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rayslittlekitten · 3 years

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You Got This - Part 2

I recommend reading Part 1 first if you haven't.

Plot: After having a heart to heart, you and Jax re-live your youth.

Pairing: Jax Teller x F! Reader

Contains: a lot of fluff and fluffy sex, also a shit ton of Jax smoking porn, and you see his butt 🙃

A/N: Thank you Anon for this request. I hope you and the other readers enjoy this (if not more) than the first part. This took me longer than I expected to write this, but it's finally done. I kept going back and forth on trying to decide what to include and what not to. Also, had I known I was going to be writing a part two for this, the beginning of this would have been at the end of part one, but hindsight is 20/20. I actually did already write out most of the beginning but decided to leave it out of part one because I thought where I left it was a good place to end it. I also thought about eliminating it completely but I really like the interaction that happens with Gemma. To me it's like a beauty shot. Is it necessary and does it move the story along at all? Not quite, but it looks good so let's just leave it in there anyways. Also to squeeze a little bit more angst out of Jax.

Also, I had a bit of trouble writing this as well because as strange as this sounds, I couldn't find the perfect song to pair with this. Sometimes I need music to help me get into the mindset and mood. I was going for like a nostalgic summer love kinda thing. I had actually thought to use a song form the mid-90s because to really make it feel nostalgic and Shanice's "Saving Forever For You" was the winner for that but I decided it was not right for this. Maybe their actual first time, yes. Then it was a toss up between "Honey Whiskey" by Satica and "Take Me Away" by Sinead Harnett/EARTHGANG and the latter won given the situation. I'd recommend giving it a listen below (or any of the songs listed) to get the mood I was going for while writing the sex scene. I really thank you for reading my ramblings if you've gotten this far. I just want to give the readers the best experience to my stories and how it was intended when I wrote it.

A loud commotion outside interrupts the moment and you both realize you need to get dressed before someone finds the both of you. He pulls out of you and you both quickly get yourselves together. You hop into the bathroom inside the bedroom to clean yourself up. When you walk out, you see Jax sitting on the bed smoking a cigarette with all his clothes and hair in place, like he had been sitting there this whole time and didn't move from his spot when you first walked in. He glances over to you and you're reminded of how his handsome charming face is something you miss so much.

"I should probably go before someone starts looking for either of us." You walk out of the bathroom and towards the front door. Jax grabs your hand and pulls you back to him.

"Hey." He stands up, cups your face and looks at you. "It's really good to see you again."

Suddenly you both hear the door knob rattling and then a knock following it.

"Jax, are you in there, honey?" You both hear Gemma on the other side of the door.

You both separate and smooth yourselves out and Jax walks over to open the door.

"Honey, what are you doing in here? Tara--" Gemma's facial expression shifts when she spots you. She looks at the both of you suspiciously. You both thought you were so slick when you were younger but if there was anyone who knew what you both were up to, it would be Gemma. Nothing slips past her. In fact, she’s always secretly hoped you two would get together. You were born into SAMCRO, making you MC royalty. The Princess of Charming.

"Oh, I didn't know you were in here too. I'm very sorry about Opie, sweetheart."

"Thank you, Gemma." You walk closer to the door and Gemma pulls you in for a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"Where's your fiancé?" Gemma asks curiously.

"Fiancé?" Jax glances over at you.

"I came by myself this time," you answer. "We're kind of on a break." You wrinkle your nose.

"I'm sorry to hear that too. Must be one hell of a break." Gemma's knowing eyes are boring a hole into you. "Lyla tells me you're staying a while?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna help her out with the kids for a week or so until she can figure it out. I know you and the club will be a big help, but with everything going on, I think her and the kids can use another familiar face."

"Family is important and I'm very happy to see you here." Gemma's eyes shift to Jax with the same knowing look she gave you. "Well, whenever you're ready, Tara's looking for you."

"Thanks, mom." Jax runs his hand over the top of his hair. Gemma glances at you both again once more before she walks away.

You start making your way out the door when Jax pulls you back in.

"You're engaged?" Jax asks with wide eyes.

"Was," you reply.

"Was it to that pretentious English prick you brought back with you last time?" Jax snarls.

"Ray is a good guy and he treats me really well. We're just going through a bit of a rough patch right now," you tell him. "Also, the last I heard, you're married with two children, Teller."

Jax just looks at you, knowing he has no right to be upset about you being with another man.

"And I believe your wife is looking for you," you say before walking away from him as you see your nephews and niece running up to you. "Hey guys!"

Jax takes a drag of his cigarette while he continues watching you as you kneel down to greet the kids.

A few days later...

The sun is beginning to set and Jax is at the clubhouse. Most of the people have already left. He needs some quiet and alone time after spending a few days earlier in the week not just watching his best friend get killed, but also saying goodbye and laying him to rest. He climbs up the ladder onto the roof of the clubhouse, one of his favorite places to think and reflect quietly while smoking. What he didn't expect to find is someone else had beat him to the spot.

"I didn't know you were here," Jax says as he walks over and sits next to them. "You've been avoiding me like the plague all week."

"I miss watching the sunset," you reply without looking at him.

"The sun doesn't set where you are?" Jax asks as he lights up a joint.

"It's not the same."

Jax takes a long drag and then offers it to you.

You look at it for a moment and form a small smile before taking it from him. The roof was also a place you both frequented in your youth to smoke pot, away from your parents and the adults. Eventually they figured out your secret spot, but it didn't stop you guys from coming back. You take a pull and hand it back to him.

"I also miss this. There is nothing like California-grown weed."

Jax takes a hit and blows out the smoke from the corner of his mouth.

"Do you ever miss me?" Jax looks over at you and passes the joint back to you.

You look over to him and squint an eye to prevent the sun from blinding you.

"Yeah, sometimes I do."

"Does your English weed taste like fucking tea and crumpets?" Jax jokes.

"Oh, I get the best shit there is over there. Trust me." You chuckle. "But... it's not home."

"So why don't you come home?" Jax looks back at you with the same squinty face.

You look at him for a moment deciding what you want to say. "You know, that's the reason why Ray and I put the engagement on hold. With everything happening here, I wanted to be closer to family. Figure my shit out." You take another drag and return the joint back to him.

"There's more than family that would love to see you back home too." Jax reaches for your hand and squeezes it.

"Jackson, what happened the other day, we both acted out of impulse. We were both just... vulnerable. I'm sorry if it gave the wrong impression."

Jax shakes his head, then takes another long pull of the joint. “Ope was like my moral compass, kept me grounded and always pointed me in the right direction, and now he's gone, because of me."

"Jackson, you can't--" You start shaking your head.

"You’re the closest thing I have left of Ope. I need you." Jax holds your hand.

"Jackson, in your heart, you always knew what was best. You don't need me." You push a loose chunk of his blonde hair away from his face and tuck it behind his ear. "I know you're hurting, but I can't fill the void that Opie left. Nothing ever will. Just focus on what's important to you and you'll figure it out. You always did." You smile at him while caressing his cheek with your thumb. "You got this." He closes his eyes and leans in to your hand, soaking in your touch.

"You still have too much faith me." He turns his head slightly to kiss the palm of your hand.

"Yeah, maybe. Besides, our boat sailed a long time ago," you add, pulling your hands away from him and looking away. Jax takes the last drag of the joint and tosses it off the roof.

"Maybe that boat can make one last stop before sailing away for good?" Jax gently grabs your chin and turns your head to him to look into his slightly droopy eyes.

Even all this time, it's still hard to not get lost in his baby blues. It's even harder with the perfect setting: the firey orange sky, the slight California breeze, the clubhouse rooftop. Maybe it's the weed, but it feels perfect in the moment. It's all taking you back to the summer when you were 14, when the only care in your worlds were right in front of each other. It's also the perfect setting for cruising around. Jax use to "borrow" one of the bikes from the clubhouse and take you on joyrides, basking in the sun while the wind hits your faces.

He slowly leans into you, and you close the distance, pressing your lips against his. Jax immediately responds and kisses back, his tongue slipping between your teeth. You can taste whiskey mixed with a faint linger of cigarettes and marijuana. Jax cradles your neck and pulls you in closer to him.

The loud roar of a motorcycle driving by and backfiring breaks you up. You both are brought back to reality that you are both still on a rooftop and a bit baked.

"Come on, let's get inside." Jax jerks his head towards the latch. Jax helps you down the ladder first and he follows behind. He quickly makes a sweep and doesn't see anyone except for a few guys at the bar with their back turned towards the both of you. Jax grabs your hand and leads you back into the spare bedroom you both were in earlier in the week. This definitely feels like you both are hormone-driven teenagers again, sneaking around the clubhouse.

Once Jax closes and locks the door, he turns his attention back to you but he stops in his tracks to really look at you. All of you. He never thought he'd ever be with you or see you like this again. What happened the other day was different. Like you said, it was a moment of weakness, an impulsive move on both of you because of shared pain.

This time, there is no urgency, there is no hurt, just the two of you re-living a moment the two of you wish you had the opportunity to experience over and over again. This time it's intentionally and purely for the most selfish reasons. He walks over to you and presses his lips onto yours, taking his time to actually taste and feel your soft lips on his. He pulls you in close to his body as his hands explore yours.

As the both of you continue to deliberately and slowly make out, Jax grabs your ass and presses himself against you, feeling his erection through your clothes. Jax pushes you backward towards the bed and you fall back when you feel the edge hit the back of your knees. He falls on top of you and expertly starts disrobing you while making out with you. In one quick swift, Jax pulls your shirt over your head, leaving you in a satin black bra. He takes his time with you, starting with his lips on your neck, licking and kissing it, even nibbling at it. He's always wanted to leave a hickey on you, letting all the guys know you're taken. He then makes his way down to your collar bone, the top of your chest and then pulls down your bra on one side to reveal a nipple. He puts his mouth over it and swirls his tongue around it. Jax looks up to see your reaction and find you looking back biting your lower lip. He smirks and pulls down the other side of your bra and gives that nipple the same attention, making you arch against his mouth.

"Oh, Jackson," you moan.

He lets out a low growl.

"As much as I want to hear all the sexy noises coming out of your mouth while I'm pleasuring you, you gotta keep it quiet, darlin'." He kisses you while he unhooks your bra and tosses it aside. He then unbuttons your pants and backs himself off the bed. He slowly slides your pants and thong off your hips and down your legs. He licks his lips, excited to unwrap you like his present. You watch him as he lowers himself to his knees and kneels at your feet to help you with your boots and removes the rest of the clothes off your body. Suddenly feeling a bit exposed and shy like it's your first time with Jax, you keep your legs together. Jax places his hands on each of your knees and coaxes them open. He looks at his gift and licks his lips.

He dives in between your legs while looking up at you. His soft lips and warm wet tongue are licking and sucking you on all the right places and his beard tickling your inner thighs. That's new to you. He barely had peach fuzz in his teens. You feel him slip a finger inside you as his lips are pulling at your clit. Your breathing is getting shorter and more shallow. Jax inserts another long finger in you and finds your g-spot, rubbing circles on it.

"Jax, I..." Feeling your orgasm building, you are rendered speechless. Jax continues sucking and stroking you until you come undone into his mouth and on his fingers. He watches you squirm and thrash as you scream quietly in ecstasy. He doesn't stop until you are sensitive to his touch and you push him away. He wipes his beard and smiles at you, proud of his accomplishment. Jax surely still knows his way around your body.

You glance up to him as he gets to his feet. You watch him strip his clothes off, first the kutte, then his shirt pulled over his head. He kicks off his sneakers as he takes his time unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his jeans. You're glad he's taking his time though because it allows you to soak up and remember every second you have with this gorgeous man in front of you. He finally pulls his jeans and boxers down. Besides from the other day, the last time you and him were this intimate, the both of you were shorter, slimmer and clearly less experienced. Now you’re both grown, gained curves and muscles and are far more seasoned in the bedroom. He's also certainly grown in other places as well.

"Back up," Jax nods his head as he climbs onto the bed and hovers above you. You scoot back so your whole body is on the bed. Jax lays on top of you and smashes his lips against yours again, cradling your neck and grinding against you. You can feel the head of cock teasing your opening.

"Maybe we should use a condom this time," you tell him in between kisses.

"I'm not gonna lie. You did feel amazing without one the other day," Jax admits.

You and Jax had always been careful and taking the right steps when you were younger, using condoms at all times so that time was the first time you both had sex without one. Thankfully you are on birth control and both are STD-free, but you know you shouldn't take any chances.

You give him a knowing look.

"Anything for you, darlin'." Jax gives you a kiss on the cheek before getting up to put on a condom. He climbs back on top of you and looks at you as he caresses your face, still not believing that you're beneath him.

You gently grab his face with both hands and kiss him deeply. You then feel him slip inside you. All of him. You moan into his mouth and move with him, both of your hips slowly thrusting in unison. Jax grabs your hands and brings them above your head. He intertwines his fingers with yours and thrusts deeper into you. He watches you while you relish in the moment, as he pulls these lost emotions from you with each deliberate push. You wrap your legs around his waist and it encourages him to pick up the pace. You try to do the same and meet his rhythm.

Jax releases your hands and reaches for your legs behind him and brings them in front of him to rest on his shoulders, deepening his access to you. His hand reaches up to cradle your neck as he pounds into you. You then feel his thumb slide over the front of your throat. You start to feel his fingers tighten slightly around your neck. This is also new for you and Jax, but you're loving it. You can feel yourself getting closer to achieving another orgasm.

"Jackson..." you pant.

"Come for me, darlin'. I know you're there," Jax grunts.

You close your eyes and feel bliss as you let yourself go, letting your body take over you. After your orgasm subsides, you open your eyes and find Jax is no longer making love to you, but just smiling at you while still inside you. Now it's time for you to show him a few tricks you've learned.

"Get on your back," you tell him.

Without any protest from Jax, you both switch positions. Jax lies on his back with this hands behind his head, waiting for you to take the wheel. You straddle him and take your time sinking yourself onto him. You feel a lot more confident about being on top than you did when you were younger. You were shy and inexperienced. Now? You're going to ride him like the sexiest Harley you've ever had the privilege of sitting on. You slowly start riding him, rocking back and forth, grinding on him and teasing him. You enjoy the feeling of him filling you up to the hilt as you push down on him.

Jax looks up at you, watching you take charge and own his dick. He definitely notices you're a lot more comfortable in this position than he remembers. He reaches up and runs his hands over your breasts, massaging them and caressing your nipples as you enjoy the ride. He's certainly enjoying the view.

"You are still as fucking beautiful as the day I fell in love with you," Jax says, mesmerized by the image in front of him.

You smile and then lean back, placing your hands behind you on his thighs. Jax looks at you curiously. You roll your hips and start sliding up and down on him, giving him a clear view. He looks down and watches himself disappear in and out of you.

Jax groans and runs the palms of his hands over your thighs and settles on your hips. One of his hands then slides over between your legs and he starts rubbing circles on your clit with this thumb. You moan and gasp. You then lean forward, placing your hands on the pillow of each side of his head and lean down closer to him. You start bouncing your ass up and down as you look down on him, your hair forming a curtain around your faces. Jax grabs your ass and starts thrusting up to meet your movement. The only sounds echoing in the room are your pants and your bodies slapping against each other. Jax speeds up and watches your face as it distorts. He knows you've got another one inside you and you're very close.

"Come on, darlin'. Let it go." Jax coos.

You let out a loud moan as your legs shake and feel like a firecracker exploded inside of you. Jax clamps a hand over your mouth as he continues to drill inside.

"There you go, Y/N." Jax smiles watching you fall apart on top of him. He then swiftly flips you onto your back and roughly drives into you a few more times until he finally gets his own release.

As he slows down, you both look at each other, savoring the moment and then kiss softly.

Suddenly the door knob starts to rattle and the person on the other side is banging on the door.

"Yo, hurry it up! I gotta take a shit!" an unrecognizable voice shouts.

"Hey asshole, the bathroom is further down!" You both hear Chibs shouting. You place your hands over your mouth as you start to laugh.

"Shh!" Jax puts a finger over his pursed lips as he tries to suppress his own laughter.

SMASH CUT TO BLACK

A/N: I never put notes at the end but I figured I'd let you enjoy the fic first before mentioning I currently don't have plans to expand this story. I might in the future, but not in the near future. I originally intended the first part to be short and be a one off, but I just kept writing and writing and there were so many places and opportunities to keep expanding. Same for part two. There were so many directions I could have gone. I had a bit of struggle with this for some reason. It's not quite exactly how I pictured it ending but it works for what it is.

If you haven’t read it yet, I wrote two short scenes titled “Carry Me Home” and “Joyride” which are like flashbacks in this universe.

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#charlie hunnam #charlie hunnam fanfiction #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fanfiction #jax teller #jax teller x reader #jax teller x you #au #reimagine

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

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Sam Holland - Don't Tell

A/N & WC - This is not meant to glorify or condone adultery in any way. I do not know Sam, nor do I claim to, this is a work of fiction. This was written before Sam posted about a new girlfriend: no disrespect is meant towards her. I do not believe Sam would do this: it is fictitious. 3.5k.

Warnings - Adultery, explicit smut, unprotected sex, swearing, reader is the other woman, swearing, brief allusions to SA. 18+.

Summary - When Sam booty calls you, you can't deny him, but will sexual satisfaction be enough? Or will you always want from him what you know you can't have?

THIS WASN’T HOW YOU’D PLANNED to spend your Saturday afternoon, but Sam called, and who were you to deny him?

‘Come over at 3.’ He texted you. ‘She’s leaving then.’

No kisses, no emojis, no frills, no sign off, nothing. You’re just a nameless number in his phone. You knew what it meant. You’ve done it plenty of times before, so you know the drill, it’s just not exactly pleasant.

With ample time, you left your house, your new place only a couple of streets over from the Holland household, and you walked as inconspicuously as possible. Your coat wrapped tightly around you, you refused to make eye contact with anyone on the whole walk there.

You know the drill so well by now that you know not to stick to the front of the house, but instead to head around the back—straight into his bedroom window—via the bins. Theoretically, with no one home and Sam in the living room, you could walk in the front door, but his room is safest since she has always refused to enter—’just in case.’

Your heart thuds against your chest while you hold your breath, praying not to be heard downstairs the second your feet land on his floor. You press yourself flat against the wall behind Sam’s door, lips pursed and eyes squeezed shut, every muscle in your body clenched to the maximum. You’ve trained yourself to stay so quiet that the only sounds are your pounding, racing heart and the blood rushing in your ears.

Thankfully, before cramp can override you, you hear the words that give you the all clear.

“Bye, love!” he calls down the driveway, followed by a half hearted air kiss, a deafening crunching on the gravel driveway, and the front door at last clicking shut.

Your body finally relaxes, limbs falling loosely around you while you release one of the longest held breaths you’ve ever had.

You creak open Sam’s bedroom door, ready for him to meet you, and shrug your coat off, throwing it on the floor alongside your converse when you hear him coming upstairs. He gets like this, heavy steps and heaved breaths like they’re a strain on his body, and it usually means he’s extra horny.

“What took so long, lover boy?” you tease, standing scantily clad in his door frame, leaning against the painted wood.

His eyes darken with lust as he approaches you, his shadow from the landing already overpowering.

This isn’t like any sex or ‘relationship’ you’ve ever been in before. It’s risky, and that risk makes it so much hotter. Always leaving the door open just a crack so that the two of you could be found only by those closest to Sam, the chance of being caught together in the street on the off chance you go for drinks; after all, your reputation precedes you. But it’s the adulterous element of your relationship that makes it so fun. The fact that it’s usually after his girlfriend leaves that you’re called over to relieve his not-so-little ‘problem’, the little marks you trail across the hidden parts of his body, occasionally being risky enough to plant one on the juncture of his neck and shoulder just to test the waters.

After being together for over two years, she still refuses to do anything with him. Of course you respect such a thing: if she wants to wait till marriage and is able to resist Sam for that long, props to her. It’s just not always ideal for all party members. Sure, they’ve kissed, a little groping, but by this point, with how little Sam's lass has done with him, he’s immensely riled up.

He really likes his girlfriend, of course he does, and he’s spoken to her about this time and time again, asking why they couldn’t just do something more than a PG-12 touching session. She simply shook her head and smiled every time, “I’m saving myself for marriage, Sammy.” This infuriated him hugely. He’s been with a girl or two (or ten) before her, so is very expectant, but being twenty-two has its burdens. He isn’t anywhere near ready for marriage, but is increasingly sexually frustrated. So after an insane year of getting by with absolutely no action apart from the rare lap dance and make out, he knew he had to do something besides use his own hand to relieve the tension that was making him a complete prick.

He respects his girlfriend enough not to pressure her. Sam isn’t a bad person and so he isn’t going to coerce his girlfriend into sex she doesn’t want, seeing it as utterly immoral, so he did the only thing he could think of, and turned to the girl next door, quite literally. Not that it’s any more moral, but here you are.

As soon as he reaches you, the smirk etched upon his face is perfect, just what you expect, and his hands grip your waist tightly.

“You think you’re so cheeky,” he smirks, and his lips crash onto yours the next moment, his hands spanning your sides. His affection halts as he smacks the side of your ass. “I’ll show you cheeky.”

You don’t let him get another word in before you’re kissing him again, furiously this time, hooking one leg around his waist as the other flies to his neck, your clasp anything but gentle.

You’ve known of the Holland family for a while, living a street away, going to school with the boys and your mother having ‘neighbourhood meetings’ with the family. You, however, had had nothing to do with them, never getting involved in their ordeals, not really.

Keeping a resolutely ‘good girl’ demeanour all through school was difficult, especially when you wanted to rebel so earnestly. The first step was house parties, beginning when you were in year ten, everyone getting shit-faced and ending up giving sloppy hand-jobs in someone’s downstairs loo. That much you weren’t a fan of, so you waited until the end of school, A-Levels secured to be who you wanted to be. Trench coats, docs and chucks at every turn, short shorts and fishnets. Lots of hair dye came next, followed by a ‘scandalous’ collection of piercings, and a significant body count for someone your age, or so conservative old women perceived. Fuck them, your body your choice.

Times changed in a year and a half, though not that much. Mid way through your rebellion, you got a good job, your own place, and became a call girl, essentially. Sam’s call girl only, considering your regrettable soft spot for him.

You couldn’t care less though, even though it’s adulterous, Sam is incredible in bed. He frequently tells you the same.

“I think you’re rubbing off on me,” he murmurs, “even when she was kissing me I could only think of you.” His lips are inches from yours with your breath mingling in the confined space of his doorway as you pant.

He hasn’t touched you yet, or even moved you to the bed. You feel yourself blush a little, scared fractionally by what he’s saying but mostly flattered. At least that’s what you’re telling yourself. It makes you feel like your old self is creeping in again, the girl next door that no one fell for.

“I like it when you get all shy on me, really naïve, shows me you’re a human and not just a sex goddess. My sex goddess.”

You pull his lips to yours with a burning passion, desperate to feel him up against you. Your palms settle this time on Sam's cheeks, angling his face to get the most out of the kiss, and your hold remains resolute so that he can’t pull away easily. This isn’t your dominance though, simply a ploy to hide your flushed cheeks from his prying eyes, the blush that’s been caused by his kind words. You want to keep him here long enough that you can claim the blush is from the breathlessness and the actions of his tongue slipping inside your mouth with an urgency you haven’t felt with him for a while. Is this the day that changes everything?

He backs you to the bed, walking unsteadily, and pushes you down onto the springy mattress. It pitches beneath you as he joins you, sitting by your side, his hand gravitating towards your thigh.

“Hey, what is it?” you ask, a slight hesitant stammer to your words.

“Nothing,” he sulks. “Just dunno how long I can keep doing this.”

His baleful eyes hover over your decolletage, and before you can protest and try to get him to open up about the whole situation, discussing the fact that maybe you should just quit while you’re ahead and come clean (because to be fair, it’s beginning to weight on your conscience too, even though you’ve never met said girlfriend), he kisses you, pinching your nipple through your bra until it forms a pebbled bud.

“Gonna take it all out on you,” he hisses, moving his kisses to your jaw. “All this pent up need from missing your body. God, feel so good beneath me.”

He swings a leg over to straddle your legs, and begins a ferocious attack on your neck with his teeth. You’ll have fun at work tomorrow, trying to hide them from your co-workers, one of them (on a temp basis, at least) being Sam’s twin. Harry cottoned on pretty easy, and won’t say a word, because he doesn’t want to deal with Sam’s temper when he’s been denied sex for too long. He likes Sam’s girlfriend, sure, but she doesn’t compromise on anything and looks down her nose at the lot of them, so he considers it fair play. And besides, with his track record, he really doesn’t have a leg to stand on.

Unwittingly, your hips buck up to meet his, feeling his throbbing need pressing against your pelvis, only for him to draw his body away from you, a bruising kiss being pressed to your lips the next moment. All in a flurry, your top is pulled down, your chest revealed to him.

“Bloody love your tits,” he purrs, a feral grin contorting his freckled face.

He rolls your pert bud between the rough pads of his fingers, palming at the other breast so as not to neglect it, only swapping when you’re beginning to writhe under him. His grin only increases.

“Sam… please.”

He knows what you want when you whine that way, so he sits up on his shins, and lets you tear his shirt open. Button by button, you watch as every inch of his pale chest is bared to you, his happy trail coaxing you lower.

“Get on with it, then,” he warns, clamping a hand around your hair in order to control your movements. He does this a lot, it’s his main power move. “They’re too damn tight now you’re around.”

You can definitely see that, the denim of his jeans pulled taut around his torso, the waistband of his boxers peeking above. He begins to pluck at your nipples again while you fumble with his buckle and zip, eventually tugging both items of clothing down at once. He stands, his lanky frame just a blur of white and freckles as he removes every last item, prowling back to you on the bed.

You, however, have other ideas, tugging him down with a grip on his shoulders until he’s helpless beneath you. In the time he was distracted with shucking his jeans off at last, you peeled your own shirt off and put your bra right. Sam’s a boob man, always has been, and takes great pleasure in fastening and unfastening your bras as much as he can, nestling into your chest for the time you spend together.

Since your last rodeo, you’ve gained some weight, and filled out a tad more, something Sam seems to notice right about now, especially as your chest hovers just inches from his face.

“Well? Are you gonna stare at them all day or take it off?”

This man… this man has the fucking audacity to lick his lips as one hand works on the hooks at the back of your bra, the other skimming the edges of the cups before it falls into his hands and he flings it across the room, knocking something off his dresser.

As soon as it's out of his way, he seems to forget everything apart from you, his eyes mesmerised by your chest, his mouth gaping a little, his eyes lingering on your hardened nipples for perhaps just a moment too long. You sigh to yourself, letting your knees dig into his navy comforter before your fingers wrap around his hand and place it onto your right breast. You know that, if you let him stare long enough, you’ll get nothing done. You need this release as much as he does. He takes the message, though, and begins kneading the flesh with a need you haven’t seen from him before. You even catch a wolfish grin when your face contorts into a silent ‘o’, overcome with pleasure. He tweaks your one nipple, and leans up to capture the other in his kiss-swollen lips, lavishing kisses around the sensitive area. You can’t help your nails leaving faint scratch marks in their wake over his freckled shoulders, tracing the silhouettes beneath his skin of muscle and bone, finding constellations within the freckles until he’s quaking beneath your delicate touch…

“Why’re you being such a tease?” he whines.

He has a point, you’re grinding down on his clothed cock in tandem with his playing with your boobs, your core hovering over his hard member, but it’s only fair with the stimulation he’s offering you. Just to shut him up, in one swift move you pull his boxers down and reach down to grasp him, stroking a couple of times before inching down, swallowing his aching length into your welcoming, warm walls.

Your moans create a heavenly sympathy, even as you stop for a moment to adjust to his size a little more, placing your hands on his pecs before grinding down on him. His hips begin to move, thrusting upwards and into you, finding a satisfying pace in tandem for you both as you ride him like there’s no tomorrow.

“Baby…” he moans, reaching out with his lips puckered to wrap them around your exposed nipple, suckling viciously, hard enough to hurt just a little.

“Stand up,” you command authoritatively, with a softness to your tone despite.

He grows harder inside of you, barely suppressing a groan, but his plan fails from shock when you bend over, clenching the foot of his bed so tightly your knuckles begin to turn white.

Casting a sensual glance over your shoulder, you bat your lashes and coax him the only way you know how, a wiggle of your bum added to help convince him; “Fuck me, Sammy…”

Your gasp is shrill and loud when he enters your craving core from behind, your knees nearly buckling when a stream of expletives falls from his lips once he grabs your hips, settling there. You’re sure to have hand-shaped imprints there tomorrow, but you don’t care, and apparently neither does Sam as he continues to thrust into you at an inhuman pace.

Breathy moans escape your lips as your nails find purchase in the sheets, now crumpled in your clenched fists. The only thing that fills your ears other than skin slapping against skin is the myriad of colourful words spilling from Sam in a groan, right down your ear.

“y/n… please…” he hums nonsensically, his lips finding their way to your shoulder blade and neck, kissing you, suckling.

He’s such a hypocrite: one rule for him, one rule for you, just because he’s got a girlfriend and is too pussy to break up with her even though his needs aren’t being met. For a brief moment, your body being used for his pleasure—and bringing you simultaneous heavenly satisfaction—you’re able to forget the consequences of your fornications.

They slip your mind once again the second one of his rough hands slowly makes its way down your front, finding your clit as he begins to rub harsh circles on it.

“Fuck…” you cry out, only for the heel of that hand to press into your pelvis, the other snaking around to your neck, applying the faintest pressure. Your walls tighten around him at the double stimulation.

His hips begin to move faster, blissful moans filling the room in symphony as you both near your highs, his tip grazing your special spot on every single thrust.

“C’mon,” he purrs in your ear, “can feel how close you are…” the pressure on your engorged pearl becomes a constant, and your body begins to spasm with unbridled pleasure. “Come.”

You do, and fireworks spark behind your eyes, setting off a train reaction in your brain, your walls clenching and your body collapsing, chest first, onto the edge of the bed. You must’ve cried out at some point, but your scream became but a gasp with his hand snug around your throat.

His thrusts slow, and he aids you onto the bed by your waist, but you roll away from him, aware that he hasn’t climaxed yet. He follows you down as your fingers link around his neck, but he’s not satisfied with that—as the smirk playing on his lips, causing dimples in his freckles, tells you—so he hovers above you on his knees. The hairs on his shins grate against the duvet cover so he shifts, but your hands move from his neck to his cheeks, pulling him closer to tangle your tongues together. His erection teases your wet folds while you’re lost in the movements of your mouths, and before you know it, he’s entering you again, and your hands are getting lost in his dark, silky locks, his one hand roughly kneading your breast. His thrusts recommence at a slower pace than before, his heels digging into the mattress as his groans overpower yours in the otherwise silent room.

“Shit… oh my God—” he hisses.

He begins to move faster, so you tug at his hair, revelling in the praises he offers, eliciting various heavy moans from his preoccupied mouth in between kisses. His warm breath and the resverberation of the moan vibrate across your lips, causing your hips to rock further into his, your legs wrapping around his toned torso to give him better access to your eager core. His movements become deeper as your breathing becomes even more escalated with high pitched moans tearing from your throat each time he hits your g-spot so perfectly. The knock-on effect sends him into an even more euphoric state, and before you know it, he’s groaning your name down your ear, and painting your walls white.

“Yes, Sammy…”

Your nails leave scratch marks all over his back from the sheer height of pleasure you’re experiencing, and that seems to be what sent him over the edge, his cum seeping into you as you milk his cock. He throbs inside you, his pelvis hitting you perfectly as he thrusts lazily while emptying himself. With one final press of his long, skilled thumb and digits over your sensitive nipple and a harsh bite to your pulse point just below your ear, the bundle of lust in your stomach becomes undone as you finish once again.

Before you’re fully recovered, he’s pulling out and leaving you empty as you lie together for a moment on opposite sides of the bed, no contact other than your pinky fingers linked and overlapping in between you. Except… despite the pleasure, you’re not satisfied. Not at all. And you know, in your heart, that this can’t happen again.

“Don’t tell anyone, please.”

“As fucking if,” you mumble.

“You ok?” he asks after a moment.

“Yes, just fine,” you snap, and roll off the bed, beginning to ferret around for your clothes.

“y/n, no…” Sam moves to grapple for you, “why are you leaving?”

“Because I’m done being treated like shit by you. Used as your fuck-toy when you’re too much of a pussy to deal with your girlfriend… I’m done, Sam.”

He’s up and off the bed, shucking his jeans on with great force that causes him to trip back onto the bed as you adjust your top and zip your skirt back up.

“y/n!”

“What!” you bellow right back at him.

He shuffles his feet on the carpet, and moves to speak, but his jaw just hangs open like a fish, nothing coming out.

“Yeah, I’m done here, Sam. Don’t booty-call me again.”

A weary voice from behind you calls out, “Sam?”

Shit.

This is bad. This is very bad. But what can you do? You’re the other woman, he’s the one choosing to commit adultery: why is that your problem? He can deal with his (clearly very angry) girlfriend, so livid she’s shaking, once you’re gone.

“Yeah. Your ‘don’t tell’ plan worked real good, Sammy. Karma’s a bitch,” you spit, spinning on my heels and waltzing out the door.

You mean it: you’re done. At least until he breaks up with her and undoubtedly calls back. You want him, there's no question about that, but you want him all to yourself: and that's a secret you won't tell.

#sam holland #sam holland imagine #sam holland x reader #sam holland fic #sam holland angst #sam holland x y/n #sam holland fluff #sam holland x you #sam holland one shot #sam holland smut #sam holland blurb #sam holland x fem reader #sam holland x f reader #samuel holland

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theyreonlynoodlesmike · 3 years

Text

It’s Just a Movie: Part 10 (Poly!Lost Boys x Fem!Reader)

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

Warnings: cursing

Word Count: 1849

You and the boys had been discussing their plan for the past two weeks, having kept track on your notes app in your phone. The first few days had just been with what their ending 'goal' was, which turned out to be harder than you thought for them to agree. Well, for you and them to agree. When you proposed their desired ending, Dwayne had quickly said,

"Kill Sam and the Frogs." And Marko was quick to second him. It seemed that neither of them were quick to forget their killers, even if you were sure the only reason Dwayne wanted the Frogs dead was because they went after Laddie. You, however, were quick to argue,

"They're kids, guys." And, before they could appall you with any loose morals, you added, "Plus, Max is gonna tell you to turn Sam, remember?" But neither of them seemed too bothered by only being able to kill the Frogs. So, you reminded them, "They haven't done anything yet. They might not even suspect vampires exist yet." You pointed out, and the boys frowned. After a few days, you got them to agree to only kill them if they attempted to kill them first. Quickly, you tried to steer them in a different direction.

It was decided fairly quickly that the boys wouldn't be able to disobey Max once he ordered them to turn the boys, and it would be near impossible to get to them beforehand. So, you suggested,

"Well, why don't we just try to make Max's plan work? I mean, it wouldn't be too bad having Lucy for a mom, right?" You offered, but the boys exchanged a glance as they mulled it over. Lucy was sweet, kind to her boys, and probably wouldn't force them to change. And, with how much freedom she gave Michael and Sam, they could imagine that their lives wouldn't be all that affected. You tried to defend her case, but, as David eloquently put,

"That's exactly why she shouldn't end up with Max." He said, and you frowned.

“He can’t be that bad...right?” But even you didn’t really know. You remembered the ending, where he didn’t even bat an eye, let alone shed a tear, at the death of one of his ‘sons’. Without missing a beat, Paul said,

“He’s a dick.” You expected a slap of the head from Dwayne or a look from David. When neither came, you let out an uneasy breath. So, it seemed that Max's 'Blood-sucking Brady Bunch' was out of the question. When you pushed the topic of Max, it was decided that perhaps his ending shouldn't be all that changed. By the end of the first couple of days, it was decided that Max would die, and that David would take his place as the head vampire. You had to admit that it seemed to make more sense, with how detached the boys already were from their sire. And because it had technically been Maxs fault for their deaths in the first place. But, making sure Max bit it and they didn't was definitely going to make things more difficult. Especially when you factored in Star and Laddie.

“Wait, why are we turning Star again?” Marko asked. It was a couple days later and the five of you were eating pizza in the cave, having already visited the boardwalk. You, Marko, and Paul sat on the floor while Dwayne laid sprawled out on the couch and David sat in his chair. You were revisiting your ideas for how they were going to change the future, and you were doing a rebriefing of what the five of you had agreed on. Really, with having been there for two weeks, it was the only thing to keep your mind off of the improbability of you ever going home.

“She’s the one that’s gonna lure Michael in.” Paul reminded him, reaching over to snag one of your fries. You batted his hand away, and he gave you a grin as he popped it into his mouth. Marko scoffed, shaking his head.

“And why do we need to lure him in again? I mean, we already saw how that goes.” He grumbled, and you tried to choose your words carefully. He was always a little tense during these discussions, as his death would be the first you’d need to avoid.

“If we stray too far from the movie, then we have no idea how the events will turn out. And no idea how to prevent any near-death experiences.” You reminded. It was the exact reason that you had crossed out the potential of keeping the Emersons away completely. “We’re only gonna change some minor things, so Michael still needs to be turned into a half for everything to work.” You said calmly, and he let out a long sigh. He pushed the pizza box away from him, and your fries away from you before he laid your head in your lap. Over the past week, the boys had gotten comfortable with you. Almost a little too comfortable. While you hadn’t done anything with any of them yet, platonic affection didn’t seem to bother any of them. Even if Paul constantly offered otherwise. You already knew what he expected, and you gently began twirling his curls and scratching his scalp.

“But he’s such a poser.” Marko said, and you couldn’t help your smile at the use of slang. Your mind instantly flashed to when he bought the leather jacket, and then the earring. He seemed to try so hard to fit in, or perhaps impress, that you hadn’t even considered that that might describe him perfectly. You watched as his face relaxed, his eyes fluttering closed as you used your nails to scratch one of his sweet spots.

“Yeah, but he’ll be human again when Grandpa kills Max, and then you won’t have to worry about him anymore.” You said, and you didn’t notice the small smile on David’s face as he watched you calm the blonde vampire. Marko let out another sigh, before wriggling his way further into your lap. He let out a small grunt, apparently satisfied enough to stop his arguing. For the meantime. After a moment, you added, “Plus, you won’t have to watch Laddie all the time with Star.” You said, giving Dwayne a look. He had been reading a book, and he perked up at the mention of the little boys name. When he looked over and saw that you were already looking at him, he was quick to look back down at the piece of literature in his hands. Paul let out a small snicker, and you smiled.

You knew that, while he would never admit it, Dwayne was eager to meet the little boy that had become so close to him during the movie. It was like he was awaiting the birth of his younger brother, even if the little boy was already walking around somewhere. Though, you and David had silently agreed not to discuss the fate of the young boy. While the five of you could plan your ideal ending all you wanted, the most important thing was being able to roll with the punches and to be realistic. And, well, Laddie had stuck to Star more than he had stuck to the brunette haired boy.

With keeping most of the story-line and only a fraction of the ending the same, there was only one part of your plan left undecided.

“So, how are you gonna stop Sam from coming down here with the Frogs?” You asked. There was, of course, the expected chorus of,

“Kill the frogs.” From Dwayne and Marko. It was a frequently revisited issue, and the five of you had yet to agree. You had to make sure you spent their nights with them after Paul, surprisingly, had suggested finding their comic book store earlier that week. But, before you could argue your usual point over again, David said,

“We don’t have to kill them. We don’t even have to stop Sam from meeting them.” And you were quick to arch a brow. Paul let out an audible,

“Huh?” And Marko and Dwayne both sat up to look at their leader. It was an undiscussed idea, but, from the way David said it, you guessed that he’d been sitting on it for a few days now. It seemed that whatever ideas he had, he was finally willing to share them. He took a drag of his cigarette, before he began to elaborate.

“You said it yourself, y/n. We can’t risk going too far from the movie. We just have to make sure that Sam and the Frogs think that Max is the head vampire, and a few other things.” He added the last part vaguely, and you stared at him. With the way the edges of his lips curled, you were positive he was leaving you in suspense on purpose. You sighed, giving him a look. Finally, you asked,

“Like what?” And you watched the way his smile grew. He seemed to love whenever you gave in to his egging, and he supplied you with,

“Like thinking that by killing him it’ll turn all his children back to being human. Including us.” He said, and you felt your jaw fall for a moment before you quickly recovered. You didn’t want to inflate his ego, even if he already looked immensely satisfied with your reaction. Paul let out a low whistle before he said,

“Shit. That’s perfect. Michael will totally-”

“He’ll treat us like Star and Laddie. Same with Sam.” Marko finished for him, even if Paul went on rambling. He rambled about how they could blame the murders on vampire instinct, lack of human memory, or play into the thirst for sympathy. Or how they could make it almost hero-like by saying they only went after assholes. Dwayne, his deep voice cutting through Pauls chatter, said,

“And Grandpa won’t go after us. Not if we could be saved.” And you stared at all of them. It was a good plan. A great one. But, you could only think of one fatal flaw in it, and it was staring you in the face.

“Do you really expect them to believe you though?” You asked David. No matter how charming they could be, you didn’t expect them to really be that stupid. And it wasn’t something that they could just naturally bring up to Star and Michael without it raising some sort of suspicion from the pair. Especially when the Frogs were so hell-bent on killing all vampires, even if said vampire was only a half and a child. Davids smile turned into a smirk, and he gave you a small shake of his head as he said,

“Oh, not at all.” And confusion filled your face. You stared at the pale boy, his stubble dusting his cheeks and his hair practically glowing in the light. The smoke from the end of his cigarette curled and floated towards the ceiling as he said, “I expect them to believe you.”

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys paul #the lost boys david #the lost boys dwayne #the lost boys marko #paul the lost boys #david the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #marko the lost boys #the lost boys imagines #the lost boys x reader

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roadkill01 · 3 years

Text

Hange/Levi (platonic) x Male Reader

All you could do was watch as the tongs came closer to your fingers, digging underneath your dirtied fingernail. A shrill scream vibrated across the bloodied stone walls as the nail was ripped from your finger. Tears streamed down your face as you begged for this torture to stop, but it was all done to no avail. You felt the blood drip down and collect at the end of your limp hand. The only sound in the room was heavy pants heard from both parties and the occasionally splash of blood against the hard stone floor. Your torturer huffed, and pushed a hand through his sweaty hair, making it slick back and stick up in odd places.

“I don’t understand why you won’t just speak. I have taken all of your finger and toenails. Your body has been burnt and lacerated. I’m not even sure how you are alive...” you wished for death though. Pleading and begging for this seemingly endless torture to stop. Tears ran down your bloodied cheeks, and your torturer brought a warm hand to your face. He swiped away the tears with the pad of his thumb, smearing the blood up your cheekbone. He moved his hand to hold the stump at the end of your ear. A month ago there was a pretty silver earring attached to it. He didn’t like how it glistened in the candlelight though, so naturally it had to go.

“You were so handsome [Name]. Such a perfect husband. Waiting patiently for me to come to you.” You didn’t understand what had come of the sweet boy you had grown up with. What had changed? Why was he forced to become such a heartless vicious man as this? The slam of a door brought you from your darkening thoughts. He had finally left. You let out cry after cry, mourning the old Eren. And wishing a peaceful death upon the new one. He had to rest. You know so much, and yet you didn’t. For just as life, Eren continued pushing on. It didn’t matter through which obstacle. The love of your life wasn’t initially put in to torture you, originally it was supposed to be Hange and Levi. Eren took it over, as you had heard from him and you’d been moved cells. Your captain and the one who thought of you as a younger brother, neither could apparently bear to do it. Nobody could. You were such a happy influence on them all, it seemed ridiculous that you were accused of being a traitor. You had been in this dreaded cell for a month now. The only person you had seen was Eren. You were the subject of inconceivable rumours when it came out that Reiner and Bertholdt were Titans. You had been close friends with the two, and frequently interacted with Annie. The survey corps couldn’t take anymore risks. You would never blame them for this. You heard clattering come from up the stairs, and wondered if Eren was home already.

What surprised you however was the concerned deep voice that called out. “Hello? Is anyone here? Please call out.” You let out a nervous greeting to the stranger followed by heavy thumping come down the stairs, almost as if someone was jumping down them. You closed your eyes and sighed, the energy immediately dispelling from your body. If you were going to die now, you would accept it graciously. You opened them once more when the owner of these footsteps stifled a gasp. You only grew curious at the sound but didn’t look over yet.

What made you look over, was when the voice called out a loud. “Hange. Your going to want to see this.” You looked over as Levi began to fiddle with the locks on the other side of the bars. You could see how is hands kept slipping and shaking. You took a shaky breath as another set of footsteps (which you guessed were Hanges) made their way downstairs. The second they saw the state you were in they took off their glasses, tears flowed down from their brown uncovered eye. “[Name]? Don’t tell me? No, no, I’m so sorry.” All you could do was watch as the bright optimistic person you’d come to known fell apart at the state you were in, and who could blame them.

You looked half dead anyway, the clothes you once wore hand been dyed a crimson with the sheer amount you had bled. There was darkened ashy skin, where Eren had burnt you, peeling away and revealing the clashing pink of exposed flesh underneath. There were chunks that had been taken out of your body, namely your arms and thighs. The finger and toenails now newly removed seeped more of the dreaded red liquid. There was just so much. A seemingly endless wave of blood. It would never stop crashing upon you and those who stood too close. With a clank the door unlocked. Levi had opted for kicking the door in instead of trying to break the lock. Hange rushed in first, immediately undoing the rough rope pulled taught against your ankles and the chair leg. Levi coming next you, to pull away the loose pieces holding your wrist down to the arm of the chair. As the ropes were pulled away, you felt as though you could finally rest now. You were saved, right? Your limp body fell forward onto Hange as Levi undid the final rope on your left wrist.

They held you up, and carried you like a baby as you clung to them. Your legs wrapped around their waist and your arms around their neck. Hange held your back and pulled you into them as they carried you up the stairs, Levi anxiously picking at his nails next to you and Hange. The pair walked through the upstairs in complete silence, not daring to utter a word. The only sound on that damned floor was the eternal dripping of your blood. As you reached the door to outside, Hange pushed your head into their neck, the sunlight would be a surprise for a man who had not seen light in a month. A small murmur was heard from you as you asked. “Are you two okay? If I die now, I need you to know I never once blamed you.” Tears unwillingly fell from their face once more and even Levi had to stifle a cry at the words.

The commander of the survey corps carrying a limp body was a sight to see, so naturally it dragged the attention of surrounding villagers. Muttering began as they realised the body belonged to you, none other than [Name] [Last Name]. A strong soldier with a future in the military brighter than Queen Historia’s hair. You had always been good to the general public, and as such they had loved you in return. The survey corps knew the amount of influence you held over these villagers, even if you did not. They loved you, because you were kind even after the unrelenting dangers of the outside, you always kept your morals no matter how difficult and helped wherever you could. A small blonde girl ran up to Hange, ignoring the cry’s of the crowd gathered, and gripped the bloodied material of your shirt. She looked up to meet the commanders eyes silently pleading that you weren’t dead. She was one of many people you had helped and as such felt indebted to you. Your joyous face whenever you returned from an expedition out the walls would make her heart soar and you would even bring flowers for some upon occasion. She had a flower now, clutched in her trembling pale hand and she thrusted it into the space between you and Hange, and dropped it. The stem was discoloured and crumped from how tightly the young girl had gripped it. Hange nodded slightly, closing their eyes before speaking loud enough for everyone to hear.

“[Name] [Last Name] is not dead. Not now at least. We will get him into immediate care, and hopefully someone can tend to his injuries, as you can see they are quite severe. Do not worry though, we can keep you updated about his current condition and will tell you immediately if he does,” she began to choke up. “If he does end up dying.” A few in the crowd began to cry and others angrily shout. “Who the hell is responsible for this!” Hange looked down casted and they began to walk away, avoiding the question. If word got out that it was another scout, much less your own partner all hell would break loose and the scouts headquarters would most definitely be compromised. They would deal with Eren all in due time, and by god would he have hell to deal with.

Levi however turned to the man, and feeling nothing but absolute hatred for the former member of his squad spat out a bitter, “Eren Jeager.” Hange could punish him later, as long as justice was brought for his friend. The pair began to speed up as Hange felt your heart beat grow weaker, eventually breaking into a full blown sprint. Levi ran ahead to prepare the doctor, saying it was of the upmost importance. You and Hange eventually reached the doctor with Hange practically flinging themselves through the door and gently laid you on an unused table. The doctor was quick to rush to your side and carefully peeled off the sticky clothing, occasionally using a knife to cut parts away. With your body lying bare, both the doctor and the longest surviving members of the survey corps could fully see the damage Eren had inflicted. Hange let out a choked sob as Levi just stood, anger and disbelief evident on his face. The doctor immediately ushered the pair out the room, and pushing a piece of paper into their hands. “Find these plants, there are drawings in case you need help with identifying them.” He then pointed to the forest a whiles walk away from the doctors house. He slammed the door in their faces and got back to helping patch you up. It seems he wasn’t all talk as he helped stabilise your near death condition.

A knock at the door alerted the doctor of Hange and Levi’s arrival. He yelled at them for come in, not wanting to leave your body alone for any amount of time in case your condition would suddenly drop. The entered and the doctor set to work grinding the specific herbs and plants into a paste which he would apply to your body. Hange’s hand swiped over your newly cleaned face, you looked a lot better now that there wasn’t quite so much blood everywhere. The doctor smeared the newly made green paste on the more severe lacerations and quickly wrapped them in cloth.

“I.. I don’t know if he’ll make it out alive.” The blunt statement filled Hange and Levi’s head. You wouldn’t make it? But you were [Name] [Last Name]? The boy who kept smiling through everything? And yet as your chest rose and fell irregularly both Hange and Levi knew the chances of you living were slim.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

“Can I see [Name] today mama? I wanna give him flowers!” The woman looked down at her daughter and ruffled her blonde hair. “Of course honey, be back for lunch though, okay?” The girl nodded, beaming and rushed out her house, sprinting over the mismatched cobbles and up to the woods where you resided. Once she’d reached the forest, the trees split, almost as if guiding everyone who came, directly to [Name]. She ran down the rocky path, the villagers had collectively gathered to make a stone path all the way to [Name] so people can easily come and visit him. She almost tripped and dropped the flowers but a bush caught her, and she steadied herself once more. When she arrived she already saw Hange and Levi sitting by the sandstone headstone. “Ah- Mx Hange and Mr Levi, I didn’t know you were here sorry.” Hange smiled at the girl and beckoned her to come closer.

“That’s quite alright, we were just telling him we’d be back soon, we’ve got a mission coming up soon, and I can’t bring myself to not run every plan through him first.” Levi grimaced at their words, he knew they weren’t taking [Name]’s death particularly well, especially after Eren only really got off with a slap on the wrist. He would come with her, hoping they wouldn’t do anything rash especially after Moblit died. Besides, he too had come to care about the ridiculously happy [hair colour] boy in his squad. The girl came and sat by his gravestone, taking the dying flowers off the grave and putting on her fresh ones. Hange smiled at the action, glad that even if Levi and them were to die, there would at least be someone to take care of his final resting place. “I wish you the best. [Name] [Last Name]”

#aot #attack on titan #male reader #snk #snk levi #hange zöe #hange supremacy #angst?#eren yeager #sad ending #unless you want to die #I probably shouldn’t put spoilers #don’t read the tags unless you want spoilers

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feelyourhearttakingroot · 3 years

Text

The Reader's Guide to Avoiding Redfly (and how to have a good time doing it)

“How’re you doing, kid?” Tom murmured in your ear. Your skin hadn’t started crawling yet, but it definitely would soon.

“Redfly, leave the girl alone.”

A third voice - the voice of God himself, if it meant that Tom would let you go.

Summary: Your friend Dina is dating Benny Miller, and drags you along to one of his fights before a night at a bar. His friends meet you there - Tom ‘Redfly’ Davis, who is too busy trying it on with you to think about his wife; Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia, who is a god made flesh; and Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales, who agrees to help keep you out of Redfly’s clutches. But Frankie is not without his own charm...

Relationships: Frankie Morales x reader, side Santiago Garcia x Original Female Character, side Benny Miller x Original Female Character

Rating: First chapter is Mature, but it will be getting Explicit after that...

Author’s note: I saw Triple Frontier last week for the first time and it has occupied my every waking thought since then. This is my first ‘x reader’ fic, so feedback is appreciated. Benny is my darling boy and I want to write him a loving af relationship even if it’s in the bg of this fic. I also don’t mean to step on toes but Redfly is the worst man and deserved to die a lot earlier than he did in the film. I am also obviously obsessed with Frankie Morales. Sorry if the formatting is fucked, this is the first fic I’ve posted directly to Tumblr in many��a.

Warnings: 18+ for frequent language, she/her pronouns, future smut but this chapter is just teasing.

Read on AO3.

Chapter One

The Fight

“The fight ends at 9pm, so we’ll be good to get to the bar by 9.30,” Dina said, leaning to within a hair's breadth of the bathroom mirror. Your arms twitched, hands opening and closing as you watched the safety pin come even closer to her eyeball.

“Dina, do you have to- the fight?”

“Yes, I need to separate my eyelashes, and yes, the fight.” She said, tongue peeping out between her lips. “Benny is fighting and he’s going to come with us to the bar afterwards.”

Your heart sank, just a little. Benny was a great guy, and you were happy for Dina, but it was always harder to get into bars when Benny ‘Brick Shithouse’ Miller rocked up with facial wounds and an ego after inevitably winning the fight.

Apparently their post-fight sex was insane.

“So it’s you, me, and Benny?” you asked flatly, and she rolled her eyes in a way that made your hands clench into fists, with a vivid mental image of the pin sinking into her eyeball. She ignored you, of course, and started on the bottom lid.

“No, you prick,” she said, teasing each lash apart. She paused, and winked at you through the mirror “Ha. Prick! Get it? Sandy, Amy and Kelly are joining us - and Benny is bringing his friends.”

“William and Tom?” You were trying so hard not to be a downer, you really were, but you’d met William and Tom before and it was not a great experience. William - Benny’s brother - was aesthetically pleasing, and a lovely guy, but way too earnest about the purity of combat, while Tom was… a douche. A douche who clearly enjoyed his nights away from the wife a little too much. “Great.”

“Not just Will and Tom,” she chided, finally putting down the pin and fluttering her eyelashes at her reflection. “A few of his old squad guys are coming too.”

“OK then,” you said, and turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” Dina called.

“To get another drink.”

Based on the MMA prelude, you decided to rethink your outfit to something a bit less… showy, and had poured yourself into a skintight skirt with a shirt that helped accentuate your decolletage just right. So right, in fact, that you’d forgone a sensible coat in favour of a leather jacket that didn’t even close properly. The clothes did little to shield you from the cold, which explained why you had chugged nearly half a bottle of Smirnoff in the cab over.

-----------------

Dina looked every inch the fighter’s girlfriend, she really did. You didn’t even know she owned a faux-fur coat. Her meticulously-separated eyelashes were currently fluttered together, shielding her eyes from her cigarette smoke.

Not that it helped. Your buzz was fading fast with every second you stood out in the freezing cold parking lot.

Sandy hadn’t bothered to change her outfit - “Fuck it, it can’t be any dirtier than the bar.” - and was leaning against the arena wall wearing a mini dress that practically showed what she had eaten for breakfast. The woman had legs up to her neck, and more than one man had slowed his passage into the arena to get a good look. Sandy, with legs that long since she was fifteen, and a face that had been beautiful her whole life, flipped each one off with a casual laziness you could never hope to emulate.

The three of you were standing outside the arena waiting for Tom and the others to arrive. The crowd was known to get rowdy, and Benny had been very firm with Dina about going in with his friends. William was already inside with Benny, prepping him for the fight.

It was so cold you were nearly tempted to ask Dina for a pull of her cigarette, just to feel some warm air, when -

“Dee!”

Your face locked into a grimace, and you looked down to kick a loose pebble from under your shoe, trying to regain control of your facial muscles by the time Tom got close.

“Tommy!” Dina yelled. “You’re late, what the hell?”

“Don’t blame me,” Tom said, “Blame these assholes.”

Two sets of denim-wrapped legs stepped into your view, and you huffed out a little sigh before looking up. Tom was standing in front of you, with his friend on his right.

His friend. Who was the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen. He smiled at you, and you felt a small laugh escape you.

What was that face? He looked like a Latino George Clooney. How did he get taken seriously in life?

“Hey, tiger,” Tom said to you, his lopsided smile showing a little too much teeth on one side.

“Hey… Tom.” you replied, raising a hand in greeting. He made a little ‘pfft’ sound and pulled you in for a hug, enveloping you in the smell of… dear god, was that Axe?

You heard the crunch of gravel, and a movement out of the corner of your eye told you that the devilishly handsome man was currently introducing himself to Sandy.

Probably wouldn’t have worked out with us anyway.

“How’re you doing, kid?” Tom murmured in your ear. Your skin hadn’t started crawling yet, but it definitely would soon.

“Redfly, leave the girl alone.”

A third voice - the voice of God himself, if it meant that Tom would let you go.

“This is my girl right here, Frankie.” Tom said, and the proprietary tone in his voice made your stomach turn. You should have just met them at the bar.

“Crazy, I thought your girl was sitting at home looking after your daughter and -” the second half of the sentence was in mumbled Spanish, and you heard a bark of laughter from the handsome man. A quick, rough pat on the back and Tom released you, already walking into the building as if nothing had happened.

The speaker was standing in front of you; a tall-ish man wearing a blue plaid shirt over a grey tank top, with a beat-up baseball cap on his head. Just as the phrase ‘hillbilly trucker’ crossed your mind, every thought in your head promptly vanished on looking up into his face. A pair of warm brown eyes were gazing down at you, creasing gently at the corners. He wasn’t built like Tom or William; they slanted more towards beefcake, where this guy was toned and slim. He was older than you - not a surprise, William and Tom were in at least their mid-40s - but it was a very manageable older. Unruly, curling brown hair peeked out from under his cap, and the man smiled, a shadow of a dimple appearing on his cheek.

The other guy was crazy good-looking in a movie-star way, the sort of hot that had made you laugh because it was almost unreal. This guy was the perfect side of handsome, mortal enough to take your breath away just a little and not make you feel stupid about it.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m Frankie.”

Maybe it was the dimples, maybe it was the fact that he had just saved you from a fate worse than death, or maybe the cold had finally gotten to your brain. Whatever it was, you barely knew what you were saying until you’d said it:

“And I am so fucking yours.”

So much for not feeling stupid. His smile widened, and your heartbeat quickened just a bit.

“Ignore Redfly,” he said. “He just doesn’t have good manners.”

Another burst of Spanish from behind you, from the dark-eyed Adonis near the door, and Frankie replied in kind, with an evocative hand gesture that you were pretty sure meant ‘fuck off’.

You finally turned to get a good look at the other man. He was standing in front of your friends, angled towards Sandy in a way that boded well for her. He was terribly good-looking.

“Hey, how’re you doing?” he leaned toward you, and took your hand in his. “Santiago Garcia.”

The man was on another level. You felt like you were meeting a politician. You told him your name as if in a dream.

“That’s a beautiful name,” he said, looking into your soul, and you felt that laugh bubble up again. This was too much all at once.

Dina blew out one last plume of smoke, and threw her cigarette butt on the ground.

“Come on guys, it’s fucking freezing out here.”

----------------------------------------

The arena was chaos. Tom was nowhere to be seen, but he could have been standing two feet from you and you wouldn’t have seen him. He could have been behind you.

As the thought crossed your mind, a hand came to rest on your hip and you jumped sideways, ready to kick Tom in the fucki-

It was Frankie, hands suddenly up and visible, mouth framing a ‘whoa’ that you could never hear over the din of the crowd. You grimaced, mouthing sorry.

He gave you a tight-lipped smile, uncomfortable, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He craned his neck to look over the crowd, toward the ring, and you stepped quickly toward him. Your hand raised, like you had the right answer in a classroom, and you tilted your mouth up towards Frankie’s ear. He scrunched his face and bent his head towards yours.

“Sorry,” you said into his ear, trying not to deafen him at this range. He smelled warm, and clean, a welcome respite from the arena’s smell of old beer and sweat. “I thought it might be…” one of your best friends, whom I loathe. “... a creep.” you finished lamely.

When you pulled away, he was looking at you so intently that a blush started to creep up your neck. Hands still in his pockets, he rocked back and forth on his heels as he processed what you said. His tongue worked in his mouth, pushing out his cheek, before he winked ever so slightly, and nodded.

He knew. He damn well knew.

Frankie grinned and pointed towards the ring, to where your friends had disappeared, before nudging you forward.

------------------------------------

Dina and the others were sitting ringside, by Benny’s corner. Dina had shrugged her coat in the sticky closeness of the arena, and was adjusting her top for maximum cleavage. Beside her was Sandy, deep in conversation with Santiago, and Tom sat beside Santiago next to an empty chair.

The single empty chair.

Fucks sake.

Tom saw you both coming, and had a look of fake disappointment on his face that your hands twitched to slap off. He held his hands up in defeat, before patting his thigh. A quick scan showed that this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in the arena; the place was jammed so tightly that you counted at least seven people on laps in this section alone. A fire hazard, and a pain in the ass.

You’re fucking kidding me.

You went to take a step, and felt a hand grip your arm. Frankie was sliding past you on your right, pivoting to sit in the empty chair. A shit-eating grin slid onto Tom’s face, and he patted his thigh again.

You’re fucking kidding me.

Frankie still held your arm loosely in his left hand. Reaching over Tom, he nudged Santiago, who broke off from his conversation long enough to pass him a beer. Settling back into his seat, Frankie spread his legs a little too wide and steered you into the space between them.

He looked up at you under the brim of his cap, his face out of Tom’s eyeline. The corners of his mouth curved downward and one shoulder shrugged, as if to say ‘Why not?’.

Lightheaded, floating on a mental chant of fucking hell fucking hell fucking hell fucking hell, you perched on Frankie’s knee, your knees pressing against his other leg. A quick glance at Tom’s face nearly made you yelp. The ham-coloured man was staring sullenly out over the ring, lips pursed around his mouthful of beer. The smile was nowhere to be seen.

Frankie shifted slightly, and with one hand on your waist pulled you closer until you were sitting mid-thigh. When he was satisfied, his hand moved to settle against your lower back, keeping you upright. The shape of the seat had his body angled away from you, allowing you to sit upright without being nestled against him. He leaned towards Tom and said something in his ear, something you could barely hear over the din. It was as if he’d forgotten you were there.

But not quite. Slowly, as if you were a wild animal he was trying to tame, his hand started to move in gradual, broad strokes, forward and back, forward and back.

Your stomach muscles locking tight was your only visible reaction, and you thanked baby Jesus and all the angels in heaven that Frankie couldn’t feel the way your pulse had suddenly picked up. Though that might not be far off; there was a warm throbbing between your legs that definitely hadn’t been there two minutes ago.

Forward and back. Forward and back.

This was totally normal. This happened to you every day. Every day you met hot guys and sat on their laps. Every day you got mildly turned on by hot guys stroking your back.

Looking over at Dina, the two of you locked eyes. Her grin was positively wolfish.

Fuck off, you mouthed.

You looked around, hoping that the people-watching fodder available would help take your mind off the hot man you were sitting on and what his hand was -

As if Frankie could hear your thoughts, the rhythm of his strokes changed. Now, instead of moving forward and back, his palm started sliding up and down, with every pass downward bringing his hand closer and closer to the curve of your ass.

For a fraction of a second, your breath caught in your throat, and the pulse between your legs kicked up a notch. Trying to keep your cool, you casually - so casually! - looked over at Frankie.

Still absorbed in conversation with Tom. Fine. He clearly had no idea what he was doing, no idea of the effect he was having.

Your awareness was steadily narrowing down to where his hand touched you, to the vague sensation of warmth that each pass left on your skin. Reaching the hem of your jacket, he paused almost imperceptibly, before reaching under the leather to rest on the back of your shirt.

Dear god, were you disappointed he wasn’t touching your ass? Were you actually sad that this stranger wasn’t -

A radiating sensation on your back, so warm and firm, and suddenly you could feel every little movement his hand made, the way his fingers were flexing against your skin so gently -

Air you didn’t realise you had been holding escaped your lungs in a whoosh.

“Getting bored up there, tiger?” Tom’s expression wasn’t as friendly as it normally was, and you were reminded why all of this was happening. This was purely for Tom’s benefit.

“No, it’s fine. It’s…” you looked down at Frankie as he took a sip of his beer. His eyes met yours over the rim of his beer cup, and a smile crept across your face. When the cup left his lips, you took it deftly from his fingers and lifted it to your mouth. Your gaze didn’t leave his. Tom may as well have been part of the furniture.

The beer was not good, but you finished it, and ran your tongue over your lips. Frankie’s eyes tracked the movement, and you felt his hand pause, felt his fingers splay wide across the small of your back.

“It’s great,” you said, winking down at him. “But I think we need another drink.”

You placed a hand on his knee for leverage, and stood. Dina saluted you with her nearly-empty drink, and tapped at the low liquid level with one long fingernail. You nodded, and flashed the OK sign.

A broad chest blocked your view, and the smell of Axe surrounded you. You glanced up at Tom, who was shaking his own empty cup.

“I’ll come too,” he said. “I could do with another-”

“It’s cool, man,” Frankie stood, easily slotting himself between the two of you, and gently but firmly took hold of your shoulders as he turned to the exit. “I got it.”

Empty cups and debris were strewn across the aisle, and you were beginning to regret wearing your heels for what was shaping up to be a fucking obstacle course. But you felt Frankie’s presence behind you, and if you put a little more sway into your walk than normal, so what?

Between a few stragglers at the bar, there was a gap just wide enough for the two of you to lean against the counter. You rested on your forearms, and flagged down the bartender.

------------------------------------

“Two beers, and a whiskey and coke.”

“Make it four,” Frankie said. “I know it may not seem like it, but it is better to get Redfly liquored up. After about,” - his hand made a see-saw motion - “six drinks? He’s going to get real maudlin, start missing his wife, and go home.”

“Oh, yeah,” you replied, “He’s really missing his wife when he’s trying to put his hand up my skirt.”

His eyes flickered up and down your body, and he cleared his throat. One hand came up to scratch at his moustache, before smoothing it back down.

“You know, I don’t blame him,” he said. “That skirt looks great on you.”

A low warmth pooled in your stomach, and you smiled. He smiled back, those beautiful eyes twinkling as he turned around to face the arena, elbows back on the bar.

“If I… go too far, in there,” he said, face suddenly serious. “You can just punch me in the face. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

The bartender laid your whiskey and coke down in front of you, and pulled out two cups for the beer.

“Two more of those, please,” you told her, and took a sip of your drink. You knew you were a bit of a savage for drinking whiskey with coke, but your sweet tooth demanded nothing less. “Frankie, I’m not really OK with the idea of ‘being saved’.”

“That’s fair,” Frankie turned to the bar, and rapped a quick tattoo on the wood. “When we get back in there, you take the seat and I’ll -”

“But,” you raised a finger. “Your lap is pretty comfortable. And if you’re OK with having my ass on your knee all night, then I’m happy to stay there.”

A laugh escaped him, and you found yourself appreciating the way his moustache framed his lips so perfectly.

“I think you’d be hard pushed to find a man who wouldn’t be OK with that deal.”

The bartender laid down four cups of beer. “$25.60.”

Frankie laid out three $10 bills, and pulled the cups closer.

“Do you think you could make sure Tom doesn’t put his hand up my skirt?”

He was intent on arranging the cups in a way he could carry them, to the point that you thought he hadn’t heard you. Just as you were about to repeat yourself, he flashed you a wicked look.

“Well sweetheart,” he smiled, “I’ll just have to get my hand there first.”

------------------------------------

As soon as you sat back down, it was like a switch had flipped. Your conversation at the bar had been light, to the point where you’d nearly forgotten that you’d actually been turned on a little at sitting on Frankie’s lap.

When you got back to your seats, and Frankie had handed off the beers he was carrying, he sat and pulled you down onto his lap in one fluid movement. No more tentative movements; he held your waist firmly, and pulled you even closer than before. And now, not only was his hand stroking your back again - he had put it under your jacket straight away - but his other arm was now resting on your leg. His beer cup sat on your knee, below where the hem of your skirt rode up, and he rotated it gently on your bare skin, almost teasing you with the cool feeling of the condensation on the base.

It drove you just a little short of wild. Though part of you wanted to shift against his thigh, wanted to feel some pressure right where an ache was steadily building between your legs, you kept it together fairly admirably.

A wet patch on Frankies jeans probably wouldn't go down too well anyway.

A murmur from the crowd rolled towards the ring, and Pantera’s heavy guitar riff blasted through the speakers.

Benny was here.

------------------------------------

Ringside seats were… certainly something.

The smell of blood hummed in your nostrils, and you felt the impact of every punch.

Benny was a monster. He had swaggered into the arena, head and shoulders above everyone, and proceeded to hammer the shit out of his opponent once the bell rang. Watching the way Dina was looking at him, you were very, very glad they were going back to Benny’s place tonight.

The six of you were standing at the ring edge, screaming and roaring with the crowd. Your blood was singing. Sitting on Frankie’s lap, his hands leaving trails of fire wherever they touched you, had rattled you something fierce, and the adrenaline from the fight was getting to you too. You didn’t think your pulse had slowed for about ten minutes, and you were breathing like you were climbing a mountain.

It was the last minute of the last round, and Benny was flagging.

You guessed. You really had no idea who was doing better, both fighters were covered in blood and looked tired as fuck.

Santiago, Dina and Tom were rattling the cage, howling through the wire at Benny. The man was intent on his opponent, never taking his eyes off him.

As you watched, Benny did an odd movement, stepping back, rotating his shoulders and head as his feet danced. You heard roars come from your friends, but were completely lost.

“He’s about to kick the guy’s head off his fucking shoulders,” Frankie’s voice was low, and close. You felt his nose brush the outer shell of his ear, and you suppressed a shiver as his breath ghosted over you. He was standing behind you, so close that you felt his warmth up your body from ankle to neck. He reached over your shoulder, and pointed up at Benny’s right foot.

“You see that?”

Benny’s foot was moving in a fan shape on the floor of the ring. He dodged as much as he needed to to evade blows, but whenever he was still his foot moved in that fan shape.

“Why is he waiting?” Turning your head, your nose brushed against Frankie’s jawline. He smiled down at you.

“Not long now, sweetheart,” he said. “Watch.”

He stepped closer until he stood flush against your back, and crossed his arms over your chest to grip his own elbows. His beard brushed against your cheekbone, and you found yourself nestling further into his hold. He was just so warm and solid and -

Benny moved like lightning. His opponent came too close, ever so slightly unguarded, and Benny pivoted on his left foot and -

“Fuck!” you screamed. Benny’s opponent hit the floor, and the arena erupted.

===> Chapter Two

#triple frontier #frankie morales #francisco 'catfish' morales #santiago 'pope' garcia #william 'ironhead' miller #benny miller #tom 'redfly' davis #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #fic #santiago garcia x ofc #benny miller x ofc #The Reader’s Guide to Avoiding Redfly #trgtar

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kaznejis · 4 years

Text

Only Fools- Marco Peña x Flynn!Reader

nialler-tpwk5 said: Can we get Marco x reader but lee and Noah are her bothers and Noah gets in to a fight with him bc they kissed

A/N: Thankyou for sending in this prompt! I wrote this in a matter of hours, so hopefully there aren’t any mistakes- sorry if there is. I really enjoyed writing this; I think the scene between Marco and Noah at the football field is definitely my favourite!

Alsooo, whilst I was writing this I received a request for a ‘making out with Marco’ head canon- so I will have something similar to the opening out in the next few hours ;)

Feel free to send in any prompts. :)

Curling the tips of your fingers into Marco’s hair, you breathed out hot puffs of breaths against his face as you moved your lips against his passionately. Marco’s hands clung to your waist as he dragged you into his lap, running his tongue against the seam of your lips as he pushed back with the same level of fervour.

“We can’t do this for long,” You panted as Marco traced the pliant skin beneath your loose shirt, “My family will be home soon.”

Marco just smirked up at you as his hands moved further north, “You know that never stops me.”

You huffed a laugh as you dragged your lips down the base of his throat, “Yeah well, I don’t feel like watching my brothers beat you up today.”

Marco pulled back, pulling a raised eyebrow as he stared at you, “You think I can’t take them?”

“Lee, definitely,” You both broke into giggles at that, “but Noah is multiple feet taller than you with an added sprinkle of anger issues- wouldn’t exactly be a fair fight.”

“Well, that doesn’t matter because we won’t get caught,” He grinned at you as he pecked the tip of your nose softly, “The older brother will go back to college in a week and the younger one is to wrapped up in his own drama to notice anything.”

“True,” You sighed, tracing your finger along his face- the scar at his hairline, the light freckles beneath his eyes, the stray hairs that trailed the edges of his eyebrows. He really was beautiful. Despite what your siblings could ever think, you truly loved Marco- and you believed that he loved you too with the same level of compassion. The two of you were meant for each other; the sneaking around and hiding had only proved to deepen the connection that formed between the two of you.

Though, you could tell that Marco was beginning to grow restless of this factor to your relationship. You were too- you wanted nothing more than be able to be with Marco in public and get rid of the masses of girls that flocked towards him in school. You wanted to be able to bring him home for family dinners like Noah did with Elle and Lee with Rachel; instead of having to sneak him in and out of your bedroom window as soon as the front door opens.

To say the least, your brothers were extremely overprotective of you. Though, Noah’s protective nature was much more intense than Lee’s- he had gone to the lengths of beating up any guy who even dared to look at you, let alone touch you. Although he had softened slightly since opening his heart up to Elle, you still had no doubt that he would hunt Marco down if you were ever caught together. The thought of the two people you loved most in the world going against each other terrified you and you never wanted to be put in that situation. You just wished your brothers would lay off and stop seeing you as the timid girl you once were.

“Are you still with me?” Marco mumbled softly, pushing a strand of hair from out of your eyes. You just smiled sadly back at him before reluctantly climbing from upon his lap.

“You should probably get going, they’ll all be back soon.”

Marco climbed up from your bed after you, letting out a heavy intake of breath as he listened to what you said, “Alright- but I will forever dream of spending an entire night with you here.” And at that he laughed before giving you a sloppy kiss to the cheek and swinging his legs over your balcony ledge

“Be safe!” You hollered as you leant against the door and watched as he jumped from the tree just below your balcony.

The family sat around the table in comfortable silence as everyone tucked into the food your mother had prepared as usual. Though tonight there were no best friends or girlfriends that usually frequented the seat next to your siblings present tonight- meaning that it was just family.

“Noah,” You inquired, looking up to make eye contact with your older brother, “This is completely hypothetical...but what would you do if I had a boyfriend?”

Noah paused, his fork in the midst of digging into a mound of spaghetti, “Depends,” He brought his fork up and chewed slowly as if he were deep in thought, “If your hypothetical boyfriend were to be someone I know I would beat his ass as they are all assholes.”

“Noah!” Your mum snapped, swatting at him in an attempt to weaken his use of words.

“Sorry,” He groaned, holding up his hands, “I was about to say that if he was someone I didn’t know, maybe I would give him a chance.”

“Moral of the story, don’t date anyone from our school,” Lee laughed as he and Noah high-fived, “Why are you asking that anyway?”

“Oh, just wondering.” You smiled in what you hoped was a reassuring way, but you didn’t miss the intrigued, tilted-head look your mother gave you.

Later that night as you lay on top of your bed covers mindlessly scrolling through your social media and waiting for Marco to message you, a knock sounded at your bedroom door.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” You called as you propped yourself up against the headboard, “Hey mum.”

“Sorry to barge in, I bought you some hot chocolate.”

“Thanks,” You grinned as you accepted it and took an elongated sip, though you noticed the look on her face as you did so, “Alright, what do you want to ask?”

“You always know when something’s up,” She laughed and gestured for you to scoot over on the bed, “Earlier at dinner- that situation wasn’t hypothetical, was it?”

“No.” You gulped, opting to stare down at the chocolate that swirled within the mug.

“Oh, sweetheart,” She cooed, wrapping her arms around you and bringing you in to cuddle into her side, “Why didn’t you just say? I would never get mad at you for having a boyfriend.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” You sniffled, cuddling closer into her side, “It’s Noah who would.”

“Ah,” She whispered as he tightened her grip around you slightly, “I see.”

“Yeah.” You whispered back, finding it difficult to speak through the lump that was beginning to

rise in your throat.

“He’ll come around, I promise,” Your mother let out a small chuckle before continuing, “He can’t really judge your relationship status when he’s dating his brother’s best friend.”

You both dissolved into light giggles at that, the situation really was bizarre, “That’s actually true.”

“So,” She spoke slowly, nudging your side, “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Promise you won’t tell anyone?” She nodded sincerely, “Marco.”

“Marco…” She mumbled with furrowed brows as realisation slowly set in, “Marco! Oh, he’s a cutie.”

You laughed fondly as you entwined your fingers together in your lap, “Yeah, I would know.”

“You love him, don’t you.” It was a statement, not a question.

You just nodded, smiling shyly as you turned to look at the woman beside you, “I wish we didn’t have to hide.”

“Your brothers will understand eventually, I promise,” and she bundled you up all snug in her arms and kissed your forehead as she spoke.

“I hope so, I really do.”

A few days later, you and Marco were once again hanging out in the confines of your bedroom- though this time the interaction was much less heated as the two of you simply sat with your legs intertwined as you studied and helped each other with homework. If someone was to walk in right now you could brush it off as two friends simply hanging out. But, once again- Noah would beat up any guy who even looked at you. Any interaction could be seen as risky.

“Hey,” Marco spoke, reaching over and rubbing his thumb over your clothed thigh, “Help me with this?” In return you smiled and leaned over to press a slow, teasing kiss to Marco’s lips- which he quickly reciprocated as he looped his arms around you.

Of course, Noah decided to walk in at that moment.

“Hey Y/N-” You and Marco pulled away immediately and froze in place, staring at Noah who was practically steaming with anger, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Noah, wait-” Though your brother completely ignored you and stormed straight up to Marco, grabbing him by the collar and slamming his back against the wall.

“My sister? My fucking sister? You made a mistake.”

“Noah!” You screamed, running to the side of him and grabbing the arm that clung to Marco, “Let go of him, I’m fine.” Though your pleads fell upon deaf ears.

“Out of all the people in the world you decided to play my sister?” Noah spat, getting up in Marco’s face, “You’re a fucking asshole, bro.”

“I’m not playing her,” Marco choked out, kicking at Noah’s legs and sending them both to the ground, “I love-”

“Don’t even say it.” Noah practically growled, landing a solid punch onto Marco’s face as they wrestled. Gasping at the sight of blood dripping from your boyfriend’s nose, you jumped forward and grabbed onto Noah’s shoulders- digging your nails into his skin in a way to replace the lack of strength you inhabited compared to him, “What the hell Y/N, get off me!”

“Get off of Marco then, he didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Y/N,” Your brother spoke sternly, “He was touching you.”

“Yes,” You yelled back, anger fizzling through every fibre of your being, “Because he is my boyfriend!” You dug your hands into your eyes, “I’m not a child anymore Noah, I don’t need you to protect me.”

“Well, when you’re with boys like him maybe I do.”

“Boys like me?” Marco deadpanned, taking his hand from his steadily bleeding nose as he did so, “The hell does that mean?”

“Assholes that fuck around.”

“Flynn,” Marco spoke calmly, sitting down on the bed, “I’m sorry to say it but I love your sister, more than anything. I would never do anything to hurt her.” You smiled softly at him as he spoke, he returned it once he was done.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“Trust me, I guess?” Marco shrugged, wincing as his nose began to sting, “Did you really have to punch me in the face though?”

“Yeah.” Noah insisted, throwing an arm over your shoulder which you attempted to shrug away, “Hurt my sister though and I will fucking kill you- we clear?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Marco saluted as he walked over to you and looped his arms around your waist, laughing as he accidentally smeared blood onto your shirt.

Yeah, your relationship was about to become ten times better already.

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#Marco Peña #Marco x reader #Marco peña x reader #the kissing booth #the kissing booth 2 #marco #oneshot #fanfiction #imagine #taylor zakhar perez #jacob elordi #noah flynn #noah flynn x reader #marco x yn

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dramaticsnakes · 3 years

Text

I don’t think the conversation’s over

@anxiously-creating

This prompt is ancient, but I have finally completed the fic! Title is from “Denial” by the Vaccines, taken from Janus’ playlist. Thank you so much to @rainbowbutterfrosting for beta-reading this! I couldn’t have done it without you, Jade.

AO3

Pairing: Platonic Anxceit

Word count: 8535

TW: Drowning imagery and needle imagery (used in metaphors), blood and an actual heart (from some Remus shenanigans). Manipulation. There is alcohol in one scene, but no one gets drunk. Cursing. Angst with an ambiguous ending. Tell me if I missed anything!

Summary: Three days after Virgil leaves, Janus finds himself stuck in a time loop, as he tries to figure out how to make Virgil stay.

Janus couldn’t remember exactly what happened the day Virgil left.

Well he did then. Now. In fact, the images were clear and vivid in his mind in a way that sent an uncomfortable numbness through him when he thought about it. There was nothing particularly strange or out of place about the day, which only served to make it seem even more surreal.

It wasn’t that Janus hadn’t noticed anything strange in the time leading up to it. He’d noticed so many fleeting moments and longing glances, that it was hard for him to pinpoint the exact moment they started. He’d tried numerous times, but whenever he thought he’d found it, he remembered a time, a cause, a single hint of things to come, that happened before that, and most of them were too vague for him to find the exact source.

Maybe it was also because he had been remarkable at pretending, he hadn’t seen anything. Hadn’t thought anything of it. Remarkable at his job of pretending, denying, lying. It was what he was good at, so really, it shouldn’t be an issue that that was exactly what he was doing.

The morning of the day Virgil left, Janus had barely spoken to the other. He’d awoken in his room and spent an adequate amount of time getting dressed. The first person Janus met outside his door was Remus, darting down the halls holding a beating heart in his hands. It wasn’t unlike other days, and it wasn’t a very influential detail, but Janus found himself recalling it nonetheless. Then Janus started working. Awaiting his chance to let a single lie slip out on Thomas’ otherwise Morality tainted tongue. Awaiting his chance, his moment, his calling to help Thomas with the things the others effortlessly denied him.

One of the moments Janus had started replaying after Virgil left happened at noon. Noon. Not the evening or the night, which was otherwise the time Virgil most frequently made spontaneous decisions that could be prevented with the right words or just a little bit of reason the following day.

Virgil had approached Janus, tense in a way Janus had grown accustomed to, even if it was unlike him. Virgil was always tense, but the exact type of tensity that had been present the last while had been different. Almost spiteful. Angry. And Janus didn’t like it one bit, but he’d grown accustomed to it.

He hadn’t noticed.

“Janus.” Virgil had said, “I need to talk to you.”

The words had sent a flicker of fear through Janus’ veins that he decided he couldn’t quite place. “Just a moment. Can it wait?”

Prolonging inevitability was another one of his talents.

Virgil had clenched his fists and Janus felt anxious, though the anxiety didn’t come from himself. The air was dense with it, practically radiating from the embodiment. It reminded Janus of being in Virgil’s room. “I…” he trailed off and shook his head, “No. No it can’t.”

Janus felt his hand shaking, but he tried his best to hide it. He clenched his jaw, looking at the papers on the table in front of him. “I’m busy.” he said, even though he wasn’t. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. He really shouldn’t have said that.

Virgil opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, and Janus felt his powers flaring up within him, having a hard time resisting the urge to move Virgil’s hand up towards his mouth. Keep the words in there. Though, actions like that would be suspicious and Janus didn’t know why he’d want to do that in the first place. Then Virgil’s mouth closed on it’s own, and Janus heard a deep, growling sigh. “Fine.” Virgil said, leading a hand through his hair. Janus could feel his own heart beating rapidly, though it was probably just the lingering effects of Virgil’s presence. Then Virgil turned around, leaving Janus on his own once again.

And that was it, in more ways than one. That was all the issues that would be that day, he thought. Though really it was also the only chance he had. At least it was an opening.

Maybe he could’ve walked by Virgil’s room, knocked on the door and asked in a gentle way to have a conversation. Maybe he could’ve demanded answers. Maybe he could’ve let just a little bit of vulnerability slip through him. But that wasn’t what he did.

Instead, the rest of the day went by normally. Virgil didn’t show up at lunch, but Virgil didn’t always do that anyway at this point. Virgil went out to help Thomas with something, but that happened frequently these days. Virgil didn’t show up when Remus was wreaking havoc in the kitchen, and Virgil didn’t show up at dinner.

But Virgil was still there. Janus could hear him, saw him walking around with long, goal-oriented steps. The kind Janus only saw when Virgil was at his peak of fight or flight, but Janus couldn’t quite tell which one it was.

And that was when Virgil didn’t show up at all.

He hadn’t gone anywhere else, he wasn’t in his room, he wasn’t anywhere near Janus or Remus for that matter. He’d left a note on the counter, but the second Janus looked at it, in the cold evening air, he had an urge to look away. He couldn’t read it. Couldn’t comprehend it. It was as if the words only dug him deeper into an inescapable pit, and that reading any of them would leave him stuck there for eternity.

Remus gave Janus a hug that night, but Janus didn’t like it one bit. It wasn’t that he was opposed to the hug, that was long, caring, and genuine in a way only Remus could muster. The hug was nice, but it felt out of place. As if it shouldn’t be there, because the pure shock led a needle and thread through Janus’ heart. Every time Remus acknowledged what had happened, showed Janus extra care because of it, and every time it was the other way around, the thread was pulled at, locking his heart in a tight grip, that only served to hurt and cause enough pain to bring Janus to tears. Letting the needle hang there, loosely, only hurting just enough to leave Janus numb, confused, and shocked was preferred, and Janus did so elegantly.

The following days, Janus barely acknowledged anything at all. He walked through his day, occupying himself with his work. Sometimes he stayed in his room for a little longer than he normally did, thinking things over, though it didn’t take long for him to conclude that he didn’t quite want to do that.

It had been three days since Virgil left. Since Janus went from someone in the same group as Virgil to one of the ‘others’. Two days since Virgil ducked out and was picked up by Morality, Logic, and the other Creativity, and joined them as a fourth member. One day since the shock faded just a little and left something else. Something sharper, that suited Janus like his soft and comfortable gloves, but stung like the bite from a pair of fangs.

It had been three days since Virgil left.

It had been five minutes since Janus decided that he hadn’t.

Because why would he really? Virgil had always been one of them. Always belonged right there, working effectively using fear as his weapon. His means. It was effective and useful, and exactly what was necessary to get Thomas to listen. Thomas wouldn’t listen to Virgil forever. Virgil would come back, and everything would go back to normal. It was already normal. Virgil never left in the first place. He was just away, working for longer than usual. Virgil was lying to himself, and everyone else in the process. The idea came to Janus like second nature.

It wasn’t over. Janus still had time. Time to say all the things he’d kept close to the chest. If the situation called for it of course.

And this was the thought he went to sleep with on the third night. The thought that brought him out of his previous mindless trance and lured him into a different one.

The next morning, he woke up along with Thomas. The second the morning light arrived, and something felt different. Or rather, it felt unmistakably familiar. As if the shadows had reached him in that exact same way before, or maybe it was the sounds, or the placement of his things. The way his gloves were lying on his dressing table. Janus couldn’t quite place it until he walked out his door.

“Stolen heart, coming through!” a voice yelled down the hall, rushing right by Janus, sending a gust of air towards him. It was Remus, holding a beating, bleeding heart, just barely missing Janus by a few centimeters. “I can glue googly eyes on it!”

Janus stopped in his tracks, and for a moment he didn’t breathe. Didn’t utter a word or think a single thought. The next he was thinking many, as if the world was flooding and Janus was the only one who could breathe. Or perhaps he was the only one who was drowning. He couldn’t quite tell.

This situation was familiar. Far too familiar for it to be a coincidence. It was the exact same words, the exact same movements, that Janus had been a witness to only… three days ago.

Three days ago.

It had been zero days since Virgil left.

Because the day Virgil was supposed to leave was today, and that thought was strange and uncommon to say the least. The very idea seemed preposterous and the first things Janus thought about was the exact implications of that fact. For one, why exactly had time turned back? There was no way that was what had really happened. It had to be Roman or Remus’ doing, crafting a fake scenario for Janus to be in, didn’t it? Then again, why exactly would they do that?

Perhaps it was something else. Maybe Janus had managed to get himself back there in one way or another. A repeating and vivid memory, but Janus certainly wasn’t doing what he’d done that day right then. He was standing still when he should be moving, and thinking thoughts of potential time travel when he should be working.

Janus heard a door opening, and he recognized it as Virgil’s door. The sound reached his ears like a wonderful song he’d heard several times before. It was as if the air became calmer and more homely at the mere thought of Virgil being there, as his metaphysical self. There with them. There with Janus. It was as if Virgil hadn’t left in the first place.

Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe Virgil was still there and those past surreal days hadn’t been the slightest bit real. They hadn’t felt real anyway. Regardless, even as Janus felt like he was falling through the air, leaving most of his body momentarily weightless, the thought intrigued him. The idea that it wasn’t over. It hadn’t been real, and maybe this wasn’t either.

The very idea of reality was fragile as a stray leaf. One could pretend to be the judge of what was real or not, but no one could really know for sure. The truth was that if enough people agreed on the same thing, if enough people perceived something, that would count as reality. So if Janus was there, perceiving the world in this way, and everyone around him seemed to do so too, what made this any less of a reality than anything else he’d otherwise experienced?

Then again, Janus wasn’t sure how long this would last, so he decided to play it safe. Change one thing. One possible mistake, to test the waters. If everything changed for the better because of it, that would be a wonderful side-effect, and if nothing changed… Well, who was to say really.

So Janus went to work, and once noon arrived, the sound of Virgil’s shuffling steps made Janus’ entire body tense up anew.

“Janus.” Virgil said, “I need to talk to you.”

The exact same tone of voice. The exact same tension. The words gathered in Janus ' throat, creating an uncomfortable knot of them he couldn’t untie. “What is it?” he managed to choke out, and the voice sounded so broken that Janus felt Virgil’s presence ease up. Becoming less apparent and more on guard. Janus was falling free now. Rapidly darting through the air without an aim or knowledge of what was going to happen. He tried his best to grasp the situation. To gather all his thoughts and his experience with Virgil’s mannerisms, in order to regain control.

“Can we uh-” Virgil shook his head and took a deep and determined breath. “Can we sit down? I have something to tell you.”

A careful request that made Janus feel trapped. The last thing he wanted was to sit down when someone else had asked him to do so. He didn’t want to seem resigned. He didn’t want to feel resigned. Sitting down would make him feel small, unable to gather up the strings he needed. “Of course.” he said anyway, walking towards the kitchen table with controlled steps. He pulled out a chair, and sat down, watching as Virgil clumsily sat down on the chair across, like a student entering a meeting with a teacher. If they had sat down in a different order, Janus would’ve been the student. He felt like he was the one performing and awaiting his feedback nonetheless. When Virgil didn’t speak right away, Janus took the liberty of moving the conversation along. “What seems to be the problem?” Janus said, “You don’t seem troubled at all.”

Virgil took a few deep breaths. Janus recognized the pattern. 4-7-8. He looked Janus in the eyes, and Janus once again felt his heart rate increasing, as if it was directly linked to the other’s eyes. Virgil took another deep breath and even after years in Remus’ presence, he couldn’t possibly have been prepared for the bluntness of the words that followed. “I don’t belong here.”

The words were uttered in such a genuine tone, Virgil clearly making a conscious effort to sound indifferent, to keep his anxiety at bay. For Janus’ sake, or his own. It was as if the words were the most natural thing in the world, bound to have been spoken someday either way. Virgil wanted to seem certain, convinced, and determined.

And what baffled Janus the most, was that he succeeded.

“What do you mean?” Janus snapped nonetheless. It was too shaken, too quick, for his liking.

Virgil placed one hand on the table, as if he was desperately looking for something to clutch. At first, he didn’t look Janus in the eyes. “I’m leaving.”

The words stabbed through Janus’ chest, and his thoughts started flowing through him like a chilling wave. He froze. “W-why is that?” he asked, trying to hide his surprised stuttering.

Virgil sighed deeply, and Janus once again felt a strange energy from the other. “I’m not- I don’t belong here. Anywhere.”

Janus wanted to laugh. Wanted to let go of a humorless chuckle at how ridiculously vague that notion was. “What has led you to that conclusion?” he said instead, keeping his expression as calm and unreadable as possible.

Virgil flinched slightly. “It’s… It’s been going on for a while I…” he swallowed something in his throat, “I-”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time up there. With them.” Janus said coolly before he could stop himself.

Virgil groaned quietly, and looked away. “Yeah, so? It’s my job.”

“Yes it is.” Janus said, unsure what his own point was.

“I just… It doesn’t really have anything to do with them or with you or… It’s more… I don’t really think I can… Do my work effectively here.”

Janus froze and tilted his head. “Why not?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

“I feel like… I feel like I’m biased, you know? When I spend all that time around too many...” he cut himself off with a sigh. “I’m Thomas’ anxiety. My first priority is to do whatever it takes to keep him safe. Being here isn’t doing that.” He said without adding anything else. It was torture really, because it meant Janus had the power to leave it there, while everything urged him not to.

“Is that so?” Janus asked, looking Virgil up and down, “It has never bothered you before.”

Virgil took a deep breath, “Maybe I’ll be back. I just… I need some time away.”

No you won’t Janus thought to himself.

“So you leave us behind because of some suspicion that we’re corrupting your point of view?” Janus said with a weak smile, internally gasping for control, “Just because you’ve developed some sort of morals? An idealized version of the world where staying away from us is the solution to a problem you’ve created?” Janus shouldn’t be saying those things. They were petty, desperate, and not incredibly well-put but he said them anyway.

The energy radiating from Virgil became dense and Janus suddenly found it hard to breathe. “I knew you’d say something like that.” Virgil said, with a frown. He stood up, and moved the chair towards the table with a scraping sound, and Janus suddenly felt very small, as he looked up at Virgil.

“What do you mean?” Janus near-whispered. The first part sounded too weak, so he tried to turn it into a hiss.

“Nevermind I just-” Virgil closed his eyes and took a deep breath, leaning against the chair slightly. He opened his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve made up my mind.” he looked Janus in the eyes, and his expression looked cold and professional, though there was a hint of something pleading. Desperate. “I need some time to myself. I can’t stay here.”

Janus inhaled sharply through his nose. “I still fail to understand why you’re doing it.”

Virgil clenched his fist, standing up from the table. “I’m not… I’m not gonna make this harder than it is. I’m going away. Just…” he took a deep breath, “Just… Just fucking accept it. Please...”

Janus felt fire flaring up inside him at the words, and he started hearing his own breathing much clearer. He quickly stood up, because if he didn’t he felt so small and useless and petty. And he was still petty of course, but he didn’t want it to show. He didn’t want to believe it himself. There was no need to. Not yet. He smiled, “So I’m the one who isn’t accepting things.”

Virgil closed his eyes and breathed. “You’re always insufferable about things like this.” Virgil said, the words coming out a little too quickly, “You always use words to your advantage and you bring Thomas into dangerous and emotionally taxing situations.” he shook his head, “I’m not… I don’t wanna endorse that… It’s more work for me.”

Janus’ breathing became shaky. “You’re acting so beyond it all now, aren’t you.” he hissed, “You hang out with those pretentious bastards, who think they’re morally superior by being accepted so easily by him, and you think you can just do the same.”

Virgil’s eyes became dark. “I’m not expecting the same.” he said, “They’re not going to take me in, and I’m not staying here.”

“You can’t just-”

“Yes I can!” Virgil said, his voice booming through the room. Powerful, leaving even Deceit speechless, all of his words taken away almost immediately. Virgil almost looked surprised at himself, dragging a hand down his face and shaking his head, “I’m going.” he said.

And then he did.

The words hung in the air, Janus feeling a strange loss of control he wasn’t quite used to. He was left alone in the room, painfully alone, and the events transpired almost exactly how Janus remembered them, even with a different kind of stinging feeling in his gut.

But it was alright, because it wasn’t real. It was a copy of reality somehow, and Virgil was still there. He had still been there the last time he left.

And that was the thought Janus went to sleep with that night.

On the next day, Janus tried again. He woke up in the same way, in the same place, Virgil, still right nearby. Everything was alright. Nothing had happened yet.

This time, he tried a different approach. He spent time with Remus that day, ignoring his duties, and Virgil didn’t dare approach them at all. It was something Janus had noticed. Virgil was frightened of Remus, and the fear had only grown the past time. The more time Virgil spent up there. It was something that filled Janus with a bitter sort of stinging, that he never allowed to linger, because it wouldn’t get him anywhere anyway.

Virgil didn’t leave that day, but when Janus didn’t know how to approach the next, Virgil ended up leaving then instead.

But it was alright, because it wasn’t real. It was a hypothetical that Janus wasn’t going to experience the stinging feeling of. At least he wouldn’t for real. It would stay there for a little, but it was fake and deceitful, so it didn’t matter at all.

And that was the thought Janus went to sleep with that night.

So Janus tried again. And again.

A pattern started. A repetitive sort of pattern, even if it was never the same each time. It always ended the same way, with little variations here and there.

He tried approaching Virgil first, which only made the conversation more awkward, because it started before Virgil had anticipated it.

Janus tried remaining calm in the exchange with Virgil, which he failed at multiple times, before he found a decent combination of words that only served to make Virgil leave faster. Made him leaving easier.

Janus tried to act friendly and truthful, but Virgil naturally, didn’t believe a word of it.

One time, he tripped Remus, which led him to drop the heart on Virgil, which made Virgil breathe faster, shake his head and run off. When Janus tried approaching him, Virgil sounded more spiteful than ever.

Janus tried not leaving his room at all, merely lying down in a hopeless and pathetic position, that didn’t suit his aesthetic in any way. Not that anyone would see that of course. Fortunately.

But it was alright, because it wasn’t real.

It wasn’t real, and yet the stinging feeling lingered unchangeably.

Janus groaned at himself.

He went to sleep, and woke up with a terribly tempting idea.

They had their conversation, as usual, though Janus held back this time. He allowed Virgil to leave once he’d given his explanation, and that almost seemed to make Virgil reluctant. Janus wasn’t sure if he liked the reluctance, but he didn’t like the lack of it either, so he settled on remaining indifferent to the reluctance. He allowed Virgil to leave, and that was what Virgil did.

But that time, Janus decided to try to take drastic measures. He wasn’t sure what his thought process was as he did it, but he had the range of both a planner and an improviser, and the two weren’t as different for him as one might expect.

So when Virgil ducked out, he merely stopped anyone but him and Remus from showing face.

It wasn’t as hard as one might expect, when you were in charge of Thomas’ lies, because for a few fleeting moments, Janus could easily make it seem as if Virgil was never gone in the first place. Ha. Ironic. They’d all started considering Virgil’s practical function, a face which made Janus bitter to no end, though he wasn’t sure why. He made sure the others didn’t notice at first, and once Virgil had stayed out for a sufficient amount of time, Janus went to Remus.

“Virgil is gone.” he stated.

Remus blinked. “Yeah, no shit.”

“No Remus, he has ducked out. We need to go check on him. Now.”

Janus wasn’t sure how he would’ve sounded if this situation had happened for real. He wasn’t sure if he’d act more or less concerned.

Or well, he knew sort of. Last time he’d stayed out of it because he was hiding. Because he was processing and living in a state of shock. Because he held onto the hope that maybe Virgil would decide to return to them, after having the time to think, instead of remaining ducked out.

Or maybe Virgil would be saved by someone else. Someone who deserved him.

No, those weren’t the types of thoughts Janus had, he remembered.

“Shit really?” Remus said, with widened eyes, “What about his new fuck-buddies, have they noticed?”

“They’re not buddies at all.” Janus said. Not yet anyway. “And I’m not sure. Perhaps they’re not as perceptive as they think they are.”

And so, the two of them went to Virgil’s room. A dangerous thing to do to be sure. Janus wouldn’t normally suggest doing so at all, but Remus followed him anyway, because that was what Remus did for him. Though perhaps this time it was for Virgil.

Virgil appeared abruptly after a moment of silence. His posture was tense, and something in his expression seemed to change entirely once he realized who had come for him. “What are you… What are you doing in my room?” he asked, seemingly panicked, though there was something else. Something genuinely questioning.

Why are you here?

“We saw you were gone.” Janus said, “We were worried.”

“It’s… It’s none of your business!” Virgil said, scowling unconvincingly.

“Ah, as a part of Thomas, I beg to differ.” Janus retorted. He took a deep breath. “Why have you made this decision?”

“I’m ducking out.” Virgil said with a shrug, “Thomas doesn’t need me. I’m only bringing him pain, and the others don’t want me there anyway. I’m just getting in the way.”

Janus inhaled sharply, looking at Virgil. “And who the fuck, caused you to believe that?”

Virgil started smiling in the fed up and insincere sort of way, “Everything, Deceit. And it doesn’t matter. Just leave.”

The name ‘Deceit’ stung a little. But Janus ignored it. “They… They’ve always made us feel unwanted. They don’t understand why we’re needed and its rubbing off o-”

“There is no us!” Virgil hissed, but Janus knew that particular hiss well enough to know, that it wasn’t wholehearted. There was something hidden, something vulnerable.

And because Janus was Janus, and manipulating, lying and uncovering and hiding secrets was his thing, he wanted to get through to it. “You’re right.” he said, which made Virgil turn his head slightly, “There is you, and you’re necessary, Virgil. Thomas needs you to survive. You used to understand that quite well. We talked about it, how we were being hidden by their thoughts and feelings. How they didn’t believe us, no matter what we said.” he took a deep breath, and his voice shook for the words that followed. Janus couldn’t tell if it was real or not. “But I admit, I was playing into that perception of things. I have a habit of doing that, whether I like it or not. Now you’re on your own. You want to choose your own path but… Is it really your own, if you’ve decided that they’re right?”

Virgil was inspecting Janus now, in a way that made Janus feel a little uneasy. Janus could read Virgil better than Virgil could read Janus, but being around one another for so long did give you some advantages. Virgil’s weakness was accidentally finding meaning that wasn’t there. Malicious intent where there shouldn’t be any. And maybe Janus was the same sometimes, but of course he wouldn’t say that out loud. “I don’t… I don’t trust you.”

“You don’t have to. They’re not here, Virgil.” Janus said, and that time the words stung. He looked down. “We noticed you were gone, it was… It’s frightening really. I know we’re not on the best terms, but… I can’t… It’s not right that you feel this way. You have value, Virgil. You’re an important side, just like everyone else is, and I apologize if anyone, including myself, made you believe otherwise.”

The words felt sharp, and Janus wasn’t sure if he meant them. He wasn’t certain of anything, but it didn’t matter, because he wasn’t thinking right now, and he wasn’t himself right now. He was testing something in a reality that was only real for the time being, because Janus was going to make it disappear soon enough.

Virgil was as still as a statue for a few moments. The only parts of him moving were his eyes, and Janus wasn’t entirely sure what they were saying, but he knew his words had had some sort of effect. That part was easy to tell.

“I…” Virgil said shakily after a little, his breathing speeding up, “You never… You never wanted me to leave.”

“No.” Janus said, and that part was true, at least that made the most sense. “Did I ever make you believe otherwise.”

Virgil shook his head. “No. No I wanted to leave. I wanted… I didn’t want to be biased or… Or…”

“And here you are.” Janus said, because maybe he was a little cruel. Maybe he was a little bit terrible just now, that he had gone so long without consequences. Because it didn’t matter.

“I don’t…” Virgil said, barely audibly, as he let himself slide down into a sitting position against the wall, hugging his knees and shaking his head as he whispered something Janus couldn’t make out.

Virgil looked so helpless. It was unlike him. Virgil was the embodiment of anxiety, sure, but he always had an instinct. An instinct to run or an instinct to jump at whatever was bringing harm. Fight or flight.

But now, Virgil was just sitting there, a few tears in his eyes. “They wouldn’t have come for me. They shouldn’t.” Virgil said, “But you did.” the words sounded dark and empty, but there was a hint of sincerity underneath it.

This wouldn’t happen, unless Virgil was particularly vulnerable of course. And he was. He was stuck and he felt alone. Isolated and unwanted. Which was exactly what made it so easy for Janus to get through to him.

A part of Janus wanted to shake Virgil, and beg him not to let him do that. Not to let Janus’ words get through, because Janus’ words were cruel and unreliable, and in a different and not so distant world, Virgil would’ve had something else.

Virgil was crying, his eyes turning red, and he hid his face in his hands. Remus hesitantly reached out to touch Virgil’s shoulder. Virgil tensed up for a moment, though he quickly eased into it. Janus swallowed something in his throat, walking closer. He wrapped his arms around Virgil gently.

Virgil sobbed. “I d-don’t…. I shouldn’t…. Fuck.” his breathing became unsteady, and Janus shushed him comfortingly.

Janus could tell that Virgil truly believed the others wouldn’t have been there. Wouldn’t have realized. Janus knew that they would have.

But Janus was, in all the ways that mattered, an unreliable narrator.

“Shh, it’s alright stormcloud.” he whispered softly, “We wouldn’t leave you behind.”

The words that were unsaid were easy to read, and if Janus dared to think about it, it was easy to tell that there was manipulation at play. Janus had a tendency to get carried away. To do things like that to achieve his goal. But Janus wasn’t trying to achieve a goal right then. He had nothing to achieve, because he knew he’d make it all start over by the end of it. He wasn’t going to let it stay like this. Holding Virgil close, and having Virgil trust him, at least a little bit. Virgil still cared about him, and let Remus touch him, and it sent a wonderful but deceitful feeling through Janus’ entire body.

God, this was such a selfish timeline.

Virgil came back with them, and his walls went up. He no longer believed the kind words he was told by the ‘light sides’. His fight or flight instincts at an all time high.

But he believed in Janus’ words, and that was comforting for however long it lasted. It didn’t take long for it to become an uncomfortable ordeal, and Janus convinced himself it wasn’t real, because it was the most unrealistic scenario yet. Janus wouldn’t allow that level of vulnerability for himself.

Virgil stayed. He stayed for real that time. He didn’t leave the next day, and Janus didn’t think he was going to leave at any point in time.

Virgil was so much more on guard. He believed Janus. And if that wasn’t the most upside down and unrealistic scenario Janus could possibly think of, he wasn’t sure what that was.

Janus soon came to realize that he hated it. He hated the way Virgil seemed broken. Scared. Vulnerable and confused, in a way Janus had never seen before. Not at that scale.

And it hurt. It hurt so much more than any of the other scenarios had, and he wasn’t sure why.

Because Virgil was there but was he really?

But it didn’t matter. Nothing did. Because it wasn’t real. Of course it wasn’t real.

And that was the thought Janus went to sleep with that night.

He felt relieved when he awoke to the same light, and to the same position of everything in his room.

But the relief didn’t last long, because it was soon replaced with a sinking and dreadful feeling, that annoyed Janus to no end.

He decided to try some variations of that scenario. He knew how to make Virgil stay, so perhaps he could make it feel right.

Janus tried. He tried so many times.

He didn’t like getting Virgil after ducking out, so he tried to stick with keeping Virgil there at the very beginning. Making the others make Virgil feel even more unwanted proved to be counter-productive. Making Virgil feel wanted, just heightened the guilt as Virgil inevitably left.

He did eventually manage to find a pattern that made Virgil stay, by pulling just the right strings and keeping everyone in the right place at the right time, but by the time he’d figured it out he was too tired to maintain it all for enough resets for it to make any sense. It still didn’t feel right anyway. Even when Virgil was there, he wasn’t truly there. There was either longing or emptiness present, and Janus didn’t like the way either of them stung, and made him feel helpless. He didn’t like the way Virgil looked whenever he said those same words over and over again.

Janus didn’t like anything about any of this, but he wasn’t sure what to do about it.

So he decided to do something out of character for him. Again. Because why the hell not?

That day, Janus didn’t do his work. At the very start of his day, he vanished and reappeared in the kitchen where the others usually hung out in the mornings. No one was there yet. Janus had apparently woken up early. He sat on the kitchen counter for a little while, inspecting his hands and glancing at the surroundings occasionally. He imagined Virgil, walking around in that kitchen every day, laughing and enjoying his time around the others. It was surreal to imagine, and filled Janus with a bittersweet sort of longing he didn’t want to read into.

After a little, Patton walked through the door. His eyes widened at the sight of Janus. “Deceit!?” he said, his voice sharp and quiet.

Janus huffed and smirked. He looked down at himself. “Why, it would seem so.”

Patton looked befuddled and skeptical. “What are you… What are you doing here Deceit? Y-you can’t be here.

“What?” Janus asked, innocently tilting his head, “Can’t a side roam around freely in his own Thomas?”

Patton clenched his fists and shook his head. “He… He is not-”

“Not mine?” Janus hummed, “My mistake. I thought we were all parts of him.”

Patton tensed up. “What do you… What do you want?”

Janus stood up from the counter, which made Patton jump back slightly. Funny really, after everything. Janus opened a cupboard and took out a bottle of wine, pouring some into a glass, making himself at home. It was quite amusing, how Patton was far too polite to stop him. He took the glass in his hand, and sipped from it. “Would you like some, Morality?” he said, holding it out.

Patton inhaled sharply. “What do you want?” he asked again.

Janus swirled around the beverage in his wine glass. “Oh nothing special. Really I’m just quite fed up.” he chuckled lightly.

Patton looked more confused than ever. “Fed up? With what?”

Janus hummed, sending Patton a tired but amused smile. “Everything keeps repeating and he always comes back to you. I am quite sick of this really, I don’t know why I bother.” he laughed, “In fact, I’m not quite sure how to make it stop.”

Patton furrowed his eyebrows, stepping a little closer, cautiously. “Are you… Are you alright? What’s this about.”

Janus laughed suddenly. “Oh look at him.” he said amusedly, “He is asking me if I’m alright.” he sighed, “Tell me Morality, what am I missing?”

“Missing?”

“I keep trying and trying to make things right, but I keep ending up back in the same place. I’m not sure if I want to make things right. It’s as if it's impossible either way. Am I just cursed to repeat this cycle forever? Relive my failure every single day, until something beyond my control fixes it?” he took a sip of the wine. He smiled at Patton. “I try and I try, yet he always comes back here, and when he doesn’t, it’s simply painful for everyone involved. Why is that? You always act like you’re oh so knowledgeable on these sorts of issues. Share your wisdom, will you?”

“Deceit, you’re not making any sense. Are you sure the wine is a good idea?” Patton asked.

Janus sighed. “Nothing really is, is it? But it doesn’t matter. You see Morality, I think I’ve gotten myself stuck in a time loop.”

That seemed to catch Patton off guard. “You- You what?” he asked.

“A time loop yes.” Janus said, sipping his wine, “I go to sleep and I wake up on the same day. Never really continues on for more than three, it’s quite funny how that works out.” he looked around the room, circling Patton. His shoes made a hollow noise against the ground as he did so. “And see, later today Virgil is going to tell me that he is going to leave. We’re either going to have some variation of a fight, or he’ll leave quietly after being dismissed enough. Not too long after that, he intends to duck out, and you will all come get him. Then he’ll feel accepted by you, and going back to us isn’t even in the cards.” he sighed.

Patton still looked confused, though there was a hint of something sympathetic on his face. As if he was reconsidering something. It was hilarious to see that on him really, though Janus couldn’t help but be a little intrigued by it. He wondered if he’d ever get to see something like that again. In a different timeline perhaps. “Have you found a way to... Break, that cycle?”

“No that’s the problem, isn’t it?” he huffed, “Or perhaps I have and I am simply too petty to let go of this. Not unlike me, I’ve learned.”

Patton bit his lip. “That sounds… That sounds pretty bad.” he took a step closer, “You do seem different.”

Oh, that tone was a little too sweet. A little too relieved. “I’m not whoever it is you want me to be.” Janus simply said, “I am simply asking you why he keeps coming to you instead. Why I’m stuck here, I suppose. So please, do give me some advice and make yourself useful, would you?” he tried not to sound pleading, but he wasn’t sure what feeling he was actually trying to convey. It wasn’t indifference, but that was what he was used to. He wouldn’t have said that much if he was trying to be indifferent. No, Janus wasn’t indifferent to this. Maybe he wasn’t even as annoyed as he led himself or this one hypothetical version of Patton to believe.

Janus was drowning, floating helplessly in the middle of the ocean, somehow always making it just above sea level before he was swallowed into it again. Always finding it difficult to catch his breath, but always making it anyway. Waiting and trying again and again, until he’d find a way to land, or until he’d give up and let himself hit the ocean floor.

Patton bit his lip, seemingly unsure of what to say. Janus almost had the urge to laugh. He wasn’t sure why he’d sought out him or this place anyhow. “I’m… That is a bit of a pickle isn’t it?” Patton said. Janus huffed, because it hadn’t been the first description of the situation on his mind, but of course that was something Patton would say. “Have you tried talking to him about it?”

Janus rolled his eyes. “That’s what starts the fight.” he said, “And when it doesn’t he just leaves a day or so later, or he…” he felt something within him freezing, “It doesn’t end well.” he said quietly.

“I see…” Patton said. They were both quiet for a few breaths, and Janus wondered if Patton had given up, and was only staying put to be polite. Ha, polite to Janus, even. What a hilarious thought. “Maybe you can’t stop him.” Patton said, “It’s… It’s not the answer I want to give, but… If that’s really what he wants?”

Janus felt a tug at his heart and was about to open his mouth to say something. To shout. To cry. To give a quick and witty remark. But Patton interrupted whatever it was Janus was going to do.

“I know it’s not… Not that helpful coming from me, but if you’re really stuck the way you say you are, maybe… Maybe it’s best to just leave it, and… And see if that helps?”

Janus took a deep breath, hearing it and feeling it uncomfortably clearly. He was painfully aware of the beating of his heart, and the silence of the room now that no one was saying anything anymore. Then he looked up at Patton, inspecting the side’s face. “I’m good at change, usually.” he said quietly, “So why can’t I just let him go?”

Something slipped into Patton’s expression. Something sad, and sympathetic that made Janus’ skin crawl because nothing like that was supposed to be directed at him, and if it was, it was only a sign that he’d shown too much weakness. But it didn’t matter, because this wasn’t reality. How was Janus supposed to go back to reality now? “Letting go is… It’s very hard.” Patton said, “I-I’m not sure how to handle it either. Maybe just… Try to say what you want to say? Let him know you care and stuff… Maybe it’ll make it all a little easier in the end.”

Janus swallowed something in his throat, closed his eyes and shook his head. “Oh, Morality… If only I knew how to do that.” Patton’s expression once again turned painfully sympathetic, and Janus sighed deeply. He looked at Patton once more. “Thank you for your time, Morality. I shall take my leave now. Tomorrow’s today awaits.”

And it did. Just as it always did.

Janus felt very distant that day, and decided to take another day to himself, to think things through. Not that he hadn’t thought everything through already.

Or maybe he hadn’t really. It was as if some thoughts were trying to creep into his mind right before they were shoved out the door like unwanted light after being in the dark long enough.

Janus was breathing heavily, in a way that could be confused as a series of groans. After that, they could easily be confused as sobs, and the unrelated water in his eyes didn’t help very much with preventing that. He huffed. Then he started laughing, in such a weak and broken way, that he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. He hated it. Hated the sound of it. Janus was brilliant. Janus liked himself, more so than most of those idiots.

But he didn’t like this. Didn’t like the broken laughter, or the treacherous tears, or the way his heart stung, and the way he was drowning and drowning, and so close to just giving up on making it to the surface.

It was pathetic really. Janus was being pathetic and petty, and he usually knew better than that. At least he always hoped he did. He always tried to. Always said he did, and words weren’t too far from the truth if you believed them strongly enough.

After a while, he wasn’t sure how long, an hour, a minute, a day, he stopped. He sighed deeply, as he wiped the leftover tears away. It didn’t matter, because it wasn’t real.

God, was he sick of that.

And that was the thought Janus went to sleep with that night.

He once again woke up in familiar surroundings with a new sort of empty determination.

It didn’t matter what he did, because Virgil would always end up in the same place, and Janus would always be left behind. And it didn- It mattered. He needed it to matter, because otherwise the feelings and the hurt were pointless and they wouldn’t get anything done.

It was that morning, Janus finally came to the conclusion, that if he wanted Virgil in his life, it wasn’t going to happen in the span of those three days. He needed to prove himself.

He needed to earn it.

“Janus.” Virgil said, “I need to talk to you.”

Janus felt resigned. Incomplete and broken as he replied. “Yes. What is it?”

“Can we uh-” Virgil shook his head and took a deep and determined breath. “Can we sit down? I have something to tell you.”

And they did. Janus didn’t offer a retort, at first, but he did after a little, because it was necessary. If he wanted it to be real, he needed it to appear real.

4-7-8. “I don’t belong here.” Virgil said.

“What has led you to that conclusion?” Janus asked only almost reading off a script, but not quite. He was used to this exchange, and he wasn’t sure what would cause it to be over.

Virgil flinched slightly. “It’s…”

“It’s been going on for a while, hasn’t it?” Janus asked, “I’ve noticed.”

“You…” Virgil took a deep breath, and looked at Janus with a confused expression, “You have? I mean…” he sighed, “Of course you fucking have.”

Janus hummed. “And now you want to leave, because you think we’re having a negative effect on your point of view.”

Virgil’s mouth gaped slightly. He furrowed his eyebrows. “I don’t-”

“And now you’re going to leave.” Janus said, “You’re going to leave and you’re not going to come back. You think you’re leaving to be by yourself, but that’s not where you’re going to end.” Janus said. Virgil looked surprised at Janus’ words. Janus chuckled slightly. “And maybe I’m fine with that.” he said quietly, “But that’s not how I feel. Not quite.” he shook his head, “And it doesn’t matter, because you’re leaving anyway.”

The realism had died, and now Janus was simply talking.

“And it’s going to be painful.” he said, “For everyone involved. A strange change around the place, and I don’t doubt there are going to be several conflicts surrounding that in the future. Maybe it’ll even have a positive impact of sorts that you’re with them. Eventually.” he looked at Virgil, who was looking dumbfounded.

“Why do you… Why do you think you know that so well?” Virgil asked.

And so, Janus slipped right back into himself. Into comfortable territory. “Oh, because you know yourself so well. That’s why you’re going on this little soul-searching journey. Because you have a great grasp on who you are.” he huffed, and Virgil scowled, though the confusion was still visible.

“I’m leaving.” Virgil said then.

“Good.” Janus said, and the word hung darkly in the air. “Go.” he added like a hiss, almost desperately, “You go and don’t even think about coming back here.”

Virgil shook his head, looking confused.

And then he turned around abruptly and left.

Janus went to bed.

And woke up on the same day.

That wasn’t what he was really going to do. No, instead he decided to get absorbed in his work once again. He lets the unsaid words and the tension hang in the air, and before he knew it, Virgil was gone. Remus was holding Janus, and they were alone.

One day passed, and Virgil ducked out and was picked up again, safely. Another passed, and it had been three days.

And time would continue to pass. Because this was real, and couldn’t be undone. The conversation was over, and maybe that part never happened at all.

And that was the thought Janus went to sleep with that night.

And on the fourth, Janus woke up, half expecting Remus running through the halls with a beating heart in his hands once again. He waited in his room, and peeked out his door. There was no Remus in sight.

Four days had passed. Everything had changed, and Janus was no longer stuck. Everything was new. Uncharted territory. Janus sighed, half with relief, and half with something he couldn’t even interpret himself.

Janus couldn’t remember exactly what happened the day Virgil left.

It was a cluttered mess of dark and unpleasant feelings. Words stinging his tongue and his heart, and a numbness he couldn’t quite place. There were so many experiences and situations mashed together, and Janus wasn’t entirely sure what was real and what wasn’t.

But regardless of what happened, Janus was watching from the sidelines, waiting for his time to strike. Because that was what he was supposed to do. That was what made the most sense.

And perhaps one day, things would change. Janus could feel change all around him now. He could tell he wasn’t going through the same day twice, or thrice or God knows how many times. Time passed, and that left room for change. Janus was usually good with change.

Perhaps one day, things would change. But that was not today, because today Janus was lurking in the background, catching a potential opportunity to do something up close. He looked into his full-length mirror, as he made a quick change to his appearance. Glasses and the cardigan he remembered seeing on Morality in the past, sending himself an innocent smirk. Today, Janus had work to do.

#this was so much fun to write!#I think it turned out well personally #I really hope you'll enjoy #alternate summary: Janus denies himself into a time loop and shenanigans ensue #//angsty// shenanigans #sanders sides #janus sanders #virgil sanders #platonic anxceit #anxceit #patton sanders #remus sanders #virgil & janus #janus & virgil #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #sanders sides fanfiction #dramaticwriting

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mc-lukanette · 3 years

Text

"See anything you like?" Luka asked after he was sure that they'd already looked over at least half of the children's books.

Ivan and Mylene's kid looked up at him, then around to the books. They placed their hands to their face, leaning back and letting out a long, drawn-out hum, then finally answered, "Mmm, not yet."

They were always quiet like that, so when they did say something, it was because they'd made sure to think about it. In that particular case, they knew they were being spoiled with whatever books they wanted, but they didn't want to just grab everything either, clearly focusing on what they "needed" rather than just books that looked neat.

Luka shrugged with a smile. "Alright. We'll keep looking."

He scanned the shelves as he walked, letting the child run ahead so long as they stayed within his sight. Ivan and Mylene had loosely suggested that he be on the lookout for any books about body positivity and of course he agreed with them. Thankfully, after spending most of his life on a houseboat that demanded one be an expert at finding things in an instant or risk losing them forever, Luka was able to catch a few good books that fit Ivan and Mylene's description just by the cover.

He'd skimmed them too, just in case.

As his gaze went to follow the kid running past him to restart their quest for perfect books, he was stopped by a brief glimpse of teal, red, and black from a part of the aisle that he hadn't gone to yet. His eyes darted over to it, squinting at the familiarity of the shades, then looked back at the kid once more.

Confirming that they were okay, Luka approached the book that had drawn his attention, having to crouch down to see it properly since it was on the bottom shelf. He'd only taken it in for a split second before he was hit by a wave of pleasant memories and nostalgia.

The Snake and The Ladybug was the book's title, and the cover featured a teal naga boy across from a ladybug-themed girl.

Luka took a breath at the obvious similarities to his role as Viperion from back in the day, as well as Marinette's role as Ladybug. She'd never come out about her identity, but it didn't take him long to figure out, and the book was giving him all sorts of mushy feelings just by its art alone.

He reached out, gently grasping the book without taking it off the shelf. Running his thumb along the cover, he was surprised to realize that it actually had a texture to it that shifted based on where he was stroking, and he couldn't deny that it seemed like Marinette's handiwork.

The naga boy didn't have highlights, but his hair still had a noticeable feature, with the front of it being long enough to cover up the eyes. The boy was lounging against a tree, which went along with the forest setting that took up one side of the book, and his arm was outstretched towards the remaining side, seemingly catching dandelion puffs that were being blown in his direction. Said dandelion puffs were being sent his way by the ladybug girl, who had the dandelion in hand and her eyes closed. She was featured in a more castle-esque place, sitting on the edge of a windowsill, and both she and the naga boy were clearly enjoying themselves.

"Are you gon' buy that?"

Luka was jerked out of his trance by Ivan and Mylene's kid, who had apparently snuck up on him while he was taking in the cover. He looked over at them, surprised that they'd ask a direct question over something that didn't concern them.

He glanced back at the book thoughtfully, considering the question anyway, then sighed with a sad smile.

There was no way. Marinette wasn't an author; she was a fashion designer, living her crazy life somewhere, and they hadn't seen each other for a long time. She'd have no reason to write a children's book.

It was just a coincidence.

"No," he finally answered, pulling his hand away from the book, "It just made me think of some happy memories."

They pursed their lips, brows furrowing as they tilted their head in confusion. "B'shouldn't y'get it then? Mommy keeps some o'those too."

They said it like it was the simplest thing in the world, and Luka supposed that it was. He was just being a dumb adult by denying it, uselessly pining as a result and fantasizing about Marinette leaving him some sort of hidden message in a book. Still, the kid was right; the book made him happy and that should've been enough.

There didn't need to be a deeper meaning, even if it wouldn't stop him from thinking about one.

Reaching out again, Luka plucked the book off the shelf, keeping it separate from the books held in his other arm.

"You're right. Maybe I will."

—————

After having dropped off Ivan and Mylene's kid, along with all the books but the one, Luka headed home and plopped down sideways on his recliner, holding up his chosen book to examine it from all angles. He was tempted to read the summary on the back, but resisted, opting to turn back to the front to look at the author's name.

In hindsight, he should've done that from the beginning.

His face fell at the name Belle Nescire, a far cry from Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Pen names were a thing, certainly, and his inner Viperion - who plotted out Ladybug's Lucky Charm alongside her at times - felt suspicious, but it also didn't sound very Marinette at all.

Mentally shrugging any further thoughts away, he sat up just enough to properly read the book, opening it up to finally take a look at its contents.

The story began with the ladybug girl, saddened and stressed by her daily life. She had friends of all kinds, but sought something deeper than mere companionship: a connection with someone. She didn't know exactly what to look for, only able to hope that she'd know when she found it.

One day, against the advice of her friends, she headed into the forest to pick flowers. She'd been repeatedly warned about the snakes who lived there, suggestions tossed around to chat with the cats on the rooftops instead, but she went to the forest anyway. It was there where she met the snake boy who, yes, had startled her at first with his sudden appearance, but he immediately apologized and merely warned her about the flower she had almost picked, which would've laid a curse on her had she'd picked it.

Snakes, as she'd been told anyway, lived for disorder and were terrifying for their looks alone, what with their fangs, scales, and the like. The ladybug girl, however, wasn't afraid of the snake boy, rather enjoying his company and finding herself wanting to come back and visit him. Eventually, she ended up doing just that, and they became fast friends, meeting frequently to make flower crowns and talk about their lives.

Without noticing at first, the ladybug girl had found her connection, the snake boy becoming a source of calm where she could escape from the emotions that always weighed her down. The moral of the story was about seeking out and cherishing the people who bring out the best in oneself, due to how rare they are to find.

Luka breathed up when he realized that was the end of the book, closing it and turning it over to read the summary as if that would give him more content to read.

The coincidences were stacking now. He had startled her when they first met, and there had been an apology from him even if it'd been for his teasing of her instead. There was also the undeniable mention of cats, though he wasn't sure if things like the cursed flower could've been some sort of metaphor he was missing.

As the thought of the author being Marinette re-entered his head, he began to blush. He'd known that he was her support in many ways - a role he'd always taken pride in - but to be called her connection, as if he were special and stood out above everyone else? That would be news to him.

Reminding himself yet again that it wasn't a guarantee, he sat up and set the book down on the table, mentally scolding himself for over-analyzing when he'd said he'd get the book for the reminder of happy memories instead. Nonetheless, he was picking up his phone not even ten seconds later, searching up the book's title and author to see if he got any results. It turned out that the book he had was the first in a series of books, featuring the same two characters and continuing their story.

Well, he knew how one of his afternoons were going to be spent in the near future.

#lukaneventte: No Context November #Flower Arrangement Shipping #((So does that make it Lukanette or Viperbug fanfiction?))#((Yes.))#((The answer is yes.))#Pro LukaMari #Lukanette

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santigarcia · 4 years

Text

we’ll meet again

a ww2 au santiago ‘pope’ garcia x reader x frankie ‘catfish’ morales fic~

rating: m for smut; threesomes, some war violence

word count: 3.5k

summary: You’re in a relationship w/ Santi and Frankie and they both are drafted for the war; you anxiously await their return home.

a/n: ive been wanting to do a santi x reader x frankie fic for a while now, but i wanted to do something different w/ mine! just wasn’t sure how! until i got this ww2 idea~ so i hope you enjoy and feedback is always appreciated

thank you @huliabitch for this aesthetic!!!!!

We’ll Meet Again

Santiago Garcia whistles a tune while he checks the mail. He’s on his lunch break from work and he decided to come home to see you. The mail is downstairs in the lobby of your apartment building. He fishes his keys out of his pocket still whistling the tune.

Frankie Morales is right behind him; he had the same idea to come see you at lunch during his break.

“You wanna get mine out too?” Frankie asks, Santi nods not turning his head. He knows Frankie’s voice.

He knows a lot more about Frankie than the average person should. These two men are in a relationship with you. The three of you share an apartment.

You’re up there waiting for them to come home right now, and both men have a spring in their step. Until Santi pulls out two identical envelopes from the mailbox. He doesn’t have to open it to know what it is. He hands Frankie his letter. Santi stands still, while Frankie tears open the letter, his eyes scanning the document, all the color leaving his face.

“We can’t tell her,” Santi holds his hand up, he’s calm as he tries to process this.

“She sure as fuck is going to notice that we’re gone! How are we going to keep this a secret?”

“No man, I mean we don’t tell her we got drafted yeah? We tell her we volunteered.”

“How is that better? That we chose to leave her?”

“Fuck I don’t know,” Santi sighs and brushes his hand over his face.

The light clack of heels on the floor turns their heads, and they are greeted with your smiling face. Your hair perfectly curled and red lipstick swept across your lips. Normally their tongues would wag at the sight of you, but there’s too much fear and uncertainty running through their minds.

“Hi boys,” you greet them with a smile, unaware of what news they hold in their hands and is just waiting on the tips of their tongues.

“Hey honey,” Santi greets you with a kiss to your cheek. He’s better at acting than Frankie.

When you turn to Frankie, you see the worried look on his brow, and the letter in his hand.

“What’s that?” you ask him, your voice catching in your throat. You know what it is, but you don’t want it to be true.

“Baby,” Santi brings the attention back to him. He takes a deep breath about to tell you when Frankie cuts him off.

“We volunteered.”

Santi gives him a look of surprise that he said it, but you don’t see it. You feel sick to your stomach.

“Both of you?” you reach for Santi to steady yourself; you feel dizzy. Frankie reaches for you to keep you upright. “When? When do you leave?”

“Next week.”

Tears begin to fall down your cheeks. You aren’t angry, you’re scared. The loves of your life are leaving for war. There’s a high chance they won’t come home.

You try to soak up as much of them as you can in the next week, but there’s an ever-present darkness over your lives. The next few days fly by, even amidst the fear and anxiety that fills your little apartment. Before you know it, you’re at the station saying goodbye to your boys.

Soldiers in uniform are everywhere, and many others like you are saying goodbye to their sweethearts, their sons, or their fathers. There’s a bitter feeling in the air, tears are on many faces.

“At least the last image I see of you boys is how handsome you both look in your uniforms,” you sniffle, trying to make light of this situation. You smooth your hand over Santi’s broad shoulders and straighten Frankie’s crooked tie.

The train whistle blows it’s the last call to board. They have to go.

“Santi,” you reach for him. His gorgeous eyes are sad, but his eyebrows lift when you call his name. Your hand rests on his chest over his heart. “Don’t be too reckless. Keep an eye on Frankie.” Your other hand cups his face, stubble already growing in from his shave this morning. You move your hand up to touch at his hair just above his ear, his uniform hat hiding his greying curls from you. “You’re so smart and brave, use that to your advantage. But stay out of trouble.” You kiss his cheek, then he kisses your forehead when he sees the tears in your eyes.

“Frankie,” you turn to him, your hand still on Santi’s chest. “Be brave. It’s ok to be scared. Don’t let Santi be stupid.” His lips quirk up in a smile, and you feel Santi’s chest when he chuckles. You touch Frankie’s face and kiss his cheek too. “Don’t shave off that mustache. Let your kindness shine through during this. You’re so much stronger than you know.” You let out a sob and he wraps you up tight in a hug. “I don’t want you to go,” you tell him.

Santi’s hand comes to rest on your back, and he gently pulls you from Frankie to hug you one last time.

When you look at their faces you smile through your tears seeing you left a lipstick stain on each of their cheeks. You reach in your purse for your handkerchief, but Santi grabs your wrist, “leave it.” He says with a soft wink.

They each give you one more kiss then they turn and board the train.

That first night is one of the worst. For so long you’ve had not one, but two men in your bed keeping you safe, keeping you company. Now this bed feels so empty and cold.

It isn’t easy for them either. It’s not until they sit down on the train that the gravity of the situation hits them both. It’s here where they meet with two brothers, Will and Benny. All these men here are in the same situation, leaving home behind to go to war.

Basic training is up first for the boys, and Frankie struggles. He throws up on the first day, Santi claps him on the back telling him it’ll be alright – and he doesn’t just mean his stomach.

Santi intends to keep his promise to look out for Frankie, he’s family.

The boys write to you as much as they can, even when they’re shipped out overseas. Their letters serve as a comfort for all three of you. For you it’s knowing they’re alive, for them it’s a chance to think about something else, something better – you.

Santi is formal in his letters, precise. His handwriting is neat. His words are comforting, romantic, and full of sexual things he’d like to do with you when he gets home. He tells you about what’s going on as much as he can and tells you funny stories about Frankie, he hopes will make you laugh. He tells you about how he and Frankie have nicknames now. How he’s Pope and Frankie is Catfish. He tells you that he looks at the photo you gave him often, wishing to hold you again.

You like to imagine what Santi looks like when he writes. Maybe he’s in a tank top, arms dirty from the mud. A cigarette hanging loose between his lips. It’s much better to think of the alternative, which in reality Santi is in the mud, but he’s cold. Writing to you from a dim flashlight, hearing the sounds of shells exploding in the distance.

Frankie writes the way he talks, it’s simple and sweet and direct. His handwriting is messy, and his letters bring you a different kind of comfort. He tells you that he’s got his eye on Santi. That he too looks at the picture you gave him. How much he misses your warmth, your laugh. How he wants to take you out dancing when he gets home. You can tell by the way he writes that he’s sad. But there’s a change in him too that brings you comfort; he’s finding his courage.

What he doesn’t tell you is the ridicule they’ve gotten for “fuckin’ the same broad.” When everyone was showing off photos of their girls, someone snatched your picture out of Frankie’s hand. In Frankie’s photo, you’re smiling bright – a smile just for him. In Santi’s photo, you’re blowing a kiss to him.

Frankie almost punched the guy for talking about how sweet your pussy must be for two men to want it. Santi had to bite his tongue as he pulled Frankie back.

When you write to the boys, you tell them what you’ve been up to. How holidays and birthdays are terrible without them home. How you are helping out with the cause in whatever way you can.

What you don’t tell them is the nightmares that plague your mind. Graphic depictions of their deaths. It’s hard enough to imagine one, but often times both of them die in your dreams.

The nightmares only seem to worsen when the letters become less and less frequent. You resort to other things to keep their memory alive while they’re gone.

The scent of Santi’s aftershave becomes a comfort. You hug Frankie’s pillow at night, so you don’t feel so lonely.

Your boys have no such comfort other than a small fading photograph and your letters sprayed with your perfume. Their lives are a living nightmare, and it continues to grow more hellish.

The worst of their nights at war is when boys reach a small German village, the enemy hiding in the homes of innocent villagers. It’s dark, all the lights in the town are out. The moon overhead, and the lights the soldiers have with them are the only way they can see.

Santi volunteers to take first watch.

During his walk of the perimeter, he peers around a corner and a grenade explodes. He wasn’t close enough for major shrapnel to hit him, but the force of the explosion sends his body hurling backwards. He slams into a brick wall like a ragdoll, his knees hit first. He falls to the ground hard, and it is chaos now around him, but he can barely hear it because his ears are ringing.

Frankie searches frantically for Santi, and his commanding officer Redfly, orders Frankie to stay at his position. But he doesn’t listen, he made a promise to you.

“Why don’t you just leave him eh Frankie?” he hears one of the other soldiers tease him. “The competition’s been wiped out!”

Frankie keeps looking, and finally in the early dawn he finds Santi in a heap in the mud and blood.

“The hell are you doing?” Santi groans when Frankie gets to him. Gunfire and explosions light up the morning sky around them. “Leave me man. My legs are shot.”

“I won’t leave you here,” Frankie shakes his head and leans down to pick up Santi.

“Fuck!” is all Santi can say as Frankie moves his body. “Wait, just wait. I can’t walk.”

“No shit,” Frankie almost laughs.

“I promised to keep you safe, now get out of here.”

“And I promised her I’d keep you from being stupid.”

“How’s that workin’ out for you?” Santi laughs and splutters up some blood.

Frankie leans down again and hurls Santi’s body over his shoulder. Fear and adrenaline are his only explanations for how he managed to do this.

The next thing Santi remembers is waking up in a medical tent. Both of his legs are bandaged and elevated, and he feels miserable. His ears still have a dull ringing in them. He has an awful headache, but at least his legs don’t hurt, and he can in fact feel his toes. He misses you. He wants you here. Fuck. He wants to hold your hand. For you to comb your fingers through his hair to help him calm down.

He takes in his surroundings. Men are in beds everywhere. Nurses are walking all about, checking on everyone. His best guess is he’s in the recovering area, but he can still hear muffled screams in a nearby tent of extreme trauma cases.

He feels sick to his stomach, images of war coming back to him. It’s then he sees Frankie is sitting next to him, his arm in a sling.

“What happened to you?” Santi rasps, his voice gone from not using it in a few days.

“I carried some idiot off the battlefield over my shoulder. Tore it to shit.”

“She’s not gonna be happy about this,” Santi laughs. He can only imagine your reaction, but he would love for you to fuss over him.

“We’re fuckin’ alive man. She’ll take us however we are.”

And Frankie’s exactly right. He stays with Santi until he heals. And soon after that – the war is over.

They get to come home.

You cry when you hear the news on the radio. So many lives lost, you mourn with those around you who won’t have their soldier coming home.

You’d gotten one letter from Frankie in the last few months, and one only one came you feared the worst. But in his letter, he details how Santi was hurt and doing well in recovery. You felt sick reading this letter, to be so far from those who you love when they are hurting is a pain you never experienced to this degree.

And you can’t even begin to imagine what they went through. It tugs at your heart.

The entire time they were gone, every time your phone rang – it filled you with dread. That this would be the phone call alerting you of one or both of their deaths. You never got that phone call.

But today, you’d get to hear their voices on the other end of your phone.

“Hello?” you answer, and you hear both of their voices pouring in through the phone. From what you can hear over their excited babble and your crying, they are in New York. They’re boarding a train and will be home to you tonight.

Santi’s holding the mouthpiece while he and Frankie talk into it. You wish you could see them.

“We love you, honey. We’ll be home before you know it!”

They don’t talk long because they have to board and the lines for the phones are packed full of people trying to get in contact with their families.

You hold your own phone mouthpiece to your chest after they hang up. You’re setting it on the hook to hang up when you hear a knock at your door.

Confused, you move towards it to answer.

When you open the door, there they stand. Frankie and Santi. Shoulder to shoulder in their uniforms. Their bags at their feet. Santi slowly takes off his hat when he sees you, Frankie’s chest tightens. Your hand flies to your mouth and tears fall from your eyes as you leap into their arms. Your arms wrap around their necks and you cry there in the hallway, not caring who can hear you.

They both lean in to press kisses to your cheeks. Then Santi goes for your neck while Frankie whispers affections of love in your ear. You kiss both of them on the lips, smearing your lipstick all over their faces.

Even when they set you down and you pull them into your apartment by their ties, you still have tears falling down your cheeks.

In the soft light of the apartment, you take a good look at them. It’s the first time you’ve seen their faces in four years.

They look older. There’s a look in their eyes that makes you sad, it’s hidden but you know it’s what they’ve seen that haunts them. An unspeakable weight they carry. Santi’s hair has more grey than black. Frankie still has the mustache, and he stands taller.

“I wish I had known you sneaky boys were going to be home so fast! I would have made your favorites!”

“Baby, you’re our favorite,” Santi winks as he takes a seat at the kitchen table, shrugging his bag onto the floor.

Frankie quietly walks over to the record player and puts on a slow song. He takes off his hat and smooths down his hair, only to put it back on again. He reaches for your hand and the two of you start to sway to the music.

Santi has a soft smile on his face. Just happy to see you again. Happy to be home. It’s strange to be there all together again. How are you supposed to go on now? Do you all just pick up where you left off? There’s so much that’s been seen, pain that’s been felt.

All that you know right now is how good it feels to lean your head on Frankie’s chest. Frankie guides you over to Santi, and you reach out to weave your fingers into his hair.

“You going to dance Santi?” you lean down to kiss him.

“In a minute, he deserves this one.”

You look up at Frankie as you continue to sway.

“What does he mean by that?” you ask.

“Did he not tell you?” Santi lights a cigarette and places it between his lips, pocketing the lighter. “He saved my life. Threw me over his shoulder when I couldn’t walk.”

He sugarcoats the story, it’s still to raw to talk about.

“Why didn’t you tell me in your letter?”

“I was just keeping a promise,” Frankie smiles and leans down to kiss you.

“I’ll dance with you baby, but back in that bedroom.”

“Then what are we waiting for hmm?” you reach for Santi and tug Frankie back towards your shared bedroom.

There’s heat in their eyes, and an ache you’ve all been needing to fulfill. You take your time to undress each one. You want to touch him just to make sure he’s real.

While you undress Santi, his hooded eyes are full of delight. He’s been waiting for this for four years. There’s a smirk playing on his lips as you fumble with buttons out of excitement. You slap his hand away when he tries to help, only coaxing a chuckle from his lips.

You strip him down until he’s naked, only thing on him are his dog togs dangling around his neck. He goes to lay down on the bed while you work on Frankie.

His eyes are you on, but there’s a different kind of heat in his eyes. He shudders when your hand touches the skin on his chest. He groans into your lips when you pull him in for a kiss.

“Lay down, sweetheart,” Frankie rasps. You do as he tells you and you lay next to Santi.

Parting your legs, Frankie dives in to mouth at your heat, his mustache tickling your sensitive flesh. Santi takes this opportunity to angle himself so he can mouth at your breasts and neck and your lips. His hand on your forehead groaning into your lips and on your chest.

Frankie moves his tongue over your lazily, even after you’ve reached your high, he still works his tongue over you, enjoying the taste he’s been starved of.

When he’s through, Santi rolls back over and you crawl into his lap. You’re slick and ready for him, so you sink down on him. You both shudder to feel this, the warmth you’ve both been missing. Frankie stands near you, and you reach for him – grasping his hard length in your hand you stroke him lazily while Santi thrusts up in you. Frankie slides his hand down to rub at your sex.

Feeling both of them after going without for so long has you coming hard on Santi. You shake and Santi steadies you with his hands on your hips.

Your hand is still on Frankie, and he lets go before he meant to. He wanted to be inside you, but feeling you was too much for him and he’s coming all over your side.

A couple more thrusts from Santi and he’s tossing his head back coming hard in you. You lean forward to kiss his chin and capture his groan. Then you sit back up and lean up to kiss Frankie’s lips, his hand coming to cradle your jaw.

You clench once around Santi while he softens up, and he groans again. You giggle to tease him so, and he whispers, “that’s my girl.”

You spend the rest of the night like that. Naked and laying in between your two lovers. You kiss them as deeply as you can. Listening to them tell stories, and they listen to yours. Catching up on the four years missed, it feels like a lifetime ago.

It’s strange to feel whole now that they are home, but there’s something missing too. They are not the same men as before, but you’re not the same woman. The one thing that hasn’t changed after all this time – through war and sorrow is your love for each other.

tagging: @agentpike, @bisexual-space-slut, @blancatobarxoxo, @cosmicmando, @damndamer0n, @darksideofclarke, @feelmyroarrrr, @ghosttofcalum, @goldhoran, @himbopoes, @huliabitch, @ironman-iam, @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa, @itspdameronthings, @ivars-heathen, @javihoney, @knittingqueen13, @limenlimon, @literatureandqueen, @maciiiofficial, @magicsuperheroes, @mandoplease, @marvel-dameron, @melanietrancy, @mitchi-c, @mylifeliterally, @pajamasecrets, @pascalplease, @pascalz, @perropascal, @phoenixhalliwell, @poesflygirl, @poeticandors, @punkpascal, @rewritingstars, @savagethewhale, @saved-fanfiction, @sgtbookybarnes, @shadow-assassin-blix, @stanningtoomanypeopleatonce, @stardust-galaxies, @the-bird-suit, @thehippiequilter, @thepjofanqueen, @this-cat-is-dea, @tintinwrites, @triggerhappyflygirl, @waatermelon-sugaar, @wakalas, @xremember-me-notx, @xxidontwikeitxx

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #frankie catfish morales x reader #santiago garcia x reader x frankie morales #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #my writing #I HOPE YALL LIKE THISSSS

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pascal-isaac · 3 years

Text

his angel.

Abel Morales x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: 18+ NSFW! Smut/Sex

Summary: You were Abel’s angel, his saving grace and breath of fresh air after his divorce. You loved him- but did he love you?

A/N: For @santiagogarcia I’m your secret Oscar valentines and I hope you enjoy this! Part of @sergeantkane ‘s Oscar fandom fic exchange!

It started with a shirt- his shirt.

Abel Morales was your boss, freshly divorced and stressed out of his mind. He hired you as a housekeeper and nanny for when he had the girls every other weekend- and you were his saving grace. After his divorce from Anna he hit a roadblock, he was late to work often, frequently missing something that he needed, and his clothes were a mess. But that’s where you came in. You made his life easier, cooking for him to make sure he ate because in his daze of a life he often forgot. You knew where everything was, knew what he needed before he even asked. And you did the laundry. Which is where his soft white button down shirt came in.

“Where is-“ Abel rifled through the folded laundry, Just on the cusp of being late- looking for a specific item when you came in- holding it in front for him and smiling softly.

“Thanks sweetheart.” He took it from you- large warm fingers brushing against your own as he smiled. He always smiled. Always thanked you because without you he’s sure he’d be lost, dirty, drunk and starving. He winked and walked into his bedroom, but didn’t close the door all the way. A crack. A peek into his room that you had- and saw him start to strip off his sleep shirt. Soft stomach almost begging to be touched, toned back desperate for you to mark, and a chest that cried out for you to rest your head on. After working for him for so long you realized something soon after. You loved your boss. Once he started to work at his pants you left, you shouldn’t see more- you wanted him to willingly show you.

Abel couldn’t have you. He told himself as much. No matter how much you put him back together he didn’t deserve you. And you didn’t need him to come in your life and ruin it the way he did with Anna- no you deserved better. He was older, he wasn’t a good man. And you needed a good man. But he couldn’t deny how he gravitated towards you, you were kind and gentle and he found himself wanting more.

“Do you want anything specific for dinner?” You called from the kitchen, plating his breakfast and making his coffee exactly how he liked- something that surprised him because you got it perfect every time.

“No sweetheart,” his nickname that made your face heat up, you heart race, “I’m gonna pull some long hours tonight. Don’t wait up for me, I’ll be home late- you should rest tonight.” He came from his room, adjusting his cufflinks and coming up in front of you. He fixed his hair, pushed back and soft, you wanted to touch and rub your hands through it. He put his hand on your cheek, rubbing softly- a habit he recently picked up, soothing himself more than you. Slowly you leaned into his touch but pulled back, he was your boss.

After his breakfast he left, taking the lunch you made him and leaving you with a quick kiss on your forehead and a smile. It didn’t mean anything. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. He was being kind and sweet like you knew him to be. You busied yourself for the rest of the day, changing his sheets and the girl’s in preparation for their visit this weekend. You washed towels, dishes- and his laundry. You saw that same button up. Crisp, white, clean and very Abel. No matter how many times you washed it- his cologne lingered. A smell that was him, musky, sweet, and gentle. Slowly you lifted it to your face and inhaled, a soft sigh leaving you because you imagined being near him, being so close to the real thing. You imagined him warm in your arms.

You shook your head, trying to rid yourself of the idea that you could have him as anything other than your boss. You knew he said he’d be home late but you still made him dinner, if he came home late he’d be hungry. He needed to take care of himself, and you figured you can take care of him this way. Making sure he eats and giving him love he hardly showed to himself. Once it was ready you made him a plate, wrapped it up to keep warm, and put it in the oven for him to enjoy later. You ate, sat in the living room and flipped through the TV- bored. Abel was usually your source of entertainment. When he was home he talked to you, he was never too tired to talk to you and tell you about his day- it was the highlight of his, all the moments he spent with you were the highlight.

“Fuck it…” you got up, shutting the TV off and walking over to the laundry room. Against your better judgment you shucked off your clothes and pulled on his white button up, soft and smooth against your skin. Then you went back into the living room, thumbing through the records he had until you found something that he often listened to- Sinatra. Maybe you wanted to imagine how a night with him would go, but nothing would be complete without a glass of his favorite scotch. After a full glass you poured another- the alcohol in your veins and easing you to sway along to the soft vocals. It made you feel good, made you feel loose and needy for Abel behind you- for him to guide you hips and pull you close into his solid chest. The music drowned out everything around you, the alcohol made you feel as if nothing mattered but your own thoughts- not even the sound of his car pulling up pulled you away.

“Having a party?” A deep voice called behind you. You didn’t hear the car. You didn’t hear his keys unlocking the door. And you didn’t hear his amused chuckle when he slowly put his coat on the hook. You gasped- turning quickly and trying to cover yourself with your hands. His shirt was short- barely skimming your thighs to conceal the fact that you didn’t have your underwear on under.

“A-Abel…” Your voice shook. He was surprised to see you like this. Seeing his shirt on your body unlocked some feral urge- like you were his and he claimed you as such. He smiled darkly, taking off his suit jacket slowly, eyeing your body again with a swipe of his tongue against his lower lip and a soft bite.

“P-please don’t fire me.” You said, barely above a whisper. He moved slowly, like a predator circling his prey- teasing almost. He shook his head, almost silencing you while he sat on the couch, large hands grabbing your abandoned glass and downing the rest of your drink in one long swallow- using his thumbs to wipe his mouth and chuckling. He patted his thigh- beckoning you to obey him.

“Come here sweetheart.” His voice was rough, deeper than usual- and commanding you in a way that you never knew it could. And you obeyed. Slowly you crossed the room towards him, careful and cautious- as if he might change his mind if you moved too quickly. How much did you actually drink? Is this actually happening? Once you stood in front of him, his hand slowly reached for the hem of his shirt, rubbing the stitching gently and raising his eyebrows in a silent asking if you could deem him worthy enough to touch your skin- and you nodded, almost ready to beg for him.

Rough calloused hands traced up your thighs, settling right under the swell of your ass when he grabbed, dragging you forward and into his lap. You didn’t have time to react- didn’t have time to even gasp because your chest was against his and you could feel how hard he was because there was nothing between the rough fabric of his pants and your bare cunt.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you like this angel…” he whispered into your neck, hands dragging up your waist and over the fabric that covered your breasts. Moaning softly, you slowly started to grind into him, catching on the seam of his zipper. This was definitely a dream- you passed out from the alcohol and this was a dream. Only it was too real- his lips felt real against your neck, his hands felt real and heavy on your waist, and his voice was real and rough in your ear.

“Do you want me baby?” He asked, pulling himself away from your neck and staring into your eyes with his large brown ones, long soft eyelashes fluttering softly. “Will you be good for me?” He asked, leaning forward and nipping at your jaw. You couldn’t answer, you just nodded and buried your hands into his soft hair, it was softer than you imagined.

“I need to hear it,” he begged, hands grabbing at your ass and dragging you into the bulge of his cock, “I need to hear that you want me sweetheart.”

“Yes-“ you whined, finally kissing his lips and moaning into it, “yes Abel I want you.” You gasped, the way his heavy palms kneaded your flesh and pulled you flush against him. He groaned into your lips, letting his tongue explore your mouth and fully wanted to consume you. You had no thoughts other than Abel- nothing else mattered in this moment other than how he was making you feel and he made you good. One hand pulled away from your ass and dragged up the front of his shirt that you wore, opening each button slowly, almost torturously slow. When he had it open to his liking his hand slid under the fabric, thumb brushing along your nipples as his lips trailed along your jaw. You could feel yourself growing wetter by the second- feel how his pants were growing damp under you.

“Can I taste you?” His kiss bruised your lips while he begged “please baby let me see how good you taste.” Giving him permission he moaned, turning you both on the couch where he laid you under him. He looked at you starved, eyes blown wide with so much lust you only saw how deep and black his pupils were. He leaned down and one arm went to rest flat and barely touched your clit. The delicate and sensitive inner flesh of your thighs brushed against his ears and you moaned softly, the intimacy of it almost too much. His other hand bent between your bodies, separating your folds for him to use his tongue. The first swipe of his tongue caught you off guard, letting out a cry so loud you think the neighbors heard.

Abel wasted no time completely drowning himself in your taste. His lips attached themselves to your clit, sucking and ever so slightly grazing his teeth against it. His fingers that kept you open for him shifted lower to collect the wetness from your entrance, then pushing forward to bury himself knuckle deep inside you. The sudden change in pleasure caused you to lift up with force, gasping for air. His arm around your hips sunk low and pushed you down, trapping you in the intense heat from his mouth. Your knees were pushed up towards your chest, almost touching your cheeks. You were folded under him with no escape from pleasure.

“Abel!” you gasped- rolling your hips up into his mouth when he added another finger. He pulled himself from your clit, wetness gathered at his chin, dazed smile on his wet lips.

“Come on angel...” he groaned, nipping at the skin on your hip, fingers slowly pushing in and out of your aching heat. You cried out, hands running into his hair and gripping tightly, pulling him roughly against you, his mouth licking around his fingers that disappeared into your tight hole. You felt waves creeping up from deep within your core as he brushed against the spot that you barely knew existed. He moaned in between your thighs, grinding himself into the fabric of the couch seeking pressure and chasing his own release. White noise and blood rushing filled your ears, a symphony of curses mixed with his own name enveloped the space you shared. Your muscles ached and whined at how you were bent in half, shuttering through the force of your orgasm.

“So good for me, baby.” He praised, licking softly, but the sensation was almost too much when trying to come down from your high. He looked otherworldly, eyes wide and heavy, mouth glistening with your own juices coating his face and stubble. He leaned down for a kiss, your taste thick on his tongue while you moaned. It was perfect. It was everything you wanted. He was everything you wanted.

“Will you let me fuck you sweetheart?” He asked, pulling himself up to bury his head in your neck.

“Please Abel-“ you begging, sitting up and dragging your hands to his belt. Fumbling with the front of his pants. He chuckled and pulled you up with him, kissing you and stumbling off the couch and towards his bedroom. Once you crossed into the room he pulled his shirt off of you and tossed it on the floor, his own clothing followed. His bed was soft, warm and had his scent laced within. He joined you on the bed where you saw him fully. His cock stood flush against his stomach and aching to be touched. You got a good look at what was to come, thick, uncut, and heavy. Abel seized you up by your hips and turned you around so your chest was flush against the covers, lifting you up slightly to angle better with a smack to your ass.

You felt him nudge against your thighs, his knees and thick thighs opening you up wide. He collected your remaining wetness and what he left of his own at the tip of his cock, let it dip between your folds and finally push into your awaiting pussy. The sound he made was animalistic, between a growl and a whimper when he finally bottomed out inside you. The stretch and almost pulsing made your jaw drop a gasp escaping your lips when he slid in.

“You feel amazing- so perfect,” His hands came up to grip your waist, letting himself start to rock into you, setting his own pace of consuming pleasure. His hands tightened around you when you clenched, milking him for every thrust he gave. Your post orgasmic haze was starting to dull, but then the next rush and wave of pleasure took over as he started a brutal pace.

“Fuck! Abel I can’t-“ you tried to form a coherent sentence, begging him for your second release. Reaching up and behind you, looking for the man that was giving you the ultimate high. He leaned down, hips stuttering when you grabbed his hair and turned back, capturing his lips in a searing kiss to complete the circle of pleasure between you two. You felt the world shift when he pushed you farther into the mattress, clit dragging softly against the fabric to aid your impending orgasm.

Abel pulled out of your pussy- but when you started to whine he nudged into your ass, asking if he could fuck you where no one else has. When you nodded, begging for him to stretch your ass open, he moaned, spitting on his cock for added wetness and pushed in slowly. He resumed kissing you- licking into your own mouth, pounding into you harder so he can catch up with his own orgasm, the bed frame starting to creak in protest. When his arm was starting to give, he reached for the headboard. Being impaled by him and while at the mercy of him, bringing him so much pleasure that he’s no longer forming full and coherent sentences, just gasps and groans, and your name.

The drag of his cock, brushing against every spot deep within you, heavy and perfectly in tune with your body. When he finally did he sounded pained, but far from it. When he came deep inside you he throbbed and stilled, your own orgasm chased after his. He reached under you to thumb at your clit, rubbing harsly and pulling a second devastating orgasm from you. His release starting to drip from your still connected bodies, down your thighs and onto the sheets , feeling obscene yet intimate between you two.

His breath was rough against your back- panting, but soothing with kisses at your neck. He pulled out, pained almost to leave your body. But when he laid back, wordlessly he pulled you flush against his chest. Soft word. Soft kisses that were very Abel. The act between you both was anything but gentle- yet it was an intimacy that he missed. It was something he shared with you and while you both drifted off he felt it.

“I love you” quietly whispered into your skin. You were awake. You heard it loud and clear. And you loved him too.

The next morning while he slept you crept out of bed, leaving a kiss to his cheek softly. You dig around the mess of clothes you both left on the floor, looking for his white button up. Once you had it on you padded into the kitchen to make him breakfast. You didn’t hear him groan when he woke up. But you felt his arms around your waist, a soft kiss on your neck.

“I love you.” This time louder. This time you repeated it back.

#abel morales x reader #abel morales fic #abel morales #oscar Isaac characters #my fic #valentine’s fic exchange #Oscar fandom fic exchange

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yolkyeomie · 3 years

Text

Ice Fairies | Hwang Hyunjin

summary — figure skaters are like ice fairies to you, and hyunjin is the prettiest fairy you’ve ever seen

word count — 2.7k words

pairing — hyunjin x gender neutral!reader

genre — figure skater!hyunjin, fluff, mc kinda pines after hyunjin but doesn’t rlly realize it

disclaimer — I actually know nothing about ice skating and ive been writing this since the moment I woke up so if it’s bad + inaccurate I’m so sorry

You had always enjoyed watching figure skaters be in their natural element, it was something about the way they skid across the ice that made you think that there was just something a little… inhuman about them.

If you were to describe what you believe they were, you say they were like fairies. The way figure skaters glittered in the reflection of the ice and the way they glided as if they had wings sprouting it from their back to fly was enough for you to think they were. But that was only from what you had seen on television. You had never seen a figure skater in person because it was wildly out of your own element to do so. And then a few months ago happened.

One day a stranger strolled into your town. It wasn’t an unlikely sight, your town was a frequent resting place for travelers. But the thing about the stranger is that when they strolled into town they didn’t feel like a stranger. In fact, they felt like they belonged. That’s something I’ve been missing in your town and the stranger had suddenly filled up the gaping hole you didn’t know needed to be filled. You thought you were just being delusional, there is no way such a strange person could make you feel this way? A person you’ve never seen in your life?

But then on a very chilly, very quiet winter day you decided to take a walk to your job. You don’t know what inclined you to do so, the weather was close to being unbearable and the ice and snow were thick on the ground from the snow storm before. But you did anyways as if you were challenging mother nature to try and stop you.

When you walk to your unbearable nine to five, there is a big lake that’s usually within your sights then. Because of the conditions beforehand it had turned into this icy winter wonderland, where the water was frozen solid and hard enough for people to walk across. It wasn’t unusual to see parents taking their bundle of children to go skating across it for fun family bonding, or see teenagers push each other towards the slick frozen over waters, so you paid no mind to it at first. But on your walk you saw something... different.

There was the stranger rhythmically moving his feet left and right, his jet black ice skates kicking up little chips and the frozen lake. He wasn’t wearing much to protect himself from the cold: just a throw on jacket and what looked to be sort of loose fitting pants. And don’t forget the low ponytail he wore his blonde hair in, the most recognizable of his lazy attire.

Why you thought he was going to freeze to death out on the lake at first.

Your brain had started functioning on its own, making decisions you weren’t fully comprehending when they happened. Before you know it, instead of being on your path to your boring nine to five, you were sliding down the side of the hill, careful not to let the snow trip you up, and calling out to him to make sure he was okay. When you had finally made it to the edge of the lake, your feet threatening to tip over and slide across its slick surface, he took notice of you. And then he jumped.

Looking back on it now, it was such a simple thing to do. But it left you in complete awe nonetheless.

Your eyes widened in pure disbelief as you watched him go from gliding with careful foot steps backwards to kicking one foot off the ground and forcefully raising the rest of his body into the air. For a moment you thought he was hovering in time, as if that one movement had stopped the flow of gravity just for him to levitate off the ice for a moment. And then in a slow motion-esqe manner you watched as he spun once in the air and then came back down landing perfectly on the same foot he started with.

A single axel, you recognized. One of the first things a figure skater learns when indulging in the sport. It looks so simple when you look at it from an outside eye but somehow it was enough to plunge you down into a world of wonder that you don’t even know you wanted to be in.

From that interaction, that's how you came to know wild and eccentric, Hwang Hyunjin. The new rising star and fan favorite within the figure skating world, and the owner of several gold medals that newbies don’t usually own. You knew that because he wouldn’t stop telling you once he got the chance. As clueless yet endearing his personality and perfectionist tendencies were, you two hit it off almost immediately. You don’t know whether it was because you like the fact that he was a figure skater, something you used to have a huge interest, or you liked him as a person but either way you two had gotten close enough for him to invite you to things outside of your little town.

One of those things, however, you did not expect to be attending one of the biggest figure skating competitions of his life.

Come with me, he said, it’ll be fun! I can show you how professional I get and how easy it is for me to win.

How it convinced you to join him on a cross-country trip is completely out of your mind. However it’s too late to go back on your words as now you were here at his competition standing on the sidelines with full moon like wide eyes looking back-and-forth between everyone who is currently in the room.

There were several other figure skaters here all warming up on the sidelines and getting ready for their performances to impress the judges. Every single one of them within the room were hoping to attend the Grand Prix of figure skating, and this competition was the last thing standing in their way to being able to compete. Despite this important detail though all of the competitors were looking around anxiously, the skin on the back of their neck standing up as they stayed on edge. There was this sense of stress within all of the skaters as the presumed to be new figure skating champion was in the building.

They were scared that no matter how well they went throughout their performance, they would be no match for the long-haired blonde you knew.

“Y/N!” A chirpy voice called out to you, like sunrays wrapped within their tone. You whirled your head around towards them, finally clicking back into the reality that you were here to support and not to gawk.

A boy not that much older than you came skipping up to you, his freckles stretching across his face like strained stars in a telescope’s eye. Lee Felix was a friend of Hyunjin, working and training under the same coach for their competitions. You had only recently met with him just a few days ago when you and Hyunjin had arrived in the city for his competition, but he already proved himself to be such a friendly and honest person that it felt like you had known him for years.

“Felix,” you grin, pushing yourself away from the railing of the ice rink to meet him halfway. Unlike many of the other figure skaters within the room, dressed in sparkly and eye-catching outfits for their performances, he was just as bundled up with warm clothing as you are. It seemed as though he was going to be watching the skaters instead of joining them on the ice for the day. “What are you doing here? Weren’t you supposed to be with your coach and Hyunjin?”

“Usually,” the boy shrugged, moving his hands within the pockets of his puffy jacket. “But I’m not the one competing today, am I? Why would I sit and listen to a lecture about doing my best and aiming for the top when it’s not even aimed at me? Plus it gets boring after awhile.”

You snort at the boy’s excuse, rolling your eyes and turning back towards the ice. “I don’t know, maybe it’s because moral support can take someone a long way?”

“Is it not enough moral support to be standing up and watching from the side lines instead of laying down in my nice, warm, cozy bed? I could be sitting right next to a heated fireplace right now but here I am standing in the cold with no blanket to wrap myself in.” Felix jeered, his eyes looking far off into a world you couldn’t see. But by the expressions on his face you could assume he was fantasizing about the warm bed he had mentioned.

“How can you be an ice skater if the only thing on your mind is a bed and warmth?” You teased.

“Hey! I can’t help the fact that being warm is the best feeling in the universe! Why do you think I like hugs so much? It’s basically just sharing body heat so you won’t be cold,” He argued, wrapping his arms around himself to mimic the gesture. “Let’s not forget the fact that some people also give out the best hugs I’ve ever felt as well.”

You had to conceal the obnoxious laugh that wanted to escape your mouth. Felix was such an endearing person, the way he acts and the way he talks were two completely different things from when he was on the ice. Or at least that’s what Hyunjin told you, but he was known for… overdramatizing things.

“Speak of the devil!” Felix exclaimed untangling his arms from around himself and pointing to the other end of the ice rink. “There’s the star of the day!”

The chitter chatter of the competitors and watchers suddenly began to lower, turning into a low mumble as everyone’s eyes were fixated on the ice skater who had just stepped on the ice to warm up with the feat of the skaters.

Figure skaters are like fairies, you remind yourself. They move across the ice as if they’re flying and they sparkle in the light with a certain ethereal and shimmer to them. You knew this, you’ve always known this about figure skaters. But there was a certain flare about Hyunjin that was simply unmatched by every other competitor in the room.

Maybe it didn’t help with the fact that Hyunjin was already conventionally attractive in your eyes, but seeing him skate across the ice in his costume for his performance was mesmerizing. The way the light bounced across the glittery blue fabric of his ruffled Victorian shirt, or the way the colors of white and blue hues would blend into a beautiful ombré when in combination with his pitch black pants and ice skates. Don’t even get started on how the way the azure blue ribbon tied up in his blond hair gave him just the right amount of purity to make him seem as though he were an angel in the flesh.

Mesmerizing, just mesmerizing.

“Hyunjin!” Felix called, waving his hands to catch the skater’s attention. The boy immediately turned the both of you, a soft smile appearing on his lips as he changed courses and began to glide towards the two of you. The bright lights of the ice rink made him shimmer like stars as he approached and the unorthodox beating of your heart was making it extremely hard to focus on one thing at a time right now. You had never seen him all dolled up and captivating while he was skating before. The best you had ever seen from him was a black skinny jeans and an overpriced on-brand hoodie.

“Felix,” He greeted, his soft smile still unchanging as he dressed his fellow skater. Hyunjin leaned up against the railing for support as his eyes then drifted towards you, adoration swirling within his irises. “Y/N. How do I look? Usually I’m not dressed too flashy but the coach thought this would be a nice change for this particular song.”

“You look nice,” you manage to choke out, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible with the burning hot reds of your ears and your clear flustered face. The figure skater pouted in response to your lackluster compliment, probably expecting a much grander praise from you seeing as this was your first time seeing him dressed in such a way. “What? I told the truth, you look nice.”

“Nothing else? Just nice?” He urged, trying to push another, higher quality compliment out of you. “What about… gorgeous? Ethereal? Bewitching? Exquisite—“

“Nice,” you repeat, absentmindedly running your hands through each strand of blond hair you could reach and gazing at the blue ribbon in his hair. “You look nice.”

“Oh,” Hyunjin nodded, melting into you as you rhythmically brushed your hands through his hair. “Alright, I’ll take that.”

“I did not come here to see you be gross with each other,” Felix chimed in, reminding the two of them that they weren’t alone at the lake in your little town, but in an ice rink filled with people whose eyes were always watching Hyunjin’s every move. The figure skater pushed himself off of the railing, putting a small distance between the two of you as a sheepish laugh escaped his mouth.

You attempted to laugh it off as well, punching Felix in the shoulder with a little too much strength to try and hide the embarrassment. How could you have forgotten that was literally right next to you? What if you slipped up and said something without realizing he was there? What if you acted without realizing everyone’s eyes were constantly on Hyunjin, and because he approached you, you as well?

Stupid Y/N. You’re so stupid, stupid, stupid—

“That’s my que,” Hyunjin gasped as a man spoke over the speakers, his words blasting into everyone’s ears to remind them that the competition would soon begin. You weren’t really paying attention to what was being said, though. Your eyes were too focused on the way the fabric of Hyunjin’s ombré blue and white shirt fit his physique perfectly and the way his hair was fell into perfect shape on his shoulders. “Wish me luck!”

“Get that first place bro,” Felix encouraged him, giving him a hard and strong high five. “Take us to the Grand Prix, I really wanna go to Tokyo this year.”

“That depends,” the figure skater said, turning towards with a shining grin plastered onto his face. “Y/N, do you wanna go to Tokyo?”

“You’re gonna put your whole rookie career on Y/N?” Felix gasped, his eyes widened in disbelief as he looked between the two of you. You don’t blame him for being so caught off guard by Hyunjin’s question, you were just as confused as Felix was.

Your bewildered expression and utter silence wasn’t being taken for an answer as Hyunjin intently looked at you, patiently waiting for you to respond despite the speakers overhead telling all skaters to clear off the ice. After taking a moment to compose yourself, you finally open your mouth to speak. “Hyunjin, you’ve been working towards the Grand Prix final for how long now? You shouldn’t be placing your entire career on—“

“Answer the question,” he interrupted. “Do you want to go to Tokyo with me?”

“Yes,” You finally answer him. “I would like to go to Tokyo with you.”

It was like your answer gave Hyunjin a sudden boost of motivation, his smile going from ear to ear and his eyes turning into little crescent moons as he began to shift to and fro on the ice. “Alright then,” He nodded, kicking himself backwards to go and join the rest of the skaters who were simply waiting for the boy to step off the ice. As he skated backwards, hands behind his back and his ice skates kicking up little chunks of ice, he kept eye contact with you and called out. “I’ll make sure I’ll take you to Tokyo, Y/N! And I’ll win the gold medal just for you!”

“Of course, you will!” You tell after him as he turned around. “You’re obligated to win me the gold medal because you brought me all the way here without telling me! Your gold medal is my gold medal!”

147 notes · View notes

not-reagan · 3 years

Text

milf: man i love forests

pairing: deforester boo seungkwan x frat boy mirror demon han jisung (side pairing reagan x rainbow)

genre: crack, strangers to friends to lovers, non-idol au

warnings: cursing, brief supernatural elements, i don’t know if this applies but all lcase, and i listened to christmas music and abba while writing this

word count: 2.7k

authors note: happy birthday @miyuuraiura !! i am so sorry about this monstrosity being your birthday gift but you asked for it so it's your fault entirely. i was gonna include some context on this story for those who are not rainbow and i but actually i don't think i will.

seungkwan did what he could to get by. he loved nature, he really did, but sometimes you have to make moral sacrifices to survive. he was a college kid strapped for cash, and when he saw a sign reading “GET RICH QUICK, INVEST IN DEFORESTATION” in the summer going into his freshmen year, he jumped at the opportunity. sure, he would have rather been a freelance singer, hired for bar-mitzvahs and children's parties, but that job market was flooded at the moment.

jisung, on the other hand, had no care for nature. actually, he didn't care for any human things, apart from “banging parties, booze, the boys™, and bitches”. he hated quite a bit about earth, the worst of all to him being college. as a demon, he had no reason to attend university, but after he was summoned in the bathroom of a frat house by the school’s power couple; rainbow and reagan, he felt obliged to follow the two around and keep them company.

for seungkwan, his main job rarely required in person work. he usually just chose plots of land to demolish, and sent plans to local managers. the only time he actually had to knock down any trees himself was during his summer break. he has a part time job of course, but it didn't provide him enough cash to survive. for someone with a job as a deforester, he truly did do what he could to save the environment. he joined his schools environmental club, becoming vice president his sophomore year because of his work with them. he kept his job a secret, not even telling his parents where the influx of cash was coming from. he kept a low profile and went through the motions of life. he didn't have much of a social life, with his small amount of friends being from the environmental club.

han jisung found joy in witnessing his professors and fellow students lose their minds over his lack of effort in class. he did the bare minimum and still passed with flying colors. most of all, it angered his seatmate in earth science, who happened to be none other than boo seungkwan. seungkwan was a hard worker in everything he did, particularly in school. he didn't get the best grades, but by no means was he the worst. averaging a steady B+, seungkwan spent most of his nights studying or working, rarely going to parties and enjoying himself only through one person karaoke rooms.

this fact upset jisung. he didn't know why, but seeing seungkwan so tired every day made him feel sad(? jisung wasn't sure what it made him feel. it was an emotion he had never experienced before. rainbow told him it meant he had a crush. to this he threw an empty soda can at them). not to mention seungkwan’s upsetting karaoke addiction, which he knew all about the danger of because of reagan, who spent most of her weekends drunk and singing. jisung didn’t know why he took such a liking to seungkwan. what he did know was that he was ecstatic to find that they would be paired together for a project. a project that required quite a bit of teamwork, and a lot of after school work sessions.

seungkwan liked to think that he didn’t hate anyone. he hated evil people, like hitler and stalin and jyp, but he didn’t really hate anyone besides the worst of the worst. that was until he experienced jisung. he wasn’t sure why jisung always talked to him when he was trying to take notes in class. he especially wasn’t sure why he was so excited to be partnered up together for the project that was worth 25% of their grade. seungkwan was less than happy to have to cooperate with jisung for an extended period of time, and he was not looking forward to letting him into his dorm room, or going anywhere near jisung’s frat house. seungkwan had no idea what he was pushed into.

they planned to meet at the cafe on campus at 5:00 pm after class. seungkwan was less than happy. jisung was thrilled. when jisung arrived seungkwan was sitting at a table drinking an americano and working on an english essay. he wasn't sure how to approach him, slowly walked closer before tapping on his shoulder. seungkwan jolted in his seat.

“jesus fuck jisung. you scared the crap out of me,” seungkwan gasped. jisung’s ears flushed as he brought his hand to the back if his neck.

“sorry,” he started, pausing for a second before starting again, “why don't we get started?”. he swung his bag down to the ground as he took a seat. seungkwan offered a small, non genuine smile before pulling out the project’s guidelines.

“let's try to finish this as quickly as possible. im pretty busy and don't have much time to fool around.” seungkwan said. jisung felt his heart drop. did seungkwan really think that little of him? granted, he always dozed off in class but he got his work done on time and in an orderly fashion. he felt his mind begin to wander. if seungkwan felt this way about him now, how would he feel when he found out that jisung was a demon. would seungkwan start to like him if he knew him better? jisung couldn't figure out why he cared so much about how seungkwan perceived him. he had never had an issue with others opinions of him before, so what made seungkwan so different? for some reason, jisung felt the need to connect with seungkwan. if not for himself, then at least to help him let loose.

after working silently on each of their portions of the projects for 3 hours, jisung finally spoke up. “do you want to maybe come to my party next month? well, it's not my party, it's for rainbow’s birthday. i know you're not one for social interaction but it would be cool to see you there. i’ll give you the details if-”

“i’d love to go,” seungkwan cut off jisung’s rambling. to be honest, he wasn't exactly sure what he was agreeing to, but he knew it would shut jisung up, and seungkwan valued his peace and quiet. part of him also just felt downright bad for the other. he seemed to be trying awfully hard to become friends with seungkwan, and he wouldn’t admit it, seungkwan had started to warm up to the boy. he really wasn’t as much of an issue as he had thought before, and was actually really respectful of seungkwan’s wishes. maybe i’ll give him a chance, seungkwan thought before going back to his work.

over the next month, jisung and seungkwan continued meeting to work on their project. seungkwan was less short with the other, and jisung was still red faced every time seungkwan decided to talk to him, which became quite frequently over the next few weeks. jisung was starting to realize that the feelings he had for seungkwan were not simply platonic, and that he didn’t just want to be friends with him. with the help of rainbow and reagan, he had come to the conclusion that he really, really liked seungkwan, and that he was going to do something about it. remembering that he had invited seungkwan to the party, he devised a plan to not only tell seungkwan about his whole “i’m actually a demon” thing, but also about his true feelings. it wouldn't be easy, but it was what he had to do.

a month later, seungkwan still wasn’t exactly sure why he had agreed to go to jisungs frat house at 9:00 pm on a saturday night. yet there he was, standing on the front porch of a large house, wondering if he should bite the bullet and walk in, or spare himself and leave right then. he didn't get a choice, however, as rainbow and reagan stepped out of the house giggling while clutching onto each other. both stopped in their tracks when they saw seungkwan. the couple and seungkwan stared at each other for a good minute before seungkwan shook himself from his trance.

“hey rainbow!” seungkwan started, “and reagan too. i know we aren’t super close, but jisung invited me and i thought i’d just drop by and wish you a happy birthday.” he passed her a birthday card filled with $50 bucks and then turned to leave. “i’ll leave you guys now. have a great birthday!” before seungkwan could get very far, however, rainbow grabbed him by the arm.

“hey, i’d love if you’d stay! at least go say hi to jisung. i’m sure he’d like to see you,” she said, silently making note to have jisung pay her back for being a great wingwoman.

“he’s probably hiding in the second floor bathroom. if you don't see him in there, just say his name three times in front of the mirror. he’ll appear.” reagan explained. seungkwan thought she was joking. how wrong he was.

following his entrance to the house, he had to refuse not one, not two, but three different people who were looking to give him bottles or cups of something which seungkwan presumed to be various types of alcohol. navigating through the house was difficult, reaching the stairs to the second floor only after running into numerous people borderline fucking on two large couches in the living room, a smoke circle taking place in what seungkwan assumed to be a dining room, and a very aggressive makeout session against a wall. once he finally reached the second floor, he had some difficulty finding the bathroom, accidentally walking in on reagan and rainbow, who had miraculously made it upstairs faster than he had.

“if you don’t stop shitting constantly i am going to break up with you! also, stop taking feet pics! it’s weird!” he heard rainbow shout.

“at least i can eat seafood! how does it make your head hurt? you’re the weakest link! that fucking seafood platter was delicious. and you know what, i’m glad i didn’t have to share it with you!” reagan responded. seungkwan quickly shut the door, not wanting to get involved in whatever drunken argument was going on there. after a bit more searching, he finally stumbled across the right room. knocking first to see if anyone was in there, he entered, and to his surprise, nobody was there. jisung was nowhere to be seen. seungkwan reviewed his options. he could a) leave the party, or b) continue to look around the packed house. but there was another option. he thought about it for a second.

“what's the harm in trying,” seungkwan thought out loud, before staring directly into the mirror.

“han jisung, han jisung, han jisung.”

nothing happened. that's what seungkwan thought, until a minute later the lights in the bathroom flickered off and the mirror began to glow. “what. the. fuck,” seungkwan managed to squeak out before falling backwards into the tub. first a leg emerged, then two arms, and finally the rest of jisung’s body.

“i feel like the genie in aladin every time i have to get into a fucking mirror,” jisung complained before seeing seungkwan toppled over. to that view, he jumped down off the counter and moved to help him up. seungkwan, aside from falling, seemed to be reacting well to the whole situation, at least in the sense that instead of freaking out he seemed to be in a state of shock. jisung took this as a good sign, and lifted the motionless body up onto the toilet seat.

“hey seungkwan, you there?” jisung waved his hand in front of seungkwan's face as he slowly came to his senses.

“what kind of twisted party trick was that?” seungkwan asked, pretty seriously. jisung just laughed.

“you summoned me from the mirror. i’m like a funny version of michael jackson except i'm a demon and not a man in the mirror.” jisung explained. seungkwan just stared. “are you ok kwan? do you want me to get you some water?”

“it was… kind of sick.” seungkwan stated. he didn't know why he wasn't scared. under any other circumstance like this one, he probably would have shit his pants. for some reason he felt comfortable around jisung. he felt warm. he felt seen. it was something he hadn't felt before. that's when he realized. he wondered why it took himself to long to figure it out. he never hated jisung. he just didn't know what to do with the fact that he made him feel special, and that he felt as though he belonged when they were together. it had hit him why he was so nervous the whole night, why he had wanted to make such a good impression, and why he was willing to embarrass himself by calling out jisungs name as opposed to just choosing to go home. it was because he loved him.

“can i tell you something?” both of the boys said at the same time. jisung giggled and seungkwan flushed red. **authors note! bonus starts here**

“you first,” seungkwan offered. he wasn't exactly sure he would be able to make it through a sentence without getting any redder than he already was.

jisung took this opportunity to finally get his true feelings out into the air, “i like you… uhh like, i like like you. i have since we first became seatmates. well, i think that's when i've liked you since. i knew whe-”

“you're rambling again,” seungkwan told him. jisung flushed a dark shade of pink. “it's a habit of yours. i think it's cute actually.” seungkwan wasn't sure where his sudden surge of confidence came from, but he was glad it came. he was standing up now, holding jisungs hands in his. jisungs heart was racing a mile a minute as he looked down at their intertwined hands and them back up, catching seungkwan looking directly at his lips. “can… can i kiss you?” seungkwan stuttered out. jisung couldn't find his words, so he opted to just nod.

when their lips connected, seungkwan could have sworn he heard fireworks. he did later find out that someone was setting off a firework in the back yard, but it was the thought that counted. their lips melted together perfectly, and seungkwan wondered why it took him so long to admit his feelings to himself. he could have been kissing jisung for a month before this.

once they finally parted, seungkwan spoke softly, “i like you too. i think that's pretty obvious now but just in case you didn't know.” jisung had the dumbest, most confused face on, and seungkwan had the brightest smile he'd ever had. seungkwan had rendered jisung speechless, for once in his life. not long after, they started kissing again, content with their emotions and their new relationship.

seungkwan was never one to believe that good things were permanent. he was overdramatic, stubborn, and hated interacting with people outside his small social circle. that was until han jisung came along. he was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, he could let someone else into his life.

jisung was a simple man. well, not a man, but he was simple nonetheless. he liked banging parties, booze, the boys™, and bitches. well maybe there was one more thing he liked. he knew for sure he liked boo seungkwan. maybe he loved him. maybe seungkwan even felt the same way.

-fin

**BONUS**

reagan and rainbow leaned up against the door to eavesdrop on their matchmaking work.

“holy shit!” reagan gasped.

“what is it?? tell me what happened. you're hogging up the door!” rainbow hissed.

“our boy is so grown up,” reagan pretended to cry. “put your goddamn ear up here.” rainbow felt her ear connect with the cold door just as jisung confessed his feelings.

“i like you… uhh like, i like like you. i have since we first became seatmates. well, i think that's when i've liked you since. i knew whe-” his next words were cut off on the girls side of the door as reagan squealed.

“shut your mouth! seungkwans saying something!!” rainbow said, obviously annoyed that reagan was obstructing her ability to hear the exchange.

“can… can i kiss you?” they heard seungkwan say. both looked at each other in shock.

“oh. my. god.” was all rainbow could say.

“i think we should give them some alone time,” reagan suggested as she tugged rainbow down the hall.

“i think we need some alone time for ourselves,” rainbow said as reagan pushed her into a random room and locked the door behind them.

#kpop #seventeen #stray kids #svt #skz #fanfic #guys i am so sorry #seungkwan #jisung #boo seungkwan #han #han jisung #a birthday gift #miyuuraiura #for you 💕#han jisung x boo seungkwan #jisung x seungkwan #han x seungkwan

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drxwsyni · 4 years

Text

Prey ︱ Yandere Keigo Takami x f!Reader

@theladyshinigami asked: “Hello! First of all, I've been looking for an account like yours for a long ass time, so thank you for existing. Second, may I request a yandere Hawks pinning for a foreigner with a siren quirk that can hypnotize people when she sings? Thanks again”

a/n: thanks for the request babes! hope you like how this turned out!

warnings: swearing, drugging, mild violence, mention of mutilation

2.9k words

It had been no surprise when the people around you deemed your future to be damned after hearing about your quirk.

Like the mythical siren, you could hypnotize people just by singing to them. It put them under a trance, allowing you to do whatever you saw fit with their mindless bodies. As much as you knew it would be more honourable to take the high road and contain your abilities, the potential it held was too great to pass up.

Now, you weren’t a ruthless killer or anything of the sort. No—you simply used your abilities every so often on the unsuspecting lowlife who probably deserved a little bad luck. Almost like a vigilante of sorts.

For the longest time your actions went unnoticed. You were smart—never staying in one place for too long. The fruits of your labor even brought you to different countries.

But good things could only last for so long, and much to your dismay—a certain avian hero picked up on your actions.

In any other case, this would’ve meant the end of your less than honourable career. But instead, the man you came to know as Hawks chose to turn a blind eye to your antics. You should be grateful—your slip up didn’t end with you in prison.

But the reality you faced now was by no means preferable.

Since being initially caught in the act, you could feel an almost constant looming presence above you. Distant, but there nonetheless. You never actually saw anything that would hint at a shadow, but the blanketed weight of instinct was undeniable. Most notably so was when you were forced to lure in unsuspecting criminals to make ends meet.

A once simple and painless task was now something you dreaded.

The crimson vale of feathers would flash before you, their owner taking a stance when you had the job done. By then you’d swiped any necessary valuables from your latest victim—but that never seemed to bother him. Like the visible vacantness of any belongings from them wasn’t a problem whatsoever, the winged hero would tie up your loose ends. Even said you were helping him out, despite your assistance not exactly being legal.

It lasted like that for a long time. Slowly, you grew to hate the means in which you kept yourself on your feet. Not because your sense of morals were shifting to hold concern for those unfortunate enough to be caught in your sights. Rather, it was because of the sights you were caught in.

Those narrowed and piercing—searching eyes always found you in your worst times. And his attitude, it was enough to give you an aneurism. So nonchalant with his dismissal of your behaviour, such a thing that goes against everything he stands for.

But perhaps, this should’ve been the first red flag that showed you he wasn’t the hero everyone knew him to be—something you were supposed to pick up on and use it to your advantage.

You didn’t have time for that though. It was more important to simply erase his taunting words and carelessly intrusive behaviour from your mind for the sake of your sanity. That, and you were much more concerned with making your next move—one that’d hopefully lead you out of the country.

Or at least far enough away from Hawks.

The back and forth to the pawn shop wasn’t the most enjoyable outing, but it was necessary. You could sense that the owners were at least a little suspicious of how much you frequented their establishment—especially given the items you’d exchanged.

Thankfully, the shop was on the bad side of town, meaning they were quite used to people like yourself. Slowly but surely, the stash you kept hidden in a floor vent in your shambly apartment grew steadily. It wasn’t much at first, but as of late you were making a point to be increasingly active with your efforts.

Everything finally came down to one night—you being immensely grateful to your recent catch. The old man was practically dripping with sin, along with undeserved riches to boot. You’d followed him from the luxurious nightclub, where you knew some less than honourable individuals did depraved things to the vulnerable.

It was just your luck—the man was mind numbingly drunk, stumbling back and forth on his feet in an attempt at a walk in a straight line.

While your quirk wouldn’t get rid of his uneasiness, it would give him more motivation to make his way towards a certain direction. One that led him right into your hands, along with his overpriced belongings.

The deed was done in less than a minute—speed being essential in not getting caught. But you weren’t the only one who held that strength to a high standard. Just as you were pocketing the last of his trinkets, you glanced upwards towards the pitch black night sky. Your eyes focused on the abyssal expanse for a few seconds—now was about the time you’d expect the crimson of his wings to grace your presence. It’d be followed by his unbearably confident remarks, and the frustrating way he’d disregard you as a threat.

But the last minute arrival never came. For the first time since you met him, Hawks didn’t show up to court off your latest prey to the police. Frankly, you didn’t mind it.

The man would never know it was you anyways, you being safe enough to keep your face hidden from prying eyes. It just meant you could return home, one very successful haul in tow with complete peace befalling your mind. No dealing with Hawks’ irritating antics—just a quiet walk back all by yourself.

Naturally, the night’s events had you in high spirits. If your calculations were correct, this would be just enough for your stash to equal out to an amount sufficient enough to get you moving again.

The thought brought a smile to your face, and with a spring in your step you trailed back to the cheap and small apartment complex you called your temporary home.

Every time you opened the front door you cringed at the sound of rusty metal rubbing together on the hinges. Now was no different as you shut the rickety frame back into its closed position, sliding the lock into place.

Removing your shoes with a sigh, you trudged to the back of the apartment where your bedroom was stationed. A cold breeze washed over you as you pushed the slightly ajar door open fully. The window was open, causing the curtains to sway under the wind's influence. Shivering slightly at the sensation, you threw your bag onto the bed and made your way to the worn down looking window.

The lock never worked on the damn thing, so there was never a need to care about if it was closed or not. But on a chilly night like tonight, you mentally cursed yourself for not taking more care in regarding it before you left. It got hot in the daytime, often resulting in it being left open for the most part. It’s only expected that every now and then you’d leave the damned thing like that, now mentally cursing yourself for doing so as the room’s temperature was unpleasantly low, shutting it with a thud.

You moved back towards your bed, unzipping your backpack and emptying the contents atop the duvet. Sorting things was always the most interesting part of your night—seeing just what people were willing to spend their money on. You picked up the wad of cash first, being decent enough not to just take his whole wallet. After thumbing through the stack, you took a bobby pin laying on your nightstand and clipped it over the papers, holding them all together.

In your early days of using your quirk to your advantage, you made the mistake of keeping all of your findings in one place. Call it karma, but at one point you were the one being robbed, both cash and other luxurious items going missing.

Now, you were smarter than that. Learning from your mistakes, you kept the two piles separate. At the moment, all cash was hidden in the floor vent.

Getting on your knees in front of the grating, you lifted the top off, letting the light from the room’s lamp flood into the small space.

The cash was gone.

Your hand dived into the metal-lined crevice, sweeping back and forth frantically. There was no way it could’ve fallen back further into the vent. The heating didn’t push that way, and even if it did you always kept the cash bundled—it was too heavy to be blown away out of arm's reach.

Your heart sunk into your chest, a gut wrenching despair taking hold of you.

“Looking for something?”

That voice—you knew who it belonged to before your head whipped around to face the direction it came from. Standing in the doorway to the bedroom, wings outstretched almost threateningly was the avian hero you’d come to hate.

And god, that smirk plastered across his face. He always wore it, like the damn thing was a permanent expression solidified into his being.

You stilled your actions, eyes unmoving from him. “Where’s my cash?” In a way, you could almost take pride in how you managed to keep a calm and steady voice. The rage was still there, but it was contained—for now.

Hawks moved past the doorway, casually stepping towards the closest nightstand. Like he hadn’t even heard you question, he idly picked up a framed photo—the only one you had of your home town that was thousands of miles away. You’d taken the shot at sundown, showcasing all its best features in the honeyed lighting cascading over it.

“Y’know, it’s almost impressive—the money you rake in.” He was still looking at the photo, eyes searching the minuscule details your camera picked up—one that you had to sell for some extra cash in the early days.

He set the frame down, smirk falling ever so slightly. It was the first time he looked even remotely serious—the casual leaned back stance doing nothing when you saw the dangerous glint in his eyes. “I simply...took it upon myself to donate the cash to a better cause.”

Your blood ran cold, the constricting feeling in your chest tightening at his words. For a moment you couldn’t respond, too mortified by his statement. The room was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop, until forcing yourself out of a stupor, you responded. “...You did what?”

In the most condescending tone of voice you’d ever heard, the winged man replied. “Hey, don’t look so surprised. I mean what were you even gonna do with it anyways?”

Still kneeling on the floor, you felt pure, seething hatred for the hero in front of you. “What was I—I was going to use it to get away from your deranged ass!”

The sound of your raised and angered voice reverberated off the walls, him paying no mind to it. “Oh, were you now?”

Almost in a lazy manner, Hawks pushed off the nightstand he was leaning on. “C’mon, you didn’t really think I’d let you get away with robbing people.” The sound of his boots hitting the floor seemed louder than they should’ve as he stalked towards your frozen form. “I mean that would be so...unheroic of me, after all.”

Even in the dim lighting of the room, his eyes were almost inhumanely bright as he looked at you like you were a piece of fresh meat.

You should’ve known this would happen. All this time spent putting together enough cash just to get yourself out of this city and far away from the man looming over you—none of it really mattering in then end.

Not if you couldn’t get out of here.

The stash of money might be gone, but you still had the belongings on your bed. They would go for a good price, and if you played your cards right it’d be enough to get you far enough away from him. It would be tight—but it’s possible.

As far as you were concerned, Hawks was no more virtuous than the lowly individuals you entranced with your quirk. It may have taken this moment to solidify it, but now you knew who he was.

Not a hero, just a man pretending to be one for his own gains.

You opened your mouth, prepared to voice whatever melody came to mind. The feeling of a hand clamping over it came before you could manage a noise, and then your back colliding with the cold hardwood.

The feeling of Hawk’s weight on your body felt crushing, rendering you completely immobilized underneath him. He had you hands pinned above your head with his free one in an almost bruising grip, you unable to move away as he sat on your hips.

“Ah ah ah—little bird.” He grunted through the words, still steady as you made some final weak attempts to throw him off before resigning to your predicament for the moment.

Hawks let a few seconds go by after you stilled, eyeing you warily in a way that you could only assume was to make sure you were fully calmed down. He let out a breathy sigh, “So, here’s how this is gonna work…”

He paused, lips upturning ever so slightly before continuing. “I’m gonna take my hand off, and if I hear so much as a peep from you, I’ll rip your fucking vocal cords out. Got it?” The casual look to his face gave a stark and disturbing contrast to his gruesome words.

You swallowed dryly, tears prickling in your eyes. He knew how much weight those words held—your quirk riding on the fact that your means of speaking were intact.

The winged man tilted his head slightly, a look of what felt like fake concern flashing across his face. “Hey, don’t go looking so scared. I don’t wanna do that, I promise.”

His words did little to ease your worries—the promise meaning absolutely nothing to you.

“Now, if you behave then maybe I’ll consider keeping you awake on the way home, okay?”

On the way home—what the fuck is he talking about?

A crease formed between your brows in confusion, mind racing from unknown sentiment. One might think you’d been running for miles with the way your heart beat was hammering inside your ribcage. But it would turn out that fear was much better at producing the same effect.

If you could manage even a second to use your quirk, he’d be done for. You shakily nodded your head, the grip on your face making the action somewhat difficult.

Hawks seemed pleased with your forced compliance, smirk widening in satisfaction.

“There’s my good little bird, now—”

His hand lifted from your mouth, and without hesitation you activated your quirk.

Or at least you tried.

You should’ve known, the man pinning you to the ground was notorious for being incredulously fast. So much so that you didn’t even see him move, only registering the feeling of a cloth sealing over your mouth and nose.

That smell—sickeningly sweet. Your eyes blew wide at the realization, body thrashing beneath him. Looking at him pleadingly didn’t work, especially when the tears running down your face blurred your vision. In the midst of you violently kicking and attempting to throw him off you, Hawks effortlessly dealt with the consequences to your actions.

“Don’t be like that, I tried—”

Even in your weakening state, you managed to knee him hard. But it was no more in force than a kitten scratch. It may have taken him off guard, even interrupting his train of thought, but he was still the one on top.

You knew you would have bruises later on, but that was the least of your worries right now.

“I tried to warn you, and it’s only fair that I hold up my end of the deal.”

The strenuous efforts of your resistance had you sucking in involuntary gulps of breath in exhaustion. You could feel your mind spinning, not being able to focus on any one thing in particular. It was a lightheaded sensation, you not even realizing that your limbs fell almost completely limp in his hold.

Your focus drifted away from the avian human above you, landing on the once opened bedroom window. Your eyelids felt increasingly heavy, once loudly muffled screams turning into defeated whimpers—and then silence.

Hawks released his iron hold on your wrists, leaning back with a deep and relieved sigh. The cloth was shoved back into his pocket, and he mentally thanked himself for bringing his car so he wouldn’t have to fly you back to his apartment for everyone to see.

It wasn’t the first time he regarded your sleeping form, face peaceful and distinctively not contorted with fear—and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. He’d known your caution well, seeing it in action the countless times he’d pry his eyes into your life. Whether it be from above on those late nights of you scrounging for cash, or through your window as you sifted through the stockpile of valuable collections. Always thinking that your efforts of evasion were enough.

Surely, after going so long with the same routine—laying low and moving against those who had bad luck coming when the opportunity arose—this new stop in your travels would show no need for change. Even when he made his presence obvious, you stayed set in your ways.

You didn’t deem him a threat. You thought that you were the apex predator, and he was nothing more than a scavenger reaping the rewards of your latest catch.

And now, he would teach you that no—he was the predator, and you were the prey.

#yandere bnha #yandere hawks #yandere keigo takami #yandere mha #yandere my hero academia #yandere #yanderecore #yandere x you #yandere keigo x reader #yandere writing

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dwellordream · 3 years

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“...Cautious young women came from all classes and backgrounds; so did those who proved most daring, experimenting, or free-spirited. Because young women of all classes had limited spending money, their most popular forms of public entertainment consisted of a variety of free, outdoor activities. For young women who lived in towns and cities, walking up and down shopping streets, looking at the window displays, evaluating the goods, discussing prices and styles, and occasionally making minor purchases while keeping an eye on other strolling shoppers provided a particularly popular form of entertainment.

In many towns, local choirs, musical ensembles, and military bands gave free Sunday afternoon concerts in public squares and parks, attracting especially young men and women, but also many working-class and lower-middle-class families whose budgets did not afford them other, more expensive forms of leisure activities. Without provisions for seating, these concerts provided ample opportunity to parade one's Sunday best, mingle, meet old friends and new acquaintances, chat, and exchange flirtatious glances.

Similarly, ice skating, another conventional pastime that attracted both young people and their parents, remained firmly within the boundaries of respectable behavior. Despite mixed-gender audiences, the participation of older adults in such activities contributed to their respectability, and even the most old-fashioned parents rarely objected to such outings. After all, shopping had long been a central component of middle-class women's leisure, and ice skating and military music hardly incited raucous behavior.

Equally popular among young women were new forms of commercial leisure activities that catered particularly, if not exclusively, to a cross class and mixed-gender clientele of adolescents and young adults. Movie theaters, for instance, attracted swarms of working-class and middle-class youths. Although many older contemporaries remained uncomfortable with the inappropriate mingling across gender and class lines and with the cheap thrills and seemingly loose moral standards of Hollywood films, young moviegoers found that the darkened auditorium offered hours of exciting, inexpensive, and easily accessible entertainment as well as a convenient place for meeting with friends and possibly engaging in courtship.

Enclosed swimming areas and public beaches also became increasingly important sites for fun, relaxation, and mixed-gender sociability in the 1910s and 1920s. While the immodesty and physical intimacy of "undressed, scantily dressed, and fully clothed people mixed together in one big confusion" often shocked traditional sensibilities, warm summer Sundays nonetheless brought such large crowds of young men and women to public beaches that popular wit soon dubbed them "flypapers."

Other popular arenas for spending leisure time included cafes and restaurants. Because of their limited resources, young women typically sought out places that served coffee and dessert rather than full meals. Yet because they were generally inclined to spend more time than money in such places, young women were often made to feel unwelcome. "If you knew the waiter, he would sometimes let you sit over the same cup of coffee all night long," Inger-Marie Rasmussen recalled, "but most often that was not possible. When a haughty waiter came by and asked if 'there was anything else?' for the second or third time, you knew it was time to go."

Besides, the presence of men who might be willing to pay the bill in exchange for female companionship made such places more precarious arenas for young women concerned about their sexual reputations. While straining limited budgets, an afternoon or evening in an amusement park was often easier to negotiate. Having paid a small entrance fee, visitors were free to stroll around, look at the various booths and rides, and enjoy free musical and theater performances, occasional fireworks, and other attractions without additional expenses.

Although some amusement parks were scorned by middle-class families because of their rowdy working-class clientele, others—such as the Tivoli Gardens in Copenhagen—were entirely respectable sites of entertainment for families as well as young, single people. Various forms of theatrical entertainment also appealed to young women. In community halls and neighborhood theaters, they enjoyed cheap slapstick comedies and amateur performances starring local talent and would-be actors.

In addition, hotels and restaurants frequently sought to lure customers into their businesses by offering some kind of stage performance as the opening act to an evening of dancing. The most popular form of theatrical entertainment was presented by the revue and vaudeville theaters that flourished in the 1910s and 1920s. Featuring evening programs of comical sketches, singing, and dancing, replete with chorus girls, lavish costumes, and elaborate stage settings, vaudeville shows attracted both young men and women looking for a good time, an easy laugh, and a spectacle of glamour and luxury.

Yet young women's participation was generally more limited than men's. Often the price of admission precluded them from attending, and sometimes the sexually suggestive character of songs and acts made them feel uncomfortable. Nonetheless, most young women managed to stay remarkably well-informed about the glamorous costumes, the musical hits, and new dance steps they generated. However, given the opportunity to choose freely among all available forms of fun and entertainment, most young women would probably not have opted for any of the amusements just mentioned. In the vast majority of cases, dancing topped their list of attractive recreational pursuits.

When, for example, the popular women's magazine Vore Darner in 1925 queried its readers about their favorite leisure activities, fully 72 percent of the respondents listed dancing as their first choice. Similarly, of the fifty-nine women interviewed for this project, at least fifty-four mentioned dancing as the favorite leisure activity of their youth. It is hardly surprising, then, that the rapidly expanding numbers of restaurants, cafes, hotels, inns, night clubs, and other establishments that offered dancing attracted vast numbers of young women. Nevertheless, public dance places remained highly controversial public settings for young women throughout the 1910s and 1920s.

Like other forms of entertainment that did not encourage community-based, intergenerational sociability, these settings were viewed with suspicion by older generations. The fact that crowded dance floors and lively music facilitated, even encouraged, easy and spontaneous physical intimacy between young men and women only heightened this suspicion. As a result, public dance places constituted an exciting, but also an especially dangerous and difficult terrain for modern young women eager to have fun without jeopardizing their reputations.

The tension between excitement and respectability was not unique to public dance places. The mixed-gender clientele and unsupervised mingling of city streets, skating rinks, public beaches, movie theaters, amusement parks, and variety shows could also throw into question the respectability of female participants. Therefore, public dance places merely represented the end point on a spectrum of controversial arenas for female leisure activities, simply heightening the conflicts young women experienced individually and in groups whenever they entered public space.

Although the companionship of female friends provided some measure of protection against potential dangers and missteps, it did not provide them with an inviolable safeguard. Even if young women trusted and depended on each other, there was always the nagging doubt that judgment calls of female friends might be wrong. As Meta Hansen poignantly remarked, "Having a girlfriend meant that you wouldn't get into trouble by yourself. It didn't mean you wouldn't get into trouble." Without female companionship, the likelihood of getting into trouble was simply too great for most young women to risk venturing out, but even the presence of female friends did not ensure safety.

To avoid making mistakes and more permanently minimize the risk of getting into trouble, young women therefore eagerly sought to determine what constituted appropriate and inappropriate behavior and activities. Throughout the 1910s and 1920s, they continually struggled to define the difference between the two, hoping to establish a set of rules that would ensure protection from moral reproach without sacrificing newfound possibilities for fun and excitement. Determining what constituted acceptable public behavior and activities was complicated by the fact that only a few public places and activities were entirely off limits for respectable woman.

Therefore, simply determining the respectable from the disreputable—and placing oneself on the right side of that line—was not an easy task. Going alone to a restaurant in the afternoon might be perfectly acceptable, for example, but enjoying a cup of coffee in the very same location at ten o'clock at night would be considered highly inappropriate. Waltzing with a young man on the skating rink was one thing; tangoing with him in a night club quite another. Similarly, if watching the latest movie release in a local theater or enjoying oneself in an amusement park in the company of girlfriends provoked only few raised eyebrows, going there alone or in the company of a man to whom one was not officially engaged was likely to generate both gossip and criticism.

"It wasn't so much what you did," Gerda Nybrandt declared when asked to explain what constituted proper behavior in her youth in Aarhus in the 1920s. "It was whom you did it with, and where you did it, and when you did it." Offering an almost identical explanation, Anna Eriksen remarked that "as long as it was daytime, people seemed to think that nothing immoral could take place. Doing the exact same thing when it was dark—now that was a different matter." Agnete Andersen recalled the code of conduct to which she adhered in a very similar way. "Well, how should I explain it?" she mused. "It was just like—you couldn't do this, but you could do that. It all depended on circumstances, whom you were out with, where you were and so on."

While in retrospect these three women maintained that "you just sort of knew" the boundary between acceptable and inappropriate public behavior, other evidence suggests that many young women at the time found determining that line an exceedingly difficult task. The fact that reliable sources of guidance were hard to come by only compounded the problem. Certainly, given their already contentious relationship, most young women did not turn to their parents for advice, and those daughters who did seek their guidance often found the older generation as confused and uncertain as they were themselves.

Since the vast majority of young women were already out of school, advice from teachers was rarely an option available to them, and adult leaders of youth clubs, concerned about their standing with parents, were generally cautious and restrictive in their counsel. Writers, intellectuals, and newspaper editors steeped in older traditions of female domesticity also seemed unqualified to guide their path. And especially in urban areas, where organized religion already had lost much of its grip on young people, the prospect of going to a minister for advice never seemed to enter their minds.

In this void, young women tended instead to look to self-proclaimed etiquette experts and advice columnists for suggestions on how to negotiate public behavior and city life. The sheer quantity of letters to women's magazines and advice columns about proper behavior speaks both to the uncertainty women felt and to the significance they attributed to knowing the limits of their new freedoms. In letter after letter, young women consulted these self-proclaimed experts both about the appropriate nature of planned events and about the specific restrictions they ought to place on their escapades.

Could a young woman go out alone at night, they wondered? If so, could she casually stroll city streets without being taken for a street walker? Could she smoke cigarettes in public? Could she wear makeup? What about high heels? Could she go to a movie theater? If so, how late? And how frequently? What about an amusement park? A restaurant? What if the restaurant featured live music and dancing? Could she go out alone if she returned home before a certain time? If so, at what time ought she be safely indoors? In response, editors of women's magazines and advice columnists generally offered very specific guidance, usually in the form of strict, inflexible directives.

"No, a young lady may not go to a restaurant alone at night," one columnist warned. "A nice girl should always be home by 11 P.M.," another enjoined her female readers. And no, a respectable young woman could "absolutely not under any circumstances" wear makeup in public—aside from "lipstick and perhaps a touch of rouge." Often, however, the logic that guided advice columnists' directives seemed incoherent, even arbitrary, and frequently their answers seemed to lack a systematic pattern. When, for instance, one advice columnist maintained that "it is perfectly acceptable for two young girls to go for an evening walk, but a group of girls strolling the streets after dark is an unfortunate phenomenon," she might very well have added to the confusion and uncertainty her readers already felt.

Moreover, while generally encouraging women to avoid being alone in public and being out too late, the advice columnists frequently differed among themselves in their assessment of what constituted proper behavior. When asked almost identical questions in 1928, Sondags B.T. declared that a young woman could absolutely not go to the theater alone, while Ugebladet found it perfectly admissible "as long as [she] makes sure to sit in the front of the theater and leaves immediately after the show."

Such disparate pieces of advice in publications that did not otherwise represent different political and cultural perspectives underscore how confusing and unsettled the standards for women's public behavior remained throughout most of the 1920s and how difficult it was for young women to find the kind of guidance they were seeking. Paradoxically, the only rule constantly reiterated was the one young women already knew and worried about—namely, that there was a boundary between respectable and disreputable behavior and that stepping over that boundary would have consequences that even young women who insisted on being "modern" and leading "modern" lives were not willing to risk.”

- Birgitte Soland, “Good Girls and Bad Girls.” from Becoming Modern: Young Women and the Reconstruction of Womanhood in the 1920s

#birgitte soland #1920s #history #danish #becoming modern

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theodora3022 · 3 years

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Goddess(Yandere Mirio)

Posting again because weird internet connection last night ate it...

Pairing: (yandere?) Pro hero! Mirio x Villain? F!reader

Summary: You were once a powerful young hero with a wind quirk. After refusing Endeavor’s proposal, you were blacklisted from the hero community. Having no choice, you begun to work as an assassin. Slitting throats without hesitation as long as it is lucrative. That is when you run into Mirio, your former classmate again. You two were not close friends, although mirio is always friendly. He was ordered to take you down, so you expected a fierce fight. What you did not anticipate is how he invited you to come with him.

Notes: Yeah this is a Mirio take on the “Fairy” concept. I recently recieved a request for this, and I just want to say I am so happy you guys love this stupid little concept. Mirio still have his quirk in this fic, and Sir Night Eye is still alive. Reblogs are comments are greatly appreciated!!

You can also see this contains an pathetic attempt to write Endeavor, but I’m not cut out for that LMAO

Warnings: slight nsfw for hcs, abuse of power(not Mirio), stalking, non-con touching, suicide attempt, drugging

They say the loveliest angels make the cruelest demons, and my darling

You were so beautiful

Before they dragged you into hell.

“You’re going to regret this decision.” That was what Endeavor said when you hand him the resignation with a straight face. However, You do not feel any regret whatsoever. You stayed silent as you began to walk out of that damned office, that courrpted agency. Paying no mind the flame man’s burning gaze on your back.

When you first started at Endeavor’s agency, you were excited. As a fresh UA Graduate, it is unusual for a top hero like Endeavor himself to offer you a position as a sidekick. It almost feels too good to be true. Well, turns out it is.

Used to loose clothing, you were shocked when your boss requested you to change your hero costume to a tight bodysuit. Being the good employee you were, you obeyed without questions. Then there are those little things, how Endeavor seems to favor you over his other subordinates, how he finds excuses to keep you near him at all times, most alarmingly, how he looks at your breasts and hips when he thought you did not notice.

You had doubts, but your boss is the No.1 hero! How can he possibly have sexual desires for a little girl like you? So you choose to ignore those red flags and carried on. Until he cornered you against the office door one day, when you came to report a minor robber you took care of earlier.

That is when you realize how you naïve you were. “Fire and winds, they go well together don’t they? I’m sure a child with those two quirks would be a powerful hero.” “Don’t touch me!” You said, almost screaming. He was pressed to a corner of his office by sudden strong currents, banging on the bookshelf that occupies it. Several books fell off, but he did not seem to bother. Even with his strength Endeavor cannot move forward a step. That pissed off look scares you, but you did allow yourself to flinch despite your trembling hands.

“You have no idea how many woman would die for an oppertunity like this.”

“Then go find them, Sir. Sorry but I will never accept this offer.”

And that is how you ended up as a sellsword, instead of a hero. You work to get paid.

Your friends use to muse about how your impeccable speed would be perfect for an assassin, and that is what you are now. Slithering in the shadows, taking life for gold. Heroes and villains alike commissioned you due to your stealthy quirk and your incredible speed.You would not exactly count yourself as a villain, although the LoV had made offers to you in the past. You walk in that grey area of society, neither good nor bad. After Endeavor blacklisted you, no agency dared to hire you. None of them are willing to evoke his wrath. This is all his plan to make you submit, to accept the position of his compliant trophy wife, his personal baby factory. But you did not give in, even that means rejections and pity from those other heroes. At last when your saving run out, you took up the LoV’s commission offer. The pay is generous, and you were in need. It is a win-win deal. Ever since you have been taking up jobs from both sides as long as the pay is good.

Your fifteen-year-old UA freshman self would never imagine becoming an assassin, but here you are, shaking hands with Kurogiri as you take the rest of the payment. They wanted you to join them, but you politely declined. You liked Toga and Spinner well enough, but some heroic part of you still cannot stand the idea of becoming a villain.

Regardless of being a mercenary, you still have your principles and morals. Aside from those contracts, you never took a life. You would still give up your seat to pregnant and elderly on the train, still picking up trash in parks. After finishing a job, you would hum little melodies as you pull the hood of your sweater over your blood-stained hair, fly home, maybe getting groceries on the way. You are merciful at what you do, always strike one lethal blow so the target would have minimal pain. Life is not easy, but you are certain this is so much better then being trapped in a manor as a housewife. Occasionally, some sketchy bounty hunter would manage to get to you, although you can always outrun them.

Mirio has a problem. It was...about a mission, concerning you.

What lies on his desk, is a detailed file of you. You in the picture were still a hero back then, smiling at the camera. How can Mirio ever forget that sweet smile?

“If I’m not mistaken, (y/n) is your old schoolmate, correct?” “Yes, Sir.” “She has been lending strength to the League of Villains as a mercenary. That makes her a criminal, even though she takes up jobs from the commission as well. We need to get her back to our side, as her winds are strong, we cannot let the villains have that. Endeavor seem to be particularly enthusiastic about this idea, oddly. I think you should be the one to do it. You can pass through anything, even her winds. Find her, bring her back, use force if possible.”

Mirio always wondered what made you leave hero life, now he got the perfect opportunity to ask you! He has not seen you in forever, this could be a little cute reunion! To be perfectly honest to himself, Mirio had a minor crush on you back w in UA. But as students you both just focused on your studies, and he never confessed.

It took him a while to track down your whearabouts, but for Mirio it was not a hard task, as the Commission has your address of the bar you frequented to take up offers.

It was a cold night, you just finished a job in the rural area of Mustafu, cleansing your daggers in a little stream in the woods when he appeared before you. Damn, how did he approach you without the winds noticing?

To Mirio, how you crouch down by the stream, how your black clothes hugs every curve of your body and especially how you focused on washing the bloodstains off your knives were absolutely stunning. You were like the huntress goddess Artemis from the Greek legends, with how the moonlight gently pooling over your frame. It might sound weird, getting turned on by a girl washing her daggers, but Mirio somehow accepts the fact that his juvenile crush has not gone away. On the contrary, it has become stronger, strong enough to be classified as love or obsession.

Now he knows why Endeavor has been so enthusiastic about the idea of capturing you. Mirio can hardly take his eyes off you himself! You were even more breathtaking in your pitch-black assassin attire compare to your hero costume. As he always loves a good mythology story, seeing you like this awaken something in him. A beautiful goddess, through and through.

You are his goddess! How can you taint your hands with blood while you can be worshipped in the temples? Being a mercenary does not suit you.

“Togata, what a surprise.” Seeing your old classmate again, you are more concerned then happy. This is a remote location, far away from any population, and he just sneaked up on you without notice. He laughs as he sees how you work up a defensive wind barrier, knowing it has no effect on permeation. Back in your schooldays he has always been a pain to defeat, since Mirio can even pass through air, your usual push away methods fail on him alone. Thankfully, he cannot fly. “Long time no see. Well, what brings you to this part of town?” Putting away your daggers back into your leather pouch, you managed to put up a polite smile even you dreaded his answer. If he is one of those bounty hunters-

“I came to see you, of course! You are so beautiful in these clothes.” Without warning, Mirio stepped close, the wind barrier does nothing to him. If this has been a normal reunion party, his words might just make you flush a bit. But this is a secluded forest.

Before you can think of a counter strategy, two big strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close towards the grinning blonde. You let out a scream as you try to wiggle out of his grasp, but it was futile. As a ranged combatant with high speed, strength was never your forte, neither is close up combat.

Why are you screaming? Don’t you see how he just want you to be treated well? This life is not for you! You deserve a loving family life, and Mirio is determined to provide that.

“Love, please do not scream. I don’t want to use a gag on you.” When you were distracted by his loving nickname, Mirio quickly slid a pair of quirk cancelling handcuffs on you.

“Let me go! Togata why are you doing this?” You are sure he has taken up the role of a bounty hunter. To your surprise, he released you from his clutches. But you were horrified to find your quirk has been restricted by those damned cuffs.

“Did Endeavor send you? I always know he is a piece of garbage, but you? Who can make my quirk useless?” Slowly backing away, trembling, you knew there is no change you can outrun Lemillion without your winds. Guess that is the end of free life. You rather be dead then be in Endeavor’s home. A quick slit can get the job done.

However, Mirio would never allow you to die. Before you can reach for your blades, he snatched the pouch out of your hands. “Endeavor? No, no. I’m not taking you to him. Don’t hurt yourself, angel.”

A wave of relief wash over you, then you hear Mirio’s words: “I’m taking you home, the commission has ordered me to make sure you don’t make any more deals with villains, and I agree. You deserve a peaceful life.”

Those are the last words you hear before blacking out from a strange, sweet scent. “Sorry to do this, my sweet, but you need to calm down and come home with me.”

As he held your unconscious body in his arms, Mirio promised himself that he will treasure you and give you the treatment you deserve. He finally found his goddess, he is not going to let go, never.

Bonus head canons:

You would wake up in Mirio’s fancy apartment, quirk cancelling collar around your neck, with mirio hugging you from behind in bed. His breath tickles your neck in the most terrifying way.

“Love, you’re finally awake! I was worrying about you overdosing.” That big smile, used to be a sign or reassurance during school days, now is a sight worthy for nightmares.

You would start kicking and screaming, wanting to get away from him.

“Togata let me go!” Your squirms are less then useless without your winds, but you have to try.

“It’s Mirio, lovely. Now how about we get you changed? I got you some pretty lingerie~”

You would shake your head and bite him, which...would result in him getting mad.

“I know it’s not right to use drugs, but you got to understand I did this all for you! That life is too dirty for someone like you, you deserved to be cherished. Lucky for you I am here to tend to all your needs.”

“But I- “ “No buts, sweetness. Now how about you get into one of those pretty outfits and show me how grateful you are? I did spare you that awful mercenary life, after all.”

You were not given a choice. Well, at least he cannot be worse then Endeavor, right? You can only gulp and comply, terrified of the alternative.

“My precious goddess...” He pulls you close, buring his nose in your hair. “I’m going to worship you so well that you forget about everything else.”

#yandere bnha #yandere mirio #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere my hero academia #yandere mirio togata #tw suicide

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