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wheelsup · 3 years

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the taming of the shrew | one

he is more a shrew than she

penelope reveals her plan to get you and spencer together. unfortunately, her plan has a few hitches.

A/N: again, big thanks to @homoose for being my helpful beta reader, and to YOU for reading it now.

category: fluff, spencer reid x fem!reader, series

wc: 4.1k

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Penelope came back to your place the following night, bearing a new bottle of wine and a collection of materials she mentioned were integral to executing the plan.

Very quickly into Penelope’s explanation of this Genius Plan –– her words, not yours –– you remembered what it was she did for work. Officially, she was some sort of technical computer-y person for the Federal Bureau. As you knew her, she’s a danger to society and anyone with a traceable digital presence.

She managed to construct a comprehensive list of every place in D.C. and Virginia that her friend liked going to, along with the approximate times in which you were most likely to find him there. Approximate meaning, exactly which days he visits and the roughly time of day, down to a mere one hour margin of error.

You scanned the list over, shocked at its detail. Where he cut his hair, got his coffee, bought his books. His favorite restaurants, the chess clubs he’s a member of, his local hospital.

His local hospital?!

“I’m not going to need to know that, am I?” you paused.

“Probably not, but it comes in handy with this job,” she shrugged with a nonchalance that was rather alarming.

There had to be a dozen more places on the sheet –– ranked, in order of his (assumed) preference for them. Penelope calculated it based on the frequency of his visits, their average duration per session, and how often he’d mentioned about the place.

“What?” she tossed her palms up, taking offense when you asked her if she had evil plans to take over the tristate area. “Hang out with him long enough, you tell me if you pick up a knack for researching or not.”

Researching. Mining private data through questionable methods. It’s a small difference to Penelope.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side, Penelope,” you muttered under your breath, flipping the sheet back and forth. “You could ruin my whole life with ten minutes on a computer.”

“I wanted to be thorough,” she defended, shrugging. “And I’d only need five.”

You laughed through your nose, giving the paper one last scan. “You left out one important thing, though.”

“No, I put his home address on there,” her brows wrinkled together as she pointed it out on the sheet with one hot pink polished finger.

“His name,” you berated. “Jesus, you think I’m going to show up at his home?!”

“Again! I’m thorough,” she cried at your accusatory tone. “His name’s Spencer. You’ll like him when you meet him.”

You didn’t doubt that Penelope’s friend was a likeable guy, but you weren’t exactly dying to go out of your way to meet him. You told her that you’d get around to it when you had a chance and left it at that.

And two weeks later, you found yourself in need of a caffeine fix that your tea kettle wasn’t strong enough to satisfy. You started on a new piece late the previous night, and midnight rolled into four in the morning, which pushed you into the arms of seven o’clock. Reinforcements were needed.

Throwing on a large sweater to cover up your messy clothes and grabbing the closest pair of shoes you could find, you originally planned on heading to your usual spot just around your street corner. Just as you were leaving, the list, still sitting untouched in the exact spot that Penelope left it in, caught your eye.

It’d been a while since you told Penelope you’d help her out. Enough time had passed that you now felt like there was an invisible deadline over your head.

Maybe it won’t hurt to try something new?

Besides, meeting someone at a coffee shop seemed like an easy, foolproof way to go about this. From all the movies and romance novels, you knew that cafes are the pinnacle of meet-cute situations. Or, in your case, a meet-forced.

Regardless, it should’ve been simple enough, and it would’ve gotten the favor off your shoulder.

You scanned the sheet for the cafe Spencer would be at on a Thursday at 8 a.m., and got there with barely five minutes to spare before he was expected to show.

It was just your luck that he had to pick a cafe practically as far from your home as he could get, and the transfer train had to have a delay that made you walk the last three-quarters of a mile there. Call it crazy, but you didn’t expect to actually have to put in work for this. You expected it better be worth the hassle.

You took a seat in the back of the cafe to catch your breath as you waited for him to show up. Sitting in the booth, with your head down so you coudn’t be seen, the plan started to feel stupid all over again. You were running around the city, spying on this stranger, and for what?

The silver bell hung over the door frame interrupted before your thoughts could travel down that path of questioning. It rang each time a new patron enters, and within the next twenty minutes it rang only eight or nine times. None of them appeared to be Spencer.

You were prepared to call this one a failure and leave, when you realized your colossal mistake. You only had his name, and no idea what he looks like. So unless he happened to wear a name tag around you could’ve already missed him. You realized then that there were more than a few flaws in this plan.

Keeping an eye on the door, you dialed Penelope’s contact as a swarm of new patrons flooded in.

“How am I supposed to know what he looks like?” you whispered into the phone, failing to cover it with a hand cupped over the speaker. Penelope was confused for only a second by the apparent lack of context.

“Oh! He’s tall, has mousy brown hair but he cut it recently. It’s like… missing on the sides, but it’s all there in the front!” she explained.

What the hell does she mean missing?

“Pen, brunette? That’s like all the guys in here…” You took a look around the full cafe; various men typing on computers, taking calls. All of them looked the same, from their brown hair to their khakis and puffer coats. “You’re going to have to give me a little more than brown hair.”

Penelope struggled to explain and with each new feature she gave you, your mental picture of him got more clouded. “He’s skinny! Dresses like a vintage teddy bear!”

“Does he have kind of like… a hot English teacher vibe?” you quirked your head, spying a man approaching from the sidewalk and drinking him in with your eyes. Tall, brunette, clad in corduroy head to toe with a plaid sweater vest underneath. Vintage Teddy Bear F/W 1978 collection.

“Yes! He teaches sometimes! And you think he’s hot?”

Your mouth gaped even though she couldn’t see you. “No, I - I didn’t say that. I said he had the vibes of a hot teacher.”

“And how different is that from saying he’s––”

“Pen, I gotta go. Your guy’s walking in.” You put the phone away before she could pick apart what you said.

The bell on the front door rang as he came in and you stared intently at his face. If this was like the movies, he’d turn his head right then, at the perfect time, and make eye contact. He’d fall madly in love from the first look, and your work would be done. You sat at the edge of your seat, burning holes into his skull, waiting for that moment.

But alas, he never looked up from the linoleum flooring as he walked up to the counter. With a groan, you slid out of your booth and quickly hopped into the line before anyone else could claim the spot behind him.

New plan: eavesdrop, order the same coffee as him, and pretend to go for the cup at the same time. Laugh about the coincidence, how if you share the same coffee order you must certainly have a lot in common, and have him fall in love with you.

But you overheard him rattle off his order and were absolutely horrified. Black coffee, extra sugar. Like, extra, extra sugar.

You were going to need a second change of plans.

You eyed him up and down, searching for something you could approach him about. He was donning black converse under a fitted pair of dark brown corduroy trousers, with a blazer to match, and a deep green plaid vest underneath. On paper, this outfit shouldn’t work. In practice, it… really did.

A little too well, given how good he looks in it. More fashionable than a federal agent ought to be as required by dress codes, right?

“Can I help you?” you heard, and it poked the bubble of your thoughts. Your head shot up to meet his for the first time, eyes wide as heat crawled up your face.

“Uh. No ––” Shit. You didn’t even realize how long you were staring at his legs. Long, long legs. And shit, why did you say no? That was your opening to talk to him.

The man –– Spencer –– nodded his head slowly, uncomfortably, and turned away with a forced grin. He grabbed the coffee cup placed on the counter and you thought now was the time to say something. But by the time you thought of it, he’d already picked up his cup and made his way to the door.

The stupid silver bell mocked you as he left.

The first attempt left you slightly jilted, but a few days later you found yourself in need of a few grocery items. You just happened to be in his neighborhood that day, and though it was very much out of the way of your own, you didn’t plan on it being a problem. He’d never see where you lived anyways, and he’d never need to know how unlikely this chance encounter really was.

You had Penelope text you the address of his regular grocery store, and upon arrival, felt immediate concern. It was not a grocery store. It was a convenience mart slash liquor store at the corner of the street, below a building of worn apartments.

As you walked through the aisles, the only things you found were a large assortment of wines that took up half the small store space, an aisle of candy packets and chips, a section for household supplies, and one measly aisle for canned and boxed foods.

Cereal, instant noodles, soup cans, pancake mix… nothing very fresh.

Spencer seemed like a pretty scrawny guy. You now believed it might’ve been from the fact that his food choices were so off-putting that he simply didn’t eat. It wasn’t your place to be concerned, but you decided that if you ever ended up taking him out, a farmer’s market might be good for him.

You loitered around for perhaps longer than necessary. The inquisitive shop attendant asked if you need help –– as in, why are you still here, get out of my store –– and you told her you were just really conflicted on which detergent brand you needed. Finally, the man you were after arrived at the scene.

“Hi, Dolores,” he greete with a small wave. The attendant, Dolores, greets back with a positivity that she sorely lacked when talking to you. Dolores has favorites, apparently.

An unexpected panic settled in your stomach and you quickly turned back to your selection of fabric softeners. You weren’t hiding, you just didn’t want him to catch you staring again. You picked up your two props, pretending to read the labels on the back and compare the chemical formulas on each of them, when you saw him out of the corner of your eyes.

He went into the aisle in front of yours, and over the short shelves you saw the back of his head sweeping over the modest food section. He turned around to inspect the other side of the aisle, and you ducked your head even lower. It was in vain. He spotted you anyway.

You fixed your eyes even harder onto the bottles, afraid to look anywhere else. He shuffled out of his aisle and turned the corner into yours. You started sweating a little.

“Uhm. Excuse me,” he said.

“Yeah?” You looked up from your bottles, putting on your best caught-off-guard face. Like you were a girl in a movie, reading a book on the beach (not detergent labels in a liquor store) and your romantic interest just noticed how beautiful you looked doing it, deciding he had to introduce himself.

“Can you… can you move…” he asked, gesturing to the section of cleaners that you’re blocking.

Never mind.

“Oh! Yeah, sorry.” You burned up, moving out of his way. He reached for what he needed and you peeked down to inspect the contents of his basket. Organic whole wheat bread, cream of mushroom soup, and somehow, he’d managed to find the only two apples this place must carry. At least there was light at the end of the dark, dark tunnel.

He tossed a bottle of Snuggle fabric softener and you raised your brows. Given that he was “grocery shopping’’ in a three-piece suit –– a good one, too, black trousers, vest and blazer with an eggplant purple shirt and lavender tie –– you would’ve expected him to simply send his clothes out for dry cleaning.

“Snuggle, huh?” you said. He gave you a confused look. “Oh, uh. I was looking at these. Couldn’t pick between the two.” You raised your two bottles of softener; Snuggle and Tide.

You needed him to know you weren’t just saying Snuggle to insinuate that you would like to do that to him. You remembered Penelope telling you he had a degree in chemistry or some sort of science field, and asked, “Is… is that one like, more organic? I was trying to read the formulas but I don’t… I don’t recognize the chemicals,” you trailed off. You could see yourself losing his interest the more you spoke. He barely looked at you as he grabbed whatever else he needed.

“I don’t know… I just like it,” he bristled. You looked down at the bottle and flipped it over to the front. It had a drawing of a teddy bear on it. How fitting.

You go to comment on it but yet again he’d made an escape, already at the checkout counter and unloading his basket by the time you looked up again. You rolled your eyes, wondering if it’s even worth it to follow him into line and see if he sparks up a conversation this time.

You could tell that he wouldn’t. So you gave him the space to buy his items and leave.

You didn’t really need the detergent, but Dolores gave you a pointed look before you could even think about putting it back on the shelf. You ended up buying the detergent, a loaf of bread, and two packets of sweets out of guilt.

As you took the train home, digging into your packet of sour peach rings, you began to doubt if you can carry out Penelope’s request.

After two failed attempts, you were prepared to tell Penelope that this just wasn’t going to work out. You didn’t expect it to be this difficult to talk to Spencer nor did you see yourself getting closer to him anytime soon. It would be best if she just found someone else to do it.

You caught her in the hallway, leaving her apartment just as you came home from the store. It seemed like as good of a time as any to let her know how unsuccessful your escapades were going. With your tail between your legs, you approached her with the intention of breaking the plan off.

But the second she saw you, it was like she could read through you. She clocked what you were about to say and before you could, she gave you a warm hug. It was the first one you’d ever received from her, actually. And she thanked you for trying.

It didn’t make you feel guilty, per se, but it definitely made you feel weird about telling her the news. So you bit back on telling her what you were really going to say. She didn’t need to know the details of your failure, or the fact that you were seconds away from giving up on her friend.

Maybe you didn’t need to give up right away.

After all, you did only talk to the guy twice. Don’t they always say the third time’s the charm?

You left the conversation at just that –– letting her know that you’re happy to do this for her, even if you aren’t really –– and slinked back into your apartment. The list, buried under the magazines and paint tubes and half-full cups of cold coffee on your table, called for you.

If by any stroke of luck you happened to share one interest with this guy, you promised yourself to give it one more try.

According to the list, that overlapping interest was the wonderful world of Gatsby Books –– a small, locally owned bookstore residing in the heart of D.C. ’s arts district. That neighborhood was smack in the middle of your’s and Spencer’s, and it was where the gallery you showcase at was.

You’d been meaning to get down there for a while now, anyways. It really was the cutest bookstore in the world; inside it lived a white, bushy-furred cat named Gatsby, and he was always there. After all, it was his bookstore.

It wasn’t such a burden to make your visit fit Spencer’s schedule, really. And it would make Penelope happy if you did. So on Saturday afternoon, you took a lovely walk through the sunny arts district of D.C., a smile on your face and a tote in hand for all the books you were planning on hauling back.

The smell of paper and coffee greeted your nose at the door, and you practically fell into a trance, letting it lead you through the aisles of the store without much thought of where you wandered. Not that it mattered, you could’ve roamed the shelves aimlessly all day long.

In the mystery and thrillers section, you found Gatsby. He jumped down from his perch on a step stool and weaved between your legs, greeting one of his long-time regulars. He was such a good shop owner.

“Hi, Mr. Gatsby.” You smiled and bent down to give him a little head scratch when he started running off in the other direction, taunting you into following him.

He rounded the corner and came to a stop at a pair of boot-clad feet; your eyes moved up to find your favorite employee (after Gatsby, of course) restocking the shelves.

“Miles!” you whispered, but he still jumped out of his skin. He turned around, hand still over his chest, and sighed when he realized it was just you. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” you laughed.

“Hey, long time, no see. Back for some more recommendations?” You ‘ooh’ed at his offer.

“I was just gonna say, the ones you gave me last time were so good. I finished them in, like, a week.”

“Really?” He smiled, brows happily up his forehead. You nodded in assent. “Okay, well I’ll give you more this time, see if the list’ll last you a little longer than that.”

You grinned eagerly, following him to the shop counter where he pulled out a stack of bright green post-its and a pen.

“I’ve actually been waiting for you to come in, I already had these in mind for you,” he mumbled, scrawling across the paper quickly. He handed the note over, and it took a moment to decipher the chicken scratches.

“Okay, first you gave me Al-Shayk and Bradbury. Now you’re giving me Chaucer, Dickens, and Doyle,” you recited the note, giving him a teasing look. “Are we just going through the alphabet, Miles?” you joked.

“Honest mistake. But I’d be happy to give you all the other twenty-two letters of the alphabet if needed.”

“I might hold you to that.” You nodded, folding the post-it in your palm to prevent the sticky backing from gunking up. It’d make quite the good bookmark for later. “Thanks for these!”

“No problem, just a part of the job.”

Nonetheless, you thanked him again before disappearing back into the aisles. You found Miles’ books as well as a few of your own and nearly lost yourself in the rows of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, until you made a turn. Standing in the middle of the next aisle was Spencer.

A week ago, he was the whole point of coming to the store. That day, you completely forgot about it, and it stopped you in your tracks to see him there. He was just standing in the middle of the walkway, staring blankly at the shelf in front of him.

“Excuse me,” you grinned, “Could you move?”

You thought it was a cute reference back to the laundry detergent fiasco, a chance for you to turn the tables, but he had no reaction to it whatsoever. His face was straight as he merely pivoted his shoulder out of your way as you reached for the book you needed; The Narrative of John Smith.

His eyes narrowed at you and his nostrils flared, and you wondered if it was called for because you grabbed the last copy they had in stock.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want this?” you asked, waving the book in his face. He was just standing there for so long, you didn’t think he actually wanted anything since he never picked it up.

“No,” he said coldly.

Contrary to Penelope’s review, he didn’t actually seem that warm of a person. But you smiled tightly at him, letting a forced laugh fill the stale air.

“I… I swear I’m not stalking you,” you laughed, rubbing the back of your neck. Technically it was a bit of a lie, but he didn’t need to know. It’s just something people say when they have the happy coincidence of running into a stranger so often.

“What did you say to me?” he bit. His tone was sharper than you felt like this conversation deserves.

“I mean, I’ve just been seeing you around a lot… it was, like, a joke? Like, ‘ahh watch out, I’m stalking you!’ you know?” With each second he stared you down, you felt your throat dry out, getting more flustered as you felt the need to over explain yourself.

“Maybe you should work on your comedy routine,” he barked, his voice just faintly cracking. He shoulder-checked you as he rushed out of the store in long strides and a brisk pace.

What in the absolute fuck.

You couldn’t stay in the shop for another minute. You dropped your stack of books at the counter with Miles, giving him a rushed apology for leaving them behind as you stormed out of the shop and headed in the opposite direction of where Spencer ran off to.

The air outside was now frosty as the sun disappeared behind the horizon; the wind nipped at your hot cheeks as you charged home. There weren’t enough words to quantify the anger you felt. Your mind ran rampant with how much you now hated this man.

Not only did he bite your head off for no good reason, but he publicly embarrassed you at your favorite place and had gone so far as to bruise your shoulder to make a point. And you know what? If he really wanted you out of his way, you were more than happy to leave him the hell alone for the rest of your life.

You reached into your jacket pocket for your phone and dialed Penelope.

“Hey! How are––” she cheered.

“It’s off.”

“What?”

“It’s off. I’m not dating your fucking friend.”

“What happened? I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding––” she started in a panic. She pleaded that you overlook whatever went wrong and promised that she’d have a talk with Spencer about it. She’d try to encourage him into the direction that you need.

None of that registered in your brain, hot blood filling your ears instead of her words.

“He’s a fucking ass,” you spat. “The more I see of him, the less I like him, and… I’m pretty sure we’d rather kill each other than date at this point. So yeah, I’m done.”

☆

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kashimos-hajime · 3 years

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homestretch of the hard times | g.t.

summary: the eve days of your potential death kinda spurns things to move forward: for takemura, it means confessions. for you, it means making exceptions. and drinks. ‘cause takemura’s the pickiest fucking eater you’ve ever met.

WARNINGS: small spoilers for act 1 of cyberpunk 2077 and references to non-spoiler texts between takemura and v, just fluff, small angst, swearing, idk what else is going on so if there are actual spoilers thats completely coincedental ndlnskfsldnf pairing: goro takemura x fem!street-kid!v word count: 2.6k

a/n: so cdpr did us dirty for not allowing us to romance him (to my knowledge) but he has my mind, heart and everything else so :) listened to the bones by maren morris w/ hozier

part of the tales of a two-bit thief series

It starts with something straight out of a romance movie: A car crash, saving each other’s lives (well, him more than you) and “Wait, V, I need you.”

You don’t know how you got here, to be precise. There were a chain of events, some absolutely stand up fucking moments on your part, and just… fuckery. So much fuckery and life went to shit.

All you know is the ticking time bomb’s only ticking louder and at this point, the only thing that can silence it at all is the man beside you. Not even the meds Misty gave you can help you now.

You’re sitting in his car because you called him and he had answered and now… now they’re on one of the off ramps looking over Night City like they own the fucking place.

Maybe you did, once. Ha, maybe back when everything seemed more job to job and not life to life. For a moment, maybe you were in the big leagues.

Takemura doesn’t say anything, even though you can tell he wants to. His hair still pulled into that man bun, collared shirt with not a single wrinkle in sight. Weird how he never looks out of place, not really. Not even with the car crash. Shit, he always looked good.

You think you’re actually gonna miss that. That one semblance of someone being put together that gave you the hope that maybe you could stick it too.

You think you’re gonna miss a lot of things about him—from his stupid complaints about the food here, to his stupid random philosophy texts in the day, to the fact that he eats the ramen you buy anyway without complaint, even though it’ll never compare to what he has in Japan.

The thought that counts.

They don’t even have the radio on, just the dim lights of the car, a window rolled down. You don’t smoke but you feel like you should be tapping a cig either way. You haven’t had the time to just fucking breathe—not with Silverhand breathing down your neck, corpo rats swarming you on all sides.

Everyone wants a piece of you, it feels like.

You look at Takemura.

Almost everyone.

“Thank you,” you tell him quietly, with difficulty. It’s hard to get through your words without thinking Silverhand’s behind your back, mocking you. You’re so fucking tired. “It hasn’t been easy.”

He doesn’t respond. He’s too busy looking at one of the cars nearly collide with a pedestrian. You could’ve laughed. You used to make fun of the shitty drivers in Night City, knowing full well you’re one of them.

You get chased by a couple of cops, rules start to bend.

You used to wonder why you never left.

Then, you actually left, and you realized that hell, you can take the person out of Night City—can’t take the Night City out of a person.

Atlanta fucking sucked, but maybe you should’ve stayed there.

But then, a tiny voice whispers as you look out the window to the fresh night wind. You never would’ve met him.

It’s funny, you think. To come back and get a brain tumour in the shape of a rocker who can’t fucking touch anyone who loves him, who he loved, only for you to fall in love with a corpo you can’t fucking touch at all because… because there is no time left. It just isn’t fair.

“I used to be a corpo kid,” you confess, looking at him with a wry smile again. That catches his attention. He looks at you with those eyes that scrutinize you, interrogate you, peel you apart to your bare essentials and you have to look away before you can’t control your face anymore. God fucking damn it. “Not when it mattered, obviously, but… I remember what it was like. Grew up hating every single on of them.”

“Your parents were Arasaka?”

“Mhm. Security division.” It’s like your eyes are magnetic to his because when you blink, you find yourself regarding him again. Your fingers play at your lips. “Counterintelligence. I was supposed to go into that, too. Big dreams.”

“I see.”

“Yeah, then my parents were tried for treason and murdered, so I got thrown out. That’s it.” Your hand falls away. You pick at the chipped nail polish on your thumb. “Never told anyone that. ‘Cept…” Jackie. Well, he’s fucking dead, now. “‘Cept you, now, I guess. Guess some corpos aren’t so bad.”

The corner of his mouth pinches up like he’s flattered and you can’t help the pleased warmth spreading through your chest.

“Should I be honoured I am one of the few exceptions you have made?”

“Well, I don’t make exceptions often, so…” You grin slyly. He looks away just as you catch a flash of his smile growing. It’s a nice smile. You wish you saw it more often before the end of the road. Maybe it’s one of the regrets you have, too. “Yeah, maybe you should feel special.”

“Hm.”

“C’mon, Takemura. Humour the walking dead, yeah?” You stretch against the leather of his car seat with a pleased sound. “I’m spending what time I have left with who I want to. Can’t ask for much better than that.” A quiet hangs in the air as you melt against the black leather and you look at Takemura who’s staring at the wheel with an intensity you don’t often see. It makes your gut squirm.

“And I? I am one of those people?”

You lean on one hip and look at him, bending a knee and resting an ankle on your thigh. He looks at you with an uncertainty—an uncertainty you’re sure echoes in your eyes.

It was business, then it wasn’t. Maybe it never was.

“Yeah. You’re one of the few on the short list.”

“Exceptions again.”

You laugh. “Yeah. You’re an exception to most things, I think. Weird, that.”

“How so?”

“Ah, I don’t know. I’ve had family—still do, ones that matter, you know. Just… no one ever like you, Takemura. Drives me crazy.”

“The feeling is mutual. Your mocking brings you onto thin ice, V.” His fingers tap against the steering wheel. The engine’s off so it seems more fidgety than anything. Weird. You never noticed he fidgeted before. Maybe he’s nervous?

About what?

“I must ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“If you have a future, what do you see for yourself?”

Your eyebrows shoot up. You frown and pick at your flecking nail polish even more, looking at your hand and focusing more on that so you don’t have to answer your question. His eyes burn into you and you swallow, trying not to act like you haven’t thought, in regret, at night, about a hundred million fucking times the possibilities they could’ve had together.

You’re not about to say all that.

Instead: “Settling down with the family. Mama Welles, people at the Coyote.” You blatantly don’t look at him when you add, “Others. This has been enough action for a lifetime.” You rest your hands on your lap and chance a glimpse at him. He’s looking away from you, out the window on his side, and you shift in your seat. “How about you? You must’ve… had dreams. Before all this shit went down. You make it out of here and then what?”

When he looks at you, your heart nearly cracks at the sadness in his eyes. He smiles, but there is no strength, and his eyes are darker than the night surrounding them.

“I would go to the countryside, just as I’ve always wanted. Leave this, all of this, behind. Rural Japan is beautiful, so a small town would suffice where everyone knows everyone. We do favours for one another. It is community. Nothing like here.” His lips pull into a tiny frown. “When I was a younger man, I wanted a daughter,” is all he says. “I believe I could have been a great father, so perhaps… perhaps one day.”

“A daughter? Not a son?” you ask curiously, and he almost chuckles. You can’t help the faint smile on your face.

“If my daughter grew up anything like her mother,” he explains with a slight glance towards you, “I would have more hope than a son who was like me.”

You frown. “You’re not a bad man, Takemura. Any son like you—with your code of honour, your shitty selfie skills—no one’s gotta a chance.”

He merely scoffs in response. Again, with the you mocking him. It’s a wonder he lets you.

“But really, that sounds… nice. A daughter, a wife.” You drum your fingers against your knee and his eyes dart to yours, click like they were always destined to meet, and your lips part. Words stall on your tongue and you want to speak but in the dim lights, you are lost in the darkness of his eyes. Something comes, something goes, and you barely croak out, “Whoever marries you will have to deal with so much of your shit that the kids have to turn out alright. The complaining, for one. Picky eater for another.”

This time, he does chuckle and you swallow a breath at the sound. “Dealing with it comes with practice, V.”

“Is that so?”

“Shouldn’t you know?”

“I—“ For once, no funny retort, no witty quip shoots out of your mouth, and you realize that there is an implication—an intricate dance where they’re struggling not to step on each other’s toes and nearly failing at every turn, yet somehow, it works because they’re dancing, and it’s quiet, and it’s… it’s peaceful.

Shit, you’re getting a load of this. When’d you become a poet?

“I guess I should know,” you finally say. “Never understood why I got so giddy whenever I saw your texts, you know, seein’ your name flash on my phone.” You laugh bitterly. “Guess I know why, now.” He’s silent and you don’t look at him. You look at the dashboard where you’ve kicked your feet up a dozen times, the glove compartment that still has your sunglasses inside.

Shit.

“Thank you for everything. Shit’s a little… more bearable, I guess. When you’re around, that is.” The words come out stilted, awkward, but your heart is so heavy in your throat you feel like you’re going to choke. You look into your lap, your whole body incinerating under what you’re sure is the most judgemental glare of your life and you just hope to fucking God this man says something, does something.

Holy shit. You’re going to die of embarrassment. Didn’t even think that was possible.

Then, a loud sigh. A sigh you’ve heard often enough beside you right before a gunfight or when he has to eat the food you ordered for him or even the nights when they’re exhausted, bruised, and just plain tired right before going to sleep where they lay on the floor.

It’s exasperated, a how on earth did we get here, a very annoyed again, you’re so fucking stupid, and you’re still running through your list on what this particular sigh can mean before a hand gently takes hold of yours. Your eyes dart to his, blinking and he stares at you like you’ve just stabbed him. Your heart is fucking racing in your chest, pounding like thunder. His fingers fold over and you realize, as you interlace fingers, that his skin is burning at your touch.

Or maybe, it’s the other way around.

They sit there in silence, not looking at one another, looking out windows, parts of the car, everything but each other, and when he squeezes your hand, you close your eyes and swallow your heart.

It’s over.

“V,” he murmurs, voice so deathly quiet and raspy in your ears that your gut clenches. You turn to watch him. “Tell me that you will not stop fighting.” You swallow your breath as his eyes flicker from your own to your parted lips. He inhales quietly and you swear you can feel his heartbeat pulsing in his fingers in your grip. “That this is not all for nothing.”

“It isn’t.“

“Then I was right.” His eyes flutter back to your gaze and he tilts his head. Wisps of fine hair escaping his manbun brush over his nose and you reach up on your own accord, swiping it behind your ear. You lean over the console, your elbow digging into the leather and, tentatively, you trail your fingers down his jaw, hold his face in your hand. “I am… what is that phrase you use so often?”

“SNAFU?”

“No.”

“Assblasted.”

“No.”

“Royally fucked?”

“We need to expand your vocabulary.” You smile nefariously as his other hand reaches for your chin. He pinches it lightly, thumb stretching up to brush over your lips and your face freezes at his touch. “But yes. Royally fucked. I wasn’t wrong when I said I needed you.”

“I think that meant a whole something else back then,” you whisper rawly and he smiles sombrely. His thumb leaves your mouth to brush your cheek, his eyes fixing on you as if he’s trying to memorize aspects of your face: the arch of your nose, the bow of your smile, the way your brow wrinkles. “Meant more business-like.”

“I did. And now, I believe the terms have changed.” He arches an eyebrow. “Are we at a mutual understanding, V?”

“Yes.” And I hate that we are. Your hand along his jaw lifts to wrap around his wrist. “Consider that feeling mutual, yeah? It goes both ways.”

“I will.” Another small smile graces his lips. It makes him look younger every time and you rub your thumb over the back of his hand.

“Do you wanna grab something to eat before you drive me back home for some shuteye?”

“The choices here are atrocious, V.”

“Then, drinks,” you propose, letting go of his wrist. He lets go of your chin, and turning to face the front, you kick up your feet on his dash. He stares at you for a moment then sighs because there really isn’t anything he can do about it. Nor, do you think, he wants to. You squeeze his hand and send him a silly smile. “How about drinks? I wasn’t hungry anyway.”

“Are you paying?”

You eye him incredulously. “Who do you take me for? You?”

He snorts and the engine roars to life with a flick of his wrist. He grabs the wheel dominantly and you swallow at the way his fingers wrap around the handle. “The Afterlife, then?”

“Or, we could make it rustic.” You pull his hand into your lap playfully and run a thumb over his knuckles. His eyes flit over and you send him a smirk. “I know Mama Welles doesn’t like you, but the Coyote’s serving cheap. Happen to like me there.” He begins to pull out of their little overhang and he nudges their joined hands into your abdomen, silently telling you to buckle in. Rolling your eyes, you mumble out a ‘boomer’ underneath your breath before letting go of him and following orders.

He settles a hand on your thigh and squeezes. You hang an arm out the window.

The wind’s running through the car, he has the radio on low, and they’re easing through onto the highway.

Your chest is lighter than a feather, mind’s quieter than a ghost.

You’ve seen scarier deaths, dealt a lot more. You know that silence is a bigger killer than most bullets.

But here you are now…

“I’m changing this,” Takemura says. “This music is terrible.”

…Shit, maybe life isn’t so bad, ending the way it is.

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honeybrulee · 3 years

Text

A Fatal Mistake

Requested by @tatakae1tatakae ! ♡ Hope you like it, lovely!

Levi Ackerman x Reader

"I thought I was keeping you safe by letting you go. Now I see that was a mistake."

Warnings: descriptions of injury, broken ribs

The wooden boards creaked beneath your boots as you made your way up to Levi's office. He had told you earlier that day to meet him there once your duties were over, although he'd refused to tell you why, expression indifferent and stoic.

While this was the emotion plastered on his face at any given point of the day, it had never been directed at you, only normally reserved for his interactions with snotty cadets and grouchy higher-ups. With you it was different. He'd reveal himself from the stoic mask he hid behind in public, offer you gentle smiles and tender eyes, saccharine whispers and the graceful sweeping of his lips against yours.

Something was off with Levi. You could read your boyfriend like a book no matter how hard he tried to keep his feelings to himself, and you had every intention of finding out what was troubling him.

Rapping your knuckles against the solid oak door, you waited for him to welcome you in. His voice carried through, permitting you into his office as though you were another soldier instead of a partner.

"Levi, everything okay?" you spoke softly as you closed the door behind you, not wanting to worsen the already abnormal mood he was in.

"Take a seat," was the most Levi seemed to be capable of offering you, voice stern. An order. The man did not look up from his paperwork, scratching away with his pen. Black tendrils of hair hung down, shielding you from seeing his face.

You did as he said, perching yourself in the seat facing his desk reserved for business conversations.

Crossing your hands in your lap you watched him expectantly, waiting for him to explain why he had called you here, and why he was acting so cold. Nothing. The only audible sound was the scratching of his pen as he still refused to look at you.

"Levi?" you called out hesitantly.

He sighed, tapping his pen against the desk before placing it back in its holder. When he finally looked up to meet your eyes his face bared no emotions, the man in front of you performing his identity of Captain Levi rather than your lover.

"This relationship is unprofessional. I've already allowed it to go on for too long. From now on we're back to a working relationship of a Captain and his subordinate. That clear, soldier?" his voice was harsh and cruel, as though every moment you'd cherished together, every night spent in each other's arms meant nothing.

You choked, breath catching in your throat. What? He couldn't be serious could he? Why now, why after everything? You felt your heart plummet into your stomach, a stiffness strangling your muscles.

"H-huh?" was all you could bring yourself to reply with, shock setting in.

"You heard me, solider. We're finished. Now get out of my office."

You felt dizzy, all the breath drained from your lungs, tears pricking at your eyes in a painful sting.

"Levi-" you whimpered, the pain of the man you loved more than life itself pushing you away like a fling wracking your body.

"I said, get OUT!" he yelled, hands slamming down on his desk.

You made your way to the door on shaky feet, tears spilling down your cheeks. As your hand grasped the handle you turned to look at him over your shoulder. He was still leaning with his hands planted firm against the desk, teeth gritted and brows furrowed. His knuckles paled to a sickly white from the pressure he was putting on them.

"Does everything we've been through really mean so little to you?" you choked out, voice quiet, almost barely there.

"You mean nothing to me," was his heart-wrenching response, one which you had feared hearing but needed to hear for yourself. "You were nothing but a distraction, a way to release my stress. Don't think too hard into it. Now go."

And as you left, closing the door behind you, Levi finally let his facade fall. He collapsed back into his chair, breath shaky. He rested his elbows on the desk, burrowing his face into his hands as tears burned his eyes. They leaked down to his chin as he couldn't help but think about how big of a lie everything he'd just told you was, how desperately he was in love with you and just how much living without you would torture him.

Levi had to remind himself why he was doing this. If you weren't attached to him you'd be out of harm's way. You'd have no need to throw yourself into the face of danger to protect him if there was no connection in the first place. You'd fend for yourself and your friends. Making himself an enemy was the best way to keep you safe.

But stars, the look on your face had wrenched his heart in two. The look of betrayal and pain in your eyes was similar to the one he'd seen when you'd lost a friend on an expedition, as though you'd witnessed the cruelest of deaths. Less than 24 hours before, he'd held you in his arms as you slept, fingers brushing sweeping patterns over your back. He'd pressed kisses to your warm skin, tangling his fingers between your own. You trusted him more than anybody else in this world and he'd done nothing but hurt you.

Levi never went back to his bed that night, the thought of it cold and empty making him nauseous. Instead, he resigned himself to weeping silently against the polished oak of his desk until the sun broke through the night sky and it was time to start a new day.

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

- The next day - a scouting expedition outside the walls -

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

The rain fell thick and heavy, obscuring everybody's vision. The formation was completely broken, and flares were useless in such extreme conditions, the smoke trampled by the rain. You could hardly see your hand in front of your face, leaving you and your two fellow scouts, Armin and Jean, practically shoulder to shoulder on your horses.

"I can't see shit, where the hell are we even going?" Jean called out.

Armin, ever the smart one, replied "We should turn around, head back in the direction of the wall. Commander Erwin will likely be headed back there, there's no way the mission won't be called off in these conditions!"

"Back to the wall it is, then!" you shouted, tilting the reins of your horse to lead it to turn, your friends following suit.

You felt your heart clench in worry at the thought of Levi. No matter what he'd said to you the night before, you loved him desperately. Normally he'd keep you nearby in the formation, somewhere you could look out for eachother. This time he'd positioned you on the outer flank, as far away from him as possible. You hated, more than anything, not being able to make sure he was safe. Levi's reputation as humanity's strongest had often lead him headfirst into danger, and the thought of him risking his life needlessly in these conditions sent a shiver through your spine.

The three of you could barely tell where you were, hoping that if you continued to ride in the general direction of where you came from it would lead you back to the others.

Unfortunately, before you could get any closer, the familiar sound of titans breaking into a sprint rang through your ears.

"Shit!" Jean yelled, "there's gotta be about seven of 'em! The hell did they come from?"

"We should split up! If we're all in the same place we'll have them gunning for us!" Armin spoke next, and with a nod from both you and Jean you carried out his plan.

You turned right, leading some titans away from your friends.

"That's it, c'mon, follow me," you spoke to yourself, looking over your shoulder as three titans tailed you at full speed. When you'd let them far away enough from your friends for them to not turn around and go for them you stood up on your horse, gathering your blades in each hand.

The strong winds didn't do much for your ODM gear, the hooks being turned away from their target each time. At the most crucial moment, just when you were about to sink your hooks into the shoulder of the tallest titan to get up to its nape, a wild gust of wind blew over the planes, sending the wires and the hooks shooting in the complete wrong direction. One caught onto the thigh of a different titan, sending you flying in that direction helplessly. Before you could collide with the titan, a large meaty fist grasped you, squeezing tight.

The large titan had caught you, and it groaned as it lifted you up towards its mouth. You couldn't lift your arms to slash at its fingers, arms pinned to your sides with the tightness of its grip. Panic set in, and you screamed as the titan lowered you into its gaping mouth, placing you down. It began to tighten its jaw, clamping your ribs between its massive teeth.

Just before the titan could crush you, your eyes, wide with fear, caught the outline of someone flying past in ODM gear, heading straight to the nape of the titan. A slashing sound rang out, and the next thing you knew you were plumetting to the ground, having just barely escaped death. Before you could hit the dirt, your saviour swung past and clutched you in their arms, carrying you down safely.

You groaned in pain, ribs definitely broken. The person carrying you fell to their knees, cradling you to their chest.

"Y/N!"

Levi? There was no mistaking it. That was the same voice you'd heard countless times, whether it was whispering sweetly in your ear, lauging melodically at something stupid, sharing late night conversations under the stars, it was definitely him. Levi was the one who had swept in and saved you from death.

"Shit, are you alright?" he asked, voice raised in fear and worry.

"Y-yeah, m'okay. Think my ribs are broken though," you coughed then whimpered at the pain that sent through your chest.

"Shh, shh, I've got you, love. You're alright. I'm here," he cooed. Levi sighed, guilt gnawing at his heart. If he had just been there this never would have happened in the first place.

Levi brought his fingers to his lips, whistling to beckon his horse over. Yours had been caught up in the fight, kicked away by a flailing titan.

"Alright, sweetheart, I'm just gonna lift you up onto the saddle. I'll be as gentle as I can."

He gathered you into his arms, carefully settling you onto the back of his horse. You groaned at the movement, causing Levi to press a reassuring kiss to your cheek.

"I know. Almost there, angel."

When you were finally up on the horse, Levi slid up in front of you, leaving you to wrap your arms around his waist. With a kick the horse was racing back in the direction of the wall. You rested your head in the nook of Levi's neck, taking in his familiar smell for comfort.

Upon reaching the wall you vaguely heard Levi call out for a medic, the adrenaline finally wearing off.

You knew you had been injected with a sedative to make you sleep so that you could be transported to the medical centre when you felt a scratch against your neck. As you faded out, you felt Levi's hand grasping yours tightly, and it was enough.

------

When you eventually woke, Levi was sat by your side, brushing his fingers up and down your cheek.

"Levi?" you spoke, throat dry and scratchy.

"I'm here," he replied calmly, although the guilt ridden look on his face betrayed him.

"You don't have to be, Levi. You told me how you felt, I get it. You can go. Thank you for saving me."

Levi winced, brows furrowing. He moved his hand to cup your jaw, carefully tilting your chin to get you to look at him.

"I'm sorry. This is all my fault," he sighed. "I thought- I just thought that if I distanced you from me you'd be safe, that you'd be out of harm's way and wouldn't have to jump in to protect me. I thought I was keeping you safe by letting you go. Now I see that was a mistake. A huge fucking mistake, worst I've ever made. You nearly died and it's all because of my stubbornness. I love you, like I've never loved anybody else, and that scared me. Made me afraid that I'll lose you like I've lost everyone else important to me - because I knew that if I did lose you it would break me. But all I ended up doing was putting you in danger. I wasn't there to look after you and you could've died because of it. I don't expect you to forgive me, not after what I said to you, but please just know that I didn't mean a word of it. It was all lies I crafted to push you as far away from me as I could. I truly love you, Y/N."

You gasped, tears building up in your eyes.

"You really mean that?"

"Yes," he looked down in shame. "I'll never lie to you again. I see now that it will always do more harm than good."

You were silent for a moment, thinking over everything he'd said. So it had all been one big lie that he'd thought would keep you safe. While it was clearly stupid, you understood where he was coming from, and the thought of him caring for your safety so deeply made your heart tighten.

"I forgive you, Levi."

He looked up at you and gasped shallowly, eyes wide.

"W-what?"

"I understand why you did it. Dumb or not, you had the best intentions. I've loved you for so long, Levi, and I don't plan on stopping any time soon."

Levi found himself at a loss for words, staring down at the being beneath him in awe. You were so perfect. How could a man like him ever deserve someone like you.

"Levi?"

"Mm?"

"Kiss me."

He felt breathless, like someone had sucked the air straight from his lungs.

Without any more hesitation, Levi leaned down, tilted his head slightly and pressed his lips to yours. A tear escaped his eye and rolled down his cheek, shaky breaths puffing out his nose.

He was no longer scared of love.

#levi ackerman x reader

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fleetwood-mac-andcheese · 3 years

Text

My thoughts while watching Holes for the billionth time

It’s fucked up that the movie starts with all the supporting characters watching their friend attempt suicide

How long was Stanley’s trial and how short was Zero’s trial? Because we know that Zero got arrested the day after Stanley did, but he arrived at Camp Greenlake significantly earlier. Like, he knew Barfbag, he already had a nickname, people knew he liked to dig. How long was he there before Stanley showed up?

In the book when they sing the song, they howl on the word moon (it’s written “moo-oo-oon”) and I wish they did that in the movie

The Yelnatses screwed Stanley over by not getting him a lawyer. The little bits we see of his case prove they had no clue what they were doing. And when they eventually do get a lawyer, he’s let out almost immediately.

I love how Dr. Pendanski is written. He’s such a terrible person who has convinced himself and is trying to convince those around him that he is the nicest guy around. He fucking sucks and I love how he’s written and how Tim Blake Nelson plays him.

“Today’s menu: Chili, string beans, re-fried beans, garbanzo beans, green beans, and banana jello” — aren’t green beans and string beans the same thing?

The cinematic choices made in this movie are just *chef’s kiss*. The way they jump from timeline to timeline without ever losing pace is masterful

Eartha Kitt is flawless.

While Eartha Kitt is flawless, I want it noted that in the book, Madame Zeroni is described as a one legged Romani person (Sachar actually used the G slur) and Eartha Kitt is neither one-legged nor Romani.

Zero is the fastest digger in the camp, but they never really explain how big the camp is. Like, is he the fastest out of 25 people? 60 people, 140 people?

Just to revisit point 8, I fucking love Eartha Kitt

The yellow spotted lizards are such an excellent plot device

All the inmates are either A) mentally ill B) people of color or C) severely traumatized. But most of them are D) all of the above

When Squid throws out Stanley’s letter, catch Zero in the background with a pool cue ready to beat the shit out of that motherfucker

It’s weird that they show Sam as some kind of snake oil salesman when we know that his product actually works. The yellow spotted lizards won’t bite you if you’ve eaten his onions. Why claim they cure baldness or that Mary Lou is over 100 years old?

Zero back at it again ready to throw hands for Stanley, this time with a billiards ball

The fact that magnet got locked up for stealing a thousand dollar puppy

“You are here on account of one person. You know who that person is?” “Yeah, my no good, dirty rotten, pig-stealing, great great grandfather. That’s who it is”

Henry Winker provides such comedic levity

When Zero asks Stanley to teach him how to read and it’s such a nice moment of vulnerability, only to be shot down by Stanley. I just want to cry

What happens if someone actually dies at Camp Greenlake? Like, Zero and Stanley ran away and Barfbag got sent to the hospital, but they all survived. What would the protocol be if someone just dies while digging? Clearly there’s not a lot of oversight because Stanley can get away with Zero digging his hole, so what happens when one of those kids get overheated working all day in the Texas sun and just collapses in their hole one day and nobody thinks to check on them until the next day when the buzzards are all gathered around their corpse?

I’ve waited long enough to say this. Sigourney Weaver in this movie is one of the best performances I’ve ever seen. I fucking love her

Sam and Katherine. nuff said

“Well then I guess you’d be in a lot of trouble if your boat leaked.” *sobs*

Just casually reciting Edgar Allen Poe from memory as a way of professing my love to a woman I legally cannot be with due to racist laws forbidding interracial relationships.

I can’t help but remember that Scott Plank died during the post production of this movie. Respect to him and his ability to play such a good villain as Trout Walker

“No one ever says no to Trout Walker.” “I believe I just did.” SAY IT LOUDER, KATE!

Sam

I love that Kate’s MO came from a racist sheriff sexually harassing her

The sunflower seed thing reminds me of something that happened to me at RTC and it’s just a really nice moment for me

Stanley acting so casual by not doing the one thing he’s supposed to be doing

The look on Magnet’s face right before Stanley covers for him

I really want to know more about the Warden and Mr. Sir’s relationship

I also really want a bottle of that rattlesnake nail polish, but maybe that’s just me

I also really like that Sachar didn’t shy away from the racial implications of a white guy having a black guy do his labor for him. Then again, the whole story is an indictment of racism and the American prison system, so it makes sense he wouldn’t ignore that

The way Stanley gets so excited when Zero mentions that park. Like ‘oh, we have something in common. We used to go to the same park!’ and Zero just shuts it down with “I used to sleep in the tunnel next to the swing and bridge” Stanley may have been cursed, but he still had a home

Zero finally gets to throw hands on Stanley’s behalf. He’s been waiting to do that since point 14

Pendanski really is the shittiest

“No one cares about Hector Zeroni” “I do”

I love that Twitch was just instantly ready to help Stanley steal Mr. Sir’s car

What are the chances of Kate, Zero, and Stanley all finding Sam’s boat in the middle of the desert? And I know Kate probably spent years looking for it after the lake dried up and for Zero and Stanley it was destiny, but still

Zero, you gotta ration that sploosh

One more time for emphasis: I love Eartha Kitt

Kate dying and she hallucinates Sam, only to be snapped out of it by Trout Walker. Just Trout stopping them from being together one last time

“It hasn’t rained here since the day they killed Sam” and you think whatever deity made that happen is gonna let anyone in the Walker family end up with Kate Barlow’s fortune?

“I can’t leave without Hector.”

“Call my mom. Tell her I said I was sorry. Tell her Theodore said he was sorry” cue Small Steps

Justice reigns over the Walker family and rain falls over the Walker estate

I would love for someone to find out just how much that treasure chest was really worth. Can one of those theorist channels get on that, please?

Hector finding his mom is nothing short of heart-melting. I’m not crying, you’re crying

“Camp Greenlake was closed and the boys were released on time served and sent to real counselors” Wait, are you implying that forced labor is an unjust prison sentence? Someone better tell the prison industrial complex!

So what happened with Sweet Feet? Did they sit him down and explain the misunderstanding before or after signing him as the spokesperson for their product? He was the prosecution’s lead witness at Stanley’s trial, but nope! All is forgiven!

The soundtrack slaps

Point 53, however you have Shia Labeouf and Eartha Kitt in the same movie and you put which one of them on the soundtrack? Just wondering who made that call. Like, you layer ‘I Want To Be Evil’ or ‘Burned As A Witch’ over any of Kissing Kate Barlow’s scenes, it’d be perfect. But no, instead we get the dude from Even Stevens trying to rap.

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atlafan · 4 years

Text

Bar Crossed Lovers - One Shot

a/n: i truthfully couldn’t think of a better name, so please enjoy the bad pun. idk wtf this is, but it’s friends to lovers with a little bit of angst, and of course smut. hope you enjoy! 4.8k

He wasn’t sure how it happened. The two of you were the last ones at the party, and he had offered to help clean up. It was genuine, a friend helping another friend tidy up after a night of drinking with others. How he ended up in your bed, inside of you for hours, well, that was trickier to understand. You weren’t sure how it happened either, but you weren’t complaining. It had been a while, and he was there. He didn’t stay the night. There was no confession of love or feelings, it was just sex.

Neither of you talked about it. You both just figured it was a drunken mistake, or maybe it wasn’t a mistake. You both clearly needed it, but it wasn’t something to make a big deal out of. It was when you both worked next that it got a little awkward. You both were in early for set up.

See, you and your friends all worked at a bar. Some of you were in grad school, and some of you were just working there until you figured out what it was you really wanted to do with your life. It was good and easy money. It’s how you met Harry in the first place. He was already behind the bar when you clocked in. He was polishing the glasses that were fresh out of the dishwasher.

“Hey.” You say, as you pull out the cutting board and limes.

“Hi.” He sets a glass down and looks at you. “How are you?”

“Good, how are you?” You say, without looking at him.

“Good.”

You nod your head and hear him scoff. You put your knife down and look at him. He was still looking at you, arms crossed.

“This doesn’t need to be so weird.” He says.

“I agree.”

“So why are you acting like this?”

“Because I don’t really know what to say to you. How do we continue as normal? Do we let our friends know what happened?”

‘I don’t see how it’s any of their business, Y/N.”

“They’re gonna know something’s up, Harry.” You point to the splotch on your neck and his face flushes.

“It’s been a few days…”

“You didn’t exactly do it gently.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I didn’t tell you to stop.” You blush and turn back to your limes as he continues with the glasses.

“We were drunk and we did what a lot of people do when their drunk.” He shrugs.

“I figured that’s why you stayed back, because you wanted to hook up.”

“Well, I genuinely felt bad that our friends didn’t throw any of their garbage away, so I wanted to help.”

“You’ve always been nice.” You chuckle. “Maybe too nice.” You shake your head at the memory of that night. You feel a slight surge go through you, but you try to shake that away as well.

“You weren’t exactly complaining the other night, babe.” He grins and you swat your rag at him. “Gotta be able to joke about it.”

“It is sort of funny, been friends for a while and all of a sudden we just hook up.”

“I don’t blame you, I am pretty irresistible.”

“Harry.” You sigh.

“Okay, okay, sorry. Just lightening the mood, that’s all. Look, it doesn’t need to be a big deal. It was a nice hook up.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“But that’s all it was, right?”

“Right.” You put all of the limes into the container and grab a few lemons. “I don’t like you as anything more than a friend.”

“Same here.”

“But…I wouldn’t hate if it happened again.” Your cheeks had to be beat red at this point.

“Neither would I.”

“Really?” You look at him.

“Sure.” He shrugs and lifts another rack of glasses to the counter. “No strings attached sex? I’m game.”

“I just don’t want our friendship to get fucked up, that’s all.”

“I agree. We should make it clear if we’re hanging out to hook up or not, and if it gets deeper for someone, then it should stop.”

“Right, because I’m just dying to be in a relationship with you.” You say sarcastically.

“Aren’t most people?”

“Jesus.” You nudge him and he chuckles. “We would also need to stop if one of us meets someone else. We would need to be upfront about it.”

“What about other hook ups?”

You raise an eyebrow at him.

“What do you mean?”

“Like on Tinder or something?”

“I don’t need to know about that, just…make sure you wrap it up.”

“Deal.” He grins.

After that, you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. You often found yourself getting distracted at work, and so did Harry. Almost every night you worked together you’d end up having a quickie in one of your cars. Your friends eventually found out too. It wasn’t hard to figure out since you both got caught in the bathroom at one of their places one night. You all had a good laugh about it and just explained it was nothing more than hooking up. Everyone was pretty cool with it.

You had just finished hooking up at his place when you were getting your clothes back on.

“You know, you don’t have to slip out just yet.” He says as he pulls his boxers back on. “We were watching a movie.”

“Yeah, for like five seconds.” You laugh. “I need to get going, though.” You slip your shirt on and lean across the bed to give him kiss on the cheek. “I have a paper I need to work on, you know how it is.”

“I do, you came here to distress.” He smirks.

“And I did.” You give him one last kiss before grabbing your keys. “See you at work tomorrow.”

“See ya.”

Harry makes his bed back up and throws a load of laundry in the washer. His phone pings with a few messages from Tinder, but he’s found himself checking and responding less and less. He was having great sex with you, why go out and get it somewhere else? After finishing up some homework of his own, he texts you.

Harry: how’s the paper going?

You: almost done!

Harry: let me know if you want a reward ;)

You: miss me already? Lol

Harry: just parts of you

You: very funny

Harry: ;p

You: if I say yes will you go down on me?

Harry: I’m on my way

Having sex with Harry was great, but it was starting to take up a lot of your free time. He was the one that would text you for the booty call more often than you would, which surprised you. You didn’t question it because it was nice to feel wanted. Every time he kisses the back of your shoulder as he drilled into you, or as he had you bent of the bed, or even when his head was between your legs, you enjoyed being wanted. But you wanted to be wanted for things other than sex. You wanted to have excuses to get dress up and go out on nice dates. You worked long hours and your grad work kept you busy too. Sometimes you just wanted to be swept off your feet, not swept off to the bedroom.

One night while you were working, a group of young men came in. They all sat down right at the bar instead of getting a booth.

“When can I get you guys started off with?”

“Pitcher of beer, please.” One of them says to you. He was handsome, very handsome.

“You got it.” You smile.

You found yourself chatting with him a bit in between other customers. His name was Noel, and he worked at a publishing company. He and his coworkers were celebrating finishing a large manuscript edit. Harry noticed you flirted, but to be fair, you flirted a lot. So did he. It was how all the bartenders got more tips. There was something different about this, though. You seemed genuinely interested in what this guy had to say.

“We have to get going soon, but I’d love to keep getting to know you. Your grad work seems really interesting.” He writes his number on the receipt. “Call me sometime.” He smiles.

You bite your bottom lip and tuck the receipt copy into your apron. You had butterflies in your stomach. This was good, this was really good. What a cute way to meet someone. You and your other friends giggle about Noel. You were definitely going to call him.

“Coming back to mine tonight?” Harry asks as you both work to close down the bar.

“Sure.” You smile.

Your willingness to hook up with Harry had gotten less and less frequent. You had called Noel. You talked for hours. You had a lot in common. You had gone out on a couple of dates with him, and they went really well. It was time to tell Harry your hook ups needed to stop altogether.

“Slow your roll, I didn’t come over here for that.” You laugh and push him away. He was kissing on your neck the second you came over to his place.

“What did you come here for then?” He gasps facetiously. “Are we hanging out for real?”

“Yes.” You both sit down on his couch. “I have to tell you something. I’m…sort of seeing someone.”

“Oh.”

“I haven’t slept with him yet, but I’d like to. We’re not official yet either, but I feel like we probably will be, so this needs to stop. Is that okay? Still friends?”

“Course it’s okay, and of course we’re still friends. Thanks for being so honest.” He smiles.

“Thanks for being so cool with it. I know I’ve been sort of distant in that sense lately, but I’ve just been trying to figure out how I feel. I really like this guy and I don’t wanna screw it up.”

“I get it.”

You hug him and kiss him on the cheek. The two of you settle in with a movie, and then you leave. Harry went to bed aggravated as all hell. He liked hooking up with you. He was hoping the conversation you had earlier wouldn’t have come so soon. You had been doing what you were doing for nearly three months. How could you have gotten bored with him? You always praised him in the bedroom, how could you want someone else to fuck you?

You and your friends would be all hanging out after work, and you’d be bringing Noel to formally meet them. You had been seeing him for a few weeks now. You hadn’t gone all the way with him yet, just making out and some heavy petting. You weren’t sure what the holdup was, but you didn’t mind taking it sort of slow.

He comes into the bar just before close and sits down. You squeal when you see him. You come around from the bar and kiss him on the cheek.

“I just need to change quick in the back, and then we can head to Michelle’s.”

“Sounds good, take your time.”

You kiss him on the lips quickly and then head to the back to change. Harry catches this and squints at Noel while he wipes down the bar. Noel gives him a half smile and Harry returns it. Tonight was going to be interesting to say the least.

After a few drinks, you all settled in on a game of Scrabble. It would be lame or boring if you weren’t drinking.

“Challenge! Challenge! No way that’s a word!” Michelle says to Harry.

“Is too!”

“It’s a slang term, no slang!” Chris yells in her defense.

“Where in the blood rules does it say you can’t use slang?! If it’s in the dictionary, it’s a fucking word! That’s ten points, write it down.” He crosses his arms, and Michelle groans.

“I’ve never seen so many people get worked up by a game of Scrabble before.” Noel chuckles. “This is great.” He kisses you on the cheek.

Everyone seemed to really like Noel so far, but you wanted Harry’s opinion too. You notice him get up to refill his drink in the kitchen, so you get up to do the same.

“What do you think?” You whisper.

“About what?” He whispers back.

“Noel.” You giggle.

“Oh.” He rolls his eyes. “No offense, but I don’t really wanna give my two cents on your boyfriend.”

“Well, he’s not exactly my boyfr-“

“Either way.” He sips his drink. “Not something I feel super comfortable with.”

“I just wanted to know if you liked him so far…if I bring him around more often I’d wanna make sure you were comfortable with it.”

“And what if I wasn’t?” He had back you up so you were leaning against the counter. “You know me, I’m a real attention hog.” He smirks and walks away from you.

Harry missed you. He missed you like crazy. It had been a month since you last hooked up and he thought he was gonna go crazy. Never in a million years did he think he would be the one to catch feelings, but he did. Noel was probably a really nice guy, but he was now competition, and if there was one thing Harry didn’t like it was competition.

He had to watch as Noel would come in on the late nights at work to come pick you up, when that used to be him to make sure you got home safely. He had to listen when you would giggle with your other friends about the dates he would bring you on. It was torture.

One night it was raining, so Noel invited you over for a wine and movie date. You loved cuddling with him. About thirty minutes into the movie, and most of your glass of wine drank, you were making out on his couch.

“Y/n>” He breathes. “Want you.”

“Want you too.” You groan.

You were ready for him now, he had waited long enough. It also kind of turned you on to just be so comfortable with him to want to do it on his couch. He slipped your pants off and undid your own. You reach into your grab and pull out a condom. He happily slides it on. He fingers you, only for a few moments. When Harry would finger you…you shake the thought from your head. You can’t compare them right now.

When Noel pushes inside you, you were expecting it to feel incredible. It wasn’t like his dick was small or unsatisfying, but there was something that just wasn’t doing it for you. Maybe it was the way he wasn’t paying any attention to your clit, or the way he would only lightly kiss your neck, or that he wasn’t pulling at the roots of your hair. Shit.

“Y/N? Are you enjoying it? You’re like a million miles away.” He frowns.

“I’m so sorry, I thought I was feeling it…but…”

He pulls out of you and discards himself of the condom. You pull your pants back on and sit with him awkwardly on the couch.

“Is there something else I could have done?”

“Maybe, but I don’t think it would have made a difference.” You sigh. “I really like you Noel, I don’t know what my problem is tonight.”

“Is there someone else?”

“No.” Maybe. “At least, I didn’t think there was, but now I’m so sure.” You look at him. “I’m so sorry, I think I should go.”

He nods and sighs.

“I really like you too, but I don’t wanna force anything between us. Take all the time you need.”

You throw your arms around him and hold him tight. Noel was literally the perfect guy, what was wrong with you? You leave and drive around for a bit. You wanted to kill Harry for running through your mind. You didn’t want to date him, and you hadn’t really thought about him sexually since you stopped hooking up. You never thought about him when you kissed Noel, so why was it when you were finally getting intimate that he popped into your head?

You were suddenly filled with rage and you gripped your steering wheel so hard your knuckles turned white. You found yourself driving towards Harry’s apartment building. You get out of the car and slam the door closed. You had no idea if he was going to be there, and you were getting soaked, but you didn’t care. You had a bone to pick with him.

You bang on his door and ring the buzzer over and over. You hear him yell “hang on” a couple of times.

“Y/N?!” It looked like he had just gotten out of the shower. His hair was damp and the shirt he had clearly just put on was sticking to his still wet chest.

“You have some nerve, Harry Styles.” You brush by him as you walk into his place.

“Sure, come on in.” He says to himself. “Do you need a towel, you’re dripping?”

“No, I’m perfectly fine like this.” You cross your arms and looks at him.

“Alright, I really don’t have time for this, so you wanna explain the attitude?” He cross his arms now.

“I just tried having sex with Noel and I couldn’t because of you!”

His eyebrows raise in surprise. That was the last thing he expected you to say.

“What?”

“You…you…you ruined me!”

“I ruined you? What in the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, for started, when he fingered me, it felt like he was just jabbing, and his nails weren’t exactly short. Your nails are always perfectly filed.”

“It’s common curtesy.”

“And he only did it for a few minutes. Then, he didn’t even rub my clit. You always did that while you fucked me.”

“Because it makes you feel good.”

“Exactly!”

“Did you tell him?”

“What?”

“Did you vocalize what you wanted?”

“No…I didn’t have to with you.”

“Not everyone’s like me. Sometimes you have to-“

“But I don’t want to! I just want someone that knows what they’re doing! I don’t want it to be a race about who can get off the fastest. I want someone’s body on mine and just be in complete and utter ecstasy for a little while! And it probably would have been fine. Maybe I would have gotten vocal with him, but you wouldn’t leave my mind! You ruined me, Harry.”

“Yeah, well, you ruined me too.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah.” He scoffs. “Do you know how hard it’s been watching you be with someone else? To give all your attention to some guy that wasn’t me?! Do you know how hard it’s been trying to respect your relationship, and not drag you into the back room to fuck you senseless?”

“I didn’t think you had feelings for me.”

“Neither did I.” He looks away. “But I do, and I have pretty much since you ended things. I started to really miss you…as more than a friend.” He rubs the back of his neck. His phone starts to ring. “Shit.”

“Do you have plans?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll go.”

“No.” He answers his phone. “Hey…no, I’m actually glad you called. I have to cancel last minute. One of my friends is upset over some guy who’s been a real idiot. Yeah…I’m sorry.” He hangs up his phone and shoves it back in his pocket.

“You didn’t have to do that…”

“Yes, I did. I was gonna try to go out on a date since it seemed things were getting serious between you and Noel…”

“So you just canceled on that poor girl who was probably getting ready?!”

“Well, I never said I was perfect! You of all people should know that, it’s probably the reason you didn’t more than my dick, right?”

“You didn’t want more from me!”

“I did, I just didn’t know it!”

You groan loudly, completely frustrated with the entire situation.

“Wait, so you had sex with him tonight?”

“What?”

“Like right before you came here? He fucked you?”

“Only for a couple of minutes. He could tell I wasn’t into it.” You look away.

“Well, I’m not fucking you tonight, not unless you shower.”

“You really think I came over here for that?! I came here to yell at you!”

“For no fucking reason! Oh, boo hoo, you think I ruined you for all other men. Maybe Noel was just a dud in the sack. Maybe that’s why he was single.”

“So you would have just easily jumped into bed with me if I wanted?”

“In a heartbeat, but not if someone else just touched you. I don’t even wanna think about it.” He makes a disgusted noise. “It should have been me, it should always be me.”

“That’s how you really feel?”

“It is. How do you feel?”

“I want you, but I also want the dates and the romance. I don’t want the booty calls, Harry. It’s nice being wanted, but I wanna go out and do things. I like getting brunch and going to movies, or going to other bars, or-“

“Okay! We can do that, we can do all of it, Christ. I’d do anything if it meant you were mine again, even though you were never really fully mine, but I had a piece of you once, I want all of it now.”

“I want all of you too.” You start walking towards his bathroom. You knew it very well.

“Where are you going?”

“You asked me to shower, so that’s where I’m going.” He follows you in there and you stop short. “You…kept my body wash?” You snatch the travel size bottle and show it to him.

“Smells good.” He shrugs. “Didn’t wanna waste it.” You make a sweet pouty face at him. “Shut up, you know where the towels are.” He says and closes the door behind him.

After your shower you find him lounging on his bed. You have your towel secure around you.

“All Noel free?”

“Mhm.” You giggle and sit on the edge of the bed where he was laying.

“Sorry, I hope you don’t take that the wrong way. I just would’ve felt weird…” He sit up against the headboard.

“No, it made sense. I wouldn’t wanna hook up with you right after being with someone else either.” You look over at the empty space beside him. “You know, in the three months we were hooking up we never had a sleep over.”

“Is that your way of asking to spend the night?”

“Got a t-shirt I can sleep in?”

He hums his response and gets up. He goes into his dresser, and tosses you a shirt. You put it on and hang the towel up.

“Wanna just watch something on Netflix and cuddle?” He asks.

“Yeah, that sounds nice.”

He smiles and puts the TV on while you crawl onto the bed. He throws an arm around you and rubs your back as he searches for something. You settle on some random movie. You bury your face in his chest and throw a leg over his.

“Why do you always do this?” He chuckles.

“Do what?”

“Any time we start a movie you get all needy.”

“You said you wanted to cuddle, this is me cuddling.”

“This is your knee getting very close to my dick.”

“Can you blame me? Haven’t had you in so long.”

“You say that like it’s my fault.”

“If I hadn’t ended things you never would have realized you liked me as more than a friend.”

“Y/N.” He sighs. “How could you not tell? Have you ever had a casual hook up so passionate before?”

“I just thought you were really good in bed.” You chuckle.

“Well, I am. And like I said before, I didn’t really realize how I felt until after it was over, which is super shitty.” He looks down at you and cups your cheek. “You’re special to me. You always have been, think it’s why we’ve been such great friends.”

“You shouldn’t keep so much to yourself.”

“Tomorrow, after work, I’m taking you on a date. I don’t care how late it is, I’ll find a place to take you. Show you off to everyone, make ‘em all feel jealous.”

You smile as he leans in to kiss you. He push you down into the pillows and hovers over you. It felt so good to have his lips on yours again. You couldn’t believe how much you missed it, or how natural it felt. You tug at his shirt and take it off. His lips move to your jaw and to your neck. He sucks on your skin harshly and your nails rake down his back.

“This what you needed?” He whispers in your ear before he sucks on another spot.

“Yes.” You gasp. “Feels so good.”

He gets your shirt off and strips down to his boxers. He kisses down your chest, making sure to pay attention to your breasts. He kisses from your knee to your inner thigh, sucking on where he pleases. When his tongue meets your center you buck your hips up towards him.

“You know you’re not supposed to move. Or did you forget?”

“Maybe you should remind me.”

He grins and presses a hand down on your lower stomach. You gasp when his tongue laps around you again. Your hands grip at his hair when he starts to suck on your clit. You moan out when you feel two of his fingers slip inside you.

“This is how you like it, right?” He says against you.

“Yes, fuck, yes.”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head when his fingers curl up against your spongy front wall. He sucks even harsher on your clit and you feel like you’re going to lose it.

“Harry.” You cry out.

You feel him groan as you come to your release. He removes his fingers and sticks his tongue inside you to fully get a taste of you. He had missed it so much. He was sort of getting carried away, and started eating you out again. His thumb creeps up to your clit to rub circles into it. Your head was thrashing against the pillow, and you were sweating from what he was doing to you. No one did this like Harry. Once you come again he slowly lifts his head. He was out of breath and his chin was glistening.

“Get on your stomach.” He breathes.

You grin and flip over. He grips your hips, and pulls you back to him. He slips his boxers off and then slips inside you.

“Oh, fuck.” You groan.

“You like my cock buried inside you?”

“Yes.”

You gasp when he starts moving in and out of you. His hand grasps at the roots for your hair. His skin was slapping against yours. It was like the two of you had never been apart. You move your ass back against him to get in sync with his pace.

“Still so fucking tight. You feel amazing.” He grunts.

Harry tugs your hair harshly to pulls you back to him. Your head rolls back against his shoulder. One of his arms snakes between your breasts, and his other moves so his hand can rub your slit as his thrusts in and out of you.

“Taking me so well.” He says into your ear. You turn slightly to kiss him. You suck his bottom lip into your mouth and bite down on it. “Fuck.” He breathes.

“Harry.” You whimper.

He could tell you were close again by the way you were tightening around him.

“Where, shit, where can I come?”

“Inside me, obviously.”

He rubs your clit faster and you grab at his hair. You cry out before he pushes you back down on the bed. He flips you over and slips back inside. His hand grips your throat in just the right way. You both make eye contact. He thought you looked beautiful like this.

“Shit.” He groans and fills you to the brim with his hot come.

“Oh my god, Harry.” You moan.

“Like that?”

“Love it.”

He pulls out of you and you clamp your legs together so you don’t make a mess. You hobble to bathroom to clean up and then come back to him. You collapse on top of his chest. He plays with your hair and kisses your forehead.

“So…you really wanna be with me?” He asks. Someone had to speak first.

“Yeah, I do.” You look up at him. “You wanna be with me?”

“Mhm.”

“I’ll have to call Noel tomorrow to let him know it’s officially over.”

“Same with the girl I’ve been talking to.” He kisses your forehead again and looks at you. “And you’re really gonna spend the night?”

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“Good, because I’m about ready to fuck you again. Got an entire month to make up for, babe.”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles y/n #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles smut fic #friends to lovers

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

For the meet uglies, 41, Sternclay, NSFW?

Here you go! And if you're a fan on "Let me be good to you" this has very similar vibes.

41: I’m at the 24/7 gym at 2 in the morning and I thought I was alone so I’m singing in the showers, but when you start singing with me, I’m startled and slip so the first time we meet, we’re both wet and naked

Stern blames the playlist he had on at work for the fact his morning devolves into chaos. He works better to the blues (or 2000s pop hits, but those don’t feel right when going over files on suspicious incidents in Appalachia). So he hums as he rinses the remnants of his workout down the drain. He’d never sing where someone can hear, but since no one is here.

I want a little steam on my clothes

Maybe I could fix things up so they'll go

What's the matter daddy, come on, save my soul

He goes to rinse his hair and realizes the song is still going.

I need some sugar in my bowl, I ain't foolin'

I want some sugar in my bowl

His lizard brain yells two separate messages; “baritone voice very hot” and “oh god who’s there.”

The second message leaps into the driver seat and, in his attempt to turn, peer out of the stall, and be sure it’s just another patron, his foot finds the traces of soap on the floor.

“Shit” He falls backwards out of the stall, thudding to the floor.

“Oh fuck.” A man emerges two stalls to his left, soaking wet and flailing for a towel, “I’m so fucking sorry, I’m so used to singing along with the radio. Are you okay?”

Joseph scans his body, finds nothing broken, “Yes.”

“Thank god.” The other man flicks shaggy hair from his face. In the split second before he gets the towel around his waist, Joseph’s gym manners fail him and he glances down. At least he’s getting several weeks worth of masturbation fodder from this humiliating moment.

“Here man, lemme help you up.”

Joseph takes the offered hand, then grits his teeth and swiftly turns to grab his own towel from where he hung it. He’d rather not show a stranger his ass, but this is how his night is going. As he turns back, he spots the other man quickly redirecting his stare from his ass to the floor.

Once both showers are off, Joseph changes and packs his bag. The stranger is at the mirror, tying his hair back and combing his beard.

“I’m sorry, my singing probably startled you too.”

A shrug of broad shoulders, “I work in kitchens, I’m so used to background noise some of it barely registers. And I always have the radio on when it’s just me in the mornings.”

“Hence the singing along?”

“Yeah, and why I’m here so early. I try to get my exercise in before work. Gotta admit, when I joined this gym I didn’t expect anyone else would be in for a 2 a.m workout.”

“My hours are all over the place. I’m with the FBI and when I’m on a case I tend to, um, lose track of time. Or work way later than I should.” He shoulders his bag, raises his hand in a wave, “it was nice meeting you. Even it was alarming at first.”

“Same to you” the man smiles at him over his shoulders, “and if you’re ever here at zero dark thirty again and want a gym buddy, I’m happy to keep you company.”

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

It’s a month before Joseph runs into him again. He swipes his card at the gym, finds the clank of a weight rack in place of the usual silence. The man from the showers smiles at him as he puts his bag near medicine balls, and when he’s done with his set he crosses the 80s-colored carpet to join him.

“It’s much nicer to see you when I can see you coming.” Joseph smiles politely, not catching his own subtext until the other man blushes.

“No kidding. I, uh, this may sound weird, but could I work-out with you? I’ve been doing the same routine for years because it’s what I know, but it gets so fucking boring.”

“I wouldn’t mind the company, though be warned that I do a lot of core and don’t use the machines all that much.”

“Totally fine. I’m, uh, I’m Barclay, by the way.” He holds out his hand and Joseph pictures twisting it behind his back while pinning him over one of the benches.

Instead, he shakes it, “Joseph.”

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

“I’m serious about skipping this if you need to” Joseph starts up the treadmill as Barclay jogs on the one beside him, “if you’re on your feet all day at work this could make that really uncomfortable.”

“Nah, I’ll be fine.”

It’s the truth; he may not be as in-shape as Joseph, but he’s still pretty fit, and they only do thirty minutes of running. But it’s equally true that he’d rather suffer some extra-sore legs than lose out on a half-hour of his limited time with his friend.

He’d been hoping for someone to spot him and maybe teach him some new lower body exercises, with the added bonus of having some basic things (like music taste and bonkers work schedules) in common. What he’s gotten is someone with a dorky sense of humor, and extensive knowledge of cryptozoology and mystery novels, and the stamina to make engaging conversation about those things while running or working a rowing machine.

It helps that Joseph is so hot that he could caramelize sugar just by looking at it. The glimpses he caught of him when they met were tantalizing; the way his dark hair gradually loosens from it’s gelled state, the way his cheeks turn pink when flushed and sweating, the few times his voice turns truly breathless? Barclay is ready to get on his knees and beg for him to do obscene things in the locker rooms.

What makes this desire impossible to shake is the suspicion that it’s shared. He’s caught Joseph looking at him in a way that isn’t just about his form, and when he shows Barclay a new exercise he stands closer and lingers longer than strictly necessary. And his Freudian slips are so frequent and obvious they may as well be Freudian nightgowns.

Just when he thinks Joseph can’t get any hotter, the agent texts him around their three month mark of working out together warning that he’ll be late. When he arrives, Barclay drops the five pound plate he was moving.

Joseph hasn’t changed clothes. He’s in a full, black suit, shined shoes, and a silver and blue tie that Joseph wants him to take off and loop around Barclays throat instead. The agent smiles with a promise to be right back, seems bemused when he returns to find Barclay in the exact spot and position he left him.

“You okay, big guy?” The nickname is one of the many ways he built a home for himself in Barclays daydreams.

“Uh. Uh, yeah, sorry, got lost in thought. I haven’t started on the full workout, did some extra stretching since I’m kinda tight from yesterday. You wanna do weights first?”

“Sure.”

Their routine lasts about an hour. It’s an act of god that Barclay gets through it unscathed. Joseph is even more hands-on than usual, and his cologne (bergamot and citrus, if Barclay has his scents right) hasn’t had a chance to fade. The most distracting element of the whole morning is his friend’s voice; there’s an edge to it, like a knife in a velvet sheath, and Joseph gives fewer suggestions and more orders.

Barclay wants him to sound like this forever. But only if he can rearrange his life so that he can follow every command.

After a very cold shower, he falls in next to Joseph as they push through the double doors into the warm night. When he reaches his car, the other man touches his cheek.

“Drive safe, big guy.”

He wonders if Joseph can feel him blush in the dark, “I will, agent. I promise.”

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

“I told them to get those dark spots checked” Joseph shakes his head at the notice on the door informing them the gym will be closed for the next two weeks to repair massive water damage in the ceiling.

“I’m just bummed I won’t get to work out with you. It’s not as fun alone in my apartment.”

“You could come over to mine, if we can find a time where it works.”

“I’d love to.”

Barclay double checks that the address on the apartment in front of him matches the one Joseph sent, while trying not to fixate on the text that came with it.

Joseph: Be ready, big guy, I’m going to work you hard

He knocks on the designated door, pushes it open when Joseph calls for him to come in. There’s a yoga mat on the floor and a stationary bike in the corner, and far too little space for two grown men to work out together.

“Do you want me to help move the couch? That might give us...more...room.”

Joseph, in his full suit and dress shoes, leans against the kitchen doorway with a confident smile.

“Y-you’re not working out with me, are you?” Barclay’s hopes hurry to the front of his brain, tripping up his tongue.

“No. I did mine earlier today.” He runs a finger along Barclay’s chest, “I designed a special one, just for you. If you get through it all, you get a reward.”

“What kind?”

Joseph leans in to kiss him softly and swiftly, “I’ll let you fuck me.”

Barclay’s hands fly out to grips his shoulders as he groans, “fuck, babe, really?”

“Really. But first, you have to pick two things from this list.” He hands Barclay a sheet of memo paper with a neatly written list of the lewdest exercises he’s ever seen. He’d offer to do all of them, but then he might not have enough energy to enjoy his reward.

“The, uh, the push ups and the crunches.”

Joseph raises an eyebrow expectantly.

“Please?”

“Okay, big guy, we’ll do those. Get on the mat, push up position.”

Barclay hurriedly obeys. Freshly shined shoes step onto the top edge of the mat.

“We’ll just do thirty today. I’ll count. Ready?”

He nods.

“Good boy. Down, one”

Barclay bends his elbows, only stopping when his lips touch the top of Joseph’s shoes. He holds there a two-count, then rises.

“Down, two.”

He repeats the motion, keeps time with Joseph’s count as a hint of polish curls into his nose. It should be boring, maybe even degrading, but fuck him if it isn’t the hottest fucking thing he’s done in years. Joseph is so put together, so poised, Barclay feels like an unkempt beast next to him in his gym clothes. Yet he’s letting him kiss his lovingly shined shoes, telling him he’s a good boy as he works up a sweat.

“Down, thirty.” Joseph joins him on the floor as Barclay sits back on his heels, “well done. Now, on your back please.”

Barclay lays down. Joseph grabs a silver item from the side table and holds it in front of him. It takes his lust-glazed brain a second to grasp it’s a cock cage.

“Can I put this on you? You’ll have to wear it the rest of the workout.”

“Ohfuckplease.”

Joseph leans forward enough to kiss his chest, then shifts his shorts down to his thighs and locks the cage into place.

“If you need to stop, just say red. Okay?”

He nods frantically.

“Okay?” Joseph repeats with a stern look.

“Okay.”

“Good boy.” Joseph lifts his legs and sets them over his left shoulder. Barclay whimpers as there’s a snap of a latex glove and a pop of lube. Joseph smirks as Barclay whines at his teasing touches.

“Two sets, forty each. Go ahead and count in your head.”

“Okay” He curls his body, only gets through two more crunches before a finger presses in. “fuck!”

“Focus, big guy.” Joseph kisses his knee.

“I am, I’m focusing on the fact you’re a fucking genius.”

“If you lose count, you’ll have to start over” he presses in the second finger, “and that means longer until your reward.”

“I’m, I’m on twenty!”

A kiss to his calf, “Keep going.”

By the time he hits the second “forty” his legs are burning and Joseph is stretching his ass open with three fingers. He pulls them free but keeps Barclays legs in place, tugs the glove off and removes a blue, silicone plug from his jacket pocket . It slides in comfortably, but Barclay whimpers his name all the same.

“You’re doing so well Barclay. Are you ready to keep being my good boy?”

“Yes, please yes.”

Joseph sets his legs on the floor, guides him to his knees so he can pull his shorts up, and then helps him to his feet, pausing to kiss him sweetly and run his lips along his neck.

“Twenty minutes on the bike. Whatever speed you like.”

Barclay eases himself onto the seat, starts pedaling and watches longingly as Joseph heads into the kitchen saying he'll be back in a minute. The plug isn’t too uncomfortable to sit on, so this should be a breeze.

He hunches forward with a moan as it starts vibrating. Joseph strides back into the room, remote control in hand, only stopping to give Barclay another kiss and run his fingers through his hair before dropping onto the couch.

“Let me know when you’re done.” He picks up a copy of Empire and starts reading, heedless of Barclay’s increasingly loud moans.

The vibrator starts and stops, sometimes a gentle buzz and sometimes a furious pulse, and Barclay fights to keep the pedals going under the onslaught, desperate not to lose time and eager to please the man stealing tender, hungry glances at him from the couch.

“Time” He gasps, pulling his feet free from the pedals. Joseph is up and to him before his legs have a chance to wobble. Once he’s on the couch, shirt soaked with sweat, Joseph straddles him and kisses him demandingly, mouth moving from lips to cheek to neck without a care for sweat.

“Will you be a good boy and let me get off on you?”

“You know I fuckin will, fuck, babe, wanna be so fuckin good for youAH, ohgod” He throws his arms around Joseph, clinging and groping as he grinds on the cage and the aching cock within it.

“You look so good like this big guy, exhausted and obedient for me.”

“Yes, yesyes all for you, Joseph, please cum on me.”

“I will baby, don’t worry.” He brushes their lips together, “do you want some more kisses while I do.”

“Uhhuh” He whines, the noise only growing as Joseph kisses him and works his hips recklessly, his hands slipping up Barclays shirt to squeeze his pecs and toy with his nipples. When the tempo of his jerking hips changes, Barclay holds him tighter, needing to feel the way his body tenses and shudders as he cums more than he’s needed anything in his life.

“There” Joseph grins, panting, and pulls the key to the cage from his breast pocket, “now you can have your reward.” He slides to the floor, yanking Barclays shorts with him on the way. The cock cage hits the carpet and then a wet, enthusiastic mouth swallows him almost to the root.

“Ohfuck, Joseph, babe I’m gonna cum in like two seconds you, you might wanna-”

The agent pulls off, lazily licking the head, “I don’t want cum on the carpet, big guy. So be a good boy and cum down my throat.”

He gets exactly three and a half ecstatic thrusts into Joseph’s mouth before his orgasm knocks the breath from him and he cums, moaning out thanks as he does. When he’s spilled the last of it, Joseph sits back, breathing deep and wiping his lips.

“J-joseph? Will you, uh, will you kiss me again?”

The other man clambers into his lap, bitter taste on his tongue when Barclay glides his own against it. When he finally stops to breathe, Joseph pets his beard.

“Was all that okay?”

“So fucking okay. It was incredible. I, I feel so fucking good. Sweaty, but good.”

A kiss on the cheek, “Shower is just down that hall. Go get clean while I order dinner.”

“Okay.” Barclay looks at him with dreamy hope, “do you, uh, wanna do this again sometime?”

“Often. If, um, if that’s okay with you?”

Barclay nods, “as long as we can still work out together? I like doing that with you.”

“Of course, big guy.”

#sternclay #agent stern/ barclay #meet ugly #trans agent stern #taz amnesty

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silvercrystalwhump · 3 years

Text

"Stop" - W.I.J Day 15

For @whumpmasinjuly Day 15.

This takes place before Dmitri meets Vincent.

(This is based on an anon ask on @ashintheairlikesnow who also owns Kauri so go give her some love)

TW: noncon (implied), noncon (desire to do so to someone), alcohol, drunkenness, creepy guys, implied drug use (ruffying)

Dmitri sits at the counter, taking in the energy of the room. Bars like this, at the tail end of June, are packed with people. Most are a lot younger than him, enjoying the air free of judgment.

Tonight is different.

Dmitri sits at one of the bar stools, sipping a mojito silently. He leans on the counter with an elbow and just lets the sounds of the bar trickle into his senses.

“So,” Cassie, one of the bartenders, says, “How’s the night?”

“You startled me,” Dmitri chuckles as he swirls his glass, “It’s alright, just trying to take some of this energy.”

Cassie gives him a warm smile, “Take it in, hell it leeches from me here.”

“‘Cause it’s your job Cassie,” Dmitri says, “I love my work but it still steals my spirit some days.”

Cassie blows a strand of red hair out of her eyes as she shakes up a cocktail. Her gaze wanders the crowds of mostly younger men and women, all enjoying the night of drinks and music. Dmitri smiles, remembering the days when he was young and did the same.

“Surprised you're not joining them,” Dmitri says after taking another sip of his drink, “It’s fun.”

“Ah no.” Cassie pours the alcohol into a glass, it fades from red to clear and smells like cherries. She tosses a sugared cherry in with the mix and slides it down a few chairs, “Just paying for college.”

Dmitri nods and lets his vision fade into the lights. Flashing reds, purples, and greens cascade around the floor and he can feel the music in his pulse.

“Did you ever come here when you were younger,” Cassie says and she fills some shots for some college kids, “You've been here most of your life.”

“By most do you mean because I’m nearly 40?”

“I mean, sure you can go with that,” Cassie returns with a nonchalant shrug to rival a pidgin.

“Moved out here when I was 19, I’m gonna be 40 in a few months… 21 years… yeah I think Antony just opened this place when I came here for dates,” Dmitri says polishing off his Mojito, “Oh speaking of Antony, just put the drinks on my tab. He knows I’ll pay him by the end of the month.”

“Two steps ahead of you,” Cassie chuckles as she slides him another Mojito, “You and Antony close or something? He hates when people ask for tabs but he lets you.”

“Eh,” Dmitri shrugs, tipping the second glass towards her, “His wife, Yennifer, she’s my cousin and I’m close with her. She’s probably the only reason I can do this anyway.”

Cassie smiles, “Mrs. Robinson’s your cousin?! I knew you two looked similar!”

Dmitri just shrugs.

“Well,” Cassie says as she picks up another bottle, “Gotta get back to work, have a nice night.”

“You as well,” Dmitri replies, heading elsewhere.

The sounds of the nightclub fowl around him and he lets the feeling of wild youthfulness just set in his bones. Part of him missed the chaos that was his twenties, the constant adrenaline from fun and hubris. Yet, the years set him forward and now he just watches.

“Hey~”

Dmitri spins on the stool and faces the voice. A younger man, in his mid-twenties, smiles drunkenly at Dmitri, “How you doin’ tonight?”

“Doing well, just observing.”

The man tilts his head and the mess of loose black curls nearly falls into his drink, “Well I observed you. From over there.” He tosses his head back from where he came and his hair flies. His eyes, clouded blue, stare at him lazily.

Dmitri can tell from both time and experience that he is drunk. The way the young man’s words slurred just slightly and the way his pupils could never seem to focus on him gives it all away. However, something in his gut tells Dmitri something’s off.

Dmitri returns the careless smile, “Really? Why is that?”

Curls leans forward, his eyes flicking across Dmitri’s body, “Well Mister Big-n-Tall you looked lonely sitting here.” He props his head upon his elbow and scrunches his nose at Dmitri.

I am more than likely almost twice your age curls, you must love making poor decisions.

“How about I get you and I a coke and then we can talk, hmm?” Dmitri asks, trying to hide his slight uncomfortability.

“Of course,” blue eyes says as he almost falls onto the counter, “I’ll wait here handsome.”

Dmitri stands and walks over to the vending machine. He thinks about how to gently slide off this guy without being obvious.

Haven’t been flirted with like this in at least a year.

Dmitri lets himself listen to the people around him as he thinks. As the dollars slide into the machine he hears a gruffer voice laugh.

“You see that guy over there, black curls, looks like Vincent Shield, has been drinking for a while. I added something spicy to his last Paloma and once he’s done with the big guy we can take him back to my place for some fun.”

I fucking knew something was off.

Dmitri grit his teeth as he grabs the two cokes and glances over his shoulder. Three guys sit watching Curls with predatory gazes. They’re all younger than Dmitri but not by much. It takes a fair bit of willpower not to walk over there and teach them a colorfully shown message.

But he doesn’t.

He slides back next to Curls and hands him one of the cokes. Curls takes it and pops it open and takes a sip. Dmitri leans over the counter and waves down Cassie and points out the three assholes in the back.

He turns back to Curls, “So… company? I have an apartment a block or two from here if you wish to join me.”

Curls drunkenly pulls himself closer and coos, “I’d be happy to go back with you and find out what else on you is big.”

I’m too old for this.

He guides Curls outside and nearly carries him back to his apartment. All the while, doll eyes is drunkenly flirting with him. Dmitri ignores the itching irritation that each comment brings. He’s been drugged Dmitri, he’s probably not acting right even in his own eyes.

The cool summer night air wakes Dmitri up a little and reminds him of the slight buzz he has. Tonight was more than likely not the best night to be taking someone home, intentions pure or otherwise. He has work tomorrow and shouldn’t be doing this.

He’s just a kid making bad decisions as kids do. He didn’t plan on getting drugged, have some grace.

Eventually, after having to carry this guy in his arms, they reach the mess of his apartment. Curls reaches up and places a kiss on the underside of Dmitri’s jaw, sealing the coffin of his uncomfortability. Dmitri snatches up a blanket and wraps blue eyes up in it before setting him down on his couch.

“Go to sleep.”

Curls looks up at him, pinned under the tightly wrapped blankets, “Aren’t we gonna have some fun.”

He tries to lean forward and kiss him again. Dmitri just pushes him back down, “Stop.”

Disappointment, and a bit of fear, blooms in Curls’ eyes. “Please.”

“No,” Dmitri says dryly, “You’re in no condition to be agreeing to anything right now.”

Curls pouts and attempts to sit up. Dmitri places a firm hand on his chest and pushes his head back onto the pillow, “Go. To. Sleep. So you can sleep off whatever stuff they gave you.”

Curls shakes his head but Dmitri watches as his eyes droop. Whatever drugs this kid was spiked with care clearly a type of sedative. With Dmitri’s hand firmly on his shoulder, Curls eventually falls asleep.

Dmitri only stands when he can hear the slightest of snores coming from the kid.

I need sleep. Dmitri stands and walks to his own room and falls face-first onto his bed. Sleep hits him like a truck and it feels like he wakes instantly after.

He wakes up hours before the young guy does and about an hour before he goes in for work.

Dmitri stands in his kitchen as the coffee pot brews the ichor of life. The smell of cinnamon rolls he threw into the oven drifts across his apartment. His eyes drift back over to the man on his couch.

Who is he?

Now that he is getting a good look at him, Dmitri has seen him around before with other men, usually around his age. Dmitri never took the time to note him before except for now.

He is thin, almost gaunt. His hair in loose, dark curls looks dull in natural light and he is pale to the point where he reflects light.

Probably not in the best phase of life right now.

A bit of sympathy washes over Dmitri, he remembers a time like that. When he moved out to California to work under his Uncle after his dad passed. He made mistakes, got in trouble, was hurt in more ways than one. His twenties were not joyous times for him.

Maybe this kid has a similar stick of life.

As he turns to pour himself some coffee, the kid sits up and rubs his face. Dmitri watches as he gets a reading on the room and stares at Dmitri.

“Um… hi. Good morning?” he says, all of last night’s drunken confidence gone.

“Sleep well?” Dmitri says as he pours out two cups of coffee.

“Yeah..?” he murmurs as he rubs his forehead, “Yeah I did.”

Dmitri places a half-n-half and a cup of coffee on the table in front of him, ‘Here you go.”

“Thanks! Um…”

“Dmitri, yours?” Dmitri asks as he steps back and leans against his counter.

“My what?”

“Your name,” Dmitri states and the buzzer goes off for the cinnamon rolls, “I didn’t catch your name yesterday.”

“Kauri.” Kauri answers as he takes a sip of his coffee, “Yesterday was nice, we were too busy for names.”

Dmitri glances over his shoulder as he puts the glaze across the cinnamon rolls, “You don’t remember anything from yesterday do you?”

“...No.”

“I’m practically twice your age kiddo, we didn’t sleep together. I brought you over because some assholes drugged you and were talking about it,” Dmitri says as he tosses the empty glaze container into the trash.

“Oh… thanks,” Kauri awkwardly mutters.

Dmitri can feel Kauri’s nervousness from the other side of the room. He knows the feeling of waking up in a stranger’s house with no recollection of going there. Only the shadow of your decisions looming at you in the form of another human who could have done anything to you.

“I have to head to work,” Dmitri says as he takes a cinnamon roll and his coffee, “Eat the rest, you need them more than I do. Do me a favor and when you leave, lock the door behind you.”

“Um, Thank you,” Kauri answers, confused. He doesn’t add anything else but watches Dmitri walk towards the door.

Dmitri steps one foot out the door before leaning back inside, “I know your not going to listen to me because I’m just some rando whose house you woke up in but don’t go home with everyone you flirt with, some asshole is going to hurt you, I’ve had it happen to me. Just keep yourself safe alright.”

Kauri nods, even more confused. Dmitri doesn’t have the time to stay and talk. He leaves for work and doesn’t come back until late in the evening.

Curls isn’t there when he gets back.

#whump #kauri grant #dmitri o'brian #drugging #tw: noncon #whumpee #drugged whumpee

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quickspinner · 3 years

Text

Indelible - Ch 12 White Space

“A vacation?” Luka frowned, his brow wrinkling. His eyes flicked from Jagged and Penny to the tall, well-dressed black woman sitting ramrod straight beside them. Lucille had been his agent since this whole thing started, but since Luka wasn’t Jagged, Lucille couldn’t be with him constantly. She had other clients and obligations besides Luka, so he rarely saw her in person except when they were in the studio’s corporate offices. She kept in touch regularly by phone and video conference, though, and Luka liked and trusted her. He liked her more because she didn’t baby him the way Penny did Jagged, and was more than willing to call him out when he was being unreasonable.

Now Lucille met his gaze evenly, a hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth, but said nothing.

Jagged was tense, fingers tapping restlessly on the table, and he wouldn’t look at Luka, but none of that was especially unusual. Jagged hated sitting still and he hated meetings, and he and Luka had had enough artistic differences by now that things were always a little tense between them these days. Penny...well, Penny was hard to read, but he thought there was a little tension in her as well.

Luka’s own fingers began to tap the top of the conference table unconsciously as he glanced at Dingo beside him, and the two band members seated on his other side. “Why?” he asked slowly. “I know it’s the down season, but—aren’t there usually plenty of shows playing during the holidays? Should we really miss out on that?” He directed the question to Lucille; no matter how cool Penny was, Luka knew exactly where her loyalties lay.

Lucille shrugged, and her lack of concern at the prospect eased his sudden nerves a little. The sparkly gold nail polish she wore flashed as she leaned her elbows on the table and folded her hands. “You’ve been going pretty flat out for a few years now. I think this is a good time for a break.” She glanced at Jagged and pressed her lips together slightly as her dark eyes came back to Luka’s and held them for a moment. She wanted to say more, Luka guessed, but not here. Luka shifted his gaze back to Penny.

“The lineups for holiday and New Years concerts are pretty eclectic,” Penny demurred. “Lots of big names. We won’t really need an opening act, and—well.” She glanced at Jagged. “We figured you could use a break,” she finished, a little too cheerfully. “The last tour was rough on everybody, and you’ve been spending a lot of time in the studio since we got back. It’ll be good for you to get a little downtime with your family—” she glanced at the rest of the band. “Families, before we start locking things down here and gearing up for the summer.”

Luka regarded her for a moment longer, and then turned his seat to face Jenna. She shrugged. “I wouldn’t say no to a break,” she admitted, her cheeks taking on a bit of a flush. “The schedule’s been a bit rougher than I expected, to be honest. I wouldn’t mind a breather, and my brother’s supposed to be bringing his new wife to meet the family this Christmas. If you need me I’m there, of course, but it would be nice to go home for a bit.”

Crusher, clearly bored and slumped so low in his chair that he was practically on the floor, just snorted when Luka looked at him. “You’re the brand here,” he said, a slightly sour note in his tone. “If you burn out, we’re all out of the job, so I’m on board with whatever.”

His attitude irritated Luka, but, taking a deep breath, Luka turned to his other side to look at Dingo. Dingo’s thumbs were moving over his phone, apparently oblivious to the entire conversation, although Luka was sure he had heard every word.

Luka slumped back in his chair and faced back towards Jagged and Penny, regarding them silently for a moment. Penny looked professional as always, but her face softened a little as he looked at her. Jagged had his arms folded around his chest and still wouldn’t meet Luka’s eyes. He was practically vibrating, clearly ready to be done with this whole thing.

Part of Luka wanted to refuse, to put up the fight Penny and Jagged were clearly expecting, to force Jagged to include him in whatever the hell was going on, to remind him that Luka would not be shoved aside and ignored, but…he glanced at Lucille one more time. Her eyes flicked to Jagged and then back to Luka. Luka stared back at her for a moment, and then sighed as he looked away.

“Okay, sure,” he said finally, and Jagged visibly relaxed, getting up almost at once..

“That’s the spirit. Go home, kid,” Jagged leaned over the table to slap a hand down on Luka’s shoulder, and then started for the door. “Show your ma you’re okay and get her off my back.”

“Mom?” Luka asked, confused, but Jagged was already gone. For a moment, nobody else moved. Jenna and Crusher looked at each other, and then they both got up and slipped out of the conference room. Dingo continued to text, still apparently oblivious.

“I think this is a good choice, Luka,” Penny said, pushing back from the table. “You’ve really hit the ground running since you came with us. I know you want to make the most of this opportunity and that’s fine, but we can all see you need a break. This life,” she made a broad gesture that encompassed the studio’s offices, and everything that went along with them, “it’s a lot. You’re not the only young artist to feel a bit overwhelmed by it all. We just want you to pace yourself, that’s all.”

"Why is this suddenly all about me? I’m overwhelmed, but the others are fine?” Luka demanded, aware that he was getting defensive.

“Oi, some of us actually know how to take a break,” Dingo spoke up, without looking up from his phone. “You’re the one flying around and networking and getting mentored by the greats whenever we get some down time. You’re exhausted and you know it, dumbass.”

“You’re the face of the band, Luka, and you have run yourself a little ragged,” Penny agreed. “We can tell it’s wearing on you. There’s no shame in taking a break now and then.”

“Right. Just looking out for me,” Luka muttered. Unreasonably irritated, he stood up and began picking up his things, sliding on the sunglasses Marinette had made him. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He needed to get somewhere private before he took his confused tangle of feelings out on someone who didn’t deserve it. He could read the message here; he’d been butting heads with Jagged for months now, and the rock star was clearly over it. Jagged wanted Luka gone, so they’d cooked up some crap about Luka needing a break. As if Luka couldn’t handle anything the old man could handle, and with a hell of a lot more grace.

Penny hesitated, watching him, and then stood herself, leaning forward over the table a little. “Listen, Luka. Whatever you think you needed to prove, you’ve more than done it. We all see how hard you work, including Jagged. You’ve made the most of every chance he’s given you and nobody doubts that you deserve to be here. Not anymore. So just...take the break. We all want to see you succeed, but not everybody can be Jagged.”

“I don’t want to be Jagged,” Luka huffed, and then gritted his teeth to keep back the rest of what he was tempted to say.

“We know. Your mom knows. That’s why we’re sending you home. You need those connections, and you need to recharge a little bit before—” She jumped slightly, and then glanced at Lucille. “Well, anyway. I think this will be good for you,” she said, picking up her tablet quickly.

Luka watched her mutter something to Lucille and make a hasty exit, and then turned back to his agent, raising an eyebrow. “Did you just step on her foot?”

Lucille flashed him a grin. “Damn straight. You’re my lookout, not hers. Sit back down for a second.”

Luka did, slowly, and Lucile leaned forward. “Listen, we can all tell that things are getting tense between you and Jagged. That’s to be expected, frankly. Jagged never did share the spotlight well, and you’ve got your own vision and you’re committed to it. That’s a good thing , Luka. It’s about time that you started thinking about your career separate from Jagged. This new album release will be a great time to start really hyping you up as an artist, and start separating your name from his.”

Luka blinked. “...Really? You think I’m— we’re —ready for that?”

Lucille nodded. “It’ll mean a lot of work, it’ll mean playing extra gigs on your own as well as opening the big arena shows for him. It’s going to be exhausting.” She sighed. “Here’s the thing, Luka. You know and I know that part of this is Jagged throwing a snit, but the fact is, all of us can see that you’re running on empty. The rest of the band won’t say it, but you’re starting to run them into the ground too.”

Dingo huffed beside him. “I’ll damn well say it.”

Lucille ignored him. “Go home. Spend some time with your family. Unwind and maybe work out some of those knots you’ve tied yourself in. If you really can’t handle doing nothing for that long, I can book you some local shows if you want. Maybe some of those smaller venue gigs you said you’ve been missing?”

“That...would be nice,” Luka sighed, taking the glasses back off to rub his hand over his face. Juleka was supposed to be in Paris for the next three months, too, so he’d actually have a home to go to. It would be nice to spend some time with her. Luka nodded slowly, and Lucille reached out and patted his hand.

“Go home,” she repeated. “Do whatever you’ve gotta do to recharge, because come the new year we’re going to work, and before long it’s going to be your name on the marquee.”

Luka sighed, and then mustered a smile. “Has my mom seriously been calling Jagged?”

“Every damn day for the last month, Penny said,” Lucille grinned. “I heard the last one, it was beautiful. I’ll have to stop by Paris while you’re there so I can meet her, I’d like to shake her hand.”

Luka grinned. “You’d get along.”

“I bet.” Lucille stood up. “I’m on your side, Luka. Don’t forget it, okay? Whatever you need, I’ll make it happen.”

“I know,” Luka’s smile turned a little more genuine. “Thanks.”

“Hey,” Lucille leaned down, putting a hand on the table and tapping her other finger on it for emphasis. “This is not a setback. This is not a punishment. This is the deep breath before the dive into the deep end, okay?”

Luka nodded, and Lucille straightened. “Have a nice trip, okay?” she grinned, and then left.

“Can we go now?” Dingo grunted, and Luka rolled his eyes, grabbing his things again.

Neither of them said anything on the walk back to the hotel. Luka was brooding, he knew it, and Dingo was still so deep in his phone that Luka had to steer him around obstacles.

Not until they were back in the room did Dingo finally shove his phone back in his pocket and look Luka in the face.

“Why are you so sour about taking a vacation?” Dingo demanded, throwing himself down on the couch in their suite. “Vacations are a good thing!

“Yeah, of course,” Luka said, walking over to the window and opening the curtain to look out at the city. He’d never really clicked with London, but then he hadn’t ever really gotten out and looked at it, either. He spent most of the time in the studio when they were here, and by the time they returned from tour, the last thing he really cared about was sightseeing and crowds.

“Normal people go home more than twice a year, Lulu.”

“Jagged doesn’t,” Luka pointed out. “He barely even has a home."

“As if Jagged was ever normal,” Dingo snorted, but then he pushed himself up with a sigh. “Luka.” He put his hands on Luka’s shoulders and steered him over to the couch, shoving him down in it. “Mate, you don’t want to be Jagged.” Dingo sat down in the armchair chair and scooted it over until they were practically knee to knee. “You know you don’t. Even if you did, you’re not built like him. You’d bleed to death trying to cut out the people you love.”

Luka took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “It feels like admitting he’s right,” he said finally. “If I can’t juggle both, if I can’t stay connected with my family and still kill it on the road...it feels like admitting he wouldn’t have been able to achieve everything he’s achieved if he’d kept us in his lives. I mean if…if he really did that...if he really is my...”

“No if’s here, mate,” Dingo said, uncharacteristically solemn. “They don’t have to admit it for it to be true, and I think we both know it is.”

Luka sighed, propping his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands.

“Oi,” Dingo said, and Luka felt his friend’s hand fall on his shoulder and squeeze. “Maybe he is right. That doesn’t make him less of an ass for making the choices he did. It doesn’t mean you have to forgive him. He doesn’t get a free pass for being a shit dad just because he’s the greatest rock n’ roll legend who ever lived. So fuck him. You didn’t start this because of Jagged, and even if he opened some doors, we’ve earned our place here. Don’t lose sight of that.”

Luka reached up and put his hand over Dingo’s, and took a few shaky breaths. Then he nodded, and Dingo squeezed his shoulder one more time before letting go. “Fuck him,” Dingo repeated, leaning back. “Go home. Spend some time with Juleka and the Captain.” He grinned. “Take Marinette on a date that doesn’t involve a phone.” He slid his sunglasses down his nose and winked. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how often you’ve been disappearing lately.”

Luka rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth as he straightened up and leaned back in his chair. Instead of denying it he found himself saying, “I don’t even know what her schedule is. She might not even plan to be in Paris over New Years.”

“Well get the lead out, mate, what are you waiting for?” Dingo got up and slapped Luka’s arm as he walked by. “Hell, I’ve already booked my tickets to meet up with Bri in Nice before we head back to Paris. Think I can talk her into hitting the beaches with me?” He wiggled his eyebrows at Luka.

“It’ll be December and the beaches in Nice are made of rocks, so I’m gonna go with ‘no,’” Luka said absently, pulling out his phone.

He texted Juleka first, and then his mom. Once he knew what dates they were planning to be in Paris he’d be better able to make his own plans. Then he sat there, his thumb hovering over Marinette’s picture.

It didn’t have to be a date, but...it would be nice to see Marinette in person. It didn’t hurt to ask. If she was busy, that would be fine. He tapped out a message and sent it, and then turned his chair towards the window again, staring blankly out at the city.

A few moments later his phone lit up and buzzed in his hand, and then buzzed again, and then a third time. Luka chuckled as he turned it over to look as another message came through.

He still wasn’t sure it was the right call, but...if they wanted him to take a vacation, he might as well make the most of it, right?

Fiction Master Post

#quickspins #indelible #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #pro lukamari

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mageofseven · 4 years

Note

Could I request MC hanging out with the brothers but having a hard time enjoying it cuz they’re stressed from school? How long would it take for each of them to notice MC just isn’t having fun and what would they do?

Of course, Nonnie! I actually really like this prompt~

Lucifer:

The oldest noticed within the first day of them being stressed

However, he left them to handle it on their own, thinking it was just a rough day and that they should be better by tomorrow.

When tomorrow came and they weren't better, the man grew concerned.

He invited them out to dinner Friday to take their mind off of whatever has been plaguing them.

When the human didn't seem to be able to relax during dinner, he simply sighed.

"Please, tell me what has had you so tense these last few days."

They told him that their Devildom History class was getting too overwhelming; there was too much that happened in the last few millennia and too many dates to remember. They felt they couldn't keep up like the rest of the class could.

"MC, the rest of the class has been studying this material for a few hundred years at least." The man reminded them. "Neither Diavolo nor myself expects you to work at the same level as the other students."

He admired that MC took their studies seriously, but found it silly that they would compare themselves to students who were so much older than themselves, even if they didn't appear so.

After dinner, he took them for a relaxing evening stroll, which helped the human clear their head a bit.

Mammon:

He knew within the first couple of days they were stressed out.

The second brother took them out to a party and usually they loved parties, but that night they just... felt weirdly distant. They would say that they're having fun, but it all just seemed... force.

The man didn't like it. He pulled them to the side.

"Oi! Enough with the fake smiles, Human!" He told them. "What's with the silence?"

MC stared at the ground.

"I...I failed the exam last week." She mumbled. "The teacher handed the tests back Monday and it was the worst I've done yet."

Really doesn't understand it.

Yeah, he gets anxiety when he fails stuff too, but that's only 'cause of Lucifer. He doesn't actually care about his grades beyond that.

Takes them home since they aren't really feeling it. The two hangout in his room, blasting music as they curl up on the couch together.

MC is still upset, but appreciated the closeness.

Leviathan:

Doesn't really notice at first, too absorbed in the video game.

When he finally passing the level he's been struggling with for the past hour, he turns to MC, seeking praise, but the human isn't looking at the screen or him, but rather into space.

Immediately feels dejected. Is he boring them? Probably. Who could have fun with an otaku like him? That's the thoughts running through his head that start spilling from his mouth.

MC has to reassure him for a while that what he's worried about simply isn't true before explaining things.

The amount of classes you were expected to take here at RAD was... overwhelming. Eight different classes that demanded so many hours of studying outside of it.

MC didn't even feel like it was okay to be spending time with Levi right now because her anxiety kept screaming at her that she was falling behind.

Boy is instantly awkward upon hearing about their stress.

How...how was he supposed to help? The otaku did not have the social skills for it.

MC sighed.

"I should...probably just head back to my room--"

Panicking, Levi grabbed their arm.

"Levi?"

The man looked away before tugging them close, letting the human lay their head on his shoulder.

"J-Just... relax." He mumbled, face red.

MC gave the demon an odd look before giving a small smile and snuggling into his side.

It didn't solve their issue, but the human appreciated his worry.

Satan:

Noticed the stress as it developed.

MC was struggling to keep up in their Seductive Speechcraft class and it was taking its toll on them.

Didn't want to say anything until they come to him however; this is their business after all and he didn't want to bug them about it if they just wanted to handle it by themselves.

Still quietly worried though.

Invites them to his room one evening to read together, hoping some quiet time will help them relax.

He saw that their gaze usually found it's way more towards the window than down at their book however.

The man sighed, lowering his book.

"Alright, please tell me about it."

"Huh?" They turned to him, confused.

"You have concerns about the Seductive Speechcraft material, correct?"

"I... yes." They mumbled, looking away from the blonde.

"Well, what about it is stressing you out?"

MC blushed.

"I... I understand most of it from a theoretical standpoint, but... the actual use of it all is difficult for me. I always score low on the practical exams."

The demon smirked.

"Well, I suppose some practice would be the answer."

The two have a rather enjoyable study session. It was actually useful to the human though and they felt more confident with the material.

Asmodeus:

Notices it while the two are out shopping.

Asmo just came out of the dressing room and expected compliments about the outfit. When they never came, the man pouted.

Despite loudly announcing his entrance, the human was still staring into space.

"MCCCC, Look at me!"

MC glanced at him.

"Looks great..."

The fifth brother huffed.

"Doll... what is it?"

MC sighed and just kept it vague, saying school was just a bit much for them right now.

Asmo frowned. He went and paid for the outfit before leaving with the human.

He dragged them straight to his room, earning a confused look from the human.

Spa Day, begin! Massages, nail polish, face masks, the whole nine yards!

The two talked and Asmo listened his Doll vent about some other students in her class talking shit about them, even though MC was pretty sure they had never talked to those demons before since coming to the Devildom.

Hypes up his human tells them how wonderful they are and that those demons obviously have no life.

Tells them that those jerks aren't really worth their time-- but if MC is interested in revenge, he's got some dirt ready for them.

Beelzebub:

Probably the brother who is the most sensitive to their mood shift.

It comes with the territory; Beel is more or less the rock of his family, helping them out whenever he can

And, especially when it comes to Belphie, Beel has learned to be observant with these sort of things.

So when MC first showed signs of stress, the poor boy was worried.

He's still a pretty quiet guy though so he wasn't really sure how to approach the topic with them.

Asks them to walk with him to Madam Screams

It was a quiet walk. Once there, he managed to get them to order something though, which made Beel feel a little better.

On the walk back, that's when he decided to speak up.

"So," He finished the last bite of his donut. "Are you feeling okay?"

The human shrugged.

"I dunno." They stared at the brownie in their hand. "Just kinda... I dunno."

Beel, not interrupting them, gives MC a minute to collect their thoughts and continue.

"Hey... is it possible to drop classes at RAD with me being an exchange student?"

The redhead raised an eyebrow at the human.

"Nevermind, it nothing..."

"Are you having trouble with a class?"

MC stared down at her feet as she walked.

"Maybe..." They mumbled. "My Hexes class is just... it goes a bit too fast for me. I don't think I'm really learning anything."

The demon listened as the human talked about how behind they were in the class and how overwhelming it was. At one point, they even started tearing up.

Beel stopped in his tracks, pulling them into a hug.

MC looked up at him surprise.

"It'll be fine." He promised. "Let's go talk to Lucifer about this, okay."

The human nodded, causing a tear to fall on her cheek.

Before they could wipe it though, Beel did for them.

"Let's go home." He gave them a small smile.

MC smiled back.

Beel felt that he couldn't do much to help, but was glad he could direct them to Lucifer, who could.

Belphegor:

This boy notices more than people think.

The human just seemed out of it during the day

And even sought him out for naps when it was usually the other way around

MC just seemed so disconnected from him and his brothers those last few days, not to mention a bit tense.

That's what led them to the planetarium.

The two laid on the floor, looking up at the ceiling.

Though the human still seemed distracted, they at least seemed calmer.

That wasn't enough for the demon though.

He gave a big sigh.

"So what's the problem?"

"Huh?" MC looked over at him, confused.

"You heard me; what's your problem."

The human bit their lip.

Belphie rolled his eyes and pulled the human to his chest.

"You can talk to me, Dummy."

"I just... I've been having some trouble at school is all."

Belphie narrowed his eyes.

"What trouble?"

MC sighed.

"There's this guy in my Hexes class who... he's not all that nice." They explained. "He put a fake flame on my uniform Monday and made me embarrass myself in front of the class while trying to put it out... and all my teacher did was shame me for not recognizing illusion spell he used."

Belphie's arms tightened around them.

"Give me a name."

"Belphie, no."

"Why not?"

"Because I know what you are going to do and I don't want you getting in trouble for me."

The boy huffed, annoyed.

"Then tell Lucifer or something; don't let them get away with that!"

"But... if I tell Lucifer, the teacher will probably get in trouble too and the last thing I need is to get on their bad side, especially in a class I already struggle with."

"Then maybe he could get them replaced or something, I dunno, but you shouldn't just lie down and take it."

MC didn't say anything, just hid their face in his chest.

The demon closed his eyes, letting himself calm down before laying his hand on their head.

"I care about you, Butthead." He told them. "Now you gotta start caring about yourself too."

The two ended up falling asleep together on the floor. Nothing really change, but cuddling up with Belphie and explaining the situation really did make them feel a bit better.

#obey me #obey me otome #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me mc

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fukurodaze · 4 years

Text

if i ever get lost

pairing/s: third year!haiba lev x gn!reader genre: fluff, romantic tension aka best and softest tension word count: 3.2k warnings: like, one curse word this was also requested by anon! “3rd year Lev w a reader who’s struggling to pass all their homeworks, projects and quizzes (bc they piled up their works ;;) while thinking of how should they study for college/uni entrance exams?”

special thanks to nat @natszoo and ellie @lcnelyinthesky for beta reading and helping me w this!!

LISTEN TO: somebody loves you - jeremy zucker; glitter - benee

lowercase intended!

you throw your head back when you forget the term written on the flip side of the flash card haiba lev is holding. it’s a friday night, far past anyone’s bedtimes, but final exams for the first semester start on monday and you’re not sure where to start. haiba lev, being the person who has nothing better to do, agreed to come over and flip cards with random kanji, english, and biology terms on it.

lev might also be here because it’s an open secret that he’s liked you since first year, and you’ve never answered to his feelings, but you’re thinking friends for now - until you memorise all of this semester’s kanji, english vocabulary, and biology terms, that is.

“the phospholipid bilayer is made up of...”

lev gives you time to think, his wide eyes going between the answer on the card and your thinking face.

“shit, uh, the phospholipid bilayer is made up of two layers of phospholipids?”

“makes sense, but no.” lev answers, flipping the card to show you.

“the phospholipid bilayer is made up of a polar, hydrophilic area containing a phosphate group bound to glycerol, and a non-polar, lipophilic area containing fatty acids...” you read aloud, trying to memorise what’s currently going out your mouth, in one ear, and out again through another ear.

“you know, your flash cards are pretty comprehensive.”

you raise an eyebrow, “is that... a good thing?”

“i mean, yes and no,” he takes another sip of the tea your mom had insisted to bring to guests, “it’s harder to memorise, but it’s better for details. but-”

“but?” you watch as he takes another sip.

“i think if you really don’t know where to go, just understand the basic concept of everything. for one - what is the function of the bilayer?”

“why do you sound smart?” you question, tilting your head jokingly.

“hey! i am smart! most times! with tests like these that have essay questions, you just gotta learn the basic concept of each term and connect them.” lev advices, recounting his former volleyball captain and nekoma high school alumni, kuroo tetsuro’s, words when lev himself was barely scraping past his first semester finals when he’d just transferred.

“easier said than done in two nights,” you slouch your head on your desk, “plus! it’s not just biology. or exams.”

if memorising all these terms in the span of two days sounds bad enough, you’re still crushed with the supplementary course work and projects due next week as well.

you let out a deep groan. you’re so tired. it’s like biology information only comes up when you’re studying for english, biology only coming up for modern literature, and mathematics somehow being inserted into the little unknown kanji in modern literature. it’s all too much at once.

“it’s all too much at once, huh?” lev places his head on your desk, only a few inches away from your face. normally, you’d push him away, pull your head back up, or maybe even give him a light slap on a bad day, but today you welcome him.

you nod, quiet. you haven’t been able to get a breather. it’s essay this, quiz that, lab report here, test there. your mind is blank.

now, lev sits back up on the extra chair from your dining room, “have you eaten dinner?”

“why are you asking... it’s like, midnight.”

“the question still stands.”

you sigh, “nope.”

lev hums. he takes a pen, then twirls it, like his fingers possessed polar magnets that somehow let the pens never fall from his hands. but it does eventually, and when it falls with a plastic click on your wooden desk, lev visibly takes a big breath and says, “do you want to get ramen?”

you exhale through your nose and smile. “are you asking me out, haiba?”

“is it inappropriate to ask you out now?”

damn this tall dork. come to think of it, he’s never actually asked you out despite the obvious ways he’d vouch for your attention in the past. you’re quite surprised, frankly, as he’s always been so loud in the ways he’s wanted to be with you but never really made it seem like anything was going to happen.

but, hey, it’s late enough for you to put down your doubts about him away. after all, he’s been in your room for four hours, just helping you study. he wasn’t even studying himself - he just sat there, doing almost nothing. and for a guy like him, you wonder how he’s managed to keep there for so long.

“sure.”

lev’s eyes widen. “wait, really?”

“yeah,” you begin to set aside all your study materials, “we can go to a twenty-four hour place in the city, too.”

“alright! let me get you your coat!”

“my coat?” you raise an eyebrow when he hands you the coat you wear the most, feeling both flattered and slightly surprised that he recognises it straight away from your messy room. the boy comes to retreat his coat as well from one of the hangers in your room, and he even offers to get you your socks and boots.

“alright, alright, you don’t have to be that ready to go,” you joke.

he makes sure there is no noise when you two walk out of your house, through the suburbs of tokyo and to the nearest train to the city.

“aren’t you two a bit young to be here so late?” the shopkeeper, an old lady, mutters under her breath. you catch it through her croaky voice when you and lev enter the place together, but you pay no attention because all you care to focus on is the smell of broth and your empty stomach.

“for two, please,” lev says, undoubtedly hearing the woman’s remark, but answering with a smile. she smiles too, and so do you, and it makes you remember all the times he’s smiled and you’ve wanted to either punch him or hold his hand.

today just happens to be one of those days where you want to hold his hand. you shake the thought off.

when you two are seated at the ramen bar, your head falls onto your palm, tilting back to face lev, his chin covered partly by his usual maroon scarf. you had whispered to him earlier on the train what you wanted to order, and lev quickly speaks to the waiter as your tired gaze rises from from the squiggly wooden patterns embedded in the polished wooden table to the boy that’s sitting right next to you.

at first glance, you remember haiba lev’s face to be satisfying to look at. you remember when he had just transferred to your class in the first year, and you developed the annoying habit of looking forty-five degrees to the right every time you were bored in class, as you thought his face was much easier on the eyes than complex quadratic equations or japanese history.

for a while you wondered if it was because he certainly looked different - not only was he practically a giant, but he had eurocentric features that stood out from the majority of the student body as well (it also didn’t help that he quite literally and figuratively filled any room he was in). though, maybe, after a while, when everyone got used to the sight of a new face, you kept your line of sight at a forty-five degree angle, just peering above his cheekbones. the same way you’re looking at him right now.

and really, the only word for it is handsome. dashing. good-looking. you’ve always known that, but now that you put it into words in your head, you notice the chiseled jaw, pointed nose and emerald green eyes feel a bit more-

“what you staring at?” his baritone voice cuts through your thoughts cleanly.

you don’t like where this conversation will go. “haiba, are you doing any college entrance exams?”

lev cocks his head to one side, thinking, before nodding, “i think i am. why?”

“how are you studying for them?”

lev clicks his tongue, and it brings you to surprise, “get your mind away from studying! we’re not here in the city at, like, one in the morning to talk about college entrance exams!”

you sigh, “okay, fine. but, still, answer my question?”

“i just do practice problems for twenty minutes every day,” lev shrugs, “okay, now, can we move away from studying?”

you hum lazily, watching as two bowls of ramen arrive at the bar. he had ordered what you told him you wanted to order, both bowls almost identical in smell, shape, size, and content. almost, because lev didn’t have any spring onions in his bowl.

“haiba,” you call, earning a quick call of your name in response, “do you not like spring onions?”

lev nods so obviously that he seems proud. his chopsticks mix the entire bowl together before picking up the half-boiled egg and eating the slice whole. when he swallows it down, he asks you, “you noticed.”

“i mean, yeah,” you reply, “why do you not like them? they’re like, essential.”

lev takes a slurp of his noodles, and then a spoonful of the broth, “i just never liked their texture - which is funny, since my entire family loves adding spring onions.”

now it’s your turn to slurp into your ramen, one bite turning into two, and two turning into the entire content of the bowl. lev seems to eat twice as fast, seemingly having a strategy to cooling down the hot noodles on his spoon while simultaneously folding a piece of pork charsiu in between the loops of each spoonful of noodles, making sure that the little wrap is bathed in a little bit of broth. you find yourself smiling at his act, almost like he has a system of his own when it came to eating ramen - well, he usually had a system of his own when doing just about anything.

the meal is quiet for the most part, with little mumbles of how your tea needs a refill and the ruffling sounds between sheets of tissue to wipe off the broth around your lips. it’s fulfilling, and the look on lev’s face says he’s happy too.

when you two make it out of the ramen bar, 1am feels the same as 9pm. somehow, you’re no longer the kind of sleepy you were when you were flipping through flashcards on your desk, and instead, you’re almost dreading to go home. you think it might also be the neon lights, but there’s some kind of electricity you’re not yet willing to let rest for the night.

luckily, lev doesn’t feel the need to rush. although his steps are big and his voice is loud, he takes his time when you two make the silent agreement to make the walk to the train station as long-winded as possible. his voice is lower, and softer, this time, and when he speaks to you about his friends from his old school, you convince yourself it’s the most interesting topic in the world - because it is. because it’s lev.

when he stops in his tracks, you stop too, watching him go into a small trinket shop you’ve always seen but never had the means to afford to go in. you reckon you might own something from this store, though.

“haiba, you like little trinkets?” your eyes scroll through the shelves of delicate and virtually useless items, eyes landing on a small lion cub made of clear resin with a small blob of gold floating in the middle of its clear body. you’re not usually drawn to any animal trinkets, as you’ve gotten used to decorative objects like bows or feathers or lace, but today you think about the lion cub. despite it looking severely overpriced, you take it in your hand anyway, not noticing lev’s figure coming right behind you.

“do you want that one?” you yelp in surprise when he says that, turning around to find yourself so close to him you could smell the dried raindrops on his padded coat.

“i’m pretty sure it’s overpriced. trinkets are usually overpriced anyways.”

“wait, let me check it,” you hand lev the trinket, “how much is your keychain?”

you furrow your eyebrows, “what?”

“you know, the keychain on the bag you bring to school.”

“oh,” you try to remember the time you had saved up for that keychain, “i think it was about three thousand yen? it’s overpriced. definitely.”

“well, this one’s only two thousand and five hundred. i’ll get it for you.”

“wha- lev!” you whine, “you’re going to make me feel bad- wait what’s wrong?” you see the boy freeze up in front of you, a big smile creeping onto his cheeky face.

he doesn’t reply for a bit, and you’re faced with raised cheekbones and a wide mouth. you try again, “was it something i did? or said?”

“you called me lev,” oh, you did.

now his smile spreads from ear to ear, and it’s spreading to you. “you never call me lev.”

“huh, well.” you bite the inside of your mouth, “i guess now i do.”

it’s enough for you to let him spend over two thousand yen on a single trinket. you watch as he waits for the trinket to be wrapped neatly in pretty paper and put in a pink cardboard bag, its motif pretty enough to be its own product in the store.

you stand by the doorframe of the store, mouth ready to open with the words ‘i’ll pay you back’. but it seems like lev had heard you from the future, and before you could do anything, he tells you, “don’t pay me back. this is my gift to you.”

“for exams?”

he grins. “you know, lev means lion in russian.”

the bell of the store rings as you two make your way out, this time really going back to the station. you answer with a ‘really?’ at his fun fact but you keep it to yourself that you’ve known ever since he first transferred and everyone had asked him about it.

“yeah, and the thing’s a lion cub, so, it’s like you have me all the time!”

you giggle, walking up the steps to the train platform. “you’re really something, lev.”

lev stretches his arms out, with long limbs you swear ghost your shoulder. you get that feeling again, in your hands, where you just can’t seem to understand why you want to take his hand in yours so bad, so you ask the boy if you can hold onto the bag with your trinket. lev passes it to you, and you hate how you would’ve liked for your thumb to graze over his thumb for longer. you hate it even more when he motions you onto the train, and in a blur, you take his arm, leading him to corner seats on the train. you feel your face heat up.

ah, so that’s how it is.

now you’re conflicted. not that lev had ever made you feel uncomfortable - no, never - but you had never known how to return his obvious feelings. he would act on them, as always, and one day, as you fell asleep one day after final semester exams in the second year, leaning back into the plastic seat of a suburban tokyo metro rail (which lev thought was very dangerous), lev had muttered in the quietest and most subtle manner, ‘what do i do with my feelings?’

then, in a haze, with eyes barely open, you had moved your head from your seat to his shoulder, painting his cheeks red - dumbstruck. he thought you forgot about it the next morning, and you barely remember, so nothing happened afterwards. yet, when you think of him, you think of hues of orange peeling the sky into purple; of freshly washed school uniforms; of heads leaning on shoulders and fingers intertwined. you don’t know how to answer him.

with lev, there is chatter and laughter and blunt remarks that almost get him slapped in the face. still, there is a box, bigger than the bag your trinket is in, that contains words that you don’t think you or lev have ever said in pure daylight and wake.

“hey, lev?”

you want to open that box.

“yeah?”

but you don’t know how to do it yet.

“the phospholipid bilayer is made up of a polar, hydrophilic area containing a phosphate group bound to glycerol, and a non-polar, lipophilic area containing fatty acids.”

lev exclaims a series of ‘oooh!’s in delight.

“was that correct?”

“um,” lev gulps, “i think so? i mean- i think so.”

but you will open it, sooner or later, and it rings in your head when you step off the train and walk into the neighbourhood. right now, nothing is different - the air is not heavier, his eyes do not sparkle like love interests do in the movies, and you do not look through a rose-coloured lens. monday is finals, and the weekend is studying. you tell yourself this.

lev stops at your doorstep, and you almost feel a sear in your chest at the thought of him leaving for the night.

“so, good luck with next week, y/n.”

you nod, trinket bag in your hands, “you too, lev.”

you find that your arms are opening up, a small pout on your face as lev comes to wrap his arms around you, coats shuffling against each other as you hold each other at three in the morning.

when you pull away from the hug, you start to ramble a bit, scrambling for new topics to bring up in hopes of just a few more seconds with him - that, and trying to stop yourself from your newfound want to cup this boy’s face in your hands and kiss him square on the lips. you wonder if he would be good at kissing, and you wonder how much you’ll regret having these thoughts tomorrow.

but even conversation dies when you know it’s getting too cold, so you bid your sweet goodbyes and promise him not to overwork; he reminds you that it’s better to do short but frequent study sessions than fewer and highly intensive ones. you nod, your boots heavy on your doorstep, the hushed sound of keys in doors slowly becoming the only sound you hear as you assume lev’s left already.

until he calls your name.

your head spins fast towards the boy, watching as he makes long strides to stand at your doorway once again, scarf prodding the tip of his nose, so close to your face. he’s red.

“during exams, or tomorrow, or studying for entrance exams- if you ever get lost-” he pants, and unties his scarf from his neck.

“you’ll find me, okay?” the scarf comfortably hangs around your neck now, covering your mouth. he pats your head twice. it’s warm - literally.

you barely get the chance to say anything before he darts out of your house with a quick goodbye. you’re left confused, flustered, and excited at once, and this time, you think you might have the words as to why.

you like to imagine you taste sweetness, see eyes that sparkle, and feel butterflies in your stomach.

“it might not be so bad,” you whisper, looking down at the pretty little bag containing one unnecessarily expensive item lev had bought you.

right; you have feelings for him too.

then you make up your mind: you’ll tell him next friday. and if your finals stand between tonight and next friday, then, all the more motivation to get through them, right?

you make sure to set an alarm for seven in the morning, kanji textbooks lined up for tomorrow.

#haikyuu x reader #lev haiba #lev x reader #haiba x reader #haiba lev imagine #hq x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu scenarios #lev scenarios #haiba scenarios #lev fluff #haiba lev #haiba lev x reader #lev haiba x reader #hq fluff #nekoma x reader #nekoma fluff

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livesincerely · 3 years

Note

im not feeling the best right now emotionally so i am here presenting you with a free space to ramble about whatever you want because your writing genuinely cheers me up so much

Hello darling!! I’m sorry you’re in a rough mindset, sending all the good feelings and well wishes your way 😘💕✨💗⭐️💕😊✨💗

So, I’ve been thinking a lot about that most recent, how would a proposal/wedding happen in the domestic au? prompt.

It’s so funny, I’d never really thought about a domestic au wedding until I got the ask, but now that the question was put forward, I’m finding that I have a lot of thoughts about it (because of course I do lol.)

I’m not sure yet if this will end up being a whole thing like the holiday fic did, but I definitely have a solid idea for a single moment/one shot that I’m excited about—hoping to get that finished in the next few days!

Here’s a sneak peek at what I have so far! Most of it is stuff you’ve seen before in that original ask but more polished, but there’s some new stuff in there too.... ☺️😉

00000

“So, when are you gonna get married?” Tony asks apropos of nothing, looking between him and Davey with keen interest.

Jack barely manages to keep from choking on his cereal. Davey, who’d been in the middle of spreading a bit of lox on a bagel, slowly sets down his knife.

Charlie aims a kick at Tony under the table.

“You’re asking them now?” he hisses. “I thought we were gonna ease them into the idea!”

“There is no easing them into the idea when it comes to Jack and Davey,” Tony says, his expression tight with the exasperation of the long suffering. “You gotta give it to ‘em straight, right from the get go, ‘cause they’ll never figure it out on their own.”

“Hey,” Jack says weakly, but he doesn’t have a leg to stand on and they all know it.

“So, I’m asking,” Tony determinedly continues as if Jack hadn’t said anything. “When are you gettin’ married?”

There’s a long pause where he and Davey just stare at each other, neither of them quite sure how to respond.

He gets this from you, Davey’s expression says, clear as day.

I know he does, Jack says with a commiserating look, holding back a sigh.

“Well?” Tony demands when the silence stretches on for too long.

“It’s probably a little soon to be thinking about marriage,” Davey eventually says, far more delicately than Jack would’ve managed. “We haven’t talked about it at all yet⁠—”

“Because we only just got together yesterday, Tony,” Jack dryly interjects. “In case you forgot about that little detail.”

“—And we should probably start with the question of if we want to get married before we jump to the when,” Davey concludes.

Tony’s nose scrunches up, obviously dissatisfied with this answer.

“Of course you’re gonna get married,” he says, as if this is plainly obvious. “You’re basically married already, I just wanna know when the wedding’s gonna be.”

“Um.” Davey’s gone faintly pink. “Well, like I said, Jack and I haven’t talked about anything like that yet. We’re comfortable the way we are now, no need to rush into anything⁠—”

“And since we literally only just got together yesterday,” Jack says again, a little more emphatically, just to make sure the point lands, “getting married right off the bat would be all kinds of crazy.”

Tony levels him with the flattest look in all of existence. “You’re crazy if you think you haven’t already been married to Davey for years.”

Jack’s voice catches in his throat, a little blindsided by the truth of that statement. Davey’s mouth opens and closes, the rosy flush of his cheeks shading a touch deeper.

“We’re not thinking about gettin’ married just yet,” Jack says once he’s steadied himself, in a tone that brooks no further arguments. “Dave and I will talk about it when the time comes, if⁠,” he stresses clearly, “we decide that’s what we want.”

“But what, exactly, is holding you back?” Tony asks, stubbornly brooking further arguments anyway. “Like, do you have any actual reasons?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s none of your business,” Jack snipes back. “Given that that’ll be a conversation between me and Davey.”

“I just don’t understand what the big deal is,” Tony says, crossing his arms across his chest. “Pretty much nothing would change, except that the next time someone assumes that you two are married, they’d actually be right instead of simply noticing what was so obvious that even complete strangers clue in to it⁠—”

“Tony,” Jack groans.

“—coming to the perfectly understandable conclusion that you’re together⁠—”

“Tony, that’s enough, we get it,” Jack says.

“—instead of the inexplicable reality of the situation which was that you were, in fact, not together, despite being in love with each other for eight entire years because you’re idiots⁠—”

Jack covers his face with his hands.

“—and given that, like, every aspect of your lives are already tangled together, it’s not really that big of a step for you to just go ahead and make it official.”

Jack sighs so hard he feels it in his bones. “If we promise to talk about this, will you please stop talking about it?”

“Eight years, Jack!” Tony cries, impassioned. “That’s half of my life! That’s more than half of Charlie’s life!”

“Do not bring me into this,” Charlie quickly interjects, “I am a passive witness and nothing more.”

“You’re such a fucking turncoat, Choo-choo,” Tony mutters with no real heat. “You’re supposed to have my back on this.”

“Maybe if you could ever actually stick to a plan,” Charlie grumbles back.

“We’ll talk about it,” Jack says loudly, interrupting their bickering before it can gain any ground. “Okay?”

There’s a moment of blessed silence.

Then Tony says, “So, like, right now? Or…?”

“Sure!” Jack says, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Why not? Clearly, I’m not gonna get any fucking peace until this is sorted—

“Finally!” Tony exclaims. “God, was that so hard?”

“—so go away,” Jack finishes.

Tony’s mouth falls open.

“What do you mean, go away?” he protests, looking genuinely shocked. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why? I’m not gonna let you sit here and fucking… moderate our conversation, dumbass,” Jack sputters. “Get out!”

“But I really feel like this is the kinda conversation that needs moderating,” Tony disagrees. “It’s not like either of you have a great track record for effective communication⁠—”

“Anthony Ethan Higgins,” Jack warns, nearly at the end of his rope.

Tony rolls his eyes so hard his whole body moves with the motion. “I am literally just trying to help, you don’t gotta get all defensive about it⁠—”

“Jesus Christ, Tony,” Jack says, completely and utterly done. “Will you please just⁠— Just go somewhere that isn’t here.”

“But are you gonna talk about it?” Tony insists, really digging in his heels. “Because if you’re just gonna not talk about it the second I leave then I think I should⁠—”

“Tonio, juro por Dios—”

“Tony, honey,” Davey finally steps back into the fray, far calmer than he has any right to be, and somehow, miraculously, Tony’s mullish expression softens into something a little chagrined. Jack gapes, wrong-footed by the sudden change. “I think you’ve made your point and given Jack more than enough heart attacks for one morning, yeah? So why don’t you go ahead and give us a few minutes, and I promise we’ll talk about it.”

Tony deflates. “Yeah, okay.”

“Thank you, baby.”

Tony shuffles away, mollified for now. Davey pauses, then says, “Charlie, that means you too.”

“But I didn’t do anything!” Charlie protests. “I’m just sittin’ here, tryin’ to eat.”

He takes an exaggerated bite of his bagel as if to prove his point, eyes extra wide and innocent.

“Charlie.”

“But my food!”

“Take it with you,” Davey suggests, very patiently.

Charlie looks as though that thought hadn’t occurred to him.

“Okay,” he says, scooping up his plate and scurrying after his brother. He hesitates in the doorway, then adds, “My vote is for an autumn wedding, if that counts for anything.”

“Charlie.”

“Going!”

Once he’s sure they’re both gone, Jack heaves another massive sigh.

“They’re such a pair of little shits,” he says, to Davey and the world at large. “Fucking hell.”

Davey takes a drink of his coffee, holding out his other hand to Jack in offering. Jack reaches over and laces their fingers together, most of his irritation slipping away in an instant at the simple contact.

“But he is right, you know,” Davey comments lightly.

“I know he’s right,” Jack grumbles, rubbing his thumb over Davey’s knuckles. “Don’t mean he ain’t a little shit.”

“Well, naturally,” Davey agrees. “He’s related to you.”

“Oh, please,” Jack says with a snort. “That little spiel of his was all you. ‘The inexplicable reality of the situation’,” he mimics, his voice landing in some strange imitation of Tony mixed with Davey, which ends up not really sounding like either of them. “It was like hearin’ your voice comin’ outta Tony’s mouth.”

“And it was a well thought-out argument,” Davey says pertly, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a wry grin. “His timing could use some work, though.”

“Ain’t that the fucking truth,” Jack says, taking a bite of his cereal⁠ and immediately making a face—it’s gone all gross and soggy during the craziness, because of course it has. He pushes the bowl away with a mournful look. “Didn’t even let us finish breakfast before pouncing.”

“Well, it has been eight years,” Davey says, and he’s definitely laughing a little now. “Guess he’s afraid of a repeat performance.”

“Sure,” Jack says with a shrug, because that part had been hard to argue with. More than half of Charlie’s life, Jesus. “But he was talkin’ like he expected us to walk down the aisle this afternoon. I mean, we can’t just get married. You don’t just get married.”

“Most people don’t,” Davey says, tilting his head. “But then, we aren’t really most people, are we, darling?”

It takes a moment for this statement to fully land for Jack⁠, and when it finally does, it lands with a boom.

“Are you sayin’ you’d marry me?” Jack asks, utterly floored, his heart pounding an unsteady rhythm in his chest.

“Are you asking me?” Davey asks, calmly sipping his coffee like he isn’t rocking Jack’s world, right here over breakfast, for the second time in not even two days.

#newsies #javid #*ask #*editor's note #bits & bobs #*the writing desk #the domestic au #i hope this helps a little!#😊✨💕⭐️💗✨💕

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nothingunrealistic · 3 years

Note

52 kleinsen

52. “I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

Brighton teen skaters take on the Worlds together

Genesee FSC skaters qualify for World Junior Championships

Sal Maiorana, Rochester Democrat and Chronicle

Published 3:35 a.m. ET Jan. 28, 2009

At the conclusion of the U.S. Figure Skating Championships in Cleveland earlier this week, the U.S. Figure Skating Association named Team USA’s athletes for the season’s upcoming international competitions, and two teens from Brighton were among them.

Evan Hansen, who won gold at the USFS Championships in the junior men’s division, will be traveling to Sofia, Bulgaria to compete in the World Junior Championships. Jared Kleinman, who placed third in the same division, has been selected as the first alternate.

Hansen, 17, and Kleinman, 17, have trained and competed together since the age of seven, under coach John Howard and with the Genesee Figure Skating Club. The Democrat and Chronicle sat with Hansen and Kleinman after a practice session at RIT’s Frank Ritter Ice Arena to discuss the demands of elite skating, what’s coming next, and their friendship on and off the ice.

―――――

How are you feeling after Nationals?

HANSEN: Tired.

KLEINMAN: Yeah. Jet lagged.

HANSEN: No, we drove there.

KLEINMAN: Well, I mean —

HANSEN: Cleveland’s in the same time zone as us.

KLEINMAN: Yeah, but competitions run differently. You get locked into a schedule when you’re training every day, and then going to a competition shakes that up. Feels like jet lag.

HANSEN: That’s true. It’s hard to adjust sometimes.

KLEINMAN: He says that like he didn’t win the whole thing. Obviously you adjusted fine.

HANSEN: [Laughs] I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet. Especially with Worlds being so close.

So Junior Worlds is what’s on your mind right now?

HANSEN: Absolutely. At this point, I’m just focused on polishing my programs, trying to make them the best they can be.

KLEINMAN: I’m doing that too, but it’s not as exciting when I do it.

Jared, what’s it like being an alternate?

KLEINMAN: I mean, no one’s excited to be the alternate. We want to get out there and compete.

HANSEN: It is kind of the point.

KLEINMAN: But I can’t really blame anyone but myself. And the judges —

HANSEN: — are doing their best —

KLEINMAN: At least I’m first. You should ask the third alternate how he feels.

HANSEN: The alternates don’t automatically attend the competition, though.

KLEINMAN: Yeah. Unless someone drops out last minute, I’m staying home next month.

HANSEN: It’ll be weird not having you there.

KLEINMAN: More practice time for me.

HANSEN: Not that there’s anything left for you to practice for this season.

What are you looking forward to in the next season?

HANSEN: Moving up to senior level competition.

KLEINMAN: Next Olympics, Battle of the Evans. Calling it now.

Will we be seeing quads from either of you?

HANSEN: We’re working on them in practice, yeah. Well, I am.

KLEINMAN: So am I.

HANSEN: I haven’t seen you…

KLEINMAN: I landed a quad toe when you weren’t looking. Gotta catch up, bro.

Tell us about how you started skating.

HANSEN: Jared dragged me into it.

KLEINMAN: I remember you coming willingly.

HANSEN: We were seven, and we were friends because our moms were friends, and Jared’s parents were taking him to a public skate here, and he asked if I could come, and I did.

KLEINMAN: Even though you’d never skated before.

HANSEN: There was a lot of falling.

KLEINMAN: After that we started skating lessons, one thing led to another, now he’s a national champion.

HANSEN: And — I don’t know if this is weird to say, but, skating can be pretty expensive, and Jared’s parents have, they’ve helped me and my mom a lot, financially. I’m grateful for that.

KLEINMAN: It was a buy one get one deal.

HANSEN: It’s not buy one get one if they have to pay for both of us. That’s… I don’t know, put one in your cart but buy two because you picked one up at the register.

KLEINMAN: You’re making me sound like a can of beans.

HANSEN: I’m making us both sound like cans of beans.

What is it like to train together?

HANSEN: It’s like training with anyone else. You learn from each other, you’re motivated by each other, but mostly you’re focusing on your own thing.

KLEINMAN: Maybe we annoy each other more than most skaters who train together.

HANSEN: That’s true. Like, most skaters don’t keep taking my blade guards whenever we get off the ice —

KLEINMAN: Yours look a lot like mine, it’s an easy mistake.

HANSEN: Or interrupt me during interviews.

KLEINMAN: [After several seconds of silence] Are you done?

HANSEN: Yeah.

KLEINMAN: I wouldn’t change a thing about you.

HANSEN: Okay, well, now I sound like a jerk. Thanks for that.

KLEINMAN: This is how I’m gonna become America’s sweetheart.

Is it hard staying friends with someone you have to compete with?

KLEINMAN: None of us would have any friends if it were.

HANSEN: Everyone wants to win. When you’re skating against someone, you’re going to be competitive, even if you’re friends the rest of the time.

KLEINMAN: Your friends are the people you think, “well, if I can’t win, I hope it’s you” about.

HANSEN: You think that?

KLEINMAN: You don’t?

HANSEN: No, but I guess if I did —

KLEINMAN: You’d think it if you ever lost? You’re sweet.

HANSEN: The thing is —

KLEINMAN: Really, I’m touched —

HANSEN: Shut up for a minute. The thing is, when you’re serious about skating, that’s where basically all your friends come from, because you’re with them all the time and they understand this thing that takes up so much of your life. But then that sometimes makes it hard to feel like you exist outside of it.

KLEINMAN: Yeah.

HANSEN: And Jared and I, we were friends first. Before skating. It’s something we have in common, a big thing, but it isn’t the only thing. Having someone who knows you and gets you in all those parts of your life, you kind of need it to keep from losing your mind.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

#inbox #anonymous #dear evan hansen #jared kleinman #evan hansen #kleinsen #sometimes i write #everything on the ice

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stusbunker · 3 years

Text

AGA: Word to the Wise

A Supernatural Fan-fiction Denny AU Series

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Benny Lafitte, past Dean/Jo

Other characters: Sam, Bobby, Cas, Mick, Ash, Jo

Word Count: 3000 (whoa)

A/N: Sam gets on Dean’s nerves and Dean ends up taking a late night detour. Big talks ahead.

Special thanks to my beta @cracksinthewalls who puts up with my whiny ass. Also grateful for @there-must-be-a-lock‘s insight.

The bowling league was in lean attendance due to a surprise snowstorm, but that didn’t keep Singers’ Slingers from mopping the floor with their competition. Dean ended on a spare in the last game, putting him just over his average for the night. State bowling wasn’t until spring, but if they kept up their momentum Dean was sure they could place well. And a weekend away would be a welcome break from his usual exhaustion.

Dean still owed Mick a rematch from last year’s trip. Mick drank him under the table and Dean didn’t want to lose two years running, he had a reputation to uphold afterall. Bartending had cut into his training time, among other things.

Ash was the first one to bow out for the night, knowing his side towing business would be busy with vehicles in ditches for however long the storm lasted. Cas bummed a ride with Mick, since his car had never done well in this weather and he was still dragging his feet on upgrading. Dean knew he had been hinting at shopping around, but Dean wasn’t going to push the topic and get dragged into helping or finagling with the salesman for the guy. Cas could figure it out on his own, and Dean was finally in a place where he felt comfortable letting him. Huh.

Sam had been quiet all night, but Dean hadn’t mentioned it, attributing the sour mood to post-break up blues. They bought Bobby his weekly drink, “team dues” as he called it and settled in along the bar.

Dean kept the conversation going, trying to keep the mood light, but Bobby was too tired to ham it up and Sam was not amused by his brother’s antics. Once Bobby polished off his last beer and headed home to Ellen, Dean was rolling his eyes in exasperation.

“Fine, you know what, I’ll reel it in, don’t want to interrupt your sulking,” Dean muttered after another joke fell flat. Sam winced at Dean’s jab, which Dean instantly regretted. Though it did seem to shake Sam out of his funk, if minutely.

“So, tell me about Benny,” Sam brought up with elephantine grace.

Dean stared at Sam like he proclaimed he was quitting the law firm and joining the circus, coulrophobia and all.

Sam huffed. “What?”

“Nice segue there, counselor,” Dean grumbled. “What about him? Hmm, you want a new bowling bag? Because that was already on my list for you for Christmas.”

“Dude, you don’t have to do that. I mean, that’d be great, but no, I was kind of wondering what your deal was? Like do you hang out a lot?” Sam started fishing.

“Yeah, totally, everynight,” Dean deadpanned. “I mean I only work two jobs when I’m not moving your sorry ass back into Mom and Dad’s.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Sam said, waiting to figure out where he was going with this line of questioning and just shot in the dark.

“What I’m trying to say is, is this, like, a Cas thing?” Sam choked out, unable to put it any more delicately.

Dean burned with shame as his hackles raised in defensiveness. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Sam cocked his head and pursed his lips, unamused and unimpressed. “You know what I mean, man. Don’t make me spell it out.”

Dean wouldn’t budge, he dropped his beer with a thud. “Well, you’re gonna have to, because I have no fuckin’ idea what you’re talking about.”

“Dude!” Sam shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“The fuck is your problem? You got something to say, just say it, Sam.” Dean fumed, daring him with a murderous glare. Sam inhaled pregnantly, face still inching towards bitch mode. Sam eyed the bartender who was trying not to listen and the late game bowlers who suddenly decided they could catch up lane side instead.

What Dean didn’t realize was that he needed Sam to say it. He yearned for it, for his truth to be spoken, and known without him having to say it himself.

“Look, I know this isn’t something we talk about. But, I just want to make sure you’re okay. Alright? In the beginning with Cas, it was like you were obsessed, man. And since he just always seemed to need something from you. I just want to make sure you’re not getting used, I guess,” Sam unraveled the heart of his concern without saying too much, which Dean was not expecting, at all.

Dumbfounded, Dean retreated, annoyance trumping any chance at relief.

“I think I can handle myself, thanks,” Dean spat. Petulantly, he took a sip from his beer, the cold glass solid in his hand, giving him something to clutch or even throw, if it came down to it.

“I didn’t say---,” Sam broke off. “Fine! You know what? You’re on your own. Just remember that I should have listened to you about Ruby and now I’m paying the price for my own stubbornness.”

Sam stood and reached for his money clip, tossing an extra five on the bar for the dramatics. He gave Dean one last chance to come clean, to own up to what they weren’t saying. Dean stared straight ahead, eyes unfocusing on the liquor labels behind the bar as if Sam had already left. So he did, just as he came: pissed and questioning his brother’s motives.

Dean didn’t go home after that. Instead he absently followed a plow down the main road until he happened upon a familiar turn off. Which he took slow and steady until it ended in a T. The little brick ranch at the end of the lane held a lot of memories. And it was more inviting than ever with its Christmas card perfection in the falling snow. Dean put the Impala in park and let the radio play, wishing he had a joint just for the sake of something to do.

He wasn’t there ten minutes before his phone rang, which he answered without processing the caller ID.

“You gonna come in or you just gonna sit out there feeling sorry for yourself?” Jo’s voice sliced across the line.

“Didn’t know if you were still up,” Dean bullshitted.

“Uh-huh. Whatever you say. Backdoor’s open,” her unimpressed reply. She hung up before Dean could make up an excuse to leave. He slouched out of the car and trudged down the long country driveway. As soon as he had stomped the snow off his boots, Jo welcomed him in with a firm hug and an appraising glint in her eye.

“Thanks, it’s a real mess out there,” Dean explained.

Jo just shook her head at him. “How’d ya bowl?”

“619 series, finished strong in the last few frames,” Dean answered. “Were you at your folks?”

“Nah, just know it’s Wednesday night, which means the boys were at the alley,” Jo smirked as she reached atop her fridge for the good stuff.

She held up the whiskey in offering and Dean nodded, bending out of his coat. He slipped it over the back of a chair and settled in at the vintage kitchen table. She poured him a glass and watched as he inhaled the first round like he had been outside for hours and needed to fight off a much deeper chill.

“Well alright,” Jo resigned herself to playing shrink and poured Dean another drink. “So, what’s got you stuck in your head, hm?”

Dean weighed his head from side to side as he let the whiskey roll over his tongue. He never got far into a pouting session when Jo was around, but he also didn’t know which chamber of his heart he could stand to prop open for her inspection tonight.

“How’ve you been, Jo? You still schooling those truckers on taking care of their own rigs?” Dean sidestepped with ease.

“You know it,” Jo confirmed. “Not a day goes by that I don’t have to put another asshole in his place. Pays good, though.”

Jo had followed in Bobby’s footsteps and became a mechanic, but two Singers were already one too many for the shop and salvage yard. So she took her skills out to the interstate and made a name for herself as the only female diesel technician in four counties. Dean used to hate it when she would fix something faster than him, but it had been more than a decade since her skills had made him feel inferior. Dean knew Jo’d be his boss someday, but he wasn’t too worried about those far off futures; Bobby wouldn’t retire unless Ellen made him or killed him first.

“How’s Rufus holding up?” Jo teased, knowing her dad’s old friend was getting worse for the wear, much like John had.

“Stubborn, and as glib as ever. Good thing your dad rehired him, because he’s a bit too mouthy for most customers,” Dean admitted.

Jo hummed with nostalgia. “I gotta swing by and bug you guys sometime, but it just keeps getting busier.”

Dean sighed. “I hear that. What’s it been? Labor day? No. I haven’t even seen you since the Fourth. Christ!”

“Yeah, well, you’ll see me next week for Thanksgiving, don’t get too sentimental about it now,” Jo quipped. She took a short sip off the bottle as Dean swirled the last of his second helping.

“I’m seeing someone,” Dean staggered the words, like he wasn’t sure if their meanings and sounds fit together.

Jo sighed dramatically, “Finally, the truth is revealed! What’s up? She’s not pregnant, is she?”

“No.” Dean had to bite back his guffaw. “Definitely not.”

“Okay, then why the sad face? Not pulling a Ruby on ya, I hope?” Jo tested the waters.

“No, it’s--uh--- it’s been good. Really good. I just, kind of need to make up my mind if I’m in it for the long haul. Ya know?” Dean clarified, relaxing with each little confession.

“Uh-oh it’s getting serious,” Jo mock whispered.

Dean rolled his shoulders. “No, well, it could be. I don’t know.”

Jo giggled. “I can’t believe you! You’re fucking twitterpated, aren’t you?!”

“Jo, if you start making Thumper jokes, I’m shutting up right now,” Dean warned with a pointed finger. “Care to top me off while you’re at it?”

“Okay, okay, gosh.” Jo rolled her eyes dramatically as she poured him another drink before pointedly putting it back on the fridge. “But you’re in deep. You’re all blushy about it.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m ready to go big. It just means they’re willing to put up with me until I say the word,” Dean tried to downplay his feelings and Benny’s confession.

“So do it! Bust out the grand gestures already,” Jo encouraged.

Dean scoffed, “I’m not built for commitment, you know that!”

“Except you kinda are! You’ve changed, Dean,” Jo insisted, head hung to pour her honesty from her eyes. “I don’t know when it happened, but you’re not that reckless boy that I knew. You’ve always been a good guy, but now?---- Maybe it’s been since Sam came home, I don’t know. But somewhere along the way you grew up.---- It’s okay to let yourself want something more, you know.”

Dean grumbled and rolled his neck, breaking the eye contact. She always could do this to him, just like her mother, see straight through his every defense. “I always thought it’d be you, you know?”

Jo smiled without teeth. “Firsts can do that to people. But, we’re not those kids anymore, Dean. So, if you’re asking for my permission or seeking my approval---?”

Dean dropped his head to his hands, thick fingers poorly hiding him from Jo. “It’s a guy, Jo. I’m--- I don’t know--- Bi? I guess?”

“Dean?” Jo waited until he stopped being sheepish and looked at her, even if it was only out of the corner of one eye. “You’ve been head over heels for Cas for years. If you dare tell me this is about him, so help me, I will throw you out right now.”

Dean couldn’t help but laugh ruefully at that and toss back what was left of his whiskey. “You saw that, huh?”

She didn’t answer, waiting for him to work through it on his own.

“It’s not Cas.” Dean smacked his lips and held up his glass for a refill. Jo stood and brought the bottle back to the table. Dean poured himself three fingers worth and pondered the sloshing liquid before he continued. “Your mom know?”

Jo licked her lips, cocked her head, and sighed.

Dean closed his eyes and asked, “Bobby? Fuck!--- my mom?!”

“No one has ever said it out loud, Dean. I don’t know who knows, honestly. But we’re family, that doesn’t change.” Jo grasped his wrist firmly, he held her hand to his and then she slapped her other one on top. Time stopped long enough for Dean to accept that his secret was finally out, but also that it was safe.

“I can’t believe I’m talking about this with you, of all people.” Dean thumbed her knuckles, staring into eyes he knew as well as his own.

“Really? Who else would you be talking to about it? Sam? Ash, maybe?” Jo giggled. “I’m honored, actually. It means you stopped hating me.”

Dean pulled his hands away and took another drink. “I never hated you.”

“Okay, well, maybe it means you stopped hating yourself,” Jo corrected.

Dean’s brows crooked incredulously.

“Too much?” Jo asked apologetically.

Dean shook his head and sighed. “You are your mother’s daughter.”

“Now you’re the one being rude,” Jo muttered before taking a solid drink off the bottle this time.

Dean let himself relax, let the whiskey and conversation work into his muscles and set his worries aside. They talked like the old days and about the old days. Those in between years after high school and before anyone was ready to face responsibility. When half their friends went to college, they had just kept on working. After another hour, Jo leaned back in her chair and started scrutinizing him once again.

“You know how I know you’re happy with what’s his name?” Jo teased.

“Beh--- I didn’t tell you, fuck! Benny, his name is Benny. Goddamnit Joanna Beth,” Dean cursed through a chuckle; more details dragged out of him than he had planned on.

Jo cocked her head and considered the name.“Benny, right. You wanna know how I know?” Jo pushed.

“Fine, how?” Dean held up his hand, beckoning for her to hit him with her response.

“Because this is about the time of night you start giving me the lazy once over. But not tonight,” Jo proclaimed, chin out condescendingly. She had him, every few years they’d find themselves back in each other’s beds, for a night or a weekend and then they’d move on. He always thought of her as his home, his starting point. But maybe they weren’t the same thing at all.

“You still look good, Jo,” Dean replied, trying to save face.

“That’s not what I meant, Dean. Besides, I know!” Jo snarked, straightening her spine and tossing her hair over her shoulder. Dean couldn’t hold in his laughter anymore and it spilled out over a toothy grin, making Jo almost choke on her drink. God, Dean felt like anything was possible. That life was good.

After the hysterics had calmed down, Dean exhaled. “Thanks, Jo. I needed this.”

“You sure did, nobody else was gonna hand you your ass so kindly,” Jo agreed, standing and taking the bottle and Dean’s glass with her to the counter that held the sink. He whined comically, but knew her timing was right. She leaned back and smirked.

Dean grew quiet and Jo waited to see if it was exhaustion, the alcohol or something else. She didn’t have long to prepare.

“How’m I gonna tell my dad?” Dean asked, the pain and panic pulling at his face until she saw the telltale tears well up.

“Fuck ‘im. I mean it, if your dad can’t get his head out of his ass to see how happy you are, he isn’t worth your time,” Jo said adamantly.

Dean let his thoughts roll to the side of his head and licked his lips, biting against the tremor. He quickly wiped away the tears that escaped and inhaled wet and ragged. Jo slipped to his side and ran her hand through his hair, letting his face fall against her chest as he breathed through the onslaught. Dean couldn’t help but think how motherly the affection felt.

She pulled back to look him over at arms’ length.

“So what now? You want the couch? Or should I call you a ride? I’m sure Sam owes you one,” Jo asked, as no nonsense as ever.

“I’ll be fine,” Dean dismissed her concern, rubbing up his face to wipe off his nose.

“Well, you ain't driving.” Jo held up his keys. Dean blanched, feeling his pockets for them, fruitlessly. He stood to snatch them, but she had already skipped across the kitchen, too far to catch. “Nuh-uh, no way I’m letting you risk your baby. Or your thick skull in this weather.”

Dean put his hands on his hips, and blinked through the dizziness. He realized he hadn’t stood in a few hours. “Sam.”

“What’s that?” Jo prodded mischievously, ear leaning in as if she couldn’t hear him.

“Very funny. Call Sam, will ya?” Dean rolled his eyes as she scrolled through her contacts, murmuring the names under her breath. His keys were raised in victory, as if he couldn’t reach them above her head. He could have snagged them in an instant, if he wanted to.

While Jo woke Sam, Dean checked his own phone. Ignoring some texts from his mom and Cas, he selected the conversation with Benny. There were no new messages since that morning. Dean hesitated before relocking his screen.

“Sam’ll be here in twenty. You want something to eat? I’ve got chips.” Jo offered, opening the cupboard.

Tagging: @flamencodiva @dolphincliffs @dontshootmespence @fookinghelljensensthighs @fangirlxwritesx67 @dawnie1988 @mrswhozeewhatsis @cosicas-cuquis @foxyjwls007 @tumbler-tidbits @wingedcatninja @defenderrosetyler @ericaprice2008 @crashdevlin @mylovelydame21 @cajunquandary @itmighthavebeenintentional @thoughtslikeaminefield @there-must-be-a-lock @tatted-trina6 @cracksinthewalls @atc74

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Part 10: Spit it Out

#A Gentlemen's Agreement #Dean Winchester Fanfiction #dean/benny #dean x benny #bi!dean #coming out #aga: word to the wise #dean winchester/benny lafitte #dean/jo #sam's trying he really is #stubborn dean

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wayward-dreamer · 4 years

Text

Strength To Let It Show

Pairing: Dean x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3,758

Warnings: Angst. Swearing, some sexual talk/thoughts about the other person, drinking, unrequited feelings, denial of feelings. (I think that’s it!)

Summary: Y/N and Charlie have a girls’ night in, where Y/N gets drunk and can’t stop complimenting Dean. On their brothers’ night out to the bar, Dean gets drunk and can’t stop complimenting Y/N. They’ve never acknowledged their feelings to each other, and Charlie and Sam are sick of it. They devise a plan, giving them enough time for feelings to be revealed. But will Dean and Y/N take the opportunity to tell each other how they feel? Based on this anonymous request: “Dean and reader get drunk, all they do is complement each other but when they’re sober, they deny their obvious feelings.”

Story title comes from “Can’t Fight This Feeling” by REO Speedwagon!

A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this, I enjoy writing a little angst every now and then. Hope you guys enjoy it; please let me know what you think! :)

It wasn’t often that Y/N got to spend some quality girl time with someone. So, when Charlie called, she invited her over to have a girls’ night in a couple of days, while Sam and Dean went out to a bar. She missed Charlie and it would be great to catch up with her.

Dean walked into the kitchen, as he shrugged his jacket on. Y/N stood at the kitchen table and collected ingredients for the margarita’s she planned on making for her and Charlie.

“You sure you don’t wanna come with me and Sammy?” he asked, as he eyed what she was doing.

Y/N smiled, shaking her head. “Positive. Charlie’s going to be here soon with the food, so say your ‘hi’s’ and then out. Okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay. Jeez, so eager to get rid of me. Should’ve known you wanted alone time with Charlie for a reason” he teased.

“Dean!” she squealed, as she reached over and smacked his arm.

Dean grinned as he shook his head. “Just kidding, sweetheart. I know you’ve got a big ol’ crush on me.”

“In your dreams, Winchester” she groaned.

She had no idea how right she was about that. Before Dean could respond, they heard the heavy Bunker door open, squeaking loudly.

“Hola bitches!” they heard Charlie call out.

Dean walked out of the kitchen to go meet Charlie. Y/N didn’t follow behind him straight away, as she thought about what he said. He may have only been teasing her, but he was right. She did have a crush on him. More than a crush; she was in love with him and had been since they first met. She just never mustered up the courage to tell him.

They met on a werewolf case, one that Y/N had been handling alone. She had killed it but not before the son of a bitch had scratched her upper arm, deep. The boys found her and insisted on bringing her back to their motel room to patch her up. One look at Dean’s green eyes and she was done for. As he patched her up, he was gentle, caring, and told her stupid jokes to distract her from the pain.

She hunted alone a couple more times after that, but the boys eventually convinced her to join them. That was now 5 years ago. In that time, she and Sam had become close, like brother and sister. She and Dean had become close too, and while she did consider him her best friend, Dean was a lot more, too.

She loved him, but she couldn’t tell him. It was never going to happen, so why should she embarrass herself by telling him the truth?

Y/N walked out of the kitchen, down the hall and into the war room. Sam and Dean were talking to Charlie. There were bags of take-out on the map table. Charlie noticed her come in and beamed.

“Hey!” she exclaimed as she hugged Y/N tightly.

Y/N grinned as she let go. “How was the drive?”

“Shockingly, not tiring. I think I’m finally getting used to driving all the way out here” Charlie replied, starting to take the boxes out of the bags.

“Glad to hear it” Y/N smiled.

“Alright, we got… nachos, tacos and quesadillas” Charlie said, pointing to the boxes.

Y/N hummed as she smelled everything; she couldn’t wait to dig in.

“Alright, we’re gonna get out of here. Leave you two to swap stories, braid each other’s hair” Dean said, checking his wallet and phone.

“Have fun” Y/N said, simply. She looked at Sam, with a pointed look. “That means you too.”

Sam shook his head, a small smile on his face. “I will, don’t worry.”

“Make good decisions!” Charlie called out as the boys walked up the stairs.

“Always!” Sam called back.

Y/N watched as Dean walked through the doorway. The door closed behind them and Y/N turned to Charlie. Charlie smiled as she watched Y/N looking at Dean. She was so obvious.

“Alright, you take a load off, put your stuff away. I’ll finish making the margarita’s and then we can eat” she said, as she picked up the boxes.

“And after the food, you’re going to tell me everything I know you’re hiding from me” Charlie said, knowingly.

Y/N frowned. “What?”

“Don’t even try to deny how you feel, Y/N. I want all the details” Charlie replied, as she picked up her duffle and walked out of the room.

“Great” Y/N mumbled, shaking her head.

She was going to need more than one pitcher of margaritas.

-x-

Dean and Sam walked into their usual haunt, the bar filled with locals and some college kids. Dean took one look at them and scoffed; maybe he could hustle the Abercrombie wannabes later. Right now, he needed a drink. He walked up to the bar where Donny was working.

“Hey guys. Usual?” Donny asked, wiping down the bar.

Dean shook his head, as he sat down on a bar stool. Beer wasn’t going to cut it tonight. “Whiskey first.”

“Jeez, Dean. Starting with whiskey… something’s up” Donny said, picking up the whiskey and pouring a double.

“Something’s always up, Donny” Dean mumbled, as he picked up the whiskey.

Donny poured Sam a double too and slid it over to him.

The boys clinked their glasses together, but Sam watched on as Dean downed it like a shot. He tapped the glass, signalling to Donny for another. He supposed his brother was starting early.

“What’s the plan, Dean? Get drunk before you start flirting?” Sam laughed, taking a sip. Dean usually paced himself through the night in order to be on his game to flirt, so this was unusual. Even for him.

Dean downed another double. “Nope, no flirting tonight, Sammy. Just… forget it.”

“Dean” Donny said, getting his attention. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d said this is about a woman.”

Dean rolled his eyes. Damn bartenders and their so-called therapy. He looked at Sam, who was smiling into his glass.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this is about Y/N” Sam smiled, knowingly.

Dean nearly choked on his drink. He coughed a few times, the whiskey burning his throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, sure” Sam scoffed. “Dean, come on, man. It’s been 5 years of you being crazy about her, ignoring it with alcohol and hook-ups. You don’t think I can see it?” Sam asked, turning on his stool to face Dean.

Dean shook his head. “Shut up, Sam.”

“Gotta say, I agree with Sam on this one, Dean. You guys have been coming in here for 5 years, and every time she’s here with you, you just strategically tell the guys she’s flirting with to fuck off” Donny chimed in.

“You’re both insane” Dean mumbled. “I’m gonna go hustle.”

Dean got up from the bar and picked up his drink. He walked over to the pool table, ready for a distraction. Booze and pool. It would have to do. It would have to be distracting enough to stop thinking about Y/N. That being said, it was a hard task because she was always on his mind. As much as he tried to deny it, he had been crazy about her since the night they met.

-x-

Y/N polished off the last bite of her quesadilla and sat back. She swirled the margarita around, and tipped her head back, drinking it down. Charlie sat in the same position across from her. They had dinner in the library, spreading the food out across the table.

“That was amazing” Y/N smiled. “Thanks, Charlie.”

Charlie nodded with a content smile on her face. “No problem. Man, I’m stuffed!”

“Me too” Y/N muttered. “But I think we can handle a few more marg’s right?”

Charlie laughed. “Definitely.”

Y/N got up and took the pitcher with her, walking out of the library. Charlie followed her into the kitchen and watched as she started putting stuff in the blender.

“So… I wanna ask you something” Charlie said, as she leaned against the doorway.

Y/N looked at her and smiled. “Shoot.” She poured tequila into the blender.

“How long have you been crushing on Dean?” Charlie asked, without missing a beat.

Y/N turned around, a look of shock and confusion on her face. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on, Y/N. I saw you checking him out as he was leaving. I don’t blame you, the man is gorgeous, even I can see that” Charlie replied, stepping down into the kitchen.

“Charlie…” Y/N shook her head, not knowing what to say.

Y/N turned back to the blender, putting in some more tequila. She needed it if she was going to deal with more questions about Dean.

2 hours later…

Dean was well and truly drunk, which was a hard feat these days. He was sitting at the bar again, having won a couple of games of pool already. The room had emptied slightly, just a few locals left. Dean stared blankly, his eyes not focusing on anything with a smirk on his face.

“S-She’s s-so fucking beautiful” he slurred, thinking about her. “I love her laugh. She’s hilarious, and s-smart, I mean, s-smarter than me for sure but she’s way smarter than you, too.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, she is.”

“And she always smells so good” Dean smiled. “Like fruit. Sometimes apples, but most of the time it’s straw… strawberries.”

Sam and Donny looked at each other, trying not to laugh.

“Man, the things I would do if she gave me a chance” Dean snorted, closing his eyes. “Her ass… I hate it when she goes, but I love to watch her leave.”

Dean slammed his hand down on the bar and chuckled to himself.

“Dean” Sam tried to get his brother’s attention, but Dean wasn’t listening.

“She could do whatever she wanted to me, I wouldn’t care what” Dean smirked, taking another gulp of his drink.

“Okay, I think that’s our cue to leave” Sam huffed a laugh, trying to grab onto Dean’s jacket. Dean swung away from him, frowning. “And… she’s just so nice, right? She never says… bad things about anyone. She’s so awesome. She loves everyone and just wants to help ‘em.”

Dean went to pick up the bottle of whiskey, but Donny swiped it before he could reach it. “You’re officially cut off, man. Should’ve done it a while ago.”

Sam took out some money and handed it over to Donny. It wasn’t enough to cover Dean’s pity party, but Donny knew they’d settle it later.

“I’m-I’m fine” Dean hiccupped.

“Dean, come on” Sam huffed, trying to shift Dean off the bar stool.

“She’s amazing… and I don’t deserve her” Dean sighed, looking down at his empty glass.

“Yeah, okay. We’re really going now” Sam said, practically pushing Dean off the stool. He grabbed his arm and hooked it over his neck, leaning Dean’s weight on himself.

“See you around, Donny” Sam said, staggering away with Dean on him.

“Drive safe, guys” Donny called out.

Sam struggled with Dean as they walked out of the bar and towards the Impala. Dean was swaying, and Sam was trying his hardest not to drop him. They got to the car and Sam leaned Dean against the side, making sure he didn’t fall. He reached into Dean’s pockets, trying to find the keys.

“Don’t you think Y/N’s hair is really shiny? I think it’s really shiny” Dean remarked, as he played with the zip on his jacket. “And it looks really good when it’s down.”

“Sure” Sam agreed, without really listening. He tried Dean’s jeans pocket.

“Sometimes though, She puts it up and she looks like a naughty librarian” Dean smirked. “Makes me wanna bend her over one of the library tables-”

Sam got the keys and quickly opened the car. “Whoa, okay. Sit down.”

He helped Dean into the passenger seat, before going to the driver’s side. As he started the car, he looked over at Dean, who had fallen asleep. He laughed a little to himself, before he pulled out of the parking lot.

-x-

Back at the bunker, the girls had moved to Y/N’s room. She was leaning back against the headboard, a glass in her hand with no salt around the rim. She gave up on salt half an hour ago. Charlie was lying on the end of the bed, propped up on her elbow.

“His arms are so strong. His lips should be a sin” she sighed, dreaming of the hunter she was in love with. “I bet he’s really good with them.”

“They are pretty great” Charlie had to agree. She may have been attracted to women, but she had to admit Dean was good looking.

“His face is just made for sitting on” Y/N smiled and started laughing.

“Wow” Charlie laughed as she looked at Y/N. “You’re so drunk.”

Y/N ignored that, as she stared at the wall. “And his heart… he just cares about everyone so much. He’s the most selfless person I know.”

Charlie nodded and lightly tapped Y/N’s legs in front of her. Y/N looked over at Charlie.

“You should tell him that” Charlie suggested.

Y/N tipped her head back, trying to catch the last drops of margarita in her mouth. She frowned when there was nothing left.

“He smells so good, too” Y/N smiled. “Like leather and… something just so… so Dean.”

“You’re not listening to anything I’m saying, are you?” Charlie asked.

Y/N giggled. “Nope.”

She laid her head back against the wall, as the alcohol started to make her sleepy.

Y/N frowned as she shook her head. “I can’t tell him, Charlie. What… what would he want with me? He can have any girl he wants. He already has. I’m nothing compared to those girls.”

Charlie took a deep breath as she watched Y/N’s face morph into sadness. “Y/N… you’re way better than those girls.”

Y/N closed her eyes, feeling overwhelmed by what she was feeling.

“Alright, you better sleep it off” Charlie said, getting up from bed.

“No!” Y/N yelled and reached for the pitcher, but Charlie took it before she could get to it.

“You’re done, Y/N” Charlie playfully scolded.

She took the glass out of Y/N’s hand and handed her the large one with water in it. “Drink that, it’ll help with the hangover in the morning.”

Y/N gulped the water down and put the glass on the bedside table next to her. She slipped down on the bed, and kicked her feet up, pulling the sheet up to cover herself. Charlie walked to the door and turned to say goodnight, but Y/N was already fast asleep. She smiled and turned off the light in the room, shutting the door and walking down the hallway. She heard footsteps coming from the other end, before she saw Sam carrying a very drunk Dean. They walked into Dean’s room and Sam carefully let him down on the bed. Charlie walked in without a word and took Dean’s shoes off, as Sam covered him. Dean snored softly as he turned onto his stomach and snuggled into the pillow.

Sam and Charlie walked out of Dean’s room after shutting the door and walked down to the kitchen. Charlie put the food into the fridge as Sam grabbed himself some water.

“How was your night?” she asked.

Sam scoffed a laugh. “I think my drunk brother is the answer. How about you?”

Charlie nodded. “Well, pretty much the same. Though, I finally got her to admit her massive crush on Dean.”

“Yeah, there was a quite confession at the bar on his part, too” Sam said, sitting down at the table.

Charlie shook her head as she crossed her arms, leaning against the counter. “I don’t get those two. I think it’s time we intervene.”

Sam nodded, thinking it over. “Maybe we head out for the day tomorrow. Give them enough time to be alone around each other; see if that works.”

“Yeah. They may even get something else out of their system” Charlie smiled.

Sam cringed. He didn’t need to think about that. “Sounds like a plan.”

He walked over to Charlie, offering his hand. She took it and they shook, firmly on it.

The next day saw Dean and Y/N incredibly hungover. She cursed the tequila and swore to never touch it again, and Dean wondered how he could even still get drunk enough to be hungover. Y/N got up before him at 11am, starting on the coffee. She had no appetite just yet and hoped the coffee would help. There was no sign of Charlie or Sam, so she enjoyed the quiet for a while. She rubbed her hands down her face, as she sat down at the table.

A few minutes later, Dean stumbled in, still in his shirt and jeans from last night. He was wearing his robe over the top and his hair was sticking up in different directions. Suffice to say, he looked adorable.

“You look like how I feel” he mumbled; his voice gravelly from sleep. He walked over to the coffee, after one glance at her.

She scoffed as she took a sip. “Trust me, you look just as bad as me.”

Dean sat down across from her, slurping his coffee.

“Any idea where the other two are?” she asked.

Dean nodded. “Sam sent a message; said they were going to Wichita to see some boring French movie.”

“Man. I wish I wasn’t so messed up right now, I could’ve gone with them” Y/N frowned.

Dean looked at her. He hoped she would be fine with just his company today. “Maybe we could have our own movie marathon.”

He may have been drunk last night but remembered what he said to Sam. Maybe he had to take this opportunity of an empty bunker to tell her how he felt.

She smiled, nodding. “Sounds good.”

After they had both recovered as well as they could, the hunger finally kicked in. Deciding to make sandwiches for lunch, they made their way to the kitchen to make them before they started their Indiana Jones marathon. Y/N took out all the necessary toppings, as they started constructing their lunch.

“I guess we’re sticking to soda today” she laughed.

“I guess so” Dean agreed.

“Hey, can you get the mustard out?” she asked, while he was standing at the fridge.

Dean took out the bottle and held it out for her. Without realising it, their fingers touched as she laid her hand over his.

“Sorry” he mumbled as he put the bottle on the counter.

“It’s okay” she smiled softly, as she went back to what she had been doing.

They ate their sandwiches through Raiders of the Lost Ark but got hungry again ten minutes into Temple of Doom. Y/N quickly made some popcorn and brought into the Dean cave in a big bowl. As they watched, they munched on the popcorn, engrossed in their mutual favourite franchise.

Dean looked over at Y/N, smiling as he saw how invested she was, despite having watched these movies so many times. He picked up a piece of popcorn, flicking it at her cheek. She looked over at him as he looked away, trying not to smirk. She shook her head and looked back at the screen. Dean did it again.

Y/N scoffed as she looked at him. “Cut it out, Winchester.”

“I didn’t do anything” Dean shrugged.

“Yeah, right” Y/N rolled her eyes. She picked up a handful of popcorn and threw it at him.

“Real mature, Y/L/N” he laughed. He flicked some up from the bowl at her, hitting her in the face.

“You’re so annoying!” she yelled. She picked up the bowl and moved it away, pouncing on him.

“Ah! Y/N! Get off!” she yelled in frustration as she started messing up his hair.

They started to playfully fight, Y/N trying to tug his hair as he tried to grab her hands and keep them away. He reached up and tickled her neck, causing her to scream and laugh uncontrollably. He grabbed her hands and held them against his chest.

“Dean, let go” she laughed, trying to free her hands.

“Never” he smirked.

She saw the twinkle in his eye, but there was something more behind it. His look did something to her, a tingle running through her body.

She stopped laughing as she looked down at him. With her Y/H/C flowing, she looked so beautiful to him. He saw something in her eyes, something that resembled what he was feeling. A deep desire; something he had kept buried until now. Maybe, just maybe… he had a shot.

She had to stop this. Y/N knew that as much as she wanted to see what happened, she couldn’t. She couldn’t handle the rejection. Just as quickly as the desire in their eyes shone through, it was gone from hers. She pushed herself away from him, his hands falling away from hers. Dean felt his hope fizzle out.

“I’m still not feeling so great, I think the tequila’s still making me foggy” she laughed slightly, downplaying what just happened.

“Yeah, um…” Dean muttered, not knowing what to say.

“I think I’m going to go lie down” she said, trying not to let her sadness show.

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I’ll clean up here.”

“I’m sorry. I can help-” she started but he cut her off.

Dean got up from the couch, as far as he could from her. “Nope, I got it.”

Y/N flinched as he moved away. “Okay” she whispered.

With one last look at him, Y/N walked out of the room. She made it all the way to her room before she let the tears shed, that she had been holding back. She threw herself on her bed, muffling her sobs with her pillow. She knew this was how things would end up between them. Awkward with no chance of moving forward into something new and exciting. She never should’ve fallen in love with Dean.

Dean swept up the popcorn, cursing himself internally. He had read the signs wrong, clearly. She wasn’t interested. She never would be.

They both knew that denying their feelings, as they had already been doing for the last 5 years, was the only thing they could do to protect themselves. That’s what you had to do as a hunter.

Even when you wished for the strength to show your feelings, you had to bury them.

It was easier that way.

Tags: @flamencodiva @deanwanddamons @winchest09 @katehuntington @akshi8278 @hobby27 @michellethetvaddict

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