#I swear my other tote bag is on its last legs

[snowynightlight]

nurture tote :P

[stylesberries]

My Princess

Summary: You tag along with Harry to his Vogue shoot. The dress is definitely a turn on.

Genre(s): purest smut of all

Word Count: 1.5k

Warning(s): smut??? use of butt plugs, sub!harry (not a warning, more of a welcoming sign)

“Harry! A little more to the left! Yes, great!” the photographer kept giving Harry instructions on adjusting his poses for the December Vogue cover photoshoot. You sat next to dressed up Gemma on the bench in the field of tall grass chatting and observing from a distance.

“He’s pulling the dress off better than I ever could.” You told Gemma, letting your gaze go back and forth from her to your boyfriend.

“Same. No way I could ever feel confident enough to wear that. It’s so puffy.” Gemma giggled, diving deeper into the blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

“He looks like a princess.” You announce, looking at the man with adoration.

Harry caught your creepy stare and wondered what was going through that pretty little head of yours.

“Whatcha thinking, pretty?” He asked, smirking at you, knowing exactly what you were thinking.

“You look like a princess!” You exclaimed loudly, smiling widely at Harry. Your words surprised him and caused a dimple to appear on his smiling face. Harry put a hand on his defined waist and stroke a silly pose to make you laugh.

“A princess, huh? Well, would you be my Prince Charming then?” He shamelessly flirted with you, flapping his lashes at you.

“I’m down to be your Prince Charming any day.”

Harry swears he could feel his dick twitch in his briefs.

Thank God I’m wearing a dress.

Harry kept posing and for another 30 minutes and the whole time you’d keep shamelessly flirting. Gemma had to stop herself from throwing up at how disgusting you two got. At some point, she snuck away to talk to Anne on the phone (at least that’s what she used as an excuse) and left you and Harry on the verge of foreplay.

“This dress would look beautiful on you, you know,” Harry said, turning his back to you, obviously asking you to unzip the dress.

You two stood in the middle of his trailer that parked in the open of the field. Harry had to change into the other outfit his stylist picked for him to continue the photoshoot.

“You know I don’t wear stuff like that.” You answered him, slowly unzipping the back of his dress, looking into his eyes through the reflection in the mirror.

Harry felt the mood rapidly change. He watched your eyes darken as you kept prolonging the unzipping of the dress, slowly dragging your cold fingers against his skin behind the zipper.

Harry couldn’t help but let out a soft moan as he felt the tip of your tongue leave a wet trace along his spine.

“Ah, please,” Harry whined, letting you wrap your arm around his waist holding him from running away from your wet tongue.

“Please what, baby?” You teased him further, running your nails against the wet trace along his spine.

“Please, touch me.” He begged, pushing his back against your chest in hopes that your arm would move a little lower and touch his crotch even though he knew how much you hated it when he wasn’t patient.

“What do you think you’re doing, huh? You should be patient. And here I thought you were a good boy.” You added the last words knowing that it would make him go crazy.

Harry’s eyes went wide as he no longer felt your hands or tongue on him. You completely retreated and walked to the couch on the opposite side of the trailer. Harry felt cold and his naked back only added to it.

“No, no, please.” He turned his face to you as you watched the look full of regret on his face. You sat back against the couch and watched your boyfriend slowly walk up to you.

“Stop.” You commanded.

Harry didn’t dare go against your command and stopped the second you told him to.

“What do you have to say when you’re being bad?” You asked him, looking into his sad eyes. His lips trembled as he stood in the middle of his trailer.

“I’m sorry for being a bad boy, mommy.” He whispered the last part to himself but you still heard it loud and clear.

“What do bad boys have to do for mommy to forgive them?” You ask Harry, getting comfortable in your seat, getting ready for what was to come.

Harry understood you right away and his eyes went straight to his tote bag. He walked to it and pulled a small sunglasses case from it. Inside the case, there was a small bottle of lube and a butt plug with a green stone on its end.

You didn’t say anything and just watched as Harry fell on his knees, his back facing you. Harry opened the lube bottle and poured some lube on the butt plug, some on it dripping on the front of his dress.

You stayed silent throughout the show, watching as he presses his face against the flood of the trailer and pulls the puffy dress out of the way for you to see his ass covered with the fabric of his briefs, a visible dark spot on the part covering his hard dick.

Harry waited for your “blessing” with the lubed-up butt plug in his one hand and pulling his underwear down his legs revealing his twitching cock and his gaping hole with the other.

“Start.” You commanded, moving to the edge of the couch to see Harry slowly insert the tip of the butt plug into his hole.

A deep whine left Harry’s mouth as he felt himself spread welcoming the wet cold metal inside.

“Silent. Only good boys get to make noises.” You growled at him.

Harry kept his mouth shut, pressing his face against the floor to muffle his moans, taking the butt plug in completely. His hand left the green-stoned end and pushed his upper half off the floor to stand on all fours.

“What a nice view, H.” You cooed, looking at the pretty green stone - the evidence of the fullness your boyfriend was feeling.

You got up from your seat and made a U-turn to stand in front of Harry, facing him on his fours. You pressed your fingers under his chin, pushing his face up to look at you.

Harry’s face was covered in tears that kept dripping from his eyes from how turned on he was and how much he needed to cum.

“Awww look at this. What a filthy slut, huh.” You kept teasing Harry and watched his face contort in pain as he felt his dick twitch and his hole squeeze around the butt plug.

“Would you want to say something?” You asked, raising your eyebrow from curiosity.

“Mommy, I’m so sorry. I’ll be a good boy. Please let me cum. It hurts.” Harry begs on his knees quite literally.

“Hm. You have been following my commands so far. Get up and put your briefs back on.” You think out loud and step away, letting Harry get up from his knees. The dress puff fell back in place and covered his filthy wet hole and hard dick. Harry bent over to put his underwear back on. When he was ready he looked back at you standing in front of him, waiting for your next instruction.

You sent him a smile, walking up to him and reaching between you two to push the front dress ruffles up and sneak your hand in his underwear to free his painfully swollen dick out of its prison.

Harry just stood there waiting patiently this time.

“Oh. You’re so hard, baby. Does it hurt?” You ask, looking into his eyes with a pitiful look.

“Yes, mommy,” Harry whined.

“Good.” You quickly say and spit onto his almost-purple cock, getting it wet and letting go of the rubber band of his underwear. It painfully snapped against his lower abdomen and caused his dick to be pushed back tightly against the wet fabric. A desperate moan left Harry’s mouth following your actions.

You proceeded to walk out of the trailer before turning around and looking at Harry one last time before opening the door to leave.

He stood there, his dress - pulled up, the light fluffs of the expensive dress - a mess. Some puffs had drops of dried lube on them and Harry’s face was red from the shame of what just happened. The tears had already dried on his cheeks. He was still squeezing around the now-warm butt plug and thinking about how much his dick hurts. Pathetic.

“What a pretty little princess you are.” You coo at Harry before turning your back to him and exiting the trailer.

You walk away from the trailer and make your way back to where you have last seen Gemma.

“Oh, hey, Y/N. Is Harry coming? We have a couple more pictures to take. He’s taking a while.” The photographer asks you the second he sees you.

“Um. Not sure. You could check his trailer though.”

© all right belong to stylesberries. do not repost or modify.

[incompleteth0ts]

My first Fanfic on here and it's already Angsty. But then again the AoT Fandom wouldn't be itself without it.

Warning: (Canon) character death, heavy mourning, season 1-4 spoilers, guns (mentioned), Jean and Connie are a lowkey OOC(sorry)

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My mom made you a blanket.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three days. It's been three days, nine hours, forty minutes, and fifty-two second since Sasha died, it's also been that long since Connie has gotten a decent amount of sleep.

It was still so painfully hard to believe that Sasha Braus, top ten in the 104th cadet training, was dead. So childishly disrespectful to Sasha's legacy as a soilder; killed by a brat no older than he was when he had first meet Sasha himself.

Turning to the right he caught sight of a familiar empty bed, freshly made as if no one had slept in it to begin with which is in fact very true.

It's been a week since he's last slept in his own bed at base, either sleeping in a bunk in the airship or sleeping in Jean's bed since coming back home knowing he won't mind since he's been at his mother's house handling his grief in the warm embrace of family.

God, Connie misses his family even more than he misses Sasha. With Sasha's death there was a faint feeling of understanding. (No understanding wasn't the word none of them would ever understand why she had to die) Sasha was dead and couldn't come back no matter how hard Connie and Jean cried, cursed, and screamed she wouldn't come back.

But Connie's mother she could come back if she were to eat a Titan shifter (Eren) she could come back and hold him again, tell him false lies of everything is going to be OK, and that Sasha is in a better place, but even though the solution is just a couple blocks away from him he can't grab it, instead he's force to except the fact that almost all the people he has ever loved are gone.

The door to Connie and Jean's shared room opens quietly, though it didn't matter since Connie's has been awake for an hour by now.

"How was your visit to your mom's house Jean?" Jean Kirstien. One of the most important people left in his life. Lord, what depressing ass thought. Connie's only friend, a horse.

(There's a small voice in the back of his head that reminds about the others that are somewhere in the base that he also considers friends)

Jean's holding a brown tote bag filled with what looked like a variety of things. Jean not expecting Connie to be awake had answered in the dumbest way possible.

"You're awake?" Oh Jean boy, how we love you so. "Yeah, I've been up for a bit now, what about you? Never answered the question Jeanie."

There's small air of youthful teasing the kind that was always around when they were younger and didn't have to worry about anything other than what they were gonna eat the next day and when the next expedition was.

Jean walked towards his bed with light footsteps and places a brown tote bag by the foot of the bed and sits by Connie's feet patting his leg. "It was good, I had been planning to visit her soon anyways so better now then never."

Connie took his time to study Jean's appearance. His hair had grown nicely over the pass four years, not surprising though, Jean has always taken pride in his appearance, ever since they were cadets. He was waiting simple clothes, orvas simple as clothes got when it came to Jean's sence of fashion. He wore a white button shirt and gray suit vest, and a pair of slacks Connie swears he's never seen Jean go a week without wearing at least once.

"My mom said that next time I come over I should bring you." He has eye bags. Or to better phrase it he has even darker eye bags, but its not like he can talk when he's eyebags are just as bad, being apart of the military will cause you to gain things you wouldn't normally gain when getting a job.

"Really now? Mama Kirstein just couldn't handle not seeing her favorite son for so long, huh?" Instead of humoring Connie, Jean grabs the bag and hands it to Connie. "Ma, said to give these to you and the others."

Inside the bag was six neatly folded blankets, all of them looking homemade and warm. "The one on top is yours." Connie reach his hand out and grabbed onto the top blanket pulling it out to examine it.

It was knitted and dual colored, brown and grey; brown and grey; brown and grey, over and over again till it was big enough to wrap around Connie's body, in one of the corners Jean's mother had stitched on a patch on with the words 'Connie Springer' in thin black lettering.

Connie rubbed his face against the soft material. It smelt of lavender and pine, similar to the way the village would smell during spring and his dad would let him and his younger brother and sister explore the woods to pick freshly bloomed flowers for mom.

Damn Mama Kirstein, I could kiss you right now.

"If your thinking about kissing my mom I'm going to take the blanket back." Jean reached out the take the blanket back but stopped when Connie jerked back a little to hard as if he was actually scared Jean would take the blanket back.

"...ease don...like home." What? "Connie a can't hear you move the blanket if your going to talk." With another attempt at moving the blanket Jean figured it was just be easier to move it from his face than to take it away completely.

Bad choice.

Connie was crying which wasn't a new sight he'd seen Connie cry plenty of times, during their time as cadets (but who could blame him Shadis is terrifying anyone would at least tear up around him at some point in their lives), he remembers Connie crying silent tears for his mom turned Titan when he thought no one was looking, the night Sasha died Jean was confident the only reason the others wouldn't be able to hear Connie and Jean's heavy sobs was because everyone else was busy doing the same.

But not all those tears were bad. Connie and Sasha both have laughed themselves to tears multiple times, Jean usually being the the one to get stuck in between the two when that would happen, but this type of crying was different. It made Connie look younger somehow, and it reminded Jean of just how young the two of them were not even twenty years old and constantly risking their lives for hundreds of strangers.

"Con, what's wrong? You-you know I was just kidding right? Come on Connie. Tell me whats wrong." What wasn't wrong, his family got turned to Titans, Sasha's dead, Eren betrayed everyone and is trying to start the rumbling, Marly and Paradise civilizans hate the survey corps, everything was wrong.

"Do you not like the blanket? You know if my mom found out she'd drag you all through town by your ears." Connie laughed because how the hell could he not love this blanket, and how the hell could he not love Jean. Stupid, self-absorbed, mama's boy, Jean, who would risk it all for his friends.

"No. No, I love it. It's just- this blanket just smells like my village. How was she able to- how long did it take to make all of these." Connie aggressively waver his hand in the direction of the bag full of the rest of the blankets. "Mom had said it took her a couple of months to do. She said with all the money and souvenirs I've been sending her she was able to make them."

What a mama's boy. "Well let her know that the effort was 100% worth it, because these things are perfect."

And Connie meant it. He truly, truly meant it.

"Well that's good to hear. Now let's get going." Jean got off the bed, grabbed the bag, and offered a hand to Connie. "Going?" Connie grabbed Jean's hand allowing himself to be pulled up momentarily dropping the blanket. "Yeah we have to drop the rest of these off. I just thought it would be good for you to get out for a bit even if it's just to run chores and see friends. That's not to much right?"

Connie sat and stared at Jean's calloused and large hands that have been used to slay Titans and humans alike yet still seem so nice to hold. Reaching up to grab them was like a cup of water after a hot day. It was the first time in the past three days, 10 hours, thirty-seven minutes, and four teen seconds, that Connie felt like things might actually work in his favor even for just a little bit.

Based on the way everyone's faces look as they received their custom made blankets (Red for Mikasa, a pink looking futon with yellow cat like faces on it for Armin, Levi's was a dark shade of grey with two dark green stripes in the middle, Hange's was a shade of brown that reminded him of the coffee mom would drink after she adds milk.) They felt the same way.

The official day of Sasha's funeral was even more painful than Connie had imagined it to be. Sasha's family, what was left of the Levi squad, and Niccolo were gathered. Everyone there was crying minus Hange and Levi who were far to use to death by now.

Connie couldn't find it in himself to look at Sasha's body, everything was feeling all to real right now, the cold rain, the constant shuffling as people walked to and from Sasha's bady to give there final goodbyes and I love yous, the last person to walk uo being Jean since he had chose to stay by Connie's side through out the service.

The walk to Sasha's coffin felt to long and quiet, the gifts in Jean's hands felt like weights, but somehow just like that he was looking at Sasha for the first time in over three days. Sasha was beautiful. She wore her scouts uniform, the same one she wore to Historia's coronation, she held a bouquet of Sunflower, Lilac, Hyacinth and Gardenias, cerise of he family. Her old scout jacket folded by her feet from Mikasa, a recipe book of all the foods she liked from Armin, a metal of honor from Historia, a Purple hyacinth from Levi, and a Chrysanthemum from Hange.

Jean felt frozen yet hot at the same time when he went to pick up the first thing in his arms he thought it might as well have caught fire. His finger tip felt unbelievable warm and sweaty. Connie's gift was the first to gently be placed down. As silly as the gift looked upon first glance but Jean knew better, far better.

It was a picture of Connie and Sasha. Yes. A picture the two of them took it together when they had first landed in Marley. Sasha had been blurred out and unclear and Connie seemed to be focused on something outside of the cameras view.

When the both of them had came out the building holding their sides and out of breath Connie had explained that Sasha had sneezed the moment the photographer snapped the picture making her look like a quick blur of black and white.

The last item that Jean had to give was the blanket.

"Hey Sasha, my mom made you a blanket," He felt as if he could hear and see everything all at once. "She was planing og dropping them off herself, but we all came home early and I had went to see her," How was was it that even in death she looked so beautiful. "Sasha. I'm going to miss you." Jean probably would have started crying if he hadn’t already emptied himself outta his moms house.

No longer wanting to stall more than he already has Jean carefully lifted Sasha's head and layer the blanket under it. "Sasha, when you get to heaven do me one last favor and find Marco, he's going to be so exited to see you again."

Placing a sweet farewell kiss on Sasha's forehead Jean back away from the coffin and stood back at Connie's side.

The bedroom was cold, but luckily Connie's body has always run a little high so being under the covers with him was a nice contrast to everything else.

"Jean. Do you think Sasha will be okay by herself? I mean I know she's a strong person but still. What if she gets lost, or lonely without us?"

Connie's head was heavy on Jean's shoulder as they laid side by side by the fire place. It's been eight hours since Sasha's funeral had ended and Connie was taking it as well as you can after watching your other half get buried.

"I don't know Connie, but your right Sasha is a strong person and she'll be fine, just like I know you'll be fine too."

Connie looked up at Jean in obvious confusion. "What I mean Connie is that you're strong and something like this isn't enough to tear you down. You've lost your Mom, your village, your siblings, friends and comrades yet you still fight and that is absolutely amazing, Connie. You need to give yourself more credit for everything you do."

Connie was crying heavy and loud sobs on Jean's chest and Jean was more than willing to let Connie weep all the tears he had held in from the funeral onto his night shirt.

With Jean by his side, the remaining members of the Levi squad on his team, and his new brown and grey blanket wrapped around him Connie felt like things might just get better. Cause it was like Jean said Connie was a fighter and he'll continue to fight for his family, the Levi squad, Jean, and especially for Sasha.

[rainydaycafe]

Wrong apartment, Sam

Summary: Moving in is never an enjoyable experience, but if you mix a recovering super soldier, a pretty neighbor, soft flirtations and a sudden misunderstanding; you have the recipe for a pretty sweet story waiting to unfold.

Warnings: None. Bucky Barnes is one in a million.

First chapter (part?) of the Neighborly Affection series I cooked up.

________________

Af-fec-tion: A gentle feeling of fondness or liking

Emilia really liked her apartment.

It was in a nice location near enough to her school to be walked to and from with a very reasonable rent after subletting from an elderly woman who was off traveling until the foreseeable future.

After months and months of work, she had finally gotten it to the point in terms of decoration and overall feel to have the homey feeling she had been wanting to have while she was away from home. It had been quite the hassle, but she had been successful.

The fourth floor of her building was less than eventful, especially where she lived in the far corner without a next door neighbor though it did mean she got a larger balcony.

Well she didn’t have a neighbor until she was sitting on her couch grading papers for Professor Barlow when she heard her front door attempting to be opened from the outside, but it was thankfully locked.

Sitting up quickly, she was startled even if she reasoned her apartment building was safe as she headed over to the peephole to see a man standing there looking confused down at the doorknob as though it were in the wrong.

Biting the bullet, she unlocked her door and swung it open, surprising the man who didn’t get to speak before another voice came down the hall.

“I said 225 not 226,” Said the voice, prompting Emilia to stick her head out of her door to see a tall man holding what seemed to be a superhuman amount of boxes before dropping them next to the empty apartment next door.

Well formerly empty now.

“Sorry,” Said the man who had attempted to open her door, “For trying to open your room and because you got this brooding toddler as a neighbor.”

Emilia cracked a smile, “It’s okay. Do you need any help?” She offered sincerely, glancing at the man unlocking his door before glancing away because he was the slightest bit intimidating.

And handsome.

“Uh- no. We can manage,” Said the man pocketing his key, “But thank you.”

Turning back to the man in front of her, she returned his smile after he had picked up the box from the floor in front of him.

“I swear, he’s good company.” He assured her with a wink before heading down the hallway before pausing right as she was about to close her door, “I’m Sam, by the way.”

Emilia popped out of her apartment again, “I’m Emilia.” She introduced and Sam nodded his head towards the apartment in reference to the man, “That’s Bucky. Or, well James.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” She said quietly and Sam grinned at her, nodding before leaving Emilia to shut her door and lock it soundly, the entire ordeal running around her head and replaying itself.

Her face felt hot and she knew she was blushing.

Sam had been really nice, but Buck- or well, James was different. He didn’t seem unkind, but preoccupied with his move. He was tall, broad, and almost ridiculously handsome in an old fashioned and classic type of way and Emilia knew she was beyond screwed.

She was being ridiculous.

There was no reason she needed to have the memory of James running through her head as she attempted to correct freshman English.

However she was entirely oblivious to the conversation going on in the apartment next door.

“She's a pretty girl, Buck.” Sam told him as he sliced open a poorly taped box, earning a roll of the eyes from Bucky.

However Sam didn’t miss the way Bucky tried to smother a smile at the mention of the neighbor he had just met. It was obvious they had caught her off guard since she had been wearing leggings and a Boston University sweatshirt, and he knew she thought he hadn’t even noticed her but he had noticed her.

He had noticed everything about her “thanks” to his years as an assassin since that tends to carve your ability to observe and comprehend people in an instant.

“So what?”

Sam threw a dish towel at him, “She seems really nice. She’s pretty. Maybe, I don’t know- get to know her and see where it leads so you aren’t a lonely bitter grump all of the time?” He said as though it were obvious.

However, Bucky was fine.

“Just help me unpack, please,” Bucky said, “I don’t need any dating advice, man.” Shutting down the conversation until further notice.

___________________

They didn’t see or hear one another for the next three days, both of them caught up in their own lives and getting settled in.

That lasted until Friday when Emilia was digging her keys out of her satchel with one hand holding a grocery tote bag when Bucky’s front door swung open as she was about to pass it, startling her.

“Sorry,” He apologized, smiling as Emilia smiled at him and told him it was okay as she headed towards her door when he bit the bullet and asked her a stupid question.

“Wait,” Bucky called out, causing Emilia to turn around curiously, “Do you know how to unlock the balcony door? I can’t get it to open.”

Emilia’s slight confusion was evident but she quickly nodded, “Yeah, of course.” Before following Bucky into his apartment.

His apartment was essentially the same in terms of layout as Emilia’s, but it was decorated differently since it wasn’t really decorated at all. It all seemed a bit plain and rudimentary, but he was just moving in so there was always time for him to make it his own, she supposed.

Pointing towards the balcony door, Bucky said, “I’ve been trying to figure it out but it just won’t unlock.”

Readjusting her bag over her left shoulder, she quickly went over and lifted the hatch before sliding it open and pointing with a grin, earning a laugh from Bucky who knew he looked dumb but had gotten to speak to her again and had gotten her to laugh.

“Wow,” He said with a grin, “I’m really stupid, aren’t it?”

She shook her head quickly, “No, don’t say that. It’s a new apartment so it’s all weird and difficult to adjust to.” She assured him as they began walking back towards the front door.

Bucky had noticed her satchel and grocery bag, but opted to leave the satchel for another conversation and instead asked about the bag she was holding.

Exiting his apartment, she turned and opened the bag for him to see its contents which were powdered sugar and cream cheese.

“I’m thinking about making cinnamon rolls and I needed this for the frosting,” She explained, her face heating up but Bucky thought it was adorable.

He was screwed.

“I think cinnamon rolls are a beautiful way to spend a Friday,” Bucky justified for her, “Thank you for helping me open my balcony door.”

Emilia grinned at him, and he could feel himself becoming accustomed and enchanted by her grins which were soft and sincere towards him, something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

They bid their goodbyes and Emilia was soon entering her apartment with a bitten back grin attempting to win control as she dropped her satchel next to the door alongside the shoes she had just kicked off before swinging the tote bag onto the counter and jumping up and down a bit.

For a 24 year old graduate student with a bachelor’s degree in English lit she was acting like a 13 year old girl with a crush who had never gotten the right kind of attention from a cute boy.

Bucky on his own side of the wall was grinning as he plopped down onto his couch and began scrolling through what Sam called “Nextflix” or something after allowing him to use his account.

As stupid as the excuse had been, he had gotten to speak to her and see how truly kind she was.

Of course, he had been slightly worried she would freak out at the sight of metal arm’s hand gleaming underneath the hallway lights, but she had barely even glanced at it, or maybe she had not even noticed it at all.

Either way, he felt calm about it because he had found a new therapist with the help of Sam who had led him in the direction of acceptance of the past and the inability to change it regardless of how much he wanted it to be different.

He was who he was now, and while he had no control over being an assassin, he had control over who he was now.

This didn’t mean the insecurities were all gone…. But he had a solid amount of stability and he felt he was able to look forward to what he could have here while picking and choosing who he let in.

The way he was drawn to Emilia was something he hadn’t really ever encountered on something other than a physical level even before the fall, but he wasn’t about to fight it either.

____________________

By 6:50pm Emilia was going against her better and humble judgement as she packed four cinnamon rolls away into a glass tupperware container before snapping the lid shut.

He had mentioned cinnamon rolls sounding lovely on a Friday night, and her father would be so offended by her lack of kindness towards a neighbor who was obviously a fan of what she was baking.

It was to be polite and kind.

It was most definitely not to get another good look at his steel blue eyes planted so perfectly on his almost inhumanely handsome face with his cologne following him just about everywhere in his apartment.

She had seen a shiny glint on his left hand, causing her to glance and see he had a black and gold metal prosthetic, yet somehow it made him feel all the more mysterious and entrancing.

Clutching the container in her hand, she made her way over to her door where she slid her socked feet into her go-to Birkenstocks and glanced down to what she was wearing and grimaced.

Dark blue leggings and a long sleeve Smokey the Bear shirt.

She could change, but there was no way someone would believe she was just casually looking cute while baking after he had seen her outfit after her return from school so she couldn’t just show up looking cute.

Rolling her eyes, she stepped out of her door and made sure not to lock it behind herself. She was acting ridiculous and it was becoming too much because she was acting as though there were someone to dress up for.

All this was doing was getting her hopes up and preparing her to be crushed.

Knocking on his door, she heard footsteps gather towards the door before it swung wide open and there stood James.

“Hi,” Emilia said as she held up her container proudly, “I made the cinnamon rolls and thought you would like some.”

There was genuine surprise on his face before he cooled his expression, “I would love some.” But she could still see that he was really surprised at her kind gesture at an off comment he had made without expecting anything.

Emilia handed him the container and for whatever god forsaken reason gave him a thumbs up which earned a laugh out of Bucky who glanced back into his apartment which was still respectfully clean after unpacking what was left.

“Do you want to come in and have some with me? Uh- Sam gave me a list of movies to watch and we could maybe watch one?” Bucky asked before quickly adding “But only if you want to.”

Caught off her guard herself now, she was soon nodding before gesturing to her apartment, “Let me just grab my phone and lock my door.” Because while Bucky was handsome and seemingly perfect, she couldn’t just go into a man’s apartment without a phone. She had some sense inside of her, afterall.

“Do you drink milk with your cinnamon rolls? Tea? Water? Chicken broth?” Bucky asked with a teasing flint in his eyes before she could go and Emilia shook her head and laughed.

“I’m lactose intolerant, but I have oat milk. Do you like oat milk?”

Bucky shrugged, “I’ve never had it. I didn’t even know it was a thing.” Which earned an eyebrow raise from Emilia who told him she would be back quickly.

Returning quickly, she made her way into Bucky’s apartment clutching her vanilla oat milk proudly while oblivious to the way Bucky stared at her ass in those leggings he thought were akin to a Godsend because good God did she have a fantastic ass.

Grabbing two glasses from his cabinet he handed them to Emilia who poured their milk as he grabbed plates for the cinnamon rolls before they both headed towards his couch, sitting on opposite ends.

Bucky carefully served them both a cinnamon roll before he grabbed a glass from the table and stared at it as Emilia looked at him, watching his reaction as he took a respectable size drink.

“That’s pretty damn good.” Bucky admitted with reluctance because he had always been a whole milk kind of guy, and the thought of milk coming from oats was just lunacy, but it sure was tasty.

He handed Emilia the remote and surrendered control to her.

“I haven’t really been…. Up to date with any movies so you’re the leader here.” Bucky insisted after she attempted to hand the remote back to him to no avail.

It was true, technically speaking.

Turning to the TV, she moved to the movie selection and really thought about what was a truly necessary watch as Bucky picked up his cinnamon roll and took a large bite. The groan he produced was entirely organic as he chewed, searching for a napkin to clean his mouth of the frosting.

Emilia smiled at his reaction before gesturing to the TV which was showing the thumbnail and description of “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” in a silent question which Bucky answered with a shake of his head as he cleaned his mouth.

“I’ve never watched it, but it sounds funky. Let’s watch.” He insisted.

Getting comfortable, they were both silent as the movie began its opening credits, however they both were a bit too caught up on attempting to sneak subtle glances at one another. Bucky was much more successful, but Emilia was truly feeling like she was 13 years old with a cute boy nearby.

“I have to ask; where did you learn to make these?” Bucky asked as he finished off his cinnamon roll while Emilia was about a quarter of the way through with hers after her eyes had become glued to the TV when they began feeling more comfortable.

“My dad, actually.” She said with a shrug, “He would make them on special occasions like birthday breakfasts, Christmas, or on days he thought should be special and he taught me how until it became second nature.”

His eyes softened at that. It felt private, like it was something intimate to share with someone.

“Well my respect goes out to your father because his past self blessed my current self because these are amazing.” Bucky complimented, smiling as Emilia blushed and fidgeted nervously much to his enjoyment.

Adjusting her leg to move underneath her, she gently set her plate on the table as she watched Charlie run home after obtaining the winning ticket, smiling to herself as Bucky smiled at what was happening on the TV.

Before either of them could ask a question or prompt another conversation, Emilia’s phone vibrated against the cushion, catching both of their attention.

“You can answer it, I’ll grab another cinnamon roll while you talk.” Bucky assured her when he saw how hesitant she was which earned a grateful smile from her as he stood with the container and left her to at least some privacy since the kitchen was behind the living room.

“Hello?” He heard Emilia answer, and while he had superhuman hearing he couldn’t hear what was being said on the other end of the line so he went about his business.

“Blaine, you left it in my apartment.” She said and Bucky raised his eyebrows as he set his dessert into the microwave for a quick reheat.

“Because you were wearing it the day you helped me move in but then you took it off and never took it when you left.” Emilia spoke into her phone.

Taking out the roll, he poked at it before deciding it needed more time to get softer as he pretended to be busy himself washing his hands as he still listened.

“No way. I’m keeping it until you physically take it out of my hands, it’s comfortable.” Emilia defended before laughing at what they said before the next line had Bucky raising his eyebrows at her next sentence.

“Yes I will take care of it, Blaine. I love you too, bye.” Before she hung up the phone and apologized as Bucky sat down but he waved her off with a lopsided smile.

Getting comfortable again, they hit play on the previously paused movie when Bucky dared to ask what was on the tip of his tongue because he had to know before he became much too far gone for his own good.

“Boyfriend on the phone?” Bucky asked casually, smiling as Emilia dropped her cinnamon roll onto her plate and shook her head fervently.

“No. God no.” She said with a huffy laugh, “That was my brother, Blaine. He was asking if he had left a sweatshirt here and asked me to mail it over to him, but I refused because it’s become a part of my ensemble.”

Bucky smiled, relieved at the information because this meant there was one less person to compete for Emilia’s affection with.

Emilia chewed her mouthful before she dared to be bold enough to ask if Bucky had a girlfriend, or even a boyfriend to which Bucky shook his head casually.

“No girlfriend. Nobody has caught my attention, you know.” He made a gesture with his metal arm, catching as Emilia looked at it but it wasn’t a judgemental look, more of a curious one.

Before getting into that, he needed to assure himself that he was making the right moves here.

“So no potential boyfriend to be known?”

That caught her off guard, causing her to blink at him not unlike an owl before stabilizing herself and shaking her head, “No. No potential boyfriend.” She told him soundly.

Bucky smiled and nodded, only saying “Good.” Before he turned his attention back to the TV as he left Emilia with her own thoughts as she mimicked his movements with a mind full of thoughts.

Her heartbeat was rattling around her chest quickly, her nervous becoming prominent at what was being implied mixed in with the knowledge that she couldn’t be exactly sure what Bucky meant by saying “Good.”

But somehow she didn’t mind all too much.

____________________

The remainder of the weekend and the following week had Emilia and Bucky spending an almost illegal amount of time together.

Much to his relief, the conversation about his metal arm was simple and more admiring from Emilia than anything else.

They had gotten to know one another, becoming comfortable and open with one another. To Bucky, this was unheard of but he found himself going along with it.

Especially after speaking to Dr. Elena about it on his weekly therapy session the Wednesday morning following a fourth hangout on Tuesday night which had sent him spiralling a bit at how entranced he truly was by Emilia.

He had mentioned her a bit the prior week, but with how much he actually enjoyed spending time with her the more he needed to speak to someone other than himself in the shower.

“Is it…. Am I thinking too much about this? Causing it to be something it’s not?” Bucky asked as he rested his elbows on his knees, watching carefully as Dr. Elena set down her notepad and looked at him.

“That’s not for me to answer, Bucky,” She answered as she waved her hands, “If you like someone then that’s all there is to it. Love has no timeline… sometimes it comes gradually after an extensive commitment and sometimes it comes rushing all at once, but either way it’s out of our control.”

“I’ve seen her almost everyday for more than a week now and I’m listening to the music she recommends…. What if I ruin it?” Bucky said as he dropped his gaze to the carpet between them and shook his head, “Everything in my life has become complicated one way or another and I don’t want to hurt her or-or complicate things.”

Elena crossed her legs and tilted her head, “What if you don’t? What if this is the one thing in your life that can be less than complicated? I’m not saying you two will be perfect, but perhaps it will be a grounding aspect in your life.”

He was silent as she continued.

“You lost control of your life for a long time, but you’re beginning the arduous process of healing. This is what comes with the territory because it’s natural to want someone with you, and you’ve entered this situation where it’s organic and easy between you and Emilia.”

Bucky took a deep breath, “The game of “what if” is endless, isn’t it?”

Elena nodded with a smile, “I’ll tell you something, Bucky. There are few relationships in life you’re going to get where it’s just easy enough as going with the flow. I wouldn’t drop the opportunity because you might be overthinking it when the signs are right there.”

There was silence between them until he suddenly spoke up again, his voice showing his awe.

“She didn’t… she didn’t make it a big deal.” Bucky said, prompting Elena to ask what he meant.

“When I told her about my past; about Hydra, the Winter Soldier, the kills…. She told me that it was okay. That it was heartbreaking to think about, but that it wasn’t within my control because I was a weapon, not the attacker.” He explained to her, his voice becoming shaky towards the end.

Elena had an impressed look on her face as she scribbled something down on her legal pad.

“Well then, Bucky, you’re on the lucky receiving end of someone doubtedly understand’s affection and that’s something special, isn’t it?” She asked, “Plus she’s on the receiving end of yours which is even harder to gain so that must mean something as well, right?”

That following Thursday Emilia had stopped at the grocery store to buy bell peppers and onions for a sudden craving for chicken fajitas after hearing a classmate mention having enjoyed some the night prior on a date.

She knew Bucky was a fan of chicken so she doubled the general meat quantity she would use for herself because the man could eat.

Sauteeing the vegetables, her thoughts wandered off to said neighbor and smiled to herself as she thought about spending even more time with him. She had assured him that he didn’t always need to hang out with her, but he had mentioned loving her attention and company.

It was just a matter of fact that she was far gone for him, but even as a friend she knew he was beautiful company.

Opting to head over to invite him over to dinner at her place, she was smiling at his front door until it swung open only to reveal an… uncomfortable looking Bucky standing there, looking as though he didn’t want her to be there at that moment.

The way his face fell had her own heart dropping in her stomach, making her want to be anywhere but there.

“Emilia,” Bucky said, sounding uncomfortable, “I didn’t know you were coming over.”

Before Emilia could excuse herself and apologize profusely, a very pretty blonde came around his shoulder and stared at Emilia before giving her a halfhearted smile as she looked her up and down as though she were a nuisance.

This was enough to send Emilia into a fit of apologies, “I’m so sorry, James. I didn’t know you were busy, I’ll just go.” Before looking down and heading to her own apartment, thankful for not having locked it as she rushed in and shut it soundly behind herself.

She had been so stupid.

Why had she allowed herself to believe he felt the same? Allowed herself to get her hopes up when she was so obviously ignorant to the fact that he was being friendly to his overly eager neighbor.

Reality was often unkind and crushing without regard, much like this moment where she began packing away the food with her appetite gone at the thought of him being locked away with such a tall and pretty woman.

They would be perfect together, of course.

Though regardless of her feelings, she was alone in her apartment feeling a dull ache in her chest alongside the humiliation as she had to put away the larger than usual portion of dinner that reminded her of how eager she was to just spend time with him.

Snapping the lids onto the container, she felt her eyes well with hot tears as they fell down her cheeks only to be wiped away by herself quickly because she wasn’t about to cry.

It was dumb.

It had all been so dumb, and her feelings were so dumb.

It had all been in her head, all of it. It was sickening, actually, to realize how ignorant she had been to the reality of it and all and how caught up in her head because here she was, upset at James for being what he was; a single man.

Sticking her pan into the sink, she washed while consumed by her own thoughts though she concluded she deserved a night in with ice cream to consume her sadness.

________________

After washing the dishes and turning off the lights, she had laid herself down on her couch with only her living room light on as she corrected a few leftover quizzes from that day before allowing her night to be consumed by her emotions.

Well, until her ice cream softened enough to not snap all of her spoons in half.

Writing off a note to study the poet’s personal history, she was startled when she heard a knock at her door, causing her to pray it wasn’t James.

The knocks came again and soon a voice carried through the front door into her apartment.

“I know you’re in there Emilia. Open the door, please.” He said, and while Emilia wanted to act like she wasn’t there, she didn’t have it in her to be rude to him.

Setting her papers on her coffee table, she centered herself before heading over to the door to open it. Apparently she looked absolutely disheartened because Bucky’s already worried face became even more worried when he saw her looking absolutely crestfallen.

Her eyes were so sad and sincere he mentally punched himself for having hurt her.

“Emilia, it’s not like that,” He assured her, “She was just telling me about some work.”

Emilia swallowed and gave him a forced smile that didn’t reach her eyes before speaking with what she deemed to be a stable voice, “It’s none of my business. I was- I thought- I don’t know what I thought, but it’s really okay.” She told him with the same forced smile that broke his heart.

That added with the fading red rimmed eyes she wore, Bucky looked at her couch and saw the pint of ice cream on her coffee table and couldn’t take it anymore.

Bucky cupped her face in his hands and brought her to meet his eyes, “It’s not okay. Come on, let’s just talk, okay?” He asked softly, almost jumping for joy when Emilia reluctantly nodded in his hands and moved to let him in.

As they headed to her couch, Emilia felt all wrong footed.

Sitting down, Emilia wanted nothing else to be far away from Bucky and this entire situation, but she couldn’t kick him out either, regardless of how much she didn’t want to hear about this entire situation at hand.

Suddenly Bucky was digging into pockets and producing black bracelet as well as a white bracelet, both of them beaded with chakra beads in the middle.

He looked so happy to show it to her, picking up her wrist with his metal hand gently.

“I was out and I saw this little handmade craft stand near the farmer’s market you told me about one morning and I saw these bracelets,” Bucky explained hopefully as he clasped it on. “I am hoping that this will be a good concrete representation of how I feel because while I made a mess of this, how I feel about you isn’t a mess.”

Emilia stared down at it, feeling the light weight of it against her wrist as Bucky added, “It’s magnetic.” With his expression so hopeful she felt as though she were being looked at by a child.

“I had this whole idea in my mind where I would make my feelings clear when I felt the timing was right but apparently I failed at that.”

“It’s-” Emilia started but she cut herself off, feeling too vulnerable for comfort but she looked down at the bracelet and it egged her on somehow, “I’ve never dated anyone. I’ve had little crushes here and there, you know? But nothing concrete to where I made me want to seriously consider them as worth the investment and commitment.”

Bucky let her take the black bracelet out of his hand, watching as she snapped it into place for him on his flesh arm.

“Well as you know my dating hasn’t been exactly a priority but I thought about it before as any human does. But it’s easy with you, it really is.”

Before Emilia could send herself into a flurry of emotions, she was glancing up and suddenly Bucky was in her personal space and she felt the warm, soft pressure of his lips against hers.

For someone who held themselves as a dark person with an even darker past, Bucky sure had very well taken care of lips.

It wasn’t forceful or too much, it was soft but wanting as he attempted to convey how much he actually liked Emilia through one of the most intimate gestures reserved for love.

“I like you, Emilia,” He told her in a low voice while connecting their eyes, “I- I don’t have many people I’m close to. I keep everyone at arm’s length, even Sam. But with you I can’t and I don’t want to.”

“You’re a gem, James,” Emilia told him with such a genuine affection for his name Bucky felt his vulnerability become almost palpable.

“But I want to be selfish, for once in my life I want to be selfish with you and have you all to myself.”

Emilia closed her eyes and opened them again, attempting to regulate her emotions and actually accept what was being given and offered to her, something she thought was a conjuring of her mind.

“I don’t want to keep you at arm’s length either. I always thought relationships were always something I’d just observe you know? Like through movies.” She told him as she pointed towards Pretty in Pink, earning a chuckle from Bucky who raised his eyebrows.

“Well you don’t have to wonder anymore because you have me as much as I have you.” He gestured towards the bracelet clinging onto his wrist.

Taking hold of his metal arm, she nodded to him before breaking out into what had to be a bright enough smile to power the city before saying, “Okay. Good.” As she caressed his metal fingers with such softness he felt his chest crack wide open.

________________

[starlightxsvt]

Sunrises || Choi Seungcheol au

Pairing: Seungcheol x Female reader

Genre: apocalypse au, slice of life (?), angst, kinda fluff, some action

Warning: zombies, death and stuffs

"Thank you for saving me that day." You murmur to the male sittig next to you.

Seungcheol, in return says nothing, focusing on peeling the apple in his hand.

It was the third day after he saved you and gave you a place to stay. The man didn't offer his name or any other information - though you figured it out from craved wood that hung on his room's door saying, 'Seungcheol's room' - neither asked yours but you enlightened him with it. He doesn't talk much and doesn't like to be talked much but you kept your mouth open anyway.

It was about two months since the strange virus spread and begun the apocalypse and you were lucky enough to have stumbled upon Seungcheol.

"I really mean it." You whisper. "I'm new in this place. Believe it or not but I moved here literally a few days before the apocalypse started."

You didn't get any response to that either.

"Do you have any family? I don't. My mother died long ago and my father's an addict so I basically ran from him."

More silence.

You take in his features which are too concentrated on peeling the apple. His brows were knit to a frown and he chewed on his lower  plump lip.

You swallow, "Who's Sunghoon?" You know you probably shouldn't have asked the question but curiosity got the best of you. You saw the name hanging on one of the rooms which was apparently locked.

He looks up at you, an angry look on his face. "I swear to any higher being up there, if you don't shut your mouth I am going to feed you to the corpses by myself." He stands up murmuring, "This is why I don't like helping people." 

You watch his retreating figure walk inside the house and you sigh, leaning against the apple tree and watching the sunset.

A week later

You thanked the heavens everyday for making you stumble upon a guy who's a farmer. Seungcheol had his own produce, a small field of rice and corns and a few apple and lemon trees. It was safe to say these were more than enough in a time like this.

The electricity is unavailable most of the time but it takes some surprise visits every few days for a few hours. That's when you and Seungcheol wash up and store water.

Your days go by rather quickly thanks to the neat system Seungcheol seems to have established. He had things run so smoothly that it was pretty unbelievable the world was going through an apocalypse right now. You help him around the house, cleaning things up, watering the crops and such. He had his own rules - don't waste water or tissues, don't eat too much, don't talk too much. You tried to follow them at your best but you couldn't stop yourself from starting a little conversation more often that which were only met with silence or threats. But so far, Seungcheol was a guy nice enough and you counted your blessings for meeting him.

A few more days later

When you ran from your place you only took your female necessities. Those were dumb things compared to others who ran away with guns and foods.

You sat in the guest room Seungcheol offered you, thinking about what you were gonna do after these necessities were finished.

Suddenly Seungcheol appears knocking on your door before entering. You turn to look at him as he takes a seat. "We'll be heading out tomorrow."

"Huh?"

"There's a super shop a mile away from here. We're going there."

"Why?"

"Why do you think, smartass? We need to stock up on tissue paper and dry foods. I visited there a couple times after the apocalypse started. Apparently the government and NGO's provide foods and stuffs there for the survivors out here."

"Really?Then where are they? We need to find them. They probably built a shelter, we can go live there."

"Do you think it's that simple?"

"Huh?"

Seungcheol sighs. "They are moving in their own pace, okay? The shelters are probably full now with survivors. When their capacity increases they'll let us know. I have a friend who works at the NGO. If he's okay he'll come for me."

"When was the last time you spoke with him?"

"On the day of the breakout."

"I see."

"Prepare yourself for tomorrow. Since you are living in my place, you are coming with me." He stands up to leave.

"I'm not a wuss, you know." You roll your eyes.

"We'll see."

"Yea. And you know, it didn't hurt to speak with me! We could talk more often Mr. Grumpy!" You call after him.

"Shut up."

The next day

"Listen carefully, don't waste anytime. Just grab the things you need and walk into the car." Seungcheol says parking the car in front of the convenience store.

You nod and watch him load his gun and tuck it behind him.

The store is a mess. Broken pieces and bits of metals everywhere. You both walk in and look for the things you came for. Luck seems to be on your side as you find a couple of dry food packets, some toilet papers and some pads -though they are not the best quality, you have to make do with these. You quickly put them on the tote bag you brought with yourself and turned around.

Seungcheol was on the opposite Isle looking through selves for God knows what. You walk out to the front of the store and see and notice taped there.

Food will be supplied here every week along with other necessities. If you are a survivor please hang in there. Once we manage more accommodation, we will come for you. Regarding the infected, our research says they are deaf, so please use that to your advantage.

You turn around to tell Seungcheol about this but instead you meet the eyes of a corpse. It stands there, a mess of blood and gunk as your soul leaves your body.

It approaches you, making garbled sounds and you take back a few steps. From behind him you see Seungcheol approaching will a huge piece of metal rod.

The corpse doesn't turn back to the noises Seungcheol's feet makes while approaching you through the mess, instead it's focus is solely on you, ready to devour. They're really deaf, huh. It opens its mouth ready to chunk a piece of your body when Seungcheol hits him in the head and bangs a couple more times to make sure it's immobile.

"Quick, get in the car. More of them might be around here."

You two dash back to the car, carrying your goods and he starts the car quickly. You look behind to see more of the corpses appearing from around the store. Dusk was approaching soon which meant the corpses will be more alive and ferocious.

The car speeds through the empty road as you clutch onto your tote bag. "Did you know they were deaf?"

"You didn't?" He throws at you. You roll your eyes at him.

"Thanks for saving me again."

"Maybe next time I won't."

Another couple weeks or so later

"I'm going to the supermarket."

"At this hour? It's almost dusk. Are you crazy?"

You watch as Seungcheol puts on the necessary protection on his arms and legs and checks his gun.

"They people from NGO deliver foods during this time since there is no survivors out at this hour. I'm gonna go there and try to meet the delivery guy. Also I need to refill my car."

"Why?"

"To pass a message."

"To your friend who works at the NGO?"

"Yes. I need to let him know that I'm alive. Then he'll come for me."

"What if he's dead?"

Seungcheol says nothing. You forbid him to leaves a few more times but he completely ignores your pleas saying he has to take a  chance. Before he is out the door, he hands you his gun. "Keep this with you. Until now, they corpses have never been around here so just stay inside the house and you'll be safe. I don't know if you have your memories after you becoming a corpse but if you see me coming here looking like one of them, shoot me."

What? You swallow as your heart tugs.

"Stop talking like that. You don't need to leave. We've plenty of food. We'll get by. Don't do this Seungcheol."

"Remember what I said." He speaks, ignoring you and turns around.

"Wait." You call, tears pooling in your eyes. "At least take the gun with you. You'll need it more than me. Besides I dont even know how to use it."

Seungcheol looks at you for a beat before taking a gun and giving you a small smile - the first one he ever gave you.

You watch him leave as the sky turn in hues of purple and black.

You spend a restless night, sitting in your room watching the sky and thinking about Seungcheol. You think of how he opened up a bit more in the last few days and the moments you shared.

Sunghoon was my brother. He was in the military. We were outside, celebrating his discharge when the infection spread. The corpses got him while he was trying to save me. I failed him.

I waited for him for a long time, thinking he'd come back. He didn't.

Y/n, if I don't return by dawn don't wait for me.

As the night passed anxiety got the best of you. This is it. I lost him. He's gone. I'll have to survive now, alone.

You were about to have a break down as you saw the first streak of light spread through the sky. You walked to the roof of his farmhouse watching the colors in the sky. You start to accept the fact that you're alone from now on. That is until you see Seungcheol's jeep approaching towards the house.

You held your breath and didn't move your position, waiting to see him come out.

You thought sunsets were pretty until you saw Seungcheol's tired figure getting out of the jeep, his eyes meeting yours and flashing a smile, the brightest one probably, at the crack of dawn.

Sunrises were pretty too. Even prettier perhaps.

A/N: Tbh I wasn't so confident in this one but oh well, here it is. Also thank you for loving my previous work, it really means a lot. As for this one, if it doesn't flop, maybe I'll write a part 2 👀.Anyway thanks again! 💖

[darlingpetao3]

Seducing the Gem (Nash Wells x Reader, Chapter 8/9)

Rating: M (Smut in Chapter 6 only)

Summary: When a mysterious package shows up at your front door, you (a famous Romance novelist) are hurtled from your virtually uneventful life and into one of danger and adventure. In a quest to save your captured friend Caitlin from impending harm, you run into a suave adventurer named Nash who helps you along the way. Or is the charming Nash simply after something in your possession…?

Tag List: @tardis-23​ @thecaptainsgingersnap​ @the-marvelatic​ @itsprongs​

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

Walking (well, maybe more so stumbling) into the hotel feels surreal. You were meant to be here days ago. Poor Caitlin… You just hope she remains unharmed.

The woman at the front desk hands you the key to your room, which you are now thanking your lucky stars you reserved for multiple days just in case. The room itself is the most basic one the hotel has to offer and you have no qualms whatsoever. It’s a thousand times better than a broken down van.

Immediately, you locate the room’s phone and dig out the number Caitlin gave you to call. This is it. You’re getting your friend back.

“Good afternoon,” greets a smug male voice on the other end.

“Is she alright?” you ask desperately. “Have you hurt her?”

“So, you finally made it.” The voice deflects your question. “Took you long enough. Did you bring the GPS?”

“Yes, I brought it, but I want to speak with Caitlin.”

“I’m afraid I can’t arrange that until I get the goods,” the stranger counters. He sounds like a man with a constant smirk. The kind you would love to smack off his face for what he’s done. “Now, look out the window. You’ll see a barge. Meet me there in two hours. And make sure you’re alone, got it?”

You hang up without so much as an “okay.” You are a ball of stress, worry, and anger. Picking up the hotel phone again, you call the front desk downstairs.

“Hi, I’m just wondering if a man named Nash Wells has checked in at all today?” you ask tentatively.

“No, I’m sorry. No one with this name has checked in.”

Damn.

“Alright, thank you.”

You hang up and speedily clack your fingers on the desk as if that will help rid you of your anxiety. Great, only two hours to let myself go completely insane. Just what I needed.

~

Night has already begun to fall.

You clutch your bag that holds the holographic map in it a little tighter and wander closer towards the docks. You’re so on edge that any small movement or sound throws you off. The kidnapper didn’t give you any direct address, so it was down to your basic sense of direction at this point.

“Over here,” eventually comes a voice from the shadows - the one from the phone call.

You take a few careful steps forward. “Where are you?”

“Don’t move any closer,” they order you. “Show me the GPS.”

“Let me see Caitlin,” you counter.

At long last, you lay eyes on your friend - Caitlin moves out from around the corner looking unkempt, but unharmed. What a relief!

“(Y/N)!”

“Caitlin, it’s going to be okay!” you assure her. Cautiously, you begin to pull out the piece of tech and hold it out in front of you, despite still being unable to see where the man’s voice is coming from.

“Set it down and back away.”

You do as the stranger says. After a beat, he finally reveals himself - a tall man with a buzzcut wearing a trenchcoat. An odd choice of attire for freaking Africa. The man moves towards the device, picking it up to inspect it. He presses the power button, which brings up the illuminated hologram map. He studies it.

The man gives you a sideways smile, then shoves Caitlin into you.

“Better late than never, I guess.”

You hold onto Caitlin for dear life in a long-overdue hug.

“Cait,” you cradle the back of her head, then pull away to search her eyes. “They didn’t hurt you, did they? Because I swear-”

“No, I’m okay,” she assures you, “I promise.”

“Good, then let’s get out of here.” The pair of you probably only make it ten steps away from the drop when you stop in your tracks at the sight in front of you.

Nash appears under the warm light of the streetlamp on the corner.

Your breath is positively stolen from you.

“I missed you at the hotel,” Nash says. “I missed you in general.”

He did come for you.

It’s at this moment that armed men emerge from the shadows to force Nash forward with the tip of their guns. He’d been caught… Then, as if the icing on a grotesque cake, Wade steps into view.

“I should have known you’d be at the end of this wild goose chase, Snart,” Wade says, effectively ignoring you for the time being.

“Eiling? Dammit, you let the government follow you here!” Snart pins on you. Excuse me?

“Cool it, Ice Man. They already have the gemstone,” Wade informs the criminal. Shit. You were hoping to get away without this Snart fellow finding out. A series of growls grow louder as Mick Rory struggles while bound among a pair of additional army men.

“I had it in my hands, Len,” Mick tells his partner. “So beautiful. The colour of fire… And now I feel like a cookout-!”

The pyromaniac fires up his flame-gun but is instantly disarmed. Mick roars in frustration.

Amidst the chaos, Wade turns his narrowed eyes to you. It still feels as if this is all some insane dream or scene you’ve written while drunk on your hot chocolate.

“What is it, Missy?” he asks you. “Got something to share with the class? Where is it?”

Nash squints at you - a signal.

“What, the stone?” you play dumb. “We never found anything. The spot was empty.”

“Nice try. Why don’t we see if our little friend can shake the truth out of you?” Wade and his weapon-toting entourage lead you, Caitlin, Nash, and the Fire and Ice gang into one of the warehouses running parallel with the water. There’s a loud rustling in the darkness, followed by heavy breathing. It isn’t until someone switches on the shoddy lights in the room that you spot it - a cage holding an enormous gorilla and her baby.

The mother ape shakes the metal bars and screams, only to have Wade laugh at her failure. He taunts the poor creatures, and when you show the slightest bit of discomfort, the general pushes you closer and closer to the cage.

The ape roars in your face, or maybe it’s directed at Wade’s, so vehemently that her saliva ends up on your face.

Remain. Calm.

“Let her go, okay? Enough!” Nash raises his voice. “I have it. I have the stone.”

“Tell me where!” Wade demands, still clutching you forcefully.

“It’s in a safe place.”

“Out with it, Wells!”

The gorilla bellows in her cage once again at the commotion between the humans. Wade cues a gesture to one of his men, who proceeds to hit Nash in the nether region with the butt of his rifle. There’s a clunk sound.

You don’t remember him having a literal… ahem of steel.

Nash tries to recover, but something is off. He shakes his leg and wiggles around a bit as if he’s performing some bizarre dance. But soon enough, you all witness it - the gem falls out the leg of his pants and onto the ground.

The room goes silent.

“I promise I was still extremely happy to see you, Princess,” the adventurer jokes.

You snort loudly, despite the time and place.

And then, all hell breaks loose.

Nash kicks the stone over to an open space for you to launch after it, but Wade beats you to it. With the gleaming red beauty in his hand, all other sides in this battle seem to have lost. But suddenly, the mother gorilla violently grasps the general’s arm and yanks it around, causing him to drop his precious treasure.

Gunshots are everywhere, mostly used as a scare tactic, you decipher. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the baby gorilla manages to squeeze out through the cage’s bars and picks up the stone in his hands. It doesn’t take long for him to take off outside, and you know you can’t just let him get away.

“Nash, hold them off!” you tell your partner, who at once removes a gun tucked away behind him.

“As you wish, Princess!”

You make a break for it, following the ape with Caitlin in tow (she is not leaving your side ever again). He’s a quick little fella, even as he scuttles up the back stairs of the building leading to the roof. By the time you reach the top, you’re a smidge out of breath, but find the animal on the ledge opposite you.

Step by step, you slowly make your way towards him. His tiny black eyes watch you the whole time, that is, until you make it a foot away from him. In which case, they dart behind you. You turn warily, finding that damned bastard Wade, forcing Caitlin and now yourself even closer to the ledge than you’d intended.

“We can do this the easy way, or the hard way,” he says pointing his gun at you.

“Or we can do it my way,” you counter as a bluff. Think fast.

Wade fires a shot into the air. A startled Caitlin slips on the edge in confusion.

“NO!” You let out as a horrified yell, watching her fall over the side. However, a speedy swoosh of flames flies downwards at an incredible speed. Caitlin’s screams stop, and you don’t want to look.

What was that?!

You aren’t able to question it too long, though, because Wade has you in his terrifying grasp once more.

“Let go of me,” you growl, trying to wrench your arm free. There’s a screech, and the next thing you know, the young gorilla scrambles up your captor’s leg and chomps on his hand.

“Aaarrrghh!” Wade recoils and backs off a safe distance, clutching his wound. “You little shit.” The creature laughs and climbs to sit on your shoulder in a protective action.

A bright glow illuminates from behind - and you scrunch up your eyes to get a better look at what seems to be hovering with Caitlin in its arms. It looks like… a man? A burning man?

This phenomenal being releases your friend with a familiar gentleness. Oh my God, it can’t be...

“I thought I killed you!” Wade shouts at the burning man.

“You thought wrong,” he replies.

“I won’t make the same mistake.” He raises his gun, and you can see his finger begin to press the trigger, but a bulldozer of black fur barrels in his direction from the rooftop entrance. Mama Gorilla, in all her loud ferocity, jumps on and disarms Wade. The wild animal shakes him around like a G.I. Joe action figure, and ultimately jumps across to the next building’s roof. And the next. And the next, until eventually they’re both out of sight.

Everyone remains speechless.

The one to break the silence is Nash, who now sprints up the stairs onto the roof, bolting towards you. His hands find your arm and waist.

“Are you okay?” he checks.

“I’m okay. You?”

Nash exhales. “Still here.”

You maybe only have a brief moment to collect your thoughts and relax before Caitlin shrieks, setting you to red alert again. You whip your head in her direction to find the man who was previously in flames splitting into two people.

“Ronnie!” Caitlin exclaims, throwing her arms around her fiancé’s neck. It really is him…?

“Ronnie? How are you alive?” you ask, dumbfounded.

“Martin?” Nash says warily to the other bespectacled, white-haired man who has seemingly appeared out of thin air. The two hug it out happily.

“It’s all thanks to Professor Stein,” Ronnie explains. “Remember that highly classified internship I took, Cait?” Your friend nods slowly in response, also obviously stunned by this nearly impossible scene. “It was an experiment-

“-Fusion, Ignition, Research Experiment and Science of Transmutation Originating RNA and Molecular Structures,” Martin Stein clarifies for you all.

“And I was a match.”

“But why did you send me the GPS?” you ask him the question that had been eating away at you since the beginning of this whole crazed debacle.

“Because Professor Stein needed to hide it, and the government was already hot on our trail with the F.I.R.E.S.T.O.R.M. experiment, which wasn’t exactly given the go-ahead. But I mean, can you imagine the US military getting their hands on the means to locate highly dangerous gemstones with mystical powers?”

You file that premise away in your mind for potential novel material.

“It hasn’t been the first time the government has stolen my work from me,” Martin adds bitterly.

“But I knew it would be safe with you, (Y/N),” Ronnie continues. “We couldn’t have it falling into the wrong hands.” It’s wild to believe that one piece of mail could change your life forever.

“But Ronnie,” Caitlin speaks up, still verging on joyful tears, “I thought you were dead. They told me you were dead.”

“We had to make it seem that way, Caity. I’m so, so sorry.” The couple shares another tender embrace.

“In the meantime, however,” Martin says, turning to Nash, “as we assumed our false demise, Ronald and I nearly finished the Trans-Dimensional Navigation System.”

“You’re… you’re serious?” Nash laughs like he can’t believe his ears. Truly ecstatic. You wonder what this means.

“Yes. We just need the final elemental piece of dark matter found within the gem’s ore for the project to be fully operational. Did you find what you were looking for out here?”

“I found more,” Nash says, turning to you. You blush fiercely. The roof falls quiet.

“Alright… well, we’re all here, we’re all okay,” you confirm. “So- wait. Where’s the little guy? He had the gem last. Where’d he go?”

As if he heard you, the baby gorilla calls out from down below. Each one of you rushes to the building’s edge to peer down - the ape bounces up and down on a boat motoring away. A flash red reflects off the moonlit water. Two sets of men’s laughter fade into the night.

“Quick, go inside him and fly over there!” you tell the fiery duo.

“Oh, Princess, you had to have heard that one,” Nash bumps playfully into your side. The two men attempt their merge, but nothing happens. Ronnie and Martin glance at each other, then try again.

Nothing.

“Why isn’t this working?” Ronnie wonders aloud.

“I’m embarrassed to say I can’t think of a probable theory as to why…” Martin replies. He doesn’t strike you as a man who is often confused. The more time they take to keep attempting to merge, the further the gorilla sails away on the getaway boat.

“I can’t see the boat anymore,” you note at the solid blackness of the water.

“I’ll find him,” Nash announces. He takes you by the waist so suddenly, your hand presses to his chest to steady yourself. “I’ll find him and the stone, and I’ll come back for you.” Your breath is momentarily caught in your throat.

“How can I be sure you will?” You bite your lip, trying not to tie all your hopes to this wild man.

“Because our adventures together are far from over.”

Despite his words, Nash kisses you like it’s the last time he’ll ever see you again. Deep, firm, and lingering. You wish it would linger forever on your lips.

As he unholsters his grappling hook gun, he gives you one last brush of his fingers against your cheek. You want to tell him something bubbling up inside you, but before you can decide whether or not you should, Nash shoots you a wink and zip lines down to the ground to commandeer a stray boat.

You stay on that roof until after your adventurer is no longer in sight.

You stay on that roof until after the sound of the motor is gone.

You stay on that roof until you admit to yourself that you’ve fallen head over heels in love with an extraordinary, fearless, flying-by-the-seat-of-his-pants man.

This kind of love doesn’t just happen in the pages of your novels anymore.

You’re living it.

[fallinnflower]

hear the sea

joshua x reader (siren!au)

a/n: thanks @kunsdear​ for making sure this got written after i messaged her the plot, because i have a bad habit of not finishing things. inspired by the iconic shot from the “fear” mv seen above.

word count: 4924

You’ve always felt drawn to the ocean. It’s hard to say why — you’re not particularly fond of water, nor are you an avid swimmer. And yet when a storm is brewing the sky and sea into a gray-green, frothing mess, you’ll be the last person to leave the shoreline and the first to scour it after the rain passes. 

It used to be you and your cousins who would run down to the beach, with pails for castles and shells. When you were young, you’d race them to the sandbars and fight for the best goggles so you could see all the fish. You were more adventurous then, before you knew the dangers that lurked there. The sea was cloudy on the day it betrayed you, and when your uncle placed you back on shore you watched the blood from the mysterious cut on your foot stain the sand, and a fear gripped your young heart that even as an adult you couldn’t shake. 

And so you stay away from the water. You steal the treasures the ocean spits up in its vulnerable moments, and put the trophies on your shelves. But you can’t shake the fear as you walk the shore alone, salt in your hair and that call still ringing in your ears. 

You’re stubborn, it’s a fact, yet you can’t help but wonder how long you’ll be able to resist that persistent song.

There’s a storm rolling in, and Joshua is more excited than he should be. 

It’s been a long time since there’s been a storm that’s lasted all night, but the one rolling in is looking fantastic — at least, according to what Minghao says, and his predictions haven’t been wrong in years. Joshua keeps swimming towards the surface to check the sky, and Jeonghan keeps teasing him for his impatience, but he just can’t help it! He likes being able to walk on land for a bit without dying of dehydration, and storms like this give him that freedom. There’s something powerful about looking out over the ocean from the shore and knowing that he and his brothers rule it. It gives him a bit of a rush. 

And he won’t tell his brothers this, but there’s another reason he’s so excited for the storm. For years, every time a storm crests above this particular shore, Joshua has felt a strange pull in his chest. He’s never had the time to fully investigate, but with the maelstrom about to come through he’s hoping to get some answers. There must be something waiting out there for him, he knows it, can feel it way down in his bones.

So as the first drops of rain kiss the waves, he strides onto the shore.

He sees you mere moments after he emerges from the cave where he and Jeonghan store clothing for their various escapades. Although most of their pranks are played on unsuspecting fishermen, they’ve made a few shoreline appearances before.

You’re walking down the beach wearing a large, gray sweatshirt, with the hood pulled up to protect yourself from some of the cold, stinging wind. You have a tote bag slung over one shoulder, and a single bluetooth earbud in one ear. Joshua is horribly confused. 

He thinks you’re beautiful. He feels that pull.

He follows it.

You know you probably shouldn’t be out right now, because the radar is showing a pretty long and intense storm, but you can’t help it. Your cousin just got engaged and your house has been so loud for the whole day, you just needed to get out for a bit.

Plus, you just installed a new bookshelf in your room, and you’re absolutely itching to get some new shells and coral bits for it.

Joshua returns home uncharacteristically sullen, and, after much prodding from Jeonghan, he can’t help but to let it all out.

“She resisted the call?” Jeonghan echoes, once he’s finished, and Joshua throws his hands up.

“I don’t know if she even heard it! Is there something wrong with me?” Jeonghan taps a slender finger against his lips, a familiar smirk growing on his lips.

“Well—” Joshua shoots him a sharp look, and Jeonghan relents with a slight chuckle before rising from his lounging position. He rests a hand on Joshua’s shoulder, his expression serious but his eyes glittering with mischief.

“I think we have our next target, hm?” He asks, playfully jostling Josh’s shoulder. Joshua feels a strange knot forming in his stomach at Jeonghan’s words, but he shrugs it off with a smile. After all, it’s not like either of them want to hurt you — it’s just a matter of pride, really.

But then why does he feel so anxious?

“Maybe,” Jeonghan muses, lying back on the sand next to Joshua, the waves lapping up along their legs and torsos. “We really have lost our touch.” His face is fixed into a pout, and Joshua can’t help but let out a laugh despite the nervous tension twisting his stomach into knots.

Not only had you resisted Joshua’s call, but you’d now managed to evade Jeonghan’s, too — and the calls of siren princes were nothing to sneeze at. Their ancestors had lured many, many people into the depths, so it was surprising that you had somehow not even noticed their songs. (Other people had, to be sure. An entire gaggle of college students on break had come bounding into the water almost as soon as he and Jeonghan had begun — so what was so special about you?)

What had begun as what he assumed was simply an outlier case had suddenly become a personal challenge. Who were you to deny the call of a siren prince? If he wanted you in the water, then that’s where you should be! And yet…

And yet he and Jeonghan had both watched you turn tail and walk back towards town the moment the sun began to peek through the clouds above the waters. No matter how much they sang, even with Joshua playing the stupid guitar they had packed away in the cove, you’d barely even spared them a glance. At least other people had the sense to at least applaud them for their song; some even tipped them.

Joshua narrows his eyes at the blue sky, hearing the waves jostle the change in his pocket. He has no use for human money, but he couldn’t very well give it back now. Jeonghan, beside him, has ceased worrying and fallen asleep, but Joshua can’t seem to relax, can’t seem to take his mind off of you and the challenge that you now pose. His heart picks up speed in his chest. He can’t remember the last time he felt so determined, so excited — so, he decides, he’s going to make the most of it.

Step one, Joshua decides, is to learn your behaviors. It feels a little too much like stalking prey, though, and Joshua is very much a pacifist, so he’s very quick to switch his strategy to befriending you. After all, more than this personal challenge he still feels drawn to you, and he’s desperate to understand why.

Not to sound rude, but Joshua can’t seem to pinpoint anything special about you. You’re pretty, as humans go, but you certainly don’t draw attention to yourself and don’t appear to be very outgoing. It only makes you more of a mystery to Joshua, and he isn’t exactly the most patient person in the world when it comes to problem-solving.

He takes note of when you come to the beach, and find that it actually makes this much, much easier for him. For example: you like to come to the shore before and after storms, when the humidity index is high. This is ideal for Joshua because then he doesn’t have to guzzle water in a very… inhuman way just to keep from suffocating. You also like the ocean at night, when it’s cooler and water doesn’t evaporate from his skin and make it scaly so easily. All in all, very convenient.

Except for the fact that Joshua doesn’t really know how to befriend humans. Just sea creatures. However, he notices that you always seem to be looking for shells, and seem to be quite particular about it — and if Joshua has any resource at his disposal, it’s shells.

So he spends the next few days gathering the best he can find and then thinking of the best way to casually approach you with his offering. You’re human, he’s royalty, it can’t be that hard.

You return to the beach after a storm on a Wednesday, and Joshua is a little embarrassed with how excited he is as he dons his human clothes and takes to the beach. In his pocket is a beautiful, perfectly intact conch shell, with a faint rosy color to it. As he runs a thumb over it with his hands in his pockets, he feels confident; this can’t possibly go wrong.

He approaches you. You don’t notice. He clears his throat, very gently, and you look up at him with a positively blank expression.

And then you just… keep staring at him, and he keeps staring at you, smiling so he doesn’t look intimidating. Eventually, though, your expression closes off into one of concern, and he feels his chest constrict a little.

“Can I help you?” You ask, and it feels like the world stops for a moment. Why does your voice sound so pretty? 

“Yes!” He exclaims, causing you to wince slightly at his sudden, loud tone. He clears his throat before continuing, “Actually, I saw that you were collecting shells, and I thought you might like this one I found.” He produces his perfect shell from his pocket, smiling his most princely smile, and watching carefully for any change in your demeanor. Your eyes flit from the shell in his hand to his own, and he’s thoroughly confused when your brows scrunch even closer together.

“What did you say your name was?” You ask, and he can’t help but grin wider, feeling as though his plan is working.

“Joshua.” You nod, slowly.

“Right, Joshua.” You readjust the bag on your shoulder and point to the shell in his outstretched hand. “There’s still a conch in there. Just so you know.”

Suddenly, and with extreme force, it strikes Joshua that he is not good at this. He brings the shell back towards his face, chuckling awkwardly when he sees that there is, indeed, a conch still inside. Oh my god. He moves to shove it back in his pocket, ready to turn tail and head back home, but you reach out your hand and stop him. He swears he feels sparks run up his arms when your fingers brush his while you grab the conch  — your expression, however, doesn’t change at all, and he wonders if he’s just imagining things. As the waves roll up the shore, you reach down by the water and set the conch in the sand, allowing it to be dragged away by the undertow. Joshua tells himself to give the conch a lift back home as an apology for almost killing it.

“Sorry about that,” he says, scratching the back of his neck and avoiding your gaze.

“You should apologize to the conch, not me.” Joshua feels his heart stop when you say that, turning to you with wide eyes. Do you know? How? 

But instead of finding you with some wicked expression, he finds you smiling playfully at him, and he realizes you’re trying to joke with him. He laughs, mostly out of relief, and then crouches down by the waves.

“Sorry, Mr. Conch,” he says, playfully, and he can’t help but grin when he hears you giggling behind him. 

“I appreciate the gesture, Joshua,” you say, then glance up at the sky. The clouds have begun to clear, and already it feels degrees hotter than when he had first arrived. “I should get going. Nice meeting you. I’m sure I’ll see you around.” 

You’re a good few yards away from him when he realizes he’s missed the most crucial step in becoming your friend, and frantically calls out to you:

“Wait!” You turn, looking concerned again, the wind whipping through your hair. “I didn’t get your name!” You cup your hands around your mouth and call back to him, 

“Y/N!” You give him a beaming smile that makes his heart flutter before turning back up the beach and disappearing into the nearby parking lot. Joshua can’t help but grin as he heads back to the familiar cave, humming to himself. Maybe he isn’t so bad at this after all.

Joshua comes to find you every time you’re on the beach, always helping you scour for the best shells and telling you jokes. Sometimes, he plays you songs on his guitar, and he blushes cutely every time you tell him you like his singing. 

Joshua is falling deeper and deeper, though he’s trying to convince himself that isn’t true. While at first his interest in you had been rather clinical, his focus has now shifted to you as a person. He wants to know you, what makes you tick, why you come to the beach but you’re never wearing a swimsuit and the sun isn’t shining. 

It’s on a cloudy but rainless day he decides to try and test his pull again. Maybe now that you know him, seem to trust him a bit more, you’ll follow through. He starts off humming some song he’d heard on a radio the other day, and you join in, singing softly when he doesn’t know the right lyrics. He tries to ignore the skip of his heartbeat when he hears your voice, the way his breath catches when you let him take your hand and dance around the beach. It isn’t the first time he’s done something silly with you when nobody is around, but it’s the first time you’ve looked so happy, and the only time he’s ever heard you sing.

He remembers his objective and raises his voice slightly as he begins to pull you towards the shoreline. You oblige, smiling broadly and letting him spin you through the sand. His heart races as he feels the water against his ankles—

You freeze, the waves just barely lapping at your toes. Your expression is devoid of any of the happiness he had seen in it, though your hand is still in his. Joshua lets his singing trail off into awkward laughter,

“Come on, Y/N, it’s not that cold.” You don’t react to his joke until he tugs at your hand, sending you stumbling forward onto your knees. Joshua catches you before you can faceplant in the water, though as he lifts you up to stand with him you begin thrashing in his arms, splashing him with seawater as you do. He tells you to calm down, still feeling rather lighthearted and thinking you just want to play around.

“Let go,” you say. “Let me go, Joshua!” He keeps laughing, consumed by a strange sense of relief, holding you fast in his arms. It feels right to have your presence in the water beside him, and it’s as though the waves sing around you with the energy you put off. He feels even more drawn to you, having you here with him.

“I said let me go!” You scream as you push him forcefully away. Joshua stumbles back, falling into the water as you hurriedly back away from the water. He gets a good look at your face from where he’s sitting in the water, and he doesn’t like what he sees.

There are tears in your eyes when you look at him. Your hands are shaking. Joshua feels his chest constrict, a lead weight in his stomach.

“S-sorry, I—” You shake your head, as if trying to get a hold of yourself. Joshua’s mood only plummets further when you take another step away. “It’s so stupid. I’m sorry. I need to go.”

He can feel the fear rolling off of you in waves, and he wonders how he didn’t notice it before when he was holding you in his arms. He isn’t the guilty type, never has been, but as you run up the beach and away from him he feels almost sick with shame.

You don’t come back to the beach with the next storm. Or the next one, or the next. But Joshua still waits.

It shocks him one night, after not seeing you for well over a week, to feel your presence in the water again. It’s not unusual for Joshua to feel a human presence in the water, but it is unusual for him to feel yours. He practically feels flooded with concern, racing towards the source of it — towards you.

He’s relieved, at first, to find himself approaching a rather sizable and well-lit boat. He can see you standing there, your dress sparkling in the sun’s dying rays, looking nervous. It makes his heart sink to see you so beautiful and yet so distressed, and he wonders why your family, who surely must know about your fear of the ocean, has brought you out so far.

Even though nothing appears wrong, Joshua can’t help but want to stay nearby. It shocks him how much he’s missed you, and somehow seeing you has only amplified that loneliness. He wishes he could go sing a stupid song and make you smile, seeing the way you’ve tucked into yourself on the boat.

A group of people he can only assume are your family members draw near you. He can hear the laughter even from this distance, and he can see the bottles of beer they hold in their hands. You laugh, too, but it’s awkward at best. He feels his mouth twist into a frown as he decides to draw just a little closer.

You eye the waves warily while your cousins rave about how beautiful the sunset looks. Objectively, yes, the colors are beautiful, but you’re too nervous to appreciate it. Everyone around you has been drinking, celebrating your cousin’s engagement, and you can’t help but think about how far away from shore you are. It sends a shiver up your spine, and you instinctively wrap your arms around yourself.

“Lighten up, Y/N!” One of your cousins says, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “Here, come on, have some beer. You’ll feel better.” The thought of drinking any alcohol makes your stomach twist into knots, and you shake your head. Your cousin, undeterred, shoves the bottle closer to your face, and when you still refuse he playfully jostles you. The boat engine roars to life, the yacht begins to creep forward, and your idiot cousin stumbles and sends you over the edge of the boat — the very shallow ledge you’d been eyeing all night and been hoping to avoid. Your screams are swallowed by the waves, by the sounds and wake of the engine that makes the fabric of your dress tangle around your legs. You thrash wildly, terrified, as the sky continues to darken. The boat’s engine continues to roar, propelling your family forward, and you can’t hear anything other than your own pounding heart and the water as you frantically try to stay afloat.

The water is cold, and your dress is too long, and it’s hard to breathe. For a moment, looking up at the purple sky, you see a single star and think it’s a pinprick of heaven. You’re going to die.

You realize, in the midst of your struggling, that a pair of arms is suddenly wrapped around your waist, holding you up. You turn and find Joshua’s face close to your own, your noses almost touching — and you immediately bury your face in his shoulder, his name leaving your lips in a whimper. You can’t tell if the salty taste on your lips is just from the ocean or from the tears you can’t seem to stop, but you can’t think enough to care. Joshua holds you steady amidst the waves as you cry, gently trying to calm you down, and you notice as he assures you you’ll be safe soon that your view of his back appears oddly blue. 

Joshua ducks below the water and swims towards the boat, which has now stalled. Your family is gathered around a lifeboat, trying to untie it, as he brings you to the edge. It almost physically pains him, the way you seem so afraid to let go of him, but he gently guides your hands to the railing of the boat’s ladder, helping you up onto the deck. You continue to cry, and your whole body trembles — Joshua finds he wants nothing more than to climb aboard with you and sing until you fall peacefully asleep, but he knows he can’t exactly explain away his current complexion and webbed feet to your family. He tries to slip away, but your cold, trembling hand latches onto his one last time, your wide eyes meeting his as the water dripping off of the ends of your hair and your dress create a puddle around you. You seem terrified, too terrified to even let him go, but Joshua catches a glimpse of the state of his hands, all glittery blue and webbed and almost translucent, as your family begins to surge towards you. He gives your fingers one last squeeze, offering you a half smile as he lets himself drop below the waves and out of sight.

He tails the boat until he sees you walking on land once more, then allows himself to go back home.

When he gets there, he immediately heads to the large library located in the palace, and redoubles his search for answers — just why is he so drawn to you?

Your parents immediately rush you home and into a warm shower, unable to tell if your shivering is from fear or cold or a combination of the two. Your mother makes you tea and throws your favorite blanket in the dryer, so it’s nice and hot when you get out of the bathroom. They tell you to get some sleep, but you find your mind wide awake even in the dark of your room.

While you were showering, you began to come back to your senses — and with your senses came a multitude of questions, mostly about Joshua. Your eyes drift from your window to your shelves of seashells, to the ones he had given you over the weeks, and you feel your chest squeeze a little. You hadn’t really known how to face him after you had shoved him down into the waves, feeling embarrassed and upset by the whole situation — but that didn’t mean you hadn’t wanted to see him. Josh had somehow wheedled his way into your life, becoming a more integral part of it than you had even realized yourself, and you found yourself missing him and his silly songs and stupid jokes more than you would care to admit.

And then, tonight, you had seen him again in the most improbable circumstances. Just how was he so far out in open water, and why did he disappear from view so quickly when your family arrived? And he swam so quickly, so silently… his skin seemed so pale, almost shining… 

The questions flood your mind, keeping you awake until you physically can’t keep your eyes open any longer. You’re grateful that your family lets you sleep in the next day, because you’re awake to see the dawn before you come to the conclusion that you need to see Joshua again, and soon.

It’s evening when you decide to walk down to the beach. The temperature has dropped considerably, so most people aren’t wandering along the shore anymore; you arrive as the sun begins to dip below the horizon line and the wind begins to truly pick up. 

It hadn’t occurred to you until you’re sitting on the sand alone that you have no way to reach Joshua, no way to know if he’ll actually be here, and yet you feel assured that he’ll show up nonetheless.

He does, only a few minutes later, as the sky begins to turn orange. He approaches you slowly, cautiously, his hair sparkling with water and his brows knit gently together. As if he belongs there, he takes the seat beside you, and for a long moment neither of you speak — you stare out at the sun setting on the ocean, and Joshua watches you carefully, feeling his heart in his throat. When you finally do speak, you still don’t quite look at him.

“Joshua… just who are you, exactly?” You ask, meekly, staring down at your feet buried in the sand rather than looking at him despite feeling his eyes on you. 

“I’m Joshua, of course.” His tone is light but careful, and you let out a short huff. 

“I’m serious,” you say. “Last night, how did you just happen to be in the middle of the open ocean to save me, and then just disappear?” You let the wind blow your hair into your eyes, still not ready to look at Josh. Despite this, he reaches out to tuck the strands behind your ear. You swear you feel a tremble in his hand as he does it, and he knows that he is shaking — what he’s about to tell you is still new to him, too, and he still isn’t quite adjusted to it, so he can’t even imagine how you’ll react.

“If you really want to know,” he says, slowly, trying to sound calm, and you can feel the heat radiating off his body next to yours. “Then I’ll tell you. But you have to promise to listen until the end.” Although the implication of his words scares you, you can’t help but nod. You came here for answers, and you don’t want to leave without them. 

(Or, frankly, without some understanding between you and Joshua, because after the time you spent away from him you realized you don’t really want that to happen ever again.)

So he tells you. And even if you wanted to get up and leave, you feel rooted to the spot. Neither of you look away from the ocean as he talks, watching the starry waves lapping at the shore. Joshua’s voice has the rhythm of the ocean in it, you think. It’s soothing.

“If you’re a siren,” you start, finally turning to him. “Then shouldn’t you want to hurt me, or something? Isn’t that what siren do?” Joshua sighs, and you wonder why you aren’t even remotely frightened by all this when you think maybe you should be. But, as you look at Joshua and the way his brow furrows, the way he draws patterns in the sand to soothe his nerves, you realize you could never really be afraid of him no matter what he tells you because he’s Joshua. The same Joshua who apologized to a conch and sings to you when you seem upset. 

The same Joshua who saved your life only last night, when he could have just let you drown.

“That’s… the more complicated part.”

“More complicated?” You reply, attempting to lighten the mood. He chuckles lowly at that, glancing at you for a moment, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him blush before now. Your acceptance of the situation seems to comfort him somewhat, as the crease between his brows smooths. He lets out a long, slow breath before he speaks.

“Sometimes, apparently, members of the royal family… bond with someone. They think it has to do with preserving bloodlines, or something like that, but you have basically a— um, a mate—”

“Joshua.” He pauses and turns to you. “Are you saying you’re in love with me?” Even though it’s getting quite dark, you can tell your question makes him blush even more furiously. You wish it was daylight because you’re sure it’s adorable.

“Um. Yeah, basically.” You turn back towards the sea, feeling your own cheeks turning red, and nod once. Even though you asked the question, you hadn’t really expected such a simple answer, and yet with how overwhelming the situation is as a whole, that simplicity brings you some solace. Somehow, despite it all, you feel calm with Joshua beside you. You look out over the wide, dark expanse of water, and for the first time in years you don’t feel fear. After all, if Joshua comes from the sea, it couldn’t possibly be so bad as you once thought, could it? 

You feel his shoulder brush against yours, and accompanying it are butterflies taking flight in your stomach. You may not be in love with Joshua, but you can’t deny that you feel drawn to him — that when you’re around him, you have the feeling that everything is going to be alright; even when you were almost drowning, as soon as you saw him you knew you were safe. 

You may not be in love with him now, you think, but you certainly could be. 

After a moment that feels much longer than it was, you shift your gaze from the water to Joshua — patient, wonderful Joshua, who looks at you with fondness and concern, and who waits for you to make the next move. You can practically feel anxiety rolling off of him in waves, and so you take his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers.

“Okay,” you say, smiling and leaning your head onto his shoulder. “I can work with that.”

[likesomekindofcheese]

I Put A Spell On You- Roger Taylor x fem! OC

A/N: Hello @benders-diamond-earring​ ! It is I!!! Your Secret Santa revealed!!!

This is my HalloQueen gift (plus a smol moodoboard!) for @dtfrogertaylor​ Halloween celebration. It is a gift for @benders-diamond-earring​ AKA Cora! In her honor, I’ve made Cora my muse and namesake for the OC. Read and enjoy Cora (and everyone!)

Words: 3245

Some angst and lots of fluff!

Context: Cora is in love with her friend Roger, but he’s constantly flirting with other girls and totes not interested or is he??????? So Cora enlists some...supernatural help.

London, 1976

“I’m a freelance, love, I don’t do cheap. But there’s a two-for-one sale with potions so pick what you want.” The witch explained over her counter.

Cora scowled a little at the prices, then shrugged. Witch shops of high quality took effort to find, even in a big city.  

It was a medieval building with a low ceiling and grey stone walls held up by wooden beams. Books and potion bottled filled up the bookshelves. A black cat hopped up to the small table full of cauldrons and bowls of snake skins. It eyed her carefully, still as a statue. Several larger cauldrons bubbled in each corner as if someone was boiling water for four pots of tea.

Mentally blocking the price tags of the potion jars, she studied the labels of each potion bottle she saw. If she was going to go through with this, she had to find the perfect one.

What other choice did she have at this point?

Just the other night at that bar she noticed how Roger was flirting with what seemed any gorgeous woman clicking by in heels and swinging purses by their side. Not that he didn’t have a knack for it. But it felt different that night.  

They laughed intensely. They batted their eyes and hooked onto him like koala cubs. It was just a simple band gathering. Cora could have talked to one of the other members or do some flirting of her own. But envy shut her throat tight. She clutched onto her glass, gulping it down and ordering another. Just wanting to forget.

Only she hadn’t forgotten at all.

If she didn’t act, at least one girl would stay for longer than just one drink. That girl had to be her. No matter what means.

“Are your potions…effective?” Cora asked. Peering into a cauldron of green stuff, she almost heard a voice singing from it.

A bit of Cora’s ashy blonde hair got a little too close to some purple liquid bubbling on a shelf under a little heater and the witch bolted from her counter to brush the strand out of the way.

“It’s magic, love, of course it’s effective. Everything you read on there will happen. But be cautious, it will happen!” the witch boasted. She gestured with long, pale hands with soft, clean nails.

Cora squinted at the witch as she walked back to the counter. She had black hair cut into a pageboy bob and brown eyes. She was older than Cora, but not too much older from the light in her eyes and lightness of her steps. If the flowy, black, maxi dress she was wearing was a different color, one would mistake her for a hippy.

None of the potions on the counters were exactly what Cora needed. She let out a little huff and drove straight to it.

“Where are the love potions?” she asked, her eyes directly into the witches.

“I thought so! That’s what at least a hundred girls come in for!” the witch giggled. She pulled open a squeaking door from behind her counter.

“Well, now it’s a hundred and one,” Cora replied.

She rolled her ball into fists and curled her toe impatiently. She just wanted to be in and out as soon as possible. Especially if someone noticed.

The witch turned under the counter and brought out a small pink jar. One might think strawberry flavored tea was inside it.

“If you whisper the name into the jar and press it to your heart and then have the person take a sip of it, they will kiss the ground you walk on. I hear it tastes like lemonade. More than you can say for some of the others.” she explained with a wink.

“That’s perfect! I’ll have that” Cora answered. She grabbed the jar and cradled it on the crook of her arm.

The witch looked around at the other jars along with her shop lining up on bookshelves.

“Alright, want to pick another one?” she offered with a winning smile. “Buy one, get one, you know.”

Hesitantly, Cora looked at each one. There was another jar that was in a rather large bottle with a long neck and glowed like honey. Its liquid was the color of honey, too, and ran like water when she swirled it around. It had one mere word in cursive, purple ink on its label.

“Confidence” Cora read softly.

She dropped the love potion on the counter and moved the confidence potion next to it.

“I’ll take that one too, please!” Cora insisted.

“I hope you like the smell of cinnamon, it’ll waft up the place” the witch added with a small nod.

She began to add up the price and tax on feather pen on a sheet of crinkly paper.

“I must warn you. My love spells are powerful but…they are just a spell, at the end of the day. Not a real feeling. It’s like you’re giving your victim lines to read and play, but it’s just the spell talking.” She warned grimly as she handed over the sheet with the price.”

“Thanks for your concern, but I’ve made my decision,” Cora answered, looking into the witch’s eyes.

“Fifty pounds, then.”

 Cora shuffled through to her little flat. It was small, with yellow walls and a red, raggedy carpet. She saw her flatmates gathered around the television engrossed in a comedy with its garish colors and ghostly laughter. She prayed they would be too hypnotized to crave a snack.

She tiptoed over to the kitchen and dropped her heavy brown paper bag on the counter facing as far away from the hubbub as possible. Immediately she lifted the pink jar and set it down with a clump.  

Cora unscrewed the top quietly, clutching it in her free hand. She bent down, inhaled it’s maple tinted perfume and whispered the softest, tenderest, most desperate whisper of a name into the jar. She quickly reattached the lid as if she had opened a firing canon. She hugged it tightly to her racing heart for almost a minute,

What was she even doing? Was this a mistake?

Well, too late to go back now. I’ve started this and I’ll finish it!

She almost wanted to kiss the top for luck. Shaking her head from such an adolescent idea, she pushed the potion aside and crept to the black telephone on the wall. She made some calls to her intended victim and his friends. It would be on the Friday before Halloween and she wanted to have a little get-together for the holiday. Her flatmates would be out of town or out. Of course, drinking would welcome.

She put the love potion on the fridge and pushed the confidence potion to the corner of the counter to hide it among the other jam jars and beer bottles.

Deaky arrived first, as usual, with Freddie and Brian rushing after. Cora stuffed her gripping fists into her pocket to pull off an air of a relaxed hostess. Until there were five unmistakable knocks on the door and she nearly leaped into the ceiling.

Roger arrived last, dressed in his denim blue jacket and his blonde hair a little windswept.

“Cora, love! How are you! Not too late, am I? The tube took it’s bloody time!” he greeted with a small hug.

Cora laughed a little and shook her head once he started to release.

“Oh no, we just started- make yourself at home!” she said.

She could still feel his arms around her still pressed lightly on her arm like that of a ghost once he let go.

Roger strutted over to the couch and plopped himself down on the couch next to Freddie. The two began talking about some ridiculous fashion choices the neighbor had made and were cackling.

With a friend like Cora, the band always felt like it was a tiny haven. No press. No managers. No pressure to top. Only relaxation and each other.

“God, I’m starving! Can I help myself?” he asked Cora. She nodded her yellow head.

Brian wandered to the kitchen, filled with pumpkin-shaped sugar cookies on platters. He smiled- not the usual “Skull” meatballs on platters like the typical Halloween party he had been invited to. He helped himself to one and opened the fridge for drinks.

Of course, the good stuff was on the very bottom. Near his calves.

“All the beers are at my feet! I swear, Cora, you’re a pixie!” he complained, crouching down.

“My flat, my rules!” Cora retorted from the corner of the kitchen. She kept one eye on the top of the fridge, just in case.  

Brian closed his eyes, shot up his eyebrows in admittance of defeat, and nodded his head. He did not see the pink jar or if he did he wasn’t interested. He got the chilled wine and set it on the table, near the other cookies, caramel apples, and orange buckets of popcorn.

The television buzzed with noise as Deaky fiddled with the knobs, flipping through channels. The knobs were so small his mammoth-sized hands almost crushed them.

“There has to be some Halloween program somewhere” he muttered.

Roger meanwhile stretched out his legs and looked up at the decorations of orange streamers hanging from the ceiling. His sapphire eyes turned to the beige walls where black cats curled over pumpkins with triangle eyes and toothy grins. The small balcony of the place had glass windows looking out to London amid another dark, autumnal evening. White paper ghosts with pointy hands and small, delicate facial features roamed over the glass, held on by tape. Far too detailed to be any of the dime-a-dozen plastic cats and witches at shops.

“Those are gorgeous!” Roger praised, his head turning to Cora.

Cora sucked in a bit of breath and wiped her sweaty hands.

“D’you make these?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“I did, she asked me to” Freddie burst in.

He had already grabbed a bottle of the cheap champagne from the kitchen that had been out for him and a black ceramic cat with a witch’s hat. He set the bottle down on the coffee table and waltzed back to the kitchen for five glasses, the ceramic cat still under his arm.

Cora’s eyes darted back to the fridge. They had to stop doing this if her blood pressure would last the night. The pink jar was still untouched.

“Don’t you know my designs by now, Rog?” he said. He stroked the cats back as if it was real fur.

“Shut up!” Rog teased with a little pout.

Cora snuck a look and bit of a smile.

“Or shut in!” she added, throwing an in-joke.

Roger looked at her with gleaming eyes. Since she learned about the infamous cupboard incident, she labeled him a shut-in. He hated it at first, but it grew on him secretly. Now he allowed relentless teasings from Cora.

“You shut in!” he added. The others just stared blankly until it stopped.

Deaky kept turning until he found a channel showing the original Dracula film right as it was starting. Freddie practically hopped in his seat and begged him to let them watch it and Deaky relented, laying on the floor and watching.

The black and white movie continued and the three began their commentary over it. Brian was discussing how the crew pulled off the effects, and how the script compared with the book. Freddie was cooing over the capes and how amazing Bella Lugosi was. Roger was busy telling the victims in the box that they were obviously with a vampire and should flee instead of conversing with him “like dumb gits!”. Deaky quietly watched, mesmerized. Cora was secretly wishing it was something a little more current. And scarier.

“Is there any whiskey to drink? I want something strong” he asked Cora.  

“Let me make you some whiskey with lemonade!” Cora insisted. Her pulse was starting to pick up as she eyed the potion on top of her fridge and smiled as it still seemed invisible to everyone else.

“A bit too sweet for my taste, but it’ll do!” Roger said, giving her a smile that could have melted a glacier.

She shot up and walked to the kitchen. As Cora pulled out her stool stood on the top and reached for the jar her mind was half blank. It was when she got the glass from her cabinet that shivers hit her stomach.

This was it. One drink, one small drink, and all her fantasies would come alive. Roger would be at her heels. Glamourous dates, erotic midnights, and the warmth of his hands on her would all come true. He just had to take a sip.

She swallowed her fear and unscrewed the lid, ready to tip it over.

But she couldn’t pour it in.

One pour, one pour, a sip, and he’ll be all mine…and I’ll have a reason not to worry at night or cry…or feel angry inside when some girl or groupie hangs around him…

She tried again, but couldn’t pour it in. The witch’s words came again, clearly to her brain.

“I must warn you. My love spells are powerful but…they are just a spell, at the end of the day. Not a real feeling. It’s like you’re giving your victim lines to read and play, but it’s just the spell talking.”

She thought of him after the drink. Eyes glazed. Words that while romantic were severely robotic. She could practically feel his hands. But they weren’t warm. They were cold and tense as a stone.

She sighed and re-capped the bottle. She shoved the love potion to the back of the fridge with the leftovers.

“Flatmates drank it all, so how about Southern Comfort- I’ve smuggled it from them” she suggested. A plastic smile smudged her face and hurt her cheeks.

“Not a problem at all! I need to walk anyways” Roger answered, he hopped out of his seat to grab it himself.

Cora stopped him with her hand and retrieved a glass of Southern Comfort from inside the fridge’s back corner, pouring out two small glasses.

She watched the movie with them covering the commentary with sarcastic remarks and other light conversations while sipping drinks and eating. Close to the end of the film, she noticed Roger get up from his seat and walk over to the kitchen.

“I need another shot of that stuff…” he mumbled.

His shoes trotted over the kitchen floor and stopped right at the counter where the bottles stood.

“What’s it doing in the corner? Untouched? Whatever!” he commented, opening the bottle with a pop.

Cora’s memory jolted.

The confidence potion was still out.

And it looked exactly like the Southern Comfort bottle-glass, and all.

Cora got up and ran, but it was too late.

“Aw! Is it a new bottle for me, Cora? Hiding a gift, eh? Thank you!” Roger said as he swigged from the bottle in a millisecond before he could be stopped.

His face changed from pale to red to purple. Then he charged up at Fred, tackling him with open fists.

“MY SONG IS STRONG ENOUGH YOU BASTARD!!! FIGHT ME!!” he screamed.

Freddie’s boxing origins kicked in and he dodged each punch gracefully, preparing his fists for a jab-cross-hook at Roger’s chiseled jaw.

Brian and Roger at once fled over and began to protect Freddie and push Roger away. Cora pulled Roger back by the shoulders.

“Roger…Roger of course it is! You need some air, let’s go outside!” Cora demanded, practically dragging him there.

They went out to the balcony. Cars could barely be heard skimming the streets. More stars stretched over the sky, not threatened by the cities blaring, yellow lights.

“Roger, calm down!” she ordered.

Roger blinked at her for a moment.

“Cora, I’m calm…I’ve never felt this calm in ages!” he insisted. He began to lick his lips a little.

Cora cursed herself for immediately feeling woozy. Maybe it was the whiskey. She folded her arms and continued her reasoning.

“Roger, you love Fred more than anything and you know it! And the song’s already on the B-side…everything’s worked out” she insisted.

“Not everything” Roger answered. He sat down on the green, steel chair placed outside, cold with nothing but the constant chill around it.

“What do you mean?” Cora asked. She placed her hands on her hips to look even taller than him now.

 “You have everything you could ever want right now! Two years ago, you could barely afford beans and now you’re getting to be a rock star with hit songs, money, and girls at your feet.”

“Well, I don’t want those girls. They don’t matter if they aren’t you” Roger confessed, the cinnamon scent of the potion still wafting from his breath.

Cora felt as if she was dropped from the sky and plummeted to earth. She got dizzy and almost felt like she would teeter off the building but caught herself on the railing of the balcony.

“You’re joking!” she said.

“No, I’m not!”

“Did you have any of that pink stuff I had?”

“What pink stuff?” Roger asked.

He looked down, took a deep breath, and then took her hands. Cora felt them sweat slightly. He pulled her a little closer, so despite how short she was, she stood over his sitting frame. Roger looked up, his face soft with reverence and his eyes getting wide and his smile gentle.

“It’s that I just…I’m normally so nervous around you. I feel my heart picking up and I start sweating” he said quietly.

“What about those girls?”

“I used to devour them but lately… I like to use them as a warmup so I could be ready to ask you out sometime but…none of them were anything like you. They want my talent or that I’m a drummer in a band or something…they didn’t care about me…like you do” he said.

Winds picking up, the clouds above in the night sky moved further away. More stars dotted the sky like freckles on a face.

“But now, I feel…at peace. And I fancy you. And I’m not afraid anymore to say I fancy you...and…”

He bit his lower lip and Cora felt her body get hot.

“I always had a soft spot for blonde girls.” He added cheekily. Cora had to look down at the floor for a second to regain herself another time.

“There, I said it.” Roger finished, he tossed him arms and slumped back in the chair for a release.

She smiled coquettishly and went up to embrace him. He almost jumped from surprise. How could someone so strong, so radiantly beautiful, so brave, so confident, and awe-inspiring like obnoxious old him?

She sat on his lap from the hug and touched his face with both hands. Both of their eyes seemed to get a little misty.

“I fancy you too.” She answered. “I’ve fancied you for a while.”

“Do you…d’you wanna go out with me? Like, not as friends, but you know…”

“I will if you kiss me first!” Cora teased, biting her lip.

His lips were tender, and his breath had the sting of the southern comfort still on it, but it was a passionate kiss. One only witnessed by the stars in the sky.

That and three curious bandmates quietly staring through the glass. Brian cursed and slipped Deaky five pounds.

“Told you they’d be together” Deaky hissed.

[strawberriestyles]

Chapter 26

(Banner made by the loveliest @harry-nofookingway-styles)

Harry X OFC (AU)

In which Melody is reacquainted with an old classmate named Harry, and must keep afloat in the violent, criminal life of an underground boxer.

Read previous parts here.

Author’s note: LAST CHAPTER Y’ALL. EPILOGUE TO COME. I’M SO SORRY. XX Pls like, reblog, send feedback. :’)

There were a lot of Harry’s things scattered over Melody’s apartment. She realized this in the next few weeks. T-shirts, sweatshirts, a roll of tape, hair ties. She even found a stick of his deodorant in the bathroom. It all made her nauseous.

Bea was back. Part of it was because Melody had told her all about what happened with Harry. But part of it was also because she and Dom had been arguing, with their new constant proximity. They needed some separation.

“That was a pretty shitty move, Mel,” she had said. And she was right.

Melody still couldn’t wrap her mind around the end of her relationship. It felt like the wrong ending to a book, like the last few pages were missing. But Bea thought it would be easier if there weren’t reminders of Harry everywhere.

“Boys are so fucking weird,” Bea said, stuffing another item into the tote bag full of his things. “How do you go somewhere wearing a jacket and then leave without it?"

Melody didn’t reply. She was folding up a worn cotton shirt, the logo of Harry’s gym peeling off the front. It was her favorite to sleep in because it was the oldest, most-washed, softest of all his clothing. She swallowed around the knot in her throat and placed the shirt deep within the bag so that she wouldn’t have to look at it.

Bea leaned back on her knees. A strange calm had come over Melody since she’d been with her. Or perhaps not calm, but resignation. And Bea knew that Melody had had break ups before. She had witnessed one the previous year, when they were living closer to campus, in a nicer apartment that neither of them could really afford. That was Nate, an archaeology major, and it had taken Melody all of two days to forget the entirety of their three month relationship. This was different.

“I can come with you, if you want,” Bea offered gently. She toyed with the freshly-washed curls that were dangling over her forehead, stretching them out to dry to her liking.

Melody smiled at her, or tried to. She couldn’t get her cheeks to lift. She didn’t feel the overwhelming urge to cry, though. And she didn’t know if that was a good sign, that she was able to keep her emotions under wraps, or if that meant that her tears were just pooling, preparing for an onslaught when she saw Harry for perhaps the last time.

“No, I think I need to do this on my own,” Melody whispered back. “But thank you.”

“Of course.” Bea rose to her feet and took a sip of the smoothie that she had made for an afternoon snack. There was one for Melody too, but it hadn’t been touched. “Get in, get out, okay? Even better if he’s not there. Just drop the shit off and come home. We’ll watch a movie or something.”

Melody didn’t really feel up for smoothies or movies, but she nodded anyway. What she really should have been doing was working on the self-portrait for her art class, but she had a hard time going in the studio when Harry’s eye was always staring at her and she would have to use the paintbrushes he’d bought for her birthday. Besides, she had a hard time looking at herself in the mirror lately.

“Okay,” she agreed. She stood, a pair of sneakers already on her feet, a thick sweater already hanging down to her thighs. She pulled the tote over her shoulder and was surprised at its lightness after everything that she and Bea had packed up.

“Come right back.” Bea patted Melody’s hip and then returned to her room.

Melody hurried down the stairs and out onto the street before she could lose her nerve. April had found the city. Melting snow was trickling down from rooftops, forming puddles in the uneven sidewalks. The sun was warm when it was able to peak through clouds, and even though the park was many blocks away, Melody could smell the fresh scent of spring grass. It would have been a welcome change of season if the rest of her life didn’t feel like a muddy mess.

She tried to think only of schoolwork as she avoided joggers and dog-walkers. Her nails, however, were wearing down by the time she reached the corner store. Her teeth had worked of their own accord. That was an old habit, one that she thought she had kicked long ago.

Melody was examining her fingertips as she trailed down the alley where Harry lived. She was distracted, occupied, probably just trying not to think about seeing him again. She didn’t notice that the door was open until she reached his steps.

Melody paused. Her pulse picked up as she remembered the cops that had scared her so terribly, that had had her watching her back for weeks afterward. But Harry was done with that, right? He’d told her he paid off his last shipment and would never sell another gun. But that was for her, wasn’t it? Maybe he’d taken it back up after she was out of the picture. Both of those thoughts made her gut twist.

Get in, get out, she told herself in the same voice that Bea had used. There was no reason for her to stick around. It didn’t seem like the door had been forced open like the last time, only left open. She should just drop the bag in the hall and go home.

Melody sucked in a deep breath and stepped through the doorway. She kept her eyes down, set the tote bag on the other side of Harry’s shoes, and began to back out. But she looked up, bittersweet memories flooding through her, breaking the feeble dams she had begun to construct.

The coffee table was on its side.

Melody’s stomach flipped again. The table was tipped lengthwise, one of its legs splintered. She took a single step forward and that’s when she heard a sharp thud deeper into the flat.

She took a short moment to steel herself and pressed down the hallway. The thudding was coming from Harry’s bedroom. She heard him swear under his breath and then shout something she couldn’t make out over the ringing in her ears.

She was in the doorway, Harry was slumped back against the edge of his mattress. Colton was poised over him. She could recognize him just from his profile. His hand was wrapped around the collar of Harry’s shirt, his muscles tensed just like Harry’s were before a fight.

Melody gasped as Colton delivered a punch to Harry’s abdomen. Both of their heads swung toward her. Harry’s eyes blew wide as he sucked in a pained breath.

“Melody—” He was cut off as Colton slammed a fist into the side of his jaw. He grunted and then shoved against Colton’s chest until he could straighten up.

Colton lost his grip on Harry’s collar, stumbled backward into the dresser, where his arm sent bottles and the picture of Harry and Melody crashing to the floor.

“Melody, get the hell out!” Harry shouted, turning to fix her with an urgent glare. “Now!”

She flinched again as Colton barreled forward, taking Harry down to the floor with him. Her feet reeled her backward. She started back down the hall, frantic, panicked, but she stopped at the corner of the living room. Her eyes flitted to the cabinet at the kitchen’s entrance.

Melody tripped forward as she heard another impact back in the bedroom. Colton was yelling now, but she couldn’t make out his words either. Her breaths were ragged, her fingers trembled, but she still managed to unsnap the holster holding Harry’s handgun. It felt heavy and cold and foreign in her hand. She pulled the hammer back like Harry had, until she heard it click into place. Then she made her way back down the hall.

Melody had no clue what she was doing. She didn’t know anything about guns. She didn’t even like the feel of it in her hand. And when she reached the entrance to the bedroom she couldn’t even raise it.

Harry and Colton were tumbling on the floor. Harry caught sight of her again, over his brother’s shoulder. Blood was dripping from the corner of his mouth. There were spatters staining the collar of his gray t-shirt. And Melody opened her mouth to speak but froze when Harry narrowed his eyes at her.

She jumped and stepped backward as Harry spat in Colton’s face. He sent a fist into his abdomen. They rolled over, out of her line of vision. She heard more hits and the next thing she knew, Harry was in front of her. He slammed the bedroom door behind him and held the knob firmly in his grip. His chest was heaving, his eyes were wide, his pupils dilated as they lowered to her hand.

“I—”

“Mel, go in the bathroom and lock the door,” he commanded, peeling the gun from her fingers. He swiped at the blood running from his mouth with the back of his wrist, and when she hadn’t moved, he shouted, “Go!”

The door behind Harry jiggled violently and the muscles in his arms strained as he tried to keep it closed.

“Open the fucking door!” thundered Colton from the other side.

Harry gave Melody a hard shove and she stumbled backward into the bathroom, finally gaining her wits and shutting the barrier between them. She clicked the lock into place. It was dark. The sounds outside were muffled, but she heard a loud crack and then more fumbling as the fight began again.

With a moment of clarity, she yanked her phone from her pocket and shakily dialed 911, gasping as something crashed in the other room. Her thoughts were jumbled with her panic. She spat out information, though, when her call was answered, and was halfway through describing where she was when she heard a gunshot. Her voice failed her.

“Ma’am?” came from the phone.

Melody’s ears were ringing with the sound of the shot. Her lungs had stopped working. She stared unblinkingly at the single flimsy door that separated her from whoever was on the other side. She waited. Waited for Harry to talk to her through it, but then the woman on the other end of the line kept talking, asking questions, and still he wasn’t there.

Melody dropped her phone when a minute had passed, when there was no sound from outside the bathroom. She hesitated, but she clicked the lock out of place and peeked into the empty hall, into the bedroom where all she could see were Harry’s sheets spilling onto the floor. She stepped across the hallway and peeked around the corner.

“No, no, no, no,” Melody chanted as she stumbled past the dresser and shattered bottles and fell to her knees. Harry didn’t even flinch as she gripped his limp arm. She crawled up his side, into the blood that had begun to collect around him. There was a lot of blood. So much blood. Spreading out through the carpet fibers. She didn’t think a single person could hold much more.

Harry’s eyes were closed. His hair was sticking to the side of his head. Melody pressed her fingers to his cheek as she started to cry. She reached for the sheets that had been crumpled onto the floor and pressed them to the wet side of his scalp, lifting his head onto her thigh, and she let out a pained sob when none of her jostling pulled a response from him.

“Please,” she choked out as blood began to seep through to her hands. “You’re not dead, you’re not dead, you’re okay, don’t die.”

She didn’t know if she was right. She couldn’t bring herself to check his pulse or his breathing. If she was wrong, she wasn’t sure she could handle it, so she would wait. She’d wait for someone else to do it. Because there were people coming. She could hear the sirens even now, through her sobs and her ringing ears and Harry’s deafening silence.

Epilogue

[the-canary]

Maybe, Maybe. - L.T (3/4)

Summary: Being a friend with unrequited feelings is hard, but a long movie night might change that (Reader/Lance Tucker). 

Prompt: Christmas movies

A/N: This is for @interestedbystanderwrites‘ Christmas Challenge. -laughs in pain--

Part 1 | Part 2 | Masterlist

Feedback is always welcomed.

It takes Lance a while to realize that there is something sleeping at his side. There is a steady beat of air breathing softly into his neck, as something wiggles closer to him for a moment. A breathy sigh leaves its owner once more and Lance swears he feels a jolt, a shiver running down his spine at such a noise. He takes in the room as his eyes adjust to the dark. He stares at the koala-like grip that you have on his side with your arm underneath his body, your face hidden between the blankets and his neck as your every curve sinks into a hard edge of his body.

“Fuck,” is all Lance manages to breathe out, unsure of what to do in such a position. I mean, he does know but he would never put you in that situation -- hell, he hasn’t even thought about you in that light until just a  few hours ago, and now he wasn’t sure what to do. You were his closest friend, he just couldn’t do that to you.

With a curse and trying his hardest not to wake you up, he gets up from the floor --that you both had ended up on since the couch was too small for the two of you-- and heads to the bathroom -- completely unsure if he can keep this whole thing up until he can get his apartment back.    

 You wonder if Lance had caught onto some of Ebenezer Scrooge's hatred towards Christmas as it got closer because he had been rather unhappy when you woke up and put on the latest movie when you started making breakfast. It’s at this point that the phone calls start -- some friends and family from the other side of the globe wishing you a good Christmas holiday. Lance watches this all from the same seat he had taken yesterday. He seemed more focused on watching you than the movie that was currently playing in the living room.

You’re flipping the pancakes when he finally decides to ask, halfway through the movie: “Ever year since I’ve know you, it’s always been a Christmas movie marathon, but there are a lot of people that seem to want to see you. Why don’t you travel or anything?”

You pause for a moment and shrug as sharp blue eyes keep looking at you, as your try to answer without giving yourself away.

“It’s not like I don’t go out,” you explain, platting the pancakes with some eggs and bacon, “Sometimes, I go to Carly’s Christmas party, it’s just a hassle trying to see everyone.”

“Why?” he asks, unusually serious while he starts cutting his eggs into little pieces. You give him an awkward smile.  

Christmas always reminds me of how far away you are. Stupid holiday rom-coms.

“It just is,” you shrug before placing some food onto your own plate.

Lance doesn’t know if it is a trick of the light or if you are just being more open with him than before, but he can hear the clear despair and loneliness in your voice. It’s a little odd, but since this morning it was all that Lance had thought of -- you were pretty with a great personality. There wasn’t anything you wouldn’t do for him, or your family and friends -- then why did you choose to lock yourself away from the holidays. Sure, he had  strange way of celebrating, but your own was almost like you were punishing yourself for something and he was kicking himself in the head silently for just noticing.

“Besides, you’re with me now,” you state with a soft smile than makes his heart stop for just a second, “And that’s definitely a good change this time around.”

“It better be,” Lance declares with a laugh, despairing thoughts forgotten, as you keep moving forward with your movie marathon into the late afternoon.

 You’re barely getting into Elf when there is a knock at your door. Lance jumps a bit from his side of the couch since he had fallen asleep deep into Black Adders’ A Christmas Carol, not really enjoying that type of humor and the general warmth of your pillow fort dragging him into the land of dreams once more. You pause the movie and get up to open the door to see Carly standing there with a couple of bags and a wide smile.

“Finally, that snowstorm was so annoying,” she states as she tries to get into the apartment but you push the door back a bit. She gives you a confused look, “I came to pick you up for the party, even got you a cute dress!”

���I-I-” you start stuttering before Lance’s voice rings in the back with a ‘ who is it?’ causing Carly to look at you with wide eyes and a shock face, “I-I can explain.”

“Please tell me what the hell is Lance Tucker is doing in your apartment,” Carly declares harshly as you push her back and close the door behind you -- it’s at the point that you tell her everything that had happened and why Lance was with you.

She sighs when you find: “But, he hasn’t tried any funny business, right?”

“Please, he wouldn’t touch me with a ten foot pole,” you let out with a bitter laugh, as Carly places a compassionate hand on your shoulder.  

“Thank goodness, I came in time then,” Carly states with a bright smile, “Let’s make you forget all about Lance Tucker.”

 You explain to a still sleepy Lance that this is when you usually go to Carly’s Christmas party, who simply nods in his direction. You give him the option to go with you and he immediately says that he will -- a mix bag of wanting to finally leave the apartment and not wanting to see you go alone...for safety reasons.

He doesn’t expect to have his breath taken away with you standing there in the living room in a subtle red dress and green winter jacket. A pretty scarf around your neck and black stockings finishing your outfit as you give him a bright smile that makes him notice the light makeup you are wearing.

“What do you think?” you ask timidly, Carly watching the whole with interest from afar, as Lance shakes his head and laughs.

“You look stunning, peach,” he can’t help but admit and he would say it again to see that small smile bloom on your face all over again.

 The party isn’t exactly what you need when you have Lance dressed up in a white collar shirt and a dark colored winter jacket alongside gelled back hair. It’s isn’t helpful when he gives you a bright smile that sends your heart stuttering when he grabs your hand as you make your way into Carly’s shared home. However, that is all you are allowed to have with the man as he quickly finds some tall and leggy blond to talk to.

You don’t remember much of the party after that, only that you see Lance and said blond trading saliva in one of the darker areas of the house, near the guest bedrooms. The thing that you never wanted to see --Lance hooking up with someone right in front of you-- burns itself into the back of your eyes, as you rush towards the balcony area. You aren’t sure how Carly knows where to find you, as she sees you almost freezing with tears streaming down your eyes as hard sobs leave your body. She keeps rubbing your back until you are finally able to talk.  

“Please, please,” you barely manage to croak out, “Just give me a little more time before I have to go back in there.”

“Sweetheart,” Carly sighs out, as you shake your head, “I’m sorry, if I had known.”

“It’s okay,” you give her a watery smile, “It’s not your fault, it just hurts you know.”

“Yeah,” she states before asking, “Do you need a ride home?”

“I would appreciate it,” you manage to get up on shake legs as she takes you to the front of the house, while avoiding the guest area. You stay quiet and give the simple excuse that you aren’t feeling well too some of your friends that frown at you looking so down in the dumps before wishing you a happy holiday.

Carly ends up sending you back home in a carshare. She gives you a big hug before handing you a small set of presents in a tote bag -- all of them belonging to you from the rest of your friends at the party. You let out a sniff and thank her before getting in the car, if Lance notices that you are gone or if he was going home with someone else -- well that you would rather not know.

The driver is playing classic Christmas music and you can’t help but let out a bitter laugh at the all too familiar song that starts playing, as if something is resonating with your own sorrow.

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart  But the very next day you gave it away  This year, to save me from tears  I'll give it to someone special

It takes Lance another good hour to finally get away from the gal that had attached herself to him since the beginning of the party, and while Lance Tucker was never one to deny the attention he got from a beautiful woman -- this one was something else. She clung to him too much, asked him too many annoying questions. Her laugh wasn’t the one that he wanted to hear and she could barely quip back one he said something annoying. Her eyes didn’t sparkle with glee as the movie started, and that’s when Lance realized it--

Two days with you and you were already ruining him for everyone else. Why did it take him so long to realize that?

He searches high and low for you in the brownstone, but there isn’t any sign of you sitting near the window like you had when he had left you. He asked around and none had seen you in quite some time, it was starting to annoy Lance as he runs a hand through his hair in frustration. It’s almost close to midnight and the snow has falling once more when he finally finds Carly in the kitchen area.

“Hey, have you seen her?” Lance questions as the brunette frowns, “I haven’t seen her in awhile.”

“She left,” Carly states darkly and while she wanted to yell and tell Lance everything --throw it in his face as he finally made the realization you already knew, but she knew that it wasn’t her place, “Thought it would be better to go home sooner rather than later, especially if you were busy .”  

“Damn,” Lance lets out in anger. His heart constricting at the thought that he might have just done something really stupid, as he slowly puts two and two together. He knows what you have probably seen that made you leave early, so that he could have some fun, but you didn’t know that that wasn’t his intention at all and that’s what send his mind into overdrive.

“I’ve gotta go,” is all he says before patting Carly on her shoulder and thanking her for the party. Lance is getting ready to leave, as he turns only to hear her voice yelling back at him, as Carly seems to have everything together as well, though she seems more protective towards you than anything else.

YOU BETTER NOT BREAK HER HEART, LANCE TUCKER!

Lance Tucker, as he grabs his phone and calls for carshare, knew that deep down that isn’t what he wanted to do -- it was quite the opposite actually. However, it would take a real Christmas miracle for you to respond back in the way he hope you did.

Finale

[ill-skillsgard]

Patterns in the Ivy, Part 6 - Bill Skarsgård

Title: Patterns in the Ivy

Description: A continuation of Smoke & Money. Ghosts from the not-so-distant past come back to threaten her. She must choose between a lavish life of servitude or have everything she ever loved stripped away.

Warning: 18+ smut/swearing/mentions of drugs/kink & fetish themes

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

Nobody took the news of us moving as hard as Kiki did. When I told her, she cried. Then I began crying and the realization that the only important thing I would be leaving behind was her friendship. She had helped me through a lot of dark days and I felt like I was abandoning her with barely a warning. When I told her these things she shook her head through the tears and said, "No, J, this is what you want. Imagine all of the things that Ivy will be able to do. All of the things that you will be able to do because of him." I stared at my feet, ashamed for my past self yet high on the thought of moving back to the glamorous West Coast, into Bill's estate and sitting second to him, a King, dressed in the latest fashions and drunk on the affluence of his private desires. Although I didn't bear upon my excitement in the slightest, these fantasies were materializing quickly. I cried for the friendship that had gotten me through the harsh realities of living as a runaway but I did not allude to how I was now yearning for my taste of wealth. Not even to Bill. On the outside, I appeared calm and asserted but I knew that my thoughts were caught in a roundabout. I was excited for us, for Ivany and for the new way of life that Bill had already begun to wrap us up with but I was dreading the questions that were sure to follow after I told Kiki and Ivany's teachers at school that we would be pulling her out a month early so we could move. Kiki understood me. She always had. That's what made her such a good friend. She knew the struggles I had gone through at the hands of greedy men and how hard it was to fit into the mold of what most would deem a normal life. I promised her that we would come to visit or that she could come to visit us when she insisted if anyone was going to be hospitable, it would be us with all of Bill's money and his huge home and his fancy cars. As long as I gave her a glimpse into the new, exotic and luxurious life I was being swept off to live, she would forgive me for leaving. Bill paid off my lease so that we could move without a hitch. He had been persistent on us to take as little as possible since we would be flying across the country as soon as Ivany's last day of school was done. I didn't want to yank her out of school so quickly but Bill insisted we go as soon as comfortably possible since he had been putting work off for as much time as it had taken him to find me and coax me into returning home with him. It all seemed to happen so fast that when I turned around, I was staring at the front door of the little townhouse Ivany and I had spent almost her entire life in, bags packed with enough clothes to get us through a couple of days, ready to load into another one of Bill's rentals to speed off to a small airport where his private jet was stored. "J, are you ready? Ivany's in the car." Bill's voice sounded from behind me. "Oh, uh, yes. I'm ready." I felt his fingertips at the base of my spine and they trailed downward comfortingly. He bent forward and stopped when his lips were next to the shell of my ear. "You won't miss this. I promise you," he said with his mouth pressed to my hair. I turned to him and saw that he had on a reserved smile with one hand plunged into his trouser pocket and the other one reaching out for mine. I stared down at his wide palm, long fingers clenched together in an offering. I slid my fingers over his and remarked to myself how comically large his hand seemed to mine. He was right. Once we drove off I hardly felt the nag to look back. Of course, I still felt a swelling of sadness in my chest but when I saw Ivany holding Bill's hand the way I just had, nothing else mattered. We spent most of the ride to the hangar talking to Ivany about flying on an airplane. She seemed so happy that I forgot about everything that had been weighing me down. I stopped constantly remembering my past, the worries I had about paying bills and my shitty car and our tiny townhouse. I displaced the fear of being alone after Ivany went to bed. Now that I was with Bill, nothing was going to be the same. My years-old worries had dissipated further and further into fragments, specks then molecules before they were completely gone before my eyes like a fine vapor carrying off to invisibility. The private plane was a whole different experience that I never envisioned myself having. The whole concept of us flying on an airplane with just a pilot and one attendant baffled me. I tried not to show how impressed I was but when we drove up to the plane and walked up the steps and I saw the interior of it I couldn't help but scoff at over-the-top it felt. Ivany was naturally amused beyond belief and could hardly contain her excitement when she saw what was in store for her. Bill boarded right behind us and showed Ivany that there was a TV she could watch or places she could sit to read or draw and I had never seen her eyes go so big and round. The plane could have boarded twenty people but it was just us, the puffy white leather seats, tables and throw pillows and a blond flight attendant that had a game-show style smile plastered to her face. "Welcome aboard Mr. Skarsgård," she said, even going so far as to adopt the Swedish accent when she pronounced his last name. Bill nodded in her direction as he unbuttoned his blazer, revealing more of his navy blue button-up shirt underneath. I was overcome with a fear that I may not look as qualified as he did to be on a private jet. His outfit was intimidating, his shoes shot out from the ends of his long legs, the colour of caramel with a pointed toe and twice as shiny. His hair was all combed back and held there with a touch of wax and he smelled like the best cologne money could buy. Then the panic started to settle in and I grew quiet. I took a seat and just relaxed there for a moment to catch a breath and calm my pounding pulse. Luckily Ivany was nowhere near as nervous as I was and provided an incredible distraction between Bill and I. It wasn't flying I was afraid of. I had flown all over the States and was no stranger to it. My problem was the way Bill was dressed and the cylindrical ottomans and the plastic Barbie of a flight attendant and the fact that you could comfortably fit an entire sports team on the plane and then some and how I wasn't dressed for the occasion. The voice shouting you don't belong here kept repeating itself over and over and then morphed into something more like you don't deserve this. "Daddy, can I sit beside you?" I heard Ivany ask. Daddy. Yes, I thought, Daddy indeed. Sugar Daddy 2.0 and I was playing pet and wife and I had no clue what he did for a living. Was I sitting in a Mafia procured aircraft? Was I taking my daughter back to my homeland to live with a criminal? It was far too much to think about all at once. I knew Bill had friends and money but an old CEO of a beer coaster company who had erectile dysfunction had once told me that rich men didn't have a lot of friends and if they did then you knew they were dirty. He told me about partying with the richest of the rich and how mountains of cocaine really did exist and these Wallstreet tycoons would all take turns railing fat lines off of hookers and strippers every night. He was an old client of mine and probably one of the richest I'd ever had besides Bill. Sometimes all they wanted to do was talk and sometimes I remembered what they told me. I peered over at Bill and our daughter and he didn't look up once from the yearbook that Ivany had been toting around with her. Could he be the leader of a drug ring? I wondered this instead of thinking about how obviously underdressed I was to be sitting in such a luxurious chair inside of a million dollar plane. I tried to picture Bill up late at night in the middle of an unused warehouse that hadn't completely lost its purpose, sitting with a bunch of hard looking guys, talking business. In my vision, he was smoking a cigarette and maybe letting the conversation take its own way among his boys as he sat back absorbing information in the calm stoic way he had about him. Or maybe he was the type to really enthuse about his product. Cocaine, maybe heroin or meth. No, definitely not meth. Something expensive though. "Miss? A drink?" The attendant's voice shook me from my reverie. I looked back again and Bill and Ivany were both staring at me. "Um, no thanks. Oh, a glass of water." I said. "Darling," Bill called over to me. "Have some wine, you look tense." Ivany looked between the three adults on the plane over and over until her eyes settled back on the book in front of her. Normally I felt unsure of drinking in front of my daughter but when Bill nodded his head I felt like I was obligated to. "Sure," was all I managed. Once we were up in the air I started to calm down and with a glass of wine, it took the edge off of the anxiety that was shiving me in the spleen. Bill's fucking plane, of course, had WiFi and a Smart TV so Ivany could watch literally anything she wanted. I was grateful for the distractions until Bill stood up and came to me. "You can relax now." He said. "I know." "You get nervous flying?" "Not normally, no. It's just... This is weird." Bill fawned over me, running his hand through my hair. "You'll get used to it." What I really wanted was to get some time alone with Bill that didn't necessarily involve getting fingered in a restaurant or eaten out in the back of a moving vehicle or spanked in a hotel room. I needed some genuine conversation with this man that I hardly knew but had a child with. I wanted to know how he got where he was, about his family and his childhood and his hopes and dreams. What was I moving our tiny little lives into? Who was Mr. Bill Skarsgård exactly? Entrepreneurial hotel owner or drug lord? He excused himself to go speak to the pilot and left towards the cockpit. Once he disappeared behind the heavy velour curtain I turned my body around to see what Ivany was doing. "Hi, honey. Having fun?" I asked her. "Yeah, look out the window Mommy!" "I know sweetheart, we're up in the sky!" "I can't believe it." "It's amazing, isn't it?" Ivany nodded. "Daddy went to go talk to the pilot." "That's right." I had another conservative little sip of my wine. As much as I wanted to drain a bottle of Merlot to myself, I didn't want to start catching a buzz on a plane with my kid right there and my anxiety level fluctuating. I also didn't get too comfortable in my seat, especially once I heard a bout of giggling coming from the front of the plane. Bill threw back the curtain and I saw the remnants of a smile on his face and the flight attendant seemingly blushing. "Alright, see you later." He dismissed himself. I watched him stroll back over with a sway that had been absent on his way there. It made me really uncomfortable real fast the way I saw that flight attendant beaming at him in the kind of a way I would look at him after he called me something like darling or sweetheart or little girl. The wine suddenly started to taste really good and as soon as the attendant was in my sight again I raised my empty glass. "Excuse me, ma'am? Can you bring me another one of these?" "Certainly," She replied promptly, coming to take my empty glass from me. "Mommy, you should come over here and play with me and Daddy." Ivany's little voice called to me. "I'll be right over." After the attendant brought me a new glass of wine I graciously accepted it but not without peering at her for a couple of extra moments just to make sure she knew I wasn't going anywhere. I stared at the back of her head, blond hair all tightly wrapped in a bun sitting low on her neck, the tight little pencil skirt that exaggerated the curve of her ass. I looked back at my soon-to-be-King and tried to picture him fucking her. He could, I knew, but whether he had or not remained a mystery. I just didn't like the way she smiled whenever he spoke. My annoyed inflection was apparent for the entire flight and even after we landed. Though the sun was warm and I really was excited to be back on the West Coast, my suspicions had only grown worse when, before arriving, the flight attendant spoke to Bill and gently laid her hand on top of his shoulder for a second too long. The jealousy I was feeling was completely uncharacteristic of me and that alone was the cause for my irritability. Envy was a new colour on me that I didn't quite like and Bill could tell that there was something storming inside my head too. All I could picture was how many times he had wrapped those long fingers of his around that flight attendant's throat and pushed her up against a wall. Did he treat her the way he treated me? Did he whisper mine in her ear as he used those same fingers to fuck her with her forest green pencil skirt still on? The trip from the airport to Bill's estate was a long and quiet one. Luckily I was able to occupy my thoughts with the sentimentality of driving down familiar highways. It had been years since I had gone back home and I honestly never thought I would again but as we passed familiar landmarks my soul filled with the warm cure for the homesickness I didn't know I had. Looking at Bill's face, being in the back of an expensive rental car with our daughter bobbing in and out of a nap felt familiar in the way one might experience a cripplingly uncanny case of deja-vu. When we took an unexpected exit off the highway I looked at Bill, questions making themselves evident in my expression. "I forgot to mention that we moved." He told me. "You're not in the city anymore?" A tasty little smirk spread across his lips. "Just on the outskirts now. More privacy." He hadn't been kidding about the privacy part, when we finally got off the highway we drove down a pencil mark of a back road until we reached an area of rolling hills that had been excavated exclusively for the filthy-rich. Multi-million dollar homes sat atop of hills with winding driveways, cascading windows, carports fraught with fast cars, brand-new gates that were so recent you could practically smell the fresh cement. Some of them even had horse stables that drew Ivany's attention more than anything. "Horsies!" She exclaimed. "Do you like horses?" Bill asked her. "Yes, I love them!" "What colour horse would you want?" "I like white horses, like Maximus!" Bill looked to me, smile unwavering. I cracked a smile of my own and said, "she's talking about Tangled." It was cute to watch Bill pretend to know what Ivany was talking about. I couldn't envision a young Bill being interested in movies at all. It was another thing that made me realize I had no idea what his childhood was like. There was so much mystery surrounding him I couldn't even concoct a scenario in my mind of what he would have been like as a kid. Ivany explained the entire plot of the movie to her father and hadn't finished by the time we pulled up to a massive wrought-iron gate flanked with gnarled blue oak trees and pines so that what lay beyond it was completely unobservable from the road. Through the tinted windows, I watched the driver reach out from the car and wave a small fob over the sensor of a keypad just below an intercom speaker. The ten-foot tall gate creaked to life and began slowly shifting away, grinding heavy but smoothly on its tracks to allow the car through. I held my breath as we drove through, winding around a collection of trees that could only be described as a small forest. When it cleared I could see the house and it was a departure from what I had pictured in my mind. When I thought of moving back home I expected Bill's Victorian-style manor in the city where we had met for the first time with the roundabout driveway and the pillars and the easy access into town. The property grew bigger as we approached or rather, we grew smaller in its shadow. The structure was reminiscent of the Renaissance, with stone archways, red crosses marking the front windows, stone parapets and turrets thrusting into the sky like swords. The front entrance was atop a set of carved stone steps that took a gentle turn left beneath an overhang. The building was nothing short of a small chateau and Ivany agreed. "We're going to live in a castle!?" She shouted, her hand planted on the glass of the window. "Of course," Bill said to her. "Isn't that where most princesses live?" The pure unadulterated joy that she displayed was elating not only to me but to Bill as well. She rushed us to let her out of the car so that she could stand before the manor and stare up in awe as our bags were taken in. We stood in a cluster, a tripod of a family in front of the stairs leading up to the entrance. Bill stooped down to kiss Ivany on the cheek and whispered, "welcome home, Princess Ivy." She followed the driver to the front door, swinging and lifting her little legs up each stone step behind him. I had never seen her so eager before. I followed behind her to make sure she didn't go reeling backward with excitement and Bill trailed me closely, hand grazing my hip, little laughs escaping him as he observed all of the animation taking place. As I suspected, the interior of the manor exceeded even Bill's standards of luxury. Although there was a modern-day style of minimalism, whereas there wasn't much in the way of furniture, everything else was decked and dressed in Persian rug, velvety damask, crystal, polished wood, shining marble and well cared for antique brass. I had no idea why Bill required a bigger house than the one he had in the city but I held my tongue and asked no questions. That was right up until he showed us the bedrooms. Ivany's room was going to be redecorated to suit her four-year-old tastes which meant everything in purple, new drapes, a new bed and a redesigned walk in closet for her soon-to-be new wardrobe and toys. There was one window in the room that was covered in heavy linen drapes that Bill opened so the sun could pour into the room. He beckoned Ivany to his side and lifted her so she could see out of the window. "Do you know what that is?" He pointed. "Yes. That's a stable." "Do you know what goes on a stable?" "Horses!" "That's right. We'll have to find you a white horse to live in the stable." "MAXIMUS!" Ivany shouted. I walked around in a daze, my eyes never finding the same place to settle on twice. The extravagance of the manor was nothing like what I was expecting and there wasn't a thing that could have prepared me for it. "This house is... Gigantic. I'm going to get lost in it." I said more to myself than to Bill. "There will be plenty of time for wandering but for now, I want to show you your room." "My room?" I asked. Ivany had already busied herself unpacking her bag so she could set up her toys and put away her clothes as she liked to. She wanted her velveteen rabbit on the massive bed but there was no chance of her being able to hoist herself onto it. "Are you fine staying in here for a while, Princess?" Bill asked her. "Yup! I'm going to put my dolls together on the bed." He went to her and lifted her onto the bed along with her suitcase and made her promise to stay there for a moment. I knew that she would have no problem staying put but I didn't say anything until we left the room and continued down a hall big enough for a train to pass through. "What do you think of this place?" Bill asked as he led me down the corridor. "It's... A lot." "Do you like it?" "Well, of course, I do. Who wouldn't?" Bill stopped in front of a set of twin doors and turned towards me. The light coming in from one of the cathedral style windows was just enough to cast shadows over the painting frames, the antiquated accent tables, and his face. When he opened the door for me I stepped into a room that was not from our time. There was a canopy bed fat with scarlet and silver pillows, the headboard crested with hand-carved filigree the colour of bleached bone and four posters carved from mahogany. A bedside chest of drawers was home to a brass lamp in the shape of a willow tree, its branches tear-shaped crystals that twinkled as I walked in. All in all, I was absolutely speechless for so many reasons that it made me want to sit down. It was happening so fast and I was coming up with more questions on top of the questions I already had. Bill noticed that I was becoming distraught because I simply couldn't hold it back any longer. "What's the matter?" He asked me. If I had an iota less of self-control I would have felt my lip quiver but I took in a deep breath and searched for the right words to say to him as he stood there in front of me with his eyebrows raised. "My room? You mean we're not... We're not-" "Sharing a room?" He finished my sentence. I knew if I tried to say anything else I might start to waver. Bill relaxed his shoulders and took his hands out of his pockets, expression softening as he approached me. I turned my face away so that he wouldn't stare directly into my watering eyes but he was persuasive in the way that he wrapped his arms around my shoulders and pulled me into him. "I'm not going to pretend like this isn't a huge fucking deal for you. I know what it means for you to be here. I know that I plucked you and Ivany out of your cozy little life and threw you across the country, trust me. It's going to take time for us to grow accustomed to it all and I just figured it would be appropriate to give you your own space for now." He softened even further when he saw my eyebrows furrowed together. "I don't have all of the answers." He added. "I get no answers from you, ever. Why do you even want me here? What am I to you that's so important you needed to drag me back?" Bill's grip tightened on my elbows. "Listen to me, all you need to know if that I want you here. You are mine and you are the mother of my only child so I think that elevates your status from call-girl, don't you think? I want what's best for us and for her. Don't take offense because I offered you a room of your own. I thought you would be a little more gracious." "I am, Bill. I'm grateful, I'm in awe of you, I cannot believe what is happening but it's freaking me out a little bit." "Why?" "Because I have no idea who you are! I don't know what you do or why you have a fucking palace and I don't know what my role is in your life!" Bill ran his tongue over his teeth in preparation for his retort. "So you want a label? Is that what you want? Will some out-dated, superficial term give you comfort? Or can you just accept what is going on around you? Can't you just be happy with what I'm offering you? We can work out the details as we go along but for right now you need to trust me and just live in the time I am giving to you." Our eyes smoldered at each other. His brows were clenched and that alone intensified his entire expression. The look he had on was absolutely menacing and for some reason, I wanted to tread further just to see where it would take me. "You want an obedient little house pet." "Just one little facet of the overall person I know you to be." "You don't know me at all." Bill grabbed my cheeks with one hand, pinching my face as he snarled, "I want you to be a good little girl and live with me in my fucking castle with our perfect daughter who is about to turn five and I want to own that cunt while you help me run the fucking world. I want you to stop complaining and spend my fucking money on shit that will make you two happy and at the end of the day, I want you to worship at my feet and make me come because you know..." His voice dulled to a low whisper. "You know that Daddy's going to make you come ten times harder, isn't that right?" I felt my flesh crawl and my knees weaken when Bill let go of my face. "You're already here, J. You made it. You're the Queen of this castle... But everybody knows that she still answers to the King." He told me. "Okay... Fine." "Does all that sound good to you?" "Yes." "Yes, what?" He growled. "Yes... Daddy." As soon as the word left my mouth I watched his teeth graze his bottom lip and he pulled me in close to him, tipping my face up and licking his lips before kissing me long and hard. When he pulled away he whispered, "that's my good girl. Now, we're going to have a really nice dinner together as a family, then we're going to put our child to sleep, then we're going to the master bedroom and Daddy's going to make you remember why that pussy belongs to me." "Yes, Daddy." "You want to play with me?" "Yes," I squeaked. "You promise?" "Tell me. Tell me you want to." "I want to play with you, Daddy." "You're going to have to prove it to me tonight, kitten."

[funkypoacher]

WIP Wednesday

tagged by @evilbunnyking (thanks hun!! <3 ) tagging @sirladysketch (srry for tagging you constantly :P) @manicparadox @biggreenfeet and @redinkofshame. I really cant remember which of my ‘to-tag’ lists of people are writers/are actively writing. If you are writing but I didn’t tag you, tag me with your WIP and I’ll add you to my list!

I got... just... so much shit I really need to get done.

The Lunatic At Large (chapter one of Shenko series)

“Let’s just get to Mars first; follow through on what Hackett wants. Then we’ll see,” Kaidan advised pragmatically. He added, quietly, “can’t imagine planning three steps ahead is going to do any good in a war like this, anyways.”

Previously focusing on getting her greaves in order, Shepard stared. “Am I hearing Kaidan Alenko—Kaidan Alexis Alenko—suggesting anything other than a Plan B will save us?”

In response, he smiled almost bashfully.“No, no; not—not necessarily. I’m just saying we shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves. Count our chickens, and all that. We’ve got to trust that the brass knows what they’re doing.”

Shepard laughed loudly. “Sure! And maybe if they refuse to acknowledge the Reapers again, they’ll just go away. Say ‘sorry, pal’, pay the bill for damages, and hoof it back to deep space.” Her good humour fell away. “C’mon, Alenko. You can’t have forgotten what happened the last time the Alliance got wind of Reaper activity, can you? Actually”—and she knew bitterness was pointless, but she still hurt—“actually you could have forgotten, couldn’t you? In fact, you did forget, as I recall.”

Let’s Play (chapter three)

Carefully disrobing the paddy like a lover instead of imitation-beef served by hair-net toting vorchas, Shepard put it to her lips, inhaled deep, and took a large, slow chomp. Chewing, swallowing, she licked the corner of her mouth and sighed.

“Mmm. So good. I swear I haven’t sat down or eaten since I saved a certifiably fertile krogan female, thus basically curing the genophage. So it’s been a while.”

“Uh huh,” Kaidan grunted.

Shepard measured his total disconnect from reality and absolute preoccupation with her food. It was bad. Sinking her teeth in once more, she moaned as the meat hit her throat, consuming with relish the burger that had no relish.

But Kaidan’s pitiful expression—complete with nearly salivating lips—finally made Shepard laugh hard around her food. The spell was broken.

The Major’s eyes narrowed. “You’re playing me,” he realized, voice raw with betrayal. “You’re doing this to torture me!”

“Mm-hmm,” she confirmed.

Shepard plunged a hand into the take-out bag and presented Kaidan with his very own.

“Got you two,” she said. “And there’s fries.”

The Mystery of Pain (chapter four)

It might’ve been another lifetime ago, and it might’ve been five minutes. Since Kaidan last walked the Normandy, Commander Shepard had been in The Shit so often it was hard to scrape off. When she thought of hauling the Major’s ass from the Mars archives to the ship’s medbay, it seemed like the latter: five minutes ago. Which, although unrealistic, the man usually bounced back like a rubber ball, so why not?

As she looked at him now from a step behind, it felt like five minutes ago, too. She recognized the familiar stance and cologne; heard his unchanged soldier’s gait as boots scraped over the grating. Not only did the weeks since leaving Earth melt away, but the years before, too. Walking beside him seemed as natural or mundane as the passage of time; the passage of, say, five easy minutes in which they’d maybe even razzed each other on the elevator about grey hairs and worse-for-wear crow’s-feet.

When Kaidan looked Shepard straight in the eye, however, it was different. Worlds different. It was painful. It was a lifetime. She lost a lifetime looking at him, and it had been a lifetime since he’d last been here.

“C’mon, Hes,” he’d scowled, saying her name like it was the last time. “Look at us. This can’t end well. Just… put it down.”

She tightened her grip on the gun. The rattling, clicking sound was only slightly thicker than her resentful, pain-stricken reply. “Would I do this if I weren’t that certain, Kaidan? Would I?!”

He’d had a gun on her. For minutes. For the length and breadth of bargaining in which she’d convinced Kaidan to stand down. He’d trained his pistol-sights over her heart while they both begged, equally salient, for the other to come to their senses. They could have pulled their triggers and it’ve been just another mess in an immensely unjust war. They could have pulled their triggers, and he could have goddamn shot her.

Five minutes; a lifetime: these were nothing to the ten seconds it took to realize that professionalism didn’t mean shit when it all came down to stand-offs between allies. She’d been busting her hump trying to forget their history for the sake of bigger fish and fighting for the galaxy, but now, walking the hangar with him, Shepard was exhausted, jittery, and confused to the point that it was manifesting in a splitting, disconcerting headache.

She stared at him and tried not to.

She Does Not Brave The War (Solavellan prompt for ‘kiss in a dream’)

To come here was to face spring waters once the frost had fled. To feel through the Fade for this moment was like tempting thin ice with sure footing. Each solid step was an offering for which one might be rewarded with the swallowing cold; every tiptoe, though traded for courage, something to be repaid by faltering, fracturing ice.

“When did you know?” he’d asked.

It wasn’t grit that got into her limbs and gave them life beyond her sense. It wasn’t daring that did away with caution and carried her further than she ought. She experienced no heart-in-throat ecstasy of walking carelessly over a faintly frozen pond. She felt no bravery—only a chill.

“Maybe I didn’t,” she answered.

Solas and Ma’ven stood some feet from one another, empty, dead air between. It was her own fault, she figured, because this was her dream: winter without remorse; details mangled or missed by a livid body. This memory—accessible due to Solas’ past lessons—was less than a moment while disregarding definition wholesale. It was of Solas standing pensively sometime ago, yet that was all: context had been washed like the dirt off one’s hands. At the time she’d been too flustered, her heart so hurried, that the only impression left on her mind had been that of Solas looking thought-filled. And here she came in her weaker moments, years later, when alone with courage crumbling.

Usually she spoke to the thing. Usually she paced around the visage of Solas, talking of her ineptitude, as it stared straight on. Never she did kiss it, and, naturally, never did it kiss her back.

Until today.

Solas scolded playfully. “A dozen times you’ve dreamed of this place and never deviated from your custom. You depart directly after speaking with the spirit. Today, of course…” He seemed afraid to even name what had passed between them. Instead, he let a small smile bloom across his lips and asked again, softly, “when did you know?”

Hitched (Blackwall/Lavellan smut prompt for ‘pretending to be married’)

The wind was a whining. It rained. The downpour, neither bluster nor mild, steadily promised to sop the body and freeze bones as it birthed streams, bogged creeks, and bloated rivers like a corpse.

Pushing against the barn door with a bruised shoulder, gritting his teeth with quiet complaint, Thom kept their alms close: blanket, lamp, bread; wine. Bad wine, most likely—gone orange and sharp with age—but he hadn’t expected more from a Marcher called out of bed at midnight during sowing time. So he’d said his thanks, pressed four more coins into the their palm (plus rent for the night’s roof), and left.

Pushing open the barn door still hurt like a bitch, though.

Inside, it was clean: a cow shed repurposed to hold hay-piles which would have been better-off sheaved, but that wasn’t for Thom to say. Across the barn’s expanse lay a tall, thick carpet of yellow grasses dried in the sun which still smelt decent. Collapsed in its midst, arm and legs sprawled, was his companion.

By the time he was closing the door, Thom saw that he’d startled her. Her reaction cooling as he came in proper, she stubbornly refused to shiver, so her body was rigid with compunction.

Carefully taking the lamp from his loaded arms, she placed it on a stool. He’d be the one lighting it, however. Their flint had taken to mocking her one-armed attempts at finding a flame.

“Just the one, huh?” Vinya asked, admiring the fleece blanket that had been laid out for the sake of drying before they tried for shut-eye. “Going to be a cold night for one of us.”

“We can take turns,” Thom suggested optimistically, shedding his cloak. His gloves came off, too. “Would prefer one of us on watch, anyways. That tavern outside Markham… Well, it left a lot to be desired, let’s leave it at that.”

He was rubbing his hands when she brought him the loaf. Breaking it down the center, he handed her half.

[bussanbaby]

It all looks like a postcard, Magnus muses as he steps out onto a wide branch, his hands finding purchase on a thinner one above his head to prevent a fall to his not-quite-death as he surveys the neighborhood.

It’s not very fancy, per se; after all, it’s only the suburbs, although there are white picket fences, trampolines and children’s toys scattered between lawn sprinklers, making for quite an idyllic view. Speaking of kids, there are none in sight, as it is only 10 a.m. on a Saturday morning and most of them are probably watching cartoons and eating sugary cereal in their pajamas.

The sun warms spots on Magnus’ skin where it breaks through the thick canopy of leaves, as he makes his way across the tree and jumps down onto the roof just below the branch.  The window is already cracked open, so Magnus pushes it further up, enough to fit himself through it. It’s not that easy, with legs much longer than when he was a kid, but years of practice pay off and he manages to not fall on his face.

Magnus slips a dark tote bag from his shoulder and sets it on Alec’s desk – the only cluttered spot compared to an otherwise tidy room (for a teenage boy, anyway), before making his way to the bed pushed against the opposite wall. Alec hasn’t acknowledged him yet from where he’s lying on top of the sheets, a book propped up against his bare chest, part of the title being the word ‘mockingbird’. Only his best friend is nerdy enough to do the optional reading during the summer, on a Saturday, of all days.

The mattress creaks and protests when Magnus climbs onto it, plops himself down almost right in Alec’s lap, their legs tangled and Magnus’ back pressed against the poster-filled wall. Belatedly, he realizes it might not have been the wisest decision, because Alec’s shirtless and definitely incredibly distracting. Still, this is a foolproof way of getting his attention so Magnus just hopes he doesn’t embarrass himself.   

Alec rests the open book down on his chest and pushes himself up onto his elbows with a soft sigh; the look he shoots Magnus was probably aiming for unamused and maybe even chastising, but it falls short and instead ends up being disgustingly fond.

“You know, you can use the front door like a normal person,” Alec says, a lopsided smile curling onto his face as he flops down again. He looks pretty like that – with hair a bird’s nest, sun-born freckles spilling over the bridge of his nose, and eyes glittering with a sleepy kind of mirth.

Magnus shrugs nonchalantly. “The tree is more fun.”

They lapse into a moment of comfortable silence and Magnus occupies himself by drawing shapes on Alec’s side with his finger, watching the muscles beneath the skin twitch and tense when it tickles.

“Where are your siblings?” Magnus asks, letting his head fall back against the wall to watch Alec from beneath a fringe of lashes; it’s eerily quiet in the Lightwood household, with only the subdued din of Miss Lightwood puttering in the kitchen downstairs.

“Izzy’s at her science club, then she has her self-defense class later in the evening. And Jace is off somewhere, disappointing God probably. Maybe committing minor crimes with Simon, who knows,” Alec answers with a hint of a smirk in the corner of his lips, playing into his and Magnus’ inside joke - Alec’s adopted brother has recently started his rebellious phase, trying to seem all tough and badass, which so far has only gotten him into more trouble and detentions than it’s worth.

“And you’re in your room, just waiting for your best friend to save you from boredom,” Magnus alludes, wiggling his eyebrows playfully. His knee bumps against Alec’s ribs, another point of contact that turns Magnus’ skin hot.

Alec levels him with an analyzing stare, one of his eyes squinted and the tip of his tongue trapped between dry lips.  

“Okay, I’ll bite the bullet. What are you up to?” he asks, feigning suspicion while he tries to fight back a smile.

While people usually assume Magnus is the more reckless one, it’s been proven in the past they both have an audacious streak a mile wide, bouncing ideas off each other until they inevitably end up with amazing memories and maybe a scar or two.

Magnus straightens up, catching Alec’s eyes like he’s gearing up for a confession.

“I want you to shave my head.”

“What?!” Alec yelps, sitting up so violently Magnus worries he’s gonna get whiplash, hazel eyes wide with almost comical horror; his book thumps onto the ground, forgotten.

“Not the whole thing, you idiot! Just the sides, so I can have a mohawk,” Magnus explains, hands lifting to gesture towards his hair.

“You almost gave me a heart attack,” Alec chides, shaking his head. He gives a long sigh, one of his hands resting on Magnus’ knee. “And why me? I’m not a hairdresser.”

“Because my dad won’t let me make an appointment, since it’s ‘unprofessional and I will look like a punk’ as he put it.” While quoting his father, Magnus lowers his voice to make it sound menacing and smooth at the same time, adding air-quotes to the equation just out of sheer pettiness.

His dad has always been strict with Magnus in a different way than Alec’s parents were with him - Asmodeus Bane consistently put forth elegance and good reputation, his influences stretching far over the town as a big business figure. He didn’t want his only son looking anything else other than immaculate and poised all the time; obviously, a mohawk didn’t fit that sort of appearance, but Magnus was tired of answering ‘Yes, papa’ to every request given to him.

“I don’t really wanna be on your dad’s shit list, I feel like he doesn’t like me anyway.” Alec’s voice is quieter, almost unsure. His eyes drift to his lap where he starts picking at a stray thread in his sweats.

His dad has some opinions about Alec that Magnus doesn’t want to voice out loud, but after all the years Alec and Magnus have spent joined at the hip, Asmodeus had no choice but to warm up to the eldest Lightwood son.

With a cut off noise of protest, Magnus wraps his fingers around a warm wrist, squeezes once, making Alec look up at him, his lower lip worried between his teeth.

“He does, he just has a funny way of showing it. So, pretty please, with a cherry on top?”

Alec’s arm twitches in Magnus’ grip and for a split second, he thinks Alec’s gonna do something, either take it back or deepen their touch, but nothing like that happens. After a moment of deliberation, Alec rolls his eyes with such emphasis that something cracks in his neck.  

“Fuck, okay. You know I can’t say no to you.”

The breathy way the swear leaves Alec’s mouth and the words that follow it confuse the blood in Magnus’ body - it can’t choose whether to flow up into his cheeks or go downstairs. Still, his face lights up with a pleased grin as he brings both his palms to cup Alec’s cheeks with theatrical seriousness.

“You’re the best, buddy.”

“Yeah, yeah. Say that again when you look like a cockatoo after a close meeting with a lawnmower,” Alec says defeatedly, but there���s laughter beneath the fake resignation, mixing with Magnus’ snickering. As much as Alec tries to make himself seem indifferent, Magnus sees right through him, notices the smile he tries to hide as he moves off the bed and towards his desk.

Hooking one finger into the edge of the tote bag, Alec glances inside, taking note of the trimmer neatly wrapped in its cord. “I see you came prepared.”

They relocate to the small ensuite bathroom, barely enough space for the two of them to stand face to face, but they make do - Alec subtly kicks a dirty t-shirt closer to the laundry bin and Magnus elbows him in the ribs as they try to switch places.

Magnus can’t count the times he’s been here before, taking quick showers before tucking himself in for sleep on the spare mattress by Alec’s bed, chilling on the closed toilet as Alec brushes his teeth on lazy mornings when they’re too tired to even go eat breakfast.

Magnus plops himself down in the tub to minimize the mess, then tugs off his shirt, throwing it aside. Behind his back, Alec tinkers with the trimmer, trying to get the interchangeable part to stay on, Magnus can see his reflection in the mirror above the sink - brows furrowed in concentration, mouth twisted into a sour line.

The soft light filters in through the small window near the ceiling, accentuating all the lines of Alec’s body and the ropy muscle he’s been building over the last couple of months in the garage gym; it paints all the fuzzy hairs coming in over his sternum and down the middle of his stomach gold as he leans back to plug in the cord.

The trimmer wakes up to life and Alec perches on the edge of the tub, his fingers carding through Magnus’ messy hair. “Only the sides.”

Magnus nods with a quiet chuckle. “Make me look beautiful, Lightwood.”

“I don’t have to do anything, then.” Alec’s answer is immediate, soaked with comfort, like the words have been sitting in the back of his throat for a while. His hand freezes for a split second, buried in dark hair, but then it resumes its work, with the help of a comb marking out all the areas to keep lines straight.

Magnus presses his lips together into a thin line, a smile trying to worm its way onto his face.

They’ve been like this for a while, all lingering touches and flirtatious quips, quick kisses dropped into hair when the other one is supposed to be sleeping. Magnus has been told that best friends don’t behave like this, that they’re weird, but he and Alec have never been anything other than strange.

Magnus doesn’t remember a single year of his life that didn’t have Alec in it - all through kindergarten, elementary school and now middle school, they’ve been by each other’s side; they played pirates and read superhero comics on the floor of Magnus’ living room, walked along the creek behind the town’s edge, casting stones into the water and telling bad jokes.

And they still do all of these things and so much more.

Magnus has never found anyone he felt as safe with as Alec, whose opinion mattered just as much, who could placate his anger and fear just with one touch of his fingertips. Back when he used to have nightmares, Magnus would climb over the tree and into Alec’s room. Even at three in the morning, the half-awake Alec would only pull back the covers and wrap Magnus up in his arms, murmuring something about kicking every monster’s ass out there before drifting back into soft snores.

They lapse into comfortable silence with only the steady buzzing to accompany it. At one point, Magnus closes his eyes, hangs his head slightly, focusing on the sensations around him.

One of his feet feels close to being asleep and Alec’s touch keeps surfacing goosebumps onto his skin, sending shivers skittering down the knobby line of his spine. Magnus breathes deep, focuses on the drag of those fingertips down the curve of his skull, how careful and diligent Alec is, making sure to get everything even.

“What if I shaved a dick onto your head?” Alec hums at one point, drawing Magnus out of his thoughts; surprised, he bursts into a fit of immature giggles and Alec laughs along, his palm fitted into the crook of Magnus’ neck.

“If you were Jace, I’d consider that as a danger. But I trust you.” Magnus turns to look up at Alec - it feels significant somehow, the way they hold each other’s gaze, Alec’s hand on his bare shoulder.

“Alright,” Alec hums and that’s it, another moment to tuck into their pockets like colorful autumn leaves just after they fall. Lately, everything feels charged, a storm waiting to happen between them, first thunder growling in the lingering glances, in the unspoken words left hanging in the air.

It’s some time later, when Alec straightens out with a sigh, stretches with arms high above his head. “Done, I think.”

He brushes off all the loose hairs from Magnus’ back and helps him out of the bathtub, before motioning towards the mirror.

It actually looks better than Magnus expected - the hair atop his head is still sticking up in all directions, but the sides are just the right length; when he runs his fingers across them, it feels funny, scratchy but soft at the same time.

“Thank you, Alexander,” he says, turning around and leaning against the edge of the sink counter.

Alec pushes off the tiled wall, crowds closer to Magnus until there’s little space between them, before reaching out to brush his knuckles against the side of Magnus’ face.

“Stray hair,” he offers for an explanation, but his fingers drift further, over Magnus’ cheekbone and the sharp line of his jaw to stop at his mouth, thumb pushed against the lower lip.

They’re teetering.

Always walking a thin line of something more, of a touch a second too long, of a heartbeat just on the side of too quick. Magnus loves it, hates it, a little bit of both. It makes him lie awake at night, imagining the moment when the tide breaks.

It also scares him, in a way. Because this is Alec, the person that knows Magnus better than he knows himself, his best friend that he loves with his whole heart. Maybe that’s the problem, maybe the love that used to be purely platonic changed directions, left Magnus wanting more.

A couple years back, Magnus realized he and Alec don’t fit the clean-cut best friends stereotype. Watching other boys run across the soccer field behind the school, hearing them swear and push at each other in pent-up anger, laughing about how ‘gay’ hugging another guy is, Magnus was left with a weird feeling sitting low behind his ribs, a realization he subconsciously already understood.

The signs were all there, from comments whispered as they passed through the school corridors, through meaningful glances from Izzy and Jace, to their parents’ reluctant confusion. And Magnus isn’t blind, he knows normally boys don’t watch the stars from the roof underneath one blanket and they don’t teach each other to swim only to end up in a tangle of limbs at the seashore. They don’t hold hands while falling asleep and they don’t wear each other’s t-shirts just because and they don’t pine after their best friends, because they love them.

They were never normal. They were them, Magnus and Alec, two boys against the world.

Magnus swallows, watches Alec’s eyes follow the movement, deer-like eyelashes sweeping slow against the delicate skin underneath. With a staccato tremble stuck beneath his skin, Magnus lifts his palms from where they hang along the line of his body, fits them against Alec’s sides instead.

Alec’s breath hitches, Magnus moves his hands up, up, up, over the plane of his stomach, over the lines of his ribs, to where his rabbiting heart sits in its cage.

Magnus is tired of walking on the tightrope, trying to keep his balance; he wants to jump.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers into the distance between their lips, feels Alec’s thumb slip to his chin, then around the side of his neck; his other palm settling at his lower back, tugging him just a fraction closer.

“Please,” Alec whispers back, voice trembling.

Magnus jumps.

It’s nice and strange and slightly overwhelming; Alec’s lips are soft and dry, he tastes faintly like tea and something sweet; his hands tighten on Magnus, bring him even closer until they’re chest to chest.

He starts to understand every line about kissing in books and all the movie scenes he has seen, where the world stops and only two people are left at their own mercy. Before, he could hear birds chirping on the branch outside and the buzzing noises of the tv downstairs, but now his ears are filled only with the hum of his own blood rushing through his veins, the marching beat of his heart.

Magnus forgets to breathe, forgets to think as he wraps his arms around Alec’s neck. His nose presses into Alec’s cheek as they shift together, fall into a rhythm that turns from testing waters into a fervent confession of want. They kiss harder, braver, like everything is about to end even when it isn’t.

They break apart to catch their breath, but being far from each other feels like a curse, so they gasp for air with foreheads pressed together, buzzing with a craving to touch. Alec tips forward, presses his warm mouth against Magnus’ neck, scrapes his teeth against the skin there, wrenching a soft moan from Magnus’ chest, heat curling low in his stomach.

He’s been staring at those pink lips for a while now, imagined how they would feel on his, but nothing he ever came up with compares to this - electric and exciting and so oddly familiar Magnus doesn’t know how he survived without them so long.

With a low noise in his throat, Magnus spins them around, surges for Alec’s lips, who kisses him back like his life depends on it; perhaps in that moment, it does. Those hands bury themselves in Magnus’ freshly cut hair, grip it tight in fistfuls and pull, not enough to hurt, but enough to turn Magnus’ knees into jello just for a second.

Alec calls his name in a breathy voice like it’s the only word he knows, makes it sound like so much more than six letters, like a plea and a command at once.

They’ve crossed a line they can never step back behind, but it feels good, it feels like the right thing to do; Magnus doesn’t care, because he’s not falling - he’s flying close to the sun that won’t burn his wings.

Shifting his weight, Magnus pushes a thigh between Alec’s, feels the taut lines of his body, how equally affected he is by what they’re doing. It sends a spike of white-hot adrenaline through Magnus, as he repeats the motion, kissing Alec again, reckless and open-mouthed and just a little bit sloppy.

Their hands roam freely as they kiss, Alec’s palms drifting from caressing Magnus’ cheeks to squeeze at his shoulders, then scratch blunt nails down his back, equally impatient and reverent in each gesture, as if he can’t believe he’s allowed to.

Magnus can’t believe it either, that’s he’s here, in Alec’s tiny bathroom, kissing the boy of his dreams, pressing curious fingers above the waistband of his sweatpants. He needs to feel more, make another memory to keep tucked into the favorite corners of his brain.

Swiftly, Magnus puts his hands under Alec’s thighs, hauls him onto the counter and oh, the new angle is something beautiful. Alec makes a surprised noise, fingers grabbing tight around Magnus’ biceps to steady himself; they break apart again and Alec looks utterly debauched - his lips are red and shiny, his face is flushed and his eyes hazy, focused only on Magnus himself.

“Working out paid off,” Alec teases, but it has no bite, as he’s breathless, smiling giddily at Magnus.

“I’m going to benchpress your ass one day,” Magnus barks back, half-thinking about what he’s even saying, busy with staring up at Alec; his higher brain functions might as well be all switched off.

Alec throws his head back with a laugh and Magnus uses that opportunity to nose along the line of his clavicle, catching hints of Alec’s favorite cologne.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” Alec quips, wrapping his legs around Magnus’ waist to pull him closer; something behind him clatters to the floor, but neither one of them looks.

“You’ll see.”

Magnus slowly moves his palms up Alec’s thighs and over his hips to grope at his ass, but suddenly, there’s the unmistakable sound of footsteps on a creaky staircase.

“Alec, is everything alright?” Miss Lightwood calls out, knocking on the closed doors to her son’s room.

Both of them freeze, wide-eyed; Magnus swears his heart stops beating for a couple of seconds.

Alec’s mouth hangs open as he blinks rapidly to get back some semblance of coherent thought, his brain working on overdrive.   

“Everything’s good, mom! I just dropped something!” Alec yells back and they both pray Maryse doesn’t hear the tremble in Alec’s voice.

There’s a moment of silence, a mother considering whether her teenager is bullshitting her or telling the truth; in the end, she believes him.

“Okay. Come downstairs, help me do the dishes.”

“In a minute!”

The stairs creak again, indicating Maryse’s departure and Magnus lets out a deep breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

Alec’s fingers find his, tangling together, the previous mood simmering down to something more subtle, not forgotten, but put on hold in a silent promise.

“That was close,” Magnus huffs, swallows the cotton stuck in his throat.

“Yeah.”

Maybe it should be weird, awkward, filled with half-aborted confessions; it isn’t. It feels like nothing changed between them, like they’re still them, still Magnus-and-Alec.

Magnus lifts Alec’s palm to his lips, kisses the ridges of his knuckles.

They still love each other, that will never change.

[thelioncourts]

Pairing: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki

Author: marrieddorks

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2486

Summary: Jared is the best friend Chad could ever ask for (until the pesky problem named Jensen comes along).

Part 1 of Stepbrothers ‘Verse [AO3]

///

“Do you think he’ll notice?”

The question was asked while standing in the middle of an unbusy suburban street in Georgetown, staring at the tilted and overflowing garbage can sitting precariously on the edge of the curb.

“Oh yeah, he’ll notice.”

“Shit!” Chad started. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, Jared! He’s going to kill me!” As if on cue, it was then that the garbage can decided to topple over, and Chad and Jared watched with differing types of horror as its remains spilled all over the grass and street alike, its crash echoing too loudly in the slow-moving neighborhood. Jared threw an awkward wave to Mr. Carrow, a bespectacled old man three houses down who was outside watering his lawn, his look disapproving and sealed with a sneer.

“How do you even make that much trash by yourself?” Jared asked, turning back to Chad with a sort of awe in his voice that paid no mind to Chad’s current crisis. “You can’t cook, you don’t clean,” his voice trailed. “If there’s a mountain of tissues in that, Chad, I swear to God –”

“Not the time, Jared!” Chad was already on the ground shoveling as much of the fallen trash back into the can as he could, a hysteria in his eyes. “What if we took some of this to your house? We can go get more garbage bags and fill them and then –”

“Sure, Chad, my mom would love that,” Jared rolled his eyes.

“I can’t die yet, Jared! Think of all the things I haven’t done!” Chad yelled, his voice cracking on Jared’s name. “We just graduated high school! Life hasn’t even begun yet! I never got to go to Vegas. I never got to ride in a Ferrari. I never got to bang Kate Upton. I never even got to buy my own beer!” His fingers were digging into Jared’s forearm and it took a good grip to extract them, their mark a stark pink on Jared’s tan skin.

“Dude,” Jared said. “You need to calm down. This is not the end of the world, this is you forgetting to take out the trash. Again. Do you really think your dad is going to be surprised?”

“No, and that’s the problem!” A swift kick landed on the black plastic, sending what little garbage Chad had managed to stuff back into the can onto the ground once more. “When my dad left, he gave me two things that I had to do: I had to take the trash out and I had to not break anything in the house.”

“.... What did you break, Chad?”

“Nothing that important,” Chad muttered quickly. He clumsily dropped to sit on the curb, his back slumped, his posture defeated. “I can kiss the rest of summer goodbye. The house is destroyed, and my dad is going to be so pissed.”

“Chad,” Jared sighed. “If I help you clean up your house, will you stop bitching like the biggest bitch ever?”

“I will totally stop bitching!” Chad exclaimed, demeanor entirely changed in a split-second. “I’ll never bitch again! You won’t ever hear a bitching word out of my mouth for as long as I live.” He was doing a mock Boy Scout-salute, three fingers in the air, but with his other hand over his heart too, and Jared clapped him on the shoulder after pulling him to his feet.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“In me have faith, my young Padawanalecki,” Chad said, walking backwards so he could make swirly hand motions.

“Chad, you couldn’t even keep two promises to your dad for three weeks, what makes you think you’ll be able to never bitch again? Besides, you’re actually the worst bitcher ever. You bitch all the time.”

“Do not!”

“Do too!”

“Do not!”

“Do too!”

“Do n—whoa!” Chad shrieked in a horribly high-pitched sound that he would so deny for the rest of his life, and that left Jared in stitches with laughter.

“Oh, there’s a plant right there, Chad,” Jared grinned, looking down at Chad’s sprawled figure now covered in soil.

“Yeah, thanks for the heads-up, dickweed.”

“Are you really going to say that to me after I offered to help you clean your house? That’s messed up, dude.”

“Jared! My dad will kill me, please,” Chad bitched, and Jared laughed and helped him back to his feet, again, before walking in the house, Chad mumbling and dusting his clothes off best he could before entering.

Jared’s laughter died off, however, into a horrified silence that had Chad stopping in his tracks in the same abrupt manner, nearly running into Jared’s back in the process.

“Dude, you okay?”

“Um, Chad?” Jared asked back instead of answering, his eyebrows drawn together.

“Yeah?”

“We’re going to need backup.”

The living room alone was what appeared to be the result of a tornado, most definitely; the blinds in the windows were twisted and turned, the original shape unrecognizable, and the curtains that were intended to go in front of the blinds were woven all through the twists and turns. That is, the curtains that were still hanging and not ripped and lying on the floor below were woven all through the twists and turns. There was a grease stain on the carpet by the coffee table from where a pizza box had been, and at least thirty different DVD and video game cases were littering the floor in front of the television. A dozen pairs of dirty socks were strewn across the couch, along with at least two pairs of boxers (and Jared didn’t even want to know what events ended with them staying there) and the one lone pillow had what looked like a Mountain Dew coloration on its entire left side.

“I don’t even want to see the kitchen. Or the bathroom. Or your room. Especially your room,” Jared said slowly.

“Is it really that bad?”

“Do you have eyes, Chad?”

“Fuck! I know, I know. Um. Okay, we can’t call Tommy for backup, because I slept with his girlfriend a few months ago and he’s still pissed. We can’t call Mike, because he and Tommy are up each other’s asses all the time. We can’t call Sophia, because she was Tommy’s girlfriend that I slept with, ruining that relationship. We can’t –”

“Chad, if we go through the entire list of people we can’t call because you screwed them over in one way or another, we’ll be here all night. Give me five minutes,” Jared told him, his cellphone already in hand.

“Who’s going to come here to help you? I’m serious about not calling Tommy, he tried to kick my ass last time I ran into him.”

Several minutes later, there was a knock on the front door and in came Megan with two of her friends in tow, their fifteen-year-old faces pulled into the most triumphant of smirks.

“We came prepared,” Megan said with a grin, jiggling the tote of cleaning supplies in her hand. “I’ll take the kitchen, Kelly and Marissa agreed to clean the living room, and you two can do the bedroom and bathroom because no way are we touching either of those. Deal?”

“It’s a deal, Meg, just do your thing,” Jared told her with a sigh and an eye-roll that only became more dramatic when she walked by him with too much bounce in her step, Kelly and Marissa at her heels.

“How’d you get them to come over here?” Chad stage-whispered.

“I agreed to take them to the mall this week and also agreed to do Meg’s summer reading homework,” Jared muttered defeatedly. “You so owe me. Actually, this is beyond just being owed.”

“You’re a true hero, Jay.”

After forty-five minutes of deep cleaning (accompanied by Jared’s Pearl Jam playlist because there was no way Chad was going to get to play his own music, too), things were already resembling a semi-stable household once more. Kelly and Marissa had successful untangled and untwisted the blinds and replaced the torn curtains with brand new ones they found in the hallway closet on the top shelf. Megan had the dishwasher loaded with a load of horribly greasy and sticky plates, cups, and bowls, and was soaking the plate from the microwave and a cup which had had a questionable substance inside. Jared had taken over laundry duty, plugging his nose and wearing a pair of gloves while transporting clothes from Chad’s bedroom floor and bathroom to the washing machine and trying to get all the darks and colors done first so he could bleach anything and everything white last. Chad himself had managed to clean the toilet without too much gagging involved and was in the process of scrubbing the shower floor when Megan came in, yellow rubber gloves covered in suds all the way up to her elbows.

“Hey, do you know if you have any more dish soap for your kitchen?”

“Dish soap?” Chad asked, eyebrows by his hairline. “Is there any under the sink?”

“You would think there would be, but no,” Megan said. “I can run home and grab a bottle real quick.”

“Hold on, hold on. Let me look.” Chad groaned when he pushed himself back up, making his way to the kitchen on legs shaking like he had just ran a marathon.

“Thanks again, Meg,” Jared said as soon as Chad was out of earshot. “Chad’s a mess. And his dad is supposed to be home later tonight.”

“Where’s he been anyway?” she asked, pulling the rubber gloves off for a moment to let her hands breathe.

“He’s been off on some cruise. Bunch of hot-shot lawyers went, I think for some networking event or something.”

“Who has a networking event on a cruise ship?”

“Rich lawyers who can afford it.”

“And he just left Chad. Here. By himself,” Megan said slowly.

“Well, Chad is legally an adult, despite what we all think. And it probably wouldn’t have been so bad if I wouldn’t have been gone all this week looking at Duke University ‘one more time. Just to be sure I made the right decision,’” Jared said, making air quotes as he imitated their father horribly.

“Found some!” Chad yelled, rushing into the room suddenly, a bottle of blue soap in hand. “It was in the garage.”

“Why was your dish soap in the garage?”

“I don’t know, do you think I’ve ever bought a bottle of dish soap in my life? C’mon, Jay.”

“Point taken.”

“Alright, awesome then. I’m going to finish the dishes and wipe down the counters and make sure the microwave and oven are clean. I’ll mop the floor last.”

“Chad is going to finish up his bathroom,” Jared began, ignoring a dirty look thrown from Chad, “and I’ve got laundry going and should at least have it all in the washer before Mr. Murray gets here. When should he be home?”

“He said his flight was landing at five, and it’s a forty-minute drive from the airport to here, so I would say six o’clock.”

“That gives us an hour,” Megan said, her grip on the mop handle becoming white-knuckled.

“We can do plenty in one hour.”

And the second hour of deep cleaning commenced; Chad scrubbed at his bathroom floors with the sort of vigor only found in a desperate man, and too much laughing occurred when he ran into the kitchen to scour for more supplies, only to fall on the mop-wet linoleum. But an hour passes by quickly when hard at work, and before they knew it, their hour was up.

“Okay, he’s going to be here any minute,” Chad started. “I’m sweaty and gross, so I’m going to change clothes. You know my dad, always about that Murray-men sensibility.”

“Well if he’s all about your sensibility, you need to put on deodorant.”

Chad took a whiff under his arms, and pulled back, nose pinched. “Yeah, that too.”

“You, uhh, you might want to hurry,” Megan half-shouted to them both, her figure illuminated by the close proximity of headlights from the road. “He’s pulling in right now.”

“Shit!” Chad started again, the same tone from before leaking through. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, Jared!”

“Calm down!” Jared said, and his hands were on Chad, shoving him back toward his bedroom. “Go change your rank clothes and get back out here. Megan and her friends will go out the back.”

“We’re already leaving. Don’t forget our deal though, big brother! I’m asking Mom if I can double my chores this week to double my allowance,” Megan sing-songed as she, Marissa, and Kelly snuck out the back door in the kitchen.

“She’s going to spend all of her money on art supplies, just watch. She thinks she’s Picasso,” Jared said loudly to Chad.

“I’m more like Cezanne, thank you very much.”

“Who?” Chad whispered.

“Go! Both of you!” Jared said instead of answering, panic rising as they heard the doorknob rattle with movement. Both Chad and Megan disappeared just in time for Richard Murray to walk in the front door, a clean and stereotypical black suitcase in hand.

“Mr. Murray!” Jared greeted, his smile too wide and his stance awkward as he tried to figure out a natural way to position his body where he stood.

“Jared,” Richard started off slowly, “Jared, it’s good to see you. You keep my son out of trouble while I was gone?”

“Yes, sir. Most definitely. Chad’s changing clothes. We played some basketball down at Rowan Park today. It’s a hot one out there today. Probably not as hot as your cruise was though,” Jared rambled.

“I’ll tell you, I didn’t notice the heat all that much,” Richard said, and Jared was a little concerned at the drowsy smile on the man’s face.

“Too busy with all the networking to notice?”

“Dad!” Chad yelled out, skidding down the hallway in fresh white socks, Risky Business-style, but thankfully with pants, and Jared and Richard both waited until Chad steadied himself, hands on the newly-moved chair in the living room. “You’re home! You got a tan.”

“Chad,” Richard started, and Chad immediately flared up at the tone.

“Dad, I know what you’re going to say, but –”

“Chad –”

“All the trash is out at the curb –”

“Chad –”

“And the dishes are done! All the dishes, totally done –”

“Chad –”

“And laundry! I even separated my darks from my lights –”

“Chad –”

“Yeah, okay, Jared told me that’s how I had to do laundry, but I did it! And –”

“Chad!” Richard finally screamed, shutting Chad up (a rare occurrence for everyone). But the scream wasn’t angry, and that same drowsy smile was still on his face and Jared and Chad shared a look.

“Uh, Dad, are you okay? Did all the sun get to your head?” Chad asked.

“No, that’s not it,” Richard said, moving forward to put both of his hands on Chad’s shoulders. “I got married, son.”

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Taking The Shot: Part 7

Pairings: Negan x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff, typical Walking Dead stuff, attempted murder

Word Count: 5,244

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Is that everything?” Negan asked that night as you carried your record player into his bedroom. You shook your head as he shoved a tote box of baby clothes under his bed.

“Just have my box of albums I didn’t want to drop or break.” You looked around the room at the collection of stuff; your two bags of clothes and not much else, his things already in their proper place and the three other large tote boxes that hadn’t been stored away yet. “How do we have so much shit?” You asked with a laugh and Negan groaned as he stood up and glared at you.

“Why? Because SOMEONE fucking decided to clear out half of a fucking baby store of clothes into my Goddamn truck.” He chuckled as he grabbed your hips around the black travel turntable you had found. You feigned innocence and scoffed with a knowing smile.

“God, Negan why would you do something like that?” He swatted his hand on your ass and you squeaked and laughed.

“Pain in my fucking ass.” He grumbled as he kissed your forehead, shaking his head back and forth before taking the record player out of your hands. “Go fucking get your shit. I wanna go to fuckin’ bed baby girl.” With a nod you turned around and headed back to your room for the very last time with a small smile on your face.

As you strolled through the empty, poorly lit halls you bit your lip and giggled slightly as you thought about the way your life had turned out, coming from being alone to having a family in the course of three months. If someone had told you that this is what your life would look like when you dropped out of the tree that night, you would have shot them under the assumption that they were insane. As you walked past the wives room, you didn’t even notice that the door was closed but the sound of someone tapping on the door caught your attention. You walked over to it and listened for a moment.

“Sherry?” you called out slightly, wondering if she had decided to make the poor choice of trying to go back to Dwight. When she didn’t respond, you pulled the door open. You expected to find one of the wives but instead you came face to face with reanimated, glassy eyed Amber. “Fuck!” You shouted as you tried to slam the door closed but before the latch found its home, she managed to lunge for you, wedging part of her body against the door frame. You spun out of her grasp and slammed your back against the door, trying to stay out of her reach and use your body weight to keep her in the room unsuccessfully.

“Negan!” You screamed as you fought the opposing force, compelling yourself to remain calm. You felt an unexpected bang against the door behind your back, causing you to slide on the floor a bit and you grunted at the impact. “Fucking fuck… NEGAN! FUCKING SOMEONE!” You could feel your boots sliding slowly across the floor as the sound of Amber’s guttural hiss filled your mind, fear began to choke the life from you. Panic flooded your body and your stomach turned. You couldn’t help but think of your child as tears began rolling down your cheeks. “NEGAN!” You were just about to give up and run when the sound of boots rounded the corner. “There’s at least two! I can’t…” You told Negan, Simon and another two crew members as your boots slid another half an inch on the tile floor, allowing Amber’s corpse out a little bit more.

“Count of three, run to your fucking room.” Negan said as he closed the distance between you and the corner he just came around. “1… 2… 3!” He raised Lucille above his head and you bolted away from the door. You heard the crack of the bat connecting with Amber’s skull as you ripped open the door and ran into your old room. You slammed the door behind you and had just enough time to grab the small trash can by your dresser before you hurled. You collapsed on the floor and your body trembled as the thought that that could have been how you died; how your child could have died flashed through your mind causing you to be sick once more. After a few minutes, the door flew open, causing you to yelp as Negan stormed in.

“Hey, it’s just me. Fuck, you’re ok, sweetheart.” He said as he crossed the room in a couple long strides before falling to his knees in front of you. You threw yourself into him as sobs wracked your body. He pulled your legs around his waist, wrapped his arms around your hips and with a slight grunt, stood up. 

“Keep your face in my shoulder.” He said protectively as he hiked you up on his hips a bit more and headed for his room, closing your door behind him. You squeezed your eyes closed and tucked your face into his neck not wanting to see what happened to the wives.

“Take them the fuck outside and fucking burn ‘em.” He said to someone as he carried you down the hall grabbing Lucille from Simon as he went. Other than your sobs, the two of you remained quiet the rest of the way to the room. When he finally kicked the door closed behind him, he laid you on the bed, giving you the once over as he took off your boots and jeans.

“I heard tapping….” You said as you pulled off your bra and scooted across the bed, shaking your head in an attempt to get Amber’s eyes out of your head. “I thought…”

“Baby, it’s over. It’s all fucking over.” As he was about to get into bed, there was a knock at the door. “Not now.” He called out, lifting the covers so the two of you could get under them.

“Boss, you’ll want to see this.” With an aggravated groan, he walked over to the door, not caring that he was in just his boxers and pulled it open. Simon handed him a folded piece of paper and nodded, then turned on his heel and left without another word. Negan closed the door and came back over to the bed, got under the covers with you and unfolded the paper. You laid your head on his chest to see what the paper was.

With her moving in, we didn’t want to face Lucille. God forgive us.

“Fuck.” He grumbled and you turned into his chest as guilt washed over you.

“This is all my fault.” You cried as he dropped the note on the floor and pulled you into his side.

“Listen to me, baby girl. This is not your fucking fault. Those fucking dipshits did this to their Goddamn selves because their fucking feelings got hurt because I don’t fucking love them the way I fucking love you. Boo-fucking-hoo. If they honestly fucking thought that I would fucking kill them because I fucking love you then that’s their fucking problem. They would have been just fucking fine but THEY made the fucking choice to drink the fucking Kool-Aid. None of this fucking shit is on you.”

“Baby they were your wives!” you said as you looked up at him and he shrugged.

“Fucking and? They were fucking warm bodies until I fucking found you. The only fucking woman… fuck the only two Goddamn people that mean fucking anything to me in the fucking world are in this fucking bed with me. I fucking fight for this fucking place now for you and for our fucking kid. I fucking do this for our crazy, fucking insane, definitely narcissistic, slightly fucking sociopathic family that I wouldn’t trade the fucking world for. Everybody else can suck my fucking dick.”

“I am not a narcissist or a sociopath.” You grumbled as you wiped the tears off your face. “I’m a Goddamn angel.”

“The fuck you are!” He chuckled as he flipped off the light and scooted down onto his pillow more. “If you’re a fucking angel then I’m Goddamn fucking Mother Teresa.”

“You know what I just realized? We are like the real life versions of fucking Harley Quinn and the Joker.” Negan laughed as he wrapped his limbs around you and pulled you close.

“Yea, I can fuckin’ see it. You’d look fucking hot as fuck in those fucking shorts, too.” You laughed as he kissed your forehead and you buried your face in his chest.

“It would make it a lot fucking easier for you to kiss my fucking ass, too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After the incident with the wives mass suicide, it took almost a month before the community got over the loss of the 5 women. The truth behind their death was made known the day after and though it took some time, the community stopped pointing fingers at you and Negan behind your backs and realized it was just the wives making a rash decision in the heat of the moment.

Life at the Sanctuary slid into a normal routine for you. Mornings were spent, for the most part, on runs and collecting supplies from Alexandria, the Hilltop and the self-proclaimed Kingdom. Afternoons found you in the gun range with Arat, giving her every ounce of knowledge you knew about long distance shooting. She was a natural as you had been, understanding the mathematics of it easily. By the time you hit your fifth month of pregnancy, (and Negan’s limit of taking you on runs) she was as good as you were.

Evenings were spent with Negan; the two of you spending time together away from the rest of the community as he had when the other wives had been present. Only with there only being one wife and said wife being pregnant, you both could feel the slight shift in the community and their feelings on it. They were still afraid of him; following the rules to the letter, kneeling when both of you walked into the room and cowering in fear when they saw Lucille but there was a new higher level of respect at seeing the more ‘human’ side of him; a side they hadn’t seen before you and the baby came around. Before you knew it, you were only weeks away from meeting your bundle of joy.

“Would you ever… fuckin’ like… want to fucking leave here?” Negan asked hesitantly one evening just after curfew while you lay between his legs in bed watching a movie. You looked over your shoulder at him as his finger’s danced across your bump. His eyes were trained on your stomach, and his brow was slightly furrowed in concentration as his wheels spun.

“Well… fuck I don’t know. Why?” He sighed as he laid his hands flat on your round stomach and your child rotated in the tiny space towards his touch. He shrugged slightly as he dragged his eyes up to you and you saw a slight fear in his eyes.

“I think the fucking prick is planning on fucking staging a fucking coup.” You turned as best as you could and your heart skipped a beat.

“How do you know that?”

“I fucking felt it when I fucking went out there today; his fucking defiance. I can fucking shut it down but then I fucking wondered if getting you and the baby the fuck out of here would be the better fucking option.” Your eyes fell from his and your brows wrinkled at the bridge of your nose as you thought, weighing the options for only a moment before you looked back up at him.

“Do we have a couple weeks or is this a pack up and get the fuck out of dodge thing?” He sighed, shrugged and shook his head.

“Best bet? Get the fuck out of fucking dodge.” You nodded slowly.

“I want Simon and Arat to go, best of the best. Carson too just until the baby is born.” Before Negan answered there was a knock at the door.

“Yea?” Negan said without moving to get up; knowing how difficult it was to get you up quickly. Simon walked in holding a walkie out in front of him as he stepped into the room.

“Boss, fucker from Gavin’s community wants to fucking talk to (Y/N).” You looked up at Negan as he reached out and grabbed the antenna of the walkie-talkie.

“Shut the fucking door but fucking stay in here.” Negan said as he tossed the box higher in his hand, pausing for a moment as Simon shut the door before he responded. “Fuck do you want?” he demanded angrily. You heard the radio crackle slightly before the man answered.

“I wish to extend an offer of asylum for your wife until the child is born. Guarantee the child’s safety in such a cruel world.” You and Negan looked at each other for a moment.

“Time to get out of dodge.” You took the radio from Negan’s hand and cleared your throat. “Can you give me a day to decide? Leaving my husband is something I would never do without taking a little time to decide.”

“I will give you one day.” The man responded immediately and you pushed yourself off Negan’s legs with his help. “I will need an answer by sundown tomorrow however the offer will be removed from the table at that time.”

“Thank you for your generous offer. I will be in touch.” You turned off the walkie-talkie as you swung your legs over the bed while Negan got up and started pulling the four totes of baby stuff from under the bed.

“Simon, we are fucking leaving tonight. Prick is fucking planning a fucking ambush and I want my fucking family safe. I want the fucking pick-up gassed, packed with fucking guns, ammo and every extra gas can we have in the bed and fucking parked out back now… fucking quietly. Pack your fucking shit, you’re fucking coming too and we are leaving within fucking 20 minutes.” Simon nodded and ran out the door.

“I got our stuff.” You said as you got up. Negan tossed you a large army green duffle and nodded.

“I got fuckin’ Arat and she can fucking grab water and food. I’ll fucking help Carson with emptying the fucking infirmary.” He walked forward, put his hand around the back of your neck and kissed your forehead. “You stay in this fucking room until I fucking come back, do you fucking understand me?” You nodded and leaned up to give him a chaste kiss.

“Be quick baby. They could be out there waiting for us now.”

“I fucking expect it.” He said as he turned and headed toward the door; grabbing Lucille and your hand gun on the way. “I love you.” He said when he got to the door, pausing for a moment to look back at you.

“I love you too, baby. Be careful.” He nodded and ducked out the door. You spun in place and started ripping open dresser drawers, shoving every article of clothing the two of you owned into the large duffle bag. You focused on your breathing to keep calm, not wanting to forget something that could be essential down the road as you stripped the room of hidden weapons, bathroom products, and the four cat statues and your two cat stuffed animals that you and Negan had collected on runs; essentially removing most of the evidence that either of you existed other than your record player, albums and the small DVD collection you had built in the past year.

“You ready, baby girl? Negan asked 15 minutes later as you were pulling the strings of the bag tight and you nodded at him and Simon.

“I just need help with my boots.” Negan nodded as he pointed Simon to the boxes on the bed.

“Those are fucking essential.” He growled as he grabbed your boots off the floor and tossed the strap of the duffle over his shoulder. “Send Arat up to grab one and I’ll fucking get the other two. Keep your fucking eyes on Carson. I don’t fucking trust him as far as I can throw him but we fucking need him until the baby is born.” Simon nodded as you sat down on the bed and Negan quickly tugged your socks and boots on over your jeans.

“Babe, we are gunna be fine.” You reassured as Arat came in and grabbed a tote, her own rifle slung over her shoulder. The two of you nodded at each other in appreciation.

“I’m fucking allowed to be fucking worried, princess.” He grumbled as he finished tying your boot. He stood up and took your hands, pulling you off the bed and into his arms. “You’re my fucking wife and this is our fucking child.” You pulled back away from him and smiled with a slight tilt of your head.

“And you are doing what needs to be done to protect us. We have a slight upper hand right now, the two best snipers in the world, a doctor, our best fighter and a fucking crazy protective daddy with his mistress, Lucille.” He chuckled slightly before he pulled away and grabbed the last two boxes. You grabbed your rifle and tossed it over your shoulder, taking one last look around the room before grabbing two pillows, and the blanket. With one final glance, you turned off the lights; leaving your home behind with a few tears shed. 

The two of you walked the short distance to the back door silently, doing your best to not alert the community to your abandonment. When you got outside, you went straight to the passenger door of the dual cab pick-up and climbed in while Negan, Simon and Arat finished packing the truck bed, covering it securely with a tarp before wordlessly getting in the truck with Dr. Carson. 

“Be fucking ready for fucking anything.” Negan said as he handed you your hand gun, laying one across his own lap before starting the truck. “You stay the fuck down.” He demanded as he glanced at you and put the truck into gear. With a quick nod, you lay down sideways awkwardly on the front seat, your body shaking with your nervousness.

The gun shots began nearly immediately as Negan headed for the back fence. You squeezed your eyes closed and covered your stomach as he gunned it. You could hear the engine roar as metal pings and gun shots rang out followed by the crash of the metal fence. Negan whipped down the road, dodging walkers and people alike as he fought to keep his family safe. Time seemed to slow as you curled into yourself and waited for the commotion to stop. 

You heard Simon yelp from the back seat in pain but you couldn’t turn to look at him out of fear as a few loud bangs against the front of the truck startled you. What seemed like hours later but was only realistically a few minutes, the gun fire died away but Negan continued to race away, heading east away from the communities toward the highway. You jumped slightly when he put his hand on your head and you looked up at him with tear filled eyes.

“It’s over.” He said softly with a nod. You nodded back and forced your shaky body up right. “Everyone good?” He asked with a glance in the rearview mirror to the three people in the back seat.

“Simon has a shoulder wound but it isn’t serious. I’m fine.” Carson responded.

“Arm got grazed pretty good but I’m alright.” Arat said as she ripped off the sleeve of her shirt to tie it around the lower part of her arm. You nodded at Negan when he looked over at you and you leaned forward to look him over.

“You alright baby?” He nodded as a smile crossed his face and he reached across the seat and took your hand with a sigh of relief.

“I don’t know how the fuck we just pulled that fucking shit off without much damage but we fucking did it. I fucking thought that fucking wall of them would be an issue.” You squeezed his hand in response.

“Well I don’t know about you two but fucking thank you guys for gettin’ me the hell out of there too.” Arat said and Carson and Simon stated their gratitude as well as the interstate came into view.

“So where are we going?” You asked as Negan traversed the car littered on-ramp. He shook his head and sighed.

“No fucking idea. Southwest into the fucking mountains for sure; find a fucking house or maybe a fucking hotel or a fucking ski lodge somewhere. We’ll fucking figure it out as we fucking go.” The three people in the back mumbled their approval and you grabbed Negan’s pillow off the floor, propping it against the window and laying your head down.

“Just wake me when we get there.” You yawned. Negan chuckled and squeezed your hand.

“You ass will be up in like an hour to fucking pee so shut the fuck up.” You let go of his hand and whacked his arm as Simon laughed from the back seat.

“You shut the fuck up. Simon don’t fucking encourage him.” You looked over at your husband and he smiled at you. “Shut up.” You said, returning his smile before childishly sticking your tongue out at him. He took your hand once more, his fingers lacing with yours and you lay back against the pillow, falling asleep almost immediately.

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

None of you realized how difficult it would be to leave in the middle of the night the way you did with no preparation at all but with only a little bickering and some hormonal tears you found the perfect house that was at one point a bed and breakfast in the mountains. It was surrounded by a 7 foot tall thick wood fence and it had a fancy iron gate somewhere outside of a town called Boone, North Carolina.

It was the perfect place- two stories with five bedrooms, running water and solar panels on the roof. Off the master bedroom on the second floor, there was a little balcony that made the perfect perch for a sniper. It also had a gorgeous wrap around porch, an untaken care of garden, and a storm cellar that had quite a few jars of canned fruits and vegetables in mason jars left behind from owners that had long since abandoned their property. It had taken three days to find but it couldn’t have come at a better time.

The five of you had stopped at every single grocery store, Walmart, pharmacy, baby and gun store you could find between the Sanctuary and the new house; collecting enough supplies to last your little group at least a year so you would be covered for a long time so you could get completely settled in turning this new house into the best functioning home it could possibly be.

A week after you arrived, you went into labor and after a day of hell, you gave Negan the little girl he always wanted. He held her for the first two days straight; refusing to give her up for anything other than to be fed. You were amazed at how he had taken to parenthood and it suited him. On day three, you had to nearly pry her from his hands to let her honorary aunt and uncle and the doc hold her but he hovered by and watched like a hawk. It warmed your heart that there could be something so precious and good in the world that seemed so bleak most of the time.

“I told you it was a fucking girl.” He beamed as he sat next to you on your bed holding his precious two week old little princess in his arms. “Are you abso-fucking-lutely sure you like Hope?” He asked for the hundredth time about the name he chose as he looked up at you and you giggled.

“Yea, baby. I’m ‘abso-fucking-lutely’ sure I like Hope. It’s fitting.” He nodded and looked back down at his sleeping daughter.

“Fuck, I don’t want to have to fucking leave her to fucking reinforce this Goddamn fence.” He complained.

“Love, you have to. I can’t help just yet other than being on the damn roof and we need it done so we have one less thing we have to fucking worry about.” With a groan he forced himself off the bed and laid Hope down in the bassinet you had picked up on your way here. Once he was completely satisfied that she was ok in the middle of the bed on her back, he leaned down and kissed the top of her head before kneeling on the bed to do the same with you. He rested his forehead against yours and sighed with a smile on his face.

“God, you’re fucking amazing, mama. I love you so fucking much.” You rested your hand on his cheek for a moment with a hummed laugh.

“I love you, too, baby.” You gave him a chaste kiss before he pushed himself off the bed to head out and get to work. When you had first moved in, Negan and Simon agreed that the wood fence wouldn’t stand a chance if a herd of any size came through and with a newborn, simply paying attention to your sound level wasn’t much of an option to prevent that from happening.

There was a company roughly 20 minutes away that made steel storm shutters for hurricanes and the first day you had moved in, the two men and Arat had gone and cleared the place out of every sheet, screw and power tool they had while you and Carson cleaned the house. With a sigh, you got up off the bed, closed the windows and your bedroom door, grabbed your rifle and the baby monitor and headed out onto the porch to watch the group work while Hope slept. You shivered slightly against the cool autumn air and exchanged the baby monitor for one of Negan’s cigarettes on the balcony rail.

With you keeping watch and four people working, it only took four hours to wrap both sides of the wood in the large sheet metal and with a whole lot of ‘fucks,’ and growls of aggravation, the iron gate that was at the front of the driveway was wrapped with the same material. Pleased with himself, Negan stood in the front yard long after the other three had gone inside and surveyed his work. With a small chuckle, you headed down with your happily fed and changed daughter to bring him some water.

“Looks good, daddy.” You called out to him and he turned and looked at you with a shrug.

“I think I may take a fucking page out of Alexandria’s book and put up those fucking wood beams. There’s a fucking lumber yard in town so I’ll fucking go check that shit out tomorrow. Thanks baby girl.” He said as he plopped down next to you on one of the other rocking chairs and took the water from your hand. The two of you sat in silence for a while, looking at the improved fence.

“You’re doing good, baby.” You looked over at him and smiled. He chuckled and nodded.

“Had you fucking asked me a fucking year ago if I fucking thought this shit is where we would fucking end up I’d’ve fucking punched you.”

“Well aren’t you fucking glad we have it now?” You asked as you rocked and he hummed.

“Yea baby. You fucking make me one fucking happy, lucky man.” Movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention and you turned to look to see what it was. Your stomach dropped as a man walked up your driveway with a crossbow.

“Negan…” Your hand flew out and grabbed his arm and when his eyes found what you were looking at he lurched from the chair and grabbed Lucille from where she was leaning by the door.

“Hey, neighbors.” The younger man called out cheerily as you slowly got up from the chair, covering your daughter as best as you could with your arm while you headed for the front door. Negan stormed down the porch steps.

“Stop right fucking there!” He called out as he pointed the bat at the man while you nervously called into the house for Simon. “The fuck do you want?” You watched the man freeze, put one hand in the air, and lower the crossbow down.

“Whoa! Look man, I don’t want any trouble, OK? I just heard the drills all morning and decided to check it out. I’m the only one who has lived in a 30 mile radius since this started.” Simon came out with his gun drawn and took a quick look at the situation before he side stepped in front of you and Hope. “How fucking many of you fucks are there?” Negan asked and the man took a hesitant step back from your very intimidating husband.

“Just me and my girl; that’s all.”

“Alright, you stay the fuck away from my girls. If you need fucking help with the dead pricks, we’ll fucking help out. Other than that, for right fucking now I don’t fucking know you therefore I don’t fucking trust you.” You looked at the man, who was absolutely petrified, shook your head and concocted a plan almost instantly.

“Go fucking tell his ass to be nice and to remember how the fuck we got in this situation in the first fucking place with his fucking attitude.” You hissed at Simon. He nodded, ran down the porch over to Negan and passed your message on. You could almost hear your husband’s eyes roll as he looked over his shoulder at you and you pointed at your daughter. He narrowed his eyes before turning back to the man.

“My wife would fucking like you to know that she fucking intends on being civil.” He said as he turned to glare at you once more. You nodded in approval and looked at the stranger who bobbed his head towards you quickly as he began to walk backwards.

“Yea, you got it. Shit, if you need me, I’m down the road half a mile. Mailbox says Cane.” Without another word, he spun on his heel and took off. The men turned around to walk back to the house and you shook your head.

“You’re an asshole.” You told Negan who simply shrugged.

“Don’t fucking want him near my fucking girls.” He rested Lucille by the door once more, took Hope from your arms and sat down casually on the rocker.

“Yea, you may not but you have no fucking idea if he just lied to you on how many people are with him nor do you know how many weapons he has. He’s obviously from around here so he could be useful to us.” Negan huffed and shrugged.

“Still don’t fucking want him near my girls.”

Part 8

[isotuan]

Try Not To (Jungkook x Reader Fluff/Slight Smut)

Summary: “Try not to get nervous.”

(( Note: another story for the youngest member who stands on top. In this one I more so like the bickering than the actual ‘fluff’ or ‘smut’ which is so so so mild I warn you. So, idk about this one at all :(( Either way, I hope you all enoy! ))

“Could you have taken any longer, holy fuck.”

It was a far late into a chilly Sunday night and you were standing outside your friend’s door clutching your tote bag against your chest and curling your toes against the rubber soles of your not-so-appropriate flip flops you when sporting. A combination of that plus a thin cardigan and pajama shorts were definitely not the greatest outfit choice when in this close-to-frozen mid-February weather. In your defense, it wouldn’t have been as horrifyingly cold as it was if it weren’t for Jeon Jungkook who took his sweet as time answering the door.

Fifteen minutes to be exact.

The second you heard that door’s lock click, you practically kicked the damn thing open, yelling all sort of things because you were on the verge of hypothermia by the time he finally decided to answer the door.

“What took you so long?” You huffed, quickly burying yourself deep into the blanket that was thrown messily onto the couch. You could choke the kid right then and there if you wanted you, but you spared yourself from having to lose any one of your fingers because you swore if he had taken any longer your fingers would have fallen off.

“Sorry, I was making myself yogurt,” he answered with his mouth full, the bowl of said yogurt in one hand, a spoon in the other.

“Yogurt.”

He nodded to that.

“So you’re saying,” you breathed in, trying to stay as calm as possible. “You left me out in the cold…

“…For yogurt.”

He nodded to that, too.

You breathed out, “I trying my hardest right now not to strangle you to death, Jungkook.”

“Jeez, calm down,” he narrowed his eyes at you and looked as if you were crazy.

“Are you serious?” You glared at him, “You’re the one that asked me to help you study.”

“I did,” Jungkook agreed. “But this yogurt, though.”

You rolled your eyes at him, “Your priorities are fucked up.”

You pushed yourself off the couch and made your way to the kitchen to make some much-needed hot tea because the blanket wasn’t much help. You noticed the moment you stepped into his kitchen you could tell why Jungkook was preaching his yogurt so damn much. Cut up pieces of strawberry and a bruised banana peel lay above a cutting board with bits of granola scattered all over. He would be the person that was extra as shit when is came to something as simple as eating yogurt. You wouldn’t even be surprised if he had carved a  rose out of strawberry for decoration. He was extra like that and he’d always been that way ever since you met him two years ago, much to your dismay. This with his cocky attitude, you were surprised you even a year being friend with this asshole. 

“I swear if you touch my yogurt—” you heard him call for the living room.

“I won’t, dickhead.”

“Yah, wake up,” you gave the snoring boy and flick on the forehead.

“I’m awake, I’m awake,” he grumbled, rubbing the reddening spot on his forehead as his straightened back up in his seat. It had been about four hours since you two had begun studying, the digital clock Jungkook had in his room now read 1:39 am. On the desk were scribbled notes, note cards, scattered highlighters, and the numerous Psychology textbooks you’d borrowed from the library earlier on that day. You managed to keep him awake most of the time but would occasionally have to land a smack on the back of his head to keep him awake and focused.

You leaned on the armrest of your chair, “How do you expect to get a decent score on this test if you don’t focus?”

“A passing grade is fine for me.”

“Oh my god,” you rolled your eyes. “You were so hardworking back then, what the fuck happened.”

He chuckled, “I don’t know. Ask Taehyung or Jimin.”

“On second thought, I don’t even want to know what you guys did,” you snarled, remembering all the nights you had to drag all three of them from a party because they got too shitted to get a ride home themselves. Thankfully it was mainly last year and that their party phase died down since then.

“Why study when you can just party and get laid?” Jungkook said and you swore you a gagged a bit.

“Really?” You looked at him questioningly.

“Really what?”

“One, that’s the worst motto to have,” you looked at him with distaste. “Two, you stopped partying ever since that one night at a random frat house, remember that?”

You could see Jungkook visible cringe at the memory of that horrible night. “I’m never going to parties ever again,” you remembered him say when you helped him haul himself out of a dumpster the day after.

“Now you barely get out of the house unless you really need to or when Jin forces you to. All you do now is play The Sims and go bowling on weekdays.”

Jungkook shrugged, “It’s not a bad lifestyle.”

You ignored him and continued on with your point. “And ‘get laid?’” you laughed out loud. “I haven’t seen you with a girl since forever.”

Jungkook gasped, “I am offended.”

It was now your turn to shrug, “It’s not a lie.”

Jungkook, legitimately offended it seemed, spoke, “Girls love me.”

“Right,” you rolled your eyes. “As you can barely even talk to a girl or be in the same room as them.”

“Of course I can,” he crossed his arms over his chest and held his chin up high.

You looked at him, confused at his words as they seemed to reflect everything but the truth. “Jungkook,” you said. “Don’t shit around. I know you. And I know that you know damn well that you can’t handle girls.”

“That not true-”

“You get too nervous and would make up some lame excuse just to get out of a situation that involved girls, like ‘I left my gas on, gotta go,’ which you have actually used before.”

“Not credible information.”

“And how do you expect for women to like you if you can’t even engage in conversation?” You narrowed your eyes at him. “Again, you get too nervous.”

“No, I don’t get nervous around girls. That’s a fact.”

“Not credible information,” you mocked him. He narrowed his eyes, annoyed and fired up about the subject.

“And for your information, I, Jeon Jungkook” he pointed a finger at you, “am irresistible to all women across this nation. That’s another fact.”

“Again, not credible information,” you shook your head and he huffed.

“Oh, really?” Jungkook said. “Name one person.”

“Let’s see—Everyone? Literally, go ask anyone! A real example, me,” you said. “I don’t get turned on by you, I can’t ever imagine ever being turned on by you.”

Jungkook paused for a second, looked as if he was thinking, “Oh, really?”

You nodded sternly. 

“You wanna try?” He suddenly said.

“What?”

He spun his chair towards you, body fully facing you, “Try not to get turn on by me.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “That’s very funny.” But as you began to turn back to the work in front of you Jungkook stopped you, placing his large hand on your knee. 

What the fuck.

You looked back at him, his face barely readable, but by the way, he had his face tilted up and a brow slightly raised, he was challenging you. You wanted to ask just what the hell was running through his mind. This fucker really thinks—you mused to yourself of which within that very second, you’d ultimately decided that—

It’ll be fun—

—Prove this little shit wrong.

And more prove yourself right.

“Fine—”

You brushed off Jungkook’s hand and stood up.

“What—”

Before he could finish, you’d already maneuvered your way so you were standing directly in front of himself, slightly in between his legs.

“—Try not to get nervous then.”

“Wait, what, this was my idea—”

You quickly kneeled down which shut him up and placed your torso in between his legs and a hand on his knee. You looked back up at Jungkook, he had his eyes glued on the placement of your hand before meeting your sight and his wide eyes blinked hard before dropping back down to your hand. He was completely taken by surprise, you could most definitely tell, but he was too speechless to even utter a word. You smirked and began inching up your hand up his leg and you took this chance to just slightly brushed your fingertips with the inside of his muscular thigh, feeling it tense up under your hot touch. You could see his chest rise up in a heavy gasp. You wanted to laugh.

Strike one.

You pushed yourself up, hand still locked onto his thigh and you moved a bit closer to him, where your free hand was resting on the armrest beside him and your knee was resting in the empty spot on his seat between his legs. You finally let your hand that was on his thigh leave its spot but rather let it slowly travel up and up his leg and onto his torso. You allowed your finger to lightly hook onto the waistband of his exposed Calvin Kleins before effortlessly dragging the end of his white tee up his body, his glowing skin gradually became more and more exposed. You never once let your eyes strip away from him which was why, when you purposely let your fingertips faintly line the dips of his sculpted stomach, you saw his Adam’s apple bob violently.

Strike two.

You eventually let loose of the shirt the moment your hand reached his bottom of his neck of which you instead began tracing your finger along his neckline and down his sharp jaw. You stopped once you reached his chin and you rested your fingers on it and carefully tilted his head up, which closed in the proximity from a couple of centimeters to barely a centimeter. Jungkook’s round eyes met yours and you kept the eye contact for a solid second, watching as his pupil double in size. However, that moment was short-lived when Jungkook’s gaze dropped down to your lips and his pink tongue swiped across his thin bottom lip in much anticipation. You smirked and took no time to inch closer and closer to him to the point where your lips sharing just about the same air and that a kiss would just seal in that empty space. As you moved, you could feel his thunderous pulse beating under your fingertips and practically hear his heart pound right out of his chest. 

Strike three.

“You got nervous,” you spoke a just your lips were about to touch and you pushed yourself off Jungkook, leaving him beet-red and completely dumbfounded in his seat. 

(( Note: See? I feel like this one is so meh, I might delete this later on :/// ))