#3313

[sleepsucks]

[mostbelovedaewwrestlertournament]

Most Beloved AEW Wrestler Tournament 2

[harveyphotography]

Ogni passo nel cuore di Amalfi è una danza tra storia e mare, dove il tempo sembra fermarsi e l'anima si perde nella bellezza senza fine.

[dogstomp]

Dogstomp #3313 - March 27th

[yoku-yukihime]

i drew motos because i think hes a cute little guy

[what-have-i-unleashed]

I've finished it, here it is:

He's the only person who answers epic's weirder would you rather questions.

why is epic like this......................

[buahcupacupa]

SEGAR, WA 0821-3313-5066 SEGAR Pohon Cupa Cupa Banjarnegara

SEGAR, WA 0821-3313-5066 SEGAR Pohon Cupa Cupa Banjarnegara

[velvetydream]

꒰ :🥀 [ Like a deer in headlight ] ”♡ᵎ꒱ˀˀ ↷ ⋯

Summary : After finding out that Alastor indeed had ears atop his head, it was now time for round two of your game - his deer tail.

Pairing : Alastor x Reader

Word count : 3313 Words

Genre : Fluff, Suggestive(?)

Warnings ➵ Possessive and out of character Alastor,

he accidentally hurts and scares Reader

a/n : Continuation of my Alastor x Reader story, > Deer in headlight < , got asked for this by a few people, so here ya'll go! Hope it's as good as the first one!♡

┌───────────────────────── ·  ·  ·  · ♡

It had been a week since you had discovered Alastor's ears and he had let you touch them for the first time. Sneaking on him a few times to caress or play with them, maybe even a little tug or kiss to them when none of the others were looking. The relationship between you two also changed to something different, you couldn't exactly put a name to it, but it was more than friends, but definitely less than lovers. It confused you. Alastor confused you. Once he is nice to you, cooks you dinner, and lets you play with his ears while he writes a new script, the next time he rather distances himself from you, makes jokes here and there as if he himself didn't know what to do nor how to act.

The others also had picked up on the change between you two, Angel was teasing you about it a lot, Husker just warned you to be careful, Niffty was herself like always and Charlie was super happy about how close you two seemed to have gotten now.

So now to your new mission at hand, round two of your self-proclaimed game. Figure out if Alastor has a tail and if yes, get around to touch it! But this time it seemed to be harder than before, Alastor had his guard up a lot around you now, even when he let you play with his ears. Every time your hand wanders away from his ears down to try and peak under his coat, his hand either guides yours back up to his head or he entirely gets up and leaves, making sure you cannot find out if he has a fluffy little tail.

So now you were sitting at the bar, head resting on the counter as Husker slid your favorite drink over to you. "No look yet huh sweets? Was surprised you even got around to touching his ears without injuries." Angel now sat down beside you, softly patting your back as you let out a tired groan. "I just don't get it! I mean he saw that in the it wasn't that bad when I touched his ears! So why is it so bad now if I figure out if he has a tail too!" Pouting, you sit up a bit now taking a sip from your glass. "Maybe he doesn't have one, none of us ever saw one at least. Or maybe if he has one it's a different feeling for him than his ears?" Husker was cleaning a glass now as he spoke to you. Maybe he was right but.. you really wanted to know if he had a cute matching tail. Eyes going around the foyer now as you notice Alastor making his way up the stairs.

"Al! Wait up!" Jumping down from the barstool to follow him up the stairs, he waited for you on the stairs before walking up beside you. Eyes glancing over to him, he looked calm as always, his signature smile adorning his face, staff clutched in one hand as he walked alongside you. "How can I help you today dear?" Looking over at him now, you simply followed him to where he was going. "Are you doing a broadcast today? May I listen again?" Raising an eyebrow slightly Alastor looks over to you, nodding in agreement as he leads you to his radio tower. Over the last week, you had listened to his broadcast live two times already, which made you happy that he allowed you to join him. Opening the door for you, you enter first as you immediately take a seat at the table, Alastor had put up a second chair for you. Still, you noticed how his eyes had a glimmer of suspicion at how you suddenly wanted to listen in today.

Waiting for him to start the broadcast, your head was leaning on your hand as you watched Alastor with a smile. Suddenly an idea came into your head, trying to suppress the grin that was threatening to grow on your face. Alastor was focused on his broadcast, talking about something you weren't even listening to anymore. Reaching your hand over now, your fingertips softly graze his ears, as Alastor lets out a surprised yet quiet yelp, before turning his head to you with a warning glare. Returning his gaze with a smirk now, as you stand up from your seat and slowly walk over to him, he was glaring at you now. You were so close to fucking up, but this was a chance. Reaching your hand out to the back of his coat to pull it up. Quickly the > On Air < sign switched up, as Alastor grabbed your wrist in a rather right grip. Turning his head to you now, his antlers had grown in size, a red X on his forehead, and eyes turned to dials. You definitely fucked up now.

"D̷̢͙̟̼̘̊̒̑͑͝ë̸͇͍͓̲͇͂̾̓͝a̴͙̻̞̫̞̾̑̈́͑̕r̸̖͎̼̳͍̀̉̌̉̒ ̶̜͉̦͔̒̋̌̒̕ͅw̵̛̲̭̰̼͒̑̎͝ͅh̴͚̮̬̜̔̉͗̀̅ͅa̴̭͖͍̩̣͐̀̇͂̿ţ̷̛̪̣̥͓̓̆̕͠ ̴̢͓͓͙̯̂̀͋̀͘w̵̘̣̫͚͛̋͛̊͠ͅë̴̢̡̛̥̦͇́̄̉̈ř̶͓̜̗̻̓̊̐͘ͅẽ̷̮̻͈͕͎̓̌͐̈ ̵̠̝̫̺̲̑́̍̈́̈́ÿ̴̳̩͍͎̙́̌́̿̈́o̶̰̭͎͈̣̅͛͑̌͘u̶̢̝̥̞̪͋́̒̎͝r̶ ̵͕͉̫̻̤̎̐̋̾͘į̴͕͈̮̅̎̈́̀̌ͅn̸̠̳̮̤̻͆͛̔̎͋t̸̖̻̲̘̭̐̎̂̏̕e̵̞͎͎̭̗̓̍̓̉̈́n̶̬͈͎̤͉̈́̈́̈́̇̾ţ̶̱͓̥̲̅̔͋̀̚i̶̡̲͕̤̩̒̏͐̈́͝ǒ̷̗̰̯̩̻́̔̄́n̸̡̧̞̩̥̔͆̎͆̅s̵̪̣̱͔̎͒́̽͠ͅ ̷̝͍͈̥͌͂̿̏͘ͅr̶̹͚̦͉̞̈́̈́͂̋̀i̶̡̨̛͉͇͇̾͐͊̍g̸̨̛͉͎̰̖͋̒͒̓h̴̜̫͕̪͊͊̈́͝͠ͅt̷͉̳̩̰̜͗̈́̓̽̒ ̴̨̬̱̰̠̒͂̍́̏n̸̬͍̬̣̗̿̃̅́͑ǫ̸̠̰̈̊͌͗̚͜͜w̴̧̜̺̖̓́̎͗͆ͅ?̴̠̖̯̤͚̓̀̎̂͆"

Gulping once, you try to pull your arm back from his grip, which just makes him tighten it. Hissing lowly, you squeeze your eyes shut, it was slowly stinging a bit from how tight his grip was. "Al.. You're hurting me!" Alastor finally turned back to himself, letting go of your red wrist now, a print of his fingers visible as you cradled your hand against your chest. "I'm going to leave for now.." Head down as you hurriedly leave the room, closing the door behind you as you dart for your room, ignoring Angel's calls who just walked past you. Throwing yourself on your bed now, you looked at your wrist scared now. He had never used his demon form for you, there was no way of denying that he had scared you. Closing your eyes to push away the tears that were slowly building up in your eyes, as your consciousness drifts away.

"Dear, wake up." A hand on your shoulder was softly shaking you awake, lifting your head to take in your surroundings before meeting Alastor's eyes. Sitting up quickly, you scoot a bit away from him as you watch him with wide eyes. "Alastor..! What are you doing in my room?" Watching him now, as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed, making sure to not make you any more uncomfortable by getting too close to you. "I'm sorry about back there, I lost it a bit, I shouldn't have." Despite smiling, you noticed that Alastor was genuinely apologizing to you. "I'm sorry, I crossed a line there, I used your trust in me listening to your broadcast live, I'm truly sorry." Laying your hand near his own carefully, letting him decide if he wants to be touched right now. Looking down, he softly takes your hand, as he presses a kiss against the red fingerprints he had left behind. His eyes were closed right now as his lips linger a second longer than they usually do. "I'll make it up to you, I promise." Raising to his feet now, he gave you a soft smile, before leaving you stunned in your room.

Laying back down against your pillows, your gaze was on the ceiling as your cheeks became a soft shade of red. What was he thinking? Turning onto your side now as you hug your pillow against your chest, looking to where Alastor sat just a few minutes prior.

The next day arrives, as you make your way down the stairs to the others. Charlie was right now explaining something to Angel and Husker, hyper as always. Vaggie was simply sitting on one of the couches with a book right now, while Alastor was nowhere to be seen. "Hey Vaggie, have you seen Alastor?" Leaning over the back of the couch now so the girl could see you as she looks over to you. "He went out rather early today, saying something about Overlords meeting and visiting a friend in Cannibal Town." Raising your eyebrows slightly at that, friend in Cannibal Town? Definitely Rosie. He probably decided to tag along with her a bit after the meeting, as she was also an Overlord. Thanking Vaggie, you go over to the other three to let Vaggie read her book in peace.

"Okay and then when Heaven agrees we could- Oh good morning!" Waving to you immediately now as Charlie noticed you coming over. Greeting them all with a smile and good morning now before Charlie starts to ramble on about her plans. It was nice seeing such a hyper and happy girl in hell, it was definitely a change to how people normally were down here.

"By the way sweets, would you mind tagging along to the city today? I wanted to go visit some clothing stores you would definitely like!" Angel laid his hand on your shoulder now as he asked you, before even thinking you agreed. It had been a while since you had last been to the part of Pentagram City where all the clothing stores were located. Besides Alastor isn't here today to try any of your attempts to see his tail nor to play with his ears. After quickly getting changed, Angel led you to the stores he was talking about. And he sure was right, you found so many good clothes to your liking in many different styles. One thing hell didn't lack was good fashion, probably thanks to Velvette from the Vees.

Leaving the store now with a lot of bags in hand, Angel decided to pull you to his favorite > cheap yet delicious < restaurant as he called it. While looking around a bit, you couldn't help but notice a certain red-haired demon walking down the streets, alongside Rosie, as their arms were hooked together, laughing. You knew they were simply good old friends, yet you couldn't do anything about this weird feeling bubbling up in your stomach. Reaching your hand out, you softly tug on Angel's shirt, head hung low. "What's it, sweets? Ya suddenly don't seem so good." His hand softly raised your chin now to look at you, noticing your pained expression. "Are ya hurt?" Taking a good look at you to make sure you weren't visibly hurt anywhere. Raising your head again, your eyes on the two other demons, Angel's eyes follow yours before letting out a sight.

"I know they're only friends but.. I feel weird seeing them I don't even know why myself!" The bag you were holding dropped to the ground, before hiding your face in your hands. "Sweets, if you ask me that sounds as if ya're jealous.." Angel's hand softly patting your head now as you raise your head, eyes meeting his. "But.. That would mean.. And he would never reciprocate.." Tears were building up in your eyes, before you knew it Angel pulled you into a comforting hug, softly patting your head. "It's going to be okay sweets." Staying there for a good minute or two, before you calmed down again. What you didn't see was a certain dial eyes watching you, as Angel had his arms around you and your body against his chest.

Deciding to head back to the hotel for now, Angel said he would take you to the restaurant another time. Back at the hotel you for now decided to head back to your room for a little rest. The shopping bag is thrown onto a chair before flopping down on your bed. A sigh leaves your lips. The last few days really weren't the best for you and were slowly wearing you down.

"Say dear, I thought we had a deal of you not touching others~" A radio static voice suddenly sounded through your room, sitting up you looked around frantically, eyes stopping on a dark corner of your room. Red eyes watching you, a shadow figure beside them grinning at you. Before you could know it, your body was pressed to the bed with Alastor on top of you. "W-What do you mean!? Angel was simply comforting me! Besides you were also all over Rosie!" Thrashing around now, as you try to push Alastor off of you, but he was simply too strong for you. "Oh, so you're jealous sweetheart? Was that payback then?" Alastor head was lowered as he whispered those words into your ear making your eyes grow wide. "He was comforting me because I was crying! Which I by the way was because of you!" Staring into your eyes now, Alastor was at a loss for words. You were crying? Because of him on top of that? Before he knew it, he watched your eyes fill with tears again daring to flow over. Now he had fucked up this time.. Again.

"D-Don't cry! Dearest I'm sorry." Scooting off of you now, he sits beside you not really knowing what to do, he never had to deal with someone besides Niffty crying. And Charlie, but that was a different story. Your hands rubbing over your eyes now, trying to get rid of the tears. Before you knew it, the culprit of your tears grabbed your hand, leading it to his head. Alastor wasn't great with words to comfort you, but this was his way of trying to comfort you after screwing up, which you deeply appreciated. Looking up at him now, eyes red from crying, as your hand starts to softly rub over his ears. "I meet up with Rosie to ask her for advice on what to get you as an apology for last time." Pulling out a little box from his coat now, he hands it to you. Sitting up, you take the red box from his hands, opening it slowly. Inside was a gold necklace with a red pendant in a tear shape. "It's beautiful.." You were at a loss for words right now, you didn't think he would get you something like this as an apology. "Let me put it on you dearest, turn around." Moving yourself now that your back is to him, you softly move any hair out of the way so he can put the necklace around your neck. Hand reaching down as you take the pendant between your fingers. "Thank-" Your words were interrupted by a soft kiss being pressed to your neck, but as you turned around, Alastor was gone, and only caught a glimpse of his shadow disappearing. Hand reaching to the place you had felt him kiss. Did you only imagine that? No, he definitely kissed your neck.

The next day you wanted to ask Alastor about it, but he was nowhere to be seen, as if he was avoiding you, which made you a little bit sad. Did he regret it?

Till now you also were not able to accomplish your victory in this little game. Making yourself question if you were ever going to figure out if he had a little deer tail. Turning around now, you caught a glimpse of red hair disappearing, making you dart right after him. So he truly was avoiding you! Before he could close his door, you put your foot between the door and the doorframe. "Open the door, I won't go away!" It took almost a whole minute for him to open the door, entering the room, the door is closed behind you. Crossing your arms in front of your chest now, you turn around to face Alastor now. "Are you avoiding me?" Static radio error. "Of course not dear! Why should I?" He was obviously more than nervous to be talking to you right now. "Oh, I don't know, maybe because since yesterday you've been running away from me and not shown your face once?" Looking at him skeptically now, he tried to look composed as always with his smile, but you noticed how his smile was slightly strained and his hand clenched just a bit tighter around his staff. "If this is about the kiss and you regret it just say it please, I won't be mad at you." Your eyes were avoiding his now. Oh if only you knew it was the complete opposite.

"Listen dear, it's not that.. It's.. How do I say, rather the opposite? I have been feeling rather drawn to you, wanting to get closer but.. I don't quite know how to handle these emotions." For once Alastor looked nervous, something you had never truly seen on him, he seemed so unsure. Holding out your hand, waiting for him to perhaps take it, which he did. Eyes locked on your hands, as he was softly playing with your fingers, slowly linking them together. "Listen it's okay, take as much time as you need to figure this out okay?" A soft smile was on your lips now, trying to reassure and calm him, but it had quite the opposite effect on him.

"May I kiss you?" Blurting those words out without even thinking about it, both of you were staring at each other with blown eyes now. You question yourself if you heard correctly and Alastor questions his sanity by asking you this, was he completely going crazy now? "If you want to, I allow you to do anything you want, I trust you." Now this surprised him, he indeed wanted to try this but.. he had never kissed anyone before. Not while alive, and certainly not while dead. Slowly his hand lays on your cheek as he pulls you closer to him, angling your head so you are looking at him. Your hands softly grab onto the front of his coat, eyes closed to give him full control. Alastor could either take his time or pull away entirely, it was all up to him, you let him go at his own pace.

And before he knew it, he was leaning down to capture your lips in a soft kiss. It felt different than he had imagined, it felt warm and comforting. It was a simple soft peck, nothing too spectacular, but for both of you, it was something special. When he pulled away again and you looked up into his eyes, you noticed movement behind him, your eyes lowering and noticing something moving under the backside of his coat. Eyes glancing with interest now, Alastor's eyes following yours to what you were looking at, a sigh leaving his lips. Before you knew it, Alastor was shrugging his coat off, his shadow hanging it somewhere in the room. And there it was, a fluffy deer tail, that was right now softly swishing from side to side, it was adorable. Alastor was a sight right now. His ears were pointed towards you, a blush over the bridge of his nose while his tail swished from side to side.

Reaching out your hand to touch his tail with sparking eyes, his hand stops yours as he watches you. "Once. It's different than my ears, one pat and that's it darling." Nodding in agreement, he turns around a bit as your hand softly pats over his tail once. It was soft just like his ears. Looking up with a smile now, his head was turned to the front, but his ears were turned to your direction, which looked super adorable. "Well since I was only allowed to pet your tail once, I would like to pat your ears again!" Smiling up at him innocently now, he exactly knew how this would end.

And he was correct, he was now lying on his bed with you, his head on your stomach as you were contentedly playing with his ears. Even though it would probably take a while till both of you knew how to call this relationship, you were more than happy that your one hand was busy patting his ears, and the other one was softly held by the red-haired man. You could get used to this.

┌───────────────────────── ·  ·  ·  · ♡

Taglist :

@mysticwitchcraftco @biromanticboba @yellowelectroslime

[tropes-and-tales]

For Good News, Read Front

(Frankie "Catfish" Morales x F!Reader)

CW:  Mostly fluff; some crude language.

Word Count:  3313

AN:  This was requested by the lovely @justreblogginfics for the April Showers event!

Civilian life hasn’t been kind to Frankie Morales.

Addiction, divorce.  Nearly bankrupted dealing with both.  He only sees his little girl half of the time, and each time he drops her off at her mom’s house, he feels like he’s been lanced through the heart.  He lives alone in a shitty apartment, and if it wasn’t for his job, he might go entire days without seeing or speaking to other people. 

More immediately, though, he hasn’t been taking care of himself.  He’s lost the rigor of military life.  He’s put on some weight and barely exercises.  According to his annual physical, he’s got high blood pressure, high cholesterol.

He wouldn’t care so much except for his daughter.  He wouldn’t bother if it was just for himself.  The thought of checking out early and not being there for her big moments—graduations, marriage, whatever—is enough to spur him to action.

He eats better, or tries to.  He cuts most of the red meat.  He cuts much of the mindless beer drinking he does at night in front of the TV.  He takes a multivitamin each morning.

He starts running for the exercise.

At first, it’s pathetic.  He’s winded almost immediately, his knees ache, and his muscles burn.  What happened to the Frankie who breezed through Basic Training?  What happened to the young buck who could hoover down four cheeseburgers and run with a loaded rucksack like it was nothing?

He got old, Frankie thought.  He got old and used up and left behind.

But it gets easier.  The running gets easier.  He starts to chew up miles on his long runs.  He wears out a pair of shoes and needs another.  He buys a stupid reflective vest so he can go out early mornings and run to race the sunrise.  As the running gets easier, so do other things:  he sleeps better, breathes better.  His mood improves marginally.

Maybe civilian life can work after all.

-----

He still makes stupid choices all the time. 

Like this evening:  the weather forecast showed rainstorms.  He checked it three times, but he still laced up his running shoes, queued up a playlist, and left his apartment.  In a surge of unfounded confidence, he figured he could outrun the weather.

Frankie figured wrong.

He’s almost exactly as far from home as he can be when the skies open up.  His favorite running route takes him into a quiet neighborhood full of old Florida-style homes with rambling lawns and big trees.  It’s usually charming, but now?  In the middle of a rainstorm that is increasingly dangerous—thunder rolls overhead, lightning cracks in the distance—it’s foreboding.  The light in the sky takes on a pearl grey cast, washing everything in a funereal pall.

Sheets of rain soak him in seconds.  He turns around, pounds back down the street, his waterlogged sneakers squelching with each stride.  His clothes cling to him uncomfortably, and a moment later, his phone dies, his playlist cutting off mid-song.

Then a bolt of lightning splits the sky in front of him—way too close for comfort—and Frankie knows he has to find cover.

He thinks of who he knows nearby.  He comes up short when he goes through the obvious:  Pope is somewhere in South America, both Benny and Will are on the other side of town in the opposite direction.  Frankie has a cousin nearby, he thinks, but then he remembers that she moved to Virginia last year, according to his mother.  He doesn’t know where any of his coworkers live, or anyone from his NA meetings—

The only person he can think of is you.  He’s only met you a handful of times, one of those flimsy acquaintances situations.  You were friends with a girl that Benny was dating a while back, and you had come to some of the group hangouts with her.  You had been quiet, hung at the margins like Frankie, and the two of you had shared some pleasantries.  Not enough to be friends, but you had also hosted a cookout a few summers back and invited the guys, so Frankie remembers where you live.  Nearby, thankfully.

It'll have to be enough, those handful of paltry conversations he shared with you.  Hopefully you’re home.  Hopefully you’ll answer the door to the near-stranger soaking wet on your porch.

It’s Frankie’s lucky day, it turns out.  You are home, and you do open your door to him, first with a look of puzzlement, then with a bemused smile as you usher him inside.

-----

“I’d offer you a shower, but you probably shouldn’t since there’s lightning,” you tell him. 

He’s standing in your kitchen, dripping all over your tiled floor.  You hand him a towel and watch him, that smile curving your lips as you watch him dry off as best as he can.

He’s also interrupted your cozy evening in.  You’re already in pajamas, contacts out and glasses perched on your nose.  The TV in the other room is paused, and the screen shows what looks to be a period drama of some sort.  The entire house has the warm scent of something delicious recently baked, and when Frankie glances over at the counter, he sees a pan of brownies cooling.

“I appreciate this,” he replies.  “Sorry to bust up your evening.”

 “No worries.  It’s just solo movie night.”

“Good weather for it.”

You chuckle.  “Certainly better than going for a jog.”

Frankie smiles.  “I thought I could outrun it.”

You smile back at him, then shift your gaze over his shoulder and to the window.  The storm is only picking up in intensity; the smaller trees bend in the wind, and rain comes in sideways with each gust.

“I’d also offer to drive you home, but I’m not good at driving in bad weather,” you say, the smile ceding to a grimace.  “I’m kind of a baby about it.”

“Or you’re just sensible,” he counters.

He runs the towel over his head.  Instead of being soaked, now he’s uncomfortably wet—his clothes stick to him, and he feels clammy and gross.

“I could call Will, maybe.”

Frankie shakes his head.  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, which was already outdated and nearing its end of life.  “I don’t have his number memorized.”

“Maybe Benny?”  You pause.  “Though since he dumped Emma, I’ve been sworn as his enemy.  You’d have to keep it on the down low.”

“I don’t have his number memorized either.”

There’s an uncomfortable beat of silence, then Frankie says, “if I could just wait out the worst of the storm…if I could just even sit on your porch and not bother—”

You cut him off.  “Of course you can hunker down here.  Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I don’t wait to ruin your evening—”

You cut him off again.  “You aren’t.  Solo movie night is flexible on the ‘solo’ bit.”  You gesture to the pan of brownies behind him.  “There’s plenty of snacks to go around.”

Frankie should feel bad, but now that you’re in motion, he doesn’t quite have the time to sink into any bad feelings:  you snatch the soaked towel from his hands, and you take his elbow lightly and lead him down the hallway to your bathroom.  You push him gently inside, then pivot to snag some fresh towels from the linen closet.  You toss those at him, and the entire sequence happens so fast that he blinks in surprise.

“Go ahead and dry off,” you tell him.  “I think I have some clothes that will fit you.  I can run your wet stuff through the dryer.”

“You’re sure you—” he starts to say, but you’re already closing the door on him, giving him privacy, and he hears you padding down the hallway away from him.

It’s only a few minutes later that you knock on the door again.  He opens it—still fully clothed—and you’re standing there with spare clothes for him.

“Okay, so you won’t get style points,” you say.  “But these should fit you.”

Frankie makes sure to look you in the eyes when he thanks you.  He wants you to know he’s appreciative.  You didn’t have to let him into your house at all, yet here you are, clothing him, offering to feed him, and you don’t really even know him beyond the handful of conversations you had at group events.

“I appreciate it,” he says.  “I owe you one.”

You wave that off.  “No worries.  Dry off, get changed.  The washer and dryer are off the kitchen.  You can throw your wet stuff in, then we can relax and wait out the storm.”

-----

Frankie has questions.

Firstly, there’s the grey sweatpants.  Obviously men’s sweatpants.  Obviously they belonged to some guy, though Frankie has only ever known you to be single.  He knows that sometimes women keep their guy’s shirts after a breakup because they are typically bigger and cozier, but he can’t picture you wearing these sweatpants yourself.  You’d be swimming in them—yet they seem to be lovingly preserved, scented faintly of fabric softener, and folded neatly when you hand them over.

Secondly, there’s the t-shirt.

It’s big, and while it’s clearly been worn, it’s not worn.  It’s a joke t-shirt, obviously, but Frankie is dying to know the context behind it.

The back of the shirt reads “For good news, read front.”

When Frankie flips it over, he is startled by the laugh that it draws from him.  It reads, “Big dick is back in town,” and an unsubtle red arrow underneath the text points downward.

So Frankie has questions.

-----

“Okay, so the t-shirt is from a bachelorette party,” you tell him around bites of brownie.  The two of you are on the couch, and the tray of brownies is between you.  There’s also a bottle of Merlot, which Frankie would have never thought of, but it pairs really well with the brownies.

The movie plays on the TV, but it’s long forgotten:  first, from laughing at him when he emerges from the bathroom, then from his barrage of questions that you answer diligently.

“The maid of honor got us all joke t-shirts, and we had to do a blind pull from a bag.  That’s the one I got,” you continue.

“And you had to wear it out in public?” he asks, incredulous.

You nod.  “In Vegas too.”

“Brutal.”

“Could’ve been worse.  One girl pulled a t-shirt that looked like a concert shirt with dates and locations on the back, right?  But the front read ‘Chlamydia World Tour 2008.’”

It’s strange how easily the formality between the two of you melted away.  It’s probably just the perfect blend of elements:  the raging storm outside, the coziness inside, the wine and sugar, the ridiculousness of Frankie’s outfit.  You each sit turned towards each other on the couch, far closer than Frankie’s been to you before, but it feels natural.  It feels nice, in fact, to be with someone like this—comfortable, joking.

And maybe a hint of flirting.

Frankie takes another sip of wine.  “So was it?” he asks.

“Was what?”

“Was it back in town?”

It takes you a beat, but then you get it.  Your laugh—Frankie’s never really heard it, he guesses, but it’s delightful and contagious, makes him chuckle along with you. 

“Obviously,” you reply.  “When big dick comes back to town, you even go to the effort of printing up a shirt about it.”

Frankie could get used to this, he thinks.  He likes how easy it feels to talk to you, and he really likes the glint you get in your eye when he makes the joke.  He never really noted you before, when you turned up to group events, but Frankie never really noted anyone back then.  He was too busy trying to stay afloat in his life.

“Makes me wonder where big dick goes when it’s not in town,” he muses.

“I have to imagine it’s like a carnival.  Goes town to town.”

“Winters in Florida when it’s cold.”

“And like a real carnival, when you know it’s in town, you’re excited to go see it, but also a little scared because you just know everything about it is under the table and off the books.”

Frankie laughs.  “Big dick can’t be regulated.”

You laugh too, and you swallow down the rest of the wine in your glass.  “Nor should it be.  Big dick deserves to run free.”

There’s a hundred different, filthy things Frankie could say to that.  Maybe you have the same thought because you glance at him, catch his eye, then look away.  And maybe he’d drop one of those filthy lines on you if he knew you better, but suddenly he feels like he’s behind with you—that he should have taken advantage of all those group hangouts to get to know you better. 

“What about these?” he asks instead, gesturing broadly to the sweatpants he’s wearing.  “Another bachelorette thing?’

The story of the sweatpants is sadder, but more revealing to your history.  The atmosphere turns a shade more somber:  the sweatpants belonged to your ex-husband.

“I didn’t know you were married,” Frankie says.

You shake your head.  “I haven’t been, for a long time now.  We married young and divorced young.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It happened.  It’s old news.”  You shrug, but Frankie can see you turning a bit sad, maybe introspective. 

It’s a chance to build a connection.  Frankie nods knowingly; he knows this sort of pain.

“Still hurts though,” he tells you.

Another shrug, but you look at him like you’re considering him in another light.  You make the connection.  “Yeah, that’s right,” you reply.  “You’ve been through it too, huh?”

“Two years since it was finalized.”

You settle deeper against the back of the couch.  “How are you doing?”

The question warms him.  No one ever asks him how he is.  Pope, the Millers…they have a unique closeness that comes with being brothers-in-arms, but they don’t ever probe each other’s lives or feelings.  They check in with each other, but they suffer in silence.

“I’m okay,” he replies.

You narrow your eyes.  “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”  He smiles, and he reaches for the bottle of wine on the coffee table.  He pours you another glass, and he tops his own off too.  “It’s only tough with my daughter.  Not seeing her every day, you know?”

It warms him even more, how you nod sympathetically but then encourage him to talk about his little girl—you ask a ton of questions about her, and Frankie finds himself suddenly chatty, talkative, his free hand not wrapped around the stem of his wine glass gesturing as he relates stories about his daughter, and you laugh at the funny stories, coo at the cute ones.

The evening cedes into night.  The hours melt away like nothing.  The movie on the TV ends, and the streaming app switches automatically to some reality show about rich people on boats, but you and Frankie talk.  You break away to pull together a dinner cobbled from what you have on hand:  grilled cheese, a salad of mixed greens.  Then you both settle back on the couch with another bottle of wine, and the hours unspool into the early morning.  Frankie doesn’t even notice because he’s too busy marveling at how easy, how unexpected this all is. 

He only wanted a moment of shelter from the storm—which has gentled down into a light, steady rain.  What he got was dry clothes, good food and drink, and better conversation.  He considers it a gift, this moment:  he’s gotten this chance to know you better, and he finds that you’re someone he wants to know.  Someone he wants to count as a friend, and he can see a future where he might want to count you as someone more.

You’re the one who cracks first.  You yawn, and it makes you check your phone.

“Shit, it’s late.”  You run your hands over your face and look at him.  “You wanna just crash here for the night?”

“I don’t want to put you out.”

You smile and glance at his chest, say “Big dick never puts me out,” and it takes Frankie a too-long beat to remember what he’s wearing.  It’s embarrassing that for a too-long moment, he thinks you’re blatantly coming onto him.  He gapes at you before he catches on, but then he flushes because you are flirting.

He flushes too because you realize exactly what he’s thinking.  “You forgot about the shirt for a moment, huh?” you ask.

“I did!”

You laugh, and you stand up.  You stretch a little, twist at the waist to unkink some tightness in your back, and then you look down at him.

“The couch is pretty comfortable.  You okay with that?”

He nods.  “You sure I’m not putting you out?”

Another laugh.  “I think you probably worry too much, Frankie.”  You disappear for a moment, then come back with pillows and blankets. 

“I can drive you home in the morning,” you offer.  “Whenever you need to be back.”

Frankie takes the bedding from you, and the moment has a charge of intimacy:  you’re standing close together, separated only by an armful of blankets and pillows.  The rain drums steady outside, it’s dark and late, and it feels like you’re the only two people awake in the world at the moment. 

And he hasn’t felt this good in a while.  Usually, an evening of nonstop talking would leave him drained, his social battery low, but this is different somehow.  He feels like he’s peeled back a layer of himself, exposed an inner bit of himself to you, and it doesn’t horrify him at all.  It makes him feel seen.  Conversely, he feels like he knows you far better now, and he doesn’t want any of these good feelings to evaporate when the sun rises.

“Can I take you out for breakfast?” he asks.  He drops his voice in volume, reluctant to break the spell of friendly intimacy that’s been woven.  “There’s a really good cafe if we take the scenic route to my place.”

You seem to misunderstand him.  “Oh, you don’t owe me anything,” you say.

In his civilian life, Frankie has often played it too close to the vest.  He’s let life carry him along, too passive with things both big and small.  He’s let thing happen to him rather than trying to drive the direction of his life.

He knows this moment can tip either way.  He can let the chance pass, and you can go back to being just someone he knows, someone he passed a pleasant evening with while a storm raged outside. 

Or he could lean into his Delta Force days, maybe just a little.  He can be decisive.  He can be clear in his objective.

“No,” he replies, shaking his head.  “I’d like to take you out.”

Your reaction is enough to bolster him.  First you say, “oh” and blink at him, but then you smile and add, “I’d like that.”

-----

Frankie never seems to sleep very well, but you are right:  your couch is comfortable, and the sound of the rain soothes him too.  He finds himself dropping right off, his sleep deep and restful.

His last thought before he does, though, is I can’t wait for morning.

And then it is morning, dawn about to break and the sky a pearly grey.  Frankie stands up and stretches, and he stands by the big picture window by the couch and watches as the sun breaks the line of the horizon and brings the new day with it.

It brings something else too:  for the first time in his civilian life, Frankie feels something like anticipation.  Something like hope.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Private Dances [8]

Club!Blue Jones x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? • ko-fi • request info • series masterlist

Summary: Money goes missing.

A/N: A huge thank you to the epic @lonelyisamyw-0love for tipping my ko-fi, this series is especially for them💚

Warnings: Kissing, petnames, fingering, p in v sex, cream pie, public sex, shouting, Blue talking about having a vibrator up his ass, overuse of italics, there's some power dynamics in here because reader is a dancer (but like Blue is so lovesick), not beta read, swearing, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

There are 5 main ‘stars’ in the club: Peach, Trixie, Songbird, Sweetie Pie, and Crystal. Crystal is usually the favourite but is currently in Blue’s bad books for reasons unknown to the reader. Reader is a backup dancer that Blue has nicknamed Lion.

Word Count: 3313

“How are you doing?” Songbird’s soft voice takes you by surprise. 

You hadn’t even heard her come into the small outfit storage room, you’d been too preoccupied looking through some of last year's show props.  

She’s painfully beautiful, ethereal almost, with a dream like voice and bright eyes that make everyone stop and stare at her. Try to take in every millimetre of her beauty and commit it to memory.

You nod, and she smiles kindly. 

“You’re not busy, are you?” She pauses, and you recognise a shimmer of anxiety under her expression. “I don’t want to intrude on your time, I just… Can we talk?” 

It’s odd really. Songbird had always been kind, but she existed in a different sphere to you. She was a headline act, had been with the club for years. 

“Of course.” 

She smiles again, that little glimpse of worry dissipating slightly. “I…” She laughs, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, I knew exactly what I wanted to say before I found you and now,” she waves her hand in the air. “It’s like everything has disappeared.” “I get that.” You nod reassuringly. 

“Thanks.” Songbird pauses again, lightly touching some of the costumes that are hanging up on the side. “I know Blue’s been… You’ve been bearing the brunt of all of his attention.” She speaks carefully, her words precisely chosen. “I know that’s draining.” 

You stay quiet, waiting for her to continue. You know that Blue was hard, to put it mildly, with the other girls before you and he… started whatever this is. 

“If you need anything,” she takes your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “We’re here. I know he’s gone through phases in the past, preferred someone for a few weeks. But he’s never… I’ve never heard of him being with only one person. And for such a long period of time.” The look she’s giving you is sincere, worried. She’s trying to help. “I hope he hasn’t hurt you too much.” 

You give her hand a little squeeze back. “He’s not-” You shake your head. “I’m fine, thank you, really.” 

She nods, but it’s clear that she doesn’t believe you. “We’re all grateful, truly. And sorry, again, that you’re bearing all of this.” 

“Do you know what happened with Crystal?” You ask, the words blurting past your lips before you even have a chance to think about what you’re saying. 

A flash of surprise passes over Songbird’s face for a second before she composes herself. “Oh, yeah. Crystal is… difficult.” She says diplomatically .

It was no secret that until recently Crystal had been Blue’s favourite, and practically the most powerful person in the club for other dancers, second to him. 

“It was a silly thing really,” Songbird looks off to the side as she talks, as if replaying the past in front of her eyes. “She got mouthy with Blue, in his office, in front of someone in the local government or something. Not too much different from how she normally is, you know? But she didn’t stop when Blue gave her a warning. She got worse. Really laying it on and…” She shrugs sadly. “The outcome was not good… Has she… done anything to you?” The worry in her eyes sends a shiver down your spine. 

“I… I don’t think so?” 

Songbird nods. “You’d know if she did, she’s not subtle.” She sighs. “Vicious and…” There’s a beat where she weighs up her thoughts, deciding what to say next. “You’ve seen Trixie’s scar right?” 

You nod. Trixie’s scar was almost mythical, a story every new dancer was told, though the reason for its existence always changed. It was deep and started at her shoulder. In all her costumes it just poked out from under her short sleeves. She never wore a backless outfit. 

“Well, I was there when Crystal gave it to her. She cut her right across the back. She pretended that she fell onto Trixie, but the bottle she was holding was already broken when she came into the dressing room.” 

You swallow. 

“She’s… dangerous. You know that… I just…” Songbird closes her eyes and shakes her head. “I don’t know, she’s been quiet, I guess? Calm. I… I don’t like it. It doesn’t seem right. She likes being in control, at the top. I know she thought Blue would forgive her after a day or two, punish her and then things would go back to normal. But none of that has happened.”

She takes in a deep breath. “I know I don’t know you well, but you seem nice, kind. This place doesn’t do kind. It just breaks. I don’t want you to get broken.” 

The look she gives you is piercing, cutting. Like her emotions are slicing your skin and sinking into your heart. A wave of melancholy washes over you, but there’s a sweetness as well. A softness. 

“I-”

The door swings open, Madam Gorski sighs dramatically. 

“Songbird,” she tuts. “I’ve been wasting half an hour of my time looking for you.” 

The Madam glances at you and you stiffen, excepting the start of a chastising yourself. But she just looks you over quickly and turns back to Songbird.

“We have been waiting on you to start. Get a move on.” Her gaze claws into Songbird’s skin, practically pulling her from the room. 

Songbird gives you a sympathetic look as she leaves. 

.

You’re tucked away into one of the booths at the back of the club (hiding). This night was somehow even more exhausting than when you’d been put on backup dances straight for the whole shift. 

Blue had asked (politely demanded) you to be on his arm for practically every single second as he schmoozed and chatted and batted his eyelashes. Your jaw ached from all the fake smiles and pretend interest in the businessmen he spoke to. 

You’d slipped away fifteen minutes ago when he was distracted with some problem Gorski had. Technically, you weren’t doing anything he hadn’t asked for. He said to stay on the club floor, you were on the club floor. He said to stay in sight of the main stage and the guards. The booth had a perfect view of both. So what if you were laying down on the padded seats so that no one could really see you there without looking? It was-

“Lion.” 

You look up, Blue’s standing by your feet, arms folded, looking a little more than unimpressed. 

You put on your best smile.

“Don’t give me that.” He tuts, but sits down. He takes hold of your ankles firmly and puts your feet in his lap. 

You yelp a little when he squeezes your calves. 

“Don’t give me that either.” He says firmly, but he’s smiling. “I told you to-”

“I’m on the club floor, in view of the stage.” You sit up and give him an insincere sweet look. 

He tuts again, shaking his head, but you can see he’s thoroughly amused. “Is it so difficult to just behave for one night?” 

“Yes.” You wriggle closer so that you’re sitting next to him, your knees in his lap. 

He pouts, placing his arm on the back of the seat so he can lean closer. “After I gave you this lovely new dress.” 

“I hate it.” You grin and he mock gasps. 

“You hate my gifts?”

“It’s uncomfortable. And ugly.” 

“It is not.” He chuckles as you run your fingers down his lapel. 

“And too low cut.” 

“Nothing is too low cut on you, I’d have you walking around naked at all times and ready for my-”

You grab his cheeks as little forcefully as you kiss him, sliding your tongue down his throat to shut him up. 

He chuckles, slipping his hand under your skirt and sliding up along your leg, making you shiver.

“Are my guests really that boring?” He asks as you pull back an inch. 

You stroke his moustache with one hand while you play with the hair at the nape of his neck with the other. “Yes.” 

He snorts. 

“You look like you want to murder most of them.” 

“Hmm,” the sound rumbles through his chest as he gives you a wicked grin. 

“See?” 

He laughs, “I couldn’t possibly do that, you know how difficult it is to get blood out of his suit?” 

You give him a playful look as he nuzzles into your neck, littering your skin with light, soft kisses. 

Songbird is on stage, just starting her routine. Her voice is like silk, drifting out and wrapping around the patrons. 

“I like having you with me.” He mutters and nips at your pulse point, you can feel him grin against you when you jump. “Like having you here, it’s soothing.” 

“Soothing?” 

“Hmm.”

“Not distracting?” You tease.

“That too. But I like that.” 

“Seems like you like a lot of things.”

“When they’re connected to you, I do.” He inches his fingers higher, pulling you closer to him in the process. 

You push lightly on his chest, gently chastising him. “Blue.” 

“Hmm?” He bites at one of your dress straps and tugs it off your shoulder before going back to licking your skin as he squeezes your ass with his hand. 

“Blue,” you swallow, your voice coming out much weaker than you intend it to. 

He ignores you. 

You glance around the floor, you both are truly secluded back here. Everyone else is either captivated with Songbird’s performance or are having their own conversations. 

“Don’t you need to get back to your friends?” You tug a little at his hair. 

“I do not.” He mutters, barely breaking away from his misdirections. He moves his hand around underneath your dress, and spreads his fingers out across your mons, pressing the heel of his hand to your clit. 

You gasp weakly and he chuckles. 

“Why are you wearing underwear?” He kisses your jaw and you give him a glare that he delights in. 

“I can wear what I want.” 

“No, you can’t.” He grins and then giggles at your expression. “I’m playing, Lion.” 

“I know.” 

He bites his bottom lip as he pulls your panties to the side and slips his fingers along your folds, groaning at the wetness he finds. He presses his other hand to your back, keeping you close to him. 

You grab hold of his shoulders, bunching up his jacket but he doesn’t care. 

“You’re always so wet, Lion.” He purrs. “Always so horny.” 

You swallow. “For you.” 

He growls softly, pulling you closer as he sinks two fingers inside your heat. “Uh, Lion.” He whines, his lips parted and eyes blown wide. His breathing hitches as yours increases. 

You shouldn’t be doing this here, when anyone could look over. But his thick fingers stretch you so wonderfully and stroke so sweetly, it makes you lightheaded. 

Softly, you moan, wriggling closer to him and matching his gentle strokes with your hips. 

The thick outline of his erection presses against you as you both move languidly, sharing each other's oxygen. 

“I’m sorry for dragging you around out here.” He mutters, his voice strained as he watches you. 

“I don’t mind.” You pant, trying to keep your voice under control. 

“Work is work,” he swallows. “My reputation matters…” 

“It’s, it’s fine Blue, it’s okay.” You moan, rocking faster as he curls his fingers. Pleasure blinds your mind, controls your body as you chase it desperately. 

“Though, I think as the owner… I should be allowed to indulge.” He smiles. “Maybe next time you could parade me around, hmm? On a leash and collar?”

“Fuck,” You press your face into his neck, trying to muffle your sounds. 

“No one would say anything,” he breathes rapidly, rubbing his clothed cock against you and groaning. “Then everyone would know how I belong to you.” 

You whimper, your thighs shaking as he pushes you closer to the edge. 

He groans louder, his cock buzzing. He’s nearly there, so near to spilling himself in his trousers. He swears quietly and suddenly pulls his fingers from your pussy. 

You whine, your pleasure snatched away, but you don’t even have a second to lament the loss. 

Blue quickly pushes you onto your back against the plump cushions, most of your body now hidden by the table. You can still see the stage, upside down from how you lay. 

Hastily he pulls down your underwear, shoving them in his jacket pocket before he unzips his fly in a rush and spreads your legs. 

He leans over you quickly, and wastes little time in notching his leaking cock at your entrance. But he doesn’t thrust inside like you expect. 

Instead he catches your eyes, his own expression soft despite how painfully hard he is. 

You smile and nod, rocking your hips forward slightly. 

Blue bites his lip, groaning, as he sinks in. You spread your legs wider, hooking one over his hips as he leans forward and presses his chest up against yours. 

You claw at his back and kiss him roughly, licking into his mouth greedily and then whining when he thrusts. He rolls hard and sure, the pace hypnotic and oh so sure of itself. 

“Lion…” He groans, his eyebrows pinching together. 

“Please,” You pant, pleasure tightens in your stomach, pulling and pulling and making you shake. You want to arch your back, scream as you take him, but you clench your jaw, fighting down the cries that want to break free.

He groans your name, snapping his hips so that the table rocks. His cock rubs perfectly along your walls, the slippery friction pushing you higher and higher until you just can’t take it anymore.

“Blue!” You bury your face in his neck to muffle the sound. You come hard, convulsing in his arms as you gush on his cock. 

“Fuck!” He trusts twice, moaning as he pushes your head back so he can watch as pleasure overtakes you. Your pussy squeezes him so hard, sucking him deep and forcing him to follow you into ecstasy. He comes deep, your body milking him for every last drop. 

He collapses against you, managing to keep most of his weight off you with one arm as he breathes hard. 

When you open your eyes, he smiles down at you. You smile back, and then give a nervous glance to the rest of the club, which is more than a little awkward from the angle you’re at.

“Don’t worry,” he soothes, “No one saw.” 

You laugh softly. “How do you know?” 

“I’d kill them if they did.” He gives you such a sweet, love sick look. 

“Ever the romantic.” 

He grins. 

Slowly, he pulls out, using his pocket square to catch any mess from splashing on your dress and then wiping you clean. He helps you to sit up once he’s tucked himself away. 

His makeup is a little smudged around his eyes, a sheet of sweat on his skin and a flush to his cheeks. 

Lightly, you rub his lips, removing the traces of your lipstick. He leans into your touch, preening as you fuss over him. 

“Hmm, I need a new pocket square.” He sighs dramatically, but you can recognise the playful undercurrent. “Ah,” he raises his finger before you even get a chance to open your mouth 

He pulls your underwear from his pocket and folds them before he tucks it into his breast pocket and grinning. “Much better.” 

“Blue,” you laugh, reaching your hand out to take them back.

He tuts, shaking his head as he grabs your wrist. “Uh, uh, those are mine.”

“They’re mine.” You giggle, but you don’t try to fight his grasp. 

“Mine.” He kisses your palm and wrist. “I’ll buy you all the panties you want, but,” he gives you a cheeky look. “I would prefer it if you didn’t have any.” 

You snort, and playfully swat at him. His grin widens. 

“I could make a deal with you, Lion?” He purrs as he smoothes your dress back down your legs and lightly strokes the love bites he’s left on your neck. “You forgo wearing panties, not completely,” he adds when you give him another look. “Just, seventy percent of the time.”

“And what will you do?”

He leans closer to whisper in your ear, “I’ll put a toy… inside myself. I’ll give you the remote.” 

“The remote?” You lean back a little to look at him and he nods, smiling like the cat that got the cream. 

“I’ll leave it in the whole day, you can turn it on whenever you want, torture me all day, every day.” 

“This sounds like a reward, not torture.” 

He smiles wickedly, nodding, and you giggle and stroke his cheek.

“Is that a deal, Lion?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Maybe?” He says, all mock outrage. “Why-”

“Boss.” One of Blue’s goons appears at the table, flanked by three others and Blue’s expression shifts immediately. His gaze hardens, freezes over as he turns to stare at them.

The head goons gulps nervously. 

“Why are you here?” 

“There’s been a, erm, an issue.”

Blue looks like he’s about to rip the goon’s throat out with his teeth. 

“The days takings so far disappeared from the holding room and…”

Blue stiffens, his muscles tensing. 

“We found it, it was, erm, we found it in her,” the goon nods at you, “room.” 

You stare blankly. Dumbfounded. What the fuck?

“What?” Blue says, his voice deadly, so cold it gives you frostbite. 

“We checked all the dancer’s rooms, and, well it was in Lion’s sir. In her pillow.” One of the other men says, his voice is calmer, there’s less of a waver. But he doesn’t look Blue in the eyes. 

Blue turns to you, his expression sharp and jagged. 

“Blue-”

“Trying to steal from me?” He snarls and grabs your bicep, yanking you to your feet as he kicks the table out and back, causing a scene. 

He yells in frustration, the sound making you jump and the guards step back. A few clients look over, dancers noticing the commotion. 

You open your mouth. 

“Don’t you fucking dare.” He yells, but his grip on you is soft, gentle. He rubs his fingers along your skin reassuringly. 

Quickly he manhandles you off the club floor, snapping at his goons to go do ‘their fucking job’. The second you’re both out of the room, he checks over his shoulder, along the hall. There are people walking about, but not close. 

“Play along.” He whispers and then pulls you down the corridor, yelling harshly in a tight controlled rage. 

You try to resist, or at least make it look like you are, but let him lead you to his office. He pulls you inside and slams the door shut. 

“Blue-”

“I know you didn’t do it, Lion.” He says quickly, rubbing your arms soothingly. “Sorry about that, we will have to come up with a code.” 

“What? A code? What the fuck’s going on?” 

“Oh, someone ‘stole’ the money, I’m sure of that. I mean a code for when I need you to just go with what I’m doing, so you know it’s pretend.” He pauses, looking to the side as he thinks. 

“Someone stole money?” Your mind races, your heart still beating too fast.

He nods. “Yes, and planted it in your room.” He strokes your cheek. 

“But I, I haven’t been there in days, I-”

“I know,” he reassures you, “you’ve been with me. And even if you hadn’t,” he looks into your eyes firmly, “I wouldn’t believe you would have.” He gives you a soft smile. “I’d give you the money if you asked for it, why would you bother to steal it?” 

You snort weakly, anxiety still twisting in your chest. 

“I had to make any onlookers think I believed you did.” He strokes your arms and holds you close. “Someone is trying to set you up again.” 

Thank you for reading!

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[kaeyasfavonius]

Cheer up,Traveller

word count: 3313 words (yay, I finally managed to write a longer fic 🎉)

Lee: Aether

Ler: Paimon

Summary: In a moment of carelessness, Aether finds himself in a very vulnerable position. Naturally, this suits Paimon, who is unhappy with the Traveler's latest bad mood, very well.

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Upon entering the Temple of the Falcon for the second time, Aether immediately felt the pent-up anger of the last few days rise up in him. The old temple was nothing like he remembered it.

It seemed much more monster-infested and dangerous than a few months ago, when he had first been here with Amber to learn about Pyro Visions. Back then, this temple had been small and easy to navigate, so even Amber had been able to venture in without being in life-threatening danger.

The peaceful aura, which hadn't really been there back then either, had now completely disappeared and this place looked menacing, like a spawn of the hells

But it wasn't just the number of hilichurls here that had changed, the structure and layout of the temple also seemed completely different, which of course had no logical explanation in the Traveller's eyes.

This meant that the imaginary map he had tried to create from his memories on the way here was completely pointless.

"This just can't be true! Couldn't this Dainsleif have warned us in advance?" the blond grumbled grumpily and strode ahead.

As expected, he was immediately attacked by a bunch of hilichurls, who pounced on him like mad. But these beasts were no longer a real threat to the traveller.

At least that's what Aether thought...

Just as he had sent the supposed last hilichurl to hell where it belonged, he was suddenly struck from behind by a powerful club.

Aether fell to the ground with a groan. When he looked up, he noticed another hilichurl that had probably escaped him at first. However, with a quick sword strike paired with some Geo power, it was quickly defeated.

Nevertheless, Aether had to sit down for a moment to take a deep breath and inspect the huge bruise on his side. Unfortunately, it was quite large and hurt with every combat-like movement.

"Stupid shit! How am I supposed to fight properly now?" Aether, who seemed to be more worried about his enemies than himself, grumbled.

Paimon seemed to notice this too, suddenly appearing in front of the Traveller as if from thin air and immediately turning her gaze to the injury, as if she had witnessed everything of the last few minutes.

"Is everything all right? Does it hurt much?" she asked worriedly, pressing her tiny hands against the nasty bruise.

Upset, the Traveller growled almost maliciously and gave Paimon a warning glare. It was a shame to say that this perfectly reflected the Traveller's behaviour towards his companion over the last few days.

Aether was constantly under stress, ate less, slept less, only spoke when necessary and had started to growl and yell whenever something annoyed him. He also didn't hesitate to grump at Kaeya in order to avoid having to take advice.

It was probably self-explanatory that Paimon couldn't stand this new Aether and wanted to make sure that whatever had caused Aether to become like this was dealt with. But for now, she had to concentrate on making sure he was okay and not too badly hurt.

However, he had already got up without a word and made his way to the next room. This didn't suit the little creature at all and sulking, she hovered next to the traveller, who was currently fighting some slimes despite his pain.

"Aether, stop that! You're hurt!" Paimon warned in horror and tried to intervene somehow without getting hurt herself. But it was difficult to dodge the leaps of the slimes and the sword slashes of her travelling partner while keeping her balance in the air. Desperate, she floated to the side.

‘Aether, stop it, that's an order!’ she shouted, as she couldn't think of anything better to make Aether stop.

'Stop distracting me!' he replied and gave Paimon a warning glance. This was actually only meant to intimidate Paimon and show her that he heard her. But the slimes used this brief moment of distraction to successfully push Aether into a corner.

Under normal circumstances, this wouldn't have been a problem if Aether hadn't been injured. The young man stumbled backwards helplessly, stepping into one of those damn Snapdragon-like trap plants.

The red plants that only existed in domains and which immediately snapped shut as soon as someone stepped into them.

Fortunately, the traveller only had one foot in them, which only resulted in the loss of his leather boot, which he didn't even notice in the heat of the moment. Thanks to his quick reflexes, he immediately struck back until there was not a single slime left.

"Aether! Are you all right? How's your injury? Please tell Paimon that you haven't hurt yourself any worse, otherwise we'll have to tell Dainsleif that we're cancelling the mission!" Aether's little companion's voice rang out immediately.

She looked worriedly at the exposed wound on his side and sighed in relief when she realised that it still looked exactly the same as before.

"It was just a few slimes. Relax, emergency food," grumbled the older one, rolling his eyes and shrugging Paimon off. But the latter wasn't going to put up with it any longer, especially not now that Aether was even using the nickname she hated so much.

"Just a few slimes? You should be glad I'm here to take care of you, otherwise your injuries would look very different right now! If I hadn't been with you from the start, you would have been lost when you woke up in this world, disorientated!"

'I would certainly have made it without you!' Aether grumbled and crossed his arms in front of his chest as he marched past Paimon. That was all it took to push Paimon completely over the edge and her otherwise loving, curious eyes flashed dangerously.

'Now you stand still and explain to me what's actually wrong with you!", the flying creature determined and 'stood” in the traveller's path. Despite her size, Paimon seemed a little intimidating at that moment, even if Aether would never admit it.

Nevertheless, he decided to finally give in; after all, he didn't want to keep pretending to himself and his little companion any longer. He felt like shit and wanted to share his worries with someone.

Apart from that, Paimon wouldn't give up anyway and would probably get on Aether's nerves until he spoke up.

"I'm sorry Paimon. It's really nothing personal. I also snapped at Kaeya like that... I just still need to adjust to the fact that I have to stay in this world even longer...without a single life sign from Lumine. And believe me...I feel really bad about my behaviour...towards you and my friends," Aether muttered, his eyes fixed on the ground and his cheeks tomato red.

To be honest, it was hard to stay angry with him , as even Paimon , who now stroked his arm gently to calm him down a little, had to admit

"It's all right, traveller... I won't take it personally, but please try to pull yourself together. You can't let anger and frustration get the better of you, because that can end badly. People full of anger become blind and lose control. And I don't want the same thing to happen to you. 

A small smile spread across Aether's face and he put an arm around his companion's shoulder reassuringly. 

"Don't worry Paimon, there's no room in my heart for that much anger." 

"That just sounded incredibly cheesy," Paimon muttered and flew ahead into the next room, giggling.

‘Hey, wait for me!’ Aether also laughed and quickly followed her.

However, his laughter stopped abruptly when he entered the next room. At the end of the long room was a kind of stony lift, which probably led to a cellar room. But of course this lift was not easy to reach.

There were at least five Abyss Mages in the long corridor that seemed to be just waiting to attack. The blonde's skin crawled at the mere thought of fighting these things in his current condition.

‘That Dainsleif didn't mention all these opponents here,’ Aether grumbled with a hint of sarcasm in his voice and an annoyed roll of his eyes.

‘He probably didn't want to spoil the surprise,’ Paimon commented.

‘That doesn't help us much.’

‘Relax, we'll just find another way.’

In fact, a way had been found faster than Aether had thought, even if it had been rather involuntary. While Aether had been frantically wandering around to find another way down, the ground beneath him had broken through.

Plant vines had probably broken up the stone floor over a long period of time, exposing a rotten layer of wood underneath. Due to a deliberate misstep, the traveller had then broken through.

He had been lucky in his misfortune, as the previously mentioned plant tendrils had stopped his fall preventing Aether from falling into the seemingly endless darkness.

Instead, he was now hanging in the vines and could hardly move as the tendrils had wrapped themselves around his legs, his arms and actually his entire body and were holding him tightly. He tried desperately to free himself, tugging as hard as he could at the tendrils, but they would not give way and the more he tried to free himself, the more he tied himself up. He couldn't reach his sword either, as he could hardly move his arms, which were stretched out above his head.

Instead, he tried to free his legs, but all he managed to do was ‘pull off’ his white sock that he wore under his missing boot, when he pulled too hard on the tendrils, which then fell into the darkness. His foot was still not free and, much to his distress, became further entangled in the vines in a not very comfortable position, as his leg was now bent and he shuddered as his bare toes brushed against the icy cold wall behind him.

However, one good thing did come out of the situation, because when the sock hit the ground just a few moments later, Aether and Paimon knew that there was not far to go down and that the young man was not in mortal danger and wouldn't fall to his certain death, but that was only a tiny happiness.

The traveller had other problems to contend with as he desperately tried to keep his composure and not go completely mad.

But he tried his best to stay calm, breathing in and out deeply, which wasn't so easy as Paimon just couldn't stop laughing. Not even when he gave her a look that could have intimidated even the most dangerous Fatui.

"Stop laughing Paimon! That's not funny!" Aether growled and pulled at his restraints again. To no avail, of course.

Fortunately, nobody had to watch this. He couldn't imagine what he would have to listen to if Venti or Kaeya were here. He probably wouldn't be able to escape the teasing for months.

'Stop laughing and help me already!' the Honorary Knight grumbled annoyed, even though he had secretly expected nothing less, after all, this little flying devil amused itself far too often at his expense.

‘And what if I don't want to?’ Paimon replied with a grin.

"Are you fucking serious? You can't - ..." Aether was about to reply, but he couldn't finish his sentence because he suddenly closed his mouth again rather quickly and bit his lower lip.

Goose bumps came over him and unintentionally a stupid grin spread across his face. He quickly hid his face in the crook of his arm to hide his reaction from his cheeky floating companion.

Meanwhile, the latter began doubting the traveller's mental state; after all, his mise, angry attitude had changed within seconds to that of a grinning idiot. And even if Paimon liked this Aether much better, she still wondered where the sudden change had come from.

'Uhm... traveller, is everything alright?' she asked, half amused, half worried, and flew a little closer to the scene. Aether just shook his head in panic before he started to giggle softly out of nowhere, his cheeks turning a deep red colour.

‘Aren't you going to tell me what's so funny?’ Paimon asked, putting her little arms on her hips.

Aether shook his head again, but of course Paimon didn't want to give up without an explanation. She hovered around the element wielder in bewilderment and tried to find the source of his sudden amusement.

It was quickly found and turned out to be a baby Whopperflower, which surprisingly seemed to be growing out of the wall and whose petals seemed to be unintentionally tickling the traveller.

Paimon burst out laughing at the sight.

Meanwhile, Aether was fighting for his life and desperately tried to pull his foot out of the tangles, which was only made worse by his fit of laughter. Desperately, the blond clenched his hands into fists to stop himself from laughing.

Why had he had to lose his stupid boot, which would have saved him from this embarrassment? If the gods, and he was only actually referring to Venti, had anything to do with this, then they must really enjoy making fun of him.

‘Paimon! Help me, please!’ Aether shouted while still giggling helplessly at the feeling of the petals gently caressing his bare sole.

"Hmm... let me think about it," said travelling companion grinned, pretending to really think. Secretly, she enjoyed seeing the boy, who had been so stressed lately, laugh, but she probably wouldn't tell him that. 

But at the end of the day, she wasn't heartless either, so she untied the wrappings that were surprisingly tight around Aether's foot. Of course the latter pulled his foot away from his tormentor as quickly as he could and sighed with relief.

‘Satisfied?’ Paimon asked, rolling her eyes.

"No! Why are you only helping me now? And why are you always making fun of me in situatios like that?!" Aether asked pouting and turned his head away from his companion.

"Oh come on, it was just a bit of fun. And you enjoyed it too, admit it."

"No!"

"Come on!"

"Paimon, I'm not going to say that". 

Irritated, Paimon now hovered so close to the bound traveller that their faces were only a few inches apart.

"Then at least admit that you're super ultra mega extremely ticklish. Like a little baby," grinned Paimon with a wicked expression on her face.

'Never!' Aether replied, wanting nothing more than to make this embarrassing situation undone. Because it was only thanks to that stupid Baby Whopperflower that the most teasing... creature in all of Teyvat now knew one of his weaknesses.

'‘Oh, you know what, I'm not going to help you out of here then,’' Paimon said confidently and stuck out her tongue at the older one.

The latter growled again and rolled his eyes for the tenth time that day.

"Why are you in such a bad mood? You should laugh more often, it really suits you."

'Paimon, stop this bullshit and help me already!

‘Nah. I think a little lesson in respect and manners towards your friends would actually be more helpful right now.’

'What do you mean by that?' he asked, slightly alarmed. But his eyes widened at the same moment and he froze in shock as it slowly dawned on him what his little friend was planning to do to him.

She was already rubbing her little hands together with a sinister grin and came closer and closer to the defenceless Aether.

'Stay away from me!' he yelled and squirmed, but it didn't help. Paimon didn't listen to him.

‘Don't you dare!’

'And what if I do?' was the last thing Paimon said before she started squeezing the traveller's sides.

Of course, the latter immediately burst out laughing once more. And the fact that the tickle attack was intentional this time didn't make the situation any better.

"Pahahaimon! Stahahap tickling me,...- I've really hahahad enough of thahahat just now!" Aether managed to force out between fits of laughter, but this plea failed to have the desired effect and in fact seemed to encourage Paimon even more.

She seemed to have a lot of fun finding out which parts made the blonde screech and which produced the most laughter.

And Aether's stomach was the perfect spot. That's what Paimon had found out and was now using this information to tickle her friend to pieces. 

"Traveller, you should have noticed by now that I'm not going to stop. This is much more fun than your constant complaining and whining, don't you think?"

‘Thahahat's so unfahahair!’ Aether screeched, but made no further attempts to free himself, as it wouldn't work anyway.

He heard Paimon giggle along with him and another rather unmanly squeak escaped his lips as the little fingers skilfully circled his belly button.

'Tickle, tickle, tickle,' she purred into her companion's ear and now also poked into the small hole.

'FOR THE LOVE OF VENTI’S STOLEN WINE BOTTLES! STAHAHAP!“, the traveller begged again without any response from his companion. But what had he expected? Of course she wouldn't stop. He knew what Paimon wanted: To cheer him up.

She wasn't a mean tickle monster, she was just his teasing friend who cared about him and would do anything to make him feel better and worry less about Lumine and more about his own health.

And Aether had to admit: It was working. Paimon's ideas were unconventional, but they worked. It felt so relieving and liberating to finally be able to laugh again after such a long time, without having to think about the nagging feeling of guilt that so often gnawed at him.

To be able to laugh like he used to when he had many tickle fights with his sister when they were still travelling together. Tickle attacks where Aether always ended up as Lumine's victim, lying on the floor with tears of laughter running down his cheeks.

Or Kaeya, who hadn't been much better when he first found out how ticklish the traveller actually was. Since then, the Cavalry Captain had blamed every one of his little tickle attacks on one too many glasses of wine, but Aether knew the truth.

And at that moment, he almost felt as if he had been transported back to those times. To a time when he didn't know about all the evil and suffering in the world and could laugh carefree whenever he wanted.

And at that moment he realised how grateful he was to his cheeky companion for making moments like this possible and not letting him drown in his sorrows alone.

And to be honest, this tickle attack was slowly starting to become quite fun. The hero that Aether had to be faded into the background and the little boy who loved tickling emerged. And with it, his laugh changed, sounding less forced and more genuine than before.

And that was exactly what Paimon wanted to achieve.

"What's the matter, traveller? Are the tickles too much for you? Are you giving up?" she asked, laughing and jabbing the hysterically laughing traveller in the ribs a few more times.

‘Yes! Yes, PAIMON DAMN IT; I GIHIHIVE UP!’ Aether shrieked and a few seconds later Paimon removed her hands from the blonde's body.

‘So, how did you like it?’ she asked after Aether had taken a deep breath and finished giggling. This time she didn't want to tease him but was genuinely interested in whether it had helped Aether or not.

He hesitated briefly before finally admitting: "That was exactly what I needed. Thank you Paimon".

‘Always a pleasure, traveller,’ she smiled, pleased with herself.

‘How about helping me out of here now?’

‘Oh yes... of course’.

‘Good, but no tickling this time, please.’

Paimon laughed lightly and stroked the back of Aether's neck softly, giving him goose bumps again and making him scrunch up his shoulders.

‘I don't make promises I can't keep,’ Paimon warned.

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Honestly this fic was so much fun to write so it‘s almost more than double of the usual word count which makes me very proud because thats the lenght that I want to go with. But I would like to hear your opinion so please tell me if you prefer 1500 - 2000 words like my other fics or around 3000 words like this one.

And also tickletober requests are still open so request while you still can :)

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Look! Up in the Sky!

Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia x Reader

Description: It's hard, making a name for yourself as an investigative journalist in a city as big as Metropolis. It seems like everyone and everything is against you, just because you weren't born and raised in Metropolis. But you're determined to make it. When a run-of-the-mill article turns into a hostage situation with armed criminals, you're not sure you'll be making it out of this situation alive. Can a run-in with Metropolis' own Superman light the flames of your passion once more? Or are you destined to pack up and go back home?

Disclaimers: DC canon-typical violence. Armed gunmen. Some language.

Warnings: Like most of my fics, this fic features a Female!Reader

Word Count: 3313

Author Note: Hiya lovelies! I've been thinking about this fic for a long time. I started writing it sometime early this year and never actually got very far. Several rewrites later and here we are!

First and foremost, I want to dedicate this story to the beautiful @sarahsmi13s, since it is her birthday! Vinny! Happiest of birthdays to you! I hope the upcoming year is bright and filled with as much joy as you've brought to me!

Second, I feel like I am permanently obligated to thank @horseshoegirl for being the Comma Queen she is and making sure my ramblings are well-written and actually make sense. This fic wouldn't be possible without you, Lucky!

This is going to be a multi-part story. Please let me know if you'd like to be tagged!

AO3: Cross-posted here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist | Next Part

"I'm sorry, he what?!"

The mumbling on the other end of the phone makes you even angrier and more frustrated than ever. The frustration isn't new to you, not at all. It's part and parcel of being one of The Daily Planet's investigative journalists. The other thing the Planet appreciates in its journalists is people who have a nose for stories. You think you have one. Which is why everything is telling you that Peabody is prevaricating because he's trying to hide something.

"I understand your position, Mr. Peabody, but your contact is my biggest informant. If we don't have his testimonial, we'll never be able to publish this article on LexCorp."

There's more irate, increasingly loud yelling spilling down the speaker, but you could care less. You've been working on this article for months, carefully building layer upon layer of evidence, crafting the perfect hard-hitting expose. You're not taking his bullshit at face value anymore. Your mind is whirling as you lean back in your chair. Peabody is still spilling excuses into your ear, not that you care. Maybe you’re a little rough and brusque with Peabody as you hang up, but something about this situation is pinging in your head.

Your office is a bright space, all white walls, glass panes and metallic accents. From up on the 68th floor, Metropolis looks like a heaving anthill. Across the cityscape, another skyscraper glints tauntingly at you. You know Luthor is wrapped up in this. Okay, sure, corporate espionage isn’t exactly his deal, but who else could it be? You’ve carefully counted out every other potential culprit. Only Luthor is left.  Turning around, there’s an unholy rage in your countenance as you glare down at the twisted mess taking over your walls. There are newspaper clippings, articles, string and scribbled notes all over the walls. Just looking at it is sometimes enough to give you a headache. But you desperately need to get to the bottom of this situation. There must be a reason why all roads seemingly lead to Lex Luthor’s shining obelisk to his ego. You wouldn't be surprised if Peabody is clamming up because someone is blackmailing him.

Before you can further dig into the LexCorp situation, a whistle rings out through the air. You're the newest investigative journalist at the Daily Planet. It means you have the smallest office with half-broken heating and air conditioning, which nobody else wanted. It’s also the office furthest away from the bullpen.

The editor-in-chief of the Planet, a gruff, peppery older man named Perry White, only calls all of you together if there is something big brewing in Metropolis. You have to shove your way to the front of the circle loosely gathered around Perry. You're short, so you couldn’t see over the crowd if you tried.

“Alright, alright, settle down you lot.”

Perry's voice is gruff, carrying the tones of a person who grew up in Metropolis or one of its boroughs. Of course, most of the office hails from Metropolis. Sometimes you think your upbringing in the cornfields of Iowa has something to do with your distance from the other journalists on staff. After all, despite living in Metropolis for the past five years, your voice still holds the slightest twang. You can dress like a Metropolis professional, walk like one, and talk like one, but everyone makes it abundantly obvious you will never be a citizen of Metropolis.

The hazing is par for the course. You’ve seen more than your fair share in the three months since you started at The Daily Planet. The source of your struggles is, you’re sure, one person. She’s standing at the other end of the circle of reporters waiting with baited breath as Perry doles out assignments.

Natasha Trace.

She gets all of the best assignments from Perry, just because she’s his niece or something like that. The vindictive smirk she gives you as she accepts the latest city hall press conference is proof. Your own assignment is a little more dangerous, 300 words on the newest homeless shelter opening in Southside. According to the mayor, Southside isn’t dangerous anymore, but you don’t believe him. Perry quotes the same thing every chance he can get, especially because he sends reporters out to Southside pretty often. It’s all part of the Planet’s “For the People” reporting strategy. Every day, you hear people talking about another mugging or shooting or what have you. So you’re under no assumptions that Perry and Natasha are giving you an assignment they want you to succeed in.

You're cursing them more and more the next day when you're kneeling with a puddle of spilled tomato soup seeping into your sensible dark trousers. It was just your luck that masked gunmen waltzed into the shelter in the middle of your interview, wasn’t it?

 It was also just your luck that one of them had sent a spray of bullets into the air the moment hands went up. Cue some well-deserved screaming and a near-stampede for the doors, and you’d been pushed to the floor. So now you’re crouching in spilled soup with your hands up, trying and failing to moderate your breathing.

What the hell does a soup kitchen in Southside have for a gang of armed robbers, anyway? It’s not like it has much money. After all, this is only one of a string of new food shelters opening up in Metropolis. They’ve all been funded by the government, and they’re all supposed to be as clean as can be. Supposed to be, anyway. Obviously something isn’t right in the state of Denmark.

What’s just as interesting is the sight of the photographer you’ve been sent to the shelter with. Mickey Garcia is one of the Planet’s best. He’s got an eye for taking those photographs nobody else can. You’re not sure why Perry sent him with you. Usually he’s buddy-buddy with Natasha. He’s probably wishing he were with Natasha at City Hall right now. You know you are. But he doesn’t look scared or worried. He’s just kneeling in the soup next to you, hands up with his head cocked to the side and eyes staring into the distance.

It’s almost like he expects the police to come roaring up. Just as the lead invader turns his head, there’s a rush of wind and you see an imperceptible smirk on his face before he disappears between one blink and the next. You can smell ozone in the air, bitingly sharp, but it seems like nobody else notices but you.

Who the hell is Mickey Garcia? You almost wish you were hiding behind one of the tables. Because then you can pull out your notebook and start writing. Instead, it seems like all you have is your eyes and ears. How did he disappear so quickly? Metahumans aren’t exactly new in the world (or well, at least in the country). You remember reading about metahuman related events across the country. After all, everyone knows about Gotham City’s Bat. But recently there have been more and more reports. A meta-human in red-and-gold streaking through Central City. Villains with the power to freeze anything in its tracks and heroes with the power of the seven seas and beyond. And of course, everyone has seen the fluttering blue cape of Metropolis’ own metahuman.

So where does that leave you? Wishing for Superman, as you’ve heard him called, to save you? You’re not even sure he’ll show at all. There have to be a million other things happening in Metropolis more important.

“ALL OF YOU ON THE FLOOR!”

You’re not on the floor long when a hand grabs you by your hair and yanks you up.

“What do we have here?” A greasy voice growls the words into your ear as cold metal presses into your temple. “A little reporter eagerly waiting for a scoop?”

You shudder, your skin crawling at the hunger in this man’s voice as he traces his index finger up and down your throat. Your press badge thwaps against your chest with every movement.

“P-please.” You’re trembling in earnest, teeth chattering. “These people are innocent, th-they have no money. They’re here to get some food. The only money the shelter has is for food.”

His cackle chills you to the bone. “Oh, you’re so naive, you sweet little thing.”

“We’re not here for the shelter’s money. We’re here for the city’s money.” He grins, blowing his foul-smelling breath in your face. “And if the city doesn’t cough up the goods, we’ll just take you in exchange.”

“And what if he comes to save us?”

You’re not sure who asks, but it sparks a rising tide of questions. People are shouting the questions out, and the men grow angrier and angrier. From your new vantage point with a barrel pressed to your temple you can see how uneasy they actually are. Their fingers tighten around the weaponry, paling at the joints as they grip at the metal. The more people ask, bolstered by the sounds of the sirens outside and the crackle of voices through bullhorns, the angrier your captor gets.

“All of you, shut up!” It's a roar of sound which leaves your ears ringing. The gun hurts as it presses into your throat. It’s hard to breathe, to swallow, to think. Something tells you you're not getting out of this stand-off alive. Your pulse is thudding in your ears and your chest aches. You hear the tell-tale click and your eyes are screwed closed.

Please. Please. Please. I promise I'll be better. I promise I'll be a better daughter, a better employee.

You're not sure who you're praying to, but you’re praying nonetheless.

There's so much I haven’t done yet.

It shouldn’t be so sad, thinking about how pathetic your life is - how empty it is. You're braced to hear the sound of a gunshot, braced to feel pain and then feel nothing ever again. You can feel the silk of your blouse, the expensive one you never wear, sticking to your back as you heave in thready, unsteady breaths.

It's almost anticlimactic, the way it happens. You smell the same sharp ozone scent you did earlier and the hand wrapped around your throat, the gun pressed to the hinge of your jaw disappears. You keep your eyes screwed shut, trying to ignore the yells of pain and cut-off curses as people get beaten up. You keep expecting to feel the acute pain of a bullet lancing through you, burning through your skin. But you feel nothing. You hear nothing, and obviously all you can see is the underside of your own eyelids.

“Miss, you can open your eyes now. It's all going to be okay.” 

You know what this voice is saying as you stand stiff-backed in the center of the room. Your muscles are locked in place and your hands are curled into fists at your side. You're not sure you could move if you tried to.

The hands that hold yours are warm, warmer than they have any right to be. But they feel good, and you can feel yourself relaxing into the touch. When your eyes open, you're not sure what you expected to see. But what you get is Metropolis's own Superman. He is smiling at you, pearly teeth on display, big brown eyes gentle as he talks you out of your panic. You're enraptured by how his dark hair curls just so over his forehead and how his jaw is so well-defined it could cut diamond.

More than anything, you wish you were still holding your notebook and pen or a dictaphone or anything. If there was anyone you want to interview here and now, it's him. But something is bothering you about him. He looks oddly familiar, something in the turn of his cheek and the fall of his hair.

Your statement to MCPD takes the longest. Long after all the other hostages have headed home or been shuttled to other shelters in the city, you stand, ignoring the way tomato soup is crusting on your clothes and how your fingers ache. Maybe your statement wouldn’t have taken quite so long if you weren’t trying to interview your interviewer back. In any case, by the time your throat is dry and aching, it’s late, approaching midnight and the only person left other than police personnel is Superman.

“A-are you okay, Miss?” 

You blink at his words, because he sounds oddly bashful, and that is a look you never expected to see on a superhero’s face.

“I’m fine.” You grin, the motion only halfway genuine. “I'm just about to head out. I'm sure a superhero like you has better things to do, other people to save and whatnot.”

“U-um, no actually.” He tips his head to the side, using his hand to fix his already immaculate hair.

“Do you always wait around at crime scenes to walk a gal home?”

“W-would it be alright if I walked you home?”

Your questions collide in midair against each other. You huff out an exhausted laugh, but he just blushes a little, golden cheeks flushing as his eyes twinkle at you.

“N-no. I don’t make a habit of waiting at crime scenes to walk girls home. Guess that's something only for you.”

Now it's your turn to battle hot cheeks. You can't even fan your face off because you don't have a thing to fan yourself with. Flapping your hands makes you feel stupid. So instead, you let Superman lead you out of the shelter and onto Metropolis’ streets. The city is alive with the sound of cars and ambulances. Someone has a radio on their window playing music. It feels like you're in an entirely different place.

“So, what about that walk home?”

He smells good. For the first time you notice how good he smells, this Superman, now that your nose isn't clogged with the smells of spilled tomato soup and sandwiches. You want to spend time with him. You want to forget what is waiting for you in the morning, how angry Perry is going to be when you didn't get a scoop on the shelter or any pictures that you know of. Maybe if you spin the Superman angle to this? It doesn't feel right, exploiting this man when he's so clearly doing it to help people. You also don't want to stop talking to him yet.

“Sure.”

Honestly you wish you'd clarified, because when he said walk, you thought he was actually going to walk with you. Instead he sweeps you up in his arms and shoots up into the sky. You scream the whole way, hands scrabbling for purchase against his suit, finally settling for an arm around his shoulder. You're shaken and shivering when he finally stops moving.

“Shit, sorry.” 

You grumble into his broad chest at the cheeky apology. 

“Just thought you'd want to see the city how I see it.”

When you finally screw up the courage to take a look, your lips part in a gasp. The entirety of Metropolis is laid out in front of you. Lit in gold from all of the lights, you're grinning from ear-to-ear as you peer out over the city.

“It's gorgeous!” There's a pleased smirk on his face. “I can't believe you get to see the city like this!”

“Yeah,” He grins, something soft. “I didn't fall in love with the city until the first time I saw this view.”

“I can see why,” You gasp, witnessing how soft your colossal city looks in the moonlight, how it seems like a world filled with such promise.

“Let's get you home.” There's a blush on his cheeks as he swoops you down, following your murmured instructions like he knows every inch of the city.

You feel a little bit like a princess when he sets you lightly down on the doorstep. He's still floating in the air, the navy blue suit he's wearing clinging to every muscle. Now more than ever something feels familiar about him. He stays outside your door watching with the same smirk on his face, his head cocked to the side like he's waiting to hear your deadbolt slide home.

You're a little giddy when he flies away, and you curl into your bed like you're in a dream. You sleep well, for the most part, not half as traumatized as you expected to be after being held hostage at gunpoint. At least, until you jolt up in bed, your hair a mess around you and growl, “Garcia!” 

He'd disappeared when the police came to the shelter with their bullhorns and their posturing. You'd smelled the same sharp ozone-tinged scent in the air when he'd disappeared and when Superman shot into the room. But there is more too. The shape of his face, the way he smiled, the almost compulsive way he pushed his hair off his face. He acts just like Garcia does, too.

What is the likelihood your first encounter with Metropolis' own Superman would give you insight into his alter-ego? After all, nobody would suspect that quiet, bespectacled, sweet Mickey Garcia, a photographer for the Daily Planet, is Superman. Nobody, it's obvious, but you. Forget your conspiracy board on LexCorp and their shady dealings. Right now, an exclusive interview with Superman seems like just the ticket to rocket you into fame.

But you can’t let on that you know. You spend the day typing up a lackluster article on the shelter opening, your eyes peering over your computer every time you hear footsteps coming your way. The people walking past you never stop by, not even to chat. You're practically sprinting for the door when you see Garcia, chunky headphones around his neck.

“Hey, Garcia!” 

He turns and looks oddly surprised to see you. 

“You got a sec?”

“Y-yeah, of course.” 

His stutter is adorable. You have to remind yourself he is Superman. 

“I wanted to take a look at the pictures you shot yesterday. Obviously the opening wasn't what we expected, but it should be an interesting public interest piece anyway.”

When he's sitting in the chair next to yours, fingers flying over your keyboard as he shows you all of the photos he took as well as a few of the aftermath, you're questioning your gut instinct even more. How is it possible he got pictures of the police helping people, interviewing you, if he was Superman? 

It's nice, working with someone who smiles at you instead of spitting insults out behind your back.

“This looks great.”

There's a smile on your face as you look at the finished article. 

“Yeah, not bad for an article about a shelter opening turned into a hostage situation, right?”

“Y-yeah.”

You turn, and rest your arm on his forearm. You let your reporting instinct take the driver’s seat. When he's relaxed, maybe you'll get some answers out of him.

“I completely forgot to ask! How are you holding up after yesterday? You know what Perry always says, ‘We're a family here at the Planet!’. I was terrified when those gunmen burst in.”

You prattle on and on, seeing his face change, almost fall, when you mention Superman. 

“You know, he's awfully handsome, Superman is. He took me home, made sure I was alright.”

You grin, wickedly, though you know for sure nobody here in Metropolis knows you well enough to tell.

“And then he blushed.”

All of your suspicions are proved true when Mikey Garcia blushes the same way Superman did.

“You know something? Superman blushed just like that when he was showing me Metropolis how he sees it.”

There's panic in his eyes now. You're just fast enough to block him at the door, arm flung out to stop him from walking past you.

“So…. How long have you been Superman, Mickey Garcia?”

Taglist:

@sarahsmi13s @desert-fern @horseshoegirl @teacupsandtopgun

@roosterforme @cherrycola27 @kmc1989 @chaoticassidy

@shanimallina87 @a-reader-and-a-writer @dakotakazansky @seitmai

@shinycupcakebaker

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR ON TUMBLR BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR TUMBLR, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[wallpaperaday]

Day 3313: Bocchi the Rock!

1440p version

Credit to Ayataka

[musing-and-music]

Masterpost - My 2024 in fics

I didn't do my masterpost in 2023, but this year I decided to take the time to do so!

This was a very Jaime/Brienne year, with many exchanges, but I'm happy that I wrote some FMA fics (all of Royai week!), and even a Faramir/Eowyn one-shot along the way.

The presentation of this post will be like in 2022: fandoms, then the NSFW fics

I'm kind of sad that I haven't made covers for everything I wrote this year, but I'm still pretty satisfied with what I've done!

Have fun!

Fullmetal Alchemist

Royai Week 2024:

Day 2 - Silent gratitude: Rating T, 2524 words

Three times Riza and Roy help and support the other, who can't express their true gratitude for it

Day 3 - Expected news and unexpected announcement Rating T, 2239 words

When he finally entered the office, he already looked tired, although Riza couldn’t tell if it was because of their short night or the many questions of his soldiers. He greeted his men and asked her to come to his private office.

“Did they say anything?” was his first question as soon as he settled at his desk.

“Did the soldiers ask about the next commander of these headquarters?” Riza retorted.

Roy laughed. “Alright, Major, I asked for that. So, we wait for the end of the day, as planned.”

“As planned, sir.” Riza smiled back at him.

Day 4 - Building up her facade Rating T, 1026 words, Major Character Death

1954: Roy Mustang, former Fuhrer and President of Amestris, dies at sixty-nine of a heart attack.

Irene helps her mother prepare to face the world on the morning of his funeral.

Day 5 - Symbol of my love and loyalty Rating T, 739 words

Roy and Riza celebrate five years of shared love with perfect gifts

License for good behavior, Rating G, 1875 words

Edward decides he should learn to drive, and despite Winry's doubts about the use for a driving license, he goes to East City to ask the best person he knows to teach him

Part 29 of Amestrian chronicles

Mourning sun, joyful rain, Rating T, 642 words

As far as he remembered, rain had never been part of Roy’s grief.

So, the day it rained on a happy day of his life, Roy didn’t hate rain as much as he had during his life.

(Or 5 times Roy grieves while the sun shine, and one time he finds happiness in the rain)

25th one-shot in Royai : a OS Compilation

A Song of Ice and Fire

In a crowd of thousands Rating T, 3313 words

As Daenerys is crowned for good, great houses are called to swear fidelity to her. And Jaime is called to be judged

Still, he can count on Brienne's righteousness and support to protect him in a trial that… might not really be one?

Each step of the way Rating T, 744 words

When illness strikes, Jaime and Brienne know how important it is to stick together and support each other

6th one-shot in my collection A few nights in Westeros

You make me feel like I deserve this Rating T, 2447 words

"Who's there?" Brienne's voice cut across the mist, strong and wary. Jaime smirked.

"Someone who thinks Harren the Black never thought about the cold of the Long Night when he had his castle built. Is there some place next to you, wench?"

Aren't we oath keepers, sweetling? Rating T, 2702 words

“Ser! Ser Jaime!” At Podrick’s frantic cries, fear seized his heart. The boy was running between the trees toward him, panic written on his face.

"Podrick? What happened? Is it your lady?”

The boy stopped next to him, out of breath, and took a few seconds to recover. “Ser, lady Brienne is leaving,” he announced, grief in his eyes. “She said she was giving up the search for lady Sansa, that she’d marry ser Hyle and go back to Tarth with him.”

Through the fog, under the sun, in the light of the moon Rating T, 4553 words

The invitations to Robb Stark’s wedding came: one for her, and one for Jaime, since he was one of the only Lannisters the Starks tolerated. Catelyn insisted that if she didn’t bring a plus one, she would introduce her to some of her children and nephew’s friends. “It’s sad that you stay alone, Brienne, and I want you to meet some worthy men.”

Brienne talked about it to Jaime, expressing her desire not to be used for matchmaking purposes. Jaime’s immediate reply was “let’s fake it, then.”

The name was a knife, twisting in her belly Rating T, 23k words (on-going)

Brienne grows up in Tarth with the pain that Jaime Lannister's name inflicts her each time she hears it. She grows up hating her soulmate for his actions and for the pain she feels because of him.

In the dungeons of Riverrun, she finally meets him, and lady Catelyn charges them both with a quest that will change her pain into something different.

The Lord of the Rings

A few days wait Rating G, 785 words

Eowyn has just given birth to her first-born. However, not being pregnant anymore doesn't mean she can't immediately go run and ride around Emyn Arnen as she wishes

Faramir guarantees her that this wait will not be for nothing

“We won’t forbid you to ride in the hills and set broken legs again, my love. However, your health comes first. I do not wish to see you collapse because you will have overestimated your strength.”

Mature/Explicit fics

To conquer frustration Rating M, 5018 words

After a few months dating Jaime, Brienne feels ready to make love with him

Jaime is eager to do it with her

However, their friends keep getting in their way, until they do what's needed to be alone

OR

Four times friends and family interrupt Jaime and Brienne, and the one time they can finally have sex

Royai Week 2024: La curiosité est un vilain défaut Rating M, 748 words

Black Hayate wakes up to find Riza has a guest. Following his nose and the strange noises he hears, he opens her bedroom door…

Up for the long ride, Rating E, 23k words

During her first eventing competition outside the Stormlands, Brienne meets the infamous Jaime Lannister. After an explosive encounter, their relationship builds up on heated moments, whether it’s during the competition, with their words, or under the sheets (and other places)

Or

Five times Jaime and Brienne have a secret wild ride, and one time they kiss publicly

Bring the storm (all your love like a flood) Rating E, 2532 words

Inside Riza's official letter, Rebecca finds Jean's secret letter. It brings back the memory of that stormy night, and during another stormy night, Rebecca relives it in the safety of her room

Part 8 of Regency AU series