#'okay send him a meme this time' 'SHIT look at that air time. maybe he should've gone for track'

[dykekarkat]

thinking about neil "wow im so good at being normal" josten jumping a foot in the air like a hissing cat scared by a cucumber everytime he got a text notification. i think andrew and nicky were doing studies on him that first week w a phone

[wandixx]

Justice League never helped Amity Park.

Why?

They genuinely didn't need any help, it was one of the most normal and safe town in America.

Other than Jack Fenton on the road hazard but it's not like he can break walls with his orange jeep, is it? It's too little to get JL on it.

Okay, so what does Phantom do right outside of the Watchtower drinking Capri sun? Is it related to how horrified Flash is, running around meeting room like he tries to wear down the floor?

Why yes, absolutely. You see dear traveler, Ghost child is just not from this timeline.

He is from the other one. The intense one. The one, where Amazonians were at war with Atlanteans, where there was no line Batman wouldn't cross, where doctors Fenton didn't stop their research after their dearest friend had accident.

Yeah, that's the one. One that Barry created by saving his mother and the one he allegedly destroyed.

How do they tell the stressed ghost child that timeline he lived in ceased to exist?

*~*~*

Maybe I'm not clear enough but yeah. Phantom is from other timeline but as I heard, Dan shoved time medalion into Danny's chest so now our boi has wonky relationship with time. When Barry erased "wrong timeline", Danny got yote into his time and was confused. Like, one day he wakes up in the middle of the nowhere because of some shit and isn't even surprised at first but then realises something is off. Especially when he gets to the nearest town. Things are all sorts of wrong, like:

There is less ambient ectoplasm in the air.

Meme references are just not right.

There is no supernatural war.

Nobody is trying to post mortem murder him for being a ghost.

There are a lot more heroes and the ones he knew are different, like, why is Batman suddenly so much against killing?

So he goes of to find Amity and see which one's of the ghosts bullshit he has to clean up this time, only to see his city... Normal? Happy even? No broken pavements or anti ghost tech? No teenage stans? No alive food? His parents are more of the local handymen than mad scientists?! There is SECOND HIM, who isn't a ghost in the slightest?!

WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED AND HOW DOES HE FIX IT?!

Because yeah, this world seems nicer than real one, but he just can't stay here. Ghosts are probably wrecking havoc in his Amity again and he needs to get back now.

Just question is how, because it starts to look like whole new world and not some weird hallucination or Desiree doing her shit again. However so much things is similar that he assumes it's different timeline. He dealt with these before, once, but he managed. He just needed to find this Clockwork guy that showed up last time and learn what he has to do to fix it.

Wait, his parents here didn't made portal and Vlad didn't either because they're actually kind of trisome (ew) and he didn't have enough time. That's alright, Danny was raised in the shadow of the portal, he knew everything about it by heart. He could built it on his own.

Wait, portal needs and sacrifice. Can he use this world's himself as a sacrifice? He could probably ask these heroes for help but on the other hand he really doesn't want to do this to him. Being Phantom majorly sucks ass and he is jealous but he knows better than to destroy other his life over it.

Before he can resolve his dilemma, something he does pings Justice League's radar and Flash is send to investigate. Thank ancients it's him because allegedly other heroes wouldn't really get it. But it was Flash who somehow gets at least part of it, gives him a food and takes him to the space station (in space!). Now they have meeting about him and he has best view of stars he could ever imagine. Even though they're a little different than he remembers from back home.

.

Hope you enjoyed this little idea and maybe can add to the shenanigans. Comments and reblogs are whole yours.

I hope I'm englishing correctly and won't see too many spelling or grammatical mistakes when I wake up in the morning

Have a great whatever part of day it is to you

[bmodiwrites]

ooooh, #4 for that found family list looks interesting!

So, this is so insanely late (I reblogged that meme forever again) but I finally have something for you. Thanks for the prompt, @thefreakandthehair! I hope I did the thing justice. You can read it on AO3, too, if that's more your style. Here are the prompts if you'd like to send more.

4. Everyone always asks if we're related, and we always say no, but I always want to say yes, because you're the closest thing I have to family.

Many moons before Steve starts dating Eddie, Wayne Munson enters his life.

The day is a usual one for Steve. After reaching his social peak at sixteen and tumbling down from grace ever since, time moved by in such a way that made Steve feel as if he’s standing in syrup. Everything around him goes by but his own life is slow and stilted, barely shifting and changing despite seconds and minutes and days passing him by.

He’s out early in the morning, contemplating the failure that he is while he tries to run his melancholy away. His shirtless skin is the only thing that makes him visible in the vivid darkness that surrounds 2AM, so Steve isn’t all that surprised when he turns a corner and is lightly clipped by a truck rolling through a stop sign.

The impact his body takes is the most Steve’s felt since a Demogorgon first walked into his life. It’s so jolting and otherwise exciting that Steve can’t find it in himself to be upset. He knows right away that nothing is wrong with him at all – his long legs might be a little sore from the pathetic attempt to catch himself, but that’s a small price to pay. By the time he’s rolled over his shoulder a couple of times, Steve is invigorated.

“Holy shit! I’m so sorry, kid,” Steve’s accidental attacker says. He’s out of his car, looking all around with a panicked expression overtaking his face the second he spots Steve laid out on the ground.

With a blink, Steve does his best to reassure the man – after all, that’s what he’s known for, what he’s good at. As long as everyone else is okay with the situation, Steve is okay, too. “Don’t worry about it. I was obviously in your way.”

The look on the older stranger’s face twists into something that Steve can’t quite place. It makes his stomach knot up and turn, kind of like the times in his youth when his mom screamed his name with distaste from the kitchen. And though he doesn’t get a wallop like his mom always dished out, Steve is certain the man is thinking about the lecture he so desperately wants to give. Instead, he settles on this –

“What are you doing out this early in the morning? You can’t be any older than my nephew, which means you should be at home… tucked into bed, safe and sound.”

Steve can’t help but laugh – it’s hard to remember the last time he’s felt safe… let alone sound or at peace.

“Early morning is the best time of the day for a run. The streets are usually clear, with tonight being an obvious exception,” Steve says, hoping his tone comes off as joking instead of petulant like he’s feeling.

For a second, Steve waits for some sort of fall out, though none comes. The older man shifts on his feet, looking uncomfortable. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Steve. I’m Steve – “

Without thought, Steve sticks out his hand between them, leaving it in the air awkwardly. He’s not all that certain what makes him do such a thing but he’s compelled to, truly unable to stop himself. For whatever reason, Steve feels like he needs this guy’s approval, like it’s important for him to make an impression that isn’t in the shape of his body along the side of the stranger’s truck. Maybe his brains are rattled, or maybe, just maybe, the world is working in his favor for once.

The older man only hesitates for a second before grabbing onto Steve’s hand, shaking it briefly. “Wayne. It’s nice to meet ya.” He waits a beat, then gestures over at his truck with the barest flick of his head. “Why don’t you hop in? I’ll take you to get some breakfast. It’s the least that I can do.”

Steve doesn’t argue or question, he doesn’t worry about the fact that he doesn’t have a shirt or that his knee is cut up to bits from the fall. He simply nods without question and climbs into the passenger side of Wayne’s car. Out of all the outcomes that might’ve come his way, Steve supposes a free plate of pancakes isn’t the worst.

Come to find out, Wayne’s presence in Steve’s life is far from over.

Since that morning, Steve’s taken it upon himself to go back to the diner that Wayne took him to for their amazing bacon whenever he can. He’s not totally sure what makes it so good but it’s absolutely worth the ten minute drive out of town to get it.

Never mind the fact that leaving Hawkins, even if just for a little while, feels like the perfect break from a life that’s still dull and dreary.

Wayne, it seems, holds the same opinion about the diner’s food (and the distance from Hawkins, though it takes Steve years to find that truth out).

They run into each other several mornings over a course of weeks. At first, Wayne pretends he doesn’t even know Steve, that he didn’t run him over or bribe him with breakfast foods. The wave Steve sends his way is resolutely ignored. For two more trips, Steve tries to get his attention to no avail. Yet, the moment Steve steels himself against the disappointment of another adult letting him down, Wayne actually steps up.

He finally invites Steve to join him one Saturday morning, cementing their routine.

From that point on, Steve dedicates the first morning of every weekend to his time with Wayne. As the Saturdays pass, the old man’s frozen exterior thaws into something that’s soft and squishy on the inside and easily pliable when Steve comes from the right angle. In the matter of weeks, Steve knows that Wayne is a factory worker with an adopted nephew and little to no social skills. Throughout all of their conversations, Steve realizes, despite the quiet gruffness, that Wayne is a good person who’s willing to give someone like the former ‘king’ a chance.

They get asked, pretty frequently, if they are father and son. The wait staff is never the same so Steve’s presence in Wayne’s booth is always an exciting topic for whomever takes their order. One ballsy waitress even sounds off, making them both laugh – “it’s so sweet of you to spend time with your dad. Warms my heart.”

Despite the potential for awkwardness, neither Steve nor Wayne worry about correcting the mistake. For what it’s worth, Steve is positive that Wayne’s done more for Steve in their short relationship than his own father throughout the entirety of Steve’s life. DNA doesn’t tie them together but the relationship they nurse is a strong one, one that’s born from communication and Steve’s need to have someone see him.

Things get a little interesting when Eddie comes into his life. At first, Steve isn’t even aware that Eddie is Wayne’s nephew. With everything that’s going on with the Upside Down, it’s an easy mistake to make. When Nancy talks about her interview with a man named Wayne, Steve makes the connection, almost stopping dead in his tracks. All of the sudden, Eddie’s innocence (and what that means for the person he cares so much about) becomes Steve’s mission – it’s vital that Wayne gets to keep the important people in his life.

Steve doesn’t realize that feelings crept into the picture along the way until Eddie is wrapped up in bandages, tucked tightly into the sheets of a cookie-cutter hospital bed. He’s fighting for his life with Wayne by his side. His chest heaves up and down as air fills into his lungs and supplies the rest of his body. It’s a normal thing for a person recovering from near fatal wounds but to Steve, it’s everything.

He's still trying to push away the sight of Eddie’s skin torn to bits. Steve’s heart slams against his chest when the inkling that Eddie still might not make it out on the other side arises. Upon reflection, Steve comes to understand that apprehension as real worry, as gut churning anxiety as the minutes pass and Eddie’s eyes don’t open.

Eventually, Eddie comes back to them. He’s stubborn like his uncle and not at all ready to leave this Earth behind. It’s a relief, both for Wayne and Steve, to see Eddie up and around and very much living.

In fact, it’s such a breath of fresh air that Steve doesn’t waste any time. His usual courtships are done with smoothly spoken words and fancy dates used to impress. Steve is the master of his game, yet shockingly poor at actually feeling the things alive and well in his heart. Maybe that’s because no one ever made him feel so right in his skin. Or maybe, Steve’s just now at the point where he’s recovered from Nancy and ready to genuinely love again.

Unsurprisingly, it takes them no time at all to fall into each other. Eddie is so much like Wayne (with the added bonus of being drop dead gorgeous and cuttingly funny) that Steve is immediately enamored. While there are no fatherly feelings between Steve and Eddie, the familiarity of being around someone he already feels a kinship with is kind of nice.

So nice that dating quickly turns into something very serious. The sort of serious that makes Steve and Eddie get an apartment together long before they’re ready. Struggling to make ends meet isn’t what Steve pictured for his life but he’s living like a pig in shit – happy as can be, despite the fifty hour weeks split between two jobs. Every day he gets to come home to his best guy who greets him with a smile on his face and their next adventure together waiting for them. Even if that’s cooking shitty spaghetti and doing the dishes before they pass out for the night. It’s hard most days but Steve isn’t about to wish his reality away, either. Happiness, he’s found, is worth the price paid.

Years go by and as they do, things get better. Eddie gets a job that he loves (and pays well, too) while Steve continues to crush it at the factory with Wayne. Manual labor is exactly what Steve needs to keep his mind occupied. The added bonus of getting to be with his surrogate father and probable best friend is yummy icing on the cake. Steve’s family, the one he found and put together himself, is flourishing. With a little nourishment, Steve knows they’re only going to get better.

Then, the law catches up and eventually allows them to make things official – Steve and Eddie, unsurprisingly, are first in line to do exactly that. They run away to Maine with Wayne and Robin in tow. They sign some papers and exchange rings and become something in the eyes of the law they’ve been since they first decided to commit to each other. Eddie is Steve’s husband. They finally share the same last name.

So the next time that Steve and Wayne are mistaken for father and son about a year later, Steve gets to joyfully nod his head and proudly say yes to the nosy woman asking. He smiles widely when Wayne wraps an arm around his shoulders and adds his positive confirmation, too.

And despite always feeling like Wayne’s family, like someone who belongs to the Munson name, Steve feels truly complete for the first time… maybe ever. Not only does he have this amazing man that’s excited to love him and make a life together, but Steve’s lucky enough to have a dad who cares about him, too.

Getting hit by Wayne’s truck is the best thing to happen to Steve – he reminds both his dad and husband of that as often as possible. Without that little clip of a Ford’s bumper, Steve might not have the life he loves with his whole heart. Though it’s a running joke to poke fun at Steve’s sappy admission, neither Eddie nor Wayne ever take the truth of the matter for granted.

Fate brought them together.

Their love for each other makes them a family.

[veliseraptor]

is it time for another 150 words meme? guess it is!!

for those who haven't been around for one of these - pick a number from the list of wips below and I will write 150 words in that project. you can send me up to three if you really can't decide on one. if you don't recognize or are curious to know more about what these are, my wip list has a brief summary of I think all of them.

twelve options and it's basically vegaspete and yi city all the way down with two wild cards

1. This place was too open and there were too many people around, none of whom he knew. There could be more of whoever those people had been around; he didn’t want to divide his focus to see if either of the two he’d dropped had ID. Pete was on his own and Vegas was compromised. “We have to go,” Pete interrupted. 

“You – what? What the fuck – are those guys dead?” 

“Sorry,” Pete said, adjusting his grip on Vegas. Then, because he felt rude and a little bit bad and Vegas did seem to like these people, he added, “have a good night.”

And he half dragged, half carried Vegas out into open air. 

Pete wavered between driving without somebody else as eyes or waiting for a car with a basically incapacitated Vegas and decided he wanted to get them out of an uncontrolled environment now. He disentangled himself from Vegas to put him in the passenger seat, which was more difficult than it sounded because Vegas didn’t want to let go and at one point bit his neck, which made it very hard for Pete to focus the way he needed to. (Drift)

2. Vegas wondered if he should try to pretend to know who he was talking about. Nobody liked hearing that the death that’d meant so much to them hadn’t made an impression. 

“You don’t even remember him, do you,” said his captor. 

“I have no idea who you are,” Vegas said. “So, no.” 

He didn’t like that, and expressed as much with another kick in the ribs. Vegas gritted his teeth so he didn’t yelp even though his vision swam and his head spun, his still mending insides vehemently protesting.  (All's Fair)

3. Xue Yang had a deep professional respect for Wei Wuxian’s work. He was, unquestionably, a master of their shared craft; Xue Yang had built a not insignificant part of his own work on the scraps of foundation he’d left behind. He was skilled, and smart, and based on his activities during the Sunshot Campaign had a nasty streak Xue Yang could appreciate. 

On a personal level Xue Yang sort of wanted to gut him with a dull knife. (demonic cultivator team up fic)

4. “Why are you guys being so weird,” he said aggressively. Vegas shot him a look that Macau met without wavering. “What? It’s making you really uncomfortable to be around.” 

“So go find somewhere else to be,” Vegas said. “Nosy.”

“I live here,” Macau said. He turned his gaze on Pete. “So?” 

Vegas could see Pete hesitating. His eyes darted toward Vegas and then away. 

“Don’t try to pry shit out of him just because you think he’ll crack before I do,” Vegas said. 

“He will, though,” Macau said, eyes still fixed on Pete. “You’ll tell me what’s going on. Right, P’Pete?” It hovered somewhere awkwardly between a wheedle and a command. Vegas reached over and smacked the back of his head.

“Cut it out, you little pest,” he said in English. 

“Did you have a fight or something?” 

Vegas’s insides seized up a little but before he could respond Pete said, “no, it’s not like that. Everything’s fine.” He smiled and Vegas felt like there was something scraping against his skin. He clenched his molars together until his jaw hurt. Macau looked even more suspicious.

“Riiight,” he said. “Sure.” (post canon vegaspete long(er) fic)

5. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Pete asked again, for the fifth or sixth time. Vegas gritted his teeth so he didn’t snap.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he said through them. “Stop asking.” Pete barely flinched before relaxing into an easy smile. 

“Okay,” he said. 

“You’ll have sightline from here,” Vegas said, by way of…not apology, but maybe it would help Pete feel a little better. “Don’t worry. I don’t think…” his voice wavered and he cleared his throat. “I won’t be long.” 

Pete scanned him with watchful eyes that didn’t quite match his smile. “You can stay as long as you want,” he said. In his eyes Vegas read I don’t like this. 

“I know I can,” he said sharply. “I wasn’t asking permission.” He turned before he could see Pete’s reaction and walked into the cemetery. (Fidelity)

6. “Can I tell you a secret,” a-Qing said, her voice now dull. Song Lan made an affirmative sound, though he tensed. A-Qing chewed her lower lip. “It’s bad,” she said. 

“Mm-mm,” Song Lan said in denial. A-Qing turned a little in his direction, looking at him through her eyelashes. 

“I think Daozhang is still in love with him,” she said despairingly. Song Lan’s heart sank, the hope that he’d been wrong dwindling to nothing. He said nothing, waiting, and a-Qing kicked her heels. “I thought he’d get over it, now that he knows how awful he always was but he still…it’s not fair. That bastard is dead and he’s still making everything worse.” 

Song Lan’s chest ached. 

“What are we going to do,” a-Qing said, her voice small and unusually young-sounding, so unlike her usual brash, confident self. 

I wish I knew. I wish I knew what was right. No, Song Lan had to admit to himself that was no longer his first question. He wished he knew what would help. Right or wrong, if it brought Xiao Xingchen some peace… (Life After Death)

7. That was the trouble, wasn’t it? Xue Yang was right: Song Lan did want him to suffer. He wanted him to feel every miserable bit of pain he’d caused him and Xingchen and so many others; he wanted him beaten down and broken and begging forgiveness that he would never, never receive. The violence of the thoughts he’d had about what he could do to Xue Yang frightened him. The ease with which he’d already done some things – nothing against the torments Xue Yang had inflicted, but that was not a standard he wanted to live by – sickened him. But that didn’t mean he didn’t crave vengeance. He hadn’t spared Xue Yang’s life out of kindness. 

“Yeah,” Xue Yang said, reading Song Lan’s silence correctly. “So there you go.”

Song Lan grimaced, closing his eyes and taking a moment to center himself before saying, “whatever – baser urges I might have, as I’ve said, that isn’t how I want to conduct myself. With anyone.” 

Xue Yang looked away from him. “Seems to keep happening, though,” he said. “So much for daoshi discipline, huh?” 

“You are remarkably good at trying my patience,” Song Lan said. Xue Yang’s eyes darted back in his direction and he laughed; this one sounded significantly less wild than some of his others. 

“It’s not just you, Song-daozhang,” Xue Yang said, his voice suddenly bright and lilting. “I try plenty of other peoples’ patience too.” 

“I can imagine,” Song Lan said, which drew another laugh from Xue Yang. 

“It’s a gift,” Xue Yang said, with a sunny smile. (Walking Far From Home)

8. Xiao Xingchen had to laugh. “I would try to coax you back out,” he said. “I’m sure you’d be a very cute tarantula.” 

Xue Yang laughed and grinned at him even more widely. “You would think tarantulas are cute,” he said. “Sure, okay. I’ll be your special tarantula and I’ll only bite other people, not you. I’m very venomous, though, so be careful.” 

Xiao Xingchen tried to look solemn. “I trust my tarantula boyfriend,” he said, but he couldn’t hold a straight face, breaking into a giggle. 

“Your first mistake,” Xue Yang said, the two of them laughing together. Then Xue Yang lit into tickling Xiao Xingchen, and Xiao Xingchen almost kicked him in the stomach by accident, and the shadows of his dream faded from his mind. (Redux)

9. So. He was back. 

He was back and he was alive and something was wrong with him.

There were a lot of things wrong with him. Clearly. Or maybe had been wrong with him all along and now it was just…exposed, laid bare, yanked out in the open where he couldn’t ignore it. 

Vegas had done a lot of things to him but Pete thought that might be the worst. (jiggety-jig)

10. “Why won’t it work, you mean?” Xue Yang said, and laughed. “I can’t tell you all my secrets, Zichen.” 

Don’t call me that, Song Lan almost wrote, but he stopped himself. There was almost certainly no better way to ensure that Xue Yang called him nothing else. Instead he wrote, I would expect you to want to brag.

“Ha,” Xue Yang said. “What would be the point? It’s not like you’d be impressed. And you already know how good I am. Was.” His smile fell away a little, momentarily, and for a split second Song Lan saw him as he’d truly been when he died, hollowed out and exhausted, bloody and beaten even before Song Lan slid Fuxue between his ribs. “You are how good I was. My greatest creation. Even more than the Yin Tiger Seal. I just remade that, after all, but you were all mine.” 

Song Lan couldn’t actually vomit but the nausea was still overpowering. (the poison in your bones)

11. Liu Mingyan was a problem. 

If she had to be fair (though Sha Hualing was not generally interested in being fair), she was less annoying than her brother, but that was setting a remarkably high bar, and she was more annoying to Sha Hualing specifically. As far as Sha Hualing could tell, Mingyan-guniang had made it her business to interfere with Sha Hualing’s business at every possible opportunity. Sometimes it seemed like she couldn’t turn around in the Human Realm without running into her, even when Sha Hualing wasn’t doing anything wrong. Or hadn’t done anything yet, anyway. 

Or at least hadn’t done anything Liu Mingyan could possibly know about. 

It wasn’t like Sha Hualing couldn’t handle her. Obviously she could; she’d defeated her one-on-one, and later on held her captive. It still made sense to be cautious. A little wary. Human beings could be tricky sometimes, and Liu Mingyan in particular made Sha Hualing uneasy. Not that she would say as much to anyone. (under pressure)

12. “All of us,” Gabriel said, “must, in our lives, learn how to surrender to some greater power. Preference may not come into it.”

Lymond’s unnaturally bright eyes blinked once. “Not mine, at any rate,” he said. “I’m sure your preference is quite informative, in this case.” 

“Your wound,” Gabriel said, removing his hands, “needs tending.” 

“And you, with your healer’s hands,” Lymond said. “Ille more suo victus pietate, nec sordes cavit, nec fetorum exhorruit.”

“I make no claims to the miraculous,” Gabriel said. “But such things come first and foremost to the faithful.”

“Accept Christ,” Lymond said, “and my deformities shall disappear. Deny him, and I am cast out of the body public. Is that it?”  (et ipsi sunt jacula)

[kedsandtubesocks]

👀👀 hello i am here for your spooky event and in light of the vampire prompts, i raise you a werewolf!kirishima who is SHY and reader does not know he’s a werewolf!!

ps i LOVE your prompt theme and congrats on your milestone!! 🎉🎉💐

My SWEET SWEET NEM!!! My heart is overflowing with love for YOU and I’m so thankful I can celebrate you and celebrate with you!!! Thank you so much for sending something in… Let’s enjoy some werewolf kiri yeah? 🥺

Kirishima + werewolf

cw: death mention & blood

“Dude, don’t you think it’s suspicious? I mean the guy leaves the entire week during a full moon and even his boss is cool with it? Plus, okay… Haven’t you guys been dating for months now and you still don’t know why he leaves?” Your best friend debates over the phone and you want to hang up on her.

“Maybe there’s something family wise that has him tied up during that time. I don’t know it could be something religious?” You reply back.

A fierce protectiveness rises wanting to shield your sweet possibly official not official boyfriend.

You knew Kirishima worked strange hours. It how you met him at the bar after all. The endearing and earnest bartender had comforted you after your online dating app date was a bust. As you were about to call a cab, trying to gather as much of your dignity as you could, suddenly a shot glass filled with whip cream was slid towards you. On the mountain of whip cream was a sweet smiley face in what looked like chocolate sauce. When you looked up to maybe see who had sent the strange but sweet shot that’s when you spotted the bartender. Truly built like a mountain, his kind eyes would flicker to you then quickly dart away. You knew it had to be him. So, you curiosity got the best of you and you asked:

“Wait…Why do you guys have whipped cream and chocolate sauce at a bar?”

Your mystery bartender turned to you with the most bashful grin. “For some of our dessert drinks and for the occasional bachelorette party that comes in and wants to get crazy with us.”

Your eyes go wide at the very wild images that came up and your red haired mystery man noticed your reaction. His face fell in the most adorable panic.

“Not that I’ve participated or gone crazy with them!” He stammers out and for some reason you bust out into the wildest fit of giggles.

You spent the entire rest of the night laughing until the bar closed and you completely forget about your bad date.

Since then, your red hair bartender has been brightening your life like the sun. There is just the strange occurrence that happens when the moon is full.

“I just…need some time to myself, sweetheart. I hope you can understand.” He had told you and been so nervous and shy. It was actually sweet to see this strong bulk of a man seem so reluctant and almost boyish. You didn’t hesitate to of course give him the space he needed.

But now, just like your best friend said, months into this, whatever it is, you grew curious as to what kept your smiling sunshine guy from you.

Those thoughts nag at you like annoying gnats you try to swat away. As you get ready for bed you simply check your phone one final time for any texts from Kirishima.

Even during the time he’s away, Kirishima always manages to send you the cutest texts. Some range from “wishing you a day as beautiful as you!” to even a simple funny meme.

But this entire day, he’s been silent.

Suddenly, the branches outside your window begin to rustle as if something is moving in them.

You freeze.

Living on the first floor of the apartment complex meant you hear strange things from time to time.

But the softest growl echoing from the window chokes your throat with fear. All you can do is grab your nearby blow dryer as your source of weapon and rush out to the source of the sound.

When you slide open the back door to the patio, the smell of blood in the night air hits you. Shit. Then, it doesn’t take long for you for focus in the darkness and spot the large beast.

It’s furry, about the size of a very large dog and you can’t move. A wolf, it has to be a wolf. You have to go back inside, need to call someone. You walk backwards as silently as you can until the creature snaps it’s head up. There among the darkness the wolf’s eyes gleam like mini moon bright against the darkness.

The wolf scrambles up and rushes towards you.

This is it, you think. This is how you die. You can’t even scream because it happens so fast.

A large body barrels into you, knocking your poor hair dryer out of your hands. You brace for the attack.

Instead the wolf shoves its face against your neck. And instead of fangs ripping into your skin, a rapid tongue starts to lick at any inch of your skin it can reach.

Then the grand beast whines. The sound is heartbroken, even scared. In the light of your porch you catch the wolf’s beautiful russet colored fur.

You start to comfort with soft shaken coos. The wolf simply huffs against you and tries to get closer to you. The action has you realizing just how large the beast is. You’re reminded of a large Great Dane thinking itself a lap dog and you want to laugh, but this moment doesn’t feel real.

Your hands shake as you wearily move to pat the wolf and you find the fur is so soft. When you pull your hand back however, blood is speckled over it.

Before you can even process what’s going on, trying to even figure out a plan, a sudden weight falls against you. It’s sturdy, heavy, knocking a surprised huff out of you.

When you rapidly turn your gaze down, there bleeding and resting in your arms…is your sweet red haired bartender.

[poorasdirt]

Real Talk

Okay, normally I just scroll through Tumblr for the memes and maybe a writing prompt to slay my creative demon for a while. But for the past month my life has been so up in the air I legit couldn’t bother to even put a pen to paper.

See, I was living at my dad’s house for the past ten or so years. It was all cool because despite being close to retirement he was pretty on the ball with stuff. But he retired and life got, real? I’m not sure how to describe it.

I was taking care of my dad’s house for him, as best as I could, while we waited for him to finally be able to retire. That was all good and dandy really. But I have a little sister who does stupid shit sometimes. I love her, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes I want to put her in a barrel and send her down Niagara Falls.

She’s wrecked three of my cars, could possibly be blamed for wrecking a fourth car, and basically had me stuck at my house for the better part of eight years. I had a revolving door of neighbors that were as intrusive as the weather and I live far enough north that on average my area gets roughly five feet of snow on average.

So, I was dealing with that, but I was dealing. I had ways of getting by without imploding. Then back in April I found out that dad forgot to pay the land taxes for three years and our house was foreclosed on. We had to scramble to find a place to stay, pack up the house, and all around figure out life again.

Don’t worry, I’m mostly in a good place now. I’m not completely on solid ground but there is light at the end of my tunnel that isn’t an oncoming train.

I mean it was so bad that just looking at the fanfics I’ve been writing on Ao3 for fun just made me want to bawl. I’ve contemplated deleting it all, given how fresh everything still is. But I won’t, because I still get comments on those fics about how much people love them.

Then, I saw another author, posting on one of the stories I bookmarked, say that they were deleting the fic because it reminded them of a shitty time in their life. I don’t fault them for that, they can do as they feel best for their mental health. But at the same time the fans of that fic are faced with the thought of losing something that means something so different for them.

I mean why can’t they just orphan the work so they don’t have to deal with it but it can remain as testament to it existing. I’ve followed fanfic sites for a long time at this point and it sometimes hurts to think of a great fic, or scene, or OC and go hunting for it. Only to find that the fic no longer exists.

This brings me to something I always struggle with when it comes to writing. See, I’ve always wanted to write my own novel. I have ideas and even sketch out possible scenes, writing feverishly to capture those moments. But I’ve read blogs and books and watched youtube videos all about writing.

I find the one thing keeping me from taking the plunge of writing an original work is the question of an audience. Every bit of advice when it comes to writing a novel comes with the caveat that it’s being written for someone. I get it, publishers want the work of fiction (or otherwise) to resonate and get sold so money could be made.

But it brings me to the question of how much of my fanfic writing was made for myself, and how much have a written for Ao3 (or any other fanfic site I casually was part of over the years). Have I, this whole time, been strictly writing for myself or the community of fans that also occupy the fandom I enjoy? How many times have I continued a project not for the fact that I wanted to, but because of a thoughtful comment or review made me keep going?

Is the reason writing an original work so daunting because I don’t know who my audience would be? Is the built it audience of a fandom a crutch that I’ve been leaning on for years? Or have I become so isolated due to circumstances beyond my control that I can’t quite name a group of people that could enjoy what I want to write?

I’m sure there is an audience out there, but every time I contemplate who my target audience could be I draw a blank. Every time I look at my ongoing fanfic projects I wonder if the passion I have for them is for myself, or those reading them. Am I having a creative crisis or is it just self awareness finally kicking in?

Or maybe I just need a break from writing, somehow. It’s a little hard because my brain won’t shut up about a new idea or working on a new chapter in a fanfic. Otherwise, aside from needing to rant somewhere, I’m doing well.

Thank you for getting through this brain vomit if you made it this far. I hope you have a wonderful day. I’m going outside to take a walk and touch some grass.

[arjaandsimoni]

Call me Tex

Stephy awoke with a start that morning, grunting and sitting up in bed and rubbing his eyes. From the living room he could hear his father cursing at the TV. The same damn thing every day. Wake up, watch 24 hour news networks, drink, curse, repeat.

He got dressed, then opened his window carefully, looking down. The house was two stories, but that was less of an issue than it used to be. He whistled as softly as he could and the air swirled below him… the boy sticking his legs out the window, then pushing and landing on a cushion of wind, bouncing to his feet. “Oof…” he winced, rubbing his tailbone. “Almost…” he muttered, then started to walk towards the street. He wished he could be wearing something other than a beat up teeshirt and jeans, but he wasn’t ready to try that in the daytime yet…

Covington was busy as it always was this time of day, lots of foot traffic since the city streets were laid out before the big automobile boom of the 1950s when cities were actually designed for foot traffic and people could get to places without having to buy a car or memorize a bus schedule. He couldn’t get that Tex boy out of his mind. Something about his smile just seemed so inviting…

Stephy squirmed at the thought. Was he gay? Was he straight and transfem? Was… was he… he groaned, he wished Stephanie was here. She know tons more about this than he did. His father was so dismissive of his needs that he didn’t even have a phone, or internet access, or even a computer, or anything. He had to use the library for anything like that and over the years their content blockers had gone from laughably simple to casting such a broad net it was a wonder he could even look up cat memes.

He shrugged, walking along. He didn’t have any money today, but maybe he could scrounge some change. People dropped a lot more than one might think…

Tex was out as well, the young man wearing bluejeans and a red teeshirt today. He’d foregone the cowboy boots this time however, just wearing a pair of construction boots instead. The cowboy boots were fun for nostalgia’s sake, but he had to admit they made him stick out like a sore thumb around here.

He was bored more than anything. Their internet and cable TV hadn’t been hooked up yet and in any case he was more used to physical labor on his family’s ranch back in Texas, but times had been hard and so his mom had taken a job up in Cincinnati so she could send money back home to help make ends meet for the family.

Still, living in the city wasn’t so bad. Always something neat to see at least he thought as he walked down the road.

Stephy walked up Madison, keeping his head down, partially in the figurative sense, partially to keep an eye out for loose change. He’d already gotten together enough for a hamburger at McDonald’s, all he needed now was another couple quarters for a drink and he at least wouldn’t go hungry today.

Idly he turned a corner leading towards the public library, there were always kids dropping pocket change there… and suddenly…

“OOF!”

“ACK!”

He walked headlong into someone! The boy fell to the ground and rubbing his head, “Owww… shit sorry, I didn’t see you…” he looked up, then felt his heart jump up into his throat.

“Nah, its okay buddy… I was just admirin’ the architecture n’…” said the other person, sitting up, blue eyes meeting brown, “… hey hang on… you’re that girl from…”

Stephy felt his forehead break out in a cold sweat. “Girl? What girl? No girls here! AHAHAHAHAH!” he laughed, his voice going rather higher than intended on the last bit.

Tex blinked, looking him over. He was definitely the same person he’d seen last night, just… not in a skirt now… but… “Son of a gun… you’re…” he started.

Stephy froze, realizing he was putting the pieces together, and inside his head an invisible hand reached for the lever between ‘fight and flight’ and slammed it to the latter with excessive force! Stephy scrambled to his feet, turned and bolted back across Madison Avenue, the main street through the city, and down the street opposite!

“… like me…” finished Tex, blinking, “Crap! HEY HOLD UP!” he shouted, getting to his feet and rushing after Stephy.

Stephy raced blindly through the town, thinking ‘crap crap crap crap crap’ to himself, his heart hurting at that. Dammit he thought he was cute, he thought he actually looked like a girl, and now he knew the truth and he’d just be like all the others! He gritted his teeth, his legs pounding. He was never athletic or strong, but if there was one thing he could do it would be rabbit the hell away from anyone trying to hurt him.

Then he risked a glance back and saw Tex gaining on him. Stephy let out a strangled cry and his excessive knowledge of escape routes took over. He jumped a fence, then scrambled between two broken fenceposts, then dove to the ground and rushed under a busted wire fence, quickly slipping sideways and shimmying between two close together houses, and then turning again and rushing back across Madison, down a deserted alleyway. He cleared the flight of stairs in one go, then slumped down next to what looked like a bare patch of wall. “… whew…” he gasped, looking up…

Grinning down at him was Tex’s face, “Not bad, but I had ta catch calves that ran off fer years now 'n girl, ya'll can’t run HALF as fast as a scared moocow.” he chuckled.

Stephy was halfway up the stairs before Tex ducked infront of him and cut him off. “Now hang on! Just cool your heels a minute girl! Its okay! I know whats goin’ on!” he said, holding out his hands. “I getcha, you’re just like me but from the other direction, its alright!” he added in a soothing tone.

Stephy backed up to the wall, then paused, “… just… like you?” he asked.

Tex nodded, “Yeah, transgender.” he replied.

Stephy blinked, “… uh… w-what?” he asked, his eyes going up and down Tex’s body. All boy as far as he could tell…

“Yeah, s’why my mom and I left Texas… well, part of why… ol’ bastard in th’ governor’s chair decided to make kids like me a target and someone had to go get a job elsewhere anyways to help my family’s ranch, so we got the hell outta Dodge before stuff started gettin’ really bad. Mind ya’ll, Kentucky ain’t doin’ a TON better, but we can’t afford California or somethin’ like that ‘n those people are a bit too…” he made a wibbly-wobbly gesture, “Wishy-washy for my tastes…” he nodded.

Stephy blinked slowly again, “… what?” he asked, his voice still shaking a bit.

Tex tilted his head, “C’mon now, its fine! I know it was you I helped out the other night. Don’t worry, I get it, you’re still too anxious to go full time. Heck I was scared too.” he grinned.

Stephy felt his heartbeat slow down from ‘I cannae take much more Capt’n’ to ‘I may not be in immediate danger of a heart attack,’ but still…

Tex smiled and went to put his hand on Stephy’s shoulder, “Hey now, jus’ relax I…” he paused. As soon as he got close Stephy immediately cringed and shrank down. He was fine around Stephanie and most girls, but anyone else was 'enemy until proven otherwise.'

Tex stared, looking at his hand, then back at Stephy. “I didn’t even touch ya’ll…” he muttered, “… this ain’t just about those assholes I beat up last night is it?” he frowned.

Stephy looked away, “I just…” he shrugged.

Tex nodded, “Ya’ll don’t gotta say no more… yer ma or yer pa the one doin’ it?” he asked.

Stephy blinked, looking at him, “Huh?”

Tex nodded, “Someone is abusin’ you. I can see all the signs. The second you thought I was gonna do something ya bolted. I tried to touch your shoulder ‘n ya’ll curled up like I was gonna smack ya.” he frowned, “I used to go to a support group fer trans kids back in Texas, there were more than a few of us who were like that.”

Stephy winced, his head pounding now. He shouldn’t tell him. Stephanie and her family knew but he couldn’t stand to say it because it meant acknowledging it was real. That he was terrified to go home some nights for what might be waiting for him there, that he’d genuinely wondered if letting Isolde take him might have been better than staying with his father, that his father and most of his family thought he was a runt, a worthless mongrel runt who wasn’t fit to be part of their clan, to be part of their family. The words pounded in his head, he felt himself start to shake…

… and then a gentle hand cupped his chin.

“Its alright…” whispered Tex’s voice.

Stephy froze again, then replied in a very small voice, “… my dad…”

About a half hour later, inside the Speakeasy Hideout

“… and ever since mom died he’s just been worse and worse! All he ever does is just drink and watch TV and whenever he’s out of beer or the TV isn’t holding his attention he comes after me! I have to hide out in Covington all day long just to keep from being a target! I don’t DARE let him find out! He already hates me!” he spat out, sitting on a barstool.

Tex was on the one next to him, the boy nodding slowly. “Yeah, sounds shitty-…” he started

“NO HE DOESN’T! HE ALWAYS HATED ME!” Stephy shouted, shaking his head frantically as memories of all the adults he’d tried to tell about his father went across his mind. Everyone he’d ever asked for help who had either been dismissive, patronizing, concerned about what his father might do, or who knew damn well what his father WOULD do… “EVER SINCE HE KNEW I WASN’T GOING TO BE LIKE THE REST OF THE FAMILY HE…” he paused, blinking slowly as Tex’s words caught up with his brain, “… you didn’t say what I thought you would…” he mumbled sheepishly.

Tex smirked, “Lemme guess, ‘I’m sure he loves you deep down?’” he asked.

Stephy chuckled, “’He does, he just doesn’t know how to show it properly’ is another one I get a lot…”

Tex nodded, “Mmmhm… people don’t get it. I lucked out, my parents split up when I was real young but it wasn’t anything major. They just realized they didn’t work out and that was that. Kinda glad, I don’t like stories about people who ‘stay together for the kids.’” he rolled his eyes, “Just been me ‘n mom growin’ up and she did fine.’”

Stephy shook his head, “Bull. People think just because someone has a kid that it makes them love them no matter what… My father is a monster, an ogre. If I could leave, I would.” he nodded.

“Guessin’ child services ain’t an option?” asked Tex.

Stephy shook his head, “Eight people hospitalized total, even say the name ‘Fullmoon’ and they hang up now.” he replied.

Tex let out a low whistle, “Shitty situation darlin’…” he muttered.

Stephy nodded, flinching a bit as Tex put an arm around him, then blushing, “Sorry, reflex… I’m just… yeah…”

“Girl, its alright… yer not the first remember?” he smiled, “Wish I could do more, but hey at least ya’ll got a pretty neat hideaway for him. Set up a cot down here, maybe get some lights strung, ya’ll be all set!” he grinned.

Stephy shrugged, “Yeah, but I’m broke…” he muttered.

Tex smirked, “I ain’t.” he said.

Stephy blinked, “Huh?” he asked.

“I got a cot back home, brought it with me just ‘cause it’s a useful thing to have handy, and a generator that can fit in a wheelbarrow easy enough. Runs on diesel, but it doesn’t use a ton of it. Get those down here, get a mini-fridge maybe, ya'll could live here!” he nodded.

Stephy blinked slowly, “I… could, couldn’t I?” he looked around, the idea had never occurred to him. “Nobody knows this place even exists anymore but me and my cousin…” he muttered.

Tex grinned at him, “Sounds good to me.” he nodded. “Set you up down here ‘n your dad can go twist in th’ wind for all we care.”

Stephy nodded, “Yeah… we could…” he muttered.

One week later

“Aaaaaand… BANG!” he grinned, yanking the pull-chain. The generator started up, vibrating slightly, and the lights in the old speakeasy came on one by one. The bar had been cleaned up, a cot set up next to the wall, he’d even rigged up the toilet area into a makeshift outhouse that just dropped straight into the sewer system. Tex knew a lot about jury rigging, came with living on a ranch. Power goes out and the weather is bad, sometimes you just had to make do. He walked back into the hidden speakeasy from outside, the generator set up in a secluded part of the alley away from any windows with a power cable leading in. It was a rarely used alleyway, lost and forgotten mostly, so nobody was likely to find it.

Stephy stared, looking around. There was a mirror set up, along with a clothing rack where the hand-me-downs his cousin gave him now hung, there was even a pride flag hung up on the wall behind the bar. “Cleans up nicely don’t it?” grinned Tex.

“I…” he stared, his eyes huge. He was in the same outfit Tex had seen him in the first night now, having worked up the nerve to put a girl’s outfit back on. “Its… Tex I…” he shook a bit, then turned and grabbed him around the middle, burying his face in the boy’s chest.

“OOF! Hey now! Still somethin’ under there!” he laughed as Stephy eeped and stumbled back, his face red.

“S-sorry! I forgot… I mean…” he glanced away.

“HAH! Don’t apologize cutie-pie! If someone who knows they’re there forgets I have ‘em then that’s a GOOD thing!” he grinned. “Means someone who don’t know won’t see ‘em to begin with.”

Stephy blushed brightly at that, but nodded, “Really though, I… I never had somewhere genuinely safe like this before…” he replied, “I really don’t know what to say…”

Tex smirked, then cupped his chin and planted a kiss on his forehead, “I find ‘thank you’ works just fine darlin’.” he nodded.

Stephy froze again, staring at the floor, that time he couldn’t deny it felt good… really REALLY good… he leaned slowly into Tex, the taller boy giving him a gentle hug. Tight, but not too tight so he could pull back if he wanted to.

He felt his eyes welling up, for the first time in his life he genuinely felt safe somewhere. He had someone who actually could understand what he was going through and what it meant for him… “Mn, sorry… I… just won’t stop all of a sudden.” he blushed, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

“Then don’t force it to lil’ filly, let it out… Ain't nobody to see it but me.” he whispered, stroking a hand over Stephy's head.

Unfortunately for them, Tex was wrong... they had an audience watching from an angle he couldn't even perceive. In the mirror set up next to the cot, a pair of black eyes were taking in the scene.

Arcadia, the Toyland realm of the Everblooming Rose

“Well well well… the Fullmoon boy has found his prince charming!” smirked Isolde, “Oh dear oh dear… happily ever after is soooooooo close for him now…” she giggled, standing up and walking to the mirror held infront of her throne by one of her dolls.

“So lovely, true love is beginning to blossom…” she cooed, then scowled, “But that boy doesn’t DESERVE to be happy!” she snarled, spinning on her heel, “That foul demon-claimed grownup Nelen doesn’t want me coming back… but if I’m not there then that still counts.” she giggled, snapping her fingers as one of the dolls walked over with almost mechanical precision in it's steps.

“YOU! Get my soldiers ready! Tomorrow night I’ll be playing the role of the Faerie Queen who steals away Prince Charming and denies that Wicked Witch his happy ending!" she grinned, her dark eyes narrowing in malicious glee.

Next Story

Previous Story

[roseworth]

i went apeshit over that last one. anyway roy & anyone u choose w “i’m scared” pls 🫶

send me a prompt 😙

i chose mia is anyone surprised

--

For the millionth time in his life, Roy wished that Gotham rogues would just stay in Gotham. Whenever they got bored of Batman, they would come to fuck shit up in other cities, and everyone else just had to deal with it.

Today, it was the Riddler. His snarky tone and infuriating way of talking were already pissing Roy off, not to mention the fact that he had locked him in some kind of fucking escape room. 

“Are you a mythology fan, Arsenal?” Riddler asked over a speaker. Roy rolled his eyes and started looking around the room for a way to get out. When Roy didn’t respond, the Riddler continued. “Artemis and Apollo, the moon and the sun, the twins of the hunt. Brother and sister.”

Roy narrowed his eyes and looked up, trying to find some camera to stare into or something. “What do you want?”

“I think you are going to be the one wanting,” Riddler responded. Roy couldn’t wait to punch him in the face. “Because you’ve got a kind of twin yourself, don’t you?”

Roy raised an eyebrow. “A twin,” he repeated, wholly unimpressed.

“A sister in arms, a replica of what you once were,” Riddler explained in his stupid droning tone. 

Mia, Roy thought, his blood running cold. “What the hell do you want with Speedy?”

“Once again, I won’t be the one wanting,” Riddler sing-songed. “Maybe you should keep better track of your clothes.”

A hatch clicked, and a drawer opened with a single comm sitting in it. He took it out and shoved it in his ear. “Speedy?”

“Roy?” Mia said groggily. “What’s going on?”

“Riddler got us,” he explained. “I thought it was just me, but looks like we’re in it together, kid.”

Mia laughed quietly. “Always dragging me into your problems, huh?”

“Guess so,” he smiled. “Where are you?”

“I, uh…” she trailed off. “I don’t know. It’s dark in here.”

“Dark?” 

“As you may recall,” Riddler shouted over the speaker, “Artemis’s temple was burned to the ground back in 356 BC.”

No. 

“Riddle me this, Arsenal,” he said, a grin evident in his voice. “What is not alive, but grows? Doesn’t have lungs, but needs air? Doesn’t have a mouth, but is killed by water?”

“Damnit,” he said under his breath. “Mia? Are you okay?”

“Fuck,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be burned alive.”

“You won’t be,” he promised. “He gave me some riddles, that’s his whole shtick, right? I’ll get you, no problem.”

“‘No problem,’” she repeated in a mocking tone. “I can’t believe I’m getting fridged.”

Roy laughed breathily. “You’re not getting fridged, I promise not to go through any emotional development after you die.”

Mia snickered. “Just do the riddles, asshole.”

Roy turned back to the room. There was a drawer with a small slot, with the label What has a head, a tail, is brown, and has no legs?

Roy rolled his eyes and searched the room for a penny. If all the riddles were like this, he would have Mia out in no time.

He found a penny sitting on the ground, then pressed it through the slot. The drawer popped open with another riddle. He breezed through them, making small talk with Mia all the while.

“How are the Teen Titans?” he asked.

“Fine,” she said. “Cassie started dating that one girl that we think might be Ollie’s.”

He snorted. “Cassie is sorta-half-sister-in-law material, right?”

Mia laughed. Roy worked through a few more riddles, picking up a pair of gloves after the riddle They have no flesh, nor feathers, nor scales, nor bone. Yet they have fingers and thumbs of their own. What are they?

He looked inside the gloves and pulled out a strip of paper.

I make two people out of one. What am I?

He read the riddle a few times. “Hey, Mimi, you good at riddles?”

“No. Also, ‘Mimi’?”

“There’s no better time to try out nicknames than right next to death, Memes.”

“Ugh.”

“I’ve got the riddle ‘I make two people out of one,’ any thoughts?”

Mia thought for a moment. “I’ve got a friend that’s a clone, maybe it’s a cloning device.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” he said. “Besides, Donna’s kind of sort of a clone, and she–” He cut himself off. 

“What?”

“It’s a mirror.”

“And you got that with the power of Donna?”

Roy searched the room for a mirror. He looked at a wall across from him and inspected the mirror. “What can I say? Donna’s smart, I guess just thinking about her makes me smarter.”

“Huh, you must not think about her a lot.”

“Very funny,” he drawled. He couldn’t find anything on or behind the mirror. He frowned, then threw it on the ground.

“What was that?”

“Mirror.”

“And you broke it?”

“Riddle’s behind the glass,” he said, flipping it over and picking up a slip of paper that had fallen out. “You have me today, tomorrow you'll have more. As your time passes, I'm not easy to store. I don't take up space, but I'm only in one place. I am what you saw, but not what you see. What am I?”

“I hate riddles,” Mia replied. “This is stupid.”

“‘I don’t take up space’ probably means it’s a concept.”

“Sounds like a thought,” she said. “You have them today and more tomorrow, and everyone has thoughts. Well, most people have thoughts, I don’t know what you have.”

“Love you too, my darling sister,” Roy said sarcastically. “It’s what you saw, so it’s in the past right? Memories?”

“Ah, yes!” Riddler yelled over the speaker. “Memories! And you’ll have to live with the memories of your sister for–”

“That ones a bit of a stretch,” Roy interrupted. “Not a good riddle if you have to explain it.”

“Roy!” Mia yelled. “Fire!”

“What?”

“Fire!” she repeated. “It’s fuckin– It’s coming closer, I’m gonna–”

“Stay calm, Speedy,” Roy said, instantly shifting into seasoned vigilante mode. 

“Now that we’re properly focused, let’s move on,” Riddler said smugly. “What is it that given one, you'll have either two or none?”

Roy frowned. “A…” he trailed off. He had heard this one before. “A choice?”

A door flew open behind him. “Exactly!” Riddler yelled. “You have a choice: You can stay here and save Speedy, or you can leave now and save yourself! You can’t do both.”

He heard the comm in his ear click. Fuck. “Speedy? Can you still hear me?”

“No outside help,” Riddler cackled. “Now, a choice!”

The choice was pretty clear. He could leave to get help, but he had no guarantee Riddler wouldn’t kill her while he was gone. Even if the man killed him after Mia was safe, it would be better than her getting hurt.

“I choose Speedy,” he said, crossing his arms. 

Riddler said nothing, but the comm in his ear clicked again. 

“...Roy?”

“Right here, kiddo.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought you left me.”

“Never, I swear.”

She didn’t reply. Roy wished they could go back to 2 minutes ago when she was teasing him instead of the nervous silence she had now.

“Talk to me, kid, I’m still sorting through these riddles,” he said, flipping to the back of the memory riddle and finding a new riddle to work through.

“There’s still a fire,” she said quietly. “It’s slow, but it’s getting closer.”

“You’re gonna be out of there in no time, don’t you worry.”

Mia stayed silent for a while, and Roy kept moving through riddles. They were all softballs from here, like “What has hands, but cannot clap?” then the next riddle inside the clock.

“Roy?” Mia said, her voice raspy and shaking. 

“Yeah?”

“I’m scared.”

“You’re gonna be okay,” he assured her.

“How do you know?”

“Would I ever lie to you?”

“Yes,” she answered. “You lie to me all the time.”

“What? Name one time.”

“The other day you told me Nightwing was raised by a family of monkeys and that’s why he’s so acrobatic,’” Mia ranted.

Roy couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, fine, that was–”

“And you tried to convince me that the real way Ollie got off the island was by growing gills and swimming away.”

“Come on, those were all–”

“And just last week you told me you were going to visit home, then you didn’t,” she yelled. Roy’s stomach twisted at the way her voice wavered like she was holding back a sob. “And I waited! I-I was waiting all night because I thought you were coming like you said, then you didn’t and I just–” She took a deep breath, then mumbled, “Whatever. Didn’t even care.”

“Mia, I–”

“It’s fine, you were doing something important, or whatever, I get it.”

“I’m sorry, kid,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “I would’ve, I swear, it wasn’t about you.”

“I know,” she said. “Still hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “But trust me now, you’re going to be okay, and you can yell at me to my face about it soon.”

“I don’t want to,” she mumbled. “I don’t want to be mad at you about it, I just want you there.”

“Mia…”

“Whatever, man, I’m in a room of fire right now, just– just do what you need to do.”

Roy grimaced and looked at the next riddle, only to find that there was no riddle. Just the sun on a piece of paper.

“Congratulations, dear Apollo, you’ve seen the sun!” Riddler yelled. “But alas, the moon cannot be seen without the sun’s light! Rise, dear moon, and reflect the sun’s shine as your own!”

“...What?”

“Roy,” Mia said. “A door to the roof just opened above me, I’m getting out.”

“Thank god,” he sighed. “Get far away, don’t let him find you again, okay?”

“What? No way, man,” she argued. “You’re still trapped, I’m not just gonna leave you.”

“I can get out myself, don’t worry about me,” he replied, not sure if he even believed himself.

“Don’t lie to me, I’m– wait a minute."

Roy frowned. “What’s going on?”

“I need you to trust me.”

“That’s not very reassuring.”

“Duck.”

“What?”

Seconds later, a wall blew up behind him, and Mia walked through the rubble.

“Explosive arrows!” she exclaimed, holding her bow above her head. “He left my quiver on the roof.”

“Jesus, give a guy some warning, Mimi,” he grunted, dusting himself off.

“I told you to duck.”

“Alright, fine,” he said, then opened his arms. “C’mere, kiddo. I’m just glad to see you safe.”

Mia’s face broke out into a grin as she sprinted straight into his arms, tackling him into a hug, nearly causing him to fall over with the force of it. He beamed and lifted her off her feet as she hugged him tighter. 

“Can we find Riddler and punch his stupid face now?” Mia asked from where her face was smooshed against Roy’s shoulder.

“Absolutely.”

[bump1nthen1ght]

I’m Still Hurting (Orc x Reader) Part 2

Pairings: Fem!Reader/Male!Orc

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Angst

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2107 words

Summary: You and your boyfriend establish a new normal

A/N: At long last, the highly requested part two! I had a bit of struggle coming up with a proper followup to the first part (which was part of why I left it with an open-ended ending in the first place lol). Little less angst this time, I felt these two deserved a little sweetness after the last chapter. Hope y'all enjoy!

Part 1

The first thing that caught your eye when you walked by the music store was the Grand Piano. It was gorgeous: Polished mahogany, a nice velvet seat, and keys that looked like they had never seen the sticky fingers of a curious 8 year old.

“Wow, is that new?”

You nod, admiring the old-fashioned air of the instrument. You knew jack shit about music, but even you could tell that this piano was an antique, one probably worth a good chunk of change.

“Must be. I’ve never seen it before and this place is on my way to work.”

Waruck hmms, pressing his hands up against the glass. His eyes sparkle when he sees the “Free to Play” sign right next to the piano. It probably reminds him of his Grandpa’s, the one he played when you guys visited his family for Christmas.

That was a long time ago.

“Want to go in?”

Waruck pulls away from the glass, eyebrows raised. He rubs the back of his neck and steps a couple feet back, trying to curb his enthusiasm.

“Uh, we don’t have to-”

“I don’t mind. It's been a while-” You pause, the slight-anxiety in the air making every casual word difficult, “It’s been a while since I’ve heard you play.”

Waruck smiles, small and polite, and opens the door of the shop for you. Before, he might have done a little bow and said “Ladies First” in a British accent.

But that was before, and this is now. Now, every comment is walking on eggshells, whispered tentatively and under your breath. Testing the waters for how comfortable you two could get around each other.

Still, it was exponential growth from two months ago.

--------

After your meeting at the coffee shop, you had asked Waruck for a month; A month of privacy, for you to collect your thoughts and feelings, to be alone for a bit. He had agreed immediately, shuffling out of the cafe with a hunched back and a melancholy air, but he had kept his promise. You took the time to focus on other things, shifting your relationship to the back of your mind and enjoying the day-to-day.

But a part of you felt a little bad, like maybe you were stringing Waruck along for an inevitable breakup. Getting his hopes up for an extra tortuous punishment that left a sour taste in your mouth. So on one brave Saturday night, you sent him a meme you saw on Instagram, one that reminded you of him.

That second month saw the two of you texting more and more frequently, sending little jokes, asking how your day was, so and so. Each week rebuilt a little bit more of that familiarity, that comfortableness. It finally got to the point where Waruck asked if you were free one weekend. He just wanted to get some lunch and stroll around the neighborhood for a bit. For the first time in a while, that idea didn’t seem too bad.

--------

The air is considerably cooler inside the store, a tiny bell ringing as a rush of air-conditioned air hits both of you. Waruck makes a beeline for the piano, his footsteps short and quick. You feel a smile crawl on your face; He always acted like an excited kid when it came to music.

Waruck plops down in the center of the stool, fingers lightly brushing over the keys in awe. You walk up the piano’s side, laying your hand on the wood and admiring the lack of smudge marks on the polished wood. Waruck tests out a G note and although the sound is short, it’s extremely pleasant. Waruck’s smile grows even larger.

“When I was a young boy…”

You mutter under your breath. Waruck chuckles, quickly continuing onto a G flat.

“My father took me into the city,” Waruck hums

“To see a marching band.” The two of you sing together, laughing a little bit too loudly and gaining a sharp look from the tired sales clerk. Waruck waves a little apology, but that playful grin stays on his face.

“Wow, that brings back some repressed Hot Topic memories.”

“Seriously. I can almost feel the book my band teacher used to thwack me with. Me and my buddies would sneak into the choir room and play that all the time.” Waruck’s fingers dance over a couple more notes, aimless.

You’ve always liked watching Waruck play. His fingers were so dextrous and controlled,  not to mention long and nicely articulated. He’d probably make good money from a hand-model side-gig.

“Want to take a seat?”

You shift your focus away from Waruck’s hands. He’s made space on the bench and pats the open space next to him.

“Yeah, sure.” You say, despite the fast pace your heart is now beating.

You keep a solid two inches of distance between your bodies, keeping your thighs together as to not brush your legs with his. It felt like a middle school dance, keeping a bible length away from your partner to avoid the disapproving stare of the chaperones.

Waruck nods, absentmindedly running his fingers up the scale. “Any requests?”

Immediately, all non-love songs depart from your brain. One of your favorite pieces sits on the tip of your tongue and your brain refuses to let it go. You shake your head.

“Nope. It’s all yours, music man.”

Waruck chuckles, a little louder and a lot more comfortable, as he sits deeper in his seat.

“Prepare,” Waruck cracks his knuckles, “to be amazed.”

You bite back a laugh. He’s still such a dork.

He starts to play, his hands easily finding the right keys, moving like a well-oiled machine. Your heart nearly skips a beat before it melts into a puddle of sentiment.

It’s your favorite.

The song brings back memories of your childhood, a rainy day in, and delicious food. It’s like chicken soup for the soul and you can feel any of the left over tension leave your body.

Waruck’s eyebrows furrow with concentration, but he has a large smile on his face, his large tusks peeking out from his lips. His arm stretches across the piano as the song hits its most fast-paced part. His biceps and shoulders lean more into your space, but the feeling isn’t unwelcome. It feels natural, as if his presence and yours is part of the piece itself.

Waruck’s thigh brushes against yours, but his pace doesn’t falter and neither does yours. You stay enraptured, watching how easily he slips into the music. You barely even notice how you have begun to lean closer to his side; Your mind says it’s to give his arms plenty of space to play, but it’s still far more comfortable than you are willing to admit.

How easy it feels, in the moment, to fall back into routine.

The song begins slowing to a stop, only a couple seconds left, when the sounds of the music shop return to you. A giggle from not too far rings discordant with Waruck’s piano.

Three girls stand not too far from you, watching with fascination as Waruck plays.

“Wow, he is so good!” One whispers to her friends.

There is nothing even remotely lascivious in their eyes or in their words, but a knife still twists in your gut. Your throat constricts as flashes of your bedroom, of unanswered texts, and a picture of a bar corner booth send needles down your spine and into your heart.

Is this wrong? Is this giddy feeling you have only distracting you from reality? Is it like this song, Waruck’s playing, beautiful but temporary?

“Ugh, I want what they have.”

“I know, right? How romantic.”

They’re wrong, you’re wrong, this is wrong; It’s fake, fake, fa-

Your eyes dart to and fro, trying to desperately avoid Waruck’s quickly overwhelming body heat and your audience, before it catches on the distorted shape of your reflection in the window.

The glass is old, slightly drooping, even the golden lettering of the music shop’s name looks dusty and sun-bleached.

But what is unmistakable is you and Waruck. Waruck, playing piano, and looking at you. Looking at you with the love in his eyes you thought had died, or had never been there at all. The group of girls stands in the background, small and out of focus.

And Waruck is staring at you.

“Are you okay?” Waruck asks, his warm hand on your shoulder.

You whip your neck around, almost getting whiplash.

You’re here, in the music store, with your boyfriend. He looks at you, brow slightly puzzled from your wild eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I,” You suck in a deep breath, “Sorry, I guess I got lost in my own head. That song gets me kind of nostalgic.”

Waruck pats your shoulder and you miss it’s heat when he pulls it back to his side. He smiles, but you can tell he is still slightly worried.

“No problem, I get it.”

You notice now how much closer Waruck is to you. His chest has shifted towards yours, the fabric of his shirt sleeve pressing against the skin of your bicep. Waruck’s knee absentmindedly knocks into yours, but the contact doesn’t sting or jolt you. Not even the continuing silence makes the situation awkward.

It’s nice.

“Do you want to check out the record aisle? They might actually have that piece on vinyl.”

Waruck gestures with his thumb to the piles of CD’s and records not too far from you two. You nod

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

--------

The two of you spend about an hour in the music store, pointing out hilarious cover art and admiring some vintage finds. Waruck even gets you to chuckle a couple of times, slowly bringing out his old cheesy puns.

Waruck’s missed this.

You two walk out of the music store at the tail end of one of Waruck’s jokes, you playfully punching his shoulder.

The two of you wander, in the opposite direction of your cars, for a little while. But Waruck hasn’t lost track of time; No, he’s soaking in every moment he can, every smile and lingering look you give him. Every reminder that this is real.

He spent a week agonizing over what he did. Stuck in silence as he gave you your space. His friends (His real friends, not those assholes from the bar) had offered to come by and keep him company, but he turned it down.

When Waruck got back into routine, it was slow-rolling. It was difficult to fight the instinct to check his phone for a good-morning text, or check your Instagram for any ‘post-breakup’ partying.

No, he had already broken your trust once. The least he could do was give you some time. Spend some hour not wallowing in self-pity, but actively make a change.

Waruck began to accept those invites to a chill hang out, playing some poker and sipping on beer with the gang. He played his keyboard when the thoughts got too loud and went jogging when the music wasn’t loud enough. He called his mom a couple of times, even sent his sister a  couple of texts to catch up. They hadn’t spoken outside of holidays for almost three years.

Maybe he was the one that needed time.

God, why did you have to be so smart?

“Oh shit, how long have we been walking?” You mutter, checking your watch for the time. Waruck turns around you, already knowing the answer was 27 minutes, exactly. The both of you were nearing the edge of the neighborhood, cafes and shops turning into residential suburbs. “Dang, time really flies, huh?”

Waruck smiles.

“With you? It always does.”

You give him a half smile, patting his bicep. “Oh my god, you’re such a cheeseball.”

Waruck winks and shoots you some finger guns.

“You know it babe.”

You giggle, checking your watch once more, face turning just a little bit.

“I should probably head back, I’m getting dinner with some friends tonight.”

A small part of Waruck yearns for more time, but he lets it go.

Space, this was about establishing space.

“I had a lot of fun today, Waruck.” You step a little closer, Waruck’s heart skips a beat.

“Me too.” He whispers, his breath catching as your fingers brush against his.

It’s a simple gesture, one you’ve down a million times. But when your palm slips into his, your finger’s interlocking, it’s like fireworks have gone off.

“Same time, next week?”

Waruck nods, not trusting himself to speak without a voice crack.

That’s all he needed, all you wanted; The promise of the future.

“Yes, I would love that.”

[needleandhammer]

Prism

Pairing: Robert Pronge x Reader; featuring Jake Jensen

Warnings: 18+ only, dark fic, non-con touch, kidnapping, it's Freezy so yeah

Notes: Happy spooky season! I cannot believe the writers I am following have led me onto the Freezy Train 😳

For a year, you worked alongside Jake. He came through your office suite to set up new computers one morning. Designated the unofficial tech responder, you reached out to him often, asked questions politely and endlessly until he resigned himself to visiting your office multiple times per week. Somehow, the two of you ended up having lunch together as he listened to you grumble about coworkers adverse to seeking technological solutions on their own. Then going to happy hour together. Then texting each other; Jake followed your lead until the two of you could speak in memes and emojis.

Your friend abruptly left his job a few months ago. With no response to your text messages, you swallowed down the disappointment of losing touch with a friend when adulting kept your circle so small already. You only hoped he was okay.

Now, after a late night at the office, your coworker Carter lies unconscious in your peripheral. The person responsible for knocking out Carter stalks toward you. You’re scrambling around your desk trying to keep distance between him and you, this stranger with scraggly hair hanging over a pair of thick spectacles.

You’re so startled, mind trying to salvage some kind of escape plan that you haven’t even tried yelling for help. You hurl a solid glass paperweight at him. Air rushes up your throat – a scream working its way out when you see him dodge and strike forward at you. His hands circle your wrist, you’re yanked against him and a painful blow to the base of your neck sends you sinking into blackness.

---

You wake with a start. Where are you?

Your hands roam, grasping lightly across your body in search of any new injuries while you breathe past the lingering pain at the back of your head. At least it wasn’t bleeding. Assured that you were able to stand and move with relative ease, you’re on your feet and tiptoeing to the door of the bedroom. Your shoes are gone, dammit.

You swallow hard, breathing deep against grogginess and the aching pulse at the base of your skull. That fucker isn’t here so you need to act.

Go out that door.

Wait. You need something. A weapon. Anything.

A shaky breath forces your stark fear at bay as you look around the room. You make it to the open closet door.

A pink color halts you physically and mentally. Pink. You collapse to your knees and grasp at the cotton fabric. The word printed on the pink shirt triggers a breathless sob that you can’t control.

Petunias

Oh gods, did this deranged man kidnap Jake too? What can he possibly want with you and your friend? Is Jake in some kind of trouble? Questions bombard your mind, tangling into nothing that makes sense. Your head aches. Your limbs feel weak. Has it been long enough that your body has weakened from lack of nourishment?

Beneath another shirt, you discover a scraggly object. It’s chestnut colored, wavy strands that sends a creeping shivering down your spine. You quickly drop the Petunias t-shirt over it, as if to hide some vile creature from sight, and peer around the room again.

Damn it. No light décor or metal objects you can arm yourself with. You’ll have to be quick.

The door gives a creak when you swing it open, revealing a small galley kitchen.

Your heart skips – dread douses you – you freeze when you see the figure standing opposite you at the far end of this small building. He turns, arms falling from the curtained window, to look at you.

You reel backward; your hands reach and claw for something, anything that might help you in this horrible circumstance.

Right back where you started. You made it barely a foot out of your prison.

Your captor descends upon you. You shriek, push and shove against him but his weight follows you, presses you down on the bed.

His palm stifles your cries while he easily restrains you.

“Awake are we?”

You shake your head. You don’t want to hear his voice. You close your eyes. You don’t want to look at him – afraid that your eyes are deceiving you.

He tsks. “Don’t be a brat. We can make this part quick.”

Growling, you shake his hand away and snap at him. “What the fuck are you talking about? Let me go.”

He scoffs at the additional impolite names you call him.

Panting, you glare at him. “What do you want?”

“You gonna play nice?”

You try to headbutt him.

He sighs in irritation.

Your wrists are snuggly wrapped and tied to one bed post. You lean away from him as much as possible where you sit on a corner of the mattress, cutting him with a glare.

He still hasn’t answered you. That cold dread weighs down in your gut as you force another question out.

“What did you do to Jake?”

“Jake?” His smile grows.

“Don’t play with me! That’s his shirt. He – he has a family. His sister and niece, they’re…” Your words die on your lips as he starts laughing.

“Oh, sugar,” he says with a fond look your way. “Time to break the bad news to you. Your buddy Jake is…Well, you wanna take a guess?”

“You hurt him?”

The cold smile does not waver. You swallow down the lump in your throat. You already know the answer.

“C’mon. Don’t leave me hanging,” he purrs at you, waiting for your next guess.

You’re not ready to accept it, despite the tangible evidence in front of you. Despite the bright t-shirt lying in the closet. Covering the brunette wig. It can’t be true.

This man’s face, his nose, his lips. You feel like you’re going mad as you keep being pulled back to those blue eyes. The glasses are gone; you can see his full brows, the aquamarine of his irises. That laugh that sounded wrong, even though the tenor flows through you in familiar waves.

His hair is now a natural deep brown. It's shorter, lacking the gel that previously held it up in blonde spikes. The wig must have just been a precaution for when he showed up at your office. And his facial hair is grown out more evenly and that alone could have transformed the man you thought you knew.

He disappeared months ago.

You study his eyes – you know their exact color – and recognize the mirth glinting beneath dark lashes. But your heart starts racing when his signature crooked smile doesn’t appear. Instead, a hard smirk twists his face into a stranger.

“Jake…” Maybe you hope invoking his name as you know it will make this all go away - will make the world make sense again. Maybe you want to cling to an impossible salvation.

He scoffs softly, a quiet murmur of your name on his lips, almost remorseful. Almost.

“The name’s Robert.”

Gone is the awkward, clumsy colleague you had grown close to. The man you formed a slow companionship with during late office hours sharing fast food while ranting about administration or complaining about the local asshole that stood at the corner of your block shouting right-wing rhetoric to people trying to get to work.

Gone is Jake Jensen, the cute nerd you called friend.

Robert Pronge closes in, looms before you. His fingers skim your jawline before he grips your face tight, deliberate.

“I couldn’t leave you behind,” he says, dipping even closer so his lips graze your cheek. You grow stiff at the gentle affection. His grip loosens enough that you can drop your gaze.

“I…d-don’t know you.” You don’t know this man. “I don’t.”

Robert watches as you press your forehead to your hands. He supposes it’s normal - you haven’t arrived at acceptance of reality yet. Your frame clenches with stress, the physiological response to danger. Robert has witnessed this countless times with countless hits.

A breathy chuckle tickles your skin. He knew you well enough at this point. “You’re a smart one, sugar.”

“No, no, no…”

“And you know now that ole Jake Jensen. Never existed.”

Faced with this man’s remorseless confession, you steel yourself for the inevitable.

“Are you – are you going to kill me?” You raise your eyes. You'll look at this man's face one last time, you won't be deceived in your final moments.

That dark chuckle returns.

“You think I risked showing up in town just for a quick kill?"

He cages you in, enclosing you between arms thick with muscle.

"No, sugar. Wouldn’t wanna waste a sweet thing like you.”

His mouth is on yours and for several seconds, the heated, hungry pressure stuns you. Confuses you. You squawk at the sensation of him probing for a deeper taste, and start twisting out of his hold.

Strong fingers tighten in your hair and make you whimper in pain, stilling enough for his tongue to delve into your mouth.

A quiet moan of satisfaction rumbles through Robert when he accesses the hot taste of you for the first time.

Robert decided long ago. Once his mask is peeled back – that blonde, chirpy mask – he’s taking you as his. And he’ll make sure you get to know the real him intimately.

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

A/N: Hurrah! I have been wanting to write a Jekyll and Hyde inspired fic for a while. Tis the season and all, so I present to you all: "Jensen and Pronge." muahahaha. I am trying to plan this out as a multipart fic. 😏 I'm gonna try to make this soft!dark bc that's the kind of shit I'm into.

[unbridgeabledistances]

hi!!!!💘 here have another “ian processing things” ficlet inspired by this post i saw today by zo @grabmyboner <3

(contrary to zo’s amazing post, ian does not have a new instagram in this to fuel the slight angst🤕)

--

He was having a weirdly good morning when it happened— it was Sunday, and he and Mickey had woken up late tucked together in a warm cocoon under the sheets, legs tangled and bodies pressed close, with Mickey breathing out huffy, just-waking-up breaths into Ian’s neck that tickled his skin until Ian had rolled onto his side and playfully shoved him away.

They’d laid under the sheets for what felt like hours, lazily scrolling on their phones, with Mickey letting out puffs of air through his nostrils in a silent chuckle every time a particularly outdated and stupid meme came across his Instagram Explore page— and of course Ian had to combat Mickey’s intense glee at holding up dumb Instagram memes too close to Ian’s sleep-bleary eyes by clicking open his own phone and thumbing over to the pink and orange app on his home page, to try and find some other stupid shit that would make his groggy half-asleep husband laugh.

It was then, when he opened the app and passively flicked over to his notifications, when he saw the memory:

See your post from 6 years ago today.

Before Ian even clicked on the thumbnail of the picture, before he touched the pad of his finger to the blurred, too-small image beside the words bolded in black, he felt the telltale tightening creeping into his chest— the one he couldn’t really explain most of the time, the one that snuck in and left his heart rattling and pounding against the walls of his ribcage despite the shaky, measured breaths that he tried to sip in and out to fight the rush of feeling.

But out of curiosity, or maybe a little bit of self-sabotage, he clicked on the image—with Mickey still obliviously smirking at his phone screen beside him in the bed, his free arm draped casually across Ian’s chest. So Mickey didn’t notice, really, when Ian pulled up the full post on his own screen— a pixely photo, taken on a now-outdated iPhone in the hazy darkness of the Fairytale.

Ian’s pale skin, the strobe lights bouncing off of it, was the only really visible item in the foreground— and in the shadows behind him, a group of unfamiliar faces. It didn’t even really look like him— his heavy-lidded gaze was murky, definitely hopped up on some bizarre cocktail of drugs quickly taken in a dirty bathroom stall with shaky hands. Ian— Ian in the photo, Ian at the club— was leaning sloppily against the chest of a grey-haired stranger in a dark button-up; glitter on his hollow cheeks, a barely-there mesh top, smudged eyeliner almost masking the purple shadows under his eyes. A black feather boa wrapped tight, too tight, around his neck— an older man with his hand snaked around Ian’s waist, another with his fingertips tangled in the end of the boa.

The tightness was still there, a rubber band wrapped snug around his chest. Aside from the shame and disgust swirling somewhere in his gut at seeing this stupid fucking picture, the thing that Ian felt most was the annoyance welling in him, thick and heavy— what fucking person couldn’t look at a picture of themselves being a stupid teenager? What type of person still felt the aftershocks, like fire and ice and fucking bee stings swelling under his skin, just by looking at a fucking old Instagram post?

“Hey man, are you good?”

Mickey’s phone was now face-down on the blanket, his body twisting under the sheets towards Ian. His eyes flickered to the phone clenched tight in Ian’s hand, undoubtedly searching for the reason that Ian’s heart was thrumming just a little bit too quickly under where Mickey’s hand was still limply resting on his chest.

Ian tried to swallow down whatever was in his throat, whatever was on his tongue. “It’s fine. Just thought I deleted all these old pictures and shit.” And despite that, he couldn’t really look away. “I guess I only got rid of the ones with the sleazy comments. And the videos or whatever.”

Mickey’s brows furrowed. They both weren’t really social media aficionados— if anything, they’d only really gotten into it recently, after the wedding and the move and needing some way to keep the rest of the Gallagher clan plus Kev and V in the loop about their various gardening endeavors and pictures of Baz sleeping, and to see Lip and Tami post baby pics of Freddie and his new little sister. Ian had rebooted his old Instagram account, the one he’d made in his final moments of high school and posted heavily-filtered pictures with Mandy on before joining the army. When he’d started working at the club back then, the Instagram quickly became a place to drum up business, to post specific photos and to flirt with clients in the comments— and he thought he’d deleted all of them when he redownloaded the app, keeping the pictures of a freckled 15-year-old Ian and removing the rest up through youth center brunches with Geneva. Apparently he’d missed this one, and all the memories that could come flooding back with it— and neither he nor Mickey had really noticed.

Mickey’s eyes stayed frozen to the screen— cautious, thinking. “Just fucking delete it, man.”

Ian thumbed over the red delete button, sending the picture into some sort of pixelated oblivion. But even that couldn’t really scrub the image out of his mind— the fingers pressed into his hip, the scratchy feathers tangled around his neck, the now-heavy boulder lodged in his chest. He ran his free hand through his hair, trying to ground himself in the face of whatever weird floatiness he was feeling—tugging at it, just a little.

“Hey.”

Mickey reached over— gently plucking the cell phone out of Ian’s white-knuckled grasp, placing it beside his with a soft thud on the bedsheets. Running his own hand through Ian’s hair— a hand that was gentle and slow, a hand that slightly dulled the buzzing in Ian’s brain, soothing the pain at the roots of his hair.

“Sorry.”

Mickey opened his mouth to protest Ian’s apology, but the words kept spilling out. “I don’t know why seeing stuff like that still makes me feel like shit. It’s like I forget it actually happened.”

He was healthy now— he was stable. He had an apartment with his husband, and a dog, and a savings account. How could he feel so fucking good one second, be laying in his bed from Ikea under a fucking duvet next to the love of his life, and feel so shitty in the next when he looked that version of himself in the eye?

It was stupid— it was so fucking stupid, but the feeling didn’t stop. He closed his eyes— he tried to focus on Mickey’s fingers, still scratching a slow pattern onto his scalp.

“You’re okay, Ian.” He let himself release a slow breath as he absorbed Mickey’s words. “You’re not there anymore. You worked fuckin’ hard to get here.”

Ian forced his eyes open. Mickey squeezed his wrist, tangled their fingers.

“I wish I could erase all that shit.” He hated how thick his voice sounded.

“You already did, Gallagher. Look where the fuck we are right now.” Mickey gestured to their white-walled apartment, their minimalist furniture.

Ian breathed out a throaty laugh. “Yeah. I guess.”

Mickey pressed a quick peck of relief to his temple, and Ian felt the warmth of it trickle down his spine. “You don’t gotta think about that shit anymore. It’s still gonna be there— but you’re filling everyone’s fucking Instagram feed with fucking tomatoes these days. You definitely ain’t the same person you were back then.”

Ian felt the corners of his mouth creep upwards. “You love my tomato pictures and you know it. And you love my captions even more.”

Mickey rolled his eyes— and leaned in close, settling again against Ian’s chest.

“Yeah, I guess I fuckin’ do.”

[hansolmates]

cherry contact |🍒

summary: jihoon has access to all versions of you - your credit score, shopping habits, work emails, even your terrible tinder history. pairing; fbi agent!jihoon x civilian!reader (f) genre/warnings; fluff, crack, it’s really just that “your fbi agent” meme that caused everyone 8 years ago to put tape over their webcams, questionable viewing habits for an fbi agent, language, dick talk, mentions of sex, jihoon has feelings and is confused, he is a PINER, tw—sexual harassment  w/c; 3.3k  a/n; i can’t believe i finished this😭😭 part of meraki’s job collaboration and i’ve been dying to do a svt collab since the dawn of time and finally today’s the day! it’s been a hot moment since i’ve written for jihoon, glad i managed to get those svt writing muscles going! a huge thank you to @merakiiverse​ and @woozisnoots​ for putting this together. readers pls definitely check back on the masterlist linked above to see more of the other talented cwc writers and their rendition of the job prompt!

if you like this fic please consider giving it a like n’share!🤓🖥🤓🖥

“Kevin, 32, works at Kodak,” you scroll further to the description, “I love being tied up and need a dominatrix, have swing at home—no.” Swipe right. 

“Lisa, 24, works at Infinity Dance Studio,” you definitely are weak for athletic ladies, “My hobbies include cuticle care and online shopping! Looking for a sugar daddy or mommy that can spoil me rotten—definitely can’t afford that kind of relationship.” Swipe right. 

“Hansol, 26, works in an art museum,” sounds promising, you love art, “wait, why are all his pictures of him holding fish? Is he inside a fish? Who the heck finds that attractive?” Swipe right. 

“Billiam, 31, works in finance. Needs a bratty baby girl who can triangle,” you grimace, “what is with these guys and stating their kinks from the get-go? Gotta take a girl out to dinner first, and the fuck is a triangle?” 

You swore off Tinder since the dark ages, also known as senior year of college. However you’re in a particular slump, thirst-trapped between needing some serious dick and a committed relationship. You’d prefer the latter, but after a stressful day at work and the fact that it’s the ass crack o’dawn, you’ll take what you can get. 

“Bye Billiam,” you sing-song into your phone, moving to swipe right. 

Except you accidentally drop your phone between your sheets, and when you pick it up you accidentally swipe left. 

“Fuck fuck fuck me with a fuckin’ fuck nugget!” you cry out into oblivion. You’re so glad you live alone at the very least, it stops you from looking like a crazy person when you talk your potential sexipades out. 

Billiam has Super-liked you! 

“No. Nononono—” you bludgeon your head against your pillow, frowning when your phone opens up a chat for you and Billiam. 

Billiam: hi can u check if my dick is too small

You: please, don’t send me a picture of your dick. 

Billiam is typing… 

You: for fuck’s sake—

“—that’s disgusting,” Jihoon curses, and immediately sends out the screenshot for sexual harassment. 

“What’s disgusting?” Mingyu chimes, swiveling in his spinny chair from his side of the room.

“Don’t look,” Jihoon gags, reaching for a bottle of Coca-Cola from the mini-fridge. “You’ll throw up your fried chicken.” 

“My person is a twenty-one year old nympho who also happens to be a incel,” Mingyu chastises to his screen, closing up the eighth tab of BBC porn he’s seen this week, “he doesn’t know how well he’s avoiding the FBI’s eyes,” Mingyu shakes his head, “so I’ve seen some pretty bad shit, but I’ll take your word for it.” 

“No,” he echoes your name like you’ve done the most heinous thing in the world, “no, no! Why would you swipe left on Jackson? You’re way out of his league! He literally looks like he has a pea-sized brain!” 

“He does look like he has half a brain cell,” your voice reverberates through his noise-cancelling headphones, unknowingly agreeing to Jihoon’s passionate throw of anger, “but I’m deprived and desperate, so!” 

It’s like you can hear his sentiments exactly. 

“Literally, you could have any person you want,” Jihoon chastises through his desktop, glaring heavily at your bedroom camera, “you’re wasting your time with these losers!” 

Oblivious, you let yourself dangle across the bed. The camera isn’t the best quality, but Jihoon watches intently at the rise and fall of your chest as you attempt to fall into a fitful sleep. 

“Some yell at screens for soccer,” Minghao says to the air from his cubicle, “some yell for Starcraft, but Jihoon yells for Tinder like it’s an Olympic sport.” 

“Jihoonie,” Mingyu rolls around his chair, resting a long arm over the backrest, “do you have a crush on your civilian?” 

Jihoon immediately swivels around his hair, meeting the amused eyes of Mingyu. “No,” he says sharply, whipping around to glare at his screen. 

He glares harder the longer Mingyu’s simple question sinks in. He doesn’t have a crush on you, he likes you. Jihoon swallows his sigh, wondering why you would want to go as low as Tinder to look for a potential tryst. From your profile, you’re absolutely beautiful and intelligent. You have simple pleasures that match his—a hot cup of tea right after dark, snuggling under a weighted blanket while watching anime, and sleeping in on Sundays.

Unlike him, you don’t see the world through half a dozen lenses and a plethora of information right at your fingertips. No, you’re lucky. 

“Hey can you grab me my water bottle?” Mingyu asks over his shoulder. 

Jihoon thinks nothing of it, leaving his post for the thirty seconds it takes to get to the mini-fridge and grab Mingyu’s Hydroflask. 

“You got a call,” Mingyu says when he plops the bottle on his desk, indicating to the red blinker on Jihoon’s computer. 

It isn’t until he puts on his headphones does he take care to see why his blinker is going off. 

He’s getting an incoming call. From you. 

You’ve been waiting on the line for about two minutes. He lets two additional minutes breeze by because Jihoon is internally screaming. You’re calling again. There’s a fire blazing in his brain, his fingers hot as he twitches against the spacebar of his keyboard. 

From the monitor he can see that you’ve given up on sleep, hands pawing through your drawer so you can take a final swipe at your magenta-tinted lip balm before nesting yourself in the sheets. You’re kicking around as if you don’t have work at 9AM, smacking your lips to apply the shiny salve while you wait for your call to be picked up. 

“Why is my civilian calling me,” it isn’t a question, it’s a thinly veiled indication that Jihoon is ready to fight whoever compromised him like this. 

Mingyu and Minghao fail to answer. That’s okay, he isn’t opposed to killing both if neither fess up. 

It would be so easy for him to ignore the call, or redirect it to another part of the office. Yet he aches to talk to you, for real talk to you. As if you’re just two regular plain-old human beings with normal lives, and as if he didn’t know every nook and cranny about your daily routine and your favorite breakfast foods.

Call it pride, call it confidence, but Jihoon’s been pretty good at games and he hopes prior experience helps him get over this hurdle. Slipping on his headset, he accepts the call and answers in a controlled voice, “This is the local hotline for sexual harassment reports, are you here to report a case?” 

Okay, so this is the closest thing he can get to having a full-fledged conversation with you, so he’ll take it. 

“Hi,” you mumble your name into the phone, and he nearly disintegrates right then and there. It’s different when he can hear your voice directly in his ears, definitively reaching out to him as opposed to being a fly on the wall, “I received an email that a report was sent out for my previous chat as sexual harassment, but I didn’t send out a report.” 

“Yes,” Jihoon replies smoothly, tapping his nails against his thighs, “it’s a new update.” 

“Oh, well thank you,” you reply, and Jihoon sees from the camera that you’re staring at your phone in curiosity. 

“It’s my job,” he says, and the words hold more weight than you think, “are you okay?” 

“Is it also your job to ask how I’m doing?” 

He smiles wryly, and he looks up at the monitor to see how you’ve considerably relaxed on your bed. Your legs dangle in the air, and you’re hugging a mango plushie with all the love in the world. “Not really, but I figured I’d ask. I don’t think I’d be able to recover from a dick that looks like an unhinged toenail.” 

Your laugh flutters in his ears, and his stomach is flip-flopping with more than just his shitty ramen lunch. Your face curls and wrinkles into happiness at the lewd joke, and you rest your chin on your stuffed fruit. 

“I’m okay,” you finally answer, “it’s not the first time I’ve seen subpar dick. But thank you… what’s your name?” 

“Uji,” he says, a codename that he considers as precious as his actual name, “feel free to call or text this number if you’re ever feeling uncomfortable and in distress.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind, good night Uji.” 

“Good night.” 

That wasn’t so bad, Jihoon thinks as he hangs up the phone. He dims the monitors to let you freshen up and get ready for bed, as per your schedule. After tonight, he hopes he can be sated with his curiosity of you. Maybe he needs to follow your plans and open up a dating account or something, he feels that he’s starting to get a little too engrossed in your presence. 

The waning starts today. 

You: help, i’m feeling uncomfortable and in distress

Uji: what is it this time? 

You: i can’t decide which weighted blanket i should get. Will more weight make me feel more comforted or will i accidentally suffocate myself in my sleep? 

The waning of you did not start that night, in fact it never began. Jihoon’s been on edge for weeks, simultaneously teetering between what he calls the high-school equivalent of the talking stage and an absolute catastrophe. 

It started as an accident, you meant to call your friend’s number for cooking help but since the last call before your friends was his, you called Jihoon instead. To your surprise, he knew how to roll out homemade pasta without a pasta machine. You kept him on the call for the entirety of dinner preparation, and he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride when your pasta turned out perfect and you were happy and full for the entire night. 

Weeks later, and you’ve been texting each other for shits and giggles. At first you chalk up your insistence that he’s basically Human Google and has the answers to seemingly anything and everything, but over time it seems that you enjoy your daily interactions with him. Whether it be a simple phone call asking how to unclog your drain or a screenshot comparing two different KitchenAids, he’s at your disposal. 

The burner phone he’s been holding as of late is on silent, but he’s able to pick it up immediately. It’s almost intuition, coupled with the way he notices whenever you seem in a pickle and you need to contact him. However he does not have a chance to formulate a reply, as you’re now calling him.

“Couldn’t wait?” he speaks as if you’re familiar with each other, as if you’re friends. Jihoon longs for that so much, he would love to be upgraded to someone other than the IT guy you text for funsies. 

“Yes,” you say, voice laced with determination, “I’m deciding on whether to just like or Super-Like this guy on Light a Flame.” 

Jihoon deflates a little, but steels himself. You’d never want to go on a date with the IT guy, it seems that you enjoy the anonymity of your recent communications. Your conversations are definitely meme-worthy. 

“Who is it?” 

“His name’s Lee Jihoon, 25, works in the FBI.” 

He chokes on his coffee, precious beans from Argentina, and the liquid is flying across his keyboard. 

Pulling up your phone view, it confirms the worst. In a moment of Weakness with a capital W, Jihoon had caved and made a Light a Flame profile the other night. It’s an app reserved for more serious relationships, which means you’ve finally graduated from Tinder. 

“Are you okay?” he wants to cry when he hears you on the other line, genuinely panicked. “Do you need me to send you his profile?” 

“N-no,” he sputters, rubbing a rough napkin from McDonalds over his dripping chin. He thought he privated his profile last week after he realized there was nothing he could do to let loose of you. Turns out that isn’t the case, because you’re currently pursuing his profile and actually kinda-sorta considering him for a potentially serious relationship. 

“C’mon, Uji,” you tease lightly, “you always seem to know what to do. This is your area of expertise after all, since you work for that kind of department.” 

What should he do, scratch that, what can he do? It’s a complete violation of policy to be fraternizing with his civilian life. Sure, there has been episodes of civilians and agents meeting each other, but only minor violations that both parties forgot about shortly after. He’s so far deep at this point, he can risk being relocated or losing his civilian—losing you. 

“Do you think he really works in the FBI?” you say when he doesn’t reply immediately, “he’s really cute, though. Totally looks like my style, and he likes My Hero as well! C’mon, I just need for you to check as to whether he’s a homicidal maniac or a compulsive liar.” 

Liar. He’s a liar. 

That self-accusation prompts him to slump in defeat, and he mumbles in the phone, “I don’t think he’s worth it. I’d say pass.” 

“Hey, Coups has seniority,” Soonyoung pats Jihoon thoughtfully on the back with one hand, and grilling meat with the other. Barbeque always lifted up Jihoon’s spirits. “Why don’t you give it a chance and meet her for real? And then he can give me your super cute civilian and then he can give my shitty civilian to some newbie.” 

“And if it doesn’t work out, I just lose her,” Jihoon’s eyes are watering, most likely from the excess smoke around their grill, but it does align with his current state of sadness. It was the right thing to do, he thinks over and over as he replays that phonecall from last night. “Hoshi, if you were in my situation, would you have done the same?” 

“Like I said–” Soonyoung—codename Hoshi, waves his tongs around like a magic wand, “your civilian is super cute, so I would be making a beeline to her house and—” 

“Okay, don’t finish that sentence,” you’re his civilian, not Soonyoung’s. 

“Cheer up, c’mon,” Soonyoung’s filling his bowl with all sorts of delicious things, charred vegetables, mixed rice, and pork belly. Jihoon’s favorite is pork belly, so eventually he relents with a timid smile, taking out his chopsticks to appease his friend, “there it is, Uji. Food always makes things better—” 

“Uji?” 

Both off-duty agents freeze, hearing the familiar ting of your voice as it glares holes into Jihoon’s back. It’s you. Since they’re off the clock, he would have no idea you’d be here. Usually that’s fine, it’s early morning and it’s pretty unlikely that you’d run into your civilian considering you’re supposed to know every second of their schedule. It seems that tonight you’ve varied from the norm. 

“Uh, hey?” 

His back is still facing you, and he’s side eying Soonyoung in a panic. He’s wearing a cap and a nondescript hoodie, feeling like a shlub as your familiar voice pings back at him with excitement. 

“I knew I recognized your voice!” you’re unfazed, definitely not realizing the distress the two men are currently going through. “What a small world, I didn’t think we’d ever actually run into each other!” 

“Talk to her, you ass!” Soonyoung hisses, and immediately swivels his chair so he has no choice but to face you.

You’re so, so pretty. Prettier in person, prettier than any crappy 480p screen can give him. You’re definitely not dressed for barbeque, in fact you look like you’re just passing by to pick up a to-go order after a night out. You’re dressed in a silky looking velvet off-the-shoulder top, the cherry red color practically melting onto your skin. The black skirt paired with it has Jihoon salivating for more than just barbeque, and he has no idea how to look away. 

The smile is wiped clean off your face however, and you recognize him almost immediately. “Jihoon?” 

This should be a moment of joy for him, after all it’s far too late to go back at this point. You look a little hurt, your face twisted in confusion as you put two and two together. 

Soonyoung excuses himself to go to the bathroom, although neither party seems to care. The lame, over-distended EDM music that plays over the cacophony of the barbeque place seems to melt in the atmosphere, much like how the smoke hits the fan, and it’s just you two in the room. Jihoon gestures a pale hand to Soonyoung’s seat, and you take a beat to reluctantly sit yourself down. 

You clutch your skirt with both hands, thumbs ringing against the pleats and ironing them out. “So, you’re also Jihoon?” your voice is tiny, small and sad. Jihoon feels liquid guilt inject in his veins, and he wishes he could reach out and pat your shoulder, hold your hand, something. However no matter how much he knows you, he’s a stranger to you. “Why did you lie to me?” 

“It’s… complicated,” you shake your head at his pathetic reply, and Jihoon hates this. He feels like he’s drowning in smoke and mirrors and the cloying scent of pork belly is now sticking to all his senses, immobilizing him. 

With a cross of your arms, you scoff, “It’s always complicated.” 

“Please don’t think I said those things the other night because I don’t want to date you,” Jihoon tumbles the words out like a hamster wheel, wanting to speed up to your pace as fast as he can, “I want to, I really do, but it’s—”

“Complicated.” 

“Yeah.” 

The two of you sit in silence, letting the noise back into your little bubble. Jihoon feels his stare on you, akin to how a teacher looks over your shoulder during an exam. He robotically eats rice, grain after grain as he lets you have your look. 

The slope of his nose, the cotton smooth skin, the lean yet strong stature. You can’t believe he matches the Light a Flame profile perfectly. Other than the frumpy clothes, he matches the man on your phone, a simple picture in a black suit that reminds you strangely of the movie Kingsman. You mentally roll through what you remember from his profile, his hobbies, his likes and dislikes, his occupation—

“Wait,” you pause, your brows knitting together, “so the FBI thing on your profile… is not a joke?” 

Jihoon forgets to chew his last bite, and he swallows a whole two centimeters of meat down his throat. Ouch. 

“It’s—” 

“Complicated.” 

The adjective has a whole new meaning now. It’s crazy how in so little words, so much is exchanged between you two. You might not be realizing it, but Jihoon’s so attuned to you he feels like the pick to your guitar, strumming and humming along your chords like it’s second nature. It really isn’t fair, but anticipating your reactions helps greatly. 

“There’s things you’re not telling me.” 

“Right.” 

“And things you can’t tell me,” you add. 

“Yes.” 

“Then what are some things you can tell me?” 

“I’d… rather not here,” Jihoon’s eyes dart around the room, looking for all the pinholes and micro cams attached to the restaurant. By the bonsai, under the table, in the koi tank, “I need to work out some paperwork before anything.” 

“Paperwork?” 

Jihoon nods mutely, but he looks at you with a litany of emotions in his eyes you’re reeling back in your stool. Why do you feel like this man knows you from a simple five-minute interaction? And why do you feel like you can trust this man with your life? 

“Okay,” you finally say. 

“Really? Okay?” you think he’s cute, the way his eyes perk up and his back straightens. 

“Really.” 

Silence fills the space once more. This time however, it feels more at ease. 

“The only reason why I’m saying yes,” you pretend to nonchalantly play with your fingertips, a manicure reserved for a date you’ve long abandoned for this evening in favor of a new flame, “is because I think FBI agents are kinda hot.” 

A flush blooms on Jihoon’s cheeks, and you can’t help but giggle. 

[bonny-kookoo]

Lavender Love (JJK x Reader) 💐💜🔞

🦋 Pairing: Florist!Jeon Jungkook x Mute!Reader

🦋 Genre: Florist!AU, Fluff, Strangers to Lovers AU, smut

• Selective mutism : a severe anxiety disorder where a person is unable to speak in certain social situations, such as with classmates at school or to relatives they do not see very often. It usually starts during childhood and, if left untreated, can persist into adulthood.

🦋 Warnings: mentions of past trauma (no mentions of what exactly), anxiety attack, it’s not romanticized in this so it’s no ‘hero in shining armor knows what to do’ kinda thing, mentions of vomiting and overall just a very uncomfortable situation, Jungkook is actually kinda lost, mutual pining, awkward reader, very very VERY soft smut, like Jesus Christ it’s so sweet, mentions of therapy, hopeless romantic kook, he researched so much just so he can help :(, protective Kook!

🦋 Summary: words only hurt people around you, so when you meet this kind florist while picking up your friends order, you swear to yourself to never speak a word to him. He however, seems to have different plans.

(Again, I want to point out that anxiety attacks are a real thing, and hardly ever ‘just pass’. If you’re uncomfortable with these things, please skip this fic as it is a major part of the story. Everyone experiences these things differently, things depicted in this are personal experiences. If you think you have problems like this, please seek professional help. You’re not broken, you maybe just need a little hand to guide you back on track. Stay safe everyone 💕)

This is a oneshot! If you have any asks, Ideas, or drabble requests for this universe, throw them my way!

You don't remember the last word you spoke to a stranger.

It's probably hidden somewhere, and you'd find it if you really searched for it, however, you didn't really crave to be remembered about what happened afterwards. It didn't matter these days anyways.

You don't remember your school days.

Again, these memories are there, you know it. Yet you've turned them around like a picture hanging on a wall, neatly framing an incident that scarred you to the point of seemingly no return. It didn't matter these days anyways.

You pull your facemask a bit as you waited at the red light, folded paper in your hand, which was hidden in the front pocket of your sweater. People around you didn't really look at you, not caring, and you favored it greatly. You felt your fingers get clammy however, the closer you got to the corner store. Hopefully Miss Jung was there; she knew your mother, and didn't really mention your habit of silence much. Hopefully.

But the closer you got, the more you felt your skin grow cold.

That was not miss Jung.

You desperately wanted to text Yoongi, telling him that you couldn't pick up his order, but he was sick, he needed someone to do it, and you knew you could do it- you had to start somewhere. Your therapist had praised you last month so greatly, telling you how good you were getting at conversing, even if it was just through text or post it notes- it was more than you did a few years ago. But your feet slowed down, hands beginning to shake. You stood against the wall near the entrance, evening out your breathing as you tried to ground yourself again.

You could do this.

Entering the store, familiar bell ringing, you felt a bit more calm as the scent of the various flowers filled your nose. You'd often stayed under the counter when Miss Jung had been working when you were young, her presence calming to you as she didn't care about your 'issues' as others had called it. She always let you make flower crowns and tiny rings, showing you what every one of them meant, uncaring that you never answered her. She always said your smile was enough.

"Hello! How can I help you?" He asked in a friendly manner. His voice was melodic, probably nice to listen to whenever he talked away, making you slightly jealous. Your own was weak, fragile from lack of use. He smiled at you as you hesitantly walked forwards, unfolding the note Yoongi had written and placing it down in front of him, making him pick it up, reading it. "Oh? Lazy gramps can't pick them up himself?" He chuckled, and you wanted to disagree, yet you stopped the thought while it formed. "Ah, I'll get them for you, but are you sure you can carry them all yourself? There's multiple boxes, and eh-" He began, grinning before picking at his skin on his jaw. "-not to be mean but you're kinda short." He said, and your eyes widened. You shook your head, and he leaned his to the side. "No? No what?" He asked, and you began to grow uncomfortable. Your gaze shifted towards the note, pointing towards it, then at yourself, before you nodded. "I eh.." He trailed off, before he smiled encouragingly. "Ah, you're shy? Don't be, I don't bite!" He playfully said, and you could feel the tears prick at the backs of your eyes.

It was unfair really. You wished you could be more open, tell him all you wanted to say, be just as confident as he was being- yet here you were, confusing the guy to no ends just because you couldn't open your mouth. It was pathetic, really, and before you knew you felt the tears gather. You were growing frustrated, hands growing clammy as you tightened them into fists, breathing becoming uneven as you desperately tried to calm yourself. "Ah- you're okay? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" He tried, hand on your shoulder not helping one bit. He was now confused, maybe even scared, and it was your fault. Why were you being so difficult? Why couldn't you just tell him like every other normal person could? Oh yeah, because you weren't. You were absolutely fucked up, useless for society, not even able to work a proper job-

"Y/N?" The voice sounded dull, as if someone held their hands over your ears, the rushing of your own blood drowning out everything else as your hands and feet became rigid, frozen in place by the overflow of oxygen. "Jungkook dear, please give her space- Y/N sweetheart, can you hear me?" You knew she was talking, but her voice wasn't reaching you at all as the tears fell, sobs wrenching your gut to the point of feeling sick. "Oh sweetheart, come on, quick-" She hurried, unnoticed by you helping your locked body outside through the backdoor with Jungkooks help, who had a worried look on his face as he watched the scene unfold. "Jungkook dear, can you get me a bucket real quick?" He nodded, dashing off to clumsily get a small water bucket, cursing as he knocks down several others, glad that there wasn't another costumer. He got back just in time for Miss Jung to manage to hold the purple plastic container underneath your face as your body shook, bringing back up whatever you'd eaten in its absolute frenzy. "Shh, its okay.." She hummed, before addressing the boy again. "Can you cut some lavender please? A branch should be enough." She asked, as he nodded again, eyes barely leaving your figure. Was that his fault? What did he do wrong? "Jungkook." Miss Jung said to knock him back to reality, as he nodded, walking towards the several flowers as he took out the gardening scissors from his apron, cutting two small branches instead of one for good measure.

When he walked back outside the backdoor, you'd already laid on your side, Miss Jung carefully running her hand over your back as you seemed to still have issues breathing properly, sobs still present as you choked on air. He wordlessly gave his boss what she'd asked for, as he watched her rub the flowers between her hands, the scent filling your nose slowly. It helped after a moment, slowly calming your senses back down, exchanging your now returning sense of hearing and vision with a raging headache. "I'm so sorry I-" He began, but miss Jung sent him a look, shaking her head. She'd just managed to bring you back, she didn't need to throw you back into the circle again.

"Jungkook, can you go help the costumers please?" She asked as she heard the bell, and he hesitantly nodded, before returning.

Well, this ended well.

The next day, Yoongi had you by his side as he stepped inside the flower shop. "Hel- Ah! You!" Jungkook exclaimed, making you shrink in on yourself, readying yourself for whatever he had to say. Yoongi however, voice raspy from his cold, cut him off.

"Yah you idiot, can you ever just do what you're told?" He exclaimed, as Jungkook scratched the back of his neck, fluffy hair falling a bit to the side from the movement. "You got my shit?" He asked, and you gently pulled at his sleeve, a sign that he should at least stop cursing. "Sorry." He mumbled down to you as Jungkook watched the silent exchange with interest. Yoongi coughed, snapping the younger boy back to his senses as he walked to the back, coming back with two boxes. "Thanks." Yoongi simply answered, holding both boxes even though he could see the question in your eyes. You both got ready to leave, as Jungkook stopped you.

"Wait!" He said, rummaging around underneath the counter before he pulled out a tiny envelope, wrapped with a purple ribbon, holding it out to you. "As uhm.. a sorry. For yesterday. I didn't know." He offered, and you took it, nodding. So now he knew. Great. He simply waved, as Yoongi bumped you with his elbow, signaling you to go.

In the car, the older boy suddenly sniffed. "Did he pack the wrong flowers or why does it smell so much like lavender?" He asked, and you shrugged, before remembering the gift. Opening the ribbon, you found a small sheer bag, dried seeds of lavender inside, as well as a note.

'Miss Jung said, writing is easier. So if I didn't screw up yesterday, text me? :) '

"That fucker!" Yoongi laughed before coughing again, making you smile a bit. What exactly was that supposed to mean?

It meant exactly what he said. He genuinely started to reach out to you after you'd texted him your number, sending you random pictures of bouquets he did during the day, of scenery he encountered on his way to or off work, memes, or simply asking you how your day was. He slowly found out more and more about you, never really asking why you didn't speak- because the more he began to unravel your personality, the less he cared about that. He found out that you liked sports, you played in a soccer team, and worked as an online tech support from home. He thought of it as absolutely the coolest thing ever, even asking to see a game of yours if you'd let him.

Which had led to this moment.

Jungkook was sitting down, several girls side-eyeing him as they wondered why he was there. His dark attire and several piercings, as well as the ink painting his arm that he'd exposed due to the heat as he'd rolled up the sleeves of his sweater completely covering up the fact that he actually worked with delicate things such as tiny flowers, able to make the best flower crowns of all time. He denied their request to sit with them, texting you instead that he was there, and where he sat. He watched as you read his message before looking up, finding him as he grinned, waving. You meekly waved back, shy smile on your lips as he heard the whispers from his side. He gave them a look to shut them up, before leaning forward, eager to see you in action.

He was mesmerized as he saw you run, every step you took seemingly perfectly timed and placed. You were the shortest one out of your team, but that did not put you at a disadvantage at all it seemed; you ducked under another player trying to push you almost expertly, making him jump up and push his fist into the air in victory as you scored.

When you were done with your game, he'd already walked down the stairs, meeting you as you smiled at his figure, a bit taken aback by his choice of clothing. He always made sure to cover up his tattoos in the flowershop, Miss Jung not too fond of him scaring away costumers who had a more traditional view on things. He held up his hand before lowering it a bit for you to properly hit it in a high five, internally beaming at the fact that you'd slowly grown more comfortable with him. He carried your bag for you, shaking away his stray strands of hair that had fallen into his face from the slight wind. "Ah, here." He remembered, giving you your facemask back, remembering that you always liked to wear it so people thought you were maybe sick and just didn't talk because of that. But after months with him; you didn't need it anymore. So you simply took it from him, putting it into your pocket. His eyes widened a bit but he smiled afterwards, actually growing a bit shy.

And he almost tripped over his own feet as he felt your tiny hand grab his to hold.

"Oh Y/N! Jungkook is already changing. He said you're both going on a date?" Miss Jung winked at you, making you look down shyly, fingers pulling at the hem of your skirt a bit as you nodded. He'd asked you out a few days ago, immediately replying that you could also just stay at his or your place, and that you didn't have to go out. You'd thanked him for it, and you both decided to simply get a shit ton of junk food to take home to his place, planning on watching a short movie and maybe playing some video games after. "I'm happy. He's a good guy, but don't tell him I said that, his ego is too inflated already, that poor boy!" She hummed, as Jungkook whined from behind her.

"Yah, my ego isn't inflated at all, what are you saying?!" He said while pouting, making you chuckle a but under your breath. He smiled, walking up to you as he waved at miss Jung. "Thanks for closing the shop, we'll be on our way then!" He exclaimed, and she just nodded, smile genuine on her lips.

"So!" He said, stretching his arms above his head before he took your hand, walking across the street with you as he led you both to a fast food place close by. "I thought about The Cat Returns tonight?" He asked, and you nodded, happy with his choice. Against the stigma floating around him judged by his attire and collections of tattoos and piercings, Jungkook was actually a huge fan of Studio Ghibli and everything romantic. He was a bit cheesy, but you'd grown to appreciate it- maybe even love it. The more you both conversed and spend time together, the closer you felt yourself getting with him- without forcing yourself to. It just came natural with him, the hand holding not making you feel weird or as if people were staring, his jacket around your shoulders never feeling heavy. Being close to him was comforting, hearing his voice was soothing, being with him was.. like your personal stack of lavender, always ready to calm your nerves.

So when you were walking to his place, apartment still a bit foreign to you since you'd only visited him a handful of times, you didn't feel any pressure. You simply took off your shoes, immediately greeting his two pet rabbits in his living room, crouching down to pet them. "I feel like you only love me for my pets." He explained playfully scandalized, making you grin as you continued to run your hand over the soft fur.

"Alright!" He'd exclaimed as everything was set on the table, his arms on the back of his couch. "Will you stay with them or actually sit down with me? I'm getting lonely." He whined, and you rolled your eyes before you skipped to the couch, stumbling a bit as he chuckled, catching you as you almost fell onto his lap. "Easy there tiger, and here I thought you wanted to take things slow." He laughed, voice low as he turned on the movie, very aware of the blush coating your cheeks.

It started to cover his own soon as well however, as you slowly but surely started to cuddle up to him.

A kiss was what started it. One, then two, and the third deepened the feeling of want. You thought you'd feel pressured, hesitant, shy, or maybe even scared- but you didn't. This was Jungkook. And Jungkook was your safe place.

"Wait.." He hesitantly said, eyes almost shut in a way as if he was hurt, holding your shoulders as he looked at you. "I- I'm sorry, I don't know what came over myself there.." He chuckled, shifting a bit as he suddenly pulled on his sweater to hide his growing erection. He'd never been ashamed of it in the past, but now, it seemed out of place. It felt as if it made him look like he couldn't wait, as if he was impatient, or taking advantage of the situation. You simply took the receipt of the food, turning it around as you clicked the ballpoint pen on his table, writing.

'It's okay. I want to.'

His eyes widened as he got more serious. "You don't have to. I can totally wait." He said, a gentle smile on his lips as he watched you write another line.

'There's no one I'd rather go this far with.'

His heart began to beat heavier, if that made sense. It felt as if every beat was suddenly more meaningful, louder, more present than ever, as he watched you write.

'I'm yours.'

You gently laid the pen down, now looking at him as he smiled, kissing your lips again deeply as the thunderstorm outside raged on, lightning brightening the room for a second as he couldn't seem to stop kissing you. "Thank you." He hummed, before diving in again. "Thank you." He said again, before made you sit on his lap, straddling him as he chuckled in bliss. "I promise I'll take good care of you." He vowed as you'd closed your eyes, simply giving yourself to him as his hands held you safely. "Now, and forever." He whispered, before he stood up, strong arms underneath your bottom as he carried you out of the living room, into his dark bedroom that only occasionally lit up from the lightning outside. The rain hit the window harshly, yet he didn't seem to hear it at all as he let you fall on the mattress back first, chuckling as he almost fell on top of you, making you giggle.

The sound prominent in his ears as he swore he could've cried.

"You sound so beautiful." He hummed against your neck, his words never wiping the smile off of your face as he moved you to lay down properly, clothes slowly loosing purpose as every item slowly met the floor with a soft thud. He praised every curve, every flaw you saw in yourself as he closed his eyes in pure bliss, no need for visual confirmation to know that you were perfect to him. For the first time in forever you felt free, completely safe and guarded as he moved above you, silent gasps and sighs the only thing present as he stood up for a moment, having to search for a condom before he met you on the bed again, giggling like school kids caught doing mischief as he struggled to open the package, making you laugh at him.

He decided he loved that sound.

If someone was to ask him what he thought your voice sounded like, his first reply would genuinely be that he did not care. It wasn't mandatory in what you both had, he'd learned that over the months and months he'd spent with you. Words surely made communication a bit simpler, but he didn't need them to show you his love and adoration for you. It proved his worth way better than words ever could.

Wrapping the safety over his length he kissed you again, seemingly hooked on the simple gesture as he held himself with one hand, the other one guiding him into you, slowly, as to not make it hurt.

He'd never hurt you.

He didn't rush, there was no need to. This wasn't about reaching a goal, a high, or any end of some sorts. He simply relished in being close to you, in the huge amount of trust you gave him willingly, naturally. He felt honored, as cheesy as it sounded, he felt as if there was no bigger achievement in his life than knowing that you gave yourself into his arms simply because you cherished him just as much as he did you. He held you tightly against him as he slowly moved, pace slow and almost lazy as you slightly squirmed and reached around his shoulders, holding him close as well, both of you existing, nothing more.

Maybe it was the fact that it was you, maybe it was the high of his own happiness in knowing that he held your heart, but he soon felt himself grow sensitive, hand reaching between your bodies to roll your pear between his inked fingers, making you mewl underneath him.

He decided he loved that sound as well.

Your back arched as you came undone underneath him, clenching center helping his own release to happen shortly after. He gasped out, catching his breath as he rested his forehead against yours, suddenly laughing as if he was drunk. And he kind of was; drunk on the realization that this had indeed happened, that he actually was here, holding you, having you all for himself. He slipped out of you after a moment, pulling the condom off of himself as he tied it and threw it into the bin close to his bed, before slipping underneath his blankets, holding you close, sighing in gentle comfort as no words were spoken. Until you moved a bit, lips close to his ear, as you whispered.

"I love you."

And he decided, he loved that sound most of them all.

[ethanesimp]

THE OAK TREE // TWO E.T.

Pairing: Ethan Torchio x GN! Reader

Summary: Everyone at the Oakes Academy is aware of the rivalry that exists between two of the school’s best students, Ethan Torchio and Y/N L/N. What nobody knows is what a brilliant team they are when they’re at risk of their reputations being damaged and a killer’s on the loose.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death and murder, mentions of blood, mentions of death and descriptions of it, mention of suicide (pls read with caution, ily <3).

Masterlist // Taglist link in bio

CHAPTER ONE

A/N: Again, I apologize for the delay, life has been a lil bit crazy this past week. I also wanted to apologize for any possible typos because I’m working on a project but decided to take a break to finish this for you guys! I promise I’ll proofread this as soon as I get some time. Also, in the part where they’re texting, I recommend you check the texts on the Google Drive for context. Otherwise you might get a bit lost.

DON’T FORGET TO CHECK OUT TE AVAILABLE MATERIAL IN THE GOOGLE DRIVE WHICH YOU CAN FIND ON THE SERIES MASTERLIST

Taglist (strike means it won’t let me tag you):  @oro-e-diamanti @gretavanfleetlove @victoriadeangeliswifey @cheese-toastie-11 @selenophiliaxx @superchrystaldrug @petit-poussin @bidet-and-legolas @fallingforyou123 @ethaneskin @soft-boy-ethan @teenyweenynightghost @reputationdamiano @cantaraiilmionome @tabi-toast @queen-of-brokenhearts @geklutst-ei @juststalking @cruz-ata @ohtorchio @ethan-torchio-angelo @unitermoonshine @everythingisdefinitelynotfine @marriedwithmarktuan @its-afucking-mess @juststalking @goldenpeaxh​

LAST CHAPTER’S WINNING DECISION: They believe it is all real and go search for the body the finger might belong to. (The impact of this decision will be reflected next chapter).

Let the games begin. 

You had to read the last part once more, so consumed by the shock that barely any words had registered into your brain. Your hands were shaking as you held it closer to yourself. Maybe it was all part of the disbelief because you found yourself scanning the words over and over again until you had the first paragraph memorized. 

But then… then Ethan started laughing. 

Short, breathy laughs escaped past his lips, immediately followed by sharp inhales, as if he were desperate to get more air to reach his lungs. You brushed it off and went right back to reading the last few phrases that were on the very back, even said them under your breath to try and make them become real because everything seemed like nothing but a dream, no, a nightmare.

Then it slowly dawned on you after you finished reading the letter. All worry subsided and you had no doubt in your mind you would’ve started laughing too if you weren’t seeing red. Consumed by the sudden rage, you turned to Ethan and didn’t hesitate to tackle him into the ground.

In any normal instance, you wouldn’t have been able to do it, but you’d caught him off-guard, which was confirmed by the surprised yelp he let out as his back collided with the muddy floor and dry leaves crunched underneath his weight. You moved to straddle him the second you felt him shift beneath you, as if he wanted to get up. 

You looked at him for a split second. His face was illuminated by the soft glow of the red light. His distress was apparent. He was thrashing around to try and get you off him when you started hitting his chest over and over again. Your hits weren’t hard nor were they intended to cause any damage to him. In fact, he could have easily pushed you off him effortlessly if he wanted to, but Ethan didn’t even try. Instead, he let you continue hitting his chest.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you? You’re… a… fucking… psycho!” Each word was accompanied by another frustrated hit to his chest as tears slowly fell down your face and sobs rattled your body, “You were the only one who knew that. The only person in this goddamn school I ever—ever was stupid enough to tell it to. And you use it for one of your sick and twisted pranks? Fuck you. Fuck you!” 

Your head fell and rested on his chest as you kept on crying. However, your words seemed to pull him back to reality. Only after a few seconds of you speaking, Ethan had already rolled the two of you around until he was on top of you. 

You firmly held his stare as you tried to get him off you. For some strange reason, it sent shivers down your spine to see his eyes so full of fear. Ethan was always centered and glued firmly to the Earth. No matter the issue, he was always capable of keeping his cool, but now was far from being the case. His voice trembled as he tried to speak up, “Shut up Y/N! You’ve got no right to blame me for something that is clearly your doing. I have no fucking clue what your stupid letter said but mine said something that has me convinced it was you!”

His accusation was followed by him shoving his crumpled up letter into your face. You had to squint in order to see it better with only the aid of the red light. When you read the words placed at the very bottom, your eyes went wide and immediately looked for his in a desperate attempt to convince him it wasn’t you, but he had his head turned away. You firmly grabbed him by the collar of his hoodie so he’d look into your eyes, “I-I didn’t. Ethan I don’t like you one bit but I’d never. Not this.”

Ethan scoffed and shook his head. He got off you and turned around so his back was facing you, “You know what? I don’t give a shit what you did or didn’t do. I’m going to wash this disgusting stuff off me and report this in the morning.”

“What the hell? Are you crazy? Ethan, we're in the middle of a crime scene. We cannot leave it like this. I mean, look at you! You’re covered in blood because, let me refresh your mind, you fell into a fucking puddle of blood and found a finger!” You flailed your arms around furiously at his stupidity and started followed him the moment he started walking away, “What if this is real?”

He stopped dead in his tracks and turned to look at you, “What is real? A threat that looks like it was written by a thirteen-year-old who just finished reading The Analyst? And the blood… it belongs to an animal for all I care,” He didn’t seem an ounce convinced by the way he took a second to come up with an excuse, and he couldn’t even look you in the eyes, “Besides, what do you want us to say, huh? Oh yeah, sorry. We’re out past curfew because of reasons we can’t tell you and we casually found a disembodied finger lying in a pool of blood. Ah! And I almost forgot the most important detail. We’re being threatened with things that are not only good enough to get us expelled but also get us thrown in jail. But everything is fantastic.”

You rolled your eyes, “Fine, do whatever the hell you please.”

Ethan nodded nonchalantly and walked away from you. A long and deep sigh escaped your lips at his stubbornness. You wanted to scream out in frustration at how stupid he was being, but decided it was pointless to stay behind, just in case someone arrived and found you standing there, with your clothes filled with blood. 

——— ☆ • ♧ • • ♧ • ☆ ———

When you arrived back at the dorms, the first thing you did was take a hot shower as you tried to assimilate everything that had happened. Despite the water being so hot it almost burnt your skin, you still spent the whole time shivering and hugging your arms to your body. 

You had washed the blood off the hoodie in one of the sinks and still threw it in the washing machine afterwards. You didn’t know what was going on and part of you was convinced you didn’t want to know. Either way, you weren’t going to risk being roped into a crime investigation as a suspect.

Afterwards, you collapsed into bed. Your whole body was aching and, if it weren’t for the fact that your phone had exploded with notifications after you connected it, you would’ve fallen asleep. You lazily felt around the small bedside table for your phone and picked it up. Most notifications were just memes Will kept sending to the group chat you had. However, you’d also received a message from Ethan.

Upon reading the first few words, you already felt the urge to throw the phone out the window. He was being annoying, not like that was a new thing at all. You responded to the text nonetheless and left the phone back on the bedside table. You turned around in your bed to try and find a spot that was comfortable and cuddled deeper into the sheets. Then, just when you were about to close your eyes, the phone vibrated again. You groaned and picked it up once more. After reading those texts, you were unable to sleep all night.

——— 

You spent the great majority of the night crying and shivering despite being covered by layers and layers of warm blankets. Those few hours before your alarm sounded extended into what seemed like an eternity and you didn’t want to leave the room, afraid you’d find something like what you’d just seen at the oak tree. 

You only managed to sleep for about half an hour before your alarm went off at exactly six AM. Any other day, you would’ve snuggled back into bed for a little longer, but on that particular day, you’d jumped out of bed and hadn’t wasted a second before getting ready. You’d run out of the building to meet your friends at the dining hall, where you were currently at.

Damiano, Rory, Vic, and Will were already sitting at your usual table in front of the large window when you arrived. The curly-haired boy was practicing for a presentation while your three friends listened and made a few comments here and there on things they thought he should change. 

“Good morning everyone,” You murmured, then took a seat in between Damiano and Will, who turned to look at you and frowned, “Are you feeling okay, Y/N?” You nodded and put on the best smile you could manage. Then you stole one of the berries from his plate even though you weren’t hungry at all. 

You turned to look at Rory and Damiano, “Hey Ro, has the new phone you ordered arrived yet?” You questioned. After your conversation with Ethan the previous night, you needed to make sure it wasn’t them who had sent the text. Just the thought alone made you shudder in disgust and fear, but you just took a deep breath in and kept a soft smile on your face as your best friend shook their head.

“Funny that you ask that because yesterday I got an email from the store saying the delivery was going to take longer than expected because of the weather issues, so I gotta survive with this piece of crap for a few more days,” They sighed and placed the cracked phone on the table. You wanted to stop holding back the tears right then and there. Rory’s words were the confirmation that someone else had sent the text and you doubted it was Emilia. As much as you didn’t want to, with each passing second you started to believe the threat was true and that someone had died or was terribly hurt somewhere, and you needed to find them before it was too late to save them. 

Then you remembered another one of Ethan’s texts and had to resist the urge to get up and go search for him because you needed to talk to him as soon as possible. Instead, you distracted yourself by listening to Will’s presentation practice.

You were close to nodding off at some point as he kept on speaking, “Back in earlier civilizations, it was believed that any type of illness was caused by demons and—Hey, Y/N!” You hummed softly as Will called your name. He poked you on the rib and you swatted his hand away, “Are you sure you’re alright? You look terrible.”

“Thank you,” You mumbled sarcastically, “I’m doing fine. I just stayed up working on a project and barely got a wink of sleep,” You let your head rest on Damiano’s shoulder and yawned.

“I wish I were that productive,” Victoria said as she played around with her food. Everyone had insisted on her eating at least a few bites even if she was still sick, “I never do shit.”

Thomas piped into the conversation, catching everyone by surprise as he took a seat next to Victoria, “To be fair, Y/N always complains about feeling half-dead from lack of sleep. I’ll never be crazy enough to sacrifice my sleep for a stupid assignment.”

“Yeah, and that’s why you’re one project away from failing Year 12,” Victoria laughed and Thomas rolled his eyes, “The other day I put him in charge of finishing this essay thing for philosophy and by the time I went back to check on him, he was already asleep. I honestly still wonder how we’re at this school. I would’ve thrown us out a long time ago.”

“Look who’s decided to join us today!” Damiano exclaimed with a large smile on his face as Emilia and Ethan took a seat right in front of you. It was an unusual occurrence for him to eat with you because, well, you were there and he couldn’t shut his mouth for half an hour while you ate, which usually ended in an argument that made the whole table annoyed. 

You frowned at his appearance. He was struggling to keep his dark eyes open and his hand wouldn’t stop shaking. It was very apparent that he hadn’t slept much either from the bags under his eyes and his slow steps. Ethan was almost like a zombie. 

He shook his head the moment his eyes met yours and your shoulders slumped. It hadn’t been Emilia either. You got up from your seat abruptly and walked away from the table without an explanation. You desperately needed a breath of fresh air before you went insane. So with quick steps, you moved down the hall until you reached one of the open windows next to a couch. You let yourself fall onto the couch and tightly shut your eyes as you breathed the fresh air in.

“You seriously need to calm down. Otherwise everyone will start to notice just how suspicious you’re acting,” You sighed at the sound of Ethan’s irritating voice and up straight on the couch. You rubbed your eyes with the back of your hands and looked up at him with an annoyed expression.

“You cannot ask me to calm down after what we saw last night. When will it get into your thick skull that whatever this shit is, it’s real. Those threats were real and if we don’t do something we’re both going to end up in jail, or worse, people are going to die. We don’t know who this psycho is nor what they’re capable of doing. We need to do something now before it’s too late,” The words rushed out of your mouth desperately. The urgency in your tone and your voice quivering as you spoke made his face fall. It wasn’t often that he took you seriously, but by the look in his eyes, you could tell he was just as scared as you were and that was enough to make him shut up and listen to all you had to say.

“Shit Y/N, can you lower your voice? We have no clue at all who could ev—” Before he could even finish the whole sentence, the Head Professor cleared her throat. But your heads snapped in her direction and you gulped in fear at the thought of her overhearing the conversation.

Your heart fell to your stomach the moment she spoke, “Just the two I was looking for. I need you in my office right now.”

Your eyes went wide as you turned to look at Ethan, who already had his head turned in your direction. He nudged his head in the professor’s direction and you both followed her as she walked to her office but stayed a few steps behind.

“This is it, we’re going to jail,” You mumbled loud enough so only Ethan could hear. He hushed you and pulled you along when you stopped walking. People were looking at you as you passed by and that only made you feel worse. You loosened the tie around your neck and gulped.

“We are not going to jail unless you don’t pull it together. Now breathe and keep on walking. I’m not your fucking babysitter,” He whisper-yelled and quickened his pace. You sighed and did the same thing. It surely couldn’t be that bad, could it? You were probably just overreacting and the events of the night before had nothing to do with this impromptu meeting. 

You kept those thoughts in mind as the professor opened the door to the small office and you took a seat on one of the two squeaky chairs. The room smelled clean in a comforting way and you let your shoulders relax as you played with your fingers nervously and looked around the place. 

Her office had always been your favorite out of all the professors’. The place was always warm and during the mornings, you could hear coffee brewing in her old coffee machine in the corner of the room. There were books scattered everywhere and piled in a way that didn’t look messy but inviting. During your first weeks at the academy, when you still hadn’t made any friends, you’d go into her office and read while you sat curled up on the couch and enjoyed the warm and calm atmosphere of the place.

Things used to be so much easier back then and you had no clue how things could’ve changed so fast. Back then your relationship with Ethan was decent and you had no trouble with anyone or anything, now you were being threatened into being framed for murder and being sent to jail.

“You totally forgot about our meeting today, didn’t you?” She asked calmly as she poured coffee into one of her cups, filling the room with the delicious and strong scent. The professor pushed her long dark hair out of her face and straightened out her uniform before sitting down opposite to you, “You looked quite shocked. I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything important.”

Ethan sat there, speechless, just like you. But then realization hit you and you realized you were just being paranoid and stupid. She’d told you about this meeting weeks in advance. It was supposed to have something to do with your chance to get the sought-after 100% scholarship to study your career at The Oakes. 

“Nothing important whatsoever,” You replied quickly and sat up straight as you placed both hands on your lap. Ethan copied your actions and tied up his long hair with the black elastic that had been on his wrist.

Your eyes followed the professor as she dumped a small spoonful of sugar and mixed it around with the dark liquid. You couldn’t help but notice her hand shaking as she poured the milk and even spilled a bit of it down the side of the cup. 

She cursed under her breath and apologized as she got up to search for a napkin. With furrowed eyebrows, you shared a look with Ethan, who shrugged. 

“I apologize. I’m afraid I’m quite distracted today, but let’s continue. Shall we?” She smiled sweetly and opened up one of the folders on her desk as she sat back down. She grabbed two papers from inside and placed one in front of each of you. 

You picked it up and examined its content. It seemed to be some sort of permission slip, “So, as I’m sure you both know, our academy offers a program for all our brightest students that gives them the opportunity to continue their college studies with everything paid. You two are the people with the highest grades amongst the whole generation. The semester is—.”

Her words were interrupted by a few quick knocks on the door before a professor pushed it wide open. He couldn’t stop fidgeting with his hands and playing around with his tie as he spoke, “The council wants to have a meeting, professor.”

“I cannot do it right now, I’m—”

“They want to have it now.” 

The professor turned to the two of you nervously and laughed awkwardly. She stood up from the chair after quickly pushing it back, “I’ll see you another day, okay? Meanwhile, please send a scan of that permission slip to your parents and have them sign it, as soon as possible.” 

Once both professors were out of sight and had closed the door, leaving the two of you alone, Ethan spoke, “Something’s wrong.”

“No shit. Neither one could stop shaking. I say we go and try to listen to what the council members are saying,” You suggested and stood up, but he grabbed your arm and pulled you to sit back down.

“We need to go back to the oak tree first. Y/N, if this is all real and there’s something going on, we need to find that body before they do,” He said firmly. Both his tone and stare were serious and you could tell that there was no way in hell he’d take no for an answer. Instead of arguing, you agreed and walked out of the office right behind him, but then you paused as his words registered into your brain, “Why do we have to find it before them?”

He didn’t stop walking to respond, so with a groan you started to walk faster until you were right next to him, “You weren’t even attending the school when it happened,” Ethan began to talk under his breath, so quietly you could barely make out the words he was trying to say, “It was years ago so I cannot remember exactly how the story went. You can ask Thomas though, he has better memory than I do,”

“Either way, there was this boy who’d just gotten into college and during the secret society’s initiation, he was told to climb the highest tower at that campus but he slipped and fell like ten stories. Like I said, it was a secret society that neither the public nor the parents knew about. If the story of what had really happened got out it’d ruin the school and some of the most important students would’ve been sent to jail, so they twisted it to look like a suicide and got away with it. The only reason we know about it is because one of Will’s cousins, the duke, was involved in it all and Will told us all about it.”

“I refuse to believe that’s true. C’mon, it’s Will,” You laughed, “The same guy who convinced everyone in class that your family secretly ran part of the Italian mafia.”

Ethan only shrugged and stopped walking to knock on the door of the greenhouse. You’d left yours at your dorm that morning from how distracted you were, so you had to wait for Mr. Murphy to open up and let you through.

When he finally opened the door, his eyebrows shot up in surprise as he looked at the two of you in confusion, “What in God’s name has happened to get you two in the same place without fighting?” He mocked. You rolled your eyes and shook your head as a smile appeared on your face.

“I assure you, we can both be perfectly civil. Besides, it’s for a homework we need to do. And believe me it’s the last thing I want to be doing,” You lied and walked into the greenhouse with Ethan following behind, “Anyways, we’re gonna go to the lake to get some water and—”

“I’m afraid you cannot go out there,” He interrupted. You frowned at his words and tilted your head to the side.

“Why? Did something happen?”

“Nothing you should care about, kids. Just go to class, yeah? There’s someone coming and if you want to stay out of trouble you better leave before they arrive.”

YOU CAN VOTE ON THIS CHAPTER’S POLL RIGHT HERE. THIS POLL CLOSES AT 12:30 PM CDT ON TUESDAY.

[cozy-the-overlord]

For the Lobster of Loki

Summary: Exposure to terrigen mist during a mission-gone-wrong results in you developing some newfound aquatic abilities. Unfortunately, this opens the door for your Avengers teammates to make use of the bane of your existence: fish puns. 

Word Count: 2,850

Pairing: Loki x Fem!Reader (first person)

A/N: I can’t believe I actually wrote this.

For those of you wondering what the hell this is: a few weeks ago, I had autocorrect change the word "love" to "lobster" while writing a fic. I found this hilarious and made a joke about it on Tumblr and it kind of turned into a meme on my blog. A couple of my friends told me I needed to turn this into a story and so now I present to you the stupidest thing I have ever spent precious time creating. Also, I usually don't like writing in first person at all, but my go-to third person limited just did not feel right with this nonsense, so I decided to experiment with a different style

Thanks for reading! :)

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

I was going to murder Tony Stark. I was going to murder all of them, but I was going to murder him first because he was the one who started this nonsense and now it had been going on for two weeks and I was one fucking smirk away from scalping myself.

It all started when I woke up with gills. Waking up with gills is a strange experience. Don’t get me wrong—I realize all things considered, I had it pretty good. I’ve heard about some really horrific transformations since I experienced my own— people who came out of the midst having lost their eyes or their limbs or their minds. There have been people who came out of the mist looking, sounding, and feeling like completely different creatures than when they went in. And there have been people who don’t come out at all.

No, I know damn well I was lucky to come out of the experience with nothing more than a pair of gills stuck in my neck. Still, it was an odd feeling—there was a heightened awareness every time I breathed in, pinprick chills trickling across the newfound ridges as I exhaled. It didn’t feel right, but it didn’t feel wrong either—it was a stiff feeling, a bit like putting on a new pair of shoes for the first time, if that makes sense. I didn’t know what to make of it.

When I woke up, there was about a hundred doctors hovering around me, each with some new sterile terminology to throw my way about my condition, none of which made anything close to sense. I was losing my mind until Bruce showed up. He was able to put it simply: during the mission, I had been exposed to terrigen mist. Instead of killing me, it triggered a transformation in my DNA. I was inhuman.

My inhuman gift, it seemed was the magical blessing from the Black Lagoon. I had gills now—that was the most immediate realization—but there was also the fleshy webbing between my fingers and a weird film over my eyes that I didn’t notice until I tried to rub them with the heel of my palm. All of these wondrously fishy attributes added up to one glorious result: I could swim like a fish.

That was the first thing they tested. As soon as the doctors said I was good to go, SHIELD dumped me in a pool and told me to have fun. And I did. I had never been a fantastic swimmer or anything—the extent of my swimming knowledge came from the lessons my mother had forced me to take as a kindergartener because she was afraid I’d fall into the pond at the park down the street from our house and just die, which … fair. I still hated those classes. But now, now—oh, it was a completely different experience! I cut through that water like a knife, like Michael Phelps who? I was a bullet, shooting back and forth across the pool and just hanging water for as long as I liked.

Because I could breathe underwater now. That’s what gills are for, I guess, although it doesn’t really feel like breathing. Like, I’m not inhaling water while I swim. I’m just … I don’t know, my lungs are still filling with air, my chest is still going up and down, but it’s not through my nose. I don’t know how to explain it, it’s weird. But it’s really fucking awesome.

The team was very supportive of everything. I had only been living at the Tower for a little while, so I had still felt like something of an outsider—I didn’t have powers, and I certainly didn’t have the years long rapport that they had with each other. But they were really cool! Tony designed me a sleek new suit that was able to move well in water while still offering protection, and everyone had the time of their life trying to think up a pithy new code name for my newfound superhero status (we still haven’t quite decided, but I’m leaning towards Torpedo, because isn’t that the coolest thing you’ve ever heard?). Everything was great.

Well, almost everything. There was one thing that was kind of bothering me. Loki hadn’t talked to me since I got hit with the mist. That might sound like a weird thing to get hung up on—oh no, the psychotic extraterrestrial terrorist is ignoring me!— but Loki’s not really like that. He doesn’t really talk about the whole New York thing much, but he’s said enough to make it clear that it’s not something he did of his own volition. If you saw it you’d understand what I meant, the way he tenses up whenever someone brings up the Chitauri and his eyes go all glassy like he’s not really there behind them. You can just tell that whatever had been waiting for him on the other side of that portal, it wasn’t good.

We never talked about New York, but we talked about other things. I’m not really sure how that happened. He does this thing where he acts all annoyed with everyone, like he’s just so over everything, and it irritates everyone so much that they all avoid him like the plague, which of course is what he wants. I guess I just didn’t avoid him when I arrived—I was too busy avoiding all the other superheroes who made me nervous to bother trying with him—and he grew to tolerate my presence.

We started talking about stuff one day, random shit like the purpose of nutritional facts on the side of poptart boxes and the boiling point of water on Earth vs on Asgard because apparently that’s different. And then we’d do things like make fun of the way Steve talks because he’s just so easy to make fun of, and Steve would overhear and tell us to knock it off and that would just make the whole thing funnier and Loki would mimic his voice and say something stupid like “I can feel the righteousness surging!” and Steve would just shake his head and walk away while we laughed like idiots. So yeah. We were friends. Or at least, I thought of him as a friend.

But I was starting to think that maybe he didn’t see me in the same way. We had been partners on the mission where I got hit with the terrigen mist, but he didn’t even come to visit me while I was still in the hospital. And literally everyone came to visit me. Friggin’ Director Fury came to visit me, although I’m pretty sure that was more because he wanted to see what my transformation had entailed and not because he had any particular interest in my wellbeing, but still. And then when I got out, he never said a word to me and everyone else wanted to talk to me so I didn’t say anything to him, but I was worried about him just the same. He was avoiding me too—he wouldn’t ever look at me when I was looking at him, and a lot of times he’d get up and leave the room if I came in. And I didn’t know what was going on.

I probably should’ve asked, but I don’t know … I was afraid, I guess. Like, what if he was really mad at me for something, and just me trying to talk with him would make him upset? So I just didn’t say anything—went through my day pretending everything was normal and ignoring the ache in my chest constantly reminding me that it had been weeks since I got my powers and Loki still hadn’t asked me if I was okay.

But I kind of forgot about all that when Tony started this bullshit. Honestly, I’m surprised he didn’t start it sooner, because it was the type of low hanging fruit that had his name written all over it, but once he started it there was no going back.

He started it one day when we were in the kitchen. I had been making a sandwich (tuna fish, because I’m a cannibal) and Tony was leaning over the counter watching me, and we were just talking about my general fishiness.

“I’m jealous, really,” he was saying. “It’s definitely something that would come in handy. You need to get something underwater, you just dive down—no tanks, no masks, no suits. Very sophisticated.” His eyes lit up, which is never a good thing. “Sofishticated!”

I groaned. “Stop it.”

But Tony was cackling. “Sofishticated! That’s rather gilliant, if I do say so myself.”

“Tony …”

“It doesn’t get any betta than this!”

I waved the bread knife in his face. “I will throw this at you.”

“Alright, alright.” Even as he held his hands up in surrender, he was giggling like a child. “I’ll stop.”

He did not stop.

The next morning, it was fish puns. Everywhere you turned, it was fish puns.

“Can you get that report back to me soon, or do you need more time to mullet over?”

“Just let minnow when you’re ready to try on the new suit.”

“Don’t trout your abilities, we all know you’re fintastic.”

It was only breakfast and I was inches away from crushing my face against the china cabinet.

Natasha raised her eyebrows. “What the hell have I walked into?”

Tony grinned. “It’s fish puns!” he said. “Because, you know—” he gestured vaguely in my general direction. “It’s her brand.”

I moaned, face in my hands. “Just kill me now.”

Clint perked up. “Don’t you mean krill me now?”

Laughing, Tony gave him a high five over my head as I writhed in pain. “That’s the spirit.”

I don’t know how he did it, but in the matter of hours Tony had the whole damn tower on the pun train. Natasha was joking about how she was having a whale of a time with this new game. Clint was telling me to clam down and enjoy the fun. Steve asked me if I could get kraken on my o-fish-al business. Even Bruce—Bruce, who always made a point of staying out of Tony’s nonsense—even he was coming up to me with shit like “Cod you come help me with somefin in the lab?”

I glared at him. “Why would you ask me that?”

He hesitated for a moment. “Well …” Bruce inhaled. “Salmon had to.”

I stormed off as Tony roared with laughter from behind the corner.

It was inescapable. Wherever I went there was someone armed with some new fishy atrocity. You’d be surprised at how many fucking fish-related words exist in the English language. JARVIS was so overloaded with the amount of Internet searches for “fish puns” that he started bookmarking lists for easy access. It was an absolute nightmare.

“Don’t play koi, sweetheart,” Tony teased one night while we were waiting for Clint to choose a movie. “We know you lobster it.”

“Lobster?” I scoffed. “That doesn’t even make sense!”

“You just don’t appreciate my ingenui-sea.”

“OH MY—”

“Ignore them, my lady.” Thor smiled gallantly “They are only jesting. You should just relaks.” He grinned, stepping back as he waited for a reaction. We all just blinked at him. He frowned. “You understand, yes? Re-laks? Laks? That’s a fish!”

“Lak is not native to Midgard,” Loki interjected without looking up from the book he was reading. I jumped. He had been so quiet I had forgotten he was in here too. “Their oceans are too warm.”

Thor was surprised. “Truly? But I thought we’ve tasted lak since we’ve been here!”

Loki rolled his eyes, still without looking up. “That’s salmon. It tastes similar, but it’s much smaller.” He turned the page, muttering something that I didn’t quite catch. I was suddenly struck by the fact that it was the closest we had come to talking since before the mist, and that ache came back, gnawing at the edges of my heart. He didn’t look at me. I didn’t say anything.

About a week later, it was my birthday. I don’t really like birthdays in general, but I had really been bracing myself for this one all week because there was no way in hell these morons weren’t going to something infuriatingly stupid to mark the occasion. I guess I didn’t do enough bracing, because when I walked into my bathroom that morning to find a big fat lobster scuttling around in my sink I nearly had a fucking heart attack.

Across the mirror, someone had scrawled a message in red lipstick.

Sending you birthday fishes and lots of lobster!

And that was the moment I decided I was going to murder Tony Stark.

I stormed out into the hallway with no weapon, no plan of action, nothing except the pajamas on my back and the lobster in my hand. Additionally, this was the moment I decided that I hated lobsters more than any other creature on this earth. This thing looked like something from outer space, with its antenna and its bulging eyes and its spindly spider legs—that what it was, an overgrown spider in a slimy red shell. It was disgusting.

I was on my way to Tony’s floor, so engrossed with this half-baked notion of busting down his door and throwing this extraterrestrial arachnid on his face while he snored in bed, that I didn’t even see the Asgardian prince until I walked right into him.

Luckily, Loki grabbed me before I stumbled backwards, because I recoiled so quickly I probably would’ve gone flying. He raised his eyebrows as he took in the sight.

“I assume there’s a reason for the crustacean?” he asked.

There was something ever so slightly condescending about his tone, and I bristled. “They left this thing in my room! I swear, I’ve had it up to here with this fish bullshit—”

He hushed me, pulling the lobster from my grasp. With a wave of his hand, it was gone.

I inhaled. “You didn’t kill it, did you?”

“Oh no. I merely moved it to a more preferable location.” He frowned at the moisture left on his palm, conjuring a handkerchief to wipe it off with. “You know,” he said slowly. “The more visibly upset you allow yourself to become over this, the more encouraged they’ll feel to continue.”

“I know, I know. I just—” I sighed. “It’s so annoying. It’s been going nonstop, for two damn weeks! Puns are the absolute lowest form of humor, it’s just obnoxious.”

Loki only nodded as he turned to make his way down the hall. “I’ll take your word for it.”

And just like that, it was back to ignoring me. I watched his retreating form, the ache in my chest quickly bursting in to flames.

“Why are you avoiding me?” I snapped.

He froze, slowly turning around. “Pardon?”

“Why are you avoiding me?” I repeated. “You won’t talk to me anymore, you barely even look at me— did I do something wrong?” Maybe the fish jokes really had fried my brain, because I was dangerously close to tears. “I don’t get it Loki, I thought we were cool and now you just hate me!”

“I don’t hate you!” he said. “I just—”

“Just what? What is going on with you?”

“You could’ve died!” Loki yelled. I had never heard him speak that loudly before, and guess I was shocked into silence. “With the mist, on the mission. It was only pure chance that you didn’t.”

“I—I don’t understand.”

“I was supposed to cover you. I should’ve realized sooner that they were using terrigen crystals. Instead I miscalculated and you nearly died.” He let out a shaky breath. “I thought you were dead. When I found you, enveloped in that shell …” His voice trailed off and I realized with a start that his eyes were glistening with tears.

“Loki …” My gills tingled on my neck as I reached out for him. Is that what this was all about? Guilt? “Loki, you can’t blame yourself for that. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. And besides, I’m fine now. It all worked out in the end.”

He shook his head. “You don’t understand. You didn’t see yourself. You were gone, I was certain you were gone—”

I griped his hand. “I’m here now though. I’m here and I’m fine. Stop beating yourself up about it. I want to be friends again. I—” For a moment, the words caught in my throat. “I missed you.”

He gulped. “Truly?”

“Of course! Besides, I need your help getting back at these idiots.”

He smirked. “Oh, I’ve already started on that.”

A high-pitched scream broke out across the floor. “How did the fucking lobster get in my shower?” Tony bellowed from his bedroom.

We exploded into laughter.

“Oh,” I wheezed. “That was fucking perfect!”

Loki grinned, squeezing my hand. “Only the best for you, my lobster.”

[cyberdreamlandwriting]

Just for a Moment

Summary: Nathan doesn't react to your pregnancy the way you thought. In fact, he doesn't react at all

Authors note: So this is my first reader insert fanfiction ever, which is a bit scary! Luckily I had the amazing help of @writefightandflightclub​ This story is even inspired by her own dad!Nathan story! This story is also for her, I truly hope you all enjoy! Nathan is a bit ooc in this, especially near the end. Oh, and no beta reader, apologizes for the mistakes. Wrote this in a few hours too.

Word count: 2.6k

You two had been so careful. So, so careful!

Well, except for that time when he took you on the counter-top for nearly three hours. Or when he fucked you in the shower. Or when you bounced on his dick for a hot minute in his lab. Or the time-

Okay, well, maybe the two of you hadn't been careful. Big whoop. You'd been dating for nearly a year, stuck in his, as you called it 'Futuristic House of Doom' after the incident where his A.I tried to murder him. 

But he didn't like to talk about that. 

Regardless, it didn't matter. You two were happy and in a stable relationship. And now you were going to have a kid. 

But neither of you had ever even mentioned kids. 

You'd wanted to have them in your teen years, you even picked out names for your future children. 

Names that you'd long forgotten and didn't care to try and remember.

Then straight out of college you somehow got a job at Blue Book. And over the past five years, you'd been making your way up the ladder. Slowly but surely up the ladder. You had been too busy to have children, and you weren't sure you even wanted them. 

But now? You were quite positive you wanted them, or at least one. 

But Nathan, fuck, what would he think? He didn't show much affection, you'd only gotten one 'I love you' from him about a month ago. 

That wasn't to say he was a bad boyfriend. He still snuggled with you on the rare nights he actually slept. He made love to you several times a week, occasionally worshiping you while doing so, calling you his goddess until you would cum.

He'd make you food when he was out of the lab. He taught you how to use the punching bag correctly. He'd press occasional kisses to you when he walked past. He had carried you back to the house when you had fallen and twisted your ankle, not complaining once about the trek or the fact that you had made him miss out on an entire day of work. 

He did show affection in his own Nathan way.

You eyed the pregnancy test in your trembling hands.

What's the worst thing he could do? Scream and yell at you? Send you home and never speak with you again? 

Those were all possibilities but Nathan didn't scream or yell much. He'd only yelled once when something he'd been working on for eight hours crashed without him saving it. And of course that's not counting the times he yelled in bed. But for the most part, he didn't yell.

You shoved the test into your pocket and wondered if he already knew. 

You went into town twice a month, and had bought a test on your last visit. You'd shoved the box into the closet behind a stack of blankets when you got back home. Could he have found it? 

Could he be expecting you when you exited the bathroom, arms crossed, eyebrow raised? 

Plus you hadn't been eating much, but he never commented on it. You ate when he offered food to you, but otherwise stuck to crackers and water. Maybe he hadn't heard your retching in the toilet at three a.m. The lab was far enough away that he probably couldn't hear it, especially when the door was closed. Or maybe he had and just didn't give that much of a shit to check on you. 

Or did he truly have no idea and you were about to give him the shock of his life? You washed your hands, making your way towards the lab. Your legs shook, but you continued on until you could hear the clacking of his keyboard. You exhaled and knocked on the glass, but he didn't look up. 

"Nathan, can I talk to you?" 

He doesn't pay any mind to you as you enter, something you would huff and whine about usually, but now you were gonna start crying if he didn't give you something. A grunt, a look, a word....something.

"Well, it's important. Like, super important." 

He grabbed a pen and scribbled something down, then went back to scrolling. 

"It's life changing news." 

Still nothing. 

You clenched your fists and walked up next to him. "I'm pregnant." You pulled out the test and shoved it in his direction but he didn't look up from the screen.

You pulled the test away, your body feeling like jelly. You wanted to call him a fucking asshole or a piece of shit. But you couldn't find any words or emotions besides heartbreak. Was this his way of saying you needed to leave? To say you weren't welcome here anymore?

You turned and went to the kitchen, grabbing some crackers and stumbling back to your room. You slammed the door, heart pounding. She couldn't cry, not yet. He was going to come in tonight and apologize, explain he was doing something important but that he's all done now and he's here to listen. 

Or he'd tell you the helicopter is coming to pick you up in the morning. 

You really hoped it was the former.

You opened your laptop and curled up under the soft blue blanket you had insisted on him buying the first time he came into town with you. Because as you had said. 'Your house is boring as shit, it needs some color. We're buying this.'

You put on your headphones and searched for something pleasant to watch. You found some mindless crime show and started on some random episode in season seven. Your eyes glazed over, not listening to a word being said.

You curled your knees up to your chest, your head resting on the pillow he had used two nights before. It still smelled like him, causing you to hold it close, imagining he was giving you a hug. 

You felt fucking pathetic.

You woke up confused, face covered in your own drool. You blinked rapidly, the room dark. What had woken you?

Then you felt your stomach clench and your throat burn. You sprinted to the bathroom and threw up into the toilet, not bothering to shut the door this time. 

After a few minutes you rolled off the toilet and groaned, flicking on the light switch. You hoped he would be standing in the doorway, eyes full of concern but alas...nothing. 

You groaned and flushed the toilet, washing both your hands and your mouth and flicking off the light before entering the hallway. You hesitated, wondering if you should go see if he's still in the lab. 

You made your way down the hall, and sure enough you could hear his keyboard and the soft scratch of pen against paper.  

You turned and went back to your room, flopping onto the bed with a groan. You checked the time, nearly two a.m., and tried to fall back asleep. 

You tossed and turned, tossing the blankets every which way, grumbling as you stretched over the side of the bed to grab the thrown blankets. 

You soon gave up and grabbed your phone, mindlessly scrolling through social media. 

After nearly two hours of scrolling through frightening politics in your home country and stupid memes that occasionally made you giggle, your phone buzzed with an alert about your battery. 

You quickly plugged it in and rubbed your eyes. There wasn't a way you could fall back asleep, so you grumbled around for your laptop, thankfully with enough charge to get you through another hour or two of another show, you settled on a soap opera from the nineties.

You watched but absorbed nothing, as the sun began to rise and the wisps of light filled the room you couldn't even remember the main character's name. You shut the laptop at that, plugging it in and making your way to the lab. Surprisingly he wasn't in it, so you made your way to the kitchen. But again, it was as empty as his lab. 

You then went out into the cool morning air to see Nathan, fists wrapped as he punched the bag.

You lean against the door, and this time you're less nervous and more annoyed. "I'm pregnant." You call out again, but he keeps punching. You give him a minute, listening to sounds of the birds waking up. "Bateman I'm pregnant, we need to talk about it." You shout, but he ignores you, not even sparing a glance. You feel your face getting hot, tears at the corners of your eyes. "Fine." You hiss, slamming the door and marching back to your room. 

As soon as the door opens you burst into tears, throwing yourself onto the bed. You feel your body shaking, your heart pounding so loud it rings in your ears. You let out a muffled scream, snot running down your chin and mixing with the tears that cover the sheets. 

You let yourself cry until your head is throbbing and your eyes are bloodshot. You can only whimper, you don't have any more tears left in you, at least for the moment. You crawl over and flick the switch on the wall, which covers the window in thick blinds, shutting out all the light. You flop back into bed, the room now pitch black. You pull the blanket around you, reaching for the pillow once again. But this time it doesn't smell like him, it only smells like you. 

You bury your face in it anyway, the silence washing over you until your eyes flutter shut and the world around you vanishes. 

When you wake up again, your stomach is screaming about how empty it is. You get up, smacking your lips and slam your way out of bed. You hit the floor with a thud and grumble. You're lightheaded from hunger and heartbreak, you need food.

You drag your legs down the hall, blue blanket trailing behind you. You don't even notice the lab until-

"Hey." 

You freeze, looking over and seeing him standing in the door frame. He looks tired, more tired than usual. His eyes are more bloodshot, and his body is more reserved. 

"Are you alright?"

You think something is wrong with him because he just asked if you're okay in such a soft and gentle voice that you only heard once or twice when you fell asleep in his arms and he would mutter your name. 

"What?" You ask, not even trying to hide your shock.

"I asked if you're okay. Are you?"

"No, because you haven't been listening to me." You mutter, pulling the blanket around you.

"I have, I'm just, not good with words. Come here." He takes your hand and leads you back to the room, wondering if he just wants a quick fuck. But he stops in front of the room across the hall from yourself and opens the door. It was a guest room, where you used to stay before you two started to share a bed. 

And now it's empty, and-

"I um, I ordered some stuff. For like a fucking nursery or whatever." He mutters. "I thought it looked nice, but it's up to you when it arrives. Should be here tomorrow." 

He turns and heads toward the kitchen, you hot on his heels. "You need something to eat, even if you don't feel good you gotta eat something." 

"Nathan, are-" you pause, "You're okay with this?"

He pauses as he closes the fridge. "Honestly Y/N, I'm fucking terrified and kinda wish you were joking." He runs a hand through his buzzed hair before leaning against the counter. "But I assume you want it."

"Yeah, but only if you'll be there, for me and for the baby and for yourself."

"Myself? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You can't take care of a baby or your pregnant girlfriend if you can't care for yourself."

"I do take care of myself-"

"That's a fucking lie. You've gone days without eating or sleeping-"

"Hey, I'm practicing, babies are loud and need attention-"

"Just like you," you take his hand, locking your fingers together. "But I'm serious. I worry about you, a lot." 

"You don't need to do that. I'm the one who's gotta be fussing over you. Making sure you eat and sleep and whatever fucking else a pregnant woman needs. After you told me in the lab my brain kinda….stopped working for a few minutes. Then I spent all day researching babies and pregnancy. Read a bunch of stuff, some helpful, others not. Then I ordered all the nursery stuff, I picked blue and beige, thought it went well together. That isn't me wanting a boy, more me trying my hand at interior decorating. Probably gonna look like shit but we can always buy whatever you actually want." He rubbed a hand over his face. 

"Then of course the terror set in, the fact that I was going to be a father. I don't need to worry about you in that aspect, you're gonna be a fucking fantastic mom. You're so fucking kind and sweet and you know when to put your foot down and-" his voice cracks but he continues. "I just know I'm gonna fuck up this poor kid's life. So I boxed, and then you came out and I was too much of a coward to face you then. I kept going until..." he holds up his knuckles which are a nasty shade of blue and purple, "but that doesn't hurt nearly as much as knowing I made you cry. And I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry I messed you up like that. That I did that to you. I'm bad with people, I always will be, but I don't wanna be bad to you, I adore you."

A million thoughts are pounding in your head. He's teary eyed, he's terrified, he bought things for a nursery, he just said he's going to be caring and fussing over you, he said you were gonna be a fantastic mom. But most of all, Nathan fucking Bateman just apologized to you. 

You feel the tears coming hot and fast. "N-Nathan, do you mean that? All of it?”

He nods and you race into his arms, knocking the air out of him. He pulls you close and you feel tears drip into your hair. Nathan is crying into your hair and you're soaking his shirt. His shoulders are shaking and you aren't sure how to react. You slowly pull back and wipe away a tear. 

"Do you want this?" You whisper. He only nods, letting you continue. "Nathan, you're gonna be an amazing father, I just know it. You can be soft, I mean look at you right now!" You shake your head. "You don't need to worry about that at all. I love you, I love you so much." 

"And I love you baby, I love you more than you'll ever know. So we're gonna have a baby, aren't we?" 

"We're gonna have a baby!" You smile and jump around him, causing him to smile

He presses a kiss to your knuckles. "The mother-to-be needs food, what do you want?" 

"Your baby and I want pancakes." 

"Then so be it, I mean, you two are the bosses after all." He turns on the stove as you take a seat on the counter to watch.

Nathan is scared, he's so scared of fucking this up, and that fear never goes away.

But when the cry of your baby is heard six months later and the midwife declares it's a healthy baby boy and places him on your chest, the fear vanishes, if only for a moment. 

Nathan takes a seat on the bed and presses his lips against the side of your head, softly whispering praises into your ear.

"What's his name?" The midwife asks, smiling at the three of you. 

"Byron," You answer as the newborn wraps his hand around Nathan's finger, and all is right in the world, even if it's just for a moment.