scratch behind the ears, Jaheira looks at his visitor and smirks.

‘Walked around the forest this morning again?’

‘Indeed. The weather was perfect, but last night’s rain made the ground a bit soft, as you could tell from my boots.’

‘It’s always like that. At least they say that this spring will bring more sunny days than usual,’ she adds, chuckling as the dog lies down at her feet. ‘Anyway, did you happen to see Minsc at all? I’ve been trying to call him for two days because he ordered a fresh bouquet, but now the flowers are waning.’

He leans on his elbows and fidgets with one of her business cards on the counter.

‘I did, he was patrolling the area by the other bridge. Had I known, I would have reminded him.’

‘Oh, don’t bother. It’s always like that with him. He tends to forget what he orders on a whim. He’s always ready to support my shop since I opened but he never picks up his orders. He did, once, but that was a flower for Boo’s birthday and he ordered flax seeds. That was it.’

They share a laugh. Minsc certainly is quite the character, anyone meeting him can tell. Quite eccentric compared to the rest of Heawick, but he adds to the charm of the community. Whenever somebody needs help, whether when the flower shop was merely an idea sprouting into Jaheira’s mind or with Beaky’s incident with the bear trap, he never hesitates to lend a hand, even though it tends to distract him from his daily tasks and chores. Yet, there is no better forest warden.

Jaheira flips through the pages of her logbook and finds Halsin’s recent order.

‘So, the spider plant, was it?’ she says absent-mindedly. ‘Found a gorgeous one for you. Fluffy, in good health. Perfect for your counter.’

‘Eager to see it!’

She chuckles and heads to the back to fetch the plant. She returns with precisely what she promised him, setting it down on her counter for him to examine. He touches the long leaves between his fingers, sensing the freshness of their greenish white stripes and admiring the way that they curve elegantly around the gold-painted bucket serving as its display pot.

‘What a beauty!’ he coos, his eyes sparkling in awe. ‘How much do I owe you?’

‘Eighteen gold coins.’

‘Perfect, thank you.’

He takes out and begins to rummage through his coin purse, which takes Jaheira by surprise and causes her to smile. Shaped like the head of a teddy bear, its fur is made from light brown fleece, and the eyes and nose are embroidered in black and pink thread. He bought it at a flea market a few years ago on one of the rare holidays he allowed himself to take. Many raised an eyebrow to see a grown man buy it for himself, but even though he is far from materialistic, it is one of the few objects that he has grown particularly fond of.

He places the eighteen gold coins in the palm of Jaheira’s hand and slips two more into her tip jar.

‘Thank you,’ she says with a brief bow of her head. ‘Don’t forget to repot it from time to time, the roots tend to grow fast. And water it once to twice a week. It’s usually alright if you skip a week, as long as you don’t do it for a month straight.’

The veterinarian laughs and watches the florist remove the plant from the yellow pot. He purses his lips and tilts his head.

‘How much for that pot? It suits the plant quite well.’

Jaheira stops and eyes the bucket.

‘Oh, this? Ah, just take it. On the house.’

‘Certainly not,’ Halsin protests, unzipping his coin purse again and counting the coins in it. ‘Name your price.’

‘I insist, take it. I bought it years ago but it doesn’t suit my home, I use it for visualisation most of the time… Or as a pencil pot.’

She nudges it towards him with a wink. With a sigh and a heavy blush, Halsin slips ten gold coins into the tip jar and winks back. Once the plant is back in the bucket, he calls out for Scratch, who seeks one last pet from Jaheira, then rushes to his owner’s feet. The veterinarian and the florist exchange cheerful goodbyes, and the former exits the shop with his dog in tow and the spider plant tucked in the crook of his elbow.

Halsin whistles a tune as he crosses Heawick with his free hand buried in his pocket. He nods politely at everybody he sees with a smile and continues his walk back to Emerald Grove. The town is still awaking from its slumber and some of the shops are only just opening. Sometimes it still surprises him that Jaheira decides to open hers this early, but as she once said to him, she prefers to tackle her daily routine in the early hours, then close one or two hours before most shops so she can enjoy the town herself and have a longer evening to relax or meet up with her friends at the old pub on Westway Street.

Come to think of it, it is not such a bad idea. Shop owners and employees seldom have the opportunity to shop for themselves, unless they work half shifts or rely on partners who have the time to buy everything they need. More often, their only occasion to do so is on Saturdays, but the busy aisles deter quite a few. Since Heawick has a wider variety of establishments of all the nearing towns — not counting the city, of course —, its streets bustle with visitors on that particular day.

As he turns onto his street, he switches hands to hold the plant and fumbles through his pocket to find his keys. When he pulls them out and looks up to make sure that he does not walk too far, he notices the figure of a man peering through the windows of the practice. Dressed in black from head to toe, matching with his silky and spiky raven hair, the man does not seem to have come with a pet and does not seem particularly eager to enter.

‘Good morning,’ Halsin greets him with an eyebrow raised. ‘May I help you? Do you have or need an appointment?’

The man is startled despite the veterinarian’s soft tone. He straightens up and looks over at Halsin, seemingly analysing him in detail. The stranger rubs his index and thumb together and scowls at Scratch, who does not dare approach him at all. His demeanour already betrays the fact that he comes from the richer quarters of the city and is not used to visiting the area at all. There is a haughty air to him in the way that he carries himself, as if the word ‘peasant’ is about to slip off his tongue at any moment to describe Halsin and his shockingly unleashed pet.

‘No,’ he replies in a honeyed tone still tinted with firmness. ‘But I will come back later.’

Without uttering another word, the man spins around on his heel and walks away, leaving Halsin utterly confused with his key in hand. What a strange character.

The veterinarian shrugs it off and enters the dark practice, ushering Scratch inside before closing the door again behind him. He walks over to Karlach’s counter and finds a suitable spot for the plant, making sure to stand on both sides of the desk to ensure that the view is not obstructed for neither his assistant or a patient’s owner. But in the end, he finds that it does not quite fit there with the cards and flyers and tip jar, so he carries it over to the small coffee table in the centre of the waiting room. At least, if the anxious pets munch on the leaves, they will not be sick from it.

After a brief shower and a change into scrubs, he lets Scratch rest upstairs and heads back to the practice to follow the daily opening routine. As he takes a minute to make himself a cup of fruity tea — a bold decision considering how often he drinks his signature mint and honey infusion —, his mobile phone pings. Karlach’s name appears on the screen.

‘Morning doc, sorry but I’ll be late today, Vixen just won’t start! I’ll be there ASAP, promise promise!’

Halsin grins and immediately types back as he flicks the light switches on and shuffles towards the front door without paying much attention to his surroundings.

‘It should be quiet for the first hour, hopefully you will have found a way by then. Good luck finding an alternative! Perhaps you can ask Gale? Halsin. PS: I hope that Vixen will be alright. Too bad that she is not the type of vixen that I would treat at the practice :-).’

His wrist flicks to unlock the door while he re-reads the message to correct any typos he might have made. Eager to let some fresh air in, he opens the door wide.

‘Morning, doctor!’

Halsin nearly drops his phone when he jolts in surprise, not having expected that somebody might have already arrived. After all, he does not have any appointment planned before an hour. Outside, wiping her feet on the mat, Tav smiles at him with twinkling eyes and a light flush from noticing that her sudden greeting startled him.

His heart instantly leaps inside his chest and his lips mirror her grin.

‘Oh, good morning Miss Ashguard! I apologise for my reaction, I did not expect such an early visit. Is everything alright?’

Tav quickly combs her fingers through her freshly-cut curtain fringe. It suits her incredibly well, he catches himself thinking. The way that it sweeps across her eyebrows, its colour only highlighting the deep blue of her irises… It nearly steals the breath from his lungs.

‘Yes, yes, everything’s fine!’

He steps aside and invites her inside. As she passes him by with a light step, he closes his eyes for a second, savouring the aroma of her flowery perfume. As he realises what he is doing, he clears his throat and follows her to the reception.

‘Do you need anything more for the case against Mr Bongle? Perhaps I have forgotten to include some information in the report?’

She leans her elbows on the counter and does not seem able to eff the smile across her rosy cheeks. The sight, however sweet and pleasant, does stir something within him and he curses himself internally for reacting the way that he does.

‘No, not at all. The lawyer said it was quite complete, actually. She’s revising the case and I just have to wait now,’ she chimes with a shrug. ‘I’ve come here because there’s a stray cat in my street that’s been going around for a while but lately he’s been looking quite thinner. The old lady who used to feed it everyday died a few weeks ago, and I’m not sure anyone feeds him anymore.’

Her gaze wanders over to the rows of kibble bags on the display shelves.

‘I’d like to buy some food for him just to be on the safe side, and since I don’t want to risk giving him the wrong stuff, I thought I’d buy it here.’

‘I see,’ he responds with a nod. His eyes brighten up at the thought that she cares for an animal that is not hers. Most people he has seen refuse to approach stray animals out of fear that they might catch diseases or fleas, and while some caution is always advised, too many of them end up suffering all sorts of infections that go untreated and only cause them agony. Knowing that there is someone like Tav out there caring enough to notice the change in the cat’s weight gives him hope.

Halsin steps back to peruse the selection he has got, heading straight to the cat section.

‘Do you know how old the cat is, approximately?’ he asks.

‘Mmh, he doesn’t look too old. Hears and sees properly from what I know, his fur isn’t too patchy. Some neighbour said the old lady fed him for about three years.’

‘Then let us take one for adult cats to be on the safe side. I suppose that you do not happen to know what type of kibble she gave him?’

‘Not at all. Sorry.’

He nods and asks her a few more questions about what behaviours she has noticed from the cat in general. Once he is able to define a clearer profile of the animal, he picks a bag and sets it down on the counter, pointing at the information written on it with his pen.

‘This is food that is perfect for a cat used to the outdoors, aged five years or more. If it turns out that he is slightly younger, that should not cause any trouble. Since you said that he is on the lighter side, I would recommend thirty grammes of kibble per day. See how much he manages to eat and add a little more if he starts gaining a bit of weight again. But do not give him more than forty-five grammes, since it is likely that he hunts mice or birds on the side.’

‘Noted!’

Reaching into a cabinet behind the reception, he takes out a measuring cup and places it next to the bag.

‘This should help you measure the food without a kitchen scale.’

‘Practical. Alright, let’s take it!’

Halsin smiles and circles the recommended doses on the bag so she does not forget the amount he has told her to give the stray cat. He signs in to his software and enters the right reference to log the sale.

‘Would you like me to add it to your patient account in case you need to buy some new kibble later on?’

‘Gladly,’ she responds cheerfully, leaning her cheek into the palm of her hand while watching him typing on the keyboard.

‘Done! That will be twenty-two gold coins, please. The measuring cup is free.’

Tav takes out her credit card and pays for the bag. Once her wallet is stored away into her small cross-body bag, she carries the dry food under her arm and holds the measuring cup between her fingers.

‘Thank you very much, doctor.’

‘You are most welcome. If anything, I should thank you for caring for the cat.’

She returns his smile and tucks her hair behind her pointy ear, whose tip is reddening. Before he starts staring at it, Halsin drums his fingers on the counter.

‘Oh, before I forget, I beg you not to leave out milk for the cat, because—’

‘— because cats are naturally lactose intolerant,’ she completes his sentence with a smug expression that can be likened to this of a pupil who is proud to show that they have learnt their lessons by heart.

‘Indeed,’ he chuckles. ‘Well, it seems that the cat is in most capable hands, I can sleep soundly at night.’

Tav laughs and readjusts her grip on the bag.

‘When I’m released into society, I’m the type to always bring up that fact and everyone gets annoyed,’ she laughs.

‘At least you are spreading the good word out there. I did not know that you were doing public service on top of jingle compositions.’

‘I’m full of surprises, doctor.’

They share a playful grin, which lingers perhaps a bit longer than it should. His heart stirs when he notices the twinkle in her eye and the subtle reddening of her cheekbones. When her fingers unconsciously loosen around the measuring cup and it slips out of her grasp, he skilfully catches it before it bounces on the floor and hands it back to her.

‘Oh, thanks,’ she mumbles bashfully, tucking it under her free arm. ‘If anything goes wrong with the cat, can I try and bring him here?’

‘Of course. I will be happy to help.’

‘You’re the best! Thanks again. Have a lovely day, doctor.’

‘You too, Miss Ashguard. If you have any doubts, you can always contact me.’

‘I will!’

She waves at him and walks out of the practice. His eyes follow her as he sighs dreamily. However, his distraction is quickly cut short when he finds himself face to face with Astarion stepping inside with a cup of blood from the butcher.

‘Morning.’

‘Ah, good morning, my friend! Could I ask you a favour?’

The vampire grunts and slides his sunglasses up, letting them rest on top of his head. His ruby irises scowl at the veterinarian. Favours are never good in the younger man’s book. Or rarely.

‘I suppose I don’t have a choice,’ he mumbles. ‘What do you want?’

Halsin crosses his arms. No matter how much he tries to connect with him, even if just on a superficial level, Astarion always keeps his guard up and his distance. Honeyed words sometimes ornate his speech, but they never feel genuine, merely a façade that shelters him from others. He does not need to befriend him, of course, but he wishes that they could get along as well as he and Karlach do. But again, everything is easier with her. Sometimes, she might be too social and kind in a world that does not always value such qualities.

‘Karlach’s motorcycle broke down this morning, so she will be late. Do you mind working the reception until she arrives?’

Panic fills Astarion’s eyes right away. He furrows his brow and tries to act nonchalant, but his hesitation clearly stands out.

‘Wh— I don’t even know how any of this works!’

‘Do not worry, I am not saying that you must do all her tasks. If you could keep an eye on the appointments list and welcome the patients, that will help tremendously already. If the phone rings, answer it and write down the names and numbers, I will call them back between consultations. If it is urgent, do not hang up; call for me instead.’

‘Mh. That sounds doable. Alright.’

Astarion walks to the kitchen to drop his jacket and sunglasses, then comes back to the reception. He sits behind the desk and Halsin shows him everything he needs to know. Then, the veterinarian walks into his office and logs in to the general inbox and answers some emails himself.

Soon enough, the first appointment of the day arrives and Astarion directs them to the waiting room, where Halsin eventually comes to call them in. The consultation goes smoothly despite the very reticent puppy howling dramatically at the prospect of receiving one of her first shots. When he is done, Halsin guides the owner and the pet to the reception and registers the payment himself, before offering a treat to the brave puppy.

When they walk out, Halsin’s phone pings again.

‘Found a way, Dammon is bringing me. Be there in ten. Btw, doc, did you just make a joke?? And use a smiley??! Who are you and what did you do to Doc Halsin???’

Halsin laughs and updates Astarion on Karlach’s estimated time of arrival. Before the second consultation, a grumpy customer enters and asks for an anti-flea treatment suitable for a corgi. Once he has explained how to apply the solution efficiently, the veterinarian slithers back behind the desk and Astarion rolls a few inches away with his chair to give him enough space to deal with it all.

‘Do you already have an account?’ Halsin asks the amber-eyed tiefling, whose tail is whipping around behind him in annoyance.

‘This little shit is not my dog, thank the Gods!’ the customer answers with a scoff and a roll of his eyes. ‘He’s my sister’s.’

‘I see. Does she have an account?’

‘Listen, can I just buy the treatment and go? I feel like I’m being devoured by fleas myself as we speak!’

‘Of course.’

Without protesting, he processes the sale and gives the little pipettes to the young man, who turns around with another scoff and leaves as fast as he can, scratching his head harder than he probably should.

Eyeing the man with concern, Halsin leans towards Astarion.

‘Do you think the dog is at risk with him?’

Much to his surprise, the vampire laughs while filing his nails and admiring the result.

‘Most likely. I know him. Well, know is perhaps a strong word, but I’ve spoken to him a few times. As you can clearly tell, he’s from the city. He’s one of the most arrogant pricks I’ve talked to, and it takes one to know one. He owns a bookshop specialised in academic publications of all sorts, and my husband happens to love the place.’

Could it be? Is he actually opening up by accepting to gossip with him? Not that Halsin particularly likes hearsay and talking negatively about people in their backs, but this exchange already brightens up his day.

The vampire carefully taps his glass nail file on the edge of the bin under the desk to rid it of dust, then tucks it away in its little sleeve.

‘But don’t worry, Rolan’s all bark and no bite, he won’t hurt that pup,’ he continues while shoving the file inside his shirt pocket. ‘You know, he’s clever and all, but Gale took him down a notch a couple of times. You know what? I think my husband’s at his hottest when he gives arrogant people a reality check.’

‘That is good to know, I suppose.’

‘Trust me, doc, I think your next appointment’s here.’

Indeed, the next patient comes in and Halsin welcomes him warmly. Halfway through the consultation, he hears the faint sounds of the sewing machine upstairs, and he concludes that Karlach must have arrived in the meantime and relieved Astarion of his temporary duty.

Halsin does not see her until he finishes the next examination and logs everything into the computer. His assistant pokes her head in when the patient leaves and speaks in a hushed voice.

‘Morning, doc! Uh… There’s an odd chum lurking around in the lobby, doesn’t have a pet or anything and he keeps ignoring me when I ask him if I can help him.’

The veterinarian turns around with an eyebrow raised and instantly rises from his high stool.

‘Go back to the reception, I will talk to him.’

Karlach nods and does as he instructed her, sitting back on her chair and anxiously browsing playlists for something that will calm her nerves while being acceptable to play from the practice’s speakers. Situations like this one is among those she has been dreading most about working at Emerald Grove. Owners losing their pets and leaving without their furry or feathery friends remains the worst of all, but weird and creepy people are close.

In previous jobs, she had her fair share of lurking visitors and customers who made her feel uncomfortable, but the employee handbooks always stated that she could not shoo them away outright. Either a manager or security had to do it. Sadly, it often left her feeling incapable of fending for herself and infantilised.

Soon enough and much to her relief, help is on the way and Halsin arrives, clicking a pen. Without making himself look menacing either, he puffs up his chest slightly. If anybody seeks trouble, he is hoping that his size and his brawn will dissuade whoever stands before him. But as he catches a glimpse of the man in question, his stomach tightens. Intent on not showing his discomfort to Karlach, he smiles and speaks as naturally as possible.

‘Good afternoon, sir. I believe we have met this morning, you were looking inside the practice before opening time?’

The man turns around with a smug smile and a mischievous glint in his eyes so dark that one cannot quite pinpoint their colour. Now that Halsin is closer, he can discern the man’s outfit more clearly. Tucked into high-waisted trousers, his tailored black silk shirt with the top five buttons left undone allows his black chest hair to peek out. His overcoat adorned with golden embroideries has its collar upturned, completely covering the back of his neck. If anything, it gives him a menacing look, as though he is the villain of a fairytale come to life, but dressed as a model.

‘You are the veterinarian who owns the practice, aren’t you?’ the man answers at last with a brief squint of his eyes.

‘Indeed, I am. May I be of any help?’

‘Oh, I am merely looking around.’

As he says so, the stranger buries his hands into his pockets and paces around, inspecting the walls and the layout of the reception and the waiting room. Karlach sneaks a glance towards her boss, wondering how he is going to handle this most peculiar situation. Without blinking, Halsin steps forward, tucking his pen into the breast pocket of his scrubs.

‘May I know what you are looking for, sir?’

‘This is a beautiful working space you’ve got here. Most impressive.’

Before he can press him on, the stranger faces Halsin with a smirk, rubbing his fingers together in the same unsettling way that he did earlier this morning.

‘Tell me, have you ever considered selling this practice?’

Halsin crosses his arms. This time, he has no intention to behave in the same friendly manner. While he knows that escalating such a ridiculous situation would be useless, he knows now that he does not want this man lurking around anymore.

‘No, sir. We have only just opened, thank you very much. Now, if you do not wish to make an appointment or buy anything for a pet, I kindly ask you to leave. I must soon tend to another patient.’

‘Oh, that’s a bloody shame. Well. I’ll see what I can do.’

The man reaches into his inside pocket and takes out a business card, which he hands the veterinarian by tucking it between two well-groomed fingers.

‘In case you change your mind, I would be very happy to discuss it with you. Here’s my contact information. The name’s Enver Gortash.’

Without as much as a goodbye, Gortash walks out of the practice, leaving a dumbfounded pair at the reception. Karlach stands up from her chair, her gaze shifting between the door and Halsin.

‘What in the hells just happened, doc? What the fuck was that about?’

Her boss examines the business card he is holding with a deep frown.

‘I have no clue, Karlach. I am quite at a loss, to be honest with you.’

‘What did he say his name was?’

Halsin hands her the business card. Before she even gives it a look, she sits back on her chair and drags her keyboard towards herself, instantly typing the name in her browser. His curiosity piqued by the results, he joins her behind the desk and leans in to read what comes up on the screen. Karlach clicks on a biographical article from a business-centred media website and begins to skim it.

‘Fuck me, Gortash’s quite the big guy,’ she mumbles pensively. ‘Owns a big company that owns lots of brands itself. Apparently, he’s known for gentrifying the shit out of many neighbourhoods in several cities already. He’s kicked out independent shops to establish a coffee chain and turning flats into offices.’

His eyes scan the same words and the more they read, the tighter the lump in his throat feels. Karlach hands him the mouse so he can peruse the article himself and open others. He checks several sources, and much to his dismay, the information they read in the first article seem to be confirmed through others.

‘I do not like how that sounds,’ he whispers.

‘Me neither, doc. But now that you told him off, he’ll lose interest, right?’

‘Mh. I doubt it. But now I wonder if he has shown interest in other places in Heawick. There is only one way to know.’

The assistant looks up quizzically as he sighs heavily and crosses his arms.

‘If anybody in Heawick knows anything, it is Melly.’

Taglist: @emmanuellececchi @reignydeys @cakenpiewhyohmy @beardedladyqueen

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