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meirathinks · 3 years

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥

Part V. Revelation / Evil, vile, horrible

suguru geto x reader (fake marriage au)

Suguru comes to a realization, you do too.

warnings: descriptions of the apocalypse if that counts?? idk suguru's dramatic

yes I have been gone but this is so long ty guys for being patient!!! The support I’ve gotten from all of you is so moving, I am forever grateful! Happy thanksgiving to my canadians :)

Series masterlist | Part IV. | Part VI.

In the span of two minutes, you had come to the realization that there you were in too deep. The river that held the human race’s sorrow had finally run red. The air felt still and almost thick. It was difficult to draw in breaths.

Suguru laughs nervously, “Getting married tomorrow? We can’t do that. it’s your birthday.”

Toji flashes Suguru the widest smile, “I’ve had forty-nine other birthdays! This won’t hurt my feelings.”

Suguru clenches his teeth through his smile, “Mr. Fushiguro I—”

Your mother interjects, “We’ll take care of absolutely everything! The both of you can get married like me and Toji!”

Suguru quirks his eyebrows as Toji wraps an arm around his wife, “Behind the house, in front of the forest!”

You speak, “I appreciate the sentiment but what’s the hurry for?”

Your mother sighs, “Well— we just want to be able to experience this when everyone’s together.”

Suguru swallows as she continues, “With Megumi moving out to his fancy vet school we don’t know when we’ll all be able—”

Suguru interrupts, “Of course we’ll do it.”

You turn to him, “I wouldn’t mind at all Mrs. Fushiguro, it would be an honour.”

Suguru squeezed your hand as if to say, We have no reason to say no.

You squeezed back, appalled at how romantic the gesture must have seemed, You’re right.

His response should have been taken as a contentious act. But, as much as you hated that Suguru was quick to jump to a conclusion, you knew he always made the right choice. It irked you, as you wallowed silently.

You almost laughed, he a leader through and through

(Suguru was never one to reach a decision eagerly, something was different. Excruciatingly so.)

(Something had changed.)

You exhaled, knowing exactly what Suguru was feeling.

She leans into her husband, her demeanour brightening eyes wide in surprise, “Really?”

You smile back, slightly, it’s genuine, you raise your chin to meet your parents’ eyes, “We’d love to.”

(You swallowed thickly, slowly choking on the guilt that consumed the both of you)

Their happiness doesn’t waiver, as Toji speaks, “Well I guess we should leave the both of you to your breakfast.”

They don’t move for several moments, gazing down at the both of you still laying on each other in the bed, there’s a particular sense of fondness resonating from them.

The room seems to grow warm, in a cozy sense, Mrs. Fushiguro’s cheeks grow rosy. Toji coughs, most likely to fill the silence.

Finally, your mother responds to Toji’s statement. “Yeah— we should really get going.”

Her smile is soft, the endearment written on her face.

Suguru feels as if the tenderness is seeping into his lungs. Drowning him from the inside.

He’s suffocating.

Your parents excuse themselves from the room.

Suguru exhales, trying to rid himself of whatever feeling it was that he felt.

You sit up placing your head in your hands. “Oh my god.” He stares at you for a few moments before you look up again.

“When my mom finds out this whole thing is a scam she’s gonna— she's gonna be crushed.”

Suguru scoots closer to you, attempting to be comforting, he puts all of his efforts into keeping his voice steady, “She’s not gonna find out—”

“And what’s up with my dad? How’d he agree to this?”

He cleared his throat and placed a hand on your back, he’s stiff.

(He hopes you don’t notice)

“Your mom probably convinced him,” You let out a sigh as Suguru continued, “It’s fine— they’re not gonna find out.”

You continue to stare forward, “I really don’t want to hurt them.”

Suguru puts both his hands on your shoulders beckoning you to lean into him.

(You do; without questioning the intimacy)

“You’re not going to, it’s going to be fine I promise.”

There’s a pause as you exhale again, trying to calm your beating heart, he continues, “Besides it’s not like we’re gonna be married forever, we’ll be happily divorced before you know it.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” You respond quietly. The both of you breathe softly, trying to process the past five minutes.

Closing your eyes, you noticed Geto’s warmth. For the second time, you notice his gentleness.

Comforting, calming.

Close.

Your eyes narrow as Suguru coughs, all of a sudden noticing the awkwardness. Turning your head, you see the seriousness of Geto’s face. He’s just as anxious as you are.

That too, is comforting. You smile slightly, as you move to the other side of the bed.

(Suguru avoids your gaze)

He gets up, walking towards the tray of breakfast Mrs. Fushiguro left for the both of you. He picks up the coffee pot and pours it into the mug smiling to himself as he does so. He reaches for the sugar before making a show of his refusal to add any to your cup.

You furrow your brows as he starts, “I just remembered you have the same coffee order as me, It’s amazing to have someone around who appreciates black coffee as much as I do.”

You give him a mocking smile, “You know what? I think I’ll have orange juice instead.”

He snorts while pouring his own cup, “Your loss, sweetheart.”

You expected him to leave it at that, to hand you the juice and move on. His actions followed a formula, he’d make a charming joke and revert back to his usual self.

(You don’t think about the events of last night. That wasn’t Suguru, you pleaded with yourself. Though, he’s seemed much more sincere since then, almost like he was at ease.)

You look up as he calls your name, “How much sugar do you like?”

You cocked your head, “Two spoons, please.”

He squints, eyeing you, “No cream?”

“Only a little.”

“Coming right up.”

He hands you the mug of coffee along with a plate of pancakes and sits on the bed; beside you.

“You know—” You start, placing the mug on the bedside table, “It’s usually me giving you the coffee.”

“Well—” He says placing the plate of pancakes on your lap, “I’ve got to keep my wife happy,” You look up at him, “Don’t want you leaving me for another man.”

You snort at his statement, “I haven’t left you yet, Suguru.”

He hums, looking past you, eyes narrowing on the large window behind you. “I um— I think I’m going to go on a run.”

You look at him, brows furrowing, “You’re not going to eat?”

Suguru hums, standing and moving to the nearest door, “No— I’m not that hungry.”

You nod.

While reviewing one of his many pretentious essays during office hours, Suguru’s University Philosophy professor began to grow frustrated with his failure to grasp the content.

The older man had looked up from his desk after staring at the piles of paper on apocalypticism, Suguru, do you know why it’s called the Book of Revelation?

Well, Suguru had said, It was the Bible’s depiction of the apocalypse.

Suguru, you’re not answering my question; it’s called the Book of Revelation because they’ve come to a realization. Nothing more.

The black-haired man laughed, And what would the realization be?

His professor had given him a condescending look, greying hair falling over his forehead. He wallowed in the moment; as if to ask, Are you stupid?

He swallows, You’re reading into it too much. The revelation was the point of the whole thing.

Suguru says nothing, the professor sighed for the last time, Suguru, the Book of Revelations is about the realization that the world as we know it is coming to an end.

Now, as he jogged through the woods behind Toji Fushiguro’s colossal estate, Suguru had managed to arrive at his own, completely personal revelation.

In a black crewneck and grey sweatshorts guided by nothing but a worn dirt path in an otherwise thick forest, he had come to a staunch conclusion that the world was ending. The sky had finally fallen atop his head! The trumpets had been blown, and despite the existential dread that seized his heart in a vice grip, he couldn't help sighing a breath of relief.

In a way, if Suguru could convince himself that the world was ending, maybe, because of some unrelated circumstance it would. Then (and he admits to the pompous selfishness of his thought process) he won’t be there to see you break the truth to your family.

His steps were muted against the forest floor, the softness of the dirt against his runners was a welcome change from the linoleum floors of the office.

In the workplace, his sharp steps were a warning, meant to scare his employees into pretending to look busy. Here, Suguru was small, his presence a dull pat in the grand scheme of the forest; he made no difference or impact.

In the forest, Suguru avoided the fact that he was a splitting image of everything he considered pathetic.

As he ran in between trees, he disregarded the dirt path, in some attempt to show off what little control he had left. Suguru let out measured breaths while mulling over his actions.

Regrettably, he understood that his actions shed light on his increasing guilt.

(He knew that you knew he was ashamed)

Suguru had come to another realization: He would rather be dead than go back to that stupidly large house and parade its halls as if he belonged there. Suguru would rather jump into a coffin with a large smile than spend another morning in the kitchen with Megumi. He’d readily hand a shovel to the kind person who’d volunteered to bury him alive instead of seeing your mother’s wide smile as you walk down the aisle.

He’d jump off of the side of Mount Fuji to avoid that wedding and to spare you the embarrassment of breaking the news to your parents alone he’ll take you along with him. Once the both of you reach the top he’ll make sure to comment on the gorgeous scene in front of you.

Maybe he’ll share a bottle of wine with you at the top after you insist on waiting until the sun has set.

(As friends, of course.)

Finally, when he comes to the conclusion that it was time to jump, he’d turn to you and say, in the most gentlemanly manner, After you.

Suguru congratulated himself on how kind he was.

He stopped at a clearing. More shocked than anything— it looked supernatural in nature, the area quiet. Less awkward than his shared room with you. In a way, it was uncomfortable, an unwelcome reminder of the fact that there were things much larger than him.

The birds chirped softly from the trees surrounding the clearing, Suguru felt his heartbeat slow. The push and pull of the wind, a quiet anchor to reality. It did nothing to calm the river of frustration flowing through his veins.

A silent reminder that he had never failed in the past, that he never intended changing that fact.

Still— why did it have to happen so soon?

He took in a deep breath; As ridiculous as his situation was, he was convinced that everything would be okay. He had a clear track record of being perfec—

Suguru didn’t notice the ear-splitting noise at first, instead, he focussed on the dozens of birds launching themselves into the sky in a blind panic.

His eyes widened as he jumped backwards, “Jesus!”

Suguru turns to the left, where he finds Mr. Fushiguro, with a shotgun pulled close to his shoulder, pointing just above Suguru’s head.

“Be careful kiddo, almost shot you.”

Toji pulls the trigger again, not before readjusting his aim; pointing the shotgun above the tree behind Suguru.

It was at that moment, that Suguru realized he was not ready to die just yet.

(It seemed that the date he had planned on Mount Fuji was not meant to be after all)

He said his prayers, visibly tensing; It seemed that his past assumptions were correct— he was going to be skinned alive by Toji Fushiguro in the forest behind his mansion.

The younger man swallowed, hoping that Mr. Fushiguro wouldn’t notice his nervousness.

(He did, in fact, he revelled in it.)

“Oh— um... Good morning, Sir.”

Toji laughed at the formality before flashing Suguru a wicked smile, the scar that spanned down his lips becoming more prominent, Toji Fushiguro looked horrifying. “Come here, son.”

Suguru walks closer hesitantly.

(Completely ignoring Toji’s choice to call him son)

(Despite everything, Suguru refuses to be a part of the family, your family)

“Say— have you ever shot a gun?”

“No, sir.” He shakes his head slightly at Toji’s side. The older man thrusts the shotgun at him.

Suguru’s eyes widened, “Be careful with that thing.”

(Suguru was sure he was going to die, in the most horrific, nauseating way possible.)

(It occurred to him that this was by far, the worst way to go out.)

Toji lets out a condescending sigh, “Come on— Are all the guys in New York so unmanly?”

Suguru cocks his head in confusion as he grabs a hold of the shotgun, “I’m not ‘unmanly’ ”

He squints as he raises the gun, “Besides this can’t be that hard.

Toji snorts, taking several steps back, “You’re too limp!” He yells to Suguru.

“ ‘m not limp!” Suguru grumbles, growing comfortable with Toji’s presence.

The older man crosses his arms, “Lean into it!”

“Yeah right, I’m not trying to break my shoulder.”

Toji rolls his eyes, wanting to see where Suguru’s condescension would get him. “Fine! Pull the trigger.”

“Alright, I will!” Suguru responds, matching Toji’s borderline aggressive tone. The playfulness isn’t lost on either of them.

He waits a few seconds, bracing himself. His finger wraps around the trigger.

Suguru looks to his right, where Toji stood grinning.

Suguru looks straight through the clearing, a strong gust of wind blows his hair forward.

(Toji’s grin was much wider than he’d want it to be. Geto’s hands threaten to go clammy.)

(It’s not real, he reminds himself.)

(But, the thought spreads through his chest, electrifying his nerves; Toji is convinced that it is)

He pulls the trigger, The sound rings through his ears, he imagines that he’d hit the dead centre of the tree trunk he was aiming for. And, stunned at the unexpected success, Toji would smack him on the back and grumble something about how he’d love to welcome Suguru into the family.

(Not that Suguru wanted that)

Instead, Suguru found himself staring at the blue of the sky through the thick brush of the forest. The unsympathetic chill of the dirt floor bit into his back and neck as he laid on it. Wallowing in his shock, Suguru reaches to his right shoulder groaning at the throbbing pain of the recoil that knocked him backwards.

This was humiliating.

Laughter, that Suguru could only describe as eccentric and eerily similar to that of Sukuna’s, continued to grow louder as Toji sauntered to where Suguru layed.

Suguru met the piercing green of Toji’s eyes as he looked down at him. The older man started, “You're worse than Megumi— and he’s a pacifist.”

Suguru pretended to laugh along (out of fear of his own life), it came out dry and sardonic.

Toji leaned over to grab the shotgun, when he stood to his full height he nudged Suguru’s right shoulder with his boot, urging him to get up. Suguru stood with a grunt, his brows furrowed in annoyance

Toji began to speak.

Suguru was exhausted from the morning he had endured, he was livid.

“Suguru, are you listening?”

“Huh?”

Toji sighs, “If you wanna minimize the recoil you’ve gotta lean into it.” He lined the butt of the shotgun up with his shoulder, holding it tightly against his shirt. He pulls the trigger with little preparation. The bullet hits the trunk of the dying tree.

It hits dead center.

Something Suguru had failed to do.

“Jesus Christ— stop looking so miserable,” Toji thrusts the shotgun at the younger man for the second time, “You’ve just gotta take the hit. Don’t be scared of the gun.”

Suguru hesitantly raises the shotgun, wincing slightly as he holds it tightly against his aching shoulder.

Suguru mumbles Toji’s words, in a small attempt of encouragement, “I’ve just gotta take the hit.”

He pulls the trigger.

It grazes the tree trunk, causing a flurry of bark to fly on the other end of the forest clearing.

(It does not hit dead centre)

Before Suguru could lament over his apparent failure, a firm smack against his back knocks the breath from his lungs.

“Nice job kiddo!”

Before Suguru could respond, Toji began to bark orders, “Now try to steady your hands, it's good that you're not afraid of the recoil— we’ve just gotta work on your form.”

Suguru nods, filled with some foreign sense of determination.

Toji continues, “Make sure your feet are shoulder length apart! Don’t think about it too hard.”

Suguru breathes, he’s reminded that he can, practically, do anything.

He pulls the trigger.

And, to both men’s disbelief, Suguru hits the center.

The younger man flashes a wicked grin, buzzing with pride.

Toji smiles back, proud.

“I never doubted you for a second, kiddo.”

Suguru breathes out, forgetting the dull ache in his shoulder, turning to the other man. “Is it okay if I try again?”

Suguru is filled with an unfamiliar joy as Toji smiles to

The sight that you walked in on, was shocking. It didn’t feel foreign, but, Suguru, someone whom you had come to know as the ultimate picture of the modern working man, shooting a shotgun, something you had sworn he had called ‘cheap’ and ‘outdated’ during your time working as his assistant, was not expected.

What served to perplex you further, was the fact that he was celebrating his marksmanship with your father.

For a few moments, you stood on the side of the clearing watching the both of them exchange various comments.

“Suguru!” You called out, he turned to his side, startled, “I promised I’d take you into town so you can send your email!”

He stops for a moment, eyes widening after remembering yesterday’s conversation. He grins, “I almost forgot, sweetheart.”

He hands the shotgun Toji, he turns jogging slightly. As he reaches you he hesitates. Suguru looks in Toji’s direction, “Mr. Fushiguro!”

Toji looks up from where he fiddled with his shotgun, Suguru continues, “Is it okay if I go?”

Toji laughs, “Yeah, yeah— Have fun lovebirds.”

“Here it is.” You say while looking up, raising your hand to shield your eyes from the harsh sunlight.

Suguru deadpans, “That’s a cafe on stilts.”

“It’s an internet cafe on stilts.” You correct him, “And for your information, it has the best internet in all of southeast Alaska.”

You grab his hand and move to walk up the steep set of stairs to the entrance of the cafe. Suguru tries to ignore the horrifying squeak of the stairs’ wood slats beneath his feet.

(Instead, he flusters himself in how comfortable you had been with reaching for his hand.)

(Your palms are warm; he makes sure to squeeze back with the same pressure you do, to remind you that he’s still there.)

The inside of the cafe is offensive. You sit him down at a table (Suguru could tell from peeling paint that it had been white in the distant past) in front of what seemed a decades-old computer. His seat was surrounded by something kin to a wall-sized window, giving the both of you a clear view of the cobblestone street below you.

Your face brightens as you see a man with a familiar leopard print tie sitting on a bench outside of the one and only accounting building in Sitka.

Nanami!

“Alright! You should be able to send any email you need from here.”

You shift where you stand, wondering if you could manage to talk with him before he gets back to work.

Suguru hums, continuing to examine the fossil of a computer in front of him as you continue, “I think I’m going to wait outside.”

The man hums looking up at you, “How come?”

You stomp and watch his brows furrow at the creaks and groans that rise from the foundation of the building, “Are you kidding me? This place isn’t structurally sound.”

He laughs as you make your way out, “Good to know, sweetheart!”

Suguru reaches for his phone and searches through his emails, only to frown as he’s interrupted.

Incoming call from Satoru!

He hesitates, wondering if it would be best to decline. After five long seconds of contemplation, he relents.

“Suguru!”

“Satoru” Suguru looks out the window to find you hugging Nanami on the street below, a book abandoned on the bench behind the both of you, Suguru coughs, “—Is this important?”

“This one’s actually important, I swear!” Suguru doesn’t notice the obnoxious music coming from the other end of the line, nor does he notice that Satoru began to speak. Too busy making note of the skanky chanting in whatever bar Gojo was occupying at 2 pm on a Saturday. (Suguru failed to account for the fact that time zones exist once again, it was 6 pm in New York)

The crowd on Gojo’s end chanted, Drink!

Suguru continued to look out of the window, you and Nanami were sat on the bench together, him excitedly showing you the book he was reading, you leaned into his side as you nodded enthusiastically.

The people on Gojo’s end of the line continued to chant, Drink!

Kento opens the book to what seemed to be a marked page, you get impossibly closer to him. He notices how you scrunch your nose while trying to read the text on the page. He guesses from the obnoxiously blue cover, that Kento’s reading The Great Gatsby.

Suguru almost scoffs out loud, it’s like he picked up the first literary classic he could find.

Satoru continues to talk, the black-haired man can vaguely make out the guilty tone in his voice. He pays no attention to his friend’s words.

Drink!

You begin talking, the sunlight framing your face, eyes lit up. You turn fully to him, your monologue— probably an explanation of some overrated metaphor— dotted with giggles. Kento matches your attitude, nodding along with a slight smile on his face.

Suguru notices that he’s completely and utterly out of place.

Even without being a part of the conversation, he knew he was an intruder. The bass of the music on Gojo’s end made its way into his ears.

A reminder of New York and a reminder that Suguru would never belong.

“—So yeah,” Satoru finishes, “I’m really sorry that happened and I promise I’ll never mess up that bad again— I mean— I’m practically perfect, you of all people know that—”

Suguru cuts off Gojo’s rambling, “What?”

“Oh god you hate me don’t you— I already said I was sorry what more do you want from me? A new car? I can do that—”

“No— can you say that again? I wasn’t listening.” Suguru doesn’t bother to lie.

You and Nanami burst into laughter, Suguru swallows, his throat is dry.

“Okay so… My assistant just sent me a text saying that Gakuganji’s offer was for the Los Angeles branch and not the New York location.”

Suguru hums trying his hardest to keep his attention on Satoru, electing to turn away from the window for a moment. Satoru continues, “Which means that I was wrong and you embarrassed yourself when you emailed him.”

“Oh. That’s okay.”

“What?”

The bass of the club’s music accentuates the slow beat of Suguru’s heart, the entire moment is too slow, it runs thick. He fights the urge to turn around and check if you’re still as close as you were before, he looks down at the practically destroyed floorboards, “I haven’t even sent the email yet, you’re good.”

“Oh thank god—” The music gets significantly louder, for some reason it exemplified whatever unnamed emotion he was feeling. “Alright— well the party needs me!”

Suguru sighs, “Have fun, Satoru.”

“Yeah, Yeah.” Suguru is prepared to hang up before Suguru continues, “And Suguru?”

“Yeah?”

“Please get rid of whatever is making you sound so miserable.”

Geto scoffs, he stifles a smile, “Wow, you’re not even gonna ask me if I’m okay?”

“You’re saying that like you would tell what’s wrong if I asked. Anyways— you’re totally killing the mood over here.”

“Bye Satoru.” Suguru hangs up with a click, leaving Gojo to go clubbing with whatever woman he had picked out for the evening.

He sits, his chair squeaking as he continues to stare at the floor. Suguru clears his throat— he feels pathetic.

Though the music, with its heavy bass, had disappeared when he hung up, he could continue to feel it. Buzzing in between his ears and gripping his lungs. He felt it run through his veins like static pulverizing any previous sense of calm.

Despite Toji’s familial lectures on failure and Nanami’s declaration that he was a good person, Suguru knew better.

He shifted his weight onto his other leg, the floorboards beneath him letting out a choir of squeaks.

For a brief second Suguru shuts his eyes, to his discretion he thinks of you, and the quiet town you’d brought him to on his own volition, of Nanami giving you the softest smile under the pale yellow sunlight and your giggles while reading a literary classic beside him.

He almost feels sick at the bittersweet love between the two of you, oozing out of every interaction you had.

I don’t belong here.

Yet— and Suguru makes a point to ignore this— he forced you to introduce him to the most intimate part of your life.

He opens his eyes.

Suguru thinks of himself as a vile, evil, man.

He stares down at the cobblestone road, walking alongside you as the both of you attempt to explore the town.

“So, I’m sure it was great to see Nanami again.”

You turned, squinting at him, “Yeah… We’re good friends.”

“I bet you guys missed each other.”

You hummed, “It was nice to catch up”

It’s silent, Suguru ignores the fact that he’s ruining the soles of his shoes by kicking at the stray pebbles on the sidewalk.

You stopped, in turn, Suguru stops, facing you.

It’s romantic as if you’re already standing at the altar.

You’re going to marry him, “Suguru is everything—”

He looks up, had he not been able to mask the quivering breaths he drew in you’d be able to see the urgency of his actions.

(Why was Suguru here?)

Ink black eyes dart to a crystalline blue lake, the water reflecting the sunlight, small motorized boats sailed along the expanse of the whole thing. The cobblestone walkway ended abruptly ahead of the both of you, serving as a sort of makeshift docking point for the smaller boats.

He ignores the question as he walks up to the edge of the walkway, lined with nothing but cement bricks. The water was calmer at the edge. You stand next to him, opting to look forward rather than at your own feet.

Suguru starts, “It’s a pretty lake.”

You laugh, “Yeah— we never came here often though, Megumi was terrified of it.”

He smiles, it pearly and wide, “How scary can a lake possibly be.”

“Well— you’d be surpri—”

“Suguru!” Toji’s low voice bellowed from down the street, completely disregarding the other residents of the town,

You turn, watching your father, half-heartedly jog to where the both of you stood. Suguru awkwardly shifted from one foot to another anticipating what Toji was to say.

You noticed Megumi waiting near the buildings further up the walkway, Toji speaks, “Suguru we need you, for some boys stuff.”

“Boy stuff,” Suguru repeats in disbelief.

You interject, “Where are we going?”

Toji laughs, it’s hearty, full of life.

For a moment you consider his joy, Toji looks youthful.

(You’re not one to meticulously plan your own demise; you try not to think about his reaction when you tell him the truth)

“You’re not going anywhere,” You pout at Toji’s words, Geto snickers at your expression.

“C’mon sweetheart I’m sure you can take a few hours without me.”

“Exactly!” Toji interjects, pulling Suguru up the cobblestone walkway, leaving you at the dock, “Like I said, It’s boy stuff! You’d hate it!”

You exhale a soft laugh, watching Suguru get dragged, up to where Megumi was standing, along the street of the town you had grown up in.

To your horror, the sight is drenched in faux familiarity.

Subtly, you wanted Suguru to stay.

Toji looks up to Suguru from the cushioned seat he found himself sitting in. Elbows resting on either of his knees, hunched over, Toji completely in awe.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” Toji starts, a wide smile painting his face, “Megumi are you seeing this?”

Megumi grumbles quietly from the floral couch behind Suguru, continuing to scroll on his phone, “Looks great, dad.”

Suguru fiddles with the sleeves of the newly tailored suit, pulling the blazer downwards. He stands in front of the mirror. Gazing back at himself.

The three men looked out of place in the room they found themselves in, some fitting area of the local tailor. The couch on which Megumi sat was decorated with various floral patterns, the pale yellow sunlight accentuated the soft pastel pink and blue of the vintage rug Suguru stood on.

He almost laughed, it was something out of a fairy tale.

Suguru turned to Toji, lifting his arms to play with the bow-tie, “Isn’t this a bit— much?”

The older man furrowed his brows, “I’m not letting you wear business casual on your wedding day.”

(Suguru is nauseous for a variety of reasons.)

The door (which was painted an eggshell white, adorned with lively red accents) burst open. The woman from the party— Utahime, barrelled through the room, clutching various rolls of fabric and a tape measure.

“Suguru! How are you finding the suit?”

Geto grumbles, looking past Iori, “It’s good.”

Utahime frowns, squinting at the man, Toji chuckles and Megumi (like always) is unbothered. Utahime starts, “You hate it don’t you.”

Get coughs, “No! Jesus— it’s amazing! Why would I hate it.”

She ignores him, inching closer, “No, no. I understand,” She pulls at the sleeves Suguru had fidgeted with, “It fits you horribly.” A silence hangs in the air, Toji can’t help but fill the silence with a muted chuckle, Utahime continues, “Let me get some supplies, I’m not letting you get married without a good suit.”

She walks out as determined as ever.

Toji breathes, “You look petrified.”

Suguru doesn’t turn to face him, focussing instead on the gold trim of the mirror— it was vintage. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.

“I don’t blame you, Iori can be scary— but, I don’t think that's all.”

Suguru remains quiet. Toji continues, “You know when I proposed I had less than a hundred dollars to my name and barely made it out of high school.”

It’s silent.

“And,” Toji continued, “My family practically disowned me— or I left them, it’s up to interpretation.”

(Suguru doesn’t know why Toji’s telling him this, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care he doesnt—)

“I even took my wife’s last name.” Suguru turned to him at that statement, the older man sensed his surprise and gave him a wide grin; adoration oozed from his demeanour, “Yep, now me and my brother are business partners nothing more— I’m not even tied down with a name.”

Why was Toji proud of that?

“Wow…” Geto mumbled

“What I’m trying to say is,” Toji sighs, ”You’re in a lot better of a place than I was when I got married, you’ve got no reason to be scared.

A crash and muffled swearing came from the supply closet Utahime entered.

“Thanks, Mr. Fushiguro.” Geto laughed nervously. He turns back to the mirror adjusting the boutonniere; they were purple flowers, delicate.

Too niche to be something picked off of a rack, in fact, the fabric was far from stiff.

(The suit was donated.)

“So—” Toji laughs nervously, changing the subject, “Maybe me and the wife can visit you two in New York for Christmas?”

Suguru laughs at Toji’s nervousness as he speaks, “I know there isn’t much room for guests, so maybe we could book a hotel?”

“How about we come up here for Christmas instead? It’s nicer here.”

(Why would he say that?)

“Really?”

“Why not.”

Toji pauses, rather than change the subject with gruff laughter he stays in the moment. Bringing his hand up to cover the bottom half of his face. Eyes narrowing on the pink of the carpet.

The room was decorated in a multitude of vintage knick-knacks.

(Toji knew, more than anyone else, that people were supposed to leave this town; never to come back)

(He knew his friends would move on, his neighbours would abandon their homes and his kids would leave him)

(Except for Suguru, he wanted to stay)

Geto turned to Toji after an uncomfortable amount of time, “Oh my god— are you crying?”

Toji’s eyes remain distant and glassy, “I’m not crying, Suguru.” There’s another swift change in the demeanour of the eldest Fushiguro, he beams up at Suguru from his elegant, cushioned chair.

“You didn’t turn out to be the person I thought you were, that’s all.”

Suguru tries not to be offended, “What are you implying?”

Megumi tunes into the conversation, laughing sharply, “He’s saying he thought you were a jerk!”

Toji grimaces, Suguru adopts an annoyed smirk, “You know, you’re not the first one who’s told me that.”

“You can’t blame me; when you find out that your kid’s marrying the person they swore was the devil incarnate— you get suspicious..”

Geto’s heart skips a beat, he hopes Toji ignores his physical reaction. Suguru sighs, trying to cover up his anxiety, “Devil’s incarnate,” Suguru ponders, “That’s new.”

Toji quirks an eyebrow, “She never told you?”

Megumi interjects, “Who would tell their boyfriend that they used to despise them?”

“Exactly!” Suguru agrees, too passionately.

Megumi sighs, sitting up, excusing himself from the conversation, most likely in an attempt to avoid the heart to heart his father would inevitably give, “I’m getting lunch! Text me what you want.”

He leaves silently, the door clicks quietly as he shuts the door behind him. Both men furrow their brows.

Suguru read his thoughts, Kids these days.

The older man stands from the chair chuckling, continuing the previous conversation, ”what I’m trying to say is that you’re a good kid.”

(Suguru refuses to make eye contact.)

(Instead, he stares into the mirror and gives Toji a haughty laugh.)

(Suguru doesn’t care.)

Toji fidgets with his wrist in Suguru’s peripheral vision, he clears his throat.

Suguru continues to look straight ahead.

Toji lets out a sigh. “Suguru…”

Geto tries to hide a grimace as he turns to face him, expecting an uncomfortable lecture.

If you hurt my kid in any way shape or form I won’t hesitate to—

Suguru finds himself looking at Toji. It’s nothing like they had first met, Toji wasn’t challenging him.

His eyes are soft, his large hands holding an old watch in his hands.

The older man lets out one more sigh.

“I want you to have this.”

Suguru laughs, praying that Utahime comes back, or that Toji second-guesses himself, noticing he’s made a mistake.

(It was perplexing. The fact that it was only Geto who realizes his faults.)

Geto looks down at Toji’s hands, the peeling leather of an old wristwatch is held gently in his calloused hands.

Suguru swallows, “I can’t…”

The watch itself is, regrettably, cheap. The case is a dull silver, pairing well with the repulsive brown of the leather band. The hour and second-hand move against a backdrop of cream.

It’s nothing special, second-rate, even.

(Suguru becomes hyper-aware of his gift to himself, the cold metal band of his own Rolex feels all the more pronounced against his wrist.)

The second-hand ticks away meekly,

Urging Suguru to make a decision.

But, if he accepted the watch— no doubt some ancient metaphor pertaining to the bonding of two men— what would it mean when he eventually ended the ‘relationship’?

He supposed, with a guilt-stricken chill overtaking his body, he would have to give it back.

For the second time that day, Suguru reminds himself of his loathly actions.

(Twice today, he thinks of himself as a vile, horrible man.)

Toji sighs, “I bought this at a thrift store after I got into a fight with my old man, it’s seen hell but—”

Geto’s hands skillfully unclasp his own watch, the silver of the band noticeably more expensive. The crystal engraving glimmered under the bright lighting of the Tailor shop. Suguru starts, thrusting his own watch in Toji’s direction, “Then, I suppose we’ll have to trade.”

Suguru grins.

Toji’s face falls, “Absolutely not.”

“Mr. Fushiguro—”

“You’re fucking with me aren’t you.”

“What— Mr. Fushiguro—”

Another crash comes from behind the door, faintly, Utahime swears.

Suguru starts again, “Mr. Fushiguro I’m gonna need you to take my watch—”

Toji huffs, Taking Suguru’s watch, making a show of it. Dramatizing the entire thing, for a moment, as Toji rolls his eyes at the flashiness of the watch, Suguru understands how he and Megumi are related.

In turn, Suguru takes Toji’s watch, gently almost as if he’s convinced it’ll snap, and wraps it around his own wrist.

(He feels nauseous as if the mark of the beast had shown itself on his forehead.)

Toji takes the arm that bears Suguru’s Rolex and breathes softly, “Suguru, I know you’re nervous, but you’ll make an amazing husband.

Geto can see himself in the mirror in the corner of his eye, he feels his throat dry out as he attempts to swallow.

(Suguru had thought he was witnessing the apocalypse; he was convinced that he would be at the martyr end of some sort of divine punishment. But, as he feels the leather of the watch warm against his skin he is made aware of his own intrusion)

(Suguru realizes, with his heart heavy in his chest, that he had been the one to bring about the end of the world.)

He looks up at Toji, a small grin masking his panic.

(Ironically, Suguru is having a revelation)

“Thank you Toji, Really.”

Vile. Evil. Horrible. Cruel.

Utahime walks in as Suguru reckons with his own decisions.

You always hated the town when the sun had set. In the day, when the sun was high in the sky, the streets were welcoming. The cobblestone added a fantastical element.

It wasn’t like the place was sinister, in fact, it was far from it. Both you and your family’s childhood revolved around the quaint shops that bordered the street.

You remembered celebrating Halloween as a child— Megumi would insist on being a different animal each year while Maki would choose increasingly scary costumes to scare her sister.

Naoya, as pretentious as ever, would come up with ‘clever’ Halloween costumes but end up frustrated when no one understood his ‘genius’.

(One year he had shown up in all green, with a horrific amount of purple and black eyeshadow around one of his eyes.)

(You had figured it out by the end of the night’s trick-or-treating, Naoya was a black-eyed pea)

The sky was orange now, Suguru had been gone for hours and you found yourself sleeping on the same bench beside the dock, you had slept on as a child.

Waiting for an elderly shopkeep to scold you, for them to tell you that you’ll catch a cold.

Waiting for a 14-year-old Nanami to drape a thick quilt his grandmother had knit over you while you slept.

For a 9-year-old Megumi to sigh disappointedly at your sleeping figure.

For Naoya to parade over with your mother and father, proud of himself that he told them about your antics.

Instead, you fixated on the ache in your back from the wooden slats of the bench, horrified that this place had become a shell of itself.

(Did everything get more uncomfortable as you aged?)

Looking up at the soft pink clouds that dotted the sky, you breathed heavily. Noticing that the breeze that whistled through the street on your left accentuated the emptiness of your childhood home.

As much as you hated to admit it, the passage of time was swallowing the quaint town whole.

Cozy but deserted.

Though, you supposed it was no one’s fault.

Everyone grew up.

The wind whistled again, while you laughed softly to yourself; you wanted to regret every decision you had made up until this point.

Marrying your boss for a leg up, refusing to take up the family business, leaving your hometown, all of which seemed like glaringly bad decisions. But, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

This town, with all of its home-like warmth, was collapsing on itself.

This place was dying.

(Not that you cared)

It was terrifying, being forced to reckon with your thoughts— the understanding that your only anxieties stemmed from the fact that you were viewed as a failure.

You closed your eyes, wincing slightly at the vague narcissism you had unearthed in your own nature.

(Something vaguely similar to Suguru’s)

The water of the lake splashed against the dock as you came to 2 realizations.

Your life, up until this point, had been viewed as some sort of extended pipe-dream.

You needed this as much as Suguru did; you needed to succeed.

You almost groaned, shocked at the fact that you couldn’t tell where things had gone wrong.

Two sharp knocks come from in front of you, it hangs in the air for a few moments, ringing through your ears.

You sit up to see Toji scoffing at your feet, hand still balled into a fist at the metal armrests of the bench, where he knocked. “And to think— I thought you stopped taking naps on this bench.”

You smile up at him vaguely noting the sharp steps of Suguru’s shoes, “I guess old habits die hard.”

Suguru entered your peripheral vision, his grin strained.

(You’ve come to know that he is a master of subtlety, had you just met him you’d think that he was flashing his obnoxiously charming smile.)

(But, you know better. In fact, you’d argue that you know him best.)

You give him a look, one that says, Did my dad do anything weird?

He makes eye contact as if he’s responding, No— it’s nothing like that.

Toji laughs at the seemingly romantic look you and Suguru share. You want to jump up and chastise Toji. He had no basis to assume that there was anything romantic between you and Suguru.

But there was.

It was painful. The way you perceived never seemed to line up with your own idea of yourself.

You were stubborn, contentious, and above all, lovesick.

And, for some reason, it wasn’t the fact that you had to pretend to be madly in love with him that irked you.

Suguru wrapped a hand around your upper arm, urging you to stand. Flashing you a reassuring smile. His grip is anchoring, not painful— but ever-present.

The water crashes against the dock once again, almost like white noise, you relish the stillness of the air once the water recedes, as you stand. You looked up at Suguru from beside him, his soft gaze accentuated by the purple sky. He looked down, sharp features highlighted by the way he clenched his jaw.

You forget that Suguru had wronged you. His touch is too warm for you to ever see him as hostile. Suguru— and this thought has since been locked away, out of shame more than anything— was a gorgeous man.

No, Suguru wasn’t the problem at all.

(It seemed that you had forgotten your mantra.)

(You were distracted, too busy to chant.)

(It’s not real)

Toji started, “Would you two mind staying here for a few hours?” He turns to you, “Your mom’s doing some final touches on the venue.”

Suguru clears his throat at the mention of the wedding, inviting you to speak for him.

You start, “We won’t mind dad, don’t overwork yourself, it’s gonna be your birthday too.”

Toji scoffs, “Yeah, yeah— Do you remember how to walk home?”

“Of course I do—” Toji waves to Suguru as he turns to walk back to his home, you scoff at his refusal to acknowledge your offence. You call up to him, “Don’t break your hip on the walk!”

He turns; a wicked smile painting his face, “I can bench three-hundred pounds, I’m not breaking anything.”

Suguru laughs nervously.

(He’s quieter than usual)

You turn to him, once Toji’s left your sight, “Suguru—” you hesitate, were you allowed to worry? “— Are you okay?”

The black lamp posts dotted around the shop-lined streets, switch on. Illuminating the both of you.

Your voice falters near the end of the question. You pray that he doesn’t think you’re overstepping boundaries.

Instead, he wraps a hand around your wrist, dragging you through the middle of the street. You let out a surprised noise as he moves, “I want you to show me around, sweetheart, we should be treating this like a vacation.”

You would’ve believed his change of subject was unintentional, but he was unlike himself.

He kept looking down at his wrist— bearing what you recognized to be your father’s wristwatch. His throat bobs occasionally as he continues walking, with no clue where he was going

You notice, quietly, that Suguru was hesitating.

He almost falls backwards as you stop walking, instead, ushering him to look at a quaint bakery.

He stops, turning around to look at you, hoping that you wouldn’t notice his inexplicable panic.

(You did.)

“Come on,” You say softly, looking up at the sign that hung from the street.

Nitta’s Bakeshop!

You start again grabbing Suguru’s hand, giving him a familiar squeeze, “Let’s go inside, I used to love this place.”

You ignored the way your heart stuttered, though, you couldn’t help but wonder: Did you feel nauseous because of the overwhelming sense of nostalgia, or because you’ve grown to enjoy the feeling of Suguru’s hand in yours.

A charming bell rang through the shop as you and Suguru stepped in. The place, like every other destination in this almost cute town, was homely.

The walls were baby pink, white and red roses lined the panelling of the Victorian cabinets from behind the front counter. The glass display case was lined with various baked goods.

Three-tiered cakes, with macarons placed daintily on dollops of icing, various flavours of cupcakes, some with faces drawn onto them with icing— for children Geto presumed.

A voice shouted from the back of the store, “I’ll be there in just a minute!”

You walked to join Suguru at the display case, gazing at the scores of desserts.

Suguru scoffs, “Satoru would love this place.”

You hummed in agreement, fixated on the selection of cupcakes.

A blond woman exits from the doors leading to the back of the shop, her apron practically covered in flour. She almost jumps to the cash register, which was connected to the display case where you and Suguru gazed into.

She starts, “Please take your time! If you need any recommendations please don’t be scared to ask!”

You stood to your full height, swallowing thickly. You walked to the cash register as you spoke, “I— uh— I think we’re ready to order now.”

Nitta squints at first, wondering if she’s seeing things right. Her eyes widened, noticing the way your hair fell; noticing the apprehension on your face.

(Suguru noticed that too, you know.)

It was undoubtedly, unmistakably, you.

She smiles, squealing in surprise, practically running around the counter, crushing you in a hug.

You try to breathe, “It’s good to see you too, Nitta.”

Nitta pulls back, “I can't believe it.”

She looks between you and Suguru before pressing a pointer finger against your chest, “Three months.”

“Huh?”

“That's how long we’ve gone without communication.” You hold your breath as she scolds you, “No calls— not even a text.”

Geto laughs at you.

(Ignoring the guilt festering in his stomach; you never called because of him)

Nitta goes on, “And before that, you gave me a five-minute call— it was way too short to say we caught up.”

“I know Nitta— But I’ve been busy—”

She lifts her finger, Suguru raises his eyebrows at how quickly you shut up, “I wasn’t done.”

She turns to Suguru, still talking to you, “And— after going off the grid for who knows how many years, you show up with some guy in designer pants.”

You laugh at her statement, loudly, teasing Suguru. The black-haired man, on the other hand, looks unimpressed. Suguru raises his arm for a handshake, “I’m Su—”

“Suguru.” Nitta interrupts, “The whole town knows.”

“...Whole town?” You squeak.

Nitta visibly relaxes, Suguru, on the other hand, is bewildered at the way she ignored him. Nitta speaks up, moving to sit on a table behind the both of you.

(The shop is empty besides the three of you.)

She smiles softly, “The whole town, no one can shut up about the eldest Fushiguro child getting married!.”

You cringe, Nitta swings her legs in the air, “I mean— we all thought you were gonna die alone when you rejected Nanami.”

You move to sit beside Nitta on the table looking up at Suguru through your lashes, “You know Nitta, this is the first time we’ve talked face to face since we graduated college— and your first instinct is to discuss my dating life in front of the man I’m marrying.”

You give an apologetic look to Suguru. Instead of standing and watching the both of you alienate him, he pulls a chair and sits in front of you. Placing either of his forearms on his legs, Suguru hunches over, curious about your life before you moved to New York.

He laughs, “Don’t worry, Nanami already told me the story.”

Your face pales, “What?”

You’re undoubtedly horrified at the fact that Suguru was aware of one of the most intimate moments in your life.

Dread seizes your chest, apparently, the whole town is aware.

Nitta yawns, leaning over to get closer to Suguru, “I still think it’s weird that you’ll go months without communication and then show up with some random guy you’ve never mentioned.”

You and Suguru freeze looking at each other. He gives you a quizzical look. The warm lighting of the shop undercuts his urgent expression.

Nitta raises her hand to Suguru’s face. His cheeks grow pink as her skin touches his cheek.

He lets out a yelp while Nitta pinches his cheek, “Good thing he’s attractive, I’d need to knock some sense into you if he wasn’t.”

Nitta gets up, moving to behind the counter, “Thanks for trusting my judgment, Nitta.” You reply sarcastically.

“Anyways—” Nitta changes the subject yet again, “Just tell me what you guys want and it’s on the house.”

Suguru interjects, reaching for his wallet, “Absolutely not.”

You hum in agreement, “We are not going to leave here without paying you.”

Nitta makes a show of locking up the cash register, throwing the key into the pocket of her apron, “Too bad!”

You sigh as she turns to the double doors leading to the back of the shop, before turning around to speak again “I’ve got to start cleaning up for closing-time, do me a favour and take as much as you want from behind the counter.”

Suguru’s stare steels, “Come on you know we can’t do that.”

She glares at Suguru, daring him to say more, “I don’t like your husband.” Your mouth opens and closes trying to find a reasonable way to respond. Nitta speaks again, sighing, “Besides, I was gonna throw all of this stuff away.”

You look at her, her gaze softens.

Both you and Suguru relent, noticing the way she looks at the both of you.

A silent admission that times were tough.

the town was dying.

It seems that Suguru’s previous apprehension returns, he stares at the floors of the shop.

Thinking.

By how much would he affect you once you broke the news? Even Nitta saw through him. He clenches his jaw as the sound of various pots banging against each other drifts from where Nitta worked.

(He didn’t belong. He was hyper-aware of his presence in this damned town.)

His own thoughts betrayed him, clouding his mind. Urging him to forget the reason why he had come to this town, why he had forced you to marry him.

You got up, walking to behind the counter, so you could grab a flurry of sweets from the display case.

Suguru chokes on his guilt, refusing to look away from the spot on the floor he’s fixated on. He had gotten everything he had wanted for a fraction of the effort. And yet— the bitter resentment he had felt for a majority of his life had not left his chest.

He felt as if he was driving down a highway, ignoring every seemingly paranoid billboard. Proclaiming that the world was ending.

Large signs were screaming that the end was near!

Despite the warning signs— Suguru continues to drive, this time with you in the back seat, complacent with everything he gives you, nodding along to any and all bullshit he says.

(You were so kind to him.)

And when he finally reaches the end of the paved road, he’ll turn the car around only to be faced with an inky, black nothingness. The only thing he’d be able to do would be to hum in agreement with the signs he had willfully ignored.

Oh, he’d say, inbetween nervous chuckles, I guess the end was near.

You would laugh along with him. Instead of screaming at him, like any other sane person would, you’d unbuckle your seatbelt and move to sit in the passenger seat. Preparing to read his agenda for the day, or some stupid itemized list in alphabetical order pertaining to something he couldn’t bring himself to care for.

He’d hope that you would gaze up to him, and say something kind.

Something to remind him that he was that one that forced you to grapple with whatever familial problems you were going through.

Something that would help him come to the realization that every awkward stare from an old friend, or argument with Naoya, was because of him.

The self-loathing gripped him with disdainful hold. It flooded his lungs, crashing over him like a tidal wave.

Suguru couldn’t help but hate himself for a fraction of a second.

(Who wouldn’t?)

He thought of this morning, his heart sinking deeper into his chest. The way you laughed with Kento, pointing at his book with the sun illuminating both of your smiles.

You would probably be better off with Nanami.

(He wanted to proclaim, with a stone-cold demeanour, that it wasn’t real.)

(But, if it wasn’t, he would be able to go through with this without hesitation.)

(Nonetheless, Suguru was a leader. So, he dutifully ignored the thought.)

“Suguru,” You called, waking him from his thoughts, he turns in his chair, looking at you lean over the counter, though you smile you avoid eye contact.

Suguru winces, he’s starting to understand that you notice when he’s miserable.

“Suguru—” you repeat, “Come here.”

He stands, heading to the marble counter that separated you. He speaks, hoping to ease whatever worry you felt for him, “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

You usher him to look down at the countertop, where a mini fruit tart sat on top of a small plate. The floral pattern around its rim gives away the age of the china. The tart itself was piled high with berries, glistening with a sugar coating.

Suguru dismisses you, grumbling your name lowly, “You know I don’t like sweets.”

You pout, pushing the plate to his side of the counter, “Please, Suguru, I know you’ll like it.”

He hums sarcastically silently disputing your point, but relents, lifting the tart from where it sat, bringing it up to his mouth.

He takes a bite, a blackberry falls from the tart onto the plate as he does.

(He notices how your eyes refuse to follow the falling face, instead of fixating on the way he bit into the tart.)

(You hope he doesn’t notice the heat threatening to spread throughout your face.)

(He does, smiling to himself as he bites into the dessert.)

He swallows after what seems an eternity, you watch his throat bob.

You break the silence, “Well— how is it?”

He sits, mulling over his response; wanting to annoy you more than anything. He looks up in faux contemplation.

You reach for the blackberry that had fallen onto the plate, taking a bite. Suguru breathes out, “It’s good.”

You swallow, the bakery grows hotter, “I know it is.”

He laughs, “You're getting bold, sweetheart.”

You smile back, “And to think— I thought you were getting nicer.”

He picks up the tart once again, examining it as he speaks, “What do you mean— I’ve always been nice.”

You lean in, thinking about the events of the previous night. Eyes glazed over, following the soft grey pattern of the otherwise white marble countertop.

Replaying Suguru’s words from the night before, when you had looked up at him from the foot of the bed:

Don’t take this the wrong way. Okay?

You are a very, very, gorgeous person.

“Aren’t you going to eat anything?”

You smile up to him from across the tabletop, “No— I gave you the last fruit tart.”

“You don’t seem angry about that.”

“Well— I wanted you to try it.”

A funny look makes it onto Suguru’s face, his eyes look dangerous; mischievous. He lifts the tart he was holding towards you. He matches your posture, leaning in, “Take a bite, sweetheart.”

You look at him in diffidence, wondering if he was asking what you had thought he was asking. Instead of the ridiculing, demeaning look, he would often give in the office, he gave you one of reassurance.

He relishes in the way your eyes dart up to his.

You leaned in further, opening your mouth to take a bite of the tart Suguru was holding. You pulled away, ignoring the red hot feeling in your chest, the entire thing was beyond intimate; it was wrong.

(Not that you weren’t aware that the both of you had crossed a variety of lines over the past few days)

Suguru’s jaw clenches as you swallow, he perseveres, “Well, sweetheart, how is it?”

You almost laugh out loud at the way he mirrored your previous behaviour, you match his eyes, “It’s good, Mr. Geto.”

He laughs pulling away, standing to his full height, struck by the way you held yourself.

Suguru couldn’t help but wonder if the previous night had meant something. If the soft look (the same one you were giving him now) you had given him signalled a perverse form of camaraderie. He’d almost forgotten the way you held his attention, like a prophet. Wide eyes, and soothing touches enough to convince him that he was doing the right thing.

Suguru’s breath stutters unnoticeably, he hears the sound of trumpets descending from the skyline, insisting that he listen to their warnings. They blare loudly in the back of his mind, shouting that the end is near!

But he doesn’t care, so long as he can hear the lull of your voice while everything burns beside him.

(You cock your head in his direction, wondering if he can tell the way you admire him.)

If Suguru was the fool who brought about the apocalypse, you were the facetious courier, promising your followers that to be guided to paradise, one needed to journey through hell. Despite the glaring warning signs those around you would follow. A world with you in it was too perfect to collapse in on itself.

He almost laughs at his predicament, hyper-aware that Suguru had brought this upon himself.

He had grown attached to a false prophet.

He smiles down at you, finally responding, “I know it’s good.”

But, the false prophet had shown him that the lie he was living was sickly sweet. That he could continue his entire life living a deception. Because— for some sick and twisted reason, despite the festering guilt— he had never felt as sincere, or as human as he does now.

You laugh, sweetly.

Suguru is filled with a keen sense of despondency.

He wouldn’t marry you even if he had wanted to.

You were too good for that

(Besides, Suguru pleaded with himself, you wouldn’t be offended; it’s not like any of it was real, to begin with.)

(Even if he’d like it to be.)

You think, as your heart hammers in your chest, your body threatening to let a flurry of hot breaths, that Suguru has ruined fruit tarts for you.

You looked up to the sky while walking along the sidewalk beside the dock to get home. It’s a deep blue, not quite as dark as the night sky in New york. A small reminder that everything was significantly less intense here.

Suguru coughs, lagging behind. His steps slowing significantly, hands stuffed into the pockets of his pants.

You hum, wordlessly asking why Suguru had begun to walk behind you.

The slow step of his shoes under the concrete sidewalk stop, you walk for moments before noticing he wasn’t following.

Lamp posts dot the sidewalk, casting a pale glow onto the grass that lines the walkway.

He calls your name for what seemed the first time; a prescient dread fills your lungs. Though, you reason with yourself, that there was no reason to be uneasy.

Suguru always says the right thing, he’s a leader.

“I— uh,” He breathes, you can hear him wince despite the fact that you hadn’t turned to face him, “I think we should call this off.”

You swallow thickly as you turn around, scared to face him, you look up at him, noticing the distance between the both of you.

His eyes are downturned, he won’t look you in the eyes.

“Suguru—” You breathe shakily, “What’s wrong?”

(You hope he doesn’t notice the way you change the subject.)

He continues, “I can pack my bags and be gone by tomorrow.”

You feel your heartbeat in your chest, it’s familiar.

You had felt it during your conversation with Naobito, when the plane touched down, and during every call home.

The dull, palpable reminder, that you are doomed to end up where you started: To chase your tail, like a good dog.

You close your eyes, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of your blood coursing through your veins, “Suguru— we can get rid of whatever’s bothering you if you tell me what’s wrong.”

He turns around, hoping you don’t see the way his fists are balled in his pockets, and walks away. You’ll leave be, to wallow in his own thoughts, like you always do, back in the office.

Pristine steps drift down the sidewalk while Suguru ignores you.

And to think— the one thing keeping you from succeeding was the man who offered it to you.

Your heart continued to beat, a quiet percussion accompanying the crash of the water against the dock beside you.

You squeaked, petrified of your circumstances. A little voice makes its way into your head through your ears, whispering to you.

Failure, Failure, Failure.

But, as you breathe out shaky breaths, you reckon that you’d rather die than be forced to stay in this town.

You’d rather die than know you failed where you would have succeeded.

“Suguru!” You call out walking forwards, following him, he dutifully ignores you. “Suguru, do you mind telling me what happened.”

He stops walking, “Jesus Christ— Nothing happened.”

You get closer, the water crashes against the stone of the dock once again, “Something must’ve happened— you get deported if you call this off.”

Your voice is bitter, not in the least bit shaky, Suguru matches your cadence as he turns to face you, walking closer, “Nothing happened.”

His voice is low, a warning, You steel your gaze, ignoring your hurt feelings as you laugh in his face, “What? Did you decide you wanted a year-long vacation before applying for another visa?”

His jaw ticks as you continue, “Or did you come to the conclusion that New York doesn’t fit your curated aesthetic?”

He scoffs, “You wouldn’t understand.”

You step closer ignoring the water threatening to spill from your eyes, “No—” You say pointedly, “You wouldn’t understand, because you’ve gotten everything you’ve ever wanted, Suguru”

He sits, mulling your words over, unable to shake the nausea he feels from making you cry. His resentment threatened to boil over, nonetheless, “You wanna know what’s wrong? I’ve been alone since I was sixteen.”

Your gaze softens despite his voice raising, “And— and you don’t really have people who make you breakfast—” He breathes heavily, “Or people who teach you how to shoot a gun.”

His voice is raspy, he speaks quickly, in short bursts, “Or someone who asks to come down for the holidays and you say how about we visit instead, and no one gives you their watch, or their blessing, or says they’re proud of you”

You’re quiet as he raises a finger to your chest, “And you have all of that here, and you have people who love you.”

“Suguru…” You say quietly.

He interjects, “Your family loves you— do you know that?”

“Of course I know that.”

“Are you sure? Because if you did you’d be halfway across the world on your honeymoon with Nanami.”

Your jaw clenches, “That has nothing to do with this.”

He ignores you.

“Shit— why are we doing this to them?”

“Suguru— they’re not gonna find out— you promised.”

He ignores you once again, turning around, rubbing his hand over his eyes, “I’m just—” He sighs, it’s not like his annoyed ones, it runs deep, “Why are you letting me ruin your life?”

He begins to walk away once again, “Just—” he sighs, regretfully, “Just meet me at the house, I’ll figure out the way home.”

You turn, though you can’t bring yourself to leave. You stay, allowing Suguru to walk, your voice is shaky, not even half as confident as you were before.

Failure, failure, failure.

You hear the abrupt silence of the water of the lake pulling back from the dock, preparing to crash against the stone.

Failure, failure, failure.

“Suguru— You know none of this is real, right?”

For some inexplicable reason, you regret your words the moment you say them.

The water crashes against the dock, punishingly loud, it’s almost explosive. The quietness of the town itself, chastising you.

“Suguru?” You squeak out, hoping he’d save the aberrant relationship you cultivated with a dry remark.

You grow uncomfortable with the silence, “Oh great!” You begin to turn around, “So now you decide to shut up—”

You’re met with an empty sidewalk. You walked until the sidewalk an abrupt turn, making way for the dock’s inward-most portion.

“Suguru?” You call out for the second time.

A fit of what you could only describe as an uncomfortable-sounding cross between coughs and spluttering. Though that wasn’t what shocked you— it was the fact that the sound came from beneath you.

“Over here, sweetheart!” Suguru yells, his voice is shaky, it cracks as he says your pet name.

You look down at your feet, utterly bewildered, “Huh?”

“Jesus Christ— In the lake— I am in the lake.”

Your mouth makes an o-shape understanding where Suguru had gone, before your brows furrow.

Suguru, had fallen into the lake.

You jog to the edge of the dock, looking over the stone into the water, only to see Suguru, bobbing near the edge, his eyes looking completely defeated.

His hair, which had escaped from its usually pristine bun, had stuck itself to his forehead, shiny and black. Drops of water rolled down his face.

(Had the circumstances been different, you would have called him beautiful.)

He coughs, You begin to speak, reminded that Suguru was currently struggling to keep his head above water, “Okay— um— there should be a ladder on your right.”

He swims to his right, you hear a wet smack of his hand against the stone walls of the dock, “There’s nothing here.”

He’s getting desperate, you can’t deny that you are too, “Oh shit— Did they move it?”

“Not helping.”

“Alright—uhh— try your left— I swear there's a ladder somewhere there.”

You exhale, praying that you wouldn’t have to find someone to help you hoist Suguru out.

A small yelp of surprise comes from his direction, heavy breathing comes from where Suguru climbs up the ladder.

When he finally ascended into the dewy grass you see the way his hair began to curl inwards, water-soaked every inch of you, “You—” He shivered as he spoke, “—You jerk, you know that was gonna happen.”

You take a step closer to him, grabbing his arms, Suguru was sopping wet. He smiles, noticing your worry.

(It seems that things have gone back to normal.)

His eyes narrow as you press the back of your hand to his forehead, he leans into the warmth.

“Suguru, you're freezing, we can’t walk home like this.”

He shivers, your eyes stare pointedly at him, “Well— what do you think we should do? Everything’s closed.”

Suguru looks down at his wrist at the mention of his time, letting out a sigh of relief when he notices Toji’s watch is still ticking.

You sigh, “I think I know a place.”

You reach your hand out.

“You sure?” He questions, he takes your hand nonetheless.

“Well— it’s not like we have many options.”

You lead the way guiding him through the dark street. Noticing how his grip tightens whenever a particularly strong gust of wind blows in his direction.

He’s silent, despite the fact that he has every right to complain.

Suguru hopes that you understand that it’s his quiet apology. You squeeze his hand in response to him, acknowledging his apology.

Like you're telling him that it’ll be okay.

Suguru doesn’t like what he’s feeling— he’s cold.

“Haibara!” You shouted while urging Suguru to enter what seemed to be the only shop that remained open.

The overhead fluorescent lights were off, the shop instead relied on a flurry of string lights and lamps to illuminate the place. Suguru vaguely made note of the fact that this shop was one large fire hazard.

“Haibara” You called out again, upturning your tone.

(Geto didn’t like the way you hummed his name.)

An almost childlike voice came from underneath the cashier’s counter, “Yeah, yeah, Just look at stuff— I’m coming.”

You walked up to the counter, leaning over. It was far from the pristine marble of Nitta’s bakery, instead, it was a peeling laminate. In fact, Suguru noticed as he took in his surroundings that the shop— Suguru guessed it was a record shop, based on the shelves of vinyls in various sleeves— was a passion project.

“Haibara,” You say leaning on the counter, watching him hunched over on the floor tinkering with a record player, “Do you have any extra clothes?”

He looks up from his place on the floor annoyed at first, though, his eyes light with recognition. He jumps up, pulling you into a hug over the counter. Suguru laughs at the way your feet lift from the floor.

(He’s trying to ignore the fact that he’s convinced he is going to freeze to death.)

Haibara speaks through his hug, “So you show up— waltzing into my store like you own the place, and don’t even say hi?”

He pulls away, and ruffles your hair, “I miss you too, Haibara.”

His gaze shifts to Suguru, “Who’s this guy?”

You laugh, Suguru can sense your hesitation to introduce him. He could practically hear your thoughts. Geto speaks, stepping forward and reaching his arm out for a handshake. “Suguru Geto, I’m the fiance.”

Haibara doesn’t take his hand, instead, staring at the water dripping off of his arm onto the carpeted floor. He laughs, “What happened to you?”

Suguru is irritated by the way he resembles Satoru. Suguru retracts his arm, and grumbles lowly, “I fell in the lake.”

Haibara laughs abashedly in Suguru’s face, his jaw ticks. You interject, “Which is why we came here asking if you had any extra clothes.”

Suguru makes an effort to look as intimidating as possible in hopes that Haibara doesn’t laugh in his face.

Haibara pretends to consider your request as you continue, “You know— since the whole town knows that you practically live here.”

Haibara smiles widely, “At least I speak to my parents more than twice a year.”

You match his wide smile, malice dripping from your voice, “Do you have the clothes or not?”

He laughs, ducking under the counter only to emerge with a box of shirts. Haibara hums, “I should have some jeans in the back, give me a minute.”

He turns to the back of the store, separated from the rest of the space by a beaded curtain. An uncomfortable rattle resonates through the whole store.

Suguru had forgotten how tacky everything was.

“So,” Geto starts, “Are you gonna tell me who that was?”

You snort, “That’s Nanami’s best friend.”

Suguru cocks his head.

“There’s no way.”

You point your chin at a picture hanging from the wall. Suguru walks closer, ignoring the uncomfortable slosh of water in his shoes.

He laughed outwardly at the image. Haibara stood with a bright red electric guitar singing into the microphone that stood in front of him. Nanami sat in front of a set of drums in the background, bearing a horrific fringe haircut.

Suguru turns to you, “That’s Nanami?” It looked nothing like the put-together man he’d come to know.

“Yup!”, you laughed along with Suguru, “I’d know, I took the picture.”

Suguru walks back to where you stood, noticing the contemplation on your face, no doubt because of his own words.

He clears his throat as Haibara returns with a pair of dark blue jeans in hand, thrusting it to Suguru.

He yawns, “Well— I’ve done my job,” He reaches his arms up, stretching his back, Suguru takes note of the band shirt Haibara is wearing, horrified at what he might be forced to wear, “I think I’m gonna head home.”

Suguru furrows his brows as through a bunch of keys at you, “Do me a favour and lock up from the night.” You open your mouth to ask him a question, he beats you to it, “I still keep the keys under the doormat— if that’s what you’re going to ask.”

You give him a judgmental look as he walks to the door. Haibara continues, giving Suguru a knowing smile, “Stay as long as you want— just make sure to clean the couch after.”

He’s uncannily like Satoru. The resemblance was borderline unnatural.

Haibara turns to you as he opens the door, “Well— it was nice to catch up, see you at the wedding, angel.”

Suguru narrows his eyes at the pet name, you give Haibara a lazy wave while you move to the box of shirts handing it to Suguru.

Hastily, Geto chooses a shirt with no holes and grabs the jeans Haibara had thrown at him. Making a beeline for the bathrooms, which were also separated by a curtain of beads.

Instead of waiting for him to change, you move to sit on the carpet in front of the one and only bookshelf in a mile radius. You smile slightly despite the carpet floors digging into your knees, remembering the way you’d spent your days in front of the shelf perusing each and every title. It served as a sort of makeshift library

For the first time today, the nostalgia didn’t nauseate you.

Sugar stared into the bathroom mirror with a horrified look on his face.

It’s not that he looked bad, he of all people knew he was attractive. It was the fact that some higher power wanted him to look like the opposite of himself; like he did during his college days.

His hair fell onto the shoulders, the hair tie he’d usually used to pull his hair back was lost in the great expanse of that petrifying lake. The shirt itself was a cheap graphic tee of some ‘underground’ band he wouldn’t bother to google.

With his clothing and hair paired with his piercings, he couldn’t help but laugh at the fact that he look like he belonged in the picture with Nanami and Haibara.

He sighs, taking one last look into the mirror, trying to save whatever dignity he had salvaged from the last few days.

He exits the bathroom to find you on your knees in front of a, in Suguru’s opinion, sad bookshelf. He leans over you, “What are you doing?”

You look up, “Just looking.”

He sits beside you, crossing his legs, another silent apology, “Is it okay if I sit with you?”

You squint at him before reaching for another book. Suguru tried to justify his behaviour as he shifts his gaze to the books in front of him, “Stop looking so surprised— my job is reading books— I love this stuff.”

You hum sarcastically, “I just think it’s weird that someone who likes to read can get so many women’s numbers.”

He chokes, at your statement turning to find you snickering to yourself, “Be careful sweetheart— How do you know about that anyways?”

You gave him an unimpressed look, changing the subject, “I’m looking for a book to read on the plane home.”

“Well…” He starts, “What are you looking for?”

You sit and stare at him for a moment, contemplating, “I don’t want a book that takes itself too seriously.”

Suguru laughs, looking up at the small collection of books, “Okay, so 1984 is off the table.”

You laugh, ducking down to see the bottom shelf, Suguru blushes slightly, looking away, “I also want something cute— I don’t want it to be a stressful read.”

“Alright— So no Sylvia Plath.”

You laugh at that remark, eyes drifting to find two pristine copies of the same slim novel. Small enough to be read on the plane home. You sit up, pulling both of them out onto the floor, placing them in the space between you and Suguru.

The Little Prince

“What do you think?”

“Well,” Suguru says, “It’s definitely cute.”

“And,” You add in a sing-song voice, “There’s a copy for both of us.”

Suguru scoffs, “I’m not reading that.”

You whine, “How come?”

“It’s a kid’s book— last time I checked, I am a grown man.”

“Come on Suguru,” You lean in, pleading with him, “It can be our thing.”

He looks at you with a teasing smile as you continue, “We’ll read it on the plane and we’ll talk about it when we’re back in New York.”

He grabs one of the copies, examining it. The pages are yellowed, presumably from age. “I don’t know,” He challenges, “It looks juvenile.”

“Alright,” You say, scooting closer, picking up the other copy and placing it in your lap, “Think about it this way— how many big, bad, businessmen can say they’ve read The Little Prince.”

“None, Sweetheart— that’s why I don’t want to read it.”

“Well,” You say, straightening your posture, and lifting the backs of your thighs from your calves making sure you're kneeling at your full height. Consequently, it puts Suguru, who was still sitting on the floor in front of you with his legs crossed over one another, infinitely closer to you.

You place both your hands on each of his thighs, ignoring the soft pat of the book sliding out of your lap onto the floor. “That means you can be the first, big, bad, businessman, to read it.”

You give him the softest smile you can muster, fixating on the way his throat bobs. A thick silence hangs in the air. You notice how his hair sticks to the back of his neck.

His hands slide up to your waist.

(You don’t mind.)

“Alright, sweetheart,” He leans closer, “I guess I’ll read it.”

Your eyes trace the sharpness of his features. With his hair slightly damp, clad in a band tee and jeans. Suguru looked normal.

The tension stays in the air, the moments following feel slow.

Despite the warm lighting illuminating your features, and the neglected carpet digging into his legs, Suguru feels that he’s being punished by some sort of god.

He was, without a doubt, in hell. And he didn’t mind— so long as he could hold your hand as he burned alive. Still, the warning signs had gotten increasingly difficult to ignore as the wedding approached.

The end is near!

You can feel the tickle of his breath against your cheeks, your face flushes.

(You hope he doesn’t notice the way your eyes follow the curve of his mouth.)

HIs eyes scan your face, you let out a shaky breath. His hand grips your waist, another reminder that he’s still here; anchoring you to the present.

Suguru is content, staying in the moment, being subject to your scrutiny. He becomes aware of your hands gripping his thighs, keeping you from leaning in.

(You feel the thump of your heart invade the space in between your ribs)

Suguru thinks to himself, captivated by your doe eyes repeatedly (and shamelessly) glancing at his mouth, that if this is what the end of the world looked like, he desperately wanted to indulge in it.

You pull back.

(Cursing yourself in the process)

“I guess, we should get home.”

Suguru smiles up at you, noticing the way you avoided his eyes, “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

He pays no attention to the fact that he would have kissed you.

And, you decide to remain ignorant to the thought that you would have kissed him back, with no hesitation.

The both of you descended onto the Fushiguro estate to find the glow of the wedding venue, Mrs. Fushiguro had without a doubt worked on for hours. Scores of candles placed in the middle of the circular tables meant for the guests illuminated the space behind the house.

Your view of the altar was cut off by the house. You moved to get a better closer, only to be stopped by Suguru wrapping a hand around your upper arm, gripping you firmly.

“Let’s wait until tomorrow, Okay?” His words are low; careful not to offend you.

You nod, opening your mouth to respond, before being distracted by the image of Naoya jogging towards the both of you.

“Cousin!” He shouts to you, slightly out of breath, “Someone’s here to see you, he says it’s urgent.”

Naoya stops to catch his breath before continuing, “He’s waiting in the driveway.”

You look at Suguru, it seems that the both of you had a good guess of who it was.

Contrary to popular belief, Sukuna loved many things: He loved his brother, who had recently graduated university on an athletic scholarship, the coffee shop on the same street as the immigration office (it had store-wide discounts every Tuesday!), and finally his job.

He had noticed early on in his life that a career as a civil servant was perfect for him, not that he actually enjoyed helping the masses, but that for some reason, New York’s government offices were teeming with miserable people.

The Immigration Office being the most prominent example of this; it was Sukuna’s very own Oasis. A grey, concrete, depressing oasis.

(Just how Sukuna liked it.)

There was something about hopeless people that inspired Sukuna; he fed off of how functional, how jovial he was in comparison to the crowds of people he speaks to on a daily.

Though (and Sukuna will admit this gleefully to anyone who asks) he loves catching people, in a midst of a lie much, much more.

Sukuna’s gruff (and horrific) laugh fills the otherwise calm atmosphere of the Fushiguro estate.

Sukuna begins speaking as the three of you approach him, “Earrings!” He greets Suguru, “I told you I’d check on you!”

You turn to your cousin, sighing, “Naoya, what did you do.”

“Well,” He starts, “Father got a phone call from Mr. Sukuna—”

“Just Sukuna,” The pink-haired man interjects.

Naoya continues, irritated, “Father got a call from Sukuna, who told him that if you were lying, and he strongly believes that you are— he would send you to prison.”

Sukuna nods along with Naoya’s words, although he looked completely distracted by the tattoos the decorated his own wrists.

You studied Sukuna, and the way he resembled anything but a civil servant, clad in a too-small muscle shirt, and covered in tattoos, he looked something like a menacing frat boy.

“—And, like the good uncle my father is, he flew Sukuna up.”

“Naoya…” You warned.

Sukuna stops admiring his own arms, once he notices Noaya has stopped talking, “Luckily for you— your uncle has negotiated a deal on your behalf.”

You scoff in disbelief.

Sukuna claps his hands together in Suguru’s direction, “This offer is gonna last for exactly twenty seconds, so if I were you I’d ask my assistant to listen closely.”

(For some reason, being called Geto’s assistant felt foreign to you, it was distant.)

Sukuna redirects his pointed gaze to you, you almost swear that his eyes are inhumanely red, “Alright, Angelface, I’m gonna need you to make a statement saying that mean boss forced you into this and that the marriage is a sham.”

You cock your head at the way talks down to you, as if you were a child, “Sukuna for the last time this isn’t a—”

Naoya cuts you off, “Don’t be stupid.”

Sukuna lets out an amused noise, “I’m going to have to agree, remember, you’re going to prison if you don’t listen.”

You grab Suguru’s hand, Sukuna continues, the rumble in his voice was getting increasingly unsettling “Plus— I’d like to think that it’s cathartic to see the man who’s been telling you what to do get shipped off to his hometown.”

You’re hand grips Suguru tighter, though he doesn’t squeeze back, “You want a statement, Sukuna?”

A guilty look washes over Suguru.

Sukuna smiles, leaning in, “Pretty please, angel?”

(Suguru wonders if this is how you feel when he flirts with other women.)

(It’s not.)

“Well then here’s your statement— I’ve been working for Suguru for the past three years,” Sukuna’s eyes light up widely, Suguru’s jaw ticks.

You continue, “Eight months ago we started dating, we fell in love. He asked me to marry him and I said yes.”

You turn to Naoya, with nothing but disdain in your eyes, “I’ll see you at the wedding.”

Sukuna groans, “Wow, Earrings, how’d you manage to brainwash your assistant.”

You begin to turn around, leading Suguru to the front door, beyond annoyed with your uncle and cousin, “Thank you for your time, Sukuna.”

You enter the house after fiddling with the doorknob, making sure to slam the door the moment Suguru followed you into the house.

Naoya cleared his throat turning to Suguru. “So— uh— Do you come here often?”

Sukuna gives Naoya an unimpressed look, silently judging the manner in which he dyed his hair.

“No, I don’t.”

Geto enters your shared room slowly, he moves to sit on the loveseat situated beside the fireplace, he runs his hands through his hair sighing loudly, placing his copy of The Little Prince on the Bedside table.

You place your copy of the novel beside Suguru’s before sitting on the ottoman opposite of him, putting your head in your hands.

The silence is without a doubt noticeable, uncomfortable so. But, instead of an awkward tension, it’s filled with exhaustion. The both of you were fatigued, weary of what came next.

Suguru spoke first, not bothering to make eye contact from where he sat, “Are you sure you wanna do this?”

You look up, exhaling, “Not really.”

He nods, “I mean— I’m very appreciative of everything you’ve done but I think that—”

You look down at the floor before looking up to give Suguru a contented look, “You’d do the same for me— Right?”

He scoffs, “If it makes you feel any better— I would.”

You hum acknowledging his statement as he leans into the loveseat. You stand, moving to get ready for bed, “We should get ready for bed.”

Suguru gets up, making a beeline for his suitcase, “Good call, sweetheart.”

The water running from the shower can be heard throughout the room. You close your eyes relying on its soft lull to keep you from thinking about the day’s events.

How Suguru had been vulnerable for a split second, how he’d confessed you’d be off better with Nanami.

You were so tired, despite the softness of the lamps illuminating the expanse of the room, your eyes ached.

Your heart seized while you stared at the roof for your pile of blankets on the floor, wondering how Geto would kiss you at the altar.

(You think you had an idea, you’d come to know that Geto’s kisses were always soft)

You smiled softly, hoping that he was looking forward to it as much as you were.

Your excitement would be nauseating to any onlooker, you resembled a lovesick schoolgirl. Still, you couldn’t help but hear a choir of angels sing when spoke to you, smooth cadence and soft laughs never failing to put a smile on your face.

(But, insist to yourself, it was just a silly crush, he was your boss)

Suguru steps out of the bathroom shirtless, not to your surprise. You turn your head as he walks past you, trying to catch a glimpse of his tattoo.

(You manage to sneak a look, relishing the way the dragon crawled from the base of his back, up to his shoulder. It was graceful— regal almost; it was fitting for someone like Suguru.)

Suguru crawls into the bed, a look of amusement crossing his face as he turns the lamp off.

He can’t contain his enthusiasm, “You’re obsessed with me.”

You snort, “You wish.”

“Come on, I saw the way you looked at me— you were practically drooling.”

“Keep dreaming, Suguru.”

Another silence falls over the room you listen to yourself breathe, your heart speeding up.

Several beats of silence pass. You notice that Suguru was having an awfully hard time figuring out what to say.

Suguru calls out to you, “I uhh— I’m sorry about today.” He forces himself to keep his eyes on the roof, hoping you’d fallen asleep.

“Suguru, it’s okay,” You pause, wondering if you had the right to treat him the way you are, “It’s not like we’re doing the most morally sound thing.”

He winces. Suguru’s mouth goes dry while he wonders why he had found himself thinking about your reaction to his words.

He remembered the way tears had collected at your waterline as you shakily chastised him.

You’ve gotten everything you’ve ever wanted, Suguru

“Still, I shouldn’t have yelled.”

You let out a tired noise, agreeing with him, “I shouldn’t have either.”

Suguru doesn’t do this. He’d spent his entire life affirming his identity.

He was a leader.

Leaders were proud, they followed through with their decisions. Without an ounce of regret.

Suguru shouldn’t care.

“Hey sweetheart, are you still awake?”

You smile at the way Suguru’s voice dims when he thinks you’re asleep. You notice that he’s a careful man.

You hum sweetly, encouraging him to continue.

“Do you wanna sleep up here for the night.?”

You sit up, much too urgently, “Huh?”

“Jesus Christ— not like that— I’m just asking if you’d like to sleep in an actual bed before your wedding.”

He clears his throat, reaching a hand out for you to grab. Surprisingly, you take it, climbing over the footboard onto the king-size bed.

“You know…” You ponder out loud, climbing into the bed beside Suguru, “This is the first time I’ve slept in a bed in three days.”

He mumbles at your passive-aggressive remark, “I can always kick you out.”

(You're both stunned at how comfortable you are with intimacy.)

In retrospect what was occurring would be an HR crisis. Suguru, the golden boy of Jujutsu Publishing caught shirtless in a bed with his assistant.

(He could practically hear Yaga lecturing him.)

You turn on your side, “G’night Suguru.”

Cute.

“Goodnight Sweetheart.”

He continues to stare up at the roof, fixating on the wooden slats. He lays his arm on his forehead, exhaling, careful not to disturb you.

Suguru was a leader, he didn’t double back. He had spent his life plowing forward; preaching stoicism like a religion.

(He listens in on the soft breaths coming from beside him, you had fallen asleep.)

Suguru wasn’t a praying man, but he finds that each day he’s growing closer to with his hands clasped together, your name on his tongue like a prayer.

He breathes in heavily, He doesn’t want this!

And— wants to yell it at you. To shake you by the shoulders and plead that you snap out of it. He needs you to come to your senses; to understand that whatever importance you had placed on him was completely and utterly irrelevant.

He grimaced, Suguru wanted to shout that he had no place in your life— he’s buzzing, furious that he’d let himself do this.

(Of course, he’d never admit that.)

He sits up, careful not to wake you, and switches the bedside lamp on. Growing more and more nauseous by the second— sick of the feeling of leather against his wrist; the feeling of your father’s watch.

He walks to the drawer you had unpacked your belongings in, immediately reaching for the bottom shelf, hoping to find what he was looking for.

(He opened it slowly, fearful that the squeaking of the wood would wake you.)

(He swore that he had no idea what had come over him; when regarding other people, Suguru was never attentive.)

A smile makes its way onto his face; congratulating himself when he opens the drawer to find your manuscript, bringing it the loveseat he has previously sat on.

For some odd reason, he feels himself grow giddy at the way your name was sprawled on the flimsy paper cover.

With a shaky sigh, he opens the front cover, prepared to spend the night reading.

Suguru had thought he was a leader.

Yet, he found himself thanking whatever higher power that had led you to him.

And— though he prided himself on his stark independence— he found that he was yearning to sacrifice himself at the altar of dignity to give you the chance of living your life free of him.

He zeroes in on your soft breaths as he scans the words on the page. He’s almost shocked at how human you are.

Now, as he finally comes to his own senses, Suguru realizes that he is the parasite.

(He sighs)

He’s vile, evil, horrible.

(Above all he realizes that he doesn’t want this.)

(But, he’s beginning to notice with each of your determined glances, that you do.)

He shivers, wondering if the chill of the lake had made its way into his bones— or if the guilt had begun to eat him alive.

(It’s not real, he beckons, you don’t care about him.)

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wandsandwheezes · 3 years

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Fake It... Till You Make It | Epilogue/Prologue

Fake It | The Masterlist

Warnings | 3.1k // 18+ SMUT , mature themes, fake relationships, secret relationships, love, sex, drama, angst, fluff

Summary // Fred Weasley has been set up to publicly date Y/N, London’s best Quidditch Seeker in order to drum up some publicity. Y/N however has a different ginger man on her mind; George Weasley.

A/N // This is the epilogue of Fake It and the Prologue to Till You make it. This should hopefully set up the story of Till You Make It perfectly; tying the two series together. If you haven’t yet read Fake It, the masterlist for the series is linked above for ease <333 Thank you to everyone who has supported this little adventure of mine <3

It had been two weeks since you'd left the house. Now living permanently with George in the house you were yet to fill with all the things that made it you. Lying in bed as your thoughts raced, taking you back to that pain over and over every time you shut your eyes. George had been perfect, he was there for you every night as you curled into his side, trying to push back all of the negative feelings as you sobbed into his chest.

Every time George looked at you, guilt washed over him. It wasn't just once but twice now that he was not there to protect you when you needed him the most, his childhood promise to you falling just short of the mark because he let you down. Part of him felt like a failure until he remembered that he was the one who helped you heal the first time and he would be the one to make you feel like yourself again this time.

"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. I promised to and I let you down again."

"What do you think you're doing now, Silly? You protect me every day."

It killed George to see you as the shell of who you once were, seeing that vulnerable, glazed over gaze into nothingness once again. He knew that your healing would take time and that all you needed from him was his presence, his hold and his kisses. He didn't dare push you or bring anything up that was too much to handle - he simply cared for you as best he could. George however, did a fantastic job at juggling his time, between looking after you and taking full control of the shop while Fred healed too, he began to grow stressed. It was something you noticed in the way his back muscles tensed and in the way he walked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

You pulled yourself from bed, knowing that he was due home soon, taking your initiative for the first time since the incident, to do something nice for him. You walked into your bathroom, putting the plug in the bathtub before beginning to fill it. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, seeing sunken eyes, dishevelled hair and a broken smile staring back at you - How could George continue to love you when you looked like this? Tears threatened to fall as your eyes welled up, you tried your best to hold them back but now you were choking back sobs as you stared at your reflection.

When George arrived home all he heard were cracking sobs and the sound of running water, he noticed you weren't in the bed and ran into the bathroom to see you hunched over the counter as you cried. He turned the tap off for you before standing behind you.

"Hey, hey… No tears, Princess, I'm here now." George had pulled you into his arms, your head buried in his chest as you continued to sob, your arms weakly hanging around his hips as you felt your heart squeeze again.

"I don't know how you could still love me when I look like this." You were looking up at him now, his eyes were warm and comforting as his hand ran up and down your back to soothe you. His lips pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead to comfort you as he spoke.

"Jesus, Y/N, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever had the pleasure of knowing, you are my slice of heaven on earth and I'll love you every single day of my life." His hand reached up to tuck your hair behind your ear before leaning down to capture your lips in a slow, tender kiss. His kiss leaving you breathless. This was the first time that your kiss had been more than just a peck goodbye in what feels like forever. Being Intimate with George was a feeling that you both craved and missed but it wasn't something he wanted to push you into doing, not until you were ready to let him back in.

You had convinced George that you were ready to head back out into the world. It was a foreign feeling for the both of you as you walked hand in hand through Diagon Alley. You were proud to be holding on to him, finally able to tell everyone that you were his girl. The press had caught sight of you as you arrived together at the Joke shop, snapping away as you noticed that a new shop was opening on the street as people helped cart in huge boxes and beautiful ornate decorative items into the empty space. George caught your gaze and filled you in on the latest gossip among shop owners.

"It's a new dress Boutique, she's moved back down to London - Lee's friend… I can't remember her name but she was the Hufflepuff Prefect in our year, you know who I mean?" You nodded, looking over your shoulder to see the girl in question her hair pulled back by a piece of ribbon and you immediately remembered her.

"That shop has been vacant for ages, It'll be nice seeing a new business here." You responded, with a smile spreading across your lips, stopping the boy before he went to open the door, pulling him in for a kiss. The report on Cherry's death and the inquest into her fixation on ruining your life had hit the Daily Prophet the week prior - leaving you free to explore the more public aspects of your relationship with George. With there now being no worry about being caught or recognised, all you wanted to do was kiss your boyfriend out in the open, so you did.

You slowly got back into Quidditch, attending more practices and eventually friendly games. The papers, the fans and your team were all grateful to have you back, and frankly you were glad to be back. You used quidditch as a way of channelling your aggression and anger; you were at your peak performance and had absolutely smashed the record for the fastest snitch capture in history.

You had just sort of felt like maybe life was getting back to normal and you started visiting George's family home more often. You were sat in the burrow's kitchen with Molly, talking about the stupid things your boyfriend does, and as you found out, in fact has been doing since his childhood, as if his ears were hot, he came running in, smirk plastered on his face.

"Fancy joining us for a quidditch game?" You smiled at your boyfriend who was leaning with both hands on the table next to you. You reached up to place your hand on his jaw, thumb running over the apple of his cheek.

"Come on then, I want to be your team though Georgie." Your boyfriend blushed at your words and actions combined, even though you had been together for so long, the public aspect of being so openly affectionate with each other felt like new, bringing a whole new honeymoon period into your relationship once more.

The teams were simple. You, George and Fred on one team and Harry, Ginny and Ron on the other while Hermione and Lee watched on from the side-lines.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I present; the golden snitch." George beams, holding it up for all to see.

"We only have teams of three, George, having a Seeker won't work." Ron chimed, only to receive a glare and elbow to the ribs from Ginny who nodded towards the snitch.

"Y/N and Gin are the seekers for today, no beaters just chasers and keepers." You smiled up at your boyfriend, who sent you a wink. Being able to catch the snitch should be a walk in the park for you, even after your months away from the game. The six person game was intense, Ginny did put up a fight for the snitch and you weren't even keeping track of the score. The moment your fingertips wrapped around the flitting snitch, you were flying back to the ground, Cheering as George joined you, picking you up and spinning around.

You hadn't even noticed the mechanical openings of the snitch until you looked back down at it in your hands. You noticed that inside lay a beautiful princess cut diamond ring, when you pulled it from the hold turning around to question George, he was already on one knee. You felt all of the butterflies in your stomach threaten to spill out, the feeling of being surrounded by your closest friends in that moment filled you with joy.

"Y/N, without you I wouldn't be half the man I am today. You have taught me to be strong, to push through when times are tough and more importantly you taught me how love feels - how it's scary and messy but pure. I've never known that I've wanted to do something so quickly as knowing that I wanted to marry you. This is my promise of forever to you, no matter what. So my love, will you marry me?"

You were nodding before the words ‘yes’ could leave your lips, his hands found the ring to slip it on your left ring finger, before smiling up at you. This was the most romantic way George could have proposed, doing something you love and in front of your closest friends and family. The way he kissed you after that was so full of passion and pure unmovable love that you weren't sure how you got so lucky.

When you arrived home that evening you truly felt the ache between your thighs for the man you would soon be calling your Husband. You practically jumped into his arms the minute you were in your shared home, legs wrapped around his hips and lips pressed firmly against his as your hands tangled into his hair. The fire of nearly seven years of love was roaring wild inside of you, the high of the engagement making you more confident than ever before.

"I'm ready, George." The simple words made any of his inhibitions melt away. He swore blind to you that he wouldn't even push intimacy until you were truly ready again. He was a gentleman about it, not even faltering when you pushed him away some months ago; too soon for you. He always made sure that when he kissed you that he didn't get carried away and kept it within himself to check and make sure you were comfortable.

It wasn't long until you were pressed between your comfortable sheets and your Fiancé's strong body. His hair hanging in his eyes, prompting you to run your fingers through his soft locks and push it out of his face before pulling him in for another kiss, mumbling small soft breaths of 'i love you' every time your lips parted. George took his time in undressing you, making sure that he kissed every inch of exposed skin as he explored the body he knew all too well. This was far from the sex with George that you had grown accustomed to; desperate and fast in fear of getting caught, but now with nobody to catch you or disturb you, you already felt in heaven.

George's lips travelled down your body, fingers tugging down your underwear in the process until his lips met where you craved them most. The second his tongue was lapping at your clit, pleasure rushed all through you, hand immediately finding his hair once again, only this time you gave it a tug. The way he hummed against your cunt as his tongue darted in and out of you had you on the edge of your release in minutes. His words of encouragement pushed you over, coming undone with just his tongue.

"That's it, good girl, I've got you." His fingers found your clit, circling over the sensitive bud as you came for him, your eyes were locked together as you reached to pull his shirt over his head, showing you his toned chest with a smirk. You were going to sit up and pull him free, but his hand on your shoulder held you to the bed.

"I won't break, George, I can touch you without breaking." He nodded, pulling himself down to kiss you again, your hands found his cock quickly, pulling him from the confines of his joggers without enough time for him to protest, your hand wrapping around his length as you used your hands to get him off. You pushed him up and off the bed so that he was standing before sinking to your knees before him. You took as much of him as you could, even down your throat as you gagged for him, knowing it's a sound that sets off something inside him. He was restraining himself from fucking your mouth like he loved to do and despite your eyes begging him to, he pulled himself away, pulling you up by the chin to press your lips together.

Being completely naked together with George didn’t happen often, but now as your two naked bodies were pressed skin to skin with each other, you had never felt more intimate. He had sheathed himself fully inside you, the tip of his cock pressed right to the back of you, each slow thrust had you moaning out long chants of his name. Your hands were interlaced and foreheads pressed together as he showed you just how much you meant to him; love pouring from every deep thrust as he fucked you slowly into the sheets. You didn't think he could get any deeper until you felt him in your stomach, reaching every intimate area.

"Can you feel how deep I am, Princess? Does it feel good?" you were nodding quickly, a moaning mess beneath him. The only words you managed to stutter out were his name and please, begging for more of him. You loved hearing him moan, hell, it was such a godly sound you were sure that you were the luckiest girl in the world to be able to hear them.

His hips hit a different angle, stretching you out perfectly as he filled you to the hilt once again, completely bottomed out as your thrust met each others. You weren't sure how many times he'd made you cum but you were ready to release for him all over again. Your lips found his ear, pressing delicate kisses to the lobe as you begged him, moaning breathlessly into his ear.

"Please George, I need it." Your hands were guiding his to press against your throat, he gulped, unsure if you were ready but when he met your pleading eyes, he gave in, his deep sloppy thrusts turned to a quick, needy fuck like you were both used to. Leaving you a moaning mess for him as he fucked you senseless into your sheets, until you were squeezing around him and your nails were raking down his back. George would give you everything you wanted if you gave him the opportunity. You felt another orgasm build from the way his hand alone would control your breathing, let alone how deep he was hitting with every quick thrust.

"You want me to fuck a baby into you, Princess?" his gentle words sent you over the edge as you felt him twitching inside of you. He didn't care that you were on birth control, it was the notion of releasing his load deep inside you alone that made his heart swell. His persuasive words had you begging for it, you needed him to cum.

You were both breathing heavily as you lay side by side, your head on his chest as you studied the rise and fall, tracing circles on the exposed skin when you noticed the shiny diamond gleaming on your finger; a smile immediately finding your lips. Solace found you in that moment, there was no more hiding the love that you had with George, no more faking a love you didn’t feel with Fred, no Cherry - finally happy in a moment shared between you and the man you loved. Your Forever.

Fred through all this time had been watching George plan the proposal from the background, painting a fake smile across his face for every social appearance. The older twin did a brilliant job at convincing everyone around him that he was fine, simply shaken up by the trial, but nevertheless fine. Every day he would wake up with salty tears dried to his cheeks, his throat dry and hoarse, trying his best to smile and get on with his day. Fred has been consumed to a shell of who he used to be, with nobody to help him deal with his emotions.

Every now and again he’d show up at the burrow, his mother taking him into her arms as he choked down tears. He felt like a child that couldn’t be consoled, not even a hug or the greatest food could fill the hole in his heart he felt watching the woman he loved be proposed to by his twin brother; to see you so infatuated with one another that every touch and look he would observe tugged at his heart strings, the pain only becoming less and less severe as he dove into a pit of his own despair.

Nobody had seen the older twin in weeks; therapy sessions missed, calls and messages went nowhere, George would come up to check on him every day after the store closed, he noticed things would go untouched for days on end as he locked himself in his room. Behind the door Fred would be curled up under the covers, realising what he’d done couldn’t ever leave him. He had killed Cherry and she was no longer here, so why did she still continue to plague his every thought?

“Freddie nobody has seen you since we went to mum’s, I- we’re worried.” George was pleading with his brother from behind the door, he heard the hurt in his twin’s voice and immediately felt as if he had let his family down, that sinking feeling in his heart growing stronger.

“It’s Mine and Y/N’s engagement party this weekend, you don’t have to come but… It’ll be good to see you Fred. I miss you, Lee misses you, Y/N misses you. We all do. Just think about it.” Fred heard his brother’s footsteps grow quieter and the front door slam shut. The word engagement singed his heart, like whatever cord was wrapped around the organ had been pulled tighter. He knew that If he didn’t go he would be missing a massive part of George’s life and that feeling hurt him way more than any broken heart could. He was going, even if it broke his heart.

taglist // @starlightweasley @slytherinsunrise @gcdric @theweasleysredhair @whiz-bangs78 @pansydaisy @vogueweasley @minty-malfoy @vivianweasley @feetoffthetablee @thisismynerdyself @rip-us @witch-and-a-half @sarcasticallywitty15 @pandaxnienke @loony-loopy-lupinn @pigwidgexn @mackaywhore @softlyqoos @colorfulprofessornickelangel @fandomscombine @satellitespidey @txtdreamss @aaannabbanana @starkidpotty @mollydarling-hphm @amwithers2001 @mrmoonyy @asthmax

#Fake It Fic #george weasley fic #george weasley x reader #george weasley #gred and forge #fred and george #george weasley smut #george weasley fluff #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley fic #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #harry potter #harry potter fic #harry potter writing #harry potter smut #ginger hair

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bi-writes · 4 years

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notorious: reboot — chapter four blood

A little blood never hurt anyone.

type: series, alternate universe detail: mob!tom word count: 9.5k warnings: mature language and themes, nsfw content included in this chapter series masterlist

Blood is thicker than water.

It was a phrase that your father liked to repeat. He said it far too often when your mother was around. Your mother, who had her presence in a lot of different cities around the world, never quite felt welcomed in Los Angeles. She tried to leave your father many times, with you in tow, but he always convinced her to stay. He needed her, he would say, he loved her, he could not trust anyone else to take care of her. Your mother would let him kiss her, let him hold her, and she would fall back into the same routine of destroy and recover. For all it was worth, she hated California. The weather seemed to mock her sometimes.

Your mother had been the only family you could rely on, and she was gone before she could witness you come to your full potential. You hated her for that. For starting something strong, and never finishing it.

It’s why you didn’t believe in that phrase. The phrase was nothing more than a comment on the viscosity of blood compared to water. It had to be, because to you, your family, your father, couldn’t be trusted. You relied on Mariposa and even on your father’s men to lean on for support because even though your father tried to be there, tried to be good, he had his faults. For you, those faults meant the difference between power and no power, and there was no way in hell you would ever take that chance.

Mariposa would do anything for you. If anyone was blood family to you, it was her. She would step in front of a moving car for you, she would take a bullet for you, she would steal and burn and shoot and scream and cry for you.

She would even fuck for you. At least, that was what she told herself she was doing.

She sat on Harrison’s desk in his office, still in her dove white dress that she wore to sign her name in blood. There were red spots on the hem of the dress, where the palm of her cut hand had bled onto her clothes. Her hand ached, pulsing almost, and she had painful tears in her eyes as she tried to look away from it.

Harrison took a piece of cotton and dabbed at the cut, holding her hand in his as he wiped at it gently. He met her eyes for a moment, painful green against an aching blue.

“Does it hurt?” He asked, and she swung her legs a bit, swallowing.

“A-A little,” she said softly, wincing a bit as he sprayed a bit of disinfectant on it. He took a few bandages and started to wrap her hand in it, tying it around her fingers and her palm. He tied it carefully, in a way that she could still flex and stretch her fingers and make a fist, and she appreciated that. Harrison had wrapped a few hands before. He wasn’t a stranger to gloveless boxing, and so he was careful and meticulous with how he tied the bandages. She liked how he touched her fingers, as if they were delicate and precious.

“There,” he said finally, tossing the rest into the trash. “Battle scars. Nothing more.”

She put her braids behind her shoulders, looking up at him. With her like this, in his office under the low light, blood on her dress and a faraway look in her eyes, Harrison felt he knew her, all of her. It was as if she was making herself transparent, giving him the opportunity to see her, truly see her, and he kept her close to him, a hand on her leg to keep her there. He needed to see her.

“Battle scars,” she echoed, turning her hand over in front of her, looking at it. She pursed her lips. “I…I’ve never gotten one before.”

Harrison picked up her hand, giving her palm a tender kiss.

“Aye, in our line of work, love, you might sport a few,” he said, and she gave him a worrisome look. He smirked. “Don’t worry. Men adore battle scars.”

“I-I don’t think they do,” she shook her head, pulling away from him. Mariposa was very particular in how she looked. She wanted everything to be seamless, perfect, and smooth. There was no room for battle scars in her eyes. Every time she left in the morning, she was playing a part. Whether it was for herself, for her father, or for you, it didn’t matter. The way she looked mattered, and she wondered what people would think when they saw her scar. She wondered if the stories she told would still be believable when she turned her hands over and showed them who she truly was.

“Boys don’t,” Harrison commented, and she met his eyes again. “But men do.”

Men do. Would Harrison like them? Surely. It means character, doesn’t it?

She lowered her gaze and played with his fingers, gentle fingertips grazing over the numerous rings he adorned. Silver and gold rings, some with writing, others with diamonds and high-quality solid gold. He liked things expensive and beautiful, he must’ve.

Like his girls?

“Do you have battle scars?” Mariposa asked finally, blushing a bit. She wondered what he carried on those broad shoulders of his. She wondered what kind of secrets he held in the creases of his skin, what he hid underneath the layers of proper, crisp, and entitled. Harrison shrugged.

“I have a few,” he said huskily, his eyes training on the length of her eyelashes. They were so curly and long, and he thought about her without makeup, but he knew that was foolish. He knew she’d be just as beautiful, and there was no need to wonder. Mariposa swung her legs again, her eyes roaming up and down the length of his suit jacket, wondering where he secrets might be.

“Can…Can I see?” She wondered, squeezing his hands, and the tone of her voice was so gentle, he thought for a moment it might even be innocent. But her eyes were sparkling, and she was parting her lips, and he knew what she wanted with just a tilt of her pretty little head.

Harrison snorted a bit, running a hand through his curls. She was the devil, surely, a woman who knew all the right moves, all the right things to say.

But God, she’s so lovely. And she’s staring at me like she loves me, and fuck, do I need her.

“You know, love, if you wanted to see me without a shirt on, all you had to do was ask,” he teased, and it made her laugh. Harrison was so predictable. All she had to do was give him those eyes, and he fell right into her arms, cocky comments and all.

Oh, but she loves it. Look at her smile.

She reached over and slipped his suit jacket off his shoulders, tossing it onto the leather chair behind him. She worked on unbuttoning his dress shirt as he undid his cufflinks, and she met his eyes as they both slipped his shirt off together.

“Hijo de puta,” she breathed, her eyes falling to the skin of his chest, taut muscles flexing at her touch as she rested her palms against his stomach. She could feel his straining abs against her fingertips, and her eyes roamed excitedly. She didn’t realize how large his biceps really were, and now she could see them, tight and working against her touch as she felt up and down his creamy skin. But even as she touched, every once in a while her fingers could feel a slight indent, bumpy patches of skin.

She stopped when she first touched a raised scar on his chest. Just under his ribs, a few slashes that had scarred over, on his stomach. She rubbed her thumb over the spot, looking back up at him. His baby blue eyes were killing her inside. She didn’t know who she was doing this for anymore. The flirting, the talking, the sweetness, those were orders. This, being with him like this, this was something else.

No one is ordering me around anymore. This…this is all on my own.

Mariposa noticed a few tattoos along his arm, scattered and tiny. She never noticed them before, because he was always wearing a suit, but now she could see Roman numerals along his forearm, dates and numbers that meant nothing to her but made her more curious. He was littered in stories, and she adored them. She wanted to kiss and touch every part, listen to his voice as he told her the history of his body.

She would do anything to learn about who he was, what he was, how he came to me. She had never been so curious about anyone before, but now, she wanted to dive headfirst into waters so dark, and she wasn’t even afraid to. Harrison made her feel safe, and even if everything around them was chaotic, this was not. This was soft, this was gentle, this was quiet, and this was hers. Never in her life had she had something that was hers, but Harrison could be, and no one could take away this moment from her.

I am yours, and you are mine.

“She would kill me,” Mariposa whispered as she leaned forward and kissed his bare shoulder, nuzzling her nose along the soft skin. He dragged a hand up her back, cupping the back of her neck as he brought her face up to his.

Painful green against aching blue, around and around again, but he would give anything to remember her face forever, just like this, begging for more.

“He would kill me,” he echoed, and Mariposa could feel tears in her eyes as she scooted as close as she could to him, inviting him between her legs so their hips could touch, so they could hold each other closer. Now it was getting real, and Mariposa realized what would happen if their lips touched. She knew she would give in, she knew he would give in, and there was no going back after intimacy like this. Mariposa knew she was a hopeless romantic, and a connection like this would kill her. She wouldn’t be able to let go. It was her weakness, and Harrison was making her feel weak even before he touched her, and she knew she would fall so hard if he touched her like she wanted him to.

You will break me, make me bleed, scar me, a battle scar I can never close, a wound that I will never be able to treat.

“Harrison, I’m a mess,” Mariposa whimpered, shaking her head. “You don’t want me. I can’t…I can’t give you all of me. y/n…she’s…God, Harrison, she’s got a hold on me like no one else, and I can’t—”

“Shhh,” he rubbed his thumb along her chin, up to her bottom lip, touching it gently. “Don’t think about that. Don’t think about her.”

That was impossible. You were everything. You were her mentor, her guiding light, the only one that gave her purpose in the whole entire world of chaos you both had entered into. She felt whole with you, complete, and you were the sister she never had. She drew battle scars for you, she bled for you, and she’d do it all over again just to hear you say that you were proud of her.

“But, Harrison—”

“That’s the thing about us, my love,” Harrison interrupted her, cupping her cheeks. “You and I…we are pawns. At the end of the day, they don’t…they don’t care. They say they love us, and even they believe it, but we are always in their shadow. And it is dark here, love, and it’s so fucking lonely, but m-maybe it doesn’t have to be. Maybe for once in our fucking lives, we can be in control.”

I am yours, and you are mine.

She couldn’t help herself. She loved you desperately, but this feeling was unlike anything else. She kissed him, hard, unable to stop herself. She put her hands on his wrists, holding him there, desperate for touch. Mariposa was not a fighter, he could feel that much, not at heart. Mariposa was a romantic, a sweetheart, a soul that ached to loved. She would shrivel up and perish if she didn’t feel something, if she didn’t feel affection, and Harrison wanted to give it to her. His insides begged to take care of her, longed to understand her inside and out, until he was intoxicated by her, swallowed by her.

“We can’t,” she whimpered between kisses, letting him lean over her on his desk. “Harrison, we c-can’t…I couldn’t handle another fucking one-night stand. I can’t do it. I just can’t.”

“Who said I’m letting you go, love?”

“I won’t be here forever,” she tried to pull back a bit, so he could really look at her. She hated being ignored. Sometimes when she talked, she felt like people didn’t listen, and she needed Harrison to listen. “In eighteen months, you a-and Tom are going to be done with us. I can feel it, alright, Harrison? And I…I don’t want to do this with you because I know I’m just going to get—”

He put a finger to her lips, quieting her soft whimpers. They met eyes, baby blue against green, and he shook his head. He needed to tell her his intentions, too. She was perfect, and his throat felt like closing in on itself at the thought of Mariposa leaving.

“Tom might be done with you. Maybe even y/n. But I won’t be done with you. I promise.”

I promise.

Mariposa breathed in his kisses, closed her eyes for a moment as both of them desperately tried to undress the other. She fiddled with his belt as he pushed the dress up her body, and he groaned when he noticed the holster buckled around her thighs and hips, her gun tucked away securely. Only she could make a tender moment turn so fiery and hot in mere seconds.

“Fucking Christ,” he muttered, spreading her legs, and she put both hands on his chest, stopping him.

“Wait…w-wait,” she whispered. He paused, just for her, and she pushed gently on his shoulders until he fell back to sit in his leather chair. She climbed onto his lap, her arms around his neck, kissing furiously as they both tried to get as close as possible to one another.

“You see me, don’t you?” she asked softly, sniffling as she laid her forehead against his. He nodded, staring up at her as if she was the only thing he could focus on, as if everything else in the world was blurry besides her beautiful features. He wished he could undo those braids, let her curls out for him to see, but there wasn’t much time, and he needed her.

“I see you, love. I’m here,” Harrison murmured, and it was all the tenderness she needed to sink down on top of him, her nails digging into the skin of his biceps. The room was dark, musty, and it smelled like old books and cardboard, but Harrison couldn’t focus on any of it. Mariposa was kissing him, riding him into oblivion, and her skin felt so warm and soft under the roughness of his hands. He thought he’d never see heaven, he thought Mariposa had been a demon, but here she was as an angel, sweet moans like music and her touch as soothing as forgiveness.

I am yours, and you are mine.

Mariposa was on cloud nine. Harrison was cooing in her ear, calling her an angel, telling her how beautiful and how perfect she was. He was touching her shoulders, her back, squeezing her ass, pulling on her braids, and he was driving her wild inside. His touch was rough, but his words were laced with romance, and he was giving her all the attention she so desperately craved, so desperately needed. This wasn’t sex to her, this was something sacred, something hallowed, and she felt like she couldn’t breathe as she neared the blinding high that had been building between her legs since Harrison laid his eyes on her.

“Oh, God, Harri—” The nickname made his heart ache, “please…just please…”

“I know, love,” he held her face in one hand and her hip in the other, kissing her lovingly. He could feel the sweat between her thighs, along her hips, up her back, her baby hairs sticking to her forehead. She was beautiful and sweet and sexy all at the same time, and for once he wanted to thank the good God above for that fuck up in Brooklyn bringing him the most incredible woman to grace his eyes. Harrison had seen every kind of woman the world had to offer, but Mariposa’s moans were making him feel sixteen again, as if he had never felt the warmth and relief and love a woman could provide, and he thought maybe he was feeling it again for the first time, reliving a moment he thought he would only relish once.

I am alive, and this is the first time it feels like it’s the truth.

They both relaxed against each other, breaths mingling, her hands in his curls as his stayed wrapped around her tightly. The moment was so tender and raw, her flushed cheek laying against his chest as she rested there, completely spent. They both panted, staring into nothing, smiling to themselves. Mariposa thought she could stay there forever, and Harrison would have let her.

There was a knock at the door before it opened, one of Tom’s lackeys coming in with a few papers in hand. Mariposa gasped in surprise, hiding in Harrison’s chest, and he sat up quickly, his arm closing around her to shield her as best he could.

So protective, baby boy.

“Oi! Get the fuck out of here!” Harrison yelled, picking up his glass and throwing it at the wall. It shattered as the door shut, and Mariposa giggled, climbing off his lap to sit on his desk again, wiping the sweat off of her forehead. Harrison managed a small smile back at her. Her own smile was infectious, and he couldn’t help but reciprocate. “Bloody hell, darling, I’m sorry.”

She fixed the holster on her thigh, securing it in place before smoothing her dress back down her legs. She was dabbing at her forehead with a tissue as Harrison got his dress shirt back on, tucking it into his pants and doing his belt back up.

“I…I should…I should go find y/n,” Mariposa said softly, standing on her heels. Harrison touched the hem of her dress, where the blood had stained it red, and he tsked a bit.

“Never again,” he murmured, shaking his head, and she tilted her head to the side.

“Never what again?”

“’m never going to let anything touch you again,” he muttered, his blue eyes dark and complex, so serious as they looked down at her. He meant it with every word, and she was grateful for it. She adored being seen, truly looked at. Mariposa straightened up as he came towards her, one muscular arm wrapping around her waist, holding her close to him. “You know you’re much too precious for blood, aye?”

She smiled warmly, laughing a bit, leaning up on the toes of her heels to kiss him, a soft, angelic kiss that had his head spinning.

Please don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.

“I’ll hold you to that, Harri,” she whispered, and by the slight smile that graced his hard features again, she knew she had him. She could say anything to him, ask anything of him, and he would give it to her. She could touch his curls, kiss those sweet lips, look into those pretty baby blues, and he would get on his knees for her. She could stab him in the back, and he would pretend she hadn’t just to get another kiss from her.

Too dark to see, too loud to hear, too in love to care.

He stopped her before she could leave again, meeting her at the door.

“I’ll call you,” he murmured, and Mariposa smiled brightly, her face flushing.

“Please,” she whispered, giving him one last tender kiss. It was painful for him to let her go. But time was not in their favor, and his clock ticked for Tom while hers ticked for you.

She shut the door behind her, and down the hall, she could see you leaning against the wall, by the window, sharing a cigarette with Tom. You met her eyes as soon as she did, and Mariposa gave you one subtle nod. You smiled to yourself briefly before whispering something in Tom’s ear, putting the cigarette back between his lips. You disappeared down the stairs, and Mariposa straightened out the front of her dress before she hurried after you. She stopped, a breath of smoke clouding her vision as Tom let out the drag of his cigarette through his mouth in front of her.

“Hmm…how was my best mate, aye?” He asked her, tapping the ash off the end of the cigarette. “Was he as good as he promised you?”

So much better.

Mariposa stepped back a bit, blushing, “I…really don’t think that’s any of your business.”

Tom snorted a bit, shaking his head. You and Mariposa were definitely alike, more than just pretty girls in matching dresses. You had clearly rubbed off on Mariposa, enough that she had the courage to stand up to Tom; or maybe Mariposa had just been on top of Harrison for the last twenty minutes hearing him whisper sweet nothings in her ear, and the adrenaline had yet to leave her.

“Of course it’s my business,” Tom shrugged. “He works for me. What occupies his time matters to me because that means he’s spending time not doing things for me.”

Tom pushed off the wall, coming close to her. He was taller than her, but Mariposa always felt more confident in her heels. She stood up straight, hands behind her back, and she stared right up into those dark eyes. Tom admired her for that. She must’ve gotten that from you, too, that ability to stare right back.

They don’t deserve you.

“And now, you’re my little bird, and the time you spend with him is time not spent working for me. Do you see where the conflicts lie, little one?”

Mariposa straightened up a bit more, brushing her braids back. She hated those pet names. They weren’t endearing. Not love or darling or sweetheart like Harrison called her, but bird and little one, as if she was too small and too fragile to understand the gravity of working for Tom Holland.

You can’t make me small. I’m not small.

“I-I can assure you, Mr. Holland, that my work will never be subpar,” she said softly. “No matter who it is underneath me at the end of the day. In fact…” She shrugged, giving him a sort of smile, “I can almost guarantee I’ve made your right-hand man more agreeable in his temperaments for today. Men are always more agreeable after a good fuck, are they not?”

Tom smirked a bit, tilting his head to the side. She was feisty, he would give her that. Harrison really knew how to pick them, didn’t he?

“Good then,” he said simply. “Because Harrison likes to get attached. He fancies the sweet ones. And I would hate for you to get caught in his web. He’s a romantic one, my lad, but after a while…it all bores the hell out of him. So be careful, won’t you, love?”

Tom was trying to intimidate her, force her to second guess herself. He wanted her to think twice about the decision she just made, but she took a breath and tried to clear her head. There were no wrong choices tonight. She had bled on Tom’s contract just like you asked, and now, she had Tom’s right-hand man under her thumb. Tom should’ve been afraid of her, intimidated by her, not the other way around.

Men are so fickle. Why do they always believe that they write the music? Why do they always think they are in control when they haven’t the faintest clue who’s really in charge?

Mariposa just nodded, like a good girl, “Yes, Mr. Holland.”

Tom watched as she took ahold of the railing and descended the stairs after you. You stood there, arms crossed over your chest, and you took her hand.

“Did you do ask I asked, baby?” You questioned her as you both made your way down the hall. Tom’s lackeys watched as you both passed, and they offered you goodbyes and nods of their heads.

You are family. You are blood. Tom does not lie, not about this.

“Yes, y/n…I did as you asked,” Mariposa said softly. It was true. She let Harrison take her upstairs, let him kiss the scars on her heart while she kissed his. They shared a moment, a moment that Mariposa had initiated, just as you asked.

Do things first, you had said to her. Kiss first. Touch him first. He will believe he has a hold on you, Ri, but you are always the one in charge.

“And?”

“You were right,” Mariposa whispered as you both made your way outside. Your heels crunched over the gravel, and you both held hands as you ducked your heads, getting into the sleek black car. She swallowed, her mind picturing Harrison’s lips on her neck, his words against her ear, his love against her skin. “H-He just wanted to take care of me.”

You both put the blindfolds back over your eyes as the driver shut the door behind you. You brought her hand up to your lips, kissing it. Mariposa was precious, and you knew that Harrison was special to her now. Even if Mariposa was doing it at your will, you knew Mariposa and sex were something different. She wouldn’t have agreed to do as you asked if she didn’t herself want to, and you had seen the look on her face after she left Harrison’s office.

Mariposa was wrapped around Harrison’s finger just as much as he was wrapped around hers. Maybe at another time, you would think it sweet, but for now, you would have to deal with it later. Love meant complicated, and this job for your father had to be anything but complicated. He had to believe you could do things on your own, that you could take care of his business on your own.

“One down,” you said under your breath. “One to go.”

“O-One down,” Mariposa bit back the sob in her throat. She couldn’t let you hear her cry, not over this. She could feel it in her bones; Harrison was hers, and she was afraid to let him go. “One to go.”

im not lifting another fucking finger for you unless you give me something

Tom pursed his lips, shaking his head. He pushed his phone away from him, but the constant buzzing made him want to throw his phone at the wall. But those texts were from you, so he kept his phone close enough to reach.

i did not just flash my ass to russian assholes for you to ghost me

He smiled at that, just a bit.

Tom, if you dont answer me, im going to shove this battery so far up your ass

He grabbed his phone, picking it up and waiting. He held it just a bit away from his ear, anticipating yelling, screaming, the likes. You were a passionate woman, with a lot of demands, that much he knew. He had learned that about you over the past few weeks.

Never hold the phone to your ear.

“Tom Holland, I swear to God!” You said through the phone as soon as you picked up.

There’s my girl.

“You know, if you’re going to be this difficult to contact, if you’re going to be that asshole that doesn’t answer his texts, then I swear I’m going to fucking find where you live so I can finally put my fucking hands on your neck and—”

“Darling,” Tom chuckled through the phone, leaning back in his chair. He kicked his feet up on his desk, swirling his drink in its glass. “Don’t tease me like that. Phone sex is deplorable when I can’t have what I want in reach.”

I bet she’s wearing something so pretty…something I’d want to take right off of her.

“Phone sex?” You scoffed on the other end. You were in the bathroom of a luxury nightclub in Midtown, huddling in a tiny dress as you sat on the lid of the toilet. “Tom, this is so far from fucking phone sex. This is me, y/n, threatening to murder you because you won’t answer your goddamn phone!”

Tom hummed, taking a sip of his drink. “Did you do as I asked you, darling?”

He was really calling you because you didn’t let him send backup, which must’ve been the tenth time in a row that you said no to him.

“Yes,” you snapped, putting the small metal cartridge into your bra. “I fucking got it. I switched out the battery back for the one you gave me, and now, you can track his phone all you want. You said you’d have information for me as soon as I got it, but you won’t answer your phone. And I’m not leaving this place until I’m sure that I didn’t do this shit for nothing.”

Tom rolled his eyes, “my men are working on it as we speak. If you want, I’ll allow you to come here…entertain you with the details.”

You sighed, closing your eyes.

God, he’s a horny asshole.

“No. I just need to be sure you’re keeping your word, Tom,” you leaned back against the stall. “I don’t want to do all of this messy work just to be screwed over in the end, okay?”

Tom pursed his lips, listening to the faint music coming from the background in your phone. Your tone dropped a bit, more serious and less playful. You always teased, but you were always thinking about business. He did appreciate that. Your punctuality was something to admire.

“You at their club, darling?” He asked, looking out the window. He was staring out at Central Park, watching the cars go past on the street below. It was therapeutic sometimes, just listening and watching, and God forbid Tom talk back to you on the phone. You would rip him a new one if he got smart with you.

“Yeah, Tom. I’m here,” you said, running a hand through your loose hair. “It stinks in here, and I’m pretty sure just sitting on this goddamn toilet will give me a disease.”

Tom laughed a bit. “Get yourself home, y/n. Call me when you’re safe.”

You stood up, the heels on your feet making them throb a bit. You pushed the stall door open, looking at yourself in the mirror.

“Goodie. I can’t wait to get these horny, disgusting Russian mobsters off my ass,” you said sarcastically, fixing the neckline of your dress as you ruffed up your hair. Was that sexy? You weren’t sure.

Would Tom like it?

“I’m sure you won’t have an issue doing that, love,” Tom licked his lips, just picturing you in a tiny dress with a killer smile. “If you’re good at anything, it’s getting men soft, isn’t it?”

“Piss off,” you smiled a bit, hiking the hem of your dress up a bit. “Remember when I put a gun on you, Tom, and you almost finished right there?”

“Aye, a pretty woman was in my lap, what did you expect?”

“I expected you to pay attention to the gun pointed at your dick and not me, but I guess we both know how your priorities line up, don’t we?” You asked smartly. You sighed, closing your eyes again. “I gotta go, Tom. But I will call you tonight. And you better have what I want.”

“I’ll have an update for you,” he said, this time his voice a bit serious. “But I need you to do something else, one more thing, before we talk tonight.”

Oh, Jesus.

“What is it, Tom?”

There was a pause. “Mind sending me a picture of what you’re wearing? For…documentative purposes.”

You hung up at that, laughing to yourself as you came out of the bathroom.

What an asshole.

The music blared in your ears, and a few giggling, drunk girls pushed into the bathroom behind you. You put your phone back into your purse before putting it over your shoulder, making your way back to the bar. You took a seat on the stool that was being saved for you.

“You know, Viktor, it’s getting a little late,” you said softly, finishing the drink you had before. You crossed one leg over the other, and his eyes went straight for your legs, all soft and smooth even as the dress rode up higher.

“Is it?”

You took a breath as one hand wrapped around the back seat of the barstool, keeping you there. You gave him a fake smile. You can’t remember how many times a job has ended like this, a man trying to get what he deserved after a night of buying a woman drinks. It was pathetic.

God, Tom, I’m going to kill you when this is all over.

“It is. And I’ve got a long morning tomorrow. But…thank you for the drinks. And for your time. I had a good night.”

You slid off the stool, your heels touching the floor. You couldn’t move an inch after taking a step. He had a hand on your arm, yanking you back, and you stared down at him.

“Something the matter?” You asked, your voice a bit hard.

“Yeah, I got something the matter,” he said lowly, tilting his head to the side. “You said you were leaving, but I didn’t say you could leave.”

You raised a brow; it shocked you how many men in this position were complete, empty-headed bastards. Tom had a mouth on him, sure, but he was all talk. He backed off whenever you fought back, and although he always tried to flirt with you, it was teasing, it was funny. It was never rough or cruel or demanding. Not like this.

Does this work on girls or something?

“I didn’t know I needed your permission,” you admitted, tilting your head to the side to mimic him. He looked you up and down, licking his lips. He shrugged.

“Well, in this place, you do,” he said matter-of-factly. “And I said you couldn’t leave.”

You rolled your eyes, “you really don’t want to do this.”

“Do what?” He pulled you closer to him, his lips under your ear. You put your hand over his on your arm, soothing his grip with the back of your hand. He softened a bit at your touch until you wrapped your fingers around his middle finger, looking into his eyes as you bent it backwards. You didn’t stop until you heard a snap. “Gahh—fuck!”

Distracted by the searing pain in his hand, you put your palm against the back of his head and pushed, slamming it against the edge of the bar, his forehead smashing against the marble counter. He fell off the barstool, slumped onto the floor, and you feigned a gasp, looking around. There was blood at your feet, but it didn’t faze you.

You deserve it.

“Oh, God, he just—I think he had too much to drink!” You breathed as a few people began to circle around him, trying to get him up. You slipped out of the circle, making your way outside, and you were in the next taxi that drove up the street. You kicked your heels off in the car, taking your phone out of your purse.

got a taxi, ill be home in 15

You waited for a reply, staring down at your phone. When the three gray dots popped up, you chewed on the tip of your nail, anxious.

Then we’ll talk in 15. Any trouble?

You laughed a bit to yourself.

always

Good girl.

Your smile faded a bit as you read the last line. Good girl. You thought perhaps he meant it to be flirtatious, maybe even teasing. But it made you a bit sick to your stomach. You were sent to Midtown by Tom, to do a job for Tom, and calling you a good girl made it seem like he was praising his dog for a good trick well done, for doing just as he asked in the manner he asked.

Tonight, he had asked you to do something his men had failed at. That was your job, that had been your job for the past few months. Tom’s men, just like your father, were reckless and not careful, but you were the perfect solution.

There were a few Russians leftover from Tom’s taking over of Manhattan, bent on having their revenge on New York’s newest king. They were scattered, but they had roots in the city, and there was one man that Tom knew who had the capability of causing trouble.

Viktor. He had settled in Hell’s Kitchen, chased out of the Lower East Side, and your job was to find him, change the battery pack in his throwaway cell phone, and get out. Subtle, quiet, and easy, and Tom promised to start looking into the Brooklyn incident right away. He had been, apparently, but he promised results tonight. It was all the motivation you needed.

You wondered what lies he would come up with tonight. Brooklyn was Tom’s doing, that much was obvious, but you wondered who he would pin it on when the time came to give you answers. You would demand evidence, want to know how and why, and Tom would have to be thorough, brutal, and absolutely creative to make something like this believable.

You opened the door to your apartment, and you paused in the doorway. Tom was standing there, staring out the sliding glass doors that led to your balcony. His eyes were on the glittering city, and he seemed calm and collected as he sipped a glass of dark liquor.

“What are you doing here?” You demanded, shutting the door behind you. “And how the hell did you get in here?”

“Every door is open to Tom Holland in this city, m’love, and I’m offended you even had to ask,” he answered simply. You put your purse down by the door and took off your heels.

“Well…I’m glad you made yourself at home,” you said simply, putting a kettle on the stove and turning it on. You reached into the cupboard for a cup and some tea. You turned to face him, and he was already looking at you.

Making you feel beautiful, like he always seemed to do.

“You said there was trouble,” Tom continued, and you shrugged.

“You know how it is,” you rolled your eyes a bit. “Bastard tried to touch me.”

“Did you put a gun to his dick, too, love?”

“No, I cracked his head open.”

“Merciful.”

“Never,” you said firmly, giving him a bit of a smile, and he smiled back. He came close to you, looking you up and down, but not in a way that made you feel exposed. Tom was checking on you, his eyes scanning for any signs of touch, need, attention. You couldn’t fathom how Tom seemed to make you feel so safe with nothing but his eyes on you.

“You know…I always offer backup on nights like this, and you keep refusing me,” he pointed out. He had to say it, because it was upsetting him. Men wouldn’t touch you if you just let him help, even a little bit.

“Your men are distractions, Tom, and they draw attention,” you explained. “You want these jobs done discreetly, then this is how it’s going to have to go. You’re just going to have to wait for my call. Right now, Viktor is in the back of his own club spitting blood because of me, and he won’t even remember my name. If your men had been there…if they had seen him touch me, they would have ruined the entire night, and I never would have gotten close enough. I can take care of myself, Tom.”

But you don’t have to.

“I’m aware,” he nodded. “But it would make me feel better if you let even one of my men accompany you.”

“Tom, would you just let me do my job? And can you just do yours? It’s been…it’s been weeks. And I’m starting to get a little suspicious of you,” you said, gripping his jacket and pulling him close. “You promised you’d look into Brooklyn for me. Are you stalling? I’ve done plenty of jobs for you, and I’ve yet to see results.”

“I’m not stalling, y/n,” he said, putting his free hand on your waist. “I’m expecting a call tonight. Harrison took a trip down to Chinatown for me.”

You snorted, “God, how much did you pay him to do that?”

Tom rolled his eyes, “the bottom line is that he’s going, and I’m expecting a phone call. You can listen in. He’s supposed to give me more details.”

You took his drink from his other hand, taking a sip of it yourself.

“Ri told me she was going downtown tonight,” you said, giving him his drink back. You went back to the stove, turning it off as you poured the hot water into a cup. “Think they’re together?”

“There’s no doubt in my mind that my mate is with the little bird,” Tom chuckled, taking a seat on your couch. “Harrison’s been disappearing, and I’ve caught him far too many times with his hand in his pants.”

You laughed a bit, shaking your head.

“Leave them alone, Tom,” you said softly. “They’re just having fun.”

“Maybe for your girl, it’s fun, but I worry about my mate.” You sat beside him, and he threw one arm around your shoulders along the back of the couch. “Got a heart of gold, that one, and sometimes I fear it gets into his head. And I can’t have that, y/n. You understand, don’t you?”

You nodded slowly.

“Yeah, I understand.”

“So, if I need your bird to disappear, can I count on you for that?”

You put your tea down onto the coffee table, leaning back into his arm. It was amazing how Tom thought he could control every aspect of his life, even the lives of his best friends. He was unbelievable, but then again…so were you.

“Do you normally meddle in your best friend’s private life?” You asked. It was hypocritical to ask, but in your case, Mariposa knew she was being used. Tom seemed to do everything on his own and wait for the consequences that he seemed to know would happen. He always acted as if he had everything figured out.

“When it concerns my business, I find it fair to meddle in whatever I need to,” he said simply.

“If he found out what you were discussing with me, I don’t think he’d be very happy,” you scoffed. “I’m not his babysitter. And I’m not Mariposa’s babysitter. I don’t have to do anything about anyone.”

“y/n, I’m asking you for a favor, as a—”

“As a what?” You scoffed. “As a friend? I’m not your friend, Tom. As your girl? I’m certainly not your girl. As your associate? Let’s get one thing clear, okay, Tom? Because you’ve been getting comfortable with me, and I think you need a reminder.” You gripped his collar and pulled him close to you, close enough that your lips touch his. “You are a means to an end for me. No more.”

Tom sighed. Whenever you started to talk like this, it made him want to smack you into reality. There was nothing but sexual tension and loyalty between you, something unspoken. Tom had never felt that with anyone else in this business. Every time he sat down at the table with someone else, he always could feel their hidden distaste, he always knew that they were just waiting for the right time to pull their guns and shoot him in the head. With you, he never felt that way. It was a true, genuine working relationship, and it was something he never thought was possible.

Tom Holland was always alone. His blood, his family, they supported him, but they could never make the tough decisions. And here you sat, beside him on the couch, and he wasn’t alone now.

“I thought we’ve been over this, y/n. I know why you act the way you act around me. And we can do this dance for as long as we want, but you and I are wildly alike, and it’s only a matter of time before you realize what I’ve known all along,” he said lowly.

“What are you even suggesting?”

“That we can do a lot more good together than we can apart. And I know we didn’t meet on endearing terms, but now we here we are, and I think it’s foolish that you’re ignoring the potential—”

“The potential?” You interrupted him. “You mean our potential? You and I…working together?”

“It would be one helluva partnership.”

You pulled away from him, sitting back.

“Tom…you are many things, but a team player isn’t one of them,” you said softly. “You barge in and take over, that’s your MO, and I’m not going to fall for your tricks. Get your head out of your ass, get your eye on the prize, and focus on what you and I are supposed to be doing. Because you and I on paper, maybe. M-Maybe we look good together. Maybe it could look like everything you say, maybe it seems as if we could hold hands and take over every goddamn city. But looking at you, Tom…” You shook your head. “I know. I know what you are, and neither of us…we would destroy each other.”

Tom let his arm drop, his fingers on your shoulder. He was going to say something. He knew it, too. He was going to open his mouth and say something, something kind, something tender. You were beautiful, glowing against the city lights, and he was going to say something that would even bring your tall walls down, low enough to invite him into the sweet waves of your hair, the curve of your body, maybe even between the kisses of those lips he’d been dying to reach again.

But the moment was robbed from him. His phone rang, buzzing as it moved along the coffee table, and you leaned over and picked it up for him, seeing Harrison’s name flashing across the screen. You sat back, leaning into Tom as you answered the phone, putting it on speaker.

“Haz,” Tom said lowly, letting his arm drop from your shoulder to around your waist. “Tell me some good news.”

“I…” Harrison sighed deeply from the other end. “It’s not good news, mate. Not fucking at all.”

Tom frowned, “what?”

No, no, no, no.

“It…you suspected…” Harrison struggled to talk, and it was because he was trying to come up with a lie right on the spot, but he wasn’t prepared. The plan was to have you infiltrate Viktor’s phone, have Harrison call and blame it on the Russians, and let the rest play out how it would. Your father would take care of the Russians, Tom would seal his end of the deal, and maybe you’d even sit on Tom’s lap tonight and desperately take care of the hard-on you always seemed to give him any time he was in your presence. “It’s not what we thought. It’s not…it’s not anyone we thought.”

Fuck you, Haz.

“What the bloody hell does that mean, Haz? All I need are names of who was working in Brooklyn during those hours, I don’t need you to figure out the fucking story,” Tom was starting to get upset, and you put a hand on his chest, looking up at him. He met your eyes, taking a deep breath. “Haz, what happened?”

“I did get names. And then…I don’t fucking know, it wasn’t the names that we both thought we were going to hear. So I went down to Brooklyn, I asked our contacts, and…fuck, Tom, it wasn’t…” Harrison took a deep breath. “There are no names. There are no men running around during the hours you gave me, there are no sightings of anything, and no one was working downtown when the exchange happened except for y/l/n. There’s nothing, Tom.”

“So either y/n’s missing $20,000 of her own volition or—or what?!”

“We’re dealing with a ghost, Tom. That’s what I’m saying.”

Something’s wrong. Something isn’t right.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts, Haz. It means you’re an incompetent piece of shit, and so are my men, and if you don’t find what I’m looking for, I’m going to—!”

You put a finger over Tom’s mouth, taking the phone off speaker and putting it to your ear.

“Harrison,” you said softly, and he sighed deeply, humming in response. “He’ll get to you later. Keep digging.”

You hung up the phone, tossing it onto the table. Tom swiped a hand over his mouth, looking off into the distance angrily. He was shaking with anger almost; you could see the way his hands clenched and unclenched. You slid your hand into his jacket, fishing around in the pockets of his suit. You pushed aside the gun, a switchblade, and a pair of brass knuckles before finding the cigarettes and lighter. You took one out and lit it, taking a small drag before putting it to his lips.

“You should learn to control your anger, Thomas,” you said softly. “Men don’t respond when you yell at them, they just get angry and yell right back. But even if they don’t yell, they always ignore you.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” he muttered, taking a long, deep breath of ash and smoke.

You reached up and ran a hand through his styled curls, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Women…we’re better,” you continued, moving until you sat in his lap, your legs across his. “We don’t listen to men that yell at us, but we hear them. We don’t ignore them. And men that we know…we especially don’t listen to what they say because we know that they don’t mean it.”

Tom took another drag of the cigarette, and you tilted your head to the side.

“Something’s wrong,” you said finally. “You picked up the phone, and Harrison said something that you weren’t prepared to hear. Why?”

Tom’s lip twitched a bit, and he looked down. He could lie his way through this, but something was not right. Harrison should’ve called to say exactly what they rehearsed. But he didn’t.

Who was it?

“I was expecting a different answer,” Tom admitted. “I didn’t…New York wasn’t given to me in one night. I had to learn how to take it, piece by piece. Manhattan is…vast. Harlem, Hell’s Kitchen, Chelsea, the Village…each little block had different authorities. It was a hellscape that was ruled by different men, different people, different groups.”

“And you planned to unite them all, is that it?”

“No. Of course not. I’m a man of many things, you said it yourself, love, but I knew that even that wouldn’t be possible,” Tom shook his head. “I did things piece by piece, learning each block, each intersection, each bloody back alley and the way things operated there until I could make my move. And it worked. Every single time. And when you came to me, telling me about your problems in Brooklyn, I thought I had it all figured out.”

“You thought behavioral patterns could should you who messed up my father’s shipment?”

“I thought my experiences here would render me useful in delivering you an answer,” Tom explained. “Stealing money, forging documents…Viktor was the only man that came to mind. Him and his Russian groupies pulled shit like that all the time when they ran the Lower East Side, and I thought I had it all figured out.”

You swallowed. Tom was expecting to hear a certain answer. That answer was not given to him. What did that mean?

Who was it?

“Seems like you have your work cut out for you,” you said softly, touching his jaw, bringing his eyes back up. “Good thing I’m here for fourteen more months.”

Fourteen more months. It had already been a cool four months, and Tom had not spent enough time with you in those weeks. You rarely saw one another, but he was slowly learning your quirks, your mannerisms, your schedule. He wanted to know more, he wanted to do more, but circumstances were not on his side. He wanted to get close to you and far away from you all at the same time.

There’s something hidden in those eyes, darling. Stop hiding. Show me. Please.

You slid off his lap, picking up the mug of tea from the coffee table. You circled around the couch, making your way to your bedroom. You stopped from just behind him, leaning over the back of the couch and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

Please.

“Goodnight, Tom,” you said against his cheek. “I’ll…see you in a few weeks. Or whenever you’ve got something for me.”

He lifted his hand and wrapped it around the nape of your neck, keeping you there. He would bite the bullet tonight. He couldn’t let you go without telling you the truth. He felt, and he felt deeply, and the itch in his throat was becoming too much. You had to know.

Please.

“y/n, I don’t want that,” he murmured, and you closed your eyes. “I don’t want…to see you sporadically. I haven’t seen you in weeks, and after I finally see you, I never know when I’ll see you again.”

You giggled a bit, “are you saying that you missed me, Mr. Holland? And that you will miss me?”

He grunted a bit, and you put the tea down, turning his head a bit so you could see his face, and you touched his bottom lip gently. Tom Holland was many things, but romantic didn’t seem to be one of them. But he had a faraway look in those pretty, dark eyes, and you liked it.

I like it.

“Say it. Say you missed me.”

“Fuck you, y/n,” he said, but a smile graced his features. You brushed his curls off his forehead, and he brought you down close, kissing you softly. You sighed into the kiss, letting your breath mingle, the liquor almost sweet on his lips. He squeezed you to him still when you pulled away.

“Have I got the big, bad king all out of his element?” You wondered, giggling a bit. “Have I got Mr. Holland missing a woman…wanting a woman…pining after a woman?”

He said nothing, but you knew the answer. Tom’s walls were barely standing. From iron to rust to nothing but rubble, you were attacking them viciously, and he didn’t even know it. He wouldn’t know it, not until it was too late. Piece by piece, you would take him apart, and you wouldn’t be sorry when this was over. He had met many men, but he had never met a woman in charge, not one like you. Tom Holland came to New York to build an empire, and you came to New York to knock it right back down. You knew you would go to great lengths to do it. You would even squash the bugs in London to kill him completely.

“You can come over whenever you want,” you whispered in his ear, kissing underneath it. You allowed yourself the pleasure of softening into his touch. It felt good to be touched, and it felt good to be touched by Tom. Safe, something sweet, something warm. This man was nothing but ruthless and impenetrable, but the way he was holding onto you made you want to fall right into his arms, put your arms around him, and never let go. “But you can never stay the night, Mr. Holland. I mean that.”

He smiled a bit at that, and you smiled, too. If there was love in this room tonight, you pushed it back down. There was no room for romance or feelings or complicated. The only thing on your mind was blood, and you wondered how dark Tom Holland’s blood was, you wondered how thick and fast it would stain your carpet if you just slit his throat right here.

Two down.

None to go.

read chapter five

#FINALLY #its here #and goddamn is it long #finally moving things along lmao #tom holland imagines #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fic #tom holland series #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland au #mob!tom #notorious

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prettybiching · 3 years

Note

Okay writing this is 😳 but here goes: can you write a John King x fem reader fanfic with rough, unprotected sex where she goes back to work with cum dripping out of her 🙈

+ Omg your John King fanfic is my life. Thank you thank you thank you. Can you write one where they’re in the studio and JK bends her over his desk?

+ First of all, thank you for your amazing writing and for opening John King requests. It’s everything I never knew I needed. Second, I’m not even going to ask for this anonymously because I have no shame anymore. If you’re open to it: John King fic request: female reader x Map Daddy. Spanking.

Attention

Pairing: John King x fem!reader

Warning: 18+ mature scenes (viewer’s discretion is advised), rough sex, choking, sir kink, spanking, unprotected sex ( don’t do that ), dirty talking, I think that’s it?

Word Count: 2,335 words

Note: My last John King oneshot did way better than I expected lmao. Decided to join these three requests together because,,,I got WAY into it xD

PS: Feel free to request anything on my inbox. I promise I will write them, I’m just a slow af writer. Thanks for all the love and support, mwah!

You knew what was coming for you even before John asked you to join him in his office after the show.

He had been busy the whole week, barely paying you any attention. So, you decided to take matters into your hand. At first, it was your outfit that he noticed, the red dress he loved so much clung onto you in all the right places. You chose to ignore his unmoving burning gaze. Instead, you conversed with the camera crew and the producers.

However, the last test of his patience came when you texted him a picture of what you were wearing underneath, his favourite lingerie.

You tried not to giggle in anticipation, hearing him take a sharp breath before locking his phone. His eyes shifted towards you, a smirk plastered on your lips. He shot you a menacing glare, warning you not to tempt him. If it were any other day, you would've obliged like a good girl, waiting for your turn, but not today. Today, you wanted to be a brat.

"John?" you called out for him, fluttering your eyelashes at him, feigning oblivion to his current state.

He turns around at the sound of your voice, looking seemingly unbothered. Without saying a word, he gives you a once over, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt. You tried not to let your eyes linger on the veins of his exposed forearms. No, your resolve was not going to melt.

"Come here," he instructs, his voice is calm yet commanding. If it weren't for his blown pupils, you might've thought the past hour didn't even happen. You roll your eyes, not wanting to give in to his demanding demeanour, no matter how aroused you were.

Your feet remained glued to the floor, unmoving. Once John took notice, he tried again. "Y/N," his voice was stern, leaving no place for a counter-argument, "I said, come here."

He is leaning against his desk, his arms crossed across his chest as he watches you come up to him, a hint of a devilish smile on your lips. You stand between his legs, only an inch between the two of you.

"What?" you bite, feigning disinterest.

He lets out a cocky laugh, shaking his head. "You're walking on thin ice, sweetheart," He says, and you have to bite back a moan at his tone. "How about you lose that attitude, do what I tell you, and I'll be nice."

However, you don't want nice, not after he's been ignoring you for a whole week. So, rolling your eyes, you cross your arms.

"No, I don't think I will."

The look on his face tells you he wasn't expecting that answer. Yet, he recovers quickly, a smirk growing on his lips before he swiftly leans forward and grabs your wrist, yanking you between his thighs. You have to catch yourself on his broad shoulders as you stumble from the firm tug, your stomach flush against his chest. His fingers fall to the back of your thighs before sliding up until they rested on your ass. He gave your cheeks a tight squeeze, holding you against him.

"You want to be a brat today, huh?"

Despite the tingling anticipation in your core, you're not about to give in easily. You were going to make it as strenuous for John as you could. You shoot him a glare, clicking your tongue, "Who said I'm in the mood?" You tried to push back against his shoulders, trying to create some space between the two of you, but his grip on you is unyielding.

"You are not in the mood, you say?" he asks, leaning against your ear, his warm breath over your skin, and you nod, trying not to gulp. "Then why do I smell you from here?" he nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck and subconsciously, you tilt your head to the side, giving him access to your bare skin. His fingers creep beneath the fabric of your dress, playing with the hem of your panties.

By now, your panties are soaking wet. After waiting for over a week for John to touch you, fuck you again, you were getting desperate. The way carried himself during the taping of the show didn't help either. Fuck him and his sinful mouth and intelligent brain.

His eyes remain fixated on you as he hooks his fingers into your underwear and slides them down your legs, until John leans forward, his cheek brushing your hip so he can pull them down himself. You step out of them, and his back straightens up, putting the piece of ruined fabric into his pants pocket.

"Bend over the desk."

"Baby, c'mon. We don't have time, just fuck me, you can spank me all you want later," You let out a whine, tucking out your bottom lip in a pout.

"So suddenly you are in the mood," he arched his brow. "Bend over the desk, now! You don't want to piss me off any more than I already am," he states sternly.

You unhurriedly move from in between his legs, but you are too slow for his liking. Before you can react, John again yanks you by your wrist before pushing you against the desk. One hand gently settles on the back of your neck, holding your head down, and the other starts trailing down your hem before slowly creeping up your thigh, tucking up the skirt of your dress, until you feel the cool air of the room brush against your wet pussy.

You clutch the edge of the desk with your palms, edging yourself and before you know it, the hand on your leg lifts itself up and strikes your right cheek. Your body jerks rightfully but the fingers around your neck tighten, preventing you from moving too much.

“Not so tough now, huh?” He says, stroking the sore skin. “How many do you think you deserve?” you shrug as best as his hold on you allows you. “If I remember correctly,” he pauses, just to brush his fingers against your pussy lips, smiling to himself when he feels the arousal leaking out of you. “You were being naughty.” He spanks your other cheek. “Sending those pictures when we had all those people surrounding us.” For that, the next hit lands on your right cheek again and you didn’t think before you dare to open your mouth.

"Really? You haven't fucked me in a week. If you keep on doing that I'll have to start taking care of it myself."

“Just for that, I’m adding five more for raising your voice at me and disobeying me.”

He spanks you for everything he listed, caressing your sore butt in between each hit and you are on the verge of crying, the tears in your eyes about to fall down your cheeks. When you think John is finished, you release a relieved breath, but suddenly, he strikes you three more times, without any break and you cry out, squeezing your eyes shut, the tears finally rolling down.

“That was for rolling your eyes at me,” he growls before leaning down, brushing his lips against your ear as he whispers, “now, what do you call me when we are alone?” You just need a minute to catch your breath to reply, but he’s not having it. “Answer me right now, or I’ll spank your ass raw, you won’t even be able to sit right. What do you call me?” he asks again.

“Sir,” You whimper quietly, and he smiles.

“Good girl.” He forces your body up with the hand on your throat and adjusts you on the desk, but before you can make yourself comfortable, he grabs your hips, pulling you up, so your ass is in the air.

His touch disappears for a moment and when you adjust your head to be able to get at least a little peek at him, your cheek pressed against the hardwood desk, you see him loosening his tie. He grabs your arms and crosses them at your wrist on the small of your back, tying them together with the piece of fabric.

He kisses each palm and then continues up your bare arm, licking, sucking, and biting, until his lips reach your shoulder covered by the short sleeve of your dress. “You okay, sweetheart?” He knows you are, but just to be sure.

“Yes, sir,” you smile, and he kisses the exposed skin of your neck.

Then, he kneels on the floor behind you, coming face to face with your glistening cunt, and he needs to adjust himself at its sight. He curls his fingers around your thighs and starts kissing them, getting closer to your core and his eyes close on their own accord when he inhales your smell. His lips finally make contact with your lower ones, his tongue licking a stripe from your clit to your entrance before he pulls away and hums, leaving you trembling.

“John!” You whine from the loss as your frustration grows, and he bites the tender skin of your ass.

“Baby, call me that one more time, and you aren't coming for a very long time.”

Your breath shudders when you exhale, “I’m sorry, sir.”

If it was any other time and any other place, he would take his time to properly punish you, but someone could knock on the door any second, and John has honestly been dying to devour you all day.

He spreads your cheeks and leans forward, finally burying his face into your cunt, his tongue finding the little bundle of nerves, and you moan, your eyes rolling in your head from the feeling of his soft tongue relieving the ache.

He takes the bud between his lips, sucking harshly and you buck your hips, causing him to grunt, and the vibrations go straight into your clit, more slick dripping from your hole. He didn't let a single drop go to waste as he licks up to your entrance, slurping the juices along the way before he starts plunging his tongue in and out of you. You bite your lip, trying not to make too loud sounds.

“That feel good?” he pulls away to ask, replacing his tongue with his thumb as he waits for your answer, rubbing your clit in quick circles.

“So good, sir. Let me cum, please,” you whimper and he smirks.

“You’re lucky we are in a time crunch or else I would take my sweet time to take this sweet pussy apart,” to emphasize it, he thrusts his thumb into you and pinches your sensitive clit between two fingers, another moan escaping your lips.

He slides his thumb back down to your clit, quickly circling it as he dives into you again, massaging your walls with the soft muscle until the knot in your belly starts tightening. You bite onto your lips to prevent yourself from screaming as the dam finally breaks, and you are cumming, John, drinking up everything your pussy has to offer and he needs to force himself to pull away, your taste almost too addictive.

Before you know it, the sound of his belt clanking reaches your ears, and a moment later, you feel his hand on your hip while the other gets a hold of his cock, positioning the tip at your entrance before pushing himself slowly into your heat. He groans while you mewl, filling you to the hilt and giving you some time to adjust to his size.

He starts with slow thrusts once he feels you constrict around him and the hand that wasn't bruising your hip grips the knot that holds your wrists together, giving himself leverage when he begins to quicken his pace.

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby. So tight.”

And he feels incredible, too, his cock reaching all the right places, the familiar tingling reappearing again as your thighs start to quiver. He leans over you, his chest to your back as his hand on your hip slides down and starts rubbing your clit.

“You gonna cum, sweetheart?” his warm breath hits the shell of your ear. “You’re close, aren’t you? I can feel your pussy squeezing around me. God.”

“Please, sir.” You mewl, and he growls at your innocent voice, picking up his pace even more so, his thrusts becoming harder and your tied hands grasp his wrist.

“Cum for me, baby.” He nips at your ear and with a few more thrusts, you’re cumming again, not able to hold in the moans anymore. He rides you through it, chasing his own orgasm and when you feel his hot cum filling you up, he stills, his breath brushing your cheek as he pants.

Once he comes down from his high, he kisses your jaw and stands up, pulling himself from your heat, and you hiss at the feeling. He puts his cock into his boxers and zips his pants before he unties your hands, revealing the light red marks on your wrists. You stretch your hands a little before you bring them under yourself to lift yourself up, the skirt of your dress falling back down around your thighs and covering your now-glistening intimate parts. You can feel his warm cum trailing down your thighs as you attempt to stand back up.

Turning around, you stay leaning against the desk, looking up at John with those big eyes that make him weak in the knees. The corner of his mouth lifts at the sight of your dishevelled state; your hair is messy, your lips were swollen red from biting on them, a trail of dried tears run down your cheek and his cum still dripping out of you.

When you went back in front of the camera, you were evidently chirpier, your skin glowing and if anyone knew why they didn't bother bringing it up. Although, John's wide smirk when he watched you limp back to the studio might've given it away.

#john king fanfiction #john king imagine #john king x reader #john king #inside politics #cnn anchor smut #cnn anchors #requested #smut

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declanwidow · 4 years

Note

Tell me about your Julian blackthorn father's Day headcanons 👀

@lorelaigilmo said: You wanted someone to ask you abt julian blackthorn father's day headcanons and I am nothing if not a good considerate friend 😇

awwwww u guys!!!!!!!!! this got kinda out of hand bc i have FEELINGS but here we go

okay so shadowhunters don’t have father’s day, but kit mentioned it offhandedly once (some kind of one liner decimating johnny rook’s parenting skills, you know ‘once my dad threw the rock i painted for him at someone who followed us home for 4 blocks - happy father’s day!’ - btw kit totally does father’s day w jem and mina) and ty was curious about it and looked it up

he mentions it to dru and she’s down to clown and so suggests that they do some kind of father’s day celebration for julian - the scene where dru talks about julian being the person who she pictures when she thinks ‘parent’ kills me 😭

ty is a little surprised at this, still very much associating their actual dad with the idea of ‘father’s day’, but agrees that (a la ty’s letter to annabel) julian, as their primary carer for all these years - although he has stepped back a bit and gets more support now - would definitely qualify

And there is Jules. You might like him the best. He is the one who takes care of us all. He is the reason we’re all okay and still together. I don’t think he knows we know that, but we do. Sometimes he might tell us what to do or not listen, but he would do anything for any of us. People say we’re unlucky because we don’t have parents. But I think they’re unlucky because the don’t have a brother like mine.

obviously they seek out emma who is ALSO down to clown and thinks it’s a great idea because for so long julian raised all these kids alone and sacrificed his siblinghood and childhood in doing so, and it would be nice to have that pain acknowledged and his care celebrated a bit now that he’s not living in fear that the kids will be taken away from him

mark and helen have mixed feelings, they have more memories of their actual father and were raised by him before he was killed and also they were separated from their family for so long while julian was left to hold together the pieces. they feel loss and pride and sadness and joy - because they still grieve their father and their separation and julian’s sacrifices, but also see the family he raised and how much love and tenderness and happiness he managed to foster despite such awful circumstances, and agree that it would be a nice thing to do

tavvy is hugely excited - julian is the only parent he remembers and, despite no longer being his only parental figure, he and tavvy have a very special relationship (*supercut* julian sketching in tavvy’s room, julian slipping while carrying tavvy and thinking of him as ‘my baby’, tavvy’s general insistence that julian stay with him and stress/horror at being separated, tavvy saying ‘jules carry me. i’m tired. i want to go home’ and cursed!julian being like ‘hold on my baby needs me’) and tavvy dictates that they will make pancakes for jules and they will paint for jules because jules likes pancakes and painting 😌

julian, being julian, obviously is completely aware that this is going on despite them conspiring to keep it a surprise

he wakes up and smells pancakes. tavvy is peaking around his door and squeals when he sees julian is awake before throwing himself into the bed with him and tackling him. julian tries to calm tavvy down, but notices that his hands are sticky and sees some flour in his hair and is like ‘is there something going on in the kitchen?’ to which tavvy is like ‘👀 nooooo’ and then jumps out of the bed and starts running down towards the kitchen yelling ‘HE’S COMINGGGGGGGGGGGG’

julian heads down to the kitchen and finds his whole family an absolute mess, emma determinedly trying to flip a pancake (and failing lbr) with aline, dru and tavvy cheering her on, and instead of freaking out at the state of his kitchen that he used to scrub clean and burn himself in as he tried to teach himself how to cook as a child, he starts laughing and takes over the pancake making - there are protests but no one can really deny that julian is expert here

julian is then presented with his presents, a series of drawings and paintings, tavvy did three - one of him and julian, one of their whole family and one of a ladybird (all painted with his hands ofc), dru did a couple of sketches of the beach and gives julian one of the better ones, ty gives julian a painted rock and also a carefully inked drawing of a bee, mark did an impressionistic painting of the night sky, with the stars he used to use to remember them by (’like van gogh’ ‘........’ ‘the famous impressionist painter who did a starry night’ ‘........... ah!’) and helen, who says she can’t draw but is actually pretty good, did a sketch of their family that, while not as good as tavvy’s, still gets hung with the rest of them in julian’s studio

and then it’s a fairly regular day for them - training, catching up with what’s been going on in each other’s lives - especially mark and ty’s - joking around and playing games

at one point helen asks emma and aline if they would mind taking over watching the younger ones and leaves the room with mark and julian

the three oldest siblings are able to sit together and talk about their father and grieve him together

ty, who has followed them, comes in and sits with them quietly and a few minutes later emma and aline arrive behind dru and tavvy - they shoot helen twin apologetic looks, but helen just smiles back

emma goes to sit with julian and remembers how julian had killed his father and suddenly thinks that maybe this day wasn’t such a good idea after all, but julian takes her hand and squeezes it and writes ‘thank you’ onto her arm

#this got so fucking long but yes i am still blackthorn trash #tda #tsc #the blackthorns #julian blackthorn #long post #mostawesomepineapple #ty blackthorn #dru blackthorn #helen blackthorn #mark blackthorn #emma carstairs #blackstairs

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detectivecarlosreyes · 4 years

Text

Academy Together, Friends Forever 10/10

Also on Ao3

(Beginning) (Prev Chapter)

Exhausted, Buck falls back against his pillows and rolls over to check the time on his phone to see how long he had to wait before it was acceptable to be awake. 12:47am. Damn, he’d only been asleep for what? Some 3 hours? It felt like he’d be sleeping for much longer than that.

Settling back onto his back, Buck shuts his eyes with a heavy sigh knowing that It’ll be unlikely for him to sleep, especially not after a nightmare like that. Sometimes if he’s lucky, he’s able to get a few hours of shut-eye if the nightmare is just a memory on repeat, but the ones that send him reeling and in desperate need to call Eddie, well he can expect the rest of his night to be a sleepless one.

He couldn’t have been lying there for more than 20 minutes when he hears the door creak open with TK whispering, “Buck, you still awake?”

Instead of answering or opening his eyes, he pats the untouched side of the bed, beckoning TK to join him. There’s a pause before he hears the soft padding of footsteps on the carpet and then he feels the bed dip underneath TK’s weight.

They lie there quietly, listening to each other breathe until Buck can’t take the silence anymore and turns his head to look at TK curiously.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

TK blushed at the question. “Uh, I just got in from dinner actually,” He shakes his head, “but that’s not why I’m here. Are you okay?”

Buck rolls over onto his side and props up on his elbow, looking down at TK. “Am I okay? I feel like I should be asking you that.”

TK turns his head to the side to look back at him. “Buck, I heard you and dad. You just had a freaking nightmare, and you’re asking me if I’m okay?”

Buck gives him a look. “I mean, I’m not the one who woke up two days ago from a coma after being shot, nor does my dad have cancer.”

Buck knew he was deflecting the question because he didn’t have an answer for TK, and clearly TK had no response either judging by how quiet he became after that. With nothing left to say, he flops back onto his back and wedges a hand under his head. And they lie there like that, for some time after that, neither really knowing what to say until TK’s softly speaks up again.

“It’s not weird to be afraid to go back to work, right? I mean I got shot, if that can happen on the job, what else is could happen?"

“I know exactly what you mean,” he replies, matching TK’s quiet tone. “And no, I don’t think it’s weird at all, but then again I’m probably not the best person to talk to about this considering my track record...”

TK reaches down and takes hold of his wrist. “Buck, out of anyone, you’re probably the best person to talk about this because you know what it’s like. Would you tell me what it was like for you?”

Buck sighs deeply. “I’m not going to pretend it was easy because it wasn’t, even with how much as I wanted to be back at work. When I first got back, getting into the truck was the worst part for a long time, I had this constant feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach that something bad was going to happen. I’m still waiting for that feeling to go away.” He says the last part under his breath, but TK still heard him.

He continues on, “And, well, you know about the nightmares; actually, I wouldn’t be surprised if that feeling contributes to them honestly.” He sighs again, “Tonight’s wasn’t the first nightmare I’ve had relating to what happened, but it certainly was one of the worst. That’s not to say any of this will be the same for you though, I had a lot of other things happen before I was actually back at work which I’m sure made things worse.”

There was a long, drawn-out pause before TK finally says somewhat jokingly, “Ah, that explains why you look like crap.” Unsure of what else to say, choosing instead to lighten the mood; and Buck can’t help but roll his eyes in amusement and throws a pillow at him in response.

“But seriously though, dad was worried that you weren’t sleeping, I’m guessing that’s why?”

“Yeah,” Buck says softly.

Then with an air of levity, he speaks up again with a light chuckle, “Between you, me and Chim, we should start a little support group for firefighters who’ve had near-death experiences.”

“Chim?”

He’s one of the guys I work with; the man has been stabbed and he’s survived a piece of rebar in his head.”

TK looks at him in surprise, “Wow, okay, wasn’t expecting that.” His voice takes on a considering tone. “Maybe we should.”

Buck hums in response, feeling the pull of sleep tugging at his consciousness and feeling surprisingly comfortable and more relaxed than he’s ever felt so soon after a nightmare. Even if he doesn’t sleep, it still usually it takes him a couple of hours for his body and mind to settle after an intense dream, but this time, after talking with Owen and having TK lying next to him, it didn’t seem quite so bad.

He feels TK shift on the bed and releases his wrist as he fights to keep his eyes open. But before TK could move far, Buck reaches out and takes hold of his wrist stalling him in his movements.

“Would you stay?”

The request was a familiar one, except this time their roles were reversed, which is why TK doesn’t hesitate, he just pulls the covers back and settles into the bed, shuffling in close. Comforted by TK’s presence, Buck finally lets his eyes fall shut.

He feels TK gently brush away a curl from his forehead as he whispers, “You can sleep now Buck.”

And he does.

** ** **

Buck flew out later that morning feeling more rested for the first time since he’d come to Austin. Owen luckily had the morning off before work and insisted that he and TK would drive him to the airport to see him off.

Their farewell was a quick affair with Owen stopping in the departures zone, leaving the car idling and giving him an awkwardly positioned hug over the console between them and making him promise to keep in touch.

TK, on the other hand, got out of the car with him and pulled him in for a hug and whispers familiar words in his ear, “Remember great love involves great risk, maybe you should heed your own advice.”

Buck looks at him in surprise but nods nonetheless before TK climbs back into the car and raises his hand in a wave as they pull away. Hiking his bag up on his shoulder Buck heads to the terminal, with TK’s words still lingering in his thoughts.

The flight went by quickly and Buck landed back in LA just after lunchtime. Distracted by his stomach grumbling as he scrolls through his phone to pull up a rideshare app, he almost misses his name being called out.

“Buck!”

Startled, Buck slows his steps as he looks around, searching for where the voice came from until his eyes eventually land on Eddie. The man smiling in front of him was wearing his LAFD shirt, fresh off a shift no doubt, and holding up a brown paper bag that Buck is certain was containing some form of bakery goods.

“What are you doing here?” He asks as he approaches Eddie, surprised to see him, having forgotten that Eddie had said he would see him tomorrow in their call last night.

“Well you told me the other day when you were getting in, so I figured I’d pick you up, so you wouldn’t have to pay the absurd costs of an Uber to get to your place.” Eddie lightly shakes the paper bag, “and I figured you’d be hungry. Your favourite, the double choc chip muffins from that vegan bakery you like.”

“Eddie I- thank you.” He ends up saying gratefully, at a loss for words.

If Buck wasn’t already feeling that he might be in love with Eddie, he certainly was now. He probably would have denied such claims up until this moment, with this simple gesture sending him jumping off into the deep end. No one has ever done something like this for him just because they wanted to.

As they walk to Eddie’s truck in the parking lot, Buck makes the conscious decision to walk close enough that their arms brushed almost constantly. With this close proximity, he tentatively knocks his hand against Eddie’s and waits to see if Eddie pulls away, putting some distance between them. He doesn’t.

Encouraged by the lack of a negative response, Buck knocks his hand once again against Eddie’s before gently taking his hand in his own and laces their fingers together. Trying not to make a big deal out of it, he doesn’t look directly at Eddie, allowing him to accept or reject the action without it being a thing.

He sees out of the corner of his eye Eddie looking down at their joined hands before he looks away and brings Buck’s hand up to his mouth and presses a tender kiss to the back of his hand, making it clear to Buck that the feeling was mutual.

He must have let out an audible sigh of relief as they arrive at the truck, because Eddie turns to him, claiming all of his attention with a soft smile.

“I wondered when you were finally going to make a move.”

“Well I guess this was a long time coming, wasn’t it? And all it took to send me over the edge was for you to bring me muffins at the airport.” Buck says, grinning back at Eddie.

Eddie lightly presses the bag of muffins into Buck’s chest and gives his hand a little squeeze before letting go to move to the driver’s side of the truck. Buck smiles to himself before getting in, thinking that yeah, maybe the Dalai Lama was onto something.

** ** **

No matter how good his day could be, Buck can never predict what his night would bring. Tonight, it ended up being another nearly sleepless night and although it was nowhere near as bad as his last night in Austin, it still left him exhausted all the same.

When he pulls into work that morning, the parking spaces were only half full, with both Eddie and Bobby having arrived before him. And just like every other day that he’s had a nightmare beforehand, Buck throws on what he hopes is a cheerful expression and walks between the trucks like he hasn’t a care in the world.

Eddie was still in the locker room tying his shoes when he arrived and as he looks up to return his greeting, Eddie’s smile quickly turned into a small frown.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” Buck asks, wiping away at non-existent crumbs that he thought might have been stuck around his lips from his quick breakfast.

Buck could see the concern brewing in Eddie’s eyes, “You had another nightmare last night, didn’t you?”

Not wanting to lie to Eddie Buck sighs and nods, letting his mask fall away, what was the point in hiding it if Eddie knew the truth anyway. At his answer, Eddie gets up off of the bench seat and steps in close to Buck.

“I’m worried about you Buck, I thought they had gone away months ago but then you called me the other night and…” Eddie trails off, truly looking at Buck with fresh eyes and lets out a barely audible gasp, “They never stopped, did they?” Buck presses his lips together and reluctantly nods again.

“Buck, I’m sorry I didn’t notice it before.”

Buck shakes his head at Eddie, “It’s not your fault, Eddie. I tried to keep it all to myself,” He takes in a deep breath, “but I’ve realised, with some help, that I should actually talk to someone about it properly.”

“Good,” Eddie breathes out, “I’m glad.”

They stand there practically chest to chest until Eddie’s eyes widen slightly, having just noticed their close proximity, causing Buck to suppress a chuckle. They had agreed to keep whatever their relationship was under wraps until they were ready, meaning that included keeping things professional at work which of course they would do regardless of their relationship status.

Buck turns away with a smirk and quickly changes into his uniform before going to seek out Bobby, who he of course finds in the kitchen.

“Buck! Good to see you back! I take it everything is okay now?”

“Yeah but honestly, I don’t know if the trip ended up being more beneficial for them or for me. There was a lot we apparently hadn’t talked about. Actually, that’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Bobby pauses minutely before continuing with making them each a mug of coffee, “Oh?”

“I- uh, I was wondering if you could me give Frank’s number again, I can’t remember where I put the last card you gave me.”

Bobby slides Buck’s mug to him and takes a sip of his own. “Of course. Is this something I need to know about?”

Buck scratches behind his ear, “I- yes- no- probably? I’ve been having nightmares for a while now,” he admits with a grimace, might as well get it all out there, “since the ladder truck really.”

Bobby’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at that answer and he sets down his mug carefully. “I had no idea.”

Buck shrugs. “I hid it well. Not your fault.”

“Well, I’m glad you came to me. Come on, let's go to my office and I’ll get you one of his cards.”

Bobby gives him a look as he rifles through his desk drawers, “Actually, I thought this was going to be about a curious report I got from Captain Strand detailing an off duty 118 firefighter, who happened to do a rescue without any gear and got himself injured enough to warrant a trip to the hospital. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?”

Buck surges forward, “Bobby, I swear it’s not as bad as it sounds, I just got caught on some glass and had to get some stitches. I wouldn’t be here if it was a problem.”

Bobby gives him an assessing look as he hands him Frank’s card. “I trust you, Buck. But if I have to, I will put you on light duty just until the cuts have healed enough.” He ends up saying softly.

Nodding Buck takes the card, accepting the conditions without protest while feeling lighter with the knowledge that Bobby finally knows everything and trusts him enough to allow him to keep working.

** ** **

~ Epilogue ~

It was a few days later and Buck was just leaving his first appointment with Frank, feeling as though things might actually turn out alright when his phone rings. Surprised to see TK’s caller ID so soon, he quickly accepts the call.

“Hey TK, how’s it going? I heard you had an insane solar storm yesterday.” He says as he pushes his way through the building’s front door. His eyes seek out Eddie who had promised him to drive him to his appointment in moral support in case it didn't go well.

“Yeah Buck, I’m good. That’s actually why I’m calling.”

Seeing Eddie leaning against the side of his truck as he walks up, Buck gives him a smile before pointing to the phone and mouthing “TK” to him. “Oh yeah?”

“You were right. There was this accident and I let my instincts take over and I just reacted, helping this lady trapped in an overturned bus during the storm. Firefighting is what I want to be doing.”

“I’m happy you’ve figured it out, I knew you would.”

“And Carlos and I are finally boyfriends too, I wanted to thank you for giving me that little push.”

Buck chuckles, “That’s so great to hear!” He looks at Eddie who was watching him fondly with his warm brown eyes, “And you know what, I should be thanking you too for throwing my advice back in my face.”

“So, you finally took the risk with Eddie, huh?”

He smiles to himself and scuffs his shoe on the asphalt, “Yeah, and it was the best choice I could’ve made.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Buck. Things seem to be looking up for us.”

“Looks like it.” Buck looks down at his watch. “Hey listen, I’ve got to go, but talk soon yeah? And tell Owen I said hi.”

“Yeah, of course. Talk soon Buck.”

Buck finally hangs up the phone and gives his full attention to Eddie who had been waiting patiently for him to finish the call. He leans down and softly presses a kiss to his lips.

“Hey,” he says with a smile.

“Hey yourself,” replies Eddie, “How’d it go?” he asks as they get into the truck.

“It went surprisingly well, I think. There’s a lot of stuff for us to unpack, but I know it’ll be worth it in the long run.”

“That’s good to hear. Now, what’s say you to coming with me to pick Chris up from school?”

“I’d love to, as long as we stop to get ice cream after.” Eddie gives him a look, “What? It’s an ice cream sort of day.”

Eddie rolls his eyes at him with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Now how could I say no to that.”

Buck watches Eddie contentedly as he drives. Yeah, things were looking up alright, and he can’t wait to see where they go from here.

~ Fin ~

Tags💖: @bisexualbuck @judsonryder @buckleyevan @seaofashes @justsmilestuffhappens @benjisvictor @diazbuckleysworld @diazsbuckley @confessions-of-a-shipperholic @spell-of-the-rain @novemberhush @black-forest-girl @bluebelle88 @adamngoodbuck @overtimeme @captain--sif @rachbabe007

#jess writes #my fic #long fic #we finally made it to the end #thankyou for following along with me on this if you’re still reading it that is!!#I don’t think I’ll be writing a multi chapter fic for a while now #911 #9-1-1 #9 1 1 x 9 1 1 lone star #evan buckey #tk strand #owen strand #eddie diaz #captain bobby nash #mentions of nightmares

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babyshawwn · 5 years

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Family

Word count: 3,9k.

MASTERLIST

“Dad, you home?” Shawn yells after unlocking the front door to his parents’ house in Pickering.

You haven’t been back here for a while but as soon as you step through the door, you feel at home. Comfortable and safe.

Their house looks the same, the only thing changed since last time is the newest additions of photos hanging on the wall in their hall. You smile shortly when you see Karen’s favourite picture of Shawn. The one with the Harry Potter shirt, the questionable haircut and braces when he’s around seven years old.

You feel Shawn’s hand slip down your back before he removes his palm to find your hand instead.

“Hey dad, you here?” He yells again, his eyes searching the familiar rooms.

Your eyes catch another photo and you suddenly feel a warmth rushing down your spine as the heat raises in your cheeks. It’s a photo of you.

Just you.

At your graduation, wearing the blue dress Manny went to pick out with you. Karen and your mother offered to come, but since they are both into loads of pink and an insane amount of glitter, you didn’t hesitate when Manny offered taking you instead.

Karen and Manny have plenty of photos with Shawn and you hanging around the house, some with both Shawn, Aaliyah and you as well, but you have never seen a photo of just you here. It allows your heart to grow just a little as another smile spread on your lips.

“I think he’s in the backyard.” Shawn says with a laughter. “Doing ‘gardening’, you know?”

Shawn rolls his eyes and you can’t help but laugh. You are both aware that Manny absolutely hates gardening but it’s the perfect excuse for him to take a little nap or read a book undisturbed.

Shawn leans forward to kiss you, his hand sliding behind your neck. You place your hand on his chest while feeling his heart pound in a steady pace.

“God, you’re shaking.” Shawn mumbles with a small smile on his lips. He places his hand on yours and you feel the heat in your cheeks in the matter of seconds.

“I am a little nervous, I guess.” You shrug, your eyes darting towards the floor.

It’s a lie, though. You are beyond nervous, you’re at the point of a nervous breakdown.

You chew on your bottom lip as you feel another wave of nausea spread to your stomach. Shawn uses his thumb to lift your chin, forcing your unsure eyes to meet his. They are warm and loving and it makes you somewhat calmer.

“Hey.” He tells you, his thumb sliding across your quivering lips. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

You hear the honesty in his words but you have a hard time believing them. You know it’s stupid but you’re afraid of rejection.

“That’s easy for you to say.” You tell Shawn, your head shaking lightly. “He’s your father.”

Shawn’s smile fades a little while he removes a tot of hair from your face and places it behind your ear. He stares at you for a moment, knowing you still have scars on your heart, he can’t possibly mend for you.

He leans down to kiss your lips tenderly causing you to moan softly into his mouth. He allows his forehead to rest against yours, finding your hands to give you a slight embrace. He feels them shake and his heart starts to ache from knowing you’re suffering slightly at the moment.

“I know this is somewhat terrifying for you.” He says with a sigh, his soft eyes watching you carefully. “But there’s nothing to be scared about, okay? My dad loves you, you know that. My mum too.”

“I just… I’m just...” You struggle to find the words to describe your fears. “But what if they someday decide they don’t anymore?” Shawn feels a yank in his heart caused by your question.

“Honey, I-“ He looks you straight in the eyes to make sure you’re listening to him. “I know people in your life have a habit of disappearing. But we won’t ever do that. We won’t walk out on you.”

You feel tears form in your eyes but you refuse to let them win. You nod at Shawn, shutting your eyes while taking a few deep breaths. You know he’s right but that doesn’t stop you from doubting.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry I’m being dramatic.” You apologise with a stutter.

“No, don’t apologise.” He interrupts, embracing you immediately. “If I had been through what you have, I would question people constantly too.”

You send Shawn a smile while you lower your head to rest on his shoulder. He holds you close and allows you to collect yourself a little. His hands are rubbing your back and he’s planting tender kisses on the top of your hair.

“Thank you, Shawn. For always being so understanding.” You mutter against his chest, swallowing the lump in your dry throat.

“You still want to do it? Because you don’t have to. If it’s not what you want, we don’t have to do it.” Shawn tells you, leaning back to find your eyes.

“No, I want to ask him. It’s what I want.”

“So let’s go talk to him, okay? Everything will be fine.” Shawn says, kissing your forehead softly. “I promise you.”

He holds your hand as you walk through the house, entering the kitchen and make your way towards the door to the yard. You feel your heart pounding against your chest hard enough for you to feel a slight ache. Your hands are sweaty and you wonder how much Shawn notice from holding the left one.

When you turn around the corner of the house, your eyes catch Manny in his usual chair with his feet on the garden table while reading a book. He doesn’t notice you until Shawn clears his throat with a laughter causing Manny drop his book in a shudder.

“Jesus kids, you startled me.” He laughs while Shawn shakes his head.

“So much for gardening, eh?”

“Please don’t tell your mother.” Manny jokes while getting on his feet.

He goes to hug Shawn tightly before wrapping his arms around your body to give you an embrace as well. He rubs your back friendly like he always does and you feel a warmth grow in your chest.

You’re not too fond of physical contact, mostly because you’ve never been used to it, but Shawn’s entire family sure is. Especially Manny is a hugger and over the years, you have grown to love his fatherly embraces.

“I didn’t know you were coming today.” Manny smiles, his hand padding Shawn’s shoulder. You can tell from his smile that he’s excited to see his son.

“It was spontaneous.” You say with a smile, though you feel your body vibrating with nerves.

“We actually have a thing to ask you.” Shawn says, reaching for a chair to sit down. “Or y/n has something to ask you.” Shawn’s eyes fall on yours and you feel a bundle of knots in your stomach.

“Oh, well then I’m all ears.” Manny smiles while sitting down as well.

As you reach for a chair too, you feel your mouth drying and your tongue tying. It’s going to be harder than you originally thought and now there is no turning back.

Shawn places his hand on your back, giving you small rubs and soft smiles to make you feel somewhat secure. You don’t look at him but you’re thankful for his support.

You open your mouth several times wanting to say something but you always find yourself choking on whatever words you seem to find. Your hands are in your lap, your fingers playing nervously to cope with the stress you’re feeling at the moment.

“We want to talk about some wedding stuff.” Shawn says as he realises you need a little help to begin with.

You watch as Manny turns into a wide smile and you can see the happiness in his eyes almost immediately. You love how excited Shawn’s father seems to get by the thought of Shawn marrying you.

“How is it going? You’re making progress with the planning?”

“Yeah, I think we’re getting close.” Shawn reply, looking to his side to find your eyes. You nod in agreement but you remain silent next to him.

“We talked to the priest last week and we’ve booked the hotel we went to see a couple of days ago.”

“Oh, that was a beautiful place.” Manny interrupts. “I loved the flower theme they had going on.”

“It was beautiful.” You agree, your cheeks feeling like pure fire. “Exactly our taste.”

“Yes, I could picture you two lovebirds getting married there.” Manny nods, taking a sip of his glass of water.

“So the thing we need to ask you about…” Shawn begins, eyes falling to you.

He finds your hand under the table and gives you a slight squeeze. You nod at him while forcing a deep breath into your sore lungs. Manny leans back in his seat, waiting patiently for either of you to speak.

“Well as you know, I don’t have much family. My mum’s kind of in and out and my dad has never really been around.” You stumble over your fragile words, eyes flickering to avoid all contact. “And you know… I’ve really struggled with that during the wedding planning because well… Weddings are supposed to be spend with your family… And-“

The words roll off your tongue but the ache in your heart grows into discomfort, you feel your cheeks heating and suddenly, you’re unsure of what to say.

“You’re doing great, love.” Shawn assures you, his hand sliding to your knee to give you a comforting embrace.

Shawn might not fully understand what it was like growing up without a stable family, without a dad when he’s had the best one he could ever ask for. He doesn’t always get the things that make you insecure and he definitely doesn’t always understand your reaction to some things, but he does, with his while heart, wish for you to feel like a part of the family.

“You know, I’ve felt so welcome in your house. You and Karen have been really good to me since I started dating Shawn and I’m really grateful for that. And I don’t know much about families or how they function but seeing yours really makes me believe in a good family dynamic.”

You’re not sure where you’re going with this or how it will turn out, but the words blur from your mouth without your control. Your eyes flicker to Manny’s and you force down a breath as he sends you a smile.

“And I really want that. I want to be a part of that and I hope to be a part of it when I marry Shawn.”

You can tell Manny wants to speak, but you don’t allow him. You need to get this off your chest as soon as possible and from the way he nods at you, you think he can tell.

“I wanted to ask you, Manny. If maybe you would walk me down the aisle?” You heart stops for a moment. “I don’t have anyone else to do it and I would really like it to be you. You may not be my father but you’re the closest I get to one. It would really mean a lot to me.”

“It would mean a lot to me too, dad.” Shawn joins.

Manny stays silent for what feels like forever while you hold your breath uncomfortably.

Shawn’s hand slips to your knee and he gives you a light embrace to calm you down. It doesn’t work, though. You wonder whether or not it was too much to ask, whether or not you crossed a line or whatever and with those thoughts you feel your throat tighten.

Your stomach is in knots and you are beginning to feel somewhat ill. Your eyes flicker from your fiancés father to the surface of the table in their garden.

And then, to your surprise, you hear a slight sobbing sound across from you. You raise your stare and your eyes fall on Manny.

He’s in tears.

He’s in tears but he’s smiling widely towards you. In those seconds, your heart feel at ease. Shawn’s hand on your knee tighten and without looking towards him, you know tears are forming in his eyes as well.

Manny removes his glasses from his wet face while using his arm to wipe the tears from his cheeks. Shawn can’t hold back his tears and they are now slipping down his flushed cheeks while he witnesses this incredibly special moment between his father and his fiancée.

Manny leans across the table while reaching for your cheeks with both his hands and begins to kiss your forehead while tears continue to fall from his eyes.

“Minha menina, minha doce menina.” Manny says to you.

You are not entirely sure what it means but judging from Shawn’s wide smile, you are certain is something sweet. Manny looks towards Shawn to ask him a question in Portuguese.

“Ela realmente quer que eu ofaça?” Manny ask and Shawn nods.

You weren’t aware Shawn knew enough Portuguese to understand his father’s words. The guy continues to surprise you.

“Give me your hands.” Manny tells you, allowing his hands to slip to the middle of the wooden table. Yours do the same until you reach him and he gives you a warm squeeze.

“I would be absolutely honoured to walk you down the aisle.” You share a moment with Manny while the tears fall uncontrollably from your swollen eyes. Your heart is aching but this time it’s from relief. “Nothing would make me prouder than to give you away to my son. And I am proud you think of me as a father figure.”

With tears in your eyes, you chew on your bottom lip to prevent loud sobs from slipping out. Suddenly, a burden has been lifted from your shoulders and you feel ten ponds lighter. The knots in your stomach seem to disappear with the first deep breath of air you take. Finally, you feel at ease and the pressure on your chest is entirely gone.

It might be stupid to others but since the night Shawn proposed to you, all you could think about was who was going to walk you down the aisle. Your father left when you were five and he never looked back.

You missed out on all those things your entire life, all those moments you’re supposed to share with a father and though you didn’t want to fully admit it, you didn’t want to miss out on a moment as special as that at your wedding.

You had been nervous to ask Manny the question, a complete wreck. Though you have easily grown to be a part of their life, there is always that constant doubt in the back of your mind that maybe these people will turn their back on you. If your biological father didn’t think you are good enough to love, then why would other people think you are.

You turn to face Shawn who’s already starting at you with a smile on his lips and tears in his eyes. He pushes back a few wild curls and lets his hand caress your wet cheek. Shawn sees the relief in your eyes and his heart is filled with happiness from the sight.

He knows these last few months of wedding planning have been tough on you. Shawn has his entire family pitching in, coming up with ideas and doing research, tagging along to whatever either of you needed them to.

Sure, your mother had joined once or twice whenever she felt like it but it was never fully the same and Shawn always notice how it breaks your heart just a little more.

“She was scared of asking you, you know?” Shawn tells his father as your eyes shoot him down. He fully decides to ignore your stare.

Manny wrinkles his forehead and lets his eyes fall on you again, a worry looks burning towards you.

“Why would you be scared of that, minha filha?”

You feel a punch in your guts while your hands begin to shake. Shawn notice and he reaches to take your hand in his, his thumb stroking your knuckles.

“You can tell him.” Shawn nods.

Though you hate him for a split second for mentioning this, you know that putting words on your feelings might help handle them better in the future.

You’re unable to hold back the years while your mind wanders to dark places.

“You guys are just really important to me.” You sob, choking on the words through the sentence. “And I’d really like to be a part of a family. Of this family.”

Shawn takes your hand to his mouth and gives you a couple of sweet kisses. You feel the uncomfortable lump in your throat as you struggle to breathe through the tears.

“And I guess I’m really afraid that maybe I’m not enough for you. Maybe I’m not… I don’t know. I don’t want to lose either of you.” You confess, feeling a raising pressure in your heart.

Shawn looks at your fragile expression and his heart sinks to his stomach. His heart begins to hurt because he’s fully aware you have never had a healthy family dynamic to lean on.

He hates that you question yourself because your father left you behind when you were five years old, he hates how you always wonder your worth and think you’re undeserving of love. Shawn hates that you are too scared to trust people fully, fearing they might choose to leave you behind at any point. He hates that you don’t feel secure and that you never had a father figure to lean on.

Shawn knows his father feels the same, they have had plenty of father-son talks about it without your knowledge. Shawn’s hope for when you get married is that you finally feel like you have a family, like you’re a part of a home and that you know in your heart, these people will never leave you.

The tears roll from Shawn’s flushed face as he watches you suffer besides him, he’s too numb to react and therefore, his father steps in.

“Listen to me, kid.” Manny says while handing you a tissue to dry your eyes. “I am so happy that my son is marrying such a strong woman like you. I know you hurt, querida. I know you grief your father on a daily. But you know what? You’re a wonderful and intelligent young woman and you got here all by yourself. You grew up just fine without, I mean look at you.” Manny says and manage to make you smile at his words.

“I don’t want my past to prevent me from having a future. A future with Shawn.” You stutter, wiping tears from your face.

Manny feels a yank in his heart from your honest words, wondering how a father could purposely hurt their daughter in the ways you have been hurt.

“No more beating yourself down, no more thinking you’re not worth good things because you are. You have been a part of this family since the first time Shawn brought you home. You’re as much a daughter to me as Aaliyah. Family isn’t just about sharing blood, family is about love and trust.” Manny tells you, his heart dropping to his guts.

He feels sad even saying these words. Shawn leans closer to your face and plant a kiss on your wet cheek. He buries his nose into your neck while taking a deep breath.

“Family are people who sticks with you. I know you’ve never learnt that, honey. But it’s the people who are there constantly. Through ups and down. People who loves you unconditionally like I love you.” Shawn tells you, pecking to your skin tenderly. You smile at his words.

“And I see how happy you make my son. I know you love him with everything you have. You stand by him and you care for him. Karen and I, we couldn’t have asked for anyone better to welcome into our family. We love you.”

While Shawn is listening to his father talk, he feels beyond lucky to have the parents he does. They have since the first meeting taken you in and acted as if you were their own.

Shawn remembers that when his mother had first learned about your past after meeting your mother one of the days she actually came to pick you up, Karen had given Shawn a hug and told him that whenever you were feeling lonely or when you needed a safe place to turn to, Shawn should bring you here. No matter the day, no matter the time. He had to bring you here because no child deserves to feel alone.

“And I love you guys so much.” You assure Manny with a smile, then you turn to Shawn. “And I love you, Shawn. With everything I have, day in and day out.”

“Likewise.” Shawn mumbles while leaning in to kiss you.

“Thank you, Manny.” You say, raising from the chair to hug him. “I really needed to hear this. I really needed a pep talk.”

Manny wraps your arms around you and hugs you tight.

“It’s what fathers do.” He whispers to you as a warmth spread in your chest. “You’re going to be the most beautiful bride and I can’t wait to walk you down the aisle.”

Shawn hugs his father as well, feeling more blessed than ever to have such wonderful and heartwarming parents.

“We better get going, dad.” Shawn tells him, while reaching for your hand.

“Shawn’s dropping me off at my fitting.” You interrupt with a smile.

“Have you found the dress?” Manny asks excited as his eyes widen.

“I have, it’s beautiful.” You nod with a laughter.

“Send me a picture, okay? I have to colour coordinate.” Manny says with a laughter.

“I will.” You promise him as Shawn yells a goodbye.

You walk through the house to reach the car. Before Shawn opens the door for you, he steps in front of you to meet your eyes.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Shawn whisper in your ear as your smiles grow. Your heart fills with love and it spreads to your bones.

“No, it was perfect.” You tell him, planting a few kisses on his soft lips. “Thank you for coming with me.”

“I’ll do anything for you, wifey.” Shawn laughs as he leans down to kiss you.

“I really can’t wait to marry you.” You tell him, rubbing your nose against his. “Thank you for always standing by my side.”

“Whenever you need me, I’ll be here. Promise.”

All you ever did was look for love to fill the space in your heart and after all these years of being on your own, you finally found what you had been looking for all along.

When you marry Shawn within the next five months, you don’t just get a husband. You get a family, a place to belong, a home.

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes cute #shawn mendes fluffy

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gallickingun · 4 years

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hofortendou x nishinoya || gallickingun matchups

@hofortendou : first off conGRATS !! i’m so glad to see that your blog keeps growing! also i would like to participate in your matchup event! i would like a male match from haikyuu 🥰 i’m (she/her) 5’4”, short-ish haired brunette with big hazel eyes (i’m talkin’ tim burton scale) and covered in freckles. I do digital art both as a hobby and for uni, i play video games, watch too much anime, i longboard when i can or if it’s a particularly nice day out, and i absolutely love plants, like they’re all over my apt. if i had to give myself an aesthetic i’d say a mix between art mom n grunge, i think? i usually wear a hoodie and shorts/sweats bc i work from home but i’m a sucker for cropped jackets/shirts w mom jeans and docs when i need to actually get dressed. i like to learn new things and am v organized but not overbearing w it, my personality is very open minded, intro-extroverted and humor based but i’m literally baby and WILL cry if you raise your voice at me. that being said i’m v affectionate and love me some tenderness. if i had to look for anything in a partner it’d be sympathy and humor, for sure. and i would love to go do something fun like roller skating or walk around a fair for a first date, something memorable and not super basic, y’know? ty and ily moe ❤️

Thank you so much for participating! I really hope you like this! And thank you again for supporting me, it means the whole entire world 🧡

Warning: Slight NSFW ahead! Under the cut~

― Noya supports going out or staying in - whether that’s trying a new Thai place, or watching anime on the couch. Sometimes you gotta paint the town red, other times you have to chill out on the sofa! ― He’s affectionate as all get out, absolutely adores and requires to touch you at all times. Hand in your pocket, hand in your hand, hand on your waist. Once you two get comfortable enough with each other, he’ll kiss you in public if you’re okay with it, he’ll hold your hand at all times, and will definitely make sure that everyone knows the two of you are grossly in love. ― I think your aesthetics would go really well together! Noya canonically loves the color black, so I think that your grunge aesthetics would go together, even if you both like to switch it up from time to time.

☁ Nishinoya absolutely adores you. To the point where you’re not sure sometimes if he’s genuine or not. Whether you’re fully decked out in a complete face of makeup and a full snazzy dress, or lounging around the house in one of his old jerseys and some joggers.. that man is going to remind you how beautiful you are.

☁ He definitely wants to kick your ass in video games, though. He has a radical competitive streak, no matter what the activity is or if he’s done it before. It will be his first time playing Mario Kart and he’ll jump up and down on the couch, mashing buttons and squealing at the top of his lungs every time he gets thrown off the track. If it’s more FPS style games, he talks too loud and pretends to know what he’s talking about by using slang that he’s heard from his other friends who play video games a little more.

☁ Noya loves it when you wear crop tops - sweatshirts, tanks, tees, etc. - he likes to sneak his hands along your waist and up your shoulders. His thumbs run along your ribs and he pulls you in closer all the time, nuzzling your nose and whispering sappy compliments and corny pick up lines and raunchy one liners. He ducks his head into your neck and as he’s pressing kisses to your skin, his fingertips are searing into your waist, and you feel completely lightheaded at being so overwhelmed by his closeness.

☁ He gets loud from time to time, but when you shy away from him or possibly even tear up, he’s immediately bringing his voice down a few octaves and rushing forward to apologize and comfort you. His hands find your face and his voice is gentle, eyes warm as he looks across at you to

☁ There is a pretty heavy praise and worship between the two of you - Nishinoya loves to kiss your lips and tell you how pretty your eyes are and how good you take him and how beautiful your body looks while he’s fucking into you slow and deep. He’ll whisper with his nose against your temple, his lips against the shell of your ear, “Such a good girl, damn, you’re gorgeous. Look so pretty when you’re taking me just like this,” and then he makes your pussy cream with his fingers sneaked between your hips to find that precious bundle of nerves.

☁ On the same hand, he loves it when you whimper praises into the thin air between your bodies. You whimper, gasping out, “N-Noya, love your cock, please, fill me up, I-I want more.” And oh, does he deliver. Somehow he’s able to keep stretching you out and filling you up, even when you both think your cunt has sucked him in to the base. You tell him in blundering babbles how strong he is and how safe you feel with him, and the sound of you doting on him with your words is what makes his cock twitch just before he coats your walls white.

☁ At least once a month you two have a veg out on the couch night. Noya orders dinner, you put together a blanket nest, and you two snuggle down into the corner of the couch and watch whatever reruns or new anime is on that you’ve both decided to watch. He’ll ask you a million questions if he’s never seen it before, even if you haven’t seen it before, because he’s just so curious to know how it ends even though he doesn’t really want you to tell him.

☁ Nishinoya wants to do everything you love, no matter if he’s truly interested in it or not. It’s important to you, so it’s important to him. However, he really has a short attention span, so unless it’s something super stimulating, you’ll need to be willing to redirect him whenever necessary. You might need to stop for food in the middle just to break it all up.

☁ Affectionate? Please. Nishinoya can’t keep his hands off of you. If you’re in the same room together, he’s stood next to you, hand in your back pocket or arm around your shoulder. Everyone knows you two are together from the moment you set foot anywhere because he’s kissing your forehead or you’re leaning into his bicep or you’re holding each other around the waist. Sometimes the others have to remind you that you’re in public, even though Noya is just giving you a lil’ forehead smooch.

☁ Noya is a pretty joking guy, even though he does have his serious moments. He and Asahi are really close and he knows how to joke with him, so he learns from that and uses it to determine how far he can go with you so far as sarcasm and banter. He nudges your ribs and giggles in your ear and tells too many jokes sometimes, but you love it. There are times when he takes it too far, though, and the first time you get upset because of something he said, he’s apologizing for days and latching himself onto you like a koala. You have to tell him a dozen times over that you’re okay, so long as he doesn’t tell that joke again.

"It’s hot! And I’m not getting any better at this!” Noya groans, dropping back on the concrete so he’s laid out, sprawled limbs spread out every which way. He drapes his arm over his face to cover his eyes from the beating sun, his lips pulled into a pout, “Please, can’t we eat?!”

You chuckle, squatting beside him to tickle the little sliver of skin that’s peeking out from under the hem of his shirt from where he’s caused it to ride up by moving his arms around. “C’mon, Yuu, you’re not going to quit on me now, are you?”

Noya groans, rolling onto his side so he can rest his cheek against the tops of your knees, “But it’s hot and I’m hungry. We’ve been at this for hours!”

“It’s been twenty minutes.”

“Well-”

“It’s fine, babe,” you tell him, running your fingers through his hair, pulling gently at the brunette strands with your digits. Another chuckle shakes your chest and he turns his head to look at you, thankful that your body is blocking the direct sunlight, “I don’t want to not learn, honey, I just forgot to eat breakfast. Maybe we can grab something, go for a swim, and then try again?”

You do as he says, finding a food cart to grab something small to eat and scarfing it down on a picnic table that’s centered along the pavilion that overlooks the beach. You hold hands underneath the table, your palms rested on Noya’s knee. He’ll play with your fingers, squeezing your knuckles and following the curve of your palm down to your wrist. It feels that sometimes he’s even checking your pulse to make sure that you’re still okay, still with him. As if he cannot believe that this isn’t some sort of dream that he has the ecstasy of reliving every day.

As you drop your tee shirt to reveal your bathing suit, you can’t help but notice Noya’s eyes are all over your frame. He comes up behind you before you can turn around to admonish him for undressing you with his eyes in front of everyone here on the beach, and his arms wrap around your waist, head tucked into your neck. When he speaks, his voice is husky and it sends a jolt of electricity directly to your core, “We could always just go home-”

“You promised, Noya!” You whine, circling your hands around his wrist and tugging playfully. He groans and bares his teeth to your shoulder, sucking one harsh time before releasing you, “Only because I’m completely whipped for you, babe.”

Your feet hit the water and Noya is flying past you into the waves, screaming at the top of his lungs before he plunges into the sea. You can’t contain the giggles that part your lips, covering your mouth with your hand as the waves crash into your shins. You’re meeting him halfway, floating in the ocean water up to your shoulders, your body folded at the waist beneath the crest of the waves, “You’re so dramatic, Yuu.”

“You wouldn’t have me any other way, would you?” he asks, eyes still burning with that familiar flame as he tugs you by your hips so you’re straddling his waist beneath the water. You gasp as he rolls his hips up into you, the feel of his thick length hardening against your thigh, “N-Noya-”

“Shh,” his voice is accented by the feel of his middle finger slipping your bathing suit to he side, “Keep quiet, baby girl, and I’ll make sure we both feel good.”

Your voice is lost in your throat, irises swallowed by your pupils when the first languid stroke of his fingers finds your innermost folds. Nishinoya pulls your chin with his free hand, tilting your head so he can kiss you on the mouth, eliciting a gasp from the back of your throat, “That’s not quiet, baby. Try again.”

The way you gulp and nod your head makes him chuckle, but he can’t keep himself from you, and before you know it, he’s devouring you from both ends.

Please check HERE to see if I’ve done your matchup already. Remember, I will also post your matchup with the tag: “#emoji-matchup”, using your emoji in place of the word, so if you can remember your emoji, you can search my blog for that tag to see if I have completed it already!

#nishinoya yuu #nishinoya matchup #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! matchup #hq matchup #nishinoya yuu matchup #nishinoya hq #nishinoya haikyuu #morgan does matchups #hofortendou #💌 matchup

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ao3porcelainstorm · 3 years

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poison ivy & stinging nettles 25

On Ao3

Masterlist

Pairing: Sherlock/OFC

Rated: M

Warnings: eventual violence, torture, swears, adult themes (no explicit smut)

Chapter 24 - Chapter 26

Chapter 25- Sunflower

“I understand that this is a good idea for the long term,” Amelia said. “I really do, but I think we should have started with something simpler.”

She, Sherlock, and John were in her bedroom, with John carefully wrapping the potentially broken ankle she had managed during that day’s “training”.

“You need to be careful with this ankle,” John scolded. “You’re too old to keep injuring the same spots over and over.”

“That was months ago,” Amelia protested, but paled when John pressed a finger into a particularly tender spot. “I’m not old. I’m young compared to the two of you grumpy old men.”

“I don’t understand what was so difficult about the instructions,” Sherlock complained, lounging in Amelia’s chair by her fireplace. “I warned you to jump.”

“And then you pushed me over!” she insisted. “That’s not a jump, that’s a dodge or move out of the way.”

“I was trying to surprise you,” he explained. “A real threat isn’t going to announce what you need to do.”

“It’s been a month, I can barely throw a punch,” she replied.

“The bruise on his shoulder suggests otherwise,” John supplied quietly, tying off the wrap. “You should be all set. I’ll see if we can get you in for X-rays in the morning.”

“It didn’t take me this long to learn self-defense,” Sherlock continued, tossing a bundle of hair scrunchies in the air above him.

“I’m incredibly out of shape, and have noodles for limps,” Amelia added. “I’m not even attempting to attack this at the level you would have. I’d die.”

“I think you’re doing great,” John assured her. “You’re getting faster and your reflexes are getting better.”

“John’s my new head coach,” she high fived the doctor.

“John’s in charge of firearms,” Sherlock turned to face them. “We’ve been over this.”

“There was that nice Judo guy who wanted to show me something,” Amelia reminded him. “You just get mad when anyone else touches me.”

“That’s not true, I’m fine when you hug John,” he stated.

“Hug,” Amelia repeated with a laugh toward John. “He’s fine when we hug.”

“You’re too casually affectionate in general, but as long as it’s directed toward our friends, that’s tolerable,” he clarified.

“I’ll keep that in mind for my afternoon shag with Judo guy,” she retorted.

He looked to John for support, but the doctor did what he did best when the pair disagreed- held his hands up and backed out of the room.

“Not my fight,” he replied. “I’m going to shower.”

“I’m not casually affectionate,” she paused. “Just to you guys. And Mrs. Hudson. And Molly of course.”

“You touch everyone and everything at all times,” he raised a brow. “You’re very open with your feelings.”

“Oh,” she replied, voice dropping. “That’s not ideal, is it?”

If she was going to play detective with him and John, it probably was not in anyone’s best interest to show what she was truly thinking at a crime scene.

“Do you need to conceal your true thoughts on anything?” he asked.

She considered the question. If she was being frank, the answer was no. Most of her time was spent around those she cared for and loved. If she was happy, she was happy. If not, she certainly was not the type to try and hide it for very long.

“Am I a bad liar?” she asked.

“You have a tell,” he replied, leaning forward with a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“What is it?”

“You laugh,” he answered. “When you’re nervous, when you’re being sarcastic, and when you’re lying. Anytime you’re being disingenuous, you laugh.”

“That’s not too bad,” she considered, biting down a chuckle that threatened to rise. He just raised a brow and she sighed in defeat. “I’ll work on it.”

“Just like you’d work on beating me in Cluedo?” he challenged, standing up from the chair.

“Rematch, tonight,” she stood to meet his eye line, poking him defiantly in the chest. “We’ll have John play too, even the playing field a bit.”

“You’re going to lose.”

“You’re-,” she stopped, thinking about her reaction, pulling back the scowl that emerged. “Nope. I’m going to win.”

“I know you’ve been looking up strategies online, and they aren’t going to help you,” he looked down. “Because I’m the best there is, and you especially can’t fool me.”

“Maybe,” she hummed back. “But I can distract you.”

She moved to kiss him by stepping on her tiptoes, but having forgotten her ankle, ended up crashing forward when it collapsed under the shift in weight.

In a mass of momentum, they crashed to the ground, Sherlock buffing the fall with an arm, and dropping his head back when she landed on top of him.

“That could have been so much cuter if we’d landed on the bed,” she noted, peeking down at him. “Are you okay?”

“How did you make it to adulthood in one piece?” he asked. “There was no way you should have made it past infancy with how clumsy you are.”

“Recently I’ve had handsome gentlemen catching me, it’s been pretty nice,” she smirked. “I mean, look at this view.”

They were face to face, Amelia grinning over him, while Sherlock’s eyes traced every inch of her face.

He pulled her toward him, devouring her in a passionate kiss. Hands threaded through her hair; her arms wrapped around his shoulders.

Amelia shifted for a better angle when her foot kicked a pile of canvas tucked next to her bed.

The artwork tumbled free, and she peeked up to see what had caused the commotion.

“Oh,” she turned and grabbed one of the pieces, a small painting of one of Mrs. Hudson’s teacups. “I forgot about that one.”

Ignoring Sherlock’s drawn-out sigh, she busied herself with replacing the knocked over pictures, pausing when she came to the last one.

“I never showed you the painting I meant to send to Brooklyn,” she realized, staring forward at the painting in question.

He sat up, realizing the moment was lost and tilted his head in her direction.

“You never sent it?”

“Never had the chance,” she replied, turning, and holding the large piece up.

The silhouette was familiar, a lithe man standing in a room covered top to bottom in books. He held a violin, his back to the viewer. In the foreground was a pile of sheet music with a single bookmark stuffed between piles of pages. On the bookmark was a delicately drawn sunflower.

It was painted with darker shades than most of Amelia’s other works, less floral and more warmth. Sherlock could picture the living room of Baker Street perfectly. The sound of fire crackling, the smell of leather bookbinding.

This was what she saw. It was comfortable, a little mysterious, but familiar. An old friend.

An adored lover.

“Does my hair really look like that from behind?” he asked, earning a snort from his companion. “I like it. The bookmark is a sentimental touch. What did you call it?”

“Faith,” she replied. “It’s one of the many meanings behind a sunflower. I thought it was appropriate.”

“How so?”

She looked at him, genuinely bewildered by the question.

How did he not know?

“You inspire people,” she answered, looking back at the details in the portrait. “You give people hope in a way. People believe in you.”

It was difficult to explain out loud- hence the portrait (she was an artist after all)- but Sherlock didn’t seem convinced at her explanation.

“Do you believe in me?” he asked simply.

“I painted you a portrait,” she laughed lightly. “I still live here after everything, and we spent the last five minutes making out on my floor. I’ll always believe in you.”

He seemed content with that answer, his hands snaking around her waist and encouraging her to replace the picture and pick up where they’d left off.

~~~

“This was a bad idea,” John voiced for the third or fourth time since the game started.

Amelia was wrapped up in Sherlock’s robe, fingers drumming on her chin while she studied the Cluedo board. She lifted her notecard, lowered it, and continued gazing at the board.

“She’s under this delusion that she can beat me,” Sherlock scoffed, twirling a pen between his fingers, leg jittering under the table.

“I will, this is it,” she announced, moving her piece. “Colonel Mustard, with the wrench, in the observatory.”

She motioned for John to open the packet; brows knitted in focus.

Even Sherlock leaned forward, watching their friend with interest.

“That’s right,” John held up the three cards. “You got it.”

Amelia threw down her cards and grinned, jumping up victoriously.

“I actually did it!” she looked to Sherlock, hands squeezed at her sides in excitement. “I beat you at Cluedo.”

“Impossible,” he grabbed her cards and notes, reading through everything. “How did you know I had the garden?”

“You showed John,” she replied excitedly. “I saw him scribble it down.”

“That’s cheating!” Sherlock snapped back.

“That’s deduction, my dear Mr. Holmes,” she smirked. “I thought all was fair in a game of Cluedo? Those were your rules.”

“I didn’t expect them to turn on me,” he huffed.

“I’m texting Lestrade,” John announced, phone pulled out. “He’s not going to believe this.”

“Don’t you-,” he whirled around at Amelia who was rapidly typing something into her own phone. “Who are you texting?”

“Mycroft,” she answered quickly. “He owes me twenty pounds.”

“You bet against this game?” he scowled, glaring back down at the board. “You must have cheated. John? Did you tell her anything?”

“You would have noticed if we’d been conspiring against you,” the doctor replied. “You lost. Accept defeat.”

“Unacceptable,” Sherlock paced out of the room toward the kitchen, returning with his finger pointed toward Amelia accusatorially. “You distracted me.”

“What?” she blinked up at him innocently.

“In your room, you threw yourself at me and threw my focus off,” he replied tersely. “You knew you could get the upper hand.”

“That sounds like a personal problem to me,” she smirked. “Besides, I’ve never distracted you before.”

“Are you naked under that bathrobe?” he demanded, stepping toward her.

“Jesus Sherlock,” John stood up. “She’s wearing pajamas, you can see them.”

“What did you do?” Sherlock pulled open the robe to reveal an old band shirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants. “You tricked me.”

“I outsmarted you,” she laughed. “Without being totally naked. I’m the superior detective. Dr. Watson, mark the date that I ascended to alpha detective within Baker Street.”

Sherlock’s face fell into a mix of horror, confusion, awe, and shock.

Without another word, he grabbed Amelia by the waist and threw her over his shoulder, trussing back to his room.

“John, find something to do that isn’t here,” he called over his shoulder before slamming his door shut.

Sherlock’s scramble to get Amelia undressed was met with her own quick hands tugging his belt free.

Frenzied hands up and down, pulling at buttons, running through one another’s hair, with hungry kisses, with Sherlock hiding her backward toward the bed.

“Are you sure?” he asked when she was down to a bra and underwear. She was ethereal. Her chest was flushed, her cheeks a mix of blush and freckles, curly hair astray-

“I’ve been waiting much longer than you have,” she purred, pulling him forward and meeting him with her lips.

John was partially out the door when he heard the ruckus upstairs. Mrs. Hudson peeked her head out of her flat, looking up and exchanging a knowing look with the doctor.

“About time,” she sighed, a bit of relief. She cringed when something crashed above them. “I hope that wasn’t the china.”

“I’d put those headphones Sherlock got you for Christmas on,” he advised dryly. “I think we’re in for a long night.”

Chapter 26

#sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock bbc #fanfiction #fanfic #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock fanfic #sherlock/ofc #sherlock/oc #sherlock/reader #reader #writing #sherlock writing #john watson #OFC #OC #watson

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thedeevirus · 5 years

Note

CHUBBY OSWALD

Sorry, did I say ‘new ficlet’ up this weekend? I meant ‘new ficletS’ ;)

Enjoy this ficlet taking place after Gotham’s finale!

Added to Nygmobblepot Ficlets on AO3

‘Make yourself at home and we’ll see about something to eat’, Oswald said, hanging his jacket on a waiting hook, ‘And something to drink I think’.

Ed nodded as he finished securing the last of the multitudinous deadbolts on the safehouse door. BY Oswald’s standards, the safehouse was practically spartan; a single basement apartment in a run down neighbourhood but compared to his Arkham cell, it was a palace. He almost felt a lump in his throat forming at the sight of the bathroom and the door that guaranteed blissful privacy.

Oswald was busying himself at a drinks cabinet. He took out a bottle of scotch and two crystal tumblers.

‘Look at me, I’m actually shaking!’ Oswald said, rubbing his hands, ‘Prison’s made me soft’.His eyes flicked to a nearby wall mirror and conscientiously straightened his back.‘In more ways than one’, he sighed.

‘Penguins aren’t known for their trim figures’, Ed said, mentally kicking himself for his clumsy attempt at reassurance.

‘Thanks Ed’, Oswald deadpanned.

‘I just mean I think it suits you!’ Ed hastily added.

‘Yes, well, thanks’, Oswald said, smiling gratefully at Ed’s efforts, ‘You’re looking well, considering where you were’.

‘You haven’t seen all of me’.

‘Sorry?’ Oswald asked, pouring them both a drink, ‘What was that?’

‘I just let them see what they wanted to see’, Ed said, ‘Pretended to be crazy. Then again, I did just see a man-bat so maybe I wasn’t pretending as much as I thought’.

‘We both saw it so you’re in good company, don’t worry’, Oswald said.

He couldn’t help glancing at the small basement window in case the vigilante was somehow lurking outside. He supposed he should be grateful it hadn’t been a literal bat hybrid creature. Stranger things had happened in Gotham…

‘I wonder what happened to our certificates?’

Oswald took a folder from a desk drawer and handed it to Ed. Ed smiled fondly at the contents nestled in amongst the yellowed, crinkled copies of their certificates: photographs of he and Oswald when the latter had been mayor, newspaper clippings of Ed’s early Riddler career and other detritus dropped along Memory Lane.Oswald had always been surprisingly sentimental.

‘Things were simpler then’, Ed mused.

‘Remind me, had people started coming back from the dead at that point?’ Oswald asked.

‘Present company excluded?’ Ed asked, raising an eyebrow.

‘Well I’ve lost some pieces along the way’, Oswald said, eyes drifting downwards, ‘And gained some unfortunately’.He downed his drink and forced himself to brighten.‘At least the padding will come in handy tonight’, he said, heading towards a comfy looking armchair.

‘You’re not taking the bed?’ Ed asked.

‘I’ve had the luxury of clean sheets for the last 10 years Ed’, Oswald said, ‘You haven’t’.

Ed hated how his desperate longing for a proper night’s sleep warred with his concern for Oswald’s leg. He also hated the regret he felt as his better nature won out.

‘What about your leg?’

‘What about it?’ Oswald asked with the barest trace of irritation.

Ed sighed fondly. Some things, like Oswald ignoring his leg, never changed.

‘If you get into that chair, you won’t be able to get up again without my help’, Ed said.

‘Thanks for your concern but I’ll be fine’, Oswald said, sitting down in an ironic show of defiance.

‘I just want to spare us both the indignity of me lifting you onto your feet because your leg won’t cooperate tomorrow morning. You know I’m right’.

‘Oh aren’t you always?’ Oswald chuckled, ‘But, I think someone’s a tad overconfident in their physical prowess if you think you can lift me. You used to struggle when I was literally ‘half the man’ I am now’.

‘You think?’ Ed asked, cracking his knuckles, ‘I had a lot of free time in Arkham’.

‘Alright then Mr Brains as well as Brawn. Show me’.

Ed took hold of Oswald’s offered hands and pulled. He felt his feet shift on the carpet as he strained. He frowned at Oswald’s knowing smile but when Oswald pulled him, his scowl vanished as his eyes widened.Ed landed on Oswald’s lap and automatically linked his hands behind Oswald’s neck to keep his balance. Oswald smirked up at him.

‘Where was that when that bat-man was tying us to the lamppost?!’ Ed asked with mock anger.

‘I just need the proper motivation’, Oswald shrugged.

‘Yeah I know; Proving me wrong!’

Both men laughed. As their laughter died away, they had simultaneous realizations.Oswald realised Ed’s rear end was positioned over a particular part of his anatomy that was slowly beginning to respond to the warmth and Ed realised that he had been sitting on Oswald’s lap and that one of his fingers was idly tracing the back of Oswald’s neck.Ed stretched in what he hoped was a relaxed fashion and patted the back of the armchair.

‘Anyway! This is definitely not good for your leg’, Ed said.

He clambered off Oswald who shifted in the chair in what he also hoped was a relaxed fashion.

‘C’mon now’, Ed said casually, ‘Upsy daisy!’

Oswald shifted forwards and tried to rise. He braced his good leg and rose slowly. He rotated the ankle of his bad leg and flinched as it popped. He began to lean to the left and Ed, reading the sudden panic in Oswald’s eyes, reached out and took hold of both of Oswald’s hands to steady him.

‘Okay, okay’, Oswald conceded, ‘Maybe you’re not entirely wrong. Ed? Ed?!’

‘What?!’ Ed asked, startled.

‘Sorry’, Oswald said gently, trying to ignore the warmth of Ed’s hands in his, ‘I thought you were disassociating. Are you okay?’

‘Yes, it’s just’, Ed said, gently squeezing Oswald’s hands as if worried they weren’t real, ‘Do you remember the last time you just…held someone’s hand?’

‘Your hand’, Oswald answered immediately, ‘Waiting to go into the courtroom’.

‘If anyone had noticed they would have strip searched us on the spot’, Ed chuckled.

Oswald tried to ignore the increasingly erotic images swimming to the surface of his brain and cleared his throat.

‘I thought it was worth the risk’, Oswald shrugged offhandedly and began to extricate his hands.

‘Oswald, it was worth everything to me!’ Ed exclaimed suddenly.

Oswald froze as if Ed had slapped him. He couldn’t look at Ed, convinced that he had misheard. That he had misunderstood the sentiment. Ed obviously meant he appreciated Oswald being a supportive friend at a difficult time. That was all. Oswald had made assumptions before about how Ed felt. He was not going to make that mistake again.

‘Wow it feels good to finally say that out loud!’ Ed said shakily.

They stared at each other. Oswald uncertain of how to proceed and conscious that he was staring into Ed’s dark eyes which held something akin to expectance in their depths, gestured to Ed’s untouched glass of scotch on the table.

‘Drink?’

Ed ignored the tumbler and took a hasty swig from the bottle.Ed’s hand remained in Oswald’s. Oswald could sense Ed’s pulse racing with his own. Something was going to happen. Both of them knew it, Both of them had known it as soon as Oswald had asked Ed to spend the night.

‘Ed’, Oswald said, licking his lips, ‘There’s something I need to say too. I-‘

Ed kissed him.Oswald tasted the scotch first but then it seemed to melt away. He felt his lips automatically open wider and Ed’s tongue gently probe its way inside. It was warm and tender and everything he had ever dreamt. When Ed pulled back, Oswald had no idea how long had passed.His first kiss. Ed had been his first kiss.

‘I’m sorry’, Ed said, adjusting his glasses, ‘You were saying?’

‘Why apologise?’

‘I think I kind of interrupted you’.

‘Aren’t you going to do it again?’

‘Interrupt you?’

Oswald laughed softly as he tenderly touched Ed’s face.

‘I was just going to say “I think we’ve both had enough of waiting”’, he said quietly.

‘You are correct’, Ed said, letting Oswald lead him.

He hung up his jacket as both men removed their shoes. Ed undid his tie slightly but left it on not wanting to make things too easy for Oswald.Finally, Oswald flicked the light off and both men settled on the bed.

‘This feels weird’, Ed said, rocking on his heels, luxuriating in the plush mattress.

‘I know, a mattress that actually compresses!’ Oswald laughed as he lay down.

‘I’m sure we’ll adapt to the softness somehow’, Ed said walking his fingers along Oswald’s stomach coquettishly.

Despite Oswald’s best efforts, Ed caught the rueful way Oswald glanced at his own stomach.

‘Look at me Oswald’, Ed said, unbuttoning his shirt, ‘I want to show you something’.

He exposed his chest and Oswald couldn’t suppress a gasp.Ed knew not all of the scars were from Arkham but their source was not important right now. What was important was helping Oswald see that both of them had changed. That they had come out stronger. That appearance did not matter. That appearances had never mattered.

‘We don’t have to go further if you don’t want to’, Ed said, ‘Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be there’.

Oswald sat up. He undid Ed’s loosened tie and slid it from Ed’s neck. Ed shivered as he felt Oswald lower the shirt from his shoulders and his eyelids flickered as Oswald’s lips traced his neck. He tilted his head back as Oswald gave his silent answer, lips feather light as he kissed the scars bedecking Ed’s chest. Ed exhaled shakily at the tenderness of the gesture and the ticklish sensation of Oswald’s breath gracing each wound.As Oswald’s eyes drifted down, he noticed something dark on Ed’s hip. Worried it may be a bruise from their altercations earlier that night, he slid Ed’s waist band down.

‘Is that a…?’ Oswald asked even as he realised it was not a bruise. It was a crude, black tattoo of an umbrella’s outline.

‘I dunno’, Ed smirked, pointing at Oswald’s chest, ‘What’s that?’

Oswald smiled self consciously as he noticed a dark shape was visible through his white shirt. He reached up to his buttons but then reconsidered. He lowered his hands and tilted his head invitingly. Ed reached and unbuttoned Oswald’s shirt slowly, just in case Oswald changed his mind. Little by little, Oswald’s pale chest was exposed. Including a green inked question mark tattoo shining above Oswald’s heart.

Their eyes met and they finally abandoned any pretence at restraint.

This kiss was deeper. Fiercer. Their lips clashed and Oswald, nervousness forgotten, nipped at Ed’s lips, bruising them, marking them as his. Ed gripped Oswald’s face in both hands and locked him in place as Oswald groaned. Ed thrilled internally as he felt Oswald begin to subconsciously grind against him, a rhythmic, seductive courtship dance all the more intoxicating for the thought that Oswald was silently begging Ed for release.Oswald moaned as one of Ed’s hands clasped his ass, dragging him closer, the roughness of the gesture mingling wonderfully with the gentle movement of Ed’s fingers through his hair. He finally had all of Ed all to himself.

They broke away, breathless and flushed.

They realised they had drawn closer together and now lay flush, both erections tenting their trousers. As Ed stirred, he sighed as his erection brushed against Oswald’s. He hadn’t expected it to be so…big.

‘Ready?’ Oswald asked, hands resting on Ed’s belt.

‘You’re sure?’

Oswald nodded and unbuckled Ed’s belt. Ed did likewise and within seconds both men were fully naked. They spent a few moments just admiring. Experiencing. Wondering.

‘Oh my God, Ed, you’re so…’ Oswald breathed, tracing a spiral on Ed’s hip.

‘So are you, Ed whispered, cupping Oswald’s ass.

‘It-it’s my first time’, Oswald said, knees grinding together.

‘Mine too’, Ed said, restraining himself with difficulty at the sight of Oswald’s adorable bashfulness, ‘How would you like to do this?’

Oswald swallowed hard as he embraced Ed. Ed luxuriated in the warmth and safety even as he listened to Oswald’s choked sounding words.

‘Ed? I’m-I’m sorry but I-I don’t think I’m ready for…’

He trailed off and he sounded so helpless, so dejected that Ed couldn’t help but kiss him. Oswald shuddered, hands gripping Ed’s shoulders as if he would never let go. Ed could sense Oswald holding tears back and his heart ached.

‘It’s okay’, Ed said, stroking Oswald’s feather-soft hair, ‘Show me what you would like to do’.

‘I, uh, I don’t know’, Oswald admitted, eyes glistening, ‘I never thought we’d be here like this. You and me’.

Ed’s heart swelled at Oswald’s blatant giddiness as another more explicit body part pulsed, pushing Ed to make Oswald feel better.

‘May I try something?’ Ed asked.

Oswald nodded.Ed reached down slowly. His long fingers easily took hold of both of their cocks. He stopped as Oswald gave a start but Oswald’s hips slowly began to rock. Ed looked at Oswald and seeing the silent pleading in his eyes, began to stroke.

‘Oh-oh God…’

‘Do you want me to stop?’

Oswald placed his own hand on their cocks. This time it was Ed’s turn to toss his head back in pleasure as Oswald’s thumb swirled around their heads. For someone who claimed to be a virgin, he was a natural. Had Oswald touched himself like this in the past? Had Oswald touched himself like this when thinking about Ed?!

‘God, no. Don’t stop’, Oswald shivered, ‘Please, Riddler’.

‘Oh my God’, Ed moaned as he obeyed.

The way Oswald was now repeating his name was like music to his ears. Wonderful, hypnotic music.Both men rocked in unison as they kissed desperately and deeply. The fingers of Ed’s free hand tangled in Oswald’s hair and Oswald’s other hand clamped on Ed’s hip, pulling him closer to the delicious friction. Closer to the edge.

‘Good?’ Ed asked breathlessly.

Oswald nodded frantically in reply even as his head snapped back, lips parted at the alien sensations rocking him to his core.

‘Is this-ah!-as good as you imagined?’ Oswald breathed, somehow finding his voice even as his breath was stolen away again and again.

‘Oh…’ Ed sighed, throwing them both over the edge with a final few punctuated thrusts, ‘Better, so, so much better!’

The loneliness of the last ten years fell away as they came together in a wild, heady rush. The moment was all that mattered. They shuddered in each other’s arms, their flesh goose pimpled and eyes bright beneath their sweat drenched brows.

A few seconds later, both were clean and beneath the covers.

‘Worth the wait?’ Ed asked, stroking Oswald’s leg as he draped it over his own.

‘Worth the wait’, Oswald agreed, snuggling into the welcome crook of Ed’s arm.

#nygmobblepot #edward nygma #Oswald Cobblepot #gotham finale #nygmobblepot fic #nygmobblepot ficlet

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granddaughterogg · 5 years

Text

Azrael is a kinkster, yo. Part 2. Excessively lemony (grapefruity even?)

Chapter 2

The fucking begins in earnest

You were on fire.

Skin flushed, muscles taut, pulse quickened. Your body longed for some more. And all it took was Azrael kissing you.

Quite intensively, but still.

You could not wait for what he prepared next.

That he did prepare for this – meticulously - was beyond doubt. The angel was a master of strategic planning after all. At least that was the official side of him. The one that you got to know so far.

Right now his slender hand rested on your back, politely, but firmly directing you towards a long corridor. You could hardly feel the marble floor under your feet. A sudden thought flashed through the fog that filled your brain: do you actually know this man at all?

The mystery shrouding his personal life fascinated you. But it also made you feel small and inadequate. There he was, a wise, powerful, ageless being put in charge of some of the most crucial tasks in the Universe. And there were you, a human girl who got entangled in all this by a fateful accident. Yet somehow you stood your ground. That alone was a lot to be proud of, but of one thing you felt sure: someone as glorious as Azrael and someone like you could never be equals.

And now this belief started to shake. Maybe this desire could bring you and him to a common level. After all, passion renders all its subjects alike.

Did you actually dig the guy? Yes, very much. You didn’t even realize it before coming here today. But your body somehow knew. And it was eager for him.

You smiled to yourself. Apparently, you had it for men who were much taller than you and commanded authority.

Like Death.

You decided that you’re not going to think about him right now. It wouldn’t be fair towards Azrael. Later, much later you will tell your favourite Horseman all about this. He’ll undoubtedly be amused; maybe he’ll even throw his head back and let out this raspy little chuckle that you’ve learned to know and love. It turned out that the Nephilim had no concept of a sexually exclusive relationship. Heck, you even had to explain to him how being faithful or unfaithful works in most human cultures. Death didn’t care much about those customs, which to him felt foreign and pointless. The deal was that both of you can sleep with pretty much whoever you want, as long as you communicate properly. He knew that you love him first and foremost, and you were sure that he feels the same way about you. End of story.

Death would never stoop to jealousy. Not because he was such a noble creature. (He wasn’t.) But it just never have been taught to him. Ingrained into him.

How you adored this carefree pagan attitude to all things sexual. You wished that more humans would adopt it.

Speaking of high and low. You glanced towards the angel. He was actually walking. Like a regular human being! Up to this point you’ve mostly seen him soar on those majestic wings.

Your head could hardly reach his armpit. He was so tall and graceful, his body otherwise an enigma under the lavish robes. You’re going to crack this mystery really soon; the realisation hit you so hard that you trembled.

That was one long-ass corridor.

It ended in a wide, sunlit room with white walls and the biggest, most luxurious bed you’ve ever seen. It too was white. Had a canopy and all.

„Living the good life, eh, Azrael?” you murmured, smiling.

„Oh, usually I don’t sleep here” he answered. „It’s a guest bedroom.”

„Where do you sleep then?”

„Most of the time,” he said, arching one silver brow pensively, „I just don’t.”

You looked at him like you never did before. Striking bone structure, yes. Wide forehead marked with those bright lines, that undoubtedly carried some arcane meaning. Sensitive mouth, which could work you up in no time. Pale eyes, full of eternal patience and wisdom. But also deep, bluish circles under. Lines on both sides of his Greek nose. Hollowed cheeks.

He was tired. No, he was exhausted. For who knows how long.

Your heart fluttered with sympathy.

„But you’re gonna sleep with me tonight, aren’t you?” you asked, reaching out to touch his face. You had to stand on your toes to make that happen. „I hate being left alone after sex!”

He covered your hand with his and gave you a reassuring smile. „Of course.”

You strutted across the bedroom, pretending that you’re not thrilled - and scared - as much as you were. „I’m looking forward to being your guest!”

„So am I.” Suddenly he was very close to you; long, cool strands of his silky hair brushed your back. His hands reached from behind and swiftly unbuttoned your dress.

When it hit the floor, you shivered.

„It’s really happening now, isn’t it?” you whispered, leaning into him.

„Are you afraid?” His voice was calm as a pond.

„Yes.”

„Do you want me to stop?”

„God, no!”

He gave out a little musical laugh.

„What did I tell you about using that word. Also: that’s the spirit.”

You didn’t expect an archangel of Heaven to know his way around a human bra. Yet he made short work of those fancy straps. The bra was down.

Azrael brushed your collarbones with his long, cool fingers. He cupped your exposed breasts, squeezed and then massaged them a little. Your nipples hardened and dug into his palms. You let out a small groan.

He spun you on your heels; suddenly you were facing an angel caressing you with a glinting stare.

„Look at you” he hummed. „You’re a work of art.”

Your face was on fire; your whole body was. Your insides wet and tender, eager to be touched.

Of course, he knew.

„Away with that,” he said with a smile, sliding your panties down your legs. He had to kneel down before you to do that; obviously, he didn’t mind. For a moment you had a unique view at the top of the angel’s silver head. How many kings have?

And then you were naked before Azrael.

He reached his hand again and touched your lips. No, the other lips. He tipped their soft, supple, tender warmth. Then he slid his fingers inside you - maybe for an inch. You sighed urgently.

He took them away.

„Hell no!” you cried. „Don’t do this to me! Don’t keep me waiting...”

Azrael shot you a glare and pushed two fingers in at their whole length. It was such a sharp, forceful movement that you cried out again. This time mostly from pain.

He rose to his full height and looked down on you – in every possible way.

„Do you want it to be short and painful?” he asked with a clipped voice. „Because I can make it short and painful. Which is not at all what I had in mind, but if you keep rushing me, that is what I’m going to do.”

You felt faint – and confused by this sudden coldness.

„No...” you said. „I didn’t mean that...I didn’t mean to...I’m just so, so ready! Please, Azrael...Please?”

There it was: you were pleading. That holy bastard got you good.

It was incredible how fast his features changed. The disdain disappeared as if wiped away by magic and the kind-eyed archangel was back in town. You wondered how many facets this guy’s personality really had. It was beginning to get freaky.

Except that you like freaky, you thought to yourself. You thrive on it. You spent a month or two once enjoying a lover whose face you didn’t know, cause it was always covered by a bone mask. Always - even when he would fuck you so hard that you screamed.

Freaky is the name of the game.

You looked the angel in the eye and smiled.

„Sorry for being such a spoilsport,” you said. „I’ll be more compliant from now on.”

„Good girl.”

Azrael wrapped his arms around you and brushed his lips on your exposed shoulder. Then on the neck. Then on the soft skin behind your ear. He covered you with slow, leisurely kisses until you softened in his embrace. Until the stress from a moment ago was all gone, your body relaxed and pliant once more. Then he took you by the chin, leaned over and kissed you on the lips again. It was a long, tender kiss. Softer, more considerate this time.

He was so attentive to your reactions; apparently he could read your body like a book. You felt lightheaded; out of breath, out of control. It was akin to threading on a cloud.

You felt safe.

„So, where were we now?” he whispered into your neck. „Ah, yes. Disrobing you, then tying you up.”

You let out a breathy giggle and hid your face in his arm.

Azrael tightened his grip around your waist - and suddenly you became weightless. Airborne.

Those large wings rustled and spread around you in all their glory. You squeed upon realising what is going on.

He soared - and took you with him.

„I’m flying!”

„Oh, you will be” he promised.

Azrael landed in the middle of the bed and carefully put you on your back. The sheets were pleasantly cool and soft as whipped cream. He lied next to you, supported himself on an elbow and touched your exposed skin; from the collarbone, between the breasts, down your stomach and finally to your sex. He caressed your pubic crease for a while, playing with the kinky fuzz that covered it. Then he brushed his fingers over your slightly swollen clit but made no further attempts this time.

This time you didn’t whine. You just moaned a little and begged him with your eyes.

„Honestly, I am torn,” said Azrael in a light tone that contradicted his words. „You are so beautiful and yearning right now, I’m considering just...going for it.” The archangel tilted his head and sent you a mischievous smile. His fingers started moving in a circular manner. You let out a sigh.

„But...” Azrael’s other hand crept up and pinched your nipple rather forcefully. „...I have promised you something, and promises should be kept.”

He sat up. Something colourful appeared in his hands out of thin air. Your eyes went wide open; it was a coil of fine rope, as blue as the sky behind the large arched windows.

„Now that looks like a binding proposition!” you quipped (although rather breathily.)

Azrael uncoiled most of the rope, letting it fall across the bed. It brushed your abdomen. It was velvety to the touch.

„It’s so soft...” you murmured.

„Have you ever been bound like this before?” he asked, tightening a small section of the cord in his hands and grazing your breasts with it. Your nipples were already hard, but now they went painfully tender.

„Azrael,” you said softly. „You do realise that I am not a virgin?..”

„I very much hope so” he chuckled heartily. „I would not dare to do such twisted, sinful things to someone inexperienced.”

„Well, then why are you asking me this?”

He turned serious.

„Being tied up is a very distinctive sensation. Not everyone enjoys it. I’d rather ensure that you do. It’s not fun at all if you’re only in pain.”

„Only?...”

„But a little pain can go a long way” he finished with an easy smile. Something fluttered inside of you. Figuratively. You started to adore that strange, strange man. Angel. Person.

Azrael.

„So,” he said in a conversational tone, tying the rope to the nearest bedpost. „Did Death ever tie you up?”

„You know that if I tell you, he will have my head. And then yours for good measure.”

„That’s true” he chuckled, walking around the bed to reach another bedpost.

„I’ve been tied up before Death. Before this whole Apocalypse business kicked off. By human men. Most of them would use hemp rope, which is rather stiff and abrasive, but I liked it anyway. Even the prickling...” You sorted through memories long gone. „And the rope marks after. Yes, I liked it. A lot.”

He went silent for a long while.

„You know that I can never beg for your forgiveness enough,” he said. „For what has been done to the Kingdom of Men and to you. For what I’ve done.”

„We talked about it, Az” you smiled. „And tonight I’m supposed to be the one who does the begging. Now come over here and kiss me.”

He got on the bed and leaned over, covering you with those magnificent wings, with long strands of hair. Your world suddenly became very small and full of rosy scent. Full of Azrael. You gripped at his collar and parted his lips with your tongue, urgently, hungrily, with conviction. You wanted him and only him right now. Not memory. Not remorse.

The kiss was long and almost bruising. Finally, the angel broke contact and looked you in the eyes with such desperate tenderness that you gasped.

„Give me your hand,” he said.

He coiled the rope around your left wrist, then the right one, made a few swift adjustments here and there – and suddenly you were firmly bound to the bedposts, your arms stretched and raised upon your head. It wasn’t that uncomfortable...but it was restricting. You tried to move them. There wasn’t much that you could do.

„Do you like it?” The purest smile coiled his lips. „I thought that we’ll start with something basic and see from there.”

You got so wet. You were dripping. Your inner thighs probably glistened from all this wetness.

„Oh, I see...” he said in a low voice. „You do like this, don’t you.”

All that left your mouth was a small „Ah-hah.” You couldn’t find the words. Being in rope always took you apart, every time. There was something about the sensation of being bound, the thought of being at your lover’s mercy – that struck a match next to the pool of gasoline that was your soul.

Azrael was beaming.

„I could take you right now” he mused. „ And it wouldn’t be painful. Oh, maybe eventually. I can get carried away sometimes.” The angelic chuckle was like a string of silver flown between your ears.

You arched your back, parted your legs wide open, presented to him like an animal in heat. You just didn’t care.

„Or maybe...” he brushed your calf with those long fingers, „... I will take my time. Want me to tie you up some more?”

„Yes,” you breathed.

„Yes what?”

„Yes, please do, Azrael.”

He planted a quick kiss on your ankle before binding it too. And then the other one. Soon you were completely immobilised, splayed across the bed like a naughty rendition of Leonardo’s Vitruvian Man.

You got in a daze. The taut rope dug into your skin, its velvety grip reassuring, pleasant and cruel at once. You had no control over what happens to you now. It was like getting high – almost the best kind of high that you’ve ever known.

Apart from the actual fucking.

„Azrael” you whispered, careful not to slur the words, „When does the fucking begin in earnest?”

„Soon,” he said, observing you from above. He was soaring again. You could tell that he, too, got into a zone of his own; those milky eyes have never been larger. His lips parted. He was probably admiring his ropework.

No...he was admiring you.

You could feel his blistering gaze, taking in your parted legs, your weeping, wanting slit, your soft stomach, breasts with hardened nipples and finally, your burning face.

„How ravishing you are like this,” he said hoarsely. „Oh, you have no idea. What in the Nine Hells. I’ll whip you later.”

He fell down on you like a diving hawk. Suddenly there was only fluttering of long white feathers. There was rosy smell on your lips, on your tongue, at the back of your throat. The taste of his mouth in yours. His fingers caressed every inch of your skin, his lips went everywhere. You gasped when he slid his tongue inside you and got to work.

„Just...don't stop”, you cried tremulously. „I..can’t...hold...your head...like this...but don’t you stop!”

But he did. He sucked on your throbbing clit – you started to give out prolonged moans - and then he ceased to. Abruptly. You let out a whine of frustration and lust.

„What did I tell you about rushing me?” he said, looking you dead in the eye. There were mischievous sparks dancing in his. „Now you’ve gone and done it.”

Your heart pounded against your ribcage. You were on fire. Your juices poured all over the posh bedsheets. You’ve been in no state to judge whether he’s serious or joking.

Then some cheeky spark flashed in your muddled brain and you said with a small voice:

„Aren’t you gonna be awfully uncomfortable in those robes? This silk is going to get everywhere.”

Azrael’s face turned blank for a second. Then he snorted, genuinely amazed at your sass.

„Do you want to see something fun?” he asked.

„Yes!”

The archangel snapped his fingers and his clothes were gone.

Just like that. Gone. You had a completely naked, silver-haired angel lying on top of you. Holding you by the bounded wrists. Pressing his rather...very erect dick against your soft, wet, pliable lady parts.

„Oh God,” you said. „Oh, God. Oh, God.”

„Shush, my sweet” he pressed a finger to your lips. „That is blasphemy. Now the fucking begins in earnest.”

„But I want to touch you! I want to touch you everywhe-”

„Next time.”

He just went into you like a knife in butter.

You were so worked up at this moment that it didn’t hurt much, even though he was considerably big. Bigger than you somehow thought he’d be. And harder.

But even so, the sheer force of that thrust amazed you. You gave out a low guttural moan.

You wanted to embrace him so badly. To dig your palms into his slender back. To cup his face and kiss him; and then maybe lick him. Lick all over those white tattoos that rendered his otherwise subtle features slightly feral.

Hell, to brush away some of that hair. It was getting in your eyes and mouth. It covered your face with a silky, fluttering curtain. You couldn’t see much.

But you could feel him moving inside you with sharp, rhythmic thrusts. His hipbones pounding against your softness. He was all over you and all inside you. He filled you up, body and soul.

You moaned practically nonstop. It was a very undignified sound. You didn’t have any power over your vocal chords anymore.

„I love it when you sing” he gasped, stopping for a little while and giving you a frantic stare. The pupils of his eyes were crazy dilated. You got lost in them while he fucked you.

Then the pleasure rose in you – this velvety wave, which started somewhere in the base of your spine and hastily crept upward. It was like drowning in dark honey.

„I’m close now” you whispered with a rueful smile. You sincerely wish you’d lasted longer.

„I know” he breathed. Somehow Azrael got even paler, if for the exception of vivid crimson colouring his cheeks. „Go ahead. I’m not going to stop though.”

And then you opened your mouth and cried some more. Dark, sticky sweetness sunk your brain, covered your eyesight. Your throbbing insides constricted around Azrael’s cock. He went on anyway, so relentlessly that he was hurting you now. Azrael was hurting you now, just like he said he will. Somehow that made it all the sweeter.

#Darksiders #darksiders azrael #darksiders lemon #lemon #lemons #grapefruits?#i honestly can't tell #handle with care #azrael/reader #azrael x reader

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