#<- Maybe? I do wanna start a more serious art tag and i did push myself harder than I normally do on this one. Hm.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Just popping in to say i LOVE UR ART SO MUCH WAUGH!!!! Its soooooooo exoressive and u get across emotion and movement SO WELL!! I love ...littlr apple ...so much.....u imbue this donkey with Such Chaos

I love this little chaos creature, we should all forfeit our mortal possessions to her.

[shmowder]

Ohh hello there you were nice Once (1ce) so now I have decided to nudge you more. How we feeling about the Patho fic 'But someone bust bear the yoke"? It's literally been the one fic stabbing me in the chest and kicking me around that there isn't more content to presume on it. It's amazing. If you haven't read it, PLEASE DOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!! JFHFHFHFFHGHGGFDHDHDHFHDJSN

(p.s, how are the kids? the worm and the tragedian?)

Feel free to nudge me whenever you'd like, I'm delighted by our brief chats <3 You and the other anons have been so sweet and amazing.

I did check out that fic you mentioned, "But Someone Must Bear the Yoke" by inkpot_demigod. I've read the first chapter, and it seems wonderful and beautifully written. The concept of the minotaur being literal is intriguing. But I don't see myself continuing the fic.

I don't engage much with the patho fandom as a whole, I rarely read the fics or look at the posts. I even have the tags filtered out on tumblr. Which is a shame this fandom seems much sweeter than more toxic ones I've been in, but that's just what I do when I started creating for any fandom. Be it memes or writing. I did it with Bg3 and mass effect.

All my impressions of the characters come from playing P1 and P2. Reading the wiki or old dev posts sometimes. It is isolating in a way I won't lie, but it solves a different problem my brain struggles with, and hey, if it works, it works. Part of me also dreads falling into their fanon versions and not being able to dig myself out, I had a completely different view on Isidor before discovering the fanon version, and now I just feel sad. No one in pathologic is completely without sin, and despite all of Isidor's actions, he held such immense love for his son. His only remaining son which was the reason his wife passed away, he could've loathed Artemy for his mother passing away in childbirth but he didn't. He adored him above everything. It is also sad that Artemy's older brother isn't mentioned more, especially since people from the town do remember him. Katerina confuses Artemy for Ersher in their first meeting.

However, two wonderful people in the fandom did reach out to me, and we talk on occasion. Sometimes, we share pathologic ideas, and I credit them for inspiration on the writing/posts they influence. Firebird and Torse.

I'm glad you liked that author's fic that much! Do leave them a comment and describe your thoughts, I'm sure it will cheer them up reading it. Maybe check some of their lesser known fics and comment there, too? I know it makes me sad when one of my fics blows up in a fandom, but my other ones get ignored. It almost makes me resent my popular fics. Popularity in a fandom is a double edge sword fr-

Me and the kids are doing wonderful! Baby worm is absolutely enamoured with baby tragedian and shares candy with their new sibling all the time! I peel oranges and cut fruits for them, i take them to the playground and push them on the swings. The world smiles with them, My two sons are more precious than all the stars in the sky.

On a serious note, thank you for sharing your beautiful art with me and showing it! I would've bever found it otherwise or been blessed with such an adorable concept. Yk, filtered patho tag and all. So really I'm happy you decided to show me directly.

If it's the idea of minotaur or bull Artemy you wanna talk about, then I'm down! However, my version will differentiate from the fic and will approach it in another light. Be it x reader, Daniil x Artemy or Aglaya x Artemy.

[bucky-barmes]

☾✧✧✧ I'm just looking for a good night ✧✧✧☽

female enhanced!reader x tfatws!Bucky

In which you get dragged into a mess in Madripoor while just trying to enjoy yourself. But is the infamous Winter Soldier as bad as you always thought?

[ a/n: idk what this exactly is but i don't hate it, and who doesn't love asshole bucky? maybe i just have a problem, also loosely based on that madripoor episode. also also tried something new for the writing style so i hope you don't mind lemme know if it's shit ]

Minka is polish for strong-willed one, and is a name but here it’s used as a nickname as it’s reader insert

[ word count: ~3,580 words (this started as a lil drabble of reader meeting bucky at a bar, but i guess my brain had other ideas)

includes: asshole bucky, swearing - like a lot (i'm aussie okay?), drinking (alcoholism?), it's pretty fkn angsty, asshole bucky (i'm warning you ok), no -18 pls as it's not entirely g rated & has some implications

[ all works are my own, do not steal, repost or translate ]

tagging some friends (message if you wanna be on a perm taglist/if you don't wanna be tagged in future (i won't take it to heart i promise)) @sweetdreamsbuck @beefybuckrrito @mymindslabyrinth @igotnoname4thisblog @theluxuriousfangirl @posinhay @barnesand1

The music was blaring, sending vibrations through her body as she swayed to the fast beat. Drink sloshing around as she waved her arms around her above her head. This was it. This was living. Drunk, surrounded by strangers. No one knew her and she knew no one. She was free. And it was incredible.

Going to clubs alone was dangerous, she couldn't remember the number of times her mother had warned her not to. She must have been rolling in her grave at her daughter not only going to a club alone, but to a club in Madripoor no less. The thrill that anything could happen only exciting her more. That, and knowing that the Powerbroker wouldn't let anything happen to her, wouldn't let anyone lay a finger on her. That was the perk of being enhanced and not looking like it, it made you useful.

She had lost track of the hours, and the drinks, thinking only of how good the music made her feel. Of how nothing had felt this good in so long.

She waded through the sea of people, already locking eyes with the bartender as she made a beeline for the bar. She was stopped in her tracks, however, by a wall of bodies.

An almost animalistic growl ripped through her as she slapped her hand down on the shoulder of the man in the middle, a big fur collar adorning his coat. A hard hand gripped her wrist in response and her eyes shifted slowly from the back of man one to the owner of the hand.

Her eyes widened at who they landed on, then narrowed to barely visible slits. Yanking her hand back she didn't break her glare.

"I'm sorry, Dove, did we cut in?" The voice of the middle man broke her chain of thought, and when she looked back to him, he had turned to face her. "How about we buy you a drink to apologise."

"I don't want your handouts, Baron." Venom dripped from her words as she spat back her response. She wedged herself between the Baron and the third man, not someone she recognised, to snatch the drink the bartender placed out for her. "Besides, I don't pay here anyway, don't want you wasting your money."

She was about to work her way back through the crowd of people and to the middle of the dance floor again when she had a thought.

"Hold the fucking phone." Spinning on the spot, her eyes narrowed again, this time at the Baron, but that didn't stop her from seeing the man to his left step forward defensively.

"How are you even here? Last I heard you were stuck in a prison in Germany." Her drink was down and she slammed the glass down on the bar, getting threateningly close to him as she did. "Thought you were never getting out after what you did to them." Her sentence trailed off as her eyes flicked to the man next to him, the one with the metal arm.

The Baron offered her his signature smug smile. "Some people had other plans."

"Well, whatever you're planning," She closed the gap between them further. The shifting of bodies next to them was halted with a raise of the Baron's hand. "Stay the fuck away from me." Hatred seeped from her whole body.

Snatching the new drink that was placed on the bar, her gaze was turned to the apparent bodyguard.

"And I'd think twice before you lay a hand on me again." There was no response, but a subtle cocky smirk instead that only heated her further. She was gone before any of them could speak another word to her.

She was only able to start enjoying herself once more when the sight of the three men had disappeared, then, she was able to let her guard down and the beat of the music slowly took her over again. Until she got a call.

Plugging her other ear so she could hear, she took mental note of the location she was told to move to. The call ended abruptly, they always did with the Powerbroker, but this one was serious. She had begun picking up on the subtle differences between the calls.

Her gun was pulled from her thigh holster as she advanced towards the room Selby used for meetings.

She listened from a distance, the ability being one of many. A phone rang. An awkward silence as the conversation started. Names were thrown around, first Smiling Tiger. 'Yeah, that guy was definitely not Smiling Tiger', she thought to herself as she listened, remembering her run in with him one time. The phone call ended with a goodbye to "Sam"?

There were gunshot before she had time to process anything further.

Kicking the door down, she stepped through slowly, gun raised. It had fallen silent, the three men stood in the middle of the room.

"Holy fuck, what did you do?" Her voice was a mix of shock and anger. The men snapped their heads up.

"Things didn't exactly go according to plan, Dove." The Baron regretfully shrugged as he looked around at the collection of bodies on the floor, inclusive of Selby's.

"Well, why the fuck am I-" A fifth person joined the room before she could finish.

"Because the Powerbroker requested it." Sharon Carter approached her, stone-faced. “And nobody disobeys the Powerbroker.”

“I don’t know, I might’ve had I know it was for these idiots.” She was dead serious as she said it, glaring at the men responsible for the bodies strewn about.

Sharon shot the other woman a look, a look that said ‘you better cut it out right now’.

"Don't, Minka." Sharon's use of the others' nickname amplified the seriousness of it all.

The men in the room didn’t know it, but she, Minka, was the only one who knew who the Powerbroker really was. And you could say she was somewhat of a bodyguard for them.

“The Powerbroker requested it. End of, so get over it.” Sharon snapped at her.

“I can’t believe you’re helping these people.” Her grip on her gun tightened as she interrogated Sharon. “After everything that happened last time.” Her sentence ended with a scoff, clicking on the safety of her gun. She didn't place it back in her holster just yet though.

“Enough.” Sharon’s remark was a bark. An order. “Whether you like it or not, you’re involved now, you’ve seen the bodies. You’re part of it now.”

Minka just glared at her, mumbling “lucky me” under her breath as her daggers turned to the men again. Her anger only bubbled more when she saw the one with the metal arm, the Winter Soldier, staring right back, something she couldn’t quite pick up on behind his cold eyes.

Many hours and gun fights later, everyone made it Sharon's place alive, much to the acrimony of some of them. Of Minka.

"You have a beautiful place, Miss Carter." Baron was walking around, admiring the art as he made the genuine compliment, but he was being eyed. Sharon's personal guard wasn't about to let him touch, ruin, anything.

"Don't touch anything, and get changed, everyone knows what we're wearing now." The last part was directed at the whole group. "And you look like shit, too." Her nose scrunched as she looked them over. Even her associate was included in the statement.

Sharon watched as her figure retreated to the room she had set up, she was there often enough to warrant her own one, and then directed the men to where they could pick out some clothes and change.

There was a soft thump as her body landed on the bed, and she released a long sigh into the covers.

"Yeah, Sharon, I'm not in the mood." Her voice was mumbled from the bed, but was loud enough to hear the frustration.

"Minka, huh?" That was not the voice of Sharon Carter. Her head snapped up to face the door to her room that she swore she locked.

"You don't get to call me that." If looks could kill, the man in the doorframe would have dropped to the floor in record time.

"Is that not your name, Doll?" Arms folded over his chest, a mix of metal and flesh.

"Is your name The Winter Soldier?" The words were laced with malice as she slid off the bed, moving towards him to push him out of her room, her safe space. "Now if you don't mind getting the fuck away from me."

A heavy boot stopped the door from clicking into place, his metal hand forcing it back open, eyes dark. "No, I don't think I will." He stepped into the room, pushing the door closed behind him. This time it was her that stopped the door from closing, hand gripped tightly on the handle, pulling back.

"You've got some fucking nerve coming here like that." Minka yanked the handle as the soldier pushed the door harder, breaking it clean off. "Coming back into Sharon's life like you aren't the one that fucked it up in the first place." The handle dropped with a loud thud.

For a moment, something flashed through his eyes. Regret? Sadness? Whatever it was lasted a mere second before he regained control.

"So, you're like me?" His gaze dropped to the handle on the ground, taking the opportunity to gaze down her body as he did.

It was all she could do from punching him right then and there. "Absolutely not!" If the venom in her voice wasn't evident before, it definitely was now. "I don't kill innocents."

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. The soldier staring down darkly at the smaller woman.

"It's Bucky."

Her eyes narrowed. "What?"

"My name, it's Bucky. And you can call me that."

She couldn't hold back the scoff that fell from her lips. "I won't be calling you anything. After all this shit is cleaned up, you'll never see me again."

Bucky's head tilted ever so slightly, his voice soft but dark. "I wouldn't be so sure of that." But before she was able to punch question him, Sharon's voice bellowed through the building.

"Downstairs, now."

The pair ripped their eyes from each other, Minka's falling to the handle on the floor. "I'm telling her you broke that. Now fuck off so I can change." And she shoved him out of the room, closing the door over between them, making sure to not close it the whole say so she could actually get out when she was ready.

By the time she had finished getting ready and made her way down to everyone else, people had begun meandering in, admiring the art.

"Took you long enough." Sharon walked up behind her, whispering harshly in her ear.

"Yeah, well you can thank your old friend for that. He's an asshole, by the way." "And he's not a friend." "Well he's the reason I need a drink." She turned to face Sharon, giving her a look of 'I hate you for dragging me into this' before heading to the bar, fully intending on double parking it the whole night.

It didn't take long for her to finally loosen up again, 5 drinks to be exact, and be back in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by sweaty bodies. It may have been an art auction, but nothing was ever not a party in Madripoor, especially if it was organised by the Powerbroker themself.

Minka was so caught up in the moment that she had forgotten entirely about the events of the day, the people of the day.

She had, yet again, lost track of the number of drinks she'd had. But every drink handed her way was downed immediately, not taking any time to register where, or more like who, they were coming from. That was always her greatest weakness, denying alcohol.

She was happily about to take yet another unknown drink being handed to her, when it was snatched from her reach and discarded on a nearby table.

"Hey, what the fuck, that was mine!" She growled, turning with her fist ready to launch into whoever had the nerve to steal her drink.

"Stop taking drinks from strangers, are you an idiot?" Suddenly the memories of the men she had to deal with throughout the day came flooding back. "You're gonna get spiked- in fact, you were about to with that one."

"What? Have you been keeping an eye on me? That's not very Winter Soldier of you." Her tone was mocking as she glared up at Bucky, struggling to stand thanks to the combination of copious amounts of alcohol and continuous movement of people around her.

Bucky placed his large hands on her biceps to keep her steady, eyes narrowing at her words. "You really don't know how to be nice to people, do you?"

"You really don't know how to stay the fuck away from people that don't like you, do you?" She retorted immediately, pulling herself from his grip. "I don't need a goddamn babysitter, especially not you. You don't exactly have the best track record with protecting people." Her back was turned to him and stalking off before she even finished her sentence, but she was yanked back in by her forearm.

"Yeah, I don't think so. You're being watched like a hawk by at least 3 men. Who knows how many of them are trying to spike you and get you separated from the crowd." Bucky's eyes were anywhere but hers, scanning the vast room for anything suspicious, clearly on high alert.

"I don't understand why you fucking care?" Bucky's eyes snapped down to hers, alarmed by her intensity.

"Keep your voice down or you're gonna draw attention to us." He hissed at her, lowering his head and pulling her arm to move her closer to him.

"Good, maybe security will see you're harassing me and escort you out." She snarled, anger rising with every word he spoke. "I'm just looking for a good fucking night and you've managed to ruin it twice now."

"Well take it up with Sharon then, she's the one that told me to keep an eye on you. So clearly she thinks you do need a babysitter." He dropped her arm, that would be enough to keep her in her spot for now.

"You're lying." Her words were barely above a whisper, eyes narrowed at him. "She knows I can hold my own. She's literally hired me for personal protection before."

"Clearly not this time." Bucky's eyes were back to scanning the room. "Not with the types of people here tonight." Minka couldn't help but scoff.

"Oh, because you know Madripoor, right? You've spent how many years here? Oh, that's right, none." She suddenly saw her opportunity to escape, Bucky's eyes not trained on her and her arms free.

"Tell her, as much as I appreciate it, she can shove it." And with that she had weaved her way though the crowd of bodies.

But her abandonment didn't last nearly as long as she had hoped.

All of a sudden she was being pushed against the far wall of the room where she was escaping to, breath knocked out of her.

"What the fu-" Lips landing on hers cut off her protests. Her eyes widened when she realised who said lips belonged to.

"Get off of me!" She spat when she was finally able to push Bucky off. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"People are following you. If they know you're with me they're less likely to try something."

"I'm not with you. In fact, I want to be as far away from you as physically possible right now." Bucky's arms, which were trapping her in by pressing against the wall either side of her face, fell to his side. His face turned emotionless for a moment before returning to his usual arrogant demeanour.

"You can't tell me you didn't feel the spark." He winked, a cocky grin plastered on his face when he saw the heat creep to her cheeks.

"Please, you wish there was a spark." Her eyes rolled as she paused. "I've had knife fights with more spark than that."

"Maybe we should have a knife fight sometime then." Bucky's response was quick, and smooth.

"Have you forgotten that you're never going to see me again after all this shit? Although," Minka tapped her chin in mock thought. "If you're offering to let me stab you, I'll gladly take you up on that." Unlike Bucky's, her face held no semblance of humour.

"I'm sure you'll change your mind by the end of it." Bucky eyed her suggestively.

"God, please don't tell me you're into me. Maybe I do want those supposed guys to take me, seems better than the alternative." She groaned at the thought of having to deal with him fawning after her.

Bucky's face indicated that that was definitely not he case. His eyes, however, suggested her words had hurt him a little. "God, never. But if you really want, I can hand deliver you to them myself." He pointed in the direction of said men.

Her nose crinkled. "Okay, maybe not them."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Sharon, we have a serious problem!" Minka stormed into the kitchen after the last few people had left and the party was over, Bucky not far behind her. "So I need a babysitter now? I thought I was the personal protection around here." Her fist collided heavily with the table.

"You are," Sharon looked at her nonchalantly as she poured herself a glass of whiskey. "Until alcohol is involved. You're as useless as that new Captain America when there's booze around." A sip. "Case in point." Sharon hummed, watching your eyes follow her glass from bench, to mouth, to bench again.

"Oh please." She snorted. "And you thought pairing me with this idiot was a good idea?" He hand gestured back to Bucky at idiot, not caring if it offended him. "He just makes me want to drink more."

Sharon was about to give her a look, but Minka just shook her head, throwing her hands up. "No, I'm not dealing with this tonight. I'm going to bed." "Take him with you." Sharon nodded towards Bucky.

"Oh fuck no, why the fuck would I-" "Because everyone knows you're involved, and your head is on a spike now, too. They want you dead, Minka." She couldn't argue with Sharon when she used her nickname for her. And the pain in her voice was evident.

"Fine, but you're sleeping on the floor." Bucky just shrugged, "nothing new."

"You sleep there." A finger pointed to the sofa on the far side of the room. Conveniently away from the bed. "I'll get you a blanket."

Bucky's brow quirked. "I thought I was on the floor?" He feigned confusion, head tilting to the side before his cocky smirk returned.

"Keep going and you will be." The blanket was thrown at his face, along with a pillow.

"A pillow too? Wow, it's like a 5 star hotel." She just glared.

"If you snore, you're out. If you sleep talk, you're out. You make any sort of noise and you're out. Capisce?"

"Guess it's a good thing I don't sleep then, huh?" Bucky threw the blanket and pillow onto the sofa.

"Now see, that just makes it weird. Like that scene from Twilight." "Well, yeah, when you put it like that it is." His face screwed up at the thought, recalling the scene.

"How do you- Actually no, I'm tired and I don't care." She had been about to ask how he understood the reference, but decided that was going to open a whole can of worms that she didn't care about.

"I may be over 100, but I have seen Twilight. Wanda made me watch it with her." He didn't need to be a mind reader to know what she was about to ask. And he didn't blame her, it probably would be surprising that a 106 year old had seen Twilight.

"Don't worry, Doll, I won't stare. Much." And now it was her turn to scrunch her face up.

"If you fucking touch me, I'll rip that metal arm from your body and shove it so far up your ass." Her sentence trailed off, however, when Bucky stepped closer to her, his gaze intense as he looked down at her.

"And how do you think I would touch you?" Another step closer, making her step back and gulp.

With her mouth agape, Minka was lost for words, probably for the first time in her life. Sharon unknowingly came to her rescue, though, when she knocked on the door while entering.

"Set your alarm for 6," Her eyes narrowed at them both and the distance, or lack there of, between them. "We've gotta be out of here asap tomorrow. Make sure you get enough sleep." "Will do, Sharon." Minka's gaze flicked to her, nodding once before she left the room, confusion plastered on her features.

"Right, well that's bed time then." Her tongue ran over her lips nervously, and she was painfully aware of Bucky's eyes watching. "I'm going to get changed." She turned and basically ran to the bathroom attached to her room.

"I'll be out here waitin'." "You're disgusting, don't think anything." "Wouldn't dream of it, doll."

[awanderingdeal]

Helloooo could we maybe get Kasey Leo bonding time? I adore how you write!

Hello, hello, hello. Thank you so much, anon! That is very kind of you <3 Kasey and Leo bonding time you say? Yes, please. Enjoy!

CW: Food talk 

Rating: G

These characters and the Sweater Weather universe belong to @lumosinlove

“Hey blizz,” Leo waved his hands to gain his fellow goalkeepers attention, waiting for him to remove the AirPods he’d shoved into his ears after finishing his shower. “Finn headed back to New York straight after practice, and Lo’s just informed me he’s going to some art thing with Cap, so the apartment is going to be pretty lonely, if you wanna hang. I think we might have some leftover barbeque?”

He didn’t think either Sirius or Logan would object to him tagging along, but it appeared there was something emotionally cathartic about their rants in their native tongue for the pair of them. His french wasn’t good enough to keep up with their rapid conversation, however, in his defence, he was pretty sure their huffs, snipped sentences and aggravated hand gestures weren’t comprehensible by the rest of French - speaking Canada either. Still, Logan always seemed to come back in a better mood than he left in, and according to Leo’s reconnaissance with Remus, the same was true of Sirius, so he left them to it. 

“Sure,” Kasey nodded, “You’ll never find me turning down good barbeque.” He started to pull his slightly damp hair into a ponytail, letting out a small laugh. “Besides, Nat will probably appreciate having me gone a bit longer anyway. She’s editing it, and you didn’t hear this from me, but she gets a little...intense.”

“To be fair to her, editing is a bitch,” Leo chuckled, shoving his sweaty uniform into the laundry trolley. Back in high school, he’d had a small gaming channel that by now was buried in the depths of Youtube, and editing had always been his least favourite part. 

“Yeah, I keep telling her she should just pay someone to do it, but you know Nat,” Kasey shrugged, swinging his backpack over his shoulder. “You ready?”

“Ready,” Leo hummed, taking one last glance behind him to ensure he hadn’t forgotten anything. He fell into step alongside Kasey as they walked down the hallway.

***

“What’s this?” Kasey drawled. Leo looked up to find Kasey leaning casually against the doorframe, expression smug. It took him a second to register exactly what the maroon item of clothing dangling from his teammates’ finger was.

“Oh, that’s,” Leo cleared his throat, “Finn’s?” He felt himself cringe as the name left his mouth, the questioning tone not even the slightest bit believable. 

“That’s odd,” Kasey tilted his head feigning confusion, “because it says LK, here on the label.” 

Leo sighed, cursing his mom’s insistence on labelling his clothing before she’d packed him off on his senior trip. “Yeah, alright it was mine. Did you drag that out of the donation pile, anyway?”

Kasey pushed himself off the doorframe, crossing the room. “It was on top of the donation pile, which by the way, rude,” he slipped one of the plates Leo had been piling food on from the counter and set in the microwave. 

“Kind of weird to have in my closet now,” Leo managed a small laugh, hoping his cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. “Anyway,” he crossed his arms over his chest, “I was a goalkeeper, am a goalkeeper. Of course I had your jersey.”

“Sure it had nothing to do with a little crush,” Kasey teased, draping the jersey over the back of one of the stools. 

“Wrong cub. Have a word with Finn,” Leo scoffed, immediately feeling a bit guilty about how quickly he’d dropped his boyfriend in the deep end. 

“O’Hara brothers have good taste,” Kasey retorted. “Don’t donate it,” he cocked his head towards the shirt, “I’ll sign it. Imagine how much my jersey worn by you will rake in. We can give the money to a charity. Maybe something that helps queer kids?”

“You know, just when I want to hate you, you say shit like that and it just makes it impossible,” Leo swatted Kasey’s hand away from where he was about to reach for the hot plate with his bare hands mumbling something about impatient hockey players. “Sounds like a good plan. But circling back to O’Hara brothers, I heard a certain one dropped the L- bomb recently.” 

“No, no, no,” Kasey shook his head, his forehead creasing into a frown, “we are not talking about that.”

“That’s alright,” Leo smirked, “I’ll just call Nat later.”

“How about a compromise?” Kasey suggested. “We don’t talk about this, and I don’t tell the whole team I was little Leo’s favourite.”

“Fine,” Leo relented. “Just one more question,” he let the pause hang for a moment. “Did you cry?”

“Everybody thinks you’re the cute one, but you’re just a little shit really.”

“You love me.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Finn and Logan,” Kasey grabbed the tray Leo had gestured to, and followed him into the living room. 

“Okay, serious talk for a second. Sure, it’s weird to have that jersey in my closet now, but you really were an inspiration for me growing up,” Leo sent Kasey a shy smile, as they sat on the sofa. “I never thought I’d get to thank you in person, but here I am and you played a massive part in that, so yeah, thank you,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “Still coming for that first choice goalie place though, old man.”

“Hey, you’re a hell of a player and I’d be happy to see you take my place one day, but not quite yet, rookie,” Kasey snorted. “Barbeque is great, by the way.”

“Just keeping you on your toes,” Leo nudged Kasey lightly, turning the TV on and selecting an animal documentary they had started the last time Kasey had been round. And really, 17 year old Leo could never have imagined telling Kasey Winter how much he admired him, but here they were, team mates, best friends, family.

[jean-kayak]

Chapter 14

Summary: A relaxing summer at home after your second year of college sounds nice, until someone comes back and makes it anything but

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x black!fem!reader

Warnings: really this chapter is just fluff, underage drinking (reader is 20), Eren being a huge SIMP and SAP, reader gets a little tipsy, suggestive like once bc its Eren

Word Count: 3408

A/N: This one is not even close to being as long as the next chapter, but yeah, I really went in on the fluff and cuteness on this lmao enjoy

Tags: @iwascrybaby​, @germinvasion​, @styxtm​, @prxttyguardian​, @bigdaddyzawa​, @erensblackgirlfriend​, @kbbvbz​, @tomsadversary​, @pettyluxury​, @protectpancakes​

Chapter Summary: A mini vacation makes Eren come to a stark realization

Playlist for this Chapter:

1. While We're Young- Jhené Aiko

2. Morning Glory- Kehlani

3. Normal Girl-SZA

4. Off The Grid- Alina Baraz ft. Khalid

You raise your eyebrows when he tells you that you need a pack a bag, and you frown at him in suspicion, but he doesn't even blink at you as he goes back to whatever he was doing.

Your parents weren't home at the time you were leaving, so you just told them that you were hanging with Ymir for a couple of days, Jean wasn't going to be home, and you were going to be back before him, so you figured you didn't need to tell him anything.

So Eren decides to leave late at night on Friday, and ten minutes later he texts you that he's outside, and then he's driving down the street and to who knows where. You yawn widely, tears forming in your eyes, and you wipe them away as you notice that you've been driving for more than thirty minutes.

"You taking me somewhere in the country or something?" you ask, seeing that you don't recognize your surroundings anymore.

He chuckles as he reaches over to grab your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. "I told you. It's a surprise, it's about a couple hours away."

You roll your eyes when he tells you it's a surprise but nod anyway even though that still doesn't tell you exactly where you're going, and he huffs when you say you're going to go to sleep for the rest of the ride, and as you doze off, you feel his lips on your hand.

You feel something shaking your shoulder, and you breathe in deeply as you peel your eyes open, looking around to see you're in a parking lot. "Where are we?" you ask with a yawn, looking ahead of you to see a big building about two stories tall.

"Furniture store." You frown, turning your head to look at him.

"A furniture store? Why?"

"Wanted to change up my apartment," he answers, getting out the car and you follow.

"And why did I have to come?" you ask, meeting him on his side of the truck as he locks it.

"To get you some practice, since you wanna do interior design. You can use my apartment as a project or something." You feel your face heating at the thought, and you mask it with a scrunch of your nose.

"You're a dork." He smirks softly as he wraps his arm around you, walking you towards the building.

"Only for you."

The automatic doors slide open, and the place is pretty huge, but not big enough where you feel like you might be lost, and you let him lead you whichever way. "Okay, so what do you start with?" he asks you, stopping at the living room section, and you shrug.

"Colors, I guess," you admit, looking at the different couches. "What's your favorite color?" you ask, absentmindedly running your hand over the back of an armchair.

"Any color that you look good in." You roll your eyes as you scoff, turning to look at him.

"Which is?"

"Everything." You chuckle as you push at his chest lightly, almost thinking it's a lost cause until he speaks up again. "I don't know. Dark green, maybe?"

You nod as you look at the different furniture. "Okay, that's a start. And sometimes, I look at how big you want something to be depending on what you want to use it for. So, for example, how big would you want your couch to be?"

"Big enough for us to have sex on." You drop your head as you scoff, having trouble fighting the smile off your face.

"You're insufferable." You're pretty sure Eren makes you walk through the entire store, looking at stuff that you know he doesn't even own, and you notice that he keeps asking you if you like certain things or not.

"Why does it matter if I like it or not? It's your apartment," you add, and he busies himself with pulling the drawers open on a desk while he keeps his other arm wrapped around your waist. He mumbles something that you don't catch, but you don't get to ask because he's pulling you somewhere else.

You're almost out of the place when your eyes land on the prettiest coffee table you've ever seen. You gasp in surprise, stopping in your tracks and walking towards it, pulling Eren with you.

It's a deep mahogany, glass on top, and there's storage for smaller things like magazines or coasters, and it's just right height, you never understood the appeal of coffee tables that are nearly touching the ground. "You like it?" Eren asks you, jumping you out of your trance.

"I love it," you breathe, running your hand over it softly. "But there's literally nowhere for me to put it," you joke, giving it one last look before you start to walk away, and you stop when you realize Eren's not following. "Are we leaving?" you ask, pointing towards the door, thinking that maybe he wanted to look at something else.

But then he's waving you off, walking towards you. "Yeah, let's go."

"You know we just passed the college Jean goes to, right?" you say, your eyebrows raised, and Eren just shrugs as he keeps his attention on the road.

"Yeah, so?"

"So? What if he sees us? He said he had something to do for school," you stress, starting to feel yourself panic a little.

"Don't worry. Seriously, he's not going to find out." He sounds confident, so it calms you a little bit, but that panic is still underlying. He grabs your hand, giving it a soft squeeze. "I'm being serious. I already checked beforehand, we're fine."

You nod this time, his words reassuring you as you start to notice the light poles on the street you're driving down are covered in decorations. The further he drives down the road, the more decorations seem to be lining the buildings. "Is there some kind of festival?" you ask, looking around.

Eren shrugs as he pulls the truck into a parking spot on the street. "Let's find out," he says, and you're once again following him out, and when you get out, you can hear music playing. You follow the sound of the music, and you reach what must be the main area because there's suddenly food trucks lining the streets, a bunch of activities to do, and a crowd of people dancing.

They've cut off the whole street for the occasion, and you smile widely as you look around. "I think this is some festival for the town or something," Eren says, remembering hearing something about it before he went back home, and you bounce on your feet excitedly.

"Well, we can't just stand here!" You grab his hand, almost pulling him off his feet as you run towards the thicker part of the crowd. He laces his fingers with yours as you both walk through to look at the different venues and the different food they have.

He nearly buys everything that your eyes linger on for too long, and you firmly tell him to not buy you anything else, to which he just responds with a roll of his eyes, both of you knowing that he's still going to do it.

He watches you fondly when you get excited about the face painted, but he denies it when you say that he should get one. "Oh, come on, you have to get one," you urge, feeling the paint on your face starting to harden.

The person who did yours tells you that you could paint on Eren's face and that only makes you more excited. You force him to sit down on the bench as you look through the options, grabbing his wrist when he tries to sneak away.

"Just pick one, please?" you say, and he gives you a warm look as he smiles softly.

"Fine." He gives in, and you grab the brush excitedly. "Anything yellow," he responds when you ask him what he wants.

"Why yellow? Because I look good in it?" you tease, picking out something that's easy for you to draw.

"It's the color you picked on the fortune teller." You freeze, looking up at him, before smiling softly as you dip the paintbrush in the paint.

"You remember that?" you ask shyly, and he would nod, but you're already starting to paint on his face.

"Of course I do. It's the first time I talked to you." He huffs softly when he sees you shy away again before you focus on the flower you're drawing. He chuckles softly as he watches you stick your tongue out in concentration, and you pull away with a frown.

"Why are you laughing at me?" you ask, grabbing his chin to angle his cheek closer towards you.

He moves before you can turn his face, pecking a kiss on your nose. "Because you look cute." You shake your head, feeling your face flush warm before grabbing his chin again and moving his head where you want it.

"Okay," you sigh when you finish, putting the brush down, and you hold the mirror up for him to see what it looks like, and you put your head on the side of it. "Do you like it?" you ask impatiently, and he nods as he stands, pulling you up with him.

"Yeah, it looks good for someone with no art skills," he jokes, making you roll your eyes but you laugh anyway, and you both walk away as he takes out his phone.

You peek over his shoulder, not realizing he opened the camera app, and he plants his lips on your cheek that doesn't have paint on it, snapping the picture, and he locks his phone before you can see it. You're trying to convince him to let you see it, both of you walking closer to the music, and suddenly you're being pulled into the dancing crowd.

Both of your eyes widen in surprise, but then you notice a kid grabbing your hands, and you laugh instantly as you start dancing, blending into the crowd, but to Eren, you're the only one he sees.

And huh.

Is that what this feels like? He's always seen it in movies, read it in books, but he's never experienced it like this, the feeling so strong. He unlocks his phone, his heart skipping a beat when he looks over the picture, the biggest grin on his face before he looks back up at you.

You look like you're having the time of your life, and he realizes that he's fallen so far, so fast in so little time. He feels like he's living in some kind of movie, and he always thought it was unrealistic to feel this way about you in a short amount of time, but the longer he looks at you, the more he believes that it's more than possible.

And he looks back down at his phone, making the picture his lock screen.

"Let me have some more," you whisper, and Eren rolls his eyes as he scoffs, checking to make sure the coast is clear before handing you his glass.

"Woah, woah," he says when you take a huge sip of wine, taking the glass out of your hand. "Ease up will you," he chastises, setting the glass on the stool next to the both of you.

"I have to get as much as I can before they see me," you respond, having trouble hiding your giggles as the alcohol fills your system.

The festival had started to die down, and he saw a sign for wine and art. He knew they weren't going to let you have any, but he was having a hard time denying you, and now he scoffs at your tipsy state. "We're supposed to be painting," he responds, grabbing the paintbrush.

"Well, what are we drawing?" you say, your words slurring just a bit, and he shrugs as he wraps his arm tighter around you.

"Whatever you want," he says, adjusting the both of you on the stool you're sitting on. He was surprised the both of you could fit on it, but he only took that as an excuse to hold you. "How about four flowers?"

Your eyebrows crease before you turn to look at you. "Why four?" He smiles at you, and you feel like you should know the answer, but you can't think of it. "The fortune teller?" you try, and he nods, making you roll your eyes.

"Why are you such a sap?" you reply playfully, and he laughs softly before putting the brush in your hand, then putting his hand on top of yours. He guides your hand over the canvas as you start painting. "How'd you know that these are my favorite?"

"Lucky guess." It's the flowers you had in your hair at the wedding.

You frown at him again, but go back to painting anyway, the strokes not as clean due to a variety of reasons, but the outline comes out good, and he helps you color them in.

He lets you have one last sip before he tells you that you're not getting anymore, and you frown but listen anyway. "Why aren't you drinking?"

"Because I'm driving," he replies lamely, and you nod softly as your mouth falls open.

"Oh. You're so responsible."

He rolls his eyes. "Thanks," he says dryly.

You both finish your painting around the same time everyone else does, or rather people are starting to get less incoherent, so they can't focus on painting, and Eren takes the canvas, leading you out of the gallery with an arm around your waist.

"I'm so full and tired," you whine, your steps a little wobbly, and he chuckles as he carefully puts the canvas in the backseat before helping you in.

He starts driving away and about ten minutes in, he realizes you're really quiet, so he assumes you've fallen asleep, but then you gasp, making him jump out of his skin and almost swerve off the road.

"What the fuck--"

"A drive-in movie, we have to go!" you yell, probably a little bit more loudly than you needed, pointing out the window, and he looks to see an empty lot with cars and a giant movie screen.

He finds himself already slowing down and turning into the lot without even thinking about it, backing in so that you can watch the movie from the bed of the truck. He gets out first, letting the tail down so that he can set up some of the blankets he still has in his truck before helping you up, your steps shaky as you get in.

He lays down first, and you follow, and he chuckles as you instantly grab a blanket, wrapping yourself up before you lay on him. "Don't fall asleep, this was your idea," he speaks up when he hears you go quiet again, and you shift slightly.

"M not sleep. I'm just tired," you mumble, making him huff fondly.

The movie that's playing is something he's never seen before, and he's actually pretty focused on it when he feels you moving, and he just assumes that you're trying to get comfortable.

"Eren," he hears you whisper, and he hums to show that he heard you, keeping his focus on the movie.

"What, baby?" he says when you say his name again, and he tears his eyes from the screen to look down at you.

"I want a kiss," you say softly, and he half rolls his eyes before leaning down anyway. "One more." He sighs fondly before leaning down again, cupping your face in his hand, and he pulls away when you try and deepen the kiss.

"You're drunk, baby," he tells you, and you frown as you shake your head.

"No, I'm not," you argue, and he raises his eyebrows at you.

"Intoxicated," he tries, and you purse your lips as you think.

"Maybe." He huffs again before kissing you on the forehead.

"I'll kiss you again when you're sober." You groan softly in protest, but you don't say anything else as you turn your attention back to the movie.

~

Eren rolls his eyes when he hears you complain about being tired for the millionth time that night as he guides you into the dark apartment. He leads you to his room, catching you every time you almost fall, and the moment your eyes land on the bed, you're flopping on it face down.

"Hey, you gotta change first," he tells you, dropping your bag on the floor softly, but you groan softly, turning your head so that you can breathe.

"M fine," you argue, and he scoffs as he walks over to you.

"Trust me, you'll want to get changed." You groan as you roll over, unbuttoning your shorts, sliding them down your legs before letting them fall to the floor. You roll back onto your stomach, reaching under your shirt to unhook your bra, maneuvering it out from under you before it joins your shorts on the floor.

"Are you happy now?" you groan, and he rolls his eyes again as he moves back to your bag. You feel the bed dip next to you as he climbs in, but you don't move.

"Can you sit up for me?" he asks, and you sigh, turning your head to look at him. "It'll only take a second."

You sit up slowly as you start to feel a headache coming on, blinking slowly, and you notice that he's putting your bonnet on, and he catches you when you try and lay back down, not letting you go until all of your hair is in it.

"Now you can lay down." He barely gets the words out as your body hits the mattress again, and you get comfortable as you snuggle your face into the pillow, and he notices that you're blinking gets heavier, but you're looking at him.

"What?" he questions softly, running the back of his fingers over your face gently, and you give him a sleepy smile.

"You're really pretty," you mumble, and he huffs in surprise as he feels his face heating up.

"You think I'm pretty?"

You nod as fast as your body can let you, sighing heavily. "You're like...like," you nod again. "Yeah, you're like really pretty." And then you're out like a light.

Your soft snores fill the room, and he finds himself smiling fondly as he watches you sleep, and before he can think, he's slowly getting out of the bed and grabbing his sketchbook. He slides back in the bed, and all of the images from earlier today come flooding into his head and onto the pages.

He doesn't know how long he sits there, filling every last inch of the paper in you, but he can't stop until he's drawn everything. He draws your face when you were concentrating on painting on his face, he draws you attempting to concentrate on the painting even though the wine was making you even more incoherent, and he finds himself smiling for long enough that his face hurts.

When he gets all of those images out of his head, he looks back over at you before starting on the next drawing, chuckling softly at how your face is smushed by the pillow.

And he wonders if it could work between the both of you, but he doesn't know how you feel, and he doesn't want to do anything that will cause you to stop talking to him like you did back then even though he still doesn't know what he did.

But he's scared to ask, and part of him thinks it's the reason for that conflicted look you have in your eyes sometimes, and he wants to ask you what he did so that he can fix it because he doesn't want to hurt you. Not when you mean so much to him.

When he thinks that he's gotten most of the images drawn, and when he's about to run out of room is where he should call it a night, putting the book somewhere you won't be able to find it easily before laying down next to you.

You breathe in deeply, shifting closer to him in your sleep, and he carefully lays you on his chest, and the familiar weight of you puts him to sleep.

|Chapter 13|Masterlist|Chapter 15|

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

The Worry

The Pool | The Difference | The Notes | The Fear | The Thought | The Question | The Walk | The Ordeal | Masterlist Pairing: Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon x Reader Rating: Explicit - 18+ only

Warnings: The next two chapters will deal with pregnancy, societal pressure around pregnancy, and concerns around pregnancy! I’ve CW’d them for that in the tags!! If you need me to add any additional tags, please let me know. I’m not a doctor. Just, you know. Disclaimer.

Also cursing; canon-typical violence Notes: Angsty and fluffy Summary: You don’t want to give a voice to your panic before you know that anything’s actually wrong. 

It’s been a question since before you and Borracho even get married: So when are you two having kids?  You just laugh it off when his sisters ask, and his mom, and Gabriel, that one time. When you were dating it was only once in a while - usually when you turned down the offer of a beer because you’d agreed to be the designated driver between the two of you for that night. Nadia or Megan or Isobel would sidle up to you and pat your stomach and waggle their eyebrows, and you’d just laugh and knock their hands away and screech, “I’m driving!” But now that you’re married… Well, it’s almost constant. And it’s not just from his family. You know that the guys have a pool going about whether or not you’ll be pregnant by the end of the year. The website that you guys used to register for wedding gifts is popping into your inbox every other week to set up your baby shower registry.

And you and Borracho have talked about the kids thing before, a few times since the weekend that you looked after Lissie. Thing is, you haven’t talked about it in a while, but you know that Borracho’s thinking about it. He hasn’t been smoking - he’s been using nicotine patches and chewing gum like a fiend. When you ask him about it, he just shrugs and mutters something about, “having to kick the habit some time”. He’s a little moody about it, sure, but you had been very clear when the two of you spoke that you didn’t want cigarette smoke about your child - “Besides,” You’d murmured when you’d talked about it, “It’s not good for you, Benny. And I want you around for a long time.” That fact that he’s doing that sort of signals a ‘soon?’ to you, but you don’t talk about it. You’re not sure you want to. Talking about it would make it real, and making it real might freak you out, and you really, really want to bask in your honeymoon phase for a little while longer. His family is still pretty pushy about it. When you get handed a kid at any family function, or you help of your own volition, you inevitably hear something somewhere behind you about, “practice,” and “it’ll be different when she has her own”. And you know that it’s because they’re excited for you and Borracho, but it’s starting to wear. There’s one day when you’re cleaning popsicle off of Lissie’s chin, and you hear Nadia coo about you looking like a little mother. And you’re so, so tempted to ask if she’d rather you just let her child make a mess. You’re not being a mother, you’re just trying to help. If Borracho were doing this, would he look like a little father to them? But instead you give her a tight smile and turn back to Lissie, and let the baby’s garbled speech make you smile for real. -- That night, you wait until Borracho has fallen asleep before you get up and do a little research. And a little research brings on a lot of worry. -- You still don’t talk about it. The talking will make it feel real. You don’t want to give a voice to your panic before you know that anything’s actually wrong. But the thing is you and Borracho have technically been trying since you got married. You’re not on the pill, you’re both clean, so you haven’t been using condoms. You’ve been tracking your cycle, you know your ovulation window, and while you did think, once after you came back from your honeymoon that you two might be-- Well, your period was just a couple of days late, so it didn’t matter anyway. You didn’t mention it to him. You read an article that tells you that 80% of couples conceive after 6 months of trying; the same article tells you that 90% conceive after a year of trying. You and Borracho have been trying for 8 months and-- nothing. So maybe there’s something wrong? Some irregularity with your ovulation cycle - or maybe he could have a low sperm count, you don’t think he’s ever gotten that checked out. All of this is in your head. It’s not on your mind, it’s just hanging out in the background. Occasionally it drifts to the forefront and you wave it back to its place, along with the worries that if, somehow, you ever managed to have a child, you’d be an awful mother and the kid would hate you. -- Borracho, bless him, waits. He doesn’t ask right away. Whatever it is that’s wrong, he can tell you’re not ready to talk about, and he’s got the feeling that the conversation will make him want a cigarette, anyway, so maybe it’s for the best that he lets you come to him with it. -- Your first anniversary should be sweet. It’s not. It’s actually kind of an ordeal. The guys have been working an art theft case for the last three months and you’ve been so consumed by it that you haven’t even had time to worry about whether or not you can get pregnant because the two of you have been so busy that you’ve hardly had time to have sex. After a particularly hard night, Borracho broke down and bummed a cigarette off of Connors, and you didn’t begrudge him that one. You’d just sat outside of the bar with him and rubbed your hand between his shoulder blades. “I’ll be back on the patches and gum tomorrow,” He’d sworn to you, and you’d just told him that it was alright, and that you loved him, and that you knew that this was hard for him. He’d flicked the cigarette butt away and practically pulled you into his lap, kissing your neck and murmuring that he wanted to marry you all over again. And then Nick had come out and threatened to arrest the both of you for public indecency. But you and Borracho spend most of your first anniversary getting ready for a sting. Nick’s managed to rope you into field work again (much to Borracho’s chagrin). You’re posing as a buyer, and meeting up with the man that had stolen the painting from the Kohn Gallery. None of the guys can do it - this dealer’s been busted by them before, he’ll recognize them right off. You’re the only one whose face he doesn’t know. When you show at the station, the guys let out little mutters; Connors gets out half of a wolf-whistle before Nick punches him in the shoulder. You arch a brow. You’re not sure what it is - the suit you’ve opted to wear, the pointed-toe heels, or the wig. This one isn’t pink, of course - it’s similar to your hair, but it has a loose, styled wave to it. “Why don’t you ever come to the office like this?” Henderson teases, even as Borracho stares him down. “You all never get dressed up for me, why the fuck would I get dressed up for you?” You retort. “She’s got a point. We’re rollin’ out in ten,” Nick adds. Borracho stands from his desk and walks over to yours, watching you reach under the wig to put in your earpiece. “You’re sure you wanna do this?” He asks. “It’ll be fine,” You glance at him. He purses his lips, and you reach out, cupping his chin, then teasing your nails through the goatee there. “Come on, this isn’t my first field op.” “We won’t be in there with you,” Borracho reminds you, though he sounds like he’s much more hung up on that fact than you are. “I know, but you’ll be nearby,” You say, “And the second I confirm the painting is the one you guys have been looking for, you’ll grab the guy and we’ll be set.” Borracho doesn’t look so convinced, but you lean up and peck his lips and murmur, “Relax, Benny.” And you expect hoots and hollers to go up from the guys, but you hear nothing. They’re giving you two this moment. They know what today is; they know how worried Borracho is. And the guys can be dicks sometimes, but you love them. -- Your first anniversary should be sweet. It’s not. It’s kind of an ordeal. You wind up sitting on the back of an ambulance because a bullet grazed your right arm - not deep enough to do real damage or hit anything serious, but bad enough to need stitches. Borracho is leaning against the ambulance, jaw clenched as he stares down at your pointed-toe heels. You’ve tried to engage him, and you’ve tried to get him to look at you, but he just won’t. When you’re leaving, you expect him to bum a cigarette off of Connors, but he doesn’t. Instead you drive home in silence, his hand territorial on your thigh, like the art dealer is in the backseat, like the bullet is hovering near your shoulder, but neither will be able to touch you as long as he is. He waits until you two are in your apartment to draw you into his arms and hold you tight against his chest. You go willingly, and you cuddle against him and hide your wince in his neck as your arm twinges when you take hold of him in turn. Some part of you is tempted to joke, to murmur, “Happy anniversary?”, but you consider how mad you’d be if he did that to you just now, and instead you murmur, “It’s just a scratch.” And maybe that’s not the best thing to have said, either, because his grip tightens on you, and he mumbles, “Scratches don’t need stitches, sweetness.” -- That night, he’s gentle with you, the way you were with him the first time the two of you were together after he’d been shot. He takes his time undressing with you, pushes your hands away from your clothes when you reach to remove them yourself. When you tease and ask him if he wants you to keep the wig on, he shakes his head and covers your body with his, and he nuzzles against your jaw and murmurs, “You,” sweet and desperate, “I just want you.” -- It’s a hiccup. A bump in the road. A reminder that what you two do is dangerous, that anything can happen. Time passes. The wound heals. The worry comes back. -- You wake up with cramps one morning. You go into the bathroom - you confirm it is what you think it is. You tiptoe around your bedroom, pull on sweatpants and head into the kitchen to make coffee. It’s been a year and a half now, and you are worried. Borracho never did say that kids are a deal breaker, but what if they are? What if he’s changed his mind? What if you change your mind? Your vision is blurring with tears as you pour water into the coffeemaker. You can hear Borracho shuffling around in your bedroom, and you let yourself sniffle before you scrub at your eyes. You set your hands on the counter, taking a few steadying breaths as you hear Borracho come out of the bedroom. You hear him pause before he cuddles up behind you, his big, rough, warm hands settling comfortingly on your hips. He presses a kiss to the back of your head, then to the side, then brushes his lips against the shell of your ear. “What’s going on, sweetness?” He murmurs. You should’ve known better; the man knows you better than anyone, you can’t hide from him, not well. It’s a wonder you’ve managed to go this long without saying anything to him. You lean back against his chest and mumble, “I got my period.” It takes him a few moments, but he nods a little, turning and pressing another kiss to your head. “Okay.” “What if-- Benny what if I can’t-- And we can’t--...” Your eyes are welling up with tears again; your voice is wavering, and your throat feels tight with worry. He slides his arms around your waist, soothingly rocking the two of you side to side. “We’ll figure it out, sweetness,” He soothes, “We can talk to a doctor, we can look into adoption-- Anything you want.” “What’ll your family say?” “Hey,” Borracho turns you to face him. He lifts one hand to your chin and tips your head up to look at him. “This isn’t their marriage, this isn’t their decision. It’s ours. We make this choice, you and me.” He reaches up and smooths away a tear when it escapes you. “And if that choice is no kids, then that’s our choice, sweetness.” You can’t stop the tears now; you surge up and bury your face in Borracho’s shoulder and curl into him and mumble that you wanna marry him all over again. -- Your second anniversary is sting-operation and bullet-graze free. The traditional second anniversary gift is cotton. The box you give Borracho contains a cotton shirt that says ‘I’m Going to Be a Daddy!’, and your (cleaned) positive pregnancy test. (You’ve got a matching shirt that says ‘You Can Stop Asking When We’re Having a Baby Now’.)

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

CALI COAST.

Filip “Chibs” Telford x Reader

Anon asked: Hiya, love your writing!! I’d like to request a chibs Imagine about a him falling for a female mechanic at TM. Thank you 😊

Word Count: 3.6k

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford 💘

Author comments: I hope you all enjoy. Gif credits to the author.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​ @sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

Driving the car crane, carrying a blue sedan that you were trying to seize for three days, but the owner was such a dickhead till he finally pissed you off and you had to point him with a gun. Tig told you to do it, even if you've never fired one. His face was worth the risk of being reprimanded by Hale. Danny claps at you, when getting off of the crane, you point your new acquisition with both hands and a huge smile on the corner of your lips.

“Tada!” You say with a melodic voice, jumping one time.

“Good job, rookie”. He says urging you to high-five, giving you the ‘seized’ sticker. 

Very proud of your work, you take it to stick it on the front glass, crossing your arms after it to admire your piece of art.

“Ok, let's pull down this big guy”. Danny palms your back, ready to drop the tow and park the car with the rest.

“Ya’, man, who's that lass?” Chibs steps slow down, some meters away from you, hitting Tig's chest with his palm, actually hurting him.

“What the fuck?!” He yells rubbing himself over the kutt.

“She's (Y/N), the new Teller-Morrow mechanic”. Happy comes from nowhere, scaring both men, with no gesture in his face. “She's like a Pop Tart. Sweet and crunchy”.

“Did you already fuck her?” Tig sighs staring at him.

“No”.

“Then, how 'you know she's crunchy?”

“She broke Juice's nose yesterday”.

The men break in laughter, now understanding why his face looks like shit.

“Wha' happened?” Chibs tries to talk, starting to cough because of the loud laughs.

“She just got scared, 'cause he was behind her in silence”. Happy turns at them, narrowing on of his shoulder, making a move with his head to follow him.

The SOA president has been out of Charming for two weeks, taking care of the gun's business at southern Cali. For you, he was just traveling. The guys talked about him a lot in his absence of the club and you were pretty excited to meet him. At least, he's also your boss. So, when Tig shouts your new nickname making you turn, you go immediately with the same smile on your face.

“What's'ap, boss?” You say placing your hands behind your back, covered by the green jumpsuit of the workshop.

“The president”. He says pushing the man into you, with a singsong voice, making the scottish clicks his tongue.

“Just Chibs”. He adds, offering you a hand in somewhat formal greeting.

“Finally!” You say excited narrowing it, actually feeling a little nervous. “I'm (Y/N), but they call me ‘rookie’”.

“Rooke'”?

“Yeah, like a prospect for the club”. You explain then, getting back your hand with the own other.

“And she likes whisky”. Happy puts a forearm on one of the president's shoulder, taking off the toothbrush of his lips. 

“Really? Ya' wan' one? So ya' can tell me where did ya' come from”. The man offers then, turning an arm to the club entrance, and you obviously can't say ‘no’ even if it's ten am and you just finished the first coffee of the day. You nod in silence. 

Tig and Happy continue their way to the workshop, whilst you're walking by the scottish side with the nerves running through your whole anatomy. Everybody knows the Sons of Anarchy, everybody knows what they do even if they didn't see it. You know you don't have to be afraid, nor scared, but you can't help feeling it anyway. In a gentle gesture, the president holds the door for you, smiling slightly coming in. The club is empty, not even music is being played and it's kinda strange. Maybe they prepared before this meeting, so no one could bother you. 

Even if you have been working for the last two weeks, if Filip decides to fire you 'cause you're not what he was looking for Teller-Morrow, he can do it without needing the support of anyone. You like your job and they pay you quite well, having a very flexible schedule, and treating you like another one of the family. So losing it, it's not an option.

You can see the man turning around towards the bar, grabbing two glasses to serve a whisky from an old bottle. You can recognize it. An special edition of Blue Label of Johnnie Walker. You have never tasted before, but you heard about it. Honey and vanilla are the first nuances you can taste having a sip. Chibs is staring at you with a raised eyebrow, waiting for an opinion. Snapping 

“It's sweet, but bitter because of the citrics”.

“Dammet', lass!” He yells excited, hitting the bar, provoking you a chill. “Its true ya' like wheske'”.

“Yea', I... do”. You nod with pursed lips, seeing him walk towards the sofa.

Sitting there, you doubt for a second carrying a chair next to him and leaving your drink on the table, looking around for a second expecting what he wants to know.

“So tel'me. Where 'ya from, where ya' worken'... All thes' thengs'”. Chibs finally says, placing his whisky above the table, leaning towards you with his forearm supported on his lap.

“I'm from Los Angeles, my father had a workshop too, so it's family business”. You explain yourself, not sure what more you can say about your life. “When he died thr—”.

“'Am sorre'bout that”. The president holds your right hand for a while, narrowing it.

“Yea', life's things, I guess”. His touch is firm, looking at both hands sideway, before continue. “Well, ah... It was three years ago. He left me the workshop, but I was alone and I couldn't do it without help, so I had to sell it. I was working with my uncle, till I decided to move on. And... a friend told me about yours and I said... Why not? So, here I am”.

“Hm...” Chibs nods thoughtful resting his back on the sofa, moving his gaze from one side to another in nowhere.

“Listen, ah... I know it took me three days to seize that sedan, and I have no excuses, but I really like this job. I mean, work here”. You look desperate licking your lips and gesticulating more than necessary, not trying to give pity, but asking for another chance.

“Relax, rooke', I'm not gonna keck'yar ass”. His loud laughter, shaking his chin, infects you chuckling. Not sure if because you want, or because you're doing it to please him. “The bike in the backyard, is yars'?”

“It was my father's. He used to run Cali with it, till he couldn't do it anymore. But it's not working. I have to fix it”.

“You wan'me to help ye'?”

The question takes you by surprise, twisting your neck as a dog would do when he's confused. Until now, you have been doing it by yourself, even though you can take her to a workshop and not worry about it. But someone offering himself to help you it's something new. Not actually ‘someone’, but the Sons of Anarchy president. And your boss.

“Yes, yes... I mean, sure. If you have time”.

“Aye! 'Course, lass. Wha' ya' have is a fuckin' gem! Wha'bout tonigh'?”

You don't say anything, but it sounds like a date. And it doesn't surprised you by the way he had to greeting you, when you two met minutes ago. His fingers were a little shaky and you can swear that even his hand was somewhat sweaty. Finally, you nod before he could start to think that you're kinda dumb, having a sip of your whiskey.

“Ya ken'? I had one simila' when I was younga'”. He comments, seeming like the man wants to continue your talk, but doesn't knows how to do it. “I toured Scotlan' whet'et'”.

“I've never been there, but I saw it in photographs. It's an amazing country”. 

“Aye! Et'e—

Some yells outside call your attention, and you recognize the voice by heart, 'cause you have been hearing it for the last three days. Rolling your eyes and getting up, down by the scottish's gaze following you, you walk towards the workshop with a serious gesture on your face and your arms crossed above your chest. The sedan' owner is there, with Hale by his side. You're fucked. 

“She was! She was!” The blonde man is pointing at you accusatory, seeing how the sheriff rubs his eyes. “That bitch pointed me with a gun!”

“Did you?” Hale asks you with a hand resting in the butt of his own gun, hanging from his belt, and the other hanging by a side of his body.

“No, sir. I did—”.

“You, fucking liar!” The man practically jumps to you, being blocked by the SOA president, hitting him straight to his face.

Everything goes so fast that you can't even react. But the scottish is putting you behind his body, after punch the sedan' owner, with a hand thrown back slightly touching your abdomen. Hale is handcuffing him, growling and cursing at you lying on the ground by the sheriff.

“If you say anything else, I'm gonna accuse you of obstruction, do you hear me?” The cop says putting him down, starting to walk next to the car so his co-worker can sit him inside the car. “Do you want to file a complaint?”

This time is coming back towards you, with a sigh on his lips rolling his eyes. You shake your head, hiding out from Chib's back, frowning at the blonde man.

“Don' worry, sir, it's ok”. You say then.

“Tel'im fi' me that he won't get his car back”.

And without saying anything else, he turns at you placing an arm on your shoulders to urge you start to walking back to the workshop.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

When your turn is already finish, you drive back home the enough time to have a shower and changing your clothes for something more comfy taking into account the plan you are going to have. You're also trying to not think that it's a date, even if it was like it sounded. And you can't help but feeling nervous parking by a side of the yard, frowning missed when you notice the fact that there's only a bike. So, your suspicions get confirmed. Actually it's not something that bothers you, after all you've heard about him. Loyalty, strength, sincerity, self-confidence, kind and polite. And an accent pretty funny. So, why not? 

“Wha' ya' thenken'?” Chibs comes from nowhere, scaring you and making you scream. 

The man starts to laugh loud, while your face becomes rude with pursed lips and a hand on your chest trying to calm your heart beat.

“Jesus Christ...”

“Dammet, rooke', it's true ya're ease' to scare!” You sigh rolling your eyes because of his words. “Com'ere, I've alrede' brought yar' bike”.

“DaMmEt, RoOkE”. You joke on him with a high-pitched tone, whilst he's laughing louder.

“Ya' amaze me, lassie. Dinnae' know you talk scottesh'”.

“What the...?” You find yourself laughing too in a relaxed way after a long time, shaking your head with a sigh, going to the workshop illuminated by some lights.

Turning over your steps you notice that the place is practically empty, guessing that Juice took off all the cars by Chibs' petition, playing fool when you find with your gaze two cardboard boxes from your favorite burger joint. Hiding your curiosity and moving your feet next to the old Harley Davidson, you let your fingers travel over the metallic handlebar. Memories crowd your head, one on top of the other, until you collapse. You still haven't driven it, because your father kept it for almost eight years on his garage, till he left. And it doesn't need a lot of fixes, but you haven't been able to get started before. You couldn't, 'cause it's the only thing you have of him.

“When was the... fers' time ya' ride't?”

Turning to the man, finding him supporting his back against the wall with a big cup of coke in his left hand, sipping from the straw. You shrugs your shoulders, taking the other drink to imitate him with your gaze on the matt black motorbike.

“I didn', yet. Alone, I mean... But by my father's back”. You say almost in a whisper. “I was five years old. We toured Cali coast”.

“Cali coast amaze me, et's a good ferst' ride”. He says then, after some seconds in silence. “Ded'ya by night?”

“Dawn, actually”. You answer with a goofy smile on your lips and your eyes on the drink between your hands, playing with the straw. “I... remember that... my father came to my room, to wake me up saying ‘let's go, bunny, adventure time’! He was very excited”.

It's the first time in years that you're talking about him and Chibs looks pretty curious about it, but you're trying not to break your voice. Smiling sideways, you stare at the scottish man, shrugging your shoulders again, not knowing how continue.

“Why ‘bunny’?”

“I like velocity”.

“Oh, realle'? Wha' bike ded'ya have before et'?”

Your cheeks turning red and your lips pursuing second by second, containing a laugh, makes him raises both eyebrows with curiosity.

“A Vespa...?” You mutters biting the straw, while Chibs laughs again. You're starting to love his laugh, no regrets. “Ah, ah, but...! I have a Mustang, so, boom!”

Your left hand imitates the typical gesture of dropping a mic, getting up from the wall to walk towards the food with innocent air, opening one of the bags with your forefinger and having a quickly look.

“Ya'hungre?” He asks then, following your steps to grab boths bags, twisting his neck in a soft gesture to tell you without words about to have a seat.

So you do, on one of the cair placed on the front yard, next to a corner.

“So, what et' needs?”

“Brakes. I need to change them. Now it has ones that are obsolete and I was thinking to put an ABS”. Leaving your drink between your feet, you take the burger Chibs is offering you to unwrap it on your lap.

“Sounds good. Do ya' have them?”

“Yea', I bought them in LA. And I think could be good change the tires, the oil and the handlebar grips, they're a little worn”.

“Tha's'ease fo' ya'”.

“Yeah, but... I didn't want to fix it, actually?”

“Why?”

“I'm scared to have an accident or something, and destroy it. I don' have anything of my father, but his bike”. Having a bite with your gaze on him, you cover your mouth to keep talking. “So, I just... was telling... myself that I didn't have time... to fix it”.

“But we're gonna do 'et!” Chibs exclaim excitedly, opening his arms for a second and holding the burger and the beer in each hand. “I know yar' father prefers to fac'ap his bike, than keep'et in a garage with dust on 'et”.

“Yea', I think so...”.

━━━━━━ ﹅ ━━━━━━

First, knocks on your door. Then your bell ringing. Palming the mattress till you find your phone to watch the clock, you read all the notifications in the locked screen. There are almost eleven lost calls from Chibs and a lot of messages. And it in silence. You practically jump off of your bed, running as never before to the main door, opening it.

“Finally! Jesus Christ, I thought ya' were dead!” 

“What happened? It's everything ok? Sorry, I just fell asleep an—”. You're talking so fast that your tongue ends up making a mess.

Chibs enraptured looking at you from top to down with a goofy smile on his lips, very interested in the Black Sabbath' shirt you're wearing. Clearing his throat, while your gaze travels to the dark van parked in front of your house. Tig and Juice are taking off of it your motorbike. Pushing him away from you, with your left hand on his chest, you take some steps barefoot above the cesped. You're face shows surprise and confusion, believing for a while that you're dreaming or something like that. 

One of his hands wrap your left wrist, urging you to look at him. You're legs shaking for a second. 

“Ya're prette' with messy hair and tha' shirt, but I wanna ride with ya'”. He says then, trying to hide his excitement.

And you want to hide yours, but you can't. You hug him, but not with a normal one. You're rousing and thankful, surrounding his neck with yours arms leaning on your toes. You know he wasn't expecting by the “oh” he mutters kinda surprised, taking some seconds till he finally is able to wrap your back and your waist pushing you closer into him, resting his forehead on your shoulder. Then, Chibs understands why Happy said like you're like a Pop Tart. He knows it tooks you just one second to make him fall in love with you and that the fact of worrying about your favorite take away restaurant, it wasn't only 'cause you're ‘the rookie’. 

The scottish have a deep breathe from your hair, starting to wish he hadn't, because he's falling a little more. And he can't watch his mouth.

“Ya' smell really good”. He tells you with a husky tone on his voice that bristles the skin of your arms.

“Honey and vanilla”. You mutter with pursed lips, before the man making you a gesture to come in your house.

You nod in a hurry, running back to your room looking for the perfect clothes to drive. A comfy pair of jeans, a vaporous shirt, your boots and a leather jacket. Keeping your principal stuff in a bag and grabbing your helmet, you walk towards the main door sooner as you can. The van isn't there anymore but your bike and Chib's one, close to yours, are parked on the sidewalk. He's already waiting sitting on his, turning on the engine when you're wearing the black helmet before keep the bag under the seat, the scottish stares at you with a hug smile and a dearly gesture on his face.

It has been eight years since you heard your father's Harley roaring, and feeling how your body vibrates on it it's simply amazing. You can't even describe how you feel right now, looking at Chibs with that gesture mixing incredulity and surprise. Pressing the brake, but also the gas, the back wheel squeaks without caring if you wake up your neighbors. 

“Let's go, lass!” 

You release the brake, letting your motorbike rolls above the road with a hoarse growl flying off from the engine, being followed by the scottish. He didn't tell you where you're going, but after five days talking about your childhood in Cali, it's pretty clear that he wants to ride the coast with you after seeing the emotions that provokes you the memories doing it with your father. You know well he wants to be part of it, part of your routine and part of your life. And you're letting him come in 'cause, why not?

You know the road by heart, touring it with the fresh dawn's air hitting your face, till it turns with a salty smell after some hours driving in silence, enjoying the landscape views. You're closer to the ocean and you can feel it inside your lungs, closing your eyes for second. Time enough to make you fly back to your childhood. The sound of the engine, the seagull, the waves breaking. Everything is the same as you remember. But you're not a child anymore, you're ridding California with Filip Telford by your side, who can say that? Only you. And it's not because who he is, but because of who you want him to be for you.

It's sunrising. In the horizon, the sky is mixed with blue, orange and soft pink. It's your favorite part of the day, but now it's different. You're /living/ it, breathing it, enjoying it totally relaxed as never before, with Chibs' eyes on you for a ephemeral instant, fully spellbound. And that's what makes it special this time.

“Don'ya thenk' it's time fo' a coffee?” He asks loud enough for you to hear him. You nod laughing, 'cause you really need it after sleeping for just four hours.

Some mills away, you finally stop in a rest area on top of a small cliff. Taking off your helmet, you walk towards the wooden railings looking down. You're too close of the sea that almost some salty drops splash your face interspersed with the sea breeze. You couldn't get tired of a place like that. The smell of hot coffee pushes you into reality, turning to Chibs so you can hold the metallic mug.

“Maybe I put some Cardhu in'et”.

“Maybe?” You break in laugh, leaning your nose over it.

“When I say ‘maybe’, et's because I alrede' ded'et”.

“So... the other night, at the workshop, maybe it was a date?”

“Maybe”. He nods, blowing his drink, before taking a drink. “Maybe that's the second one”.

“Maybe you already won me, fixing my bike and bringing me here”. Giving him your most smooth smile, you drink too, turning to the ocean while he puts an arm on your shoulders letting you rest your cheek on his. “Maybe you put a lot of Cardhu”.

“Yea', maybe”. 

[jadekitty777]

On Your Six, Chapter 4

Already at chapter 4 - we’re halfway there!

Day 4: Role Swap for @taiqrowweek

Rating: T for this chapter, M for overall

Words: 2.5k

Summary: Qrow was what most of society would call a small-town criminal. But to those oppressed, he hoped only to be a healer. In an effort to make a change in the world, he moves from kingdom to kingdom, searching for branded omegas in need. His goal? To turn the derogatory words the reformatories forced them to bear on their skin into works of art.

Then one day, his past catches up to him in the form of Taiyang, his former best friend, with a brand of his own stained onto his skin and a plea for help in his eyes. Qrow has no choice but to answer, even if it means he’d have to face his mistakes once and for all.

[An ABO-style universe in a modern-day style Remnant. No Grimm, because people are the real monsters in this one]

Ao3 Link: On Your Shoulder

When Qrow was ten, he was declared old enough to be able to spend a week away from home without his folks tagging along. Which meant he was allowed to join Tai’s family on their week-long vacation at their cabin in the woods they went to every summer.

On one condition: He had to bring Raven.

One grisly agreement to do all her chores for an entire month later found him leaping at imaginary foes in the backyard with Tai as they weaved around the maples trees forest of doom.

“Hi-yah!” Tai roundhouse kicked a beowulf into dust. “Harbinger, watch out! Three behind you!”

“You thought you could sneak up on me!” Qrow bellowed, swinging his scythe around him and sliced the three right in half.

Tai rushed past him. “Hurry! I see the exit!”

He followed him, his shorter legs struggling to keep up. But in this case it was a benefit, because he could see his friend’s path was leading him to a patch of dirt ahead. “Tatsu, watch out! Quicksand!”

“What? There’s no – oh noooo!” He wheeled his arms, flopping onto his stomach. He flailed about like a fish. “I can’t get out!”

Qrow frantically flittered at the edge. “Hold on, I’ll get you out!” He circled around to where Tai’s front half was, squatting down. After a moment’s consideration, he scooted off the grass so he was in reaching distance.

��You’re in the quicksand.” Tai whispered loudly.

“I’m not gonna pull you out by your butt.” He whispered back before going back to hero mode. “Reach! I got you!”

Silently agreeing to the no-butt policy, his friend carried on as normal. “No, it’s too late for me. Go, you have to save the kingdom without me!”

“I’d never leave you behind. It’s you and me against the world and we’re gonna stick it out to the bitter end.” Qrow vowed, hoping he sounded just as brave as the Rosette did when she was encouraging her team into the big battle during the finale of Silver Eyes. “Now take my hand!”

Tai stretched his arm out as far as it could go. Qrow scooted a bit more forward, grabbing on.

Just as he was about to pull out his friend and be the big hero, his sister ruined everything. “What are you guys doing?”

They both groaned loudly, pulling themselves off the ground.

“Raven!” Qrow whined. “You’re supposed to stay in the castle until we knock on the door!”

She gave a dismissive glance back at the shed she’d been in since they started their epic journey across the land. “You guys were taking too long. And I finished my book already.”

“Well go get another one and go back in there!” He stomped his foot angrily. Why did she always have to be the worst? They let her be the Last Boss and everything and she still couldn’t get that right.  

“Nah, I’m bored. Besides you’re not even playing it right.”

Tai looked up from the dirt he was trying to pat out of his shorts. “What do you mean?”

“You’re supposed to be the one saving him.” She explained, waving to Qrow. “Omegas aren’t strong enough to save people.”

He hunched down until his shoulders were practically touching his ears. He hated it when his sister was being a know-it-all. “Shut up. It’s our game.”

“Yeah. Besides, Harbinger is a hero. Heroes can do whatever they want.” Tai agreed, reminding Qrow why he was his best friend in the whole world.

Raven wrinkled her nose, making her face look ugly. “That’s dumb. You gotta do it right. Here, I’ll show you.” Then, with no warning at all, she strode over and shoved her hands into Qrow’s chest, knocking him down.

He yelped, trying to catch himself, his palms getting scrubbed raw on the dirt. He bit his lip, eyes starting to water.

“What are you doing?!” Tai cried as he hurried over, pushing Raven back.

Though she stumbled, she didn’t go down like Qrow had. “I said I was showing you! Look he’s already crying.”

The dam he was trying to hold back overflowed the second they were both looking at him. He scrambled to his feet, trying to hide his face as he ran away. Normally, he’d go hide up in his room but he didn’t want Tai’s parents to see him crying because then they might call his parents. Then he might have to go home. The idea only brought more sniveling.

Instead, he found himself clambering into the Secret Cave Tai had shared with him on the first day. It was a hole under the porch where the lattice had broken in. It wasn’t wide enough for an adult, but Tai and he had no problem squeezing through. The ground was littered with random odd and ends – leaves, rocks, a single black feather. They’d collected it all when they had been dragons and were gathering their hordes. He crawled around it all and made his way to the very back where the porch met the foundation of the house, sitting against it and burying his face into his knees.

He was mostly better by the time Tai crawled in beside him.

“I brought you something.” He offered him one of those prepackaged cupcakes with the little white swirls on top.

Qrow scrubbed the last of his tears away, and took the treat with a quiet, “Thanks.” The smell of chocolate hit his nose immediately as he tore into the plastic, taking a huge bite to get right to the frosting inside the middle.

Tai started picking up some of their rocks, throwing them at the lattice. The ones that didn’t slip in between the diamonds made a pleasant knocking noise as they bounced off the wood. When he’d run out of things to throw, he asked, “Wanna go and play some video games?”

The idea of leaving his hiding spot and running into his sister filled him with dread. Unsure how to say that, he just shook his head frantically.

“Okay.” Tai gathered more rocks, giving him a handful. It wasn’t a competition but Qrow started to keep count in his head as he tried to throw more of them through the holes. Though, it quickly became clear who was going to win when his friend was already up to three by the time he got his first one.

He felt like crying again and he didn’t know why.

“Tai?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Yeah.”

Qrow sat on his knees and grabbed his arm, very serious. “You can’t tell anyone else, okay? Not even if they threaten to scratch out your eyes. Not even then!”

“I won’t!” Tai motioned an X over his heart. “I swear.”

Satisfied, he settled back, though the franticness inside him only seemed to increase. Faced with the realty of saying the words aloud was more terrifying than he expected.

But if there was anyone he could trust, it was definitely Tai.

He took the biggest breath he could and let it all out in a rush, “I don’t want to be an omega.”

“Because of what Raven said?” His friend guessed.

“And everything else.” He threw a rock as hard as he could. It rebounded from the wood with enough force that it dropped back between his feet. He threw it again. “You know how we had to go get those tests done at the doctor’s so we’re ready for P.E. next year? I asked mom if I could get the special one like Raven so I could join wrestling too, but she said no, ‘cause it’s too rough for me. I hate it. I can’t do anything Raven does! They always treat her like she’s better.” He hugged his legs again, clutching onto his pants. “And you know what dad said to mom when I was begging to come here with you? He said to let me go because in a few years I won’t even want to be friends with you.”

Tai looked just about as distressed as he felt. “Wait, why wouldn’t you want to be friends with me anymore?”

“I don’t know!” He cried. “‘Cause I guess being an omega means I can’t have fun and I don’t like people and I’ll be sad all the time.”

“I don’t think that’s right.”

“Well, my mom cries almost every day and when I asked dad about it he just said it was an omega thing.”

Still frowning, Tai shook his head. “But my dad doesn’t do that. The only time I’ve seen him cry is during movies.”

“He’s probably hiding it.” Qrow claimed, because it was the only thing that made sense. His mom used to do the same thing. He only knew back then because he could hear it through the wall of his bedroom.

Tai was quiet a long moment, considering that. When he spoke again, it sounded like he was trying to work out the words as they came out of his mouth, “Maybe your dad’s wrong. Maybe it’s not an omega thing, but your mom’s thing.”

“My dad wouldn’t lie to me!” He shouted.

“Maybe he doesn’t know he is. Parents can be wrong.”

“No, they aren’t. That’s why they’re parents.” He claimed, the statement a universal truth.

But Tai had always been better at arguing than him as he pointed out, “Okay, if your dad’s right about everything, then that means he’s right about us not being friends when we grow up.”

Hearing that should have made everything better, but it just made things worse. If he couldn’t believe his mom and dad, then maybe everything was wrong. That was too much to think about.

Qrow turned his head away, curling up even tighter into a ball. He didn’t like this conversation anymore.

There was a bit of shuffling as Tai pressed in close, hugging him.

They didn’t talk again for a long time.

~

“I can’t believe you remember that.” Qrow remarked. His pen was buzzing out brown ink to shade the cave that had sparked the memory in the first place. With the onset of July, the room was sticky and hot, furthering the illusion of that long-forgotten summer day.

Tai peeked an eye open to give him a cursory glance, before burrowing his head further into his arms as a few sweeps came close to his spine. His voice was tight when he spoke, “Well, they say the mind is the first thing to go.”

“The next is motor functions.” He quipped right back as he pulled back to ink up, faking tremors in the hand still lying flat along Tai’s back. “Might just make a mistake here.”

“Don’t you dare!”

Chortling, he steadied before the needle met skin again. He continued the conversation almost absent-mindedly, “I really made a big deal out of nothing back then, huh?”

“Only seems like nothing in retrospect.” Tai contended mildly. “You know, the kids in my class are just like we were back then. Most of them are already worried about presenting – and they’re only eight! The worst of ‘em have parents like ours, who put so much emphasis on what they think their child is going to become and have already started raising them that way.”

“Yeah. It messes with their heads. As if growing up ain’t hard enough.” He scoffed. “Though even if I was raised alpha to begin with, pretty sure I was always destined to have a messy childhood.”

“Well… yeah.” The omega trailed off, unsure what to say.

What could anyone say? Between his mother’s depression that landed her in the reformatory and later death, and his dad’s developing alcoholism that resulted in Raven and he practically raising themselves from middle school onward, Qrow probably had enough issues to fill a lifetime drama series.

(Sometimes, he thought about seeking out his old man. Telling him it wasn’t his fault. That none of them knew how to help mom, least of all the suits who claimed it was just a common case of chronic hysteria.

Thought about it up until he looked in the mirror and saw the scar above his right eyebrow and reminded himself just why he had left home to begin with.)

“Still.” Tai cut through his thoughts, “I think you turned out pretty alright.”

As he pulled back to survey his work thus far, his reply was cheekily derisive, “I’m only a criminal constantly on the run from the law. So, yeah. Doing spectacular.”

But his friend had always been good at giving back what was dished out as he cupped a hand around his ear, “Oh sorry, what was that? Your newest customers are a trio of triplets? And you’re planning on spending the next several days making sure their tattoos match? Wow, you must be really dedicated to what you do to go through so much effort.”

“If you’re going to use my clients as ammo, I’m going to stop telling you about them.” Even to his ears, it sounded painfully childish. Tai grinned like he knew it too. “Come on, break time. I got to switch to the rounders for the yellow.”

Qrow undid his pen from the power cord, heading into the kitchen. His motions were practiced as he started undoing the screws that held the needle chamber in place before popping it open and taking out the needle itself, tossing it in the trash. He turned on the sink, and while he waited for the water to run hot, he heard footfalls beside him. Tai lent his hip against the counter, still modestly fascinated by the way the device came apart despite how many times he’d seen it by now.

Or maybe he just wanted to continue their conversation. “You know, I told myself early on I wouldn’t make the same mistakes my parents did.”

“Meaning?” He asked as he thrust the chamber under the steaming waterfall.

“I want to give my kids the opportunities we didn’t have. So if Yang wants to learn kickboxing and sewing, then damnit, she’s gonna learn kickboxing and sewing. And if I turn around one day and Ruby’s constructed a – a scythe, then I don’t want to tell her how alpha that was of her, I just want her to know I’m proud of her.”

“Bullshit.” Qrow laughed. “You would not be proud of her for making a scythe. You’d have a level five meltdown.”

He smacked his arm. “I was exaggerating! The point is, I want my kids to be able to explore who they are without worrying about upsetting me. Or give them lifelong doubts of whether they disappointed me by not turning out the way I expected them too.”

They weren’t talking about Ruby and Yang anymore.

The water was shut off. Qrow gave his friend a gentle glance. “Lucky for them, they’re being raised by you. You’ve never let stuff like that get in the way before, you won’t let it start with your kids.”

Tai blinked, then beamed bright as the sun. “Thanks Qrow.”

“Yeah, yeah. Now cut it out. You’re gonna make me melt.” Too late.

He already had.

[dyaz-stories]

In Heaven

This is a little follow-up to Seven Minutes, the idea’s been floating in my mind since I finished it basically. Hope you’ll enjoy it!

Tagging: @shinidamachu​ @sailorbabydoll92​ @sweetchcolate​ @clearwillow​ @zelink-inukag​ @cstorm86​ @digital-art-monster​ @danycontreras90​ @redflamesofpassion​ @lost-amidst-the-stars​ @eternalnight8806-3​ @desiree239​ @keichanz​ @ashleys-canvas​ @mustardyellowsunshine​ @meggz0rz​ @contacting-u​ @ramen—boi​

When Inuyasha had announced it was time to stop for the night, the group had taken the news with relief, and had started to unpack to set their little camp. He’d sat against a tree in his usual position, Tetsusaiga ready to be used, should he need to, and had closed his eyes for some well-deserved rest.

Or, well, that was what it looked like from an outside perspective.

Truth was, his eyes were half-lidded, only betrayed by a flash of gold every once in a while, which he was pretty sure Sango had noticed, and he followed Kagome’s every move, as she chatted with their friends and as she prepared her sleeping bag. Things had been strange between them, since they’d come back to the Feudal Era. Hell, since the morning after his human night.

It wasn’t terrible, it was just… stilted. Unnatural. Uncomfortable, in a way it just never was. Even when they were fighting, Kagome was the easiest person to be around for him, and it almost physically hurt that he didn’t have that those days.

He didn’t know what had caused it. That night, when he’d finally been able to discover what it felt like to kiss her, what it felt like to hear her say she loved him— It had all been like a dream. And, like a dream, it had faded in the morning, when they had acted like— Practically like fucking strangers, compared to how they usually were.

Ever since then, the thought had seemed to dig some black hole in his chest, swallowing everything else, every other sensation, until it consumed him fully and it was all he could think about. And all the time, one question and one question only danced it his mind.

Why?

There was no apparent reason he could think of, no answer to that question. Nothing had changed between them, since that night, to his knowledge. Or, well, nothing but the obvious.

He wasn’t human anymore.

As soon as the idea had crossed his mind, he couldn’t free himself from it. Kagome had never seemed to have prejudices against him being a half-demon. Fuck, she even loved those stupid ears that screamed to everyone what he was, as if the eyes and hair didn’t make it clear enough.

However, there was a big fucking difference between not having a problem with him being a half-demon and loving one. Maybe, as he’d suspected already a long time ago, maybe he truly had to be human, if he wanted to be loved. He’d never thought he’d be loved as a full demon, just feared, but as a human, it could happen to him, and he craved that love, her love, more than anything else in the world.

She would never ask him to become human, Inuyasha knew, she just wasn’t like that, but in his mind, there was a very real possibility that that was the version of him she loved. The human one. He didn’t doubt that she cared, always, but love… He’d been told before that he couldn’t be loved. He’d believed it. In the end, it was just a confirmation.

He didn’t dwell on other ideas, because in that scenario, she at least loved one version of him, someone he could become once they got their hands on the full Jewel. He didn’t want to consider the possibility that she’d regretted it in the morning.

That night, he decided to take action. He couldn’t stand the distance between them any longer. He’d never had much, but at least he had that, he had her around him, and he couldn’t let it be taken away from him.

“Wanna go for a walk?” he offered to her after dinner, in a voice that was almost a growl because of how tense he was.

The smile she gave him in reply, as she nodded cheerfully, almost soothed all of his concerns. Fuck, he didn’t know how she did it, but when she smiled it was like everything inside him just melted. The world stopped turning, and he had no trouble believing that maybe she did love him.

But then he swallowed and looked away. Nah. He couldn’t let himself be delusional any longer.

He didn’t miss the way Shippo, Miroku and Sango eyed each other as they left, but he ignored them. Those assholes.

He stopped a while further, where he was sure they wouldn’t be able to hear them. When he turned around to face her, he was surprised to see a blush on her face, obvious to his eyes even if she was only lighted by the pale light of the moon. She seemed to be just as unable to look away as he was.

Unfortunately for her, since she didn’t have his sure footing, she tripped on a rock.

He caught her, of course, strong hands catching her arms as she stumbled against him. For a moment, they only stared at each other, and Inuyasha realized that fuck, he liked that. It was almost like they were back in that stupid closet where this whole mess had started. Her skin was warm, her body was pressed against his, and her lips were parted, inviting and sinfully tempting.

This time, however, his senses were heightened, and everything was more intense, fuller. His hearing wasn’t the best, compared to his other abilities, but from this close, he could still hear her heart hammering in her chest. He could see her dilated pupils, and most importantly, he could smell her distinctly.

He really, really hoped he could kiss her with those senses. His previous experiences had basically been heaven, so he could only imagine what that would be like.

Except the reason why he’d brought her here was because he didn’t think that would happened. So he released her, and Kagome pulled back, glancing away from him, and rubbing the spot where his hands had just been.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking…” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I could use the Jewel, once we get it back from fucking Naraku.”

That brought her eyes back to him, worry shining bright inside them, ‘cause of course she’d worry.

“To become a full demon?” she questioned him, alarmed. “I thought you’d changed your mind on that!”

“That ain’t what I meant,” he growled, rolling his eyes. “I meant, y’know, I could still wish to become human.”

“Why?” she asked, and the genuine horror in her voice took him by surprise. “You don’t— You don’t want to— To go back to Kikyo, do you?”

“What? No! Why the fuck would you even think that?”

That was not at all how he’d envisioned this conversation going. For fuck’s sake, what was Kikyo even doing in here? Things always went south when they brought her up.

“Well she was the one you wanted to become human for, wasn’t she?”

Kagome’s voice broke, and Inuyasha realized with horror that it was trembling with tears. Unable to stop himself, he took a step towards her, and she lifted her chin to stare up at him defiantly.

“I told you I—” Fuck. “I told ya I loved ya, didn’t I?” He could feel his cheeks burning, and boy was he glad she couldn’t see him. Stupid human senses were good for one thing at least.

“And I told you I—”

And then she paused, and Inuyasha felt his heart was ripped from his chest during this silence. All he could do was wait, suspended to her lips, waiting for her to finish her sentence.

She didn’t.

Instead, she filled the gap between them, pulled him down towards her, and kissed him almost desperately. She understood exactly where his mind had gone, and she wanted him to know. As she entangled her fingers in his hair, as she opened his mouth against his, she wanted him to know that she loved him. No matter what version of him he was.

Inuyasha responded with the same energy, his senses completely taken over by everything her. Even if he’d tried to hold himself back, he didn’t think he wouldn’t have been to, but as it was, he towered over her, cradling her face in his hands, as her tongue darted out to explore his mouth. He tensed, briefly, when he realized she had to be tracing his fangs, but it didn’t seem to deter her, far from it, so he finally lost it.

Before he realized what he was doing, they were falling down in the grass, and he managed to move just in time so she wouldn’t hurt herself. She somehow landed on top of him, and he felt her tremble with laughter against his chest for a few moments before she pushed herself up. She’d managed to compose herself already, and she was deadly serious.

“I love you, Inuyasha,” she told him firmly, lifting a hand to trace his jaw. “I love you as a human, and I love you as a half-demon.” Her fingers moved to his temple as she gazed into his eyes, and Inuyasha forgot how to breath. “You’re always you,” she smiled. “You’re always the person I fell in love with.”

He swallowed with some difficulty and pushed himself up, resulting in her sitting in his lap. He cleared his throat, trying to think, which turned out to be fucking hard when she was so close. That probably explained why his response to the girl he’d loved for months reaffirming her love for him was him growling.

“Then why have you been so fucking weird ‘bout it?”

She rolled her eyes.

“You’re just more— open, when you’re human. You’ve said things to me during your human nights and regretted them or taken them back in the morning. I just… I wasn’t sure this wasn’t one of those times.”

“Keh. Of course not.” He slid a clawed hand under her chin to get her to look at him and leaned forward. He was blushing, even she could tell from that close. His eyes were glowing with something fierce, daring, but also with an absolute sincerity. “Just so you know, I’ve always meant everything I’ve said to ya as a human. Tend to have a big mouth those nights.”

“Only those nights?” she giggled.

“Fucking smartass,” he grinned. “Y’know what I mean. Things feel different and I don’t know, it comes out easier. But they were true then and they’re true now. I love ya.”

There. Couldn’t make it any clearer, and he hoped she’d enjoyed that, ‘cause he didn’t think he’d ever tell it again, so that better be good enough.

From her smile, it seemed to be.

“And I love you,” she replied, closing her eyes and letting her forehead rest against his. “Don’t ever doubt it.”

He wouldn’t. Especially now that, apparently satisfied with their conversation, she was kissing him again. He groaned in her mouth, hands moving to grab her hips and pulling her just a little closer

As the girl who overcame time kissed him and repeated to him that she loved him, over and over again, the words music in his ears, the boy let himself be just overcome.

[yolkyeomie]

Iced Americano | lee jeno

summary — you don’t even like coffee anymore, so why do you have an iced americano in your hands now?

word count — 2k words

pairing — jeno x gender neutral!reader

genre — coffee shop + college au, my sad attempt at humor but really it’s just me kinda losing my mind in the middle of writing this

disclaimer — this was originally made for a close friend of mine so reader is heavily based off of her! also ignore any and all typos thank you

You'd like to say you’re rather good at talking to people

Sure you may have a rather small friend group, but still

The size of your friend group doesn’t equate to how good at socializing you are

Besides !!!

Everyone finds it really easy to approach you and you're really kind back to them !!

That is if they come to you with the right attitude

So it’s not hard to say you’re known very well throughout the campus of ur university

I mean you’re not like POPULAR POPULAR but you’re nice attitude makes people just gravitate towards you a lot

And you liked that!! The attention made you feel validated and loved

was today one of those days where everyone is just super nice to you?

Yeah !!

haha no it wasn’t really

you tolerate a lot of stuff okay

You juggle a lot of responsibilities on your back while still trying to keep in touch with your friends so they don’t feel like you’ve abandoned them or something

but it was REALLY hard tryna keep up with everything

especially when your close friend group was full of boys who didn’t know the exact meaning of organization

trying to keep them situated before they went and burned themselves out was HARD

and then trying to manage yourself at the same time??

sometimes you were ready to throw yourself off the top of fifty story building

and unfortunately for you

today was just one of those days

thankfully it wasn’t because your friends are a genuine mess but

Uni is HARD

as a college student you must put up with a lot of… stuff

I mean some professors can be,,,,, UNKIND to say the least

But usually they were rather lenient and understanding !!

Except for this one. professor.

They always seemed like they were on the verge of losing their mind

And toda must have been the perfect day for them to do that

because your professors summoned the LITERAL devil from within to torture everyon in your clas

But especially you

so let’s just say you’ve been scolded a lot and given wayyyy too much work for no absolute reason

you’re about this close to bashing your head against the wall but you gotta hang on

YOU'RE NOT IN COLLEGE FOR NOTHING AFTER ALL!!!

so you find yourself absently complaining about how much work you have to do today and your friends are like

“That’s tough,,, I’m so sorry [y/n]”

what else can they say really??? they aren’t in your major and they can’t really understand your struggles even tho they wish they could

Well scratch that

they don’t want to understand because that’s ANOTHER work load of information that would constantly be rattling in their heads

Haechan had decided to become a computer engineer when he decided to pick up a major, so his brain was just always fried

Jisung was still trying decide what he wanted to go into and chenle was very serious about becoming a business just so he could accumulate as much money as he possibly could

You always forget what Jaemin had decided to major in, but it wasn’t very interesting to you in the first place

And renjun had decided to major in some form of art, the easier out the four majors mentioned before

Or at least you thought they were easy

Either way TRUST AND BELIEVE if jaemin knew just a little about your major and was able to witness the unfairness in front of him

he’d probably get expelled

anyways renjun had noticed you just getting ready to cry in the corner about how overworked you were

and for once in his life decided to try and help out, not with work tho

why would he ever help with work

“do you want something to eat??? Maybe drink??? I know this place near us that we can go to”

“Thank you so much I’d love to eat and drink and pass out and do nothing about this work when I get home”

yes that’s exactly what you wanted to and nothing was about to stop you

anyways you two were hanging out with each other either way, so it worked very well in ur opinion

You walking down this street towards some restaurants and stores while you were chatting

trying to decide where you wanted to settle down and rest like renjun has suggested

but you uh

notice something strange

you’re passing all the places you usually like to eat at because

renjun kept saying no?

he didn’t want to go to ANY of your usual hangout spots?????

WHY IS RENJUN PASSING ALL YOUR HANGOUT SPOTS??

They were hangout spots for REASON.

good atmosphere, good food, nice people??? they’reperfect !!

so why was he declining every single one of them???

“Hey renjun,,,, where are we going”

“?? To get something to eat and drink??????”

“No like WHERE ARE WE GOING?????”

“TO GET SOMETHING TO EAT AND DRINK WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN???????????”

you two started getting into a small argument, you being annoyed that he was declining every suggestion you through and him being annoyed that you kept question his choices

that was, until he finally stopped

“Oh perfect!! we’re here!!”

You turned to look at him and find that he’s standing in front,,,

,,,, a coffee shop

COFFEE shop????

you’re more of a SODA WATER TEA JUICE ANYTHING BUT COFFEE PERSON

well your parents drink coffee and all no doubt

and when you were a kid you used to drink coffee ALL OF THE TIME

you always had to get your own cup because you’d drink all of your parents’ under ten mins

but uh as you got older

it started to taste

worst?

you started to lose the taste for coffee as you got older and it was just downhill from there

*one sip* “THATSHS HORRIAVKE”

it really surprised your parents

and jaemin

but no one ever wants to drink jaemin’s coffee

please you watched renjun and haechan almost DIE from drinking it, coffee and choking and everything

when jaemin asked jisung to try it as a joke he bursted into tears

when chenle was presented the opportunity he cash apped him money and ran for it

please you almost PUNCHED jaemin for even thinking of making you try it

maybe it’s partly jaemin’s fault you can’t drink coffee anymore

“renjun uh,,,,, I don’t want coffee,,,?? You know I don’t drink that stuff. do they have like anything but that”

“yeah they have coffee coffee and coffee”

“literally,,, you’re the worst”

“No thanks :D”

yeah so you got dragged into the coffee shop

it wasn’t vsco girl Starbucks level inside

it was really small

only a couple of tables scattered about with white cloth covering them and little lights strung up along the walls to make the ambience of the room nice and cozy

There was a small chalkboard menu on the counter as well, with the day’s special and little drawings of flowers and animals around the words.

it was really cute you can’t lie

There was an even larger menu behind the really cute cashier at the cash register that detailed all of the drinks they sold as well

there was also— wait what

back track back track THERE'S A REALLY CUTE CASHIER AT THE CASH REGISTER

PAUSE BECAUSE YOU'RE ENTIRE BODY F R O Z E ON THE SPOT

“[y/n] you there”

“[y/n]?”

“[y/n] move you're blocking the door”

listen you’re not HORRIBLE at communication, it was definitely one of your strong suits in life

But this???

You were practically malfunctioning at this point

seriously you felt like you were in a romance show

you made eye contact with him and nearly tripped over your own two feet

how did you fall so head over heels for this guy so quickly???? He hadn’t even said a WORD

“Can I take your order?”

“Can you what?”

oh god oh god OH GOD HES TALKING TO YOU

wait he’s supposed to do that it’s his job

your eyes looked down towards the name tag pinned onto the apron he wore

lee jeno

wow… you could say his name for hours and never get tired of it

renjun is just kinda,,,, staring at you to get a move on

oh no did he already order

DID HE ALREADY ORDER WHILE YOU WERE ZONING OUT

NO YOU ARE NOT READY WAIT

WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO?? YOU DONT EVEN LIKE COFFEE

“excuse me? are you ready to order?”

he gave you an amused smile and god it felt like the sun was shining down on you

Jeno was getting more ethereal with every word that came out of his mouth

but you couldn’t keep him waiting you were embarrassing yourself

you stared at the board above him and just blurted out whatever you saw first

“I-I I’ll have a uh iced americano…”

What's even in americanos?????

you hoped it wasn’t gross,,,

if it was it would REALLY awkward having to ask for a bunch of sugar packets to sweeten it

but then jeno smiled at you

“okay! can I have your name please?”

“,,, uh [y/n]”

“[y/n].... what a pretty name for a pretty person”

please god you are about to explode

HE CALLED YOUR NAME PRETTY AND YOU P R E T T Y AT THE SAME TIME??

anyways you’re losing your mind if you can’t tell

and renjun thinks your brain might be on emergency mode right now

and that’s not what youneed is it now?

so he decided to save you the embarrassment and pay for the drinks himself and push you towards one of the tables

you’re seated away from jeno so that you don’t melt into a little puddle if he catches you staring

which you did a lot more then you’d like to admit

“okay so he’s definitely flirting with you”

“AND THAT'S SUPPOSED TO MAKE ME FEEL BETTER???”

“uh yeah? you’re supposed to feel better after knowing someone is genuinely flirting with you”

“RENJUN.”

you love renjun but rn you wanna punch him because HNG YOU DON'T KNOW BOW TO HANDLE THIS RIGHT NOW

“please let’s not think about this right—“

“He’s staring at you”

“He’s WHAT”

please renjun is laughing so hard this is incredibly funny to you

no he wasn’t looking at you he was making someone’s coffee

perhaps your coffee???

or whatever the HELL renjun has ordered

but you saw jeno stop for a moment and glance at you

and the minute he realized you were looking at him too he started BEAMING

LIKE HE WAS OUTSHINING THE SUN

“RENJUN RENJUN RENJUN RENJUN—“

“I’m right here calm down”

“Miss [y/n]?”

PAUSE PAUSE PAUSE

your name sounds really nice coming from him

how did you not notice that before !!!!

“[y/n] your Americano“

“RIGHT”

you move like a robot over to jeno

are you so nervous???? AND YOU'LL PROBABLY NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN

UGH LIFE IS CRUEL

He’s all smiley and giving you the SWEETEST SMILE and jeno’s like “your americano !! I hope you enjoy it, I made it with a lot of love !!

someone send help right now

he made yours with a lot of LOVE

“ ahh !! Thank you!!!”

“I advise you to not drink americanos tho,,, they don’t suit you”

???? what does that mean

“You should try our caffe mocha, it’s sweeter than what you’re drinking now. Just like you !! I’m jeno btw”

YOU SLY BASTARD

I c what u did there

“AHHHHHH THANKS ??? I UH IM [Y/N] NICE TO MEET YOU”

you’re so stupid he already knows your name

well you already know his name you were staring at his name tag

but you’re having a sensory overload so it’s okay

renjun snickers from the back, tho highkey realizing he hasn’t received HIS DRINK YET AND MIGHT THROW A FIT

though eventually he got his drink so he was happy then, tho still a little annoyed with how love struck you were with jeno

you did have to drag him out of the coffee shop because he was going to make a complaint flirting cuz he was getting tired of it

oh and you?

After a few (many) visits you can say you definitely like caffe mochas now

but you did keep getting iced americanos every time you visited

the sweet boy who makes them the drinks always makes yours with lots of love

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

for your song fics, could you do feeling whitney by post malone with cal? also if it's not too much to ask, if you could make the reader an asian reader insert? there's not too much rep for asians in 5sos imagines so i just wanna feel a little more included haha. you can do anything you want with the story really. thank you so so much : )

Thanks for the song suggestion! I truly, and deeply, hope that I did your request justice. Please reach out if I’ve done anything wrong and I’ll take it down. 

Enjoy my masterlist!

Support me on Kofi

*No one has my permission to repost even with credit, including translations. Copyright be-ready-when-i-say-go, 2020*

______________________________________________

Starry Nights

You met Calum when he was younger. As you sit and watch him now, you remember the way his voice cracked sometimes, or the way he’d get fluster when girls would approach him. You remember the lanky boy he used to be and how he never really talked much. He still doesn’t. But right now, there’s still not much he has to say as he tips the glass bottle up. 

You’re holding yours between your fingers and blinking your vision into focus. You’re praying your cheeks aren’t red, but you know they are. You know anyone can look at you and have a barometer for how much you’ve had. Tonight though is a lighter night. Calum called you, while you were eating lunch and sounded like he had a lot on his mind but didn’t want to disrupt your day. 

“Silence from you this long is not good,” you say, setting the bottle onto the tap between you and Calum. Duke’s perched under the sun chairs, right under Calum’s feet. 

Calum turns, taking in the inky black of your hair. The way it fades almost matching exactly to the darkening sky. “I don’t know,” he starts, sighing. “I’ve got the life I’ve always dreamed up.” You nod, waiting for him to continue as you wipe the sweat off the glass off your fingers into the palm of your hand. “But sometimes I feel like a fraud.”

Without thinking you let a small scoff out. You’re not stranger to that feeling. “Me if you asked my family what the hell I was doing with my life.”

You moved out to LA just to get a change of pace. And while it wasn’t necessarily a lie that you were moving because of a job, you hadn’t told your parents about the whole art thing too. How you had gotten serious about it. You didn’t tell them about the nights you spent in the basement of a studio, splattering paint and failing, but also succeeding and landing into art shows. It really was only supposed to be a hobby, like it was when you were a kid. But you couldn’t silence the voice inside your head that made you crave the artistic release. 

“You’re not a fraud. I’m sure they don’t think that.”

“Well, it’s because they don’t know,” you laugh. “But you’re not a fraud either, Calum. If I’m not a fraud, then you’re not a fraud.”

It’s at times like this, as you stare up into the skies that you wish more often you could see the stars out here. You know they’re there, but you can’t see them. It’s like the best friend that somehow wound up at a different university, or moved halfway across the country, you always keep contact, you know what’s happening with each other. But you can’t see each other like you want. 

“Do you think the stars feel like frauds? Like, think about it,” you start. “We’re seeing death right before our eyes. Dying light and do you ever think stars wish we understood how they felt? Like they’re not some sort of symbol for hope or whatever. They’re literally dying.”

“God,” Calum laughs after licking his lips to collect the last drops of his ginger beer. “You surely know how to make this morbid.”

“No--really, like think about it! Stars we are seeing died light years ago. What hope is left?”

“Residual,” Calum counters. “Maybe even after we’re gone we can mean something to somebody. Even if it’s just like, one person, or even if it doesn’t make waves like we wanted. Like, maybe my music doesn’t have to turn tides now, but it can mean something to some kid forty years from now.”

And you grin, bringing your bottle to your lips. Calum turns and watching you, the smile evident even as you drink. “You little shit!”

“Feel like a fraud still?” you ask. The second you started being negative you knew Calum would counter you. Which would in turn help him counter his own negativity. 

“Not as much as before. But it’s more like, why did I get chosen for this and not some other kid? I could’ve had football. I had a whole other route laid out for me.”

“You lucked out kid. Because you’re talented and because you deserve it. Sure, you could’ve had success with football. But let’s be honest, it’s grueling--physically. If you got severely injured what else would you have had? Let’s be honest. You were a kid when all that was starting, would you have had the same guidance, and even bad experiences about being smart with money.”

“It would’ve been a whole different world for sure,” he muses. It’s silent between you, the both of you reclined into the seats. Duke’s tags and paws click signaling his trot back to the opened back door. “Pool’s cleaned,” Calum says, turning to face you again. 

His grin is boyish but drips with whatever crazy plan he has concocting in his head. “What’s that supposed to mean to me, Hood?”

“You’ll see,” he laughs, standing. He pulls his arms through the white tank and slips out of the basketball shorts. He takes out in a run before letting himself sink into the water. It rushes around his head and ears and for a second, it’s just him and the tile of his pool, just him and all the racing thoughts being pushed out of his head because water is invading. 

Then he’s floating, arms rising and his head breaks the surface just in time to see you jumping into the water next to him. The wave crashes over him and he laughs, waiting for your head to crest the surface too. 

Both of you are disrobed, letting your limbs bob as the water settles back down around you, the water is bathed by the twinkling string lights that finally flicker on and even though the amber hue is soft, it’s bright. He can watch the water refract light off your skin. 

Water drips from your lashes and you wipe at your face with wet hands. “You’re a mad man, Hood.”

“Thanks. For listening.”

“You’re not a man of many words. It’s not hard,” you laugh, using your arms and hands like a scoop to carry some water up and then dump it back into the pool. It trickles down your arm. “But I mean, you can always come to me. Just to talk. Just to listen. Whatever it is.”

“It means a lot, you know.” Calum says, standing not too far in front of you. You catch the reflection of his gold chain against his chest and silver bracelet dazzling on his wrist. “And you know, I’m there too. For you.”

You nod. “I know.” 

Calum swims to the edge, arms resting onto the scratchy concrete. “Maybe the stars feel a little bit like you said. Like they want us to understand that they are dying light. But still light enough to guide the way.”

You join him, arms holding you up too as your legs kick in front of you. “And maybe having choices isn’t all bad. Can’t move forward if you’re so worried about that left turn you took, you know?”

His laughter is mostly an exhalation as you too share a short gaze, soft and understanding. The right side of his face lifting higher into a smile. “Some might call it a right turn.”

“I agree with the some people.”

-H

[good-rwbyaus]

convincing |  #Actors and Actresses AU | mod lilac

AU where RWBY is an award-winning television show. Not many people realize that this show was actually a means for young actors and actresses to practice roles outside of what they usually play. Unintended consequences and out-of-character actors/actresses ensue. Previous pieces under the AU tag. 

Character: Yang, Blake

convincing | before filming

“No. Just no,” Yang shook her head as she stared at the deluded girl through her half-rimmed glasses. The labcoat she wore crumpled a little as she crossed her arms underneath her chest. 

Across from her was Blake who was sadly one of her two best friends, currently sucking on a lollipop and wearing a midnight black dress that was definitely not part of the dress code in this academy. Seriously, one small accident, and that dress is going to fall ap- errr...why was she thinking about that? Arggh. Dang it Blake.  

She shook her head to rid herself of the random thought. 

“Yaaaang. Come on. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity, and I’m allowed to invite anyo-.” 

“Blake, it’s an opportunity for you, but I’m going to be an engineer. What am I going to do with acting skills?” Yang said disinterestedly, arranging the papers on her desk onto neat stacks. 

“It’ll be a nice change in pace for one. You can’t stay in this frozen wasteland all year,” the dark-haired girl grumbled as she wove a hand at the snow-crusted windows, “And it’d be nice to return to a place where skinny dipping wasn’t equivalent to a death sentence. Can’t go to the beach without your nippl-” 

“Blake!” 

“-ples freez- What? It’s true,” Blake said innocently under Yang’s incredulous stare. “Don’t be such a prude. Besides...” Blake elegantly stretched out her arms and turned her chin up,  “didn’t you say you wish you were more like beautiful, gracious, and assertive me?”

Yang stared in disbelief. How can someone’s skin be this thick?

“...I’m pretty sure I said I wished I was more confident,” Yang deadpanned, “The world definitely doesn’t need another you.” 

“I totally think the world needs a couple more of me’s, “ Blake hummed before suddenly leaning forward towards Yang’s face. She could smell the cherry flavor of the lollipop in the other girl’s breath. “How else am I gonna achieve my goal of permanently making you look like a tomato?” 

“That’s exactly why!” Yang yelled with a reddened face and then palmed Blake’s face lightly to push her away. “I’m not going!”

“Look, I don’t want to be pushy, but you said you wanted to be more confident.” Blake sighed before raising her index finger to the air.

“Confidence is really nothing more than playing a role. Being bigger than you actually are. And- ” Blake started before pausing. She pointed at Yang’s arm. 

“Wait. Can you get your hand off my face for a second? I’m being super serious here.” 

Belatedly Yang stopped palming the other girl’s face. 

“Everything in the world is just an act. You want to be an engineer, right?” Blake planted her hands at her hips. “You can tell others you’re smart and hard-working until you’re blue in the face, but no one’s gonna believe it if you can’t  play the part - show it in your body and actions. You’re always hunched over and looking like you wanna hide. You find it hard to look at others in the eye. You sneak around at the fringes of things...”

Yang grimaced at Blake’s observations because they were all true. Blake sighed.

"Holing up in the labs won’t suddenly grant you the skills needed to project confidence and smarts and integrity. Because they’re skills - you get them through use. That’s why this really is a good opportunity for you.” Blake finished gently and then adding self-righteously, “Why do you think I bring you clubbing with me all the time?”

“...That’s the reason why you keep bringing me to dance clubs?” Yang stared at Blake dully.  

“Well...maybe not entirely,” Blake smiled sheepishly before giving her a wink, “But my good intentions are still there! Besides I know you’ve been feeling homesick, and you haven’t taken a single vacation in the two years I’ve known you. Think about it as just going on an elective. An educational elective!” 

...She did miss her family despite the many differences between them. Most families didn’t have two moms and a dad. Most families didn’t consist completely of actors like her two moms, her dad, and even her younger sister. They didn’t question her when she went into engineering instead of the typical arts and drama route, but they were supportive like nothing else, even if they didn’t quite understand what she actually worked on. The love of family, she supposed. 

Blake must’ve noticed something in her face because she added, “And your family definitely misses you. So you gotta go back and show them you’re alright. And your sister’s participating too, so it’ll be a fun family gathering.”

“She is?”

“Would I lie to you?”

“Didn’t you just li-?” Yang grumbled.

“Actually that wasn’t a lie. I just asked a rhetorical question that implied something completely different,” Blake smirked looking like a cat that caught the canary, “In all seriousness, my family is close friends with one of the organizers, so she let me know some of the confirmed list beforehand. And you wouldn’t be the only non-actor there. I heard a certain Arc is bringing someone who totally has no acting background to learn, so you’ll be in good company.”

“...Alright, I’ll think about it. No promises though.”

“No worries. Like I said, it’s an once in a lifetime opportunity involving the best actors. I wouldn’t ask you if I thought it’d hurt you,” Blake smiled, “Anywaaay, I’ll stop bothering you. I have to try and not fail Dr. Polendina’s physics quiz first thing in the morning, or my fam’s gonna cut me off from my allowance money. They’re too cruel.”

“It’s almost midnight! Why are you still here?!”

“Because I have a terrible family who insists on me getting a highly coveted, well-rounded education despite the fact I’m going to be an actress when I grow up,” deadpanned the other girl.

“Errr...”

“Well time to suffer... Catch you later, Yang!” Blake ran back to her room on the other side of the hall. 

After her footsteps receded, silence returned. 

Her eyes wandered over to the picture of her family on her desk: her uncle, her moms, her dad, and Ruby. She lowered her gaze briefly, considering the words that Blake told her. An opportunity to become more than she currently is, an opportunity to see her family, and maybe more importantly a chance to really understand her family and what they do. 

She nodded her head to herself, resolve now in her purple hues. 

“Alright. I’ll do it.” 

[mermaidxatxheart]

Paint Me a Memory Chapter Fourteen

I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted in this story. I hope you like this chapter, it’s going to be text mixed in with pictures. (Edit: I suck. additions are at the bottom. Eek.)

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Mood board made for me by @captainsteveevans​

Warnings: fluff, swearing, mentions of crying, the usual suspects.

Series Master List

Chapter Fourteen

 I try not to crowd you, I try not to hover, but it’s hard. Being around you is addicting. I left you last night with a heavy heart, full of regret at not kissing you. 

 But it wouldn’t have been right. You were distracted by something on your phone, and although I think you flirt, I’m not sure how serious it is. You’re important to me and if I’m given the chance to do this, I want to do it right.

 “Bucky?” You start, looking over at me. Your face full of worry.

“Yeah?” I ask, pulling up in front of my studio. 

 “Did you mean what you said yesterday? About my stuff being good?” You ask and I frown. 

 “Absolutely. I don’t...” I park and look at you. “It’s hard to believe, when you feel the way you do right now, it’s hard to believe the good things. Our minds are constantly trying to bring us down, make us think we’re not good enough.” I cup your face gently, hoping you’re really listening. “But I promise you, you are good enough. I did mean what I said. You’ve developed your talent into an amazingly impressive skill. You’ve mastered more mediums, more styles than anyone I’ve met. And you keep pushing yourself to do more. If you keep going, you’re going to catch up to Da Vinci himself.” My thumb strokes your soft cheek. “I promise, I’ll never lie to you about anything. I’ll always give you an honest opinion about anything you want.”

 Your hands clutch at my wrists as you squeeze your eyes shut. “Thank you.” You whisper. I carefully kiss your forehead and pull away before I do something to make a fool of myself. 

 We head inside the same as before and this time you get right to work. You strip out of your coat and pick up the mallet and chisel. 

 Something feels different today. You were excited about the snack, but then you turned into this stress ball. I could boil it down to the rejection letter you got that prompted all of this, but I feel like there’s more to it. Rejection is a part of this business and I don’t feel like you’re the type of person to let that get you down. Maybe it’s whatever is going on with your professor. I don’t like the thought of you doubting yourself. Let alone someone else making you doubt yourself. I’ve seen your work, and you basically called that stuff your bottom tier work. If those are your worst displays, I’d love to see your best. I bet it would be like standing in front of the Mona Lisa herself. 

 I set my playlist, a softer collection of songs this time. It seems more fitting, considering your mood. I wish I could help you. 

 “How do you feel about pizza for dinner?” I asked, leaning against the bench next to you.

 “That’s fine.” You shrug. 

 “Sausage and mushrooms?”

 “And spinach?” You ask apprehensively. 

 “You got it. How do you feel about wings?”

 “Hopeful.” You reply. 

 I chuckle. “Understood.” I wander away, letting you work. I putter around, avoiding any actual work. I wander up to the loft and do some pushups to work off some energy, but the whole time I’m listening to you work. 

 Yesterday, you sang along with every song that came on, but there’s no humming from you today. I walk back down just as you stop hammering. Your shoulders are hunched, hands braced in front of you. 

 “Y/N?” I start, coming around to see you. “Did you hit your fingers again, doll?” I ask, but I didn’t hear any swearing. You’re usually louder when you do that.

 “No.” You grumble. 

 “What’s wrong?” I gently take your elbow and you twist towards me. Your eyebrows are pinched together, your chin dimples as you crush your lips together. You look ready to cry. 

 “You don’t have to work on this today, sweetheart. We can just hang out, watch movies and talk.” I say. You nod, your lower lip starting to tremble. “C’mere.” I hold my arms out and you step between them, pressing your face into my chest. Your arms tighten around my waist as I hug you tightly. I gently rub your back, but that only seems to break the dam a little bit more.

 “Come on. Get your coat.” I tell you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

 “Where are we going?” You ask, wiping your eyes. 

 “My place. I have a TV there, we’ll be more comfortable.” I say and you nod, turning to grab your coat. I notice your phone on the counter light up with a phone call from PQ.

 “Your phone’s ringing,” I call to you.

 “Decline. If it’s that important, they’ll leave a message. And my roommates text in the group chat so everyone can know my business.” You sigh. 

 “Have you told them what’s going on?” I ask.

 “They know most of it. How I keep getting rejected.” You shrug, flipping your hair out of your coat. 

 “How about the part you’re not telling me? Anyone you feel comfortable with talking to about that?” I ask, handing your phone to you and you flush red.

 “You know about that?” You ask.

 “I know enough about you to know you’re not telling me everything. And that’s okay. It’s your business. But I think that you should talk to someone. Maybe they’ll have some insight and advice on how to handle it. You don’t have to carry the weight of this alone.” I say and you gesture me closer. I smile, leaning towards you, and you peck my cheek.

 “You’re really smart. I don’t care what anyone else says about you.” You grin and I roll my eyes.

 “Glad to see you’re feeling better,” I mutter.

 “I’ll talk to Gamora. She’s the most level headed of my friends. The one voted most likely to listen first, ask questions second and shoot third.” You admit, following me over to the front door. 

 “Good. I hope she can help you.” I unlock my car and you climb in quietly. Your phone lights up in your lap.

  “Are you sure you don’t need to answer that? They seem really persistent.” I aim my car towards my condo.

 “Positive. It’s just my professor. I yelled at him today, told him basically to fuck off and leave me alone. I understand he’s trying to help me, but honestly, the sight of his name on my phone makes me want to cunt punt him across campus.” You shake your head, rubbing your face. 

 “That’s a new expression.” I chuckle. But inside I’m seething. I’m liking this guy less and less with everything you tell me about him. “What’s your professor’s name? Has he published anything? Maybe I’ve heard of him.” I say and you roll your eyes. 

 “Peter Quill. And I doubt you’ll have heard of him. If he has anything published it was way before my time.” You mutter.

 I park in the garage and wait for you to join me on the other side. You link your arm with mine, head resting on my shoulder. 

 “Thank you.” You say softly. 

 “I didn’t do anything, doll.” I shrug. 

 “You aren’t judging me, and you didn’t get mad that I didn’t want to talk.”

 “I’m here to listen if you want to, and of course, I won’t judge you. But I also realize that we haven’t known each other long, and I can appreciate that you might not feel completely comfortable talking to me. I’ve met enough artistic people to know how tight-lipped they can be.” I look down at you, jabbing the button for the elevator. “You don’t owe me a thank you for being a decent human being.”

 You make a little noise in the back of your throat as we step into the elevator. “Bucky Barnes, you just may be perfect.” You mutter, burying your face in the fabric of my coat.

 “Nah. Just raised right,” I say, but my face flushes at your words. Your phone dings again and you glance at it for barely a second. “Him again?”

 ���Roommates. Talking about what’s for dinner.” You shrug, turning the sound off before it can ding again.

 “You don’t have to mute it,” I say, leading you out of the elevator towards my door. 

 “It’ll get annoying. My three idiots can never agree on anything. Pete wants Mexican always, MJ wants Chinese, Mora wants something completely different. They’ll argue back and forth for a while until I jump in and remind them that they can each get their own thing delivered.” You roll your eyes and I laugh. “They’re a mess.”

 “They sound like fun. I’d love to meet them.” I say, unlocking my front door and letting you go in.

 “I’m sure you will. They won’t let this one go. And I’m sure Pete will love the chance to threaten you.” You shrug out of your coat and I hang it up on the coat rack. 

 “Make your self at home. Movies are over on the shelf.” I tell you, heading for the kitchen. “Want anything?”

 “Do you have coffee creamer?” You ask and I look at you curiously. 

 “You want to drink coffee creamer? Like, by itself?”

 You laugh, face scrunched up in the most adorable way. “No, but if you have some, I’d love some coffee.”

 “Ah. That makes much more sense.” I grin, pulling down the coffee grounds. 

 “Do I wanna drink coffee creamer?” You scoff. “You’re a strange guy, Barnes. A strange guy.”

 I chuckle, glancing back at you as you move around my space. I like seeing you here more than I should, probably, for having known you for such a short amount of time.

 “You have three copies of each Lord of the Rings movies.” You say, pointing at the shelf and turning to look at me. 

 “I do, limited edition, ultimate edition, and the anniversary edition,” I say with a grin. “They’re some of my favorite movies.” 

 “The art is stunning in it.” You agree and I swear I could kiss you. “I know what I want to watch.” You say, pulling the Fellowship off the shelf. 

 “You’re a goddess,” I mutter. 

 You grin and set it on the back of the couch. “Bathroom?”

 “Down that hallway. To the left.” I start cleaning up my dishes from this morning as you walk away, humming Beyoncé’s Irreplaceable. I chuckle to myself. 

Chapter Fifteen

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[pcychedelic]

As Sweet As Vanilla

For anonymous

Pairing: Park Chanyeol/Reader

Tags: Smut, virgin!Chanyeol, sex work

Rating: Explicit

Words: 2.9k

“Hey,” a voice says from behind you. You turn around and see your boss, Hyesung, holding a frozen margarita. “Someone’s looking for you at table eleven. Asked for you by name,” she says, and then takes a sip from her drink. “Wants to book a night. You know the drill.”

Of course you know the drill. You know it like the back of your hand because it’s what has been paying your bills for the past five years or so.

Hyesung’s strip club doubles as a brothel, but since the latter’s illegal, it’s kept as an open secret and is only available for those who are willing to spend a little more. A night costs nearly a fortune, especially a night with girls like you, who have been working in Hyesung’s underground business since it began.

“Did he say who he was?” you ask, mostly because your patrons usually give you a heads up before they want to book a night with you. Nobody just asks for you by name out of the blue.

Hyesung shakes her head. “I think one of them is one of your regulars,” she says. “I might have seen him before. The other one, though… I’m not so sure.”

“There’s two of them?”

“Yeah,” Hyesung answers like it’s the most normal thing in the world. She takes another sip of her margarita before continuing. “Remind them that threesomes cost double, will you?”

You make your way to table eleven and immediately recognize one of the men sitting on the large, circular sofa. Minseok. Hyesung was right, he is one of your regulars. Beside him is a man you’ve never seen before, but from mere observation, you can tell that strip clubs aren’t really his turf. Might be his first time, you figure.

“Babe!” Minseok calls when he finally sees you — his favorite endearment. Usually, you don’t like being called pet names, but for Minseok, you make an exception. He pays well, and he isn’t a complete asshole compared to other patrons.

You take a seat next to Minseok’s friend. The stranger slightly moves away, and you can immediately tell that he’s uncomfortable with having a woman in just lingerie sit next to him so casually. That, or he’s simply a guy with amazing manners even when he’s literally in a strip club.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” you tell Minseok as you grab his martini without asking permission and take a sip from it. “Hyesung told me to remind you that threesomes cost double.”

Minseok’s friend shifts uncomfortably in his seat. You turn to look at him only to see that he’s blushing intensely; even his ears, which are endearingly huge, are flushed red.

Minseok waves you off, laughing. “Oh, I’m not here for that.” He then throws his arm around his friend and pulls him closer. “This is Chanyeol. I brought him here on a recommendation.”

“Hello,” Chanyeol says with a small voice. He immediately looks away after a split second of eye contact, clearly embarrassed by the whole situation.

He’s cute, maybe more than a little cute, so you’re confused as to why he’s being all shy. You’ve had other patrons who aren’t even in the same league as Chanyeol’s looks and yet have the audacity to be cocky simply because they were paying you for something they couldn’t get out of other girls.

“You referred me to your friend.” You can’t help but crack a smile. “That’s actually so sweet, Minseok.”

“Ah, I can’t trust other girls with Chanyeol,” he says, taking back his martini from you. He downs the rest of it and wipes his mouth with the back of his palm. “You’ll take care of him, right?”

For the right price?

You always do.

“Of course,” you say as you smile as sweetly as you can.

— 

The clacking of your high heels is the only sound that can be heard in the suite as you walk around the mini bar and mix your famous Singapore Sling.

Chanyeol hasn’t said a word since you came up here. He’s quietly looking around the room while he’s sitting on the bed, his fingers fidgeting on his lap. He’s still blushing like crazy, and you’re starting to think that he’s either flushed because of that small glass of martini he had earlier or he’s flushed because he’s sick.

When you can’t take the silence any longer, you say, “You seem really nervous there, champ. Don’t worry. I won’t bite.”

“Sorry,” Chanyeol apologizes with a small smile. He still looks pretty nervous, but at least his shoulders seem a bit more relaxed. “It’s my first time in a…”

“Strip club? Or brothel?”

Chanyeol lets out a chuckle. “Both, actually.”

“I can tell,” you admit. When you’re done making the cocktails, you walk over to him on the bed and hand him the drink. A clink echoes through the suite when you touch your glass to his.

Chanyeol drinks the cocktail with no problem, downing nearly half of the glass in one swig.

“Easy, tiger. I don’t want you throwing up on me now.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes again, setting his glass on the bedside table. “I’m just… really nervous right now.”

You take a small sip from your drink and then place it next to Chanyeol’s on the nightstand. “Let me guess,” you begin as you sit next to him on the bed, crossing your legs. At least he doesn’t shy away this time. “First time with a hooker?”

Chanyeol winces at your brutally honest vocabulary. “Uh, no,” he answers. “First time, um, in general.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh from escaping your lips. “You’re bullshitting me, right?” Chanyeol shakes his head. You arch your brow in disbelief. “You’re serious.”

“I am,” he says. “How is that so hard to believe?”

You purse your lips as you try to think of what to say.

There is no way that a guy that looks like him is a virgin. He must probably have girls throwing themselves at him every single day. It’s just mathematically impossible.

And yet, he doesn’t seem like he’s lying, and that says a lot given how you’ve perfected the art of seeing through men’s bullshit thanks to your line of work. His shy, nervous demeanor earlier and even now doesn’t look like a front at all.

“Okay,” you concede. You uncross your legs and take your high heels off, tossing them unceremoniously on the carpeted floor. You stand up in front of Chanyeol and he looks up at you with such innocent eyes that you almost feel bad for being the one to pop his cherry. “You still want to do this, right?” you ask.

It might sound odd that you’re still asking for his consent even if he literally paid you to have sex with him, but you’re not a complete sellout. Consent is important, even if it has a tendency to be forgotten in the context of sex work. As a matter of fact, you feel even more inclined to ask for it now that you know that Chanyeol has no experience at all.

You, of all people, would understand if he didn’t want his first time to be like this.

“Yeah, I do.” Chanyeol blushes again, but this time, he doesn’t look away. “You’re incredibly beautiful, by the way. It’s part of why I’m so nervous.”

It’s your turn to blush, but you try to cover it up with a chuckle. “Thank you,” you say. “Shall we?”

Chanyeol nods slowly, still not taking his eyes off of you. You take his hands off his lap and gently place them on your breasts, slowly sliding them down until they reach your hips. You shiver slightly not because of the cold, but because of Chanyeol’s calloused fingertips gliding across your skin. You can see Chanyeol’s Adam’s apple bobbing up and down his throat as he swallows thickly.

“You play the guitar?”

“Y-yes,” Chanyeol answers in a hoarse voice. He clears his throat, and then repeats: “Yes.”

You hum thoughtfully. “Explains the rough hands.”

“Sorry…”

“No, don’t apologize,” you say as you brush your right thumb over Chanyeol’s lower lip. You can feel him hitching a breath against your fingertip. “I like it.”

You climb on top of him as he sits on the bed, straddling him with your thighs to hold yourself and him in position. Chanyeol’s hands feel warm against the curve of your hips. You can feel the rapid beating of his heart through his chest and you can’t help but chuckle at how cute he is; this reminds you of your first time, how you were as nervous as he is right now.

You lean forward and touch the tip of your nose to his. Chanyeol stares at you, as if asking permission to steal a kiss, and you answer him by connecting your lips together.

Chanyeol’s taken aback, but eases into it eventually. His fingers sink deeper into your skin as you roll your hips back and forth, humping until you can feel him getting hard, the mere friction already tying your stomach into knots.

Chanyeol lets out a small groan. “Jesus…” he says as he pulls away for a moment, trying to catch his breath. You smile at him as he shifts his eyes between you and the growing tent in his pants. “I’m…”

“Shhh,” you whisper to his ear, your lips barely grazing the skin. Chanyeol shudders. “It’s okay. Let me take care of it.”

You grab him by the shoulders and gently push him onto the bed until his back is flat on the mattress. Slowly, you unbuckle his pants and pull it off of him along with his boxers. His cock springs free, thick and hard and needy. Precum is already leaking at its tip.

You take your index finger and let it slide gently along his shaft, his cock twitching every time the pad of your finger touches his skin. Chanyeol’s exhales are getting heavier by the minute.

You can tell he’s holding back, so you grab his girth properly this time, closing your hand around its entirety, and begin to stroke him. Slowly. Surely.

Chanyeol lets out his first proper moan. “Fuck,” he hisses.

A satisfied smirk settles on your lips. “You touch yourself like this?” you ask in your signature sultry voice that you know drives men insane. Chanyeol bites his lower lip, shaking his head. You bring your lips close to his ear once more and whisper, “It’s okay, baby. You can talk dirty to me. I wanna hear you.” As soon as you say that, you gently squeeze his length in your hands, soliciting another moan from him. You repeat your earlier question: “You touch yourself like this, baby?”

“No,” Chanyeol finally answers, his breaths getting more and more labored by the minute. “Not as good as you. You do it better.”

You let out a little laugh. “I know.” You kiss him again, swiping your tongue across his lower lip and earning yourself another moan from Chanyeol. Hearing him whimper in that deep voice of his has drenched your panties in your own slick, even if you’re the one doing all the touching.

Breaking away from the kiss, you lower yourself until you’re face to face with his cock. You bare your tongue and start licking his length from base to tip. Chanyeol trembles even more.

You’re used to getting this kind of reaction from men, but knowing that you’re the first to make Chanyeol squirm in pleasure feels different — refreshing, almost. He hasn’t even gone inside you and yet he seems ready to explode, ripe enough to burst.

You pepper his cock with small kisses before completely taking him in your mouth. The tip of his cock presses against the back of your throat and he goes wild, exhaling every possible profanity there is. You suck until your lips detach from his cock with a pop.

“Felt good, baby?” you ask.

Chanyeol is out of breath when he answers. “Y-yes. Dear god, yes.”

You go down on him again, his cock twitching in your mouth as you suck. You then go on to undo the clasp of your bra, throwing the undergarment away to the side of the bed, not caring where it landed. Just then, Chanyeol runs his fingers through your hair and gently tugs at it to tell you to stop.

Chanyeol can’t even look you in the eye from embarrassment, but that’s part of his charm. “I’m gonna… cum… if you keep going…” he stumbles with his words, but you immediately understand what he’s trying to say.

You give his cock one last kiss before hovering over him again. “How do you want to have me?” you ask. You start throwing suggestions at him: from behind, on top, against the wall…

But he answers with, “On your back.”

“Very vanilla,” you chuckle. Chanyeol blushes and looks away. It’s very cute how he’s embarrassed by the smallest of things. “I like vanilla. It’s sweet.”

You kiss Chanyeol to make up for teasing him and he happily accepts your apology. He flips you over so that he’s now the one hovering over you. Without pulling away from the kiss, he spreads your legs wider, running his long fingers up and down your slit.

An airy moan escapes your lips.

“You’re so wet…”

You hum as Chanyeol continues to tease you, coating his fingers with your slickness. He dips the tip of his middle finger into you and your walls immediately tighten around it.

“More,” you demand, the word coming out as a whimper.

Chanyeol complies and buries his entire finger with no sweat, your wetness sucking him right up. He works you open, eventually adding two, three more fingers, until you’re nothing but a moaning, shuddering mess and he can barely move his fingers from how tight you’ve become.

“Baby…” you whine, squeezing your breast for maximum effect. “I need you. Please…”

Chanyeol nearly crumbles on top of you from your sensual tone. He plants one last kiss on your lips before lining himself up at your entrance.

“I’m going in, okay?” he says, leaving a trail of wet kisses on your neck and shoulder, and then you feel it — his girth slowly ripping through you, your walls expanding to let him in.

You let out a loud gasp as Chanyeol sheaths himself inside you. His moans complement yours until he’s completely inside, balls deep in you.

Chanyeol stays like that for a moment. You can feel his cock quivering inside you, and you have never felt so full. You begin to wonder how you managed to put all of him in your mouth just a while ago when he’s packing this much length, enough to shut you up.

“Chanyeol…” you sigh, trying to roll your hips forward. “I need you to move. Please.”

Chanyeol nods. He pulls out and then dives back in, again and again, until he’s settled into this nice, steady rhythm.

It feels good — fuck, how it feels so good. But it’s not enough, not for you, so you wrap your legs around Chanyeol’s hips and pull him towards you.

“Harder, baby,” you plead. “Harder.”

Chanyeol lets out a low groan. “I… don’t want to hurt you.”

You can’t help but smile at how sweet he is. You kiss him fully on the lips, biting at his lower lip. “You can never hurt me,” you reassure him. “Please. Fuck me harder.”

That flips a switch in Chanyeol’s brain, and suddenly he’s thrusting into you exactly how you want him to. Both of your moans and the loud sound of skin slapping against skin bounce off the walls of the suite.

And then…

“There!” you scream, raking your fingernails across Chanyeol’s back as he hits your favorite spot. “There, baby. Just like that. Fuck me just like that.”

Chanyeol does as he’s told, ramming into that particular spot until you can’t think straight and your entire body is shivering from pleasure. Even the slightest kiss on your neck sends you tingling from head to foot.

“Fuck,” Chanyeol curses for what seems to be the hundredth time tonight. “You feel so good. So good…”

And then you just explode.

Chanyeol holds you by the waist to keep you from thrashing around, but even then, he doesn’t stop his relentless thrusts. Eventually, he begins to become sloppy, too.

You know all too well what that means.

You run your fingers through his hair and tug at it gently. “You want to cum now, don’t you, baby?”

“Y-yes…”

“Inside,” you tell him. “I want you to fill me up.”

And that’s what makes Chanyeol fall apart. He lets out the loudest groan he’s let out all night. His arms give up from pleasure but you’re there to catch him, hugging him as he crumbles on top of you and warm spurts shoot into your center. You plant soft kisses on his neck while he rides out his high and finally pulls out.

You can feel his cum dripping from you and mixing with yours, and while you feel so sticky, you also feel good. So so so good.

You both lay there for a while, trying to catch your breath, until Chanyeol stands up and grabs a box of tissues from one of the tables inside the suite. He then returns to bed and starts wiping you off.

“I think you’re the sweetest patron I’ve had, Chanyeol,” you say with a fond smile. You mean it.

“Chanyeol? What happened to ‘baby’?”

You can’t help but laugh. “Now you’re just pushing your luck,” you deflect. But deep down, it did feel nice to call him that.

That makes Chanyeol laugh, at least. When he’s finished wiping you clean, he gives you a soft kiss on the lips and asks, “Are you free tomorrow?”

You smile. “Maybe.”

a/n: i really enjoyed writing this one and i was internally screaming the whole time i was typing out the smut because i’m weak for sweet sub!yeol

[221bshrlocked]

I Put a Spell on You

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2256

Warnings: fluffff. So much freaking fluff.

A/N: this was supposed to be a short drabble but things got outta hand quite literally and now I have this. I couldn’t not write something for Halloween so I hope you enjoy this :)

You assumed Wanda understood that you felt uncomfortable by her invitation to the small halloween party she was having when you continued to say no but then she barged into the coffee shop a few hours ago and demanded you get off your shift a little early and grab your costume. 

“For the last time, I really don’t think that’s a good idea Wanda. I’m like an outlier and it’ll be very obvious and I’d rather not have anyone think I’m there because-”

“Y/N shut up, you’re coming. Literally everyone knows you by now and I’d highly doubt anyone will think that way. As a matter of fact, someone was super excited when I said I invited you.” Wanda grabbed her coffee from your hand before you even placed a cover on it.

“You’re lying...who was it?” You tried not to sound too excited, hoping she’d tell you it was a certain introvert who spent most of his afternoons in your little cafe writing and doodling. When she didn’t respond, you turned around and saw her already smiling at you.

“Y/N, go sign out.” You heard your boss yell out from across the shop and you knew Wanda had already spoken to her. 

“Fine, but know that I don’t like any bit of this.” You took your apron off and walked past your boss, shaking your head at her when she told you she couldn’t deny any request by any of the Avengers. Quickly grabbing your things, you walked towards your place with Wanda and refused to wear the costume she brought for you.

“Why not? You’ll look really cute in this.” 

“You mean I’ll look desperate. No thank you I already have one.” Throwing your things on the couch, you walked into your room to freshen up and grabbed the home-made costume before putting on some light make up and walking out.

“Are you kidding me Y/N? That could barely pass as a home-made costume.” She complained about the shirt and your lack of ideas to which you ignored before exiting your apartment

“I’ll have you know, I wore this to class yesterday and pretty much everyone was triggered. That shit is terrifying Wanda. I’m serious.” You attempted to convince her that your sense of humor was spot on but she ignored you all the way to the tower. Once you got there, Wanda handed you a special tag to wear so no one would stop you when you try to go anywhere.

“This will get you anywhere you want...actually, no. Anywhere you’re allowed to be in.” She sipped her coffee before pushing you towards the elevator, already hoping that everyone was on time so you wouldn’t feel awkward. 

When the elevator rang, Wanda walked out and turned around, only to see the nervousness seeping through your clothes. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s just us Y/N. Pretend we’re at the coffee shop.” She smiled at you and you wished her assuring words would work but your nerves got the best of you. 

As soon as you stepped out, you heard screaming and yelling from the opposite end of the room. Walking behind Wanda, you watched a bunch of middle aged men and women screaming at each other while carving pumpkins, laughing to yourself when you saw how invested Steve was in his own pumpkin. You didn’t announce your arrival right away, wanting to watch them in their “natural habitat” before things got awkward.

You were doing a fairly good job standing on the side and sipping some of the green juice from the large cauldron when you felt something pull on your shirt. Looking down, you saw a young boy staring at you with chocolate all over his face and his hands, which were now on your jeans. You laughed at his carelessness before kneeling down and smiling at him.

“Hi, I’m Y/N, what’s your name?” 

“I’m Nathaniel. Why aren’t you wearing a costume?” He asked in all seriousness and you had to stop the laugh from erupting so he doesn’t think you were laughing at him. “I am actually wearing a costume. This is what some grown-ups are afraid of.” 

“You’re afraid of a chocolate bar?” He asked again and this time, you couldn’t help but laugh at his innocence.

“Oh no sweetheart, this is the Bar Exam. It’s a little different from a chocolate bar. It’s like a test, a really very hard test that I have to take.”

“Well, if you study for it, won’t you pass?” He tilted his head to the side and you pouted at how cute he was

“I wish it were that easy buddy.” You ruffled his hair and watched as he smiled up at you before taking a chunk out of the chocolate frog in his hand.

“Hey little guy, didn’t I tell you to make sure you wipe your hands before grabbing anyone?” You knew who it was instantly, and wished you tried a little harder with how you looked. Looking up, you saw the one and only Bucky Barnes smiling down at you, the expression growing wider when he saw the way you reacted to him. 

As much as you tried, you couldn’t hold back the starstruck expression you held. This was Bucky for god’s sake but his costume made it worse; his long hair was slicked back in a ponytail and not covering his face anymore. And my god, those eyes were such a vibrant blue, especially with the glasses adorning his sharp features. Then there was the cardigan and jeans that were both at least one size smaller. You didn’t know what he was supposed to be and you honestly didn’t care. All you paid attention to was how absolutely breathtaking he looked

“Wanda didn’t tell me you were coming.” Bucky asked as he grabbed the chocolate out of Nathaniel’s hand so he could clean his hands. 

“I- umm, well, I initially said no but you know Wanda. She doesn’t take no for an answer.” You stood up and didn’t know what else to say, watching as Bucky grabbed a wet wipe and rub the melted chocolate from the little boy’s hand before telling him he couldn’t have any more chocolate.

“Hey hey this is your sixth chocolate frog and I’d rather not have Laura come after me. Now, go and see if Steve finished your pumpkin or not.” You watched as the kid ran to Steve and jumped on his lap to see his pumpkin, almost yelping when you felt something rub at your upper thighs.

“Hold still, there’s some chocolate here.” Bucky said as he knelt behind you and rubbed your jeans with a wet towel. “Damn, this kid really went for it huh?” 

“Haha uhh yeah, yup. That- ahuha.” You didn’t know what to say, torn between wanting to focus on the hand holding onto your hips while pretending Bucky touching you wasn’t a huge deal.

“There, I got most of it out. Nice costume by the way, really funny.” 

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell Wanda.” You turned away when you saw how intense holding his gaze was and pretended you were getting more juice.

“Wanna carve a pumpkin with us?” Bucky was already walking towards the corner table where Clint’s other kids were sitting. 

“I’m not really that talented to be honest, I’d just end up ruining your pumpkins.”

“Nonsense, we have a lot. And no one here is talented...except maybe Steve and I. And I’m definitely not biased.” Bucky smiled at you before motioning for you to follow him. You did silently and ignored Wanda and Natasha’s stares.

Sitting down, you introduced yourself to Lila and Cooper before turning to watch Bucky work his magic. 

Within minutes, you were so focused on watching him carve the pumpkin that you didn’t notice when he stole glances at you. He was so talented with the knife and a part of you, the slightly inappropriate one, wished he was using those skills in a different way but you brushed the thought aside. Almost fifteen minutes later, Bucky was giving Lila her pumpkin and smiling when she screamed from how perfect it was.

“My god how did you do that?” You asked, holding the pumpkin up for Lila to take a picture before setting it down to look at it. In the middle of the pumpkin was a flying Tinkerbell with fairy dust all around her. It was both beautiful and on point that you couldn’t help but praise him.

“What can I say doll? I’m talented with my hands,” he watched as you flushed at his comment, knowing fully well you caught onto what he meant. Bucky winked at you before getting up and walking over to Steve to see his pumpkin.

“Now, how about Y/N judges which is the better pumpkin?” Steve asked Bucky and you immediately said no, not wanting to have any kids crying because you favored one super soldier over the other.

“We trust your unbiased opinion Y/N!” Clint said and laughed along with Sam when they saw your semi-angry expression. You honestly couldn’t tell which was better because as precise and beautiful as Bucky’s was, Steve’s was straight up art. He managed to carve out Van Gogh’s Starry Night and use correct shading on a pumpkin and you couldn’t tell which was better.

“Guys I honestly cannot decide. They’re both so unbelievable.” You turned and saw Lila telling you to choose the other one so her brother doesn’t cry and you ended up doing just that. “But I think Steve’s wins because nothing beats Van Gogh.” As soon as you said that, Nathaniel started jumping up and down and stuck his tongue out at Bucky before grabbing another chocolate frog and running to you.

“Here, the winner was supposed to take this one but I’ll give it to you because you’re not a meanie head like Bucky.” You hugged the little kid before taking the chocolate and walking out to the balcony to get some fresh air.

Seconds later, you heard someone clear their throat and asking if they could join you.

“Of course.” You motioned for Bucky to come and didn’t bother to look at him because you knew you’d look away immediately. 

“Not gonna lie, I thought you were going to pick me doll.” When you said nothing, Bucky took a deep breath before stepping closer to you, his shoulder brushing your own and causing you to stop chewing on the candy.

“Hurt a man’s feelings darlin’, first you refuse my invitation then you choose Steve’s pumpkin over mine.”

“What invitation? I didn’t refuse your invitation!” You turned to face him and were surprised by how close he was.

“Yeah you did. I asked you weeks ago if you’d wanna come to this party but you said no. Then I asked Wanda to tell you and you still said no. Thank god she’s annoying when it comes to these things.” Bucky watched as realization dawned on your face, smiling when you shyly looked away from him.

“Y/N, look at me.” Bucky whispered, turning around to rest his elbow on the railing while trying to turn your chin towards him.

“N-no.” 

“Please.” His request was so quiet you almost didn’t hear him.

“You make me nervous Bucky.” You didn’t mean for those words to come out but once they did, you felt embarrassment wash over you.

“I don’t mean to. I swear I don’t.” He managed to turn you towards him, smiling down at you when he saw the little pout aimed at him.

“I really like you darlin’, and ‘ve been trying to talk to you for weeks but you just get so busy at work and I don’t mean to bother you when your shift is over. But...is this okay?” He leaned down and whispered those words against your cheek, making you shiver from the close proximity and his cologne.

“This- is m-more than okay.” You responded and Bucky didn’t give you a chance to say anything else, slowly capturing your lips with his and pulling you closer to him until you only felt him. His hands rested on your waist and when he saw you responding to his touches, he dared to grab your neck and push you aggressively to him.

“Goddamn, what’re you doing to me doll? It’s like you put a spell on me and I- shit, I can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you baby.” 

“I c-could ask you the same thing, especially with those glasses.” You laughed at his boyish grin, noticing the way his neck started to blush at your comment. “Well, you have to thank Wanda for that. She told me you liked men with glasses and I don’t need to wear them on a daily basis. But I could during halloween.”

It was your turn to blush, knowing you needed to both thank and kill Wanda when you saw her.

“Wanna have dinner with me?” Bucky asked, refusing to put any space between the two of you. 

“I would love that.” Almost immediately, you heard loud screams and swears coming from the door, looking past BUcky and watching as Steve took money from Tony while Natasha aggressively grabbed the fifty dollar bills from Clint and Sam.

“You just couldn’t wait till Christmas could you?” Sam yelled at Bucky before heading back inside and you couldn’t help but laugh at the happy and annoyed expression on everyone’s face.

“Good thing I listened to Wanda.”

[caiminnent]

shadow play [shaundes, rated T]

Prompt: surrender (1/25) [metaphorically speaking]

Summary: A discussion about tattoos and permanence that gets sidetracked in the best possible way.

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed

Tags: Friends with Benefits to Lovers, Relationship Discussions, Mutual Pining, Tattoos

Note: Also written and posted as an entry for @denydesmondsdeathday​, which I seem to have forgotten to tag. #justCaithings

2.4K || Also on AO3.

He likes to touch Desmond’s tattoos in the dark.

It’s not an accomplishment, per se—he is far from the first person to learn the topography of Desmond’s marked skin, won’t be the last—but there’s still an odd pride to it, being able to trace the black lines spanning across his shoulder blades, swirling up his arm without having to see them. Sometimes he imagines he can feel the texture of the art, the shadows and the sharp edges—that he could map out Desmond’s entire upper body with just his fingertips.

Desmond releases a long sigh, hugging his pillow closer, the movement drawing his shoulders tighter in. Whatever has been on his mind, keeping him up, he won’t say—and Shaun can’t ask, no matter how tempted he is. Especially because of how tempted he is. He’s already risking things by letting himself linger, not quite ready to draw the night to a close; he can’t afford another indulgence.

Running a finger down a long line from the back of Desmond’s shoulder, carefully avoiding where it tickles, “How did you end up with tattoos?” he asks instead. He might not be able to give Desmond some peace of mind, but he can offer distraction. That one he’s good for.

Desmond makes an amused grunt. “Thought you’d never ask,” he says with half a mouth, muffled against the pillow. Another drawn-out sigh and he’s slowly pushing himself up on his hands, stretching out his back like a cat. Putting on a show, almost.

He hardly minds.

Desmond settles back on an elbow, mirroring Shaun, barely more than an outline against all the white. He doesn’t speak again, though; the air growing heavy with something Shaun can’t identify but dislikes all the same as Desmond stares at the patch of sheet between them, his expression blurred back into the dimness of the room with the distance.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he offers, heart at his feet. Leave it to him to find the one topic that would make Desmond uncomfortable. Congratulations, really. Very well done.

Desmond shakes his head. “No, no, it’s not that.” He shifts again, this time to reach over the gap and lay a hand down, right next to Shaun’s on the sheet. “Keep touching? Please?”

As if he could deny Desmond anything.

He drags a finger up his wrist, forearm, sliding over that twist of ink over the muscle he can always find so easily. The lines aren’t as sharp here, the angles not as precise. Were they drawn in a hurry? Did Desmond move too much, filled with restless energy or twitching at each bite of the needle?

“I got this one first,” Desmond starts, as Shaun traces one of the longer lines, twirling at the end. “On my nineteenth birthday. I was supposed to work that night, but the boss—bless her heart—she put some money in my pocket and sent me on my way, told me to go have fun with my friends.” He huffs out a little chuckle, entirely joyless. “Only, I didn’t have friends. Didn’t have anyone I could celebrate with, didn’t have anywhere to go except my shithole of an apartment—which I really didn’t wanna go back to. So, I took to wandering.”

It’s easy enough to imagine: Desmond in his teens, walking up a storm on the streets of New York with his hands deep in his pockets, lips curled into that scowl that really only comes out when he thinks no one’s there to see.

His stomach churns.

“Then you saw a tattoo shop,” he guesses, following the same path up.

“Then I saw a tattoo shop,” Desmond confirms. Pauses, before adding, “I know it’s not... tasteful, or anything, but—it was mine, y’know? Something I’d picked for myself that no one could ever take away from me. It was... I dunno.” Shrugs a shoulder. “It was big, at the time.”

He understands the feeling.

In theory, at least. The wish for something bold and tangible and his, a middle finger to anyone who sneered and snickered at him for being who he is and wanting what he wants—that he understands. Getting it etched onto his skin for everyone to judge, however? That takes a kind of impulsiveness he only wishes for in secret.

What would that be like, even? Doing things without twisting yourself into knots? Deciding that you want something and just—getting it?

Desmond brushes the back of a finger underneath his wrist, oddly reassuring. “Is that the good kind of silence?”

If only he knew. “It’s not the bad kind,” is all he can allow. “It sounds... terrifying, is all.”

“Terrifying?” Desmond repeats on a low laugh.

“I mean...” He waves a hand vaguely, racking his brain to find the right words. “It’s a tattoo,” he settles on at last—rather lamely, he might add. His way with words never stepped outside of a classroom door, much less inside a bedroom. “It’s permanent—or as close to it as it gets, I suppose. It’ll be there long after us—after you, even—and you decided to get one on a whim. I don’t think I could ever be so…”

“Reckless?”

He rolls his eyes. “I was going to say spontaneous. Though, yes; that, too.”

That finger is still running back and forth, a teasing touch right under his pulse, starting to build something warm low in his belly. He wants to kiss Desmond. No secondary intent, not to get anywhere; kissing only to enjoy the feeling, Desmond’s warmth against his—and maybe fall asleep in the same bed after, just once. Just to see what it would be like to wake up there, curled up around Desmond or Desmond curled up around him, nowhere to rush to or run away—

Well, if that’s not his cue to get the hell out of here before he makes a fool of himself.

Rolling onto his back, he reaches for the alarm clock on the nightstand and slides it over with his fingertips to squint at the numbers, just this side of careless—even he has his moments. Well past one in the morning; earlier than the weight settled onto his bones suggested, late enough to be his excuse.

“Looks like we’ll have to leave the story of the back piece to another day after all,” he says, putting it back down in favour of the light switch above—blinks, the sudden brightness stabbing at his brain.

“You’re leaving?” Desmond asks—oddly put off, by the sound of it. What else did he even expect?

Throwing the covers off himself, “I should if I want to get some sleep,” he points out, stepping out before he can change his mind. Before the temptation to stay under the covers becomes too great.

Glasses, phone, his bag over by the door, his coat on the rack—where the hell are his clothes?

“In the closet,” Desmond says before he can ask. “I put them away while you were in the shower.”

Huh. Since when does Desmond care about tidying up?

“Thanks,” he says anyway, heading over to the closet—where his shirt and trousers are carefully placed on hangers, the bottom two buttons of the shirt done up like he prefers, his sweater sitting neatly folded on the rack above.

Something not unlike foreboding twists in his gut.

See, he has never seen the point of not looking a gift horse in the mouth. Call it paranoia; he cannot receive something nice and not poke and prod at every opening until he’s sure it’s meant in kindness. He doesn’t like surprises, doesn’t like getting caught off-guard—he does not like not being able to read Desmond’s expression as Desmond watches him through the full-length mirror, sitting up against the headboard with the covers pooled in his lap.

He needs to get out—fast.

Turning away from the mirror, he puts his focus entirely on dressing out of Desmond’s clothes into his own, buttoning up his shirt like he’s being timed on it. The very air is tense with anticipation—for what, he can’t tell, nor does he want to find out. For once, he doesn’t.

“So, after us, huh?” Desmond says—apropos of nothing, for all that he sounds as if continuing an interrupted conversation.

It takes Shaun longer than he would like to admit, to figure out what the hell Desmond’s talking about. “What of it?”

“That really what you think?” Desmond asks, serious like he never is. The feeling in his gut intensifies. “That this—” Gestures at the room as a whole, the open space between them. “—is temporary?”

Bitter laughter bubbles up in his chest. He pushes it down before it can escape, the pressure making it difficult to breathe. Is this what you think, Desmond asks—like what he thinks matters. Like what he thinks changes any damn thing here. It must be a joke, right. It must be a joke, because Desmond can’t be bloody serious.

If it is a joke, though, it’s a very cruel one.

Suddenly self-conscious with words like us hanging over their heads, he turns away from Desmond and the mirror both, back to the closet. “More lovers than you could keep track of,” he lists as he shoves his legs into his trousers, no trace of the resentment gathering and thickening in his chest making it to his tone, thankfully. “Not knowing how to do the ‘domestic stuff’. I’ve never learned how to stay still. I can read between the lines, Desmond.”

“I’m not denying what I said,” Desmond says—dares to sound upset, as if Shaun is being the difficult one here.

Cinching his belt, he reaches for his sweater. “Then we’ve got nothing to talk about.”

Behind him, the bed groans as Desmond steps out of it. He can’t help tensing at the slow approach, Desmond’s footsteps too loud in the still of the night.

Desmond touches Shaun’s arm, hardly more than a caress.  “I think we do, Shaun.”

He panics.

There’s no other word for the fist that grips his heart and throat both, his hand tightening instinctively around the fabric of his sweater. God, of course. Of course he’s already fucked up, given himself away—how could he have not? He’s transparent, obvious, subtle as a brick to the face and Desmond—

Desmond’s too gentle to let him down any other way.

“Shaun?” Desmond urges softly, his hand a light pressure on Shaun’s arm—not a weight but an anchor, grounding. “Look at me, please?”

He doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to face Desmond, doesn’t know what his face will do if he does. If this is the end, he’d much rather leave with at least some of his pride intact.

Nonetheless, he turns.

Desmond’s watching him with open wariness, as if Shaun is a bloody caged animal, something to tread carefully with—the door a mere three steps behind Desmond. He could leave. Desmond wouldn’t follow if he did, just walked past him out of the room, the house. Avoided Bad Weather and anywhere else they could potentially come across, left this all behind.

He couldn’t, though; he knows he couldn’t even as he’s thinking it. He’s too greedy not to latch onto this—too needy to let it go.

“Look, it’s fine,” he sighs before Desmond can get a word in, running a hand through his wild hair. “You didn’t sign your life away by kissing me first; that’s not how this works. We don’t have to be more than—whatever the hell we are now.”

“But you want to be?”

Christ, Desmond can be worse than a bloodhound on a trail sometimes. “What does it even matter? I’ve already said I’m not going to tie you down. It’s fine.” Nothing has to change. Just leave it.

The slow smile that spreads over Desmond’s face is a rare kind, small but no less bright for it. He brushes tentative fingers over Shaun’s lips—Shaun’s breath stutters against them, his heart seizing. “What if I don’t want it to be fine?”

Oh.

Perhaps he’s been a bigger idiot than even he thought.

Desmond slowly slides his hands down onto Shaun’s chest, thumbing the top button. “I know what I said before,” he murmurs, meeting his gaze briefly, as if for permission, before he undoes it. The next one. The next. “You have every reason not to put faith in me. But—things have changed. For me. In here.” He rests a hand on Shaun’s chest, sizzling on the naked skin and there’s no way, no way, that he can’t feel the stupid beat of Shaun’s heart under his palm, hard and rabbit-fast— “Is it bold of me to hope they did for you, too?”

He can’t breathe.

He should be happy. Hell, he should be ecstatic, dizzy with joy instead of the wet, cold fear latched onto his insides, rooting his feet to the spot. It’s not usual for him, is the thing. To get what he wants. This—it can’t be—nothing is ever so easy. These things always come with a catch, some sort of a trap—consequences he can’t always foresee. He’s not like Desmond; he can’t just leap into things.

Desmond’s smile is dimmed with the hesitation creeping back into his eyes, his hand pausing over the last button above his waistband—and Shaun did that, right, with his paranoia. His useless anxiety.

Must he talk himself out of every good thing?

Swallowing against the burn up his throat, he lays a hand over Desmond’s; not an apology, not quite, but the closest thing to one he can give. “Do you even know what you’re offering?” he asks, matching Desmond’s tone. Do you even know what you’re getting yourself into?

“Not really,” Desmond admits on a quick, breathy laugh. “Think we can find out together?”

He’s not ready for the jolt that passes through his heart, nor the weight in his chest that he’s not quite ready to name—too light to be what it was, too deep to be anything else. Insufferable and exhilarating at the same time. Too familiar.

Sucking in his bottom lip, Desmond meets his eyes again—it’s the same everything cluttering up his insides reflected back in them; the hesitation, the uncertainty. The fear. “You don’t have to say it. I don’t need pretty words or promises. Just—” The last button, undone—leaving him bared. “Stay.”

“Okay,” he whispers—and isn't that an admission. “Okay.”