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trashyswitch · 1 year

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The Start of Friendships

Jamie Meets Marvin

How about another story: How Jamie met Marvin! And let me tell you, this is a funny one.

This fanfic was suggested by Shannon! I hope you enjoy!

Marvin was sitting in a room, waiting patiently for his pedicurist while his feet soaked in the water. The pedicurist was getting her tools ready and her other items ready for doing his feet. However, there was another guy in the room with him that he didn’t really know.

“I’m sorry, Marvin. I forgot that I had scheduled you in for 11:30 and ended up scheduling Jamie in at the same time. I hope you don’t mind.” She told him.

Marvin shrugged his shoulders. “Doesn’t bother me. The more the merrier.” Marvin replied.

Jamie looked at Marvin with a smile in reaction to his words.

“Good! I’m glad we can work this out.” She told him.

Marvin nodded to Jamie. “I’m Marvin.”

Jamie nodded and took a moment to roll up his shirt. He showed Marvin the tattoo he had.

[Jameson Jackson]

Marvin smiled. “Oooh! Cool name! JJ.” Marvin reacted.

Jamie visibly giggled. But…no giggle sound came out of his mouth. Marvin noticed this, but didn’t say anything about it. He was too nervous.

The pedicurist sat down in front of Marvin. “When you’re ready, I would like you to remove your feet please.” She told him.

Marvin nodded and removed his left foot. The pedicurist patted his foot dry and started filing and trimming Marvin’s nails. Marvin watched curiously as she worked on his feet so casually, yet so professionally.

Marvin looked over to Jamie, and noticed he was watching her as well. Marvin went back to watching as she clipped his nails into a straight-across shape. She took the nail file and filed his nails down to fix the curved ends.

Jamie smiled and watched as the pedicurist finished. She cleaned her tools and walked up to Jamie. “I would like you to remove your feet please.” She told Jamie.

Jamie nodded and removed both his feet. She grabbed his left foot with a towel and patted it dry. She patted the right foot dry next, before grabbing her tools and starting to clip and file down his toenails.

Halfway through, Jamie gently tapped the pedicurist’s shoulder and signed something.

The pedicurist smiled. “Sure! I can get that for you right now.” the pedicurist replied.

She put her tools down on the towel and got up. She opened a drawer and grabbed a notebook and pen out of the drawer. She flipped the book to an empty page before giving the book to Jamie. Jamie placed his hand onto his chin and moved it forward with a smile.

“No problem, Jamie.” She replied.

Jamie wrote something down onto the notebook and handed it to Marvin. Marvin looked at the notebook and read it:

[I can’t speak. I have to use sign language in order to talk to people. And if someone doesn’t know sign language, I use this.]

Marvin smiled. “Cool!” Marvin replied as he gave Jamie the notebook back.

Jamie raised his eyebrows in surprise as he grabbed the notebook.

Marvin watched as the pedicurist started to push back the skin on the nails on Jamie’s toes. Jamie was completely calm during this procedure. He barely even reacted! It was incredible!

The pedicurist switched out her tools and headed to Marvin’s toes next. She started to push back the cuticles, and focused on the toes while Marvin struggled with the pain. Marvin tried to breathe through it, but it really hurt. It was an abnormal pain…A pain he barely ever felt. Marvin let out a silent sigh of relief when she finally finished.

Marvin looked over at Jamie and was taken aback. Was Jamie…laughing at him?!

Sure enough, Jamie was visibly giggling with his hand over his mouth. Marvin rolled his eyes and chuckled slightly in response. “You have the worst poker face ever.” Marvin told him.

Jamie let out a wheeze and slapped his own knee in response.

Marvin couldn’t help the giggle that left his own mouth.

The pedicurist looked at the two of them and smiled as she grabbed out the exfoliating scrub. She put it into her hand, rubbed it together and covered Marvin’s feet with the exfoliating scrub. Marvin closed his eyes and sighed as felt her rub and massage his feet. It felt amazing to him. He didn’t realize, but Jamie was giving Marvin the most surprised, confused face.

She massaged his feet for a few more minutes before dunking his feet into the water again and rinsing him off.

Then, she grabbed the exfoliating scrub and smirked at Jamie. “Now, are you gonna be able to handle this part today?” She asked.

Jamie bit his lip and blushed out of pure embarrassment.

Marvin chuckled a little bit. “Sounds like someone’s ticklish~” Marvin teased.

Jamie visibly groaned and flipped the bird at Marvin. Marvin just laughed in reaction.

And before Jamie was ready, the pedicurist started rubbing the exfoliating scrub all over Jamie’s feet.

Jamie had the most confusing mix of facial expressions. One one hand, he looked really uncomfortable. But on the other hand, he had a wobbly smile forming onto his face. He was breathing somewhat quickly and at one point, he accidentally smiled with all his teeth for just a couple seconds before covering up his mouth with his hand.

Marvin laughed the moment he saw the wide smile on Jamie’s face. “Wow! Who knew Mr. I-feel-no-pain, would react so strongly to being tickled.” Marvin reacted.

“He has ALWAYS dreaded this part. But it’s even worse today because it’s not just me watching him.” She told him.

Marvin smiled. “How often does Jamie get a pedicure from you?” Marvin asked.

“A couple times a week.” She replied.

Marvin widened his eyes. “Wait, seriously?! Isn’t that a bit much?” Marvin asked.

The pedicurist shrugged her shoulders. “I warned him of that…but he seems to like it too much to stop. So I’m not complaining.” She replied.

Marvin hummed before resuming watching Jamie struggle through the pedicure. It was honestly quite cute. But Marvin didn’t feel like he knew him well enough to say much else.

And then the pedicurist moved her hands up to his toes. And Jamie snorted! He actually snorted! Marvin couldn’t help the surprised gasp he let out (or rather, let in). Jamie was already a dark red color. He covered up his face to desperately hide his embarrassment. But that only made it even more obvious that he was embarrassed.

…And then the pedicurist snuck a few tickles in. Jamie snorted yet again as the pedicurist removed her hands from his feet. She giggled as she got up. “Yohou can put your feet into the water now, Jamie.”

Jamie nodded, his face still covered with his hands, as he placed his feet back into the warm water. He was thankful for the tickling to have stopped. But he was still super embarrassed. It was just too embarrassing for him…especially with this Marvin guy around.

Marvin chuckled as he watched the pedicurist clean her own hands. When Jamie removed his right hand for a moment, he immediately saw Marvin’s smile and quickly covered up his face again. Marvin chuckled and gently placed a hand onto Jamie’s knee. “It’s okay. I’ll keep your secret.” Marvin told him.

Jamie slowly uncovered his eyes and looked at Marvin with a soft, embarrassed look. He grabbed out the notebook and wrote in it, giving it to Marvin.

[You’re not bothered?]

Marvin shook his head. “I’m not bothered at all. I think it’s really cute, actually.” Marvin admitted, giving him back the notebook.

Jamie blushed a little bit more upon hearing the last part. He took the notebook back hesitantly and wrote something else in the book. He showed it to Marvin.

[Oh… >\\\\< ]

Marvin laughed at the makeshift emoji that Jamie drew. “Again, further proving how cute you are.” Marvin said.

Jamie huffed and crossed his arms before pouting like a little child. This made Marvin AND the pedicurist burst out laughing.

Jamie’s pout was soon interrupted by surprise as the pedicurist started removing the dead skin from Jamie’s feet next. Jamie pretty much jumped 4 feet in the air. Jamie covered his wide mouth and squeezed his eyes shut as his belly and shoulders bounced from newfound laughter.

Marvin giggled as he watched the man. It was really funny seeing a person without a voice just laugh. It really made him notice the other things besides the auditory sound that people do when they laugh. The body jumps, the dimples, the wiggles, everything besides the auditory laughter seemed to be a little bit more exaggerated.

Jamie soon pulled his feet back from the pedicurist’s grip. He started breathing heavily as he held his folded legs away from the pedicurist.

The pedicurist laughed and shook her head. “Do you really need a break already? I’ve been working on your feet for 5 minutes!” She asked, still holding the purple pumice stone.

Jamie covered up his face again out of pure instinct. But the pedicurist was not having it. “Now Jamie, don’t hide that smile from all of us. The least you can do is show us that big smile.” She told him.

Jamie shook his head and curled his toes.

“Okay…Well, if you’re gonna act like that, then I should do Marvin’s feet.” She told him.

She switched out her pumice stones and grabbed a blue one for Marvin. She started scrubbing the pumice stone on Marvin’s feet to remove the dead skin. Marvin smiled and watched curiously. It seemed to be working well, actually. He could feel the dead skin just falling off out of fear of the stone scraping it off by force. Well, that’s what he imagined, anyway.

Jamie was watching as well, unsure how to handle the calmness Marvin was showing him. He pointed to Marvin’s head and looked at the pedicurist in shock. He did a sign by putting the backs of his knuckles together and doing a circular shape into a book-shape.

The pedicurist laughed. “I don’t know how he’s so calm.” She replied with a giggle.

Marvin shrugged his shoulders. “I guess I’m just that good at getting pedicures.” Marvin replied.

“You‘re the most compliant person this week for me! Though I’ve been doing pedicures for kids' feet for the last couple days.” She replied.

Jamie huffed somewhat loudly and poured like a kid.

The pedicurist took one look at Jamie and smirked. “Including Jameson.” She replied.

Marvin laughed at the playful chemistry between the two. And while the pedicurist was rubbing cream on Marvin’s feet, Marvin tilted his head. “Wait…Jameson? Like the Jameson whiskey?” Marvin asked.

The pedicurist nodded. “Spelled exactly like the whiskey.” She replied.

Marvin chuckled. “Chase will get a kick out of that.” Marvin muttered.

Jamie turned to look at Marvin with surprise. He quickly grabbed his pen and wrote something in his notebook before handing it to him. Marvin grabbed the notebook and read it:

[Chase? As in…Chase Brody?]

Marvin widened his eyes and smiled brightly. “Yes! Chase Brody! He’s a friend of mine.” Marvin told him, handing him the book back.

Jamie silently giggled as he took the book back and wrote something else. He showed Marvin the book, and Marvin read the new words:

[Chase is my friend too. I met him a couple years ago.]

Marvin smiled brightly upon reading that. “That’s a hilarious coincidence.” Marvin reacted.

Jamie silently chuckled as the pedicurist smirked.

“What are the chances…” Marvin muttered as she looked at the pedicurist.

The pedicurist shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t know about that…I just wanted you two to meet.” She told Marvin.

Marvin blinked and tilted his head. What did she just-

Jamie gasped loud enough to grab Marvin’s attention. Marvin looked up at Jamie as he started signing words rapidfire.

The pedicurist squeezed her eyes shut as she bursted out laughing, loving every second of Jamie’s reaction. “Yehehehes…Ihihi mahay have intentionally set you two up at the same time…” She told him.

Marvin looked at her, dumbfounded. He looked at Jamie right around the time that Jamie looked at him.

Jamie signed something to her with a smirk on his face.

The pedicurist gasped and scrunched up her face in a fake pout. “You wouldn’t…” She warned.

Marvin tilted his head, confused. What were they talking about? And then he got his answer…Jamie had smirked and started wiggling his fingers in the air for both of them to see.

Wait…Is he really planning on tickling an esthetician?!

“Wait, do you know each other outside of the pedicures?” Marvin asked.

Jamie looked at Marvin and bit his lip. He grabbed out the notebook, wrote something in it, and handed it to Marvin. Marvin read the handwriting:

[Yes, we are friends outside of her workplace. And I grant you permission to help me as well. If you want to, then follow my lead.]

Sounds of screaming and giggling filled the room right as Marvin’s eyes read the word ‘follow’. Marvin lowered the notebook down and stared at them with shock and uncertainty as Jamie tickled the pedicurist’s sides and ribs.

Jamie kept waving towards Marvin to join him. But Marvin smiled and shook his head. “You enjoy.” Marvin told him.

And so, Jamie ended up getting revenge on the pedicurist for tickling his feet. Although, is revenge really required if it’s a part of your job?

#pedicures #ticklefic #ler!pedicurist #lee!marvin #lee!jamie #funny

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r0zyp0zy0zy · 3 years

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Haikyuu!! Prompt list trial

HQ!! Prompt list

Words: 3000+ {oops it was meant to be 1000}

Warnings: smut! First time, nervous Yamaguchi, Tsukki bein a wingman?

Pairing: Yamaguchi Tadashi x FEM!reader

Prompt(s): 1 & 4

PART 2 IS HERE

I LOST THE ASK!! But I did copy it down so.. also this was A LOT longer than I intended

"heh, you're awfully close— a-are we going to kiss now?" And "AH! I'm sorry, I'm sorry— I didn't mean to!" With Yamaguchi please? (I was thinking maybe a first-time scenario mayhaps? It's ok if it's not!) thanks!

Yamaguchi never thought that he would be in this situation, ever. To be fair, it was mostly Tsukkishima's fault that this was about to happen. Yamaguchi probably should've kept his mouth shut about being jealous that Tsukki had lost his virginity, mostly because he forgot that Tsukki had no shame asking girls for sex; and also that he would do it for Yamaguchi. He honestly didn't even know how Tsukishima had convinced someone to hook up with Yamaguchi of all people.

"So remember when you told me you wanted to lose your virginity?" Tsukki picked at his lunch with a cheeky grin on his face.

"...yes? Why, it's not that big of a deal." Yamaguchi replied, scared of what his best friend was about to say to him.

"I got someone who wants to help you lose it," Tsukishima quirked a brow as he took a bite of his salad. "You interested?"

Yamaguchi choked on his sandwich, and he had to take a few minutes to get his food down his throat, "you- you what?!"

"Quiet, unless you want everyone in the cafeteria to know you wanna get laid," the blonde said carelessly. "So do you want to or not?"

"I-I..." Tadashi was speechless, trying to spit out a 'yes! Please yes!'. "Er, who is it?"

"Y/n," Tsukki smirked, watching his friend's mouth drop open in shock. "Careful, you'll attract flies."

"Y-you didn't straight up say that I wanted to have sex, right?!" Yamaguchi whispered.

"Nah, I just said that my buddy Yamaguchi hasn't lost his virginity yet and that I wanted to do him a favour because he's too shy and hopeless to talk to girls," Tsukishima mused. He watched the green haired boy in front of him have an existential crisis in the span of a few seconds before he gripped the sides of his own face.

"Is this real? You're not pranking me, right? You're not that much of an asshole," Yamaguchi worried in disbelief, crossing his fingers praying that his luck shone through.

"I wouldn't do that to you," Tsukishima reassured, "Hinata and Kageyama... maybe."

"Holy shit," Tadashi exasperated, "I hope to god that she's not pitying me. Or even worse! She'll come over and she'll make fun of me!"

"She will if you're into that," Tsukishima finished the last of his salad.

"You're not helping," Yamaguchi pouted, "I'm really worried."

"Yams, if I thought that she would do that than I wouldn't've asked her. Y'know, she told me that she thinks you're cute," The blonde packed up his lunch containers, "she also said that you're very sweet."

"What?!" Yamaguchi's eyes were as wide as saucers. Did she really? Is that really what she thinks of me?

"Yes. Pack up your shit, the bell's about to go," Tsukki pressed, throwing his bag over his shoulder.

So now Tadashi was in his bathroom a few hours before you were supposed to come over, his dad's electric razor in hand. He didn't exactly know how to angle his body so he could catch the falling hair on a paper towel, so he just sat himself on the toilet with his mum's vanity mirror propped on a stool.

Once Yamaguchi eventually managed to trim up, (with an unusually long 'is that what it looks like?' period of discovery), he took a shower and made sure he didn't smell. He scrubbed the hell out of his nails, and brushed his teeth squeaky clean. As he nervously awaited your arrival, he cleaned up his room and made his bed. He blushed as he laid out several condoms that Tsukki had given him, remembering the other day where he had to test them to make sure that they fit.

Yamaguchi eyed himself up and down in his mirror, trying to figure out what he should wear, (which he normally wasn't worried about at all). Should I wear boxers or briefs... will she even know the difference between the two? Should I wear a belt, or would that be too much work? Is a button-up a bit too formal for this event? Yes, ok T-shirt time.

The minutes leading up to your appearance made Yamaguchi sick to his stomach, and he tried to calm his nerves by taking deep breaths. Would he be too scrawny for her? Maybe his dick was small and he just didn't know it? Now that he thinks about it, are his nipples a bit weird? He attempted to flatten the cowlick on the top of his head, but it wouldn't comply. A 'ding' from Tadashi's phone makes him freeze, and he glanced over to peer at the screen.

Y/n: I'm here! I didn't know if I should've knocked or not

Yams: I'll be right there! One moment

Yamaguchi dropped his phone and grabbed one of his pillows before screaming into it. He delicately set it back down, and he made his way to the front door. He was lucky that his dad was working late, and that his mum was away to visit a sick relative. Otherwise, he would have a very hard time explaining your presence to them.

"Hi!" Tadashi said breathlessly as he opened the door to his home, eyes meeting with your e/c ones. God, were you beautiful.

"Hello," you replied shyly, playing with the straps of your bag.

"Come on in," Yamaguchi's chest felt tight as you took off your shoes and put on the guest slippers.

He led you to the living room, unsure if he should take you to his room so soon. He went off to prepare some tea, and his mind swirled dizzily. The two of you barley talked at school, and the past week of getting to know you over text just made Yamaguchi fall for you harder. He swallowed a lump in his throat, and brought the tea tray to the living room with shaky hands.

"Uh, I wasn't sure what you liked, so I hope blackberry is fine..." Tadashi rubbed the back of his neck, eyeing the carpet with piqued interest.

"It's fine!" You smiled gently, pulling your cup closer to you. "So anything that you want to talk about before uh, the main event?"

Yamaguchi was glad he hadn't taken a sip of his tea, because he would've sputtered like an idiot if he did, "uhm, n-not really? I'm j-just really nervous, so please take care."

"Of course! We'll go as slow as you want, no worries," you reassured, taking a sip of your tea, "y-you do have condoms, right?"

Yamaguchi stuttered again, "y-yeah". God he was awkward, getting embarrassed over damn latex.

The two of you did some studying to loosen the mood, and Tadashi started to feel just a little bit more relaxed. It was English you were studying, and since you were a speaker you helped him immensely.

"I know, i's and e's together are tricky, even for me. Most of the time the 'i' is before the 'e', but English can be a dickhead sometimes and it'll be the opposite," you leaned over the table to him as you corrected a few of his words. "But other than that, it looks great!"

Tadashi blushed at the praise, and thanked you quietly. He had to take a few moments so he could breathe normally again as he wasn't used to you being so close. His flush reddened tenfold when he noticed that your shirt seemed to have gotten pulled down a bit, exposing some of your breasts to him. He took a sharp intake of breath as he forced himself to look away.

"It's fine, Yama-kun," you giggled. "You can look all you want."

"S-sorry!" He apologized, embarrassed that you had caught him.

"C'mon, you can take a closer look," you pushed your chair back as you stood up to lean towards him, your shirt complying with gravity.

Tadashi was too flustered to speak, let alone look away from the eyeful you were giving him. You used one hand to grip both of his cheeks to pull him forward, causing him to stand up too. You guided his face so he was level to your boobs, and smiled bashfully when he let out the smallest whimper. You pulled his head up to yours, and you leaned in so your noses were almost touching.

"Heh, you're awfully close— a-are we going to k-kiss now?" Yamaguchi gulped nervously at the thought of your lips on his, and he inwardly groaned in annoyance that he was already getting hard.

"If you want to~," you smiled invitingly at him with your pretty e/c eyes as you touched noses with him.

"O-ok," he gulped, blinking harshly because of nerves.

You closed the gap and pressed your soft lips on his, kissing him slowly with purpose. You pulled away for a moment before going back in for a second taste, and you trailed your fingers down Yamaguchi's torso until you reached his waist. You gripped him gently, slowly riding your hands higher and lower. A gasp left his lips once you pulled away, and his cheeks were ferociously flushed.

"H-holy..." Tadashi mumbled, his lips still tingling from your kisses. "I didn't think it would feel so good."

"D'you mind if we head over to your room now?" You asked, chest still rising and falling a little unevenly from the kiss.

Tadashi gulped nervously as he led you to his bedroom up the stairs, trying to hide his erection so you wouldn't make fun of him for getting hard so fast. Once he locked the door behind you, he looked back to his bed where you were sitting, taking off your necklace and placing it on his side table, taking care not to tangle it. You encouraged him to come over with a beckoning of your hand, and patted beside you with the other.

"C'mon Yams don't be shy, take a seat. I won't bite," you smiled warmly at him. "Unless you want me to."

Tadashi blushed as he walked over, plopping down beside you. You turned to face him and tilted your head to indicate that you wanted to give him another kiss, he leaned closer and you gently held his face. He let out a soft whimper once your mouths collided again, and gripped the sheets under him tightly.

"Touch me, Yams," you moaned into his mouth, and Tadashi thought that he was going to pass out at your words.

He anxiously reached out his hands to grip your waist, and squeaked in surprise when you groaned against his lips, opening your mouth and gliding your tongue across his lower lip. Tadashi let your tongue graze against his, and his whole body shivered at the unfamiliar sensation. The green-haired boy tensed when he felt your hand drop from his face to his chest, which was rising and falling quickly and unevenly.

"You alright? Still want to keep going?" You asked breathlessly, toying with the neck of his T-shirt.

"Hmng," Yamaguchi struggled to formulate a sentence, "y-yes please."

"Using your manners at a time like this? You're so cute, Yams," you cooed, gliding your hand down his torso, giving him a peck on the lips as you continued down to his belt.

"C-call me Tadashi," said the young man, blushing profusely, "p-please."

"You're so cute, Ta~da~shi~," you whispered in his ear, sliding a hand between his thighs.

Yamaguchi moaned as your hand drew agonizingly closer to the strain in his jeans, desperately trying not to rut upward into your touch.

You looked into his half-lidded eyes, purring, "can I touch you, Tadashi?"

"Yes," he answered, too quick for his liking. He inwardly cringed at his eagerness, but it was soon forgotten once you trailed a finger over his clothed cock. "Hah~," he squeaked.

You took ahold of one of his hands and brought it up to your breast, squeezing it for him lightly. Apprehensively Tadashi slowly started to knead it, bringing his other hand to cup your opposite breast. He was very gentle with your assets, taking care not to clutch too harshly on the soft mounds. Tadashi had almost forgotten that your hand laid on his thigh, until you firmly gripped his package.

"Hmmgh," Yamaguchi moaned against your mouth, leaning forwards as you leaned backwards to separate your lips. He was about to apologize, for what he didn't really know, but shut up as you peeled your shirt off your body. He had dreams of this happening, and now that it was real he didn't know what to do. Tadashi blushed furiously as you gripped your own boobs, pinching at your clothed nipples.

You peered at him expectantly, but noticing his cocked head you bowed forward and grasped the hem of his shirt. Tadashi felt foolish at the fact that he forgotten he had to take his clothes off as well, and he warily helped you lift his shirt over his head. The boy huffed anxiously as your eyes drawled across his torso, his head starting to spin with embarrassment and insecurity.

"S-sorry if i-it's not what you h-hoped for," Tadashi heaved, shoving down the hot tears that were building up inside of him. He rubbed his arms as if to warm himself, cowering in apprehensiveness.

"Oh Tadashi, you're exactly what I hoped for," you hummed lowly, trailing your hands down your body to rid yourself of your pants/skirt. He gulped in relief and arousal, watching carefully as you rubbed up and down your torso, occasionally playing with the hem of your undies.

You reached forward to grab his belt, undoing it with a jingle. You threw it onto the floor and dove back down to unbutton Tadashi's jeans, licking your lips in excitement. Just the sight alone made him groan, feeling as though he could cum any second. He watched you with wide, curious eyes when you slowly unzipped his pants. You grinned wildly once you finally rid Yamaguchi of his pants, and gently palmed him through his boxers.

"M-maybe you shouldn't do t-that," Tadashi stuttered as you continued to rub his clothed, twitching cock. "I- I don't wanna f-finish too fast and then we c-can't, uh, y'know..."

You hummed in understanding, and slid away from the dark haired boy. Tadashi awaited the reveal of your breasts as you teasingly struggled with your bra, and you saw him lean in a little closer. He watched in awe as you exposed your tits to him, continuing down to your underwear. Yamaguchi gulped when you peeled them off, staring at the slick string of your juices connecting you to the piece of clothing.

Tadashi was frozen in place as he watched you slowly spread your legs open, giving him a show of teasing yourself. In all honesty it looked like he was about to faint from the lack of blood in his face, but that quickly changed when you softly moaned his name. A whimper escaped his lips and he rutted forward into the air, feeling the blush creep quickly onto his cheeks again.

You breathed deeply as you slowly spread yourself open, carefully inserting a finger, and then another one a moment later. You felt so aroused that you didn't think you even needed preparation; still in a little bit of shock that, oh god your crush was in front of you with a painfully hard erection looking at you as if you were the whole world. The fact that you had scored this opportunity was incredible, and you still couldn't believe it.

You met Tadashi's eyes and slipped your slick fingers in your mouth to suck them clean, observing his awed expression, "wanna taste?" You asked sultry, dipping your fingers back into your heat.

Yamaguchi's eyes were the widest they had been all night, and a strangled nod of his head let you scooch forward to him. He nervously opened his mouth, poking out his tongue to suck on your fingers. You felt your cunt clench desperately at the sight in front of you, and you sighed a moan. You took Tadashi's hands in yours and leant backward onto his pillows, letting him trap you with his arms beside your head.

"Hah— f-fuck," Tadashi choked out, grinding his still clothed cock on your thigh. "P-please~."

"Take off your underwear, 'Dashi," you murmured hotly to him, trailing your hands down his back to his waistband.

He struggled with the article of clothing before throwing them to the floor, blushing profusely once he realized that he was completely exposed to you. A groan was ripped from Tadashi's chest when you gave him a few pumps, reaching out with your other hand to grab a condom.

"Are you ready?" You asked. "You can back out at anytime, no judgment."

"F-fuck yes," Tadashi stammered, shakily rolling the thin latex on his fluttering cock.

He let you take charge, taking a deep breath when you grasped his dick and guided him slowly inside of you. Tadashi's mouth widened into an 'O' as he sank deeper into your hot pussy, taking the air from his lungs. A low groan rumbled in his chest, and he gripped the sheets tightly. He couldn't move, he realized. If he moves, he cums. Game over.

"I-I-," Tadashi gasped, struggling to find the right words. "T-tight."

"You can move, Tadashi," you encouraged, trying not to clench around him.

So he did, wanting to impress you somehow. His abs tensed painfully as he fiercely held in his orgasm, slowly dragging back and forth. He heard himself whimpering and he was scared that he was going to start crying. Your reassuring moans didn't help Tadashi from his sensitive state and he cried out as he came, shaking as he emptied his load into the condom.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry— I didn't mean to!" He panicked, lip trembling as he ridiculed himself for being so embarrassing. He hid his face from your gaze by locking his eyes on your chest, focusing all his energy on not crying.

"It's ok! It's ok, don't worry," you soothed, a little surprised at Tadashi's reaction. "There's always a next time," you added shyly, blush deepening.

"—n-next time..?"

#anime #hq anime #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #yamaguchi tadashi x reader #yamaguchi tadashi #tadashi yamaguchi #tadashi yamaguchi x reader #Yamaguchi x reader smut #haikyuu!!

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wienerbarnes · 3 years

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Much Ado About Nothing (6/6)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1,493

Warnings: fluff!

A/N: finally the last chapter! thank you to everyone that liked/reblogged/read this story! im so glad you guys liked it and im so glad i was finally able to write this au :) enjoy!

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Fate can work in mysterious ways. Clever ways. Funny ways, too. It can be pretty funny. At least that’s how you’re thinking of it looking at yourself in the mirror right now. Your white dress has long sleeves made of lace to show your skin peeking through, leading up to a deeper v-neckline, paired with a necklace Bucky had given you months ago as a present. Was it an anniversary? Your birthday? Just because? You can’t remember.

You never thought you’d be here, looking at yourself wearing a wedding dress. Staring at Sharon and Nat in the mirror as they put finishing touches on your hair. Wiggling your toes where they sit in heels. Playing with the engagement ring on your ring finger with your thumb.

Definitely never thought you’d be here.

Bucky didn’t think he’d be here, either. He rubs at his perfectly shaped scruff, courtesy of Sam, and adjusts the cuffs at his wrist. He only got a trim for today, knowing you like his longer hair. You like to run your fingers through it, dragging your nails across his scalp, making his skin erupt in goosebumps every time you do it. You like to pull on it, too, but he can’t spend too long thinking about that.

He hears a door open and close in the distance, Sharon and Nat stepping out of your room, he supposes, which is confirmed when he hears their conversation and laughter as they walk past his own room where he’s getting ready.

He peeks his head out into the hallway outside the ballroom to ensure the coast is clear before tip-toeing to the room where you’ve been getting ready all afternoon. He walks over and knocks softly on the door, hearing your cheerful Come in! in response.

He opens the door a crack and slips his hand through to the otherside, so the two of you don’t see each other but you can still know it’s him.

“Babe! We’re not supposed to see each other! It’s bad luck!” You scold him, still walking over to lace your fingers through his on the other side of the door. He can smell your sweet perfume from where he stands and he’s tempted to say to hell with bad luck and go in anyway to kiss you.

“Well, I’m not seeing you, am I?” He teases, giving your hand an extra squeeze.

“I’m so excited, I needed to be near you.” He confesses to you.

You press your lips against his hand at his sweet comment before he continues, “I love you so much, I can’t wait to marry you.”

“I can’t wait to marry you, either, baby.” You tell him, resting his hand against your cheek in order to relieve any kind of desire for his touch you have right now.

“It’s almost time, babe. Mrs. Barnes.” He corrects.

You giggle, “I’ll see you soon, Mr. Barnes.”

He reluctantly takes his hand back before closing the door and making his way to the ballroom to make sure everything is in place.

You and him decided to follow Steve and Sharon in having a smaller wedding at the tower. It’s private, intimate, and has most of everyone that the two of you wanted to invite, anyway. You don’t know it yet, but he has the best honeymoon planned for you. You tried everything to get it out of him, but he insisted on you letting him take care of the whole thing.

The two of you still have your moments, sometimes; little things sparking the biggest arguments and pointless bickering. But as soon as you both catch yourselves in your old ways, it’s laughable and you move on. He knows it was hard for you to give up all control for him and trust him with the honeymoon, but he’s glad he was able to change your view of love. And he’s glad you were able to do the same for him.

He takes his place at the altar alongside Steve and Sam, Sharon and Nat standing on the other side, leaving space for you. It really hits him that he’s doing this when the music starts and people stand in anticipation for your entrance. How do people have cold feet? Is it possible to have hot feet? To want to get this done as quickly as possible so I can be married and call you mine?

You enter and Bucky feels like his heart explodes at the sight of you. Your dress is flowy with a short train, cinching at your waist to compliment your figure and the neckline that shows your cleavage makes warmth flood his neck. You look so beautiful. His throat suddenly feels tight and his eyes burn, oh no. He never thought he’d be the kind of groom to cry at his own wedding, but life seems to keep surprising him.

He surprises himself as a small whimper escapes him, unable to hold in the tears, bringing his thumb to his face to wipe any tears quickly. Not before he hears Steve and Sam snicker beside him, and what he thinks sounded like a You owe me twenty bucks.

You smile cheekily at him and he knows now that he’s for sure getting made fun of for crying later. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this happy in his entire life.

You finally reach him and he takes your hands in his, bringing them to his lips and planting a bunch of small kisses to your fingers and knuckles. You bring your hands to his face to brush away any tears as the officiant begins speaking.

Bucky feels everything flash by him as he stares at you. He doesn’t hear the officiant speaking, he doesn’t hear himself say the vows he spent so long perfecting, he only notices when he pulls you close and kisses you deeply when the officiant says that he’s married.

He’s married! To you!

He kisses you and kisses you and kisses you at that altar until you’re trying to drag him away from the post so the two of you can make your way back down the aisle. There are cheers and whoops around them, but all he can focus on is you.

The two of you finally make it to the back room where you can freshen up and change dresses if you want, and Bucky pulls you close to him before you can even close the door behind you.

He kisses you softly at first, just pressing his lips against yours, trying to put every ounce of love he has for you into it as he eventually licks at your lip, begging you to open your mouth for him to slip his tongue inside. In between deep kisses and tongue touching, he’s whispering to you,

“Thank you for making me the luckiest man alive.”

“I love you so much.”

“I’m so lucky.”

“I can’t believe I got to marry you.”

“Let’s just ditch the party.”

The last one makes you laugh, and push at his shoulders, which only makes him move his lips to your exposed neck.

“We can just skip straight to the honeymoon, take the cake to go... in one of those styrofoam containers,” He continues over your giggles.

“I’m not going to stop having sex with you the entire time we’re in Patagonia.” He mumbles, dragging his teeth along your collarbone.

“Bucky!” You gasp.

He clearly doesn’t realize the secret he’s exposed as he moves lower, tonguing your cleavage that’s available at the top of your dress before you’re fully pushing him away.

“We’re going to Patagonia?!” You excitedly squeal at him.

Bucky’s eyes widen as he realizes what he’s done, but his features soften as he notices the tears gathering in your eyes.

“We're gonna be staying in a nice little wood cabin in the mountains, see the Rio Baker Confluence,” He begins, returning his gentle kisses to the skin of your neck, “Ride horses to the waterfalls in the Aysén Region,” His hand grip the small of your back to pull you impossibly close, “Pet an alpaca or two.”

“Alpacas?” You whimper into his neck, both at the feel of his hands that have now moved to your backside but also at the thought that you told him you’ve always wanted to go to Patagonia about two years ago and he remembered all this time, even though you don’t think you ever mentioned it again.

“Hey guys,” Steve's voice sounds at the door accompanied with a soft knock, “Save it for the honeymoon, it’s time for your first dance.”

The two of you childishly giggle at each other at the sound of your first dance. Your first dance as husband and wife.

“Let’s go, wifey.” He whispers to you before planting one last kiss on your lips.

Bucky opens the door to see Steve smirking at them, happy to see his friends have found happiness with each other.

“After you, Mrs. Barnes.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes series #marvel #YAYYYYYYYYY ITS DONEEEEEE #i love this story sm #so happy for them patagonia is so beautiful #i have a travel journal that i put all the trips i wanna take and places i wanna go #and bro patagonia is UP THERE #literally so gorgeous #if yall are into travel stuff i follow this guy on instagram called chris burkhard #and he takes the most beautiful pics of places and nature and stuff #ugh #obsessed #anyway #thanks for reading :P

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sirrriusblack · 3 years

Note

Hiiii! I really like your writing and asked one before annnd I'm here again with another idea? I guess? Lol so um how about writing a Hogwarts graduation party and Sirius and Remus are so excited to go with eachother? They are getting ready separated all day and will meet at the ball.. I would really like to read a Hogwarts graduation ball from you. Thank you already and don't forget that you're amazing 💞💞

Thank you!! This is super late and way longer than I meant it to be lol,, but I hope you like it! And I’m sorry!

* * *

“Lily, stop. I’m not wearing it.” Remus stomped his foot and turned from Lily. She rolled her eyes at his dramatic display and put a hand on Remus’ shoulder to spin him. He glared down at the eyeliner pencil in her hand. She looked at him until he locked eyes with her.

“Remus, please?” He shook his head. “Okay how about this. I put it on, you hate it, we take it off. Piece of cake.” Remus raised his eyebrows at Lily. “But,” she continued, “if you like it, we keep it. Yeah? It’s a win-win situation,” she finished, smiling. It was Remus’ turn to roll his eyes.

“Fine,” he said. “Fine, But I’m going to hate it.” Lily just nodded and motioned for Remus to sit.

* * *

“Jamie, which shirt?” Sirius held up two white shirts, both of which looked identical in James’ opinion.

“What?” he asked. Sirius blinked.

“Which shirt?” he repeated. James furrowed his brows, pulling on his robes and straightening the collar. He looked at the shirts again.

“They’re the same shirt,” he said, the sentence more a question than a statement. Sirius sputtered.

“They’re—James—no—are you kidding me—they are nothing alike!” he finally spat out. James’ eyes widened behind his glasses. “This one,” Sirius said, shoving his right arm forward, “has lace trimming!” He widened his eyes. James flinched and cringed away from the lace but from the look Sirius gave him, he stood straight again.

“Lace,” he said skeptically and Sirius rolled his eyes. He pulled the dress shirt on, though, and started working at the buttons. James went back to fixing his collar.

* * *

Remus didn’t hate the eyeliner. He so much did not hate it. Lily was grinning down at him from where she was standing above his seated figure, holding the mirror up in front of him. He kept blinking, not quite used to...well, liking himself. He said as much to Lily, who flicked him.

“Shut up, Lupin, you’re hot,” she said, pulling the mirror away from him and placing it back on her bedside table. Remus scoffed. “No, really,” she said. “Plenty of the girls in our year have had a crush on you,” she finished, shoving the makeup drawer closed. Remus decided he didn’t want to talk about it. Not when only one person mattered tonight.

Remus was new to all of this—all of...Sirius. So far they’d shared an awkward conversation full of gay epiphanies, a broom closet or two and snatches of the empty dorm walls where they could share breaths and tangled limbs. They hadn’t been on a real, literal, actual date yet. Remus felt jittery. On edge. Full of hope. Lily laughed at the glint in his eyes. He flicked those said eyes over to her.

“What?” he asked, trying to sound bitter but failing with the sweet thought of Sirius on his mind. Lily grinned wider and leaned toward the mirror, pinning back a stray piece of hair.

“Nothing,” she mused, “I just...” she paused for a moment and only when her hair was successfully pinned back did she continue. “It’s finally happening,” she settled on. Remus furrowed his brow. “Remus and Sirius. Seventh year. About time,” she said. Remus laughed and rolled his eyes.

“Says you, Miss ‘I’d rather date the giant squid,” he said, and Lily grimaced. “Miss ‘never in a million years, Potter.” Miss ‘you’re a right gi—“

“I get it,” Lily cut in, flicking Remus again despite the amusement dancing in her eyes. “But look at us, huh? Lupin and Evans, going to the ball with Potter and Black.” Remus grinned, not able to help it. He was happy. Despite the war, despite the nearing full moon, despite everything, he was happy.

* * *

“Oh shit, hold on,” Sirius said, sticking a hand to James’ chest to stop him in his tracks. Sirius turned back and ran into the dorm, reappearing with his wand before quickly tucking it into the eccentric braided updo he’d configured earlier. James gave Sirius’ wrist a small tug.

“We’re gonna be late, Padfoot,” he comaplined, looking down the stairs. “And I have an extremely smoking hot redhead waiting for me—ow!” He yelled when Sirius hit his wrist. “What in Merlin’s name was that for?” he asked, following Sirius when he started down the stairs.

“‘Smoking hot’? Don’t be a dick,” Sirius said, straightening his dress robes. James scoffed.

“I was complimenting her,” he said, but cringed at the immediate defense. Sirius did too.

“So say her eyes are pretty, don’t objectify her,” Sirius retorted. They’d reached the bottom of the steps while James was muttering an apology.

* * *

Lily and Remus were waiting for the both of them outside the doors to the Great Hall when they got there. The first thing anyone said came from James.

“Hey, Lilypad, sorry for objectifying you,” he said. Lily raised an eyebrow while Sirius looked smug.

“You’re bout 6 years too late for that, Potter, but I’ll take it,” she said. Sirius barked a laugh, nudging James. Sirius. Oh wow.

Sirius in his dress robes was...really something. His dark hair was braided back into a twisted bun, loose enough for a few strands of it to fall around his face. His face. Merlin, Sirius’ face was so fucking pretty. His eyelashes casting light shadows on his face when he blinked, his lips quirked up in a smirk at James and Lily, the eyeliner darkening his eyes, it was all too much. No, it was enough. More than enough. Remus shook his wrist like the movement might clear his head. He looked back over to Sirius and did quite the opposite. His head was flooded with every shared touch, every breath hot against his skin, every fingernail dug into his back—he blinked. Blinked again. Sirius walked forward.

“Hey,” he whispered, looking Remus up and down. Remus smiled at the wink Sirius threw him. “Is that eyeliner?” he asked, a hint of approval in his voice. Another couple walked by, opening the Great Hall doors and letting some music out with it. Remus hadn’t realised that Sirius might be... affected by how he looked. He knew Lily looked stunning, he could understand why James was still half-frozen in front of her, just taking her in.

Her hair fell down around her shoulders, the top half tied back in twists and braids Remus was sure even Sirius would be jealous of. The dark green dress she was wearing was really it though. It matched her eyes and hugged her body, flaring out just slightly at the hips, reaching down to her ankles to where she was wearing a golden pair of heels, the thin straps buckled all over her ankles. The gold paired nicely with the green of the dress and she had on golden make up, a golden bracelet and, a necklace that Remus hadn’t seen before. It had a golden snitch on it. Remus smirked, knowing that would have been from James, knowing he doesn’t play seeker whatsoever so it was a stupid idea. Lily grinned when she caught Remus’ eye, though, and reached her hand up to touch the necklace, almost unknowingly. Remus smiled and turned back to Sirius.

“Lily made me,” he said. It was partly the truth. Sirius loosed a breath, grinning.

“Well I am... glad she did,” he said, and Remus laughed. He reached out for Sirius’ hands, taking them in his inbetween them. His eyes tracked the rings, glinting on his fingers, the dark polish that adorned his nails, down to the cuffs of Sirius’ dress shirt. He smiled.

“Is that lace?” he asked, fiddling with the lace trimming on his cuffs. Sirius smiled proudly.

“Prongs didn’t want me to wear it,” he said, shooting James a glare. James was too entranced in Lily’s eyes to notice. They were mumbling to each other, all soft smiles and light touches. Remus smiled and turned back to Sirius.

“I’m glad you did,” he said, and Sirius smiled back. He reached his arm forward to brush a curl from Remus’s eyes and Remus shuddered. “Come on,” he said and pulled Sirius after him. Sirius obliged and tapped James’ shoulder, getting both his and Lily’s attention. They opened the doors together.

* * *

Remus’ face shone in the blue lighting as him and Sirius swayed to the song playing in the Great Hall. That eyeliner was doing things to Sirius. Things he’d been suppressing all damn night. Seventh year. It was seventh year and they were graduating and Sirius was holding Remus in his arms. Remus smiled slightly, wrapping his arms tighter around Sirius’ neck and pulling him closer. The few inches of space between them was gone, and Sirius positively melted. Remus’ tawny curls were nestled against Sirius’ neck, his scarred fingers running patterns back and forth smoothly along Sirius’ throat. Sirius lifted one hand from Remus’ hip and ran his fingers through those curls, soft and tangled in his hands. Remus moved his head back only enough to look Sirius in the eyes. When he spoke, his voice was strained from the yelling and singing from the night.

“I’m happy,” Remus said simply. Sirius couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face. Remus smiled back in result of it. They were so close their noses were almost touching when Sirius whispered back.

“Me too.” Remus closed the gap between them, pulling his hands tighter around Sirius’ neck and still swaying them slowly to the music. Remus tasted like punch and salted cashews and his lips were soft against Sirius’. Sirius really was happy. He was so, inexplicably happy. When Remus pulled away, Sirius twirled him, warranting an unexpected laugh that Sirius felt all over once Remus’ chest was back against his. Sirius glanced over to James and Lily, seated at one of the tables and laughing. Seventh year was good, but Sirius was sure that the next few were going to be even better.

#dont ask how remus got into lily’s room #also im not sure where peter is i uh #kinda just forgot he existed honestly #also this is so late #like extremely late #im so sorry #but thank you!!#marauders era #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar #marauders #jily #kinda #marauders era fanfiction #wolfstar fanfiction #my writing #:)

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xjoonchildx · 4 years

Text

airplane, pt. 2 | jjk x reader chapter three: koreatown

pairing: jungkook/reader

word count: 3.4K rating: 18+

genre: smut | silly smut | nonsensical smut

warnings: criminal!jungkook, koreanamerican!jungkook, reality has left the chat, plausibility has left the chat

A/N: so...as i’m turning this PWP into a P “with” P i actually had to add some plot lol. i really hope you guys like the direction this story is taking and i’m starting to feel a bit more confident about how it’s going to end. but please let me know what you think, hearing from you guys makes my day. i’d love to know if you think the plot is making any sense. i mean, as much sense as a story about jungkook as a super hot criminal robber on the run with a federal agent lover could possibly make, ya know?

xoxo

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06

artwork by the shmexy @ppersonna who’s smut is even better than her art

***********************

A postcard comes in the mail seven weeks after San Juan.

Colorful block letters urge you to VISIT BELIZE over decorative shots of the country’s beautiful beaches and most visited spots.

The only thing that appears to be written on the card is your address. You examine it dozens of times, looking from front to back for any other marking. You come up empty.

There is one unusual thing you notice, though.

The postmark.

Clearly written at the top: Los Angeles 90005.

There’s no way this card was mailed out of Belize and there’s very little chance Jungkook managed to get back inside the country without setting off a thousand alerts on your phone.

You assume he must have routed it through his parents.

You’ve tried so damned hard these past few weeks not to think about what happened in Puerto Rico. You’ve tried to forget the full-body shock you experienced when he asked you to play along with his absurd fantasy. You tell yourself there’s no way he could possibly believe that you would go on the run with him.

But then you remember the look on his face.

Seeing this postcard -- holding it in your hands -- makes San Juan real again. It’s not some bizarre fever dream you had or some figment of your imagination. The emotions it dredges up are uncomfortable to confront.

Is he in trouble? Is he asking for help? What are you supposed to do with this?

Logically, you know there’s nothing you can do.

So you slip the card into your bedside drawer and file the information away in that part of your brain that seems to now be dedicated to thinking about Jungkook Jeon full-time.

************************

Over the next few weeks, two more cards arrive.

Guatemala.

Honduras.

That fake passport Jungkook apparently managed to get his hands on seems to be getting a workout.

Each time a new card comes in the mail -- always postmarked out of LA, the knot in your stomach seems to loosen. He’s still going. He’s not locked away somewhere.

Not yet, anyway.

You try to remind yourself that he’s smart -- really, really smart. He has a knack for staying under the radar. His Spanish is probably pretty decent at this point. He’s making or finding enough money to stay on the move.

Maybe he’s got a plan. Maybe he’s figured something out.

But it’s hard to keep the anxiety at bay. You watch your phone like a hawk, waiting to see an email or text saying he’s been caught. You spend every day waiting for the other shoe to drop.

So the cards go into your drawer -- and you get up and get dressed and go into the office every day like you’re not secretly rooting for the criminal so many of your colleagues are looking for.

*************************

The other shoe finally drops when you bump into Agent Novak in the cafeteria one afternoon.

Novak is one of those guys who looks like he’s straight out of central casting on a crime show. He has the appearance of a boxy, overgrown boy. Always dressed in a muted grey suit, always sporting a military-grade short haircut. The only thing that stands out on his completely non-descript face is his big mouth.

And right now you should be very glad for his big, fat mouth.

“You hear about your boy Jeon?” he asks, while piling his plate high with mac and cheese. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end for a moment at the mere mention of Jungkook’s name.

You move down the buffet line next to Novak slowly, the sudden adrenaline rush making your limbs feel weak and loose.

“Jeon?” you ask with feigned nonchalance. “Courthouse Houdini?”

“That’s the one,” Novak says, dropping two huge pieces of fried chicken onto his plate. “My buddy in the Marshals says they’re pretty close to bringing that asshole in,” he continues, adding some crinkle fries into the mix for good measure.

God, you hope he doesn’t have a heart attack before you get all the information you need.

He needs a trough, not a plate.

“Well, it’s about time,” you reply carefully and you hope it sounds convincing. “Where?”

“Central America,” he says, reaching down to his plate to start picking off the crinkle fries one-by-one. “Guatemala or some shit.”

A chill runs up your spine when you think about those postcards in your drawer.

They’re close.

They could be there right now.

He could be in handcuffs again right now.

“Hope they have better luck than I did keeping him nailed down,” you say, willing your voice and face to stay even.

“Oh trust me,” he says, talking around a mouthful of crinkle fry. “They’re going to teach that motherfucker a lesson when they get their hands on him. He won’t be able to walk, much less run.”

You swallow against the bile rising in your throat.

“That’s what he gets, right?”

Novak nods, grabbing for a chicken finger. You cringe when he shoves it into his mouth. Tiny pieces of the breading stick to his lips and you fight the urge to gag.

God, has he always been such a pig?

“Damn straight.”

****************************

You circle the block three times before you feel comfortable enough to park.

The neighborhood is quiet and clean and solidly middle-class. The house you are looking for is neat and well-kept, lawn trimmed and flower beds nicely maintained. It looks like a nice place to live.

You cut the ignition and take a deep breath.

You have to remind yourself that Jungkook is not Al fucking Capone and there’s no reason for the government to have around-the-clock surveillance on his family home. You have to maintain a level head even under this insane set of circumstances.

You try not to think about how furious he would probably be if he knew you were here right now.

Maybe someday he’ll understand why you’re doing this.

Maybe someday you’ll understand why you’re doing this.

You’d worked late at the office, preferring to make this move when the sun went down. You’re glad for the cover of darkness when you step out of your car and knock on the front door at the Jeon family home.

“Can I help you?”

You take a deep breath when Mr. Jeon opens the front door. He has the same kind, handsome face as Jungkook, only his is weathered with age and worry.

“Mr. Jeon, I need to speak with you about your son.”

His eyes widen for a moment. He seems to pull back and assess the way you’re dressed, figures out you’re one of those government-types.

“I’ve already said everything I have to say on the matter,” he says shortly, moving to shut the door.

“Wait, please,” you say urgently. “I’m trying to help him, I swear. I can explain if you let me in.”

He stops for a moment, levels you with a critical look.

“I think he’s in trouble,” you say quietly.

Mr. Jeon sighs heavily before opening the door wide and letting you in.

“I’m sorry to turn up at your home like this,” you say, moving immediately across the living room to close the blinds on all the street-facing windows. “But I’m not sure how much time I have.”

He watches in total silence but you can see he’s unnerved.

“I’m just...being cautious,” you explain, and he nods.

Once you’re satisfied no one can see inside, you start to calm down a bit. Mr. Jeon offers you a seat on the living room couch.

“This is a very strange situation, I know,” you admit.

He remains mute and still, waiting for you to cough up some kind of explanation.

“Do you know who I am?” you ask.

“No.”

His response is clipped and severe and you really can’t blame him.

“Okay,” you say, blowing out a breath. “Yes, I am with the FBI. But I --” you pause for a moment, grasping for a way to explain this bizarre situation. “ -- I know Jungkook. Personally.”

Intimately. Biblically, as they say.

“Okay,” he says cautiously.

“I need you to get in touch with him because I think he’s going to be arrested. Soon.”

Mr. Jeon rubs a hand across the back of his neck.

“I don’t know where he is. And I can’t get in touch with him,” he admits. “He doesn’t want us to know where he is because then you people will have something to hold over us.”

You wince at the venom in that statement.

A faint voice from another room calls out.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Mr. Jeon says.

He leaves you alone on the couch in the family room.

You wipe your sweaty palms on your dress pants as you take a look around. The decor is soft and welcoming, with a few nods to Korea in the artwork on the walls. It looks like a nice place to grow up, you think. The thought helps calm you.

He reappears after a minute.

“I’m sorry about that,” he says apologetically. “I would really prefer my wife not know about this. This situation has already caused her a lot of pain.”

“Of course -- I understand,” you say quietly. “So you have no way to contact him?”

“No. Not directly.”

“Then I need to know how you contact him indirectly. He’s been sending me postcards somehow. Do you know who could be sending me postcards from him?”

His face falls a bit.

“I shouldn’t say. I’m not trying to get anyone else in trouble.”

You lean forward a bit, fix him with a look that you hope conveys just how sincere you are about trying to help.

“I don’t want anyone else to get in trouble, either. But if you don’t give me that name, I promise you Jungkook will be. Please.”

Mr. Jeon sighs.

*****************************

You pull the brim of your baseball cap low over your eyes and adjust your sunglasses before walking into Min’s Market.

The small, family-owned store is in one of Koreatown’s most populated neighborhoods. You keep your head low as you dodge people on the sidewalk to make your way inside. An electronic chime sounds when you walk in.

The only thing you see in your quick glance around the store is a young man behind the register. He stands when you make eye contact and you take that as the go-ahead to approach.

He’s not a large guy by any means, but he definitely gives off a do not fuck with me vibe. You straighten your spine and get right to the point.

“Are you Yoongi?”

“Nope.”

He’s lying, of course. His eyes are narrowed at you beneath long black fringe bangs and you can’t blame his skepticism given the giant sunglasses and the hat and the workout clothes you’re hiding under. You look like you’re trying way too hard not to be noticed.

“I need to talk to you about Jungkook,” you say anyway.

“Never heard of him.”

Okay, not entirely unexpected. You’d come prepared for the possibility that he wouldn’t want to play ball.

You reach into your bag and pull out the postcards, drop them on the counter in front of him.

“You’ve been sending me these,” you say firmly. “And we need to talk.”

******************************

Yoongi takes you to the tiny office tucked into the back of Min’s Market. The space is cluttered with invoices and notes written in Hangul. There’s a monitor display where he can watch the surveillance cameras at the front of the store.

He motions for you to take a seat on the one small chair he has and opts to lean against the office desk, arms crossed.

“So you’re Carver Street, huh?”

You take your sunglasses off so you can look him in the eye.

“Yeah.”

“And you’re… a Fed.”

He delivers that line with a cynical twist to his mouth that makes you feel self-conscious.

“Yeah.”

“Shit’s wild,” he says, more to himself than to you.

“Yeah, wild,” you exhale nervously. “Look, I’m sure you don’t want to be involved here any more than you already are, so I’ll just come out with it,” you say. “I need to get in touch with Jungkook.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes.

“Look, I don’t know you, okay? Maybe he does, but I don’t. And I’m not trying to be an asshole here, but I’m not going to give you that information.”

You rub at the corners of your temples with your fingers.

“You know he’s been reaching out to me. You know he trusts me.”

Yoongi snickers.

“We haven’t exactly had the chance to catch up over beers since this whole mess started. The only thing I know for sure is that he wants you to get those postcards,” he says.

“Okay, okay, you’re right,” you concede. “I’m pretty sure he’s in Honduras right now. And I need you to reach him as fast as you can. Because they are closing in on him and I don’t know how long he’s got.”

Yoongi shoves a hand through his hair.

“Okay. I’ll tell him.”

“How fast can you reach him?”

“Look, I said I’ll tell him, okay?”

You tell yourself to relax before you scare Yoongi off entirely. It looks like his patience with you is already worn thin.

“Okay. Please tell him to try to get to Nicaragua,” you say, careful to keep the agitation from creeping back into your voice. “They have a history of denying extradition requests to the U.S. It could buy us some time to figure out what to do.”

“Us?”

Yoongi quirks an eyebrow at you, the corners of his mouth lifting in a barely-concealed look of astonishment. You feel the blush that spreads across your face all the way to the tips of your ears.

“Him,” you correct yourself awkwardly, “it could buy him some time to figure out what to do.”

He grabs a pen and scribbles on a sheet of paper on the desk.

“Nicaragua, okay. Got it.”

“And please -- if you can -- get him this,” you say, handing Yoongi your own slip of paper with a number written on it. “It’s a burner. In case he needs to get in touch.”

Yoongi takes the number from you and nods.

“Alright.”

You stand to leave, knowing you’ve taken as much of his time as you’re allowed.

“One more thing and I promise you’ll never hear from me again,” you say, pointing to the monitor inside the office.

“Delete that,” you say. “Please.”

*************************************

You dig around in your cabinet until you find the wine glass you’re looking for -- the huge one -- and then you reach into the fridge for what’s left of your Sauvignon Blanc and dump it into that glass.

Nothing to do now but hope he gets the message in time.

Nothing to do now but watch your work phone and see if he’s been arrested.

Nothing to do now but watch your burner phone to see if he’s contacted you.

It’s time to admit your nerves are shot. Weeks of heightened anxiety are taking its toll and the past two days have felt like a marathon.

You run a bath -- make sure the water is close to painfully hot before you sink into the tub. Your body feels exhausted but your mind is still racing like you’ve shotgunned a cup of coffee.

You lean your head back against the ledge of the bath and take a long drink of the wine.

What if he makes it to Nicaragua? What does that even mean? You buy a few more weeks of the same on-the-run bullshit and for what?

What is the end game here? And for that matter why on earth are you doing any of this?

You barely know this man. And now it’s starting to feel like you barely know yourself.

Your fingers and toes are pruny and the water is lukewarm at best when you finally crawl out of the tub. You down the rest of your wine, throw a soft t-shirt on and fall into the bed.

All night you toss and turn and when you finally wake it’s like you never slept at all.

****************************

It’s a few days before you see Novak again.

You happen to overhear his obnoxiously loud laugh just outside your office and your entire body jolts to attention.

You jump up from your desk and peer outside.

Novak is busy chatting up a woman who works a few spaces down, no doubt boring her with unwanted banter about his weekend. He happens to look up and you motion for him to come over.

“Hey, yeah, I’ll be right there,” he says, and you head back to your desk on leaden legs.

Maybe he knows something, maybe he doesn’t.

You’ve got to figure out how to walk the line between interested in the search for Jungkook but not too interested. Thankfully, Novak doesn’t strike you as the type to pick up on the subtleties of most interactions. If he was, he’d stop bugging that woman right away.

He knocks loudly on your open door when he finally makes his way over.

“Hey,” he grins widely. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” you smile back, feeling a cold panic spread across your chest. Maybe you’re not ready to hear what he has to say.

“I was wondering if your buddies ever caught up to Jeon.”

“Man listen,” Novak says, helping himself to a chair. “You are not going to believe this shit.”

Your fingernails grip your legs underneath the desk, dig painfully into the skin just above your knees through the thin fabric of your pants.

“Did he...get away, again?” you ask, desperate to keep a note of hope out of your voice.

“Yup,” Novak confirms. “Piece of shit cleared out by the time the Marshals they sent down there managed to get to where he was. Some place in Honduras or something.”

Novak shakes his head.

“My buddies are sick of looking for his ass at this point. At some point they’ve got to call it off, right?”

You can barely register a thing he’s saying because oh my god he made it out.

“Wow,” you manage, trying to appear appropriately sympathetic and outraged. “That’s unbelievable.”

“Yeah so,” Novak says, “back to the drawing board on that one, I guess.”

You’re forced to sit through a few more minutes of his blabber and small talk but all you can think about is Jungkook making it out in time. All you can think about is getting back to your house and to that burner phone.

When Novak finally stands to leave, you nearly sigh out loud with relief.

“Hey, good luck to your buddies, yeah? That’s got to be pretty frustrating,” you say, walking him out the door.

“Yeah, I’ll pass the message along,” he says. “I’m sure you’re just as ready as they are to see this guy get what he deserves.”

You smile weakly.

“Oh, definitely.”

***************************

You make a beeline for the ladies room and walk right into a stall.

Once inside, you drop the seat lid and sit on top, desperate for just one moment to be alone with your thoughts.

He made it out. He’s not in custody. Maybe there’s a way to fix this entire mess.

Then you fall apart.

You’ve reached the limit of what you can handle without some kind of emotional release. The panic and the anxiety and the relief and the hope come together and boil over inside you.

The tears start coming and they don’t stop.

You have to flush the toilet three times to cover the sound of your sobs.

***************************

You race home from the office and practically dive for the burner phone in your nightstand. The entire drive back, you’ve told yourself not to expect a message.

It’s entirely possible he doesn’t want to contact you.

It’s entirely possible that he doesn’t have anything to say to you after the way you left things in San Juan. You tell yourself to be ready to see absolutely nothing when you check the burner.

But when you do unlock the phone, you find a waiting text. You steel yourself for what he has to say.

nicaragua is boring [ 3:15 PM ]

send nudes [ 3:15 PM ]

You laugh.

You laugh for so hard and so long your tears gather in the corner of your eyes. You laugh until your sides start to hurt from the absolute absurdity.

It’s so him that you have to laugh.

That night, when you fall into bed you sleep an inky black sleep, without dreams or interruptions.

It’s the best rest you’ve gotten in weeks.

************************

#jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #bangtanarmynet #bts fanfic #btssmut #bts fic

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pinky-the-elephant-room · 3 years

Text

Rejuvenate

AN: @liliesoftherain @keishiins I’m reuploading this because Tumblr hates my guts. I got the idea from Ronda Rousey stating before her matches she would have intense sex with her husband. I was intrigued with the idea and wondered how many athletes do the same thing? Anyway enjoy this request

❉ Warnings: Praise Kink, Sub Bokuto, Bondage, and little bit of Breeding kink at the end? Bokuto x Fem Reader.

❉ Disclaimer: Sex is not a cure for mental illness. Since we don’t know why Bokuto has mood swings I played around with the idea. Please don’t take this seriously.

❉ Summary: As part of the Jackals, Bokuto no longer had the luxury of messing about in this matches. But little did his teammates know he had someone special picking up the slack at home.

❦❦❦❦❦❦❦

t’s not until you lose something that you start appreciating it for what it was. For Bokuto, it was his team, and more specifically, it was his setter Akaashi. He never realized how bothersome his mood swings were because he was too busy dwelling on his emotions. But when he started playing professionally, Bokuto no longer had the luxury of his teammates looking after him anymore. Technically, Tsum Tsum did his best (best meaning he just ignored him until Bokuto’s mood settled), but he was unsatisfied. He was starting to hate that the tiniest things would unsettle him and affect his play.

He tried everything from calming teas and even listening to rain ASMR before falling asleep. But his mood swings kept happening. Bokuto was at the end of his rope so much so he decided to visit Akaashi at his college. He had sent him a text letting him know he would drop by; hopefully, his old teammate would have something for him.

The university itself was pretty large and was known to attract international students from across the globe. Even now, Bokuto could see several foreigners staring at him in curiosity, but he just shrugged it off, thinking it was his eccentric hair (but really, it was his frantic pacing).

His face brightened when he saw his friend leisurely walking towards him.

“Bokuto-san, how have you been?” Akaashi inquired.

“Akaashi! Your school is so cool! I should come here more often,” Bokuto said while excitingly looking left to right.

“Please don’t,” murmured Akaashi, who was promptly ignored by Bokuto.

“Keiji! I thought I told you to wait for me,” a feminine voice called out.

Bokuto turned around to see a girl with a womanly figure walking towards them.

“Gomen, Y/N. I thought you already went back to class,” Akaashi replied to the girl.

Bokuto looked at her fascinatingly. She was beautiful, to be frank, and her beaming smile radiated happiness.

“Oh, who’s this?” she asked, looking at Bokuto directly, making him more nervous than he had felt in a while.

Akaashi turned to Bokuto only to narrow his eyes at his smitten face.

“This is Bokuto Koutaro. He was the captain of the volleyball team I was on in high school.”

She let out an excited gasp. “The Bokuto? The one you comp-“

“Anyway, this is Akaashi Y/N. She’s my cousin,” Akaashi cut in, confusing Bokuto.

Y/N sent a teasing smile to Akaashi.

“Our mothers are identical twins, and we were born in the same year. So, we’re more like siblings than anything. I should be calling him Keiji-ni, actually. It’s nice to meet you, Bokuto-san!”

Cousins? Now that she was closer, he could see the resemblance. They had the same dark hair and bright blue sharp eyes. But Y/N’s hair was longer coming down to her waist, and her eyebrows were neatly trimmed, unlike Akashi's. She also had the pinkest pair of lips Bokuto ever had the pleasure of seeing, or was that makeup? To be honest, he could never tell.

“What do you think, Bokuto-san?” Y/N asked him hopefully.

She had asked him a question which Bokuto wasn’t even listening to. Too busy staring at her animated face the entire time.

“Not today, Y/N. Maybe some other time. Go to class,” Akaashi said, almost sternly.

She pouted and said, “Fine! I’ll see you later, Bokuto-san.”

Y/N bowed politely, to which Bokuto scrambled to return before she walked away.

Akaashi muttered, “Don’t even think about it. She’ll eat you alive.”

His yellow eyes still on the retreating figure of Y/N, Bokuto distractedly replied, “what do you mean by that?”

His former teammate opened his mouth to say something but changed his mind.

“Do what you like, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Bokuto should have listened to the almost ominous warning by his friend, but he was too excited.

“You mean it?! Can you give me Y/N’s number then?”

Akaashi grimaced; nevertheless, he fetched his phone before complying with his former captain’s request. The two friends talked for a while before Akaashi had to leave for his class. By the time Bokuto had arrived at his lonesome apartment, he had realized he had forgotten to ask Akaashi for the advice he initially sought out him for.

Still, he considered the day to be productive and successful while staring goofily at Y/N’s number.

Over the next couple of weeks, Y/N and Bokuto exchanged texts. When he had first texted her, she was cordial and pleasant. As his interest became fairly apparent over time, Y/N responded to it with the utmost enthusiasm. Thankfully, Akaashi didn’t seem too opposed to it; instead, he made Bokuto promise to treat his cousin well. They had been dating for only a month when she asked him to take it a bit further. He honestly thought she was a virgin and was quite speechless at her question. Y/N was a petite and genial individual; in fact, Bokuto often worried that he would eventually drive her away with his boisterous attitude. And so, he was adamant about taking it slowly with Y/N. Only for her to flip the script and proposition him.

❦❦❦❦❦❦❦

“Did you have fun?” he asked earnestly after another date,

“Of course! Next weekend I'm free, so we should go out again,” Y/N replied cheerfully, swinging their interlocked hands.

Bokuto watched her closely and leaned in for a kiss.

She didn’t back down and instead tugged him closer. Their lips connected just barely before she moved back, but it was enough to entice him.

“Bokuto-kun, do you wanna come in? My roommate’s with her family for the weekend,” Y/N proposed.

He swallowed nervously and nodded. Her dorm was a standard two-room affair but standing in there, Bokuto felt such dread and excitement in the pit of his stomach.

Y/N took her time while removing her hoody before, with a teasing smile, she tried to help remove his jacket.

“You’ll get hot if you keep this on,” she cooed while pulling down his zipper.

Bokuto’s heart started racing out of control when he felt her small hands unashamedly caress his toned upper body in the guise of removing his jacket.

He distinctly heard something hitting the wooden floor but was way too preoccupied with helping Y/N unbuckle his belt to notice.

That night Bokuto was never so glad in his life to be wrong. She was no virgin. The way she roughly yanked his hair and demanded him to be faster and harder. It was hard to imagine Y/N not having prior experience. Despite him clearly being on top, it felt like she oversaw the entire affair. The praises that spilled from her mouth each time a particular thrust compelled her to see stars caused him to feel like he just scored a winning point in the finals. Her sleek legs that wrapped around him prompted him to renew his smooth but rough rhythm. Y/N eventually kept having to rewrap her legs each time he pulled out before she gave up and just splayed her legs to the side. That made it easier for him to reenter but strained Y/N’s muscles. She didn’t seem to care too much, though, as her nails embedded into his back. Bokuto lost count after her sixth orgasm and his fourth. The night continued into the early dawn. He barely slept, yet he found himself not caring after possibly having the best sex of his life.

❦❦❦❦❦❦❦

Bokuto felt at ease as the whistle blew and signaled the end of the match. The Jackals bowed to their devoted fans, and he could feel his teammates’ eyes on him subconsciously. Tsum Tsum was whispering lowly to Sakusa, who didn’t seem to be paying too much attention to whatever Tsum Tsum was saying. Even Hinata seemed subdued despite them winning the game. But Bokuto wasn’t bothered; he was satisfied. Y/N was out there in the bleachers waiting for him. Now that he won, she owed him a night of relaxation and back massages.

Even in the locker room, it was hushed, and only the bangs of the lockers resonated in the quiet.

Bokuto turned around when he felt someone tug at his uniform.

“Oh, Hinata! Good game, and that smash at the end was great. But you still have a long way to go before you can catch up to your teacher,” Bokuto loudly complimented while slapping Hinata’s back harshly.

“Ne, Bokuto-san, can I ask you something?” Hinata nervously inquired as he rubbed his back.

Bokuto looked at the younger boy and realized he was acting weird. Hell, he could tell all his teammates were listening to their conversation inconspicuously.

So, he just shrugged and motioned Hinata to go ahead.

“How come you’re so focused nowadays?”

Bokuto could almost hear the underlying question, ‘why haven’t you turned into emo Bokuto lately?’

Tsum Tsum, who had a towel in hand on route to shower, stopped to listen in. Even Sakusa, with his wet hair, stood by and didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave.

“Well, Hinata...” Bokuto began as his thoughts drifted back to last night.

They stumbled blindly through his dark apartment, not bothering to turn on the lights. Y/N let out a shriek of delight when Bokuto hoisted her into his arms and went straight to his bedroom.

He pushed back her hair and sucked wherever her neck was visible.

“Y/N, babe, want you right now. No. I need you,” Bokuto corrected amid his trailing kisses.

She grabbed the back of his dyed hair and pulled.

“On the bed then. I’ll grab my goodies,” Y/N encouraged.

He cocked his head in confusion at the mention of goodies but tugged off his shirt and shorts in a hurry. Bokuto tossed his clothes somewhere at the side of the bed, where he could find them easily in the morning before making himself comfortable on his bed. He could hear her fiddling in his bathroom but waited patiently. Y/N always rewarded him whenever he did precisely what she asked of him.

She stepped out of the bathroom, hiding something behind her back.

“Oh, did you start the party early?” she asked, eyeing his naked body with amusement and hunger.

“Yeah, but I’d rather you take off your clothes and join me,” Bokuto replied as he pointedly stared down at her white wrap dress.

“One sec. Let me show you my present.”

Y/N presented him with two pairs of silver handcuffs.

Bokuto tried to play it off coolly, but he didn’t think he managed as her cheeky grin widened at his flustered composure.

Y/N got on his bed and ordered, “Sit back. I want to see how good it looks on you.”

She didn’t even need to say please as he hurried to do what she asked. Placing a quick kiss on his forehead, she managed to get both his hands cuffed and attached to the bed frame separately.

“Now, the real fun begins. Do you trust me?”

“Do you even need to ask?” Bokuto joked.

While sliding down his body to make herself comfortable, she pushed his chest back down.

His soft member laid against his thighs. Which he supposed that Y/N wasn’t satisfied with because she immediately went to work.

Y/N started by placing her hands on his firm thighs to which in turn made Bokuto jolt. But settled down at the soothing touch of her slender hands. Slowly but surely, she started to blow on his member. Feeling her hot breath, he shivered and clutched the bed sheets. It seemed like Y/N was in a playful mood, and that usually meant Bokuto was in for a long night.

That grip only got tauter when she started doing eskimo kisses to his cock.

Bokuto let out a low “fuck” when he felt tentative kitten licks while she traced the throbbing, purple veins along his shaft.

Y/N pulled back his foreskin to reveal the head. She rubbed the tip spreading the watery precum before sucking. She reveled in the familiar intoxicating taste and then swallowed him whole until his cock hit the back of her throat. Feeling the need to gag, Y/N took his member out of her mouth.

“Ko-kun, you taste so good. Maybe I should keep this up all night?”

“No, don’t,” he gasped.

Bokuto let out a groan when he tried to pull Y/N’s hair to make her take him deeper. But the handcuffs prevented him from doing so.

She let go of his cock entirely and shimmed out of her dress. Her bra and panties were next to go, and Bokuto’s eyes never strayed from the moment she started getting undressed. Y/N made herself comfortable and settled on top of his right thigh.

He felt his thigh’s muscle flex instinctively when he felt the soft lips and coarse trimmed hairs of her cunt. She already complimented him multiple times on how much she appreciated his physique. But she was paying extra attention to his bottom half tonight, apparently.

Unfortunately, his situation only got worse with her grinding against his thigh.

“Please, babe. I- I can’t wait,” he stuttered, which was an accomplishment of itself.

Y/N only laughed and said, “Come on, Ko-kun. You can do better than that. Remember last time how you begged so nicely? You can do it again.”

Bokuto imagined her swollen clit sliding along his bare skin. Which, he wasn’t wrong about because each time her center dragged against his leg, it wasn’t hard to notice the wetness she left behind.

“Ko-kun, should I just get myself off like this and leave you handcuffed until the morning?” Y/N asked wickedly.

“Don’t you dare-,” he started but let out a yelp when she pinched his inner thigh.

“Don’t be rude! I was just kidding, but I might do it for real,” she warned as she aggressively humped his thigh.

“F-fuck! Fuck!”

Oh god, he definitely felt the fluid dripping down from her cunt now. Bokuto could even hear the wet squelching sounds as she slid back and forth.

“Ko-kun, I wanna ride your face,” Y/N panted.

Bokuto’s eyes lit up, and he replied, “Are you going to uncuff me?”

“Nah, I think you’ll do fine just like this.” She didn’t say anything more as she leisurely crawled up his body.

Usually, he would have held onto her thighs while she sat on his face. But now, he could not do much once he caught a whiff of Y/N’s distinct scent. When her pussy was near enough, he licked the puffy clit that stood out so readily. Perhaps that was all the encouragement she needed because soon Y/N was aggressively shoving herself into his face.

“That’s it. Lick it all up. Don’t let a single drop go to waste,” she cried out while simultaneously pulling his hair.

He could barely breathe from her cushy thighs and the way her hands purposely kept him in one place. But god Bokuto loved it whenever she got like this. He could tell from her unsteady movement and the heavy breathing, Y/N was close. Laying his tongue flat, he licked from top to bottom and finally inserting the tongue inside her cunt. She lost her mind, convulsing uncontrollably.

“Fuck me! I-I’m going to cum.”

Y/N started enthusiastically grinding, and suddenly, an outpour of watery fluid started running down his cheeks. Her soft moans escalated to piercing screams before yielding to the spellbinding ecstasy. Bokuto helped her ride it out by slowly sucking on her clit.

“Ko-kun, stop... Too much,” Y/N whimpered, pushing his face away from her overwhelmed pussy.

She scooted back a few inches and collapsed on top of his chest, trying to recuperate from her intense orgasm.

“Y/N, how did I do? Tell me.”

“Yeah, you were amazing. You were such a good boy.”

He felt lighthearted and incredible despite his erection still being prominent to the point of almost being painful.

Bokuto attempted to turn Y/N on her side so he could enter from that angle, but the handcuffs once again stopped him. He turned wide-eyed, totally forgetting about the cuffs attached to the headboard.

“Y/N help me out here,” he asked, kissing her sweaty hair.

She snapped out of her exhaustion to grab a pair of small keys on the nightstand. Y/N soon freed his hands, and he noticed his wrists were red from the metal straining against his skin.

Bokuto positioned Y/N in such a way that she lay on her side but was facing him. Her bangs were damp with sweat and stuck to her forehead. Still, she was visibly glowing, just like she always does after their sessions.

“My turn, ok?” he murmured, leaving love bites on her humid neck.

Sliding one leg in between her legs, he then encouraged Y/N to encircle his hip over the leg he just slid in.

Now Bokuto could easily clutch her firm butt while kissing her lips. With an erection that was now beginning to purple, he decided he had waited enough. With one swift nudge, her sopping entrance gave away to his cock.

“So good. I—” she stuttered as he hammered away. “Yes. So good.”

Y/N tucked her face away in his neck.

“You’re doing amazing. Keep going just like that, babe.”

His breath hitched at the ongoing praises, Bokuto’s skin becoming more heated by the second. His heartbeat racing out of control and tingles resonating down his back.

“I’m close. Gonna cum,” he groaned.

With a sensation that started at the base of his length before it coursed throughout his entire cock, the closer he got. Then as Bokuto got to the point of no return, he could no longer contain the inevitable release. He couldn’t control himself as his eyes shut and his body started shaking. He almost wished he could recount the entire experience, but Bokuto himself had blacked out right after he spilled inside of her.

He later would open his eyes to his body still on the side and entangled with Y/N. The deep-seated satisfaction from knowing he ejaculated inside of her left him bone-tired but rejuvenated at the same time. In no way were they ready for a pregnancy but god damn it if the thought didn’t leave him content beyond comprehension.

Bokuto snapped out of his flashback to Hinata, still looking at him expectantly.

And with a smirk that was uncharacteristic of him, Bokuto said, “Let’s just say I have a girlfriend who’s been taking real good care of me before each game.”

#bokuto x reader #hq x you #hq imagines #hq reader insert #hq requests #haikyuu!!#haikyū!!#haikyu x reader #haikyu x you #haikyu x y/n #bokuto kotarou #bokuto kotaro #bokuto x you #bokuto x y/n #haikyu fanfiction #haikyu fanfic

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the-scooby-gang · 4 years

Text

Us... But not quite.

Part 6

Summary: after falling thought a portal while they were being chased by their most horryfying monster yet, The Scooby Gang finds themselves in a place they have never been before. A place called Crystal Cove.

Fred felt like he was in the Twilight Zone.

They were once again on the side of the road. The vans were parked side by side, the tire marks of when they nearly crashed against each other painting the street.

He was suddenly really glad he was not the one driving. If it was his twenty-eight old ass looking directly at his seventeen-year-old baby-face he would have launched the car off the cliff and killed everybody. Daphne would have never let him live that one out.

Said seventeen-year-old clone was looking blankly at them. It was freaking him out a little. Either young him was better at poker than he remembered or-

No. Nononono. He was not even going to think about that possibility. Nope.

He thanked whichever gods were listening that it was only young him on the van. He didn’t think that a full gang meet up would do any good for their already on edge nerves.

“So… I believe there is a logical explanation for this” Velma was fiddling in place, a nervous look in her face. The pieces for what the hell was going on were falling in place but the picture they are making was getting exponentially more aggravating the more she looked at Fred’s young face. Even the ascot looked new.

They had all come out of their respective vans, Daphne being the only that was technically inside since she remained on her seat, only her feet on the outside with her door wild open. Fred and Velma were side by side while Scooby was standing next to Daphne's legs enjoying a nice head scratch from purple nails. Shaggy, the showoff, had swiftly made his way to the roof of their van by climbing one of the nearby trees. Joung Fred, however, stood there next to his open door. Alone.

“God, did I really have such a babyface?” Fred looked unblinking at the young clone of himself, one hand absently stroking his chin, probably remembering the days where his face was smoother and the ‘I’m going to grow a beard’ phase haven't crossed his mind yet.

“Yeah. Yeah, you did. 100% infant with an ascot” Daphne shrugged, a smug look on her face. Fred gave her a side glance.

“What do you mean by ‘Did have’? Who are you people and why you have my face?” the younger Fred said, apprehensive. The young man was with his back straight as a rod, one foot towards them and the other towards his van, one breath away from dashing back to the stirring wheel and hightail the hell out of there.

At least Fred was somehow relieved that this younger version of himself was not trusting them immediately. He would be really worried if any version of him didn’t immediately think that twenty-eight-years-old doppelgängers weren’t a highly convincing masked crook. Not with their chosen career.

“Hey look, this is making as much sense to you as is making to us right now. For all we know you are nothing more than a bunch of pixels and we are stuck again in that computer simulation,” he said softly like he was trying to calm a wounded animal.

Younger Fred blinked startled. “…What are you talking about?”

“Oh, he is talking about that one time with the baseball virus- “ Daphne started to explain, just to Velma to swiftly put a hand on her mouth, purple lipstick be dammed.

“That is not relevant now! Look, Fred – I’m assuming your name is also Fred?” a nod of agreement. “Ok good. So, Fred, for what I could take out of this, the facts appear to be pointing at-” but before Velma could finish her phrase, young Fred was already taking a step back towards his own van, his face confuse and even a little frightened.

“What facts? What’s going on in here? All I know is that I went out to get my Dad’s coffee and there were you guys coming on the opposite direction…” his eyes suddenly got a glimmer over them, a tentative smile blooming on his handsome face “Is this a trap?”

“God, I wish” Fred sigh. It would be so simple if it was. “Can you imagine? It would be a weird implementation of the Borden method”

Younger Fred assumed a pensive look.

“No, I think it’s more off an Angier method since you are more my clone than my twin brother.” Said young Fred, one hand over his chin, the other pointing towards Older Fred face, seeing the marks of the added years into his counterpart visage.

“Well, yeah. But I’m not launching you on a tank of water. I just arrived here, I won’t know where to get one.” He gave his younger self a once over, making a quick calculation “To be honest if you, I was more likely to use the Deckard method on you than anything else.”

“Dude, if you can barely find yourself a human-size tank of water, what are the chances of you finding the holograms for that one to work?” Asked the younger Jones but with a glimmer of joy in his blue eyes, the previous confusion and fright seemingly forgotten.

“You talk like I can’t improvise. What kind of amateur do you take me for? And also, do you believe that I don’t have back up holograms on the mystery machine?” Fred, the old, arched one of his eyebrows, a smirk on his face with his arms crossed, his chest puffed in pride of his trap making abilities.

Meanwhile, the gang was watching speechless the back in forth between them as if it was a tennis match. Daphne was especially interested in the overwhelming joy radiating from their lover young counterpart. Didn’t the rest of his gang talk about traps with him? He looked like it was the first time that he could share his interests with someone.

“Well gang, I can say with 99,9% certainty that this is a certified Fred.” Velma declared, both her hands on her hips and her lips pursed in mock awe.

Daphne fake punched her arm, a smile in her face. “Shush, don’t interrupt them. Fred is bonding.”

Both Freds turned towards them after that exchange, remembering they were not alone on that side of the road. Turning their heads back to each other, they started laughing, doubling over when their lungs started lacking air. It was a contagious laugh. Fred laugh was just like that. With two of them, the effect was duplicated so it was no surprise when everyone ended up joining in.

After some time, when they got their breath back, young Fred held out his hand

“I’m Fred Jones, nice to meetcha”

Taking it as the peace offering it was, Older Fred took the hand giving it a vigorous shake.

“Hi, Fred Jones. I’m Fred Jones” he snickered “And this colourful bunch behind me is” he waved his remaining hand on their direction.

“Daphne Blake” the redhead waved.

“Velma Dinkley” Velma fixed the red-trimmed glasses in her face.

“Norville Rogers” he pointed to the lanky man seated on the roof of the van.

“Call me Shaggy” he reclined more on the roof enjoying the morning sun.

“and last but not least: Scoobert Doo. Our beloved Scooby-Doo,” he glances back at young him, a knowing smirk on his lips “But you know that already, don’t you?”

Scooby approached the young Fred. Scooby held up his paw that young Fred took without hesitation.

“Rice to reet you ragain, Rreedie”

“Nice to meet you again Scooby” he smiled at the Great Dane, with earned him a face full of dog kisses unleashing a stream of laughter from his chest.

“So, like, I take from that we, like, do exist here in this world, right? It’s not just you?” Shaggy asked, jumping from the roof, going towards the laughing teenager who was now on the ground, removing the more than 100 pounds of dog-friend from him.

The young man remained on the ground, one arm over his eyes, whizzing like a dying frog. Panting between the still bubbling laughter, young Fred calmed down slowly. Seeing that the young version of Fred was not going to get up so soon, they joined him on the ground.

Laying on the grass with their heads close, looking at the sky they could easily convince themselves that it was just another day in their lives. One of their moments’ in-between cases, stopping in the middle of nowhere, looking at the clouds. If only.

“Ok, so what is happening here? is it time travel? Interdimensional time travel?” came the calm question. They side glanced the seventeen-year-old boy in their midst than each other. Shaggy than turned his head to the boy at his right, a smirk on his lips.

“Like, the mystery machine had many upgrades over the years but a flux capacitor was not one of them, man”

Shaggy could feel the hole that Velma was opening on the side of his head with her glare. He was already hearing her voice in the back of his mind saying ‘now is not the time for jests, you absolutely reprehensible man’.

“What Shaggy is trying to say is that, from the moment we arrive at this place, nothing here has been remotely familiar to us. But the few people that we interacted with seemed to know us on a personal level” Daphne tried to circumvent the tension that Velma’s glare was bringing to their small space of side road with a more thought out explanation.

Too bad Shaggy fear of death, always present since the moment he was exposed to the world outside Mrs Rogers womb, was left inside the van because instead of shutting his cakehole and avoiding death: persuaded by Velma he said:

“Like, that is in no way what I was saying- “

“Yes, it was,” Daphne said between her teeth, trying once again to avoid seeing Velma yeet Shaggy into the ocean.

“Nu huh”

“Yun huh”

“Nu huh”

“Yun huh”

“Ignore them, they are five years old,” Fred said, hugging Velma in hopes of changing the course of the conversation and diminishing the death glare. It appeared to be working. Not before Velma smacking the back of the young chefs head, of course.

“HEY!” came two indignant yells, Shaggy appearing more offended at the five-year-old commentary than the smack.

Scooby, face-palming himself, turned to his left and put his paws on both of the young man shoulders (that were trembling from suppressed giggles. At least he was founding their weird dynamic entertaining) and looked him directly in the eyes.

“Rook, Rreddie we come from a rlace ralled Roolsville. Rhere is no Rristal Rove any rhere” he said, hoping that a more direct approach was what they needed at the moment.

There was a beat of silence. Fred, the younger, was looking at Scooby like he had grown a second head. He looked around, seeing all those faces that were so familiar and at the same time so different. He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat.

“…Please tell me that I understood him wrong and that you guys don’t come from a place called Roolsville.” he pleaded, for the sake of his sanity, that he had misheard the entire thing.

Another prolonged silence.

“You did understand him wrong,” Velma said.

“Oh, that’s a relief-“

“Its actually Coolsville. A town in Ohio”

He blinked slowly. Looking at Velma’s eyes, he pinched himself. When nothing happened, Fred, the youngest started shaking his head in disbelieve.

“…Ohio?”

“Yeah, I know, not ideal. But it’s home so we make the best of it” Shaggy head said from its new location over Daphne’s lap, her hands carting through his hair.

They noticed that young Fred was completely indifferent to their position. Good news, then. His gang at least was the bunch of cuddly bugs that they were.

“It has been a while since we went back home, come to think of it” Daphne mused, French braiding the shaggy hair under fingers.

“We cleared most of the mysteries there, anyway. I think the crooks in our universe may be a bunch of idiots but they are not stupid.” Velma added, snuggling closer to older Fred, Scooby laying over their legs.

“Yeah, to attack the home town of international mystery solvers is the peak of dumb moves” Fred, the ancient, theorized. His lovers nodded. Yeah, that makes sense.

“International?” the small voice got them by surprise. They turned once again to Fred, the infant, laying there spread eagle looking into the sky like he was expecting the heavens to open up and the Archangel Gabriel to come and announce the second coming of Crist.

Older Fred’s face softened. He was suddenly faced with his counterpart age. At age seventeen he could barely imagine how his life was going to go, much least its outcome. Mystery solving had been a childhood passion, but no one, much less himself, could have imagined how much it would grow. Little him probably had his entire world scale vastly amplified in just a fraction of a second.

The possibilities must look so much vaster for him now.

“You betcha, Little Me. Samurai ghosts in Japan, an army of mummies in Egypt,” he said softly, looking at his own young eyes “Hell, is not even international any more. Not after that case on the moon base.”

“Interplanetary mystery solvers, baby!” crooned Daphne receiving the softest cheers from Velma and Shaggy. Scooby let out a melodic howl. Older Fred was pleased that they were all in the same wavelength. That this moment was earth-shattering to his younger self, it deserves a careful approach.

“…Interplanetary mysteries… Interplanetary traps.” Fred, the younger, eyes were sparkling, thinking about all the new plans, terrains to explore and exploit for hiding places, exotic ropes and knots techniques. He was practically vibrating.

The gang laughed good-heartedly. Yup. This was now a 100% certified Fred, no doubt about it.

One by one they got up, Older Fred helping his dreamer self from the ground. The young man was still light years away from them, his eyes big and full of ideas, a goofy smile on his face.

Older Fred giggled and, patting his younger self’s back, he said:

“Oh yeah, all the interplanetary traps. I even made my own traps! Patents and all.”

“What, really???” If the boy was vibrating before, now he was almost phasing out of the dimension altogether. His smile was so bright that it could bring sight back for a born blind man seven times over. It made a mirror smile bloom in his own face.

“Yeah, man. The Jones method for trapping masked criminals.” He looked at the excited boy, who was smiling as if the government had decided that the Leap Year date was replaced and instead of the 29 th of February they added the 32 th of October: Halloween, Part 2, and fell in his heart the same tug of longing that he felt looking at any children of the places that they visited.

They had talked about it. They joked at the dead of the night. It was too soon, they know. But what was so bad in speculation? Thinking about how many. Who was going to carry it? Should they give adoption a shot? Should they give magical baby incubation a thought? That was one of Daphne’s favourite ideas yet. She was mesmerised by the idea of a baby growing on a cabbage (from what Gran had told them it could be any plant really. The popular now was pumpkins and peaches surprisingly enough). Mashing last names together in hopes that their hypothetical children would have a nice-sounding one was a nice pastime when stuck in the road for hours.

Blake-Dinkley-Roger-Jones was the one with the best ring to it, they had decided one drunk night in Paris, perched on the Eiffel Tower balcony disregarding gravity and death (such was the power of wine) then getting away from the edge to waltz to non-existing music, smiling with glee.

They changed the order again the very next morning. What was the fun in sticking to any order anyway?

Shaking his head away from the warm memory, Older Fred passed his arm over his younger self shoulders, noticing that he was, at least, one head taller than him.

Oh, yeah. The second grown spur. He spent an entire year of college getting used to his way longer limbs all over again.

“Tell you what: We go to this Crystal Cove town together and I tell you all about it.”

Younger Fred looked up at him.

“…Will you?” his voice was small. Why was his voice so small?

“Yeah.” There was a sudden felling on his belly. He didn’t like it. He didn’t know what it was but something suddenly was felling off. Why was his voice so small? “We can even try to make a new one together” he suggested, ignoring the felling for now. Maybe it was nothing. It was probably nothing. Maybe.

Little him lighted up like a tree on Christmas, nodding his head so hard he was afraid it was going to roll right of his shoulders.

“Everything is nice, everything is great, but don’t you guys think is going to be a little of an eyesore, not one both TWO mystery machines parading down the street?” asked Daphne, her voice coming from the middle of the clearing where both vans were parallel parked next to each other, breaking the moment.

“Yeah, that would be a sight to see” Velma grimaced.

“Dude, ‘sight to see’? That amount of groovy energy is going to obliterate people on impact” Shaggy and Scooby were looking at both vans with calculating eyes, as if they were questioning if such a thing was possible.

With the way their lives are going so far? It was possible.

“Well, we have two options right now. Option A: Keep it quiet for now. Once we acclimate to the town and the people acclimate to us because let’s face it, trying to keep our existence a secret is going to backfire phenomenally on our asses and cause more trouble than it is worth it.” Velma said, her ‘I’m planning’ pose in full display.

“Option B is:” came the voice from the back from one of the vans. Suddenly, Daphne kicked the backdoors wild open shouting “HELLOOOOO CRYSTAL COVE!!! GET READY FOR TROUBLE AND MAKE IT DOUBLE!!! MYSTERY INCORPORATED IS NOW COMING TWICE AS STRONG!!!” she struck a pose, Shaggy and Scooby throwing confetti over her head while Fred made fake sounds of trumpets. They dissolved in giggles afterwards.

Velma groaned, one hand over her eyes the other holding her glasses.

“One day. One day I swear I’m going to kill you guys in your sleep”

“We love you too” were the four answers that she received.

Fred, the infant, smile at the scene. He hoped that his gang would turn up like this one someday soon. The cuddling also seemed comfortable and fun, he should ask his gang what they thought about start doing that.

“Ok, what if we did like this: Since I know the place better than you guys I can show you the clearings and caves that we can hide the van and we can go from there.”

“That sounds good but now the question is: which van?” Daphne asked, one hand up pointing from one van to the other.

There was silence. The Freds were suddenly looking at each other in the eye trying to glare the other into submission. It was clear that neither of them would give up their four-wheeled babies.

The glare was intensifying. Slowly they started circling each other as if they were in an old western. The atmosphere seemed to change. Mirroring frowns faced each other with murderous intent. They appeared to want to start growling. Nothing good was coming out of this.

That’s why Shaggy put himself on the middle of the Fred circle before any words could be said and newborn friendships dashed. “Ok, ok, ok. None of that! What if, instead of choosing between vans we, like, fuse them? Would that be good? Would you dudes chill?” he raised one arm to each of them, looking like he was trying to convince hungry reptiles from eating each other.

“And how would we do that?” Younger Fred asked, not as much perplexed as they expected and more on the side of curious, but his eyes never left his perceived threat.

“Like this, dude.” Shaggy smiled at them, straightening his back. He snapped his fingers.

Both vans dissolved into shapes of light. They stayed floating in place for a fraction of a second then, faster than bullets, they flew over their shoulders creating a wind strong enough to nearly throw them all over the trees. Fred took hold of his younger self arm while Velma grabbed the back of his jacket with on hand, Daphne with Scooby on her back with the other, digging her heels in the ground with practised ease. Shaggy seemed surprisingly unaffected by the gale. The light orbs circulated one another in beautiful arcs of colour to them merge behind Shaggy’s back in what looked like a mini supernova. They watched the display unfold in front of them speechless. The gang with amazement that the years could not diminish and the new young member with awe, trying with all his might to understand what was happening before his eyes.

It was finished just as soon as it had begun. Behind Shaggy, the new mystery machine laid there, matching her previous look but at the same time not.

For an outsider, the van was just the same as it was before.

But they knew better.

The Mystery Machine 3.0 was, from the outside, a perfect mix of both vans with some key differences making this MM her own. She had the sliding doors of the other dimension gang van, a feature that was not present on the younger Fred version. Getting closer, putting their hands over the warm metal, they noticed that the paint job remained the same but the green was lighter than before and the daises were particularly bright orange. The van had incorporated the backside door from the younger man's van as well. But the inside…

“Like, I hope that you guys don’t mind that I, like, added some things in it,” said Shaggy, smiling with his hands in his pockets.

They were all in the back door looking in. They turned their disbelieving faces towards the lanky man standing behind them looking proud.

“…Its larger in the inside?” young Fred asked uncertainly of what his eyes were seeing.

“Not by much. I, like, made the whole van a little bit larger that’s true, but the inside is just a little bigger than it was before. Now” he passed them and got inside, laying with his arms crossed behind his head on the brand new sofa perched on the left side of the van “I can lay down back here without having to contract my whole body like a slinky.”

“Well, that your own fault for being a giraffe” Velma laughed going in as well. “Did you upgraded my lab?”

“You know it, honey bee” came the lay back answer.

She clicked one of the small buttons on the opposite wall to the sofa. The upper half of the wall folded back, pushing forward a small table full of beakers, flasks and chemicals. The new wall that came forward had a screen in it, a corkboard full of pictures, calculations and trap anagrams, and a built-in magnifying glass lamp. She seated in a small wheeled stool that unfolded itself from a space that opened in the floor. Ok. Not only is the van larger, but it also has pocket dimensions. He can dig it.

“I thought that only dentist had one of these…” younger Fred said in amazement joining them in the back as well, touching the magnifying lamp. He was looking around like a kid in the candy shop, looking at the upper wall over the sofa that also had some buttons of their own and he would be lying to himself if he said he was not curious to discover what that wall had to hide “Did you add these tech things or…”

“Nope. Most of them were, like, already here. I just added the chemicals Velma was talking about some weeks ago and the magnifying glass. The rest? I’m not the only one that can make things out of nothing, little dude,” said Shaggy, untangling his arm from the back of his head and pointed towards ancient Fred, who had moved while they talked and was now seated behind the steering wheel. He turned around when he felt eyes on his back, seeing his younger self looking at him, clearly taking that as a confirmation that he could also make vans fuse with his will alone.

“Noooooooo. That’s not true.” He smiled at his lounging boyfriend, then he turned his gaze to his now deflated counterpart “I need duct tape first.”

His gang laughed while younger him wiggled closer to him sitting on the bean bag lying next to the front seat, his eyes shining with that new piece information, crossing his arms in the seatback, resting his head over them. Scooby got inside and closed the door behind him while Daphne went and assumed her place at the shotgun. Fred started the van and turned towards their original destination.

“Do all of you guys have powers or something?” asked the teenager, looking at all of them with new eyes.

“Or romething” said Scooby building momentum in his hind legs for a leap.

“Oh no. No, no, no, nononono” Shaggy hoisted his torso up, waving his hands frantically in front of him to no vail.

Like a bolt, Scooby jumped over his owner sending both rolling into the ground. After licking the lanky man face thoroughly through his laughter and the stream of ‘Down, boy, down!’, the Great Dane jumped to the now vacant seat and made himself comfortable.

“Scooby, you cheater that cheats” Shaggy gave his friend the stinky eye but his smile made it lose its effect. Scooby flashed him his tongue them got even comfier. Throwing his arm over his eyes, the lanky man groaned

“I swear to god, I’m cutting your soda supply. Too much caffeine in your system. There is no way that you have all that energy stored in that furry butt of yours”

The van occupants bubbled with giggles. Velma turned to the younger of then.

“Let us add the explanations of what we can and can’t do for when both the gangs are together. These are, as a whole, pretty long stories. It’s going to be easier to say it in one go instead of repeating it multiple times.” A sudden thought came to her mind. She added, “I take that you guys still live with your parents since you mentioned your dad early, so we are going already to say it twice unless you think that we should tell with your guys' parents present…”

“Nah, tell the gang first. It will be easier that way.” He let out a small chuckle “I can already see my dad trying to find a way to turn this into…” he trailed off, a thoughtful look in his face as if he was remembering something. Out of nowhere, he jumped in alarm hitting his head in the sealing. Ancient Fred hit the brake and turned his torso around to have a better look on his younger face, a concern morphing his handsome face.

“What is it, Little me?”

“I FORGOT MY FATHERS COFFEE” Young Fred had both hands in his head, a panicked look in his blue eyes.

“Ah, shit” the unison answer made the young man smile through his panic.

Turning the van around in a hurry, older Fred was quick to reassure young him.

“No worries, Little me. Here is the plan: we go back there, you give me the order, I go get the coffee since they would find weird for you to change clothes between the five minutes that we were there and then we go find your dad, how is that?”

The young man let a sigh of relief “Thanks, Big me.”

Fred smiled at the nickname, feeling warm. And Daphne had to go and ruin the moment.

“Awwww. They are so cute, they already have nicknames for each other” she giggled and cooed at them.

“Shut up, Daph” both of them turned to her, with just made she giggle harder.

“They are talking together now” Velma joined, hiding her lab after checking it one last time to see if it was all in order.“So cute”

“Adorable.” Came the observation from the floor. Shaggy laying sideways, one hand holding his head upwards, while the other was loosely over his hip was looking at young Fred with a smirk. He winked a feel seconds later, just to reassure the young man that they were just messing with both of them.

Scooby snickered behind him. “Rovely”

“What is this? ‘Bully Fred day’???” Older Fred asked, giving Daphne a side glare while simultaneously trying to glare at the backseat passengers through the rearview mirror. It was doing funny things to his face.

“Yeah!” was the answer he got while young Fred was looking at his older self-face with concerned, his “Dude, is your face supposed to do that?” was almost drowned on the laughter.

“Nah, he’s fine, little dude.” Shaggy stretched until his hand was in ruffling hair height.

“Hey, do you know how long it takes to get it in place?” Fred, the younger, was battling the hand away.

“Of course, we do. We live with the geriatric version of you” Velma shrugged.

“Velma, I’m 28!” He said with fake anger “You’re just three years younger than me!”

“Irrelevant.” She turned her head sticking up her nose mockingly, one hand pointing skyward.

And so, the journey back to the Blood Stake went like that for the entire trip until they parked once again in front of the red light building. Once there, it was a quick go in, ‘I FORGOT MY DAD’S COFFEE’, comprehensive looks from the onlookers, and go out.

Once back inside the van, Fred, the ancient, turned back around and once again they headed towards the town.

“Okie Dokie, now where to, Little Freddie?” Daphne asked, looking at the teenager expectantly, ready to absorb any road knowledge that he could give her.

“Ok. Once we reach the beginning of the city, you’re going to see the arch with the town’s name. From there you go straight. When you see the Fruitmeir’s turn right and then left. You turn left again on the blue house on the corner; the city hall is the biggest building on the right side.”

“City hall? That’s a new one. Does our version of dad work there?” Older Fred looked at younger Fred in the rearview mirror, the question written in his eyes.

The younger man looked at him for a moment, like he was not expecting that answer from him. He shrugged in acceptance not long after because, you know, different dimension him, different dimension dad. He could ask older him for what his dad did later.

Noticing the silence, the young man notices that he hadn’t answered yet. Ops.

“Sorry, thinking a little too hard there for a moment,” he said shaking his head.

“Comprehensible, love.” Assured Velma, putting one hand on Fred, the younger, shoulder giving it a small squeeze. “Happens with all of us from time to time”

“Mostly in the shower,” said Shaggy.

“Especially in the shower” added Daphne with a faraway look.

Younger Fred laughed. He couldn’t wait for both gangs to meet. He could already tell they are going to be fast friends.

“Yeah, my dad works in the city hall.” He giggled, snuggling his head further into his arms “He is the mayor after all.”

#Scooby Gang #Scooby-Doo #Fred Jones #Daphne Blake #Shaggy Rogers #Velma Dinkley #Gih Writes #us... but not quite #CrossOver #scooby doo crossovers #Wizard Shaggy #SDMI Fred #UBNQ gang meets SDMI Fred for half and hour:#*signing adoption papers*#Fred: I have just know Little me for one hour and a half #but if anything were to happen to him i would kill everyone in this room and than myself

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itsamejin · 4 years

Text

the one that got away || hendery angst || part 2 (finale)

Part 1

Summary: Some days you don’t regret the decision to leave him, but most days you do.

Warning: self-hatred, insecurities, mutual pining

Genre: angst, fluff, mutual pining

Pairing: Hendery x reader

Premise: You two broke up and that should’ve been the end of it, but he sends you a message and all of a sudden it isn’t.

Commission Request: @iron-lix

Word Count: 4,164 words

—

hey, its guanheng. just got your new number lol, wanted to know if you would like to catch up sometime and talk? Idk… just text me back if u want to

You were tempted to delete it, bury it in your trash bin along with all the other concerned messages Guanheng sent you before you blocked his number. It would’ve been the right thing to do, to end any sort of contact before you could hurt yourself further. Insecurity nagged at the back of your brain, yet you find yourself texting him back anyway.

if you want

Short. Simple. Enough to get the message across, but not enough to make him think you were desperate. Did you come off as desperate? Please, don’t make him think-

omg

u actually replied!!

how are you???

and im free on sunday

do u wanna meet up then?

The bombardment of texts brought a sad smile to your face. It really was him. It was Guanheng. No person used question marks as liberally, no person sent that many texts consecutively. You hesitate to answer. Too much could go wrong for you to risk seeing him again. You could break down in tears and be left in the dust, similar to how you had left Guanheng just a year earlier.

You convinced yourself that there was nothing left to talk about, there was no more closure needed. You two broke up cleanly and it should stay that way.

i’m doing fine, and yeah i’d love to :)

Your thoughts contradict your actions and you find yourself burying your face in your hands, frustrated at how easily you agreed. What the hell was wrong with you? You blocked him for a reason, you wanted to get over him. Agreeing to “catch up” with an ex wasn’t getting over him. You would only end up missing him more after all was said and down.

What made you think that you deserved to see him after all you had done?

—

At a small cafe on the outskirts of Macao, you reconsider every decision you made that led up to this point. You fiddle with your fingers, wondering why you even decided to paint your nails like he’d even pay attention to them in the first place. You scratch at the polka-dotted dress you wore, cursing at yourself for wearing his favorite color- pink. You purse your lips, regretting putting on such heavy makeup to hide the dark circles that formed underneath your eyes from the sleepless night you had. You couldn’t get a wink of rest knowing you’d see his face again after so long.

You should’ve just stayed home, should’ve just blocked his number as you did all those months ago.

“Hey,” a gentle voice calls out, interrupting your negative thoughts. “Wow, I can’t believe it’s actually you.”

You look up from your lap, Guanheng staring at you with the brightest smile on his face. He takes the seat across from you hesitantly as if he still wasn’t sure he came to the right table. No one recognized him here in this reclusive cafe, but he still couldn’t find it in himself to relax. Especially with you in front of him.

“It’s been a while,” you smile sadly. Your voice was shaky and Guanheng noticed. He noticed everything.

“Did you order yet?” he asks, equally nervous, but with a large grin on his face. His hand reached out to grab a piece of paper on the table thinking it was the menu. Sadly, it was not. You giggle slightly at his awkward expressions as he slid it back to where he got it from.

“That’s the placemat,” you inform him. “They were planning to give us the menu when you came.”

He cringes at himself. ‘Why do I always find a way to fuck things up?’ he cries in his mind. Guanheng thought he could’ve introduced himself more smoothly.

“Y-yeah,” he scratches the back of his head. “I probably should’ve known that.”

You two sat in silence even as the waitress planted the menu on the table. You let Guanheng order for you, surprised he still remembers your favorite drink. You wonder if his stayed the same too.

“...and I’d like a black coffee,” he smiles widely, bidding the waitress goodbye. He sees the small scowl etched on your face, but doesn’t quite know why. He used to never drink black coffee. It was too bitter for him and he always overreacted when the liquid would touch his tongue. You couldn’t believe that had changed in just a year- just like him.

You inspect his face blankly as he chatters about something nonsensical, trying to fill in the silence that you had left him with. Guanghen’s hair is shorter now, trimmed in a way that highlighted his boyish features perfectly. He wore a dress shirt, cuffed at the elbow. He wouldn't have been caught dead looking so suave in the past, opting for comfortable hoodies and beanies so ill-fitted that they hid his eyes. You were looking at Hendery, a version of him that existed on magazine covers and photo cards. You clutch the ends of your dress. See [Y/N]? He’s fine without you.

He stops his talking when he notices your lack of enthusiasm. You used to love hearing him talk, but you looked at him with such emptiness that he wondered if his voice was grating in your ear. He stares at you too, a sad glint in his eyes. Your face, although beautiful, was tired and sunken. You had a dullness in your complexion. You no longer glowed as you used to when he was yours- or to put it in terms that he liked better- when you were his. You shake him out of his own wallowing thoughts.

“How’s Korea?” you ask, knowing he had been promoting there recently. You hear from his friends that he loves it there, that the European-esque streets of Macau got too boring for him. He liked the hustle and bustle of Seoul, the capital of entertainment and fast-paced living. “Your new album doing well?”

Guanheng is happy that you asked, afraid you had lost interest in his work after the breakup. He was so afraid you had lost interest in him.

“It’s been great!” he nods thoughtfully. “We’re planning something soon, so I only have a week here before I go back. It’s been hectic...”

You purse your lips. It must be rough on him, only getting to stay with his family for such a short period of time. Guanghen must miss it- all of this. The city, the humidity, the people... maybe not you, but maybe the memories that came with the relationship. You sure miss it too.

“How about you?” he breaks the silence, noticing that your glances were drifting off somewhere else. “Anything interesting going on in your life?”

You shake your head and give a fake smile. He hates seeing it. Guanheng would prefer for you to curse him out than for you to act fake towards him. It’s like you couldn’t let your guard down with him... and he used to be the only person you let your guard down with. This wasn’t how usually were, but then again, he hasn’t seen you in a year. Could you have changed so drastically that the sight of his face made you that uncomfortable?

“Nothing notable,” you sigh, staring past him rather than right at him. “I’ve been thinking of moving out of Macau for a fresh start, you know? Somewhere new...”

‘Somewhere that doesn’t remind me of you,’ you say silently to yourself. You see a flicker of a pained expression, but you get distracted when the waitress delivers water to the both of you. You stir the water with the straw, glad you found another distraction to keep yourself from making eye contact with Guanheng.

“I wouldn’t have an excuse to visit,” he says teasingly, but you could feel grit in his tone. “if you weren’t here.”

You blink rapidly, not quite registering his words. What was he saying?

“What about your family? Your friends?” you question. There were a lot of things that came with this city, it’s not like you were the only one living here. You figured you’d be the last thing on his mind these days. Guanheng just shrugs.

“They visit me often,” he sighs. “But you don’t. You never visit.”

He gives a sad chuckle, sipping from his cup lowly. Your mouth opens, but not a sound comes out and so you close it again. How were you supposed to respond? Guanghen sighs at your silence.

“You blocked my number.”

Your heart cracks at the sound of his voice. He played around with the straw, refusing to look at you. He sounded... sad and you wondered if the reason for his sadness was you. Weren’t you usually the reason?

“Guanheng-” “You don’t have to say anything,” he stands up straight, a panicked look on his face. He realized then that he made the atmosphere even tenser than it already was. “I’m not here with any other intentions except to talk to you. I know... I know that...”

He couldn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t know how to without sounding desperate. ‘[Y/N] I know that it’s been a year, but would you like to start over even though you might not have feelings for me anymore?’ Yeah, no way he would be caught dead saying that out loud- not when you looked at him with such emptiness.

“What’s wrong Hendery?”

You wonder why the person with the brightest smile in the world had such furrowed brows as he looked into your eyes. And maybe that was your first mistake. Calling him by his stage name.

“Hendery?” he scoffs.

“I’m sorry,” you say a little shocked at his angry expression. “Did I overstep-”

“Why would you call me that?” he asks with sad eyes. “Why are you treating me like I’m a stranger?”

Your last chance at getting closure and you had said something wrong that made him uncomfortable. You blew it, didn’t you? Of course, how could you be such an idiot?

“I’m so sorry I didn’t-”

“Hendery,” he repeats, still shocked at your words. “You never call me that. Not even when we dated.”

Dated. Past tense. He wasn’t yours anymore and you needed to accept that. Guanheng was right there telling you to. You were out of your mind for thinking this was going to turn out like you expected, that he would walk back into your arms without hesitation.

“I can’t do this,” you say abruptly, standing up from your seat. “Guanheng I’m sorry it was a mistake even meeting up with you.”

“[Y/N]-”

You walk past the table, feeling bad for the cafe workers that were oblivious to your sudden outburst. You took out your wallet from your shoulder bag, setting down cash to make up for the food that hadn’t arrived at your table. The worker stared at you with large eyes.

“Ma’am-”

You were already out the door, tears threatening to spill over. Guanheng came to talk, came to have a chat with an old friend that happened to be his ex-girlfriend and all he got was an awkward conversation that showed how broken you were without him. You walk and walk, missing the bus stop that you were supposed to wait at until you hear rapid footsteps behind you.

“[Y/N] wait-”

Guanheng wraps his fingers around your elbow and pulls you to face him. You couldn’t bear to look at him, staring at your feet rather than his face.

“Just let me walk you to the bus stop. It’s dangerous for you to walk alone,” he says, the hand that was on your elbow was shaking. “I’m sorry for acting weird back there. It wasn’t even something serious and I freaked out over nothing-” “No,” you say shaking your head, pulling his hand away from you. He felt empty now that you were out of his reach. “I was the one that overreacted.”

“Don’t,” he says sadly. “Don’t apologize to me.”

You finally gather the guts to look up at him directly, but you regret it almost immediately. You notice up close that he’s still the scared kid who couldn’t believe he was called in for an audition by a massive foreign company. It makes you want to embrace him, comfort him from all his worries, and tell him that it’ll be okay. Except it isn’t. It hasn’t been for a while.

—

Under a flickering streetlight, you sit at the bus stop’s bench with tense shoulders. He sits farther away from you, careful of the watchful gazes from the public and any sneaky cameras around patiently waiting for him to mess up.

“I miss taking bus rides late at night,” he admits, not looking at you in fear of people watching. “It feels different somehow.”

You smile sadly.

“Yeah. We used to ride one from school together.”

He nods, biting the inside of his cheek. Words used to flow naturally when he was with you, but he had to go and mess it up at the cafe by feeling offended over something that was trivial. So what if you called him by his stage name? It's been a year since he’s last seen you- of course, you’d have been more cautious about what to call him. He was stupid, so hopelessly stupid.

“I miss the rivers too,” he mutters. “I miss those overpriced boat rides tourists would pay for.”

He chuckles sadly, reminiscing of a time when you had gone with him. When you were his and he was yours.

‘Most importantly I miss you,’ he thinks to himself, but he balls his hand into a fist before he could say anything else. You hated this, hated that he always held back before saying the most important thing.

“Guanheng,” you start, heart beating rapidly from your chest. “Why did you want to see me?”

His eyes waiver and you could see it glisten in this light. Did you say something that made him uncomfortable yet again?

“I just,” he swallows, not finding the right words, “wanted to see if you were doing okay.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he replies, “I feel like you’re doing fine.”

‘Without me,’ he screams in his head. Guanheng doesn’t notice you bowing your head or the tears that had started to form in your eyes. He was too caught up in his own tears that threatened to spill over, but he convinced himself to hold it in.

“Well, I’m not,” you broke out with a cry, already knowing you were past looking pathetic. You let the tears fall onto your lap. He doesn’t notice at first, but Guanheng snaps his head to you, no longer caring about his surroundings. He slides closer, patting you on the back.

“What's wrong?” he asks worriedly. “Did I say something again?”

“No,” you say, looking up at him and he swore his heart sunk at that moment. Even when you broke up with him your eyes never looked this hurt. Guanheng didn’t even know he had that effect on you anymore. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Well obviously I did if you look like this right now,” he says angrily, more at himself than at you. He wipes away the tears from your eyes, but it only made you wail harder. He was still so good at comforting people, still so gentle. You wished that he wouldn’t stare at you with such caring eyes and give you false hope- hope that he wanted you back just as much as you wanted him. It wasn’t right to be feeling this way when you were the one that broke up with him. You had no right.

“I’m so sorry,” you cry out, holding onto his arms to steady yourself.

“What are you sorry for?” he asks worriedly. His eyes, too, were turning red.

“For ignoring you when you needed me most.”

A silence falls between you two and his grip on you tightens. This was a conversation you two should’ve had a year ago. He didn’t quite know why it was being brought up now, but at least now he can ask what he’s been dying to figure out.

“Why did you block me?” he questions solemnly. “Why did you agree to be friends and then just cut me off like that?”

You purse your lips.

“I’m sorry for-”

“Please,” he begs, hands letting go of you. “Answer me just this once.”

You try to gather yourself but fail miserably. How could you when this was potentially the last time you’d ever see Guanheng again?

“I was scared,” you answer truthfully.

“Of what?”

You take a deep breath and sigh.

“That you might hate me.”

Guanheng tips your head to face him, a serious look on his face.

“I’d never hate you.”

He looked at you with such softness- the kind you haven’t felt in so long. At that moment you could trust him, at that moment you felt like everything would be okay.

‘It’s alright if he does,’ you think to yourself. If he hates you then fine, but you needed to tell him one last time. Then there’d be no regrets. Maybe then you’d have the guts to finally leave, start anew in a place that didn’t remind you so much of him, but that’s probably impossible to do because Hendery was the sun itself, and you were just you.

“I still love you,” you whisper solemnly, “and I hated that you let me go so easily when it was so hard for me to let go of you.”

His mouth falls open and you swear you see hurt in his eyes, so you turn away. Regret always came after your worst decisions.

“You thought I let you go easily?”

A stray tear had fallen down his cheek.

“I’m so sorry I-”

“Stop being sorry,” he pleads. “I hate hearing you apologize when it was my fault too.”

You look up at him, confused.

“I should’ve fought harder for us,” he continues. “I should have told you that I loved you back then and that I could’ve made it work. I can’t believe you thought I was okay with breaking up. I said we should stay friends just so I could have an excuse to talk to you again and you kept ignoring my texts and I thought I was being annoying and-”

He always used to ramble a lot when he was anxious. Guanheng takes a deep breath and puts your hands in his. The bus was not coming anytime soon.

“What I’m trying to say is,” he mutters. “I still love you too.”

You shake your head, refusing to believe his words. He just felt sorry for you, he didn’t mean-

“I tried dating other people,” he says matter-of-factly, breaking your heart a tiny bit because you hadn’t. You never tried to venture past him because it had always been him, always.

“Guanheng, why-”

“But it just didn’t work out,” he cuts you off, swallowing his saliva nervously, “because they weren’t you.”

You open your mouth to speak but he cuts you off again.

“I sent you text after text asking you to take me back,” he sighed sadly. “But I never sent them because I knew you wouldn’t even see them anyway. I told the guys about you and they said it was a lost cause, that I should move on.”

“But you didn’t,” you whisper, touched by his words. Guanheng shakes his head.

“I didn’t,” he smiles as he intertwines his fingers within yours. “And maybe it’s messed up to say this, but I’m glad you didn’t either.”

You laugh with him, the tears dried by now. You look at him, his eyes crinkling so beautifully as he smiles.

The bus came seconds after under the flickering street light where you two share a chaste kiss. His lips tasted the same and you can’t help but grin.

It was still him. It was still Guanheng.

—

He walks with you, his hand bumping into yours one too many times that he just held yours in his. It didn’t feel real, being so close to him again. Maybe you had gone through hurdles to get to where you two were now, but at least he was back where he wanted to be- by your side. You two talk about anything and everything and let a comfortable silence fall in between you two when there wasn’t a need for conversation.

Guanheng asks you what you watch recently. Netflix documentaries. You ask him what songs he listens to nowadays? You cringe when he says Justin Bieber. He laughs when you laugh, walks at the same pace as you, calls you pet names. It’s like he never left, but you knew that in a week from now, he will leave. And maybe you’ll go back to wallowing in your own sadness again.

You’re already at the steps leading to your house, but he refuses to let you go, so you let him inside. He smiles at the lack of change.

“My stuff’s still here,” he says in awe, picking up the small robot figurine that was propped up on your coffee table. You fluster at his words.

“I didn’t have the heart to throw them away,” you mutter. He smiles at you.

“Do you still have my clothes here?” he asks. You panic.

“Oh, do you want them? I can go-”

“So I can stay the night then, right?” he asks seriously. You wonder if he thinks himself a comedian. You punch him in the arm with a puff of your breath.

“We haven’t even seen each other for more than a day and you-”

“Not like that,” he chuckles, realizing what he had implied with his statement. “I just want to sleep here. With you. Innocently.

You stare up at him, unconvinced.

“Aren’t you worried that I’ll get kidnapped?” he whines, giving you those puppy dog eyes that you missed so much. You miss him so much.

You click your tongue at him, walking to your bedroom as he follows right behind. You scathe through your closet, pulling out the comfy clothes he always wore. You could never admit to him that you’ve been sleeping in them for the past year since he was gone. He takes them from you.

“Then I’ll go change,” he says with a cheeky smile. You roll your eyes, getting dressed for bed as well. Guanheng takes a seat on your bed and lays down next to you. He watches you silently for a while before he starts stroking your hair.

��Move to Seoul with me,” Guanheng jokes casually. You take him seriously for a second, but notice the Cheshire grin on his face and decide to play along.

“I don’t know anyone there,” you pout, squeezing his hand lightly.

“You know me.”

You roll your eyes.

“You know that’s not enough,” you scoff. “I need a job, I’ll miss my family and-”

Why were you taking this so seriously? Your face heats up with embarrassment. How could you let yourself be carried away by his simple teasing?

He smiles at you, patting your head softly.

“Then, I’ll just keep coming back to visit, I guess,” he replies. “Unless you’re still planning to leave?”

You pondered for a bit. You did need a change of view, a change of pace. You had spent a year in this apartment wallowing in self-pity. It wouldn't be so bad to move somewhere new, would it?

“If I go to Seoul,” you start off hesitantly, “What does that mean for us?”

He looks at you, confused. The atmosphere had turned somber without him noticing.

“What do you mean?”

You hesitate to ask, still confused as to where he stands. Dating an idol was hard, you knew that. Did he?

“Will I be your girlfriend again?”

He scoffs.

“I thought that was a given.”

You smile, but there was a hint of sadness in your eyes.

“I’m not good at being there for you, Guanheng,” you admit. “I have so many flaws and you have to put up with so many of them-”

“You put up with mine,” he says, inching closer to you. You shake your head.

“I’m not a good girlfriend.”

He shoots you a glare, pulling you into his arms and burying his face into your hair. Guanheng hated in when you talked about yourself like this.

“You don’t have to be,” he says. “I want you to be [Y/N], not just my girlfriend. You just have to be okay. I want you to be okay.”

You feel the prick of tears in your eye and nod into his chest. You need to trust him. You have to.

“I’ll try,” you say, drifting off into sleep. “This time I’ll try.”

And this time he won’t let go.

—

A/N: Super hard writing this because it’s been like uhhhh more than a year, but I’m glad I got to do it. Thank you @iron-lix for commissioning this and being so sweet and patient. I hope this was up to your expectation! Check out her blog for cute WayV fics!

I’ll be starting on my drabble game after I finish my last two commissions. Writers block is starting to get to me guys, so I’ll try to pace myself better in these next few days. Again thank you to everyone for being so kind in your messages and asks to me. I really feed off the positive vibes, you guys really know how to make me feel special T^T

give me a coffee?

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strokingtheego · 4 years

Text

No Skirting Around

Pairing: Logic|Logan/Morality|Patton. NSFS, Minors DNI

"It really isn't like Patton to skip out on movie night," Roman picked at the chocolate on his popcorn, inspecting it almost suspiciously, as though it might be the most recent victim of a certain, crasser part of Creativity. (He'd be wrong. All Remus had done was let it sit open on the counter, and now half the kernels under the surface had the consistency of day-old jerky.)

"Usually he's the one to be all about treasuring family bonding time, if we could opt out from the beginning, I would have! Not to slander the collection of titles, but one's evenings might be better put to use planning the world's next great musical."

Virgil bit back a cough-laugh. "Your 'What's In A Name', right, I can see the headlines now." His own popcorn had been left mostly alone, but the feeling of the bag felt a little off. "Well, he did make sure we all got our 'Popcorn from Pops', so he probably still wants us to go, even if he can't."

"And the passion for a healthy, well-oiled dynamic between all of us truly admirable, it is- but I would much rather continue moving my works in progress into the works of art category."

Virgil squeezed his bag a little tighter. "He's.. working through his own thing, remember? And with everything going on, he deserves a night off to process, at least."

By the time they reached the living room, onesie-d and cast in the bright orange opening of The Sixth Sense, Roman was quiet.

Virgil popped a kernel into his mouth.

"...there's hidden marshmallows in mine."

A loud, distraught gasp from the prince ("Share?") as they settled into the couch, but not before peering curiously over at the blanketed mass of fabric that spilled onto the floor.

"Love the skirt, Mindmeister."

____________________________

Logan was going to die. Tap, tap, over his parted knees, the feeling of soft curls over his thighs. Quiet, now. Only the trained instinct of keeping a straight face through difficult interactions could keep him from jolting out of his seat at just the feeling of fingers stroking circles under his thighs, creeping up over the softer fabric over his waist. They weren't even through the first few scenes, they hadn't even started- Logan was glad the room was dark, or he'd be scarlet, despite his best efforts. Why did he ever agree to this. It was completely unnecessary, if it was for this reason that Patton wanted to be exempt from the movie screening, then he might as well have stayed in his room as well, waited for him there, and whatever happens would really be no one else's business but their own. There was no reason for him to come out at his request, in a floor-length skirt, thighs spread expectantly in the dark of the living room. He could leave, at any time, right now, if he really wanted to.

But you don't want to, those infuriating fingers seemed to coo, trailing warmth over his ankles. Do you, baby? Logan waved the memory of that word away almost frantically, definitely burning up now, at the recollection of the first time the metaphorical heart had murmured it into his throat, and all the other, just as humiliating moments involving- that.

Different problem, instantly, because now the hands had changed course, pushing the folds of cloth higher, over his knees, and all Logan could remember was a breath against his ear, careful instructions and warmth over his throat and he couldn't move, as the skirt lifted high on his bare hips, hands admiring the test of obedience with every gentle squeeze to his ass. Flying colours. Good boy, Logan. They moved, back down to his knees and Logan exhaled, the odd bit of pride joining the heart hammering in his chest, trying to focus on the movie, on Virgil fighting Roman for his marshmallows back, on anything else besides the warm weight of arms over his lap, the feeling of fingers gliding close, much too close to the inside of his thighs and he set the popcorn he'd been crushing silently between his hands down as he took a breath. He choked.

Patton pumped his cock again, seemingly delighted, as the heavy fall of his hands against the couch turned into a vice grip on the cushions. The stroke that followed was thankfully slower, thumb kneading under the head, careful pumps up and down, with one hand on his hips and he took it, eyes shut and shivering, trying, in vain, to bring air back to his lungs. The movement stopped, resting instead at the base of his now unmistakable need, a bittersweet kind of reprieve. Or so he thought, because the warm wet of a laughing mouth pressed to the tip and parted-

"Logan? You good, bud?"

The two other sides in the room were looking right at him, Virgil with concern, Roman with squirrel-cheeked curiosity. Haley Joel was crying onscreen. The room felt like a tangible space, finally, for the first time since he stepped into it.

Patton wasn't as forgiving. Another, long lick upward had him shift, shrug noncommittally at the other two as the warmth sucked gently around the head. Logan was fairly sure he wasn't surviving the night with his dignity intact.

"Hm? Oh, I'm- fine. Why wouldn't I be?" That should not have sounded as breathless as it had.

"We-ell, for one-" Roman had somehow swallowed all the marshmallows back to gesture grandly around the room- don't take that idea- fuck, f uck- the imagined cotton was beginning to tear under his nails. He could feel the shoulders shaking from underneath the blanket. "-you've been giving Bruce Willis bedroom eyes since the movie began, which- I don't blame you for, but-"

"If you're tired," Virgil cut in, maybe a little too forcefully, but ultimately ignored the look Roman shot him to turn back, "You should go to bed. Patton's not here either, I'm sure he'll understand if you need a break."

Oh, he's here, he bit back, if only out of frustration as Patton gripped his hips, swallowing him down and Logan felt a little like crying himself, squashing down moans before they could rise and he shook his head, forcing himself to pop a few kernels into his own mouth.

"No. I'll be okay."

"Are you sure."

"Of course. I apologize for worrying you two."

Roman snickered, "Oh, I wasn't-" Virgil shoved a marshmallow though his teeth.

"Okay. Don't push yourself."

After what felt like hours, Virgil turned away, and the shuddering gasp that followed was more than a little embarrassing. Still, the relief coursed through his chest, even as laughter ran vibrations over his hips, into his spine and the mouth moved from the twitch of his dick to kiss teasingly over his hips. I'm sorry, I had to. Logan didn't particularly feel like dignifying that with an answer. The lips nudged apologetically just under his navel, planting kisses over his thighs before they disappeared completely, the imprint of them still warm and Logan was allowed to breathe, release the tension in his shoulders, let his chest rise a little higher as his eyes closed, at least for a minute.

A click of a bottle shut.

The shock of the realization came before the shock of a slick forefinger pressing into him, a hand raising his knee over a shoulder, a high noise of instinctual delight rising in his throat. Logan could not have clamped that hand over his mouth quicker.

Pat- Patto-n! The heart didn't respond, pushing a second finger further in, spiraling leisurely into that one, tiny spot of vulnerability and it was all Logan could do not to just splay out then and there, hot breath fogging his glasses as he ground his heels into the carpet.

"Patto-nn-" came the urgent whisper, barely audible over the gasp that shoved past it. "This- this is not what was discussed-"

Patton shut him up with a hard suck to the head, ecstatic with mischief as he stroked that spot inside him with incredible dexterity, kissing idly down the underside as Logan peeled the blanket back in desperation, just enough to watch bright blue flicker open.

Patton looked starved.

His glasses were askew, curls pushed back from his face and precome shone on his bottom lip like the world's crudest form of gloss, mouth red and parted in a laugh that once was welcoming, trustworthy, not at all as predatory, dark and consuming. The blue in those eyes burned- and Logan was frozen.

Morality nudged his nose into the neatly trimmed nest at the base of him, and Logan watched him inhale, dragging utterly indecent lips back up to the head.

Quiet, Logan. You promised.

The fingers curled in deep, pulsed white-hot to his toes, the tight warmth of a mouth engulfing him to the hilt, and the cushion ripped as Logan convulsed.

Call my name, Lo.

Patton hadn't pulled the blanket down all the way, just under his eyes and Logan watched the silhouette of a soft mouth drink him down, rocking a third finger into him as the bottle clicked shut. His hips shook, knuckles white against the couch as he gripped the tartan and his knees had long since gelatinized, whimper after whine punching out of his throat as the pace picked up on his prostate.

Patton-

His back had arched off the couch at this point, wracked with exhaustion, eyes lidded behind his glasses and his mind had gone blank, unsure if he was watching Virgil and Roman squabble over caramel or Bruce Willis playing with soldiers or the bob of Morality's throat as come dribbled past his chin.

Pat- Patton-

Shaking. He can't stop shaking. His arms were numb, The slow, purposeful torture continued, urging every muffled noise out of him as flashes sparked behind his eyes and how many minutes were left- seconds till it was over-

P a t t o n-

The credits. Virgil- Roman- they were packing up. Virgil was saying something he didn't hear, and Logan could hardly care whether or not what he had replied was a coherent thought or not. The living room was dark.

The fingers found his face, warm, comforting, "There's my baby."

My good boy. You did so well, Logan.

Please. The only word he could think, to beg and part of him didn't even really know what he was begging for- "Pat- Patton please-"

Hands tore the blanket off his lap, rending the seams of the skirt along with it, a darkened silhouette of want and gleaming blue leaning over his spent, shaking form, and whatever was left of his conscious mind left him about the same time Patton took him by the thighs and fucked all the way in.

Logan had always stood a good few inches over Patton. Now, watching the embodiment of the human heart loom over him, he thinks, maybe this is how it was always meant to be.

The couch slammed back into the wall.

"Fuck-!"

Patton- Patton Patton Patton-

The mouth met him halfway, kissing his cries away, calm and sweet and almost everything he could ask for.

Fuck me like you promised.

You promised, Pat.

Patton shoved his legs apart.

The pace was unrelenting, Logan spread the width of the couch and still keening, gasping, grasping for anything that might anchor him to the present as his entire system struggled to keep up, garbled fuck-blissed noise and soft, murmuring words that shot shivers through his nervous system as Patton nailed him deeper and deeper into the back of the seat and so good, so good for me, Lo, you did such a good job-

"Ple-pl-ease-! Ff-fuck-"

Yes God harder yes-

Down- onto the seat itself, knees to ears and the shirt was unsummoned- neither of them had the particular state of mind to take it off in any way calmly and the sound that tore from his throat could barely be human, Morality jackhammering down into that tight, desperate spot with a laugh just as breathless and Logan screamed- streaks painting as high as his shoulder and clawing- begging- splotches of white under his eyelids blinking in and out of focus and all he could see was blue-

"P-Pa-ah! Pat'n- Pa-"

Beg, Lo.

"Ple-ple-eease-ples-"

Hot. Hot- Hot- liquid heat washed down below his spine- Morality had his thighs trapped behind him- fucking in so deep he choked from the sheer feeling of being full and Logan could care less what position they were in now, sinking on and off with every harsh slap of skin against his thigh and hands, over the damp of his chest as slick and come dripped down his taint and balls.

"Pleas-e, pl-pl-uhn-"

"Louder."

"Please! Patton-"

His back hit the cushions and Logan keened, whining at the sudden emptiness before hands hauled his hips up- and the cock thrust into him so hard his forearms smacked into the armrest, stars blinding him a good split second as Patton gasped into his ear and he shook violently- God, he could feel everything, feel Patton shudder as heat welled rapidly in his lower belly and the dry orgasm rocked him against the form above him, had him claw at the tartan as his spine snapped rigid against Morality's slow pace in, legs kicking out involuntarily, voice fuck-blissed and broken and warm-

A warm pair of lips, by the time his consciousness drifted back into him, pressed carefully to his forehead. The world spun, blurred- and settled on the smiling face inches from him, freckled and waiting, concern lining the tired slant of bright blue eyes. They were still on the couch, from what he could gather, long past their set sleep schedule, sticky and sated and the world should be coming back into focus by now.

"I'm sorry I broke your glasses."

Ah. Logan exhaled carefully, chest still slightly strained from holding everything in.

"You have also torn one of my better skirts."

Patton shrugged, the beginnings of a familiar grin tugging at the corners of his mouth and Logan shut his eyes, headache welling, "Well, you know I'm not the type to skirt around the main point."

Breathe, Logan, breathe.

"You were okay the whole time, though, right?"

Third post-coital sigh of the night. "Of course. I would have told you if I ran into any trouble."

"Did you?"

Bright blue watched him from his shoulder, slightly unfocused, quiet as he waited before he managed a grin as Logan shifted to face him, brows furrowed in gentle reminder.

"Of course not. You were wonderful, Patton."

The smile faltered, and for a moment Logan thought he'd said the wrong thing, before it curved into something much more genuine, eyes crinkling at the corners, into the familiar laugh lines as warmth crept slowly into speckled skin and Logan's stomach flipped several times in that instant.

"I'm pleats-ed to hear that."

"You're reaching."

"For the skirt?"

"Zip it."

"I can't- the skirt's torn."

Fourth. Fourth post-coital sigh of the night.

"We should probably take this somewhere with more curtains, though."

"Because there are more drapes there, I got it-"

"Because I'm not done fucking you into every surface I can find, that's right."

Logan's mouth was suddenly dry.

"Okay."

In the farther reaches of the imagination, Roman gingerly lifted the pillow off his head from where he'd tried to bury himself face first into his mattress.

"Are-? Are they done? Please tell me they're done? Please tell me they've realized we can also hear their telepathic messages?"

Virgil, at the foot of the bed, refused to remove the pillows duct taped over his headphones, turned up to max volume.

Oh- h f-!

Back into the burying hole, we go, and Roman didn't hear Virgil scream.

#not safe for sanders #nsfs logicality #nsfs logan sanders #nsfs patton sanders

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notapaladin · 3 years

Text

and this faith is gettin' heavy (but you know it carries me) redux

This is literally and unironically the SECOND TIME i have added another thousand words to this fic but now it is finally done. Behold, over 10k words of food as metaphor for love/angst-with-a-happy-ending! In which Teomitl goes missing on a foreign battlefield, and Acatl mourns...but events in his dreams suggest Teomitl maybe isn’t gone for good.

Also on AO3

Acatl grimaced as he stepped from the coolness of his home into the day’s bright, punishing sunlight. Today was the day the army was due to return from their campaign in Mixtec lands, and so he was forced to don his skull mask and owl-trimmed cloak on a day that was far too hot for it. Not for the first time, he was thankful that priests of Lord Death weren’t required to paint their faces and bodies for special occasions; the thought of anything else touching his skin made him shudder.

He’d barely made it out of his courtyard when Acamapichtli strode up to him, face grave underneath his blue and black paint. “Ah, Acatl. I’m glad I could catch you.”

“Come to tell me that the army is at our gates again?” They would never be friends, he and Acamapichtli, but they had achieved something like a truce in the year since the plague. Still, Acatl couldn’t help but be on his guard. There was something...off about the expression on the other man’s face, and it took him a moment to realize what it was. He’d borne the same look when delivering the news of a death to a grieving family. Ah. A loss, then.

He’d expected Acamapichtli to spread his hands, a wordless statement of there having been nothing he could have done. He didn’t expect him to take a deep breath and slide his sightless eyes away. “I have. The runners all say it is a great victory; Tizoc-tzin has brought back several hundred prisoners.”

It should have pleased him. Instead, a cold chill slid down his spine. “What are you not telling me? I’ve no time for games.”

Acamapichtli let out a long sigh. “There were losses. A flood swept across the plain, carrying away several of our best warriors. Among them...the Master of the House of Darts. They looked—I’m assured that they looked!—but his body was not found.”

No. No. No. A yawning chasm cracked open beneath his ribs. He knew he was still breathing, but he couldn’t feel the air in his lungs. Even as he wanted, desperately, to grab Acamapichtli by the shoulders and shake him, to scream at him for being a liar, he knew the man was telling the truth. That his face and mannerisms, the careful movements of a man who knew he brought horrible news, showed his words to be honest. That Teomitl—who had left four months before with a kiss for Mihmatini and an affectionate clasp for Acatl’s arm—would not return.

It took real effort to focus on Acamapichtli’s next words. The man’s eyes were full of a horrible sympathy, and he wanted to scream. “I thought you should know in advance. Before—before they arrived.”

“Thank you,” he forced out through numb lips.

Acamapichtli turned away. “...I’m sorry, Acatl.”

After a long, long moment, he made himself start walking again. There was the rest of the army to greet, after all. Even if Teomitl wouldn’t be among them.

Even if he’d never return from war again.

Greeting the army was a ceremony, one he usually took some joy in—it had meant that Teomitl would be home, would be safe, and his sister would be happy. Now it passed in a blue, and he registered absolutely none of it. Someone must have already given the news to Mihmatini when he arrived; she was an utterly silent presence at his side, face pale and lips thin. She wouldn’t cry in public, but he saw the way her eyes glimmered when she blinked. He couldn’t bring himself to so much as lay a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. If he touched her, if he felt the fabric of her cloak beneath his hand, that meant it was real.

It couldn’t be real. Jade Skirt was Teomitl’s patron goddess, She wouldn’t let him simply drown. But there was an empty space to Tizoc’s left where Teomitl should have been, and no sign of his white-and-red regalia. Acatl’s eyes burned as he blinked away the sun.

Tizoc was still speaking, but Acatl heard none of his words. It was all too still, too quiet; everything was muffled, as though he was hearing it through water. If there was justice, came the first spinning thought, every wall would be crumbling. No...if there was justice, Teomitl would be...

He drew in a long breath, feeling chilled to the bone even as he sweated under his cloak. Now that his mind had chosen to rouse itself, its eye was relentless. He barely saw the plaza around him, packed with proud warriors and colorful nobles; it was too easy to imagine a far-flung province to the south, a jungle thick with trees and blood. A river bursting its banks, carrying Teomitl straight into his enemies’ arms. They would capture him, of course; he was a valiant fighter and he’d taken very well to the magic of living blood, but even he couldn’t hold off an army alone.

And once they had him, they would sacrifice him.

Somewhere behind the army, Acatl knew, were lines of captured warriors whose hearts would be removed to feed the Sun, whose bodies would be flung down the Temple steps to feed the beasts in the House of Animals, whose heads would hang on the skull-rack. It was necessary, and their deaths would serve a greater purpose. He’d seen it thousands of times. There was no use mourning them. It was simply the way nearly all captured warriors went.

It was what Teomitl would want. An honorable death on the sacrifice stone. It was better to die than to be a slave all your life. But at least he would have a life—all unbidden, the alternative rose clear in Acatl’s mind. Teomitl, face whitened with chalk. Teomitl, laying down on the stone. Teomitl, teeth clenched, meeting his death with open eyes. Teomitl’s blood on the priests’ hands.

Nausea rose hot and bitter in his throat, and he shut his eyes and focused on his breathing. In for a count of three, out for a count of five. Repeat. It didn’t hurt to breathe, but he felt as if it should. He felt as if everything should hurt. He felt a sudden, vicious urge to draw thorns through his earlobes until the pain erased all thoughts, but he made his hands still. If he started, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to stop.

Still, it seemed to take an eternity for the speeches and the dances to be over and done with. By the time they finished, he was light-headed with the strain of remaining upright, and Mihmatini had slipped a hand into his elbow. Even that single point of contact burned through his veins. They still hadn’t spoken. He wondered if she, too, couldn’t quite find her own voice under the screaming chasm of grief.

And then, after all that, when all he yearned for was to go home and lay down until the world felt right again—maybe until the Sixth Sun rose, that would probably be enough time—there was a banquet, and he was forced to attend.

Of course there’s a banquet, he thought dully. This is a victory, after all. Tizoc had wasted no time in promoting a new Master of the House of Darts to replace his fallen brother, with many empty platitudes about how Teomitl would surely be missed and how he’d not want them to linger in their grief, but to move on and keep earning glory for the Mexica. Moctezuma, his replacement, was seventeen and haughty; where Teomitl’s arrogance had begun to settle into firm, well-considered authority and the flames of his impatience had burnt down to embers, Moctezuma’s gaze swept the room and visibly dismissed everyone in it as not worth his concern. It reminded Acatl horribly of Quenami.

Mihmatini sat on the same mat she always did, but now there was a space beside her like a missing tooth. She still wore her hair in the twisted horn-braids of married women, and against all rules of mourning she had painted her face with the blue of the Duality. Underneath it, her face was set in an emotionless mask. She did not eat.

Neither did Acatl. He wasn’t sure he could stomach food. So instead his gaze flickered around the room, unable to settle, and he gradually realized that he and Mihmatini weren’t alone in the crowd. The assembled lords and warriors should have been celebrating, but there was a subdued air that hung over every stilted laugh and negligent bite of fine food. Neighbors avoided each other’s eyes; Neutemoc, sitting with his fellow Jaguar Warriors, was staring at his empty plate as though it held the secrets of the heavens. He looked well, until Acatl saw the expression on his face. It was a mirror of his own.

At least his fellow High Priests didn’t try to engage him in conversation, for which he was grateful. Acamapichtli kept glancing at him almost warily, but he hadn’t voiced any more empty platitudes—and when Quenami had opened his mouth to say something, he’d taken the unprecedented step of leaning around Acatl and glaring him into silence.

If they’d been friends, Acatl would have been touched; as it was, it made a burning ember of rage lodge itself in his throat. Don’t you pity me. Don’t you dare pity me. He ground his teeth until his jaw hurt, clenched his fists until his nails cut into his palms, and didn’t speak. If he spoke, he would scream.

Even the plates in front of him weren’t enough of a distraction. Roasted meats glistened in their vibrant red or green or orange sauces. Each breath brought the deliciously warm fragrance of chilies and pumpkin seeds and vanilla to his nose. The fish and lake shrimp, grilled in their own juices and arrayed on beds of corn husks, would at any other time have tempted him to take a bite. Soups and stews were carried from table to table by serving women in gleaming white cotton; he breathed in as one woman passed and nearly choked on the rich peppery scent. He didn’t need to look to know it was his usual favorite, chunks of firm white fish and bitter greens in what was sure to be a fiery broth. Teomitl had always teased him for that, saying it was a miracle he could even taste the greens with so much chili in the way.

Don’t look. Don’t think about it. The ember in his throat was slowly scorching a path through his gut. He couldn’t eat. Didn’t even try.

There were more courses, obviously. More fish, more vegetables, more haunches of venison or rabbits bathed in spicy-sweet sauce. More doves and quail, and even a spoonbill put back in its own pink feathers for a centerpiece. When the final course was triumphantly set in front of him—wedges and cubes of fruit, with a little cup of spiced honey—he was nearly sick over the sweet crimson pitaya split open on his plate. It had been Teomitl’s favorite.

Somehow, he held it together until after the dessert had been cleared away. He rose jerkily to his feet, legs trembling, and fixed his mind firmly on getting home in one piece. No one hailed him on his way out of the room, and for a hopeful moment he thought he was safe.

Quenami’s voice stopped him in the next hallway. “Ah, Acatl. A lovely banquet, wasn’t it?”

He didn’t turn around. “Mn.” Go away.

Quenami didn’t. In fact he took a step closer, as though they were friends, as though he’d never tried to have Acatl killed. His voice was like a mosquito in his ear. “You must not be feeling well; you hardly touched your food. Some might see that as an insult. I’m sure Tizoc-tzin would.”

“Mm.”

“Or is it worry over Teomitl that’s affecting you? You shouldn’t fret so, Acatl. You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s not dead after all; there are plenty of cenotes in the southlands, and a determined man could easily hide out there for the rest of his life. He probably just took the coward’s way out, sick of his responsibilities—“

He whirled around, sucking in a breath that scorched his lungs. It was the last thing he felt before he let Mictlan’s chill spill through his veins and overflow. His suddenly-numb skin loosened on his neck; his fingers burned with the cold that came only from the underworld. He knew that his skin was black glass, his muscles smoke, his bones moonlight on ice, his eyes burning voids. All around him was the howling lament of the dead, the stench of decay and the dry, acrid scent of dust and dry bones. When he spoke, his voice echoed like a bell rung in a tomb.

“Silence.”

You do not call him a coward. You do not even speak his name. I could have your tongue for that. He stepped forward, gaze locked with Quenami’s. It would be easy, too. He could do it without even blinking—could take his tongue for slander, his eyes for that sneering gaze, could reach inside his skin and debone him like a turkey—all it would take would be a single wrong word—

Quenami recoiled, jaw going slack in terror. Silently—blessedly, mercifully, infuriatingly silently—he turned on his heel and left.

Acatl took one breath, two, and let the magic drain out of his shaking limbs. He hadn’t meant to do that. It should probably have sickened him that he’d nearly misused Lord Death’s power like that, especially on a man who ought to have been his superior and ally, but instead all he felt was a vicious sort of stymied rage—a jaguar missing a leap and coming up with nothing but air between his claws. He wanted to scream. He wanted blood under his nails, the shifting crack of breaking bones under his knuckles. He wanted to hurt something.

He made it to the next courtyard, blessedly empty of party guests, and collapsed on the nearest bench like a dead man. His stomach ached. I could have killed him. Gods, I wanted to kill him. I don’t think I’ve ever been so angry in my life. All because...all because he said his name...

“...Acatl?”

Mihmatini’s voice, admirably controlled. He made himself lift his head and answer. “In here.”

She padded into the courtyard and took a seat on the opposite end of the bench, skirt swishing around her feet as she walked. Gold ornaments had been sewn into its hem, and he wondered if they’d been gifts from Teomitl. “I saw Quenami running like all the beasts of the underworld were on his tail. What did you do?”

Nothing. But that would have been a lie, and he refused to do that to his own flesh and blood. “...He said…” He swallowed past a lump in his throat. “He said that Teomitl might have deserted. He dared to say that—” The idea choked him, and he couldn’t finish the words. That Teomitl was a coward. That he would run from his responsibilities, from his destiny, at the first opportunity…

She tensed immediately, eyes going cold in a way that suggested Quenami had better be a very fast runner indeed. “He would never. You know that.”

Air seemed to be coming a bit easier now. “I do. But…”

Of course, she pounced on his hesitation. “But?”

I want him so badly to not be dead. “Nothing.”

Mihmatini was silent for a while, wringing her hands together. Finally, she spoke. “He would never have deserted. But...Acatl…”

“What?”

“I don’t know if he’s dead.” She set a hand on her chest. “The magic that connects us—I can still feel it in here. It’s faint, really faint, but it’s there. He might…” She took a breath, and tears welled up in her eyes. “He might still be alive.”

Alive. The word was a conch shell in his head, sounding to wake the dawn. For an instant, he let himself imagine it. Teomitl alive, maybe in hiding, maybe trying to find his way home to them.

Maybe held captive by the Mixteca, until such time as they can tear out his heart. He closed his eyes, shutting out everything but the sound of his own breathing. It didn’t help. He hated how pathetic his own voice sounded as he asked, “You think so?”

“It’s—” She scrubbed ineffectually at her eyes with the back of a hand. “It’s possible. Isn’t it?”

“...I suppose.” He took a breath. “I think it’s time for me to get some sleep. I’ll...see you tomorrow.”

He knew he wouldn’t sleep—knew, in fact, that he’d be lucky if he even managed to close his eyes—but he needed to get home. He refused to disgrace himself by weeping in public.

The first dream came a week later.

He’d managed to avoid them until then; he’d thrown himself headlong into his work, not stopping until he was so tired that his “sleep” was really more like “passing out.” But it seemed his body could adapt to the conditions he subjected it to much easier than he’d thought, because he woke with tears on his face and the scraps of a nightmare scattering in the dawn light. There had been blood and screaming and a ravaged and horrible face staring into his that somehow he’d known. He did his best to put it from his mind, and for a day he thought he’d succeeded. He shed blood for the gods, stood vigil for the dead, tallied up the ledgers for the living. Remembered, occasionally, to put food into his mouth, but he couldn’t have said what he was eating. Collapsed onto his mat and prayed that he wouldn’t have a dream like that again.

It wasn’t like that. It was worse.

He was walking through a jungle made of shadows, trees shedding gray dust from their leaves as he passed under them. There was no birdsong, no rippling of distant waters or crunching of underbrush, and he knew deep in his soul that nothing was alive here anymore. Not even himself. Though his legs ached and his lungs burned, it was pain that felt like it was happening to someone else. His gut held, not the stretched desiccation of Mictlan, but a nasty twisting feeling of wrongness; part of him wanted to be sick, but he couldn’t stop. Ahead of him, someone was making their way through the undergrowth, and it was a stride he’d know anywhere.

Teomitl. He thought he called out to him, but no sound escaped his mouth even though his throat hurt as though he’d been screaming. He tried again. Teomitl! This time, he managed a tiny squeak, something even an owl wouldn’t have heard.

Teomitl didn’t slow down, but somehow the distance between them shortened. Now Acatl could make out the tattered remains of his feather suit, singed and bloodstained until it was more red than white, and the way his bare feet had been cut to ribbons. He still wasn’t looking behind him. It was like Acatl wasn’t there at all. Ahead of them, the trees were thinning out.

And then they were on a flat plain strewn with corpses, bright crimson blood the only color Acatl could see. Teomitl was standing still in front of him as water slowly seeped out of the ground, covering his feet and lapping gently at his ankles. There were thin threads of red in it.

“Teomitl,” he said, and this time his voice obeyed him.

Teomitl turned to him, smiling as though he’d just noticed he was there. His chest was a red ruin, the bones of his ribcage snapped wide open to pull out his beating heart. A tiny ahuizotl curled in the space where it had been.

He took one step back. Another.

Teomitl’s smile grew sad, and he reached for him with a bloody hand. “Acatl, I’m sorry.”

He awoke suddenly and all at once, curling in on himself with a ragged sob. It was still dark out; the sun hadn’t made its appearance yet. There was no one to see when he shook himself to pieces around the space in his heart. It was a dream, he told himself sternly. Just a dream. My soul is only wandering through my own grief. It doesn’t mean anything.

But then it returned the next night, and the next. While the details differed—sometimes Teomitl was swimming a river that suddenly turned to blood and dissolved his flesh, sometimes one of his own ahuizotls turned into a jaguar and sprang for his face—the end was always the same. Teomitl dead and still walking, reaching for him with an apology on his lips. Sometimes it even lingered after he woke. Once he jolted awake utterly convinced that he wasn’t alone—that Teomitl was in the room, a sad smile on his lips and an outstretched hand hovering in the air. Only when he looked around, searching for that other presence, did reality reassert itself and he remembered with gutwrenching pain that it had only been a nightmare. That Teomitl was dead somewhere on a Mixtec altar, his heart an offering to the Sun.

He started timing his treks across the Sacred Precinct to avoid the Great Temple’s sacrifices to Huitzilopochtli. Sleep grew more and more difficult to achieve, and even when he caught a few hours’ rest it never seemed to help. He even thought, fleetingly, of asking the priests of Patecatl if anything they had would be useful, only to dismiss it the next day. He would survive this. It wasn’t worth baring his soul to anyone else’s prying eyes or clumsy but well-meaning words. He would work and pray, and that would keep him occupied. There was a haunting case that needed his attention; while he was tracking down the cause he had an excuse not to focus on anything else. He forgot to eat, no matter how much Ichtaca scolded him. The food tasted like ashes in his mouth, anyway.

Still, when one of Neutemoc’s slaves came to his door asking whether he would come to dinner at his house that night, he didn’t waste time in accepting. Dinner with Neutemoc’s family had become...normal. He needed normal, even if it still felt like walking on broken glass.

Up until the first course was served, he even thought he’d get it. Neutemoc had been nearly silent when he’d arrived, but he’d unbent enough to start a conversation about his daughters’ studies. Necalli and Mazatl were more subdued than they normally were, but they’d heard what happened to their newest uncle-by-marriage and were no doubt mourning in their own ways. Mihmatini’s face was as pale and set as white jade, but as the conversation wore on he thought he saw her smile.

He didn’t much feel like smiling himself. The smells of the meal were turning his stomach. It was simple enough fare—fish with peppers, lightly boiled vegetables in a salty, spicy sauce, plenty of soft flatbread to mop it up—but he couldn’t bring himself to touch it. The last time he’d eaten a meal like this had been with Teomitl at his side, hugging Mazatl and fondly ruffling up Necalli’s hair and barely paying any attention to his own plate until Mazatl had swiped something off it and he’d tickled her as revenge, the both of them laughing. Acatl would never forget the look on his face the first time she’d called him uncle.

He was vaguely aware Neutemoc was frowning at him. “Eat. Before it gets cold.”

He put some fish onto his plate. He ate it. He couldn’t say what it tasted like. Peppers, mostly. It sat in his stomach like a lead weight, and he swallowed so roughly that for a moment he was afraid he’d choke. I can’t do this. But they would notice if he didn’t eat, and then they’d worry about him. He forced himself to take a few more bites, filling the yawning void within.

A second course arrived eventually. Roasted agave worms and greens, which he usually liked. He took a small portion, nibbled on it, and set his plate down.

“More greens?”

Neutemoc’s voice was too careful for his liking, but he nodded. Another portion of greens was duly set onto his plate, and he ate without really tasting it. He only managed a few bites before he had to give up, his gorge rising.

Mihmatini picked at her own dish, and Neutemoc frowned at her. “You’re not hungry?”

She shook her head.

Silence descended again, but It didn’t reign for long before Neutemoc said, “Acatl. Any interesting cases lately?” With a quick glance at his children, he added, “That we can talk about in front of the kids?”

“Aww, Dad...”

Neutemoc gave his eldest the same look his father had once given him. “When you go off to war, Necalli, I will let you listen to all the awful details.”

It wasn’t enough to make Acatl smile, but nevertheless the tension in his throat eased. “Well,” he began, “we’ve been trying to figure out what’s been strangling merchants in the featherworkers’ district…”

Laying out the facts of a suspicious death or two was always calming. He could forget the ache in his heart, even if only briefly. But even when he was done and had just started to relax, Neutemoc was still talking to him as though he expected to see his younger brother shatter any minute. The slaves, too, were unusually solicitous of him—rushing to fill up his cup, to heap delicacies on his plate. At any other time he might have suspected the whole thing to be a bribe or an awkward apology for some unremembered slight; now, he just felt uneasy.

When the meal was done, he declined Neutemoc’s offer of a pipe and got to his feet. “I think I’ll get some air.”

The courtyard outside was empty. He lifted his eyes to the heavens, charting the path of the four hundred stars above. Ceyaxochitl’s death hadn’t hit him anywhere near as hard as this, but gods, he thought he could recover in time if only the people around him stopped coddling him. Everywhere he went there were sympathetic glances and soft words, and even the priests of his own temple were stepping gingerly around him. As though he needed to be treated like...like...

Like a new widow. Like Mihmatini. He sat down hard, feeling like his legs had been cut out from under him. Air seemed to be in short supply, and the gulf in his chest yawned wide.

But I’m not. I care for Teomitl, of course, but it’s not like that. It’s not—

He thought about Teomitl sacrificed as a war captive or drowned in a river far from home, and nearly choked at the fist of grief that tightened around his heart. No. He shook his head as though that would clear it. He wouldn’t want me to grieve over him. He wouldn’t want me to think of him dead, drowned, sacrificed—he’d want me to remember him happy. I can do that much for him, at least.

He could. It was easy. He closed his eyes and remembered.

Remembered the smile that lit up rooms and outshone the Sun, the one that could pull an answering burst of happiness out of the depths of his soul. Remembered the way Teomitl had laughed and rolled around the floor with Mazatl, the way he’d helped Ollin to walk holding onto his hands, the way he sparred with Necalli and asked about Ohtli’s lessons in the calmecac, and how all of those moment strung together like pearls on a string into something that made Acatl’s heart warm as well. Remembered impatient haggling in the marketplace, haphazard rowing on the lake, strong arms flexing such that he couldn’t look away, the touch of a warm hand lingering even after Teomitl had withdrawn—

He remembered how it had felt, in that space between dreams and waking, where he’d thought Teomitl was by his side even in Mictlan. Where, for the span of a heartbeat, he’d been happy.

There was a sound—a soft, miserable whine. It took him a moment to realize it was coming from his own throat, that he’d drawn his knees up to his chest and buried his face in them. That he was shaking again, and had been for some time. As nausea oozed up in his throat, he regretted having eaten.

It was like that, after all.

And he’d realized too late. Even if he’d ever been able to do anything about it—which he never would anyway, the man was married to his sister—there was no chance of it now, because Teomitl was gone.

He forced his burning eyes to stay open. If he blinked, if he let his eyes close even for an instant, the tears would fall.

Approaching footsteps made him raise his head. Mihmatini was walking quietly and carefully towards him, as though she didn’t want to disturb him. As though I’m fragile. You too, Mihmatini?

“Ah. There you are.” Even her voice was soft.

He uncurled himself and arranged his limbs into a more dignified position, keeping his fists clenched to stop his hands from trembling. At least when he finally blinked, his eyes were dry. “Hm.”

She sat next to him, not touching. There was something calming about her company, but gods, he prayed she couldn’t see the thoughts written on his face. She stretched out a hand and he thought she’d lay it soothingly on his shoulder, but instead she traced a meaningless pattern in the dirt. “...It’s hard, isn’t it?”

His dry throat made a clicking noise when he swallowed. “It is.”

“At least we’re both in the same boat,” she murmured.

The words refused to make sense in his head at first—but then they did, and he reared back and stared at her. No. I’ve only just realized it myself, she can’t have...she can’t be thinking that I—! “I beg your pardon?”

Her voice lowered even further, so that he had to strain to hear her. There was a faint, sad smile on her face. “You love him just the same as I do, don’t you?”

He drew a long breath. He knew what he should say, what the right and proper words would be. No, like a son. Or like my brother. But he couldn’t lie to her, not even to spare what was left of her broken heart, and so what came out instead was, “Yes. Gods, yes.” Hate me for it. Tell me I have no right to love him, that you’re the one who has his heart. Tell me I’m a fool.

She lifted her head, and her faint smile grew to something bright and brittle. “Good.”

Good?! He blinked uselessly at her, gaping like a fish before he could find his voice again. “You—you approve?”

“You’re my favorite brother,” she said simply. “And...well.”

She fell silent, her smile fading until it vanished entirely. He waited. Finally, in a much softer voice, she continued, “If you love him, there’s no harm in telling you what he swore me to secrecy over.”

Dread gripped him. Of course Teomitl was entitled to his secrets, but he couldn’t imagine what would be so horrible that Mihmatini wouldn’t tell him. At least, not while he lived. He didn’t want to ask, but he had to know. “...What?”

She blinked rapidly, fingers going still. She’d traced something that looked, from a certain angle, like a flower glyph. “...He...he loved you, too.”

No.

But Mihmatini was still talking. “He didn’t want me to tell you; he was sure you’d scorn him. But he loved you the same way he loved me...gods, probably more than he loved me.”

It was the last straw. His nails bit into his palms hard enough to draw blood, and he barely recognized his own voice as rage filled it. “Why are you telling me this?!”

Mihmatini took a shuddering breath; he realized she was fighting tears, and had been since she’d spilled Teomitl’s heart to the night air. “In case he comes back. If he does...no, when he does...you should tell him how you feel.”

He rose on shaking legs. “I think I need to be alone.”

Without really seeing his surroundings, he walked until he came to the canal outside the house. The family’s boats were tied up outside, bobbing gently on the water. When he sat down, the stone under him was cold; the water he dipped his fingers in was colder still. Neither revived him. Neither was as cold as the pit cracking open in his gut. Mictlan was worse, true, but all the inexorable pains of Mictlan were dull aches compared to this.

In case he comes back. In case he comes back. I love him—I am in love, that’s what this pain is—and I will never see him again in this world. Mihmatini says he loves me too, and it doesn’t matter, because his bones lie somewhere in the jungle and his flesh feeds the crows and I will never get to tell him.

Between one breath and another, the tears came. They spilled hot and salty down his face; he let them, shoulders shaking, because he no longer had the strength to stop them. And nobody would come to offer unwanted sympathy, anyway. Mihmatini had her own grief, and the hurrying footsteps he’d grown so used to hearing would never run after him again.

Eventually, when he was spent, he wiped his face and left. It was time to go home.

The rest of the month ground on slowly, and his dreams began to change.

At first they were minor changes—the blood was less vibrant, the forests and plains brighter. Teomitl bled less. Acatl woke without feeling as though the inside of his chest had been hollowed out and replaced with ash. His appetite started to return; he still never felt properly hungry, and his meals didn’t exactly fill him with joy, but he could eat without feeling sick. The bones in his wrists were not quite so prominent as they’d been. And if that was all, he might have simply thought he was beginning to deal with his sorrow. Such things happened, after all. Eventually the knives scraping away at his chest would lose their edges, and he would face a life without Teomitl’s sunny smile.

But there was more than just a lessening of pain. He dreamed of a sunsoaked forest in the south, and woke feeling like a lizard basking on a rock, warm in a way he couldn’t blame on the heat of the rainy season. He dreamed that Teomitl was fording a fast-flowing river—one that did not turn to blood this time—and when dawn broke his legs were soaked up to the shins. That got him to visit a healing priest; he knew when he was out of his depth, and if his soul was wandering too far in his nightmares then he wanted to be sure it would come back to him by dawn. But the priest was as befuddled as he was, and only told him to call again if he woke in pain or with unexplained wounds.

Unexplained wounds? he thought bitterly. You mean, like the one where half my heart’s been torn from my chest? But he knew better than to say that out loud; his feelings for Teomitl were none of this man’s business. So he thanked him and left, paying a fistful of cacao beans for the consultation, and tried not to think about it until the next time he slept and the dreams returned.

And they were dreams now, and not nightmares. While he slept his soul seemed content to follow Teomitl’s solitary travels through the very outskirts of the Empire, and he no longer had to see him torn apart by monsters or smiling ruinously with bloody teeth. Teomitl barely bled at all now, and his wounds were only the normal ones a man might get from traversing hostile terrain alone—a scraped knee here, a bound-up cut there. He sang to himself as he walked, though the words slipped through Acatl’s mind like water. Once Acatl stood just over his shoulder at a smoky campfire while he roasted fish in the ashes, and his heart ached as he watched him cry.

“Acatl-tzin,” he whispered into his folded knees. “Acatl, I should have told you.”

“Should have told me what?” he tried to ask, but before he could form the words he woke up. There were tears in his own eyes.

It’s only because I miss him, he told himself. This is grief, that’s all. But there was the smell of smoke and the sweet fresh scent of cooked fish clinging to his skin, and a single damp leaf was stuck to the bottom of his bare foot. It hadn’t rained in Tenochtitlan last night. He stared at it for a long time.

Each night went on in the same vein. He would clean his teeth, lay down on his mat, and drift off to sleep—and in his dreams, there would be Teomitl, hale and whole and walking onwards. Despite himself, Acatl started to wake with a faint stirring of hope. Maybe Teomitl really had only been separated from the army. Maybe he truly was on his way home. And maybe I’m delusional, came the inevitable bitter thought when he’d finished his morning rituals. It had become much harder to listen to.

It was almost a surprise when he dreamed about a city he knew. It was a small but bustling place about half a day’s walk from Tenochtitlan, and as he walked through the streets he realized that the torches had been lit for a funeral. He could hear the chants ahead of him. There was a darker shape in the shadows which spilled down the dusty road, and he knew the man’s stride like he knew his own.

“Teomitl!” He hadn’t been mute in his dreams for a while now.

Teomitl didn’t turn. He never turned. But he stopped, and by the way his head tilted Acatl just knew he was smiling. Wordlessly, he pointed at the courtyard ahead.

A funeral pyre had been lit, and it was so like the rituals he presided over that he felt a distinct sense of deja vu. There was the priest singing a hymn to Lord Death; there were the weeping family members of the deceased. There were the marigolds and the other offerings, brilliant in the gloom.

“That could have been me,” Teomitl said, and Acatl heard his voice as though he was standing next to him in the waking world instead of only in a dream. “But it’s not yet, and it won’t be for a good long while. So you don’t need to fear for me. I keep my promises.”

They’d never touched before. But this time Teomitl turned to face him, and the hand he held out was free of blood entirely. Slowly, giving him time to pull away, Teomitl pressed his palm to his. Their fingers laced together, warm and strong and almost real.

“Teomitl,” he said helplessly.

“Acatl.” Teomitl’s smile was like the sun. “I’m sorry I made you worry, but I’ll be home soon.”

And then he woke up, the dream shredded apart by the blasts of the conch-shell horns that heralded the dawn. For a long moment, he stared blankly up at the ceiling. He could still feel Teomitl’s hand in his; each little scar and callus felt etched on his skin. He lives. The slow certainty of it welled up in him like blood. He lives, and he is coming back.

He rose and made his devotions before dressing, but now his hands shook with something that was no longer grief. As soon as he left for his temple, he could feel the change In the air. Scraps of excited conversation whirled past him, but he couldn’t focus long enough to pick any out. He concentrated on breathing steadily and walking with the dignity befitting a High Priest. He would not sprint for the temple, would not grab the nearest housewife or warrior or priest and demand answers. They would come soon enough.

They came in the form of Ezamahual, rushing out of the temple complex to meet him. “Acatl-tzin! Acatl-tzin, there is wonderful news!”

Briefly, he thought he should have worn the hated regalia. “What news?”

Ezamahual’s words tumbled out in a headlong rush, almost too fast to follow. “The Master of the House of Darts—Teomitl-tzin—he’s returned! Our warriors met him at the city gates!”

Even though he’d half expected it—even though the recurring dreams, his soul journeying through the night at Teomitl’s side, had kept alive the flickering flame of hope that now burned within him—he still briefly felt like fainting. He clenched his fists, the pain of his nails in his palms keeping him upright. “You’re sure?”

Ezamahual nodded enthusiastically. “The Revered Speaker has reinstated him to his old position, and there’s talk of a banquet at the palace to celebrate his safe return. I think he’s at the Duality House now, though—they’re like an anthill over there.”

Right. He exhaled slowly, forcing down joy and disappointment alike. Of course Teomitl would want to see his wife first above all, to reassure her that he was well, and of course he had no right to intrude. Nor would he even if he did—Mihmatini deserved her husband back in her life, deserved all the joy she would wring from it. The things she’d told him didn’t—couldn’t—matter in the face of their union. “I see. I suppose we’ll learn more later. Come—tell me if there’s been any new developments in those strangling cases.”

Ezamahual looked briefly baffled, but then he nodded. “Of course, Acatl-tzin. It’s like this…”

The latest crop of mysterious deaths turned out to be quite straightforward in the end, once they tracked down their newest lead and had him sing like a bird. He nodded at the appropriate times, sent out a double team of priests after the perpetrators, and had it very nearly wrapped up by lunch—a meal that, for once, he was almost looking forward to. He was settling down with the account ledgers to mark payment of two gold-filled quills to the priests of Mixcoatl for their aid when he heard footsteps outside.

Familiar footsteps.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the tightness in his chest eased. But he didn’t have a chance to revel in it, because he knew the voice calling his name.

“Acatl? Acatl!”

He dropped the ledgers and his pen, getting ink all over his fingers. As the entrance curtain was flung aside in a cacophony of copper bells, he scrambled to his feet. Had he been tired and listless before? That must have been a thousand years ago. He thought he might weep for the sheer relief of hearing that beloved voice again. “Gods—Teomitl—”

He had a confused impression of gold jewelry and feather ornaments, but then Teomitl was flinging himself into his arms and the only thing that sunk into his mind was warmth. There were strong arms wrapped around him and a head pressed against his temple, and Teomitl’s voice shook as he breathed, “Duality, I missed you so much.”

Slowly, he raised his shaking hands and set them at Teomitl’s shoulderblades. He could feel his racing heart, feel the way he sucked in each breath as though trying not to sob. It was overwhelming; his eyes burned as he fought to blink back his own tears. He couldn’t speak. If he opened his mouth, he knew he’d lose the battle—and there were no words for this, anyway.

Teomitl abruptly released him, turning his face away. His voice was a soft, ragged thing, and his expression was a careful blank. “Forgive me. I was...Mihmatini said you’d be glad to see me. I wanted to look less like I’d been dragged over the mountains backwards, first.”

He swallowed several times until he thought he could risk a response, even as his eyes drank in the sight of Teomitl in front of him. He looks the same, he thought. His skin had been further darkened by the sun, there were new scars looping across his arms and legs, and someone had talked him into a fortune in gold and jade with quetzal feathers tied into his hair, but he had the same face and body and sweet, sweet voice. “It’s—there’s nothing to forgive. I’m glad you’ve returned.”

“They told me everyone thought I was dead.” Teomitl bit his lip. “Except for Mihmatini. And you.”

He steered his mind firmly away from the shoals of crushing grief that still lurked under the joy of seeing Teomitl before him. He is here, and hale, and whole, just as I dreamed. I have nothing to weep over. “I knew you weren’t. You wouldn’t let something like a flood stop you.”

There was the first glimmer of a smile tugging at Teomitl’s lips. “You have such faith in me, Acatl.”

“You’re well deserving of it,” he replied. And I love you, and even in dreams I could not think of any other path than your survival. That, he refused to say.

Especially because Teomitl still wasn’t looking at him.

They stood in agonizing silence, and he couldn’t bring himself to break it. Teomitl was so close, still within arms’ range; if he was brave enough, he could reach out and pull him back into his arms. Could bury his face in his hair and crush the fabric of his cloak in his hands and tell him...what? It didn’t matter what Mihmatini had said to him. There was simply no space for him in the life Teomitl deserved, nothing beyond that Acatl already occupied. He wouldn’t burden him with useless feelings.

But then Teomitl shook himself like an ahuitzotl and turned back to him, holding his gaze. “Do you want to know what got me home, Acatl? What sustained me?”

Mutely, he nodded. He still didn’t trust his voice.

“You.”

He felt like he’d been gutted. “I...Teomitl…”

Whatever Teomitl saw in his face made his eyes soften. He took a step forward, hands coming up to rest like butterfly wings on Acatl’s waist, and Acatl let him. “I thought about you. I...Southern Hummingbird blind me, I dreamed about you. Every night! I made myself a promise while I was out there, in the event I ever saw you again. Scorn me for it all you’d like, but I’m going to keep it now.”

Oh, Teomitl. I could never scorn you. They were very, very close now, and Teomitl’s gaze had fallen to his parted lips. His mouth went dry.

And then Teomitl kissed him.

It started out soft and gentle, lips barely tracing Acatl’s own. Asking permission, he thought with an absurd spike of giddiness—and so, leaning in a little shyly, he gave it.

Teomitl wasted no time. The kiss grew harder, fingers digging into Acatl’s skin as he hauled their bodies together. They were pressed together from chest to hip but it still wasn’t enough, they weren’t close enough; blood roaring in his ears, he wrapped his arms around Teomitl’s back and clung tightly. His mouth opened with a breathy little whine stolen immediately by Teomitl’s invading tongue, and when he dared to do the same, Teomitl made a noise like a jaguar and let go of his waist in favor of clawing at the back of his cloak, grabbing fistfuls of fabric along with strands of his hair. It pulled too hard, but he didn’t care. The pain meant it was real, that this was really happening. That for once it wasn’t a dream.

Teomitl only drew away to breathe, “Gods—I love you—” before claiming his mouth again, as though he couldn’t bear to be apart.

Acatl twisted in his arms, knowing he was making a probably incoherent and definitely embarrassing noise, but shame wasn’t an emotion he was capable of at the moment. He loves me. By the Duality, he loves me. “I didn’t think—Mihmatini told me, but I didn’t think...”

Teomitl jerked back, brow furrowed. “Wait. Mihmatini told you?!”

His grip on the back of Teomitl’s cloak tightened at the memory. “She was trying to reassure me, I think. I’d just told her...well.” He couldn’t say it, even with Teomitl in his arms, and settled for uncurling one fist and running his hand up the back of Teomitl’s neck in lieu of words.

He was rewarded with a shiver, and the near-panic in Teomitl’s eyes ebbed into something soft. “What did you tell her, Acatl?”

He’d asked. He’d asked, and Acatl had always been honest with him. He’d be honest now, even if it made his heart race and his hands tremble. “That I love you.”

Teomitl made a desperate noise and kissed him again. There was no gentleness now; he kissed like a man possessed, hungry as a jaguar, and Acatl buried a hand in his hair to make sure he didn’t stop. Teeth caught at his lower lip, and he moaned out loud. This seemed to spur Teomitl on, because his mouth left Acatl’s to nip at his throat instead; the first sting of teeth sent a wave of arousal through him so strong it nearly swamped him. “Ah—!”

Teomitl soothed the skin with a delicate kiss that didn’t help at all, and then he returned his focus to Acath’s mouth. This time he was gentle, a careful little caress that gave Acatl just enough brainpower back to realize that he’d probably been a bit loud. Which is Teomitl’s fault, anyway, so he can’t complain. “Mmm...”

Even when they eventually pulled apart, they clung to each other for a long while. Acatl stroked up and down Teomitl’s spine, tracing each bump of vertebrae and the trembling muscles of his back. Teomitl dropped his head onto Acatl’s shoulder, breathing slow and deep. He’d twined locks of long hair through his fingers, gently running his fingers through the strands. Acatl had to close his eyes, overwhelmed. The stone beneath my feet is real. Teomitl’s skin under my hands is real. This—this is real. He is in my arms, and he loves me.

“I don’t want to let you go,” Teomitl whispered. “I never want to let you out of my sight again.”

Neither do I. He tilted his head, nosing at Teomitl’s hair. Gods, even cut to a proper length again it was so adorably fluffy. He sighed into it. “You’ll have to eventually.” Even though he hated the thought, he couldn’t help but smile. “You’re the Master of the House of Darts, aren’t you? You have an army to help lead. Wars to wage. Glory to bring to the Empire.”

“Hrmph.” The arms around him tightened in wordless refusal.

Joy bubbled up within him, and he chuckled quietly. Still such a stubborn young man. But now he was Acatl’s young man, and there was something wonderful about that. He felt loose as unspun cotton, ready to sink into the floor with the release of all the tension he’d been carrying, but it had left a void behind. A void that rumbled—loudly—to be filled. His face burned with embarrassment at the noise. “...Ah. Why don’t we see about lunch?”

Teomitl snorted. “I have been gone a long time. You’re remembering to eat for once.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually had an appetite for food, but he decided not to mention that. Teomitl would worry too much. But eating lunch meant that they had to be seen in public, which meant they both had to actually let go of each other. Reluctantly, he lifted his head and lowered his arms, finding himself stymied halfway through by Teomitl’s serpentlike hold on his ribs. “Teomitl.”

At least now he wasn’t the only one blushing. “Right. You’re right. We should eat.” Teomitl stepped back, clearing his throat, but the look in his eyes was more awestruck than awkward. He was staring at Acatl as though he couldn’t get enough of the sight.

And since Acatl found himself doing the same thing, he couldn’t blame him. Had his eyes always been that dark? Was that scar slicing a pale line across his skin new, or had he just never noticed it before? I might have gone my whole life without this. What an idiot I was.

It took longer than Acatl liked for he and Teomitl to be properly alone again, this time with a plate of food between them. Lunch was simple fare: a plate of grilled newts and amaranth dough with a vibrant red sauce so spicy it made his nose prickle. The serving priests had taken one look at Teomitl and thoughtfully put it on the side instead of directly on their meal, which he’d had to thank them for. As he sat down, inhaling the scent, he felt as though his body was waking up after a long slumber. It filled his lungs and swirled through his veins, and his mouth watered.

He dug in greedily. Gods, it had been so long since he’d properly tasted the food he put into his mouth. The juicy grilled meat was the most savory thing he’d had in ages, and he couldn’t blame his suddenly blurry vision on the sauce he dunked his next bite in. It was perfect. He had one of the amaranth dough sticks to smother the burn, finding it crunchy and slightly sweet with its dusting of seeds on top. “Mmm.”

A hand landed on his thigh. “Enjoying yourself?”

He lifted his head, face hot. “I was hungrier than I thought.”

“That’s good. You need to eat more, anyway.” Teomitl smiled, and he couldn’t help smiling in return. “Pass me some sauce?”

He passed the sauce. Teomitl tore at his own grilled newt with more manners but just as much enthusiasm. The long trek through the wilderness must have hardened him, because he didn’t wince at the heat of the accompanying sauce. Then again, he also didn’t use quite so much. “Mm. This is good.”

There was a fleck of bright red chili paste by the corner of Teomitl’s mouth. He wanted to kiss it away. A heartbeat later, he realized that he could. They were alone. Nothing was stopping him now.

So he did, and Teomitl went crimson. “Acatl!” he yelped delightedly, grinning even as he turned his head and kissed him back.

Chaste as it was, it lingered long enough that Acatl was flushed when he pulled away. His pulse thrummed under his skin; he felt like he’d drunk a cup of pulque, dizzy at his own daring as it sunk in. They were alone. Good food was in his belly for once, giving him the energy he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. They could do a lot more than kiss, if they wanted.

Teomitl’s grin turned teasing. “I missed doing that.”

“It hasn’t even been half an hour,” he muttered. “You’re insatiable.” But there was no heat to it, and he found his hand resting at Teomitl’s waist. The skin under his palm was just so warm. He’d felt cold bones and grave dust for too long.

An eyebrow went up in stunning imitation of Mihmatini. “And I’ve waited years for even one kiss, Acatl. There’s a backlog to get through, you know.”

The blush had just started to fade, but now it returned with a vengeance. “Years?”

“Mm-hmm.” Teomitl’s eyes gleamed. “I’d like to make up for lost time, if you wouldn’t mind.”

He swallowed hard. Now that he could think again he wanted to know how Teomitl had survived, how he’d managed to make it all the way back home—the unreal fragments he’d witnessed each night had not been informative—but his questions suddenly didn’t seem that important anymore. Not when there were other, more immediate desires to be sated. “...I would not.”

And so their mouths met. Teomitl’s idea of making up for lost time was long and hungry and tingled with the spice of their meal; Acatl’s lips parted for his tongue almost before he knew what he was doing, and that was still a little strange but far from unwelcome. Especially when Teomitl drew back, mouth wet and red, to catch his lower lip between his teeth in another one of those stinging little nips that made his blood sing. A breathy noise escaped him, but this time Teomitl didn’t soothe it.

No, this time he lowered his mouth to Acatl’s neck and did it again. It was light and delicate, unlikely to leave marks, but Teomitl’s teeth were sharp enough that he felt each one in a burst of light behind his closed eyelids. He had to bury one hand in Teomitl’s hair and wrap the other around his waist just to keep himself upright; he couldn’t entirely muffle his own gasps. “Ahh...gods...”

Teomitl hummed, low and wordless, and slid a hand down his stomach. Acatl’s fevered blood roared in his ears, and all of a sudden it was almost too much. “Teomitl.”

Teomitl lifted his head, eyes bright. “Mm?”

“You.” He sucked in a breath, willing his heartrate to slow down. There had to be some limits. Too much had already happened much too quickly. “You can’t keep doing that here.”

“You don’t like it?” Teomitl grinned at him. “Or do you like it too much, Acatl?”

If by some miracle all the rest of it hadn’t already made him blush, hearing Teomitl purr his name like that would definitely have done the trick. He had to turn his face away. “You know damned well it’s the latter. We both have our duties; we can’t very well take the rest of the day off to…” Flustered, he gestured between them.

“Hrmph,” Teomitl said, and kissed him again. This time it was slow and sweet and came with warm arms sliding around him, and he lingered in it for long, long minutes.

By the time they finally remembered the rest of their food, it was stone cold. They ate anyway; cold food was still good, especially with the chili sauce. Acatl was privately of the opinion that it even made the sauce taste better, but he’d learned that people tended to look at him strangely when he voiced it. Besides, Teomitl was leaning against him with one arm slung loosely around his waist, a reassuring weight against his side anchoring him to the earth. There wasn’t a need for speech in moments like this.

Not to mention that, strangely enough, he was still hungry. The joy he’d first felt at knowing Teomitl was safe and alive had opened the floodgates, but it felt as though his body was determined to make up for lost sustenance. Even after their plates were both thoroughly clean, he was still rather looking forward to dinner.

The afternoon light was turning the air gold when Teomitl reluctantly got to his feet. Acatl followed; they stood without touching for a moment that was just long enough to be awkward, and then Teomitl pulled him into a fierce hug. Acatl knew it was coming this time; he marveled at how they just seemed to fit together, with one hand buried in Teomitl’s hair and the other pressed flat between his shoulderblades to feel the steady beat of his heart.

Teomitl took a long, slow breath. “Lunch wasn’t long enough.”

“It wasn’t,” he agreed softly. “But there will be others. Many others.” With Teomitl by his side, he didn’t think he’d ever skip a meal again.

Despite the hint of dismissal—yes, he loved the man with all his heart, but they did both have other things to do—Teomitl made no move to let go of him. In fact, he squeezed a little tighter, turning to bury his face in Acatl’s hair. “Mrghh...”

He had to bite the inside of his cheek to quell the urge to laugh. As fond as he was, he knew it probably wouldn’t go over well. He made do with stroking Teomitl’s hair—gods, it was so soft—and taking a deliberate step back so that Teomitl had to release him or be pulled off-balance. Now Teomitl was glaring at him, but nothing would stop the slow upwell of joy in his veins. “Go on. I’ll see you at the banquet tonight.” He knew he’d enjoy this one.

Teomitl’s eyes were fierce as an eagle’s. “And afterwards? Will I see you afterwards, Acatl?”

He had a pretty good feeling he knew what Teomitl had in mind for a private celebration. Nerves twisted his gut, but only for a moment. He’d come this far, hadn’t he? “Yes,” he said simply.

The way Teomitl’s lips parted in wonder let him know he’d made the right choice. For the rest of my life. Whenever you want, for the rest of my life, I’ll be there.

Teomitl didn’t reach for him—he seemed to be deliberately holding himself still, tension ringing through his body like a drawn bowstring—but he looked like he wanted to. He looked like he wanted to yank Acatl back into his arms and finish what they’d started earlier, and the thought was exhilarating. “My chambers in the palace? They’re closest.”

Acatl flushed, shaking his head. That was a risk he refused to take. The palace had too many people, too many ears and eyes. Far too many chances to be interrupted. If he was going to do this, it would be somewhere safe. “My house. I’ll...I’ll be waiting.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” There was a wild, radiant smile.

He smiled back. Though he’d miss Teomitl while he worked—Duality, they’d been apart for so long—it would be fine. He was already looking forward to the banquet and what would come after, when nothing would part them again save the dawn.

Teomitl had promised, after all.

#obsidian and blood #acatl #teomitl #teocatl #mihmatini #quenami #acamapichtli #paladin writes stuff

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