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#so I’m slightly hungover but still a mystery
Note
your writing is so goooood wahhh the nanami fic had me on my knees, could you write a pizza delivery boy gojo x reader? maybe he's always picking up reader's orders so he can see her or something hehe (can be fluff or smut) ❤
WOOOO ANOTHER GOJO FIC
another college AU - slightly inspired by a story that actually happened in my life (it was less romantic irl and more creepy lmao)
reader is 20ish gojo is 22ish
cw: masturbation, sex?
-
Your sophomore year of college you absolutely scored when you found your apartment. It was on one of the main streets of the city so you could walk anywhere you want to go, hosted parties, and just had fun! The first floor of your building was a pizza shop which you occasionally stopped in; the owner of the shop owned the whole building so he was also your landlord and was a sweet older Italian man.
There was a tall employee that always caught your eye, but he was always working in the back. Most of the time you were picking up pizza your landlords sweet daughter was working the register so you never talked to the white haired beautiful man. However it seems like l you had caught his eye too? No you were just being delusional, he wasn’t staring at you… but how could you be mistaken with those bright blue eyes that you seem to look away as soon as you make eye contact with?
It’s not that you’re shy. It’s just that this man is so attractive your cheeks immediately blush and you can’t even try to talk to him. (hey Siri queue Gorgeous by Taylor Swift)
That is until one day, when you texted your landlord and asked if the delivery guy or someone could bring your order upstairs because you were “sick” (you were just hungover but you looked the part of being sick so whatever). He responds with a no problem and about 15 minutes later you hear an imposing knock on your door, almost entirely too loud for your tiny apartment building. It makes your head pound and even though it’s 4 pm and your hangover is still lingering around.
You mosey on over to the door, sweatpants, Ugg slippers, an ex boyfriends hoodie you kept, with your hair in a braid that definitely needed washed. You open the door, squinting at the fluorescent overhead lights before realizing just who was at your door.
The white haired man with the beautiful cerulean eyes was looking down at his phone waiting for the door to be answered and when he looks up the two of you lock eyes. Suddenly you become aware of just how bad you look and your eyes grow wide at your downstairs crush at your door.
“Are you…y/n? The boss asked me to bring this up to you.” The mystery delivery man asks with a shy smirk and hands you to box.
“Oh thank you yes I’m y/n,” you say fumbling in your pocket for the $20 bill you put in there earlier. “Um here…keep the change,” you awkwardly stick your hand out with the money in it, realizing how hot the pizza box is in your other hand.
“What if I asked for your number as a tip instead?” He smugly asks, now leaning his lanky frame up against your door frame. You bring your eyes up to meet his, trying to find if he was joking by the features of his face. He stuffs the $20 in his pocket and pulls out his phone and wiggles it in his hand, as if to say ‘see?’. Your lips draw into a slight smile seeing his goofiness, “sure,” you giggle making his smile grow wider.
He hands you his phone for you to type your number and name in with your free hand, your other hand still holding up your pizza you’ve been looking forward to.
“Thank you m’lady,” he winks at you when you hand his phone back and pushes off your doorframe and walks away down the stairs. “Text ya later,” he yells up at you from the bottom and you just smile and close your apartments front door, leaning against it and smiling as you open up the box and take a bite.
-
You anxiously await a text from the pizza boy only after realizing you still don’t know his name or his number but he has both of those pieces of information about you. The half eaten pizza box lays on your coffee table while Netflix drones on with a reality tv show in the background. You scroll through Instagram liking everyone’s pictures from the previous night out and daytime party shenanigans. You’re drawn out of your trance like state when you feel your phone vibrate, a message from an unsaved number popping up.
‘hi pretty lady 😘 - your favorite pizza boy’
He still hasn’t given you his damn name so you can’t look him up anywhere. Suddenly all flirting skills have gone out the window and you have no idea how to text back.
‘You’re such a flirt, do you treat all your customers with such kindness?’ you ultimately respond with.
‘only if their name is y/n and they live in apartment 2b :)’ he responds too fast and you’re immediately apprehensive. Why is this beautiful man flirting with you so brazenly out of no where? This smells like a fuck boy situation, but hey, what’s wrong with a hook up or friend with benefits? Maybe it’s time to up the ante and play with some fire.
‘Funny, I haven’t even gotten your name yet and you’re already laying it on thick. Seems to me you’re quite the flirt.’
*one image attached*
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‘Am I still a flirt if I made this while thinking about you?’
‘yes actually, more so than before.’
‘fine :( but i need someone to share this with?’
‘I’m literally still working on the pizza you brought up here earlier, take it to the other girls I’m sure you’re also flirting with rn’
‘ouch shots fired’
You stare at your phone screen smiling like a teenager, kind of wanting to get to know this guy a little better. You smirk to yourself before typing out:
‘fine. I don’t want more pizza but I do want to hang out.’
The pizza boys only response for now is ‘😱😱😱’ so you decide to get off the couch and shower for the evening. Washing your hair, shaving your legs and other areas, exfoliating, and making sure you smell extra nice. At least if you don’t see a guy tonight you can consider this self care? After a relaxing 15 minute shower you wrap your hair in one towel and your body in another. You head into your bedroom and proceed to brush out your hair and put on some sweatpants and a sports bra while you get ready. Sitting down at your vanity, you put on a light amount of makeup before blow drying your hair to look “natural” as if you didn’t just spend an hour getting ready.
You start to get dressed as well, taking off your sweats first, when you hear a knock at your front door. Confused, you walk over and look out your peep hole. Oh god, of course the beautiful white haired man knew how to get into your building and just showed up at your door. You crack the door just a bit to stick your head out, embarrassingly saying, “Hey I’m sorry can you give me two seconds I don’t have pants on.”
Without waiting for his answer you close the door again and run back into your bedroom and put on the sweatpants you just took off as well as a light weight tank top that was laying on the bed next to it.
‘Did he really just show up to my door unannounced?’ You think to yourself reaching for your phone. It turns out he did respond earlier while you were in the shower, you just hadn’t looked until you picked up your phone right this second.
‘sounds good, what do you want to do this fine evening?’
You stared at the text, mouth opened, slightly resembling a fish out of water. At least you had gotten your hair and makeup done but it took you an hour of not texting him back. Rushing back to your front door you reopen it to him leaning against the wall on his phone playing a game.
“I’m sorry,” you sigh, cheeks flushed, swinging the door open for him to come in before stopping him in the doorway, “You’re not like a serial killer right?”
He throws his head back with a boyish laugh, meanwhile you just want an honest answer, you didn’t think your question was all that funny.
“No, I’m not,” he finally answers after noticing the apprehension in your face.
When you move to let the stranger inside your apartment, you throw caution to the wind and think, ‘well if I am going to die, at least it’ll be by this beautiful stranger?’ (damn reader, I think you would have LOVED Ted Bundy back in his day)
The man stands looking around your joint living room kitchen area, one hand in his pocket, one hand lifting his round black sunglasses from the bridge of his nose to on top of his head, resting among the snowy tufts of hair. He must have just got off an afternoon shift, smelling of Italian food wearing old jeans, a tshirt and converse.
Given it’s about 6 o’clock at this point, the sun has begun to set, setting golden hour aflame through your west facing windows of your apartment. The white walls glow orangish-yellow with tiny refractions from your little plants and decorations lining the windowsill, creating rainbows in random areas across the room. Your tv still hums in the background with a garbage show, before this potential murderer finally speaks up, as if he’s fully comprehended and assessed the room.
“The names Gojo, Satoru Gojo.” He smiles, only needing to take one of his large strides before he’s in front of you ready to shake your hand.
“Thank you for finally telling me your name,” you smirk, having to nearly crane your neck to make eye contact with him.
He wiggles his eyebrows and licks his lips before asking, “so no pizza but you wanted to hang out. What did you have in mind?”
“Well, I missed your text when I was in the shower so I haven’t put a lot of thought into it. We can go somewhere to grab a drink or do something or we can chill out here?” You try not to seem too bossy but not too submissive either, and by the looks of it Satoru is as confident as ever.
“Well the boss man gave me some free bottles of wine that I have in my car I can grab and we can watch some of whatever you have on, and maybe re-evaluate in a little if we want to do anything else?” He accentuates ‘anything’ with a wink and you swear your knees could give out.
“That sounds great.”
-
You make some popcorn and grab glasses of wine while Satoru goes to his car and grabs his duffle bag with wine and clean clothes and comes back inside.
“Sorry to ask, but can I take a quick shower? I kinda feel gross after an 8 hour shift.” A slight blush creeps across his cheeks while he pulls out four bottles of wine. He notices the shocked look on your face, “Oh sorry I didn’t know how much you drink so I just brought all 4 bottles he gave me, I figured we could have two each.”
“Two each?!” You laugh as he makes his way towards your bathroom. He smiles back at you before closing the door behind him. You stand up to head to the kitchen counter to uncork one of the wine bottles when you realize that the extra towels aren’t in your bathroom, they’re in the dryer right now! The last thing you need is a naked wet man in your apartment right? You grab and fold one of the towels quickly and hurry over the the bathroom door before knocking politely.
“Satoru?”, you question. “Sorry…I forgot to give you a towel earlier-”
You’re cut off by the door swinging open. The pale man’s almost completely naked save for his boxer briefs which he has no shame showing. You notice a scar across his chest, his perky man nipples, the defined pectoral and ab muscles atop his beautiful v-line, accentuated with a white happy trail running down the middle leading straight to… a bulge.
But like he wasn’t hard no, his soft penis must have been so large but even then he had a pretty big bulge. You wonder what it would look like when it’s -
“Well you answered the door with no pants earlier so I didn’t think it would be a problem here,” he cuts you off, smirking as he watches your embarrassed features. He totally just saw you checking him out, you feel no better than a man!! You hand him the towel before reaching over to close the bathroom door for him, walking wide eyed back over to the couch with a glass of white wine.
You can’t get the shape of his body out of your mind, god you can’t believe he was in there, using your shampoo and soaps and being naked while you’re right here on the couch, not able to witness it. You let the perverted thoughts take over your mind some, thinking about the way his pale skin would look covered in your nail scratches and bite marks. Or how about how perfect his cock must be? Everything else about him was absolutely gorgeous, so his cock has to be the perfect mixture of girth and length with a nice vein or two, and a cute pink tip leaking his precious pre cum right? You think back about his long deft fingers, and much better they’d feel inside you than your own. Being under the spell of your own horniness, you slip your left hand under the waist band of your sweat pants and lace panties thinking about this Satoru guy…slipping your tiny fingers around your swollen clit, giving it a pinch before sliding up and down your folds, collecting your wetness before slipping your middle finger in your tight hole. You close your eyes, slipping the throw blanket from the back of the couch over your lap as another layer of protection in case Satoru is quiet coming out of the bathroom, but he’s not a very quiet person so you’re not toooo concerned.
Although you’ve had intercourse fairly recently, you feel like you’re in the midst of a drought, a withdrawal from being touched. Your skin feels almost itchy, so aroused by this man even though today is the first time you’ve actually talked to him. You alternate playing with your folds and rubbing your clit thinking about how good he must look with the water running down his abs and through his glistening white hair. You think just maybe, you might have time to make yourself cum before he gets out of the shower. After all with how excited you are, it should just take a few minutes. You scurry from the couch to your bedroom gently shutting the door behind you, before throwing your pants off and reaching into your bedside drawer to grab your hot pink little vibrator to help hurry yourself along.
You think you can hear Satoru singing in the showering, making you sigh in relief a little knowing he still probably has another few minutes. Sticking your hand down your lace panties, you press up against your soaking hole area with your middle and ring fingers, while using your other hand to press the vibrator on and turning it up to the medium setting. You rock in and out of yourself at a steady rhythm, thinking about this man being on top of you. God, he just looks like one of those guys that is good at everything he does so you know he must be a great partner.
Letting go of yourself perhaps comes a bit too easy, laying your head back against your decorative pillows, letting out just a tiny whimper. Muffled whistling comes from the bathroom followed by what sounds like something squeaking. You think it’s the water shutting off, and proceed to panicking and switch the vibrator to high to finish while he’s drying off. You feel yourself getting close, reaching extra deep to find your own g-spot. Pushing against it your eyes immediately roll back and you feel yourself getting close to the edge. You do your best to bite down on your lip to keep noises from escaping, with both hands being other wise occupied.
Your thoughts return to the man in your bathroom, drying off, wondering if he’s gotten off to you in the shower right there, before getting a little sad because you wish he would let you take care of him! A particularly loud whimper escapes as your back arches off the bed, your legs threatening to shake violently.
“Y/n…?” Your bedroom door swings open, Satoru Gojo walking in right as you reach your peak. Your jaw drops half out of ecstasy and half embarrassment, closing your eyes and riding out the last few seconds of your orgasm. There’s no point trying to hide or make excuses, you got caught. Not only that, but Gojo’s jaw is also on the floor, the blood rushing to his lower region as he is still slightly moist from the shower but only wearing a new clean pair of boxer briefs.
“I’m - so - sorry -” you pant to him with your eyes still closed, slowly removing your fingers from inside you and turning the vibrating off.
“Fuckkkk, that was so hot!! ,” Satoru wines striding over to join you on your bed. He takes the fingers you were about to your juices off of and pops them in his mouth, staring you in the eyes as he swirls his tongue around your petite digits and groaning in pleasure. “I can’t believe you couldn’t wait for me! Naughty girl, I just - wow- you’re so wet??” Satoru stammers to you, leaning his large frame over your body, blush creeping across his cheeks, but you know your face is even more red.
You sit up and lean back from Gojo, “sorry that was an..accident. You weren’t supposed to see that uh, um, I have a medical condition!! And I have to - you see…,” your embarrassment just digging you deeper into a hole as you reach for your panties and sweatpants on the other side of the bed. It’s not that Satoru seems to mind though, he actually seems kind of impressed.
As you slip your panties on, he sits on the bed giving you space but wraps his arm around your waist, “Hey..y/n… you don’t have to make up a really shitty excuse or anything, I kinda thought it was hot. Like if you want to fuck me you could just say it?” He says almost cockily trying to lighten your mood.
“I’m sorry I just like it’s not lady like? And I didn’t even like go on a date with you or anything yet…not that we have to go on a date first! I just like met you today and I feel like really bad!” You ramble on, both of your heads leaning closer and closer as he strokes your hair to calm you down. He gently guides your head to rest on his shoulder, “don’t be embarrassed babe, it’s not like I haven’t heard you have sex before.”
Your head shoots up, a new wave of embarrassment coursing through you. “Huh - what do you mean?” You stutter out.
“You realize right under your cute little room is the office in the back of the restaurant…right? And the nights when I’m in charge after the old man goes home…let’s just say some of the men you’ve brought home don’t seem to have good rhythm.”
Your jaw drops at this revelation, immediately growing defensive. “And who’s to say your rhythm is better? Besides - I -”
You’re cut off by Satoru taking the lead, his finger up to your bottom lip as to get you to quit nervous mumbling. “Hush hunny, just let me prove it to you.” He gently pushes you back against your bed, his lips finding yours before you can protest. You give in to making out with his cute pink lips, he guides a hand to the back of your neck, taking power over the kiss. You nip at his bottom lip at which he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss further, pushing his tongue into your mouth. His other hand comes to grab at your chest through your sports bra as you grab the sides of his face with passion. He breaks the kiss just by an inch, enough to breathlessly ask, “you’re okay with this right?”
Satoru smirks, knowing he has you in the palm of his hand. Instead of answering, you kiss back, this time taking initiative to swirl your tongue with his. The heated make out section reaches a tipping point as Satoru leans more of his body weight against yours, now your pelvic regions touching. His harder member through his boxers rubbing against your soaked lace panties. The fabric on fabric contact in the sensitive region has you whimpering into his mouth.
“Oh sweetheart,” he says with fake sympathy, “I already have you whimpering and I’ve barely touched you.” You roll your eyes as he uses his long fingers to brush the hair away from your neck ghosting his lips leaving a fraction of a kiss from your jawline down to collarbone. His breathing against your skin makes goosebumps form, before licking a specific spot halfway down your neck, right next to your jugular. He sucks down, ripping another whimper from you, rolling your hips up to cause more friction against his erection.
He smirks against your skin, “I think I found your sensitive spot-” and you cut him off pushing him back up to attach his lips to your neck again. You moan a little more freely this time.
“Uhnnnn, Satoruuuu…please, I need more!”
You whine removing your hands from his hair and creeping down his muscular back, feeling every single defined muscle. You decide to have a little fun, scratching a little harder as you run your hands down before grabbing the waistband of his boxers. “Off,” you whisper and this time he moans, seeming just as affected by you as you are by him.
He sits up to take off his boxers and you take the opportunity to remove your panties again, and your bra this time. You swear Satoru’s pupils turn into hearts when he sees your chest.
“Oh my god I think I’m in love,” he whispers, before leaning in fast and attaching his mouth to the right nipple. He used a lot of tongue and a little teeth, making your buds feel so much better than you ever thought possible. As he switches to your other nipple your eyes roll back.
You reach down through your legs to start stroking Satoru’s hard member. Although you can’t see it with the way his body is situated you can tell it’s massive. Like barely can wrap your hand around it massive and when you go up and down there’s sooo much!
“Can I fuck you please?” Satoru looks up at you with lust filled eyes, a sheen covering his lips and your nipples. He looks like what you could only imagine as a milk drunk baby looking up at its mother.
“Please, Satoru, fuck me,” you respond, running your thumb over his tip and spreading the precum. He leans back to line himself up, and now you can see the full image. The muscular upper body, now littered with a few scratches from you. The snowy fully hair, his eyes blown out with lust looking like he could devour you whole. Plus that beautiful cock you got yourself off to not even 15 minutes prior. It’s just as amazing as the one you made up in your head thinking about him.
You bite your lip and smile as his tip touches your entrance, him squeezing your hip with one hand as the other grips his base. He pushes in slowly and gently, letting you adjust with gentle shallow thrusts until you’re able to manage. “Oh-ohhh my god,” his breathing hitches in his throat? “Oh my GOD you feel so fucking good!” He is acting like he has just won the lottery, taking his time with his thrusts.
You smile up at him as he holds your leg, calf up against your shoulder. He places a tiny kiss along your leg before grabbing your other leg and placing it on his his other shoulder.
“Baby, can I please show you my rhythm now?” Satoru practically begs.
“Mhmmm, please,” you moan, already feeling full to the brim with his cock but needing more pleasure. He excelerates slowly, snapping his hips with high intensity. You feel his skinny hip bones make contact with the back of your legs every time, along with the feeling of his heavy balls slapping against your lower region. You’re in love with his little babbles, you’ve never met a more vocal man in bed. Every few seconds he’s saying “fuck yeah baby,” or a grunt/moan, throwing his head back, or “shit y/n”
Your toes start to curl and he notices, along with the slight tremble growing in your legs.
“You close baby?” He stammers out lowering one hand to stroke your cheek lovingly.
“Yes -toru,” you stammer out, only able to get half of his name out with how out of breath and white hot you feel. His eyes roll back in pleasure at the nickname, moving the hand that was on your cheek down to your clit, rubbing tiny circles on the puffy mound to help bring you over the edge.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes!” You half moan half chant, barely having possession over your own body at this point.
“C’mon, let go for me y/n, please pretty girl go on and cum,” the combination of Satoru’s words and how he says your name sends you over the edge, pulsing around him, eyes rolled back gripping white knuckled on the sheets.
Seeing how pretty you looked cumming on his cock, Satoru is so close to follow, not even caring that his cum his going inside you (I mean hey you didn’t tell him not to?) he grips your sides as he lets go, a grip that you know will leave 10 little perfect oval bruises tomorrow. All he manages is grunts that border whimpers “so so good, fuck,” he says out of breath, laying down comfortably with you with his cock still in side and giving you both a moment to process what just happened.
“You proved me wrong,” you whisper and he looks at you confused. “That was the best fucking sex I’ve ever had, I don’t fucking care about rhythm or any other man at this point,” you continue, covering your face with your hands and giggling.
He chuckles along with you, “I think that’s the best compliment I’ve ever gotten, I maybe should get an award for ‘sex dick given to y/n’”
You giggle more, both of you in your post orgasm mood, just being silly and romantically pillow talking.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” satoru says after a few more minutes of banter, and before you and even go to sit up, he is too fast and picks you up bridal style to carry to the bathroom. He sits you on the toilet and lets you clean yourself as he gets a washcloth with cold water and washes his face, before washing off his now flaccid penis (which still looked good which is really fucking hard to do). Upon returning to your bedroom, putting on clothes again and regaining your composure, you watch Gojo going through your closet.
You tilt your head at him and he answers before you can say a word. “Listen I know this is like the opposite of gender norms but can I borrow a tshirt?” You giggle and show him where you keep them and let him pick.
You settle out in the living room with your glass of wine, bowl of popcorn, and a blanket, resuming your prior plans. He joins you a few seconds later, wearing an old tshirt from high school that has one of the United States presidents on it in a rocking chair that says “JFK ROCKS”
You bust out laughing, not only at that fact it was almost a little too short on him, but also you had no idea where that shirt was or how he found it. He laughs along with you, opening one of the other bottles of wine.
He sits on the other end of the couch so both of your legs are all tangled and cozy , covered by your blanket. “So,” he then takes a bite of popcorn, creating an awkward pause.
You decide to interject first, “I’m sorry that like you saw me getting myself off and that I had sex with you like right after meeting you… you probably think I’m a slut but I’d actually like to get to know you.” You blush and take a sip of wine as he looks like a crazy person, before repeating himself.
“So,” he starts, “what I was going to say is that we need to get some real food and stop at the store and get a plan b, then come back for round 2,” he sips his wine, “also you’re not a slut and even if you are I’m a slut so oh well,” another tiny sip of wine and popcorn, “so this is me doing things a little backwards. Would you be my date for this evening?”
“You’re asking me on a date?” You gawk at him on accident, just surprised with how this whole day turned out.
“Yes I am sweets, now go get a jacket.”
very sorry anon February was a rough month (and so is March) for me this has been in my drafts 4ever
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northsoulss · 2 years
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maybe you were the best part - ʟᴇᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ
synopsis : they were inseparable, but yet they were pulled apart. after ages of not seeing each other, he still picks up your call. maybe its fate? maybe just a coincidence. but one thing’s certain — rekindling the embers to this dead fire wouldn’t be so difficult after all.
genre : fluff
pairing : dancer!leeknow x fem!dancer!reader
warnings : none
song recs to listen while reading : mystery of love - by sufjan stevens, nothing - bruno major
the day of moving has finally arrived — it seemed so far away when i first came here fresh out of high school. i hastily grabbed the keys to my new apartment from the table, before taking one last look around my now empty dorm room.
this dorm room holds a special place in my heart — it was the place where i first woke up hungover, the place where i cried the most because of dance lessons, and the place where i would always seek refuge in whenever things became too much to handle. i let out a shaky sigh, giving myself a light slap on the cheek. “c’mon, it’s finally time to get out of this hell hole and now you’re feeling nostalgic? that’s ironic.”
indeed, everyday of me waking up in university was a pain. first thing in the morning, i would have classes nonstop till noon, only to find out i have assignments that i have forgotten to do because of my extremely poor time management skills. it was actually my fault that i found managing training to become a professional dancer and being a student so hard due to the consequences of my actions. “i’ll do it later.” a very famous phrase i sported proudly, but always resulted in me cramming in all my assignments a day before the deadline. i wanted so badly for this cycle that has lasted for four whole years to end, and yet the feelings i have now is a walking contradiction of how i felt when i first came.
i let out another sigh before closing the door behind me, and locking the door to the memories that i hold dearly to me forever. well, forever is a bit dramatic. it still remains in my mind, but it is now stowed away in one of the many drawers, collecting dust.
after returning the keys to my old dorm room, i walk away from the building, only to find myself sitting down on a park bench alone, wondering to myself if becoming a professional ballet dancer was really what i wanted to do. before i could continue stewing my thoughts, my phone started to vibrate violently in my hands, bringing me back to reality.
bringing my phone up to my ear, an automated voice was heard through the speakers of my phone. “the delivery of your items will arrive shortly to your destination in thirty minutes. please be there to pick them up. beep.” oh right, my stuff. i had completely forgotten about my furniture and other items that was being delivered to my new apartment, and that was when i started to panic.
fuck, thirty minutes? i need to rush there now if i want to make it on time. i thought to myself, not wasting anymore time to rush to the train station to catch the train before i’m too late.
“what’s up?” minho’s tone was slightly shocked, and i already regret my decision to call him. i sat there in the corner of the nearly empty train compartment, now wondering if calling minho out of all people would have been a good idea to help me move in.
“hey um, it’s been quite a while.” i say awkwardly, rubbing the back of neck even though he can’t see me.
“yeah, it has.” he says coolly through the phone, but he wasted no time in getting to the point, “why did you call me?” the question hung in the air, clearly the elephant in the room. right, it’s been a year since we last talked, especially with minho taking on a huge project in his final year, i had practically no time to speak with him at all. despite us drifting apart, he was the first person i thought of calling.
“hey! can’t your best friend call you?” i joke awkwardly, panicking internally at the slightly accusatory question. however, after hearing his chuckle on the other end of the line, i let out the breath i didn’t even realise i was holding. thank god the atmosphere became less tense, or i would have crumbled right there and then in my seat.
“i never said that, but it is quite sudden. also, are you on the train? it’s quite nosy on your end.”
“yeah, i am. actually, i’m rushing to go collect my things so that i can move into my new apartment!” i say a bit too quickly, but after hearing no response, for a while, i assumed the connection got cut off. so i waited, phone in hand, leg bouncing up and down anxiously for him to reply.
the sound of foot steps coming closer to me went unheard, my anxiety overriding all my other senses. i felt a light tap on my shoulder, and my mind immediately jumps to conclusions. it can’t be him right? i think, but oh how i was right. i turn my head and there he was in the flesh. well damn.
“hi.” he says with a small grin. oh how i missed that.
“hey!” my voice came out louder than i expected, embarrassment creeping up my cheeks after seeing minho wince slightly.
“that excited to see me?” a sly grin tugs at his lips, a laugh escaping his lips. oh how i missed that too. he flicks his hand, gesturing for me to move in so that he can sit next to me. i scoot over wordlessly, still in shock that he’s here. he’s really here.
during his final year, he had to conduct his project overseas which led us to talking less, and texting less. eventually, we just stopped talking. it’s like the fire we had dwindled out completely, but seeing him here gave me hope. maybe it was the fact that it’s been ages since i last saw him, but god i missed him so much.
“you okay?” he turns to look at me, those warm brown eyes still shining as bright as ever. he looks healthier now that we’ve graduated, and understandably so. training and having to carry the weight of being the lead in a big project for our school is extremely taxing and will take a huge toll on one’s body. i find myself becoming speechless as i continue to stare at him, a bit dumbfounded at this situation.
“hello, you still there?” he waves his hand in front of my face, catching me off guard. but what makes me more shocked is his free hand resting on top of mine.
“uh- uh yeah! i’m just a little stressed, haha. with moving in and all that.” i clear my throat and try to play it off, trying my hardest to ignore the fact that my face feels like it’s burning. i avert my eyes from minho, staring holes into my shoes.
if he does notice the flush on my face, he doesn’t say anything and only nods, but his hand remains on top of mine throughout the ride to my station.
“so.. are you finally moving into that apartment?” he breaks the silence when we finally step out of the train.
“yes, thankfully i was able to snag it before someone else could.” i hear him mumble a small “i see..” before trailing off. silence settles onto us again and this time it’s awkward. i shift around uncomfortably, fiddling with the necklace that rested on my collarbone while minho texted on his phone.
“well, since i actually live near by, do you need help with moving in?” he lifts his head from looking at his phone, the anticipation in his voice going over my head. there’s the question i’ve been dying to ask. i guess the odds are in my favour this time.
“that would be nice, yeah.” i smile at him gratefully, and he returns a toothy one, his eyes curling into crescent moons. i feel my heart skip a beat, but i ignore it, continuing to smile to myself as we walked to my apartment.
when we arrived, the delivery truck has just parked, the boxes of my items already starting to get unloaded. after the items were all outside my apartment, i quickly thanked the delivery man and watched the truck speed off into the distance.
“alright, shall we start moving things in?” i turn to look at him, rolling my sleeves, but already find him looking at me. well shit.
i clear my throat again, and begin carrying as many boxes as i can manage, minho following suit behind me silently.
i was winded by the time we carried all the boxes up to my apartment, but he only looked like he went for a light jog. he finds me practically panting at door step and laughs hysterically, pulling my hand to sit down on the floor with him.
“damn, i would think that all that training you went through would help with your stamina, but i guess not.” i elbow his side when he says that, his laughter continuing to float around us like a melody. the atmosphere remained light and comfortable, with the rays of the setting sun shining into my apartment.
“hey, it’s getting a bit late.” i prod him with my finger, causing him to look at his watch. i expected him to get up and leave, but he waves his hand dismissively, saying, “it’s fine, i did say that i lived close by anyway. i’ll even help you unbox if you’d like.” his eyes glowed expectantly, his eyebrows raised. how can i say no to that? so i nod my head, earning a grin from him in return.
“god, when was this?” he laughs, shaking a faded polaroid that he held.
“what’s that?” still trying to wade my way across the sea of boxes that was my apartment. i squint, walking up to him to see the picture in between his fingers.
“is that us?” i reach out to take his hand to stabilise myself, which he extends for me grab onto. my hand remains on his arm as i look at the photo, feeling him tense up slightly. the polaroid was yellowish and faded, the edges torn and tattered. it was clear that the picture was taken quite a few years ago, the protective layer of the film peeling off.
minho clears his throat, shaking his arm to get my hand off. i pretend not to notice the flushed hue on his face as he rubs his ears slightly in an effort to conceal the redness.
all that confidence, where did it go?
taking a closer look at the photo, i was standing next to minho, both of us dressed in matching costumes that made it felt like a thousand degrees whenever we wore it. i think the light sheen of sweat on both our foreheads was quite telling of that. my arm was drapped over his shoulders a bit uncomfortably due of the height difference, with his resting lazily on the curve of my waist.
a wave of nostalgia washes over me, i instantly recognise the background of the photo, memories from three years ago coming back.
“was this from the big day?” i grin, turning over to look at minho, who was clearly being more productive than i was; taking empty boxes and stacking them on top of each other at the doorway.
he mutters a yeah, with his head deep into a box while casually rummaging through the items inside.
“i think this was the day of the show in our first year, the one where i nearly sprained my ankle before it even started,” i reminisce fondly, whilst watching minho continue to take items out of the boxes.
his head peaks out of the box, his mouth forming an “O”. he goes back to digging through my boxes and being the productive one, ignoring whatever questions i shot at him within the next few minutes.
“catch!”
“what-“ i whirl around, only to be hit with a crusty leotard and tutu.
of course, it hit me square in my face. minho broke out in a shit-eating grin, his eyes lighting up and his laughter filling the air. i cough as if i have concrete powder stuck in my lungs, wafting my hands through the air that was in front of me; the dust from the tutu and leotard filling the air thickly. i grimace, my face contorting into disgust. it was clothes that have not been washed for years thrown at my face for god’s sake.
“what was that for?” i shout, a string of curses slipping out.
he only shrugs and walks away nonchalantly, a smile creeping up onto my face the moment i see him nearly trip over a smaller box at his feet.
“now, that is something i call karma. ever heard of it?”
“shut it.” he bites out, grabbing the kitchen counter to rebalance himself. i snort, placing the tutu and leotard aside on my ‘table’, which was a large box that had my actual table inside, just unassembled.
comfortable silence settled upon us, the sound of boxes getting shuffled being the only thing filling the air. its been years since we danced in that play — i remember distinctively about how anxious the both of us were the day before the actual play; we practiced and practiced till our knees buckled whenever we stood up.
“practice makes perfect,” our ballet instructor always spoke in his posh sounding voice. in reality, instead of perfection, practice gave me bunions on my feet that never went away even after i graduated. pstd too, but we don’t talk about that.
millions of spotlights shining onto the stage and the silent anticipation from the audience was something i could never forget — i find myself yearning for that feeling of breathlessness and relief after the curtains come down to end the play, the thunderous sounds of clapping filling the air.
“i want to relive these memories again.” he mutters, finding yet another picture of us together, but in different costumes.
this time, we were much younger, probably in high school. our shoulders awkwardly brushing against each other, obviously forced by our parents to take the photo. i looked at the picture, remembering the all the times we stayed back in that academy to practice together after school, even after the sun had set just to get away from our responsibilities.
if i had to be honest, i missed it too.
“we could, you know, um,” i stutter, internally slapping myself for stumbling over my words.
“what? dance together again?” he says casually, a slight smile resting on his lips.
“yeah!” i say with a bit too much enthusiasm, the volume of my voice shocking me lightly. i purse my lips, forming an excuse to save face but he beat me to it, quickly standing to take my hands away from the dusty boxes. minho takes a shallow bow, extending his hand for me to take. i stand before him amused, but i followed suit, curtsying with my imaginary skirt.
we danced around my apartment, careful to not knock over any of the furniture. his eyes bored into mine, the darkest of brown. yet his eyes glittered brightly — brighter than any star in the sky; his adoration clearly displayed for me to see.
“as professional ballet dancers, ballroom dancing was not what i had in mind when i said i wanted to dance again.” i say a bit breathlessly, my eyes wandering everywhere but his face.
he laughs, but doesn’t reply, twirling me around before doing a large sweep, bringing our bodies closer together than it was before. “i did take classes.” he grins, only to get a smack from me in return.
“what a humble bragger you are.”
“you love it.”
“in your dreams.” i deny, yet, my smile betrays me once more.
he only smiles in return, our bodies moving in unison once more.
it was only after midnight that minho decided it was time to head back, his hands outstretched to motion for me to give him a hug. i hesitantly walk over into his arms, feeling them wrap around my waist. my breath hitches, but i snake my hands around his neck, feeling his hands tighten their grip. after a moment of us hugging in silence, he lets go and places his hands on my shoulders. “i’ll see you around, yeah?” his eyes were filled with so much fondness i think my heart melts. he pats my head gently before waving goodbye, leaving me alone in my apartment.
i slouch down, leaning my back against the door, a part of me wishing he didn’t leave. i wish i told him to stay. to stay with me for the night. for him and i to talk things out about what our status is. will we always remain best friends? will we keep the status quo? will i never get to tell him that he was really the best part of the hell that i had to walk through? i hope not.
my masterlist!
© northsoulss 2022, all rights reserved
——
its been such a long time since i posted any proper works lolol. but i am alive
also i have no idea how moving works lol so sorry if i get anything wrong 🕺
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salvador-daley · 2 years
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Chained ✨UPDATED✨
A Klaus Hargreeves murder mystery
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A/N: Sorry for making you wait three weeks for an update, especially after leaving it on that cliffhanger. 😬😬 I just needed to get 16.5K words of smut out of my system. I’m all done now, so let’s crack on. 😘😘
A million thanks to @allisoooon for this incredible artwork. It’s Det. Wesson’s police file! Featuring her doodle of a cat on a bicycle! 😂😂 I love it so much.
CW: Hospital stuff in this chapter. Read the tags.
Here’s a snippet from CHAPTER 22: Beep
Klaus is hungover. Again. Which is weird, because he doesn’t remember drinking anything last night. Still, he knows it before he even opens his eyes. The skin, ever so slightly on fire. Every pore leaching with toxic waste. The heart rate in overdrive, far too fast for someone lying perfectly still, tangled in these damp cotton sheets.
He lies here for a moment with his eyes closed, preparing himself to move, listening to the sound of his own pulse hammering in his ears. A rhythmic beeping on his left hand side. A wood pigeon on the windowsill. The vague impression of voices getting louder and then quieter again as they pass down a corridor.
Beneath him, he is aware of a mattress, which makes a nice change. But it could just as easily be a raft the way it bobs and sways, led by wave after wave of motion sickness.
His tongue is coated in a thick carpet of paste. It tastes chemical: copper and dirt. His mouth is the first thing he moves, prying open his lips to allow the air in, to encourage saliva. It tastes worse now.
With the care of someone defusing a nuclear bomb, he lifts open one stiff eyelid at a time and immediately regrets it.
It’s so bright. So white. Blinding. It’s a sledgehammer to the brain. Where is he? Where was he last night? God, it’s so bright. He can barely feel anything, like he’s floating on a sea of semolina pudding. Is he dead? Did he die?
That must be it. He finally wrote off his body once and for all and now he’s languishing in the afterlife. He’s glad he made it to the top floor when every indication held that he was headed for the basement. The entry criteria must not be as strict as he previously imagined.
Man, they really let anyone in here these days...
But, no, wait. There’s that beeping sound again. Why would there be beeping in heaven?
READ THE REST ON AO3
Tagging because relevant to your interests: @badsext @softforklave @anglophile-rin @falloutby @neist @purblzart @catsnathan @santacarlahorrorshow @maerenee930 @firstpersonnarrator @theanxioushobbit @ratkingsupremacy @allisoooon @cemeteryklaus @super-unpredictable98 @squishitude @courtneytarynofficial @mokolat @pickledbeefwastaken @love-is-dirty-baby @rina-cydonia @inspiremeandsetmefree @jender123 @vonkimmeren @narnianaos @sylvertyger @hucklebunny @spideyxalmighty @faceache111 @rob-private @pietro-t1me @shaneen828
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One Night Stand Masterlist
(Baby Pull Me) Closer (ao3) - friendstothis Michael/Luke N/R, 4k
Summary: He was stunned for a moment by the sheer beauty of the boy standing beside him. With fire engine red hair and skin the color of porcelain, the boy was the most beautiful thing Luke had ever set eyes on. The blond let his eyes trace over the mystery boy’s features, from his light green eyes to his bright pink lips—lips that were now forming words that Luke had not heard.
or,
luke is finally done with finals, so he decides to celebrate like everyone else: by going to a frat party. that's where he meets michael, the porcelain god with bright red hair who he just has to have.
Complication In Your Heart (ao3) - DracosPubicHair Michael/Luke E, 29k
Summary: Michael has killed over 10 people and has never been caught, and maybe Luke is just as crazy.
Daisy (ao3) - boomerluke Luke/Ashton M, 121k
Summary: The last thing Luke expects when he wakes up hungover in the bed of his latest one-night stand is to come face to face with a freaking kid. But there she is all wild curls, thumb-sucking, and nonstop questions. Luke can't get out of there fast enough.
Ashton isn't the type to have one-night stands. He's a parent, after all. It was a mistake, and it won't happen again. At least that's what he tells himself when he comes back from his shower to find the naked college kid still in his bed, arguing with Daisy.
They couldn't be more opposites. At 25, Ashton has the responsibilities of two parents, raising his daughter and trying to pretend like he has everything figured out. At 21, Luke is a self-proclaimed Grindr god who doesn't care about anyone or anything but himself. So why is the universe (with the help of Michael and Crystal) so hell-bent on seeing them together?
extra credit (ao3) - galacticsugar Luke/Calum E, 7k
Summary: Calum smiles at the last person in line at the bar as he hands them their glass of wine, then turns to Luke and sighs heavily, crossing his arms over his chest. The material of his shirt wrinkles and folds and stretches in all the right ways. “From the first day of school after I moved here, I knew you were going to be a problem.”
“A problem?” Luke feigns offense, scoffing and sucking violently at his tiny straw, trying to get to the dredges of his drink. Calum rolls his eyes and starts making another. By the end of the night, Luke’s going to have the process of Calum assembling a California Dream emblazoned in his mind for eternity. “I wasn’t the one who showed up and immediately acted like I owned the place.”
i didn't know that i was starving till i tasted you (ao3) - irwah Michael/Ashton E, 3k
Summary: 'we just had sex and it's the morning after and i woke up to an empty bed and how could i be so stupid of course you left me alone but wait you're in my kitchen cooking me breakfast and i'm so relieved' au
if i could say the things i want to say (i’d find a way to make you stay) (ao3) - nothingliketherain (39_killer_queen) Michael/Luke, Calum/Ashton M, 23k
Summary: “What about you? What’s keeping you here?”
“My roommate has been telling me to come see his band for weeks, but I didn’t have the time until today,” the guy explains, frowning a bit. “I can’t find him though, maybe he’s also in the bathroom with someone.”
“Our roommates suck, pun absolutely intended,” Michael snorts. “You could leave though, assuming you have your keys and you drove here.”
“I did, I do, but,” he shrugs, giving Michael a slow once over, lips tugging up into a shy smile. “I think I’m gonna stick around.”
“And keep me company?” Michael asks, perking up slightly at the prospect.
“If you want.”
He smiles in delight. Suddenly, he doesn’t need Calum to hurry up. “I could use the company actually.” He holds his hand out, goosebumps breaking across his skin when the guy takes it. “I’m Michael.”
“I’m Luke.”
If it was just a one time thing, why are you still here with me? (I don't want you to leave) (ao3) - BrokenTailLights Michael/Luke T, 1k
Summary: Malum have a one night stand, but Michael isn't really that keen on leaving in the morning (and Calum isn't sure he wants to let him go)
or
ever heard of a one-night stand fic of pure fluff? here you go.
In The Dark (Like Meteorites) (ao3) - dafeedil Michael/Calum/Ashton E, 26k
Summary: Ashton falls for Calum at a nightclub, and then for Calum's boyfriend, too.
Of Kindergarten and Coffee Shops (ao3) - onceuponatime Michael/Luke, Calum/Ashton M, 19k
Summary: Michael has a one night stand with Luke and can't get him out of his head.
running on the music and night highs (ao3) - thisismydesignn Luke/Ashton/Troye E, 4k
Summary: Set the night of the 2018 ARIA Awards. Ashton and Luke invite Troye back to Ashton's hotel room. It's possible they have ulterior motives. It's more than possible Troye doesn't mind.
tracing constellations (ao3) - galacticsugar Luke/Calum E, 15k
Summary: Luke’s eyes seem to be spinning when he arches an eyebrow at Calum and playfully says, “Really? You asking me to come home with you?” against Calum’s ear.
"Yes, really,” Calum says, blinking in confusion. “The fuck have we been doing tonight if it doesn’t end with you in my bed?”
we're dancing in my living room, and up come my fists (ao3) - hideforalifetime Luke/Calum M, 12k
Summary: "Ash, I had another email left to send-" Luke tries to reason, but Ashton won't let him.
"Nuh-uh," he wags his finger in Luke's face. "That's enough workaholic-ness for one day. Come on, let's go stare at fit shirtless guys."
Luke chokes on his latte. Sixth coffee of the day. "When you put it like that-"
Ashton fixes him with a knowing look. "Well, am I wrong?" He asks, arching an eyebrow. *** Luke is wound up way too tight, and he's been hurt way too many times. Is it wrong for him to be scared? Then, again, who wouldn't be scared of a super fit guy who is super hot, and just happens to be a fighter in Pro MMA? Luke doesn't know what he's in for, but he hopes it won't end like the other times.
Wherever I Lay My Hat (ao3) - merlypops Ashton/Everyone, Ashton/Liam, Luke/Liam E, 209k
Summary: Ashton learns that home can mean people and not places, and that fitting in is not the same as belonging, but it takes a broken heart, double-crossing a gang, and almost losing everyone he cares about before he realises this.
White Noise (ao3) - merlypops Luke/Ashton E, 7k
Summary: Luke and Ashton have massive crushes on each other, Ashton throws a party, and all of Luke's dreams come true. (Maybe they're a tiny bit in love too. Maybe.)
will we talk? (ao3) - strxngersagain Michael/Luke E, 4k
Summary: Michael tries not to make a habit out of having one night stands.
Sure, he’s had his share of a few no-strings-attached hookups in his otherwise relatively uneventful dating history. But he’s found over the years that it usually just tends to make him feel worse, waking up in the morning to an empty bed at worst, or an awkward conversation and a hasty exit at best. So, Michael has set his sights on not sleeping with anyone until he’s known them for at least 48 hours, at minimum.
So far, it’s gone pretty well.
Until he meets Luke, that is.
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queenoftherodeoo · 3 years
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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years
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Tom Hiddleston - Stripped Sunday
A/N & WC - I came up with this concept ages ago and only just got around to writing it, though it’s slightly short. I do not know Tom, nor do I claim to. 2k.
Warnings - Swearing (that's now just a given), definitely suggestive and nsfw but nowhere near explicit, just mentions of sex, nudity too. And unknowing exhibitionism I guess? 16+
Summary - Sunday's are always the best, especially when you and Tom walk around the house nude, but it's been a while. Too long a while. So, obliviously, you take matters into your own hands...
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THOMAS WILLIAM HIDDLESTON IS A SIMPLE MAN, believe it or not. He likes meals he can cook in fifteen minutes, he likes his tea with only a splash of milk, he likes the simple pleasures of nature. He likes morning runs and evening walks, re-watching movies he’s seen a dozen times, cuddles on a cold night. But most of all, he likes it when you walk around nude.
It might just be the one singular thing in the great mystery of life that is inexplicable to him, the one thing he enjoys so bloody much he daren’t speak of it, lest he risk losing it. Just the sight of your beautiful body keeps him up night after night after night when he’s working away, plotting and planning ways to ensure he never forgets it for the second he returns home. He can’t even begin to explain the things it does to him.
So, he set up a Stripped Sunday, with the basic premise that you both have to walk around in your birthday suits all day. It’s essentially his unique, perverse, inventive way of seeing you naked all day once a week. Not every Sunday, naturally, but just on occasion, when he’s not working, he’ll jot it down on the calendar. Nothing too glaring, in case someone catches a glimpse of his calendar, but just scribbling down a winky face in a Sunday space, and you know what you’re in for.
In all honesty, you love it just as much as he does. It’s hard not to. Seeing him walking around the house with not a scrap of clothing on all day does things to you you’ve never been able to put your finger on—or his. If you were to get pregnant, Stripped Sundays would be the culprit with the amount that the two of you shag in a single day. And he always seems to have another round in the bank to wake you the morning after, hungover on dripping lust.
However, it’s been far too long without one of these days, you think to yourself. And you know that there are no plans for the day, seeing as there’s nothing in the diary or the calendar, where—upon Tom’s own decree—all arrangements have to be written down. Seeing as you and Tom have a somewhat secret relationship, one certainly sheltered from the press, and no one knows you’re together, let alone live together, keeping all plans written down is imperative. His work meetings are always good reasons for you to get out of the house for a few hours.
Today, however, Tom seems to have made a mistake. Today’s meeting utterly slipped his mind, and he completely forgot to tell you, let alone jot it down, that he was having a casual meeting with a few co-stars to discuss future production of some sort—of what, he was entirely unsure, since this was texted about weeks ago, now. Nothing too major, though.
Logically, Tom thought that, with how late you were currently sleeping, and how much you enjoy your lie-ins, he’d be wrapped before you woke up, and even if that wasn’t to be the case and you wake up, that you’d have the sense to dress, or even call for him at the very least, before going downstairs.
You aren’t so lucky.
Waking up to an empty bed is never much fun. Usually if Tom wakes up before you, he’ll only slip out to put the kettle on, or fetch a new book to read from the library while he waits for you to stir naturally… that is if he isn’t waking you up in other, more pleasurable ways. At most, if he does have plans and doesn’t want to wake you after a late night, he’ll leave you a lovely note, a voicemail, and a thermal mug of tea.
Today, however, you can smell the coffee machine on—no wonder after the late, and rather energetic night you had—and hear the machine whirring, signalling that Tom likely hasn’t long been awake. That’s when the gears begin to turn and your plan begins to formulate, a completely devious idea that creeps into your mind and quirks your lips into a smirk. No matter how enticing the idea to nuzzle back into the pillows is, your need for Tom is overpowering your clawing need for sleep, especially with your primal instincts telling you he’s within grabbing distance, his aftershave still on the sheets you’re wrapped in. So, you strip his shirt, now perpetually appropriated by you, off and get out of bed, stretching as you go, beginning to make your way downstairs.
“What’s that?” Tom hears someone ask.
Not hearing your footsteps on the squeaky stairs over the whirring of the coffee machine and the layered discussions, including his own laughter, he simply replies, “Probably the dog.”
You, however, aren’t lucky enough to hear this brief conversation before your bare feet land on the cold hardwood floor, sending chills throughout you that don’t seem to even mildly combat the overwhelming heat building all throughout you. With just a few more steps, keeping your footing light and avoiding Bobby’s various chewies and toys littered all over the floor, you’re entering the kitchen in nought but your birthday suit. Utterly, completely in the buff.
“Morning baby,” you call out, yawning, your eyes fluttering shut, your jaw wide.
Except, instead of the warm embrace and slatherings of kisses that you expect to receive, or even a simple “Good morning, Princess,” you’re welcomed with a deadly silence, a stillness you can’t quite comprehend.
Your eyes fly open in shock, opening to see three people, mildly familiar faces, with mouths agape and eyes wide, sitting around the breakfast bar with mugs between their hands. Tom looks as stunned as you’ve ever seen him, over by the coffee machine, his hands trembling. With a fixed gaze of his baby blue eyes, so piercingly alarmed, he looks you up and down, his eyes blazing over your nude form, his kissable mouth practically watering at the mere sight of you.
That’s before it clicks with him, the dire situation, and alarm bells begin to blare inside his head, causing him to jump into action. Almost instantly, he’s pulling his shirt off his strong arms and muscular torso with lithe fingers, and is tugging it over your head, covering your naked torso.
You can already feel the blush on your cheeks, your skin burning from the bruised base of your throat to the pierced tips of your ears, the blood in your veins rushing around so violently that it drowns out any other comments or noise within the room, within the situation, but you’re brought back to reality when Tom’s strong, callused hands fall to your arms, clasping the flesh before he’s all but lifting you off the tiled floor and steering you back out of the room. It snicks shut behind you, but all you can focus on is the kiss he gives you, slanting his thin lips over yours so intoxicatingly that you’re able to forget your humongous disaster, if only for a second. There’s an emptiness the second he stops kissing you, and you’re able to hear the previously shut out gossip from inside.
“Sweetheart, what the hell was that?” he commands, his tone soft.
Despite the austere authority he so naturally demands in a room, he doesn’t sound angry whatsoever. If anything he’s just a little exposed, his private home life revealed to people when he wasn’t in the least bit prepared for once in his lifetime, with a definite undertone of irritation, mostly that he can’t have his way with you instantly. His blood is roaring, his stomach an explosion of swarms of butterflies, his core pulsating. He can’t tear his eyes away from you, even now you’re covered, your hardened nipples poking through the fabric.
“I— I saw the calendar was empty, I wanted to impress you, have a nice Sunday because it’s been so long,” you confess, shuffling your feet on the floor, unable to meet his blue gaze boring into you, “I’ve felt… distant from you recently, you’ve been working so much. I don’t know,” you shift anxiously, tugging on his shirt wrapped around you, “I love you, I didn’t wanna lose you. I thought you’d like it.”
“Baby,” he says, “I love you and this so so much. Of course I like it!”
You let out a feeble cry against his chest, his arms knotting around you and tugging you into his chest in one swift movement. His hugs, the way he holds you and cradles you, always make you feel better, no matter what your troubles may be.
You sniffle a little, “Really?”
Any trace of hardness in his face just dissipates and is replaced with sympathy, empathy, love.
“I truly wish I could take you right now, Darling, and if they weren’t here, I’d be fucking you on that breakfast bar and you know it.” He sighs deeply. “But, I didn’t put down a special Sunday for a reason, love.” Leaning down, he kisses away your wry tears, and then the tip of your nose. “You are so thoughtful. It’s all my fault though, I must’ve just forgotten to write this down.”
How can you be mad at him when he’s being so thoughtful and heartfelt, confessing his mistake even when it was your rash thinking that’s gotten you into this mess?
Once you calm your breathing down, though, you realise that you’re actually not particularly phased by this at all. You don’t mind this; it was the sheer shock that passed over Tom’s face, the flash of terror he must’ve felt with his work colleagues in the room with him that scared you so. You know well enough that it’ll be a huge knock—monumental, even—for him, if this gets out. Your worry for your treasured boyfriend takes power over any of your own misgivings.
“I’m really sorry, Tom.”
“Don’t be,” he says hastily, “can you please pop up and get dressed, though, darling? Just some shorts, I don’t want you to feel exposed.”
You let out a soft chuckle, nodding, stepping away from him to make your way upstairs. Before you’ve taken so much as a step, though, he tugs you back by the bottom of his shirt, and ravels you into a searing kiss, everything he wants to say passes from his lips to yours.
You return a couple of minutes later, dressed simply, comfortably, his shirt in your hands, you find him waiting for you, standing outside the door with his hands clasped at his front. He greets you with open arms, prompting you to take his hands as he leads you back into the kitchen, your eyes connecting in a secret agreement before stepping inside.
The air is rife with anxiety, three panicked faces staring back at you, but thankfully, you’re able to recognise these people as ones he’s worked with for a while, people he knows really well; confidantes and friends more than co-stars or colleagues. However, by the inquisitive glint in their eyes and their parted mouths, you imagine they’ll still have a lot of questions, and this’ll still be a hit for Tom.
He wraps his spare arm around you, his head bowed as he meets the dead faces staring at him. That’s when you begin to wonder if something else has happened.
“Baby, everything okay?” you ask, cupping his jaw, caressing your thumb over the scruff of a beard shadowing his bone structure.
That’s seemingly when it hits him, his face paling, blanching, his grip around you loosening.
“It’s a good job you never got over the threshold, darling,” he says breathlessly, “or I’d be in much more trouble.”
You look to him, eyes searching his face imploringly as he viciously gulps. “We were live on Instagram.”
“SHIT!”
Well, it looks like Tom’s girlfriend is public knowledge. You can’t mind, though not as he dips his head and kisses you hotly, heartily. With this passion, the second these people leave, Stripped Sunday might just happen after all.
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wiener-soldiers · 3 years
Text
so, you’re real - tommy shelby
summary: while high off his ass, tommy shelby is approached by a mysterious woman offering him something more valuable than drugs: information. your services become essential to how tommy conducts business, but your anonymity means he can’t help but fall in love with you from a distance.
words: 5.4k
pairing: tommy shelby x fem!reader (race non-specific)
warnings: tommy shelby. that’s the warning.
a/n: first tommy fic :D he’s one of the most beautifully complex characters ever in television imo but that also means his kinda nightmare to right. so,,, he might come off a little ooc because he’s very soft!tommy in this. i also wanna write a tommy fic based off ‘why’d you only call me when your high’ by arctic monkeys for obvious reasons.
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Tommy Shelby could count the number of people who’s seen him high as a kite on opium with three fingers. Arthur was the first; he drukenly stumbled into Tommy’s room instead of his own one night and the smell of the pipe sobered him enough to start asking questions. Tommy shoved him out and by the morning, Arthur was too hungover to remember a thing. The next was Polly; Tommy stumbled down the stairs as he was high around three in the morning once as he searched the house for more booze. Polly watched from a distance as he sat himself on the kitchen table and wept, squeezing his eyes shut and covering his ears with his hands. She chose not to mention it the following morning, but a perscription for morphine found its way to Tommy’s desk a few days later.
The third person... was you.
You didn’t know the Shelby’s personally. You were the assistant of a local Small Heath accountant that dealt with Birmingham’s most infamous clients: local coppers, factory owners, politicians, even gangsters. Your boss was known as the Devil’s Safe—nothing that came in went ot without the client’s consent.
But you weren’t a saint. Being so close to his office at all times and knowing far too much about where the most influential people in Birmingham got their money and where they spent it, it was nearly impossible to keep your mouth shut.
So, you didn’t. At a price, of course.
You quit your job and created a small network of spies that could feed you information about anyone or anything at anytime, using your knowledge about the Devil’s Safe as leverge. You charged whoever could afford for your services, coppers and criminals alike. Some self-righteous copper tried to shut you down once. Keyword: tried. There were too many spies all over the city to try to arrest (that is, if he could find grounds to arrest them), and you were too important to too many important people that arresting you would likely have him assasinated.
That, and you tipped him off about a corrupt police captain who had been trading orphans for cash. It got him a promotion and you a protective shield over your dealings from the coppers.
Tommy first met you at the races. You were hanging off the arm of Roberts, Billy Kimber’s advisor, and he briefly caught your eye before returning his gaze to Grace who stared at him lovingly. He didn’t know it then, but you were analyzing him. His posture, his facial expressions, how he spoke to Kimber, and most importantly, his books that Roberts happened to have a copy of. Nothing went unnoticed by you. The Shelby’s were starting to cause ruckus all over the city and you were interested. But, to maintain your facade, you snuck a few kisses to Roberts’ neck to distract him from your snooping.
When Tommy returned to the table with the bag of cash his brothers had collected from the Lees, you were gone.
---
The second time he sees you, he isn’t even sure if it’s you.
It’s late at night as he approaches The Garrison when he notices Polly standing with another figure in the alley. He slows his steps and silences his breathing, trying to catch the end of your conversation.
“You’re sure this is where she is?” That’s unmistakingly Polly’s voice.
A soft chuckle rips through the air and Tommy suddenly wonders what your voice sound like. “There’s only so many women carrying a newborn and looking that terrified of what may be behind her,” the other voice says. It’s not soft or angelic, Tommy notices. Nothing likes Grace’s. It’s deeper, smoother, and he can almost hear the smirk in her voice.
“How do I know you’re not lying to me?” Polly asks back skeptically. Tommy has the common sense to realize she’s talking about Ada who had gone into hiding after Freddie was arrested. Polly hadn’t been able to stay in the same room as him for very long since.
You pull out another envelope from your coat and teasingly dangle it in front of her. “Here’s the list of all of Ada and Freddie’s known addresses. The Communists have them move every few weeks; the address I gave you is Ada’s current address. Go there tomorrow from seven to nine in the morning. Ada’ll still be in bed and Karl will still be asleep. Then, you’ll know I’m right, you’ll give me the full payment, and I’ll give you the rest of the addresses.”
Tommy is slightly stunned at what he’s hearing. They had been trying to look for Ada for nearly two weeks to no avail, but this woman was able to find her that easily?
The woman turns to walk away before Polly can respond and in the street light, Tommy can make out the outline of your face. It was so brief that he couldn’t tell if you were actually there or if he imagined your face in the darkness.
Polly doesn’t notice him as she makes her way back inside the pub. The following afternoon, Polly is pounding on his office door saying she’s found where Ada had been hiding.
---
The third time he sees you, he’s sitting in the empty Garrison with a bullet wound in his shoulder, whiskey coursing through his veins, enough meloncholy and anger to swim in, and a broken heart.
Billy Kimber was dead. Campbell was gone. But, so was Grace.
It was a series of emotions he hadn’t felt in a long time: relief, then anger, then happiness, then frustration. Then the shovels started. Then, it all got too loud and he slipped his opium pipe into his coat pocket before going to The Garrison to drink his sorrows away. He had never taken the pipe out of his room before. In that state, he didn’t care.
He doesn’t really know how you got in; he had angrily yelled at everyone to leave the bar when the night was late enough for him to feel emotion and locked the door behind him. Maybe I didn’t lock the door right, he thinks. In reality, you had picked the lock.
“I could’ve told you she’d been working with him,” your voice calls behind him. He’s still hunched over his drink, the pipe lying next to a nearly empty bottle of whiskey. He didn’t need her to clarify who she was talking about.
“You could’ve, eh?” Tommy mumbles dangerously. He felt light, but his eyes and his heart felt heavy. He hated the feeling. Oh god, he hated it.
“Hmm,” you hum back, taking a seat next to him. You reach behind the bar and pull out a bottle of gin and poor yourself a drink. Tommy watches you do so. You don’t look like you pity him, in fact, you don’t even look at him. Instead, you focus your attention on the drink.
After taking a sip, you reach into your coat jacket and pull out an envelope, slidding it over to Tommy. You had clearly seen the opium pipe that still had smoke coming out of it, but you gently pushed it out of the way so the envelope rested in front of Tommy’s drink.
“What is this?” he asks, still too high to think straight.
“Consider it a resume,” you quip back, taking another sip of your drink as you study the collection of liquor and spirits on the back shelf of the bar.
“For what?”
“My services.”
“You a fuckin’ whore? You think that’s what I need right now, eh?”
“What I think you need right now, Mr. Shelby, is a sense of security. To be ahead of the enemy. I can give that to you,” you reply smoothly, barely flinching. Tommy notices your voice doesn’t falter even at his jab. He begins to sober up, finaling looking at you.
You had an air of mystery and intrigue. Your eyes looked all-knowing and the corner of your lip was quirked. A white blouse was tucked into a deep red skirt with your black wool jacket overtop of it all. If he was a different man, he surely would have taken you home.
“Why are you telling me this?” he finally asks.
You look back at him, the smirk on your lips growing. “Because I quite like your family. Polly is quite intelligent and Ada is a delight. I also know far too much about you, so it’d be a shame if someone paid be good money to tell them everything there is to know about you. But if you came to me first, there wouldn’t be much of an issue. The rate for ratting out one of my clients is ridiculously high.”
So, it had been you with Polly that night, he thinks. “You’d work for me?” he asks again, tone getting more serious. The last time a woman worked for him, it didn’t end particularly well.
You laugh and Tommy is momentarily stunned. It’s a beautiful laugh that appeared in an awful moment. “I don’t work for anyone, Mr. Shelby.”
And then you left. Tommy stares a the door for a few minutes after you’ve left, wondering if he had imagined your visit the whole time. When he turns back to his drink, the envelope you left behind is a sign that you had been real. He hesitantly opens it and his jaw unhinges at the contents inside: there were several documents, reports, and even pictures tying Grace Burgess and Inspector Campbell together. It seemed so plain and simple once it was laid out in front of him.
Under the flap of the envelope was an address as well as a rate of service. It was high, Tommy couldn’t deny it, but he also couldn’t deny how the pressure on his chest eased for a moment when he was with you. Even more so when you had left the address.
The next morning, a wad of cash from Shelby Company Limited shows up at one of your drop locations. It’s more than you asked for and quicker than you expected it to come. You smirk softly and get to work.
---
Tommy doesn’t see you again until he pays a visit to Sabini’s club a few years later as he works on his London expansion. He had been a client of yours for nearly two years now and he was continuosly impressed with your work. You literally had eyes everywhere; there wasn’t a place between Manchester and Brighton that you couldn’t get to. You had been the one feeding him inside information about Sabini’s operations in London, as well as how to get Alfie Solomon’s attention.
Despite all this work, he hasn’t seen you since you approached him when he was high in the empty pub. He gets all his information through courriers, telephone calls from messengers, and packages from drop locations all over the city. He asked a courrier once why he hasn’t seen you since.
“No one really sees her, sir. We just get orders in one way or another, we excecute them, and then money shows up. She doesn’t want anyone to tie her to her clients or the boots on the ground.”
“She’s clever.”
“She’s bloody brilliant, is what she is. She’s set up this system so bloody tight that no one really knows how it works except her. One lad up in Coventry tried to turn her in. Went missing a few days later.”
He doesn’t think about you often, but when he does, he’s reminded of that night in The Garrison; how mysterious and beautiful and dangerous you looked, how his chest seemed less tight with you around. Maybe he’s imagined it. Maybe it was the opium clouding his vision. So, he pushes those thoughts away because as far as he’s concerned, you’re an enigma.  Hell, he doesn’t even know your name and he’s been paying you big money and giving away too much of his plans.
But he sees you that night when he and his brothers storm Sabini’s club. You’re sitting on a fancy velvet lounging chair, tucked under the arm of what Tommy assumes is a wealthy banker or socialite. You don’t see him (not yet, at least) but Tommy sees you. All Tommy sees is you. The smoke that flows out of your nostrils as your lips curl at whatever attempt at humour then man with you made draws Tommy in. So does the cut of your deep blue, satin dress. He knows it then, that you’re real. That you’re not a figment of his imagination.
“This place is something else, innit?” Arthur remarks as they make their way deeper and deeper into the club. Tommy is still drawn to you as his brothers gawk at the permiscuous behaviour around them.
The party atmosphere doesn’t last long however, as the boys make a show out of trashing the place. Tommy makes sure to put on a performance, to play up the fear. When he shouts something along the lines of being on a holiday, he happens to catch your eye and the first thing he notices is the smirk playing on your lips. He’s first confused as to why but he understands: you had a large part of the London expansion and you also likely knew that Tommy was going to be there that night. You weren’t there with a man. You were there to see him. You were there to see his reckoning.
The image of you tattooed itself onto Tommy’s brain and the feeling he felt in his chest was something he craved to feel again.
---
The next morning, the brothers stumble into Ada’s home, uninvited. Their younger sister begrudgingly lets them in, still clad in her nightgown, and hastily tells them to keep their noise level down as Karl was still sleeping.
It doesn’t last very long.
“You shoulda seen their bloody faces, Ades!” John hollers, mouth full of biscuits and tea. Ada hisses at him for spewing food across the table.
“Didn’t know what was coming, the lot of them,” Arthur adds, already taking a sip from a flask. He was barely sober from the night before and it wasn’t even eight in the morning. “Fuckin’ Sabini, Ada. He won’t know what’s bloody comin’.”
“Sabini, eh?” Ada plays along, still slightly annoyed but now intriguied. “You didn’t happen to hit up his club last night, did you?”
“’Course we did!” John snickers. “What’d you think we’d do, start small?”
Ada’s facial expression suddenly changes into one of slightly more concern. Arthur and John don’t notice, but Tommy does. “I was hopin’ you would,” Ada plays it off but Tommy notices.
“Ada?” he asks, voice stern but eyes curious. His sister was intelligent, so much so that her mouth was as good at getting her out of trouble as it was getting her in it. Tommy was sure that there was more than what she let on.
“Tom?” Ada says back, not meeting his gaze and instead taking a bite out her toast and jam.
“Why’re you so hung up on Sabini’s club?” Tommy asks  directly, slowly getting tired of his sister’s semantics. He mommentarily understands how Polly feels when he keeps things from her.
Ada sighs, having also attracted attention from her two other brothers. She sets down her toast and looks directly at Tommy. “You saw her, didn’t you?”
“Saw who?” Arthur asks, booming voice too loud for the sudden change of tone in the room. Ada grimaces but still stares at Tommy.
Tommy knows exactly who she’s talking about. But he wonders how Ada does.
“I did,” he says simply.
“Who’re you talkin’ about?” John asks next, looking between his siblings. Arthur shrugs at him.
“Did you say anything to her?”
“No.”
“Good,” Ada says too quickly. Tommy narrows his eyes at her.
“For God’s sake!” Arthur says again, slamming his tea cup back down onto the table. “Who in the bloody hell are you talkin’ about?”
Ada rolls her eyes and continues eating and Tommy is left to stare at his brothers. He wants to answer. He wants to answer so badly. But he doens’t even know her name.
“I—” Tommy trails off. He’s rarely rendered speechless, but he is when it comes to you. Who were you? Why did Ada know you? Why can’t he get you out of his head? Why does he hope you’re standing there in the shadows every time he steps out on the street?
“You? You what, Tom?” John asks this time, equally as exasperated.
“He doesn’t know and it should stay that way,” Ada says simply. “She offers you a service, you pay her, end of transaction. Stay away from her Tommy, I mean it.”
“What service?” John asks again, still getting more questions than answers.
Tommy sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “After Grace, she offered me a service. Cash in exchange for information. Said she knew that I needed a sense of security.” She was right, Tommy thinks but doesn’t dare say.
“Information about what, exactly?” Arthur asks, voice dropping an octave as he leans forward.
“Everything. Anything and everything. She knows everything. I don’t have the slightest clue how,” Tommy answers honestly, his own disbelief being obvious for the first time.
“She can betray us...” John warns, skeptical especially after Grace.
“She won’t,” Ada says simply.
“How do you know?” John challenges.
“She won’t,” Ada reaffirms with a glint in her eye. John immediatley backs down. Ada doens’t trust easily, especially after Freddie.
Tommy believes her. You know too much, far too much. More than he or you had bargained for. You also gave too much. Tommy asked for one thing, you gave him what he wanted and more. Tommy wanted a brief description of the shipping business in Bristol, you gave him an itemized list. Tommy asked you to keep an eye out for any potential threats, you gave him incredibly precise weekly reports. He asked people what your service was like as if he didn’t already know himself: you were never this thorough. He knew you wouldn’t betray him because you would have done it already. The question is, why did Ada trust her?
“You know who she is, don’t you?” Tommy asks his sister once again, doing his best to intimidate her. It’s no use.
“I do,” Ada says simply.
“Even her name?”
John scoffs. “You don’t even know her bloody name and you’ve got that look like you’re in love? Jesus, Tom! You need a good fuckin’, I’m telling you.”
Ada ignores her brother’s comment. “Even her name.”
Tommy gestures for her to elaborate and Ada hesitantly continues, “Polly paid her to find me after Karl was born. She found me personally, not through a messenger. We got along quite well, she was very honest about what she’d been hired to do. She gave Polly that information she was looking for, but we kept in touch. Personally, I mean. I like her.”
“Tell me her name, Ada.”
Ada makes a face of fake appeasement. “Can’t do that, sorry Tom.”
Tommy’s jaw clenches. “Ada...” he warns.
Ada’s glare mathces his own. “Her identity is all she’s got Tommy. The minute a client knows who she is, it all falls apart. For the love of God, for your safety and hers, don’t find her.”
And hell, does Tommy want not to listen. He wants to find you again. To see you. To speak to you. To learn your name. To feel the weight in his chest lighten once more.
But you remained impossible to find. Even with his London expansion, he wasn’t any closer to finding out who you really were than the day you first spoke to him at The Garrison.
So, he tried to push his thoughts away. He didn’t get so lucky.
---
He was used to receiving messages from you on Sunday evenings before the week began and Thursday mornings before the week ended. Sometimes, they’d be in the form of a phone call from a messnger reading a message written by you. Other times, he would visit a drop site where he picked up parcels of information and evidence you had collected. Fridays were paydays, so he’d get a Blinder to drop a parcel of cash (though they never knew it was cash) at a drop site and wait for a courrier with a blue ribbon pinned under the lapel of their overcoat to retrieve it.
All your foot solidiers and clients wore the ribbons. You avoided paper trails so everything was with symbols. Ribbon colours were a discrete way for both the client and the courrier to tell who was who. Clients wore white ribbons, courriers wore blue ones, messengers wore green ones, and red ones were used for emergencies.
That’s why Tommy panicked when a man burst into his office late at night the day before he was set to take down Sabini, urgently lifting his lapel to show his red ribbon.
“What’s happened? Are we in danger?” Tommy asks immediatley, standing up from his chair.
“No, sir,” the foot soldier said. They were never allowed to say the names of clients, only sir and ma’am. “I have a message from her. It was urgent and couldn’t have waited until Thursday.”
The man gives him a sealed envelope before bowing and leaving as quickly as he came. Tommy checks to make sure that he is alone before ripping it open. It wasn’t a message, but a phone number and the word clairvoyant scribbled quickly with fancy ink.
Tommy furrows his eyebrows but picks up his phone and dials the operator. The other end picks up immediately. He hastily says the number he wants to be patched through to as well as the word scribbled below it. The operator says nothing else and he hears the phone ring again before a female voice finally picks up.
“Mr. Shelby, I was waiting for your call.”
It was you. Tommy’s heartbeat quickens. You continue to speak, oblivious to his shock, “I don’t make calls myself unless absolutely neccassary. You don’t need to worry about privacy; I have connections with the operating center that patched you through. They won’t say a word to anyone, telling them that you called and they won’t be listening.”
Truthfully, Tommy hadn’t even been thinking of that. He was still slightly shocked that he was hearing your voice, the same voice as nealry three years ago. The opium fucked with a lot of things, but not his sense perception. Your voice was as beautiful as he remembered it to be.
He forces the thoughts out of his head and finally speaks. “What’s happened? Is there an emergency?”
“You aren’t safe at the races tomorrow. There will be an attempt on your life.”
Tommy is not entirely surprised. “I’m sure you can put two and two together; what I plan to do at the races is practically a suicide mission, dear. Of course there’ll be an attempt on my life.”
You scoff at the other end of the line. “Mr. Shelby, I’ll rephrase: you may succeed in your plan tomorrow, but something will catch you off-guard. Something big.”
“What is it, then? If you’re so sure,” Tommy challenges, but is taken aback by the silence.
You sigh, defeated at the other end of the line. “Mr. Shelby, I’ll be honest. An Inspector Campbell approached me this morning, asking for my services to give him everything I knew about you plans tomorrow. I took his money.”
Tommy’s jaw clenches. “You called me to tell me you’re a fuckin’ conspirator against me now, eh?”
“I resent that. There’s a reason I ask you not to tell me anything about your business aside from what I need to know to do my job,” you snap back. “Campbell gave me money to tell him information I didn’t have. So, I took the money and told him lies. He didn’t pay enough money to turn me against one of clients anyway and I don’t negotiate.”
Tommy laughs in slight disbelief, “You clever bloody woman.”
You can’t help but grin at the other end of the line. “He let it slip that he had something planned, though. That you weren’t getting out of this alive. Thomas, I don’t know what and I don’t have enough time to find out, but you needed to know,” you say before soflty adding, “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t tell you.”
Tommy nods solemnly before saying, “That’s the first time you’ve called me Thomas.”
You laugh and Tommy’s heart clenches at the sound. “Is that what you choose to focus on?” you ask, amused despite your worry.
“I’m not afraid of death. Not anymore,” Tommy answers.
“It’s a shame. There seems to be a lot in your life that’s worth living for,” you reply, your voice softer that Tommy’s ever heard it.
“Will you do me one final favour? Take it as my dying wish.”
“Thomas—” you start before he cuts you off.
“Can you tell me your name?” he finally asks, but he’s met with silence. He clears his throat and adds, “Please?”
You sigh at the other end. This is not how you were supposed to conduct business. Anonymity was the only thing keeping you from being excecuted at the hands of the Crown or a crime-boss. But here the feared Thomas Shelby was, asking as his dying wish to know your name. You don’t know him aside from your brief interactions and stories from Ada. But strangely, you trust him with the key keeping your identity safe.
“Y/N. My name’s Y/N.”
---
The following evening, Tommy trudges home covered in mud and blood. His encounter with the face of death was anticipated, but still left him scarred. Despite his success against the races and against Sabini, he felt trapped. With a success in the business, he still finds himself indebted to Winston Churchill. He’s exhaused of this cycle and in the moment, he embraced his fate just a little.
As he pushed the door to his home open, his eyes are immediately drawn to crackling fire. He hadn’t expected anyone to be home, as the family was staying in London with Ada to celebrate their successes.
So the sight of you, sitting on his couch and staring into the fire shocked the life back through him.
He takes of his hat and stares at you in slight disbelief. “So, you’re real.”
You turn to face him and the tension previously present in your features fell and the corner of your lip quirked upwards. “You’re alive,” you state the obvious.
“The Devil’s tried too many time to kill me, I’m starting to wonder if God does exist,” he says plainly, taking off his coat and taking a seat on the other end of the couch from you.
A small laugh escapes you. “He has jokes, does he?”
Tommy smiles softly but shakes his head and stares at you. “You’re really real. I was starting to think I was imagin’ ya.”
“Ada says you’ve been asking about me.”
“I have. She wouldn’t tell me your name, though.”
“You got it anyway.”
“Who’s to deny a man his dying wish?” Tommy darkly jokes again.
“I can’t go back to operating how things were. Even you knowing my name is too much,” you say softly, turning back to the fire. You were slightly frustrated with yourself. Years and years of building a network built around your anonymity destroyed by one man. Deep down, you felt that it was time.
“I wouldn’t tell anyone,” Tommy says simply.
“But you’d want to be in my life,” you say back, still not looking away from the fire. “I’m a woman, but I’m not stupid. I know why you tried to look for me.”
Tommy sits back and watches her. A woman’s never been more direct with him before. Even Grace, who had just asked him to lay with her one final time before moving back to America at the races, had never laid out what she saw so simply and bluntly before. She was right. Tommy wouldn’t tell anyone your name if you asked him to, but he would still want to see you. The only thing more painful than not knowing who you were was knowing and still not being able to see you.
“You could start again,” Tommy says. He barely recongizes the softness in his own tone, but he decides the change is good. “You could work for me, have your men join the Blinders if they wanted.”
“I don’t work for anyone, Mr. Shelby,” you say again cheekily, reminding him of the first time the two of you spoke. You turn to face him and stop to admire his beauty—how the fire cast beautiful shadows across his face, how the moonlight sparkled in his eyes.
“That you don’t,” Tommy hums in agreement, still looking at you. His gaze hadn’t left you since he came home.
It’s silent for a few moments before Tommy says, “Stay.”
“With you?” you ask in slight surprise.
“With me, in Small Heath, with the company—whatever you want. Just stay.”
“You barely know me.”
“Then let me get to know you, Y/N,” Tommy answers, finally saying your name for the first time. He loves the way it spills off his tongue and you equally adore the sound of his voice when he says it.
You nod softly, agreeing with his hearfealt proposition. The two of you spent the rest of the night staring into the fire, allowing your heartbeats and breaths come into sync as you slowly fell asleep.
---
It’s been five years since you had started working for Shelby Company Limited as Tommy’s senior advisor and security specialist, four years since your network of spies had merged with the Peaky Blinders, three years since you and Tommy got married, two years since you gave birth to a set of twins named Benjamin and Mae Shelby, and one year since you had also become a political advisor to your husband and his allies in Parliament.
With your years together, the Shelby family found you to be an intriguing, fascinating, and intimidatingly wonderful woman. They couldn’t comprehend how right you seemed with Tommy. They also couldn’t comprehend how involved you were in their success without them even knowing who you were. However, they love to poke fun at Tommy for basically falling in love with from two interactions.
You were currently at the Arrow House doing the final touch-ups to your makeup for the gala you were hosting in your home. It was a typical charity ball that made sleezy politicians look good in the eyes of their constituants, but you had pressured Tommy to allow you to host it on behalf of the Shelby Family Institute. He had been skeptical, but relented when you reminded him that it wasn’t about giving them a platform to look good, but using their ego to benefit the institute.
“I’ve put the children to bed,” Polly announces as she walks into the master bedroom. The room is obscenely large with a king sized bed in the middle, but Polly can’t help but feel pride every time she visits. It was the both of your hardwork that you got you here and she was proud. “Ben passed out almost immediatley, but you’re right about Mae. She’s a trouble maker.” 
You give Polly a smile through the mirror of the vanity you sat in front of, “Thank you, Pol. Really.”
“Where’s that bastard husband of yours?” Polly jokes as she stands behind you, inspecting her pearls in the mirror.
“His study, no doubt,” you joke with a slight smirk.
“The faith the two of you have in my is astounding,” Tommy says sarcastically, immerging through the en-suite dressed in his tuxedo.
Polly rolls her eyes and leaves the room, leaving the couple to stare at each other.
“You clean up well, Mr. Shelby,” you state, smiling as he approaches you. “Though I’m not sure if that’s because of you or your OBE.”
“Sometimes, I wonder if I should have continued loving you at a distance,” he comments humourously.
You laugh—a real laugh—and wrap your hands around his neck while his arms immediately find themselves around your waist.
“How’re you feeling, darling?” Tommy asks, referring to the mental and emotional preparation for the event that was about to start downstairs.
“I’m not the biggest fan of a lot of your colleagues, Tom,” you say honestly. “Their wives however...they give me thousands of pounds worth of information every sentence.”
“You never cease to amaze me with that mind of yours,” he tells you honestly.
“And you never cease to amaze me with how verbally affectionate you can be,” you quip back lightheartedly before Tommy softly kisses your lips.
“How ‘bout this?” he says once you pull away. “I take care of getting donations, you take care of getting more leverage on the labour bill I’m looking to pass.”
“Done,” you say with a smile before Tommy kisses you again. You begin to hear cars pull into the driveway when you try to pull away, but he keeps you close.
“Tom,” you giggle, breathless. “Tom, the guests are arriving.”
“I’ve waited for you for years, they can wait for you a little while longer,” he replies with a smirk before kissing you deeply once again.
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cherryblossomtease · 3 years
Text
Chapter 15
18+ only
warnings and summary - Masterlist
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Because sometimes all you need is a simple reminder of who started this mess in the first damn place 💜
Warnings : as always 18+ only please- dom Zemo, sub Bucky, sub reader, punishment, m/m, m/m/f, light bondage
Authors Notes: Really didn't think I would be posting this weekend but it's a holiday in the states so why not! Still working on the rest by you know, neglecting everything that matters to create this fictional world. Anyhow, I can honestly say this is by far the most graphic story I've written so I'm a little nervous but it's already done, can't change it now, and I honestly don't want to! That said I hope you enjoy reading as much as I did writing!
~
Nothing lasts forever, especially when it’s this good. And this fabricated reality is about as good as it gets. Still, you know this boat will dock soon and goodbyes will be said. There’s really no way around it, try as you might to come up with a plan to talk Bucky into staying. Even now as you fight to stay asleep, your brain is working hard to create a solution while you refuse to give into your worries so early in the day.
You turn onto your stomach ignoring the dark thoughts, choosing instead to enjoy the feel of a strong arm across your back and a leg, hairy and heavy over both of yours.
Settling again with a content sigh, sleep starts to pull you back under. Thank the stars. You really aren’t in the mood— even if your dreams apparently are.
And what had you been dreaming about anyway?
A little house on a wide cliff overlooking water, and something else? The harder you try to remember the more you feel yourself slipping back into that dream space.
There was a small animal. What was it? A rabbit? Its fluffy body too close to the edge of the cliff. But in the dream you’d stayed standing in the doorway of the little house too indifferent to go and save it….
You feel bodies moving lazily, a stream of breath along your back that tickles; arms and legs and the men they belong to not fully awake and starting to stir like you, even as you quickly slip back into sleep until you’re standing in the doorway of that house again with the warm winds on your face and a view of the French sea below. The drop is dangerous. Deadly even.
Why haven’t you started talking Bucky into staying yet? Because you don’t like thinking about it too much. That's why. You start walking towards the edge of the cliff and you’re fully aware of your worlds crossing over —real thoughts present in your dream.
It’s probably bad luck to resent good deeds, after all that’s what he’s leaving you for. He wants to go off and live the life of the hero he never got to be. That and to keep Zemo’s location safe; but that’s besides the point. Hmm… Look at me, selfish even in my dreams. You smile when you shouldn’t.
Staring over the edge of the cliff it’s suddenly clear how unstable the ground is here and you gasp as it crumbles beneath your feet without warning.
Your eyes open with a start.
Well, that was a bit on the nose. Your subconscious does like to lay it on a thick sometimes, especially when you continue to ignore the things bothering you for too long and you've been setting these feelings aside since the text came through.
But just as quickly as you’re left to shake the shadow of the eerie dream, your frown fades replaced by a slow smile.
There is a very familiar poking at your ass that can sometimes be annoying-- this morning it’s welcome. You reach back and feel for the body that the greeting belongs too, comforted by the warmth and solid muscle of Bucky’s thigh under his tight boxers.
Mmmmm, the source of my distress and my desire, you think and grin into the pillows with a soft moan when his hand, hot and strong takes hold of your hip, massaging as he presses his erection into you.
You’ll talk to him about your dreams later.
Feeling a draft where there should be warmth, you open an eye to find breaks of sunlight in the space between Helmut’s arm and torso. When you turn your head you’re met with the sight of his bare chest, broad and covered in the softest dark hair. His necklace hangs off center, and you, as always, are helpless to it.
Your hand leaves Bucky’s thigh and your fingers slide over the delicate links in the chain and down into the soft chest hair as you turn your head to find he and Bucky locked in one hell of a kiss for so early in the day. It must have been their movement or the sound of their lips that woke you and pulled you from the doom of your fatal fall.
Dreams are so strange…
Your heart flutters when Helmut lays his hand over yours pressing it tight to his chest. “Good morning love birds.” You snicker and watch Bucky pull away from Zemo looking a little embarrassed. He does pause to kiss your cheek however before getting out of bed with a long stretch.
“So where the hell are we anyway?” He asks going to the balcony door, looking out at the passing waves. “Feels like nowhere.”
Zemo is looking down at you, stroking your profile, kissing your nose. “We should be well within the middle of it actually.” He answers, eyes still fixed on you.
“Perfect” You say softly letting him pull you so close that he blocks out the light as your lips meet.
“Breakfast is ready sir,” Oeznik calls from outside the bedroom door.
Zemo grumbles at the interruption but you’re starving. “What? I’m not going anywhere” You huff turning away, trying to escape. “You just said so yourself. I've got no place to go.”
“All by design” He smiles and lets you get up, giving your ass a smack as you go. Bucky is watching from the doorway and laughs at your yelp-hop-rub combination.
Swearing under your breath you go over to the closet, grab your silk robe and pull it on over your shorts and tank top, yawning as you drag your feet over to Bucky. You pat his stomach, kissing him quickly. “Hungry?”
“Famished.”
“Lets go up.” You say tugging at him as Zemo gets up and puts on his own robe across the room. It’s not the thick one you liked from before the raft, but silk like yours— Tom Ford if memory serves— god his influence is strong. How the hell do you remember this stuff?
You watch him scratch at the back of his messy nest of hair like he always does in the mornings, somehow looking both sexy and adorable, alternating between the two with the ease of flicking a light switch. You can only smile at the enigma that is Helmut Zemo and pull Bucky away from the doors.
The three of you leave the room shuffling along, making your way down the hall to the den. Zemo trails you and Bucky accepting a small espresso from Oeznik as he watches the way you and your Sergeant interact. Neither you nor Bucky are necessarily morning people and though it’s nearly ten, you’re both somewhat irritable now that you’re actually moving around and slightly hungover from yesterdays sangrias as you make your way up to the top deck where breakfast will be served.
The sun is so bright you huff about not being able to find your sunglasses and Bucky accuses you of being a diva. The only appropriate reaction is to give him a shove.
Zemo snorts a laugh at your near sibling like banter which you’d established after so many months together, but once you find your glasses on the bar counter and get a fresh cup of coffee and a bloody Mary chaser in your body you’re feeling like a new woman ready to conquer the day… a day spent doing nothing really.
It’s all so casually decadent that it’s nearly sinful. Whats the one? The sin that doesn’t sound as good as lust but feels better after all that fornicating you’ve been doing— Sloth? Yes, you think reaching for what’s left of your blood Mary from the lounge chair, the ultimate of all the sins. Thou shalt not be a lazy ass sloth all day on your yacht.
Cheers.
You read on the deck for a while, play a few rounds of shuffle board with Bucky by the pool and attempt to best Zemo at chess in the den.
Lunch is wonderful, and you think you will need to meet this mystery chef at some point before the trip is over followed by a nap on the bedroom balcony.
When you wake up in the very late afternoon you venture down the hall with your book and unexpectedly find the men in your life moaning on the floor of the den in a tangle of beautifully tanned arms and legs. So you very quietly slip past, feeling a flush rise up your neck to your cheeks highlighting your wide but tight lipped smile.
You stay above decks giving them privacy feeling only the slightest twinge of jealousy. Not because you think you’ve been excluded but because you could use another session like last night.
A shiver runs deep in your belly thinking of the way Helmut brought you to climax, but you’re still more than happy to give them time alone. After all, you’ve had the Baron to yourself for far longer than Bucky.
You sink down onto the upper deck sofa, the image of them entwined, the sounds of their heavy breathing and Bucky’s near innocent moans enough to make you consider touching yourself but you wait, letting the urge build, one of them if not both will take care of you later.
So when Bucky comes up and finds you with a funny look on his face you’re completely confused. “Whats wrong?” You ask putting your book down.
He’s poured a drink and sits down beside you on the couch.
“I don’t know if I can do it.” He says shaking his head tossing back the bourbon.
“Do what?” You have an idea but you thought for sure he’d be eager to try, at least it looked like they were well on their way to his first time.
“Letting him control me, I’ve never had someone tell me no. Not like this.”
“Oh” You smile. It’s the no sex. The lack of it is a cruel form of control but the end results are glorious, if he could just be patient enough. “He won’t let you come?” You ask a little more patronizing than you’d intended.
“No!” Bucky whines taking his cue from you and you stifle your laughter. He’s so cute, even in the throws of his sexual agony. “And it’s making me crazy. I mean I’m already crazy but this is different.” He looks around and leans closer to you. “If you were to so much as look at my cock right now, I’d be done.” He says under his breath.
You let go and laugh rolling your eyes. Dramatics seem to come as naturally as submission to him. “That’s against the rules.” You warn eyeing him sidelong and attempting to go back to your book.
“I can’t take it. Fuck the rules.” He says again pulling the paperback from your hand.
You wave your finger in his face. “James. You’re not allowed.” You say playfully.
“Please.” He begs running his finger down your cheek, brushing your neck and gliding along your clavicle where he knows you’re sensitive.
“I can’t!” You lean away a little surprised by his attempt.
“He won’t know!”
You shake your head “I know but…” You try not to smile.
“I can’t take it.” He insists leaning in to kiss you. “I promise; it won’t take long.”
You give in and laugh sensing his desperation as you kiss. He does feel tense. The muscles of his arm and shoulder are wound tight as a chord. You smile against his lips letting him ease you down onto the couch, your book dropping to the floor as he moans, sliding his hand down your thigh, pushing your knee up and his own hips forward letting you feel what you’re fairly certain is the most rock solid hard on you’ve ever had pressed to your body. You whisper his name as his lips find their way to your neck and his hand slides between you to free himself from those amazing shorts.
“Shame, I had every intention of making your patience worth the effort. But you do love to prolong your torment, don’t you soldat.”
You gasp and Bucky hangs his head as Zemo comes sauntering over. Your laughter is a mix of nerves and feeling like you’ve been caught sneaking around with a boy like a damn teenager. It’s been years since you’ve felt a rush like this. Leave it to the Baron to stir that old excitement again.
“Don’t move” Zemo orders, pointing a finger in your face. You freeze, legs open where Bucky was, your arms tight at your sides. “Sit” He growls at Bucky who obeys begrudgingly as he slides back onto the couch.
Very quickly Zemo shoves your legs closed and grabs you by the arm pulling you up to standing. You lean away as he shakes his head keeping you close, his hold so tight you wince “I thought you knew better by now” He scolds you sounding disappointed.
“I told him not too?” You try looking as innocent as possible. You truly had no intentions of fucking him, but maybe a quick hand job?
There is a flicker of excitement in Zemo’s eyes. It's been so long since you’ve given him a reason to really go for it and you hold in your smile because you’re meant to be sad and hang your head. “I’m sorry Baron.”
He ignores your attempts to apologize and pulls you over so that you’re standing in front of Bucky. He looks you both over for a moment thinking and then smiles. You don’t know if you love or hate to see him looking so pleased. Nothing “good” ever comes of that smile.
“Look James.” He says, waiting until Bucky raises his head. “I want you to see what listening to your eager cock and not my rules get gets you— and her.” He tells Bucky before giving you his undivided attention.
Zemo turns your back to Bucky and you feel his hand between your shoulder blades pushing just a little. You bend at the waist, not all the way, just enough to make sure Bucky knows where his attention should be.
This flouncy little designer sun dress you’ve changed into after your nap only helps direct his gaze as Zemo drags the fabric up slowly so that the reveal of your ass is yet another way to torment him all on its own and you give yourself over to the Baron and wonder how bad this will be.
“Pull them down.” He tells you, his hand smoothing over your simple lace panties. His voice is not so angry as it was when he found the two of you, but every bit as firm, and you glance up at him as you hook your thumbs into the waist band. He nods and you quickly obey, pulling your underwear over the curve of your hips and ass and swear you hear Bucky groan when you bend to pull them from your ankles letting him see the diamond shape of your pussy from behind for just a second, your smile hidden from view.
When you stand again, Zemo offers his forearm. You rest your stomach against him, your hand gripping his shirt, the other you will have to try very hard not to cover your backside with because you know that the breeze will be the last nice thing that you feel.
He tosses your dress back up holding you, adjusting the way he stands just a little so that you are safe but immobile.
“Count them off; to five.” He says leaning just a bit closer. The tone in his voice is confident. Zemo knows that you’re well aware of what this means.
“Yes Baron.” You say exhaling, trying to prepare, but five? Fuck. He does not intend on holding back. If he was being playful he would give you ten or more, but five? He knows you won’t be able to take more that that.
You dig your fingers into his forearm and hold your breath.
The first strike makes you cry out.
The way Zemo can raise his hand and bring it down on your ass is unrivaled. He doesn’t mess around. There is no teasing, no playing, no cute little taps to warm you up. Just instant punishment.
“One.”
Your voice shakes and the rousing heat of adrenaline spreads through your arms and legs.
Again he lifts his hand and brings it down quickly with a stinging force that sends shock waves through your body. Your cry is weaker this time, trailing longer.
“Two.”
You pull his shirt tighter into your fist, your cheeks are on fire already when you feel the air stir as his hand rises again. You wonder if Bucky is watching, you wonder if he see’s how your thighs flex and your flesh shakes when the Baron strikes you.
You close your eyes and draw in your bottom lip trying not to moan, but you arch your back and your hips begin to circle ever so slightly with the anticipation of the next smack. You’re practically whimpering as you offer up your backside for more.
Zemo can feel the light vibration of pleasure sounding in your chest and his laughter is a low, very amused rumble as he raises his hand just a little higher this time.
The next smack lands and you toss your head back with a gasp. You would have gone to your knees if he wasn’t strong enough to hold you up. “Three” You whisper but you don’t move. The air brushes your pussy, wet in spite of your reddening skin.
“Don’t look away.” Zemo says.
There is the answer to your previous question. Bucky likes it, but it’s not always easy for him to watch.
“James!” Zemo snaps and waits. Bucky must be looking again because you feel the Baron move.
The fourth strike comes and you steady yourself knowing you can take it, wanting it, loving it as much as your feel your legs shaking. “Four”
You’re breathing hard, as you anticipate the final blow, desperate for it to be over but sorry for it to end. You rest against him for just a second feeling both safe in his hold and powerless to his dominance.
When the last of your punishment lands you hang your head, rounding your spine unable to offer yourself anymore. You can not pretend and this is why he’s given you so few.
Letting your hips drop as your body shudders and a single tear falls, you whisper, “Five” And only Helmut hears you say it.
Very gently he pulls your dress down, the soft cotton is cool over your burning skin and he turns you around to face him.
He brushes the tear from your cheek, holding you in such a way that you can go limp in his arms. “It wasn’t that bad, you’re just out of practice.” He says smiling at you knowing it wasn’t kind either.
You’d love for him to know just once. Maybe let Bucky give him a slap across the ass to make it fair. But when you look at him the thought is all wrong if not hilarious and you just shrug a little and hang your head again, resting on his chest.
“No breaking rules.” He scolds affectionately, “Even if you’re only trying to help. Understood?”
“Yes Baron.” Your voice is very small.
He gives a nod, kisses your forehead and looks over his shoulder at James. “So, is this what you wanted?”
“No.”
“No… no I don’t think it is.” He agrees. “But I understand. She’s damn near impossible to resist still you must learn to control yourself. Apparently I’ve not made that clear. Perhaps a more direct approach.”
You both look at him wide eyed. What’s more direct than this you think not even close to recovered from your spanking.
“Both of you, go down to our bedroom.” He says as though nothing has ever been more obvious “Take off your clothes. Wait for me on the bed.”
You look at Bucky. He looks at you.
“You fucked up,” You mouth to him.
Bucky just gets up and pushes past you both.
*
“I suppose you could say I’ve had to get creative with my plans for you. I know that pain is something you can’t respond to in ways that she can.” Zemo says, smiling as he glances down at Bucky and then over his shoulder at you on your knees behind him. “Have you finished?”
You look up from what you’re doing, hoping it’s right. “Yes, I think so?”
He comes around to look at the rope binding Bucky’s wrists. It’s just for show to heighten the experience. Of course Bucky could break free if he wanted to— his strength is no match for a few rough fibers— but this is a training of the mind as well as the body. “You see, pleasure can be just as awful.” Zemo says, his voice making you shiver as he checks your work, tugging and tightening the rope a little more.
Leaning in close, he strokes Bucky’s jaw, his finger reaching to trace the spine of his ear and you smile when the hairs on Bucky’s right arm raise and Zemo loses the air of control for a second simply becoming the man who cares for the other deeply. “The irony of tying you to a chair to satisfy you is not lost on me, based on what I know of your past. But if you can endure it, I promise it will be nothing like the pain you’ve known. I could never hurt you in that way. Still, if at any time this is too much, if it triggers memories that change it from what it’s meant to be, please— James— say the word, your word and it stops.”
Bucky nods. “I will” He says softly.
“Nothing now?” Zemo asks genuinely wanting to know. Bucky shakes his head. “No, nothing.”
Zemo gives a confident nod and kisses the back of Bucky’s head patting his cheek a little harder than he needs too. “I only want to make you feel good— eventually.” He teases and Bucky rolls his eyes with a small laugh.
Pleased, Zemo pushes up and goes to sit in the soft chair across the room, notably more comfortable than the one Bucky has been placed in. Although the more obvious differences being, Zemo is not bound, Zemo is not naked, and Zemo has not been so gently stroked and toyed with that he’s been left with a perfectly vulnerable erection like Bucky has.
You’d had a hard time focusing on the ropes as the Baron made it happen. The way he’d taken Bucky in hand, winding down the length of his sex was in a word, mesmerizing. And when Bucky made that sound, that soft, pleading sound and Zemo stopped — his brow raised with such smug confidence— you wondered who would break first, you or Bucky. He’d quickly brought his hand up with one last tease, his fingers swirling around the curving head of Bucky’s member only to let go as though he’d lost interest.
Bucky’s groan was deep. He was beyond frustrated, but instead of breaking out of his restrains and fucking one of the two of you, he sat there just waiting to be punished for breaking rules in the first place.
He watches as you come and kneel before him, naked yourself as you’ve been told to be. He actually looks slightly scared but mostly curious. His erection is as always flawlessly pretty, arching up and back, smooth while perfectly veined and so inciting.
You only know what it is you’re meant to do to him because you’ve had it done to you before. You figure it’s very similar, only the mechanics are different because his is a man. If Zemo doesn’t approve, he’ll tell you.
The Baron in charge picks up his drink, the ice rattling as he takes a sip and lets the scene settle in his sights for a moment. He likes to see the two of you together, his two helpless things— his to play with and his to love.
“Begin.”
Bucky inhales, but you smile at him to show that it won’t hurt— it’ll just drive him mad.
First you take the little bottle of body oil from the floor and put some in your hands rubbing them together.
He raises his brow watching you and starts to relax thinking he might understand now. You take him in hand and start to stroke, you are after all very good at this. Over and over again, up and down his long, thick shaft, curving your hand over the head of his cock until he moans and rolls his eyes shut. When he opens them he does seem a bit confused by this sudden attention and he flashes a smile because it feels so good. If this is all that’s been planned, he could get used to this sort of punishment.
The room is quiet, there’s nothing but the soft hum of the ship, his breathing and the wonderfully obscene sound of the oil you’re using against his skin as you work faster…
It’s not long before you feel him stiffen and his breath grows quicker, his thighs flex, his hips raise an inch and he starts to moan softly, a staccato sound of pleasure that makes even your heart beat faster. He’s been waiting and suffering through so much you can feel the joy of release seeping into every inch of his body.
“You feel it happening?” Zemo asks softly. “The start, the pressure mounting? You see, she is very good. And she will get you there James, every time— right to the edge”
You yank your hand away and he jerks forward mouth open cock twitching with the start of an orgasm he will not have.
“To the edge” Zemo chuckles. “A cruel punishment for a greedy man who must learn to wait.”
Bucky quickly lifts his head, the realization flashing in his eyes as his chest rises and falls. He looks down at you.
You smile and reach for him again.
*
“Please” He begs breathless.
“Not yet” Zemo says leaning forward a bit in his seat, the drink in his hand all but forgotten. You notice the ice has long since melted as you wait for permission, watching over your shoulder.
He gives you a nod and you turn back to Bucky.
Wrapping your hand around him again, you feel him so solid he’s like stone. His thighs are flexed, his hips raise up in the chair as you begin to jerk your hand up and down and the light reflecting off the oil makes you both shine like gold.
He moans and you watch the muscles of his abs flex as he feels the orgasm coming on, helpless to it and your skilled hand.
“I’m going to come.” He groans sounding sorry for and drops his hips.
“No, you won’t. I did not say that you can” Zemo says like the villain behind you.
“I can’t it hold back” Bucky pants, his voice is thin he sounds like he very well might lose control and you feel him pulse in your palm. You twist your hand around sliding it down to the base thinking it might help hold him off if your focus is less near the collection of nerve endings.
Zemo stands and comes to you, tapping your shoulder. You let him go with a quick up and down and Bucky’s disappointment is the saddest thing you’ve ever heard.
When Zemo looks down at the wonderfully pitiful sight, Bucky shuts his eyes. “Yellow.” He whispers. “Please, yellow.”
“All right.” Zemo says kindly and gives his head a rub. “Rest”
“Thank you.” Bucky manages.
You stand not caring what Zemo says and kiss Bucky’s cheek.
“You okay?” You ask, your hand on his shoulder, lifting his chin to look at his face.
“Please… don’t, don’t touch me for a minute?” He asks and you give an embarrassed laugh understanding his request. You’re not exactly innocent in his torment.
“Of course I’m sorry I…” Your sentence is cut off.
Zemo has you by the back of your arms and pulls you tight against him. “You, not her.”
Bucky sighs dropping his head.
“I’m still confused. Is, this what you wanted?” He asks feigning ignorance though with you naked its clear what Zemo means.
Bucky won’t look.
“Answer me.”
“No, I mean— yes Baron.” He concedes.
You feel Zemo’s laugh along your neck. “You wouldn’t have been fast enough to finish before I found you. Well, maybe you, but not her. Tell me, how quickly can you make her come?”
“What?”
“How quickly?”
You shut your eyes as soon as you realize where this is going.
“I don’t know. I mean she always got there.” Bucky says sounding slightly self conscious.
Zemo smiles. “Two minutes. I can finish her off in just two.”
“Ha!” Bucky doesn’t believe him, who would.
Oh Bucky…
“Tell him it’s true.” Zemo leans towards you.
You nod glancing at them both. “He does this… thing.” You tell Bucky. “He works my spot and my clit at the same time and I come. Fast.” You say simply and totally helpless to it.
“It’s not always the most fun, rarely my first choice; but great when we’re in a hurry.” He shrugs and takes a knee before you even realize that he has. “Open your legs.” He says looking up at you.
Your eyes go wide, surprised to see him down and waiting with Bucky watching. Still, you part your thighs and wisely lay your hands on his shoulders knowing you won’t be able to stay upright without the support.
“This? Right James? This warm, tight, safe place? This is what you wanted?” Zemo asks, teasing Bucky with the way he slides his fingers between your velvet soft folds. You feel him turn his hand and his finger circles your entrance. He sighs and takes hold of your hip to keep you in place.
Two fingers slip inside and you hiss against the stretch, biting your lip as your head lolls to the side. You try to hold in the loudest of your noise but it’s hopeless.
The Baron starts to do his thing and you wonder if you might be able to deny him the pleasure of making you come in front of Bucky again, but just like always you end up gripping his shoulders to keep from falling as he does a perfect come hither with his two fingers as his thumb rubs with the perfect amount of pressure on your throbbing clitoris. He can’t resist and licks your peak for good measure until you hold your breath as he sucks sloppily and until you come on his hand and just as quickly as always. Your wild moaning is nearly feral but you could not care less. It makes you smile to hear him laugh softly so pleased with himself and you and your eyes shut as you pant, catching your breath.
Lowering your head, your eyes only half open, you both look over at Bucky who is glaring at the Baron.
“James.”
“Yes.”
“Stop breaking the rules.”
“Yes Baron.” He says giving in completely.
Zemo smiles and slowly pulls his fingers free from you, raising his hand just enough to show them so wet and sticky and glistening. He kisses your belly and looks up at you. “Go lie down.” He says rubbing your stomach, smoothing his hand over your soft tuft of hair. You’re still floating as you do, happy to go and rest and leave them to it.
“Would you like to come now?” You hear Zemo ask Bucky as he gets up and goes around the chair.
“Please.” Bucky whispers watching you sink down onto the bed on your side.
“I can finish you off just as quickly as I did her.”
“Yes. Please.” He begs through clenched teeth rising up again as if presenting himself to be relieved, the steady rush of blood to his lower half turning his cock a darker shade of desperate as it rises up like a tower ready to fall. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.” He pants “I’m sorry I tried to fuck her. I’m sorry for breaking your rules. And I will do anything, please just… fuck. Please!”
Helmut leans down hushing him, pressing his face close to Bucky’s, grabbing him around the chest as his left hand comes reaching over his stomach promising an end to the day’s long torment.
He grips the soldiers gorgeous, endlessly taunted dick; your natural lubricant replacing the oil to help glide his fingers along.
When Zemo starts to work Bucky you can see through the look on his face that this is all he’s wanted to do for so long and you are reminded that this is as much the Baron’s discipline as it is yours— as it is Bucky’s.
Bucky makes a deep sound that gets your attention. His body flexes and you think he looks like a bomb ready to blow. A sexy, finely muscled, lightly tanned bomb with a look of pained excitement as his legs open and his jaw flexes.
“Are you mine James?” Zemo asks, his lips brushing his ear,
“Yes” He says pitifully raising his hips, thrusting once into the Baron’s hand just as Zemo lets go. A deep frown fixes between Bucky’s brows as he waits until Zemo grabs again and starts to perfectly stroke him.
Bucky’s mouth opens, his eyes fix on the incredibly hypnotic rhythm of Zemo’s hand.
“You’ve always been mine haven’t you?”
“Yes!” Bucky nearly shouts, his brows turned down with the exquisite anguish of the nearing release.
“Say it again,” Zemo demands, his right arm tight around Bucky, his eyes shut relishing in the control and the love, you listen to the wet rhythm as it gets faster.
“Yes.”
“Say it!”
“I’ve always been yours” Bucky moans loudly and glances over at you unable to keep your hand away from your pussy selfishly wanting to come again.
“Once more.” Helmut says opening his eyes. The muscle of his arm is flexed beautifully as he pounds.
Bucky moans so similarly to you that Helmut just smiles. He knows, he understands the hold he has over you both.
“I’m yours” Bucky manages and the Baron focuses his movement as if pulling the orgasm from Bucky’s body willing it to come forward. He jerks his hand up and away…but this time he’s finished the job.
He holds Bucky as the man cries out, his hips rising high this time, his cock pulsing with a tight up and down as he finally —god, finally— gives a high pitched groan with that first explosive release of come that shoots past his stomach and onto his own chest followed by equally satisfying spasms that send milky droplets flying free into the air and across his stomach onto Zemo’s arms; Bucky’s groaning and gasping near tears with the absolute exhaustion and relief of his well deserved climax, his moans and gasps of surprise so raw and unaffected.
By the time he lowers back down to the chair unable to do much more than sit there, limp and panting with his eyes closed, Helmut is holding him, caring nothing for the mess. He seems to love the sight of the pearlescent results of Bucky’s incredible orgasm as much as you do.
Smiling as he strokes Bucky’s hair, kissing his temple, he says with a tone only Helmut Zemo could manage at a moment like this, “You see. When you listen to me, I make it worth every second, every moment of torment. Yes?”
Bucky nods but it’s weak.
Zemo chuckles softly, kisses him again and reaches down easily undoing the ropes.
“Look at you both.” He says trying to sound angry, as if it’s not all his fault. “You can’t come to dinner like this. I’ll run a bath.”
He leaves Bucky and comes to the bed bending over you, his hand so sticky from the combination is heavy on your belly as he kisses your lips. “Hows your ass?” He asks.
“Still on fire.” You say and he winks as he rises.
“Good."
*
“You’re pretty quiet over there.” Bucky says splashing you from across the large tub. You’ve both been in for a while now after Zemo took a quick shower and left you alone letting you know he’d be up waiting at the dinner table.
Roused from your daydream but still not sure you want to talk about why you’re so quiet, you glance over and shrug.
“Whats wrong? You’re not mad about what happened are you?” Bucky asks sliding a little closer. The tub is surprisingly big in an already large bathroom and yet again you wonder how you’ll return to real life when this all ends.
“What happened?” You ask him.
“Getting you in trouble? He really put a shine on your backside.” Bucky says, a smile breaking through any attempt at being serious.
You sit up surprised to hear that’s what he thinks it could be. “Ha! No. Not at all. That was amazing… god” You tip your head back, the image of Bucky, naked and tired to a chair with Zemo holding him and whispering in his ear will be seared into your mind for life. “I didn’t know you could come that much.” You say, slowly looking back down at him,trying not to giggle.
“Neither did I.” He says practically blushing before he grins. “Same goes for you.” He tosses right back.
You laugh and roll your eyes. “Okay well we both know he’s capable of turning us into sex crazed idiots apparently.” You say with a cheeky grin and Bucky laughs shaking his head with a sigh.
“What is it? Some Sokovian spell or something, magic from the old world?” Bucky says with a thick accent wiggling his wet soapy fingers in the air.
Laughing you scrunch your nose. “Nah, that’s all him. Just wait until you’ve been around him long enough to get to the good stuff.”
“The good stuff!” He looks shocked “Well what the hell is all this!”
“This is amazing, but it not… well it’s not him. Theres so much more than sex. Watching tv. Eating dinner in bed. Naps— once he read to me.” You say with a sigh and the room goes silent as you both slip into a day dream laced with Helmuts beautiful voice surrounding you as he reads the classics on a warm summer night…
“You think he sits around daydreaming about us like this?” Bucky asks with a frown. “I worry sometimes.”
“Really?” You ask looking into his big blue eyes. Hundred years old and still so sweet. “Of course he does. Bucky, he wouldn’t have done any of this if he didn’t spend as much time thinking of us as we do him. Don’t be so naive”
He nods looking out the window and you know he’s just out of practice. He probably had a swarm of girls around him back when his life was normal. Maybe even a secret guy. But how long ago had that been. And since he’d been released from the words, his only real time spent with anyone has been with the two of you. For a moment you wonder if that’s fair. He should go out on dates or something, but then again you did try to get him on some apps. He hated them all. Women swiped right like it was their job of course, but he thought it was strange and wanted to meet them the old fashioned way but when he did he could only focus on what he didn’t like and just compared them to you— and Zemo.
“Hey.” You get his attention again. “I mean it, I’m really not upset about anything that happened earlier. Thanks for being such a rule breaker.” You say with a wink.
“No problem” He laughs as if that was his intention. Bucky’s expression softens as he sits back, the water rocking under the bubbles.
Bubbles. Talk about a diva, is anyone is on this big ass boat it’s him. Two adults having a bath drawn from them; why not throw in the bubbles. You roll your eyes ignoring the way your chest gets tight with the feel of being so adored and loving every second of his over the top ways and focus on Bucky who looks stunning in the bath— your heart sinking just a little.
“So what is it?” He asks unaware of your many distractions.
You look back to the window staring up at the sky for a while. “I’m just… sad.” You say giving in to the truth “I mean, I’m thrilled being here. But I’ve had this idea that I could talk you into staying with us. I keep imagining this life with you and Helmut and I know it can’t happen for so many reasons but I’m stubborn and spoiled. I truly hate not getting my way. So I keep thinking, maybe.”
He goes quiet now understanding, and then you feel his hand on your knee under the water. “I know. I’ve thought about it too. Maybe a little too much. Definitely enough that I’ve almost convinced myself it could work, but no. It just wouldn’t.”
You press your lips hesitant to say in case you might offend him but decide to just go for it. “And you’re sure it’s not just that you miss it? Saving the world and everything? I mean, I can see how it would be appealing— from controlled killer to stoic hero.” You tease gently, wiggling your brows up and down until he laughs a little, probably more annoyed than you’d like, and whatever facade you’d put on crumbles. The look of heartbreak turns your brows down, twisting your face with the agony of losing him. He looks surprised to see you so broken about it and finds your hand through the water.
“Hey hey hey.” He pulls but you’re not in the mood to be comforted. Bucky hates when you don’t let him coddle you, but he knows better than to fight it so he simply answers your question. “Yes.Well. No I mean, it’s nice. But honestly, if you really want to know, I could get used to being domesticated.” He shrugs letting go of your hand as he looks towards the shower where Zemo was and you swallow the tears that have been overpowered by your intrigue.
Managing a laugh at his expense you poke his arm on the rim of the tub. “Really? By me or Helmut?” You ask and swear you see him blush.
“You’ve already proven you can turn me into a homebody, and happy to be there, so —Maybe both?” He shrugs and there is such a tone of possibility in his statement that you’re instantly transported into a world in which the three of you are living happily. Maybe in this Mediterranean paradise, you’ve just come home from the market with ingredients for a dinner that Bucky has asked you to pick up and you help him cook while music blasts in your small but bright kitchen and you dance around until the house smells delicious and you set the table, flirting and toying with one another until everything looks beautiful before rushing to sit just as your Baron comes through the door…
Even here and now sitting in the tub with you, Bucky looks like the sweetest house husband glowing a soft gold in the light of the sun. What you wouldn’t give to be his forever. His his and hers, you think and your chin quivers with the threat of happy miserable tears.
Bucky isn’t oblivious to your hurting but he’s trying to keep strong, he can’t give in to you, not this time. “We’ll never know if I stick around.” He says and your little vision fades “I think I’ve got one visit, maybe two in me before someone notices an avenger hanging around their town and his cover is blown. You don’t want that. I don’t want that. I’d never forgive myself."
“I know.” You say and only realize that your head is down when his hand, which is covered in white bubbles reaches to lift your chin.
“Hey, come one. None of that. We’ve only got a little bit of time. I just want to make the most of it. Give me enough good memories to finally forget about whats left of the bad.”
You smile and nod, blowing the bubbles away before they go up your nose. “Fine.” You sigh and look back out the window hugging your knees. “Buck, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” He says only cringing a little when you call him Buck.
“Do you think you might ever love him?”
Bucky freezes. He looks— odd. Uncomfortable. Exposed? You realize very quickly that he already does, even if he’s not aware of it and decide not to push him
“It’s okay. I was just curious.” You say and try to calm him with your smile “We come from very different worlds. Letting myself love a man like Helmut Zemo took little to no effort for me, for you— I know why it might come as a shock. But I think you’ll find, when you do admit it to yourself and to him, he might just surprise you with how quickly he says it back.”
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dapandapod · 3 years
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I can explain BONUS
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The way I left it I had to give a bonus, right? I had no choice. And it is a weeee bit fluffy and pining in place and what’s not.
Oh, and Jaskier is bigtime hungover.
Just one left!!!! Oh dear!! 
On Ao3   ONE   TWO   THREE    FOUR      FIVE        +1
BONUS
Geralt is laying right next to Jaskier on the bed. That in itself is not unusual, but the way he is studying Jaskier’s face is. 
Possibly. 
He always made it clear that Jaskier is a complete mystery to him, but this time there is something more than just the usual… thoughtfulness? Scepticism? 
Whatever word his hung over brain can come up with, but that is not it. There is something hesitant in there.
Geralt is gorgeous, as per usual. Pupils are blown wide, his white hair falling over his shoulder, still messy from sleep. He is resting his chin on his hand, propped up on the elbow and looking down on this truly miserable bard.
Oh. Wait.
“Finished spacing out?” Geralt asks, his voice still a bit gravelly. “I think you promised me a reply…”
“Are you sure you are ready to hear it?” Jaskier says, groaning when the throbbing in his head intensifies. He hides behind his hands, pressing the butt of the hands into his eyes, trying to push the pain out of his head. “Misery.” Jaskier grumbles.
“Depends. Did you mean it?”
Jaskier can’t see Geralt right now, but Geralt can surely see the flush spreading across his face, hear his breath hitch and his heartrate pick up.
“Jaskier?” Geralt prompts when there is no reply.
“Will you promise not to treat me differently?” Jaskier asks, and yes, miserable bard. There is a real and solid fear in him, that if he admits to the more-than-attraction-thing he harbors, Geralt will leave him. Or look at him with pity. Both are terrible and he would rather be without it.
“What do you mean?” Geralt asks after a small pause of his own.
Finally dares to remove his hands from his eyes, but damn the soft light alone stings his dry, sad, poor, probably bloodshot eyes. What a time to reveal his feelings.
“I mean, if I tell you, will you do what you always do and run the other way? Because if you will, Geralt of Rivia, I will sing songs about your morning breath and sleep farts and that thing I promised not to tell Yennefer about, but you know what? I just might! And--”
“--You are talking an awful lot for being so hungover.”
Jaskier scoffs.
“Of course I do. Who do you think I am??”
“Someone who loves me?” Geralt says, and there. His eyes do that thing again. That hestitant something that is so fucking weird.
It shuts Jaskier up anyway, and he looks up at Geralt, trying to not let his yearning show. Too much anyway.
“Yes.” 
Geralt breaths in harshly through his nose, clenching his jaw. Jaskier groans and hides behind his hands again.
“See? You already regret asking. Now you will leave me here in all my miserable glory…”
“Jaskier.”
“No, Geralt, I’m having a moment. And I will have to be here all alone and regret not only the night drinking but the loss of my very best friend.”
“Jaskier.”
“Or you will pity me. Giving me that look, just like everyone else knowing it’s hopeless.”
Geralt doesn’t interrupt him again.
At least not with words.
A large hand grip his wrist, pulling his hand away from his eyes, his perfect hiding place.
“Geraaallllt.” Jaskier whines, but he doesn’t fight it. His hand is placed between them, Geralt carefully holding it in place.
“You love me.” Geralt says again, sounding a bit incredulous.
“I do.” Jaskier says, removing his other hand. “Desperately.”
Geralt's eyebrow does a little twitch, but reveals nothing about what is happening inside that head of his. But the hand holding Jaskiers wrist drifts upwards, upwards, and then his hand is covering Jaskiers, and their fingers lace together.
“Geralt.” Jaskier breathes, and then Geralt is leaning over him slightly. It is a little awkward, and he finally lets go of Jaskiers hand to lean over him instead, bracing on his elbow and playing with his hair.
“You really don’t want me to treat you differently?” He whispers, aforementioned morning breath hitting Jaskiers face.
“If you are asking to kiss me, please.” Jaskier says, his eyes dropping to Geralt's lips, which twitch up into a small smile.
Geralt leans in, but instead of kissing his pouting lips, he kisses his forehead. Soft, warm, and a little wet. Perfect.
“Your mouth smells like something died in there.”
“That’s what you get for trying to give me water.”
“Idiot.” Geralt says fondly. Oh, maybe that is what that look was.
“Your idiot.”
That earns him another kiss on the forehead.
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binniesthighs · 3 years
Text
call me babydoll | reader x chan
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a/n: ahhhhh wow WOW cuties LOL i was not expecting this fic idea to keep me up in my sleep and occupy all my waking thoughts BUT thank you so so  much for you words of support!! hehe well....here we goooo i hope that ya’ll are ready teehee--also tags will be added as they come! You can read part one here
Two 
Pairing: self insert, female reader x bang chan 
Genre: action, mystery and suspense, fluff, smut, angst 
Tags: (of this part) bodyguard au, secret agent au, royal au, moderndayprince!chan, secretagent!reader, secretagent!jeongin, secretagent!jisung, skz side characters, adventure and mystery, action and peril, plot driven, running out of time, slow-ish burn, growing feelings, sexual tension, explicit language, jeongin in this fic is my bb and i will protect him, sexy and smart jeongin tho still hehe 
CWs: mentions of death, people dying/killing, mentions of blood and wounds, mentions of getting drunk, hungover, and vomiting, a bombing. 
Word count: 5.2k 
Parts
ONE | TWO | THREE
The road was long and winding, pitch black, desolate, quiet and foreign. In the backseat of the car, Chan had slumped his head over on Jeongin’s shoulder and bobbed with the motions of the road. His nose would twitch in his sleep, and he would make little grunts of nonsense words. He had worked himself up after the banquet, and actually hadn’t stopped his “love confessions” until you told him to shut up or you would shut him up. 
Your partner’s glasses were illuminated from the screen of his laptop which he tapped quietly away at. You too felt drowsy, but sleep would be for later once you had properly arrived at the safe house, or safe hotel, or safe hole in the ground...whatever it was. 
“You hear anything from Carroll?” You slung your arm over the seat and lowered your voice. 
“Nothing yet.” His eyes flicked around the screen. “It’s almost like it’s too quiet. I’ve already told her that we have the prince and that he’s safe, but..nothing.” 
“You don’t think...they got targeted too?” 
Chan snored lightly on his bodyguard’s shoulder, and he didn’t dare to move an inch. 
“I sure as hell hope not. But...that would explain why things have been so quiet. If this was a larger scale attack...I don’t know what this could mean then.” 
From the darkness of the outside world in the car windows, you passed a forest of pines and oher types of stoic trees making up the mountainside. 
“Well, I think that we should be optimistic for the time being.” 
Jeongin nodded. He looked to be a mess: blood had splattered at his white shirt collar and in specks on his neck. His cracked lenses however, didn’t keep him from his work. He had pulled his tie loosely around his neck, and had also provided his jacket as a pseudo-blanket of sorts for the prince. The prince, had offered his own jacket to you seeing as you only had your dress, but you had been managing just fine. You accepted it, but only because it could soothe his chivalrous ego. He had a hard night already, so you saw it best. 
“Two, where are you taking us?” You called to the mysterious driver. 
Ever since meeting him at the hotel, he had been nearly silent the whole ride. 
The man cleared his throat, “As far away from here as I can. I don’t know of any safe houses so...I’m just trying to remove us.” 
“I can find one for us if Carroll doesn’t get back to me....which she should...” 
Jeongin was not one for speaking of his mother as anything other than his boss. Since he had been assigned to be your partner a few months ago, he had never referred to her as his mother, nor did he ever seem to harbor any emotion for the stern woman. Both of them had been a bit allusive to you, but that was simply how it was in this line of work. You didn’t know things about the people around you, and you didn’t need to ask. You had wondered if he had worried about her, or thought about her when you were on missions. The young man had trained rigorously, and had passed each exam from the academy with flying colors. After considering it for a while, you figured what immense pressure he must've been under: son of the woman in charge, a master at infiltration, espionage, manipulation, cybersecurity, and a million more things; he had to prove himself and more. 
You couldn’t have asked for a better partner, but you almost did wish that you had known more. 
Two fiddled with the radio, settling on a station that played some kind of country-western type music. 
“What’s your specialty Two? How’d you end up a part of this shitshow?” 
The driver laughed, then hummed along with the music for a moment. “This has been my gig for few years, but I’ve never been a part of this unit before. Carroll always saw it best for my services to be used in other places.” 
“You have a specialty?” Jeongin asked while still typing furiously. 
Two scratched the back of his head. “I do a little bit of everything. But...let’s just say that I’m good at making friends. That’s why Carroll likes me.” 
“--You know her personally?” Your partner quipped, but the edge to his voice didn’t sound like judgement, but rather caution. 
“We’ve had a few meetings.” 
“Hm.” 
You kicked off your heals to massage your aching toes. If only they had attacked at a time when you had the proper footwear. 
“You said we could also call you J?” You sprawled over the back seat in an attempt to make yourself more comfortable. Still, the plastic seatbelt buckles poked into your back. 
“Yes. You can call me J.” 
And that was that. No “What’s J stand for”, or “where are you from”, “where’s your home base,” “how did you rank at the academy?” You added questions to the list of things that weren’t allowed as well. 
Jeongin tore off his glasses with an exasperated sigh to rub at his tired eyes. Chan made a happy little noise, presumably because he had found a cozier spot on Jeongin’s shoulder. He had now gotten the chance to sleep off his drunken stupor that may or may not had contributed to his sudden confession, and the reason behind the two pitstops you had taken for him to retch on the side of the road. 
If he was a prince, he might’ve also been one mess of a prince. In all of his grace and confidence, the pleasures that he partook in would often get the best of him at times too. 
You gave up on trying to get some sleep, but rather sat up to watch that paradoxically handsome and misshapen prince. Just like this: sleeping, vulnerable, with some kind of lopsided smirk on his face, he was much less than the regal figure that you had painted him to be in your mind. For maintaining appearances the whole day long, you hadn’t ever really gotten the chance to see him like this before. His façade faded, and you surmised that maybe he really was different from the way that he let on. 
“I’m so fucking tired.” Jeongin yawned. 
“Get some sleep then. I’ll stay up to watch things.” 
“That’s just it. I can’t sleep even if I tried.” 
“What do you mean?” 
“Can you pass me some hand sanitizer or something? There’s...blood on my hands.” 
Your partner’s voice cracked slightly. It was then when you realized that this had been the first time that he had fired at real people. 
“I’ve got a water bottle? Is that enough?” 
“Yeah. It’s fine.” 
He splashed the liquids around while wiping his hands away, then flicked the remnants of water away. 
“Something about this doesn’t sit right with me.” 
“How do you mean?” 
Chan’s coat draped over your shoulders, and you pulled it in closer around your arms. The night had been cool, and the AC blasting in the car didn’t make it much better. 
Jeongin licked his lips. “Nothing was supposed to happen tonight. We made sure of it. No one was suspicious, we ran background checks, we checked the whole area...” 
“Hey,” You attempted to turn your tone softer, “We couldn’t have seen it coming. They just rolled up out of nowhere, there was no way that we could’ve stopped it--” 
“--Innocent people died tonight. If they were out for the prince, or maybe they weren’t, why so much collateral damage?” 
“Obviously they don’t care.” 
“Bastards.” Jeongin took the last bits of water to slug. “We’re gonna fucking find out why they did all of this.” 
Two shifted in his seat, “Any word? Hate to mention it, but I’m getting kinda tired. It’s past three already.”  
“Fox?” 
He clicked around, then shook his head. “Still nothing.” 
Chan snorted a bit in his sleep: an action which woke him up. 
“Wha-what? Where are we? Are the there yet? What time is it? Fuck...my head feels like it’s splitting...” 
“We’re finding somewhere, your Highness. We’ll be there soon.” Your partner motioned for you to hand him another water to give to the disorientated prince. 
Chan nodded while he rubbed his temples. “Shit. Please tell me that I just made this all up. That it’s some kind of fucked up nightmare...” 
You threw Chan’s coat back to him. “Unfortunately, no. We’re trying to figure out everything that we can.” 
“Who the hell were those guys?” Water dripped down his neck in a way that you pretended not to notice. “They were wearing crests. I couldn’t tell, but weren’t they red?” 
“Very observant, your Highness. F?” 
The younger man bit his lip, “I’ve already tried finding where the crest is from, but I can’t find anything that resembles it within our database. I was able to see one up close. It looked like a heart or something like that, and a diamond. I’m guessing that it could’ve been maybe a spade? Like the kind that you see on playing cards? Still, since we’ve never seen it before, we can only assume that they must be a new group.” 
Chan nodded, but anyone could tell that the information had flown right over his head. He licked at his wet lips, then sighed. 
“Bee, You okay? Fox? I suppose that I should ask you both.” 
“I’m...fine.” His sudden concern came as a surprise, and your partner looked just as shocked. 
“I-I’m fine too. No holes in me or anything.” Jeongin suppressed a laugh. “But you’re not, your Highness. How much did you have to drink?” 
“Oh...enough. I guess that I lost track at some point. Those kind of things are boring anyway.” 
“Fox? You’ve got that locale?” Two clicked the turn signal. 
“Oh! Yeah, I’ve got one. Sorry, It’s about an hour from here.” 
“Locale?” Chan cocked his head. 
“A safe house. Or something like that. We need to lie low while we wait for instructions.” 
“No one has said anything...? Not even...my father?” 
Jeongin shook his head gravely. “No.” 
The young prince fell silent, and you watched as worry fell over his clouded eyes that were lined with bags. Normally his expression was anything but strained, but in this moment, you saw doubt sweep over him like the darkness on the road ahead. You leaned the farthest you could from your seat to grab at his hand behind you. 
“You’re safe with us. Nothing is going to happen to you.” 
His hand was warm, maybe a little clammy, but it was soft, like that of a prince, naturally. Still, it was strong and veined. Chan’s thumb rubbed soft little circles into your own skin, muttering, “Thank you.” For once, his eyes which would normally devour you like some kind of rare dish held you earnestly. I trust you, they said. 
“Two. Let’s switch.” Jeongin slammed his laptop closed. “I’ve got it from here.” 
━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━
The safe house was quiet. As most of them where. It was even a bit stereotypical: a little cottage in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by woods on nearly all sides. It had a little overgrown garden, and a shed that looked like it held either all kinds of gardening equipment, or the real thing that sheds were meant for in your business: ammo. It had a white painted porch with cracking paint, as well as porch swing with rusting chains. In the early morning the windows were are black, but still faintly reflected the massive array of sparking stars above your heads. The only thing less antique about the home was the touch keypad on the front door. It beeped with a little tune, then flashed the insignia of the agency: a ticking clock. 
“Two, can you find a generator or something? Get the electricity up and going?” 
“Can do,” He said, then disappeared. 
Two was mostly a quiet man, a feature that gave you both reasons to trust him and to be suspicious. Besides him being a bit smaller in stature with thin legs and characteristically round cheeks, there was something different about him that you couldn’t place; something unexpected. You wished once again that questions weren’t on the list of things that weren’t allowed. 
“There should be clothes around here somewhere.” Jeongin padded his way through the dark rooms. “You shower first your Highness.” 
Chan tripped over his feet as he spread out his arms to find his way. You giggled lightly at the action. A man really was stripped down of any and all sense of composure when his life had been threatened and he had to have his bodyguards pat his back while he had gotten sick after one too many royal drinks. 
The lights flashed on, flickering at first with the sound of the lightbulbs waking up after a long sleep. The interior design of the place was exactly as you had expected: it was a family home with a fireplace and several chairs and couches covered in dust. Bookshelves were full with the strangest assortment of reading material and board games there held a thin layer of grey dust too. The kitchen was small and cozy: it had all the necessities. A stained glass chandelier hung over the wooden table for eight, and was decorated with glass hummingbirds and pink flowers. In odd corners of the house, children’s toys had been sitting untouched. A family must’ve been living there, and you wondered what must’ve become of them. 
Two returned with spiderwebs caught on his dress coat. “Water should be hot in about thirty minutes or so I think.” 
Your partner crossed the room, raking a hand through his snowy white hair. “I’m gonna try and make the calls again. See if I get anything. If not, we’ll have to...begin Operation Cheshire.” 
It was the phrase that you had hoped neither you nor your partner would have to say. 
Chan slumped down in one of the upholstered chairs, throwing dust into the air as he did. Compared to the rest of the room, him and his designer clothes seemed comically out of place. “Wha-what’s that?” 
Two pinched between his eyes, and your chest shook with an unsure inhale. 
“It means that we assume the worst. HQ got taken over and we’re all at risk. Information about us could be accessible to anyone. Essentially, we go into sleeper mode until we can reconvene with other agents...if there are any more. We dissapear. Next, we work on getting you back home, no matter what it takes.” 
“HQ?” What are you talking about?” Chan toyed with his diamond set cufflinks. “HQ? Like whoever manages the bodyguards??” 
“Your Highness...” You and your partner exchanged knowing glances. “We’re more than bodyguards.” 
“What?!” 
“We’re operatives. Agents. We work for an intelligence agency that specializes in a bunch of different things...protecting royalty if needed.” 
“What the fuck?! Why didn’t anyone tell me? Chan slapped his leg. “Fuck! No one tells me anything!!! I get that I’m a fucking prince but I’m not fucking useless!” 
The memory of the confidential file reemerged in your memory: the promise that you had made to His Majesty The King after he had requested a “special hire” to watch over his son. The file itself had contained a several thousand words or so that you hadn’t bothered to read, but rather skimmed till you got to the signature part. Carroll had simply nodded before you put your pen to the paper. 
“It was for your saf--” 
“--My father did this, didn’t he? Didn’t he? Some kind of sick way to keep tabs on me? See what I’m doing?? God! The man never trusts me. If the thinks that I’m that much of a disappointment...this is just--” 
“Your Highness, it’s been a long day, you’ve been through a lot, just take a shower and get some rest. Alright? We’ll talk more about this in the morning.” Two stepped forward with his hands folded in front of him. His interjection was unlike his previously quiet presence. 
The prince sighed, tapping his tragically expensive shoe on the hardwood. 
“Fine. We’ll talk about it in the morning.” 
Chan’s eyes grew dark with an authoritative air that you had seen before. His façade had slipped over him like a cloak. He rose, buttoning his jacket, then tweaking his sliver brooches decorating his neck. 
“Fox. Bee. Two. Thank you. Good evening.” 
━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━
Chan knew that it was you at the door when you would knock two times, then pause, and knock twice more. In your hands, you held a cup of warm milk. For a prince, even he couldn’t reject the beverage to help him fall asleep at night. You had seen him order it at hotels on more than one occasion. Jeongin had found a nearby store to get food for the morning. The two of you had suddenly found yourselves as now both his bodyguards and his servants. While you waited, you hoped to God that Carroll would compensate you for the extra work. 
The door creaked open, revealing your prince modestly dressed in plaid flannel, hair dripping slightly in wet strands. You had never seen him as simple as this before: no princely persona or cold exterior to upkeep. He looked...normal. 
��What is it Bee?” 
“I thought you might like some...well, this.” You provided him with the cup. “I know that it’s nearly morning, but you should still try to sleep in. We’ll take care of things. 
He took the ceramic mug from your hands, fingers barely brushing against yours for mere moments. 
“Thank you.” He hushed with a thankful smile. “Would you like to come in? We could...just kind of...sit for a minute.” 
Behind him, sun peaked at the horizon, a splitting of red piercing the navy deep of the night. The colors muddled, blurred, a bit like the color of blood fading into the deep fabric of one’s formal wear. It was desolate, but still beautiful. 
“To be honest,” His eyes fell, “I don’t want to be alone right now.” 
You had saved the biggest room for him. It smelled of mothballs and other old things like sheets that had rested in a dark room for much too long. Still, there was a kind of familiarity to it all and the way that the matted rugs and brass vintage lamps lit the room with a soft yellow light. The full sized bed creaked once you had sat down. In his golden halo, Chan’s brown strands appeared to be softer, and not as prim and staged. 
“I’m sorry for snapping earlier. I realized that there are things that are out of my control. You know more than I do, and I accept that. I trust you...a-and Fox.” 
You rubbed your hands into the jeans you had found in the cupboard. They had dirt and grass stains from work in the garden you presumed. 
“It’s okay. I understand that you would be scared. It’s okay to be. I...get scared sometimes too. I know that it might look like it, but I fear...for my life too. So does Jeong--Fox.” 
Chan’s voice cracked. “Is someone out to kill me?” 
You sighed, sensing his hesitation. “I don’t know. But we will know soon.” 
The prince stared down at the white bubbles in his milk, then swirled around the liquid to watch the way that that it moved. 
“I don’t think I’d like to die. Would be pretty unfortunate, don’t you think? I feel like I’ve got so many other things to do. A kingdom to manage, people to govern, much more bottles of Scotch to drink, parties to attend...” 
His eyes met yours, and you could see the very fragility of the life that he spoke of right in them. He was right in that dumb speech of his. He really was just a person. 
“...I like to think that I’ll get married someday to someone that I love. I actually would really like to do that.” He chuckled. “Lame, right? Someone like me who always bounces around. Wouldn’t take me for one?” 
“Mm. No. I think that from what I’ve observed of you, and I’m trained to observe, I think that bouncing around...means you’re looking for the right thing. And, I guess that it’s fun too.” 
Chan chuckled, “You’re good at observing.” 
You paused, remembering Lee Minho from earlier. 
“Were you looking when you were talking to that man at the banquet? He was very handsome.” 
The prince placed the cup down. “He was. I don’t know. He just seemed kind of interesting. The kind of mystery that only a stranger has. I would’ve liked to have talked to him more now that I think about it. Maybe it would’ve been worth my time.” Chan twisted his back to crack it. “I don’t know if you saw but he had some really nice fucking thighs.” 
“Ahhh. Nice thighs. Didn’t know that you cared for that.” 
The two of you laughed together a bit like old friends. It felt nice. 
“...Bee. I should also probably apologize for how I acted back before we got in the car. I was...drunk, scared. I said some things--” 
“--That you were in love with me?” 
“Yeah...that. I realized that...I’ve been...unfair to you. You don’t deserve the ridicule. You’ve only ever been helpful to me and--” 
“--Don’t worry about it. It’s fine.” You shrugged. You had met hundreds of guys like him before, at least you thought. 
Chan sighed as if he was gathering himself. “Bee. I did mean what I said.” 
“What? Ch-your Highness, you don’t mean that.” 
He laughed, “It’s alright. You can call me Chan. And...yes. I did. You’ve got a kind of mystery to you too. Frankly, I can’t stop thinking about it.” 
“This...this is inappropriate.” You shifted, the rising off the bed. Your cheeks warmed, but you couldn’t know why. Maybe he was just too damn charming. But, he was like that with everyone. 
He rose too, hastily following you on your way to the door. “Bee, wait.” 
“Chan, you can’t do this. It makes things...complicated.” 
He advanced, slowly, closing the space between you. “It’s only complicated if you feel the same.” 
“I-I don’t.” 
The prince’s hand carefully rose to cup your face, a gesture so gentle that you shied from the feeling. Even this close still he smelled of white roses. 
“Have you ever heard of conflict of interest?” Your breath hitched. 
Chan grinned, “There you go making this complicated again.” 
A wandering hand of yours acting on its own reached to tug hold of his shirt. 
The prince leaned in closer, nearly close enough to breech the gap between his plush lips and yours. 
“What if I don’t mind making things...” He whispered the word, grazing his mouth over yours, “...complicated?” 
“Ch--” 
He pressed his weight fully into you, a smashing of lips met with incessant heat and your back shoved into the door. His tongue easily twisted around yours, and his soft gasps filled up your mouth. It had taken you a couple seconds to realize what had happened, and to decide what to do with yourself. His mouth was blazing, it was as if he was weaving a spell, or perhaps you had made it up for yourself. He kissed you with vitality; like he had never tasted anything like you before and was starving for you. You realized, perhaps you had wondered what it would’ve felt like. One hand squeezed tighter to his shirt, and you kissed back, meeting his heat. 
Jeongin’s voice called down the hall, “Bee? Bee, are you there?” The sound of your bedroom door shut. 
You pushed Chan off you with flat hands on his chest and an amazed smile on his face. 
“This...this doesn’t mean anything.” You gasped, reaching for the knob after a moments pause. 
Chan snickered, shoving his hands in his pockets. 
“Goodnight your Highness.” 
━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━
For a man so young Jeongin liked his coffee black, and drank it like an old man too with his nose buried in a newspaper while it fogged up his glasses--or what was left of them. 
“I finally got correspondence from Carroll this morning. She said that HQ experienced some kind of blackout and all the systems went offline. It wasn’t safe for her to contact us on a regular line. They got everything back up and running and everything seems fine, or so they think.” 
Your partner had already made himself comfortable in a pair of sweatpants and a cotton tee with slippers. You never would’ve guessed that he was a trained assassin on the side. 
Two returned huffing in the door from his morning run. He was one of those people. 
“Any word?” He rubbed his face off with a dishtowel. 
“Disgusting.” You sneered at the crude action. 
“Well, we’ve got thousands of miles between us and the kingdom and what seems like a hell of a lot of guys on our tail, but, after I sent Carroll the info about the red crest, she wants us to do some digging. 
“With the prince in tow?” You lowered your voice lest the sleeping royal heard you. “I don’t think so.” 
“It sounds like she’s convinced that the person behind all of this could be someone who attended the charity ball. And, I don’t really disagree. They must be good at keeping secrets if they evaded us.” 
“Hm. You’re right. A high profile event like that, even though its for a good cause it’s always a competition with those snobs. I just don’t know who could order something so cruel...all those people in the same place...” 
“Since it’s a new group, they must still be underground. So, to see who lives underground, you’ve got to go there yourself to find out. Or, in our case, find someone who knows the rabbit hole.” 
Two grabbed a chair, ruffling his deep brown soaked hair. “What does that mean?” 
Jeongin flipped his laptop around. “This is the man that we need to go see. Codename White Rabbit. Or as he calls himself--” 
“--Bun.” You cut in. “Yeah, I know him.” 
Both of the men chimed, “You do?” 
“Yeah, he’s undercover ops for the agency. He’s sort of a jack of all trades. He owns some kind of front out in Egypt. It’s called The Tea Party. Bar up front, but in the back he provides all kinds of information--for both sides. His cut is that for any information he gives to the agency he gets cash compensation. If anyone would know about anything underground, it would be him. As I’m sure Carroll told you, he’s a stickler for meeting in person. He’s one of us. I think.” 
“You think?” 
“He also does...other deviant things. I heard that these days he’s had a couple dealings in some...substances. Black market stuff. Carroll also provides safety for his business in return for his information.” 
“That...sounds illegal. Immoral even.” Jeongin’s eyes widened upon hearing the news about his mother. 
“You’ve got to pay to play you know.” 
“So Egypt then?” Two wiped off the back of his neck with the dishtowel, stretching out one of his toned arms. “I’ve always wanted to go there.” 
“Oh--one more thing.” Jeongin took a rather long sip from his cup. “The King’s counsel reached out to me too this morning. They asked me if the Prince was safe and where we were. I have them loose details of both. They seemed somewhat relieved.” 
Chan sauntered down the steps with a massive yawn, stretching up his arms and shirt to reveal an inkling of his abs. You also pretended not to notice it. 
“Gooood morning everyone. Fox. Two.” He dished out a wink. “Bee.” 
“Morning your Highness.” Jeongin nodded, and crossed his legs. “Feeling well?” 
“Ahhh much better.” He poured himself a cup of coffee in the kitchen, staring out the little window over the sink, then took an indulgent sip. “It’s peaceful here. I kind of like that.” 
“Your Highness, we’ve received word--” 
Chan rose his hand to shush your partner, then languidly took another sip. “I’m still enjoying my drink F.” 
A light buzzing resonated somewhere in the house, a bit like the sound of a dryer, and the home started vibrating. Your water glass on the table rippled. 
“Two, did you notice if there was anything strange about the house?” 
The buzzing grew nearer. 
Two looked puzzled, “No, why?” 
The vibrating grew more violent, and your glass shuddered off the wooden table, shattering on the ground upon impact. 
Chan squinted out the window, “Is that a--” 
“CHAN GET DOWN!” You shrieked. 
Within milliseconds the whistling of a bomb screeched through the air, then crashed into the rickety ceiling, splintering wood everywhere and demolishing the furniture. 
You had seconds to act while the matte black bomb hissed with a steam releasing from some seam and ticked. You sprinted to grab Chan’s arm as hard as you possibly good, all in a blur, pummeling your bodies against one of the shattered windows, and hurling yourself out to the morning dew. You had no time to see if Jeongin or Two had made their exit, but looked out, towing the prince so hard you must’ve done some damage to his shoulder. You stumbled to your feet, tripping, and grunting until the bomb diffused, and exploded the cottage altogether. You covered Chan’s head and most of his body with your own as a shield and the shards of wood, metal, and brick came flying. 
“Ar-are you okay?” You patted the prince down in his shock, who stared blankly with empty eyes. 
The prince’s flannel had been torn to shreds with glass, and blood oozed onto the fabric on his arms. 
“Yeah...yeah...I’m...fine.” 
“BEE! Y/N!” Jeongin screamed over the flames to find you. 
“OVER HERE!” You bellowed back, and your partner came running with Two behind him with terrible cuts on his face. 
“They knew. They FUCKING knew.” He panted after reaching you. 
“We have to get out of here.” Two gasped, and blood ran down his face, nearly into his eye. “If they know where we are now, they’ll come to check to see if the damage is done. We have to move.”  
The sky filled with an angry smoke, and the once peaceful forest filled with the colors of orange and red. 
“The car?” 
“Broken windows from the blast but I should be able to get it going. There’s spare parts in the shed. And ammo. A fuck ton of it.” 
“We’ll need it.” 
You pulled the prince to his feet as he blinked wildly at you and your team. 
“Fuck.” Was all the could manage. 
In your complete surprise, Chan’s bloodied and cracked hands pulled your face into his, kissing you with lips that tasted of the salt of blood. 
“I fucking love you Bee. I’ve decided.” 
Jeongin’s jaw dropped in the corner of your eye, so you promptly slapped the prince upside the face. 
“You’re in shock. We need to get out of here.” 
A wrinkled smile danced on the royal’s face, and you might’ve thought that it was a bit charming. 
“Admit it. You love me too Bee.” 
~🌹~ 
Bunch of (Ro)ses! 
@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @eunaeiekim @julesinthesoop
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shyficwriter · 3 years
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Temporary Home: Chapter 4
Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic | Reader x Guardians (With Yondu and Kraglin!)
Summary: Things just seem to keep getting tense around here... Will Reader ever catch a break? Will Yondu ever solve the mystery?
Previous Chapter here | Next Chapter Here Or click here to: Start From Beginning
Author’s Note: This chapter is a LONG BOI. I considered splitting it, but then one chapter would have been 2k+ words and the other would have been 5k+, and for some reason I thought people wouldn't like the inconsistency lol (Feel free to weigh in. I know a few of you have said you liked longer chapters, and I haven't gotten any nay-sayers, but still thought I might as well ask lol)
And thank you to the anons and @condy-wants-a-cookie for your bad roommate suggestions! I wasn't able to add them all in, but they were all appreciated nonetheless!
Word Count: 7,321
This morning you did sleep in, but that didn't make your day much better.
You were slightly hungover, to start, and you spent most of the day in a funk trying to avoid everyone.
This wasn't completely possible, seeing as you now lived with eight other people, but the others seemed to mostly get the hint that you wanted to be left alone.
The first real interaction you had was around noon as you poured yourself some cereal and Yondu and Peter came in the backdoor to tell you they just heard gunshots from the forest.
You barely glanced at them. "Hunters." you said. "Probably hunting pigeons, but more likely they're poaching deer or fox. Happens every year."
They seemed almost surprised by your blasé attitude at hearing there were gunshots, but did seem to relax a bit that you seemed so confident. You had said you grew up here, after all.
Peter was still a little nervous however. "Do they ever come this way?"
You look up to him, knowing what he was getting at. He wanted to make sure they wouldn't happen upon your house while anyone obviously not human was outside and put them all at risk. "No. I'm pretty sure it's just a man and his boys who live a couple miles away. I've never heard the shots come closer than a mile outside the property. You're fine."
Seemingly convinced they finally left you, but you did notice no one seemed to go out until well after the last of the shots were heard, and you assumed Peter must have warned the others to stay inside just in case.
After you ate you went upstairs to grab your music, fancying a walk. However, once you got there you caught Groot sticking his tendrils in the lock of the attic door.
"What you doing there?" you say, firm enough to get his attention, but gentle enough to hopefully not to scare him.
He turned to you, pulling back his vines, looking sorry. "I am Groot."
You shook your head. "Sorry buddy, I have no idea what you're saying, let's find someone who can translate." You beckoned him to come, holding out your hand.
Groot looked sheepish, like he wasn't sure he wanted to come, but eventually he did, toddling over to you and allowing himself to be picked up.
You carried him downstairs and into the sitting room, finding everyone but Mantis, Kraglin, and Rocket sitting at the table. You walked over and asked if anyone there could translate, sitting Groot on the table.
"Sure," Peter offered, "What's up?"
"Well, I found him growing his vines into the lock of the attic door and I just want to know what he was doing." Actually, you thought you knew what he was doing. It looked like he was trying to pick the lock, what you really wanted to know was why.
Gamora looked at the tree child with both confusion and intrigue. "Groot, why did you do that?"
"I am Groot."
"No buddy, she's not going to do that. She just wants to know what you were doing to her door." Peter answered.
You raised an eyebrow.
"Sorry, I forgot we have to repeat the question for him. He doesn't know what you're saying. He was worried that you were going to be mad at him like you were to Rocket last night."
You were taken aback by this. "He can't unde-? But the first night you all got here-? I asked him a question and Drax translated his answer for me?"
Drax shrugged. "It was easier to make something up than explain he won't be able to understand you because neither of you have translators. What he had really told you was that he had no idea what you said."
Yondu and Peter looked at Drax like he was stupid. It wouldn't have taken much more effort to explain. He literally just did it.
You also look at Drax. "So this whole time he hasn't been able to understand a word I've said to him?" A realization hit you. "But wait- I'm pretty sure we-" you pointed a finger back and forth between you and them, "are speaking the same language??" You were wondering if they were trying to prank you.
Gamora looked at you apologetically. She would have corrected Drax when he made up an answer for Groot that first night, but she was too exhausted to deal with it, and afterwards it just never came up again. You had spent more and more time avoiding everyone anyway. "We're actually not speaking the same language. We all have translator chips, it's how we can all understand each other. It's standard where we're from. They work both ways. It's how you can understand us and how we can understand you. However, because neither you or Groot has one, he can't understand you." She didn't go into the fact that their translators didn't actually translate Groot, or how their understanding of him only came from time spent with him and Rocket's translations. She doubted they'd be there much longer for it to make a difference anyway.
"I see," you said. You frown. "I guess that explains why he never seemed to listen."
Peter lightly chuckled at that, as did Yondu.
"Anyway," Peter said, trying to bring the conversation back to what you came for. "What were you doing to her door?"
"I am Groot."
"He said he was trying to unlock it."
"Alright, kinda figured that, but why?"
Peter repeated the question to Groot and came back with the answer, "He said he was looking for a hiding spot?"
You raise an eyebrow.
"I am Groot."
"Oh that's right, you were playing hide and seek."
"Hmm. Well that's all fine, but the attic is off limits. It's locked for a reason." you say.
"She says you can't go in there, buddy. There are monsters in there."
You give him a strange look, but he gives his head a quick shake as if to tell you not to question it. You figured he probably thought the kid would be more likely to listen if he thought there were monsters and let it go.
Groots eyes went wide and he turned to you. "I am Groot?"
Yondu answered, fighting back a grin. "Yeah, really. Now run along before we feed you to them."
Peter smacked him in the arm as little Groot hopped off the table, and Yondu laughed and held up his hands in a "What?" gesture.
Almost on cue you then heard Kraglin call out, "Ready or not, here I come!" before walking into the sitting room and encountering Groot as he ran towards the door. He looked at Groot and laughed, "I don't think you know how this game works, buddy," before turning and leaving the room himself.
You also started to leave when Drax asked, "Why is the attic off-limits?"
Gamora shot him a look for being nosy but you answered anyway. "It's.. unsafe," you lie. "Old house, you know. Don't want anyone falling through the floor."
You leave them then, saying you're going out for a walk.
Your walk wasn't too long, just along the road a ways before turning back. When you got back to the house you decided to practice your archery some more. You may or may not have pretended that a certain someone's face was the target.
When you finally did come back inside you arrived to a commotion in the hall.
You didn't know what the fight was about. You didn't ask either. All you saw was Kraglin and Rocket standing in the hall arguing about some nonsense. Drax was also there, but he was sitting down on the bench tying his boots and seemed uninterested in the argument.
Then you saw Rocket go to bite Kraglin, miss, and then settle for lunging on him and Kraglin struggling to get him off. Drax didn't really do anything other than scold Rocket, and you suspected this must be so normal for him to witness that it just didn't register anymore.
Your nostrils flared and your eyes narrowed at the scene.
Rocket attacking and Kraglin flailing.
Peter came out of the sitting room, presumably to tell them to knock it off, then he saw the murderous look in your eyes and his sentence caught in his throat as he watched you storm over.
You grabbed Rocket by the scruff of the neck and roughly pulled him off, both to his and Kraglin's surprise. Rocket actually made a noise akin to a squeak.
The others watched as you wordlessly marched the fecker to the front door, earning many angry protests from the Raccoon on the way for you to let him go as he kicked and squirmed.
Hearing the sudden change in the commotion, this prompted Gamora and Yondu to join Peter in the doorway. Yondu, out of curiosity, and Gamora out of concern.
You jerked the door open, and told Rocket to take a walk before tossing him out like a rag doll, mercifully onto the grass. He landed and stared back in a mix of shock and anger, too stunned to think of running back towards you. "You can come back in when you stop wanting to being such a damn asshole." you told him, promptly shutting the door and spinning the deadbolt.
You didn't look at the others as you turned on your heels and made your way up the stairs to your room.
They stared at each other in the hallway, wondering if they had really just witnessed what they saw, and if they should do anything about it.
On one hand, you just literally threw their friend outside.
On the other, maybe it would cool him down to go for a walk?
In the end they decided not to intervene, see how it played out. Way they saw it there were two possible outcomes. One outcome, Rocket takes his time out and actually comes back calmer and ready to be civil. The other outcome, he spends his time out getting more pissed and then rips your face off when you finally let him back in.
The real outcome, however, was less conclusive.
You decided rather than waste the pasta one of the others bothered to save from the previous night, you'd re-make the sauce and heat the spaghetti and serve it for dinner that night.
You called the others to the kitchen and told them to serve themselves before leaving the kitchen. Fortunately there were no accusations of poison this time, but that could have been because Yondu saw which door of the kitchen you exited from and figured you were going to call Rocket back inside.
He was right.
You open the front door and call out into the open, "Hey, Rocket! If you've decided you want to play nice then come inside and eat!" You resisted the urge to call him 'shit-head' instead of his name. More flies with honey and all that.
You waited a bit and then saw Rocket turning the corner of the house to approach the front door. He didn't say anything, just grouchily shuffled inside and you followed in behind him. You didn't say anything either, trying not to antagonize too much.
When you saw everyone else was served you made a plate and took your dinner in your room. No one questioned. At the urging of Gamora they were still trying to give you your space.
They only hoped things would be less tense tomorrow.
***
The next time you were seen wasn't until a little before midnight, when Yondu happened to glance out the window as he was tucking into bed and saw your shadowy figure walking towards the forest in the moonlight.
He frowned. Once was odd. Twice only made him that much more curious. What was nearly the tipping point of his curiosity was the fact that he realized he would never hear you leaving the old house, which to him implied you were sneaking out. Sneaking out of your own house. The hell?
What the hell was out there that you kept disappearing to at night? Where you disappeared to when Rocket ruined dinner?
Next time he was going to stay up and catch you before you left.
***
Starting out things were indeed NOT less tense the next day.
Your day started out with Kraglin accidentally walking in on you when you had just gotten out of the shower. Fortunately for both of you you had literally just wrapped the towel around yourself before he opened the door, but that didn't make anything less awkward, or either of your startled screams less shrill.
He tried to apologize later, but you'd only responded with "Let's just never speak of it again."
Then you went to grab some breakfast, you thought toast would be nice. Only when you got into the kitchen the toaster was nowhere to be found. Maybe you put it in a cupboard? You opened the press where you might have put it, only to find your cooking pans instead.
That wasn't the particular cupboard where you kept your pans, however, and you began to have a sinking feeling as to what might have happened.
You opened another cupboard and finally found the toaster alongside the blender- again, not where they were supposed to be. You then went to find a knife, and wouldn't you know it, all your silverware was gone and replaced with towels.
You pinched the bridge of your nose.
"Do you like it?"
You turned to see Mantis and Drax beaming like they did a good deed. "What?"
"We re-arranged the kitchen." Drax said. "Rocket said it was a Terran custom and you'd be very happy."
You rub a hand down your face. Fecker pulled another prank. "And you believed Rocket why, exactly?"
Drax and Mantis shared a look, as if they just realized it wasn't a smart idea to believe Rocket. They only grimaced apologetically back at you with an "Um..."
After a moment Mantis asked if you were mad.
You look at them for a bit before saying, "No. I'm not mad. I'm not happy about it, but I'm not mad. But, you two are going to help me put everything back."
They nodded quietly and got to work. It took an hour to get it straight again.
After you finally got to eat you decided to tend your garden again. It didn't need much weeding, so you decided to work slow to avoid going back inside for a bit. Mantis had also come outside with you and went over to play on the swing. She had seemingly become quite fond of it in her short time here.
After perhaps ten minutes you heard a snap and a startled cry and turned to find Mantis now on the ground. The old rope had finally snapped.
Mantis looked up at you and sheepishly said, "Sorry, I broke your swing."
You look at her in exhaustion. "It's fine. Not your fault, it was old. You ok?"
Mantis nodded and headed back inside as she rubbed her smarted behind.
You turn back to your garden. Today might be another archery day.
Instead of archery you thought of another idea. Rocket had complained about sleeping in the crib at least five times since he got here, probably more when you weren't around to hear it. Maybe you could build him a little bed as a peace-offering. Maybe he'd be less insufferable if you fixed the problem he was always complaining about.
You already knew you had enough wood in the shed to do it, and you already knew the crib fit a 120 X 60 cm mattress, so you'd just build the bed to the same dimensions as the crib so the mattress would still fit- you weren't going to go to that much trouble for the shithead. And as a bonus, this was also another way to keep busy.
You sketched out a quick plan on an old notepad you kept in the work shed and got to work cutting the pieces.
It was a simple design, but one that still required the bed legs and headboard to be joined and clamped together, same as the footboard. This meant you wouldn't be finished by tonight, especially not if you decided to stain it, which was fine by you. You weren't exactly in a rush.
You did what you were able to of the bed frame before heading back inside, maybe a little more than an hour later to grab something quick for lunch. Rocket was already in the kitchen eating something out of a little packet that looked unfamiliar to you. More alien food, you thought.
He looked up at you as you walked in with a raised eyebrow. "What you been up to?"
You looked down to where his gaze met and saw you still had a bit of sawdust on your jeans. You brushed it away and said, "Nothing."
He eyed you before his expression changed to a grin. He thought he'd have a little fun with you, slight revenge for the previous day when you threw him outside. Nothing much, just something to take "Miss Cranky-Ass" down a peg. He looked at you innocently. "Hey, you want to try one of these? They're good."
You eye him suspiciously. Every instinct you had told you not to trust him.
Rocket could tell you weren't biting. "Look, I know things have been tense between is, but consider it a peace offering." He held out the bag and kept grinning.
Not a chance.
Peter walked into the kitchen at that moment, just the person you needed to see. You got his attention, "Hey, Peter, what's this little fecker trying to do to me?"
Peter looked confused. "What?" he asked.
"He's offering me whatever those purple things are, and I think you could forgive me for not trusting it right away."
Rocket made a show of looking offended, "I'd never-"
Then Peter got a look at the bag and shot Rocket an annoyed look. "Yeah, do not eat that." he warned. He looked at Rocket. "You know Terrans can't eat xanti-berries." He looked back at you, "Seriously, don't eat them. You'll be shitting yourself the rest of tonight and tomorrow."
Your eyes widened and you looked at Rocket bitterly. Your instincts had been right. Can't trust the little shit. And to think you were making him a bed so he didn't need to sleep in the crib.
Rocket was now snickering, saying to Peter, "Come on- I mean we know that's what happens to you-" More snickering. "But maybe it's just a you thing-" Snickering now turns to laughing. "Maybe- Maybe she'd be fine. AHAHA!"
The little beast was now fully laughing at his own joke.
"Yeah, no thanks," you say, turning to grab a granola bar instead.
Peter shooed still laughing Rocket out of the kitchen. "I'm sorry about him, he's-"
"An asshole?" you finish for him.
Peter rubbed the back of his head, "Yeah..." he said with an apologetic look. He could tell you were past tired of his friend's bullshit, which was bad because they hadn't even been there a full week yet.
You shook your head and went to eat in your room, maybe you'd scroll some tumblr.
***
Not much later after you had gotten bored refreshing the page, you thought you'd look for a book to read in the sitting room, and walked in on Rocket and Peter arguing over what to watch. This eventually lead to the remote being flung across the room and just narrowly missing the TV.
You rub your temples and sigh. "You know, if you break that, I'm not replacing it."
"Oh yeah, you think we're gonna replace it?" Rocket snarked.
You looked at them. "That's not what I said, is it? I said I'm not replacing it. Meaning if you break it, there just won't be one. I'm not going to reward bad behavior by replacing it if you break it."
You heard Rocket mutter, "Whatever," and not long after you started hearing the noises of them bickering and smacking at each other again.
"Enough!" you say in a loud, firm voice that honestly startled Peter a bit and caught the attention of Kraglin from the table where he was doing a puzzle he found on a shelf. Your desire to find a book forgotten you left the sitting room, saying, "God, you act like children!"
You passed Gamora on your way out and said, "How do you deal with them?!" You continued on without waiting for an answer and Gamora shot a disapproving look at the pair on the couch, clearly unhappy that they were still finding ways to piss you off.
You went back into the kitchen, retrieved a glass from the cupboard, the whiskey bottle from the other night from the fridge, and sat at the table.
Yondu walked in about ten minutes later. "Starting a little early, I see." He wasn't actually sure if it'd be early to start drinking by Terran customs or not, but he knew from when he still had his crew and the Eclector, his crew typically weren't allowed to start in until all their day's duties were done, which, not always, but usually wasn't until after dinner. Outward appearance would have suggested otherwise, but he kept a tighter ship than one might think. Couldn't have someone piss drunk on the job and fucking everything up, now could he? That's not to say the crew always listened... but they were well aware of the consequences of getting caught drunk on the job.
You only answered back with a, "There are glasses in the cupboard if you want some."
Yondu chuckled and went for a glass, not one to refuse a drink.
As soon as he sat down you stood up. "I'll be back." you announce.
Yondu poured himself a glass and you shortly returned with another bottle of whiskey from the cellar. "Bottle was almost gone," you explain, setting the new bottle on the table and re-taking your seat.
Yondu looked at you, amused, but also mildly wondering where you had retrieved a second bottle from. He had never been bothered to explore the cellar. If he had he would have known you kept most of your unopened alcohol down there, where it could stay cool without needing a refrigerator.
Yondu took a sip, and almost recoiled, having not expected this Terran stuff to be quite so strong. It wasn't anything he couldn't handle, mind you, but he had honestly just assumed Terran whiskey would be weak. From experience with Peter, the boy always got piss drunk after only barely a couple shots of Xandarian liquor, which wasn't very strong, so he just assumed Terrans had a naturally lower tolerance. Now he just supposed Quill was a lightweight.
"Anything on your mind?" Yondu asked. If you were sitting here drinking alone surely there must be.
You glance up. "Nope," you say, as you down the rest of your glass. You pour another.
"Uh huh... right. That's why you look like a grump-ass sitting here drinking all by yourself then."
You give him a look, gesturing to him with your glass. "You're sitting right there aren't you? Looks like I ain't alone."
Yondu chuckled and shook his head. Cheeky shit. "Wanna talk about it?"
"Nope."
Yondu grinned and pointed at you knowingly. "Gotcha."
"What?" you say, confused by his tone.
"Ya said ya don't wanna talk about it. Means there's somethin' on yer mind."
You look at him through narrow eyes and take another sip.
"What is it? Tired of Rocket's shit? Don't blame ya. Rat can be a real asshole."
You sigh.
"So it is the rat, then?"
"Quit," you say, taking another drink and looking at him sternly.
Yondu held up his hands and backed off. "Alright. I won't push it."
"Push what?" came Peter's voice from the doorway as he and Kraglin walked into the kitchen. Peter grabbed a snack from the pantry and tossed one to Kraglin.
"Cool, didn't realize we were starting a party" Kraglin joked, referring to the two whiskey bottles on the table and you and Yondu sitting there with your glasses.
Figuring you might as well offer them some you motioned to the cupboard again. "Glasses up there. Might as well join us."
You didn't have to ask them twice. Peter got down a couple glasses and Kraglin poured them some drink.
Peter nodded to the two bottles and joked asking if you were trying to see who could outdrink the other.
You shrugged. "Nah. If we were to do that, he'd need to catch up."
Yondu laughed. "You don't wanna go there, missy. I'll drink ya under the table before you knew what hit you." He chuckled and elbowed Kraglin in the arm, who snickered, knowing full well Yondu could drink like a tank.
You rolled your eyes. "Like I said, you'd need to catch up to me first. I'm about four ahead of you.
Yondu's head snapped back to you glancing from your drink to you. "Four?" You must be joking. You weren't even tipsy yet that he could tell.
You were unable to hold back a laugh. "Nah, I'm only messing with you." You downed your glass. "I'm two ahead after that one." You poured yourself another glass. You grinned slightly. "Again, do I need to wait for you to catch up?"
Yondu grinned at you, his eyes almost inquisitive. "Ya really sure ya wanna do that?" He was confident you didn't stand a chance.
Peter laughed. "What, you scared she'll outdrink you?"
Yondu rolled his eyes and downed his glass. "No. Jus' concerned she'll hurt herself tryin'," he laughed.
Now you rolled your eyes. "Fine. Don't. I'll accept your admission of defeat." you say with a shrug as you take another sip. This was almost definitely the buzz talking. You weren't a lightweight, but you still weren't exactly the heaviest drinker.
Peter and Kraglin hid giggles behind their glasses as Yondu gave you a hard look and poured himself another glass and downed it.
"There, I'm caught up." he said, pouring himself another glass to match you. "I'll give you one more chance to back out, sweetheart."
You down your glass. "I ain't your sweetheart, grandpa."
Yondu narrowed his eyes and downed his as well. "Then it's on, pipsqueak."
"Ooh-hoho. You're gonna regret that." you say, unable to hold back a grin as you poured another round for the two of you.
Peter and Kraglin were now openly laughing at the show as they sipped their drinks.
Yondu tipped his glass to you and took a sip. "We'll see." He wasn't really concerned with the drinking game. He was fairly certain he'd win. He did, however, think the whiskey might loosen your tongue, get you to talk to him. Maybe he'd eventually get around to asking why you lived in such a big place by yourself or what was in the forest that you kept walking into.
You followed his lead, sipping your current glass rather than downing it right away. Maybe it was the buzz starting to talk, but you suddenly were curious about something. "I don't think you guys ever told me why you needed to go into hiding in the first place."
"Fury didn't tell you?" Peter asked.
"Nope. He was too busy moving you guys in and changing up my house and getting into my shit to mention it." you say, taking another sip.
Yondu also sipped. Tongue loosening: Check.
"Well it's kinda a long story," Peter began, "but short version, we were hired to do a job for these people, and we did it, but then Rocket insulted them, and stole their shit, and now they've vowed vengeance."
"And they ain't the forgivin' type." Kraglin added.
"No. Definitely not," said Yondu mournfully, taking another sip. Bad enough his crew mutinied and he blasted his ship to hell, now he had to go into hiding. Yondu Udonta doesn't hide... unless forced to by the Nova Corps because he joined his boy's little team of galaxy savers, apparently... He supposed it was better than jail. He should really thank Peter for pulling those strings sometime.
"Anyway, so when the Nova Corps heard about it they insisted we go into hiding until they could try and smooth it over."
"Hmm." You say, finishing your glass. "So they're trying to beg for your lives, is that it?"
Peter shrugged awkwardly. "More or less."
"They must really like you." you laughed, looking down as Yondu poured everyone another round.
"They should," Yondu said. "He saved the galaxy twice."
Peter looked at him and he tried to hide how his heart swelled. Receiving praise from the blue man for things other than thievery was still new to him, but he didn't exactly hate it.
Yondu ignored his gaze. He wasn't about to get caught up in sentiment. He changed the subject. "Why don't ya tell us a little about yerself?"
You pretended to think a bit before taking a drink and saying, "Hmm... Nope."
Yondu held back a sigh. Tongue loosening: Un-Check. He tipped back his glass and nodded to you, as if to challenge.
You tipped your glass back in turn and as you poured another Yondu taunted, "I think that was five now, sure ya don't wanna slow down?"
You give him a patronizing look. "Is that your way of saying you give up?" You started to giggle behind your hand when Yondu's expression read 'Oh please.' and he finished his glass to keep the pour even between you.
Kraglin grinned wide and nudged Peter, "Eh, Pete, tell her about that time you got stabbed for flirting with that A'askvarii chick."
Peter's eyes widened and he looked at Kraglin, "Not cool, dude!"
Yondu chuckled and you just looked at Peter inquisitively, having no idea what an 'A'askvarii' was. Before you could ask Yondu spoke up.
"If I remember correctly he didn't get stabbed for that one. Kree girl tried to rip out his thorax. He got stabbed for trying to pull a runner on a Rajack girl." Yondu said, grinning before taking another drink.
Peter glared at him. "New topic." He looked at you. "What got you into archery?"
You sighed through your nose. You supposed it was an innocent enough question. "Dad taught me. How'd you'd come about living in space?"
Peter made a face and downed his drink. "Uh, long story, another time..." How would he explain that the reason he was in space was because his Celestial father sent the man sitting next to you to abduct him... and make it not sound awful? Better think of something lighter. "Uh... Got any family around or is it just you?"
You eyes narrowed. Your former giddiness visibly left you.
'Oh no.' Peter thought. That apparently wasn't lighter... You must not get along with your family. He tried to fix it. "Ok, touchy subject- I mean... Oh look, your glass is empty!" He quickly poured you and him another round.
You actually almost laughed at that, and a slight grin cracked your face.
Yondu saw how your expression changed and incorrectly assumed that it meant you weren't actually that irritated by Peter's question. He then took that incorrect assumption to pose his own question. "So, you didn't quite answer the other night, and I'm still curious. How come it's just you in this big old house?"
This prompted Kraglin to add his own question. "Yeah, and I've been wondering too, how's come you don't keep any photos?"
Your glare returned. You sat your glass down and stood up saying in a slightly slurred speech, "I have to pee." and excused yourself from the table, stumbling a bit as the alcohol hit you. You righted yourself, earning a chuckle from Peter and Kraglin, who knew too well that it's always easy to believe you aren't as drunk as you are until you stand up and the room spins.
Yondu also laughed, but internally cursed himself. He wasn't gonna get any answers like this. He hoped that maybe there was still a chance to save it when you got back. He saw a hint of pain in your eyes just before you left, and it made him want to know why. He felt he was so close to putting the pieces together.
***
You head to the bathroom irritated at being asked the personal questions. Leave it up to your new house mates to ruin your buzz.
You only got more irritated upon entering the bathroom, however.
Someone had left their wet towels on the floor. Rolling your eyes in annoyance you kicked them aside to make your way to the toilet. Mercifully you didn't find any unpleasant surprises waiting inside it like you had been. Peter must have gotten the "Flush the damn toilet!" message through to Drax. However, once you had done your business you found that someone couldn't have been bothered to replace the toilet roll properly, just having sat it on the roll holder.
You sigh irritably and replace it properly yourself. Yes, it could have been worse. They could have not replaced it at all and forced you to do a mini walk of shame to the sink cupboard to retrieve it, but you were too cranky to look at the bright side.
Then you went to wash your hands, only to see someone had smeared toothpaste all over the sink, a big pet peeve of yours. Your nostrils flared and you muttered to yourself as you washed that you weren't going to clean it. Screw that.
You went to dry your hands, and find there was no towel to dry them. You gritted your teeth and ripped a towel from the small closet, hanging it on the hook when you were finished.
Before leaving the bathroom you tried to gather yourself, taking a deep breath and telling yourself to calm down. It would be ok. You were just a little drunk. It wasn't that big of a deal. You were going to go back out and try to have some fun drinking that blue bastard under the table. (This, of course, was the alcohol talking. False confidence. You really did never stand a chance of outdrinking the Ravager captain.)
You start to open the door, and that's when you reach your breaking point.
***
After you left, Kraglin nudged Peter again, whispering the words, "A'askvarii girl," to him and giggling like a child.
Peter smacked him in the arm, "Quit it! That was one time! And I was only trying to get information! Tell him Yondu!" He tried to look angry, but the whiskey was having its usual effect on him, making him a giggly little bitch.
Yondu only grinned and shook his head. "I dunno boy, you were a little too convincing if ya ask me... Nobody asked you to sleep with her."
Kraglin bust out laughing at Peter's face, which was an odd mix of horror, drunken mirth, and "Dammit, you got me." He playfully shoved Peter and Peter shoved back with a "You suck!" which prompted Kraglin to squeeze his side, which of course made Peter jolt with a laugh and smack him away.
Kraglin only did it again and Peter laughed out a "Quit it!" while smacking him again.
Yondu just rolled his eyes and chuckled, sipping his whiskey as he watched his boys mess around like they did when they were younger on the Eclector.
After a pinch to the knee Peter bolted off his chair, only to have Kraglin follow, laughing, "Come back 'ere, ya coward!" He got Peter in a headlock and started to give him a noogie.
Peter laughed and managed to worm away, taking off into the hallway.
Yondu watched in amusement as Kraglin followed Peter out of the kitchen, and listened as the sounds of their shenanigans took them from the front door down the hall. That's when he heard the sound of a door slamming and a loud cry of "OW! Mother---FUCKer!" that sounded suspiciously like you.
'Oh shit,' he thought, standing from the table to go inspect the damage.
***
It had all happened fairly quickly.
You had opened the bathroom door maybe a foot before it slammed back in your face. Literally in your face. You recoiled and swore loudly, the flash of pain made your eyes water and you saw red before you even realized you were bleeding.
Kraglin and Peter jerked away from the door in startled shock after hearing you cry out. They had only been horsing around when their antics caused Peter to fall back into the door just as you opened it. They jumped when the door slammed back open with an incredible BANG against the wall, and their eyes went wide when they saw you standing there, murderous rage in your eyes and blood running from your nose down your chin.
Maybe it was because he was the nearest person, or maybe it was because he instinctually held up his hands and said "Sorry! Sorry! It was an accident!" but Peter was the one you lunged at.
You grabbed him by the shoulder and slammed him into the wall, nearly a week's worth of frustration and rage channeled through you as his body connected with the plaster.
Peter, not just going to stand there and let himself get beaten up, tried to grab your wrists and get you off him, but you evaded his attempts and punched him in the stomach.
This slightly knocked the wind from him, but he managed to grab your wrist and push off from the wall. He spun you around and tried to restrain you in a bear hug, saying, "Take it easy!" but you only dropped to your knees and lurched forward, flipping him over your back towards the front door.
Kraglin looked to Yondu, who watched from outside the kitchen door near the end of the hall. His gaze asked what to do, but Yondu only shrugged and didn't try to intervene. He knew Peter could handle himself and he was sure you needed to let off some steam, so he just enjoyed the show.
The commotion brought the others in though. Gamora and Mantis flew down the stairs, while Rocket, Drax, and Groot stepped out of the sitting room to witness the fight with wide eyes. They didn't know what had happened, but you looked ready for the kill, and to the few who could see it from their vantage, you looked almost terrifying with your bared teeth full of blood.
You now straddling Peter, attempting to throw a punch when he blocked it and flipped the two of you over. He breathlessly told you to settle down as you struggled, but you wouldn't hear it. If anything it seemed to make you more pissed off, and Gamora's cries for the two of you to stop fell on deaf ears.
You kneed Peter in the stomach and flipped the two of you back over. You weren't sure what next possessed you, but you threw your head down and sank your teeth into his shoulder.
Peter threw his head back and cried out in pain, mixing in a few curses as well.
Yondu cocked his head, seeming unsure on whether he wanted to be impressed or not to see you, Miss SHIELD Agent, fight dirty. Kraglin finally spoke up to say, "Hey, hey, now! No bitin'!" as if he were refereeing a wrestling match.
Right about then you felt large strong hands grip you about the waist, surprising you into releasing your bite on Peter as they pulled you off of him. The arms moved from your waist to secure your wrists and before you knew it you were being restrained in half a bear-hug by one very strong arm as you were turned away from Peter and pulled towards the front door.
Drax paused to open the door and, turning you to face him, flatly said. "You need to take a walk."
"Drax!" Gamora hissed, appalled that he was throwing their host out of her own house, despite the circumstances.
Rocket, of course, laughed and asked how you liked it, like an asshole. It was only then he saw the blood around your nose and mouth and his expression changed slightly to reflect his shock, now wondering if you had actually taken a chunk out of Peter when you bit him. Were you some kind of maniac?
You spat blood at him, only for it to land on the floor at his feet as he was standing too far away, and then slammed the door behind you on your way out.
Gamora came the rest of the way down the stairs to inspect Peter's shoulder, seeing the blood on his shirt.
"It's fine," he assured, "It's hers, not mine. See, she didn't break skin." He pulled back his shirt to prove it. "I think I accidentally broke her nose though. That's what started it."
Gamora looked at him in confusion. "You broke her nose?! What the hell, Peter!"
"It was an accident!" he said again.
Gamora took a step back. "Ok. Tell me what happened. Start from the beginning."
"Well, we were all drinking-"
Gamora threw up her hands. "Oh, well that explains everything!" she interrupted bitterly. Dumb stuff almost always seemed to happen when those guys and alcohol mixed.
Rocket spoke up. "You were drinking and didn't invite us? Rude."
Gamora threw him an unamused look. "Not the point, Rocket."
Peter tried again. He explained he and Kraglin joined you and Yondu drinking, you got up to use the bathroom, he and Kraglin started horsing around, and one thing lead to another until he fell back against the door as you were coming out of the bathroom and it must have hit you and pissed you off.
Gamora looked at him. So it really had just been a big drunken accident. She also then realized Drax had not only just threw their host out of their own house, but threw you out while you were also drunk, broken and bleeding.
They were sooo getting kicked out.
"We should call her back in." said Gamora. "You shouldn't have thrown her out, Drax. This is her home. We're only guests."
Drax looked confused. "Why? It worked with Rocket. I thought I was helping?"
"Don't bother trying," said Yondu nonchalantly. "Bet she's already well into the forest by now."
They looked at him. "How would you know that?" Gamora asked.
He shrugged. "It's where she went the other night she got mad. Saw her heading there out the window when Rat there destroyed the kitchen and ruined diner." He left out the bit that he'd also seen you head there in the middle of the night too. He was saving that bit of mystery for himself to solve.
Rocket just rolled his eyes and crossed his arms at being called out for his past grievances. It got cleaned, didn't it?
"I'm sure she'll come back when she's ready," Yondu added. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't tempted to go look for you, if for no other reason than to see where you kept going to out there, but he had a feeling that if you didn't want to be found, he wouldn't find you. He might have some experience tracking, but he couldn't also forget what you did for a living. While he might not know much about what your job entailed, he got the feeling you weren't just some desk-jocky.
Besides, if you found your way back, drunk, the other night, he was sure you could do it again.
Begrudgingly Gamora agreed to wait.
And wait they did.
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writersarchivex · 3 years
Text
New Job- One Shot
a/n: basically y/n just got a new job, and before her first day she goes out to celebrate with some friends. she meets harry at the bar. things happen. b o o m.
warnings: angst, adult language, drinking, mentions of sex.
!theres no smut in this guys . give me a break this is my first time posting on tumblr!
words: 1.6k
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After months of looking and years of hard work at college, Y/N finally got the call. She had gotten her dream job at a law firm, which might not sound like much but it very much so is. All her life this had been just what her dad wanted for her, to grow up and become a powerful lawyer and strong young woman.
So that’s what she did. She worked her ass off, never attending parties and never straying far from the lines. Pretty much everything she did was to please the memory of her beloved father.
Tonight though, was a change of pace for Y/N. A group of her friends invited her to the local bar, after finding out about her new found job.
“Come on Y/N. One drink. Live a little before you jump into that great job of yours.” Mia said into the phone.
Y/N sighed and looked around at her apartment. She didn’t really have any plans for the night, and there wasn’t any harm in having one drink with her friends. I mean, how often do you get to celebrate things like this right?
“Fine, Mia. Just one drink. No funny business though, I really can’t go in tomorrow with a hang over.” Y/N smiled.
One drink very quickly became two, and two became four. Y/N was very drunk. The room was a bit blurry, but she was certainly sober to know she’d had enough.
Mia and the group were having a blast, and of course she was as well. This type of thing was never Y/N’s scene. She was more of the ‘stay inside with a blanket and a book’ kind of girl.
She kind of hated nights like this. The smell and taste of alcohol overpowering her senses, drunk sweaty people dancing around, and a black dress that was all too short and uncomfortable.
After looking at her friends a while more, she had decided she was done. It’s way past time to call it a night.
She gave a smile to know one in particular, and turned to get her wallet.
She did not expect though, to be met with very pretty eyes and the most gorgeous hair she has probably seen on a man, or any human being for that matter.
“Can I buy you a drink, love?” The man asked, eyeing her carefully up and down.
His voice was dripping with attractiveness, and a beautiful english accent.
“Uhm, I really should be going. Thank you though,” She did her best to be polite.
Although the man looked like a literal gift from God, she really needed to get home.
She missed her pajamas. And her cat.
“Come on, just one. If you really wanna go after that, I’ll call you an uber.” He smiled.
Okay, by now Y/N was very sure she was dreaming. No man that sexy can possibly be that kind. Nope.
She looked at him carefully, like he did to her just moments ago. He was quite tall compared to her, and he was wearing a very nice suit, that fit him perfectly. A businessman maybe?
The man continued to patiently wait, until she gave her answer.
“Okay fine one drink, can I at least have your name?” She smiled at the curly headed man.
He clapped his hands together softly, and let out a chuckle.
“I’m Harry.”
——————————————————————————
Y/N felt the warmth of the sun on her as she slowly sat up in her bed. The memories of last night still a mystery in her mind.
All she knew is that, somehow she was not late for work.
And there was someone in her bed.
A man was laying next to her, facing the opposite direction. From what she could see, he was hot. He certainly had a very nice back.
“I’m Harry.”
Memories from the night prior flooded her mind. She began to slightly panic. She’s never experienced anything like this before, and she didn’t quite know what to do with the man in the bed next to her.
He was fast asleep, and right now she wishes she were dead. Out of all the stupid things she's ever done, this seems to take the cake. 
Trying her best not to wake the man, Y/N made her way quietly out of her room. I mean, she could just get ready for work? Let him wake up on his own?
With the few times that she had gotten drunk in the past, she's never really had a hang over. Call it good karma, or maybe just luck.
She examined her self in the mirror, noticing the hickeys that littered her pale chest.
"Jesus. Couldn't he have aimed a little lower there Harry." She grimaced, turning away from the mirror.
Although she felt a little stupid and embarrassed, she didn't really regret sleeping with the man in her bed.
He seemed mature, which is always nice in situations like this. Not to mention he was mind numbingly attractive.
Soon after her shower was finished and she had gotten ready for work, she stepped out of the bathroom trying her best to prepare to wake the man up.
It took every bone in her body not to just let him stay there until he deemed fit to leave, but she figured that wouldn't be the best of ideas. She walked down the small hallway and quickly noticed the smell of coffee surrounding the apartment.
Walking into the kitchen, the man was stood in just his boxers, patiently waiting for the coffee to brew.
Standing there she decided to indulge herself a bit. She never really gets the pleasure of housing someone like this in her apartment, so she figures it wouldn't hurt to admire a bit.
"The mugs are in the top cabinet." She was a bit surprised by how weak her voice was, considering how confident she was last night.
He turned quickly and gave her a quick smile. He seemed a bit wrecked, which was a given under the circumstances.
"Hangover?" She asked, slowly making her way to the medicine cabinet.
He nodded and sat with his cup of black coffee, placing his hands around his head.
"Yes. You seem perfectly fine though. Is it bad that i kind of wish you were hungover too?" He laughed a bit, but quickly grimaced at the sound of his own voice.
What he said made her giggle a bit, before she handed him a few ibuprofen.
He mumbled a quick thank you and finished his cup of coffee.
He stood, placing his hand on either side of the counter where Y/N sat.
Suddenly, she felt like she was in junior high all over again. Y/N felt her cheeks go hot and it felt like every sign of breath had vacated her lungs.
"Hangover or not. From what i can remember, last night was great." He said in a slight whisper.
He was close enough now, that Y/N could feel his breath on my neck. It sent shivers down her spine and she could've swarm she would die right on the spot.
He placed his lips on hers gently, and boy she could've sworn she felt sparks. Her whole face was on fire at this point. No man, or woman, has ever had quite this effect on her.
"I wish I could stay love, but I have to head in to work in about an hour." He said, tracing circles on the side of her arm.
She smiled and looked at the clock, she still had about thirty minutes before she had to get to the firm, and living pretty close surely helped her situation.
"It's okay you can go. It was nice- meeting you Harry."
He gave her one last kiss on the lips before returning to the room to get dressed.
Y/N was actually quite sad that he had left. She wishes he could've stayed longer, but she wasn't going to be that girl.
It was a one night stand, and nothing more.
She sighed and looked up at the polished building. Her cup of coffee had gone a bit cold, but she drank it nonetheless.
She checked her watch quickly, and decided it would be best just to go ahead in.
Y/N was very nervous. She worked hard and earned her position, but she was still a bit worried about how her arrival would be taken.
She was a nice girl, and she hoped that people would treat her the same.
She got a few looks as she walked in, but most everyone continued on with their business as if she was just another intern. That she was though.
"Y/N hey!" She stopped in her tracks as her close friend Liam flagged her down.
He stopped in front of her and began to give her the run down of the building.
"Here's everything you need, badge, ID card, and I wrote down the pin numbers to the break room doors. Oh and you have a quick meeting with the boss in about five minutes. He's running late, so you can just go wait in his office." Liam panted.
I was a bit overwhelmed with all the information he gave me, but I did my best not to show my nervousness.
"Okay. I'm going to head there now. Wish me luck okay?" She grinned at the man.
He gave her a quick hug, and then hurriedly made his way over to his office.
———
The bosses office was quite bare. She'd never seen or met this man. Y/N was hired by the head of the department she'd be working in. This man that she was meeting with was the head of the whole damn building.
Kind of intimidating, but it's nothing she can't handle.
After waiting for about fifteen minutes, the door opened and closed quickly.
"I apologize for my lateness, Miss Y/L/N. I was stuck in morning traffic." A familiar voice rang out.
She grimaced and turned around slowly to face the man.
Her boss.
"Harry?"
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aethersea · 3 years
Note
May I request 41 - First Kiss and 94 - Hair Brushing/Braiding for the Leverage OT3, please? (Also extra bonus points if you give Eliot beads in his hair like in The Ice Man Job, because we didn't get NEARLY enough of that in the show) Thank you!
I cannot believe I wrote this whole thing out and then never published it. I’m so sorry, it’s been at least twenty-four years since you sent in this ask, please accept my humble apologies and also this ficlet.
However, this prompt is just pure fluff, and I hate to tell you this but I am not a fluff writer. I just can’t pull off that unadulterated sweetness. I am in this fandom for the shenanigans, first, last and foremost! So this fic is now a 5+1 of Eliot and Parker trying to seduce Hardison.
1. Parker thinks they need to give him gifts, so she goes through her stash and picks out the largest, fanciest jewel she’s ever stolen. Then she realizes: Hardison likes stories. He spends hours giving their aliases histories and pets and allergies and favorite foods, he can get a whole sordid history of jealousy and betrayal from a single corporate email chain, and Parker knows for a cold fact that he writes little stories with his online friends about being wizards together.
She goes through her stash again and picks out the most cursed thing she’s ever stolen.
It’s a jeweled statuette, almost as tall as her forearm, made of gold and studded with precious and semi-precious stones. Mysterious deaths have befallen five separate owners of this thing. Its base is dented from the time it was used to bludgeon Owner Number Three to death. The tiny rubies it has for eyes follow you across the room.
Parker puts a bow on it and leaves it in Hardison’s room while he’s sleeping. He wakes up to this horrible little statue watching him from his bedside table.
He texts the group chat, Hey did anyone put an evil little gold guy in my bedroom last night? But Parker chickens out and says nothing (drunkenly betting Eliot that she can seduce Hardison is one thing, but admitting that she likes him is something else altogether). Everyone else texts back variations on “nope.” (Except Sophie, who just sends back a string of heart eyes emojis and a wikipedia link. She loves cursed artifacts.) So Hardison puts the statue away in a closet somewhere and figures he’ll deal with it later.
Parker is mildly offended that he put her gift in a closet. She goes into his room the next night and puts it back on the bedside table, where it clearly belongs.
This goes on for a week. Hardison puts the statue in a desk drawer, then in one of the cabinets in the office downstairs, then in the dumpster down the street. Every day he wakes up to those glittering red eyes watching him sleep. He’s asked his internet buddies if anyone knows a good exorcist. Hardison doesn’t really believe in curses, but also? What the fuck. What the fuck.
~
2. Eliot assumes the drunken bet will be forgotten by morning. What kind of world would it be if people always followed through on promises they made while they could barely stay vertical? So he spends the morning nursing his hangover and cleaning his knives. Cleaning guns is no good while hungover—all the snaps and clicks of popping things in and out of place sound like actual gunfire when you’re hungover, it’s a nightmare—but knives are quiet and have no moving parts. Buffing and polishing them is soothingly repetitive work, and every once in a while he can throw one at one of the dartboards on the walls and reassure himself that his reflexes are still sound even after that much tequila.
It’s only when he gets Hardison’s text about the golden statuette that magically appeared in his room overnight that Eliot realizes Parker’s actually going for it. After some internal debate about whether he’s going to stoop to this or not, Eliot decides what the hell and starts making plans.
Eliot agrees that gifts are the way to go, but not stolen gifts. Not things. Anyone can give a thing. Proper wooing is about giving experiences.
Eliot plans for three days. On the fourth day, he and Hardison have their irregularly scheduled monthly coffee date, and Eliot texts him beforehand to say he wants to do it at the brewpub this time. Hardison arrives to find a deceptively simple meal: basic country fare perfected through years of experimentation, made with the best ingredients Eliot can get his hands on. And Eliot, after all, is still a retrieval specialist. There’s very little in the world he can’t get his hands on.
And yet the night ends and somehow he has not gotten his hands on Hardison.
This is just not right. Eliot knows how to deploy a smolder, okay, Tangled reference aside he is damn good at flirting and he knows the looks he’s giving Hardison are clear as day. It’d be one thing if Hardison had turned him down, or if he’d been uneasily unwilling, or even if his eyes had widened slightly in suppressed panic and he’d abruptly found a reason to leave. Eliot can take rejection, bet or no, and he’d have bowed out graciously without a fuss. But this was much, much worse.
Hardison didn’t even notice he was flirting.
He’s going to have to up his game.
~
3. “How do you seduce people?” Parker asks bluntly, turning up at Sophie’s door just past midnight.
Sophie, despite the hour, is utterly delighted by the question.
This goes as well as you would expect.
~
4. Eliot’s taken a lot of dates to sports games. Hardison may prefer sparkly elves with purple lightning magic to a decent MMA fight, but baseball is the American pastime. Eliot gets them perfect seats, hot dogs from the best vendor in the stadium, even chilled beer that he smuggles in without letting it get warm. It’s going to be a perfect game.
And it is. At first. Hardison, it turns out, has a lot of opinions about baseball. What he does not have is an understanding of the rules. They’re not even into the second inning by the time Eliot finally snaps and starts arguing with him about it.
They make it all the way to the fifth inning before Eliot realizes that Hardison’s basing his complaints off the rules of a game from a Star Wars novel.
They’re at the bottom of the eighth before Eliot will speak to him again.
~
5. Eliot and Parker are drunk again. This is not intentional. They didn’t even mean to come to this bar, but the smoothie place with the fried oreos that Eliot had brought Parker here to try was playing such incredibly bad music that they’d ordered the oreos to go and fled. The bar was just the coziest looking place on the block, and of course they’d ordered drinks to avoid being rude––Eliot had entertained himself for a few minutes scouring the menu for something that would pair well with fried oreos and popcorn chicken.
And now they’re drunk. The conversation has, perhaps inevitably, turned to the ongoing bet.
“I tried everything!” Parker wails. “I laughed at every joke, I touched my hair constantly, I got him talking about things he likes.” She thunks her forehead on the bar. “All that happened is now I know the complete history of orcs in western literature.”
“Hardison wouldn’t know flirting if it pinched him on the ass,” Eliot grumbles.
Parker slaps his arm. “No pinching Hardison!”
“I’m not going to—I don’t pinch people!”
Parker’s ignoring him. Eliot pouts and takes another sip of his drink. He’s not entirely sure what this one is––it’s blue and kind of fizzy, that’s all he can say for sure. Parker took over the drinks menu several glasses ago, and she’s been picking them based on what has the most fun name to say. Eliot’s pretty sure the alcohol content’s been doubling with each order.
“Eliot,” Parker slurs, “we need to work together.”
“What?”
Parker lifts her head from the bar and frowns at him, the way she does when she’s figured out the obvious solution and is just waiting for everyone else to get on the same page. It’s adorable. It’s always adorable, but right now her eyes are wide and slightly unfocused from the alcohol and she’s listing sideways a little, almost as if she’s unbalanced, and it is the most adorable thing Eliot has ever seen. Parker’s never unbalanced, but some part of Eliot’s fuzzy brain thinks she’s about to fall on top of him and cannot wait to catch her.
“You can’t seduce Hardison,” Parker points out. Eliot is drunk enough to get offended by this, but too drunk to get out a complaint before she continues, “I can’t seduce Hardison. But if we work together, the two of us can definitely seduce Hardison. Together.”
Eliot stares at her. Then he takes another sip of his fizzy blue drink. Later, when questioned, he will blame his next words on that drink.
“Worth a shot.”
They take Hardison to a movie. They research for three weeks beforehand. They find the best movie theater in town, with the nicest seats, the biggest screens, and concession snacks that Hardison likes, and they buy tickets for the midnight premiere of the superhero movie that Hardison hasn’t shut up about for the past month. Parker even hacks into the theater’s computers in a last-minute fit of nerves and cross-references the credit cards with drivers’ licenses to make sure the people sitting in front of them won’t be too tall.
Parker witnesses a kidnapping in the parking lot while the boys are getting popcorn. They don’t even stay long enough to catch the commercials.
~
+ 1. “Hey Eliot,” Hardison says during movie night, a little over a week later. “Remember the Ice Man Job?”
Eliot groans. “I try not to.”
Hardison throws a piece of popcorn at his face. “Shut up. Remember how you did your hair for that one? With the little—those little beads on, like, a braid?”
Eliot shoots Hardison a suspicious glance. “Yeah, I remember.”
“Teach me how to do that.”
Eliot shoots Hardison another, more deliberate look, this one pointedly directed at Hardison’s complete lack of braidable locks.
Hardison rolls his eyes as if that’s a silly detail to get hung up on and leans forward to dig around in one of the boxes he has under his coffee table. He emerges with a ziplock bag of plastic beads in no time flat and hands it triumphantly to Eliot. Then he yanks a few cushions out from behind Parker, who’s sitting on his other side, and puts them on the floor in front of him. “Sit here?” he asks Parker, patting the cushion pile.
Parker takes a moment to consider being offended at having her cushions stolen, but curiosity gets the better of her and she just plops down between Hardison’s legs, grabbing the bowl of popcorn as she goes, and waits.
Hardison lifts her hair with sudden gentleness, drawing it over her shoulders and letting it fall down her back in a golden wave. His fingers brush against her neck. Parker shivers. Eliot is distantly aware that he’s gone perfectly still, focused with a hunter’s intensity on Hardison’s dark, graceful fingers carding through Parker’s hair.
Hardison leans back, hands on his knees, and Eliot breathes again. “Well?” Hardison looks over at Eliot, a tiny smirk of challenge on his lips. “Show me how it’s done.”
Eliot is suddenly, brutally aware of how close they are. Hardison’s couch is obscenely comfortable, which is half the reason movie nights are at Hardison’s in the first place, but it is not large. Their thighs are touching. Hardison leans away, to give Eliot access to Parker’s hair, and he’s still so close that Eliot would barely have to reach out a hand to—
Eliot ruthlessly shoves that thought down into the dark where it belongs. He dealt with this, he dealt with this years ago, and accepting Parker’s stupid bet doesn’t mean he’s forgotten the way Hardison and Parker look at each other. It just means he doesn’t mind losing for a good cause.
So he keeps his tone steady and his fingers brisk as he shows Hardison how to braid the clunky plastic beads into Parker’s hair, and if he flushes with heat when their hands brush each other, well, nobody has to know. He’s been trained to withstand eight different schools of torture. It won’t show on his face. His voice never once falters.
Parker has had no such training. Her lips have parted, and her breathing is shallow. She’s staring glassy-eyed at the TV. Hardison can’t see her face, sitting behind her, but Eliot watches her carefully, worried that they need to call this off. Parker’s not used to intimacy, to closeness that means something, and for all the three of them have spent half their movie nights literally on top of each other, this is something else. This has weight.
Eliot puts a hand on her shoulder, pressing down just enough that Parker startles and cants a glance over at him. Eliot raises his eyebrows in question, and Parker glares back: don’t you fucking dare. Eliot backs off. Hardison, frowning in concentration as he threads a wisp of Parker’s hair through a green bead, graciously pretends he didn’t see the exchange.
Hardison gets the hang of the beading fairly quickly, and Eliot shows him a few different techniques. He’s almost managed to convince himself that nothing is actually happening when Hardison says, conversationally, “You two are really bad at this.”
Eliot glowers his confusion. “At movie night? You started this, if you wanted to actually watch Alien then you shouldn’t have—”
Hardison’s smile is soft, but Eliot decides for his own safety to focus on the laughter at its edge. “No, at this.” And then he slides his hand onto Parker’s neck, caresses her cheek, and isn’t the slightest bit surprised when she gasps.
Parker whips around, and there’s hurt on her face but it dies in the glow of Hardison’s gentle, unteasing smile. Hardison pulls her up with the lightest of touches, and she goes, eyes fixed on his like salvation.
They kiss sweet and slow, and Eliot’s heart twists in his chest and he can’t breathe. He needs to leave now before he shatters in half, but if he moves then they will look at him, and he would rather never breathe again than meet their eyes right now.
Hardison breaks off the kiss, gazing at Parker with something just this side of wonder, and then he does look at Eliot. Eliot flinches. He opens his mouth to…say something, make some joke or hasty excuse and scramble out the door, but Hardison raises a hand to Eliot’s face, slides his long fingers to cup Eliot’s neck, and pulls him forward, as gently as he did Parker.
It’s a chaste kiss, no more than a soft press of lips, because Eliot is too stunned to respond and Hardison doesn’t push. It lasts a long time. A whole era of change happens in the span of that kiss, as everything Eliot thought he knew tears out of place and then settles, gingerly, into a new understanding.
Hardison pulls away, his hand still warm on the back of Eliot’s neck. His smile is pure sunshine. Eliot finds himself smiling back, helpless.
Hardison’s grin turns smug. “And that,” he says, looking between Eliot and Parker, “is how you do it. Y’all are disasters, honestly, I can’t believe two master criminals working together couldn’t manage a single real date—”
Eliot heaves a deep sigh and drags Hardison into a headlock, pinning his arms when he flails. Parker surges to her knees and starts tickling him mercilessly.
They don’t finish the movie.
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tsarisfanfiction · 3 years
Text
Morning After
Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Family Characters: Gordon, Scott
A part two/sequel to my fluffember fic Night Out.  Not properly proof read and will probably go through some revisions before I archive it, but two Tracys, two hangovers, and one bed!  Fluff time~
The first thing Gordon noticed upon awaking was that he was very much not alone in bed.  A warm body was pressed up against him, arm draped over his chest in a quite frankly too tight embrace for sleep and the steady in and out of warm breath fluttered against his neck.  Brain addled with sleep, he couldn’t identify who they were – surely Lady Penelope wouldn’t be quite so heavy, not that they were anywhere near the sleeping in the same bed stage of any relationship – and attempted to pull away.
That was scuppered by the fact that not only did his mysterious bedfellow have him pinned with the arm across his chest, but that his own arm was trapped beneath their body and was entirely dead because whoever they were was heavy.
Resorting to actually opening his eyes – and wincing at the light streaming in through the windows (was it that late already, and ow how much had he drunk last night?) – he squinted in the direction of his shoulder, where their head was pressed, to see dark brown hair.
Oh, yeah.  Now he remembered.
After the absolute disaster that had been the end of their night out, he and Parker had all but dragged Scott to bed, where they’d determined that yes, he was concussed but it really was only minor and most of his behaviour was just because he was drunk. Gordon, as the responsible and caring little brother, had still decided it would be a good idea to spend the night with him, just in case.  The bed was plenty big enough for both of them, so what was the problem?
The problem, he was now discovering, was that a drunk Scott was a cuddly Scott, and at some point during the night, Gordon had been relegated to plushie status.
Scowling, he prodded his brother’s cheek.
“Wake up, Scott,” he grumbled.  Scott was typically a light sleeper – like Gordon – and woke up at dawn (like Gordon). Also like Gordon, he appeared to have lost both of those traits that morning.  Instead of snapping awake, instantly alert, and getting off, Scott grumbled something unintelligible and tightened his grip.  Damn alcohol.  Why had they thought going out drinking was a good idea?
Well, the evening had been fun until Stool-Bastard decided to ruin it.
“Scoooooooott,” he groaned, jabbing his older brother again.  It was even less effective than his first attempt, and he frowned.  It was probably just the alcohol, but at the same time he was concussed, even if only mildly.  “Scott!”
Whether it was simply a case of third time’s the charm, or if the change of tone had alerted Scott’s inner Smother Hen, that got a slightly more awake groan.
“Shuddup,” Scott grumbled. “Tw’early.”
“I’m fairly sure this is a lie-in by your standards, bro,” Gordon commented, nudging him again and making a fresh attempt to free himself from his brother’s hold.  “Are you going to let go any time soon?  Nature’s calling and all that.”
The noise he got in response was a clear protest.
“Scott, I love you, bro, but I’m not your plushie or your girlfriend.  Or boyfriend, for that matter.”
“Mhrr?”
Honestly, if Gordon wasn’t mildly concerned about the concussion, this would be quite amusing. He’d never seen Scott this clingy in his life and the potential blackmail was stacking up with every passing second.
(He made a mental note to drink with him more often, as long as there were no Stool-Bastards around to concuss his brother.)
“Scott.  Bro.  Let go.”  He punctuated the words with another, fiercer, escape attempt.  It was enough to dislodge Scott’s head from his shoulder – or would have been, if Gordon hadn’t realised the danger and caught it. Counter-productive to his freedom, but he wasn’t risking that concussion with anything, even just a fall onto the pillow.  “Scott, I will yell for Parker and then everyone will know there’s a cuddle monster in there.”
“M’nster?” Scott mumbled. “Wha’ m’nster, Grds?  ‘Sno m’nster.”
“So you are listening to me!  Sort of.” Gordon sighed loudly and dramatically, because he really did need to breathe, thank you, Scott.  “There is a monster and it’s called Scott Carpenter Tracy, so if he would wake up properly and let a squid breathe it would be much appreciated.”
“’M ‘wake,” his brother protested, sounding about as far from awake as it was possible to be.
“Yeah, no,” Gordon said flatly.  “This is not awake.  And I really, really, need you to wake up, Scott.”
Right now, the only thing separating Scott from early morning Virgil was the lack of growling. It would be fantastic blackmail if it wasn’t so worrying.  Gentle persuasion was clearly not working, and Gordon needed to be sure this was just typical hungover Scott and not a sign that the concussion was worse than they’d thought.
He pinched Scott’s cheek. Hard.
“Ow!”  The arm that had been pinning Gordon’s chest moved, hand coming to rub at the abused cheek.  “Gordon, what the hell?”
In answer, Gordon tugged at the arm still pinned under his brother, and swallowed a cry of victory when Scott shifted enough for him to reclaim it.  Pins and needles immediately sparked to life in his previously numb arm, and he hissed.
Scott’s arm wrapped back around him, although not quite so tightly, and he groaned.
“Are you still drunk, Scott?”
The negative response was muffled by his neck – because apparently Scott hadn’t moved his head at all. “Hungover,” his brother continued, sounding less than pleased about that fact.  “And concussed.”
Well, if he could recognise that, it definitely couldn’t have been too serious.
Doing his best to ignore the buzzing pins and needles in his arm – success on that front was minimal – Gordon ran his hand lightly over the back of Scott’s head, where he’d been hit. Scott made a quiet noise of protest but didn’t pull away.
“So hungover Scott is as much of a cuddle monster as drunk Scott?” he queried.
“Shuddup.”
“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” he chirped.  “But seriously, bro, you need to let go now, okay?”
There was a pause, and Gordon could see the moment Scott realised he was being clingy by the way his spine stiffened.  A split second later, his brother was rolling off of his shoulder and releasing him.
Not one to be caught a second time, Gordon immediately sat up and regretted it as his head reminded him that he too had been drinking the previous evening, and just because he’d snapped into something vaguely responsible when Scott was attacked didn’t mean the alcohol had miraculously vanished.
A quiet groan later, and he stumbled his way out of the bed.  Nature really was calling, after all, and he ignored his brother’s mumbled attempt at his name – enough concern seeping into his voice that Gordon was confident it was just Smother Hen attempting to appear – to answer.
Scott was still in bed when he returned, now face down in the pillows and looking about as pathetic as Gordon had ever seen him.  Wincing at the mild throbbing in his own head, Gordon made his way over and perched on the bed.
“How’s the head?” he asked.
Scott’s answering groan was closer to a whine.  Gordon took that as a cue to lean over and take a closer look, only for his hands to be batted away by a disgruntled Scott, who then pulled another pillow over the top of his head in a move much more reminiscent of Alan.
“Don’t do that,” Gordon scolded, tugging it back.  “You’ll suffocate yourself.”  Scott made another wordless noise of protest.
Hungover Scott was, Gordon was discovering, a priceless source of entertainment.
“Fine, I won’t touch,” he promised, setting the pillow down out of Scott’s immediate reach.  “How about I call Parker and get him to bring up some water?”
He could certainly do with some.
“’ff til shuddyup,” Scott mumbled into the pillow.  Gordon took that as a yes and pressed the call button.
Parker materialised in the doorway so quickly he could well have been waiting there.  In his hands was a tray, carrying a pitcher of water and two plain glass tumblers.  To Gordon’s delight, there was also-
“h’Aspirin, for your ‘angovers.”  Parker eyed both of them with what Gordon hoped was amusement and not disapproval. “Mr Scott, ‘ow h’are you feeling?”
He got the same groan of misery Gordon had been awarded earlier.  Parker’s expression changed to something that looked fondly sympathetic; Gordon would love to know what Scott had done to get himself in Parker’s soft spot.
The tray was put down in Gordon’s reach, and he took the hint to help himself as the butler perched on the other side of the bed, hand lightly on Scott’s shoulder.
“Come h’on, Mr Scott,” he coaxed.  “h’If you sit h’up, there’s water and h’aspirin.”
Scott grumbled but, miraculously, moved.  He first pushed himself over onto his side, and then collapsed the rest of the way onto his back.  Clearly, his spatial awareness was still offline, because the manoeuvre put him awkwardly draped over Gordon’s hip.
“Up you get,” Gordon encouraged, using the leverage to slip an arm underneath his brother’s shoulders and nudge him.  From behind an arm, blue eyes shot him a baleful glare.
Still, Scott reluctantly obeyed, dragging himself upright and hunching forwards with another groan.
“Drink.”  Gordon pressed a glass of water into his brother’s hand.
He wasn’t sure Scott had ever obeyed him without complaint before, rescues notwithstanding.  It was a little bizarre to see his older brother promptly raise the glass to his lips and take a gulp without so much as a disapproving look.
While Gordon was for the moment content to uphold his agreement not to touch, he did find himself peering closely at the back of Scott’s head as he wrapped his arm around his back to support him.
Nothing seemed wrong, although he was willing to bet it was throbbing something awful, especially combined with the hangover.  To help, he slipped a dose of aspirin into Scott’s hand, and watched the tablets get swallowed down with as much eagerness as his brother had shown for anything since they’d woken up.
Satisfied for the moment that Scott was handled, he continued his own drink, enjoying the bliss of his own aspirin as it began to take the edge off the headache he was attempting to ignore.  Parker, bless the man, had made sure the curtains were closed, preventing the worst of the sun from assaulting his eyes, and with a bit of shuffling, he relocated until he was leaning against the head of the bed.
The sudden appearance of brown in his periphery as a weight settled on his shoulder was thoroughly unexpected.
“Scott?” he asked, looking across to see his brother had joined him and was apparently trying to mimic the previous night by using him as a pillow.
“Shuddup, Gordon,” Scott grumbled, but didn’t pull his head back or make any attempt to straighten from his slumped posture.
Oh, there was so much blackmail to be had here.  Gordon reminded himself that he wanted to go out again with Scott, to see what he was like without the concussion messing things up.  Just… maybe later.
After his head stopped complaining about last night.
He must have fallen asleep again, because the next thing he knew, there were low voices in conversation and a click of a camera.
Dragging open eyes he didn’t remember closing, there was something blue and green and-
Uh oh.
“That makes one of you awake.”
Virgil sounded amused, at least.  Gordon yawned, but found himself unable to stretch.  Something was weighing down his left side, and as he glanced across he saw a shock of brown bedhead.
Huh, how had he missed that earlier?
And when had Virgil turned up?  He wasn’t supposed to be picking them up until late afternoon.
“You’re early,” he accused, trying to escape pillow-duty and finding that his arm had at some point wrapped around Scott’s waist, holding him close.
“I’m not.”  Virgil came closer, amusement fading to concern as he reached for Scott’s head and gently probed with his fingers.  Parker had told him, then.  “You two slept the whole day away.”
Scott grumbled discontentedly and burrowed further into Gordon’s shoulder, away from Virgil’s investigations.  Their medic brother was not so easily deterred, however, and a subconscious hand trying to bat him away was instead captured and passed to Gordon to restrain.
“How is he?” Gordon asked, obediently clasping his brother’s wrist to stop him pushing Virgil away.  He was fairly confident that Scott was fine, but Virgil was undeniably better at diagnoses.
“Stubbornly thick-headed,” Virgil concluded after another few moments.  Blue eyes opened a crack, and the wrist in Gordon’s grip tugged harder. Virgil, ever attuned to their biggest brother, immediately swooped in with a penlight, which Scott grumbled loudly about.  “Should clear up in the next day or two.  Welcome back to the land of the living, Scott.”
“Did you have to shine that in my eye the moment I woke up?” their big brother complained, sounding much more like himself again.
Virgil was thoroughly unrepentant.
“Get dressed, you two,” he said.  “It’s time to go home.”
“Already?” Scott winced, dragging himself upright and raising a hand to the side of his head.  “Urgh.”
“It’s late afternoon, as agreed,” Virgil informed him.  “Don’t worry, you’ve got another forty-eight hours of downtime to go.”  He eyed them both, and Gordon realised that despite Scott raising his head they were still rather tangled together.  “I’ll meet you in the drawing room when you’re ready. Don’t go back to sleep.”
“F.A.B.,” Gordon chirped, unwinding his arm from around Scott’s waist as his older brother peeled himself away from him.
One more assessing look from warm brown eyes – mostly focused Scott’s way – and Virgil left the room.
“Well, I’d say that’s time to move,” Gordon quipped once the door shut, leaving the two of them alone. “You good to get up?”
“I’m fine,” Scott retorted, inelegantly clambering off the large bed and narrowly avoiding face-planting the floor.  There was the stubborn big brother Gordon knew.  “Get dressed, Gordon.”
Gordon eyed him as he regained his balance and headed for his packed bag, before concluding that Scott was probably stubborn enough to not fall over.  As the Creighton-Ward Manor was far from small, he himself had his own room, which was where his bag was waiting for him, so with one last assessing look at his big brother, he slipped out to get his stuff.
Scott was no doubt expecting him to go downstairs to join Virgil and Lady Penelope once he was presentable – and on any other occasion, Gordon would be doing exactly that, especially as he’d managed to sleep the day away instead of spending it with Lady Penelope as planned – but he was still concerned about Scott, so with his bag slung over his shoulder he returned to his brother’s room.
His brother was dressed and attempting to tame his bedhead when he walked in, pot of gel on the vanity table as he glowered at the mirror.  Of course, Scott couldn’t possibly be seen with a hair out of place.  Gordon rolled his eyes as his brother’s reflection winced, fingers obviously catching the origin of his concussion.
“Sit down,” he ordered. Scott jumped, apparently having missed him coming up behind him despite looking in the mirror.
“Gordon?”
“That’s me, bro.” Gordon hooked a foot around the stool and yanked it behind Scott before putting a hand on his shoulder and pressing down.  “Sit.”
“What do you want?” Scott didn’t budge, a hint of suspicion in his voice.  “I’m almost done.”
“You’ve barely started,” Gordon rebuked, flicking a particularly flyaway section of hair.  “Virgil won’t wait forever, you know.”  He put both his hands on Scott’s shoulders and pushed again.  His brother reluctantly sank down onto the seat.
“Gordon, what are you doing?” Scott demanded.  Gordon let his bag fall to the lushly carpeted floor and scooped up the hair gel.
“Doing your hair.”
“What?”  His brother swivelled around sharply, before wincing. Gordon rolled his eyes again and gently prodded him into facing forwards again.
“You can watch what I’m doing in the mirror,” he reminded him, running his fingers lightly through his brother’s bedhead.  At least part of it was obviously caused by using his shoulder as a pillow.
Blue eyes locked with his suspiciously via the mirror.  He grinned at them.
“Relax, Scott,” he soothed. “I’m not going to do anything you wouldn’t.”  He wasn’t even sure why he’d decided to take over his brother’s hair-care routine, except Scott had looked like he was going to fall over the way he’d been standing, and maybe he was still worried.
“You’d better not,” his brother threatened, which was also a surrender and permission.  Gordon ran his fingers through a few more times, catching the flyaway strands and reminding them where they usually settled before scooping some gel out of the pot to work into the brown hair.
It wasn’t quite up to Scott’s usual standards, because Gordon wasn’t Scott and didn’t usually use so much hair gel – and also because no matter how gentle he was, Scott still flinched when his fingers brushed where he’d been bashed.  Still, it was a pretty good attempt, if he did say so himself, and Scott wasn’t voicing any complaints.
Then again, Scott was probably surprised Gordon had done as promised and not added any twists to the hairstyle.  Another time, maybe.
“All done,” he declared, after one last time running his fingers through.  Scott squinted at the mirror, touching his hair lightly, before passing judgement.
“It’ll do.”
Coming from Scott, that was suspiciously high praise.  Gordon eyed him as he pulled himself to his feet.
“You okay, bro?” he asked.
“Fine.”  The response was so fast it had to be automatic, but Scott made no move to retract it.  Instead, he reclaimed the pot of hair gel and tossed it in his bag.  Gordon stooped to retrieve his own, slinging it over one shoulder.  “Best not to keep Virgil waiting, otherwise he’ll come see what’s taking us so long.”
He wasn’t wrong. Gordon was somewhat surprised their brother hadn’t already returned to check up on them.  He said as much, and Scott gave a grimaced smile.
Big brother could dish the smothering, but he wasn’t so good at taking it.
“I’m fine,” he said, despite the fact they both knew his head was still hurting him.  Scott shouldered his bag and headed towards the door, only to pause and wrap an arm around Gordon’s shoulders in a clear half-hug. “But thanks for looking out for me last night.”
The words were accompanied by a smile, and Gordon reached out to squeeze him back.
“What else was I supposed to do?” he asked, only half-joking.  “You’re my brother.  I get dibs on messing with you, not some drunk down the pub.”
Scott huffed out a laugh. “Love you, too, little brother. Now we need to find Virgil before he starts worrying.”
As though he thought he’d ever stopped.  Still, Gordon grinned.  “Let’s get you home, big brother.”
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sword-dad-fukuzawa · 3 years
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all your gods are dead, a zhongkaechi au
Summary: It's a world where Childe meets Kaeya (for the second time?) in Zhongli's kitchen, and the three of them have more in common than they think. Childe-centric. I planned a whole AU for this with multiple sections. As per the others, let me know if you want more and I'll see what I can do.
Rating: T
Warnings: Canon-typical violence, alcohol mention, mild sexual content mention (nothing explicit lmao)
Ships: Zhongli/Kaeya/Childe
Dreams of Peace
The prince of the abyss was sitting in Zhongli’s kitchen, and Childe had never wanted to fight someone more in his entire life.
“Fight me,” Childe said, leaning forward. Kaeya’s baleful blue eye flicked up to meet his, startling in its intensity. He was hungover and half-asleep but sharp as a knife still, Childe realizes, and the thought made something spark in his blood. Looking Kaeya in the eye felt a bit like putting on his Delusion and letting the electricity of it run wild over his skin.
Fucking intoxicating.
But then Kaeya’s eye flicked back down, uninterested and dismissive. “I’m still kind of drunk,” he drawled. “I won’t put up much of a fight, Ajax.” His gaze was still half-lidded as he swirled the tea in his cup, holding it with his palm hovering over the top. “Or is it Tartaglia, now?”
“I’m surprised you remembered,” Childe said, settling back in his chair.
He wasn’t surprised that Kaeya remembered, not really. Or even surprised that Kaeya knew his other name. He had the feeling that nothing escaped the other man’s eyes. No, Childe was only surprised at the sound of his name in Kaeya’s mouth—his real name, the one that he left behind long ago, because the only person who addresses him as such is his father.
And he hadn’t been home to Snezhnaya in a very long time.
He couldn’t decide if it was wrong, somehow, like a coat that didn’t fit anymore, or if it was a nearly-forgotten reminder of an old friend.
“You’re a bit hard to forget,” said Kaeya, and smiled a bit lopsidedly. He took a sip from his tea. “A tiny, wide-eyed child, nursing a sprained ankle in the depths of the Abyss? And one who so brazenly disregarded my warning? I couldn’t forget you if I tried.”
But before he could reply—though what does one say to that?—he caught the sound of clothing rustling. “You met in the Abyss?” asked Zhongli, and Childe had almost forgotten that he was in Zhongli’s kitchen. Childe turned to him, grinning. “A long time ago,” he agreed. “Before I was a Harbinger.”
Zhongli raised a single eyebrow but didn’t comment. Childe supposed that he would know all about having multiple names, and the way that each identity stretches over a person like taffy—overlapping and multicolored and difficult to get off. But Childe was the vanguard of the Fatui Harbingers. He could not afford to be only one person, no matter how much it chafed.
Besides, he didn’t mind being Tartaglia most days. It was the name the Tsaritsa gave him, and for that, he valued it inherently.
“If you two are going to spar, I’d request that you refrain from doing so in my apartment,” was the only thing Zhongli said in reply.
Childe reeled back, a hand on his heart. “I would never!” he swore, eyes wide open. He counted it as a victory when Zhongli’s mouth quirked up slightly.
“Not today,” Kaeya said, his voice still rough from sleep. He sipped at his tea and didn’t look at either of them.
“Are you busy tomorrow?” Childe asked.
Kaeya paused, then, and took another sip. “Probably not. But don’t you have places to be, Ajax?”
That name again.
It put him off balance, like the world shifted slightly to the right every time he heard it. It was somehow even odder coming out of Kaeya’s mouth.
“Nope,” Childe said cheerfully, shoving down his reservations, and leaned back in his chair. “I’m grounded. La Signora got a bit pissy at me for ruining negotiations with...someone. His face was so forgettable, and it’s not my fault that my fight bled into the clearing she’d picked for a meeting place. I was too busy, you know, not dying, to notice I’d trampled him.”
Kaeya snorted, but Zhongli looked serious. “So, you broke a—”
Childe sat straight up and made a slicing motion with his hand. “Don’t even go there, sensei,” he said warningly. “Wasn’t my contract and it hadn’t even been finished yet. So no wrath of the rock today, alright?”
Kaeya choked on his tea. “Wrath of the what now—” he gasped, putting down his cup.
“The rock,” Childe grumbled. “Sensei gets nearly as pissy as Signora on hot days when contracts are broken. And while I like to fight, I also don’t feel like being snapped in half by one of his pillars today.”
He had a terrible idea, and glanced at Kaeya. “I don’t suppose you would know anything about that?” he asked, trying not to leer too obviously.
“To imitate an old friend,” said Kaeya laconically, “Die, Fatui scum.”
Childe nearly tipped off his chair laughing. “Those are fighting words,” he said, delighted. “So perhaps—”
“Tomorrow,” said Kaeya, rolling his eye and downing the last of his tea. He looked at Zhongli with a curious expression. “Care to referee?” he asks, and it was a lazy, disinterested question. But Childe was sure that it was anything but. He couldn;t say why. Might be the gleam in Kaeya’s expression, or the way his accent twisted the words into something unfamiliar but still less jarring than the pitch-perfect speech of the locals.
Zhongli shrugged. “I don’t have anything else on my to-do list,” he said, and it was as much of a tacit agreement as anything. Childe grinned at Kaeya and leaned in closer, watching in fascination at the way Kaeya didn’t even lean back to preserve his personal space. Instead, his eye clicked to Childe’s and stayed there, focused solely on him.
“I look forward to our match,” he said, and, this close, he could hear Kaeya’s breath hitch just the slightest bit.
It was enough of a victory that Childe pulled himself out of Kaeya’s space and leaned back, nearly toppling his stool over. He saluted Zhongli and hopped to his feet. “Tomorrow, then,” he said. “Noon?”
“Make it two,” Kaeya grumbled.
“That works,” agreed Zhongli, and with that—because Zhongli wouldn’t break a contract like that, and he wouldn’t let Kaeya either—Childe left. He had business to attend to, despite what he’d said earlier, because La Signora apparently thought grounding him and cutting down his to-do list would be counterproductive.
He was restless for the whole day. Something about the promise of a battle made Childe twitchy. Or maybe it was less the promise of a battle, and more the promise of a battle with Kaeya. He wasn’t sure what it was about Kaeya that made him so anxious to fight him, really. He’d clocked a few things about the man from their encounter in the kitchen, and none of them had been particularly out of the ordinary.
First, the callouses on his hands. Childe knew what an archer’s hands looked like, considering he had to look at his own often enough. He’d seen Kaeya’s hands, wrapped around the cup of tea set in front of him. Long-fingered and tanned, but without any of the hallmarks Childe associated with a bowman’s. And with Kaeya in an undershirt, he’d gotten a good enough look at the man’s shoulders and back muscles to guess that he didn’t have a greatsword. He wasn’t frail, but he lacked the bulk of that every greatsword-user Childe knew.
But the way he moved around the room, even half-asleep and probably still hungover, had given him away. Childe had him pegged as a sword fighter by the time Kaeya had sat down. Something about the way he walked. Like a dancer, almost. More graceful than the stiff polearm-users Childe knew, because he’d seen the way Zhongli fought and moved. He could’ve been made of stone for all it mattered on the battlefield, and he wasn’t the most mobile of sparring partners.
A sword wasn’t particularly strange, though.
And the Vision—that had been easy enough for him to spot, dangling off his belt and giving off a faint glow. Cryo, if he knew anything about Visions, and the exact same icy blue that reminded him of the sky above Snezhnaya. Not the best matchup against his own Hydro Vision, but that didn’t bother him too much.
What had it been, anyway? Not the weapon, not the Vision, neither of those things had gotten under Childe’s skin. He couldn’t figure it out, and he spent the entire day distracted as he tried to puzzle out exactly why Kaeya intrigues him so.
Before he knew it, he’d finished his errands and it was time for him to head back to his lodgings. He was staying at a nice inn, close enough to the harbor that he didn’t have to travel far, but distanced enough that it wasn’t a huge drain. It wasn’t like he couldn’t pay for an inn at the very heart of Liyue Harbor, and wasn’t not like he really has qualms about blowing all that money, but he’d had a gut feeling.
After the Abyss, Childe always listened to his gut feelings.
So he headed back to the inn, waving a greeting to the nice old lady at the front desk. Entered his room, locked the door behind him. He flopped onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, stretching out with a sigh. “Nobody’s quite caught my eye like that since that traveler did,” he murmured, entirely to himself. And he’d been perfectly justified in being interested in that traveler. He’d never met another person who could control multiple elements without either a Vision or Delusion, and he’d never met once since.
Maybe it was because Kaeya reminds him of the traveller. Aether had always put up a good fight, the kind that got his blood singing in his veins and the world to look as sharp as cut crystal. The kind of fight that let him see, really see, why he was alive in a world where so many people had perished before him and would perish after him.
It took longer than normal for Childe to finally drop off to sleep, even after he did his evening exercise and took a bath. He couldn’t help but ruminate on the strange man in Zhongli’s kitchen, and all the mysteries that surround him. Because he had last seen Kaeya in the Abyss, in that dark, godless world lurking beneath Teyvat. When had he left, anyway? And why?
Come to think of it, he had never asked what Kaeya was doing down there in the first place. He’d always just assumed it was a strange quirk of the Khaenri’ah people, to meander underneath the ground. But the Abyss is a dangerous place. Not the sort of living conditions where anyone would want to raise a child.
And yet Kaeya had been down there, nonchalant and worried all at once, because Ajax had fallen into trouble he couldn’t get out of on his own.
Ajax.
He almost never thought of himself with that name anymore. Had being named as such, by someone other than his father, truly put him so off-balance? He’d need to get a handle on that.
Can’t be getting distracted in the middle of a spar.
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Darling, I’m right here - Eomer x reader
Hi!! I LOVE your Éomer fic. I was wondering if I could request another Éomer fic with the prompts 18 and 37? Thank you so much in advance! ❤
Thanks @elessandre​ ! 
One Eomer imagine, coming right up!
18. “Please, tell me this is a joke. This is a trick, right?” 37. “I can’t imagine my life without you.” “Please don’t.”
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Type: Imagine Pairing: Eomer x reader Summary: when Y/N catches a drunk Eomer doing something he shouldn’t, her heart is broken  Warnings: sadness, kinda angsty, vomiting, ‘shit’, ‘dick’. Also, I’ve never drunk and subsequently never had a hangover before, so … sorry for my probably bad descriptions. Word Count: 
A/N - the title is from a song called ‘Butterfly’s Repose’.
It was a joyous night in Rohan, with dancing Hobbits on the tables, an Elf and a Dwarf somewhere having a drinking game (Y/N watching from Eomer’s side with amusement) and the return of Aragorn. 
Y/N had, indeed, stayed by the Captain of the Rohirrim all night, letting him give her drink after drink as they both danced, laughing loudly.
“I’ll be right back,” he promised suddenly, disappearing off to who knows where. Y/N shrugged, picking up a conversation with Eowyn, who seemed to be quite enamoured with Aragorn.
After fifteen minutes passed, and Y/N still didn’t know where Eomer had gone, so she excused herself, looking for the attractive man.
Of course, that was how Y/N felt about Eomer. Attracted to him. He was kind and funny, strong and stern, one of the best warriors she knew, and a total softie, all at once. 
There’d been several inexplicable moments where Y/N and Eomer had stared at each other with no sound but each other’s beating hearts, the space between them at once agonisingly far and strangely close. Y/N had always been the first to break eye contact with a deep flush spreading across her s/c cheeks, looking at the floor with a wide grin.
And tonight, with the help of a lot of alcohol, Y/N planned to confess how her racing heart had made her feel, how much she admired, and, truth to be told, loved Eomer. She was going to tell him.
It was difficult for the (height) girl to push her way through the masses of drunkenly staggering people and look for Eomer at the same time, but eventually she could see the long blond hair with a strands of brown, and she made her way towards him. 
His back was turned to her, and as Y/N edged around to try and approach him from the front, she saw something that she hadn’t seen from behind, and couldn’t stop a pained whimper slipping from her lips.
Eomer’s arms were wrapped around the waist of a h/c girl, and he was kissing her as though she gave him life.
I was such a fool, Y/N stared, shocked. Such an idiot to believe any of those ‘moments’ really mattered.
She couldn’t bring herself to just stare at the two anymore - it made her sick to her stomach, and a raging fire of jealousy and pain swelled within her.
“Please, tell me this is a joke. This is a trick, right?” Y/N had meant for the words to come out more powerfully, stronger, angrier, but instead her voice cracked and pain seeped through every broken word. 
The girl ripped herself away from Eomer, blinking rapidly and glancing at Y/N with a guilty side-look. When the mystery kisser took in the other h/c girl, she looked back to Eomer, shaking her head and slipping back into the drunken crowd. 
Eomer himself swallowed, staring at Y/N with a confused kind of drunkenness, guilt and happiness and love and impartiality all in one gaze. “Y/N, I-”
“No, go and be with … that was Leowena, wasn’t it?” Y/N swiped her eyes furiously, resolving not to waste any more of her shattered heart on him. “Go and be happy. I was stupid to think anything we ‘shared’ really mattered.”
 It looked like Eomer was about to protest again, but Y/N held up one of her hands, barely composing herself.
“No. You’re drunk right now. Go home, go sleep it off, and then you can be with her. I-I don’t care.” Y/N’s voice cracked on the last lie. 
He swayed slightly, and before he could reach out again, Y/N turned and disappeared, running to anywhere where she didn’t have to face him, didn’t have to show him how hurt she was.
Because even as she ran, she left a trail of salty droplets on the stone floor, and her soft cries echoed off the walls.
Y/N vomited again, retching until some liquidy mess that was mostly ale came up into the bucket before her. She wiped her mouth with a rag, a disgusted look on her face as she shoved the sick out of her sight.
Blinding pain made the pale morning sun’s rays on the floor seem like staring straight into the sun itself. Y/N squinted, falling backwards onto her bed with a groan.
Her memories of the celebration itself were fuzzy, but as she sat up and held her head in her hands, it began to swim back to her, along with a pain very different from her hangover headache.
“What a mess.”
Y/N looked up, wincing at the loud voice (that probably wasn’t at all so but it sounded like screaming to her), and felt a pang when she saw long blonde hair. Then, she cursed herself for being so obsessed, realising that it was, in fact, Eowyn.
“You think?” Y/N moaned. “I drank way too much last night. I feel like shit.”
“Did it go well, at least?” Eowyn asked, her  perpetual cheerfulness now toned down as she recognised the hell of a hangover Y/N was suffering through.
“Did what go well?” Y/N asked, her words muffled as she resolved to lie back down with a wet cloth over her face.
“You know what I mean.” The hungover girl could practically hear the blonde rolling her eyes. “You and my brother. He’s literally smitten with you - I assume that’s why you ditched me.”
 “Oh.” Y/N’s voice was suddenly very small. In her mind, she saw Eomer and the other h/c girl, kissing, hands everywhere, and she squeezed her eyes closed. “No, it didn’t.”
“Oh, Bema (basically God for the Rohirrim),” Eowyn growled. “He is such a dick.”
“No, Eowyn, he- he wants to be happy. I want him to be happy too. If that h/c girl gives him what he wants … then we are both satisfied.”
“That’s a load of shit, Y/N,” Eowyn retorted. “You and I both know that you and Eomer are head over heels in love with each other. You need to stop being so selfless and spouting this crap and tell him that he hurt you! And what’s this about a h/c girl?” 
Y/N told Eowyn the full story, and was shocked when she began to laugh, slowly and kinda sadly, but still her usual clear laugh nonetheless.
“Y/N … Lowena looks pretty similar to you. Eomer probably thought you weren’t reciprocating his feelings because I know that when you have a crush you can get cold because you’re confused.” Y/N winced at Eowyn’s accurate analysis, but motioned for her to continue. “He was kissing her because she reminded him of you. He wanted to know what it was like to kiss you.”
Y/N remembered how Leowena, a normally kind girl, had pulled away from Eomer, shaking her head. “Oh. But that doesn’t make any of this-”
“Right, I know,” Eowyn sat next to Y/N pulling her up into a cross-legged position. “Which is exactly why you should go and tell him that.” 
Y/N squinted at Eowyn. “You’re too damn psychologically talented for your own good.”
Eowyn shooed her out of bed, telling her Eomer was likely to be ‘sulking’ outside. 
She was right - as the wind pulled at Y/N’s dress and h/l hair, she found the large silhouette standing, silhouetted against the far-too-bright sun. He was sitting on some rock, curled in on himself in an unusual display of frailty. 
As she crept closer, she heard a single soft sniffle, instantly muffled as he rocked slowly back and forth. 
Y/N sat next to him without a word, following his gaze to the rolling green grasses of the Rohirrim lands.
“I was drunk,” he began quietly, without any greeting. But somehow, it was as good a start as any. “I was drunk, and I was the saddest I’d ever been.”
“When you left me to go-” Y/N cut herself off. “To- to go get drinks, you seemed happy.”
“Drunk me isn’t like drunk you,” Eomer said. “Drunk me thinks about every truth I’ve hidden from myself. And I was looking at this absolutely beautiful girl I was dancing with, I couldn’t stop myself from smiling when you did - and I thought to myself…” at this, he smiled sadly. “I thought: ‘I just had to fall for the one who wouldn’t like me back’.”
“And Lowena?” Y/N was determined to get the whole truth out of him.
Eomer confirmed what his sister had been saying. “She looks like you, Y/N. I saw her … and then I saw you instead of her. And I don’t know what happened, but I kissed her.”
She wrapped her arms around herself, looking to the side at Eomer, who, sometime during his explanation had let a tear fall down his cheek.
“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” his voice cracked on her name. “You don’t deserve to be treated this way.”
Y/N stared at him for a couple seconds, taking in everything that he was, and she reached out to squeeze his hand. “I think I can forgive you.”
“You can?”
“I can’t imagine my life without you.” Y/N smiled, and it was finally a happy one instead of sadness seeping through it. 
“Please don’t.” The words were barely a whisper.
Y/N leaned into him, resting her head on Eomer’s shoulder. He pulled her closer and let his arm around her shoulders, turning his head to press a kiss to her forehead.
“I could never replace you,” he admitted. 
“Good thing you don’t have to.” 
Slowly, hesitantly, but surely, she pressed her lips to his, in a soft, sweet kiss.
A promise.
Darling, I’m right here.
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