#my PI is definitely not for anyone who is easily distracted | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

titan-fodder · 3 years

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Prima Vista Part II

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Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 10.2k

Warnings: specific character attributes (not appearance, mentioned favorite color, movie, etc.), oral, rough sex, multiple orgasms, Erwin is kind of annoying, semi-exhibitionism, too much testosterone A/N: And, here we go again. Thank you to everyone who enjoyed the first part and told me about it. This one’s for y’all~

Mike immediately notices when you start to avoid him. You had already been doing it, but now it's to the point of ducking into buildings you have no business being in and walking a little too briskly when you catch sight of him somewhere on campus. You also won't get anywhere near the Pi Kappa Alpha house.

And, he gets it. He fucked up that night. Or, he didn't fuck up, but he opened up. Too much. Showed that he was willing to be vulnerable, and you obviously had not liked that.

The first week of watching you duck and cover from afar isn't so bad. He's a little bummed, yeah, but he figures you'll come around, if not for him then at least for his dick.

But, one week turns to two, and Mike gets irritated, a little angry even. Because it's not like he did anything wrong. It's not like you haven't wanted it every time.

He doesn't know your class schedule exactly, but he does know when you get out of your 11 AM and have to cross the courtyard to your dorm. It's where Mike caught you last time when he was playing frisbee with Nile, and it's where he catches you now.

Your speed walking is no match for his normal stride, and he easily closes the distance between you two and grabs your wrist to tug you toward a more private area by the library.

"What the fu—what are you doing?" You spit, pulling yourself free.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to get to my fucking room to nap! Is that okay?"

Mike ignores it, glances over his shoulder to make sure no one is watching, then asks, "Why are you avoiding me?"

Scoffing, you mumble an unconvincing, "I haven't been avoiding you."

"Bullshit."

"I've just been busy, okay? Midterms are coming up, and I'm falling behind…" He can tell you're lying by the way you can't meet his eyes. "I need to focus."

"Am I that big of a distraction?"

You don't miss a beat—"Yes," and your eyes widen at your own answer like you're surprised by it.

Mike raises his eyebrows, taken off guard, and you try to cover your tracks. "I mean, like, I don't have time to be fucking frat boys. And, I know you have the pick of the litter, so it's not like you'll go without."

He has to bite his tongue, a confession right on the tip of it—I pick you—but knows that's the last thing you want to hear. It's too early for thoughts like that anyway. You're too closed off, and he's too transparent. It's not like anything serious could work out anyway, and even if it could, he shouldn't tie himself down.

"I mean, yeah, but—"

You hold a hand up, take a deep breath. "Look, I'll be honest with you. You seem like an okay guy, but you should find some other girl to do this with. I don't wanna be another notch on your bedpost—"

"Then, don't be. We can just hang out."

"Yeah, we tried that at the party and still ended up sleeping together."

"We can make it a rule then." He's trying too hard, he knows, but he can't help it. "No fucking. I won't come onto you, and you won't come onto me."

You snort and pick at the hem of your shirt, obviously not buying any of this. "Why do you wanna be friends so bad anyway? Is it the hard-to-get thing? Is it that I'm making it difficult?"

"Maybe but not entirely."

Why does he want to be your friend so badly? You haven't given him any real reason to. You can bond over nerd shit here and there, but other than that, you don't have a lot in common.

You just seem… Cool. Aloof. Like you don't give a shit about anyone or anything, and Mike never thought he'd find that attractive in a girl, but apparently he does.

"Just come over one more time. We can watch something again or—"

"I'm not going into your room again!"

"You don't have to," Mike says, speaking with his hands to emphasize his point. "We can stay in the living room. Totally public. Any of the guys could walk in."

"Has that ever stopped any of you before?"

Not a hundred percent of the time. Mike has definitely seen more of Erwin and Gelgar than he'd like, but he can tell a little white lie.

"Yes."

You stare up at him, a skeptical look on your face, and then, "I'll see if I can pencil you in."

"Fuck yeah, I promise I'll show you a good time without, like, showing you a good time."

"Yeah, whatever."

You're unimpressed, turn to walk away, but Mike is feeling a little too triumphant, a little too bold, and catches you before you can get too far.

He premises, "Just to get it out of my system," then bends down and kisses you. Palms covering your cheeks, fingers curling around the back of your head kisses you. He uses both of his thumbs, just under your mouth, to part your lips so that he can slide his tongue past them, and you push at his chest half-heartedly, no real force to it as you let him lick into your mouth.

The first whimper that escapes you is what makes you break away, your hands stronger against him to shove him back, and Mike smirks when you glare at him.

"You're on thin fucking ice, Zacharias. Thin ice."

"I'll keep it in mind."

With that, you leave the little alcove the two of you were in, grumbling and cursing the whole way. Mike just watches the sway of your hips and licks his lips.

You come over on a Saturday afternoon. Mike can tell you've tried to make yourself look not cute in loose, ripped jeans and a t-shirt, but it doesn't work. Mike still smiles, and you still roll your eyes at him before kicking your shoes off by the door.

"Okay, so what are we doing?" You ask, sitting two cushions away from him on the couch.

"I brought my Switch in here, so we have that…"

"Oh, do you have the SNES games downloaded?"

"Dumb question. Of course I do."

"Rude. Open that shit up."

He does, and you demand to play Donkey Kong, which Mike has no problem with, but, "A please would be nice."

You click your tongue, holding your hand out for the second tiny controller and tell him, "You don't get to hear me beg anymore."

Mike feels his shorts tighten, but all he does is kick a foot over his thigh and warn you, "Best not test my self-control like that."

"Is that a threat?" You laugh, toggling down to 'Two Player' on the screen and clicking it.

"Not a threat." He bobs his head to the theme music. "Just lettin’ you know."

You get as far as Mine Cart Carnage together, but Mike ends up getting tossed from the cart, leaving you to take over as Diddy. He watches the way you move with your character, sitting up straighter, raising the controller to your chest, swaying one way then the next as if your body is tied directly to the game.

Erwin walks in a little while later when you're focused on Stop & Go Station. He sits down in a plush chair, phone in his hand that he ignores in favor of asking, "What are you guys doing out here? Shouldn't you be in Mike's room?"

Mike glances at him, gives him a look and shakes his head, but you're much less subtle when you snap, "Can it, Smith," eyes never leaving the screen.

"Don't count on that," Mike snorts. "I think it’s physically impossible for him to keep his mouth shut for longer than four seconds."

"Wooow," Erwin drawls, thick eyebrows high in offense. "I'm supposed to be able to trust you, and now you're just talking shit right in front of me."

"For some reason, I get the feeling your ego can't get bruised that easily," you muse out loud.

"I'll have you know I can be very sensitive," Erwin informs you matter-of-factly. "I have a heart. I have feelings. And, I've been told on multiple occasions that I'm more considerate than most men, so there."

You laugh, a silly sound that gets stuck in your throat. "Oh, really? And how many of those women—'cause that's what they are, I'm sure—were left behind after they built you up like that, hm?"

Biting both of his lips, Erwin sits back in his chair and crosses his arms. "I plead the fifth on that one."

"Uh huh, that's what I thought."

While you're fixated on the screen, Mike glances over at his friend, sees blue eyes shining as Erwin stares at you, a tell-tale smirk on his face. He's amused by you. Interested, even.

You stay for about an hour longer before going back to the dorms. As soon as the front door shuts, Mike swivels around and points a finger at Erwin, uttering a low, "Don't you dare," that makes the blond chuckle.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

You mostly hang out on weekends and only in small bursts. Alternating between movies and video games, it's a little hard to speak to one another, but Mike is still able to pry some information out of you and share more about himself.

You're majoring in geological and earth sciences while Mike is working toward a degree in environmental science— "Kinda weird we haven't run into each other before."

You played basketball for a year in high school before getting annoyed by the other girls. Mike, on the other hand, made some of his best friends on his old soccer team.

You had a ferret growing up and now you'll "Never get another pet again 'cause when he died, I died a little with him." (It's the first time Mike has ever seen tears in your eyes, but you blink them away at record speed). He tells you about the dogs his family has had and how the one at home with his parents now is actually his. (Her name's Scout, and I would take a bullet for her.")

Hitch is your best friend even though she irritates the shit out of you, and Mike says something similar about Erwin. "He's a good guy. He's just… Passionate about so many things. He gets obsessive. Drives me insane."

"Obsessed with that pussyyy," you joke in a deep, stupid voice.

Mike snorts, "Perv," and keeps watching the movie that's playing.

And, speaking of movies, your favorite Disney film is The Fox and The Hound— "Good taste," while his is Lion King— "Classic." As far as other movies, though, the two of you spend half an hour arguing over which Mel Brooks is the best, end up having to agree to disagree (Young Frankenstein vs. High Anxiety).

Your favorite color is green. Your favorite food is pizza (“What are you, twelve?”). Your favorite animal is the pangolin. They’re all little facts that Mike stores away, and by the end of the semester, he actually feels like he kind of knows you, and somehow, against all odds, you've managed to not hookup through it all.

That's not to say it hasn't been hard (that he hasn't been hard). Sometimes you come over in skin tight jeans or crop tops, outfits that accentuate your body in all the right ways, and Mike is pretty sure that you do it on purpose.

You're both careful not to drink too much at parties, aware of the likely consequences, but you hang around him enough to gain people's attention—jealous girls watching in disappointment, curious guys sizing you up.

Questions inevitably arise. You complain about Hitch pestering you for details that you will not give her, and he tells you how he has to keep brushing off his brothers.

"She doesn't, like, know we've had sex—would never fucking leave me alone if she did. But she and all her other little friends are so annoying about it."

You're on the steps outside of the frat house, jackets zipped up, nursing steaming cups of cocoa you got from the nearby shop.

"So, what do you tell them?" Mike asks.

You shrug your shoulders. "That we're not fucking. Just friends. They don't believe me, but that's my story, and I'm sticking to it, dammit."

Mike laughs through his nose and takes another drink. "I mean, it's not a lie since we're not fucking and we are friends."

You make a high pitched noise, doubtful, challenging. "Friends is a strong word."

"Whatever."

He's used to you doing that now, denying him every chance you get even in a joking way. You've never once admitted to any type of feelings out loud, and he isn't sure why, some kind of avoidance behavior, but he won't complain because he knows you're at least a little fond of him. You wouldn't keep spending time with him if you weren't.

Deciding to change the subject, Mike prompts, "So, Erwin's party over the break," and you glance at him over your cup with interest. "You're coming, right?"

"I don't know. Isn't it at, like, his ranch house in bum fuck nowhere?"

"Kinda. It's only about a two hour drive from here, but it's definitely off the beaten path."

"I'll have to see. Need to spend time with my mom while I can."

Understandable. He's looking forward to seeing his own parents (and Scout, of course).

The last game of the season is played and won, then finals pass after too many all-nighters and too much Red Bull. Mike actually sighs in relief when he slides into his white Wrangler, all packed up and ready to make the drive back to his house.

He sends one text before pulling out onto the main road—Be safe—and hopes he won't have to wait an entire month to see you again.

Staying with your mom is nice but always slightly depressing. The house is empty with just her in it, less lived in than ever before. You can tell exactly which spots she spends most of her time in—her office to work and the couch in front of the TV to wind down.

You sleep in your old bedroom, spend most evenings texting Hitch after your mom goes to bed, but a few conversations with Mike slip in too. He sends you several pictures of Scout—beautiful but always wearing one of those perpetual Boxer frowns—and in return, you send him pictures of the pretty betta your mother has in her office. It's the best you can do.

After a week of being in your hometown, you're ready to leave it again. It's not terrible or in a bad part of town. It's just… lacking. You'd never tell your mother this, but you have a feeling she knows. It's probably why she doesn't put up a fight when you tell her you're gonna run off for a couple days to attend Erwin's party.

"I promise I'll be back. It's just one night and then the drive back."

Her tone is very serious when she tells you to stay out of trouble, but then she walks you out to your car and hugs you, watching and waving as you drive away.

You text Erwin on the way there to ask if it's okay to arrive early—like a few hours early cause I needed to get out of my house—and he replies enthusiastically.

Absolutely! Mike and Levi are already here 😃

You have no idea who this Levi is outside of hearing Erwin mention him a few times, but you very quickly find out when you get to the large but secluded house. You see Erwin's stupid (gorgeous) vintage Mustang parked in the gravel driveway as well as Mike's white Jeep and an unfamiliar, black Prius.

All three of them are on the porch occupying outdoor chairs that probably cost more than your fucking dorm expenses, but Mike and Erwin both stand when you make your way up the sidewalk. Staying seated, or really sprawled out with his hands behind his head, is a fairly small man (boy, maybe) with inky hair and sunglasses covering his eyes. He’s dressed much differently than the other two, ripped jeans, Doc Martens, and a striped long sleeved shirt under a short sleeved band tee.

“What in the e-boy fuck…” You mutter to yourself, nodding at the blonds and letting Mike take your backpack—not that you really have a choice considering your grip on it is no match for his.

“Was the drive okay?” He asks, swinging the bag over his shoulder and making it look incredibly small.

“Yeah. Once I hit the backroads I could start going, like, eighty-five, so that shaved some time off.”

Mike snorts. “You sound like Erwin. Dude’s always speeding.”

“Don’t fucking start with me. I was in the car with you when you almost hit a pedestrian on a crosswalk.”

“We don’t talk about that.”

Everyone follows Erwin inside the house. It’s just as nice as you thought it’d be, sprawling and open with wood floors, plush furniture, and rustic decorations. There are moose antlers mounted in one room and a god damned bear head in another. It makes you roll your eyes, but to say you’re unimpressed would be a flat out lie.

“Not everyone is staying the night, but I know you have to, so just pick an upstairs room,” Erwin tells you after the grand tour. “I can take you around on the golf cart once you settle in.”

You see Mike roll his green eyes and amend, “We can take you around.”

“Yeah,” Erwin nods. “That’s what I meant.”

Levi is making a face up at Erwin, furrowed brow, squinty eyes, and a little grimace. He hasn’t said more than two words to you since you’ve arrived (“I’m Levi.”), but he doesn’t seem like the chatterbox type, a little more standoffish, and you can’t blame him for that.

“Just in case you’re wondering, I’m in the middle room,” Mike tells you with a grin.

“And why, pray tell, would I be wondering that?”

He basically sings in his deep voice, “No reason,” then walks back downstairs with Erwin and Levi, leaving you to make yourself comfortable.

You take the bedroom at the far end of the hallway out of spite more than anything, but you figure the farther away you can be from Mike the better. After setting your things down and organizing deodorant, perfume, and every day jewelry on the dresser, you join the guys downstairs to find them huddling over the kitchen island talking about plans for the night.

“Should we get a keg? It won’t be that many people, but it might be easier to just pour from one,” Erwin thinks out loud.

“Don’t bother getting a keg if it’s gonna be the same shitty beer you guys have at Pike parties,” you chime in, hip checking Mike so that he’ll scoot over and allow you join their little meeting.

Levi lets out a little laugh, the most expressive you’ve seen him so far, while the other two pout at your criticism.

“Why don’t you pick the beer then?” Erwin prompts. “Since you have such refined tastes.”

Eyebrows lifting, you laugh. “Oh, we’ve got a smartass in the house tonight.” The blond smirks and dusts off his shoulders, making Mike groan in either annoyance or embarrassment. You can’t be sure which one.

“Fuck, is this what it’s always like between you three?” Levi asks, looking between all of you. “Just constant bickering?”

“More or less.”

“That seems exhausting.”

“It is,” you confirm. “‘S’why I can only hang out with them in small doses.”

“Ouch.”

“Wounded.”

“Anyway,” you let your head hang so that all they can see is your shoulders shaking as you giggle, and when you look back up, you make sure that the smile is mostly wiped from your face. “I’m not saying I’m some kind of beer expert, but I at least know that the shit you serve at parties is rancid.”

“And yet, you always seem to forget,” Mike teases. “I always end up having to finish yours.”

“You don’t have to. You choose to, you fucking alkie.”

It’s hard to come to any sort of decision with the non-stop push and pull of the conversation, and eventually Levi just walks away to let the three of you work it out. Erwin orders a keg of Rolling Rock, says something about, “Dad won’t mind me splurging a little since I downsized this whole thing for him,” and you scoff at him.

He’s well aware of his privilege, talks about it in an ironic manner that’s both maddening and hilarious— “Father is going to let me take the yacht out this weekend,” and, “Oh, that’s not country club appropriate.” It makes you laugh every fucking time, but it also usually earns him a smack or two.

The next few hours are spent gathering party supplies and getting the house ready (as in moving some furniture around and hiding valuables). Erwin leaves to pick up the keg after assuring the vendor on the phone that he can drive to them and pay extra for the short notice. You don’t know how he manages it, but you assume his confidence has a lot to do with it.

Only about twenty people are supposed to come, “An Erwin Smith exclusive,” Mike jokes with you as you stash a couple of vases in the kitchen cabinets.

“Oh, does that mean I’m special?” You play.

“Absolutely.”

There’s something churning in your gut as you move around downstairs with Mike and Levi, an omniscient feeling, like you know how the night will end, but you’re going to fight it every step of the way. You’ve made it this long without a slip-up, and you’re determined to make it one more night.

Erwin gets back with about three hours to spare. He and Mike disappear to change into what you assume to be their usual douche-y attire, and you and Levi sit alone in the large living room waiting quietly.

You’re surprised when he speaks first, stating, “You don’t seem the sorority type.”

Turning, you try to make sense of it, respond, “Well, I’m not.” You’re almost offended that he’d even consider you were.

“Then what are you doing hanging around with those frat boy fucks?”

“Oh, that.” You sigh. “Uhh, my friend made me go to one of their parties, and I just… Made an impression, I guess.”

“You fucked one of ‘em, didn’t you?” Levi is smirking, so sure of himself that you don’t really see the point in denying it.

“Yeah.”

“Rich boy or the giant?”

You look over at him, defenses rising like they did your first night in the Pi Kappa Alpha house. “The fuck is it to you?”

Holding his hands up, Levi chuckles, “Alright, alright, forget I asked.”

You cross your arms over your chest, stare off as you wonder if it’s actually that hard to tell. You figured it would be obvious that you’re more comfortable with Mike than with Erwin, but you have been getting more used to the other brazen blond over the last few months, just like you’ve been getting a little more used to Nile and all the other brothers. You haven’t sucked any of their dicks, though.

“How’d you meet Erwin?” You try.

You’re not surprised when Levi snarks, “The fuck is it to you?”

You can’t tell if the two of you are going to leave this ranch house as mortal enemies or as friends, but it’ll definitely be one of them.

“‘Cause you don’t seem the type to hang out with them either,” you tell him.

It's definitely odd. He and Erwin have to go back some time to have been able to stick together through their college years and all of their superficial differences.

Levi admires the black polish on his nails then informs you in a bored tone, “We’ve been friends since we were kids, but it’s no big deal. Just can’t get rid of him.”

The corner of his mouth turns upward, so he can’t be too heartbroken over it. You understand that, haven’t quite been able to shake your puppy-dog of a friend since the beginning of the semester, but you’re not as annoyed about it as you pretend to be.

“They certainly do get attached,” you hum.

The two men in question join you once again, looking much more palatable in jeans and v-necks. Erwin has a button-down hanging open and rolled up to his elbows while Mike is wearing a black and white flannel in similar fashion. It’s the most casual they’ve been at a party, and you can’t help but joke, “Wow, look at you two. More human, less lizard people for once.”

Erwin rolls his eyes while Mike mumbles a Doctor Who reference that makes you suck on the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning.

He’s got his charm turned on tonight, the kind that appeals to you, which will definitely pose a problem.

People start arriving at around eight, some you recognize from the college, some you don’t who you assume to be some of Erwin’s older friends. Gelgar taps the keg within minutes of walking in then plays the role of bartender for the next ten minutes as everyone lines up for a drink. There’s liquor and mixers set up on the counter, and you consider just making your usual, but you figure you should have at least a little of the beer since you’re the one who fought for the more expensive brand.

When you get your cup, foam nearly overflowing past the rim, you take one sip only to cough it back up when Mike shows off his usual party trick—appearing out of thin air—and asks, “You gonna finish it this time?”

You splutter as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand then glare up at him. “I’m gonna try, but it’s gonna be pretty fuckin’ difficult if you keep making me spit up like a god damn baby.”

He’s amused, light eyes dancing mischievously, and you know you’re in for a long night.

Erwin has a playlist filtering through the house’s sound system, a nice balance of several different genres playing at a bearable volume for the first time. Games start up in the kitchen, rage cage around the island, beer pong at the table, and while you’re content to just wallflower in the corner, Mike drags you into it.

“You’re just as bad as Hitch," you complain, but he isn't fazed, just plants you in an open spot at the island and stands right beside you. He's gonna regret doing that; rage cage is one of the only competitive games you're actually good at, but he'll find that out.

It's fast-paced, full of screaming and laughing, jumping and shoving. You get to slam your cup into Mike's on several occasions, drawing curses from him every time.

"Honestly, it's a little embarrassing," you ridicule with a smile.

He downs the small amount of beer in the cup he pulls, adds it to the stack, then challenges, "I'll show you embarrassing. Just wait."

You've had maybe two beers altogether, but it still sends a jolt down your spine.

The two of you play another couple of rounds, and Mike does seem to catch on a little more, but he eventually bows out and pulls you away with him.

More beer. Meandering around the party. It's pretty tame in comparison to all the Pike events you've attended, but the later it gets, the rowdier everyone becomes. Music gets turned up to dance. The keg stops being used for pouring and starts being used for stands. You have the absolute pleasure of watching Erwin hold Levi upside down as the smaller man chugs as much as he can. He beats Nile's record, raises his arms in victory as Erwin shakes him by the shoulders in excitement.

"They're pretty close, yeah?"

Mike looks down at you as you stand on your tip-toes to get closer to his ear as you speak.

He nods. "I don't really understand them, but yeah. They've been friends since, like, elementary school, I think."

"No shit?"

"No shit."

You play beer pong against Gelgar and Nile, end up losing by quite a lot, and by the time you finish the remaining cups and another full drink, you're feeling good. Warm, happy, dangerously giggly.

Mike stands too close as you make your rounds to talk to people, many of them asking how the lacrosse season went. He puffs his chest a little, tries and fails to act modest, but instead of getting irritated like you usually do, you find yourself resting your cheek against his arm as you shake your head. You don't know if the action is to disagree with him or to get closer, but it makes Mike chuckle and shift so that he can wrap that arm around you and pull you to his chest instead.

He smells nice—woodsy with a sweet little bite. It makes your mouth water. You try to call back your determination from before, that readiness to fight and deny, but Mike's body is firm and massive and hot against yours, and he's also drunk and smiling sideways. His eyes are hazy and gorgeous when he peers down at you. His stubble has grown into that perfect length, the kind that feels incredible between your legs, and you can already see your hands tugging at his shaggy hair as he flips it from his face.

"You okay?" He rumbles, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

He knows. You know he knows. And, he knows that you know that—

Fuck. Stop. Just…

"What do you think?" You're aware of what you're saying. The words make perfect sense. You just can't stop them from falling from your mouth is all.

"I don't know," Mike says, a playful lilt to his voice. "Why don't you tell me?"

You're not sure if he's asking for your consent or if he just wants to humiliate you by making you spell it out for him.

"I mean…" Your gaze travels from his face to his neck to his pecs and downward. "The semester is over."

"It is," he agrees, hand moving from your waist to your hip.

"Don't really need to be, uh… What's the word…" You squeeze your eyes shut, splaying your fingers on his stomach. "Studious," you snap. "Don't need to be so studious on vacation."

Mike very slowly starts walking backwards toward the staircase, holding you at arms length by both your hips now.

"No, you really don't."

Voice of reason fading away, you step around him but grab his hand, taking the stairs two by two until you're on the balcony that wraps above the living room. Once you slip into the closer room, yours, you lock the door.

Mike's mouth is familiar in its desperation—tastes like beer and want and him. He pulls his flannel off behind him by the sleeves just in time for you to start pushing his shirt up over his abs, in awe all over again at the muscle group.

It's really not fair.

You pause between kisses to strip, smiling and groaning whenever your lips meet again. You've missed it on some level—the heat, the fucking attraction you just can't shake. All the times you hung out with him, purposely keeping distance, avoiding flirting and touching and staring—you figured it would come to a head. You even guessed there was a good chance that it would be at this party.

But, that doesn't mean you're prepared when he throws you onto the bed, doesn't prepare you for the way he bites your lip and sucks on your neck and pinches your nipples until you moan his name and grind against him, and it certainly doesn't prepare you for the way he spreads your legs, runs his nose up the inside of your thigh, then drags his tongue over your slit.

"Fuck, Mike."

He groans, quick to slide the muscle into your pulsing cunt to taste you. His fingertips are digging into the fat of your thighs, keeping you still save for your trembling which makes the feeling of his mouth even more intense. You want to buck against his face, want to put out the fire raging inside of you by moving somehow, letting some of the energy out, but you can't. All you can do is lay there as Mike licks around your hole and nibbles at your clit and laps up your juices.

"Missed this fuckin' pussy," he breathes, sucking on one of your lips and then the other, pulling blood to the surface and making them puffy and sensitive.

You card fingers through his hair before fisting your hand in it and shoving his face further into your cunt, trying as hard as you fucking can to ride any part of him you can manage—his tongue, his nose, anything that will give you friction.

The sound he makes at your pathetic attempt is bestial, a low, throaty grunt as he rubs his chin up and down your slit, drenching himself in your slick and quickly overstimulating your swollen clit with his stubble.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck—"

"You wanted it," he grits. "You pushed your sloppy little cunt right in my face, so now you've gotta take everything I give you."

You cry as he continues the motion, pussy drooling as the little bud starts to grow raw. "Mike, please, please…"

"Gonna make sure you feel this tomorrow." He stops only to lean back down and suck your clit into his mouth. The tip of his tongue is soft in comparison to the coarse hair, but it still makes your hips twitch, and when he grazes his teeth over it, you squeal and kick.

It's so close to hurting, right on the edge, but it's that helplessness that has you steadily leaking on the bed. It's what makes it easy for Mike to push a finger into your clenching hole, pump a couple times, then slide another one in beside it.

Your climax is coiling in your gut, compressed like a spring and only getting tighter with every thrust of long, thick fingers and every measured flick of his tongue.

Gripping his hair again, you ride it out. Mike loosens his grip just enough to allow you to undulate in time with the waves that wash over you, and you moan loudly as he moves to flatten his tongue over your entrance so that you come on and against it.

He gives you some time to settle down, but you know he isn't done yet, and since you're not quite ready to take his cock in your sensitive pussy, you pull your legs from the sides of his head and crawl to lay with your head off the side of the bed.

Mike gets the picture immediately, and you hear a huff of air leave him all at once before he clambers off the mattress to position himself at the edge. You're a little too low, so he grabs all four pillows to shove under you, and as he does, you lavish his bobbing cock with kitten licks, going as far as sucking on his balls when he leans over you.

"Jesus fucking—"

You can feel the way they tighten, his cockhead dripping pre that lands just below the notch of your sternum. It isn't until he's thoroughly coated in spit that you stop and let him straighten, then open your mouth and relax your shoulders.

Mike is careful as he slides his tip past your lips, letting you adjust to the weight of his cock in your mouth before he pushes in a little further. Your eyes start watering as soon as he passes between your molars, making you stretch your jaw and drool from the corners of your mouth.

He pulls out then, taps his cockhead on your cheek, leaving a mix of precum and spit on your skin before lining himself up again and sliding back in.

He repeats the process a few times as if it'll actually get you used to his size, but it's just not possible. You gag and gurgle, slurp back drool when you're given the chance, and your entire body throbs when Mike tells you, "I'm gonna give you more now, okay? Wanna see your throat bulge with my cock."

You moan around him, try to make the passage of your mouth and esophagus as straight as possible then let your eyes roll back as he slips into the tighter sleeve for a few seconds. Your toes dig into the bedspread, fingers clawing at the material as you fight back the panic that comes with not being able to breathe.

Mike pulls out panting, and you wish you could see his face, the look in his eyes, but you can't. All you can do is lap at his cock until he pushes it into your mouth again.

This time when he slips into your throat, he reaches down to press a hand to your neck, letting out a deep, disbelieving laugh as he feels the way his length moves in it. "Holy shit. I could—" he just barely gives you more, and your responding whine is completely muffled by him, "—Could come like this."

The thought makes you tingle. Or maybe that's the lack of oxygen. You are feeling a little lightheaded. But the idea of him coming down your throat, right into your stomach, fuck, it makes your cunt pulse again.

Mike pulls out, and you suck in deep breaths, a little sob making your chest heave. Tears are streaming from your eyes, getting caught in your hair, and you have to wipe other various fluids from your face.

He helps you sit back up, rubs your shoulders and kisses the back of your neck as your heart rate returns to normal. As soon as he sees you relax, though, he's tugging you from the bed and bending you over it.

The scream that's pushed from you is hoarse as you're split open on his cock. Mike holds you by the hair, pulling your head back as he snaps his hips forward and back relentlessly. He slides in and out of you easily, but that doesn't mean he isn't stretching you to your breaking point.

You shake on the bed, thankful when he lets go of your head so that you can fall back to the mattress, crying and moaning all you want.

"Feel so good, baby," Mike groans. "So good."

He punctuates it with a slap to your ass that causes you to squeeze him, and that only encourages him to repeat the action until both your cheeks are radiating heat and stinging from his hands.

He flips you like a doll, and you're finally able to see his face clearly as he stares down at you with a dropped jaw and heavy lids. You know you're a mess, fucked out and sloppy, but as he abuses your g-spot with the ridge of his cock, all you can do is grin drunkenly and let your eyes roll.

"So pretty when you smile," he praises. Fingers grip your chin, and when you're able to focus your gaze again you find Mike leaning over you, face level with yours. "Open your mouth for me." His tone is soft yet demanding, and you don't hesitate for a second as you do what you're told.

Mike pushes spit through his lips, letting it drip and stretch until it lands on your tongue. It makes you feel cheap and disgusting, but it doesn't stop you from squirting around him.

Devolving into nothing more than grunts and groans, Mike continues to fuck into you but straightens so that he can reach your clit better. He flicks it back and forth until your true orgasm hits you, and then he keeps going.

You cry out, squirm wildly beneath him, but all it results in is two fingers being shoved in your mouth. Stroking over the back of your tongue, more saliva pours from your mouth just like the slick that pours from your pussy while he toys with your clit.

You come again. And again. When Mike finally removes his hand from between your legs, you're nothing more than a puddle, moaning and crying for him.

Every orgasm has made your walls swell around him, his cock feeling longer and thicker than ever as he kisses your cervix with every thrust. That lightheaded sensation is back, white dots dancing around your eyes, and you just barely manage out his name, tapping in his forearm.

"Need… need…"

"What do you need, babe?"

Your arms curl up by your head, fingers moving and spasming as every one of your senses is overwhelmed.

"Need you to—t-to—to come. Need you to c-come."

You've never had to tap out before, but you can't take him anymore. His size. His expression. His lack of fucking mercy.

"Yeah?" He coos, but his cock is still dragging in and out of you. You nod, but Mike draws it out, asking, "Where do you want me to come?"

"Don't… Care…"

"You don't care?" He's still moving, fucking you absolutely stupid as he lists out, "Your face? Your tits?" He gropes your chest, pinching both nipples, and the fact that you don't even whimper must clue him into the fact that he's about to lose you.

Your mind is swimming, fading every time he pulls out only to be brought back online when he pushes back in.

"What about your pussy? Want me to come all over your pussy?"

You moan, the simplest part of your brain apparently finding that appealing, so after a few more thrusts, Mike pulls out entirely and jerks himself off until he covers your folds in hot cum. He gets some on your thighs, some on your pelvis, soaks your peaking clit so that you take in a stuttering breath.

His hand is between your legs again, fingertips spreading the viscous fluid around and dipping into your slit.

Your eyes shoot open for the first time in God knows how long, a panicked, "M-Mike," tumbling from your lips, but he hushes you.

"I'm not pushing it inside or anything. Just having fun."

And, fuck, tonight is the night you learn how filthy he is. Mike spends a few solid minutes rubbing his seed over your puffy lips, fingers the raw tissue around your hole so that you leak for him, then uses it to massage your clit slowly and softly, pulling one last orgasm from you that makes fresh tears spring in your eyes.

You're going to be in a world of pain tomorrow, but you can't regret it—not when your legs continue to shake long after your climax, not when you can already feel that satisfying ache deep inside of you, not when Mike crawls to sit on the bed and lifts you into his arms.

"You okay?" He asks into your hair.

He's rubbing soothing circles on your stomach as you drift in and out. You know you need to shower, but you're so tired and so wrecked, you doubt you'll be able to stand for long enough to clean yourself.

"Did I hurt you?"

"Mm, little bit," you tell him honestly. You can actually feel his heart start to beat harder in his chest, so you reassure him, "Liked it, though."

You think something like twenty minutes pass, but you can't be sure as you keep dozing. It's hard not to with Mike rubbing your stomach, his body rising and falling in rhythm with every breath he takes.

When your eyes open more than halfway, you begin to move, grimacing at the soreness between your legs as well as the mess.

"'m gonna hop in the shower," you announce.

Mike sits up too, stretches his arms and asks through a groan, "Want me to come with?"

"You've done enough coming tonight," you snort. "But nah, I can clean myself on my own."

His eyebrows furrow, but he doesn't say anything, just lets you get up and walk to the bathroom on shaky legs.

The hot water almost puts you back to sleep. You manage to rinse off where you need to, step back into the room fully expecting to see Mike passed out in your bed, but he's nowhere to be found.

As you crawl under the covers, you try to swallow the feeling of disappointment that's stuck in your throat.

Mike is up before almost everyone in the house the next morning, so he spends most of it trying to clean up alongside Levi, though he apparently isn't doing a very good job of it according to the smaller man.

"Jesus, have you ever mopped a floor in your life?"

"Oh, so we're just throwing everything in the same trash bag? No recycling? Your future kids will thank you for that, I'm sure."

"No, there's no way I’m letting you wipe down the counters. Just move."

Levi is lucky Mike is as laid back as he is otherwise he would have thrown the little fuck into the koi pond behind the house a long time ago.

Erwin wakes up around nine and walks down looking a little rough, but Mike has definitely seen him in worse states.

"Thanks for cleaning up," he says, bent over the island and holding his head in his hands. "Pretty sure I would have thrown up if I'd tried. Several times."

He tells the other two that pretty much everyone else started heading out at around three and that he has a list of party-goers he needs to text to make sure they made it home in one piece, "When I can actually fucking see straight."

Naturally, the conversation turns to Mike. Erwin, with his cheek now pressed against the cool, granite countertop, smirks up at him and asks in a sly voice, "So, how was your night?'

Mike bites his lip to hide a smile, leans out of the kitchen to make sure you aren't stumbling down the stairs or traipsing about the house, then looks back to his friend and laughs, "Fucking mind-blowing, dude." He doesn't go into explicit detail—that's never been his style—but he does whisper about you taking him better than any other girl and that he's, "Addicted, dude. I genuinely think I am addicted to her pussy."

"Don't be fucking dramatic, Zacharias," you pop out behind him, slapping his back as you pass him to get to the fridge. He can see the ghost of a smile turning your lips up, but it's hard to feel satisfied at that when his own face is beet red.

Looking at Erwin, Mike throws his hands out by his side, mutters an incredulous, "Dude," that makes the other blond chuckle.

You grab a water bottle from the refrigerator, making Levi grumble, "Are none of you guys concerned about the planet? God damn."

Standing between Mike and Erwin, you take a few gulps, all eyes on you until you swallow and question, "Can I help you?" Now that you're right next to him, Mike can hear a scratchiness to your voice, almost as if you're getting sick, but he knows better, knows exactly where it came from, and fuck if it doesn't make him twitch in his sweats.

"Have a good time at the party?" Erwin pries once again.

You look at him with a deadpan expression, then answer, "Seems like you already got the deets, so sure. I had a grand time."

Mike isn't sure if you're being sarcastic about it just like you are everything else. You had just kind of left him hanging when you'd gone to shower. He hadn't thought too much into it even if he'd been a little bummed, but he thinks he understands. You just need more space than he does.

Or, it could have been that you hadn't enjoyed yourself. Oh god, what if you'd just been faking? What if you'd lied to him when he asked if he hurt you? What if you're in pain right now and just hiding it?

Mike zones out while you talk with Erwin and Levi about plans for the day, works himself into a nice little panic but is still able to hear you tell them you're just gonna head back to your mom's.

"You sure?" Erwin asks. "I know you only planned to stay one night, but you're more than welcome to hang out for longer. We’ll be here for at least another few days."

Levi adds an, "Unfortunately," that earns him a hair ruffle he swats away.

"No, it's cool. I can't leave mom alone for the holiday or she'll start to think I don't like staying at the house."

"You don't, though."

"Yeah, but she doesn't have to know that."

Mike stares after you as you take your water bottle and return upstairs, and it doesn't escape the notice of the other two men.

"You're so fuckin' whipped, man," Erwin teases.

Mike doesn't deny it, just holds up a middle finger.

Erwin isn't entirely wrong, though. Mike has been trying to deny it or play it off as nothing more than lust, but there's more to his feelings at this point. He tries not to be obvious around you, to keep his cards close to his chest because he knows you just want to keep things casual—barely even want that if he's being honest.

So he can hide it. He can pretend it isn't happening. In fact, Mike should be thankful that you only want sex (sometimes) because it leaves him to do whatever he wants. He could fuck other chicks left and right, and you wouldn't even bat an eyelash. That's a good thing, right?

That worry about last night still has him on edge, though, so before you can leave, Mike catches you in your room as you're packing up and closes the door.

He expects you to make some kind of comment about not being able to go again, but all you do is tilt your head to the side in a dangerously cute way.

"Hey, I, uh… I just wanted to make sure you felt okay after last night."

You blink at him, pause in folding your clothes, then show a wide, real grin.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Sore in various places—like, super sore—but I'm fine."

Mike's mouth twists to hide his smirk, and he mumbles a low, "Sorry."

"Don't ever apologize for your monster cock," you tell him, setting your shirt down on the mattress before pacing over to him. "Like, unless there's tearing of some sort, which there really shouldn't be since you're good at preparation, whoever you fuck should be okay. Sore but okay."

His eyes go a little wide when you stop in front of him, looking up with an expression he's really never seen before—or maybe that you've never allowed him to see before—and the longer he stares, the more he realizes that you're god damn glowing.

Taking a chance, he finds your waist with his hands, inches just a little closer, then leans down when you stand on your toes and tug him by the shirt.

You taste like peppermint and already smell like the perfume you wear every day, the scent that has made Mike dizzy for the past few months. He moves a hand to your back to press your body into his, and when you take his bottom lip into your mouth, biting and sucking, he groans and pulls back before he can get too hard.

"What's all this? Why are you so perky this morning?"

"I get giddy after good sex," you say with a shrug. "Sue me."

"That why you run away every time I fuck you?" He questions.

You nod. "Couldn't run away this time, though."

"I'm sure it's really bruising your pride, letting me see you all warm and gooey."

"I am not warm and gooey," you protest. "I was last night, but—"

"Aw, gross, why'd you have to say it like that?"

You giggle—giggle—then remind him, "You're the one who felt the need to fucking fingerpaint."

Mike vividly remembers the way your pussy looked covered in his cum, the way it felt to smear it and play with your swollen entrance and clit, and now… Now he is definitely hard again.

"Better stop before you end up on that bed again."

Your eyes are dancing, tone mischievous when you respond, "Only if you're gentle."

"Christ—"

He's got you naked and spread on the mattress in less than thirty seconds, tongue buried in your cunt as he soothes every part of you he can reach.

It would be cruel to actually fuck you again. He knows you're probably a little more tender than you're letting on, so Mike settles for licking into you and flicking your clit, never using teeth as it swells in his mouth so that you pant and moan, and promise, "I can handle it, Mike, I can…"

"I don't care if you can or can't. Just lemme do this."

And, it's not like he hasn't pulled his cock from his pants, pumping it and coating his length in the pre-cum he drips at the mere sight of you.

He can tell you're getting close when your thighs start to tense. You alternate between shifting your hips and going slack. It's the latter that you leak the most, pussy opening around his tongue only to clench a few seconds later.

"Just one finger, Mike, please, I want—I need something inside me, please, please," you moan.

Mike turns his face to kiss your thigh, sighing but giving in easily when he acquiesces, "Only one."

The noise you make as he slides his middle finger into you is like music, high pitched and drawn out, with an awe one would sing hymns with.

"Yes, yes, yes, thank you, fuck, tha—"

He understands why you wanted it so badly when he pulls it out and sees his finger coated in white, considers fucking you with it to the point of tears, but before he can, the door to the bedroom swings open and fucking Erwin walks in to ask, "Levi and I are going to the store—"

“Jesus fuck, Erwin!" Mike swears. "A little busy here!"

His friend is unfazed, but more importantly, you are too, arching your back, pulling Mike's hair to get him back where you want him, then moaning his name like you never have before as you come.

You tremble and take in stuttering breaths, and Mike does his best to hide your exposed pussy from prying eyes as he looks at Erwin and barks out a furious, "No, I don't need anything from the store. Get out."

The blond shrugs and turns, walking out without shutting the door, and Mike swears he's gonna kill him. He's too bold and too entitled and now he's seen far too much of your body, and Mike doesn't like that.

"Did you come?" You ask in an airy voice. Mike guesses you could feel the rhythm of his hand on his cock, probably pushing his face harder against you with every pass.

"Uh, no. I don't know if you noticed, but Erwin walked in."

"I noticed," you snort, sitting up on your elbows. "Why do you think I moaned your name like that?"

"What?" It had seemed a little odd. Mike knows he's pretty good at oral, but you've never made a sound like that before.

"Fucker wanted to see what we were up to, I decided to show him. Now he knows how good you are."

Mike stands, peers down at you skeptically and says, "You're being too nice to me today. It's freakin' me out a little."

He doesn't think it's necessary to add that Erwin is already aware of his sexual prowess considering they definitely had a threesome with a rather adventurous girl back in freshman year. It's just not pertinent information.

"Soak it up, Zacharias. I'm sure the good mood will be gone by tomorrow."

"Why, cause I won't be at your mom's to fuck you stupid every night?" His voice comes out cocky, but it's stifled by the way you squeal when he slaps a hand over your wet pussy.

"I'm sensitive, you asshole!" You're smiling even as you whine. "And, here I was about to give you head to get you off."

"I mean, you can still do that."

You glare up at him the whole time you slide off the bed to your knees, warn, "Better hope I don't bite."

After you leave (and after making out against Mike’s Wrangler for a little too long), he goes back inside to find Erwin and Levi lounging in the den with a movie playing. He wastes no time in snapping his fingers at Erwin and commanding, "We're gonna talk."

"Oh, are we?" Erwin doesn't even look away until Mike grabs the back of his shirt, and only then does he move from his spot. "Okay, okay, watch the wrinkles, bro."

He follows Mike into the kitchen, out of earshot unless either of them raise their voices which… Could happen.

"What the fuck was that?" Mike hisses.

Erwin looks at him with big blue eyes and plays dumb, "What the fuck was what?"

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Mike makes sure his voice comes out low and steady, "Smith, I swear to God, it's been a long time since I've punched you, but you're fuckin' testing me, dude."

Erwin smiles, face lighting up with what looks like excitement but could also be fury.

"Mike," he starts. "Don't tell me you're getting violent over a girl." His tone is patronizing, his eyebrows are high, and his grin is downright menacing.

"I haven't gotten violent yet," Mike grits.

"Hey, how was I to know what you two were doing up there?"

"It's not about you walking in, dude! It's about you just fucking standing there!"

Erwin chuckles and blows him off, "Mike, I've seen your dick before. You've got nothing to worry about."

"That's not what I'm worried about. You just, like, came in when she was in a vulnerable position, and that's fucked up."

"She didn't seem to mind."

Mike sucks his teeth, takes another grounding breath, then asks again, "Why? Why did you wait to leave?"

"You want me to be honest?" Erwin rolls his neck then his shoulders. Mike has seen him do that many times before lacrosse games to loosen up—to get ready for a fight.

Mike's fist clenches at his side. "Yeah, I do."

"You've been making yourself crazy over this girl since the start of the semester, and I want to know why."

"What do you mean?" Mike doesn't know why he asks, has a pretty good idea of what Erwin is alluding to.

The blond still dodges the question but in about the worst way possible. "It's not like you two are exclusive or anything."

Mike feels the way his lungs fill to the point of burning, how his jaw clenches until his molars begin to ache under the pressure, and before he really knows what's happening, he's bowing up to his best friend.

Erwin matches him, only a couple inches shorter, chin tilted, that maddening light in his eyes.

"Walk away, Mike," he warns. "And, we can forget this little spat even happened."

Mike peers down his nose at him, trying to rein in his emotions because Erwin is right. You two aren't exclusive. You don't want to be. You told him it was because you need to focus on school, but it could be that you want other options.

But fuck, Mike doesn't want Erwin to be one of them. He's stolen more than a few girls right from under Mike's nose with his stupid charm and stupid face and stupid money. He doesn't want you to fall prey to all of it too.

Mike doesn't even register the quiet footsteps padding into the kitchen, but Levi's smartass, "You guys about to kiss or somethin'?" definitely snaps him out of his head.

Stepping back, Mike resists the urge to punch the counter and break his fucking hand, then turns and strides out.

He's supposed to stay at the ranch house for a couple more days, but Mike needs to distance himself before he does something stupid.

When he comes back downstairs with his bag on his shoulder and his keys in his hand, Erwin seems to realize his error on at least some level and stands from his place on the couch.

"Mike, come on, I'm sor—"

"Let me cool off, dude,” Mike snaps.

Erwin shuts his mouth and sits back down, smart enough not to follow Mike outside.

[ next ]

#mike zacharias x reader #miche zacharias x reader #aot x reader #aot fanfic #mels prima vista #mels frat house

282 notes · View notes

eurydicees · 3 years

Text

true enough to be convincing, unruly enough to be real

summary: tamaki needs someone to date, just for a week. it’s not a big deal, it isn’t. kyoya can pretend to be in love with tamaki for a few days. what could go wrong? the classic tale of boys fake date, boy wears other boy’s jacket, said boy is suddenly maybe not faking it so much as actually falling in love.

prompts: 3 + 28: fake dating + wearing the other’s clothes. for @wishiwasntstillhere ! i hope you enjoy :)

pairings: tamaki suoh/kyoya ootori

words: 3,441

warnings: none

“We have to be convincing,” Tamaki says, waving an arm vaguely in Kyoya’s direction. He has a tendency to talk with his hands, every other word emphasized by a wave or a clap or a clench of his fists. “We have to go all out.”

Kyoya closes his eyes, leaning against the headboard of Tamaki’s bed. They’re in Tamaki’s bedroom in the second Suoh mansion; Tamaki pacing in circles and the long-suffering Kyoya only half following what he’s saying. He’s still stuck on Tamaki’s words from five minutes ago: we should date. Oh, no, no— not for real, I mean— just pretend, for a bit. We should fake date, just for a week or so.

“Stop,” Kyoya says, squeezing his eyes tighter shut. Judging by the lack of creaking of the floorboards, Tamaki has stopped pacing and is staring at him. “Why do we need to do this?”

Tamaki sighs, and Kyoya looks over at him as Tamaki moves to sit on the bed. The mattress dips as he sits down, his hands going to rest on Kyoya’s ankles. “I kind of… Look, okay, there was this girl and she was asking me out and she was, like, so earnest about it, and I wanted to let her down easy, so—”

“So you told her we were dating?” Kyoya asks, raising an eyebrow. “That’s the stupidest and most you thing I’ve ever heard.”

Tamaki groans, pushing Kyoya’s ankles away from him. “I didn’t say it was you specifically, I just said that I was dating someone.”

“Then why are you asking me?” Kyoya licks his lips, studying Tamaki closely. There’s no reason that it has to be Kyoya that Tamaki is fake dating. “Literally anyone else would be better for this.”

Tamaki shrugs. “You’re the best liar I know, and…”

“And?”

“And I trust you,” Tamaki says, more in a breath than in words. He shifts, now sitting cross legged on the bed, pressing his hands against his knees. “You’re the only one I could pull this off with.”

“Not Haruhi?”

Tamaki shrugs. “I already asked her, and she laughed in my face.”

Something in Kyoya’s stomach drops at that, and he doesn’t know what it is, or why it bothers him, but there’s a sinking disappointment in his stomach that itches like a word on the tip of his tongue. It shouldn’t matter; Kyoya doesn’t even want to do this. He should be laughing just as Haruhi had apparently done, when Tamaki asked her first.

“Right,” Kyoya chokes out. He shouldn’t be so affected by that. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about any of this. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

Tamaki breaks out in a grin. “Thank you, mon ami. I owe you one—”

“You owe me everything,” Kyoya mutters. He inhales deeply. “What do you need specifically?”

“I don’t know,” Tamaki admits. He drops his hands to his ankles, swaying forwards and backwards as he looks at Kyoya. He’s never been one for sitting still. “Just… what people in relationships do.”

Kyoya narrows his eyes. “Tamaki. Have you ever been in a relationship before?”

There’s a pause. Then, “You know the answer to that question.”

Kyoya does know the answer to that one— no, neither of them have been in a relationship. Great, Kyoya thinks somewhat bitterly, his first relationship is going to be both fake and with Tamaki. He should be angry about that, but there’s a kind of swirl of confusion in his head instead, and he hates it.

“Well,” Kyoya says, sighing. He leans his head against the wall, the edge of the headboard digging into his shoulder blades. “Things people do in relationships. They’re around each other all of the time, they make each other laugh, they… touch.”

“Right,” Tamaki agrees. He’s still swaying, and Kyoya is finding the sound of shifting of fabric incredibly distracting. “They kiss.”

Kyoya swallows. He can feel the tips of his ears heating up. “We’re not kissing.”

“Please?”

“No,” Kyoya says firmly. “We have to have some boundaries, at least.”

Tamaki sighs, but then brushes it off with a shrug. “I guess that’s fair. Can we at least… kiss each other on the cheek?”

“If you insist.”

Kyoya finally meets Tamaki’s gaze, searching for some kind of joke resting in his eyes, some kind of laughter. But there’s nothing. Tamaki is deadly serious about all of this, and Kyoya can’t figure out how to feel about it.

He hates it, he wants to hate it, this is a ridiculous scheme, and it’s going to crash and burn around them, and for some reason, he wants to try anyway. It’s just like it was with the host club, Tamaki says an idea and Kyoya can’t help but fall in line, just another captivated Ouran student following Tamaki, Kyoya’s own personal pied piper.

“Thank you for this,” Tamaki says again, and Kyoya just nods numbly. “It’ll only be for a week and then you can publicly dump me, if you want.”

“I wouldn’t do it publicly.” Kyoya says it absentmindedly, not really thinking about what he’s saying, but then his brain kicks in again, and he’s suddenly thinking about this ending. What are they going to do when it’s over? It’s just a fake relationship, but there are careful, tight lines in their friendship, and Kyoya has just agreed to cross all of them.

He thinks back to what he had told Haruhi only a few weeks ago, that his friendship with Tamaki is based entirely on self interest. It’s not true, and everyone around them knows it. It’s just that they genuinely like being around each other; but Kyoya will turn over in his grave before he ever says that out loud. Even if they genuinely like each other, there are still lines.

Then again, Kyoya draws careful lines in the sand with everyone he meets and interacts with. Lines between acquaintance and ally. Between business partner and friend. Between friend and family. Between friend and lover. Within those lines, too, there are promises that Kyoya makes to himself— you can never let a hand linger too long, or your gaze hover on someone for even seconds past friendly, or your thoughts center around one idea for too long.

All of those rules go out of the window when he’s around Tamaki.

When he leaves the Suoh manion and heads home, Kyoya can’t tear his thoughts away from Tamaki. He can’t stop thinking about this plan, about this ridiculous secret that they’re both now holding. Tamaki had seen him off at the door, kissing his cheek, like any good boyfriend would do, Kyoya, and Kyoya can still feel the warmth of Tamaki’s lips against his cheek. It’s the cold, Kyoya tells himself, and not a blush that lingers on his cheeks long after he’s left the Suoh property.

He tries to shove the whole plan out of his head that night. He has to, just to be able to sleep at night, just to be able to stop thinking about Tamaki. He doesn’t think he’s felt this obsessive since he first met Tamaki and drove himself crazy trying to fulfill his every whim as they traveled around Japan.

It’s not until the next morning, finding himself in a shopping center with the Hitachiin twins, that he realizes that fake dating Tamaki means that everyone around them thinks they suddenly get to judge their… relationship.

Kyoya didn’t know what he expected, knowing them. He didn’t know why he thought for even a second that they wouldn’t care— it’s not necessarily judgement that he’s suddenly faced with, but it’s definitely a conversation he hadn’t meant to start, and didn’t particularly want to finish.

He meets the others at the front door of the shopping center, finding that he’s the last one there. Hikaru and Kaoru both wave at him as he approaches, and Kyoya is about to wave back when he catches Tamaki’s eye. Tamaki is smiling, but there’s a knowing glint in his eye that Kyoya doesn’t really know what to think of. Is there a word for the kind of glow that’s hovering at Tamaki’s cheeks right now? Is there a word for the way that Kyoya’s heart is suddenly falling to pieces?

He’s about to say hello, just treating everything as normal, and then Tamaki skips forward and kisses him on the cheek. It’s soft, the kind of touch that’s barely there, but it makes Kyoya shiver. Tamaki’s breath is warm on Kyoya’s skin.

It’s not an act when his cheeks heat up and the tiniest of smiles finds its unwilling way to his lips. It’s not an act when his heart pulses; a green light asking for more. He wants to smile fully, bravely— and then he remembers.

He remembers that this isn’t real, and Tamaki is feeling nothing. Kyoya swallows, steeling himself, and pushes his glasses farther up his nose. He’s not feeling anything either.

“Hi,” he says quietly.

“Hi,” Tamaki says, and it’s with the kind of grin that makes Kyoya burn with a fake romance.

Kyoya finally tears his eyes away from Tamaki and towards the other two who are waiting for them; Hikaru is staring with wide eyes, while Kaoru has a kind of unimpressed look in the tilt of his chin.

“Did you finally sort yourselves out, then?” Kaoru asks. “Are you dating yet?”

Kyoya stares. “I—”

“Yup!” Tamaki grins, then slides his hand down Kyoya’s arm to tangle their fingers together. His palm is sweaty as Tamaki squeezes his hand. “It’s new, though.”

“Finally,” Kaoru says with half a laugh. “Haruhi and I had a bet on how long it would take. Oh, she’s gonna be in debt forever.”

Tamaki rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling as he leads the way into the shopping center. He doesn’t let go of Kyoya’s hand the entire time. Kyoya is pretty sure that his heart is pulsing in his wrist, dripping down into his palm; he’s pretty sure that Tamaki is holding Kyoya’s entire soul right now, and he doesn’t know.

“This is going to be easier than I thought,” Tamaki whispers, leaning closer to Kyoya, his lips hovering by Kyoya’s ear. “They’re falling for it so easily.”

Kyoya can only nod. This is going too far and too fast— or, it’s barely going at all, except for the fact that Kyoya’s mind is jumping light years ahead of we’re just pretending and right to this is getting all too real.

“So,” Hikaru starts, keeping pace next to Kyoya, who is still holding Tamaki’s hand like a life line. “When did this happen?”

Kyoya swallows, glancing over at Tamaki. They should have gotten their story straight before they had gone out into the world holding hands. He can so easily imagine Tamaki turning to Kaoru, who walks beside him, and saying that they’ve been dating for years, all while Kyoya tells Hikaru that it’s been hours.

“A few days ago,” Kyoya manages to say. He says it smoothly, somehow, his tongue so practiced at smoothing over all the bumps and inconsistencies in his lies. “Like Tamaki said. It’s new.”

Hikaru shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans, glancing at Kyoya from the corner of his eye. “So you haven’t been pretending you’re not together for years now? Because that was my bet and—”

“Shut up,” Kyoya says, rolling his eyes. He looks away from Hikaru and towards the crowded walkways that they’re entering. “We were just friends, until recently. That’s the truth.”

“Sure,” Hikaru says, grinning.

It’s a subdued, or doubtful, grin, but Kyoya doesn’t get the chance to ask before Hikaru is bounding forwards, pointing towards the food court. Tamaki agrees enthusiastically, and the four of them make their way there. Tamaki never lets go of Kyoya’s hand— that much is real.

They order food quickly, not bothering to think too hard about it. This is, as Tamaki put it, just a fun day out, pretending to be commoners. Kyoya, though, knows what it’s really about— it’s a test run of their fake relationship, to see how well they can fit themselves into the world and into their little friend group. It’s a test run to see if they can really pull this off; they have one of the more observant people they know and one of the more gullible people they know, and that’s a good range. Kyoya, if he weren’t so distracted by Tamaki’s hand resting on his knee, would almost admire the plan.

He’s so distracted by the fact that Tamaki is tapping his fingers against Kyoya’s leg that he doesn’t notice when Tamaki waves a hand just the slightest bit too enthusiastically, sending an uncapped bottle of soda flying across the table. It spills open and out, right onto Tamaki’s shirt.

Four people spew a string of curses as Tamaki jumps up, knocking over his tray with the half eaten hamburger on it, sending that spilling over onto the table, too. Kyoya grabs the soda bottle before it can do more damage, but it’s too late. Tamaki’s shirt is soaking wet, and while he grabs the thinnest of napkins to try and dry it, it��s a fruitless effort. Hikaru is just laughing, while Kaoru tries helplessly to hand over more napkins.

Tamaki swears again, tossing the napkins onto the table. He sits down with a humph and sighs. Kyoya, so quickly that he’s almost unaware of it, finds himself sliding an arm around Tamaki’s shoulders— this is what a boyfriend would do, right? Hold Tamaki when he’s upset? Kyoya thinks he’s guessed right, because Tamaki leans into his touch, burying his face in Kyoya’s shoulder.

“My shirt’s soaking wet,” Tamaki moans.

The vibrations of his words against Kyoya’s collarbones make him shiver, and he sighs. “You should be more careful.”

Tamaki sits up again, slowly, but doesn’t fully pull away. Instead he rests his cheek against Kyoya’s shoulder, eyes closed. Across from them, Kaoru is grinning.

“Cute,” he says, and Kyoya glares at him. It doesn’t deter him at all, and Kyoya just finds his face muscles growing tighter and Kaoru’s smile growing wider.

“Shut up,” Kyoya mutters.

It’s all a part of Tamaki’s game, though, and so Kyoya can’t find it in himself to be mad. If Kaoru thinks they’re cute, then they’re pulling this off well. That’s the important thing; not this stupid fluttering in his heart everytime Tamaki’s hand gets close to Kyoya’s knee. Kyoya swallows down any reservations, only to turn his head and press a light kiss to the top of Tamaki’s head. It’s tender and private and it comes so naturally that, for a moment, Kyoya forgot it was a performance.

Tamaki doesn’t react to the kiss at all, except for the tiniest of smiles.

“Cute,” Hikaru says, in an exact, smiling imitation of how Kaoru had done it. Kyoya hates them both.

Lucky for him, though, no one at that table has a good attention span, and so none of them focus on that kiss for too long. Instead, Kaoru points out one of the department stores that he had wanted to check out while they were there, and the four of them disentangle themselves from the mess, throw away their napkins and half eaten food, and start to leave the food court.

“People are staring,” Tamaki complains. He’s walking next to Kyoya, so close that their shoulders brush every now and then, Tamaki leaning into every touch. Hikaru and Kaoru walk in front of them.

“It’s because you’re covered in soda,” Kyoya says. He thinks that it’s a perfectly reasonable thing to say, but that just makes Tamaki pout more.

“I know.” Tamaki sighs, crossing his arms tightly around his chest. It does nothing to cover up the stain.

Kyoya looks over, scanning the disappointment on Tamaki’s face and the hunched over way he’s carrying himself, and then sighs. “Here. Take my jacket. If you zip it up, no one will be able to see anything.”

“Are you sure?” Tamaki asks. He says it slowly, but he’s already brightening up. “You won’t be cold?”

Kyoya shrugs. “It’s May. I’ll be fine.”

“Thanks,” Tamaki says, grinning.

Kyoya sighs, but it’s not a tired sigh— it’s an exasperated, happy sigh that only a lover can make. He shrugs off his jacket and holds it up for Tamaki to put on. Once it’s on, Tamaki turns to face Kyoya, his smile like a wound in Kyoya’s composure, and puts his hands to his waist.

“How do I look?” he asks.

“Fine,” Kyoya says, rolling his eyes. “The whole point is to zip up the jacket, Tamaki.”

Tamaki laughs at that, unbothered by the tone of his voice. He zips up the jacket and then poses again, hands on his hips, smiling. “Now?”

“Good,” Kyoya says. He looks more than good, but Kyoya will be damned before he says that out loud. Fake, fake, fake, he chants to himself. “Let’s catch up to Hikaru and Kaoru, I think they already went inside.”

Tamaki nods. He starts walking forward, and then pauses to look at Kyoya. He puts his hand up in the air between them, and Kyoya feels a boiling smile working its way through his chest when he takes Tamaki’s hand.

The four of them spend the rest of the day like that, wandering through the shopping center, making their way through every department store and every chain store and every miscellaneous merchandise stand. Somehow, the day passes quickly. Kyoya had expected it to drag on, to be painful to spend so much time somewhere like a mall, but by the time that they start leaving, he finds that he had actually had fun.

They part ways at the front of the shopping center, where Hikaru and Kaoru go off to Parking Lot A. Kyoya and Tamaki walk together to Parking Lot C, Tamaki swinging their interlocked hands in the air between them.

“This was fun, don’t you think?” Tamaki asks, smiling at Kyoya.

“It was,” Kyoya admits.

They’re still holding hands, though no one is around them, and Kyoya can’t help but hope that Tamaki doesn’t notice that there’s no reason to pretend anymore. He can’t help but hope that Tamaki keeps holding his hand. It’s a deep, selfish desire that Kyoya cannot say out loud.

“This is my car,” Tamaki says, stopping in his tracks. Still, he doesn’t let go of Kyoya. “Hey— thank you. For today.”

Kyoya frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Pretending,” Tamaki tells him, as if it’s supposed to be obvious. Now that he says it, Kyoya feels sick with how unobvious that had been to him. “I know we agreed last night, but I didn’t really think you would. Thank you.”

Kyoya swallows. Tamaki hadn’t expected anything of him. Looking back over the day, Kyoya is suddenly wondering how much of what he had done had just been because he wanted to. Did he— did he want to kiss Tamaki so tenderly when his head was resting against Kyoya’s shoulder? Did he want to hold Tamaki’s hand? Did he—

“Yeah,” Kyoya says carefully. He can’t afford to break face now. “Anytime.”

Tamaki nods, smiling. It’s a bright smile, but something about it is different from the ones he had been giving Kyoya earlier. He lets go of Kyoya’s hand, patting the pockets of his pants until he finds his keys. “I promise you can break up with me in a few days.”

“I look forward to it,” Kyoya chokes out. He takes a deep breath, then moves a few steps backwards. “I’ll see you at school.”

Tamaki finds his keys and gives Kyoya a wave as he unlocks his car. Kyoya has only just turned and begun to walk away when Tamaki calls out his name again— Kyoya’s heart jumps onto his tongue, stupidly quickly, enough to make him almost say, I love you, even though he’s not really sure if it’s true yet.

“Kyoya!” Tamaki calls again, and Kyoya turns back to him. “Your jacket!”

Tamaki has unzipped the jacket, and the wet stain on his shirt has since dried off. Kyoya’s jacket hangs tightly against his shoulders, though they’re probably about the same size, and the black fabric is a dark shadow against Tamaki’s pale skin. Even in the concrete limelight of the parking lot, he looks radiant.

“Keep it,” Kyoya says, and Tamaki frowns, as if he can’t hear. “Keep it! It— it looks good on you.”

Tamaki grins, and he blows a kiss towards Kyoya. It makes Kyoya glow, deep inside, and that’s not something he can fake.

Oh, he’s so screwed.

#my writing #tamakyo #ohshc #ohshc fanfiction #tamakyo fanfic #tamaki suoh #kyoya ootori #ohshc fanfic #ouran high school host club #ouran high school host club fanfic

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justasparkwritings · 3 years

Text

Codename Cupid: Chapter 16

Previous: How Cricket Got Her Name

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook X Reader/OFC/You

Genre: Secret AgentAU, AgentAU, Government Agent AU

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 3.04K

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: Our lovely P.I. goes on the search for Min Yoongi, and stumbles into the identity of the mystery man with Taehyung.

(this is... rough? did not expect it to be so long...)

Missing Min Yoongi

Present Day

My sister always tells me she’s given me all she can, that she can’t help me past my one favor a year. It’s a ploy, a deception, a boldfaced lie she tells at work or anytime we’re in earshot of anyone else. Does she misuse her government clearance? Yes. Does she defy laws and challenge the ethical code? Yes. Has she ever gotten caught? No. You’d think the government would put more tabs on her, considering her sister is a registered and licensed PI, but no, no one seems to bat an eye.

Min Yoongi, Park Yoongi, Yoongi, is nonexistent. I barely understand what he did at Lee Enterprises, let alone how he ended up bedding Euna. He supposedly comes from no money, no name to build off of, nothing. His grades were fine, his college experience came and went with nary a note of youthful rebellion. Now, now that he’s no longer at Enterprises, I cannot fucking find him. Nothing on the web, nothing in the statewide system, nothing in the national system. No death certificates, no marriage licenses, nothing.

All I’ve got are his charges, well, Euna’s charges against him.

Cheating in the 1st degree, no proof, no photos or receipts or basic evidence of his behavior. She had nothing but her recollection of the fight they had, and minimal information on what led to the break up. From her manifesto, it seems that Yoongi was pulling away and she clung to him, claws drawing blood, trying to get him to stay. He didn’t, clearly. With only that to go off of, it’s no wonder I can’t find Min Yoongi, and I’m beginning to think that just maybe, Min Yoongi doesn’t exist. He’s her Snuffleupagus, and I’m starting to not believe.

While I’m unsure if Yoongi exists, I do know a person who does.

The man with Taehyung.

Spectacled and broad shouldered, quaffed hair and arms the size of tree trunks, this man exists. He goes to the gym regularly, religiously, makes his coffee at home, and frequents his local nursery. The man is obsessed with plants, it seems unhealthy. Multiple days a week he’s carrying one, or more, I have photos of him watering them, speaking to them… He tends to them with such care, such love, it’s mesmerizing. He goes to work, some corporation, and once a week meets Taehyung. They’re clearly pals, best friends, brothers. They laugh and eat and enjoy one another. It’s cute, their friendship date. Once in a while, Jimin joins them. The three laugh uproariously and often draw attention for their volume. The unidentified man doesn’t seem to understand how loud he is, his baritone resonating enough for me to hear.

I haven’t intentionally bumped into the three of them, yet, but I’ve stationed myself near enough to hear bits and pieces of their conversations. They never discuss work, only music they’re listening to, books they’re reading, podcasts, plants, general culture. Have I written down a few of the artists and podcasts they listen to? Yes. Do I feel dirty about it? Yes.

But it’s the job, and I tail them for a month before a package arrives. A package with my name on it, waiting outside my apartment door. It’s not addressed, no stamps or packing label. It’s new, not reused as a shipping box or gifted for the umpteenth time, no dingy tape sticking to its brown coating. The box is sitting, like it’s appeared out of thin air. A secure building is only as secure as the tenants make it, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the owner snuck in behind some dummy who didn’t see the harm in letting a potential rapist, stalker, murder, into the building. Taking the package inside, and as my blood continues to cool and chills run down my spine, I delicately open it.

I know, it could be a bomb. However, the only thought calming me down is the knowledge that my life has never once been a Shonda Rhimes production and thus, I’m not really worried this package is a bomb. Frankly, that’s far more sophisticated than any of the people I’ve worked for and gives them too much credit.

Inside, there are copious amounts of surveillance photos and a note, written in a script that I’ve seen before.

“That was your last warning / The line has been drawn and you’re bleeding / Next time, face to face is how we’ll be meeting”

Whoever heard of a stalker rhyming?

I bag the evidence to toss under my bed so Jungkook won’t find it and pull out my list of potential threats.

Check It Once, Check It Twice

William Daniels

Cheated on his wife of 5 years with a stewardess who flew almost exclusively on his flights (big shock)

Threatened to ban me from American Airlines - Jokes on him, I don’t fly American

Photos in the act & audio recordings

Wife divorced him immediately

He has to pay alimony out the nose

Lives in the area

Allanah McMahon

Arrested and tried for insider trading and embezzlement

Discovered who I was when I was subpoenaed to testify

Still in jail

My testimony added a few years to her sentence … oops

Cassie Harrington

Set up a Multi-Level Marketing scheme

Tried to hide out in Hawaii – but changed her Instagram to private after I’d already followed her

Ordered to pay back all the money she stole

On parole

Adam Gregory

Tried to run an illegal adoption agency for homosexual, non binary couples

Paid a fine and on parole – forbidden from creating any LLC’s or Incorporating

Brian Welch

Pissed that I found evidence of his partner cheating but turned him in on charges of possession of child pornography

In jail for kiddy porn and for threatening my life

His husband got everything despite the infidelity

You acquire quite detailed list of people who want to threaten your life on the daily, but then again, wasn’t it Audre Lorde who said “I’m deliberate and afraid of nothing?” I can’t be afraid. If I’m afraid, they have the power. They have the power to intimidate me, to run my life for me, to make my decisions. I will not back down because they got caught. But I will protect myself, I will keep my license for my gun up and go to the shooting range often. I will strengthen the locks and security of my apartment, and I will ask Jungkook to stay over more, or sleep at his.

I will not back down, not when Lee Euna has paid me what seems like the cost of tuition at Princeton for a year and wants answers. We signed a contract, didn’t we?

And who am I if my word is no longer worth anything?

Instead of harping on the sickening feeling that I’m being watched 24/7, I run through my plans for bumping into Taehyung and his friends. In the weeks that I’ve continued to follow him, he’s solidified Wednesday’s as his night for dinner with friends, and Thursdays as his cultural exploration. He goes to museum openings, concerts, movies, plays, clubs, all on Thursdays. While those nights are fun for me to watch and put on my expense account, it’s Wednesdays that I adore. I love following him from his house to the restaurants and am excited each week to see what he and his friends have chosen.

This week, it’s an authentic Mexican restaurant. Slipping my coat on, I give them a few minutes before following in.

The sound of mariachi welcomes me into the yellow painted restaurant. The furniture, dark mahogany against the vibrant walls, is full of people. I note the variety of sombreros, the different colors and patterns, the meanings hidden within the stitchwork. It’s not a large restaurant, but big enough to fit a few large groups of 7-10 people, and plenty of space for smaller groups such as the three men. The hostess asks if I want to sit at the bar, and I request a table near the men. Sitting a few feet away, I’m able to pick up their conversation easily. Instead of jotting it down, I hit record and let the metaphorical tape play.

“Oh, it wasn’t that bad!” The mystery man says.

“It was awful, Taehyungie couldn’t stop laughing, every time he hit the ball it went flying in the wrong direction,” Jimin says.

“I was trying so hard!” Taehyung laughed.

“That’s the problem, you were trying too hard,” The man tells him. “You’re too pure of heart.”

“I am not,” Taehyung shook his head.

“I know, you’ve experienced a lot, Tae,” Jimin says.

“Joon, here’s the question,” Taehyung says, and I’m momentarily distracted by the utterance of the name, Joon. “You get to pick next week, we heading back to that barbeque place?”

Jimin erupts in another fit of laughter, Taehyung following suit. It’s cute, watching them interact. I wonder if Jungkook has friends he does things like this with… those nights we aren’t together, if he has friends to spend his time with.

I wait until they’ve left to take a glance at the signed bill on their table, Taehyung Kim is scribbled, no evidence of the other men, and I’m about to bag evidence when I hear my name.

“Y/N?” Taehyung asks.

“Taehyung! That was you!” I smile.

“Have you been here the whole time?” Taehyung’s eyebrows express more than anyone’s I’ve ever seen.

“I, yeah. I wasn’t sure it was you and Jimin. I didn’t want to interrupt,” I tell him.

“Oh, you could’ve! Don’t worry about them, we’ve been friends a long time,” Taehyung smiles, it’s boxy and wide, the edges curling as his eyes soften.

I’ve already started my dance, a waltz to an even tempo and I’ve got the next five paces planned. “Who was that new guy?”

“Why, you single?” Taehyung smirks, his lips no longer joyful but devious.

“I just was curious,” I reply, “And no, I’m not single, remember?”

“Oh yes, yes, Jungkook,” Taehyung recalls with a nod.

“You, Jimin and that other guy, go way back?” I lead him, it’s easy to lead Taehyung, he’s pure of heart, the most honest intentions in his eyes.

“Mm, yes,” He continues smiling at me.

“Your dinner looked fun, I’ll definitely be coming back to this place,” I tell him. It’s true, maybe I will bring Jungkook by one night when I know these three men won’t be around.

“Yeah, we like it. We try a new restaurant every week. It’s a fun no work zone,” His arms are relaxed at his sides, one hand slipping slowly into his pocket, his cardigan open and glasses pressed close to his ebony eyes.

“I like that, no work zone,” I agree, I wish I had one of those.

“Yes, it helps clear the mind,” Taehyung tells me.

“Do the three of you work together?” I inquire.

“Kind of, we have a lot of the same shared interests,” he sidesteps.

I nod, the final step in our dance presenting itself. “Very cool, well I don’t want to keep you from Jimin and –

“Joon, yeah, very considerate of you. Maybe I’ll see you at the dog park again?” He asks.

“Oh god, I hope not, Maisie is a nightmare,” I laugh.

“Well have a good night, Y/N, take care!” He says as he walks out the door. I stand, watching, pretending to not notice how he gets in the car swiftly, not looking back.

Joon.

What kind of a name is Joon? If Taehyung and Jimin, and Jungkook, and Seokjin… and Yoongi, are all Korean, must Joon be short for something Korean?

Glancing at my phone, it’s only 8:30PM, if I hurry, I can get in another few hours of work before I’m overcome with exhaustion and anxiety. But what will I find?

Oh Joon

Kim Joon

Lee Joon

Joon-Ho

Joon-Hee

Joon-Hyuk

Joon-Ki

Joon-Tae

Joon-Young

Byung-Joon

Ha-Joon

Hee-Joon

Hyung-Joon

Jae-Joon

Kyung-Joon

Jae-Joon

Kyung-Joon

Yong-Joon

Nam-Joon

Joon-Su

Ye-Joon

Not to mention add in the top 5 Korean last names, and I’ve got hundreds of possibilities. Luckily, I can run the name against the address of the apartment building Taehyung picked Joon up from. Being a PI means I have access to the state databases, which gives me names and addresses. In the building, there’s one Joon, a Namjoon, Kim Namjoon. I pull the information before digging into my search.

Unlike the seemingly nonexistence of Min Yoongi, Kim Namjoon is present. Every search result yields a perfectly manicured article dating anywhere from the year of his birth to age sixteen, and then, much like everyone else on this case, the trail begins to run cold. Whatever happened to him during high school, still radiates through his file. Whether he’s shaken it or not, that’s the question.

No known career or job at all, his status as a prodigy in math, linguistics and rhetoric is astonishing. One of the highest IQ’s of recent memory, he’d mastered calculus by the time he was 8, besting PhD’s by 13, and then in a blaze of glory, disappearing by 16. He was studied, written about, documented, photographed, and somehow managed to be nominated for a Nobel Prize… how he accomplished all of that during puberty is beyond me. Not only does he accomplish that, but then, disappears completely, without a trace. How?

I’m ready to pack it in when someone steps into my office.

“I saw the light on,” She says.

“Ms. Lee, what do I owe this surprise visit?” I ask. This is the exact opposite of what I wanted to do tonight.

“I wanted to, to talk to you,” She takes a few steps forward, pausing to ask for unspoken permission.

“Please, sit. What did you want to talk to me about?” I lean back, hoping she can’t see the bags forming under my eyes or the tears from the yawn I’m stifling.

“I wanted to tell you about, about why I need you to find Min Yoongi,” Euna informs me. She’s dressed in what can only be described as winter white, and only as a cashmere sweatsuit. Never have I ever seen such glamor in my dingy office. I feel bad that she’s risking the integrity of her outfit by being here.

“Oh, okay,” I sit up and reach for a notebook. “Do you want me to write this down?”

“No, you don’t need to. We can just talk between women, between friends,” Euna’s voice is soft. The slack in her jaw, the demur manner in which her hands are placed on her lap, it’s evident she doesn’t know how to be girlfriends. Raised by her family, groomed to take over, friends was never a word in her vocabulary.

“I wanted you to know that I really saw a future with Yoongi,” She starts. “You know that place in your heart where you hold all your hopes?”

“Yes,” I say hesitantly.

Her eyes narrow in warning, “Do you have someone, someone who’s beginning to fill that space?”

“Um, yeah,” I reply.

“I thought that’s what Yoongi was. I thought we were, we were building something. Jun-Seo had Jimin, they thought they were building an illustrious future together, but one day he disappeared too.” She pinches the slight bridge of her nose, inhaling slowly to steady her nerves. “I don’t know what changed in our relationship. Yoongi didn’t want me anymore, he didn’t want to be around me, or with me at all. A switch flipped, like one day he realized he didn’t love me in the first place. I don’t know what happened, I don’t know why, but when your entire future is destroyed, do you stand back and watch it burn?”

“Do you want me to answer that?” I ask.

“Sure, what I did after that was terrible, but it was within reason. Everything I did was within reason. I tried to hold onto him, I did what I thought was right to get him to stay and he just, ran. Bolted, broke up with me on the phone like I’m Taylor Swift in 2012. Maybe I am,” Euna rolls her eyes, the comparison both too true and too terrifying. “At least Seokjin had the kindness to break up with me in person. But Yoongi? The coward! He knew I loved him. He knew I would carry his child, would marry him, would love him eternally and then some. I would’ve done anything for him. Even after he refused to go family dinners or go on trips with Seo and Jimin, after he started lying and cheating and stealing. He broke my heart, shattered it. If anyone is to blame for what happened after our relationship, it’s him.”

Interested peaked, I inquire “What happened?”

“It’s in my document,” She snaps.

“The handwritten one?” I clarify.

Rolling her delicate ebony irises, “Yes, of course.”

“The abortion, the embezzlement, insider trading?” I try to rattle off the accusations she’d detailed. Somewhere I had a list and had sorted them by man, but damn, there were a lot of them.

“Yes,” She snips.

“That’s all true?” I ask again. The look she gives me is unwarranted, this is the first time in months, nearly a year, that she has sat down with me and discussed the charges. I am well within my right as her Private Investigator to ask clarifying questions.

“Do you make a conscious decision to not believe your clients? Am I not paying you enough Y/N?” Euna snaps.

“I’m sorry,” I respond.

“I should go, I expect next week at our meeting you will have an update on the mystery man,” She stands.

“Yes, yes, I will,”

“Good, oh, there was a note under your door. I didn’t pick it up,” She turns and walks, stepping gingerly over the note. Scrambling behind her, I pick up the folded paper, and scrawled in crystal clear letters it reads:

Cricket, was driving past when I saw the light on. Why are you working? Come to mine when you’re done, it’s been three restless nights without you.

XO – Bunny

Fuck me, I love him.

Next: Cricket & Bunny Pt. 1

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wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 4 years

Text

Merry Thirstmas-Lovestruck Edition

A/N: I promised smutty goodness, and I always keep my promises. Merry Thirstmas My lovelies!

Cyprin

The whole bedroom is lit up with Christmas lights, giving the room a low light that perfectly sets the mood. A gentle snow is falling outside the window, but things inside are nice and heated as Cyprin spends the night loving every inch of MC, letting her know just how much of a gift she is.

Medusa

She knows that MC is not materialistic, and the little things mean the most to her. They spend Christmas at MC’s apartment, breaking out all of her mother’s old Christmas decorations. MC makes homemade eggnog and it only takes a couple of glasses before they make their way to the bedroom, spending the night showering each other with all the love they have.

Aurora

She tells MC to wait while she gets ready, deliberately making her wait longer than necessary to build up the anticipation. She finally tells MC to come in, finding Aurora lounging on the bed wearing only three bows, covering her most intimate areas. MC cannot contain her excitement, eagerly ripping them off of her and getting right down to business.

Wrath

She will restrain MC by tying her wrists securely to the bed with a string of garland, carefully exploring every bit of MC’s skin until she is trembling with desire. MC can’t help but make jokes about Christmas “Cumming” a little early.

Onyx

She will make them both ugly sweaters for the occasion, complete with a glowing reindeer nose. They make hot chocolate complete with loads of whipped cream, which gives Onyx more than a few ideas. They take turns licking the cream off each other, easily going through two cans before the night is over.

Yvette

They will take a trip away from the city, to a small cabin somewhere where MC can enjoy a white Christmas for the first time. Yvette finds her look of wonder endearing, even agreeing to a brief snowball fight before retiring to their room. They lay side by side, gazing adoringly at each other as they pleasure themselves.

Zoe

She enlists MC to help her make one of her grandmother’s holiday pies, making any excuse to gently brush up against MC. Once the pie makes it into the oven, Zoe’s eyes will twinkle with that family sparkle, and soon MC will be sitting on the counter top with an enthusiastic Zoe kneeling between her open thighs.

Vivienne

Vivienne gets very creative with the Christmas lights, using her bondage skills to skillfully wrap the strand around MC’s body until she is completely at her mercy. They are loose enough that MC could easily escape if she chose to, but they both know it’s the last thing she wants to do.

Liora

Liora absolutely spoils MC at Christmas time. The whole day is about her, and when it’s time for bed, MC goes to their room to find a comfortable spread set out in front of the fireplace. Liora will adorn a strap on, laying back and letting MC take as much pleasure from her as she wants.

Runa

While she does see Christmas as more of an obligation than a celebration, she can’t help but be overcome with a desire to make the day perfect for MC. She does things that she knows MC loves, even if she is less than enthused, simply to see the happiness shining in MC’s eyes. MC repays this later, showing her appreciation in ways that has Runa shouting her name.

Emeril

Emeril is fascinated by the idea of Christmas lights. MC takes her to the human world, driving around and looking at all the decorations on the houses. MC adores the look of wonder of her face, feeling her heart swell with affection. They end the night back at the cafe, with Emeril thanking her in a way that words cannot express.

Madison

They make an appearance at the massive Christmas party held at the White House. They will make the rounds, talk with the necessary people and pose for the obligatory photos. Madison keeps giving MC a look from across the room that lets her know she can’t wait to tear her out of that holiday dress she is wearing. And once they are alone, that is exactly what she does, ripping the fabric away carelessly as she guides MC back to the bed.

Mackenzie

Mack and MC spend the early morning hours before sunrise locked in each other’s embrace, their fingers and mouths taking full advantage of each other’s willing bodies. They know they won’t have a moment for themselves the rest of the day, so they wake up a little earlier than normal to get some quality loving in.

They don’t celebrate Christmas on the actual day, as JD shuns all levels of conformity. They opt for a festive Halloween instead, incorporating decorations from both holidays for a truly unique celebration. JD always wears a Santa hat when getting it on with MC.

Vanessa

While she herself does not celebrate Christmas, she does know how important it is to MC and will go along with some of her traditions. She loves making gingerbread houses with MC, entering a heated competition of who could create the most ridiculous house. It ends with them calling it a tie, moving to the shower to wash off the frosting and engage in other more heated activities.

Sofia

Sofia suspects that MC might be a little homesick during the holidays, so she does her best to make sure MC enjoys herself. She will take her ice skating, spinning them around until they are both breathless. Once they return home, MC goes about warming them up, telling Sofia how much she appreciates her in between fiery kisses and thrusts of her fingers.

Zhora

She hounds MC for months about what she wants for Christmas. MC repeatedly tells her that what she wants can’t be bought, so Zhora offers to steal her whatever she wanted instead. MC was exasperated, finally blurting out that all she wanted was for Zhora to fuck her like she loved her. Zhora was momentarily speechless, not used to being enough for someone, but she happily gives MC what she asks for and more.

Nova

Like she does with everything, Nova does extensive research on the topic, asking MC if they can do the Elf on the shelf tradition to ensure that Rayla has as much of a normal childhood as possible. All of the Christmas talk begins to put ideas into MC’s head, and the night ends with MC role playing the part of an elf who most definitely made the “naughty” list.

Amara

One of MC’s favorite traditions back home was a massive bonfire her whole village would put on. Amara desires nothing more than to see MC smile, so she leads her into a clearing in the forest where she has prepared a giant fire for the two of them to enjoy. They make love under the stars, the heat from the fire warming their skin against the chill of the night.

Xenia

Xenia chuckled when MC asks to take a carriage tour through the city, wanting to see the shops with all of their decorations up close. Xenia completely ignores her surroundings, staring at MC with an intensity that sent heat rising to MC’s cheeks. Her hands eventually slip under MC’s dress, skillfully pleasuring her as they ride through the city streets.

Helena

From the moment Helena hears about Christmas, she is determined to make it perfect for MC, wanting to properly express her love and appreciation for the woman who had given her so much. MC insists that all she needs is Helena, and all she asks for is for Helena to touch her like it’s the first time. Helena is more than happy to oblige, spending the entire night making MC feel the full force of her love.

Altea

Altea is enamored by the idea of Christmas when MC explains it to her, and she wastes no time in immediately securing a tree for them to decorate, even going so far as to enchant it so it will last year round. Once they are finished Altea pulls MC into a passionate kiss, insisting they make love beneath the tree to commemorate the occasion.

Lorelei

She works tirelessly to ensure that their new home is finished by Christmas, determined to spend Christmas Day within the walls they designed together. It was all worth it to see the look on MC’s face when she first stepped through the door. They waste no time in breaking in every room of their new house.

Andi

Andi isn’t exactly sure what to do for their first Christmas together as she had never actually had anyone special for the Holidays before. Knowing that MC is a fan of old music, she track down a record player, playing some classic Christmas music on vinyl that delights MC to no end. They dance around the living room, clumsily tripping over their feet before falling onto the bed with hysterical laughter. The amount of love reflected in MC’s eyes is almost overwhelming, and Andi cannot keep her hands to herself for very long. Luckily MC has the same idea, and soon their pleasured screams drown out the sound of the music.

Juliette

Juliette and MC share a love of holiday movies, and Juliette clears up an entire day for them to just snuggle in bed and watch all of their favorite Christmas movies. They start joking about what a Christmas porno would look like, and after a few glasses of wine they decide to make one themselves just to see what it would look like to have sex with elf ears on. It quickly becomes their favorite holiday film.

Serena

Since there is no real way to tell what day of the year it is, Serena and MC made a tradition of treating the first cold day of the year like it was Christmas. They have to get creative with their presents, so MC surprises Serena by asking her to paint her naked; Serena is taken aback at first, but she eagerly agrees. The painting takes far longer than normal to complete as Serena kept getting distracted by MC’s obscene gestures.

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imaginedcreaderinsert · 4 years

Note

NSFW where a PI is investigating the titans and catches dick and reader having an argument which turns into rough passionate sex???

FIRST OF ALL I’M SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG. To compensate, I made it longer than I expected, almost as long as my longest one yet! I think I took some liberties with the ask, but I thought it would be interesting to make it this way?? THOUGHTS? It turned a bit mushy towards the end, sorry if you want something rougher. BUT ANYWAYS, CUE IN THE FIC.

SUMMARY: Reader is a “leader” and main representant of the Titans; she goes by the name Silver Blaze, and a PI, Randall, has been given the task of investigating her and Nightwing – possibly because they are the major representants of the group, but there might be ulterior motives within the investigation.

WORD COUNT: 4147

TW: Swearing and smut. There’s like a thousand something words of introduction and the rest is pure lemoney stuff, yep. I didn’t include any age for Randall, but it is understood everyone is legal of age and that he is a bit of a voyeur/creep. It is meant to be that way, it’s no accident. I hope it works???

I spy with my little eye — Dick Grayson x Reader

They had appeared out of nowhere, really. It was rumored that a similar place had happened before, in the times of Dr. Silas Stone, but with a few distinctions; the Titans tower was a secret, and it could be only speculated upon its exterior. The crime wave had exponentially lessened down since its appearance, but since it had been caught on camera, secrecy and conspiracy theories had arisen. It did count apparently with the permission of the city council; if there was a deal or not, no one knew anything about… Yet.

PI Randall had been contacted anonymously; the money was incentive enough to make a man in California sweat, but the persons he had to look closer upon were his main drive. He had been investigating them for as long as they made their first appearance, and to say they had piqued his interest was to say the least. Fortunately (maybe not so much at nights, when the loneliness ate him alive and he starved for human contact), he lived alone, and thus only himself knew of his own madness and obsession towards the couple, Nightwing and Silver Blaze.

The first was quite well-known, and some had been speculated, theories rounded the internet, on how he had been Batman’s disciple at some point and how he was to be the next in line; personally, Randall couldn’t believe it. Had it been that way, he would have stayed closer to Gotham, but he had gone all the way to San Francisco-what? Running away from something? Distancing himself from the infamous city, taking a paid leave? Randall quite knew that discovering his identity was a lost cause, as many journalists and tabloids were still obsessed with it. They were always too careful and secretive; they had been trained to be like that probably all of their lives. And if Nightwing was anything like Batman, which Randall had pondered over a lot of nights, there was no solid case that could ever be created on him.

Silver Blaze on the other hand was a mystery. No one knew where she came from, where she had first appeared in or if she went with another name somewhere else. Rumors and stories had been built upon her first declarations on the San Francisco Chronicle (they were always the first to have her interviews, statements and photographs; surely that meant either she was in there working herself or she had an insider working for their publicity – it was always convenient to have the public on their side). People claimed to have heard of her on the west; others claimed to have first seen her in the North, the Canadian frontier, and that she had been moving towards the coast on unclear motives punishing anyone she had encounter – maybe she was heading to Gotham? But then why the detour, why had she been staying so long and as, apparently, a representant of the Titans? From what people knew, the images and videos taken, she did not possess any kind of powers other than her own body and the flashing of her own cape. That was her ability, blinding anyone who came close, distracting them and gaining over advantage towards their enemies. Silver Blaze had been the name the city had given to her: she always appeared after a blinding light, and in her ebony costume, the most striking thing was said cape and her mask, contrasting beautifully with her slightly darker skin.

To say Randall had a bit of a crush on her was an understatement. She was in fit, and the armor did not hide a thing; skin-tight and glamorous with her gloves, her movements – she moved like Catwoman in a sense (was she a disciple? The inherent dark sexiness a common trait upon master and disciple?) but had a more definitive presence. Before it had been Nightwing the one making the announcements, statements – but maybe it was her sweet voice, her rosy lips, labored breath whenever she talked after a battle or after an incident that calmed somehow the citizens of California, that eventually came to love her. So what she hiding?, Randall wondered, night after night starting at the same pictures, side by side, of both leaders of the Titans side by side fighting. Who could want to unveil anything from the golden vigilantes of the city, seeing as they carried such an untarnished reputation? Randall couldn’t help but think that they were hiding something darker in plain sight. Something obscure, tarnished and possibly perverted. No one could be that perfect.

…

“For fuck’s sake, Night, I had it! I fucking had it and you stole it from me!”

“Can you please stop shouting? They are going to hear us, S.”

“God, stop it with that nickname! It’s not cute and it’s definitively not my name!”

It is pure coincidence, months of stalking them, following them and testing a theory. He shouldn’t be there, he shouldn’t be hearing them out that perfectly, clearly, at mere meters from them. Randall was supposed to be at home, fuming again over losing them; instead he has both of them right in front of him, slightly battered and definitively arguing. She doesn’t possess the sweet voice that she normally uses in interviews (he knew it! No one can be that naturally seductive, that sweet without actually trying), but Nightwing appears to be as collected as ever… Even when he can hint a sense of annoyance over the discussion. Maybe they’ve been at it more than once? It is definitively something that people haven’t cached up. Hell, he didn’t know a thing, and he’s been following them for years.

“I had him, but you just had to go and disappear, leaving my flank completely unprotected, Night! That’s such a Dick movement!” Dick? He is confused. Did she mean-

“Silver, don’t use names”. His voice is severe. He sounds like he is on alert. Maybe he has heard him breathing more than normal? Randall’s eyes are glued on her chest, heaving up quickly, up and down – probably still with adrenaline from the battle they’ve just ended. His theory had been that every time they had ended a battle, generally between the two of them or more, it really depends on the intensity of the fight, they disappeared somewhere else, running from the scene like thieves: last time he had tried west and he had felt stupid for thinking it could work. Now he had followed east and here they were, arguing while he was hiding near a bush with a small clearance.

“… I was just saying you are a real dick, Night”. She says, following his tone; like in sync, she doesn’t question, but rather adopts the same measure until she realizes. “No! You are no getting out of this, Nightwing! This is the third time you leave me unprepared to protect myself against four guys! I cannot believe you, seriously, I-“

“Oh please, we all know you could have blinded them and-“

“To blind them I need both of my hands, dumbass! I barely have recovered from that night on-“

“Still hurts?”

“Yeah.”

There’s concern and care in the next movements, in the last words; he gets closer to her, carefully grabbing her by her elbow, and pulling her closer. It is strange to see how easily she lets him, seeing as angry as she was; she just clicks her tongue, which makes him laugh for some reason. She mutters something under his breath, and Randall can quite only speculate on his next words, seeing as he just vocalizes them: “-amian”. ¿Amian? He has no idea on what he is trying or has said, but he definitively notes it down on his mental pad: and he has to update some things.

He definitively didn’t expect for them to be so close, seeing as they have never appeared together in any interview or photograph; they had similar combat styles, and that’s why he imagined they wouldn’t share a team withing the combats, but from her complaints before, he can confirm that they do, and that she seems a bit pissed off at him for abandoning her. Again. Is it some tense rivalry that they have between them? Some brotherly bickering? Maybe they were past lovers? Nightwing has always occupied the most eligible bachelor of all Gotham, but since he had moved to California things hadn’t been the same. He hasn’t any more of presence than Silver Blaze has; maybe they have learnt to share a-? Oh.

The realization, in the midst of the silence, it’s so severe that he forgets to breathe for a second. He looks at both figures, against the light of the moon, cut-out like perfect paper figures straight out of any Vogue magazine. But her stare is too humane when they make eye contact with his face; the domino mask actually prevents him from reading expressions, but he knows that one well from his own past. There is something else, maybe-maybe they are, or they have been-

They kiss.

He pulls her closer, still by the elbow, and her arms quickly go under his arms, to his back. His hands are on her waist, squeezing tight, as he makes all of her his in the kiss. There is an undeniable possessive nature in his embrace, and as he takes off her cape, with an ease that makes Randall think they have done this before – probably many many times after a battle. Is this it? Do they have sex whenever they finish, as hurt as they are or tired? Can’t they wait? His hands expertly manage to find the zipper at the top of her neck, slowly discovering her naked neck, back, until her waist.

“I’m still angry, you know”

“I can tell. And you think I’m not, having you insinuate that I’m a narcissistic traitor who would leave you alone midst of the battle if it was not important? You, of all people?”. There is something similar to hurt in his voice. He cares? “There’s only one narcissistic egomaniac in our family, and I know you know who is”.

They are always careful; they don’t give out names, and Randall can’t figure out yet who is. Maybe a new Robin? But her eyes are more focused on her naked figure, her soft skin, slightly tainted, apparently, with some scars and red areas (bruised from battle, sex? Who knows): she is truly beautiful.

“You mean the hot brooding one?”. There’s almost a teasing tone in her voice. He wonders if she’s like that in bed, the bratty adventurous type. The cock-teasing slut that opens her legs just to tempt, just so that she can after-

“You did not call J-“

“I just did, Golden Boy”.

There’s movement. She falls to the grass, the small area they have secluded themselves in, with a bank not too far, and a small touristic viewpoint not too far from the city, overlooking most of it, if not all. There’s giggling, clothes rummaging and limbs moving until they give up. Someone gives up. He’s on top, half naked but mask still on: Randall doesn’t know if it was him or her that took her mask off, but he can finally see her shining eyes, daringly staring back at Nightwing’s. Her legs are around his waist.

“What, too tired to fight me?”

“Maybe I just don’t fear the punishment Daddy will give me. He’s always too soft”. And that goes straight to his dick. Is she the type to use that names on bed, secretly? Yes, he has pictured that. Naughty, daring, always too intelligent for her own good – sweet and caring, but with a small and horny devil inside. Always too wet at the most inappropriate times, like when he is supposed to be working. That’s always his go-to fantasy.

“Maybe Daddy thought someone was starting to behave good. Too bad you have fucked it all up, kitten. Thought you would get fucked today”.

There’s a whimper, more rummaging, and in a heartbeat she’s naked on the grass. Her cheek is rubbing the leaves, and he is completely dominating her from the back of her neck, putting enough weight just so that she can’t move. Her nipples are hard but hidden in the darkness; he wished he could come closer, lick them up, suck on them. They are perfect, and he just realizes that she wasn’t wearing any kind of underwear under.

“No bra again? Hoping someone would notice?”

“Yes, maybe I was hoping some fucking journalist would fuck me up already. It was about time I lived my own Kent fantasy, right?”

There’s a smack that resonates, and she moves slightly ahead; there’s a whimper, and she bites her mouth as soon as she knows. All on her fours is quite apparent what’s going to happen, or at least that’s what Randall imagines.

“You want to talk about fantasies? What’s yours, baby? Arsenal, Hawk and Tempest all for you, using you? Maybe with me, ordering you around, baby? Oh, fuck, you got wet. Shit, is that from the talking or was something from before?”

“Night, shut up”.

There’s a chuckle and, out of every God that is and is not alive pitying on him, he gets to see his glistening fingers, covered in her own lubrication. He separates himself enough so that he can take off the most important of the suit, letting Randall see her thighs, with wetness going down on them. She wiggles, moves her legs closer just so that she can take off the pressure, the edge – and he knows the edge too well, since he’s been at it too much time. He thinks that he will snap if Nightwing doesn’t touch her, seeing as needy as she seems, desperate for him.

“My voice is all you are having tonight, brat. You just have to rile me up every time, don’t you? It’s like you don’t want to get fucked…”. His fingers move again, tracing a trail down her breast until her core, where she trembles and moans, slightly. “… Here”.

His fingers dig in, and her arms almost give out. Her hips move, just like a dog in heat; and Randall figure she must be one. Too seductive, too sexy, too good for only Nightwing to have. He wished he could feel her nipples just like he is doing, left hand massaging her and taking her, pushing her back into his right hand, inside her and apparently going over a very nice zone.

“God, fuck, Night!”

“What? You don’t want my fingers?”

“No! Nono, I didn’t-Oh, fuck. Night.” It’s a sigh, like he knows to perfectly touch her. Have they done this a lot? Have they been fucking all the time they have been at San Francisco and other places? Oh. Is she the reason why he is not outing himself more, like he did in Gotham, with his playboy reputation behind at times? “Night, no. That’s too good. Night please.”. She lifts up her pretty head, letting the moon bathe her, and she is glorious in all her nakedness, her sensuality as she opens her small mouth and moves her hips against him, in an attempt to get more friction, Randall thinks.

“You don’t like good, now, baby?”. She melts every time he calls her that. Her back relaxes a bit, she sighs and a shiver covers her up. “And I thought I would never hear you complain about being good after-“

“Shut up… Night! Oh… Fuck, fuck, there. Ah, Night”. It comes in labored breaths (just like the interviews); she can’t concentrate in her words and thus the stops. She is trying but she is absolutely losing. “Please, give me something. Please, I know you want it too. It is literally poking me to death”.

He laughs and for the first time he palms himself. Randall can admit he is gifted (more than himself, it seems to be). His member is hard and longish, rather than being too big. When he first rubs himself against her, her hands move upwards, trying to grab onto something. Is she sensitive? Her back is trembling, her legs are shivering. Is it too cold? Like fearing that, Nightwing covers her back, presses himself against her.

“How bad do you want it?”

“Night, I’m not going to beg.”

Proud. Yes, he knew she would be like that. Like a princess, in all senses. Maybe except perverseness. She is the real surprise of the night and he couldn’t be any more turned on.

“No? Then I guess this pussy is going to be empty. And there’s no sense in getting naked, so start dressing up and-“

“No! No, fuck no!”. She stops him by his arm, lowers him down so he can see her face. “Please! Night, I-“. Her mouth opens. Then closes. She smirks. “I’m going to shout your name if you don’t fuck me. Your real name, D-“

“You are such a slut.”

It appears she gets off on those things. She laughs, but before she can continue, Nightwing completely turns her around. His hand goes to her neck, almost in an aggressive way that scares Randall out of his hiding place: he is really attempting to cut her oxygen off, and she is letting herself be controlled. She can hear her gasping for air, arms struggling against his naked body, but her legs grasp at his waist harder, pushing both cores together and… She is rubbing herself on him. Does that actually get her? Shit.

“You just want to be manhandled and have all of my attention. The fact that I have to go and help others just sets you off. I know you still want me to kiss you in front of all those photographers and make it official, you are so-“

“Demanding? Insufferable?”

“Adorable. I just wished you could be this open with the rest.”

“We have to take things slow, Dick. This can affect so much more than just us.”

“I know, (Y/N). I-“

They kiss, like they want to erase everything up. Randall doesn’t know how to gulp everything down: they love each other? Her eyes are full of pure devotion as she continues to rub them off, head hanging almost as she tries to hang it on the grass. Almost because Nightwing (Dick?) grabs her by her waist, slightly elevating her and making her sit on his lap. His cock is rubbing her folds, and there’s almost a desperation in their movements which indicates both are fully prepared. He is at his fucking limit as well; it almost hurts how it’s pressing down on the floor, giving some relief at the same time whenever he moves (just slightly so, he doesn’t want to get caught… Investigating. Yes. Not spying. Spying is dirty. He has been contracted). Is it some type of edging, pursuing out pleasure and trying to make the most out of their desperation? He just wished he would be fucking her brains out, but maybe that’s why he is the one doing her, and not him.

“I need you. Please, Night, I won’t-won’t complain, won’t be bad, I-“

“Hush. Let me give it to you.”

He enters her, and her nails go deep into his skin, moaning out as he moves inside and stops, once he is fully into her, it appears. It takes him some time, some moaning on her side and some furious nails on his back.

“Always so tight. Are you-?”

“Yes, just fuck me, make me loose”. She gasps, both of his arms moving to the sides of her head. It appears things are about to get serious. “Fuck me like you know, like-FUCK!”

He sets down a pace. Her hips on his lap gives him leverage enough to target a special zone inside her body, and he takes on a relentless pace as he penetrates her. There’s dirty sounds of sex and skin clashing together – there’s no problem in getting inside her, apparently, and he notices himself harden even more. Her tits bounce against his chest, just slightly, and he can see her nipples hardened, herself grabbing them and pinching them while he aims at that special area that has her legs desperately tied to him like a vice. Her expression is that out of pure bliss, pain almost as she is bordering the climax, he imagines. She moans out his name, desperately, nails leaving furious marks behind on the bare skin of Nightwing’s back, making him hiss sometimes; others thrust harder, give it all to her.

“I can’t, I can’t, I’m going to-“

“Do it, do it, do it”. He insists, like a prayer; and he wonders, how could she resist if pleaded like that? There’s shouts, moans that get stuck in her throat almost as he lunges himself in, until she stops him, definitively, kissing him and moaning, legs out and frozen in time, in an almost painful position before they relax.

She has cummed. She is completely laxed on the grass, eyes almost closed, and they are whispering each other sweet nothings, he believes. He is kissing her slowly, tenderly, as he makes the slow attempt of fucking her more, but without pressuring her to move. She is hypersensitive, he can tell, by the way she shivers, her legs try and stop him from moving. But there is no real intent, as he can imagine the pleasure she is feeling, the intense feeling of happiness she is surrounded by since it’s all clear in her pleasured out face.

“Slowly, Dick, please. You are too big”.

He has to start touching himself. It’s too much, and this is a fantasy he is going to replay a lot of times in the future. Even when tired, hypersensitive, she wants him to cum, use her. She is definitively dirty talking him, praising him:

“You do it so good, Dick, I will probably-“

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She confirms, like it’s a secret code, something he was supposed to know. But he doesn’t. “Oh, fuck, not there. I’m going to go again too quick, otherwise”.

He sets out another pace, but he is careful to no make her cum again, apparently; she looks tired, eyes closed and limp body on the grass, moaning still and with her legs more open this time, just so that he can thrust inside.

“I’m close. So close. You are so good inside, so hot, so-“

“Inside. Please, please. I’m safe. I want you in.”

The way he talks, grunts, and her needy tone makes him know that this will be the last time. He masturbates faster, quietly, but breathing a bit too quickly; he has the start of a lot of his wet dreams in front of him. He has to treasure the experience.

“(Y/N)!”. He exclaims, shouts, his hands gripping harder onto her skin as she bites her own mouth. Maybe they fear they are too loud, which they are.

(Y/N)!, he thinks to himself, on the brink too of cumming with him.

“Fuck, can’t stop!”. Who would? There’s a sweet release when he cums looking at her hardened nipples, her perfect body against the grass and her beautiful eyes. “Adore you.”

They embrace each other and she trembles moans out and completely destroys the grass around her. It is intense, and it is not until Nightwing slowly retires himself that he can see her fluids, squirting out of her core, still making her shiver. Is she still cumming? That’s so-

He cums as well. In silence, biting his hand and completely blissed out. The next moments feel too intimate, and he has to dress himself up and clean as quietly as possible. He has listened enough. There’s nothing more he needs at the moment, he couldn’t leave happier.

…

“For all it’s worth, I’m sorry”. He sounds sincere. She looks at him directly, still shivering, slightly cold and feeling gross from sweat, blood and sex. “I don’t meant to abandon you. I just know that you are that good”.

They chuckle, and she rolls her eyes, but it’s all good. She knows. It’s not meant to make her feel alone, or to leave her to her own luck.

“I know. I’m sorry I get so upset over it. I just wish you would say something.”

“I will, I promise. I’m not going to do that to you again, okay?”. Her hand goes to her cheek, caressing and kissing her slowly in the nose. It makes her smile.

She kisses the interior of his wrist, tenderly, before looking at his eyes.

“I think I want to go to the Tower and get changed. Can we skip statements today?”. There are puppy eyes involved, to which she knows he won’t say no. Not if its her, anyways.

“They will understand, sure. Let’s get dressed, I want some cuddles”

“Can I be the big spoon?”.

“Sure. Anything for you, (Y/N).”

#dick grayson #nightwing #dc #dcu fanfic #dcu x reader #nightwing x reader #dick grayson x reader #reader insert #reader #titans x reader #request

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viltrumitesuperboy · 5 years

Text

From Villain to Hero (Peter Parker x Male Reader)

So. This took forever. Lack of motivation and stuff like that. Here’s a real dumb fic. Plot holes and things.

Sorry about the gif, there aren’t any good movie ones cause they all show his face. Peter’s like 17-18 in this one.

Word count: 2823

Much like your best friend Wade Wilson, you had been experimented on. As a PI, you knew how to find him, and you got a little too close. It wasn't fun and it left you both with trauma, but you bonded over your unfortunate times. He took the route of killing people and you didn't. He was kind of an antihero, and you were just trying to look out for yourself, which kind of made you one too. People normally called you the bad guy just because you were trying to survive in this capitalist society.

When you got into the whole "bad guy" business, you didn't want to hurt people and you never hurt anyone. So it was only a little bit of a shock when you had a run-in with Spider-Man.

"You could just put the money down and turn yourself in, you know?" Spider-Man suggested as he shot another web at you. "You're not directly hurting anyone, but you still affect parts of our economy."

"No can do, Spidey," you calmly replied, easily dodging the shot. "I got things to do, people to date, food to buy... and sorry about ruining our wonderful date, so you can put it under my tab. Name's (Y/N)."

You held the bag tight as you made for a quick exit. There was no signature exit because you didn't want people like Spider-Man stopping you once they realised there was a pattern. You squeezed the handle of your weapon and smashed a window. You broke the weapon in half, chucked it towards Spider-Man to distract him, and jumped out of the two-story window.

You disappeared before Spider-Man could catch you. You casually limped onto the subway car with your duffel bag, the bones in your leg definitely out of place. You could hear some of the passengers make sounds of disgust or shifting uncomfortably when you dropped into a seat to snap the bones back in place. You felt less pain, no thanks to the experiments done on you.

You went to yours and Wade's apartment. You dropped the duffel bag, then yourself through the window.

"Hey, kid. What's this?" he asked, going right past you for the duffel bag.

"Hey, I'm a legal adult. And this is our rent, food, and other expenses covered for 2 months," you replied, flipping onto your back and panting from having to climb up. "One and a half if you keep treating Spidey to food when you hang out."

"Whatever. Don't you have that other thing? You sell your bones so people can make weapons and shit?" Wade asked, inspecting the money.

"They're valuable. Not everyone's going to want to pay thousands or close to a million for a single adamantium bone," you explained. "Lower quantity means higher demand. Higher demand means higher price."

"You sound like a fucking capitalist."

"Only way to live in this world, Wade."

He nodded in agreement and tossed the bag into the corner, then grabbed your forearms to help you up.

"Someone called earlier about your PI shit. It's some HR dude who wants to make sure their interviewers aren't criminals. You know, the usual," Wade informed you. "Gave him your email."

You thanked him and grabbed your phone to check the email. You started making food for yourself and waved goodbye at him as he left to find Spider-Man.

The first time you had a civilised conversation with Spider-Man, he called Deadpool and you sat there, tied with his webs, containing your laughter. Of course Wade never mentioned you.

"Spidey, how're the wife and kids?" you asked him, raising an eyebrow.

"Okay, first of all, bold of you to assume I have a wife. Or kids. Or like girls. Second, how are yours and Deadpool's masks so expressive?"

"The eyes. Same eyes I use to look for you just to commit a crime. I also use them to check you out. You have a nice ass."

In an attempt to cover it, he quickly turned his entire body to face you. It took him a moment to recover and he spoke again, sounding flustered.

"Okay, no, stop."

"Aw, c'mon, Spidey. I thought we had something going. I mean we've had like over 10 dates already."

"That's because you committed a crime!"

"Like you've never stolen before. Also, you didn't say they weren't dates."

"They're not. And if you say your heart, I'll drop-kick you right here."

"Hey, Webs. How's- oh," Wade said as he paused once he reached the roof of the building you both were on.

"Deadpool! I got the bad guy, the villain I was telling you about, he has those adamantium weapons. And I was thinking that he was the one buying the weapons online. I found a website and stuff, I'm sure I sent it to you," Spider-Man ranted.

"Spidey-Boy. This is the friend I was telling you about."

Spider-Man stopped and stared at Wade.

"My best friend who is absolutely wonderful, definitely around your age, and has an adamantium skeleton. So Wolverine but he likes me better. He gets money from selling his bones and looks out only for himself and people he cares about. He's like my little brother. And bonus: he doesn't kill."

You offered him an apologetic shrug as Spider-Man seemed to glare at you from behind his mask. After a few silent moments, he hopped off the roof and swung away.

"That could have gone better," you mumbled, breaking the webs with a quick pull.

"Let's get you home."

Over the course of a few months, you started making money off the adamantium once you dropped the price a bit. Turns out you didn't really need to. A certain "Howard Potts" was buying most of them. You knew it was Tony Stark, and you'd probably give it to him for free if he asked (you looked up to him a lot), but you didn't mind the money. Maybe you'd tell him someday.

You only ever suited up to bother Spider-Man. If Wade helped him out, you stood to the side and yelled and jeered at the "bad guys." Wade didn't really care. Spider-Man would always scold you afterwards, but you always had a reply.

"You can't just stand to the side and do nothing!"

"I can do whatever I want. And I can totally ask you out on another date."

"We haven't even been on one."

"That's not what you said last time!"

"Shut up!"

"Not hearing a no."

And you weren't sure if he was getting more flustered or more used to your comments.

"I've been thinking about why you reject me. You dating someone?"

"No.”

"Okay, so why not try out a date with me?"

"Because you're still a vigilante. Bye, Mr. Criminal!"

He took the last bite of the food you were both eating before packing it up and standing to leave.

"Oh, come on. 15th date and you won't even give me a kiss?"

His cheeks began to turn red, and he quickly yanked his mask down. You snickered as he swung away with the plastic bag of food following his movements.

When there was a bigger threat in the city that had to include the Avengers, you finally decided to jump in. You ended up bringing two weapons and wielding them like Deadpool would his katanas. You called and told him the intersection closest to you, and he was there in minutes.

"Okay, so what are this guy's weaknesses?" you asked Spider-Man.

Iron Man tossed you an earpiece which you caught and put it your ear, listening to the others.

"As far as we know, no weaknesses," Black Widow said. "He's just really strong and really good with weapons."

"Hey, you know the story of the Greek warrior Achilles? We got an Achilles' tendon for a reason. I mean, this guy doesn't really need it anyway," you scoffed.

"Kid, shut up," Iron Man said. "You got a name?"

"I would say Crossbones but that's taken. Call me uh... Bone... Breaker?

"Cause he has adamantium bones!" Deadpool suddenly shouted into your ear.

"We know," three voices said.

You ran and jumped on a slab of cement the dude was trying to pick up, stabbing your weapons in to keep it in the ground.

"Buddy, you need a therapist if your problems are that bad."

His already angered expression seemed to get a little angrier and he swung a lamppost at you. You grabbed your weapons back as you jumped clean over it.

"Ooh, are we playing helicopter?" you gasped.

Spider-Man had joined as well to attempt to web the guy down, jumping over the pole as it swung towards him.

"This isn't very family friendly," Spider-Man quipped as he webbed the guy's arms to his body and his legs together. "That won't stop him for very long."

After a brief moment of his struggling, he broke free, and the other avengers stepped in to try and keep him down.

"Get somewhere safe! Bone-whatever, try and get something made of adamantium to keep him down. He's not strong enough to break through."

It all happened in slow motion. From the corner of your eye, you watched Hulk running towards you to fight the guy in front of you at the same time the man pulled one of those (really cool) martial arts moves and leaned onto his arms behind his head and kicked his legs. Not onto the ground, but into your chest to send you flying really high up so you had no idea where you were. There were fucking clouds up here, Jesus Christ. How strong was this guy?

At the angle he kicked you, you were moving in a parabolic direction. Once you hit the highest you could go, you looked down and knew that you wouldn't survive this fall. Everyone else was occupied and didn't know where you were, so there was no one to save you. As you neared the ground, you saw that you would land in a park where there weren't too many people. A miracle, you supposed. Some of them looked up and they started to scramble and run away. Thank god for cloudy days.

The last moments of your life was an attempt to move your weapons so they wouldn't kill you first. That would kind of suck. So they were attached to your legs with the few moments you had left. You closed your eyes and felt yourself get closer to the ground. A brief flash of pain through your entire body, then you felt nothing.

Deadpool, thank FUCK, had supplied weapons. How they were going to stop the dude without Bone Breaker, they didn't really know. But Spider-Man had the wonderful idea of making a net with the (somehow they were rods) adamantium and connecting them with nitinol. Deadpool suggested killing the dude to avoid the trouble, and everyone gave him disapproving looks.

"Wait, Bone Breaker!" Spider-Man exclaimed.

He ran and began to swing uptown, Deadpool following after. He felt something under his arms carrying him, looking up to see Iron Man.

"Mr. Stark, do you think he's okay?" he frantically sputtered out.

"I don't know, kid. That was a hell of a fall."

Deadpool was shouting after them, doing his best to keep up. He fell behind eventually, but Peter knew he would get there quickly.

An entire park that was about 4 blocks long on each side was pretty much gone. Towards one end was the hero's body.

"Oh god, Mr. Stark. Please don't tell me he's..."

"Go check on him, I'll be right here to call for help."

Peter was let down and he sprinted towards the figure he could barely make out. Tears marred his vision and he dropped to his knees next to you. He pulled off your mask, almost breaking down when he saw your bruised face and bleeding skull.

"(Y/N). Please be okay," he blubbered. "You can't- you can't leave me, please. You're one of my only friends, please be okay."

There was no answer and he slowly lifted you under your back and your knees to lay flat on the ground. Your eyes remained closed and your chest unmoving.

"(Y/N), please. We're getting help, come on. You're gonna be okay," Peter gasped out, pulling his mask off as he hunched over you. "You have bones made out of some of the strongest stuff known to humans, how would you not survive that?"

Peter was sobbing at this point, but he heard the sound of people shouting to get back and a vehicle come up close to them. He saw "Stark Industries" printed on the side. At least his identity wouldn't be revealed through his recklessness. But desperate recklessness. He pulled the mask back on and picked your body up, carrying you into the van and placing you down.

"I don't really have ambulances so this is the best I could do," Tony said quietly. "We'll do our best to help him, Peter. I'm-"

"Wait!"

Deadpool barreled straight into the back of the van and shut the doors, motioning for the driver, Black Widow herself, to go. She rolled her eyes but obliged.

"He'll be fine. Just give him a few minutes," Deadpool panted. "Jesus, you guys need to let me come with. I was gonna say that his healing powers are amazing, could even rival mine. Trust me."

Peter yanked his mask off once more and stared into the white eyes of Deadpool's mask.

"How- How good? Like, come back to life good?" he almost whispered.

"Well his bones aren't made of the same material as mine and if he breaks them, he just pushes them back into place — really gross by the way — and then it heals in minutes. I don't think his heart has stopped before but I think if he's anything like me, he'll be okay."

Peter grabbed Deadpool around the waist and hugged him, trapping his arms and all. Tony sighed.

"Okay, no hugging the murderer. If he's right, the most we can do is make (Y/N) comfortable."

A quick drive to the Avengers Tower and a medical room later, Peter could literally hear your bones moving. Honestly it was probably going to be one of the grossest things he's heard in his life an hour from now, but it was the most beautiful sound because he knew you were healing. He occasionally lifted your back to make sure your spine was aligned, and he would push something into place if it wasn't. The doctors didn't stop him, even encouraged it because they knew Spider-Man would have the strength to do this thing.

It felt like hours, but he looked up at the clock and it was only a few minutes. Like, 10 since you were found and placed in this room. That short.

Minutes after, you thought you were physically feeling your entire body turning back on as your brain repaired itself. Your body involuntarily jolted up and your eyes snapped open.

"That felt like I just did heroin and then it wore off and then had whiskey. And I've never had either of those."

Someone suddenly hugged you from the side, and you looked to see Spider-Man.

"Did I die and go to Heaven?"

"No, you died and came right back," Spider-Man sniffled, pulling his arms away.

"Were you... crying?" you asked cautiously.

"I didn't realise that you weren't actually dead but then Deadpool told us that you heal like he does. And that whole thing made me rethink my entire life like 'that criminal (Y/N) seems to like me and he died and I kind of like him so maybe we should date when he’s alive again' kind of thing," Spider-Man said all at once.

"I'm on a hospital bed and I feel like my brain is mush," you complained. "When I'm better we'll talk more."

He pulled his mask off and put his hand holding his mask over yours with a small smile.

“I’m Peter Parker. And I’d like to ask you on a date after you feel better,” Peter said.

You reached to take yours off and noticed there was nothing there.

“They said you should be comfortable so I told them to leave and took your mask off,” Peter continued. “I’ve been setting your bones into place and whatever.”

“Isn’t that like... really gross to you though?” you grimaced.

“Not as long as I know I’m helping you. Go to sleep and then we’ll talk later.”

He slowly pushed you back down to lay on the bed and kissed your forehead. You felt your face heat up just as his began to turn a bit red, and you managed a small laugh before allowing yourself to shut your eyes.

#male reader #peter parker x male reader #peter parker x male!reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker #x male reader #male reader insert

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pigeontheoneandonly · 4 years

Text

2020 - 20 tags

I was tagged by wonderful @rpgwarrior4824 and @pip-n-flinx! Thanks!

Tagging anyone who wants to play. :) Tag me so I can read them!

20 random FACTS about yourself that may surprise people. Here are mine:

1. Do you make your bed? No. If I get myself off to work in the morning with two shoes and combed hair, it was a victory. I'm very easily distracted and absent-minded and the bed just isn't worth the mental effort for me. (Also, typically my spouse is still in it when I leave, and would have strong feelings about it.)

2. What’s your favorite number? Three

3. What’s your job? I am a technical project manager for an engineering company. I grew into that role after doing materials R&D for a number of years, and manage R&D projects.

4. If you could, would you go back to school? Hell yes. I loved being in school, way more than I like going to work. I would love for my only "job" in life to be learning new things.

5. Can you parallel park? At the time I got my license, you had to be sixteen years old and one month to take the exam. What difference the month made, who knows, but for me it put my driving test solidly in late January, the coldest time of year where I live. I took it on four inches of ice. The instructor passed me when I got halfway through the maneuver and I've avoided trying ever since.

6. A job you had which would surprise people? I spent a summer as a space camp counselor. It was an interesting place, for reasons you'd expect and some you wouldn't. Also, in a moment of desperation and unemployment, I spent several months as a standardized test grader which is the sort of thing that sucks your soul out through your toes. But it did convince me once and for all that standardized testing is a racket.

7. Do you think aliens are real? Yes. But I don't know that we'd recognize each other. Think of how long it took for humans to recognize any degree of intelligence in elephants or dolphins, and how poorly we still communicate, and then imagine doing that with an even more intelligent species that doesn't share any evolutionary heritage with us. It could easily be a ships passing in the night sort of thing.

8. Can you drive a manual car? Haha not if my life depended on it. This is the most American answer ever I've given to anything.

9. What’s your guilty pleasure? I like watching the same TV shows over and over again. Like I'll get done with a re-watch and just start it over again, until I don't feel like it anymore.

10. Tattoos? None, and not particularly interested (I loathe needles). But it I were to get one, it would be the symbol for pi. (Related to the "things you wouldn't expect from space camp" thing above, one of my fellow counselors was an engineering student who was super into all things feminine, but also had a full-back, full-color tat of a space shuttle launching.)

11. Favorite color? Purple!!

12. Things people do that drive you crazy? Passive-aggression gets under my skin pretty damn fast.

13. Any Phobias? I don't know that it rises to a true phobia, but I have a real hard time with heights. I had a chance to go up in one of the antennas at the VLA, and I had to climb back down after less than a minute because the dish was shaking like crazy in the wind, and I was seconds away from flattening myself to it and never being able to move again. It's probably good though, because I have a huge obsession with Mt Everest and I'd definitely be one of the people who dies up there.

14. Favorite childhood sport? I'm not a sports person. I took taekwondo for a while in college and liked it, but my favorite aspects were the solo ones rather than sparring.

15. Do you talk to yourself? Continually.

16. What movie do you adore? The Last Unicorn

17. Do you like doing puzzles? Occasionally. I haven't done any in a long time.

18. Favorite kind of music? I'll give anything a try.

19. Tea or coffee? Coffee, but I’m not allowed to have any right now. :( (Low-acid diet)

20. The first thing you remember you wanted to be when you grew up? A herpetologist! I was obsessed with frogs for most of my elementary school days.

#about me #not mass effect

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swanandapirate · 6 years

Text

A Muted Hue of Grey (1/14) -- CSBB

Summary: Emma Swan liked being a PI in Boston. It was a fun job, she had an okay income and she was a good one at that, so there was no logical reason to try and leave. Except for the fact that she wanted to, so badly. And, when she received a job offer for what seemed to be the opportunity of a lifetime, she did exactly that. Leave. Run. All the way to London. The job was simple: trailing a man called Killian Jones. Easy enough.

Well, until things get complicated, that is.

Rating: M (later mentions of violence, alcohol abuse, and sex)

Wordcount: 2934

Links: ao3 // ff.net

A/N: Pheeewww it's finally here! Over a year ago, I came up with yet another prompt that I thought I was never going to write and then had the crazy idea to write it as a part of @captainswanbigbang which was one of the best decisions I’ve made in a long time. I've been working on this story for months and at last, it is done and ready to be posted. This has been a 61K labor of love with a couple of obstacles along the road (I’m looking at you, uni). I owe major gratitude to my betas and superheroes @acourtoftruelove and @ofshipsandswans for sometimes yelling at me, often correcting me, and always squealing along with me. I couldn't have done this without them.

And check out the banner and amazing picset by the lovely @shady-swan-jones who gave this fic the perfect art to go along with it.

So, without further ado: A Muted Hue of Grey.

——————————

God, why were there so many people?

She thought Boston was bad but London was, quite frankly, ten times worse. She had to keep her lips pursed together to keep from grunting and swearing every two seconds. Tourists here, street vendors there. Cyclists who ran a red light, almost plowing her over when she had every right to cross as the green stick figure had given her permission. The city had its charm, of course, but not when she needed to focus and could not be distracted by a girl taking a selfie in the middle of the road while blocking every other person walking there. Emma had a mission and she couldn’t fuck it up.

Avoiding eye contact with the pubescent-looking guy, clipboard in hand and a bright raincoat with a logo of some non-profit organization branded on his back, she continued on. It had to be far from an enjoyable job, standing outside, braving the cold and the rain only to be turned down time after time. Emma did feel sorry for the teenagers. She wasn’t against supporting animals or the environment, far from it actually, but more often than not the “have you heard about this cause” talk generated a nuisance that could only be avoided by lowering her gaze and crossing the road. There was no time to politely listen to them rattle their practiced speech only to politely decline with the answer that she would think about it. Especially now.

Sounds of a busker infiltrated the buzz of the people around her, of all those conversations held between the commuters or across the phone. The chords played on the battered guitar were familiar, ones she’d definitely heard before, and when the words joined the rest of the music, Emma shook her head with a trace of a smile appearing, feeling foolish that she didn’t figure it out earlier. Wonderwall, of course.

While the street musicians lacked originality vis-a-vis their choice of music (John Lennon, Oasis, Goo Goo Dolls, Radiohead; she’d heard it all a thousand times), most of them did possess a lot of talent. Emma halted more often than not—when she wasn’t in a hurry—to listen to their rendition of some cliché song, giving them whatever spare change she had in her purse or pocket and in return being thanked with a smile.

Honestly, London wasn’t all that bad. Her apartment was shit, yes; there was no point in attempting to gloss over that. It was impossible to hide the mold stains and pretend the ice water squirting out of the defect shower was pleasant and warm. Although her landlord was of that opinion somehow; anything to get him out of spending time and effort to fix some bothersome issues he’d rather ignore. The jackass.

She didn’t have any friends after moving here, yes, that was true too. But she could handle being alone, she was quite experienced with loneliness and independence, had learned to be resourceful and creative every time she lacked an extra pair of hands, an additional set of eyes or simply some new company.

The city wasn’t all that great either, but Emma could think of worse places to be. New York, for one, where the large crowds only resulted in chaos; a heavily-polluted, siren-screeching mess. London, however, seemed more structured to Emma. The perfect place to be undercover, to blend into the masses and only reappear when she felt like it all the while still retaining a sense of overview. And for what her job consisted of, that trait was necessary and ideal.

It had taken a while to grow accustomed to the British manners, the overabundance of pet names (she had to keep herself from answering “I’m not your love” everytime she got called some sort of variation), to everything basically. From the way they ordered food to the way their traffic was directed—god, she’s never been so afraid for people riding a bike as she was for the cyclists risking their lives between the swerving and honking cars.

It had been a struggle to not be the American amongst Brits and to not ooze her Americanness in the way she moved and the way she looked. It had taken a combination of observing and adapting, but now, Emma was sure she appeared as any other London goer. One last disclosure was the moment she would open her mouth and began talking in an accent that could not be interpreted as anything but American. Luckily for her, however, she was never the socializing type so she was able to restrict unnecessary communication to a minimum. Yay for being a loner.

She scanned the crowded bridge before her again, adjusting the camera around her neck. Its synthetic band was uncomfortably chafing against the skin of her neck, turning it raw and itchy. In a soothing manner, her hand massaged the dry patch of skin, but to no avail. She had to stop thinking about it, the irritation would only get worse.

A distraction presented itself and Emma let out a relieved sigh when she obtained a visual confirmation that the selfie-taking girl had not ruined everything. It had taken her more than a week to figure the whole situation out, to know where she should be and at what time. The shortcuts she was supposed to take were etched into her mind, a detailed treasure map with a moving X. Left here, two blocks ahead another left, she could almost do it with her eyes closed—if it weren’t for the other people.

If anyone ever asked her what her dream job was, her answer wouldn’t be traipsing around London by foot, but she’d made the choice for this profession a long time ago—after she’d been beaten up as a bail bonds person far too often—and it had stuck. She was good at what she did and after a couple of jobs, her reputation began to precede her. Offers came from left and right, giving her a wide array of choices and letting her be picky, a luxury she could not afford when she was younger. It helped her to be able to fly to another continent and pay way too much for her shit apartment.

The move here was a bit radical, almost crazy, but she’d been asked and she was never one to pass up on a good work opportunity. Her ties back in America weren’t deeply rooted. They could easily be yanked out to start afresh and even though she’d had some mournful and aghast responses to her news, all of her friends knew her enough to have prepared for this situation. They had always kept an eye open for the impending moment, the sudden flash when Emma would get sick of the suburban life and would want a whole one-eighty. The whole picket fence life… well, she wasn’t there yet and doubted she ever would.

She’d come back eventually; this job wasn’t going to take years of her life, but there was no haste either. She would return home with a new experience and some new stories under her belt. No new friends; Emma wasn’t idealistic enough to expect herself to suddenly gain friends. Nor was she social enough; the only things she did were work and return home.

Every day, she took the same route, she visited the same places. The coffee shop across the street that had the surly-looking barista but had the best price-quality ratio. The laundromat two blocks over that didn’t communicate their closing hours clearly enough and had automatically locked Emma inside when she’d noticed at 9.49 pm that she had no clean underwear anymore. The night shop that provided Emma with midnight snacks and drinks and its joyful owner who always gave her a discount. Places with people, but none she spoke more words than hello, bye and thank you to.

It had taken her years to gather and open up to the people she frequently came across back in Boston: the girl with the pixie cut who lived in 2A, her sandy-haired boyfriend, the owner of the diner Emma ate at every Monday morning, the martial arts coach at the gym she used to work out at until she was sweaty and exhausted. Years of coaxing on their part, asking her in the hallway, in the locker room, mid-breakfast to hang out, only to be met by her immediate refusal. Years of learning to trust.

Honestly, she was grateful they never stopped trying, never let being cast off by the solid brick walls surrounding her deter them. They saw something in her—Zeus knows what exactly that was—and wanted to include her, let her enter their little but tight-knit circle of people when they barely knew her. Their only reasoning was that “she looked like she could use some company”, a direct quote from the circle’s mother, Mary Margaret, also known as 2A’s pixie cut.

Emma subtly curled her lips and closed her eyes as she thought back to the people back home, momentarily basking in the warm feeling that settled inside of her. But this wasn’t the time to be sentimental, she could save that for another time, one where she was preferably alone and not working. She continued to maneuver around, opening and lifting her eyes to gain sight of her target anew. The mop of black hair was about 20 yards in front of her, still moving at a steady pace.

She lifted the camera with care to avoid hurting her already damaged skin even more and held it before her face. Closing her left eye to exclude any form of distraction, her right focused on the tiny image before her. The image was still blurry and after a couple of heartbeats, it became clear, the perfect quality for Emma to press the button. The shutter clicked fast, a set of successive images following quickly, flashing along.

After a quick check of her material and a nod, showing her satisfaction with the results, she let the camera drop again, the device bumping against her stomach a couple of times before steadying and adjusting to her fast steps. He was moving fast so she had to as well.

There were white earbuds dangling from his ears, his head softly bobbing along to the beat of the song reverberating in his ears. He was entranced in his own little world, with a personal soundtrack to which he moved and acted and that drowned out the bustle of the city.

She was curious about what he was listening to, what music was worthy of the honor of being added to his playlist and blasted into his ears every morning. Was he a rock listener? Classical music connoisseur? Did he have a penchant for sappy love songs à la Ed Sheeran that he would then emotionally sing along to? Was he as original in creating his playlists as the buskers that were scattered in subway stations and on street corners? Emma supposed it wouldn’t take her too long to figure it out, to figure him out, all the way to the final details of his being and character.

For not being a people person, she prided herself on being able to read people quite well.

The spring sun shone brightly and without encumbrance, hitting her skin directly and causing small beads of sweat to gather at her temples and a thin layer on her upper lip, which Emma rapidly wiped away. The clothes she was wearing—a thick woolen sweater and jeans—were unfit for this weather. It was as though it were the heart of August and not the blossoming beginning of April in a country where winter had only just ceded its powers. Emma wished—fervently—she had known that this morning. She also wished she had thought about layers. Their power could not be underestimated. They were the way of life here.

But the white fabric stuck to her skin, the sweat not helping at all, and slowed her movements down as she attempted to quicken her pace. She was losing track of the nape, the mess of hair she was pursuing. The stress found its way to her head, making Emma’s heart pick up pace as well. Her steps quickened on the concrete, the tap tap occasionally interrupted by a rasp of shoes on the underground when she turned a sharp corner and braked. Her steady breathing was turning into a pant, proving to Emma it was definitely time to renew her gym membership. Being a PI might be less physical and consist of less running, fighting, avoiding danger etc. than a bail bonds person's curriculum but that did not mean she was allowed to slouch. Not if she was doing this.

She squeezed herself between a group of tourists, much to the dismay of said tourists who indignantly addressed her in Spanish. Not that she would understand what words they were using in their complaints, her high school Spanish had withered to a dead plant after not being watered and nourished for years. Emma hastened to reach the leader, using the woman’s Spanish flag as a guide to reach the end of the troop and to be able to pass her. With her camera clutched tightly, held close to not bestow any additional hindrance, she zigzagged, ducking and swerving as she seemed fit. After a minute or so—though it felt like a lifetime—she re-emerged from the group, some more Spanish thrown her way, frantically looking for him.

Shit, where did he go?

While before it was like a ray of light lit him up, pointing out where he walked in the crowd, now there was only darkness. An unlit maze without any sort of red thread, a challenge she had no idea how to tackle. The metaphorical target on his back had vanished. Hundreds of dark-haired people, dozens of earbuds, not the one Emma needed.

She needed him, with his leather bag, the pirate necklace around his neck, the tattoo on his right upper arm, with those elven ears Emma was so fascinated by but would never admit to anyone that she was.

What was he doing?

Right, three streets, right again, left until the lights.

That was what the GPS embedded into her brain told her was his route; that was what he always did on Saturday afternoon.

So why wasn’t he standing before the red glowing traffic light?

He had a routine he followed almost meticulously. A creature of extreme habit, that was what he was. Emma had to buy herself a watch to be able to know what time it was at every second and not have to bother with retrieving her phone from her pocket every time, losing precious seconds. She used the simple watch on her wrist to follow his movements, needed it on every occasion. There were not a lot of people she had met before who were this exact, who left their apartment when the clock stroke precisely eight, who re-entered their apartment at 17:23 time and time again, regardless of the weather, day or season.

This was not like him.

Emma peered over her shoulder as she took a right, the sudden movement making her hair whip, attempting to look through the masses to double check if he surely hadn’t taken the left turn like usual, but there was no trace of him. Or his unique ears.

Right as she turned her head back, in what felt like a blink of an eye, there was something right in front of her. Someone. Emma attempted to decelerate and stop but the distance was too small to do so, her body still in motion. She braced for the shock, the crash of two moving objects together, her body meeting another solid mass and flinched to prepare for the pain to hit her but there were two hands that softened the blow, that settled on both of her upper arms, one warm and one cold.

Emma didn’t dare to open her eyes, eyelids still squeezed shut. Until the someone she almost hit, but didn’t because they were paying attention while she was focused on other things, cleared their throat, an attempt to capture Emma’s attention and most likely to prompt her to open her eyes again instead of standing there like a scared little child.

Biting the inside of her lip, Emma slowly peeled her eyes open, letting them first adjust to the light again and then scan her direct surroundings. She was staring at a chest. A man’s chest. There were earbuds dangling from his grey Henley, a trace of chest hair peeking out the top and a silver chain around his neck. An odd feeling of apprehension plagued her, heartbeat lodged in her throat, as her eyes hesitantly traveled upwards, in search of a face, of some point of recognition who this mysterious stranger-slash-savior was.

Blue eyes stared into hers.

Familiar blue eyes.

“Can I help you, lass?” he asked and while this was the first time she had heard him speak, the cadence, the accent, the voice—his voice—felt familiar. As if she’d spent hours upon hours listening to it, talking to him. She could almost imagine how his voice would sound in a laugh, how it would change when he was tired, the accent thick and present, how it would caress in a whisper.

It felt as if she knew him.

Which she did.

But also didn’t.

Because this was Killian Jones.

The man she was hired to spy on.

The man who was holding her and staring at her with expectant eyes.

Fuck.

——————————

For the next couple of months, you can expect an update every Thursday! I hope you enjoyed!

#cs ff #csbb #captain swan #captain swan big bang #cs au #my words and sentences #AMHoG

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cancerbiophd · 4 years

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Hello! I'd like some advice on how to focus? I have this problem, that I realise in my third year of undergrad, that I get so jumpy when reading papers? Like, I'd sit down and try to read an article but my brain will jump at a word and then I'll open a new tab to search that up, without finishing the first paper. I also realise that when I'm writing essays, with given topics, I cannot focus on the topic and jump around and end up procrastinating, and that affects the quality of my writing.

Hello anon! Thanks for being patient in waiting for this answer!

Before I get into tips on how I personally deal with this, I highly recommend considering seeing your doctor about your mental wellbeing, because there may be something physiological underlying these issues (that may have just popped up, which happens!). The key to my suggestion is that you say it’s affecting the quality of moments in your life (eg. your work). It’s my personal philosophy that if something is negatively affecting the quality of any aspect in my life, then I definitely need to address it. Another way to see it: a 1 hour doctor visit changing your life for the better forever vs. all those hours wasted being unproductive and feeling miserable. And I don’t think you (or anyone) deserves the latter.

In addition, if the root of all this lies in something biological, then no amount of mindset changes or new habits will help (in fact, they may even just lead to more frustration if they don’t work).

I know going to the doctor is scary in the time of Covid, but tele-medicine is becoming more common now, so that’s an option you can look into!

Ok, now for small tips that have helped me stay focused on my task at hand. These are just what work for me, and may not work for everyone, but if something sounds intriguing to you, give it a try and see how it goes!

I have an inner voice that keeps me on track. It narrates what I need to do, when I need to do it. When a task gets overwhelming (like writing an entire PhD dissertation, which I just finished!), it talks me through a step-by-step guide, one point at a time. Like, “Ok, first, open up the file folder. Next, click on the document to open that up. Let’s focus on the edits on this paragraph first, and this paragraph only. Alright, click Accept Change...” stuff like that. It’ll take time though; that voice didn’t pop up immediately. To help your inner voice along, you may need to begin by talking out loud.

Related, I break down large overwhelming tasks, like writing an essay, into smaller bite-size mini steps. “Write a 5-page essay!” is ugh, no, horrible, can’t do it, brain gone. But, “Write down your thesis and 3 main supporting arguments first” is much easier to get the ball rolling. If you’re unsure of how to break a task, like writing an essay, into small doable steps, I recommend asking for advice from your professor, TA, campus writing resource, fellow classmate, friend, parent, etc.

Do the easy tasks first, like a warm-up for your brain. I personally find it helps get the ball rolling because I get to ride that high of having accomplished something, and I use it to build momentum towards my harder tasks. For example, when I get a wall of edits back from my PI on my dissertation, I click through the “Accept Changes” first (so the little minor edits), and then go and address larger tasks, like rewriting entire sections.

Block virtual distractions, like social media, with website blockers, or even hide your phone somewhere (or give it to someone to hold on to until your break, or until you’re done with a small task). This personally doesn’t work for me (not taking micro-breaks to check social media actually makes me less focused), but you could give it a try.

Here are some specific tips on how to read a paper efficiently (and ones regarding focusing near the end)

Have some background noise. My lab manager can’t focus on a task on hand properly unless she has some background music/show playing--that’s just how she works efficiently to keep from being distracted, and sometimes I’m the same way. Some days I feel like I have two parts to my brain--one trying to get stuff done and the other who is super fidgety and easily distracted. So sometimes I just need to preoccupy the fidgety part with white noise, music, background TV show/livestream/etc. This may be why some people work better in public spaces like libraries and cafe’s. I really like the RelaxMelodies app to create my own soundscape (you can mix and match sounds like rain, campfire, wind through trees, etc). Ambient-Mixer has a lot of great user-made mixes too, like this Sunday Brunch one.

Make sure your physical body is well-taken care of, and that includes a full belly, plenty of hydration, a good sleep schedule (or as good as you can get in college), a regular exercise routine, other health issues in check, etc. A severe lack of any of those things may diminish our brain’s ability to function properly, and thus focus. If food scarcity is a challenge anyone faces in college, some universities have university food pantries with free food for students. Here is also a free cookbook on how to eat well on $4/day.

Links to other tips:

3 easy steps to focus when you don’t want to (The last one would probably work well for you!)

Study tips for days when you can’t focus by @jeonchemstudy

How to stop procrastinating (many of them have to do with focusing on a task at hand)

If anyone has anything else to add that has worked for you, please do!

I hope things improve for you anon. Good luck! If there’s anything else I can help you with, let me know.

#Anonymous #study advice

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official-ilvermorny · 6 years

Text

Ilvermorny Sorting Game: @se-rowan

@se-rowan’s answers:

*Hogwarts House and why you feel an affinity: Hufflepuff because I am well known for my honesty and I am loyal to my loved ones no matter what. Plus hard work is something I’ve always valued and try so hard to practice. *Patronus form and why you think it accurate: Occamy. This came as a surprise to me when it first appeared but these creatures are know to be quite gentle but also fierce when protecting their loved ones which is similar to myself since I’ve been known to be a motherly figure to my friends. Wand details: My wand is made of English Oak wood that is 12 ¾ in length with a dragon heartstring core. Plus it’s surprisingly flexible. *Which of the following do you most trust when making decisions, and why: logic, intuition, instincts, or emotions? Logic. Because it’s the only thing you can trust. Emotions, from my experiences, can be way too easily manipulated and can cloud your judgement. Intuition is never reliable because it has no conscious reasoning behind it. Instincts aren’t much help either because they seem, to me at least, to rely on trusting oneself and sometimes we can’t even trust ourselves. Logic is clear and based on evidence and facts. Which class would you most like to take at Ilvermorny and why? The care of magical creatures. Who wouldn’t want to be surrounded by amazing and beautiful creatures while learning more about them and how to care for them? Sign me up as soon as possible. What No-Maj career would/do you follow in life and why? A child psychologist because I want to help children and teenagers who have gone through difficult experiences and they don’t know how to process them correctly. If I can give them the tools on how to help themselves and better their lives, there is no other career I want to be in. What wizarding career would you like to follow and why? Definitely a healer. Maybe in a wizarding school. Young wizards….we’re always getting into scraps and it takes a good healer to mend broken bones or help reverse a potions experiment gone wrong. It’s not an easy job but someone has to do it and I think it can be pretty rewarding. It’s summer break! What is your ideal way to spend it? Doing photography with my best friend with our Polaroid cameras, Swimming in the lake by my house and stargazing with my telescope. Do you prefer to learn hard facts, or to think about abstract concepts? Even I said I prefer logic earlier, but in my own private mind, abstract takes up residence and I can’t help it. You discover that a close friend of yours has been bullying someone. What do you do? I calmly comfort them directly. I tell them what I know and ask for their explanation. If I don’t agree with what they’ve said, I tell them and try to get them understand that what they’re doing is wrong and that they need to stop and apologize immediately. What do you do when stressed? I paint abstract with my watercolors and let my mind go blank for a while. If that doesn’t help, listening to no-maj musical soundtracks gives me a nice distraction too. What do you do when angry? I grab a broom, fly as fast as i can and play the no-maj band, PVRIS on my phone as loud as possible to drown out all my negative emotions. What do you do when sad? I write poetry or read my favorite book series. Sometimes I play jazz music and have a good cry if need be. What do you do when happy? That’s easy. I watch my favorite no-maj movies with my best friend. Pretty anything from Heathers, Spiderman: Homecoming, Sherlock to Treasure Planet gets me in a good mood. What is your greatest fear? Being left behind or losing my friends. I don’t have a lot because i have social anxiety so the very little friends I do have, I keep close to my heart and I can’t stand the thought of losing anyone I care about. What would Amortentia smell like to you? Old leather jackets, my mother’s pecan pies, fresh biscuits and dried herbs. *How do you spend your free time? Paint, write poetry and stories and knit. *What extracurriculars do/did you engage in? I’ve been known to dabble in the theatrical arts from time to time but I mostly do small parts or help work backstage. But I wouldn’t mind a chance in the spotlight just once. *Which Ilvermorny House do you feel a strongest affinity to and why? I would like to be a pukwudgie because I like to think of myself as a healer. I hate seeing anyone in any time of pain and I want to do whatever I can to make them feel better and become better people. I generally like to take care of others and hate to be selfish. But I’m no pushover. Anyone tries to mess with me or someone I care about, they messed with the wrong witch.

I think you’re totally right about your House - you seem very much like a Pukwudgie. You are very much a Healer. Both of your occupations have to do with healing, both magical and mundane. Your Patronus and wand could both point this way as well. As you say, an Occamy is sweet and demure up until you mess with those it loves – a very Pukwudgie trait, if you ask me. Your wand wood, English oak, bonds with those with a natural affinity to the natural world. This would do very well with Healing. You would be able to use your abilities with magical plants and creatures in your Healing, and perhaps even find new properties to aid you.

One of the only parts that could dissuade me from Pukwudgie is your emphasis on logic instead of emotions. However, this simply means you use a Horned Serpent Cognition primarily – not that you are one. I use the Serpent Cognition a lot too, and though I was offered a place in both Houses, I thoroughly believe I’m very much a Thunderbird. And your other answers point back to Pukwudgie as well. You wouldn’t act brashly in the bullying situation, for example. And the Healing ones as discussed above, of course. I have to say, you’d be a tiny bit atypical, with your somewhat fiery tendencies (according to your answers, at least), but not anywhere near different enough to completely step away from the House of Healers. I know some Pukwudgies with way less in common with their Housemates than you would have. You would fit in perfectly in House Pukwudgie!

~Prefect Selwyn

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imagine-wannaone · 7 years

Text

P.S. . .

I was going to write this as an actual story but the bullet points seemed easier? Requested @cheekyindy

• You and Daniel met on the first day of school, • You where sat in the curb, wondering how all these people could make friends with complete strangers so quickly, • You watched them race across the playground in the middle of a game of tag or hanging upside down together on the climbing frame, laughing as their shirts fell over their heads, • Just a lil Jealous • But then your knight in shining armour steps up, he seems to be glowing but you were young at this point so who knows, • He’s armed with a ball under one arm and a vibrant smile, • “Hey, do you wanna play ball with me?” • Hell yeah do you, • And with that one game of catch, you’re bonded as the troublesome twosome ™ • You’re the pair that have to constantly put plasters on each others knees and make mud pies together and share everything and the two that people predict will marry in the future, • Which disgusts you because KisSiNG DaNiEL??? • Little you says no thanks, • You’re the inseparable two who are always exploring little corners or creating trouble, • But then you move up into older school and you manage to make some more friends, and all of a sudden it isn’t just the two of you, • It’s a little weird, but you’re happy if Daniel’s happy and you’re still close friends anyway, • That’s when the note passing starts, • It seems note passing happens every lesson and everyone questions how you still have things to talk about, but you do, • But no one ever knows what you’re writing either because you have this weird grid code that the two of you engineered when you started getting caught, • Little do they know, it’s just the two of you being total dorks, • ‘Me: ‘Dad, make me a sandwich!’ Dad: ‘Poof, You’re a sandwich’’ • The dad jokes keep rolling, • You drawing Pepe and he has to edit it to make it a RarE Pepe, • Because Pepe is timeless fight me, • 'Is undoing your top button the male equivalent of undoing your bra?’ • At that Daniel undid his top buttons and sent you a challenging look, to which you complied, • Daniel got sent out with a red face for choking whilst you quickly hooked yourself back in, • He honestly should have known not to challenge you, especially when you sit at the back, • You get the jist anyway, you’re not sharing your deepest secrets like everyone seems to think, • (You do that whenever you sleep round), • Some people tell your parents they’re mad for letting the two of you sleep in the same room, but you’ve done it since you where tiny so there was never a point your parents started to question it, • They love Daniel anyway, you swear they ask more about him than you, • But that’s okay because it’s the same with Daniels parents, they constantly ask about you and hug you whenever you go round, • Which is so often because the two of you copy each others homework constantly, • You can fail together :’), • You only realise your heart does a lil flip flop when with Daniel one time you’re at the skate park, • The two of you used to be edgy™ so went to the skate park all the time and it just sort of became a habit, • But there’s like a lil group of you who are regulars and honestly squad ™ • Daniel uses his skateboard but you only ride your bike, • It has been the cause for many scrapes and bruises and tears but the two of you never seem to be able to stop and now you’re some of the best there, • You’re sat on the edge of one of the half domes that cuts into the ground, hoping to god someone doesn’t run into you, • You watch Seongwoo chase after his skateboard, which has decided on a independent career, Jisung changing a wheel on board next to you, • Daniel slams down right next to you and Jesus Christ does this boy want you dead that badly? • “Y/N, today is the day we get you on a skate board,” • You look up at him eyebrows raised because honestly? Does it look like you have the balance for this? hA, • But Daniel drags you onto his board, one hand at your waist and one hand being squeezed tight as hell in yours, • You’re full of wobbles and squeals and the bike is definitely your specialty but you could definitely do this, • If Daniel’s arms wrapping around you weren’t so distracting, sending shivers up to your shoulders and neck • Honestly you need to get a grip, • There’s a light blush painted across Daniels cheeks when you wrap your arms around his neck as you hop off the board, thanking him, and you inwardly smile at your accomplishment despite your weak heart, • So yeah, since then you’re whipped, • You’re in a history class when Daniel passes you another note, your head whips to him when you read it, he’s grinning at you like a complete dork, • 'You look cute when the light shines on you like that,’ • The straightforward compliment catches you off guard and makes you blush, a smile spreading on your face as quickly as the butterflies in your stomach, • 'Only when the sun is like this?’ • You hand it back with a eyebrow raised and a teasing grin, hopeful hiding your freaking out inside, • 'You also look cute with that blush, and when you were on that board with me the other day’ • What is this boys game? • 'What up with you, Kang Daniel, you’re not normally this soft? What’s bothering you?’ • You watch him write back, soft smile spread on his face, the same one from growing up and the same crescent eyes that you always associate with warmth, • 'What would you say if I said I liked you, Y/N?’ • You’re eyebrows shoot up and your head snaps to Daniel, but he’s staring straight ahead, a soft smile on his face, • A complete, total, utter dork, • That you may or may not be head over heels for, • 'You’ll have to wait till after class, Kang Daniel,’ • He sends you a puppy dog glance but you stare straight ahead, just like him, • He fidgets the rest of the class, sending you little glances as your heart beats out of rhythm as you try to comprehend what in earth is happening, • You both pack up slowly and hover in class until everyone’s left, when Daniel leans on his desk and you sit on yours facing him, a smile playing on your lips, • “Why so out of the blue?” • “Isn’t it painfully obvious I like you? The boys picked up on it straight away,” • You scrunch your eyebrows up at this, you can’t remember Daniel acting any different to normal, but maybe you where just too busy trying to cover for yourself, • 'Well it should be painfully obvious by now that you’re not the only one, • Daniel breaks into that puppy smile that makes you smile as well and you do nothing but sit in silence for a second, • “For real?” • You roll your eyes and reach out to pull Daniel towards you, placing your lips into his and resting your arms in his shoulders, • You where always one to take risks, but you’d hardly call this one a risk, • It takes a split second for him to react, resting his hands on your hips and he tastes of strawberry lip balm and you can’t believe you’re kissing your best friend, you still sat on your desk and him stood between your legs, • “Hey are you guys coming to the park later- OH MY GOD FINALLY, BUT PLEASE GET A ROOM,” • You pull apart to find Woojin covering his eyes, stood at the door, • “This was our room,” Daniel smiles at you before turning to Woojin again, • You two are always unapologetic in what you do, and this won’t be a first time, • Dating Daniel is a little like before, but a lot more cuddles and back hugs and make out sessions and quick kisses and arms slung round each others waists and hand holding, • So many piggy backs anyone would think you’re injured, • Daniel teaches you how to skateboard, with a lot of hard work because you get distracted easily, • Not exactly your fault. . . • But then you make all the other boys gag by squeezing into one board to skate, • You’re parents can’t believe it took so long tbh, • You still pass notes in class, but there’s a lot more cheesy pick up lines, • 'Do you have a Band-Aid? Because I just scraped my knee falling for you’ • Daniel underestimates your ability to be prepared for everything as you fish a plaster out of your bag and throw it at him, • 'Are you an interior decorator? Because when I saw you, the entire room became beautiful.’ -He’s not the only one with cheesy lines, you can hit back, • The two of you keep the sleepovers but move into the same bed, because your parents are still suspiciously chill, • CouPlEs PajaMAs!!! • Always wrapped in Daniels arm and you definitely curl into him as soon as you start watching a film and maybe fall asleep, • The two of you are honestly so fluffy it’s unbelievable,

#kang daniel #daniel #wanna one #produce 101 #pd 101 #broduce 101 #fanfic #fanfiction #headcanon #oneshot #imagine #scenario #fluff #og admin

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quinten-sawyer · 6 years

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Time Now For Sleep || Raul, Qhuinn and Quinten

Who: @southernxwolf @rauldantedrago @quinten-sawyer

What: Raul’s body finally reaches its limits, and he collapses from exhaustion. Luckily, Qhuinn is nearby to help. She calls in reenforcements in the form of Quinten and they make sure he’s steady on his feet before sending him on his way

Where: Hallway and empty room of one of the academic buildings

Notes: Raul is in bold, Qhuinn in italic and Quinten is normal

It had been a rough week, something about the week had simply been off to him. Maybe it was the fact that everyone kept talking about family and he was reminded that he had no one to call or write. Or maybe it was something else entirely, he had no idea. He'd thrown himself into his work, reading, studying, doing homework. A desperate attempt to distract himself from. He barely slept, missed a couple of meals, and the next he knew the world began to spin. Somehow he ended up on the ground, he didn't know how, but here he was, staring up at the ceiling and desperately trying to keep his eyes open.

Thanksgiving had come and gone without much of her usual pomp and circumstance. Oh, she still baked up a storm at Southern Moon, and even made she and Remus their own little Thanksgiving dinner. But other than that, she hadn't celebrated like she normally would have. It was her first holiday without Clay, and she really hadn't wanted to do much more than hunker down with a few joints and a Harry Potter marathon. Now that it was all over, it was time to put her big girl panties back on and get back into the real world. Before Christmas brought on a whole new round of the blues. Armed with a case full of mini pies, she made the rounds of the Professor's offices, leaving little surprises for her friends. A flash of sadness that was not her own caught the wolf's attention, stopping her in her tracks. But not for long, as it was soon followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground. Setting her box aside, she raced towards the sound.

Vaguely, he wondered if dreams would escape him if he simply passed out. Maybe, for once, he could get a full nights sleep without worrying about waking someone else with his nightmares or the tightness of fear that would cross his chest. It almost sounded pleasant. Maybe that's why he wasn't making the effort to get up, or he was unable. Which of them he was unsure. The room was still spinning and he found himself turning onto his side so that he could press his cheek into the cool floor. God-- that felt nice.

Qhuinn dropped to her knees next to the young man who had, or at the very least was in the process of, passing out. On closer inspection it looked like he wasn't quite there yet, which meant she had time to call for backup. An odd concept that she was still trying to get used to. After so much time on her own, it was nice having someone she could call. She assesed the man first though, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Hey..you're going to be fine. Can you tell me your name? I'm Qhuinn, the school nurse. Have you been ill or anything?" she asked, as her fingers swiftly checked his pulse then pulled up Quinten's number.

Quinten was busy making sure to take a comprehensive list of their stock. He wanted to make sure that everything was accounted for- especially since it was a slow day. Of course, as they had always warned him at the hospital, never to mention a slow day because it was the sure fire way to make it pick up. His phone rang and he jogged to it, seeing it was Qhuinn calling him. "Hey." He said, falling silent as he heard that she needed his help. Someone was passed out. "Be there in a moment." He said, grabbing his little bag of supplies before teleporting to where she said she was. He recognized the man on the ground- it was the one he had warned to rest otherwise this would happen.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Of course someone had managed to find him before he picked up. His chest seized slightly in panic as he imagined himself getting into trouble for the lack of care he took of himself. He was property after all. He needed to placate the woman, let her know he'd just slipped and would be okay. So he tried his best to say that but only found one word coming from his mouth, "Fine..." He waved his hand around before his head fell back to the ground and his eyes closed. Jesus Christ, he was pathetic.

“Thanks. He’s stable, I’m getting his vitals right now” Qhuinn replies, then turned her attention back to that young man. Her senses detected no illness, at least nothing strong. So it was likely exhaustion, if she had to venture a guess. “Fine?” she smirked softly. “So the floor just looked like a good place for a little siesta? Well, you don’t smell sick but I still think you should let me and my colleague look you over. Don’t worry..he’s much prettier than I am” she smiled gently, trying to put him at ease while they waited for Quinten. “There’s nothing you want to tell me..? Not even your name?”

Quinten was glad that Qhuinn knew what she was doing- and that apparently she happened to be in the right place at the right time. He was also relieved that the man seemed to be stable. He still popped over, but a bit too far since his aim was a little off. He face palmed as walked over, holding back a little to hear and observe what was happening. He had to suppress a laugh at her comment, but once he heard that the young man didn't even want to disclose his name. "It's Raul right?" He said softly, kneeling across from Qhuinn. "Vitals?" He asked, already having his suspicions but he trusted Qhuinn to detect if there was something more serious than lack of sleep.

It wasn't that he didn't want to give his name, just that he was having a hard time getting his mind to focus on anything but the utter panic that he would be getting in trouble for this. He took in a sudden deep breath when the man spoke his name and he nodded slowly to show that he wasn't trying to withhold it or cause any trouble. He knew why he was on the ground, lack of sleep and not getting proper nutrition was most definitely the cause. "I'm sorry..." He apologized suddenly, "--I didn't mean... I can get up." He tried then, trying to get into a seated position to show that he really was okay.

Qhuinn met Quinten's startling blue eyes and gave him a grateful smile for getting there so fast, especially when it seemed he already knew the male. That is, until Raul's panic caused her to flinch and bite her lip. "It's okay" she assured him "You're not in trouble or anything. We just want to help. Ah..pulse is a little weak but nothing to be alarmed over. Heart rate seems fine" Qhuinn looked back to Raul, her arm shooting out to support him when he tried to sit. "Just take it easy, okay? Would you be more comfortable if we moved you into an office?" There were a few empty ones around them, and at least that way he would have some privacy.

There were definitely many benefits to his ability to just teleport and seeing the gratefulness on Qhuinn's face was currently at the top of his list. He was quickly disappointed though when he saw it was the man student he had bumped into in the lobby and had told to rest to avoid this. Nothing to be done about it now. "I promise, we're just a nurse and a doctor here." He said, trying to reassure him, knowing that with their statuses, he was worrying about repercussions- and that was not what he was interested in. "Good. I think it's probably just exhaustion." He said, though it could also go hand in hand with other stuff. They moved to brace him as he sat up and he nodded as she offered to move him. He stood for a moment to peek into a window and found the room next to them empty. He pulled Raul to his feet and wrapped an arm around him. "We'll go slow." He said, looking to Qhuinn to take the other side, pleased they would be able to take their time checking him out now that they weren't out in the open.

He'd never trusted doctors, and maybe that was because the ones he had seen as a child and then as a young adult have never cared all that much about his well being. He cleared his throat softly and flinched slightly as the man got him up, bracing him against the sturdier man. All of the contact he'd had since his mother had died was either pain or someone taking advantage of him here. "Don't tell them." He found himself whispering, eyes opening so that he could look directly at Quinten and then glancing at Q. He didn't know her, but for some reason he was more worried about the man who had warned him about this.

Qhuinn nodded at Quinten's words, giving a small sigh when she felt his distrust. It was something that she was sadly used to though, especially from new grant students. She and Quinten were still seen as the enemy by some, even though they were in a position to help and heal. She still respected that fear and distrust though, keeping her distance and letting Quinten do most of the legwork as Raul already knew him. "We don't have to tell anyone. Anything that you tell us will be in confidence, I promise. And if you're more comfortable with Quinten, that's perfectly fine too" she assured him softly.

Quinten thought that this was going to be an uphill battle with him- and a lot of the slaves really. There was probably always going to be a certain level of distrust. At least he had Qhuinn with him as well. More people always helped reduce the tension. His heart twisted at the soft plea not to tell them. He wasn't entirely sure who them was but he could only imagine it could be any on a long list of people. He was curious about her offer but he agreed easily. "Its up to you. We're just here to help you." He said, settling him down into the big comfy chair for the professor. "Okay, so tell me, how much sleep have you had in the past three nights?" He asked, pulling up chairs for both him and Qhuinn

It was a little overwhelming to have them both here staring at him, but the idea of being alone with Quinten was just was scary, if not more scary. He wanted nothing more than to lay down and sleep, but somehow he managed to keep himself upright in the chair. A chair that was more comfortable than most of the ones he got to sit in on a day to day basis. He closed his eyes then as he tried to think of how much sleep he had gotten. "A couple of hours, maybe more... I've done it before..." He sighed. "I've never reacted like this."

Qhuinn perched her small form on the edge of the offered chair, not fully relaxing just in case she were given the proverbial boot. Raul seemed uncomfortable in general, but the fact that he at least knew Quinten already gave him the advantage. She was merely there to assist now. Once again..something to get used to. The wolf gave a little smile when Raul admitted to his lack of sleep. That was something she was all to familiar with, even before she had been bit and nightmares had plagued her sleep. Leaning forward ever so slightly, she gave the tiniest of sniffs, gray eyes closing as she took in the human's aura. "Maybe..it's because you haven't been eating right either?" she ventured delicately.

Quinten noted that Qhuinn wasn't fully relaxed in her chair, but he turned to figure out why the young man had collapsed. So, the easiest way was to ask, find out how much sleep he had had. A couple of hours over the past few nights was not good. He looked to Qhuinn, watching as she leaned forward to sniff, using her heightened senses to detect he hadn't been eating. "I would venture you're a little dehydrated and exhausted as well. A combination that was bound to add up to this." He said, digging in his bag to pull out a bottle of pedialyte and a meal replacement bar. "We're just going to hang out here until both of these are gone. Then you can either come back to the infirmary for a nap. No one will hurt you there."

Immediately he was on the defensive, he saw the way she leaned forward to sniff him and hated how his secrets would be splayed out to her. He swallowed roughly. He had a bad habit of forgetting to eat when he was caught up in what he was doing. He let his mind get carried away and then it was late at night when he finally remembered that he should be eating. He looked at the items the man pulled out of his bag and made a face. "That's the stuff kids get when they refuse to eat." He swallowed and looked at the woman then, unsure of her and what she might be. Hesitant because of it. He reached out then to take the items and unwrapped the bar.

Qhuinn sighed again, worrying her lip as she leaned back. Not to relax, but to put some space between herself and the male, as she seemed to be the one making him uncomfortable. She had tried to be sublte in her assesment, and as far as her empath powers went, she was. The sniff though, that had obviously been too much. Her senses and her powers were her best tool though, and she had no shame in using them. "Sorry" she whispered, sitting quietly now until needed.

Quinten quirked an eyebrow when Raul made a face at the bottle he pulled out, claiming it was for little kids who didn't want to eat. "I'm not judging since its part of my job, but you did just collapse because you didn't sleep or eat, despite my warning." He replied, pushing the bottle toward him with the look on his face like 'you're drinking that whether you want to or not'. He looked to Qhuinn when she apologized, trying to seem smaller. You're doing fine. He would be skittish no matter what He said, pushing the thought her way. He didn't want her to blame herself for doing what she needed to do. "So, what exam were you studying for?"

Raul looked at the woman who apologized and immediately was confused. Both of the other people in the room were far too kind to be masters at this place. Supernaturals were supposed to be mean and unforgiving, it made it easier to hate them for the position he was put in. Made it easier to not make connections. "I did sleep." He retorted to the man with a raised eyebrow. "After a master kept me up a majority of the night so he could fuck me." He clenched his jaw and took the bottle. He uncapped it and drank from it slowly, not realizing just how thirsty he was. Exam, shit, he forgot about that. His panic rose slightly with the sudden fear that he wasn't ready and wouldn't be if they forced him to sleep. English was harder for him than the other students as it wasn't his first language. "It's a general exam on forensics in humid climates." He was sure his italian accent only got thicker the more he realized just how tired he was.

Qhuinn rested her chin to her knees, letting Quinten take the lead and using that time to study him and his ways with patients. He had a calm bedside manner that she herself possessed, and it made her happy to see that their styles had the potential to mesh well together. A doctor who's ways she couldn't get on board with would only mean more stress for their patients. When she suddenly heard his voice in her head, she jumped and swallowed a yelp. She could communicate telepathically as well, but only in her wolf form. Obviously he had quite the collection of tricks up his sleeve. Smiling a bit, she just nodded then turned her attention back to Raul, looking pleased to see him drink. "You have a pretty accent" she blurted suddenly. "Where are you from?"

Quinten was relieved to hear that at least he had had some sleep. However, when he confessed that he didn't get much because a master had kept him up all night for sex, his face fell. He wished there was a way for him to enact some rule against that but for that to happen he would have to claim everyone- or rent them all. Something that was not possible at all. At the very least, he ended up drinking the bottle he had passed him. At least he was drinking it. On the other hand, he accidentally scared the crap out of Qhuinn with his thought projection. "Sorry." He said softly, giving her an apologetic smile, turning to the younger man to ask a question to distract him- but it backfired. He ended up looking more anxious than he had before. He answered him all the same but Qhuinn jumped into to help out, noting his accent. It was hard for him to place but he thought he had a few ideas. He wait patiently for the pair to keep talking but while they were talking, Quinten was watching how much of the drink and food was being consumed.

The bar was disgusting, he wouldn't deny that, but he ate it so that they would relax. That, and frankly, he was pretty hungry. The pedialyte was the easiest thing to get down, but he wished the man had just given him water instead. He watched the woman jump and watched her, taking note of the subtle interaction but not asking questions. He knew they could do many strange things. At the question he swallowed what he had in his mouth and moved to answer, "Italy, miss." He told her cordially. Feeling less like he was on edge and needed to protect himself. Now he was just trying his best to not be trouble.

Qhuinn's nose crinkled at the scent of the 'meal' bar. That wasn't food. But she really doubted that Raul would come back to the bakery with her for a real meal, at least not now. It made the cook in her squirm though, she couldn't help that much. Nor the angry frown that crossed her face when Raul mentioned what had kept him occupied for the night. She would never get used to..pretty much everything around here. "That's okay..just surprised me" she murmured back to Quinten, giving him a small smile. Her eyes then swung back to Raul, that smile warming even as she shook her head. "No Miss, just Qhuinn please. What part of Itlay?" she asked with sincere curiosity, head tilted.

Quinten knew that there were tastier things to eat, but it was a bar designed for those recovering from eating disorders, packed with everything you'd need from a meal in a smaller package. Of course, the pedialyte was along the same vein. He could've given him water but he needed to be rehydrated and the pedialyte was better at that than just plain water. He apologized for startling Qhuinn- he forgot she might not know about what angels could do. He did let the pair of them talk things over- it seems to be relaxing him. Or at the very least distracting him. She softly corrected Raul when he called her Miss but chose to focus on where he was from. He smiled at the thought of Italy. It was so beautiful there. "Its been so long since I've been to Italy. Its so beautiful there."

Somehow he managed to finish the entire bar and let out a sigh after he did so. He took in a deep breath and started in on the pedialyte again. He cleared his throat awkwardly after a moment, sometimes telling where he was from was a dead giveaway to the circumstances he was born into. "Mestre." He answered anyway, "It is Venice, the most dense part." He explained, also the place most prostitutes made their living. He smiled at the thought of Italy and where he had grown up. "I have not been back since I was fourteen. I wish to go back."

Qhuinn slowly began to relax a little more as the men in the room did as well. Her curled positon in the chair didn't change, but she at least wasn't perched on the edge anymore, like a bird waiting to take flight. She smiled a little at Raul's clear distate for the bar, and made the offer before even realizing the words were out of her mouth. "Pretty nasty huh? If you're still hungry we can go down to my bakery when you're up to it? I have the required leftover turkey sandwiches today but they taste so much better with my special cranberry sauce spead" she grinned. The way that Raul spoke of his home reminded her of her own fondness for New Orleans. "You will one day" she assured him softly. "I've never been either but it's on my bucket list. I want to go and study cooking and just eat pasta till I pop" she giggled.

Quinten had to stifle a laugh at the look on Raul's face as he begrudgingly ate the bar. Were they the tastiest thing? No. They were the best thing for him though. He had to smile though when Qhuinn offered to take him to the bakery and give him a sandwich of thanksgiving leftovers. "I would take her up on it. I don't even really eat but I eat her stuff because its that good." He said with a little laugh. He listened as the younger man talked about Venice. It appeared he had been gone for a long while though which was a shame. "I'm surprised you didn't say France to study but Italy does have some amazing food. I loved asking the gondoliers where they liked to eat because it always felt more authentic to me." He answered, grinning as Raul made it through almost the whole bottle of pedialyte so far. He wanted to ask why it had been so long for the young man but things were pleasant and he didn't want to ruin the calm that had fallen.

Raul made a slight face at the mention of Turkey, "I do not understand the Thanksgiving tradition..." He admitted. "Nor have I ever partaken. He licked his lips and shrugged his shoulders. "If I don't get back, I suppose there is a reason for it." He smiled grimly at the thought of Quinten in Italy, enjoying the things he couldn't anymore. He finished off the bottle and set the trash beside him. "But Italy is my home. I should have never left."

Qhuinn laughed softly, shaking her head a little. "I'm a sucker for tradition, what can I say. If turkey isn't your thing though, I have plenty of other things to pick from. My point is..if you'd like to and feel up to it, I'm offering. Not just today but anytime, on the house" she offered, a bit hesitant, as her generosity had been met with plenty of..backlash..in the past. And she understood, people tended to look for the catch when offered anything for free. But that had never stopped her from trying. "I'm sorry that you left..and that you miss it. But don't give up hope that you'll never be back. You can never tell what the future will hold" she whispered, her eyes full of compassion. Blinking back tears, she gave her head a little shake then smiled again. "How are you feeling?"

Quinten was surprised that he didn't like turkey but then to each his own and maybe it wasn't a thing in Italy like it was elsewhere. Thanksgiving was solely an American tradition so he wasn't surprised. He grinned when she offered him anything that he wanted, on the house. That sounded like a sweet deal but there seemed to be hesitation. Perhaps she was worried about him taking advantage? He couldn't imagine her caring about that though. He frowned a little when he heard Raul taking a pessimistic approach to getting back to Italy. There was always a reason for everything, even if we hated it. "You had a good reason for it. Sometimes the painful thing is the right thing. Don't lose hope." He said softly, reaching out and giving Qhuinn's hand a squeeze when she seemed to agree with him, emotion coloring her voice. He had a feeling the advice wasn't just for the other man. He turned to notice that the man had withdrawn a little but he had more color and the food and drink were both nearly gone. "I know the food and drink wasn't the best but I promise you'll feel much better soon."

It wasn't that he didn't like turkey, just that he didn't understand why everything was turkey all the time lately. He'd never celebrated the holiday before, not even when he had come to America. At the offer of anything he nodded his head, showing that he would consider it, though he wasn't sure he'd actually take the woman up on it. It was kind of her offer, but he was someone who preferred to not owe any debts to anyone. He already owed them both a favor now, he didn't want to add to that tally and maybe get himself into a situation he didn't want to be in. "You don't have to pity me..." He whispered. "I don't need it, there are other slaves who need more sympathy than I do. I'm well adjusted." He took in a deep breath through his nose and nodded his head, "Okay. Thank you, sir."

Qhuinn glanced over when Quinten took her hand, giving him a small smile as her fingers brushed lightly over his before she returned the squeeze. Her reasons may have been different, but she really did sympathize with how Raul felt. She had no home. There was nothing left for her in New Orleans, her family was dead. And even though she knew the pack would welcome her with open arms in Vancouver, she wasn't ready to see yet if that reception would extend to Clay. For the first time should would spend Christmas on the island, with no where to go. That thought hit her suddenly, causing her to swallow hard, her voice still thick when she spoke again. "I don't pity you. I try to help anyone here that I can, regardless of who or what they are. That's just..me" she smiled lightly. "And my reasons may be different, but I can understand how you feel" She was quiet for a long moment, then gave another small smile. "How are you feeling? You look better already"

Quinten knew what it was like to miss home. Granted, he had an easy enough time going back if and when he wanted...but that didnt change the fact that there were times he missed heaven so much it hurt- but there was always the fear if he left, he wouldn't be allowed to return. Not until long after those he had met and befriended were long gone. Perhaps that was why angels weren't meant to spend too long on Earth. Immortality was a gift- until it became a curse as those around you don't continue on. He shook that thought away when Qhuinn squeezed his hand back gently and Raul told them not to pity him. "I don't pity you either. It is my job- our job- to care for you. To heal you and get you feeling better. That doesn't stop with giving you a meal bar and a bottle of electrolytes." He answered, nodding as Qhuinn let him know she understood. He was curious but he wouldn't ask. She would reveal more of herself in her own time. They both focused back on Raul, making sure he was recovering. He scooted a little closer and gently took his wrist, checking his pulse and watching his chest rise and fall. "You seem more steady now. We'll give it a few more minutes and then you're free to go- though I do hope that means you'll find a quiet place to get some rest."

The two seemed to share some sort of connection that he quickly found himself growing envious of. His hand clenched slightly at his side and he vaguely wondered what it would be like to have someone touching him affectionately without expecting anything in return. It almost seemed like a pipe dream. His eyes averted then when he realized he probably had been staring. It was extremely rude of him. Before he could answer Qhuinn's question, Quinten had moved forward and gripped his wrist in a movement that made his heart speed up slightly before it slowed once more. "I'm feeling better, thank you." He nodded and offered a smile that was only slightly forced. "Quiet." He confirmed though he was unsure of where he was going to come across that. Maybe he could slide under the bunks and try there for awhile. "I'll try."

Qhuinn's eyes grew a little round when she detected a pang of envy coming from Raul, and noticed the male watching, staring really, and she and Quinten. She gave both men a tiny smile, then very gently withdrew her hand from Quinten's. Not because she felt like they were doing anything wrong, but just because she didn't want to make the other male uncomfortable. Quinten took that moment to lean forward anyway to examine Raul, while she stretched a little and tried not to notice that the answering smile from the human was just a little forced. Well..hopefully that would change in time. "I'm sure that kind of thing is hard to find. I'm never home during the day, I'm either at the bakery or the clinic. And I have my own home. It's on the beach and the woods, nice and quiet. If you ever want to come and crash for a few hourse, just let me know" she offered.

Quinten, ever oblivious, had no idea why Raul's eyes were glued to them. He returned her smile and let her hand go as she gently pulled it away. It was whatever to him and he figured that it was about time he check on the younger man's vitals. He feared he might have startled the other man when he gripped his wrist. He made sure his pulse was a little more steady and his breathing was even. He was tempted to take his blood pressure but that might be a bit much. He nearly sighed when the man told him what he wanted to hear. He was tempted to look to her and roll his eyes but he wouldn't since he couldn't blame the man for his actions. He didn't know what the life of the slave must be like- and he had a feeling that had more to do with his restlessness than anything else. He thought it was kind of Qhuinn to offer up her place to let him crash. He was tempted to offer the same but he worried that the offer may be misconstrued. Or rather that he would some how feel obligated to do so. "That sounds like a nice place to relax and spend the afternoon undisturbed."

Raul had to admit it sounded nice. A small home where he could hear the waves crash and maybe forget the world for only a moment. But he quickly knew that would be broaching on territory he had told himself he'd never get into. Connections in this place would only lead to him being hurt even more than he already was. He felt the attention they were giving him and it was overwhelming. They would be watching him now, he knew that. He put a hand to his forehead and desperately tried to turn his thoughts anywhere else. "I can't... I'm sorry... I just... I can't." He shook his head. The woman seemed so kind, the man appeared to genuinely cared-- nothing good could come from that. He always tried so hard to keep everyone away from him, but these two seemed to have the ability to get through that and he couldn't.

Qhuinn regretted her impulsive offer almost as soon as the words left her mouth. Not because she didn't want this for the male, but just because he was already so seemingly skittish, such a huge offer wasn't going to help things. He would feel indebted to her, she assumed. Like he owned her something for her hospitality, even though she may not have expected more than a smile of thanks. Sure enough, he fidgited more, and she felt like an ass for disrupting whatever calm he had managed to find in those few minutes. How she always manged to stick her foot in it, she would never know. "No..I'm sorry. That was a lot to offer so soon. Let's just..start with a sandwich, whenever you're ready. And we can take it from there. No strings..I promise" she murmured, eyes flitting to Quinten. She could only imagine what he thought of her now, as bumbling of an idiot as she could be.

Quinten wished more than anything at that moment, that he could figure out what had happened to Raul that had left him so hurt. Yes, he was a slave but he didn't think he had been here for long enough that he had developed such a complex. It told him that there was a longer standing history of abuse. The offer Qhuinn made was sweet- but it seemed to overwhelm the younger man. "Just take a breath, its okay. You don't have to do anything." He replied, not wanting the young man to have a panic attack. Qhuinn rushed to apologize and back track. It was reduced to just starting with a sandwich. She looked to him for a moment, looking away a moment later. She seemed almost embarrassed but that couldn't be right. She hadn't done anything wrong. "Baby steps. Sandwich is a good start- maybe some of her tasty baked stuff? How can anyone turn down cookies or a cupcake?" He said. He would suggest maybe making tiramisu or a cannoli- traditional Italian pastries but the other man might perceive that as going too far out of her way and Raul did seem to have issues accepting help without viewing it through an inaccurate lens.

Raul was sure he looked weak in that moment, like a blubbering idiot who couldn't accept help when it was offered to him. But he was tired and it showed on his face. He saw that they were being as kinds as they could be and while that scared him, he decided that they wouldn't expect anything in return for a sandwich. So he nodded his head, "Sandwich." He agreed then, letting them know that he was okay with that even if a part of him was terrified. If he didn't get some sleep soon though, he was sure that he would only grow more and more terrified. So he spoke slowly. "I just... I just need a couch or something for an hour or two. I can't sleep in the cells."

Qhuinn flushed deeply when Quinten looked at her, ashamed of letting her impulsivness get away with her. Her heart may have been in the right place, but the same couldn't be said of her head. She didn't want Raul to think she was pulling her Mistress card, or for Quinten to think her an incompetant idiot..but they probably both did at this point. But then Raul agreed to a sandwich, even as the fear that radiated from him made her heart squeeze in compassion. "Good..good. We'll start with that when you're ready, and just see where things go. No pressure..I promise. I'm really sorry if I made you feel that way, that wasn't my intention"

Quinten would soothe Qhuinn with a thought but he didn't want to startle her again so he let it go. He could tell the younger man was still hesitant to accept the help but at least they were kind of slowly wearing him down. At the very least, they- more Qhuinn than him- had managed to get him to agree to a sandwich. It was a huge relief. He would actually eat something and that would keep him up and functioning. When he heard that he just needed a nap- the cells were too hard to sleep in. It twisted at Quinten's heart but there was little he could do- especially if the man was reluctant to accept help. "You can come back to the infirmary with me- there are plenty of beds open and its quiet as well. I'm not sure where else there is..." he said, trying to think. The only other places he thought where they could guarantee quiet for him, would be his place or Qhuinn's but that would just be a repeat of a few moments ago.

Raul shook his head, "Don't apologize... Please." He took in a deep breath, he didn't like all of the constant apologizing, "You don't need to. It's okay." He gave the woman a soft smile to show that he really was okay. He took in a deep breath through his nose and turned his eyes to look at the man. Slowly, he nodded his head, "The Infirmary would be okay." He confirmed. No masters could grab at him if he was in the infirmary. He licked his lips and looked back at the woman, part of him could tell that she was struggling with something. "Thank you." He offered the words to her, showing her that it wasn't her specifically that he feared.

Qhuinn took a breath, relaxing a little when Raul assured them that an apology wasn't needed. She wasn't so sure that was true, but she wasn't going to push the issue. Her heart had been in the right place..it was just her mouth that tended to get away from her sometimes. "Okay" she nodded, returning his smile with a warm one of her own. Her hand reached out to lightly rest on Quinten's arm when he suggested the infirmary, a good idea that luckily Raul seemed to realize and agree with. "You're welcome" she murmured. "We can go whenever you're ready. My bakery is in town but not far, if you think you're up for the walk? The only other thing I have is my motorcycle" she explained apologetically.

Quinten kept getting a little thrown off balance with the younger man. He felt almost as though they couldn't do anything right but he couldn't take it personally. Every person was different and he needed to remember that going forward. Qhuinn and Raul seemed to have found an even ground which was good. Once he heard the young man wanted a place to nap, that was something they could easily do. He invited him back to the infirmary for a nap and he felt a lot of tension leave him when the man agreed. Oh thank God. Qhuinn's hand on his arm proved to him that she agreed. He hadn't realized she had meant her sandwich was for now but he was keeping his mouth shut. "If not I can get us there. Quick as blinking." He said, knowing he hadn't used his grace at all today aside from getting to Raul in the first place.

"I haven't been in town since I got here... unless shuffling to master's homes." He admitted. He licked his lips, wondering what it would be like to be there just for lunch. It would seem far too regular. He let out a breath as he watched the man for a moment until his brow pulled together in utter confusion. "You can... What?" He understand that there were supernaturals here but what did he mean quick as blinking? Was the language barrier making him miss the meaning? "I don't understand." He kept his eyes trained on the man, cautious but also curious.

"It's really beauitful here actually.." Qhuinn murmured, a sad edge to her voice. It was one of the things about the island that confused and angered her so much. The beauty that hid the ugliness. Blue skies and white sands and crystal waters didn't make everything else okay. "If you're not ready today, I can come and get you at any time. We could take my bike. Have you been on a motorcycle?" she asked, with a little smile. Her vintage Harley was her pride and joy, something that she was always willing to show off. Qhuinn blinked a little too when Quinten mentioned getting there in a blink. It had to have been another of his tricks, why he had gotten there so fast after she had called. She'd just assumed that he had been close by, but apparently not.

Quinten had to wonder how long the man had been there- but then they weren't allowed to see the town without an escort so perhaps it wasn't as odd to him as he was imagining. It was quite beautiful and it seemed a shame that they couldn't see it. Qhuinn made sure that the offer stood for whenever he wanted it. To be honest, getting to ride on the back of her bike sounded like a pretty sweet offer. It seemed though, that his abilities were now the focus. He looked from one to the other, realizing they didn't know. "I can teleport- like nightcrawler but I can take you along with me. Makes getting around easier but it can be draining." He answered, giving Qhuinn a grin and then tilting his head at Raul. "I'm sorry I didn't say earlier- I'm an angel. Um...sono un'angelo."

He looked at Qhuinn and shook his head, "I uh... No. I've never been on one." He'd always admired them when he was a smaller boy, watching as people rushed by in motorcycles. He'd sat on one, but that was all. His eyes grew wide as the man spoke about teleporting and then the next question. He found himself rushing out in Italian before he could stop himself, finding it easier to slip into his native language. "Come stai un angelo? Sei stato gettato dal cielo?" His Italian was rich and came much easier to him than English ever did.

"I could sure use that ability when I'm running late in the morning" she chuckled softly, smiling back. She was fast, in both her human and wolf forms, her small stature built more for stealth and speed than power. But what Quinten described sounded a lot cooler. "You'll have to show me one day. I guess it's kinda like Apparation, in Harry Potter.." she mused, then blushed a little as her geek side showed. When Raul mentioned never being on a bike before, her smile widened. "Well, say the word and I'll take you for a little spin one day. There's really no feeling like it" The two began to converse together in Italian then, and she just sat back and watched. It was pretty sexy really, and she couldn't help but grin to herself as she listened.

Quinten wondered if riding the motorcycle would feel like flying. He had to imagine that it would be exhilarating, wind whipping in your hair. he could definitely understand why she owned the bike. He hadn't thought the populated area of the island that large where it would be necessary but who needed necessary when you had fun? Of course, he realized too late, he relieved more of himself than possibly necessary. It didn't matter- too late now. He had to explain teleporting and he flashed Qhuinn a smile when she conveyed to apparation from harry potter. "Yeah! It is exactly like that. Maybe I should say that instead of teleport- that sounds too...star trek." He said, knowing that he would definitely show her whenever she wanted. The younger man still seemed a little confused as to what teleporting had to do with anything, so he told him he was an angel, trying again in Italian. The look on is face made it worth every bit of time he had spent all those years ago learning Italian. He shook his head at the question. "Non sono caduto, ho scelto di venire dal cielo per guarire tutti." He replied, looking to Qhuinn and blushing. He didn't mean to exclude her by switching languages but this was the most alive he had seen Raul yet.

"I know Harry Potter..." He said then, keying onto the words, "I have never watched." He waved his hand around to show that he didn't understand the reference. Somehow the conversation was coming easier now, Raul relaxing slightly. He enjoyed it when the attention was keyed directly to him but to other people. It made his heart lighten slightly. He probably should switch back into English for Qhuinn, but he was comfortable with the thought that only he and Quinten knew what he was saying. "Perché dovresti farlo? Questo posto è buio e pieno di ingiustizie. Nessuno è così altruista." He proclaimed as if he didn't believe what the man was saying.

Qhuinn's smile nearly stretched from ear to ear when Quinten not only didn't look at her like she was a nut for bringing up Harry Potter, but actually knew exactly what she meant. And then Raul knowing as well. Things were taking on a much more relaxed nature now, as they seemed to all find a few common interests. "Yeah, Apparation sounds much cooler. For sure" she laughed, then flashed Raul a broad grin. Whoever said Harry Potter didn't bring people together was so fucking wrong. This just all but proved that it really did. It made her so happy that she didn't even mind the two guys talking among themselves. It hadn't bothered her really to begin with, as what girl could be annoyed while listening to too cute guys talk in a sexy foreign language?

Quinten did enjoy that they had something universal for them all. He hadn't ever imagined that it would be Harry Potter but whatever worked. Maybe they should do a marathon of the movies some time. He also had the books on tape- perhaps that would help Raul a little. If he had something to play it on anyway. "That's it. Officially the new name- I'll have to spread it amongst the rest of the angels. Even though he felt bad for leaving Qhuinn out, he kept answering Raul's questions in Italian. He gave him a sad smile- he spoke like someone who had seen too many horrible things. "Perché l'umanità merita compassione. Ci sono persone qui che hanno a cuore i tuoi migliori interessi. Come me, come Qhuinn."

"The rest..." He was shocked again. That meant there more on this earth, lingering with the rest of them. Possibly more on the Island. He furrowed his brow, eyes lingering on the man's face for a long moment. He turned his eyes to look at Qhuinn when the man spoke about her having good intentions as well. "You are not... Angel." He spoke to the woman. "Are you?" He was sure he'd pass out if she was. Maybe that meant he was dead and simply imagining all of this. He was unsure. "A nessuno interessa così tanto. Soprattutto non su di me. Ho rinunciato a Dio e agli Angeli molto tempo fa." He shook his head, the words were more whispered to himself as if he didn't want the man to hear.

"You do that. Just make sure I'm given my divine credit though. Gotta secure my place in Heaven somehow, right?" she chuckled softly, then leaned back again and let the two continue to converse. She probably should have been insulted to be almost completely left out of the conversation now, as for all she knew they were talking about her. When her name was mentioned, she blinked to attention, looking, confused, at Quinten, then at Raul when he addressed her. "Um no..I'm not. I'm a werewolf actually. Bit, nearly three years ago." Qhuinn almost told him she was an empath as well, but maybe that information would be better shared at a later time

Quinten bit his lip. Of course there were other angels out there- and on the island. He just couldn't tell him that because he wasn't sure if they wanted to reveal who they were. "There are other angels in the universe yes. And I will give you all the credit Qhuinn. I think they will be confused since pop culture isn't huge- but you will get all the credit." He replied, laughing softly. However, there was a confused and vaguely upset young man across from him. He felt poorly that he had accidentally made Qhuinn admit what she was. He sent Qhuinn a thought, letting her know what they were discussing in vague terms. "Io e Qhuinn lo facciamo. Per lo meno ci hai Mi dispiace che mio padre, né mio fratello, non erano lì per te. Io non sono loro e nemmeno lei. Puoi sopravvivere a questo posto tenendo le persone a portata di mano, ma alla fine te ne andrai e poi cosa farai?"

A werewolf, that was more similar to what he expected and he swallowed slightly. "You have not always been..." Somehow that was better, knowing that maybe there was some sort of humanity that floated to the surface of her. But at the same time, humans had been just as bad if not worse during his life time. He began to fiddled with his fingertips as the man spoke to him in Italian, almost like he was soothing him. Somehow he took it better when it was spoken in Italian. "Tutti partono. Perché dovrei attaccarmi a qualcuno, specialmente qui, quando potrebbero tradirmi? Non sarò preso in giro. Tutto ciò che sono qui è un corpo caldo e potrebbe essere tutto ciò che sono in futuro."

"That's all I ask. Not much when you really think about it" she chuckled softly, then turned back to Raul. "No..not always. I was attacked. It wasn't what I wanted but..I think I've learned to make the best of things. Or at the very least, I try to" Qhuinn murmured. Quinten sent her another thought and she gave a jolt, but shot him a grateful smile when she saw what he was trying to do. She still couldn't help but feel like a sudden outsider though, like she was in the way. Nothing unusual for her though really. "Um..would you guys be more comfortable if I left? You can talk as long as you want, and just meet me at the bakery later?" she offered, giving them a small smile. "I don't mind at all, you can have some privacy"

Quinten didn't know she had been bitten. He knew some were born and some were bitten but he wasn't sure which was more likely. She may have a positive attitude about it but it hurt that she had been put in that situation to begin with. How hard did that have to be. He tried to clue Qhuinn in with what was going on, since it seemed easier for Raul and more soothing, but it wasn't easy since he knew it was startling to her to get his thoughts. He frowned at what he had to say and then Qhuinn volunteered to leave. "No, its okay. We were just talking about my being an angel." He said, soothing things over. He had a feeling Raul didn't necessarily want his thoughts known- and he couldn't blame him. "How about we head over so Raul can get some rest? Maybe you can point out some cool places to check out Qhuinn since I know I haven't done all the much exploring." He murmured, thinking they could always chat some more when they were at the infirmary- or even later since Raul knew where to find him.

It hadn't even occured to him that someone might not want to be a supernatural and his face fell slightly as he imagined how tough it must be for the woman. He cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest for a moment. "I'm sorry that happened to you." He said lowly, knowing that it must be rough for the woman. To be some sort of monster you had never wanted to be. As the woman mentioned leaving he realized exactly how rude he had been being and looked down at his hands. He went to apologize again but the words didn't seem to come out. "Okay." He agreed with Quinten instead, deciding whatever conversation they would be having would be better off for later. If only when they were alone and where no one could hear them.

"Thank you" Qhuinn smiled softly at Raul for his words, which she felt were sincere. "I'm okay now, really. I have a little pack here, I'm acting Alpha. By default and I have no idea what I'm doing but..it's still not bad for a little bayou girl" she chuckled lightly. "I've had the best mentor, and I love my wolf now. I'm okay" Qhuinn assured them both, her smile including Quinten too. She had really meant it when she said she didn't mind leaving them alone, she hadn't just been looking for attention. But it was nice when Quinten suggested that they all leave together instead. "Are you sure? Because I really don't mind, if you guys want to continue talking. You were enjoying your conversation, I don't want to be a pain"

Quinten had to admire her outlook on things. Much like Sabrina, they took the high road. She might just be a good example for Raul. It wasn't easy at all to make the comparison, sure, but if she could make the best of being a werewolf- then perhaps he could find a way to deal with being a slave- at least for a short time. "I didn't know you were an Alpha. Badass." He said with a grin and then when he really realized that they were kinda being rude he suggested the go to the infirmary. "No, no, its fine. We weren't talking anything urgent and my number should be in his phone index, so we're free to take it up whenever." He said, helping Qhuinn to her feet, nearly pulling her off the chair. "Sorry...misjudged my strength." He said, before doing the same for Raul, judging things better. "Let's go- we'll take the scenic route." He said, thinking it might tire out the younger man more so he would just crash once they got there.

Alpha wolf, he furrowed his brow for a moment, "Does that mean you are in charge?" He asked. That would make sense if you looked at the root of the word, but he didn't know enough about wolves or packs to know the answer. He licked his lips and nodded his head. He hadn't even thought about the fact that he could contact Quinten whenever he wanted because of the phone he had been given. He never used it after all. He took in a deep breath through his nose as the man pulled him up and nodded his head. "Yes, we can talk later." Though he was unsure if he would come to the man or not, that still felt like broaching territory he shouldn't.

"It's not that impressive really. It's just by default. My Alpha, who was also my boyfriend, left. And as I'm his only other high Beta..the title just automatically goes to me" Qhuinn explained, her heart giving that familiar painful squeeze when she spoke of Clay. Was it ever not going to hurt like hell just to say his name? She brushed her hair back over her shoulder and gave the men a little smile, then let out a yelp of surprise when Quinten nearly launched her over his shoulder. "It's okay, happens all the time" she giggled, straigtening her shirt as she regained her balance. "Yeah let's go, I'm ready when y'all are"

Quinten wasn't sure why she was downplaying being an Alpha. It may be by default but she was still head of the pack, and what little he knew of werewolves, made him believe that if they didn't like who was in charge, they wouldn't stay in charge. "I'm sure you're doing amazing Qhuinn." He answered, laughing softly when he nearly slung her over his shoulder. "I forget how strong I am." Smiling as she giggled. "Hey, any time, about anything. I don't need to sleep so don't worry about bothering me." He said softly, before turning to Qhuinn. "Curious question: does it ever actually rain here?" He said, dumping out the garbage and holding the door for them to pass by.

Raul nearly asked the woman why he had left but decided that it was hers to tell and she would tell it when she wanted to. So he cleared his throat and nodded his head in slight understanding. "Jesus... You are strong." He responded, slightly surprised. Though he supposed it made sense. He followed after the two of them, ready to eat and then get some sleep. His mind would settle for now, but it wouldn't settle forever.

#para: TNFS

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megaphonemonday · 7 years

Text

eh bien, tant pis

sevensmommy on ao3 requested some more of only operating with half my burners and this is what I came up with: Ginny bakes a cake.

read on ao3

“So,” Ginny said, vaulting over the back of the couch like a teenage boy and settling easily onto the cushion beside Mike. “It’s your birthday next week.”

Her boyfriend—Mike Lawson was her boyfriend! Was she ever gonna get over that?—didn’t react aside from covering her bare knee with his warm palm. His thumb swept up and down as he continued to work on the Sunday crossword.

“Mike,” she cajoled, propping her chin on his shoulder.

He hummed vaguely, though Ginny had no doubt he wasn’t nearly as absorbed as he was pretending.

“Your birthday?” she prompted again.

His eyes slid shut for a split second, and Ginny could see him bracing for the old man joke coming his way. Had she been laying that on a little too thick lately? While she deliberated, Mike’s attention slid to her, so she just smiled her sweetest, most innocent smile.

He was not fooled.

“And?” he finally sighed, sounding far too long-suffering for Ginny’s tastes.

Still, she demanded, “What are we doing?”

She bounced a little in place, excited at the prospect of a Mike Lawson birthday and not just because she was dating the birthday boy. This was the man who’d partied for a solid week when he won Play of the Year at the ESPYs. And, okay, that’d been a few years ago, right after he found out about Rachel’s infidelity, so there were other things at play. But! The man knew how to celebrate. It was just a fact. His birthdays had to be legendary.

Unfortunately, there was no sign of the party animal now. Cheaters—which he’d rather die than publicly admit to needing—perched on his nose and hints of gray sprinkled through his beard more liberally than they’d been at the beginning of the season, Mike Lawson painted a very different picture. Still a good one—a really good one, some entirely unashamed part of her supplied—just different.

He frowned, setting aside his glasses and the newspaper and finally turning his full attention on her. “What do you mean, what are we doing? Why would we do anything?”

Ginny wrinkled her nose at him. “It’s your birthday! Don’t you want to do something to celebrate?”

“I’m turning 37, babe.”

“So?”

He rolled his eyes. “Would you believe that at a certain point, birthdays aren’t all that exciting?”

“Mike,” she whined, wondering why he couldn’t go along with her on this. And why he had to set her up so perfectly for an old man joke she couldn’t make.

“Ginny,” he echoed, grinning. His thumb kept sweeping gentle circles into the skin of her knee, fingertips curling around the joint.

She pursed her lips to keep from smiling back. He wasn’t gonna flirt his way out of this one. Instead, Ginny pushed her fingers through his hair—he was gonna need to get it cut before spring training next month—and leveled him with a serious look.

“Don’t you want to celebrate your birthday?”

Mike turned into her hand, pressing a kiss to her wrist, but didn’t reply straight away. When she tilted her head, raised an eyebrow, and otherwise waited him out, he got the hint.

“I’m just another year older, Gin,” he eventually replied, taking a hold of her hips and pulling her into his lap. She went willingly enough, straddling his thighs and draping her arms over his shoulders. And why wouldn’t she? Mike’s lap had quickly become one of Ginny’s favorite places in the world. “It’s not that big of an accomplishment.”

“You know birthdays aren’t actually about accomplishing anything, right? You don’t always need to do something impressive in order to celebrate.”

Mike looked skeptical.

Ginny leaned in and pressed a kiss to his frowning mouth. At first, it was meant to distract him, tease him into seeing things her way, but as usual, she fell into the rhythm of it all at once.

Kissing Mike was like the first warm day of spring, throwing a first pitch strike, every good thing that had ever happened in her life. Each time, it was perfect and exhilarating and new and Ginny never wanted to get used to it.

After a much longer, and wetter, interlude than she initially intended, Ginny pulled back and was treated to the sight of a blissed out Mike Lawson. His jaw hanging a little slack, pupils dominating his dark eyes, and cheeks flushing pink, he painted quite another picture. He was a man of many facets, her boyfriend. Fondly, she scratched at his jaw under the beard.

“You’re right,” he murmured, nuzzling into her palm.

“Hmm?” Maybe Mike wasn’t the only blissed out one here.

His fingers tightened on her hips and he smiled, a little lopsided but utterly charming. He leaned in and it wasn’t until his lips were just a breath away from Ginny’s that he said, “There are other things to celebrate.”

What exactly he meant by that, he made very clear when he closed the distance between them again, kissing Ginny with single-minded intensity.

Almost like he wanted to distract her from the conversation at hand.

Not that Ginny had much of a problem with that. Or his methods.

No, she was definitely willing to be distracted. Especially when Mike hoisted her into the air and carried her off to bed.

But it wasn’t as if she’d forget.

Ginny knew enough about Mike and the ways he avoided things to know it wouldn’t be a great idea to bring his birthday up again. If she wanted him to ghost on her, then she could by all means mention the big day on the horizon again. Which she couldn’t even be annoyed about since she dealt with things she didn’t want to talk about in the same way. They really were a match made in heaven.

What Ginny didn’t know, however, was why he was being so evasive.

Well, he’d tell her when he felt like it, she did know that.

Until then, she had to figure out a way to mark the occasion without ultimately ending up with a surly Lawson on her hands.

Which meant most of her initial ideas were out of the question. Even if she’d gotten pretty good at cajoling—and teasing and distracting and otherwise him out of his moods, she had no desire to do it on an occasion that should be pure fun.

Sometimes, Ginny thought he pretended to be extra grumpy just so she would.

Not that she particularly minded.

What she did mind was not knowing what to do for Mike’s birthday.

What was she supposed to get the man who had everything? And the weird glass house to keep it all in?

Last time she’d asked what he wanted, all Mike had done was waggle his eyebrows and rumble, “Oh, I can think of a few things,” and then gone on to distract her from the birthday talk. Again.

Now, they were only a day out and she still had no idea what to give him. Even the simplest of gifts had complications, though. She’d contemplated offering him a nice dinner, but that raised a question: homemade or restaurant?

It seemed like there was an obvious answer considering the fact Mike still poked suspiciously at anything she produced in the kitchen, but of course things were more complex than that. For one, they still hadn’t told anyone that they were actually dating. They both enjoyed their privacy too much to open themselves up to the comments and scrutiny and accusations that would come their way the minute they went public. And showing up for a cozy dinner date, on Mike’s birthday no less, would definitely count as going public.

Ginny was pretty sure that inviting the media circus back into Mike’s life was the opposite of a gift.

It was a fucking hassle was what it was.

So, restaurant dinner was a no go.

Maybe she could get fancy take out. That was only a slight step above the regular take out she got whenever she was in charge of dinner, though. Definitely not good enough to count as an actual birthday celebration.

There had to be something better.

Which was exactly when Ginny’s gaze fell on the stand mixer sitting neglected on her kitchen counter.

By the time Mike came back from a meeting with his agent, Ginny had gone through recipe after recipe online and finally settled on the perfect one. She’d pulled out all the ingredients and arrayed them on the island, but was still staring at her laptop, trying to decide where to begin and denying that she was anything even approaching nervous.

It was a cake. What was there to be nervous about?

She only looked up when his voice, a little concerned and uncertain broke through her concentration.

“Gin?”

Startled, her head rocketed up. She pasted on a sheepish smile and drawled, “Hey,” hoping he would focus on her and not the sea of supplies surrounding her.

No such luck.

“So,” he said, eyes roving over the cluttered island, Ginny sitting cross-legged and wide-eyed at the center of it all, “what’re you doing?”

“Baking?”

Mike nodded, slow and considering. “Any particular reason why?”

Well, she’d told him that much, why not go the whole nine yards?

“I’m making you a birthday cake.”

He raised an eyebrow, but wisely kept his mouth shut. Ginny narrowed her eyes, sure that he’d wanted to say, “No, thank you.”

Mike shrugged, caught red handed.

“You ever made a birthday cake before?”

“Nope,” she said, staring him down, daring him to say something. “How hard can it be?”

Because Mike was a smart man, he didn’t laugh or snort or do any of the things he probably wanted to do. They weren’t unreasonable impulses considering the weeks of failed cooking lessons they’d weathered while Ginny was trying to pretend she didn’t hate the fact that he went home to Rachel every night, or so she thought. Even now, her best culinary efforts weren’t anything special. Though she was fully capable of making edible food, it was better for the both of them if Mike handled most of the meal preparation.

Still, he wasn’t a saint.

“You know, just because it’s your name, doesn’t mean you’re going to be good at this.”

That deserved some thought. “Someone in my family had to be an actual baker once,” she reasoned. “Maybe I inherited the talent.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how it works, Gin.”

Ginny shrugged, and rescanned the recipe on her open laptop. She only looked up when Mike leaned in and swiped a thumb across her cheek, pulling it away to reveal a coating of fine, white powder. She frowned. How she already had a streak of flour smeared across her cheek was anyone’s guess.

She wrinkled her nose and he just laughed, shaking his head. “You need any help?”

“No, if this is the only present I’m giving you, then I wanna make it myself.”

This time, Mike’s grin was soft. He planted his hands on the counter and leaned back in to kiss her. When he pulled away, Ginny chased him, loving the fluttery thing his kisses left in her chest and wanting to hold onto it a second longer. Mike paused, just a hairsbreadth away. He was doing that a lot lately, and it was doing terrible things for Ginny’s heart. It’d probably explode if he kept at it.

“You give me something every day you decide you still want me,” he murmured, utterly heartfelt. “What else could I ask for?”

With that, and one last peck or three, he left her to her baking.

Once she managed to get a handle on her wide, ecstatic smile, that is.

By the time the cake—chocolate with vanilla buttercream slathered thickly on top to hide where part of it wouldn’t come out of the pan—was done, Ginny was covered in more unidentified powders, but she’d tasted some of the crumbs and it was actually good. Way better than she was expecting, to be honest. So what if one side was a little singed and the buttercream wasn’t quite as white as she’d meant it to be—Why was vanilla extract brown of all colors?—Ginny was proud of this cake and wanted Mike to see it.

And anyway, it was well past midnight.

It was officially his birthday.

After scrounging up forks and some candles—nowhere near the 37 she required unfortunately—and setting them alight, she climbed the stairs to her loft.

Mike had gone to bed sometime around hour three of her experiment, but that was a couple hours ago now. (Okay, so this was the second cake. The first one came out oddly flat and Ginny was fairly sure there was an entire eggshell somewhere in there. Either way, it definitely wasn’t something she’d make Mike eat. The poor man had put up with enough during their cooking lessons. So, while this one wasn’t perfect, it was a definite improvement.) Ginny didn’t feel too bad waking him up.

Especially not since she set the cake on the bedside table and woke him by crawling up his prone form, trailing kisses along every inch of exposed skin. And there was a lot of it. Thank God the man ran so warm.

He stirred, murmuring a sleepy little, “Gin?” as his hands found their way to her.

“Happy birthday,” she sang, low and sweet, lips skating up and over his stomach and earning a little chuckle.

“I guess it is,” Mike said, pushing himself upright and capturing Ginny’s lips for his own.

“Stop it,” she laughed, pulling away, tucking her flour-coated forehead against his shoulder. “The candles are gonna burn out.”

“Well, we’d hate for that to happen, wouldn’t we?” He allowed Ginny to rock forward and maneuver the cake into position.

The flickering light from the candles lit his face from below, catching in the bristles of his beard, practically making him glow.

“Make a wish.”

“C’mon, Gin,” he groaned, rolling his eyes. Rather than complain more about birthday-related angst, though, he smiled, tilting his head to the side. Tiny golden lights danced in his eyes and Ginny’s breath caught in her throat. “You know I don’t need to.”

With that, he blew out the candles, sending them back into darkness.

Remarkably steady for how giddy he was making her feel, she asked, “You wanna try some now or save it for later?”

“I don’t know,” Mike replied, the suspicion in his tone curving around the grin she was sure was still on his face.

“Try it,” Ginny wheedled, swiping a finger through a thick drift of buttercream and brandishing it at her boyfriend. “I promise it won’t kill you.”

Laughingly, he captured the tip of her finger in his mouth, tongue swirling around the digit until every last trace of frosting was gone. Uncomfortably aware of just how he’d used that tongue elsewhere on her body, Ginny shifted in his lap. Mike’s hands tightened on her hips.

“It’s sweet,” he pronounced after a moment of thought. A retort about the amount of sugar that’d gone into the icing was on Ginny’s tongue when Mike continued with a lopsided grin, “Almost as sweet as you.”

She flushed and busied herself setting the cake back on the nightstand. “You know, you’ve already got me. I’m yours, Lawson. You don’t need to keep flirting with me.”

“Oh, babe,” he purred, cradling her close before flipping their positions so he could loom over her, “I’m never gonna stop flirting with you.”

To seal that promise, he kissed her slow and deep, leveraging his weight into the cradle of her hips and only stopping when he was satisfied she understood him fully.

Pulling back, a wicked gleam passed through his eyes and Ginny’s toes curled anew.

Mike Lawson was gonna be the death of her, but she would walk every step towards her doom with a smile on her face.

“Now,” he murmured, “I think I need another taste of that frosting, but there aren’t any plates. What are we gonna do about that?”

She laughed, tugging him back into her. They could go over her ideas on that score once she’d gotten another kiss.

(Suffice it to say that by the time they fell asleep, sated and perfectly content in one another’s arms, her fingertip wasn’t the only thing that’d been licked scrupulously clean.)

#Bawson #Bawson fic #Pitch #Pitch fic #i wrote something #hmm #this didn't end up #where i initially thought it would #but i don't even mind #not smutty per se #but definitely suggestive #i've baked a ton in the past week #it seems appropriate to finally post this

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olympiansrpg1-blog · 7 years

Photo

BASICS

Name: Sebastien Park Age: 28 Affiliation: Titans Occupation: Hitman Faceclaim: Steven Yeun Status: TAKEN by Josie

THE STORY

They call you Leto. You’ve never not known the smell of cigarettes, watching cartoons every morning with ten other kids and waiting for your turn to use the shower. On nights you couldn’t fall asleep, you’d catch fireflies and keep them in jars underneath your blankets, your own little paradise. You’ve always been a bright child, but it didn’t matter if you tried hard at school or if your painting was your teacher’s favorite. That’s how life unraveled before you - leaving your foster home when you turned eighteen, floating around, getting involved with the types of people those television commercials used to warn you about. But you were a quick learner, moving from place to place and steadily moving up the ladder, ultimately learning how to make people disappear. Atlas didn’t come to you - you found them, and they instantly knew they’d be missing out if they let you go. So here you are, Leto. Another home - though you secretly hope it’ll be the last stop you make.

CONNECTIONS

ORPHEUS - Falling into bed with Orpheus was never a big deal, one of the many ways to blow off steam after a particularly heated job. The problem is that you’ve gotten to know them better and you do see the good in them - what Eurydice saw in them. You never knew Eurydice so there’s really no guilt there; just bitterness that comes from knowing that Orpheus will never look at you the way they did their lost love.

ICARUS - You’d caught Icarus trying to steal your wallet when you were briefly distracted and you’d taken them to an alley and left Icarus with a nasty concussion and a bloody nose. You hadn’t quite realized then that the little street thief was involved with the Olympians, but it doesn’t really matter anyhow. They should be thankful that you left them alive, really.

CHIMERA - When Chimera first became one of the Titans, they barely knew how to fight. Iapetus may have taught Chimera everything they knew, but Iapetus was never a fighter. Lucky for them, you were one of their best, and you trained Chimera, generously teaching them everything you knew. It makes you feel a bit proud, watching them grow, knowing that you helped them get there.

SUGGESTED FACECLAIMS

Devon Aoki, Julia Jones, Hannah Simone, Michael Ealy, Steven Yeun, Chris Pine

PARA SAMPLE

(setting: NYC, approximately two months ago. trigger warning: death, guns, smoking)

The music that played over his headphones had a surprisingly happy feeling to it, considering the gun in the back of his pants, tucked away under a plain t-shirt. His hands were buried deep in his pockets, a hum vibrating in his throat. His face seemed impassive enough, just another person in the crowd, but his eyes continually drifted over a man several feet ahead of him. The man alternated between phone calls, texting, shouting at the people around him when he bumped into them while he wasn’t paying attention, and generally making a nuisance of himself. Sebastien wrinkled his nose a little, but to anyone else who might’ve noticed him they’d chalk it up to the hot dog cart he passed (a rather nasty one, if the flies buzzing around had anything to say about it).

The man had made the mistake of creeping into Tartarus a few nights ago, seeking information for Old Olympus. He wasn’t one of their usuals; and none of his people had recognized him. Good informants lasted, but that meant that regular ones continued to drop like flies. Sebastien had followed him over the course of the past few days, learning his routines, taking pictures of him and anyone he interacted with. He’d even followed him to Club Nyra last night, and Bastien had to laugh at the balls on this man. He was either stupid, or brave. Of course, the two words could easily be exchanged.

Sebastien pulled his phone out, casually scrolling through his music as he stepped into a bodega. The man had stopped here a few days ago, left with a pack of cigarettes and three packs of gum, but Bastien had noticed more cigarettes being smoked than gum being chewed in the past few days, and it was obviously a habit he was failing at kicking.

Shane Smith was such a dumb name that it had to be real, Bastien mused to himself as he threw up two bags of sour skittles onto the counter, and pointed out his own pack of cigarettes. It was easy to melt back into the crowd, this time with a sugar rush and the scent of smoke swirling in his nose. He hated the taste, but the scent was as comforting as the callouses on his fingers (gun or guitar?), as comforting as the purr of a cat. It reminded him of where he’d come from (practically nothing), mornings spent with JaimeandJames, Mikey, all the other siblings that had come through his life at different times.

Though when he’d exited, Shane Smith was nowhere in sight, it was easy to retrace steps the man had made before to find him again. And Shane Smith was definitely stupidly brave, Bastien thought, later, when he trailed the man back to Club Nyra. He wouldn’t go closer than five blocks off, but it was easy to see him walking back inside. Bastien shook his head, finishing off his second bag of skittles and tucking the trash into his pocket. He’d hate himself for it later when there was sour salt all in his jeans, but he needed to get out of sight because New Olympus would have lookouts, and while they weren’t the Titans, they seemed smarter than the old farts for sure. Bastien backtracked, blending in with people exiting a nearby bar until he spotted Shane again.

He hummed, quietly, and placed his earbuds back in.

This isn’t violence, this is just a war in my head / I give it time but it never seems to end

Bastien’s every step fell in beat with the song playing, his eyes tracking through alleys as he followed a path parallel to Shane’s. The man didn’t even think to zig zag, and that was a shame. He could’ve gotten away. And honestly, Bastien could’ve just let him go, with the line he was walking. Shane Smith would be dead in a few days if he wasn’t careful, double-crossing both Old and New Olympus and trying to dig into the Titans as well. Sebastien clicked his tongue, and a grin curled across his lips as he finally drifted behind Shane after following him for about thirty minutes, closer than he had been the entire past three days.

Shane’s body language shifted from the relaxed stance of a white man at night to that of someone who at least had a small care for their existence. Smarter than he looks, then. Bastien popped one earbud out, and whistled the beat of the song that had been playing from Club Nyra’s doors when Shane had walked in. His shoulders were lifting up around his ears, and he looked ready to bolt. Bastien chuckled a little, eyes casual as he scanned the streets around him. Shane was crossing into Titan territory without even thinking about it, as they walked further and further.

Sebastien’s legs stretched further, carrying him closer to Shane. He grinned a little wider when he caught Shane trying to casually glance over his shoulder, but the streetlights only just caught Sebastien here and there as he ducked around them. With no one else on their particular stretch of road, it was easy to herd Shane into a familiar dead end alley, and Bastien’s hands slid comfortably into his own back pockets. His stance was casual where he stood at the front of the alley, watching as Shane realized he had nowhere else to go. The streetlight behind him illuminated black hair but cast a glare over Sebastien’s face, and he grinned as Shane squinted a little.

“You’ve been fucking around lately, haven’t you Shane? Trying to be a rat in Titan territory when you can’t even decide where your loyalties actually lie? Money won’t save you when the people you’ve been double crossing find out. And they will. I imagine they’ve had their own eyes on you recently.” Sebastien grinned a little wider, stepping in closer and ducking his head. His face looked so incredibly friendly in that moment that he saw the indecision on Shane’s face, the moment where this man had to decide if he was a friend or a foe.

“Your only option is running, isn’t it?” Sebastien hummed, tucking his earbuds away in his pocket at last, head cocking to the side. “Oh, but they’d know. They’d know and they’d find you before you could get a hundred miles from here."

"W-Who are you?"

The first words out of Shane’s mouth, and that was what he thought to ask? Stupid. So fucking stupid.

"I’m here to give you some advice.” Bastien rocked back on his heels, his hands returning to his back pockets, thumb tracing along the gun at his back. “Running really is your only option, unless you wanna die.” Bastien clicked his tongue. “You’ll probably die regardless. Your own fault, really. You’re an idiot for thinking you could pull this off. Fingers in pies that are far too hot, y'know?” Bastien shrugged, eyes falling back to Shane’s face. “You need to disappear. Whether you die or not is up to you, I guess. How far you can go, how well you can hide, how fucking smart you are. I guess you can choose how you die too.” Bastien eased the gun out of his waistband, weighing it easily and holding it with the casual grace of someone who had killed numerous times before and accepted it.

“I can kill you here in this alleyway, Shane Smith, with your expensive watch and nice clothes, and everyone will just think it was a mugging gone sideways. You can go home, Shane Smith, and kill yourself, save everyone else the trouble. You can run, Shane Smith, and one of them can kill you if you aren’t careful enough.” His lips curled again, his smile just as friendly as before. Every time he said the man’s name, he could see him flinch, eyes growing more and more wild as his fear response kicked in.

Bastien clicked his tongue, lowering the gun and rolling his shoulders in a shrug. “I’m here to make you disappear. Been following you the past few days. They’ve undoubtedly seen me once or twice if they’ve got their own tails on you, so you’ll be in pretty hot water soon. But I’m the kind of guy that likes to give people a choice with these things, especially when it seems like they don’t have much of a choice at all. People always surprise you when they’re at their most afraid.” Bastien tilted his head, blinking slowly. “So what’s it gonna be?”

Shane Smith blathered on for exactly six minutes and fourteen seconds before he just broken down in tears. Sebastien cocked his head to the side and listened to him as he cried and then Shane begged him to just end it for him, to save everyone else the trouble. “I couldn’t get any info on your people anyway, it’s fine- Just kill me, no one could tie it back to you- They’ll torture me-” Bastien wrinkled his nose at that, blinked and shook his head and sighed.

“Disappointing, really.” He shrugged his shoulders, rocked on his heels again. “Was kind of hoping you’d come up with something better.” And then he grinned. “When you head home tonight, one of them will be waiting for you. Probably one of the old farts; Zeus is territorial after all, and an impatient fuck. They won’t make it pretty. It will hurt. Guess you’d better find a way out of town without going back there.”

Bastien put the gun away in his pants and turned away when he heard Shane’s scrambling steps, and it was back out in within a second, pressed to Shane’s chest as Bastien turned, brows furrowed a little. Shane’s eyes went wide all over again. Bastien wrinkled his nose, shaking his head.

“Fine.”

Two shots, a quick gloved sweep of the man’s body to steal his wallet, his watch, and his cufflinks, and a few heavy sighs later, Bastien had ducked into the shadows and vanished as people came pouring out to try and find the source of the noise. He dropped the stuff in a sewer, and exactly twenty-four minutes after he’d given Shane Smith the choice of his life, Bastien was heading back to his apartment where it was settled directly in Titan territory.

His phone was eased out of his pocket, and he groaned in disgust at the sour salt all over the screen. “Do this every fucking time I buy these,” he muttered, typing in his password before dialing a number he had memorized. He could’ve called the number with his hands tied behind his back, half-drugged, beaten nearly to death (and had, once before). There was a genuine smile on his face as a familiar voice came on, and it transformed him into something remnant to the friendly man who had greeted a stranger in an alley, except this was genuine. “Hey, Rich. Well, I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news and as always the good news is fake because I didn’t actually save you any sour skittles this time but I did finally snatch up that rat that was crawling around my apartment, you know the one. Yeah, he’s not gonna be chewing up anymore important files, I promise. Nasty little thing though."

Bastien paused for a moment, listening, and hummed softly under his breath. "Yeah, I’m sure there’s a corner store I can find you some more skittles at, and I promise I won’t eat them before I see you again. And I will also pass your love on to my cats because as much as you complain about their fur I know you love them. Ah, gotta go, bye!” He ended the call quickly with a warm laugh, as bright as the sun. It was dark out, and the city was alive around him like it hadn’t been miles back. Bastien placed his headphones back in, smiling to himself, and he started to hum again.

We’ve waited so damn long, we’re sick and tired / I won’t leave any doubt or stone unturned / I’ve got a collar full of chemistry from your company / so maybe tonight I’ll be the libertine.

(A letter to Richard Johnson, found tucked away in a small box of Sebastien Park’s most treasured belongings. A few pieces of paper, well-creased, obviously read many times. There are scribbles on them, a few tear marks, even signs that they’ve been crumpled up before)

I watched this show once, where this lady’s therapist suggested she write letters to people and only send them if she felt comfortable with it, but she was supposed to be completely and brutally honest with them about how she was feeling. Expressing her emotions and all that jazz. You know I’m not one to hold shit back; it doesn’t do anything for anybody if I do. I’ve never lied to you, Rich, but there are some things I’ve kind of held back.

Germany was amazing. I never thought I’d get to travel like that; kids like me don’t end up jet setters after all, unless we marry rich or sell drugs which I guess I’ve kind of done for myself.

The day I approached you in New York, I’d been hearing whispers. Harvey Johnson’s son. Cronus’ son, back on American soil. You make an impression (there are a few words just barely discernible as 'for fucking sure’ here, but they’ve been scribbled out). You were mostly incognito, but I knew the right people and maybe I was feeling particularly stupid that day, particularly suicidal. So I found you and I sold myself like a piece of meat on the market because I wanted to make something of myself and the others (this word is underlined twice) always left me with a bad taste in my mouth. I was already doing illegal things; why not join a mobster and his would-be mob, yeah?

I’m sorry things turned out the way they did. I’m sorry we came back as an advancing war force instead of some sort of heroes. That’s one of the things I’ve always held back; I never knew my parents but I know some part of you loved your father. I’m sorry you lost him.

I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned it to you, but my mom left me in Central Park a day after I was born. People slapped the last name ‘Park’ on me and that was that, y’know? I was a baby no one wanted and when they did want me, they didn’t want to keep me. I got passed to foster homes and my siblings got adopted and I kept getting left behind. You… You never left me behind, Rich. You looked at me and you saw that I was worth something more. You made me believe it, after all the times I’d tried to tell it to myself.

You gave me Germany. You gave me a family, people I’d die for and people that would die for me. Hades, Zeus, neither of those fucks care for their people the way you do, or even at all.

(The next three lines are crossed out so viciously that the pen stabbed through the page. Sebastien knows exactly what he wrote down that day, and he hates himself for putting the words to paper and releasing them into the world.)

So yeah. I guess I’ve said my piece. Don’t know if I’ll ever give you this letter, and honestly I’m considering tearing it into a million pieces now. Better to never let it see the light of day. I just have a few questions, and maybe I’ll ask you them myself someday. Maybe they, like this letter, will stay buried.

Why me? Why Leto?

Signed, Bastien

(setting: Sebastien’s apartment, late night, likely within the last few months)

Sebastien startled awake at the sensation of weight in his bed, blinking down at the bare shoulder next to him. A small smile curled at the corners of his lips, there and gone again as he looked down at Orpheus. He drew in a quick breath, shaking his head before throwing the blankets away from his legs. Orpheus didn’t stir as he slipped from his bedroom, and Bastien sat down on his couch while his hands dragged through his hair. He’d left his glasses here the night before, when he and Orpheus had stumbled in. Bastien left them sitting on the table, hands rubbing across his face.

He didn’t know what he was doing.

Bastien was an idiot, that was well known, at least when it came to things of an emotional nature. His time with Denise and Mikey seemed so far away now, the sensation of being loved almost foreign. But that wasn’t what this was. This was sex, plain and simple. There was nothing wrong with blowing off a little steam. It was like some sort of completely fucked team bonding.

The hitman groaned, sprawling out on his couch. It was getting harder, every time, to want to leave his bed when Orpheus was in it. He didn’t wake up as often anymore, at the sensation of someone else beside him. Orpheus was safe, their scent familiar. They didn’t always leave at first light now; sometimes they stayed and laughed with him in the kitchen as he made breakfast for them both.

A cat landed on his bare chest, and Sebastien hurriedly drew a blanket across his lap; he’d learned that the hard way. Nemo blinked mismatched eyes down at him slowly, and he returned the gesture before he rubbed behind her ears. “What am I doing, huh?” He asked her quietly, startling all over again when an actual voice answered.

“Talking to your cat when you could be in bed, from what I can tell.”

Sebastien sat up quickly, eyes sliding over to where Orpheus stood in the doorway to his bedroom. He hadn’t even heard the door opening, and that was /dangerous/. This was dangerous. They’d slid their pants from the night before back on, and their lips (lips he’d spent the night before kissing until they were swollen, the after effects still showing in the light of the streetlights from outside) sliding up into a smile.

“Should I go? Bad night?”

His first instinct was to say yes. Yes, get out of my house, get out of my life, stop creeping into my head. Then he thought no. No, this is nothing, it’s just sex and they don’t affect me like that.

Bastien smiled, nudging Nemo off of his chest so he could stand and make his way to where they stood. He leaned up, pressing a kiss to their still swollen lips.

Dangerous.

“Why don’t you come back in there with me and help me get back to sleep, huh?” His smile widened into a grin, and Orpheus laughed, tugging him towards the bed.

There was no Eurydice here. For a little while, Sebastien could pretend.

#leto #lsrpg #skeleton rp #mob rp #greek mythology rp #all #titan #taken #tw violence

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