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gvfgal · 2 years

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Santa, Baby.

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ minors get lost!!

Content Warnings: Christmas fluff, graphic sexual content, a little role-play (kinda), fingering (f rec.), oral (m&f rec.), dirty talk, lots of pet names, unprotected sex (you know the deal).

A/n: Day 2 of quarantine means another fic. It’s the only thing keeping me sane at this point. ALSO, thanks so much for all the love on my first fic, definitely wasn’t expecting the response I got but I’m so very appreciative of it! And let’s give it up for that pic I threw together in like 2 minutes 😂

Word count: 3.6k

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Snow flurries danced across the indigo shaded sky as you made your trek home after a long day of work. The holidays always ushered in a higher volume of businesses wanting marketing help from you and your team, so you were used to the long days at the office. However, you didn’t expect to be there past sundown today, especially with it being the beginning of the weekend.

The heavy workload during the holidays was putting a damper on your Christmas spirit. Everyday you dragged in from work, feet sore, sometimes too tired to even prepare yourself something to eat. You’d simply shower and crawl into bed, hoping to get enough rest for the long day ahead of you tomorrow, but even then, you were up most nights with a head full of looming tasks that never let you rest.

It was so bad this year, you hadn’t even put up your Christmas decorations yet.

I’ll get around to it, you’d tell yourself.

But it was December 4th, and not a single garland had been hung yet.

The only thing that was keeping you from completely losing it was the fact that your beloved Jake was home with you.

Having a break from touring, he’d be able to spend the whole month of December with you and his entire family, a luxury he wasn’t granted often. Coming home to him, with his feet kicked up on the living room table, a beer or a glass of whiskey in hand, was the best part of your days lately.

You wanted him to be able to enjoy his time off doing a bunch of nothing, but he couldn’t help but notice your constant exhaustion, and therefore wanted to dote on you endlessly, making you dinner (which you couldn’t say no to, you couldn’t get enough of his cooking), rubbing your feet, drawing warm baths for you, etc.

And as much as you loved all the TLC, you couldn’t help but feel bad that he was waiting on you hand and foot when he was supposed to be enjoying his time off. You felt that it should’ve been you doing all those things for him. But you neither had the time nor the energy.

“My love, stop fussing about it,” he lovingly reprimanded you one night as you sat in the bathtub, one foot hanging out the side as he massaged it with care, “I enjoy taking care of you. It isn’t a chore for me. I wouldn’t wanna spend my time off any other way, trust me.”

Either way, you felt lucky to have him, and you couldn’t wait to get home and curl up underneath him on the couch, a mug of hot chocolate and some corny Christmas movie to accompany you.

The snow had picked up its pace by the time you got home, and you thanked all the God’s that it waited until you made it home, not making your already long commute even longer. With a heavy sigh, you grabbed your obnoxiously heavy work bag from the passenger seat and exited your car, scurrying as fast as you could out of the brutally cold winter air and under the cover of your porch.

As you fumbled with your keys, your eyes caught sight of your elaborate Christmas wreath hanging on your front door.

Funny, don’t remember hanging that up, you thought to yourself as you pushed the door open.

Jake must’ve fished it out of the abyss of christmas decor in the garage.

“Jake? Baby I’m home.”

You stepped through the threshold with a gasp, taking in the sight before you. Every piece of decoration that you’ve collected over the years was put in its place, maybe even a little better than what you could’ve done. A large pine coned garland framing your entrance mirror. A forest of mini Christmas trees along the mantle of the fireplace. Christmas themed pillows replaced your usual throw pillows, a striped candy cane blanket thrown over the side to complete the look.

And that wasn’t even half of it.

Even your large Christmas tree, that was such a hassle to put up due to its size, was standing and decorated to a T. Its eclectic ornaments shimmered in the lights of the tree, and a beautiful merlot colored ribbon wrapped the tree from top to bottom.

It was perfect. The fire roared fiercely in the fireplace, warming up your abode, and some jazzy rendition on ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ droned out of the vinyl player beneath the tv.

The only thing missing was Jake.

Setting your belongings down, you began admiring his job well done, walking around your living room as if you’ve never stepped foot in there before, until you heard the faint jingle of bells coming down the hallway from your bedroom.

Finally you saw him, and the smile that lit up your face was inevitable.

He stood at the end of the hallway nearest you, letting you take him in, a smile similar to yours gracing his face.

He was dressed as Santa, or some rendition of Santa, anyways.

He sported a pair of red santa pants that were a couple sizes too big, but they were held up by matching red suspenders that were fastened over his bare chest and shoulders. His feet were bare, and his santa hat sat on top of his head, almost as if it were balancing there, long hair distressed underneath. An old fashioned pipe was gripped between his teeth to complete the look.

“Jake,” you giggled, unable to stand in silence any longer, “what are you doing?”

“Well sweetheart,” he bellowed out, putting on his best Santa voice as he sat his pipe on the mantle, “I figured since you’ve been so stressed and busy with work,” his feet began moving towards you slowly, “that I’d do something to put a smile on that gorgeous face. Give that Christmas spirit a little boost, yeah?”

Once he reached you, he wrapped his arms around your waist, and you in turn threw your arms over his broad shoulders.

“So how’d I do?”

You couldn’t help but lean in and plant a long passionate kiss on his waiting lips, and he readily accepted it.

“You’re so sweet my Jakey. It’s beautiful, did you do all of this by yourself?”

“With the help of one of my elves, of course.”

AKA Josh.

“And it’s not Jake, baby. It’s Santa.”

You cocked an eyebrow, “If you’re really Santa, then where’s your beard?”

He chuckled a bit, his facade slipping momentarily, “I shaved it.”

“Why?” you pressed further.

“Because,” he pulled you in closer, “I didn’t want anything in between me and that gorgeous pussy I plan on devouring later.”

You gasped lowly at his obscenity, but smirked all the same. You liked the direction this was headed, so you continued to play along.

“Oh is that right,” you tried to kiss him again, but he pulled away teasingly, enjoying the way your face contorted into a pout.

“Not so fast, little one. We have some things to check off the list first.”

Your eyes rolled playfully at his double entendre, “things like what?”

Jake made his way over to his favorite lay-z-boy that he insisted you let him keep and took a seat with a grunt. He let his legs spread, and you swore you saw the imprint of his cock through the fabric of his pants, leading you to believe he was bare underneath.

His eye caught yours and he sent you a quick wink before he slouched back further into his chair and patted his leg.

“You look tired, darling. Why don’t you come sit on Santa’s lap and tell him all about your day.”

Without another word needing to be spoken, you kicked off your heels and approached your personal Santa, draping yourself across his lap as he invited you into his warm embrace.

“I had five meetings today with five different businesses,” you began with a sigh as you nuzzled closer to him.

“Mhmm,” he urged you to continue as he began letting his fingers roam up and down your tight clad legs. The soft touches sent sparks through your entire body, but you continued anyway.

“I thought after these meetings there would be less work to be done, but all it did was pile on more work for me and my team.”

“You poor, poor thing.” His lips were now ghosting across the exposed skin on your neck, but he never actually planted a kiss, “sounds like you need a break.”

Another sigh escaped your lips, only for a different reason this time, as all of the sensations Jake was inflicting on your body caused your head to begin to swim. You could feel yourself slowly beginning to relax more, but you weren’t finished with the little game yet.

“Yeah, I do. Is that what I’m getting for Christmas, Santa?”

His wandering lips halted, and you could feel a smile break against your skin.

“Well that depends, sweetheart. Have you been nice,” he nipped at your ear, and you jumped slightly, “or naughty?”

You giggled again, “something tells me this Santa would prefer the later of the two.”

Without warning, his hand that was ghosting over your leg reeled back, sending a cracking sound through the air as it landed back on your thigh. You invited the sting, actually enjoyed it, and you opted for biting your lip rather than letting a moan pass them.

“You’d be right on that.”

You adjusted your body to straddle his lap now, and Jake took the opportunity to slide his hands under your dress and rub along your ass soothingly, both of you reveling in the feeling.

He looked deep into your eyes, and you, his, letting the moment linger on before he spoke up again.

“So tell me, what does this naughty girl want for Christmas, hm? Maybe some pretty toys to play with?”

Of course, you both knew what he meant when he referred to toys, and the sexual tension in the room only grew further.

His hands were still moving along your backside as he presented his tongue to you, and you gladly leaned in to lick across it, closing into the action for another wet kiss. With that, his hands ceased to rub, and instead gripped your ass tightly, making the first moan of the night permeate the air above you two.

“I can think of a few things I want,” you purred, still not pulling too far away from him, his touch was everything.

“Mmm I bet,” he hummed. You thought the game was over, and you were ready to get on with the much anticipated events of the night, but he continued to talk.

“But first baby, I think you need to show Santa how naughty you really are.”

The sound of your tights ripping caused you to gasp, he had torn right through the back of them, a large hole, and his hand wasted no time sliding your panties to the side, his fingers beginning to play in your folds.

Your head fell forward with a whimper as he did so, no shame in the fact that your backside was now entirely exposed, allowing him to do as he pleased.

“So soft, like satin,” he inhaled into the side of your head, “so wet. Probably so sweet, too.”

He removed his fingers and used his unoccupied hand to pull you back to look at him, bringing his glistening digits to your lips.

“Taste for me, sweetheart. Tell me if it’s as sweet as I imagine.”

Complying, your lips parted, and you let your tongue taste all that he was offering to you, and he watched intensely as you did so, his growing erection meeting your soaking center.

Jake groaned, “Christ, you really are naughty, aren’t you baby?”

You sent him a nod with his fingers still in your mouth before he pulled away, lifting out of the chair with ease, gripping your waist tightly as he carried you over to the rug that laid in front of the fireplace.

“I have to taste for myself.”

He laid you down delicately, joining you on the floor as you shimmied your dress higher up on your body.

Santa Baby began playing throughout the house, and you couldn’t help but grin, “ironic, huh?”

“Ironic or planned precisely,” he dragged your tights and panties down, pushing your legs up so the soles of your feet were flat on the ground, “I’ll never tell.”

A twinkle appeared in his eye as he finally came face to face with your pussy, like a kid on Christmas morning.

His hands found your thighs as he kissed along them, and you wiggled in place, just wanting to feel his mouth on you.

Of course he noticed, and he shook his head, “impatient. I’m starting to think this naughty thing isn’t just an act.”

Finally, finally, his tongue met your soaked center, a long, slow lick from your clenching hole up to your clit. It ended with the tip of his tongue on your bud, and he began flicking his tongue swiftly against it.

A long moan you couldn’t contain escaped as he began working. The sounds were vulgar as he slurped and licked away, but you were enjoying every second of it. His grip on your thighs tightened as he feasted on, and when his eyes lifted to meet yours, you could’ve fainted with how intense his gaze was.

“So good… so good baby,” you whined, “feels so good.”

He inserted a finger into your dripping hole, and you yelped at the added sensation. After a few seconds, he added another, then leaned back on his heels to watch the faces you made as he worked you, it was one of his favorite things. Seeing the way your mouth hung open, watching as you tried to form words with little success.

“I know, my love. You needed this, huh? Needed this pretty cunt played with. Relieve some of that stress?”

You nodded against the rug, too far gone to reply verbally.

Diving back in, he continued with his lewd, unabashed tasting, fingers never ceasing their steady pace, until the heat in your stomach appeared abruptly.

You wanted to give him a warning, you really did, but the build up was too quick, and he was too skillful, and before you knew it, you were cumming hard on his fingers, shaking violently through your release.

Jake didn’t seem to mind the lack of warning, eating you right through it with pleasure as he listened to the mixture of your moans and the music in the background, even letting out a groan of his own against your heat.

This was paradise for him.

Coming down, you raised your head to look at him, and he was smiling at you warmly.

“You’re a dream, you know that?”

You blushed at the sentiment, such a pure thing to say in the midst of such filthy acts, but it was appreciated all the same.

He removed his hands from your warmth, and you clenched slightly at the loss.

Standing now, he reached to unzip your dress from your sitting frame, pulling it off for you and tossing it onto the couch. Your dress didn't call for needing a bra, so your naked form was now on full display, much to Jake’s pleasure.

He undressed himself from his half costume, but before he could take off his hat, you stopped him, placing a hand on his bare thigh, “no, leave the hat on.”

“Kinky. Okay then, hat stays on.”

His cock was extremely hard, red at the tip and leaking pre cum, you licked your lips.

Watching you with pure adoration, his hand raised to cup your cheek, “go on, baby. Touch it. You can even kiss it, if you want. Get your own little taste.”

You reached forward and grabbed at the base of his cock, your other hand also in play, cupping and massaging his balls in your hand.

He jolted slightly at the sensation of your cold hands, but tilted into the feeling anyways.

Collecting some of the pre cum from his slit, you began pumping along his length, your best doe eyes admiring his face as you did.

You let your tongue flick across the tip before sinking down half way, meeting your mouth with your working hand.

“Fuccckkkk,” he groaned as his hand found shelter in your hair, careful not to pull too hard, “that’s it darling. You’re amazing.”

He looked down at you as you began bobbing faster, removing your hand so you could take him deeper into your throat.

“So fucking amazing. So dirty, you love sucking my cock huh?”

Rather than replying, you sank down until your nose was brushing against his stomach, showing him just how much you loved it, and he groaned loudly.

He rested there in your throat, enjoying the feeling of the way you constricted around him, your tongue brushing the underside of his shaft before he lightly pulled you off of him.

You inhaled deeply, coughing a bit as you tried to catch your breath.

Bending at the waist, he gripped your face in his rough palm gently, “choking on my cock like the naughty little thing you are.”

You beamed up at him, and he sent two pats to your cheek, as if to say good girl.

“As much as I’d love for you to continue, I don't think I can go much longer without being inside of you,” he nodded his head towards the ground, “on your back, sweetheart, wanna look at you while I’m in it.”

Obeying his soft command, you laid yourself back down onto the plush rug, spreading your legs widely for him in invitation.

“Yeah, just like that,” he breathed out, stroking over himself as he kneeled between your legs.

Lining himself up, he pushed in slowly, grinning at the way your mouth dropped open and your brows furrowed together, before sliding in the rest of the way.

He grunted as you tightened around him, framing your face with both of his hands on the rug beside you, “trying to make me cum already, aren’t you?”

You feigned fake innocence as you adjusted to the stretch of his full length inside you.

“Act innocent all you want,” he growled as he pulled his hips away from yours before slamming back in, causing your body to jerk and a pornographic moan to float out of you, “I think we’ve already established that you’re anything but that.”

He began pistoning into you at a rapid pace, so punctuated with his thrusts that you had to grip onto him to steady yourself.

“Fuck Jake, oh my God yessss,” you whined underneath him, your eyes fighting to stay open to capture this moment.

“Yeah baby? You like the way I’m filling up this tight little cunt of yours?”

“Yes fuck yes! Please keep going, don’t stop.”

“I’m not gonna stop baby,” he reassured you with a nod, “not gonna stop until you cum all over me again. I need to feel it.”

One of his hands reached up to grope your bouncing tits, not knowing which one to focus on, so he switched between them equally, pulling and tugging at your nipples the perfect amount.

You gripped his waist and pulled him firmly into you, enjoying how full you felt when he was inside completely.

“So fucking greedy. Look at you, can’t get enough of it.”

His hand moved from your breast to rub circles over your clit, and before you knew it, your body was racing to the finish line again.

“Gonna cum… gonna cum,” you chanted over and over.

Jake knew your body, and he knew that rather than speeding up any of his movements, you wanted him to continue exactly what he was doing until you were seeing stars.

So that’s exactly what he did, feeling his own release approaching as well.

“Cum for me baby, wanna feel you all over me.”

As if you were waiting for his approval, you did just that, your back arching off of the rug, nails digging into the sides of his hips.

“There you go, there you fucking go,” his teeth were gritting together, “all over my cock baby. God, you feel incredible. Shit, look at how you’re leaking. We’re gonna have to get a new rug after this.”

He was rambling now, vulgar words and praises flooding from him nonstop, fucking you through your orgasm.

A single tear slid down your cheek at the euphoric feeling that was still racing through your body, when finally his entire body collapsed forwards onto yours, a few more pointed strokes before he came in your warmth.

You both were panting now, letting the sounds of the crackling fire and the music that was still playing bring you both back down to earth again.

You began stroking Jake’s untamed hair, pulling the hat from his head for better air circulation, before he sat up to look at you.

“Hello, lovely,” he grinned lazily, obviously still feeling the high.

“Hi Jakey,” you pecked him on his damp cheek.

With a grunt, he removed his body from yours and stood, holding out his hand for you to take.

“How about a nice hot shower? I can cook, if you’ll let me,” he joked, “then we can cuddle up and watch The Grinch.”

You took his hand and stood along with him, pressing your naked body against his, but not before tugging the Santa hat onto your own head and sticking the pipe between your teeth, making him laugh heartily.

“I like that idea very much,” you smiled goofily, and turned around to disappear towards the bedroom.

Chasing behind you, he sent a quick smack to your ass, “you look good in that hat. I think I want you to play Santa next time.”

#greta van fleet #greta van fic #greta van smut #greta van fleet smut #gvf fic #jake kiszka #jake kiszka fic #jake gvf #jake kiszka smut #gvf smut

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starlitangels · 2 years

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Ring

@floofdeloop has held a headcanon since before I joined the fandom properly and was still shyly lurking in the tag that mates wear rings so... yeah. 1.8k words (Psst! Zozo, this is the Sam/Darlin’ fluff I was telling you about!)

—

“That’s new,” Sam remarked, nodding down at my hand. I looked down.

“What, the ring?”

“Yeah. You’re not much one for accessorizin’.”

I shrugged. “Not practical when I tend to not get any warning before needing to shift.”

“So what’s with this one?” Sam wound his fingers between mine and raised my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles.

I shrugged. “Unmarried mates don’t have to wear rings to show they’re mated, but some of them do. I don’t know if you’ve noticed that David does. Ash and Milo too, actually. And all their mates. David’s kinda traditional that way, and... well. You’ve seen the way Ash and Milo fawn over their mates.” I let my eyes fall to the ring. “Guess I just...” I shrugged. “It’s simple, it’s not particularly fancy or expensive but... I like a small display to remind myself that I’m wanted.”

The look in Sam’s silver eyes softened. “Oh darlin’,” he whispered gently, wrapping me up in his arms and holding me close. I still hadn’t gotten over the feeling of safety and comfort that came with being held by someone who was stronger than me, for once. Sure, David was stronger than I was—and Asher might have been too—but I’m pretty sure both David and I would rather kiss a venomous snake than hug each other.

Maybe that wasn’t quite the case anymore, but I still felt less than no desire to hug my alpha.

“Why are you making a whole thing out of this?” I grumbled into Sam’s shoulder.

“Because it means somethin’ to you,” he replied. “So it means somethin’ to me.”

I groaned a little in complaint. “It’s not a big deal.”

Sam chuckled. I felt it in his chest. “I think it is a big deal and you’re pretending it’s not.”

He was right but he didn’t have to say it. I scrunched my nose in irritation, wrapping my arms around him and holding him tight. I felt more than heard his chuckle of amusement as he rested a hand on the back of my head.

“I want you for as long as you’ll have me, darlin’,” he said quietly.

“You may regret that statement later,” I pointed out.

“Not if it’s you.”

—

“Sam! I wasn’t expecting you. What’s up?” Vincent asked the second the door to his house opened. Vincent’s silver gaze clocked Sam nervously picking at his nails.

“I found out yesterday that shifter mates wear rings, and I figured I’d ask for... advice.”

“From me? The guy who was unempowered before he turned?”

“Not on magical culture, dumbass,” Sam retorted. “I... I was thinking about getting one myself. My partner said I didn’t have to, but I... I think it’s important. It’s a big deal to them and they don’t wanna admit it. I’m sure it’d mean a lot to them if I wore one too.”

Vincent’s face split into a wide, bright, gleaming smile. “Ahhh. So you did come to the right guy after all. C’mon inside.” He opened the door wider and beckoned Sam in. Already considering regretting asking Vincent’s advice, Sam crossed the threshold.

The front door shut behind him with a sense of finality. This was happening. He was committing to this.

Sam Collins of a year ago would have been terrified. Sam Collins of now could not be more determined and excited.

“Okay,” Vincent said as he led Sam into the living room and scooped up a tablet where it had been sitting on the sofa cushions. “My number one priority when choosing rings for any occasion is style. Do you want a beveled edge? What do you want it to be made out of? Durability versus safety. A tungsten ring will shatter before it warps around your finger but it also oxidizes fast and loses its shine. Gold is super malleable so the purer it is, the less likely it’ll retain its shape even though it looks amazing.

“And do you want something engraved on it? Inside? Outside?” Vincent slid a silvery ring with a gold stripe running around the center and passed it over for Sam to inspect. “That one’s cobalt chrome. Same stuff aircraft is made of. It’s durable but maintains its shine. It should also shatter before warping, which is ideal in case your hand ever gets smashed. Look inside the band.”

Sam did as instructed.

Everything 07.10.20 was carved into the inside of the band. Sam scrunched his eyebrows and looked up. “Huh?”

“The promise I made to be with my partner through everything, and the day we met,” Vincent explained. “That’s the only ring I wear every day. All the others are interchangeable. That’s the one I value the most. It’s not the most expensive ring I own by any means, but it means the most to me.”

Sam nodded in understanding. “I see,” he said. He handed the ring back. Vincent slid it back on.

“It mostly comes down to personal preference, but I’m more than happy to go over stuff with you. I have a friend in the city who’s a jeweler if you want something super custom. And I’m sure William has a random assortment of gemstones from throughout the centuries that he’d be willing to let you pick a little jewel from if you want.”

“That might be a little much.”

Vincent shrugged. “Up to you.” He waved the tablet in his hand. “Come sit down. Let’s look at some options.”

Sam sighed and followed his brother to the sofa.

—

The ring I’d started wearing was silicone. It would tear off if I had to shift at a moment’s notice. It wasn’t particularly expensive and I’d bought a bunch of spares.

But I’d started to get used to it. Twisting the simple black band around my finger when I was thinking. Feeling like something was missing when I left the house without it. Given it was silicone and I wasn’t particularly concerned about tarnishing it, I’d fully stopped taking it off for most things and just left it on.

I found myself fidgeting with it while I sat at the pack meeting. I’d tuned David out a while ago without realizing it or meaning to. When my attention span snapped back to the here and now, I blinked hard and shook my head—and caught Asher and Milo both casting “furtive” glances toward my hand. Irritating as it would be to put up with their teasing, I didn’t take the ring off. Nor did I hide it with my other hand. Just kept twisting it around my finger. If either of them had a problem with me wearing it, I’d beat them both up.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I slipped it out of my pocket and peeked at it, trying to be subtle and unobtrusive.

Sam: Meet me at mine after your meeting?

I replied with a thumbs-up emoji. A promise that I’d send a more adequate reply later but acknowledging I got his text.

I spent the rest of the meeting antsy. Sam probably just wanted to relax with me, but part of me was nervous. Had something gone wrong? Was he okay? His clan? My pack? Had he heard something from William from one of William’s hundreds of contacts? My thoughts did nothing but spiral as I sat there, staring through the whiteboard David was standing in front of.

Once the meeting was over, I didn’t stay to chat. I definitely avoided Asher and Milo as they tried to head me off on my way to the door. I was a bit quicker than both of them and slipped out.

Swinging a leg over my motorbike, I gunned its engine and left the security office behind.

Twenty minutes later, I was shoving the kickstand with my foot in Sam’s driveway. He was sitting on the porch, long legs extended down the stairs, leaning back on his hands. Cowboy boots, faded jeans, plaid flannel unbuttoned over a T-shirt. The usual.

“Everything okay?” I asked, yanking my helmet off. Trying not to look frazzled. Years of emotional suppression left me pretty good at sounding unbothered.

“Everythin’s fine, darlin’,” Sam said.

“Just wanna chill?”

He shrugged. “Little more’n that,” he said. He sat up properly so he wasn’t leaning back on his hands anymore and beckoned me to come sit beside him. I did, letting him wrap his right arm around my shoulders.

“What do you mean?”

“I wanted your opinion on somethin’.”

“Okay?”

He brought his left hand in front of him, palm up like he wanted me to put my hand on top of it.

But there was a ring on his finger—the same finger I wore mine on.

I took his hand in both of mine and raised it closer to my face for thorough inspection.

It was a metal ring inset with some sort of stone around the middle. David’s was similar, but the secondary ring—the inset—on David’s was a dark, rich wood. This was a clear stone with milky, translucent veins and flecks of blue.

The metal was bright and silvery, but it didn’t look like silver. It was... too pale to be silver. “Wait—is this platinum?” I asked.

Sam didn’t answer immediately. “Part of it,” he said. “The other part’s stone.”

I shot him a look that said, “No duh, Sherlock,” and then smiled. “I figured that much out. Moonstone, if I’m not wrong.”

“Surprised you guessed.”

I shrugged. “I was one of those rocks-and-minerals kids. Got a lot of guff from Ash for always having a cool rock I found in my pocket or my backpack.” I looked back down at the ring. “It’s beautiful. But—I mean—you didn’t have to. I—I just got mine as a reminder to myself.” Only Sam being sweet could make me fumble with my words like a nervous teenager. “I mean—this looks really expensive and—”

“Darlin’,” Sam interrupted. “It’s important to you, so it’s important to me. And I like this one.” He set his hand that was around my shoulders on the back of my head. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I like the reminder that I’m wanted too?”

I blinked a single tear out of my eye that I hadn’t realized was welling up. I raised a hand to wipe it off but Sam caught my wrist, encouraging me to just let it slide down my face.

“I love you, Sam,” I said.

He gave me a gentle smile. “I love you too, darlin’. So much.” He pressed his lips to my temple. “And the ring wasn’t as expensive as you think.”

—

Tag list: @zozo-01 @thegoldenlittlerose @mainhoesstuff

#Redacted ASMR #fic #Redacted Sam #Redacted Darlin'#Sam Collins #Darlin'#Sam #Vincent's ring is based on my husband's wedding ring #the engraving says 'You're My Everything' and the day we got married #Starlit Fic

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leiakenobi · 3 years

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11. santi

11. things you said when you were drunk

as soon as i saw this one on the list, I knew someone was going to ask for it. which has def happened at least once before with you specifically lydz so maybe i'm just reading your mind. 😂 i... maybe? went in a different direction than you were expecting, and i kinda sorta love it.

this clocks in at 689 words, reader has boobs but no specified pronouns

——

When Santiago's name lights up your phone at 1 in the morning, it is not a surprise. You could swear he calls you like this at least once each time he's away, and it's only a week and a half away from his next leave.

So frankly, he's overdue.

You've been in the process of getting ready for bed, your teeth brushed and a washcloth now in hand in preparation for washing your face. So you set your phone on the edge of the sink and put it on speaker as you accept his call.

"Hi Santi."

"Babe. Hi. Hello."

At once, you smile at your reflection in the mirror. Sometimes these calls take a different sort of tone -- a heady, playful sort of tone -- but right now, he is the epitome of sweetness. "Hi."

"Hi," he repeats. Then, after a pause: "Wait, we said that already."

"It's just nice to say," you reply softly. "Who are you out with tonight?"

Santi sniffs indignantly. "How do you know I'm out tonight?"

You hold back a laugh as you wipe your washcloth across your forehead and over your cheeks. "Are you not out tonight?"

Another pause.

"Some of the local officers," he replies at last. "They can really hold their liquor."

"I'm sure you're keeping up just fine."

"Always." He sounds endearingly proud of himself, but his voice softens a bit as he continues, "Miss you, though."

For such a simple sentiment, it's remarkable how much it makes your heart burst. "I miss you too, baby."

"I've been thinking about your feet a lot."

"My feet?" you repeat, letting out a laugh. That's a new one. Your hands, your legs, your ass, your mouth, your tits... He's mentioned them all in moments like this. It's not often that he'll bring up something new.

"Mhm." Santi lets out a heavy sigh. "Missing those nights when we sit and watch a movie and you spread out on the sofa and swear that you won't put your feet in my lap this time, but you always end up asking for a foot massage."

"Do I do that?"

Yes. You do.

Nightly routine finished, you pick up your phone and cross the threshold into your bedroom. Maybe it's because you're talking to Santi—your eyes fall on his shirts of their own volition as you begin to comb through everything looking for something to sleep in, and you can't help yourself. You pull one out and toss it onto the bed.

"All the fucking time." Again, he sounds proud. Proud of you this time, you think, for being just a little obnoxious about it. "But y'know why I put up with it?"

You don't even think about it as you tug your pants off. "Because it usually leads to sex?"

"I mean, sure." Santi falters for a moment, his thoughts derailed, and you briefly think that you're gonna have to reorient him toward his point. "But also 'cause I love you a lot."

"Santi..." you murmur, momentarily frozen in the middle of taking off your shirt. You try to picture him, probably tucked against the wall outside a rundown dive bar. (He only ever likes dive bars.) Stolen away from his friends purely so that he can tell you that he loves you for being a pain in the ass on your movie nights.

"But to be clear, the sex part is very very good."

Aha. There's your Santiago. You smirk and get your shirt the rest of the way off. "Absolutely it is."

"Good." In the background, you hear a sudden onslaught of shouts, none of which you're quite able to make out. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," he calls. To you, he says, "I should--"

"S'okay, babe." You glance toward his pillow, and as much as you are happy to have heard from him, you feel like you might have to curl up with it tonight. "Make sure they get you back to me in one piece, okay?"

"One piece," he agrees. "Love you, babe."

"Love you." The line goes dead quickly, so it's only to yourself that you can murmur, "So much."

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #santiago garcia fanfiction #santiago garcia #triple frontier fanfiction #fanfic #my fic #created #louderrthanthunderr #prompt fill

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lolita-lollipop · 3 years

Note

Hi hope you’re having a wonderful day! Could I please get a bnha coraline au story. So like y/n has had a pretty bad life like a whole bunch of stuff and now they have to basically parents their own parents at the age of 15 cause they’re lazy alcoholics who just go to work come back and drink. One day after they move in y/n gets curious and finds explores around the house while they’re alone and discovers the door to the other world and meets their dream parents. The parents are aizawa and present mic who just genuinely love the reader, they don’t want to take readers soul that just want to help them. They have a sister eri and a brother shinso and when reader tries to leave they all beg and threaten reader not to leave cause “your parents never cared for you anyways” and “we’ll love you more then they ever would” and force reader to be the new baby of the family gender neutral reader if possible, please and thank you ( 03^)~💚

YANDERE CORALINE AU ERASERMIC FAMILY X READER

GN READER

-I do apologize if you wanted a shorter work, because this ended up being kinda long, sorry!

-there are a few grammar and spelling mistakes here and there, this is unedited, I will fix them :)

(I don’t know if you actually wanted the reader to be treated like a baby, literally like an infant, or just like the youngest in the family, I needed up doing the second option, tell me if wrong.)

——————————————————————-

You hummed a tune as you wandered the hallways, your footsteps dragging, you had tried to tell your mother to drink some water and put the strong bottle of vodka down before she ended up killing herself. She yelled at you, told you to “shut the hell up ya damn brat”, god knows where your father even is. It had only been a day or two in this house, and they had already made it feel like a prison for you, oh my, A SINGLE DAY.

In all honesty the house was nice, old, yes, but still nice. It seemed as if the last owners hadn’t been here for hundreds of years, let alone clean the place, as all embellishments on the walls were antique styled, and everything, I repeat, everything, was covered in dust. There were a few different pieces of furniture that looked as ancient as the neighbors, including a dresser filled with a different articles of clothing, a few dusty chairs here and there, curtains clawed away by... something, and little tables with droors filled with little trinkets.

One room in particular was exceptionally creepy in your eyes, it seemed like a child once slept there, probably long dead by now, the walls were covered in a striped floral wallpaper, chipping at the edges, various stuffed animals that hadn’t been touched in ages, what looked to be a changing table, and a smaller sized bed placed in the middle, fitted with dusty purple bedsheets, probably that color because of the gathering dust, you sat down on the mattress, inhaling the scent of the room. It smelled oddly of lavender, not a musty mildew smell you were expecting. You spent a moment just finding comfort in the warm smell, before noticing a small dent in the wall behind what you thought could be a changing table. Almost looked like... a tiny door?

“What the heck is that?” You questioned or yourself, narrowing your eyes at the wooden frame that looked like a small threshold, cautiously standing up form the bed, and making your way over to the door, you struggled to move the large piece of furniture, pushing back gains the groun and shoving it out of the way. It was indeed a door, and it was indeed tiny. There was a small cobweb strung across the mass of it, which you batted away with your little hands, pulling at the doorknob a few times to reveal the fact that it was locked, you let out an exasperated sigh. Well... it’s not like you have much to do, might as well find the key.

Surprisingly, it hadn’t taken long for you to find the small, heart shaped key that fit the locked door, it was tucked into one of the white droors of the small table in the corner. It was the first place you looked, almost as if it’d been calling out for you. It only took a few moments for you to push the key into the lock and turn, you let out a sigh of relief when you heard the satisfying click of the lock opening. Wondering what was going to be on the other side, you pushed open the mini door, to reveal a tunnel of sorts... today’s just full of surprises isn’t it.

“Man this tunnel is lo... whoah.” You stood, still balled up in a crawli mg position, shocked at your own surroundings. Everything looked so... new, and polished, you stared Jan absolute awe at everything, literally everything. Where are you?

“Oh, honey you’re finally here!” A male voice rang out from behind you, immediately large hands were lifting you off the floor from under your arms, holding you like a baby, this guy cradled your head in his chest, no matter how much you squirmed, the iron grip he had on you did not loosen. You snapped your head up to meet his eyes, only to be met with buttons of such a piercing yellow it almost hurt your own eyes. A shrill scream left your lips, as you flung your feet back and forth in attempts to free yourself.

“Oh, oh right. I’m sorry , I should’ve been a little slower, it’s scary I know, you’ll get used to it I promise. I’m hizashi, your other father, re you alright?” He questioned, backing up a little to give you space, bringing his hands up to tell you he wasn’t going to hurt you, ever. You were usually a calm person, but given the situation, like some random person living in your house with buttons for eyes, the reaction was warranted. You breathed for a small moment, inhaling the even stronger scent of lavender that was oh so comforting, before standing back up, giving whatever this was at a chance of explanation.

“Who- who are you?” The question left your lips faster than tryouts could hold it in, he gave you a smile and walked closer again, booping your nose and once again pulling you off the ground. He was tall, slightly lanky, and his hair was a bright yellow to match his eyes, little dangle earring wee attached to his ears, you just stared in awe at the inhuman man who was holding you.

“Silly little thing! I just said it! I’m your other father, like your real father, just perfect for you! Dinners almost ready, so let’s go meet the rest of the fmIly okay bubs?” He questioned m, speaking down to you like one would a child, even though you are a fully capable human. He grabbed your hand, and gently rigged you off into some hallway, you slightly dig your feet in, staring back at the little door that got you here in the first place.

———

“Honey, this is your reality, if it was perfectly fit for you! We love you, unlinke those scum who call your your parents, don’t your bat to be loved for once y/n?” He spoke, the two of you arrived at what was probably the kitchen, him explaining what was happening pretty thoroughly considering he had to do it in a few minutes, barging through the doors, a few other pairs of button eyes were scattered thievhiur the kitchen.

“Daddy! I helped bubba make dinner tonight!” A little girl, probably not even over the age of five, came running towards the two of you, smiling fully. She was sporting a pair of red buttons, which matched her little jumper, you had your face buried in this ma- hizashis chest, his arms wrapped around the entirety of you. He sent an exited stare towards the little girl, who jsut gasped and smiled even harder. She made little grabby hands towards you, so hizashi set you down on the ground, whispering a “time to get down” in your ear. Instantly, the little girl attached herself to your torso.

“Bubba/sissy!” She squealed, patting your stomach, as much as you would love to knock her off of you, she’s a kid, you don’t do that to kids. This young girl claimed to be your other sister, which at this point you were led to believe because apparently anything is possible at this point, she was pretty adorable.

“I-uh, yeah?” You spluttered, visibly flustered, you tried to get a grip of yourself, it was kindof odd, although the girl seemed much younger than you, the way she carried herself presented that she was much older than she came off, from the maternal glint in her eyes, to the planned movements, it just seemed... mature.

—————small time skip—————

It had been maybe an hour, you had been seated at a dinner table, quite the large one actually, in between a black haired man that you could tell was staring at you, and a purple haired teenager who looked to be a similar age to you. You sat there just kindof awkwardly trying to not touch any of them. At one pint. The purple haired guy tried to feed you, which was an unfortunate suprise because you were off in dreamland, and were ckmoemteky confused as to why he was even trying something like that.

“You’ll probably hurt yourself trying, just let me do it” he spoke, it is safe to say that this button eyed family is an odd bunch. First the woerd door, then a creepy guy tryna pick you up, then some little girl who probably wasn’t so little claiming you to be her “younger sibling”; then the offpdutirng glances front his beanbag guy, than this? What is happening.

Sooner or later, after the really odd display that was dinner had finished, and you had help washing your hands, because for some reason they thought you needed it, it was announced bettime, and with a snap of the man him you learned name was Aizawa, food was gone, along with all the dishes. If you were to be completely honest with yourself, you almost lied this, of course not the babying thing, but the fact that you weren’t cooking or cleaning or trying to snatch a bottle from your parents, it almost made you wnat to cry how perfect this family was. God how much you wished this was your own.

It’s sounds selfish, and unreasonable, but you never had a childhood, the day you were born your life was already sighted off as “servant of my own parents”, you lived them, you did, these people were so nice thiugh, they were odd, maybe a little quirky, but still jsut a perfect little family. Apparently one that includes you.

“ALRIGHT! time for bed!” The yellow haired man exclaimed, seeeping you and eri right off of your feet, holding you in his arms as eri giggled at the sudden swish sound. The two men on the other side of the large room cracked small smiles at the sheer adorable ness of the position, the two little ones of the family and their father! What a sight to see!

“Shhhhh, I think y/n is gonna sleep with us to Tonight okay eri?” Hizashi whispered to the young girl, loud enough for you to hear, she nodded and smiled one of her sickeningly sweet smiles, hr eyebrows raising before her button eyes. She motioned to be put down ‘, waving goodbye and latching her own hand onto shinsos, who also waved his hand.

“Goodnight daddy! And y/n!” From there, you walked alongside them to their room, or what you supposed it was. This was the first time you’d really talked to Aizawa, and it was pretty embarrassing because he asked if he was aloud to change you out of your day clothes. You were a little too scared to say no, so you let him, it was probably one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to sit through, and that’s saying quite A lot.

When all was done, you had brushed your teeth, and wrrrnchanged into a set of lilac pajamas, silken and slippery, you were pulled on top of the yellow haired man, who then wrapped his arms around your waist and started “shh-ing” you, patting your head while rocking back and forth slightly, the other man slipped in next splaying his arms over you, rubbing circles into your beck

Mans with that, the lights went out, and you fell asleep.

——————————————————————

From there, everything in your life changes, you wake up the next day in the dusty lilac bed, wondering if it all was a dream, so the next night, you go back, and the next, and the next, until you started to spend your days there. Playing with eri, or cuddling with either of the three men, or just having fun without any worries or cares int the world. By that’s when it all starts, they kindof... changed.

They became overprotective, it showed in some more than others, but it was present either way. Al you wanted to do was check up on your dad to see if he was still alive or not, and eri had a whole crying fit, begging you to stay, and telling you she’d die if you left.

“No no! You can’t leave me! I-I I’m gonna die if you leave! I’ll die, please don’t keVe I promise il be good!”

It took a little shushing from you, but eventually you convinced her you weren’t going to leave, and so she went back to her normal self. You were with shinso once, and walked near the little door, he had immediately blocked it as if you were going to do something, then scolded you for going near such a “dangerous object”.

“You shouldn’t. Go close to that evil little thing, it might hurt you m, I don’t want you to get hurt, so stay away from it”

And then your other parents, they didn’t let you do anything by yourself, scared you would run off and get lost in the maze of nothing outside. You can’t even mention your real parents, you’ve been down here for at least a week now and haven’t been able to check on them, so when you did ask to go back for a day, hizashi slicks dying up and told you to cut out the nonsense, while Aizawa bubbles in anger, telling you that they lived you ten times better than your parents Eve could.

“They don’t deserve you, they don’t love you, we do, they’ll never live you half as much as we do, we can protect you here, why would you wnat to leave?”

Ans so one day, when your “other papa” or Aizawa, tried to take the key from you and lick you in here, you had enough. These people were supposed to be perfect, instead they turned obsessive, little button eyes showing up everywhere, watching your every move, you had thought your old life was a prison, now look at this.

You turned back, checking to see if anyone was watching, waiting to stop you, before pulling the key out of your pocket, ripping the boarding off of the door, pulling the panels of wood off one by one, shoving the key into the black door knob, you were just about to turn it, when a voice rang out behind you, no longer was the sweet girl who you played trains with, in the stead was something else just In ther body, you could hear it in her voice.

“Where are you going? You aren’t trying to leave are you?” She spoke, you froze on the spot, hands moving faster, ymtrying to get the stupid door to unlock, before you could even blink, the key snapped in half, not in your hold, in another sudden figure, your other brother. You didn’t even get the chance to speak before be t down and ripped the whole door knob off of it, giving you a knowing glance.

“I told you to stay away from it, I told you didn’t I? Now look, it’s broken” he hissed, throwing the iron knob somewhere else, you knew that I’d both of the siblings were here, the two parents were sure to be here along with them, you were proven right, as a pair of black and yellow buttons popped up behind the Eric girl, carrryijg... what is that?

“Oh my god... OH MY GOD” you screamed, the heads of your parents were in these men’s holds buttons sewn over the eyes, blood seeping out of their decapiated necks, you reMiedn screaming as the heads were discarded, jsut thrown off somewhere else. You were lifted up off the ground in your crying state, hizashi a hands stroked your hair, while his other hand went and wrapped around your butt to support you up.

“We told you baby, we tried to tel you at least. Now there’s nothing up there for you, there was never anything anyways, your safe now... they’ll never hurt you again. You’re ours...

Forever”

———————————————————————————————————

Tell me if you liked it, I can change things if you want:)

#coraline au #yandere erasermic #yandere erasermic family #buttons #tiny door #lock and key #shinsou hitoshi #shinso #erasermic #daddy erasermic #eri #yandere present mic #yandere Aizawa #yandere shinso #yandere eri

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fullfiresiren · 3 years

Text

beauty of the dawn

jujutsu kaisen

fushiguro toji x reader

The notion of a loving family was something foreign to Fushiguro Toji. Family, to him, was a bitter word -- full of hate and abhorrence. Abandonment and fear were a commonality in his own childhood. But in you, he finds a warmth he didn’t think he deserved – a home he craved, a love that makes him feel safe; full of gentle touches and soft kisses. But he’s scared. He's broken, and angry, and he knows the threat of his family is always lurking close, snapping at his heels, ready to devour. You bring the notion of family to his doorstep, and he spooks. He panics. He can’t let them find you, he can’t and he has to give up the only feeling of warmth he has ever known to do so.

It haunts him forever – leaving behind the only woman he ever loved, and a child he will never know.

word count: 3.8k.

notes: *inhales* ANGST— lmao but really, I live for it. Toji may be a bad person, but I suck dick, not morals, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ bro I fr don’t even know what came over me. This has been like the smallest headcannon for me and somehow it turned into this horribly sad piece, and although Toji is a dick, I also think he is an incredibly complex character that, at the end of it all, was just a desperate father trying to look out for his child. I think he deserves much more than he got, and he kinda gets shat on in this fic lmao I'm so fuCKING SORRY FOR THAT--

warnings: nsfw/18+, angst, hurt no comfort, abandonment, unplanned pregnancy, pregnant reader

“Take me,” he prays, panting secrets that fall from his lips onto your soft skin; promises of pleasure as he breeds you deep. “Take all of me.”

And you do – over, and over, and over again.

Hilting him to the deepest part of yourself, and holding him close, so close, his breath a hot ghost across your face as he leans his forehead against yours. You keep him there until he is finished, taking his seed like it was sacrament. He gives you everything he has to offer, and only when you have slipped into a light slumber does he pull away.

He never strays far, though, and he cannot stay away for long. You are like sweet honey and warm sunsets; the breathing embodiment of a life he was never before privy to – the promise of something better; a miracle. Far from the cold depravity and sharp pain of his own family, in you, he found only warm touches, and words of tender affection. Toji feels so overwhelmed by the amount of love he has for you, that sometimes it’s unbearable. He feels so happy he could die.

He is not an honest man, by any means. He kills for a vocation -- and enjoys it, too. It’s something he’s good at. It’s an easy way to make money, and it helps him pay for his half of the rent on the meagre apartment you share. It also lets him keep the fridge full, make sure you’re always warm, and that you’re never without. He doesn’t really care about himself or what he has to do – so long as you’re happy.

The weight of his body is always heavy between your thighs, his chest solid, thrusts slow and deep, stretching you, making a perfect fit for himself inside you. He likes drawing it out – each time he takes you. He enjoys seeing you beg for release, relishes the way your tears slide down your flushed cheeks, because he likes being the one to kiss them away, knowing he is the only one who ever makes you feel this good. His name sounds so perfect when it falls from your lips at your height of ecstasy, and the way you take him in has him swearing he can see heaven.

You see a side of him that no one else does, but he’s dark, he’s toxic. The amount of sadness in his soul is challenged only by the sheer force of his anger. He's sure that he wasn’t always like this, but... he can’t really remember a time when he wasn’t. Everyone and everything was his enemy. He’s never really told you much about his family, or his past. His childhood had been dark, you assumed, based on the way he flinched around children, and steered clear of any conversational topics that included them or parental figures.

Toji Fushiguro was untouchable to everyone, and only just tangible to you.

He wants to be able to give you everything. He wants to lay his head on your chest in the depths of the night when he’s feeling lost, listening to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat to guide him home. He wants to come home every night, no matter what happens to him throughout the day, and be able to feel the brush of your soft lips; to taste your tongue with his – god – he wants to. But he’s afraid. He’s scared. If he gives you everything... if he shows you who he really is... what happens if you see something you don’t like? Will you pull away from him? Will you cast him out and abandon him – just like his family did? Toji isn’t feeble by any sense of the word, but he thinks that would be the one thing that would break him.

That’s why he’s only let you see glimpses... and only every now and then.

He’s just so miserable when he’s alone. He’s angry at the world, and you’re the only thing that soothes him. The only thing he has ever loved.

You’re staring at yourself in the mirror when he comes home, locked away in the too-small bathroom. You hear the keys turning in the lock; a signal of his arrival, and the door to your apartment opens, bringing with it sounds of paper bags crinkling, keys being tossed into their bowl, and huffing exhales as he struggles to kick his heavy boots off.

“Toji?”

“I’m home!” he calls, his voice a deep timbre in his chest, smooth like rich oak.

You follow it, leaving the safe space of your bathroom to find him, and when you pass the threshold into your small kitchen, he’s lifting bags of fresh groceries onto what little counter space you have. The movement carries with it droplets from an October rain that had caught him by surprise on his walk home, ones that hang from the edges of his black hair and drip down onto his damp black shirt.

“Toji,” you repeat, beaming as you bound into your small kitchen. “I have wonderful news!”

He spares you a glance between unpacking vegetables, dark eyes tracing the curve of your face, hands grasping at packets of food that need to be tossed in the fridge, and cans to be stacked in the shelves.

“Hmm?”

He offers you his face, leaning in close, pausing in his task to receive a small blessing of affection from you — a soft kiss against the scar on his lip that has his eyelashes fluttering closed, and then one more fully against yours – always greedy for any love you bestow, always chasing just one more, just once more, just another, my love, just one more...

He continues with his chore, but only when you giggle at the fluttering of kisses he peppers across your face, your jaw, suckling at your neck, your hands against his chest pushing him gently, urging him to finish his task – but not before you give him another deep kiss, all giddiness and mirth swimming in your gaze. He can’t help the deep chuckle that spills from his lips at seeing you so happy.

“Toji,” you begin, and he’s rummaging in the paper bags, brows furrowed because he could have sworn that he bought three carrots, and not two -- “I’m pregnant!”

He stills.

He can sense your beaming smile, almost feels the warmth of it on his cold skin, and it only makes him shiver.

The seconds tick by without any form of reaction, and the atmosphere grows horribly tense. Toji doesn’t look at you, but he can see from his peripheral vision that your smile slips at the same time that your shoulders round and you make yourself smaller, unconsciously closing off. You’re twisting something in your hands, suddenly nervous, and he has a nauseating feeling that settles in his gut, because he knows exactly what it is that you’re holding.

It’s proof.

“Are you... happy?” you ask, and you hate that you have to. It’s like a punch in the gut, and you’re afraid. This was not the reaction you were expecting at all.

“Are you sure?” he doesn’t know why he asks that.

He isn’t looking at you, and he isn’t moving – he’s not even blinking. You feel your hands becoming sweaty as you clutch the positive pregnancy test, mouth dry. A quickly increasing panic creeps over your skin, gripping you by the throat, and you honestly have no idea how to traverse this kind of response to your news. In the bathroom you only practiced scenarios in relation to a beaming, positive reaction.

Which room should we make into the baby’s room? Our baby can always sleep with us, though, and I know they’re definitely going to prefer you – I'm hopeless with kids... but I hope they look like you, Toji – a perfect combination of everything I love about you!

Do you want to pick names out? I hope it’s a girl... but a boy would be wonderful, too! I know the baby will adore you, no matter what! Do you have any names you like? We can name them after someone you love? If it’s a boy, I want to make his middle name yours...

Why didn’t you think he was going to show apprehension or reluctance? Why were you so idiotic to assume this is something he desired when he’s never given you any signs of wanting to start a family? He’s probably feeling entirely overwhelmed – and no wonder – you have no tact about this. Fuck, you’re stupid. You fucking idiot. Pathetic, dumb, worthless--

“Y-yes,” you reply, and your voice is a shadow of its former self. “I took three tests. I have one here--”

“How.”

You flinch a little under the curtness of his words.

“W-what—?”

“How did this happen?”

“Uhm...” your voice sounds so frail when you speak, and you can't help it. He’s making you feel like you’ve committed a horrendous sin. You’ve managed to combine the epitome of affection between the two of you into the creation of what will become a child – a perfect mix of the two of you, and yet, you’re beginning to hate yourself for doing so. You didn’t mean to... it was an accident... “We don’t... you know... use protection... and we... have sex... a lot...”

“I thought you were taking the pill.”

You feel like you want to throw up.

His entire body is unnaturally still, and he’s not looked at you once since you’ve told him. You are pretty sure that the can in his right hand is warping under the violent pressure of his grasp, and you wring your hands around the test nervously, the weight of it somehow heavy against your palms.

“I... don’t take the pill...” you remind, and then as an afterthought, you add, “I’m sorry.”

Words you never thought you would say in relation to this. You never though you would have to apologize in this kind of situation. You exhale a shaky breath, and it seems to bring him back to reality. He sets the can down on the countertop with more force than needed, and you try your best to blink back tears as you ask, “You’re... not happy... are you...?”

It’s more of a statement than a question, and it hurts to say – god, it hurts. The words sting when they leave your mouth, like a hard slap against your face, but the ache is not nearly as bad as the way his silence is wounding you. You feel like you’re about to collapse from the amount of pain you have in your heart.

“I need to go somewhere,” is the most he offers you, before he’s turning on his heels and striding past you, leaving the apartment you share.

The noise of the front door slamming shut echoes in your mind long after the sound itself has gone.

He never did come back.

— — — 5 years later — — —

In the end, you were blessed with a baby girl, all chubby with round, rosy cheeks. Dark hair and eyes like her father, but soft and gentle like her mother. She was an almost perfect child. She never cried, and she never fussed, content in just being close to her mother. She listened when you spoke, and learned fast, growing just as quick, and you would die for her. She was your blessing; Akemi – the beauty of a new dawn.

You’re sure that he would have loved her more than life itself, but you try not to spare any thoughts his way anymore.

Toji gambles his life away, blowing through anything he earns as quickly as he makes it, drowning himself night after night in heavy alcohol to dampen his senses until they are nothing more than a faint hum in the back of his brain.

With any luck, those things will kill him long before the guilt does.

He fucks faceless women, drunk beyond sense, and when he finishes, he leaves before they sleep.

“Hate me, (y/n),” he sneers, turning sharply to vomit up onto the wet asphalt, breath a shaky exhale as he stumbles into the cold night, thoughts only on you – only ever on you – unaware that he’s crying. “Hate me. I fucking deserve it.”

His face is smeared with bile and tears, and he is so fucking angry -- so desperately sad, and he cries, and cries. He wants to go home. He just wants to go home. He wants to meet her – his darling daughter – he wants to hold her, and kiss her forehead, and tuck her into bed. Fuck everything that he thought – he would have been a great father, he knows it – and you knew it, too. He’s so lost without you, and he wants to lay his head on your chest in the safety of your bedroom, listening to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat to guide him home. He wants to feel the brush of your soft lips again; to taste your tongue with his, moan your name into your parted sigh, make you feel him again.

He screams, but it catches in his throat before he can, and he splits his knuckles open when he sends a furious punch against a brick wall.

He can protect you from a lot of things – but not the power of his family. Not that. He’s just one man, and they’re so many. He has a heavenly restriction, and they are all blessed with both innate and inherited techniques, passed down through eons. He knows what they’ll do if they ever found out about you – about the child, and Toji swears on everything he has, that he won’t let them touch you – or her. Even if he won’t be able to. Even if he’ll never be able to hold his daughter, to thank her for being born, to cradle her against his chest and feel her wrap her small fingers against his – he won’t let the Zen’in have her. He won’t.

But that doesn’t mean that he deprives himself from watching over her – or you. Eyes follow the two of you home from her pre-school, singing nursery rhymes to your hearts content, watching as she orders “up, up, mommy!”, squealing happily when you lift her onto your shoulders. He imagines himself in your place; lifting her to higher heights, hearing her giggle a chorus of happy songs as your hand finds his, lips on his scar as you tell him how much you love him.

But he always keeps his distance, dark baseball cap shielding his features, and leaves before you feel someone following you.

It becomes increasingly hard to keep it at that. He starts pushing the boundaries, testing how close he can get. He knows he shouldn’t -- he has no right to – but when she dropped her stuffed toy one time in the supermarket, and you were oblivious to it, he finds himself bending down to grasp the too-soft toy in his calloused hands, dropping it in your basket when your back is turned, and your brows are furrowed as you regard the price difference between her favorite flavor of juice compared to the off-brand ones.

The thrill of being so close, of doing something, anything fatherly, was like a fix – a short relief from the aching despair and loneliness constantly plaguing him, and he finds himself doing it more and more – always pushing, always testing the waters. He even smiled at her once when she caught him staring, and she sent her own toothy grin back at him. His heart soared.

His daughter’s name was Akemi, and he first heard it when it fell from your lips one warm afternoon. He wants to write her name on his heart – right beside yours.

He wants to give her something – a pretty gift, but he doesn’t know what. He was never good at buying presents, and would only ever bring you flowers, since it seemed like something that could never go wrong, and would always bring a bright smile to your face. Flowers would be strange for a child, though. He twists the dainty silver bracelet between his large fingers, thinking bitterly that this was the same way you held the pregnancy test all those years ago. He didn’t really care how much it cost him. He’s sure that the salesman added unnecessary tax and extras to the price just to give himself more commission, but Toji doesn’t care – he just wanted something pretty to give to his daughter.

When he finally sees her enter the park, small hand tugging yours happily, his mind goes empty, and he can’t stop staring. You are as beautiful as ever, and it’s no wonder his daughter is so ethereal when she has you for a mother.

She is perfect, he thinks -- too good for this life -- and even though it’s the worst thing he has ever done, he is reminded that pulling away from you was the only way to save her from his family. It looks like she escaped the curse of inheriting any of his bloodline's techniques, and what’s more so – it seems like she, too, is oblivious to curses; skipping past them as she chases leaves that skit about the dirt path of the park, her teddy in her arms. Toji dips his head down when she draws near the bench he’s sitting on, the brim of his baseball cap keeps his face hidden, and his sadness known only to himself.

“Excuse me?”

He bristles when her voice floats past his ears, so gentle and sweet.

“Hey, mister,” she pokes his knee with her slim finger, so tiny compared to the size of his body, and he jerks at the contact. “Is this yours?”

She’s holding the bracelet in her small hand, the silver glinting in the morning sun, offering it up to him with large eyes, so close to him. At this distance, he can see the true color of her eyes – exactly like his own – and the small freckles that dot her skin. The longer he stares, the more his chest constricts painfully, tightly – he’s finding it hard to breathe, and he exhales suddenly, sharply snatching it away from her.

The force of the movement causes her to stumble a little, tripping over her feet, and before she knows it, the man who was once sitting before her has entirely caught her in his large arms, scooping her up before the ground has a chance to harm her.

She blinks once... twice... swaddled in his arms, sitting against his broad chest, and Toji frantically looks for you, finding you caught up in talking to another mother, too busy to notice. He knows he would scold you for it if he was still in your life, but when his daughter laughs, he snaps his head back to look at her, forgetting what thoughts he had in his mind at the glinting sound of her happiness.

“Whoa!” she exclaims, “You’re fast! Thanks for catching me!”

He doesn’t know what to say – if he should say anything at all. His plan was to give her the bracelet, telling her that it was a late birthday gift from someone that loves her very much, and walking off before she (or you) has the chance to catch on or respond. But now that he’s inches away from her, holding her close as she peers up at him, he’s lost again. He’s lost, and he can’t breathe. He needs you to steady him, but you aren’t here, and he doesn’t know what to do, what should he do, what should he--?

“Where did you get that scar from?” she asks innocently, her large eyes suddenly trained on the mark beside his lips.

“F-from an accident,” he mumbles, “a long time ago.”

“Oh,” she hums, hands splayed against his broad chest, looking around her, swaying her legs absentmindedly. “Wow, you’re really tall! I can see everything from up here!” she exclaims happily, “My mommy’s not as tall as this, so when I sit on her shoulders, I can’t see nearly as much as I can now!”

“Oh,” he mutters, not really knowing what to say, “is that so?”

“Mhm,” she nods, “Mommy’s not as big as you are either.”

At this, he gives a genuine laugh – a sound he hasn’t heard fall from his lips in a long, long time, looking at her with quiet adoration.

“She’s not as fast as you either,” she continues, “you were super-fast!”

“She’s strong in her own ways, though,” he mutters, offering her a soft smile.

“Do you know my mommy?”

He bristles, actively avoiding her gaze. His heart is racing from this much interaction with his daughter, and he’s sure she can feel it under her small palm. It beats for her – if only she knew, and Toji contemplates, for the briefest of seconds, just telling her. The thought leaves his mind as soon as it enters. He doesn’t have that choice, and he doesn’t deserve it.

“Not really,” he mutters, dipping down slowly to set her footing on solid ground once more.

“She’s really pretty,” the little girl continues, playing with the soft fabric of his t-shirt in a small moment of fondness and familiarity, “and nice – and she makes great food!”

Toji realises only after the fact that his hand had settled on top of her head, and he’s stroking her hair softly, thumb caressing her cheek when he moves to cup her face. She doesn’t seem to mind at all, and Toji is overwhelmed with a plethora of emotions. Pride in you for doing all this by yourself and raising such a wonderful child, shame for abandoning you and his daughter, mirth, anger, warmth, sadness, love--

“Akemi!” you call, seeing her lift her head at the sound of your voice. “This way, honey!”

“Oh, I have to go now! My mommy is calling me!” she perks up, gripping her teddy a little tighter and offering the man a smile. “Bye-bye!”

“W-wait!” he calls, thrusting the gift into her small hands. “This is for you, uh... f-from me...”

She looks down at it, before her whole face lights up, and Toji is suddenly breathless – she looks so much like you when she’s surprised, happiness blossoming over her face the same way it would on yours.

Toji feels a deep-rooted emptiness inside his body when he watches his daughter retreat away from him; a living embodiment of all his failures to you, and yet, as he sees her long, black hair whip out behind her, he realizes something else — she was your promise delivered; a combination of everything good between the two of you, in itself a miracle. He might not be in her life, but he was also partly responsible for creating something so beautiful, so ethereal.

He knows he doesn’t deserve it, but if he was ever fortunate enough to be granted a second, it would be a miracle; a holy gift.

A blessing that would accompany the beauty of dawn.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #toji x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x you #fushiguro toji x you #angst #pregnant!reader #abandonment #dilf toji

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amitlee · 3 years

Text

Open Doors

Summary: Tommy should really consider closing his door.

Warnings: This is a tickle fic that has swearing.

This is all platonic!

———————————————————————

“Copy and...paste. Oh a full quizlet, lets fucking go!” Tommy muttered to himself, searching the answers for his homework.

Now, normally he would just read through the articles he had been assigned and answer the questions paired with them. But he was tired and history can get very, very boring.

So there he was, laying face down on his bed and facing away from the door, which was wide open. He continued clicking between the tab with answers and his own worksheet for a good 10 minutes and was about a third of the way done when a voice spoke from behind, startling him.

“Tommy” Came the questioning yet knowing voice. Tommy spun his head around to see Phil standing a meter behind him, he’d leaned down slightly to get a better look at Tommy’s screen and be sure he was seeing right.

“Phil! What’s up?” Play it cool, play it cool. He could probably weasel his way out of this one. He’d never been caught cheating, well- bending the rules, before. However, Phil had always been good at keeping him motivated to do his schooling be it reward or persuasion.

Phil chose to ignore the question and took a step forward, “What are you doing, mate?” He asked although he already knew the answer.

“Me? Oh I’m just doing some studying. You know, being a scholar and all.” Tommy answered somewhat honestly, hoping the slight twist of his words wasn’t too noticeable. He kept his tone light and threw jokes in as an attempt to convey his usual confidence. He switched his tab from the quizlet with answers back to his assigned article when Phil took a step closer.

Phil smiled, it was funny how Tommy was such an unconvincing liar and yet a decent actor. Phil knew what Tommy was up to and he didn’t blame him, it seemed neither of them were interested in history. This didn’t mean that he was going to let him off the hook though. “Oh hey hey! No need to click off so fast bud.” He let Tommy dig his own grave with his words.

“Sorry, I clicked off of it and now I can’t find it, no need to worry though. You know, I should really get back to-“ Tommy was cut off.

“Here, let me help.” Phil interrupted the boy and moved to sit beside him, now almost leaning over him completely. Phil pretended to search, massively overacting to build the playful atmosphere. “Awww, I can’t find it Toms. Sorry mate.”

Tommy blinked at the sudden close contact and tried to control his grin at the silliness. “That’s what I said, but it’s alright Phil.” He assured the man, now more confused at where this was going.

Phil put a hand on Tommy’s shoulder and let a sympathetic look overtake his features. “No need to look so sad, let me see what I can do.” He dropped the false sympathy in exchange for a sly smile and began skittering Tommy’s ribs.

Tommy yelped and tried to clamp his arms to his sides as giggles escaped passed his lips. However, they were the only thing propping him up and he found himself faced with shoving his face into the bed or taking his punishment. He decided to hide his face in the blanket as Phil soon began cooing at him.

“Phihil, I sahahaid I’m fihihine!” He whined, muffled by the sheets.

Phil let his hands wander further up towards the boy’s upper ribs, sporadically dipping into his underarms to get a screech or two. He easily got past the weak defenses and stepped up his teasing a bit.

“I’m fine! I’m fine Phil!” He mocked Tommy in a high pitch voice. “You won’t be when I’m done with you, that’s for sure.” He light heartedly threatened, knowing the promise of more to come would get a rise out of the boy.

Whines now pierced the light laughter as Tommy tried to drown out the words being spewed at him. He thrashed from side to side when the evil fingers dug into his hollows, his volume increasing. He tried to keep some form of coherency as he was taken apart piece by piece, he didn’t want it to stop just yet so he opted to do a little provoking. “IHIHi dohont sohOHOUnd like thahat you ohohold asS-SHIHIHIT!”

Phil didn’t take lightly to the provoking, especially since Tommy had brought this upon himself in the first place. He moved his hands down quickly and without warning, dug into his hips. He used his pointer fingers to dig into the cluster of nerves near the front of the bones on each side and used the rest of his hands to hold the boy in place.

Hiccups now intermingled with the boisterous laughter as the sweet spot was targeted. Curse Phil and knowing Tommy’s spots like the back of his hand. Tommy gathered the strength to flip onto his back in an attempt to better fight off his playful attacker. This plan backfired almost immediately. Phil raised his shirt and blew a large raspberry right above Tommy’s belly button.

“PLEHEHEASE! PHIHIHIL-“

Phil knew he had a better advantage in the new position Tommy had foolishly put himself in. However, he also knew that the boy wouldn’t be able to take much more and so he decided on a grand finale. He gave an exaggerated evil laugh, similar to a Disney villain, took another breath, and dove back down to blow a series of raspberries on Tommy’s stomach. He scratched at the sides on his stomach whilst still administering the treatment. He ran out of breath soon enough and settled for nibbling around the area, dodging flying hands when they came too close to actually making contact.

Tommy was relived when he finally caught both of Phil’s hands, stopping them in their tracks. This was short lived as Phil blew a final raspberry, this time not staying in one area but moving his head as he dished it out. Tommy let go of his hands and curled up in the fetal position, wrapping his arms around his torso.

Phil chuckled and pulled away completely. He let him rest for a moment before moving a hand to card through his hair in the most relaxing manner.

After originally flinching at the incoming hand, Tommy relaxed into the gesture and uncurled his body. He let out the remaining giggles he had before closing his eyes and melting, school could wait until the buzzing after effects wore off.

“Take a rest bud, you definitely deserve it after that.” Phil assured and took his free hand to rub away the left over tingles on his stomach. He chuckled again when Tommy’s smile reappeared and he set his hands next to Phil’s, half expecting him to start up again. “Relax mate, I’m done for now.”

That was the last thing Tommy heard before tipping over the edge of sleep.

——————

Wilbur was walking down the corridor with a mug of hot chocolate in hand. He was bored out of his mind but in a good mood nonetheless. As he passed the youngest member’s room, he heard a familiar toon being gently sang out.

“I’m looking for a window to another world-“

His eyes lit up and his heart filled with warmth so strong he had to take a second to cope with it. Tommy had a way of being able to melt Will down to his very core. He crept up to the door sitting ajar and stood in it’s frame.

“What’cha singing Tommyboy?” He asked with the teasing tone he saved for times like this.

Tommy jumped a foot in the air and clutched his heart dramatically, making a face mixed with shock and mild embarrassment.

“Nothing, just some weird song I heard. Kinda shit.” He said with mocking confidence. His cockiness soon retreated when he saw Will’s eyes darken as he stepped past the threshold.

“I don’t know, sounded like a good one to me. Maybe you could sing it again?” He set his mug on Tommy’s desk, where the boy sat, and stood looming behind his chair.

Tommy strained his neck trying to look at Will once he felt his presence so close. “Absolutely not.”

“No no, you definitely should. Maybe I could gets some tips before releasing it, you never know.” Will continued to play it up even though he knew Tommy wouldn’t full heartedly sing in front of him. “Why don’t I help you out some hmm?”

With that, he spidered his fingers right where the shoulders meet the neck to get him to scrunch up. This made it much easier for him to sneak his hands under Tommy’s arms and tickle there instead.

Tommy gasped and let out small huffs at the spot Will had chosen, unknowingly falling right into the trap by trying to crush the offending hands between his shoulder and head. “Yohou’re so duhuHUMB-“ He trailed off at the change in spots as he was overcome with laughter.

“Those aren’t the lyrics, try again!” He playfully encouraged his friend and picked up some speed. “Maybe this’ll help motivate you.”

Tommy felt himself relax into the sensations, torturous as they were. He had been editing for the past 2 and a half hours and could use a distraction. While he was caught in his thoughts, he forgot to answer Wilbur.

“Not answering are we?” He tsked with a grin. He didn’t mind that Tommy wasn’t talking, he knew that he was enjoying himself and besides, he liked his laughter just as well as his witty comebacks.

His thoughts were sliced through by Wilbur’s words. Tommy shook his head, now hiding his face in his hands. He could feel his blush and there was no doubt the content look on his face wouldn’t go unnoticed.

At the head shake, Will chuckled. He lifted one of his hands, keeping the other scratching away at the boy’s underarm. “Ok tough guy.” He said before dropping his now free hand to squeeze Tommy’s knee. Will knew it was unfair to target two weak points at the same time, but he also knew Tommy had a high tolerance.

Tommy’s laughter increased as did his squirming. He ended up hitting the underside of his desk with his knee so hard that it knocked over the full mug. Thankfully it missed anything important, but clattered to the floor anyways, spilling the liquid and making quite the noise.

Both boys gasped and looked to the mess.

“Tommy!”

“Will!”

They both exclaimed each other’s names at the same time accusingly. Now looking at each other in shock.

“Boys...” Came Phil’s voice from the living room. “What happened? Actually, never mind, I’m coming.” There were foot steps quickly approaching as both boys shared a look of ‘oh shit’.

“Again?” Phil exclaimed once he’d seen what happened, his words clearly expressing his disbelief.

Wilbur and Tommy exchanged another look. “SCATTER!” Will yelled out as they both ran past Phil.

——————

Tommy admired himself in the mirror. ‘I should really get one of these capes and definitely a crown too’, he thought to himself as he admired his complexion adorned with Technoblade’s signature outfit.

“We could always get you your own you know, so you don’t keep takin’ mine.” Speak of the devil.

Tommy acted unfazed as he turned to face the regal man. He put on his best American accent and tried becoming stoic to imitate Techno. “Bow before me, fool. This is my outfit now, sorry not sorry.” Tommy said smugly, dropping the accent after the first few words.

Techno brought a hand to his chin and gave Tommy an interested look. “Oh really? My apologies, your Majesty. But in my defense, you’re wearing it all wrong.”

Tommy’s eyes widened, he turned back around to the mirror to give it another look. “Really?” He asked, now looking at Techno from the mirror.

Techno hid his mischievous grin, he had Tommy right where he wanted him. “Oh yes, it goes more like this-“ he grabbed the bottom on the cape and threw it over Tommy’s head.

Tommy let out a laugh at the antics. “No, no. I really don’t think it’s supposed to go like thihihis, stohohop it!”

Once he had plunged Tommy into darkness, he put his plan in action. Roughly scratching to be felt through the thick fabric. He began scratching at his ribs and drifted towards the lower parts of his sides, now switching to squeezes and swift pokes.

“Ihihi’m royal Techno! Yohohou won’t gehehet away with this!” He exclaimed, knees going weak but continuing to hold him up.

Techno let himself freely smile, seeing there was no one to see. He moved down a little to squeeze now at the boy’s hips. He used a tactic he’d seen Phil use a few times. Using his pointer, middle finger, and thumb to squeeze at the muscles. He knew from experience that it was nearly deadly.

“But you see, that’s where you’re wrong.” He leaned so he could whisper in Tommy’s ear, “I always win.” He said, ceasing his previous tickling to vibrate all of his fingers into the sides of Tommy’s stomach.

Tommy’s reaction was instantaneous, he curled in on himself as hysterical giggles poured out. He knew this was one of Techno’s favorite spots to get him, mostly because of the childish laughter it produced. It was a very flustering spot despite not being one of his worst.

Techno caught him before he could completely crumble to the ground. “Woah there Little Prince, take it easy.” He chuckled and took off the crown and cape, setting them to the side.

“Bihig Prince. Like the Fresh Prihince of Bel-Air but better.” Tommy rambled as after giggles still rampaged him.

“My mistake.” Techno said as he walked Tommy over to his bed so they could regain some composure.

And if a week later there was a flowing cape and a golden crown wrapped in pink paper on Tommy’s bed, well it’s good as canon.

———————————————————————

Ok so I either have Covid or a cold but either way I’m feeling significantly less swag. Also I miss you guys omg 💕

#mcyt tickle #mcyt tickle fic #tickle fic #ticklecommunity #philza minecraft #philza #lee!tommyinnit #lee!tommy #ler!phil #ler!philzaminecraft #SBItickle #ler!wilbur #Ler!will #ler!technoblade #ler!techno

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yayteaberry · 3 years

Text

*SFW* Babysitting (Bakugou)

Rarely did he ever take a Saturday off from either training or studying, he was determined to stay better than everyone else. But, it had been raining since yesterday and he felt like he deserved a break anyways. From morning to afternoon, he enjoyed doing absolutely nothing, scrolling his social media and avoiding liking any of his friends posts on principle.

Shitty hair still won’t shut up about the selfie he liked so now nobody gets any.

His planned day of nothing is interrupted by a knock at his door, and he’s been pacified by memes to a degree where he doesn’t react violently to the intrusion.

Instead he shoves his phone into his pocket as gets up and opens the door, plain faced until he sees it’s you and that you’re holding something. Well, someone.

“Hey!”, you greet with an unusual level of enthusiasm, “I need you to do a favor for me.”

“A favor?”, he asks while he takes in the fact that you’re holding a baby, dressed in a striped onesie.

“Yeah, I’m kinda busy with stuff and I need someone to keep an eye on this little cutie for a bit!” To emphasize the importance or maybe sway him, you turn the baby around so he can see the chubby face.

“... If you’re asking me to babysit it, then no.”

You click your tongue against your teeth, rolling your eyes. “Well don’t call her by ‘it’, and I really need you to do this for me!”

He puts a hand on the door to signal that he’s about to close it, “Nah. Ask shitty hair or Deku, I think they’d love to drool over your kid.” “It’s my aunts baby!”, you say as you put your foot over the threshold, jostling the baby somewhat, which excitedly babbles as it meets his eyes, “They’re busy too, I tried asking! Believe me, you weren’t my first choice.”

“What do you mean by that?” He speaks with annoyance, opening the door fully as his competitive nature rises.

Internally you give a sigh of relief, externally you place the baby on your hip. “Bakugou, I think we both know that you’re awful with children. But you’re my last option and I have nowhere else to turn.”

“I should’ve been your first choice! I’m a fuckin’ wiz at keeping brats well behaved! Gimme!”

“Ah!”, you step out of range of his attempted grab and put out your pointer finger, “Don’t yell at the baby, don’t be aggressive with the baby, and most of all, don’t yell at the baby.”

In spite of your words you know full well he’ll do nothing of the sort, just wanting to give the appearance so he’ll be on his best behavior. He doesn’t have to know he was actually the only one you wanted to watch her.

After all his surface level bullying you can tell he’s soft on the inside, knowing he’s the least likely to give into a baby's whims while also being gentle enough to avoid making her cry.

“Yeah yeah.”, he grumbles, taking her from you when you extend her towards him, “When are you gonna collect the brat?”

You give a 50/50 gesture, shrugging, “Ah an half hour to two hours, but I’ll be back before three hours for sure! She’s been fed and changed recently but just in case,” A bag is revealed when you pull it from behind your back, taking it off by the strap and setting it inside.

“Diapers and toys, if she’s hungry there’s something for her in there too. Just, be careful about that, she’s sorta young for it.”

He nods at your words, watching her grapple at his shirt, having not once taken his eyes off her.

“Thank you!”, you chirp and give him a kiss on the cheek, knowing that he can’t do anything about it while holding her. That makes him glance up at you with some minor malice, which is reduced severely by the dusting of pink across his nose.

With that you take your leave, confident he’ll do fine.

He shuts the door and sits at the edge of his bed, cradling her in his arms. After a moment he takes a look over to the bag you left, thinking it’d probably be best to fish something out of there for her to do.

While he wasn’t experienced in caring for a baby in any capacity that felt like common sense. Plus, it’d allow him to continue wasting time on his phone.

“You,” he gently places her on the middle of the bed as he stands, “are not taking my Saturday from me with your tiny incapable hands.”

With one hand he grabs the bag off the floor and sets it on the bed beside her, opening it and digging through its contents. You were right, the thing is loaded with diapers and many different plastic objects.

Keys, babies love keys.

That toy seems the best choice, taking that and a blanket out before putting the bag on the floor nearby, holding the baby like a barrel under his arm while he flattens the blanket, then placing her on her belly.

He dangles the keys in front of her, watching as her eyes widen as she takes a horribly aimed swipe towards them. With a laugh tinged snort he lets her have them, sitting with his back against the bed and taking his phone out, resuming his leisure hobby.

A minute passes before he peeks over at her to make sure she’s still there, idly chewing on an orange key. It reminds him of something a puppy would do, up until she shoves it in way too far.

He drops his phone and yanks the keys away with concern she’ll vomit, not expecting her to look so upset over it. Briefly she contentedly waits for them to be returned, but when it becomes apparent they aren’t, she scowls.

“No,” he preemptively says, putting the keys down at his other side to keep them away, “you did something fucking stupid, so now they’re off limits. Don’t get all upset over it.”

She huffs and slams a hand down a few times, making a ‘gah’ with very demanding intent.

“I said no. Let me find something else then, calm down.”, he says as he reaches over to grab something random out of the bag, finding a plush red dinosaur. “See? Fun. Chew on this.”

He sets it down in front of her, and she immediately pushes it over, repeating herself. If nothing he gives her credit for having a strange amount of object permanence.

“I. Said. No. The fuck do you want me to do? You’re the one who can’t handle having the damn thing!” With a curt ‘no’ as a final statement, he leans over her to shove the keys back into the bag.

This turns out to be a huge mistake.

In a universally understood way, her face screws up as she starts taking in heavy breaths, which makes his eyebrows raise.

“Don’t. No crying.” his tone is as assertive as he can get it, shaking his head as if to cement it. Her tiny face turns red, sniffling once before fat tears begin to roll down her cheeks.

With no idea what to do in this situation, he starts rummaging through the bag for a solution, diapers spilling out as he digs for a similar toy if there even is one. He cringes as she really starts crying, caving and getting the keys back out, giving them to her. “See? See??”

She either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, bawling in the way only babies do, arms giving out as she lays down.

His instincts on consoling anyone are terrible and usually not to be followed but he acts without thinking, picking her up and setting her in his lap, bouncing his leg as he pets her back, softly shushing her, ignoring the part of him that does in fact wish to yell at the baby.

Her tiny body trembles, pawing at his shirt as she rubs her tear stained face into it. Continuing to follow his instincts he lifts her up, both arms cradling her as her head rests against his shoulder. She does eventually calm, relaxing as quiet hiccuping replaces her sobs, breathing regulating.

She's effectively soothed, he on the other hand is completely shaken up.

Jesus, why did that scare him so much? He’d heard babies cry before and always was irritated by it, but this time there was something so different about it. Even now his heart is still racing, mouth dry as he stares forward into the wall with a mixture of worry and gratefulness.

Once she’s relaxed, he picks up the previously discarded dinosaur, placing it in his lap next to her. Thankfully, she seems to have forgotten about the keys, happy to latch onto the plushy.

He takes his phone back out with the intent to resume his earlier scrolling, but he can’t entirely take his eyes off her. He’s more interested in watching her reactions than he’d ever admit.

In some ways she reminds him of you, mainly the eye color and the way her cheeks pinch up when she smiles.

You seem the motherly type to him so he assumes you’re leagues better at this than he is, but you’ve never mentioned having to babysit her before.

In fact you’ve never mentioned her before at all.

Maybe you enjoyed doing it but kept quiet so you didn’t have anyone intruding or asking to see her, babies can feel stranger danger so that made sense, it’d probably be overwhelming. She doesn’t hate him though, maybe you knew that she wouldn’t?

Despite the panic she’s sent him through he really wouldn’t mind watching after her again. It'll probably be easier with you here, though he isn’t sure what he’d do if you were, he’d just be sitting around while you did everything.

God, she is really goddamned adorable. He smirks as he takes a second to allow himself to outwardly express something positive, watching her slap her tiny hand against the toy.

Usually the idea of having a baby is the worst one anyone can have, but right now he isn’t all that opposed to it. Not that it looks simple, more that it looks to be worth it.

He knows he’d make super cute babies, based on what he looks like and has always looked like the kid would outshine any other snot maker.

While he didn’t know what you looked like as a baby he just assumed you did too, briefly considering what a baby would look like if it came from you and him.

He’s got his mother's blonde hair despite his father's brunette coloring so that’s a dominant trait, possibly overriding your own but who can know, it’d more likely have more of your features.

Out of anything he’d want a little girl just like this one, though he’d be happy with anything as long as it's yours. Your features have always been something he likes, face as well as body, you’re built well in every aspect he tends to care about.

That, and your winning personality, even he can see that it’s a very pleasant contrast to his own. A kid with a mixture of both would be undoubtedly unstoppable, making him proud left and right.

Suddenly the thought bubble pops as reality rises to the surface.

You’re not his and he doesn’t like you anyways, this doesn’t bear so much thinking since it’ll never happen.

A heat takes to his cheeks as he tries to move on and pretend he wasn’t having a domestic fantasy involving you, mostly pretending he hadn’t had any fantasies about you.

It was something that’d creep into his mind sometimes.

Kirishima and Deku tended to have some softer traits alongside their bolder ones but it just wasn’t the same coming from either of them.

You had a certain tenacity to you, it was totally within your options to let some rich older man take care of you but you wanted more for yourself, you wanted to be a hero.

It made you strong, and you were strong because you worked for it constantly. As thick as your innocence tended to be, he was fairly confident you could knock him unconscious if it strikes you as the right choice.

He shook his head and made an effort to clear out all his emotions, directing his attention back towards the baby to ground himself.

At some point during his daydreaming she’d knocked out cold, the dinosaur laying on the floor beside him, propped up against his chest, quietly snoozing while drooling a slight amount. Even if he wanted too he couldn’t be grossed out, it was way too cute of a sight for him to get mad.

Looking at her makes him feel tired, so he decides that taking a nap wouldn’t be a terrible idea. Careful to avoid waking her, he shifts around to get comfortable, hooking an arm around her so she doesn’t teeter backwards while he’s moving.

He thinks about whether he should turn her over and lay her on the blanket, unsure of what the proper protocol is.

His neck is gonna get super fucked up if he stays sat like this, so he very slowly gets up and lays on his bed, keeping her held to his chest until he’s flat enough to let gravity do the work. For a moment he returns to thinking about laying her on a flat surface but he lets her stay as she is, being a light sleeper means he’ll be able to deal with any problems if there are any.

After thanking Aizawa for the extra sparring lesson, you quickly get yourself showered and changed.

It’s been about two hours since you left her with Bakugou and you were getting increasingly worried he was reaching his limit.

Honestly you didn’t expect to be gone this long, but you were glad you gave him the estimate because it meant he’d have less reasons to be upset with you.

You prepare yourself for him to yell at you for leaving him alone with a demon for so long, even if she’s rarely a problem you do suspect he’ll be dramatic.

Still, it was a godsend that he said yes to begin with, you were going to make sure to tell him that.

When you get to his room you don’t bother with knocking, opening it to let yourself in without hesitation.

You were going to say something, but you forget the instant you lay eyes on the scene in front of you.

Practically swooning, you place a hand over your mouth to prevent making any noise, getting your phone out to document perhaps the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.

He’s laying on his bed, one arm over her and one over his eyes to block out the light, her tiny hands secured around the collar of his shirt, both of them peacefully asleep.

Not intending it to be blackmail but being aware it would probably become that, you take pictures from several different angles, wanting nothing more than to show everyone.

Though, for his own sake, you don’t actually send them anywhere near the class.

This doesn’t mean you don’t send them all to his mother, you do.

It does pain you to know you’ll have to hold off on showing people lest the information come back to him, but you do make it your phones home screen anyways.

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou baby shenanigans #fluff #mha fluff #SFW #gender neutral reader #gn reader #bakugou katuski x reader #a03 fic

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feelinglikecleopatra · 3 years

Note

I do have a request: Can you do a Kanej shot where Kaz picks Inej bridal-style? Please, please!

I have not read anything like this for the two (the usual hand- holding is kinda too obvious by now) and ik how picking up bridal-style is a bit too much contact for them but let's assume they get better with touching and contact over the years- and 'Kaz picking Inej bridal-style' will be peak fluff if you don't decide otherwise!

Please Write this! :) (it had be totally fine if you don't want to)

hmmmm okay, interesting... i mean, arguably he holds her bridal style in soc after she's stabbed by oomen but i'm assuming you mean something fluffier lol

this is a bit of a challenge (creatively) cause inej being inej doesn't really need anyone carrying her, like, ever and, to boot, a disabled boy who uses a cane is not the best candidate for the job. buuuut i did have one little idea that i thought could be cute so, here you go!

let me know what you think!

inej can't stop looking at them.

its a very rare thing for her to own something pretty just for the sake of it, something meant to be kept in a box and only worn on special occasions.

the soft leather and supple soles mean the pumps are amazingly comfortable despite the two-inch heal. they're dyed the colour of ripe plums, a deep purple, which nina insisted suits inej's colouring perfectly.

and, even better, they’re perfect for tonight.

in the midst of kaz and her busy schedules, including her tendency to run off on the wraith every few months, they’ve made a habit of going to the van eck's for dinner whenever she's shoreside.

for tonight's dinner, inej is wearing her favourite cream blouse tucked into charcoal pants that taper at the ankle and, of course, her new shoes. the whole ensemble makes her feel very dolled up. though in her childhood, walking the high wire, and not to mention her time at the menagerie, the outfits she wore were many times more extravagant.

it's not like her friends expect finery. kaz certainly doesn't. but inej doesn't regret the choice when, in the darkness of his rooms, he lets his eyes slide over her and tugs on her belt loops gently.

"i like the shoes," he says lowly, settling his hands on the flare of her hips.

"is that all?"

his gaze drops to where she left the top buttons of her shirt undone, revealing the slope of her chest. humming, he slips one hand under her collar and cups her neck.

"i think so—can't think of anything else." with a thumb he tips her chin up to him. the disparity in their heights is not so great with the extra couple of inches so he need only bend down a little to brush his lips to hers. "you look beautiful," he says against her mouth before pulling away.

"hush, kaz, you'll make me blush," inej says it lightly but her tone is belied by the way her breath quickens as he smiles.

"that's the goal, my darling inej."

"we're going to be late."

"let them wait. it's only jesper and wylan."

laughing, she pulls out of his grip. "you know how wylan gets. i will not have it said that i caused him distress, come on!"

in the end, they arrive just in time.

dinner is a simple affair but delicious all the same. and besides, inej thinks, the company is worth all the lobster and caviar and bizarre delicacies in the world.

all night, inej watches her friends laugh and flirt and tease, unapologetically joyful in each others company and it makes her heart ache to think how far they've come from their years spent living at the mercy of desperation and pain.

of all the things jesper and wylan serve with dinner, inej likes the champagne best. it fizzes and skitters over her tongue, a delicate dance that makes her head feel light and fuzzy in the best possible way.

when the dessert is brought out, inej nudges her foot against kaz's under the table, tapping the toe of his polished shoe with the toe of hers. other than a subtle quirk of his eyebrow he doesn't acknowledge the contact.

there's a challenge if ever she saw one.

with one leg crossed over the other, she manages to slide her foot up the side of his calf, which garners her a twitch at the corner of his mouth. resting her foot against his good knee gets him to drop his hand under the table and reach for her ankle.

she's tipsy, drunk almost, but the feeling of his warm hand wrapped around her ankle has all her already disarranged thoughts dissembling entirely.

the warmth of his palm seeps into her skin and his thumb tracks back and forth in a slow movement inej knows is unconscious.

it gives her a moment to watch her man, to take in the way his throat works as he swallows a sip of champagne, his long fingers wrapped around his fork, the candlelight playing in his coffee-black eyes.

she finds herself quite entranced by him, endlessly counting the parts of him she loves and misses when she’s away.

some obnoxious, slurring voice in her head is telling her to list them aloud, to the group, now. the voice is sure he wouldn’t mind. inej knows better.

though she cannot be held accountable for her actions in such a state of inebriation, she resists, content to be distracted by the feel of his hand on her ankle.

by the time they’re standing on the threshold of the van eck mansion again, her promising wylan she'll be back before she ships out and kaz enduring jesper teasing him about something she'll have to get details about later, inej is swaying slightly with the background buzz of one too many drinks.

keeping one hand on his cane, kaz offers inej his arm. when she grins up at him and takes his proffered arm, his answering smile means he's very nearly laughing at her.

"don't!" she pouts.

"what?" he's all innocence.

"don't laugh at me!"

of course, kaz laughs anyway.

the way home seems long to inej. an interminable, meandering amble through the city.

beneath an iridescent spray of stars, ketterdam’s colourful facades feel wholly different. their light and music dance in the inky canals, giving life to another world beneath the waves.

arm in arm, kaz matches his pace to inej’s—almost clumsy as it is. and although the air is warm she can’t help but lean into him, the firm line of his body a precious support.

too soon, they’re back in the barrel, facing the slat. but there, in front of their door, is a large puddle, one might even go so far as to call it a minor flood.

kaz, being the sober one of the two, notices it first. when inej goes on blithely, apparently unaware, he catches her by the hand.

“awww, you wanna hold my hand?” inej coos, nose wrinkling in delight.

“no—i mean, yes, of course—but look.” kaz points at the puddle with his cane, not hiding his amusement. blinking slowly, inej looks at the slat and at the puddle and at kaz. “your new shoes,” he adds, helpfully.

“my new shoes!” inej brings a hand to her mouth, gasping. “they can’t get wet. i—i’ll have to take my usual route.”

it takes kaz a second to catch up as inej heads toward the back of the building, with the clear intention of scaling the outside.

“inej, i’m not going to let you climb a building right now.”

“oh please, you can’t stop me.”

he takes her hand again and all inej can do is blink down at the contact. “what if i asked very nicely?”

“hmmm…” leaning into him slightly, her ascent forgotten, inej says, “alright, go on.”

“please,” he whispers, tucking a stray lock behind her ear. “we’ll find some other way in, one that doesn’t give me heart palpitations.”

inej frowns at the front door, stymied in a way she normally never is. “but how? kaz, i can’t ruin my new shoes!”

one moment, she's pouting up at kaz, trying to make some kind of order out of the syrup of her thoughts, and the next, she’s in his arms.

without hesitation, kaz has scooped her up—one arm supporting her back, the other under her knees. what he’s done with his cane, inej can’t tell and she’s too lightheaded to try and figure it out.

“kaz!” a giggle escapes her and inej presses her face into his chest, trying to slow the beating of her heart. “put me down! you shouldn’t carry me!”

“why not? you’re light as a feather.”

then, kaz walks through the puddle (his own nice shoes be damned) and knocks on the door.

inej doesn’t see the look on pim’s face, she’s too busy studying the underside of kaz’s chin, indulging in the feel of his body against her, the feel of his hands on her back and legs.

“she’s fine,” kaz answers an unasked question as pim beckons them inside.

“actually, i’m quite drunk,” inej adds, primly.

the smile kaz gifts her is slow and unerringly fond. “yes, you are.”

a/n: well, there we are. can’t believe i managed to sneak in a little footsie (saw this @anonniemousefics' post recently and just had to).

#kaz brekker #inej ghafa #kaz x inej #bridal style #soc #fluff #my writing #requests #just2bubbly #drunk!inej #has that ever been done #who knows #now it has

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drabbles-mc · 3 years

Text

With Me

Nestor Oceteva x Reader

Request by Anon: I absolutely loved the new Nestor fics!! Can i request “(She/he/they) don’t belong with (her/him/them)!” “Than who do(es) (she/he/they) belong with?” “…..with me.” with him????

Warnings: light angst (with a happy ending), language, Nestor being ~jealous and protective~

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: Sorry my blog has been kinda dead lately. Been struggling with some work stuff and it’s given me a bit of writer’s block. I’m hoping to get back to it. Just know that if you sent me a request I am totally planning on writing for it, it just might not happen quickly. And I’m hoping to update my multi-chaps soon as well. Thanks for all your patience. Enjoy this lil Nestor one-shot! xo

General Mayans/Nestor Taglist: @mayans-sauce @thesandbeneathmytoes @paintballkid711 @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @queenbeered @sillygoose6969 @sesamepancakes @yourwonkywriter @chibsytelford @gemini0410 @multiyfandomgirl40 @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @plentyoffandoms @georgiaaintnopeach @twistnet @garbinge @amandinesblogofstuff @bucky-iss-bae @the-radical-venus

You were sitting on the barstool next to Nestor’s, both of you commiserating over how exhausting your weeks had been. Work was very different for the two of you, obviously, but you were both drained nonetheless.

The bar you went to was a quiet one. It was mostly business men and women doing the same thing the two of you were—blowing off steam after a long week. People didn’t pay the two of you much mind, which suited you just fine. You and Nestor had a habit of getting lost in your own little bubble anyway.

You were about to jump into your next work story when your phone started going off in your pocket. You glanced over at Nestor as if to ask if it was alright to answer. He nodded and you lifted the phone to your ear.

“Hello?” you paused, smiling, “Hey, baby. Nothing, I’m at the bar with Nestor. Do you wanna st—” you stopped, expression falling, “Oh, okay. No, I get it. I’ll talk to you later. Yea, you too. Bye.”

You hung up with a heavy sigh. Nestor sat silently for a moment before asking, “All good?”

You nodded, rolling your eyes, “Yea. Cancelled again.”

Even though he knew the answer, he still asked, “Dante?”

“Mhm,” you shook your head slightly, wondering why you were still at all surprised.

Nestor bit back the snide comments swirling around in his brain. He had never been a fan of Dante, and he let you know that. Nestor wasn’t ever rude to him, but they weren’t friends either. You knew that it didn’t help that your boyfriend was intimidated by Nestor, even if he never admitted it.

“That mean you have time for another drink?” he tried to lighten the mood.

You laughed, “Means I have time for a few more,” you immediately flagged down the bartender to order another round for both of you.

A few quickly turned into…more than that for you. Nestor tried to get you to slow down but he knew that it was a losing battle at that point. The best he could do for you was to take your keys, so he did. He knew that after an already shitty week, this was the final straw, but he still hated to see you so drained and frustrated and still trying to pretend that you were alright.

“Fuck him,” you blurted out as Nestor helped you stumble-walk to his car.

He chuckled, “I know.”

He let you rant the whole drive to your apartment about how fed up you were with your boyfriend. He wondered if you’d remember it all in the morning and finally, maybe, break up with him. Nestor knew he was biased, but you deserved better. He told you that constantly, but you always waved him off, saying it wasn’t that bad.

“Your relationship should be better than just not bad, Y/N,” trying to talk sense to you in the state that you were in was futile, but he still had to try.

“You’re so sweet, Nestor,” you cooed tiredly from the passenger seat.

He didn’t respond, not wanting to feed into words you wouldn’t remember in the morning. He glanced over at you a couple minutes later and saw that you’d fallen asleep. There was no stopping the smile that spread across his face at the sight of you.

Before he knew it, he was parking in front of your apartment building. As much as he didn’t want to wake you, he knew he had to. He got out and walked over to your side of the car, nudging you awake. You groaned in protest, but allowed him to help you out of the vehicle.

He was thankful that you only lived on the second floor of your building. With a sigh, he knocked on the door. He’d already let your roommate know that he was bringing you home. She opened the door, clearly exhausted and bundled up in her bathrobe.

“Sorry,” he offered up as he crossed the threshold into the apartment.

She shook her head, “Don’t be. Thanks for getting her home safely.”

He helped you to your room, gently lowering you onto the bed. You had no desire to change into pajamas and it wasn’t a battle that Nestor was going to pick. He pulled the blanket up over you, letting out a quiet sigh as he lightly rested his hand on your shoulder for a moment.

Not wanting to linger for too long, he turned and walked back towards your bedroom door. He heard you mumble out a quiet thank you, and he smiled to himself as he shut the door behind him.

Your roommate was still in the living room, an expectant look on her face, “Can I ask what happened to her?”

Nestor sighed and shrugged, “Shit with Dante.”

She shook her head, “Of course.”

“They have a lot of issues lately?”

She shot him a curious look, “No more than usual, I guess. Why?”

“He’s a waste of her fucking time.”

She bit back a laugh, knowing that Nestor was extra protective of you. She had a pretty good idea of why, too, “No, really, tell me how you really feel,” she smiled.

“Come on, you see it too, right? He doesn’t deserve her. She doesn’t belong with him.”

She fought back the urge to smile, “Who does she belong with, then?”

“With me,” the words came out before he could stop them. His eyes went wide, instantly realizing what he had said. Before he could try to take it back, though, she held up her hand to stop him.

“You ever gonna say anything to her about that?”

He shook his head, “What’s the point?”

She shrugged, “You might be more convincing than you think. That’s all.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line, “Mhm,” he sighed, “Anyway. Sorry for barging in so late.”

She chuckled, “Don’t worry about it.”

“I can take her to get her car tomorrow.”

She nodded, “Sounds good. Have a good night.”

“You too,” he walked out of the apartment, shutting the door quietly behind him.

He was mentally kicking himself the whole drive home. Why he wasn’t able to catch himself before he said anything was beyond him—he was usually better than that. He just hoped that your roommate wouldn’t say anything to you about it.

You woke up the next morning with a groan, and a throbbing sensation in your head. You had a vague set of memories from the night before, but it was hard to think about it through the hangover. You slowly forced yourself to sit upright, gently rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You checked your phone and saw that you had multiple missed texts from your boyfriend, and that was when it all really came rushing back. You let out a heavy sigh, making the conscious choice to ignore him for the time being. You weren’t done being upset with him.

You slowly made your way to the kitchen for coffee and aspirin. You heard your roommate chuckling from the living room and shook your head, “Don’t.”

She laughed, “What are you talking about? I didn’t say anything.”

You sighed as you poured coffee into your mug, “You don’t have to. I already know what you’re going to say.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

You threw back a few aspirin before turning to look at your friend, “You’re going to say that he is more stress than he’s worth, and that I should’ve left him about ten cancelled dates ago.”

She nodded, “And the number will keep getting higher the longer you put it off.”

You shook your head slightly, “I know it’s shitty, Julia. I’m not an idiot.”

“I never said that you were. But you know that if the roles were reversed you would be telling me the same thing.”

You let out a dry laugh, “Since when do I ever take my own advice?”

“Maybe you should start,” she paused for a moment, “Nestor said he’d take you to go get your car, by the way.”

“Fuck,” you groaned, “My car. Didn’t even think about that.”

She shrugged, “Call him. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to come and whisk you away.”

You chuckled as you got your phone out to text him, “You make it sound so extravagant.”

“He’s a good guy, you know,” she sipped on her coffee.

You looked over at her, “Don’t.”

“What? I’m just…stating a fact.”

You took another swig of your coffee and walked away without another word on the matter, desperate to take a shower and put some more comfortable clothes on. You couldn’t remember the last time you fell asleep in your work clothes like that.

By the time you were done showering and getting ready, Nestor was already outside your apartment building. You said goodbye to your roommate, trying to make it was quick as possible before she could say anything else. On a couple other occasions, before Dante, she had made comments about you and Nestor. She laid off of it once you got a boyfriend, though, so you were wondering what made her pick the habit back up again.

You collapsed into the passenger seat of Nestor’s car with a sigh. He looked over at you, smiling, “Looks like you had a rough one last night.”

“Thank you so much for bringing me home. I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head, “Don’t be. Glad I could help,” he paused, “You talk to him at all?”

You sighed, “No. I don’t even want to at this point. He’s just gonna apologize and say it won’t happen again. But it will.”

“Why are you wasting your time with him, then?” he kept his tone fairly neutral considering how much the situation bothered him.

You shrugged, “Sometimes I’m not even sure, honestly. Sunk cost, maybe? I don’t know. Breakups are always so messy.”

“I can deliver the message for you,” there was a lightness to his tone but you knew that he definitely would.

“Ha, that would be a sight for sure,” you laughed, shaking your head.

The rest of the ride passed with silence between the two of you, the only noise coming from the music playing quietly from the car radio. Every now and then you’d look over at Nestor, thinking about what your roommate had said. With concentrated effort you were able to push the thoughts from your mind.

“I’m just saying,” he said out of nowhere as he pulled into the parking lot of the bar, “you deserve someone who, at minimum, fucking shows up for you.”

You smiled at him, “I appreciate it, Nestor,” you unbuckled and stepped out of the car, walking around to his side as he got out, “And I appreciate you always looking out for me. I’ve got it handled, though.”

He stood in front of you as you leaned back against the side of his car, toying idly with the keys in between your fingers. There was a small smirk on his face as he took in the sight of you, still thinking you looked beautiful hungover in your sweats, fresh out of the shower.

He shrugged, “I know I can’t tell you what to do. But you deserve more than being disappointed all the time,” he sighed, “You know I think Dante’s an asshole. But I’d be willing to look past that if he was at least good to you, but he’s not. You talk about sunk cost but why keep wasting your fucking time if he’s not even making you happy?”

You couldn’t meet his eyes, “Because it’s better than being alone.”

“He’s still making you feel that way anyway, though!”

“I know!” you snapped. You took an unsteady breath, knowing that this blowout was a long time coming. You just wished that it didn’t have to happen right in that moment, “You’re right, okay? And yea I know better than to just be with someone for the sake of being with someone but…I don’t fucking know, Nes,” you shook your head, “Sometimes I just think that it’s easier this way. I know what to expect, even if the expectations aren’t exactly good. Leaving and having to tear down all those walls again with someone new? That’s fucking exhausting and I don’t want to keep doing that over and over again.”

“So you’re just gonna stay with him and be miserable forever?”

“Forever,” you scoffed, “C’mon, don’t be dramatic.”

“Well that’s the alternative, right? You either leave him, or you stay with him forever.”

“Why is this such a fucking issue for you all of a sudden?”

“Because you were on the brink of a fucking bender last night because of him. I hate that someone out there is making you feel that way when they’re supposed to be the one making you happy.”

“It’s not your job to worry about me and keep me in check,” your eyes were glued to the tips of your shoes.

“Yea, it is,” he stepped in, gently cupping your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him, “because I care about you.”

A wave of heat washed over your entire body and you couldn’t force yourself to move, or talk. All you could do was look into his eyes and try not to let your knees buckle underneath you. You and Nestor had hugged and touched a million times but not like this, never like this. He made you feel small and safe all at once.

“I just want you to be happy,” his voice was soft.

“I know,” you finally forced the words out, barely audible.

He traced his thumb across your cheek, “I could make you so happy, Y/N.”

You didn’t know why you felt like you were about to cry, but you did. You tried to take a deep breath to calm your nerves as you rested your hands over his. You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch, “I know.”

“Will you let me do that?”

“Nes…”

“You know I’m right. You said it yourself,” he let out a soft chuckle as his hands slid down so they were resting on your shoulders.

You smiled up at him, realizing how close he had gotten, closing what little distance was between the two of you and nearly pinning you against the side of the car. You ran your hands over your face, a smirk fighting its way onto your face despite the myriad of emotions coursing through you, “You’re not gonna let this go, huh?”

He smiled, shaking his head, “No.”

You laughed, but your expression quickly sobered as you looked him in the eye, “I can’t lose you, Nestor.”

“You won’t,” there was no hesitation in his response, “I promise. You just, you gotta give me a chance.” You took a deep breath, leaning forward so your forehead rested against his chest. You shut your eyes, reveling in the way his arms instantly wrapped around you. He gave you a light squeeze, “You deserve to be happy.”

You pulled back from him just enough so that you could look at his face. He had one of the softest smiles you’d ever seen, and you couldn’t help but to smile in return when you saw it. You rested your hands on his chest, “We’re really gonna do this?”

“Only if you want to.”

You nodded, “I do.”

He smiled, “Then yea, we’re really doing this,” he pulled you tight against his chest with a laugh, “Can I break the news to Dante?”

You laughed, shaking your head, “Absolutely not. I get to do that part.”

He let out an exaggerated sigh, “Fine. I guess that’s fair.”

The two of you stood there like that for a few moments, processing the weight of everything that had just happened. You could feel the steady beat of his heart through his shirt, and despite the chaos of the situation that you were in, you found yourself feeling calm, reassured.

“Thank you,” you finally broke the silence, “for, you know, for not giving up on me.”

He squeezed you tight for a moment, “I’ve got you, always.”

It was refreshing to be able to believe what you were being told. You let out a sigh of relief, knowing that he meant it, knowing that your days of questioning things and being filled with disappointment and uncertainty were over. He felt like a breath of fresh air, like you were coming home after being away for far too long.

#mayans mc #mayansmc #mayans fx #mayans mc imagine #nestor oceteva #nestor oceteva x reader #nestor oceteva x you #nestor oceteva imagine #my writing #fanfiction #nestor oceteva request #drabblesmc

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sirowsky · 3 years

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The Bad Day - One Shot

For the person closest to my soul, my wife @lucrezia-thoughts

“Our stories remind us how precious and fragile life can be – and that we must risk our hearts every day to know happiness.” – Luanne Rice

“Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, ‘I will try again tomorrow’.” – Mary Anne Radmacher Fluff Can be read as Gender Neutral Reader (gn!reader) Only warning I can think of is Language. Words: 1525

I hope this helps improve your day, my love.

===================== So, you know those days when everything just goes wrong?

When you can’t walk over a threshold without stubbing your toe, or reach for a doorhandle without almost breaking your finger against it? When you knock the milk or juice-carton over, and think ‘phew, at least the cork was still on’ only to realise the damn carton broke? Every paper you touch tries to murder you, anything remotely heavy just fiddles itself out of your hands, and magically lands on your feet, and even your own brain tricks you by misjudging the distance between your shoulder and the fucking doorway, even though it damn well knows exactly how close is too close?

Yeah – that kinda day.

Those were the days that you wanted to lock yourself in your house and just not step outside, but… well, life… and all that.

When you finally reached your lunch-hour on this particular day of personal doom, you felt sure that every singly toe had to be broken, and there were bandages on three of your fingers already. You were only half-way through your day, and it had the potential to get so much worse before it was over. You contemplated just hiding in a broom-closet until the day was done, but with your current luck, that’d probably just end with you giving yourself a concussion against a shelf or something, in the dark.

You’d taken a seat on a bench outside, hoping that the sun might help your body and mind back into some resemblance of coordination, while you ate. But, of course, that turned out to be a mistake, when the lack of a table meant that you had to hold your plastic lunch box in your lap, which (on a day like this) naturally meant that the damn thing did not remain in your lap. You didn’t even register how it managed to end up bottoms up on the ground by your feet, after just one little bite, and you were so done with this fucking day, you didn’t even care. You just wanted to sit there and cry and feel sorry for yourself until the sun set and this disaster of a day finally ended.

But you were sitting on a bench in a mini-park right outside your office-building, where people were constantly coming and going, and the last thing you wanted was for your co-workers to see you all pathetic like that. You weren’t exactly popular to begin with…

“Here, take this.”

Someone held out a wrapped item to you, and when you looked up you almost choked on your own spit, because the guy handing it to you was Marcus fucking Pike, the guy you’d had a crush on ever since you started at the office. The sweetest guy in the whole damn world – who had no idea you even existed.

“I saw your little accident there, and I figured you could use a pick-me-up.”

“You have no idea… thank you so much.”

You took the offered food and quickly dug into it before a frickin bird snatched it, or something. You’d expected him to walk off, but instead he sat down right next to you, to eat his own wrap, and suddenly you were nervous. You’d wanted to talk to him so many times, even imagined whole scenarios in your mind about how to strike up a conversation with him, each one more ludicrous than the next… And now here he was, and you couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“By the state of your hands, I’m assuming today is one of those days?”

“You get them too?”

“Everyone does, just in varying degrees of severity.”

“Oh, I don’t have degrees, mine are always the worst they can be.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

Always so sweet…

“Thanks.”

You finished the rest of your meal in silence, and when you were done, he held a hand out for your trash.

“I’ll take it to the bin over there, save you from another thing that can go wrong.”

He winked at you, and scurried over there, dumping the trash before coming right back, with a bit of a mischievous grin on his face. He didn’t sit back down, but held a hand out to you instead.

“Come on.”

“What?”

“Let’s get out of here before anyone sees us.”

“You mean.. skip out on work? I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can, it’s easy. Just get up and walk away.”

“Pike…”

He just smiled wider, keeping his hand held out for you, and in a moment of pure insanity, you took it, letting him pull you to your feet and walk off with you. He led you away from the office buildings and busy streets, all the way to a promenade deck along the waterfront that you hadn’t even known was there before. And he kept holding your hand. Maybe it was just to keep you from falling every time you stumbled, but the way he held it felt like more than that. Unless that was just wishful thinking on your part. Ugh, more than likely. You tried to distract yourself by talking.

“So, do you skip work often?”

“Never have before.”

“No way. You must’ve done…”

“Nope.”

“But… then, why now?”

“Because you looked like you really needed it.”

That made you stop in your tracks, squeezing his hand a little harder and just staring at him in complete disbelief for a few seconds. He didn’t seem fazed at all.

“You bailed on work… for me? W-why would you do that?”

He bowed his head for a few beats, and when he looked up, he had a sheepish little grin on his lips, with that adorable dimple on full display.

“Because I like you. I always have, I just never… knew how to talk to you. You always turn away, keep to yourself, do the work and go home, not much chatter or frivolity. You just seem so… unavailable, I didn’t dare try in case you found it inappropriate.”

Holy hell… but he was too damn sweet.

“A.. are you serious, right now?”

“Very.”

You couldn’t believe this. A whole year you’d been working in the same office as this man, this adorable, kind, sassy, perfect fucking man, not realising that your own insecurity about talking to him was scaring him off.

“I always wanted to talk to you too, I just thought… or, rather convinced myself, that you didn’t even know who I was. I mean, why would you? Aside from being called to the same meetings occasionally, we rarely ever share the same space, and I don’t work directly on your cases.”

“Because you’re interesting. You don’t conform to the ‘normal’ office behaviour. You find ingenious little ways to break policies regarding your appearance, and your desk, so that you’ll feel comfortable in your own skin and space. And even though you mostly stay quiet, whenever you do speak, you’re always well informed and respectful, but also honest. You don’t let people walk all over you just because they think you’re an outsider.”

You had to actually tell yourself to breathe, because you were so shocked you just didn’t function properly right now.

“How do you know all that? When have you had time to notice me at all… I don’t… what am I missing here? I don’t understand any of this..”

He stepped closer. A lot closer, and you froze. He smelled wonderful, and up close like this, his eyes were mesmerising. Deep pools of chocolate beckoning for every ounce of your attention, which they eagerly got, while his free hand found your waist.

“You’re beautiful. That was the first thing I noticed about you. Not just your face, but your soul. Your person. And there’s a kind of grace to you, to the way you move and carry yourself, that I confess I may have spied a little on you in your office, in order to see better. It mostly only comes out when you think no one sees you. And I can see it even on days like these, when everything goes wrong for you.”

A warmth you’d never felt before, spread through your chest and abdomen, making you shiver in the most pleasant way imaginable, and he could see that too. His hand on your waist pulled you closer, while the other let go of your hand, so that he could wrap both arms around you.

“I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

Your knees damn near caved in on you, but this was too good for you to allow your body to screw it up, like it had the rest of the day. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, letting one hand find it’s way to the back of his neck, gently tugging him towards you.

“Please do.”

As his warm, soft lips brushed against yours you thought to yourself that perhaps bad days had a purpose, after all. Perhaps they were meant to make the good moments clearer, more distinguished. After all, what was one good moment next to a hundred others, compared to one good moment, among a hundred bad ones?

THE END

#the mentalist #the mentalist fic #marcus pike #pedro pascal #pedro pascal one shot #marcus pike one shot #the mentalist one shot #i love you 3000 #i love you wifey #gn!reader

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fiction70 · 3 years

Note

Whitruv first kiss for a prompt?

Oooh, I actually don't have any idea of how they first kissed!! So I'm gonna have to make this one up on the spot. Also, I know there's drama with Agoti, but I'm going to use that name if you all don't mind. Sorry if I trigger you all.

TW: dorks making out, and cussing

Whitty doesn't like telling the story of his first kiss.

Because it's a little embarrassing to admit.

Tonight is one of those nights.

Carol is having a small game night, and putting Whitty's feelings into consideration first, she only invites two people. Hex and Agoti.

Hex practically lives with him, Sunday and Carol. And Agoti's pretty chill, they made some pretty sick beats together one time. He doesn't mind him coming over either.

They're playing the terrifying game of truth or dare, and it's pretty tame until Agoti's next turn.

"Whitmore..." He began with a smile. It made Whitty uncomfortably nervous.

"Truth or dare, my main man?" Agoti asked.

For the sake of his safety, and probably his dignity, Whitty said:

"Truth." Thinking it wouldn't be so bad.

Like a fucking dumbass.

"Tell us...who, when, and where you had your first kiss." Agoti said.

Turns out, asking for truth was so much worse.

"Can I forfeit the game??" Whitty desperately asked Hex. Hex looks up the rules for truth or dare and shakes his head.

"There are apparently no forfeits in this game." The robot tells him, and Whitty has to mentally prepare to tell the story. It's so cheesy. And they're going to make him blush so hard afterwards.

"Fineee..." Whitty sighed, rubbing his face.

"Okay so...I was on a date with..."

••

Whitty was on a date with Ruv.

If you count walking aimlessly and pick pocketing the occasional passerby as a date.

But it was going pretty well. He and Ruv have been silently official for a little while now, meaning neither he or Ruv confessed to each other, but knew they were definitely more than friends. Ruv wasn't a person Whitty ever thought he'd be with, but walking side by side with him makes Whitty happy he befriended him.

"This way." Ruv suddenly said, causing Whitty to almost trip in his efforts to follow Ruv at a steady pace.

They end up walking down an alleyway and find some pretty neat stuff. Whitty found a screaming rubber chicken.

"Haha, I remember seeing this thing in a store one day." Whitty laughed fondly, squeezing the rubber chicken and hearing it scream.

Ruv gave him an unimpressed, but amused look.

"I found drugs." He stated as if it was the most casual thing to say.

Whitty choked on his own spit.

"WHAT." He exclaimed, looking up at Ruv who was holding a box. Inside the box was various needles, a bag of powder, and an ashtray.

Yeah, those were drugs.

"Ruv!! Put that down! You're gonna fuckin-" Whitty paused, not knowing what to say. "-get an aneurysm or some shit-" He took the box from Ruv and tossed it in a nearby dumpster.

When he turned back, he doesn't expect to see Ruv's shoulders shaking.

"Ruv? You okay?" Whitty immediately asked.

To his surprise, he hears Ruv softly laugh.

"You're so fucking stupid." Ruv chuckled, his hand covering his mouth.

Whitty thought it was the most prettiest sound in the world.

Ruv was laughing.

That was something to shut up and listen to, so that's exactly what Whitty did. When Ruv eventually stopped, the smallest smile was left on his face.

Whitty suddenly had the strange urge to kiss him.

This is a good moment, he tried to reason. They're in an alleyway, no one can see them, it's three in the morning, no one's awake in the apartments above them. Perfect time to kiss your boyfriend, right?

So, Whitty decided that yes, he was going to kiss Ruv.

He took a confident step forward-

And then he fell.

Before Whitty could land on the ground, he felt Ruv's arms wrap around his back, catching him from his fall. Whitty tries to regain balance, about to look up at Ruv to thank him-

And then their lips brushed ever so slightly.

Whitty didn't put any thought into it. He saw the opportunity, he's totally in the clear, so he moved his face forward and firmly pressed his lips against Ruv's.

He felt Ruv physically stiffen around him, but Whitty squeezed his eyes shut and hoped for the better.

Ruv's lips were oddly cold, but Whitty was starting to learn that Ruv was always cold, so it wasn't something he was totally surprised at.

It wasn't the best kiss in the world, like how it is in the movies. There were no fireworks, romantic music, and Whitty's back was feeling pretty uncomfortable at the moment. It was rough and Whitty was pretty sure Ruv still had his eye open, but it was a kiss, and he was sharing it with Ruv. So it was enough for Whitty.

All too soon, Ruv pulled away, and Whitty honestly hated the way his heart dropped out of fear that Ruv was going to dump him right then and there.

Whitty took the chance to stand up straight and clear his throat.

"Uhm, s-sorry Ru-"

Ruv yanked him by his hood and their lips crashed together. Hard. Like, Whitty's jaw kinda hurts now.

But Whitty never felt so relieved ever in his life.

He felt Ruv's mouth move against his, and Whitty did his best to reciprocate the motion. They fell into their own world, into their own pattern, into their own space, just basking in each other's presence and kissing one another.

Ruv pulled away once more, only to kiss Whitty again.

And again.

Whitty wasn't sure how many kisses they had shared by the time Ruv was backed up against the wall, but he was too focused on the way Ruv's hands twitched slightly on his back.

He also doesn't know when Ruv's tongue slipped into his mouth, but Whitty didn't care.

Right now he was having his first make out session and he was internally screaming, but otherwise okay. A little anxious, but okay.

His make out skills also wasn't good, but Ruv didn't seem to mind.

Ruv's tongue didn't taste like anything, much to Whitty's surprise, but he obviously didn't question that. He'd never seen Ruv eat in front of him before anyways.

To this day, Whitty still does not know how many times they kissed that night.

What he does remember, is bashfully escorting Ruv home, surprised by another kiss, and then they made out in the doorway.

They were eventually stopped by Sarvente, much to Ruv's embarrassment, who pushed him out of the threshold so hard, Whitty fell on his ass and watched Ruv's violet face slam the door closed.

He heard Sarv laugh shortly after.

Not a bad date after all.

••

Agoti was cackling.

"You made out in an alleyway??? And you didn't stop making out in your boyfriends house until his friend caught you both???" He wheezed.

Sunday was recording, and Carol was laughing too.

Hex was a little traumatized.

"y-yeah..." Whitty said in a quiet voice, his face battling the hue of an orange.

Agoti laughed harder.

This is why he doesn't tell the story of his first kiss.

#they're gay your honor #whitruv #cute #please this was so much fun to write #prompts #requests #making out in an alleyway

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

95. you just witnessed me kill a guy and I have a really, really good reason for it, please don’t call the cops

Sternclay as a super/vigilante au? sfw or nsfw, please!

Here you go! This is NSFW

Content note: this fic contains mentions of murder, serial killers, knives. Brief description of a porn scene with implied dub-con (you can skip from the part where Barclay sees the TV to the next section break). But I included lots of fluff to balance it out.

This is the best hook-up Barclays had in years. Mr. Tall, dark, and handsome has done nothing but compliment him all night, from the fit of his shirt down to his kissing skills. So now that he’s facedown on the bed in this guys brownstone wearing only his boxers, he’s so excited he can barely think.

“Almost ready” a shcck of blinds dropping, “I just need to grab one more thing. Then the fun can start.”

“Can’t wait.” He sighs, shuts his eyes as his date moves across the room. Then the movement stops.

“Who the fu-”

Horrible, sticky warmth spatters the side of his face. Startled, he opens his eyes in time to watch his date fall to the floor, dead. Behind him is a figure in dark clothes with a tactical mask covering his face and a gun with a silencer in his right hand. A figure who has just noticed Barclay is awake.

In five swift, purposeful steps he’s at the bed, and Barclay doesn’t know what to do, whether to bolt for the window or knock the gun away or beg or, or or-

“Are you alright, sir?” The voice coming from the mask is calm and businesslike.

“.........what do you think?” Is the reply his useless brain comes up with.

“You look like you’re in shock. Which is understandable.” A gloved hand touches his face, “shit, I’m sorry, I was hoping none of it would get on you. Here, hold still.” He rifles through a pocket while Barclay’s mind drifts further from his body. Why isn’t he just killing him now? Is this part of some sick game?

“Turn your face this way just a bit” the back of his hand nudges Barclay’s chin, “good, thank you. I’m going to get you cleaned up, once that’s done I need to ask you to stay here until I’m finished cleaning up the scene. And also to not call the authorities for help when I’m out of the room.”

“Why?” Nope, okay, that’s it, that’s the reply that gets him shot.

“For one, you’re not in any danger from me. You were in danger from the now-deceased Mr. Martin, which is why I killed him.”

“I, uh, h-how can you be sure?”

“Let me show you” he helps Barclay up, guides him to the body, “you don’t need to look at him, just at that.”

He’s pointing to the boning knife clutched in the man’s hand. Barclay’s guts turn to sour milk.

“M-maybe he picked that up when he saw you?”

The killer shakes his head, gently guides Barclay back to the bed and, after a moment of studying the nightstand, pulls out the bottom drawer. It contains two more knives, duck tape, pliers, and seven, severed human thumbs.

“Oh fuck. What the fuck, what the fuck?” He whispers as the man closes the drawer.

“Mr. Martin is the Bear Butcher. I doubt you’ve heard of him, because that’s the name the authorities use among themselves while insisting that there’s no need to warn the public about him. He’s killed seven men, all gay and all on the bigger side; you would have been number eight.”

“I’m gonna be sick” He tips forward, feels gloved hands catch him and easily half-drag him into what turns out to be the bathroom.

“Wait here and do what you need to. I’ll be done in fifteen minutes, less if I can manage it. And, um, you might want to keep your eyes closed.”

Barclay has no problem with that order, though when the killer (his hero?) moves the body into the tub he discovers both the reason for the warning and that he does indeed have more in his stomach to throw up.

After an eternity of iron and bleach in the air and bile on his tongue, he’s helped back into the bedroom. The man hands him his clothes, turning his back as he dresses. He’s changed too, though the mask remains.

“I, I didn’t bring my car.” Barclay says weakly, knowing he won’t have the energy to walk home and the thought of getting in a cab or rideshare sets his nerves screaming.

“I assumed, since he wouldn’t want it being abandoned to lead to someone calling you in missing. If you’re okay with it, I can give you a ride home.”

Barclay nods. The man ushers him out the front door, pausing at the threshold for a final sweep. Then he pulls off his mask. Black hair sticks up until he smooths it back in a practiced motion, and blue eyes regard Barclay gently from a handsome face.

“It’s the Altima, right on the corner.” He says, folding the mask and tucking it into his pocket. Barclay gives his address, sits stiffly in the passenger seat as a pop station plays from the speakers.

“Do you want to change the station?”

“No” Barclay inhales fine, but the exhale comes out shaky, “jesus, how are you so calm?”

“Because if I’m trying to help you stay calm, I need to model the behavior. And, um, this isn’t my first time doing this, in case that wasn’t obvious. I’ve never had a witness before, for all the usual reasons and I’d prefer not to traumatize someone. But he went off his pattern and picked you up tonight, and I was not about to let him claim another victim.”

“Thank you.” Barclay doesn’t know what else to say. His adrenaline brain suggests propositioning the man in gratitude because it’s not everyday a hot mystery man saves your life. But the rest of him is well aware that if anyone touched him right now he might scream.

“It’s my job. Or it’s supposed to be.”

His curiosity peeks out from where it’s been hiding behind his sense of self-preservation, “What’s your name? Or can you not tell me?”

“It’s Joseph.”

“Barclay.”

“I wish we’d met under better circumstances, Barclay. Oh, here we are.” He parks the car, engine still running, “do you want me to wait until you’re inside to go?”

It should feel safe; it’s his apartment, his home above Amnesty’s new location, Mama’s own little house just out in the backyard. But his hand can’t make the fucking door handle go.

“Would, uh, would you mind coming up with me? Just, just for a few minutes?”

The man raises his eyebrows, but nods. Soon he’s standing in Barclays little kitchen, hands folded politely behind his back while Barclay tries and fails to start tea.

“If you want to just point to where things are, I can do that for you. You should eat something too, if your stomach’s settled.”

Barclay declines at first, but when his stomach growls Joseph moves through the kitchen--making distracting small talk all the while--not stopping until he’s assembled a plate of crackers, cheese and apples.

“Ooh, you got the good stuff.” He steals a piece for himself while Barclay nibbles a Triscuit

“Kinda a cheese snob; comes with the job.”

They talk about food and food writing until his plate is clear, at which point Joseph suggests he get ready for bed. Without being asked, he stays by the door as Barclay finishes getting changed and brushing his teeth.

“I, uh, I’m not really sure how to, uh, end this night.”

Joseph cups his cheek, “Lock the doors behind me. You don’t need to worry about anything else; you don’t owe me a thing. You’re safe. That’s what matters.” He smiles at him for the last time and heads out into the early morning light.

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

“Hey big fella, you’ll never guess who put in an order.” Mama clips up the slip from the table she’s working; Amnesty has been busy in the week since they opened here, so much so that she’s had to help with the crowds.

“Who?” Barclay flips the pancakes he’s watching, checks the bacons for tables 15 and 9.

“Your late night visitor.” Mama winks.

He turns, spots Joseph at the far end of the counter. He’s in a black suit, blue tie setting off his eyes, and his hair is fully slicked back. On his chest is a badge identifying him as working at the nearby FBI offices. He’s clearly as surprised to see Barclay as Barclay is to see him. He’s less surprised that Mama saw him leaving; she gets up early and her window faces his back stairs

“Hold on” Mama nudges him, “did he give you trouble? Because you look pretty off.”

“No, no, just, uh, didn’t expect to see him again.”

Joseph orders hash and poached eggs, and when Barclay sends the order out, he hands Dani a slice of cherry pie to go along with it. He peeks over his shoulder; Joseph is looking at the free dessert, smiling. Then he takes a bite and makes a face that’s borderline orgasmic. Barclay looks away before he drops a hot waffle on his foot.

Amnesty's restaurant closes at 3, and as Barclay is locking the front door, he notices Joseph waiting for him in an easily visible, well-lit spot.

“You know, I meant it when I said you didn’t owe me anything. Not even the most delicious pie I’ve ever eaten.”

“I give freebies now and then” Barclay smiles, “no rule that says I can’t give them to someone who did me a huge fucking favor. And, uh” he blushes, “glad you like the pie.”

“The whole meal was incredible. You’re a very talented cook. Would it be okay if I came back?” His expression is hopeful, almost nervous.

Barclay touches his shoulder, “Anytime.”

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

“So, uh, I’ve haven’t had a chance to ask but, uh, when you’re not working or chatting with me here, what do you do? For, like, fun?” Barclay leans across the counter as Joseph licks his form clean of meringue. Barclay’s gone through twelve different pie recipes in the last month just to see which ones the other man likes best.

“I read a lot, cultivate an extensive knowledge of old horror movies, try to make decent risotto in my apartment...oh, I play frisbee golf sometimes, I picked it up in college.”

“Any interest in seeing that new Godzilla movie? It looks terrible but in a fun way.”

“Oh yeah, I like what I’ve seen of the design they’re using for the kaiju.” He notices Barclays hand resting millimeters for his own. He runs his thumb along Barclays knuckles, “are you asking if I’ll go see it with you, big guy?”

“Uh huh.”

“I’d love to.”

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

“Holy fuck babe, when you said you were running out to get breakfast I figured you meant, like, McMuffins.”

“Only the best for you, big guy. Consider it a thank you for making dinner last night.” Joseph finishes laying out the donuts from “Holes in One” next to the plate of bagels and lox from the only place that Joseph insists does them right.

Barclay wraps his arms around him, tickling his cheek with his beard, “you’re fucking amazing babe.”

Joseph kisses him, coffee flavored and light, “So are you. Still want to play chess later?”

“Uh huh. Winner gets to blow the loser?”

“I like those terms, Mr. Cobb.”

It’s been like this for the last three months; evenings at the movies or tangled up in bed, mornings in sleepy hazes on the couch or out the eat, days upon days of Joseph spoiling, servicing, and just generally loving the hell out of him.

There are also the nights or, more often, early mornings, when Joseph returns steeped in grim satisfaction. At first he avoided having Barclay over those nights or going to see him the next day. Lately, they’re together so much that it’s unavoidable that Barclay will see the lethal edge lingering in his gaze or rub knots from his shoulders that he knows were earned in some darkened room where horrors had been playing out for weeks, months, even years. He doesn’t shy away from it; he loves Joseph, and that means seeing him clearly, though sometimes what he sees sends chills across his skin. Chills that feel less and less like fear.

They’re out for a walk around the lake, trading bites of gelato, when a question tunnels it’s way to the front of Barclays mind. He waits until they’re sitting on a bench far from any prying ears to ask it.

“What made you decide to, uh, do what you do?”

His boyfriend studies him, then sighs, “A number of things. Fear was the first one; you said you don’t follow true crime, so I’m guessing you don’t know of the Janesville Strangler?”

“Nope.”

“He killed ten young women over the course of three years. He’s also my biological father. Michael Stern is my stepfather and, at my request, my adoptive one as well; my mom remarried as soon as she was sure my father couldn’t get out. He, he never turned any violence on me, but I suspect he used me as leverage with mom; she was a smart woman, I suspect she noticed something amiss but was frightened into keeping quiet. I was six when they locked him up, eight when she remarried. Mike is a gentle man, he did his best to raise me the same. But I, I never shook the fear that whatever drove my father to kill innocent people lurks somewhere in my genes.”

Barclay’s arm rests protectively across Joseph’s shoulders.

“I joined the FBI because I felt if I was able to turn whatever killer genes I have towards understanding serial murderers, I could use them to help others. Keep people safe. Ambition and skill moved me through the ranks quickly but” he sighs, “the more I rose, the more I saw how little was being done. How cases were mishandled, how if there was the slightest hint it was a cop or veteran doing the killing suddenly the case went cold, how a killer could pick off person after person and no one cared because the victims were the “wrong” kind of people. It came to a head two years ago; I’d poured all this energy into a case where the killer went after sex workers. He was prolific and obviously cruel, I fought tooth and nail for every resource I needed to track him. Officer Alex Brown was my main suspect, I was so close to getting a warrant to search his property and then they closed the case. Insisted the deaths were unrelated. I...I went up and searched on my own and” he looks at the sky, rests his head on Barclays arm, “lord almighty the things I found. I was right, I was right and I couldn’t do anything about it, he’d get to just go on preying on people and I couldn’t handle failing his future victims that way. I waited until he went on a hunting trip. Alone. Lots of things can happen to a man in the woods. And it’s hard to find evidence when his body just happens to fall near a coyote den.”

A little smile, one he tries to suppress, creeps up his cheeks, “I’ve never felt so powerful in my entire life. I decided I’d still try to play by the rules but that if I knew, for certain, someone was guilty and being shielded by either ignorance or malice, I’d solve the problem myself.” He looks at Barclay for the first time since he started his answer, face turning to shame, “I’m sorry, I, I should have given the short answer. I didn’t, I don’t want to upset you, or scare you but it’s hard not to given-”

“Joseph” Barclay carefully runs his fingers over black hair, “it’s not like I forgot how we met. I...I’m not under any misimpressions about what you’re capable of. I just wanted to know how you arrived at the solution you did. It’s, uh, it’s not what I’d choose for myself, not something I could do but, uh, I guess what I’m trying to say is that this isn’t going to push me away from you. And that it means a lot to me that you trust me enough to explain it.”

His boyfriend curls closer, “It means a lot to me, too.”

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

Black gloves on his throat, weight on his chest and when he opens his eyes it’s Joseph above him, steel in his gaze and between his fingers. He’s in a muddled dream version of Bear Butcher’s apartment

“Hi, big guy.” The thin knife slices up Barclay’s pants, “let’s get you out of these.”

“Please, please I-”

“Shhhh” Joseph kisses him, “I removed the man who threatened you. But you’re so handsome laid out like this, a victim just waiting for someone to make you scream.”

“Babe, I-”

“That’s not my name right now. Call me..” the hand no longer has a knife, is running roughly up his cock instead, “call me…”

Barclay wakes up still humping the mattress as he cums. Blindly, he reaches for his phone to check the time. It’s the fifth dream like that in two weeks, and they always leave him so horny he tries to get it up and get off again if there’s time. No such luck today; he has to be up in ten minutes.

He tries not to think about it during work, just like he tries not to think about it the rest of the time. Especially in bed with Joseph, his attentive, indulgent Joseph who puts all his organizational skills and professional practice at giving orders into domming Barclay so sweetly he stays in subspace for hours.

He’s still very much not thinking about Joseph gagging him so his screams don’t wake the neighbors as he climbs the stairs to his boyfriends place. Dani was a sweetheart and took care of his orders for him, so he was able to leave work early.

The T.V is on, volume up loud enough that he can tell what his boyfriend is up to before he even walks into the room. He fully intends to tease him for not being able to wait until Barclay was there to jerk off before hauling him into the bedroom. But when he sees the screen, he freezes.

A man in what looks like a cheesy camp counselor uniform is tied to the bed, his shirt stuffed into his mouth as a make-shift gag. Straddling him is a man in a black jumpsuit, knife near his hand and cock buried in the counselors ass.

“That’s it sweetheart, wiggle and try’n get away; you ain’t gonna and it feels so fuckin good when you try. This is what you get for leaving the window open.”

The counselor shakes his head, fear so palpable Barclay barely notices the fact the boom mic is in the shot. The killer pulls the gag free.

“Please, please, don’t kill meAH, ohgod”

A dark laugh, “I’m not gonna kill you, sugar. Thought about it, but when am I gonna find an ass this good again? Nah, I’m gonna take you back with me, keep you strapped down because you’re the, fuck, cutest goddamn specimen I ever caught.”

On the couch, Joseph tenses, cumming in the sleeve he’s using with a cry at the same moment the killer on screen cums and bends to kiss his co-stars tear-streaked face.

Joseph hits the remote, causing the T.V to go dark and reveal Barclay’s reflection.

“Shit!” Joseph leaps up, making Barclay yelp in surprise, “oh, oh thank the lord it’s just you….oh god how much of that did you see?”

“Some?”

Joseph drops to the couch, head in hands, “shit. I’m, I’m so sorry Barclay, I, I never wanted you to know about this habit, I’m sorry it’s awful.” The voice between his fingers sounds like it might cry.

“I mean, that wasn’t like a snuff film, right?”

“Those aren’t real.”

He can’t help but smile remembering Joseph’s rant on the subject, “what I meant was: those guys are just actors getting paid to do a scene like that, not some actually getting attacked.”

“Of course not.” Joseph looks up, horrified, “I’d never watch something like that. The, the whole reason I like this company is that they do horror porn under very ethical working conditions.”

“Then why are you acting like I caught you pissing in my coffee?”

“Does the fact I get off to this honestly not bother you?”

“I mean, people get off to all sorts of shit. Like, um, like” he twists the bracelet on his wrist, “like their boyfriend tying them up and threatening to make them scream.”

Josephs eyes widen. Then he shakes his head, “No. No we can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I...I never, ever want to hurt you that way. Even in a scene. I can’t stand the thought of you being scared of me, of turning these impulses loose on you. It sounds fun until I picture it and then it makes me ill. No, this stays firmly in my head.”

“Okay.” He keeps his reply soft to hide his disappointment. Joseph is still on the couch, refusing to look his way, and so he circles it and kneels at his feet to better rub his arms. He thinks about the images on screen. About Joseph, blissed out then suddenly shame-faced. Joseph, two nights ago, calculated and loving as he worked Barclay over.

No, maybe the kind of scene he’s been picturing isn’t for them. But he can think of one that is.

“What if, uh, instead of giving into the desires that freak you out we kind of rechannel them. Like, instead of strapping me down to torment me, you’re doing it to show off?”

Blue eyes meet his for the first time all night, “Say more.”

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

“Ready?” Barclay bats his eyelashes at Joseph as his boyfriend finishes double checking the tightness of the rope he’s using to tie Barclays arms above his head.

“Ready.” Joseph stands, rolling his shoulders and closing his eyes as he takes deep breaths. Then he frowns, “can you start us off?”

“Sure thing, babe.” He nestles his head on the pillow, “okay, you found me tied up like this. What’s your first thought?”

Joseph opens his eyes, gaze sharp, “That I’m so lucky someone left a handsome specimen like you where I could find him.”

Barclays cock twitches at being referred to that way, “You’re not gonna let me go?”

“Not just yet. You’re so perfect, will you let me make a case for staying here with me?”

“Please” Barclay whimpers as Joseph straddles him, knife in hand.

“I’m very precise, for starters.” He cuts slowly up Barclays boxers until he can pull the strip of fabric off. Repeats the process, lips a firm line of concentration, with his undershirt, “see? There’s not even a scratch. I have to be careful not to damage my perfect specimen.”

Barclay groans, rolling his hips. Joseph smiles, shifting so his cock rubs against Joseph’s clothed crotch.

“Fuck, Joseph-”

“Shhhh” a gloved thumb brushes his lips, “When you’re like this, my name is Sir.”

“Ohfuck.” Barclay rubs his cheek pleadingly in his palm, “Sir, please, please, untie me so I can touch you.”

“Not yet.” Joseph pats his cheek, scoots backwards on the bed, “besides, you’ll have lots of time to touch me once I take you home and make you my sweet live-in plaything.”

“Holyfuckingshit.” Barclay fights off a dozen tantalizing images of what that could entail to focus on their plan, “Sir? What, uh, what was the guy who tied me up going to do to me?”

His boyfriend settles between his legs, “He was going to take you apart.” He lifts Barclay’s right leg, “starting with these, so if you got free you couldn’t run. This tendon first” he kisses the back of his knee, making Barclay giggle. He pauses, then decides on holding both legs up at once so he can repeat the kiss on the other side. His lips move slowly down to his ankles, right side and then the left, before a final one lands on his arch, “he was going to cut here too. But not me” the kisses continue, “I’m going to rub them every evening so you’re never sore.”

“Fuuuuck” He sighs as Joseph straddles him once more, leaning forward so he can kiss and fondle his arms.

“He was going to slice alllll along here” Joseph’s breathing is picking up the longer he lavishes Barclay with kisses, “then he was going to take your fingers one by one” Joseph kisses each knuckle in turn, his free hand petting Barclay’s face and hair, “then he was going to commit a cardinal sin by mangling these” Joseph toys with his pecks, sucks happily on his left nipple for a moment, “what a crime that would have been.”

“Sir” it’s a whine as Joseph nips and kisses his way down to his navel.

He raises slightly, mouth just above Barclays cock, “and because he had no imagination, he was going to cut this wonderful appendage off. Which is not the treatment it deserves.”

“What treatment does it deserve SirrrrrOHfuck, fuckyes” Barclay pants as Joseph licks stripe after stripe up his cock. As Joseph licks and sucks him to a hard-on, he feels the plug slip from his ass.

“I don’t know what his plans were for that” Joseph sits up, undoing his pants and pulling out his cock, “but I know what mine are.” He pushes Barclays legs wide, works his cock in with slow, steady thrusts while Barclay tries to remember how words work.

“Shit, yes, god your ass is amazing, what kind of person sees it and thinks its for anything but fucking?”

“Nngh” Barclay clings to the ropes as Joseph’s thrusts quicken.

“Lord, I thought you were a perfect specimen before but I was wrong, you look even better taking my cock.”

“Fuck, fuck that’s hot.”

Joseph grip his thighs tight enough to hurt, “well, big guy, will you stay with me?” His eyes glitter, his hair is coming loose and falling across his forehead.

“YesAH, yes, ohfucksirright there” He didn’t notice Joseph changing the angle of thrusts until his cock found his prostate, “I’ll be so good Sir, wanna be a good boy for you.”

“Oh good.” Joseph’s smile goes wolfish for an instant, “because I would have had to do some very mean things to persuade you if you refused.”

Barclay cums at that, staining Joseph’s shirt with white. His hands knock against the headboard as Joseph fucks him hard enough to make him sob with oversensitive pleasure.

“You’re going to be such a nice plaything for Sir, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Good boyOH, ohshit, shit.” Joseph pulls out halfway through cumming, spattering it on Barclays thighs and balls. Carefully, he lowers his legs. Then his boyfriend collapses into his arms, panting and giddy.

“That, that was so fun. I’d say who knew but every time we fuck you show me just how fucking fun all this can be.”

“Aw, babe.” He goes to hug him and rediscovers the ropes.

“Ohshit, here” Joseph sets to work undoing his knots, “are your wrists okay? Not too sore? How about your shoulders?”

“They all feel fucking great, baby. I feel great. How could I not? I got you looking after me.”

Joseph smiles, “and out for you.”

“That too. Now c’mere, special agent, your next assignment is cuddling your boyfriend.”

#sternclay #agent stern/ barclay #meet ugy #taz amnesty

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in-superbloom · 3 years

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okay so. i never really did a review (feels weird to call it a review tho so let's say a very opinionated essay that's totally the opposite of what college taught me) for wfttwtaf but i never really know how to do that for any album, doesn't matter how much it makes me feel feelings, bc i simply can't write about my own emotions in cohesive thoughts ✌🏻😔

so instead, i let my brain do this thing he usually does when i listen to an album that leaves an effect on me, which is pretty much just creating visuals for the songs bc apparently my feelings translate better into images/vibes rather than words lmao but since i am unfortunately not skilled to drawn/paint/created actual visual stuff, i just wrote them so i'm gonna leave them here bc why not <3

i just really love when music (art in general, but especially music for me) makes your mind run wild & be so inspired that you can't help but create something based on that feeling <3 a great example of that is the amount of art everyone here (on tumblr!sos verse, but also tumblr & the internet in general) create based on other peoples' art & i just *clenches fists* really love that 💜

anyways !! if you're reading this, i hope this makes sense to you & if you wanna chat about the album, my mail box is always open 💜

• track one: starting line – like the mv, but he's running like he's trying to get away from something, always looking behind his shoulder, stumbling on things/people on the streets. also maybe not flying?;

• track two: saigon – then he reaches a tiny but unique/eye-catching door, gets intrigued & enters. he has to go downstairs through a dark and narrow corridor, he hears muffled music coming down there. he reaches the door & the music is now clear, it looks like there are disco balls everywhere ((pink, blue and purple bc ofc)), the place is packed with people dancing & just vibing™. he goes to the dancefloor, but soon it gets overwhelming so he tries to reach a wall or the other end of the club, but he can't. the more he walks, the furthest he feels from the walls. everything has a psychedelic look, also some of those trippy effects he used on motion, and no one seems to notice/ care about him. this goes on until the end of the song, then he finally finds a door ((not the one he came from)) and opens it;

• track three: motion – he expects to find a street, but instead he's inside a room. it's a bit dark, all he sees are shadows, but then suddenly everything turns into an explosion of colors ((when the songs picks up in the beginning)), all dancing in front of him, making him feel lost & dizzy. he keeps walking, but every now and them he stumbles on something ((random things like animals or weird props or stuff that aren't supposed to be alive, but are)). he admires everything with a childlike wonder, touches things and then they turn into something else, or change form/shape/color. in the end, he's distracted looking at something and then falls like the floor reached an end;

• track four: place in me – he fell right there where he is in the mv/visualizer, it goes on like that;

• track five: baby blue – make it look like he fell asleep after the end of place in me, so he's very confused when he wakes up & it looks like the place is falling apart, like end of the world type ((like the lamentis thingy on loki)). things are exploding & he can see another planet very close to the one where he is. it's a bit scary but it's a breathtaking view nonetheless. he's mesmerized, but also kinda already accepted his fate? he's not trying to run to find a shelter/salvation or anything, just watching it all fall apart. at the end, he stops, turns around & looks at the path that he was walking ((full of nature things colored in every shade of blue and also glittery dust)) and he's just admiring it when he's hit by a big rock maybe? or a moon, who knows;

• track six: repeat – he's throw away to somewhere that's not collapsing, it looks like a pathway in the woods? but like, no florest too near, and it's sunny but not too warm, and the path is filled with green grass and flowers. he lands in a place that looks like a field but not quite. and then after walking for a while, he finds himself, but another version of him. maybe a younger one or an older one or both? like, they both just stop and stare at each other and kinda do this lil dance of trying to touch the other & watching the other, both a lil frightened but completely intrigued. maybe the older version of him? ooooh maybe it starts with an older version, but then every time present luke gets distracted by something else or turns around for a second, the other luke is getting younger, until he's just a lil kid. the ending is the mini luke offering his hand for present luke to grab, so he can lead him to a house that was near where they were. ((or maybe mini luke makes him run after him));

• track seven: mum – luke enters the house & immediately recognizes it as the house he grew up in. every step he takes, a wall or an object or a room brings a memory & it plays it out like a hologram. lots of memories. then in the guitar solo part, he finds a guitar in the room where he used to play the most when he was a kid ((maybe some cool&cute effects going around him, representing the sound coming from the guitar)). before the solo ends, you can see a shadow in the threshold of the door, and when he finished the guitar solo, luke turns around and smiles, getting up to hug the person ((it's his mum)) but maybe you never actually see her face?;

• track eight: slip away – he steps out of his childhood house and enters this big dark room. there's only a lil blue light coming from the very center of the room. when he gets closer to it, he sees it's a lil star, who looks very scared. as soon as she notices him ((he tries to reach her)) she runs out of the door on the other side of the room. he's worried&intrigued so he follows her, but when he opens the door, he immediately falls, this time he's in what looks like the clouds ((blue hues ofc but clearer ones, not as dark shades like the ones in place in me & baby blue)), and soon he finds out he can "swim" through them. he does that for a while until he sees the lil star and tries to follow her again. this goes on until he finally gets close to her, but when he touches her, she literally slips from his grasp bc he's being teleported again ((but make it look like she's the portal));

• track nine: diamonds – it starts with a close up on the water maybe? and then the camera keeps getting higher & suddenly he falls into it and soon the camera follows. he's distorted for a bit, especially when he notices he's already too deep into the water, away from the surface. then he tries to swim to the surface, but there's a bunch of things?? or like weird and mean seapeople maybe? trying to drag him down ((kinda like that scene on harry potter & the goblet of fire)). he tries his best to fight them, but what gets him away from them is a group of nice seapeople who came to his rescue. then they all swim away from the place they were ((also maybe slip in some diamonds or things that look like them around there?));

• track ten: a beautiful dream – he reaches a lil city? under water with the help of the nice seapeople & then there's this piano on the ground ((maybe covered in seaweed and stuff like that)) and he's immediately drawn to it. he plays/sings the song ((maybe like the guitar effects in mum, the sounds coming from the piano affect the place around him even tho it looks like he barely notices it)). when the song is finishing, he notices a white light coming from the surface. he looks at it & then follows it;

• track eleven: bloodline – then he's getting out of the water? at some beach perhaps? he's slowly getting out of the water & there's this beautiful sunrise behind him. he's singing along, looking like he just came out of a battle but at the same time he's in peace with himself, looking not exactly happy but relieved. he's walking on the beach, making his way home but he's not in a hurry. then in that lil bit in the end of the song, he gets out of the frame after looking straight to the camera maybe?? and the camera focuses on the sunrise and then everything goes black;

• track twelve: comedown – he wakes up in a bed ((like, this is him waking up from all these dreams)) & he's slightly confused bc the dreams felt so real, but he's feeling better & not so lost anymore. he goes out in a walk that maybe shows every place he was in his dreams? but like, this time you see what they really are bc every place in his dreams was inspired by a real location/thing, just reimagined. but like, he doesn't enter anywhere, he's just walking & you can see the places on both sides of the street. like, it's clearly a set up location but it's just representative. maybe you can see some of his friends/family at some of these locations or maybe they're all together in one place? but they don't look at him, they're just talking&laughing with each other. he looks happy, at ease & he's smiling, wearing a yellow or gold shirt. in the end, he reaches a cliffside maybe? somewhere that leads you to think that he'll go through another portal, but then he suddenly stops, looks down at the cliffside and crouches down bc he saw the lil blue star from slip away but it's now a necklace. he picks it up, with a small&easy smile and then looks at the camera, gives a bigger, real smile, gets up and turns around, going back to where his friends&family are, but the camera stays there, just watching him go.

// now some notes bc i love to over explain myself //

• the "water" one was supposed to be slip away, but alison @bandsanitizer was talking about a beautiful dream these days & said that something about the song reminds her of a sonar-like sound & the idea of searching for something, so that got me thinking about the ocean & relating it to this song and it also makes a lot of sense with what the album represents in my mind, so it made me change that. thank you for that miss alison, it's always a pleasure to read your thoughts 😌💜

• & it also fitted well with the “i can't fight the bloodline living in the seams back home” line from bloodline, so i wanted that one to be related to the water as well bc that's all i can think about when i hear that lyric;

• something in common that appears in every single one: an object or something related to time, since it's the big common theme on the whole album;

• in each song he's wearing the same outfit he wore in the starting line mv (white tee + black pants + converse) but in each one of them, that red shirt is in a different color;

• i had the visuals from starting line to mum very clear in my head on my first listen of the album, but i only truly finished writing all of this yesterday bc i wanna listen to halsey's new album and see if my brain does this thing again, but i wanted to finish wfttwtaf first <3

& that's it bc i already talked too much for a day lmao if you read all of this, you're a true hero & i love you <3 have a nice day 💛

#some trippy and weird thoughts brought to you by my weird brain <3 #with the incentive of the twinkling blue lights in my room that i was staring at when i first heard the album <3 #there's like. a lot of meaning behind these things if you really look into it #& i could probably rant about them but let's not do that bc i feel like this is way too much already #i've literally been formatting & fixing this for an hour now and this was supposed to be quick #so that's another lesson for me about how i truly can't shut my mouth about anything ✌🏻😌#but i enjoyed writing this so. yeah <3 #can you tell i'm a frustrated kid bc i love to create stuff like this & actually make something out of it #but i currently can't so i just write & daydream & cry </3 #*sighs as a sad girl living in a small & very non-artistic town*#lrh + wfttwtaf #anna talks music #wfttwtaf #anna talks luke

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perriewinklenerdie · 4 years

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History repeats itself (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

Open Heart, Ethan Ramsey x MC

A/N: Hi guys! I'm on a roll (it's that high that patients that are about to die experience right before they crash. Kinda fitting, giving the fact that I'm going to die tomorrow bc of OH, isn't it? :D), like back in the old, good days. This was a request made by a wonderfull Nonnie. Thank you so much for suggesting it! I hope you enjoy it and that I didn’t disappoint :D

This fic is part of the ESIMY series (Claire and Ethan met and got married before they started working together and that’s basically all you need to know, as the fic can be read as a separate work)

Tag list: @paleweasels, @kittykatchoices, @valiantlychaoticbarbarian, @radlovedreamer , @usuallyamazinglyaverage, @awhmilkywey @palestazure, @cordoniaqueensworld, @universallypizzataco, @princess-geek, @faithhasnowords, @mightyfangirlofthefandoms, @drakewalkerfantasy, @timmagicktoad, @laceandlula, @greywitchyshots, @llamasgrl, @gingerjane15, @bucket-harrington , @marywrites-things , @ethanplaysfavorites , @mfackenthal , @betelgeusebee , @simsvetements, @buzz-bee-buzz, @owleyes374, @cora-nova, @aworldoffandoms, @l822, @cream-ray, @ughhhxjazzy, @silverlitskies, @justendlesssummerfeels, @togetherwearerapture, @desmaranj, @edgiestwinter, @friedherringclodthing, @daisy-ashton, @waytooattuned, @choicesgremlin , @lapisreviewsstuff, @the-soot-sprite, @writerapprentice, @chasingrobbie, @choicesobsessedd, @x-kyne-x, @thisperfectmemory, @drakewalker04, @rookie-ramsey, @jlynn12273, @thepinknymph @dr-brianna-casey-valentine, @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @justanotherrookie @mvalentine @starrystarrytrouble

Enjoy! <3

-----------

Paging Dr. Ramsey to Dr. Banerji’s office.

He looked up from the article he was reading, expecting a message from his wife. They were supposed to go home soon, finishing her last day of work before she would go on maternal leave. The page didn’t read as urgent, and yet somehow, a shiver ran down his spine. He couldn’t explain it. Call it a hunch that made him abandon his work and rush through the halls of the hospital.

Naveen was waiting for him by the door, his expression gravely. The air in the room was so thick that Ethan, who was running, stopped abruptly in his tracks, feeling weight being slammed against his chest. He didn’t know what was happening yet, but it couldn’t have been anything good.

“Naveen?” he asked, walking closer, treading slowly and carefully, as though it would save him from the approaching heartbreak he could already feel. His friend sighed heavily, stepping towards to him and laying his hand on Ethan’s shoulder.

“You might want to sit down.”

“Tell me. I need to go pick Claire up from the locker room in five minutes.” He didn’t miss how his mentor’s face fell at the mention of her name, making his stomach drop in worry. “What happened?”

“Claire is being transferred to the OR as we speak.” He said, the next words being an almost exact echo of his own words years back. “She had a seizure, full eclampsia. We’re delivering the baby.”

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

That day, from the very beginning, was a bust. Her head was pounding, slowly but surely rising and breaking through the threshold of her pain tolerance, causing her to reach out to her OB-GYN in search of any advice, along with some painkillers. Her vision was getting blurred around the sides from time to time, making it incredibly difficult to read charts or look her patients in the eye. Esme asked her about it, figuring out something was wrong when she misread the patient’s name while they were walking towards their room, but she dismissed her with a kind smile.

“That’s pregnancy for you.” she joked, seeing in her resident’s eyes that she didn’t believe her. Sighing heavily, she nodded. “Okay, it’s not typical. I- I would appreciate if you kept your eye on me today. I feel like something is about to go south and I’d like to avoid that.”

“Of course, I’ll watch you like a hawk.”

Light sensitivity came next. Supply closets were her biggest friends that day, providing with as much darkness as she wanted, blocking out any traces of light. She couldn’t barricade herself in there, no matter how much she’d want that, so she braced herself and pushed through.

She knew all those symptoms too well. She was, after all, treating her pre-eclampsia since it reared its ugly head three weeks ago. The moment she heard her diagnosis, she felt as though she has been struck by a lightning. It was the same diagnosis she gave Dolores not even three years ago.

Ethan wouldn’t survive it if this case ended the same way.

Claire was battling with herself. Should she tell him about it and let him worry about her every second of every day until she gave birth and the postpartum eclampsia was ruled out, or should she shoulder that weight on her own, treating it behind his back and praying that he’d never have to find out that the very same complication that took away his dear friend not that long ago, now threatened to take away his wife too.

She opted for something in between. There were symptoms that she couldn’t hide from him, about which they talked and she let him ask about them on their appointments. Dr. Weland, her OB-GYN, was aware of the whole situation, carefully formulating her answers for the first-time father.

It kept her up at night. She knew he would be scared, disappointed that she didn’t tell him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. He’d lock them both up at home for the remainder of her pregnancy, with a private doctor at hand, and treat her with extra caution. But most of all, she didn’t want to see the panic in his eyes, which she knew she’d find there. He would stop sleeping, watching over her at every moment.

Dr. Weland expressed her concerns when she saw Claire that day, hence her asking Esme to keep an eye on her. It wouldn’t be wise to send her home; she would need help in case something went horribly wrong.

Three hours later, as though on cue, she felt pain in her stomach, right below her belly button. All the symptoms she’s been experiencing that day cumulated, striking her at once with double their force, bending her in half. Esme, who was just down the hall, called out her name, rushing towards her, just in time to catch her as she crashed towards the ground, her body shaking.

“She’s seizing! Page Dr. Banerji!” the resident shouted, taking care of the fallen doctor.

“What about Ramsey?” someone asked, pager in their hand.

“Do as I say!”

What happened next could only be described as a chain reaction, its magnitude that of an avalanche. Naveen was called, OR was ordered, Claire was moved onto the bed and wheeled away. The hardest was still ahead of them.

Ethan fell against the wall heavily, struggling to catch his breath. “What do you mean eclampsia? Did she have any symptoms before that? Did she know? Who found her?”

“Dr. Ortega. She probably has more answers for you than I do. Come on, we’ll talk to her and Dr. Weland.”

His every move felt as though there were two impossibly heavy bricks attached to his feet, and another three on his shoulders and his chest. Panic began rising in his chest, fighting the overwhelming urge to let the tears fall. Esme was waiting for them by the entrance to the OR, worry spelled on her face.

“Can someone tell me why my wife and my daughter are fighting for their lives in there?” he barked the question, shaking in emotional distress. Naveen placed his hand on his shoulder, asking him silently to let the doctors speak.

“She’s been not feeling well for the whole day. Asked me to keep an eye on her; she told me she felt like something was about to happen.” the youngest doctor explained, stepping away to make space for Dr. Weland.

“Claire was treating her pre-eclampsia for the past three and a half weeks. The symptoms you noticed and were asking about were all a part of it. She asked me to not tell you, hoping that she would be able to avoid developing eclampsia.”

Never before in his life had he looked up at someone so fast. “She knew? And she didn’t tell me?”

“Ethan, I know you’re angry but-“

“I’m not angry. Right now, I’m terrified, because my family is fighting for their lives and I’m here, instead of being by their side. Step aside, I’m scrubbing in.”

“No.” Naveen shook his head, pulling him aside firmly. “And you know why.”

“Move out of the way, Naveen, I’m going in there.”

“I’m going to lock you in my office if you don’t calm down. You won’t help anyone by being emotional and reckless. Breathe, son, they’re going to be alright.” Ethan’s breathing was treading on the line of hyperventilating, panic rising in his chest even more. At last, tears fell, two trails running down his cheeks. He fell into his friend’s embrace, sobbing like he hasn’t done in a very long time. Helplessness, anger at fate and at himself for not noticing it sooner. “Claire is a fighter, so are you, and so is your daughter. They’ll pull through.”

“The last time I had to give this diagnosis to a person I cared about was Dolores, and she was dead within ours. Don’t tell me to calm down.” He stumbled over his words, holding onto Naveen’s arms for dear life.

“This time will be different.”

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

Not even an hour passed before the surgery ended. It gave Ethan enough time to go over the last weeks, all the pieces falling together into one tragic picture. It was all there, right before his eyes. Edema on her hands and feet, which could be written off as a pregnancy symptom. Headaches plagued her quite often even before she was married, so he didn’t even bat an eye on it, maybe except for the intensity of them. Her nausea returned long after her morning sickness phase passed, but again, pregnancy manifested itself with a variety of things.

He blamed himself. After Dolores died, he thought he’d be able to see the symptoms and prevent it from getting worse, but when it mattered the most, with his own beloved wife, he failed to add two and two.

“Ethan, you can see them now. The baby is safe and healthy, Claire’s condition is under control, she’s stable and conscious.” Naveen called out for him, a small smile on his face spelled out relief.

Jumping to his feet, he ran towards them, catching the room number from a shouting Naveen, not waiting for anyone. Nurses and doctors moved out of his way, some of them knowing what happened, others having no idea but knowing better than to stand in Dr. Ramsey’s way.

The lights in the room were dimmed, curtains closed, providing privacy and peace. Ethan opened the door as quietly and gently as he could, his stare falling onto Claire immediately. She smiled at him lazily, watching his every move in anticipation. He strode towards her, sitting at the edge of the bed and taking her hand in his, rising it to his lips and kissing it, over and over again, saying silent prayers of gratitude. Tears started running down his cheeks again, wetting her skin, his shoulders shaking as he let out all the emotions.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, choking on her words, her face wet with tears too. He looked up at her, shaking his head.

“No. It’s my fault. I- I somehow attract tragedy. My Mother, Naveen, Dolores… and now you.” She looked at him confused, not understanding his reasoning at first, only seconds later did she remember his thought process, her eyes filling with horror.

“Ethan, that’s none of your fault. I won’t be sitting here, letting you blame yourself for something completely out of your control.” She grabbed him by the sides of his face, hauling him onto her, pressing their lips together and lingering there, connecting them, again and again. “Your Mother wasn’t your fault.” Kiss on the nose. “Naveen wasn’t your fault.” Kiss on the forehead. “Dolores wasn’t your fault.” She kissed both his cheeks, catching his tears. “I wasn’t your fault, and neither was she.” She cried, her voice getting thick from tears. Her head crooked towards his left, pointing towards their daughter.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” his words stabbed her like a knife that she herself was holding against her heart. She knew he’d ask, but she wasn’t prepared for it, no matter how many times she rehearsed it in her head.

“I didn’t want you to worry.” She explained after a moment, biting her lip in shame. “I thought if I can get through this and not have any complications, you’d never have to find out. Especially with how it ended for Dolores…”

“There isn’t a single thing in this world more important to me than you two. Whatever it is, however hard it gets, I want to be there for you. For both of you.”

Both of them cried silently, embracing each other as closely as they dared, refusing to let the other get away even for a mere inch. Silent comfort, not needing any words, only each other, alive and well.

The soft sound of wailing pulled them out of their little bubble, pulling their attention towards the crib by the bed. Ethan stood up, walking over to look inside, Claire peaking from her position on her bed.

A little girl was staring up at him, her eyes blue and curious. She couldn’t smile yet, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t see how at peace she was. Perfectly fine.

His whole family was perfectly fine.

“Katherine…” he muttered, running the outer edge of his index finger along his daughter’s cheek softly.

“She looks like a Katherine to you?” Claire asked, humor in her voice. He nodded, turning to his wife. “I was thinking of Isabelle.”

“We can compromise.” He embraced her, kissing her head tenderly.

“Katherine Isabelle Ramsey. Perfect.”

#open heart #ethan ramsey #mc x ethan #ethan x mc #dr. ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #mc x ethan ramsey #choices #choices fanfiction #open heart fanfiction #fic #fanfiction

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forasecondtherewedwon · 3 years

Photo

Schwarzenegger Holiday

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E Word Count: 11,874

Includes the following prompts:

snowed in

making latkes together

“You didn’t think I’d let you spend the holidays alone, did you?”

Summary: When MJ’s granted a sudden visit to the safehouse where Peter’s been hidden for six months, she’s... nervous. What if he doesn’t want her to come? What if he doesn’t like her that way anymore? She has 24 hours to figure out what they are to each other and make peace with it. That’s the plan. Until they get snowed in.

MJ’s leg is jumping in the backseat of the SUV, the bop of her foot barely audible over the thickly-packed snow grinding under the tires. Anywhere else, this large, white vehicle would be conspicuous, but she supposes it’s fading in pretty well against this wintery backdrop. Probably less visible from above too; she quits bouncing her foot long enough to unbuckle her seatbelt and slide over to glance up at the sky, until the driver brusquely reminds her to keep her face away from the windows.

She’s dying to snark back and ask what the darkly tinted windows are for if they aren’t good enough to conceal the face of the vehicle’s occupants, but this guy kinda scares her. He’s something more secret than the Secret Service. If Nick Fury (the real Nick Fury this time, apparently—she has a whole backlog of questions and complaints that there wasn’t time to bring up during the handoff) hadn’t done an extra security check on the driver before sending MJ off with him, she’d be really worried right about now. Her suitcase is in the trunk and she’s clutching the box May gave her to her hip, wondering how she’ll be able to use its contents for self-defence if the need arises. Tear open the bag of flour and throw it in the guy’s eyes maybe?

Her strategy with the flour is sturdy, but there’s something else in this box for which she has no plan. There wasn’t time for her and May to discuss it, like there wasn’t time for MJ to interrogate Fury on where exactly he was while Peter was grappling with Quentin Beck all over Europe. Time, time, time. It’s been months, actually, since any of them seemed to have enough of it. She’s curious to know how the summer, fall, and now early winter have passed for Peter. He doesn’t even know she’s on her way. Nervous, MJ bites at the skin around her thumb nail. She hopes he’s happy to see her.

When Jameson totally fucked up her first date (and her new boyfriend’s whole life), Peter fled. He had to. Luckily, he’s being protected—so MJ’s been told—though the trade-off for safety is isolation. If it were her, she’s not sure she’d mind being handed an extended stretch of time to catch up on her reading, but she knows Peter’s different. Peter needs people. (She needs Peter.)

MJ knows that May Parker misses her nephew desperately. That’s why she tried to get the woman to go in her place, but everything with these Super-Secret Service assholes has a reason and a rhyme, even when the Scrabble tiles for Peter’s situation clearly spell ORANGE. May visited him for his birthday. Ned spent the weekend over Thanksgiving. Taking time away from work and school qualifies as a ‘noticeable absence’ and those need to be minimized. In the plainer terms May used when she explained the circumstances (at the same time that she proposed MJ take a trip to see Spidey the Desperado), none of the people formerly known to be close to Peter Parker can draw attention to themselves. They’ve been watched on the street, questioned by reporters, photographed by tabloids, and otherwise surveyed by who knows what methods operated by who knows whom. The last is MJ’s assumption; she isn’t stupid.

Apparently, becoming Peter’s girlfriend right before his identity was leaked to the world bumped her up to the third most important person in his life. She’s yet to learn whether Peter views her that way. The people protecting him do not have a schedule coordinated with him, so this trip wasn’t his call. Windows of opportunity open and close, schemes are adjusted, and girlfriends get left on doorsteps hugging boxes with the ingredients for latkes, crossing their fingers for a warm reception. MJ hasn’t figured out what she’s going to say to him after six months of nothing.

Then again, that’s basically how their friendship in high school went until her crush on him stopped crushing her enough to allow her to get the occasional insult out.

If he’s gotten over his feelings for her or just isn’t in the right headspace to entertain her, this is going to be awkward. At least it’s only until tomorrow. The same driver (for security reasons, blah blah) is picking her up before noon. One night of struggling to transition from dating back to just friends would, ultimately, be bearable for her, if that’s what Peter needs. She’d be able to talk it out with him without pining for their quick first kisses on Tower Bridge. Or their sloppy make-out session in the airplane bathroom when they woke up from their nap with half the ocean still to cross and the sudden feeling of relief that they were both alive. Yeah. MJ could definitely put that stuff behind her. In fact, maybe it’s better not to think of it at all and go into this visit assuming Peter’s feelings have cooled in light of other priorities. That way, this can be a night away from home hanging out with a friend, and not being left undisturbed with Peter ‘Where’d Those Abs Come From?’ Parker in the middle of nowhere.

She upends the mixing bowl in the box over that other item May included.

After so much doubling back and zigzagging down what have to be the most deserted roads in Upstate New York, the driver rolls to a stop in the shadow of a cabin-like house. It’s too house-like to attract the attention of wandering hipsters thirsty for cottagecore, but too cabin-y to suggest anything beyond temporary residence. MJ judges it to be a convincing safehouse. She climbs out, hefting May’s box, and accepting her suitcase from the driver. He moves much more swiftly, evidently uninterested in assessing the dwelling’s façade. Probably not his job. Even with her arms full, MJ steps precisely in the man’s footprints in the snow, just to see if her overexaggerated precaution will get under his skin. He ignores her. By the time she reaches the porch, he’s already completed whatever secret handshake or password exchange or retinal scan he had to do with Peter and is brushing past her, back to the milk-white SUV. She turns and stares after him, her last tie to civilization (until tomorrow), squinting against the light glinting off the snow.

Eventually, when the vehicle is gone and everything’s quiet, MJ accepts that she’s stalling. Eyes lowered, she faces the open door.

She starts at his feet. Red socks, the wool bobbled, the toe of the left twisted slightly like he put it on wrong and didn’t fix it. Her throat’s thick as she scans up his legs, in sweatpants, and remembers them encased in the Spider-Man suit as he crouched on the streetlight and watched Jameson blow his life apart onscreen. Hovering by his thighs are his hands. Oh, his hands. Though MJ’s gripping the box and suitcase with all her might, she’s recalling the gentle way he fit his fingers between hers. With a shaky breath, she can’t wait any longer and her gaze darts up to his face. Peter’s wearing this look she’s seen in videos of soldiers being reunited with their dogs—specifically, she’s seen it in the eyes of those dogs. The look is mushy and wet-eyed and begging for an eyeroll, possibly some verbal ridiculing, and instead, her heart reacts by flopping around unfamiliarly inside her chest. Him, is the sound of its thumping as it stumbles into her ribs. Him, him, him.

“Hi,” she says, voice coming out high. “Don’t hug me. The porch is wet and I’m holding a box.”

“I see that.”

He speaks. MJ’s mouth twitches into a relieved, silly smile. She’s missed the sound of his dork speaking so much that three words have her tripping over the threshold, almost slipping as her snow-slicked boots hit wood floor.

“The box is from May,” she explains, putting her back to Peter in order to set it down and to collect herself all over again. She’s here. He’s here, right where he’s supposed to be and where she was expecting him, but looking at her like that and with a jawline erupting in a faint scruff. It feels like a million years since she saw him last. It feels like a day.

“Can I hug you now?”

The suitcase she just drops.

MJ whirls to throw herself into Peter’s arms, hiccupping a relieved breath when he squeezes her close. Before she shuts her eyes to concentrate on the sensation of him solidly in her grasp after so long apart, she gets a glimpse of the living area beyond, the unlit fireplace. It’s homey and she isn’t sure if that makes her sadder, knowing he’s been living here alone. His hands slide over her back and she realizes she’s been hugging him a long time.

With a tight, uncertain smile, she draws back, cupping his shoulders, then dropping her hands to swing at her sides.

“Are you surprised to see me?” MJ asks. She already knows he should be, but she has to do something besides just stare at him.

“Yeah.” Peter laughs. “Take off your boots and stuff, come sit down.”

He’s smiling at her even as she’s fumbling to untie her laces.

“Sorry,” he laughs again. “I’m not trying to stare. I’m just not used to—”

“People?”

“Well, I see some people. I get supplies. But not super often and not people I… know.”

She saw how his face went pink before settling on that final word.

“You didn’t think I’d let you spend the holidays alone, did you?” MJ teases, now shrugging out of her coat. She didn’t notice that she forgot to zip it up when she got out of the SUV. She stuffs her gloves down the sleeve and passes it to Peter to hang on a hook by the door.

“I didn’t really think that was anybody’s call,” he admits.

His tone is joyfully unconcerned, but she frowns a little, experiencing second-hand frustration at the way Peter’s life isn’t so much being lived right now as run.

“I didn’t either.” She shrugs. “But your Avengers handlers, or whatever their job titles are, contacted me through May, so I figured I might as well come out. Not that I didn’t want to see you. I did. I really wanted to see you.”

God, now she’s probably come on too strong, overcorrecting after worrying she sounded like she could take or leave being reunited with her boyfriend.

“I really wanted to see you too,” Peter assures her. His expression softens. “We didn’t get a lot of time, before.”

“I’m only here until tomorrow,” MJ warns.

“Oh, no, that’s perfect. That’s great. I wasn’t expecting you at all, so this is incredible.”

He goes to grab the box, but she shouts, “No!” Peter stares at her. “Uh,” she says, “can you take my suitcase instead? I don’t know where to put it.”

“Sure.”

She follows him into the living room in her sock feet, wishing she packed slippers.

“The floor can be cold,” he says before she can voice her regret. “I have slippers around here somewhere that you can wear, and it’s warmer when there’s a fire. We can light one tonight, if you want.”

“That sounds nice,” MJ agrees.

“You can put that down in the kitchen.” He points her through a door. “I’ll just take your bag to the bedroom. The, uh, second bedroom. There are two bedrooms. I wasn’t gonna put it in my room. I don’t want you to think—”

“Peter, it’s fine.”

He nods jerkily and walks, glancing back once. She spies the promised slippers and shoves her feet into them before racing into the kitchen. Instead of systematically emptying the box and laying out each item, MJ rifles desperately through to the bottom and grabs the thing she avoided the whole way here. What was May thinking, including condoms in the care package? Well, logically, she can guess. Peter, mostly alone, opening the door to discover his girlfriend, arrived for an overnight stay. Yes, she can see exactly why May wanted to take precautions on their behalf because MJ definitely didn’t think of that and she doubts whoever brings Peter his updates and frozen pizzas has thought to equip him with prophylactics. They’re mostly concerned with keeping him alive and out of the hands of the authorities, not getting him laid.

Knowing Peter will return any moment, MJ looks frantically around the kitchen. She thinks she hears his footsteps. Shit. She yanks a pullout drawer open and chucks the box of condoms in next to the Cheerios, hitting the drawer shut with her hip as Peter walks in and grins at her. She plasters an anxious smile on in response.

He joins her at the counter and they begin to unload the box.

“Wait,” he says, partway through, “is this the stuff for latkes?”

“Mhmm. May told me she didn’t want you to miss out on any of your regular holiday traditions, even if she couldn’t be… Peter?”

MJ observes him, sympathy wringing her heart like a wet washcloth. He turns away from her and raises a hand to his face. She hears a sniff and assumes he’s wiping at his eyes and cheeks. She reaches out, hesitates, overcomes, lays her hand on his shoulder.

“I told her it should’ve been her coming instead of me,” she mumbles.

“No, no,” Peter assures her, still facing away, “I’m so happy to see you, MJ, seriously. I just miss her.”

“She misses you too.”

When he turns to face her, eyes still shining, MJ rewards his vulnerability by taking his hand.

“It’s not fair,” she tells him.

“It’s what’s gotta be done,” Peter says with a resigned shrug. “What I want isn’t as important as fixing this mess so I can go back to being Spider-Man. People need me.”

“You’re people too. There are people you need. That’s part of your humanity.” She’s ramping up now, arguing on his behalf with no one there to argue against. “Without that humanity, you wouldn’t be a good Spider-Man. You wouldn’t be a good guy. Protecting you shouldn’t just be about sticking you somewhere and watching you by satellite or whatever! Exposing your identity is a psychological attack and Nick Fury and the rest of them should be doing everything to ensure you can weather this storm psychologically, including keeping you connected to your family and your friends and—"

“My girlfriend.”

MJ exhales.

“Maybe not her,” she jokes. “She might just come in here and rant at you about reducing your stress, which is kinda counterproductive.”

“If I could listen to you rant every day, I’d be happy.”

She flushes and busies herself with putting May’s gifts away, probably all in the wrong spots, but Peter never corrects her, just works quietly alongside her until there’s nothing left in the box. Because she wasn’t permitted to bring her phone, MJ checks the time on her watch. It’s early afternoon.

“What do you do all day?”

Peter’s face lights up.

“You wanna see the room?”

“I recognize that look. This has something to do with Ned, doesn’t it?”

Her hypothesis is proven right when he leads her down the hall and opens a door to reveal a room housing a dozen Lego models. Everything’s probably Star Wars related, but she’s lost beyond the Death Star.

“Ned,” she says.

“Ned. He brought them when he came. I’ve done them all… well, a few times each.”

“I know I should be delicate with you because you’re a genius hermit, but, Parker, that’s so lame.”

Peter laughs out loud.

“That’s not all I do. Come on.”

He takes her hand (it doesn’t seem like he’s thought for a second about scrapping their relationship) and they walk back to the living room. On one of the couches, he has his Spidey suit laid out. But it’s freaky, like a skinned animal, with the innards of its tech exposed and skinny screwdrivers scattered on the floor nearby. He’s been tinkering. Because they have nothing else on the agenda, he explains the maintenance he’s done, more features he’s discovered. The list of protocols and capabilities seems almost endless. Watching him speak so enthusiastically, she wonders if maybe this is Peter’s version of holing up with a tall stack of books.

“No tracker in the suit?” she asks when they sit down at opposite ends of the remaining couch, legs stretched out and resting against each other.

“Nah. All that stuff’s turned off.” He lays his arm along the back of the couch and tips his cheek against it. “Where do your parents think you are right now?”

“At Betty’s.”

Her family knows she pines for Peter, but they don’t know she’s been granted this opportunity to see him. She doesn’t know what they’d say. Like the majority of New Yorkers, they like Spider-Man and don’t believe that he murdered Quentin Beck. That doesn’t mean they’d want her as involved as she is—though involved feels like a strong word when she hasn’t seen him since the day he was exposed and had to ride the first leg of this journey with a blindfold on. Seemed pretty antiquated. Her parents just want her to be safe, like how May wants Peter to be safe. MJ recalls the condoms. Ok, not quite the same.

“They think we’re in some kind of study lockdown, prepping for a decathlon thing in January, phones off,” she continues. “Betty doesn’t know I’m here, but Ned told her enough that she’ll lie for me if my parents call her. I’m thinking of promoting her.”

“How’s the team doing this year?”

MJ studies him. I spend every practice thinking about you even more than Flash talks about you, she thinks. I went home and cried the day Mr. Harrington told me I’d have to fill your spot. Nobody’s as smart as you. I’m bored without you. Sometimes I worry that I’m not a good captain and I just want to talk to you because I know it’d make me feel better, but you’re not there.

She pokes her toes into his thigh.

“Decent,” she says. “Flash wanted our name changed to the Midtown Spider-Men, but Mr. Harrington said no.”

When Peter groans and tucks his face into his arm in embarrassment, MJ does what she’s been too shy to do yet: she moves down to his end of the couch and kisses him as he turns his head to look at her. He holds her securely around the waist as she darts back in for a second kiss, a slower one. There’s no one around to spy, no one to interrupt. Everything in her zings upward like a hurled snowball and the kiss gains momentum. It’s not as hasty as the one on the flight home—it’s deeper, more grownup somehow. The prick of his facial hair enhances that adultness. For her, this is a kiss that says she’s been surviving without him, but now that they’re together, she prefers catching up this way rather than with words. They kiss like they can’t be stopped. MJ cups the back of Peter’s head, then his face, as their mouths nudge and coax, their tongues tracing each other’s lips before retreating. They separate to breathe and she presses her face to his neck, letting him hold her as she sits, still twisted with her feet on the floor, wearing his slippers.

“That’s one of the toughest things to do without,” he tells her. “I forgot it felt that good.”

“Too good,” she says wryly, lifting her head.

“Hey, based on what you were saying about my psychological needs, I’m due something ‘too good.’”

Really, it just isn’t possible not to think about the condoms as she smiles at him and chews the inside of her lip. Having sex with Peter is something she’s contemplated. She contemplated it when she watched him play trombone with the marching band during football games, and when he smiled as he walked down the hall at school with Ned. She contemplated it when she silently observed his late entrances to decathlon practices, and when she muffled her moans in bed at night, fantasizing about him. They kissed in London and sleeping together went from a daydream to an inevitability; they separated in New York and it went back to a dream. But now…

She’s only here for one night though. It’s too soon. When MJ kisses Peter, she knows she wants to keep going, but she doesn’t want to do anything impulsive and hurt them both more when she has to leave tomorrow. They need to think about this together. She should probably tell him about the condoms, so they have all their metaphorical cards on the table. And yet, she’s not able to jump from a single reunion kiss to asking if he wants to have sex on one of her future visits (if there are future visits). It’s not organic. It feels like working out their romantic plans on somebody else’s schedule. That makes her feel gross, cheated even.

MJ sags back from Peter and asks him to give her a tour of the rest of the house.

—

She’s rubbing the skin off an onion when, pausing in the grating of a potato, he turns to her and suggests something that proves he has gone a little screwy living alone: he wants to cook the latkes in the fireplace.

“You have a stove,” she points out.

“Yeah,” he agrees, now grating vigorously.

“We cook these in oil, right? You want to put a pan full of oil on an open flame?”

“We don’t fill the pan to the top or anything.”

“Ok, right, but still,” MJ persists. “Oil. Fire. A house you kinda need to stay standing because, one, it’s your secret hideout, and two, the sun’s gone down and it’s freezing outside and we’ll be cold without shelter.”

“How could we be cold if we had a burning house to stand next to? Kidding.” Peter grins at her. “It’ll work, MJ. I’ll be careful.”

“You will? No way am I letting you do this alone.”

“Aww.” He leans towards her and kisses her cheek.

“I didn’t say that to be romantic. I’m genuinely worried that you’ll set the place on fire.”

“I know.”

They continue preparing the batter and, after pouring oil into the heavy pan May packed for this, MJ warily hands it off to Peter. He carries it into the living room, where he lit a fire half an hour earlier. Setting the pan down away from the fire, he retrieves his nanotech suit and tugs his sweatshirt off to put it on, extoling its temperature-control virtues. He’s sure it can withstand a little heat. After all, it handled the cold of space no problem. MJ watches him nervously.

At least the fire’s died down some, so when he grasps the handle of the pan to hold the base over the heat, there aren’t any flames licking up his arm. Once the oil’s sizzling, Peter withdraws the pan so that MJ won’t have to reach into the firebox to distribute the batter. She spreads each glob out quickly to avoid melting the spatula. And, after standing way back because the oil pops from the pan to splatter Peter’s metal sleeve, it doesn’t go terribly. Though some of the latkes seem overcooked to her, he assures her he likes them better crispy. The way he says it has her touching the lump her black dahlia necklace makes beneath her sweater.

They return their latke paraphernalia to the kitchen, then settle on the couch again to eat.

“Good?” MJ asks. She likes them, but she’s never eaten a potato pancake before, so she has no frame of reference.

“Best ever.”

She smiles at Peter, watching him chew for a minute.

“You’ll miss this house’s fireplace when you’re back home.”

“This is my favourite meal in a long time and it has nothing to do with the fireplace,” he says. Her heart genuinely skips a beat. With quiet pleasure, she goes back to eating.

At home, she has her phone and her books and the TV—so many reasons to postpone loading the dishwasher. Here, there is no dishwasher and MJ realizes it’s really nice to dry while Peter washes the dishes by hand. Until he somehow cuts himself on the grater, bleeds in the water, and they have to leave the remaining dishes in the sink for a rewash while she forces Peter to the paltry selection of first aid equipment in the bathroom. Thankfully, the nick in his finger is small enough to cover with a single band-aid. She glares at him the whole time.

“I don’t even need this!” he says. “It’ll be healed up by the time I go to bed.”

“Keeping it clean until then won’t hurt you. Just take care of yourself, please?”

MJ isn’t aware that she’s pleading until she glances from his bandaged finger to his face and takes in his expression. He’s looking at her like he’s starting to get that she cares. Really cares. Cares more than it would take to come all the way out here just because someone else arranged it for her and provided the ride.

“Ok,” Peter gently agrees.

Without the usual evening distractions of a night at home (and after MJ refuses to construct a Lego Star Destroyer, whatever the hell that is), Peter pulls out the checkers he found on day two of his stay. Apparently, he was stir-crazy enough by then to raid ever nook and cranny of the house in search of entertainment for his overactive mind. They sprawl out in front of the fire. Neither of them know the rules, so he stacks his checkers into towers while she lays down patterns and skips them across the board. That devolves into deciding to create a single high stack, which devolves further into attempting to flip the checkers of the collapsed tower into the air with their thumbs, like tossing a coin. Peter flicks one as MJ’s leaning forward and it drops straight down the front of her sweater. He makes an offhanded joke about retrieving it and they laugh until their eyes meet and they remember that they’re alone, that it doesn’t have to be a joke. They scatter the last of the checkers scrambling to get close to one another.

She kisses him fiercely. The fire makes one side of her body hot, one of her eyelids glow orange before her closed eyes. Every time they do this is one time closer to having to let him go, but MJ isn’t interested in that right now. His neck is warm under her palm and her foot slips on the empty checkerboard when his fingers hook behind her knee to draw her leg towards him. They aren’t in each other’s laps yet, but it’s close. She’s getting used to the scratch of his scruff against her cheeks, chin, and upper lip. Can Peter feel her sweating when he slips a hand up the back of her sweater? Is his shiver as she moves her leg over his more than a sign that he wants to scoot closer to the fire? Pulling back from the kiss, she lets him strip her sweater off. The checker plonks out. He smiles as he spots the pendant hanging against her t-shirt. He groans more than he did cutting his finger as she takes his hand and places it on her ribcage, urging him with her eyes to reposition his palm where they both want it to be. MJ watches him swallow. Looking down, she sees firelight rippling in the flower’s black glass and Peter’s hand rising to cup her breast. She leans into it and grabs the back of his neck for another kiss.

As she’s psyching herself up to straddle her boyfriend’s lap, there’s a trill from nearby.

“What was that? I thought you didn’t have a phone.”

MJ releases Peter and—it’s not her fault—her gaze skims down his body as he stands. There’s a noticeable bulge in the front of his sweatpants.

“It’s an alert,” he says, tone so serious that she feels bad for staring at his erection. She only sneaks one more glance as he unearths a tablet from amongst the tools he’s been using to fiddle with his Spider-Man suit. Two glances.

“What happened?” she asks. “Are you in danger?”

“I’d protect you if there was any danger,” Peter promises, not looking away from the screen. He says it like it’s obvious, but the statement floors MJ, preventing her from quipping back about being able to protect herself. “But it’s not that. Just the weather.”

He tilts the screen in offer and she rises to stand next to him, looking at a swirling graphic.

“Snow?”

“Mhmm.”

“But it’s already snowed,” she says. “This is worth sending you an alert about? How do we set this thing to ‘do not disturb unless someone has a missile locked onto this house’?”

“Jesus, MJ.”

She shrugs.

“Or just a shifty-looking mail carrier driving by. Whatever. I don’t want to be narrowminded in my assumption of the appearance of a modern assassin.”

“Sometimes the people looking out for me go overboard about the wrong things,” he allows. “Looks like the snow isn’t coming until around three in the morning. We’ll be asleep. It won’t bother us.”

“It’ll bother me if I have to hear that sound again for no good reason.”

Peter tosses the tablet back onto the couch.

“I’m supposed to keep it on, but we can ignore it.”

“Yes,” she agrees, the heat of the fire around the level of her knees inspiring new heat to rise higher. “Let’s ignore it.”

“We can just get ready for bed. You’re probably tired from the drive today, right?”

And he’s looking at her so honestly, so innocently, that MJ finds herself nodding at his solicitousness. He’s too busy being kind to appreciate that she wants to stay right here by the fire and rub up against him until she sees stars. But maybe he doesn’t think they’re there yet. The timeline of their relationship is slightly fucked up, what with Peter having to flee the city as a fugitive. Have they been together the past six months or is this their second date? Maybe shyly holding hands is still their speed and MJ is majorly jumping the gun in wanting to pull his pants down and get a better look at what she started by putting Peter’s hand on her boob.

So, he puts the fire out and she brushes her teeth, then changes into her pajamas in the second bedroom. The house has central heating, meaning it’s still warm, but the walls and bedspread are bland, there’s no atmosphere without the hearth. MJ realizes she’s kept Peter’s slippers all day when she sits down on the edge of her mattress with a sigh and kicks her feet free. He’s right, she should be tired. The travel and the overwhelming joy of getting to see, hear, and touch him should make it easy to crawl into bed and let the sound of the wind—it’s picking up, carrying snowflakes—lull her to sleep.

MJ doesn’t even get the blanket folded down before she’s up, opening her door and crossing the hall to Peter’s room. Her hand hovers over the doorknob, then raises, ready to rap on the door instead. No, fuck it, she twists the doorknob and steps into his bedroom. Peter’s lying on his back in the dark with his eyes wide open. She leaves the door open behind her so the light he left on in the bathroom (in case she needed to get up during the night) can continue to show her the look on his face. The look of relief.

“I was gonna come to you, but I wasn’t sure…” He trails off.

“That would’ve been ok with me,” she assures him, holding her arms as the chill of standing around in a t-shirt starts to get to her, “but I don’t mind coming to you.”

“Come to me then,” Peter says, pushing back his bedsheets and shifting over.

“I missed you so much,” she gasps.

“I missed you.”

She strides to the bed and feels his arms tug her close even as she’s still drawing the blanket over herself. Peter hugs her hard and it’s ok that it’s horizontal because he’s also held onto her a hundred feet in the air, the two of them swinging between buildings. Any way he wants to hold her is ok.

What MJ thought, when she barged in here, was that they’d have some dramatic, fiery scene with passionate kissing and creaking bedsprings. She regrets undervaluing Peter’s warmth. As a person, but also physically. Cuddling into him beats slipping between cold sheets in the other bedroom. It’s nice to be wrapped around him in a moment that isn’t immediately following an attempt on his life, knowing that he isn’t going to leave her this time. Though she’s the one who’ll have to leave the next day, trusting Peter to stay put while she sleeps is what gets her to start drifting. This is better than having him as a captive napping buddy on the airplane. No motion sickness. They’ve already landed. He kisses her temple and she ducks her head into his chest, imagining she can count his heartbeats instead of sheep, knowing the steady glug of her own heart means more to him than he could tell her in words alone.

—

This morning is not last night.

The first thing MJ does is raise her head to squint at the time on the digital clock next to Peter’s bed. The second thing is pressing her mouth to his as he mumbles a sleepy, “Good morning.” It’s 6am, a disgusting hour at home, but here, a perfect time to start the day, and seize that day, as she is seizing a fistful of the t-shirt he slept in. She can feel him smiling. She can feel him reacting in lots of ways.

When she doesn’t slow the kisses, loosen her grip on the front of his shirt, or draw back entirely in embarrassment, Peter pulls her beneath him. It’s a lazy motion, like a cat swiping at something with a paw. His weight rests comfortably on top of her. Shifting around rucks her t-shirt up, so she drops a hand to his waist and slides his up too, until their skin meets from their ribs to the bands of their pajama bottoms. Her boyfriend groans and gropes for her thigh, hiking it against his hip. The noise and the blatant display of want (in addition to the erection now pressing directly between her legs) have MJ rubbing against him excitedly. She attempts to simultaneously kiss him harder and get his shirt off over his head. They struggle together, laughing, and once it’s gone, Peter drops back onto her with fervour.

His hands grip her hips, skim her waist, get tangled up in her hair. MJ catches one and guides it beneath her t-shirt. Their gazes lock and he seems to buck against her involuntarily, lightly squeezing her breast. With an airy moan from her, their kisses turn rabid. Their hips rock agonizingly out of sync for a minute—maybe less, maybe more, her mind isn’t on the clock anymore—then his erection strokes firmly up the center of her and they figure it out. They have to. She’s suddenly hellbent on feeling that again and, honestly, Peter doesn’t look any less devoted when their kisses are forced to stop thanks to the violence of their clothed grinding.

She comes first, clutching his back and his shoulder. He comes with a sharp flick of his hips that brings to mind the way he looses a web from his wrist. Kinda the same principle, she concludes, feeling the dampness of his pajamas against her abdomen before he flops to the side with a blissful, disbelieving sigh. MJ stretches out her legs and curls her toes. A grin creeps up her face.

“Good morning,” she replies.

Peter lets out a solo laugh.

Then he just says, “Wow.”

Still smiling, she buries her face in his pillow and lets him move around her as he gets up for the day.

“It’s early,” she says, lifting her head at the creak of him pushing the bedroom door wider.

“I know.” He stares at her adoringly. There’s no other word for it. “Being in bed with you is… too good. If I stay, I’ll go back to sleep, and I don’t want that. I want to see you as much as I can before you go.”

MJ’s smile fades. Right. That.

“And you’re walking out of the room,” she points out.

“Because I have to take a shower,” Peter laughs. “A short shower. Then you can shower, or not shower, and we’ll have breakfast and make the morning last as long as we can, ok?”

Can she just make him tuck himself into the box of kitchen stuff she brought and take him back home with her? Being apart from him again—willingly turning her back on this house and making new tracks in the snow—feels impossible. They aren’t supposed to be apart. But MJ nods, knowing it’s easier on them both that way. She watches him head towards the bathroom and reminds herself that this stay with him has already meant more to her than she anticipated.

She’s in her room gathering toiletries and clothes when she hears Peter shut the shower off. That’s on purpose. She doesn’t need to wonder any more about her lack of restraint today; seeing him walk back into his bedroom soaking wet and likely dressed in nothing but a towel would definitely test her. His presence in her thoughts as she shampoos her hair under the low pressure of the showerhead is sufficiently distracting. She braids her hair when she’s done, simply to focus herself with the task (and because she didn’t bring a hairdryer and accepts that her boyfriend’s probably not hiding one here someplace). Pausing at the door, she takes a deep breath, determined to look him in the eye and not just stare at the floor and blush because he’s touched her skin and brought her to orgasm. She smiles to herself in a moment of private congratulation.

Peter would probably hear her approaching footfalls no matter what, but with his too-big slippers flapping on her feet, MJ’s prepared for him to be looking at her when she makes her entrance into the kitchen. She’s not prepared for the box of Cheerios sitting on his table. Shit. Only now does she remember the condoms and where she stowed them. As she looks on, trying to think of what to say, Peter cheerfully pours himself a bowl and adds milk.

“Two things,” he says while she shuffles cautiously into the room. “First thing: you won’t believe what I found in with the cereal. Talk about a prize in every box.”

“Loser,” she mutters, rolling her eyes even as her cheeks flush.

“Super weird that that’s not the biggest thing I have to tell you, but I definitely want to get back to it, but, second thing, it snowed.”

She narrows her eyes.

“Uh, yeah, I remember.”

“Ok, well, it really snowed. Serious snow. Big, high, white and drifted snow.”

“You’ve slipped into song lyrics.”

“I got an alert,” Peter says, lifting the tablet he showed her the night before from the table.

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“It came through when you were in the shower, though it is harder to hear the noise from down the hall.”

MJ gives him a questioning look.

“I might’ve been on my way to the bathroom to, uh, see if you needed anything,” he explains, blushing guiltily, “when I heard it and had to come back out here.”

“Is this your handlers overreacting again?” But even as she asks, she turns towards the window. Of course, for security reasons, the blinds are down and the curtains are shut. “Can I look?”

He nods and she crosses the kitchen to take a quick peek, not wanting to jeopardize his safety. The level of the snow dips down near the side of the house, but the drift rises steeply. Within a few feet, it appears high enough to come up to her hips if she waded outside. And it’s still falling.

“There’s a lot of snow out there,” MJ informs him in a mildly panicked tone, snapping the curtains back into place.

“Mhmm. Cheerios?”

“You should be eating the eggs I brought you while they’re fresh,” she counters.

Her comment is half-hearted and distracted though and she too goes for the cereal. Between spoonfuls, Peter, across from her when she sits down at the table, unspools the consequences of the heavy snowfall.

“So, obviously, this isn’t an emergency, but it’s not ideal. You’re probably gonna have to stay another night.”

“Ok,” MJ says slowly. “Another night. But my parents are expecting me home tonight.”

“I’m sure Fury or somebody’ll get in touch with May and have her make something up. Trust me, nobody wants any questions to come up that’ll lead back to me.”

“What’s the ‘probably’ depend on?”

“Hmm?” He slurps the milk off his spoon.

“You say I’d probably have to stay tonight. Does that depend on how much more snow we get?”

“Um, yeah, that and a couple other things,” Peter says vaguely. MJ frowns at him.

“I came all the way out here to be with you, Parker. I could not be more in the middle of things than I am right now. Tell me what you know.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” He lets his spoon clink into his bowl. “So, the snow for sure. I mean, I’m guessing they have something heavy-duty that could plough the road if they had to, but getting a plough here would be conspicuous thing number one and having this rural road cleared when the rest of the area won’t be would be conspicuous thing number two. If you left that way, I’d have to leave too, get put in a new safehouse—”

“I don’t want to cause that big of a problem,” MJ assures him, finally pouring out her own bowl and trying to find some comfort in breakfast.

“You’re the furthest thing in the world from a problem,” Peter says with a quick smile. “But alright, so, with the alert, they suggested another option.”

“Which is?”

“To airlift you out.”

She bites down on her spoon as her jaw tenses.

“I don’t, um, really enjoy heights.”

“Yeah,” he laughs, “I remember.”

“You dropped me and it wasn’t funny.”

“Aw, that was months ago. Can’t we laugh about it now?” Her expression is his answer. “I actually did figure you’d feel that way. This would’ve been a helicopter, no landing, just somebody coming down a ladder to grab you and help you up into the chopper.”

“Don’t say ‘chopper’ like you’re Arnold Schwarzenegger. You’re way too much of a dork to be using that word. And yes, before you ask, I am criticizing you to mask my fear over how horrifying that sounds.”

“I told them no.”

“Wait… I thought… you didn’t have communication, right? Like, that’s why you can’t talk to your aunt.” Or me, MJ tacks on internally.

“Oh, it’s not a conversation. They just send through the planned course of action and usually I don’t have a choice, but this time I could basically give them a yes or no, proceed or no-go, you know?”

She sighs shakily.

“Thank you for not making me do that.”

“Well, based on the weather, they could ask again, so you always have a chance to change your mind, if you want.”

Peter’s not meeting her eye.

“Why the hell would I change my mind about dangling from a helicopter in a blizzard?”

“If you wanted to go,” he says quietly. “You’re the other thing this plan depends on. Like you said, your parents are expecting you and—”

“Peter,” MJ says, “the fact that I’m not being subjected to an extreme chopper rescue is only the thing that I’m second most grateful for. Getting to spend more time with you is number one. If they don’t have to draw attention to this house, and if your aunt covers for me, that’s great.”

Looking up, he gives her a mostly-convinced smile. Seeing it, she knows she has to press further. She taps her slipper against the top of his foot under the table.

“I hope it snows for a week,” she says firmly.

Peter beams. He lifts his cereal bowl and holds it out to her.

“Cheers,” he offers. After a derisive snort, she taps her bowl against his.

They eat in a comfortable silence for several minutes. Blocking out the death-defying premise of the recent plan, MJ considers the ramifications of staying put. She trusts May. May will know what to say to her parents, she’s very compassionate—and hopefully a believable liar. Well, MJ figures she’d have to be, with Spider-Man under her roof. School’s on winter break, so she doesn’t need to worry about an alibi for her teachers, though the flu would’ve worked as an excuse. It seems like she’s good from every angle. Resting her cheek against her hand as she scoops the remaining Cheerios onto her spoon, she observes Peter and feels herself smiling just to see him in front of her. His face in real life is still sorta miraculous.

“So,” he begins when she grabs his bowl (the guy’s been doing his solitary dishes for months—she doesn’t mind helping out), “I have a really important question.”

“Still a no to the helicopter.”

MJ has her back to her boyfriend, placing the bowls in the sink, when he responds.

“Should I shave?”

She turns, frowning in confusion.

“That’s up to you.”

“Well, see, maybe I would’ve this morning, except I promised I would be quick in the bathroom, and then anyway, I figured you’d be leaving soon and there wouldn’t be that many more opportunities for us to—”

“Oh my god,” she says as she catches on. “Please stop.”

“But if it bothers you,” Peter presses, rubbing the back of his fingers up his stubbled cheek, “when we’re kissing…”

“It doesn’t. It’s different, but… I’m good. You don’t have to shave for me.”

“Hypothetically though, if we were kissing for a longer period of time, I wouldn’t want to hurt your skin.”

“God, Peter, how long are you imagining we’d be kissing for that my face would be damagingly abraded?”

“Then,” he says, spreading his hands to their apparent future possibilities, “what if it wasn’t rubbing against your face?”

Spinning away from him, MJ stares with wide eyes at the wall above the sink.

“Does the idea of me kissing your neck freak you out?” Peter asks her back. “I don’t have to do that.”

Her shoulders slump as she laughs.

“My neck,” she murmurs to herself. “He meant my neck.”

“What do you— oh.” Goddamn enhanced hearing. “Uh, well, I-I didn’t know you had stuff in mind.”

“I don’t have anything in mind,” she says, turning to look at him.

Peter grabs the Cheerios and gets up to put them away. Holding her gaze, he pulls the box of condoms out of the drawer as he slots the cereal in.

“These showed up when you did. Unless some assassin broke in and left me a really sickening present.”

“I didn’t pack them, your aunt-slash-wingwoman did.”

His expression changes several times as he digests that.

“That seems like something May would do,” is what he lands on.

“It’s… thoughtful of her. Responsible parenting,” MJ agrees stiffly, trying to deal with the visual of Peter casually holding a box of condoms. Cool. Fine.

“So, the thought of… It’s just May making sure, in case anything… Yeah. I got it.”

But that’s not quite right.

“I’ve thought about it,” MJ blurts. “Not for this weekend, because I only expected to be here a night and this is something we should, you know, discuss.”

“Totally,” Peter says eagerly.

“I just don’t want you to think I haven’t…” She waves a hand.

“Thought about it,” he finishes.

“Yeah.”

“Me too. I’ve thought about it. Like, a lot,” he divulges with a relieved laugh that he quickly concludes with a clearing of his throat. “A normal amount.”

“That’s good,” she assures him. Her gestures feel gawky, her features feel misplaced on her face.

“I’d definitely be up for discussing it, especially after, uh…” Peter ruffles his damp hair as his face flushes. “…this morning.”

MJ’s suddenly made up of thoughts, so many thoughts that there’s no room for words, no possibility of speaking. This morning. Uh huh. Valid recollection on her boyfriend’s part. This morning was fantastic and kind of but not wildly unexpected and certainly closer to the sort of thing they’d need those condoms for than the few times they’ve made out have been.

“That makes sense,” she says, voice weak when it finally comes out, along with plenty of nodding. Too much nodding, really.

He sets the box on the counter.

“We could talk about it now.”

“We could do that,” MJ agrees, pulse accelerating with every additional second he spends looking at her. “The thing is, it’s early, it’s really early, and if we talk about that now, we’re gonna lose the whole day.”

Peter’s eyebrows raise.

“God, yeah, you’re right. You know, I think I’m, like, oversimplifying this discussion in my head because, yep, definitely, if you have a lot you want to say about it before—or if, even!—we, uh, proceed, then you should absolutely take the whole day to just get all your thoughts out there. For sure. I… yes. I support you and you should take all the time you need. More than a day! You could definitely take more than a day, obviously. You know that. I hope you do. Whatever you want, MJ.”

“I actually just meant that if we started talking about it, we’d lose the whole day to doing it.”

“Oh.” He sits with that thought for a minute, eyes roving the kitchen ceiling. “Why would that be a problem?”

He asks with such genuine confusion that MJ has to laugh, and that relaxes her.

“If we can’t think hard enough to determine why it’d be a problem, it’s a problem,” she reasons. “I want to think this through. I want us to both be ready. That alone—” She points at the condoms. “—doesn’t make us ready.”

“Ok. We’ll completely forget about them. No problem.”

Fueled by the intense focusing power of sexual tension, they pass the morning learning something that may actually be checkers as it was intended to be played. Anything around them making sense is an accident, as far as MJ is concerned, and mastering the probably-rules of the game isn’t really a win because it means they have to scramble to find something else to distract them. Peter takes up a post on the ceiling, cross-legged, and lets the body of his Spider-Man suit dangle down while he retools something in the hands. When he puts on the mask and starts talking to Karen, MJ quits watching him and goes into the kitchen to make them an early lunch of an extra-large omelette. It seems like a nice idea to curl up and eat together until Peter touches her hip a certain way and she looks at him too long. They force themselves to sit on separate couches.

After lunch, he digs out some non-Stark-tech supplies, like paper and pens. He lights a small fire and she draws. Once he starts paying more attention to her drawings than to his stuff, she draws for him, pulling her legs back so he can share her couch. She crafts caricatures of their friends, plays them across the page in short cartoons that are semi-faithful to the boring goings-on of their lives at Midtown this fall without Peter. He falls asleep with his head resting against the back of the couch and she executes swift sketches to capture the softness of his features. She doesn’t know how long his supine pose will last. She never knows how long anything will last, with him. He stays asleep, so MJ leaves her drawings and steals into the Lego room, disassembling at will. Peter’s a little panicked when he walks in half an hour later, but sorting the pieces she’s jumbled will give him something to do while she takes her own nap, she reasons.

But where to? The spare room doesn’t call to her in the slightest and returning to his bed will bring thoughts that’ll only keep her awake. She needs to revive after their too-early morning; she troops back to the couch and passes out with the warmth of the fire near her feet and the jangling of plastic Lego bricks in the other room.

The rustle of paper is the first thing MJ hears when she wakes up. She can’t remember dreaming last night, but during her nap, her subconscious played a short film of the two of them giggling as Peter cooked his Spidey suit in the fireplace. Weird. She blinks, tracing the sound to her boyfriend, cross-legged on the floor with his back against the couch as he flips through her rough portraits of him.

“Maybe you can do one of you,” he suggests without looking back at her. “And I can keep it when you leave. I don’t have any pictures of anybody.”

She hesitates a moment, then leans to wrap her arms loosely around his shoulders from behind.

“How’d you know I was awake?”

“I heard your breathing change.” A pause. “It sounds pretty creepy when I say it out loud, but I’m just doing what you do.” Peter twists to look at her, putting his hand over the back of hers on his chest. “Observing.”

“Right.” MJ glances down abruptly. “Like with the cereal drawer this morning and what you observed in there.”

“I hate to tell you this, but it sounds like you’re gonna talk about the thing you said we shouldn’t talk about.”

“I found clarity in unconsciousness.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means our problems don’t just disappear. Obviously.” She waves one hand in front of him, indicating the room where Peter’s presumably spent most of his waking hours since arriving here. “We have to solve them.”

“Is it… us having sex… a problem?”

“I don’t want it to be. I just want us to be, you know, in agreement. Not rushing into anything.”

“I think…” Peter sighs and shifts so he can look at her without contorting. She withdraws her arms from him and sits up, crossing her legs in her lap, planting her elbows on her knees. “I think we’re not gonna get everything we want. How can we, with these conditions? I don’t even know when I’m gonna get to see you again. We can wait, which is alright with me, but I can’t tell you how long we’ll be waiting for.”

“I’m not asking.”

“Because you know I have zero control here,” he says in a tone full of more irritation than she’s seen him display yet. “I don’t even choose what I eat for breakfast! It’s not like they’ve asked me to write up a grocery list. I am so sick of Cheerios. Out there, I was helping people, but stuck here… I don’t know, MJ. I’m basically powerle—”

She folds forward and kisses him, grabbing his face to hold him in place for a few extra seconds until his lips copy hers and quit trying to form the rest of that word.

“No,” MJ insists, face still close to his, “you’re not. And just so you know where I stand…” She takes a deep, terrified breath, pushing out the only truth she’s ever had trouble articulating: “…you are everything I want.”

Peter’s eyes are awed and hopeful as his gaze darts across her face.

“What about what you said about not rushing?”

“That was for your benefit. Personally, I can’t rush what I’ve already decided.”

“Especially not when May sends you here prepared, I guess,” he checks with a coy smile.

“We don’t have to do anything else,” MJ emphasizes, sidestepping the dork’s comment. “It’s amazing just being with you—and I will deny I said that so bluntly if you ever tell anyone.”

She smiles so he knows she’s teasing. He still jerks his head back in mock offense. Suddenly, his expression clarifies to… horror.

“You don’t wanna do this because you’re worried, do you?” Peter demands. “Not because you think I’m gonna forget about you or stop caring about you like this?”

“No.” But she averts her eyes because she did have that concern on the drive here yesterday, right up until they hugged. “I’m not trying to use sex for anything. If… if you did stop… and you wanted to be just friends again, that’s not something I could prevent. I realize now that I can’t focus on that possibility because—”

“Because it’s not a possibility at all.” He ducks his head until her gaze is trapped by his. Shaking his head, Peter says, “I’m sure about you, MJ. I’m not sure when I’ll be home or if the world—or even just the neighbourhood—will still want a Spider-Man by the time I can be that guy again, but I know the first thing I’m gonna wanna do when I get back is give you a kiss. Not as friends.”

“What about now? Do you want to kiss me now?”

“I always wanna kiss you.”

Right as he stretches towards her—seemingly poised to prove what he said—MJ jerks back. Peter looks up at her quizzically.

“Anything while I was asleep? Any alerts? I don’t want a whole team to come storming in here while I’m taking your pants off.”

It takes her boyfriend a few seconds to get his words out.

“I-I don’t want that either,” he says, voicing cracking as his cheeks redden. He shakes his head. “No alerts. Nothing. That means no change to the plan for you to stay here tonight.”

“Good. I was sorta getting used to the idea. They would’ve had a fight getting me out of here.”

She raises her chin confrontationally and Peter grins.

“And some people think Spider-Man’s trouble. They should meet his girlfriend, who marches in with a box of condoms and won’t leave until he sleeps with her.”

MJ gapes at him.

“That’s not what I did.”

Peter pushes up to his knees, smiling as he cradles her face in his palm.

“It’s basically what you did.”

“You massively oversimplified the events of the past—” She squints and makes a guess. “—thirty hours.”

“I was hitting the highlights,” he argues, sliding his hand to the back of her neck to draw her down to him.

Her laugh is as brief as one of her quick heartbeats as Peter’s fingers stroke her neck and he angles his head.

“Is that how you’re going to tell this story to our grandkids?”

The mirth falls from both of their faces; they absorb her facetious quip in the same instant. Then, their mouths slam together—MJ diving down, Peter surging up. Though she has the high ground (and doesn’t say as much to the guy with a roomful of Star Wars Lego), he builds momentum out of nowhere, driving her up until he’s hovering, then lowering, on top of her. She’s holding him as tightly as she can as they continue to kiss hard.

On instinct, she assumes, their bodies copy the morning’s posture with her thigh against Peter’s hip. He grasps it and presses his hips to hers. MJ swipes her tongue along his when she feels him hardening between her legs. This was always only a maybe, she thinks, eyes moving fast behind her lids as they follow the red glow of the fire that the movement of his head is causing to shift across her face. But this definitely feels like they know where they’re going. Somebody’ll need to go get the condoms from the kitchen at some point. Peter swings his head to kiss down her neck and MJ sighs. Yeah, at some point.

These clothes might not come off as easily as the red suit on the opposite couch, but his eagerness compensates for the fact that he can’t just tap his chest to drop everything to the floor. When both their top halves are bare (as with anything, Peter does not mind lending a hand in undressing her), he pulls MJ up so he’s sitting with her straddling his lap. He groans into her mouth as she traces the muscles of his abdomen and she hops forward to nudge her hips into his again.

“If I don’t go now,” he pants, “I don’t know when I’m gonna get up to grab a condom.”

So, he’s been thinking the same thing she has. MJ smirks.

“You should probably get one,” she encourages.

But he has her jeans undone and her hand down the front of his sweats—still over his underwear, for the moment—before he manages to repeat his words with any resolve. She throws herself aside and stares into the fire, licking her lips to chase the memory of his mouth’s pressure, while he scurries to the kitchen. His naked torso is beautiful in the glow when he jogs (dork) back in.

“You think it’s safe to leave that?” MJ asks, nodding towards the fireplace. “My preference would be not doing this on a couch the first time.”

“Second time?” he jokes.

“Maybe,” she says seriously, just to see the dumbfounded look it puts on his face.

“Yeah… we can, yeah… It’ll be fine. So, you wanna… my bed?”

“The traditional yet practical choice.”

He happily sighs out his, “Yeah,” and she wonders if he heard anything following her agreement to a theoretical second round. Probably not—he spoke staring at her boobs.

“What if I carried you?” Peter blurts as she’s about to stand.

“…I can walk.”

“Yeah, but… can I carry you?”

She watches him for a moment as he awaits her answer. She’s watched him so many times, but never while he was waiting for her, trying to find something to grasp in the silence, this guy who’s more than human and always flitting from one web to the next. MJ ends his freefall.

“Ok, Peter.”

As giddy with nerves as she was on their first date when he held her tight and wrenched her off her feet, she stands. He steps in close, taking her face softly between his hands, kissing her. She hops into his arms the second he lets go and laughs at Peter and herself when the action tips him back. He holds on though, pulling her thighs in snugly around his waist before catching her back to press her to his chest. MJ’s scared to kiss him as he walks them to his bedroom; arms wrapped behind his neck, she stares at him instead. They’re about to do this. He’s going to be inside her.

“You got it?” she checks once he’s sat her on the edge of the bed.

Peter plucks the condom from his pocket to show her. MJ nods in acknowledgement and he sets it on the nightstand. With a condom nearby—this assurance that they are responsible people and can therefore do whatever the fuck they like—she reaches for his hand and draws him in. Kissing, she scoots back and he crawls over her. She gasps when he moves his mouth enthusiastically to her neck and he jerks his head up with a self-satisfied expression.

“The sheets are cold,” she lies defensively. Peter just smiles and burrows his face back into the warm crook between her neck and shoulder.

“They’ll get warmer.”

MJ can’t believe it when she’s the one being stripped out of her pants first (her boyfriend is such a willing undresser). She feels vulnerable, between the sheets in only her underwear, but she’s determined enough to relocate Peter’s hand from her waist to her breast. He thanks her in a passionate mumble that raises hairs on the back of her neck as he darts in to kiss her firmly. Parting her thighs, she thanks him in return, for the kiss or the way he’s kneading her nipple between finger and thumb or something, relieved when he lowers his hips and she can feel his erection under his sweats. Fuck, a week ago, she was trying to convince herself that she’d be lucky and get Peter back next year. This is the greatest surprise.

Though she doubts she could knock the wind out of him, he huffs when she squeezes her thighs to his hips and unbalances him, rolling him over and landing on top.

“Wow, you wanna do it like this? I mean, yeah, awesome.”

Sitting astride him, MJ rolls her eyes.

“I just thought it’d be easier to get you out of your pants this way, since you seem like you’ve forgotten that you need to actually take them off.”

Peter shakes his head rapidly.

“I just didn’t want to rush you, like you said. Or freak you out or scare you,” he rambles.

This idiot.

“Why would I be scared? Are you concealing a weapon or something?”

“No,” he jokes with a goofy smile, pressing his hips upward, “I’m just happy to see you.”

“You so did not deserve those condoms.”

“Didn’t I?” Peter asks, the two of them working his sweatpants and boxers down. (She’s touching his thighs. His bare thighs. Jesus.)

“No. Huge mistake. You’re not mature enough for this. I’m going to tell your aunt.”

As long as MJ keeps talking, dropping onto her side and slipping her own underwear off is just a background thing that’s happening while she speaks. Her heart is hammering.

“Oh, are you?” he questions, running a warm, tentative hand down the curve of her naked hip.

“Mhmm. She’ll be really disappointed in you for, uh, wasting supplies.”

“Maybe I could make it up to you and you could forgive me.”

Peter’s fingers trace low over her belly, making her stomach flinch with the anticipation. He touches between her legs, the contact the subtlest flirtation. The look in his eyes says he doesn’t know what he’s doing either, but that he wants to do it together. Holding his stare, she rolls onto her back.

He proceeds when she widens the space between her thighs. His touch feels… fine, but not exciting, and MJ wonders if it’s because she’s watching him, possibly making him nervous. She closes her eyes and instinctually angles her head to press her forehead against Peter’s shoulder. Gradually, he strokes her with more assurance and she quietly mutters “yes” each time he does something that feels good. By the time he’s gotten her seriously wet and turned on, she’s gripping the sheet with one hand and his wrist with the other, urging him to go faster. Her body’s not satisfied but humming as Peter jolts recklessly across her to snatch the condom. He kisses her right as she’s opening her eyes at the disturbance.

“Yeah?” he asks, dick in hand.

She nods, breathing quickly and needing him to act before the sensations he’s stirred up dim.

“Yeah.”

It’s out of character, how slowly he moves next. He’s capable of care in abundance, of course, but patience? Caution? Restraint? None of these are words that would come to mind if someone asked her to describe her boyfriend. They cling to each other as he works his way deeper in incremental thrusts. Because he’s trembling, she holds him tight. She probably would regardless. Things almost stall, but then he gropes between them, locating her clit, and her clutch on him squeezes and releases, allowing him to suddenly slide all the way home.

“Fuck,” he says softly, head hunched down beside hers.

MJ rubs her hands over the quivering muscles of his back, certain the two of them are generating enough heat to melt the snow around the house and all the way up the road.

“I’m gonna come if I do anything,” Peter says in a desperate tone. “I can’t move.”

“You can move.”

“No. I… I wanna take care of you. MJ, please.”

Between them, she finds his hand and guides it in rubbing her clit. His body’s held taut above her and she turns her head to meet his searching eyes. Her neck arches involuntarily at her first unexpected moan and Peter clamps his eyes shut like it’s all too much. So she watches his tense, determined face while manipulating his fingers over her. When she’s close, coating his cock in her arousal many times over, MJ tells Peter to open his eyes. Then, she begins to rock her hips, letting him glide in and out. Their hands continue to stimulate her until she orgasms with a wet cry and pulls his fingers away. They hold hands hard and he thrusts with crazed strokes, coming with an understated choked noise.

He hasn’t quit shaking when he climbs off of her to deal with the condom.

“I don’t know,” Peter says, sliding back into bed and allowing her to weave her limbs around his. She smiles at how baffled he sounds.

“You’re ok.”

“This feels like shock, like I get after a bad beating.”

She sighs exasperatedly at this news. She might’ve suspected his secret identity for a while before he confirmed it, but she doesn’t know everything, isn’t in on all the missions and outcomes yet. When he gets home—after all this bullshit—she’ll demand to be kept in the loop.

“I guess you’re just overwhelmed.”

“That felt really fucking good,” Peter confesses in a low, stunned voice.

MJ starts to giggle and can’t stop. Tears stream down her face, into her hair, onto her boyfriend’s skin. He laughs too, but holds her greedily all the while. It reminds her how temporary this is.

Except, no. It’s not. No one can stop them from remembering this after she goes and he stays. No one can stop them from making plans, having hopes. Days are temporary, like snow, but feelings can last. How she feels about Peter definitely can. She’s made it this far and, on his end, so has he. On impulse, MJ kisses his forehead.

“I know what’ll help. Something to eat. We can see what else you have that can be cooked in the fireplace.”

“Frozen lasagna?” he proposes.

“Why not? Let’s try it.”

#my writing #promptmas #spideychelle #spideychelle fanfiction #peter parker #peter x mj #peter x michelle #peter parker x michelle jones #michelle jones

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